#some call him peepaw i call him daddy

[whxretac]

Pookie Price

[gutsby]

Who’s Your Daddy?

Pairing: Stepdad!Joel x Reader

Summary: You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Deadbeat-Perv-Peepaw LOVES corny porn tropes and women over half his age. Stepcest & dubcon technically bc Reader’s locked inside an appliance, but she’s into it (getting fucked, not stuck). One (1) kick in the dick. Spanking. Brat-taming. Choking. Daddy issues. Size kink. Praise kink. Infidelity. Creampie.

Note: Saw this post by @ovaryacted and started BARKING. For my Old Man lovers/daddy issues crew, this one’s for you.

Word count: 8.3k

It was the closest thing to porn you’d ever done before.

Still, you weren’t quite ready to call it that.

And why should you? Financial straits were no anomaly to a girl your age, especially in this economy, and almost everyone you knew had a side gig of some kind. It just so happened that your job required slightly skimpier attire. And a webcam. And some very special…accessories that would likely send your grandmother into cardiac arrest if she ever took a peek inside your bottom dresser drawer.

Okay, it was definitely porn.

But you never showed your face, so it didn’t really count as the same kind of stuff that your family condemned.

You scampered out of your room the second you heard the front door to the house slam closed all the same. Arms laden with G-strings, stockings, satin bralettes, lace and tulle bodysuits of almost every style imaginable, you ran a quick, perilous path to the living room window and made sure to keep your head ducked low as you did. You peered out through the gap in the curtains and had to squint hard to see anything in the midafternoon sun.

Then you saw it and felt instant relief—they were leaving.

Your grandma for one, your mother for second, and wherever the latter was headed, you knew her shadow would be soon to follow. You saw a thick plume of smoke outside and surmised that Joel was somewhere around the other side of the SUV, smoking and droning on about how he was perfectly fi-i-i-ne to drive, don’t be like that.

By ‘like that’ he meant sensible. And by ‘perfectly fine’ he meant two Miller Lites shy of completely shitfaced. You could already imagine the wry smile on your mother’s lips as she tried prying the keys from his hands. Your stepdad would probably plant a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek to win a ‘yes’ in return—and when she shyly reminded him that he couldn’t afford to get another DUI, he’d get pissed and yank them out of her fist anyway.

Fucking loser.

Fucking triple-the-legal-limit dumbass motherfucker.

It didn’t bother you as much today because you knew they were only driving a couple blocks away to get to the farmer’s market, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d get caught. Again. Maybe blow a 0.25 this time and land his old, ungrateful, law-breaking ass in Travis County Jail, where his little brother Tommy was likely keeping a cell bench warm for him, per usual.

At any rate, you didn’t have time to be fantasizing now. It was your turn to embody some guy’s grossest wet dreams for the next two to three hours. Stripping away layer after layer of your latest, tightest ‘costume’ while catering to whatever requests happened to float in your inbox, you knew you’d be up to your eyeballs in work. Though almost routine by now, you had to hurry up.

If you could just get the rest of this ridiculous gunk out of your clothing, you’d be all good to go for the job.

TRMAN22: Pour honey on your tits in the next vid???

TRMAN22: Milk too. All over you.

Looking back, you probably shouldn’t have obliged that request. Now you were facing the consequences—forced to throw all your clothes in the washing machine because the milk and honey you’d dumped on yourself for that video had gotten everywhere, and then swiftly congealed while wasting away in a pile of laundry for over a week.

The whole heap smelled rancid. Still felt sticky, too. Presently, you chucked each one inside the washing machine while holding your breath, and as soon as the last was discarded, you sniffed the shirt you had on.

Tolerable. With the rest of your stuff in the wash, you hoped to get at least one request off the checklist:

TRMAN22: Bet you’d look sexy in a schoolgirl outfit!!

TRMAN22: Why don’t you try one on for me?

It was gag-worthy and gross. Slightly alarming for a man who was more than likely twice your age and old enough to remember Watergate, but you agreed to play along. Your old school uniform was, after all, the only clean clothes you had left, and ‘TRMAN22’ was, unfortunately, your top subscriber. He’d paid $300 for this video alone.

TRMAN22: Wear some NEON pink panties for me too ;)

You squatted in front of the washing machine and stuck a hand inside. You sifted around, furrowing your brows.

The brightest undies you owned were in there, soiled, but you figured you could get away with one gross article of clothing, all things considered. You reached a little further and continued to dig. When you couldn’t find it by feel alone, you peered inside the circular, metallic cavern of the washing machine and craned your neck.

Not here…not here…not—

You tilted forward, venturing a closer look with your head, then shoulders, pushing into the machine.

—here, not here, not—

“EW!” you shrieked.

In your search, you’d inadvertently brushed up against a mildewed piece of clothing that had gotten wedged between the grooves of the washing machine’s interior.

A pair of boxers, it seemed.

You recoiled as soon as your fingers grazed the wet and smelly thing. Your skull went crack against the low-sloped ceiling of the appliance, and a jolt of pain was quick to course through you at the contact. You groaned.

Of course Joel had forgotten some old, cum-stained scrap of fabric out of his last load. Always leaving his shit around for you or your mom to pick up like he owned the place. And here you went, again, angrily plugging your nose and pulling as hard as you could on the shorts to get them free from the washing machine. You hardly thought twice, just made a face and then yanked on it.

The boxers wouldn’t budge.

You tugged even harder. The fabric stayed put.

Something akin to a grunt and a whimper, only far more pathetic, slipped out of your mouth, and you slapped the half-hollow steel wall in frustration. Surrounded as you were—fully encased in metal—the sound just echoed.

“Fucking…CUNT.”

You weren’t sure if you were talking to the shorts, the machine, or Joel Miller in the abstract. Or maybe all three. You just hated the thought of washing your lingerie with your stepdad’s skivvies, and no amount of rational thought or practical reasoning could hold you back now.

The tip of your index finger sank deep beneath the same ridge of the wall where the boxers had gotten stuck. You curled it inward, trying to loosen the material up a little. You wriggled your knuckle even further. And just when you managed to get a hold of the cusp of the tangled fabric—just when it seemed the green plaid cluster was about to give way—you heard a low pop. You felt it, too.

Shortly, your finger was pinched inside the deep, blunt valley of steel that had similarly snagged Joel’s boxers. It seemed you’d pushed the tip of your finger so far that you were caught straight down to the second knuckle—trapped between two grooves of unforgiving alloy inside the washing machine tub with no clear means of escape.

You jerked your arm back, panicked. When the metal sank its teeth even deeper, you didn’t stop. Completely heedless of the pain, you operated on impulse and by the feeling of needing to get the fuck out of that little space, quickly, and instead yanked your hand back even harder.

To your horror, your finger was stuck.

“FUCK!”

You stared down at the poor digit, only half-visible inside the wall at this point, then glanced down at the heap of sweaty, sticky, slutty pieces of clothing that were presently strewn about you, and felt an even deeper stab of dread. Stuck inside your family’s washing machine with every bit of damning evidence one could hope to have—and wearing your old school uniform to boot—you realized at once you were fucked if you didn’t get out.

You slammed your palm against the nearest wall once more, shaking your other wrist like an unruly child.

“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!”

You weren’t good at solving problems. In point of fact, you sucked at all things prudent resolution-related and regularly made it a habit to capitulate whenever you sensed loss inevitable. You were a little like your mother in that way, quick to give in to life’s uglier challenges. The only way you could conceivably claim to be stronger, the only place you always had the strength to say ‘no’ was—

“Aw, shit.”

—Joel.

Your throat tightened as soon as you heard the voice. Your eyes went wide, and the rest of you went numb.

Bent at the waist and kneeling with half your body inside the washing machine, you remained there, motionless. Back arched and ass out. Thanks to the way you’d rolled your old plaid skirt, the fabric covered almost zero cheek.

Someone behind you cleared their throat. Then coughed.

And coughed again, again, and again. Evidently trying to clear the smoke out of his lungs and the surprise from his eyes as he drank in your sight from the doorway.

“What in the—wh—th—” You could hear Joel wheeze, beating his chest with his fist, “What— in— the hell?!”

“Help me,” you hissed.

You weren’t sure why you chose that as your go-to. It just sounded like the right thing to say, and frankly, you weren’t sure how else to distract from the fact Joel was probably gawking at your ass as he coughed up a lung.

“The fuck do you mean ‘help’?! What are you doing?”

The coughing subsided, if only momentarily. You tried pulling back on your finger again to get out, but couldn’t.

“I-I’m…I was just…” you stammered, heart racing.

You heard the tread of heavy footfalls. You felt them.

“Just—trying…” you ventured again, suddenly at a loss for words and breath alike as you felt a presence draw in.

You could smell him.

That realization alone made you want to stop taking in air altogether. It happened out of instinct, really—feeling the shift of two huge boots settle behind your feet and then flinching inward, further inside the metal tub for…safety? A pang of abject humiliation? You were far past the point of civility with the man, caring what he thought, or fearing for your modesty in a position like this, but something about the proximity now just made you itch.

You wished your finger wasn’t jammed inside this appliance so you could give that feeling relief, somehow.

At length, Joel’s voice dragged you back:

“What’s stuck?”

Too calm. A second passed. Then he added, more stern,

“This some fuckin’ joke’a yours or somethin’?”

“No!”

“Then what—”

“My finger. My finger’s stuck.”

You tried to crane your neck to see behind you, but all your eyes had to feast upon was denim. Bluish-grey stonewashed denim, faded with years of use. Joel stood back for a second, as if considering what to do, and then you saw two hands descend to brace themselves against his knees. He bent at the waist to get a better look below.

When his eyes locked with yours, you got the same twist in your gut as you’d felt before, only sharper. Shameful.

The look on Joel’s face was abnormally bright.

“And how on earth did that happen, dumbass?”

Your shame morphed into chagrin in a blink, seeing the ghost of a smile bleed into your stepdad’s features.

“‘Cause of you, leaving your shit in here!” you snapped. Your chin jerked toward the green fabric, “I was just trying to get your boxers unstuck—and my finger…”

Your finger was kind of fucked.

Joel cast a look inside at the source of your frustration. He extended his left arm and reached over your torso, and as he did, you felt the slightest, albeit solid, sort of warmth press in. The man let out a low groan of exertion—likely at the strain the movements placed on his joints.

The warmth got worse. You weren’t sure where it started.

Vaguely, you were aware of Joel’s thumb pressing into your hand. Gliding down your finger, stroking across the spot where your knuckle had gotten caught, he circled over it, slowly, and made another sound in his throat.

“Well that ain’t…good.” Not one to mince words.

By now, your whole body was on fire. You barely had the strength to keep kneeling, much less speak to the man thumbing your hand and pressing his heat so close—

“Just get me out!” you shrieked.

You heard your mother’s voice in that. A shrill, impatient lilt in her speech that came out, invariably, around Joel. Normally, he would have done something to deserve it. But today, with his hand splayed over yours and his breaths as calm and even-keeled as he could hope to have them while he tried to help, he was blameless.

Evidently, he heard a trace of your mother too, because you heard him laugh. You felt the reverberations of his amusement travel up from his belly all the way to his lips.

“Cool your pits, kid.”

For that, you would’ve loved nothing more than to reach back with your free hand and hit him in the balls. But, as it was, this man was your only hope for escape, and he was being tolerably polite, anyway. He pinched your finger between the tips of two of his and gave it a tug.

