#yellow polo daddy

[storm-angel989]

How the vees would react to Valentino teenage daughter getting piercings without their consent and even try to hide them? I'm thinking about Tracy from Thirteen while requesting this btw🙏

(thanks if you write it💞💞

Hi there,

I’m afraid I haven’t seen that movie- so this is what my brain came up with! I hope you like it!

<3 Mandy 

The painful throbbing in my earlobes was too much to ignore. Every shift of my long hair, every brush against my swollen skin brought me to the point of tears. I made the executive decision to skip water polo practice, feigning a stomachache. I texted my coach, jumped in the limo and slipped as quietly as I could up into my room. Safe inside, I locked the door before gingerly pulling my hair back as I stood in front of the mirror. 

Two bright red ear lobes shone in my reflection, the skin inflamed to the point where the two tiny diamond studs could barely be seen. Two weeks ago, I begged my father and mother to let me get my ears pierced. My mother, to her credit, seemed to think I was ready for the responsibility. My father, on the other hand, disagreed.

“Just hold off for now, babydoll, and I’ll take you to a professional at some point. But for now, I don’t think mixing pool water with a fresh piercing in the middle of your competition season is a good idea.” 

As much as I tried. As much as I pointed out that three other girls on the team- including my best friend- had recently gotten their ears done, I was met with a firm no. The next day at school, I complained to my friend while standing at my locker when a tap on my shoulder pulled my attention away. Behind me stood a girl I recognized briefly from the softball team. 

“I can pierce your ears. Ten bucks,” she offered with a grin. “Good earrings too. You in?”

I glanced to my friend who shrugged. Before I could answer, the girl continued.

“Meet me in the locker room in the back corner after practice, if you’re interested.” She continued before vanishing off into the crowd.

Against my better judgment, and joined by my friend, I ventured into the back of the locker room that evening after practice. A quick transfer of funds and two sharp pinches and I had two shining diamonds in my ears. My friend suggested keeping my hair down until they were healed enough for me to take the studs out. 

Now I wished I had listened to my father. I gingerly touched the hot skin and bright yellow liquid oozed out. My whole body hurt, and if I didn’t get this fixed soon, I wouldn’t be able to play in the game on Saturday. 

A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I pulled my scrunchie out and let my hair cascade down just as the door opened. 

“Hey, sweetheart, it's Dad,” I heard my fathers voice say softly. “I got a call from your coach. Not feeling so great, huh?” 

“You can come in Daddy,” I replied glumly. “Yeah, not feeling so great.”

Watching his tall form move across the floor, I was doubly glad that this man was my dad. The rest of the world recognized him as the overlord of lust and depravity, and as scary as he could be when he was mad, I knew he loved me. 

“What hurts?” He asked as he laid a cool hand against my forehead. “You feel warm, baby. Why don’t we get you to bed?” 

“Daddy, I have to tell you something,” I replied nervously. “I…” I pulled back my hair to reveal my ears, wincing as I did, “pierced my ears at school. Please don’t be mad.”

Alarm spread across his features. “You did not.” 

I nodded and he leaned forward. I braced for the yelling, the screaming and the anger I had heard him throw at his employees. 

To my surprise, he sighed.

“Well, those look infected. Explains why you don’t feel so good. Come on baby, let’s get you a doctor and have him take a look.” 

“Wait, you’re not mad?” I asked as I stood up and followed him out the door.

“I’m disappointed. But we can talk about that after we make sure you don’t have some sort of serious infection. Tell me, where did you get them done?”

His lack of fury took me by surprise. I relayed the story as we stepped onto the elevator. A pained expression crossed his face.

“You…just let her pierce your ears? For ten dollars? Eres jodidamente estúpida, ninita?” He asked, frustration dripping from his voice. “Honey, I taught you better than that. I know I did.”

The door opened and I trailed behind him with my head down as I followed him to the nurses office in his studio. Somehow, his disappointment towards me stung more than I thought the anger would. 

One painful hour later, the now bright green studs were in the garbage and my ears had been warm compressed, cleaned and I had been given a round of IV antibiotics.  I trudged behind my father as I walked into the apartment.

Velvette gave me a curious look. “Well? How’d that go?”

I closed my eyes as embarrassment flushed my features. “I’m going to bed.”

“Oh no,” my father said quickly as he put a hand on my shoulder. “Go see your Aunt and Uncle. Tell them what you did.” 

I hung my head and mumbled out the story. To my surprise, Aunt Velvette laughed.

“Oh Valentino. Trust me, if that's the worst that reader does, you’re a lucky Dad. Stop being so hard on her.” She patted the cushion next to her and I sat down. She looked at my ears and smiled.

“I did something similar when I was your age. Don’t worry too much about it, it will heal.”

“But also learn a lesson from it? Like don’t let weird bathroom classmates pierce your ears,” Vox added. 

I crossed my arms and leaned back. 

My father walked over and bent over, brushed my hair back and planted a kiss on my forehead. “If you want to go to your room you can. I’m not mad at you, I promise. I just love you mi amore, and you scared me. Learn a lesson from this, so next time you don’t need to be poked with another needle. And I will take you somewhere to get them done right next time, okay?” He stood up and pulled out his phone. “Can I convince you to stay out with us? I’ll order pizza.” 

“So, I’m not grounded?” I asked hopefully.

My father laughed. “Oh. No. You are. Until next Sunday. And you heard the doc- no pool time for at least two weeks.” 

I sank into the couch. Part of me wanted to be mad, but the other part of me knew my fathers punishment this time was totally and completely fair. 

“You’ll tell Mom then?” I asked, crossing my fingers behind my back. 

My father patted my head. “Oh no. No Noooo. You can do that when she gets home.” He patted my head. “Your decision. You learn from the consequences of your actions, babydoll.”

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Daddy Dearest

Title: Daddy Dearest

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Prompts: Lloyd Hansen + Female Reader + Daddy kink + “Can you feel how much I want you?” + Darkfic, requested by @hansensgirl

Summary: Your latest client takes everything from you.

Warnings: Creep!Lloyd, Daddy kink, Dark!Daddy!Lloyd, pet name (Princess), darkfic, sex work, forced ageplay, Lloyd has a corruption kink, dead dove: do not eat, dacryphilia, violence against Reader (choking, threatening, Lloyd tackles Reader) 

A/N: Hi, Sab!!! Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. 

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Sweet Treats Event 2024 Masterlist

My Masterlist

The dossier for your latest client reads like a warning label. It is full of kinks and fetishes you are familiar with but have never experienced yourself. And then there were a few that you had to do a little research on. 

There isn’t much to read about his personal life. You notice that he is single due to his line of work, which is only listed as ‘Contractor’. You decide to keep the conversation only about pleasing your client.

The car service drops you off at a gorgeous modern mansion in the hills. In the back of a gated community, it shines with floor-to-ceiling windows and marble stone walls. The fountain in the middle of the circular driveway spouts glistening water that shoots a bit higher out of the fish sculpture atop it to signal the top of the hour.

To say you feel out of place is an understatement. While you are used to meeting high-profile clients, you would rarely meet them at their homes. They tend to opt for penthouse suites in expensive hotels or apartments that their wives or girlfriends don’t know about. 

Your heels click and clack across the stone-paved driveway as you walk to the front door. You fix the short black dress that you picked to wear today. It wasn’t your usual style, a bit showy in places you would have seen on slinky lingerie, but you wore it so the client could get a better look at your assets. Noticing the doorbell camera to the right of the entrance, you press it and wait. 

You weren’t expecting to hear a woman’s voice.

“Mr. Hansen will be with you shortly. Please, do come in and make yourself comfortable in the lounge to the left,” she says in an eerily chipper voice.

Before you can respond, you hear the metallic click of the door unlocking. Swallowing your uncertainty, you turn the ornate handle and open the door. You peek around the door and then step through it, closing it behind you. Spotting the lounge area, you walk over and sit on the pristine white leather couch.

While looking around the room, you notice there are no photos or other personal touches that make a house into a home. You still haven’t seen what the guy looks like; he could be hideous. But he could also be just a normal dude. As if thinking about him could get his attention, you hear a cheerful whistling accompanied by quick footsteps skipping down the stairs.

Once he makes it to the entryway of the lounge, he leans against the door jamb and crosses his arm, studying you for a moment. You refuse to be the only one being scrutinized, so you cross your arms and tilt your head while staring at him.

Handsome face, even under that trashstache. Gorgeous blue eyes and soft pink lips. His yellow and beige striped polo fits him nicely, showing off his big biceps. His fitted khakis stretch across his thick thighs. You attempt to hide your excitement as you peek at the bulge in his pants, but he catches it and chuckles.

“Alright, Princess. As much as I love that dress you’re wearing, I’ve got something that is much, much cuter waiting upstairs for you.” He winks at you, stepping toward you and holding out his hand once he is towering over you.

You tentatively put your hand in his, and he helps you up off of the couch. “Thank you, Mr. Hansen.”

He tsks at your words. “Now, Princess, while I love how polite you’re being, you’re getting the name wrong,” he starts, smiling at your confused expression. “When you’re here with me, you are Princess, and I am Daddy. Go ahead, try it out.”

His thumb soothes the skin on the back of your hand while his eyes stay on your face, waiting for a response. His smile threatens to fade as the grip on your hand grows tighter.

“Daddy,��� you murmur, your voice barely loud enough for him to hear.

His other hand comes to cradle your face, then boops your nose. “Good girl, Princess. Don’t worry, I’ll get you to say it louder in due time,” he promises. “Now, come on. Let’s go and get you changed into something a bit more comfortable, okay?”

You nod, and he puts a hand around the shell of his ear. You realize that he wants you to answer him. “Yes, Daddy.”

“That’s my good girl. Let’s not forget that again. Daddy might not be as patient with you next time, Princess.” He boops your chin this time and turns, pulling you behind him as he exits the room and ascends the large staircase in the foyer to the second floor. You keep up with his quick steps somehow, ending up being tugged down a long hallway to a set of double doors. He lets your hand fall from him so he can be as dramatic as he needs to be.

Turning the knobs and pushing the doors open, he steps aside and lets you assess everything. A plush pastel pink carpet greets you as you move inside the room; its fluffiness compels you to remove your heels and feel it between your toes. Everywhere you looked, from the bedding on the four-poster canopy bed to the knickknacks on countless shelves to the stuffed animals piled high in one corner, various shades of pink and white assault your vision. 

Posters on the wall range from inspirational quotes to teddy bears dressed as ballerinas to anime girls with varying stages of undress. The pink and white marble wardrobe draws your attention, and you open it to reveal more outfits than you could wear in a lifetime. The clothing, all in pastel shades, is of great quality and, surprisingly, all in your size. You close the wardrobe and step back into the center of the room.

“You don’t like it,” he surmises, closing the doors of the room as he steps inside fully.

“I’m just confused. I don’t feel comfortable in here, Mr. Hansen,” you plead, facing away from him so you don’t see when his face changes.

“You’re about to feel a lot less comfortable, Princess,” he cautions.

You jump at the sound of the lock clicking into place in the room. Whipping around, you watch helplessly as he lunges at you. His hands wrap around your neck as he tackles you to the pink carpeting. You try in vain to peel his hands away, and as you struggle, he somehow manages to get his hips between your legs. He growls when he feels the heat from your barely covered pussy. He uses his grip around your neck as an anchor so he can grind into you.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” He loosens his hold on your neck when your eyes threaten to roll back in your head. He pushes your face into the carpet when you start to sputter and cough. 

After getting your breathing under control, you lay stock-still under him, afraid to make a move that may anger him and cause you more pain. As much as you want to push him off of you, he’s already proven what he’s capable of.

“You behave, and so will I, Princess,” he huffs, slowly rising to stand over you. “Now, you put on this cute little outfit and let Daddy take care of you.” 

You follow his line of sight to clothes laid out on the bed, pulling yourself up and fixing your dress. Once you are close enough, you take in the features of the clothing he picked out-a pink denim overall dress with a stitched bouquet on the large front pocket. To wear underneath the dress is a plain white T-shirt and white briefs decorated with flowers. White knee-high socks and pink jelly sandals complete the outfit.

If you weren’t so in shock, you would scream or try to fight him. But you are past the realm of where this wasn’t going to happen. Instead, you undress as he watches. Putting on the shirt, underwear, and socks was easy enough. However, he offers to help you with the dress and gropes you here and there. He sits you down on the bed and puts your shoes on for you in an act so sweet, you almost forget where you are and what you are doing.

After looking you over, he stands to his full height in front of you and cradles your face in his hands. “I am going to ruin you. Inside and out, Princess. You have no idea,” he chuckles, using his thumb to wipe away the tear that falls from your right eye. “And please, let those tears out. They only get me more excited.” The sniffle that escapes you had him biting his lip as if to prove his point.

The remaining shred of hope you had held onto floats away in the wind as you watch him unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. By the time he is lying next to you and catching his breath, your grip on reality has been fucked out of you. You curl into his side and smile at him, “Thank you, Daddy.”

A/N: Possibly the darkest Lloyd I have ever written. This Lloyd is a creep, but damnit…I love him.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie has a one night stand, and the end result was a daughter who the mother left with Eddie. Eddie was still in denial that he's in love with Steve. Dustin had started to figure it out, though, especially when Eddie named his daughter Stephanie and nicknamed her Stephie.

"I think you might be in love with Steve," Dustin said as he cradled Stephie.

"Why would you say that?" Eddie asked.

Eddie was completely aware of his attraction to both along with Steve’s but he was completely oblivious towards his feelings for him.

"Well, you put Stephie in a tiny little yellow sweater, and I looked into her dresser. . .where on Earth did you get so many baby polos?" Dustin asked.

"I special ordered them from a magazine," Eddie whispered quietly, his eyes wide. "I don't like polos personally, but I think she pulls them off. It does not mean that I'm in love with Steve."

"Her name is Stephie, and I saw her mother. . .she looked like a female version of Steve. I think unconsciously were wishing you with Steve when you were with her," Dustin said.

"Hey! I was awake the entire time I was having sex with her, and so was she!" Eddie said defensively.

"Yeah, that's not what I meant. That's not what I meant at all," Dustin said.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Steve walked into Eddie's apartment carrying a bag.

"Hey, Eds, I made something for Stephie, I think you're going to love it," Steve said.

Eddie grabbed the bag and opened it. Inside was a vest with a tiny Dio patch on the back. It was just like Eddie's. He stared at it for a long time, thoughts swirling in his head. Eddie walked over to Dustin and motioned him to hold Stephie out while he slipped on the vest. It fit perfectly over her sweater. Eddie took his daughter in his arms, staring at her with tears filling his eyes. He didn't say anything for a long time.

"Uh, Eds, are you okay?" Steve asked.

Eddie collapsed onto his knees in front of Steve, his daughter still secured in his arms.

"I'm in love with you, Steve," Eddie said. "And I think I have been for a long time now. I just don't know why I couldn't admit it to myself. I think, maybe, I was scared because besides Wayne and the party, you're one of the best things in my life, and I didn't want to lose that. I know how risky this is. . .that I could lose you by saying this, but man, you are so worth the risk. I named my daughter after you because I wanted her so badly for her to be yours. I want you to be her daddy, and I want you to be my partner in crime. That is, if you'll have us?"

Steve collapsed in front of him, caressing his cheek and placing one hand on top of Stephie's head.

"Yeah, I'll have you. I've been waiting, I just - I was scared too," Steve whispered.

Eddie leaned forward at the same time Steve did, and their lips met in the sweetest kiss. It was soon interrupted by Stephie screeching for attention. Steve laughed as he broke away and looked down at her.

"Hi, sweet girl, I'm your daddy too," Steve sniffled.

"Well," Dustin said, clapping his hands together. "My work here is done. I'm going to find Will a boyfriend."

Will had been out for a while now, and Dustin had always wished for his best friend to find someone other than pining after Mike. Dustin loved Mike, but he could definitely be such an asshole and he always thought that Will could do better. Will was always so nice to him, and he was the most interested when it came to Dustin's creations. Dustin smiled fondly as he left Eddie's. Spoiler alert, the boyfriend Dustin found for Will ended up being himself. Whoops.

[missmielyhoran]

dad's best friend!! Sorry it wasn't supposed to be so confusing 😭😭😭😭

It wasn't! I'm just an indecisive person in general😭. Thanks for requesting♡

First of all can we talk about this suit? Why haven't I seen this? He looks so fucking good😩

(dbf!harry or gangleader!harry and plussize!reader)

Harry- 40, Y/N- 22

[Warning- Smut, mentions of Mafia and gangs, 18 years age gap, dad's best friend, mirror sex, teasing, choking, fingering, edging, orgasm denials, fluff in the end and angst if you squint enough to close your eyes]

You knew teasing Harry was like poking sleeping bear with stick but you couldn't help it.

It was one of the monthly dinner party hosted by your parents. All of your dad's colleagues and friends were at his house dressed to nine. The hall was filled with people in designer suits and dresses.

It was a colour theme party so most of them were in shades of red and black. You were in a short dark coloured off shoulder dress with statement sleeves matching with the long dark red satin dress of your mom and the red shirt of your dad.

Harry hugged his best friend, your dad first thing when he arrived then your mom and then he stood in front of you. He was wearing a dark red suit which fitted him nicely and you already thought of taking pics together later.

"Hello Mr. Styles" You said teasingly being the minx you were. He laughed and hugged you, your face tucked into his chest while his hands subtly slid down to pull you closer to him discreetly so, no one can see.

"Hello princess" He greeted back and pulled from hug. His signature smirk adorning his lips and you were surely red in face, flustered by his deep voice.

"Styles c'mon lets get some drinks" Your dad called Harry. He gave him a nod and shot you a subtle look.

Your parents didn't knew, no one did about you and Harry cause you couldn't even think of what would happen if they got to know that their only daughter was in a relationship with their good friend.

Harry and you met at golf club. It was one of the rare days you decided to join your dad to his golf game and you praise yourself everyday for doing that cause that's how you met him.

You still remember the yellow polo he was wearing. It snugged around his biceps and broad shoulder, the blue pants showing off his fine ass. You felt guilty for thinking he was hot and feeling yourself being turned on. If he was your dad's friend it meant he was closer to his age. He might have a partner or be married.

So, you subtly brought him up in conversation on your way back home and your dad told everything about him. He was your dad's boss some kind. He never goes into details about who or what he works for and you never asked.

Harry was 39 then much younger than your dad who was in his late 40s and drumrolls please....he was single!

Although for a while it didn't change anything but it made you feel less guilty when you touched yourself thinking about him.

Harry was same on the other hand. He shouldn't have been thinking about one of his main hand and best friend's daughter that way but fuck you were something else. The crop white sleeveless polo tshirt you were wearing that day made your boobs bounce everytime you walked and especially when you hugged him and he felt them rub against his chest. Jesus Christ!

He had to excuse himself so he could run to washroom and collect himself (by that he means wank).

