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netherfeildren · 7 months

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

Series Masterlist : Part I

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

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

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

Word Count: 12.3K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

2. I See Your Father as My Father

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you’re you.”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“I don’t care.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think so?”

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

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

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

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

“And I don’t want it gentle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, please, now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just a little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part III

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#pink fic #Joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #the last of us au #joel miller imagine

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year

Text

König x Petite Reader Headcanons

Warnings: Non-Explicit Implications of Sexual Content, Petite Reader, Size Kink, Jealous König, Insecure König, Implied 141 x Reader, Petnames, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

A/N: Forgot that I'd already written this once before, so here we are with more König x Petite Reader Headcanons ! Just see this as some extra content for our beloved König and his smol s/o <3

When it comes to you, this man is F E R A L

Genuinely cannot believe how perfect you are.

Constantly jokes about how he could fit you in the palm of his hand.

And once, to shut him up, you proved him right by sitting on his open hand when he wasn’t expecting it and gave him a smug look.

“There,” you said, folding your arms over your chest. “You can fit me in your palm.”

König tried not to think of how close he was to your special parts, how warm you felt on him.

He had to disappear to the bathroom for a few minutes afterwards, and when he returned, his face was flushed and he could barely look you in the eye.

He’s never been the same after that. Any trace of a size kink he had before has been amplified to such an extent that he’s taken to hiding your clothes so you’ll have to wear his.

And he just can’t keep his hands off you whenever you do.

“My my, Engel,” he says, one hand sliding around your waist and pulling you closer to him, the other drawing the hem of his shirt further and further up your thighs.

“What could you be hiding under here ?”

Calls you his Mini Maus.

“Because you’re just so tiny and precious !” he gushes.

And since you’re so small compared to him, he treats you as if you’re fragile, like an endangered species of flower.

Concerning intimacy at the beginning of your relationship, König was concerned that he was too big for you.

But, when you put his mind at ease (and challenge him) – “I bet I can take you, Köni~” – you’re in for it.

König’s fighting spirit won’t let you off easy.

When he’s feeling more dominant, he bunches your wrists into one of his hands while he sits on top of you, his other hand slipping beneath your (his) shirt and slithering round the band of your underwear.

“Pretty little thing,” he says, a dangerous smile at his lips. “All weak and defenseless.” He leans down, his eyes dark and wild. “Just for me.”

If you try to struggle (consensually), he’ll smack you through your underwear. And not gently, either.

“Don’t test me, Mini,” he says, his grip about your wrists tightening. “You don’t know what I’m like when I’m angry.”

He loooooves fitting his hands around your waist.

Especially when he finds that his hands wrap around your middle and his fingers touch.

Size kink: upgraded.

He gets lowkey jealous if you ask someone else to reach something for you.

Will sulk about it.

“I just don’t see why you had to ask Ghost to get it for you,” he’ll say, frowning as he lies in bed.

You sigh, putting your book down.

“König, you weren’t even here !” you say. “And I was starving !”

König knows he’s being unreasonable, but he can’t help but feel like he can be easily replaced.

Especially when he knows the rest of the 141 would gladly drop everything to be with you.

He’s not stupid, he’s seen the way they look at you.

A few minutes alone together and a kind word – “You’re so perfect, Köni~ My big, big boy,” – will set him straight.

Loves showing you off to his friends. His acquaintances aren’t safe, either.

He’ll stand you before him and show you off to his associates like: ”Look, this is my partner ! Aren’t they beautiful ?!”

So help him god if anyone tries to show you up or disagree.

You’ll never see them again.

And neither will anyone else.

König loves you more than life itself, and regardless of his insecurities or your unwavering ability to have anyone you could ever want, he’s glad you chose him <3

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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neopuppy · 3 months

Note

Jisung bday sex with older woman 🫣

a little more of this

warnings. voyeurism, throat fucking, unprotected sex, use of noona, degradation

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

The weight on your palm isn’t just big, it’s fucking huge. You should have known, Jaemin had you gasping the first time he stripped down in front of you, and Jeno had you near ready to pass out with just the tip of his thick girth. Why would their little brother be any different.

Jisung’s cock throbbed against your palm, eagerly awaiting your next move. “Don’t close your eyes.” He adds, nodding for you to continue. His two older brothers grin, silently acknowledging that maybe they doubted the younger too much. “If you take those pretty eyes off of me, I’ll have no choice but to cut off your breathing.”

“Should do it anyway.” Jaemin whispers.

“She likes that shit.” Jeno adds, lighting a fire under your cheeks as you lean forward to drag your tongue in a circle around the tip of his length. “She can take it Ji, don’t be gentle.”

The younger nods, feeling pressure from his siblings to really put on a show and prove how much of a man he’s become. “Hurry the fuck up, I know that slutty mouth can do better than this.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the next few inches that stretch past your lips, lifting his hips from the couch and reaching for the back of your skull to tangle long fingers through your hair. The glides easy past your spit slick tongue, rolling up a few more times until he feels obstruction and your eyes flicker rapidly to blink away a rush of moisture, gagging around the mouthful that pulses against your cavern. Hissing between clenched teeth, a small tweak lifts a corner of his mouth up to one side cockily, gripping the hair along the back of your head firmly. “That’s it noona, suck my dick just like that.”

A grunt passes through his plush lips, settling back down and shoving you in closer until your nose pushes against the trimmed hair lining above his length. It’s impossible to not roll your eyes shut as more heat and shame races from your chest to your throat, lurching around the size clogging your airway.

“Fuck, look at that.” Jeno hisses, leaning it to whack the bulge protruding from your throat until you’re coughing around Jisung’s cock, gurgling out enough spit to drop from your chin to your chest. Jaemin hums, bending in to smear the mess of drool down to your breast, pinching and flicking your nipples.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you noona?” Jisung says between puffs of breath, grinding his hips against your face. “I said keep your fucking eyes open.”

Blinking furiously, you gag again, spared for a moment as he pulls you off and laughs at the wad of spit that rivers out, cock wet and angrily pulsating as it bounces free. “Look at how fucking wet she is.” Jeno tuts, grabbing your arms to pull you up from the floor and manhandle you to sit on Jisung’s sturdy thigh. The thin barely there material of your sheer panties visibly soaked through and leaking as you plop down with a whimper, lips hung open still trying to catch your breath. “She loves being treated like a slut.”

“That’s obvious.” Jisung says, reaching to knead your hips, pulling you higher up his thigh abruptly. The harsh friction against your clit has your eyes rolling back immediately, choking on a gasp when your chest collides with his muscular one. “You’ve always liked an audience, teased me for years with your tiny shorts and non-existent skirts.” He scoffs, leaning in to whisper against your ear. “Isn’t that right noona? I’m all grown up now, gonna fuck you like I am too.”

The amount of unbridled confidence Jisung’s been whacking you across the face with feels similar to whiplash. The younger exuding a strong domineering energy you’d never have expected from him, slapping your ass repeatedly until it stings with each new land and has you whimpering into his shoulder. “Jisungie..” you sniffle, drawing him to lean back and glide his hands to your waist.

“How fucking cute.” He sneers, pinching your sides. “No shame, not an ounce of damn shame.”

Two sets of eyes burn down your sides, easily forgetting them as Jisung moves to cup your face and pull you in closer, grazing lips across yours. “D’ya want it? Wanna hear you say it. Ask for it.”

His bottom lip slots between yours, sucking on your swollen upper lip lightly as you sob and nod rapidly, rutting your hips down to slot your slit on top of his fat raging hard girth.

“Words. Use your words.” He says quietly, drowning out the fact that his brother’s watch and judge on. The only sounds his ears pick up come from your scratchy throat, the music playing, and your shallow breaths that mingle between.

“Please, Jisungie, please.. want you to fuck me.” The way you beg and fall into a whine shoots straight to his dick. Clutching your ass, he pecks you a few times, pushing off the couch with a strong hold around you to turn around and set you on your back, too excited to slow down any longer and really savor every inch of your flesh despite his desire to. He needs to be inside of you, now. Needs to feel your soft wet heat suck around his length, swallow him whole until he’s deep enough inside of you to carve a space out for himself much like his brothers already have. He’ll do it better, fuck you harder, make sure you never forget how good he made you feel, how much he made your legs shake.

Scrunching your drenched underwear to one side he curses, licking at his plump lips and swallowing at the sight of your glistening wet pussy. Fuck, it’s perfect just like the rest of you. So pretty and ready to be used, opening up practically shouting at him to fill you up until it hurts and you’re lying that you can’t take it anymore.

Shoving his jeans down past his ass, he slaps down against your core a few times, mumbling a canopy of fuckfuckfuck as sticky juices jump around his cock off your cunt.

“Please, please fuck me already baby.” You croak, salivating at the view above you. Jisung nods, leaning in as he probes at your entrance and thrusts a few inches deep without patience, having to control his twitching hips from jackhammering you into the couch until it breaks.

“Fuck her like the whore she is.” He can hear one of his brothers call out, distant to his clouded ears.

Jisung’s lips part above yours, struggling to breathe as he lowers and feels his balls slap against your ass. “Noona.. I’m inside of you—ah, fuck!”

Sharp nails claw at his broad shoulders, kicking your ankles at his backside as you wrap around him like a clinging vine. “T-too big, s-so big Jisungie.”

A sense of accomplishment rolls his eyes shut, storing the sound of your shattered moans for years to come before he draws out to the tip and slams into you again over and over again despite your loud cries, the fierce scratches up and down his back, or the rough bites on his biceps.

Best Birthday ever.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

#asks #nct hard hours #nct dream hard hours #park jisung smut

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cultrise · 6 months

Text

SIZE KINK. GOJO SATORU

ᗢ CONTENTS NSFW, p in v, fingering, some clit rubbing, satoru being a little shit (like always), slaps your clit with his tip for a bit <3, size kink obviously ᵎᵎ wc 1.9k

ᵎᵎ check the mlist for kinktober here !

gojo satoru had known praise and nothing but praise his entire life. always deemed the most powerful, the most handsome man not only in the gojo clan but also in every room he stepped in, it was easy to say satoru’s ego had an ego of it’s own.

so you can well imagine how that translated to his relationships with people, in particular his relationship with you. satoru was not cocky to the point he thought himself better than you. if anything, that man gravitated around you like you were his sun and he was a planet orbiting selflessly. however, being mischievous often intertwined with his ego, always reminding you of how lucky you are.

“god, i’m so jealous of you” satoru slaps a dramatic palm to his chest as you raise a brow “you have such a hot, handsome, smart, talented boyfriend.. did i mention how handsome he is?” he leans in, grinning from ear to ear.

