This Must Be How It Happened

This must be how it happened

That's one of the reasons I stopped writing fic. I ended up taking down the comment but it was one of like 3 on there so I just stopped bc if was my first fic.

If you feel the need to criticize every fic that you read, maybe stop reading fic. You’re literally getting free content. “I had to stop reading when—” LLIIIITTERALLYYY shut the fuck up. Shut up. I PROMISE you that the author doesn’t care. At best they brush you off and block you, at worst, you discourage a writer from wanting to post again because you turned a personal preference into an absolute moral stance. JUST MOVE THE FUCK ON. No one is going to lick your feet and beg for your approval. Either write your own morally superior shit or get the fuck off the site.

Me crossing my fingers and praying: please be a series please be a series

eyes on the monitor

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

summary: mike catches something on the security cameras that really shouldn't be happening at a family-friendly pizzeria—even an abandoned one

warnings: 18+ MDNI, stranger!reader, submissive!mike, trespassing, smut, m&f masturbation, public masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, squirting, finger sucking, cum eating, looming danger

word count: 3k

Mike has seen a lot of things on the security monitors in his three short nights working at Freddy's. 

Old animatronics that still roam about like they're possessed, cryptic messages written on dusty windows and mirrors. But he can honestly say he never saw this coming.

As the cameras shift from right to left, one of the screens glitches and crackles, and then there's you, tucked into a booth like you belong there. Except you don't. He's not even sure how you evaded his notice, let alone how you got into the building.

Don't you have any idea what's lurking in these halls? The dangers that patiently wait behind the curtained stage not even ten feet from where you're sitting? From where you're...

Fuck.

There's no way you possibly can because you're still lounging there without a care in the world, your legs spread wide and your jeans dangling off one ankle while you fuck yourself on your fingers. Two of them, your ring and middle, pump a steady rhythm in and out, dribbling slick all over the vinyl beneath you. You're so wet, even the camera's picking up the refracted light from the prize counter glinting off your pussy.

He should be panicked. He should be halfway to the auditorium by now to stop you, to drag you out of the pizzeria before the unthinkable happens, but—

But he can't bring himself to move or stop watching. He can't stop himself from palming his stiffening cock through his pants, either. Your head lolls back onto the booth and your body readjusts, giving him the perfect view of your languid movements. Now, it's almost like you're on display just for him.

And suddenly, he doesn't care about Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, or Foxy. He definitely doesn't care about his job or whatever else that career counselor said on the phone. The only thing Mike cares about is getting his dick out as fast as humanly possible so he can match the calculated press of your fingers and your frustratingly unhurried pace. 

You're thoroughly enjoying your pleasure—that much is clear—and it would be so easy to just...join in. He'd planned on sleeping through his fourth night, but now that you're here, there's nothing else he'd rather be doing than spending his shift fucking his fist and pretending it's you.

It'd be wrong. So, so wrong, but as you continue on, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil, he can feel himself getting harder and harder. There's a growing wet patch on the front of his sweatpants that's getting difficult to ignore, and he nearly moans as he grinds the heel of his hand into his lap for relief.

His gaze trails down your figure, surprisingly clear on the aging monitors, and he watches, dry-mouthed, as your unoccupied hand snakes up your body to tweak a nipple through your shirt. 

Fuck it, he can't take this anymore.

He yanks his pants down so fast, he's shocked he doesn't knock himself onto the floor, and hisses out a breath the moment his fingers wrap around himself. It aches with how good it feels, but he only allows his eyes to roll back for a split second before they're locked back on you. 

And you're sexy as hell. Your shirt's been tugged up and tucked under your chin to reveal that you decided to forgo a bra, in addition to the rest of your inhibitions, and he's thanking every deity he doesn't believe in that he doesn't have to imagine the plush curve of your tits and how they'd look sucked into his mouth.

Crap. He can't keep thinking shit like that if he wants to last longer than a few minutes. Ignoring the angry pulsing against his palm, he starts to stroke himself in time with your thrusts, diligently following your lead. But you're moving so slowly like you've got all the time in the world in this abandoned wonderland you've claimed for yourself, and Mike's time is limited. 

The longer this night goes on, the more restless they become, and it won't be long before those curtains open and you're interrupted. For good. There must be something seriously wrong with him, because he doesn't give a shit about that, either. They can wait. He's got another job to finish, and he needs this.

