#but i so badly want to see him fleshed out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joelscurls · 5 months

Text

best kept secret

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 6.7k

summary: In an attempt to keep your relationship secret, Joel agrees to a blind date set up by his best friend / your father. You don't take it well.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, pre-outbreak, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is 36), secret relationship, angst, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, semi-public sex, car sex, creampie, some fluff; lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared. but we're back, baby! anyway, dbf!joel owns my ass, so here's my rendition of him. as always, ty to my baby @javisashtray for reading this over for me and helping me through the creative process <3

Joel’s bedroom window offers a perfect view of the sunrise; of shy, pink light creeping over treetops and the roof of your dad’s house across the street.

It’s gorgeous — breathtaking, even — maybe because you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve actually seen the crest of morning. You’re far more privy to late nights and sleeping in as long as you can push it, never been one to be up with the lark, so to speak.

You don’t mind the early wakeup call, though, not when it’s this: Joel’s head tucked between your thighs, his tongue rolling lazily over your clit, your eyes still adjusting to the light as he spreads you open for him.

He’s humming against you, his coarse beard tickling soft skin, thumbs dug into muscle to hold you in place as your back bows reflexively off the mattress. He looks so sweet like this, so eager to please, staring up at you with blown pupils.

“C’mon baby,” he purrs. “Just gimme one before you go.”

They’re the first words he’s said all morning, the first thought that’s necessitated utterance. His voice is hoarse and deep and drips honey-sweet at your core.

Even so, despite how badly you want to — because you always want Joel’s mouth on you — you’re not sure you can.

Because you need to get home before Denise next door leaves for her early shift. Before Susan a few houses down takes her dog out for a walk.

Before the neighborhood wakes and somebody sees you leaving Joel Miller’s house. Or worse, before your dad catches you slipping into the house in yesterday’s clothes, your car in the driveway still cold.

But with another experimental flick of Joel’s tongue, you forget all that, a content little sigh slipping past your parted lips, betraying you.

Just one, you tell yourself, and then you’ll head out.

“Fuck, okay — yeah,” you breathe, twisting your fingers into the roots of his curls.

With your permission, he buries his nose in your mound. Licks at you again — with more purpose, this time. One long, drawn out lap followed by another.

He’s so gentle with you, so careful, caressing your folds with his tongue like they’re made of paper. It’s a dizzying juxtaposition to the way he laid you down last night and fucked you, teeth scraping your neck and cock bruising your cervix.

You’re still sore, your walls tender where he stretched them, but your pussy is drooling nonetheless, surely making a mess of the bedsheets underneath you.

Because you’re insatiable when it comes to Joel.

For the past few weeks, since the first time you’d found yourself in his bed, you’ve craved him. Regardless of how sated he’s left you each and every time, you’ve needed more.

It’s dangerous and stupid and undeniably wrong, having a fling with your dad’s best-friend. But you’re finding it difficult to consider the morality of it all when just his tongue makes you come harder than any other man’s cock ever has.

That tongue, now dipping into your apex, drawing more slick out of you as his thumb finds your swollen clit — It’s overwhelming how good it feels, how good he is at this.

He’s bringing you to the edge languidly, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your silky flesh. It’s like he doesn’t want this to be over, needs to stretch the moment as far as it’ll go, milk every last second before you slip from his grasp.

But it’s going to end soon; it’s inevitable with the way he’s laving your pussy, the crushed velvet of his tongue gliding through your folds so wet and warm. Your orgasm is building, and you’re powerless to stave it off any longer.

“Joel,” you warn, his name a high-pitched whine.

“Shh, I know babygirl; it’s okay.”

Two of his fingers hook at your entrance and push in, pacifying you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I got you. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The soothe of his voice floods your senses like nitrous; renders your body loose and your head foggy. You come apart with a string of shattered breaths, eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the duvet.

Joel talks you through it: that’s it, pretty girl; so good for me; always so good for me, and though he sounds so far away, his words are the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

The world comes back into view slowly. Air settles in your lungs. And you can’t help but laugh at how fucked-out you feel when you peer down at Joel, his gaze already locked on you, expectantly.

“Okay?” he asks, rubbing at your inner thigh.

“Yeah,” you exhale, corners of your lips pulling taut. “More than okay.”

He smiles back at you. Props himself up with hands planted either side of you on the mattress and hovers over your feeble form.

“Good,” he whispers, dipping his head down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your mouth. He licks into you, letting you taste yourself on him — a little sweet, a little bitter — and his lips are so soft that you nearly melt. “Did so good, angel.”

You want nothing more than to spend all day in this bed with him. Return the favor a few times over. Learn what he looks like in the afternoon sun against the backdrop of navy blue sheets. What he tastes like after his coffee rather than before.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admit against his mouth and he frowns, taking one of your hands in his. He presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, one by one, his eyes never straying from yours.

“I don’t want you to either, darlin’. But you can come back tonight, yeah?”

Tonight. Hours away. A whole day between now and then. But it’ll have to do.

“Tonight,” you repeat. Solidify it.

You slink home just as the street lights dim.

The house is quiet when you enter, apart from the incessant ticking of the grandmother clock in the living room. It sets off a throbbing in your head, a dull pang right at the front of your skull that you massage with two fingers as you ascend the stairs.

You move cautiously up each step, wincing at every creak of old wood. It must take minutes to reach the second-floor landing, and then you’re tiptoeing past your father’s room, listening for signs of sleep behind the seal of his door. Sure enough, you catch it, a single, drawn-out snore, loud enough that you let your feet fall, shuffling the rest of the way to the bathroom across the hall.

You immediately crank the shower on, climbing in as soon as you see steam. Lathering your skin with citrus-scented body wash, the smell of sex washes off your body and down the drain.

The warm water soothes your sore muscles; bittersweet relief. You stand there until the stream grows icy, stepping out and toweling yourself off just as you hear the familiar blare of your dad’s alarm on the other side of the wall.

By the time you’ve dressed and made your way downstairs, he’s already in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his back to you.

Sink empty, counters borderline sparkling, a coaster tucked under his warm mug — your father is a neat man. He does not take kindly to mess.

God forbid, anybody disrupt the sacred balance of his home; move something and forget to put it back, break something of his that should be kept intact.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he yawns. Turns to face you. “You were up early. Heard the shower going.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you lie.

“Something on your mind?”

Heat blooms across your chest and up your neck. There’s no way he knows — you’ve been far too careful. Still, you’re on edge, and the question lodges itself between your ribs uncomfortably as you frantically search for an answer.

“Uh, n-no,” you stutter. “Just work stuff, I guess.”

He seems to buy it, reaching for the percolator and re-filling his mug with a sigh, “Just gotta give it time. You only just started. Plus, it’s your first job out of school. They don’t expect you to know it all right away.”

It’s good advice, if not misguided. You nod as if you’re absorbing it, taking it straight to heart. As if your mind isn’t preoccupied.

You grab a mug from the cabinet. Fill it with coffee and creamer. Perch yourself at the breakfast table and take a slow, steadying sip.

The caffeine has just about seeped into your bloodstream when-

-there’s a knock at the door.

Your dad shoots you a puzzled look, one which you immediately return. Who could that be, so early on a Wednesday morning?

And when he pushes open the door to reveal none other than Joel, you just about fall out of your chair. Your nails absentmindedly dig into the wood of the table in an attempt to brace yourself.

“Oh, buddy — hey! Come on in,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he steps over the threshold. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

You grasp the handle of your mug like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, you worry the ceramic will shatter in your hands.

Joel is dressed — blue cotton t-shirt covering his broad back and the deep, red scratches you left there when you dug your nails into skin, your legs hiked over his hips and your face tucked into his chest.

The pair of boxers peeking over the waistband of his jeans are different from the ones you pulled off of him last night, the ones he shimmied back into before you slept cradled in his arms.

He’s a different Joel here, now — your father’s friend, your neighbor — not the man who breaks you down with his tongue or the one who calls you his good girl while you take his entire, throbbing length.

No, this Joel, standing in your kitchen in the presence of your father, has never betrayed him. Hasn’t tasted his friend’s daughter or felt the tight embrace of her wet, warm cunt around his cock. This Joel is reliable, honest, not one to do harm.

You do not desire this Joel, cannot. You must look at him with apathetic eyes. Must keep the boat of your longing at bay.

Easier said than done. It’s as if your desire for him is a feral beast, fed by his touch and left starving in its wake. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, sweat beading at your collar as you not-so-subtly follow the subconscious flex of his hands, the bunching of fabric over his biceps.

His voice bounces off the backsplash, and your fingers tighten around the handle of your mug.

“Yeah, I uh — I went to make myself coffee and realized I was out. Was hopin’ you might have some to spare?”

He can’t be serious. He came over for coffee? He couldn’t get some on the road?

“I’m afraid she took the last of it,” your dad’s eyes point to you, and you ignore the burn of Joel’s gaze when his follow.

“Ahh,” he says. “‘ts okay. I’ll grab some on my way in.”

His fingers taptaptap on the edge of the countertop, bottom lip tucked between his teeth like there’s something else. Another reason he came here.

And then you spot it — your wallet, dark red leather, poking out the top of Joel’s back pocket.

You must’ve left it in his room before you hurried home. Somewhere amongst the mess of trinkets and trash on his dresser. You half-remember dropping it there last night as he’d kneeled in front of you and peppered kisses up the length of your leg.