Time went by, you stayed in Harry's mind and he in yours. It was your apartment move in party that you met him again. Your dad bought apartment for you cause you were itching to move out and he couldn't let you live in some small, cheap and filthy apartment. You were always daddy's girl considering you were the only child, he spoiled you a lot.

He invited everyone including Harry. Whole time during party both of you made eyes for each other and when party ended Harry stayed after to "clean up" and he sure did clean up.

At first everything from his side was strictly sexual but you were already falling for him after sleeping for second time. You confessing led to a big argument but it went fine as now, a year later you both have been in relationship for 8 months after hooking up for 4 months.

*****

A hour later you were wine tipsy enough to have your cheeks flushed but also be aware of your surroundings. You were searching for Harry not seen him for quite some time.

You walked out in backyard seeing people mingling together. You politely smiled at some of your dad's coworkers your eyes frantically searching for a mop of curly hair.

When you did find him, he was with Sharon. Her manicured hand on his bicep as she laughed way too loudly on something he said. You rolled your eyes feeling jealous, even a blind person could see she had eyes for Harry. Your dad joked about it a lot to Harry in front of you not his fault, he didn't know his daughter was digging nails in her palm so, she wouldn't cry or get angry.

Harry always told your dad he wasn't interested in her and to Sharon also but to everyone he was single. So, your dad kept teasing him about settling down constantly telling him about possible dates. It made you sad but Harry always comforted you telling he doesn't want anyone but you.

You believed him and trust him with your everything but that doesn't stop you from wanting to pluck those flirty eyes out of Sharon's head any less.

Few people walked past them making them shift from their position. Now, Sharon's back was to you and Harry in front of her. You smiked brewing plan in your head. You walked towards them sipping your wine, Harry eyes found yours and he knew something was going on in your brain. He straightened up seeing you walk towards him.

"Mr. Sty-" You cut yourself off and pretended to trip over the stone in front of you. The wine splashed on Harry's black shirt and some on his pants and you "accidentally" collided with Sharon making her fall into the pool. Harry caught you in his arms even though he knew you were safe, it was like a reflex for him.

Sharon screamed sounded followed by splash of water. You bit your lips trying not to laugh as she came above he surface of water looking like a wet dog.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked for confirmation, your eyes softened looking up at his. You gave him nod and then a cheeky smile.

He shook his head and moved towards Sharon to help her get out but before she could touch him you called the guards and made them help her out.

"I'm soo sorry Ms. Sharon. Are you hurt?" You asked her faking innocence. Harry rolled his eyes internally and wanted to laugh at your jealous antics but refrained himself.

Her hardened eyes snapped at yours but she couldn't say anything cause you were her boss's daughter and one wrong word she would have been fired.

She gave you the best fake smile, "No ma'am it's fine mistakes happen"

"I know next time don't stand beside dangerous places. I'm a bit clumsy you know, who knows where you might end up falling" You pouted and passed her towel brought by one of servants. Her smile faltered and she excused herself.

"You want you clean that up Mr. Styles?" You asked him pointing towards his shirt and pants. You looked up at him with doe eyes batting your eyelashes as if you didn't just pulled a stunt.

"You're a brat you know that?" He whispered darkly, his voice getting deep. You kept your eyes on his, "Your brat though" You pouted making him laugh.

"C'mon princess help me get this stain off" He said walking inside. The music was playing loudly now as dinner was served and people were drunk dancing their asses off. You saw your dad chatting with few men so, he didn't see you. Just as you were to slide inside the guest bathroom with him your mom saw you.

"What happened?" She asked looking in between you two. You panicked thinking she caught you but Harry saved your ass.

"Oh nothing Mrs. Y/L/N, little miss here accidentally spilled wine on my shirt. I told her I could get it off myself but she said she felt guilty." He said waving off and pretending to walk inside the bathroom.

"No no. She will help you. ¡Cuántas veces te he dicho que no bebas tanto!" (how many times I have told you not to drink so much!) she said her spanish accent thinking as she got mad.

"Sorry ma I will help him" You said and you really felt like a child getting scolded. You mom hummed and walked back towards the party.

You quickly pulled Harry inside and locked the door. His back was against the door as you started to kiss him. You were a starved woman not being able to kiss your boyfriend for so long.

Harry smiled at your eagerness, his hands sliding down to your ass groping it, pulling them apart then letting them go. He started walking and pushed your back towards the sink pulling you up and sitting down.

He pulled apart to breathe. Both of your lips red, glistening and swollen, your red lipstick smudged around your lips making his heart skip.

"You look so good baby" Harry cooed at his girlfriend. Your cheeks heated up but you kept the eye contact playing with his curls at the nap of his neck.

"You don't look bad yourself Mr. Styles" You teased giggling. He shook his head at your childishness but that's the thing he loved about you most. You were serious, a strong headed woman but also playful, brat and full of life.

Harry leaned down just inches away from your face, "Is that how we're going today? Mr. Styles?" He asked running his nose along your jaw. You closed your eyes and tilted you head to the side as his breath tickled your skin.

"We don't have much time-" You got cut off by a whimper as he started to leave wet kissed down your neck, "People might get suspicious" You said fully losing control of your body to him.

"Mhm I will be quick" He said as his fingers slid down your silky dress to your lace thong barely covering anything. "You're in for it when I get my hands on you later" he groans moving down to your cleavage biting and sucking on them.

"Harry please" You moaned desperately wanting for him to relieve the pain. He stopped moving his fingers but before you could whine in disapproval you earned a sharp slap to your clit. Even though it was covered his rings were enough to have you doubling over.

"Try again sweetheart" he said resuming the slow assault on your clit. Your head was tucked into his chest and only thing you could do was whimper.

"Please Mr. Styles" You begged making him hum in appreciation. He started rubbing your clit faster the thin fabric getting soaked in your arousal. You let out a loud moan getting closer to your climax. Your noises were getting louder and if anyone to pass by the door would know what's going on.

"Shh sweetheart don't want anyone to know you're in here making a mess do you?" He tsked tilting his head. You shook your head not being able to say anything or comprehend. Even if someone did heard you both you couldn't care.

"But I think you would also love for someone to hear you getting of just by me rubbing my fingers on you" He chuckled, "Such a pathetic baby"

You pouted at his words even though his words were making you more wet.

"Don't pout. How would your dad react when he gets to know you pushed that poor woman in pool cause you were jealous" He taunted his fingers still making tight and slow circle on your clothed clit making your hips buck up from time to time.

"Please! Please! Please!" You whined for more. You were incredibly wet and it was aching, you just wanted your release but it never came.

Harry removed his fingers from your clothes pussy making your eyes snap open. You looked up at him frustated and confused while he just smirked.

"You think I would let you cum after you've been a brat" He asked bringing his hands near your shoulders. In one go he flips you around, your back to his chest and his hands over your stomach keeping you against him firmly.

"What you're soo mad I pushed your side chick in pool?" You mocked rolling your eyes at him, starting to get frustrated. So what if you pushed her in pool she had it coming.

"Don't give me that attitude princess" He spanked your ass hard making you moan loudly in return, "It's my duty to remind you of manners you have seem to forget" He pinched your butt then leaving another slap.

Then he pushes him away from you all together, the sudden loss of contact had your body in shivers from cold air.

"Now how this will go princess is I will go is I will fuck this tight warm pussy of yours, get my orgasm" He said his hands roaming all over your body as if he was memorizing every curve.

"What about me?" Your voice faltered as his hands found your boobs. Harry loved your boobs although you told him many times you felt insecure about them he was obsessed. Always holding them, sucking on them like his personal stress ball.

"What about you hm? All you're to me right now is a fuck toy baby" He said his lips sucking on the spot near your neck which can be hidden by hair.

His words should have hurt you but only thing hurting was your cunt for his dick.

He pushed you down your forehead resting on cold mirror as he fumbled with his belt and pants. Once his pants were down his knees he pushed your dress up. Both of your holes were in full display in front of him and he wanted to ruin you right there but they didn't have time.

he pushed your panties to the side and slid inside you without a waning. You moaned loudly from the intrusion, he was so big stretching you out filling you up.

Harry brought his hand to your mouth and covered it. "As much as I would love to hear your maons babygirl, I don't think your father will appreciate it" he spoke in your ears his breath tickling your skin, "What would he think if he finds out his daughter fucking his best friend huh?" He taunted you.

Your brain felt like mush and all you could do was nod. "Such a dumb baby" He spoke and then started pounding in you. Your hips were constantly hitting the sink and you knew you will have bruises there.

You were so close to getting off when you heard the knock on the door. Harry stopped for a second confirming someone was indeed knocking and it wasn't something his brain made up.

"Mr. Styles? Y/N? Who's inside and why is it locked?" You mom asked trying to open the door. Your whole body was rigid and for a second you thought you might get caught. You looked up and found Harry's eyes in mirror and he gave you a shrug and started moving again slower but deeper.

"Go on reply to her" he whispered in her ear.

"Helloo" You mom called out again. You whimpered slightly but got yoursf together.

"It's me mom" You said and bit down on your lip as Harry hit the right spot inside you.

"Y/N? What happened are you okay?" She asked concerned from hearing your weak voice.

"Yeah Yeah just threw up a bit. You know me and-" fuck "wine" You said stumbling over your words.

"Where is Mr. Styles?" She asked. "uh I think he went outside I don't know" You said that in one go amd brought your up so you could moan.

You don't know if she brought it or not but she left after telling you to call her if you need anything. Harry pulled you up by your hair your head falling back on his shoulder.

His pace was flattering but still firm, his hand either groaping your ass or your boobs.

"I'm close Harry can I come please" You begged but he didn't listen.

"No. On knees now" he said and pulled out. You fell on your knees in second, you hand holding his thighs for support. He brought his cock near you lips smearing the precum and your juices on your lips and then pushed inside.

You sucked like your life depends on it. You were a pleaser with no doubt and Harry loved it.

"Yes fuck keep going baby" He said, one hand gripping the sink and other your hair. He was fucking your mouth with same intensity as yiur cunt. You swirled your tongue around him and brought your hands up to massage his balls. He let out another moan and a curse.

"Such a good girl" he moaned out andgripped your head more tightly. "I'm going to cum" he announced and soon you felt him shooting warm thick ropes down your throat. You sucked and cleaned him off until he went soft inside you.

Harry brought you back up and sat on the counter. His lips back on yours tasting himself.

"I'm going to leave and you will leave behind me. 20 minutes I want you in my bed" Ge said and pecked all over your face making you giggle.

"Did so good going to reward my baby" With a wink he opened the window and jumped out landing in front of shed. He fixed his suit and went like nothing happened.

*****

I'm thinking of making this a trope. Gang leader dbf, sounds fun lol.

You can request more here♡

Like, Comment and Reblog please!

[peakyblinders1919]

Haddie Harrington Pt 2.

“Come on Haddie, let’s get our shoes on.”

She shook her head ferociously in response, turning the simple task into a game of wits; who could outlast the other in the battle of fussing over which shoes to wear.

“Duckies.”

“It’s not raining.”

“Duckies.” Her voice stern, she mirrored Steve in all the ways that count; long luscious chocolate brown locks that are untidy and unkempt even in pigtails, brows puckered and furrowed in attempted anger (she was too cute to be fully angry), and those hands on her hips. Wonder where she learned that from…

“They don’t match your pretty first-day-of-school outfit.”

Closing her eyes, crossing her arms, and shaking her head, she was taking an early lead. “Duckies.”

“Fine.” He had time to perfect the disappointed father's voice and gave up without an aggravated tone, perhaps because he knew he could never win.

With a smile that seemed a little too victorious, Haddie dropped to the bench in the mud room of their little two-bedroom bungalow on the opposite side of town where he grew up, kicking her feet happily as he helped slide on the bright yellow rain boots with duck bills and eyes painted on. 

He’d be lying if he said they didn’t look adorable with her little black and white striped dress and blue and yellow polka dot headband. (Yes, she wanted to dress herself and who was he to deny her?)

Once she was happy with her boots and her dress and the little backpack he helped onto her shoulders, she put her arms up, a silent plea to be picked up and held tight. He wasn’t about to deny her that either; it was his daughter's first day of preschool, after all, she was getting too big too fast and he would give anything for another moment or so where he got to treat her like his little girl.

Haddie-1, Steve- 0.

He kissed her cheek with an over-exaggerated mwah and he sighed in relief when she accepted it with a giggle rather than with a look of disgust. Steve’s eyes fell on the mirror in the hallway, raking a hand through his own unkempt hair, Haddie following suit. It was unmistakable how alike they looked, especially today with his shirt matching her duckies. Earlier, he had reached into the closet for the yellow collared polo he had in the back, some incessant voice in the back of his mind telling him that yellow looked good on him with his dark eyes and hair. 

It was his first day just as much as it was Haddie’s. 

First impressions meant everything.

That’s why they were leaving 15 minutes earlier than necessary, Steve leaving his little girl in a fit of tickles after buckling her up tight. He locked eyes with her in the rearview mirror, asked her a question with a flick of his brow, nodded, and turned the radio up almost to 100, signing together to her favorite tape of silly kid songs. Signing and driving with the windows down with his favorite girl.

“And that’s where Daddy went to high school, and that’s where Daddy used to work-” He tried not to shutter at the old lot that once was teeming with life, Starcourt mall nothing but the shell of a building now. “I used to scoop ice cream and eat ice cream all day too.” She thought it was the coolest job ever, and that’s all that mattered. 

“What’s that?” She asked, little finger wiggling at something on the other side of the window. 

Squinting, there were still some things new to Steve, the bronze statue in the middle of Jackson square one of them. It looked like a little girl, hair down to her shoulders, wide stance, a hand raised out and up, bronze, cold eyes staring straight up at nothing. The plaque would have told him it wasn’t a statue of Jane Hooper, or Eleven as he and her best friends knew her, though the statue’s likeness to the alien girl was uncanny. The plaque would have told him it was in honor of those lost during the ‘86 earthquake and in honor of those who never gave up searching.

That’s why he responded to his daughter with an “I don’t know sweetheart,” because it had been an awfully long time since he was driving these streets, following the directions to the school scribbled on a piece of paper, being careful it didn’t fly out the window. He used reference points to get there; left at Starcourt, down and left on Winslet, past the public library, and one block over. Thankfully, most everything was the same, but it felt so different; felt like he was a traveler, a tourist in his own town. 

He hoped it would feel like home.

Main street looked exactly the same as when he left, the flags and the streetlights, the same old parked cars, he wondered if they had even moved spots since he was here last, the stores he knew with ads and signs in the window. But now he found he didn’t know who worked in those stores anymore, if they were still open, worried if he parked his car too long or in the wrong spot he’d get a ticket. 

Unless Hopper was still sheriff. What were the odds of that? And what were the odds Hooper would still keep from giving Steve a measly parking ticket; he wasn’t the same washed-up teenager who could use a favor once in a while, wasn’t the same asshole whose parents were influential and wealthy enough to not only pay off the ticket, but pay off the right man on the force to keep their son’s record clear. 

He hoped it wouldn’t be that way.

People treating him like the old washed-up teenager he used to be. King Steve, who would have drunk a six-pack in thirty seconds before warming up to the idea of settling down with a girl who wasn’t a cheerleader or a beauty pageant winner and starting a family. 

“Daddy, look.” Safe from the rest of his looming thoughts, Steve’s gaze followed Haddie’s finger, pointing to the stop sign and the children and parents crossing the road. He came to an abrupt halt, laughter ringing through the car as he turned the music down. The school was in view, sunshine among the old buildings with its freshly manicured floral entrance and rainbow murals on the walls of the building, welcoming and sweet. 

The parents in the crosswalk examined him. He waved a friendly hand, wondered if any of them recognized him, tried to make out if any of them were old Hawkins’ High classmates. Most ignored him, glared at him angrily because the stop was a close call, one waved back. 

Pulling into a spot at the school, he tried to ignore his sweaty hands. He brushed them through his long locks before letting out a sigh when the BMW was put in park.

“Ready Haddie?”

Her brown eyes were big and wide with excitement or fear, Steve couldn’t tell. She nodded, pressed her nose up against the window, and squealed, “Ready Daddy!”

He helped her out of the car, watched her kick her feet as he knelt to put her down and just like that it was two points Haddie, zero points Steve. 

“Are you nervous duck?”

“What’s nervous?”

“Like being scared.”

“I’m not scared, Daddy.”

“Not about making friends or meeting your teacher?”

“Excited!” She squealed back and he knew saying goodbye would be harder for him than her. He watched in awe as her eyes lit up the closer they got. When she smiled, he smiled. His cheeks hurt, his shoulders loosened, and he peppered her rosy cheek with kisses just to hear that infectious giggle of hers.

And suddenly he didn’t care what people thought about him being back. It wasn’t his ego that led him back to Hawkins when figuring out the perfect place to build a home for himself and his daughter. Not only did he seek out a fresh start, but a place that was safe, where she could grow and learn and thrive. When he thought of that place he didn’t see California in his mind's eye, or Arizona where he’d stayed for a while, or anywhere on the east coast. 

He thought of home. 

Hawkins, Indiana. 

Even with all the demogorgons and demons, there was a network of people here who would love and protect Haddie. Love and protect him.

If they were still around. 

If they recognized him.

If… 

Maybe he should have told someone he was coming back instead of wondering if, and when, he’d run into someone familiar.

“Daddy, Daddy, look! Teacher!” The intensity in Haddie’s voice was impossible to ignore, the rhythm of it springy with excitement.

“Is that your teacher, huh? Let’s go meet her.” She clapped her hands, wiggling in his arms. “I wonder what her name is, huh?”

“Pretty dress.” Haddie clapped. 

In the process of the lengthy move, some of the documents had been misplaced, finding home somewhere on the kitchen table among unpacked boxes and empty take-out food containers. Feeling silly for not remembering his daughter’s teacher’s name, he waited until she was through talking with the other family. A quiet game of “I Spy” ensued, all his attention on Haddie, praying he was smart enough this time to even out the score. Nothing was strong enough to pull his attention away from the new game at hand except that voice.

The incessant one he had heard earlier that day. 

“Harrington.”

It had been a long time since someone called him that.

A delicate smile formed on her lips looking soft as rose petals. Bright as the sun, instantly making Haddie smile back.

“Me!” She shouted.

Silence lingered, though there was nothing left unsaid as eyes fell on each other, drinking the other in.

“So you must be the famous Haddie Harrington.”

“That’s me!” She clapped again, the look on her face proud. 

“It’s nice to meet you Haddie, I’m Miss. Y/N.”

“Hi,” she said, suddenly shy, curling further into her Daddy’s chest.

“Hi.” 

“Hi Harrington. Long time, no see.”

Suddenly, he felt a little closer to home.

[annonniiiiieeeee]

ANONIE :D what the fuck? what was that chapter anonie/j

Dont you have enogh? /j (also why lord hijiki remeind me of 12Shredder) also my hate to this boomer, L+ratio, estupido cara de burro, piece of shit called Lord

Anyways I have a question abt the

FUTURE

Of Awosan Future timeline, sooo where does Leo and Usagi lives? (/w their kids obv) like i think in one ask it was stablished(? that they didnt live in the sewer, but where exactly? like in the hidden city or in another part?