“Okay, lemme just—” Joel started.

“Why are you home, anyway?”

The question came out more clipped than you meant it.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Joel countered evenly.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

You reckoned he could probably feel you roll your eyes, even if he wasn’t able to see you do it right now. He waited another moment, then leaned back on his haunches and withdrew his arm from the tub.

“Mama don’t like me drinkin’ and drivin’, you know that.”

With that, the warmth was gone. Joel retreated.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

You heard him exhale a little harder through his nose. When he’d steadied himself against the washing machine, gave his knees another second to prepare for getting up again, you could feel his eyes back on you. Maybe he lingered longer than his legs really needed.

Maybe if he hadn’t stayed crouched like that, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to give your surroundings a second look. He wouldn’t have stopped to watch the rate of your breaths pick up or the way your skin startle to bristle with some strange, unknown sensation. He certainly wouldn’t have felt for himself the fever leaking out from the base of your spine right then.

Today just wasn’t the day for keeping secrets, it seemed.

“And what’s this?” You could feel Joel lean back in.

He was looking again. Peering inside. Steadying his weight with the edge of the washing machine gripped in one hand, while the other snaked its way back inside.

You’d already squeezed your eyes shut by the time Joel got a hold of something. You didn’t know what it was.

But it became painfully clear that it wasn’t just one ‘thing’ that had grabbed his attention at all, but rather a series of items that his hands were just now getting to explore. You didn’t have to see his broad and tan, callus-streaked fingers to feel them roaming over your clothes.

Gross.

Gross.

“Gross,” Joel agreed, as if he’d read your mind. Grinning.

If you thought the embarrassment was bad before, you really only knew a fraction of what humiliation could be. Your finger throbbed along with the pulse in your skull.

Your mother’s husband whistled and lifted something.

“Darlin’, this is just…disgusting.”

You winced. You tried not to pry an eye open, to steal a covert look through the frame of your lashes in that dim and crowded spot, but the inducement was too great—Joel was dangling one of your lime green G-strings like it was a fish he’d just caught out on the lake. Boasting it.

Doting, almost.

“Well I’ll be—”

“Will you quit?!” you snapped.

You grabbed the thing out of his hand and threw it aside.

“Can you be serious? For one fucking secon—”

“Oh, I’m bein’ serious, sweetie,” Joel cut in. Cool as ever, “Serious as the business end of a .45, I swear.”

He paused. Then he reached for a white nylon bustier, drenched in a layer of honey that was as hard as a rock.

“Do you always keep your little…skank tanks so filthy?”

That was it. You kicked your heel back—and up—and made a pass to hit your stepdad square in the balls.

Your aim wasn’t the best it’s ever been, seeing that half your body was trapped inside a home appliance at the moment, but what your jab lacked in accuracy, it made up for in force: your foot plunged into the seam of Joel’s jeans full throttle. From the way the back of your heel plowed into his crotch, and the sound that clawed out of his throat the same instant, you reckoned you did okay.

What you weren’t expecting was a smack in return.

An answer in kind—delivered by the palm of Joel’s hand.

A taut, thoughtless THWACK on the swell of your ass.

Your mouth fell open. Your body barely had the chance to recoil when, shortly, another blow landed on your cheek.

Joel spanked you.

Spanked you.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he spat. His palm had slid up with the weight of his last slap, and now his fingers were clenched in a fist in the back of your skirt. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel him gripping fabric. It was firm.

He was firm—unrelenting in his hold.

Kneeling behind you, yanking back a handful of tartan skirt like it was nothing, then sidling up behind you.

And just when your attention was drawn to some other firm thing, it was shortly diverted by another sensation.

“JOEL!” you shrieked as he gave you another spanking.

The bare skin of your cheeks was on fire. Joel hit hard. Just when you feared you might legitimately whimper with the sting of that last blow, and while the imprint of his palm was still fresh, you felt it move again. Lower.

“Joel.”

That came out more like a whine than a cry of protest. And how could you, now, when he was soothing the raw bite of his hand with a touch that was kneading the skin?

Working the soft, supple flesh of your ass in his hand like he’d never dream of being anything else but gentle to it.

“Good?” Joel said.

Your head flinched to nod, but your brain thought better.

It did feel good. So good, in fact, that your eyelids were starting to droop just a bit and your back was subtly arching into the touch, but those were only instincts. Stupid, useless, brain-rotted reflexes born of years of paternal neglect and replete indifference, the likes of which could bring a grown man to his knees, begging—

“Please.”

But the entreaty was your own, and the voice that spoke it was hoarse. Your belly sank into the circular aperture of the washing machine, and you could feel your ribs scraping close to metal. Nevertheless, you didn’t mind. That ditzy lizard brain of yours was starved for physical touch, and who were you to deny her at a time like this?

No, not when Joel was squeezing like that.

Groping was the more appropriate word for it, really. Notwithstanding the decades of sexual experience that no doubt preceded the man that was standing before you—behind you—today, Joel was unduly coarse. His broad, weathered hand made as if to cool its former sting, but the motions themselves were jerky. Desperate.

He needed this worse than you, the fucking pervert.

Just when the realization had begun to settle over your mind and your legs were getting to feel a little less like jelly, knowing you weren’t the only weak one here, Joel’s palm slowed down. He pressed the heel of it into your flesh as if to force himself to stop, then he took a breath.

“Now use your words.”

“But—” you sputtered.

“I said,” Joel resumed, and you could sense it was through gritted teeth. His movements came to a halt.

“We use our words when we want somethin’, hear?”

It was the first you’d heard Joel attempt to enforce anything close to discipline with you in your life.

That had to warrant a little defiance, no doubt.

Under your breath, quiet: “So ‘we’ includes ‘you,’ too?”

Beneath that one, seemingly innocuous question was lurking another, and both of you knew it: Remember that time you put a fist through the kitchen wall? Was that a good example of what it means to ‘use words,’ Joel? Whether it was adequate provocation or not, you could sense what was coming next before you’d even finished. When the spank landed on your right cheek so loud that it echoed, you didn’t flinch. You did snag your lip between your teeth to keep a sound from spilling out.

“A dad makes rules. Ain’t his to follow,” Joel growled.

You blinked and bit down harder. Watched the broad, amorphous shape of the man’s reflection shift along the back metallic wall in hues of grey and blue and wished you had the strength to turn around and face him then.

“You aren’t my dad.”

“Said ‘a’ dad, didn’t I?”

“You’re not that either.”

Heat was rising to your cheeks again, this time for different reasons. For a cause you were far better acquainted with to date—annoyance at Joel.

“So that means I’m—”

“Nothing. You’re nothing to me,” you finished, tone wry.

Nothing to anyone, you wanted to add. Not with a shiny gold band latched onto your left hand to tell the world that you’re married to my mother, a pack of smokes tucked away in the jeans she washes every week, or a couple years spent under the same roof as me. Nothing.

Your teeth clamped back down—and almost sank clean through your lower lip this time—when next you felt a touch at the plush, covered mound that was normally shielded between your legs. The spot that was hardly ever tilted up in a position like this, exposed to the air and a man’s hungry gaze, now invaded by the press of a single thing: a warm and soft middle finger at your core.

Joel brushed the tip of it against your entrance, through your panties, and sucked a breath through his teeth when both of you felt a tiny squelch at the pressure.

He pressed harder, and the wetness only spread.

You didn’t have to be in Joel’s position to know what he was seeing, but the feeling from his finger overpowered any better sense to speak—or tell him to stop. He traced his slow, cruel circles against your warmth and moved it up to where he knew he’d find your bud, and when you whimpered, he simply added his index to the mix. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind you were leaking heat at that point. You could feel it seeping beneath his touch.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel breathed, voice low. Your arousal made a sickening hiss beneath his fingers as he rubbed you even harder, “This feel like nothin’ to you, honey?”

You couldn’t speak. He knew you weren’t capable of it.

“‘Cause this sure don’t feel like nothin’ to me.”

Wet and tacky beneath his touch, your warmth supplied the answer that your mouth couldn’t form. It came out in more of a tap, tap, tap, punctuated by breaths that were toiling in earnest not to turn into moans too soon. But, as hulking and clumsy as his hands had once shown themselves to be, the old man knew where to put them, at least. He made circles on your clit with practiced ease.

“You can try lyin’ to me, but she can’t.”

He was right. ‘She’ was a traitor.

You could deny it all you wanted, but the proof was there.

Indeed, she was crying. Aching. Bleeding with desire. Throbbing beneath the pads of Joel’s fingertips and growing only more desperate as he increased the speed of his touch. When he notched the drenched cotton to the side, you had to grit your teeth to keep in a whimper.

Joel whistled.

“See? Seems like she likes me just fine right here.”

Your jaw stayed wired shut with the weight of your own humiliation. Instead of answering aloud, you hummed. Made a sound low and soft in your throat like, ‘Uh-hmm’ and tilted your hips, as if you didn’t know how else to ask. Joel couldn’t see inside the washing machine, but he must’ve felt the gesture, because he greeted it with a motion of his own: he chuckled, and he puckered his lips.

And when you felt the warmth of his spit hit you between your folds, your shame should’ve tripled. Should’ve made you flinch away from his touch and tell him that was so fucking gross, Joel, stop, but then he smeared it up your slit. He pressed in and mixed it with the rest of your arousal; any reproach died on your tongue in an instant.

A part of him was on you now. Trickling in, sticking to the most sensitive part of you, and settling into your skin like a glaze. With his other hand, he found your skirt again.

“Who’re ya wearin’ this for, sweet pea?” Joel murmured.

“No one.”

Another glob of spit landed between your cheeks. Now, the man used the lubrication to sink two fingers inside you—pushing them in until the rim of your cunt met his knuckles. You whined at the stretch, felt him coax your walls open with a consciousness and a carefulness that felt almost mean, but then he stroked down the base of your spine with the hand that still held onto your skirt. He soothed your startled cry with a curl of his fingers.

And he found the soft, spongy patch of flesh inside that made your eyes roll straight to the back of your skull, quickly. Working his fingers in and out, flattening the base of his free hand over the skin exposed by your flipped-up skirt, and watching your body give way to the force of his fingers, he was uncharacteristically patient. Exacting in the way he worked your body open to him.

“What do you care?” you groaned. You winced when you felt a squelch signal that he’d stretched you even wider.

“‘Cause,” Joel started, slow. Pumping his fingers through your folds and likely wondering when he’d add a third, “You got your hand stuck in a fuckin’ washing machine, a treasure trove of this slut stuff piled in a heap…I mean…”

“They’re just clothes!”

“Just clothes?”

In the wake of those terse, incredulous words, you tried your best to match his tone—call his bluff—but the only sound that came out of your mouth was punctured by a pitiful whine. He tried another finger but couldn’t fit it in. As wet as you were, and as strong as he was, your cunt wasn’t quite ready to accept all three of Joel’s thick, probing digits inside. You’d fit more than a thing or two with a girth even greater than that in the past, but you figured your nerves might have something to do with the way you were tightening around the man’s fingers now.

Why you couldn’t take more of him in, as much as you wanted him there, felt, at present, like something of a shortcoming, and a pathetic one at that. You let out a breath, and a second later, Joel slowed his motions.

