in 2003, dana evans (37) and jack abbot (28) had a night of passionate fucking (NOT LOVEMAKING!) that neither have acknowledged but it has charged every single interaction that the two have shared since
coming up behind him in the kitchen and just wrapping your arms around his waist, a firm set of abs covered by a soft lil tummy.
laying your head on his stomach while watching an 80’s movie that has a great soundtrack but definitely didn’t age well, head bouncing and vibrating every time he talks or laughs.
his stomach pressing into yours when he’s fucking you missionary, flushed and freckled because his irish skin will always always always give him away.
his warm, soft tummy squished up against your back when he has you in a lethal cuddle in bed (more like a headlock, you’re not going anywhere) your skin sticking together
the lil peek of tummy when he lifts his arms to stretch or grab something that you definitely try to bite if you’re in the comfort of your own home. even better if you can see one of your old bite marks fading.
going feral for waking robby up in the morning w ur mouth on his dick so u can feel it get hard <3
this made my tummy flipppppp //
worst part is you're not even sucking it! robby wakes up to his dick wrapped snug and wet in your warm mouth, twitching against the side of your cheek every time you suckle on it in your half asleep state. your head on his thigh facing him, eyes mostly closed but he knows by your breathing that you're awake.
he grunts, low and rumbly, and puts a hand on your head, brushing hair out of your eyes thumb following the line of your nose and cheekbones. "woke up hungry, honey?"
you hum so soft n sleepy, making vibrations against his cock, eyes fluttering open to look at him with hearts in them, speaking muffled around him. he cracks a smile at that and gently pulls you off, wiping a little drool off your chin. "say that again?"
"wanted to taste you," you blink so slowly he almost thinks you're drunk, and I guess you are but only on how good and heady he smells, how familiar he feels on your tongue. you turn and kiss at his palm before turning back to your treasure, a soft kiss then a wet kitten lick. "stay soft, okay, daddy?"
he chokes on a laugh then, letting you take him all the way down your throat again. "I'll try, honey."
michael robinavitch the type to fuck you absolutely stupid then give you so so many kisses and cuddles afterwards because at the end of the day you're his girl <3
── .✦ MICHAEL 'ROBBY' ROBINAVITCH
★ˎˊ˗ CONTENT 18+ MDNI fem reader, AFAB reader, reader has breasts, descriptive language, aftercare focus (cuddling, praise, etc), hints of possessiveness, fluffity fluff
MASTERLIST | RULES | INBOX
When Robby finally eases the last of his weight off of you, he does so carefully, like you’re an antique he’s terrified of cracking, a jarring contrast to moments ago when he had you folded in half, driving his cock so deep you swore you could taste it, the headboard begging for mercy with every brutal slam.
He groans when the mattress springs back into place. A palm, wide and a little rough, skates down the ridge of your spine as though he needs the touch more than the next breath he’s chasing.
“Christ,” he mutters, half-laughing, half-praying, hair spilled over his brow in damp ringlets. “You all right, sweetheart?”
You mean to answer right away, but your brain is still someone in the rafters, floating among the dust motes he knocked loose out of you.
So what comes out is less words and more a sigh that shivers through every exhausted inch of your body.
His grin spreads, triumphant. “Need a real answer, honey.”
You find your voice, albeit ragged, but present. “M’fine. Floaty.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” He leans in anyway and kisses the corner of your slack mouth, lingering until he feels you kiss back. “Stay right there a sec. Gonna grab water, towel, and and see what I can do about the pretty mess I made of you.”
“Cocky,” you mumble, though there's no bite to it. Really, he’s only stating the obvious. You are a mess, he made you one, and Robby is far too pleased with himself about both.
He chuckles, snagging his boxers from the floor. “Call me whatever you want, sweetheart. You’ll still be asking for more once you recover.”
While he’s gone, you stare at the ceiling fan, counting revolutions until everything sounds less like static and more like your own heartbeat again.
By the time he returns, you’ve made it to an elbow. He sets a glass on the nightstand, drops the towel beside it, then crawls back over you on his knees, trailing the towel like a cape.
“Water first.” He nudges the rim to your lips, waiting until you take a sip. “Attagirl.”
The praise hits harder than the water, but you drink anyway, throat working around the cool relief.
When you stop to breathe, Robby wipes a stray drip off your chin with his thumb. “Good?”
“Better.”
“Anything else you need right now, baby?”
You shake your head, too lazy to hunt for words. You just want him back where he was, wrapped around you, body weight crushing you like a weighted blanket.
He seems to read that want plain as ink. He moves the water, folds the towel under your hips for cushion, then lowers onto his side and drags you into the curve of him. Chest to back, his arm bands over you, palm flattening between your breasts.
“Heartbeat’s settling,” he says into your hair. “Thought I snapped the thing right out of you for a minute.”