It's been so long since he last allowed himself to let go, and even longer since his body actually wanted to. He's harder than he's ever been in his life, and it's confusing and a little painful, and yet he hopes he lasts until his alarm goes off at 6 a.m., teetering on the edge of nirvana right alongside you. He wants you to make him cum so badly, and he knows you will, even if you don't know it yourself.

Tiny, hushed pleas escape him as your fingers speed up, begging you to coax him, to encourage him to be good for you and follow your every move. His office is too far from the auditorium for his words to carry, but he continues to moan them anyway, desperately. Obediently.

His eyes flutter closed as he succumbs to the fantasy of your lips grazing the shell of his ear, giving him firm instructions and praising him when he proves how well he can listen.

Such a good boy for me, Mike. A little faster, not too much. Nice and tight, just like that.

"Fuck. Like this? Is...is this okay?" he whimpers aloud, thumbing over the tip on his next upstroke. 

His hips buck into his hand at the sensation, and he grits his teeth, anticipating an admonishment that never comes. He's more than a little disappointed. 

That is, until he hears it, crystal clear as it filters through the cracked door and reverberates through his entire body. A needy, perfect moan, rising in pitch and volume with each passing moment. Yours.

You must've heard him, somehow. It's the only explanation. He has no idea how long he's been babbling, drunk on the tight, slick slide of skin against skin, but you're responding to it encouragingly like he's only ever imagined in his wettest dreams.

Mike's eyes shoot open, darting back to the monitor, and he has to grip the base of his cock tight to keep from cumming then and there. You're staring directly at the camera now, your chest heaving as you fuck yourself with three fingers, and he winces at how quickly his balls start to tighten.

He's going to cum. Shit. Shit.

But you didn't tell him he could. You're not even aware of the power you hold over him, and yet—

"You sound close, baby. You gonna cum for me?"

He sees your lips move and then your voice rings out a moment later, breathy and labored, and...how the fuck did you end up in this place? Who are you? He fucks into his fist frantically, leaking precum all over his fingers, and he can feel sweat matting his dark curls to his forehead, pooling where his aching wrist meets his hip bone. 

Maybe it doesn't even matter how or why you're in this pizzeria, not anymore. He can't stop anyway, not when you're urging him on and calling him baby. He feels delirious, blind to the rest of the security monitors and newly flickering lights. To the purple curtain slowly opening behind you.

Right now, it's just you and him. The familiar, searing heat in the pit of his groin, and the wet squelch of your fingers stroking your convulsing walls and rubbing tight circles into your clit—you're both so close, he knows it. He just needs you to say it. He needs your permission.

"Only if—," he gasps, belatedly realizing that his other hand is cupping his balls, squeezing reflexively without his permission. "—only if you say I can."

He watches your jaw drop, and your thighs begin to quake in response. Quicker than he can process, there's a sudden shift, and your gaze darkens mischievously to match the subtle quirk of your lips. You're in control now and you know it. You like it. He does, too.

Your pace doesn't slow at all and, instead, your hips begin to swivel into your touch, grinding into the sticky vinyl bench for more friction. 

So, that turns you on, huh? If he strains his ears, he swears he can just make out the squeaking of a diner booth being pushed to its limit. He's never been more jealous of furniture in his life.

That could've been him, if only he'd manned up and done his damn job. He could've had you bent over that table or bouncing on his cock; felt you gushing around him, clamping down on him. You would've wrung him dry.

Turns out you still do, just from a little further away. 

"Still hanging in there?" you coo from the other room, but the teasing in your voice is undercut by something headier. You sound wrecked.

His eyebrows pinch together, his expression almost pained, and he can feel that telltale pressure building, building.

"Y-yeah, but I...fuck, I can't hold it anymore," he whimpers, unable to keep his hips from snapping up into his hand. His thrusts are getting sloppier and tears are beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes. He wishes you could see him right now. "C-can I? Please."

Your fingers stutter and, for a second, he thinks he might've pushed you over the edge, but you recover just long enough to give him one final push. To tell him the one thing he's been longing to hear since he tugged down his pants and started playing your little game.

"Such a good boy," you repeat from earlier, a murmur that just barely reaches his ears, except this time it's really you and not just a fantasy. "Cum, baby. Let me hear you."

Then, his mind goes blissfully blank.