“baby, you washed one dish. please stop talking and do your chores”

this whole charade of his didn’t bother you in the slightest, as you knew it ended up being a good laugh. and you also knew very well that under all that confident exterior satoru had built up, under it lay a very insecure and often sad soul who just wanted to be appreciated for who he was, not what he had to offer.

now, when it came to intimacy, satoru’s ego transformed into something else. he had a slight dominance kink, always getting aroused at the way he got you to squirm under him and chant his name like a broken wish, turning to goo by his hands. and one night, he became acutely aware of how small you were compared to him as you sat on his lap, watching a movie. all of a sudden, a switch clicked in his brain. it was an itch he had to scratch.

“you like this movie?” satoru asked as his eyes shifted to you, fingers tapping on your hipbone. his body surged with excitement as you remained unaware.

“it’s pretty dumb… i still don’t get how this guy survived that fall” you furrow your brows, attention still glued to the screen. satoru grins as you jut your lips out in pure confusion. he would be lying if he said he wasn’t getting hard just at the sight of you. you were too fucking adorable for him to handle.

“wanna stop watching it then? since it’s pretty bad” satoru asks as you finally turn to him, brows raised.

“uh.. sure. you have a better movie in mind?” he presses the off button on the remote, turning the tv on completely as you rested your hand on his thigh, still confused.

“was thinking of something more… hmm, how do i say this?” he looked around as if to search for his own words. in the end, he gave up “fuck’s sake, wanna have sex?”

your eyes widen, lip corners slightly turning upwards at your boyfriend’s impatience. a small chuckle escapes your lips. it’s now his turn to furrow his brows “what?”

“that desperate, are you?” you smile as satoru’s defence mechanism kicks in.

“what? no!… yes.. can you just answer my question?” satoru’s cheeks turn a slight pink as you smile, brushing some stray strands away from his hair.

“i want to know what you’re playing at first..” you admit, eyes staring into his. satoru’s breathing slows down, lips parted as he watches you stare him down. with the way your eyes watch over his, he can feel his boxers tighten. how unfair, he was supposed to be the one with the pretty, hypnotising eyes in the relationship.

“i wanna see something… just trust me” he whispers, hands sliding to your thighs and gripping them slightly. you raise an untrusting eyebrow “oh, come on, baby”

he was starting to beg. you lower your head with a soft giggle, removing the blanket covering your bare legs. at the sight of your plushy thighs, satoru licks his lips. you part away from him, sliding to the other end of the couch and laying back with a tiny smile as satoru rolls his eyes, returning it “what? you started begging for it, you’re doing all the work”

he scoffs, climbing on top of you while you slide your shorts off. no underwear. satoru swallows hard, obvious “i wasn’t begging…” you once again raise your brow. he decides not to retort, he knew better than that.

he gently pushes you back, making sure you’re comfortable as your head rests on one of the couch’s pillows “so pretty…” he murmurs before capturing your lips in a soft kiss, sliding one finger into your sloppy cunt. the action elicits a needy moan from your lips and he smiles, sliding his tongue into your mouth.

you couldn’t say you weren’t sexually satisfied by satoru. quite the opposite actually. and some would say that that was the reason you got wet so easily, no satisfaction. but as high and mighty satoru thought himself.. he was right. nobody could pleasure you like he did and the mere suggestion of getting intimate made your body burn. you would never admit it though. he’d rub it in your face. same way as he was rubbing your swollen clit with his thumb.

your tug at his white hair, breaking the kiss to get some air as the room filled with the sounds of pants and wet squelches of your pussy “too much?” he smirks as you attempt to catch your breath. and because he can’t do anything being a little shit he makes sure to add a second finger in before staring down like a vulture watching his prey.

a sound you’ve never heard before comes out from his lips, followed by a small curse as satoru comes to the realisation that even his fingers look big compared to your cunt. his vision blurs, arousal taking over his every muscle “ahh.. satoru.. you okay?” you ask, hand gently caressing his bicep as you try to hold back your moans.

satoru’s head snaps back up, looking at you with lust-filled eyes “yeah… just admiring how this needy pussy is sucking me in” you mewl at the lewd remark, your walls clenching even more around his fingers. satoru is taunting, he’s relentless and he laughs mockingly before bending his torso down so he can reach your neck.

his kisses trail from your neck upwards, to your jaw and to the shell of your ear as he whispers “ya’ want my cock in you, pretty girl?” you bite your lip, chocking back some desperate cries as you nod, gripping his shoulder. his fingers worked wonders into your gaping hole, curling and moving without hesitation and with only one mission: pleasuring you. and, of course, unbeknownst to you, to compare the size of your body with his.

as satoru takes his fingers out you whine, lips pursed together as all pride and rationality leave your mind “please… hurry..” you beg as he chuckles, sliding his sweatpants and boxers down to his knees before applying a sweet kiss to your forehead. he guides his leaking tip to your entrance, making sure to tease you by rubbing it against your wet folds and slapping your clit with it.

“we have all night, why hurry?” he inquires, a smirk growing on his face as you break into broken pleads. he was bluffing. he needed to fuck you just as much as you wanted him to and he looks down again, watching his pre mix with your juices.

only after he decides he’s done taunting you he pushes in slowly, painfully slow at that, a long groan erupting from his lips. you both take a while to adjust: you to his length and him to the warmth of your pussy. before you open your eyes, you feel his palms grab your thighs, pushing them up so they rest on his shoulders. it was new, something satoru had on his list for a while but just didn’t get to do.

as he looks down at you, mouth shaped in an ‘o’ as your pretty eyes look at him, he realises how much smaller you look now that your legs are folded and hugging his neck. his cock twitches at the thought. his hips snap forward as he starts to move, hands holding your hips while you reach for his neck, pulling him in for a messy kiss.

your moans break against each other’s lips, his pace quickening as you start crying his name desperately. satoru’s mind is hazy and, after breaking the kiss — biting your bottom lip while pulling away — his sight travels down your body. his lip part, he lets out a small gasp and then smiles, a gleeful cackle that sends shivers down your spine "shit, baby... look" satoru bites his lip as he looks at you proudly.

your eyes follow his, trying to see what he's looking at. and then you see it. with every thrust, you can see his bulge through your stomach, an indication of how large his dick was compared to your body "see? that's me right there.. shit... you're so tight" satoru's eyes roll back in his head as the final confirmation of your size difference seeps into his brain. fuck, he was so close to cumming.

you lean back on your pillow with a whine as satoru continued to talk filth in your ear "look at how that cute little pussy is swallowing me in.. what a good girl" he grins against your chest before a lightbulb appears in his head. his hand slides down and presses on your lower stomach, right where his tip was poking and watches your reaction.

you arch your back with a cry, hands digging into the cushions "satoru!.... s'too big!..too deep" you gasp as he starts kissing your jaw, thumb rubbing your clit.

"yeah?" satoru grins against your face "tell me how it feels, princess"

"g..good... so good!" you whine, urging him to keep his pace. he obliges instantly, deep breaths escaping his lips as he felt his orgasm build up. "f..fuck... i'll cu- satoru!" he hums in approval, now focused on finishing the both of you instead of talking (finally).

your orgasm is explosive, it's blissful and your legs shake as you cum all over satoru's length. seeing you squirm under him so hard only makes satoru rut his hips into you faster, biting his lip and muttering a string of curses as he fills you up to the brim.

your chest heaves as he pulls out, throat dry with all the screaming and crying of his name. you wet your lips, wiping your forehead as you try to ignore the weight of your boyfriend, who so kindly decided to drop his body on top of yours like he's not about to suffocate you.

"so.. guess you have a size kink now, huh?" you tease as satoru chuckles, cuddling himself closer to you. your fingers instantly go to his hair, scratching his scalp gently as his cheek presses on your collarbone. and when he finally speaks.. well...

"up for another round?" he gives a toothy grin. "satoru, wha-" your eyes widen as your boyfriend raises his head from your chest. "need to see how many rounds it'll take for you to not be able to walk in the morning."

#✦— kinktober.#𐙚 — pages.#𐙚— dreamscape.#gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader smut #jjk gojo #kinktober '23 #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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quoththemaiden · 2 months

Text

@mrghostrat This is now the third time since December that I'm writing about your middle-aged men and their middle-aged-man problems (1, 2). Please come collect them, because they're causing a disturbance.

Or, if you aren't able to wrangle them, then please enjoy this scene inspired by Chapter 10 of Big Name Feelings.

For everyone who hasn't already seen the top portion of this on Discord, know that this is set sometime after the con but before the big bang.

—

"I think your hair might be getting long enough to braid now."

Crowley's eyes snapped over to him. "Braid?"

Aziraphale blinked at the sharp question. "I didn't mean anything by it." He'd still never figured out quite where Crowley's gender identity lay, or if it changed day-by-day. He suspected Crowley's public presentation of his gender was either "whatever's simplest for everyone involved" (around people he didn't know but generally liked, like at the con) or "whatever causes the most problems for everyone involved" (like with a particularly annoying security guard that had left Aziraphale remembering that being middle-aged, white, and extremely stuffy in appearance was its own form of armor). Aziraphale's own perception of Crowley's gender was just "Crowley." What Crowley felt about it was something Aziraphale had never quite managed to parse out. "You can do whatever you like—"

"Do you know how?"

"How...?"

"To braid hair." Crowley's tone was oddly urgent. "Like for your nieces or cousins or—"

"—for crafting, yes. Tassels for bookmarks and such. You want me to—" Crowley practically flinging himself down onto the sofa next to him was answer enough. "Oh."

Crowley's hair really was barely long enough to braid, Aziraphale decided as he gently freed it from its elastic band. He ran his fingers through it slowly and carefully, easing out the light tangles from a day's confinement. Crowley slumped forward in boneless contentment, and Aziraphale had to switch to prickling the top of his scalp with his fingernails to get him to sit up straight enough for Aziraphale to work.

Aziraphale determined his gameplan, then, and gently eased up a few locks of hair at the crown of Crowley's head, smoothing down the top with the flat of his palm. He started working the strands into a French braid, taking it tiny piece by tiny piece to ensure every section was balanced in size. If Crowley were doing it himself, he suspected he'd get it done in just five messy joins, but every strand he brought in gave Aziraphale another excuse to run his fingertips along Crowley's scalp and he luxuriated in each opportunity. "Has anyone ever told you your hair is unreasonably thick?" he murmured, his voice huskier with fond affection than he'd intended. Crowley spared him from a tease by being too utterly sedated to manage more than a vague hum in response. Aziraphale smiled at that and kept his progress blissfully slow and methodical until he had no choice but to tie the braid off at the nape of Crowley's neck — half a French braid, half a ponytail made bushy from having had waves worked into it. He placed a soft kiss to the back of Crowley's head, padded by the thickest part of Crowley's braid and somehow all the more intimate for it. "All done, love."

Crowley leaned back against Aziraphale's chest, tilting back his head to look up at him with eyes made impossibly soft with contentment. "I'm never putting my own hair up again. Just hope you know that."