You snort, the sound embarrassingly fond. “You tried.”
“Yeah, well.” He peppers kisses across your shoulder, each one a punctuation mark at the end of a sentence only he can read. “Wanted to make sure you remembered whose girl you are.”
Your laugh comes out airy. “Possessive much?”
“Extremely,” he admits without a hint of shame. He noses behind your ear. “Listen, floaty girl — next time you spot that mirror in the hallway, take a good look. There’s a hell of a lot to be possessive of.” His teeth graze your lobe; the hand on your chest gives a gentle squeeze. “And lucky me, I got there first.”
“Think you might be a little biased,” you tease, warmth creeping into your cheeks despite the sleepy little smile pulling at your mouth.
A low laugh rolls out of him, all soft thunder against your back. He lets the sound fade into a lazy trail of kisses, mapping collarbone, shoulder blade, the delicate chain at your throat. Each brush of his lips is slower than the last, until he nuzzles into the crook of your neck.
“Of course I’m biased,” he says, pressing another kiss beneath your ear. “Still know what I’m looking at.”
MARIA NOTE lowkey this is dogshit but fuck it wii ball <3
YOU CAN FIND MY MICHAEL ROBINAVITCH MASTERLIST HERE ⭑.ᐟ
tags: dad joel!miller x afab 19 year old!reader, self harm, mental health issues, graphic enough description of self harm cuts, blood, old scars, joel cleans up readers injuries, body image issues, friends issues, anxiety, depression, college stress, hurt/comfort, reader is described wearing shorts and a t-shirt but her body isn’t described, cuddling and kisses.
summary: dads finds you cutting yourself.
The blood trickles down your thighs from the three new cuts you’d given yourself there. One on your inner left thigh and two more on your right leg about seven inches up from your knee cap. You’d gotten used to the pain in the past couple of months you’d been doing this. You can’t even really remember when you did it for the first time.
You lean back against your window and shut your eyes, your tears drying into your cheeks. It felt wrong to be doing this on your window seat, the cushions beneath you being the same ones Dad had bought you sixteen years ago.
Your little reading nook, you’d call it. You would sit here with dad on this very ledge, perched on his knee while he’d read you one of your many Winnie-The-Pooh books until you drifted off to sleep.
Now you were destroying your skin as a result of your stress. What else were you to do?
Just as you were about to stand up and head to your en suite bathroom to clean up, the sound of your father outside the door shot through your ears. “Gonna stick a pizza in the oven if you —” the door opens and Joel stops mid sentence, freezing in the doorway as you jump and attempt to pull the legs of your shorts back down.
But it was too late. He’d seen it. Seen everything.
He froze in the doorway, his face twisting in horror at the sight of his baby girl covered in blood. In cuts. Cuts that.. that by the blade in her hand must mean that she.. she did them herself.
Why were you doing this? Were those cuts deep enough for you to bleed out? Did someone hurt you? Is that why you were doing it? All of these thoughts circled around his head rapidly, terrifying him, enraging him, devastating him.
He quickly snaps out of it, coming back into his body and quickly making it across the room to you. “Baby what.. what did you do?” He drops to his knees in front of you, his face level with yours. “What did you do?” He repeats, his voice coming out harsh and worried.
You feel your face burn in shame, shame of being completely exposed in front of him. Your shorts being pulled down now covered the cuts on your thighs but not the blood that had dripped down further than the cut off of them. “I’m..” your voice breaks. “I’m sorry.”
“No.. no, no, no,” his voice softens, his hands hovering over your legs before coming up to land on your face. Cupping your cheeks. “No, I didn’t mean that. You don’t.. need to apologise. I just.. why..?”
He didn’t know what to say. What questions to ask or how to comfort you. He wanted to just take the pain from you. Take it and put it on him. He could take it. But not.. not you. Not his girl.
The question hits you square in the chest. How to answer it? There was so many reasons you were doing this. So many things were happening in your life. So much stress. But these were things that almost every other person your age dealt with and they didn’t feel the need to slice themselves up over it. Your breath trembles and you open your mouth to speak but when you do, a sob comes from your chest.
Then another. And then it all let loose.
You completely caved in on yourself, pulling back from Joel so his hands were no longer on your cheeks and covering your face with your own hands. Your back shook as you sobbed softly into your palms, everything coming spilling out as you did.
“It’s just everything. It’s school, it’s my asshole of a boss, my friends who ghost me and barely fucking talk to me anymore, I’ve gained like.. ten million pounds so i look disgusting, it’s too much, too much, I can’t,” you cut yourself off with more tears, feeling utterly pathetic. It was true though. College was a fucking nightmare. You felt like you couldn’t get on top of your assignments, and you were continually getting grief from your professors for handing them in late.
