#shitting fucksticks

[gutsby]

Hating Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.

Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3

Part 1 | Part 3

"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"

You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.

Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.

An orangutan on roller skates would’ve had more grace.

A grizzly bear in hibernation might’ve been more lively.

A fucking cross-eyed octopus reciting Shakespeare would’ve been less strange, alarming, and painfully awkward to see than your father’s best friend the week after he’d railed you senseless in the front seat of his car.

Joel Miller had shown up with a date, for Christ’s sake.

Of course, you’d been three cocktails deep and playing stack cup with a random group of gentlemen on the bridge deck at the time, but that was almost immaterial. This was your dad’s fifty-first birthday party—one of the rowdiest nights the Austin Yacht Club had yet to see—and yeah, you planned on getting belligerently shitfaced on Dirty Shirleys and obscene amounts of catered food.

You’d never thought to bring a date of your own, though.

That was just distasteful and crass, all things considered.

Presently, you slammed your ping pong ball to the tabletop and watched it make a wide arc over your cup.

“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck,” you whispered low as the man four spots down made it in, and the man after him bounced the ball straight into his own on the first go. He moved the tall, swaying stack of red Solos immediately to your right, and you knew from the jump you were fucked.

Tommy Miller was a master at stack. You could already see the sly smile on his face from the corner of your eye.

Just as Mötley Crüe gave way to Hall & Oates on the speakers overhead, Joel’s brother crammed his stack of cups over your own and made a smug, triumphant bow.

“All you, kid,” he grinned and slid the second to last cup in your direction.

You could’ve cursed his whole bloodline, Joel included.

There was no way in hell you were getting stuck with death cup again—the last, cruel punishment for the loser of the game a mix of three different types of liquor, soda, and a spritz of Natty Light. Filled to the brim and waiting to be downed by whoever didn’t sink the final shot.

You squared your shoulders and locked the fuck in.

Bounced the ball once. Twice. Christ, this was hard. The man to your left was struggling too, but he seemed just as determined and twice as skilled, and you were pretty buzzed. A second later, he made it in and, of course, slid it right back to Tommy, who was practically overcome with laughter.

“MILLER! MILLER! MILLER!” Men were not creative when it came to chants. Or beating fists on furniture.

“Quit shakin’ the shit!” Tommy roared, tapping his ping pong ball deftly onto the table’s surface.

You blinked a few hazy, anxious thoughts out of your head and tried with everything in you not to miss this shot. The instrumental bridge of ‘Maneater’ was sinking its teeth in your soul and taunting your nerves to no end.

You took the ball, swallowed hard, watched the cup, and flicked your wrist, at last, from a singularly perfect angle.

The ball was a millisecond away from making it in.

Tommy Fuckstick Miller managed to stack you first.

A chorus of obnoxious, wholly drunk howls rang loud in your ears, and suddenly, the attention was back on you, the unhappy victim of the game’s most gruesome drink.

You didn’t hesitate. You pinched your nose and guzzled from the cup before the torment could go on any longer.

You did well at first.

Opened your throat like a pro and cleared it down to the last fourth of the drink, to the point where you could see the slick white bottom side of the cup clear as day.

Your mouth had just flooded with the final draught of death cup when a familiar guitar riff caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure why it had to happen that way, but after being forced to listen to the song some five thousand times on your road trip with Joel, the tenor of Billy Joel’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you now. Grating. Nauseating.

Vomit-inducing.

Swiftly, you ran to the nearest railing and lost your last drink—and your whole dinner—over the side of the boat.

You yakked into Lake Travis like you never had before.

And, just as that stupid, forever-tainted song surged on, you heard footsteps approaching. A moment’s pause. Then a hand on your back. Patting gently and, seconds later, lowering a cup of water to the side of your head.

Your face was still dangling upside down off the yacht. You didn’t want to be touched.

“Go to hell, Tommy,” you muttered.

“You first,” he said, chuckling.

You didn’t sit so much as slump back onto the deck with your head in your hands. The whole boat had gone sideways in your mind, and Tommy’s outstretched arm looked more like a bubbling lump than a friendly gesture.

You groaned at the sight of the cup and shook your head.

“I’m alright, okay. I’m good.”

Then, when the cup didn’t waver:

“Can they change the fucking song already?!”

Tommy cocked a brow and squatted down next to you. He set the water aside.

“Got a problem with dad rock or somethin’?” he smirked.

You shook your head no—it wasn’t the music that was making you sick but the man Tommy called his brother that made you wanna vomit again. The thought of that man tangled up with a svelte brunette who looked fresh off the cover of Sports Illustrated when he couldn’t even be bothered to shoot you a text after the condom broke last week. Like he just didn’t give a shit if you were alive, dead, or pregnant with his child. Unfortunately, you had nothing more to throw up, and your eyes were on fire.

Tommy slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Took a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“No more Dirty Shirleys for you, young lady,” he chided, dabbing lightly at the tears that had trickled out.

“No more men for me,” you grumbled quietly.

You couldn’t see it then, but you could feel him trying not to smile. He tugged you closer.

“Boy trouble, huh?” he said, “Whose ass needs kickin’?”

Your brother, actually. Curb stomp that fucker, please.

You shrugged instead.

“Some guy from school.”

Tommy nodded, waiting for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, he just assumed you wanted to keep it to yourself—which you did—and squeezed your shoulder softly.

“Well…you know you’ve got your dad, me, and Joel to beat the shit outta any guy, any time, any place, right?”

You wished it were that simple. You wiped your nose and nodded all the same.

“And…” Tommy started again, working slow to get you back on your feet, “Most guys your age don’t know their ass from their fuckin’ elbow, honeybun. Don’t take it too personal if he’s dumb enough to lose a gem like you.”

The corners of your lips twitched slightly at his words. Almost smiling by the time he had you up on your feet.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

You might’ve rolled your eyes when he pinched your cheek, but the water he held back up for you to drink looked far too appetizing, and you knew he meant well. You took the cup from him and started to chug.

Again, you’d almost made it through the whole refreshment when a sound threw you off. Abruptly.

“Where have you two lovebirds been?!” Tommy chirped.

You lowered your water and almost regurgitated again. Bile jumped up in your throat, and you just narrowly managed to keep it all down with a cough and a sputter.

Joel and Ms. Centerfold were at the far end of the deck.

Joel was tucking his dress shirt back into his pants.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Gettin’ nasty on her daddy’s yacht? That’s bold,” Tommy cackled, nudging you playfully.

Your face was bloodless. Every last ounce of pretense and decorum had spilled out with your dinner, before, and now you were just staring at Joel blankly. Numb.

You watched him shove the last clump of his shirt under the waistband and straighten up slightly. The woman at his side flashed you and Tommy a blinding white smile.

“Might say the same for you,” she called back. She seemed to be eyeing you both with a half-curious look.

Tommy made a face as if to say ‘yuck—what the fuck?’ and threw his arm around you again, shaking you lightly.

“She’s like my little sister, Ashton. You’re fuckin’ gross.”

Little sister. Nice. Like a knife twisting inside your gut.

If Joel took any notice of the comment, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, dull and impassive as a loaf of bread. Every coarse lineament of his face was unreadable—just as bleak, bland, and uncaring as the eyes staring out of it. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his lighter and a pack of American Spirits. He passed the latter to Ashton and leaned over to give her a light.

Throwing yourself off the boat seemed like the most logical next move out of anything available to you.

That’s when you knew you were off your shit and needed to leave the bridge deck—immediately.

“Need a drink,” you mumbled, starting off the other way.

Tommy was hot on your heels, following fast after you.

“That’s— that’s actually the last thing you need, I think, sweetie. How ‘bout some lemonade?”

“Can you spike it with bleach?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Tommy followed you down the staircase straight through to the galley, past the throngs and pockets of partygoers crowding the main dining area. Hitting the bar was a bad idea—wait staff knew you well enough to sense when you were utterly trashed, sad, or both—so you slipped toward the wine cooler and quickly sidestepped Tommy.

“No! No way. Nuh-uh.” He was still trying to block your access to the fridge when you grabbed hold of the door.

“Hair of the dog, Thomas.”

“That’s not a thing. That’s— you just projectile vomited off the deck, dude. You need a breather.”

You stopped just long enough to let Tommy pry you off the refrigerator handle and back to the kitchen island. You were pissed off, sure, but also not nearly prepared for another drop of alcohol if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was still spinning when you sat down on the counter.

Once you were settled, Tommy got to rifling through the cabinets, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“So how long’s that been going on?” You couldn’t help it.

“Wha- oh, Joel and Ash?” Tommy hummed from deep inside a cupboard. He came out with a small blue box.

You winced at the nickname. Watched him go from the pantry to the sink, fill a glass halfway, find a spoon, and tear the box in two, along with a couple chalky tablets.

“They’ve been…weird.” The sentence was punctuated with a pinch of his brow and a frown. He started stirring.

“Weird how?”

Your feet were dangling over the edge of the island; you pretended to gain a sudden interest in a smudge on the toe of your shoe.

“Weird like…I don’t know,” Tommy tossed the spoon in the sink and turned back to you. Holding out the cup, “They’ve been ‘friendly’ for years—Ash is a coworker of ours—and Joel swears it’s nothing more…but I dunno.”

He ended his speech again with that weird intonation and grimace, like he wasn’t so sure if he believed what he was saying himself, then shook his head and shrugged. He watched you take a sip of the Alka-Seltzer and urged you to get the whole thing down. It tasted like shit.

“Christ, that’s salty,” you coughed.

You didn’t want to keep going, but Tommy tipped the glass back in your hand and made you finish.

“It’ll help with your stomach,” he said before strolling over to the caterers’ fridge to look for bland food options.

“So if they’re not a thing, why’d he bring her here?”

You didn’t care what Tommy thought of your questions. He knew you were eager to hear the tea in any situation.

You watched as your friend procured a hand of bananas and some bread. He gave the fruit to you and took the bread over to the toaster, where he dropped in two slices. You couldn’t quite tell if he was contemplating an answer, didn’t want to spill, or hadn’t heard the question at all. He snagged a plate and a butter knife while you peeled apart your snack, silently dying to know the truth.

At length, Tommy shrugged. Again.

“‘Cause Joel’s a goddamn drama queen and doesn’t know what he wants, I s’pose,” he said.

Ain’t that the truth.

Then, after a minute:

“Had his panties in a wad ever since he went to Boston.”

You stiffened hearing that. You couldn’t pretend to be invested in your shoe scuff, the floor, or the food in your hand any longer. Your eyes flitted up to Tommy to see if his expression had shifted any.

It hadn’t—he was just looking for strawberry jam.

“You hitched a ride home with him then, didn’t you?” he asked casually.

You swallowed and nodded. You watched Tommy retrieve the two freshly-warmed pieces of toast that jumped up to greet him and, having found the jam he wanted, slapped them both on a plate and lathered them up. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he slid them over.

You were almost too scared to ask more questions, but you knew you had to find out. About Joel, Ashton, anything Tommy might’ve gleaned about your trip home from Boston. You found you could hardly sit in one place and had to step off the counter to eat your food.

“Joel’s been, uhh…how do Gen Z’s say it? Trippin’ balls?” Tommy reached for a banana himself and started in.

“Tweaking,” you corrected him.

“Tweakin’, yeah. Joel’s been a real fuckin’ tweaker lately.”

“In what way?”

“Just…shuttin’ himself in is all. Wouldn’t talk to me or your dad or anybody for days after he got back. Didn’t show up for our monthly Bingo matchup at Mando’s—and he hasn’t missed one of those in almost six years.”

You pursed your lips, equally mystified. You knew just how seriously your dad and his friends took those games—how rare it was for Joel to turn down any opportunity to drink, play Star Wars-themed Bingo, and shoot the shit with his buddies over Coors Light and cheese curds. You took another bite and waited for Tommy to continue.

“And there’s— there was this…thing he— I dunno.”

Suddenly, it seemed your friend had lost the power of coherent speech, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, flashing a half-sheepish smile, and shaking his head. Contemplating whether he should share something with you and ultimately deciding against it.

You raised both eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nah, it’s dumb, really.”

“Tell me.” You took a far-too-large bite of your banana and had some trouble getting it down.

“Well, he…” Tommy trailed off, shifting his gaze from yours to take a look at his own shoe, for a second, “When me and your dad were riding with Joel to a work site…we, uh…found a box of Plan B in his glove compartment.”

Half-chewed banana and toast almost flew across the room while you spluttered and choked and just barely managed to cover your mouth to keep it all in.

“Right? Threw me for a loop, too,” Tommy grinned as you beat your chest with a fist and fought to keep yourself breathing, “Your dad damn near had a baby when he picked that little box and those booty shorts up himself.”

When he what?! You wanted to scream, just picturing your straight-laced, conservative father flipping a Plan B box between his hands, in shock, and then…your shorts—when the fuck had you taken your shorts off again?

Right, when you were busy trying to scoop some more of Joel’s jizz from your cunt as he raced you both to CVS.

Good times.

You held your hair back and leaned over the sink, spitting two more chunks of banana and bread down the drain. Tommy reached around behind you for the spigot and filled another glass with water as he tried not to laugh.

“Easy, now,” he said, patting your back like he’d done for you before, “Joel didn’t happen to mention this lady friend to you now, did he?”

“No,” you choked. You wiped your mouth clear of any spit and food residue and slowly blinked down into the sink, feeling an old wave of nausea begin to settle over you. Accepted the new glass of water from Tommy and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand as you did.

The man seemed completely oblivious. Still standing close behind you, Tommy rubbed circles in your back and leaned a little closer.

“Death cup really got ya, huh?” He smirked, and you realized then that he very much was like an older brother. This whole situation with Joel was fucked on so many levels and would be fucked tenfold if Tommy ever found out.

You turned around and felt yourself steadied between two warm, broad palms—‘Wanna sit? Lie down?’—and then you were shaking your head, reaching for another banana and trying like hell to seem semi-composed, though every neuron in your brain was firing away at a million miles per second and your legs were feeling like scrambled eggs.

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

Suddenly, one of Tommy’s hands had moved up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, and you felt your skin radiating raw heat. A deep-seated anxiety, too.

He’s going to find out—what if he already knows?

What if Joel tells Tommy?

What if Tommy tells dad?

Your mind was reeling, on fire, still working in earnest to find something to tell your friend to say you were fine, just dizzy, and definitely not fucking his big brother.

Your brain was drawing blank after blank after blank.