Aziraphale chuckled softly, just as fond. "I'll manage somehow, I suppose."

—

Crowley's boneless appreciation of the hair braiding had turned into boneless napping, and while Aziraphale enjoyed having Crowley fall asleep against him at certain times of day, he had never been one for naps himself and there was a limit to how long he could stay motionless sans entertainment before even he got antsy. He eased his way out from under Crowley, grateful the other man was a heavy sleeper even during the day, and was left deciding what quiet amusement he could pursue until whenever Crowley woke up and started making noises about dinner. He could always read some fanfics, of course, but his eyes couldn't help but be drawn towards his favorite muse.

His muse who had, he recalled, tempted him into joining a rigged bang and had talked him into getting a digital tablet. Aziraphale still planned to do his official art for it traditionally, because he was sure Crowley's writing would deserve no less... and, if he was allowed to be vain in the privacy of his own mind, because he still remembered the feeling he'd had when Crowley responded to his scans with barely coherent keysmashing. He wasn't in deferential awe of Crowley anymore, although he still loved his writing just as much, but part of him still hoped that Crowley might respond with just as much enthusiasm at getting to see the finished piece in person, textured paper and unprocessed colors and all. Well, assuming he could be gutsy enough to actually give it to him in person instead of just leaving it on the drafting table for him to find, which was really the more statistically likely result. But anyway.

But anyway.

His muse was sleeping in front of him, and a stylus on an iPad would make hardly any noise at all. And if he got good enough at using it, maybe he could draw some extra digital art to celebrate the fic as well.

In any case, sketching Crowley while he slept was one of life's little joys. He didn't think Crowley knew how often he did it, and that was probably for the best. If he did it all in his notebook, it would have been too easy for Crowley to flip through and find the sketches (and removing sheets would have felt damnably like a guilty conscience). With his iPad, however, he was safe to sketch as much as he liked and there was no real way for Crowley to stumble across it. Aziraphale willfully shoved aside the thought that that didn't really sound any less guilty and started setting stylus to screen. It wasn't long until he'd settled into a comfortable rhythm, his eyes flicking back and forth between the screen and where Crowley was lying face-down on the sofa, his new braid highlighted in a beam of afternoon sunlight.

Something Aziraphale did appreciate about digital art was that white could be layered on top of other colors and be shockingly vibrant, which wasn't an effect he could get easily with his beloved watercolors. Something else watercolors didn't give him was the ability to pick out very fine details, and as his sketch started coming together, he found that was exactly what he wanted to do now. While Crowley's hair was a vibrant red in his selfies or on stage, when he'd had the opportunity to run his fingers through every strand, he'd found that Crowley's hair was showing his age just as much as his own was.

The first day Aziraphale had found a grey hair had come as a shock. He'd naively assumed that with his hair being as pale as it was, even if it started greying, he might well never know. Instead, he found that the grey hairs' texture was frustratingly different from the strands that were still blond, and until they reached a critical mass fifteen long years later, they had an unfortunate tendency to stick out unattractively if his cut was anything less than perfect. He had become quite a regular at his barber's.

With Crowley's hair being as long as it was, his grey hairs had worked smoothly into his braid. From even the small distance from couch to armchair, they melded into the red strands perfectly... but Aziraphale had just spent long minutes twining them into neat twists and didn't need to see them now to know they were there. Aziraphale zoomed in close (another marked benefit of the digital display) and set his pen to a thin, sharp line, layering sleek silver strands into the red braid he'd drawn. Following the way they weaved around each other and dipped in and out of view felt delightfully meditative.

Eventually, Crowley made a soft snuffling snort-groan as he roused from his nap, slowly turning to unbury his face from the pillows. "Wha' time'zit?" he mumbled, patting around blindly for his cellphone.

"Coming up on 5:30 now," Aziraphale replied softly, trying not to startle him into full wakefulness too quickly. He rose and fetched Crowley's phone, placing it gently into his fumbling hand. "There you go."

"Mmrrr. Don't need it now." Crowley tucked the phone under his side in what Aziraphale would have guessed would be a very uncomfortable fashion but which Crowley did without even thinking. At least it wouldn't be going anywhere from there, Aziraphale supposed. "What're you doin'?" Crowley made grabby hands at the iPad Aziraphale had brought over with him.

Aziraphale handed over the iPad without even one thought, much less a second. "Oh, I was just waiting for you to wake up, really."

"...Angel." Crowley had zoomed out on the picture (with a completely unsurprising lack of propriety) and was now staring, frozen and much more awake, at the drawing of himself. "You aren't going to post this on Tumblr, are you?"

Aziraphale laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of that, despite the ripple of shock Crowley's tense tone had caused him. "Come, now. When have I ever posted a drawing of you, my dear?"

"When have you ever made a drawing of me?" Crowley retorted. He waved vaguely at the screen, accidentally sparing Aziraphale from having to answer. "I don't mind being old, but I don't want the world knowing my boyfriend thinks I'm old." His frazzled waving turned a little more flaily.

"Crowley..." Aziraphale gently took the tablet back from him and set it down on the floor so he could take Crowley's hand in both of his. "I assure you, I'm not the kind of artist who spends my time drawing things I don't think are beautiful. And that includes every detail I put in."

Aziraphale would have hoped that was obvious, really. The strands of hair he had drawn weren't brittle grey; they were molten silver. They caught the light like a precious metal woven like a ribbon into cinnabar-red hair. Crowley could have been a queen, fallen asleep after a long day in her finery. He could have been a fae whose very essence was beauty, sleeping with no fear that it would be stolen away because it couldn't.

He could have been an ordinary man, who was so deeply, truly loved that even his grey hairs seemed to shine like the soft gleam of a newly-forged star when they caught the last strong beams of afternoon sunlight shining in through the windows.

Aziraphale hoped Crowley could see it, too.

Crowley made a grumpy noise. "I still don't want it on Tumblr. — Not that I can tell you what to do with your art, but—"

Aziraphale interrupted him with a warm smile. "I don't want it on Tumblr, either. I drew this just for me."

"...really? Even though...?"

"Just for me," Aziraphale whispered in confirmation, his eyes seeking out Crowley's and saving him from having to finish that sentence. "I've only ever drawn you for me." I love you to the point of creation, his heart sang. It wasn't quite how that quote went, he knew. It was the only way it had ever gone, for him.

"Hn..." Crowley shifted to look at the iPad where it lay down on the floor. "I suppose... Well. Despite the subject matter, you drew it well, at least."

"Well, thank you for that," Aziraphale jibed back lightly, completely devoid of malice.

"Ngh, you can't blame me for feeling self-conscious about my greys when you haven't got any."

Aziraphale let out a huff of a laugh. "Oh, Crowley."

"What?" Crowley looked defensive, then abruptly switched to looking shrewd. "Wait. Do you dye them??" He leaned forward eagerly, like this was taboo knowledge.

"Oh, where was that compliment two decades ago? No, not at all. Do you know how long I spent getting over feeling self-conscious about them, and now for you to not even realize I have them?"

"No way. You've been holding out on me!" Crowley's eyes had a light in them that Aziraphale had seen sometimes — the look of someone who has been wanting something very much and thinks he's just figured out how to get it. Aziraphale drew back instinctively in trepidation. He had no idea what Crowley could possibly be wanting, though a fluttering feeling in his chest suggested that it was, in some way, him.

Ridiculous. As if they hadn't had sex already.

"I'm going to go get dinner started."

Crowley let out a whine that cut off abruptly enough that Aziraphale suspected he actually hadn't intended to make it.

Aziraphale paused. "What?"

"Ehhh... just envious, s'all."

Aziraphale took a moment to muse about whether Crowley knew the difference between "envious" and "jealous" and decided, firmly, that he had faith that he did. "Of what?" he asked with an incredulous laugh, since he still had no idea what "envious" could possibly apply to here.

"Negghhh, you've gotten to play with my hair enough to know I have greys, and I haven't gotten to touch yours once."

Aziraphale blushed darkly at that, remembering some choice occasions in which Crowley had gripped his hair tightly enough to hurt. He cleared his throat and opted not to mention them. "That feels much more like your fault than mine."

"Just... tryin'a respect your boundaries, angel."

"Why would that be a boundary?" Aziraphale asked, baffled.

"I asked for it and you haven't."

Aziraphale didn't quite remember it that way, but it was a fair enough interpretation from Crowley's point of view, he supposed. "Well, no. It sounds perfectly nice, but I'd hate to bore you with it. I know you're much more fidgety than I am."

"Not bored," Crowley insisted, his eyes urgent. "Never bored when it's you, angel. Siddown."

Aziraphale laughed breathily. "Too late. I'm already up to cook dinner."

"Angel."

"You'll just have to wait," Aziraphale teased in a singsong lilt, casting a smile back at Crowley over his shoulder.

Crowley flung himself back on the couch with an impatient whine, leaving Aziraphale feeling very smug about his attempt at whatever the romantic equivalent of foreplay was. Crowley sounded very much like he was being left with blue balls. "Bastard."

"Only as much as you deserve, my dear," Aziraphale sang back as he went into the kitchen, acutely aware of Crowley's eyes following every step.

—

It wasn't really in question, at all, that Aziraphale would end the evening snuggled on the couch with Crowley's hands in his hair. There was also no question that he'd enjoy it thoroughly, and he also knew it wasn't the kind of thing that was likely to lead to anything more. So, instead, he just relaxed into it and let his thoughts drift.

"...do you really think I'd mind if my red fox turned into a silver fox?" he mused. The thought was languid, easy, relaxed. Crowley spluttered in incoherent surprise anyway, and Aziraphale laughed softly. "Yes, I know. There's a reason I'm not the writer of the pair."

"Y'are, though. Don't think I've forgotten that you are."

Aziraphale blushed a little at that. "Oh."

Crowley's hands resumed their meditative motion through Aziraphale's hair. "But... yeah. I'd rock it, wouldn't I?"

"You would," Aziraphale murmured with a smile. "And I'm quite looking forward to seeing it someday, my dear."

#good omens #ineffable husbands #bnf au #fanfiction of fanfiction #my writing #not actually about asexuality but let's be honest that hair-petting scene was my kind of ace #apologies for any misrepresentation about watercolors #seriously bilvy come get your middle-aged men and their middle-aged-man problems out of my head #and be aware that if you leave time between posting future chapters then i might have to write more and nobody wants that

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moremaybank · 1 year

Text

DANGEROUS GAMES — j.m

pairing jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader

summary jj refuses to take the bait when you give him a tempting offer. you both agree on a compromise, but you're left pleasantly surprised with how things turn out.

warnings 18+, mutual masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex, oral/face-fucking (m. receiving), cum-swallowing, smidge of a daddy kink, jj and reader's filthy ass mouths, i think that's it but let me know

author's note making my comeback ??? also testing if i wanna go back to regular-sized text.

jj masterlist

“J,” you sulk, rolling your eyes as you follow him inside the chateau. “You’re being ridiculous. It’s not that deep.”