Mike doesn't just cum, he bursts. Soft whimpers taper into something guttural and animalistic as thick spurts coat his security vest and dribble down his length, soaking into the thick fabric of his sweatpants. He moans his way through it, nearly giving himself a friction burn with the intensity of his grip and speed. And he's loud, just like you told him to be. Much louder than he should be.

For a brief moment, his vision whites out, and he almost misses what he's been looking forward to all night. He blinks away the lingering spots obscuring his sight, and that's when it happens. Bathed in flashing green and yellow fluorescents, your entire body curls in on itself, shaking as your orgasm overcomes you and soaks the floor. 

His cock jerks pathetically in his hand as you work yourself through it, your eyes heavy-lidded and still locked on the camera. After a few more pumps, you slump into your seat and remove your fingers from your cunt, sucking them wetly into your mouth. 

He should get up. He should walk right into that auditorium with his dick still out so you can clean him up too, but he feels frozen in place. The skin at the back of his neck prickles and erupts into goosebumps and it feels like a warning, yet he still can't bring himself to look away from you. 

So, he doesn't notice the purple curtain opening just a fraction more in the background, and the curved, silver hook that peeks out from behind it. The blood rushing in your ears and steady heaving of your chest masks the metallic rattling, leaving you dangerously in the dark, too.

But Mike's eyes on the monitor are just enough to keep the pirate in his cove, and you're captivating enough to ensure they stay there. 

Sticky fingers twitch in his lap and, as if you can tell, you smirk around your own before pulling them free with a lewd pop. His mouth waters at the thought of what you must taste like and, unbeknownst to him, you're thinking the exact same about him. Since you're not there to help him yourself, you ask him to be good for you one last time.

"It's your turn," you laugh teasingly, swirling your tongue around your fingertips. "You should probably clean yourself up before you head home. It's almost six."

Heat curls low in his stomach and compels him to obey again. A cursory glance down at his watch tells him you're right—his alarm will go off soon, way sooner than he expected, and he's still covered in sweat and his own release. He could pop out of the office to the bathroom and be back before any real damage is done, probably. But that's not really what you're asking for.

"Tell me what you want me to do," he calls out, not bothering to hide the neediness in his voice. He's never experienced anything like this—like you—before and he's not sure he'll get the opportunity ever again.

"Lick it off. All of it," you instruct, dropping your fingers between your legs to swirl around your clit before popping them back into your mouth. Slowly, you show him exactly what you want, and he's a little horrified to realize he's getting hard again. "Can you do that for me?"

He nods quickly, forgetting you can't see his approval, but it doesn't matter, anyway. He's sucking the drying cum off his palm and fingers faster than he can reply, and his muffled responding moan tells you everything you need to know. After everything that's happened during this unexplainable night shift and everything you've made him feel, he'd likely do anything you asked.

"Such a good listener," you continue, ceasing your ministrations to lazily slip your underwear and jeans back into place. 

He's hit with a sudden wave of panic. This can't be over yet. There's still so much mystery shrouding you and whatever connection you have to this place, and if you leave now, he'll be left wondering forever. He wants answers, but disappointingly, you only leave him with more questions.

"How did I get so lucky with you, huh? The other security guards weren't nearly this fun," you smirk, dropping another bomb he never saw coming.

Oh. Oh. He freezes as he finishes laving the remaining wetness between his thumb and index fingers, the reality of the situation finally making itself known. This isn't the first time you've done this. It's probably not even the second or third. This is a habit, and he's not the only unwitting participant to fall prey to your seduction.

Fuck, he knew you were too good to be true. He hates that his body's still fighting his rationality while you sit there genuinely believing you've done nothing wrong. So innocent and, yet, still such an enigma. No one's ever made him cum that hard but, thankfully, his head is finally clear enough to put a stop to all of this. It's time to do his job.

The opportunity presents itself almost immediately. The flickering lights that have progressively gotten worse since his shift started reach a fever pitch, and the familiar figure in the corner of the screen reveals itself, wrenching his attention away from you. 

Mike barely has enough time to warn you before the screens start to glitch—every single one of them—and display nothing more than lines and lines of meaningless code. 

"You have to go. Now," he yells, struggling to be heard over the tinny screeching and jarring sounds of children's laughter crackling violently over the intercom. "Just—get out of here. Run, you have to run!"