Just then, a clatter sounded nearby. Both of you jumped.

When you shot a look to the source of the intrusion, you nearly folded into Tommy from secondhand humiliation.

“Nice hands, feet,” the younger Miller called over to Joel, who was currently trying to recover the dozen-odd pots and pans he’d knocked over at the threshold of the room. You stared at the two in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and disgust—the latter reserved exclusively for Joel.

You set your drink down, held your hand over your stomach, and pretended to head for the bathroom.

“Be right back,” you muttered, brushing past both men.

You knew you wouldn’t be back at all if you could help it.

Still clutching your banana in one hand and your raucously churning tummy in the other, you climbed the galley stairs fast to get back up to the bridge deck. You almost tripped over both your heels trying to make it up the steps so quick, desperate for solitude and quiet.

Another hair metal hit from the ‘80s was playing overhead, but fortunately, the deck was free of people. You stumbled over to one of the catering tables, looking helplessly for something that might settle your belly, but no, this sickness was coming straight from your head—from that insufferable munch of a man, Joel Miller.

You gingerly approached the railing behind the table and prepared yourself for another round of dry heaving.

You rested both elbows on the metal, looked out toward the dark, glassy water beneath you, then hung your head in abject defeat. You slid your tongue across the roof of your mouth and waited for the vomit to come.

The only thing that followed were footsteps.

Heavy, thunderous sounds making their way up the stairs.

“Stay back, Tommy. Please.” You raised a hand to the man approaching softly behind you, not turning your head, “That Alka-Seltzer stuff didn’t work for shit.”

“Shoulda stuck to water, sweet pea.”

That made you pivot.

Not a quick tilt of the head or a twist to the side, but a full-fledged 180-degree spin on your heels, hand to your gut, what-the-FUCK-are-you-doing-here turnaround.

You stared ahead and felt sicker than you had all night.

Then, pointing one crooked, accusatory finger his way without thinking, you hardly knew or heard what you were saying before the words came out. It sounded a little something like, “Joel, you goddamn fucking idiot.”

Joel didn’t flinch.

In fact, he seemed supremely unfazed.

He just held your fuming gaze and frowned.

“You tryin’ to fuck my little brother or somethin’?”

Your hand had closed around your banana on the table before his words had hung in the air for even a second. You flung the fruit full-force at his head, enraged.

Unfortunately, you were drunk and your aim was shit. Your yellow boomerang-like weapon of choice barely made it within three feet of its target before it glanced off a light fixture and struck the ground with a thud.

Accuracy be damned, you weren’t quite done.

“You left the fucking Plan B out for my dad to find?!”

Just when Joel tried to answer, or perhaps hurl another accusation in your direction, you stuck your hand in the closest catering tray you could find—a serving of green peas, as it was. You lobbed a handful at the man as he started to draw closer, and this time, you managed to land a pretty hefty spray. Joel only rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t leave it there—you did,” he retorted.

“My shorts, too?!”

You grabbed another fistful of peas and threw it. Joel was able to dodge it right before making it to the other end of the table. He gripped the edges of the wood in both hands and stood stern—imposingly—opposite you.

“Your shorts, your fuckin’ problem, sweets.”

Just when you reached for another green pea projectile, he surprised you and made for the tray right beside it.

Shortly, a glob of garlic mashed potatoes struck the front of your dress and slid slow, almost sluggishly down the pristine pink silk fabric before falling at your feet. Joel’s aim was evidently much better than yours.

You brushed what chunks of food you could get off your chest and pinned him with a wide, incredulous look.

“You’re a Grade A fucking asshole, you know that?”

“You’re a bit of a shithead too, potato tits.”

“FUCK you!”

“Already DID!”

You would’ve flipped the whole table if it were in your power to do so. Would’ve toppled all the tables, kicked the chairs, took a lighter to the curtains and sent the goddamned yacht down in flames if you had to—that was how much you despised the man in front of you.

Instead, you threw your hands up and stormed off.

“Maybe I will fuck Tommy!” you barked as you started toward the stairs, “I’ll fuck your brother’s brains out, and you can screw Ashton all you want, how ‘bout that?”

You’d made it about two feet before Joel grabbed hold of one of your wrists and yanked you back. You didn’t hesitate to throw a gruff—and ultimately fruitless—punch that hit him square in the chest. He didn’t budge.

“You don’t mean that,” Joel sneered. He shook your whole frame with one simple flick of his forearm.

“I’ll tap your whole bloodline like a keg, Miller. Try me.”

Again, you tried to shake him off, but the hand only constricted around you tighter. Then it was walking you backwards, slowly, almost carefully, until your back was to a wall and your eyes were searching his, angry as ever.

“You’d break your daddy’s heart with that one,” Joel said just above you, voice lowered considerably.

“Yeah?” you challenged, “Maybe if I was less of a shithead I would care what my dad thought. But I’m not. So I won’t.”

“Wasn’t talkin’ about your father, darlin’.”

Joel was good.

He was an insufferable ass and he was good.

Then you remembered the radio silence over the past seven days and the fact that he may or may not have fucked someone else earlier that night—possibly right where you were standing—and he lost all appeal real quick. You shoved him hard in the chest once more.

“Don’t play that shit with me. You, of all people—” You made as if to read him the riot act but cut yourself short, deciding it wasn’t worth your time explaining human empathy to a man who believed bootcut jeans and all things Ely Cattleman were peak fashion, and just learned what ovulation was last week. Then, sliding along the wall and trying to head to the stairs again, you felt Joel’s leg slot between your own.

“What did I do?” he said, curious.

Before you could answer, his thigh had stirred in place, grazing lightly over the spot the hem of your minidress had exposed to him. You ignored it.

“Doesn’t matter,” was your non-answer.

Joel seemed intrigued by the ambiguity and only lowered his head to get closer to yours—‘Then why’re ya so mad you’re throwin’ dinner food at me, darlin’?’—puffing warm breaths on your neck and only smiling when you flinched back. He took your response as a cue to keep pressing, both figuratively and physically.

“Just wanted attention or somethin’? That what it is?” Joel’s voice was as saccharine as it was taunting, words paired with a hand circling light across your thigh. He wasn’t moving in, and it was tearing you to shreds inside.

“Fuck your attention, and fuck you, Joel.”

Words hardly reflecting how you felt internally.

Swiftly, then, the hand at your leg was raised to your face—cupping it with a bit more force than you expected. Joel’s grin stretched even wider.

“Attention and discipline,” he mused aloud, “Two things dad never gave his little girl growin’ up, I see.”

Before you could reply, he was squeezing your face even tighter and nodding his head, as if already anticipating your answer. Then, somehow lower, “Such a filthy mouth on her, too. Never knows when to keep it shut and how to be polite to someone who fucked her so nice already.”

You might’ve whimpered if you didn’t also want to throat punch the motherfucker and knee him in the balls. When Joel started stroking your cheek, you groaned instead, and you hoped he would hear it as chagrin, not arousal.

“I can help with both of those, y’know—” His thumb rubbed a little harder, and his leg moved up. You pressed your hands flat to his thigh to keep him from teasing, but the man would do no such thing to oblige you. In fact, he just shifted his leg back and forth…and back, again. A ripple of bliss from the friction sparked low inside you.

“I can give you attention, and I can scrub that mouth clean if that’s what you really need,” Joel continued, “Just say the word, darlin’.”

“Fucker.” That was your word.

And it worked well enough for Joel.

In the next instant, he had you half-carried, half-dragged across the deck and thrown onto the table where you’d lost that dreaded game of stack. Solo cups still littering the surface, and puddles of beer soaking in through your dress, you made a sound of disgust and tried to thrust yourself up, just to fail. You squirmed and swatted at the man standing in front of you, who easily kept you pinned to the surface with one palm laid calmly on your belly.

He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his lighter and cigarette pack.

“Someone could catch us,” you hissed, helpless, unsure of what else to say to show you weren’t giving in just yet.

Joel lit up in four seconds flat. He sucked in a breath.

“I roped off the stairs coming up,” he replied.

He what?

You moved back, slowly, on the surface when Joel worked a hand to his belt buckle, and you heard half a dozen plastic cups fall to the floor behind you.

You would not be his date’s sloppy seconds—ever.

Joel yanked at your thighs and pulled you back to be straddling his hips, shrugging his pants down; you couldn’t bear to keep looking when he lowered his briefs.

He took another drag and eyed you hungrily, happy to see you all sprawled out and pretty before him. The tight fabric of your dress had cinched over your hips and left you bare to just panties, making him grow even harder.

“Joel.”

He worked his dick out of his pants and moved the head to trail slow along the seam of your barely-clothed cunt. Even through the lace, he could feel how wet you were. He notched the tip at the space where your panties had parted just slightly to the side and felt your arousal pool even wetter around the end of his member. He grunted.

“Joel, I—”

“Daddy’s gonna give ya attention, sugar. Hold still.”

You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You splayed your fingers over the hand that was trying to guide his cock into you and clenched your jaw—every carnal fibre in your being telling you not to do what you were about to try anyway.

“You fucked her didn’t you?”

Joel flicked the ash off his cigarette, “No.”

“You brought her here.”

“Had to.”

Your face was flushed and likewise flooded with smoke, curling slow from Joel’s lips before it painted the air an opaque, muddied grey above you. You wriggled your hips away from his, and for once, he didn’t try to stop you.

“I saw you tucking your shirt in. Tommy said you fucked!”

“Tommy’s about one fry short of a Happy Meal, honey,” Joel puffed once more, “He’s always sayin’ shit like that.”

Incredibly, he’d managed to use about a dozen funny words in that old Texas lilt and still say so little to actually answer your question. When the pinch in your brow told him you weren’t quite satisfied, Joel let out a sigh.

“Ash spilled pebre on my shirt. I had to change.”

Oh.

“And you—” you started.

“—have no fuckin’ right to know, one way or the other, because you’re the one who said we’d just ‘fuck and forget it,’ remember?” Joel interrupted, reminding you of your own curt words from your Bronco boning session.

Again, you tried to speak and found yourself spoken for, Joel carrying on as casual as ever as he sucked the last life-breath from his cig and stared you down, cynically.

“Your dad’s the one who made me bring her tonight. Said I seemed ‘down’ since the last gal I fucked wasn’t around—I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his daughter—and here we are,” Joel smiled, wryly, and flicked his cigarette into the lake. You would’ve liked to tell him littering was a crime that trashed us all but refrained.

You were too busy staring at his lips, wondering why he hadn’t kissed you yet. You reckoned all the pea flinging, swearing, and swinging might’ve played a small part.

At length, Joel slid a new American Spirit out of its pack and wrangled you back to his hips as he lit up again.

“Happy?” he said, after a beat.

You weren’t sure whether to nod or cross your arms. Beckon him in with both hands or kick his bunched-up pants, belt, and boxer briefs away altogether and keep the bratty act going. You didn’t like being wrong.

At any rate, it didn’t matter. He’d called you on your bluff.

Still smoking, still smiling, still happy as a clam at high tide, Joel pressed his length straight up to your folds and watched you squirm on the wood underneath him.

“Gonna listen now?” he hummed.

“Uh-huh.”

Good, his wretchedly deep brown eyes seemed to say. Good that you were here, good that you were spread wide and supine beneath him, good that you’d gone all soft and pliable under his touch and were watching him now with a look that said you’d let him do just anything.

Good that he could fuck you.

Great that he wasn’t planning to—not fully, anyway.

Joel wasted no time taking your answer in the affirmative to slip past your panties and push deep inside your sweet cunt. When your walls stretched and cried all around him, he sighed and gripped your legs even tighter. He gritted the cigarette between his teeth and brought your ankles to rest over his shoulders, sinking in even deeper. Then he had to hold steady inside you and keep you flat on the table in front of him, and just when you whined to fuck me now, Joel, fuck me right now, daddy, please, he stilled. He took a big, long drag and didn’t move an inch.

He’d teach you some discipline one way or another.

“Joel, please,” you groaned again, hands bracing the table to start fucking up and down on his shaft, before he put a stop to that fast and held you firmly in place, “Please, Joel, I need you so fucking bad, daddy, please.”

Joel tapped his ash to the side and ignored your pleas.

He felt your walls contract around him and tried not to grunt. He focused instead on the smoke overhead.

“Wanna say that nicer?” he asked, deadpan. Then, staring expectantly down at you, while you flushed and struggled to stay still, “Keep that mouth a little cleaner?”

Fuck, did he have that father-figure tone down to a T.

You laid there before him and almost forgot his cock was wedged inside you for a second. He seemed so sincere.

“I wan— want you to move, daddy, I-I-I don’t know how else to say i— FUCK!” Your pussy spasmed around him when the tip of his pubic bone grazed your clit. That squeaky clean mouth of yours was nowhere to be seen.

“Mhmm,” Joel nodded anyway, pretending to be observing your behavior as he might for a clinical trial. Like he was testing a new drug, not his dick inside your cunt, practically clenching in Morse code around him.

“Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?”

You could. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he was buried so deep inside you seemed to be a far harder task than you could’ve ever expected, though.

Joel sensed it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leaned over your body and dug his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting some modicum of friction. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulsed inside you like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes rolled back.

“Fucking shitsucking DICK BITCH CUNT! FUCK!”

Sounding every bit the uncouth novice in a COD lobby chat circa 2009, you knew you didn’t have the faintest hope of earning Joel’s strokes now. You hated yourself for it—and Joel, too, for subjecting you to such cruel and unusual punishment for just needing to fuck him hard.

You were desperate and heated. Five seconds away from yanking your sex off of his and going to town with your own fingers, you felt a palm press down on your tummy.

Damn Joel and his super-sized hands.

You could barely breathe, much less pry yourself off.

Joel was quiet and calm. Stuffing you full and puffing away at his cigarette the whole time. He smirked.

“Ain’t that difficult, honey,” he said, hardly losing his will or his sympathy when you shot a raw glance his way, “Stay still on this cock and ask daddy nicely, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

He could tell by the look in your eyes you couldn’t stand to play nice—but needed to cum. He watched you swallow your pride, soften your eyes just a bit, and when you felt you might implode from all the feeling, whined,

“Please make me feel good, daddy, please, I need it.”

Joel breathed and eased back just an inch, lowering his hand to thumb softly at your clit. You keened.

“That’s my sweet girl.”

