#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.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“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!”

[artyandink]

where CLARK becomes obsessed with eating CINNAMON.ᐟGIRL’S pussy in a week.

DAY ONE.ᐟ

It wasn’t even a thought at first, with his track record with girls he wanted to take it slow so he knew it was a safe bet to fall head over heels for your pretty ass. Most he thought about was kissing your permanently balmed lips, kissing your cheeks, admiring your smile, playing with the folds of your clothing and how you always smelled like cinnamon.

An innocent thought.

And now, the end of the school day. When Clark could just come home, say hi to his mom and dad, then head up to the barn where he knew his girl would be waiting. And sure enough, as he jogged up the stairs to the top of the barn, there you were, readily waiting, dressed in your usual little baggy-looking top with the poofy sleeves that he didn’t know the name of — wait, it was a bustier top, as you’ve reminded him — with a little white skirt, a bow in your hair, bows on your gorgeous stockings with your lace-ups abandoned by the side of the bed.

Gorgeous.

But you were also working on the bio homework you’d got that day, so he raised an eyebrow, chucked his bag onto the bed and instantly got on to hug you to him and nuzzle your neck. “Clark!” You giggled, squealing and swatting his shoulder before your lips were caught up in his, hand resting gently on your cheek.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you started without me.” He pouted, pulling back to look at you with puppy eyes, but a peck from you earned his winning smile again. “C’mon, what are we lookin’ at?” He shifted you so you were on his lap, chest against his back, inhaling that natural scent of spice and sugar syrup from cinnamon buns.

You tapped the page with your pen, relaxing into it and beginning to explain the task, but something else caught his eye. It was a small thing, but he saw a flash of something, it was— it was white, and lacy, and he could see it from under your skirt—

Oh, God, your panties.

He had to drag his eyes away from the magnetic pull they had to that small glimpse of lace, casually sliding his hand up your outer thigh to push your skirt over that little sliver of white lace, that… tantalising view, there— God forbid your dignity be jeopardised if someone came up here.

Whew. Crisis averted.

DAY TWO.ᐟ

Crisis #2 was due soon — because obviously, no one could give him a damn break — when he was helping you tie up this pretty lil’ pair of heels you’d bought that were tied up by a ribbon. His fingers glided across your smooth skin as he wrapped the soft fabric around your ankle delicately, and it wasn’t until he gave you a gentle smile from below did he see up your skirt, and he nearly felt his heat vision activate from the sight.

Your choice of clothing was always so sexy, the pink lace that looked like a scrap on your skin, your supple thighs that he just wanted to— ay, woah, stop there. His thoughts screeched to a halt, and he sufficed that train of thought with a delicate press of his lips to your ankle when he’d made the bow to tie the last shoe and the whole ensemble together.

Why did his head feel kind of fuzzy?

There y’are.” He grinned, taking your hand and brushing his lips over your knuckle— your own Prince Charming, it gave you butterflies. Honestly? His head felt kinda heavy as he stood up and planted a gentle kiss to your lips— see, totally innocent. Totally, no alternate story or subconscious thought here.

DAY THREE.ᐟ

This felt wrong, but he couldn’t help it.

Something as simple as sitting and chatting with Lana and Chloe— you were sitting with your legs spread, skirt hiked up enough, your amiable look between him and the other three doing absolutely nothing to stop him feeling drunk on the position you were in.

Maybe if the others weren’t here, he could kiss up your legs, starting from your ankle. Why was he thinking all this— to combat it, he just gently tapped your foot with his, and you happily climbed onto his lap, legs around his waist and arms around his neck like you were a koala with a giggle.

He let put a sigh of relief, taking one for the team as he stroked your hair, inhaled your natural scent and took one for the team by taking the brunt force of all the good-natured ribbing from Lana and Chloe. All while his brain pumped oxygen back into it and made him stop feeling so goddamn light and airy just by seeing how you were seated, it felt so strange.

“Lovebirds.”

“I hear wedding bells!”

“Shut up, guys.” Clark’s jab wasn’t only to himself, it was to the rest of him which thought that being permanently brain dead around you was a good idea. God, this was not normal at all.

DAY FOUR.ᐟ

Clark found himself to be thirstier than usual. Literally, and figuratively.

He’d be hanging out with you, watching a movie, and when you did something like bite your lip or your skirt would hike up a little, he would mutter an excuse to go get water— not really an excuse, his mouth felt like it was two Saharas in one mouth. Glass after glass, and you’d seen him return after his fifth, which came with the mental reminder to lecture himself to not pop a boner. He had more control over his… anatomy!

Even with all the tall and endless glasses of water, something felt missing.

He went with you to the Talon to get lunch, and as he was sharing an apple pie with you, he couldn’t help but think his sweet taste buds weren’t satiated, and even as he looked up, his eyes got stuck on your pretty legs, where your skirt ended at your mid-thigh, and all you’d do was tilt his chin up and kiss him softly with a giggle, oblivious.

Oh, dear Lord, what was happening to him?

He was licking his lips more often, and his brain was more adept and conjuring thoughts of having you straddling something that was not his hips, or having you laid down on the couch and hearing pretty sounds come from you that he’d only heard when his mom and dad got too loud or when his mom and dad were watching an adult movie.

Guess Martha and Jonathan might be the common denominator.

Even so, he forced himself to avert his eyes when you bent over the table to give Lana and Chloe their coffees, your skirt lifting up just that bit— oh, mama, just drink the water, drink the water.

“Hi.” You giggled, perching yourself on his lap, and things would’ve been totally fine had his hand not autocorrected to find your ass— nope, he instantly moved it up to the small of your back and kissed your cunt cheek. He meant cheek, he wasn’t thinking about anything else, who ever— nobody— his brain was gonna shut up now.

His jaw clenched briefly, and he swallowed, deciding to give the farm boy smile like nothing was raging inside of his brain and peck your pouty, cinnamon-stained lips, fingers brushing across your soft cheek. “Hey, there. One’a those for me?” He’d been getting into cinnamon lattes now that you’d introduced him to them, so you were holding two piping hot cinnamon lattes that he looked down to.

And as he looked down, he could see your perfect thighs, and contrary to his drying mouth, he now had too much saliva in them.

He swallowed. Shit.

DAY FIVE.ᐟ

“Oh, my God, shit—” Clark couldn’t think straight, his nerve endings on fire, cause it felt so damn good, it felt so, so— he had no words. All he knew was that his eyes were rolling back, his mouth was open, his cock was most definitely leaking, and if his parents came up here they’d be very concerned.

He panted, the veins in his neck popping as his jaw clenched and a strangled grunt broke past his sealed lips, along with a needy whine. “O—Oh, sweetheart, that’s— don’t you stop, ok? Don’t you stop.”

He was getting images as his free hand clenched in the sheets, images he’d never had before until this week, of peeling your panties off your soaked pussy like they were the bow to your sweet present, of rubbing his nose against your clit as he gripped your spread thighs (or they’d be over his shoulders, he was not fussed at all) and lapping at you, licking you and letting his tongue delve and taste every bit of you until you could no longer comprehend that the outside world exists.

Judging by how much cinnamon you had, your cunt would probably be sweeter than your mouth. Just his luck that he’s got a tooth for that.

He tightly clamped his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle any sounds, but that didn’t work, it slipped out due to a shuddering gasp that shook his very lungs, your mouth— no, his hand, you weren’t here right now, his hand moving up and down his cock, which felt extra sensitive today.

Well, of course it felt extra sensitive, he’d practically been accidentally edged all day by your gorgeous ass when you sat back to his chest and way too high up his lap during the study session at the Talon, and so he’d shimmied you down to stop a moan from leaving his mouth.