You didn’t expect him to stop. Didn’t hold out a hope he might curtail his pace and talk you through a quiet, gentle arrangement for fitting a third finger inside you—that just wasn’t him. You didn’t have to share a paper-thin bedroom wall with your mother and her husband for the last however many years to know that Joel Miller was not a tender lover. It simply wasn’t in his nature to care.

So when you heard the clink of a belt coming undone a moment later, your senses strangely flooded with relief. He wouldn’t care, wouldn’t inquire, wouldn’t coddle with false, romantic ideals of how a woman should be treated.

In that way, Joel shared something in common with your father after all: he set standards as low as they could go.

“Just clothes?” he repeated, snapping your underwear against your ass and jerking the fabric further aside.

Then somehow send those expectations even lower.

There was a hand splayed out across the small of your back. Another fiddling with the front of his pants, wrestling the button and zip of his jeans in little more than one, two, three careless seconds, before he drew in closer to your rear. Your slit was messy, wet, and exposed to his eyes once again. For a second, you almost took comfort in the fact that your hand was still wedged inside a groove of steel and you couldn’t meet his gaze.

That was, until Joel slid his bare length along the seam of your cunt. When the inability to see him made it so you had no other choice but to be surprised when he finally touched you was unnerving, to say the least.

And when the head of his cock blended seamlessly between your folds, was drenched in less than a blink and nearly notched straight into the place you needed him most—well, that had an effect on him, too. Joel moved his flat and sweaty palm up your back, found purchase in the hem of your blouse, and gripped it. Tugged it down a little more and let a low groan billow out of his throat while he rocked his hips back and forth.

Desperate, clumsy, pussydrunk Joel was back before you’d even realized he’d left. Only now he was keen to put the disquiet and hesitations to rest; he needed to fuck you before either one of you wisened up just then.

Your parts and his commingled again. First, with the lethally warm trail of precum leaking out from his tip. Then the intrusion that followed, inevitably, glossed with self-indulgence and desperation—soiling any semblance of platonic affection or parental attention—as he fed you the first inch of him. Barely half the head got fitted inside and your grip on that was like a vice. Joel’s was bruising.

Suddenly firm on your hips, carving crescents in the skin:

“When’s the last time you got fucked, baby?”

You reckoned Joel had a guess—and it wasn’t correct.

“Last…week,” you whimpered, words punctuated with a sigh as his cock tried to make room for more of him.

Joel sucked in a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He’d barely gotten an inch past his tip, facing more resistance than he’d felt in a long, long time, and you were wet, but so tight. He was big but not so massive as that. He couldn’t fathom what you were saying was true.

“That…fratboy fuckstick you went out on a date with?”

“Didn’t think you even saw me leave.”

Joel withdrew, gripped your hips even tighter, then drove his cock to nestle three solid inches inside your cunt. It was extra snug, but he made sure to try to loosen you up with a couple short, shallow thrusts and a hand gradually drifting down between your legs. Of course he saw you.

The circles on your clit and slow-growing movements may as well have been kerosene in your veins. With what limited range of motion you had in that grey, compact space, you let out a sigh and dug the fingers of your free hand into the closest scrap of fabric beside you. Joel’s own touch gradually moved from your hip to drag your hand behind your back, clasping his. He fucked in deeper

“So that’s who this is for?” Thumbing your skirt.

“Y-Yeah,” you lied.

“Wanted to send naughty pics in the schoolgirl getup?”

“Yes,” you lied again. You closed your eyes when Joel sank his cock even deeper and made you stretch inside.

“‘Atta girl,” he praised.

It might’ve been the first he’d validated you in your life.

“Grippin’ this cock extra tight, ain’t ya, sweet girl?”

Never in a million years would you have imagined it’d come this late—or leave Joel’s mouth in a way like that.

‘Elastic’ wasn’t a word you’d ever used to describe your body, either. Frankly, there was no need for it to be; every one of your partners before had been average-sized, and every other object that went inside you, too, had almost always been a comfortable squeeze between your walls. Outside of maybe your first time and a once-off awkward hookup now and again, you were never forced to feel a stretch to this degree. Joel felt huge moving inside you.

He was nearing your cervix and still nowhere close to the base of his cock. Meanwhile, you were stuffed to the brim, saturated with arousal and his spit, and practically keening at every stab of his hips. You couldn’t reach back because Joel’s fingers were still enmeshed with yours, gripping them hard behind your back. As wore down, fucked out, and desperate as you already were, you were less than only a second away from asking him to ease up.

And then he stopped.

Joel pulled out, let go, and pressed onto the old washing machine, where you heard his touch echo through metal.

He was leaning against it. You were about to turn around. Before you could, though, you felt his form mold into yours—this time not in it, but on it, as he drew closer and once more reached into the space where you were stuck.

“Can you be brave for me, baby?” Joel murmured.

“Wh—” you started, soft, only to feel the words plucked straight from your lungs as Joel leaned his body inside. Carefully, and with concerted effort, it seemed, he was trying to squeeze his way into the O-shaped hole of the washing machine, snaking his arm around your torso.

Pinching your finger again. Breathing just gently enough for his exhales to tickle at your shoulders and your neck.

“Can you be brave?” he repeated, and you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him so soft-spoken, or felt him so close.

You nodded, not knowing why.

Without another word, your stepdad pinched the digit even tighter and yanked it out from where it was stuck.

It all happened so fast. Joel freeing your finger, squeezing it tight, helping you out of that hot and crowded space while your legs gave way like mush beneath your weight—and your hand throbbing in pain. You’d never thought a single finger could cause a feeling as strong as that, but it stung like hell. You almost raked your nails through the man’s arm when he tried to hold you back, holding you up just as well as you stood.

“Joel!” you screeched, like the whole thing was his fault.

You flexed your hand and wanted to sob. You could feel the streaks of pain start to claw up your wrist, were just about to shove Joel aside and wallow in agony, when at length, he did something strange and unexpected again.

This time, he lifted your index to his mouth and kissed it.

It wasn’t a sensual kiss. Coming from Joel, it hardly even seemed affectionate. His lips were so warm and firm and decidedly unacquainted with anything approaching a threat of tenderness that his act read almost aggressive. He let your finger rest loosely against his mouth, and he kissed it again, while his eyes burned holes into yours.

‘You’re okay’ came out muffled against your hand.

“You’re okay—hey—baby, you’re good. Don’t cry.”

You hadn’t even noticed the tears had started to form. You blinked and felt one trickle down your cheek. With the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist, Joel brushed his thumb against that lone trail of moisture. He didn’t cup your face, hold you close, or stroke your cheek in the seconds that followed, though he did keep kissing you.

Or, rather, it—your finger.

Joel didn’t have to care for you at all. He just feared he might’ve pulled on your hand too hard in getting you out.

‘You’re okay’ was being mumbled away like a fractured refrain, touch descending gently to your hip, and his eyes grew softer by the second, surely he had to be thinking it.

Sinking inside you, again. He was standing; your hips were tilted to his, and your ass was pressing flat against the front of the washing machine. All it took was an inch or two off the ground and your limbs hanging limply around his hips for Joel to fuck back into you. He sucked on your finger so hard you feared the skin might actually bruise—a hand hickey, of all fucking things—and when his grip tightened on your side, you knew he felt it too.

His teeth succeeded his lips in an instant, and he was biting, gnawing pathetically as a groan shuddered through his chest. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said the sound was veering perilously close to a whimper.

Fully sheathed inside you, Joel Miller didn’t seem to care. His lids fell like lead across the upper half of his brown, glossy eyes, and the expression behind them was blank.

Safe.

“‘S’alright, baby,” he grunted. Maybe he’d just seen you wince, as he cradled your hand and withdrew another inch, “Keep squeezin’ me, it feels real good. Right here.”

Out of instinct, your gaze drifted down to the spot where his body joined with yours. The sight was hardly a shock, but the feelings it evoked were not—he had you split along two-thirds of his dick, a pretty shelf of belly protruding beneath and gleaming with the arousal he’d drawn out from your body. Tufts of silver and grey littered his skin in every direction, aged muscles tensed with the weight of each thrust, and the warm weathered hand that hadn’t dared touch you once before today was now cupping your chin. Tilting your head closer to him.

“Right here, baby. Look at daddy.”

Wild, unbridled heat flooded your brain in a second. The thing seared the insides of your skull with all the force of a fire and stole the air from your lungs just the same—still, you couldn’t refrain from making a face in disgust.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You shouldn’t have liked it.

His hand ascended your throat in a blink.

“Ain’t that what you want, sweet pea?”

“I—”

Just as you started to answer, though, his cock took a dizzying plunge, hitting exactly the right spot inside you. Like clockwork, your mouth fell open, a whine tumbled out, and Joel took that as his chance to grip your neck even tighter and push your hips against the washing machine, where his height afforded him an easy hold.

“What you want—”

He squeezed harder.

“—what you need—”

You gasped, starved for air. It wasn’t every day a man took your breath away. Not like Joel could, anyway.

“—is me, ain’t it?”

The gaze fixed on your face was alight with desire.

“Bet you miss him somethin’ awful, huh? Been needin’ a man to fill that spot ever since he left, haven’t ya, baby?”

‘He’ required no further clarification. The words stung. You communicated as much by wriggling your hips back and pressing your hand against Joel’s chest, just quit it.

Keep fucking me, but shut the fuck up about my father.

“I don’t miss shit,” you sniffed. Felt the head of Joel’s cock carve a shape somewhere deep inside your body and couldn’t pretend it wasn’t filling a metaphorical void someplace else. You hadn’t got this much attention from a man as many years your senior since…well, ever, really.

You preened beneath his touch. Wanting to feel. Wanting to please. Wanting, more than anything, to be needed.

Joel sated each craving with a simple hand smoothed over your face. His palm moved from your throat to your chin to the hinge of your jaw before coming to rest at the nape of your neck. This time squeezing lightly, bringing your face in close while he fucked you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and your stomach tightened inside you.

“That’s alright,” he said, words hardly above a whisper, “No need to miss that man at all, ‘cause I’m right here.”

For once the assurance came as somewhat of a comfort. You suspected it had something to do with the fact he was balls deep inside you and pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release with each painstaking stab of his cock. You fisted his flannel, holding him there. Spreading your legs, accepting his thrusts, taking each movement with ragged, shallow breaths and moans that blended with his own, you felt your body grow warmer.

Almost febrile beneath him as he tilted your head again.

“Who’s your daddy now?”

You winced, shaking your head. You hated that word.

“Who’s your daddy?”

Joel lowered his hand and began to thumb at your clit. Hot pleasure coursed through you, made you whine at the contact and dig your heels even deeper in his back.

“Who’s your daddy, baby? It ain’t that hard to say.”

But it was. Joel stroking your clit, stuffing you full, ghosting his lips against yours without ever furnishing a kiss, just goading you on with: ‘I know you wanna say it.’ Tough grey stubble teased your mouth with each word.

“I know she needs to cum, sweet girl. Know that poor little pussy’s taken a beating—and she’s done so good for me—but she needs to let it out now. All over me.”

His gaze held yours. You couldn’t turn away.

An unmistakable tenderness pervaded that look, and it didn’t seem keen to depart. No matter how tightly you pursed your lips, made fists in his shirt, or choked his cock between your walls in fluttering, desperate pleas, the man remained calm. Attentive. The eyes didn’t stray.

“It’s okay to say it.”

