#her dads attempt sucked too

[strandsofmelody]

I hope Artemisia Gentileschi knows that her version of Judith Beheading Holofernes fucks 100x harder than Caravaggios.

Love ya, girl ❤️

[cuntylittlesalmon]

hm… i’ve written like 3k words in two days

[artemisbarnowl]

My sister wants to introduce immediate family (and partners) kk for next year with a 100 dollar limit and while I'm not against the idea in theory I am a little bit in practice, knowing the members of my family.

[kavehater]

Do I have to start saying not that anyone would care in that super duper passive aggressive way to guilt people into caring or what

[gojoest]

FIRST WORD — girl dad!gojo satoru

girl dad satoru, established relationship (you’re married, it is indicated that you have two other kids besides the little one that appears in this drabble), nanami cameo, suggestive credits at the end (breeding hinted, just to be safe), sry this lowkey sucks + not proofread, i typed it out in 10 mins but i hope you enjoy!

satoru is trying really hard to get his little daughter to say “papa”, but oh well

“come on, my life — say it”

satoru, crouched down before the baby chair where his little daughter is sitting, a picture of his face in one hand while the other alternates between pointing at the photo and then at his face, slowly repeats, over and over, with utmost perseverance and patience, the first word he wishes his little one would utter—

“pa-pa”, he carefully speaks, syllable by syllable. “pa-pa”, and again. “come on, baby — at least you don’t betray me, i know you’re papa’s girl — come on now, say it”, he pleads.

this has been going on for the past few weeks.

your entire house currently looks like the room of a teenager where it’s posters on the walls and little trinkets on the shelves, courtesy of heavy hyperfixations. but instead of posters and trinkets it’s your husband’s face, everywhere. kitchen, living room, hallways, your baby’s room — every-single-where and every-single-surface and wall has the photograph of your husband’s face on it. he even purchased custom-made plushies and toys of himself, some of which are hanging from the musical baby mobile above your daughter’s crib — but instead of music it’s his voice, teaching his toddler through made-up songs how to say ‘papa’.

“satoru, don’t you think this is a little bit, um— “, you once brought up, pausing to clear your throat, trying your best to sound softer while you say this. knowing how sensitive he is about the matter, and how devoted to have this innocuous win — “…too much? hm, love? it’s like you’re… brainwashing the baby…”

lips immediately pursed, satoru pouted under his nose — “easy for you to say, our two other kids said ‘mama’ first — effortlessly, at that. let me have this one at least”

okay, you shrugged and backed off.

and this morning, as you sipped on your coffee, you silently watched your husband in the kitchen — kneeled down before the baby chair, going about his educational routine.

after he was done with the photos, he took your daughter’s hand and pressed her fingers on his lips, while he kept repeating the word ‘papa’. he said that this method allows the baby to see the way your mouth moves as you speak but also hear and feel the sound all at the same time. (he sure has read a lot of things on the internet)

but your little one remained silent, only giggling here and there as she poked around her father’s face, completely refusing to cooperate with him despite his desperate attempts.

it is an endearing sight, really. part of you felt pity for your husband, you cannot lie. he was trying so hard, and for what...

all of a sudden,

the doorbell rings.

“i’ll take it”, you quickly pad over to open the door.

it’s nanami — dropping by with some baked treats for the kids, as he often does. your children love him a lot. during dinner gatherings he always sneaks away to read them bedtime stories. even though he doesn’t look like the type on the surface, he sure has a soft spot for children. and, truth be told, they are all naturally drawn to him as well. maybe it’s his calm demeanor and the sense of safety he brings along with his presence.

“ah, thank you — these look so delicious, i am sure the kids will die for a bite”, you chime, as you guide him into the kitchen.

“oh— nanami, it’s you”, satoru casually points out without even turning his head to greet him, his eyes glued on his little daughter… who seems to be looking elsewhere, past her father…

…at nanami.

a bit bothered by that, satoru shifts a little bit to the side, to block the view — to, once again, be the main focus in his daughter’s eyes. but, alas…

she tilts her head, googly eyes glancing at the blond man behind her father.

she opens her mouth, a giggle first escapes, and then—

“na-na—”, she pauses… “—mi” — a beam of laughter and her hands reaching forward, pointing at nanami.

silence in the kitchen befalls.

you cover your mouth with a hand, trying to prevent yourself from bursting into laughter. it’s tragic but funny at the same time, and you know — in just a few seconds the real baby in this room will not be your daughter.

“nanami”, satoru slowly stands up, shoulders hanging low and voice — monotone and stern. “get out”

p.s.: satoru makes a scene. he is absolutely devastated. you have to drag him away and pick up the pieces and calm him down. and, of course, he thinks — the only way to make things better is to give him another child. a new opportunity…and you need to get down to business, now. while nanami is babysitting downstairs.

[trivia-yandere]

fixation

a look into where it all began with jungkook and how much he loves having his lips on you… @darkuni63 @sweetempathprunetree @momnomnom

warning: step-sibling relationship, coercion, oral sex, slight yandere behavior, manipulation, nipple sucking, dry humping/grinding, fingering,

word count: 4.639

series masterlist

You’ve known Jeon Jungkook since you were a child - 10 years of age.  Your father had brought his mother - a beautiful woman, you’d admit, and her son over for dinner one night while you stayed the weekend with him. “Y/N, this is Jungkook.” you recall your father speaking, his hands upon Jungkook’s shoulders. You were seated at the dining table when the two of them arrived. “He’s going to be your brother.”

Jungkook acted the part - even if the two of you were the same age - as the annoying brother. You could also blame your 10 year old self, as well, for how you acted. You were an only child - a girl, at that - and finally, your father had a son. He and Jungkook watched sports together and went to games often. They would go fishing and when you came on the weekend, you’d hear Jungkook brag about it constantly.

But even if your father now had a son, Jungkook’s mother had a daughter. She enjoyed doing your hair the best she could and attempting to go places with you that she could only dream a mother and daughter duo would go - but that never angered Jungkook as much as it angered you that he was with your father. 

“It's just a little sibling rivalry.” your father said to Jungkook’s mother - now his wife - when you and Jungkook were attending middle school. Jungkook was new to your school and yet, he excelled. He had more friends than you and charted the highest scores - the two of you being tied academically. 

Every worry Jungkook’s mother had was brushed off by your father. “They act just like siblings.” he’d say with a laugh whenever you and Jungkook bickered over everything - and nothing. You dreaded going to your fathers on the weekends because that meant that you’d have to see and deal with Jungkook entirely - and he was nothing but a pain in the ass.

High School was the same, the only difference was the change in appearances. Jungkook grew overnight it seems and his high voice deepened. He worked out more due to him playing sports and that also meant his body changed, as well. 

“That’s your brother?!” a friend said with wide eyes when Jungkook had given you a sideways hug (a rule he had broken just to piss you off) and said: “Dad wants us to ride home together.”

And from that moment, you were Jungkook’s sister - not Y/N, but Jeon fucking Jungkook’s sister and you suspected he did it purposely. 

And Jungkook had - something he’d never admit to you. Just as his body developed in High School, so has yours and by senior year you were the talk of the boys locker room (as were most senior girls). “Y/N’s ass is amazing.” one boy had said as he walked in, his eyes focused down the hall where Jungkook assumed you were standing. “She has the perfect hips.”

“Her lips are good, too.” said another boy. “I just know she knows how to suck-”

“That’s my sister.” Jungkook deadpanned, his eyes narrow at the boys who immediately silence their crude talk about you.

A side of Jungkook told himself that he respected you as his (step) sister and didn’t like the filthy thoughts coming from others. But then there was the side of him that he wanted to bury away that agreed with them.

Jungkook had noticed that same day how your hips were nice and your ass was amazing. As you and he walked out of school together that Friday, he noticed as you sat in his car (a gift from your father since Jungkook had gotten his license before you) that your lips were good. You were coating them with gloss, eyes focused on the mirror to not mess anything up. 

Once these thoughts were there, they weren’t going away; as disgusting as it was.

You were his (step) sister and Jungkook had respect for you - even if the two of you fought constantly. You appeared to dislike him as a whole as you grew older and of course, he’d tease you and say it was because he was better than you at everything - but still, you were his sister.

The thoughts he held for you were impure and they weren’t going to go away until he fixed them.

It started subtle at first; light touches. He’d brush by you on the weekends when you’d come. Now teenagers at 18 of age, you two were often left alone. Your father would often go out with Jungkook’s mother and neither of you minded - Jungkook would bring his friends over and sometimes, you’d do the same. This weekend was different, however. There was a change in Jungkook’s behavior.

Jungkook would hold your hips often when passing by. He’d place a hand on your lower back when he comes up from behind you. His teasing never ceased, but they became more…sensual? 

Your mind tells you that it’s in your head. Jungkook was (unfortunately) your brother - step brother - but a brother nonetheless. He has now introduced you as his sister at school and that now means you had girls you’d never talk to attempting to speak with you in order to get to the person that was Jeon Jungkook.

The first time you’ve done something with Jeon Jungkook you had cried and vomited when you came back to your senses. “Stop being scared.” Jungkook said, passing you the glass with a shot's worth of alcohol in it. “Dad would never know.”

You grabbed the glass only because you didn’t want to appear like a loser. It was the weekend once more and you stayed at your father’s home and it was the same weekend your father and step-mother were celebrating their anniversary away. They felt comfortable leaving you and Jungkook alone more now since graduation was right around the corner. 

 A few friends and no parties was your father’s rule and that’s exactly what you’ve stuck by. Jungkook had a few friends each over while you decided to remain alone - Taehyung was someone you were nervous around because he was older and college age. He was far more experienced in drinking than you’d ever be and you didn’t want to appear like a fool.

“Your sister’s so cute.” Jimin had said to you - the same age as Taehyung and attending the same college. He laughed when your face scrunched in disgust at the harsh taste of the alcohol. “So innocent.” he murmured. 

It didn’t take long for the effects of the alcohol to flow through you entirely and you were now looser. You laughed along to whatever Taehyung said, a hot feeling running through you. The man sees the glossy look in your eyes as you look at him with such innocent-like eyes and he does nothing but pat your head gently - you were someone he had to remain at a distance because you were his younger friend's sister.

“You like Tae.” Jungkook said to you once his friends had left and you and he were left alone. “He’ll never like you back, you know? Bro code.”

Your head is spinning slightly and all you can hear is the annoying voice of Jungkook ruining your vibe. You grabbed the bottle from his hands and took a messy swig of it. “Fuck you.” you slur.

Jungkook scoffs, his eyes racking your figure. You had taken off the hoodie you wore an hour ago and now stayed in a tanktop and shorts. 

“No one likes me because of you.”

“That’s not true. Everyone likes you.” Jungkook had scoffed - he’s come across enough locker room talk about you.

“And no one wants to do anything with me because of you!” you hissed. You were drunk, Jungkook notes, and now your feelings were falling right into his lap. 

“You should be thanking me. They just want to use you for your body. They can smell your virginity from a mile away.”

Your eyes widen and your body heats with embarrassment. Without thinking, you threw the bottle at Jungkook. It smashes against his chin and he releases a loud groan at you doing so.

“I-I’m sorry-” you didn't actually intend for the bottle to connect. 

Jungkook presses his lips against yours, hands roughly grabbing your hips to keep you down. You’re shocked at the action and for a moment, you’re stuck on what to do or how to react. 

You’ve kissed a boy before, sure, but not Jungkook - his lips are soft and not as chapped as the last boy you’ve kissed. 

Jungkook pushes himself away as if realizing his mistake, his eyes are just as wide as yours and before he can apologize for his actions, you vomit completely on him, hot tears pouring down from your eyes. Now you’re truly embarrassed; humiliated. You were crying because the thought of kissing Jungkook sends shockwaves of both disgust and a taboo pleasure; and because you also vomited on him.

You ran to your room, stumbling a bit because the room was spinning entirely too much. You ignored Jungkook’s calls for you entirely and slammed your door shut.

You felt stupid, disgusted and humiliated all at once. 

It was the following morning where you were forced to face Jungkook once more, now sober, and this time the boy refused to be ignored. You were fresh out of the shower, speed walking down to your bedroom where you were face to face with Jungkook, him sitting directly on your bed. 

“Good morning.” Jungkook says cooly, his eyes on your face as if awaiting for your reaction. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, clenching the towel on your body tighter. 

“Are you scared of me, Y/N?”

You’re taken aback by the question. “No.” you answer truthfully - there wasn't a reason to. Jungkook wasn’t a threat to you. 

“Then why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“More like a roach.” you spit, and Jungkook chuckles. 

“I want to talk about last night.”

You swallow, the room now growing hot. “What about last night?” you say, stepping into your room. “I got drunk…I don’t really remember what happened.” 

Jungkook watches you intently as you enter your closet and crack the door gently. It was big enough for you to hide in it for a moment to grab a robe and return. “Did I do something to embarrass myself?” you laugh humorlessly. 

You’re shaking with nerves and Jungkook knows you’re lying; pretending to not know what has happened. 

“You don’t remember?” Jungkook furrows a brow, turning to you fully. You sit on your bed, back pressed against the headboard.

You shake your head. 

“Hm.” Jungkook stands. “That’s too bad.” 

You swallow a dry lump in your throat, a part of you wanting to question what Jungkook meant by “too bad”. 

“You told me it was my fault that no one touches you.” Jungkook says after a moment of reading your face. “I’m sorry for that.”

Your body is hot; you remembered saying that. You remembered it all, as drunk as you were. You’re surprised you didn’t wake up with a hangover.

“It’s not your fault.” you murmur, glancing away. 

“I know.” Jungkook snickers. “Still, I know how boys are, Y/N. I am one.” he says. “They’ll take advantage of you. They’ll use you just to get in your pants.”

The conversation was going left, you note. You and Jungkook never spoke about this - sex or boys or anything related. He once teased you for having a crush back in middle school and that caused you to push him hard in a puddle of mud. He was so embarrassed about “being pushed by a girl” that he told your father that he tripped instead. 

“You should experience…” Jungkook trails off, as if trying to find the correct words to say. “...being touched by someone you love-”

“Please stop the speech.” you’re cringing, never in a million years thinking you’d hear this from Jungkook of all people. 

“I’m being serious Y/N.” Jungkook comes around to sit directly in front of you, eyes watching you closely. “It’s better with someone you love.”

“Did you love anyone you,” you raise your hands to do air quotes. “touched.”

Jungkook snickers. “I’m a boy. We’re wired differently.” he brushed your question off. “You’re a girl. You’re not. You’ll grow attached to the person who takes your virginity and they’ll let you down. And as your brother,” Jungkook’s eyes zone in on you so deep that it catches you by surprise. “I’ll have to kill them.”

You roll your eyes - but goosebumps litter the skin of your arms. “You’re so unserious.” you respond. “Since when do you play the step-brother role?”

“Since now. I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook smiles, his teeth - that reminded you of a bunny - on full display. “That’s why I want to be the one to…touch you.”

Now, in this instant, you’re positive that you looked like you’ve seen a ghost. Your body is stiff and your eyes widen at Jungkook’s words. He doesn’t speak for a moment to allow your mind to think about the words he’s spoken. 

“Excuse me?”

“Yes?”

Jungkook doesn’t appear as distraught as you - he was the one to suggest it. 

“W-What are you saying?” you hiss at him, body hot. You’re sure this was another cruel joke Jungkook was going to push at you. He was going to burst out laughing at any minute and it was just a ruse to fluster you even more.

“I’m saying,” Jungkook tilts his head. “I want to be the one to pleasure you first.” he reiterates nonchalantly. “I can’t think of anyone that would love you more than me. You’re my sister-”

“Don’t call me that!” you hiss at Jungkook. 

Jungkook furrows his brows. “Why not? Is it not true?” he asks. “You’re my step-sister. If you want to lose your virginity then I’ll be the perfect person to do so. I actually care for your feelings, don’t I?” he shrugs his shoulders. 

You shake your head, mind trying to adjust to Jungkook’s words. “You’re crazy.” you scoff, but you glance away for a moment to think about what he’s said. 

“You’d rather have sex with someone you don’t love than me?” Jungkook crosses his arms over his chest. 

“You’re my broth…step-brother.” you respond. “It’s kinda weird thinking about you in that way.”

“Then don’t.” Jungkook shrugs. “Just think of me as Jungkook. We’re both seniors in High School about to graduate. Do you really want to go to college as a virgin?”

Going to college as a virgin shouldn’t bother you - you weren’t there to be fucked into oblivion countless times. However, your childish mind tells you that going to college without any experience was going to be your downfall. You think about Jungkook’s older friends - how Jimin called you innocent. How Taehyung lightly patted your head to dismiss you.

Jungkook watches your face fall and he understands that slowly, you were considering his proposal.

“We don’t have to jump into sex completely. Since you’re new to this I want to focus on your pleasure.”

“Like what?” you ask innocently. 

Jungkook offers a soft smile. “You trust me, right? I love you and you love me.”

Slowly, you nod. You’re sure you did love Jungkook - knowing his since you were a child and growing up alongside him.

“Okay.” Jungkook nods his head, inching closer to your stiff frame. He places a hand onto your face. “It’s just me, remember. You don’t have to be scared.”