Still just rubbing that bundle and looking down while you came unraveled, Joel thought you perfectly sublime. He’d kill to keep you there like that, eyes rolling and skin soaking the table beneath you both in sweat and arousal. He stared down at the place your bodies were connected—a sliver of his cock visible and soaked with your juices—and he felt a wave of desire crest over his mind. Panting, quietly, he brought one hand to your hip and kept the other working furiously over your clit, trying to ignore the urge to rut inside you. It was self-discipline for him, too.

He wouldn’t let you know that yet, though.

He crushed the cigarette between his teeth and kept still.

“Ya like that, sugar? Like daddy stuffed inside this pussy, makin’ ya beg real pretty for me?” His husky Southern drawl ran like molasses off his tongue, thicker now when he was balls-deep and half-drunk off your cunt.

You watched his mouth, intrigued, and saw a long line of spit drip deliciously from those pretty, stubbled lips of his to your lower ones, making the spot more filthy and warm as your fluids mixed together. Still, Joel didn’t move a thing more than his thumb—but the sounds from you both were growing louder and more desperate.

The gentle squelch of spit, sweat, and arousal running all down your pussy, paired with those noises you made when you were feeling this good and squeezing him tight, was enough to send Joel straight over the edge. Now he didn’t have the strokes or any motion to focus on before him, just you—he flicked his cigarette away the second he sensed you were getting close yourself.

“Sweet little thing,” he cooed, still rubbing in circles, “How’s my baby feelin’?”

You clawed at the table beneath you and knocked your head back once or twice on the wood, humming a quick, ‘Good, daddy, good’ in the most hoarse and pathetic voice you’d ever used, and Joel smiled. You hadn’t cursed out loud in a minute and seemed to be taking his touches well. He’d have to give you some form of reward.

Gently, Joel pulled back and made a shallow thrust inside you. Both your body and his jolted with pleasure.

“FU—n stuff, fun stuff,” you hissed, trying hard to mask the expletive.

In truth, Joel was struggling too. Just one stroke inside you and that coil inside him was about ready to burst.

“Fun, huh?” he teased, keeping his motions down to quick pistons as he laid his palms flat on either side of your head, “Daddy make ya feel fun-ny, does he?”

“Yeah, he does, he— ah, SHIT right there, right there!”

Evidently, he’d found your G spot.

Joel stilled inside you as soon as the foul word escaped.

You whined. Loud. Almost tempted to burst into tears.

“Nononono, that doesn’t count, Joel! That doesn’t—” Your voice was shortly supplanted by a whimper when the man went back to thumbing your clit, hips rendered still once more and cock wedged deep inside your core.

“What’s it gonna take to make you behave for me, huh? Do I have to talk to your daddy again?” Joel seethed.

You shook your head quick and felt him circle your clit even harder, more punishing now. Your body craved the friction from his cock but could barely contain the words that were coming out now. You pinched your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and whimpered gently, desperately, ‘Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.’

Whether it came down to making terrible plays at stack cup or getting your clit torn apart by Joel’s thumb, you simply could not keep the filthy language at bay.

You weren’t going to listen, that much was clear.

Joel had no choice but to make you learn a different way.

So, prying his fingers and his cock from your cunt, he reached across for your hips instead—pulling you off of the table and pushing you down to the floor, at his feet.

He smoothed a palm over the top of your head and fisted your hair in one hand, his cock in the other, and brought his hot, swollen, slick-coated length within an inch of your face, stroking fast.

Your gaze flitted from the sight in front of you to Joel’s eyes, back and forth, stunned and in utter disbelief. As you felt your own climax crumble and recede from you at once, the sound jumped up your throat before you could stop,

“What the FUCK is your problem, Joel?!”

“There it is,” Joel just flared his nostrils as he jerked himself above you, “There’s that nasty fuckin’ mouth.”

He pulled your head even rougher and tipped your chin back to meet the scowl on his face. Pleasure had almost swallowed the man whole, yet his expression scarcely betrayed a trace of it, eyes cold and jaw clenched tight.

“If that mouth can’t be good for me, can it open real wide and show me how a dirty slut does it?”

You were beside yourself. Holding his gaze like a bomb might go off in his brain any second—something you’d be happy to see—you scowled as well. Begrudgingly, and knowing Joel wouldn’t ease off of this punishment until he’d made you pay for your language, you nodded.

“What’s’at?” Joel snapped, stroking himself even faster, “What do ya want me to do, sugar?”

You gritted your teeth and silently wished they were crushing his balls to powder between them.

“Want…you…to cum…on my face.”

“Little louder, sweet pea, can’t hear ya from up here.”

The sound of his palm working over his cock again and again, shimmery and slick with your arousal soaking it, was almost too much to bear. You watched, forlorn and silently boiling with rage as Joel stared down at you, as merciless as he’d ever been. Mocking, almost, it seemed.

“Want you to…cum on me, please.”

“One more time, darlin’,” Joel pressed, pupils blown wide with desire, “Be real sweet and say it one more time f—”

“I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY FACE, YOU FUCKER.”

That sparked the first real smile on Joel’s lips you’d seen in a while, and then he was watching you cockily, nodding.

Before you could even think to blink, stand up, or storm off again, you felt a fat, sticky-wet glob of warmth hit your cheek. Then another. Then another. Then another. You winced and flinched back, but Joel held your head in place, in front of his cock, and gripped you firmly as he unloaded rope after rope of his cum all over your face.

By the time he was finished, your skin was glistening. Coated in the stuff and still blinking through strings of the hot, sticky mess as Joel stood over you, chest heaving fast as he pumped himself through his release.

Must be fucking nice.

When the downpour had slowed to a trickle, two thick fingers swiped at a dollop of cum on your cheek. Then, wordlessly, they moved down to your mouth.

“Open,” Joel commanded.

You’d barely parted your lips a quarter of an inch when he pushed both digits inside. Swirled them around in your mouth and made sure to cover every soft, wet contour and crevice before pulling out with a pop.

He wiped at your other spend-streaked cheek and repeated the action, plunging his fingers in and out of your mouth to make sure you cleaned him thoroughly. This was more of an act meant to tease than anything else, you knew, almost demeaning in the way he stood there and nodded his head while murmuring, ‘’Atta girl.’

You hated how much you liked that stupid show of dominance—and, even worse, how good he tasted.

Joel brushed your tongue with another fingerful and watched you bob your head in time. He hummed his approval and scanned your face for any spend left over.

There was a lot. He paused, as if considering something.

“Drop ‘em.” Joel motioned to the straps of your dress.

You did as he said and pulled both bands down at once. When your breasts spilled out of the fabric, you watched Joel lower his gaze and, fixating on the spot you’d just exposed to him, take two—no, three—careful fingers to collect the remainder of himself and spread it downward.

Joel took his cum and smeared it all over your tits.

He was equal parts meticulous, gentle, and gratuitous in doing so, and he took pleasure in every second.

With a heavy-lidded, glossy gaze trained unwaveringly on your chest, Joel rolled each nipple between forefinger and thumb and fell into a trance. Rubbed you up and down every inch he could find and groaned at the sight. Glazing your skin all over with him and savoring it.

You couldn’t deny the feeling of being marked in a way so degrading, dirty, and adoring at once had a dizzying effect on you, too. The look in his eyes, and the soft brush of his fingers, almost quelled your rage entirely.

Almost.

When Joel pulled your spaghetti straps back into place—and you, in turn, back onto your feet—you yanked away. Forcefully. While Joel straightened up, silently cursed his bad back, tucked his dick in his pants, and started to reach for your waist, you jabbed the fastest, fattest, fuck-your-whole-family middle finger in his face and took off.

“Honey—”

“Don’t.”

“But I—”

“Have some goddamn fucking nerve.”

You’d nearly made it to the staircase again, heels turning to start down the first steps, when Joel sidestepped at lightning speed and blocked off your passage. All you saw then was the front of a starch white dress shirt and a light patch of chest hair peeking out from the highest button, crowding your vision, moving in time with every manoeuvre you tried to make around him. He smelled like sweat and fresh citrus. Perhaps a hint of vengeance.

You wouldn’t meet his gaze when he grabbed your face. Tried to shrug him off when he made as if to pull you into a hug—‘Are you off your shit?! Are you?! People are right downstairs’—and Joel just smiled. Grinned like a jackass eating briars, about five times too smug for his own good, and drew you into his chest by gentle turns.

You weren’t sure why you recoiled when he kissed you.

Hell, you’d done it a dozen times before—albeit a bit more frantically, in a way to say ‘I need to fuck you’ when words just wouldn’t suffice—but this one was different. Deeper. Joel was gripping both sides of your face and still grinning as he kissed you, feeling your muscles slacken some and your frame meld gently into his.

You hated it.

“I missed you,” Joel murmured between kisses.

Hated him.

“How’s my baby been, huh?”

Oh, you know, just waiting. Hating you a little. Hoping we didn’t inadvertently create a baby ourselves, courtesy of your prehistoric condoms.

“I missed you.” Gently. Again.

You tensed in his hold when his lips trailed down to your neck. You felt a low flutter. It was like your feet had been glued to the floor and your tongue left wholly immobile; you let Joel caress, kiss, and whisper down your skin like every cell beneath his touch wasn’t seething en masse.

Your stolen climax. Broken condom. Close call with your father and Tommy. Radio silence ongoing for days.

You couldn’t wrap your head around any of it, or him, or how grossly inconsistent the man’s every move upon you now seemed to be with the way he’d acted all week.

Joel slowly descended your body.

“Like I said, honey…you fuck with my head,” he said soft against your dress, then your legs, then the space in between them.

“Makes two of us,” you grumbled back.

You braced your weight against the railing over the stairs just behind you when he slipped your panties to the floor. Then he tucked them snug into one of his back pockets and brought his face to your wet, aching core.

“Discipline doesn’t come easy, does it?” It sounded like something trapped between a question and a declarative coming out from the side of Joel’s mouth.

Fortunately for you, he didn’t try to clarify which of the two he meant, or do much else at all except eat your pussy from that point on. He kissed your thighs, gripped them tighter, then wedged his face between them while you held fast to the metal behind you. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your cunt.

You didn’t have to like the man to love what his mouth could do for you, you silently reminded yourself.

Love it you could—and would. Without shame.

Granted, you were still sensitive as all hell from your last almost-orgasm of the night, but Joel knew how to work his lips and tongue around it. He swiftly lapped between your folds, teased a finger at your hole, and wrapped his warm lips around your clit to suck once or twice, and you were damn near ready to spiral in seconds. You fisted the soft salt-and-pepper hair at the top of his head and rutted your hips in short, shallow motions against him.

“Good girl,” Joel crooned, welcoming each thrust with another swirl of his tongue, “That’s my sweet baby.”

“Joel.”

You traded expletives for the simple repetition of his name, not wanting the pleasure to stop. Joel hummed and sucked and held your legs around him even tighter.

You sighed, almost whined, and dug your fingertips into his scalp, feeling your climax building quick inside you.

Joel’s mouth was working faster, sucking harder, drawing smaller and crueler circles, lapping eagerly against your arousal and giving it everything he had, it seemed, to work you up to your release. He grunted when you yanked hard on his hair but didn’t stop.

In fact, the bastard just kept trying to talk you through it, fluid movements of his own tongue and lips be damned.

“Doin’ so damn good for me, sweet pea, keep goin’.” There was an apology in there somewhere, working hard to atone for the orgasm he’d denied you right before.

Four more flicks of his tongue and a gentle endeavor to pump his fingers in and out, again and again, right above that soft, spongy pad of pleasure deep inside had you teetering over the edge of a cliff.

You tore your gaze from Joel for a second, preparing for that sweet and lusty consummation, when your head turned to the side just slightly. You almost groaned.

Your own hot, flushed, and fucked-out reflection was the first thing to greet you in a sliver of a mirror on the wall. Just beneath you, as you could’ve expected, there was Joel—kneeling between your legs with his chin tipped up, beard coated in moisture and pleasure and warmth. You weren’t sure why the sight from this angle had such a strong effect, but something about the full view of your bodies in motion gave your stomach a pinch. A burn. You ogled the glass and made a sound audibly higher in pitch than a whimper as Joel suckled and tongued at your clit.

You came just like that—gripping the rails, fisting his hair, rutting your hips, and staring implacably at that mirror.

When Joel resurfaced, you were still fully transfixed.

Gawking at how fucking nice he looked between your thighs. How filthy it all was to be seated on his face and cumming for his tongue while the rest of your father’s dinner party mingled blissfully unaware downstairs.

When you saw Joel rise, you jerked your head back.

You weren’t sure why it felt like being caught, but it did.

Just as you began to murmur some half-assed apology his way, you felt hands on your hips and a rock-hard bulge at your rear as Joel spun you round in front of him.

He shoved you flush against the mirror so your tits were pressed up to the glass. He gave you a quick once-over.

Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and shimmied the fabric down your chest, once again.

With your breasts splayed out in front of you and your hands pressing hard on the mirror—as if letting up the slightest bit might send you straight through it—you tried to crane your neck. You felt the sticky squelch of cum and fresh spit painted over your chest, muddying up the glass with every movement you made. Your chin dug deep in your shoulder as you cocked your head to the left, eyes searching for Joel’s behind you.

You heard the clink of a belt, followed by a rustle of fabric. Then a hand slamming close beside your head on the mirror, while another worked industriously to free his cock from the confines of his trousers once more.

“Joel,” you breathed, still tender from your climax.

“Hm?”

He was gruff as he rubbed and smacked your bare ass with his cock. Let it rest on the soft, fleshy shelf between you two and teased his length over that space.

“Did someone take his little blue pill today?” you teased.

“Fuck off.” You saw a flicker of a smirk in the mirror.

No way Joel Miller was getting a full-fledged erection twice in the same ten minute span. That shit didn’t happen outside the realm of porn flicks and a woman’s wildest fantasies when it came to men Joel’s age. He knew it just as well as you but tried to feign indifference when he pressed the head of himself to your folds. He did, however, suck in a breath at the new sensation.

He could do this.

He could cockwarm you raw, tonguefuck your cunt, ravage and render you all but brainless on the surface of that mirror, and still have the wits about himself to take another breath. He could show those shit-for-brains college boys he’d been battling for days in the depths of his mind how much better he could fuck you than them.

Really, Joel was just manifesting at this point.

He hadn’t busted a nut and fucked this quick since Bill Clinton had been in office. All hat and no cattle whatsoever for this pussywhipped cowboy.

“Better hope I go easy on ya, sugar.”

“Best believe I won’t.” You would’ve winked if you weren’t so bone-crushingly aroused and fresh off your peak.