Also have this

I’ve had that planned since December :)

Now you asked for the

Future

So how dare I not deliver

So Leo and Usagi’s home. It is not in the Swede and it is not in the hidden city. Usagi wants to raise his kids in the sunlight. Finding out how long it was before Leo and his brother walked above ground horrifies him. He wants the world for his family. That includes being able to be normal kids and play outside.

Their home is outside of New York City. Think like the farm house from 2003. It’s in the woods and near a lake. It has a modern Japanese style to it, a blend of their two worlds. It’s private as at this point mutants and yokai are more common, Leo, Usagi and the others are famous because of their actions to keep the city/world safe.

In other

Future

News. Do you want to hear about Raph and Mona Lisa’s kids?

No? Well You’re going to anyway.

They have been thinking about kids for a while but Leo and Usagi’s announcement that they were having a kid really sparked them forward. Why not have a kid now? It will be close in age to Leo’s kid meaning both kids will have someone to play with.

Lisa’s Italian family is traditional and normally pass down Italian names. Raph and Lisa have a deal that if they have a boy then Lisa gets to pick their name (an Italian name) and if it is a girl then Raph gets to pick their name (a Japanese name)

They have some trouble getting pregnant but finally they do.

They have their first kid about 8 months after Jotaro is born.

It’s a little baby boy named Benigno ( it means Friendly) He is named after Mona’s grandfather.

He is a green snapping turtle with a long tail but he had Lisa’s yellow spots.

And like his mother he’s bold. Where Jotaro is quite and mature Benigno will absolutely tell you what he thinks. They balance each other well and he is Jotaro’s best friend.

I think I will assign him the color red

They were thinking about having another kid. They had gotten pregnant again, when the twins were surprised adopted.

Mona was around 3 months pregnant at the time.

Making her 5 months pregnant when Leo and Usagi rushed home with two sick children.

Lisa was so scared that her kids could get this sick. She was terrified for Sakura and Ume. Luckily the girls pulled through

A little bit later Lisa had their first daughter, Mikazuki (meaning Crescent moon)

She is a black snapping turtle with yellow spots.

She is the same age as the twins but is more into sport then they are. She likes wearing dresses here and there but she’s not as girly as Sakura is. She does get a little more girly as she grows up. Helping Sakura with her fashion projects.

She is definitely a daddy’s girl as she loves playing sports ball with her father. Though if she was ever allowed on a sports team she would probably play water polo.

She picks the color white for herself

About a year later they have their youngest.

A little boy named Fulvio (it means Yellow)

He is a green salamander with yellow spots. He is a year older then Kaida and is much bigger

(all of Raph kids are bigger then Kaida was, still small but bigger then her. They are all still shocked by Kaida’s small size. This has to do with both Lisa be Raph being huge and their kids having half human DNA instead of the 1/4 that Leo and Usagi’s kids get)

He is a shy sweet little boy who enjoys reading and art. The is much quieter then his two more chaotic siblings.

Once Kaida comes along and is up and moving the two become a duo. Make no mistake Fulvio might be older but he is not in charge. He is following Kaida in all of her bad decisions

I shall make his color a greenish yellow or a bright yellow. This make him and Kaida yellow buddies.

That’s all I have so far. This can all change as well.

[purekid]

Daddy

I’m listening to Claudia’s music. She’s painted by Lizzie Grant. With great melancholy strokes of blue, pink, white and gold. Gold like her golden hair that cascades down her face. A coquette waterfall.

Lizzie sings, “If he likes me, takes me home.”

“Come on you know you like good little girls.”

“You can be my daddy. You can be my daddy.”

“Put me in a movie.”

I’ve always painted a picture for her (a picture of a man in a suit with these penetrating eyes, one hand imprisoned by a silver watch) And she’s always painted one in response (a picture of a good girl with her hands behind her back, doe eyes begging sweetly for attention). She was nose deep in a psychology textbook when I found her. She was living one page at a time. Chapter one, two, three, four, f— I ripped out all of the pages so she didn’t have to read anymore. So we just stared at each other at 2am through our macbook screens. Our pixels frozen in time.

And when I spelled out my heart it was always h-e-a-t. She’s Spanish but can’t pronounce her R’s. And I’m an American without a gun. And she’s a little sparkle jump rope queen. And I’m a boy holding his hand out to a doe-eyed deer, smiling with white-toothed confidence. I lift up my yellow polo sweater, and show her the contraption located in my chest. The thing in my chest that never beats. She tells me it’s okay.

“You can be my daddy. You can be my daddy.”

There’s something about the way we met. About her age. About the thing on my wrist. About her body count. About mine. About the comment section of that song. And the implications of it all. I’m in the comment section of this song and all of the girls are typing out their ages, spelling out their trauma. They spell it d-a-d-d-y. And I’m scrolling endlessly looking for a blonde girl who comments “17.” And I’m thinking of the man in the suit. The thing on his wrist. His penetrating eyes.

You want to know something? The night my parents kicked me out of their house. My stepfather, 53 years old, sitting across from me, meets my gaze burning a hole in the middle of his forehead. I swore for a second he looked like a deer, frozen.

“Those eyes of yours,” he says blankly.

And I, 19 years old, can’t tell what he’s feeling. I’m a loaded gun aimed for a kill shot. I want his brains on the walls, the furniture. Those eyes. My eyes. Why did he say that? Was he afraid? Was it pity? Was it wonder? What did he see? Did he understand? Why didn’t he show me his eyes? Why did he look like a deer?

But anyway, that’s how a boy gets his eyes. And now when he sees a deer, there’s always the idea of a gunshot waiting to sound behind his eyes. So he stretches out his hand instead. His hand that’s handcuffed by a silver watch. Everything about him radiates with power. All his body knows is violence.

Daddy is the Italian suit jacket he hangs over his shoulders. Daddy is the American tie that grips his throat. Daddy is the clop-clop-clop of the British shoes that announce that he’s coming. Daddy is the Swedish watch he handcuffs himself with. Daddy are his God-given eyes brimming with ultra-violence.

That comment section was filled with deer. And I’m just one daddy.

[bubblecg]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Boys 18mos Clothing Bundle.

[daddiesonthego]

Casual Tourist Daddy exploring Logan Circle with his family.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

I'm so glad to find a black woman writing for Lloyd 😭thank you for your service ma'am!!

How would you think Lloyd would react to his lady matching his outfits? Like, maybe he doesn't know she's matching until they see each other later in the day, but when he does, he's all....ohh yeeeah

Once again, thank you for your work and your brain! 💕💜🌟

I am so glad to be able to get out these little stories and headcanons (and trust me, I love making headcanons, so send me prompts pls)

~thank you for the ask nonnie!!! headcanon under the cut~

warnings: daddy kink, domestic!lloyd sorta, a mini dive into lloyd's closet, written with black curvy woman in mind

there are many words you can use to describe lloyd hansen

sociopathic

methodical

drop-dead gorgeous

but of all the things you enjoy about your man, your favorite has to be his wardrobe

i mean, the man has enough outfits to open a boutique

and his closet is color coordinated, of course

and you have to give it to him, he can dress well, perfectly polished and everything fits him like a glove

that tight little ass of his is always on display in those tight pastel or khaki pants he wears

the first time you decide to wear something to match him is when he puts on that yellow, grey, and white striped polo that you hated on the hanger but that looks so good on him that you wanted to sink to your knees and greyish tan straight-leg chinos

and he looked so fucking good when he left the house this morning and you were salivating like the thirsty hussy you are

you get dressed in a yellow ribbed cotton button-down spaghetti strap dress and it fits over your curves like a second skin

you go about your business of running errands and by the time you come home, lloyd is on the couch again enjoying a lowball of D'USSÉ XO with his feet up on the table in those god awful mocassins that you wish he would get rid of for a sexier shoe but whatever

you drop your new bags of clothing and come over to straddle Daddy's lap, adjusting your dress so that the opening of buttons is right at your apex

he lets his hands roam over you until they settle at your hips

"don't you look pretty today, sunshine...love this color against your skin"

"thank you daddy"

the second time you are matching him gets his attention

he is wearing this slutty little mock turtleneck and some beige slacks and he looks delectable, the top is so tight across his pecs that you wanna put your face in between his tits and

he calls and wants you to meet him for lunch and you have the perfect outfit to match him

a black bodycon dress with an opening in the back that is only held together with a flimsy little string with a small string of pearls around your neck

walking up to the restaurant after being helped out of the car by your driver, you see daddy looking over the menu with his brows furrowed, searching for what he craves until his head pops up at the sound of your heels clacking

"hey daddy, how was work?" you say, kissing his lips before taking a seat across from him

"work was murder, as always, sunshine. but enough about work, look at you! lookin' good enough to eat, pretty girl"

"thank you daddy"

while you look over the menu, you can see lloyd in your peripheral vision looking past his menu at your relaxed posture

"they don't have what i want on the menu"

"what did you want daddy?" you close your menu, expecting him to suggest a different restaurant

"you"

the look in his eyes has you shook, hungry eyes with pupils blown stare back at you

i guess he likes the dress

the third time you dress like him, he gets the hint

especially when it is a little obvious when you watch him do his morning routine

showering, shaving, moisturizing, hair...and that his routine

he chooses a patterned navy and white polo and dark blue pants and you pull out a shiny blue dress that is about knee-length with frilly accents and off-the-shoulder sleeves

you dress while he does and he watches you with amusement as he puts on his watch

his eyes are on you while his hands are in his pockets, you are pulling on your heels and looking up at him

"what?"

"so how long have you been matching everything i wear, sunshine"

you just smile and finish up the buckle on your shoe

"i have no idea what you're talking about, daddy"

he just chuckles and kisses your neck and exits the bedroom

you follow him out and put your hand in his

he pulls your joined hands to his lips and lays a kiss on your ring finger where a large diamond sits sparkling in the light of the sun through the windows

you beam with pride, knowing you made the big mean scary lloyd hansen into a somewhat domestic daddy...

🫠🎀🥺

[carolmunson]

good cop, bad cop

part II: daddy lessons, part III: stella 

some warnings ahead of time: fem reader, daddy kink, dom!steve, dom!eddie, sadist!eddie (also soft, he can’t help it), brat!reader, sadist!steve (not soft at all unfortch), bdsm aligning punishments, humiliation, degradation, dom training, forced orgasm. also like none of this is following show cannon, but that’s fine. we love smut for smut’s sake. 

pls don’t engage if under 18+ cause yikes! 

wittle authors note: there were a lot of places this could have gone but i didn’t want to get into anything too extreme! a lot of the punishments in this lil’ drabble are sourced from friends of mine in the lifestyle, so i hope its enjoyed! 

Hawkins, 1990 

You trudged into the house, snow trickling with you as you opened the door with a creak. You wiped your boots off on the welcome mat and kicked them to the side where Steve’s Nike’s and Eddie’s Reebok’s littered the hallway. Eddie must not have been home, since his Doc Martins were missing from the pile. You hung your coat on the rack, seeing Steve’s bomber jacket at the top. Eddie’s leather jacket was nowhere to be found. 

Your heart sunk when you heard the water running in the kitchen and the clinking of dishes. Eddie had asked you to do them this morning as part of your morning tasks but you forgot in the rush of trying to get to the grocery store. 

“Hi Steve,” you said meekly, bringing the groceries into the kitchen and onto the table. You avoided Steve’s gaze, just focusing on his arms, his hands hidden in the soapy water. 

“You forget something this morning?” he asked, his hair flopping into his face. He placed the last plate in the dish rack on the counter, drying off his hands on the towel hanging on the cabinet knob below him. Steve turned around, leaning on the counter behind him with his arms crossed. His blue and yellow striped polo stretched across his chest, the cuffs of the sleeves tightening around his biceps. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you explained, “I’ll do them tonight after dinner, I promise.” 

“Don’t tell me,” he said, Steve’s voice was stained with disappointment, “Tell Eddie when he gets home.” 

“Eddie doesn’t care if I do chores or not,” you retorted, with a little more attitude than you expected. You opened the fridge, reorganizing some of the leftovers, taking out an empty pizza box (thanks, Eddie), and making room for what you brought home. 

“Watch how you fix that mouth to talk to me,” Steve warned, his voice hardened. A little shiver of fear ran through your chest, suddenly more aware of your position in the fridge. Bent over at the perfect angle for him to really give you one with his hand without warning. 

When you popped out of the fridge, Steve has maneuvered to the kitchen table to load the groceries out of the bags. You got next to him to help, warmth radiated off of him and the smell of his cologne made you dizzy. 

“What’s been getting into you, hm?” he cooed, turning you to face him. His warm brown eyes poured into yours. Steve caressed your face and you leaned into the feeling of his gentle touch – which you had been receiving less and less often these days. “You don’t wanna listen to us anymore, baby? You keep breaking all of Eddie’s rules, do you think he likes that? Do you think I like that?” 

You grinned, “Stevie, Eddie never gets mad at me. I broke his guitar strings two days ago, even though he asked me not to touch it his guitar, because he told me my outfit was ‘too purple’ and–” 

“You said you bumped into it while vacuuming and it fell off the wall,” Steve dropped his hand from your cheek and went back to crossing his arms. His brows knitted with disbelief at the audacity you had to lie about something like that.

“Okay, so, I lied a little bit,” you confessed quietly, not looking him in the eyes, “But even still, I broke his guitar, I didn’t fold his laundry, I talked back to him in front of other people, I didn’t do the dishes – he always says it’s okay. He always lets me cum.” 

“So you listen to me because you don’t like when I get disappointed? Is that right, princess?” he asked. You felt your stomach flip and your cheeks get hot like they always did when he talked down to you. 

“It’s like this: you’re the bad cop, he’s the good cop,” you explained, “Sometimes it’s fun to see how far I can keep the good cop being good.” 

“So that’s your plan? Push Eddie’s buttons until you can’t anymore?” he asked, going back to the groceries on the table, he laughed to himself, “Why would you tell me that?” 

“You always want me to tell you the truth,” you said to him, pleased with yourself. He smirked to himself and looked over at you. 

“You’re gonna wish you didn’t,” he muttered, something dark bubbled in his chest as he spoke, “Go upstairs and wait for Eddie to come home. Go change into that little skirt he likes.” 

“Yes, daddy,” you nodded, swallowing hard. This seemed new, no automatic spankings when you said that you lied, no slaps across the face when you sassed him. He didn’t call you any names. All the things you were prepared for just to be told to go upstairs and change. You suddenly felt a little empty, you��craved the control Steve had over you, his hands on you, how rough he was to start and how gentle he was after you learned your lesson.

You padded into the bedroom and went to your dresser – hm, that little skirt he likes. That pleated one from Catholic school that you never got rid of, how lucky for you that it was coming back in style with grunge on the rise. The blue and green tartan was a little scratchy and it barely fit anymore, but the way it flounced over your ass gave you enough confidence that it didn’t matter. Eddie loved fucking you in it, his little church girl getting blessed by the Devil of Hawkins over and over again. 

You shimmied your jeans off, plopping them in the hamper. Before putting the skirt on, you looked yourself over in the mirror. Cheeks still bitten red from the cold, your backside still branded with two lines of fading purple from the last time Steve belted you for acting out at Family Video. You frowned a little, still let down that trying to get a rise out of Stevie didn’t end up with you over his knee. You huffed, sliding the skirt on, slipping a pair of Eddie’s favorite panties on under it for good measure. If you were gonna get spanked later, you might as well keep him a little distracted for it. You smoothed out the white sweater you had on to start, sat on the edge of the bed and waited to be called. 

About a half an hour later you heard the door squeak open and the stomping of boots in the front hallway. The rumble of two male voices reverberated off the walls and up the stairs, and while you couldn’t hear what they were saying, you knew it was about you. 

“Baby, come down stairs for me,” you heard Steve call from the front hall. You slowly made your way to the door, tiptoeing down the stairs. From half way down you could see Eddie sitting on the couch with is legs splayed, boots still on. Steve was pacing the length of the coffee table with his hands behind is back. 

“All the way down,” Steve said, catching your eye, “Don’t make me wait.” 

You scurried down the rest of the steps, standing in the arch way that opened of the living room to the hallway. 

“You called me?” you asked, trying to pretend like you weren’t walking into a clear intervention. 

“Why don’t you get on your knees and tell Eddie what you said to me today,” Steve stopped pacing, your blood ran cold. 

“Um,” you faltered a bit, slowly making your way around the couch between Eddie’s open legs. He looked you over, a hungry smirk broke across his face at your clothing choices. You used his thighs to support yourself getting down on your knees on the ground in front of him. You looked back at Steve, pleading with your eyes if you could skip this part – because the last time Eddie had punished you, he really punished you. 

“Go ahead,” he encouraged. 

Eddie looked down at you, dotingly, “What do you have to tell me, sweet girl?”

“I um,” the words were in your throat, “I said you were the good cop.” 

He exhaled a little chuckle through his nose, “What does that mean?” 

“It means, uh, it means,” you stumbled over your words. 

“Tell him everything,” Steve warned from behind you, “You don’t want me to tell him.” 

“I didn’t do the dishes this morning,” you confessed. 

“That’s okay, princess. You can be a little forgetful,” he said, his voice was soft and gentle, such a contrast to Steve’s hardened cadence. Steve cleared his throat, and you both looked over at him, like he’d given you both an order you’ve forgotten. 

“And I,” your breath hitched and tears pricked your eyes, “I broke your guitar and the strings on purpose because you didn’t like my outfit. I haven’t been doing the chores you asked me to do. I keep lying to you on purpose and I told daddy you were the good cop because-cause you n-never get mad at me.” 

“Then what did you say,” Steve prompted, you looked down at the floor, “Look at him when you say it. Don’t be disrespectful.” 

“I said,” you swallowed, “That it’s fun to see how far I can keep the good cop being good.” 

Eddie scanned you, his normally soft and playful look turned dark and stoic. You caught the tension in his jaw, and shook at the low rumble that became of his voice, “Hm, that’s disappointing.” 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled out, your voice rasping. Eddie stood up and swung a leg over you, walking past Steve into the kitchen. 

“Do you hear that?” he asked. Steve looked over at you, still on your knees, your head bowed to the floor softly bouncing with your little cries. 

“No, must’ve been the wind,” he said, running his hand through his hair. You glanced at the clock, just turning two – you were still expected to make lunch for them. You inched yourself up, watching them chat in the kitchen, pulling plates and cutlery out to set the table. They didn’t look at you at all, and if they did, it was just your body as it entered the kitchen. You watched them talk about their mornings, steal kisses from each other. Eddie’s strong hands skating over Steve’s back while he walked by him, you ached for it to be you. 

You gathered up ingredients for sandwiches, the good kind with good bread, placing them on the counter. 

“There’s only the two of us, so you can clear that third setting, honey,” you heard Eddie say to Steve from behind you. 