Thankfully, your dad is oblivious as ever, giving Joel the perfect opportunity to inconspicuously slip you your wallet when he turns around and crosses the kitchen, placing his empty mug in the sink.

Joel sidesteps once, twice, extending his arm and snapping it back as soon as you have the wallet in your grasp.

Your father clears his throat. Spins to find Joel exactly where he was. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wrestling a slice of bread out of the bag and dropping it into the toaster, “I gotta set you up with this co-worker of mine, Deb.”

Joel freezes. You watch as the color drains from his face and his large hand anxiously cards through dark curls. You’re pretty sure you freeze too, breath caught somewhere in your throat until your dad turns to you and you remember to exhale.

“You know Deb, right, honey?” he asks. You mentally flick through the rolodex of your dad’s coworkers.

There’s Leanne, tall redhead, hosted a potluck a few months back at which you tasted the worst mac & cheese you’ve ever had. And Barbara from accounting, who he got into a heated argument with over who makes the best BBQ in the city. You only remember her name because he hadn’t shut up about how wrong her opinion was for a full week.

This woman actually thinks the Smoke Shop has got better ribs than Lou’s. I said to her, Barbara, your taste buds must be absolutely torched.

But Deb? You don’t recall a Deb. Still, you’re pretty sure you hate her, just in hearing her name in this context.

You shake your head, no.

“Well, I guess you haven’t seen her in a while. She was there that day I brought you into the office.”

“When I was ten?” you retort.

“Yeah, I guess it was that long ago, huh?”

You shrug. He returns his attention to Joel. “Anyway, Deb – she’s around your age, just got divorced about a year back, and she’s a real nice woman. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“Is that so?” Joel replies. You swear his voice wavers. If your dad notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll like her Joel, I promise. I mean, when’s the last time you went out with a nice lady? Not since – what was her name — Jean? And if things were going well with her, I’d hope you’d tell your old friend.” The toaster pops, and he retrieves his slice of toast. Grabs a butter knife from the utensil drawer.

“No, I ain’t seeing Jean,” Joel sighs. Flashes you an apologetic glance as your dad slathers his toast in artificial purple jam, blissfully unaware.

“Well, you gotta get back out there!”

Joel’s gaze rolls to the ceiling. “I don’t know – I’m just not real interested in datin’ right now.”

You exhale, then — a quiet declaration of relief that seems to go unnoticed — unperturbed even when your dad continues his pitch.

I’ve known this woman for years Joel, I’m telling you, the two of you’d be the perfect match; she’s a looker too, real pretty.

Ew. Tuning him out, you check the clock, find that you only have a few minutes before you need to get going. You stand from the table and make your way toward the sink with your now-empty coffee mug in hand.

Would I ever lead you astray? your dad is asking just as you brush past Joel. His hand, idle by his side, catches the fabric of your blouse and you have to fight to ignore the pinprick of electricity it ignites under your skin.

“No, I know,” Joel grumbles. “I trust your judgment ‘n all, ‘ts just-”

“Will you just give her a chance?”

“Jesus; fine.”

The mug slips from your grip, falls into the sink with a clang.

Your dad glares at you, expression softening only when you gesture to the still-intact ceramic lying on its side in the basin.

He’s quickly distracted, then, jotting a series of numbers down onto a scrap of notebook paper, the blue ink pressed in so hard that it’s beginning to bleed through.

“Atta boy,” he drawls, sliding it across the counter. Joel pinches it between two fingers, folds the paper without looking at it and stuffs it into his front pocket.

“Promise you’ll give her a call tonight? I may or may not have already talked you up, and I need to know you’re not gonna make me look bad here.”

Joel has to see you staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He must. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already. But he’s refusing to meet your gaze, eyes glued to the cabinet directly in front of him as he nods. “Yeah, I’ll call her tonight,” he says, a small, unconvincing smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

He’s actually agreeing to this?

You need to get out of here before you say something rash.

The anger bubbles in you slowly, then all at once, threatening to boil over as you slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder.

Marching toward the door, you offer a half-hearted bye, not bothering to look back before you leave.

The office is already milling with people by the time you stroll in, ten minutes late.

The conversation between Joel and your dad is still running laps in your head as you sneak past your boss’s door.

It sticks there through the morning and well into the afternoon, your dad’s words an incessant earworm: I think you two would really hit it off.

The thing is — you can’t blame Joel for saying yes to the setup. Not really. Your situation is complicated, messy, bound to end badly.

Maybe he’d be happier with Deb.

They could take walks together, stroll through the grocery store or down the street hand-in-hand. Throw dinner parties and shamelessly gush about their relationship to their friends. All without fear of being caught doing something wrong.

Because that’s what this is, you and Joel — it’s wrong. Not like you weren’t already well aware of that. Leave it to some woman you’ve never met to rub it in.

The day passes infuriatingly slow.

The pile of emails in your inbox only grows larger by the time you’re due to clock out, stack of reports on your desk barely touched. You wince when your boss stops by your cubicle on her way out, eager for an update.

“Sorry, Linda; a couple of these were more time-consuming than I’d hoped,” you lie. But you can tell she doesn’t buy it, not one bit, her expression souring as you shuffle through papers.

“I need these done by the end of the week, no matter what.”

“Of course,” you mutter, face heating with embarrassment. “I’ll get them done and on your desk by Friday.”

“Thanks.” Her heels are already clacking on tile when you open your mouth to apologize again, your sorry lost to the ether.

You gather your things and scramble to your feet as soon as she’s out of view, not sticking around to watch your computer power down. By the time you get to your car, Joel’s number is already dialed on your phone.

He picks up after two rings.

“Darlin’ — are you okay?”

It’s admittedly uncharacteristic for you to call him so early. You usually wait until after dark, when you’ve both retreated to your respective bedrooms, away from listening ears.

But this can’t wait. It’s been eating at you all day, digging into your work. If you don’t talk to him about it, you’re going to end up unemployed. You don’t bother to ask if he’s still on the job site, around other people. “You’re going on this date.” It’s not a question. More of an accusation.

“Baby,” he sighs. You try your best to ignore his molasses drawl and the way it seeps into your chest.

“Why didn’t you say no?”

“How could I?” he groans. “There’s your dad, askin’ me if I’m seein’ someone, sayin’ he’s already told this lady about me – what am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice comes out a whine. “Make something up. Tell him you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”

He laughs, low and breathy on the other end. “Yeah, baby. Think he’d believe that one, f’sure.”

“Fuck,” you huff. “I just— I don’t-“

You want to tell him not to go. To cancel. Fake his own death. Do whatever it takes to get out of this. But you have no right, not really. The two of you aren’t dating. You don’t have any control over what he does or who he sees. And you don’t want that, no. You just want him to choose you.

“I don’t wanna go, darlin’. I really don’t. But if I do this, I think it’ll get him off my back for a while. He won’t have a reason to suspect that I’m foolin’ around with his daughter.”

Fooling around. His phrasing is a metaphorical punch in the gut.

It’s not exactly a lie. You haven’t put a label on this thing, whatever it is. It’s been purely physical: lips slotted to lips, tongues pressed together, swapped sweat and saliva. But hearing it reduced to two words, words with such a casual connotation — as if you haven’t been driven by overwhelming desire — makes your stomach churn.

Joel doesn’t seem to clock it when you go quiet, a cocktail of rage and sorrow sloshing around your insides. “It’s for the best,” he adds, a shot of hard, burning liquor.

“Yeah,” you say defeatedly. Choke back the pathetic tears that creep up your throat. “For the best.”

He ends the call with the excuse of bad cell reception. Promises to talk to you later. You’re not sure that you believe him.

The phrase fooling around curls up in your head, a wet dog, its fur dripping into the crevices of your rattled brain the entire drive home.

You dodge Joel’s calls for the remainder of the week.

There’s no use in talking to him when you have nothing to say, when you know any words you attempt will be overtaken by tears.

Even so, it doesn’t stop him from trying. His number lights up the screen of your phone at least twice a day.

He leaves voicemails that you do not listen to. You can’t. The last thing you need is his syruppy drawl in your ear. You’ll break; you know you will.

So instead, you delete them. Rid yourself of temptation.

But you still ache for him — a devastating truth. You lumber through the days, bones heavy with hurt. Find yourself kept up at night by thoughts of Joel and the infuriatingly soothing timbre of his voice, the intoxicating callous of his fingertips against your soft skin.

It’s a lonely thing, yearning for Joel Miller.

On Friday, your father beams at the dinner table. He’s grinning like a child as he stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Joel and Deb’s date is tomorrow,” he says. “Think they’ll really hit it off, don’t you?”

You’re dumbfounded for a long moment — can’t believe that this is your life now: being asked about your thoughts on Joel and the ever-elusive Deb as a couple. When it takes too long for you to answer, your father’s fork stills pointedly on his plate, and you sputter.

“Oh! I mean, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember Deb.” You can’t help your condescending tone. Your dad doesn’t seem to catch it anyway.

“Well,” he says, “I think they’ll be a match. Hoping so, anyway. The man has been such a hermit lately — maybe if he has a lady, he’ll get out more!”

“You sound real excited,” you grumble. Stab four peas on the prongs of your fork.