He doesn't wait for a response, operating on autopilot as he wrestles his pants up and shoots out of his seat to the breaker box across the room. Terror and adrenaline pump through his veins, puppeteering him through the instructions left for him by Mr. Raglan.

Pull the lever down then back up, reset the power, and wait for the monitors to reboot. All he can do now is hope the machines don't deem you a threat and let you go. The room is plunged into darkness and the speakers go eerily silent.

Then, the systems come back online just like they're supposed to. But you're gone. He frantically searches the monitors for even a trace of you, evidence that you ever existed at all, but there's nothing. The only relief he's granted is that there's no blood or pieces of you scattered across the building. There's nothing at all.

Bracing himself on the desk in front of him, he breathes in desperate lungfuls of air, crashing from his adrenaline-fueled high and giving in to exhaustion. Just one more night. One more night at Freddy's, and he'll take that paycheck and never look back.

After a while of waiting for his panic to subside, his watch starts to beep, signaling the end of this night from hell. Fighting to ignore his conflicting feelings and lingering confusion, and even more so the phantom heat still licking at the base of his spine when he lets his thoughts stray back to you, he grabs his backpack and all but speed walks to the breaker to cut the power again.

As his fingers close around the lever, the intercom suddenly crackles to life. Something akin to hope blooms in his chest, and he whips around to see your image picked up by the camera at the entrance, radiant and unharmed under the morning sun of a new day. 

You're smiling, and he can't find it in himself to care that he's smiling back. You turn to leave, then think better of it.

"Same time tomorrow?" 

He scoffs, shaking his head at how ridiculous his life has become since he started this gig. If not even haunted animatronic mascots and the looming threat of death can't keep you away, then who is he to try? 

Yeah. He'll see you tomorrow.

thanks for reading!

YESSSSSSSSS ❤️💋❤️💋💋❤️ tysm V

punishment

Daddy Dom! Joel Miller x Sub! Female Reader

summary: You drag your boyfriend to your best friend’s annual Halloween party and get brave after a couple of drinks—it’s not like Joel’s really going to punish you while all of your friends are under the same roof, right?

*possible dubcon, see note after tags.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. HALLOWEEN FIC, no outbreak AU. non canon Joel. ESTABLISHED CONSENSUAL BDSM DYNAMIC. (TWs) daddy kink, ddlg dynamic, dom Joel who has a firm hand (literally) but he does provide some gentle aftercare after punishment. self indulgent age gap, reader is in her mid to late 20’s and Joel is in his 50’s but please tweak it to your imaginations. alcohol, candy, food, reader dresses up as Belle, Joel is a kind of a party pooper who doesn’t dress up as Beast. Grumpy-ish Joel, reader is a little bit of a brat but not over the top bratty, harsh spanking (reader gets spanked 3x in the fic) brief aftercare in the form of cuddles, petnames (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, princess, y’know because of her costume ha, little one is used like once in the fic) SMUT; fingeing, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) very quick fuck, creampie, Joel and reader fuck on her best friend’s bed (oops).

*the reason i say possible is because reader does drink at the party, it’s stated she sobers up a bit by the time they get to the bedroom. i would rather just put this warning JUST IN CASE. it was something i realized completely on my own and i want to be as careful and honest as i can.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: i’m gonna throw up. so first thing is first, i edited the tags as i saw appropriate. i took out soft dom, i added harsh to the spanking, and clarified that it is an established bdsm dynamic and it is consensual. i also added dubcon. this was out of my own volition as i realized reader does consume alcohol and at this point i feel like i’m being monitored so let’s be safe, yeah?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this is not your cup of tea please just scroll by. if even a hint of any warning raises a red flag for you, please do not read.

this fic in my head is from the strawberry universe and you can read the fic here to get a sense of their dynamic. you don’t have to, and you don’t have to associate the two but i do.

Joel leans against the wall, lips pursed together as he glances around and takes in his surroundings.

He feels so out of place—he looks so out of place.

He knew he’d stick out like a sore fucking thumb.

How could he not?

He’s surrounded by nothing but a bunch of twenty something year olds dressed in costume—not that normal attire would have made a difference. Joel’s twice the age of everybody in that goddamn room and he wouldn’t have fit in no matter the occasion. But for as uncomfortable as he feels, he is sucking it up for one reason, and one reason only—making his sweet girl happy.