“Oh, of course,” Steve said, you listened to the clinking of plates. He didn’t excuse himself while he opened the cutlery drawer into your hip. You didn’t exist. Tears poured out of your eyes while you put the sandwiches together, wiping your face between layers of cold cuts, lettuce, and tomato. You looked over your shoulder to see a bowl still at your chair and took a deep breath, relief washing over you. You hated being ignored. 

After dressing their plates with their sandwiches, chips, and a pickle and grabbing them each a beer, you stood there waiting for their next command. 

“And so the record store is probably gonna promote me, which is both cool and annoying? I’ll be making more money, but now we have to move band practice to the weekend and I don’t want to always be busy on my days off, y’know?” Eddie explained from across the table. 

“Can’t you just adjust your schedule?” Eddie asked with with mouth still full, “And see if you can open a couple of days a week and then do band practice after those shifts?” 

Eddie thought about it to himself, “Okay Harrington, looks like there is a brain under all that hair. I’ll bring it up if they end up putting me up for the job.” 

“They will,” Steve smiled at him, taking a sip of his bar, “You’re good at it.” 

You sniffled and their attention turned to you quickly. 

“Oh you know, I almost forgot you were there, baby,” Steve said in a mocking tone, “Did you want some lunch?” 

You nodded, afraid to speak, testing the waters in case this was another trap. Eddie reached for the bowl in front of your chair at the table and you caught what it was, your stomach dropped and so did the contents of the bowl as he poured it onto the floor in front of him. Uncooked rice pattered down next to his chair, some of it skidding across the kitchen floor. Your eyes widened as you looked at the rice and then back up at him. Eddie put the bowl back and looked at you, his face still hardened but wicked. 

“I’m so sorry sweet thing, I forgot to cook it for you,” he said, “Why don’t you kneel on it for me instead.” 

You took a step back, looking over at Steve who was smiling to himself, cleaning his hands off on a napkin. You saw him reach for the kitchen timer in the center of the table. 

“Don’t look at him, look at me,” Eddie warned, “Do as I asked.” 

It settled in that you weren’t going to be rescued today. Whenever Steve was looking to take it a little past your limits, Eddie always swooped in at the last minute to coddle you. Now that Eddie was taking a page out of Steve’s book, it looked like you’d have to just endure it. 

“Yes sir,” you whimpered, taking it one step at a time, your socks crunching over the stray grains before making it to the pile. You lowered yourself down again, the skin of your knees immediately screaming at the contact of the sharp texture. This was out of Eddie’s play book, one of many, in a literal book of punishments he’d written down over the last couple of years that he wanted to try over over time. 

“Ow, ouch,” you muttered to yourself under your breath. He grabbed your chin in his hands and looked at you, his dark brown eyes softening a bit at the fear in yours. 

“Fifteen minutes,” he said, “Not one sound. If we hear anything, anything, we start that timer over from the beginning. Do you understand me?” 

You nodded again, breathless at the command.

“That’s my good girl,” he purred while silent tears spilled out of your eyes at the pain. Eddie couldn’t help himself, you looked do cute when you were helpless. 

“See, Ed, you can’t praise her while you’re punishing her,” Steve said to him from across the table, running a hand over his face, “That’s why she doesn’t take you seriously.” 

“Oh come on, Stevie, look at her,” he cooed, gesturing toward you, “Look how pathetic she looks. Is that not the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen?” 

You smiled a little, trying to focus on the tick of the kitchen time and not your knees. You sat back on your calves for a moment of relief – 

“Keep that ass up before I ruin it again,” Steve scolded, always the first to call you out on your posture. 

“Yes, daddy,” you responded while adjusting back on your knees, your face burned with embarrassment at how small they were making you feel. So insignificant. Both men looked at each other, judging whether or not your response to a command counted as a ‘sound’. They spared you. 

Eddie and Steve continued chatting, Eddie taking his vest off and resting it on the back of the chair while he went to he fridge for another beer for him and Steve. Seven minutes left of the kitchen timer. You weren’t sure if it was an accident when Ed knocked your foot on his way back to the chair. Your knee slid, sending a shockwave of pain through you, bubbling through your chest. 

“Jesus, fuck Eddie, come on!” you blurted out, “Fuck!” You desperately wished you could suck the words back in, but they’d already heard them. 

“I know you didn’t just say that to me,” a ringed hand gripped your shoulder painfully, then reached to the back of your head to wrench it back by your hair. 

“You know what we have to do now,” he said, authority coated his voice more than it ever had, “I don’t like when words like that come out of your pretty mouth. You know I hate that more than Daddy does.” 

“No, please,” you begged, hearing Steve walk quickly to the bathroom and back, appearing next to Eddie with a wet washcloth in one hand, a bar of Dove soap in the other. 

“Open your mouth, sweetheart,” he said, keeping your head tilted back to face them. You watched Steve get the cloth soapy and sudsy and clamped your jaw closed, you hadn’t had your mouth washed out in months. 

“If I have to ask you again, I promise you’ll regret it,” Eddie hissed, “Come on, open that mouth for me.” 

You shook your head no and Steve sighed, placing the soap on a clean plate next to the sink. He passed the sudsy wash cloth to Eddie who let go of your hair, “I got this babe, just make sure you’re watching so I don’t have to show you how it’s done again.” 

Steve got on your level, Eddie studied him, “You’re really letting Daddy down today, do you understand? Can you please open your mouth or do we have to do this the hard way?” 

Your lower lip trembled, you hated that disappointed look he was giving you, but you hated mouth soaping ten times more. You shook your head until he caught your throat in his hand. He was gonna do this the hard way. 

“I’m so tired of this attitude,” he said to you, squeezing the sides of your neck, “You wanna see a bad cop, I’ll give you a bad cop.” 

Your vision blurred and your head swam at the feeling of him choking you, but it felt different. This wasn’t like when he was on top of you, not like when he was taking the stress of the day out on your body. Not like when he needed to feel good. This was purposeful, he was trying to make it difficult to breath, he wanted you to start choking. 

You gagged, your mouth opening involuntarily and your tongue lolling out of your mouth. Steve let go and you sputtered and coughed, just long enough for Eddie to get the wash cloth in your mouth. The moment the soap touched your tongue you wretched, the suds filling your mouth with a bitter taste and slimy texture. 

“That’ll teach you, hm?” Eddie asked, his fingers making sure to reach every inch of your gums and the inside of your cheeks. Your mouth filled to the brim with saliva to remove the offending product. When he took his fingers out of your mouth with the cloth, drool pooled out of the corners of your lips. Eddie sat back on the chair and watched you, your face soaked with tears and spit. 

“Maybe you should be bad for me a little more often,” Eddie said, “You look so fucking sexy like this.” He reached over to your arm and gave you two squeezes on your bicep to check in. Punishment or not, it’s only okay if you think it’s okay. 

You reached weakly to his knee and squeezed two times back, letting him know you were okay. You sputtered again, bubbles gathering on your lips. Steve got up and got a glass of water ready by the sink. The timer dinged on the kitchen table.

“I’ll let this slide,” Eddie said, helping you up from the pile of rice. You winced, listening to more grains fall to the floor, some now embedded into your skin. Pricks of blood on your knees shined bright in the light of the kitchen.

“Christ, Ed,” Steve huffed, “You have to follow through or she doesn’t learn anything. If you want to ease her out of a punishment at least give her something different to do, don’t tell her you’ll let it slide.”

“It just seems unfair,” Eddie confessed, his voice lightening up. 

“Was it fair that you had to spend $75 to get your guitar repaired when she broke it on purpose?” he asked, picking up the glass of water. Eddie’s jaw tensed again, looking down at you. 

“Go crawl to the bathroom so we can finish washing that mouth out,” he muttered darkly. 

“Thaaat’s what I like to hear,” Steve grinned, nudging him, “Feels good to be the bad cop a little, doesn’t it.” They both watched you crawl to the half bath attached to the living room and you immediately got up to lean over the dark green sink, the yellow tinged light over the mirror gave you a sallow reflection. The boys grinned behind you, they looked like demons.

Steve gave you the glass of water and you rinsed thoroughly, rinsing and spitting until the glass was empty. You’d watch Steve fill it up while Eddie scrubbed your mouth, littering you with insults about what a bad girl you were. They tagged team you for another fifteen minutes until they could tell you were tuckered out. 

Steve held your face in his hands, “You didn’t swallow any, right?” he asked. 

You shook your head no, he kissed your forehead, “Good. Good girl.” 

You felt weak and cried out, Eddie scooped you up, bringing you up the stairs to the bedroom, laying you down, “Why don’t you take a rest, okay?” 

“Yes, sir,” you said, letting your fingers skate over his rings, “I’m sorry I said you were a good cop and that you don’t punish me. You’re not. You’re a bad cop too.” 

He snickered, “We can let Stevie believe that’s true, but I’ll always be your good cop. Daddy can keep doling out punishments, I’ll keep getting you in and out of trouble,” He caressed your arm until he knew you’d fallen asleep. 

–

You woke up confused, the sun had gone down. The room was dark outside of Steve’s bedside table lamp. The clock on the wall read 6:30. In a rush, the pain in your knees came back, your muscles were achey. 

The door clicked open, and you could hear Steve and Eddie’s conversation. 

“Dude she’s definitely better at sucking my dick, you don’t make her excited for it, you just gag her,” Eddie argued. 

“Yeah, because she’s deep throating me, freak. She doesn’t do it for you because it doesn’t go that far,” he teased. Boys will be boys. 

“If I remember correctly, I think you you love how far it goes,” Eddie’s voice was husky, “She takes her time with me, it pays to be the good cop sometimes.” 

“Hi,” you said groggily so they could hear you. The light clicked on and you squinted at the harshness of it, your eyes slowly adjusting. 

“Hi pretty girl,” Steve said softly, “Are you okay?”  

You nodded, laying back on the bed. Steve crawled next to you, parting your legs, you obediently bent your knees and flattened your feet to the mattress. 

“Eddie was thinking since you did a good job learning your lesson today that you earned a little reward,” Steve ran his hand from the top of your chest to the hem of your skirt, you shuddered. 

“I don’t want this little outfit to go to waste,” he murmured into your neck, pulling some of the skin between his teeth. You let out a soft moan at the hot breath on your neck and at the feeling of his hand sneaking up your thigh. 

Steve got on his knees and his hand slid higher, Eddie standing at the edge of the mattress, flipping your skirt up so he could watch. A finger slid over the fabric covering your pussy and your hips twitched. 

“Patience, baby,” he said, “You remember what you said to me in the kitchen? How you can be as bad as you want and Eddie always lets you cum, but I don’t?” 

You smiled eagerly, “Yes daddy.” Eddie started taking his belt off and placed it on the bed, undoing his jeans. 

“So daddy’s gonna let you cum, tonight,” Steve said, keeping eye contact with you while he let his thumb massage your clit over your panties. Your hand reactively went to his wrist to keep him there, he kept going. Steve pulled you up by the back of your neck to leave a rough kiss on your mouth, quickening the pace of his thumb. 

Your breath hitched and when you met eyes with him again, you saw that darkness still behind them. It suddenly hit you that you weren’t out of the scene from earlier. Eddie got behind you and reached his hands up your sweater, running his calloused thumbs over your peaked nipples. You couldn’t hold in a moan if you tried, all the stimulation already felt overwhelming. 

“Daddy’s gonna let you cum as many times as he wants.” 

[eliotheeangelis]

✨Reviewing every outfit at the 1982 drivers' strike✨

It’s always superlicence this and FISA-FOCA that, but I ask you; where is the real discourse we need about the strike? When will the mainstream F1 press give us what we want - a full-on deep dive analysis into everybody’s outfit a la Vogue on Oscar night? 

Well, here. Here is that discourse.

I will begin by saying generally there seemed to be two broad categories of outfit on show; either preppy country club daddy, or slutty twink attending pride for the first time. I will note who falls into which category as we proceed. You may find the style choice of some drivers surprising.

Let’s get to it...

Niki Lauda (prep)

Look, Niki had bigger things to worry about, I get it. He had to hire the bus first thing that morning. He spent all day trying to keep everyone in order, he had to go to the front desk to arrange all the sleepover bedding, he was fighting for his goddamn rights against Jean-Marie Balestre. He didn’t have time for a fashion show. But still. This is rather phoned in. Beige cords, utilitarian black polo? Meh. I will however award a bonus point for the navy baseball cap instead of his usual red. The less said about the weird fish logo on his cords, the better.

Nigel Mansell (twink)

Yes. Nigel Mansell; Il Leone, Red Five, the manliest racing driver this side of Tom Selleck's moustache, was once a mere slip of a twink. Tbh the outfit itself isn't too special, just a white polo and off-white booty shorts, but for me it's the tilt of the head, the lowered gaze, the shy smile that really sells it as peak ingénue. Truly mansueto: tame, docile, gentle, submissive, breedable. Also at one point his sunglasses were tucked inside his shorts. Jesus H. Christ, Nigel. One of my faves.

Gilles Villeneuve (twink)

Quite simply the tightest jorts I have ever seen in my life. 100/10, no notes.

Alain Prost (twink)

There are a lot of contenders in the t-shirt and booty shorts genre at the strike, however I genuinely think Alain is one of the better entries. The dark navy shorts look smart as well as a little slutty, and the athleisure t-shirt looks cute and keeps his sponsors happy. A solid look from Le Professeur.

René Arnoux (prep)

René is trying hard for Ralph Lauren chic here but is just falling short. The yellow polo and beige slacks are a smidge too bland. I have an feeling if he had gone for twinky booty shorts instead of trousers, this could have been a winner. A pity. He has a beautiful tan however, and the all-gold accessories win him back some points.

Didier Pironi (prep)

Didier here showing Niki it is possible to run a strike and still serve lewks. The stripe across his polo adds interest to plain white, and the blue of his Levis perfectly matches his eyes. The loafers say “I’m casual and fun”, yet the stainless steel briefcase says "I mean business". Bernie and Jean-Marie saw him rock up to the negotiations in this fit and knew they had no chance.

Andrea de Cesaris (twink)

A surprise contender for Look of the Strike™. The eye-catching cherry red of the printed tee (Google tells me it is the nickname for the Alabama College Football team), the crisp white shorts and trainers, the athletic tube socks; Andrea is channelling 80s John Hughes protagonist and he is making it work. Bonus point for the quads of steel. However he loses marks for the briefcase (it’s kind of weird and pointless). Not quite a perfect score.

Nelson Piquet (twink)

Nelson bucks the trend and goes for a printed tee instead of the more popular polo shirt. To be honest this outfit shouldn’t work, nothing really matches; bright blue shorts and a schlubby beige tee don’t exactly scream high fashion. It looks like he rolled out of bed and grabbed the first clothes he saw (tbh very possible). However, it’s the insouciant attitude that comes from being the reigning world champion that really carries this look; I have more important things to worry about, that strut says, than what I wear. And, dammit Nelson, he pulls it off.

Riccardo Patrese (prep)

Okay. Oookay. Riccardo looked ridiculously hot at the strike, let’s get that out of the way first thing. He goes for yet another polo shirt and shorts look, but the longer length of the shorts and the rich navy blue of the shirt keeps it interesting. I hereby bequeath him with the official Hottest Driver in Attendance Award. Niki better move aside because I think we all would like to snuggle up on that mattress.

Keke Rosberg (prep)

Keke did not want to go to the strike apparently, but he didn’t let it stop him from staying on trend in this all-navy shirt and jeans ensemble. The darker shade of blue emphasizes his tan and golden highlights. The slight oversizing of the shirt make his waist look actually snatched. This is low-key but super chic, I like it a lot.

John Watson (twink)

John is really going down the “ageing tennis pro trying to seduce you on holiday” route. It also has a touch of “how do you do, fellow young drivers?” Good for him. It's the same outfit as Nigel, more or less, but Wattie looks perhaps a little too old at this point to pull off bridal all-white; he doesn't quite have the same charming naivety required to sell it. 10/10 for aviators, though.

Bruno Giacomelli (no category)

Oh this outfit! It’s not twinky, it’s not preppy, and I simply ADORE it. The wraparound shades, the bomber jacket, the plain white tee and jeans. It’s pure James Dean. If there were a few more photos this might actually win it for me.

Elio de Angelis (prep)

Now, on the surface perhaps this look isn't so special. Red shirt and jeans, who cares? However, think! Think about later on. In the small hours, when everyone is ready for bed, in the smoky darkness of the hotel room, Elio will be sat at the piano, playing the sexiest Mozart shit you ever heard. His sleeves will be rolled up, his top shirt buttons undone, showing a teasing flash of chest, a cigarette will be smouldering in his pursed lips, the light every so often catching his gold Rolex, his hair falling into his eyes as he concentrates on the soft lilting rhythm of the music. He will look spectacular and everyone will want to have sex with him.

Carlos Reutemann (no category)

In Lole's defense, apparently he didn't know the strike was going on and was bundled onto the coach first thing without a change of clothes. However, I don't accept this as an excuse. The half-undone overalls and t-shirt combo may work in the pits, but you're in the big leagues now, Carlos. Try harder.

Patrick Tambay (prep)

He doesn’t even go here! Patrick didn’t have a seat on the grid at this point in time but came to the strike anyway, and he damn near stole the show in patriotic, tricolore-themed faded red white and blue. Even his shoes match! Preppy and sleek. Chapeau, Patrick.

Riccardo Paletti (twink)

This is the best outfit of the strike, don't @ me. The oversized aviator frames, the white polo with blue accents, the combination skinny/flare fit navy dungarees, the fluffy bed hair, even the casual cigarette. I would wear this but I would not look as good. Riccardo Paletti, you win first prize.

No review as I could not find good footage/photos of them: Michele Alboreto, Jacques Laffite, Eddie Cheever. Babes, I'm truly, truly sorry but also next time try to get yourselves in a picture maybe.

No review as I don't care: Teo Fabi, Derek Warwick, the rest

Thank you for coming to my talk, fuck the FIA 🌸

[preciouslandmermaid]

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) - part 9

Note: Thank you to everyone who has been so UNREASONABLY patient for this update. I went on vacation and then immediately went back to work and had approximately zero downtime and then I started hyperfixating on The Sandman. Also, a wonderful anon made a playlist for this fic! Listen to it here (spotify)  

Warnings/Tags: Explicit language

Synopsis: You deal with the colossal explosion of your dad’s visit and discover how deep the shrapnel goes. 

You’re starting to trust that friendship means letting someone see fallout and hoping they don’t flinch.

(Read on Ao3) |||| (Masterlist)  

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

You’ve got a migraine from Hell the next morning. It felt like someone stuck a tube up your nose and filled your cranium with shards of glass and that were also on fire. You medicated with caffeine and Excedrin and sequestered yourself into the back of the kitchen.

You would be absolutely miserable if you had to do front of house today. It had nothing to do with the subtle, bubbling fear that your dad would show up again. There was plenty to do. And if Dani, Ted, or Leslie noticed your mood—they were gracious enough not to mention it. Your phone remained quiet on your desk as if the Universe knew you were in a piss-poor mood. Not even Carmy texted you.

