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gutsby · 7 months ago

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Who’s Your Daddy?

Pairing: Stepdad!Joel x Reader

Summary: You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Deadbeat-Perv-Peepaw LOVES corny porn tropes and women over half his age. Stepcest & dubcon technically bc Reader’s locked inside an appliance, but she’s into it (getting fucked, not stuck). One (1) kick in the dick. Spanking. Brat-taming. Choking. Daddy issues. Size kink. Praise kink. Infidelity. Creampie.

Note: Saw this post by @ovaryacted and started BARKING. For my Old Man lovers/daddy issues crew, this one’s for you.

Word count: 8.3k

It was the closest thing to porn you’d ever done before.

Still, you weren’t quite ready to call it that.

And why should you? Financial straits were no anomaly to a girl your age, especially in this economy, and almost everyone you knew had a side gig of some kind. It just so happened that your job required slightly skimpier attire. And a webcam. And some very special…accessories that would likely send your grandmother into cardiac arrest if she ever took a peek inside your bottom dresser drawer.

Okay, it was definitely porn.

But you never showed your face, so it didn’t really count as the same kind of stuff that your family condemned.

You scampered out of your room the second you heard the front door to the house slam closed all the same. Arms laden with G-strings, stockings, satin bralettes, lace and tulle bodysuits of almost every style imaginable, you ran a quick, perilous path to the living room window and made sure to keep your head ducked low as you did. You peered out through the gap in the curtains and had to squint hard to see anything in the midafternoon sun.

Then you saw it and felt instant relief—they were leaving.

Your grandma for one, your mother for second, and wherever the latter was headed, you knew her shadow would be soon to follow. You saw a thick plume of smoke outside and surmised that Joel was somewhere around the other side of the SUV, smoking and droning on about how he was perfectly fi-i-i-ne to drive, don’t be like that.

By ‘like that’ he meant sensible. And by ‘perfectly fine’ he meant two Miller Lites shy of completely shitfaced. You could already imagine the wry smile on your mother’s lips as she tried prying the keys from his hands. Your stepdad would probably plant a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek to win a ‘yes’ in return—and when she shyly reminded him that he couldn’t afford to get another DUI, he’d get pissed and yank them out of her fist anyway.

Fucking loser.

Fucking triple-the-legal-limit dumbass motherfucker.

It didn’t bother you as much today because you knew they were only driving a couple blocks away to get to the farmer’s market, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d get caught. Again. Maybe blow a 0.25 this time and land his old, ungrateful, law-breaking ass in Travis County Jail, where his little brother Tommy was likely keeping a cell bench warm for him, per usual.

At any rate, you didn’t have time to be fantasizing now. It was your turn to embody some guy’s grossest wet dreams for the next two to three hours. Stripping away layer after layer of your latest, tightest ‘costume’ while catering to whatever requests happened to float in your inbox, you knew you’d be up to your eyeballs in work. Though almost routine by now, you had to hurry up.

If you could just get the rest of this ridiculous gunk out of your clothing, you’d be all good to go for the job.

TRMAN22: Pour honey on your tits in the next vid???

TRMAN22: Milk too. All over you.

Looking back, you probably shouldn’t have obliged that request. Now you were facing the consequences—forced to throw all your clothes in the washing machine because the milk and honey you’d dumped on yourself for that video had gotten everywhere, and then swiftly congealed while wasting away in a pile of laundry for over a week.

The whole heap smelled rancid. Still felt sticky, too. Presently, you chucked each one inside the washing machine while holding your breath, and as soon as the last was discarded, you sniffed the shirt you had on.

Tolerable. With the rest of your stuff in the wash, you hoped to get at least one request off the checklist:

TRMAN22: Bet you’d look sexy in a schoolgirl outfit!!

TRMAN22: Why don’t you try one on for me?

It was gag-worthy and gross. Slightly alarming for a man who was more than likely twice your age and old enough to remember Watergate, but you agreed to play along. Your old school uniform was, after all, the only clean clothes you had left, and ‘TRMAN22’ was, unfortunately, your top subscriber. He’d paid $300 for this video alone.

TRMAN22: Wear some NEON pink panties for me too ;)

You squatted in front of the washing machine and stuck a hand inside. You sifted around, furrowing your brows.

The brightest undies you owned were in there, soiled, but you figured you could get away with one gross article of clothing, all things considered. You reached a little further and continued to dig. When you couldn’t find it by feel alone, you peered inside the circular, metallic cavern of the washing machine and craned your neck.

Not here…not here…not—

You tilted forward, venturing a closer look with your head, then shoulders, pushing into the machine.

—here, not here, not—

“EW!” you shrieked.

In your search, you’d inadvertently brushed up against a mildewed piece of clothing that had gotten wedged between the grooves of the washing machine’s interior.

A pair of boxers, it seemed.

You recoiled as soon as your fingers grazed the wet and smelly thing. Your skull went crack against the low-sloped ceiling of the appliance, and a jolt of pain was quick to course through you at the contact. You groaned.

Of course Joel had forgotten some old, cum-stained scrap of fabric out of his last load. Always leaving his shit around for you or your mom to pick up like he owned the place. And here you went, again, angrily plugging your nose and pulling as hard as you could on the shorts to get them free from the washing machine. You hardly thought twice, just made a face and then yanked on it.

The boxers wouldn’t budge.

You tugged even harder. The fabric stayed put.

Something akin to a grunt and a whimper, only far more pathetic, slipped out of your mouth, and you slapped the half-hollow steel wall in frustration. Surrounded as you were—fully encased in metal—the sound just echoed.

“Fucking…CUNT.”

You weren’t sure if you were talking to the shorts, the machine, or Joel Miller in the abstract. Or maybe all three. You just hated the thought of washing your lingerie with your stepdad’s skivvies, and no amount of rational thought or practical reasoning could hold you back now.

The tip of your index finger sank deep beneath the same ridge of the wall where the boxers had gotten stuck. You curled it inward, trying to loosen the material up a little. You wriggled your knuckle even further. And just when you managed to get a hold of the cusp of the tangled fabric—just when it seemed the green plaid cluster was about to give way—you heard a low pop. You felt it, too.

Shortly, your finger was pinched inside the deep, blunt valley of steel that had similarly snagged Joel’s boxers. It seemed you’d pushed the tip of your finger so far that you were caught straight down to the second knuckle—trapped between two grooves of unforgiving alloy inside the washing machine tub with no clear means of escape.

You jerked your arm back, panicked. When the metal sank its teeth even deeper, you didn’t stop. Completely heedless of the pain, you operated on impulse and by the feeling of needing to get the fuck out of that little space, quickly, and instead yanked your hand back even harder.

To your horror, your finger was stuck.

“FUCK!”

You stared down at the poor digit, only half-visible inside the wall at this point, then glanced down at the heap of sweaty, sticky, slutty pieces of clothing that were presently strewn about you, and felt an even deeper stab of dread. Stuck inside your family’s washing machine with every bit of damning evidence one could hope to have—and wearing your old school uniform to boot—you realized at once you were fucked if you didn’t get out.

You slammed your palm against the nearest wall once more, shaking your other wrist like an unruly child.

“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!”

You weren’t good at solving problems. In point of fact, you sucked at all things prudent resolution-related and regularly made it a habit to capitulate whenever you sensed loss inevitable. You were a little like your mother in that way, quick to give in to life’s uglier challenges. The only way you could conceivably claim to be stronger, the only place you always had the strength to say ‘no’ was—

“Aw, shit.”

—Joel.

Your throat tightened as soon as you heard the voice. Your eyes went wide, and the rest of you went numb.

Bent at the waist and kneeling with half your body inside the washing machine, you remained there, motionless. Back arched and ass out. Thanks to the way you’d rolled your old plaid skirt, the fabric covered almost zero cheek.

Someone behind you cleared their throat. Then coughed.

And coughed again, again, and again. Evidently trying to clear the smoke out of his lungs and the surprise from his eyes as he drank in your sight from the doorway.

“What in the—wh—th—” You could hear Joel wheeze, beating his chest with his fist, “What— in— the hell?!”

“Help me,” you hissed.

You weren’t sure why you chose that as your go-to. It just sounded like the right thing to say, and frankly, you weren’t sure how else to distract from the fact Joel was probably gawking at your ass as he coughed up a lung.

“The fuck do you mean ‘help’?! What are you doing?”

The coughing subsided, if only momentarily. You tried pulling back on your finger again to get out, but couldn’t.

“I-I’m…I was just…” you stammered, heart racing.

You heard the tread of heavy footfalls. You felt them.

“Just—trying…” you ventured again, suddenly at a loss for words and breath alike as you felt a presence draw in.

You could smell him.

That realization alone made you want to stop taking in air altogether. It happened out of instinct, really—feeling the shift of two huge boots settle behind your feet and then flinching inward, further inside the metal tub for…safety? A pang of abject humiliation? You were far past the point of civility with the man, caring what he thought, or fearing for your modesty in a position like this, but something about the proximity now just made you itch.

You wished your finger wasn’t jammed inside this appliance so you could give that feeling relief, somehow.

At length, Joel’s voice dragged you back:

“What’s stuck?”

Too calm. A second passed. Then he added, more stern,

“This some fuckin’ joke’a yours or somethin’?”

“No!”

“Then what—”

“My finger. My finger’s stuck.”

You tried to crane your neck to see behind you, but all your eyes had to feast upon was denim. Bluish-grey stonewashed denim, faded with years of use. Joel stood back for a second, as if considering what to do, and then you saw two hands descend to brace themselves against his knees. He bent at the waist to get a better look below.

When his eyes locked with yours, you got the same twist in your gut as you’d felt before, only sharper. Shameful.

The look on Joel’s face was abnormally bright.

“And how on earth did that happen, dumbass?”

Your shame morphed into chagrin in a blink, seeing the ghost of a smile bleed into your stepdad’s features.

“‘Cause of you, leaving your shit in here!” you snapped. Your chin jerked toward the green fabric, “I was just trying to get your boxers unstuck—and my finger…”

Your finger was kind of fucked.

Joel cast a look inside at the source of your frustration. He extended his left arm and reached over your torso, and as he did, you felt the slightest, albeit solid, sort of warmth press in. The man let out a low groan of exertion—likely at the strain the movements placed on his joints.

The warmth got worse. You weren’t sure where it started.

Vaguely, you were aware of Joel’s thumb pressing into your hand. Gliding down your finger, stroking across the spot where your knuckle had gotten caught, he circled over it, slowly, and made another sound in his throat.

“Well that ain’t…good.” Not one to mince words.

By now, your whole body was on fire. You barely had the strength to keep kneeling, much less speak to the man thumbing your hand and pressing his heat so close—

“Just get me out!” you shrieked.

You heard your mother’s voice in that. A shrill, impatient lilt in her speech that came out, invariably, around Joel. Normally, he would have done something to deserve it. But today, with his hand splayed over yours and his breaths as calm and even-keeled as he could hope to have them while he tried to help, he was blameless.

Evidently, he heard a trace of your mother too, because you heard him laugh. You felt the reverberations of his amusement travel up from his belly all the way to his lips.

“Cool your pits, kid.”

For that, you would’ve loved nothing more than to reach back with your free hand and hit him in the balls. But, as it was, this man was your only hope for escape, and he was being tolerably polite, anyway. He pinched your finger between the tips of two of his and gave it a tug.

“Okay, lemme just—” Joel started.

“Why are you home, anyway?”

The question came out more clipped than you meant it.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Joel countered evenly.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

You reckoned he could probably feel you roll your eyes, even if he wasn’t able to see you do it right now. He waited another moment, then leaned back on his haunches and withdrew his arm from the tub.

“Mama don’t like me drinkin’ and drivin’, you know that.”

With that, the warmth was gone. Joel retreated.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

You heard him exhale a little harder through his nose. When he’d steadied himself against the washing machine, gave his knees another second to prepare for getting up again, you could feel his eyes back on you. Maybe he lingered longer than his legs really needed.