JJ scoffs. “It’s not right.”

It’s your turn to scoff. “Why not? Because of John B? JJ, you’re a grown-ass man.”

JJ pauses, turning back around to face you with a large sigh. “I’m not the guy who fucks his best friend’s little sister behind his back. John B is my brother. I’m not gonna do that to him.”

“Really? He’s your brother?” You ask. You approach him slowly, almost chest to chest, as you look up into his captivating blue eyes. You test the waters by bracing your hands on his firm shoulders, refusing to tear your gaze from his. “So that means you think of me as your sister?”

JJ gulps, and he knows you can see through the façade he’s putting up. You’re the furthest thing from a sister to him. He’s always thought of you as forbidden fruit. Something he’s wanted for so long but knows he can never have a taste of. The thought is burned into his brain, and it taunts him daily.

Your constant teasing doesn’t seem to help matters much, either. Sauntering around in your towel after a shower with water droplets littered across your damp skin, the outline of your curves still managing to show through the thick cotton fabric. Or when you’re in the hot tub together, your head thrown back with your eyes shut as you let the water relax your muscles. The thought of your tiny little swimsuit being the only thing stopping him from seeing you bare isn’t lost on him. It never is. But JJ takes advantage of the opportunity to ogle at you in these moments, having vowed long ago that he would take whatever he could get where you were concerned.

You’re a menace, through and through, and he damn well knows it.

“Give in, J.” Your hands slide downward, and your palms brush against his clothed chest. Your lips near his, threatening to brush against them as you spoke. “Give in to me.”

JJ feels weak. He feels like he’s about to snap, if he’s honest. Your lips are so close that all he has to do is lean in, and he’ll feel them glide against his like silk. Your scent overtakes him, a mixture of your perfume and the salt from the ocean. Heat ignites inside his chest from your touch, and his heart rate picks up. You’re close. Really close.

Too close.

“We can’t, Y/N. I can’t,” he whispers, gently removing your hands from him and putting some space between the two of you. “I can’t touch you. If I did…” he trails off, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t think I’d ever be able to stop.”

You inhale deeply, chewing on his words. A light bulb goes off in your head, and a devious look graces your features. You step closer to him, levelling his gaze from a safe distance. “Fine. If you won’t fuck me, then I want something else.”

JJ cocks a brow. “And what exactly do you want?”

“I wanna watch you cum,” you shrug, as if to say that your request is entirely reasonable and not one-hundred percent unorthodox (at least, between the two of you).

“I’m sorry, what?”

“If getting to watch you cum is the closest I’ll ever get to having you for real, then I’ll take it. I wanna know exactly what it looks like when you fall apart. I wanna hear the desperation in your voice as you work for it, and I wanna know how you sound when you finally let yourself have it. Let me watch you, J. I’ll let you watch me too.”

On the one hand, your point is strong, and it gets him thinking; this might be JJ’s only chance to feast his eyes on your body, bare for his viewing pleasure as you come undone without him having to lay a single finger on you. At least a fraction of his long-standing questions and fantasies would be put to rest if he said yes. But on the other hand, what if it was too much? What if you were more magnificent than he’d ever fathomed and was left yearning for more? What if he fucked up and gave in? He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to look John B in the eye.

“I don’t know. This is a dangerous game that we’re playing,” JJ speaks.

“Live a little,” you whisper.

JJ clenches his jaw, stepping closer to you. His hand creeps its way around your neck, asserting his dominance and holding you in place as he stares down at you. “If I agree to this, it’s just a one-time exception. No one finds out. You forget about me, and I forget about you. Got it?”

You nod in response, his demanding tone sending a thrill up your spine.

JJ’s hand squeezes your throat slightly, “I need to hear you say it.”

“I got it, J.”

“Good,” he speaks, releasing you from his grip. “Strip and get on your ass on the couch.”

You obey his command, already beginning to pull your shirt off as you approach the couch in the living area. You unbutton your shorts, shoving them down your legs and leaving them on the floor. You sit on the couch, your back leaning against the armrest while your legs fall open. Your eyes catch JJ’s blue ones, and you notice them trail over every square inch of you. Goosebumps form on your skin under his intense stare as he walks over to you.

“Shit,” he breathes, mirroring you as he sits across from you on the couch. “Look at how fucking perfect you are.” JJ’s gaze follows the expanse of your neck and clavicle, moving downward to drink in the sight of your tits sitting pretty in front of him. Your nipples are perked up, begging for attention that JJ is dying to give them. He can almost feel your buds between his lips and on the tip of his tongue, and he wonders what your reaction would be if he nibbled at them.

He salivates as he moves on to your torso, and not long after that, he lets gaze eyes feast on your swollen clit and slick core. Your legs subconsciously widen, and the stretch opens you up to him, giving him a better view of your arousal. He leans forward and spits onto your cunt, unable to hold himself back from doing so. Your stomach flips at the action, and your heart rate picks up as you watch his saliva dribble down your folds.

“Goddamn. Play with that pretty pussy for me, baby,” JJ says, moving to undo his shorts and remove his briefs. He finally lets his cock spring free, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. It’s so pretty, standing tall and hard as a rock with a bead of pre-cum seeping out. You can practically taste him, and knowing that you never will stings.

You nod in response to his command, and your middle and ring fingers spread his saliva over your entire core. Your fingertips glide over your clit, and you hum softly before slowly slipping your fingers inside. They knead against your walls every time you sink them in, and you let your head fall back in delight as you finally get a taste of the pleasure you’ve been dying for. “Shit.”

JJ joins you immediately, spitting onto his palm and gripping his cock. He’s sure to stroke himself in time with the pace you’re fucking yourself, imagining himself in your place. Things between you two have just begun, yet he’s already about to fold and pound you deep into your mattress. But he can’t give in to you so quickly, not when he knows you’ll hold it over him until the end of time. So he tries the best he can to gather his self-restraint.

Unfortunately for JJ, you don’t make it very easy. “Do you like this, J? Watching me fuck my fingers and getting off on it?”

JJ grits his teeth, “Fuck. Yeah, baby. I love it. Fuck yourself harder for me.”

“Like this?” You ask, thrusting your fingers roughly. You let out a pleasant gasp when the heel of your palm smacks against your sensitive clit. It sends electricity reeling through you, and you let out a loud cry.

“Oh, fuck. That feels— Fuck.”

JJ fucks his hand harder, his free hand gripping the couch cushion tightly as he bucks his hips to meet his fist. Your mewls and whimpers push him further toward snapping, and stuffing you full of his cock over and over is all he can think about. “That’s it. Show me what makes you cum, princess. Show daddy what makes you scream.”

You do as you’re told, putting all your weight on the armrest behind you and spreading your legs wider for him. The fingers of your free hand find your clit, massaging it roughly enough to make your toes curl instantly.

“Fuck, I wish your cock was inside me. Wanna make a mess all over you,” you whine, getting close.

It feels like a game, the both of you taunting each other and seeing how far you can go before the other caves because they’re so unbearably desperate. The tension in the room is thicker beyond imagination.

“J,” you breathe, “I’m all spread out for you. Paint my pussy with your cum, baby. Wanna put my panties on and walk around covered in you all day long.”

JJ nearly chokes when he hears your goading words. He knows what you’re trying to do, and god help him, but it’s damn well working. He knows you can sense his resolve withering away the more you beg for him.

His heated gaze locks on the way you’re hooking your fingers to hit your sweet spot, and the quivers of your body send lightning bolts straight to his cock. You're panting his name and so whiny as you chase your high that JJ can’t take it anymore. He decides he needs to be responsible for your sweet cries of pleasure. He needs to be the one to make your legs shake and your cunt sore from his thick cock stretching you out. To fuck you into a babbling, sobbing mess.

“I’m so fucking close, shit. Wish you could fucking ruin me,” you plead with a cry.

“Fucking hell,” JJ grunts. He shoots up from his seat, swiftly towering over you and yanking your hand away from your pussy.

“What the hell are you—” you begin, but you’re interrupted when JJ tears your hand away from your pussy and flips you onto your hands and knees. “JJ!”

A harsh smack lands on your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna take this cock the way you were begging to.” His fingers circle the back of your neck, pressing you against the mattress and arching your back for him. His cock slams into you without notice, and you let out a strangled yelp. His pelvis smacks against your ass harshly as he pounds into you, and the constant collision of your flesh stings slightly, but it puts you further under JJ’s spell. His actions are deliciously rough as he punishes you for every single time you’ve ever dangled yourself in front of him like a treat.

“You’re so fucking big, J. Too big,” you sob, tears leaking down your face. You could feel him bruising your cervix and molding you to his cock — though he doesn’t need to work too hard to reach his goal because you already take him so perfectly. “S-so deep.” Your hand reaches backward, but JJ is quick to smack it away.

“No. You wanted me to ruin you, and that’s exactly what I’ll do to you. I’m gonna wreck you to the point where you won’t be able to get off without thinking of me. And then the minute you finally cum, you’ll realize you can never have me again. And that, pretty girl, will be your downfall.” JJ’s hands move to your hips, forming a solid grip as he pulls you back to meet his thrusts.

“J, please. I can’t— Oh my god.” JJ’s balls smack against your clit with each sharp jut of his hips, and the contact against your tender bundle of nerves weakens your knees.

“C’mon, baby. This is what you wanted, right? Wanted me to split you open with my cock and destroy your pussy from the inside out? Don’t run from me. Fucking take it like a good girl.”

“Gonna c-cum, J. Fuck,” you hiccup, feeling the coil in you approaching the breaking point. Your body tenses, and you let out a strangled cry as your orgasm crashes through your body. You go limp, and JJ continues fucking you into oblivion as you give up the last ounce of energy you have. He smacks your ass again, letting out a string of curse words as he tries to reach his own high. You feel his cock twitch, and you know he’s close, but he pulls out of you abruptly.

“Wanna cum down your throat,” he rasps, flipping you onto your back again. He stuffs his cock into your mouth, both of his hands cradling your face and keeping you still so he can fuck your mouth. Your tongue slathers against the vein on the underside of his cock, and you feel his hips stutter. He holds your face flesh against his pelvis as he shoves his cock to the back of your throat. “Shit. Fuckfuckfuck.”

The hot ropes of cum shoot out from JJ’s cock, and the mouthwatering saltiness of him coats your tongue and throat. He feels you swallow around him, and his hands release your face. He lets out the tiniest whimper, sending a swarm of butterflies to your sore cunt. You lap at his dick, cleaning him up before sucking to the tip and releasing him with a pop. Your tongue darts out, licking your lips clean.

“I always knew you’d taste good, daddy.”

