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anantaru · 9 months ago

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GENSHIN + BREAK UP, MAKE UP

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — you fuck your ex boyfriend and shocker, you love it ᰔ

— ꒰ including ꒱ — alhaitham, ayato, heizou, wriothesley x fem! reader

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — ex boyfriend trope, slightly toxic & mean boys, bratty! reader ??? dirty talk, oral (male! receiving), fingering, cowgirl position, cumming inside, lots of cum lol, dom characters

— ꒰ ALHAITHAM ꒱

"hey, don't insult me now," alhaitham looks at you with a prized confusion in his eyes— while also taking care of your bodies needs and desires, his cock pressing deeply in you. "what's with the attitude i hear?" his voice was clearly hinting at a hazed tone as he pants against your wet cheek, your tits flushed against his solid chest.

you gasp at him, curving your fingers into his hair to pull it, "w-what attitude?" your hips involuntarily buck into his cock so he would hopefully get the hint and continue to move, more so stop being so annoying for once in his life.

"you're hiding it from me," he whispers cruelly, "don't act stupid now, aren't you so smart?" as his hips begin to grind through your tight hole, a warm press slowly distending in your cunt and swelling in your belly.

"you hide your moans from me, fuck, you brat, you know what that does to me," under the cover of a shaken exhale, he shoves you into the mattress even further— no mercy, no signs of previous affection, only a raw and pleasuring handle.

archons, how much you loathed the way he always had you figured out this quickly.

how, just how.

but well, it's not like you were a couple anymore, correct? so why would you give him the pleasure of hearing you? knowing full on well he finds it to be the best part whenever he fucked you.

just so he could pride himself again? scrap that, he doesn't deserve it, nor to indulge into every drop of desire you give him.

"hah, you're so weak alhaitham," you bite back a whimper, "still so weak for me," as your hole clenches, throbs and milks against his awfully hard cock before you look at him through a wet expression, his hair soused and messy sticking all over his forehead, pressed into the light sheen of sweat across his face, "or maybe you aren't doing a good job,"

it's dangerous— playing that game with your ex. but it's also worth the gamble.

— ꒰ AYATO ꒱

like a puppy, you preciously kneel between ayato's legs, slightly leaning against one of his muscular thighs— one hand proudly holding his cock in your grasp to stroke him, your wet tongue circulating over the leaking slit just how he liked it.

but that familiar infatuation from months ago, when you were still considering yourself a team, that disgustingly known taste of your tongue on his cock made the yashiro commissioner twitch in your hand— is it desperation in his movements? or longing?

it reminds him all too much on how things used to be.

when you were in a relationship, of course, "in love", and where fucking you wasn't just fucking to neither of you, it was making love.

a longing that filled the whole breast with its mad virus.

it was much, much. he could never argue against the fact that you were the only one who could make him fall to his knees.

you flick the tip of your tongue back and forth over the inflamed head, teasing the slit and making him shudder, finding it more and more satisfying to have someone within such position under your grasp, the constant press of need and attention on your cunt only coming second.

"y-your mouth feels so fucking good," he heaves and embarrassingly coughs out right after— well, it's not that deep? because hey, a commissioner doesn't curse now, does he? but he did it for you, always.

how were you able to always coax that out of him?

your hand tightens around his erection, adding shallow yet precise pumps over his shaft as you cup his balls roughly, massaging them in your palm and wetting them with your saliva.

he's already wet of both his pre and your spit, yet you do not waste any chance to spit on his tip again, again and again until your cheeks and chin where littered with filth, finding it rather enchanting whenever ayato moans disgustingly hot.

chest rising, falling again, groans hitching at the feeling of your saliva sliding down his tip.

"i want to touch you too, come on now, don't you want me to touch you?" he begins to whimper, stroking over your head affectionately as you look up at him, flexing your throat, grabbing at his shaft more firmly.

he continues, although it gets harder to breathe, "don't you want my fucking hands on you, come on, admit it," fuck, ayato was so pent up— from work? from going through a messy break up? from being alone?

archons who was he fooling besides himself? it's due to how much he has missed you, missed this, missed your scent all around him.

— ꒰ HEIZOU ꒱

"oh your so wet, well look at this, look at this all over my hand,"

"some things never change, hm?" heizou moans softly and parades his glistening fingers to your blinking eyes as you whined out, trying to shift from his body hovering on top.

it's futile— not because you actually want him to stop, but because you really wanted this, despite him being so embarrassing and blunt about it.

what little movement you managed to coax from your hips merely aroused you further as heizou stuck his fingers back into your cunt— two slippery digits scissoring you hard, reaching deeper and floating inside you like inside water before rubbing his thumb back and forth your clit.

your thoughts were sluggish, and you found yourself overwhelmed due to the fact that your body enjoyed it, and so did your mind.

you knew this was wrong, this shouldn't happen, this wouldn't make it easier for either of you in the long run. but you couldn't think beyond that when all you thought about was his next touch and buck of his hands thrusting into your cunt.

your skin tingles, ever hot as he presses and rubs and strokes until every inch of your being was shivering in need and regretting ever breaking up with him.

no matter how often you try to act like he isn't setting a fire along the slopes of your skin, the detective will never stop seeking you out for this, conquering your sinful spots until you're fucked out of your mind, only then he will get close to your ear and ask you to say that you regret ever letting him go.

— ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱

"do you still fucking hate me?" there was a rumble emitting from wriothesley's chest, and for one long moment, he was consumed by nothing more other than your tight cunt riding him fiercely, "do you still refuse to admit that you secretly like this?"

if only he could shut up for just a damn second, just one.

"do you?" your eyes flew open to him in anger, your gaze aggravated in its entire embrace, how dare he mock this— but an expanding shock of his hips bucking into you forced a new bodily reaction from your shuddering frame, enough to override the otherwise enticing anger you were about to spit like venom into his proud face.

your back arches as you shoot him a dangerous glare— one that could easily get confused with a please please do fuck me harder, instead of hold your tongue you asshole.

because you see, don't act out on anger, instead luxuriate in the crushing weight of his cock between your legs, hard and heavy throbbing as you ride him, pleasure and fuck him hard— still pondering about how difficult it always had been to fit his entire length inside of you.

you let your legs shift apart more as your tits bounce in combination with your movements, your back arching as your pussy began to milk him fiercely, squelch and squelch as the deep, bloating throbs of his shaft scrub over the bends of your walls, until reaching your swelling belly.

you turn sensitive, he knows it, the duke can feel it.

"oh, come on now baby," pride gushes from his mouth as he tilts his head, tightly holding your waist before thrusting up. you wouldn't let him bath inside his confidence any longer as you lightly punch his chest upon hearing him use a damn petname.

"oh? you don't want me to call you that?"

"obviously not," you shake your head, wetting your lips, despite that, he could hear the arousal in your voice, "why are you clenching when i say it then? baby~" as he maintains his ardour, refusing to allow you to control your little get together as he mercilessly thrusts up into you, thick and heavy cock slipping in and out, your arousal running down his balls.

your moans are a little more breathless now, shaken as the pumping motions of his erection slapping against your pussy only grew needier.