Maybe if he hadn’t stayed crouched like that, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to give your surroundings a second look. He wouldn’t have stopped to watch the rate of your breaths pick up or the way your skin startle to bristle with some strange, unknown sensation. He certainly wouldn’t have felt for himself the fever leaking out from the base of your spine right then.

Today just wasn’t the day for keeping secrets, it seemed.

“And what’s this?” You could feel Joel lean back in.

He was looking again. Peering inside. Steadying his weight with the edge of the washing machine gripped in one hand, while the other snaked its way back inside.

You’d already squeezed your eyes shut by the time Joel got a hold of something. You didn’t know what it was.

But it became painfully clear that it wasn’t just one ‘thing’ that had grabbed his attention at all, but rather a series of items that his hands were just now getting to explore. You didn’t have to see his broad and tan, callus-streaked fingers to feel them roaming over your clothes.

Gross.

“Gross,” Joel agreed, as if he’d read your mind. Grinning.

If you thought the embarrassment was bad before, you really only knew a fraction of what humiliation could be. Your finger throbbed along with the pulse in your skull.

Your mother’s husband whistled and lifted something.

“Darlin’, this is just…disgusting.”

You winced. You tried not to pry an eye open, to steal a covert look through the frame of your lashes in that dim and crowded spot, but the inducement was too great—Joel was dangling one of your lime green G-strings like it was a fish he’d just caught out on the lake. Boasting it.

Doting, almost.

“Well I’ll be—”

“Will you quit?!” you snapped.

You grabbed the thing out of his hand and threw it aside.

“Can you be serious? For one fucking secon—”

“Oh, I’m bein’ serious, sweetie,” Joel cut in. Cool as ever, “Serious as the business end of a .45, I swear.”

He paused. Then he reached for a white nylon bustier, drenched in a layer of honey that was as hard as a rock.

“Do you always keep your little…skank tanks so filthy?”

That was it. You kicked your heel back—and up—and made a pass to hit your stepdad square in the balls.

Your aim wasn’t the best it’s ever been, seeing that half your body was trapped inside a home appliance at the moment, but what your jab lacked in accuracy, it made up for in force: your foot plunged into the seam of Joel’s jeans full throttle. From the way the back of your heel plowed into his crotch, and the sound that clawed out of his throat the same instant, you reckoned you did okay.

What you weren’t expecting was a smack in return.

An answer in kind—delivered by the palm of Joel’s hand.

A taut, thoughtless THWACK on the swell of your ass.

Your mouth fell open. Your body barely had the chance to recoil when, shortly, another blow landed on your cheek.

Joel spanked you.

Spanked you.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he spat. His palm had slid up with the weight of his last slap, and now his fingers were clenched in a fist in the back of your skirt. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel him gripping fabric. It was firm.

He was firm—unrelenting in his hold.

Kneeling behind you, yanking back a handful of tartan skirt like it was nothing, then sidling up behind you.

And just when your attention was drawn to some other firm thing, it was shortly diverted by another sensation.

“JOEL!” you shrieked as he gave you another spanking.

The bare skin of your cheeks was on fire. Joel hit hard. Just when you feared you might legitimately whimper with the sting of that last blow, and while the imprint of his palm was still fresh, you felt it move again. Lower.

“Joel.”

That came out more like a whine than a cry of protest. And how could you, now, when he was soothing the raw bite of his hand with a touch that was kneading the skin?

Working the soft, supple flesh of your ass in his hand like he’d never dream of being anything else but gentle to it.

“Good?” Joel said.

Your head flinched to nod, but your brain thought better.

It did feel good. So good, in fact, that your eyelids were starting to droop just a bit and your back was subtly arching into the touch, but those were only instincts. Stupid, useless, brain-rotted reflexes born of years of paternal neglect and replete indifference, the likes of which could bring a grown man to his knees, begging—

“Please.”

But the entreaty was your own, and the voice that spoke it was hoarse. Your belly sank into the circular aperture of the washing machine, and you could feel your ribs scraping close to metal. Nevertheless, you didn’t mind. That ditzy lizard brain of yours was starved for physical touch, and who were you to deny her at a time like this?

No, not when Joel was squeezing like that.

Groping was the more appropriate word for it, really. Notwithstanding the decades of sexual experience that no doubt preceded the man that was standing before you—behind you—today, Joel was unduly coarse. His broad, weathered hand made as if to cool its former sting, but the motions themselves were jerky. Desperate.

He needed this worse than you, the fucking pervert.

Just when the realization had begun to settle over your mind and your legs were getting to feel a little less like jelly, knowing you weren’t the only weak one here, Joel’s palm slowed down. He pressed the heel of it into your flesh as if to force himself to stop, then he took a breath.

“Now use your words.”

“But—” you sputtered.

“I said,” Joel resumed, and you could sense it was through gritted teeth. His movements came to a halt.

“We use our words when we want somethin’, hear?”

It was the first you’d heard Joel attempt to enforce anything close to discipline with you in your life.

That had to warrant a little defiance, no doubt.

Under your breath, quiet: “So ‘we’ includes ‘you,’ too?”

Beneath that one, seemingly innocuous question was lurking another, and both of you knew it: Remember that time you put a fist through the kitchen wall? Was that a good example of what it means to ‘use words,’ Joel? Whether it was adequate provocation or not, you could sense what was coming next before you’d even finished. When the spank landed on your right cheek so loud that it echoed, you didn’t flinch. You did snag your lip between your teeth to keep a sound from spilling out.

“A dad makes rules. Ain’t his to follow,” Joel growled.

You blinked and bit down harder. Watched the broad, amorphous shape of the man’s reflection shift along the back metallic wall in hues of grey and blue and wished you had the strength to turn around and face him then.

“You aren’t my dad.”

“Said ‘a’ dad, didn’t I?”

“You’re not that either.”

Heat was rising to your cheeks again, this time for different reasons. For a cause you were far better acquainted with to date—annoyance at Joel.

“So that means I’m—”

“Nothing. You’re nothing to me,” you finished, tone wry.

Nothing to anyone, you wanted to add. Not with a shiny gold band latched onto your left hand to tell the world that you’re married to my mother, a pack of smokes tucked away in the jeans she washes every week, or a couple years spent under the same roof as me. Nothing.

Your teeth clamped back down—and almost sank clean through your lower lip this time—when next you felt a touch at the plush, covered mound that was normally shielded between your legs. The spot that was hardly ever tilted up in a position like this, exposed to the air and a man’s hungry gaze, now invaded by the press of a single thing: a warm and soft middle finger at your core.

Joel brushed the tip of it against your entrance, through your panties, and sucked a breath through his teeth when both of you felt a tiny squelch at the pressure.

He pressed harder, and the wetness only spread.

You didn’t have to be in Joel’s position to know what he was seeing, but the feeling from his finger overpowered any better sense to speak—or tell him to stop. He traced his slow, cruel circles against your warmth and moved it up to where he knew he’d find your bud, and when you whimpered, he simply added his index to the mix. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind you were leaking heat at that point. You could feel it seeping beneath his touch.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel breathed, voice low. Your arousal made a sickening hiss beneath his fingers as he rubbed you even harder, “This feel like nothin’ to you, honey?”

You couldn’t speak. He knew you weren’t capable of it.

“‘Cause this sure don’t feel like nothin’ to me.”

Wet and tacky beneath his touch, your warmth supplied the answer that your mouth couldn’t form. It came out in more of a tap, tap, tap, punctuated by breaths that were toiling in earnest not to turn into moans too soon. But, as hulking and clumsy as his hands had once shown themselves to be, the old man knew where to put them, at least. He made circles on your clit with practiced ease.

“You can try lyin’ to me, but she can’t.”

He was right. ‘She’ was a traitor.

You could deny it all you wanted, but the proof was there.

Indeed, she was crying. Aching. Bleeding with desire. Throbbing beneath the pads of Joel’s fingertips and growing only more desperate as he increased the speed of his touch. When he notched the drenched cotton to the side, you had to grit your teeth to keep in a whimper.

Joel whistled.

“See? Seems like she likes me just fine right here.”

Your jaw stayed wired shut with the weight of your own humiliation. Instead of answering aloud, you hummed. Made a sound low and soft in your throat like, ‘Uh-hmm’ and tilted your hips, as if you didn’t know how else to ask. Joel couldn’t see inside the washing machine, but he must’ve felt the gesture, because he greeted it with a motion of his own: he chuckled, and he puckered his lips.

And when you felt the warmth of his spit hit you between your folds, your shame should’ve tripled. Should’ve made you flinch away from his touch and tell him that was so fucking gross, Joel, stop, but then he smeared it up your slit. He pressed in and mixed it with the rest of your arousal; any reproach died on your tongue in an instant.

A part of him was on you now. Trickling in, sticking to the most sensitive part of you, and settling into your skin like a glaze. With his other hand, he found your skirt again.

“Who’re ya wearin’ this for, sweet pea?” Joel murmured.

“No one.”

Another glob of spit landed between your cheeks. Now, the man used the lubrication to sink two fingers inside you—pushing them in until the rim of your cunt met his knuckles. You whined at the stretch, felt him coax your walls open with a consciousness and a carefulness that felt almost mean, but then he stroked down the base of your spine with the hand that still held onto your skirt. He soothed your startled cry with a curl of his fingers.

And he found the soft, spongy patch of flesh inside that made your eyes roll straight to the back of your skull, quickly. Working his fingers in and out, flattening the base of his free hand over the skin exposed by your flipped-up skirt, and watching your body give way to the force of his fingers, he was uncharacteristically patient. Exacting in the way he worked your body open to him.

“What do you care?” you groaned. You winced when you felt a squelch signal that he’d stretched you even wider.

“‘Cause,” Joel started, slow. Pumping his fingers through your folds and likely wondering when he’d add a third, “You got your hand stuck in a fuckin’ washing machine, a treasure trove of this slut stuff piled in a heap…I mean…”

“They’re just clothes!”

“Just clothes?”

In the wake of those terse, incredulous words, you tried your best to match his tone—call his bluff—but the only sound that came out of your mouth was punctured by a pitiful whine. He tried another finger but couldn’t fit it in. As wet as you were, and as strong as he was, your cunt wasn’t quite ready to accept all three of Joel’s thick, probing digits inside. You’d fit more than a thing or two with a girth even greater than that in the past, but you figured your nerves might have something to do with the way you were tightening around the man’s fingers now.

Why you couldn’t take more of him in, as much as you wanted him there, felt, at present, like something of a shortcoming, and a pathetic one at that. You let out a breath, and a second later, Joel slowed his motions.

You didn’t expect him to stop. Didn’t hold out a hope he might curtail his pace and talk you through a quiet, gentle arrangement for fitting a third finger inside you—that just wasn’t him. You didn’t have to share a paper-thin bedroom wall with your mother and her husband for the last however many years to know that Joel Miller was not a tender lover. It simply wasn’t in his nature to care.

So when you heard the clink of a belt coming undone a moment later, your senses strangely flooded with relief. He wouldn’t care, wouldn’t inquire, wouldn’t coddle with false, romantic ideals of how a woman should be treated.

In that way, Joel shared something in common with your father after all: he set standards as low as they could go.

“Just clothes?” he repeated, snapping your underwear against your ass and jerking the fabric further aside.

Then somehow send those expectations even lower.

There was a hand splayed out across the small of your back. Another fiddling with the front of his pants, wrestling the button and zip of his jeans in little more than one, two, three careless seconds, before he drew in closer to your rear. Your slit was messy, wet, and exposed to his eyes once again. For a second, you almost took comfort in the fact that your hand was still wedged inside a groove of steel and you couldn’t meet his gaze.

That was, until Joel slid his bare length along the seam of your cunt. When the inability to see him made it so you had no other choice but to be surprised when he finally touched you was unnerving, to say the least.

And when the head of his cock blended seamlessly between your folds, was drenched in less than a blink and nearly notched straight into the place you needed him most—well, that had an effect on him, too. Joel moved his flat and sweaty palm up your back, found purchase in the hem of your blouse, and gripped it. Tugged it down a little more and let a low groan billow out of his throat while he rocked his hips back and forth.