Which was fine. It was! You were both busy with your bullshit. It was day two of your opening. You had custom orders to process, and invoices, and supplies to replenish. Your day started well before your trilling alarm and ended only when you closed your eyes at night. You knew his daily life wasn’t chill or easy. He walked around, rumpled with exhaustion and grief, and carried a duffel bag of emotional baggage over his shoulder.

But – okay, okay – fine – maybe you were expecting something after yesterday. A check-in? A stupid meme? Something, anything, that meant everything was still cool between you two after you dumped all your daddy issues onto him. You scrubbed your hands over your face with a quiet groan, watching the stars dance before your eyelids. You couldn’t text him first. What would you say? It’s not like he needed to know how you were. You could just move past it naturally. Let time erode the awkwardness and return to the tentative friendship shared between you.

You folded the yellow receipt for the delivery of your walk-in fridge into an origami frog. The meditative nature of carefully folding helped to ease your pounding head and anxious thoughts. You smiled fondly at the little creature and balanced it upon your filing cabinet.

“Look after the office while I’m gone.” You said to it before snatching your apron from the wall and joining Ted and Dani in the kitchen.  

Shortly before closing, you hefted a heavy garbage bag over your shoulder and dumped it into the bin in the alley with a grunt. The flies buzzed noisily, disturbed by your action, and the rank smell of literal hot garbage forced your throat to gag. You wiped your palms together and grimaced. The less glamorous aspects to business ownership, you supposed.

A car door slammed behind you, followed by your name, and you spun—heart racing—to see your dad stalking toward you. He wore a bright, blue polo shirt and beige khakis and shiny brown loafers. He was the perfect picture of a middle-aged, middle-class ordinary man. However, his expression was unlike any other you’d seen before. Granted, your catalog of dad-expressions were extremely limited and muddled over time. You folded your arms across your chest. His perfect little family wasn’t with him. You wondered where he left them. The hotel? The zoo? Anything was possible with someone as flighty and irresponsible as your dad. Your breath stuttered in your chest.

“I need to talk to you about last night.” He said sternly, settling his hands on his hips, the face of his silver watch flashed in the hot, June sun.

“Are you seriously this pissed just because I didn’t call you for dinner?”

“No, not that.” He shook his head. “I’m referring to the two goons you sent to the hotel. They bullied me. Told me not to speak to you!” He pointed to his clean-shaven cheek, “One of them assaulted me! He was about this tall—” He gestured, “—I need his contact information so I can press charges. I assume you have it on hand since they were adamant about your friendship.”

Your brow furrowed. Did your dad lose a few screws on his drive over? For starters, he appeared completely fine. No bruises, no blood, no obvious signs of assault. Secondly, you had no idea who he was even talking about. Goons? You’d snort with laughter over the word if you weren’t so flabbergasted by his accusations. The only person who knew your dad visited was Carmy…but he didn’t…he couldn’t have…done anything…right? If you were to trust your dad’s description, Carmy wasn’t that tall, and it couldn’t be Richie.

Actually, it could be Richie. That actually sounded feasible. Shit. Did Richie seriously punch your dad?

He kept talking. “Now, I’m willing to put this whole unpleasant business behind us, once the person is charged, and we can celebrate your opening – as a family – tonight or tomorrow.”

You scoffed, throat tightening, and anger burning low in your gut, “I’m sorry, did you just say family?”

“Yes, kiddo. That’s what we are.” He smiled with perfect, straight teeth. “Now, I know I haven’t been around much but—”

“Much?!” You cut in, astonished at the gall of him, “You weren’t around at all!”

He sighed, eyes pleading. “I know, but I’m trying.”

“Why?” You stepped forward with fingertips digging into your arms. “Why now? After all this time?”

“The boys need a good role model.”

Your anger erupted from smoldering to supernova. “Stop!” You laughed, throwing your hands up, “Stop bringing your fucking kids into this! They aren’t pawns on a fucking chessboard. Just be honest with me—you couldn’t be honest with mom—and you abandoned me—abandoned us—so I’m asking you to do something good for once in your fucking life and be honest!

“Why the FUCK are you here?”

His gaze hardened, “Now, honey, I understand you’re upset, but that is no way to your father.”

A rogue fly buzzed around your head. All the pain inside leaked like a corrupted, infected wound. You trembled with it. You wanted to scream until your throat went raw. Dozens of birthdays rolled out before you with fragile hope that he’d walk through the door. A thousand holidays where the mailbox was empty – no letters or cards from him. A flipbook of skinned knees, and wiggly teeth, and listening to your mom weep in the kitchen when she thought you had already gone to bed. A childhood of acting Perfect because you thought that’s what you needed to do bring him back.

Then, as you got older, you endeavored for perfection to lessen the burden of your existence on your mom. Because how could she possibly heal with the constant reminder of him by her knees? How could she focus on her career if she was busy meeting your principal or trying to help you with homework? You didn’t want to upset her life. You made yourself small, and quiet, like a ghost in your big house in Cincinnati. Until your grandfather rescued you.

He gave you warmth, and gentleness, and focused attention you were uncertain you deserved. He practiced your multiplication tables with you over the phone. He sprayed you with the cold hose while he watered the garden. He winked at you across the dinner table whenever grandma said something amusing. He pulled you from the sidelines of your life and brought you onto the stage.

“You’re not my father.” You said, choking down a sob. “My father died a few months ago. You saw the interview about him, didn’t you?” You blinked away your tears. For a moment, your dad was stunned and speechless, his eyes glassy.

“You weren’t there.” You pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You weren’t there to – to help me when I fell down. When – when I scraped my knees or – or -- when a boy in third grade I had ugly teeth. You missed every single birthday and I wished for you!”

The tears flooded your lower lashes and spilled down your cheeks, tasting like absolution on the corners of your trembling lips.

“Do you have any idea how that feels? To be ten years old and while other kids were wishing for Nintendo’s and ponies – I was sitting there wishing for my dad to come home.” You inhaled raggedly. “And you never came back. It was like I stopped existing for you. It was like I didn’t matter. You were my hero.”

“So, you don’t get to stand here – a-and act like we’re a family or that we have any sort of relationship because we don’t. Okay? We don’t. You could have called! And don’t try to say you couldn’t or that Mom wouldn’t let you—because—"

You sniffled, “A few years ago, Mom told me that you used to call her, but it was only for money. It was never to talk to me.” Somewhere around the six-year mark of their separation, your Mom said she blocked his number, and rerouted any of his calls to her lawyer. It broke her heart, she said, to answer that phone and foolishly hope he’d ask for you.

The tendons in his neck flared, “I fell on hard times…once or twice.” He admitted quietly. “I’m trying, sweetie, I’m trying to—"

You blurted, “Why are you here?!”

“I regret how things ended between your mother and I.” He clasped his hands together, “You must believe me about that. I regret missing your childhood.”

You pressed your tear-stained lips together. “You missed all of it, dad. You missed everything.”

“I know.” He nodded, “I know.”

You felt a blade against your skin at the question in the back of your mind. You didn’t want to ask this. It was going to cut you open and flay you alive if you did. But, you had to know the truth. Did your dad actually have regrets? Or was this another ploy? Was it another sob-story to trap you into writing a check like your Mom? Your lips quivered and you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, holding yourself together, and wishing—with your whole heart—that your instincts would be proved false.

You asked softly, “Are you here for money?”

He averted your eyes, lips thinning.

“Are you here for money?” You repeated, feeling ice crawl over your limbs, numbing them. “I won’t have a relationship with you built on dishonesty, dad. Are you here for money?”

“Marilyn was laid off.” He said with difficulty, “and I – they cut my hours, you know, they’ve been outsourcing everything 'cause it’s cheaper overseas! It’s ruining the economy.”

Your lips twitched with a disbelieving smile and stayed quiet. Sometimes, the best offense was letting your opponent spill their own guts.

“I want to be in your life and yes – yes I – we could use your help.” He said, “I’m not so prideful that I can’t admit when I need help.”

“What do you say, huh? The bakery closes soon, doesn’t it? We can go get pancakes. You still – you still like pancakes, don’t you?” He smiled weakly, “And we can talk. We can talk this whole thing through. We can start over. We can be a family.”

The child-version of you, quiet and vulnerable, the little girl who thought her dad put the stars in the sky wanted so badly to say yes. You wrapped your arms around her and kissed the top of her head. Because, if you say yes, there was only one way this story goes, and it ends in heartbreak and disappointment. Your mom loaned your dad thousands of dollars over the years to bail him out of bad investments, and gambling debts, and overall poor life choices.

Maybe she did it because she loved him. Maybe she did it because you still loved him. He always thanked her once the check cleared, and they never spoke again until he needed her. You couldn’t follow that same path. You would break the cycle and your own heart. You closed your eyes briefly, tears overfilling, and pursed your lips.

“Kiddo?”

You opened your eyes to see your dad’s hopeful face. He expected you to say yes. But you were your grandfather’s child. You were made of silver cufflinks and white roses, delicate origami, and crossword puzzles. You imagined his warm, soft hands squeezing your shoulders. ‘Grow up, get over it,’ You suddenly remembered the second half of his favorite phrase, ‘There are greener pastures over the hill.’ He was right. You had a whole, bright, and beautiful field of the future laid out before you.  

“The answer is no.” You said, firm and clear. “And don’t come back here again.”

You added, “Please.”

He called your name when you walked away, but the heavy door closed behind you, and he did not try to follow you or start slamming his fist on the door. You weren’t sure how to feel about that. He never fought for you as a kid. He wouldn’t fight for you now. You battled the warring emotions inside your chest and relaxed your spine against the warm metal door.

You flattened your palms over your face, shoulders trembling, and cried over your dad for the second time today.

“Boss?” Ted’s concerned voice, resonate and warm, “You okay?”

“Nah.” You chuckled wetly, “I’m fucking awful, actually.”

Ted seemed at a loss for words, then he brightened, “Oh! Well – someone from the Beef came by and dropped lunch off. Do you want some? Can’t cry on an empty stomach that’s what I always say.”

You swiped at your tears with your knuckles, “W-what?”

Who from the Beef? And why? Could it have been Carmy? Or Marcus? How many surprises would this day throw at you?

“Yeah!” Ted smiled. “It’s chicken.”

You numbly followed Ted into your office where a Styrofoam container waited at your desk. Someone had written your name on a piece of neon green tape and affixed it to the front. You sank into your chair and lifted the top, steam wafted around your fingers, and condensation dripped from the inside of container. It smelled incredible and fragrant with notes of lemon and butter and garlic, you recognized the dish as lemon chicken piccata.

Ted smiled down at you, clapping your shoulder kindly, “Take your time, Boss. Everyone deserves a break.”

He left shortly thereafter, and you stabbed the included plastic fork into the dish. Did Carmy make this? It fell apart in your mouth, wonderfully juicy, and rich with herbs and tangy lemon. You choked back your laughter to stop yourself from, you know, actually choking. A fresh wellspring of tears brightened your eyes. Your stomach grumbled appreciatively, reminding you of your hunger, your humanity. You ate several bites, grinning, letting the flavors overtake your tongue and warm you from the inside out.

You reached for your phone and sent a single, simple text to him.

‘IDK who made this chicken but it’s fire. Thank you.’ You included a few flame emojis to embellish the message.

‘Thanks, Chef.’

‘Was it you?’

His response didn’t arrive until a few minutes later. You didn’t mind. It gave you time to eat.

‘Yeah, it was.’ Followed by a quick, ‘I’m glad you like it.’

Your heart flipped inside your chest. He made it for you. Okay, you could get technical and say he made it for everyone at the Rookie Cookie, but—he took time out of his busy day to send someone over with lunch. Because…because…why? You paused, worrying your lower lip between your teeth, lingering with the taste of his food. Because you were friends? Because he knew your dad was in town and he saw how wrecked it made you?

You smiled, unable to resist teasing him, ‘I guess that time at NOMA paid off, huh?’

‘Guess so.’

You set your phone back down onto your desk and were intent on finishing the meal before it got cold. Your phone buzzed again, surprising you, and you tapped the front screen to reveal the message waiting.

‘It’s a family recipe.’

You leaned back into your desk chair, breath caught in a snare, as the implications rolled across your mind like fresh snow. It wasn’t just about the food. It was about what it represented. He didn’t just throw together a sandwich. He gave you a piece of his family, his past, almost like…like how you gave him a piece of yours (just with less crying and destruction of hotel business cards).

Your knee bounced, checking the time, and counting backward inside your head. Generally, your bakery closed around the time The Beef closed for lunch to prep for dinner. Now, maybe it was the adrenaline waning from your tense, soul-ripping conversation with your dad. Or maybe it was this sweet, moving gesture of a family recipe on your desk. But you buzzed with restlessness and a hidden, quiet desire to see him.

He's across the street. You drummed your fingers on your desk. He told you he wouldn’t mind if you came around. You shoveled the final bite into your mouth and unlaced your apron.

“Dani, heading out! You’re in charge!” You shouted before leaving.

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

The front door of the Beef is closed with their dinner hours posted. You didn’t hesitate and your sneakers scuffed against the sidewalk at your short-stop. You circled around to the back. All the smokers were – surprise! – smoking. Richie and Tina sat on the wooden benches, Ebra’s arms hung over the staircase metal railing, and Carmy stood nearby everyone with his hand on his hips and back to you.

Ebrahim noticed you first, “Carmy! Your girlfriend is here!” He announced with an excited smile.

Carmy half-turned just in time for you to throw your arms around his shoulders in an abrupt embrace.

“Hey-o!” Richie shouted, laughing.

He was comfortingly warm, solid, and unmoving in your grasp. Chest-to-chest, you could feel his heartbeat, and the whisper of his breath on your neck. His curly hair brushed against the side of your face – painfully familiar and soft. You squeezed him tightly. He didn’t reciprocate the hug, but that hardly mattered.

You said, “I heard you met my dad,” before puling away and playfully punching his shoulder.

His neck flushed and he scratched the side of his nose with his thumb. “Shit, uh, yeah – you heard about that, huh?” Carmy looked embarrassed. Whether it was from the hug, or being found out, you didn’t know and weren’t going to waste time asking. You had someone else you needed to thank.  

“That’s not all.” You took a small step toward Richie. “I also heard you punched my dad.”

You grabbed Richie’s face between your palms and you’re grateful that he’s sitting down because otherwise the height difference would make this impossible. His eyes widened, but he doesn’t squirm away. You planted a kiss to each grizzled cheek; his short beard tickled your lips. Carmy coughed and turned his face away.

“Thank you.” You said, earnest and warm, “Seriously.”

Richie grinned between your hands, “Ah – shit. Anytime, sweetheart.”

Tina piped up, “What? Your dad some kind of shithead?”

You laughed, “The worst kind of shithead. The kind who doesn’t speak to his daughter for two decades and then turns up asking for money.”

Ebrahim whistled lowly behind you. “What a shit.”

You shrugged, “It’s over now.”

“Next time he’s around, you tell me.” Ebra said, tapping his chest with two fingers, “I do more than little bitch slap from Richie.”

“Hey! Fuck you!” Richie shouted at him.

Ebra laughed, “Fuck you!” He opened the back door and Richie followed him inside with good-natured threats of ‘showing Ebra how it happened’. You slid your hands into the back pockets of your jeans and sighed, though a smile lingered at your mouth, and your eyes went to Carmy as if drawn by magnetic force. Tina took a long drag of her cigarette and crossed her legs, watching you like a soap opera. You considered waiting for her to finish her cigarette before talking to Carmy, but time is precious, and you’re bursting at the seams with fondness.

Because no one stood up for you like that before. Richie risked possible arrest (but that was Richie). It was about Carmy using his limited hours in his day to do something for you. He went to the hotel. He confronted your dad. Although you didn’t know what was said, you got the essence, and didn’t need anything else. He deviated from his daily routine and responsibility because you were hurting.

Carmy was quickly becoming your favorite person.

“I can’t believe you did that.” You said to him.

“Yeah, me either.” He searched your face, something soft and vulnerable in the lines of his shoulders, and in the exhaustion of his clear eyes, “You pissed?”

“A little, yeah.” You smiled, “I hate it when people stick their nose in my business, remember?”

“Yeah.” He smiled wryly, “Yeah, I know.”

“But…um…” You licked your lips, “The rules are a little different for friends…so…” A golden, warm light spilled through the fractures in your heart. He watched you with quiet interest, the ember of his cigarette burning dangerously close to the filer, and you felt…you felt seen. You ballooned with joy and appreciation.

“Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll get over it.” You said.  

His eyebrows lifted, “Yeah?” He asked softly. You bit your lower lip and offered him a small nod.

Tina snickered, snubbing her cigarette out on the edge of the bench before standing. “Oh, you’ve got your hands full with this one, loquita.”

She patted your shoulder before ascending the steps and disappearing into the Beef.

In the moment of the door opening, you heard Richie call out, “T! Settle this bet for us!” Your smiled widened. You loved this little group of weirdos. Your chaotic, loud neighbors across the street – what would you do without them?

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

Carmy tossed his cigarette before it could burn his fingers. You stood inches away – a breath away – and all he could feel was your arms around him. His skin tingled. He wanted to rewind time. He wanted to wrap his arms around you and bury his nose into the crook of your shoulder. But he froze, speechless and confused.

Everything happened too fast including how you kissed Richie’s cheeks and his strangled reaction to it. You lingered, not leaving, though you both knew you’d have to. He needed to prep for dinner. You had to finish closing.

He selfishly drank in the sight of you, a little pleased that tears weren’t glistening in your eyes and appreciating how your smile illuminated the warmth in your eyes. You were so goddamn incredible. He sent Ebra to deliver your lunch with the vain hope that the food could say what he couldn’t. You brought him a gentle, lulling sense of peace, of comfort. You were his only friend. He didn’t want to lose that – lose you – and he didn’t want you to be stressed, or sad, or heartbroken like you were yesterday.

“You know, uh,” He cleared his throat nervously, “He’s missing out.”

You flashed that brilliant, wonderful smile at him. It felt warmer than the sun. “Mhm. I know.”

“For the record, just because Richie will run with – uh – with it. He slapped him. He didn’t punch him.” Carmy said. You moved imperceptibly closer, and your fingertips grazed against his, not quite holding his hand but…considering it. His veins illuminated, heart skipping and running from him, as wild as a motorcycle through Manhattan. Carmy exhaled slowly, savoring the passing touch, and peering down at you with a clench in his chest that reminded him of a panic attack.

“Ah,” You shook your head, “It’s alright, I’ll give him this one.” You dropped your hand away from his and though the summer air was humid and sweltering—it felt cold in the absence of your touch. He drummed his bereft fingertips against his leg.

“Hm.” His lips twitched into a gentle smile. “Be prepared to not hear the end of it.”

You fell into a comfortable sense of semi-silence as Chicago buzzed with vibrant life around you. He thought about offering you a cigarette so you would stay. His gaze flickered up to the receiving door, considering the time left, and how he could make it stretch. Why did it always feel like he was running out of time with you? He should be focused on prep. On dinner. But he wanted to linger and bask in the light of your smile.