You nod your head hesitantly. You didn’t have to be scared, yet you were. The thought of doing anything sexual with Jungkook causes fear to run through your veins - getting caught in the act was yet another fear. Your father wouldn’t be returning until Monday afternoon, but that didn’t cause your nerves to cease.

Jungkook leans closer to press a kiss against your lips much like he did the night prior, only this time more gentle. His lips were what you remembered them to be - soft and…a hint of strawberry? Jungkook often wore chapstick so you weren’t as confused as you would’ve been. 

You don’t move and allow Jungkook to completely take charge. “I’m going to continue to kiss you.” he murmurs breathily against your lips and you can only nod. But Jungkook doesn’t kiss your mouth, he instead kisses down your jawline to your chin and reaches your neck. “Lay down.” he instructs.

Your robe hikes up your thigh as you do as Jungkook tells you and it’s that moment that you remember that you were naked under the silk material - how you forgot was beyond you. 

A hand touches your outer thigh and you flinch, nerves kicking back in. 

“It’s just me.” Jungkook repeats against your neck. “Open your legs.”

It takes you a moment to listen to Jungkook. You’re trembling when you finally do open your legs and Jungkook takes it upon himself to wrap them around his waist. 

Jungkook’s closer - the closest he’s ever been to you. You were naked right beneath him, the silk robe only reaching higher and higher up your thigh that you have no coverage whatsoever. 

Jungkook’s sweats are thick, but he’s directly against your core and he could feel the pulsing from between your legs, similar to a heart beat. 

Your skin is soft, Jungkook notes while both hands run beneath the robe. He inches up slowly, enjoying the way your breathing becomes heavy.

“Jung-” you don’t finish your speech and it’s interrupted by both of Jungkook’s hands engulfing your ass entirely. 

Jungkook shudders at the feel of you. His sweats were becoming tight but he knows he cannot act on his urges - not when you were trusting him with this. 

Jungkook’s kisses proceed to go past your neck, hands rising  upwards to untie your robe. It falls open and now Jungkook has full access to your naked body.

“You have such a slutty body, Y/N.” Jungkook murmurs, his voice deeper than usual. You want to ask what that meant and if it was bad; but Jungkook doesn’t allow you to. His hands engulf your breast fully, his thumbs rubbing along your erect nipples. 

“Does that feel good?” Jungkook asks, his eyes darting from your breast to your face. 

You slowly nod your head, embarrassed at how good it did feel. 

“Good.” Jungkook mumbles. Your breast felt as amazing as your ass and fit perfectly in the palms of his hand. His own breathing intensified, his cock throbbing to be released from the prison that was his underwear and sweatpants. “You’re aroused. I can feel your through my sweats.”

“Sorry-”

“Don’t apologize.” Jungkook snickers. “You’re supposed to be. Here,”

Jungkook wanted to feel you as much as he possibly could. He removes himself from you briefly, his warmth gone entirely that you slightly shiver. He then lowers his sweats enough so that he’s only in his underwear, his erection appearing painfully hard. 

“You can grind against me. It’ll feel good.” Jungkook returns to you, left hand dipping to grip your ass and press you firmly against his clothed erection. The material of his underwear briefs are far more thin than his sweats and he’s thankful that he gets to feel some part of you.

While Jungkook’s left hand grips your ass, his left goes to rub along your breast, his thumb and index pinching your nipple for a reaction.

You yelp when you feel a new sensation - Jungkook’s tongue. He’s ensuring every part of you has a form of pleasure, his tongue swirling on your other nipple entirely.

Jungkook’s hips thrust into you, his eyes fluttering close. His pleasure could never match what you were feeling now, but even doing the deed - something so forbidden for step-siblings - was causing a wave of adrenaline and pleasure to flow through him.

The pleasure you were feeling was just as foreign, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt. You could feel the sticky arousal between your legs that’s staining Jungkook’s underwear. You couldn’t care now, not when you were matching Jungkook’s thrust with your own grinding.

This isn’t good, you tell yourself. Jungkook and you weren’t supposed to be doing this.

But it felt good - Jungkook’s tongue suckling on your breast, his hand gripping your ass so tight while he’s grinding against you. 

“I told you it’ll feel better when you do it with someone you love.” Jungkook says against your breast, his tongue flickering out his lips to flicker against your nipple. 

The amount of times Jungkook and you continued to engage in sexual acts should be unhealthy. It should have stopped after the first time - but it didn’t. You’re embarrassed to say that you came just by grinding against him, an act that Jungkook found so hot that he wanted to do it again and again and again.

The entire weekend was you and Jungkook. Slowly, you became comfortable with being with him. By the third day, you had since sat in his lap completely naked just in hopes of getting off - and Jungkook allowed it. He loved watching the way you succumb with pleasure,  so wet and ready to cum that you didn’t care what he was doing. He had to mute his microphone on his game that he was playing with Taehyung, ignoring the screams his friend was shouting over the headset about their team losing because of him - but Jungkook didn’t care.

One thing Jungkook enjoyed was tasting you, as weird as it sounded. He’s done this before with other girls - but you were different. He enjoyed sucking and kissing on your kiss and watching your raw reaction to it. He’d place his hands upon your hips as you grind against his cock,  his tongue rubbing along your soft skin. Your breasts were littered with hickies now and you didn’t care in the slightest.

But Jungkook is salivating at the thought of getting to taste you. He can feel how wet your are, your pussy releasing sweet arousal all over his cock that it’s a waste that he hasn’t tasted it. 

The idea of you spread before him as he ravishes your pussy, your moans high and full of lust.

Jungkook is going to do so - now. He doesn’t care if you’re on the phone with your friends; you’ve interrupted him when he was on his game. He had to hear Taehyung berate him for an hour straight.

You’re already naked, Jungkook notes, and that’s good. While you and he started this only two days ago, you wanted him at every given moment and being naked was the quickest way for you to have him. 

Jungkook enters your room without knocking and you furrow a brow at him. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t need to. You know what he wants (in a way) and you’ll always be ready to give it to him. 

What you aren’t expecting was Jungkook to pull your legs apart, and without warning, dive right into it. His tongue lays flat against your clit, his hands going beneath your thighs to assure you don’t close them.

You yelp loudly at the sudden action, a low groan releasing from your lips.

“I-I’m okay.” you tell your friend over the phone. “K-Keep telling me what happened.”

You mute your phone and place it aside. “W-What-”

“Shut up.” Jungkook tells you. He doesn’t want to think about anything but tasting you, having you cum all over his lips. 

Your friend's speech dies down in the background. Jungkook doesn’t allow any time for you to adjust, his tongue laps between your folds hungrily. Your moans are as sweet as your pussy and he focuses on it and your pleasure entirely. He slurps and sucks against your clit as if it’s his last meal.

“Jungkook, I-I-”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker up to look at you and once more, you groan. 

This is bad, you think. No, worse. 

You told yourself that eventually, you and Jungkook would need to stop this. That you couldn’t keep allowing him to make you cum; but then he makes it harder. Grinding against him was one thing - still bad seeing as he was your step-brother - but this? This was worst.

And the worst felt so good.

“K-Kookie,  please-”

You haven’t called Jungkook that since middle school - a nickname he hated as he grew older. But the name sounds so sweet coming from your lips that he just wants to ravish your pussy even more. 

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks, then swipes his tongue against your clit slowly. He keeps his eyes on you as he does this, your reaction enticing him. “Want you to cum on my face.”

Your thighs quiver at Jungkook's words, body radiating with heat. Slowly you nod your head, slightly anticipating the new found pleasure Jungkook was giving you.

“It’ll feel good…” Jungkook says suddenly. “...might feel a little different.”

You’re unsure what he’s speaking of until you feel pressure. Your walls clench around his fingers, the feeling completely unexpected and unfamiliar. 

“Relax, Y/N. It’ll feel good soon.”

Jungkook continues to lick on your clit, slowly entering his fingers deeper inside of you. You’re tight - the tightest he’s ever felt. But you were also a virgin and this was something he’s never had before. It excites him greatly, the thought of you giving your body to him; him being your first for everything sends shock waves through him.

You hum low and your thigh twitches. Jungkook's fingers are long and they’re now hitting a nerve deep inside of you. 

Your back arches as Jungkook picks up the pace in his thrusting. His eyes never leave you as he does, enjoying the way your face contorts with pleasure. You’re beautiful, he thinks, as he always thought you were. Now you’re beautiful to him in more ways than one and your body has developed gracefully over the years.

Your eyes snap shut, a long moan releasing deep from your throat. You’re positive that this was going to make you cum quick - the quickest you’ve ever had. 

“You’re so wet, Y/N.” Jungkook says, hovering above you. He doesn’t stop his thrusting fingers and his eyes are fixed on how good the sight of you is. “Aren’t you happy you agreed to this?”

“Yes!” you moan, nodding your head. There’s that familiar bubbling in your stomach creeping up on you.

“So pretty…” Jungkook groans. Your juices were leaking onto his palm entirely. He can’t wait until he could have you the way he wants to - to fully pleasure you the best way he knows how. 

This isn’t something Jungkook ever wants to stop doing - the rush that goes through him at the fact that this is something you and he were not supposed to be doing. The forbidden action makes him want you even more - want you at times he truly shouldn’t and he ponders how he would react when you two were no longer alone. 

Your thighs are shaking erratically and Jungkook knows you’re cumming. This must be bliss for you, he thinks, cumming so much in such a short amount of time. You’re just lucky that it was him - someone who truly loved you - that was doing this for you. Another person wouldn’t care if you came or not.

Jungkook presses a kiss against your lips as you ride out your orgasm. He sends them across your cheek to your neck as you slowly begin to calm down from your high. “I think your friend hung up.” Jungkook says, eyes glancing at your discarded phone. 

You don’t respond, exhaustion hitting you drastically. 

Jungkook pecks your lips once more. “Next time, I want you to sit on my face.” he says to you, removing his fingers entirely.

This was bad, you think. But you didn’t want it to end.

next (tape) | series masterlist | final (sibling rivalry)

[luveline]

Hi, I’ve never actually sent a request before so hopefully this is okay, but maybe Hotch’s adult daughter calling him dad for the first time when she’s in trouble or hurt which could also open up an opportunity for Hotch to see her mother for the first time since he found out about her

You’re gonna throw your pants in the trash when you get home. The blouse is a loss —getting blood out of champagne material is a pipe dream. But the pants were unscathed until now. 

“Can you look at me?” 

You lift your pounding head. The EMT cups your cheek, her lips quirked into a deep frown as she raises a small flashlight to your eyes. “Just gonna check your pupils again,” she murmurs, shining the light in your eye. 

Each flash has a heated knife of pain slamming into your brain. You moan in pain and tip your head forward, wanting more than anything to lay down. 

“What can I do to make you more comfortable?” the EMT asks. 

“I want to go to the hospital,” you say. Surely they can fix the carving agony behind your face. 

“I know. As soon as the ruckus upstairs is clear, we’re going to take you there.” 

“I don’t want to sit here.” You grimace at the clammy stone under your legs. The subway is not a good place to touch things. 

“It’ll be over soon. There’s a heavy police presence. You’ll be okay.” 

“Got blood on my shirt,” you mumble. 

“I’m sure someone will wash it for you.” 

“My dad,” you say without thinking. 

If you asked, Aaron would wash the blood from your shirt. He could buy you a whole new wardrobe and he would if you let him, but he would just as happily stand at the sink scrubbing away your stains. 

“Ah, Mr. Hotchner,” the EMT says. “I’ve heard about him, I think we all have. He’s a very important man.” 

“He’s just my dad,” you whisper. 

You’re not really talking to her anymore, the thumping pain behind your eyes a wave you can’t get past. It hurts with every breath. When you hold out your hand, the EMT knows without asking that you’re going to throw up. 

She’s more alarmed after that. “Okay, I’m gonna take you upstairs now, okay? I’m sorry there’s no gurney, but we just have to get to the top of the stairs.” 

Each step sucks. You taste blood and vomit alike on your tongue, the daylight is too bright as you ascend the steps, and the EMT isn’t taking enough of your weight. You moan something incomprehensible even to yourself on the second to last step and cover your eyes, aware of the sirens, the roaring crowds, glass shattering at your feet. 

“Shit,” the EMT says. 

You search for your phone blindly, your hand lost in a pocket full of gum wrappers and tissue. “I don’t have my bag... I want my phone. Need to call my dad.” 

“It’s okay,” she says, giving you an encouraging jostle to look out at the clearing sidewalk. “I can see him.” 

Aaron is speed-walking through the crowd. He’s surrounded by people in Kevlar vests, but he himself wears nothing more than his usual suit and tie. His face changes when he sees you from glaring to a strange flitting panic. 

“Are you all right?” he asks, jogging those last few metres to take you by the elbows. “Sweetheart, are you all right?” 

Your eyes are tired. “Somebody hit me,” you say. 

“I know.” His sympathy is warm, his hand smoothing up your arm as he turns on the spot. “Morgan, can we get better access down this street?” 

One of the Kevlar vests doubles back the way they came. You’re trying to make sense of who you’re seeing, and what’s happening, but the confusion since you got hurt is enthusiastic. You can’t make sense of anything but the splitting pain in your head. 

Aaron’s talking five miles a second and ushering you up those last few steps, a gentleness to his touch that’s absent in his barked commands. 

You’ve never heard him shout like that. You can’t help staring at him. 

“This is an attempted insurrection. The aggression is only going to get worse. JJ, see if you can coordinate with metro PD, make sure there aren’t any other injured civilians in the subway. Dave, I need you to run the operation while I go with her.” 

“Aaron,” you say, watching his frown deepen. 

“Reid, you’re with JJ. Prentiss, I want you to find who laid hands on her–”

“Aaron,” you say again, shocked. 

He gives your arm a placating squeeze. 

“They could still be here.” Everything he says is unarguable. He’s suddenly a monolith, and he’s freaking you out, and you’re no closer to being in the back of the ambulance than you had been ten minutes ago. “Have Garcia pull the security footage–”

“Dad,” you say in a short breath, your hand grasping weakly at his arm. 

He falls silent for a moment. The agent you’re unfamiliar with becomes the man who brings you teddy bears at dinner and sends encouraging missives in the morning. 

“What, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asks. Not gentle, but hushed.

“I think I’m gonna be sick again.” 

The EMT passes you a paper bag. 

—

You could hear a pin drop in your hospital room. Your broken nose has its own heartbeat, but that’s a feeling, rather than a sound. Aaron hasn’t spoken in a long time, he just sits there with his hand on your arm, waiting for a cue you don’t give. You’re so embarrassed about calling him dad you’ve decided to never speak to him again. 

His hand occasionally comes to life, giving your arm a soft up and down. 

It’s strange to suddenly have a father, but not bad. His paternal caring is a comfort with all the pain, and it doesn’t feel stilted. With Aaron it never has, he found out you were his and he immediately began to act like it, though you suppose you’ll never know how he would’ve loved you as an adult if he’d known you as a child. This feels genuine. Careful, but genuine. 

“Time to take it off,” he says. 

You meet his eyes. 

“The ice pack,” he explains. 

You drop it onto your leg, and he takes it and sets it on the rollover table instead. 

“You can come and stay with me for a few days,” he suggests quietly.

“I’ll be okay.” 

“Your mom’s working. I can take the time off.”

You give him a dubious look. “And then you’ll get called away and it’ll be just me and Haley in the house. That won’t be awkward at all.” 

He shakes his head. “You’re hurt. You’re gonna feel dizzy for at least another day, and that’s not thinking about how hard it’s gonna be to breathe for a while. I’ll stay home, and you can get familiar with my guest room.” 

“You don’t have to look after me.” 

“But I want to.” He holds your wrist. “I know we aren’t a conventional father and daughter…” His brow furrows, and he looks at your hand just below his rather than your face. “I want the chance to look after you. How many times were you sick as a kid? Hundreds of times. Mostly colds, a runny nose. Maybe you– maybe you broke your arm, I don’t know. But I wish I did. I owe it to you to take care of you now.” 

You give him a small smile as he raises his head. 

“Just think about it,” he says, “we’ll be here all night anyways.” 

“You can go home.” 

“Don’t be difficult,” he says, his sincerity swapped for teasing as he stand. “I have to go find you something to eat.”

He stoops to give you a warm hug across your shoulders. You should want it to be over quickly, you smell like blood and sick and sweat, your clothes are ruined, and you’re not used to him seeing you like this, but let the feeling of his hand on your back persuade you into closing your sore eyes. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“I’m okay.” 

“Okay. I need to do a lap before your mother gets here anyhow. I might… be more unkind than I plan on being, otherwise.” 

You laugh at his half-joke and hurt your face. He is very sorry. 

[missmeinyourbones]

we NEED "i'm just too soft for all of it." IWHT MEGUMI PLS IM BEGGING

I'M JUST TOO SOFT FOR ALL OF IT (m. fushiguro)

a/n: me making up medical shit LMFAO, repressed and emotionally constipated megumi, deadbeat dad t*ji, slight mentions and undertones of toxic masculinity

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

Since he was four years old and still growing into his long-sleeved sweaters, Megumi has learned to heal his own wounds or almost die trying.

