#OH DADS LOOKIN PRETTY

[gutsby]

Waiting Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Drug use. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.

Word count: 13.1k

Read on AO3

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.

At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.

All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.

From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.

Joel frowned.

“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.

“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”

That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.

Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.

“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”

“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.

He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.

You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.

“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.

But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.

His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.

“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”

In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.

“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.

“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.

“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”

Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.

A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.

You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.

“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.

Dogs no longer on the dash—and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.

You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.

Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.

Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.

The police officer hadn’t bought it.

He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.

You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.

Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.

This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.

But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.

“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.

“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”

He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.

“Needin’ a room?”

The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.

“Smoking or non?”

“Smoking, please.”

Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.

“King or two Queens?”

“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.

At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.

“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”

No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.

“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”

The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.

“Alright.”

Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.

Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.

He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,

“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”

You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.

You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.

You turned back to Joel.

“Here you go, Daddy.”

In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.

“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”

In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.

If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.

A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.

Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.

He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.

Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.

He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.

So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.

He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.

Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.

To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.

Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.

Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.

Fuck, he needed a shower.

Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.

You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’

But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.

Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.

All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.

That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.

For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.

Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.

Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.

Fuck this.

He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.

And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.

You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.

“Sofa’s broke,” you said.

Joel blinked.

“Broke?”

You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.

The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.

“You can sleep there.”

Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.

“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”

“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”

Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.

Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.

“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”

Fuck.

“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.

“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”

By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.

“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.

“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”

Joel swallowed.

“Tails, what?”

“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”

Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”

Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.

“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”

“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”

You raised both brows, mildly amused.

“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.

“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.

Joel tensed under your touch.

“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.

It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.

“What game?” he asked.

“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”

“Too Hot?”

“You heard me.”

“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”

Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.

The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.

Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.

“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.

He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.

“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”

Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,

“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”

To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.

“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”

Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.

And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.

You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.

“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.

“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.

“I bet you will.”

The man was a menace when he had the will to be.

At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.

“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.

“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.

Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.

His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.

Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.

“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”

Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.

“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”

“Twenty since I felt one this good.”

You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.

It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.

Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.

Even through the towel, he felt huge.

You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.

“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.

“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.

All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.

He peered down at you with a curious look.

“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.

You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.

You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.

“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.

Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.

“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.

You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.

“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”

Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.

“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”

Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.

“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”

Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.

You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.

“Joel.”

Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.

“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”

Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.

Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.

Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.

“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”

“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”

“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”

So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.

Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.

“Touch me, Joel, please.”

His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.

“Nah.”

Curt and cruel as ever. Then:

“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”

He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.

“Motherfucker.”

“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”

And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,

“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”

It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.

At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.

You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.

And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.

A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.

While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.

“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”

“Out.”

This motherfucker.

“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”

Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.

“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”

Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.

You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.

“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.

“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”

“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”

You stared him down, incredulous.

So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.

“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”

You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.

You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.

You were still hungry as shit.

Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.

You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.

By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.

You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.

You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.

Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.

What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.

You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’

Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.

In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.

You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.

Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.

You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.

Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.

“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.

You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.

You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,

“Like this?”

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.

A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.

The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.

Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.

Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.

Well.

You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.

You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.

You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.

“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.

“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.

Daddy?

There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.

“Y’all been spying on us?”

“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.

You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.

“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.

It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.

“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.

“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.

You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.

Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.

“We’re about out.” Micah announced.

Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.

“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.

You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”

“Do I?”

You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.

He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.

“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”

The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.

“You think so?” you hummed.

“I do. I really do.”

“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.

“Wyatt can fight.”

Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”

Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.

“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”

“Six.”

“Fifteen at least.”

You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.

This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.

“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.

“Twenty.”

“Honey?”

The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.

It was Joel, of course.

Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.

Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.

“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.

Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.

‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.

Instinctively, you recoiled.

“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.

“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.

He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.

Joel raised both eyebrows.

“No?”

His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.

“Fuck no,” you answered.

A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,

“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”

“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”

No one moved.

Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.

Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.

“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.

“You’re a brat,” he fired back.

In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.

“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”

“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”

Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.

“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”

Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?

“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”

“If that’s what you—”

“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”

Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.

“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.

You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.

Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.

So you took off running.

Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.

You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.

“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.

Fat chance, Miller.

You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.

Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.

Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.

It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.

“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.

“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”

You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.

Then he pulled you over his lap.

Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.

“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”

You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.

“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.

Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.

“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.

Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,

“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”

You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.

“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.

Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.

“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.

Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,

“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”

You fuck with my head.

Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.

“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”

You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.

“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.

“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”

At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.

Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.

“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,

“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”

It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.

Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.

“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”

His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.

“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”

Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.

You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.

“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.

No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.

Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”

At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.

“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”

Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.

He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.

“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.

“Yeah.”

“How high?”

“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.

“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.

“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.

It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.

You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.

“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”

The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.

He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.

“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.

“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.

“Cobwebs and all.”

Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.

“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.

“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.

“So Prohibition-coded.”

“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”

You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.

At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.

Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’

No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.

No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.

Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.

“Good?”

“Great.”

You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.

“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”

“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.

His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.

“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.

The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he’d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.

In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.

When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.

Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—

“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”

Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.

“Joel, please,” you begged him.

“Baby, I’m—”

About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.

“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”

On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:

Dad 💙

Fuck.

FUCK.

Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.

You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.

Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.

“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.

Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.

“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”

But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.

It stopped.

Then started again.

The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.

It stopped once more.

The screen stayed black.

You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.

Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.

“Answer,” you hissed.

“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.

“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”

Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.

“He-e-y man.”

You were so fucking dead.

Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.

“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”

A beat.

“She’s good, she’s good.”

For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”

“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”

“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”

You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.

When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.

You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.

At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.

“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”

You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.

The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.

Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.

“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”

You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,

“This is not a fucking game.”

He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.

In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.

Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.

By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.

When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.

The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.

His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.

The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.

“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.

“Joel,” you choked.

Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.

With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.

“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.

He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’

“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”

Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.

He couldn’t finish off like this.

Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.

Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.

He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,

“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.

You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:

“Hey, dad!”

Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.

Might as well make it fun while it lasts.

“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”

Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.

You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.

He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.

Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.

“My sweet girl.”

“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”

“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”

From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.

At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.

“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.

Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.

“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”

As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.

He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.

So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.

He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.

You covered the mouthpiece.

“I can’t, Joel.”

“Sure you can, sugar.”

“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.

Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:

“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”

Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.

“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”

You didn’t need much more instigation than that.

You came. He followed.

And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.

Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.

Until it was in you.

Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.

You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.

“Did it…”

“What?”

“Joel!”

You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.

“JOEL!”

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”

Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.

“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”

Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.

“What’s…ovulating?”

You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.

There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.

“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”

That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.

“Where are you going?!”

“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”

Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.

“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.

“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.

Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.

“I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”

Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.

As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.

Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.

“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.

Joel turned his head and almost groaned.

Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.

Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.

Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:

“I’m not actually her dad!”

All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:

“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”

[amortxt]

⠀ㅤ⠀ ⠀𖥻⠀ㅤ⠀﹫⠀toji⠀fushiguro.

ㅤㅤⓘㅤㅤfluff, reader and toji have an estab relationship + reader is mamaguro. not proof-read so excuse any issues ^_^.

toji had conked out on the couch after promising you and your son a movie night. you have to give him props, he made it through the first 44 minutes and that was honestly a new record. your son giggled as you dragged the sharpie across his face, drawing all sorts of silly things on the man.

"mama, i wanna draw somethin'!" megumi tugged at your top, trying to get your attention. you took him on your lap and he uncapped the bright blue sharpie and went straight for his dads arm.

he drew an assortment of flowers and clouds. a little landscape on his fathers muscles. you couldn't hold it in and just burst out with laughter, megumi following suit.

it was all the more funnier hearing his snores, knowing he was dead asleep whilst his beloved son and wife drew atrocities ( little hearts and sparkles) all over his exposed skin.

"he looks beautiful, mama." megumi looked at you with bright, happy eyes. you took him into an embrace and squeezed him, cuteness aggression flooding you. you squealed and he groaned, and you both fell on top of your husband, successfully waking him up.

you two both looked at him with wide eyes and a dropped mouth. he made a lopsided, tired smile at you as he brought his untouched hand to rub his eyes. megumi made a cheeky smile back at him and you pursed your lips.

toji grumbled and yawned, still tired and just slightly humoured with his wife and son's antics. if only he had known the full picture. (pun intended). "whatcha lookin' at me like that for?"

"nothin' baby. you just look so pretty." the smile that was plastered on your face was incredulous. you couldn't wipe it off. not when your monster-hunk, tough guy of a man had bright sharpie and sparkly glitter all over his face and body. poor guy was probably still too tired to even notice it. you'd almost feel bad.

almost.

megumi could barely hold in his chortle and just let it all out. toji looked at him funny and you shrugged it off. kids. he seemed satisfied with your answer. and you made a loving grin.

you turned off the TV and sent toji off to bed, megumi holding your index finger and dragging you to his bedroom so you could go and tuck him in.

as you were sitting on megumi's bed, he began to chat. "mama.?" "yes sweetie?" "can i draw on you too?"

you looked at him and chewed the inside of your cheek. "uhm.. oh i don't know about that…"

"i do." you turned around you to see the hulking shadow the loomed at the doorway. you stared with eyes that seemed less serious when there was pink marker around them. in his hand he held some other permanent markers. all bright and all glittery. he had a strangely dangerous smirk on his face.

"and you're gettin' it tonight, ma."

⠀ㅤ⠀⠀©⠀all work written by ﹫amortxt. do not repost.

[hsnlv]

caught! | y.jw

pairing: boyfriend!jungwon x reader

teaser: “so, angel,” jungwon said, his voice dangerously soft, “if i’m your first boyfriend… how do you know how to shave a guy?”

others: jungwon is visibly manly in this one and im soooo in love w manly jungwon!

wc: 1.1k

a/n: have you guys ever seen tha clip from one of jungwon’s live where you can see his upper lips facial hair that started to grow?? BEAUTIFUL😵‍💫 this is defo inspired by that live keke😖 here’s my masterlist!

“baby, can you help me shave?” jungwon asked, handing you his razor with an expectant look. you couldn’t help but notice the faint shadow of his moustache, barely visible but still pricking his soft skin. knowing jungwon, he probably hated the sight of it—he always shaved at the first sign of facial hair.

you took the razor from him, smiling giddily. “of course, uwon!” hopping onto the bathroom sink, you faced him, legs dangling on either side of his waist. moments like this made your heart flutter—being so close to him, feeling his warmth, catching the faint scent of his cologne that you’d recognize anywhere.

“don’t forget the shaving cream,” he murmured, his tone slightly teasing.

“uwon, let me handle this,” you said confidently, reaching for the cream. he just arched a brow but stayed silent, his lips pressing into a playful pout as you carefully lathered his face. your fingers worked gently, spreading the cream over his soft skin, humming to yourself as you did.

you guys are this close whenever you do his skincare or face masks. and normally, jungwon would hum along with you or tease you for singing off-key, but today, he was strangely quiet. you glanced up, your brows furrowing. “what’s wrong?” you asked, tilting your head.

he wiped the cream from his lips with a tissue, setting it aside before his hand settled on your thigh, squeezing gently. the warmth of his palm sent little sparks through you, but his expression… something about it made your stomach twist.

“angel baby,” he said, his voice soft yet firm, a tone he rarely used. the way he said your favorite nickname made your heart skip, though there was a flicker of something behind his eyes—curiosity, maybe? you hummed in response, but your pulse quickened.

“you told me i was your first boyfriend, didn’t you?” he tilted his head slightly, studying you. his voice wasn’t accusing, but the question hung heavy in the air.

your heart dropped to your stomach. “uh, yeah…?” you answered hesitantly, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

jungwon’s brow arched higher. “then how do you know how to shave a guy?”

your mind went blank. oh no. oh no, no, no.

okay, to be fair, it’s not like you wanted to lie to him like that. but you clearly remember during your talking stage with him, he had said that he preferred a girl who was never in a relationship before, with the reason that he could show her how love is actually like.

“uh, well, i mean… i helped my brother before,” you stammered, trying to sound convincing.

jungwon’s lips quirked up ever so slightly, his fingers drumming gently against your thigh. “you don’t have a brother.”

“uh, my dad?” you tried again, forcing a sheepish smile.

“your dad doesn’t even have facial hair,” he countered, leaning in slightly, his tone dangerously soft. “and, if i recall, he’s bald.”

“im pretty sure it’s not much of a different if i shave myself…?” okay that was nasty but whatever it is to make sure he didn’t catch your lie.

“pretty sure?” his voice was too confident, it made your walls of lies crumbled down right upon him. your pout deepened at his chuckle.

“baby, just tell me the truth.” his hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“did you have a boyfriend before me?” his voice was gentler now, but the seriousness in his eyes made your heart race.

you sighed, your shoulders slumping as you nodded. “…yeah.”

jungwon stared at you for a moment, his face completely unreadable. you braced yourself for his reaction, but instead of scolding or looking upset, he laughed. soft at first, then louder, until he was clutching his stomach, his head tilting back.

“baby,” he said between laughs, wiping the corner of his eye. “you thought i’d actually care about that? seriously?”

you blinked at him, cheeks burning. “but you said—”

“i said i prefer someone who hasn’t dated before, not that i need it or care about it,” he cut you off, grinning at you. “you’re so dramatic. it’s adorable.”

you pouted, crossing your arms. “i just wanted to be perfect for you.”

jungwon’s grin softened, his hand cupping your cheek. “you’re already perfect, angel. even when you’re lying terribly.”