“It is exciting. I’ve never set anyone up before. And the best part is, the place they’re going to — the Tavern — it’s got rooms you can rent out for wedding receptions. Just imagine if down the line, they got mar-“

“Dad,” you stop him. You think you’ll be physically sick if you let him finish that sentence. “Sorry, I just — I’m really tired, all of a sudden. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”

It’s not a complete lie. You’re emotionally exhausted as a result of the past couple days. Sleep sounds like a much-needed, blissful escape right now.

Your dad doesn’t question you. He just nods. Swipes your plate from in front of you and brings it to the sink along with his.

Of course, you find it impossible to actually drift off that night. Tossing and turning, you battle the glaring urge to get up, slink into the home-office and look up directions to the Tavern.

Not that you’re planning to go there anytime soon — you’re just curious. That’s all.

Around midnight, you give up, pad down the hallway and into the room parallel yours. The computer dials up slowly, and you chew your bottom lip as you wait.

You snatch a piece of paper from the printer and a pen from the #1 Dad mug that sits next to the monitor. Click on the internet icon and type the words into the search bar.

This is definitely a bad idea. Maybe the worst you’ve had in a while.

You jot the address down anyway.

Downtown Austin is buzzing with life.

Patrons spilling out of bars, tourists striding down the street in their brand new Stetsons – it almost distracts you from the task at hand.

At just past seven, you’d told your dad you were going out, meeting a friend for drinks. He’d been a bit taken aback, seeing as you’re not very social these days, but he’d seemed happy. Relieved.

That’s not what you’re doing, of course.

No – in reality, you’re turning into the parking lot attached to the Tavern. It’s packed to the brim with cars, but you still manage to find Joel’s truck, its license plate number burned into the back of your mind after countless mornings of absently reading it as you snuck past.

It’s idle and empty when you inch by, and even though you knew he’d be here, on this date, your heart still sinks. Because maybe a tiny part of you had hoped he’d stand Deb up.

You should leave. It was stupid to come here in the first place. What are you going to do — storm inside and demand that he leave with you?

You consider it for half a second, groaning when you realize how pitiful you are. Defeated, you swing your car into a spot at the back, facing the building, and shift it into park. You hug the steering wheel dejectedly.

From here, you have a straight-shot view of the restaurant’s entrance, a set of double doors at the side of the building. Groups spill out every so often, every pair that emerges causing your back to arch reflexively.

Joel and Deb are probably discussing their interests right now, bonding over a shared connection with your dad. You can vividly picture the smile likely plastered across his face — the same one you’ve elicited with sweet filth whispered in his ear.

And you’re here, sitting in your running car, watching the door. Your pulse thumps obnoxiously loud in your ears.

Minutes pass like molasses, slow and thick. You watch the clock on the car radio obsessively, betting with yourself on what time they’ll leave. After thirty minutes of nothing, you’re convinced that they’re going to close the place out.

But then the door opens again, and you straighten up, immediately met with the sight of Joel and Deb.

She’s talking animatedly, eyes widening every few words, blonde hair wafting around her narrow face. It’s undeniable that she’s stunning, even from far away; possesses the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers in line at the grocery store. The jealousy that pools in your gut burns like acetone in an open wound.

She takes his arm as they walk toward the parking lot, and he lets her, despite the rest of his body appearing strangely rigid.

You wonder if he’ll take her home. Lead her to his truck, help her up the step to the passenger seat and sneak a look at her ass under her dress before shutting the door. If they’ll leave her car in the lot for the night, come back to retrieve it in the morning once he’s helped her forget about her loser ex-husband; let the scent of her perfume seep into the bed sheets to cover up yours.

But he doesn’t lead her to his truck. You watch as they unexpectedly turn down a row of cars, disappearing from your view completely, his arm still locked with hers.

He could still kiss her. Press her against the car. Promise her that he’ll call — and he will, first thing tomorrow. He’s probably just being a real gentleman. Treating her like a woman he might want to marry someday.

Maybe he knows, after just one date, that she’s his soulmate. He’ll buy the ring in a couple weeks. They’ll be engaged in a month’s time, and he’ll say he just couldn’t wait any longer.

She’s the one thing I’ve been missing.

You stew in the agonizing unknown for what feels like hours before Joel materializes once again, backside illuminated by headlights as he strides toward his truck.

And then — he stops. You see the exact moment he notices your car in the parking lot, his eyebrows threading together and his hands splaying over his hips.

He’s staring directly through the windshield. At you.

Fuck.

He takes a few slow steps. Stops in front of the hood. Narrows his eyes and flexes his jaw.

With a deep breath, you unlock the doors. Gesture for him to get in the passenger side.

He immediately rounds the car, prying the door open and climbing inside just as a SUV pulls out the row he and Deb had walked down.

The door slams when he yanks it closed. The sound echoes through the cab of the car.

“You wanna fuckin’ explain what you’re doin’ here?” he snaps. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, embarrassment and now, anger, spooling hot behind your ears.

You know you’re in the wrong. You shouldn’t have followed him. But does he have to be so hostile?

When your gaze finally meets his, he looks — distraught — jaw clenched and lips set in a straight line. His fingers absently dig into denim-covered thighs.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I just wanted to see how you were with her.” And it’s the truth; not one you want to be admitting right now, to him, but it’s the truth nonetheless.

“Doesn’t give you the right to spy on me.”

“So what was I supposed to do? Sit at home and mope while the guy I was seeing is on a date with someone else? Oh no, I’m sorry,” you throw your hands up, form air quotes with your fingers, “the guy I was fooling around with.”

This seems to strike a nerve. His jaw twitches, and his fingers still on his lap.

“It wasn’t like that,” he grits

“No? Isn’t that all this was to you: fooling around?”

There’s a beat. Joel sighs.

“No — fuck, no. Of course not.”

His expression softens. A crack in solid stone. “I tried callin’ you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” you admit.

He nods. Another beat.

“Did you kiss her?” you ask.

“No.” He says it with intent, with promise, eyes firmly locked on yours now.

Your mouth goes dry.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“You don’t want her?”

“No,” he says flatly, his pupils bulging in the lamplight, black bleeding into the brown of his irises. “I don’t want her.”

“Why not?”

He leans forward. His weight presses into the center console and his breath fans your face — warm, tinged with the scent of cheap beer.

“I don’t want her,” he says, voice an octave lower, “because I want you. I thought you knew that?”

The radio drones between the two of you, some classic rock song you think you recognize flitting through the speaker. Your pulse beats staccato in your throat, off tempo.

“You want me?” you ask, a little breathless, and the next words you say are beyond dumb, beyond reckless, but you say them anyway. “Prove it.”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. He closes the slight distance between you and kisses you, hard, his tongue frantically sliding against yours through parted lips.

It’s sloppy, and desperate, and you feel drunk on the taste of him, on longing laced with carnal need. He’s groaning into your mouth, grabbing your head with both hands, burying his fingers in your hair — as if he can’t get close enough, as if he’ll only be satisfied once he’s swallowed you whole. You’re pretty sure you want him to.

Your hands move frantically to his t-shirt, then, bunch into the fabric and pull. You need to feel the skin underneath, need to rove your hands along his bare chest. He accommodates, tugging the shirt by the back of the collar, lips separating from yours ever-so-briefly to bring it over his head and toss it onto the backseat.

And then he’s back on you, licking into your mouth again, eliciting a whimper from you when his hand wraps around the side of your throat, just under your jaw.

Your palms splay across his torso, wander over warm, golden skin. You’ve missed this, god, you’ve missed this — but it’s still not enough. You need to feel more of him. In your mouth, in your hand, in your cunt — you’re not picky. Just need him in whatever way he’ll provide.

“Joel,” you whimper into his mouth, fingers winding around his bicep.

He pulls back. Peers at you through hooded eyes. “What is it, baby?” he asks through labored breaths.

“Need you — please.”

He immediately unbuckles your seatbelt. Lowers his seat back and manhandles you onto his lap. You go easily; slot yourself to him with legs folded on either side of his thighs.

Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you grind down into his lap. His cock strains against denim underneath you. He groans when you swivel your hips and brush the heft of it again with your clothed heat.

“You gonna let me fuck you?” he asks into your mouth, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your breath catches.

You know what he’s really asking: are you going to let him fuck you here, in the parking lot of a public establishment, where anybody could see?

But you don’t care. In fact, you’re way past caring, the emptiness of your cunt too painful to ignore any longer. Let them watch him take what’s his.

You nod frantically. “Yes,” you pant. “Please.”

Joel nods too, as if he’s accepting his fate. He’s going to fuck his friend’s daughter in the passenger seat of her car. There’s no way around it — not when you’re begging for it. He’s going to give you what you need.

“Okay,” he soothes, “I got you baby.”

He helps you out of your pants, then; clumsily maneuvers them down and off your legs along with your panties and tosses them aimlessly into the back.

He doesn’t bother to take his jeans off. Lets you unzip them and pop the button open, your nimble fingers making quick work of it. And then you’re pulling his cock out of his boxers, stiff and leaking in your grasp.

You steady yourself with hands on his shoulders just as he begins to pepper placating kisses along your neck. “Go ahead baby,” he whispers into your ear. “Take it; it’s yours.”

His head falls back against the seat as you stroke him a few times and line his cock up with your dripping entrance, his hands clasped around your waist.

You sink down slowly, savoring every inch of him as he burrows in deeper. He’s so thick, stretching you like it’s the first time again, your walls fluttering as they relax around his cock.

“Fuck,” Joel slurs, fingers digging into your skin impatiently when you still, fully seated on him.

“Gotta move baby — please move.”