His eyes darken with lust once more. “Don’t go there, princess.”

A devilish smirk spreads across your face. “Why not? I got you to fold once, didn’t I?”

And it was at that exact moment that JJ knew…he was fucked.

jj tag list (join here!): @maybankslover @kittyqrt @v-velvetykisscs @hobiibobii @rafesdior @fool4him @hemogloban @pankhoeforlife @rafesmuse @lyn07 @houseofperfecttaste @qualitybelieverflower-blog @dudenhaaa27 @princessbetsy123-blog @tori-loves1 @alexxavicry @kenzi-woycehoski @elijahssuit @skydisneylover @adoreyouusugar @obxjjpouge @conniesanchor @baby-maybank @angel037 @wotfasked @rafelover @penny4yourthoughts @nerd505 @xngelsau @maybank-archives @p4nkowrld @spideybrina @pankowperfection @demiioxox @adr1an4 @lov3r0fr0ck @ellesalazar @buckyisveryhot @hoeforstarkey24 @aliyahsomerhalder @thelastgreatamericandynasty1989

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lunarpeonie · 9 months

Text

stay the night

in which you babysit megumi some nights and toji is sick of you showing up in those tight little shorts

1.3k words, nsfw

“Good evening, Mr. Fushiguro. I just put Megumi down.” You whispered as you held up the baby monitor. Toji hadn’t had one when you first started working for him and had purchased it at your insistence. You had been babysitting for the Fushiguro’s now for a few months, showing up whenever Toji had called. It wasn’t a regular thing, Toji had told you his job was a freelancer (whatever that meant) and his work wasn’t regular. Still, he paid decently and Megumi was a doll of a child, always so sweet and eager to have someone to babble to.

It also didn’t hurt that Toji was an absolute dilf. He had a perfectly placed scar on the corner of his lips that you wanted to paint pink with your lipstick. He towered over you and always had on shirts seemingly two sizes too small that outlined his hard abs and broad shoulders. You were waiting for him to lift his arm one day and have his shirt split down the middle. Long story short, you wanted him.

“Thanks.” He said digging in his pants pocket for his wallet to pay you for the night. He was never very talkative, especially so after he was done work. You had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t just with you. You turned around to grab your purse on the couch, not realizing how far your yoga shorts had ridden up. They had moved so far that now your peach colored panties were peeking out underneath.

You heard a faint rustling of clothing before feeling a large, calloused hand grip your waist. You stiffened in surprise and quickly turned your head to look at the man behind you. His hand traveled up in between the valley of your breasts and he tugged you so that your back was flush with his chest. His extremely muscular chest. You could already feel your face heating up.

Toji leaned his head next to your ear to whisper. “You didn’t have to wear those tiny shorts for my attention, you already have it. Do you know how hard it’s been to hold back all of this time? My self control has worn out.” It wasn’t as if you wore those shorts on purpose for this exact outcome… or that was what you told yourself to feel better about the fact that you desperately wanted the single father with an ambiguous job who always came home late.

“If you want to stop, say so now because once I get started, it’s too late.” He groaned into your ear. You shook your head vigorously no, unable to muster up the words to speak. He slots his lips against yours, swallowing your mewls of excitement. Toji nipped at your lower lip, inviting you to open for him. When you did, he slipped his tongue past your parted lips dominating your own.

“I’m gonna stuff you full,” he groaned, kissing up the side of your neck before pushing you hard onto the weathered sofa.

“I can barely wait to come home to my pretty little cockslut waiting for me.” His voice was teasing, one of his hands dipping under the waistband of your shorts, slowly working its way down and pulling both your shorts and underwear down with it.

“Taking care of my kid all day, waiting for me to come home and give you your reward.” He dipped two calloused fingers into your heat and groaned. “How are you so wet already?” He started off slow, but with your encouraging mewls, he began to aggressively scissor his digits in and out of your hole.

“Ah, Toji…” you trailed off as he lifted his fingers out of you, a trail of your essence following them. He guided his fingers to his awaiting mouth, scar stretching to open wide. Sucking hard on his two digits, he slid them slowly from his mouth and let go of them with a pop.

“I would play more but…” he trailed off, but you knew what he was thinking. You couldn’t waste time when you had a toddler down the hall that could wake up any moment. You feverishly unbuttoned the jeans clinging tight to his thighs and pulled down, gasping at the outline of his cock in his silky black boxers. You palmed the large bulge with your hand, feeling the pulsating veins even through the thin layer of fabric. It twitched as you began to run your hand up and down the clothed erection. Toji wasted no time in revealing it to you and let his boxers pool at his ankles before kicking them away. He was long and thick with a nest of black hair resting at the base of him. The curtains do match the drapes.

“Oh my god.” You whispered, but not quiet enough for it to escape Toji’s notice. He shot you a devilish grin before pushing you so your back laid on the faux leather couch.

“Next time, I’ll take my time on you. Maybe shove my face between those thighs and lick your pretty pussy. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” All you could do was vigorously nod your head in response, excessively aware of the fact that Toji had moved the head of his cock so that it was poking at your entrance.

“But what about…ah!” You started, trying to warn Toji that you hadn’t used any protection, but he was already plowing through your wet heat. You tried to quiet your mewls, but couldn’t hold them in as he thrust deep within you. Toji shushed you and buried your head in the crook of his neck.

“You’re so whiny. You’re gonna wake the kid.” You can feel his grin against your skin while he says it, not seeming at all worried about the possibility. In fact, he seemed pleased with himself.

He lifted your leg, folding it against your chest and angled his hips up. You choked back a moan as he hit your g-spot. Toji picked up the pace, thrusting fast and hard into your heat. He felt himself lose all control in the wet, gummy paradise between your thighs. Each thrust felt like he went deeper within you, carving out a space for himself within you. He slid a hand down to play with your clit, rubbing tight circles until you started to feel a familiar tension within your stomach.

“Ah, Toji I’m -“ You whimpered.

“You gonna come for me? Good.” You bit down on your lower lip to try to quiet your noises of pleasure, but he still slaps his hand across your mouth to muffle the noises you couldn’t contain. Finally, the tension snapped like a rubber band and your body flooded with release. He pushed his forehead against yours as he fucked you through your orgasm with deep thrusts that had you nearly shaking with overstimulation.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum.” He hissed, leaning so your foreheads were touching. “I’m not pulling out. You’d be such a good mother, wouldn’t you? You take such good care of my son, maybe I’ll give you one of your own.” Your eyes shot wide open in alarm, shocked that you liked the idea so much. You chanted yes, yes, yes, as you felt him groan and shoot his load deep inside of you. He stayed there for a moment, before slowly pulling his cock all of the way out and pushing his cum back in you. Toji rolls to lay his back on the sofa, grabbing your body and placing you on top of him.

“You’ll have to stay the night. I’m not done with you yet.” He grinned. Somehow, you were completely fine with that. (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

#toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro #jjk fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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greenandsorrow · 9 months

Text

"Boytoy"

WARNINGS; 18+, shameless smut, ken x fem!reader, reader uses she/her pronouns, praise k!nk, size k!nk, virgin!ken, switch!reader, sub!ken, dom!ken, the plot doesn't connect with the movie, kinda slow burn, grammar mistakes

Part 4

"i had a vision, a vision of my nails in the kitchen scratching counter tops..."

~stargirl interlude, the weeknd / lana del rey~

Ken's and y/n's desire is deepening, darkening the same way the night does outside of the apartment. They're standing so close to each other in the centre of the tiny kitchen, the lights low, making the shadows longer and dreamier all around them and softening their features. The atmosphere is electric to say the least.

Ken's pov;

The confusion from earlier is subsiding his arousal (but not for long). You see, Ken has almost lost all the courage and confidence he had gained after their last... misadventure.

Mostly, he hates how naive he still appears when it comes to the real world, to y/n's world. In addition, that man's advances towards y/n had seemed way too bold to Ken and he secretly envied the guy for it. He wishes he could act that "authoritative" (if that was the correct term) around his girlfriend (and not turn into a stammering and blushing mess).

But then again, y/n had assured him she didn't have any emotions for the human. Would it be too much to ask her again? Just to be sure. Would it push her away?

Ken is wanton for her touch, his body physically aching to be caressed, admired and even used by his sweet girl. He really adores her apart from, you know, physically craving her.

She's standing in front of him, barely reaching his broad chest, but somehow she is no less intimidating (at least to him). Her paralyzing gaze is scanning every inch of his body. When she reaches his eyes, which are expressing so many different emotions, her gaze softens. Ken swears she saw her nod, reassuringly, making his doubts vanish -at least a good chunk of them-.

The words are out before he has time to decide if they are the right ones, his mind giving in to the heat between his legs.

"I too can prove you are the only one."

It sounded harsh, breaking the silence but y/n doesn't seem to object to the idea. (These random bursts of confidence from Ken make her heart flutter in her chest.)

Y/n's pov:

Simultaneously, y/n's previous fear of people finding out about her toy-boyfriend has vanished.

She also can't help but notice the change in Ken's body language. He seems rigid, but expecting, definitely unprepared for the pleasure he's about to experience.

Y/n has already explained to Ken the basics of the reproductive system and he'd been profoundly scandalised about how making babies is supposed to also feel so good. But then again, the blowjob he had anxiously received from her, had hopefully made him understand what she meant. (He had even seemed surprised by his own cum.)

Her skin is prickling with heat at the way Ken's aqua blue eyes are dancing over her silhouette. All that heat is going straight to her core and even the air around her feels hotter on her skin.

It's also the first time Ken's seeing her with actual clothes on -and not pyjamas-. Y/n is wearing jeans that hug her hips tightly and a sage green, crop top.

When she hears Ken's oddly challenging words, she raises an eyebrow, a wicked smile forming on her lip-glossed lips.

Y/n gets on her tiptoes so that she can have access to his (unfairly handsome) face, teasing him but never connecting her lips with his. Just feeling his hot breath on her face drives her insane with want! (She has never been more turned on by a man before)

Y/n palms the bulge -that is now all too obvious- in his light washed jeans while maintaining eye contact with -a too entranced to say anything- Ken. The low groans that are coming from deep in his chest make her impatient (but she knows better, she's going to take her sweet time).

Ken is flushed once again, putty in her hands. His hands are fumbling with the ends of his jacket and his chest is heaving with swallow breaths, but he manages to not break eye contact.

"Ken, luv, you can touch me you know."

"Mmhmm", his answer turns into a whimper as he feels y/n unbuttoning his jeans.

While she's struggling with the zipper of his pants (his cock fully engorged in them), Ken attempts to make his hands useful, even if he is still feeling shy. He's always been in awe of y/n's curves, so he reaches for her outer thighs, (finally, he thinks) cupping them with his big palms and pressing his fingers into them, kneeding them. Ken's curiosity, as he's exploring y/n's hips, expands and he moves his hands on her backside, feeling his dick throb when he gives her round ass a squeeze (which causes y/n to moan lowly in return).