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choslut · 5 months ago

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˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ⌇ SWEET TALK. featuring choso.

↻ choso lives for one thing ; to make sure his precious girlfriend is never unsatisfied.

tags : cunniligus, dirty talk, body worship, male masturbation, overstimulation, squirting, fingering, mentions of face sitting, feral choso // wc. 0.7k

author's note : i lowkey wanna thank @toadtoru for sending in an ask about this before i even posted it, because i used some of those ideas to improve on this :3 in true homage to my username choso is a complete slut in this lolsies ;) one more to go and this event is finished, thanks for sticking around for THIS long i love everyone here >o<

this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

if there’s one thing CHOSO firmly believes in, it’s that you aren’t just his girlfriend, but some supreme deity from heaven above. it sounds completely ridiculous, but he believes it more than anything, especially in moments like this.

you just look so beautiful above him on the couch, thighs parted slightly and fingers caressing the sensitive mound in between your legs, head tipped back and lips parted in a silent ‘o’ as your toes curl into the carpet. angelic, he thinks, and he can’t wait to receive permission to touch you.

“choso…” your voice is smooth like butter yet sweet like caramel, and choso can feel his cock begin to press up against his slacks. “c’mere.”

yes. that’s all he needs before he’s eagerly crawling in between your legs to lap at your cunt, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs as he pulls them apart in earnest. “shit… missed me, did she?” his rambles are fueled by pure lust and delusion, and as he eats you out, choso begins to talk into your cunt. “missed her too… poor baby can’t go too long without her sweet boyfriend, huh…”

fingers tangle in his dark locks as you pull him closer, effectively muffling his ramblings by grinding your lower half on his tongue. the way he eats you out is feverish, his wet muscle alternating between your inflamed clit and pulsing hole interchangeably. and choso can’t help himself from getting fired up by your lewd display too, his own hips grinding down onto the couch as he finds solace in between your legs.

you, on the other hand, are positively reeling, legs twitching uncontrollably as choso continues to make a mess of your poor cunt. you wish you could return to him the same pleasure tenfold, but all you can do is sit and take it, helpless to his ministrations. “cho, cho, ‘s too much, baby, s-slow down…”

begging is futile. choso is hypnotised, his own eyes rolling into the back of his head in an immediate reflection of your own reaction. “sorry baby, can’t, you taste s’good, don’t wanna…”

neither of you are in your right mind, but choso especially. when you cry out from orgasm for the first time, he barely takes note, his tongue on your clit never letting up as he brings two fingers to the entrance of your weeping cunt. the other hand previously on your thigh is now shoved into his boxers, and he’s fisting himself just as quickly as his fingers begin to plow your pussy.

he’s killing you, but you love it. his brown eyes peek up in between your legs, and you just catch his expression, pupils dilated with lust as he watches you twitch above him. he mumbles something onto your clit before he’s licking and kissing it again, and you begin to think you might actually die.

“c’mon, baby,” he groans, hips thrusting forward into his palm as he continues to eat. “c’mon baby, gimme another one– fuck, please, please…”

“choso, i can’t…” you truly believe that, given the way he’s already on his way to giving you another orgasm in the short span of five minutes. but he needs it so bad, needs you to cum for him so bad that he speeds up, thumb now joining his tongue to stimulate your clit in unison. “choso!”

“that’s it, baby, that’s it, oh, she’s close, isn’t she?” you can barely believe that he’s treating your pussy like its own person, but fuck is it turning you on. you hiccup pitiful whimpers as your thighs begin to tremble again, knees closing inwards and trapping choso’s head in between your legs.

if he were to die in this position, he wouldn’t mind. your release sprays his lips in repeated spurts, juices dribbling down his chin and some even dripping onto the flared head of his cock. it’s that which tips choso over the edge, and he’s spurting ropes onto the carpet, his own eyes finding the back of his head rapidly as his nose jerks against your clit.

“baby…” he stares down at the mess he’s made on the floor and then back at you, who’s laying spread eagle on the couch, chest rapidly rising and falling. “you gotta sit on my face next time.”

PREVIOUS : SURVIVAL ft. sniper mask NEXT : INKED ft. suguru geto

liked that? check out the WE’RE SO BACK main masterlist.

#jujutsu kaisen #choso kamo #choso #jujutsu kaisen x reader #choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso smut #choso kamo smut

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imorynn · 3 months ago

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˚ʚ ── mi 𝙣𝙚𝙣𝙖, pretty 𝙗𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙮 ( ᴀ.ʜᴀʀᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ • ʀ.ᴠɪᴅᴀʟ )

˚ʚ pairings : agatha harkness ✗ fem!reader ✗ rio vidal

˚ʚ genre / mentions : nsfw (18+) throuple, established relationship, fingering ( rio giving to reader ), pet names, spanking, submissive!reader, agatha being rough, rio being more soft than agatha, pet names, rio speaking just slight spanish — affectionate!

˚ʚ word count : 1.2k+

˚ʚ author’s note : this is to be longer in a next fic — just had to get this out of the way :,>

──"S-shit!" your squeal was justified — although do not tell Agatha that — this was the thirteeieth time she had landed a cruel, dragged out blow on your ass.

"What was that, dear?" She squeezed down on the distressed fat of your ass, taunting a smile when you whimpered at the pain. "Oh! Would you listen to that, hmm." You were not certain if she had been speaking to you or the bronze skinned woman whose lap you were currently bent over, and you groaned internally. "I didn’t take you for having such a naughty mouth especially when you’re in this position — should I start over?”

Your lips parted as you fervently shook your head, body flinching away from the featherlight caress of Rio’s thumb that made its discreet way to your clit, your slick clinging onto her skin. The searing humiliation at the pleasure the act brought upon, around, and through you made you so fucking wet while Agatha just condescendingly cooed in this deriding tone, her grinning mouth softly skimming your nape, “This hurts, bun?”

Your fingers dug into Rio’s arm, nails slicing into the skin yet she did not seem to mind. Her own digits were now carving into your walls so deeply, in such a fucking leisured pace compared to Agatha’s bolting actions. It caused pained jolts to crawl up your spine, dizzying you because of the contrasts, the differences between their touch, their way of handling you.

“Hey, don’t be so mean to her … I’m sure she’s learned her lesson by now, verdad, mi nena?” ( right, my girl?)

Your thighs constricted together from how desperate they both make you feel, almost pathetic enough to make Rio want to chastise you, to tell you to get a grip of yourself or else this little punishment would continue being dragged out, yet she lamented, deeply sighing when her digits slipped out of your tightness. Her head tilted down to press a soft kiss on your dampened temple, voice hushed only for you to hear in this moment, "Sweetheart, you gotta keep it together. You know how Agatha gets… just a bit more.”

Yet the octave of your whimpering increased with each second passing, your clutch on Rio’s forearm providing you the little bit of strength to hold yourself up against Agatha’s strikes. However, you did not concede from the two witches. A resilient pretty little thing you were; they admired you for that. They admired more that you were theirs and theirs only.