Desperate, clumsy, pussydrunk Joel was back before you’d even realized he’d left. Only now he was keen to put the disquiet and hesitations to rest; he needed to fuck you before either one of you wisened up just then.

Your parts and his commingled again. First, with the lethally warm trail of precum leaking out from his tip. Then the intrusion that followed, inevitably, glossed with self-indulgence and desperation—soiling any semblance of platonic affection or parental attention—as he fed you the first inch of him. Barely half the head got fitted inside and your grip on that was like a vice. Joel’s was bruising.

Suddenly firm on your hips, carving crescents in the skin:

“When’s the last time you got fucked, baby?”

You reckoned Joel had a guess—and it wasn’t correct.

“Last…week,” you whimpered, words punctuated with a sigh as his cock tried to make room for more of him.

Joel sucked in a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He’d barely gotten an inch past his tip, facing more resistance than he’d felt in a long, long time, and you were wet, but so tight. He was big but not so massive as that. He couldn’t fathom what you were saying was true.

“That…fratboy fuckstick you went out on a date with?”

“Didn’t think you even saw me leave.”

Joel withdrew, gripped your hips even tighter, then drove his cock to nestle three solid inches inside your cunt. It was extra snug, but he made sure to try to loosen you up with a couple short, shallow thrusts and a hand gradually drifting down between your legs. Of course he saw you.

The circles on your clit and slow-growing movements may as well have been kerosene in your veins. With what limited range of motion you had in that grey, compact space, you let out a sigh and dug the fingers of your free hand into the closest scrap of fabric beside you. Joel’s own touch gradually moved from your hip to drag your hand behind your back, clasping his. He fucked in deeper

“So that’s who this is for?” Thumbing your skirt.

“Y-Yeah,” you lied.

“Wanted to send naughty pics in the schoolgirl getup?”

“Yes,” you lied again. You closed your eyes when Joel sank his cock even deeper and made you stretch inside.

“‘Atta girl,” he praised.

It might’ve been the first he’d validated you in your life.

“Grippin’ this cock extra tight, ain’t ya, sweet girl?”

Never in a million years would you have imagined it’d come this late—or leave Joel’s mouth in a way like that.

‘Elastic’ wasn’t a word you’d ever used to describe your body, either. Frankly, there was no need for it to be; every one of your partners before had been average-sized, and every other object that went inside you, too, had almost always been a comfortable squeeze between your walls. Outside of maybe your first time and a once-off awkward hookup now and again, you were never forced to feel a stretch to this degree. Joel felt huge moving inside you.

He was nearing your cervix and still nowhere close to the base of his cock. Meanwhile, you were stuffed to the brim, saturated with arousal and his spit, and practically keening at every stab of his hips. You couldn’t reach back because Joel’s fingers were still enmeshed with yours, gripping them hard behind your back. As wore down, fucked out, and desperate as you already were, you were less than only a second away from asking him to ease up.

And then he stopped.

Joel pulled out, let go, and pressed onto the old washing machine, where you heard his touch echo through metal.

He was leaning against it. You were about to turn around. Before you could, though, you felt his form mold into yours—this time not in it, but on it, as he drew closer and once more reached into the space where you were stuck.

“Can you be brave for me, baby?” Joel murmured.

“Wh—” you started, soft, only to feel the words plucked straight from your lungs as Joel leaned his body inside. Carefully, and with concerted effort, it seemed, he was trying to squeeze his way into the O-shaped hole of the washing machine, snaking his arm around your torso.

Pinching your finger again. Breathing just gently enough for his exhales to tickle at your shoulders and your neck.

“Can you be brave?” he repeated, and you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him so soft-spoken, or felt him so close.

You nodded, not knowing why.

Without another word, your stepdad pinched the digit even tighter and yanked it out from where it was stuck.

It all happened so fast. Joel freeing your finger, squeezing it tight, helping you out of that hot and crowded space while your legs gave way like mush beneath your weight—and your hand throbbing in pain. You’d never thought a single finger could cause a feeling as strong as that, but it stung like hell. You almost raked your nails through the man’s arm when he tried to hold you back, holding you up just as well as you stood.

“Joel!” you screeched, like the whole thing was his fault.

You flexed your hand and wanted to sob. You could feel the streaks of pain start to claw up your wrist, were just about to shove Joel aside and wallow in agony, when at length, he did something strange and unexpected again.

This time, he lifted your index to his mouth and kissed it.

It wasn’t a sensual kiss. Coming from Joel, it hardly even seemed affectionate. His lips were so warm and firm and decidedly unacquainted with anything approaching a threat of tenderness that his act read almost aggressive. He let your finger rest loosely against his mouth, and he kissed it again, while his eyes burned holes into yours.

‘You’re okay’ came out muffled against your hand.

“You’re okay—hey—baby, you’re good. Don’t cry.”

You hadn’t even noticed the tears had started to form. You blinked and felt one trickle down your cheek. With the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist, Joel brushed his thumb against that lone trail of moisture. He didn’t cup your face, hold you close, or stroke your cheek in the seconds that followed, though he did keep kissing you.

Or, rather, it—your finger.

Joel didn’t have to care for you at all. He just feared he might’ve pulled on your hand too hard in getting you out.

‘You’re okay’ was being mumbled away like a fractured refrain, touch descending gently to your hip, and his eyes grew softer by the second, surely he had to be thinking it.

Sinking inside you, again. He was standing; your hips were tilted to his, and your ass was pressing flat against the front of the washing machine. All it took was an inch or two off the ground and your limbs hanging limply around his hips for Joel to fuck back into you. He sucked on your finger so hard you feared the skin might actually bruise—a hand hickey, of all fucking things—and when his grip tightened on your side, you knew he felt it too.

His teeth succeeded his lips in an instant, and he was biting, gnawing pathetically as a groan shuddered through his chest. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said the sound was veering perilously close to a whimper.

Fully sheathed inside you, Joel Miller didn’t seem to care. His lids fell like lead across the upper half of his brown, glossy eyes, and the expression behind them was blank.

Safe.

“‘S’alright, baby,” he grunted. Maybe he’d just seen you wince, as he cradled your hand and withdrew another inch, “Keep squeezin’ me, it feels real good. Right here.”

Out of instinct, your gaze drifted down to the spot where his body joined with yours. The sight was hardly a shock, but the feelings it evoked were not—he had you split along two-thirds of his dick, a pretty shelf of belly protruding beneath and gleaming with the arousal he’d drawn out from your body. Tufts of silver and grey littered his skin in every direction, aged muscles tensed with the weight of each thrust, and the warm weathered hand that hadn’t dared touch you once before today was now cupping your chin. Tilting your head closer to him.

“Right here, baby. Look at daddy.”

Wild, unbridled heat flooded your brain in a second. The thing seared the insides of your skull with all the force of a fire and stole the air from your lungs just the same—still, you couldn’t refrain from making a face in disgust.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You shouldn’t have liked it.

His hand ascended your throat in a blink.

“Ain’t that what you want, sweet pea?”

“I—”

Just as you started to answer, though, his cock took a dizzying plunge, hitting exactly the right spot inside you. Like clockwork, your mouth fell open, a whine tumbled out, and Joel took that as his chance to grip your neck even tighter and push your hips against the washing machine, where his height afforded him an easy hold.

“What you want—”

He squeezed harder.

“—what you need—”

You gasped, starved for air. It wasn’t every day a man took your breath away. Not like Joel could, anyway.

“—is me, ain’t it?”

The gaze fixed on your face was alight with desire.

“Bet you miss him somethin’ awful, huh? Been needin’ a man to fill that spot ever since he left, haven’t ya, baby?”

‘He’ required no further clarification. The words stung. You communicated as much by wriggling your hips back and pressing your hand against Joel’s chest, just quit it.

Keep fucking me, but shut the fuck up about my father.

“I don’t miss shit,” you sniffed. Felt the head of Joel’s cock carve a shape somewhere deep inside your body and couldn’t pretend it wasn’t filling a metaphorical void someplace else. You hadn’t got this much attention from a man as many years your senior since…well, ever, really.

You preened beneath his touch. Wanting to feel. Wanting to please. Wanting, more than anything, to be needed.

Joel sated each craving with a simple hand smoothed over your face. His palm moved from your throat to your chin to the hinge of your jaw before coming to rest at the nape of your neck. This time squeezing lightly, bringing your face in close while he fucked you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and your stomach tightened inside you.

“That’s alright,” he said, words hardly above a whisper, “No need to miss that man at all, ‘cause I’m right here.”

For once the assurance came as somewhat of a comfort. You suspected it had something to do with the fact he was balls deep inside you and pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release with each painstaking stab of his cock. You fisted his flannel, holding him there. Spreading your legs, accepting his thrusts, taking each movement with ragged, shallow breaths and moans that blended with his own, you felt your body grow warmer.

Almost febrile beneath him as he tilted your head again.

“Who’s your daddy now?”

You winced, shaking your head. You hated that word.

“Who’s your daddy?”

Joel lowered his hand and began to thumb at your clit. Hot pleasure coursed through you, made you whine at the contact and dig your heels even deeper in his back.

“Who’s your daddy, baby? It ain’t that hard to say.”

But it was. Joel stroking your clit, stuffing you full, ghosting his lips against yours without ever furnishing a kiss, just goading you on with: ‘I know you wanna say it.’ Tough grey stubble teased your mouth with each word.

“I know she needs to cum, sweet girl. Know that poor little pussy’s taken a beating—and she’s done so good for me—but she needs to let it out now. All over me.”

His gaze held yours. You couldn’t turn away.

An unmistakable tenderness pervaded that look, and it didn’t seem keen to depart. No matter how tightly you pursed your lips, made fists in his shirt, or choked his cock between your walls in fluttering, desperate pleas, the man remained calm. Attentive. The eyes didn’t stray.

“It’s okay to say it.”

“C-Can’t—”

“Sure can. Be the easiest thing you ever do—D-A-D-D—”

“Please. Please.”

You hardly even knew what you were asking for at this point, only beholden to that big, swollen something in your tummy starting to give way beneath the push of Joel’s cock. Tightening up, leaking out, practically drooling down the length of this man who seemed relentless in his current pursuit. Two more circles on your clit and you were keening, whimpering pathetic as ever:

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“Say it now. Who’s it for?”

Above you, Joel’s teeth gleamed in a smile—or a snarl, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was the pleasure, the concomitant pain of having to contain this desperation while his thrusts sped up. You were bouncing on him, getting fucked against the washing machine in the raw and terrible central Texas heat wearing a sheen of sweat and a set of clothes that no longer fit your body, but that was just fine. You were okay. Joel was here, and he was holding your head, lips hovering less than an inch away.

“Who’s. Your. Daddy?” His words were slow. Coarse. Spilling into your mouth with every short puff of breath.

You couldn’t take it. You felt a band of pressure come to a head in your belly and the brush of Joel’s cock making its rounds in and out of your swollen cunt, pushing hard, and you knew that you’d had enough. He knew it, too.

“Y-You.”

“Who?”

“Joel.”

“Who?”

Your wet, pearly slick rang a deafening pitch. Enough.

“You, daddy! Daddy—please, fuck—I-I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Gonna cum for me? Make a mess of your old man?”

“Make a m-mess— yes, daddy, yes—” you slurred.

Joel drove his cock, fully coated in you, down to the hilt. He captured your lips in a kiss and didn’t even mind your mouth was whining, hissing, whimpering its filthy pleas for him to fuck a nice, big orgasm out from your body.

“—want yours inside,” you added, without realizing it.

“Sweet girl…” Joel groaned.

You didn’t know what you were asking him for. How badly he wanted it, too. His cock dragged in and out of your precious cunt and was barely more safe from the threat of its grip when you spasmed, at the last. Joel should’ve expected no less, after all the time he’d spent teasing and edging, then begging you gently, in grunts, ‘Cum for daddy, baby. Let me have it, that’s it, good girl.’ Still, somehow, he wasn’t prepared in the slightest.