“I better head back.” You said, likely noticing his attention, and jumping on his train of thought.

“W-wa-“ He almost said wait. Instead, he said, “W-well yeah. Me too.”

“Thanks again.” You muttered tenderly before stepping away.

His forehead creased, “For what? You – you never said. I mean I didn’t punch your dad.”

“For…trying to help?” You shrugged a little, tucking your hands into your pockets again and looking a little self-conscious for the first time. “For not expecting me to handle it alone, I guess? I don’t know. It’s um – uh – it’s been awhile since someone…anyone, really…had my back...and it’s nice.”

You made a screwed-up face, “Annoying. But nice.”

“Nice, huh?” He ducked his head away from your gaze, “That’s an improvement from calling me fucking asshole.”

“Yeah, well, I got a soft-spot for idiots in white t-shirts.” You teased, “Someday I’ll figure out how you manage to keep that shit so pristine.”

Carmy tugged the lace of his blue apron, “Uniform.”

The sound of your laughter softened the edges of the sharp world. “Ok, smartass. I’m outta here.” You said, taking a step backward, and offered him a farewell smile to his nod before walking away. He touched the cold railing near the stairs and his chest pulled at the sight of you disappearing around the brick corner. He swallowed and pressed his lips together. He’d see you again soon.

But goodbyes shouldn’t feel this weird between friends, should they?

[littlestar2rayoflight]

someone please finance me so i can buy more yellow shirts and maybe some fun hats and then become a true art hoe

[mybigboots]

The Winning Edge

Written by Boggy Fryer, The Cape Cod Boot Boy

There was three hundred thousand dollars a year, a corner office, and a corporate parking space on the line. There were three others up for the same promotion as me. And my father always told me, you have to do something that will set you apart from the rest of the pack.

I did what I had to.

It began Thursday when Josie, Martin, Douglas, and I were all called into Mister Walsh’s office at work. The place had a beautiful view of the city, a minibar, fancy art on the walls, and of course a massive desk which all four of us sat in front of nervously while our boss, William Walsh, told us that the big promotion would come down to which one of them had the best project proposal. He’d make his decision on Monday after we made our proposals. Me, I almost drooped with despair when I looked around at the others. The competition was going to be stiff.

Gathered around drinks that night at the local watering hole, Martin announced he was going to propose a green energy project that would save the company millions. Douglas said that he was going to suggest a hostile takeover of a rival company. Josie bluntly admitted she was going to wear her shortest skirt and bat her eyes.  As for me, I had bupkis.

At least, that’s what I said I had. The truth was, I had a strategy that would give me the winning edge.

It was Friday night. I had barely any time until Mister Walsh made his decision. I also knew for a fact that for my plan to work, I’d need to be at a certain bar on the outskirts of the city, in the warehouse district, a place filled with lots of hot men and no cameras allowed.

It was a typical Friday night at the gay fetish bar called The Pit Stop. I was there wearing my shiny dark blue rubber bleachers, marked with white boot prints, a studded leather belt, a pair of 20 eye DMs, and a matching dark blue rubber polo with yellow trim on the collar. It matched the yellow laces on my boots and the yellow bracers I wore to hold up the pants. I also wore a pair of large dark goggles that covered half my face. It wasn’t a very good decision, I had to admit. It wasn’t hard to see out of them, even in this dark bar, but it would keep most people from seeing my face. But that was the plan because I was looking for one man in particular.

I spotted him in a booth in the corner of the room. These were used by men who were either too shy to go out onto the dance floor or “play areas” and just wanted to keep to themselves or watch, or they were getting blowjobs under the table. I didn’t judge. I also never really went to those tables. However, I sometimes wandered by them to see the lonely, shy guys and who was blowing them. That’s when, months ago, I had spotted my boss sitting uncomfortably at a table, drinking an Old Fashioned and keeping to himself. I had nearly choked on my beer and then turned away fast before he could see me. A quick conversation with the bartender and some other resident barflies told me that Mister Walsh was a regular as well. Like clockwork he came in every Friday night at 9 PM on the dot, drank the same cocktail, sat in the same booth, and watched the room. He was a nice guy, a salt-and-pepper haired Daddy-type with a nice chest and a very tight goatee, always wearing a large coat with a high collar and a fedora, plus a pair of glasses that I knew for a fact he didn’t need (the man had damn perfect vision). Obviously, he was trying to keep a low profile. Probably in the closet. After that, just to keep things safe, I never went to the Pit Stop without wearing a mask, hood, goggles, or something to cover my face in case he saw me. No sense making things awkward, I’d told myself.

Not until tonight.

I ordered a beer, drank it down for courage, and then ordered a second. At 9 on the nose, Mister Walsh entered the bar in a black peacoat and a plaid fedora, as well as a pair of leather pants and some riding boots. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he ordered his signature cocktail and then made his way to a corner booth, marked with a “reserved” sign. I also noted that he had been greeted by the bartender as “Mister Smith”. Definitely far back in that closet.

I waited until he was settled and made my move. Sauntering over to the booths, I turned and made a run down the tables as though I were heading for the bathroom. I made sure to walk slow, drawing the attention of everyone at the booths as I walked. When I reached Mister Walsh’s table, I saw him eyeing me hungrily over the top of his glass. I stopped and licked my lips at him, subtly flexing my muscles in my rubber polo for him to see. Mister Walsh smiled at me and raised a hand in a designer leather glove and gave me a little wave. I laughed out loud and turned around slowly on the spot, giving him a little show. Walsh laughed at me, I laughed back. He raised his glass to toast me, and I raised up my own bottle, taking a long drink while curling my other arm to show off my tattooed bicep under the rubber polo shirt, while gyrating my crotch slowly in his direction. At last, results: Walsh leaned forward and lowered his fake glasses for a better look at me. Me, I stopped and pretended to suddenly notice his face for the first time.

“Mister Walsh?” I asked, feigning surprise. At once, Walsh froze. I carefully pushed my goggles up onto my forehead, pretending that I too was in shock. The pair of us stood there, face-to-face in this hardcore fetish bar, having totally been flirting by accident.

“Dale?” Walsh asked. “Dale Strickland?”

“Mister Walsh!” I gasped, pretending to be horrified. “Oh damn, I am so sorry, I… oh, geez, don’t look at me.” I turned to go, but right on cue, and just as I’d hoped, Mister Walsh called after me at once, “Wait, Dale! Why don’t you… have a seat?”

I smiled to myself. When I turned, I made sure to wear a look of bashfulness. I shrugged and slowly slid into the booth, letting Mister Walsh take in every inch of my rubber skinhead gear. Mister Walsh, now knowing that I knew who he was, lowered his fake glasses and stowed them away. He smiled at me.

“I didn’t know we played for the same team, Mister Strickland.” Walsh said. I shrugged and reached out to gently place a hand on his own. “Please, it’s after hours. Call me Dale.” Mister Strickland looked surprised but then smiled and said “And call me William. And I assume that this’ll stay between the two of us?”

I laughed. “Like I want anyone in the office to know this is how I spend my time?” We clinked drinks at that and shared a smile. Me, I made sure to lean back against the seat and spread my arms over the booth to let him take a good hard look at me. I saw his eyes trace my rubber-covered chest and stray down to the gloves on my hands.

“So, I see that you’re one of those… what do they call it, rubber guys?”

“Rubbermen,” I corrected him, “That’s me. Not your thing, though?”

“Oh, I’m very interested,” William said, perhaps a little too hungrily. “Don’t own a single piece myself, though. I have a little… well, certain interests of my own, but it’s hard to find people to talk to about this sort of thing, you know. A man like me…”

I smirked at this as he drifted off into private thoughts. Yes, a man like him. Someone rich, powerful, an empire to run—he’d probably spent all his life working, working, working from sunup to sundown. I knew for a fact that his wife had run off with a younger man years ago. Maybe this was why? And maybe all this time at The Pit Stop was his way of dipping his toe into the world he really wanted? Either way, it looked like the two of us had something in common.

“I get it,” I said, encompassing everything we were no doubt thinking in a single phrase, “And you can trust me, your secret is safe with me.”

William smiled again. I also casually moved my hand onto the table where I drummed on the table gently. I watched William’s hand flicker down to my shiny fingers and a slight smile crossed his face.

“So, William,” I asked, “So long as we’re sharing secrets here, what’s your fetish? Leatherman? Bondage boy?”

“Me?” William asked, taken aback. He recovered quickly with a sip of his Old Fashioned. He shrugged at last, apparently deciding he could trust me. “I have an unusual fetish. I… well, have you ever…”

He looked flustered. I reached over and gently put hand on his arm in a friendly manner, and then took it away before I oversold it.

“Will, if this is too personal to share—”

“No, no, I just haven’t said it out loud before.” William Walsh confessed. “It’s a little odd.” He took another swig of his drink and then launched into it. I inwardly tensed, preparing myself for whatever he might say.

“I have always dreamt of having a man walk up behind me and… and…” He dove in: “I want him to clamp a gloved hand over my mouth from behind me. I know that sounds ridiculous, and small, and we don’t have to—”

“You mean GOM?” I interrupted. William looked up, surprised.

“GOM?” He echoed. I nodded. “Glove Over Mouth. Glovegagging. It’s actually a very widely known fetish. There are play groups dedicated to it, there are videos about it, lots of photosets, some people get together and have GOM parties, even. Nothing shameful, William, glovegagging’s a lot of fun!”

William seemed robbed of the power of speech. I saw his lips working, silently mouthing “glove over mouth” as he sat there in what I could only assume was the only fetish bar he’d ever visited in his life. I didn’t press him; I just calmly drank my beer.

“I never knew it had a name,” William admitted at last. “I honestly thought that it was something I came up with on my own.” I fought down a laugh and answered sincerely, “I know the feeling. Time was most of the men in this room probably thought they were the only ones with these kinds of fetishes and urges, and then they found each other. The rest is history. It’s natural to feel that way, Will.”

William looked thoughtfully into the distance. No doubt a major hurdle he’d been grappling with for some time now had just been crossed. I decided to bring him back to earth by casually saying, “I love it too.”

Mister Walsh’s neck snapped around at me and his eyes widened. He said, with a trace of hopefulness in his voice, “You love it too, Dale?”

I stood up carefully. Moving around to his side of the table, I sat down next to him and moved as close to my boss as I could. I reached up and carefully removed the nice fedora from his head and placed it on the table before us. Reaching back up, I gently stroked the thick hairs on his head with my gloved hand and I saw his eyes widen.

“Dale, what are you—”

“Shhh.” I said. “Relax, sir.” And I calmly put a rubber hand behind his head, holding him in place, as I steered my other gloved hand to his face where I very firmly clapped it over his mouth. He stiffened at once and I saw a shudder run through his body. I pressed hard, tilting his head back, and his eyes fluttered closed as an audible whimper of pleasure escaped him. I tightened my grip, the rubber pressing against the whiskers of his goatee, his lips exposed to the soft rubber on my hands. His knees buckled upwards, and I knew at once he was getting hard. I moved my body closer to him, my lips right next to his ear, and I let him feel my hot breath. My rubber knee was up against his own, and I felt him reach out with a hand and squeeze my leg tightly.

“Take your glove off.” I whispered. “Go on, feel my rubber, Will.” At once William scrabbled with the gloves on his hands, prying them off his fingers and tossing them carelessly on the table. Then with his left hand, he grabbed my rubber one and pressed it tighter over his mouth, while his right reached down and took hold of my rubber-covered leg, running his bare hand up and down the material. I heard him mutter something into my glove. “Touch the rubber, Will,” I ordered, “Feel how sexy it is to touch another man’s rubber body. Touch anything you want.”

Clumsily exploring, no doubt barely believing that he was finally getting a chance to do this, Will’s hands moved up from my leg to my stomach, and then straight down to my straining dick held under my rubber pants. I stiffened a bit, but I let him hold me tight.

“You are turning me the fuck on,” I hissed in my boss’s ear, “You are making me so hard. You feel that raging hardon down there? You’re doing that, Will. You are making this hot rubberman horny as hell.”

Mister Walsh’s grip slackened around my hand. I figured it was time to let him up for some air. I casually put my gloved hand down as he lowered his own and released his head. He did not, for the record, let go of my dick for another minute or two, but leaned back in the booth, gasping, a look of bliss on his face. I decided to push my luck and reached down to put my own hand on his dick and discovered that Mister Walsh had a pretty nice piece of meat between his legs, and it was stiff as a board.

“Like I said, Mister Walsh,” I said as he lay there in the booth, “I love it too.” I wrapped my rubber fingers around that hard dick and began to pump it slowly through his leather pants. Mister Walsh stiffened again but made no attempt to get away. In fact, a look of wild excitement was dancing across his face. He gasped out loud, drawing the look of several other of the bar’s patrons, but he did not call for help. Instead, he reached down and fumbled around with my hand. I thought he was batting me away from his dick, that maybe I had truly gone too far, but a moment later his dick was poking out of his pants under the table, and he was forcing my wet hand onto his dick. I smiled wickedly.

“Why, Walsh. That’s real fuckin’ naughty of you.”

“Just shut up and glovegag me again!” He begged. I snickered and wrapped my rubber hand around his mouth. He stiffened again and moaned, louder this time, into my hand. Me, I spit into my other palm and rubbed the saliva around between my fingers, then reached down to stroke that straining dick. As soon as I did, I heard another sound through my gloved hand: a squeal of pleasure. The man was loving this! I grinned and pressed my lips against his cheek, kissing him over and over. He struggled only a little, mostly to buck his waist against mine. I began to pull harder and harder, the rubber of my glove shining with spit now mixed with the oozing precum of Will’s willy. He was in heaven, I could just hear it. But I was past the point of no return, as I was grinding my own dick against his leg in the booth, the hot sweaty rubber working me into a frenzy. I pulled on his cock faster and faster, and he was now crying out with joy as I worked him. By this time there were others watching, fondling their own dicks, enjoying the show. We didn’t stop. We kept going, and I heard Mister Walsh let out a strangled, muffled cry through my glove and he shot a powerful load all over my gloves. I held him tight, coaxing every last drop out, and I saw his eyes open and roll back in his head. I raised up my hand and saw it coated with thick white cum, dripping down my fingers.

“Not gonna let this go to waste,” I said. I stuffed my fingers into my mouth at once, greedily licking off every last drop. He tasted damn good, I had to admit.

As Mister Walsh leaned back in his seat, panting from the most aggressive milking he’d ever had in his life, I stood up, feeling pleased with myself. I’d just brought my boss to the heights of passion and now his cum was in my mouth. I didn’t want to jinx it, but I might have just given myself the winning edge over the other employees up for promotion. I slipped out of the booth and threw a cocktail napkin to William, stirring feebly.

“Hope you enjoyed it, boss,” I said. “Better clean that up.” I leaned over and gave him a long lick on the side of his sweaty face. He was still smiling. I sighed, realizing that we were going to need a few more brews if we were going to recharge and go again. I headed over to the bartender at the counter, who promptly congratulated me on my performance. I was feeling pretty good with myself until I turned back to the table with another cocktail and my beer in hand. I stared in surprise at an empty booth. William was gone.

Fuck.

I wound up having the rest of his drink, my drink, and his second cocktail. No sense letting them go to waste. A little bit of a hangover later, I woke up in my bedroom to the sound of my cell phone ringing. My head was a little fuzzy and my throat was dry. Maybe my boss’s fancy cocktails weren’t truly my thing. Also, that ringing noise was not helping my head. Still clad in my rubber skinhead gear, I reached out and searched with my hand for the phone on the top of my nightstand. What I heard on the other side jolted me fully awake.

“Mister Strickland!” Came a voice. I sat up at once, recognizing it as none other than my boss, the man I’d literally been manhandling last night. He sounded like himself again, not like the man I’d gotten all chummy and cummy with yesterday.

“Mister Walsh? Is everything alright, sir?” I asked cautiously.

“I want you over here at my building, immediately!” Walsh said sharply. I coughed, taken by surprise yet again. This didn’t sound good. “I need to change. I’m still dressed, well, like I was last night.”

“I don’t have time to wait!” Snapped Mister Walsh. “Throw a coat on over your clothes. I’ve got a company car enroute to your apartment. Get in and get over here at once!” The line went dead, and I swallowed hard, a sinking feeling in my chest. I got out of bed and searched my closet quickly. I had a large rubber raincoat. True, it was more for rubber fetish purposes, but it also covered most of my body in shiny black latex. I glanced at the window and saw it was drizzling outside. At least it was weather-appropriate. I pulled it on over my skinhead gear, then ran to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I gulped down a carton of breakfast (strawberry flavored, I was out of chocolate), grabbed my essentials (keys, phone, wallet), and was out the door. By the time I reached the street, a fancy looking car was waiting at the curb of my building. With a growing sense of doom, I got into the car.

The driver said nothing to me. We drove in silence. Every block we passed was like a step on the way to the electric chair. At long last we made it to the fancy apartment building that I presumed Mister Walsh lived in. Very tall, lots of glass, doorman at the front. I was told curtly by the driver to exit the car and handed an envelope. I took it with my gloved hand and opened it, finding a short letter that was to be given to the doorman out front. I stepped out into the now-rainy world and watched as the car pulled away from the curb. I headed to the front door and handed a grumpy-looking doorman in a uniform and wide hat the envelope. He swept his gaze over my rubber attire with an unamused eye before grunting to me that I was to go inside, cross the lobby to the elevators, and head for the 8th floor and apartment 802. He handed me a shiny key, which I guessed was to Mister Walsh’s apartment. Still not feeling any better, I did as I was instructed and headed for the elevator.

Stepping out on the 8th floor and knocking on the door for apartment 802 (there were three residences on this floor, my guess was these were the really nice, really big places designed to make us normals feel small and insignificant), I held my breath. A voice barked from the inside, “Who is it?”

“Mister Walsh?” I called out. “It’s Dale. Dale Strickland. Listen, I just—”

“Get in here, now!” Came the voice. I flinched, sighed, muttered to myself, “Oh, I am so fired…”, and unlocked the door. I stepped inside and pulled it shut behind me.

“This way! In here, Mister Strickland!” I followed his voice down a long entrance hallway. The place was nice, framed photos on the wall, artwork here and there. I ignored all of it and passed through a posh living room and through another doorway into what I assumed was the master bedroom. I stopped dead.

“What took you so long?” Demanded Walsh. My eyes bugged out of my head. I actually had to slap myself to make sure I wasn’t still passed out in my own bedroom with a hangover.

My boss was sitting on the foot of a four-poster king-sized bed, now clad in full rubber. I beheld a dark red rubber bodysuit, lined with black accents. He had a thick rubber dog collar secured around his neck, attached to a chain leash that he was holding in his hand, both of which were in shoulder-length black rubber gloves. He was wearing a pair of short rubber toe socks, the red suit tucked into the socks which ended just above his ankles. There was a rubber codpiece held with shiny black buttons over his crotch, and I could see that the suit zipped up on the shoulders. There was a slight smell of talc, he must have powdered up the suit to clamber into it. A red rubber half-hood was on his head, showing only his eyes, nose, and mouth. It took a moment or two to take the whole thing in.

