"And try to wash that look off your face before you walk through the door... I’d hate for your father to know what you've been up to."
pairing: jon bernthal x reader | 3.2k words
warnings: MDNI ! 18+, dbf! jon, undisclosed age gap, smut, dry humping, p in v, dirty talk, praise kink, dom! jon, car sex, forbidden affair, slight angst, aftercare (kinda?)
ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚
Your phone buzzes into the blankets beside you. A single, demanding vibration.
Jon: Down the street. My car. Now.
Your eyes snap open, the screen’s light blinding in the dark.
A jagged, breathless laugh hitches in your chest. That specific, electric buzz of adrenaline that makes your fingers tremble as you grab your phone.
The fact that he’s here, sitting just a few houses away from where your father is sleeping, makes the air in your lungs feel dangerously thin.
You’re out of the covers and moving before the screen even fades to black. You snatch a zip-up off the back of your chair, yanking it on as you fumble into your shoes. Your movements are sharp, frantic, fueled by the sheer, illicit rush of what you’re about to do.
The house is a minefield of creaky floorboards. You navigate the hallway with agonizing slowness, your breath hitching as you pass your father's bedroom. You can hear the steady, rhythmic rasp of his breathing behind the door. A sound that, only moments ago, would have been a mundane background noise, but now rings in your ears like an accusation.
You reach the back door, the metal latch clicking shut with a finality that marks the point of no return.
The night air hits you instantly, cool and sharp, biting into your cheeks and turning them a stinging red. But the heat blooming under your skin has nothing to do with the temperature. It’s the low-burning, heavy pull of him waiting in the dark.
You keep to the shadows, your footsteps swallowed by the grass until you round the corner. There it is: his car, idling under the dim glow of an old streetlamp, exhaust curling like a ghost against the pavement.
Through the windshield, you see him slumped low in the driver’s seat. One hand rubbing roughly at his eyes, the other gripping the wheel with a restless, impatient tension that speaks of a man wound too tight and looking for a release.
You slide into the passenger seat, the leather biting cold against your skin, but the car is already stifling. It smells like him. The raw, familiar scent of cedar and gasoline. The engine’s idle hum vibrates through the floorboards, matching the frantic rhythm of your pulse.
Before you can even settle, he’s on you.
He doesn't wait. He doesn't even say hello. His hands are on you immediately, fingers gripping with a familiar, firm authority as he plants them on either side of your face, locking your head in place. He drags you into his space, eyes dark and predatory. An intense, singular focus that burns into you.
His lips collide with yours. It’s an attack. Feverish, desperate, and completely reckless.
He kisses you like he’s trying to scrub the frustration of his day out of his system, his fingers digging into your hair, forcing you to match his frantic, punishing pace.
You let out a shaky, breathless whimper against his mouth, your hands clutching at his jacket, finally shedding the pretense and giving in to the absolute, messy necessity of him.
He pulls back just enough to growl, his thumb tracing the frantic pulse jumping in your throat. He doesn't give you a chance to breathe, his mouth immediately reclaiming yours, hungrier than before.
You instinctively pull back, hands pressing against his shoulders to create a sliver of space. "Jon," you breathe, your voice barely a whisper.
He groans, a sound of pure, ragged frustration. "Fuck, baby, it's been a long day. Can we just—"
He doesn't let you finish, reaching up to snag the hem of your sweatshirt and pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion. He tosses it aside, his lips immediately back for the attack, hot and demanding.
You lace your hands into his hair, pulling his head back just enough to force him to look at you. "It's very late," you say, your breath hitching.
He pauses, eyes dark and blown wide. "You didn't wake anyone, did you?"
You shake your head, watching the tension in his jaw loosen slightly.
"Good," he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "We'll be quick."
He cuts the engine before leaning back into you, his movements restless and sharp. "God," he rasps, his lips trailing wet, impatient kisses along your jawline to the hollow of your neck. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to work with him all day, when all I can picture is you..."
His hands move with an impatient, practiced ease, sliding your shirt off until your breasts are bared to the warming air of the car. He doesn't waste a second, his mouth lowering to them, hot and firm as he finishes, "...like this."
A loud, messy moan escapes your throat at the contact, the sound echoing in the small, cramped space. He shushes you instantly, the sound emerging like a low, vibrating purr against your skin.
"Need you to be quiet," he breathes, pulling back to look at you, his eyes searching yours with a dangerous, predatory edge. "Can you do that for me?"