Even as he moaned, he licked his lips and swallowed, like he was tasting something above him— oh, god, your pussy. It was so pretty, he knew that from the times he’d gotten his fingers there to soothe you after a bad day or when your brain wasn’t working on hard homework and just needed a reset. But he’d never tasted it or anything, he’d just wiped them on a tissue, and now it was the one thing — oh, God, just stop, this was objectifying, and Clark was a strong believer in a woman’s privacy.

“Sh—Shit—” He wanted to lick his fingers from now on, not waste a single drop of you, and that thought was the thing which sent him into a white hot fucking orgasm, head falling back against the pillows as he quickly caught the come that came from his cock with a tissue, panting and revelling in the ignorance and pure bliss that came before the reality that he just objectified his girlfriend.

He knew better, and you were so darling to him, he couldn’t. He should stop.

Your pussy—

DAY SIX.ᐟ

Was Clark on top of you, no shirt, forearm braced beside your head and lips attached to your neck a hot sight?

Yes.

It was a sight that made your thighs rub together despite yourself, and you couldn’t really ignore the growing ache growing inside you, along with the slight throb in your clit at the repeated, open-mouthed presses to your neck, jaw and behind your ear. His hands were on your waist, your hips, over your tits and thighs, then moved to the buttons of your cardigan, pulling back to look at you.

Eye contact was big with him.

“Can I?” He murmured, and when you nodded, he slipped the buttons off and gently took off your camisole, coming face to face with no bra. A small grin flickered across his lips as he looked up to you, head dipping down to kiss over your tits and briefly suck then into his mouth, pressing small, worshipping pecks which had you moaning softly, fingers threading through his hair.

The quiet whimpers that came from your mouth could only be frowned out by one thing— his mind repeating the word pussy and his body rewriting like it was the one thing he couldn’t live without. “Need to try somethin’, pretty, but you can tell me t’ stop, at any time.” He murmured, kissing your stomach gently.

You ran the possibilities in your upstairs brain, but your downstairs brain had the reins right now. “Yeah,” you mumbled in response, stomach flexing under his lips — ugh, so hot — as they slowly travelled downward, his fingers skimming down your sides to gently undo your sweats and hook his finger in your sweats and panties’ waistband, pulling them down and off your legs.

The wait to it was excruciating, he’d checked to see if you were wet as a sign that yes, you were enjoying this (which you were, you were soaking), and if the butterfly kisses were doing anything, they were making you impatient rather than easing you into it. “Clark, c’mon.”

“Okay, okay! I’ve got you,” He chuckled, then started with it. He began in slow, languid strokes, tongue flat and gathering all the taste of you on his tongue that instantly hit his taste buds— oh, my.

Oh, Lord.

The taste was heavenly, it was ambrosia, it was salvation, so much that he was already moaning at the taste and pulling you closer by how his strong arms were wrapped around your plush thighs, biceps flexing to the delight of your eyes from further up the bed, grinding against the mattress. Not to mention how he’d turned from hesitant to slow, burning, devouring in half a second, drawing the pretty moans from you that’d plagued his head the whole week.

The whole thing was new to you— you were a virgin, and you’d certainly never had anyone go down on you before, so Clark’s tongue between your legs had first been something that your body wanted to jump away from on reflex. But when said tongue slid into your pussy?

You could’ve died and gone to hell right there.

Jonathan and Martha (our famous common denominators) would’ve been traumatised by the obscene noises coming from you both, the groans and murmurs of encouragement from Clark to “keep it comin’”, about how you were “doin’ so well” and how you “tasted s’good”, all things that made you moan, gasp and whimper — now in that order — add a sprinkling of whines when his nose bumped your clit.

All he could think of was pussy, pussy, pussy, the pads of his fingers digging into your hips and thighs slightly, aiming to bury himself down there and suffocate if need be with your thighs pressed around his ears— it’d be a good way to go, now that he thought about it. A great way to go, abandoning all homework, your softness the only thing he could feel, your sweet taste… on his tongue…

Ok, his rational brain would be right back, after a long break.

“Cl—Clark!” You whimpered, hand tightening in his hair, the other making a fist beside your head, back arching, brow furrowing in bliss. It was such a gorgeous gasp of his name, the only thing he could give back to you was a needy whine. That’s right, needy.

He’d become an expert between three licks, his superhearing picking up on the small cues, the little tremble, the difference in this gasp and that gasp, until he felt you come on his tongue with a cry of his name and a loud whine, quickly sucking all of what you offered him up like his mom’s cooking. But sweeter.

As for him? If you weren’t too delirious from the new feeling, you would’ve seen a telltale stain of how he came in his pants— he couldn’t help it! You’d felt too good, his brain had fuzzed over, he’d ground against the mattress, there was no way he wasn’t getting off to you getting off.

”You did so well, pretty,” He grinned, lips and chin covered in you, the word pussy still ringing in his brain as he collected it all with his thumb and sucked it off, closing his eyes at the taste and moaning before leaning up to kiss you gently.

Only then did you taste yourself on his tongue— and you kind of saw the hype, what with how sweet it was, and even though it felt kind of weird to taste yourself, it was Clark. You trusted Clark.

He pulled away, grinning a saliva-lipped, winning smile and rubbing your bottom lip with his thumb, kissing your nose. “You ok, sweetheart? I didn’t hurt you?”

“No.” You shook your head, voice quiet, still in a bit of a daze— oh, his pretty baby. That earned you a kiss to your forehead, and before you knew it, he was creeping off and coming back with a warm, damp rag.

“Let’s just get you comfy— attagirl,” He mumbled as he gently got you more comfortable on the pillows with his farm boy strength (or so you thought), shushing the whine of sensitivity when your thighs rubbed together. “Shh, baby, I know, I know, we’ll get y’cleaned up.”

Still keeping you pacified with a stroke of your hair or a peck to your lips, he managed to clean up between your legs with the damp rag without any pain, thank God, and chucked it in the washing basket before anyone noticed.

He also covered it with a bunch of clothes. Like, in the middle of the pile in there, before his mom saw it.

“C’mere.” He said softly, gathering you into a cuddle, tucking both of you in a blanket, whispering how good you were, how well you took what you got, how pretty you sounded.

Y’know, all words that made your pretty, empty head fuzzy enough to be lulled to sleep.

DAY SEVEN, TRANSFORMATION COMPLETE.ᐟ

A normal night of doing your English homework, steady essay writing that Clark wasn’t exactly equipped to help with, it was an essay on personal opinions about a set text. And it was going great, you were halfway there, your back would’ve been aching but no, some Lord above blessed you with an untouched back. Overall, things were going— your bedroom window opened.

Just as you were about to use your English essay as a weapon, you saw the familiar shoe of Clark, and you relaxed further into the bed, knowing you were safe. “Hey, babe— oh!” You gasped when he suddenly climbed onto the bed on top of you, nuzzling right between your legs as he kicked off his shoes with a low moan. “C—Clark, what’re you, what—”

“Shh, just please, baby, I just, I— shit.” He only responded by yanking your pretty sleep shorts with a bow on the top down, licking over your panties to taste you before yanking those down too— oh, you couldn’t hold back how you moaned and melted back into the throw pillows, panting as you let him do his thing.

You’d only had a break from him going down on you for a day, and even then you’d been asked by Chloe and Lana why you were so dazed lately. Now you had Clark mouthing and licking over your panties, until those were practically ripped off and his mouth replaced them. That was the reason why.

“Oh my, oh, gosh—” It spilled from your mouth in waves. Sucking, licking, at a much faster pace than a day ago, add a plethora of different pitched moans and whines, even more so when your hand buried in his hair. His fingers came up to toy with your clit, because he’d learnt that you dripped more when he did, and he was proud to say that he’d learnt everything there was to know about you, inside and out.