Your fragile sniffles within the thickening air —accompanied by Rio partaking in dabbing away the tears kissing your waterline — made Agatha’s frown of distaste deepen, the bridge of her nose scrunching in vexation as her heated palm kneaded over your contused ass. There had been inflamed blemishes branded everywhere, all in the shape and form of her palm and her fingers, and her lips parted as she tenderly parted your thighs, grabbing at your cheeks and spreading them so perfectly until both of your glistening slits were winking at her.

"You don’t know her as well as you think then. She apparently hasn’t learned anything. She isn’t going to if you keep buttering her up and playing ‘good cop’," she deadpanned, her touch creeping through your puffy folds, scoffing when you whimpered beneath her. "This is making her wet. Look at this, such a horny little slut, aren’t you?"

Prudently, your chin dipped down before lightly rising again in a nod. "Can't help it, Ag," you mumbled softly, beseeching doe-eyes lifting to meet with Rio’s dark aligned-brown ones when Agatha’s other hand enveloped your aching hipbone in a bruising grip. You groaned under the rush of pain, then exhaled, and she took this as her opportunity to slap your behind again.

"Oh, but I think you can, bunny." There was an edge to her tone as she loosely curled her fingers into her palm, knuckles brushing against your swollen clit so very lightly, her jaw becoming more prominent at the sound of a moan and an exhale — all sealed in one — leaving you. Her hand which had been on your hip ascended under the subtle shape of your jawline, ivory fingertips prodding into the flesh as heat drummed over it. The position gave her leverage in pulling off of Rio’s thighs and snapping you completely back against her, your front exposed and scrutinized by the Green Witch’s devouring gaze. Rio’s expression was a flawless balance of devilish yet floored from the sight before her, and that sent a tingle spiraling right up your curved spine.

"You were the one who begged me to have another in this —and out of aaall people, you chose that one right there,” Her blue irises shifted and glanced at Rio who, currently puncturing tender-open mouthed kisses to your hip, could not help the smirk forming at Agatha’s involuntarily flushed expression from her other lover’s gaze but tried to minimize it with her hissed out words, “and I sooo generously granted you this — sharing you. Now you've got two of us. And there really shouldn’t be a reason why you should be touching yourself without us. It's one of the rules."

A cry spewed past your lips as Agatha’s hand came down, sharply colliding with your ass, and she let you fall across Rio’s lap once more. Pain spasmed throughout your entire body, electricity crepitating throughout your every fiber as you quivered under her. Your senses rang and blurred, your vision becoming dark and speckled, and you endeavored to blink back the tears cluttering at your lashes as threats of unconsciousness blurred at your borders.

"That’s it … be a good girl and come back to us, pretty bunny."

Agatha’s precious face flooded your mind, and you smiled up at her dumbly, a breeze of air brushing against the raw plump skin of your ass. "Verdant," you faintly breathed out, eyelids fluttering shut at the feel of Rio’s fingers already smoothing over your ass, her lush lips and tongue assisting in soothing the swelling. "Verdant. ’m okay, Aggy, that one was just a bit hard."

Agatha’s brows hitched, and there was a rare gentle beat of hesitation which breezed through the air before her lips pursed, cheekbones accentuating from the pretty action until her lips dominantly, amiably molded against yours. You basked in the intimacy, your stomach tightening as her fingers pressed into the apple of your cheeks, your ass bucking into Rio’s touch.

"Very good girl indeed, preciosa ( precious )," Rio’s words were mumbled against the perspirated skin of your neck, a hiss arising from your throat as she rewarded you by rubbing her fingers over your ass once more. She sculpted the globes with such certainty, taking in the way they shook within her palms before humming — pleased, fulfilled. "I'm proud of you."

"I guess, in a way, she’s learnt her lesson." Agatha affirmed from above you while her fingers tangled into your disheveled strands, the tip of her nose lovingly nuzzling your cheek. She inhaled your inebriating fragrance that coalesced with Rio’s petrichor essence, letting it swirl within her lungs before pulling back, a daring expression sculpting her angular features. “Haven't you, bunny?”

Your lips could not help but stretch into a gorgeous, dazed grin that made the purple witch’s heart accelerate. A sweet kiss converged with the corner of her mouth and your round eyes maintained sincerity and you softly spoke. "I have. No more touching myself without you two."

"Good girl, hon’. You know I hate having to punish you."

Her tone, of course, indicated that she was lying — she was not even making an effort in trying to hide it, given the devilry of a spark in her eyes and the way she smirked down at you and gave you another peck. Though the Green Witch remained silent, her smirk lurking her lips as she leisurely alleviated the burning blaze of your skin, her motions tender and amorous, occasionally letting her touch stray from you to Agatha, just acting upon the urge to touch you and crawl under her skin.

And in truth, you would not have it any other way when it came to being sprawled across either or’s lap.

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monstersholygrail · 6 months ago

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The Kiss of Fate

Shark Hybrid x fem!reader x Merman— fingering (f!receiving), slight cuckolding, masturbation, double penetration, creampie, cockwarming

Shark Hybrid bf loves everything more when he gets to experience it with you. When once he loathed the land he now loves it as it’s where he can spend countless hours with you. And when once his home within the ocean caves were lonely and dreary, now he’s seen it through your eyes and it’s the second most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on. The first, of course, being you.

But experiencing the ocean with you, his lovely mate, comes with a price. A price terrible yet worth it. You see, as a Shark Hybrid his kiss doesn’t have the ability the let humans breathe underwater. So when he wishes to take you into the ocean, he has to ask for help from his rival, the Merman.

He hates the way the Merman swims up to them all smug, the way he looks at you as he sweeps you up in his arms, and the way the Merman looks at him, smirking as he kisses you with the simmering heat of an underwater volcano.

But most of all he hates how much it turns him on to watch you getting kissed so roughly. Because fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever seen. His cock hardens the longer you get swept up into the kiss.

When his length pops from its sheath his hand itches with the urge to pump himself to the sight of you. The Merman’s gaze flickers back to him and a spark of understanding passes between them.

The Merman needs no further explanation besides the sight of your bfs cock. His kiss with you grows more passionate, his webbed fingers trailing down your body and dipping into your bathing suit. That jolts you out of your trance and you glance at your bf, shocked to see him touching himself. Your brows furrow in uncertainty but at your bf’s encouraging nod you slowly turn back to the Merman who gazes at you as if you’re his most precious treasure.

With his arms holding you tightly, the Merman swims deeper into the ocean, leading you and your bf into what you assume is his home as you resurface into a cave with an air pocket.

The Merman pins you against the wall of his cave, his mouth back on yours and his hand resuming its place as he nearly rips your suit off in his haste and swipes his long digits through your folds. You whimper against his mouth, legs wrapping around his tail.

“Goddess, I’ve been waiting for this day. But I knew it’d happen. Knew one day you’d both be mine,” the Merman pants in between kisses, his hands roaming all over you as if he’d spent so much energy holding back and now he’s been let loose to give into his desires.

His cock falls from its sheath and joins his hand, grinding his length against your pussy while his fingers rub diligently at your clit. You cry out, body rocking into his hard cock. Hands weaving into his hair to keep him close.