Your boss — Joe — was constantly picking on every little thing you did. You got the job at the cafe downtown four months ago, and ever since you did, he always found something to critique you on. You knew how to do your job, you were good at it even. But he made you feel like you were useless.
Your body, too. Everyone always put on a couple pounds in college, but you just felt disgusting in yourself. None of your clothes looked good on you and every time you left the house you felt mortified with your looks.
And your friends, god, they were the worst of all. In the past year they all started to slowly turn on you. Dirty looks, dry replies, no effort to hang out anymore. They were like middle school mean girls and it made you feel so fucking stupid. Like a lost puppy following them around because you had nowhere else to turn.
“I just don’t know what else to do. I hate.. how I look, I hate my job, I hate school. I wanna quit everything, but I can’t.” You drop your shaking hands from your face. You’d almost kind of forgot that Dad was there. He was so quiet. Was that good or bad?
Joel was completely still. A part of his heart broke hearing you talk about yourself like that. About your life. About your struggles. About how much you were struggling and dealing with it all on your own. His beautiful, smart, sweet girl. There was also that silent rage in his chest. At your friends, at your boss. For leading to this, for contributing to it.
You noticed it though. The anger. And immediately wished you hadn’t said anything. “I’m sorry, I.. I shouldn’t have — it was stupid i—”
But Joel cuts your off, lifting you off the window ledge like you weighed nothing and wrapping you in his arms. He loops your arms around his head and legs around his waist, cradling your head in his hands and rocking you side to side as he took a seat on your bed. “Shhh,” he hushes gently, rubbing your back in slow circles, fighting back his own tears but not the crack in his voice. “None of this is your fault. And you shouldn’t feel like you have to hurt yourself like this. Hurt your body like this.”
You fist the fabric of Joel’s flannel in your hand, resting your forehead against his chest. Your tears dampen his shirt and he pulls your face back from his chest to look at you. First, he swipes his thumb across your face, drying your tears. “Listen,” he murmurs, cupping your face to ensure your eyes stay on him. “I’m here now. And I’m not gonna let you go through this on your own anymore. But first, i need you to let me check out those cuts.”
You huff a sigh and stand up away from him immediately. You weren’t showing him them up close. No way.
Joel shoots up immediately and follows you across the room, holding his hands up defensively. “I know, i know you don’t want to but we have to, baby. We can’t have them getting infected. I promise I’ll be gentle, but we need to do this for your health.”
You shut your eyes, running a hand through your hair and sighing shakily. You nod slowly, cautiously. “Okay.. okay.”
Joel had placed you on the bathroom counter and immediately got to work on your wounds. He’d carefully hiked up the legs of your shorts to uncover the cuts you’d inflicted on yourself, and tried his best to keep his face impassive.
There was a medicine box in your bathroom cabinet and he’d taken it out and rifled through it. He lay a bottle of rubbing alcohol, cotton pads and a roll of bandages beside you and got started on pouring a generous amount of the alcohol on the cotton.
He cringes slightly at the thoughts of it hurting you and says gently, “this’ll sting a little.” You nodded, leaning your head back against the mirror with a distant look in your eyes. Joel took that as consent and pressed the pad against the first cut on your inner thigh.
You didn’t even wince. He supposed that you were used to the pain of such things by now. As he cleans three cuts, he can’t help but wonder how many times you’ve had to do this yourself. He tries to keep his eyes on the wounds you’d inflicted upon yourself tonight, but he can’t help but notice the multiple other scars on your legs, all healed thankfully but still there.
The sound of you pulls Joel from his thoughts. Pulls his eyes back to your face. You were crying. Softly. Little sniffles rather than full on sobs. He knew just by the sound of you that they weren’t from physical pain. That they were from shame and embarrassment.
Joel blinks back his own tears, not wanting to be emotional in front of you when right now, you needed him to be strong. He drops the cotton pad into the trash bin when he finishes, all the blood now cleaned from your legs. He then reaches up and takes your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss of comfort there.
“I know, baby. Just gotta wrap them and then it’ll be over, okay?” His voice is soothing and he surprises himself with his ability to keep it together, especially with how devastated you looked.
You nod, using your other hand to wipe your stuffy nose. You were eager for this to just be over with. Honestly, all you wanted to do was just collapse into bed.
Joel quickly cuts off enough wrap for the two cuts lower on your thigh that were close together, and the one on your inner thigh. He starts on the low ones first and you lift your leg for him so he can wrap the bandage all around your leg before he starts on the other one.
He assists you this time on lifting up from the counter for him to wrap it the whole way around for the higher one , and when he finally does, you loose a sigh of relief. You quickly pull your shorts back down to cover yourself back up.
Joel notices you turning awkward, your eyes averting to the floor and quickly uses his finger to tip your chin up. “Hey — look at me,” when you do he smiles sadly. “There’s my girl.”