A routine that he now knows like the back of his hand, he'd returned from his latest mission with weeping cuts and exhaustion clear beneath his eyes, making a point to stop at the medical closet before returning to his dorm. With Shoko's workday over, he makes a mental note to visit her first thing in the morning when he wakes. 

He can make it through the night, he always does. Because Megumi is a thinker. He plans until he can't and covers all bases for when they're stolen. He gets by. 

What he didn't take into account was potentially running into you, of all people. Dormitory halls barren and almost eerie, he nearly curses himself for brushing shoulders as you turn the corner on the way back to your own room. 

Your timing has always been wrong, or maybe it's right and Megumi can't differentiate between the two. 

And now he's here, on the creaky wooden floor of the medicinal closet, with you kneeling beside him and prodding at his injuries with tender wrists. 

Never one to be good with idle hands, Megumi fidgets and tries to brush at the dried blood on his shoulder. The action has both of you hissing—him in a jolt of pain and you in reaction to his hurt. 

"Don't touch it," your voice falters to be stern, still coming out so gently. Megumi thinks about the irony of that—of how you can't even be sharp if you tried. You're too gentle, too soft to even sound hard momentarily. 

Humiliated at the mere idea of doing nothing, at needing help, he shakily exhales and returns his attention to the floor. 

When the damp cotton pad in your hand touches a bit too deep in one of his cuts, Megumi does his best to save face but can't help the grunt of breath that gets sucked into his lungs. 

Immediately, he feels you retract from his skin and coo your apologies. Carefully returning your attention to the burning wound, you do your best to soothe him. 

"Sorry, it's deeper than it looks. Almost over."

Megumi's response is quick and curt, like a cut of its own, "It's fine."

You nod hesitantly before grabbing the bottle of antiseptic and another clean cotton round. The cleaning of his wounds continues in silence, though your thoughts are louder than anything. 

His injuries vary in size. Some deeper, fresher, than others. Some looking like one-hit victims and others a repeated attack. You do your best to take note of where he's sensitive, where he's hurting the most. 

When you reach a certain scratch on his bicep, you're able to catch a glimpse of his face. Sweat beading on his forehead and damp hair sticking to his skin, Megumi bites the collar of his uniform to suppress any kind of noise (weakness) from you. 

When he slips up and lets out a guttural muffled groan, you think you might audibly whimper yourself. 

"You can yell if you want to," you try to help him in any way you can, "or squeeze my hand or—"

"I'm fine," Megumi attempts to bark again, but this time is different. It's not cold or sharp like it was last time. You can hear how it shakes against the echos of the closet, how it sounds like the burn of tears building in a sore throat.

And between the pain everywhere he still has feeling and the intimacy of you carefully caressing him, Megumi finds himself tearing up. 

"Hey," he feels you whisper, attempting to caress his jaw and prompt him to look at you, "hey, you okay?"

He can't find it in himself to answer nor lift his head, so he sniffles like a kicked child and crinkles his nose in disgust at his own pathetic actions.

Megumi is tough, one of the toughest people you know. You've seen him more beat up than this and barely break a sweat. Your head feels light at the realization that something's wrong. He shouldn't be in this much pain from the familiar burning of antiseptic he's felt a dozen times over. Maybe it's from a cursed weapon, or a technique where—

A stifled sob cuts you off.  

Like a glass cracking beneath pressure, you feel something inside you break. No longer caring about cleaning his cuts or avoiding sensitive areas, you can't stop yourself from wrapping around his hunched frame. 

Megumi's breath hitches as you hold him, feels your hair tickling his neck when you rub his back and whisper.

"I'm sorry, I know, but you're doing so good, okay? And I'm almost done—"

"Don't do that," he bites. 

Assuming he's referring to prodding at a specific wound, you flinch and loosen your grip, "Do what?"

"Talk to me like that," he snarls with a crack, "in that—voice."

He feels your head remove its weight from his shoulder slowly, "Why?"

"Because I can't—" Megumi's voice almost breaks before he whines, gritting his teeth when he whimpers, "I can't handle it."

And just like that, Megumi is four years old again. He's scraping his knee on the concrete of his front lawn, and a blurry father-shaped figure with dark hair and legs far too tall tells him to be a man. Not being old enough to use the stove without supervision, but still knowing enough to save his cries for his pillow when Tsumiki is snoring and can't overthink his tears. He thinks of Gojo—of the first time he broke down in front of him and was met with whispers of good intent and love that registered in his brain as pity. Humiliation.

He doesn't realize he's crying until he feels your fingertips on his wet cheeks, replacing the stinging of antiseptic with a fluttering and velvety touch. 

Between sniffled strings of apologies and a few hiccups of words that don't quite make sense, you piece together that Megumi isn't crying because he's in pain. He's crying because he can, because you're helping him in a way he never asked for, let alone known. 

"I've never...been allowed to, like, feel—"

"Hey," you're soft again, as if you ever weren't. "I know," fingers delicately brush his sticky eyelashes when you remind him, "but you are now."

"Are what?"

"Allowed," you whisper against his cheek, "to feel however you want when you're around me."

And Megumi doesn't know how you do it. How you remain a light in a world that's constantly doing all it can to kick you while you're down. Maybe you're just naive, so stupidly optimistic that it'll eventually be your own demise. Maybe.

But, Megumi can't find himself to care, because he knows that for as long as he's on this earth, he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to that light of yours. 

Back to reality and rubbing at his stinging eyes, Megumi softly scoffs. "Y'know, sometimes you look at me with those stupid eyes and I don't know what happens, but I almost feel sick."

Your laughter tastes like water, "I know what you mean. But in a good way though, right?"

"Yeah," he nods, "in a good way."

When Megumi's back finally hits his mattress at an ungodly hour of the morning—something he's been dreaming of since he'd left it hours ago—he's sickeningly sore and his eyes burn with hypersensitivity. He lets himself close his eyes thinking of your hands, the ones that soaked his now scabbing wounds and wiped his watery eyes. 

Megumi plans, sure, but he never could have prepared for you. 

[wannabehockeygf]

messier - luke hughes

part of the think later fic series

"You're the only one, Who can boil my blood, And make that shit cut, 'Cause you know that I'm always yours, I'm so in love."

*** request: "can we get Luke Hughes and messier pleaseee some angst then smut" summary: visiting your boyfriend's childhood home didn't go was well as you hoped... word count: 5.8k pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader warnings: 18+ NSFW! fingering (f receiving), sex in a semi-public place (in a car) but other than that nothing, pretty tame smut.

notes:

hi guys i'm back sorry my brain has been rotting this entire weekend

this is pretty tame, gentle smut because I've written so much rough stuff recently I needed a detox.

requesters. i love ya'll but we need to make a habit of giving me some sort of guideline besides genre. i suck so much ass at making tropes.

my first luke fic lol

also yes, I’m well aware that Jim and Ellen nor Quinn would ever be mean but this is pretty much the only idea I head

not proof read!!!

***

You hate road trips.

The endless stretch of highway, the stiff leather seats clinging to your skin, and the way time seems to crawl backward. It’s not even the scenery—darkness had swallowed the landscape hours ago, leaving you in this metal box on wheels with nothing but the hum of the engine and the occasional flash of headlights. You’d always preferred flying. Short, direct, and quick. But no, Luke insisted. “It’ll be good for us,” he’d said, like this visit to Toronto to his childhood home was some sort of bonding exercise rather than a trial by fire.

Well, the way there had been fine. More than fine, actually. Jack came along for the ride, filling the hours with nonstop chatter. You didn’t have to think or drive, just laugh at his dumb jokes and let the miles blur together. It was almost fun.

But now? Now, it’s just you and Luke. Jack had opted to fly back to Jersey, and the silence in the car felt suffocating. The weight of the weekend pressed against your chest like a rock you couldn’t shake off. It all went wrong the moment you stepped foot in their house. Their eyes, the judgment—thinly veiled but thick enough to cut through. His mom’s smile never quite reached her eyes, his dad’s questions too sharp, like they were trying to pry something out of you. And Quinn... you don’t even want to think about how Luke’s older brother barely looked at you, as if you didn’t exist.

Gold digger.

They didn’t say it, but you felt it in every sideways glance, every half-hearted attempt at conversation. It stung. You shift uncomfortably in the passenger seat, staring out the window at nothing but blackness.

“You’re too quiet,” Luke says, his voice breaking the silence, but it doesn’t soothe you like it usually does.

“Hmm,” you respond, noncommittal.

He sighs, shifting in his seat. “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?”

“Thinking about what exactly, Luke?” You snap, before you can stop yourself. The tension’s been building, and now it’s spilling over. “How your parents probably think I’m only with you because of who you are?”

The headlights illuminate the curve of his jaw as he clenches it. “They don’t think that.”

“They do, though!” You turn toward him now, your voice rising with each word. “It was written all over their faces. I’m not good enough for you, right? Why would I be?”

The passing headlights flash across Luke’s face in rhythmic intervals, casting sharp shadows across his jawline, making him look as frustrated as you feel. You hate that his jaw is clenched like that, hate that even now, in the middle of an argument, he looks perfect, unbothered, like this isn’t tearing at him the way it’s tearing at you.

Luke grips the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles whitening under the strain. “They don’t think that,” he repeats, like if he says it enough, it’ll become the truth. His voice is steady, but you hear the edge in it, the frustration that’s been simmering beneath the surface since you left his parents’ house. He always gets like this when you bring it up—as if acknowledging the problem will somehow make it worse.

But it’s already bad. “Luke, please.” You shift in your seat, your hands gesturing helplessly in the small space between you. “They didn’t have to say it out loud. I could feel it.” Your voice is shaky, betraying the vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep locked away since Friday. “Your mom looked at me like I was some kind of—” you search for the right word, something that encapsulates the disappointment that had been practically dripping from her, “—charity case.”

You hear his deep exhale, the frustration in it. He’s always been calm, steady, the kind of guy who doesn’t let things get to him. It’s one of the things you loved about him—his ability to stay grounded when everything around him seemed to be spinning out of control. But right now? Right now, it’s infuriating. How can he be so calm when you’re falling apart?

He runs a hand through his hair, the action a little too deliberate, like he’s trying to stay composed. “You’re reading into it too much,” he says, glancing over at you briefly, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard. “My mom’s just... cautious. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Cautious?” The word tastes sour in your mouth. “She practically grilled me about every job I’ve ever had like she was waiting for me to slip up and admit I’ve been freeloading my entire life.”

Luke presses his lips together, the muscle in his jaw ticking again. He doesn’t answer right away, and that silence stretches between you, pulling tight like a thread about to snap. His eyes stay on the road, but you can tell he’s thinking about what to say, about how to avoid turning this into a full-blown argument. He’s good at that—at diffusing things before they can blow up. Normally, you’d appreciate it. But right now, you need him to blow up with you, to feel what you’re feeling.

“Look,” he starts, his voice low and careful, “I get that it wasn’t... easy, okay? But you don’t know my mom like I do. She’s protective, that’s all.”

“Protective?” You scoff, louder than you meant to, the word coming out jagged. “Protective of you from what? Me?” The accusation hangs in the air, sharp and undeniable. You don’t need to hear his answer to know it’s true. You’ve known it from the moment she gave you that polite smile at the door, the kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes, the kind of smile that says, I’m being nice, but I don’t trust you. You’ve seen it before, just never aimed at you. “She doesn’t trust me, Luke.”

He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly like he’s trying to keep his own frustration in check. “It’s not that she doesn’t trust you,” he mutters, but even he sounds unsure now. “She’s just... adjusting. Give her time.”

You let out a huff of disbelief, shaking your head. The dark road ahead feels endless, like you’re driving in circles, like this conversation is just looping back to the same point over and over again. “Adjusting to what?” Your voice cracks, and you hate that it does because it makes you sound more vulnerable than you want to be right now. “To the fact that I’m not some high-society debutante with a trust fund? Or is it just that I’m not good enough for their golden boy? Don’t pretend your dad didn’t do the same shit, and Quinn? Barely fucking looked at me.” Luke rubs his temple with one hand, the other still gripping the wheel. “Quinn’s just quiet, you know that. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Right,” you mutter, bitterness slipping into your tone. “I’m sure it’s not because he thinks I’m not good enough for you. It’s not like literally everyone else was thinking the same thing.”

“They weren’t!” Luke insists, his voice rising, frustration creeping in now. His grip on the wheel tightens, and for a second, you think he’s going to snap. You almost want him to, to raise his voice, to match the energy that’s been building inside you all night. But instead, he just sighs again, that same exhausted sound that feels like nails on a chalkboard. “Stop it,” he says quietly, his voice firm but tired. “Stop worrying about what they think. It doesn’t matter.”

But it does. It matters so much it’s consuming you. You turn to stare out the window again, the landscape outside a blur of darkness. The silence in the car is deafening now, the kind that fills every crevice and drowns out the hum of the engine. You can’t stand it anymore.

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter under your breath, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you, half-hoping he does. “You’re their son. They’ll always love you, no matter what. But me? I’m just some girl they think is using you for your money or your status or... whatever.” Your hands are trembling, but you clasp them together in your lap, trying to steady yourself.

Luke’s jaw clenches again, and this time when he speaks, there’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. “You’re not ‘just some girl,’” he bites out, finally letting some of that frustration slip through. “And they don’t think that.”

“How do you know?” You turn to him, your voice rising again, the words spilling out faster than you can control them. “How do you know what they think? You weren’t the one sitting there, being interrogated like you’re on trial!”

His eyes flick over to you, narrowed and sharp. “I know my family, okay? You don’t. You’ve met them what—twice? Three times?”

Your chest tightens at that. You’ve never felt more like an outsider than you do right now, like you’re intruding on something sacred, something you don’t have the right to understand. It makes you feel small, insignificant, like you’ll never truly belong. And maybe you won’t. Maybe they’ll always see you as the girl who’s not quite good enough for their perfect son.

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s the problem,” you snap, your voice cracking again. “Maybe I don’t know them because they don’t want to know me.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you think you might’ve gone too far. But then Luke exhales sharply, shaking his head like he can’t believe you’re having this argument. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost tired. “You’re impossible sometimes, you know that?”

Your fingers twitch in your lap, itching to do something—anything. You could reach for the radio, but that feels like a betrayal, a cowardly way of cutting through the tension without addressing it. You steal a glance at Luke, but his gaze is trained on the road, jaw set, eyes forward. His hand grips the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles pale, and the leather creaks under the pressure.

You can’t take it anymore.

“Impossible?” you repeat, your voice cutting through the still air like a knife. The words echo back at you, sharp and unforgiving, and suddenly, there’s no holding back the flood. “You think I’m the one being impossible?”

He doesn’t respond right away, just lets out a long, heavy sigh. It’s the kind of sigh that says, here we go again, and it makes your blood boil. Like you’re the problem. Like your feelings are the inconvenience here, something to be tolerated rather than understood.

You don’t let the silence linger this time. “God, you always do this,” you mutter, shaking your head as you stare out the window, watching the dark blur of trees rush past. “Every time I bring this up, you act like I’m crazy. Like I’m just imagining it all.” You pause for a breath, but it comes out shaky. “Do you think I want to feel like this?”

Luke shifts in his seat, and for a second, you think he’s about to say something, but all he does is keep drumming his fingers impatiently on the wheel. It’s almost worse than if he’d argued back. At least then you’d know he cared enough to fight with you.

The silence stretches, suffocating, until finally, his voice cuts through it, low and strained. “I just don’t know why you let it get to you like this.”

“Let it?” The disbelief in your voice is almost tangible, hanging heavy in the air between you. “As if I have a choice? As if I can just flip a switch and suddenly not care that your family thinks I’m some... leech or gold digger or—” You break off, your breath hitching slightly, the words too bitter to finish.

Luke’s eyes flick to you for the briefest second before returning to the road, his jaw clenching again. “You’re overthinking it.”

It’s the casual dismissal, the sheer indifference, that makes something inside you snap. “I’m not overthinking it!” you nearly shout, the words bursting out of you before you can reel them back in. Your heart pounds in your chest, the frustration bubbling up until you can feel it in every nerve, every muscle, making you fidget and shift in your seat like you’re too restless to stay still.

Luke slams his hand against the steering wheel, not hard enough to scare you, but enough to make a point. He lets out a frustrated puff of air, and he mutters something under his breath—something you can’t quite catch but know isn’t good. His frustration mirrors your own, though his is quieter, more controlled. His eyes stay locked on the road as he speaks, his voice cold. “Why do you care so much about what they think? Why does it have to matter?”

You stare at him, incredulous. Why does it have to matter? Is he serious? The words swirl in your head, disbelief mixing with anger, making it hard to think straight. How could he not see it? How could he not understand?

“I care because they’re your family!” you snap, the words flying out of your mouth before you can stop them. “I care because no matter how much you tell me it doesn’t matter, I know it does. You love them, Luke. You value their opinion, even if you won’t admit it. So yeah, I care about what they think of me.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightens, his fingers turning white again. His silence now feels like a challenge, like he’s daring you to keep going, to keep pushing. You almost want to—almost want to see just how far you can push him before he finally snaps.