“it wasn’t that bad!” you protested, half-heartedly swatting at his chest.

“it was awful,” he teased, pulling you closer by your waist. “your bald dad? your imaginary brother? i almost wanted to let you keep digging just to see what else you’d come up with.”

you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “stop making fun of me!”

“never,” he said smugly, tugging your hands away to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “but seriously, baby, don’t lie to me about stuff like that. i hate liars. and, i don’t care who you dated before me. i just care that you’re with me now.”

his words melted away the embarrassment, leaving nothing but warmth. “i was just scared,” you admitted softly, your gaze dropping to your hands. “you told me you wanted someone who hadn’t been in love before. i was so in love with you, uwon, and i wanted to be everything you dreamed of.”

jungwon’s expression softened even more as he rested his forehead against yours. “you are, baby. even if you’ve been in love before, it doesn’t change the fact that i’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you now.”

you smiled shyly, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater. “you’re not mad?”

“mad? no. jealous? absolutely. very much,” he said, fixing you with a dramatic, intense gaze.

“you’ve shaved someone else before me? wow, i feel so betrayed,” he added, raising his hands in mock surrender, his tone exaggerated just enough to make you panic.

“uwon, baby! i’m sorry!” you whined, your voice filled with guilt.

his giggle broke through the tension, and you glared at him with a pout. he leaned forward, booping your nose lightly. “i’m kidding, baby,” he said with a grin.

“you’re the worst,” you muttered under your breath.

“and you’re the best,” he shot back smoothly, leaning closer to nuzzle his nose against yours. “now, can we finish this? or are you going to tell me you’ve shaved some random celebrity next?”

“you’re so annoying,” you huffed, grabbing the razor again.

“and you love me,” he teased, his grin so wide it made your heart flutter.

as much as you wanted to argue, you couldn’t deny it.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024

[hanasnx]

Oh god Ben is so dad. I’d give up a toe (even one of the important ones!) for that man to baby me. Like please please please I’ve been good, I deserve it!!!

BABYING — s.boy

“ lookin’ at you, make me wanna fuck for life ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | the boys. NOTES. it’s hard to figure out what babying is for ben. WARNINGS. fem reader ノ established relationship ノ sexual content towards the end ノ size difference ノ age gap ノ degradation: calls you a kid ノ daddy kink: dad ノ finger sucking (m receiving) ノ features alcohol.

SOLDIER BOY treats you like a kid. it’s not loving or kind usually, it has a fair amount of condescension and you’ve heard, “the grown-ups are talking.” more times than you can count. however, there are some days—rare and few—when ben gets a little soft. maybe it’s the change of the season, maybe his team won a game, but soldier boy calls you baby and means it sweetly. “c’mere, baby,” he’ll croon, hooking his finger under your knee to guide your body over to straddle his hips on the bed. callused thumbs stroke your thighs as he looks up at you with a certain contentedness in his eyes, the subtlest upturn to the corners of his lips. “let me look at’cha.” those proud green eyes drink you in while his rough hands slide up to get under the hem of your sleep shorts.

when he’s in a good mood and he wants something from you, the point of his nose tucks under your hair, gruff voice talks in your ear, “how’s about we get outta here, pretty thing? hm?” he purrs, and you swallow down the urge to visibly shudder, meeting his gaze when he pulls away to stand at his full height with that knee-buckling smile of his. you bite your lip, nodding your head while he stoops to catch your hand, leading you out of the room to go take care of you.

usually when you’re feeling real bratty—and you take it out on anything that dares move—ben’s right there to shove you back into your place even if it means sending you on your ass. it’s effective, and he uses any means necessary. but he plays it differently on occasion, letting you get it out of your system even if it means banging your little fists on his chest until you tucker yourself out. he’ll raise his brows, “you done?” you don’t give him an audible answer, instead replying with the tired hang of your arms and your hard pant. breaking the eye contact when he rolls his, a warm palm cups the back of your neck to guide you over, and pliantly you follow his lead to a table at the wall. you recognize the bourbon he always drinks, and your nose scrunches involuntarily at the smell once the cap pops off. he sticks his pinky into the hole of the glass, tips the bottle, wetting the tip of his finger. you feel his body start to close in on you, tucking you under his arm and into his side. it feels safer here, calmer. and when his hand comes to your mouth, your lips part instinctually to suck the alcohol off his pinky finger. “there. that’s it. s’all you needed was a little attention.”

the best babying he does by far involves getting you into his bed. ushering you away to privacy with his huge frame, corralling you until he can press your back to his front. he uses tricks like big hands running up and down your arms n sides, kissing on your cheek n jaw and neck. hooking your tanktop strap down and off your shoulder one by one. slow and steady movements lull you into that sense of security, all the way until you spread your legs for him, already swollen folds opening right up to show him how wet you are. “dad?” you ask uneasily while he’s settling between your legs.

holding himself over you with one hand, he guides his cock at the base with the other. “shh, shh, baby.” he coos, “keep those legs open nice n wide f’me.”

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[riddlesbunny]

delicate

summary: On a night out to forget his past, Aemond finds himself thinking of a future with you

pairing: Modern!Aemond x Stripper!Reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: Explicit smut, alcohol consumption, sex work, reader is a single mom, semi-public, lactation kink, mommy kink (yaaay), handjobs, cum play 18+ MDNI

note: This is a repost 🙈so if it flops, it flops

Aemond Targaryen was never a fan of strip clubs. He viewed them as not only a waste of time, but a waste of money. Spending ungodly amounts on overpriced, watered down drinks. Just for a girl who pretended to be attracted to him, could dance on him for a couple of hours. He always left feeling impure while glitter and the scent of cotton candy clung to his clothes. It just wasn’t his thing, he had better ways to spend his time.

And yet, he found himself on his way to one now, on a Tuesday night. With his heathen of a brother and his immature friends. What had become of him?

You’re on the opposite side of town, also getting ready for the evening. Hot steam and the scent of lavender invigorates your senses as you’ve just finished taking an ‘everything’ shower. You’re scrubbed to the bone, freshly exfoliated, shaved, and now lathering vanilla scented lotion onto your skin when your phone buzzes.

Aegon Targaryen.

Aegon was your typical rich, frat boy who frequented the club you worked at. Over the years he had become something more of a friend than a customer. He would sometimes bring you food, or weed, or a pack of cigarettes. He had even came to your defense when certain men would over step boundaries with you.

He was a good customer, gave a lot of money to the club – and to you. He wasn’t exactly your type but there was no denying he was attractive.

you workin tonight?

depends who’s asking 😈 jk … u know where to find me 💋

perfect. and not for me 😢 have a guy who needs a distraction. wear smth expensive!

oh? 👀🤨

money talks baby

💸💦

It’s a rainy Tuesday night, you’re not sure why you agreed to pick up a shift in the first place. But you could use some extra cash, and your daughter is at her dad’s this week.

Even though the club you work at is one of the busiest in Kings Landing, you anticipate it to be an uneventful evening. Aegon coming in changes things, maybe you’ll have some sort of fun, and st the the very least someone to talk to.

It’s just you and two other girls working tonight. There are three men sat around the stage as Floris dances, and Sara is occupied with a private dance in the back. As you predicted, a pretty slow night. You have the bartender make you a drink, a dirty shirley. You sit and tap on the glass waiting for some action when Aegon finally shows up.

He has a decent sized group of guys with him, most of which seem to already be under the influence. In order to not appear desperate you wait for him Aegon to come to you.

“Lookin’ good, girl!” he calls, leaning in to hug you, “and you wore expensive perfume, that’s a good girl,” he flirts as he slides you a $50 bill and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“Is this for… your friend?”

“Not a friend,” he states proudly, a devilish grin on his face, “my brother.“

You look past Aegon to the group of guys he sauntered in with, and then you spot him. A tall, lean guy with hair the same shade as Aegon’s; except his is much shorter, and styled neatly. He’s aimlessly scrolling his phone, barely looking around. You notice he has a pack of Marlboro Menthols in his hand. With a cool demeanor and a jawline chiseled to perfection by the Gods themselves, you are in for it.

He resembles Aegon for sure, though he is much more handsome.

“Gods, there’s two of you,” you groan jokingly.

“Actually, there’s four of us,” Aegon corrects, “but one’s sixteen and the other is a girl, our sister.”

Aegon hardly ever spoke of his family and when he did it was never in detail. All you knew was that they were toxic, full of drama, lacking love, and filthy rich.

“That’s right. Well, what do I need to know about this one?”

“That’s Aemond. Go easy on him, he’s a major nerd, hates all things fun, and the club isn’t really his scene — total opposite of me,” he notes, “but he’s been hung up on this older woman and I need him to get under someone else to get over it.”

You raise your eyebrows at him a second time, unsure of what you’re getting yourself into.

“What can I say? We’re a complicated bunch, but it’s nothing you can’t handle, right princess?”

You giggle at the pet name and he grins before he smacks you hard on the ass.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

You glance over in Aemond’s direction again, now he sips on an old fashioned and his expression remains unreadable.

You decide to head to the back to quickly freshen yourself up. You’ll need to mentally prepare yourself before sinking your paws into Aegon’s sexy-as-hell brother. You brush out your curls, pick away any dried mascara from below your eyelids and generously apply more perfume. Baccarat 540, it was expensive, thank you very much.

You take a large sip of your own drink before you saunter your way back out front and over to the table where he sits.

"Hey! You look like you could use a friend" you purr, “can I offer you a dance?"

Aemond looks over to Aegon who is giving him a thumbs up before looking at you. His eye scans your body.

"Um, yeah,” he finally responds, swallowing thickly, “yeah, you can.”

This time he smiles as he checks you out.

"You wanna go somewhere more private?" you offer in a whisper, motioning to one of the closed off rooms, "ya know away from prying eyes?"

"Sure," he replies and your perfectly manicured fingers wrap around his wrist, dragging him to one of the rooms. Once you’re alone, tucked away behind the velvet curtain, he takes it upon himself to take a seat on the leather couch.

“So how does this work?" he questions nonchalantly, taking a large sip of his old fashioned.

“You’ve never gotten a private dance before?” you ask him and he shakes his head as he swallows.

“Oh, well, I’m flattered,” you giggle, taking a seat next to him, feeling him out.

“Well, while we’re in here,” you say as you place your palm on his leg, “I’m all yours,” you smile.

“All mine, huh?”

“That’s right,” you soon come realize that Aemond isn’t even sure what he wants. You take a large sip of your drink, finishing it off in one gulp.

You slowly straddle Aemond’s lap, refusing to break eye contact as you move your body to the rhythm of the song the booms through the speakers. Your palms glide over his lean chest, teasing and tantalizing as you continue to sway your hips. Aemond keeps a firm grip on the couch, his hands not leaving his sides. You reach down and take them in yours.

“You can touch me, I promise you won’t break me,” you encourage, guiding his hands up your body.

His hands run up and down your stomach, causing a fire to ignite in your belly. His touch is more gentle than what you’re used to. He uses his thumbs to swipe over the sheer fabric of your bra against your nipples. You gasp under his touch but he quickly removes his hands from you, yet you feel his cock grow harder underneath you.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, your hands flying to your breasts, instantly feeling two damp spots there. Fuck.

It’s something you know is inevitable, but it doesn’t make it any less awkward. All of your regulars are already aware of your situation, but with someone new and unsuspecting, it’s an uncomfortable conversation. You’d found a lot of men are actually turned on by it, but there is always that chance that the current one won’t be.

“I – I’m so sorry. I don’t usually confide this, erm, Aegon knows… I have a one year old who’s still breastfeeding.”

Aemond appears to be at a loss for words. You need to get up before he can reject you himself.

“Let me just—” He stares at you intently as you’re about to remove yourself from his lap. He is definitely caught off guard by your confession, but not in the negative way that you think.

“That’s no problem,” he says huskily as he composes himself, “you stay right here.” His gaze is piercing as he keeps his hands firm on your hips, the cool metal of his rings digs into your flesh as he holds you in place in his lap.

“Alright, if you’re sure,” you mutter back to him, feeling relieved.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he tells you, the bulge in his pants evidently harder than it was earlier.

You study him carefully, there is a hunger in his eye that wasn’t there before, even moments ago. It’s as if his entire demeanor has changed. You figure you can use this to your advantage.

“I don’t usually do this, but I’m making an exception,” you tell him as you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the dirty floor.

“Because I’m Aegon’s brother?” he asks.

“No, because …. I want to.”

It was true, you didn’t normally get this intimate with customers, but something about Aemond was drawing you in.

Aemond’s eye widens as you reveal your glistening nipples to him. You squeeze at your breast lightly, grinding yourself into him, and he rewards you with a moan. your thumb around your nipple, gathering some of your milk onto it before rubbing it along Aemond’s lower lip. He eagerly accepts it into his mouth, sucking it harshly, nipping at your fingertip.

“You like that?”

“Mhm,” he groans against you, releasing your thumb before leaning forward into you. He smells good, expensive cologne and nicotine. His lips find their way to your neck, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. His fingers ghost down your body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You arch into him, wanting more.

He continues to move at an agonizingly slow pace, taking his time with you as his lips make their way from your throat down to your chest. Your breath hitches once his tongue finally comes in contact with your nipple, lapping at the droplets of milk there. He takes your flesh into his mouth, gently suckling, careful not to apply too much pressure.

Your mind is going hazy as arousal leaks from your core, you grind down harder on him.