He’s so fucking deep, though, his cockhead bumping your cervix, and your entire body feels gelatinous atop him. A cloying sort of heat hangs around your head. You swivel your hips weakly, your forehead falling to rest on his with a heavy sigh.

Joel is happy to take control, bucking up into you so hard you see stars. You can’t suppress the string of moans that spill from your mouth, and Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just as loud, anyway, his broken sounds bleeding into yours, bouncing off glass and leather.

Neither of you can muster an actual word, though, not with him rutting up into you, sheathing himself in your pussy over and over again. He’s relentlessly hitting that spot — the one that has you practically clinging to him for dear life.

It’s approaching too quickly; he’s going to make you come.

One of your hands flies to the roof of the car in an attempt to brace yourself, flat palm pressing into it so hard you worry it’ll pop.

Joel takes the opportunity to drag you down in his lap, spearing you on his cock, and the sudden change in angle makes you cry out.

“Oh f— ahh, oh my—“

“That’s it,” he coos, “you got it, babygirl.”

His words tip you over the edge, your entire body locking up as you gush around him. You’re wetting his lap, slick splattering his thighs, and he loves it, his fervid moan telling you so.

His movements begin to falter then, hips stuttering underneath you as he chases his own high.

“Cmon, baby,” you goad, “please fill me up.”

He grunts when he spills inside, his face nestling in your chest, heaving as he works through it and begins to come down. You don’t move, not that Joel would let you, still holding you on his lap like he’s afraid to let you go.

You nuzzle into his embrace as his cock softens inside you.

You stay like that for a while, probably too long given that anybody could easily look into the car and see you straddling him. You don’t have the energy to care.

Eventually, you lift your head from its spot on Joel’s chest. Look up at him with bleary eyes.

“Joel,” you say.

He meets your gaze, face shiny with sweat and his hair a mess. He looks gorgeous like this, you think. The way only you get to see him.

“Yeah?” He grazes along your arm with featherlight fingers. His touch raises goosebumps on your skin.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About wanting me.” In truth, you’re not sure you want the answer. But you need to know, definitively, if Joel is yours. You’re done sharing him.

“Oh, baby,” he drawls. “Of course I do. You’re all I want. Do you want me?”

And it’s a stupid question. He has to know that. You’re nodding before he can even finish it. “Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Joel”

“Then it’s settled. It’s me and you. No more…interlopers.”

You giggle. Reluctantly separate yourself from his body and re-dress. You settle back into the driver’s seat with achy legs.

You’ve never felt more content than you do in this moment.

Still, you’ll have to hide — won’t be able to share the news of your new relationship with friends or coworkers, your dad — and neither will Joel.

You don’t care much, not as long as he’s yours, but you need to be sure he feels the same.

“Joel,” you stop him as he opens the passenger-side door to get out. He stills with one leg swung out the door.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind…being a secret? Don’t mind keeping me a secret?”

He looks at you like you have two heads.

He pulls his leg back into the car. Shuts the door and leans over the console again.

Taking your chin between his fingers, he forces your gaze. Makes sure you’re listening.

“I want you — doesn’t matter who knows or doesn’t know. Long as you’re mine.”

Your chest tightens, and your heart squeezes inside your ribcage.

“I’m yours?”

He smiles. Presses a chaste kiss between your eyes, on the tip of your nose, on your lips. The same way he did the other morning.

It all feels somehow sweeter, now.

“Yeah, angel. You’re mine. My girl.”

end notes: tysm for reading! please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed! I've been toying with the idea of turning this into a series so lmk if that's something you'd be interested in hehe.

Also, I hopped on the bandwagon and made a sideblog for notifs! I'll be doing away with a taglist from here on out, so follow @joelscurlsupdates & turn on notifications if you wanna be notified when I post a new fic :-)

tag list: @janaispunk @amanitacowboy @fhatbhabie @frannyzooey @lola8888673

#joel x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction

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anantaru · 30 days

Note

thinking about boxer!wriothesley who always pays for your nails to get done bc he likes to see your pretty manicured hands wrapped around his cock after he wins his match 💅🏼 I’ve been suffering from wrio brain rot lately 🥴

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ cw. handjob & cock kisses, boxer! wriothesley, petname: doll & baby, cumming in your mouth, established relationship // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡ fem! reader

"let me look at them baby, show ‘em," a sinning shine materializes on wriothesley's pupils, accompanied by a small grunt in his throat— and his tousled hair was reflective of the light in the empty store room, glinting at his current state.

he was still high off the adrenaline from his fight, sweaty and still trying to regulate his breathing. yet most of the damage was shown by his knuckles, although they were covered by white bandages, the irritated flesh peaks through the material to expose a scarlet red thudding on his skin.

you gently take his hands into yours before kissing his knuckles, holding him close.

a grunt leaves his throat at the sensual sight before your body settles between his muscular thighs, his hands guiding you, "you like the color i picked out?" a cheeky grin traces the outlines of your face as you look up at his focused gaze.

being bold, you sweep your pretty nails towards his bulge, "see, they're even a little sharp, i might scratch you on accident," you tease and tauntingly glide the sharp edges of your nails over his concealed erection, featherlight, and leaning down to kiss him through his pants.

wriothesley was panting harshly as he looks down at you, his facial profile holding on to mischief. he sighs, watching eagerly how you're playing around with his belt as he aids you in taking off his pants, "yeah, baby," he hums sweetly, cock twitching at the hopping click of his belt springing free, "you're so fucking hot, doll, the color looks gorgeous on you,"

wriothesley cannot stop himself from complimenting you in every way imaginable when he's on the brink of choking at the painful sensation on his cock, his breath erratic as you kiss his ache away with your plush lips granting him a break.

the tip of his cock was peaking through the thin material of his boxers as wriothesley casts his underwear down to leave it piled up around his knees before wrapping his rough palm around himself, squeezing at the base, "you wanna show me the color better?" he winks, stroking his stiffened cock and whines out your name.

"yeah, please let me do it," you pout briefly as he lightly smears his tip over your mouth to bump it against your bottom lip, "easy now," he coos, "let me play with it first," as he hurries it over your plush lips— a sheen lace of lipgloss connecting to his cock and smearing a trail of sticky liquid behind.

the foul sight of it almost made him cream on the spot, and how your fingers were now getting bolder, fluttering over the rills of his sore muscles and only adding to the desire to feel your hand clamp around him.

and it's the reality he's so grateful for when your hand pulls his own away, so you could wrap your palm around his cock, taking over, "did you hear me cheer for you today?" you start with slow strokes, yet he's choking on a string of groans just by looking at you doing it for him, "i wanted to support you so badly," you slope your body forward to touch his tip with your mouth, flipping it left and right over your lips before kissing the oozing head.

"fuck, you're gonna make me cum like that," wriothesley chokes out, placing his fist against his mouth as he bites into it, muffling his erratic groans, "fuck— fuck... fuck doll," his voice cracks as you go on, squeezing him at the base and working him through a nice orgasm that would rip through him in a heart beat.

your lips kiss over his shaft and mess him up, not only with his own milky pre oozing from the slit, but your sparkly lipgloss sticking over the skin so lusting, yes, it felt so dirty and your hand was drenched in all kinds of fluids now— which well, it was disgusting, but in the most pleasurable way imaginable.

wriothesley rasps into his chest, "fuck... i'm gonna cum, ‘gonna cum doll," as he pulls his head back and scrunches his eyes shut. he spasms around your hand shifting into a faster, more efficient tempo as you jerk him off, trying harder and harder to gloss over every inch of his length.

"you wanna cum in my mouth?" the simple imagery you laid out after asking him almost took all the willpower inside of his nerves and body to not climax and ruin it, "yeah.. please— please.." he holds against your shoulder as you part your jaw and slide him inside your warm heat.

how your throat flexes around his tip and your tongue presses into the underside of his cock was sensational— the affectivity of your hot mouth made his eyes water, fully leaning into you as he spills himself with a loud groan and a chant of your name huffed out desperately.

the soreness in your throat was more prominent than ever but was immediately smothered by a warm, sticky load of his seed as you're hiccuping on the wave of cum entering your mouth.

"fuck, that's good, yeah..." he moans, "don't swallow it, show me instead," as he commands shamelessly, a rough palm shortly after cupping your cheek as you pull him off your mouth.

you drag your tongue out to present your boyfriend a wickedly beautiful look of his milky cum slithering all from your tongue towards the tip of the wet muscle, a small droplet falling to the ground as he smirks mischievously;

"now, swallow."

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles

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waughymommy · 2 months

Text

WM: Breastfeeding Kink & Diaper play

Disclaimer: all characters depicted in this story are consenting adults over the age of 18. If you are NOT 18 or older, Don't Read if UNDER 18

I startle awake from a throbbing pain in my breasts. Quietly groaning as I turn over onto my back not wanting to wake my sleeping little prince. My hand moves up to my big tits and oh god are they swollen. I’m not sure what’s been going on but for the past few days my breasts have been so tight and swollen and it’s just getting worse. I slowly begin to massage them in an attempt to ease the pain. “Oh fuck this isn’t helping at all” i whisper to myself.

I pull my loose tank top away from my breasts and look at the swollen mounds. The only time I’ve ever seen breasts look like this were when my best friend breastfed her little in front of me… wait. It can’t be can it? There’s no way I haven’t even been taking the special pills she had to take to induce lactation!