And then, just as you’re about to spit out something else, something that will no doubt escalate this even further, Luke suddenly jerks the steering wheel to the right. The car swerves slightly as he takes an exit ramp, the tires squealing against the asphalt. You lurch forward in your seat, your heart pounding in your chest as the sudden movement jolts you out of your anger for a split second.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice rising with panic and confusion as you glance around, realizing that you’re nowhere near home. The highway disappears behind you, replaced by a narrow, deserted road lined with thick trees on either side.

Luke doesn’t answer immediately, his jaw still clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The tension in the car is palpable, hanging heavy between you like a storm cloud about to burst. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he pulls off to the side of the road, the car coming to a stop in a small clearing, illuminated only by the faint glow of the headlights.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the soft ticking of the engine as it cools down. For a moment, neither of you moves. The weight of everything hangs in the air, pressing down on your chest like a stone.

Luke turns off the engine and leans back in his seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just—” He pauses, exhaling sharply, and finally turns to look at you. His eyes are dark, intense, and there’s something simmering just beneath the surface, something raw. “I needed to get off the damn highway. We weren’t getting anywhere.”

The double meaning in his words isn’t lost on you. It wasn’t just the road he was frustrated with—it was the entire situation. The argument. You. And that realization sends a shiver down your spine.

You sit there, staring at him, unsure of what to say. Your heart is still racing, your hands trembling slightly in your lap. But the anger you felt before is starting to ebb away, replaced by something else—something quieter, but no less intense.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for him, your fingers grazing his arm lightly, tentatively. He glances down at your hand, then back up at you, his eyes softening just a fraction.

“Come here,” he says quietly, his voice low and rough around the edges. It’s not a demand, but it’s not a suggestion either. There’s a weight to his words, a pull that you can’t resist.

Without thinking, you unbuckle your seatbelt and move toward him, your body shifting awkwardly in the cramped space. Luke’s hands are on you before you even reach the back seat, his fingers gripping your waist as he pulls you into the space between the seats. The leather squeaks beneath you as you settle into the back, the air between you charged with an energy you can’t quite define—part frustration, part need.

He moves over the console to join you, and in the dim light, the shadows carve out every sharp line of his face, highlighting the tension that’s still etched there. But now, there’s something else in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch.

“I hate that you think that,” Luke murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is warm against your skin, mingling with yours in the small space. “I hate that you think you’re not good enough.” His hand slips around to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer.

You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, and the softness in his eyes almost makes you forget why you’re upset in the first place. But then the worry, the doubts, creep back in, unbidden. "I just—" you start, your voice thick with frustration. "I can't stop thinking about how they see me. It's like... no matter what I do, it’s never enough."

Luke's expression tightens again, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. He pulls away just enough to lean back against the seat, running a hand through his hair. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" His voice is laced with exasperation, but there’s something else there too—concern, maybe. "They don’t matter. We matter. Isn’t that enough?"

You want to believe him, you really do. But it’s like every word he says just sinks deeper into the pit of your stomach, twisting. "You say that, but... God, Luke, it’s not that simple. You don’t get it because you’re not the one constantly under their microscope." The words spill out before you can stop them, your frustration bubbling up again.

Luke shakes his head, a small, humorless laugh escaping him as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "No, you’re right," he mutters, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "I don’t get it. But you know what I do get?" He pauses, and for a second, you think he’s going to stop there, but he pushes on, his voice lower now, almost a growl. "I get that I’m sitting here, telling you that none of it matters. And you’re sitting there, acting like it’s the end of the world."

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die on your lips as he leans in closer, his hand sliding up your thigh. "What I don’t get," he continues, his voice softening but still carrying that edge, "Is why you can’t just trust me when I say you’re enough."

Your breath hitches as his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles against your leg, the tension in the car shifting from the argument to something else entirely. You try to stay focused, try to keep your mind on the conversation, but his touch is distracting, making it hard to think straight.

"I... I do trust you," you stammer, your voice unsteady, "but it’s not that easy. You don’t just stop worrying because someone tells you to."

Luke raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, really?" he murmurs, his hand moving higher, his eyes locking onto yours. "Maybe I just haven’t been convincing enough."

His words send a jolt through you, heat pooling in your stomach, and suddenly, the argument feels like a distant memory, something less important than the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s daring you to keep pushing him. And maybe you would have, if his hand wasn’t already slipping under your shirt, his fingers warm against your skin, making it impossible to think about anything else.

You let out a shaky breath, your body leaning into his touch despite your mind screaming at you to stay focused. "Luke..." you start, but the rest of the sentence dies in your throat as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear.

"Stop worrying," he whispers, his voice rough and filled with that dark intensity you can never quite resist. His hand slides higher, sending sparks up your spine. "Let me show you how much I don’t care about anything but you."

Luke's fingers drift up, warm and deliberate, as if mapping out every inch of your skin beneath his touch. Your breath hitches, caught somewhere between the tension that lingers from the argument and the undeniable heat of his closeness. It's a mix of frustration and need, your thoughts spiraling as the sensation of his hand grounds you and unravels you all at once.

But there’s still that nagging voice in the back of your head, reminding you why you’re here in the first place, why your heart had been racing with something other than desire just moments ago. “This isn’t fair,” you whisper, half to yourself, half to Luke, as you shift in the seat, his hand momentarily slipping from your thigh.

He pauses, his forehead still resting lightly against yours, and you can feel the heat of his breath fan across your cheek. “What isn’t fair?” His voice is low, but there’s an edge to it, the kind that tells you he knows exactly what you mean but wants to hear you say it anyway.

You sigh, the sound barely audible in the dark, cramped space of the car. “I’m still upset with you.”

Luke lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s no real humor in it. “You’ve made that pretty clear,” he mutters, his lips brushing the side of your neck now, almost absentmindedly, as if he’s more focused on you than on the argument itself.

Your heart skips a beat, torn between wanting to push him away and pull him closer. “No, I mean it. You can’t just—” The words falter on your tongue as his hand moves again, more insistent now, tugging you toward him.

You can feel the tension in his muscles, the subtle shift in the way he holds you, as if he’s trying to balance the frustration with the desire that simmers beneath it all. “I know you’re upset,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing a soft kiss just below your jawline. “But I’m not letting you spiral over this anymore.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the firmness in his voice, but the frustration bubbles up again, tangled with everything else you’re feeling. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” you snap, though the bite in your tone is softened by the way your body instinctively leans into him.

Luke pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours in the dim light. “I’m not trying to control how you feel,” he says, his voice steady, though you can see the tension still lingering in the set of his jaw. “But I am trying to remind you that what they think doesn’t matter as much as you think it does.”

You stare at him, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, torn between the desire to argue and the warmth of his hand now resting on your waist, the weight of his presence calming you even as it sets your heart racing.

“Maybe not to you,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet his gaze. “But it matters to me, Luke. And that’s not something you can just... fix.”

For a moment, the space between you is filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing, the tension palpable. Then, slowly, Luke shifts, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, the sharp edges of frustration dulled. “I know it matters to you. But can you trust me enough to let me show you that it doesn’t change anything between us?”

You hesitate, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket, and for the first time since the argument started, the tightness in your chest loosens just a little. “I want to,” you admit, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the car. “But it’s hard.”

Luke leans in, his lips barely grazing yours, and the softness in his touch makes your heart stutter. “Then let me make it easier,” he whispers, and the kiss that follows is slow, gentle, as if he’s trying to reassure you through the warmth of his mouth against yours.

Your fingers find their way to his hair, tangling in the strands as the kiss deepens, the heat between you simmering quietly, like embers waiting to be fanned into a flame. Every movement is deliberate, slow, as if the argument has faded into the background, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other.

Luke’s hands are careful, guiding you down against the leather seats as he follows, his weight settling over you in a way that’s both grounding and exhilarating. There’s no rush, no frantic movement—just the quiet urgency of two people who know exactly what they want but are taking their time getting there.

The quiet inside the car feels louder now, broken only by the soft rustle of clothes and the barely audible hitch in your breathing as Luke’s hand glides up your side. His touch lingers just below your ribs, fingers tracing a slow, teasing path that leaves a trail of warmth in its wake. Your skin hums under his fingertips, every inch of you tuned to the way he moves—so careful, so focused, as though he's trying to soothe the lingering frustrations with each touch.

You shift beneath him, the leather seat creaking ever so slightly, and your breath catches when his knee nudges between your legs. He hesitates for just a second, his gaze meeting yours in the dim light, searching your face as if asking for permission. The look in his eyes sends a shiver through you—not just lust but something deeper, a quiet reassurance that everything is okay now, even if things had been tense before.

Your fingers move up to his neck, pulling him closer as you press your lips against his, the kiss soft at first, but it doesn’t stay that way. Luke responds immediately, his lips parting slightly as his hand finds its way under your shirt, the warmth of his palm against your bare skin sending a surge of heat through you. The kiss deepens, and you can feel the frustration melting away, replaced by a slow, simmering need.

His hand trails down your stomach, stopping just above your waistband. The anticipation alone has your heart pounding, and you bite your lip to stifle a soft whimper. Luke pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours as his thumb traces lazy circles on your hip. "You okay?" he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, not trusting your voice, and he smiles—soft, almost teasing—before kissing you again, this time slower, more deliberate. His fingers tug gently at the hem of your pants, and you can’t help the way your hips lift instinctively, silently asking for more. The need between you is palpable now, the air thick with it, but there’s no rush. Every touch, every kiss, feels like it's drawn out, like you're both savoring the moment.

Luke’s hand slides lower, slipping beneath the fabric, and you bite back a gasp as his fingers find you, moving with the same careful intensity that he always has. Your back arches slightly, and you have to bite your lip to keep quiet, every nerve in your body tuned to the sensation of his touch. You feel the tension building again, but this time it’s the kind that makes your breath catch for an entirely different reason.

Luke's fingers press deeper, deliberate and slow, like he’s savoring every second of your reaction. The touch sends a ripple of heat through you, unraveling all the tension that had been coiling tight from the argument. Your skin feels electric, each stroke of his fingers igniting something raw and instinctive inside you. The leather beneath you squeaks softly as your back arches, the weight of him grounding you even as your body craves more. Every nerve feels alive, responding to him in a way that makes it hard to remember why you were upset in the first place.

Your breath stutters as his lips graze your ear, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. A quiet moan escapes before you can stop it, the sound slipping out despite your effort to keep quiet. Luke smirks against your neck, the curve of his lips brushing your pulse in a way that makes you shiver, the heat between you intensifying. You can feel his restraint, the way his hands move with purpose but not haste, as if he’s determined to make this last, to take his time with every single touch.

His fingers move more deliberately now, sliding deeper, and your body reacts instantly, a sharp gasp caught in your throat. You bite down on your lip, trying to stifle the sound, but the pleasure building between your thighs is impossible to ignore. Luke’s free hand grips your hip, holding you steady as your hips start to move on their own, seeking more of that delicious pressure.

The air in the car feels suffocating in the best way, filled with the sounds of your shared breathing and the faint rustle of clothes. You catch the briefest glance of his face in the dim light, his jaw clenched, eyes dark and intent on you, as though he’s barely holding himself back. It sends a wave of heat crashing over you, and you can’t help the way your legs wrap around him, pulling him closer, wanting him—no, needing him—deeper. His thumb brushes against a spot that makes your vision blur, and a sharp, involuntary whimper escapes, too loud for the quiet space.

“Shh,” Luke breathes out, his voice a low rasp that barely conceals the strain in it. “We gotta be quiet, baby.”

But there’s nothing quiet about the way he touches you, the way his body presses against yours, every slow, deliberate movement setting you ablaze. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, and you press your forehead against his shoulder, your fingers digging into his back as you try to focus on something—anything—other than the wave of pleasure threatening to spill over.

You can feel the heat of his breath against your neck as his lips brush your skin, soft kisses that trail down your collarbone. It’s slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of you. But there’s something teasing in it too, something that makes your breath hitch as his hand continues its agonizingly slow rhythm between your legs. The frustration builds alongside the pleasure, the need to cry out so overwhelming that you have to bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the sounds escaping from your throat.

The pressure builds, winding tighter and tighter, and you’re barely holding it together when Luke’s lips find your ear again. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, the words barely audible but sending a fresh wave of heat down your spine. His voice is ragged, strained, like he’s barely managing to keep himself in check. “So damn good for me, baby.”

The praise hits you like a punch to the gut, your entire body tensing beneath him. Your thighs squeeze around him involuntarily, your hips lifting again in response to the slow, torturous rhythm he’s set. You can’t help the way your body reacts, chasing that high even as you try desperately to stay quiet.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him closer as your lips find his, muffling the moan that finally breaks free when his thumb presses just right. The kiss is messy, frantic, but it does little to hide the soft, breathless gasps escaping from both of you now. His hand moves faster, more insistent, and you can feel the tension in his body mirroring your own as the space between you narrows further.

Luke’s breath hitches as you tug him even closer, your lips parting to let out another soft, desperate moan that’s swallowed by his mouth. His fingers curl inside you, and you’re done for, every nerve sparking with heat. You break away from the kiss, your forehead pressed to his as you gasp for air, trying to keep your voice down but failing as the pleasure builds.

“Luke…” you gasp, his name barely a whisper, more breath than sound, but it’s enough to make him groan, low and rough, as he pushes himself harder against you, his lips brushing yours in another heated, sloppy kiss.

Your body trembles with the effort to keep quiet, and he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His touch becomes more insistent, more confident, and you can feel him smirk against your lips as he leans in, his breath warm and ragged against your skin.

“You gonna come for me?” he whispers, his voice low, rough with need. His thumb circles just right, and you’re nodding before you can even think, your body already teetering on the edge. “Come on, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. “I wanna feel it.”

And you do—hard, your body shuddering as you clamp your mouth shut, burying your face in his shoulder to muffle the sounds that threaten to spill out. Your fingers dig into his back as the pleasure washes over you, hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling in his arms as he holds you steady, his fingers never stopping.

You ride out the waves, your breath coming in shallow gasps as your legs tighten around him, your body still humming with the aftershocks. Luke slows his movements, his hand gently pulling away as he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

For a moment, everything is still, the car quiet except for the sound of your uneven breathing. Then Luke shifts, his forehead resting against yours as he looks down at you, his expression soft but still dark with desire.

“I love you, okay?” he whispers, his voice rough, but there’s a softness to it that makes your heart flutter. “We’ll get through this.”

You nod, still catching your breath, and he smiles, his lips brushing yours in a soft, tender kiss that feels like a promise—like he’s not done with you yet.

[punkshort]

somewhere to run | epilogue

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: A glimpse into your life one year after the trial.

Chapter Warnings: fluff, language, alcohol use, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, breeding kink 👀, dry humping

WC: 5.8K

A/N: thank you to all of you who came back week after week to feed into my delusions. I'm so glad there was an audience for this story because it kept me motivated to finish it and stay on track, so to everyone who commented, reblogged or liked... thank you!! ❤️

Series Masterlist

One Year Later

"Sarah!" you yelled up the stairs, craning your neck so you could hear.

"Almost ready!" she yelled back down. You hurried back into the kitchen right when the toaster popped up. Pinching the toast between your fingers with a hiss, you dropped both slices onto a waiting plate and sucked on the pad of your thumb as you turned around to grab the butter from the fridge. You heard her feet thundering down the stairs just as you were finishing up her breakfast. Turning around, you held out the plate to her right as she entered the room.

"Sorry! I overslept," she said, shooting you a grateful smile when she took the plate from your hands.

"No problem, you'll still make it to school on time," you replied, glancing at the clock before pointing to the stove. "Eggs," you told her, and she swiveled around to scoop some onto her plate before sitting down.

"Thank you," she said around a mouthful of food. You took a quick gulp from your coffee before it got too cold, then began pouring the rest of the pot into a thermos. Right on cue, Joel's heavy footsteps were the next to descend the stairs.

"Mornin', girls," he mumbled, fumbling with his tie as he walked. His hair looked disheveled and his eyes looked tired but you still grinned when you handed him the thermos. Giving up on the tie, he sighed with relief before taking a sip and winking at you over the cup.

"Here, let me," you offered, undoing the knotted mess and flattening the fabric back out so you could properly tie it for him.

He turned his head to the side so he could keep drinking his coffee without being in your way and eyed Sarah from across the room.

"Overslept?" he asked her, and she nodded tiredly.

"All set," you told him, flipping his collar back down and smoothing his dress shirt over his broad shoulders.

"Thank you, baby," he said softly before giving you a quick kiss.

"Eggs?" you asked him, turning around to fill your own plate with food. He took another sip of coffee as he flicked his arm out, his sleeve pulling back so he could check his watch.

"No time."

"At least take a granola bar with you," you said, opening a cupboard and handing him a little foil packet. He slid it into his pocket with the promise to eat it when he got to work, then looked over at Sarah again.

"Almost ready?" he asked, and she shoveled the last of her food into her mouth before nodding and standing up. You took the plate from her and rinsed it in the sink while she stuffed a binder into her backpack and zipped it shut.

"You can still drop me off at Jess's house tonight, right, Dad?" she asked, slinging her backpack over her shoulders. He froze as his brain tried to process what she said, working hard to remember if she had mentioned this before.

"What time?"

"Four. Right after school."