And there’s just something in his voice, the pride and love in it, that breaks your heart. How could he still look at you like that. After what he’d seen, what he’d witnessed.
He continues on. “My smart, beautiful girl. My whole world, hm?” When you don’t nod, he tries again, his voice serious but still gentle. “That’s never gonna change. No matter what you’re going through. I’m not gonna judge you for hurting. But i am gonna help you. Help you however i can, because i love you.”
You bite your lip and shake your head. “But how?” Your voice is low and still raw from crying. “How can you help me? I can’t even help myself.” You murmur.
Joel shakes his head, clicking his tongue once. “None of that. We’ll figure it out. Together, okay? Starting tomorrow. We put an end to this, though. To.. hurting yourself. We take it at your pace and we do what you need. If you need me to get you a therapist, I’ll do that. If you wanna quit college, it’s not the end of the world. And as for those friends of yours? You’ll find new ones.” You roll your eyes at that but Joel forces your attention back to him.
“And i know that’s easier said than done. But you will find your people. People who’ll love you and care about you and value your time, baby girl. Hell, you’ve already got one right here.” You chuckle at that, drying underneath your eyes.
“Point is, these things? We can fix ‘em. I promise you, we will,” his voice breaks slightly at the next sentence and he clears his throat to try and steady himself. “But.. but I never wanna see you hurt like this again. I never wanna hear you talk about your body the way you did earlier. Because you’re beautiful. In every way. And maybe you don’t see that because you’re a young woman, but i do. You’re beautiful.”
Your lip trembles slightly and you loose a heavy sigh. The words hit you hard. You’d never thought of yourself as beautiful. But hearing the truth, the love in which Dad spoke to you, maybe you could believe it. Just for now. Suddenly, you threw your arms around him and he caught you with a grunt, lifting you off the counter and back into his arms once again.
“I’m here, baby. Daddy’s gotcha.” He murmurs into your hair.
And he did have you. And for a moment, in that bathroom with a bloodied blade and cotton pad in the trash, with bandages wrapped around your thighs. You believed it.
This is another suuuper personal fic so pls stay respectful in the comments. Let me know if you enjoyed this! As always, reposts and asks are always welcome.
I hate masturbating alone because no one is here to kiss me and give me after care :( what am I supposed go do, just sleep? What about kisses:( and cuddles:(( someone else cleaning me up? :(
dad bf!robby always holding your hand :) especially when you cross the street or you’re both out in a store because you have a tendency to wander and he doesn’t want his baby getting lost :( and if his hands are full, he’s telling you “be good & hold on to daddy’s pocket. can’t have you getting lost on me.” :)
(bonus points when he’s fucking your brains out and you blindly reach out for his hand to ground yourself and he just coos at you and says “always just need your dad, huh?”)
also good luck with your surgery! sending you love and good vibes! <3
literally insanneeeeeeee robby with his sunglasses on about to step onto the street with a hand already reaching for you :((( you grab it, licking at your ice cream cone with not a worry in the world because dad always takes care of you :(((
holding on to his arm !!!! maybe he's pushing the grocery store cart and you're practically hanging from his arm, face smooshed against his bicep already bored and a little whiny while he eyes up the different cuts of meat. "jus' a little longer, honey." kiss to your head ugh!!!!!
and YES !! handholding while he's fucking you is a must!! his baby gets overwhelmed so easy! even if he's actually being nice and eating you out, making you come over n over you'll still reach for him while your hips wiggle and hump at his face, "hold my hand, please!" and he laughs into you pussy because he's mean but still threads his fingers through yours because you're so stinkin' cute! ugh need dat
Summary: Little you was awake. The night was quiet, but your thoughts unfortunately weren't. They were drifting far, soft, and hazy, carrying you somewhere your small mind couldn't quite hold all alone. And in that fragile place, you reached for the one person you weren't supposed to need anymore. A man who shouldn't be your shelter…yet somehow always is...
Warnings: 18+, smut, mdni, huge age gap (20s and 60s), daddy!joel, ddlg dynamics, unprotected sex, JUST THE TIP, pinv, size kink, needy!reader, subby!reader, subspace, crying, forbidden relationship (don't know why, you can just think about something), daddy kink, finger sucking, clit rubbing, grinding (once), slight stern!joel, but really really soft daddy!joel, no outbreak
A/N: the more the people complain about the daddy kink, the more i'll write it😘 also if you look at it sideways, this could almost be a hazy little echo of "Daddy, I'm sorry." I didn't really choose a concrete reason for their forbidden dynamic—I just wanted the feeling of it. Let your mind fill in whatever fits.. Enjoy my dear pookies <33
It's night.
The sheep are asleep. The cows are dreaming of endless fields. And the chickens are waiting, patient and already plotting, for the moment they can scream the morning awake.