You don’t speak, your head swimming as you simply nod, unable to do anything else.
He grips your chin, his thumb pressing firmly into your bottom lip. "Tell me, baby. Use your words. You gonna be a good girl for me?"
His thumb drags firmly against your lower lip, forcing your mouth to stay parted, waiting for your answer. You nod hazily, your senses entirely consumed by the scent of him and the pulse hammering in your throat.
"Yes," you manage, your voice thin and raw. "I’ll be good."
He doesn’t wait for the echo of your words to fade. He grabs you by the waist, his movements commanding and hasty as he hauls you over the center console to straddle his lap.
You land against him, your breath catching as you feel his hardened length pressing against you. He immediately buries his face between your bare breasts, a low, possessive sound vibrating in his chest.
"There you go," he rumbles against your skin. As he guides your hips to grind down against his bulge, he urges you on. "That’s it."
It’s friction at its most primal. The rough denim of his jeans grazes against your sensitive skin, the heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of what little clothing remains.
You’re frantic, trying to find a friction that eases the ache he’s built up inside you all day, but he keeps his pace slow, punishingly steady.
He forces you to ride the seam of his zipper, the coarse metal and heavy fabric teasing you, dragging along your slick core until you’re whimpering against his shoulder.
He feels every twitch of your muscles, every frantic shift of your hips, and he revels in the way you’re unraveling. When he feels your rhythm tighten, when your hips begin to hitch and you start to lose control, he halts his own movement entirely.
He holds you pinned against him, letting you hover right on the precipice of a release he isn't ready to let you have yet.
His hands leave your waist to move to his belt, the metallic clink of the buckle sounding like a gunshot in the quiet of the car. He unzips his jeans in a swift, practiced motion.
"Needed this since I woke up this morning," he rasps out, his voice dropping into that dark, dangerous register. "Had this dream that reminded me just how worked up you get. And I had to have it. Had to have you."
You reach for the hem of your pajama shorts to pull them down, but he catches your wrists, his grip firm. "No," he bites out, no room for argument. "Too long. Leave 'em."
He doesn’t bother with the fabric, simply hooking his fingers into the side of your shorts and underwear to shove them aside, clearing the way.
He pulls himself free, his eyes locked on your face with that singular, terrifying focus. With a sharp, expert movement, he tears a foil packet open with his teeth, rolling the latex down over himself with a dark, hurried efficiency.
He guides your hips down, his hands splaying across your waist to steady you as he lines himself up.
"Look at me," he commands, his hot breath filling the minimal, stifling gap between your mouths. "Don't you dare look anywhere else."
He pushes into you, and the sensation is sudden. He freezes, his breath hitching, eyes darkening as he realizes exactly how responsive you are.
"Already dripping for me," he rasps, his voice thick with a mixture of pride and hunger. "Soakin' me before I’m even fully in."
The friction is overwhelming. You bury your head in the crook of his neck, your body shuddering with the sudden, sharp pleasure.
"What did I say?" he demands, his hands tightening on your hips to hold you in place, forcing you upright. He stares up at you, his palm lying flat and hard against your bare stomach, pushing back firmly to keep you from collapsing into him.
He starts to move, relentless, bucking up into you with a punishing rhythm. You try to look down, your eyes fluttering to see the way he’s stretching you, but he bucks harder, his teeth bared in a grimace that demands your attention. "Eyes on me," he growls.
His thumb finds your aching clit, pressing in a steady, maddening rhythm that matches the frantic pace of his hips. Your jaw goes slack, your mouth falling open as the pleasure turns seering.
"Fuck," you choke out, the word breaking in the air.
"Oh—fuck," he moans with you, his composure finally fracturing.
His hand finds your hair, tangling in the dampened strands to tug you closer to him. With your faces now painfully close, lips almost touching, he sneers at you, "You’re no good girl. Look at you."
He shudders into you, his gaze pinning you to the spot before he finishes. His voice drops to a gravelly, possessive purr, and just as his hand leaves your hair, it snakes its way behind you, planting a firm, stinging slap against your ass that makes you bounce on him.
He times his words to the rhythm of his hips and the heavy, wet impact of your bodies colliding.
"So." Smack. "Fucking." Smack. "Bad," he growls, his hand still firm on your ass. "Letting me fuck you in my car like this."
His words hit you like a physical weight, your stomach twisting, your head falling back as your core begins to unravel. You’re shaking, your legs losing their strength, a desperate need to surrender and collapse into him.