I open my phone to Google and type in “what can cause you to lactate?” I click the first site that pops up. “There are many things that can induce lactation such as Yada yada yada medications such a birth control… FUCK.” I whisper yell. I did not just accidentally induce lactation with the new birth control I’m on. Oh god we haven’t even had this discussion yet I’m not sure it’s even something he’d be into. But my breasts hurt so bad I need some relief.

I get up from bed as quietly as I can and walk into the adjoining bathroom. I flicker the lights on and keep the door open just the slightest bit incase my little prince needs me. I look in the mirror and slowly pull my tank top down. My tits spring out all heavy and full. “Fuck” I hiss quietly as I press down in the swollen flesh.

I slide my finger down to my nipple and begin to stimulate it. A milky liquid starts to drip out and I almost can’t believe it. I moan as my finger squeezes some more out. Oh fuck that feels good.

A quiet voice interrupts my ministrations “Mommy?” I look over to my left side and my little prince is at the bathroom door just in his princess t shirt and full diaper staring at my dripping nipples in wide eyed wonder. Fuck he looks so beautiful with his bed head and sleepy eyes. He rubs at his eyes and hold the door frame.

“Mommy what’s that?” He points to the liquid still dripping from my hard nipple.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about baby boy just turn your little tush around and go back to bed. I’ll be right there.” I say as I walk toward him and turn him around with my hands on his shoulders walking him back to the bed. He throws his head back and whines lowly, “but mommy I’m thirsty das why I woke up!” He says as I set him down back in bed.

He looks up at me and his eyes move back to my nipples and his lips part and drool seeps out. “Okay baby you just wait right here and mommy will get you a drink of water.” I move toward the door but he grabs my wrist and with those doe eyes of his staring up at me and says “But I wan mommy’s milkies!” He whines again. His tonight peaks out and he licks his lips. “I’m not sure honey we havent really spoken about this.” I say as I softly caress the side of his face. He leans his head into my hand and pouts.

“Please mommy please I just wanna try and see what it’s like. If you don’t like it or If I don’t like it we always have our safe word!” He trues to reason with me. And he’s not wrong so what could be the harm? I’ve secretly wanted this so badly for the longest time. I sigh and smile at him and nod.

“Okay sweetheart you won, let mommy get comfy in bed first.” He claps his hands in excitement and slaps a sloppy wet kiss on my lips. I laugh as I crawl into bed and settle against my pillows. I pat my lap for him, “come here sweetie and lay side ways in mommy’s lap. Put you head right there in mommy’s elbow.” I maneuver him a little till he’s sitting just right, I cover him in the blankets and turn the low lamp on. A soft glow covers the room as he looks up at me with his lips slightly parted. I can tell he’s just as excited as I am. My sweet little boy.

“Alright baby boy open those pretty lips for mommy.” I hold my boob up and my nipple leaks as I pull it and drop it in his waiting mouth. His lips close around my nipple immediately and he begins to softly suck. It takes him a few moments to really get the hang on how to latch on but soon his tongue is working in overdrive and hes suckling away like his life depends on it. I a gasp at the strength of his suckling and softly run my hands through his brown hair. “Sweetheart mommy isn’t going anywhere you can drink slowly, I promise I’m not going anywhere.” He closes his eyes and the suckling gets softer as soon as he realizes I’m not gonna snatch my nipple away from him. I moan quietly as I watch him drink.

He’s such a sweet little boy suckling on his mommy’s nipples. I slide my hand down to his diaper and rub at his diapee covered cock. It’s so hard. I won’t lie my panties have absolutely socked through at this point. The feeling of his tongue lapping at the milk from my tits is just so erotic. He moans as my hand continues it’s rubbing.

His hand reaches for my other leaking breast and he begins to fondle the nipple. Pulling and clutching at it, the milk dribbles done his fingers soaking them. I can’t help but moan out at the feeling. “Oh sweet boy that feels so good. You’re such a good boy just keep playing with mommy’s nipples like that.” I say a little breathless.

I slip my hand into his diaper and just as my hand reaches the tip of his little cock he begins to piss right into my palm. I laugh a little and look at him a she pauses his suckling. His cheeks flame red, “I’m sorry mommy I couldn’t hold it.” He’s so fucking cute.

“It’s okay baby you can go pee when you need to you know that. It’s why you have a diaper on to be able to lose control over your bowels and bladder whenever you need.” His stream continues as it hits my hand and I press down on the slit it’s pouring out of feeling the force of it. His piss is so warm on my hand as it fills his already soaked diaper.

He smiles and nuzzles my breast and begins to suckle again as he pisses in my hand. He’s so fucking sexy sometimes I can’t believe he’s all mine.

My sweet little boy.🍼😍💦🥰

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crushmeeren · 2 months

Text

How They Eat You Out! - MHA

Everyone is 18+/aged up — if that’s a problem, keep scrolling or block me.

Bakugou, Kirishima, Todoroki

Quickies with the MHA Boys! Link

———————————————————————

Bakugou Katsuki

• Katsuki truly enjoys eating your pussy. It’s just as much for his pleasure as it is for yours. Plus, Katsuki likes to play with his meal before he eats it.

• He definitely gets you worked up first by sharply smacking his fingers against your clit multiple times, forcing you to specifically tell him you want his mouth instead.

• Katsuki teases you with the filth that spills from his mouth “Can’t believe how fucking whiny you are, pretty girl just wants me to eat her pussy so badly, yeah? Beg me for it.” — telling you it’s pathetic, but in the next heartbeat he’s moaning like a whore at the first taste he can get.

• He’s absolutely the guy who presses your thighs so far back into your chest it makes your ass lift off the bed. His shoulders and biceps flex as he keeps you pinned in place, spread wide open so he can see you entirely.

• He runs his tongue from canine to canine, wasting no time before his warm tongue circles your clit in a maddeningly slow fashion. He keeps that up until you plead with him to go faster, promising you’ll never suck his cock again unless he picks up the pace.

• He has the audacity to laugh — but ultimately he bends to your whim. Wrapping his soft lips around your clit, making you see stars when he starts sucking in a slow but steady rhythm. He flicks his tongue up and down at the same time, just to add to the intensity.

• Katsuki can also be an asshole. Often, he has you writhing — toes curling and hips twitching, gripping handfuls of his fluffy hair. He gets you begging for his fingers too, needing them so badly — but no. He forces you to cum just from his tongue, poor pussy tightening around air, aching for him.

• Don’t worry, he more than makes it up to you, stretching you deliciously with his thick cock right after. Fucking you until your legs are numb.

————————————————————————

Kirishima Eijirou

• Eijirou honestly just can’t help himself. He’s enamored with your pussy, drunk on it. He loves eating you out whenever he gets the chance. The man gets rock hard doing it because your pleasure is his pleasure.

• He’s the kind of guy who loves getting on his knees for you. Grabbing your ankles and yanking on you till your ass is on the edge of the bed. He laughs and drapes your thighs over his broad shoulders, making sure your comfortable while you lay on your back.

• Eijirou grabs onto your hips, looking up at you like you hung the moon as he runs his tongue between your lips up to your clit on the first pass. He whines, lids fluttering closed, nails sinking into your skin at how soft and warm your pussy is.

• He licks your clit leisurely at first, like one would eat a popsicle. Eijirou savors the taste, letting his lips meet again and again over your clit. Swirling his tongue in between — as if he’s making out with your pussy.

• Eijirou gets so lost in it, after awhile you have to lace your fingers in his silky red hair and tug gently to get his attention. He opens his eyes in question, cheeks flushed pink as he teases your hole with the tip of his tongue.

• “I wanna cum Ei, please,” you plead sweetly, rolling your hips up to meet his mouth. “Oh! Yes, please cum for me baby girl, want me to use my fingers to help you sweetheart?” Eijirou coos, tone teasing and warm. He rubs your clit with his thumb and nips the soft flesh of your inner thigh while he waits.

• You nod yes and Eijirou hums happily, slipping his middle two fingers into your ridiculously slick pussy with ease. He instantly starts licking over your clit again and thrusting his fingers, curling into your sweet spot perfectly.

• Your thighs tghten around his head, back arching when it takes you no time at all to cum. Gasping his name, tugging at his hair again — and he moans when your pussy doesn’t want to let go of his fingers as he works you through your orgasm.

• Once he lets you go, you find his hand wrapped loosely around his cock, covered in his sticky release. He grins sheepishly, admitting “I couldn’t help it baby, you taste too good.”

• No matter, he’s still hard. Eijirou makes love to you until you cry from overstimulation. Wiping your tears with his thumbs and asking you to give him one more orgasm.

————————————————————————

Todoroki Shouto

• At first, Shouto wasn’t quite sure how to eat pussy. Sure — he could eat pussy, but not well. After your more than willing participation in helping him practice, he eats pussy like a champ now.

• He absolutely loves going down on you. Often he gets you singing his name, toes curling so tight they cramp, squirting all over his face and fingers.

• Shouto starts out slow, spreading you out gently on the bed. Biting kisses into your neck, sucking on your nipples. Letting his thumb rub circles into your clit at the just the right pressure.

• He lays on his belly, placing soft kisses everywhere but your pussy. Sinking his teeth into the sensitive crease of your thigh. Barely ghosting his tongue over your clit.

• Shouto gets a thrill out of the anticipation. He leaves hickies on your inner thighs and pushes two fingers in your pussy, just letting them rest there until you’re begging him for more.