Aemond continues to suckle at your breast, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he drinks from you with ease. His eyes are closed, his mind completely lost to the sensation of you in his mouth. Your body trembles against him and he feels it, your small whimpers and moans sending waves urging him on.

He pulls away slowly, and you wince at the loss of contact. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses across your skin as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

You lean back, positioning yourself so that you have access to the button of Aemond’s jeans.

“Can I?” you ask.

He nods his head eagerly, unbuttoning them for you and yanking the zipper down with quickness.

You wrap your hand around his length, tugging gently as your free hand flies to the back of his head, pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck.

You lean down to cup and squeeze his balls as he sucks at your right breast.

“Fuck, M-mommy,” he moans.

Your eyes widen at his choice of words but they stir something in you.

“You wanna be a good boy and cum for mommy baby?”

“Yes! I’m — I’m good,” he stutters, rutting himself up into your palm.

Your hand works quicker as he finds himself back at your chest. Drinking from you like a man starved.

A few more languid pumps of his cock and he’s shooting thick, pearly ropes into your hand. You move your hand down lower to cup and squeeze at his balls for a moment before bringing it back to your mouth, licking away the salty remnants as Aemond shoves his cock back into his pants.

As if right on schedule, the timer you set on your phone to keep track of the time goes off.

“Well, looks like our time’s up,” you say with a frown.

“Looks like it,” he replies and the air swells with tension.

You turn to leave to give him a moment to find his composure, get himself together but he yanks at your wrist.

“Wait! Let me take you out!” he blurts out at you, “on a date, a real one. Please.”

You lean up to wipe a smudge of your lipgloss from the corner of his mouth.

“This was paid for, ya know?” You say empathetically and his eye darkens.

Great. You’ve offended him.

“I know that,” he says sternly, “Just, I want to take you out. Please. Just one date.”

“One date,” you repeat.

“Yes,” he assures, his good eye gleaming.

“Okay.”

You give Aemond your phone number and you let him add his to your phone.

“I will text you,” he assured before he goes to exit the room. You follow him out and watch as he makes his way back to Aegon who is bright eyed and clapping at his brother.

You make eye contact with Aegon and he mouths something to you that you are unable to decipher.

What have you gotten yourself into?

[cvnntagious]

Baby daddy Matt and you sleeping in you bed after fucking all night and your daughter comes to your room and says “why is daddy here?” So confused to why Matt is sleeping next to you 🤨

you were spent, groaning when you heard your daughter calling for you in the room over. your legs and throat were sore, and the exhaustion from the lack of sleep was hitting you hard as you lifted an arm off of you and dragged your ass into mazzy's room.

"mommy," she whined, looking up at you with pleading eyes as you leaned over her crib and reached for her. a content smile grew on her small face as soon as you picked her up, short arms reaching to wrap as far around you as they could.

you gave her a warm, tired smile in return, bouncing her on your hip a little bit before you practically stumbled out of her bedroom. "still tired?" you asked, hoping to say yes as you waited to decide whether you should make your way into the kitchen a few feet away, or back to your bed.

mazzy nodded, rubbing her eyes with a small yawn. unintentionally, you let out a breath of relief, reaching to rub her little arm in response—the few hours of sleep you did get last night only allowed you to do so much right now. you continued on into your bedroom, coming to a quick halt when you heard your daughter let out a small gasp. "what? you okay?" you asked her, a bit of worry in your tone as you stood at the edge of your bed, trying to read her expression.

she jumped out of your arms without warning, making you panic for only a quick moment before seeing her land on the bed with a laugh, hurrying over to the lump under the covers on one side of it. "daddy!" she exclaimed, stopping before her dad to smack the back of his head.

matt groaned, turning over under your covers. "what?" he grumbled in an annoyed tone, eyes still closed as he now faced both you and his little girl.

"matthew," you warned, a brow raising at the agitation in his voice, "it's mazzy..."

with that, one of his eyes popped open, catching a glimpse of his daughter's excited expression. "oh..." he mumbled in response, a smile now beginning to grow on his face as his other eye opened. "g'morning princess," he started, an arm slithering out from your comforter to cup your daughter's small head, fingers entangling themselves in her soft curls, "lookin' so pretty, hm? just like your mama."

mazzy's smile widened, her little teeth poking out from between her lips as she giggled at her father's endearing words, batting her cute little eyelashes. "daddy, how'd you get here?" she then asked, eyes wide with wonder.

"daddy drove, silly."

she giggled again. "why are you here then?" she asked, a bit of confusion now apparent in her voice.

matt's eyes flicked up to meet yours, giving mazzy a small 'um' as he tried to think up an excuse. she gave him no time to answer, the confusion in her tone spreading across her face now. "you're in mommy's bed too... you have your own house, silly!" the skepticism in her voice quickly turned light as she joked with her dad.

both you and matt chuckled along with the small girl, honestly just glad she was too happy that she'd woken up to her dad there to continue on with the awkward questions.

[smallestapplin]

I love you so much, can I request hc’s of g1 Rumble and Frenzy being smitten for the same minibot, maybe have reader be one of Blaster’s cassettes too (like the protective dad he is even tho all his ‘kids’ are grown) thank you

:0!! My first Rumble and Frenzy request! Ohh I hope this is good! (Totally didn’t make myself simp.)

Nearly 2,000 words, I may have gotten lost in the sauce

Reader is gn!

-

-

* Truthfully they are easy and they refuse to admit that to anyone! You were just another one of Blaster’s annoyances, and they were ready to wipe the floor with you until they…didn’t, they failed miserably despite out numbering you, and you clapped back at them, mocking and taunting them into attacking so easily. They hated it, hated it so much as they ended up in a pile, Rumble tossed upon Frenzy and the two laying there groaning.

“You know, you two are cute when you’re not running your intakes.” It was nothing more than a backhanded compliment, so why did your annoying chuckle make their sparks thrum?

* and you do it every time too, a sweet chuckle here, maybe a condescending coo at them there, you even kissed their cheeks after throwing them through trees! They are moving up in the world.

* Rumble is the first to even admit it, he likes you he likes you a lot. You’re calm when fighting but your sass makes him swoon. Even he will admit when you throw insults at Skywarp he’s laughing the loudest and piling on them, which usually gives you a chance to escape the situation. Also the first to (accidentally) defend you when any other con insults you.

 

    “Ay’ you watch yer intake, dweeb! Just cause ya got yer aft beat by a bot less than your size is a skill issue on your part!”

* somehow it completely goes over majority of the cons helms what he really meant by that, thinking it was more out of minimech solidarity. But no, Rumble is smitten, so much so he can barely even fight with you, he throws ever match he has with you because the second your servos are on him he’s blushing and melting, even when you throw him into a cliff side he’s still love struck.

* He tries though! He wants to make it look believable, he wants to look cool for you and strong that he can’t be pushed around, and oh wow you’re glaring at him fiercely wow you’re really handsome and pretty-oh and there he goes, right into the ground.

* Rumble is a mess, he thinks he looks so cool when he yells out “Looking for trouble? Well look no further, cause here comes Rumble!” And is decked in an instant.

* He tries a few pick up lines when your fists cross paths, but he stumbles over his words and mixes up the order of them, but at least it gets a laugh out of you, so that’s a win for him!

* Frenzy is the exact opposite, when your fist collides with his face busting his dermas and his nose, he’s looking back at you with a wild gleam from his visor, and a dangerous sounding scratch from rewinding his tape, and in a flash he’s on you. He wants you to beat him, he wants you to fight him, he wants both of you to prove yourselves here and now! It’s only once you finally pin him, straddled on top of him, both of you ex-venting harshly and covered in spilt energon, does he pause for a moment, wondering if this is what those humans meant by angels as you look divine above him.

* “C’mon, you can hit harder than ‘dat! Yeah, yeah that’s it, give me all you got, doll!”

* Once he realizes his spark is thrumming loudly, he will ruin it by wriggling his servos free just to grab your hips with a smug smirk.

    

  “Lookin’ good like this, you ain’t too bad for an autonoob.”

You swear he is drooling, but you weren’t sticking around to find out.

* The two minicons make it their mission to find you in every battle, both just needing to see you! But it makes it easier to clock their little crush on you, the first to notice is Eject, he saw you off in the distance across the battlefield with Frenzy on your tail and Rumble ready to jump you from your blind spot, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. Once close enough he could hear them.

“What happened to all ‘dat fire you had? Ya know, yer’ kinda cute like ‘dis.”

“Frag off, let me go!”

“Easy, we ain’t gonna hurt ya’.”

Their tones were soft, bordering gentle for them, playful, as if talking to someone close and not the enemy, and oh Eject was NOT going to let that fly!

* Once you were freed from being pinned, Eject did not hesitate reporting back to Blaster, the larger mech already treating his cassettes as if his own sparklings despite working under him, the moment he heard of Eject’s findings he was already picking you up and making sure you were safe, even going as far as to take you to the medbay to ensure no trackers or anything was planted on you.

* When you got the clear, Blaster informed your brothers you were to never be alone with those menaces, they clearly took fighting a different way than intended and he was not risking anyone’s spark and safety because of them.

*

Frenzy and Rumble rant to each other about it too, “it’s always some loser comin’ in and keepin’ ‘em from us!” 

“Ta the scrap yard with ‘em! Those bozos keepin’ our sweetspark on a tighter leash just aint fair.”

* everytime they get close to you, Ramhorn plows right into them, or Steeljaw jumps in front of you, hissing wildly and taking bites out of them. But Rumble and Frenzy would much rather those two than Rewind and Eject, once those two get in the way it goes from a basic fight to an all out brawl as your fellow minibots are just as protective over you as Blaster is, and they make it known quickly the two minicons aren’t welcomed near you. It's the worst the two cons have ever ended up injured, but even as Soundwave frets over them, they look more determined than ever to win your spark.

* Even if you are on the enemy side, there is just a pull they feel for you, something about you just keeps dragging them to you, they can’t seem to let go of these festering feelings for you. It becomes clear something is up with them with how bad they are at hiding stuff, but Soundwave doesn’t have time to question them yet.

* It’s the same song and dance, until after one battle a prisoner is brought back to the Decepticon base, you. Seeing you being dangled by your pede, held up but a laughing Starscream nearly makes them rage, but they can’t, for once they feel stuck as they watch you thrash and spew curses at the laughing seeker.

* In that moment you were a prisoner, a bargaining chip to be used against the autobots. Tossed into a holding cell until Megatron was finished with his debriefing with Soundwave and Shockwave. With one look to each other, they knew what they needed to do.

“Great, it’s you two. Visiting hours are over.” You groan out, trying to remain strong as you narrowed your optics at them.

Rumble stands by the door frame leading outside, peering around the corner to make sure the coast was clear just before closing the door. You watch, expression slowly growing more confused as Frenzy opens your cell door and the two minicons rush to your side. You squeak as Frenzy manhandles you forward, showing more of your back and exposing your cuffed servos to Rumble.

“H-hey, what are you doing?”

“Hush,” Frenzy starts, “we’re gettin’ you outta here.”

You blink behind your visor, staring dumbly at the red and black minicon.

“You’re…helping me?”

“Well, tryin’, stupid slaggin’ stasis cuffs always a pain and for what?” Rumble grumbles under his breath.

You can’t stop the soft laugh that leaves you, enjoying his suffering just a little, until all three of you perked up at the sound of the cuffs unlocking and dropping to the floor below. Frenzy lets go of you, no longer needing to balance you, but offers a servo to help you up, which you hesitate in taking, but do so anywhere.

“Why are you two helping me?”

Rumble chokes on nothing, swifty looking away from you even if his cheeks flush a dark blue.

“A-ain’t fer nothin’! Don’t even worry about it, yer thinkin’ too hard about it.”

“Yeah, what this dork said. But stop talkin’ and start movin’ sweetspark!” Frenzy grabs your arm and yanks you along, making you stumble behind him with Rumble trailing right after you.

“Hey, hey! Easy with ‘em.”

“Either ‘dat or we stick around and get caught.”

You can’t fathom why they are helping you escape, you don’t understand what benefit this would give them when one slip up could lead to them getting in trouble, but you are grateful even if you are a little suspicious of them.

You reach blindly behind you, grabbing Rumble’s servo, and pull your arm back to hold Frenzy’s sero, giving both of them a gentle squeeze in a silent ‘thank you.’

Not even seeing the deep blush on Frenzy’s face plate as he scowls, or the fanning motion Rumble gives himself as his internal fans kick on and his frame slowly becomes covered in coolant out of nerves.

You feel bad for leaving when you three finally make it to the edge of the con base, where you can see Autobots slowly coming closer. Your commlink ringing to life as Blaster has been trying to comm you for ages now, but thanks to the cons base you never got them.

Looking back at the two minicons who are ushering you to go before it’s too late, you offer them a soft smile.

“Thank you both, I really owe you one after this.”

“Howzabout a date then?” Frenzy purrs, laughs at the shocked look on your (and Rumbles) face plate.

“A-a date?”

“Don’t listen to him! You ain’t gotta, Frenz here is just a-“

“What am I, huh? Go on, spit it out, you coward!”

The two begin to argue, getting in each other’s faces with so many swears you didn’t think half of them existed until then, but you can’t help but laugh, they are so oddly cute? So pathetic but it’s endearing? Your laugh catches them off guard, making them stop in their fighting.

“Ya know, maybe I will accept that date, if you can beat me next time we fight, that is.”