"So." Smack. "Fucking." Smack. "Dirty," he spits out, teeth clenched as he pounds into you with relentless, punishing force.
He is coming apart with you, every muscle in his body rigid, his own climax tearing through him as he drives himself home. He throws his head back, a low, guttural growl of pleasure escaping him into the steaming, stuffy air of the car.
He wasn’t steady, his fingers shuddering against your skin, but he made up for it with sheer, unrelenting aggression, gripping you hard enough to bruise.
"Drive down into me, harder."
"Jon, I can’t—" you gasp out, your nails digging into his shoulders.
"Yes, you—shit—yes, you can, baby," he rasps, his voice a gravelly, breathless command as he picks up the pace. "Almost. There."
You obey, desperation overriding your exhaustion. You lift your hips, every muscle in your thighs burning, and slam yourself back down onto him with a cry that sounds more like a sob.
The impact forces a guttural roar from his chest. His hands, shaking violently now, lock onto your waist to drag you down deeper, harder, refusing to let you pull away.
The friction is frantic, a blur of sweat and skin, and you feel the tremors of your own release coil tighter in your stomach.
"Just like that," he grinds out, his voice fracturing as he nears the edge. He isn't just watching you; he’s consuming you, his eyes dilated and wild as he lunges up to meet every movement you make. "Don't you dare stop. Give it all to me."
He doesn't give you a choice. He surges into you one last, brutal time. Driving so deep that the blunt, staggering impact hits your cervix like a shockwave. The world dissolves into white static.
You collapse against his chest, your body hitching as the waves of pleasure crash over you, his hands still anchored to your hips, holding you pinned to him even as the momentum finally begins to bleed away into the suffocating, satisfied silence of the car.
He presses his thumb down against your clit again, hard, grounding you as you ride out the final, shuddering peaks of your orgasm.
You sit there together, breathless and heavy, as he softens inside of you. His hands move from your hips to your hair, his touch suddenly gentle as he brushes the wet strands away from your face.
The harsh edge has vanished, replaced by a possessive, satisfied warmth now that he’s had his fill. He leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your lips, biting down on your bottom lip and giving it a playful tug before pulling back.
You are drunk with ecstasy, your eyes blown wide and pitch-black as you instinctively grind against him a few more times, your core still clenching and seizing around him in rhythmic pulses.
"That’s my girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction as he feels you taking what you need from him.
"I don't want to leave, Jon," you whisper, the thought of returning to reality feeling impossible.
He lets out a low, dark chuckle, his thumb tracing your cheek.
"Careful talkin' like that," he warns, his voice dropping into that familiar register that vibrates through your skin.
"Besides, gotta leave while it’s still dark. You probably can't even stand up on your own right now." He looks down at your trembling thighs, still clenched instinctively around his waist.
"You’re a total mess, and everyone would know exactly why."
With a firm, decisive movement, he pulls you off of him. You whimper at the sudden loss of contact, but he’s already moving, his hands working with practiced ease to carefully strip off the condom, knotting it before tossing it into the shadows of the floorboard. He tucks himself, soft and heavy, back into his jeans.
He eyes the mess between your legs, his gaze darkening again as he looks down at your glistening core.
"Good thing this is how I like you. All fucked out, shaking..." He reaches out, using his hand to swipe over you, gathering the slick, hot wetness until his fingers are coated. He brings them to his mouth, licking them clean with slow, deliberate focus, his eyes never leaving yours.
You throb again at the sight of him, lips parting as you watch him. He lets out a soft laugh, his lips glistening as he speaks.
"You'd just let me do anything, wouldn't you, sweetheart?"
The question hangs in the air, weighted with a smug, undeniable truth. You’re still reeling, your body too sensitized to even form a proper protest, and he knows it. He sees the way your breath hitches and your eyes track every move he makes.
He drags his hand down the side of your face, his gaze tracing the path of his own mess, his expression one of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.
"You're a wreck," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave as he watches you struggle to hold yourself steady.
"Let's get you cleaned up." He combs your hair back with his sticky fingers; a gesture that isn't really cleaning so much as it is a lingering, possessive mark. The sensation of his touch against your scalp, combined with the lingering heat of his touch, sends a fresh shiver down your spine.
He turns away then, reaching over to turn the ignition just enough to crank open the windows. The rush of cold night air hits your skin, the sudden temperature shift making you gasp as it cuts through the humid, stagnant atmosphere of the car.