Joel had just chuckled, more than a touch nervous, and began rubbing your warmth to coat himself in it—angling his slightly apprehensive penis up to your cunt when you straightened some. Rather than keep your tits to the mirror, you chose to press your back against him, ass snug to his front and eyes roaming wildly over the reflection of your two forms. Both of you flinched when the head of his cock hitched around your entrance.

Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat just over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin.

“Gotta be the sweetest thing I ever seen,” he whispered into your ear. Meeting your gaze in the mirror and lifting his hips just so before breaching your folds.

He hoped you’d take it for sweetness and not just a vicious strain of anxiety or weakness as he prepared for the first thrust. He’d need a second, a minute—maybe a goddamned hour, if he was being real honest. You were too damn pretty to be fucked by a two-pump chump.

Joel nudged his nose against your ear and tried to stall. Pausing a beat.

“Never been humped and dumped before, yaknow.”

Wait—the fuck?

That came out wrong.

You cocked a brow and tilted your hips. You didn’t seem keen on talking but had no choice but to humor him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you hummed.

Joel balked at his own stupidity, trying, and failing, to remove his foot from his mouth and remedy his words.

“I mean, I— I get it,” he returned, too fast for his liking, “I’m no texter myself, I just…thought, uh, maybe—”

“Miller. Spit it out.”

Your body was all but leaking arousal before him and the man was trying to divert the conversation to…phones?

Joel winced.

Felt his member deflate with embarrassment just a bit.

NO! No. No. Just…fuck. Stay hard. Please, stay hard.

He’d done it to himself. Tried to hamper sex for a second too long just to give his dick a fighting chance at survival and ended up mucking things up supremely. Per usual.

“You never texted me back.” He sounded blunt now. Rushed.

Joel watched you raise both eyebrows.

“Texted you back?” you scoffed.

“Yeah…texted, called, snipchatted, whatever.”

Your face didn’t change despite the glaring Gen X error.

“You never texted me, Joel!”

What?

Suddenly, the dick wedged between your legs and hovering over your cunt seemed to be the last thing either of you could be bothered to worry about.

“I’ve…been texting you all week. Called a few times too.”

“Like hell you have. You ghosted me and went off the grid this whole fuckin’ week—Tommy said so, too.”

Joel cringed again to hear his brother’s name brought up in this context and shook his head. You were wrong.

“512-867-5309. Been trying to talk to you all goddamn week, see how you were, and you never responded,” he said, indignation creeping into his tone against his will.

At last, your expression dropped.

From furious to frowning to just fucking annoyed. Your lips were drawn tight in a line across your face.

“My number is 512-867-5305, dipshit.”

“Huh?”

“5 at the end, not a 9.”

“…No.”

“Yeah…”

Shit.

Joel Miller had made his fair share of flubs in his life, but fucking up the phone number of his best friend’s daughter whose pussy he’d accidentally cum inside the week before seemed almost criminal. Too fucking asinine and rookie-level dense to ever recover from. He blinked.

“Thought you…hated my fuckin’ guts,” he confessed.

You threw your hands up in disbelief, frustration. Fury.

“I do— believe me, I do,” you snapped, “But not for that.”

‘That’ meaning the last time you two bumped uglies. Joel wasn’t sure whether to take heart or step back.

“What’s’at mean?” he asked.

You pushed your feet a little further apart on the floor and pressed back into Joel. He took that as a decidedly good sign and reached for your hip. Then took his cock, again, which had invariably twitched and swelled up at the smallest motion from you.

“Means we’ve got plenty of reasons to hate each other, but fuckin’ ain’t one of ‘em,” you shrugged, angling your ass in the perfect place for penetration. Joel was just about back to full-mast and buzzing as you spoke, “I can get over the whole…old dude taboo—you being dad’s friend and all—I just couldn't stand the thought of you leaving me in the lurch when shit got weird at the end.”

‘Weird’ meaning risky. Virulent. Damn near catastrophic if it ever came to be that one of Joel's swimmers had latched onto one of your eggs and knocked you up. The fear of pregnancy, and every bloodcurdling, awkward conversation to ensue, had been amplified tenfold by the thought that Joel didn't even care one way or the other and couldn't be bothered to text, call, or otherwise show that he didn't totally regret what you'd done in his car. You could handle a clean break, but leaving it on such uncertain terms had been torture. At length, you sighed.

Joel was nosing behind your ear now, a bit less tense.

A little more laid-back and warm this time around, as he, like you, had gotten to exhale a breath of relief realizing that neither of you had deliberately tried to fuck the other over, or ghost, just yet. You'd been pissed at him all night, and he'd been busy barraging a perfect stranger somewhere in Austin with strings of texts and calls all week, but the two of you were ultimately OK. For now.

“But you still hate me, huh?” Joel spoke low against your skin and felt you soften just a little.

You nodded, careful not to slacken too much.

“Mhmm.”

Now Joel was almost glad to have taken that brief, heated detour, because his dick had made a complete comeback and was aching to tease you some more. He grabbed the base of his length and slotted it slow as ever between your folds. Rolled his hips forward and pushed you both a little closer to the mirror. One of your hands flew up to steady yourself, and Joel’s hand followed. He laid his palm over the back of yours and pressed in.

“It’d be a real shame if you do,” he said, smirking as he notched the tip of his cock just within the tight ring of muscles at the groove of your cunt, “For a second there I was starting to think you might’ve liked fucking me, too.”

In the next second, Joel was easing inside you. Feeling you arch into the motion and grabbing hold wherever he could across your front, he pulled you into his chest and felt a streak of coarse pleasure lick up the full length of his spine. Your walls were squeezing him in a brand new way, a novel position, and he was starting to fear there wasn't any place he could fuck you that wouldn't send him veering for release within his first two strokes inside.

He bucked his hips a little something like an amateur, he thought, getting used to taking you like this. You were moaning, holding his fingers between your own atop the mirror as you squeezed your pussy tight around his cock, and he hoped that meant you hadn't minded the few stuttered, desperate strokes he'd delivered at first.

“I love…fucking you, Joel,” you seethed at last.

Then, wordless as it was pointed, finding his gaze in your reflection, ‘I still hate you, Miller. There’s a difference.’

He slammed into your ass and quickly got the sense that you liked it this fast—loving, lusting, or despising him otherwise. Almost needed it a bit frantic and rapid-fire when he was fucking you from the back, he reckoned.

Joel looked you in the eye from his view behind you in the mirror and saw it clear as day. He almost grinned.

You were wildly fucked out and in need of quick release.

For once in his life, he could oblige you on that, easy.

He slid his cock in and out, rutting much quicker than he ever thought you’d want it, and he grunted. Slipped a hand between your thighs and felt you pulse around him, involuntarily, when his fingers found your clit. He could tell by that grip, and those febrile little whimpers, that you were loving this just as much as him and probably were as close, if not closer, to a new, shuddering climax.

Joel plunged deep inside your cunt and drew you closer.

Taking your throat in one hand, he nudged your body into the glass and smirked, drunk with the feel of you.

“Ya like it when I fill this pussy, huh? Love feeling me deep inside this needy little hole?” he murmured, slow and taking care to draw out the syllables in each word.

You nodded that you did. Rocked your hips back to meet his thrusts and moaned.

“I love it, daddy,” you managed weakly, “Love it so much.”

The fingers at your clit increased in speed, and Joel rutted into you even harder, relishing the soft squelch between your bodies as he moved. Then he reached for a fistful of your hair and, instead of pulling back like he might normally have done, he pushed in. He pressed your face in the mirror, turned to the side, and pistoned his hips even faster. Felt your moans spill out across the glass and mix with his own, and he couldn’t help but let a raw, primal impulse take over his thrusts—and tongue.

“You make the prettiest fuckin’ noises, y’know that?” Joel breathed, hunched over and close to your ear.

Before you could so much as acknowledge his praises, bob your head, or moan in response, he shifted the hand in your hair again. This time turning your face toward the mirror, he brought your lips within inches of the glass and made you watch him fuck you, again and again.

You trailed your gaze over your full reflection and almost whined out loud, ripe with desire and ready to cum just seeing how good he looked as he took you from behind.

With his brow furrowed, pupils blown, hair a fucking mess, lips parting slightly with the strain of every grunt and moan, and hips rolling repeatedly, furiously into your own, Joel looked about as handsome as you thought you’d ever seen him. You felt the soft nudge of his tummy behind you, the tightened grip on your hip and in your hair, and within seconds, you were nearly there.

“My pretty. fuckin’. girl—” Joel managed through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a thrust, “—and her pretty. fuckin’. moans.” Then, bringing his beaming, sweaty expression right next to yours in the mirror, “Ready to cum for me, pretty girl?”

You curled your toes into the floor and nodded, slotting your fingers through his own when he planted a hand above you again,

“So— so close, daddy.”

Joel squeezed your fingers back. Kept your faces damn near side-by-side in the mirror and relished the marked change in your features when he grazed that spot inside. You let out the filthiest, fuckdrunk moan and didn’t need another stroke—you came around his cock with a tight, pulsing spasm, seizing his hand, rocking your hips back into his hard as the pleasure washed over your body.

Joel’s cock absorbed every last delicate throb, hot and heavy enough to send the man spiraling himself. He braced his front tight against your body and kept fucking you through your release, groaning a vicious, desperate bout when he felt that deep-seated urge to spill his seed.

Fuck. He’d have to pull out. Now.

Just as his own climax was close at hand—close as he could ever, or should ever feel it while still inside you—Joel reached down for your hip to pull out and cum all over your ass, but he was brought to a stop. Swiftly.

To his surprise, it was you pulling off of him—sliding off his cock and dropping to your knees as if to take him in your mouth.

Thank fuck.

Joel grabbed his dick as quick as he possibly could and moved to start stroking himself over your face, when your hand closed around his own. Stopping him. Again.

You grinned.

Feeling the slightest twinge of retributive pleasure at seeing him like this, just like he’d had you, your smile stretched even bigger. Joel could’ve wept at the sight.

You brought your lips to his cock and grazed it, barely.

“Wanna try something fun?”

He knew better than to let a moan slip at a time like this.

Not when he was sitting at the dinner table; not when he was surrounded by the people he knew and loved the most. Not when he was celebrating his best friend’s fifty-first birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter was currently perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye at the party but his.

Joel lifted the tablecloth. He almost came on the spot.

This was your idea of ‘fun.’

Payback by any other name would’ve smelled as sweet.

Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel couldn’t help but ache for reprieve, or else a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgot all sense of decorum and simply went to town on that pretty little face of yours. But, as it was, the rest of the party was totally oblivious to your absence, and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.

That would come later.

No, now he would let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’d let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you got to set—and he wouldn’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure. Maybe making him squirm just a little, too.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wanted something done his way. The room was dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel would gladly take the risk.

‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’

‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’

‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’

He didn’t have to speak a word of it out loud for you to know what he meant. What he needed. You loosened your jaw and stretched your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazed your tonsils.

“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel said aloud.

You froze.

Then, without missing a beat, you heard him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,

“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”

Sick fuck. You continued to suck him anyway.

One hand braced tight against Joel’s leg and the other moved shamelessly between your own, and you tried not to moan, but the sound escaped anyway. No one heard it, but Joel felt it reverberate down his shaft, and he gripped his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shot him a curious look from across the table but said nothing.

“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grinned beside him.

“What?” Joel faltered. Set his drink aside carefully.

Down below, you dragged your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunted.

“The wine,” Tommy said, still smiling, “You must love it.”

Joel let out another strangled breath that he tried to pass off as a chuckle and nodded.

“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admitted.

And that was the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you knelt down to blow him, it was still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you knew it.

Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man was enrapt. Too spellbound to turn down your offer of sucking him dry under the dinner table just minutes after he’d almost cum all over your face, Joel was in it, and he was in it deep. It was just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that made him loath to admit it. At any rate, he had your tongue licking strips up his cock and felt a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Neither would you.

Joel couldn’t see it then, but you’d practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’d been rubbing your clit—ignoring his orders not to touch yourself there—so turned on from just sucking his dick and needing to feel relief while you selflessly, secretly pleased him beneath the table. While Joel reached for another draught of wine, you brought one hand to his balls and kept the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needed you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.

You guided him down to the furthest place in your throat, then pushed him even deeper. You gagged just slightly and felt a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb began to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.

‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’

You nodded that you did. Couldn’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you could feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.

You rutted your hips and just hoped no one dropped a fork nearby. Bucked desperately into your hand and felt the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you were whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.

Joel returned a quick smile from your father and cracked a joke about the Super Bowl. Raised his hips just the slightest bit and wiped one of your tear-soaked cheeks.

‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’

All you could do was cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he was giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body made it almost impossible to bear, but you obeyed your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sensed a blossoming desire crop up for something else.

You wanted to taste him as he blew his load in your mouth, flooded your tongue with his spend, and painted every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.

You needed him whole.

Your Joel.

In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reached his peak—Joel raised the tablecloth the slightest bit when Tommy wasn’t looking. His gaze locked on yours, and his tongue darted quick between his lips. He cocked a brow. Brushed his thumb again and looked down as if to say,

‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’

You gave a soft nod, and that was all he needed.

No sooner had you given him the green light than his cum went pulsing out in ropes, coating your throat and eventually your whole mouth as you held still and took it all.

There was so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that had been waiting to give your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’d started he just couldn’t stop. Above the table, your dad shot a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it took every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.

He’d filled so much of your mouth it was spilling out.

You tried to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just knew there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fucked up now. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt too afraid to even swallow.

“I just…came,” Joel started, and your head almost cracked on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinched back,

“—to the realization—”

“—that you…are so…motherfuckin’ old, my friend.”

Your father’s laugh was the first you heard, followed by Tommy, his friends, and a dozen other party guests.

The next thing you felt, to your complete and utter shock, was Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slid his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth had made in awe and started to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but aching to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.

A man who couldn’t risk a glimpse now, but wanted more than anything to see the mouth he’d just filled.

Your father’s words hadn’t even cooled in the air.

Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.

As the laughter subsided, and Tommy scooted back in his chair to take leave of your table, you felt a spark ignite. Whether it was yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane with the same thought, you couldn’t be sure, but you could make out the sound of a tablecloth flipping back up above you.

Joel slipped his dick out of your mouth and grinned. Took a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers were coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.

It was the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.

Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”

You thought you might like to see him that way forever.