You know exactly what he’s talking back. The hidden tension and desire that always floated between the three of you. A pot of boiling water just waiting to spill over. Every meeting, every kiss, and every glance. Bringing you all closer to the inevitable.

Your bf’s hands grip your waist as he slides himself behind you against the wall. You immediately moan and arch back against him as you feel his cock nestle between your thick thighs. With your body on display the Merman delves down, kissing along your neck.

“Don’t act like you knew I’d eventually give in,” your bf snaps as if angry. But the husky tone of his voice betrays him. He was just as aware as you all were. This was meant to be.

The Merman lifts his head, his smirk as smug and arrogant as ever as he gazes at your bf. His hand reaching out to cup the Shark Hybrids cheek and he can’t resist leaning into the touch. Only serving to make the Merman more smug.

“Of course I did, I have eyes,” he responds cheekily in a way you’ve grown to find endearing. “Now let us claim our mate before I lose my patience.”

His gaze sharpens with a burning heat that inflames your insides despite being in the cold water. He wastes no time guiding his cock to your entrance, the buildup up of it all has his length sinking inside you with ease. Mirroring moans leave you both as he stretches you so wonderfully. The Merman cries out, throwing his head back.

“You feel even better than I imagined. So tight. So fucking warm,” the Merman exclaims, losing himself in the feel of you.

Just as you’re starting to adjust to the Merman’s side, your bf’s fingers playfully trail down your back till they tease at your other hole. You whimper pathetically, desperately wanting them both inside you. Your bf shushes you gently, leaning down and kissing your temple.

“Don’t worry, mate. You’ll have us both. We’re here for you. I’m right here,” he whispers in your ear and you angle your head to kiss him.

Shark Hybrid bf kisses you slowly as he preps your ass for him. Your hips instinctively rock into the feeling, causing the Merman to hiss sharply as he tries to hold back. Waiting for your bf. And when he finally does enter you, joining the Merman inside your body, the cave echos with wanton cries and grunts.

The two Merfolk begin to move together and you gasp at the sensation, your eyes rolling back as you feel so full stuffed with two thick cocks. You clench around them, not being able to get enough and they both growl. The sound letting you know you’re in for a wild ride.

Your bf instantly picks up pace, pounding into your ass and giving it to you just how he knows you like it. The Merman quickly follows, furiously snapping his hips against yours and forcing his cock in as deep as you can take it. You scream in pleasure, holding onto them both as they take you for a ride. Forcing waves of pleasure onto your body with no remorse.

The two work in complete tandem, making sure when one is thrusting out, the other is plunging back in. Ensuring you’re never without a cock inside your addictive body. The overwhelming sensations constantly clashing and overpowering the over leaves you weak and limp in their hold. Endless moans fall from your dropped jaw as you’re helpless to the strike of your senses.

When you can no longer hold it back, your body seizes, a fierce shriek vibrating off the walls of the cave as your thrown off the edge and into the deep end of euphoria. Your orgasm moves its way through your quivering body as your mates help work you through it. Their thrusts turning erratic at your constant clenching.

They both spill their cum inside you, one after the other. Their hot release filling your insides, spurt after spurt splashes along your walls, leaving your belly slightly distended. Four webbed hands are caressing your body and two sets of lips silently praise you for how good you were for them.

You lean into them both just as you lean into this new chapter of your life. Knowing that neither of you will be able to leave the Merman now and that you both won’t want to. The three of you together just feels right. And now that you’ve had it you can’t imagine it any other way.

As you meet your bf’s eye you know his thoughts are running along the same path as yours. With a subtle nod and a gentle kiss to your throat he confirms it for you. A giddy feeling bursts through you and you naturally clench, causing your mates to groan in unison. Their cocks slowly hardening again for another round, wanting nothing more than to please their mates.

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captain-bubble-wrap · 1 month ago

Note

Reader doing her skincare routine with quinny?

└( ﾟ∀ﾟ)┘💚└(ﾟ∀ﾟ )┘

I changed this juuuuuuust slightly! 😘😘

"Hey, do you still want to watch that movie, or no?" Quinn asked, poking his head through your open bathroom door. You had your face over the sink as he talked, so his words were muffled by the sound of running water, but you got most of what he had asked.

"Um, sure. I just need a few more minutes." Looking at him through the mirror, you hadn't realized how red his forehead was until he raked his fingers through his hair to expose it. "Honey, your skin is really red."

"It's okay," he replied, shrugging.

Turning to face him, he looked at you confused. You had a look in your eye that meant you weren't about to let this go.

"Baby, it's fine. It's just a few breakouts. I have them all the time."

"They're from your helmet, I know," you said, reaching up to touch his face. His skin was inflamed and you knew they had to be painful. "Can I help?"

Quinn sighed lightly, mainly because he didn't like to be fussed over, but he didn't want to hurt your feelings either. "You don't have to."

"I know, but I want to."

He knew you wanted to, so he folded without putting up a fight. "Okay, baby. Do whatever you want to."

You smiled warmly at his words, before giving him a soft kiss as a thank you. "Let me get you something to keep your hair out of your face first."

From one of your drawers, you'd grab a thick, padded headband, made for just such things. Placing it behind his ears, you'd push it up and past his forehead to completely brush all the hair out of his eyes. He looked cute, even though you could tell he was absolutely embarrassed.

"That's a look," he replied sheepishly, dropping his eyes from his reflection immediately.

"You're cute, hush," you said, following a second kiss. "It's just us here."

Your words gave him enough reassurance to smile finally. Quinn stepped closer to the sink, seeing all of the various glass jars and bottles that littered your large counter. "Do you use all of these?"

"When I need to, yeah, but not all at once or anything. I won't use too many on you, though, so don't worry. I don't want to aggravate your skin anymore than it already is."

"What /are/ you going to do?" He asked, picking up one of the serum vials to press its button topper.

"Going to start with a mask to draw what I can out of those blemishes, first."

"A mask?"

From a cabinet, you'd grab a clay mask jar and a silicone spatula to apply it with and had Quinn sit on the edge of your tub.

"I'm going to warn you, as this dries, it's going to tighten, so you'll feel a slight pulling feeling, okay?"

He nodded, looking up at you slightly concerned, putting his hands on your hips as you stood between his legs. The product was cold to his skin, making him balk slightly at the sensation but not enough to pull away from you.

"It's cold, I know. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said, closing his eyes, his hands falling down to your bare thighs. You were wearing one of his Canucks t-shirts that was even too big for him, which was why you loved it to sleep in.

"I'm just going to do your whole face."

Quinn smiled, "You don't need to waste all your products on me."

"I think we can confirm that I have enough," you giggled, painting the clay around his facial hair. "Almost done. It doesn't take much of this stuff."

"How long does it stay on?"

"Till it's completely dry, so probably fifteen-twenty minutes, give-or-take."

"Okay."

Quinn would stay seated on the tub edge while he watched you finish up your nightly routine. He was amazed with all of the steps you did, knowing he could never do the same. Every so often, you'd look over at him, just sitting there, hands between his knees. He looked miserable.

"Are you okay, honey?" You asked, after noticing his expression change.

"Yeah."