"Gotta be quiet, baby," he commands.
He doesn't wait for you to catch your breath; he reaches into the shadows of the floorboard, retrieving your discarded shirt and tossing it into your lap, his eyes still heavy and dark as he watches you scramble to pull it back on.
In the passenger seat is your sweatshirt. He retrieves it, the fabric snapping sharply in the cramped cabin as he shakes it out. He doesn't just hand it to you; he unzips it, guiding your arms into the sleeves, his touch lingering on your shoulders.
His thumbs dig into the sensitive muscles there as he pulls the two sides of the fabric forward across your chest. His eyes drop to watch slowly, deliberately, as your still-pebbled breasts disappear beneath the fabric before he pulls the zipper all the way up. Smoothing it over your hips, his palms press firmly against you, anchoring you in place.
"There," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly sound against your ear as he leans in close. He traces the shell of your ear with his tongue, a final, chilling tease before he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. "Much better. Now you almost look like I didn't just ruin you."
He settles back into his seat, his gaze shifting to the road ahead. His demeanor is already cooling into that familiar, untouchable composure that makes your pulse jump, leaving you shivering in the sudden, heavy silence of the car.
You climb back into the passenger seat, your body feeling raw and disjointed, struggling to find your center as the reality of your surroundings begins to bleed back in.
He reaches forward and twists the ignition, the engine turning over with a low, throaty growl that vibrates through the floorboards and snaps the quiet night in two.
An awkward, heavy pause stretches between you, thick with the weight of what just occurred and the absolute secrecy required to survive it.
Finally, he glances over at you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Alright, you know the drill," he says, his voice flat. "Quick. Don't look back."
You look toward your house, the windows dark and still, then back at him. The contrast is jarring.
"Go," he commands, his voice dropping into something sharp.
You reach for the handle, your movements sluggish and your body heavy with the lingering ache of him. You slip out of the car, the cool night air instantly biting against your overheated skin.
You gently close the passenger door, the click of the latch barely a whisper in the quiet street. But before you can take a step, you freeze.
Jon is leaning across the center console, his eyes locked onto yours through the open window. He whistles lightly, a low, sharp sound that stops you dead in your tracks.
"And try to wash that look off your face before you walk through the door," he adds, his voice smooth and dangerous. "I’d hate for your father to know what you've been up to."
You don’t dare look back as you pull your hand from the frame and turn toward the house. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, the quiet of the street ringing in your ears.
You force yourself to keep walking, your legs feeling like lead, each step a jarring reminder of the ache deep inside you. The ache he left.
You feel his eyes burning into the back of you. A dark, silent silhouette in the driver’s seat, waiting until you’re safely swallowed by the shadows of your own front door.
Your hands fly quickly to your cheeks, rubbing ferociously to scrub the flush and ruin from your expression.
Everyday I spend not being forcefed edibles until I'm so high and incoherent I can't do anything but drool and whimper completely at the mercy of whoevers fucking me is a day wasted
I should be stuck in a daze being overstimulated with my only thought being how sensitive I am and instead I'm forced to be a productive member of society
you weren’t even sure when the argument started. voices raised, tears welling in your eyes, hands shaking from the adrenaline beginning to course through your veins. you’re pretty sure you blacked out when it happened, absolutely no recollection of your palm connecting with his cheek, leaving a sharp sting and a perfect red mark of your hand.
when you finally came back to your senses, palm stinging from the slap, and dex holding his cheek in shock, that’s when you realized what you had done. was dex mad? absolutely not! in fact, he now has a very prominent tent in his pants! the shock on his face slowly disappeared, lips curling into a smirk.
“do it again.” he said, tone sounding more demanding than pleading. with no hesitation, your palm connected with his cheek once again, only harder this time. he let out a groan of satisfaction, hand rubbing his cheek to somewhat relieve the sting. it’s safe to say that you both discovered something new about yourselves, and sex just got a whole lot better!
had a thought of throat fucking with shane and he’s just talking down to you the entire time ohhhhh my goodness.
“fuckin’ swallowin’ me, such a good whore f’me,” he grunts, large calloused hand gripping your hair as you suck him deeper and deeper. “atta girl… made for this. just a pretty fuckin’ mouth ‘s all you are sweetheart,” the pet name sounded so mean coming from him :(
and what would u all think if me if i said wilson as scott reed is one of if not THE hottest role he’s had i know its horrible but fuuuuuuuuuuck he looked so good
“dex needs like a really weirdo fucked up girlfriend” (ben poindexter x reader)
whatever wilson said ;) (ill post a part two with more unhinged ones, these are quite vanilla)
warnings?: shes crazy, he loves it.