“C-Can’t—”

“Sure can. Be the easiest thing you ever do—D-A-D-D—”

“Please. Please.”

You hardly even knew what you were asking for at this point, only beholden to that big, swollen something in your tummy starting to give way beneath the push of Joel’s cock. Tightening up, leaking out, practically drooling down the length of this man who seemed relentless in his current pursuit. Two more circles on your clit and you were keening, whimpering pathetic as ever:

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“Say it now. Who’s it for?”

Above you, Joel’s teeth gleamed in a smile—or a snarl, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was the pleasure, the concomitant pain of having to contain this desperation while his thrusts sped up. You were bouncing on him, getting fucked against the washing machine in the raw and terrible central Texas heat wearing a sheen of sweat and a set of clothes that no longer fit your body, but that was just fine. You were okay. Joel was here, and he was holding your head, lips hovering less than an inch away.

“Who’s. Your. Daddy?” His words were slow. Coarse. Spilling into your mouth with every short puff of breath.

You couldn’t take it. You felt a band of pressure come to a head in your belly and the brush of Joel’s cock making its rounds in and out of your swollen cunt, pushing hard, and you knew that you’d had enough. He knew it, too.

“Y-You.”

“Who?”

“Joel.”

“Who?”

Your wet, pearly slick rang a deafening pitch. Enough.

“You, daddy! Daddy—please, fuck—I-I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Gonna cum for me? Make a mess of your old man?”

“Make a m-mess— yes, daddy, yes—” you slurred.

Joel drove his cock, fully coated in you, down to the hilt. He captured your lips in a kiss and didn’t even mind your mouth was whining, hissing, whimpering its filthy pleas for him to fuck a nice, big orgasm out from your body.

“—want yours inside,” you added, without realizing it.

“Sweet girl…” Joel groaned.

You didn’t know what you were asking him for. How badly he wanted it, too. His cock dragged in and out of your precious cunt and was barely more safe from the threat of its grip when you spasmed, at the last. Joel should’ve expected no less, after all the time he’d spent teasing and edging, then begging you gently, in grunts, ‘Cum for daddy, baby. Let me have it, that’s it, good girl.’ Still, somehow, he wasn’t prepared in the slightest.

When you squeezed your eyes shut and kissed him back—that was all it took. When you clenched on his cock, gave the front of his shirt a tug, locked your ankles about his hips so you could more properly increase that friction by fucking him back, grinding in place, he feared he might fairly make an irreparable, unforgivable mistake.

And when the whites of your eyes appeared again—eyelids fluttering open while your lips were glossed with his spit and a lazy smile—and said what you said next, he sensed that his fate was sealed. The old man was fucked.

“Cum inside me, daddy. Please.”

Joel couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. He shuddered, then flooded your insides with rope after rope after rope of his spend, burying his face in your neck and taking your hips in his hands like a looser grip might lose you to him forever. He fucked his cum deep, deeper, darlin’ don’t move, can’t lose a drop, baby, please, he let out a whimper that made your walls pulse again. You felt him fill you to the brim and keep rutting his hips. Your body and his were shaking by the last of it.

And when he was finished, Joel dropped a kiss along your limp, glistening lips. He slid you back on the metal. By the expression on his face, it was plain to see he was loath to withdraw, but he had to. That tender little hiss and the sounds of your shared fluids trickling out were all the impetus he needed to act quick. As soon as he’d pulled out, Joel was back leaning against the washing machine—tilting your hips back a little, then lowering his sweaty, handsome head to the spot between your legs.

The wrinkles to the sides of his eyes grew more pronounced when he smiled. A happy grin, plastered across his lips, would have struck you as almost smug, were it not for the look of sheer adulation that followed it.

Joel was enthralled, watching his cum leak out of you. He kissed your thighs, flickered his gaze to your own, briefly, then damn near sank his nose inside the place he was watching before your fingers stopped him cold.

It was your body, after all. He had already had his fill.

Hardly knowing what came over you in that moment, you sank two fingers inside your wet, drooling hole and watched the eyes of the man beneath you go wide. He soaked in that sight completely: you pushing his cum back in, drawing it out, using the viscous white liquid as a lubricant of sorts before releasing a pleased little sigh.

Joel closed his mouth reluctantly. It took him more than a second to tear his eyes from that place, but when he did, the motions were quick to grow assured, by turns.

As if remembering something.

In a second, the innocent smile you’d seen before was being infiltrated, slowly, by a look you couldn’t place. Joel’s grin morphed from gentle to contented to plainly enthused and beaming ear-to-ear with a conceited glint. With his finger, he tugged your panties back into place.

“Baby—” he started, only to be cut off lightning-quick.

“What? What is it?”

His smile stretched even wider. By that act alone, you were half-tempted to forget the events of the last hour and set your jaw in a scowl. You looked down, unamused.

“What?”

“It’s just…” The man trailed off, and as he did, his gaze descended with it—straight down to your bare pantyline.

You cast a look there too—“What the fuck is it, Joel?!”

At that, two brown eyes flitted back up to you.

“I thought I asked for neon pink underwear, baby.”

Your breaths slowed. His gaze didn’t waver. Your heart came to a standstill in your chest, and you were amazed you had even half your present willpower then to speak.

“Wait, Joel, wh—”

“Shame you couldn’t get around to filmin’ today. Had me hard as a fuckin’ rock with all that milk and honey stuff.”

You nearly choked on your spit. Joel kept grinning.

“You’re—”

The guy. That fucking subscriber. The one who’d paid almost $500 in commissions in the last month alone.

You stared at Joel with eyes as wide as saucers, and were about to press on, when you heard the front door to the house shriek back on its hinges. Two sets of footsteps followed it, and their entry inside was loud.

Immediately, Joel rose to his feet. It seemed that grin wasn’t meant to stay long on his lips, because the next thing you knew, he was dropping a kiss somewhere soft and sweaty on your face and flipping your skirt back into place, holding his index up to his lips and stepping away. Your mouth twisted into a frown but stayed zipped out of sheer necessity. Seeing this, and likely unable to help himself, your gross, depraved, grinning old man leaned back in and planted his hands on either side of your hips on the washing machine. His nose nudged into your own.

“Between us—” he began, slowly.

“Get fucked,” you finished for him.

Joel nodded his assent, smirk faint. He cast a look over his shoulder, and, hearing what sounded like your mother’s footsteps drawing closer, lowered his voice.

Rubbing his thumb under your chin, making you tip your head back to meet his for one final look—then a kiss:

“You keep my secret, I keep yours, alright?”

—

Note: I’ve never done a real writing challenge before, but hopefully this fic will work for #hotdilfsummerchallenge !!! @hellishjoel this is such a fun ass idea & i hope you enjoy❣️

[stinkrascal]

Breanna: It don't hurt, does it? Vladislaus: It is healed, mostly. I am grateful you only took one bite.

Breanna: [ slurping ] You want some of this? Vladislaus: No. Thank you. Breanna: Uhuh. Hey, so is cannibalism a thing with vampires?

Vladislaus: Of course. Cannibalism is found within many species. It is only natural it occurs in our kind as well. Breanna: Oh. I bet that's a big problem. Hey, what about restaurants?

Vladislaus: What about them? Breanna: Do vampires got restaurants? I bet that would help with the cannibalism thing. Vladislaus: There is an entire city at our disposal. There are many such opportunities for fine dining experiences.

Breanna: Huh? Oh. You could've just said yes, but okay. I bet you read a lot.

Breanna: Hey, so do vampires have libraries? Vladislaus: Yes, Breanna. We have libraries. Breanna: Yeah, you sound like you read a lot. Vladislaus: Thank you. Breanna: That wasn't a compliment.

Breanna: Hey, by the way, where are we going? Vladislaus: To the headmaster. She wishes to meet you. Breanna: Oh, right. Hey, so I got another question. Vladislaus: Yes, I'm sure you do.

Breanna: What's that supposed to mean? Vladislaus: Nothing at all. Breanna: I feel like you're making fun of me.

Vladislaus: What is your question, my dear?

Breanna: It was—uh—oh. Yeah. About when I bit you. You were bleeding. And last night, when you cut your hand—you bled then too. How's that work? How do you bleed if you're dead?

Vladislaus: You are mistaken. We are not dead. It is the opposite. As vampires, we are made to live. We experience life in its most concentrated form. Food tastes better, music sounds sweeter, and my God, Breanna, the sex.

Breanna: ...

Vladislaus: ...

Vladislaus: [ clears throat ] My point is, we are not dead, we are more alive than any other. Breanna: That's... good? Right? Frankie: Hey! Heyyyyy! HEEEYYYYYY! HEYY VLADDY DADDY! [ coughs ] ah shit, HEY VLAD! C'MON LITTLE MAN, I KNOW YOU SEE ME!!!!!!! HEYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Vladislaus: Of course. If you pay no mind to the minor setbacks. Breanna: Huh? What setbacks?

Vladislaus: The part where we eat the flesh of innocents, my sweet summer child. Breanna: Oh. How'd you know my birthday's in the summer? Frankie: C'mon peepaw! Get some fuckin' hearin' aids! [ whistles ] Yoohoo! Over hereee!

Breanna: Who's that guy over there? I think he's calling for you.

Breanna: Hello? Mr. Straud? Are you listening to me?

Breanna: Do you know that guy? Vladislaus: [ clears throat ] No. Vladislaus: [ in Frankie's mind ] Leave me alone. Frankie: Aww, c'mon, you don't gotta be like— Vladislaus: [ in Frankie's mind ] I SAID LEAVE. Frankie: Agh, get outta my head ya pervert.

Breanna: It kinda seems like you know him. Vladislaus: [ clears throat, louder this time ] As I was saying--our powers come at a great cost. You will do well to remember that. Breanna: Huh? Oh. You're still on that. I don't really care to be honest.

Vladislaus: You should. You were human not 24 hours ago. Would you turn your back on your people so quickly? Breanna: Who's my people? They're lucky I'm nice enough to stick to blood packs. Vladislaus: The blood packs are a byproduct of our sin.

Vladislaus: For every blood pack you consume, someone must die. Someone must be slaughtered. Breanna: Get off your high horse dude, you're a vampire too. If you think it's so bad you shouldn't have asked to be turned. Vladislaus: Is that what you believe?

Vladislaus: [ sighs ] Forgive me. I am being haughty. Truthfully, I envy your nature. You are suited for this life. This world was not made for me, and every interaction I have reminds me so.

Vladislaus: You, however, seem very good at enjoying yourself. You seek decadence, do you not? Vampirism is a decadent lifestyle. You will thrive. I can already tell. Breanna: ...Oh.

Breanna: [ giggles ] That sounds fun.

Breanna: You make me sound like I put some thought into it.

[lxvvie]

y'all, I made the mistake of revealing that I write fanfiction as a hobby, and when asked about the fandoms I write for, I broke it down as I know best: into cliques. I realize I might be shaking the table but it is what it is.

This is what I said for CoD (I've since add some more stuff):

You got the forever war between Gaz Nation and Gaz Deniers. May or may not be rooted in his attractiveness as a person of color, opinions vary (read: it most definitely is). Bonus points if the racism comes out in full force. DOUBLE/TRIPLE those points if it's expressed using butchered ass AAVE. 🥴

You got the Masked Men Lovers Brigade of which König, Ghost, and Keegan are the patron saints and arguably the holy trinity.

