#emh

that's her daddy!! that's his baby!!

bad habit puts his hat on you when he fucks you.

you’ll be barely lucid, hands reaching for anything to hold. your legs spread and aching, your lips glossy with his spit. the bed creaking and moaning with every push and pull of his hips.

he’ll loom over you, wicked smirk on his lips as he takes you.

the first time he did it was on a whim.

your hair kept falling over your pretty and flustered face, and he was not happy with that. so, in a fit of irritation, he yanked the hat off his head and put it on you.

it unlocked something primal in him.

you—bare, vulnerable, malleable, so sweet—crying for him while his hat rested on your head. he didn’t care if your sweat soaked the fabric, or if his hair was now getting in his face.

and when you’re riding him?

he’s all over you.

death proof cap pulled low over your face, the only visible feature was your parted lips as you bounced. his hands would dig into the plush of your thighs, groaning as he took what you gave.

and when it was over?

the two of you would breathe and bask in each other presence, and he would take his hat off you. he’d use the bill of it to lift your chin to him, kissing you before pushing it back over your hair and whispering:

“we’re goin’ again. y'look too sweet, hun."