i love men who are older

21 i love pedro pascal FUCK ICE AND FUCK TRUMP ‼️ current obsessions: joe keery, jacob elordi, pedro obvi, sabrina carpenter, noah wyle

[sugaryewscythe]

just a reminder that this blog is run by someone who:

— is anti ICE & fascism — is pro-choice & feminist — supports trans & queer people — hates generative AI & capitalism — supports immigrants & people of color — is pro-environmentalism & social justice — supports palestine & all other territories unjustly suffering

[hauntedinkk]

sore gums ~ j.m

tags: INCEST! DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT! READER IS UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF A SEDATIVE, dad!joel x daughter!reader, reader gets her wisdom teeth removed, intox somnophilia, sweet dad!joel, reader does not consent to sex verbally but doesn’t feel uncomfortable or ask to stop, gentle sex, quickie, mentions of contraception, praise and creampie.

summary: you get your wisdom teeth taken out so dad fucks you while you are still high from the sedative.

repost of my old dad!joel fic :)

“Mmm, my tongue feels all weird, daddy.” You complain, your body slumped and exhausted in the passenger seat of your father’s car.

That was the third time you’d said that since he’d picked you up from the dentist. It was safe to say that the sedative you were under was working wonders, even if it meant you would repeat yourself. Joel was glad his first time seeing his daughter high was off a legal, doctor prescribed drug, and it was a little funny seeing you in your dreamlike state, a pout on your pretty lips.

“Yeah, i know honey. The doctor said it’ll feel like that for a while, s’nothin’ to worry about. Just relax, hm? Daddy’ll take care of ya this evenin’.” He comforts, reaching across the centre console and patting your knee reassuringly, the soft hum of understanding from you melting his heart.

Seeing you like this was adorable and if he was being honest, it was sending several disgusting ideas into his head of what he could do to you in this state. You were always up for sex, you were the one who started this whole illegal relationship between you and your father, and as taboo as it already was, the thought of fucking you while you were sleepy and vunerable was something even more risqué.

When the two of you pull into the front garden, Joel steps out of the car first, rounding the vehicle until he gets to your door. He opens it and offers you his hand which you brush away, instead reaching up and looping your arms around his head, your body completely lax and unwilling to move on it’s own.

Your eyes were lulled closed, the pieces of cotton stuffed into your mouth making you drool a little uncontrollably, all of which the dentist had told Joel was normal. He sighs at your laziness yet there wasn’t much annoyance behind it. He scoops you up into his arms bridal style, letting you tuck your head comfortably into his neck as he carried you inside the house.

He takes you on through to the living room, walking over to the couch to lay you down there, but you stop him. “No, want my bed.” You groan, clinging tighter to him so he didn’t put you down.

Joel feels like strangling you but decides against it, settling for a loud sigh that blew into your face and heading for the staircase, stomping up it a little louder than necessary. He looks down at you, watching your eyes droop further closed, slumber starting to call your name. Maybe you were better off sleeping for a couple hours, getting some rest and letting the drugs wear off.

He makes it into your bedroom and shifts you in his arms to lay you down on your bed over the covers, leaving you momentarily to grab a fluffy blanket draped over your desk chair to cover you. “Now, there ya go, kiddo. Try and get some rest now, yeah?” He suggests quietly, leaning down and pressing a lips again your forehead.

You nod wordlessly, a contented hum leaving your lips as you settle comfortably on your back.

Joel spends the next hour watching over you from the little purple armchair next to your bed, the same one you’d had ever since you were a little girl. Ever so often you’d make these little whining noises in your sleep, likely to do with the unfamiliar feeling of damp cotton in your mouth.

And as much as Joel wanted to concentrate on caring for you, on being the responsible father he was meant to be, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to the thoughts from before in the car. Of how vunerable you were like this, his baby girl, all drugged up and sleepy.

It makes his cock unbelievably hard thinking of all the different things he could do to you when you were so out of it. How it would feel to climb on top of you, something he’s done so many times before, and fuck his cock into you. How easily your pussy would lubricate itself for him when you were in such a biddable state.

It wouldn’t hurt to give it a go, right? Every time the two of you got up to something sexual, you were almost always the one to suggest it. Surely you wouldn’t mind him taking what he needed just this once. Hell, you mightn’t even remember it. Curiosity gets to Joel and suddenly he finds himself standing up from his seat and undoing the zipper of his jeans. His cock is hard and straining against his boxers as he pulls them down along with the denim and it takes everything within him not to take it in his hand right then and there and just relieve some of the pressure.

He carefully makes his way closer to the bed and climbs over your body, mindful not to jostle you too much, after all, this would be much easier if you just stayed asleep. He rests his weight on his arms either side of your neck, his hard cock resting against your inner thigh.

For a second, he just looks at you. His warm, brown eyes melting at the sight of you so pliant beneath him. Your mouth is slightly ajar, soft, breathy snores puffing through your lips. For a moment, the person laying in front of him — the adult in front of him — reminds him of that little girl he raised all those years ago. Your sleeping form makes you look younger somehow and it takes him back to your younger years, tucking you into bed and giving you a goodnight kiss.

And for a moment, he feels guilt eat as his chest, the same guilt he pushes down every time the two of you converse sexually. It was hard not to feel a level of culpability when he was about to take advantage of his daughter in this state. Usually, he didn’t when you were participating and, well, awake, but now, when he was alone with his thoughts, everything felt a little more raw.

Despite it though, he reaches down and wraps a hand around his cock, squeezing himself lightly to release some of the pressure built up in his erection. He then removes his hand and focuses on you, his hands coming down to remove your sweatpants by tugging at your waistband, taking your white, cotton panties off at the same time to kill two birds with one stone.

You whine a little at the disturbance and Joel holds his breath as you scrunch your face up in discomfort. You nuzzle the side of your face against the soft pillow beneath your sleepy head, momentarily tensing before relaxing back into sleep.

Fucking phew.

Joel tosses your underwear across the room somewhere he doesn’t care to look and moves his hand down between your legs. He cups your sex briefly to feel the warmth radiating from your relaxed body and it makes his cock harden even further and his heart soften at the same time.

He then runs his pointer finger through your folds, noting that you were understandably not wet. He takes his thumb up to your clit and flattens it over the nub, getting to work on circling the small organ slowly so he can hopefully loosen you up a little.

And sure enough, your pussy started to lubricate itself in the next couple of minutes, a soft, sleepy whine falling from your lips as your eyelids flutter open. You aren’t panicked when you wake. You trust your father and in your opinion, this wasn’t much different to him touching you while you were awake and consenting.

Joel doesn’t notice your awake immediately but when another slow moan passes your lips, a little muffled around the cotton in your mouth, it stirs Dad enough to look up at you. He feels a little embarrassed that he’s that desperate that he has to violate you in your sleep and for a moment he’s a little nervous of your reaction.

“Daddy,” you whimper sleepily. And your tone isn’t protesting, if anything, it’s pleading. Your little hole starts to pulse now, your slick coating your lips. Joel can tell that you’re still a little high with the way your voice sounds and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find that incredibly arousing.

“M’sorry, hon. Daddy’s just playing with his baby girl a little. Go back to sleep, honeybun.” He coaxes, slowing his ministrations as to not overwhelm you. When he’s sure you’re falling back asleep again, he slips his index finger past your opening, inspecting whether you were ready or not.

When he’s met with your wet, velvety insides, he’s pleased enough to remove his digit and line his cock up with your entrance. He hissed at your smooth, slick cunt against his swollen, blushing tip, his hand trembling on one side of your head as he held himself up while entering you slowly, feeling your walls give him a welcoming squeeze.

“Fuck, sweetie. Nice n’tight f’daddy when you’re all sleepy, huh?” He asks, being met with a puff of air from your slightly open, sleeping mouth. It truly amazed Joel how easy it was to work you up when you weren’t even awake and the fact that he was able to do this without stirring you made his cock leak.

And he can’t help the shameless whimper that passes his lips at the incredible feeling of your warm insides wrapped around him so perfectly as he started to pump in and out of your sweet pussy, his sweet pussy. The one he’s proud to say he created with the help of your mother — the one night stand he’d had twenty years ago.

He pumps himself in and out of you slowly and he doubts it’ll take much longer until he’s making a mess of this pretty hole of yours, he was getting old after all. He uses one hand to grip your hip, trying his best not to squeeze your delicate bones too tightly, though it was easier said than done when you sucked him in and clenched occasionally and involuntarily.

And being able to fuck you like this was almost better than when you were awake. Don’t get him wrong, he loves watching his baby girl react to his cock and babble sweet nothings as he makes her cum but when he used you like this, there wasn’t any pressure to hold out his orgasm until you were finished.

“There we go, honeybun. Gonna make daddy cum if ya keep squeezin’ me so goddamn tight.” He grits though he knows you can’t hear, almost immediately after he says that, your cunt twitches and clenches around him again, and it’s in that moment he knew he was done for.

Joel’s hips start to stutter and his thrusts become quite sloppy and uncalculated. And if he was being honest, it was a little embarrassing that he was cumming so quickly, it did nothing but remind him of his age painfully.

Regardless, he tightens his grip on you despite his efforts not to and starts to pound you now, the sounds of skin on skin colliding filling the room. They were loud enough to the point that Joel even felt a little concerned that not even that was waking you. But his pleasure outweighed his worry as his balls drew up into his stomach and his tip started to pulse.

Your father’s forehead comes crashing down onto your covered chest as he fucks himself through his orgasm. “My baby girl, my special girl,” he repeats multiple times. Copious spurts of Joel’s cum fills your insides, coating your walls and hopefully not travelling to your womb.

His own load starts to drip from you even while he’s buried inside of you, his thrusts barely there now as he stills. The creamy DNA drips down his length and coats his sensitive balls and the feeling is somewhat uncomfortable and a little erotic at the same time.

His dick slips out of you on its own, the mix of your juices and his seed creating a slippy substance and Joel groans as he feels himself start to soften.

And it would be fine, right? Him cumming inside of you. Normally, he was a little more careful when it came to protection but as soon as you were awake and feeling better he’d just take a trip down to Wallgreens and grab a plan b. Worse comes to worse, he’ll have to fish out a couple hundred dollars for a pill at planned parenthood. No biggie, right?

Jesus, How was he going to explain this to you when you woke full of his cum?

Thank you for reading, this has been in my drafts for so long holy shit😭 reblogs and comments help a ton so feel free to leave your thoughts :) I normally don’t get turned on while writing but goddamn this did things to me🫠

npt: @nastydawggg @cyberdo11 @fae-monster @ilovetoomanymen @mytearsricochetm @subconsciouscollapse @mabelmiller @myluvbucky @old-logan-and-old-joels-slut @joelmillerswifey @pleurspetal @muttamaro @livingundeadgirllz @dogb @katyispunk @strgrlxo @screamingplastictoenail88 @valyrianjoel @goonbarisi @dixie-isnt-cool @il0velove @fuzzyfawnnn @lovewitchss @justheretoreadmydear @rawndoldersupremacist @circumspectre @xbeababyx @moonlitsmile @tloulover444 @glittergrenade

[djospurnell]

the lip lick does something to me i can’t explain

[levanswrites]

𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞

some munch!steve harrington thoughts this evening... warnings: 18+, shy-ish!reader, oral f!receiving, certified loverboy steve

♡ · · · ♡ · · · ♡

Call it devotion, call it curiosity. Call it his ego, if you want.

The need to know exactly what he’s doing to you. To understand it in every possible way: see it, hold it, breathe it in. That distinct aftertaste of the two of you entwined, becoming something shared.

Because once Steve Harrington realizes how easily he can switch from fucking you to tasting you, he never wants to stop.

It’s over for you, really.

He loves the closeness first; chest pressed tight to yours, the solid heat of him anchoring you into the mattress while he fucks those breathless, broken sounds out of your throat. His mouth hovers over yours, sometimes kissing, sometimes just there, close enough that every breath you take turns into his.

His eyes never leave your face. They flicker restlessly, near burning in their intensity to read you, from the tension in your brow to the way your lashes flutter when the angle hits just right.

He’s obsessive about it.

About learning exactly what you like. How deep to go, how slow to drag it out, when to snap his hips a little sharper to make you whine.

He loves telling you how beautiful you are. Loves feeling you clench when he asks if you can hear how wet you've gotten for him.

But even then… it’s not enough.

Because, see, his mind doesn’t stop there.

It starts to wander, fixate.

On the mess he’s making. On that slick, warm drag between you, the evidence of it everywhere—on his fingers, your thighs, soaked into the sheets beneath you.

On what that must look like.

On what you must look like.

On what you must taste like, fuck—

And once the thought takes hold, it doesn’t let go.

His head dips, rhythm faltering as his gaze drags down your body instead of staying locked on your face.

And then he’s sliding out, the sudden absence making your breath catch, that soft, wet sound of his cock slipping free from your pussy.  

He mumbles a breathless apology, a gentle hold on, baby, and before you can even process the loss, he’s kissing his way down your body, lips worshiping the swell of your lower stomach, the delicate arc of your hips. 

He doesn’t go far—never far—but he just needs to see.

Needs to check.

Needs to know what he did to you. To know what you look like after he’s spent hours making you his—round after round of slow, patient love-making, nothing short of worship—unraveling you piece by piece, then putting you back together the way he wants.

Warm, broad palms settle against your thighs, coaxing them apart.

His thumbs press into your skin, gentle but insistent when he spreads you open.

He just stares for a while, taking in the view like a man starved.

Tongue licking at the corner of his mouth, eyes gone dark at the sight of your swollen pussy; all puffy and fluttering around empty air, gaping from the way he’s stretched you open.   

You usually turn away from this kind of intimacy, still a little shy about being seen this closely—but in the rare moments he can get you like this, completely undone and unmoored, he knows he only has a brief moment to take it in, and he makes the most of it.

He can’t stop staring at that fucking gape, can’t help the low groan that slips past his lips when another line of your arousal trickles down and soaks into his sheets. 

“Shit, baby...”

And then he’s gone.

Once he starts, he doesn’t hold back.

Can’t, not when he’s down here. There’s always this moment—right before he presses that first, tender kiss to your pussy—where something in him splinters, and the version of him that survives doesn't hesitate.

He always gets a little too into it.

More than he should, probably. Past the point where it’s normal.   

It unsettles him, sometimes, how far his mind drifts when it’s just you and him inside it. Things he’d never say out loud, things that'd have his face going red if he lingered on them for too long. Everything he imagines doing to you—doing with you—if he ever let himself lean fully into the feeling.

He loses himself in that thought, same way he loses himself in your pussy. The scent of it, the wet, velvety heat that glides across his tongue as he slowly laps at your entrance. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, squeezes your hips, vision tunneling until everything else fades out, until even his own breathing stops feeling automatic—it breaks into quick, shallow bursts, and he pauses just long enough for the light dizziness to pass before he dives back in for another taste.

Gentle, always gentle at first, savoring your flavor, melting you on his tongue. Though it doesn’t take long for him to get a little carried away—how is he supposed to help it when start squirming underneath him like that, rolling your hips to try and chase his mouth?

“Yeah? Right here?” he murmurs, muffling a smile against your plush warmth, nosing into your clit. A soft laugh follows when your hips buck up into his face.

This is his favorite part—seeing you give in, letting go of the careful restraint you usually carry. He doesn't want you to hold back, never with him.

He moans into you, chasing the quick, erratic motion of your hips with his mouth, sucking at your swollen clit with a pressure that makes you gasp, thighs twitching against his ears.

And when you start to whine—when you start begging for him to come back to you, for him to fill you in a way only he can—he just huffs out a quiet laugh, breath warm against your pussy.

“I know, baby, I know,” he rubs his palm against your thigh, barely pulling his lips away to speak. “Just hang on a sec, okay? I just... just need to taste you—god, you’re so fucking perfect.”

He buries his nose into your mound, takes a deep breath like he’s running out of air, when really it’s just an excuse to linger a little longer. To press closer, inhale your scent in greedy, shuddering pulls, letting it sustain him until the next inevitable return.

When you finally tug at his hair, fingers clenched between sweat-damp strands, demanding kisses with quiet whimpers that make him ache for you all over again, he can’t resist.

How could he?

He lets you drag him back up, mouth parted, chest heaving. His whole face is flushed, nose and cheeks shining with your arousal.

And there's this quiet, adoring stillness in him when he looks at you like this, propped up on his elbows, eyes heavy with something he doesn’t try to hide.

Watching his girl, an angel if he’s ever seen one, glowing against his pillow like you're lit from within.

“Steve...” you whine softly, clutching at his shoulders. “Need you.”

“Yeah? You need me?” he pushes your hair back, thumb dragging lightly along your cheek. “Need me so bad, huh?”

He presses a tender kiss to your mouth—one pair of lips just as sweet and velvety as the other—as he slides back home, the warm, tight clutch of your pussy welcoming him inside.

And when he settles into you again, like he never really left, he lets a quiet sigh brush against your lips.

“Could stay here forever, baby,” he admits. "I love you."

He eases back into a familiar rhythm—slow, deep strokes, just the way you like them—his forehead resting against yours like he really could stay right here, suspended with you, for as long as you’d let him.

But it's his eyes that give him away, betraying him with the smallest glance downward.

He knows he won't be able to stay away for long.