Only little you was still awake…lost in thoughts, hazy and far‑gone in that quiet world your mind always slips into when everything feels too heavy. A softer place perhaps, where things made more sense for your tired little brain, but even there, you still needed something—someone—to steady you.
To calm the buzzing in your chest, to hold you together, to make sure you reached that faraway place safely instead of getting lost in it.
And that someone was Joel.
'Daddy' you called him sometimes, voice tiny and unsure, even though you weren't supposed to. Your glassy eyes always found him first. Your hands always fisted his shirt. Your thighs always around his waist while he rocked and rocked you to sleep.
'Little babygirl' he'd answer, even though he wasn't supposed to. A stern face guiding you, big hands holding you and that strong frame of his making you feel safe as if it was his only mission in life.
Tonight, Joel is deep asleep. Breathing slow, steady, calm. Exactly that quiet rhythm you know by heart.
And you're standing there in the doorway, small and overwhelmed, staring at the only place that had ever felt like shelter.
Little you is drifting.
The edges of your vision are soft, your thoughts wrapped in that familiar, thick cotton of subspace. You don't want to think; you just want to be held.
Carefully, you peel back the heavy blanket and slide into the heat of his bed. You press your front against his back, your small frame curling into the curve of his body. You let out a tiny, broken whimper, the sound vibrating against his skin, and bury your face between his shoulder blades.
Oh, how warm he is.
And Joel stirs.
A slow awakening—a gradual return to consciousness that starts with the feeling of something soft and trembling pressed against him. And even though he freezes just for a heartbeat, your daddy recognises you immediately.
But he can't. He shouldn't turn around and wrap his arms around your little frame until all those bad thoughts drifted far away. He shouldn't.
"No," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. He doesn't turn around yet, but his muscles tense. "No...we said we weren't doing this again. You can't just...you can't just slip in here, babygirl."
He tries to sound stern, tries to maintain the boundary you both agreed upon, but you only press closer. You cling to him, your fingers bunching the fabric of his shirt, a sob catching in your throat.
"You can't always just crawl into my bed," he says, voice firm. "I mean it."
He didn't mean it.
He knows what this state of yours means.
He knows exactly where it's heading, knows exactly how it's gonna end. He knows so well.
"Go to your room," he says again, sharper this time. "You hear me? You can't be doin' this. We said we weren't…we weren't gonna let this happen again."
And oh how it stings your small, tender heart when Daddy's voice turns stern like that.
He exhales hard. "Sweetheart, don't make me say it again."
You can't help but let a hot tear escape, soaking into his shirt. The sound of your quiet weeping is the breaking point for him.
Joel closes his eyes, a pained flicker crossing his face as his resolve finally cracks. He can't leave you drifting out there alone. Can't leave his little babygirl all by herself.
With a heavy, quiet exhale, he shifts, rolling over and letting one steady arm find your waist, guiding you upwards and into the safe space of his lap—the place that's always only meant for you.
He settles you there, your legs draped over his thighs, and begins to stroke your back in long, grounding sweeps. You immediately bury your face into the warmth of his neck.
"You're slipping away, huh?" he asks softly, his voice losing its edge and turning into that nurturing, honeyed tone that always makes you feel safe. "All gone in the head? Just a little babygirl who can't handle the world today?"
You nod, nuzzling into his shirt, breathing him in, and a tiny whimper escapes you; a sound so small and pitiful it's barely a breath. Your hand fists in his shirt, and you mumble against his chest, your voice thick and slurry, like you're talking through a mouthful of cotton.
"Want your cock, Daddy."
He releases a breath, your words making his mind spin. His grip on your hip tightens, his fingers digging slightly into your soft flesh. You respond by grinding your aching center against his thigh, a soft, desperate moan escaping your lips.
"No, babygirl." His voice is soft, gentle but firm. "We've talked about this, didn't we?"
You feel the frown pull at your brow, and you lift your head, your eyes hazy and unfocused, struggling to find his face in the dim light.
"But I need it," you whine, the sound dragging out. "Please, Daddy. Please. I need it so bad."
He cups your cheek, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone, his skin rough and warm. "Sweet girl. You're so far under I can see it in those pretty eyes. You ain't in a place to think straight right now."
"I can—" you start, but he shushes you with a soft click of his tongue.
"I know you think you can, honey. But I'm your Daddy, and it's my job to know what's best for you."
Your mind drifts, foggy and unfocused, to all the times he told you he couldn't be your daddy—that you shouldn't call him by that name, that it wasn't right, that it wasn't allowed. But now…in this confused, hazy state, you don't question a single word he says. You just accept it, soft and small, because everything feels too far away to fight.
He adjusts you on his lap, and he feels it then: the wet heat of you against his thigh, the slick slide of your bare cunt leaving a glistening trail on his pants.