When you squeezed your eyes shut and kissed him back—that was all it took. When you clenched on his cock, gave the front of his shirt a tug, locked your ankles about his hips so you could more properly increase that friction by fucking him back, grinding in place, he feared he might fairly make an irreparable, unforgivable mistake.

And when the whites of your eyes appeared again—eyelids fluttering open while your lips were glossed with his spit and a lazy smile—and said what you said next, he sensed that his fate was sealed. The old man was fucked.

“Cum inside me, daddy. Please.”

Joel couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. He shuddered, then flooded your insides with rope after rope after rope of his spend, burying his face in your neck and taking your hips in his hands like a looser grip might lose you to him forever. He fucked his cum deep, deeper, darlin’ don’t move, can’t lose a drop, baby, please, he let out a whimper that made your walls pulse again. You felt him fill you to the brim and keep rutting his hips. Your body and his were shaking by the last of it.

And when he was finished, Joel dropped a kiss along your limp, glistening lips. He slid you back on the metal. By the expression on his face, it was plain to see he was loath to withdraw, but he had to. That tender little hiss and the sounds of your shared fluids trickling out were all the impetus he needed to act quick. As soon as he’d pulled out, Joel was back leaning against the washing machine—tilting your hips back a little, then lowering his sweaty, handsome head to the spot between your legs.

The wrinkles to the sides of his eyes grew more pronounced when he smiled. A happy grin, plastered across his lips, would have struck you as almost smug, were it not for the look of sheer adulation that followed it.

Joel was enthralled, watching his cum leak out of you. He kissed your thighs, flickered his gaze to your own, briefly, then damn near sank his nose inside the place he was watching before your fingers stopped him cold.

It was your body, after all. He had already had his fill.

Hardly knowing what came over you in that moment, you sank two fingers inside your wet, drooling hole and watched the eyes of the man beneath you go wide. He soaked in that sight completely: you pushing his cum back in, drawing it out, using the viscous white liquid as a lubricant of sorts before releasing a pleased little sigh.

Joel closed his mouth reluctantly. It took him more than a second to tear his eyes from that place, but when he did, the motions were quick to grow assured, by turns.

As if remembering something.

In a second, the innocent smile you’d seen before was being infiltrated, slowly, by a look you couldn’t place. Joel’s grin morphed from gentle to contented to plainly enthused and beaming ear-to-ear with a conceited glint. With his finger, he tugged your panties back into place.

“Baby—” he started, only to be cut off lightning-quick.

“What? What is it?”

His smile stretched even wider. By that act alone, you were half-tempted to forget the events of the last hour and set your jaw in a scowl. You looked down, unamused.

“What?”

“It’s just…” The man trailed off, and as he did, his gaze descended with it—straight down to your bare pantyline.

You cast a look there too—“What the fuck is it, Joel?!”

At that, two brown eyes flitted back up to you.

“I thought I asked for neon pink underwear, baby.”

Your breaths slowed. His gaze didn’t waver. Your heart came to a standstill in your chest, and you were amazed you had even half your present willpower then to speak.

“Wait, Joel, wh—”

“Shame you couldn’t get around to filmin’ today. Had me hard as a fuckin’ rock with all that milk and honey stuff.”

You nearly choked on your spit. Joel kept grinning.

“You’re—”

The guy. That fucking subscriber. The one who’d paid almost $500 in commissions in the last month alone.

You stared at Joel with eyes as wide as saucers, and were about to press on, when you heard the front door to the house shriek back on its hinges. Two sets of footsteps followed it, and their entry inside was loud.

Immediately, Joel rose to his feet. It seemed that grin wasn’t meant to stay long on his lips, because the next thing you knew, he was dropping a kiss somewhere soft and sweaty on your face and flipping your skirt back into place, holding his index up to his lips and stepping away. Your mouth twisted into a frown but stayed zipped out of sheer necessity. Seeing this, and likely unable to help himself, your gross, depraved, grinning old man leaned back in and planted his hands on either side of your hips on the washing machine. His nose nudged into your own.

“Between us—” he began, slowly.

“Get fucked,” you finished for him.

Joel nodded his assent, smirk faint. He cast a look over his shoulder, and, hearing what sounded like your mother’s footsteps drawing closer, lowered his voice.

Rubbing his thumb under your chin, making you tip your head back to meet his for one final look—then a kiss:

“You keep my secret, I keep yours, alright?”

—

Note: I’ve never done a real writing challenge before, but hopefully this fic will work for #hotdilfsummerchallenge !!! @hellishjoel this is such a fun ass idea & i hope you enjoy❣️

#‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING STEP BRO????’#BUT IT’S JOEL #AND HE’S VERY CONFUSED BUT ALSO VISIBLY ER*CT #don’t ask me to elaborate because i have no idea what i just wrote #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us #tlou #stepdad joel #hotdilfsummerchallenge

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strang3lov3 · 4 months ago

Text

Clean

Joel makes a mess on you, then keeps you in the bathtub until the water goes cold. (3k)

Tags - dark!joel, one shot, smut, fingering, come shot, manspreading, masturbation, overstimulation, forced orgasms, dubconnnnnn, daddy kink, innocence kink, inexperienced reader, biiiig girthy yet unspecified age gap, weird feelings and some good ol' fashioned shame, hitting, Joel is fatherly in a hot and disgusting way, calls himself 'your old man', gratuitous use of the nickname 'kiddo'. Say the affirmation with me: The ickier it is, the harder I nut.#bushnation, MORE DEPECHE MODE REFERENCES. TRY AND STOP ME. Like car sex, I write bathtub sex uniquely in that I’m not bound by bullshit ass physics or logic so yes, both people fit in the tub and everything is fine. Reader is bathed by Joel, her hair is washed and finger-combed by him too, but length and texture are not described. This was a decroded fic for me to make i can't lie Fic help - @endlessthxxghts, thank you for always seeing my disgusting visions and giving me your eyeballs A/N - thank you for all the birthday wishes, dear friends in my phone! I celebrated with you all last year when I was writing Mall Rats and it’s special that a lot of you are still with me today, but some I have new friends too ❤️ I love you. Having readers like you in my corner all this time has been beyond special and so rewarding and I hope you know I mean it when I say that I love you.

You’re washing the dishes tonight, your least favorite of the chores Joel makes you do. You prefer doing laundry or plucking the weeds with him, because he lets you collect flowers and put them in vases. He even taught you how to press them between heavy books, and how to frame them nicely.

Joel calls your name from upstairs. You quickly wash and dry your hands, then scurry up the steps. His door is closed almost all of the way, just a small sliver of light peeks from his room into the dark hallway. “Joel?”

“In here, sweetheart. Need ya for somethin’.”

You push open the door the rest of the way, and Joel’s naked and sitting upright on the edge of his bed, cock in hand with his bare thighs spread wide. He’s grunting as he squeezes the base, the tip all flushed and swollen. “C’mere. Switch me spots.”

You don’t yet obey his order. You’ve seen Joel’s cock before, seen him masturbate before, too. Despite that, it still makes you feel nervous to see him and be with him like this. It gives you that icky feeling in your gut and makes you breathe funny.

“C’mon. You know it ain’t gonna bite ya, kiddo.” Joel stands up and pats the spot on the bed. “Sit,” he says, his tone sharper than before. “Need somethin’ pretty to come on.”

Joel doesn’t like repeating himself. You won’t make him ask a third time.

You sit on the bed, the covers warmed and slightly damp by Joel’s body heat don’t comfort you. He stands in front of you, rock-hard cock bouncing in his loose grip. “Why don’t you give me a hand this time,” he says, reaching for your wrist. He pulls it up to waist level, then wraps your palm around his member, closing your fingers tightly. “Ohhh, fuck,” Joel groans from deep in his chest. Loudly, he breathes in and out through his nose as he twists your hand up and down his shaft. “Jus’ like this. That’s a good girl.”

His cock feels heavy in your palm. You think about the things you like about it - the warmth, all of his veins and ridges, how smooth and soft the head is. But it’s a little sticky, too, which is nice to you.

“Alright, alright. S’enough,” Joel says, pulling your hand away. “Lift up your shirt.”

You lift your shirt, pushing it up your torso until it’s bunched just beneath your breasts. “Nuh-uh. Like this,” Joel murmurs, pushing the garment up above your chest, exposing yourself entirely to him. He rubs his thumb in circles over both of your nipples so that they pebble under his touch, then gropes and squeezes your flesh. “Lie back,” Joel says, pushing you down on the bed. “Attagirl.”

You watch as Joel pumps his cock above you, the end of his fist slapping against his softened belly repeatedly. He breathes heavily, and his dark eyes are wild like an animal as his gaze is fixed on your naked form. Joel breathes quicker as he approaches his release, grunting a slew of swears he doesn’t allow you to say. “Fuck, goddamn. Oh, goddamn,” he hisses as ropes of his hot come spurt onto your body. He covers you like a canvas; his favorite painting, and for his eyes only.

Joel collects a bit of his spend up with his first two fingers. “Give it a taste,” he says. “Want you to try it.”

You open your mouth, and Joel pushes his calloused digits inside, painting your tongue with his come. “Suck,” he says, and you do. You furrow your brows at the salty, bitter flavor, how it tastes dissimilar from its scent. “Don’t like it?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think so.”

Joel chuckles, cupping your jaw and rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone. “S’okay. Y’don’t have to.” Joel yawns then, patting your cheek gently with his weathered hand. “C’mon, kiddo. Bath time. Daddy made a mess a’ ya, didn’t he?”

Joel walks you to the bathroom with him, holding your hand the whole time. He puts the little rubber stopper in the drain of the bathtub, then turns the water on. “Warmer, pl-”

“Don’t need a reminder, sweetheart. Know you like it hot. Daddy won’t let you freeze.”

“And bubbles.”

“I know, baby girl. I won’t forget your bubbles.”

As the bathtub fills, Joel opens the oak cabinet under the sink and pulls out the old bottle of bubble bath, the one he’s been refilling just for you. He pours a capful under the water, bubbles immediately building. It smells mostly of nothing, but a bit of that original bubblegum scent remains. Your image reflected in the mirror begins to blur as steam fills the bathroom, and when the tub is full, Joel shuts off the water. He helps you undress and then gets in the tub first, carefully lowering himself until he’s sat with his back against the wall. “Jesus, s’hot. Gonna turn us both into soup,” Joel laughs. You smile shyly.

He spreads his legs, then outstretches his arm to you. “C’mon. Hop in.” You take Joel’s hand, squeezing it while wobbling a little on your one foot as you step into the bath. “I gotcha, kiddo,” he says.

The water is warm on your feet, nearly burning you but you enjoy the tingle. Joel helps you down, lowering you until you’re submerged in the water, your back against his warm chest, his thick package pressing against your ass.

Joel fills an old, plastic measuring cup with the soapy bath water and brings a hand to your chin, tilting your head back so he can rinse your hair. The hot water feels soothing on your scalp, and Joel repeats the action until your hair is soaked all the way through and dripping down your back.

You giggle at the noise the bottle of shampoo makes when Joel squirts a bit into his hand. He lathers it between his palms, then scrubs your scalp. “Eyes closed, kiddo. Don’t wanna hurt ya,” he whispers.

Your eyes flutter shut as Joel works the soap into your hair, scrubbing your scalp all over. He alternates between scratching you gently with his dull nails, to massaging you with the tips of his fingers. He uses his thumbs to rub the base of your skull in circles, the other four fingers of each hand drawing lines up and down and all over. Once Joel’s built a thick lather, he uses the same plastic cup to rinse out the shampoo.

He conditions your hair next, working the cream into the strands. He uses his fingers to loosely detangle, “Ow, daddy,” you complain as he tugs on a knot.

“I know, I know. M’sorry, baby girl.” Joel presses a kiss to your forehead. “Was an’ accident. M’tryin’ to be gentle.” He rinses out the conditioner next, “Grab me that bar of soap, will ya?” he asks.

“Mhm.” You lean forward and reach for the orangish, rectangular bar of soap in front of you on the shower niche, then grab it and hold it over your shoulder.