Joel lifts his bottle of beer to his lips, taking a swig of the cheap domestic lager that tasted as awfully watered down as he’d imagined it would. His deep brown eyes follow you as you float about the party with your best friend, Maddie, arm in arm. He isn’t trying to be overprotective, after all, you’re among friends you’ve known since high school, hell some of them you grew up with on the same block when you’d been a child. Still, he’s already noticed some wandering male gazes, which he half expected the moment that he’d first seen your costume back at his place.

“Where’s your costume?” he’d asked you from the bottom of the staircase as you appeared at the top of it wearing bone-crushingly tight yellow corset—the thin, matching satin skirt fell above the middle of your thighs, showing off your soft, smooth legs; even from a distance he could see you had dusted them, along with every other inch of exposed skin, in the body glitter he had something of a love-hate relationship with. He loved it on you, but hated the way it would get all over him, how it would take an entire week’s worth of showers for it to come off—how the idiots at work would give him shit and ask him if he’d spent the night fucking Tinkerbell.

“Um, this is my costume,” you’d replied with a tiny grin, waving around the single long-stemmed rose in your hand. You had completed your outfit with a pair of white, ruffle ankle socks and five inch heels that you could only pray to the heavens above that you would last the whole night in without breaking a bone. “I told you I was going as Belle, Joel. Don’t you remeber?”

Of course he remebered, because you had wanted him to go as Beast. He’d put his foot down then.

“Funny, I don’t remember her showin’ off so much skin in the movie,” he remarked as you descended the stairs towards him. Throat bobbing, he tried to keep a straight face. He couldn’t fucking deny you looked so heart stoppingly gorgeous. “Sweetheart I ain’t all too fuckin’ comfortable lettin’ you out like this. You’re showin’ off way too much. Besides, it’s fuckin’ sixty degrees tonight. S’too damn cold and the last thing I want is you gettin’ sick—”

Joel had stopped when you made it to the bottom of the staircase. He bit back a groan when you put both hands on his chest and looked up at him with those eyes, those goddamn eyes that always got him good.

“Daddy.”

The word had fallen from your plush, gloss-slicked lips, sweet like honey.

“There’s nothing to worry about. I’m going to have you to keep me safe tonight.” Fingers splayed over the soft fabric of his plaid brown flannel, your eyes met his and you added, “And warm, too.”

“S’that right, little one?” he’d rasped.

“Mhm. Safe and warm, just like you always do.”

Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

Oh, how easily you did him in, especially whenever you called him Da—

Joel’s train of thought is broken when he notices a younger blond man dressed as a baseball player in a corner, drinking with his buddies. He isn’t paying attention to his friends, though. His eyes are glued to you, glazing over every inch of you from head to toe as you stand nearby with Maddie and a couple other of your girlfriends, sucking on a lollipop.

Pushing himself away from the wall, Joel saunters through the crowd of party goers and over toward you and your friends. Without hesitation, he slides his free hand around your waist, biting back a little smirk when he sees the look of disappointment on the younger man’s face from his peripheral vision.

“Hi Joel,” the the girls coo at him, giggling.

He gives them a subtle nod hello. “Ladies.”

“Excuse me, but where is your costume?” Maddie, who is donning black lingerie and matching wings on her back, reaches out and pokes his chest. “It’s a Halloween party! You’re supposed to dress up!”

“That’s what I told him,” you say, pulling the candy out of your mouth with a pop. “But nooo, he didn’t wanna listen to me because he’s a party pooper!”

Joel catches the way your words slur together just a little bit, enough to let him know it’s time for him to get you to start drinking some water, instead of the fruit flavored alcohol in your plastic red cup. “I did dress up,” he states, gesturing with his beer to his flannel. “Came dressed up as a lumberjack.”

“You’re broad enough to fit the part,” Maddie says with a wink, touching his bicep. “Isn’t he, girls? So broad and big and strong—”

You glare at her. “I’m standing right here, Mads—I would appreciate it if you don’t flirt with him right in front of me. He’s my boyfriend.”

“Better than behind your back babe,” she quips as she brushes the rose you’d brought to the party as part of your costume against the tip of your nose.

Annoyed, you snatch it out of her hand.