“Oh, Clark!” You gasped, hips arching off the bed, but then he suddenly pulled away, lips and chin covered in you, yanking off his jacket then lying down on the bed. He pulled you up, so you were straddling his face and your cunt was all he knew, yanking you down and holding you by your ass while he made you forget all sense of reality. It’s like he was obsessed with eating you out.

He kinda was.

Your hips moved on their own, grinding on his tongue, English essay clattering off the bed, breathlessly calling out to your parents that everything was ok so they didn’t come in and see… this. And even as he was devouring you like you were the tall glass of water he’d been looking for, you couldn’t resist reaching up, pressing your hand to your chest, playing with your tits over your thin camisole.

“That’s good, pretty, play with yourself.” Clark panted amid moans and licks and moans some more, “I’ve got you.”

Pussy. It was the only word that he could understand right now.

[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

[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.

[buckyalpine]

DBF Bucky

This turned out more debauched than i intended, my bad. 

No thots just -

Dads best friend Bucky.

“C’mon spread your legs for daddy” He has you straddled on top of him, lining his cock up with your soaked cunt, rubbing the tip through your folds. You whine, sinking down on him, feeling a mix of pleasure and pain at the stretch of his length. “That’s it baby girl, lookin’ so pretty for me, God damn” 

Your nails dug into his thick shoulders, thigh burning from riding him up and down, your breasts bouncing in his face. It didn’t matter how many times he had you spread out like this, it always made him feral; the one person that was off limits to him, naked and riding his cock. 

“Such a good slut for me sugar, my little fuckdoll” He groaned, grabbing your hips, and squeezing your ass in his hands, loving how soft your skin was. “Dirty filthy fuckin’ slut, you love fuckin’ your dads best friend” 

“M’not a slut” you pout, moaning when he thrusted up from under you, nudging against that sensitive spot only he could reach. 

“But you’re my slut princess, look at the creamy mess you’re making all over me, you’re so slutty baby, you’re a dirty girl, so fuckin’ naughty” Bucky couldn’t get enough of your bottom lip jutting out, chewed raw, your skin glistening with sweat, your face twisted from pleasure. He grabbed his phone, guiding you to lean back so he could capture your whole body with his cock sheathed inside you. 

“Daddy, what are y-” 

“Shhh, smile for me pretty baby” Bucky cooed, capturing the way your brows were knitted together, eyes glazed over. He captured another of you looking at him with those doe eyes that drove him insane. Then another of your perfect form, white cream messy on the dark hair at the base of his cock, your thighs spread across him. 

“Lean back and open those legs for me, lemme see that pretty button of yours baby” Bucky murmured, gently maneuvering you till your legs were spread wide apart, your pussy stretched around his shaft. “There it is, s’all swollen huh princess, want daddy to rub it better?”  

Your felt your skin heat up, burning under his gaze while he eyed you up and down, getting more pictures all just for him. 

“Daddy” you whined out, collapsing on his chest, hiding away from him. You kept your face against his neck, needy whimpers slipping past your lips, sucking on his pulse point to keep your moans down. Bucky let out a soft chuckle, stroking your hair and rubbing your back, tossing his phone aside while continuing to fuck up into you. 

“All shy for me, sweets? Use your words pretty girl, you want daddy to play with your clit? Make you feel good?” 

“uh huh” Your voice was muffled against his neck, crying out when he started to speed up. He slammed your hips down to meet his strokes, pulling your body to his and rolling over. He pinned you against the bed, fucking you into the mattress. 

“OH-F-Fuck! Da-Daddy!” Your eyes rolled back, screwed shut from pleasure.  

“Open your eyes” He smacked your cheek, squeezing them together, making your lips pout, “Keep your eyes open while I fuck you, don’t you dare close them baby, look at me when I’m deep in your pussy” 

You clung onto him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his shoulders, taking each of his thrusts, your nails scratching angry red lines down his back.  He let out a growl, snaking a hand down, pressing onto your lower belly, making you feel where his tip was hitting that sensitive spot only he could reach.

“Feel that? Feel my cock in you sweets, s’deep, so deep in you, m’making a mess in there baby, there’s so much precum, m’leaking so much in you” 

You clenched at the thought of his cum filling you up, usually having him pull out and covering your face instead. Your pussy dripped around his shaft at how it would feel to have him give you his full load, his warm seed pumping you up, giving you his kids, feeling him throb-

Fuck-

“Open your mouth” You obeyed instantly, sticking your tongue out, letting him spit in your mouth, humming in satisfaction when you swallowed. “You’re such a good girl for me baby, makin’ it hard for me to pull out” 

Then don’t.

“I gotta pull out, huh? Better ease up sweets, choking my dick, I don’t know how long I’ll last with the way your squeezing and milking me” 

Then give me your milk, daddy. 

You whimpered, clenching your thighs around his waist, not wanting him to pull out. You shook your head while he let out a moan almost as if he was in pain, his body weight dropping on you. 

“S’not fair princess, you know I can’t” 

He couldn’t.

You were his best friends daughter.

Your dad would kill him if he knew.

He couldn't 

“Ease up sweets, you’re gonna make cum in you” Bucky warned as best as he could, his pace growing sloppy. 

“Put a baby in me daddy!” Your legs wrapped tighter around him, your ankles locked at his lower back. You bit your lip, looking at him with desperate doe eyes, clinging around his body, “Wanna have your baby” 

“Oh God” Bucky could feel his cock swell, his balls painfully heavy, the veins running along his shaft throbbing. He worked his hips faster, giving you harsh, slopping thrusts, his feet slipping against the sheets. “You want a baby? You want my baby? I’ll give you a fuckin’ baby” Bucky moaned, pounding into you until the headboard slammed against your wall. 

What the hell was he doing, he couldn’t-

“Get me pregnant daddy” 

Fuck, yes he could. 

“You’re gonna be a good. little. mama, n’I’m gonna be your baby daddy, n’you’re gonna be so gorgeous with that round belly and so much milk for our baby” You cried out, feeling pleasure building higher and higher, just ready to tip over as he slammed into you, his hands fisting the sheets by your head. “You gonna feed me baby?” He sucked your nipple into his mouth, his pace faltering further at the thought of your sweet milk flowing into his mouth, “Gonna give me mommys sweet warm milk?”

“Daddy, m’cumming!!” Your orgasm ripped through you without warning, clenching and squeezing his cock, making his balls tighten. Bucky let out a pornographic moan a the feeling of your scratches, legs locked at his waist not letting him pull out. His cock was rock hard, swollen beyond belief as he finally caved, letting pleasure burst through his cock. 

“FUCKK” He roared against your neck, the sheets tearing under his grip as he started to pump ropes of cum into you, “That’s it, take all of my cum in that pussy, take my kids pretty girl, my filthy little baby” Bucky stilled, still dribbling into you while you panted, your body pliant underneath him. He softly stroked your hair, gently kissing your temple, your eyes growing wide when you felt his cock some how harden again almost instantaneously.

“Better have an excuse for your dad baby, cause I’m not leaving this bed till you make me a daddy” 

[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

[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…”

[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

in which... 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

[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.

[shotmrmiller]

‘Single dad’ Soap, who’s kid doesn’t get along with your kid, so now he’s suggesting ya’ll have play dates together so they can:

‘Sort it. Yer ken?”

Your little one has never mentioned any issues in the classroom before, but hey, you invite Johnny and his small terror around for snacks.

(For the record Johnnys little boy and your small ones get on like a house on fire immediately - rushing outside and playing soldiers in the garden. But children can be like that right?)

There’s something just slightly off about Johnny. You can’t quite put your finger on it. He’s handsome, but the intensity in those summer sky flavoured eyes is bordering on too much. That smile of his shows his teeth in a way that’s wolfish, it makes you nervous, like he wants to gobble you up in one bite.