Y/n has managed to unzip Ken's jeans and she's now taking a step back.

"Ken, undress me Ken, please..."

Ken is at a loss for a second, but thanks to her slightly begging tone, he discovers he always wanted to do this.

He takes a deep breath, collecting some courage. He wants to show y/n that he is better than her male "friend", that he can do anything she wants.

Firstly, he takes off his own clothes, -shoes, jacket and jeans- (keeping only his boxers on). All the while y/n has started playing with her breasts while looking at him like he's God. That alone, makes Ken go to her and claim her mouth in a forceful kiss (there it is, a burst of confidence!)

She melts in the kiss, they both do.

Still, his hands are trembling when he takes hold of her top, almost smiling at how small it is (he could even use it as a bandana). Her bra is next. That makes Ken hesitate, not only because he has no idea how this piece of clothing works, but because her skin there seems so soft and he desperately wants to touch it. He also wants to touch her collarbones, her thin neck, her delicate arms...

"Someone's getting distracted"

"No! No, I-

You're beautiful, y/n"

She can't help but giggle. Ken loves that girly giggle of hers, he always gets butterflies from hearing it. He doesn't know how or why but he leans down and presses a chaste kiss on her -slightly sweaty- forehead. Ken then rests his own forehead against hers. The silence is comforting, tender almost.

When he pulls away, y/n is smiling at him, both of them feeling more comfortable now, ready to get more intimate together than ever before.

Y/n takes Ken's hands and guides them to her back, helping him to undo her bra. She then discards it on the floor.

Ken gasps at the sight of y/n's breasts.

It's not just the fact that he had never seen a woman's breasts before, it's the fact that all this beauty is his. Don't get me wrong, unlike many other men, Ken doesn't think he owns his girlfriend. He simply admires the way, he has the privilege of being able to see and touch y/n, in her most vulnerable. His privilege on her breasts.

He's trying to tell her something, maybe a compliment or ask for her consent. But he's breathless.

All the while, y/n has grown so hot and is so lost in the lust she feels for Ken, that she gets off her jeans on her own, discarding them on the floor. She's about to take off her panties, but that seems to snap Ken out of it.

"No, no, no y/n! I want to do it."

"Well, I want you to do it too."

She then starts taking steps backwards, retrieving towards the kitchen counter.

Ken, on the other hand, is walking forward, like a predator stalking his prey (unbeknownst to him of course).

When her bare back meets the cold counter y/n's breath hitches in her throat. Before she has time to react, Ken is towering over her, hands on her thighs, but this time it feels different.

Skin on skin. The shivers down her spine don't seem to stop, her pussy aching for attention and Ken's hard-on pressing against her lower stomach doesn't help much.

"Ah- Ken, I need you" y/n moans, hands blindly gripping his mascular biceps, nails pressing into his skin.

She doesn't want him, she NEEDS him.

"What, what am I supposed to do? Y/n, we're gonna have sex, right?!"

His voice sounds unstable, his breathing loud. Is he anxious or as lost in his desire as her? Probably both.

Y/n is about to brace herself on the counter, but Ken, catching the motion, helps her up by lifting her from the waist. His hands completely encircle her torso and they're unbelievably warm. More shivers, another moan from y/n.

She looks deeply into his eyes. This is important. This, right now, is a big step, especially for Ken. He's eager for her but still confused about pleasure. This time giving it.

Y/n calms down her breathing as best as she can. Resting her hands on Ken's chest, soothing him, she is ready to answer.

"Yes baby we are. Are you okay with this?"

He places his own hands on top of hers.

"Of course I am y/n. I just...you, can you show me how it's done? We need a bed, don't we?"

"Not yet -the bed-, I- I want to show you something else Ken, from what I was telling you last time."

Ken smiles confidently.

He knows that stuff, y/n had taught him what her own sex looks like. He's aware of the placement of the clit and of the entrance, where the penetration also happens.

"I know what you mean y/n. Look, I want to make you feel good, I owe you that one."

He was referring to the oral.

"Okay then", she presses a kiss on his chest.

Y/n adjusts her position on the counter, so that Ken can have better access to her pussy.

After that, she guides Ken's hand where she needs him most. Ken's touch is gentle, like he's afraid he'll hurt her. He rubs her on top of her underwear with his thumb, experimently. The friction is making her moan. Ken is transfixed from the warmth that's spilling out of her core, he needs to see her.

Taking hold of both sides of the panties Ken guides them down to y/n's ankles, where they fall to the floor, along with the rest of their clothes.

Y/n is fighting back the urge to squeeze her thighs together, the air harsh against her sensitive bundle of nerves.

Ken is staring at her pussy so intensely, she begins to feel self conscious. She's probably blushing.

"Ken?", her voice comes meek in her own ears, so weak.

"Now, now I touch you, right?

"Yeah, should I show you how?"

"No I can do it. I can also use my mouth, like you did, hm?"

"That's right"

While they speak Ken lowers himself, looks up at y/n, looking so damn hot panting and then looks at her folds, almost dripping. Ken has learnt that them being wet is a good sign.

He feels dizzy and so very unsure of his abilities at pleasing y/n. Fortunately, his instinct urges him to nuzzle her inner thighs with his face (and mouth) while keeping her legs open with both arms.

He's planting kisses on the soft flesh, attempts to nimble it and smiles when he hears a soft moan from above.

"Mmmm, Ken, yes, that's so good"

The praise keeps him going, gingerly covering every bit of flesh with open mouthed kisses.

At last, after some more teasing, he's face to face with the most breathtaking thing he's ever come across.

Ken takes one hand, one finger, pressing down on the centre of her swollen clit.

Y/n gasps and moans at the sudden touch.

Her thighs try to squeeze his head, but he can keep them open with ease (he kinda likes the idea of him being squeezed by her beautiful legs).

"Ken please"

"Was that the clit?"

"What? Oh yes, please, Ken"

Ken is getting focused now. His girlfriend needs him.

He trails a finger all over y/n's clit, getting used to the feeling, studying her expressions, deciding which parts feel the best for her.

He opens her legs a little more, so that her entrance can be better visible. Ken moans at how it seems to be contracting and extracting.

He's caressing all around the circle, mesmerized.

Y/n looks down at him, he's so focused, almost keeping his breath.

"Ken, touch both at the same time"

He nods, ready.

He draws circles with his thumb on her clit, while the other hand's index finger slowly slides into her.

The moans that escape y/n's mouth are the best sound Ken's ever heard. He needs to hear more. They mean he's doing a good job, they are a reward, a praise.

With clumsy hands, he continues doing the same pattern, trying to find a rhythm. Thumb pressing, rubbing and circling her clit, while a finger slides in and out of her.

"Faster"

And then "Please, oh- add another finger"

As he's sliding both fingers in, y/n's hand reaches for Ken's hair, using it to somehow ground herself. Ken's touch is heavenly to her, the groan caused by her grip on his hair vibrating in her pussy, and she mewls.

Ken's had enough, he presses a sloppy kiss on her clit and then another. He's soon feeling confident enough to suck at it, while still thrusting two fingers inside her.

His tongue is what makes her react the most. And so he ends up lapping it over her folds.

She lets out a sound like sobbing, her hips trembling.

"Did I hurt you?!"

"Don't stop, Ken pleaseeee"

"Are you crying, y/n-"

"Ken you're amazing, please..."

She must be feeling so good. Ken could do that for the whole night, if y/n asked him to.

A few moments later and Ken's movements are unrelenting, driving y/n closer and closer to her orgasm.

Her moans have become higher pitched and her legs are shaking, toes curling involuntarily, how can he be so perfect?

"Ken...Ken!

Ken, I- ahh-

Oh my- mhhhhmmmm, Ken! Ah!

Ken, oh yes Ken, don't stop yes!"

Ken is so lost in the feeling of her muscles flexing against his fingers, the smell of her so intoxicating to him and all the praises coming from y/n's trembling voice... it's a miracle he doesn't come in his boxers right then and there.

Y/n feels the knot in her stomach ready to snap. She curls her fingers in Ken's hair, letting out the most sinful of sounds. Now, incapable of forming coherent sentences, she just cries out, her boyfriend's name being the only thing she can grasp on to.

And just like that, with another thrust of Ken's fingers, her orgasm hits her, shaking her whole. Her back arches, allowing Ken to hit THE spot a few times.

Ken is filled with pride, the reactions he managed to get out of y/n forever priceless.

She grips his wrist to show him that was more than enough. He removes his hand, but licks her one more time, from her dripping entrance to her clit, tasting her juices, feeling her tremble and mumble his name, all because of his touch.

Y/n's body finally relaxes. She feels so exhausted, but also content.

In Ken's eyes, she's shining like the moon, gleaming, maddeningly beautiful.

But truth be told, Ken was worried about all those sounds she made at the end, was he hurting her?

He asked her that much, about the almost screaming part.

"Oh my sweet boy! Sure they were screams but, happy ones!"

"So I made you 'happy scream'?", the playful tone in his voice is matching with the look of adoration he has on his face, as he stands up back to his full height.

He brings the two fingers he had used to his mouth and sucks at them.

Y/n simply stares at him, too stunned (but in a good way) to say anything.

Ken simply says, "You taste really good"

And he's speaking with such innocence it's hard to believe what he's referring to.

He takes both of her hands in his much bigger ones, studying how she regains her composure, her chest still heaving heavily, her cheeks like two apples.

"Ken you made me feel, probably the best I've ever felt!"

He chuckles, bashful once again.

"I'm glad you liked it y/n. I would do anything for you. I love you."

(Ken is obviously the type to say 'I love you' during sex and anything that has to do with it.)

Y/n doesn't get scared by the statement. She smiles, a big, tired one.

"I love you more, Kenneth"

He leans in, peppering her face with kisses.

"No, I, love you more"

"Nah, I do"

"Noooo, I love you more"

"I lo-", y/n's sentence is cut short as she yelps.

Ken has picked her up, bridal style, without any warning and he is now carrying her to her bed.

He places her down slowly, horizontally, in the middle of the bed.

Ken then takes a few moments (maybe whole minutes) just looking at y/n, memorizing every inch of her exposed body.

Y/n is laying on her back, completely limp as the mattress holds her. She feels so light, simply enjoying every minute of her afterglow. Ken's presence isn't threatening, but safe, Ken is her safe place.

"Hey, sweetheart, come join me", she pats the empty space next to her.

He joins her, reluctantly, his movements stiff all of a sudden. Ken loves how calm and in peace y/n seems to be and he doesn't want to bother her with...his situation.

What I'm saying is, his dick is still in his boxers -that are wet with tons of precum-, rock hard and aching, asking for attention and twitching when y/n simply presses a kiss on his neck.