You'd taken your panties off hours ago, wanting to feel the chill on your skin. And now his breath hitches, just a little, and his hand drifts down to rest on the curve of your hip.
You're leaking.
You can feel it, a slow, steady drip that soaks into the fabric, and you squirm, rubbing yourself against him just a little, chasing that friction.
He groans low in his throat. "None of that, babygirl."
"Just the tip, Daddy." The words tumble out in a rush, desperate and breathless. "Please. Just the tip. I'll be good. I promise I'll be so good."
He sighs, long and heavy, and you can see the war in his eyes—the stern, responsible daddy who wants to tuck you into bed and keep you safe, and the daddy who aches to give you exactly what you're begging for.
"No, honey. We had just the tip last time, and you didn't behave."
You remember. You remember the way you'd bucked against him, trying to take more, the way he'd had to pull out mid-thrust and hold you down until you calmed down. But this time it's different, you swear.This time you're so soft, so pliant, so utterly lost in the haze that you know you'd be good.
You'd be so so good for him.
"I'll be good, Daddy. I swear on my heart. I'll be so still and quiet. I just need to feel you—just a little. Please, Daddy. Please, please, please." Your eyes find his, limpid and pleading, tears pricking at the corners. "I'm so empty. I feel so empty without you."
He stares at you for a long, long moment, his thumb still tracing lazy patterns on your hip. His gaze is tired, heavy, searching, and you hold your breath, your whole body trembling with the effort of staying still for him.
"Alright," he murmurs, and the word is like a key turning in a lock. Your heart stutters. "Alright. But you gotta promise me, babygirl. You let Daddy control it. You let me take care of you."
"I promise, Daddy. I promise I'll be good. I'll be your good girl."
He shifts you off of his lap, laying you down gently on his bed, your head sinking into the blanket.
The mattress then dips as he moves, positioning himself between your thighs, his weight settling over you.
You look up at him, all hazy in adoration, and spread your legs wider in invitation.
"I ain't hard, baby. But it'll work." He mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you. "We can make it work. You're tight anyway...it'll fit right in. Just a little bit, honey. Just enough to make you feel better."
You watch as he takes his cock out of his pants.
It's soft, just as he said it would be, but even like this it's thick enough to make your mouth water. His tip the size of a small lime, flushed in a reddish undertone, and wet at the slit. He wraps his fingers around himself, giving himself a few lazy strokes, and you squeeze your thighs together instinctively.
"Please, Daddy," you peep, voice small.
He chuckles again, warm and fond. "I know, honey. Just a little babygirl, huh? My sweet, sweet girl."
But then he shifts, reaching for the nightstand, and a tiny, needy whine crawls out of your throat before you can stop it, fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him back.
"Hey…hey…shh." His voice drops like warm honey, slow and soothing. "Daddy's here. Just needed my glasses to see your pussy better, hon. Nothin' happened. M'here."
You blink up at him, and he's sliding those wire-framed glasses onto his face, the moonlight catching the lenses for a moment.
He looks down at you, and through the glass his eyes are even softer, even more focused on his babygirl.
"Desperate baby," He hums almost to himself, as his fingers find your folds and part them gently.
You gasps at the touch, the cool air on your slick skin, and he lets out a breathy chuckle.
"Oh, you've been real needy, hm?" He hums. "Pretty little pussy, all soft and swollen for Daddy. Yeah, honey?"
You nod frantically, a little moan escaping you.
He strokes through your wetness then, gathering it on his fingertips, and brings his hand to his cock.
With a gentle squeeze, he guides his cockhead to your entrance and presses slowly in.
Even that single inch is a stretch, a slow, burning fullness that makes your eyes roll back in your head. Your mouth falls open, a breathy "oh" escaping you, and you feel every ridge, every vein as he sinks just barely inside. He stops there, his hips flush against yours, and you can feel him pulsing, feel the slight give of his flesh inside you.
Your head falls back, whimpering, hips twitching, trying to take him in. But he pulls back, just a fraction.
"What did we say, hon? Behave."
You pout, bottom lip jutting out, and a fresh tear slips down your cheek. But you still, your body trembling with the effort, wanting to be good for your daddy.
"That's my good girl." Joel rewards you with a slow, gentle press of his soft tip further into your hole.
You cry out, a high, keening sound, and he hushes you, his voice a low purr.
"Ain't even need to be hard, honey. Look how pretty you take me. Just the tip, babygirl. Just a little taste. You feel that? You feel Daddy's cock in your sweet little pussy?"
"Mhm—" you nod, glassy eyes watching as he plays with your cunt.
While he looks down at your cunt, his reading glasses slip to the bridge of his nose, hanging there stubbornly. Your hand rises without thinking, pushing them back up with a small, clumsy touch.
"Thank you, honey," he says gently. "Barely here, and you're still takin' care of me." Joel shakes his head, fond and tired.