Joel takes the soap, “Thank ya kindly, darlin’.” He dips it in the soapy bathwater before lathering it between his palms that are already beginning to prune. Gently, he pushes you forward to scrub your back and your neck, then pulls you right back into himself. “Gimme an arm,” he says, a slight rasp in his voice. You raise your arm for him and he washes you with the lather, “An’ the other,” Joel adds, now washing your other arm, massaging you with his strong hands. “Here-” Joel taps your shoulder with the soap. “Your daddy’s gettin’ old,” he grumbles. “Can’t bend like he used to. Wash your legs f’me, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” you murmur, taking the soap back from him. You lather the soap just like Joel did, then wash your legs one at a time, bending them at the knees. When done, Joel reaches over you to take the soap back. He pulls you back against his soft middle and puts his soapy hands on your torso, sliding them up and down your skin, washing off his now dried spend. He groans quietly as he washes your breasts, kneading the flesh there and circling your nipples with his slippery fingers. You feel his cock twitch against you.

Joel washes down, down your stomach. “Spread ‘em,” he says, and you part your legs wider. Your stomach jumps when his hands rub past your pubic hair and he washes your folds, that soft, private place between your thighs. You whimper when his thumb catches your clit.

“That feel nice, kiddo?”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you search for an answer.

“I-”

“You can tell your old man. I know it does,” Joel coos, rubbing his thumb left and right over your clit. You lean your head back and turn your head to the side, burying yourself in his bicep as you whine. “You don’t take much at all, do ya, sweetheart?”

Joel’s made you come before. It’s one of the first things he did when he brought you home, actually. But you amaze him every time, how quickly and easily you fall apart on his fingertips. He thinks about tasting you, how sweet you are on his tongue. Or his cock, down your throat or between your thighs and splitting you in two. God, you’ve had so much to learn, and Joel’s gotten to walk you through it all. His favorite innocence.

Joel adjusts you both so that you’re sitting more upright and he can reach around you with both hands. “Rest on me,” he says, pressing the side of your head against his so that his scruff is tickling you, but not scratching you. It’s too long for that.

Joel peers over your shoulder to watch what he’s doing, and to watch how you react. Your soft tummy rising and falling with big breaths, thighs twitching. Joel circles your clit with his middle and ring fingers, patiently working you up. “How’s that feelin’?” he asks, “Can you tell daddy?”

“Mm,” you hum, “Yeah…”

Joel chuckles, dragging the tip of his aquiline nose along the side of your face. “Use your words, baby girl,” he instructs. “Good girls use their words, hm?”

“Feels g- feels good,” you whimper, voice breaking as Joel works you. He rubs your clit faster now, and you’re rocking against his palm, splashing the water a little.

Joel brings his other hand to your core and lines two fingers up with your entrance, slowly pushing in while he massages your clit. You wince in pain, squeezing his bicep as he pushes them in further.

Joel hums in sympathy. Being in the bath means you’re not a slick, slippery mess like usual. “Know it hurts, kiddo, but you gotta get used to it.” Joel’s fingers are all the way inside you now, and he pulls them back out. “You’ll get used to it,” he drawls, now pumping those fingers in and out of you, slowly. “You’re bein’ so brave for me, baby girl.”

The ache of Joel’s fingers stretching you out dissipates eventually, and he changes the action - instead of drawing his fingers in and out of your cunt, he curls them repeatedly inside of you - Joel knows you love when he does this to you.

You moan freely, relishing in the pleasure. Joel’s right, he’s always right. You’re used to him now, and he feels so good. Swirling his fingers around your clit, stroking that sweet spot inside you with the other hand - it takes no more than five minutes until your breathing turns ragged and you feel that hot, sticky feeling in your gut, the one that feels both bad and good all at the same time.

“Ask for it,” Joel mumbles, reminding you of your manners as he senses how close you are. “Be polite.”

“Please,” you say, “Can I come?”

“‘Course you can, sweetheart. Of course.”

The orgasm washes over you quickly. You come with a symphony of breathy moans, saccharine in nature. Joel’s never heard anything like it, and he’s grateful he has enough of his hearing left to be able to.

With his weathered, wrinkled fingers, Joel fucks you through your climax until the last of it courses through you. You come down, but Joel doesn’t stop touching you.

Maybe he thinks it’s not yet over. Joel keeps doing those same tight circles on your clit, and you start to squirm. “Joel–” you wrap your hands around his forearm and attempt to move him, but his strength is far too great for your efforts to mean anything at all.

“Sit still. You’re givin’ me another one.”

Joel keeps your back pinned tightly against his hairy chest, your legs spread wide with his hand in between them, patiently swirling his middle and ring fingers around your swollen and over-sensitive clit. Your hips are starting to ache and the sensation of Joel pleasuring you has turned uncomfortable, downright painful.

“I wanna be done, Joel. I can’t do another one,” you whimper, voice shaking as tears well up in your eyes. There’s nowhere to run, and you know you just have to take it. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he whispers soothingly, his ministrations on your pussy unfaltering. Joel’s holding you back. You’re not supposed to tell him no. “Know you can.”

His words serve more to frustrate you than encourage you. “I. Can’t,” you huff as you try to pull away from him and close your legs shut in the now lukewarm and soapy water, but Joel keeps you in position in his vice grip.

“Knock it off,” he growls. Joel has to hide his amusement. You’re quick to anger, just like he is. Just like your daddy. “Jus’ relax.”

You’re close, and whether you realize it or not, Joel does. Your twitching legs, the way you’re breathing. Release is right around the corner if you’d just calm yourself down. Poor thing. You always did struggle with regulating yourself.

“Get - I told you-“ you interrupt yourself to groan, “You’re not listening to me, daddy. I said I c-can’t fucking—” you don’t finish the sentence and instead seethe in frustration, jerking and splashing bath water onto the floor. “F-”

Joel slaps your cheek, hard. “Easy,” he scolds, “I didn’t raise you to speak to me like that.” Joel his nose against the side of your head and bites your ear, the way a dog does with a pup. A warning. “An’ I don’t have to listen to you. You listen to me,” he adds. “Adjust the fuckin’ attitude and try it again before you piss me off.”

Your voice cracks as you whimper Joel’s name, a sob then escaping your chest. Your cheek stings and tingles, like you never stopped feeling the impact of Joel’s hand meeting your skin.

“Don’t start cryin’, just breathe. Breathe. Go slow,” Joel instructs, pleased when you inhale steadily. On your exhale, Joel whispers, “You need me to talk you through it?”

You nod against him, sniffling. “Then I’ll talk you through it. Focus on my voice, focus right here, kiddo,” he tells you. “Relax, just a minute. Calm yourself.”

You rest against Joel, and he pauses his ministrations on your clit. “I can’t do it again, Joel,” you plead. “I don’t think I can.”

“I know what you think. It don’t matter, ‘cause it ain’t up to you, sweetheart. We’re tryin’ it again.”

Joel restarts, circling and massaging your clit with that same pressure from before. And just like before, it’s uncomfortable. It hurts, and you don’t like it.

“Lean into it, sweetheart. Let it ride.”

Frustrated, you shake your head. “Daddy–”

“You need to let it happen. Got all night, sweetheart. Water’s gettin’ cold.”

“Joel.” Your voice cracks.

Joel ignores you. He pumps his fingers, focusing specifically on your g-spot as he knows how sensitive you are there. Your protests begin to quiet, replaced by soft noises of pleasure. “There it is,” Joel purrs. “Make those pretty noises for me. You’re doin’ good.”

Pleasure begins to build, just like Joel said it would. It almost makes you mad, mad that he’s right. Always right. Mad that Joel knows your body like the back of his hand, better than you do. The stubborn part of you wants to stave off release, but a bigger part of you doesn’t wanna fight Joel on this. You don’t like to fight with him anyway. You always lose. So, you allow yourself to bask in the pleasure Joel knew you’d feel.

“You gonna come one more time? You gonna come on daddy’s fingers?”

“Yeah,” you nod. Your eyes squeeze shut as the feeling builds, almost exponentially. Your gasps and moans halt and there it is - Joel’s pulled another orgasm from your body. More powerful than before, the feeling washes over you like the tide, waves of warmth and electricity flowing over your body with each movement of Joel’s fingers. “Yeah, attagirl,” he breathes. “Manners, sweetheart. What do you say?”

“Thank you,” you whisper, out of breath.

Joel rinses you with the water as you come down from your second orgasm of the evening. He taps you twice on the hip, “Up,” he says, and you stand up on shaky legs.

Joel reaches for an old, floral-patterned towel and dries himself off first, then wraps it around his waist, thick belly bulging over the edge of the fabric. He grabs another towel for you next, drying your legs and arms one at a time before wrapping the towel snugly around your shoulders.

“You finish those dishes?” Joel asks, pulling the drain stopper out of the tub.

“Not all of them,” you answer. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t you worry ‘bout it. I’ll do the rest, hm?”

You wear a small smile, “Okay.”

“An’ I was thinkin’ that I could make us popcorn, like you like. Put on a movie. One of those girly ones I picked out for you, huh?”

Your smile grows. “Yeah,” you answer.

Joel smiles too. “Good. Let’s get you dressed, then.”

thank you for reading! please consider engaging by reblogging, hopping in my inbox, and/or commenting. your words go so far in keeping me motivated to write ♡

More dark!joel

#joel miller x reader #Joel miller smut #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller/reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #Joel miller #joel the last of us #dark!joel miller x reader #dark!joel miller #dark!joel #pedro pascal characters

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pixie-felix · 2 months ago

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a/n: this fic has nothing to do with food.

why yes I did make these GIFs especially for this fic thank you for noticing

Something to read while we're waiting for the results of the no thoughts/hard thoughts poll. If you want a soundtrack, Hey Daddy (Daddy's Home) by Usher fits pretty well (no daddy kink in the fic though).

word count: 1.4k

Smut under the cut, minors dni.

comfort eating.

You’d been staring at this damn code for so long you might’ve burned it into your eyeballs. Somewhere, in the distance, you’re vaguely aware of the apartment door opening and closing, and someone calling out that they're home.

But by now you’re so obsessed with trying to find whatever formatting fuck up you made, that even the metallic jingle of keys falling into the “let’s-not-lose-this-shit” bowl doesn’t bring you back into the real world.

It’s not until your laptop physically moves out of your hands that you realise. Chan is home.

Sitting on his heels in front of you, he gently picks the computer up off your lap, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding. One workaholic recognises another.

“Is everything backed up?” He too knows the pain of a well meaning friend trying to help by tidying up, and accidentally erasing hours of hard work.

“Cloud and hard drive. And external hard drive. Possibly tattooed on my retinas also." He nods and carefully sets it on the side table, snorting quietly when you get to the part about your eyeballs. The little crease between his brows remains though.

“You told me you were going to take today off…”

You'd only meant to do a few lines of code, just to check for errors and maybe add a function or two. And yet here you are, sitting in the exact same spot from this morning, neck and shoulders aching from being hunched over your laptop for…

7 hours.

Chan rests his chin on your knees, head tilted to the side as he looks up at you like a lost puppy.

“Baby…”

No. Wait. Puppies don't sound like that. Or look at you like that. Or rub soothing, promising circles with their thumbs on the bare skin of your calves.

You're suddenly very aware still in your pajamas. If you can call it that. Really it's just one of Chan's old t-shirts, the fabric worn soft, always smelling like him even though you slept in it- and not much else.

Yeah, Chan's definitely not giving you puppy eyes.

The wolf is here tonight.

And he wants to play. You can tell from the subtle smirk that quirks the corner of his mouth when you audibly swallow.

“How… how was work?”

“Long. Busy. Tiring.” He punctuates his sentences with slow kisses on your knees, the closed mouth kind that still manage to feel anything but chaste. “Jisung dyed his hair blue. Felix's is no longer blond. Hyunjin cut all his hair off. Someone said something about a kiwi fruit and now the stylists are all freaking out.”