♡ · · · ♡ · · · ♡

[gutsby]

girl…. i love ur work and you’d go crazy on this concept if you need any ideas. walk with me. i was rewatching s2 ep 1 and caught that Dina tells Ellie she’s hanging out with Joel to watch one of his ‘Curtis & Viper’ movies and my mind spiralled. i thought about Reader hanging out at Joel’s house cause he’s been lonely lately, he’s fell out with Ellie & now shes moved out. Reader feels bad for him & wants to cheer him up. They make a weekly habit of watching a film together. Then one night things get weirdly tense (maybe she gets tired and puts her head on his lap & sad old joel gets hard from a pretty face down there) that they end up having gross, icky, dare i say sloppy, old! joel miller man sex 🫣🫣🫣🫣

BESTIE U R SOOOOO SICK FOR THIS (love you and THANK YOU for sending it in!! 💓) (and ty for reading!)

I’m picturing them watching Texas Chainsaw Massacare LOL

Classic slasher from the ‘70s, right?

You’re not all that into it.

As a matter of fact, you’ve only been coming to Joel Miller’s place to watch a movie with him every Tuesday night because the man is lonely. He’s old, and his teenage daughter currently hates his guts. So, you figured you’d throw him a bone and watch his favorite old-timey flicks to be nice and give him company.

You end up getting a lot more than you bargained for.

“You really…want this, darlin’?” Silver-streaked curls dangle down from the face above you, shaking as he speaks. His gut rests heavily against your front, and between your legs, warmth sprouts from the place where his slick, bare cock is pressed to your entrance.

The length of it is still wet with spit from the blowjob you gave him. Earlier, your head was resting in his lap during a particularly violent, gory scene, you got a little scared, and at almost the same time, you felt Joel get hard underneath the press of your cheek. It didn’t take long for you to pull down the zip of his jeans and put him in your mouth. The move wasn’t even especially erotic—just a way to ease your fears in the face of frightening visuals and draw some tension out of Joel as you did. Your hot, soft, drooling mouth bobbed up and down on the old man’s shaft maybe eight or nine times total before you felt ropes spit down your throat.

You swallowed each spurt dutifully, then offered to take things even further by spreading your thighs.

“This won’t make things any different?” Joel continues, concern trickling into his words.

“No, Mr. Miller.”

“Don’t,” he groans, “call me that, please.”

“OK.”

In no time at all, he’s sinking inside you, groaning again—now at the tight, velvety clutch of your walls—and grabbing your hips. A shudder passes through him.

It’s like he hasn’t done this in a decade, at least.

That big and hard and leaking cock attached to this old and needy man must not have known the pleasure of anything but a fist for so long, if he fucks like this. Withdrawing all the way to the tip, sucking in a breath, then shoving back in clumsily and cursing as he does. Rocking his hips out of rhythm, the squelching of your pussy around him an awkward cacophony as it seems the man’s only awareness is in the sensation of you.

“F-Fuck, honey,” Joel grunts, voice tight. “Ain’t—fuck me—been in pussy this good since I don’t know when.”

“Bet it was before I was born.”

You can’t help it. He’s ancient.

This time, Joel doesn’t scold you or deny the allegation. He just keeps thrusting and struggling through breaths and lets you run your fingers through his sweat-dampened grays as he pistons in and out of your pussy. He moans in pleasure. Makes the floral print sofa squeak and groan beneath the two of you.

His chest is a wall of pure muscle above you, broad and impossibly dense with scars of multiple decades past littered across it. You stare at it, feeling the stretch of his girth working in and out of you again and again, and you’re admittedly left in awe of all of this. Your friend’s father—the man you came to cheer up with your company, being somewhat close to her in age—is now working his sexual frustration out on your body. Taking you by the hips and using you like his own personal fleshlight, while he groans and curses and mutters things like, fuckin’ tight and perfect fuckhole.

You aren’t even sure he’s aware of what he’s saying. You just know that he likes what he’s feeling, and the ordinarily sweet and polite old man is probably moments away from getting off inside you.

It’s only been two minutes, you think. Nice.

Guys your age normally aren’t even half as vocal, or needy, as Joel, so you’ll let it slide that you aren’t getting to orgasm yourself tonight. You pull the strands of his hair tighter through your fingers, tilt your hips upward against his thrusts, and then you squeeze.

On the TV, someone gets bludgeoned by a hammer.

Amidst the characteristically piercing screams and cries that ensue, echoing out from the set’s speakers, Joel grits his teeth and lets out a pained hiss of his own as he struggles to maintain composure; he fails.

He paints every inch of your insides and then some with his cum. Even more than what went down your throat before, it just keeps going and going and going, with no end in sight. You think he might start to leak out of your cunt and onto the couch, and then he does, trickling out over the bright and gaudy flower pattern.

A low whimper escapes you.

Slowly, realization dawns.

Shit, shit, shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit, shouldn’t have done that, shit.

Ellie’s gonna murder you.

You start to try to sit up.

Joel’s body pins yours to the couch, so you can’t.

With words, you venture: “I—I think I should go.”

It’s reflexive; defensive in the way you want to get this man off of you before he can take anything more, maybe make you want something you shouldn’t.

His spend eases the slide of his now-softening cock from out between your legs. You wriggle backward.

“Mr. Miller, it’s been fun, but—”

“What’d I say about callin’ me that?”

Joel snags your ankle before you can get far.

You flop down on your back, acutely aware of how sensitive you are everywhere, and without realizing it, your legs fall open again. Your pussy clenches around nothing, still starved of release, and inadvertently pushes more cum out of that raw, stretched hole.

Joel slides down your front.

It isn’t right; you both know it.

“But I came, and you didn’t. Ain’t fair,” Joel murmurs.

“Thought horny old fucks like you didn’t care about that kind of stuff.” You exhale a breath as the man’s shoulders push your thighs even further apart. The sound hitches when he starts to lower his head next.

“Horny old fucks deserve a taste. Maybe even a chance to make you cum with their tongue, fingers—”

“Fine.”

Fuck it.

“—and my cock, once we wake ‘im back up.”

Joel smirks.

You roll your eyes.

Another unnamed character gets hacked to pieces on-screen, and you get the sense you’ll be lying on this couch, hearing but not really listening to a word of what’s said in another two or three movies, at least.

“Can we put on something better now, Mr. Miller?”

[cup1dsgirlll]

ready for that lonely life to end — dbf!Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x fem!reader

cw: age gap, doggy, clitoral stimulation, cervical exam???, mating press, creampie

“Holy shit, M-Mikey!” you screeched into the pillow, your moans muffled against the soft cushion. Robby's large hand snaked from your hip to the back of your head, gathering your hair at the root into his fist, and gripped it harshly. You whimpered out in surprise when he yanked at your scalp to lift your head off the pillow. His thrusts did not falter as you moaned out into the bedroom, the wanton sound echoing throughout his apartment.

“Mikey-” you gasped as he tugged harder on your hair until your arched back was pressed against his coarse, hairy chest. He wrapped his arm around your waist and moved his hand from your hair toward your neck. Grabbing it gently to hold rather than to squeeze. The possessive gesture makes you even wetter, and the squelching sounds between you get louder.

“The whole point of bringing you to my place," he grunted with his lips against your ear, "is so that you can be. Fucking. Loud." His thrusts were timed perfectly with his words.

“O-okay, I’m sor- Ow! Ow, fuck!!” You blubbered at a particular thrust that felt uncomfortably deep.

"Oh, Shit. Baby, are you okay?" Robby asked urgently before immediately pulling out, holding you more gently against his chest. Both the palms of his hands are now resting against your ribs, gripping you as delicately as possible to keep you from falling onto the mattress.

You panted heavily with your eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath, waiting for the dull ache inside you to go away. Robby was getting desperate; your silence and lack of confirmation that you were okay were eating at him.

He gently grabbed your cheeks and forced you to turn your head back to face him behind your shoulder, needing eye contact to read you properly.

"Talk to me," Robby pleaded with a soothing tone, while his chocolate brown eyes bore into you. Anxious for an answer while trying not to stress you out, "Where does it hurt?"

"My-my-" you mewled softly as you made an effort to answer him properly. His encouraging nod helped you find the words you were looking for. "M-my cervix."

Robby tsked softly before leaning in to place a gentle kiss on your full cheek.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," He murmured, his salt and pepper beard scratching your skin as his lips brushed tenderly against your soft and sweaty skin. The gesture made your eyes flutter closed to enjoy the intimacy of the moment, making you feel closer to him than when he was inside you.

"Do you want to stop?" He cooed against your cheek, the immediate shake of your head to his suggestion made him chuckle softly.

"No, just s-slow down. Please?" Robby nodded before placing one more kiss on your cheek.

“Alright. I need to check your pretty pussy first, okay?” He cooed, not making a single move to position you until he got your consent.

You nodded gently, and he moved his grip down to your waist as he lowered you down carefully onto your stomach and flipped you over with ease. His strength always surprised you, given that his only workout consisted of being constantly on the go at the Pitt. Robby grabbed your knees and pushed them up until they were inches from your shoulders, pressing against your breasts.

“Hold it,” He ordered, his role as an attending physician bleeding into his dominance in the bedroom. Your brain began to go all fuzzy and slow to process his command. Robby sensed your hesitance and glanced up at you with an arched brow, making you quickly obey and place your hands behind your knee to hold your legs back for him.

“Good girl,” He growled lowly as he kept his gaze on your soaked folds.

As he continued his inspection, your cheeks began to flush in this position. It always made you feel a little shy despite the numerous occasions he’s fucked you in a mating press. Except now you were exposing yourself to him instead of being covered by his tall and burly build.

A startled gasp escaped your lips as you felt the pad of his thumb circle your bundle of nerves. It quickly snapped you out of your anxious thoughts. You noticed his eyes were trained on your folds with his brows furrowed in concentration.

“What-what are you do-” Robby interrupted you before you could finish your sentence.

“Need to lube you up before I check you properly,” He continued to stimulate your engorged clit with slow and controlled circles, not stopping until you were weeping. Despite this technically being a clinical check-in, you didn't even try to hold back the desperate mewling coming out of your parted lips. Robby was borderline teasing you, and it was driving you insane.

It wasn't until he glanced down and saw the wet spot forming under your ass from your arousal dripping down your folds and onto his sheets. He finally decided that you were wet enough, and he scooted closer on his knees before carefully working one thick finger into your folds. It was a tight fit, but he didn't stop until he circled the tip of his finger around for your cervical opening.

Robby grunted softly once he located your opening, feeling the small dent.

“How does that feel?” His cock twitched against his thigh at the soft feeling of your opening, a sign that you were ovulating.

“A-a little weird,” you strangled breathlessly as you clenched around his finger, feeling more turned on than before.

“Bad weird?” He inquired, trying his hardest not to pull his finger out and go back to fucking you until you were filled up.

“No-no, l-like awkward weird not painful w-weird,” you panted heavily as your thighs began to shake in your grip.

Robby nodded before pulling his finger out, watching your slit clench around nothing and your clit twitching for contact. He placed his palm on one of your knees and spread you further open, allowing you to release your hold one of the backs of your knees.

You watched as he fisted his cock at the base and pressed the tip of his circumcised shaft against your clit. The sensation sent a shiver through your body, your thighs shaking in his grip.

"You ready pretty girl?" Robby growled, his voice hoarse from the frantic need to be inside you again.

"Yes."

A broken moan escaped your parted lips as he pushed his length all the way in in one thrust.

"Fuck-" Robby groaned through clenched teeth.

"I'm not gonna last," He panted heavily, "touch your pretty little clit for me."

You nodded quickly before reaching down to circle your clit with your fingertips, watching him groan at the sight and the way your slit flutters around his cock. He quickened his pace with a groan while he kept his fist at the base of his cock. Despite the lustful monster in him taking over, he was not going to make the same mistake of almost bruising your cervix again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cum for me, baby, please. Fuck, I'm so fucking close," Robby practically begged before leaning in to latch his lips around your nipple and suck on the soft nub until it hardened against his tongue.

"Daddy! Fuck me!" You whined as you came around his cock, your cum leaking onto his sheets, and adding to the puddle below your ass.

"That's it, baby," He groaned against your nipple before burying his face between your breasts.

"Where do you want it? Tell me now."

"Inside. Inside me, please," you pleaded as you wrapped your legs around his hips and hooked your feet to keep him inside.

"FUCK." Robby growled against your chest as he buried as much of himself as he could. His cock pulsated inside you as he kept moving his hips in shallow thrusts to fuck his cum further into you.

You gasped as he collapsed his full weight on top of you, his face buried into your chest, and he panted heavily. He reached forward to wrap one of his arms around you, making you arch your back to allow him to snake his arm under and hold you.

A comfortable silence settled in the room; the only sounds were you both finally catching your breath, mingled with the busy streets at midnight in Pittsburgh.

“You know we’ll have to tell your old man.”

With wide eyes, you turned your head to catch his gaze. You stared in wonder at his sudden determination while he returned his gaze in awe and a playful smirk.

“Do you know what you’re saying?” You watched as he leaned in to suckle on your sweet spot, the place on your neck just above your collarbone. The feeling caused you to slide your hand up his shoulder and run your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck.

"Mikey," You whispered his name so lowly he almost didn't hear you.

“Mm?” Robby hummed without breaking contact from his lips on your neck, the sensation of his teeth biting down a little too hard made you clench around his softened length.

“He’s gonna look at you differently. As a friend and an employee-”

“I know,” Robby interrupted as he pulled away slightly to cup your face and leaned in to peck a kiss on your lips before murmuring, “I don’t care. I just want you in my life. Even with all the noise and bullshit. I've fucked enough cum into you and shared too much of myself to let you go.”

It was obvious now that this was more than sex. He didn't get his high off the secrecy and shame of fucking his supervisor’s daughter under the radar. Robby was getting his high from just being with you, touching, and connecting with every part of you that you were willing to give him. He couldn't get enough of it, and now he wanted the whole world to know.

“Maybe over dinner next Friday night?”

──────────۶ৎ───────────

this fic was deadass a year in the making, it was supposed to be small but it turned into this. enjoy and pls be gentle (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝)

[kissthigh]

୨ৎ Bruised Knees

summary: You have an accident while playing outside with your dog, and your older boyfriend is right there to comfort you. ♡ warnings: mature, no smut, angst, fluff, comfort, mentions of bruises, blood, and cuts, light-teasing, no mentions of y/n, self-insert, everyone is 20+. .ᐟ.ᐟ : teeny tiny 1.5k word drabble for father's day lol enjoy!! thank u to the lovely person who submitted this requesttt!!

It’s as humid as it is every July; warm sun beating down on your bare shoulders and legs, your hair neatly tucked into a low ponytail, all while you mess around in the front lawn, giggling at the way your dog runs around, chasing his tail.

Your boyfriend watches from a distance, quietly monitoring you. A cigarette balances between his two fingers, a mug of black coffee he’s been drinking since eight o’clock resting against his denim jeans. He exhales the smoke, eyes glancing down the dirt road–you live in the middle of nowhere with him, and you both prefer it that way.

“What are you gonna do about it?” you mumble to your dog, smiling as you hold the stuffed fox he’s been dragging around. “Gonna take it from me?” you tease, watching the dog tilt his head, tail wagging.

You quickly stand off your knees, running across the lawn, laughing as loud as ever. Your dog chases after you, happily jumping around, finding the game quite amusing, and barking playfully.

“Be careful, sweetheart,” your boyfriend yells from the porch, shifting to the edge of the wooden chair he’s sitting on. “Don’t wanna bruise your pretty legs,” he adds, the panels groaning while he settles back.

“I’ll–I’ll be okay!” you call out through the giggles that keep escaping you, your bare feet running across the green grass, your dog at your feet, just a few inches from prying the toy from your hand.

You glance back at the golden retriever chasing you, only to misstep completely–who the hell cut down a tree, and why is there a stump in the middle of your front lawn?

The obstacle sends you flying; your body hits the grass with a thud, a high-pitched squeak leaving your mouth at the sudden impact, and you whine when you realize your knees hit a few stones, your hands attempting to catch your awkward fall.

You roll onto your back, groaning, hands swatting away the curious dog, but the collar is quickly pulling him away.

“Kid, what’d I tell you?” your boyfriend scolds lightly, his fingers hooking the red dog collar as he throws the silly toy to distract the dog. “Told you to be careful, didn’t I?” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry,” you whine, tipping your head back into the dirty grass, your knees stinging.

Your boyfriend huffs as he drops to his knees before you, assessing the damage; your knees scraped and bruised, and he looks at your face; all scrunched and in pain.

“Didn’t hit your head, yeah?” he asks calmly, his gentle hands reaching forward to pull down the white fabric of your small dress, giving you some privacy and covering your bare legs.

“No… no, just my knees hurt,” you mumble with a little nod, and he’s looking down at your body, sighing quietly at the sight of you all bruised and covered in dirt.

“You’re okay, baby,” he soothes, a warm hand dusting the dirt from your knees, and he notices the grass is already matting the cotton. “Come on, I’ll clean you up,” he offers, slowly reaching for your hand.

You nod hesitantly, sniffling and wiping the tears that were about to spill down your cheek. He notices the way you stand to your feet; a little wobbly and uneven, and he’s quickly holding you, keeping you stable.

“Need me to pick you up?” he asks, his tone low and calm, and you feel safe enough to nod.

His large hands hook under your armpits, carefully lifting you with a light huff, and he sighs quietly at the mess you are, covered in dirt and bruised, threatening to cry if he accidentally talks in a different tone.