Eyes honey-soft and glazed, thumb toying at your lip. Chest heaving up and down in time to your own breaths and growing ragged as you opened your mouth to him. He was sated and somehow unfulfilled—a bottomless pit of raw prurience as he stared down and held your gaze. Hair tousled, pants unbuckled, cock resting comfortably against your cheek, the man looked wonderfully undone and half in love with your sweet face peering up at him.

You couldn’t deny you loved doing this, too.

You’d just wished he saw Tommy before Tommy saw you.

[monarchofdreams]

Familial

This is my grandson, Joseph. He has always taken care of me since he was a little boy. I would always appreciate him helping me clean the house, walk to the kitchen, or even buy me groceries. When he was young, he loved to play sports. He'd say he'd grow big and strong just so he could help me. I was always so proud of him when he showed me his medals and trophies. Unfortunately, I was always too old and frail to see his football games. He did well with academics as well. He was athletic, intelligent, and not to mention his looks, but he was also gorgeous. I love him so much, but it bothered me to see him lonely. I mean, he's very popular and has plenty of friends. However, even with his good looks and charm, he doesn't have the confidence to ask a girl out. He would always say that he would never get a girl or they wouldn't want to date him. That's just ridiculous! He is wasting those amazing genetics. If I had thise looks back in my day, I'd have women from all over town begging to get into my pants. Fast forward a few years, I was stuck in a hospital bed waiting to kick the bucket, and Joseph was taking care of me. He's a grown adult with his own life, yet he never left me behind. He was devastated when I passed away. He locked himself in his room for days just to cry. I reached out to comfort him, but suddenly, in that moment, everything went blank.

Slowly, sound starts to return, and I can feel a draft against my skin, across my entire body. As I slowly open my eyes, I realize I am in my grandson's apartment. As I take in my new surroundings, my eyes drift toward my large arms and hands... they aren't mine! They are nicely tanned and without a wrinkle in sight! I have tattoos decorating my now bulging biceps. I am only wearing a pair of Nike briefs, fully exposed, leaving little to the imagination. I quickly ran to the bathroom, and to my disbelief, I was greeted by Joseph's reflection, displaying a shocked expression, but it was not long until that confusion shifted into curiosity and arousal.

I started to gently touch the soft skin of my face and torso, which was now blanketed in thick slabs of muscle mass. My hands glided down my chest, fondling my massive pecs and washboard abs. As I felt myself up, a massive bulge started begging for attention. I bit my lip as my hands began to move down, as if they had a mind of their own. My fingers glide across my pecs, brushing against my firm nipples. My body began to shudder the more I touched them. Damn, they are very sensitive. I felt my raging cock stiffen against my briefs, and a damp spot started to form. Without wasting more time, I quickly reached down the damp briefs, my hand breaking past webs of pre built up from the past few minutes. My fingers wrap around my manhood, but just barely. Holy shit, I am massive. I take my thumb nad massage my tip, feeling more slick juice coating my hands. Without warning, my hips suddenly buck forward, causing a soft masculine moan to escape my lips.

I haven't felt this good in years, and I am hungry for more. I continue to grind my cock against my massive rough hands, my breathing growing heavier with each pump. I can feel pressure building up as I get closer to finishing, but I won't allow this to end so soon. I release my hand from its cum soaked prison, and take a wiff of my spunk. It reaks of the musk of a true man. I feel my cock soften just enough to get my briefs to loosen its grip. I pull down the elastic, letting my 8 inches of pure manhood to spring out and breathe, dripping with white spunk and sweat. I know I'm taking this too far, violating Joseph's body, but I can't control myself. I wrapped my hand once again around my shaft and began pumping my that dick. As I pump, it continues to inflate an extra 2 inches in my hands. My rough hands stroke the ridges of my fuckstick, driving me insane with each pass. "Ooof. Oh fuck, yes..." My moans of pleasure grow louder and louder. Hearing the sexy voice of my grandson spout lude words from my mouth and feeling the base of his vocal chords vibrate within my throat is sending me over the edge. More and more pressure begin to build up as I feel cum rise up my piping hot rod. Nothing else mattered right now. Only thoughts of sex and pleasure filled my mind. My grandson's well-being was no longer a concern. "This is my body, Joseph. You love your grandpa, right? So I'm sure you'll be thrilled if I stay. You like that, don’t you? Ohhh, yes. Unnghh, " I yelp out in my new sexy voice as I reach my limit. "Im coming. Oh yes, baby, I'm coming. Nnnngg..." It was not long until my cock finally erupted, my white juice coating my sweaty body. The smell of musk continued to turn me on, and without hesitation, I brought my cum cover hand to my mouth, licking my fingers clean. The thick juices slid down my throat as I enjoyed the salty taste of my youth. My dick was still rock hard and leaking. I can really go for a second serving.

[tfboyzblog]

Mikey couldn’t believe it was working. That old spell book in his grandfather’s chest was for real. Holding Saul’s hand, he could feel a strange energy fill his body. 

“Holy shit lil’ dude” the older boy exclaimed. “Look at you!”  

Mike glanced to the side where he had his mirror and look at his reflection in shock. He was rapidly growing, almost reaching Saul’s height as a senior. His shirt felt increasingly constrictive as his arms bulged, chest muscles began to push the fabric, back widened. Take off the glasses and ditch the button-up and he could pass as part of the swimming team, or maybe the soccer team... 

“Wow...” was all he could muster in his new, slightly huskier voice. 

“Bro...” Saul nudged him, but the boy was too enraptured in his marvelous growth to notice the older boy begin to dwindle in height and lose much of his size. 

“Bro! I think you’re good for now! Let go!” Saul called louder this time, using his free arm to pull off Mikey’s hand from his own. 

“Oh!” Mikey exclaimed as he came to himself. “I’m sorry! I was so...” he began to mutter as his eyes went back to the mirror and his improved form “-amazed...” he concluded as he tried to move around in his too-small clothes. 

“Yeah... I noticed...” Saul commented in an annoyed tone as he lifted his arms to see how baggy his shirt was now. He silently appreciated the belt holding up his shorts. “Anymore and I’d come out of this looking like a middle schooler... “ 

Mikey looked at his friend, noticing how they practically saw eye to eye now, but the bulk and size the eighteen-year-old had before were gone. He’d still pass for a senior, maybe a junior, but a more average looking one now.  

He smirked. “Nah! You’re still a big boy.” He playfully patted him on the shoulder. “Besides, you’d probably be a cute middle schooler anyway.” He commented. 

“Don’t get any ideas, Mikey!” He pointed at Mike. “Don’t make me regret this!” 

Mikey nodded. “Don’t worry! I promise I won’t.” He hugged his friend, feeling the new power in his arms. If he wanted, he thought, he could hold Saul like that with minimal effort. It felt good. During his strong hug he could swear he felt a poke against his leg, but as he let go, he could see nothing out of the ordinary, aside from what could be a slight blush on Saul’s heavy tanned skin. 

“Thank you! I mean it!” Mikey said. “I just need to stop being kicked around by Hank and his imbecile posse. And now,” he attempted to flex a bicep, but stopping as soon as he started hearing a tear in the fabric “I can! And all thanks to you.” 

“Yeah yeah! I know I’m awesome!” Saul waved. “Just give me back my...” he looked up and down to the burgeoning athlete in dork clothes “you know, everything, next week. That should be enough...”  

“Don’t worry.” Mike said with a wink. “I’ll put your... everything to good use!” 

-- 

Saul left soon after and Mikey thanked the heavens. He couldn’t stand in these terribly tight clothes anymore! His shirt, his socks, but more urgent yet, his underwear. 

Taking off his button shirt with effort, Mikey was in awe of his new sculpted pecs protruding from his chest, he caressed them and followed down to an immaculate row of abs connecting to his waist. He pulled off the trousers, that now looked like they were close to tearing at the seams. His legs were wide and powerful. His feet looked bigger, even. And gazing up he stopped at his poor white briefs, pushing and compressing an impressive bulge. 

“Wow...” He moaned. “I guess I got some of Saul’s ‘other’ size too...” He thought as he pulled down the last piece of constrictive clothes. A long, girthy semi erect dick whipped out of the small nerdy briefs. “I must be, like... 7 inches now!” Mikey said, grabbing his newly improved fuckstick. It felt heavy in his hand, being accustomed to his 4 incher. “Poor Saul.” He thought, making a note to return him his size as soon as he could. 

“But for now...” He smirked and flexed his huge biceps. His dick twitched at the sight. “I want to enjoy the ride.” 

-- 

Saul was getting restless. The week was almost over and not a word for his neighbor. Mikey was always a good kid, and he was tired of hearing how he was constantly getting bullied by some idiot jocks... 

He looked at his mirror. He missed his muscles and the size he used to carry, but he couldn’t help thinking how he kinda looked cuter with a bit less meat in his bones, more of an average but still charming high school boy. He felt a tingle in his lower area, making him rethink all of that. If he knew Mikey’s weird spell would also drain away his size down there, he’d probably reconsider being a donor. Even in his boxers, there was hardly any bump in the front. His healthy looking 6 incher, now closer to 4, at most... 

Suddenly there was a strong knock at the door. 

Mikey! It had to be him! 

Saul flew down the stairs, only in a baggy t-shirt and boxers. He wasn’t prepared for who was waiting on the other side of the door. 

A hulking muscular beast walked in. “Hey there little dude.” He said in a deep voice as he looked down at Saul. “Did you get smaller since I last see you?” 

“Mikey?” Saul asked incredulous. This muscle god was at least 7 feet tall by now, his massive chest barely covered by a tank top, strong thick arms stretched behind his head exposing a pair of sweaty and moderately hairy pits. The monster smirked at Saul, and it was clear it was his friend’s face. More masculine, more defined, perfect skin instead of the normal zits, a killer smile... 

“I go by Mike now. Mikey was giving people the impression I was some tiny nerd or something.” He brings one of his arms down and casually adjusts his crotch. “And there’s nothing tiny here, right?” He laughs.  

Saul could see the outline of the massive snake in his underwear, easily spotted in all its thick glory even through the sweatpants Mike was wearing. 

“What...what happened? You were like...not half as big last week.” Saul asked the giant teen boy. 

“Well, it was all thanks to you, buddy!” He said as he walked towards Saul and grabbed him in a strong hug. Saul’s head resting against the boy’s giant pec. He suddenly felt inundated by the smell coming from his arms. Saul’s head started swimming and a tingle made his dick twitch. 

“You should’ve seen Hank’s face!” Mike laughed and let go of Saul, walking towards the living room and sitting in the sofa, legs wide apart. “When he saw I was as tall as him and was like, as jacked as him, I think he shat his pants. For the first day in my high school life, they left me alone. I couldn’t believe it was that easy!” 

“That’s great! But then-” Saul tried to speak. 

“I wasn’t done speaking, bro.” Mike interrupted, in a calm, but authoritative way. His voice caused a tingle to spread down Saul’s spine and into his lower area. 

“Well, you won’t believe what those pussies tried next!” He continued, now in a friendlier tone. Saul, however, couldn’t shake off the force the boy exuded and the respect he commanded with a simple sentence. He stood in front of the huge teen as he stretched on the couch.  

“They waited for me outside the school the next day. Waited for me to be alone and then Hank grabbed me and dragged me to old warehouse. I guess he thought he couldn’t put me in my place alone now, so he wanted to gang up on me where no one could see. Can you imagine though? How could those losers ever think my place was beneath them?” He laughed at the notion. 

“And wasn’t he surprised when he noticed my shoulders were too wide for him to grab me like that. And weren’t his friends shocked when he let go of me and was just a skinny brat. You should’ve seen his face. Wait. You can actually see it. I took pictures.” Mike said, picking his phone from his pocket. Turning the screen to Saul, the awe-struck boy could see a kid looking no older than 12, swimming in his oversized clothes, looking up in shock. 

“Glad I remembered grandad’s spell, eh?” He winked at Saul, who nodded, not wanting to interrupt his friend again. 

“Well, after the brat was taken care of, his friends were easy pickings, to be honest. With every bit of muscle I took, I took ability, masculinity, everything that made them jocks. They had nowhere to run, and I took it all.” He laughed. 

“So, what do you think lil’ bro?” Mike smirked at Saul as he flexed his gigantic biceps. 

Saul dry swallowed. What did he think. Right in front of him was the biggest 15-year-old in the world, most likely. He exuded power and masculinity. He fumbled for words. He felt butterflies in his stomach and the tingling in his dick was stronger than ever. Not just his dick, either. He felt a yearning, inside... 

“Mike-” he almost used his old nickname. “That’s insane. You’re like, bodybuilder huge!”  

“I know, right? Pretty sick!” He guffawed. “Didn’t feel the need to drain them as much as Hanky boy, but they’re pretty much nobodies now. Horny submissive nobodies, actually.” Saul was shook. “They can’t seem to quit my dick, now.” 

“But then again.” Mike grabbed a handful of cock “I got about four jocks worth of testosterone and musk so...” He looked suggestively at Saul “who would be able to...” 

Saul tried to repress the growing feeling inside him. “But your folks? I live right next door and saw nothing different. No one was surprised about this much growth?” He tried to change the subject. 

“Oh that!” Mike waved. “Another one of grandad’s spells. Basically, it normalized things. If you’re outside the spell, that’s how things always were. Kids at school all think that this is how I always looked. Well except for Hanky boy and the bottom bunch. Even if they wanted to tell someone what happened no one would believe them. I think they like knowing their muscles made me this huge, and if they don’t, they should. But yeah, since you were outside that spell it probably, sorta normalized things for you too...”   

Saul just nodded. It made sense. Even though his head was spinning from all this information and the increasing muskiness in the room. 

“So yeah. It’s all thanks to you, lil’ buddy!” Mike reached in front and grabbed Saul until the smaller 18-year-old was straddling his huge quad. Mike’s strong arms surrounded the boy and hugged him tightly. Saul couldn’t help himself but sitting on his friend's leg and putting his hands on his muscular body. 

“I came over to honor my end of the deal. Give you back your muscle. Your height. A few inches down there...” he chuckled. “Unless you don’t want me to.” 

Saul looked shockingly into his friend’s eyes, still holding to his pecs and shoulders. How could he think that was the case. For an entire week he’s been forced to live without his hard-earned physique. It’s not like it’s that bad, and he had to admit he fit real comfortably on Mike’s lap like that, but still... 

“Unless you want me to keep them. Keep looking like this.” He spoke softly, in a voice that twisted his thoughts. 