His tone is light, almost absent minded, but his touch has progressed from soothing circles to something a little firmer, a little more… demanding. And as his hands slowly creep up your legs, you're fairly certain you know what he wants.

“Chan…”

“Yes, baby?” His lips stretch into something that could almost pass for an innocent smile, if it wasn't for the fact his fingers have worked their way up to the hem of his t-shirt, slowly teasing the fabric further up your legs.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Well…” his fingers sweep under the fabric, inching closer and closer to where arousal is bubbling in your belly, still carefully punctuating his words with kisses on your skin, “I figured, since we're both so... stressed…” his fingers finally brush against your panties and you shiver. “I could help you relax a little.”

“Wh-what a-about you?”

He’s tracing, teasing along the edges of your underwear, watching you bite your lip to keep your cool. He likes it when you try to stay quiet. It makes it so much more satisfying when you start crying his name like it's the only word you know.

And then the bastard licks up your thigh, tugging your panties down and saying the magic words:

“I thought I'd indulge in a little comfort eating.”

You didn't make it to the bedroom. You barely made it off the sofa. Instead, Chan just yanked you forward, laid back on the rug, and now you're riding his face in the middle of the living room. Making the kinds of noises you thought only existed in hardcore porn.

His arms are locked around your legs, holding you in place as he grinds you up and down on his tongue. Your hands are twisted into his hair, partly for balance, partly as an anchor… but mostly because when you tug on it Chan moans into your cunt and that feels so good.

He's already tongued you through one orgasm, licking you out like you are his favourite candy. He's so drunk on your pussy that he's murmuring the kind of filth that would usually make him blush -m’ baby tastes so GOOD, w’nna drown in thi’s pussy- though his words are almost completely obscured by the wet, sloppy sounds of him giving you the messiest head you've had in months.

It is amazing, and it's incredible, and Chan is clearly having the time of his life as another orgasm coils in your belly, ready to spring. But he's playing games with you now, teasing you with the gentlest flicks of his tongue, keeping that high juuuust out of reach.

Really, it's his fault that you can't help but yank his hair a little harder, grind down on his face harder, and then you're out of control, jerking your hips back and forth on his face until it hits.

And oh boy how it hits, gushing all over Chan's face, ripping all your dignity away as you buck your hips into his tongue, chasing the high rushing through you from your head to your toes.

You don't always squirt, but Chan loves it when you do.

His moans almost drown out yours, so loud he's practically shouting, definitely disturbing the neighbours with the string of enthusiastic cuss words and filth pouring off his tongue (that's right baby, cum on my face, fucking drown me in your cunt, jesus fucking christ-)

It takes you a minute to come back to yourself, Chan still desperately eating you out, working his tongue all over you like he's trying to lick you clean.

But the more he uses his tongue the wetter you get, the more your hips shake, and the closer you are to another orgasm.

One you're not sure you can handle.

You try to lift up a little, give him space to breathe, and your man straight up growls at you, yanking you back down on his face and sucking on you harsh enough to make you yelp. Reminding you who is in charge, he grazes your clit with just the gentlest scrape of his teeth...

And that orgasm you weren't ready for? Hits you like a railway train. You're aching and overstimulated and absolutely powerless to do anything other than thrash around and cry as Chan keeps sucking on your goddamned clit like the devil himself couldn't stop him.

You might've blacked out for a second. Or three.

It's only when you finally come to a gasping, shuddering stop that Chan finally gives you the two gentle taps on your ass that mean you can get off his face now (safewords aren't really an option when your mouth is full).

Except you're so worn out from relentless overstimulation that it's less of a dismount and more just you collapsing in a graceless heap, legs shaking and thighs aching from being held apart for so long.

Boneless and pliant, it's no effort at all for Chan to scoop you up into his arms and carry you princess style to your shared bedroom. You're barely awake as he tucks you into bed and crawls in beside you, nuzzling your hair as you curl up into his chest.

You've almost asleep when a Very Important Thought occurs

“Channie…”

“Yeah baby?”

“You didn't get to cum. Don't you need to cum? Y’wanna blowjob or sumthin’?”

Chan huffs a quiet laugh into your hair. You're so cute when your words are all sleep slurred.

“I already got what I wanted.”

You’re mumbling something about not playin' fair and don't w’nna be selfish, but you're practically unconscious anyway so he just kisses the top of your head and pulls you closer into his chest.

“You can make it up to me in the morning, if it bothers you so much.”

*It turns out that you will in fact, not be making it up to Chan in the morning. Because when he finds all the carpet burn on your knees, he has a minor breakdown and refuses to let you do anything all day.

Urgh, I feel like this is way, way too short, too rushed, and just generally had the potential to be so much better 😂😭 But I wanted to get it it out of my drafts before it gets lost in the poll fics. I wrote this on my phone, so it's probably riddled with spelling and formatting errors 😂 please forgive me. It's hard to write when the house is full and privacy is limited. Just 3 more days until the No Thoughts/Hard Thoughts closes 👀 thank you to everyone that's voted or shown interest, I hope my writing doesn't let you down.

p.s. I was gonna start this fic with the following GIF but not everyone wants a giggle with their word🍤 so that wouldn't have been very cash money of me.

m.list

hard thoughts poll

tagslist is open

#bang chan smut #bangchan smut #bang chan x you #bangchan x you #bang chan x fem!reader #bangchan x fem!reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader

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jellymochii · 15 days ago

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Stray Kids - Valentine's Day Headcanons

ᡣ𐭩 pairings: OT8 SKZ x fem!Reader

ᡣ𐭩 genre: fluff, smut

ᡣ𐭩 wc: 1.5k

ᡣ𐭩 cw: smut, dacryphilia, oral, mentions of bondage/d!ldos, dry humping, unprotected s3x (pls don't unless you want STD's for Valentine's Day)

↪author's note: hello! sorry I've been gone so long and not finished my NingNing fic, but to make it up to you I've whipped this up. happy Valentine's Day and hope you enjoy!

**THIS IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION AND DOES NOT REFLECT THE TRUE NATURE OF THE PEOPLE MENTIONED**

ᡣ𐭩Chan

His dad always taught him to be a classy man–and so he's gonna make sure you're well taken care of for such a special day.

He bought you that long red dress you've been eyeballing for a while and adorned you with shiny pearled jewelry. (And a giant bouquet of flowers)

He takes you to the most high end restaurant in the city (which took 6 months reservation in advance) with a staff member dressed all nice like a chauffeur.

Expensive steaks, lobster tail, or even chicken nuggets. Whatever you want, he'll get you.

Lots of food in your belly to prepare for…y'know, the baby he's about to put in you.

What, like he wasn't gonna fill you to the brim with cum after you looked this good for him?

It's almost as if he knew that you were planning on skipping your birth control that day in the hopes you'd finally get to be filled.

Oh and you're up for hours, he's not stopping until your poor cunt is leaking with all his babies, and he'll get a few more loads in just to make sure it stays put in your cervix.

“C'mon baby, you don't want anything leaking out d'ya? Right, now stay still and let daddy give you that baby you wanted~.”

There's nothing more romantic to both of you than being given a cute little symbol of your love in 9 months.

ᡣ𐭩Minho

The bad news is that he did not, infact, get the day off work. There's lots of love he has to send to STAY before he can get home to you.

The good news is that now that Idol Minho is off work, Chef Minho has arrived!

He always keeps your favorite dish in the back of his mind and he knows you've been begging him to make it these past few weeks, but he wanted to save it today to make it extra special.

You'll smell it from a mile away, but as soon as you walk in the dining table is lit with candles and a big flower centerpiece to top it off.

Looks at you with so much love as you absolutely devour your plate like a wild tiger.

Speaking of absolutely devouring

Normally you and Minho have a strict dom/sub relationship with him asserting and taking control.

But today he just wants to show you that despite all the harsh punishments he has to give you, you're still the love of his life.

And that includes devouring your cunt for hours.

“Mmmh, my precious little pussy. You're this wet just for me?”

ᡣ𐭩Changbin

CRUISE TIME BABYYYYY

No but fr he wasn't sure what to do and even asked Chaeryeong what kind of stuff girls like.

Eventually he settled on taking the week off and spending time with you by the seaside, providing both a relaxing and loving vacation.

You two get to explore some cute islands and eat feasts of chocolate alongside a paradise of other loving couples.

And sometimes you'll spend alone time too! He'll work out at the cruise gym while you relax by the poolside soaking up the island sun.

Oh and it's a good thing it's a honeymoon cruise (even if you two aren't married)

God bless whoever decided to make all the rooms on the ship soundproof because you're definitely gonna need it while he's rearranging your guts.

But let's be honest, the whole ship can still hear your strangled moans and the plap plap plap sounds coming from your room.

“Anngh, yeobo, you're so tight, I love this pussy.”

At least you can tell your kids they were created by the sea.

ᡣ𐭩Hyunjin

You can expect nothing but the sweetest from your lover boy.

He had Versace create a giant bouquet of your favorite flowers in a beautiful signature gold wrap.

His first thought on a date was doing the painting swap challenge from tiktok and seeing what the two of you could create.

There's paint on both of your noses by the end and kkami with an accidental blue spot on his fur from the crossfire of your paint war.

He tried to salvage your original drawing to no avail, but he still insists that he thinks it's perfect because it came from you.

His next surprise was a custom mold of his cock for you to play with whenever he was away on tour, but he insists on trying it on you first for “Quality Assurance” as he calls it.

It feels almost exactly like the real thing and reaches into your favorite spots exactly like his.

With his new ability to use the dildo AND his mouth simultaneously, you cum so many times that you're brain dead.

“You're so gorgeous, my angel. You look so pretty cumming on my cock–God, I love you so much.”

And he may have snapped a few photos of you like this to help him when he's not there next to you.

ᡣ𐭩Han

Have you ever dreamed of having a whole mixtape/album come out all about you?

Cause Jisung's got you covered

He'll have a whole listening party with some of his friends as you sit there trying not to cry from how sweet he is.

You can't stop kissing him and adoring him the rest of the night, it's like your wildest dreams have come true.

How could you not reward such a good boy?

Oh you both are getting the NASTIEST sex tonight.

Dildos, cuffs, chains–every toy gets brought in out of desperation.

You're both just so desperate to fuck eachother before you even leave that he's pressed up against you on the subway humping your ass like a dog.

“Mmmph, please! I-I need more!.”

You're in for a long night of multiple orgasms from both of you.

ᡣ𐭩Felix

You've been eyeballing the amusement park 2 towns over for a while now, and what better time to take you than now?

The illuminating fair lights turned pink for the special day makes you both giddy.

The first stop is obviously the Rollercoaster, you're having the time of your life while Felix is fighting off demons trying not to pass out.

Then you'll get to go on the new pink ferris wheel and give your lover a kiss at the top.

Alongside buying you all the fair food you can eat, he spots a pair of gold rings from a vendor that he just HAS to buy you.

After coming back from buying them and watching you struggle on the shooting game for a giant teddy bear, he steps in and uses his gamer experience to win it for you!

And he's gonna make you hump it for him as soon as you get home.

Don't worry, he'll fuck you eventually, but watching you desperately get off on the fluffy fabric while staring at him with teary puppy eyes makes his dick throb.

“Fuck you look so sexy like that. Keep going so I can cum on your pretty face, mkay?”

ᡣ𐭩Seungmin

Since your first date was at the vintage arcade down the street, he decided to bring you right back to where it all started.

Life's been a total dream since you two started dating, but you're reminded in times like these why he's such a tease.

He'll never let you forget how much better he is at video games than you are, especially Guitar Hero and the OG Sonic.

You're also getting your ass whooped at Dance Dance Revolution too.

He'll let you win at 1 or 2 games though just so you don't pout at him later.

You know what his favorite game is though?

Edging you, duh.

You swear you have no idea where he learned to use his fingers so skillfully. He's throat deep in your pussy while his fingers twist your nipples to perfection.

“Why are you squirming away? I thought you loved it when I broke you down jagi.”

And you do, there's no better gift you could've gotten today than being nothing more than a brain dead fuckdoll for your sweet boyfriend.