“Boss!” I spluttered at last. “Where… where did you get… that? You said you didn’t own any rubber!” Yeah, sure, I told myself, that was the thing to focus on at the second. I struggled to keep my head in the present.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said in that same brusque voice, “Get over here and dominate me, Strickland.” He gestured to the bed next to him and I saw with astonishment that it was now covered in what were unmistakably sex toys. I saw rubber dildos, coils of rope and rolls of tape, gags, paddles and canes, bottles of lube, a TENS-unit, a vibrating wand, nipple toys, and what looked like a very long rubber coat, almost like mine. I rubbed my eyes again. Now I knew I was still passed out in bed.

“Boss—”

“Call me William, Mister Strickland. Or better yet, call me Willy! Yes, Willy, that will do.”

“Willy” jerked at the leash around his neck and sank to his knees on the fancy bedroom carpet.

“Alright, what the hell is going on here?” I asked. I came into the room, instinctively closing the door behind me, only to remind myself that we were alone in his mansion-like apartment. Walsh edged towards me on the ground, looking very eager and a little impatient. “Please, fill in some blanks here, because I am lost, Walsh.”

“Willy.”

“Whatever!” I shouted. “What are we doing?”

“Calm down, Mister Strickland,” Willy said, “No need to shout. Not yet, anyway,” he added with a sly wink. “After our little encounter at The Pit Stop last night, I knew that I would need to get some rubber of my own. I did some research on my phone and had my driver drop me off. Did you know there’s a number of nice fetish shops right here in the city? One of them exclusively works with rubber. Of course,” he went on with a roll of his eyes, “They were closing, but I threw them some cash to stay open for a new and special client. After that, it was a simple matter of getting sized for the right rubbers, and I had them pick out an assortment of high quality toys. I spent quite a bit there, but you know what they say about not buying groceries when you’re starving! Oh well, I suppose we’ll be very happy with everything we’ve got.”

“Happy?” I repeated. “Cripes, Walsh-uh, Willy, it looks like you bought out the entire damn store! Is there a single butt plug left in the whole city?”

“Don’t worry about it, Mister Strickland,” Willy said to me, waving a gloved hand. I noticed for the first time that there were a pair of thick rubber restraints fastened on each of his wrists. He spotted me looking and quickly cupped his hands together, lowering his head. “Now hurry, Dale! Cuff me good! Lock my restraints, and take my leash! I’ve been waiting all night for you to show up.”

“And do what?” I asked, dumbfounded. I was hearing what he was saying, but I was barely able to believe it. I mean, this had to be some kinda joke. A very expensive and elaborate one. One that clearly wasn’t a joke at all. But still, I needed to hear him say it.

“Make me your rubber slave, Mister-I mean, Master Strickland!” He looked up quickly, a hopeful look on his face. “Or would you prefer Master Dale? Or just Master? Whatever you order, Sir. Now, lock me up! Oh please, make me submit to you and turn me into a helpless little rubber bitch for your amusement! Fuck me with that big cock of yours, skinhead! Fuck me like the rubber slave I am!”

And there it was. I leaned back against the bedroom door, feeling the room spin. This had nothing to do with the hangover at this point, this had to do with the fact that I was grappling with everything I was hearing.

My boss, my boss whom I had never realized was quite this hot and definitely quite this submissive (yet a little bit bratty, come to think of it) was on the floor in front of me in custom rubber gear and a wide assortment of play toys behind him. He was offering me his gloved hands in restraints and begging me to lock his restraints together and dominate him. Frankly, I had hoped to do exactly what my coworker and competitor Josie had been planning to get the big promotion: seduce our boss. Now this felt like I had gone a step too far. I had been all about showing him I was likeminded, on the same team as him, that I was as kinky as him and someone he could trust and talk to. I had not intended for it to go this far.

And yet…

I cleared my throat, licked my lips, and looked down at the pathetic rubber slave on the floor in front of me, his leash dangling on the floor. I chose my words carefully. “Listen, Willy. I would love to turn you out ten ways to Sunday and plow that rubber hole of yours over and over, and yeah, make you scream into one of those really nice ball gags over there. But you’re my boss! Are you sure this is—”

“Is this about that silly promotion?” Willy interrupted, looking up at me. “Never mind that. It’s yours. Now, get over here and take me, Sir!”

“It’s… it’s mine?” I asked weakly. “Sir, I can’t accept it! Not like this.”

“You can’t?” Willy asked, confused. He stood up, lowering his hands, frowning. “Because you’re uncomfortable?”

“Well, yeah,” I admitted, “I am.”

Mister Walsh stood before me, frowning away. He then shrugged, his rubber body squeaking with every movement. “Okay, then. I’ll just give you my job and retire. Sound good?”

I almost fainted. I looked around the room, wondering if I were in heaven or hell, if I had died last night on the way home from The Pit Stop. I gaped at my soon-to-be former boss in disbelief.

“Are you serious?” I hissed. “You’d give me the company?”

“Hell no!” Mister Walsh said with a laugh. “No, that’s mine. I’ll just settle down into a cushy retirement and run the company through you from here on out. You do the day-to-day and make the big bucks, and I stay home and make a few more bucks than you and play your rubber-loving slut. Sound good?”

“I—”

“Good!” Mister Walsh said, satisfied. “As soon as we’re done, I’ll grab my phone, sign a few papers, and take care of it. But for now…”

Before I knew it, Mister Walsh thrust the end of the leash into my hand. I stared at him, realizing that this was for real, not a dream, and one little drink at The Pit Stop had literally changed my life. Mister Walsh, meanwhile, had a look on his face of pure bliss.

“Oh yes, Sir!” He breathed. “Just think about it! I can be your fulltime rubber pet! No more freedom! No more independence! I can be your pathetic rubber slave, anytime you order it!”

Well alright, then. I made a split decision at that moment.

I looked back at Willy and my face darkened. Willy clearly saw it as I saw his eyes widened with a trace of fear.

“You dragged me out of my warm cozy bed this morning to come here and dominate you, boy?” I threw at him. “You’ve got a lot of fuckin’ balls.” I reached down and pulled away the rubber jock from the button snaps on the suit. It came off easily in my hand. I got a better look in his well-lit bedroom than in the darkened bar at his big dick. I saw at once why he sat in the big chair in the building. Except, now I was going to sit there, and his big fat banana was all mine. I stroked his cock once or twice with my gloved hand, making his eyes flutter closed. When I was done, I decided to grab hold of his hanging balls, which I could see were conveniently placed in a rubber ball stretcher, and squeezed them in my hand. He let out a squeak of pain. “Speaking of your balls, Willy, looks like I’ve got you by them now.”

“Oh please, Master!” Willy whimpered. His legs were shaking as I squeezed. “I’m sorry I ever crossed you! Please, punish me, Sir!”

“Oh, this is going to be fun…” I breathed.

I released Willy’s balls and moved to his actual willy. I gave it a light whack with my open palm, a loud SLAP noise in the air. He yelped in pain, but I pulled on his leash until he was back on his knees. Trailing him behind me, I strode over to the bed, dragging my slave behind me. I gazed upon the bed. Plenty of options there. Where to begin?

“Stand up, boy.” I said. I took a moment to undo my rubber overcoat, now dry from the rain. I slung it over a nearby chair, revealing my rubber skinhead gear to the quivering slave clambering to his feet. I saw a simple metal clip on the bed. Wrapping the leash around one of the bedposts, I put the clip through the links of the chain and fastened Willy to the bed. He stood there, whimpering “Oh, please, Sir, please, Sir, please…”

I glanced at the bed, took survey of what I had to work with. Reaching down, I plucked up a large rubber dildo gag, about four inches of black rubber dick on one side and another eight on the other side. “I didn’t tell you to talk, my pet.” I sneered. I stuffed the rubber gag into his mouth without warning. He cried out in surprise but it was muffled by the thick rubber cock shoved into his face. I fastened it around his head and left the long rubber dick waving around in the air. He looked ridiculous. I told him so.

“Big bad bossman, huh?” I laughed. “You look like such a little bitch.” I wrapped my mouth around the long rubber cock and gave it along hard suck. Willy’s eyes widened again. I reached out and grabbed the collar around his neck, holding him still. I sucked on the dildo all the way to the hilt, my lips less than an inch away from his by the rubber that divided the gag. I pulled back and sucked it again. I watched as his eyes filled with longing.

“Bet you wish I was sucking on your dick, huh?” I asked. “Bet you wish I had my hot mouth wrapped around that tasty pole of yours, huh?” I gave him a light whack on the back of the head. “The nerve of you, boy! You think I’m going to just blow you? No, slaves service their Masters, not the other way around!”

Behind the rubber gag, he murmured an apology, but I didn’t care. I reached out and pulled a blindfold over his eyes down over the red rubber hood he wore. He at once raised a hand to his head but I was too fast. Grabbing his arms, I pulled them in front of him, looping them around the bedpost, and locked his wrists together. At once Willy stepped back but now found himself attached to the bed, unable to move more than about a foot. He was gagged, blind, and helpless. I snatched up a spreader pole from the bed with two cuffs dangling from each end. Dropping down, I snapped one cuff to his left leg and then tapped his right leg until he got the message and moved his other ankle further apart. I fastened that one into the restraint too. I then went over to his wrists and unfastened them, moving him so that he was now standing between the bedposts. I gave him no time to relax, though, as I immediately used some rope on the bed to lash each wrist to the opposite posts, trapping him there like a fly in a web. He was really screwed now, no way out, no way to call for help. And it made me laugh. I chuckled at my bound lover while his eager dick bounced around, a dick I made sure to quickly grab with my slippery rubber hand and pull straight down between his legs. He cried out in ecstasy, no doubt loving the pain.

“Look at you.” I spoke after watching him shudder in my grip for a minute or two, “Just look at you. Big powerful William Walsh, head of his own company, the man who could hire and fire me anytime he wants. Not so powerful anymore, are you? Just a sniveling rubber boy! Last night when I wrapped my glove over your mouth, you were already mine, weren’t you?”

“Mmm-hmm!” Willy bobbed his head. “Mmm-hmm!”

“You’ve been a pet all this time, you just never had anyone to hold that leash around your neck!”  I said. “Well, that’s gonna change from now on, isn’t it? You’re my pet now. You’re my sexy rubber pet, my rubber slave, my rubber toy, my rubber anything. I own you inside and out from here on out, don’t I?” I gave his dick a twist and he cried out again. “Don’t I?” I repeated. Through the gag, the dick waving around in the air, Willy Walsh gasped “yuussss surrr”.

I pulled the gag out of his mouth with a flourish, tossing it aside. “Good boy,” I whispered, and stepped close to him, my rubber body pressed against his, and kissed him. My hands wrapped around his hips and I held him against me, my rubber crotch grinding on his exposed cock and balls. It must have been painful, but it must have also felt great. My tongue probed the inside of his mouth. His pressed right back, taking me in like a pro. His old lady, wherever she was, must not have known what she was missing, otherwise she wouldn’t have run off with some twink. Well, too bad, he was mine now, and he was my rubberized object, all mine to play with, and he kissed pretty damn good. I wanted him on my dick, and soon, but as he thrust himself against me and I gyrated in time with him, making sure to not let him gain too much friction and shoot a load, I knew that I was going to savor every drop from that cock of his.

“You are mine now.” I whispered, his lips on mine. “You are mine from now on, so get used to it, slave.”

“Anything you say, Sir,” he gasped,” Anything you say!”

“That’s what I like to hear.” And then I shoved a ball gag into his mouth and stepped away from his body. Realizing that he wasn’t going to cum, he howled in frustration through the gag. I just laughed at him as I walked around him and climbed onto the bed, taking care not to upset the mountain of toys he’d bought with his buckets of money. Instead, I unzipped the ass access of his suit and grabbed a bottle of lube.

“I’ve seen the front,” I said, “Now let me see the back. Cute lil’ rubber butt back here. But how’s that sexy hole?” I squirted some lube from a bottle towards his hole and pressed my rubber fingers into the shapely crevice between his ass cheeks. As I pressed against the soft puckering butthole with my fingers, I heard him gasp quietly, “Oh please, please…”

So, he was desperate for a good strong rubber fuck? I could give him just that. Not now, though. I left his hole unzipped and exposed and decided that I wanted to do something else cruel first.

I grabbed a large purple dildo from the bed, thick as a soda can and extra veiny. Why it was purple, I have no idea. I liked to keep my hole lubed just in case of action. I unfastened my studded belt and unsnapped my fly, pulling my pants down enough to get at my own ass. I reached back and felt my gloved fingers slide up my own hole without too much trouble. Smiling, I bent over and pushed the dildo up my own hole. I groaned, it was big and felt great. I pulled it out and pushed it right back in, feeling the pressure as my hole enjoyed the rubber filling it. I moaned.

“You see this, slave?” I asked. “Of course, you can’t. You can’t see that I’m fucking my own ass with one of your expensive new dildos, can you? Don’t worry, you can take my word for it.”

“Sir, please, let me see!” Begged Willy. I laughed at him, pulling out the dildo after a few more solid thrusts, rolled off the bed, and sauntered over to him.

“Don’t believe me?” I asked. “Open your mouth, I want you to have a little taste of my hole!” I shoved the dildo into his waiting mouth. He gagged on it, having not expected it and obviously not prepared for the taste either. He tried to turn his head, but I grabbed him and held him in place with a free hand.

“Don’t think so, bitch,” I said, “You choke on that, motherfucker. Really get a taste of my hole! I think you’ll find it’s sweeter than candy, don’t you, slave?”

Willy gagged on the dildo. I kept going, mercilessly fucking his face with the dildo. After a few plunges he stopped fighting and just took the thing. I pushed it down just to hear him choke a few times. I hoped he was enjoying it. No, who was I kidding, I no longer cared. I had been working him over for a bit now and was starting to enjoy the idea that from now on I was in charge of this rubberman, one I had created last night in a bar.

After a while, I pulled the dildo out of his mouth. I gave it a lick with my own tongue and tossed it onto the bed. I removed Willy’s blindfold. He was panting and looked a little tired. Better let him rest. Pulling up my rubber bleachers, I made my way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, taking a few minutes to find my way around. For the record, the kitchen was bigger than my own apartment, filled with all that fancy shit that you see in catalogues. Even the fridge probably cost more than my car. I opened it and found a couple of bottles of water in there, pulled one out, and returned to the bedroom. My slave was still there where I’d left him. I carefully uncapped the bottle and pressed it to his lips, tilting it so the water could pour into his thirsty mouth. When he’d drunk enough, I put the bottle down and gave him another quick kiss on his lips. Then I moved on to my next fiendish act. Ordering him to stand as still, I unhooked his wrists and let them hang by his sides. I knelt down and freed his feet from the spreader bar, pushing it under the bed and out of the way. Last and not least, I removed the leash but fastened it to my own belt instead, putting the grip in my pocket. A good Master always kept his slave’s leash somewhere close by. I then crossed the room and sat down in a fancy leather chair. I made sure that my dick was out and that he was staring at it.

“Get the fuck down on your knees, boy.” I growled. “You stay on all fours like a little rubber dog.” As though he’d been waiting his entire life to hear me say it, Willy dropped to all fours, balling up his rubber fists and waggling his ass like a doggy shaking his tail. He opened his mouth and began to pant wildly.

“Ruff! Ruff ruff ruff!” He cried out. Paddling towards me, his ass still shaking, I laughed in his face. This was perfect. My dick swung back and forth in front of him like a pendulum, his eyes followed it. I waggled it at him, making little “kiss-kiss” noises with my mouth. “You want this boy? Hm? You want this, Fido?”

“Woofwoofwoof!”

“Get over here and slobber on this, puppy dog!” I ordered. With one more “yip”, Willy waddled over and took my meat in his mouth. I instantly gasped as he took me all the way down to the hilt. Who knew, my boss must have had some practice. He gobbled up my meat and stayed down there so long I thought he would never come up for air, but then he slowly, agonizingly, playfully, pulled back along my piece, his tongue caressing every inch on the way. Just like with the dildo, he took the whole thing down and savored it like a hungry rubber slave should. He kept going, his head bobbing in my lap, as I looked down at the top of his red rubber head and groaned with delight at such excellent sucking. He was good, very good. He was pushing me clear to the edge of orgasm, but I had to hold off. Sure, he’d cum in my glove last night and I’d tasted him, now would be a good time to return the favor. But I needed to mark my slave as my own, and there was only one way to do it.

“Off,” I said suddenly. He stopped sucking me and sat back on his haunches.

“Did I do something wrong, Sir?” He asked. I shook my head, looking down at my slave.

“No, boy,” I said, “Not yet. Trust me, I’ll let you know. But why don’t you go over there and grab me one of those plugs and some lube. And be snappy about it!”

Willy scrambled to his feet and headed for the bed. He took a minute to pick one out of the pile and then held it up, a large round ball plug with a square-bottom and colored pale pink. I nodded and gestured with one hand for him to return to me, my other hand stroking my dick to keep it nice and hard. Not that it needed all that much stroking.

“Give it to me,” I ordered. Willy quickly handed me the plug and the lube. I took them and, without standing, ordered him to turn around and bend over, to spread his ass cheeks. His gloved hands gripped his ass and pulled. He was also extremely tense, I could tell. Nevertheless, he bent down, and I carefully poured a generous glop of lube over his waiting hole. I rubbed it there, massaging his quivering hole, while I heard my boss grunt at the feel. I wondered if he’d ever been fucked before. By a dildo, definitely, but by a real man? I would ask him some time if I were his first.

“Take a deep breath and put your hands behind your back.” I spoke. “I will try not to hurt you. But this is going to happen, understand, boy?”

“Yes, Sir, anything you say, Sir,” he chirped, but I detected a note or two of uneasiness. I took a deep breath of my own, feeling tense. But I knew that I was going to go through with it, so I needed to buck up. And then buck him, and hard.

I stood up, setting the lube aside, and stepped over to him. I gave my dick one or two more strokes, covering it with lube, and squatted down a bit, angling myself. When I pressed my cockhead against his hole, I felt it pucker a little bit and a shiver run through Willy’s body. He whispered, “Oh please, please…” He must have spent a lot of time wishing for things that didn’t happen, things that he’d dreamt of over and over. Well, I was going to make this one come true.

I grabbed his rubber wrists with my hand for support, and I pushed my dick slowly into his hole. At once he yelped and struggled, but I held him still, whispering to him, “Easy, Willy, easy now.” He whimpered as I entered him, and when I was fully in, he pulled away as though he had been stabbed. He kinda had, but I kept him close. I didn’t move. I waited until he stopped shuddering, and then I slowly pulled back. He gasped and a high-pitched moan escaped his lips. I pulled his arms gently and he was moved from bent over to a hunched standing position, but my dick kept his hole filled. I pressed in again and he cried out, but I pulled out slowly and he melted. The two of us, our rubber bodies together, the sound they made of the rubber on rubber, was beautiful. Hearing his own personal noises was more than enough to keep me horny and my dick swelled in his hole.