1. you are a lovely girlfriend, cleaning up when dex wasn’t home, cooking simple meals for when you want to have a night in, fixing up his suit when the fabric tears.
while you do such lovely, domestic acts for dex, you also become giddy when he stumbles into the apartment bleeding from his side. stitching him close with precision and love. your tongue bitten between your teeth.
he was yours in these moments, slouched against the couch, panting in your ear, saliva lightly dripping down the corner of his mouth- mouth slightly agape as he watched you mend you up.
2. on late nights when dex was gone for hours on hours, and it felt wrong to be in bed alone. you would grab your book, blanket and any clothing dex had worn before leaving and snuggle on the couch. sitting on the couch meant you had direct view of the front door.
you memorized the sound of his footsteps, so when he was outside the apartment you would unlock the door before he could knock.
the first couple of times dex found it amusing and a little creepy. now he finds it comforting and greets you with a kiss and nibble on your bottom lip every fucking time.
3. the first time you meet matt murdock, its under quiet violent circumstances.
matt realizes something is deeply wrong with you almost immediately. he hears your heartbeat slightly change while dex talks about violence and instantly understands, you like this.
your big, bad, misunderstood boyfriend is just creating boundaries, trying to better himself for you!
and it turns you on so so bad.
4. one night you went to sleep quite early, dex smiles with glee finding his missing knife tucked inside your nightstand beside lip gloss and receipts like it belongs there. he leaves it, just to see what you’d with it.
should’ve taken in because dex opens his eyes to you straddling him, nose almost touching his with the very same knife digging into his neck.
your eyes are glassy and red, lips wobbling as you whisper out, “who is karen?”
“karen?” dex repeats, like he’s annoyed the name is even in your mouth.
“she can’t even choose between murdock and castle and you’re worried about me talking to her?”
a short, humorless exhale.
“there is no one for me in this world, except you”
then, quieter he whispers against your lips while softly taking the knife from your shaking hands “so stop acting like there’s anyone else here.”
5. dex was maybe a block away from the apartment when he felt you behind him, he stopped and smiled. “sweetheart…i know your there.”
you emerged from the shadows pouting, “you only kissed me two times.”
you heard dex’s muffled laugh through his mask as he sauntered over to you, sliding his hands over your ass. he leaned down to kiss you and you deepened it wrapping your legs around him.
“you left this” you whispered handing him one of his main knifes. dex smiled as he rubbed his thumb across the engraved blade ‘taken’.
he looked up to see you walk away back home, “thanks for the kiss.”
dex being dex, made sure you got in and locked the door before walking back down the street.
6. he found a box of his belongings, not belonging but what else do you call it? his broken tooth from a fight, a bullet case you personally removed from his body months back. polaroids of him sleeping, and one with him taking off his suit mid way. you kept clipping of his vigilante name from newspapers.
you were scared when dex approached you with the box in his hands, “you kept these things?” he asked lowly.
shamefully, you nodded. and in return he smiled and slammed his lips onto yours.
“no one has cared for me like this ever.”
7. you liked documenting stuff on your phone, photos and videos of scenery, food, little ducklings in the park.
detailed videos of his scars and wounds across his body as he slept, a video of him putting on his suit, mask and weapons in their respective places. selfies of the both of you in dim lighting, as he softly licked into your mouth.
at night, you would record the marks he would leave all over you after fucking while he was in the shower. a keep sake for when they would fade away. your favorite was photos of him candid at home, washing plates, shaving his beard with a towel wrapped around his waist hanging dangerously low on his hips.
——————————————————————————
the things i would do to play dex’s weirdo fucked up gf
omg hi hi i just found your acc and omg you write for frank castle and bullseye !! i read a few of your things so far and they’re so so good ♡ i rlly wanna get into writing for them, they’re both on my master list but i just haven’t thought of any ideas for them yet, hopefully soon though !!
Sorry girly! Im really bad at answering these! But thank you so much! It means a lot to me. I got burnt out with my other fanfictions so im just trying something new! ❤️🫶🏾
TW: dead dove do not eat, not smut but still questionable. dad!Dex, talks of masturbat!on
Dad!Dex catches his girl touching herself and tries to get her to do it again.