• “Sho please stop teasing,” you whine. Those slender fingers start to move and curl when he responds. “Sorry princess, how about I make you squirt? Will that make up for it?” he purrs, voice low and playful.

• You moan your agreement, gripping the sheets. When Shouto finally, blessedly lets his warm tongue run over your clit, your back arches so hard it almost snaps. You breathe out his name and groans loudly. “Good girl, say my name again,” he demands, smacking the side of your hip harshly.

• You cry out and Shouto takes his fingers from your warmth. He hushes you, sliding a slick finger into your ass up to the last knuckle. Wanting to keep you completely stuffed, the fingers from his free hand find their place in your pussy.

• You pull his soft hair so hard you think it’ll come out in fistfuls. Sobbing his name as he eagerly sucks your clit in between his lips. You start to cum, entire body taught and Shouto happily finger fucks you through it.

• Even when you shove at his forehead he doesn’t stop, bullying your sweet spot till you flutter around him again. He frees himself from your thight holes, using his thumb to rub your clit harshly as you squirt, making a mess of his face.

• It makes him moan brokenly and then he’s desperately crawling between your legs, begging to put his thick cock inside. You agree and he fills your pussy over and over — sweet and slow until you both cum again.

#bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #kirishima eijirou x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki smut #shouto smut #bakugou katsuki smut #kirishima eijirou smut #mha smut #mha x reader

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rosepascal · 10 months

Text

Desire || Joel Miller Smut

summary: You need money and a offering your body for some mutual pleasure doesn't seem like a bad idea. If only you could know the man behind the wall who is set on ruining you for anyone else.

warnings: MINORS DNI. NSFW. 18+ ONLY. glory hole smut bby, dirty talk, unprotected sex, afab!reader, fingering, creampie, pussy slapping, sex work (we love and respect sex workers here tyvm), Joel calls you a toy, anonymous sex, swearing, rough sex.

a/n: Aight so no one judge me but I want this so badly and I want Joel to be the man to do it to me. Anyways please let me know if I missed a warning and I hope you enjoy!

part two: crave

People have needs. They had needs before the outbreak and they have needs after the outbreak. There's really no judgement anymore between people. Maybe some suspicious looks or hushed whispers every now and then but no one really has any moral high ground anymore.

You've lied, stolen, cheated, killed. Does it make you proud? Not always bit hey, that's just how it has to be sometimes. Today happened to be a day where you needed ration cards and to fulfill a few...desires.

A carnal desire to be completely ruined.

No emotions, no complications. Just a dick inside of you and an orgasm is all you need. Those kinds of services aren't easy to find anymore but you know the right people.

You heard whispers of an underground brothel of sorts. The upper half of your body is hidden away meaning you didn't have to see the men and they didn't get to see you. For ration cards and whatever the men felt like tipping was a good enough deal for you.

The little bed they provided was comfortable enough. It was leather and cool to the touch. Stripping your clothes down you shiver as you climb onto it. After some instructions that are muffled by the wall, you feel a pair of hands hook you up to the cuffs.

Spreading you out so that your cunt and ass are fully on display. You shift around, hearing the swinging of the small chain against the wood. It's only a few moments before you hear voices. You aren't the only one who's here. Some are on their stomachs while some are like you.

Either way all you can do now is patiently wait. You wonder what kind of people are here. In fact you wouldn't be surprised if a few FEDRA soldiers took pleasure in a place like this. Moans and grunts fill the room and you bite your lip in anticipation for what's to come.

Suddenly you feel a pair of hands on your legs. A gasp escapes from your lips as you feel his rough hands glide up and down your bare skin.

Even if you can't see him you can tell he's a big man. His hands wrap around your ankle, thumb running over the flesh. He's a tease. Most men would dive right in, not wasting anytime lubing up and fucking their cock into one of your holes.

But this man, he's taking his time. You jump when you feel his lips on your skin. Their chapped and sloppy as he kisses down your leg until he hits your thigh. It's a strange but incredibly wonderful feeling as he sucks on the skin. He nips your thigh and you whine.

A muffled chuckle can be heard through the wall and you know he's enjoying this. His hands slowly slide further down until they're right where you want them to be. His thumb swipes over your clit and you squirm. The small burst of pleasure was nice but you crave more.

"Don't move baby." The man purrs, his voice is clearer than before and fuck does he sound delicious. It's deep and smooth like whiskey. There's an accent to him too.

But you're not one to just roll over, at least not now. You want to see how far he'll go. Defiantly you roll your hips as best you can, searching for the sweet touch of his fingers. He tsks and you let out a small scream as his hand comes down on your pussy.

He slapped you and fuck did it feel good. A rush of arousal fills your body as you crave the feeling again. "What'd I fuckin' tell you." Without another word he slides two of his fingers deep inside of your cunt.

No warning, no time to get used to the feeling. A small glob of spit hits your cunt and he slowly pulls his fingers out, spreading it around and then shoves them back in. His thick fingers pound into you without mercy.

"Oh fuck!" You cry as you mindlessly search for something to grab onto. To anchor you back to reality as this man makes you see stars.

His fingers are so thick and curling in every way that makes you scream. There's no shame anymore as he groans at the sight of you sucking up his fingers. So wet, so tight.

"Bet you're gonna feel real nice taking this dick baby." He mumbles. You hear the clinking of a belt and his breathing becomes faster. He must be touching himself.

Fuck.

You almost regret having the wall between the two of you, wanting to know what it looks like. Wanting to see how he fucks his cock with his hand. If he's long, if he's girthy.

His thumb presses hard on your clit and you cry out, music to his ears. Why he's doing this you'll never know but you're glad he is. You're glad he's taking his time with you. Pleasuring you.

The tightness in your core gets tighter and tighter as he continues to fuck you with his fingers relentlessly. You're not really supposed to talk so you let your moans speak for you. Not holding back as you get closer and closer to the edge.

"Almost there." The man grunts out. Before you can come he rips his hand away from you. If you could you'd curse him out until next week. It's not fair.

"Aw don't be sad baby, I'll get you nice and full real soon." The man purrs.

The tip of his cock slides into your dripping cunt and god...he's big. Really fucking big.

"That shut you up real quick." He slides in a slow, torturous pace.

It doesn't fucking stop. When his hips hit the back of your thighs you're shaking from the feeling. The head of his dick deep inside of you, deeper than you thought possible.

"Ah fuck, knew you'd be a special one." His hands slide down to your ass and lifts it slightly. His hands giving it a squeeze before he slides out and slams back in. Your back arches as he fucks deep and rough into you.

"Take it baby, take this cock." He grunts loudly as he starts to lose his composure. It's like you're made for him. He could get lost in this cunt. Fuck if he could he'd take you out to dinner after this and fuck you on his mattress. Keep you safe and provide for you.

"Feel good? Bet it does, bet this is the best fucking cock you've ever taken." You're nodding your head but he can't see it. He's fucking the words out of you.

Leaving you breathless and desperate to come. The bruising grip on your ass loosens as he slaps it instead. Sending shockwaves through your body and prompting him to do it again.

"Ngh-Fuck! Oh god please." You moan.

If your legs weren't pinned to the wall you'd spread them even wider. Wanting all of what this man can give you. He's getting cocky but he can back it up with how he's treating you. And he's right. This is the best dick you've gotten in a long time.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of ya. Just hold on a little longer." His hands run across your ass, this time in a much softer manner.

You wish the wall was gone. That you could see his face, see the man who's ruining you like you always dreamed of.

"Hurry up." You hear someone else say.

Suddenly you're brought back to reality. You're just someone to fuck. No face and no name. You came here for that but now you're wishing you could at least the get name of this man.

"Fuck off." He snarls. His gruff voice getting angrier as he stills his hips. Silently you clench around him, begging him to fuck you again.

"Patience." He says to you harshly as he slaps your ass.

"You've been here for fucking ever man." The other man complains.

"I won't say it again. This one is mine." It shouldn't arouse you as much as it does. You don't know him and he doesn't know you but god the way he said it. The way he called you his, it made you want him even more.

Of course he notices the way you started to shift when he said it. How you squeezed around his cock, and the small whine you let out.

"Oh you like that? Like knowing that you're going to be nothing but my little toy." His hips start to move faster.

His dick fucking roughly into you over and over again. He's ruthless, chasing his own pleasure and using your pussy as a means for it. His thumb rubs your clit harshly as he nears his end. Knowing you're getting closer to coming you egg him on.

Begging for him to make you come. Pleading for him to push you over the edge with his cock and his fingers. His hands slam against the wall, groaning loudly as he stills his hips. He doesn't let up on your clit until you cry out and come hard on his cock.

He's throbbing in overstimulation but he stays deep inside. Not ready to give up your sweet pussy yet. His cock slides out slowly and you hate it, wanting him to stay inside you for longer. Whining sadly you clench around nothing.

"Don't be sad baby, I meant what I said." He says sweetly.

You can feel his cum dripping from you and down your body. It feels sticky and hot and you want more. You gasp when two of his fingers gather the dripping mess and pushes it back into your cunt.

"Come find me when you're done baby." With that he's gone.

You take a moment to catch your breath and thankfully no one comes up to you. His words dawn on you. Come find him? He didn't even give you a name.

Some more men come and go but no one compares to him. As they try and fuck you with their sloppy thrusts and misguided hands, all you can think of is him.