“Take me,” I whispered to my slave, “Take all of me.”

“Y-yes, Muh-muh-Master!” He grunted back. I smiled. He would be calling me that a lot from now on.

I thrust my hips against him and began to rhythmically move in and out. He strained, trying to move, but he couldn’t keep from making all those pleasurable groans. Even if I’d stuffed a gag deep in there, he would have kept on making them. He was loving it. I wrapped an arm around his chest and pulled him upright, flat against my body. I sank my teeth into the side of his neck, rubbing my forehead against the rubber hood on his head, feeling the sweat, smelling the manstink from us both. We had been at this for a while now, and it was reaching the climax. I moved my crotch up and down, my dick forcing itself in and out of his hole, and he groaned to me, “Fuck my hole, Master, please please please—"

Oh, wait. One more thing.

I reached out and wrapped my hand over his mouth. He instantly screamed with delight into my glove, his favorite, most personal fetish once again claiming him and taking over all reason. He leaned back as I glovegagged him tightly and I felt his body convulse in my arms, and I watched as white sticky ropes of cum flew from his cock as he howled into the glove. I had literally fucked the cum out of him. And he wasn’t the only one. I squeezed him tight as he struggled against me, trying to get away from my thrusting cock, but at the same time crying out in ecstasy as I filled his hole. I was close, I could feel it. I took a deep breath, breathing in the stink of him, hearing our rubbers creak, knowing that this was it, the moment was here, and I put my head back and roared with pleasure as I shot my load deep inside him, my hand slipping down to grip his chin in my glove.

“Yes!” He shouted, “Oh fuck yes!” I stuffed my fingers into his mouth, hissing at him to shut the hell up, but enjoying his tight hole around my dick, and feeling the hot cum swirling around inside him. And then I pulled out and, with a flourish, barely waiting for him to recover, I grabbed the plug from the chair and rammed it up his hole. He went rigid with pain and lifted up onto his toes, but I held him tight, my other hand pressing the plug as far up as I could, keeping it in place, sealing my cum inside his hole, the first of many, many loads he would take from now on.

He was, at last, where he needed to be. I had made my boss my rubber slave, there was nothing left for him to do but accept his place from now on.

We broke apart at last. I collapsed into the chair while Willy fell to his knees and crawled over to rest against my rubber bleachers. His hands weakly gripped my booted ankles as his sweaty head came to rest in my lap. I leaned back, panting. He had taken my dick like a champ. He was going to make one hell of a rubber slave, I could tell that. Already my mind was working on ways to make him suffer more, make him serve me better, ways to bind him and break him and bring him even lower into servitude to me. I had plenty of time now.

After some time, we both calmed down. I whispered to him, “Good boy, very good, boy.” He grunted something back to me, unable to speak. It would take him some time. But he would get over it. He was where he needed to be, as I said. And he was smiling.

When I regained some energy, I looked around the bedroom. My eyes fell on the rubber overcoat he had bought that was thrown over the bed. It was red, matching his rubber suit, and had a high collar and lots of buttons. I smiled at it, a wicked thought forming in my head.

“Put your fucking coat on, slave. And grab some shoes.” I sneered. “We’re going out.”

“Out? Now?” My slave asked, looking up. A look of fear crossed his face. “But where, Sir?”

“Where the hell do you think, boss?” I smiled at him. “Our friendly local fetish bar, The Pit Stop. I want everyone to see my slave in action.”

Willy’s face lit up at once. He cried out joyfully, “Woof! Woof!” and I knew that he was mine from now on.

The news went company-wide on Monday about Walsh’s retirement and my rump now filling the seat in his office. No one could understand why, and Walsh certainly wasn’t telling. Neither was I. However, from that night on, when work was done and the weekend arrived, I would head uptown for a little rubber glovegagging (among other things) with my brand-new rubber slave, Mister William ‘Willy’ Walsh.

[bluewhale52]

By The Pool (M)

Summary: Jungkook has to stay back after practice, thanks to you. But perhaps, staying back isn’t so bad after all. 

Pairing: Coach Seokjin x Liefguard you x water polo player Jungkook

Genre: smut, straight up pwp, non-idol au, university au

Rating: NSFW, explicit

WC: 2.9k

Warning: pwp, threesome (mmf),  fraternising between university staff and students, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink, soft dom Jin, a bit of cum play

A/N: this story was originally published on my twitter feed back in May 2021, but it was a mess so I’ve been wanting to rewrite it, and now voila! Also, this is straight pwp, I just need to get it out of my system. Enjoy!

Jungkook cannot believe it.

Just a couple hours ago, he got scolded by the lifeguard he has been harboring a crush on since he joined the university’s water polo team. He honestly did not see what the big deal was doing cannonball into the training pool where there was no one but the water polo team. But the screech coming from you was enough to send him hiding behind the older players.

You, of course, told on him to his coach, and as a result, he got extra conditioning sets and had to do all the clean up after practice. Alone. Because Jimin and Taehyung abandoned him, leaving him all by himself in the swimming complex. Jungkook grumbles through his punishment, stomach growling as he packs up the last training equipment in the storage room.

He closes the door and locks it, and is on his way to the staff lounge room to drop off the key to his coach. He is just about to knock when he hears a shout from inside. Not just a shout, but also a series of noises that piques his curiosity. Holding his breath, he presses his ear against the door and blushes immediately.

The shouts- they are not distressed shouts; instead, they are shouts of pleasure. He is in between wanting to peek and running away, but before he can even make a decision, he hears his name being called by his coach, telling him to enter.

Jungkook cannot believe it.

The lifeguard who has given him so much grief earlier is now all pliant before him. Your eyes, that were glaring and shooting him daggers, are now wide and teary. Your shouts, that normally send him all flustered, are now replaced by desperate moans and groans. On all fours, you are no longer the lifeguard he is scared of and has a crush on, you are his fantasy that comes true.

Jungkook is still trying to wrap what is happening around his mind, when his coach asks him.

“Care to join us, Jungkook?”

Jungkook swallows hard. He hears the question, but is unable to answer, for his mind is blank, his heart is racing and his dick, well, his dick is responding very well at the sight of his lifeguard Noona being pounded harshly doggy style by his coach.

You still have your red-yellow lifeguard shirt on, but beyond your waist, you are naked. Your ass cheeks are red and swollen, no doubt from the slaps his coach has been giving you as he drills your cunt.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hisses when a particular hard thrust sends you screaming and jerking forward. His cock is standing at full attention now beneath his speedos.

“Now, aren’t you glad I made you stay back, Kook-ah?” A slap lands on your ass cheek, making you cry and mewl. “ She loves cock, this one. Can’t get enough of mine, so she wants my player’s too.”

Another slap.

“Naughty girl.”

Another slap.

You gasp for breath. “Fuck, Jin, I’m so close.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Jin slams into you hard and keeps himself inside you. “You only get to cum when Jungkookie says so.”

Jungkook looks at his coach.

“You give him so much shit today, princess, it’s the least you can do.” Jin smacks your ass again, then returns Jungkook’s stare. “All yours, Kook.”

Jin removes himself from you and helps you stand up. Jungkook is breathless, he can see how swollen you are between your legs, and his cock twitches imagining how snug and wet your pussy is.

“How do you want me, baby?” You ask sweetly, while leaning on Jin’s large frame.

Jungkook gulps. “Outside, by the pool.”

Jin bursts out laughing. You scoff. “Are you fucking serious?”

Jungkook shrugs. “You ask, I answer.”

“I asked how, not where you fucking brat,” you mutter under your breath, but you move to the computer to ensure all the CCTV cameras are turned off. “Get a towel, I’m not lying down on that grimy floor.”

Jungkook may be a brat, but he is a gentleman. He runs out to get his towel from his bag, then lays it down by the pool. He lies down on the floor, so you don’t have to. Jin gestures to you to sit on the younger man’s face.

“You’re comfortable, Noona?” He asks as you settle on your knees and lower yourself to his mouth.

You nod. Then you gasp when his hands cups your ass cheeks, pulling you down so his tongue can swipe at your wetness.

“Oh, Jungkook.”

Jungkook moans against your cunt at the way you say his name. You reach back to hold on to his hands over your butt.

“You like that, princess?” Jin leans down to kiss you. You whimper against his plush lips as Jungkook’s tongue parts your folds to get deeper.

“Make her scream, Jungkook.” Jin orders.

Jungkook happily obliges. His wet organ pistons into your hole, juicing you up to leak more of your honey down his mouth. The slurping sounds his mouth makes is so loud, and the smell of your sex fills the air, competing with the chlorine from the pool.

You grind and swirl your hips on his face, trying to get some friction on your sensitive button. He notices what you are seeking to achieve, so he happily moves his focus to your clit. His fingers replace his tongue, two digits pushing into your wet cunt.

He looks up at you, your upper body is still hidden underneath your uniform. His hands leave your ass to push your top up, and he groans when he sees you are not even wearing a bra. He hears Jin chuckles above him.

“She’s naughty like that, going braless so her tits can jiggle and distract me throughout practice. Right, princess?” Jin grabs your hair and yanks your head back roughly.

“Yes, daddy.”

Jungkook mewls- fuck, you have a daddy kink, this is even better than his fantasy. He inserts another finger into you, your loud moans urge him to go faster. He feels your thighs start to shake, so he quickens the pace of his tongue and his fingers.

“Oh Kook, I’m gonna cum, please,” you beg, “Jungkook, please.”

Jungkook wants you to flood his mouth, but he also remembers the way you looked when his coached edged you earlier. So he pushes you away from his mouth and onto his chest. You groan in frustration. “What the fuck!”

“I want to see your face when you cum, Noona.” Jungkook demands. He glances at his coach.

“Come on, Princess,” Jin understands immediately. He pulls you off Jungkook. “Gonna have you cum on my cock while Jungkook watches, hmm?”

You meekly comply. Jungkook moves from the towel to make space for Jin. The coach pulls you, and you squat over him, reverse cowgirl style. You guide Jin’s cock into your dripping hole, gasping and moaning as the head breaches in, followed by his length. Jin lets you bottom out at your own pace, and when he is fully in you, you whine and cry over how deep he has gotten in this position.

“Noona, your top, please.”

Jungkook is desperate to see your breasts. You strip quickly, baring your naked tits for the player. Jungkook gets on his knees before you. His large hands enveloping your chest, his rough palms grazing your hard nipples.

“You have such pretty tits, Noona. Fuck, they’re so nice and round.”

“Yeah, you like them, Jungkook? Ah!” You squeal when Jin slaps your ass.

“Start bouncing, princess.”

“Yes, daddy.”

Your knees start working to get you up and down Jin’s cock, your cunt swallowing the full length until you feel it deep in your lower abdomen. Your walls tighten around his girth, despite already being opened up earlier.

Jungkook continues to knead your breasts, eyes never leaving your face. “Noona, fuck, you’re so sexy.” Jungkook leans in to kiss and lick your neck.

“Fuck, Princess, how are you still so tight?” Jin pants from behind you.

Your moans are getting louder, the tell-tale sign of an orgasm fast approaching. Your knees have tired, so Jin takes over, fucking himself up into you, making your body bounce like a rag doll. You stumble forward and Jungkook catches you to hold you up, your breasts pressed against his hard chest.

Jin plants his feet firmly on the floor and continues to fuck you, determined to have you scream both his and Jungkook’s names. He has denied your orgasms a few times tonight, even before Jungkook joined in, and he is eager to have you finally cum and cum hard on him. He can see past your shoulders, at Jungkook, at how the player is mouthing at your neck and enjoying your succulent tits.

“Daddy,” you tilt your head back to glance at Jin, “I’m so close, I wanna cum, please.”

He digs his fingers deeper into your flesh. “Cum, princess, cum for me.”

He gathers his strength and pumps his cock into you faster and harder, finally burying himself in you when your walls squeeze tight around him accompanied with a cry escaping your mouth.You are cumming then, milking and drenching his shaft at the same time. Jungkook looks wide eyed at you, at how your eyes squeezed shut, at how your brows scrunched up, and at how you scream Jin’s name.

The coach grunts. “Jungkook, shut her up. She’s getting too loud.”

Jungkook quickly pulls his speedo down and positions himself before you so he can slide his cock into your open mouth. Your lips automatically close themselves around him, and Jungkook loses it when your hands grip his thighs for balance. He holds your head so he can fuck your mouth as his coach continues to press and grind himself through your climax.

“That’s it, Princess, suck his cock while you cum on mine.”

You groan around Jungkook as your body shakes and shudders in the aftermath of your orgasm. Jin does not let up his assault on your pussy,  and Jungkook soothes you when he sees a tear roll down your cheek.

You look up at him; your big teary eyes and hollow cheeks become his undoing. Gripping your hair tightly, he holds your head still as he shoots his seed down your throat. He moans and pants your name as you obediently swallows every drop from his cock.

Jungkook removes himself from you, and you gasp loudly for air.

“You okay?” He asks softly. You nod. Jungkook kneels before you so you can rest your body on his again.

“Daddy,” you whine against Jungkook’s neck as the slapping sounds of skin against skin continue. Jin is drilling himself up in you so hard that your body is jerked roughly forward to the player. After a few more thrusts, Jin finally empties himself, filling you up with his seed.

Your body shudders against Jungkook’s, your nails digging into his biceps as Jin comes inside you. The player feels his cock stirring again. The mere thought of his coach’s cum leaking out of your sweet cunt is sending him dizzy. Jin must have seen it on his face, as he pulls out and removes you from Jungkook.

Laying you down on the towel, Jin kisses you gently. “Can you take Jungkook, princess?”

“Yes, Jin, I want to,” you answer weakly, whining when you feel liquid dripping out of you when you spread your legs.

Jin kisses you deeply before he lets his player take over. Jungkook kneels between your legs, eyes fixed on your messy cunt. His cock is hard again, but he knows he will cum the moment he goes inside you, so he delays by pushing Jin’s cum back into your hole.

“Ah, Jungkook, please,” you whine, “wanna feel your cock.”

He ignores your begging, instead he finger fucks you gently while his other hand strokes his cock.

“Jungkook!” Your whining is louder and more desperate. He likes the sound of it. He moves his fingers faster, his coach’s cum and yours all mixed around his fingers.

“Jungkook, please, fuck me with your cock.”

Jin sniggers. Jungkook meets his eyes and smiles wickedly. God, he really likes the way you beg, and he is happy to hold off until you are reduced to a crying mess. But then you lift your legs up, holding them by your thighs, opening and offering yourself to him. Jungkook swears.

“Fuck, Noona,” he whispers, “you’re a sin.”

He slaps your hands away to push your thighs further against your chest, as he enters you in one swift motion. The slick in your cunt allows him to bottom out quickly, sending him and you both moaning.

“Fuck her good, Jungkook. I want to hear her scream your name.” Jin orders his player again, while gently caressing your hair. The contrast of his words and his action makes your pussy clench tightly around the younger man.

Jungkook obeys his coach and immediately goes into action. His hips snapping hard, forcing your cunt open with every stroke. Your hands pathetically try to hold on to his shoulders, as he fucks you almost savagely, encouraged by the sweet cries and moans of his name coming out of your mouth.

It is not long when he feels you starting to tighten. “You’re gonna cum, Noona?” He asks without missing a beat in his pace.

“Yeah, yeah, Kook, oh,” you only manage to answer. Jungkook focuses on your face. Your eyes look glazed and unfocused. He bites his lips to hold himself off until he sees you come.

Jin’s hands sneak between your bodies to tug and pinch your nipples. Your body jerks at the pain. Jungkook’s hips falter. Fuck, he’s so close himself.

“Jungkook, Jungkook,” you keep calling out for him.

“Noona, fuck, cum for me.”

Your body locks up as you finally reach your climax, cunt squeezing his cock so tightly that he cannot hold back anymore. He drops to his elbows and buries his face in your neck as he shoots his seeds inside you, his body jerking and twitching along with you.

The two of you remain in the position- Jungkook on top of you with your legs over his shoulders- as you come down from both your climaxes. The pool, so loud with the lustful sounds of sex minutes ago, is now quiet, except for Jin’s soft whispers of praises to you and Jungkook’s panting. Once he feels your heart beat returning to normal, he removes himself from you and gently puts your legs back on the towel, then sits back to watch you in your afterglow. Your body is laxed and your eyes are closed, and Jungkook falls a little bit more in love- and in lust- with you.

The three of you stay motionless for a while more, and Jin is the first to break the silence. “Come on, Princess, let’s have a shower, hmm?”

You mumble a sleepy yes as the coach lifts you into his arms and carries you into the staff lounge. After ensuring you are fine and well in the female’s change room, he and Jungkook go into the male’s to clean themselves.

Jungkook is embarrassed, as he showers and puts his clothes on next to his coach. Jin has been quiet since he left you in the women’s room, and the younger man is nervous.

“Say what you want to say, Kook-ah.”

Jungkook clears his throat. “Uh, are you and Noona dating?”

Jin nods. “Going on six months. And you will not breathe a single word about this to anyone, including Jimin and Taehyung.”

Jungkook blushes.

“We are keeping it quiet until she graduates,” Jin continues, “just one more month.”

Jungkook nods. He understands; though technically Jin is not your supervisor, he is an employee of the university and you are still a student. You and Jin are not breaking any rules, but if words go out, it can still be looked upon unfavorably.

“Yeah coach, don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. It’ll be great once Noona graduates, right? No more ‘fraternizing’.” Jungkook uses his hands to add air quotes to the last word.

“Well, about that,” Jin rubs his chin, “we may need to continue ‘fraternizing’ a bit more.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a very strong feeling tonight is not a one off.”

Jungkook gulps nervously. “Oh?”

“It’s up to you, I know she has a soft spot for you, and this,” Jin gestures to himself and Jungkook, “has been in her mind for a while. I don’t like sharing but I have to admit I enjoyed watching her with you. So, you know where to find us if you ever want to do it again.”

Jungkook hoists his bag on his shoulder, his mind going a hundred miles a minute but he is unable to process what he has just heard. His coach looks at him and smirks.

“Can you like, punch me, Coach?”

“I’m already toeing the line, and I’m definitely not breaking the rule by assaulting my player!”

The two men stop when they hear a knocking on the door.

“Are you two done yet? I still need to close up! And I’m hungry!” You shout from the other side of the change room.

“I don’t understand why she needs to knock when- ah, come on Kook-ah, before she whoops our asses.”

Jungkook smiles and follows his coach out. He smiles even wider when he sees you. You merely raise an eyebrow and nag him to move quickly.

Yeah, Jungkook cannot believe it.

Do you enjoy reading this fic? If you do, please reblog! Reblogging will bring my fic to a wider audience :)

Published on tumblr on 270122. Crossposted to my AO3.