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joeloverture · 9 months

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hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist : coach!joel masterlist pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach. warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n] word count: 6.4k a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.

You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.

Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.

Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax.

No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.

So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.

You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.

The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.

Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?

The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing.

You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.

Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.

The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.

Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.

You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.

Bingo.

Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.

You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.

You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.

And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.

It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.

His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.

You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from — Lucas.

TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.

A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky.

That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.

Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.

He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.

“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”

Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”

Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.

He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”

You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining.

“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”

“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”

Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.

Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.

“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.

Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”

You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.

“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.

He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”

He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down.

“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”

There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.

You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”

You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”

“Knew that already,” you mumble.

He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”

You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.

“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”

He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.

The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.

“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.

Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…”

When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.

“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.

He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.

You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”

“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee.

“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.

You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”

The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.

“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”

“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head.

“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.”

Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”

“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.

You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”

Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.

“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel.

Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.

“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.

Then — he stops.

His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?”

"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."

You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.

Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”

“Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”

You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.

“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.

You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips.

“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.

Oh.

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.

He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become.

A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”

If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.

“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.

When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.

“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.

“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel.

“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.

“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer.

When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily.

“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.

“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him.

His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.

“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?”

“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”

Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is.

Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!”

“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”

“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.

His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.

“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.

If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”

With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.

Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”

And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”

Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.

With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.

And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.

You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”

When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.

Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?

Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”

Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/f! reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic

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utcampuslifeupdate · 1 year

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Recognizing “Influencers” of the Longhorn Life

(Front row, left to right) Pete Schaack, Cecilia Lopez Cardenas, President Jay Hartzell, Van Nguyen and Lisa Sova; (Back row, left to right) Randall Ford and Ryan Becerra

For 36 years, Pete Schaack has influenced students in living the Longhorn life and now he is being recognized with a President's Staff Award for Outstanding Supervisor. President Jay Hartzell honored him at an event on April 10.

The awards event also included a celebration of the Staff Service Awards. Our Division has 58 staff members with a combined 1,125 years of service and the president gave a special shoutout to one of our staff members with 50 years. Read more about these awards below.

Outstanding Supervisor Award

“Student affairs believes in students and in experiential education. We believe that the most important life skills and memories are developed on campus outside of the classroom. The greatest reward to influencing the Longhorn life is helping build those skills and create those memories that will last a lifetime.”

Pete Schaack Director of Facilities, Recreational Sports Facilities Coordinator, Division of Student Affairs

Ask Pete Schaack’s staff and they will tell you – he is an incredible supervisor, caring colleague, and always leads with integrity in a clear and confident manner. The university is recognizing his impact on generations of Recreational Sports professionals and student employees with the Outstanding Supervisor Award.

As Recreational Sports’ director of facilities, Schaack oversees the day-to-day operations in seven recreation facilities with 400,000 square feet of indoor space and 40 acres of outdoor space. Schaack’s team of 12 full-time staff and 300 student employees manages these student-centered spaces that support our students’ health and overall well-being. They assist with scheduling, maintenance, capital projects, renovations and new construction.

Schaack came to campus in 1987 to run the department’s outdoor recreation program. Then, five years later, his mentors and longtime department leaders encouraged him to move into facility operations. He served as the “boots on the ground” during the renovation of Gregory Gym in the mid-1990s and has played a major role in many other Recreational Sports projects, while also serving on several university committees. He developed the plans for Division of Student Affairs facilities to reopen after the COVID-19 pandemic and navigated winter storm response plans that included keeping Gregory Gym open for students to warm up and power up.

RecSports facilities staff at Longhorn Run 2023

Even with these major projects on his plate, his nominators — all Recreational Sports staff that he currently supervises or previously supervised — shared how he’s made lasting impacts on their careers. They noted that he always keeps students at the center of what they do, emphasizing the importance of listening to them and team members to effectively maximize the Longhorn experience.

“His office is always open, whether it be easy questions and answers, helping solve complex issues or to just chat about life. He's never too busy to take a few minutes to discuss whatever is on your mind, no matter the topic,” said one nominator.

“Pete is the living definition of an incredible supervisor and colleague. He's always the first in the office and often the last to leave. His day doesn't end when he departs campus, as he is often checking in on staff, whether professionally or personally, to make sure everyone that reports to him, and their families, are doing well,” shared another nominator.

It's that care, camaraderie and work ethic that are core to Schaack’s leadership. He says his favorite part about working with Recreational Sports is the energy, always embodying the department’s mantra “education through recreation” with his dedication, mentorship, guidance and support.

We’re grateful to have this servant-leader on our team, helping us impact our students’ success and academic journey for more than three decades!

Staff Service Awards

Cheryl Pyle, President Jay Hartzell and VP for Student Affairs and Dean of Students Soncia Reagins-Lilly at the awards celebration

The Staff Service Awards included a special shout out to the Office of the Dean of Students’ Cheryl Pyle – one of three university employees celebrating 50 years of service.

“It was February 1972 when I walked into my first job in the Division of Student Affairs … Six positions, two departments, a lifetime of experiences and untold opportunities with absolutely no regrets. Thanks for the memories…” noted Pyle.

Melinda McMichael, Mary Rhodes and Marvin Mackey, Jr.

Additionally, two staff members in University Health Services and Counseling and Mental Health Center celebrated 45 years – Marvin Mackey, Jr. and Mary Rhodes, and one marked 40 years – Melinda McMichael. Meet these three team members.

Congratulate your Division colleagues below!

Counseling and Mental Health Center and University Health Services

Marvin Mackey, Jr., 45 years

Mary Rhodes, 45 years

Melinda McMichael, 40 years

Mitzi Henry, 35 years

Kevin Jones, 35 years

Andrew Mendoza, 30 years

Robert Reed, Jr., 25 years

Mark Zentner, 25 years

Ginger Bloomer, 20 years

Ericka Holms, 15 years

Nicole Lackowski, 15 years

Michael Andorka, 10 years

Monique Cortez, 10 years

Luisa Gutierrez, 10 years

Karen Hickey, 10 years

Sherri Knight, 10 years

Alyssa Ramirez, 10 years

Jessica Sanchez, 10 years

Office of the Dean of Students

Cheryl Pyle, 50 years

Bob Vargas, 35 years

Melissa Jones-Wommack, 10 years

Recreational Sports

Peter Schaack, 35 years

Sarah Bubolz, 30 years

Derek Knight, 25 years

Lisa Sova, 20 years

Dixon Hankins, 15 years

Quincy Hodges, 15 years

Ruben Ramos, 15 years

Ryan Becerra, 10 years

Cecilia Lopez Cardenas, 10 years

University Housing and Dining

Alma Reynoso, 30 years

Michelle Thompson, 30 years

Juston Hairgrove, 20 years

Virginia Jaramillo, 20 years

Jeff Reed, 20 years

Dina Bricker, 15 years

Blanca Garay, 15 years

Christie Jenner, 15 years

Lucero Torres, 15 years

Monica Bacon, 10 years

Rudiger Bernard, 10 years

Calvin Kirts, 10 years

Tiana Lindberg, 10 years

Julia Matamoros Martinez, 10 years

Melinda Mendez, 10 years

Crystal Simpson, 10 years

Aaron Voyles, 10 years

University Unions

Robert Waters, 35 years

Gloria Munoz de Ramirez, 25 years

Steven Cook, 20 years

Bobby Veail, 20 years

Isaac Gutierrez, 15 years

Nick Parras, 15 years

Jeff Sladcik, 15 years

Bill Welford, 15 years

Sean Morrogh, 10 years

Vice President for Student Affairs

Carol Longoria, 10 years

Texas Parents Association

Susie Smith, 15 years

#Division of Student Affairs #Influencing the Longhorn Life #Recreational Sports #Living the Longhorn Life #You Are Here #You Do You #You Change the World #UTSpring2023

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roosterforme · 1 month

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Mr. Right Now Part 7 | Hangman x Reader

Summary: There's a difference between sex and intimacy, and Jake is feeling the latter for the first time in a long time. When he tells you that it's important to make sure your partner knows what you want and need, your reaction feels like the nail in his coffin.

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, adult language, oral sex, p in v intercourse, 18+

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Why is Jake on my masterlist!? Mr. Right Now masterlist

You weren't exactly sure what to think of the fact that Jake took the time to get out a washcloth and soak it in warm water before setting you down on the bathroom vanity and cleaning you up. He kissed you softly, nudging your knees so you'd spread your legs apart, and he gently ran the washcloth along your most intimate parts. Both of you were still naked, and even the sight of him soft while he took care of you made your heart pound.

He just took your virginity, and now he was whispering, "Take your time to get cleaned up and get dressed, Darlin'. I'm going to get you some more ice water, and then we can finish the pizza."

"Okay," you replied, unsure what else you should say. He walked out of the bathroom leaving you alone with skin that felt too hot and a nervous energy that you couldn't identify. You wished he was still touching you, so you quickly used the bathroom and dug around in his dresser drawer for a clean shirt before rushing out to the kitchen.

You felt a little sore, but it was a delicious ache that left you on the verge of smiling as soon as you saw him filling a wine glass with water in his underwear. "I'm ready for cold pizza," you announced, and he turned to take in the sight of you wearing his Texas Longhorns shirt with wide, green eyes.

Jake grunted in response as he headed your way with the wine glass in one big hand. When he dropped down onto the dining room chair he vacated earlier, he lured you over with his smirk and the sentence, "Nothing else is going to taste as good as you." Your steps faltered as you sucked in a deep breath, but he wrapped his free hand around your bare thigh. When he patted his lap, you met his eyes. "Have a seat."

You settled down as gingerly as you could on his thigh as he slid your glass of water next to the open pizza box, but your lips were already so close to his, you ended up kissing him. His thumb skimmed along your hip as he parted your lips with his own, tasting your tongue. He groaned softly, and your fingers threaded through his hair like that's where they belonged. Jake smiled against your lips.

"Alright, feed me some horrible pizza, or else I'll just keep wanting to taste you all night," he murmured.

You pulled away from him slowly and reached for one of the slices in the box. It was cold, and the cheese looked honestly not so great now, but you bit the end of the slice before holding it out for him.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," you said, licking your lips. "This is delicious."

Jake hummed as you fed him another bite from your hand. "I would eat this with you all the time." Your blood felt warmer as it pumped through your veins, and Jake leaned in to kiss your ear. "Do you want to stay over again?"

His place was comfortable to you already, but you were in so deep. You could hardly understand how you got yourself here, having the best weekend you could remember with this man who you barely knew but for some reason were certain you could trust.

But you took too long to answer, and as you stared at him with the half eaten slice of pizza in your hand, Jake muttered, "I can drive you home after you're done eating."

"No," you whispered. His gaze dipped down to your mouth as he frowned slightly, but you kissed him before you said, "I want to stay."

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

Jake was enjoying the nasty, cold pizza and the way you made him feel warm while you sat sideways across his lap. He was enjoying all of it too much. Just like he'd enjoyed you in bed. It was all too much, and he still wanted more.

You said you would stay over again, but what did he expect to happen tomorrow night? Especially when he could already tell he'd want even more. When he finally got you all snuggled against him in the bath earlier, you told him you had classes every morning at eight. He was going to have to drive you home at some point tomorrow, and he didn't know how to ask you if that was it. Or if there could be more.

He took another bite of the pizza from your hand and watched you nibble on the crust. You seemed contemplative, but that eager look was always there. "What's on your mind?" he asked, and you leaned against his shoulder, burying your face against his neck.

"Just reviewing the lessons in my mind," you whispered. "Making sure I don't forget anything."

Great. You were thinking about his lessons now when he just wanted to go off script. Showing you so much of himself the first time he had sex with you was probably his worst decision of all. He should have kept lesson eight simple, but instead he put himself out there, insisting he could show you more. Show you that there was a difference between fucking and intimacy. And now there was a pain in his chest. That's what he got for needing to be the best and somehow falling for you in the process.

Jake could feel your eyelashes flutter against his neck as your hand trailed down his chest to rest on his abs. You had no idea what you were doing to him, otherwise you'd definitely stop touching him like that. Or else you'd agree to never leave.

"Is there a ninth lesson?" you asked softly.

All Jake needed was for you to always be safe and get exactly what you wanted. He tucked his fingers beneath your chin and tilted your face up so you were looking at him. "There's always another lesson," he said, kissing you softly before running his thumb along your lips. "Lesson nine: make sure you tell your wants and needs to your partner. Then everyone will be clear about the expectations."

"That makes a lot of sense," you replied, chin still resting in his palm as your fingers skimmed the top of his underwear. Your eyes were wide with innocence and something more. "So, what do you want?" you asked boldly. "What do you need?"

Jake's cock throbbed against your leg, and your lips curved into a little smirk. "Come on, Darlin'. That's not fair."

You dipped your fingers into his underwear and shifted your leg as you whispered, "What's unfair about it?"

He swallowed hard, wrapping his hand around your wrist before you could touch his erection. "This is supposed to be about you. Not me."

You moaned his name, sending his mind into a frenzy as your other hand tangled in his hair again. "I got exactly what I wanted, and somehow you also gave me something I didn't know I needed."

He closed his eyes as your lips met his neck. "This is about you first and foremost, Darlin'. Remember? It's never about the guy."