You’re rushing off and answering your comm before they can answer, leaving them dumbstruck and intakes agap. Slowly they look at each other before holding servos and shierking that it actually worked???? Hello???? Oh my primus they have made it in life????

* Blaster sobs that you’re alive and okay the second you answer your commlink, and the moment you are in his sights the larger bot is over you, picking you up with great care while your brothers pop up from his chassis and each of them checking on you.

* You’re fine, more than fine! But maybe you shouldn’t tell them that, you don’t think they’d be very pleased to hear you’ve fallen in love with the enemy, two of them in fact, and both the minicons to your boss’s rival.

*  But you can dream, can’t you? Your spark thrums when you see the two next, it’s hard not to when they look so excited at the sight of you. You have to bite back a chuckle watching them fight each other or trip over themselves to get to you first.

* These simps will do anything and everything for your attention, dont test that.

[nobodiesreallyhere]

𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝖿 𝖾𝗑𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽!𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗇’𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾?

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖽 𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀．

(𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍，𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾．𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 🫠🫠)

it was one of those warm saturday afternoons, the kind where the air smelled like fresh grass and sunscreen. parents were filling the bleachers with fold-up chairs and foam fingers, coolers on the ground beside them, sunglasses on, baseball caps tilted low. and there she was—already sitting near the front, pretty as ever, waving excitedly at their son who was warming up on the field.

she didn’t see rafe when he walked in.

but he saw her.

tight little sundress. skin glowing. big eyes hidden behind her sunglasses. she had a little clip in her hair, their 2 year old daughter sitting in her lap, drooling all over some toy she was chewing on.

her voice was soft, sweet, laughing at something one of the other baseball moms said. totally unbothered. in her own world.

and the kicker?

she had a group of dads around her.

like vultures.

he watched one lean in and say something, probably some dumb joke. another one handed her a bottled water like she couldn’t get it her damn self. one had the audacity to sit in the empty chair next to her. too fucking close.

rafe’s jaw clenched, tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek as he walked across the grass with that signature slow, tight-lipped expression. he wasn’t the type to cause a scene. at least not anymore. not in public. not when their son was about to pitch the first inning.

but gosh, he wanted to.

he wanted to grab those lawn chairs and toss them across the field. he wanted to tell each one of those polo-wearing, dad-bod-having motherfuckers to get a life. he wanted to remind them who paid her bills. who bought all of her groceries. who paid for her nails, her subscriptions, her car note, her gas, her lashes, her everything.

but he didn’t.

he just walked over and stood behind her.

not next to her. behind her.

and that was enough.

one of the dads noticed him first—some finance-looking dude with too-white sneakers and a smirk that disappeared the second he saw rafe standing there with his arms crossed, expression blank, chewing his gum like he wanted to punch someone in the throat.

“hey, uh… i think someone’s lookin’ for you,” the dude mumbled to her.

she turned over her shoulder, tugging her sunglasses down a bit when she spotted him. “oh—rafe. didn’t even see you.”

“clearly,” he muttered, voice low, eyes locked on the guy still sitting next to her.

she raised a brow but didn’t say anything, just scooted over a little and patted the chair between her and finance dude.

“sit. you can actually see the mound better from this angle,” she said casually, pulling a piece of lint off his shirt like they weren’t divorced.

rafe didn’t sit at first. just glared at the guy until he got the hint and got up, pretending like he had something to do. another dad followed him, and another after that, until it was just her and rafe in that row.

he finally sat down.

“you good?” she asked.

“yeah,” he lied, eyes still on the field. “nice crowd you got.”

she snorted. “i wasn’t entertaining any of them.”

he didn’t respond. just sat back, watching their son pitch, arms crossed over his chest.

but rafe smiled. just a little.

‘cause none of those dads had a damn chance. not while he was still breathing.

❥𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘴：𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌．𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖺 𝖾𝗑𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽!𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌🤔.

[p-artsypants]

I had a craving for an arranged marriage AU, with a little twist. I have like three other scenes in mind, but no plot. So here's a blurb for now, maybe more someday IDK

This is specifically for @thereweredragonshere as I was looking at her art while writing this.

Okay thanks I love you bye

---

Quietly, so quietly, Hiccup shut his front door behind him. Then he began to tiptoe to his loft. He had been out with the Nightfury, Toothless as he named him, all day. Longer than intended. A lecture was bound to happen because of it. 

“Hiccup,” Stoick stopped him, his voice cutting through the silence and crackling fire. 

“Oh! Dad! I uh…I didn’t see you there…” That was a lie. Such a lie.

“Come, sit. I need a word with you.” 

Hiccup closed his eyes in defeat and slinked over, sheepishly standing across the fire pit. 

“Sit,” Stoick said again, his voice stern in a way that left little room for arguing.

So he obeyed, and sat on the bench, with just enough butt on the chair to be considered sitting, but he was ready to dart away at a moment's notice. 

Stoick wasn’t often physically violent with him, just yelling. In the times he was physical, it was just being lifted and rag dolled out of the way like a bad cat. 

“So…” Hiccup prompted, at an attempt to be casual. 

“I’ve been in communication with the Shivering Shores,” Stoick went on. 

Hiccup relaxed a little. This didn’t seem to concern him all that much. Perhaps his dad just wanted to talk about chief stuff.

“Oh, yeah. I saw the courier boat today.” 

“We finally reached an agreement.” 

“Th-that’s good! Great! An alliance? A treaty?” 

“Trade agreement. Fish for supplies. The dragon raids have been harsh this year and we need all the extra supplies we can get.” 

“I-I agree! I mean…I know the other night wasn’t helpful…” he gulped. 

“Which brings me to the second part of the agreement.” Stoick flicked his eyes over and gazed at his son. “The part that concerns you.” 

“Oh…” Hiccup squeaked. 

“We’re joining our tribes in marriage. I made an offer for the Chief’s youngest daughter to be your bride. He accepted.” 

“Did she?” Hiccup croaked. 

“Doesn’t need to.” 

Hiccup felt very cold and sank into his chair. 

“But,” Stoick continued. “There’s a very specific reason for this arrangement. Chief Hofferson’s daughter, Astrid, has become somewhat famous in the archipelago for her prowess in battle. She is the best warrior on their island, bar none. And she’s your age.” 

His eyes went wide. 

“I told Chief Axel that I was concerned for your safety, and thought his daughter would not only be a worthy bride, but a protector for you.” 

“Oh gods…” 

“She said she would be honored to be your protector.” 

He swallowed. “And…my wife?” 

“She agreed to it.” 

That would have to be enough, he supposed. “On paper?”

“All of this was through courier, yes.” 

Hiccup nodded, his throat feeling too numb to swallow. It was likely that over in the Shivering Shores, Chief Hofferson was having this very same conversation with his daughter, telling her that he agreed to the marriage and wrote that she was honored to accept. 

Hiccup didn’t know what she looked like, but imagined a pretty girl throwing a tantrum and destroying furniture.

Perhaps with a weapon, if the ‘prowess in battle’ was true. 

“This is a good thing, son,” Stoick urged. “You’re too weak to swing a sword, you’ve been completely unprotected during dragon raids—”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Stoick became stern. “You are my only son. My heir. The next chief of Berk. And it seems like you’re determined to perish before you get there!” 

Hiccup winced, thinking back on that roar that Toothless had unleashed in his face. That might have been his closest and most intimate brush with death. And that was just yesterday. 

“Besides the dragons, we have the Outcasts and Berserkers circling us and waiting to pounce. You risking your safety with those Thor’s-damned inventions during a dragon raid is one thing, but a viking raid? They’ll be coming for you, looking for you. And Astrid will be there to protect you. Do you hear what I’m saying?” 

“Yes,” he whispered, ashamed. “I’m hearing ‘bride’ but I think you mean ‘babysitter’.” 

Stoick didn’t argue with that. Just tightened his mouth into a grim line. 

Hiccup just further slouched, crumbling in on himself. How embarrassing! He thought there was a chance he’d have an arranged marriage, given his status, but arranged so that he had a bodyguard? 

“When do I meet the lucky lady?” He attempted a quip, but his voice sounded so hollow. 

“Tomorrow. And you’re wed at the end of the week.” 

He made a loud noise of disgust as he keeled over, nearly falling off the bench. “Geez dad…” 

“It's for the best.” 

“That’s so fast!” He argued. “Can’t I like…get to know her first? Go on a hike? Have a nice candle lit dinner with mead?” 

“You can do that in the week leading up to the wedding. She’ll be practically glued to your side.” 

“Oh gods…” 

“She won’t know anyone else here, won’t know the village layout, or the way we do things. You will teach her.” Stoick stood and lumbered over. He poked Hiccup in the chest. “And you’ll be pleasant about it.” 

Hiccup huffed. “I mean I’ll try my best, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be pleasant if she treats me like the others.” 

“You’ll be pleasant. Nothing else.” 

Hiccup swallowed at the tone, shrinking in his seat. “Okay fine.” 

“Good.” Stoick nodded. “Then off to bed with you. They’ll arrive before dinner. I’ll be off in the morning making preparations for their accommodations. I expect you to be there when the ship arrives, looking your sharpest.” 

“Yes sir,” he grumbled, getting to his feet. He shuffled across the room and back to the stairs. 

As he got ready for bed, and laid down to sleep, he thought about this ‘Astrid’ girl. 

His bride. 

A girl had never shown interest in him before, and this was likely to be the same. But he had heard that arranged marriages often worked out well, with the couple learning to love each other. Wouldn’t that be something? A girl that loved him. A girl to come home to. A girl to share his thoughts and ideas with. 

A girl to share Toothless with. 

No. No, that was crazy. No one, not even his wife could know about what he was planning on doing with that dragon. 

But everything else?

Having a companion might be kind of nice, if he could get used to it. 

And if she was the best warrior in the Shivering Shores, then she ought to be able to keep Snotlout and the Twins off his back. 

Eventually, Hiccup fell asleep, feeling some form of optimism. 

—

That feeling didn’t last. 

He had woken up early and spent the morning with Toothless in the cove. He poured his guts out to the dragon, lamenting about how his life was completely out of his control. 

Toothless had simply listened and gnawed on a stick. 

Eventually, he returned to the village sometime after lunch. He couldn’t push it, knowing he was on thin ice as it was. He combed his hair and put on a clean tunic. 

Then he spent an hour pacing in the square, listening for the horn that would sound their arrival. 

People passed and gave him smiles and knowing looks, but didn’t say anything. That was fine. He didn’t want to talk to anyone anyway. He was too nervous. 

All they cared about was the party anyway. 

When the horn sounded, he felt his knees buckle. All the anxiety that had been building hit him like a hammer and he tilted sideways. 

“You okay, lad? You look pale!” Gobber called. “I’ve been watching you for the last half hour. You’re makin’ me dizzy!” 

“She’s here,” Hiccup breathed. “She’s here.” 

“Ah, your blushing bride! Better go greet her then, ah?” 

Hiccup thought he nodded, but he might have just bobbed his head like a chicken, then wobbled off to go down to the docks. 

Stoick smiled when he arrived. “There you are! Right on time!” 

“I’m going to be sick.” 

Stoick clapped him on the back, making him swallow the bile that was rising. “It’s pretty nerve-wracking, I know, but it’ll be fine. She’s probably just as nervous.” 

In a way, that helped. If Astrid was stuttering and blushing through introductions, he could handle it. 

The ships came into dock, and Hiccup stood on his tiptoes to try to see over the high sides. There were several people, but he couldn’t quite pick out who Astrid could be.

The ramp fell over the side, and the party disembarked. There were a pair of soldiers out first, followed by a man who could only be Chief Axel the Arduous. He was large; not as large as his father, of course. But he wore the chief’s fur cloak and pendants, just as his father did. 

Axel grinned widely. “Greetings my friends!” 

“Good tidings!” Stoick grasped his hand in a strong clasp. “You had a pleasant journey?” 

“Yes, very good! Good weather! Good head wind! A good omen from the gods, to be sure!” 

As the chiefs talked, three women disembarked the ship. One was older, likely the chief’s wife, while the other two were teenagers. They were all blonde and blue-eyed and pretty. 

And rather delicate, in Hiccup’s opinion. Not that they weren’t still bigger than him, but he didn’t get the vibe of ‘best warrior’ from any of them. They were all wearing fine dresses and giggling to each other. 

“Stoick, this is my wife, Phlegma,” Axel gestured. “And my two eldest daughters, Ingrid and Sigurd.” 

The two girls tittered as they looked at Hiccup. He saw one mouth to the other, “look at how tiny he is.” 

Not a real ego booster, to be sure. 

“I thought your youngest was to be married?” Stoick calmly questioned. 

“Astrid will be out in a moment, I’m sure,” Axel sighed, a bit exasperated. 

“Poor thing’s a nervous wreck,” Phlegma added. “She’s putting her armor on. She wanted to make a good impression, afterall.” 

Hiccup sighed slightly, reassured that he wasn’t the only one completely psyched out of his mind. 

However, his world turned upside down as a huge figure leapt from the side of the boat and landed on the dock in front of him. It was a valkyrie if there ever was one. She raised to her full height, towering over him by a foot or more. She was almost the same height as his father! 

She was toned, with thick corded muscles in her arms and what was visible of her legs between her spiked skirt and studded boots. She wore studden pauldrons and gauntlets as well. Her body was thick and solid, curvy in all the right places, and no doubt trained to apex danger. 