His small talk is charming, with a narrow edge of aggressive flirtation. Very quickly you’re telling him about separating from your baby daddy and everything that’s happened since, then you realise Johnnys told you barely anything about himself.

When you ask he just stretches and replies:

“Nuthin o’interest here lass.”

So you drop the questions, imagining maybe it’s painful and he doesn’t want to discuss his relationship past. A soured love is always bitter to the taste, even years afterwards.

Johnny says goodbye to you with a kiss to the cheek and a promise that he’ll host next time. Your kids whine - they don’t want playtime to end. But you’re slightly relieved Johnny isn’t hanging around any longer.

The next day at school pick up, he comes bounding up to you like an overexcited retriever, planting another overly familiar, scratchy peck on your face.

“Yer all invited ta dinner this evenin’ Bonnie. Simon’s so lookin’ forward ta it.”

There’s a glint in Johnny’s eye that says very plainly there is no polite way of getting out of this arrangement. Then he nods his head back towards the road, where potentially the most off putting man you’ve ever seen leans against a dark car. Face half masked and black eyes boring into yours, so wide he conceals most of the drivers side door with his bulk.

Not so single dad Johnny it turns out. You should have asked more questions.

(Needless to say, there was no issue between your kids - they got along fine. But hey, your WhatsApp picture in the school group chat was just so pretty, Simon had to send Johnny out to make landfall with you somehow. Soon, you’ll all be the best of friends. Obvs.)

I don’t know where this came from - your Ghoap inspired me 🙃 delete it if you hate it NP

you're about to ask him if that's his (very large) brother when the munchkin you do know throws himself at him screaming daddy. oh. you shoot him a stiff, polite smile before turning back to johnny. "wouldn't want to impose," you mutter. he's looking at you like you're something to be devoured. "i know the kids can be a bit much—" but johnny's having none of it. loops an arm around your waist, pulling you to him until you're hip to hip.

"no such thing, bonnie." when you open your mouth to argue, his grip tightens almost painfully. "we'll see ye then. and wear that colorful dress you've got. simon'll like it."

he means the one you're wearing in your nextdoor pfp.

did you hear him say you'll want him to like it? surely not.

[mimasroom2]

“But you’re like…. real pretty.” A Mean Girls Ellie au

Mean girls Ellie au but it’s only up until the burn book scene bc I do not wanna be writing the whole ass thing😭 Janice & Damian don’t exist in this au shhh we don’t need them.. we’re focused on Ellie. Also! Don’t worry ab the ages of characters plz LMAO just pretend they’re all in high school unless said otherwise. This took me a long time to write 2 be accurate 2 the movie so pleaseeeee show it some love ! Literally just mean girls but then I take my own route & they fuck😇

C/w: Regina!Ellie & Cady!reader have secret sexy time but that’s later 😋. Ppl are judgmental but it’s mean girls what did you expect. Uhh Ellie curses a lot ig. Strictly lesbian reader. Allusion 2 reader masturbating to Ellie but no details. David is their classmate (still a pedophile) & Ellie breaks his finger😘! Ellie is VERY morally grey. SLOWWWW BURNNNN.

You as Cady

Ellie as Regina

Dina as Gretchen

Jesse as Karen

W/c: 5k

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

“Here’s your lunch. I put a dollar in there so that you can get yourself some milk. Ask someone where to do that, okay?”

“Dad, I’m fine. I can find milk by myself.” You roll your eyes playfully at him.

Today was your first day of high school. Well, actually public school in general. You had been living with your parents in Africa until you moved to the US, and that meant no more homeschooling for you.

You wave goodbye to your parents as they drop you off. “Yeah, I’m not worried. High school is gonna be a fucking breeze.” You think to yourself, turning around to walk into the school and you almost run face first into a bus. You look back at your parents and you swear to god your mom almost had a heart attack.

Great start.

~

“Thank fucking god.” You sighed to yourself. Finally the first few classes were done, and you could eat. You thought it was weird you had to eat on a schedule now, you could practically have lunch whenever you felt like it back in Africa, just like the grazing animals.

You can finally relax, kick up your feet, enjoy some nice quiet you time and-

“Holyyyy shitttttt.” You slowly take your headphones off as you walk into the roaring cafeteria. This is seriously where they expect you to eat? Sounded more like 100 dying elephants to you. You scoff and slowly start walking around, watching all the people at each different table converse with one another. There’s so many different cliques, and it seems like they just get worse as you go deeper into the cafeteria.

You stop in the very center of the cafeteria. You’re in front of a table with three people sitting side by side, not across from each other. There’s an Asian guy counting on his fingers, a girl with her hair in a bun and a really pretty smile, and a girl in the middle. She has her hair in a sort of half up half down style, freckles all over her face, and the cutest fucking nose you’ve ever seen. She looks up at you from her seat in between them, and you two make eye contact. Your heart practically jumps out of your chest. You’re completely mesmerized by her, but unfortunately the beautiful stranger keeps you from looking where you’re walking, and you run right into a guy carrying a lunch tray.

“What the shit-“ he starts, but then looks up at you. “Oh damn. Never seen you before. The names David.” He reaches his hand out to shake yours, and you catch him looking down your low cut shirt. He makes eye contact with you again and smirks, “How bout you pay me back for my lunch that’s now on the ground. Come with me to the tech booth after school.”

Suddenly you hear a voice coming from behind you, “Ew. Fuck off, David. No one wants to hit that.”

You turn around and it’s the girl you had locked eyes with before. You manage to say “Uh, hit what?” worried you’d somehow manage to get into a fight on your first day of school.

“You fuck off, Ellie. I’m just bein’ friendly. Plus, I bet she’d wanna hit. You see the way she’s lookin’ at me?”

You look between the two of them, still trying to figure out what they want you to smack. “Sorry, hit what exactly?”

The girl named Ellie looks you up and down, slowly. You gulp. “Do yah wanna have sex with him? Yes or no.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head ‘no’ vigorously, earning yourself a laugh from the cute brunette defending you.

“Kay, it’s settled. No one wants to sleep with you. Move along, David. Can’t believe you’re in the same grade as us and yet you still somehow manage to be a pedophile.”

He scoffs and walks away. You smile politely at her, and try to wander off to find somewhere to sit. However, you can feel her eyes burning holes into your back, or maybe your ass, and she suddenly calls out to you, “Wait. Sit down. How come I don’t know you?”

You look around, point to yourself and say “Me?” Then mentally slap yourself. Who else could she be talking to?

“Yeah, you. Sit down, babe.” She nods her head at the seat in front of her, the way you’ve seen guys do. You sit down. You’re not going to say no to anyone defending you on your first day of school. And you’re definitely not saying no to the beautiful stranger beckoning you to sit with her.

The other two people at the table don’t smile as you sit down, they just look at Ellie and back at you. Ellie repeats herself, “How come I don’t know a pretty girl like you?”

You’re caught off guard, blinking at her while trying to think of something to say. “Oh, I’m new.” You shift in the uncomfortable plastic seat. “I just moved here from Africa.”

She raises one eyebrow. You notice there’s a scar through it. “Huh?”

“I was homeschooled.”

She grabs the chain she’s wearing around her neck and starts fiddling with it. “Huh?”

Do people not know what that is? You try explaining to her, “My mom taught me at home-“

She interrupts you, putting one hand in the air in a ‘stop’ motion. “No, fuck, I know what homeschooling is, I’m not stupid.” She leans in closer like she’s studying you. “So you’ve.. never been to a real school before?”

You shake your head ‘no’

“Shut the fuck up.” She scoffs and looks between the two people by her side, “Shut the fuck. Up.”