It’s a short walk up the porch steps and into the air-conditioned house, and he lazily drops you off on the living room couch, his careful hands taking a hold of your bare feet and resting them onto the coffee table. He disappears from the room, leaving you alone.

You groan in frustration at yourself, tipping your head back against the couch, closing your eyes, and beyond embarrassed by how clumsy you are. He doesn’t seem upset, though.

“Okay,” he mutters, stepping back in, holding a warm cloth and a few other things you can’t make out. “Gonna get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” he tells you, wandering towards you.

You reluctantly put your feet down on the carpet, and he gives you a reassuring smile, kneeling on the floor between your thighs. He rests a hand on your bruised knee, a thumb gently rubbing across the tender skin, and you flinch.

“Hurts that bad, baby?” he asks you, looking up between your thighs, and he exhales, nodding in acknowledgment. “I’ll be gentle, okay? You just be a tough girl for me,” he nods, looking down in front of him, at the warm cloth and other supplies.

You tense up when he places the warm cloth onto your scraped knee, nose scrunching and your eyes closing for a second. He places his other hand on your lower thigh, rubbing slowly to calm you down. 

“I know it stings,” he tells you, looking up at you. “You cut up your pretty knees quite a bit, doll,” he explains, dabbing away the blood and dirt.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, shaking your head, only to receive a firm squeeze on your thigh.

“Accidents happen,” he shrugs, eyes focusing on your right knee, the one he’s working on. “Don’t apologize for accidents,” he returns to rubbing your thigh, carefully cleaning your knee.

He switches over, the cloth now focusing on the other knee, his hand rubbing your other thigh. He watches you tense up again, huffing under your breath.

“My strong baby, you’re okay,” he nods slowly, looking up at you again. “Yeah? Taking this like a champ, aren’t you?” he smiles when he notices you are, and you nod quickly.

You weren’t used to being treated like this, not once in your life; being so vulnerable without being scolded or yelled at for it, only comforted and taken care of. 

After a few more minutes spent on your other knee, he carefully pulls back the warm cloth and looks down again. He picks up a small tube of gel and swipes it onto his clean fingertips.

“This is gonna help you feel all better,” he tells you, wiping it across the small scrapes on your right knee. “Then you can go back outside, yeah?” he mumbles, massaging the ointment onto the scrape, and it doesn’t hurt, only soothes.

He follows the same process on the other knee, watching your face carefully to ensure you aren't flinching or tensing up again. He can only look at you in adoration.

“Gotta be more careful, sweet thing,” he tells you quietly, his hands working on unravelling a pink band-aid. “Can’t be running around like a new fawn out there, no control over these legs of yours,” he teases, and you pout, but nod. 

He carefully places a band-aid on one knee, leaning down to kiss over the bandage, then repeats the same step on the other. He pats your thighs, fingers slipping up to pull down the hem of your dress again, keeping you properly covered.

“Good as new,” he grins, slowly standing to his full height, only to see you still sitting, slumped over as if something else were wrong. “Still aching somewhere, baby?”

“No,” you mumble, shaking your head, though the only thing that aches is the guilt in your chest.

Your boyfriend sinks back down onto his knees, sighing quietly, his hands sliding up your dress to cradle your bare hips. The skin-to-skin contact always helped you.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he mumbles, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch, being careful of your injuries. “I don’t mind cleaning another cut, doll, just tell me where,” he adds.

You shake your head, adjusting your hips, and his thumb lightly plays with the band of your underwear. It’s not sexual, no, just a comforting gesture between the two of you, and he rests his head against the top of your knee. 

“Shaken up?” he asks, turning his head to slightly kiss the side of your knee. You nod. 

“That was quite the fall,” he agrees, gently massaging your body. “But you took it well, baby, no tears, nothing,” he praises, smiling up at you.

“I wanted to cry,” you tell him, biting your lip.

“Doesn’t make you any less tough,” he reminds you, looking up. “You just made a mistake, sweetheart. You were having fun and got carried away; it happens,” he reassures, squeezing your hips.

“I didn’t listen to you,” you shake your head, gazing down at him between your legs.

He blinks slowly, thumbs dipping into the waistband of your underwear, just pressing, not teasing.

“You were having fun,” he tells you, his voice firm. “Just next time, be more careful, sweetheart, that’s all I’m telling you,” he nods, sliding his hands up to your bare waist.

You sniffle, his warm hands keeping you calm.

“What would I do without this body, huh?” he asks, his head tilting to the side, and you suppress a light smile. “Need every part of you, baby,” he says, kissing the side of your thigh before standing up again. 

“Come on, I’ll take you out front again,” he offers, taking your hand.

[cha0ticstranger]

farmboy!gator thots... because these pics are just so...

before he was a deputy, gator was a farmboy on the tillman ranch.

when friday night rolled around and the chores were done for the day, gator and his boys went out to play. it was the same dive bar just off the highway that had stood there for at least forty years now. he's playing billards, sipping a beer when he spots you with your friends entering the joint.

he saw you here last friday too and quickly determines that you're new to town, likely moving to start your first job out of college. he eyes your friends too, but they don't quite grab his attention, especially since he recalls the two girls he slept with back in highschool at your side.

gator takes his chance to approach you when you go up to the bar on your lonesome. he's determined to pull you away for a moment, just to hear your story and maybe get a little lucky.

"now i don't think i've seen you around town before, sweetheart," gator hums as he sets his empty bottle on the bartop for the barback to clear.

your eyes flick over his appearance. a grey t-shirt fits tightly on his torso, with blue jeans and boots that are too clean for him to be coming straight from working on the ranch. his hair is slightly mussed, like he didn't care to smoothe it after a long day outside. he smells of pine and leather, with a hint of gunsmoke, and you know from the gleam in his eye that he's trouble.

but sometimes it was nice to flirt with trouble.

and that's how you end up outside, tucked into the old phone booth with gator's finger teasing at your clit. he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to your jawline and neck.

you're pretty sure that your friends didn't see you step outside with the mystery man, or else they might've warned you of his reputation as a playboy and the sheriff's son.

gator chuckles against your skin when he elicits a whine from your lips, his middle finger circling your wet entrance. he teases you for a moment, acting like he would finally push the digit inside your heat before he drags it back up to circle your clit instead.

"fuck, you're an eager thing," he hums, pressing his nose into your hairline and taking a deep breath. he teasingly licks up your neck before smirking down at you, "i like that. gonna have plenty o' fun with you."

[texasafterdark]

perv! joel who enjoys when you sit on his lap

tags: 18+ only, old man! joel, fauxcest (bc caretaker! joel)

ꫂ᭪݁ perv! joel who’s big, rough, calloused hands grip either side of your waist and drags you down to sit on his lap.

ꫂ᭪݁ perv! joel who smirks at your giggles, using his broad strength to pull you up a little further until you sit right on top of the growing bulge in his pants.

ꫂ᭪݁ perv! joel who is grateful that you move a lot when you talk because you unintentionally grind your soft ass against his aching, clothed cock.

ꫂ᭪݁ perv! joel who’s underwear always gets wet from his precum as evidence of him never relieving his hard cock.

ꫂ᭪݁ perv! joel who lies to you when you ask, “what is that?” and he says, “oh don’t worry ‘bout that, sweetheart. ‘s nothing.”

ꫂ᭪݁ perv! joel who plays horsey with you, bouncing you up and down, up and down, over top of his throbbing member over and over, slowly bringing him to a silent twitching orgasm.

taglist: @sunshineflowersandkisses @taniamiller @ilovetoomanymen @ghuoab @joelsarchive @wand-erer5 @mydarlingjoel @pleurspetal @politeolive @twilightvelour @h3avenlyglory @kkatnapp @billionairecowgirl @shrewdreader

[gutsby]

Loophole

Pairing: Sex Ed!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you a different kind of sex.

Warnings: 18+. FIRST TIME ANAL, NO ONE LOOK AT ME!!!! Need all my backdoor baddies behind me on this one, both literally and figuratively. Unprotected p-in-a. Daddy kink. Breeding kink. Assplay. Salad tosser!Joel. Olive oil used as lube because this is, unfortunately, the apocalypse, and all sex shops are out of business.

Note: Any and all characters written in this story are adults. Reader is described as having grown up in isolation, without access to formal education, and as such, her understanding of the human body and sexual reproduction is limited. This is not a reflection of her intelligence or her ability to learn the topics.

Another note: This is a semi-sequel to Birds & Bees :-)

Word count: 6.3k

This was always the most difficult time of the month.

For Joel, anyway, it was pure misery day in and day out

Why? No reason other than it being the hardest to resist you. When you’d wake up all fidgety and hot and wanting him, and that burning sensation wouldn’t subside until long past your bedtime. Even in your sleep, to the man’s teeth-gritting dismay, that body lying next to his would inevitably wind up moving just as needily grinding up against him, and he’d feel powerless to its charms. He would have to relent.

Capitulation wouldn’t bother him so much if it didn’t mean you were ten times more likely to get pregnant.

“Ovu-la-tion,” you’d sounded out for him one morning, lips forming the most perfect ‘o’s and ‘u’ while you did.

It was in moments like those that Joel regretted teaching you sex at all. Giving you knowledge about your biological makeup and function certainly had its purpose, to be sure, but when he’d gone so far as to show you—how fucking sweet you’d looked peering up at him, then murmuring, ‘Show me where it goes?’—well, he’d just as well have gone out back and shot himself in the foot. The act probably would’ve been less painful and left him with fewer places scarred than what he endured each time he had to turn you away.

“Done told you about a hundred times now, honey, that kinda lovin’ leads to babies if we ain’t careful this time of month. Y’think we need a new mouth to feed?”

It killed him to say it.

Hell, deep down, there wasn’t a thing in the world he wanted to see more than a couple of rugrats with your pretty eyes and smile crawling around, pestering him.

But this wasn’t the time for that.

You’d pout and you’d clamp your legs together, tell him he was so mean, and why’d you even bother teachin’ me this stuff if we can’t do it when we both really want to? Joel would smile and smooth a hand over the crown of your head. He’d kiss your cheek and remind you he had fingers and a tongue, too, and more often than not, you would begrudgingly accept that offer.

Today, you were considerably more hardheaded and ornery. Everything seemed to be making you mad since you’d set off from Jackson an hour ago, and there wasn’t a lick else for Joel to do other than to—

“Fuck you,” you cursed, kicking a stump.

You’d almost just tripped over it.

Joel was leading the way home after a successful supply run in town and a visit with Tommy and Maria, and you appeared to be even more upset to leave than you normally were. You’d all but torn a tree limb the length of your body off of a nearby offending oak just fifteen minutes ago, and your impatience with nature was evidently only growing the longer you walked on.

The old man smothered a smile as he turned to you.

“Alright there, sweet pea?” he said.

“Nope,” you huffed at him, low.

Joel turned back to the path and pretended not to hear you threaten the life of some shrubbery by the wayside

He might’ve carried on like this for another two hours, at least. Surely the forty-five minutes that were left in your journey home would’ve been a cakewalk—and more than a little entertaining to him, despite the sharp pang of need he felt, too. When he was outdoors, and he was moving, and he didn’t have to stare for too long at your face or your body or the little swishing movements of your dress as you walked, he was fine. Or OK, anyway, and able to play it cool.

“I wish you’d bought me a bigger dildo.”

As soon as you said it, Joel choked.

Alright, so he wasn’t perfect.

“Hon, what did I say about—”

“Yeah, yeah. You told me don’t say nothin’ too ‘graphic’ about our sex life when we’re not at home, but that doesn’t really matter out here, does it?” You stopped in place, and that made him stop, too. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere. I can say I get fucked every day—”

“Baby.”

“—except when you’re scared of knockin’ me up!”

It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t also painfully true.

If Joel wasn’t currently watching you shrug off your knapsack, drop the thing to the forest floor like a bag of potatoes, and glare at him as if he were maybe the single meanest man alive, he might’ve even laughed.

Then you dropped to your knees. Right there in the middle of the clearing the two of you had just been trying to cross, you went and reached inside your bag.

He’d bought it as a precaution—this…gadget.

On the nights that he knew he’d have to spend away from home for patrol or a hunt or just some emergency run to Jackson that he couldn’t have you join him on, Joel had bought you a little toy to keep you company.

Especially in times like these, when you were horny and heated as you’d ever been, it had seemed ideal.

He just wished you hadn’t chosen an open field almost an hour away from home as the first place to pull it out.

“Sweetheart,” Joel said, tone now appreciably firmer. “You ain’t gettin’ down in the dirt and…and…playin’ with yourself with that brand new toy daddy got, OK?”

But it was too late.

You’d already taken it out.

The man deserved to be punished a little bit.

What, did he think he could just open up a whole new universe of debauchery and pleasure and then shut you out of it whenever he damn well pleased? Of course, Joel had taught you about consent and how each party to ‘playtime’ between adults needed to give it enthusiastically in order for their actions to be considered sex at all, but you weren’t asking him to participate if he didn’t want to. You weren’t begging for permission, either. You just wanted to act on the natural impulses you felt inside yourself and not be treated like some kind of freak for wanting relief.

So you would fuck yourself, plain and simple.

Only it wasn’t so simple, really.

Joel had instructed you on intercourse, giving and receiving head, touching your partner in their erogenous zones, and knowing how and when to cum—many, many times since he’d first taught you in the spring—but he hadn’t shown you how to fit this thing.

You were slicker than an oil spill between your legs. The skirt of your dress was flipped up, and the pale ivory material was spilling out over the ground beneath you. Your panties were off, and your cunt was on full display.

Joel was perched between your knees, hovering.

A sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow, and you could see the moisture beading at his temples before they slid down, rolling slow to reach his beard where a sea of silver and black consumed each droplet. Lined and weathered and pathetic was the face peering down at that treasure inside you. Brown eyes blinked slow, as if in a trance, and a tongue darted out to wet his lips every now and again.

If this wasn’t power, you weren’t sure what was. Smiling sweetly, you moved the tip of the bright pink toy down your seam and wriggled your hips a little.

You pretended like it was for dramatic effect and not because you had no fucking idea how to fit a dildo inside you and actually make it feel like sex would.

“Lemme lick her some,” Joel said, lowering his head. He was on his stomach, and his face might’ve been a foot and a half away from your drooling, aching heat.

It would be so easy…

Just a couple strokes from his tongue, maybe a finger or three pumping in and out of you. Groans rumbling between your thighs and in no time, you’d find bliss.

But that wasn’t the point of all this, was it?

The point was self-sufficiency.

Not needing anybody else.

In keeping with this thought, you spread your legs even wider and began to push the tip of the toy to your core.

It made it less than a centimeter before it met with resistance. At the same time, Joel let out a strangled:

“S-Sweetheart. Baby, let me show you.”

“No.”

“But darlin’, you’re gonna hurt yourse—”

“So?”

With your other hand, you began to play with your clit.

Maybe a little pain wasn’t the worst thing to feel now.

A breathy moan slipped out of you, and you could just tell that the less-than-secret Sex Ed professor in Joel was dying inside. He couldn’t bear the thought of something hard and phallic that wasn’t his penis brushing against your velvety walls unless he had some sort of say in it. He wanted to teach you again.

“Pussy’s too…fuck.” He watched the silicone sink in half an inch before your hole forced it back out, leaking. “She’s too fuckin’ tight. Needs daddy to stretch her out a little, get her ready for the fun, huh?”

“Nuh-uh. I can take it.”

This time, you gripped the base of the thick, veiny fake cock and pushed up—three or four inches, all at once.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whimpered. “Oh, that’s so good.”

And that was all it took, apparently.

Three and a half inches, two seconds, and one soft, pleading look from you had Joel changing his mind. Or deciding something, at the very least. He flipped you.

He caught your pink toy slipping back out and held it.

“Hands an’ knees, baby. All fours, yeah. Jus’ like that.”

You could barely breathe, let alone process the words being spoken to you, but somehow you managed to follow his orders. Your mind was swimming with lust and a bone-crushing need, your body pulsing with a warmth unlike anything you’d felt in a while. That sensation would come in waves during the time of the month you were most sensitive, when you were ovulating, though those moments were all short-lived.

Now Joel was indulging you in the feeling, and really dragging it out. Not only touching you but filling you up with something that wasn’t just his tongue or his fingers. You kneeled there, awed, and you could feel your fingers curling into the grassy earth beneath you.

You arched your back, dropping down to your elbows.

And Joel took control of that toy, sawing it in and out of your dripping pussy with practiced, near-perfect precision. Even as his hold shook a little, when the grip of his free hand on your ass tightened and you heard him mutter, low, ‘Fuck, that’s it, pretty girl. Take it all inside,’ he stayed focused on you. It went in deep.

It wasn’t him, but it was close, and Joel was kind.

“Lemme stretch her out. Make her feel real nice.”

Your cunt was making loud sucking sounds with each withdrawal and entry of the dildo, and your legs had started to shake. You clawed at the grass, whimpering.

“Da—ah— d-daddy.”

“There’s a good girl. Always so sweet openin’ f’me.”

Sometimes you swore you could finish from Joel’s words alone. His timbre, his control, the way he spread your cheeks open and spit—it all made you feel filthy in the best way. In your current hormonal state, wildfire blazing through your limbs, you couldn’t help yourself.

Half-cockdrunk and ovulation-crazed: “More—More, Daddy. Want your cock in me. Fuck me now, p-please.”