But her face was soft. Delicate cheeks and a softly rounded chin. A cute button nose with a gentle sweeping brow. Beautiful, explosive blue eyes surrounded by thick gold lashes. All of it was haloed by a swath of sunshine gold hair braided over her shoulder. 

How a creature could be so scarily tough and the epitome of feminine beauty at the same time, he had no idea. 

“What an entrance!” Stoick laughed. 

This new warrior had a calm and cool facade as she answered, “I panicked.” Then she bowed slightly, dipping her head with respect. “Chief Stoick, it’s an honor. I’m Astrid Hofferson.” 

“A pleasure, my dear!” He held out a hand. 

She shook it, and Hiccup could see that her hands were rough, but not big and meaty like his father’s.

“And this is my son, Hiccup.” He placed a hand on his back. 

Hiccup could only grin awkwardly, getting lost in those blue eyes. How was this girl the same age as him? 

“Hello,” she said softly. Then she glanced back at Stoick, seemingly waiting for something. 

Stoick nodded slowly and tried again. “This is my only son, Hiccup…your husband to be.” 

She inhaled briefly at that, and let out a soft, “Oh.” Her exhale was slow and she whispered, “I see.”  

Hiccup cast his gaze to the ground as he held his arm. This girl was just as disappointed as everyone else was, and he hadn’t even done anything yet. 

“Is that how you would greet your betrothed?” Axel asked. 

“Oh come on dear, she’s nervous,” Phlegma argued back. 

But apparently Axel’s words stirred something in Astrid as she took a quick stride forward and reached out and took Hiccup’s hand. Then she leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. 

“D-Duh?” Hiccup blurted, smartly. 

She smiled at him, a dusting of pink on her perfect cheeks. “Hello darling.” 

“H-h-hi,” he stuttered out. “I’m Hiccup.” 

She gave a nod. “Astrid.” 

His feet felt like they were made of stone as he stood there, stock still and staring. And Astrid continued to hold her smile, but her eyebrow started to raise. 

“Son,” Stoick patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you show Astrid around the village?” 

“What? Oh! Yes! Of course! The village! My village! Where I–where we live, where you will live also…ha!” He spoke a bit too loudly, and he could feel his face burning. 

Astrid just tilted her head slightly to the side as her eyes widened, but her grin got bigger. Was she annoyed and trying to hide it? She hadn’t let go of his hand yet though. “Okay, lead the way.” 

He gulped, and looked over to his father. 

“Go on,” Stoick whispered, making a shooing motion.

“Uh…th-this way…” he said, pulling her along by the hand. 

Once they were a little ways away, Stoick and Axel resumed their conversation, but they were so loud, Hiccup could hear. 

“You weren’t kidding, Stoick! He’s a fishbone of a boy! Astrid’ll take good care of him!” 

Hiccup’s shoulders drooped and he turned his face away from his betrothed, ashamed, embarrassed. 

Astrid didn’t seem to notice though. “What’s that?” 

He glanced up where she was pointing. “Oh, that’s the Kill Ring, where we uh…kill things. Mainly dragons.” 

“You’ve killed a dragon?” Her voice was curious, not skeptical, which was refreshing. 

“No no, not me personally. I…I couldn’t kill a dragon.” 

“Hmm,” she nodded, accepting this answer. 

She was calm, cool, and collected. Apparently that’s what nervousness looked like to this hulking goddess. 

Still holding her hand, he led her over to the arena, trying to think of something to say, but being too nervous to do so. Thankfully, Astrid just patiently held his hand and looked around, taking everything in. They crossed the bridge and came to stand at the edge of the arena. 

Two people were sparring inside. Astrid let go of his hand to grasp at the chains of the dome. “Who are they?” 

“That’s Snotlout and Tuffnut. Snotlout’s my cousin, and Tuffnut has a twin sister, Ruffnut.” 

“Friends of yours then?” 

“...not really, no.” 

She smirked. “Good, because their technique is dog shit.” 

Hiccup sputtered a laugh, unable to help himself. This drew the attention of the boys in the ring. 

“Hey Useless!” Called Snotlout. “Who’s the babe?” 

Hiccup flushed in indignation, but Astrid answered instead, cooly. “Astrid Hofferson, though I’ll be Astrid Haddock at the end of the week.” 

“No way!” Snotlout laughed. “That’s your bride to be!? I would have thought Stoick would have found someone in your weight class at least!” 

Hiccup hunched his shoulders. 

Astrid just scoffed at the ring, took his hand, and led him away. “I can see why you aren’t friends with them. He’s kind of an asshole.” 

“No ‘kind of’ about it, he is an asshole. Sorry you had to meet him first. The rest of Berk isn’t as terrible as that.” 

“It’s fine, Hiccup. There were boys like that on the Shivering Shores too.” 

Things were going okay, he thought. Could be better, but Astrid was taking a lot really well. She seemed so mature and cool, it made him extremely guilty. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. 

She merely raised an eyebrow. “For what? You didn’t do anything.” 

“Sometimes that’s enough…but uh, f-for getting you into this arranged marriage. It’s probably not what you wanted to do with your life. You could be a great warrior, but…now you have to babysit me because my dad thinks I’m so useless I can’t even breathe on my own. So…sorry.” 

To his surprise, she smiled at him and ruffled his hair. “First of all, did you request me as your bride? Did you ask your dad to make the contract?” 

“No.” 

“Thought so. So nothing to apologize there for. Second, I’m the youngest of my father’s daughters. As a daughter of a chief, it’s almost guaranteed I’ll be in an arranged marriage, so that wasn’t a surprise. But as the youngest, I probably would have been married to a much older man, maybe even a widower. He would have expected me to be barefoot in the kitchen and popping out babies the rest of my life.” 

Hiccup stared at her, nodding slowly as her logic made sense. He’d heard of stuff like that happening. 

“Because I’m so tall, I decided to pour all my free time into training, with the hope that my future husband would see I was a worthy warrior and I wouldn’t be trapped in the kitchen. It was a long shot, but worth it to me.” 

His eyes widened. “So, you kind of got what you wanted. My dad picked you for me because of your skill, and not your status.” 

“Exactly! Plus, you’re the same age as me, and you’re the heir! I’ll be chieftess someday! That’s not something I thought would happen to me.” 

“Well,” he sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. “I can hope I’ll be chief. Some people in town might think differently.” 

“Regardless, I’m happy.”

“Even though I’m so small? I can’t pick you up, Astrid. You’ll have to lean down to kiss me during our wedding. Isn’t that…embarrassing?” 

She shrugged. “I’ve been teased about my height my whole life. Boys called me ‘Treetop’ back at home, and said I’d never get a date because men didn’t want a woman taller than them. I always assumed my husband would be shorter than me.” 

“...and I kind of figured my wife would be taller.” 

She grinned. “So see! We’re on the same page!” 

He chuckled. “I guess so.” 

“Come on! Show me around! Introduce me to your friends!” 

He blanched. “Ah…yeah, my friends…”

[hearts4hughes]

𖥨᩠ׄ݁.ི𒂭۪۪۪۪᳝۟ HONEYBEE!READER X MECHANIC!RAFE

the afternoon sun sits heavy in the sky, baking the dirt of your family farm. rafe wipes the sweat from his forehead. his hands are stained black, grease sunk deep into the crevices of his fingers. the camerons were never known for their kindness. or their mechanical skills. and yet, here he is, fixing up your dad’s most prized possession like he has something to prove. maybe he does.

it’s only rafe’s third week working on the farm. one too many mistakes led to his father kicking him out and making him start over. no one else would hire him. not after everything. not after his last name went from a privilege to a curse. the irony isn’t lost on him. rafe cameron, once the rich kid who never had to work a day in his life, now standing knee-deep in dust, fixing a truck older than he is just to keep a roof over his head.

your dad never believed in handouts, but something about rafe must’ve looked desperate enough to change his mind. or maybe it was pity. you weren’t sure which was worse.

through squinted eyes he lifts his head up, gaze landing on where you sit on your porch. your feet are kicked up on the worn-out wooden railing, a sweetened iced tea in your hand as your eyes drip in judgment.

“daddy isn’t paying you to stare into space, cameron,” you remark, lifting your brown sunglasses off your eyes. “and he definitely isn’t paying you to check me out.”

“yeah, well i’m sure he’d be just peachy that you’re wearing next to nothing around his workers,” he mutters under his breath, the slight breeze carrying his words to you.

you scoff, still sitting pretty in cutoff denim mini shorts and a flimsy white tank top. “and i was just about to offer you a water or somethin’,” your laugh is thick with sarcasm.

“oh, how sweet of you,” he smirks. a light chuckle leaves his lips.

“they don’t call me honey for nothin’, cameron.”

rafe huffs out a dry laugh, shaking his head as he turns back to the truck, but you don’t miss the way his grip tightens around the wrench, knuckles goin’ white.

“you’re somethin’ else, honeybee,” he mutters, voice low and gruff, like he doesn’t wanna admit it.

you hum, tiltin’ your head, all slow and easy. “oh? and what exactly am i?”

he doesn’t answer right away, just flicks his eyes over his shoulder, takin’ his sweet time lookin’ you up and down. from the bare stretch of your legs to the way your smirk curls just right. a muscle jumps in his jaw like he’s already regrettin’ this conversation.

hook, line, and sinker.

rafe exhales through his nose, rollin’ his shoulders like he’s shaking somethin’ off. “trouble.”

the way he says it—low and slow like it’s both a warning and a challenge—sends a little spark of heat curlin’ through your stomach.

you grin, all slow and syrupy, bringing your iced tea to your lips, and letting the condensation slip down your fingers.

“oh, baby, you ain’t even scratched the surface.”

and with that, you push your sunglasses back down, lean back in that old porch chair, and leave him standing there, wrench in hand, watching you like he already knows he’s in way over his damn head.

[socgf]

can you write a dallas x reader where he has to meet her family and what that is like? ps i love ur writing

meet the parents - dallas winston x reader

dally attempts to learn table manners for you.

wc: 1122

warnings: none. fluff and language. :)

"i'm not kidding, dal. if you mention a word about your bets at the rodeos, i'll skin you alive." 

you reach over the center console of buck's red thunderbird that dally 'borrowed' to park in front of your house, and fiddle mindlessly with the neckline of his white tee shirt, the cleanest one you could find in his closet for this occasion. though getting him to wear something with a collar, or god forbid, buttons, would be a tall order.

"quit worryin' your pretty head. i got it, alright? nothin' illegal." he grins over to you, leaning back in his seat and putting a cigarette between his lips. "i'll tell them i work at the library or some shit."

you roll your eyes at his comment and snatch the stick out of his hand before he can light it. "...and you can't be smellin' like smoke either when you meet them."

"awe, now you know that's too far." he reaches into the glove compartment, digging out a pack of menthols instead. "c'mon, you can't have a problem with these."

"ugh, dal…"

he groans dramatically, putting it back in the box. "fine. jesus, woman, the things i do for you.."

"yeah, you like me or something?" you can't hold back a smile.

"no, no, that's not it. i'm losin' my mind, that's what." he retorts, though there's that familiar softness in his voice. "alright. i can see your ma lookin' through the damn curtains, let's go."

he places a chaste kiss to your cheek and walks over to the passenger side, holding the door open. he'd be a real proper gentleman if you didn't know any better.

your heart beats out of your chest as you slide the key into the front door lock. and dally must have picked up on it with the way he squeezes your hand softly, running his thumb along your palm. you can hear your parents scramble off the couch at the sound

your mother's eyes light up when she sees you at the door.

"oh sweetheart, look at you two! well, come in, come in." she beckons you and dally into the living room, smoothing her hand over his shoulder.

you swallow hard before speaking. "mama, daddy, this is -"

"uh, dallas winston, sir." he's already reached out his hand for a firm shake, and your father's eyes immediately zero in on the small, healing cut on dally's lip, though he smiles gruffly.

"great to finally meet you, son. we've heard so much about you."

"real nice place you got here, ma'am." dally's eyes dart around your living room, trying really hard to seem like he hasn't already snuck up the stairs in the middle of the night a dozen times by now. you're biting the inside of your cheek, holding back a smirk.

"well, thank you, dallas." your mother gestures to the dining room, plates and utensils already laid out for four. "dinner should be just about ready. you like pot roast?"

"yes ma'am." 

as the four of you sit down for dinner, you can sense the tension in dally's body from the corner of your eye. his fingers drum lightly against your knee.

"so, dallas, my daughter tells me you help out at the rodeos?" he asks cautiously, and dally nods.

"that's right, sir." 

your dad passes the gravy boat, keeping his eyes on dally. "dangerous sport."

"yeah, that's what makes it worth doin'."

dally catches your warning nudge to his ankle under the table, and recovers quickly. "...course, i'm uh… real careful, sir. can't have your daughter here worried sick about me."

your father softens slightly at his words, glancing between you and dally. "that's right, son, you better be. this one's quite fond of you."

dally almost looks proud at your father's reaction, dropping his gaze to his plate to hide the hint of a flush on his cheeks. 

"well, it's getting late," your mother says, gathering the dessert plates into the sink, while your father glances at the clock. "dallas, you'll drive safely home?"

"always do, ma'am." 

you can barely stifle a laugh at that one.

"and thanks for dinner... it was real good." he continues, standing up from the table and pushing the chair in all proper.

"why don't you two say goodnight on the porch?" your mother suggests, and you don't miss how dally's eyes light up for a moment.

as you close the screen door behind you, the sounds from the dining room muffled and the cool air hitting your face, dally's lips are already at your ear.