“I didn’t say anything..” You laugh awkwardly.

“Huh. That’s so interesting. But you’re like…. real pretty.” She raises her eyebrows.

“Oh! Uh thank you.” You look down, trying to hide your blush.

“Ahh, so you agree. You think you’re real pretty?” Ellie has this shit eating grin on her face, and for a second you think she’s no better than the guy who was hitting on you.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know-“

“Wow!” Ellie’s eyes suddenly light up. “Love the bracelet you have. Where’d you get it?” She grabs your arm without permission and looks at your wrist. She rests her chin in her palm and looks at you with beautiful twinkling green eyes, waiting for you to reply. Somehow you didn’t notice her tattoo until just now. It’s really nice - ferns and what looks like a moth. Fuck, that’s hot.

“My uh-“ You swear you can’t speak. You’ve never had a stuttering problem and yet here you are tripping over yourself in front of the most enchanting girl you’ve ever seen. “My mom made it for me.”

“Ohmygod it’s just like mine!” The girl to the side of her finally speaks up, then giggles cutely, “That is soooo fetch.”

Ellie suddenly frowns. She turns to her side to face the girl and scoffs. “What the fuck is fetch.”

“It’s like slang! Uhm from Jackson.” She looks down, away from Ellie like she’s ashamed of what she just said.

“So if you’re from Africa….. why are you white??” The one guy of the group suddenly says, staring at you, almost like he’s disgusted.

“Holy fuck, Jesse. You can’t just ask people why they’re white.” The other girl scolds him.

“Let me talk to Dina n Jesse privately for like one second, would yah, dollface?” You swear she actually winks at you.

You gulp, and nod, looking around trying to avoid making any more eye contact with Ellie. She whispers briefly to the girl, who’s Dina, and then to the boy, who’s Jesse.

She turns back to you, “Alright, jus’ to let yah know, we don’t do this very often. So consider this a big deal, alright?” Ellie grins at you. You just nod.

“We’re inviting you to have lunch with us every day for the rest of the week.” Dina chimes in, smiling widely.

You put your hands up, “Oh you don’t have to-“

“Fuck yeah. So I’ll see yah tomorrow.” Ellie interrupts you again. You really should get used to that if you’re going to spend more time with them.

“On Wednesdays we wear pink.” Jesse winks at you and gives you a big thumbs up.

~

The next day you enter the cafeteria and Ellie immediately flags you over, making a ‘cmere’ motion with two fingers. “There she is.” She grins. She’s wearing a low cut tank top, a little pink cardigan and leather pants. The tank top has writing that says ‘a little bit dramatic.’ You smile to yourself, somehow it makes no sense and fits her perfectly at the same time. You look down at your own clothes, a simple button up pink shirt you borrowed from your mom and jeans. Suddenly you feel way less cool, even though you’re somehow sitting with the most popular kids in school.

This time, you’re sitting next to Jesse, with Ellie and Dina across from you.

“Yknow how many calories are in this? Doesn’t say.” Ellie hands you some sort of bar and you look at the numbers on the wrapper. 48/120.

“Yeah, that should be 40%.” You hand it back to her, but your fingers touch hers accidentally. There’s butterflies in your stomach again, you realize they’re the same ones from yesterday. You thought it was just first day jitters.

She stares at you and keeps her hand there a moment too long, before clearing her throat and saying, “Fuck it. I’m getting cheese fries.” She pulls her hand away and stands up swiftly.

Dina watches her walk away then turns back toward you. “So. Are there any boys you think are cute?”

You try to think of the first girl your mind remembers that’s not Ellie. “Well, there’s this girl in my calculus class-“

“Who is it?” Jesse interrupts you, and Dina’s eyes widen.

You clear your throat, “Her names Cat.”

“No!” They both shout in unison, and it actually makes you jump a little.

Dina actually fans herself as if she’s going to faint. You swear you’ve only seen that in movies. “Ohmygod you can’t like Cat! That’s Ellie’s ex girlfriend.”

“They went out for a year. She gave her the tattoo on her arm.” Jesse chimes in.

You try to hide the confused yet pleased look on your face when you find out Ellie likes girls too.

Dina continues, “Listen, any exes are off limits to friends. That’s just like, the rules… everywhere.” She crosses her arms and Jesse nods. “Oh, but don’t worry. I won’t tell Ellie what you said. It’ll be our little secret.” She smiles at you.

~

At the end of the day, you’re walking back to the parking lot, just thinking to yourself. Jesse seems probably the nicest, but he’s basically got no head on his shoulders. At least from what you could tell. Dina’s nice too, but there’s something off about her. Maybe because she’s closer to Ellie than Jesse? You felt like you couldn’t trust her entirely. And Ellie. Fuck man, she’s absolutely gorgeous. You can’t get her out of your mind no matter what you do, you stayed up later than usual last night thinking about her… but that doesn’t matter right now.

Suddenly, you hear a car beep from behind you. You turn around to see all three of them in a classy convertible, with Ellie driving. “Get in, fuckface, we’re going shopping.” you hear her say, and well, you can’t really say no.

Ellie’s like.. a hot masc bratz doll. You never had any dolls. Especially not bratz. Your mom hated them. She’d probably hate Ellie too, thinking about it.

~

You four end up walking through a mall, and there’s actually a lot of people from your school there. The three of them are just.. passing by all these cool looking stores. You haven’t had the chance to actually shop yet since you’ve moved, and you don’t want to feel any more alien than you already do, so you don’t ask Ellie to stop by any of them. You’re all walking side by side, but Ellie’s the farthest away from you. She points at a shop labeled ‘Spencer’s’ and whispers something to Dina. Dina laughs and has to hold onto Ellie’s arm so she doesn’t fall over. You feel your face grow red, and you’re surprised to see that you actually feel jealous. Whatever she said must’ve been really hilarious.

Suddenly, Ellie stops walking and holds out her hand. “What. The. Fuck.”

You look across the way and see the guy who was hitting on you yesterday talking to a girl who looks about 14.

“Holy shit! Is that David?” Jesse steps forward.

“Yeah. It fucking is.” Ellie crosses her arms and scoffs. “And look who he’s talking to.”

This time, Dina steps up, her jaw dropped. “You’ve gotta be fucking shitting my dick.” Even from knowing her only two days, you can tell she never cursed like that, so it must be serious.

“Dina, who is that?” You ask her.

She answers you, but doesn’t look at you. She just keeps staring at the scene playing out in front of her. “That’s one of the damn kids I babysit. Practically my own sister. And fucking pedo David is talking to her.”

“Wait, what makes him a pedophile?” You ask, looking between the three of them.

“He’s been caught talking to girls who are reallyyyy young. Like, even though he’s 17, that’s still fucked up.” Dina answers. “Not just normal talking too. Like, full on crazy shit. Keeps telling them they’re special.”

You shudder and turn to look at him again.

“Yknow. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be a cannibal too.” Jesse states and looks at you.

Ellie huffs, unfolding her arms, “Follow me.”

You three speed walk behind Ellie as she makes a beeline straight towards David and the little girl. Dina and Jesse are muttering about how they don’t think this is a good idea, which makes you curious as to what the hell Ellie’s going to do to him.

“Who’re you talkin’ to, David?” Ellie asks in a sing song voice, which actually makes her sound way scarier.

He turns around and throws his arms up, immediately annoyed at Ellie for ruining his creepy actions yet again. “What the fuck do you want, Ellie.”

She puts her hands on her hips, “Don’t make me repeat myself. Who the fuck are you talking to?”

Shit.. you really shouldn’t be thinking about this right now, but that was really hot. You glance at the girl and she looks visibly relieved she’s not talking to him anymore, which says a lot. Ellie and David continue arguing while Dina comforts the girl and tries to pull her away from the situation.