ᡣ𐭩Jeongin

You guys are still fairly new to your relationship and it's your first Valentine's Day.

So he wants to make it as perfect as possible. He asks Chris and the rest of the boys what kind of stuff he should do for you and tries to pack it all together in one night.

Unfortunately for him the place he wanted to take you caught on fire, the flowers got delivered to the wrong address, and the ring he ordered you was smaller than what he wanted.

The poor boy can't even look you in the eye as he’s telling you all of this, but you reassure him that none of the material stuff matters–as long as he’s by your side.

The two of you settle for takeout and a movie at your place with lots of cuddles and kisses.

There was still a chance for him to have one thing he planned go his way though.

While the two of you have dealt in the occasional oral/fingering, he wanted to overcome his fear of intimacy and actually have sex with you.

Thankfully all his wildest dreams came true the moment he slipped into you and was immediately sent straight into Heaven.

“F-fuuuuck, you’re everything–so beautiful, perfect and tight.”

Even if Valentine's Day didn't go the way he originally wanted, he wouldn't ask for anything else–bring inside of you and feeling your love was all he needed.

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selineram3421 · 1 year ago

Text

*friend comes up with something*

Royally Pissed

Part 1

Prologue

Alastor X Morningstar Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ Italics=thoughts, implied/suggestive *cough* bedroom name ⚠

In all honesty, Alastor didn't know why he did it but it just happened.

He pulled the small blonde out of the way, holding them close to his chest as a large dust cloud came from the now broken chandelier.

Mostly everyone in the room coughed as they tried to clear the dust from themselves.

"Are you hurt?", he asked them, noticing that the top of their head barely reached his chin.

How small.

"I'm fine.", they turned away to cough. "That was a lot of dust.."

Before he could ask for their name again, they were suddenly pulled away by none other than the King, Lucifer.

"ALRIGHT THEN!", he said before pulling them towards Charlie.

Haha!

The blonde slid over to his daughter, bringing along his other child as he began.

Looks like you could use some help

From the big boss of Hell himself

He held Charlie close before pushing her to see him sitting on a throne with fire rising behind it.

Check out daddy's glowing reviews on Yelp

He sang, scrolling on his hellphone to show her the reviews.

(Five star! Flawless! Greater than great!)

Three puppets said one after the other.

Oh, with the punch of a pentagram

A wap-bam-boom! Alakazam!

Alastor rolled his eyes as he watched on, but then he was suddenly pouring wine into a glass.

Who needs a busboy, now that you've got the chef?

The deer demon was pulled by the waist and landed in a pan, ears folded back as he angrily smiled at the King who grinned evily before he was flipped onto his front.

(Wow~)

I'm going to kill him.. Alastor thought before lifting himself up.

You were pulled into song and at the moment, were now sitting at a dinner table with your sister as your father was dressed like a server, hand about to reveal a meal.

Michelin-tasting menu

He lifted up the silver cloche, revealing a a "decapitated" Alastor, then some tentacles with red eyeballs, and finally a cake with him holding Alastor's head.

Free à la catre!

Oook.. You cringed. Dad doesn't like Alastor.

I'll rig the game for you because I'm the ref!

He started focusing more on Charlie and started to make more things appear.

Champagne fountains, caviar mountains, that's just the start~!

And then Alastor jumped in with blacklight, his backgrounds looking vibrant.

Who's been here since day one?

The deer demon pushed your father away, making him spin out of song.

Who's been faithful as a nun?

He was suddenly dressed as a nun, holding his hands in a praying position.

Much like how your father changed his scenes quickly, so did Alastor. You were having some trouble keeping up with it. His appearance looking slightly different with the lighting, his irises now green.

I'm truly honored that we've built such a bond

"Aw.", Charlie smiled.

He was now at the top of the stairs with your sister.

You're like the child that I wish that had

Alastor cupped your sister's face,

"Uh, what?", your dad said shocked.

Then your sister was like a child tucked in bed, literally. Alastor sitting at the edge and patting her head.

I care for you, just like a daughter I spawned

"Hold on now!", your father lifted up a finger.

The deer demon suddenly leaned his elbow on top of your dad's head, smooshing the white top hat.

It's a little funny

He started and pulled your sister to face away from your father.

You could almost call me Dad!

Suddenly you pulled into the song and were spun into a dip, finding Alastor smiling down at you with a seductive gaze.

(You can call me Daddy~), he whisper sang to you.

Your face turned bright red as you let out a squeak.

How adorable~ His smile widened as he saw them hide their blushing red face with their hands.

Now this one was on purpose.

After seeing the immediate reaction Lucifer had with him touching them. Oh, he had to cross multiple lines to see what the man would do next.

They were practically shaking in his hands, no doubt a little overwhelmed with what he had just sang just for their ears alone.

Let's see if I can fluster them more. He thought and raised a hand towards their face.

Suddenly they were ripped out of his hold and it was just the two men on stage.

The King growled, face darkening before he began to angrily play a fiddle, walking up to him with a scowl.

Alastor just smiled, standing up straight with his hands behind his back. Taking a step back as he dropped a piano on the short King before taking a seat on the piano bench, playing it confidently and showing off his skills before cringing at a loud sound.

His piano solo interrupted by an accordion.

Looking behind him, he saw Lusifer holding the instrument above his head with a frown, playing just one long note.

Really? He thought with a raised brow.

The two glared at each other before the spotlights above the two flickered out.

*me and my friend holding back our laughter* We can't laugh! It's 2 am!

~Seline, the person.

Part 2

Taglist@

@ducky-died-inside @scary-noodlesblog @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @lbcreations-blog @gallantys @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @valenfawkes @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @+?

Taglist continued in the comments🔪

ML II for Alastor🎙 | RP ChL 👑

#Morningstar Reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #x reader #the radio demon #gn reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #charlotte morningstar #charlie morningstar #lucifer morningstar #reader looks like lilith #short reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin fanfic #Spotify

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raz-writes-the-thing · 6 months ago

Text

A Rather Short and Sharp Descent (Beetlejuice One-Shot)

Betelgeuse x AFAB!GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: When you'd struck a deal with the demonic ghost, you'd not expected to fall for him. Perhaps less so, you hadn't expected to be tumbling quite down this path...

Fic Type: Smut (dumbification, daddy kink, slight degradation tw)

Everything Tag List: @winchxters @calliopesdiary

Betelgeuse Tag List: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Had it been two hours or three? More? You can't remember- you can't even remember what time of the day it is. You can remember the magically altered sets of fingers and tongues that have thoroughly fucked you from the inside out, though.

It's not like he'd let you forget that, anyway.

“Aww, lookit that, dollface. Nothin’ in there, huh? Good. That’s the way ol’ Beej likes it. Doin’ a good job, babe.”

You tried to respond, but it just came out as a garbled moan.

"Yeah, that's it. Just a little fuckinnn mess for me, aintcha?"

Your brows pinched, mouth dropping open as his fingers felt like they pulsed inside you. They probably did, knowing him. Beej laughed above you, eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. Oh, he was going to make you work for it.

"B-Beej," you drooled, and he pouted at you mockingly in response.

"Look atcha, tryin' to make sentences and everything. It'd be cute if it weren't so pathetic, huh?" Another second and his free hand swatted at your ass, the sting biting- not that you didn't love the pain. "Beej, Beej, Beej, huh? Yeah, you fuckin' love me an' my thick fuckin' cock, babe."

And you did. You couldn't wait for him to fuck you with it. That ache begging for him inside you was starting to make you antsy. Sure you had his physically altered fingers buried inside you, but it wasn’t the same. God, it would never be the same as having him leer over you, cock twitching from the inside.

Truth be told, you weren’t even sure how you’d managed to get yourself into this situation in the first place. You’d found a flyer that had quite literally blown into your face on the street one day and said the name three times with such disbelief that you had all but died of a heart attack when the being belonging to said name appeared so suddenly and with a ridiculous amount of theatrics.

Then it was on to the business of making deals, of course. Betelgeuse had let you know in his round-a-bout way that he’d noticed you had a pesky little problem that needed fixing and he was more than happy to do the job. There was, of course, just the matter of payment, though. Sure, he could scare the absolute fuck out of your roommate until they fucked off into the sunset but not without payment. Nothing much, not your soul or anything. No, what Betelgeuse wanted from you was, of all things… a kiss.

Naturally, you’d been suspicious that planting one (with tongue, as he had insisted) onto a demonic ghost with a penchant for absolute chaos wouldn’t come with any other side effects, such as selling your soul over or something. But a kiss? Just one kiss? Surely that wouldn’t be too bad.

As it turns out, it didn’t have any side effects that you were expecting. Instead, it led you down a path with a rather short and sharp descent into the circles of Hell. Sin, specifically. Either way, it was a short path with many tongues, fingers and cocks to ease your way down.

You didn’t even realise how fast you fell for him. Nor he for you, most likely. But soon enough he was around often enough that you couldn’t call it a fling any more. This was something different. You’d caught him sizing your ring finger the other night, actually. Eyeballing it, mostly, but you could tell what that eye meant.

“‘Ey, babe- you in there? Or are y’too fucked dumb to respond anymore, huh?”

You groaned, thoughts hazing in and out a little, though they were brought sharply into focus as he withdrew his fingers and stuck his rather long tongue out to lick them clean.

Seeing your hungry gaze, he offered them to you next—an offering you took up without an ounce of hesitation. Fuck, you tasted good.

Those very same fingers slid from your mouth and down around your throat, brushing against the thrum of your pulse beneath your soft, thin skin. It would take almost nothing for him to kill you. But he wouldn’t. He was too fond of you- his favourite Flesh Bag as he called you.

His eyes glinted above you, drinking in the sight of your spit-slick lips, red and swollen. Your throat pressed against his fingers, warmer than you’d expect for a dead man. Slowly, softly, he pushed you down onto your back, legs bent and spread wide for him to slot his hips between.

Finally, finally, you were going to get what you needed.

“Uh-uh, my precious little dummy, not yet. You think you deserve this cock? D’you really? Think hard on it now, hard as I know that is for your empty little brain.”

“Y-yes,” you replied almost instantly, trying to roll your hips against him- trying to goad him into fucking you dumb just the way you like. Well. Dumber.

“‘Y-yes’ what, babe?”

Risking a glance at his expression, your mouth practically watered at the carnal look there. Dark, hungry. He wanted this just as much as you did. Needed it, even, perhaps.

“Yes, daddy.”

“That’s it. That’s fuckin’ it, babe. Fuckin daddy-o, that’s me.”

You rolled your eyes, starting to come out of the haze a little now despite the slap of his cock against your clit. He was doing it to tease you, the fucker.

“Beej, if you don’t hurry up and fuck me, I might go genuinely insane.”

“Ladies and gents,” Betelgeuse snorted, talking to an invisible audience. “Can’t keep ‘em off me, eh? Desperate little thing. Cute though.”

But despite the pleasure he usually got from torturing you from hours on end (you think as if he hadn’t just spent the last two to three hours fingerfucking you to oblivion), he gave in, softly rolling his hips against you- sinking inside so slowly you almost felt like yelling at him to just hurry up.

“Ohh, fuck me,” you moaned, head dropping back against the pillows as he finally sunk completely inside you. The thing about Beej was that he was always able to alter any of his shapes to be exactly what you needed when you needed it. And today, he knew you wanted someone on the larger side. Not that you wouldn’t be happy with average, either, but sometimes there was just a need for something a little more specific. Beej knew that, too.

“Alright, alright,” he huffed amusedly, punctuating the sentence with one of his very unique laughs. “Shut up for me a sec, babe,” he said, placing a hand over your mouth as he pulled back and slammed back against you. “Yeah, that’s it.”

He set a punishing pace, eyes rolling quite literally into the back of his head with pleasure. While the object of torture had been you over the last few hours, there was some element of torture for him, too, not being able to sink balls deep into your tight little cunt and fuck you until he was sated. But not anymore.