You're sore when they unlock your legs. When you leave they hand you an envelope and send you on your way. There's a wonderful ache as you walk back home.

Finally when you're safe from FEDRA and in your shitty little apartment you open the envelope. The promised ration cards are there but with them is a bundle that contained almost double the pay.

Attached was a small note with a name.

Joel Miller

Below that is an address messily scribbled down. Smirking you throw the card on your bedside table. You'll find him. And when you do, he better be ready.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction

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arminsumi · 6 months

Text

PRIEST GETO

GETO すぐる + fem!reader

Warnings : 🔞 minors do not read/interact : contains 18+ content, smut/erotica, religious themes, sacrilegious themes, solo m*sturbation, unprotected sex, creampies, virgin!Geto, not proofread

Priest!Geto has just one conversation with you, and immediately thinks to himself, "You're gonna be the reason I go to hell."

Priest!Geto's narrow eyes catch on your curves and he feels something click in his brain, then he quickly looks away as if singed by his sinful desires.

Priest!Geto is so taken aback when you outright tell him that you're sexually attracted to him. "Oh... well... I'm sorry I can't reciprocate the feeling... you know why." he tries to sound indifferent, but there's a heat rising up his neck.

Priest!Geto has to hook a finger on his clerical collar to tug at it when he sees you sitting in the pews. Your presence is so strong to him.

Priest!Geto is violently shaken up when you accidentally touch him. You once sat next to him, pressing your thigh to his more muscular thigh, and he could barely think, his brain malfunctioned like he was simply a 19 yr old college boy in need of pussy. You're so soft, you're so soft, you're so fucking soft and perfect he hates it with his soul. He just wants to know what it feels like to sink his pure fingers into the flesh of a creature as sinful as you.

Priest!Geto tries so hard not to think unholy thoughts of you, he clutches his rosary tight in his veiny hands and kneels at his bed every night, praying... but then you enter his mind like a beautiful little parasite and then he feels his cock sitting upright; stiff and leaky and begging for something soft to lay inside. He tells himself "Just once can't hurt..." and jerks himself nervously to the idea of you taking his cock in your sinning hands... sinning mouth... slutty sinning pussy... aw, he cums so hard he shakes and can't catch his breath. His cum is so thick, spurting out his curved cock, decorating his lower abdomen and trail of hair down there.

Priest!Geto inhales sharply when you stand too close next to him, like the proximity offends his whole body; his hands are folded neatly over his crotch as he tries to conceal the outline of his cock as it starts pronouncing itself through his pants.

Priest!Geto loathes the days you don't visit the church or come to enjoy lunch with your friend. He sits there, bored by dull conversations that he shouldn't be bored by, and pokes at his meal... the only thing that's appetizing to him is you, your company, your disrespectful flirting, your unexpected little remarks.

Priest!Geto to you is a steadfast believer, calm and unaffected by your provocations. But you see cracks in his demeanor; how he shifts uncomfortably when you talk to him in that soft voice, how he has to clear his throat before responding, how he zones out after you say something suggestive as if he's contemplating pouncing on you and sticking his tongue in your mouth.

Priest!Geto goes straight into denial about aching for your lips around his cock, even though he's having wet dreams about it. Some mornings he wakes from a dream of you sucking on his thick cock, and he looks up at the ceiling and groans... because he came against his thigh in his sleep... a gooey sticky sinful mess.

Priest!Geto is convinced that God sent you to him to test his discipline... and he knows he's fucked. He hates tying his hands behind his back. Do you know how badly those hands want to nest in your hair and pull on it while he stuffs you up?

Priest!Geto slowly feels his discipline weakening the more he's exposed to you and your charms.

Priest!Geto freezes up when you kiss him one day when you're alone together. "We can't do that..." he's breathlessly talking, hands grabbing your arms to pry you off of him... oh god how is he breathless over one kiss? His hands start shaking when you kiss him again. "F-fuck... we really can't do this..." he's moaning in no time, even whimpering and closing his eyes, letting himself get engulfed in dirty pleasure while you explore his body with your lips.

Priest!Geto whimpers from oversensitivity when he sinks his fat cock into you, telling himself that losing his virginity to a slut like you is forgivable... oh and his animalistic thrusts? Those are forgivable too. And the way he looks at you, like he's consumed by lust? That's also forgivable.

Priest!Geto crawls back to you for more after that, but at the same time pushes you away. He's a conflicted man. But when he's balls deep draining himself in your pussy, calling you a "bad girl" and a "sinner", he's a simple man.

Priest!Geto moans "sin for me, darling..." while cumming so deep inside that not a single drop of his sticky seed drips out. He leaves your pussy a sloppy, gushing mess.

Priest!Geto feels a rush, a dizzying and lustful rush, when you look at him during mass now; your little wink and lick of your lips makes him stutter throughout the passage he's reciting.

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

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yandere-daydreams · 6 months

Text

Title: Gorefest.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader (Jujutsu Kaisen).

Word Count: 1.3k.

TW: Gore, Blood, Major Character Death (Reader Is Fine), Implied Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Touching, Prolonged Stalking, and Delusional Behavior.

You found his latest gift on your doorstep.

It was a heart, this time – deflated but otherwise fully intact, blue viens still visible against pink flesh. A small puddle of blood and other gelatinous viscera surrounded it, but you ignored that in favor of wrapping the disembodied organ in your cardigan and unlocking the door to your apartment, too exhausted to fumble with your keys and too worn down to pretend you still thought you could get away from him on your own. His present was dropped into the ever-bubbling vat of crimson slurry you used to boil down his gifts until they’d been reduced to a less incriminating state, your shoes kicked off and left by the door. You didn’t bother turning on any lights. You were home, but you didn’t want to let yourself acknowledge that until he was gone.

You found Gojo in his usual spot; on the floor of your bedroom, his hands still stained red and one of your threadbare sleepshirts crumpled at his side, the dark material stained with something white and awful. That made two articles of clothing ruined, tonight. A few months ago, when the most he ever brought you was a half-beaten bouquet of roses and a list of questions for the strange man whose favorite place in the world seemed to be your living room, you would’ve been tempted to demand that he pay for the damages. You’d learned better than to imply you wanted anything from him, since then.

He was lying on his side, toying with something large and vaguely circular, his grin that of a cat dropping a slaughtered mouse at its owner’s feet. He was surrounded by more of his ‘presents’ – the disembodied organs of whatever poor criminal or curse user he’d taken it upon himself to dissect. You were glad you’d kept the lights off. You could see the outline of small intestine strung along the walls, assorted gore left in carefully considered piles wherever Gojo deemed it necessary. It’d take hours to clean up, after he left. Demanding that he help would only give him the impression that you wanted to spend time with him, and you weren’t going to make that mistake twice.

You moved to speak, but as always, he just had to be the center of attention. It was like he couldn’t imagine a world where you might’ve done anything but focus on him. “Welcome home,” he half-sung, pushing himself up and pulling his oblong, mishappen keepsake into his lap. “Do you want to start with dinner, or should I run you a hot bath? Or, if you want, you could always have a little of me—”

“Shut the fuck up.” And then, pointing in the general direction of your front door, “Get out.”

“So cold, babe. And after I went through all that trouble to set this up.” The coppery stench was starting to get to you. You could only pray the neighbors wouldn’t notice, or that you’d be able to think of a feasible enough excuse by the time they did. “I got hurt for you, too.” He held up a hand, gesturing towards the faintest, shallowest cut on his cheek. “Aren’t you going to dote on me? You know, like you used to – after you found me in that alley and bandaged my wounds. What was the first thing you said to me? That I was too pretty to bleed to death alone?”

You didn’t encourage him with a response, only crossing your arms over your chest and deepening your scowl. “Get out,” you repeated. “I don’t want you here.”

His grin only broadened. “If you keep saying things like that, I might start to think you’re trying to get me to leave.” Exasperation bled into your agitated expression, and Gojo let out a bark of a laugh. “Look, I know you like to play shy, but I’d really like it if we could use tonight for us. We could watch a movie, or—”

You let out a frustrated groan, dragging your hands over your face. “You know what? Fine. If you want to be here so badly, then stay.” You shut your eyes, standing a little taller. “I’m getting out of here.”

“Running off to spend the night with another man? Ah, what a cold-hearted temptress I’ve fallen for.”

“Oh, I’m going to do more than just spend the night with him.” You really should’ve shut your mouth. You should’ve bitten your tongue, swallowed your pride, refused to tell him anything save for the fact that you weren’t going to stay here any longer. But, the blood in the air was getting to you and you could still feel the cold flesh of the heart against your palm and you needed to get away, and you needed Gojo to know you were never coming back. “I met someone – a sorcerer. He knows you’ve been stalking me, and he offered to help.” You flashed him a grin, almost as awful as his own. “His name is Nanami, and he’s strong enough to keep me safe from people like you.”

You waited for him to laugh, to say he didn’t believe you, or better yet, to get angry, to feel a fraction of the dread and the rage he’d forced onto you. When he didn’t say anything, didn’t scream or yell or gloat, you opened your eyes. He was still staring, but his smile was softer, his eyes half-lidded in a way that could only mean something bad. “Oh, baby,” he started, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Whose heart do you think I went through so much trouble to bring you?”

A pebble threatening to slip off of its cliffside; two ends of a torn wire, a hair’s width away from connecting. Whatever he was trying to tell you, you just couldn’t seem to process it. “What?”