“Alright, alright,” Joel steps in just as you’re about to open your mouth to respond. “S’cuse us, ladies. We’ll be over here for a minute.” He pulls you away over to the refreshment table near the kitchen. He sets down his beer and then takes your plastic cup from you, putting it down beside his bottle. After a minute, he finds the plastic bottles of water on the edge of the table and grabs one, twisting the cap. “Here,” he says, handing it to you.

“I don’t want water,” you wrinkle your nose at it.

“Y’need water. Don’t want you gettin’ too drunk.”

“But it’s party!”

“Baby listen to me. I want you to drink water,” Joel says, holding the bottle out to you.

Refusing to take it you, you lift your lollipop, giving it a seductive lick. “You can’t boss me around. Not here, Joel.” You innocently bat your eyes at him. “I don’t have to listen to you tonight.”

Joel calmly puts the cap back on the bottle before putting it down. “Is that so, darlin’?”

Confidently, you nod, humming, “Mhm.”

He leans down and presses his lips to your ear, the scruff of his beard ticking your cheek. “Baby, don’t you think for one second that I’m afraid to put you in your place here at your friend’s party. You’d best stop actin’ like a little brat.” He pulls away and lifts his hand, yanking your lollipop out of your mouth. Dropping it into the table, he adds, “And don’t you dare try and test me. You understand, little girl?”

Smiling, you give your rose a delicate sniff.

“I don’t think you’ll do a damn thing to me here.”

He knows it’s the alcohol talking. He knows.

But that doesn’t stop Joel from wrapping his hand around your wrist. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You had sobered up slightly by the time you found yourself being pulled into the first bedroom on the left at the stop of the staircase. Maddie’s room—if Joel looked out of place downstairs, up here in the pink and white bedroom, he looked even more out of place. “Joel, what the hell are you doing?”

Joel says nothing.

He locks the door and then stalks over toward the foot of the full-sized bed where he takes a seat on the pink floral duvet. He pats his lap and finally, he speaks, his tone calm but serious. “C’mere.”

Your heart skips a beat or two. “Huh?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Now.”

Bewildered, you simply stand there.

He’s going to do this here? In Maddie’s room?

While she and all your friends are downstairs?

Nerves set in, but so does another sensation.

Excitement.

“Joel—”

“Don’t make Daddy tell you again, darlin’.”

Somehow, wobbly legs and all, you make it over to him and he pulls you down, draping you across his lap. He lifts the satin skirt of your costume up over your ass and you can feel the way he freezes when he realizes you’re not wearing panties underneath. His cock twitches against your belly and there is a part of him that wants to forget the discipline, just let you get away with your behavior and throw you onto the bed so he can fuck you senseless. But he somehow resists the urge.

“Daddy, I’m sorry for being a brat—”

“S’too late, baby. I told you not to test me and you did.”

“But Dadd—” Your own yelp cuts you off when his large hand delivers a swift, harsh strike to your ass without warning. Dropping your rose, you squeeze your eyes shut and curl your hands into tight fists. Your heart’s pounding, and the adrenaline courses through your veins. The first blow wasn’t so bad, it was the two that followed that always brought you to tears. “Daddy, I’m sorry!”

Joel kneads the spot where he’d spanked you with his rough, calloused fingers and tsks in response. “I warned you. Shoulda listened to me, darlin’.”

He lifts his arm over his head, pauses, and then he brings it down, smacking the same tender spot.

Thankfully, the music downstairs is loud enough—no one can hear the cry that rips from the back of your throat. Hot tears begin to well up in your eyes and you blink them back furiously.

“Betcha regret testin’ me, don’t you, princess?”

Your mind can barely register the new pet name.

“I—yes. I do, I really, really do. I’m really sorry.”

Joel rubs his palm over your ass, eliciting a painful groan from you—it’s raw and it hurts. It’s taking all the strength you have in you not to squirm, or else you’ll earn yourself an additional strike.

“One more darlin’ and you’re done. Alright?”

All you can do is nod and brace yourself for it.

Joel’s hand comes down on you for the last time.

You cover your mouth with your hands, muffling a scream that the music downstairs isn’t quite loud enough to hide.

Joel comes back into Maddie’s room with a bottle of water in his hand. He finds you pacing back and forth and knows you’re afraid to sit down because you’re sore.

There’s a small part of him that almost feels bad.

Almost.

He only ever disciplines you when it’s necessary.

When you need guidance.

He doesn’t do it for fun or for pleasure.