"You don't have to stay here with me if you don't want to, Quinn. You'd probably be more comfortable on the sofa or something."

He shook his head, "I'll stay with you, or am I hovering you?"

Sadness flooded your expression as you stepped towards him. "No, baby! You're not hovering! I just wanted to make sure you were okay!" You wanted to kiss him, but that wouldn't be the easiest at the moment. You'd settle for a soft smile which you made sure he saw.

Quinn tried to smile as well, but the tightness of the drying clay made him stop his attempt, so he just kind of looked at you like a sad puppy.

"It's almost dry, baby. Just a couple patches on your cheekbone. I must have gotten it a little thick there."

While the mask finished, you ran the water to get it a comfortable temperature beforehand. He was looking at the floor as you drenched the washcloth in the warm water and made your back to him. "Chin up, baby. Let me get this off of you."

Again, his hands would find your body, like you were his security blanket this time. In reality, he just wanted an excuse to touch you, which you never minded. Slowly, you'd make small swipes of the now pale-green product, revealing refreshed skin beneath. You would have to make several passes back and forth to the sink to rinse the cloth, and each time you did, he'd resume his holding of you.

"I could have just stood by the sink, babe," Quinn said, feeling bad about making you make so many trips.

"It's no problem, but thank you." With everything but the problem spot to wash away, you'd bend down to give him that kiss he seemed so desperate to have. "I'm going to be real gentle now. Let me know if you need me to stop or anything."

"Okay, thank you."

First, you would just press the cloth to his skin, letting the product rehydrate slightly, to avoid having to aggressively scrub the area. Thankfully, it came off much easier after doing so. The redness was still apparent, but the size of the blemishes did look slightly reduced.

"Look at that handsome man," you said, satisfied with the outcome.

"Yeah, right," Quinn replied. "Am I done?"

"Not quite, baby. I have something else for you. That just helped dry up those spots. I need to actually treat them now."

"Oh."

It took you a moment, but eventually you found the sheet mask you had in mind.

"What is that?" He asked, seeing you pull the white blob out of the packaging.

"It's a sheet mask," you laughed, unfolding it to reveal the shape of the face it was meant to cover.

"That's weird."

"Yeah, they kind of are. Now, this one is going to be really cold compared to the last one."

"Alright. Oh, it's slimy," he said, as you aligned it with his face, making sure it wasn't in his eyes.

"They're wonderful things, though. This one won't have to be washed off. And it's made for acne and stuff, so it's perfect for your problem. I have the same stuff that's in this mask in a pump. Why don't you take it and use it after your games? Then your forehead won't be so aggravated and painful. And before you decline my offer, I have a couple of them," you finished with a wink, knowing he was apt to bring it up.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I promise it will help."

Quinn smiled, giving you a squeeze as you still stood over him. "Well, now what?"

"We can start that movie if you want. Those masks you can sleep in, so there's no real time limit."

"Sure." He rose to his feet, giving your cheek a soft touch with the back of his fingers. "I appreciate you wanting to help me. I'm clueless about all of this stuff."

"No problem, honey. It was fun," you smiled. "You should feel a lot of relief in the morning."

"I hope looking like this is worth it," he shook his head, seeing what he looked like before leaving the bathroom with you.

#💌Maven's Love Notes #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic

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writerunnamed · 5 months ago

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note: This is something I've wanted to write for a while but I am well aware that not everyone will be into it. There are a few stories I want to tell that aren't the norm so I decided to start this nameless blog to tell them. I am not tagging anyone, if you find it then you find it. xo Joel(stepdad), significant age gap, female reader. 18+ legal, reader is 20 (warnings: pov sex, Joel spits on the 😸, boobie play, really inappropriate dirty talk, an unused sex toy [will make an appearance in another chapter], female masturbation, daddy kink, unfit parent) 5.6k word count masterlist • series masterlist • part 2

He takes up so much space, and it wasn’t just physically. He took up space emotionally, mentally. Mentally most of all. Your thoughts always drifted back to him. Cyclical. An elliptical pattern making him the top of every list you’d go through in your head. He seemed to know it too, in a stoic, quiet, largely unsettling way. Older, attractive men tended to do that.

It started during that in-between time, when summer, losing your job, and having to move back home pushed you to figure out what the fuck you actually wanted to do with your life seemed to come together like the planets aligning. The precipice of a turning point, a ticking clock counting down the days until your childhood bedroom would be turned into a gym, or an office, or a guest bedroom. The lukewarm welcome from your mother would ice over and you’d really have to get your shit together.

Your mother was what people who didn’t know her would call ‘a free spirit’, what you called her, was a fucking mess.

Your earliest memories consist of having to remind her to buy milk or to pay the bill because the electricity had turned off while watching cartoons in front of the tiny, living room tv. You’d had to remind her, in not so many words, that she was the mother, and you were the child.

To your friends, she was the cool mom. The party mom. Your house was the place to be because she didn’t ask questions, she left her cigarettes unattended and didn’t mind if a few went missing. She kept the bar cart stocked, even if there was nothing but flies in the cupboard and nothing but half-empty condiment bottles in the fridge. Your friends loved it.

She flirted with the boys your age, she gave sex tips to the girls.

You smiled when they congratulated you on having the cool mom, and when they all went home, you retreated and pretended to be happy.

Joel settled her down. Met her in a bar and moved in quick. He came into the picture when you were fifteen and you were almost sure he’d be just like the rest of the lovers she’d taken over the years. You’d given the whole thing six months. Half a year for him to see what a fucking disaster she was. Six months to be a fucking creep, to cheat or get cheated on.

The only differences you could clock at first were that he was self-employed, and marginally better looking than his predecessors.

He was firmer though, less malleable than the others she’d brought around, he seemed immune to her charms and that only inflamed her. It made her desperate for his approval and his attention. She would throw a tantrum, or play one of her mind games but he’d never rise to her bait. He was patient for the most part, until he hit his breaking point and his temper reared its head. A temper only she seemed to bring out in him.

To you, it was pathetic.

He didn’t try with you though, there was no flattery or strong hand, only a silent respect. In a sense, he treated you as the adult, and her as the child. It worked for you, if he’d expected you to call him dad he would have been laughed at mercilessly and he seemed to know this.

The disturbing part was his respect and his healthy avoidance of you worked its own kind of magic. It made him an enigma, made you curious as to what he got out of the whole thing. A home, sure. A woman who was obsessed with him, yes. Sex–yes. You heard it enough for it to turn your stomach. By the sounds of it, he knew what he was doing.

The thought sickened the healthy part of your brain. The other part though, the part flooding your body with hormones, making it come to life with curiously intense sexual feelings, that part wanted to know what it was he was so good at. How could he pull those sounds out of anyone? It was easier to imagine him with some faceless woman.

It was shameful to imagine yourself.

The thought–although enough to fuel a desperate journey of self-exploration–always filled you with an insurmountable guilt.

For those first few years you could barely look at him. Your mother took it as a healthy dose of teenage rebellion. That only aggravated you more. She never asked questions, never dug to see what the cause of your obvious distaste for her partner was about and so again, you retreated. He, however, kept to the outs of your path. He followed your lead, he let you control any and every part of all of your interactions. He didn’t ask questions. He kept the lights on. He kept the fridge full.