You kissed along his skin as you asked, "Even when he's as sweet as you are?" His hand left your wrist so he could cup your face, and before he knew it, you were wrapping your warm fingers around his cock. "I want to give you head if you'll let me. Or I want to at least try."

Jake's head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut as he throbbed shamelessly in your hand. There was no way he could make up an excuse or lie to you, not after the day the two of you had together. "I both want and need your mouth on my cock," he groaned, already wondering if he could last long enough to enjoy it.

He stood up and hauled you over to the couch where he'd made a mess all over you earlier, prepared to do the same again now. He kissed you hard on the mouth, hand rough at the back of your neck. You whimpered in response and rubbed yourself against him. He wanted you every which way he could imagine. He wanted you to experience everything with you. But right now, you were the one pushing him down so he was sitting with his hard cock hanging out of the front of his underwear.

You looked too good in his Texas Longhorns shirt as you leaned down with your hands on his knees. "I've never done this before. Just so you're clear about your expectations."

"Jesus Christ," Jake grunted, and you sank to your knees between his spread legs as your hand slid up to wrap around his cock. He shimmied his underwear down lower on his thighs, and you looked up at him before pulling them completely off.

"But I have watched porn," you promised, letting your lips brush along his tip.

"Fuck," he growled. "Every time you say that, I lose my mind a little bit more."

You gave him a little nudge with your nose, clearly comfortable around him. "Will you tell me if it's bad? I don't want to be bad at this."

Jake held eye contact with you and slowly shook his head as you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock and gave him a little swipe with your tongue like you were enjoying a lollipop. His balls tightened up knowing you'd never had another man like this. Another slow swipe of your tongue and he had to reach for your cheek and stroke your soft skin to keep himself grounded.

"It won't be bad. It couldn't be," he promised, swallowing hard. "You're smart, and frankly guys are easy to please when it comes to some pretty lips and an eager tongue."

Your lips were a little puffy from all of the kissing between the two of you, and when you pulled him free, you gave him a little pout. "But I want to be good for you." He felt dizzy again. "I want to know what you like, the same way you told me to be vocal about what I like. You've had blowjobs from probably dozens or maybe hundreds of women."

You were probably overestimating those numbers, but Jake could barely think as you grazed him with your nose again. "Darlin'," he grunted without another single thought in his head.

"Should I... take this shirt off or something?" you asked, gaze innocent even as your lips brushed along him. "You know, to turn you on more?"

Jake laughed as his head tipped back against the couch, dizzy all over again. "If I were any more turned on right now, you'd have my cum everywhere."

"Oh," you gasped, voice sounding delighted, drawing his gaze back to your pretty face. That's when you let go of him to tug his shirt over your head, discarding it on the couch next to his leg, and all he could do was stare with his mouth hanging open at how damn bold you were.

He was hard as a rock as your tits swayed while you repositioned yourself, and then your took a few inches of him. It didn't feel like you didn't know what you were doing, and he couldn't decide if that's because you were a natural or because he'd find anything you did to be a turn on. Your eyes were trained on his face as you took another inch of his cock, clearly looking for some feedback, but all he could say was, "Please, don't stop."

You made a soft sound as you took more of him, and as soon as your lips brushed his trimmed pubic hair, you gagged. Stars clouded his vision as his fingers wrapped around the discarded shirt. You gagged again and started to withdraw him, and when he was able to look at you clearly, he was panting slightly.

"Does that feel good?" you asked, mindlessly pumping his wet cock with your hand while you waited for an answer.

He nodded and said, "I'm going to finish distressingly fast. Especially given how long I was able to last in your perfect pussy."

You looked so proud of yourself as you whispered, "Tell me what you like."

As soon as your lips wrapped around him again, he placed one gentle hand at the back of your head and muttered, "I'll show you."

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

Jake's breathing grew more ragged each time you took him deep enough to make yourself gag. And you loved the sound of his grunts and groans as much as you loved the pressure of his hand on your head and neck.

"That's it," he crooned when you sucked on him just like he had instructed. "That's it, Darlin'." His hips were rolling slightly now as you licked and sucked, absorbing everything he said and did. While he only gave you subtle instructions, it seemed like it was all designed to make you more curious. And now you desperately wanted to make him come. You wanted to taste him and feel him in your mouth at the same time.

When you needed to catch your breath, you licked around his balls, and the sound he made was one of the hottest things you'd ever heard. "You like that?"

"Uh huh," he grunted, eyes wild as you did it again. "Fuck. Fuck. I'm getting real close. Jesus Christ, your tits look good. You're fucking killing me."

You smirked, knowing taking the shirt off had been a good idea. The only problem was that you wanted to taste him, but your pussy was also wet with desire now. He did tell you to let him know what you needed and wanted, so you went for it. "Jake, my pussy is soaked," you whispered before licking a steady line back to his tip. "Will you fuck me again later?"

"For the love of god," he groaned, rubbing his free hand over his face. "I'll do anything you want. I'll fuck you all night. Anything, Darlin'."

You felt strangely powerful as you took him all the way again, reveling in the way it felt to gag on his cock. When you bobbed your head, you could feel how tight his entire body became. Like a coil ready to snap.

"I'm so fucking close," he whined as you sucked. "You don't have to swallow." You frowned up at him with your mouth full. "You want to swallow?" he asked softly, and you nodded which made him groan again. "It'll be different than when I came on you, and some women don't like the taste."

You pulled him free and said, "I already tasted you earlier. I want to feel you to cum in my mouth," before taking him deep one more time. Jake moaned your first name as his fingers tightened around the back of your neck.

"God damn, god damn," he chanted, cheeks ruddy. "So good."

And then he came, and you tasted him. It was shocking how suddenly your mouth felt full, but he tasted as good as he did before, and you tried to swallow him quickly. But you could feel some of his cum drip down your chin as you looked up at him.

Jake dragged his thumb through it before coaxing your lips apart. You licked it clean before he scooped up a little more and fed it to you. His breathing was calmer now as his cock softened and rested on his thigh, and you couldn't stop looking at what you'd turned him into. He was somehow relaxed and also more keyed up than ever.

"I love the way it tastes," you whispered, already feeling your face heat up at the simple admission. "I already want more." You weren't sure if it was just Jake who tasted so good that you'd happily drop to your knees at the mere suggestion of it, or if it was every man. But his next sentence had you scrambling onto his lap.

"You already sound like a cum slut."

But you knew no shame whatsoever, completely naked in his arms. "Will you cum in my mouth again? Please?"

He kissed you, swiping his tongue along yours, and you could imagine just how that tasted. Then his fingers dug into the tops of your thighs, and he pulled you up so you were standing on his couch on shaky legs with your pussy right in font of his face. "I said I'd do anything you wanted, and I meant it. But right now this is what I want to do."

Jake was being bossy, and you loved it. He guided you where he wanted you, and then his mouth was all over your pussy. Lesson nine... lesson nine... make sure your partner is clear about what you want and need. "I want to come all over your face," you gasped, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep yourself upright as his tongue traced a devilish little circle around your clit.

"You will, Darlin'."

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

The floodgates had opened. You were just as insatiable as Jake was. It was so late now as you and he worked through the rest of that box of condoms you found in his bathroom, exploring each other in every way imaginable. Every time he even looked at you, it was with more intent than he was used to, and that was just fueling how badly he wanted you. And you welcomed his every suggestion, surprising him at every turn with some of your own.

There was a condom wrapper abandoned somewhere near the couch where you'd asked him to fuck you doggy style. The lack of eye contact didn't feel any less intimate when he had his lips pressed to your neck and ear, coaxing your orgasm from you one word at a time.

There was another condom wrapper on the bathroom vanity where he was currently giving you a slow thrust from behind where both of you could watch each other in the mirror. His cheeks were flushed pink as you gasped his name, and his lips connected with the side of your neck. "Good girl," he whispered, praising you every time you thrust back against him. "Get what you want. Tell me what you want."

The front of his body was pressed to yours, and he was gently squeezing your breasts, enjoying the look and feel of them as his thrusts made them bounce. You grabbed his wrist, never breaking eye contact in the mirror as you dragged his hand lower and said, "Make me come."

Sex was never this simple or this complicated for him before. Being with you felt effortless. Both of you were making your expectations known, and he was enjoying every second of being in your presence. But he was already hesitant about dropping you off at your dorm. When he kissed your shoulder and dragged his fingers along your clit, he knew he needed to say something about the feeling in his chest, but he just couldn't do it. That's not why you were here.

"I think you made me good at sex," you whimpered, bracing both hands on the sink vanity as you tossed your head back and came on his cock. It was beautiful. All of it. He slowed his fingers as you rode out your orgasm, and his hand came to rest low on your belly.

"There was never a single moment when you weren't," he promised, and then you were kissing him over your shoulder. It wasn't just sex either, because now he couldn't wait to get you cleaned up and take you to his bed for the rest of the night. And that thought was enough to make him come inside you for what felt like the hundredth time today.

He was exhausted. Wrung out. He had nothing left to give you physically at the moment, but as if by instinct, you turned around in his arms to face him as soon as he was done grunting your name, and you tossed your arms around his neck. He kept you caged in there between his body and the sink in his dimly lit bathroom while you gave him the sweetest kisses, bodies slick with sweat. Neither of you said a word for a long time, even as the kisses tapered off so your cheek was simply resting on his chest, and he traced soft shapes along your hip. He felt you yawn, and he had to fight the urge to as well as he finally forced himself to take a step away from you.

"It's late, Darlin'. Let me get you cleaned up," he whispered as he removed the condom, not bothering to find the wrapper to join it in the trash can. He reached for a clean washcloth, and you let him take care of you while you yawned again, and then the two of you brushed your teeth side by side before he took your hand.

The window was still cracked from last night when you had asked if he could hear the ocean in his room, and he pushed it open a little further as you climbed into his bed like you belonged there. He was going to be completely unable to separate his feelings from the physical acts between you and him this weekend, but he tucked himself in behind you anyway. Once again fell asleep to the sounds of your soft breathing and the waves crashing in the distance.

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

I love them, but they are so oblivious about what the other one is feeling. Darlin', there's a reason you're so comfortable around Jake. Jake, there's a reason you can't get enough of her. Just a few more chapters left. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 8

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@seriouslyseresin

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@katiebby04

@supernaturaldawning

@chassy21

@tylerjones98

@captainjaspenor

@gigisimsonmars

@fanboyswhore9

@angel-w0nderland

@abaker74

@idontcare-11

@isaebella

@bringnattolife

@xoxabs88xox

@djs8891

@hufflepufftruffle

@cottagecori

@lex-winchester

@schoollover

@wolfquake23

@paintlavillered

@blue-aconite

@mrsevans90

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triplefrontierbabe · 1 month

Text

Daniel Ricciardo smau (pregnancy edition)

pairing: f! mom! reader x dad! Daniel Ricciardo

warnings: reader is pregnant, if that is not up your alley please skip, use of yn, alternate universe

disclaimer: all photos are from Pinterest and/or Instagram, I take no credit for photos

yourusername

liked by haileesteinfeld , landonorris and 789, 783 others

yourusername just checking in to say hi :)

view 1, 680 comments

haileesteinfeld omg my faves😭😭😭 you’re gonna be such great parents 🤍🤍🤍

alexandrasaintmleux congratulations Ricciardos!🤍

yourbestfriend about time !!!

lilymhe ahhh congrats guys!!! I’m so excited for you two!!💞

landonorris so this is why he was saying “I’m busy” 🙄

visacashapprb congratulations to you both! we can’t wait for a mini honey badger!

danyricobsessed bruh that should be me

↳ dric3supremacy chill tfo it’s not that hard to say congratulations

scottyjames31 looks like Daniel’s getting a head start on dad fashion

danielricciardo

liked by maxverstappen1 , oscarpiastri and 1, 680, 793 others

danielricciardo life lately

view 2, 689 comments

yourusername danny’s 40 weeks along for anyone wondering ;)

joshallenqb big dinner there eh?

chloestroll Daniel with the yoga ball is taking me out 🤣

↳ yourusername same 😭 then he was mad that his shirt was stretched out

vcarblover223 he’s so unserious 😭😭😭

landonorris pregnancy glow really showing there mate! you’re looking great too, yn

↳ yourusername thanks 😵‍💫

ilovedannyric GUYS WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT THE SURF PICTURE MORE

yourusername and danielricciardo

liked by alex_albon , francisca,cgomes and 3, 890, 262 others

yourusername I’m usually an impatient person, but this was so worth the wait👶🍼🧸. you’re a lifesaver Danny 🤍

view 4, 631 comments

yourbestfriend I’m crying. There are no better deserving people to be parents in the world than you two

↳ yourusername sobbing plz come over

maxverstappen1 so happy that baby is here! does the baby have Daniel’s hair though?