 “I think that’s what you want.” He chuckled softly; poking Saul’s modest but raging boner. A large wet spot already had formed on the front of his boxers. “And if that’s the case, I’m sure I can pay you back some other way.” Mike’s big meaty hand slid down Saul’s slender back until it found his supple ass. Saul yelped as the hand caressed his backside. “I’ll make sure to give it all to you. Again, and again...” He whispered at his ear. 

“But you have to be the one to say so.” He continued. “So, what will it be?”  

Saul still looked at his friend’s eyes, his hands wandered freely on Mike’s massive chest. He couldn’t think straight, and the yearning inside grew and grew until he finally admitted to himself what it really was.  

He wanted this muscle god inside him. He knew he’d gladly give all his muscle, all his masculinity, just to be owned by this perfect specimen. No matter how many others there were; to know he was Mike’s. To be used as he saw fit. Saul could only hope he was able to give more to this example of athletic perfection. More of his height, so he’d be smaller, and Mike could manhandle him with even more ease, more of his dick and balls, now useless for Mike’s intended purpose, so he could add more to the python and orange sized balls his former nerd friend now had. 

And as he imagined that and he became even more hungry for cock, Saul felt himself sink deeper, fit even more snugly in Mike’s embrace. He could feel the teenage titan stretch a bit more; his spine extend a couple more inches; his frame swell with some more pounds of muscle...  

Saul looked up at Mike and approached his mouth to his, still afraid to make any noise, and meekly nodded. After all, the choice was obvious. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well this has been my first "longer" story and the first experiment in making stories without a picture for inspiration and instead drawing random themes from a choice wheel. This time the themes were Muscle Theft and Corruption ;)

The AI picture is just meant as a placeholder for now, as I haven't found a appropriate picture for it ( and I know you pervs prefer TF stories with pictures). I invite people to submit pictures to accompany this story. And finally, if you have suggestions of other places I could post my longer stories from now on, please let me know!!

[vindictivenerdcels]

They said I looked silly wearing crop top and it just make me look like I'm a girl and can repel girls from them. That's honestly my last string with them, fucking fake friends! Well, can't wait to hear their opinion when Wayne pulled up to the gym looking like this. Bet they won't even say a word, probably they are going to admire me from afar and then shyly call out my v-taper sick or shit, wishing to have a body as solid as Wayne here and then asking for input into their gym routine, fucking prick.

Wait until they see me fuck the brains out of those girls they have a crush on in the shower after my workout inside Wayne here. I'll make sure to keep the crop top on as Wayne's fuckstick impaled those girls tight asses and making all those wet sloppy noise. I'll show them how crop top is just a fucking clothing with no relevancy to manliness whatsoever as I picture them probably having their hard on watching me manhandled those chicks.

[possumcollege]

Automated gunnery's made our sailors lazy as shit. Look at him down there. Useless swab doesn't even know how many cheese wheels it takes to send a party hat downrange anymore. "tHe GuN KnOWs, WhY sHouLD i hAve t0?"

PICK UP A BROOM OR SOMETHING FUCKSTICK.

[kitthepurplepotato]

Shenanigans part 9

New to the story? Start with Chapter 1!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Part 9:

Bakugou Katsuki and the case of the Number One.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Warnings: Swear words, fighting, sexual tension, 16+ for safety as always.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Come on, you waste of space, show me what you got!”

Uhm… so… you kinda made a big mistake today and made your boss a tiny bit angry, or to be more exact, absolutely furious.

You ended up in the massive training area and he definitely looks like he’s ready to spill your blood today and end your hero career for good.

How did you end up in this situation?

Let’s go back in time and see.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Bakugou is acting really weird today.

You would think the “weird” is a new normal in this office and it certainly is, but this is a different kind of weird.

Bakugou’s unruly blonde locks are even more puffed up today; his whole attire is messy, like he’s having his second rebel phase.

He is also wearing an eyeliner even though this is his paperwork day so he’s not even in his hero costume, and to be absolutely honest… he looks smoking hot.

Okay, this is definitely not appropriate, but hell, you are not blind. If the guy wouldn’t have the personality of a psychopath, he would be able to get into everyone’s panties in a matter of seconds.

There is no way anyone would be able to say no to him if he would smile sometimes. Also, those pecs? Mate, you want them to squish your face so much, it hurts.

Wait.

Why does it hurt?

“What the fuck are you staring at?!”

Oh, Bakugou is pinching your face and pulling the skin so hard it’s about to rip.

“Your stupid punk face?” You answer honestly; well, half-honestly, as you definitely will not share your thirsty thoughts with your boss. You are sure the conversation would end up with your dismissal. “Didn’t know Green Day has a concert in Japan today. Can I come?” You try to smirk at him while your skin goes back to its original place with a loud snap. With a small whine you stroke your red left side with an offended gaze.

“We have another guest today.” He rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed by your Green Day joke.

“If this is your way to impress, puffing yourself up might work with peacocks, but it doesn’t have the same effect on humans. You are also missing an important feature; the elegant, colorful feathers.”

“The fuck are you talking about, you Fuckstick?! I look like this every day!” The blonde screams, his face hot and red from embarrassment.

“That isn’t how you talk to a lady, my friend.” A new person emerges from thin air, in jeans from head to toe. Literally. You can’t hide your excitement, when your eyes lock with the ‘stranger’.

“Jeanieboo! Long time no see!” You attack the new visitor with a hug right away.

“Y/N, what a pleasure to see you again!” Best Jeanist mumbles into your hair, smiling proudly. “You both were a pain in the bottom to work with, never listening to my advice, or to be exact, never listening - end of the sentence, but I appreciated our time together anyway.” He smiles, his arms still snaked around your shoulders protectively.

“Okay, how the fuck do you know each other?!” Hisses the blonde, clearly unimpressed by the sudden plot twist; he can’t believe the two people he ‘hates’ the most are actually buddies. How fucking annoying.

“I trained Y/N in her country when she was a teen. She was more vicious than you, Bakugou. I didn’t think it’s possible for someone to be more aggressive than you are but she definitely gave a run for your money, child.” He reminiscences and you can’t help but smile thinking about your old self; you were an actual proper menace when you were young, talking back to everyone and ‘exploding shit’ whenever you were in a bad mood.

“Yeah, I will never forget the quirk nulling bracelet you gave me for my 17th birthday. I still don’t appreciate that, by the way.” You murmur, offended. It wasn’t fucking funny. It really wasn’t.

“Well, you tried to burn the agency down because they were out of coffee.” Jeanist furrows his brows, clearly not amused.

“Oh my god, I want to see that.” Bakugou makes an ugly laugh and you can’t help but pout. You really did not want this fucker to know about that embarrassing story. You will never hear the end of it.

“But…” Jeanist continues. “You are your country’s number one hero for a reason. You grew up well.” He smiles, and while you’re about to get lost in all the lovely memories you had with your favorite hero, a tiny explosion crackles from the palms of the blonde, which takes you back to the present again.

“You’ ok, bruh?” You take a look at the furious looking Dynamight. He looks… kinda red. Weird.

“One?!” He whispers, and shit you not, his whispering is the scariest shit you’ve ever heard in your life. You didn’t think a whisper can sound so threatening, but here you are, ready to fight for your life if it’s needed. “You motherfucking useless piece of shit, you, Number One?! What kind of sick joke is that?!” Dynamight screams like the lunatic he is, you sigh, Best Jeanist stares.

The time stops for a second for all of you.

For Bakugou, it stops because of the sudden jealousy in his heart. He feels attacked, because how the fuck is he not the number one yet if everyone else is only an extra? How is the biggest extra in the world number one if he can barely keep his second place? Bakugou’s whole world just shattered. He feels like someone put a stick into his virgin hole and showed it in him so deep it came out of his throat.

For Best Jeanist, the time stops thanks to the sudden tension in the room; he worked with so many people during his hero career, but he never felt so scared for his life. He’s aware that if these two decide to kill each other right now right here, the whole agency will go down with them.

For you… well… you forgot to mention this really important detail to Dynamight for the sake of your safety, so now you’re not just a nuisance but a threat to his number 2 ranking, and fucking liar. Great.

“First of all, this is why I didn’t tell you. Because you are a pathetic little jealous piece of shit who thinks the whole world revolves around his pretty fucking face and no one can be fucking better that he is!”

Maybe that was a bit too honest. Oops.

“Wow, jealous? I ain’t jealous of your sorry ass! I’m just sorry for your country as it’s full of pathetic fucking hero wannabes, if you are their best.”

This is it. You thought you can’t hate this guy more than you already do, but here you are, mentally disemboweling the fucker and trying really hard not to explode his whole fucking agency on him. Where is that bracelet when you need it?!

“I will fucking murder you, Dynamight.” You sneer, taking a step forward.

“You wanna fight, motherfucker?” He answers right away, also taking a step towards you. Best Jeanist is still frozen in place, probably writing his will in his head, just in case.

“You know what, you bleached haired fuckhead, I want to fight.”

“You and me, training room, now!” He screams and pulls you with him by your arms. “Also, my hair is natural, so fuck you.”

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Oh fuck. Oh fuckidy fuckie fuck fuck.

You didn’t think this through. Yes, you are the Number One hero in your country and you also have the coolest fucking quirk on Earth, so beating Dynamight’s ass doesn’t sound impossible.

The main problem is the fact that your boss will definitely never look into your eyes again if you do, but he will also hold a grudge against you if you let him win. So long story short, you are fucked, so honestly, it doesn’t even make sense to stress about this right now, as your fate was decided for you the moment Best Jeanist opened his mouth.

“Is this really necessary?” Kirishima tries his best to save the day and has been constantly trying for the last hour, but his words vanished in the air like a cheeky, scentless fart in the wind.

“Come at me, Number One!” Dynamight calls, half naked, and damn, if you die today, at least the view is nice.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Why.

Just why.

Having the nerd and his lapdog in the office is one thing, but Best Jeanist?

Mr. Katsuki has all the respect for the guy as a hero, but his sense of style? Hell no. Like… fuck that shit.

Mr. Katsuki decides to go all out today, out of spite; messy hair, rebellious clothing and all those shenanigans. He’s still traumatized since Best Jeanist made his hair flat and ugly that last time during UA. He will never forget looking in the mirror and seeing a bad Monoma cosplay looking back at him. It was terrible.

There is another reason Mr. Katsuki is going all out today, but don’t tell him that we know this; Mr. Katsuki secretly plans to show off to the Menace to let her know what she’s missing out on by being a dick.

No, he doesn’t want to woo the Menace; he just wants to show her that he can be sexy like that. That’s it. No other reason. He definitely does NOT have any kind of feelings towards that fuckstick except for annoyance. No way.

It’s true that he has been a little bit concerned when the Menace disappeared into thin air, but it was more about not wanting to do a shit load of paperwork after the death of a staff member than about being concerned about the actual person.

You don’t believe him?

Fuck you, then.

The plan was working. The menace did her best to bully Bakugou for his rebellious look, but he didn’t miss the way she eye fucked him for a few seconds before opening her mouth.

Mr. Dynamight also liked to hear all the embarrassing stories about the Menace’s childhood after getting over the fact that they had the same mentor back in their school days.

But then… things went south. Really quickly.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Come at me, Number One!” Dynamight yells, ready to kick the Number One’s ass back to her bloody useless country.

Bakugou is not stupid, he was well aware that the Menace wasn’t just a side kick back in her country. The villain who ended her career was an extremely powerful one. No side kick stood a chance against him, yet the menace fought him for hours before the terrible accident; but Katsuki didn’t even think about the possibility of her being in the top 10 and being the Number 1 hero was even further on his possibility list.

Mr. Katsuki will never admit this even though it’s really obvious, but he’s still not over the fact that he’ll never get to the number 1 spot in Japan until Deku dies and as Deku and Bakugou are friends; he can deny it but it’s true; and he would never want his friend to die in a battle just to be able to fill his desired spot. Being number 2 is really frustrating for Mr. Katsuki. He was nothing but number one his whole life until his twenties, yet here he is, stuck in a certain spot and he was just told that his useless, annoying piece of shit of a secretary is better than him. He’s not gonna have that. Not without a fight at least.

“Bring it on, sparky boy.” The menace grins in her boring ass sports bra and shorts combo. Mr. Katsuki can only hope her hero costume has more creativity to it than this… not like he cares. He definitely doesn’t care, thank you very much. He would rather die than google her hero name, especially after these news.

“Oh, you will regret saying that.” Mr. Katsuki’s hands sparkle, ready to start this game; he jumps closer, his palms ready to explode in the menace’s face, but she dodges gracefully, moving to the other side of the room in a flash; teleportation quirk or just increased speed? Hell if he knows. In only a few milliseconds, he can see a shadow right in front of him, which indicates that she used the same quirk to attack him from behind; Dynamight moves away with the help of his quirk, but he isn’t quick enough to not get hit in the head with an explosion, but weirdly enough, it doesn’t hurt. It also smells like cotton candy.

When Mr. Katsuki looks back, he’s met with a laughing idiot, folded in half; she’s actually crying from laughter. Mr. Katsuki is furious.

“Oh my god, that was amazing.” The menace screams while she makes tiny, magenta colored explosions with her hands. Mr. Katsuki sees red. The explosions leave a baby pink smoke behind, and the cotton candy smell gets stronger.

Dynamight just got absolutely humiliated and he’s not having it. No fucking way.

“I hope your joke was funny enough for you to die for it.” The blonde grits his teeth and goes all out, and for the next two minutes no one can tell what’s happening on the battle field; there isn’t anything but fog and dust particles, loud bangs and battle screams.

Suddenly, it goes silent. As the fog disappears and the view gets clear; and Mr. Katsuki’s grin can be seen from far away as he pushes the Menace to the floor, keeping her pinned down by her hands and legs.

“Number One my ass.” Dynamight grumbles, panting on top of her; usually he would feel really uncomfortable being so close to someone as he is now, but in the middle of a fight, Katsuki doesn’t care about personal space. He won. That’s all that matters.

“You cheated.” The menace pants and her breath tickles Bakugou’s lips in a really uncomfortable way. His heart rate goes even higher, making him a bit dizzy; is she using another quirk? It wouldn’t be a surprise, she used at least 10 different ones during the fight, making her moves unpredictable. Katsuki might have her pinned to the floor now, but it wasn’t the easiest fight of his life. He’s not happy to admit it, but most of the heroes wouldn’t even be able to touch her. If the menace would change sides they would be utterly fucked. It’s not only about her strength, it’s about her intelligence as well; her movements are perfectly calculated and she’s quick and efficient.