"Always daddy..."
He breathes out a soft laugh, and strokes your cheek with a slow, careful touch.
Oh, how Joel's heart ached. Even while you were far away, those tiny words slipping out of you like instinct. God, how he wished that he didn't care this much.
"I don't wanna hurt my little girl. You're too far gone for your own little good. You tell me if it's too much, yea, honey?" He asks gently.
"Yes, yes daddy," you babble, your words running together.
Then he starts to move, the shallowest of thrusts, just the thick head of his cock pressing in and sliding out of you with a pop, each pass catching on your rim. It's a tease, a tantalizing brush with something more, and your hands fly up to grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his shirt.
Joel watches intensely how his tip gets covered in your juices. Every slow thrust makes your cunt react: growing wetter and wetter, entrance clenching and gripping his head like it wants to suck him deeper.
"Daddy..." The word is a whimper, stretched out into a plea.
"I know, babygirl. I know." His voice is ragged, strained. "Just let daddy feel you. You're so tight. So perfect. So warm and wet for me."
His eyes move from your face down to your arms, noticing the goosebumps racing across your skin.
He halts his movements, frown on his face, murmuring a small: "Cold, honey?" He doesn't wait for an answer before he pulls his thick blanket carefully over your legs and tummy, tucking the edges so the warmth traps against you.
The sudden cocoon of heat makes you melt under him. Your muscles loosen, your breath evens, and the fuzzy, floaty feeling you've been chasing settles deeper. Joel watches your face soften, watches your lashes flutter, and a small, fond smile tugs at his mouth.
Then he starts with his thrusts.
He rocks, rocks and rocks into you, slow, agonising, sweet while staying true to his promise: just the tip.
Each tiny thrust is measured, patient, meant only to keep you drifting. His free hand slips under the blanket to rest over your belly, thumb rubbing soothing circles while he keeps the rest of you covered and safe.
His hand then slides lower where your bodies meet. His thumb finds your clit, circling that swollen nub with firm, steady pressure that matches the pace of his shallow thrusts. The dual sensation makes your breath hitch, your hips twitching towards him.
"Oh, my sweet babygirl," he whispers. "You're so close, aren't you."
And you were. So so close.
His thumb presses harder, rubbing tight circles while his cockhead continues its lazy, teasing slide. You hiccup, the praise hitting you like a spark, heat flooding through your core as your muscles clench around him.
Your orgasm builds fast, faster than you can realise—cresting without any warning. Your thighs tremble on either side of his hips, your back arching off of the bed as pleasure crashes over you. Soft, whiney whimpers spill from your lips: "daddydaddydaddy," while your walls pulse and squeeze around the tip still nestled just inside you.
"That's it. There you go, honey," Joel murmurs, his voice steady and encouraging. His thumb doesn't stop its relentless rubbing, drawing out every wave. "Squeeze it...yes, juuust like that. You're milking me without even having me inside. Such a good, needy little girl."
Your body responds to every word, clenching tighter around his head as the aftershocks ripple through you.
Joel keeps the slow, shallow movements going, letting you ride it out while his thumb gentles on your oversensitive clit. The warmth of his body surrounds you, his free hand stroking your hip in soothing circles as your breathing slowly evens out.
But then his hips start to tremble too, you can see the muscles in his forearms cord as he holds himself back, his knuckles white where they grip the bed on either side of your head.
Your sweet daddy was getting hard...and he was trying his oh so best to not fill you up in one, quick thrust.
With his now hard tip pressed inside you, his thumb leaves your clit to hold into your hips.
Joel groans low, his eyebrows furrowing together.
The head of his cock feels hotter now, thicker, the veins along his shaft pulsing against your entrance as he gradually swells inside the tight ring of muscle.
You feel the change immediately—his tip stretching you wider, the pressure building deeper even though he still refuses to push past that first inch.
A soft whimper slips out before you can stop it.
"Daddy...I'm gonna...again...I can't...please... please just fill me..."
Joel shakes his head gently, his free hand stroking your thigh in soothing circles.
"No, no. You stay right there," he murmurs, voice warm and steady. "Just feel it, babygirl. Feel how big Daddy's getting for you."
His cock throbs harder inside your entrance, the flared head catching on every flutter of your walls as he rocks forwards again, teasing without giving you more.
Your impatience grows fast.
Your legs kick lightly against the mattress, your hips rolling up to chase more of him, desperate to pull him deeper.
Joel clicks his tongue softly and pulls out completely, his wet cock slapping against your mound.
"Hey. Hey. Oh, honey. It's okay," he soothes, gathering you up into his arms before you can protest. "Didn't you promise me you'd behave tonight, hm?"
He shifts back against the headboard and settles you into his lap, your thighs straddling his hips, your face pressed to his chest.