↳ danielricciardo unfortunately no 😔

↳ yourusername no heartburn though 🙌

texaslonghorns welcome to the newest longhorns fan 🤘

haileesteinfeld I’m already obsessed with this munchkin

chloestroll my favorite parents ever!! baby play date soon?

gerogerussell63 amazing! congrats to the new parents!

f1waggossippage Danny in his dad era 🤩

formulawagtea this baby was born to the hottest people on this earth

oscarpiastri baby’s first surf lesson when?

yourusername

liked by scottyjames31 , gossipf1wags and 1, 293, 803 others

yourusername now this, I can get used to 🤍🪽🧺

view 832 comments

lilymhe the best era yet

danielricciardo I love being able to have nap time

↳ yourusername acting like you didn’t already have one

yourbestfriend lil bean is getting so big

↳ yourusername tell me about it 🥲

tatemcrae milf

haileesteinfeld I have baby fever now

kikiay3 she makes motherhood look so aesthetic too

djrbabe Daniel napping with the baby is so deeply personal to me

danielricciardo

liked by visacashapprb, enchante and 1, 237, 793 others

danielricciardo I was told this is called a photo dump

view 1, 093 comments

georgerussell63 I made the photo dump! Let’s go!

↳ maxverstappen1 😔

↳ maxielstan not max commenting

↳ fea303 trouble in paradise

yourusername love you baby daddy 😚

landonorris gee I wonder who took the third pic

↳ yourusername you know it was really strange this weird British guy did

↳ danielricciardo had to tell security he was a threat too

↳ oscarpiastri that’s happened to me too

↳ carlossainz55 same here

fxrmula1fan universe I’ve seen what you can do for others I’m just asking for some guy to love me the way Daniel loves yn

yourusername

liked by carmenmmundt, tatemcrae and 803, 893 others

yourusername there and back home again 🛫🇲🇨

view 384 comments

yourbestfriend still thinking about that breakfast 😋

francisca.cgomes baby’s first race!!!!

haileesteinfeld the fourth pic has me in pieces 🥲

gossipf1wags apparently yn was really rude to people at the race. I always knew she was a mean person

↳ papayaluvr she literally had her baby with her, she was probably just a little frazzled

↳ gossipf1wags yeah but that’s still no excuse to be rude

↳ realsweatbaby03 were you there? yall will literally grasp for anything to hate on her. let her live

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

check out my Masterlist

check out my other Danny Ric smau

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

taglist: @ifyouaintfirstyourelastt @f1updates4you @bernelflo

#daniel ricciardo #danny ric #triplefrontierbabef1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smau #f1 fic #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel riccardo imagine

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lulunothulu · 13 days

Text

“In sickness and health”

Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: you’re sick and Tyler makes you feel slightly better 🥰

Content: PURE FLUFF, and some sickness lol

GIF from Pinterest credit to the OG maker 💗

Your head was throbbing when you woke up. Your body aches every time you move and your nose was runny.

Great, you were sick.

Of all the days that you wake up feeling like absolute dog shit, your body decides it wants you to suffer.

What was so important about today? It was yours and Tyler’s first wedding anniversary.

You felt terrible, this was the first anniversary you both happen to be together to celebrate and you were sick.

You pull your hair down from its messy bun and sigh in front of the mirror of your bathroom. “Maybe a shower will help.”

You turn the shower on, waiting for it to warm up and then stepping in once your clothes are in a pile on the floor.

You scrub your body slowly, sighing when you have to sit down on the shower floor to wash your feet and legs. It feels nice down there.

It was a mistake.

You wake up with the shower still spraying you with hot water and Tyler standing over you, eyes full of worry.

“Baby?” He asks.

“Did I fall asleep?” You ask hoarsely.

He nods, turning the shower off and grabbing a towel from the rack. “I walked in to surprise you and you were slumped in the floor.”

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him, wincing when he lifts you into his arms.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m just sore,” you tell him. “My body and head hurt.”

Tyler lays you on the bed before helping get dry and dressed in your pjs.

“You need to regulate your body temperature before I take your temperature for a fever,” he instructs you. “Just lay here and I’ll go shower.”

That’s when you fully notice that Tyler was in his clothes—flannel shirt clinging to his body and dripping onto the floor.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you, kissing your forehead.

You only nod because the energy you have left was used to get yourself into your pjs.

———

Tyler gets out of the shower ten minutes later to see you sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep.

He smiles, kissing your forehead after he gets dressed in a pair of sweats and Texas Longhorns t-shirt. “Jesus, she’s burning up.”

Quickly, Tyler goes in the linen closet and grabs a rag before running cold water over it and squeezing the excess water out. He makes his way back to you and places it gently in your head, smoothing your hair down.

Once he sees you’re doing fine with the rag on your head, he heads downstairs to the kitchen. Grabbing carrots, celery, an onion, and some chicken, Tyler starts to make some homemade chicken noodle soup for you.

It’s what his mom used to do for him when he was sick, and he knew it would help you feel better.

After thirty minutes, the soup is simmering on the stove and Tyler needs to check how you’re doing. He walks back upstairs and smiles when he feels the rag on your head.

It’s still fairly warm and you’re sweating, which means your fever has broken. He grabs the Tylenol from the bedside table before filling a glass with water from the carafe on the dresser.

“Sweetheart,” he gently says, shaking you awake. When you open your eyes, he smiles and says, “Can you take this?”

You nod, popping the Tylenol in your mouth and swallowing it down with the water. “Thank you.”

“I have some soup on the stove, do you want me to bring it to you?”

“No,” you croak. “I can go downstairs with you.”

Tyler nods, sweeping you into his arms before carrying you down the stairs and gently placing you on the plush couch.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you.

When he comes back in a few minutes later, he has a tray with a steaming bowl and a glass of orange juice on top. He places it on your lap before sitting beside you on the couch.

“Eat up, baby.” He kissed your temple before standing and putting on a movie for you to watch while you eat.

He walks back into the kitchen, sighing to himself before grabbing the flowers he’d brought you and putting them in water. You’d have to marvel at them later when you feel a bit better.

“Tyler?” You call out. He makes his way back into the living room to see you looking up at his with sad eyes. “I’m sorry I’m sick on our anniversary.”

“Shh,” he coos with a smile, taking a seat beside you again. “It’s okay, I just wanted to spend the night with you.”

He tilts your head back before kissing your lips, warm and tasting like the soup he’d made you.

You pull away smiling. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

��Hey, I chose to be with you in sickness and health. If I get sick then so be it.”

You close your eyes, kissing him again. When you pull away, you smile up at your husband. “I love you so much, Ty.”

“I love you too, Sweetheart,” he tells you. “Don’t feel any better?”

“I do,” you smile. “I would’ve felt better if you were just here with me anyway.”

“Good,” he smiles. “Now, what do you wanna watch after Toy Story?”

You shrug. “Might as well finish the whole thing.”

———

Halfway into Toy Story 3, you’ve fallen asleep again this time leaning on Tyler’s shoulder. He kisses your head with a smile before laying your head on his lap and stroking your hair.

Sleep was a necessity, especially now that you were sick. Tyler didn’t mind you sleeping. He would’ve been happy if all you wanted to do was sleep your way through your anniversary, as long as he got be around you.

Once the movie finished you slowly sit up and rub your eyes. “Did I fall asleep again?”

“You did,” Tyler smiles. “But that’s fine because you didn’t get to see me cry when Andy drove off.”

You chuckle, snuggling Tyler’s thighs. “That’s too bad.”

You sigh when Tyler’s fingers rub your scalp and you close your eyes.

“How’s your head feeling?” He asks.

“Much better,” you tell him.

“I think it’s time for your second dose of Tylenol so let me go get that.” Tyler stands, carefully helping you sit up before walking to the kitchen and grabbing the pill.

When he walks back in, you’re seated on one side of the couch and scrolling through the movies on the screen. He hands you the pill with a glass of water before sitting down, lifting your legs to rest them on his thighs.

“Hey, we have to catch up on Sex Education,” you tell him. “Kate said she and Javi were gonna finish the season without us.”

Tyler snorts. “Of course she did. Alright, let’s watch it.”

After a few episodes, Tyler begins to rub a your feet making you moan. “That’s feels so nice.”

“I know,” he smiles.

“Thank you,” you start. “For making me feel a bit better than I was this morning.”

Tyler only shrugs. “That’s my job. As your husband, I’m supposed to make you feel better and take care of you. And you know I don’t half ass anything, when it comes to you.”

“God, that’s so cheesy,” you laugh.

“Cheesy, but true.”

“Kiss me again and tell me you love me,” you tell him.

“Gladly,” Tyler’s says before leaning over and kissing you softly. “I love you, Mrs. Owens.”

You smile. “And I love you, Mr. Owens.”

#glen powell #fanfic #tyler owens headcanon #tyler owens #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens oneshot #tyler owens x reader

481 notes · View notes

netherfeildren · 11 months

Text

Pink : Part II: I See Your Father as My Father

Series Masterlist : Part I : Part III

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Inappropriate relationships; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms; Ass play lite; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Praise kink; Aftercare; Size kink; Spitting; Come eating; Thigh fucking; Oral sex

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 12.3K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

2. I See Your Father as My Father

When he swings the door open, he’s still half pulling a t-shirt over his curl messed head, faded gray, rust orange longhorn across the front, a flash of hair sprinkled belly. All man, man, man. It stretches over his broad shoulders so the holes strewn there stretch and gape wide making your face heat unbearably. And he’s struck silent for a second, realizing it’s you taking up space on his front porch, trying to hide against the shadow of the wooden beam at your back, ringing his bell in the middle of the night like the Devil’s on your heels. Brow pulled low, he steps out onto the porch, into the shadows with you, his gaze flashing back and forth between your eyes. He says your name, and you hate it. “Did somethin’ happen? Are you alright?” And you want to say no, that nothing is alright. That you know you shouldn’t be here, but you’re here anyways now, and so he needs to tell you what’s going to happen next because this is as far as you’d planned. The sound of his voice, the sight of him, that’s as far as you’d planned. The rest is up to him now, even if he doesn’t know it. Your eyes fall down the long, broad length of him. Rumpled jeans, hastily pulled on, and his bare feet, oddly erotic. They’re paler than the rest of him, sun deprived, and briefly, ridiculously, you wonder if he has that funny sock tan men get around their ankles. The skin stretched over strong tendon and bone, beautifully arched. You give a tiny shake of your head, something like a whimper slipping up your throat. And you think he must realize or understand because he sighs, long and drawn out, dragging his palm over his mouth as he watches you struggle. You think that’s his tell, that dragging hand; he does it when he’s thinking, confused, worried, upset which leads you to worry that maybe he’s upset you’re here now, but it’s done, you’ve come. There’s nothing either of you can do to undo it now. Your eyes move back up to his face, and he’s taking stock of you now also. The soft, loose jersey shorts, too big pullover almost covering them entirely, the sleeves twisted around your clenched fingers. “You gotta tell me what you’re doin’ here, sweetheart. You gotta say it out loud.” You let out a rough, frustrated sound through your clenched teeth, looking away from him for a second.

“We never talked about it,” you say instead because you want to hear him acknowledge it, you want that to be said out loud.

He understands immediately, “You never gave me a chance to.”

You look back at him, he’s taken a step closer, and you wrap your arms back behind the beam, trying to meld yourself to the wood, keep yourself away from him.

“What else was I supposed to do? If we talked about it, it would’ve happened again.”

“Well, then that’s why – that’s why we never talked about it.”

“But did you want to?” And your voice breaks a little at the end, “Did you want to talk about it?”

He sighs again, a muttered curse under his breath. He isn’t going to give you the easy way out. “Tell me why he left you,” and you flinch. He, his son. It’s the truth, no reason to cower. You were left. You have to look away again, unable to confess this when looking into the kinder version of eyes that never loved you.

“I think you know. I think you could tell from the very first moment you saw us together.” He hums his agreement, and the sound fucking hurts. “He never loved me. He never even really liked me, I don’t think. But that became okay after a while.” A tear falls, and you listen to the sound of him suck in a sharp breath; it makes you smile just a little, that small sound. You look back at his face, “I don’t want you to think I’m not okay with that now because I really am. It made me realize that he’d never been what I wanted or needed either. That he couldn’t ever give me what I wanted either.”

“And what’s that?” His voice sounds gentle, but you know that it’s put on. You know there isn’t going to be anything gentle about this.

You choose to ignore that, “You know he said once, that I’d lied to him about who I was. But I didn’t– I really didn’t, Joel,” and you say it with such panic, or fervor, or something that’s desperate to ensure that he doesn’t think the same of you. That he doesn’t take you for a liar also. “He just couldn’t understand that this is the only way I know how to be. Being scared all the time makes you a liar. It makes you what the moment needs you to be no matter what that is. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I know what you mean,” but he looks nervous, the truth of him too close to the surface, and it soothes you. The two of you are the same, you knew it.

You peek down at your twisted fingers, nails gnawed raw and bloody and disgusting. “I don’t think he ever loved me and that made me sad. But now, I don't think I ever loved him either, and that makes me sadder. It was all for nothing, I let him turn me into that thing for nothing, and I was always waiting for him to treat me better, different. But a person who can treat you badly once usually finds it quite easy to do it again.” You look back up at him, shocked for a moment at your sharp honesty. “I’m sorry. He’s your son. I shouldn’t say these things to you,” even thought it sounds like hypocrisy, for look at where you’re standing in the middle of the night.

“And you’re you.”