"Four..." he muttered to himself, running his fingers through his hair, attempting to tame it. "Shit, babygirl, I don't think I can make it all the way on the other side of town by four, I got somethin' to take care of after work-"

"But Dad! We have a science project due Friday, and tomorrow I have practice-"

"I can do it," you offered from your spot against the counter, still holding your plate of half eaten eggs.

"You sure?" Joel asked, but you could already see the relief in his eyes.

"Yeah, of course. I'm working til three, then my night class starts at five. I can go in between, no problem."

"You got class tonight?" he asked. You and Sarah exchanged bewildered glances before you looked back at him.

"Yeah, Joel, it's Wednesday. I have classes Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Are you feeling okay?" you asked, growing a little worried. Now that you were thinking about it, he seemed more frazzled than usual that morning, and even though your lives were busy, he never forgot your schedules.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just got a lot on my mind, is all," he said, shaking his head and turning back towards Sarah. "Alright, let's get a move on. Don't wanna be late."

"I'll see you after school!" you called to Sarah as she walked towards the front door and shoved on her shoes.

"Thank you!" she called back before swinging the door open and disappearing outside.

"Thank you so much, baby," he said, cupping your face with both hands for another kiss, this time slowing down and savoring it.

"You're welcome," you said, pulling back with a grin. "Now, go."

He smiled and backed out of the room. "Love you."

"Love you, too," you said, turning around to survey the damage from breakfast. When you first moved in, you were concerned you would get in Joel and Sarah's way, that the little routine they had for so long would be disrupted by your presence, but it was becoming clear to you that wasn't the case at all. Sarah was very mature and independent, which was a huge help to Joel because for years, she would do a lot of the cooking and cleaning to help out, but when you moved in you began to take on some of those chores, allowing Sarah the time to enjoy just being a teenager. And to be perfectly honest, you didn't mind. You enjoyed being part of a loving family who welcomed you into their lives without hesitation. It was something you yearned for your whole life, and now you finally had it.

Tommy and Maria were extremely supportive of your new schedule. You had been taking night classes for the past six months at the local community college, looking to get your associate's degree and maybe see what kind of job that could get you because even though you loved working at the diner, it was back breaking work and you really didn't think you had it in you to be a lifer. Besides, the odd hours were less than ideal. You wanted to have a work schedule that matched Joel's so you could be home with him at the same time.

One huge thing you would miss about the diner was seeing Joel almost every day for lunch. It was bittersweet to think about one day quitting the job that brought you together, but you knew it would ultimately be worth it. Better hours, better pay, and no nights and weekends were the goal.

Right on schedule, you heard the front door open and Joel's deep drawl greet Maria behind the hostess stand before you saw him out of the corner of your eye make his way up to the counter. When you looked up, you were surprised to see he wasn't alone.

"Tyler!" you said with a grin, and the younger man nodded in greeting to you. About four months ago you were excited to find out Tyler Bates actually did end up calling Joel for a job, and of course Joel kept his word. Apparently, the Philadelphia police force was not a good fit for him.

You couldn't ever imagine why.

Texas was treating him well. Gone was the clean shaven, crew cut man you once met. Now that the south wrapped its arms around him, his skin was sunkissed, his hair a little wavy, and he even had a bit of stubble across his jaw.

"What's the occasion?" you asked as they took their seats.

Joel clapped Tyler on the back before looking up at you. "One of my guy's retirin' soon so I offered this one a promotion," Joel replied.

"Oh, that's wonderful! Congratulations!" you gushed, and you thought you saw his cheeks turn a little pink.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"I told you, you don't have to call me that," you scolded playfully. "Especially during our double date this Saturday. You're still coming, right?"

"As long as this Hailey still wants to meet me," he replied, sounding a little nervous.

"Oh, she definitely still wants to meet you," you teased, and Joel chuckled next to him.

"She's been textin' her every night askin' what she should wear and-"

"Joel!" you snapped, cutting him off with a warning look, but he just grinned.

"What? It's true!" he laughed.

"You're gonna embarrass her!" you exclaimed, then turned to Tyler. "Ignore everything he just said in the past thirty seconds."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a little smile, then dropped his focus to the menu.

You shook your head at Joel, trying to come off as mad, but you knew you were failing by the look in his eye and the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"You're in trouble," you muttered lowly, and a look of excitement flashed across his face.

"Mm, I hope so."

Your eyes widened with embarrassment but fortunately, Tyler was a gentleman and pretended not to hear. You made an aggravated face at him before turning your head and quickly changing your tune.

"What can I get for you, Tyler?" you asked sweetly.

Hailey and Tyler hit it off instantly. You never set anyone up before, but they were both so sweet, you had a feeling they would make a good match. Hailey was the only girl in town who seemed to be on your side. Although most people moved on to the next exciting piece of gossip, your drama long forgotten by now, you didn't forget how she never treated you any differently, even though you were sure it would have been easy for her to do. She even left book club after she and the rest of the town learned the gritty details of your case. You assured her that Nikki never could have known the real reason behind your divorce, that you hid those details well for most of your life, but Hailey still wanted nothing to do with her or the group of women who ostracized you. It didn't end up mattering much in the end. A few short months after your trial, right around the time you moved in with Joel, Nikki found a job out of state and moved.

Instead of book club, the two of you started your own monthly club. Sometimes that consisted of a book you both wanted to read, other times it was going to dinner and the movies. It was nice to have a standing date with her and catch up. And when she mentioned last month how lonely she had been and how envious she was of your and Joel's relationship, you immediately thought of Tyler.

Tyler: the man who, aside from Joel, changed everything for you. Who stood up for what was right, even at great personal risk, and traveled all the way to Texas to apologize to you in person for not doing more. He was a good man, and he deserved to have someone, too.

"We're gonna go play darts, you guys want in?" Hailey asked, her eyes shiny and her cheeks slightly pink from the alcohol. You had picked Hank's instead of a nice restaurant, figuring it would help loosen both of them up, and you were right.

"You go ahead, we'll join you in a bit," you said, shooting her a discreet wink when Tyler wasn't looking.

"I don't think they'd even notice if we left," Joel murmured before taking a sip of his beer.

"No, probably not," you said, watching them from across the room. Tyler was standing behind Hailey, trying to show her how to properly take aim at the target.

Joel's phone buzzed in his pocket and he slid it out, subtly angling the screen away from you.

"Is it Sarah?" you asked when you noticed the look on his face. Michelle had done what she said she would and reached back out to Sarah, and while both of their schedules were busy, they occasionally found the time to meet up. This weekend was the first time Sarah stayed overnight in Austin with her mom, and even though Joel didn't say anything, you could tell he was worried.

"No, it's just Tommy," he said, putting his phone face down on table and looking back at you.

"Everything okay?" you asked slowly, picking up on some kind of nervous energy from him.

"Yeah, everythin's great," he replied with a grin, then leaned in to quickly try to change the subject. "You really think they won't notice if we leave? Can't remember the last time we had the house to ourselves."

Your breath caught in your throat when you saw his gaze darken. "I think it might be a little rude if we don't say something-"

Joel stood up immediately and held out his hand to you. "Then let's say somethin'."

You stared at his hand before looking back up at him. "Are you serious?" you said with a little laugh, but he just kept looking at you expectantly. "Alright, fine," you relented, taking his hand and allowing him to help you stand. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and led you through the bar, nodding briefly at Hank before reaching the dart board.

"You guys good if we head out?" Joel asked, barely pulling their attention away from each other. Tyler looked at Hailey, giving her the opportunity to respond just in case she was uncomfortable, but she shook her head.

"Go! We've got a competition heating up here, and I'm determined to win," she said, smirking up at Tyler.

"Alright, have fun," you said over the music playing from the jukebox. Hailey caught your eye and gave you a look, and when Tyler went up to the board to retrieve the darts, you held up your thumb and pinky to the side of your head and mouthed call me before Joel turned you away.

"What's with the rush?" you asked when you stepped outside and the fresh air hit your lungs.

"No rush. Just wanna be alone with my girl, is that a crime?"

"I don't know, you tell me, sheriff," you teased, and he chuckled under his breath before opening his truck door for you. And even though he claimed there was no rush, he sure did seem to hurry around the front of his truck.

You studied the side of his face as he drove, your brows furrowed a bit at the way his eyes shifted nervously from the road to the time on the dash. His fingers anxiously tapped on the steering wheel at every red light and you tried to ignore it, but after the third red light and hearing him mutter curses under his breath, you couldn't take it any more.

"What's gotten into you? You're acting weird," you said.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are! You've been weird all week, actually. Is it because of Sarah? Don't be worried, I'm sure she's fine. It's good for her to spend some time with Michelle."

"I'm not worried 'bout Sarah," he said, and you pursed your lips but let it go.

When you pulled into the driveway, you caught the way Joel looked at the time and the front door before quickly turning the engine off and hopping out of the truck. He rounded the car and opened the door for you, but when you began to walk towards the mailbox, he stopped you.

"Where you goin'?"

"I'm getting the mail. I'm expecting some stuff from school-"

"We can get it tomorrow, let's go inside," he said, wrapping his fingers around your shoulders and you frowned.

"Why can't I -" you paused when a truck lumbered past the house, and even in the dark, you recognized it. "Is that Tommy?" you asked, but before you could get a good look, Joel forcibly turned you towards the house.

"No, I don't think so."

"What-"

"Baby, c'mon, please let's go inside," he begged, and by now you knew he was definitely up to something. You sighed and let him lead you up the porch steps, deciding not to make it any more difficult on him.

When he opened the front door you finally saw why he was so anxious to get inside. You were greeted with the soft glow of candlelight, and as you stepped inside, utterly confused, you noticed the red rose petals scattered over the floor. You racked your brain, trying to remember if you forgot a special occasion, but you were coming up empty.

"W-what is all this?" you finally managed to ask softly as you slowly entered the living room, noticing for the first time the bottle of champagne and two glasses placed on the coffee table next to a beautiful bouquet of roses already in a vase. Joel was suspiciously silent behind you as you continued to take in the scene. Was he really that excited to have the house to yourselves?

You turned around to ask him but the words got stuck in your throat when you saw him kneeling behind you, holding out a ring with trembling fingers.

Your hands flew up to your mouth with a gasp and your heart began to pound wildly in your chest, completely taken aback. Oh my god, this is it.

Joel took a deep breath. "Since the moment we met-"

"Yes!" you nearly shouted through your hands, making the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile.

"I got a whole speech planned," he said with a nervous laugh, but you shook your head and dropped to your knees with him.

"I don't care," you breathed, pulling his face against yours for a searing kiss.

He managed to break away for a moment, his fingers still pinching the ring. "Didn't wanna ask in front of people, I know what you said 'bout-"

You cut him off with another kiss, not wanting to think about your previous marriage in that moment.

"You could ask me in the middle of the grocery store with a twist tie and I would say yes," you told him, pushing your forehead against his. He gripped the side of your head, the ring getting tangled in your hair as he pressed his lips feverishly against yours again.

"I love you so much," he mumbled in between kisses.

Tears were beginning to form now that the shock was wearing off, but you tried to hold them back. "I love you, too," you whispered, then gripped his collar to pull him down. His hand cradled the back of your head as you eased yourself onto the floor, your lips refusing to leave his. Your fingers hurriedly went to the buttons of his shirt when he remembered the ring.

"Wait," he said, pulling back a bit, panting for air. He held it up and you eagerly held out your hand, both of you shaking a little as he slid the ring around your finger.

"Oh, I love it," you gasped, admiring the unique pattern of little diamonds surrounding a larger one in the center of a gold band.

"Yeah?" he asked with a smile, his eyes going soft. "Couldn't make up my mind. Finally had it custom made, took forever but it came in the other day-"

"You had it custom made?" you repeated in disbelief, and he nodded.

"Couldn't wait to ask you. It's why I've been so distracted all week."

"I love you," you said again, pulling on his shirt to close the gap between you. "God, I love you so much," you mumbled as your fingers resumed their work on his buttons while your lips drifted down his jaw, his stubble burning your sensitive skin in the best way.

"Love you too," he murmured, his mouth finding a home against your neck as you finished unbuttoning his shirt, sliding it over his shoulders and down his arms. "I've loved you for so fuckin' long. Just wanna make you happy, give you the life you deserve," he continued, his teeth grazing against your earlobe.

"You do make me happy," you moaned as you struggled to pull off your jeans.

"Let's go upstairs," he said, pushing himself up to hover above you, his chest heaving.

You shook your head and lifted your hips, bumping clumsily against him as you shimmied your pants down. "Here," you told him, watching his eyes travel down your now half naked body.

"On the floor?" he questioned, but sat back on his heels to work on his belt. You nodded, your eyes dark with lust as you stared at his bare chest, only looking away to yank your shirt over your head. He chuckled as he kicked his pants off and you quickly wrapped your legs around his waist and tugged him back down to you. "Okay, baby. Whatever you want," he said in your ear, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

"Just want you," you whined, and your fingers came up to get tangled in his curls. He slipped his hand between your bodies and notched himself at your center.

"You got me, baby," he whispered, nibbling at your chin as he pressed forward, slowly stretching you open and making your jaw drop. "Got me forever. Always did," he added, his eyebrows pinching together the further he buried himself inside you.

"Oh fuck, Joel," you gasped, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he bottomed out.

"Yeah? That feel good? Needed me so bad you had to have me right here, huh?" he growled in your ear. Your thighs tensed around his waist as you adjusted around him.

"Yes," you replied softly, gasping a little when you felt him pulse inside. "Want you everywhere. Can't get enough - god, you feel so good. Always feel so good," you rambled, knowing how much he loved it when you talked to him during sex. At first, you were embarrassed. You overthought what you should say, what sounded sexy, but you quickly realized it didn't matter. He loved it all.

He dragged his hips slowly, deliberately, building you up just so he could tear you apart. Savoring the sweet little moans that slipped past your lips as your walls squeezed around his cock and he was certain he would never tire of this.

"You're so beautiful," he said before crashing his mouth against yours messily. "Can't believe I get to spend my life with you," he added, his hand gripping your hip and pulling you against him, matching his thrusts.

You dropped your hands from his hair and pressed them against his chest, giving him a gentle shove. "Roll us over," you commanded, and he smirked.

"Yes, ma'am."

In the blink of an eye he ducked and rolled, pulling your hips with him and making you giggle when you found yourself straddling him.

"This is gonna fuck up my back," he warned you, shifting his shoulders as he tried to get comfortable on the floor.

"I'll give you a massage if it does," you promised, and his eyes lit up. He was about to say something smart when you began to roll your hips and suddenly, the words escaped him.

"Oh fuck, baby, that's it," he groaned, his hands lightly guiding you, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your ass. "Yeah, just like that, yeah... now bounce a little for me."

You did as he asked, your hands pressed flat against his chest as you bounced up and down, his eyes transfixed on the way your body glowed in the candlelight.

"So deep," you moaned, your head tipping back as your eyes closed, lost in the moment. "So good. You're so good to me, Joel. Ah!" you cried out as he began lifting his hips, thrusting up into you. He could feel the cool metal from your ring pressing into his chest and it only made him fuck up into you harder.

He quickly sat up, his arms circling around your waist and holding you tightly in his lap as he snapped his hips, little grunts and growls getting lost in each other's mouths, your tongues dancing together, desperately trying to get as close as possible.

"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered once you broke away, gasping for air. "Look at you. Gettin' all worked up. Couldn't even make it to bed, hm? Needed me to fuck you that bad, ain't that right?"

"Uh huh," you whined, your head falling forward, resting on his shoulder as you focused on his voice.

"That's alright, I'll give you anythin' you want. I'll take good care of you, baby. I'll give this perfect pussy anythin' she wants, too."

"Joel, I'm close," you whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your teeth pinching your bottom lip. Your eyes flew open when he hit that perfect spot and you gasped. "Right there! Please... please don't stop, don't stop," you gasped as you felt your cheeks begin to flush with heat.

"There? Yeah?" he panted, somehow managing to pound up into you with incredible force while sitting on his lap. You tried to respond but you couldn't. Your vision was going spotty and the heat pooling at the bottom of your belly was beginning to ignite. He seemed to understand because he kept up the pace, hitting that spot over and over while alternating between muttering filth and praise in your ear.

Takin' it so good. Such a good girl. Feel how hard you make me? I love you so much.

And maybe he got a little carried away, lost in chasing his own pleasure, not really thinking about what he was saying until...

"Can't wait to put a baby in you."

Your teeth clamped down on his neck, desperately trying to ground yourself as your orgasm hit you, forcing all the air from your lungs, his name barely a whisper on your lips.

He didn't even realize he said it out loud. He was too far gone, too close to his own release to think about anything else.

"I'm gonna come, baby, I'm g-gonna- fuck!" he groaned loudly, his stomach tensing and relaxing with each surge of his spend coating your walls until his body went lax, his shoulders drooping a bit and his arms loosening their grip around you.

"That was worth the backache," he finally mumbled, and you giggled from your place on his neck.

You kept expecting him to say something about what he said, but by the time you had untangled yourselves - you, gathering all your clothes and him, blowing out the candles - it didn't seem like he was going to mention it, so you let it go. And by the time you got upstairs, letting him wrap you up in his arms with your left hand splayed out across his bare chest, you had nearly forgotten all about it.