“Right. I’m sorry, sweetheart – that’s on me,” Gojo chuckled. “You were always more of a visual learner.”

The object in his lap was taken up and rolled towards you, coming to a teetering stop at your feet, where the residual light from the hall could illuminate it properly. In a daze, you dropped your gaze to it, allowed yourself to recognize blonde hair, razor-sharp cheekbones, and glassy brown eyes staring lifelessly back at you. There was a dark bruise on his jawline, paled by blood loss, and the mangled stump that used to be his neck was encircled by ragged flesh, as if it’d been torn from his shoulders. Despite everything, his mouth was closed, lips still pressed into a thin frown. As if he didn’t have time to so much as scream before Gojo got to him.

You must’ve passed out. One second, you were staring down at the disembodied head of your savior, and the next, you were on the floor, lying limp and breathless as Nanami’s blood formed a puddle underneath you. Gojo was already at your side, hauling you up and against his chest. You felt his arms around you, then plush of your mattress against your back. You were aware, distantly, that he was straddling you, that his mouth was pressing into the dip of your shoulder, then the curve of your throat. “It’s alright,” he muttered, his voice partially muttered by his closeness. “Why don’t you come stay with me for a while, after this? I’ve got a room ready for you back at my place and everything.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Straightening his back, he let his lips crash into yours – his kiss lingering and deep and filthy. By the time he pulled away, he’d drunk the air from your lungs and frozen the blood in your veins, leaving you as empty and as lifeless as one of his gifts.

You thought, idly, of the heart being reduced to viscera in your kitchen, and wondered if you should’ve held onto it for just a few minutes longer.

“I’ll be able to spoil you properly, once I’ve got you where you’re supposed to be.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo x reader #yandere gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #yandere gojo x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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mysicklove · 7 months

Text

𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

DAY 5: SPANKING

With: Eren Yeager

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Sub! eren, gn! reader, spanking, crying, Eren trying to be good, cursing, mean reader, slightly sadistic reader, handjob/hand humping, restraints, Eren is a good and then a brat for a bit

A/N: I almost posted this as just a random drabble, but I am glad I turned it into a Kinktober fic! Edit (10/04/23): this fic sucks LOLOLOL. poorly poorly written. oopsies. u cant have it all.

“For fucks sake, can you go any faster?”

You blink and pull your hand away from his cock. Teal eyes glare at you, his mouth slightly hanging open with every pant. It slightly surprised you, Eren was being so good today. But, you knew this was bound to come.

He never was good. There were times when he listened and didn’t give you grief about punishing him, but never was he fully compliant with you. He always had to let out a biting remark or try to get the upper hand.

Nights would always end up with him being punished. Tying him up, edging him, overstimulating him, leaving him high and dry, or simply degrading him until he cried and curled up into you looking for warmth. But the next day he always looked at you with stars in his eyes, preparing for whats to come.

But today was different. He didn’t want to be punished. He wanted to feel good, he wanted you to praise him and shower him with affection.

So he was meticulous with all his words. Softening your hard demeanor, trained to be so due to how bratty he was all the time. Today for a change, he whined for you, blinking up at you with wide and completely submissive eyes.

I’ll do whatever you want. They seemed to say. You’ve never seen him look at you like that before.

His heart pounded when you looked at him with warmth in your eyes from his words. He hasn’t seen that look during these times. They were always so cold, watching his ever movement to see if he deserved a scolding. Nothing like today, you looked at him with love. It made him shiver, wanting to pull more of your sweet attention on him.

But, he couldn’t stray too far from his routes.

You were edging him, his back against your chest, with his hands tied behind his back. You were weary of how good he was being for you and didn’t trust him enough to not touch himself.

He didn’t want to be edged. He wanted to be fucked. Wanted to lose his mind from the pleasure. Not pant against your chest, teetering on the lines of pain and pleasure. So out of habit, he cursed out at you.

When you pull your hand away, he knew he made a mistake. His cock hangs heavy, slightly tilted forward and leaking. He lets out a shaky breath and struggles against the restraints. He was so close.

“Oh, Eren.” His breath catches at the sadness in your tone and he bites his lip. He glares at the floor, beating himself for what he said. You weren’t one to give him second chances. He wanted this so badly.

He was trying so hard to not curse you out whenever you pulled away. He was rewarded every time he bit his tongue, preening when he hears the words, “Good boy.”

But it was too much watching how slow and gentle you were touching him. He couldn’t help but let out a biting remark. It just slipped out before he could stop it.

He cranes his neck to face you, eyes wide and panicked. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it. I'm being good!”

You tut at him, slowly shaking your head. He sees that familiar look in your eyes return. The warmth begins to disappear, and he stares desperately, trying to pull it back. “That was mean, Eren. Good boys don’t say mean things.”

He gulps, at lost for words, and in an instant, he is being flipped. He lands face-first on the bed, his cheek crushed against the pillows. He feels you lift his hips and move his legs so that he is balancing on his knees. He grips uselessly at the ropes, and he clenches his jaw.

He feels your hand slightly trace over the flesh of his ass and he cringes. He manages to turn his head, and his eyes widen. He’s over your lap. He is going to get spanked. He hates spanking. It was by far his least favorite punishment. He never was good with pain, and you knew this. “Wait! Give me a second to expla–”

His face scrunches from the first blow. He wants to grip onto something to help distract him from the pain, but he can’t. So he uselessly clenches and unclenches his hands. “I knew it was all an act. You greedy bitch. You were just trying to get yourself off, weren’t you?.”

He shakes his head, and his eyes begin to water. Another smack lands on the other cheek and he cringes. “I-I wasn’t! Wanted to your good boy, promise!”

You hit the space between his thighs, and he whimpers, rubbing the flesh together to help soothe the pain. “You liar”

He grits his teeth, knowing he can’t talk himself out of this situation. You were going to punish him either way, he might as well defend himself with dignity. “F-Fuck you!”

You grip at his hair, making him arch his back. Then you lean forward and whisper into his ear, “There’s my brat.”

You let go of his hair, and he lands face-first back into the sheets. His jaw clenches in slight embarrassment at how useless he must look. Completely vulnerable to your hold.

Another blow lands using the back of your hand. He tries to ignore it, trying his best to turn his head to glare at you. “Well, maybe if you knew how to actually make me feel good, I wouldn’t be a brat.”

You are grinning at him, the warmth now completely gone. “Disgusting people like you don’t deserve to feel good. Now quiet, Eren.”

Before he could argue, you slam his head into the pillow, holding him there gently enough for him to breathe but hard enough so that he is pinned to place. You raise your eyebrow when he raises his middle finger at you from behind his back, but don’t indulge him. He was just coaxing a reaction from you.

Instead, you send a particularly hard slap and watch the hand clench to withstand the pain. He groans into the pillow.

He isn’t used to being punished with pain. Edging and overstimulation were one thing, but spanking hurts. He hates it so much, and it made him wonder, how the hell did he get in this position? His ass is beginning to burn, and probably turning red.

“Fuck. S-Stop it!” The sound is mumbled from his face still being in the pillow, but nevertheless heard.

His legs begin to collapse, withering away from your hand. You quickly force them back up, and mumble false words of encouragement. But he looks so pretty, you rub your finger over the red handprint and he flinches, accidentally letting out a small whimper. The sound makes you grin, and mock coo at him. “Does it hurt, sweetheart?”

The fight in him is dwindling away rapidly. He can usually withstand punishment, but today he wasn’t looking for one, and not only that you were doing the least pleasurable one. But still, his cock remains embarrassingly hard against your thigh. “Yes! Be gentl–”

Another harsh slap makes him begin to cry, frustrated tears. You let go of his hair, and instead focus on his cock, stroking him faster than earlier. He immediately humps into it, desperate for any sort of pleasure. The mix between pleasure and pain makes his head spin.

He turns his head to the side and lets the tears drip down his face and onto the pillow. He full-on whines at the next slap, not caring about the way he sounds anymore. It hurts more and more with every strike, and he swears the flesh is raw by now.

“You gonna cum from me hitting you?” You murmur, sending another two quick two slaps to his skin. Your strokes become faster, and even the pain is slightly blurred from the pleasure. He tries desperately to meet your pace, slightly rolling his eyes at the lewd squelching sound.

“Yessssss,” He responds, noticing strangely that with your hand on his cock, the slapping doesn’t feel as bad. It hurts almost pleasurably good. The pain and pleasure are mixing together. It might even be spurring him on to his orgasm, though he would never admit it out loud.

“Cum for me, you brat.” He bites onto the pillow when he feels your head rub over the tip, encouraging his release. He hits his high the second your hand lands your final slap, right on the back of his balls.

His eyes widen and he cries out, but its drowned by his orgasm. It’s stinging, but it feels so so so good. His eyes are rolling back, and broken sobs are falling from his lips. Cum leaks onto your thigh, and you hum as you watch him tremble and cry from the force of it. His hands reach out from behind his back, and mercifully you place your hand in his. He grips onto it as if it was a lifeline, and you can’t help but find it cute.

When he comes down from his high, he stares at you with tears still unconsciously leaking. His ass hurts and his balls even more.

You grin at him and he has to hold back a whine. Only a couple of minutes ago you were punishing him, and now the warmth is back in your eyes. The warmth that he wanted to see when he finally came.

It made him wonder. Why is it so hard for him to be a good boy?

He is determined to cum with you praising him, even if he has to bite his tongue the entire time.

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