The menace is… extremely dangerous.

“The fuck are you yapping about?” The blonde murmurs, his almost whisper resonating in the dead-silent training room; no one dares to make a noise in the building.

“It’s really hard to concentrate when you’re shirtless, you know.” The menace whispers, her eyes looking up and down his torso then straight to his face. “You’re really fucking beautiful, Dynamight.” She smiles and fuck if that didn’t go straight to his d………

He lost himself in his thoughts for only a second but that was enough for the menace to change the outcome of the fight; while he was busy with his internal monologue, the menace freed herself from his grasp and kicked the blonde right in the crotch, where it hurts the most.

The menace is on top of him in only a second and something, probably another quirk, makes him unable to move completely. Fuck.

“You know fights aren’t just about the strength of your quirk, but about the strength of your brain, baby.” The menace whispers into his ears in the most erotic way possible, her fingers scratching his scalp pleasantly as she rakes his hair back with her fingers.

“You cheated and lied. What a shitty way to win.” The blonde mumbles but his voice is shaky from… embarrassment? Want? Is this what Kirishima was talking about? Is this the feeling he lacked until now? Is this his sexual awakening? Is he Menace-sexual? Why is he not mad about losing? Is it because of the way he lost? Is it out of respect? Is it because it was worth it for the fluttering feeling in his chest? Was the menace always this pretty? Why can’t he look away? It might be another quirk. It needs to be. There is no way he’s…

“I never lied. I do think you are beautiful.” The menace answers with a straight face but her cheeks get rosy when she finishes the sentence; she fists a big bunch of his hair on the front, and Bakugou realizes it doesn’t hurt the way it should; it’s painful and pleasant at the same time. He’s definitely done for, isn’t he? “Don’t underestimate me ever again, Bakugou Katsuki.” She murmurs, and fuck, hearing his first name from the Menace’s mouth is thrilling as fuck.

Honestly, what’s happening to him?!

He doesn’t have time to think about that for too long as his head gets smacked into the floor and everything goes black.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“I feel like I just found a really good porn to watch, but it started buffering right when the action was about to happen.” Someone mumbles next to Kirishima but he’s too busy having an internal meltdown to tell his underling off for speaking inappropriately.

“So… how long…?” Best Jeanist tries to ask a question but Kirishima honestly can’t answer right now; he stands up and runs to the battlefield. His best friend is unconscious for the fuck’s sake, he can’t be bothered about this sexual tension right now. He needs 5 to 7 days to get a hold of his thoughts about this new revelation anyway.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You’ve done it.

You flirted with your boss just to win then you lost yourself in the middle of it when you realized how easy it was to do so. Bakugou was right. You wanted to cheat, you wanted to lie, but right after you said those words out loud you realized they were true.

Your mind is an absolute mess right now.

“Was this really necessary?!” Red Riot arrives at the scene and pushes you out of the way to take his best friend into his arms, probably to take him to the emergency room.

“You know one of us had to be unconscious to win otherwise we won’t back down until we pass out from exhaustion.” You sigh, out of breath and out of words. This was probably the best fight of your life. Bakugou is an amazing partner. You might call him names all the time but he’s intelligent and strong, he can keep up with you in a way no one ever could when fighting. This fight with him reminded you of his other self; the one who’s clever and emotional, the one you kinda fell in love with in only 24 hours. Your mind is a mess, your heart is beating out of your rib cage, and shit, you really need some time alone to get yourself together.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Oh, so that was supposed to be a scolding for… for what? For flirting? For cheating?

“Whatever.”

You can’t have this conversation right now. Everything is a mess, the world is black and white, the only thing in color is the unconscious blonde in Kirishima’s arms.

You are definitely not ready to look into those eyes after all of this.

Fuck, you can’t wait to go home and hide under your bed for the rest of the day.

…Next Chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Waaah this was such a pain to write, sorry for being away for so long! Send me a comment with your thoughts, things are getting heated, eyy! I really wanna fangirl about this plot, help me out, will ya? 😂

I hope you like where this story is going, I can’t wait to dig deeper into it!

Kirishima is the best, isn’t he? 😭 such a protective little brother, I love him so much.

Also, don’t forget that there is a taglist for this story so if you wanna be added, just let me know!

Reblogs are appreciated 💜

Taglist: @ibkg @chuugarettes @lilmaimai

@nonomesupposedto @sozainturpal @luleck @notplutos

[qqueenofhades]

I really think this republican culture war (terrorism) is going to implode on them. It isn't sustainable. Also what can they replace with it? Creativity and conservatism doesn't mix.

I mean, it's easy to think that they're on the rise, all-powerful, and totally unstoppable just from the amount of bullshit that they fling into the public sphere on a daily basis, but that's... not really true. Americans as a whole aren't behind their agenda, they aren't buying this whole "stamp out the social progress of the entire 20th century" as an urgent priority, and as noted in the post I reblogged earlier today, their batshit insane attacks on trans kids/LGBTQ issues generally are failing even in deep red states and when brought up before Trump-appointed judges, because they're legally nonsense and there's no plausible path to enforcing them. Even if, as is doubtless the case in several of them, all parties would really like to, they're just complete BS and fail the instant they encounter an actual hurdle. Which is good! And we should not take it for granted! But still!

Regardless of Ron DeSantis screaming WOKE WOKE WOKE DESTROY THE WOKE WOKE WOKE at every single moment, the backlash we're seeing now does not demonstrate that Republicans are popular, successful, seizing the zeitgeist, or whatever else. As ever, it means that they are shit scared, are trying desperately to establish their power before Ye Almighty Demographic Change takes it out for good, and attempting to enact what I hesitate very much to term "public policy" (because it's not, it's just performative cruelty) in the most underhanded and obscure ways possible, and not at the ballot box. (After all, we all know that Republicans hate voting, usually because it makes them lose.)

When you've sunk to absolute bottom-of-the-barrel culture war nonsense like this, it means you have nothing to offer in terms of actual policy, you know that you have nothing to appeal to mainstream voters (who are not, in fact, all mindless fascists like your cult members), and are desperately trying to stall and fill time before you get the boot. Which again, isn't guaranteed, and we WILL have to put in the work to defeat these nasty little cretins, but also means that they are ever shrinking, ever more on the defensive, and ever more out of ideas, because they're about to be on the very wrong end of a generational fuckstick, and it's only going to get worse. Sucks to suck, assholes.

[alligatorjesie]

@antidisneystarwars No you stupid fuck. Shitass antis like you just say that shit.

We've explained in detail

why Ben isn't a fucking nazi

but moron fucksticks like you won't read so here we are constantly explaining to fuckwads who post hate into our fucking fandom space that he's not a fucking nazi but you are a fucking idiotic twat.

Get the fuck out of this fandom's space

[incorrect-tmnt2012-quotes]

Raph: Oh fuck!

Leo: Uh Raph, we're trying not to curse in front of Mikey so if you could not-

Raph: Oh, I completely understand. What words were you trying to avoid? Is it things like hell, damn, fuck, shit, bitch, cunt, ass, cock, dick, cock face, dick face, dick head, dickwad, cocksmoker, cock sucker? What about words like tits, pussy, twatch, snatch, clitface, cuntface, thundercunt, dipshit, douchebag, dumbass, dumbfuck or dipshit? I'm sure you're trying to avoid words like bullshit, bastard, bitchtits, buttfucker, asshole, asshat, assclown, asswipe, jackass, shithead, shitface and whore, right? Are we counting words like piss, cum, cum dumpster and cum guzzler?

Leo: Um...

Raph: Oh goddamit! I almost forgot about fucker, fuckface, fuckstick, fuckwad, fuckboy, clusterfuck and of course, motherfucker. Are these all the kind of words that you're avoiding Leo?

Leo: Uh, yes, I guess any of those are what we are trying to stay away from.

Raph: Okay, well, good luck with that.

[wolfsclothing6]

NOT MY STORY. STORY IS ORIGNALLY FROM VCHRIS1989.TUMBLR.COM WHICH DEACTIVATED YEARS AGO. REPOSTED FOR RECORD KEEPING PURPOSES)

*Oh fuck come on! Quick! Gotta pump out this load before my son’s body kicks me out! Don’t want to be interrupted!* I thought as I pumped my boy’s long and thick fuckstick. Shit, how was he already so well developed?! I felt his lean pecs flexing from the exertion as I scrunched his eyes closed, groaning loudly as I thrust his hips up into my tight grip.

“Oh fuck yeah, so close…” I moaned out, so turned on by my youthful and higher pitched voice.

“Yeah you love it when Daddy pounds this fuckstick, don’t you, son?! Unnnnngggggggg Feels so fucking good! Your dick’s almost as big as mine and you’re nowhere near done growing yet!” I howled out as I curled my son’s toes tightly.

“Here it comes boy! Oh SHIT here it CUMS! nnnngggggggg Fuck yeah!” I roared as I began furiously milking shot after shot of hot cum all over my son’s lean abs and chest. It was perfect timing too because right after the last drops of cum dribbled out I felt my vision blurring and I was expelled from my son’s writhing and trembling body.

I was looking down at him now as he opened his eyes and looked down in horror at his cum drenched body and his hand firmly clenching his still hard meat.

He frantically looked around the room as he begged, “No Dad! Please no more! You can’t use my body like this! It’s wrong! You’re my father! You- arrrgrhhhhhhhhh!!!!!” He groaned as I swooped back down into him, phasing through his abs and chest and spreading to once again fill every cubic centimeter of his body.

“Nooooooooooo Dad! Please!!!! FUCK!” my son yelped out as his back arched and his muscles seized. He grunted as he tried to force me out, but he was too weak to even slow me down. It was mere seconds before I fully phased into him and spread to fill him fully and absolutely. His eyes shot wide open, pupils dilating, before his face relaxed and I was back in the driver’s seat. I laughed as I began rubbing his cum int his body like lotion.

“mmmmmmm Last time I lasted three days inside you before your willpower was able to kick me out. Just last month I could only last an hour. I’d say either I’m getting better at this or your getting worse. Let’s see if we can work up to four days,” I said before smirking and sighing in a euphoria that can only emerge from taking over your own son after bringing his body to orgasm. I grabbed my son’s cock and moaned as I immediately got that teen meat hard again.

“You know son, the best part about being in your body is that when you’re this young I can just keep pumping the loads out of your fuckstick one after the other, over and over again, as much as I want,” I taunted as I thought about how great it’ll be when I can inhabit my son without him ever being able to force me out again…Ohhhhh yeah that thought got me fully hard again.

[kdnotkevindurant]

Oh, I completely understand. What words were you trying to avoid? Is it things like hell, damn, fuck, shit, bitch, cunt, ass, cock, dick, cockface, dickface, dickhead, dickwad, cocksmoker, cocksucker? What about words like tits, pussy, twatch, snatch, clitface, cuntface, thundercunt, dipshit, douchebag, dumbass, dumbfuck or dumbshit? I'm sure you're trying to avoid words like bullshit, bastard, bitchtits, buttfucker, asshole, asshat, assclown, asswipe, jackass, shithead, shitface, and whore, right? Are we counting words like piss, cum, cum dumpster and cum guzzler? Oh, goddamit! I almost forgot about fucker, fuckface, fuckstick, fuckwad, fuckboy, clusterfuck, and of course, motherfucker. Are these all the kind of words that you're avoiding, Saison?

[tobiasdrake]

Finally, our education is complete.

Is that why we're Solstice Warriors?

Sometimes, on the eve of a solstice, a giant bird chucks a baby at the village shrieking "YOUR PROBLEM NOW ASSHOLES"! Also those babies are magical. We do not know why this is, or where these children come from, or what purpose the eagle serves by flinging magic babies at us twice a year. This is our way.

I wonder which one of us is older? They said we were hurled at the village on two consecutive Solstices so that means one of us is about six months, uh, less-village than the other. Which doesn't. Actually. Convey any information about when we were born but it's the closest thing we have to a birthdate.

In lieu of evidence, I'm going to assume that I'm older on the grounds that I'm better than Zale and that's reason enough.

Uh. Hi. You might remember me from such exploits as getting one of your children blinded and eating parts of your holy tree. I hope this will not adversely affect your eagerness to take in Bird-Flung Mystery Kids in the future.

Hold up, the exit to the village is through the Forbidden Cave? There are other exits from the village, right?

THERE ARE NOT. Holy shit. The village is on the edge of a cliff, and the only way to leave is through the Forbidden Cave. Which is, as noted, forbidden.

Are. Are these people prisoners? Y'all, I think we might be prisoners. No wonder we were planning to leave by raft. That and the cave are literally the only options.

The Forbidden Cave, incidentally, is attuned specifically to moon magic, as we learned the first time we opened it. Solar types are as useless as civvies when it comes to trying to escape our penitentiary village. Only lunar warriors and those with their permission may come and go.

It's because we're better.

In any case. I have important matters to attend to in this cave before we move on. Specifically,

THIS IS FOR GARL'S EYE YOU SPINY LITTLE FUCKSTICKS

I. Should have. Aimed that better. >_< My rage has blinded me.

I should learn from this experience and try to better myself as a person. However, I will not.

Wait, what? Why is the device broken? Did Moraine not know about this? Are we not maintaining proper upkeep of the one and only exit from the village!?

We've been out of Zenith Academy for the better part of a day and I'm still amazed by what a complete shitshow the place is.

If we get eaten by spiders, I'm kicking Moraine's ass.

THAT IS A LAVOS SPAWN.

If we get eaten by goddamned Lavos I'm going back in time and punting Moraine in the balls. Then I'm going five minutes back in time and punting Moraine in the balls. Then I'm going five minutes back in time and punting him in the balls.

I'm not stopping. I will replace his entire chronology with getting punted in the balls. He will not know why. He will know only pain.

There. I flicked. Your switch.

You're welcome.

Ass.

UH HI

Apparently this is now happening. So in addition to Moraine giving us our marching orders and Bugraves and Erlina taking a keen interest in us, we've also got these spookers monitoring our journey and that lying son-of-an-eagle Archivist temporally stalking us. Anyone else want to jump in?

Wait, Three? You're sending Three after us?

I mean. I kinda thought. I was expecting Four. Y'know. We'd. Like. Count down as we punch our way through increasingly strong cultists or whatever's going on here.

But. No, this is. This is cool too. I. I don't. Know. How to process that. I feel. Out of sorts and--

OH MY GOD FISHING

I no longer care about whatever I was on about. It was probably inane anyway.