He burrowed his way in, whether you liked it or not.

When you turned eighteen, you moved out. He helped, did his ‘fatherly’ duties and moved you into the apartment, he urged your mother to take you on an extensive grocery trip, spoke to your landlord about the safety of the building. You supposed you should have been grateful, you should have said thank you, given him some sort of acknowledgement that you appreciated his help but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you said your mumbling goodbyes, and promptly closed the door on them. Neither of them complained.

The euphoria of venturing out on your own had lost its shine depressingly quick. A string of chronically unserious boyfriends came and went, the rent climbed higher than you could keep up with, and while already living paycheck to paycheck, you lost your job. Your cellphone had taken the brunt of your frustration at having to call your mother, begging her to let you come back home while you got back on your feet a little more than two years after you’d left.

Your teeth gnawed at your lips, your fingernails dug into the skin around your cuticles in the attempt to keep your voice sweet and pleading, in the end it was his voice that you’d heard in the background, telling–no, commanding her to say yes. That he would be your champion twisted at your insides. Maybe a small, healthy part of you hoped he’d put up a fight, tell you that you were too old to be coming back home and that you had to figure it out on your own like an adult.

A healthy part of you hoped that he’d save you again, only from yourself. Hanging up with a heavy, resigned sigh, you set about starting the trek home, ignoring the swirling mess of annoyance, confusion, and perverse glee in your stomach.

The first few days were spent in a depressive episode, a seemingly inescapable loop of sleeping in late, leaving your room only when the house was empty to raid the kitchen for something to eat, scrolling mindlessly–blindly–on your phone and then staying up way too late only to do it all over again.

They didn’t bother you, but if the annoyed sighs and narrowed eyes from your mother were anything to go by, the talk was coming soon. After the third day of the cycle, you circumvent it and wake up early-ish to shower and dress in something other than ratty old sweats long forgotten by an ex you couldn’t quite remember.

You came down to find Joel sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes tracked the lines of you, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

Your heart leapt. He should have been at work by now.

“Good morning.” It came out croaky, your voice almost reluctant to come out.

“Mornin’.” His hair was slicked back, the gray almost sparkling in the golden light. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. His eyes were so intense, you found yourself stuck in place, like a deer in headlights and that ever present, deep-seeded anger reared its head. It was irrational that he should frustrate you so much with his calm presence.

“Coffee’s fresh, if you want some.” He jut his chin out to the pot, lowering his eyes to his paper once more. Once his gaze had shifted, you found you could breathe again. You mumbled a thanks and moved to pour yourself a cup, thankful, if unsure why, to focus on something concrete instead of abstract self-reflection.

“Your mama’s gon’ be late tonight. I thought I could pick up a pizza on the way home.” He says it offhand and again, your heart races.

“Whatever.” You scrunch your face up in annoyance, it sounded like such a bullshit, teen response. He doesn’t comment on it, and that somehow makes it worse. You beat yourself about it as you root around in the fridge for the milk. The cereal you liked was in the top cupboard, and you’re not quite tall enough to reach it.

You heard his chair scoot back and then suddenly he’s there, beside you, pressed up tight. You follow the long line of his throat as he stares up, reaching the box with ease while one big, warm hand lands on your lower back. He smells like the laundry detergent your mother insists on buying mixed with something else. Manly, smoky, with coffee laced through. Your cunt clenches nonconsensually as he stands there and stares down at you, his whole front pressed against your side, his hand still holding your lower back. Your mouth hangs open, stupidly, and he raises an eyebrow again forcing something to kickstart deep in your gut.

“You okay there babygirl?” The endearment feels unwholesome.

It triggers something strange, strengthening the underlying conflict for him. There’s a lilt in his tone you don’t like, maybe because deep down you like it too much. Maybe you don’t want to admit that, or analyze anything about what the fuck is happening in your body. In your psyche.

“Yeah.” You step out of his bubble, barely managing not to trip over yourself in your haste to get away and put a healthy distance between you.

“Yes. Thank you.” You take a deep breath, pressing your lips together tight in what you hope to God is a neutral expression.

He lets out a bemused huff through his nose, a mischief in his eyes shining out at you that you’ve never seen directed at you. You’ve seen it used on your mom. You’ve seen her go giggly and flirty whenever he looked at her like that. A half-formed escape plan starts to form but he saves you from the need, he puts his things in the dishwasher, and nods his head in goodbye.

You practically hold your breath until you hear his truck rumble out of the driveway, and down the street.

You manage to avoid him for a few days, staying out late catching up with friends, or feigning a need for rest. You’ve convinced your mother that your days are now spent job hunting, and for the most part they are. You leave in the morning, avoiding any and all contact and you get home late, creeping up the stairs much like you did in your teens even though you’d really never needed to. Your mother never enforced a curfew, and when Joel joined the picture, he didn’t pry.

The luck didn’t last though, you got over-confident. He was sprawled out on the sofa, up uncharacteristically late one night when you padded through the house.

“You’re up late.” You quickly check the accusatory tone, “Don’t you have to get up early?” Better, it comes out more concerned than annoyed and he nods. He wore a threadbare t-shirt, the fabric of it having been through the wash too many times to keep its shape. Light, gray sweats were stretched almost obscenely tight over his spread thighs, pooling at his crotch from being shoved up by the couch.

“Couldn’t sleep. Come sit, we can watch some tv.” He pats the seat next to him and despite the deep desire to retreat into the Joel-free haven of your bedroom, you cannot seem to disobey him.

You settle beside him on the couch, a little further away than was necessary. He chuckles softly.

“I ain’t gonna bite you, girl. Not unless you ask nicely.”

You pretend you don’t hear it, choosing instead to compartmentalize whatever game he’s playing and stare at the screen. He flips through the channels, settling on one thing for a few minutes before moving to something else until he finds a movie that’s already close to midway. There’s an electricity in the air, something about him galvanizing the space between you, charging it enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end. You frown to yourself, barely paying attention while fighting an increasingly confusing mental battle. Why is it so hard to be around him? Why does he inspire such scorn? Is it scorn at all?

You rub at your eyes, scrubbing your hands down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe the slate clean.

He’s just a man, a man your mother had chosen and for better or worse they seem to work. She is happy with him and he is seemingly happy with her, why then is it so hard to accept him for what he is? Something slithers around in your brain, something that laughs darkly, something pulsing through the network of thoughts and ideas that threatens to crack open your subconscious and throw it right in your face.

“Well now, ain’t that somethin’?” You pull your hands away from your face to see a very explicit scene playing out on the screen. Heat floods every inch of your body.

“Almost looks like she’s enjoyin’ herself.” He leaves it on, and you feel stuck, your body betraying you yet again to see the way the woman on screen moans wantonly while under a very handsome man. You let out a non-committal sound, teetering on the edge of madness. You scold yourself, you are an adult, an adult that has had sex before and this isn’t even real.

“Looks like fake bullshit to me.” The strength in your voice lends credence to the illusion that you aren’t affected. He laughs, calm and completely at ease and that only pulls the anger to the forefront again.