"window's unlocked?"

you nod as subtly as you can, knowing your parents are definitely peeking at you through the windows. "be careful with the screen this time. daddy noticed the holes last week."

"yeah, i got it. ten minutes, baby." he mutters gruffly. he leans down and kisses your forehead softly before heading down the steps towards the thunderbird.

you let out a quiet sigh and head back into the dining room, letting out a slightly exaggerated yawn. "think i'd better head up, mama. got some reading to do before bed."

you almost think your mother is onto something with the knowing look she gives you. "alright, honey." she pauses. "he seems like a good guy. he treat you well?"

you smile softly. "yeah. yeah… he does, swear."

"man, was i good down there or what?"

you barely had time to change into your nightgown before dally's made the climb back into your bedroom. by the looks of it, all the rules he was bound to have been completely abandoned.

you scoff slightly, sitting criss cross on the foot of the bed. he's already sprawled across your headboard, head lounging on your ruffled pillows.

"yeah, a little too good, dal. got 'em thinking you're a prep school boy… where'd you pick up manners like that?"

his chuckle is muffled softly by the cigarette between his lips.

"wouldn't you like to know, sweetheart?" he pats the spot right next to him, mumbling, "c'mere."

"dal, they haven't even went to bed yet-"

"ain't doin' nothin'. just want my girl closer." he pauses, a shit-eating grin creeping onto his face. "...what were you thinking?"

you let out a halfhearted groan but scoot over next to him anyway, sinking your head into the crook of his neck. he strokes the top of your head lazily as you take in the subtle feeling of his chest rising and falling, a feeling that's always comforted you.

"think they're asleep yet?" he mumbles after a while, his breath in your ear.

you poke him gently in his side. "dal..."

he can't hold back a gruff laugh as he catches your fingers, interlacing them with his own.

"worth a shot, baby."

a.n. i hope you like this request i'm sorry it took so long!! i was fighting for my life trying to make this not too ooc bc i feel like in reality dallas would like cuss your parents out to their face but i CHOOSE to believe he can also do this like i'm a soft dallas truther.

ps.ps. this is kinda soc reader coded…

taglist: @mrsdillonx @hailpacino @magefelixir @jujuheartz13 @coastershells @r0seb100d

[evilminji]

Oh god :Dc a Danny Summons Contract

No you guys DON'T UNDERSTAND-!

Just. Danny! Only Danny! He fucked up. Some ancient Warring States Ninja fucked up. They BOTH agreed to NEVER talk about it again.

Cause like? That ninja? Was a GROWN ASS MAN. A qualified BAMF of the highest order. He WAS the Danger, thank you very much. So, he? Will NEVER live down being saved by...well...

*holds up wildly struggling, noodle limbed, sad wet raccoon havin a terrible day lookin, meat thresher on legs*

THIS.

It's a BABY. Honestly, his Clan's TODDLERS know how to throw better punch. This scrawny infant baby child is both? His new son. AND an embarrassing trainwreck in motion. FFS kid, that's not how you- No! NO! Don't you DARE bite that opponent! You don't know where they've B-!

Kid they could have BEEN POISONED!!! Spit um OUT! DROP UM! Drop that RIGHT NOW! What are you? A dead Inuzuka? A god forsaken Hatake!? DROP IT!!!

It...sure is An Adventure™.

One of many early "here's how you DON'T make a Summoning contract" experiments, that Clans without seal masters were attempting. He's honestly lucky HIS attempt ended with him still... you know... ALIVE. Problem, though? After bunking for like... a few months? A year? In the command center?

And you know, terrorizing the GIW into complete collapse. Parenting him through some pretty serious life changes. Somehow making Sam MORE terrifying. And a whole host of off screen ninja shenanigans? They figure out? Oh. Only way to send him HOME is to either accept or refuse a Contract.

They gotta make one.

First they head to Frostbite for a recommendation, then? Off to a reputable Ghost Lawyer they go! They have to camp in the waiting room for like... a week. But? Worth it! The contract is AMAZING. And terrifying! Protects them both. Can't be used against EITHER. And that loophole you're thinking off? Ten pages worth of point 4 script, twenty three yards down, for why it's a BAD IDEA and breaks contract~!

Neither of them can make the other do SHIT! Only fully consensual, mutually beneficial, ass kicking here! If we FEEL LIKE IT!

Ninja dad insisted. Never sign a contract with anything less then extreme paranoia, kid! Leave no "implied" or "spirit of the rules"! Loopholes are holes in your armor, with which your enemy stabs you in the back!

Danny, tearfully, sends ninja dad home.

Gross. Emotions all over his armor. If only there wasn't all this sand in his eyes, he'd definitely complain about it. *stoic ninja hug*

Danny? Become a king. One of many. An Ancient. Becomes FUCKING HUUUUUUUUGE. Like? "Aw, your city is so pwecious~☆ n smol~♡! Whats it called again? New York?" Huge. A fuckin LEVIATHAN made of void, stars, and space ice. A Winter corpse, marked by lightning, that became the night sky itself. With a crown of aurora borealis, ever shifting, like flame.

Proportional, in a way, to Summon Bosses. Just as a normal human is to a normal toad, a normal cat, a normal slug. So too, is Danny LARGER then them.

You know... when he feels like it.

The contract? Passes down. Ninja dad does warn his kin. Prooooobably not gonna answer you. He only answers ME cause I'm, well, ME.

Fuckin BET. They declare. And lose. Repeatedly.

Time marches on. The Senju and Uchiha has their Drama. Dear KAMI do they Have Their Drama. Please Stop, says everyone. They... do not. The contract? Fuckin STOLEN. Because of course it is.

It's a HUGE, glowing, death radiating Summons Contract kept in a shrine behind like... SO MANY seals. It makes anyone less then a full grown JOUNIN physically SICK to even touch! Prolonged exposure kills people! Of COURSE it gets fuckin stolen. It's obviously a super, mega, ultra rare AMAZEBALLS Summon Contract... right?

Eeeeeeeeeeeh *so-so hand motion* KINDA!

It IS technically that.

They ain't wrong. Cause Danny IS an Adult now. A King. Connected to the Zone. An ANCIENT. Beyond and Above his mortal origins, even as, by being a Halfa, he is utterly the same. That contract is as close as one could GET to having a contract with the Sage himself.

You know... if he answered you.

Felt like your petty bullshit was worth getting up off the couch for.

Not to MENTION? He can make clones! Like.... billions of them now. Has a skeleton army. Is kinda one of the stronger Ancients. But that's not the point. The POINT? Clones. Don't have to be EQUAL facets of self.

You CAN make a .00001% clone of yourself!

Behold *summons poof noise* Lil Baby Man!

The harbinger of Danny! Here to Test Your VIBEZ™. He sends them each time. To be an adorable menace. Cause problems on purpose. Be gremlins, chew on table legs, maybe. You know, the works! They RADIATE his " I Am Death." Energy. But also his "winter, protection, and starlight" vibes... if you're brave enough to LOOK.

If you don't flinch away from a spirit of the dead. Can embrace the chaotic nature of a Zone ghost. Are kind to something that isn't what you expected, that you can USE, that appears weaker then you. Something that seems dumb. Distractable. Useless in battle.

Can you be kind? Do you immediately give up? To recognize a test when you see one? Is your first impulse cruelty? Distain? It tells Danny a lot. Saves him time.

Which? Is how a young Itachi, freshly Jounin'd, gets thrown through an old and rotting wooden gate into what LOOKS like a vaguely demonic death shrine. Hmmm, concerning. Baby 'tachi has been separated from his teammates. Is having a Bad Time™. The crows can't really help much here.

And, well, that IS a Summoning contract...

He's outnumbered. Low on both weapons and Chakra. Refuses to do anything BUT return home to his family. His baby brother. Is it WISE? No. It is in fact, incredibly, incredibly UNWISE. He has no idea what he'll be agreeing too. But... so long as he live just a bit longer...

He slams an earth wall against the entrance.

Falls back to the Glowing Contract.

Stumbles, as even landing near it makes his insides revolt. His skin prickle and burn. Colder then the nine tails Chakra, emptier, yet somehow endlessly more ABSOLUTE.

It's like the very Chakra in his body screams against it. Rejects it's mere presence. As though all thing alive REFUSE it with desperation and fear. He has no time to muse upon this. It hurt his hand to touch. He does so anyway. Struggling to hold the earthwall against enemy attacks.

He doesn't bother to read the contract. Flings it from the pedestal, to unravel, so he may sign quickly. There. With a practiced motion, he nicks his finger, and scrawls his future away. Whatever demons may come. Whatever monsters this brings. Please... let him live long enough to say goodbye.

The world CRACKS as he summons.

Death and the Shinigami are not the same.

Even those without the ability to sense are battered by the tsunami of... not killing intent. No. There is no intent. No killing. Just... knowing. Heraldry. That Death comes for us all. You can not escape. Foolish and small, is this what you waste your existence on? Ants before a god. Dust before the heavens. He... he can not... breathe...

Frozen. Eyes wide. Sharigan spinning, spinning, spinning. Capturing the delicate lace of nothingness, absence of life, as it drifts by. Unable to move from where he kneels, bloody hand pressed to the ground, in a Summoning.

What Has He Done?

Outside there is panic. Screaming. They flee. He... he wishes he could flee. W...why can't he-? *THHHWAP!* Mmmmph?! Something small and almost bird shaped smacks into his face like a flung ration. Tiny arms spread wide to cling to his bangs and dangle. The deathy power fades... almost... almost as though it were... a threat display?

He focuses on the tiny creature whining and hugging his face. It... is a floating snake toddler? Or is it dragon? They have sharp little claws and stars along their face, a tiny whispy mane of white. Likely a dragon child then. They stick their small tounge out slightly, eyes the blankly trusting stare of small children everywhere.

He clearly want to be carried. Ah. Of course, little one.

Did... did he agree to raise a dragon?

Just?

Itachi, smol. Serious. With lil baby man floped on his head or tucked lovingly in his arms. The TEXTBOOK definition of "he don't bite" "YES HE DO!!!" For everyone but Itachi and Sasuke. To whom he is, of course, an INNOCENT BABY who has NEVER done anything wrong EVER. An angel! Why is everyone being so MEAN to poor innocent baby man? Boo hoo~!

It fucks up SO MANY plans.

Because Itachi. A smol child. INSISTS he is a Father now. What are you going to do? Say he can be? Why? Because he's a CHILD? Which is it? Is he a Jounin or a Dependant? An adult in the eyes of the law or a child to be protected by said law from pushing him off to war? Old enough to die, old enough to parent his dragon son!

And SORRY Father, he CANT join Anbu. Who would be there for his child? Ah, he should join a parenting group. *various competent parent instincts go haywire over this tiny Uchiha child in need of parenting* Danzo? For some reason his son seems to really, REALLY hate him. Better avoid him. His child doesn't know yet not to bite respected elders.

Sasuke? Gets to be an UNCLE! To a DRAGON! He takes his job very seriously.

It's the best PR the clan has ever had.

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @hypewinter @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @legitimatesatanspawn @lolottes @mutable-manifestation

[howlingday]

Taiyang: Could you please go away? I'm watching cartoons with my daughter.

Yang: DAAAD~! Dad, a fun one is on- Oh, hey, what's up, beautiful? Yang Xiao Long; I live in the guest house. What say you and me get together in a spe-shul way~!

Pyrrha: I-I'm pregnant.

Yang: The more the merrier~.

Jaune: With my baby.

Yang: Hey, you can come, too, beautiful~!

Pyrrha: !

Jaune: !

Yang: Would you look at that? I guess I call both men AND women beautiful? I guess I'm OPEN-MINDED AS HEEEEELL~! And I think you're pretty good-lookin'~.

[08luvmailz]

⌨︎ ⁩◞ HERO FANBOY — ! ❪shoto todoroki❫

SYNOPSIS ୨୧ ! which a certain hero from ua crushes (hard) on a idol ! headcanon, ooc shoto

FANBOY SHOTO! He wasn't interested in kpop activities, heck he hardly known anything about kpop in general.

He started knowing about them because of his brother natsuo who bought a heck ton of albums and blasting music in his room.

He side-eye his brother when he's screaming because he got your WINK-PHOTOCARD, as he keep screaming " omg! ITS SO SPARKS "

he saw the photocard and he was like " oh she's pretty " but disregard it afterwards BUTT

DIDNT KNOW HE WOULD FELL THAT HARD

he saw one of your recent comebacks on tv because his brother is streaming it and gahdam ur fucking SPARKLING ON STAGE.

At first he started knowing your group, YOU FIRST then streaming your group songs, your debut solo, collabs. streaming your group shows and music bank AND ALL THOSE

started buying albums too with natsuo. FINALLY HE HAVE SOMEONE IN THE FAMILY WHO WILL BE IN DEPT FOR LIFE BUYING ALBUMS

Natsuo asked who is his bias without hesitation he said your name, bro was smirking so bad at his lil bro BECAUSE YOU ARE THE MAKNAE OF YOUR GROUP, also half japanese and same age as him.