And the sober way he says it sobers you, recenters you. “Yes. I’ve always been only myself.” And it’s the truth, the most difficult one. That despite Sam’s claims that you’d made him believe you to be someone you weren’t, despite the sick desire for complacency, to please all those around you, you have always been only you. Even when they’d tried to force you to be something you weren’t, you were still always only yourself. You say it again, just to hear the sound of the words.

“You gotta tell me what you’re doing here then. You want to talk about that? About what happened that night? Is that it?”

“Yes.”

He sighs, that telling gesture over his stern mouth again. “If we do this, there’s no goin’ back, and I–”

“There already is no going back for me. I can’t forget. I can’t stop remembering.”

“It would be different– if we– if I take you, it’ll be different. You get me? I won’t be able to stop. I know myself well enough to know that. I won’t be able to stay away from you after.”

“I don’t care.”

“So that’s what you want?” But you can’t say the words out loud, you can’t, you can’t. You’re ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated by your own desire, small and slanted. Despite all your progress, and as much as you want it, you still know you shouldn’t. “I gotta fuckin’ hear it, sweetheart. Is that what you want?” You shake your head a little, another tear, wrapping your arms around yourself. You can see the fight in his eyes, trying to hold you off from the inside out. I don’t know, another tear. He makes a frustrated noise, turning to pace to the opposite end of the porch, hand fisted in his hair. When he turns back he seems to deflate, eyes going cool and steady and then, suddenly, like a ricochet, bright and light, a flash fire. Once more: “What do you want?” To be wanted. To be good. “You want me to kiss you? You want me to fuck you?”

And your eyes flutter closed in relief, there it is, finally, the hard part’s over. It’s been said out loud. “Yes, that’s what I want.” He’s on you in three ground eating strides, big hand wrapping around the contours of your jaw, the other fisting in the hair at the back of your head, pulling you up so that you’re balanced on the tips of your toes. Your eyes fall shut, mouth parting embarrassingly ready for him to kiss you, but he gives your head a little shake between his palms. “You’re supposed to belong to my son, goddamnit. I’m not supposed to want you like this. This is wrong.”

“I never belonged to him,” and then bitter truth, honesty laminated in humiliation, “And I don’t care if it’s wrong.” Followed by a thought, a wash of shyness, held in his hands as you are, large strong hands: there is a part of me that feels very innocent still, naive, experienced hands that will finally teach you how to be good. You watch the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the sun roughened skin of his throat, and when you look back up at his eyes, there is nothing like innocence, nothing like naivety in them, only the reflection of something complex, something more. He goes very still, almost vibrational with restraint, his fingers clench around you once, and then, with unbearable control, his hands flex open, releasing you.

“Get in the house,” he says very, very quietly. You cup your own palm around the space of your chin where he’d gripped you and turn on your toes, scampering inside, into the home of the man who would have remained your father-in-law for the rest of your life had his son ever decided to love you. The door slams shut behind him.

He steps into the dark restroom with a staying hand out and ready, as if approaching a wounded, rabid animal.

His son, his son is a cruel and small man. Joel is coming to realize this with something like horror running in currents beneath his skin. Quick to anger, quick to aggression. And you, his daughter-in-law, no one knows this better than you do. He’d naively thought, when his fully grown son had appeared at his door steps all those months ago, that the question Joel had carried on the tip of his tongue for half of his adult life had finally been answered. Alone but never necessarily lonely, something like a film of boredom and monotony over his life. He was content with the place he’d made for himself; he had his business and his brother and friends, and Joel was fine. But a child of his own, he’d never expected it, never even considered it a possibility. And what he’d come to discover: his son, who shouldn’t still be a child, but in many ways, was.

He licks at the groove of his molar as he watches the tremble of your back, trying to hide your weeping face in the shadows of the bathroom wall. A small, anxious thing that had been, out of everything, perhaps the biggest shock of all. To learn that he had a son, an entire life lost to time, and that there was someone in the world that his son should have loved enough to tie himself to – it was shocking. To discover that his son was married when Joel was not, disorienting.

He says your name softly and watches the jerk of your frame, that vein of anxiety he’d sensed in you from the get go that he was fairly certain Sam had a large part in sowing. You’d shown up with your hair picked up today, only the second time you’ve ever worn it so. Piled messy at the top of your head, a few strands laying against the nape of your neck, the vulnerable slope of your shoulder. He feels strangely afraid of you, afraid for you. Unsure of what to say, heart beating out of his chest, rebounding against his ribcage so hard he’s sure you can hear it. “I’m sorry. He didn’t mean it. He–”

“Please, don’t apologize for him.” A tiny sniffle. “Don’t apologize for him,” you say again, and there’s a hum of exhaustion in your voice, brokenness, it makes Joel go from afraid to entirely terrified, but then angry too… angry too. He takes a step forward, another, he’s an arms length away from you now. He could touch you if he was brave enough. If the intent behind it wasn’t as wrong as it is. Angry because he’s looking at that vulnerable nape, imagining the fit of his palm molded over the delicate column, and you’re something to be taken care of. Something like a gift. Even though he doesn’t know you well enough to say such a thing yet, even though he shouldn’t be thinking such a thing about his daughter-in-law. Even though you hold yourself with a hard rigidness most of the time, quiet dignity and cold vulnerability that seem almost impossible to get through. And yet he suspects that with enough care and patience you could become immediately soft, easily penetrated. He should see his son as a gift, and he does, he does, he does, he swears he does. If Joel repeats it enough times in his mind surely he’ll come to believe it with his whole heart, but what he sees more than the gift of a child that was kept from him, is nothing but a boy beating down a creature that was not taught to defend itself. And that makes him angry beyond belief.

Joel can be a hard man. He is a hard man. Perhaps, a large part of the reason why he’s still alone, why nothing more than a quick fuck ever seems to work out for him. Women like him, they enjoy his company, they come to bed with him easily. But Joel is hard and cold, and he’s never much minded his aloneness, a difficult thing to sell to a woman, the reality that he doesn’t really care to need anyone else. And so perhaps, this is his son’s inherited vice, that coldness, but despite Joel’s preference for solitude, for the fact that he doesn’t care about making a person stick around, he tries to never be cruel, and he is sure to never hurt those that are more easily hurt than himself. He doesn’t think there’s any worse sort of sin, and so he knows that this cruelty he’s witnessing didn’t come from him. But then he thinks that if it didn’t come from him, then it surely came as a consequence of him, of his absence, and so he is just as responsible for it. So he can’t help himself when, instead of more platitudes in favor of his gift of a son, he says: “You should leave him.” You let out a bitter sound of a laugh, something that pokes at that wound of fear of his.

“Should I? I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to say.”

“Isn’t it? It’s the truth. It’s what you need to hear right now,” The sweetheart he adds at the end has a tiny shiver moving down the length of your spine that his own vertebrae can’t help but imitate. You hang your head, bearing more of that lovely nape, head seemingly bowed in supplication for something gentler than what his son can offer you, and he can’t help himself again. He wants to sink his teeth into that soft expanse of skin. You’re too pretty, pretty in all the ways a perfect thing can be, and Joel is a hard man, not a weak one, but he feels weak now. He feels brought to his knees, heavy stone of guilt weighing in his gut as he lays his palm on the back of your bared neck. Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch, this doesn’t belong to you. He tightens his hand, grips the column, presses the calluses of his palm to the soft skin. “Look at me–” he gruffs, turns you by the pressure of his hand, a kitten gripped by the scruff and made to listen. “You deserve more than that shit.” That shit being his son, his blood. Joel is two feet tall and so ashamed he’s nauseous. But your eyes, they look up at him, tear filled and so lost, and he wants to show you how it should be. “You deserve more,” he says again. Later, he’ll tell himself he surely must have said the words out loud, asked for it with teeth and tongue. The blame can only be his, he provoked it, he soothed the wound, incited it, because you’re surging up and against him, fingers clawing at his shoulders and throat and pressing your mouth to his, clumsy and tear stained and open so that the first thing he tastes is your breath on his tongue, then your tongue on his tongue, and then absolution tinged with shame, gross desire like desperation. He groans like a dying man, clutching at you immediately, unthinking, pulling you into himself, soft, full tits against hard chest so that he feels like he’s burning and dying and coming back to life all with the taste of your spit and tears in his mouth. He holds you steady, hand still clamped to the back of your neck and thinks that if he’s going to commit a sin he might as well take his fill. He eats at you. Head held in place, knees bent and arm banded around your waist to bring you level with each other, he pulls your head back, mouth open and tries to swallow you whole. And Joel doesn’t think of his son, not for a single second, while he kisses his daughter-in-law.

His lips slide to your throat, hunting for your pulse, tasting the tiny flutter, going weak at the knees at the whimpered sound you make, cock harder than it’s been in years, a noise like begging, like more. He sucks hard at that thrum, but your noises shift to frightened, protesting, fingers digging into his shoulders to warn him. He can’t leave marks, he can’t leave marks on something that belongs to another. His erection is an iron band down the leg of his jeans, and he has to force himself not to thrust the aching cock into the soft apex of your thighs, feel your warmth there. He has to stop, he has to– to what? To let you go back to a boy that mistreats you? Even if that boy is his son, it’s wrong, it goes against everything Joel is as a man. He presses his face into the blistering heat of your throat, a muttered fuck under the ledge of your little chin. A rattling shiver has started up in you, teeth chattering with the force of it, and he bands his arms around you tightly, pressing the air out of your lungs, hand smoothing up to twist in the back of your hair and force you entirely still. “Don’t,” his voice is so deep he almost doesn’t recognize it coming out of his own mouth, “Don’t be afraid.” The sound of his popping knees as he unbends to his full height, your weight still in his arms. He lets you go in increments, slowly so as not to jar you further, hands holding tight until the last moment when he forces them to unclench, let you go. “Don’t be afraid,” he says again. “You did nothing wrong. This was all me.” Your eyes are huge, but you’re not crying anymore, and that feels like victory to Joel, despite the rest, the only thing that matters.

You run from him after that, because of course you do. What’s the other option? That he’d keep you there in that dark restroom, from his son and your marriage and the world, forever? He clutches at his chest and is swallowed whole by his shame and his guilt, the terrible fear that he isn’t the sort of parent that can blindly see past their child’s faults, love them despite everything else, not the type of man who can keep himself from wanting something he shouldn’t, he hadn’t felt so when he’d kissed you with that sick desperation on his tongue. And once he hears the sound of a slamming car door, and Sam’s truck peeling out of the drive and speeding away, he takes out his hard cock and fucks his fist until the heat of his semen is sliding over his skin, a handful of pathetic strokes and the sound of your name almost like a sob in the dark.

You listen to the sound of his bare feet padding across the wooden floor, and your head feels like it’s breaking water, seeing clearly for the first time in years. It’s a rich parquet, gleaming in the dim light of the street lamp glow. You wonder if he installed it himself, like the wallpaper, proof of the care and attention to detail in his home. You think you would like to be cared for as such also. There’s a soft green throw draped over the back of the chocolate leather couch, and you dig your fingers into it, twisting amidst the knitted weave as you turn to face him, and he has that look in his eyes again, the one from before. The one like too much, too much, the one like fear and want. Stopping just in front of you, the tips of his bare toes meet the front of your shoes, and he reaches to drag the pad of his thumb over the high slope of your cheekbone, the fine skin catching beneath his calluses. “You’re too beautiful,” he says, and you wish it sounded like an accusation, but it doesn't, and you want to tell him you don’t believe him, just to be difficult, just to be contrary, but you know he’s not the sort of man that lies. It only sounds like praise. His eyes are so dark in the shadow of the house, the green and brown and caramel striations gone away in the night, and he’s shifting his jaw, chewing on a thought before he spits it out. His other hand comes up to gently, so gently cup the other side of your face, and he holds you there, just so, angling you this way and that, appraising you, chewing, chewing slowly. “Too beautiful – I never even stood a chance,” he says more to himself than to you. This is a man that does things with intention. This is a man that sees you as a complexity, as something more. This is a man. “He told me something – last time we saw each other.” Your heart beats painfully in your chest, you can feel it in your eyes and ears and the backs of your knees.

“What’s that?”

“That the two of you were havin’ problems. In– in the bedroom. That–”

You try and jerk away, but he holds you trapped. “Stop. Please. Don’t–”

“Is that all this is? Older man – want me to teach you somethin’?”

Cradled as you are, you close your eyes, brow folding in a frown, unable to refute him with a shake for the way he’s captured you. You bring your own hand up to circle his thick wrist, fingers not meeting around it. He has hair here, your palm slides further down, hair here too. All man, man, man. No longer in the hands of a boy, and you’re touching him. Now you’re touching him too. “That very first time I met you– I wondered what you’d taste like. How heavy you’d be inside of me. If you’d be rough, leave marks, or gentle. You know I– I wanted– If he hadn’t been there, if–” Now he’s the one that begs you to stop.

His hands on you are tighter now, almost strangling, squeezing a moan out of you. “Are you going to tell him?” His grip goes loose again, caressing. “ If we do this– are you going to use this against him? It’s yours to do with as you will, I just want to know beforehand. It won't change the way I have you tonight.”

“Only tonight?” Your voice sounding strange, hungry.