It must have been later than you usually slept. The sun was brighter than usual, streaming in through the windows and bathing you both in its glow. You were laying on your stomach, one leg hitched up towards your chest. At some point, Joel must have sought you out because his body was pressed flat against your back, his arm even resting on top of yours, fingertips grazing your ring as he slept.

Your ring.

Your eyes fluttered open so you could see it. Not wanting to disturb him, you tried to twitch your finger a bit so the stones would reflect in the light.

His nose nudged your shoulder blade, his face buried in your upper back, and you smiled. He was so close and so warm it made you never want to get up.

Then you felt his cock twitch against your leg and you bit your lip. It sounded like he was still asleep, his breathing hadn't changed, but his body was still reacting to you anyway, and the thought made you desperate for him again.

You tipped your hips back ever so slightly, just to see how deep of a sleep he was in. When he didn't respond, you wiggled your body a little more, flexing and stretching your limbs underneath him. His breath fanned over your shoulder, your hair fluttering a bit with each exhale. The ache between your legs was growing, so you ground your ass against him a little harder and you finally sensed a change in his breathing: he was waking up.

His fingers laced together with yours, your ring pressing into the palm of his hand and making him smile against your skin.

"Mornin', fiancée," he murmured sleepily. You hummed in response as you continued to lightly grind up against him, feeling him harden against the curve of your ass. "What're you doin', baby?" he whispered, his fingers tightening around yours.

"Nothing," you replied innocently, still rolling your hips against him.

"Don't feel like nothin'," he grunted against the back of your neck.

"What does it feel like?"

"Feels like you need me to take care of you again," he said, his voice still gravelly with sleep as he began to roll his hips in rhythm with yours. A soft moan slipped past your lips, the throbbing between your legs intensifying at the thought of waking up like this every day for the rest of your lives.

Joel's hand slid between your legs, his fingers brushing against your folds. He inhaled sharply and buried his face further into your back as he gently pet at your soaking heat, purposely taking his time and driving you wild. "Yeah, she needs me again, huh?" he said, his voice muffled. "Needs me to stretch her open 'n fill her up, ain't that right?"

"Yes," you whimpered, pushing your hips back into him, begging for it. And when you felt him press against your opening, his words from last night drifted back into your brain: Can't wait to put a baby in you.

Your mouth fell open and your eyes squeezed shut as he began to slowly push inside and you wondered how you went so long without him. How many years you wasted without knowing his touch. He was so perfect and sweet and kind and loving and now, he was all yours. Forever.

"Did you mean it?" you found yourself asking after he began to rock his hips into you from behind, slowly, making sure you felt every inch of him.

"Mean what?" he mumbled, his voice sounding strained as you stretched and clutched around him.

"Did you really want to put a baby in me?" you clarified, suddenly feeling nervous. His hips stalled and his eyes shot open and the pause he took before replying made your heart flutter anxiously in your chest.

"Do you want that?" he asked, his hand holding your hip in place, effectively stopping you from grinding against him.

"Maybe?" you replied, your voice higher than usual and you were relieved you couldn't see his face because you weren't sure your nerves could take it.

He nibbled lovingly at your ear, his teeth dragging down your throat as he slowly began to move again.

"Then maybe I did mean it."

You breathed a small sigh of relief and you pushed your ass against him, matching his pace. "Yeah?" you said, wanting to hear more. Needing to hear more.

"Mhm," he mumbled, his lips gliding over your shoulder. "You'd make a great mom. And fuck, you'd be so pretty with my baby in you."

"Mm," your cheeks flared with heat at the fantasy, and the way his thrusts were coming a little faster made you think it turned him on, too. "Imagine the looks I'd get," you whispered, your fingers clutching around the sheets as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. His hand wrapped around your knee and pulled your leg up higher. "Walking around - ahh - walking around town, growing your baby in my belly. Letting everyone see how good you take care of me."

He groaned, his hips snapping faster against your ass, unable to hold back.

"You like that? You want everyone to see how good I fuck you? If you weren't on the pill, I'd do it right fuckin' now," he growled in your ear, and you gasped.

"Oh fuck, Joel, I'm close," you whimpered, your hands desperately reaching out for any part of him to hold. He noticed and he removed his hand from your knee so he could lace your fingers together again. He was fucking everywhere. Your whole body was covered by his, pinning you into the bed. His breath was warming your neck, his cock filling you up, reaching the furthest depths of you and you never felt more alive than when your orgasm finally took hold.

"Yeah, that's it," he cooed as you spasmed and whimpered beneath him. "Good girl. Fuck, yes, that's right," he panted, chasing his own high as you struggled to remain present. "So pretty when you come, s-so pretty, my pretty girl, love you so fuckin' much," he groaned, then his body stilled as he pumped you full once again, whispering your name weakly as he finished.

"Fuck me, baby," he moaned after he caught his breath. He lifted himself off you, your skin sticking together briefly before he slid out with a hiss. He collapsed on his back next to you, pulling on your shoulder so you flipped over and tucked you into his side. He tilted your chin up so he could slot his lips against yours, massaging them tenderly, lovingly, with a deep, contented sigh.

"You make me so happy," you told him, his fingers still pinching your chin. He grinned and kissed you again.

"I'm gonna spend my life givin' you whatever you want," he whispered against your lips.

Your hand drifted up to the back of his neck, your fingers tugging gently at the ends of his thick curls. His tongue slipped past your lips, slowly swirling around yours with a moan.

Just as you were starting to think you wouldn't leave the bed for the entire day, you heard two car doors slamming shut in the driveway and you both opened your eyes.

"Sarah's home," he said, pecking one more kiss against your lips before pushing himself up with a groan.

"Oh my god, does she know?" you asked, feeling bad you hadn't asked yet. He pulled on a pair of boxers and his discarded jeans as he looked at you admiring your ring.

"'Course she knows, talked to her 'bout it weeks ago. She's so happy, could hardly stop pesterin' me 'bout it," he said with a chuckle, then pulled a T-shirt over his head just as you heard the front door open. He tossed you your jeans as he headed for the door. "Better hurry up or else she's gonna come bargin' in here," he warned, then disappeared down the stairs.

You flung the covers off and quickly dressed, checking your hair in the mirror and glancing down at your ring once more before following Joel downstairs, excited to start the next chapter of your life with your new family.

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[billyloomiswhore4]

Dark Habits | Billy and Stu x Reader

Warnings: petnames, (babe by stu, and baby by billy) Smut, consensual but not very safe, cheating, knife play, consensual cutting of the reader by the boys, fear play, oral (fem receiving), oral (m receiving). P in V, pussy slapping

anonymous asked:

I really liked your POV from the last ask, and I got inspired with a smut request from it if you're interested

Reader is Billy and Stu's childhood friend. She was there when they started having this sick fascination with gore and death and even "hardcore" interest when puberty hit them, making her end up being their "friends with benefits ", she isn't aware of their plan so when  they got Tatum and Sydney as girlfriends she expected them to stop thier secret relationship but they still came back to her even though she knows it's bad to cheat, but they come back to her not only because they are obsessed with her and love her but also because she is the only woman who can handle thier Dark sexual habits, the fear with billy  and the inflicting pain with stu.

a/n: im still struggling to figure out whats wrong with me but i felt bad for not posting, so i found this is my drafts and rushed to finish it up so im sorry if the end sucks its also not edited to again im sorry.

-

You’ve been their friend since before you can remember. You were there for everything. When their obsession with horror movies grew stronger. When your play fights got a little too rough, and they seemed to enjoy your fighting a little too much. 

The first instance you could remember was when you were eleven years old. Billy and Stu were twelve. You had found a movie in your older siblings room.  You can’t remember the title now but what you do remember was when it started, and got right off into the murder. It was intense, it looked a little too real but stu still complained about how blood wasn’t really that color. He’d been hunting plenty of times with his dad, when he was home, and knew what blood and insides looked like. 

Billy though, was a different story. He seemed entranced, and even licked his lips at a close up of the victims face as she was being murdered. 

Stu was ecstatic that he found a good movie that he hadn’t seen. They both loved it, maybe a little too much and that’s probably why the memory stuck with you. 

The memories only got more and more intense from that one. The next instance was when you were fourteen. You were in the living room of Stu’s house, Billy sitting on the couch, and you and Stu were wrestling on the floor. He eventually got you down, your hands pinned above your head. He was squeezing your wrists a little too tight, and you winced. He grinned at this, and squeezed tighter.

“Ow Stu that hurts,” You whined, attempting to kick him off you. Billy’s attention was now on you and Stu, and Stu’s grin only widened. When he squeezed even tighter, fear flashed across your face. Billy had a frown on his face, but his eyes shone with something you’d never seen before. 

“Stu, seriously that hurts.” You were serious now, and he quickly snapped out of it, letting you go and helping you up off the ground. 

That moment you knew something was off about your best friends. It freaked you out a bit, the way Stu smiled at your pained sounds and Billy’s eyes when he realized you were afraid. 

That wasn’t the last incident. But as you grew older, and learned more about your sexual desires, you realized you weren’t like other people. When watching movies with Stu and Billy, you often found yourself watching intently as the killer would tease their victim with the knife, dragging it across their chest or arm just to see them squirm. You wondered what it would feel like, what it would be like to be so afraid and at someone's mercy. 

You let it slip before you could even think. 

“I wonder what that would be like.” You immediately grew red. Both Stu and Billy looked at you, staring intently.

“Wanna try it?” Stu asked all of the sudden. Billy smacked him on the shoulder.

“You can’t just ask that, fuckrag.” Billy seemed a bit angry at Stu for suggesting it. 

“I mean..” You trailed off, eyes pointing towards the screen in front of you. 

“Wait, you’d actually want to?” Billy was shocked. And you tried to subtly rub your thighs together. Stu’s hand suddenly met your thigh, and you jumped, not expecting him to notice your minuscule movements. 

“I think she wants it, Billy.” Stu’s cheshire grin was wider than you’d ever seen it before, and his eyes met Billy’s. They exchanged looks and it was all history. 

That night changed your life. You’d laid down in Stu’s bed, and he brandished a pocket knife from his pocket. He trailed it from your collarbone and down to your thigh. You tried to hide how hot the cold metal against your skin made you feel.  When he cut your shirt off, you’d gasped. Billy stared at your face, watching your eyes change from fear, to excitement to fear again. God did he enjoy it. 

That started something between the three of you. You were in a sort of “friends with benefits” situation, though you never really clarified anything. It was heaven while it lasted, but soon Billy got with Sidney, and Stu started dating Tatum. You assumed the situationship was over, but how wrong you were. 

–

You're sitting on your bed, it must be around midnight. There’s a tapping against your window. You don’t normally lock it, because before Sidney and Tatum, they liked to sneak in through your window. It added a certain fear into the situation, you never knew when they planned to bust into your room and take you as they pleased.

 When they started dating the girls, you started locking it, worried that anyone could take advantage of your unlocked window. You assume the tapping sound was just the wind, but it got quicker in succession. So you stand, and walk to the window, looking out. You’re met with a disheveled looking Stu, and a frustrated looking Billy. You unlock and slide open the window. 

“What are you guys doing here!” You whisper-yell at them, your arm resting against the healing marks underneath your clothes. Stu shoves you aside and makes his way into your room, Billy follows. 

“We wanted to see you, duh.” Stu grins at you and Billy smirks with a look you know all too well.

“No, no,” You pause, watching them. “You’re with Sidney and Tatum. We can’t.” You insist. 

Billy puts a frustrated hand through his hair, and you look at him, realizing that he’s hard in his jeans. 

“There’s this whole thing…” Stu trails off.

“What, Stu?”

“Well- I was with Tatum. And we were gettin- y’know.” He makes a gesture that tells you that they were fucking. 

You raise an eyebrow, your chest tightening at the thought of him and Tatum together. “When- uh. We were doing it, all I could think about was you, and how you look underneath me with my knife to your chest.” Stu’s hands make contact with your throat, his thumb resting right on your pulse point. Your heart beats faster at his confession, and you're sure he can feel it. 

“Oh,” Your eyes flutter closed, and you take a sharp inhale of breath. 

“We want you, Baby,” Billy’s voice is pleading. “Just forget about the girls, just for tonight.”

“You’re the only one who understands us, who will take everything we give you and thank us for it.” Stu stops to take a deep breath. “We love you, more than anything..or anyone”

You give in allowing Stu’s lips to connect with your own. Billy moves, removing his shirt as Stu backs you up towards the bed. The back of your knees connect with it, and Stu pushes you to fall onto the softness. He gets out of the way, allowing Billy to crawl in between your legs. 

HIs lips meet yours and his tongue swipes across your bottom lip. You don’t open, you know how much he likes it when you resist. His hand comes to your jaw, pressing his fingers in between the joints and your mouth opens. He slips his tongue inside, wrestling yours. 

You don’t even notice as Stu pulls off his shirt, and pulls out the pocket knife he knows to keep in his pocket when he’s coming to see you.

Billy’s lips leave yours to grip the hem of your shirt and pull it up and over your head.The bandages across your hip come off next. Billy moves to pull off your pants and Stu straddles your thighs, pressing the knife against the skin of your other non-marked hip. 

You hiss when he presses down, the knife cutting the skin of your hip. He groans when blood bubbles up to the surface, and he uses his thumb to smear it across the skin. He makes another one, quick but thin and leans down to lick it softly. Billy’s lips meet your neck, sucking harshly against the soft, supple skin.

Billy moves away from your neck and switches places with Stu. He quickly makes work of pulling down your underwear. Billy throws your legs over his shoulders and dives in, eating you out like it’s his last meal. He laps at your clit, his pointer finger going to your hole, and pushing inside you. 

Suddenly, Stu is pressing the knife against your neck, and you quake in fear. Your thighs shake with stimulation as Billy looks at you through his lashes from between your thighs. 

Stu shushes you when you open your mouth to speak, and trails the knife from your throat down between your breasts. He continues moving the knife down, and then he makes a particularly deep cut across your stomach. 

It shocks you, he’s never done that before. Always in one spot so it’s easier to hide, and never that deep so it doesn’t scar as badly. This time, he’s trying to mark you, claim you as his. Because even if he has Tatum, he still wants you.

Billy stops completely, making you whine at the loss. He shimmies out of his pants and boxers, leaving him completely bare in front of you. He crawls between your legs, sitting back on his heels and pulling you against him. Your legs go over his hips, your cunt pressing against his hard cock. 

Stu pulls off his pants and boxers as well, grabbing his cock and pressing it to your lips. You open up, allowing him to slip it in your mouth.

“Good girl..” he groans as his dick is wrapped in the warmth of your mouth. Billy gets jealous, as you’re staring into Stu’s eyes, seemingly forgetting about him. So he slams into you, making you moan around Stu’s cock. 

“F-fuck,” Stu stutters, moaning as you work your tongue around him. 

Billy pushes into you with quick, hard thrusts. You whine in pain as Stu’s fingers wrap in your hair, and he pulls on it, hard. Billy’s fingers slip down to play with your clit, before he pulls out completely, laying a quick smack against your cunt and then slipping back inside you. You moan in pain and pleasure, the sound vibrating against Stu’s cock.

 He groans softly, shallowly thrusting into your mouth. He pulls out, with a pop sound. He strokes himself in front of your face for a moment, and then pushes back into your mouth. 

Billy twitches inside you, rubbing your clit with his thumb. He thrust into you even harder, while you hollow your cheeks around Stu’s cock. Stu quickly falls apart, twitching inside your mouth and then releasing his spend. He grips your jaw, pulling out while Billy continues. 

Stu pries open your jaw, and looks at the white substance as it trickles down your chin. He pushes your jaw shut. 

“Swallow.” You obey, and then open your mouth to show him. 

Billy falls apart quickly after, pulling out and cumming on your pussy. 

They both fall on seperate sides of you, laying there. They pull you into their arms, and Stu closes his eyes. 

Billy laughs, watching how quickly Stu falls back into the same old routine. 

[guiltyasdave]

no one has to know what we do

chapter 2 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: Try as you might, Dave and you can’t stay away from each other.

word count: 4.4k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad sucks), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that Dave pulls, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, sooooo many pussy slaps (don’t look at us), pet names, let me know if anything is missing!

a/n: co-written with my love @joelscurls, who unfortunately couldn’t write this entire chapter the way we had originally planned, so you’re stuck with me again. if you notice that some parts are better written than others, those are most likely hers haha <3 this is lowkey my favorite thing that i’ve ever put out, and i hope you like it as much as i do 🤍

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

The phone feels like a paperweight in your hand. It’s late — you should be sleeping, but you know it’s useless to even attempt shutting your eyes. It’s too loud in your head right now — that promise of just one time blaring: a warning. Still, you can’t help but consider ignoring it, texting David and begging to see him again.

It’s probably a bit pathetic, yearning for a man who made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you beyond a one night stand. Daydreaming about the timbre of his voice, the stretch of his cock. Getting his phone number from your father, who’s none the wiser. Your father, who is asleep in his own room just down the hall. Being home for the summer has never felt like such a burden.

Guilt eats at you as your fingers hover over the screen, David’s contact front and center. It would be so easy to send him a text right now, let him know you’re thinking about him. About the other night. But your conscience reins you in. Your father’s face flashes behind your eyes — rage and disappointment painting his features scarlet, and you drop the phone beside you on the mattress with a huff.