This looks interesting. I can't open it but I want to. We have sun and moon powers here so you'd think it would respond to that. It looks designed to respond to that. But I guess not. In any case.

We finally catch up to the flash-forward and prove once and for all that this was no flashback. But, more importantly, we can finally move onward!

[queer-geordie-nerd]

delenn would be for a free palestine you fuckin lib

Delenn is a fictional character, you fucking weirdo - and not that I give a shit what some random spineless anon thinks, but I am also for an independent Palestinian state standing alongside Israel - but I don't use their suffering as an excuse to engage in rancid antisemitism and justify pogroms, you absolute fuckstick 🙄

[posttexasstressdisorder]

The absolute air of paranoia around Southern Baptists is palpable. Yes, you really are feelin' that creepy shit comin' offa these fucksticks.

[titus-androgynous-87]

Almost all caught up with Love is Blind (just a bit left in the last newest episode). And all of these men are garbage. Like these women made a wish over a bunch of overflowing dumpsters and now they have to teach these trash monsters how to be humans

The women have their own flaws and issues, for sure. But these men make my butthole pucker, as my mother likes to say. None of them ever have anything positive or kind to say about ANYONE, let alone their partners. And constantly trying to fuck other people from the pods

Lying about being engaged, lying about their jobs and looks and goals. And for what? A few hundred more IG followers and a damp dick that don’t work because you drink more vodka than water?

A half-baked reality circuit career where no one falls for your shit because you can’t act to save your fucking life (y’all can’t even gaslight effectively, how you gonna sigma alpha bro your way out of situations of your own making)? An ego boost you clearly don’t need? External validation because your dad never hugged you or said he was proud of you? Forcing people to spend time with you because your toxic personality has alienated everyone around you, but it can’t be YOUR fault! No! It’s not YOUR fault you’re a raging narcissist fuckstick who only views women as holes to pathetically fail stick your aforementioned broke wet rope dick into and then cum on her knee and tell her she should feel grateful you fucked her because she’s ugly (all while looking like a melted tickle me Elmo with your coke-and-alcohol flush and botched chin implants)

I’m sorry I just really hate straight men, and fuck these assholes in particular. This season is a disaster, and not in a fun way

Between this and the Sandoval Apology Tour 2024, I’m so tired and done with reality TV

[kitthepurplepotato]

New to the story? Start here! -> PART 1

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Part 6 (or alternative universe 1/3):

Bakugou Katsuki and the case of an unexpected team up mission.

(feat. Deku & Todoroki)

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Author’s note: I would recommend reading this part (and the next 2) even if you don’t know the full story! It will be super fun!

I’ll leave a quick “catch up” for you guys, so you can understand the beginning!

Also, English is my second language. Sorry for the mistakes.

Warnings: Swear words!

💥Master list💥

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Okay guys, I know I’m supposed to have Best Jeanist as the guest for this part, but I had this idea, and after all my mental struggles I actually ended up writing more Shenanigans, even tho this story is supposed to be on a long-term hiatus, so spare my life, please 😂

For those who only want to read this part: Reader is Bakugou’s assistant, an ex-hero from another country, currently out of business due to an injury. Her quirk is super powerful; she can have any quirk she can think of, even multiple at once.

You and Bakugou “hate each other” (not really), he is your boss, and you are not easy to boss around. Don’t tell anyone, but you guys care about each other quite a lot.

In the last part, you fainted due to overworking yourself and Bakugou ended up being your caretaker for the day. He “hated” every minute of it.

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“Hey, you fuckstick! We have guests, stop zoning out like a brainsless idiot!”

Ahh, it’s so good to be back in the office again!

Oh wait…

It’s certainly not.

Since the fainting incident… Bakugou is an even bigger ass than he was before. You didn’t think it’s possible, but here you are, half asleep, being shouted at for no reason, your coffee still untouched on your office desk.

You were absolutely aware of the fact that you probably won’t ever see Dynamight’s caring side ever again, but you really can’t believe how much damage this small mess-up has done to your already tense relationship.

“I thought I am a brainless idiot anyway.” You sigh into the distance, your face plastered to the desk’s shiny surface. Maybe this time, you’ll be the person faking being dead to get away from a traumatic situation; because shit you not, you are actually traumatized by this sudden personality change.

“We can come back later, Kacchan.” Comes a smooth voice from the door, which soothes your troubled soul right away. What a pleasant voice to be listening to so early in the morning! You might as well just go back to sleep now.

But wait…

Kacchan?

“The fucker had enough time to laze around last week.” Grumbles the blonde demon with zero sympathy in his harsh voice.

Honestly, Dynamight should be banned from talking between 10 PM and 10AM.

“I think you are being too harsh on her. Living half of her life with you is enough of a torture as it is.” Another pleasant voice joins the conversation, making the demon in front of you so angry he almost explodes your head with an accidental explosion coming out from his palms.

“I will blow you out of my fucking office window if you don’t shut the fuck up, you half and half bastard, who the fuck invited you anyway…”

“I did, Kacchan.” Speaks up the soothing voice again, but this time, it sounds more squeaky and less pleasant.

Okay, who are these people?!

As you slowly emerge from your half sleeping position, your eyes are met with 2 really handsome guys; one with a magnificent pine green hair, the other half crimson half white, split perfectly in the middle.

Oh, shit.

You are not the fangirl kinda gal, but you are internally screaming so loud you can barely hear your own voice; hence why you might be screaming like and absolute fool right now.

“Deku-san, Shouto-san, sorry for my terrible behavior! Welcome to the agency! Please take a seat!” You sit up as quickly as you can, bumping your knees into the thick office desk while standing up. The loud thump echoes in the otherwise silent office, but you pay no mind to the awkward situation and point at the office sofa.

This is fine.

This is salvageable.

You can do this.

“Now you can fucking behave…” Mumbles Mr. Dynamight, making the situation awkward again. Of course.

“Jealous much?” You snap back, ready for a fight.

“Why the fuck would I be jealous?! Who do you think you are?”

Woah, the bitch is angry.

“I’m supposed to be your right hand, but if you keep bitching, I’ll shove my resignation up your ass and blow you up with it.” You scream back, lovely guests respectfully ignored for the time being.

“My right hand?! A pimple on my back, maybe.” Shouts the blonde back with sparkling palms, slowly getting closer. Oi.

“At least it’s not a pimple on his ass. Sounds like a compliment to me.” Speaks up Shouto, clearly not reading the room properly.

“Shou, not now…” squeaks Deku with a red face, slowly moving in front of his friend protectively.

“What did you say, Steakface?”

“I said, you two get along well.” Deadpans the half and half hero, still oblivious to the dangers of his words.

“WE DO NOT!” You both scream in the poor guys face, when another person arrives at the office door.

“SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!” The savior of the day, Kirishima appears in the office, his hardened body ready for a fight in between the four of you.

“Thank god.” Sighs the number one hero and collapses on the sofa like a sack of potatoes.

The trust these guys have in Kirishima is amazing. You were so used to seeing him every day, you kinda forgot how strong and reliable he is when it’s needed.

You have the biggest respect for the poor guy, who’s willingly by Dynamight’s side, listening to his yapping every day without being payed for it.

After a few moments of awkward silence, fresh coffee is being served to the two guests; you silently thank Kirishima for taking the burden from your shoulders today.

“So what are you guys doing here today?” You try to start a conversation while sipping your lukewarm coffee.

“Shouto and I were in the area and we thought it would be nice to see Kacchan, as he never replies to me.” Deku gives you a shy smile and damn, number one hero or not, he is absolutely adorable. You are not sure how can he break bones with that cute face.

“YOU thought it would be nice to see Katsuki. I just came along.” Deadpans Shouto with zero emotion on his face until he gets poked in the side by a scrunched faced Deku. Even his angry face is adorable. What is this guy?

And let’s not even talk about the other one… you can’t help but wonder if the handsome fella has any other expressions than the nonchalant, emotionless one he’s wearing now (and in every single interview you were forced to watch with your bestie); does he keep his facade on in the bed as well? You kinda want to investigate that.

Wow, you might need to get laid just as much as your angry boss does.

“Shouto, I told you not to say everything out loud.” Reprimands the green haired hero, reminding you of a kindergarten teacher telling of a child for eating sand.

You can’t help the giggle bubbling up in your throat as you take in the sight in front of you; the two best friends sitting on the sofa, clearly comfortable with each other, the angry sulking blonde next to them, who’s trying to hide his happiness with aggressive expressions and filth coming out of his mouth, the silent presence of Kirishima leaning on the back of the sofa, beaming at the two bickering heroes with pure adoration.

“Stop smiling like a pervert.” Mumbles Mr. Dynamight with a slight blush on his face, staring into the distance to avoid any kind of eye contact.

“How could I NOT smile, you guys are so cute together.”

“Cu…cute?!” Stutters the blonde, face red as a tomato. “What the actual fuck is cute about this?! Did your parents drop you as a child, or what? Also, this meeting is over, everyone fuck off!” Explodes Mr. Katsuki, and starts throwing everyone out of the office one by one; or at least he tries until Deku steps in front of him.

“Wait… I need to talk to you about something.” Says the greenette with a serious expression.

“I knew you fucking want something…” Bakugou rolls his eyes and puts the other hero down on the sofa. “Spill it, you goddamned nerd.” He grumbles while sitting down, ready to listen to Deku’s “annoying” rambling.

“So there is this villain group we are after…”

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“Why am I here Mr. Dynamight?!”

That’s the question of the century, to be honest.

As you look around in the area in front of you, you can see nothing but pure destruction; abandoned homes burst in flames, the sky grey and foggy from all the smoke, the pavement broken into chunks of concrete, which makes your steps wobbly and uneven.

This is a war zone. And you are standing right in the middle of it.

“Don’t look so frightened, aren’t you supposed to be a hero?” Answers the blonde with the most nasty tone possible, looking at you like you’re a piece of shit he just stepped on by accident. Well, if he can’t give you a disappointed look as his face is hiding behind a protective mask, he had to make sure his words hurt you just as well as his usual angry face does.

“Kacchan…” sighs Deku with a massive bandage on his right hand, giving you a tiny smile for reassurance. “The fight is over now, most of the villains are already behind bars. This place is supposed to be safe for heroes.“ he explains. “We lost one of the bad guys tho, so we need to investigate the area for clues.”

This still doesn’t explain why are you, a basic-ass secretary, here. You might have been a hero a few months ago, but you are far away from being “battle ready”; you can barely manage the small gigs with the amount of mana you have, as your body is still using up all your energy to heal itself.

“Your shitty quirk is perfect for this investigation. If by any chance there is a sudden fight, you can hide behind my fucking skirt and cry like a looser.” Bakugou snaps at you, while Todoroki rolls his eyes in disapproval.

Wow, that’s a new facial expression! What a day to be alive.

“Why are we friends with him again?” Deadpans the half and half hero, making the blonde angry and furious. As the two start their usual bickering, you sigh into the void and make your way into the ex-battlefield. You take a deep breath and bring out a few different quirks all at once; levitation, x-ray vision and a new one you just came up with; a sensor that tells you the last movements in the area you are looking at.

The burnt down homes in front of you are indeed abandoned but there is one still in tact, away from the burnt area, built extremely close to the forest; compared to the other parts of the battlefield, the house feels lived in, heat-wise.

“Y/N-san, wait for us!” You hear a voice behind your back, but you are too focused on your current task; finding clues about the whereabouts of the last villain stranding.

There are old footprints coming out through the back door, going into the forest; the angle of the footprints indicate…

“Katsuki, behind you!” You scream from the top of your lungs, but it’s too late; the villain jumps out from behind the tree, right next your boss.

“So this is how I fucking die…” You say, while you activate another quirk; teleportation.

In only a millisecond you end up behind the blonde; the villain’s quirk hitting you instead of Bakugou. The world suddenly shifts and you are falling into the eternal nothingness.

Why did you save the person who treats you like shit every single day?

Because your body moved on it’s own.

You are not sorry for doing it either; You can’t help but think about the way he cared for you when you were sick and about how he always brings you coffee, even when he’s being a bitch about it afterwards.

The small acts of kindness say more than the loud words; Bakugou Katsuki might be the biggest asshole in the whole word, but he doesn’t deserve to die; not like this, not right now.

“You fucking idiot!” Screams a voice you know so well, frustrated and confused. Even though you are falling into nothing, you can kinda see what’s happening in the real world; you can see Bakugou kneeling on the floor, looking at the floor where you are supposed to be, you can see Todoroki freezing the villain in one place, handcuffing him with quirk canceling handcuffs, you can see Deku, trying to calm down the crying hero… what?

Is Bakugou crying?! He must be really angry, then.

Suddenly, your back hits the ground; the sun is shining aggressively into your face, making you flinch; you can also hear some happy chatter not too far away from you.

The chatter suddenly stops and there are quick footsteps coming your way; you try to make yourself invisible out of habit, but your quirk decides to act up; you can’t feel the usual warmth of your power anymore.

“I really don’t want to support your stupid conspiracy theory, but… this woman just fell from the sky.” Mumbles a blonde nerdy guy, pushing his glasses up to see you better. His face is soft, but confused, his brows scrunched in an adorable way and it might be because of the pain, but he looks kinda familiar.

Is this… a dream?

“This is not the time for this, Kacchan. She’s hurt!” Reprimands the green haired nerd in the loudest PRIDE t-shirt you’ve ever seen. Is that eyeliner under his eyes? Cute.

Wait…

This isn’t a dream. You would not be able to come up with this shit, even if you tried.

A sudden realization dawns upon you as you stare into those warm, green eyes, dumbfounded.

“Deku?” You mumble incredulously, eyes wide, mouth open. You gawk at the blonde nerd on the other side of you; you are met with the crimson eyes you know so well.

“Bakugou Katsuki?”

This is ridiculous. This can’t be real.

This guy can’t be…

“Do you know us? Are we friends? Please, tell me you are Kacchan’s wife from the future!”

“You rewatched Back To The Future without me, you shitty nerd!” Complains the blonde, clearly offended by his traitor of a friend. “Also, are you my wife from the future? I hope you are.” The blonde sighs.

“Kacchan…” Deku pats his friend’s back apologetically, and Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t pull away.

What.

The.

Actual.

Fuck.

-> Next Chapter!

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I’m actually so excited for this! I have so many silly ideas! Send me a comment, if you liked it 💜 Tell me your predictions about this alternate universe! :D

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