Bro was blushing whenever the camera pans at your face and smirking and doing that HE WAS GETTING HOTTER THAN HIS QUIRK

have a well known kpop stan twitter account who always make short comment about you but ICONIC because of how pure and sweet it is

doesnt know it but actually fell inlove with you NOT BECAUSE OF UR FACE (its a plus on him) but because of your determination and hard work, humour and personality is just CHEFS KISS

no one knows about his obsession welp it almost slip up when he accidently unplug his wired earphones to his phone AND SUDDENLY BLASTING Nobody knows by your group.

he lied he is just a casual listener

defends you on twitter, he looks like a soft boy but damn he is a beast on roasting BUT FAILS CAUSE HE CAN ONLY CUSS AT THEM

dedicated to buy front row tickets when your group finally have a concert there at your hometown

BRO WAS FIGHTING FOR LIFE AT THE POOR CONNECTION

bro brought the vip tickets for him and his big bro (with his dads money ofc, not like his father would know)

bro brought the 2 tickets for each day

won a fancall with you once but DAMN IT HIS HERO STUFF IS GETTING ON THE WAY

poor bby sulked the whole day that he missed the call, he was practicing his lines and tone for you

brought many batteries for his lightstick

make sure he is lookin good (not like he isn't good looking)

bro wake up early asf he want to be there as fast

bro became popular fan after one pictured him as the guy from the (group name) concert at jpn

he didnt know he bacame popular, he just saw his face 3 days after the concert on stan twt

BRO WHEN YOU TWO MAKE EYE CONTACT HE HAS HEART EYES

BRO WAS WHIPPED ASF

you are one stubborn fuck saw this cute guy with a scar and went through the barricades even though security was trying to get you back in stage cause its just a sound check and your safety too

Bro you came closer to him and saw his instax reaching for you. MADE A HEART CHEEK AT HIS FACE AND CAME CLOSER TO HIS FACE

bro almost want to faint right then and there.

you went after that he was kinda sad but happy he got a selfie WITH HIM

making this his lockscreen and making a frame of this treasured photo

You kept stealing glances at him and interacting with hand language, asking if he already eat lunch or just blantly flirting with him

LUCKIEST FAN

natsuo kept pushing his shoulders for every interaction at their section BUT MAINLY YOU ARE FOCUSED ON HIS BROTHER

bro when he came back from school BRO WAS BOMBARDED WITH QUESTIONS LIKE

" I DIDNT KNOW UR A FAN TODOROKI! " " WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME UR A FAN, I WANT TO BUY TICKETS TOO " " i didn't know todoroki listens to kpop " "BRO DID U HAVE PICS AND VID OF (your leader name) "

was now known as poker face but listens to puppy love by (groupname)

After that twt post of him being a handsome fan THEN PEOPLE STARTED SAYING HE WAS THE KID FROM UA, ENDEAVOR SON AND ALL THOSE SHIT

have an article of him now being the hero fan boy

boy he didnt give a shit about them, he just wanting to chill

but that didnt start there

your member posted on weverse a video of you taken, watching the sports festival and chanting HIS NAME AND BETTING THAT HE WOULD 1st PLACE

bro became the luckiest fan alive

saying he is the luckiest fan and hero and all of those then actually GONNA MEET YOU

you have a campaign like a collab with a hero AND THAT IS HIS DAD

participating on a event JUST TO SEE YOU

he did and boy was he nervous

he kept stuttering at the end of his sentence

then because actually friend with you, a little bit touchy side BUT HE IS A GENTELEMAN just subtle glances and touches

got your number and him posting a selfie of you two on twt (he made another acc just to post boast that picture)

after that he was well known as the hero fanboy who will soon in the future marry his idol

that woud be a story in another time <3

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price prepares for his first date with Nik. 141 rib him.

CW: none.

Price stared into the mirror above his sink and wondered when the fuck all those lines on his face had arrived. Last time he’d looked, he could have sworn there were fewer, and there had been no grey either, but now he saw traces of his old man in the reflection and that made his stomach twist unpleasantly.

In all fairness, he didn’t really have much reason to look–really look–at his own face. Even when he was smearing camo around his eyes and down his cheeks, he was only looking for areas of shine that might draw an enemy’s eye. He never really considered why else someone might be lookin’.

Why Nik might be lookin’.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed as he began gathering up his shaving bowl and the badger-fur brush he only got out on special occasions; medal ceremonies, weddings, funerals and now, apparently, bloody dates. Why the fuck he had even agreed to it in the first place he had no idea, but Nik was surprisingly romantic given what Price knew about the rest of his life, and it was difficult to say no when he turned on those eyes. The word ‘no’ felt like booting a Labrador in the face.

Price stashed his shaving kit away and turned back to the mirror to check the rest. He had been pretty sure the shirt he had scrounged from the bottom of his paltry wardrobe hadn’t seen the light of day since the early noughties, and that had been confirmed when he’d pulled it around his shoulders and the buttons had gaped over his chest. Twenty years ago he’d been a lot leaner, but two decades of focused gym sessions, hard graft and being battered in the field had left him with a lot more heft. He’d pulled on a white t-shirt underneath and left it open, hoping he didn't look too much like someone's dad trying to look ten years younger.

Hair waxed into place, beard conditioned, aftershave and cologne–but not enough to register as chemical warfare–and he was as good as he was gonna get. He had never been asked on a date, only ever done the asking, and even then the sum total of his dating efforts as a young man had ended in disaster. Cold fish and chips on the riverfront and getting your leg over in the nearby park, only to fumble that too, wasn’t exactly peak romance, even at fifteen years old, and somehow he didn't think Nik had anything similar in mind.

Fifteen years old. That had been--

Oh, fuck. He was not equipped for this in the slightest.

Price’s phone beeped and a glance at the message confirmed Nik had arrived on base to pick him up. Bang on time too. Price took one final look in the mirror, grimaced, shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck it. It would have to do. Nik had seen him looking like the arse end of a donkey, so this… jitter in Price’s chest felt bloody stupid.

“Get a fuckin’ grip,” he murmured to himself as he snatched his wallet and keys from his bed and shut the door behind him. Unfortunately for Price, the rest of 141 were eagerly awaiting his appearance in the rec room and all looked up when he closed the door. He immediately regretted not exiting through the open window in his room.

“Well, well, cap, don’ ye brush up nice. G’ies a twirl,” Soap said, leaning forward with a wide grin that informed Price he was about to endure a good five to ten minutes of focused ribbing.

“Watch it, MacTavish,” Price replied, but without heat. He felt like a prize twat and this was Soap’s roundabout way of helping.

“Och, c’mon noow,” Soap spread his hands and turned to Garrick for support, “Gaz, back me up…”

Garrick looked up from his phone and tilted his head to the side, clearly evaluating just how much he wanted to chance Price putting him on the worst details for the next week. Apparently, he was feeling pretty fucking lucky that evening. “Pretty sure my dad owns that shirt, Tav. Very… uh, early noughties chic. What d’ya think, Ghost?”

Price could count on Simon to fight his corner against these two reprobates. Or so he thought. Simon leaned back, arms folded across his chest, and examined Price for a beat before choosing violence. “Pretty sure I saw it last about ten years ago,” Simon said, and then shook his head. “Happy to drop a pony on a new striker xt gen 2 so you can have the ranger green as well as the steel grey, but couldn’t cough up a few quid on a new shirt, sir.”

“You’re all bastards, and I you’ll be shovelling the shit next week once I get back to my desk,” Price growled.

A round of groans followed, and Soap rolled up to his feet. “C’mon, sir, we’re just jossin’. As my ol’ nan used tae say: a pritty face suits the dish-cloot.”

“Dish cloth chic,” Gaz said, grinning.

“Ah mean he looks bonnie, right? ‘Side, we need to cut the ol’ man some slack. When was th’ last time ye got tae let yer hair doon, sir?”

“Not long enough,” Price said, pinching the bridge of his nose and planning to beast the trooper delaying Nik at the checkpoint.

“I reckon the last time was when Usher was in the charts. What was the song? Ooh-whoop ooh-whoop, ooh-whoop ooh-whoop, shit, what was it called?”

Price decided that Garrick would be organising a mock dawn raid for the freshest batch of recruits. He would make sure the weather forecast was grim.

“Wait, wait, lemme get it up on Spotify. We c'n get cap in the mood tae drop tha’ thang. Reckon Nik’s an animal on the dancefloor, aye? Ha! Found it. ‘Yeah’ by Usher.”

Soap would be joining Garrick. Full weighted kit.

Price watched as the two sergeants bounced around enthusiastically to a song from 2004 that was, by Price’s estimations, only a year older than the shirt he was currently wearing. Fucking disaster. He looked at Simon, who was watching Johnny with that far away look he always did when he thought no one else would notice.

“You have started the party without me, I see,” said a familiar voice at the door. Price looked over and nearly choked on his own tongue. Nik looked fucking good. White button down open at the collar, black slacks, polished shoes, with his hair freshly cut. Simple, but classy. Price tugged at his sleeve and rubbed the back of his neck, hoping the heat he felt under his skin hadn't translated into a flush.

Nik appraised Price with those same soft eyes that had implored him from the cockpit of his damn helicopter for a date. Price cleared his throat. “You scrub up good, Nik.”

“I could say the same. But you are always the prettiest thing in any room to me, captain.”

Price’s face burned to the very tips of his ears.

“Ah, Nik! Watcha mate, how're you doin’?” Garrick bounded over and threw his arm around Nik’s shoulders for a half hug.

“Ye better have him home by ten!” Soap called from where he stayed slouched on the sofa.

“Of course, sergeant.”

“Nik, let's go, and you lot, get an early night. Pay back's a bitch.”

Nik smiled and stepped aside with what was definitely a bloody half bow to let Price out of the rec room first to a chorus of groans and entreaties for mercy from the two sergeants. Price and Nik emerged into the night air and had almost reached the car before Nik took Price's hand and drew him to a stop. “You are nervous.”

Price cleared his throat, sniffed, and did his best to come off as nonchalant. “Nah, I'm grand, just realised I’ve not got the clobber for this kind of thing, or the, uh… expertise. I'm worried you'll be disappointed.”

Nik looked at him blankly.

“Ah, sorry, my… clothes. It's been a long time since–”

Nik took his chin and lifted his eyes from where they had drifted to the ground. The kiss he placed on Price’s lips was tender, fleeting compared to their first shared under the downdraft of spinning helicopter blades, but it made Price's heart stutter just the same.

“You look good…” Nik released his chin to push both hands into Price’s hair, mussing it out of its careful arrangement. Next, he reached around the back of Price’s belt and tugged his t-shirt free. “Hm, now better.” Price swallowed hard, trying not to be too obvious about inhaling Nik’s scent as he pressed in close.

“Scruffy more like.” Price was still getting over the feeling of Nik’s fingers in his hair, brushing the skin on his back. Nerves had been replaced by the soft thrum of something warm in his chest.

“Nyet. English country boy with rough edges and blue eyes. You are honest, John Price. And a good man. It is what I have always loved most.” Nik opened the car door as Price gawped at him with wide eyes. When his senses had returned, Price realised Nik had rented a nondescript BMW for his stay, with leather interior and a fully digital media system. Plush. “After you.”

“Where’re we goin’?” Price asked as he slid into the passenger seat.

“Is surprise.”

“Bloody hell, and here I was thinkin' we’d go out for a movie and a pint.”

Nik grinned, tapping the beemer into ‘Drive’. “I will have the captain back before he turns into pumpkin, or the lieutenant mounts a rescue mission.”

Price chuckled as Nik pulled away into the night. Thankfully, Usher didn't feature in the evening‘s itinerary.

[soobinologisttt]

forbidden ties - kang taehyun

pairing ☆ taehyun x f. reader

warnings ☆ dom!taehyun, !stepbrother, !degradation, !unprotected sex !use of slut, pet names (hehe) princess, baby, i think that is all. (i proofread but if i missed something/ spelled something wrong oops)

word count ☆ 3.3k

my current bias wrecker lol

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

taehyun pushes you against the wall with force.

"you're such a little dirty slut." he whispers against your lips.

you feel his hands roam up and down your body before finally settling on your ass. gripping it so tight that his finger nails were digging into your skin. you take a mental note to check for marks tomorrow.

"tae, we can't." you whine.

he doesn't listen as his lips make their way to your neck. lightly sucking and nipping at your skin.

"taehyun, you can't leave a mark," you gasp.

"no promises," he smirks against your skin.

you pull his head from your neck, cupping his face. and right before you can crash your lips on to his, he speaks.

"y/n?" he smiles.

"y/n?" he says again.

"Y/N?" you jolt awake and immediately sit up.

your eyes widen as you see your stepbrother, kang taehyun. rubbing them to make sure that he is really here and you're not still dreaming.

you hate being his stepsister. especially because you keep having dreams about him. he was unreachable and you know it. but the dreams wouldn't stop. night after night, you'd only dream about his head between your thighs, or his cock inside you.

that's all you could think about, at the dinner table, watching movies, it doesn't matter where you were, he was always there in your mind. would he be rough or soft? would he call you a slut, his whore, baby? would he throw you around like a doll or would he softly lay you down? your thoughts are leading you farther down the road of no return. and you don't know what to do.

you're mom is the only reason you know him and no matter how much you wish it was different, she is happy. after your dad left, your mom was miserable. you didn't even recognize he. she had dark circles, lost weight, and was drinking too much.

it was a coindence that you mom met kang taehuyn's father. she was out on a bender while you stayed at your grandparents. drinking until she couldn't even walk.

he recalls there being a man that tried to take my mother home. that's when he swooped in like a prince and prtected her. fighting off the man. he let her crash in his bed while he slept on the couch, like the gentlemen he is.

and the rest is history.

you move in with the kang's when you were just a junior in high school. it was rough leaving your home and everyone you knew. althought it was only a four hour drive, it still hurt. to add onto it, you lost most of your friends due to th distance and lack of free time.

and now you have a crush on your stepbrother. taehyun is the only person you have that is your age, but you can't help to want more.

to have his hand around your throat while he is deep in your pussy. you shudder at the thought. feeling yourself start to dampen your underware.