No. Joel does it because he wants you to become the best version of yourself while under his care.

“C’mere sweetheart,” he beckons for you with one motion of his free hand as he sits down at the foot of the bed once again. Taking your hand, he gently seats you on his lap. With his arms around you, he twists the cap off the bottle and then lifts it. “Here baby, want you to drink,” he murmurs, putting the mouth to your lips. He watches you take a few sips and praises, “That’s a good girl. Little more, now.”

Once he’s satisfied with the amount you’ve had to drink, Joel puts the cap back onto the water bottle and sets it aside before wrapping you in his arms.

“Did so well with your punishment, baby. M’proud of you,” he says, pressing a kiss into your hair.

Melting into his broad chest, you sigh contentedly and murmur, “Thank you, Daddy.”

For a while, he just holds you and assures you over and over again how good you did for him, tells you how proud he is of you for handling discipline even through the discomfort and the pain. He tells you how much he loves you.

Lifting your head off his shoulder, you utter a quiet “Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Earlier you called me something—something you have never called me before.”

The creases between his brows deepen. “I did?”

“Mhm.” Shyly, you nod. “You called me princess.”

Joel clicks his tongue. “I s’ppose I did call you that name,” he muses with an amused chuckle. “Guess the costume made me think of it.” He notices your eager smile, the glimmer in your eyes and he grins at you. “Did’ya like it when I called you that?”

“Yes.”

He places a hand on your thigh.

“Yes, what?”

His touch causes your breath to hitch.

“Yes, Daddy,” you breath out.

He leans forward, brushing your mouth with a kiss so soft and tender thst a pleasant warmth radiates throughout your chest.

“My princess,” he murmurs huskily before tugging your bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a bite.

The arousal pools between your legs and your first instinct is to squeeze them together. He notices.

Joel pulls his mouth away from yours, just ever so slightly, and drags his hand further up your leg. He skims the hem of your skirt with his fingertips.

“Couldn’t help but notice,” he starts, his voice low, husky, “That you ain’t wearin’ any panties tonight. S’there a reason why? Can you tell Daddy why you left the house with nothin’ under this pretty skirt?”

Heat floods your face, pooling in your cheeks. “I—I was just thinking about later. After the party, when we got home.”

He smirks. “Didn’t wanna waste time or what?” He nudges your thighs apart with his hand and slips it between them. Skimming your jawline with the tip of his nose, he runs his index finger up your damp slit, lightly grazing your clit. “Christ, my sweet girl. You’re fuckin’ soakin’ for me already.”

Moaning, you reach for a fistful of his flannel, heat blazing in your lower belly.

“What is it, baby? What d’ya want?” Joel asks. He drags his finger down your cunt and then back up. “You want Daddy’s fingers? Hm?”

You nod almost frantically. “Yes, please.”

“Where do you want ‘em?”

You buck your hips forward into his hand in reply.

“Use your words, princess. S’only way to get what you want.”

“I want them inside me, Daddy. I need them inside of my pussy, please—”

“That’s it. Good fuckin’ girl.”

Joel kisses your temple and slips one finger inside of your throbbing cunt, followed by a second. Your head lulls back and you arch back in his lap as you adjust to the delicious stretch of his thick digits.

His mouth latches onto your exposed neck and he nips at the delicate flesh with his teeth.

“Fuck,” you moan when you feel his fingers curl to hit that soft spongy spot within your walls. “Daddy please, I want more. Need—need more—”

“Such a needy little girl, aint’cha darlin’? Always so needy for Daddy?” He says into your collarbone as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“Yes, yes, yes—fuck that feels so good—”

He slides his fingers out of your core and starts to rub slow, but firm circles around your clit. With his cock straining against the zipper of his denim blue jeans, Joel picks up the pace. He knows Maddie is probably already looking for you, and he refuses to allow you to leave this bedroom without the inside of your thighs coated, dripping with his come. But he has to take care of you first, he always does.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimper, the coil wound in between your hips ready to snap forward. “Close, I’m so close—fuck, Daddy can I please come?”

Joel sinks his two fingers back into you, his thumb circling the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves. He nods, “Come for me, sweet girl. Want you to come all over my fingers like the good girl I know you are for me. Come for me—” The firm command sends you free falling over the edge. Your soft, breathless moans fill the bedroom, your velvet walls fluttering around his fingers. “That’s it, fuckin’ let go. Let go for Daddy. There you go, such a good fuckin’ girl.”