“They can’t show the real stuff on these channels. If it were real, he’d be doin’ what she needs.”

“And what’s that?” It comes out before you can stop it.

“Well,” He smiles to himself, winning a duel you hadn’t even known you were fighting.

“If it were real, he’d be pressin’ on her clit, he’d be makin’ sure she felt every inch of him and make her take his cock like a good girl.” You let out a heavy breath, half shocked, half grateful it wasn’t a whimper.

Warning bells go off in your head, just as a heartbeat starts in your cunt because you can see it. You can see him. His face twisted up in pleasure but cocky, his hips moving, his thumb dipped into your mouth and then swirling around your clit. He smiles at catching you looking at his hands and you want to yell at him. You want to smack him across the face and kick him in the balls for saying something like that to you, his partner's daughter, but you don’t.

Your body almost catapults you out of your seat. Barely unintelligible words come out, something about needing sleep, about being tired and then you hightailed it out of there like a bat out of hell.

The shower was cold enough to make your teeth chatter, but it did nothing to cool the heat blooming in your core and it was with a terrifying desperation that you ground against your fingers. The slick pooling at the mouth of your pussy was enough to feel even with the water washing everything away except your shame.

You bit your tongue to keep from moaning out the taboo and entirely inappropriate name you were dying to say out loud. His firm thighs spread on that couch filled your mind, the calloused, work-roughened hands you could practically feel on your hips, on your thighs. You could feel them holding and spreading your legs open so he could make you make those same noises you’d heard over the years. Make you take it like a good girl, his good girl.

You came with a shudder, sagging against the chilly tile. You warmed the water with a sigh, disappointed and ashamed with yourself, trying, and failing, to put the whole thing out of your mind.

You doubled down on avoiding him after that.

Your mother worked most of the time but when she was home, things were easier. He reverted to the healthy avoidance, the proverbial disinterest that she didn’t seem to have a problem with. You still heard them some nights, the bed creaking, throaty cries, deep grunts but now they haunted you in a different way. Now you heard his words on that couch and couldn’t help but picture all manner of unsavory things that both disgusted and thrilled you.

Being unemployed didn’t help. There was nothing to keep you out of the house most of the day, and there were only so many places that would accept you looking for a job in person.

There was only so much time you could spend with friends too, they had their own lives and jobs and relationships. Too busy to save you from unwanted free time.

Old habits resurface, and you retreat within yourself while pushing yourself harder. A job would fix things enough to help, you could save up enough money to leave for good and take yourself out of the equation.

The powers that be momentarily take pity on you, and after what seems like a lifetime's worth of job hunting you blessedly get a call back. It’s a part time job, but at this point beggars can’t exactly be choosers. It’s a steady, if insufficient source of income that hadn’t been available to you before. Determined, you buckle down, you channel every guidance counselor you’ve ever had and ace the fuck out of that interview.

It’s not taxing work, but you put your head down and focus with the hope that if you worked hard enough, if you made a good enough impression, made yourself indispensable they’d throw you enough shifts to make up a full time job.

It helps. Time spent away from the house, from your mothers dried up welcome, from Joel altogether genuinely helps. You feel a bit lighter, less guilty, less prone to imagine the unimaginable. You find comfort in the absence of self-imposed temptation. There is peace in the mindless work, in the life outside of the house that no longer feels like a home.

It's a double edged sword though, because at the end of every shift, the luck–the peace–runs out. If being at work and out of the house is a respite, returning home only thickens the tension. Time spent outside the house only sharpens the discomfort, clarifies the glaring wrongness of it all when you enter it at the end of the day. What it all is, you won’t name. That way madness lies. Issue is, with every interaction, with every chance encounter in the hallway, or living room, every second spent with him in the kitchen watching his lips touch the rim of his mug the thing inside grows. Parts of him fill the corners of your mind. The curve of his shoulders filling out the flannel shirts he favors. The fullness of his bottom lip when he purses them, something he does while squinting at the paper that you’re almost sure he isn’t aware of. His neck, his hands, the dimple in his cheek when he laughs at something really funny.

These things jump out, innocent as they may be, but other not so innocent things start to creep in. The bulge in his jeans is a mental mine, it lies in wait and every so often when you think you’ve avoided it, it detonates and you catch yourself staring, both ashamed and so inappropriately curious it eats away at you like acid.

What you needed was something to fill the emptiness, both emotionally and physically. So you did what any modern, adult woman would do; you bought a sex toy.

Nothing too crazy, or expensive. After perusing the site for a while you finally settled on a plain, non-threatening dildo. Nothing too big, nothing noisy, just something to be able to focus on, something to use while imagining someone giving you what you need. You ignored that dark thing inside that hissed his name, shooed it away and ordered the package for express delivery. With your mom constantly working, and Joel keeping to himself you figured it wouldn’t be an issue. Neither of them would question a package addressed to you.

You still aren’t sure whether or not you’d do it all over again had you known the Pandora’s box that little package would open.

You all but rushed home after work. All day, you’d imagined the relief that toy would bring. You imagined yourself using it in the shower, steam swirling as you took your pleasure. You imagined yourself laying in bed in the safety of the dark, setting a towel down on your chair and riding it to your heart's content.

Joel’s truck is in the driveway when you pull in, but it’s secondary to the excitement at the chance to sequester yourself with your new best friend and so when you walk into the house, you don’t give him much attention. Until he opens his mouth.

“You got a package today babygirl. I put it on your bed.” He sits on his spot on the sofa, a funny little smile on his face. A bad feeling swells in your chest, and you look up the stairs before meeting his eyes again.

“Thanks.” You drop your bag on the little bench near the front door, trying, and failing to keep the nervous feeling out of your voice. He nods, and you make your way up, stopping yourself from taking the stairs two at a time.

Ice flows through your veins when you see the package is open.

He’d opened your package, he knew what you’d bought.

Blood pounds in your ears as you stand there, limbs cold and numb at the realization that he saw it. He saw it. He opened it, and he placed it here, on the very place you fantasized about using it. Sweat beaded on your brow, the bottom of your stomach fell out of your ass as you stood there, barely feeling the soft, worn carpet under your feet.

“Little small, f’you ask me.” His voice at the mouth of your room made your head twist fast enough to hurt your neck. You hadn’t heard him follow you up the stairs, hadn’t heard him open your door and lean against the frame, arms crossed in haughty amusement.

“Why would you open my package?” You clutched at it, as though he could forget what he’d seen if you held it tightly enough.

“I didn’t open it on purpose, I’m expectin’ somethin’ and I didn’t read the name.” He pushes away from the door frame, making his way closer and it’s like the air thins as the space between you shrinks.

“I mean, I could tell you been frustrated, but this doesn’t seem like it’s gon’ help much.” He reaches out, and takes the package from you. You watch him do it, watch him, frozen as he plucks it from your hands and takes the toy out.

“This all you can take?” He holds it, contemptuously–pityingly.