"earth to y/n." taehyun waves his hand in front of your face, pulling you out of your thoughts.

he is sat next to you while you were thinking of him. how did you not notice the bed dip?

he is relaxed. head back against the headboard and feet up. like this is a common thing you guys do.

"sorry tae. what's up?" you blush.

"i heard you saying my name." he smirks.

you freeze.

were you moaning his name?

"oh yeah, you were in my dream." your face gets hot.

"sounded like a pretty interesting dream." he cocks his head to you.

you look into his gleaming brown eyes before turning away. smoothing out the wrinkles in your conforter.

that's when, unexpectedly, he grabs your chin and pulls your head to face him again. faces inches apart. you can nearly taste his breath.

"what was it about?" he smirks.

"umm, i don't remember," you blurt out in a hurry, "anyway, i need to get dressed!" you freak out.

pulling your face from his in a hurry. looking back down at the comforter that shields your throbbing cunt.

"okay y/n," he grins, "well your mom wanted me to tell you that breakfast is ready." he climbs off your bed in one motion.

he walks to your door in while you look up. watching his muscle in his thighs flex. wondering what it would be like to ride his thick hard thighs until you cum.

you shake th thought off and just as you were starting to get up to get ready, he stops in the doorway. you look at him with a look of confusion.

"you look so pretty moaning my name." he winks before turning around and walking off.

oh shit.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

it has been weeks since you're incident with taehyun.

and since then you have been in hell.

sneaky winks, long touches, even longer stares, he was teasing you.

you feel guilty. he is your stepbrother. what would mom say if she found out? what would happen to our family? would she hate you? she is happy again. this would break her.

but all that leaves your mind when taehyun walks out of the bathroom. shirtless. all your common sense, all the red flags, all the voices screaming no go slient.

you curse your mom for putting your rooms across from each other. you left you door open on accident wanting nothing more to curl up in bed. and now you are regretting it. it was a bad idea, given that you are currently (and desperately) lusting over him.

he has a tiny black towel wrapped around his waist. his dark brownish-black hair, dripping water doen onto his sculpted abs.

he looks like a greek god. if he was, you would worship him everyday. hell, you would worship him even if he was a normal human. but he isn't, he is your stepbrother.

when you hear his door shut, you jump. snapping back into reality.

but you can't help but feel yourself dampening. wishing for him to come fuck you like you've been dreaming of.

it is a gulity feeling. you knew that you shouldn't be feeling this but it only made you want him more.

letting your lustful thoughts, you're bring your fingers down to your panty line. sliding it down to touch yourself through the soft cloth. rubbing slow delicate circles on your aching clit.

this is when you decide to be brave, looking at his door as you rub your swollen nub. l

you know is risky but you want him to see what he is doing to you. want him to watch you as you fuck yourself.

you imagine him standing in your doorway. watching you before coming into your room and closing the door.

keeping eye contact with you as he slowly walks to you.

"you like that baby?" you nod.

"touching yourself while the door is open? where anyone could see, your mom, my dad, me?" he grins.

when he reaches you he starts slowly climbing over you. making sure to place kisses over your clothing.

you speed up your pace even more. whimpering softly as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

his face is so close to yours as you lay back.

you throw your head back with a moan, arching your back off the bed as you grind onto your hand. wishing your imagination was real.

"such a pretty girl." he whispers in your ear, "i wonder if your pussy is as pretty as you."

you purr, "taehyun."

feeling your orgasm quickly approaching, you start rubbing at an insane speed. making your wrist ache.

"gonna come?" he smirks.

"oh my god! yes tae! i'm gonna cum." you moan.

"let's see it then, princess." you hear his actual voice.

and this time you aren't imagining it.

you didn't even hear his door open, but when you open your eyes, he is standing in your door way with his arms crossed.

"keep going," he growls, "dont let me stop you."

you oblige as you keep up the pace.

arching into your hand, you feel the knot in your stomach become increasingly tight before exploding. leaving you a whimpering mess.

"fuck!" you moan.

you throw your head back in pleasure. legs spasming in result of the intense orgasim.

he laughs at you but you are too busy in your euphoric state to notice.

"keep it up," he chuckles , "maybe i will just fuck you."

before you can say anything he turns and walks away. closing your door.

oh fuck.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

with each day that passes, your need for taehyun only grows.

to be on your knees, to have him on top of you, for him to sneak into your room, it was a constant battle with yourself.

you finally snap when your parents decide to take a week long trip overseas.

it was "spare of the moment," when they bought the tickets. it was a couple's bundle, so you and taehyun are stuck at the house together.

"taehyun." you knock on his door, shaking with anticipation.

"hold on! i'm playing a game. i'll be out there is a minute." he shouts from the other side of the door.

"okay, i ordered pizza," you shout back through the door, "i'll be downstairs,"

"i'll be down in a second." he yells before cursing something to whoever he is playing with.

as you make your way downstairs you start to think about the decision you are making. your mom and his dad just left. is it a good idea to continue with your scheme?

you shake off the thoughts. no way they would come home, they were super excited for this trip.

you decide to just go along with the plan.

you are bent over the counter, playing on your phone.

your white skirt is pulled up, revealing your black lacey panties.

you are scrolling on instagram when you hear footsteps nearing.

"what kind of pizza did you or-" he stops abruptly.

"oh. it's not here yet." you look over your shoulder, trying your hardest to look innocent.

but there is nothing innocent aout your intentions.

you turn your attention back to instagram as he stands there, dumbfounded.

as you get ready to turn back around, you feel his warmth surround you. taking in his scent. he smells like colonge, which you throughly enjoy.

"what are you doing y/n?" he questions.

"oh, i'm on instagram, waiting for the pizza to get here." you smile to yourself.

"is that all?" you feel him smirk against your ear.

before you can answer, taehyun reaches his hand around you to meet your pulsating clit.

you jerk at the sudden contact.

he rubs leisurely circles on your clit. making you shiver with need.

"taehyun," you whimper.

"so needy," he remarks.

he sides your underwear to the side, running his fingers up and down your folds. listening to the lewd sounds of your arousal.

"wet already?" you feel his smirk on your neck.

"nhm" you purr.

that answer was not enough for him, you know that when he brings his left hand to your neck. making sure to squeeze it until you feel lightheaded.

"use your words princess," he groans, rubbing his hard lenth against your ass.

"please tae," you whine as he pushes two fingers in.

the strech is almost unbearable given the lenth of his fingers.

"we gotta stretch you out, you're so tight,"

he begins to move his fingers at a slow pace, making sure to completely fill you to the brim with his slender fingers.

you moan at the feeling, needing more.

"more, please," you nearly sob, barely getting it out.

he happily complies, moving at a faster pace while makin sure to curl his fingers up.

you're a moaning mess merely at his fingers, makin you wonder what it's gonna be like when he fuck you.

you feel the beginning of your orgasm sneaking up you.

the warm feeling starting in your stomach, climbing more and more as he slams his fingers into you.

you can feel your climax getting close when he withdraws his fingers.

leaving you a moaning mess, on the verge of tears.

he doesn't seem to care because he instantly asks, "are you sure you can take me?"

you nod into the his hand that is still around your neck,.

"turn around," he grabs your waist and turns you around in one swift movement.

his dark eyes glaring down into yours, making your clit pulse.

he pulls your skirt up around your waist and hoists you up onto the counter. you instinctively wrap your legs around him, pushing him closer.

he slides two fingers back into your wet cunt while using his thumb to circle your clit.

your eyes roll back at the feeling.

"tae," you beg as you throw your arms around his neck.

he whispers into your collarbore, skin vibrating at the feeling, making you even more needy than you thought you could be, "can you be a good girl for me?"

you nod profusely, "yes tae, please please fuck me,"

"fuck, do you have a condom?" taehyun moves back to look into your eyes.

"no, but i am on birth control and i am clean." you look up at him with greedy eyes.

"i am clean too," he groans, before crashing his lips onto yours.

his tongue enters your mouth forcefully. both moaning as you explore each others mouths.

when you feel his dick twitch in his pants, you get an idea.

you grab his cock and start palming it. slowly rubbing him through his pants.

"fuck, y/n. you're so hot," taehyun moans into your mouth.

you pull back, "taehyun, can i, you know," you look down at his dick and back up at him.

"can you what? use your words sweetheart," he smirks.

"can i suck your dick," you say innocently, well as innocent as you can.

he pulls you off the counter forcefully by the waist and pushes you down onto your knees.

"are you sure you can handle it?" he says as he pulls down his basketball shorts to reveal himself.

you thought he was just being cocky, but he was not lying. he is long and thick. you gawk at the sheer sight of it. wondering how and if you can fit the entire thing into your mouth.

you have no time to think when taehyun grabs the back of your head and guides you to his member.

you open your mouth and take him as deep as he can go. making sure to wrap your hands around the base of his cock.

you whirl you tongue around his cock, hollowing your cheeks.

you bob your head up and down on his cock. making sure to use your hands to stroke him.

"fuck, y/n, your mouth feels so good," he throws his head back.

you moan around his cock.

he looks down at you, while you look up at him.

"you look so pretty on your knees," he smirks as he takes your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

you continue looking up at him through your lashes when he takes control over the pace. fucking your face while tears form in your eyes.

"fuckkkk, take it like a good girl y/n," he moans, throwing his head back again.

you gag around his cock. tears streaming down your face.

this tips him over the edge and he pulls out of your mouth. he lifts you up onto the counter again and pulls your underwear down, dropping them onto the floor.

before you could even react, he pushes into you, nearly filling you to the brim.

you throw your head back at the feeling.

"tae please go slow," you whine, as he slows himself down.

filling you slowly, he moans.

he moves down to place kisses on your collarbone before whispers into it, "you got this baby. you're doing so well," he praises.

you whimper as he starts to move. you lift your head up to see his expression.

"you're so pretty, y/n," he stares down, "you have no idea how long i've wanted to do this."

he starts moving slowly.

your nails dig into his shoulders as he fills you to the brim. you're nearly in tears from the pain. you're not a virgin, but you might as well be with the way taehyun is filling you up.

"are you okay?" taehyun brings his hands from gripping the counter to you your face, cupping it.

you nod, "yes, please move,"

he moves his hands from your face to your waist, pulling you closer.

you wrap your legs around him, causing him to go even deeper. feeling him in spots that you didn't even know existed.

"you're taking me so well," taehyun groans.

he is moving in and out of you at a sluggish pace.

"taehyun," you move your hands to grab his ass and sink your nails into it, "please, please, faster,"

he pushes all the way in before picking you up and walking the both of you to the couch.

he crashes you both down on the couch.

mouth and teeth crashing in the process.

he is on top of you as you lay flat on the couch that you all have movie nights on.

"taehyun!" you gasp at the new position.

"let me hear you baby,"

you nearly scream when he picks up the pace.

hitting the spot that has you curling your toes like a ballerina.

"fuck, fuck, fuck," you sob, throwing your head back.

"you feel so good, y/n," he moans.

you feel yourself tighting around his dick. the sensation is something you have never felt before.

just as you start to feel your orgasm approach, he pulls out, again.

you whine at the feeling of emptiness and the need to desperely cum.

"flip over," he commands.

you don't have to be told twice, you flip over in record time.

you feel him strerch you out again. this time he is even deeper. hitting your g-spot everytime his enters you.

taehyun places he hands on your waist.

"fuck, is this what you wanted y/n?" he questions.

"yes," you sob.

once he got his anwser, he speeds up. slamming into you at a brutal pace.

you continue to cry out with plesure as he abuses your pussy.

he slaps your ass, "what a slut."

"fuck, fuck, taehyun!" you feel the knot in your stomach start to bulid up again.

"you like that, baby?" he taehyun groans.

"yes yes yes, please don't stop," you sob out, "i'm so close," you squeeze your eyes shut.

"about to cum all over your stepbrother's cock?" he remarks as he smacks you ass again, making sure to leave a hand mark.

when he reaches around to rub your clit, your orgasm crashes down onto you, hard.

"taehyun," you scream out, " i'm coming, i'm coming, i'm coming," you repeat yourself in a haze.

legs shaking as the orgasm rocks through you body.

"fuck, you're amazing," taehyun moans.

he is still thrusting into you, gaining speed. you sob at the overstimulation, as he starts to slam into you. chasing his own release.

"you're going to take all of his cum, y/n?" he taunts.

you nod at his question.

"shit," he moans as he spills into you, breathing heavily.

he collapses onto you as you both come down from your orgasms, making sure not to put all his body weight on you.

you're half awake when you hear him speak, "that was amazing,"

you moan in response. too high on cloud nine to think.

you both lay there for a while. taehyun is the one that has to get you up.

"come on, we need to get you cleaned up," he pleads, "y/n, you are leaking all over the couch."

"one more second, please."

that's when you both hear someone struggling with the lock.

"oh shit," you both shoot up.

"we are home!" you hear your mom yell, "our flight was can-,"

you know that she see's your underwear on the floor. taehyun and you look at each other with wide eyes.

fuck