You got the Peepaw Price Lovers who absolutely adore his chonky cheeks, peepaw mannerisms, lumberjack body complete with the slutty waist, and relative long-suffering thanks to the shenanigans of the rest of the crew.

You got the Soap Suds who, I think, have found that relative balance between Johnny being a destructive-as-all-hell force to be reckoned with and the quintessential golden retriever boyfriend. His VA doesn't make it any better apparently lmao.

You got the Ghost lovers who've pretty much diversified him so he can run the gamut of Daddy Dom Extraordinaire™, Babygurl™, Sassy Simon™, and the list is endless. What IS consistent is that someone parked a dump truck on that ass and he has some big ole titties. There's also the subset of people who REALLY, REALLY love Ghost but also think his VA is ugly (which he isn't) while simultaneously thinking that he (Ghost) is supposed to be David Gandy levels of immaculate despite being in active combat. Make it make sense.

There's the Gravediggers who, for the most part, acknowledge their love-hate relationship with Graves and I think that is both hilarious and endearing.

You have the Kult of Köthulhu, König's devoted followers who have allowed him to transcend his gremlin nature to become the long-lost progeny of Cthulhu. Move the fuck over, Cthylla. I kid but he, like Ghost, has also been diversified in terms of his portrayal. And no, he's not a part of 141. Some followers of His Gremliness are also embroiled in a forever war with Gaz Nation so please be safe out there, y'all.

You got the Valeria girlies who want her to sit on their faces. I don't blame them. Please do.

You have the Los Vaqueros crew who need more love shown to them and Pony by Ginuwine is their official theme song thanks to Alejandro Thee Stallion. The less said about the butchered Spanish I've read in some fics, the better.

There's also the Farah Fanatics who rightfully adore her and deserve their flowers just like the rest of the cliques.

There's the Keller Kollective who, I think, tends to intersect with the Farah Fanatics. This lot also deserves their flowers because Keller is a sub absolutely underrated as a character. You'd also be forgiven for thinking he and Price are elated.

You also got the Horangi Horde who, just like Gaz Nation, will RISE TF UP. I think. Hopefully. lmao

And then there's the self-righteous crew who, for whatever reason, seem to think they're above it all and love to police writers on what they write and how they write the characters (we're talking in terms of rather innocuous subjects in the grand scheme of things; the sus shit absolutely needs to be and should be called out). Interestingly enough, this group also seems to forget that they're in the same damn boat by being in the fandom, consuming, and writing about the same characters. The ones who have all the energy but none of the courage even if they say or think they do. Bonus points if they also move like fans. Double/Triple those points if they, too, also use butchered-ass AAVE to make their points. 🥴

The girlies who can't separate fiction from reality and insist on harassing the VAs and their significant others and families because how DARE they have a regular degular life outside of *checks notes* their job. Baby, it was never gonna be you. It will never. be. you.

did I get them all? lmao

[intimacyequalsdeath]

William Afton x Reader

This Fic is simply and entirely just for an experiment and if you babes enjoy it I will totally write more for this character in the future!

Notes: Minors DNI, Smut, Large age gap implied (Peepaw Afton) Reader is legal and of age but can be any age you'd like that's younger then William. No specific descriptions of reader or pronouns used (If pronouns are used it will be they/them). Daddy kink. Oral sex (Male receiving) William Afton in himself is a trigger warning so head that as you will.

"William I've been telling you about this for weeks!" You screamed at him from the top of the stairs of the home you shared with him. Some friends from college had invited you to go out to a bar with them just to hang out, apparently William forgot.

When you had asked William tonight if you could go he had shut it down with a quick "No" before telling you to go change your outfit and come take a seat on his lap. You instantly got angry as you had asked him four other times and he had said it would be alright.

"Baby watch that tone with me" William reprimanded you calmy as he stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at you.

You stomped your foot on the ground like a child throwing a fit before escaping into your shared bedroom. You had promised your friends you'd go out and you weren't going to let William stop you.

You threw on a jacket you had taken out of the closest before heading over to the window, You hadn't snuck out like this since you were a teenager but it was worth it to make it to your friends. You opened it and lowered yourself out of it and down to the ground, using the gutter to help keep yourself from eating shit and falling.

Once on the ground you made your way carefully to the front of the house, keeping in mind the living room windows that William would be able to see you out of.

You called a cab to take you to the bar where you were meeting your friends at and soon forgot all about William at home. Your friends and you were having a great time, laughing and joking. You hadn't seen them in what felt like forever and it was great finally getting to hang out with them, until your phone, sitting on the bar next to you lit up.

Your friend glanced down at it before looking up and leaning over to you.

"Hey I think it's your boyfriend?..." She said confused, They knew you were in a relationship but they had never met William.

You picked up your phone to check the messages, You opened the messages and saw a few notifications for Williams number. You tapped on it to open them with your finger. You were met with two separate messages from William that read:

"You must think your so funny baby, Sneaking out like that and going against what I told you to do. I want you home and I want you home now, Don't make me come and get you"

"Ignoring me is not what you want to do right now. Get your ass in a cab and bring it the fuck home. If your not home in ten goddamn minutes your not gonna like the outcome"

You felt a tingle run up your spine reading how mad William was that you had snuck out. You smiled a little before rolling your eyes and typing out a quick

"Looks like your going to have to come and get me then"

Before shutting your phone off and returning back to your friends. The friend you had alerted you to William messaging you shot you a look before leaning back over to you.

"Are you sure this is alright? He seemed really mad your out with us" You laughed a little before quelling her worries.

"No he's fine! He just gets a little worked up sometimes don't worry about it" You assured her, She didn't seem to fully believe you but nodded anyway deciding to drop it.

You were thankful as you really didn't feel like being prodded with questions about your relationship with William. None of them would understand anyway, it was a reason you still hadn't went into detail with them about William.

You ordered another drink, non alcoholic as you didn't want to push William's buttons THAT much. As you soon returned into the conversation with your friends. Laughing and joking once more until another interruption came from the friend who had read the messages.

She shook you on the shoulder a bit then motioned to the door. You turned to see your William, standing in the middle of the bar in all his glory. Eyes scanning the semi crowded room, no doubt looking for you.

Holy shit you thought to yourself, He was actually serious about coming to get me. You ignored the feeling in your lower regions that this ignited when you realized just how possessive William could get. Sure he had always been that way but he had never done anything like this before.

Before William's eyes could find you, you decided to not have a scene in front of your friends. Giving them a quick goodbye and telling them you'd text them later you put money to cover your drinks on the bar and made your way towards William.

His eyes finally met you as you made your way towards him, pushing past some people with a quiet excuse me. He gave you a smile that didn't reach his eyes as you closed the distance between you.

You smiled back at him sheepishly, starting to feel guilty for making him worry and then causing him to be angry at you.

"Will-" You started.

"Don't" He snapped, cutting you off. "Just go get in the car, We'll talk on the drive home" You followed the order without any pushback.

Once settled in the drivers side William started the call, pulling away from the curb and starting the drive home. At first it was silent before William started speaking.

"I want you to explain to me why you thought sneaking out was a good idea" He asked calmy, almost too calmly.

You took a breath before answering him.

"I was mad, I was mad at you for saying no even though every other time I've asked up until tonight it was a yes. I didn't mean to make you mad or worry I just was mad at you and didn't care what you said" William sighed before speaking again.

"So you put yourself in danger cause you were mad at me? are you serious baby?. Do you have any idea what could've happened had you went out and gotten drunk tonight?" William asked, his voice rising in anger slightly as he spoke.

'Will nothing would of happened! I was with my friends!" You exclaimed back to him.

You could see him grip the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.

"Will" You said softly, you hand moving to rub his shoulder. "I'm sorry daddy" You felt his shoulder slowly untense under your fingers.

"Baby doll, Your gonna have to do a whole lot better then that" He said. Eyes never once leaving the road.

Your hands snapped to the belt and the zipper of his pants. He angled his hips to assist you in pulling them down just far enough to fish his cock out of his underwear.

You gave it a few strokes, Watching the precum appear on the head. Before bending over to take him into your mouth. You heard William sigh from above as your mouth made contact with his dick.

You gave the head a few licks, before one of William's hands came to the back of your head to encourage you to take him deeper into your mouth. You lowered your head, your lips wrapping around his girth as your began to bob up and down on his cock.

William's hand tightened its grip on your hair as he tried to keep himself from thrusting up into your mouth.

"That's a good fuckin baby huh?" You heard him murmur.

You took him the rest of the way into your mouth, slightly gagging at the feeling of him hitting the back of your throat. You felt William start to move around, Knowing he was close you used your hand to stroke him as you continued to work him in and out of your mouth.

William's hand shoved your head down onto his cock as he came, not allowing you to lift your head up and his warm, sticky ropes splashed against the back of your throat.

You swallowed it as he gave it to you. At once his hand released your head and you were able to lift it up. You picked yourself up and leaned back into your seat but not before fixing Will's pants. He placed a warm hand on your thigh rubbing the soft skin with his thumb.

"That's a good start honey, but bad little bunnies need to get punished for breaking the rules" He said chuckling darkly at the end. You scoffed getting instantly annoyed.

"Really will?" You asked throwing your hands up. "What I did wasn't even that bad, you came and got me anyway" You grumbled. William scoffed back at you.

"You just don't get it do you, you disobeyed me. You have to learn what happens when you disobey me. When we get home I want you to go into the bedroom and wait for me, take that outfit off while your at it" He said patting your thigh before turning his entire attention back to the road to continue the drive home.

When the car, after what felt like an eternity, finally pulled into the driveway you hopped out before William could say anything. You slammed the passenger door shut and stomped your way into the house.

You slammed the front door shut not caring where William ways and made your way upstairs. You sat down on the bed, you weren't going to take your clothes off for Will, if he wanted you out of them he had to do that himself.

You heard his footsteps coming up the stairs and soon enough he was leaning against the bedroom door frame staring at you. Your eyes met his in defiance and you could see the emotions brewing behind them. He sucked his teeth and tsked at you.

"You're really pushing it tonight huh?" He asked sounding almost indifferent, but you knew him better then that. Will was furious.

You leaned back against the headboard, crossing your arms and shrugging your shoulders.

"Yeah, and what the fuck are you going to do about it" With that William pushed himself off the door frame and made his way over to you. His hands at the collar of his shirt making quick work of his tie and undoing the first few buttons.

He grabbed you by your ankle, brining you to the side of the bed so your legs were hanging off and he was standing between them peering down at you. You leaned back onto your hands as he brought one of his up to your neck.

He took the tie the rest of the way out of his shirt and pondered it for a second before giving you the first order of many.

"Give me your hands" He told you. It wasn't a suggestion but an order.

You gulped nervously but nevertheless presented your hands to him. He worked the silky fabric around your wrists before knotting it, not to tight but not to loose. He pushed your connected wrists back forcing them over your head subsequently making you lay the rest of the way down on the bed.

His now free hands wrapped slightly around your neck, giving it a firm squeeze before moving down to your chest. His hands stopped, giving him a second to feel your before they moved up higher, gripping the top of your outfit before tearing it in two.

"Will! This was my favorite top!" You yelled. His hands snapped back to your neck.

"Did I say you could speak?" He asked. It now hit you that tonight, William was serious.

You shook your head as his hands once again ever so slightly increased pressure on your neck. His thumb rubbing over your pulse point almost mockingly.