"Ken, lovee..." she purrs at him, turning her body so that she can face him, resting her head on one hand, cupping his face with the other.

Ken leans into her touch and closes his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. When he reopens them, his eyes are pleading her silently, like he's a puppy desperate for a treat.

It's time for y/n to take the lead for one more time. She lets the hand on Ken's cheek fall, lazily trailing over his chest, drawing some random shapes, moving lower, teasing his abs, the muscles tensing where she touches them, then his lower abdomen, her touch so gentle it almost tickles him.

She's taking so long and Ken has been waiting for too much time (all day in Barbieland, while her friends were here and then when he was pleasing her). He can't stand it anymore, it's too much to handle. He almost cries out, ready to beg her to finally give him what he's so desperately craving. He exhales deeply, grabbing her wrist, firmly but without hurting her.

"Y/n- I can't-... Please, I can't..."

Y/n's other hand starts to massage his (swollen by now) balls.

Ken growls deeply, back arching, squeezing her wrist enough to leave his fingertips printed there.

His whole body seems to be flushed and he has unconsciously begun rocking his hips forward, an attempt to feel some sort of relief.

"Ken, should we stop?", y/n is genuinely worried. (Ken's face is a deep red and he whimpers like he's being fucked already)

"N- no, OH Y/N PLEASE

touch me, I can't- can't breath...mhmmmmm"

He lets a sound like crying, his head falling back as y/n finally takes hold of his cock. His underwear flying in the air and out of sight.

She stays sitted beside him, muttering sweet nothings to him, trying to make sure he doesn't pass out.

Y/n starts giving Ken a handjob, but without much teasing since he's already so worked up.

As she pumps him, Ken can't stop moving. His head is thrown back as silent screams leave his lips, eyes squeezed. Ken's left hand is holding onto y/n's booty, like he's scared of all the pleasure shooting through his body.

More. More. More. He feels like he's gonna -literally- explode.

She stops. The whimper Ken voices is enough to make her all wet for the second time tonight. (And also loud enough to wake up the neighbors.)

"Why, why did you stop?", Ken almost breathes out the words instead of speaking them. He even looks offended that y/n stopped, still holding onto her thigh.

"'Cause I have an idea"

Silence.

"Ken, we can still orgasm together, if we...have sex."

Ken immediately sits up, looking incredulously at his beloved girlfriend.

"And what if I'm not good at it y/n?!"

"You've been so so good for me so far sweetie pie. We'll figure it out together, it's like I explained to you."

"Right"

Ken replays all that y/n has taught him. He is petrified, but the trust he has on y/n (and the need to finally orgasm himself) are enough motivation for him.

"Let me start"

She nods, sweat glistering skin, her y/h/c hair sticking on her face.

Ken is ready to make an impression. He's happy to see she is as destroyed and needy as he assumes, looks himself.

Grabbing her waist he brings y/n closer, kissing her without trying to make it clean or precise. And what he does next is a new to him. (aka burst of confidence)

Ken isn't content with JUST kissing her on the lips and he starts exploring the rest of her beautiful body, with his hot mouth.

He has been waiting for this, he has worked for this, he deserves this.

In a state of delirious trance, Ken licks, nimbles, sucks and bites y/n's body like he'll die if he stops.

First the column of her neck, second her collarbones and arms, all the way to each palm and back up. Her tits are being worshipped longer than the rest of her. Ken starts by giving them gentle squeezes, his palms able to fist them whole. Then (mimicking the movements he had performed while he was playing with her sex), he rubs the pads of his fingers on what he knows is called 'the nipples'. Y/n moans his name, scratching his back like a cat. Her nipples are darker after that, and harder too. Just like he did with her clit, he is now sucking at them, lapping his tongue against them, y/n shuddering at the sensation, too overwhelmed to say anything but faintly utter "...so good"

And we all know that's all Ken needs to hear.

Next is her stomach, an unexpectedly soft and smooth area that Ken appears to love as he kisses every centimetre of it. (Y/n's insecurities leaving her body along with the sweet sounds she's making for Ken)

He also mumbles his thoughts against her skin.

"You're so soft"

"Your smell's making me feel lightheaded"

"So beautiful, so gorgeous, thank you, I love you, I love you, I love you "

After spending some time on her thighs, leaving a trail of marks on them (his favourite part of y/n's masterpiece of a body), he's tempted to taste her juices again. However, he decides against it, both of them too tired to waste any more time on foreplay.

Ken climbs back up, supporting his body with his muscular arms as he's hovering above y/n.

"It's time"

Y/n captures his lips in a long kiss, while grabbing his dick, guiding it to her entrance. (There is no need to use protection, Ken's not meant to give baby dolls.)

The head of his cock is in contact with her pussy now, but not inside yet.

Y/n believes she'll die from all the anticipation, but she wants to make sure Ken's first time will be a good memory for him to recall and not an awkward mess.

His forehead is resting against hers.

"Ken?"

"Will I hurt you, when I push in?"

She plays with his hair, reassuringly.

"It's all gonna be happy screams"

Y/n can feel him smile. She really adores that dork.

They readjust their position a bit, so that they're holding hands. Fingers intertwined.

Oddly enough, Ken maintains eye contact as he very slowly pushes his length (quite long and thick too) inside her tight hole.

They simultaneously gasp at the sensation.

Ken grunts, going deeper and deeper, his entire body trembling on top y/n's smaller one.

He's forcing words out when there's no air for them.

"You okay?"

"Hell yeah"

And that's it, he's as deep inside her as it goes. His libido is taking over, but he tries to fight the urge, unsure of what he's supposed to do next. Ken's looking down at y/n, the blue almost entirely gone from his eyes.

Below him, y/n is experiencing new levels of being stretched out. She's gasping for air. If her pussy struggles to adjust to the feeling she pays no heed to it. She feels so full and so so so so good.

Y/n knows neither of them can last very long, their bodies being on edge for hours.

"Ken, Ken my baby, please!"

Her usually more composed self fails her. She's pleading Ken to use her for his own pleasure. Every nerve on her body is going crazy, she's almost shaking without Ken even having moved inside her.

"Please what?"

Ken's voice is so raw, almost demanding, his obedient and bashful self giving space for this new version of him.

"Please fuck me like you only can!"

(She's ashamed to sound like a whore but she needs him to start moving inside her.)

Ken growls at that, a sound that feels laboured (and sexy).

With their hands still clutching tightly, Ken pulls back, leaving only the head of his dick inside y/n, before pushing back in.

He moans loudly at the feeling. So does she.

He's not sure he can do it.

Ken's body feels like it's gonna collapse on y/n at any given moment, trembling like he's dying from cold weather, even though he is in so much heat his vision is blurring.

"Oh my God Ken! Do that again!"

He's sure he can do it.

For the next ten minutes or so, Ken is thrusting inside y/n. His pace is fast, showing just how needy he is.

For y/n, keeping her eyes open is becoming harder and harder. Ken's dick is hitting her g-spot frequently. All the moaning and crying out Ken's name are definitely going to leave her throat sore.

Ken is vocal as well. His moaning is loud and the whimpers always present. And how could they not be?

As he continues to thrust inside y/n's perfect hole, he feels the familiar sensation gathering at the pit of his stomach.

He's going to 'cum' very soon. He's proud he can understand his body's reactions, thanks to y/n's teaching.

Ken's head finds shelter in the crook of y/n's neck, as he tries to muffle a series of "Oh crap- oh crap- of crap- OH- shit- shit-"

He is being milked. The way his cock is being tightly squeezed by y/n's pussy making him see stars.

Y/n is also feeling a second orgasm rapidly building up inside her. The satisfaction that they're actually going to come together is surreal.

"Ken -ah- make me -ah- cum AH!"

Her precious Ken increases his speed. And just like that y/n loses control of her body, as she comes without warning all over his cock. Pathetic whines and Ken's name, her mantra.

The spasms that electroshock her body and the tight space that is y/n's pussy, are Ken's last straw.

"Y/n! Y/n it- it's happening...

Mhm, Augh-"

His hands abandon hers so that he can steady himself, as he comes at last, spilling it all deep inside y/n.

Y/s is there for him when this happens, she knows it must be so overwhelming for him, his whole body shaking (hers still spasming as he thrusts into her after her own orgasm).

"That's it sweetheart. Oh- that was perfect Ken, so perfect. It's alright, I told you you could do it"

Ken -finally- collapses on top of her. He's nuzzled up on y/n's breasts (the best pillow), arms around her torso, as she lovingly pets his upper back and arms, massaging them gently.

They stay like that for a good while, breathing going back to normal. Ken's cock softens again, leaving y/n's warmth when he changes his position.

Y/n breaks the comfortable silence.

"We should go get cleaned up"

"I love you"

"I know"

"And you're not gonna say it back?"

"Only if you get your handsome body off me"

"But I've found the perfect position to sleep in"

"Ken, for God's sake, you'll squeeze me to death"

"Fine..."

He gets off her and off the bed, making dramatic noises. Y/n mimics his actions seconds after him.

They end up showering together, giggling and having fun like little kids.

After a failed attempt from Ken to wash y/n's hair, after the "I love you" y/n owned him for not letting her suffocate beneath him and after getting dry and into clean clothes they are both too exhausted to do anything else.

They just get comfy under the covers, this time Ken being used as a pillow. Y/n is laying her head on his chest, just where his heart is, Ken's heartbeat lulling her into a deep sleep. Our lucky Ken, has his arms wrapped around y/n's frame, nuzzling the top of her head, inhaling the flowery scent of her shampoo, feeling his eyelids getting heavier.

He knows that he won't be waking up next to her in the morning, but he's immune to the disappointment for now.

He would leave Barbieland forever if that meant he could always be by y/n's side. But that's a thought for another time.

notes~~

THE END!!!

Bye for now ✨✨

I hope you had fun reading this shameless smut. I'm proud of it actually, bc I brought an original idea to the table with Boytoy. I'm sure there are grammar and spelling errors but it's okay. I can write a small epilogue, a happy ending if you will! (UPDATE; bonus part is out!!!!!)

Dividers by; @cafekitsune

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Tags; @heyimizzy @notleclerc @moonmaiden1996 @vilovedr @goldenvespa @hope4rain19

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kingkatsuki · 8 months

Text

— sleazy

Everyone thinks Red Riot is such a nice hero, but really he just loves fucking his cute, unsuspecting fangirls.

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, not proofread, non-con/dub-con, implied!drugging but could just be seen as intoxication, unprotected sex, teeny tiny bit of assplay, Kirishima promises to wear a condom but doesn’t, creampie, public sex.

Word Count: 2.5k.

“You’re so lucky!” You heard the voices around the table when the Red Riot had offered to buy you a drink.