Slowly as he fucked you, his hand slipped from your mouth, allowing your pretty moans to escape into the heated air. Betelgeuse moaned, running his hand down your throat and down your side to grip at your hip. His fingers squeezed harshly into the soft muscle there, and you tilted your hips as best as you could to rock back against him.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Betelgeuse groaned, leaning down to shower sharp bites down your neck and shoulders. He always had been a biter. There was something about the contrast of the blood coming to the surface under the skin, the way those indents slowly softened into pretty bruises spreading across your skin like a grim meadow that drove him insane. “Not gonna last long, babe.”

That was okay with you, you weren’t going to last long either. You hadn’t realised how fast you were approaching your orgasm- and the deadline skyrocketed closer as his hand disappeared between your legs where you were most sensitive.

“God, fuck, Beej- I, fuck, like that, please,” you cried out, reaching out to encircle your arms around his shoulders. You pulled him down and over you. From an outside perspective, you were absolutely sure that he would look like a violent predator about to rip apart his prey.

His hips fucked into you without mercy, fingers rubbing against your most sensitive area. Your mouth was open in a practically permanent ‘o’- something that Betelgeuse took full advantage of as his lips landed on yours. His tongue flicked at your lower lip and it was that in conjunction with the savage thrust of his hips and non-stop-just-right fingers that catapulted you right over that edge.

With a cry you weren’t sure actually made any sound or not, you felt your pleasure bubble over like a boiling pot on a stove, spilling over the edges and roiling up your spine. You could feel your orgasm all the way in your toes and even in your scalp, you realised distantly.

Oh, wait, no, that was Betelgeuse’s fingers knotted in your hair, pulling as he chased his own orgasm now, hips choppy yet brutal. Every thrust forced your orgasm out longer, tingles of pleasure shooting through your nerves even as you started to come down from it.

“Oh, oh, yeah, that’s it, babe. Fuckin little toy for daddy, aintcha- yeah,” he rambled with pleasure, eyes screwed tight as he finally, finally came-

You sagged into the bed as he slowly stopped thrusting, cock still inside you. With a grunt, he laid down on top of you, forcing a grunt out of you as he did so. Your hand raised lazily to rub at his back.

“Fuck, Beej,” you panted, eyes drifting closed as the glow started to overtake you. “You’re going to ruin me.”

Betelgeuse snorted playfully, already starting to recover. He had a freaky ability to be able to go, and go, and go- and then barely need rest afterwards. Perks of being dead, you supposed.

“What, like I ain’t already?”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that.

#beetlejuice x reader #Betelgeuse x reader #Betelgeuse x you #beetlejuice x you #beetlejuice fic #Betelgeuse fic #beetlejuice smut #betelgeuse smut

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arlekinommpa · 6 months ago

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Alicent is better than me bc if my son got ganged up on by 4 other kids (2 being his bullies), had his eye stabbed, had to have his eyeball removed with medieval medical tools and almost half of his face being stitched, had the mother of the kid who did that ask for my son to be questioned sharply(tortured) for stating facts that everyone knows but the only reason no one says it out loud is bc of her daddy, and my husband's solution is to hold hands and sing kumbaya? I'd take Lucerys' eye out with a spoon, cook it and feed it to his mother.

#aemond did nothing wrong #hotd #house of the dragon #team green #alicent hightower #aemond targaryen #fuck viserys

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pedge-page · 21 days ago

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Like a Stuffed Whore

Joel Miller x StuffedAnimal!Reader x unnamed stepdaughter

Summary: You're one of a million stuffed animals manufactured every year. What happens when you meet the love of your life...and he's Joel Miller?

Ya'll I mentioned it briefly once and here it is: a plushies fic from the perspective of a PLUSHIE who's got a massive crush on Joel Miller. Please note this is NOT the same couple as Plushies!Joel x Reader series. This is a standalone with stepdad Joel x unnamed stepdaughter , and is from her stuffed animal's POV.

Warnings: you are an inanimate stuffed animal. Stepdad x step!daughter (not reader), cheating, unrequited feelings, pisskink (whoops how'd that get in there?), plushie humping, delusional and one sided, dirty talk,

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Life as a stuffed bunny had no meaning. From the moment your eyeball was stitched on in the factory, to being shipped in a box with a thousand others, put on a shelf, and sat under the bleak florescent light of a department store for weeks, you had no thoughts. No desires. You were nothing.

That is, until he found you.

Plucked from the shelf was a rougher grip than you'd experienced in a while. He inspected you briefly before tossing you into the cart. You stared up at him, his broad shape and gruff look shadowing you as he scanned your tag and took you home.

But you weren't meant to be his. At least, not yet. And not that he knew yet either.

You were a gift: newly presented to his newly acclimated step daughter. Even you knew she was too old for stuffed animals, a grown adult by now and halfway out of college. But her childhood bedroom suggested otherwise. She shrugged, ungrateful, and chucked you to the soft, plush bed of pink and frilly pillows, and the dozen of other cuddly animals that would be your new roommates.

Joel Miller was his name. And you were infatuated with him from the day he first chose you.

He comes in to his step daughter's room, slinking like a prowler at night, and uses you when she's away. All the other plushies shrink away when they hear his burly steps approach the room, but you tingle all over with excitement. You only became more and more obsessed with each love making session.

He loves you. Loves the way you feel, more fluffier and more squishy then the rest. He always presses you to his nose. Your little cotton tail practically twitches in excitement to be held so naughtily, so intimately. It gives you goosebumps when that gorgeously endowed snout of his nudges so close to your crotch as he takes a big inhale of your scent.

What he's really smelling is his step daughters leftover pussy juices from the last time she used you for her masturbation, but you can stand to ignore that part in favor of him smelling just you and your own scent...

She's always so annoying with those high pitched squeals she makes. Chanting "Daddy Daddy Daddy!" into her pillow as she grinds her naked pussy on you, your body smashed under her weight against the mattress.

You'd practically lose your plump lush shape of perfection were it not for Joel. Joel, who comes in every night, always fluffing you back up to your rounded and naturally supple state with such care and delicacy. As if he knew you deserved that precious treatment from him. Knew you deserved better than how she treated you. Knew you were better than her.

The other plushies only wanted to be played with for cuddles and tea parties. But you were different. You wanted to be played with and uses like an adult, with wet pussies and hard cocks, spanked and chained like a slutty whore plushie you were meant to be.

The best was when he'd always crush you against that massive crotch of his. Fuck, a bunny could drool at the sheer size. You'd let him grind your face and misshapen you any day if you could spend forever pressed against that fat, drooling cock.

After the months of his teasing and affair with you, your body had started to tear slightly at the seam between your nubby legs. You know he'll hopefully soon notice. Maybe he'd been prepping you, not wanting to rush your affair so soon. He'd been undoubtedly considering engaging in more intimate time with you aside from his rough ministrations and dry humping. No, he was planning to deflower you.

Don't get me wrong, you loved when he grinds on you. Unlike your abusive girlie, Joel knows how to slowly rolls his hips so that you're under him. Suffocated by his masculine shape, damn near crushed, but in the best way possible as he rocks himself into you. He groans into her pillow carnally. It makes you dizzy when you feel his cock pulse against you, knowing that you're bringing him such unrestricted pleasure.

He doesn't have to hide your relationship anymore.

Sometimes he likes looking at you, laying in her bed with you all set up on his lap as he grinds his cock into your belly. You feel so exposed, so sexy for him to see you on top. He grits his teeth, his errection trying to tear you in half before blowing his massive load all over your tummy and face.

He tries to clean you up best he can, but you like that he does a sloppy job of it. He intentionally leaves some of his sticky mess behind in hopes his daughter might catch on.

You never thought she would. You wanted it to just be you and Joel against the world. That some day he'd rescue you from this shitty room. Take you to his own bed and make sweet love for everyone to know and see that you belong to Joel Miller. The only one for him.

So it shattered your heart when the two of them drunkenly stumble into her room--together-- glued to one another in a mess of hot kisses and tangled limbs undressing. They keep giggling loudly, putting their fingers to their mouths to whisper "shhh!"

They fall on top of the bed, sending your long forgotten and neglected sisters off the side like they're just common pillows. You can't tell If it's worse that you're still here, laid perfectly to watch him almost in slow motion descent on her mound voraciously, or if it'd be better that you can watch the whole thing take place like a dream. You want it to be you that he eats out. You that he kisses like a forbidden fruit. You that he betrays his vows and cheats on his wife for.

You're about to tumble off the bed in defeat when a soft hand grasps you and places you right between them.

"Remember Bunny?" he whispers with a wolfish grin. Your girlie nods, smiling widely.

"I've been fucking her, thinking about you," she admits with a not so innocent hushed voice.

Oh they know. They both knew what they did with you separately. They both used you to get this far, this close to one another.

And here you were between it all. Used. like a toy.

He wedges your plush body between their crotches, right above where they're joined in a wet display of cock and pussy. She whines as she rolls her hips, her clit smothered by you at the same time pressing against Joel's happy trail.

He grins above, taking her hips and grinding her down on him until they're both equally humping you.

"Daddy--I'm gonna cum--" she whines desperately.

"Me too, baby. Where do you want it?"

Oh god, this is it! He's going to toss her aside, bring you close, and give you all the hot man seed your little bunny tail could possibly desire, stuff you full until you're leaking his litter of baby rabbits and--

"I gotta do it inside you."

You...you...you.

It echoes in your big ears. You could almost taste it, the way his hips drive into hers, the desperation, the need.

"I love you," she chokes into his mouth. The final ruts of their passionate fucking coming to a high.

"Fuck--I love you too," he growls, greedily sucking her tongue into his mouth. It should be you, he should be saying it to you!

You feel cold, shunned and abandoned as they release in euphoria in one another's tight embrace.

When all is said and done, they fall asleep together. You lay on your side, watching his chest rise and fall with her next to him.

You wonder if either of them will ever play with you again, now that they've found one another.

Joel stirs awake and grabs you. He's groggy, eyes barely lidded, but holding you in those veiny hands. You had missed him so much, had worried he'd never want you again. His calloused lips find your forehead. You can feel your entire body run warm as he plants his delicate kiss on you.

He's always so delicate with you before he gets rough.

Entranced by his touch, you barely notice the way he slowly positions you at his dick like so many times before. He glances at his step daughter, careful not to arouse her from rest.

Just when you'd thought he'd forgotten you, here he is, looking at you. Only you, and ensuring this moment is all between you and him.

You're giddy with inanimate excitement when he finally nudges his tip at your torn entrance below, only this time, he presses upward, splitting you open with a slight rip and plunges his length fully inside you.

If you could let out a sound, you'd scream the happiest noise you could. Finally, finally! Your insides are so filled by the man you love, his cock making way through your cotton fluff, belly denting from his sheer size. Deer god, his girth is the width of your entire body. He practically drills your abdomen, until he starts thrusting. Pushing your cotton aside to make a cavern fit for his dick inside you.

"Fuck--fuck--fuck," he whispers, brows scrunched in pleasured concentration. "That's my Bunnygirl. Gonna take it. Gonna take what I'm givin' ya, cuz ya so grateful f'me. Shit--my little stuffed whore!"

You're too blissed to notice nor care that he says that last part sideways at his sleeping step daughter.

He stops too quickly, and you feel his hips stutter with a guttural sigh.

Then... oh god, you feel it: his tip pulsing deliciously inside you, spreading warmth. Your stomach's cotton gets heavier, rapidly expanding with liquid as your belly inflates, dampening wetter and wetter, spreading until you feel 10 pounds heavier with the weight of his warm juices filling you up. You don't want any of it to seep out of your body. You want to keep it all safe and warm inside you, for him to use and relieve himself again. But you're so overwhelmed from the sheer weight and warmth and wetness of it all, that the next moment you are dropped to the ground, left face down in a puddle of his piss dripping out of you like a discarded toilet rag.

He falls alseep quickly again, wrapped around his stepdaughter. Meanwhile, you're dribbling all over the floor, leaking his love and promise everywhere. His little stuffed whore.

You always knew he wanted you too.

- - - -

taglist

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@bloobie1001 @kluvspedro

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