It’s difficult to even imagine the inevitable severity of his reaction if he ever found out. He’d probably cut you off, the revelation of you whoring around with his friend — and the possibility of this news getting out, tarnishing your family’s pure reputation — more than enough for him to disown you.

You hate him sometimes. Hate the life he’s forced onto you. You’re not even interested in studying law — not really. You never had a choice, though. It was determined before you even graduated high school that you’d follow in your dad’s footsteps. And as long as he’s funding your studies, your future, you have no right to complain. This is the life you should want. The life everyone wants. He reminds you of that fact regularly. Him, and his countless snooty club buddies.

But David — David is refreshing.

He doesn’t come from old money. He doesn’t pinch your cheeks and talk around you rather than to you, declarations of you must be so proud aimed at your father as you stand awkwardly to the side. You’re pretty sure he’s the first person outside of your professors to really look at you, take interest in anything you have to say in… god knows how long.

You can still feel his eyes boring into you. The subtle but tactful brush of his leg against yours under the table. The exhilaration that had thrummed in your veins. He’d made you feel something. You’d almost forgotten you could feel anything apart from stress and agitation. And as you lay in bed, mind swimming with arousal and impending remorse, you fear you may not be able to control yourself much longer, consequences be damned.

He’s not expecting you to reach out.

Why would you? You’d mutually agreed on that night in his car being a one time thing — just a hookup; something he would’ve done before meeting Carol. Something he should probably be doing more often now. Except you’ve somehow sunk your teeth in him, injected him with a sort of venom.

Because all he can think about is seeing you again.

It’s wrong — beyond wrong. You’re so young; still in college, for christ sake. He never met you before the other night, but he’d been stationed overseas with your father when your mother was pregnant with you. He still remembers reading the letters she’d sent in care packages over his shoulder, the ones detailing her symptoms, what foods she was craving.

Strawberries. She always wanted strawberries. Maybe that’s why you’re so sweet.

He’s never been with a woman like you; never had someone trust him with so much vigor. Your needy little pleas, your vehement obedience, your desperation to take all of him in the driver’s seat of his car — you are nothing short of intoxicating.

Still, he tells himself you’re off limits. Trudges through the days that follow with the thought of you bouncing in his lap fogging his head. Struggles to focus at work and recovers in an increasingly poor manner when called on in meetings.

And then, late on a Friday night, you text him.

He only knows it’s you because you tell him so — your full name flashing across the screen followed by an apology for messaging him so late. You say you’re out with friends, and he’d probably have guessed anyway by the typos littering your sentences.

Seconds after the first, another text comes through:

[1:23am] csnt stop thinking about u. pls see me again i promise i won’t twll anyone

Fuck. Fuck.

His muscles tense; his cock twitches in his boxers. And before he does something stupid, like responds, he sets the phone face down on his bedside table. Stalks off to the bathroom with the intention of taking an icy-cold shower, detoxing himself best he can.

He hasn’t even closed the door yet when he hears it ring.

The rhythmic jingle drones through his studio apartment, and he all but leaps at the noise. Sure enough, it's you, calling him drunk in the middle of the night.

His head swims. He presses ‘answer’ anyway.

“David?” Your voice sounds so sugary-sweet, cloying with innocence. He can hear people in the background, maybe your friends, talking about getting another round of drinks.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asks first. You tell him yes; say you're waiting on a rideshare.

He exhales. And even though hearing you is making him dizzy with a fucked up sort of desire, echoes of your pleasured sounds ringing in his ears, he manages to maintain composure when you say, “can I please come over?”

“Don't think that's the best idea,” he mutters. The lack of conviction in his words would likely be painfully obvious if you weren't intoxicated. But you are, and you whine through the receiver at his rejection.

Dave fights to ignore the increasing stiffness in his boxers.

“Please,” you beg. Fuck, he loves the way you sound when you beg. “I just got off the phone with my dad…he doesn't want me coming home so drunk; said he's working on a case and I’ll be a nuisance.”

His heart breaks for you. For the girl who just wants a father who loves her, who sees her as a person with feelings. Dave can't imagine ever treating his daughters this way. Would never dream of it.

“C-can I?” your voice sounds through the speaker again — softer, less sure. Like you've prepared yourself already for the blow of him rejecting you too.

“Can't– can’t you stay with one of your friends?”

You sigh, defeated. “I want to stay with you.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. God, it would be so easy to say yes. To go and pick you up from the bar himself, bring you back to his place. Help you sober up a bit and fuck you until you can't take it anymore. But he can’t; he shouldn't even be speaking to you right now. He needs to cut this off. Needs to make it clear to you that you can't reach out to him again.

“You– we can’t.” He’s stern, direct. It pains him. “The other night shouldn’t have happened.” True, though he doesn’t regret it. Not one bit.

You’re quiet on the other end of the line for a second too long. When you finally do speak again, your voice breaks.

“You don’t like me?”

He’s going to tell you that of course that’s not it, that he’s been thinking about you constantly, that he wishes he could get you out of his fucking head. But he doesn’t get the chance. Because your friends are laughing boisterously around you, then, sounds growing more and more muffled through the speaker, and you’re telling him rather unceremoniously that you have to go.

The call disconnects with a beep.

You wake the following morning with a dizzying headache, daylight burning a hole between your eyes. With your friend still soundly asleep, you slip out of her room and then her apartment; find yourself home just as your father is getting ready to leave for work.

His travel mug sits on the entrance table as he pulls his shoes on, and you're immediately met with the smells of coffee and his leathery cologne.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he mutters as he grabs his briefcase. You don't dare look him in the eyes, lest you be met with their disapproving stare.

“Hi,” you reply, small and non confrontational. When he doesn't answer, you continue past him, begin your ascent up the stairs toward your room.

“Not very appropriate for a young professional, going out and getting wasted. Your future employer could've been there. Could've seen you acting like an imbecile.”

Annoyance furls behind your temples; makes the pounding in your head grow tenfold.

“Well then they probably won't be my future employer,” you snip.

“Probably not.”

You hear the front door close behind you and, with an agitated sigh, drag your feet the rest of the way up the stairs. You fall onto the covers of your bed, well aware that you should probably shower, but your body feels too heavy, in no way ready to move again just yet.

When you pull out your phone, ready for some mindless scrolling to numb your thoughts for a while, you’re met with a notification that sends your heart racing.

Have fun last night?

From David, sent five minutes ago.

You hastily scroll up, reading your own texts from last night, full of typos and barely coherent. csnt stop thinking about u. Your head falls back with a groan. You had gone out to forget about him, not to drunkenly confess your feelings to him in the middle of the night.

Now that you’re thinking about it, you also vaguely recall speaking to him. You tap on your call log and sure enough, there’s his name, only minutes after you texted him. You have no idea what you might have said to him, only a blurry memory of being upset about something. Great, this is great.

Sighing deeply, you go back to messages.

i was very drunk. sorry for bothering you

His reply comes almost instantly.

Who said you bothered me?

You’ve only met him once, and yet you can picture his smirk as if you’ve seen it a thousand times.

Dave is sipping his coffee, black, no sugar, and listens to Jim going over his plans for the both of them going golfing next weekend, humming occasionally.

It pains him, looking at the man in front of him, while your voice from last night is still ringing through his head. How hurt you sounded, looking for a place to stay, not being welcome in your own home.

When Jim stands up to leave for work, he remains seated, gesturing towards his half eaten bagel, but assuring the other man that he doesn’t have to wait for him.

You still haven’t left his thoughts. If anything, the longing he feels for you has gotten worse since you told him how much you want to see him again. And he’s so tired of denying himself the one thing he really wants.

He’s patient, chipping away at the bagel until he sees your father’s gray Dodge peel out of the parking lot. And then he gives it another 10 minutes, just to be safe.

Come join me for coffee? I’m downtown at Roasted Beans.

You respond moments later — such an obedient little thing, you are — letting him know you’ll be there shortly. He finishes off his drink, discards the cup along with the bagel wrapper, and orders two fresh coffees.

He sees you before you see him. Eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly, you look so cute as you scan the cafe. You’re wearing a sundress, the blue fabric dancing around your thighs with every turn of your body, and Dave finds himself entranced by you.

You smile when you finally catch sight of him, your entire face lighting up and he smiles back without a second thought.

You shouldn’t meet him again. You really, really shouldn’t. But the conversation with your father this morning keeps replaying in your head, the disapproval weighing heavy on you, the feeling of being unable to do anything right.

You long for someone to look at you without judgment, for the sound of good girl against your skin. You long for David.

After last night and the fact that he obviously didn’t invite you over, you had thought that for him, maybe it really had been a just one time thing. Like you both had agreed on multiple times.

But then he’d texted you again, asking you to meet him. It’s almost embarrassing, how quickly you got ready, eager to see him again, despite knowing better.

On the drive over, you run through countless discussions in your head, trying to decide what you’re going to say to him. You have to be reasonable. There’s too much at stake. David is a mistake that you wouldn’t be able to come back from. You’re just going to meet him because he asked you to, because that’s the nice thing to do. It’ll just be coffee, nothing more.

Your resolve crumbles as soon as you see him. His eyes are already on you, their expression so full of want that it makes you ache. You walk over, feigning confidence as you slide onto the chair next to his, a quiet greeting on your lips. The deep, smooth sound of his voice when he returns it is enough to make you melt.

He has already ordered for you. It’s a small thing, rationally, but it’s once again more care, more attention than you’re used to. Warmth is spreading through your chest, but you try steeling yourself, forcing out the words that you’ve prepared to say.

“Listen, I want to apologize about last night. I shouldn’t have– I wasn’t thinking straight, I’m sorry for bothering–”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He interrupts your nervous stuttering, his hand gently wrapping around yours on the table. “I already told you that you didn’t bother me. If anything–” He sighs, his grip tightening. “I’m the one who’s sorry, you were looking for somewhere to stay, I shouldn’t have turned you down like that.”

It breaks Dave’s heart, seeing how you’re making yourself smaller, how ready you seem for him to scold you. Your quiet You don’t like me? still echoes in his mind. How your own father didn’t care where his daughter spent the night, as long as she didn’t come home. Didn’t bother him.

He clocked the way your eyes widened in surprise at the coffee that he got you, how you huff a relieved breath when he assures you again that he’s not annoyed with you. You’re so sweet, so deserving of being loved and cared for, and he so desperately wants to be the person who does that for you.

He felt the same pull from that night towards you as soon as he laid eyes on you again, and it’s only gotten worse, now that you’re right next to him, now that he’s touching the soft surface of your hand. He vividly remembers how your skin felt under his fingertips, how you writhed against him.

The urge to get just a taste of that again becomes overwhelming. He holds your gaze as his fingers start gliding over your thighs under the table, inching towards the hem of your dress. Your lips part, the softest whimper escaping your throat at his touch.

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t be touching you like this, shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. Can’t stop thinking about you. I want to stay with you. How is he supposed to keep away, to stop himself, when you come to him so willingly, so desperate to be wanted?

“David?” Fuck, he loves that you call him that. “Will you take me home with you? Please?”

He can tell that you’re scared to ask, bracing yourself to be rejected again. He’s not nearly as strong as you think he is.

“Yes. Come on.”

He pulls you to your feet and out of the door before either of you have the chance to change your minds.

He’s a bad man, shouldn’t be getting off on having total control over you like this. He’s probably sick; should see that shrink Carol recommended a couple months ago after the divorce was officially finalized. But the way you’re looking at him — with the same big-eyed, doleful stare you’d given him that first night — tells him you want this. Need this, even. You long to relinquish control to someone other than your hawkish father.

So pliant in his lap, limbs all gooey and relaxed under his touch, it’s clear that you trust him. Maybe more than he trusts himself.

You’re spread out on his couch, clothes hastily discarded as soon as the both of you stumbled over the threshold, already entangled in each other. He’s led you to the living room, the thought of fucking you in his bed, of your presence lingering there, your scent permeating his sheets, the last invisible line that he’s determined not to cross.

He has been toying with your body, collected your wrists in a hold over your head and told you to keep them there while he flicked and tugged on your nipples, sucked marks into your skin while you writhed underneath him.

He’s taking it slow, now that you’re here with him, now that he has the time to thoroughly break you down and put you back together again.

You’re already soaked when he sinks a finger into you, your tight walls clenching around him immediately. You coo up at him — a needy little noise that has his resolve disintegrating in seconds flat — and you look relieved when his hand loosely wraps around your throat.

“Please,” you whisper then, and he tuts.

“You want me to take care of you?”

You nod.

“Then you take what I give you. No begging. Do I make myself clear?”

Another noise — this one smaller, stuck in your throat — and he’s pulling his finger out of you again, lips curling into a cruel smile.

He doesn’t give you any time to prepare before the first slap lands on your already-throbbing clit. You can’t help but shriek. In response, he tightens the grip on your throat slightly. Gives three more stinging smacks in quick succession. Dave almost doesn’t notice when your eyes begin to roll back. He does notice, however, when your hips begin to roll upward, your body chasing his hand.

“Oh, such a good girl you are,” he praises.

Slap.

“You love this, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” you moan, garbled and a little breathless.

Slap.

“Pathetic little girl. Bet you could come just from this, you’re so desperate. Couldn’t you?”

You gasp.

Slap.

“Answer me,” Dave demands. “Or I’ll stop.”

It’s almost comical how quickly you sputter the word yes, eyes desperately pleading with him to keep going. And he’s almost shocked just how badly you needed this. In this moment, any guilt he’d been feeling is replaced with the desperate desire to give you exactly what you crave.

He slaps you again, a little harder this time, and you wail. Your legs are trembling, but you make no move to close them, keeping yourself spread wide open and accessible for him.

He’s throbbing, fighting the urge to sink his cock into your tight heat, but he wants, needs to know how far he can push you. How far you’ll go for him.

You’re dripping onto his cushions and he collects some of your slick with his fingers, rubs them against your clit. Your skin is burning under his fingertips. He teases the oversensitive nub with gentle touches, relishes in the way your eyes are glued to his face, the way your lips are trembling as you’re silently pleading with him.

No words are escaping you, and you’re so good, making him so proud with how you’re following his commands.

He slaps your clit again, and again, and again, until you’re a babbling mess, your throat constricting against his grip and your back arching as you come with a cry. Wetness floods out of you and you’re shuddering in his hold, broken whimpers of his name falling from your lips.

He watches with sick fascination, almost unable to believe that he drove you to this point. How much you enjoy being treated like this. That you’re just as twisted as he is.

When you come down, your arms weakly reach for him and he scoops you up, pulls you into his lap until your face is nuzzled into his neck.

“Good girl,” he coos, gently stroking your hair, “you did so good.”

He gives you a few moments to rest, tracing shapes across your back, until his fingers dip deeper, gliding over your ass and between your spread legs, where you’re still so fucking wet.

You squirm under his touch, needy little sounds traveling up to his ears once more. “Please,” you whisper.

One hand grabs into your hair, pulling your head back until he can see your face. You look wrecked. Pupils blown wide, your eyes wet with tears, but what really gets him is the way you look at him. He had worried, for a second, that he might have been too rough, but there’s only pure trust and longing in your eyes.

“I thought I told you no begging.”

You bite your lip, furrow your brow in that adorable way of yours. “I’m sorry. It just– it all feels so good.”

He presses his thumb down on your bottom lip, releasing it from your teeth.

“I know it does, sweetheart. You need more?”

You nod quietly, your eyes wide and pleading.

“Alright then.” He turns you over so quickly that you gasp, scrambling for a second to get your bearings. You’re on all fours, your legs still spread, your ass on display for him.

He had wanted to prepare you a little more, to give you several of his fingers first before he stretches you out on his cock, but he can’t possibly hold back any longer. Judging from the loud moan that you let out, he thinks that you like the sting of him sinking into you unprepared.

It’s even better than he remembers, your slick walls engulfing him so tightly. He starts pounding into you, the depth of his thrusts jolting your body forward and forcing more sounds from you.

He wants you to still feel him tomorrow, wants you to remember him, wants to stake a claim that he knows he doesn’t have. He groans your name, his fingers digging into your hips, greedy for every part of you that he can reach.

Perfect, you’re so fucking perfect, giving yourself to him like this.

“Come on,” he growls, reaching down to find your clit again, rubbing in tight circles. “Give me another one.”

You cry out, pushing back against him. So fucking eager. He lands two quick slaps on your ass and you fall apart, trembling wildly as your walls pulse around him and you scream out his name.

He can’t hold himself back any more and follows you over the edge, pumping into you once more and holding your hips pressed against his.

You both collapse down onto his couch, a mess of tangled, sweaty limbs and quick breaths. You curl your body into his and he presses kisses against your cheeks, your temples, your lips.

Slowly, as he’s coming back to his senses, the guilt settles in.

He lets go of you much too quickly, stands up and starts getting dressed quietly. You watch him for a moment, wracking your mind for something to say, before he looks at you.

“Get dressed. I’ll drive you home.”

He sounds cold, distant. So different from the man who just took you to heights that you didn’t know existed until now. You suppress a shiver and get up hastily. Suddenly, being naked around him feels much too exposed, too vulnerable for your liking.