He took his hands off your neck to go down to remove your bottoms, the ones he had never liked, always "too short" he tutted when you tried to wear them on date nights. He pulled them down your legs before taking his own shirt the rest of the way off. Throwing both articles of clothing elsewhere in the room before turning his attention back to you.

You didn't have anything on under either so now you were entirely exposed to him. Entirely at the mercy of the man standing over you peering down at your naked body.

You watch as Will paused for a second, drinking you in for a second before his hands moved down to his belt. Within no time his belt and pants had been removed along with his underwear.

His cock smacked against his stomach as his took his underwear off before standing at attention. You shivered watching it, the excitement palpable.

He moved to put his knees on either side of your hips, straddling you. He leaned over bringing his mouth to the side of your neck. Running his teeth over your pulse point before licking a stripe where his teeth had been.

"Will please" You begged softly, a hand smacked against one of your thighs.

"Shut up" He reprimanded. He moved so he could pick up your legs, bringing them over his shoulders as he pushed his length into you.

You gasped at the sudden feeling of being full as he bottomed out. His hips meeting yours as he sheathed himself entirely inside of you giving you no time to adjust to his girth and length.

"This is what bad bunnies get" He told you.

He began to thrust, in and out in and out at a steady pace. The only sound that filled the room was skin slapping against skin as he punished you. Your eyes began to roll back into your head as he fucked you stupid, He brought a hand up to lightly smack your cheek.

"Eyes one me, No where else but me" He commanded. Your eyes opened back up and met his.

You could feel the heat quickly gathering in your belly, your orgasm approaching you. You moaned loudly as the bliss washed over you. Your eyes not helping but to roll back in your head as the orgasm ripped through your body.

William didn't stop though, he continued to thrust just as hard as he had been. Shortly there after you could feel the start of your second orgasm quickly approaching you.

You tried to lift your connected wrists up to push at William but he took a hand to slam them back down against the bed.

"That's a good fucking bunny!" He yelled, as sticky hot ropes of his cum began to paint your insides white. A hand wrapped around your throat, pushing you into the mattress as he came and continued thrusting into you.

Your second orgasm of the night washed over you as William finally slowed down but didn't remove his cock. His hands reached up to untie your hands. Now untied you brought your hands around his neck as his face went back to yours.

He used this to put his hands under your thighs and lift you up to move you to lay down in bed fully. Never once removing his cock from you. He covered the two of you with the blanket.

"Will aren't you gonna...Ya know" You asked him wondering what he was doing.

"Nah bunny, Your gonna sleep with me inside you, keeping all my cum nice and warm in you" He said holding you against him and running a hand through your hair.

You were simply too tired to protest against him. Your eyes closing as you snuggled into him.

After a bit you succumbed to sleep. Whether or not you had learned your lesson still had yet to be seen.

[cyberrose2001]

Can I request a Ratchet x Fem! Reader, headcanons or or shot your choice! On how Ratchet would handle the reader having a child from a previous relationship? I think it would be adorable see the grumpy medic interact with a little kid, like 5?

TFP Ratchet w/ an S/O who has a child from a prev. relationship (hcs)

GOD I love this idea so much, I might write a proper fic about it one day gahhh <3

I could’ve made this better but my brain feels like mush atm so apologies for that… I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: SFW/fluff, reader has a kid.

Word count: 543

- Before even diving into the relationship, you had explained to Ratchet that you have a toddler from a previous partner and that they can be quite a handful.

- Ratchet did not seem to mind at all; hell, he regarded himself reasonably competent in handling infants, gaining most if not all of his experience from when he was a practitioner on Cybertron. He loves sparklings (and they seemed to love him as they would climb all over his frame when giving them checkups), so how different could a human sparkling be?

- Very, very different, he learned. He had to be careful around sparklings and humans before, but now with a little itty-bitty human sparkling running around between his pedes, Ratchet is terrified that he’ll step on them.

- Ratchet already had his reservations regarding humans occupying the base. Save for you, of course, seeing that you’re in a committed relationship with him. But having an already small human running around after an even tinier human stresses him more than Miko ever does.

- Ratchet will demand every bot to be mass displaced when you come to the base for visits with your kid, whether they like it or not.

- Despite already being fiercely protective of them (purely from peepaw instincts and a medic’s perspective), it will take some time for Ratchet to warm up to them and start having little play dates. And to the idea of becoming a step-sire to the kid.

- His frame is a bit too rusty to stay on the floor and play Tonka trucks with them. But who needs toy trucks when you have an actual truck to play with? He’ll drive them around the base for joy rides (with your permission, of course), his hardened spark defrosting from the pride he feels hearing their joyous laughter from the passenger seat.

- On one occasion, your toddler patters over to Ratchet and takes his servo; he’s confused but begrudgingly allows them to drag him off somewhere. He glances back at you in a silent plea but is met with your amused expression.

- “Daddy, follow me? I want to show you a something.”

- Ratchet is inwardly sobbing when they call him ‘Daddy’ for the first time, choking back tears when they drag him to greet everyone around the base with an enthusiastic “Say hello, dada!”.

- “Yes, yes. Uh, hello.” Ratchet.exe is not working. Initiate crying and sobbing mode?

- After being dragged around by them, Ratchet offers to help prepare them for bed, still reeling from the immense pride he feels. He’ll help you bathe them, dress them and ensure that they get any medications that they may require before tucking them in.

- Sometimes, Ratchet lays in berth with your toddler curled up on his lap, reading them a bedtime story. And you’ll often find them both asleep with the children’s book slipping away from his servo.

- You’d watch from the door with a warm smile, heart nearly bursting out of your chest, watching him slowly become more comfortable with taking on the important role of a father figure. You’d eventually join the adorable sleep fest, but not before snapping a photo on your phone to keep as your wallpaper.

[unfilteredaj]

Some different versions of Willy Wonka as described by me:

Gene Wilder (The Candyman): (OG Movie)

• Peepaw’s just a little unhinged, babes.

•Currently singing Sea Shanties at the top of his lungs. <3

• Perfectionist

• “Blondes have more fun. ^^” *murders a small child by chocolate river*

• Says ‘fuck’ on a regular basis.

•Autistic

•Will fully talk shit but no one calls him out on account of the Autism.

Johnny Depp: (The Recluse): (Tim Burton Remake)

•Has THE hot gossip.

• <3 Daddy Issues <3

•Anti-Social cause these bitches are WACK.

•Does not know how to interact with other people.

• Germaphobe.

•Sunglasses inside because he can’t even LOOK at these hoes-

• Also Autistic

Christian Borle: (Broadway Version)

• A Homosexual.

• Delusional and Musical

• Old Theater Gay

•Talks mad shit but cutely.

• Will Sic his army of tiny chocolate mixing assassins on you and Blame Them for your death.

• smokes a shit ton of Weed. He is currently high out of his fucking MIND and GETTING WORK DONE.

•If anyone even LOOKS at Charlie wrong they will die.

• Autism AND Adhd

Timothee Chalamet: (The Eldrich candy Elemental is Babey?)

•Mama issues.

• Oh no the sickly little victorian boy is actually an oblivious Magic user who can literally create things from sheer imagination alone.

• The POSTER CHILD for undiagnosed Autism.

• Literally warps reality to get what he wants

• “I won’t let this sign stop me because I CAN’T READ.” Energy

• Is unaware of the immense power he possesses. His vibes are just THAT immaculate.

•Fuchsia is his favorite color.

• his candy is technically drugs. Its… ITS DRUGS.

• Is very sweet and nice and oblivious but has a deep underlying unsettling element about him. I fully believe this man could destroy the city with a chocolate Tsunami if he felt so inclined.

• will say the most UNHINGED shit and no one bats an eye because he’s pretty.

•Go little autism creecher GO!

[copias-girl]

The Papas vs Technology Headcanons

Ask and you shall receive! @ivyanddaisies

Prompt here

Primo

Ok Peepaw has no use for social media or technology. He’s still marvelling at his vintage tube tv, because he’s old and he was around before the tv <3 And he’d literally rather send a raven with a message rather than text. You pushed him to give it a shot, and being the sweet elder goth that he is, he gave it the good old college try just for you. Alas, he grew frustrated easily. He kept having to whip out the reading glasses to read what was on the screen, and he couldn’t tell if that vibrating in his pocket was the iPhone or if he was having a seizure. Not to mention, he accidentally activated Siri on several occasions and he thought the spirit of a demon was speaking to him and apparently telling him the weather forecast. The only thing he really found a use for was the gardening stuff on Pinterest, but he has plenty of books in the library for that anyway. And as for nudes? He has a Polaroid camera for that. Our sweet old man much prefers the feeling of answering calls on his candlestick phone, and he’ll gladly leave the selfie-taking to you ♥︎

Secondo

Alright, Mr. Worldwide tries to be hip and cool, so he definitely owns the latest iPhone. However, he’s had to replace it several times because when he gets frustrated, that thing goes flying across the room. He tried to use the voice dictation one time and his entire text came out hilariously wrong so he threw his phone out of one of the ministry windows. He texts with one finger like an old man, never uses emojis (he calls them hieroglyphics), and he keeps telling you that he wants to “duck your brains out”. He genuinely tries to take selfies, and that can be hit or miss. Sometimes it’s a typical old man selfie where you can see all the way up his nose, but he did execute this fantastic shirtless selfie one time,,, Bone Daddy starts an Instagram where he makes a few adorably lame posts trying to be edgy and dark. But he mainly uses that to post selfies (ones you’ve taken of the both of you) to show you off. He loves when you send him dirty pictures and he’s also found that FaceTime is perfect for some,,, fun activities 👀

Terzo

Oh my god, the biggest social media whore. He’s only two months younger than Secondo, but he’s somehow overcome his oldness and mastered the art of the iPhone. He has an Instagram, where he posts pictures of the two of you on dates or in bed together covered in rose petals and lip prints. Dude even has Snapchat, where he updates his story with some chaotic videos every now and then. He can text with his thumbs, but he does make some really hilarious typos which are exceptionally frustrating when he’s trying to sext with you (this man demands nudes from you constantly). He actually knows what most emojis mean- he will literally text you the eggplant emoji next to everything 🍆- and only has to ask for your help to decipher some of them. He rubs it in his brothers’ faces as much as he can, calling them old men because they don’t know how to use tech as well as he does. And Secondo finds his use of emojis really irritating because he has no idea what the fuck ‘🤪😝🙃🫠🥴🙄🥸💀’ means

Copia

Oh, Copia. Sweet pitiful Copia. He tries, he really does, but this man has no idea how to use emojis. He types with one finger, makes plenty of typos, and always uses the rat emoji for no apparent reason. Also, he disperses emojis into sentences so his texts always read like this:

Ciao 👋🏻🐀 bella 😚 I am going 🔜 to feed 🧀 my rats 🐀 want to come 😀 with me?🤝🏻

He’s such a dork and you never ever correct him because it’s just too charming. His selfies are often painfully awkward, because he thinks that just staring dead-eyed into the camera and snapping the picture constitutes as a selfie. And he’ll post those on Insta too, sometimes with captions that he got off Pinterest. Or sometimes the captions will be about rats for literally no reason. However, he does make awfully sweet posts about you that have your heart melting when you read them. This sweet man LOVES when you send him naughty pictures and rile him up via text. It gives him a thrill and makes him feel so special. Copia also surprisingly uses Pinterest occasionally, because he finds it relaxing. He’s such a gentle soul, and he enjoys saving things about pet rats, aesthetic things that he’d like to show you later, or even some recipes that the two of you could cook together. However, he doesn’t use Pinterest correctly. He doesn’t pin things, he just screenshots them (because you taught him how to take a screenshot). So even though he isn’t the most religious social media user or the best at working technology, he tries and has a good time ♥︎

[lunatic-pudge]

Postal Dude 4 with a Younger S/O (Requested by glamourghoul)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is moreso on the goofy side. I couldn't help myself. I love this man

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Okay, this is basically the dream for me. An older guy with a younger partner is something I yearn for IRL but then get scared when the opportunity is thrown my way

-And of course this fucker is one of those guys who just gets hotter the older he gets, so it's hard to resist him

-Now Dude is one of those people where he doesn't care about age, as long as it's legal sort of deal (Though I do see him having limits, like not wanting to be with someone who's 18 or 19. Gotta at least be in your 20's). He doesn't actively seek out people older or younger than him

-It just happens that he ends up in a relationship with someone younger (which is you, the cool and kick ass reader). Like, oh you're in your 20's? Cool. Dude remebers when he was in his 20's. He was stuck in a shitty marriage and dealing with the weird people of Paradise

-Though, he'd probably have existential (midlife crisis) crisis if you mention your birth year (What do you mean the year 2000 was 24 years ago?! It was 1998 just yesterday!)