You wanted to snatch it out of his hands, the dimming voice of reason urges you to push him out of your room and remind him that he needs to keep a healthy distance but you say nothing, you stand there, and watch him. He puts it all down on your dresser, before stepping a little closer, close enough for you to have to crane your neck up to look into his eyes.

“No boyfriends around to give you what you want?” His hand comes up, the tips of his fingers sliding across the apple of your cheek, slipping down until his thumb pressed against the cushion of your bottom lip.

“No one around to give you what you obviously need?” He steps a little closer, until your bodies meet. This is wrong, your mind screams it but your body is frozen under his eyes, under his touch. That part, the frozen part is cheering, it’s running victory laps as it floods your cunt with slick in preparation for something unholy.

That same, writhing, traitorous thing whispers that this is your chance, the house is empty and your body obeys. You look your fill, you take in the curve of his nose and the furrow in his brow. His eyes are black as a crow's wing, lust-blown and completely focused on your parted lips and your shallow panting.

Adrenaline spikes and you do something you cannot take back. You rise on your tip-toes and press your mouth to his.

He hums into it, smiling and once again you get that feeling that you’d made the exact move he’d expected you to. A vague, but fleeting inkling that you were just a pawn on his chessboard.

At any other time you would have stepped away and repented, ate yourself alive with guilt but his hands pulled you closer, his tongue swiped at the seam of your mouth and you opened up for him. That only made it all the more real, the taste of his tongue in your mouth, feeling his hands lower to hold onto your ass.

The rational part of you shrinks down to nothing, and that other part, the wrong part–it swells and preens under his hands. He pulls away, and embarrassingly, you chase his mouth in a daze.

“Oh honey, you’re just dyin’ for it aren’t you?” He herds you towards your tiny bed, the twin mattress that has been the stage for every taboo fantasy about this man, your stepfather. You shoo the word away with a shiver.

“It’s wrong-” You almost whisper, but you don’t push him away, you let him lay you down in that bed and he laughs.

“It is, isn't it?” He pulls at the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms for him and the picture of it is wrong, daddy taking off your clothes. The thought, the word, should disgust you but it only pulls your hands to him. You join in, and pull his shirt up and off, biting your lip at the broadness of him. You take in each freckle, the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the dip of his throat calling out for your tongue like a siren.

He presses his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth obscenely. Unseemly.

“You been wantin’ this for a long time, haven’t you babygirl?” He pulls your bra off, and the shock of cold air hardens your nipples. He bites his lip to see it, unable to stop himself from flattening his tongue against a hardened bud. A sound you’ve never let yourself make out loud in this room fills the space between you and that slithering thing luxuriates.

He moves, languidly, unhurried to the other breast and holds the plump of it in his big hand and sucks at the second bud, sucks as much of the peak as he can into his mouth, breathing through his nose while you slowly spiral into madness.

When he lets go, he presses a kiss to your nipple and his facial hair tickles your skin.

He pulls your leggings off along with your underwear in one go and the reality of it all hits you when the air hits your soaked core. That’s when the urge to put a stop to it is the clearest, when he kneels between your legs and spreads them wide, stares at the place where he’s already filled a million times in your mind. The place that’s drenched at the mere thought of him.

“Joel-” You start, but he pushes your legs up, folding you and then he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth slowly, aiming it, a bullseye right on the lips of your cunt. It’s too much, too filthy and you let out a whimper.

“I think you wanna call me somethin’ else right now.” He undoes his belt and his jeans, keeping his eyes on where his saliva slides down over the open mouth of your cunt, down towards your asshole. He pulls his cock out and part of you shatters. Your eyes flit to the toy sitting on your dresser, your eyes flit to the open door of your bedroom.

“Don’t worry, your mama ain’t gonna be home for a while.” He smiles, conspiratorially. It's too real, it’s too hypnotic, seeing him there with his cock in his hand while your legs already ache from holding them up and open. He slides the blunt end of it through the mess he’s caused, through his spit and he groans at the sight of it.

Your heart races so hard to feel him there, that you see the pulse of it in your vision.

“Deep breath baby.” he warns before slipping inside the tight fist of your pussy, the size of him making you gasp. This is it, there’s no coming back from this and right now, with him seated deep, his groin pressed up tight and the tip of his cock kissing your womb you cannot even think of why you’d ever care.

This is where he's meant to be. This is where you need him.

“Oh baby, that’s so good huh?” He thrusts shallowly, pulling out a little more than halfway before shoving his hips forward again. You don’t really know how to form words, you don’t know how to take in what’s happening. This is Joel, your step-dad, fucking you in the bed you grew up in. One hand sits heavy on your shin, holding it, the other slides up and holds onto your breast.

“Look how fuckin’ wet this little pussy is for me,” he moans the words, “you like daddy fuckin’ you?” He thrusts harder and you moan despite the word hitting you in the stomach like a big drop on a rollercoaster. He shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t call himself that, not now.

“No-” it doesn’t come out like you mean it to, it sounds wrong, like a caress.

“No? But I think you do-” He leans forward, keeping his pace while pressing his chest to yours, his mouth all but lining up and despite your bullshit protest, you hitch your knees high on his ribs to make room because if he stopped you’d probably die.

“I think you want me to be your daddy, don’t you baby, it’s okay, I want to be.” He speeds up and the sounds between your legs are so wet, so filthy.

“You can say it, I want you to say it.” He holds himself up, his elbows caging in your skull and before you can complain or moan or cry he sticks his tongue down your throat again. Your hands finally join the fray and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight to you.

“Come on baby, say it for me, tell me how good daddy fucks you.” You moan, closing your eyes while your cunt floods him with wave after wave of slick, enough to drip down your ass and onto your bed, down his balls. Enough for it to soak the curls at the base of him.

“Look at me when I’m fuckin’ you honey.” His hips speed up and it's hard now, his thrusts making your bounce, hitting a part of you that toy would never touch in a million years.

You open your eyes, and look at him above you, sweat beading on his hairline. Never has he looked more fucking appealing than he does right then. The word is there, in your mouth and you know it’ll taste sweeter than anything in this world.

The wrong thing wins.

“Yes daddy.” You moan it, and the shameful thing sets off fireworks in your being, he smiles, and tucks his head into the damp crook of your neck, feeding his lovely filth right into your ear.

“That’s my babygirl, that’s it, fuck baby you take it better than your mama.” Something inside recoils at that, but something else, another facet of that fucked up thing inside rejoices.

“Let me hear you say it again, say it when you come.” He licks a hot stripe up your neck. His words are a filthy groan, something to tuck away for later.

He reaches down, pressing his thumb to your clit just like he said on that couch and you keen, the slip and the pressure enough to toss you over the edge with an almost painfully intense orgasm.

“I’m coming, daddy.” It’s a shuddering whisper as your cunt clenches around him.

He moves quickly, kneeling between your legs to pull out and then he’s stroking himself over your cunt. It’s still pulsing when he paints it in his come. You catch your breath as he tugs at himself a few more times, milking himself against you with a disturbingly familiar groan.

The fog clears altogether too quickly. The lights are too bright, you’re naked, and he’s still got his jeans around his thighs while the guilt creeps into your veins, replacing the euphoria.

What have I done? What have you made me do?

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