His eyes move entirely around your face, taking you in, held as you are. His gaze is manic, fevered, but his words are slow, stacked one on top of the other for you. “No. No, I don’t think it’ll only be tonight.”

“I’m not going to use this against him.” For the first time in two years, what you’re doing, the decisions you’re making, have nothing to do with your ex-husband. This is only for you. Joel is only for you.

“Tell me what you want,” he asks for the last time.

“To be good,” you finally say, and the rough sound he makes, the flush you can faintly see crawling up the column of his throat, it has a painful knot of want tightening your cunt, the wet drip of slick pooling in your panties, all hot and bruised feeling on the inside.

He lets his hands slide slowly from your face to hang loosely by his sides, and you take it as your invitation to touch him as you like now. He’s so much taller than you, your neck craning back to look up at his face. You start there, the crest of his cheek, the strong, curved nose, plush mouth that looks specifically made for kissing a cunt until it cries. He makes your thoughts feel savage, he makes you feel like something you’ve never been before. “You’re just a little girl, aren’t you?” He says softly. Your hands move down to his thick neck, and you try and cage him there, hands too small to circle him entirely, the insinuation of a strangling. Too small, too small, too small. You shake your head, mesmerized by the contradiction of your small fragility trying to capture all that strength held inside of him. You look up at his eyes, holding him around the throat as you are, and shake your head. You’re not. “Then what are you?”

“I don’t know. I want you to show me.” And that does something to him. You see the change come over him in that very moment, something chimeral in the change your words provoke. He’s made of nothing but vibrational restraint, giving you your moment of peace to explore him as you need to before he takes you for himself. You’re almost certain you can hear the sound of him grinding his molars to dust inside his mouth. And you want him to show you, it’s the truth. As wrong or whatever it is that it may be, it’s your truth. You’d always felt like you’d done being a woman the wrong way, a grating way, an unappealing way, but you didn’t want to be unappealing or wrong. You only wanted to be yourself. And worst of all, you’d been made to feel like that, over and over again, by the man who should have done nothing but the opposite. And you know it might be bad now, to want to be shown or that there was no right way, but still, but still, you want it. You would still like for someone, for Joel, to teach you how to be better, how to be good. Was that really so bad?

Your hands slide down to the thick muscles of his chest, thumbs dipping into the dents of his collarbones, lower to the soft of his belly, the edge of his jeans. The both of you are trembling now, you in lust, desperation, him in restraint maybe. There are beads of sweat dampening the curls at his temples. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“Do you think so?”

He nods, but he’s cupping your elbows in his big hands anyway, pulling you towards him so that your breasts graze the top of his belly. “But we’re doin’ it anyway.” You go up on your tiptoes, hand cupping the sharp edge of his jaw to pull him down towards you, and he’s like a leashed wolf; heavy, hot breaths fanning across your face, and he slowly does as you bid, mint, mixed with something sharp like whiskey. He’s watching you so intently, watching to see what you’ll do with him, but your eyes are only on that soft wet mouth. You want his tongue inside of you, and that first press is so, so soft, barely there. A sound like dying, you can’t tell who it comes from, another soft brush, and you’re taking his top lip between both of yours, sucking on it lightly, hands snaking over his thick shoulders to bring yourself up closer so that he’s finally wrapping his arms around you, pressing you tightly to himself, belly to belly. He still hasn’t closed his eyes, he’s still watching you, and your heart is beating so fast and so hard and you want this so much that you’re sure he can feel it reverberating into his own chest cavity, spurring his own beating muscle on. You press another tiny kiss to his full, open mouth. “I’m scared,” you whisper onto his tongue, and he smoothes a staying hand down your spine, settling over the curve of your ass and squeezing there, holding you in his snare. He’s barely even touched you, and yet, you already know that no one else has ever been like this.

“That’s alright. Got nothin’ to be scared of – I’m gonna be so gentle with you, baby.”

“I’m not your baby,” hint of an obstinate, provoking whine in your voice.

“But that’s what you are.” He changes the angle of his descent, and now he’s the one moving in for another tiny kiss. “Just a little baby.”

“And I don’t want it gentle.”

“You’ll take it how I say. How ‘bout that?” Another kiss, and now the taste of his tongue. You’d never forgotten it, the slick, hot slide of it, from that other time. He licks into you, takes away your ability to talk. In a single blink of an eye, less than a second’s thought, he’s taken all control from you, made the game his own, and now you’ve finally gotten what you’d come here for. Now you can finally say it out loud. He wraps a massive fist around the length of your hair and eats at your mouth, makes it his more than it’s ever been yours. All tongue and teeth and wet spit, the sound of his pleasure for you vibrating in your ears, and there is it, the pressure of his hard cock as he slides his hand lower, between your legs to feel the heat and damp of the pussy that’s wet only for him, pulls you further into himself. The heft of the bulge has you whining and squirming in his hold, clawing at his shoulders and the skin of his neck to climb up the length of him, get closer, get more. You want that cock, you want it inside of you, filling you with its weight and its come. You’ve wanted it from the first time you’d met him as his daughter-in-law, standing beside his son in the place of his wife. You’d wanted his cock more than you’d ever wanted his sons, and you’re only ashamed that you’re not ashamed at all. And he tastes that desperation on you, nips at your lip with a gruff settle, a little yank of your hair to tug your head back and unlatch his mouth from yours, sliding in a wet trail to your neck, settle, settle. He bites at the line of your throat, hard. Sucks even harder, leaves a mark, leaves a claim he wasn’t able to last time. The deeply rumbled sound that comes from him attests to his intention and your answering, whimpered mewl is nothing but a cry for more; I know, baby, I know, he whispers into your ear. His mouth moves down your chest, pulling the already stretched neck of your pullover wider to nuzzle at the deep groove of your cleavage. You want to ask him if he’s worried, guilty, if he’s wanted you for as long as you wanted him, if he was hard when you kissed him that night in his little wallpapered restroom, but then the heat of his mouth is clamping around your nipple and sucking, wetting the fabric of your top with his tongue, biting down at your breast, the sharp of his teeth clamping down around your sensitive flesh, nothing but your soft sleep bra beneath to protect you. You yank hard at his messy curls, trying to pull his punishing teeth away and pull yourself closer, all at the same time. His eyes flash up to yours, mouth latched at your breast, cheeks hollowing as he takes a hard, wet pull and there’s laughter in his gaze, hot and bright and infectious. “I’ll be gentle, but I’m not gonna be nice, baby.” He nuzzles into the wet spot left behind, presses another kiss, soft and conciliatory now over your throbbing nipple. “You want me to be nice? Want me to be nice to this little pussy?” He rubs the flat of his fingers over that desperate place between your legs as he turns to walk the two of you back towards the front of the sofa. There’s no response to be given, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. He turns to sit, pulling you to remain standing between his spread thighs, hands wrapped around your hips. “Gotta use your words, pretty baby. I wanna hear what you want.”

“I want whatever you want. I want it however you want it,” you say through your flush and your shyness. You want to be honest, not a liar here in this moment with him.

He lets his head fall forward to rest against your lower belly, nuzzles there, and you hear his whispered, Jesus, fuck, before he pulls back to look up at you, drags his palms down the back of your legs all the way to your ankles, nudging your shoes and socks off, and then sliding all the way back up, scratchy calluses making you shiver until he reaches the edge of your shorts and tucks the tips of his fingers there. “Take your shirt off,” he says gently, and you only pause for a second of timidity before you’re pulling it over your head, left only in your soft pink sleep bra not intended for the eyes of ex-father-in-law’s you’ve come to seduce. Your shyness flushes higher, burning your face, sprouting beads of embarrassed sweat at the nape of your neck. He untucks his fingers from the waistband of your shorts, smoothing his palms up the slopes of your curves, thumbs dragging up the plane of your belly, dipping into the dent of your navel to reach up and squeeze your breasts tight in his big hands, then pulls the straps down over your shoulders, the bra down over the curves of your breasts to leave them bare and heavy. And his eyes never leave yours as he gets you naked for himself, fingers sliding down your sides now to pull your shorts and panties and the scrunched bra down, the flush in his face deepening, heightening even though he’s yet to look at you. Don’t be scared, he whispers again, shaking his head a little when you wrap your arms around your breasts, trying to hide yourself away from him. When he’s taken your shorts from you, gripping each ankle to help you step out of their circle, he finally looks at you, takes in the entire bare expanse of your naked body, gently prying your arms from your breasts. “Lemme see, lemme see, you’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby.” He runs his hands all over you, the slope of your belly, lifts the weights of your tits in his palms to let them fall and sway heavily, down the outsides of your thighs and back up and around to squeeze the lush of your ass. He pulls you further towards him with that clutch on you and presses his nose into the apex of your thighs, nuzzles at the soft thatch of curls there, brings his thumb up to pet at it and breathes deep. “I like this – so pretty,” he tells you again. If it was possible for a person to die of shyness you surely would in this moment, but this was what you’d come here for, this was what you hadn’t been able to say out loud. He presses his nose there again, takes another deep breath, and then starts to mouth wetly, pressing soft kisses and then the wet of his tongue, licking and parting at your slick seam. He groans so deep it sends you to shivering, hands coming up to cover your face, to hide away from that sound of lust, the feral look in his eyes when he looks up at you with the taste of your cunt in his mouth. He starts to lap at you in earnest, closing his eyes in sheer enjoyment as he pets at your clit with his tongue, shifting his angle this way and that to get at you more deeply. He pulls one of your feet up onto the edge of the sofa to open you, and you’re jostled forward, catching yourself on his broad shoulder as he spreads and eats you. His hand on your ass shifts lower, searching for your opening from behind and starts to pet at you there too so that he’s coming at you from the front and the back, and it’s too much, his sucking mouth and probing fingers. Your standing leg buckles, and he’s forced to pull his mouth from you, steady you. You let your knees give out slowly, coming to a folded kneel between his legs. He leans forward, mouth glossy with your slick and pulls your face to his, chin pinched between his fingers to kiss you, and the taste of you on his tongue sets something off within you.

Suddenly, your shy insecurity doesn't really matter as much with the flavor of your pussy on his tongue. You surge up on your knees, pressing closer to him, pulling him to you with your arms twisted around his neck, moaning into his mouth as you taste the sweet muskiness on his tongue. Like kindling catching fire in your veins you start to claw at him, pulling at his clothes, his hair, scratching at his skin. He half pulls you up and on top of him, your steaming hot form, entirely bare and naked on top of his clothed one. You can feel the heft of his cock against your belly, grinding there, trying to find whatever friction possible, and he makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat, pushing you back down onto the floor and pulling back to open his jeans. He’s panting and sweating, chest heaving and cheeks flushed a bright red. He wants you just as much as you want him. And it’s bad, it’s bad and wrong to compare, God knows, but when he finally pulls his cock out, he’s not wearing anything beneath his jeans, you know that this is a man unlike your husband ever was; long and thick, fucking big, swollen, flushed tip peaking out from soft surrounding skin, leaking a clear slick of drool. He takes it out and sits back, pushing his hips forward to settle into his seat and stretches his long legs on either side of you. You listen to the sound of the scooting coffee table as he shoves it back with his foot. His cock arches obscenely from his open jeans, and you reach up slowly, a little intimidated, to circle it with your fingers delicately. “You’re so hard,” you whisper.

He drags a gentle hand over the crown of your head, pulling the hair tie from your ponytail as he goes. “This is how much I want you. This is all you.” He circles his big hand around your much smaller one, squeezes his big cock tighter with both of your hands, and you flush with a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. You can make a man hard, the proof is right here in front of you.

He’s uncut, and that’s doubly intimidating. “I’ve never seen one like that,” he pulls your hand up slowly with his, squeezes and twists hard at the sticky wet tip.

“It’s okay, baby,” he croons, looking down at you with a maniacal sort of glint in his eyes. “Just open your mouth,” he wraps his other hand around your jaw, “You don’t need to see it if it’s inside you,” wedges his fingers between your molars over the skin of your cheeks, prying your mouth open. You bend your head forward, tongue hanging out, and he taps the heavy weight of his cock there, jostles the wet tip slightly from side to side, the wet sticky sound of it has your pussy clenching around terrible emptiness. He slides his hand up your cheek, twists his fingers through your hair and directs you how he wants you, slides his cock further back on your tongue, and you wrap your lips around him, give him your first real suck, tongue swirling gently around the fat head. Pulling back with a sharp hollowing of your cheeks, he squeezes his fist around yours almost painfully, and you press an open mouthed kiss at the spongey tip, gently tonguing the slit, lapping at it with the flat of your tongue like a little kitten. The sight of you licking his dick has him groaning, bearing the white line of his teeth at you.

“You taste so good,” you say up at him with big wet eyes, “Like I always imagined you would.”