-He's such an old man, I love him. He's not as young and limber as he used to be, so he doesn't go out and do crazy shit often. Every now and then, he will, but he prefers to stay inside and not deal with the crazies

-He does like that you're so much more lively and active then he is. If he did the things you can do, he'd probably break his hip. He probably needs you to massage his old man bones

-Imagine showing his modern stuff like Tik Tok. He'd be so confused at it all. Or show him a current meme. His old ass doesn't get it. The worst part is, he'd be like a cringy parent with it, talking about skibidi toilet and having major rizz. Instant fun killer and almost killing you with his cringe

-But, I do see a plus side here, if you're into more older stuff (think like the 90's, he'd be the perfect person to talk to about it. I just know this man was into the nu mental scene back in the day. He got to enjoy some good shit (I'm not jealous, you are)

-Do I see hom making Daddy jokes cause of the age gap? Yes, yes I do

-Make fun of him for being old. Call him Peepaw Dude. You know no matter how old he gets, he's still gonna relentlessly bully you. So it's only fair to bully him back. Oh, it's his 43rd birthday? Make sure to get some number candles, like 89 or older, and a grandpa birthday card. If you buy him a wheelchair as a joke (or even a rascal if you have that kind of money) his lazy ass would use it. Deck that wheelchair out in Hello Kitty stickers

-Ask him what it was like to live in the Permian Period. Make it seem like he was alive when the dinosaurs were

[dokoni-mo]

Just to be clear, this isn’t a request, this is a thirst with a question!

So say it’s Halloween in the bunny universe, and Micheal leaves to go spend it with his siblings. So naturally, our favorite Peepaw Afton invites his darling little bunny over, because he just misses them so much. And maybe they haven’t been able to see each other for a little, so William daddy is certainly pent up and just want to feel bunny again

Bunny knows this. They’ve missed him too, and they want to surprise him. Really surprise him. So how will they do it?

Purple Playboy bunny suit. A purple playboy bunny suit. The ears, the tail, the bow tie, and the cuff bracelets all, of it.

Bunny might end up giving him a heart attack

There is something I’d like your opinion on. I can’t decide if William would prefer fishnets, regular tights, or bare legs. I’m kinda leaning towards regular tights, I feel like he would love to rip them to get to his bunny faster 💜

cherry my beloved you are gonna be the death of me /pos

minors dni

warnings: just some word vomit loll, age-gap relationship (reader 20 will almost 40 you know the deal), swearing, sensual touching, sir kink, dom/sub understones, established relationship, not proofread bc i was typing this at like 3872 words per second aklsdfj

Will is definitely definitely a see-through tights kinda guy. Like you know the ones that are kinda sheer, but still have some color to them? He definitely likes those. Fishnets are just a pain to take off. And bare legs are fine of course, but there's just something about the tights that really get him going. Maybe its the fact that they're just barely covering what he wants? Or just likes the look to them? Maybe. But in my opinion, it would be more so because he could rip them off, and he likes the way the plush of your thighs pokes out of them when he does. He loves how soft his bunny is, and unwrapping them like a present just for him is a (not-so) guilty pleasure of his.

I can also see him as like the type of person where like he thinks he's expected to come up with all the surprises and all that in the relationship. He very much likes to wear the pants, and what he says goes. He just wants his bunny to be good for him and love him unconditionally. That's all he ever asks. And when little bunny is good for him, that's when he gets to spoil them.

So if you were to show up in such a surprise for him?? Oh my goodness gracious. He'd be fucking floored.

When Michael told him that he'd be taking out Liz and Evan for halloween, William just knew it was the perfect opportunity to see you. Around the holiday, the diner gets busier than ever decorating and doing on-brand things in celebration. William is an old fart that hates both kids and halloween, so that week is always super stressful for him. Adding on to the stress, he barely gets a chance to see his bunny. Can't even call them on the phone. He gets really fucking frustrated. To the point he can't even relieve himself. When you finally come over halloween night, he's already drooling over having you in his bed again, imagining all the different ways he'll get to play with his bunny.

I can imagine you showing up in like,, an almost comically large coat trynna keep the outfit a secret,, so when he opens the door he's just like,

"Bunny? Are you alright? I don't believe it's that cold... Are you not feeling well, love?"

You scuttle inside and he shuts the door behind you, "No, no, It's just... I didn't know how else to keep your surprise a surprise."

"A surprise? For me? My darling, you know you don't have to do anything like that. Just having you here is all I need, sweet thing."

You take him by the hand and drag him into his bedroom, your cheeks heated in your embarrassment, "Just... trust me, okay? I think you're gonna like it."

He sits on the edge of his bed as you stand in front of him, too nervous to make any sort of eye contact. He watches as you slowly but surely take off your coat and drop it to the floor, feeling heat creeping down his neck as you put on your little bunny-ear headband.

Fucking god you're so cute to him. And purple too? You payed attention well, didn't you bunny? You picked that color for him, didn't you? Oh, his precious little one. His sweet adorable rabbit. You missed him too, didn't you? Of course you did. He missed you just as much. Can't you see it? Especially in the way his pants were already staring to tent?

"I-I'm sorry if you don't like it, but..." you peeped out, "I just saw it at the store and... You always say I'm your bunny, so..."

William didn't say a word as he stood up from his seat, reaching out and grabbing you by the waist and pulling you close. His large, strong hands were already wandering your body, feeling the fabric of your little costume on his fingertips. Pressed against him, you could already feel the effect your little surprise had on him against your thigh as he whispered to you.

"You have five seconds to get on that bed. Now. Or sir won't be very kind to you tonight, bunny."

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Rant time:

I am seriously, seriously considering being done with the Pedro Pascal fandom at this point.

I love Pedro immensely and will continue to admire and support him and root for him. But his "fans"? The loud obnoxiously ignorant stans that allegedly love him but spew stupid shit about him and act like his rogue publicist who've objectified him and bray like empty-headed hooligans about "PEEPAW/OLD MAN/DADDY" over every little thing? Who speak in degrading terms or reference him in covertly disparaging ways couched between catcalling and snide envy? Fuck ya'll.

He's a grown-ass man! Just because the majority of the new wave of fans that are sharing content about him are younger doesn't mean they have to act like their I.Q. is the same number as their age.

The rest of us have been ambivalent, albeit complicit by not calling these "fans" out, which has led to the fandom becoming increasing toxic and insufferable as a whole.

The one thing a lot of us actively enjoy and spend our free time building on is community. Some only have this community to share and make friends in, around a common - and RESPECTFUL - goal: Celebrating and creating fun content. Encouraging each other and yes - rooting for more good to happen in the fandom, especially to the person that inspires said fandom. What's been happening for a while now within this fandom is not keeping with any of that, which pisses me off. It's coming off as resentful, degrading, disparaging, and obsessive. Not to mention eye-roll-inducingly-annoying.

I could go on and on, but I won't.

[finniestoncrane]

Who is the kinky-est Riddler/has the most taboo kink(s)?

Kinkiest Riddler

General!Riddler Headcanons ok so i stand by a lot of my original assertions on kinks, so my gut instinct was dano, but then i realised there's probably something "taboo" about them all and then i realised a deeper truth so this is them ranked from least to most kinky with their kinkiest kink 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: "taboo" kinks mentioned but not described

young justice

he's just a sweet little vanilla pudding, he'll give anything a try but he's not kinky himself and he's not even a little bit sorry or embarrassed by that, and neither should he be kinkiest kink: lingerie

btaa

he thinks he's kinky and creative, but really he just likes the most obvious things like the lightest bit of a daddy!kink or changing up sexual positions mid-way through the act kinkiest kink: spanking

capullo

he likes to think he's a dirty boy who does filthy things to you, but he's just another run of the mill guy with a slight degradation kink and an inkling towards the most basic sub/dom dynamics kinkiest kink: exhibitionism

gotham

he's a little bit more adventurous, but still nowhere near the kinkiest of the mean green beans, but i gotta give it to him for his willingness to try things and his inadvertent admittal to some wackier kinks. and obviously the choking thing kind of... goes a bit harder with him kinkiest kink: pet play

twojar

he's pretty standard actually, but it's the commitment to it that gives him the edge. whatever he's into, or whatever you're doing, he's giving it 100% and doing it by the book, taking it to it's extremes kinkiest kink: bondage

unburied

absolutely filthy little deviant. he'd be up for everything and anything to try it at least once. he likes combining kinks with a bit of public/risky sex too kinkiest kink: cuckolding

arkham

he's so down for anything as long as he can be incredibly rough and cruel during and then offer some stifled but genuinely heartfelt aftercare. he likes being in control and being rough, and needs you to call him master kinkiest kink: humiliation/degradation

dano

disgusting boy, much to my absolute pleasure. i know he's into everything naughty. voyuerism, somnophilia, panty-sniffing and thievery, little bit of stigmatophilia too. you name it, if it would make the nuns at the orphanage combust, he's into it. kinkiest kink: cnc

telltale

ok i have no idea what peepaw is into. probably everything. i wouldn't put a single kink past him. he knows kinks i could only ever dream of. he's got an encyclopedia's worth of knowledge on the subject. and i don't doubt that some of them are incredibly dangerous and risky kinkiest kink: i don't even wanna know

[beefrobeefcal]

okay so mr. fantastic. i am sooooo bummed about this because i have atomic marvel fatigue. but objectively, marvel has been consistently awful lately, and pedro is so above this now. (i think a part of him will always have a struggling-actor-sized-chip on his shoulder, making him unable to say no to these kinds of roles. i mean that and the millions of dollars they’re probably throwing at him)

BUT, to the important stuff. i don’t think pedro will (or can lmfao) get into six pack shape, even for marvel. i don’t think it’s necessary because lots of marvel suits have been cgi lately (spider man would be the perfect comparison here). i think they’re gonna slap him in some grey tracking pjs and edit his body. if they have any sense they’ll keep his dad bod, his fan base is rabid about it not in spite of it.

while i’m here, i’d like to place my bed that they will poke fun at his dad bod à la david harbour in black widow. i bet it will be something like him realizing his stretchy powers and suck in his stomach and stretch into the “perfect” body, then let go. seems like a super lame and mildly fatphobic gag marvel would do.