“You can’t have ‘im, baby. Ain’t safe right n—”

“But you wanna fuck, too, don’t you?”

Now you were peering over your shoulder, looking up at him. Joel was watching you back with an almost mournful expression, and you could tell he wasn’t just teasing you when he spoke. He felt genuine remorse.

“‘Course I do, baby,” he answered without hesitation. “I always do. Jus’ wanna do what’s…what’s right f’you.”

At the same time, you pushed your hips back a little.

Joel’s crotch was aligned with your ass, and as soon as you moved, a big, heavy, denim-clad bulge kissed you back. It bumped the dildo even deeper, and you hissed.

Joel groaned at the contact, gaze snapping down.

“What’s safe…” His words trailed off in a breath.

A barely coherent murmur: “What’s…what’s…”

You ground your bottom even harder against his front, the base of your toy no doubt bobbing back and forth.

Self-sufficient. Easy.

“Sweetheart.”

In and out.

“Daddy, I want it,” you pouted.

More friction.

More pleasure sprouting between your legs, tightening in your core and all but forcing the sentence out of you:

“Can’t you…put ‘im someplace else—someplace safe?”

Your mind was spinning perilously, not really forming any logical thoughts, but the concepts were there: your pussy, your mouth, between your tits, up and down.

Joel had started to move his lower half in time with yours—pantomiming thrusting. Grinding even harder when you dropped your head and let out a needy sound and begged him, ‘Put him anywhere, daddy.’

Joel’s hips jerked forward, and he cursed.

“Anywhere, baby?” he said, breathless.

He was dry-fucking you in doggy now.

The dildo was still lodged in your pussy, and Joel was still fully clothed, but he started to move as if he had really mounted you and was splitting your cunt, or something, open on his cock. He humped you like an animal in heat, grunting and groaning and holding your body as if it was the last thing tethering him to Earth.

Feeling equally feral, you turned your head again, and you asked him in a tone as sweet as you could manage:

“Please, Joel?”

He was going to explode.

You are not fucking her in the ass, Joel told himself. You are not doing that. Not now, not later, not ever.

Better late than never, you thought with a smile.

After verbally sparring with the man for all of five minutes—arguing that you should, in fact, use some ‘loophole’ that would keep you from getting pregnant—Joel had agreed. Angrily. Seeming to hate himself for it

“This is not somethin’ you do on a whim, hon,” he’d groused, scrubbing his beard in a slow, worried way.

He’d opened his satchel anyway. Rifled around in the thing before procuring a bottle of something sleek and sloshing. Your gut had twisted, but you’d felt eager, too

You hadn’t been entirely clear on what this kind of sex entailed, but if it was anything like the first time Joel had taught you, you sensed that you would enjoy it.

“So you just…put ‘im someplace new, is that right?”

“Ain’t like that.” Joel had shook his head.

“But—”

“No ‘buts,’” he’d interrupted at once. Poured the liquid from the bottle into his palm, the stuff gleaming in the sunlight a pale yellow hue. “‘F’we do it, we do it slow.”

So that was how you and him were doing it.

Slow.

Now you were perched at the edge of a riverbank, your gaze drifting lazily with the flow of a stream no more than four or five feet away from you and a sense of gentle, calming quiescence filtering through your system. On all fours again, you felt comfortable.

Joel had rolled out a blanket for the two of you to take your places and was careful to secure a new spot away from the beaten path, under the shade of a stand of aspens. Both of you had stripped. With the hand that wasn’t lathered up, Joel rubbed circles into your back.

“You sure you don’t mind doin’ things a little different today, baby?” His voice was low, almost grave. “Won’t do nothin’ unless you like it—I want you to know that.”

And if your body hadn’t already gone half-limp with all the pressure and the pleasure this man was inflicting on your muscles through his soft, kneading motions, you might’ve turned around and faced him. Smiled and said something like, ‘Don’t be silly, daddy. I like it all.’

Your contented hum evidently conveyed that well enough, because the next thing you knew, there was a new force beneath the kneading, between your thighs.

Solid, wet pressure you were more than familiar with.

“Daddy,” you giggled, body jerking forward a little at the sensation of him licking through your folds. “‘S’ain’t— ain’t no different! We always do this!”

At first, Joel didn’t answer—he simply tracked his tongue down the length of your seam from behind and lapped wetness from it. Nosed further between your legs and used his beard to stimulate the extra sensitive skin while he nipped at your slit, kissed your aching clit, and sucked your essence with the sweetest fervor. It didn’t take much for the arms holding yourself up to grow weak, then, and shortly, you were moving down onto your elbows with your rear pointed up at Joel.

He speared your dripping, quivering cunt with that tease of a muscle repeatedly, in and out again and again while you shuddered against him and sighed.

He maneuvered the hand that was coated in that slimy substance, finally, and started palming your ass with it.

“Daddy…p—please…I want…”

Joel paused just long enough to unglue his mouth from your pussy: “Want what, now, darlin’? What?”

You wriggled again, and you let out a dramatic huff.

“You know what,” you told him, words a plea. You rooted your bare knees even deeper into the blanket, and you canted your hips up. Pushing back onto him. “Wanna come, and I want…want you to be…inside.”

“That so?”

And to your surprise, you heard a chuckle, soft and low

At almost the same time, the hand covered in the slick, oily stuff started sliding down your ass again, inward, sliding through not just your folds but the entire cleft.

Joel knelt again.

Put his tongue to work again.

And for a second, you wanted to rebuff him…again.

Felt tempted to kick your feet and say this lickin’ ain’t any special or different, daddy! Sure ain’t no loopho—

“Oh.”

You froze.

Stared straight at the river and watched it churn and gurgle and flow and saw none of what was going on, really, because you’d just been hit with a new feeling.

Realization.

Penetration somewhere else.

You couldn’t even wonder at where that originated. Your legs clamped together, and you let out a breath.

“Wh— Why’re you lickin’ there, daddy?” you stuttered.

Joel’s hum vibrated through your center all the way to your teeth, causing them to grind together while you tried making sense of this novel feeling. Whimpering.

A few more featherlight, languid licks from Joel, then:

“Need it wet back here if I wanna play with her, right?”

“But that’s not my—”

“I know, baby.”

After Joel’s, your next words were swallowed up in a moan when the man started tracing circles—making an outline of a ring, again and again—and it was all you could do to keep from rutting your hips in helplessness

Ever the patient teacher, Joel stroked your back with the hand that was dry, again, and gave you a second to soak it in. With the hand that was coated in slick, he followed after his tongue with just the fingertips rubbing, coaxing the flesh. Prodding it to open.

“See, this hole doesn’t self-lubricate like your pussy does, sweetheart,” Joel said, near-pedagogical now. “No matter how turned on you are, it’s never gonna get all drippy and wet and pliant on its own. ‘S’why I gotta coach her along. Make sure she’s nice and slicked up.”

“But why?” you squeaked, reflexive. “For— For what?”

“For this.”

Then Joel slid something inside—not his tongue.

It edged in once, maybe half an inch, then slid back out. And in again, deeper, before retreating to the rim and toying with the muscles you felt clamp in unison.

“Try to relax, darlin’. Only makes it harder if you don’t.”

“But how come?” You squirmed. “Feels funny, daddy.”

Joel took a beat, and for that moment, he didn’t move. Just held whatever he’d stuck in you—presumably, his finger—and he didn’t poke or push you again, just held the tip tight to your puckered ring and hummed softly.

“Y’know the stuff I put on my hand?” he asked.

“Some…Some kinda oil, I guess?”

“Olive oil, that’s right, baby. It ain’t ideal, I’ll admit,” Joel paused, and it felt like he was shifting around. Adjusting his grip, maybe, until you sensed what felt like his thumb pressed up against that slicked place. “Back in the old days, they made real, um…gooey stuff special for doing things like this. Called lube, OK?”

OK. You nodded, still too off-kilter to look behind you.

Suddenly, swiftly, Joel’s thumb started to rub a little.

And you couldn’t say why your body jumped the way that it did, but you jolted before you could even try to keep it in. You mewled like some kind of strange and wanton creature, and you pushed your hips backward.

Embarrassment gripped you almost immediately.

Blinking hard and staring straight ahead, you shook your head, “‘M’sorry. Sorry. Don’t know why I did that.”

“Aw, honey,” Joel cooed. “Baby. Don’t apologize, OK?”

Still, your face was hot. You hated how you’d sounded.

“Would you turn around and look at me, sweetheart?”

Slowly, you did.

Behind you, your old man was perched on his knees, with a serene and gentle expression on his face. The fine lines and wrinkles had smoothed considerably, and what was left behind looked like understanding.

Wanting, too.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of, what we’re doin’,” he started, slow. He rubbed a big, slick hand over your skin, and your whole body warmed in response to it. “Might make some different sounds, ‘cause Daddy’s playin’ with a whole different hole, and that’s OK. What’s important is that you like what’s happenin’.”

A brief beat of silence.

“That’s…consent, right?” you said shyly.

Joel grinned. “Yeah, darlin’. That’s consent.”

Consent when he edged in his finger to the knuckle next. Consent when he sawed it in and out, and twirled it around. Consent when he added a second, then a third, then quit the stretching altogether and just bent down to latch his mouth onto your wet, quivering ring.

He kissed it and licked it and laved it in saliva. Spit on it more than a couple times. His beard must’ve been drenched by then, but Joel didn’t seem keen on stopping for a while, judging by his grip on you.

Meanwhile, you were amped to no fucking end.

“Oh, daddy,” you hissed out a sigh of pleasure when his tongue slipped back inside, all the way and wriggling. “Daddy, put it—put him in, now.”

Joel grunted and retracted his tongue.

“You sure you’re ready for it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And where do you want daddy inside?”

“Um.”

You snagged your bottom lip between your teeth.

It felt wrong to say it, so you simply pushed your knees wider apart. Arched your spine, blinking back up at him

“There,” you whispered, wiggling your hips.

“Darlin’, you’re gonna have to say the place out loud if you want me to fuck it, OK? That’s all part of the deal.”

“But daddy.”

“I need you to get comfortable with stuff you think is wrong or ‘taboo,’” Joel continued, gentle but firm. “Don’t want you gettin’ halfway through and thinkin’ maybe you shouldn’t’a done it, and feel ashamed.”

Maybe that was part of it.

Maybe you did feel a little embarrassed that your body was currently in flames, and you wanted this man inside you so badly that you’d accept him anywhere, anyplace, even if you hadn’t the faintest idea how—

“Baby.” Joel interrupted your thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me all the places we’ve already done it.”

Your cheeks warmed reflexively.

“We…we’ve…”

“In your pussy?”

You nodded back.

“Between your tits?”

“Y-Yeah. There, too.”

“And…?” Joel trailed off.

“And…” You stared back at him, cheek resting on your forearms and your naked ass still up high by his face. Admittedly, this did feel a little enervating. But you tried to bite the embarrassment with a little smile. “You’ve…put ‘im in my mouth—fucked my throat, too.”

Joel grinned back. You took that as your cue to go on.

“And um…well, I’ve sat on your face. Rode your…thigh a little bit before. And you’ve rubbed your cock, like, between my legs until you spilled all over my pussy.”

“Anything else?”

“We did that ‘69’ thingy.”

You were pretty sure that was all of it.

Joel hadn’t been teaching you for that long. Compared to him, anyway, your experience was but a blip on the radar, and you had a good ways to go before you could say you were anywhere near as knowledgeable as him.

You peered curiously at your teacher; he peered back.

“Now, can you be a good girl and say where daddy’s goin’ next?” Joel goaded you gently. Edging in closer.

“In my, um…” You couldn’t help it when your face heated again. You braced yourself. “In my…backside?”

It sounded dumb as fuck saying it like that.

Surely there had to be a better word than—

“Anal.”

“Anal?”

“Yeah, sweet pea.” Joel smoothed his touch up your spine, then back down again. He rubbed at the muscles that were tensing slightly. “That’s it.”

From your position under him, it was hard to read his face. You couldn’t begin to imagine the look on yours.

When you didn’t say anything at first, still processing that one word, Joel went on—massaging, and talking.

“Old school birth control, I guess you could call it. Probably more effective’n rubbers. And it means daddy can cum as much as he wants, deep as you’ll let ‘im, y’know, cause, uh…y’can’t make a baby in the butt.”

You let out a giggle.

Again, you couldn’t help the reflex.

“Really?”

“Really, really.” Joel smirked.

Solemnity of the moment temporarily suspended by a couple sly, stupid grins and laughter sneaking out between you, Joel dove in. He didn’t drop his whole body weight on top of yours, but he got damn near close with the way he pretended to collapse and his entire torso draped over your back while you kicked and squirmed and bit out, giggling, ‘Get off, daddy!’

You lay flat on the blanket, belly-down, and Joel planted his forearms on either side of your frame, caging you in. He bent down to pepper you with kisses.

“That tickles!” you hissed, chin jerking against the assault of his lips. You writhed and laughed with him.

The little detour couldn’t have lasted more than a minute or two, Joel touching and teasing and kissing you in that sweet way he did, and you pretending to be annoyed. But your body relaxed, and you didn’t protest in the slightest when Joel tilted your chin back to him to get a proper kiss. You opened your mouth without thinking, melting under that calm and tender caress.

Warmth crowded you. Something hard pressed into the space between your legs, and you parted your thighs unconsciously. Joel groaned into the kiss.

“Darlin’,” he started, only for his breath to hitch a second later. You’d lifted your hips the slightest bit and pushed back toward him, so the tip of his cock was nudging between your cheeks. “Hey, there’s no rush, OK? Daddy can wait longer if you need more time.”

“I don’t. ‘M’ready now.”

Really, you didn’t understand why Joel seemed so loath to try this with you. Had he changed his mind?

With the side of your face cradled in his big, warm hand, you craned your neck slightly to meet his gaze, and you asked him, quietly, “Do you…not wanna…?”

Joel blinked once.

He looked almost ready to internally combust or blow up when he nodded his head, fast as he ever did before

“Yes. I do. Sweetheart, I wanna be inside you so bad, but this kinda sex…I just get nervous, might hurt y—”

At the same time, you raised your hips again.

With Joel’s broad and bare and massive body blanketing your own, it was hard to push far, but you did well enough. You pressed the blanket for leverage.

You notched the head of Joel’s thick, leaking cock at the entrance it had never breached before—that taut little ring of muscles—and you sank in backward. Slow.

“Oh,” you groaned at the sting, which was immediate.

Joel had been right: it hurt. It wasn’t remotely the same as being penetrated in any other place, and it almost made you want to squirm away with how tight and uncomfortable it felt. The oil barely helped at all.

Then Joel groaned, too. The hand holding your jaw tightened its grip reflexively, and as it did, his cock jerked inside you. He was no more than half an inch in.

“Baby, fuck,” he cursed. “You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

You lips twitched up a little, despite the burn.

“It h-hurts. Feels…weird,” you said honestly.

Joel halted without a moment’s hesitation.

He bit out a soft, rasping apology, ‘’M’sorry, sweetheart. ‘M’sorry. Daddy didn’t mean it.’

And, just as he moved to pull his tip from your achy hole, you eased your hips back onto him again, further.

Your muscles clenched hard against the intrusion—a dull throb spiraled from the spot where Joel was entering you, right up through the column of your spine—and a pitchy whine clawed out of your throat.

You ground your teeth and sucked in a breath, feeling as split open, exposed, and vulnerable as you’d ever been. It didn’t seem like something should go there.

But desire had other plans for you both, apparently.

The plea bled into your tone, covert and quiet.

“Keep goin’, daddy. Please. I want it.”

Your eyes locked with Joel’s, your hips stirring again, and that look communicated everything you needed.

Joel swallowed.

It had to be a relief to him. Dreamlike, almost.

“That right?” he said, slow smile starting back.

And you like it like this, don’t you? was implied.

The first wet drag of your heat down his length was painstakingly slow. You made it halfway to the base when your rim squeezed tight, and you made a face. Pain flared, but only momentarily. Joel was there to hold steady, knees firm on either side of your legs, as he let you take the lead a little. He kissed your neck.

“There’s my brave girl,” he murmured in your ear. “Takin’ it all like a big girl, huh? Like usin’ this hole?”

You nodded, fucking yourself further onto him.

New. Taboo. Stretching out a different place, all because you were ovulating, and this was one of the few ways to make sure pregnancy didn’t happen.

Joel let you sink back until the swell of your ass was kissing the coarse gray hairs at the base of his abdomen. Your hole fluttered and sucked at his cock, and Joel’s grip flexed on your jaw. His hold lowered.

And, just as the muted sting had begun to settle in your stomach, reality of what was going on and how you were taking him gradually touching your conscious brain, you felt fingers press your throat. They were gentle, not forceful. Just testing your level of comfort.

“Where’s daddy, baby?” he murmured softly.

“In my ass,” you answered. Holding his gaze.

He squeezed more, groaning when you squeezed back.

“You like takin’ cock up there, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy. Love—Love feelin’ you here.”

And it was strange—the harder he held you to him then, the more he stretched you and made you want to whimper and writhe on the blanket, the better it got. The more pressure he applied and the more possessive he seemed to get with each aching second that passed, the easier that weight felt inside you.

The deeper desire burned when Joel lifted up and dragged his cock with it, tip sliding to your entrance.

You wanted him sheathed back inside you.