As you come down from the high, Joel withdraws his hand from between your legs, his digits coated in slick. Normally he’d have you suck them clean—but there’s no time. With only a very minor protest from his back, he manages to stand up with you in his arms and sets you down. “Bend over the bed.”

Still slightly drunk off your own climax, you do just as you’re told and lean over the edge of the bed on your stomach. You hear him unbuckle his belt, and the sound alone causes another fire to ignite deep in your lower belly. “Daddy?” You glance over your shoulder at him with lustful, half lidded eyes as he pushes his jeans down to the middle of his thighs; his thick cock springs free from confinement and you can’t help but lick your lips at the sight of it.

“What baby?” his gaze meets yours. He strokes at his length, willing himself not to fucking explode—seeing you in your costume, bent over, perfect ass up in the air waiting for him? He isn’t going to last.

“I need you to fuck me,” you say sweetly. “Please.”

A guttural growl rumbles through his chest and he leans over you—a massive bulk of a man shielding your entire body, making you feel so much smaller than you were. Joel wraps a hand around his base, then drags the head of his cock along the seam of your cunt, coating it in your sweet slick.

Still hunched over you, he asks, “Ready to take me baby? Ready to take Daddy’s cock?”

“God, yes please.”

Joel trails a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses from your shoulder and makes his way up your neck. He slides into you, his length and girth stretching you until he finally bottoms out. He pauses and groans into your skin, giving himself a second to savor the feeling of the initial stretch. “S’tight for me. Christ baby, s’like your sweet little pussy’s made for me.” He lifts himself and grabs at your hips, rocking his own in a pace that starts off slow, but then speeds up when he hears the sound of high-heels clicking their way up the stairs. Worried it could be Maddie coming to look for you, his thrusts become sloppy and quick, causing you to cry out loudly.

Without losing rhythm, Joel reaches down, pulling you off of the bed so your back is against his chest as he’s fucking you. He wraps one arm around you to hold you in place and his opposite hand clamps over your mouth to keep you quiet. “Gonna come, baby. Gonna come and fill you up—you want that? Hm?” His breath is hot against your ear. “Want me to send you back out to your friends so fuckin’ full of me?”

Eagerly, you nod.

He wants to draw it out, doesn’t want it to end this quickly, but there’s a knock at the door and he has no choice. He shoves you back down onto the bed and pins you down, biting down on his lower lip to keep as quiet as possible as he snaps his hips, one final deep thrust that has him spilling into you.

Maddie calls your name. “Are you in there?”

You clutch at her bedsheets, your mouth open in a silent scream as you feel your cunt milking him for all that he has, filling with every last drop.

“Hello?” Maddie knocks again. “Who’s in here?”

Joel slumps forward, leaning over you. “You’d best just answer her, darlin’,” he grunts quietly. He rests his arms on either side of you, his cock still buried inside your center.

In the steadiest voice you can muster, you call out, “It’s me, I’m in here!”

There’s a pause. “Is Joel in there with you?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“Jesus.” You can hear the eye roll in her tone. “You couldn’t at least do it in the fucking bathroom like normal people do? You had to do it in my room?”

“Sorry, Mads.”

Joel snorts in amusement into your shoulder.

“You owe me a new set of bedsheets!”

And with that, you both hear her stomp away.

Joel pulls out of you and stands. “C’mon, let’s get ourselves decent.”

After the two of you clean yourselves up—not only do you owe your best friend new bedding, but you also now her a fresh pack of feminine wipes—both of you take one final glance in the mirror just to be certain there wasn’t a single hair out of place. Well for you, anyway. Joel’s thick, salt and pepper curls were always out of place no matter what.

“Can’t forget this,” Joel comes up behind you with your rose. Handing the flower to you, he smirks as he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulder. His eyes meet yours in the mirror. “So—princess, huh?”

You turn your head and kiss his cheek. “That’s one name I could really get used to, you know.”

“S’long as a princess attitude don’t come with it.”

“No promises, Joel.”

divider credit to @saradika ❤️

Shame @staff

thought they needed a little reminder that they still have far more to lose if they double down on this stupidity. spread the word, it seems they're... very forgetful about this.

MOTHER IS MOTHERING

Been working on some concept art for Queen Toriel for Precious Stone