“Ohhhoho shit.” Jesse says and points to Ellie slowly taking a few steps back from David while she’s still talking to him, which makes him follow her.

“What’s going on?” You ask him.

He shakes his head, “Just watch.”

“Cmere, David. Pretty boy like you got nothin’ to lose.” Your blood would boil at what she said, but it’s pretty obvious she’s faking it. Well, obvious to everyone but him.

She beckons him to follow her into a small hallway which nobody’s paying attention to. If there was one thing about Ellie, it’s that she could get anyone to do whatever she wanted.

You and Jesse subtly walk closer to them so you can listen. David’s so entranced by Ellie he’s not paying attention to anything else.

Ellie twirls a lock of her hair around her fingers, looking up at him, trying to appear cute and innocent. “Yknow I thought they were all just rumors.. but, I guess it’s true.” She looks him up and down, and makes it obvious she’s looking at his crotch.

He smiles at her, “What?”

She pretends to think, and gently holds his hand with both of hers, “Hmmm..” She looks away bashfully. You almost laugh at how oblivious he is. “Oh, I shouldn’t say..” she eggs him on.

“Nah, quit playin’. Just tell me.” He’s actually grinning so wide, he looks like he’s in a candy store. Does he really think people are raving about his dick that much?

Ellie’s face falls flat in a second, “I guess it’s true that you’re a fucking pedophile.” And she swiftly twists his hand in one motion, and you hear a crack.

Your eyes grow wide and he yells and curses at her, falling to his knees on the floor. She just taps her foot impatiently, waiting for him to shut up so she can talk.

“You’re gonna go and tell that little girl’s parents what you were doing. Everyone saw you, and now everyone can hear you screaming in pain.” She actually laughs. “There’s no hiding now, David.”

He looks up at her and yells, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO TELL THEM!??”

“Tell them that Ellie is the girl who broke your fucking finger.”

And then she walks away.

~

Ellie drives the four of you to her house to hangout, you try texting your parents you’ll be home for dinner, but you’re honestly not sure. And it’s only Wednesday. As soon as you get there your jaw drops, this place looks like it’s out of a damn movie.

“Wow, Ellie. Your house is really nice.” You say, not looking away from it.

“I know right.” She smirks at you.

Dina leans in and whispers to you, “Make sure you check out her dad. Damn, he’s hot.”

You guys walk in and her dad immediately greats you. He’s holding a small chihuahua and it’s almost comical considering how big and muscular he is.

“Hey, Mr. Miller. This is Cady.” Dina motions towards you. He shoots you a little finger gun and puts the dog down.

“Jus’ wanna tell yah.. if yah need anythin’ don’t be shy, okay? No rules in this house. I’m not like a regular dad. I’m a cool dad.” He winks and turns toward Ellie, “Right, baby girl?”

She’s leaning against the counter. Her face is completely blank as she shuts him down immediately, “Please stop talking.”

Ellie leads you all upstairs to her massive ass room. You thought the outside was impressive, but this is crazy.

“This is your room?” You spin around.

Ellie sits down to take off her shoes. “Mhmm. It was Joel’s room… but I made him trade me.”

You take off your shoes too and look around. There’s pillows, posters, and pictures everywhere that are just adorable. You can see a selfie printed out of the three of them that Dina took.

“Hey, someone put on Take On Me.” Ellie says.

Ellie takes off her little pink cardigan. You don’t mean to stare, but how could you not? Her bare arms are so toned and defined..

She snaps you out of your trance, “Cady, do you even know who sings this?”

“Umm.. Weezer?”

She looks you up and down slowly. She sure loves doing that. “Ugh I love her. She’s like a martian.” She says to Dina.

Jesse walks over to a bookshelf and picks up a hot pink book. It’s the size of a photo album. “Holy shit, I forgot about this.” He laughs.

Ellie glances over to look at what he’s holding. “Damn. Haven’t touched that thing in forever.”

“Look at this, Cady. It’s our burn book.” Dina motions you over to look at it. “See, we would cut out pictures from the yearbook and write little comments.”

Jesse starts reading, “Abby Anderson has sex in boats.”

“Still true.” Ellie chimes in.

“Owen Moore is a fat virgin.” Dina reads.

Ellie snorts. “Still half true.”

She sighs and looks at you. You’re immersed in the burn book and yet, you can immediately feel her eyes on your skin. You look up at her. She has a completely different look in her eyes. Her stance isn’t as strong, she’s fidgeting with her fingers, and her eyes are glossy. She looks almost.. vulnerable.

You keep looking at her, puzzled, when she walks over to you and takes your arm. She’s gentle this time, opposed to when she did the same thing to look at your bracelet when you first met her. She leads you over to her ginormous closet. Dina and Jesse are still giggling at the burn book, they don’t even notice you two left. She steps closer to you.

“We need to get you some new clothes.” Ellie says. But her voice is lower and not as loud as when she usually talks. You try your best to control your breathing, you swear you could get off on just her voice alone.

It’s that weird stage or moment in time. Where you’re not entirely sure if the other person is feeling and thinking the same things as you. It makes you nervous, especially because you haven’t done this kind of thing a lot before. And especially because it’s Ellie fucking Williams.

She steps even closer to you. “Fuck. Needa help you out with clothes.” She mutters. You can barely hear her, she may as well be talking to herself.

She calls Jesse and Dina over with a few snaps of her fingers. “Can you two go make the four of us some drinks. Virgin margaritas.” She turns towards you. You’re just inches away from her face. You’re way too close. “Cady, what do you like?” She asks, making direct eye contact with you. “Lemon lime?” She asks, furrowing her eyebrows almost like she’s pouting, before you can answer her.

Jesse nods and heads out of the room. Dina gives Ellie a weird look, but pulls out her phone to look up recipes and follows Jesse downstairs.

You wait a few moments before you stop hearing footsteps on the stairs, then attempt to ask Ellie what’s going on, “Ellie, why-“

She cuts you off before you can finish, like how she always does. Usually it annoys you, but right now it’s different. Right now it means that she’s really the one in charge. She reaches up and fiddles with the collar of your shirt.

“Cmere, baby. I like you.. okay? You’re cute.” You weren’t sure if she was talking about you platonically or romantically. Her tone was so casual, like she was talking about what to have for dinner, and yet the way she was caressing you made your knees weak. Well, you weren’t sure until she pulls you in by the shirt and smashes her lips against yours.

You immediately gasp and whimper at the action, and become embarrassed at how inexperienced you are. But she fucking loves it, kissing you deeper and unbuttoning a few buttons at the top of your shirt. When she uses her tongue, it’s over. You moan into her mouth and your hands desperately grab at her. She laughs and you can feel the same shit eating grin she gave you when you first met her.

You break away, suddenly remembering that Dina and Jesse are downstairs and could be back any minute. “You sure they’re gonna be gone long enough?” You didn’t know how far she wanted to go… but you could guess.

She nods. “I’m sure. Between the two of them, yeah. Jesse doesn’t know how to make anything and Dina’s gonna spend at least 15 minutes making it perfect after she finds a recipe. Plus they’ll probably both spend another 7 or so minutes arguing wether they should really make it virgin or not. And my dads playing one of his shooter games. Trust me, having a big house comes in handy.” She leans in closer to you, “In any case, with how good I’m gonna make you feel, you won’t be lasting very long.”

And with that she immediately starts making out with you again. It’s sloppy and desperate and not something you would expect from Ellie. But this vulnerable side just seems so much more like her. You pull at her hair, and she fucking moans, the slutty sound sending heat straight down to your pussy.