You wanted to take some control yourself.

So, before the old man could make the next move and ease back in, you pushed up swiftly. You heard, and you felt, a wet squelch as your channel spread to accommodate his girth all at once. It burned a bit.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” Joel cursed.

“Like that, daddy,” you whimpered.

You turned your head so you were facing the river again, fingers curling into the worn, plaid material of the blanket beneath you. Joel lifted slightly, as if unsure what else to do but needing more, and you obliged by sliding back. And forth. Rutting your hips and rubbing your raw, wet hole up and down his shaft.

You didn’t ride Joel often. He was usually the more dominant one, wanting to take charge and fuck you senseless. But today, on this sweet, quiet, balmy summer afternoon, you made the man pant and groan and grip your throat helplessly while you used your taut, yet-untouched orifice to drive him out of his mind

Pleasure sparked low in your body, in a place you didn’t think it was possible to feel it. The pain turned sweeter.

It wasn’t like it disappeared altogether, but it did become something you could use to get yourself off.

That, on top of Joel’s strangled, labored words right next to your ear, damn near pushed you over the edge.

“Pussy must be feelin’ extra lonely seein’ daddy love all on this other hole, ain’t she, sweet pea?” Joel shifted, lifting your hips higher to fit his hand between your thighs. He groaned at the contact. “Can feel her leakin’ somethin’ awful—like she’s achin’ to be stuffed, too.”

Now he was meeting your thrusts; they got weaker and sloppier while he took two fingers to your clit and started rotating them over the swollen little nub.

Euphoria blinded you for a moment. Your body jerked, teeth sank into your bottom lip, and you cried, hoarse.

“Fuck me, daddy, please.”

You didn’t care which hole.

Your bodies were colliding, grinding in frantic tandem with one another and making the most obscene sounds as you did. Joel’s strokes were maddeningly shallow, like he couldn’t keep out of your warmth more than an inch or two before he needed to be driving back in, scraping your insides and fucking you fast.

“Wanna fill you in both, next time,” Joel said, almost helplessly. Rutting in harder with each new word. “Stuff that pretty pink dildo in your pussy while I take your ass, or the other way around, whatever y’want.”

Your eyes squeezed closed at the thought. Stars burst behind the lids while Joel fucked you relentlessly, and you pictured getting plugged up by both your toy and his cock, and you almost hit your peak in the moment.

Then your eyes opened again, and Joel had lowered his head beside yours. He tilted your chin to him with the hand that was still on your throat, pressing tenderly despite how hard he was pounding you from behind.

“How’s that sound, sweet pea?” He smiled.

You trusted him.

You nodded your head.

Then, in what felt like it might’ve been out of place with any other man but him, you kissed. Deeply. You parted your lips, let Joel’s tongue invade your mouth, and you absorbed every grunt and moan and praise while you did the same with those quick, sharp thrusts. The dichotomy was so dizzying you almost didn’t hear the good girl, and sweet, perfect thing, takin’ all o’me.

His words were so continuous and sweet, and your orgasm was so rapidly approaching that you almost didn’t say what was humming in your skull, presently.

But it came out before you could try to stop it.

“In—In my pussy next time,” you panted from the kiss. Staring at him. “Want you to come inside me, a-and—”

Joel’s cock throbbed inside your ass, and he groaned.

“Baby. Please. Don’t say it.”

You knew he wanted to hear it, though; it was just a matter of how dangerous the declaration would be once it left your lips and hung in the air between you.

The knot of pleasure in your stomach swelled to the size of a fist. Your body shook with each thrust Joel delivered, and the sweet feeling curled your toes, made drool start to peak out of either corner of your mouth.

Your eyes were as soft as they’d probably ever been peering up at Joel then, watching him stare right back.

Your insides squeezed, and he drove in even faster.

Joel’s lips couldn’t have been more than an inch away while he held you to him, knit his brows, and practically heaved the next breath out while he hammered at you.

“Don’t wanna…play it safe next time?” he groaned.

You shook your head.

“Want me to come inside your pussy next month?”

Your soft yes, and its result, could’ve ended you both.

As soon as you said it, recognition that was pregnant with meaning filtered between you, and your bodies drew even tighter. Joel leaned in to kiss again, needy as you’d ever seen him, the muscles of that sweet, slippery ring choked his cock from root to tip as he stabbed in repeatedly, and you kissed back, grinning.

He erupted inside you not long after your hole spasmed and your body went lax under him, spent. You felt him fuck his seed deep in your ass and relished the feeling, while also picturing it leaking somewhere else.

Ovulation was a dangerous fucking thing.

Joel pulled out, fingering the warm, white, gooey stuff right back into your fucked-raw channel when it started to dribble out. He kissed behind your ear.

He pressed his length flat against your lower back, wet with fluids and nowhere close to going soft after the events that had just transpired—with the thoughts that were no doubt humming through his head same as you

Over your shoulder, you met his gaze, the smile on your lips a little sleepier but no less eager than it was before.

“Well,” you said, low, “I can’t wait for next month.”

[littledes1re]

Hi!! I adore your writing❤️❤️ I see ur requests are open so I was wondering if youd be interested in writing something where Joel fucks the attitude out of reader?? Maybe she’s angry and stubborn for some reason and then she feels better afterward.

Bratty

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, slight fluff, slight mean!joel, bratty!reader, dom/sub vibes, possessive!joel, unspecified age gap, pinv, unprotected sex, clit rubbing, slight overstimulation, rough sex, jealous!reader, no outbreak

You'd been stewing for three days.

Three days since you accidentally saw Joel's truck pull into Tommy's driveway at two in the morning. Three days since you then watched some pretty woman with long hair and a laugh loud enough to wake the neighbours, climb out of the passenger seat, while resting her hand on his shoulder like she had the right to touch him. 

Three days since you realised you were just a nobody for Joel. Just that bratty little girl, he met at a bar, who spread her legs for him whenever he wanted. Not his woman. Not his girlfriend. Not his anything if you'd put it bluntly. 

The thought made you want to break something.

So, your plan was to confront him. All these sweet messages, all those nights when he had you under him—praising, loving, caring for you, they had to mean something to him, right? 

He was already on his porch, horsing it down in the sun and having absolutely no clue of the world when you marched straight over to him with murder in your eyes. 

"Who was she?" You snapped, trying to make your presence loud.

Joel looked up, the water still spraying, his expression shifting from surprise to something confused. "Excuse me?"

"That woman. In your truck. Tuesday night." Your voice was sharp, brittle, and you hated how shaky it sounded. "Pretty. Laughs like a goddamn bird. Who in the hell is she?" 

He turned off the hose, slowly, careful, and set it down. 

Then he crossed his arms, those dark orbs studying you with an unreadable calm that made you want to scream. "That's none of your business."

"None of my—" You laughed bitter. "Are you serious? You fucked me in your car, called me 'good girl,' and I don't get to ask who you're bringing home at two in the morning?"

Joel's jaw tightened. "Watch your mouth."

"Or what? You'll spank me again? Put me over your knee like I'm some child who needs—"

"Stop." His voice cracked like thunder, and you flinched despite yourself. He stepped closer, and you backed up until your shoulders hit his front door. "You wanna throw a tantrum, fine. But you don't get to come onto my property and talk to me like that."

"Then tell me who she was." Your voice just above a whisper. 

"It ain't your concern." 

"It is my concern when—" and louder again. 

"Enough." 

He grabbed your arm—not hard but enough to hurt and to make you gasp—then pulled you into his house. You struggled, digging your heels in, but he didn't slow down. 

Through the front door, past the living room, into the kitchen where he finally released you, turning to face you with a look that made your stomach drop.

"You wanna act like a brat?" His voice was low, a slight anger bubbling behind it. "Fine. Then I'll treat you like one."

"Don't you dare—"

"You're gonna shut up, and listen. Or I swear to God, I'll bend you over this counter and spank you 'till you can't sit for a week."

The threat hit you like a slap, and you hated the way your body reacted—the way your cunt throbbed, the way your breath caught. You crossed your arms, glaring at him, but you didn't move.

"She's Tommy's new girlfriend," Joel said, his voice flat. "She drove him home because his truck broke down. I gave her a ride back to her place."

The words landed like a bucket of cold water.

You blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." He stepped closer, and this time you didn't back away. "You've been stompin' around here for three days, lookin' at me like a kicked dog, all 'cause you saw a woman in my truck and decided I was cheatin' on you."

"I wasn't—"

"You were." His hand came up, cupping your jaw, tilting your face toward his. His thumb traced over your bottom lip. "You think I don't know you? The way you get all bratty when you're jealous?"

You wanted to deny it. Wanted to shove his hand away and tell him to go to hell. But your eyes were burning, and your throat was tight, and all that anger that had been sitting inside you was turning into something that was close to humiliation. Or even embarrassment. 

"I don't like sharing," you whispered, your eyes watering. 

"Neither do I, baby." His voice softened, just a fraction. "Which is why I don't. You think I'd let some other woman in my bed after havin' you?"

"But you didn't tell me."

"I didn't think I had to." He sighed, running his hand over his face, suddenly looking older, tireder. "Goddammit, girl. You gotta learn to use your words instead of tearin' me like a feral cat."

"I'm not a cat." You pouted. 

"No, you're a brat with a temper." But there was no heat in it now—just exhaustion. He stepped back, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms again. "Alright. You wanted answers. You got 'em. Now what?"

Now what.

You stood there, frozen, the anger draining out of you and leaving behind a hollow, shaky feeling. You'd spent three days working yourself into a frenzy, convinced he had been with someone else, and it was all for nothing. You felt stupid. 

And still so, so fucking wound up.

"I don't know," you admitted, your voice barely audible.

Joel watched you for a long moment. Then he pushed off of the counter and crossed to you, his hands settling on your hips, pulling you against him.

"You're still angry," he said, but it wasn't a question.

"I don't know what I am."

"Angry. Stubborn. All wound up with nowhere to go." His hand slid up your back, into your hair, tilting your head back. "I know that feelin'. And I know how to fix it."

"You mean you know how to fuck it out of me."

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "If ya wanna put it that way."

Suddenly he turned you. 

The kitchen counter felt cool against your palms as he pressed your chest down over the smooth surface with a firm hand at the back of your neck. Your shorts and panties were shoved down in one rough motion, cool air kissing your bare skin before his palm followed, spreading you open with calloused fingers.

"Look at this," he muttered, two thick fingers dragging through your slick folds. "Already wet and I ain't even touched you proper. Been walkin' around mad for days 'cause you thought I was givin' my cock to someboyd else."

You whimpered, hips twitching back against his hand as he circled your clit once, twice, drawing out the tension that had built for days. 

Joel's belt then clinked, zipper rasped, and then the blunt head of his cock nudged against your entrance, thick and insistent. 

"Who does this belong to?" he asked, as he pushed inside in one long, thick slide, stretching you open inch by inch until his hips were flush against your ass.

"You," you gasped, fingers curling against the countertop.

"Say it again." He bottomed out, one hand gripping the back of your neck while the other anchored your hip, holding you steady as he began to move.

"Yours, Joel—fuck—yours."

He pulled back and drove in hard, setting a punishing rhythm that made the cabinets rattle and your breath come in short bursts.

Every thrust knocked a broken sound out of you, while the slap of skin on skin echoed through the kitchen as he fucked the attitude out of you with deep, quick strokes. The emotional weight of the past three days poured into each movement—his frustration, your jealousy, the possessive need to claim what was his.

"That's right," he grunted, sweat beading at his temple. "This tight little cunt's mine. Your attitude's mine too. You get jealous, you get mouthy, you come to me. You don't stew for three goddamn days."

Your legs shook, knees threatening to buckle as his free hand slid between your thighs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles that sent sparks racing up your spine. 

The story of your jealousy unraveled in the rhythm of his hips—the way you had watched from the window, the sting of seeing another woman in his space, the way it had twisted into this desperate, bratty silence.

"Who's fuckin' you right now?" he demanded, voice rough with exertion.

"You—Joel—only you—"

"That's it. Come on, baby. Let it out."

Your orgasm crashed through you so hard your knees buckled, waves of pleasure rolling over you as your walls clenched around him. 

But Joel caught you, one arm banding around your waist as he kept fucking you through it, the aftershocks leaving you trembling and gasping against the counter.

"Easy," he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and steady. "I got you, babygirl."

He eased you down onto the kitchen floor, laying you on your back on the cool tile with careful hands. 

Joel shoved his jeans lower, knelt between your spread thighs, and slid back inside you in one smooth thrust, the new angle hitting deeper, drawing out a fresh moan, and a gush from your cunt. 

"Still got that attitude?" he asked, rolling his hips slow and deep now, each stroke claiming your pussy.

You shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming mix of humiliation, relief, and pleasure. "No—Joel—please—"

"Please what?"

"Don't stop—need you—"

He braced one hand besides your head, the other sliding under your ass to tilt you just right, every stroke dragging over that perfect spot inside you. 

Your second orgasm built fast, the emotional depth of the scene layering on top of the physical—the way his tired eyes softened even as he dominated you, the way your bratty jealousy melted into submission under his steady hands.

"There she is," he breathed, forehead pressing to yours. "My good girl. Cum for me again, honey. Show me who you belong to."

You came with a broken cry, body arching off of the tile as pleasure flooded through you. 

Joel groaned, hips stuttering as he followed you, spilling deep inside you in hot, thick pulses that filled you completely. 

He stayed buried, cock twitching inside you. 

After a long moment he eased out, gathered you into his arms, and sat back against the cabinets with you in his lap. His big hand stroked slow circles on your back while you trembled through the aftershocks, the kitchen quiet once more except for your shared breathing.

"Next time you get jealous," he said quietly, lips against your hair, "you use your words. Or I'll bend you over the nearest surface and remind you again. Understand?"

You nodded against his chest, soft and small, the bratty edges smoothed away by his steady presence. "Yes."

Joel kissed the top of your head, tired and fond. "Good girl."

ME DOING REQUESTS FINALLY???? 🫪🫪

Taglist: @vickie5446 @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @afyreinjuly @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @blueberryfruittart @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk @chick66i @bratty-spicee @am1a-niigo @hopelessromantic727 @styleslfreak @psclcain @susieqorion24 @rxsemarinusx @jandtmillersgirl @fertilise-me @mitskilover88 @lostboys1987girl @begginforthread @pinkangelglitterdusttt @facethepascal @ddiana111 @twilightblogss @cheeseizts @pedrosgirl03 @swimmingnightcolor @gabfromgreedycity @bartzabel4 @blueflowerstranger @madnessofadaydreamer @sadie6sinks6slut @hopelessromantic727 @miramindlesslywriting

[pearlessance]

Sweat It Out

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!Reader

Summary: On the hottest summer day Texas has to offer, the heat brings out the worst in you and Tommy both. But Tommy knows his girl like the back of his hand, and he isn't above tiring that attitude out of you if he has to.

Warnings: +18 MDNI, bratting and brat taming, established relationship, no outbreak au, unspecified age gap, porn with some plot, domesticity, heat induced bickering, reader has hair but no other description, oral sex m!receiving, clit stimulation, unprotected piv, dirty talk, begging, kinda mean!tommy, praise and light degradation, creampie

note: i hear u i see u asking for more tommy miller and i aim to please, so here i am returning to my roots for my tommy girlies (but mostly for @havensucks <3)

wc: 4.6k

[masterlist] [AO3]

It's fucking hot.

Unbearably so.

Hot enough that even the chilly air from the vents of his truck only just barely cool him down. The kind of weather that makes the air look wavy with refraction and has him thinking about moving states for relief because, surely, he can't keep living like this.

Tommy's hair is up, pulled back with an elastic tie, but the curls still feel too thick and heavy. There's beads of sweat trickling down his neck and his belt buckle sticks to the curve of his soft belly.

He knows it's effecting you, too. Can see the way your shoulders deflate while you sit in the passenger seat, the backs of your thighs sticking to the leather beneath you.

The iced coffee he'd got you this morning sweats in the cup holder, ice nearly gone before you're even halfway done drinking it. He'd gotten it for you in hopes of keeping the peace today.

All you had to do was get groceries and do a couple loads of laundry at the laundromat. Errands that Tommy often finds enjoyment out of doing with you most days. A Sunday afternoon ritual he'd come to love.

But when it's hot like this? You're both irritable and quick to anger. All it takes is one thing to go wrong and you're snapping at each other, frustration building with the temperature.

And to no one's surprise, you start bickering first thing.

While you carry the bag of detergent and quarters, Tommy carries the basket of clothes down from you shared apartment. He puts it in the back seat of his truck at a weird angle, and you try to warn him, but your warning only serves to provoke him.

"Has nothing to do with the angle, it's this stupid fucking basket."

You roll your eyes, angrily shoving a pair of jeans back into place. "Sure, yeah. It's definitely the basket that's been the same size and shape for the last two years. Makes sense."

His jaw ticks, and the thought crosses his mind to take you over his knee. His bratty girl and her smart ass mouth.

But he keeps quiet.

You accidentally drop the bag of quarters in the laundromat, and Tommy spends five minutes of his life chasing them around on a floor that probably hasn't been properly mopped in months.

When you see the irritation plain as day on his face you say, "I didn't mean to drop them. Don't get mad."

"I'm not mad," he argues. "Never said I was."

"Yeah, well. You look mad."

"I'm not."

"Then why do you look it?"