Why would you say something so controversial yet so brave, Nonnnie?

All jokes aside, I do agree about Marvel fatigue (I haven’t felt hype for an MCU project in a hot minute), but let me be clear: my love/need/appreciation for Peepaw will obliterate any concerns I have for this project.

I sat thru The Bubble (no hate no shade to those who enjoyed it). I paid an obscene amount of money for a French dvd copy of Strange Way of Life (shame me for my impulse control). Baby, if seeing Pedro on the big screen means I have to sit through a movie franchise that I legit have no interest in - I WILL.

That being said, I saw a post earlier today that indicated Peepaw is at his peak beefiness (hello me and my call sign) and he’s been cast as one of the thinnest super heroes. Gotta be honest, cgi or not, that BTS shot we’ll get of him in mocap suit will make all this worth it imo.

AND IF YOUR PREDICTION IS TRUE, NONNIE, I WILL NOT SURVIVE. YOU HEAR ME? CHIEF DADDY HOPPER IN BLACK WIDOW MADE ME LOSE TIME AND SPACE. I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO HANDLE IF THAT IS PEEPAW AT THE END OF THAT NARRATIVE.

Thank you, Nonnie, for your thought provoking ask!

What-a-man-what-a-man regards,

Beefro👌🥩💜

[porkcutletbowl44]

So I will write this ask while reading chapter 16 because my mind is too smooth to do it afterwards.

frist of all, SINCE WHEN CAN YOU TWIST OPEN A BEER BOTTLE BABY GIRL BEER BOTTLES ARE NORMALLY CAPS ONLY THE CHEAP ONE IN PASTIC IS WITH A TWIST OPENING

damn my german ass came out for a sec. But i really think they would have proper beer. The shit in the plastic bottles is piss with the wrong label on it and I don't even like beer to begin with LOL But it seems they are into it which… damn kinda sad but I guess that's a german thing to see cheap beer as a crime 😭💀

God, I love the interactions with the boys sooo much! It's so funny and makes me miss my old friend group. well at least the good parts of it and that wasn't much to being with 🥴

microwaving cereal 😭😭😭 I'm laughing so hard right now omg I never was drunk in my 24 years of living so it always makes me the one who holds the hair or fight of the guys who think they could get a quick fun. No fun with me, I will ruin they're night for good haha Only got tipsy twice and the first time I kinda regret because I didn't register how much the one dude overstep the line with this one girl. Mind you I just met her at the party but she was so sweet. God I would have beaten the living shit out of him. Still hate him to this day and he is a close friend of my cousin which is like a sister to me. Damn sorry for the rant LOL

NO HE DOES NOT ACT LIKE THIS MY GOD THIS MAN MAKES ME SO MAD I never wanted to punch a character in a fic so much as I want to punch Simon. Wtf is he thinking? Mf was cheating, is engaged with another woman who makes our life way too hard and he thinks it's all fine and dandy to tell us that WE are selfish??????

Jesus fucking Christ, Keegan needs to punch the shit out Simon. Holy moly macaroni i'm so mad

"Rank ain't gonna save you from a broken nose."

OMG JUST DO IT! BEAT HIM OMG PLS

I don't get it. I DON'T HIM! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THIS MAN

of course Keegan is a sweet boy like always. How he can hold back not to give us small kisses is beyond me but ok. Well maybe because I'm someone who gives affection to everyone that is close to me, be it friends or family.

YES MY FAVORITE DADDY IS FINALLY HERE! Was about time that Price is joining! God, he is so sweet. He always reminds me of a Berniece Mountain dog! Big, gentle, protective and efficient at work. They are one of my fav dogs so maybe I'm a bit biased haha

wow, the fact that he called it out all those years ago? John knows Simon really well. We should have listened to him more. On the other hand, he also said, Simon would never hurt us and now look at this mess. My God, I just feel so sorry for our girl.

Jesus every time we get a flashback of better times... I makes heart so heavy. This story feels so real, like we're a fly on the wall that watches a tragedy unfold.

Please give me a man like Price, he is such a sweet mew mew

not me almost crying at his little speech of how much he cares for her 😭😭

Song recommendation: Another Life - Motionless in White

HIIIII! it's wonderful hearing from you again I hope all is well! 🫶🏻💛

Tbh, I did a little research about beer in the UK, and some of it is similar to the US aluminum caps lol

And, I'm not sure if you read chapter 17 yet, so I'll refrain from commenting on the Simon rant to avoid spoilers 🫠

Peepaw Price cures depression for FREE. that's free therapy and I'm taking it!! 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

(MOTIONLESS IN WHITE MENTION RAAAAHHHHHHHHHH💖💖💖)

[nani-nonny]

A question involves turtle tot & WWC; what would the peepaws react if they saw one of them having turtle tot with him?

Like old peepaw wasn't the only one got kidnapped by whoever did it, but turtle tot got involved into this mess.

Oh goodness… this was when I’m Blue was called When Worlds Collide… oopsie that’s some time ago lol how long have I been hoarding this???

Anyways… I’ll answer this but below the cut are more turtle tot asks lol

At this point, it would more than likely be (A)PAF who arrives to the I’m Blue universe lol

The others would be completely shocked. Bamboozled. Flabbergasted. Losing their marbles.

Reunion would instantly become like a grandpa and want to pinch those adorable cheeks lol

DMD would question his life and apaf’s lifestyle then stress how the hell does apaf have a child.

LCD would be disgusted that another him has a child, it would be a foreign concept considering his own past and how he treated his past self

WDS is all over the walls panicking how they would watch over this child even though they were never asked to help watch over apaf’s baby lol

And more asks under the cut: vvvvv

Ooo, that’s a bit… hmmm… in LCD’s case, it’s a never. And it’s not that he’ll never come to love the hypothetical turtle tot, it’s just that he’ll never allow himself near that point of falling in love with being a dad to this tot. Ever. He’ll never give up. He’ll always send the tot and the teens away.

Because thousands of acts of kindness to the Hidden City will never give back the lives he stole. This is his punishment, this is his act of justice against himself. And it is one he will stick with until the day he dies.

Omg that’s so good! It would turn into a wild goose chase trying to keep up with the dog. Oooo, even funnier if it’s all the peepaws together and running after hahahaha! Imagine the crashing into walls and scrambling over each other’s fallen bodies aksjajajaj

The chase would go on until one of the peepaws realizes he can use his portal to stop the dog. They’re silly guys lol

Yes! I can so vividly see WDS doing this for the hypothetical tot! Maybe DMD and Reunion, depending on the day (definitely not LCD lol)

But of course (A)PAF would do this. I can imagine apaf doing handstand pushups against the wall, letting his child count for him until he’s forever stuck between 11 and 12 because his baby doesn’t know the rest of the numbers. Lou is her daddy’s daughter… they’re both slow babies hahaha! He’d slip on his own sweat before he tells Lou to stop counting lol

Awww, even tinier tot? :( adorable!

Reunion would pretend to chuck the tot everywhere, but have to stop short because he nearly threw his arm out (literally), he’d probably pretend to eat the hypothetical tot lol

DMD would be so overprotective, but willing to let the tot explore—within reason.

WDS is a mess. Never let the tot out of his sight—baby hands? His number one weakness. He’d never let that baby go. You’d have to pry the tot from his cold dead hands—not even that. He’d protect this tot beyond the grave.

LCD would stress to the turtles to keep a close eye on that “thing”. Never know when it might get stepped on or kicked, or accidentally eaten (looking at you Reunion)

Lolll baby fight!

Reunion is no help. He bet money on his hypothetical tot. Don’t let papa down /j he would watch and laugh on the sidelines, let the babies figure it out on their own, but intervene if necessary

DMD would promise he’s doing better with his overprotective tendencies, and hold back. But on the sidelines he’s lecturing the other baby’s parent. He’s the responsible parent who actually wants to react like WDS.

WDS is fighting the other parent for not teaching their baby good manners. How dare you mess with his hypothetical child? Someone teach that other baby some manners before he has to. He’s stopping the fight immediately and separating the two. He might even put the other baby in the bad kid corner.

LCD would more than likely be watching from the sidelines, far off within the Hidden City and flick a rock directly at the other baby’s head. Bad kids are raised by bad parents, he’ll keep an eye on the other kid’s parent for a while

Awww…

In Reunion’s case, the tot would find him sitting alone, staring at the sky or ceiling. The tot would sit with him, pretending to look at the same thing and chirp for his attention. He wouldn’t do much, but hold the tot in his lap and absentmindedly play with them until he feels better. Then he has to go home…

DMD… When DMD has his moments, which happen a lot, he spends time alone or goes out. The tot would have to catch him before he leaves or hides away. The hypothetical tot would chirp and chirp at him until it gives up because he can’t stomach facing the baby at the moment. The tot would get upset and after his wave of depression, he’d have to do a lot to make it up to the tot.

WDS would appreciate the tot trying to bring up his mood. He’d fake a smile and thank the tot for cheering him up, but the bad thoughts linger in the back of his mind as he entertains the baby.

LCD is gone. He doesn’t give the hypothetical tot the time of day and disappears into the Hidden City. If he has time to wallow in his own depressing thoughts, then he has time to clear up the streets.

[clobblehead-pratdragon]

small fnaf sb headcannon (once again featuring gregory bc he's just so funky) w/ special guest peepaw.

so on the way down to the underground (??) fnaf 6 pizzeria where father afton kinda just,,,uh,,,vibes?? i guess? (bro fr what does william do down there the entire game?? like does he practice his quote on quote "villain monologue" or some shit? like istg he's a zuko kinnie with the way he's burning himself alive. ANYWAY-) gregory is shit talking all the bots the entire way down. when he's flicking all the generators on and the exoskeletons move, i just imagine him going "the power of christ compels you" and "my brother in christ, you are scaring the hoes" etc. freddy is probably losing his goddamn mind over here because who tf is this kid again?? why did i promise to protect this hell spawn?

ANYWAY so they get down there blah blah blah and gregory looks at the decrepit pizzeria, turns to freddy (who is micheal in this because fuck u why not), and goes "you designed this? no wonder it's ugly, on god man." and freddy is confused but also just so deeply insulted bc wtf kid?? gregory walks around the pizzeria making comments about how "6/10 probably would find a dead kid on this stage" "10/10 love that clown looks traumatisi- ARE THOSE THE FUCKING PAPER PALS?!?! FREDDY HOLY SHI-" freddy and gregory observe the massive hole in the centre of the pizzeria, look at eachother and peer over the edge like the "u see this shit spider-man?" meme.

anyhow, they get down there with minimal shenanigans (because nothing is peaceful with gregory), and BOOM it's big daddy purple corpse (never calling him that again-) cutscene. the glamrocks appear in their usual states and monty just pops out of the vent with a "i am stuck in the vent help pls-"

before lighting williams corpse on fire (again-?) because yay manipulate, manic, manslaughter + arson, freddy and gregory take the time to take pictures of the burning and screaming afton because i think that's really funny idk.

this headcannon is a mess, it's like 11:26pm and i don't know what i'm doing with my life?? send help