“Fuck–” he snarls, “Killin’ me,” and he’s jerking you up off the floor roughly, pulling your knees apart to settle you in a straddle on his lap, pressing you close with a hand on your ass so that the wet heat of your cunt is meeting the heat of his cock. The both of you groan like it hurts, like you’ve been waiting for this for longer than is right, and he pulls your mouth back to his, wet and messy, sucking on your tongue, gripping your hair so tightly, your eyes smart and water. You claw at his shirt, pulling it up, trying to get at his skin, and he pulls back suddenly, frustratedly ripping it over his head, and then coming back to your mouth, single minded in his dedication to having the taste of you on his tongue. You try and grind down on him, but he hitches you up higher so your breasts are level with his face. “This’ll be over ‘fore it’s even begun if we’re not careful,” he laughs as he settles you, cunt leaking against his stomach and turning the hair there sticky sweet with your slick, and slots his hand between your thighs, gives you something to rub yourself against while he kisses you. “Oh, baby, you’ve got the wettest little cunt,” he says between kisses, lips sliding down to suck at your neck, lifting your breast to his mouth to lick and bite at your swollen nipple.

And past sense, past restraint, you beg: “I want your cock, please, I want it so badly.”

“Nuh uh,” he grunts, “Not yet. You’re not ready.”

You whine and beg that you are, you promise you are, but he only sucks at your tits harder, presses his hand harder between your thighs, and you can literally hear the wet squelch of your pussy as you ride his palm, your clit grinding against his belly on the forward slide as you work yourself up into a frenzy, wet whimpers and a pathetic little tear or two slipping out in your frustration to come. Need you nice and soft to take me, sweetheart, he murmurs into the tender skin beneath your chin, but he decides to be kind, crooking his finger just so that it brushes up against your clit, setting off a shivery little orgasm fluttering through your belly. He laughs softly, humoring the silly little thing wiggling around in his lap that’s so desperate to come, decides to be kinder halfway through your orgasm and starts to slowly press a single thick finger into your hungry, clenching hole. Shit, you hear his curse, while you moan and cry into his shoulder, mouthing and biting at the sun freckled golden skin there, gnawing on him like some rabid thing. And then he says, a little teasing: “Just from this, huh? Just from a little wiggling around on daddy’s lap?” sending a wash of agonized relief through you as he wedges a second one of those thick, thick fingers inside to stretch you further. It’s what you’d wanted to call him from the first moment. Just one more thing said out loud. You nod your head against his shoulder, a whine and a breath and daddy, daddy, daddy, as he stretches you; make that sound again, he begs and pets and coos at you, yes, yes, I could come from that sound alone, gives you all the patience you’d always needed. “Look at all this slick you’ve made to take my big cock in your little cunt, baby. What a good girl you are.” He twists his wrist, fucks space into you with his fingers, “You’re so fuckin’ tiny – how’re you gonna take me in this little thing, huh?” He bites down on your soft breast, encourages the sway of your hips with his fingers hooked inside of you. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” presses a kiss to your forehead, scratchy beard against the sensitive skin there, gently stroking you into another orgasm around his fingers, petting at something raw and bruised feeling inside of you, sending you to tears.

He pulls his fingers from you slowly once you’re done, leaving your body to tighten and gape around terrible emptiness, and you feel the wet smear of your come on your asscheek where he grips you, searches and pets your asshole to slick it with your wet. “You want daddy to fix you?” He says then, “Want me to make you all better? S’what you want, right?”

You nod slowly, sniffle, “Make me good,” you mumble into his neck.

“But you’re already good,” and he takes away all your choices, the ability to argue or refute, “You’re already so good. A perfect, gorgeous girl.” Kindling in your veins, madness, something more desperate than anything else you’ve ever felt in your entire life, true hunger. Worse than your desire for your father to understand you, to love you, to not be angry, your fight to keep a husband that would have never stayed. You reach for his cock, trying to impale yourself on it blindly, shifting to press the hot, blunt head at your wet opening. He moans like a dying man, “Wait– wait, lemme get a condom.” He sounds like he’s begging.

“No, please, now.”

“Fuck– fuck, you’re so eager to jump on my bare cock without a rubber or anything.” But it’s only because no one has ever touched you like this, and when he grips the thick root of his cock and notches it as your cunt, pushes inside slowly, you realize he’s doing it in a way that makes you understand the difference between the man and the boy.

“I need to feel your skin,” you sound like you’re begging now too. Sighing in relief when he starts to stretch you, when it starts to hurt. It’s slow going, fitting the largeness of his body into your much smaller one. But his hands are steady and soothing as he works you down another inch, another, let’s you fuck yourself on his cock. Murmured praises and all of his desire for you and yeah, just like that, take daddy’s cock, until he’s fully seated inside of you, holds you down, presses and grinds there, thick tip made fatter by his foreskin kissing your cervix. Finally, he pulls you back by the hair, and your father-in-law’s cock is inside of you. “Want you to look at me while I teach you how to fuck– how to take a cock,” because he knows, because he’s always known, had the gross ability to read you exactly as you are. He shifts his hips back, presses up, up, up, inside of you, and his eyes are so beautiful, and he teaches you how to take a cock, not a little girl now, only a woman. You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss his face, lick his tongue, nibble on his ears, feel him all over, he’s all over and everywhere, and it should maybe be humiliating, riding the cock that made the man that was your husband, it should feel wrong or something like a sin, but it only feels, instead, like it was made for you. Like this is where you should have been all along. Once you’ve adjusted, he grips your hips tight and harsh, makes your skin smart enough you know you’ll have bruises in the shapes of his fingers and pounds up into you, the slick slide of your cunt sucking him deeper, taking him as hard as he wants to give it to you, swollen and sensitive, squeezes your ass and grunts and moans and says, yeah, baby, bounce on this fat cock, like it’s the only thing you’d ever have to do for the rest of your life. You wish it was. And the sounds he makes, that’s what really makes you come again, what sets off your orgasm while you’re riding him – the desperate, rough sounds of a man fucking up into a tight, hot cunt that’s wet only for him. It coils in you so tight it hurts, it hurts, and then goes loose and fluttery, pussy flooding around his thrusting length. You can’t even moan, mouth hanging open, proably drooling a little, probably crying a little, nothing but hot air and wet and not a little girl anymore, only a woman, and he doesn’t gentle, fucks you harder, rougher, squeezes your ass and chases his own orgasm. His thrusts going sloppy and uneven, his moans turning to cracked whimpers.

“I’m not on birth control… but– but my period’s soon,” you whisper into his ear, and he makes a noise not wholly human, going still for a moment, throbbing inside you, thinking, thinking of the risk, decides he doesn’t give a fuck by the murmured, fuck it, I have to, and starts to move again, harder, hurting on every punch up against the mouth of your womb. I have to, is what he says, and that settles something inside of you. “Gonna come in this pretty, tight cunt. Gonna make it all mine.” You decide you don’t really give a fuck either. “Make daddy come. Squeeze down on daddy’s cock – yeah, just like that. You wanted to play at being the big girl? Now m’gonna treat you like one – gonna fuck you full, baby.” And you’re nothing but want and yes and please and thank you, daddy. And that first spurt, that hurts too, burns you, changes something inside of you that you know will never go back to the way it was before. You’ll want that hurt for the rest of your life, and you won’t ever be able to forget it, and it might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, but the heat of it spurs on another small orgasm of your own, jars you with the swell and throb of his cock, fills you till the come from your cunt is leaking down onto his slick balls and the leather beneath. And he holds you through the whole thing, stroking and squeezing and tasting, taking sips of your mouth, pressing his breath back into you, breathing life into you. No longer a ghoul in the night either. You feel him go soft and yet still heavy inside, a muted bruise against your womb, sighing frequently as you settle, little kittenish sounds that have his spent cock stirring lazily inside of you while you leak and leak and leak and go drowsy and then just on this side of fully asleep.

“Are you okay?” You remember to ask in a small voice while his fingers play gently in the wet where you’re connected.

He makes a soft sound, like he’s humoring you, like you’ve surprised him. “Course I’m okay,” presses a kiss to your forehead.

When he shifts you off of him to stand, a protesting whine at the back of your throat, he shucks his jeans off with a soft grunt, finally as naked as you’ve been the whole time, and his cock hangs heavy between his legs, shiny with your cunt as you stare up at him while he looks down at you. Afraid for a brief uncertain second before he’s lifting you in his arms, and when he carries you to his bed after, you feel terribly like a child. Again that naivety, that hope, but it isn't a bad thing, here and now with him. Not something to be used against you, not a bruise or a wound or a lost limb, and you haven’t failed at being good because he’s already made you so.

You’re pressed right up beneath his chin when he wakes up. Your soft, warm form all along his side, lush tits and the vulnerable slope of your belly against his skin, and it feels so intimate, entirely twined around him as you are. He brings his palm up to cup the small bowl of your skull, and in the hushed morning light, your mistake breathes life into the world. Joel has always been a hard man. Joel has always been a hard man, but never weak, and certainly, not good, per se, but never cruel. But there’s something like weakness, there’s something that should be like cruelty here, waking up with you bare, still leaking his spend in his bed, and Joel can’t tell if that weakness, that cruelty is his, born of him or of his own making, he only knows that it should be here, probably is here. It’s difficult to gauge the moral acumen of what he should or should not be feeling when he has you like this beside him. And most confusing of all, that it actually feels nothing like a mistake. Only like it was always meant to happen, and now it finally has.

He’d come inside of you, worst of all, sense gone away in the night, couldn’t claim exemption from weakness now, filled you until you’d leaked down his balls, the woman who’d been the wife of his son, and he should feel guilty, he should feel disgusted with himself. A betrayer of his own child. But all he feels is that he needs it again. That he needs you again. That if he could, he’d keep you.

Joel had never wanted children. The thought or desire had never really crossed his mind… and yet– You make a sweet little keening sound in your throat right before you open your eyes, and he feels the stretch and wiggle of your little toes against his shins, the flutter of your long lashes against the tip of his chin. “Good morning.” Soft hand coming up to cover his mouth, hold him in place while you wiggle and slither all over him.

“How do you feel?” He’d expected you to be shy, regretful, nervous waking up, and to find you entirely not, to get to wake up to you like this, soft and warm and lovely in his bed smelling of his come and his sweat, smiling that pretty little smile; it’s the mightiest sort of victory. You drape yourself on top of him, all soft limbs and softer tits, and the heat of your cunt pressed against his belly as you nuzzle into his chest hair. You’re different now, compared to before, that exhaustion he’d sensed is closer to the surface now, more easily visible, as if your body’s been collecting it, pulling it from the depths of you, getting ready to finally expel it. But there’s a clarity about you now too, you’re tired, but you’re also more yourself. Or on your way there. So lovely it hurts, vulnerable and fragile but entirely yourself. Afraid too, he can tell, because it’s your right to be afraid, because it’s normal, because we’re all afraid sometimes. “Sore?” Another nuzzle, and then, settling on your cheek to look up at him with those gorgeous eyes that’d damned him from the very first moment.

“Just a little.”

“You did so well last night,” he pets your hair slowly. “You took me so well. I’m so proud of you.” And oh, you like that. Blooming, the temperature in your body seeming to spike suddenly, suffusing all your limbs, radiating from your belly. Shifting and squirming on top of him. His half hard erection, trapped between the two of you, aching already, and you try and rub yourself all along its length, hitching a knee up by his hip to open yourself. He gives you a rough sound to settle, but you want something from him now, trying to rub your wet pussy all over him. If he was younger, a man of less control, he’d be fucking into you already and without thought. “It’s time for listening now, little girl.” He grips your hair tightly, tilting your face up to look at him, uncurls his fingers to cup the small bowl of your skull and hold you in place. “Sometimes people need time, sometimes they need us to be patient with them, wait for them. That’s what you needed, and there ain’t anything wrong with that. And you’re not gonna feel bad or less for getting there a little more slowly than others. Everything comes in its due time, and that’s okay.” You’re staring up at him, wide eyed, something like fear or panic, but you’re going to listen to him if it’s the last thing he does. He fists your hair again, gently forces your head into a nod. “Agree with me now. Say yes.”

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper very softly, pressing up to peck him lightly on the mouth. He catches you by the nape, a kitten picked up by the scruff, and holds you there, immediately turns the kiss wet and savage. You feel, so much, like you’re his, and this terrifies Joel. You aren’t his to keep, he knows this. He is not unaware of what’s happening here, of the consequences. He is not delusional about how this will end. But still, but still, you feel like his.

You’re back to you’re squirming now, whines and pleading moans as you try and rub yourself against his cock, and he reaches down to cup you, gently fingering at your folds, feeling the havoc he’d wrought on your pussy last night. “You’re so swollen, baby. Can’t fuck you again so soon.”

“Please, daddy, please, please. I can take it, I promise.”

“Not gonna hurt my soft little cunt.” The start of another whine, but he cuts you off, gives you a staying look, cranes his neck to lick into your mouth. “I’m not.”

“I want you so badly. I want you to make me come.” Tiny kisses and kitten licks to his jaw and throat. There’s fire in his belly, cock throbbing something fierce. He grips beneath your knee, opens your leg and pulls back to slot his cock between your thighs, up against your slick, swollen cunt, then presses your thighs closed back together tightly.