"Can we just put the quarters in the fucking machine?"

You scoff. "You curse at me like that again and we're gonna have a fucking problem."

It's so stupid, such a silly argument, that it makes Tommy laugh.

Your brows furrow in disbelief at first but then you laugh, too. And it lightens the mood, if only for a while.

The two of you sit in the air conditioning of the laundromat until your clothes are folded and neatly put back in the basket, no further damage made to the easy energy you've created.

But the moment you're back outside in the grueling heat, the tension returns.

The two of you are discussing what sounds good for dinner this week on the way to the grocery store when he says, "We've gotta pick up cake mix, too. You still gonna make one for Mike's birthday so I can bring it in to him Wednesday?"

"Wednesday?" Your nose scrunches in that cute, frustrated way he loves. "You told me it was Friday. I was going to go to that bakery in San Marcos to get that pistachio frosting he said he likes—"

"Can't you do that tomorrow?"

"No, tomorrow is Sarah's recital."

"Okay, so Tuesday then."

"And get home at nine and be up until midnight making a damn cake?"

Tommy sighs. "So skip the pistachio frosting. What's wrong with vanilla?"

"It's his fiftieth birthday, Tommy. You should've warned me ahead of time—"

"I did. Twice, matter of fact."

"You told me it was on Friday."

"No I didn't. Why would I say that?"

"I don't know, you tell me!"

His jaw feathers as he clenches his teeth. He hates arguing with you at all, and it's even worse when it's arguments like this.

It feels like you're fighting against each other instead of with each other. Like you're on opposing sides and not two people in love working together to solve a problem.

He makes the decision right then and there, stopping in the middle of the road and pulling into a random driveway to turn the truck around.

"What are you doing?"

"Turning around."

"Oh my god," you huff. "No shit. Where are we going? Tommy, we need groceries. We're out of milk and eggs and the cake—!"

"The store's not closin' anytime soon. And I'm not doin' this today. S'too fuckin' hot out. So just sit there and let me drive," he says. And for good measure adds, "Please."

You fold your arms over your chest, bratty little thing that you are.

But it's okay, Tommy doesn't mind. He knows it's not you, it's the heat. It's the sweat on your skin and the humidity that sticks like glue and the uncomfortable weight of it all.

There's a boat launch a short fifteen minute drive away. Joel and Tommy used to rent boats there to go fishing all the time. They hadn't been back in a while, a couple of years at least.

But today's the perfect day.

When he pulls into the dirt lot just outside the small, wood cabin office building, Tommy unbuckles and climbs out of his truck. He levels you with a stare and says, "Don't move."

"Wasn't gonna," you argue. "Just gonna sit here and let you drive, Tommy. Just like you wanted."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he hisses, shaking his head.

Inside the cabin is blessedly air conditioned. It's a small, one room building with cluttered paperwork on a desk and a cash register that looks like it's from the eighties. An old woman sits behind it with a pair of floral framed reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose and a book in her hand titled The Dirty Cowboy.

It makes Tommy chuckle softly to himself. Reminds him of all those filthy books you read on your phone before bed. "You guys got any rentals available for today?"

The woman looks up at him over her worn paperback. "Got a pontoon, a center cabin and a bowrider left. An' no extra poles, so I hope you've got your own. What d'ya want?"

"Let's go with the center cabin."

"You got cash?"

"Sure do." Tommy pulls his wallet from his pocket and hands over the cash once she reads off a total. He waits patiently as she prints out a few pages on what he assumes is the slowest printer still in use and sets it in front of him with a fuzzy red pen.

"Gotta sign the waiver and take a life jacket for each passenger," she says. "There's some extras around back."

Tommy does what he needs to. Dates and signs and leaves a copy of his ID. When she hands him the keys, he leaves the cabin with a newfound relief.

He finds you with your feet on the dash and every AC vent in the car turned towards you, scrolling on your phone with a crease between your brows. Tommy pulls the door open and says, "C'mon."

That snarky little tone still resides in your voice when you ask, "What are we doing?"

"Goin' out on the lake," he answers, unbuckling your seatbelt and tugging you out of the truck. He tosses his cellphone onto the floor at your feet. "Let's go."

"Tommy, I don't want—!"

"Baby." He closes his eyes and takes a slow, steadying breath. The heat is already getting to him again, the sun unbearably hot at his back. "I'm gonna need you to just trust me. Leave your phone, ya won't need it."

That scowl still remains, but you no longer argue. You let him take your hand in his and lock the truck behind you.

Tommy leads you around the back of the cabin and plucks two life jackets from the racks before starting down the familiar path to the lake. It's not a long walk, but it feels that way. Sweat trickles down his spine and his breath feels hollow.

He finds the boat tied to the end of one of the docks and doesn't give you time to argue some more before he begins to untie the rope. Tommy tosses the frayed jute cord into the front of the boat, climbs in, and holds out his hand for you to take. "C'mon."

"We have stuff that needs to get done today, Tommy," you tell him, hand on your hip. The sunshine reflects off of your hair and he thinks you look so fucking pretty like that it almost makes the hellish temperature worth it.

"Our errands aren't goin' anywhere."

"We still need to get groceries—"

"The store will be open late."

"—and put away laundry—"

"Baby."

"—and I promised Sarah I'd—"

"Baby, get in the damn boat."

"It's just so hot and I need to—!"

"You think I don't know what you need?"

The question silences you, and your eyes soften just slightly. "That's not what I'm trying to say, I—"

Tommy takes your hands in his, pulling you forward. "C'mon."

You let him pull you begrudgingly onto the deck, mumbling those smart ass remarks under your breath all the while.

Tommy just laughs. Puts the key in the ignition switch and settles into the seat behind the wheel in the cabin. It roars to life, propellers spinning beneath the water. He pats his thigh twice and says, "Get over here, brat."

"I'm not a brat," you argue, coming up to his side and sitting in his lap right where he likes you. Even when you say it, your mouth turns up at the corners.

"Mhm, sure," Tommy teases, voice thick with sarcasm. He squeezes the hand throttle behind the wheel and the boat surges forward through the water.

And the wind—god. It might be the most soothing thing he's ever felt in his entire fucking life. It cools the sweat that sticks to his skin, lifting the collar of his shirt and reaching beneath the fabric.

Tommy sees you visibly relax at the sensation and knows he made the right choice, bringing you here today.

Silence settles between you as he drives further and further away from the dock. The sun still shines painfully bright in the clear blue sky, but with the chill of the water spray it feels far less daunting.

He turns the radio on and the soft, bluesy ballad of a Santana song plays through the open space. The lake is surprisingly empty for a day like today, but Tommy finds himself grateful for it.

He slows the boat to a stop a handful of miles out, until he can no longer see the shore or the docks or any other boats. He stands to his feet, pulling you up with him, and says, "Take off your clothes."

You shake your head, but when you speak there's ease in it for the first time since you'd left the apartment this afternoon. "I don't really want to swim today," you confess.

But Tommy's not having it. He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside, toeing off his boots next. "Wasn't askin', sweetheart."

With a sigh, you say, "I'll admit it, the boat is nice. It's cooler out here and I don't feel like I'm dying in the heat anymore, but I don't want to get in the water. I'll just…I'll watch you. How's that?"

Tommy undoes his belt buckle with a clink and shoves his jeans down his thighs, leaving his boxers. He wears one of those big, toothy grins as he explains, "You can either get undressed or you can get in fully clothed. Your choice."

"I said—!"

He shrugs. "Suit yourself."

And without another word, Tommy squeezes you in an embrace and hauls you overboard with him.

The water is cold. Not just cool, but borderline freezing. It feels so refreshing that he lets out a low groan when he breaches the surface, letting out a breath that's been stuck in his lungs for what feels like hours.

You come up for air half a second after he does, wiping water from your face. Droplets cling to your eyelashes and all Tommy can do is smile wide.

Because he thinks you're the most beautiful woman to ever live, and he will never take for granted that even on the hottest day of the year, you still choose him to do laundry with.

"You're the worst," you say, but there's no salt to your words. There's a smile on your face and laughter on the tip of your tongue instead. The tension that's been building all day dissipates, washed away by the cold water.

Tommy nods and takes your face in his hands. "Mhm," he says. "You're right. I am the worst. Tell me more."

"You get this awful attitude when it gets hot out. You know that?"

It makes him laugh hard enough that his shoulders shake. "We got that in common, sweet girl."

"Nuh-uh. Not me. I'm an angel, actually."

He leans forward, grin still on his wet lips when he presses them to yours. "Yeah you are," he mutters. "My bratty, angel girl." He kisses you again, this time at the corner of your mouth. And then he kisses your cheek, your temple, the tip of your nose, , the tickling hairs of his mustache making you giggle.

"M'sorry I've been mean today," you say with sorrowful eyes.

Tommy wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you close, delighting in the way your soft, warm skin glides easily against his underwater. "I'm sorry too, baby. S'alright. Just the heat."

You nod in agreement and reach behind his head to pull the elastic band from his hair. "Yeah, I know," you say. "But I'm still sorry. And I love you."

"Even though I'm the worst?"

With a laugh, you shake your head and pull away from him, swimming towards the back end of the boat.

Tommy watches, floating on his back with his arms outstretched, as you pull yourself up over the hull and onto the deck.

You peel your top off, wring the water out of it, and lay it over the leather seat at the front of the boat. Your jean shorts are next, and then your sandals, leaving you in nothing but your sports bra and a flimsy pair of blue panties.

The fabric clings to your wet skin so closely that Tommy can almost see right through them, to that pretty pussy that lies beneath. It makes him feel hot in an entirely different way.

"Don't stop on my account," he urges, a playful tone in his voice. "If I knew takin' you to the lake would get me a free striptease we would'a been here hours ago."

You scoff and say, "Shut up."

But Tommy sees it; the way your pulse picks up, the way your thighs press together, the way you consider it, just for a fleeting second.

But you leave the last two articles of clothing on before jumping right back into the water.

Tommy's not sure how long you stay out in the lake. You do back flips under the water and splash each other and kiss with slippery mouths.

He takes to doing cannonballs off the side of the boat and your laughter echoes across the water's surface. An Aerosmith song comes on the radio and you both sing along so loudly that he forgets all about the heat and the frustration and your bickering.

By the time you decide you're finished, the muscles in his legs are tired and the tips of his fingers are pruned.

Tommy helps you back into the boat and drops down onto the leather bench near the front of the deck. He spreads his legs wide and drapes his arms over the edge, head tilted back just slightly. Water drips off his skin, sliding down his neck and the broad expanse of his shoulders. "C'mere," he orders.

There's no argument to be had, not this time. You simply walk over to him, leaving little wet footprints in your wake, and stand between his spread knees.

"You feelin' better?"

With a nod, you admit, "Yeah, a little."

"Just a little?" Tommy playfully clicks his tongue. "Now, that just ain't gonna work."

You narrow your pretty eyes at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"Why don't you g'head an' take off your clothes, baby," he says. And when you begin to protest he adds, "Need to get dry before we head back, don't we?"

You see right through him, shaking your head. But you do as he instructs, struggling for only a second before tugging the wet fabric of your bra up and over your head.

Tommy just watches, leaning back, enjoying the sweetest view of his bratty girl listening so well. He's not shy in his assessment, eyes roaming greedily over the swells of your breasts and the hardened peaks of your nipples.

And when you peel your panties down your legs, Tommy's cock stirs beneath his boxers. You ring the water out of them and lay them out to dry.

"I oughta get dry, too," he says. "Wanna give your old man a hand?"

He watches it happen in real time, that shift in you. Watches what begins as suggestive amusement turn into want. Your pupils flare and your lips part just so.

You drop to your knees slowly, each breath a manual inhale. And then you slide your hands up his calves, still dripping with water. They move over the bend of his knee and through the coarse hair that litters his thighs. And when you finally reach the waistband of his boxers, your fingers curl around the edge to tug them off.

Tommy lifts his hips, and that's the only assistance he allows himself to give. His cock hangs heavy and hard between you, resting against the softness of his belly.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and he hears the silent question before you ask it.

"G'head, baby. Give me a little kiss." He thinks that sweet smile you give him in response is real cute. And it's even cuter when you take his cock in your hand and lean forward to lick a long, wet stripe up the underside of him.

The muscles in his thighs flex at the sensation, at the sight of you. Naked and pretty and on your knees for him, with all that worship in your eyes that always makes him feel weak.

Your tongue laves over every hardened inch of him, following the path of each vein, swirling around the tip and coating him in a different sort of wet. Your spit is warm and slippery, providing the perfect amount of ease when you take him into your waiting mouth.

Tommy's head falls back even further as you swallow him down. He groans low, fingers curling tight around the edge of the boat to try and fight off his urge to touch you. To hold your pretty face in his hands and rest his fingers against the side of your throat to feel himself inside it.

But he wants it to be you. All you.

So Tommy just lets you suck his cock, lets you enjoy it the way you want to. Spit pools at the corners of your mouth and you whimper around him, the sound ratcheting his pleasure even higher.

"Yeah," he muses. "That's it. So fuckin' pretty with my cock in your mouth, baby. Look at ya. Fuckin' droolin' on it."

You look up at him through your lashes, and smile around his length. Tommy thinks he could fall off the edge right then and there, just seeing how happy you are to taste him, how pleased you look with him in your mouth.

But he resists, pulling his hips back just slightly to say, "S'enough, now. Get on up here."

You do as he says, wiping the spit from your mouth with the back of your hand. When you climb into his lap, knees on either side of his wide thighs, Tommy stops you just before you're fully seated.

"Hang on now, greedy girl," he says. "Lemme see her."

Carefully, you place your hands on the edge of his knees and arch your spine, giving him the most beautiful view.

Tommy can't resist touching you. Not this time, not when you look like this. He gently squeezes your breasts in his hands, smoothing away the water droplets that still sit on top of your soft skin.

His thumbs ghost across your nipples before he glides his palms down your torso, over the dip of your navel, and then finally—blessedly—between your legs.

"Oh, baby," he sighs. Tommy gathers his saliva at the front of his mouth and brings his hand to his lips. "No wonder why you're only feelin' a little bit better." He spits on his fingers before bringing them to your clit, already pulsing the moment he touches you.

You moan when he begins to stroke gently at your pussy, spreading his spit and your slick. His fingers move slowly, just feeling you without true intent, gliding through your arousal.

When he slides his hand a little lower and begins to circle your entrance with the pad of his middle finger, your hips begin to move. Trying desperately to pull him inside, muscles clenching around nothing.

Tommy just grins. Chuckles low when you start to whine, nails digging into the skin of his thighs. "You want it?"

You nod comes feverish and instantaneous. "Please," you moan. "I need it."

He thinks you sound so pretty, begging like that. He moves his fingers back up to your clit, stroking with just enough pressure that you gasp in relief.

But as soon as he gives, he takes away.

Tommy removes his touch completely, stretching his arms back over the boat's edge, resting casual and cocky the way he always is. "Go 'head, baby. Take what ya need."

You don't waste a second, scooting up his lap. You take his cock in your hand and line it up with your entrance before sinking down on him fully.

The sensation of it nearly knocks him on his ass; the tight, wet grip of your cunt around him. His fingers flex against the leather seat, and you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders.

It starts easy. A gentle rocking of your hips, his cock pressing in deep, the swollen head flush against the tip of your cervix.

But each movement grows more and more desperate, your sounds echoing across the lake. "Such a cute little thing," he says, eyes dark and lids hooded. "Takin' it so good. You feel me in there, baby? Stretchin' you real wide?"

"Mmhm," is all you can manage right away, breath coming fast, chest heaving with each ragged inhale. "Feels so…god—feels so good, Tommy. So big."

You start getting real whimpery, slick dripping down his cock, wet sounds coming from between your legs.

Right about now is when Tommy will normally take over, thrusting up into you, giving you the roughness you always seek.

But he stays still today. Let's you roll your hips over his, fucking yourself on his thick length until you're begging him. "Please, Tommy—touch me."

He cruelly clicks his tongue. "Had the energy to give me all that attitude this morning, didn't ya? Still got stuff to do today, sweet girl. Gotta tire you out before we head back."

A sweetest sounding groan leaves your mouth. "But—please!"

Tommy's real weak when it comes to you. The temptation to give in is there, building inside his chest, right beside the warmth of impending release. "Nuh-uh," he says. "You wanna cum? You're gonna work for it this time. Not gonna have all that sass by the time you're done. Gotta sweat it out, little girl."

You're still moving, still grinding yourself down on his cock, pace ragged and out of rhythm now. "Tommy please, I can't—!"

"Yeah you can," he encourages, taking one a low, condescending tone. "Got full faith in ya. C'mon baby, you're almost there. She's squeezin' me."

He can feel the tension in your thighs and the way your fingers dig into the hard muscles at his shoulders. "Will you at least—" you stop, a moan tearing its way through your chest. "—kiss me. Please, just a kiss. Need to feel you, to taste you."

The request is so spoken so softly, so sweetly, that it send a shock of delight down his spine. And Tommy—God. He can do nothing to resist it. "'Course I can give you a kiss, sweet girl," he says.

Tommy leans in, and the moment he touches his lips to yours he can feel the velvety walls of your cunt clench around him.

He kisses you deep, tongue slipping into your mouth, licking and sliding against yours. You moan his name and it sounds so fucking pretty that his fingers find your clit on instinct.