After what felt like an hour of crying, I needed a quick dopamine hit. I cover my arm over my eyes and trail my hand down my body until it dips into the waitband of my pajama pants. I gave my clit a soft rub and I let out a shaky breath. But I stayed silent despite the need to touch.
The door opens abruptly and I pull the blanket over my head. I was caught with my hand in the cookie jar. "Get out! Get out-Get out-Get out! Please!" The humiliation didnt stop.
He leans in the doorway of my bedroom with a smirk playing on his lips. "Please, dont stop on my account. Its natural for a girl your age to need a little boost instead of talking out your problems like an adult."
He stalks closer and sits down on the bed. It dips and groans under his weight. He slowly caresses down my calf. "Gotta work out those feelings somehow. You gonna let dad watch you? I wont touch, promise."
My heart was hammering in my chest. "I wasnt doing...anything." He reaches out to grab my hand that was doing the business. He examines the slight sheen on my fingers and plunges them into his mouth.
"H-hey! Stop!" my face begins to heat up in humiliation. I couldnt tell my dad what I was doing. That was so...weird.
"What? You gonna tell dad what you were doing, then? Or are you gonna show him?"
Have you thought about writing something about grady travis of fury,he's so bad
I love that filthy asshole. But this is kinda fucked up soooooo
TW: Noncon, r4pe, p-in-v, intox through anal (yikes, I know), dead dove do not eat
Thinking about the boys settling down in a quiet town for the night.
Your mother's says to stay away from the doors and windows. Dont draw any attention to yourself.
Too bad you never listen. Thats how you end up with a tiny bottle of vodka shoved into your poor asshole as he rams into you. Shoving your face in the mud and dirty as he takes what he is owed.
"Bet you aint got fucked like this before? Drunk as a fuckin' skunk."
He's completely clothed with just his pants hung low on his hips. Giving him just enough access to pull them up and leave you in the field crying.
TW: age gap, oral (male receiving), bodily fluids, mentions of w33d
Frank was always so helpful when you moved in down the road.
Making sure your lawn was manicured. Fixing up your car. Carries groceries into the house for you. Rolling joints for you because, "pretty hands like that aint meant for gardenin'."
What better way to thank him than inviting him inside for some iced sweet tea. He couldnt reisst when you look up at him with those doe eyes. So sweet and expectant.
"Have a seat! Make yourself comfortable. I'll be just a minute," you disappear into the kitchen with a sway of your hips.
He feels so out of place with all of this pink everywhere. But he cant help the slight stir in his belly when he smells your perfume.
He clears his throat and clenches his hands in fists as they sit on his thigh. "Hey umm sweetheart? You get lost in there?" He tries to make light of his own rapidly increasing anxiety. A part of him feels like youre doing it on purpose. Making him sit in a room surrounded by you. Your stuffed animals, throw pillows, fancy lamps, it was all too much. Suffocating him in what would possibly be the best way to go.
You emerge from the kitchen with tea, snack, and a cold bear for frank. "Figured you'd like this. Its my dad's favorite. Youre very...similar."
He swallows thickly and reluctantly accepts the beer. But you stand in between his spread legs and cup his bearded face, "youre so nice to me, frankie."
The nickname sent a jolt through him. "Just uhh, bein' neighborly."
You nod at him and tilt your head, "a huh. Young girl cant do it all on her own, right?"
Dont talk like that. Please dont make him sound so filthy. He knows how it sounds. But that doesnt stop it from being true.
That doesnt stop him from grabbing a handful of hair as your pretty lips wrap around his girthy cock.
"Sh-shit. Christ. Sweetheart."
The sight of you smearing your spit and his precum on your lips like lipgloss makes him accidentally cum on your face. He didnt even have time to warn you. :((
He scrambles to find something to clean your face off with. "Im sorry. Here. Let me-" he takes the bottom of his shirt and cleans your face with it. Hes taken aback when you just let out a cute giggle.
I love my dada. Im clinging onto him for dear life, I fear </3
Tw: !ncest, male masturbat!on, humiliation, punishment
Thinking about touching myself without permission and dad!dex making me stand facing the corner completely naked as he strokes his cock. His eyes tracing over every one of my curves. His over hand holds my panties up to his nose. His eyes roll back and a big glob of precum leaks out of his tip.
When he cums, he paints thick, hot ropes onto my panties and makes me wear them all day long. Im all fussy and whiny because the sensation is sticky and yucky.