“Just like this – how ‘bout that?” He says as he starts to thrust up slowly against your pussy, trying to keep his movements gentle, careful not to hurt you. He runs his palms along the length of you, squeezes your tits and pinches and plucks at your swollen, sucked dark nipples. The signs of him are all over your body, and it makes him something like wild, infuses him with something like madness. Joel has never felt like this about any woman, ever. And to have it be you – to have this happen to him with you, there is something like weakness and like cruelty here. He needs to keep his head on straight. Remember what can and cannot be. He squeezes your ass tightly, digs his short-shorn fingernails into your soft cheeks, brings one hand up to get his fingertips spit slick, and then pulls your cheeks apart again to pet at your asshole. His gut goes tight and fire hot, he wants to fuck you here too. He wants all of you to be only his, his, fucking his. You hitch your hips in a desperate little arc as he presses gently on the tight ring of muscle, teasing you. “You like that?” He gruffs. “Want me to fill your little ass too, sweet girl?”

Yes, daddy, and he’s sure those must be the greatest words ever uttered to any man in all history.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he says while you sing and moan for him. “When I touch you like this,” he moves down to the wet mouth of your cunt, taps on it gently, “And like this,” further, a flutter at your clit while he fucks between your thighs, “And the way you cry when you come for me,” back up to press at your asshole again. “Will you do it for me again?” Christ, he’s going to end up taking you if he doesn’t stop, and he will not hurt you. With a rough sound of frustration, he flips the two of you over suddenly, laying you flat, kneeing your thighs open wide and spread for him. He shakes his head down at you, squeezes his eyes shut because the sight of your bare tits and messy hair and swollen lips, cock hungry blurry eyes, isn’t helping his restraint. “Gotta stop provokin’ me.”

“But it’s so fun, daddy,” you whine, arching to brush your breasts up against his chest. He lets his head fall, opens his mouth wide and takes the whole, heavy weight of your tit into his mouth, sucks hard, bites soft, switches to the other one, gives it the opposite. He pulls back then, going to his knees between your spread thighs and holds you open for inspection. Cunt all red and swollen and shiny with slick just for him. He’s sure if he pressed his fingers inside he’d be able to feel the slippery slide of his semen still. Another shake of his head, and he runs his palms down the soft of your thighs, cups the round of your knees in his palms. You jerk the right one back when he squeezes you there, and he fingers the sore spot, “What’s this from?” bends forward to press a soft kiss to the small hurt.

“I was in a rush last night,” you say shyly.

“Rush for what, silly girl? I was right here waitin’ for ya.” Your face does a little spasm at that, confused and vulnerable and then maybe even a little hurt, brow crumpling, and you squeeze your eyes shut. When they spring open again, they’re feverish, “Please, please, fuck me, Joel. Please, I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t–”

“Quit.” He pinches the inner slope of your thigh. “Not gonna convince me to hurt you.” You moan, frustrated and wanton, on the verge of tears, petulant and trying to twist away from him, but he traps you in place, stretches himself over you, propped up by one thick arm, and you drag your palms all down the length of his chest and belly. He squeezes your jaw with his other hand, pries you wide, “Open, lemme see.” He tilts your face this way and that, inspecting the wet gleam of your mouth, your little tongue and shiny, white teeth.

“Wha’re y’lookin’ for?” You mumble with your jaw wedged open, eyes comically large.

“Hmm, wonderin’ what it’d look like filled with my come,” he says with a laugh. He feels like a teenage boy, all the excitement of discovering sex with a woman for the first time. And it makes his stomach hurt a little bit, his heart pinch in fear. He sticks his fingers in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, widening the angle, “You think my cock’ll fit in that little throat?” And you moan, eyes fluttering shut, writhing beneath him, begging for it, a garbled groan that sounds something like please, let’s find out. “Dunno… should we?” He let’s go of your face, goes back to his kneeling position between your legs, and finally gives his aching cock the relief of his fist squeezing tightly around it. He could come just from the sight of you, he’s sure, is just there on the edge already. He squeezes hard, almost painful at the root, sliding up dry, scratchy calluses catching at the soft skin around his head to make it hurt and sting, strangling the heat he feels pooling at the base of his spine and in his balls. He smiles at the memory of your wide, comically shocked eyes when you’d realized he was uncircumcised. I’ve never seen one like that before, and all he’d stupidly wanted to say was that you’d never see any other ever again. Ridiculous.

He drags his thumb over the head of his cock, through the sticky drool of precum there, then reaches to pet through your slick soaked folds, parting you down the middle. You watch him with wide, wet eyes, as he pops his thumb into his mouth, humming around your combined tastes. “You wanna taste how good we are?” All you’re able to manage is an open mouthed nod. He leans forward and over you again, “Open,” he orders, and spits onto your waiting tongue, hand clamped around her jaw. “Close now – swallow. How’s that taste?” He asks when you obey so nicely. Your eyes flutter shut, jaw shifting from side to side as you savor the taste of your shared want for each other.

“S’good. Want more.” You look back up at him, mouth open, and nothing in his whole life has been scarier than this. Not even a twenty something year old son, who should have been a man, but was still nothing but a child in such desperate need of his father, showing up on his doorstep one day out of the blue. There should be guilt in that Sam-shaped spot inside his chest, he’s sure of it, and maybe there is, maybe there’s a bitter ribbon of guilt threaded all the way through him, but it’s also entirely overpowered, overshadowed by the desire he feels for the little girl splayed out beneath him. He pulls back again, tries to temper the rising heat in his core, takes hold of his cock again and starts to slowly jack himself. “Finger that little pussy, lemme see. Be gentle with her.” But he grips your hand right as your fingertips are about to make contact with your glossy folds and brings them to his mouth, spit slicking them, there you go, before giving them back. You play in your wet, watching mesmerized as he slowly jerks himself off to the sight of you, circling your swollen clit, thrumming at it gentle, gentle, be soft with her, petting at the leaking mouth, winking at him, begging to be filled. He shifts closer, squeezing and twisting at his tip, pulling the skin back to make the bulbous dark head bulge. He wants it to hurt, he deserves for it to hurt. You watch the rough handling of himself like you’ve never seen anything like it before, head tilted on your neck so your cheek is squished against your shoulder to get a clear view of what he’s doing to himself. “You want it so bad,” he teases, and you nod, looking back up at his eyes. He shifts forward a little closer so that the backs of his knuckles are brushing up against your sex now, wet and sticky, and you let your fingers trail up his wrist, his forearm, while he quickens his pace, moves against you, over himself. You spread yourself a little wider, bringing your knees up higher to your chest, opening yourself for him, and he pulls his hips back a little, you want to come, he can see it in your eyes, you’re almost there, presses the tip to your wet clit, slides down the to the hungry mouth, circles, circles there, presses just a tiny bit. You’re nodding your head up at him, goading him on, please, please, just do it, please. “Not gonna,” he gruffs. “Not gonna convince me.”

“You’re so mean,” you cry, arching your hips, writhing, trying to find firmer pressure.

“Didn’t I tell ya last night I wasn’t gonna be nice?” But he takes pity on you, presses the fat head just a little harder, gives you just the tip, grinding breathlessly against it, popping it in and out of your hot little cunt. “Better?” His whole body feels like one boiling vat of hot blood, sweaty and desperate, grunting, more animal than a man. “Gotta come just like this.” He quickens the jerk of his fist, bumping it into your clit on the slide forward, watches the stretch of your cunt taking just the first inch of him. He feels unhinged, thinks for one second of just fucking all the way in, hearing the sound of your cry as you take the hurt. He has to be able to do this all again, entirely, have you again the whole way “God, baby,” he groans, “You’re gonna let me fuck this tiny little pussy again, right? Tell me you’re going to let me fill it with my cock again?”

Please, please, daddy. Please. “Just do it now.” Joel doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything like the sound of you begging for his cock, anything as pretty, ever. “I– I need to–”

“I know what you need, baby. Just let daddy put his come in you, and then I’ll take care of you.” He’s just there, one last harsh squeeze and twist, and there’s warmth flooding his cock and balls as he starts to come for you, covering the entirety of your sex with his white milky spend, groaning like he’s dying. He pulls his hand from his spent cock, smearing his semen into your skin, little begging whimpers of his name and daddy, please from your mouth, and he spreads your legs and lowers his mouth to your swollen sex, eats his own come out of your cunt, pressing two fingers inside, slow and gentle as he can, to give you something to bear down on. He laps softly at your clit, soothing the ache, eats you until you’re going tight as a fist, cunt sucking his fingers as deep as it can and gushing all over his face, slick pooling in his palm where he laps and slurps at it when he’s unlatched his mouth from your pulsing clit.

“I don’t think I can stay away from you,” he tells you later, while he dresses you slowly, sits you on the bathroom counter and brushes your teeth for you with his own toothbrush and combs the knots and gnarls out of your hair. Holds your cheek cupped in the palm of his hand as he drags a warm washcloth over your sweaty face.

“Don’t want you to stay away,” you say in a small voice as you paw at his chest, twisting his t-shirt in little grabby fingers, pulling him into the cradle of your hips with sharp heels at the small of his back; needy, needy, needy thing. And worst of all, a sick part of him, something bitter sitting heavily on his tongue, wants to be the thing you need, the thing you’re desperate for, the thing you cry those pretty tears for. He’s weak now, he is. Joel finds in himself that he does have the capacity to be a weak man when the moment demands it of him. He shucks the washcloth into the sink, cups your face in his hands like something precious. He’d said once you were a gift, he’s sure of this now more than ever.

And he tells you, because he knows he must: “We can fuck, but we’re not allowed to fall in love,” and tells himself that he only imagines the glint of defiance in your eyes when he says it.

- That meeting in the dark had stayed with you, the sound of his voice telling you to leave his son, that you deserved better. The sound of his kindness, you’d stretched toward it like a flower seeking the light, the singular attention of a man like that. You’d gone over the memory of it over and over again in your mind, worn the edges of it until it was faded and worn. And when Sam had served you the divorce papers, and you’d all but gotten on your knees and begged him to please, please, stay, please, don’t leave me alone, that sound of kindness had been what you’d clung to through all the rest. That terrible clamor of failure and abandonment and not good enough, his kindness had remained, and you’re sure now, that it had brought you here too, to his home, to his bed, into his arms. This was where you’d always been meant to end up, perhaps, even from that first moment you’d met Sam all those years ago on the college green, in the arms of his father. Nothing could feel wrong after kismet like that, even if you weren’t allowed to fall in love.

Part III

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javiscigarette · 1 year

Text

Good Luck Charm

Joel Miller x f!reader (pre outbreak)

Summary: Joel loves the Texas Longhorns and you're just needy (someone please make an edit of him wearing any Longhorns merch im begging)

Warnings: smut (duh), established relationship, mainly just cockwarming, with a daddy kink, and heavy on the dirty talk, cream pie, ass play, whatever else I'm forgetting, no use of Y/N

w/c: 3.3k

A/N: Here's something no one asked for! This definitely isn't my best work but I'm in a funk rn and it's the best I could do! Also hello daddy kink apparently! Oh! And I hit 1k followers a while ago so thank you for that!!! So many hugs and smoochies for everyone ilysm guys 😚🫶🥰❤️❤️❤️ ALSO the AMAZING EDIT MADE BY @serenaxpedro !!!!

my masterlist

There were two things that Joel loved wholeheartedly: you and the Texas Longhorns.

Joel goes all out for football season. Each year, as soon as September rolls around, you rarely find him without his Longhorns cap on. In the car, it’s not music, it’s a live radio broadcast or a recap of the latest game. And God fucking forbid if you even thought about touching the TV on a Sunday or Monday night.

And now It’s a Sunday evening in September and the Longhorns are playing, which means Joel is completely preoccupied.

You waltz down the stairs and into the living room clad in nothing but his Longhorns t-shirt that ends at your midthigh. You find him sitting on the couch, a half empty bottle of beer in his hand with his eyes glued to the screen. He doesn’t notice you at first and you have to stand practically right in front of the TV for him to take his eyes off the screen. When he finally does, he rakes his eyes over your body, a crooked smirk spreading across his face when he sees what you’re wearing.

Thankfully, you caught him at the start of a commercial break. So, he leans back and pats his knee and beckons you over with a soft “C’mere pretty girl.”

It’s the first bit of attention he’s given you all evening, so you happily bounce over to him and climb into his lap, straddling him with your knees on either side of his hips and your arms draped around his neck.

“You look so fuckin’ good in this, angel” Joel says, his voice already husky with arousal as he smooths his hands up your thighs.

“Thank you, daddy” you whisper with an innocent giggle.

He looks up at you and cocks an eyebrow. You’re no stranger to calling him that, but Joel usually has to spend a lot more time taking you apart for you to use it.

“You gettin’ needy, sweet girl?” he coos, his hands sliding over your hips and over the curve of your ass.

You don’t say anything, just grind your hips down harshly, moaning softly at the friction. Joel chuckles at your eagerness while palming at your ass.

“The game is almost over, angel. Just one more quarter and then I’ll play with you all you want.”

You huff in frustration.

“But you’ve been in here all day” you whine.

Joel laughs again.

“I’ve barely been in here for two hours, angel. Think you’re just needy” he retorts, poking you in the side with a playful smile.

You huff again and tug at the curls at the nape of his neck as you roll your hips against his.

“Please?” you ask, your voice drenched in desperation. “I’ll be a good girl and stay still so you can watch the game. Just wanna feel you inside me.”

Joel eyes you and his hands tighten on your hips as you continue to move against his.