He strokes it in small, tight circles. And only a few seconds later, you're falling off the edge. Thighs shaking, whimpering into his mouth, riding him as hard as your strength will allow.

"So fuckin' pretty," he whispers. "Such a good girl for me when you're all full, huh? Oughta make you work for it more often."

"Feels so good—hmm."

"You're my good girl, baby. Ain't that right?"

"Yes, yes. I'm your good girl, I'm—oh, god—"

"Uh-huh. That's right. Mine. My baby."

His.

Tommy follows you off the precipice, his release rushing up to greet him, that tight coil around his spine pulling taught just to snap.

A low groan rumbles through his chest as he fills you with his release, so much of it that it spills out of you and drips onto the thatch of dark hair between his legs.

You roll your hips a few more times, until you're spent and aching, before collapsing on top of him entirely.

Your shoulders drop and your muscles go slack, head falling into the crook of his neck.

Tommy laughs and finally touches you, arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close, fingertips stroking lazily over the relaxed curve of your spine. "You're alright," he says. "I've got ya."

He's not sure how much time passes. Tommy just holds you for as long as you need, cock still twitching inside you, the mixture of your release and his dripping down the inside of his thighs. He lets you catch your breath, and doesn't move until you do.

When you finally ease yourself off of him and stand to your feet, you do so on shaky legs. The heat has dried your shorts and top now, and you pull them back on while Tommy does the same with his jeans.

Once you're dressed he asks, "You ready to head back?"

You nod soundlessly, an ease on your face. Tommy sits behind the wheel of the boat and flips the ignition switch, and this time he doesn't even have to ask for you. You just come to him without a word, sitting in his lap and resting your head on his shoulder.

Tommy kisses your temple with a syrupy smile. "Feelin' better?"

The answer this time is paired with a soft, sleepy sigh. "Much better. Thank you."

His heart swells. And even though the heat persists, warming him back up already, Tommy feels himself relax fully for the first time all day.

"Ain't gotta thank me, baby," he says. "M'always gonna make you feel better."

thank you for reading, i love you!! <3

[heaven4lostgirls]

hello ! i absolutely love ur writing but i’m sure you hear this a lot ;) i was wondering if you could do a steve x fem reader making out in the school bathroom (like with nancy in season 1), and then lead it to whatever you want (suggestive or smut…) tysm ♡︎

i feel so high school, everytime i look at you

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: request above

tags: smut, dry humping, orgasm (f & m), making out, hickey's & lovebites (they're horny teenagers give them a break), not proofread

word count: 1k

author's note: hi lovely! thank you for this request, i hope you like this! sorry for the wait x

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

You’re aimlessly scanning your locker, half asleep as you page through your notebooks to find your history one. You had them colour coordinated at the start of the year, but you’d be lying if you said you remembered which is which.

“Morning,” a voice chirps next to you, startling you enough to flinch. You whip your head to stare at Steve incredulously who pinches his lips together like he’s trying to muffle his laughter.

“Thin ice,” you warn him, pointing your finger at him threateningly whilst a yawn tries to lock your jaw.

He pouts woefully, “Harsh. That’s the kind of greeting I get for wanting to say hello to my girlfriend?” he says as he leans against the locker next to yours, tilting his head in a puppylike display.

You hum, flicking his nose slightly which has him scrunching his face together as you snort a laugh.

“Talk to me again after lunch.” You groan, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you close your locker and drag yourself lazily to your first class.

Steve huffs, jogging to get a little bit in front of you before switching and walking backwards to continue your conversation. His backwards cap is somewhat slanted on his head, but he looks like he’s the perfect embodiment of Hawkins High’s star athlete with his matching letterman jacket.

“That’s forever away though.” He whines, holding his own binder to his chest which you’re surprised he even managed to bring in the first place.

You can’t help the small uptick of your lips at his dramatic display, “You’ll manage.”

Steve blocks your entrance to your class, tugging you towards the water fountain in the corner despite your protests.

“Steve, I’m going to be late—”

“—5 seconds baby, promise.”

You frown, looking at him with impatience as he gazes at your face, his eyes tracking every part of it despite you being on a time crunch.

“I like when you’re grumpy.” He says softly, lifting one of his hands to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he smiles dopily whilst cupping your cheek in one hand

You must look bewildered because he huffs a laugh, “’S cute.” He admits.

Your smile grows soft, “You’re a real softie you know that Harrington?” you tease.

He rolls his eyes before straightening as he takes a quick scan of the slowly emptying halls, “Skip with me.” He says.

“What? No.” you laugh, shaking your head and moving to leave before he plants his hands on your hips and pulls you back to face him.

“Juts for first period,” he begs. “They won’t even miss us.” He bargains.

You look at his pleading expression and faux quivering lip and sigh, relenting with a small nod, “Only first period.” You tell him, raising your eyebrow in warning.

Steve lifts his hand as if swearing solemnly before pecking you quickly on the nose and tugging you towards the men’s bathroom at the end of the hall.

You giggle softly, turning back to make sure you won’t get caught before you’re pulled into the bathroom and placed onto the sink. It’s the cleanest you’ve ever seen it, but you don’t have high hopes considering it’s Monday morning, by the end of today you’re more than well aware of the state it will inevitably succumb to.

“Mmm, hiya baby.” Steve croons teasingly, making his way in between your legs to press an achingly sweet kiss to your smiling lips as he winds his arms around you. Your teeth clack with his softly as you both smile into the kiss, wrapping your arms around one another.

Steve grows impatient quickly, deepening the kiss without further warning as he tilts his head to prod softly at your bottom lip with his tongue.

You let out a breathy noise as he licks into your mouth, tilting your head further back and pulling him into you as your hands tangle into his hair. He groans at the feeling of your nails scratching softly at his scalp as tangles his tongue with yours.

Your head starts to feel fuzzy and bright as you continue to make out with Steve, detaching your lips from his only to trail soft, wet kisses past his jaw and to his neck as you suckle softly on his skin.

You inhale his cologne, muffling your own moans as you bite softly at his neck causing him to thrust his hips forward in reckless abandon. He grunts, tightening his arms around your waist as he lets you mark him.

You lick softly over the reddened skin when you pull back to admire your work and watch as Steve examines the hickeys and love bites in the mirror behind you.

“You’re so lucky my jacket will cover those up,” he grumbles leaning back in to kiss you.

“You love it,” you pant, already opening your mouth and pulling him in as you moan softly into his mouth. His groans are muffled into your mouth as he pulls you closer to the edge of the sink so that your cores grind against one another as you make out.

You can feel the hard outline of his cock meeting your panties under your skirt and you jerk against it as Steve dominates your mouth through your kiss. He trails his own kisses down your jaw to the area behind your ear to bite at softly and suck as he grinds into you.

“Steve,” you whine softly, tilting your head to the side as your legs spread wider to accommodate him.

“I know,” he mumbles into your skin, pushing and pulling you towards his cock as you both hump at one another like bunnies in heat.

“I need—” you gasp, clenching your hands into his letterman jacket as you feel yourself start to grow wetter.

“Feels good?” he says lowly. “Yeah? Yeah I know it does baby.” He coos condescendingly as you continue to whimper as he grinds you against him.

He’s panting into your neck and grinding slowly as you feel your core clench, gasping and moaning lowly.

“Go on baby, cum for me,” Steve mumbles, thrusts going jerky as his cock twitches in the confines of his jeans.

He pulls back to lean his forehead against your own as your orgasm crashes over you, your eyes rolling back into your head slowly as you cum in your pants.

Steve pants and growls as you cum against him before he stills, groaning lowly as he spills into his own boxers with a shaky sigh.

[capricornluna-deactivated201810]

this blog hates donald trump

[pearlmarley]

Look how many people hate him. I’m pretty damn happy about that 😁😁😁😁😁😁

[aggressivetapdancing]

I’ve never reblogged something so fast

[jinxispunk]

nap trap

Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: Steve discovers that if he plays with your hair for long enough, you will fall asleep on him every single time.

Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, sleepy affection, domestic intimacy, kissing, touch-starved steve harrington, comfort fic (lmk if i missed anything)

W/C: 1.2k

Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]

You’re both sprawled across his couch after a movie, the living room lit only by the television and the warm orange lamp beside the window. Rain taps softly against the glass while some terrible late-night advert mutters quietly in the background now that the film’s ended.

You’re tucked against his side beneath one of his old blankets, half talking about something Robin said earlier while Steve absentmindedly plays with your hair.

Not even consciously, really.

Just something his hands started doing at some point during the relationship and never stopped.

Twisting soft strands around his fingers. Scratching lightly against your scalp. Pushing hair back away from your face whenever it falls forward.

Steve likes touching you. This is not exactly new information.

What is new is the fact your voice suddenly cuts off halfway through a sentence.

Steve glances down.

You’re asleep.

Completely asleep.

Mouth slightly parted against his shoulder, breathing slow and even, one hand still loosely curled in the fabric of his t-shirt.

Steve blinks once.

“…seriously?”

You do not respond, mostly because you are unconscious.

Steve stares at you for another few seconds before looking down at his hand still buried in your hair.

Interesting.

The second time it happens, he starts suspecting a pattern.

You’re sitting between his legs on the floor of his bedroom while he half watches a movie over your shoulder and half messes with your hair mindlessly. You’d insisted you weren’t tired less than ten minutes earlier.

“You literally slept till eleven,” Steve reminds you while separating sections of your hair carefully.

“I know,” you mumble. “That’s why I’m not tired.”

“Hm.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You like me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Steve grins slightly to himself before dragging his nails lightly across your scalp again.

Your shoulders loosen immediately.

Another few minutes pass.

Then, nothing.

No response to his last comment. No movement either.

Steve leans slightly sideways to look at your face properly.

Dead asleep.

Again.

Still sitting upright between his legs.

Steve laughs so suddenly he nearly wakes you back up.

“Oh my god,” he mutters quietly.

By the fourth or fifth occurrence, it becomes less of a coincidence and more of a genuinely ridiculous amount of power for one person to hold.

Especially because Steve starts testing it.

Not maliciously.

Scientifically.

“You’re doing it on purpose now,” you mumble one afternoon, already sounding half asleep despite having argued thirty seconds earlier that you were “definitely awake.”

Steve, stretched out beside you on his bed, continues scratching softly through your hair with an expression of complete innocence.

“Doing what?”

“The hair thing.”

“What hair thing?”

“The…” You frown weakly. “The sleepy thing.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek hard trying not to laugh.

Because it really is absurd.

You could be fully awake, actively talking, even complaining about not being tired at all, and within ten minutes of Steve touching your hair for long enough you’re suddenly fighting for your life trying to keep your eyes open.

“You’re being dramatic,” he says.

You squint at him suspiciously through obvious exhaustion. “You’re evil.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re like…” Another yawn interrupts you completely. “Like a tranquiliser gun.”

Steve loses it completely at that.

You fall asleep less than five minutes later with your face squashed into his chest while he quietly laughs into your hair.

After that, it becomes sort of unavoidable.

Steve starts noticing all the tiny signs before you even realise you’re tired.

The slower blinking. The way your body gradually gets heavier against him. The increasingly delayed responses during conversations.

And every single time, without fail, the second his fingers slide into your hair properly, you melt.

On the couch.

In bed.

Once in the passenger seat of his car while he waited for Robin to come out of Family Video after locking up.

Another time at the Wheeler’s house with your head in his lap while everyone else argued loudly over a board game around you.

“You cannot be serious,” Dustin says, staring at your sleeping form in disbelief. “How does she keep doing that?”

Steve barely looks up from where he’s still lazily playing with your hair. “Doing what?”

“She was literally talking.”

“Yeah?”

“And now she’s unconscious.”

Steve shrugs like this is completely normal behaviour.

Robin narrows her eyes immediately from the opposite couch.

“Oh, this is definitely psychological.”

Steve scoffs. “What does that even mean?”

“She’s associated you with sleep now.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It absolutely is,” Robin says. “You Pavlov’d your girlfriend.”

“I did not Pavlov my girlfriend.”

“You basically turned yourself into a human melatonin gummy.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but his hand never stops moving gently through your hair.

Mostly because Robin’s not entirely wrong.

There’s something about the trust of it that affects him more than he expects. The fact you fall asleep so easily against him. The way your whole body relaxes the second he touches you softly enough.

Like some part of you recognises him as safe before you even consciously think about it.

That part gets to him a little if he thinks about it too long.

Which is why he tries not to.

Unfortunately for him, you make this extremely difficult one rainy afternoon a few weeks later.

You’re both curled together in his bed while thunder rumbles softly outside, Steve lazily tracing shapes against your scalp while you blink sleepily up at him.

“You know,” you mumble eventually, “I think my body’s accidentally been trained.”

Steve grins immediately. “Finally admitting it?”

“This is your fault.”

“My fault you’re always sleepy?”

“My fault for trusting you enough to fall asleep this much.”

The smile slips slightly from Steve’s face at that.

You notice immediately, even half asleep.

“What?”

Steve looks down at you quietly for a second before shrugging one shoulder.

“Nothing.”

“Steve.”

His fingers slow slightly in your hair.

“It’s just…” He huffs softly through his nose. “I dunno. Kinda nice, I guess.”

Your expression softens immediately.

Because there it is.

The actual thing sitting underneath all the teasing.

Steve likes being trusted.

Likes being needed in these tiny quiet ways that nobody else really notices.

The way you automatically reach for his hand crossing roads. The way you sleep better beside him. The way you unconsciously move closer every time you’re tired.

You shift upwards slightly against his chest until you can kiss him properly.

Steve kisses you back slowly, one hand still tangled gently in your hair.

“I genuinely think this is my favourite thing.”

Your lips twitch.

“Me falling asleep?”

“No.” Steve smiles faintly. “You trusting me enough to.”

Something warm twists painfully through your chest.

You kiss him again before you can think too hard about it.

Steve’s fingers slide slowly through your hair once more afterwards, scratching lightly against your scalp in that familiar absentminded rhythm.

Dangerous.

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know exactly what.”

Steve looks deeply unconvincing. “I’m just touching your hair.”

“You’re literally weaponising affection.”

Steve starts laughing quietly while you attempt to glare at him through increasingly heavy eyelids.

“You’re already falling asleep,” he says.

“No I’m not.”

“You just blinked for like six seconds.”

“That means nothing.”

Steve grins down at you, still gently combing his fingers through your hair.

“You’re done for, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to argue.

Then immediately yawn instead.

Steve looks so unbearably pleased with himself that you weakly shove at his chest in protest.

It does absolutely nothing.

Mostly because less than ten minutes later, you’re asleep against him again.

And Steve, unfortunately, looks far too happy about it.

part 2 here: [nap trap pt.2]

dividers by saradika-graphics

[stvswrld69]

­ meetify algorithm

pairing: keys mckey x reader summary: keys creates an experimental dating app based on user compatibility to try to get a promotion at work. to make sure it works properly, he asks users to test it before its release. you download the beta out of curiosity, and the system matches you with the creator himself. wc: 3.3k warnings: +18 (minors do not interact), explicit nsfw, fem!reader, enemies (even if they don't know), mention of alcohol, explicit sexting, guided masturbation, m jerking off, fingering, penetration, use of sexual toys, dirty talk, cursing. author's note: thanks in this one to my girl nic for the help and also juls and juana for the motivation. also i'm starting with requests as soon as i finish my finals so pls be patient

keys sat over his desk on the floor of soonami studios. the blue glow of his multiple monitors reflected off his glasses and the office hummed with the usual boring energy; keyboards clacking, whispers and some laughs from the break room. but keys barely noticed any of it. 

his eyes were glued to the same block of code he’d been debugging for the last hour while his leg bounced anxiously under the desk.

he was tired. not just physically –though the dark circles under his eyes told that story clearly– but existentially tired.

keys had been working at soonami studios for some years now, and he was good at this job. really good. he could debug complex systems faster than most others developers and he actually cared about clean codes.

none of that seemed to matter. every time another developer position opened up, it went to someone better at office politics, someone who knew how to shake the right hands and smile in the right meetings.

keys was the guy who stayed late fixing other people’s mistakes. the guy who got praised in private but overlooked in promotions. the guy who was reliable.

he was sick of it.

that morning meeting was the final straw. the manager stood at the front of the room with his usually fake enthusiasm and talked.

‘’we’re looking for something original. something fresh. we want innovation. whoever brings me a truly unique project that actually works…. let’s just say there will be serious conversations about promotions.’’

key’s heart started racing the second he heard those words. this was it. his chance. 

he didn’t just want a promotion – he needed one.

so he made a decision, and for the next two and a half weeks, keys barely existed outside of work and his laptop. he woke up at 6 a.m., worked fully day at the office, then went home and coded until 3 or 4 in the morning. 

he ate microwave meals at his desk and drank enough coffee to make his hands shake. he told his friends he was ‘’busy with a side project.’’

he poured everything into meetify.

it wasn’t just another dating app. keys hated the shallow nature of modern dating apps: endless swiping, the focus on pictures and one-liners. he wanted something deeper. so he built a system that analyzed hundreds of data points: communication style, values, conflict resolutions patterns. 

the algorithm didn’t just match interests. it tried to predict long-term compatibility with uncanny accuracy.

he worked on the psychological questionnaire for days, making the questions strangely personal but not invasive. he fine-tuned the matching engine until the compatibility scores felt natural. 

he added privacy features that made the whole thing feel safe: no photos unless both users agreed later and end-to-end encryption on all chats.

when he finally finished the working beta version, he leaned back in his office chair and stared at the screen for a long time. 