You pull away again, and she looks up at you like she’s about to cry if she doesn’t touch you. You shakily nod and she bites your neck hard. Thank god you’re wearing a high collar button up.

“Fuck, Ellie.” You yelp, a little too loud, so she shuts you up by soothing the bite marks with her wet tongue. You whine for more, trying any way you can to pull her closer.

She hits a particularly sensitive spot, you gasp and open your eyes. You remember where you are, and look around in her closet. It’s a decent sized walk-in one. Everything’s sorted by color and style. Gorgeous shoes are on racks on the side. A nice fancy chaise is in the middle. You see a few name brand purses throughout. Between Ellie’s teeth and your envy for her life, you feel on fire.

“You always get what you want.” You seethe through your teeth.

“Shut your fucking mouth. Right now is about you.” She pulls away from your neck and reaches straight down to your jeans. She pauses, looking at you to ask for permission. You gulp, nodding to tell her you want her to. She unbuttons your pants and lets them fall down your legs just a little bit, to give herself better access to your panties.

She pulls those down too, and places two fingers to where you’re wet. She gasps, and you cover your face with your hands. “Shit, no.” She pulls down your arms with her non dominant hand, and quickly places a kiss on your cheek. “You’re not gonna hide from me, baby.”

You nod, swallowing. You can feel her making circles around you, wanting to push in. “Please, Ellie.” You beg. You’ve never sounded more desperate in your life.

With one swift motion she pushes two fingers inside you, and pushes you back so that you land against the wall. You gasp and are about to retort, but you accidentally cut yourself off with a moan as Ellie starts pumping her fingers in and out of you. Her other hand is up against the wall above you. You whimper as she picks up pace, this kind of stuff only happens in fiction. You don’t want to cover your face again, so you try turning away from her. She immediately grabs your chin with her spare hand and forces you to face her. “You better look at me when I’m fucking you.” She stares directly into your eyes.

You moan at how rough and fucking gentle she is at the same time. You don’t know why you’re surprised, but you can tell she wants you to enjoy this. Thinking about it, this actually doesn’t benefit her in any way. She’s not the one getting off. In fact, she’d be in major shit if anyone walked into the room.

With each passing second, she’s getting faster. Picking up her pace and making no attempt to be quiet, grunting in your ear. You look down and see her tattoo flexing as she uses her whole arm to fuck you.

“Yeah, you’re gonna fucking cum onto my fingers like you know what’s good for yah. Making a fucking mess on me, shit. So wet, dollface.” She mutters through her teeth. You knew she loved to talk, but she especially loves to talk when she’s making you feel so good.

Just a few more sentences and you’re coming undone, your legs shake and she has to hold your hip to keep you in place.

“Uuugh.. mm. ‘M gonna cum, Ellie.”

“Fucking give it to me.” She huffs out and curls her fingers up into you. Immediately white hot pleasure takes over you. You’re cumming on her fingers just how she wanted. She’s still holding onto you, making sure you don’t fall as she fucks you through your orgasm. She’s fucking magical, making your orgasm last as long as she can, until your eyes are rolling back and you’re whining that it’s too much.

You’re finally able to slow down your breathing and take in what just happened. God, that was good. So much better than when you fucked yourself to the thought of her.

Ellie brings the two fingers she used on you up to her mouth and sucks on them. She even makes eye contact with you until she’s done cleaning them. Your jaw was already on the floor. Now it’s 6 feet below.

You hear Jesse say “Fuck” from downstairs, so you quickly pull your pants back up and button up your shirt in a mirror. Ellie fixes her hair and walks out of the closet, meeting Jesse and Dina as they come into the room.

“She spilled one.” Jesse says, nodding towards Dina who’s holding a tray of now three margaritas.

“Are they actually virgin?” Ellie crosses her arms.

“For once, yeah.” Dina says. “So. Who’s not getting one?”

You practically march out of the closet, “I want it. I’m fucking thirsty.” You greedily grab the drink from off the tray and take a large sip. All three of your friends are staring at you, and you bring it down from your lips. “What! Trying on clothes gets tiring okay?” You whine.

“Fuck it. ‘S my house. I’m getting one.” Ellie says.

“And I’m not the one who spilled it.” Jesse sticks his tongue out at Dina, who rolls her eyes.

The four of you sit down on the couch in Ellie’s room. You’re sitting next to Ellie, she crosses her legs and puts her arm around you.

Dina and Jesse give her a look, but she handles it so smoothly, you swear she’s prepared for anything. “Fuck it, you’re officially part of our group now. Gon’ stay by my side longer than just the rest of the week.” She announces, lightly punching you in the arm.

Jesse holds up his drink, “To Cady?” He prompts, looking between you and Ellie.

She nods, holding hers out to meet Jesse’s. You bring yours up too. “To Cady!” All four of you say, and Dina squeals and claps her hands.

You look over to Ellie. She’s still holding you in her arm, she smiles softly, grabs your side and brings you in a little closer.

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

Nora: You know, between Bleiss and Bluby, I'm pretty happy I'm an only child! Wouldn't want a Dark Version of Myself creeping up on me! You don't have a dark twin, do you Fearless Leader?

Jaune: What? Me? NO! HAHAHAH! I Only have Seven Sisters! Nothing about a Half-Sibling AT ALL!

Nora: ... Who said anything about a Half Sibling?

The door breaks open as someone kicks it in. They are a Young man, half an inch taller than Jaune with short, feathery, Jet black hair. He wear a thick, black Leather jacket, Jeans, Heeled boots, and Aviators with a gunmetal scarf around his neck.

???: *swaggering up to and hooking an arm around Jaune* Well Well Well Golden Boy~ Lookin' good for a runt~

Jaune: *removing the man's arm* ... Dawne. How have you been?

Dawne: What? No Love for the Brother, Lil' Bro?

Jaune: You are not even an hour Older than me! And you're not my brother!

Dawne: You're dad and my dad are one in the same~ Just Chill Shortstop!

Jaune: gods give me patience.

Dawne: What? That confident in your strength? And you say I have an Ego!

Jaune: If the gods gave me Strength, you'd be in the hospital.

Dawne: Ah Man, Don't be like that! 'Sides, a little birdie told me you're in a with a lot of hot broads~

Jaune: ... Dawne, listen to me, and listen to me well.

Jaune: If you do anything to my friends that they don't like, they will only get the chance to kill you if I don't end you first.

Dawne: ...

Dawne: *Looking over his sunglasses, dark brown eyes shining* Damn. You're serious.

Dawne: Fine. Your friends are off limits. That list can't be too long.

Nora: Uh, Hi, Hello! he's not lying, Most of us will break your legs if you try anything! Who are you and why are you here?

Dawne: I'm-

Jaune: This is Dawne Angeles, My half brother. My parents had a threesome, and nine months later the two of us were born to separate mothers. He's been a pain in my butt my whole life. As for why he's here ...

Jaune: Why are you here?

Dawne: Transferred from Haven! The other half of my team should be here Soon~

Jaune: Other half?

???: Hello.

J+N: AH!

A young woman with shoulder length teal hair, roughly Nora's height gingerly steps in. She's wearing a full, fancy, modest (In terms of visible skin) Victorian maid's outfit. The long skirt swished just enough to see the high heels she wore.

???: *curtsying* My apologies for frightening you. My name is Eren Jötunn.

Eren: I am the second of our team, and I would like to apologize for the roughness my teammate is displaying and speaking with, though i have been told that that is often how sibling treat each other, in which case you may ignore my apology.

Eren: Mister Angeles, please join me in the walk to the Airship Docks. I'm certain our Partners will be here shortly.

Dawne: Hey frostbite, we don't need to worry, They'll send us a message-

Eren: *Stamps the ground, standing tall* Mister Angeles, I would suggest That you join me in the walk to the Airship docks.