Suddenly finding it difficult to speak when you gave him a nod in response, grateful that he’d looked down at your glass of wine as an indication of what to order you because you weren’t sure you would’ve been able to answer if he’d asked.

You felt hot as it seemed as though every set of eyes in the vicinity were on you now— from the women who wished that he’d picked them, to the men that he’d come in with standing around the bar. The angry blond more formerly known as Dynamight seemed to be glaring at you from across the room, shaking his head slightly before downing the rest of his whisky.

“Don’t worry about him,” Kirishima grinned softly at you as he handed you a glass, “He always looks like that.”

Kirishima had this perfect way of making you feel at ease, the friendly tone to his voice paired with kind eyes made it easy for you to melt into him. Silencing any objections you’d usually have if a guy leaned down to tug your chair closer to him, or wrapped their arm around your waist during a first date. It was different when it was Red Riot— you felt like you already knew him. From your television screen to the huge billboards that were up all over the city to promote his latest collaboration. The man that you followed on social media and religiously liked his posts, not that you’d told him that— although with another few drinks inside you, you might.

“You look gorgeous tonight, you know,” His warm lips brush the shell of your ear as he leans closer to talk to you over the loud bass of music in the club, “I just had to come and talk to you.”

You don’t even question it when he lays a huge palm on your bare thigh, his thumb disappearing beneath the hem of your dress. Ghosting against the lace of your panties as you give another glance around the bar to see if anyone is looking— the only set of eyes that match your gaze are the same crimson ones from earlier, Dynamight still watching intently as he nurses his drink.

The fact that the Red Riot has asked for your number, bought you countless drinks and given you his undivided attention has you bursting with glee. Certain that none of your friends will believe you, instead wishing they’d come to the bar tonight to see for themselves when you tell them that you’re courting the number twelve hero.

“It’s so loud here,” His palm squeezes your inner thigh and you can’t stop your heart from pounding against your ribcage, making it difficult to breathe as his warm breath fans your skin, “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”

“Yeah, sure.” You find yourself nodding as he helps you stand, certain you weren’t this drunk before.

“Whoops—” He grins as he grabs your hips, his fingers brushing the curve of your ass as he keeps you upright, “I’ve got you.”

And it’s that moment you feel his hard bulge pressed against the small of your back. Even in heels he dominates your size, towering over you as a pure wall of strength and muscle as he guides you through the crowds. Stepping down a quieter hall that leads towards the bathrooms as he presses you against a wall, large palms still planted firm on your hips.

“I’ve wanted you all night,” He sighs, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses against your neck, “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“This is too fast,” You mumble, already feeling his fingers dipping beneath your skirt to grab your ass.

“Aw, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” He seems so sincere when he looks down at you with worried eyes, “Shall I call you a cab home? I just thought you wanted to have some fun.”

“I do, but—”

“But you’d prefer Dynamight or someone, huh?” His eyes droop, “I get it, that always fucking happens when it’s someone I really like—”

“No! I like you too,” You panic when he takes a step back, trying to step forward as you stumble into his arms.

“You do?” He coos, holding you tight, “I’m so lucky I found you.”

It’s embarrassing when he tugs you into the men’s bathroom, sets of eyes watching you with knowing looks from the urinals as he opts for a stall. Locking the door as he presses you against the sink, allowing you to look at him through the reflection in the mirror as he pulls your top over your breasts.

“You’re fucking stunning,” He groans, cupping your breasts as you grind yourself back against him. Alcohol inebriating your senses as he strokes your body, wondering whether you should just tell him to slow down now.

“It’s too much,” You mumble, unsure whether he put something in your drink as your head pounds.

But this is Red Riot, he wouldn’t do that, would he? He’s a Pro-Hero tasked to protect you from sleazy people like that, to make sure you’re safe.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He coos, “I’ll take good care of you.”

“We shouldn’t,” You slur, “Not here.”

“Oh? But I bought you all those drinks,” He mumbles against your neck, “I thought you liked me.”

“I do!” You panic, catching the forlorn look on his face.

“You do?” His eyes immediately brighten, “I’m glad because I like you too, sweetheart. A lot—”

He has you feeling like a giddy, lovesick schoolgirl as he reaches under your skirt to pull down your panties. Letting the fabric settle around your knees as he works on unbuckling his jeans. A large palm splayed on your back to push you over the sink as he guides the leaky tip towards your slit.

“Wait,” You mumble, trying not to slur your words, “Condom.”

You miss the look of annoyance that flashes through Kirishima’s eyes in his reflection in the mirror as you turn to look back at him before that same smile spreads on his face.

“Of course, sweetheart. What do you take me for?” He’s cooing at you as he reaches into his wallet to retrieve a large foil packet, ripping it with his teeth as he leans down to put it on, “Safety first, yeah?”

And the tip of his cock nudges against your ass, feeling the slickness of lube from the latex smear against your bare ass as you cling to the porcelain. Holding on as you watch him in the mirror as he slides the condom onto his cock.

“There,” His hand smooths along your ass, rubbing the lube against your skin to get it off his hand as he pushes his hips forward.

He’s big. The swollen tip enough to have a lump in your throat as you forget to breathe, wiggling your hips in a feeble attempt to reduce the ache.

“Shh, baby. I know, I know.” He coos, pulling back to fist his cock, “Let’s try again, yeah?”

But you don’t notice the devious smirk on his face, or the way his eyes glint with intent as he slides the annoying latex off his thick cock. Discarding it to the floor like trash as he wraps his cock in a large fist again, tapping the leaking tip on your slit before sliding it through your folds. Letting it catch against your tight entrance again as he can finally feel you without a latex barrier.

“Is this okay?” He hums, keeping his tip pressed against your quivering hole.

You nod in response as you try to remember to breathe, taking in large gulps of air as you feel him slowly push his hips forward.

“I’m gonna need to hear you say it, sweetheart.” He pushes.

“Yeah, I want it.” You groan as he immediately pushes forward, feeling the tightness between your thighs.

“Oh, shit.” His eyes roll back as he groans at the feeling of your walls sucking him in. He’s far less kind now he can truly feel you as he cants his hips forward without a moment for you to adjust, the pain comes sharp and fast as he stretches you out on his cock.

“Ow,” You choke, your head lolling forward as you try to breathe, the ache between your thighs throbs sharply as Kirishima feigns sympathy.

Telling you what a good girl you are for him, what a good job you’re doing, that you’re his favourite. Clever lines he’s rehearsed time and time again, and it just so happens that they’re working on you just like they have a hundred times before on other girls.

You think you’re special, and in this moment you are. He’s picked you.

“God, your pussy feels so fucking good.” He grunts, warm palms heavy on your ass as he spreads you apart to see his cock buried deep inside your walls. The messy tuft of hair at the base tickles your skin as he pulls his hips back to give an experimental thrusr, “Taking me so well.”

You’re a mess as he fucks into you, your tits bounce with every rough buck of his hips as he presses you into the porcelain sink, your cheek leaves a messy streak of foundation against the mirror as he sets a brutal pace. Telling you it’s because he’s worried someone could come in and see you like this, that he wishes he could have you for longer to really take care of you.

And you believe every line.

“God, sweetheart. Your pussy feels amazing,” Kirishima groans, his thumb brushing the tight rim of your ass as your body jolts in surprise. Embarrassed and terrified at the same time.

“Not there, please—”

“Oh god, baby. I would never.” He shakes his head, but presses down harder against your tight hole, “Relax, Red Riot’s got you, yeah?”

His words are soothing as you try to focus on the pleasure, trying to block out the sound of footsteps outside and the way your cunt clenches around him every time someone rattles the door handle.

“Fuck, you’re clamping down on me, sweets,” He slurs, drunk on pleasure, “You’re tryin’ to milk me.”

He sucks air sharply through his teeth as he bends his back to watch his cock disappearing inside you, the slap of his balls against the swell of your thighs sounds inside the dingy bathroom as your legs shake. Balancing yourself in heels as you try to stop the sink from digging into your hips uncomfortably, certain you’ll have bruises in the morning.

“Gonna cum, shit— gonna fill this little pussy up.” He groans, and you’re certain it’s just words. Dirty talk to help get himself off as he prepares to cum inside the condom, “You want that, baby? Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes,” You find yourself playing into it, your walls throb around him as he works you towards your own release.

“That’s my girl,” He grins, reaching around to press messy circles against your puffy clit, “Gonna stuff you full of my cum.”

“Oh my god,” You repeat, clinging to the sink to keep yourself upright as you feel yourself on the edge of your release. The familiar pleasure building between your thighs as Kirishima leads you into bliss, “Kiri—”

“Red Riot, call me Red Riot—” His fingertips dig into you bruisingly as your cunt begins to convulse.

“Red Riot!” You mewl, “I’m cumming, Red Riot—”

“Oh shit, you want the entire bar to hear you, don’t you?” He grins, spanking your ass as your cunt spasms around him.

Kirishima fucks you through your climax, roughly thrusting into you as you feel the tip of him as deep as he can go. Kissing your cervix with each forward motion as he focuses on his own pleasure, his own desire.

“Hurts,” You choke out as you try to ignore the throb between your thighs or the way your skin digs uncomfortably into the porcelain.

“I’m almost there, sweetheart. Almost there—” He groans, ignoring your pleas, “Gonna fill you up.”

It doesn’t take him much longer to find his own release, his balls tightening as they begin to empty warm, hot spurts of cum into your pulsing walls. His hands smoothing down your back before reaching around to palm your naked breasts before pulling back.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” He groans when he pulls out to see strings of your slick connecting his softening cock to your folds.

And that’s when you feel it.

Warm globs of his cum slowly seeping out of your quivering walls, dribbling down your inner thighs and dropping onto the dirty floor.

“Did you— the condom?” You ask in confusion as you turn your head to face him, noticing the shiny gleam of his cock in the fluorescent lights of the bathroom as he gives you a cheeky grin.

“Oh, it must’ve ripped,” He shrugs, sticking himself back into his boxers with no care about how messy he is, “Sorry about that, sweetheart. You’ll be okay, I’m clean.”

Kirishima has just enough manners to pull your panties back up, even though you don’t have a chance to clean yourself up. Feeling his warm cum continue to drool out of you and collect in the lace of the crotch as you shuffle uncomfortably. Tugging your skirt back down as you fix your top, hearing Kirishima buckle his belt again as he checks himself out in the mirror.

“I’ll call you yeah, sweetheart?” He presses a lingering kiss to your cheek before unlocking the door to the men’s bathroom stall and stepping outside. Leaving you standing alone in the room as you stare back at your disheveled reflection.

It’s only when you look down at the ground where you notice the drops of his cum that had fallen to the floor, and beside them the discarded condom still in the perfect roll from the pack.

That he hadn’t even bothered to put on.

#Kirishima smut #tw:noncon #trigger:dubcon #red daddy riot

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