‘’please… just work,’’ he whispered.

the next day during his lunch break, he created a reddit account under a throwaway name and posted in several beta testing subreddits.

r/betatesters • 1h ago

need 50 serious testers for an experimental dating app (100% anonymous) hey everyone,  i’ve built an experimental dating app named meetify. instead of swipes and pictures, it uses deep behavioral analysis and psychological profiling to match people based on real compatibility.  everything is completely anonymous. i need real users to test the matching algorithm and give feedback before i pitch it internally for a promotion. first 50 people get immediate access. if you’re tired of shallow dating apps and want to try something different, dm me. serious testers only.

he hit the post button with nervous fingers and then refreshed the page obsessively for the next hour. by the end of the day, he had 47 messages. 

on another hand, you had sworn off dating for almost a year. after a series of painful relationships, you decided you were done putting yourself out there. the idea of opening up to someone new felt exhausting and terrifying. 

but one night, while scrolling through reddit to see if someone could help you with work, a post caught your eye.

a post written by a user called walternetius. it promised to be something different, and curiosity got the better of you. after everything you had been through, maybe an algorithm could do better than your own terrible judgment.

you downloaded the app and created your account with the user y/nlocked.

the questionnaire was long and surprisingly personal. you answered honestly, even the uncomfortable questions about past relationships, trust issues and what you really wanted from a partner. 

when you finished, the app paired you almost instantly. 

wmckynotes. your eyebrows rose at the high number of compatibility. you opened the chat.

wmckynotes: hey wmckynotes: so we’re both beta testers for this thing? nice to meet you, y/nlocked

you smiled a little at the polite greeting and typed back.

y/nlocked: hi. yeah, looks like it. that compatibility is crazy. did u answer the questions honestly?

wmckynotes: haha… i was brutally honest. that’s why probably most of my other matches were below 20% :/ wmckynotes: u are the first person who makes sense according to the algorithm. wmckynotes: btw, how are u finding the app so far?

you leaned back against your pillows, thinking how to answer.

y/nlocked: i mean, it’s… different. the questionnaire was really long and some questions made me stop and actually think, but the interface is calm i guess. i really wanted to try something different

wmckynotes: most dating apps just feel so shallow. 

y/nlocked: yeah. this one feels more…. intentional. but wbu, why did you join the beta? are you also tired of normal dating apps?

wmckynotes: honestly? i’m the developer of this app. i’ve been working on it for months as a side project. my company is very corporate and i wanted to show them something original. wmckynotes: i needed real users to test it. i didn’t want people to feel pressured so i created everything anonymous.

y/nlocked: wait… you’re like the creator? that’s so cool lol. so u testing your own app?

wmckynotes: yeah… pretty much hahah i’m nervous as hell actually. i want it to work, to help people find something good. don’t tell anyone though. i’m trying to stay anonymous too. 

y/nlocked: your secret is safe with me

keys chuckled softly in his apartment, running a hand through his messy hair. you smiled at the phone feeling a warmth in your chest.

wmckynotes: so… be honest with me. what do u think so far? any feedback? wmckynotes: i’m glad the algorithm matched us. even if this is just a test, it’s nice talking to someone who gets it and works at coding too.

you thought for a moment before replying. the conversation flowed naturally. you two talked about movies, music. he was funny, a little nerdy, and surprisingly easy to talk to.

y/nlocked: yeah… it really is :) good night wmckynotes

a month has passed since you first downloaded that app, and what started as a random experiment born out of boredom quietly became the best part of you every day. 

you were at your desk on nexus dynamics. the open office was loud, with ringing phones and sighs. you were on the same customer support ticket for almost forty minutes while a man was yelling in all caps about a billing error.

you rubbed your temples, feeling the familiar headache building behind your eyes. your phone vibrated on the desk, you glanced around quickly to make sure your supervisor wasn’t watching, then opened the app.

wmckynotes: survived another meeting. how’s your day going? please tell me it’s better than mine.

you smiled despite yourself and typed back quickly under the desk.

y/nlocked: well i’m being yelled at a customer rn and i need a coffee

wmckynotes: i would def teleport with a coffee if i could. black with one sugar, right?

y/nlocked: you remember. i’m impressed 

wmckynotes: i remember a lot of things about u

you bit your lip, feeling warmth spread through your face. 

across town, keys was sitting in his chair. he checked the beta dashboard obsessively for weeks. the app was working better than he ever expected – at least for you two.

keys ran a hand through his messy brown hair and bit his lip when your message appeared. the conversation continued in short bursts or during breaks. 

after that, the conversations become more and more frequent between you two. 

even so, work was killing you. today was one of those days where you had to apologize because you were busy and you couldn't talk to him.

your company, nexus dynamics, was forced to attend the same exclusive networking event as soonami studios. the rivalry between the two companies was known throughout the world. it was serious: years of stolen talent, leaked projects and public shade in interviews. 

the tension in the rooftop was thick enough to cut with a knife, and the employees from both side-eyed each other with barely hostility.

you were there representing your company, dressed in a sleek black dress and holding a glass of champagne you had no intention of drinking. you stood near the bar, trying to stay out of the way of the obvious corporate warfare happening around you.

the founder of the company who prepared all this suddenly appeared beside you with a bright smile.

‘’ah! perfect. come with me for a moment.’’ before you could even protest, he gently guided you across the room toward a small group of the other company.

“so… this is our brilliant guy, keys. one of our sharpest young talents.”

keys turned to you. for a split second, something flickered in his eyes but he masked it with a polite professional smile and extended his hand. 

“nice to meet you,” he said with a measured voice.

you shook his hand firmly, keeping your expression natural.

“likewise,” you replied in a polite tone.

“you two are some of the youngest and most promising people from your companies. i thought it would be interesting for you to talk. healthy competition breeds innovation, right?”

with that, the walked away, leaving you and keys standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. the air between you two was immediately tense. 

keys slipped his hands into his pockets.

‘’so….’’ he said with a carefully neutral voice. ‘’heard your team has been pushing up some aggressive updates lately.’’

you lifted your chin slightly, matching his energy.

‘’and i’ve heard yours has been copying quite a few of those ideas,’’ you replied. ‘’imitation is the sincerest from flattery, i suppose.’’

keys let out a short dry laugh, but there was no real humor in it. you narrowed your eyes.

‘’bold claim. though i’m not surprised. y’all always loved throwing accusations around.’’

keys studied you for a moment, giving you an intense glaze. 

‘’you seem… familiar somehow,’’ he said quietly. ‘’have we met before?’’

you shook your hand, keeping your voice cool.

‘’i don’t think so. i would remember you.’’ 

he gave a bitter smile, and the conversation remained polite on the surface but with subtle jabs. the night was long and boring. you couldn't wait to get home, talk to that app user, and have some fun.

the network finally ended and you arrived home a little after midnight. your heels gave you wounds, and you swore you just wanted to rest. the entire ride way home, your mind kept replaying the conversation with that guy with glasses.

there was something about him that felt extremely familiar and even if you didn’t know his name –the way he looked at you, the dry humor– that felt strangely familiar. you shook the thought away. 

when you finally stepped into the apartment, you kicked off your heels with a sigh of relief. you changed into an oversized t-shirt and stayed in your panties, washed your face and collapsed onto your bed with your phone.

meanwhile, across town, keys entered his apartment, loosened his tie, and dropped onto the couch. keys didn’t even wait, he opened meetify on his phone and saw you were online.

he smiled and started typing.

wmckynotes: hey. u still awake?? wmckynotes: just arrived home. long night… i met someone w your name. funny coincidence right??

y/nlocked: it’s a pretty common name. they are probably like thousands of girls with it

wmckynotes: yeah… but anyways talking to u feels so much better. wmckynotes: i was thinking about u all night

y/nlocked: oh??? and what were u thinking about?

wmckynotes: being honest… was wondering u were laying in bed like i am now. if you were thinking about me too

the tone shifted. subtly. slowly.

y/nlocked: maybe i was and maybe i still am

wmckynotes: yeah? what are u thinking about?

the room was starting to feel hot, your chest was starting to pound faster. you closed your legs to try and cool down the heat between them. 

wmckynotes: yeah? what are u thinking about rn???

y/nlocked: about how nice ur voice probably sounds in general and about ur looks

wmckynotes: only that way?

y/nlocked: do u want me to say more?

you playfully bit your lip, waiting for his response. you had no idea how far the conversation could veer.

wmckynotes: maybe i do

y/nlocked: where are u rn?

wmckynotes: well wmckynotes: i’m in my couch… why?

y/nlocked: maybe i was thinking about me and u in your couch

his answer was fast. he never left the chat.

wmckynotes: great wmckynotes: me too

y/nlocked: what are u exactly thinking about y/nlocked: let’s see if we are thinking the same

wmckynotes: i was thinking about you in my couch… what are u wearing?

you smiled at the question, biting your lip, and then looked at your body as if it weren't obvious what you were wearing. as if you didn't know, or as if you were looking for confirmation before telling him.

y/nlocked: shirt and panties

wmckynotes: k. so i was thinking about u in my couch with that shirt and in only panties.  wmckynotes: then in my thoughts i kiss u first, i think your lips are probably really soft 

you let out a slow breath and slid your right hand down your body. you slipped it under the waistband of your panties, feeling the heat radiating from your pussy. 

you didn’t go straight for your clit. instead, you pressed your palm flat against your mound, feeling how warm and slick you already were. 

y/nlocked: yeah?? what more… tell me

wmckynotes: i’d kiss u deeper… slowly sucking on your upper lip while my hands slide under your shirt. 

you kept pressing and rubbing your palm against your panties, the friction making you wetter. your hips moved slightly against your hand. meanwhile, keys ran his hand down his stomach and began slowly palming his cock over his pajama pants, feeling it thicken and harder under his touch.

then the next message appeared.

wmckynotes: can u touch yourself for me?

y/nlocked: i was already doing it

wmckynotes: you so dirty wmckynotes: good

keys squeezed his growing bulge firmly, rubbing it up and down over the fabric, feeling it twitch under his palm.

y/nlocked: are you touching yourself? y/nlocked: touch yourself and tell me more

wmckynotes: i’d keep kissing and sucking on your neck while my hand slides between your legs.. imagine your hand is mine and please rub your clit over your panties for me, baby. slow circles

you moved your fingers up and started rubbing slow circles over your clit through the soaked fabric. soft whimpers left your lips.

y/nlocked: fuck…. it’s so sensitive. are you stroking yet?

wmckynotes: not yet. just rubbing and squeezing over my pajamas. keep going princess

he continued palming himself, occasionally squeezing the head of his cock through the fabric, feeling himself get fully hard. his breathing was getting heavier as he watched the chat.

y/nlocked: i’m so wet… panties are a mess

wmckynotes: then pull ur panties aside and touch your bare pussy for me. tell me how wet u are

you hooked your fingers on the side of your panties and pulled them aside. your fingers immediately glided over your slick bare folds.

y/nlocked: my fingers are sliding everywhere

wmckynotes: fuck that’s so hot wmckynotes: start rubbing your clit directly now. slow circles wmckynotes: i just pushed my pants down. gonna touch myself for u. i’m so hard

keys pushed his pajama pants and boxers down to his thighs, freeing his thick hard cock. it slapped against his stomach, already leaking. then he wrapped his fist around the base and gave it a slow stroke, spreading the pre-cum over the head with his thumb.

you moaned as your fingers made direct contact with your swollen clit, rubbing slow, tight circles.

y/nlocked: this feels so good

wmckynotes: i’m stroking slowly. base to tip… pls push two fingers inside yourself for me. fuck yourself 

you did it. you slid two fingers deep into yourself, moaning louder. keys tightened his grip imagining that as he started stroking with long firm movements and his fist slid easily. 

y/nlocked: i’m fingering myself y/nlocked: wish those were your fingers tho

you didn’t stop. you saw him typing.

wmckynotes: fuck wmckynotes: do u have any toys?

you bit your lip, hesitating for just a second before answering honestly. you had one, you bought it when you were dating that pathetic boy you had as your boyfriend. he never made you come, and that's exactly why you bought it.

y/nlocked: yeah. i got one in my drawer

you reached over the nightstand drawer and took the toy in your hands. then you positioned yourself comfortably with spread wide legs. 

wmckynotes: rub the tip against your clit. get it nice and wet. i’m strocking faster now

you rubbed it up and down your slit, coating it with your wetness. keys was now fully focused on his own pleasure. keys’ hand moved faster. his hips were starting to buck up into his fist as he got more into it.

wmckynotes: push it inside and imagine it’s me stretching u

you did it, pressing it against your entrance and slowly pushing it in, gasping as it stretched you open.

y/nlocked: fuck… it’s thick. i need u

keys' large hand wrapped around his entire cock. he moved his hand up and down painfully, feeling that it wasn't quite enough. it wasn’t enough for him because he needed you. 

wmckynotes: fuck w it baby. nice and deep… imagine is my cock filling u up

you started thrusting the toy in and out, moaning louder with every push. your legs were already starting to shake, and your stomach was starting to feel strange.

y/nlocked: fuck… it’s thick

wmckynotes: don’t stop. i’m so fucking close baby :) i want u to cum all over the toy while i cum all over my hand

your moans turned into cries as your orgasm built rapidly.

y/nlocked: fuck… gonna cum. gonna cum so hard

wmckynotes: cum for me. fuck, i’m cumming too

you came with a loud scream. your back arched off the bed, your thighs were shaking violently as your pussy clenched around the toy. 

at the same time, keys groaned deeply, his hips buckling as thick ropes of cum shot across his stomach.

wmckynotes: are u ok

y/nlocked: fuck yeah y/nlocked: gonna clean this mess

wmckynotes: right wmckynotes: same

you got up to go to the bathroom and freshen up a bit. washed your face and drank some water before sitting back down on the bed and checking your phone.

he wrote again since the last message.

wmckynotes: since this is getting like wmckynotes: a little bit more serious wmckynotes: do u have like… discord or something?

y/nlocked: yeah y/nlocked: i use it for work sometimes

wmckynotes: can i add u there

y/nlocked: yeah ofc

you sent him your username, waiting for him to add you and it didn't take long for him to do so. but when you saw his discord profile picture, you froze. 

it was his face. and he wasn't just anyone.

he was the guy you met that very night at the work event. 

it was him. keys.

© dividers by angeliicide and suupersonic

[littledes1re]

What if…we reverse the roles for a second and imagine it's you who takes Peepaw Joel's virginity?

Yes, of course old Joel dated. Plenty. I mean, look at him. Women were gushing for him. But going to bed with them? Never happened. And after the outbreak, sex just wasn't his priority. Survival was. Trust was. And by the time he reached Jackson, he'd built walls so high that even he forgot there was a virgin hiding behind them.

But Jackson changed things. Tommy was happy. Maria was pregnant. Joel watched those couples walk hand-in-hand, and something twisted in his gut—a hollow ache. He never had that. Not even once. And now he's sixty, belly soft from steady meals, hands calloused from years of work, he figured it's too damn late.

Who the hell would want a grumpy old virgin?

Then you came to Jackson.

Bold, young, too goddamn pretty. Everything Joel needed to stay away from, because his heart couldn't take it anymore. But when you placed a kiss on his cheek, told him he looked handsome, and invited him over to your house—he couldn't possibly say no.

"Ain't never...done this before," he blurted out the moment your hand slid under his shirt, while you sat on top of him. He braced for your reaction, embarrassed, but you only cooed, kissed him, and promised to take real good care of him.

And yes—Joel's cock was excited. He's old, but he's not dead. The moment your hands started roaming—his thigh, his belly, the zipper of his jeans—he hardened like a rock. Blood rushed to his groin with a desperation he'd never felt before.

But his insecurities hit hard. When you started to tug his shirt up, he grabbed your wrists. "Too much gut on an old man like me."

You just nuzzled your face into the soft skin of his belly and told him how much you wanted it pressed against you while he fucked you.

And when you finally wrapped your hand around his cock for the first time? That poor old man nearly had a heart attack. Deep, shaky moans spilled from his mouth. He tried to stay quiet at first, but the new sensations wrecked him—little gasps, grunts that turned into desperate groans, maybe even your name said like a prayer when he got close.

First time your cunt clenched around him? He was already gasping. A few pumps up and down, and he was babbling: "I'm gonna—fuck, I can't hold it—stop or—"

And he spilled inside you, all pathetic and breathless, gaping for air. His cock pulsed and pulsed, twitched and twitched until he collapsed, face buried in your neck, breathing hard. He was mortified. "That...that was damn pitiful. I'm sorry."

But you just stroked his hair, smiling to him. "It was perfect. And we've got all night."

And because he's old but not spent—once he caught his breath, his cock stirred again, curious and ready.

This time, you let him take control.

He was slower. More gentle. He wanted to please you. Wanted to make up for that quick finish. So he fingered you, licked you, followed your instructions until he had you gasping beneath him. Then he pushed in again, and he lasted longer. He learned. He memorized every sound you made.

And Peepaw Joel was not a virgin anymore.

[usetheeauthor]

This is so good 🫦 pls more Virgin Peepaw Joel. I’m begging on my hands and knees 🙇🏾‍♀️ as I’ve hoped someone would take this concept for so long

[littledes1re]

Thank youuu!!! I might write a longer version of this!🩷