Dawne: ... *sigh* Fine. *pats Jaune on the shoulder* See you 'round, golden boy.

Jaune: Yeah, Yeah, Whatever.

Jaune: I'm glad that maid-girl swung by. She seems chill.

Jaune: Nora?

Nora: She Looked like my mom.

Jaune: What?

Nora: I- I look like my mom, but she looks like my mom too.

Jaune: ... Oh Crabapples.

~~~~~

Dawne has a Greatsword-Battlerifle called "Horizon Line", and Eren fights with a Longbow, coating her Arrows in dust, and a Shortsword on her side.

Eren's Semblance "Thermal Dynamo" Allows her to suck the heat out of air (or thing she's touching) and use it to boost her combat prowess. This is extremely taxing and makes the air around her much, MUCH Colder.

I have no ideas for the other half of Anti-Jnpr.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

ℒℯ𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝒶𝓁ℴ𝓃ℯ

warnings: angst and fluff, Rafe is an asshole. This can be platonic or not ! reader is also just as chaotic as jj. dare I say they match each others freaks.

“Well, here are the hors d’oeuvres right here.” He pointed to a table.

“Okay.”

“We’ll be right back, okay?” You told them with a smile, grabbing onto JJ’s arm, suddenly feeling cornered by the three boys in front of you.

“No, we’re actually gonna follow you in here just to make sure…” Rafe started.

JJ grabbed your arm this time, he ran inside, shoving the doors in their faces, you all interrupting the kooks dining by running into chairs and shit.

They were behind you, JJs grip never letting go of your arm. You let out a cry when you tripped and fell over a plant, jj looking down at you and quickly helping you back up, despite them being right behind you both.

You both ran into a room, jj sighing in relief, thinking you both finally got away.

“Are you alright?” He asked you, his hand on your arm. You nodded, seeing some doors and nodding your head towards them.

“Ah, excuse me, guys.” JJ knocked on the door rapidly.

“I’m taking a shit!” The man yelled. Jj went to the next on, trying to open one, both being locked. He groaned in annoyance and you turned a corner, but Rafe was already walking towards you.

You backed up, hitting JJs chest. He wrapped an arm protectively around you and scowled at the boys in front of him.

“Hey, what you doing in the locker room?”

You both tried to get away, but you were suddenly grabbed by your arms, JJ being shoved onto the ground.

“Cute outfit.” JJ remarked before falling onto the ground.

“Shut up!” Rafe rolled his eyes, Jj glanced over at you being held tightly on your arms.

“Leave her alone.” He told Rafe, Rafe laughing and shaking his head.

“Afraid I can’t do that, bro.”

JJ was put into a chokehold while Rafe stands in front of him. “Hold them still. What- what do you think? A four iron, right? Alright, keep his head still, I’m gonna line this up.” Rafe pretended to hold a gulf club in his hands.

“Very Rafe of you. Five on two?”

“If you could please stop talking? It’s very disrespectful, I’m trying to hit a ball, right?”

JJ struggled against the man who held him in the chokehold, you scratching the men who held you in place.

“Fuck you.” You spat out to Rafe, his eyebrows raising.

“Wow! Lotta talk for a little lady like yourself.” Rafe chuckled, amused.

“Let us go!” You cried out, fingernails clawing at the man who held you. The man didn’t say anything, Rafe turned to look at you with raised eyebrows, ignoring you and just laughing in your face.

Rare leaning down to JJs level, smiling at the struggling boy in front of him.

“Your face looks really bad. Starting to look like your dad a lot more.”

JJ spit in his face.

“All right. It was-“ Rafe stepped back, the lights being turned on and off, a voice interrupted Rafe.

“Gentlemen!” You and JJ were shoved away, pretending to look innocent. “Is there a problem?”

“Oh! Pardon us, officer. No, there’s not an issue. You know we- we just-“ JJ spluttered. “Actually, yes. No, there is an issue. Uh, we got a criminal trespass in progress here. Beep! Call it in, right?”

“Blatant disrespect for private property.” You chimed in. “Terrible, real criminal shit.”

“Yeah.” Rafe nodded.

“We’re in violation of all kinds of shit, sir. But these.. young gentlemen…” JJ touched the collar of the boys shirt, his hand being pushed away.

“Don’t touch my shit.”

“They caught us, sir, and they were just about to take us away. Ain’t that right, boys? And that’s what you should do. Escort us out of here. Ya got us.” You and JJ held your wrists out in front of you, you both being dragged away by the guard.

“Oh, fix that tie son.”’ JJ turned over his shoulder. “You’re lookin’ spiffy, too. You powerpuff girls have fun.”

“Yo, y/n, you look pretty hot for a pogue!” You turned around, looking at the boys in disgust, but JJ was quicker to act. JJ threw the guard off him, you watching in shock as Jj attempted to attack him, but got pulled away while you followed behind, eyes wide.

“You think I’m afraid of you? Come on! Say that shit again!” JJ spat, being turned around by the guard, you glancing behind you.

When the guard was busy, you stormed up to them, none of them willing to stop a girl. They underestimated you.

You stood in front of Rafe, all of them waiting for something. You slapped him in the face, he laughed quietly, and then you punched him square in the jaw, all of the boys being in shock, the others pulling you away.

“Don’t even come near the cut, or you’ll be real fucking sorry!” You shouted as you were dragged out, being pulled outside along with Jj.

“I really appreciate what you did out there, let me just walk out by myself-“ JJ spoke, being cut off when you were shoved to the ground next to him. JJ’s eyes widened, attempting to held pull you back up.

“Hey, shove off, man!” JJ shouted at the guard who kept trying to push him away. You looked down at the bruises forming on your arms, getting up to follow JJ.

“You rough him up?” He asked you with raised eyebrows.

“Not really.” You said with a small pout. “I tried. Got to punch him in the jaw.”

“Hey, that’s my girl!” He spoke, holding his hand out for a high five, you shrugging and raising your hand up. He grabbed two drinks from a table, giving you one and downing the other.

“Aah! Whoo!” JJ exclaimed. “I really appreciate the discretion.” JJ told the guard, finally being able to walk freely for moment without being shoved. All eyes were on the both of you now.

“It’s okay, everybody! Don’t panic!” He shouted.

“Hey, leave it to the men and women in uniforms let’s hear it for them.” You clapped your hands, both of you being pushed away by the guards again. “Rose! You look like lady liberty with those spikes.” You put your fingers on top your head, resembling spikes coming out. “Very cool stuff.”

“Oh, give me one of those.” He pointed.

“Let go of them!” Kiara shouted to the guard, everyone turning to her now. “You can’t boot him! I invited them here!”

“Kiara-“ her mom attempted to get her to quiet down.

Jj shoved the guard away when he grabbed you with force. “Oh, sorry about that. Hey, mandatory power hour at Rixon’s, Kie! Pope, you as well, all right?” He told her. “Rixons cove. Let’s roll. All right, Kie, come on!” He clapped his hands.

“Workers of the world unite.” You clapped with him. “You know, throw off your chains!” You shouted, both you and Jj walking away with drunken giggles.

“Whoo-hoo!” JJ exclaimed to John B. “Colonel.”

“Captain.” He saluted.

“Mission accomplished, sir.”

“Come on, Kie!” You shouted. “Whoo, hey pope!” All of you laughing as you ran away from the party.

—

“You know, you trying to fight them for me is very noble of you.” You told him later, both of you sitting next to each other, the fire crackling behind you.

He furrowed his eyebrows, confused until he remembered. “Oh. That…”

“Very sweet.” You shrugged.

He shrugged his shoulders, giving you a small smile. “I ain’t letting no one, especially not Rafe and his fuckin’ gooners talk about you like that.”