“Can’t say no when you ask so pretty like that.”

You grin ear to ear and Joel rolls his eyes.

“Needy and spoiled” Joel teases as he fiddles with the hem of your t-shirt.

With his eyes fixed on yours, his palms slide up your thigh, leaving goosebumps on your skin in their wake. He reaches the crease of your thigh and stops suddenly with a sharp inhale. He raises an eyebrow at you as he trails his fingers over the bare skin that should be covered by your panties.

You look at him, feigning innocence as you chew on the corner of your lip to suppress a mischievous smile. He narrows his eyes at you as he slowly slides a finger along your already soaking wet seam. You’re far too wet and swollen just from sitting in his lap for less than two minutes. And when he slides a finger into your leaking hole, he can obviously feel it. He looks down and sees the wet spot that’s already forming on the front of his jeans.

“Needy, spoiled, and naughty” he purrs, his voice low and gravelly. “S’that what you were doin’ up there all by yourself, babygirl? Stretchin’ your sweet little pussy so you could come down here and sit on daddy’s cock?”

All you can manage is a vigorous nod, a needy whine, and another roll of your hips, trying to get his finger deeper inside you. He graciously slips in a second finger with minimal resistance and lets out a soft groan as your leak starts to leak past his fingers and drips to his palm.

“Tell me how you did it” Joel commands calmly as curls his fingers and starts moving his wrist with languid strokes.

You whimper pathetically and clench tightly around his fingers as he slowly strokes your g-spot.

“J-just on my fingers, daddy” you whimper while trying to grind your clit against his palm.

Joel hums suspiciously.

“How many?”

“Just shit – just two.”

“Did you cum, babygirl? Did you cum with your fingers stuffed in your little cunt?”

Joel’s voice is so low now, his gravelly timbre sending a shiver down your spine. You shake your head and whine again and nose at his neck, hoping that a few neck kisses might distract him. But of course, they don’t.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Be a big girl and use your words”

“No, daddy” you mumble, dropping your head to avoid his gaze.

Joel moves a hand from your thigh to under your chin, tilting your head up and forcing you to look at him again.

“Why’s that angel?” he presses.

“Needed you, daddy. Couldn’t do it myself. Didn’t want to do it myself” you confess, your cheeks heating up at the admission.

Even after all this time with Joel, he still easily made you a blushing, flustered mess within seconds.

“My poor little baby” Joel coos with sarcastic empathy. “Just a needy little slut for daddy’s cock, huh?”

You nod shyly and tug at his hair again. Joel just smirks at you before focusing on the screen again.

“Get it out then, angel. Game is ‘bout to start again”

With a jolt of excitement, you scramble to tug his pants halfway down his thighs. Your mouth waters when you free his cock, his length hard and heavy against his abdomen. Your eyes flicker up to him and he looks at you through the corner of his eye, gives you a slight permissive nod then looks back at the TV.

You move to hover over him before you start slowly sinking down on his cock, both of you moaning in unison at the sensation of him stretching your tight walls. It’s a stretch, it always is, especially when he doesn’t get the chance to open you up on his fingers.

“You’re so big, daddy” you pant breathlessly, your nails digging into his shoulder as you stretch yourself out on his length.

“Don’t tell me it’s too much after begged to be filled, baby.” Joel chides.

You make a small noise and double down on your efforts. You whimper softly as you start sinking again, feeling every single inch of him stretch you out your little hole so deliciously. You exhale deeply once you’re full seated. Joel lets out a quiet groan and tightens his grip on your hip.

“God fuckin damn, babygirl” Joel says quietly. “Always so tight for your daddy.”

Your sink your teeth into your lower lip, biting back a moan at his words, trying to prove to him that you can be good. It takes a moment for you to resist the urge to ride him, but soon enough the desperation melts into relaxation, the feeling of being so full of him satisfying all your needs. He’s not even fully hard yet and your walls tingle and flutter around him as he continues to swell inside of you. With a sated sigh, you lay your head on his broad shoulder, and you let your eyes close. He holds you close to him, a protective arm draped over you stroking your back absentmindedly.

“S’this all you wanted, sweet pea? Just needed daddy inside of ya?” he asks, his hand still gliding over your back and occasionally squeezing your ass.

You nod and snuggle up into him even more. You could die happy right here, stuffed full of Joel with his heart beating against your cheek, warm and safe in his embrace.

There’s no resisting falling into the overwhelming sense of tranquility that settles deep in your bones. Your breathing starts to slow down as you melt against his body and your head goes fuzzy when you bury your face in the junction of his neck and inhale the intoxicating scent of fresh laundry mixed with his cologne. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is talking to the TV, the sound of his voice fading in and out of your head. But you don’t bother making any sense of the words. You just focus on the rumble of his chest as speaks.

After a few quiet minutes, he reaches over to the side table to pick up his beer, jostling you around a bit in the process. You make a small noise at the movement, his cock sliding just a bit further inside you to press against that spot deep inside you. You can feel every twitch and surge of his cock inside you, your body responding with a fresh gush of slick to each one, leaving you dripping mess in his lap.

Joel finishes his beer in two gulps and sets it back down on the table before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You’ve been good so far, staying still and not moving like you promised and the game is almost over. So, Joel decides to give you a little reward.

He brings his free hand up to your face and traces the line of your jaw and cheekbone with a knuckle. You practically purr and nuzzle into the gentle touch. And as if he can read your mind, probably because he can at this point, he rests two fingertips, cool and damp from the condensation on his beer bottle on your lips.

You automatically part your lips, giving him silent permission to slide his fingers into you warm, wet mouth. He can’t stop the groan that bubbles up out of his throat as you suck his fingers mindlessly, your cunt clenches rhythmically around him.

He turns his head away from the screen just long enough to see your eyes rolling in bliss under your closed eyelids with drool starting to dribble out past his fingers and down your chin.

“Bein’ so good, pretty girl” he whispers, pushing his fingers further back and pressing down against your tongue, making a strained sound when you gag.

“Sound so pretty too gaggin’ on my fingers like that.”

You keen at his praise and reflexively roll your hips. He shushes you and tightens his grip on your hip, keeping you in place. You squeeze your eyes shut and pant against his neck when he resituates again, his thick head now firmly pushing against your sweet spot.

You let out a soft mewl, the sound muffled by the fingers shoved down your throat. Joel hisses quietly when you dig your fingernails into the backs of his shoulders. There will be some pretty marks there in the morning.

“Game’s almost over, sweetpea. Can you hold on for five more minutes? Can you do that for daddy?”

You nod lazily against him and try to stay as still as possible. You want to be good; you really do. But it’s a herculean effort with him buried so deep inside of you, pressing against all the right places.

Joel slowly slides his fingers out of your mouth and shushes you again when you whine quietly. You open one eye to watch as he lowers it behind you. You can’t see what he’s doing but your certainly feel it when he spreads your cheeks with one hand and feels where you’re connected.

“Oh, baby” Joel sighs, feeling how much you’re leaking out around him. “Making such a mess, sweet girl.” He whispers roughly.

He gathers some of your slick on his already spit-soaked fingers before moving his finger higher to circle your tight hole.

“Daddy!” you whine, lifting your head in surprise to look at him.

“Hush, baby” Joel commands. He doesn’t even look at you as he cradles the back of your head with his freehand and forcing you to rest your head back on his shoulder. He stopped watching the game a while ago, but he keeps his gaze fixed to the TV knowing that his lack of attention gets you all the more worked up. “Let daddy play with his little toy.”

His hand leaves your head and spreads you open once again. And all you can do is lie there, helpless, and desperate at the mercy of your lover’s hands.

“You’re so naughty, baby” Joel whispers, as he prods at the tight ring of muscle. “All you little holes are so tight for your daddy. Just for me, huh?”

You nod and open your mouth to speak but he starts pushing a finger in you and all the comes out is a wanton cry.

“Jesus Christ” He curses when you tighten even more around him, absolutely obsessed with how your body reacts to his touch.

You try your best to stay still as he keeps pushing his finger in slowly. But you keep clenching around his cock, and he keeps twitching in reaction creating a circular kindling effect that drives you crazy.

“Can’t daddy” you whimper pathetically, breath fanning over his neck, hot and humid.

“But you are, babygirl” Joel reassures, pushing his finger all the way inside of you, groaning at all the different ways your squeezing him. “Takin’ me so well sweetie god you’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

You moan again, the sound going straight to Joel’s ear and travelling down his spine as a hot tingle. You give an experimental roll of your hips, testing him and seeing what he’s willing to let you do. And he doesn’t stop you.

With his finger buried in your ass and his cock stuffed in your leaking cunt, you start gently rolling your hips, gasping at the new sensations with each movement. Joel’s chest heaves with each breath as you slowly build up speed against him.

It doesn’t take long at all for you to find the perfect angle that lets you grind your clit down against the patch of hair at the base of his cock. It’s too fucking much to handle and the pool of molten liquid in your abdomen is quickly growing as you hurtle towards your release.

“Oh, daddy please” you whine desperately between loud moans.

“What do you need, angel?” Joel asks like he doesn’t already know. “Tell me. Tell daddy what you need.”

You gulp for air, but you still can’t get a good breath. You’re so full of him. Every square inch of your skin is on fire now, every touch feels so good, his scent is filling your head and you can’t think straight.

“Need – fuck daddy! – I need to cum, I’m gonna cum please let me daddy please” you babble, now clawing at his shoulders.

“Shh baby it’s okay. You’ve been so good for me, lemme feel you cum all over my cock, sweet girl.”

You moan in relief and start to allow the pleasure to take over your body. Joel watches in amazement as you fall apart on top of him when he barely even had to move a muscle. You keep your face buried in his neck and Joel groans at the sounds your making so close to his ear. You start trembling on top of him as your moans grow louder and louder, letting him know you’re seconds away from release. He keeps his finger inside of you and wraps his other arm around your waist, holding you flush against his body.

“Lift up a bit, baby” Joel grunts into your hair.

You barely hear him, but the last working part of your brain process his words and your body automatically complies. You press into your knees and your thighs shake as you lift yourself up off of him just slightly.

The next second, Joel slams his hips up into yours, chasing after your tight, wet heat, already needing to be buried inside of you again. You scream as he pounds into you, his pace brutal and unwavering. Liquid heat surges through your veins and your hypersensitive walls grip him like a vice as the hot coil in your abdomen starts to unravel.

Joel doesn’t stop as you start to cum. If anything, he speeds up. He punches up into your g-spot with each thrust over and over and over again, desperate to draw out your orgasm for as long as possible. More hot slick starts gushing out of you around him and Joel can’t believe how drenched you are right now.

“There you go babygirl. Soak daddy’s dick” Joel rasps, his voice cracking as he starts to chase his own orgasm.

The way he can feel himself move inside you, just a thin wall separating his cock and finger combined with the feeling of you sinking your teeth into his neck is making him absolutely feral. He’s only seconds behind you. He’s been just as affected, just as turned on as you this whole time. He’s just a lot better at hiding it.

“You want daddy’s cum, angel?” Joel pants, his eyes rolling back when you tangle your finger in the curls at the base of the neck and pull.

You nod fervently and choke out “Yes, daddy! Please, want it inside” between long, loud moans.

“M’gonna fill you up, sweet girl. Have so much for you. Just for you, baby.”

You cry out at Joel’s promise and tug even harder at his hair and suck at the skin between your teeth. That’s all it takes for him to break. His fingertips dig into your ribs, and he pulls you down on top of him then empties himself inside you, unloading ropes and ropes of hot cum into your awaiting pussy. He holds you impossibly close and gives your moans a run for their money with the sounds he makes.

“Baby, baby jesus fuck you’re so good” Joel huffs as you continue to move your hips, riding out and extending both of your orgasms for as long as possible.

You’re both completely unaware of how much time passes as the two of you sit there, panting and trying to catch your breaths. Joel moves his hand from your waist to your hair, gently stroking and grunting softly as you keep spasming around him as the aftershocks of your orgasm course through your body. He brushes the hair out of your face and tucks it behind your ear so he can get a good look at your face, your eyes closed, eyebrows drawn together and your mouth hanging open as small whimpers tumble past your lips.

“You look so pretty all fucked out like this, baby” Joel murmurs.

You slowly open your eyes and look up at him with hooded lids. He gives you a soft smile that heats you from the inside out and fills your heart with a warm fuzzy feeling. You give him one in return, the corners of your lips curling up into a crooked grin.

“Thank you, daddy” you mumble, your voice rough and ruined.

“Anything for you, sweet girl” Joel says quietly as he cards his fingers through your hair. “Anything.”

He looks at you for a few more moments, wishing he could burn the image to the inside of his eyelids to look at forever. But the sound of the announcers on TV catch his attention and he flicks his eyes to the screen.

He looks back at you with a wide, giddy smile.

“Did we win?” you ask, your words slow and syrupy.

“Sure did, angel” Joel says happily before leaning down to place a kiss to your temple. “You’re my good luck charm, baby. Think you need to do that for every game from now on”

You giggle and let your eyes slip close again, finally fully satisfied.

Thank you for reading!! please let me know if you liked it I need extra validation rn

#joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #Joel miller #the last of us #tlou #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #javiscigarette

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