"M'sorry, daddy...i'm tryin' but I need you..." you mumble into his chest, tears already falling from your eyes.
"Shhh, easy now, it's okey." he whispers against your hair, one big hand rubbing slow circles on your back while the other reaches down to grip his cock again.
He lines himself up beneath you and then—oh.
He starts to lower you, inch by careful inch.
The thick head parts your folds once more, but this time he sinks deeper, stretching your walls open around his full length.
"There you go...easy." he whispers into your ear while he moves so so agonisingly slow that you feel every ridge, every pulse, every vein dragging along your sensitive insides until he's buried to the hilt inside you.
"Too much, daddy..." The words comes out muffled against his shirt as you bury your face further in his chest, overwhelmed by how completely he fills you. Your body trembles around him, adjusting to the deep stretch, your arms wrapping tight around his torso.
"I know, babygirl...I know. Big stretch." He murmurs into your hair.
He holds you close, rocking his hips in tiny, shallow movements that keep him seated deep without thrusting hard.
"Bet that feels real good now in your pussy, hm? All deep inside now." He murmurs.
Your face comes up from his chest to look at him, cheeks flushed, mouth gaping open. A soft "mhm,"comes from your lips before your face goes into his chest again.
With every gentle thrust your whimpers—those tiny, little broken sounds—grow louder and louder the longer he keeps that steady pace.
Joel watches your face the whole time, eyes soft with that sweet mix of concern and affection. When another shaky whine slips out of you, he slows even more, one hand leaving your hip to brush your cheek.
"Open your mouth, babygirl," he murmurs. His fingers trace your lower lip, then nudge gently between your teeth. "Mhm. Open, there you go, that's it. Daddy knows what you need, honey."
He slides two thick fingers past your lips, letting them rest on your tongue while his hips start to rock up into you in those same tender thrusts.
The weight of his cock fills you completely with every slow push, and the fingers in your mouth give you something to suckle on, something to ground you while little you floats away.
"That's my good girl," he whispers, eyes never leaving yours. "Just like that. Keep sucking on Daddy's fingers while he takes care of this pretty cunt."
His thrusts stay soft and steady, the wet sound of your bodies meeting barely louder than your muffled whimpers around his fingers.
Joel chuckles when he feels you biting down his fingers, kissing the top of your head. His hand strokes slow circles over your lower back, steadying you.
"So full of Daddy's cock. You want Daddy to cum in you, baby?"
You nod hazily around his fingers, your walls fluttering around him.
But Joel shakes his head with a soft, teasing pout. "We ain't using any protection, bug." His hand slides down to grip your hip, guiding your movements gently as he continues those slow, shallow rocks.
Your mouth leaves his fingers and you pout too, all soft, all floaty, mumbling, "M'gonna cum, Daddy."
"Yeah, baby? You're gonna cum?" His voice stays gentle even as his hips pick up the pace just a little, small thrusts turning quicker.
Your whimpers grow louder, turning into broken little whines as pleasure coils tight in your belly.
"C'mon then, show your Daddy how good you can cum, bun," Joel sweetly encourages, thrusting steadily until your walls clamp down around him again, creaming and pulsing along his length.
Your soft moans and cries stay muffled against his chest, your body shaking in his arms as the pleasure rolls through you in long, sweet waves.
Each squeeze sending warmth around his cock, each clench sucking him deeper and milking him until Joel couldn't take it anymore.
He pulls out quickly once you're spent, stroking himself fast until hot ropes and ropes of cum paint across your tummy and thighs. You look down hazily, still overstimulated from your orgasm, wrapped up in a blanket of clouds.
He keeps you tucked against him, one hand stroking your hair while the other rubs slow circles on your back. You're already soft and heavy in his arms, eyes fluttering closed as sleep pulls at you.
"You did so well, babygirl." Joel presses a kiss to the top of your head, holding you close. "All worn out now, aren't you, honey?"
The last thing you hear is his voice, low and sweet, humming a lullaby you don't recognize, and the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your ear.
Tomorrow will come with its own heaviness.
You both know that. The guilt will settle in quietly, embarrassment will whisper untrue thoughts, and neither of you will quite know what to do with it. You'll avoid each other's eyes, speak in short, careful sentences, pretend the night didn't happen the way it did.
But that's tomorrow.
Right now, wrapped in his arms, the world feels small and warm and so so gentle. Right now, his heartbeat is steady under your cheek, and your breathing finally matches his.
For this one quiet moment, you let yourself rest.
And your daddy, with his old, tired ache in his chest, lets himself hold you just a little closer, wishing he could have this forever.
Phewwwww. I don't really know if i like this or not my brain is such a mush bc of this heat and stress so excuse my lack of proofreading!
discoholicmusic
stormborns
pixelskylines
andulkaphoto
areudirty
gracieabrams
amandla
2087
yousharknotpass