You pull your dress over your head and slide your shoes back on, but one crucial item is missing.

“Did– did you see my underwear?” you force yourself to ask. He shakes his head, not gracing you with a verbal answer.

Eventually, you give up the search and follow him down the stairs and into his car. The silence grows, until its weight is pressing down, almost suffocating you. You steal glances at him, but his eyes are fixed on the road, staring straight ahead, never wavering. A muscle in his jaw is ticking.

The mix of his spend and yours is pooling between your legs, but it makes you feel dirty now. You force down the lump that’s building in your throat.

When he stops in front of your house, you scramble out of the car without a word. You don’t know what would be worse, if he said goodbye like nothing was wrong or if he remained silent. You don’t want to find out.

It’s late in the evening, you’re lying on your bed, eyelids squeezed shut, willing sleep to finally overtake you. Thoughts keep spiraling through your head, so many questions that you have no answers to.

He asked you to meet up, for fuck’s sake. You don’t understand why he’s treating you like this, but you’re determined to not let it happen again. Just two times, you think with a bitter scoff.

Your phone vibrates on your bedside table, indicating a new message.

[11:55pm] I can’t stop thinking about you either.

Attached is a photo. A photo of a familiar lacy scrap of fabric, grasped in his hand and covered in milky white cum.

It’s filthy, and wrong, and you feel yourself getting obscenely wet at the thought of him touching himself with your missing panties clutched between his fingers.

Maybe just one more time.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

[bbina]

"i don't understand why you feel scared meeting my parents, babe. i'm one hundred percent sure they'll love you as much as i do" chenle calls out from your bedroom as you go over your outfit for the 127th time today

today was the day you were gonna meet his parents for the first time. chenle decided that you two have been dating for a decent amount of time that it was time to introduce you to his folks

there was nothing wrong with meeting your significant other's parents. in fact, it's even a privilege to meet the people who've raised your partner with care and love

but what chenle doesn't understand is that you're afraid of meeting his parents. so scared that you might actually ditch on them on the last minute in attempt to hide away from the fact that you, out of all people is dating their beloved son

you've heard it for quite sometime now. that chinese parents tend to usually look after people who are in some impressive bloodline that could lead to business expansions. knowing that chenle's parents were very much involved in the business scene, maybe chenle has been set up with other wealthy chinese bloodlines that could eventually carry their legacies for further generations

this has always been your insecurity with your relationship with chenle. hell, you even knew what you were getting into when chenle first courted you

although chenle has been great at easing out your anxieties and fears about this stereotypical reality, still, the thought of his parents disliking you upon the first meet still lingers at the back of your mind

you must've been deep in thought that you barely noticed chenle's presence behind you. you were brought back to reality when you felt chenle's arms wrap around your body, his chin resting on your shoulder

"i promise you, they'll love you. just trust me" chenle says, leaving kisses form your shoulders up to your jaw

your shoulders drop, looking at chenle through the mirror

"i'm just scared that they won't like me" you whispered, looking at yourself in the mirror, "terrified even. what if they judge me for my background? what if they did a background check on me- on my family? what if your mom will ask me to meet her at the back of the alley and she'll be like 'stay away from my son'? what if–"

chenle cuts you off by grabbing your cheeks, smashing your lips together

"breathe, babe, breathe" chenle soothes, rubbing circles on your cheeks with his thumb. you stare up at him tearily. your mind going haywire at the thoughts going on your head. your insecurities being with someone like him going overtime

"didn't we already talk about this last time? i told you not to think like that. my parents aren't like that. i swear on my life they will like you. if i like you for who you are then i'm sure they will too" chenle reassures, leaning his forehead against yours as he meets your eyes

you bite your lip, still unable to shake the feeling away. you know chenle means well and he sticks to his word

"just trust me on this, bǎobèi. trust me" chenle kisses your forehead, hoping that it will ease your nerves more. you suck in a deep breath before slowly nodding your head yes

"... okay"

chenle pulls away, looking at you with a big smile on his face.

"that's the spirit, baby. i can't wait to tell my mom all about you when we get there. she'll be happy to hear that i'm in good hands" chenle babbles, smiling to himself at the thought of you and his mom being close

and just like it was on cue his phone vibrates inside his pocket. chenle whips it out and reads the notification

"it's my dad. he said they're on the way to the restaurant"

—

the car ride to the restaurant was filled with a nervous silence. you fidget with the hem of your dress, stealing glances at chenle occasionally. he reaches his hand out for yours, squeezing your hand gently when he felt your nervous glances. his silent way of calming your nerves as he drives you two to the restaurant.

you and chenle were now at the parking lot of the restaurant you two were meeting his parents in

"ready?" chenle asks, looking over at your side of the car

you take a look at yourself through the sun visor one last time before sucking in a deep breath

"ready as i'll ever be.." you murmured. if you walk through those doors your life might change for the better or for the worse. you are silently praying that it will be the latter

chenle smiles, reaching over to tuck some hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek. "i sound like a broken record right now but trust me when i say that they will absolutely fucking love you"

you placed your hands above his, giving them a small squeeze. "i hope they will, lele"

chenle grins before removing his hand from your face. he clasps them together, "okay let's go. they might be inside already"

it was now or never.

—

you and chenle walk inside the restaurant where his parents were waiting in, hand in hand

his parents chose a restaurant that had exclusive rooms reserved for VIP customers. that itself was already a slap on the face on the difference of their social status compared to yours. the plush carpets, the glittering chandeliers, everything just screams wealth and privilege

chenle must've read your mind because he suddenly blurts out that his parents and the owner of the restaurant go way back that's why they get special treatment such as using the said exclusive rooms

"my dad loves this place and is actually friends with the owner. so i'm not surprised they chose to use the VIP room to meet you. they must be so excited to meet the love of my life" chenle gushes, guiding you through the endless backrooms of the restaurant

chenle then stops at a door. it must be the room where his parents were waiting in. this is it. you are finally getting to meet mr. and mrs. zhong

he knocks and wait for his parents to acknowledge it. not a second later the red door opens and there you first make eye contact with his dad, mr. zhong

"dad!" chenle beams, greeting his father with a hug. you straighten your posture as you wait for chenle to introduce you to his father first.

chenle's dad laughs before patting his beloved son on his back

"dad, meet my girlfriend, y/n. y/n, this is my dad" chenle puts an arm behind the small of your back, pulling you slightly to let you meet his father.

you smile as you bow politely in front of mr. zhong

"hello mr. zhong. it's so nice to finally meet you" you greet politely. hoping you were showing your best smile in front of the older man. you felt a surge of nerves meeting mr. zhong's eyes for the first time. but his firm handshake felt more reassuring than intimidating.

before mr. zhong can reply, his mom suddenly stands up and goes up to you. mrs. zhong's excitement catches you off guard. her warm hug and excited chatter dispels your fears and anxiety on meeting them today

"is this my future daughter in law i've been hearing about? i've been wanting to meet you, sweet child!" chenle's mother gushes, waving her hands around to show her excitement

you freeze in shock with the sudden unexpected turn of events. this was definitely not how you imagined it to be. you were expecting hard glares, cold shoulders and not this

"ma! you're scaring her!" chenle nags, shooing his mother off who only swats his hand away

"oh shush, lele! you talk about her all the time of course i'm excited to meet the lady who makes my son the happiest!" mrs. zhong retorts. she then takes a good look at you before gushing again

"she's prettier in person, lele! why didn't you introduce her to us sooner!" she squeals in delight.

you try your best to bite back a smile. you honestly didn't expect this at all. you then make eye contact with chenle who's looking at you with the biggest smirk on his face you've ever seen. almost like he was telepathically telling you 'i told you so'

"i should say the same about you, mrs. zhong. it's so nice to finally meet you. chenle has told me a lot of things about you" you bow again to show formalities

"well i hope they were good things! likewise, dear. you sit down first. are you hungry yet? we can order already if you are. don't be shy! lele! are you treating her right?!"

questions are thrown all over the place you honestly don't know what to answer first. all you're getting is that you're in one hell of a ride today

food is served by the time you and his mom are in a deep conversation. you never thought you'd connect to another woman who wasn't your mom. mrs. zhong’s genuine interest in your life and happiness was touching

"as i was saying dear before we got interrupted, is chenle treating you well?" mrs. zhong prods, side eyeing her son who's ears were now perked up at the mention of his name. her eyes twinkling with curiosity and a hint of motherly concern

you take a good look at chenle before looking back at his mom. he kinda resembles his mom, you thought to yourself. shaking the thought away, you give his mom a smile

"he's the best. you raised him well, mrs. zhong" you smile

mrs. zhong beams and chenle’s father nodded approvingly. chenle reaches for your hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

as dinner progressed, the conversation flowed effortlessly. you found yourself laughing and sharing stories with chenle’s parents, the initial fear melting away.

by the time dinner has ended, mrs. zhong was already planning another get-together.

"you should come by our house sometime and have some tea! do you like tea? what tea do you like? i can order some right away so you'd come over. lele! bring her over sometime! how does tomorrow sound? are you free?"

"tea sounds delightful, mrs. zhong! and tomorrow is fine with me. not sure with chenle though.." you trail off, nudging chenle with your elbow.

"dunno. don't want to drive all the way ther– ow! what was that for!" chenle cries out when his mom pinches his arm. "i was just playing! we'll see you tomorrow ma!" chenle hisses, rubbing the spot his mom just pinched him

you, along with mr. and mrs. zhong laugh. the evening turned out better than you could have ever imagined. before you were gonna go on your separate ways, mrs. zhong pulls you aside.

"you know," she starts, "chenle has always been our pride, and now i see why he chose you. welcome to the family"

tears of relief fill your eyes as you thanked her. "thank you mrs. zhong. i'm so happy and relieved to hear that" you wipe a stray tear that escaped from your eye

"oh please, sweetheart, call me lily. calling me mrs. zhong makes me feel old!" she jokes, softly stroking your hair.

and before you know it, both mr. and mrs. zhong go on their separate ways. you and chenle stand outside the restaurant as you both watch their car slowly disappear from sight.

now here you two were, outside under the soft glow of the streetlights, walking back to his car to go back home.

chenle kisses the side of your head, "what did i tell you? told you they'll love you" he smugly says, feeling nothing but pride and joy that you are now welcome to his family

you poke his side causing him to yelp. "oh shut up!" you blush

chenle’s smug smile says it all. he knew this would happen. he wouldn't be with you in the first place if he knew his parents wouldn't like his partner from the get go

in that moment, you realized that you didn't just meet his parents, you were now becoming a part of a family that already cherished you as one of their own

so much for conquering the great wall

[vivwritesfics]

Set The World On Fire

Chapter Five

Lando Norris had been incredibly angry when they met. Incredibly angry, but sweet enough to help her. Turns out he just needed somebody to talk to, somebody to be there for him.

He was easy to fall for, and that put her in a world of danger

Mafia AU

1.2K

Series Masterlist

"I still can't believe he's actually taking me on a date," she said as she searched through her wardrobe for something to wear, her phone pressed to her ear.

Although she couldn't see it, her friend rolled her eyes. "Are you sure he's not gonna murder you and ditch your body in a... ditch?" She asked.

Y/N laughed. "I do know the guy. But, if my body is found in a ditch somewhere, you get all of my stuff," she said and pulled a nice top out of the wardrobe. Paired with some nice jeans, she could look pretty good, she thought as she looked in the mirror, holding the top against her body.

"I've got to go," her friend said. "Keep me updated through the date, okay? If he is a murderer, let me know."

They said their goodbyes and Y/N threw her phone onto her bed. She looked at herself in the mirror again, looked at how the top looked against her. Pretty good, she thought. She made light work of getting changed and started on hair and makeup.

At seven o'clock, Lando arrived at her house. His car was incredibly fancy, maybe to the point of overkill. He pulled the classic Porsche up outside of her apartment and climbed out.

Immediately he regretted it. Her neighbourhood wasn't exactly the nicest, he was so sure that somebody would steal it if they came across it.

Pulling his business card from his pocket, he left it on the dash for everybody to see. Just his name alone would scare anybody out of trying to steal it. He straightened his jacket and started up to her apartment.

Lando had the address memorised. He'd been there more than he liked to admit, watching over her apartment. Surely, if she'd lived somewhere a little nicer, he wouldn't be by her apartment every night, watching over her.

Who was he kidding? Lando was enamoured with her. Plus, him watching over her kept his mind off of his sister and it kept him away the club, where he was drinking far too much and doing whatever was dusted over the table.

He sucked in a breath and knocked on her door.

"Coming!" She shouted. She ran through her apartment as she attempted to put her earrings in. With the back of the earring between her lips, she pulled open the door. "Hey," she grinned, placing the back of the earring where it was supposed to be.

"You ready to go?" Asked Lando as he offered her his arm. She grinned and took his arm. Pulling her apartment door shut, she locked it and followed Lando down to his car.

His incredibly expensive classic Porsche.

She let out a low whistle as she stepped out of the apartment building. "Is that yours?" She asked. She knew Lando had serious money. Like, he owned his own strip club! What kind of guy owned his own strip club? Of course he'd have some crazy car.

Lando just offered her a smile as he pulled the door open for her. The car smelt incredible. It was hard to describe, but there was nothing that could beat the smell of a classic car. That mixed with Lando was amazing.

The engine rumbled to life. It sounded like a dream. She let out a low whistle as Lando pulled away from her apartment building, heading further into the city. "Is she yours?" She asked, patting the dashboard.

"My dad's," Lando answered. "But she'll be mine soon, I guess," he muttered under his breath.

"Are you sure you wanna park her in the city?" Asked Y/N, raising her eyebrows at him. "Something might... happen to her."

Lando shook his head. He pulled into a car park and, once again, left his business card on the dashboard before climbing out. "I'm not worried about that," he said and pushed the door shut.

Walking around to the other side, he opened the door for Y/N, took her hand and helped out of the car. "You're a weird guy," she muttered, but she was still wearing a smile.

"Thanks." He linked his hand with hers and led her away from the car park, towards the restaurant. Lando could have booked it out. He had that level of power around here. But he didn't want to scare her off, especially not before she joined him in Spain.

The dinner was rather uneventful. They talked and laughed like this wasn't a date, like they were just in the back room of his club. Lando ordered for the both of them, which she thought was a little strange, but she didn't mind. He had good taste.

(Actually, no. Lando rarely had good taste. His pallet was that of a child. He was putting on a brave face for this date).

"How about we get out of here?" He asked after they had finished the main course. The dessert was incredibly fancy and Lando wanted something less.

She grabbed her bag and reached for her purse. Lando held up his hand, halting her. "It's already been taken care of," He said with a grin.

The look she gave him with sceptical. "You're not like... a mob boss or something, are you?" She asked quickly.

The way Lando's heart was beating, shit he thought he was going to die. But then she laughed and he visibly relaxed. "I paid on the way in," he confessed (it didn't matter that it wasn't true).

They strode out of the cafe, arm in arm. Lando led the way out of the restaurant, towards a dessert shop. It was just around the corner, one that Lando's family owned the building to. He got them two thick milkshakes, incredibly unhealthy and topped with cream.

They sat in the park, drinking their milkshakes. The stars appeared above them and the air turned cold. "Here," Lando said as he took off his jacket and handed it to her. She took it gratefully and pulled it onto her body.

With the sleeves pulled over her hand, she held her milkshake and leaned against Lando. "You paid for everything tonight and I feel shitty," she mumbled against him.

Lando laughed. "Trust me, it's fine," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "Just... thank you for agreeing to come to Spain with me next week."

Suddenly she pulled away from him, just enough that she could look at him. "Is this a thank you date, because I agreed to join you in Spain? Or is this a real date because you actually like me?" As nice of a gesture as it was, she didn't do thank you dates. Not when she had already caught feelings.

Lando shook his head. "It's not a thank you date, I swear," he said quickly. "I invited you to Spain because I actually like you. This date sounded like a good way to... start things off," he said.

She couldn't hide her grin. Leaning against him once again, she closed her eyes and let out a content sigh. "So, you could say that Spain will be our second date," she mumbled.

Lando kissed the top of her head.

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[captainfern]

Damnnnn, 70% of y’all want to see reader getting caught ? That’s crazzyyyy.. me too

Feed us captain 👩‍🦯

combined with:

Anonymous asked:

I know recs are closed but that's crazy that anon requested inexperienced reader with Gaz/Price bc I was gonna request inexperienced reader with Price where he talks her through/teaches her how to ride him 💀

-🌻🐾

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Marigold pt. 5

dbf!Captain John Price x fem!reader

[“Marigold” by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - you and price get caught. let's see how this goes lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 2.1k • warnings - fem!reader, dad’sbestfriend!price, established relationship?, age gap [whatever you want it to be as long as it's legal lmao], unprotected piv, you go for a ride, praise, soft!price, this starts with smut then ends with plot? idk, strong language

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It had been about nine months since you and Price had been "together". Together was a bit of a stretch, but it had been just over nine months since you both began fucking each other, and fucking no one else besides each other. That was basically together, right?

With your dad out of the house for the day, you had invited Price around. You missed him. And although you had the intentions of just spending a cozy, lazy day with him, that idea flew out the window as soon as he walked through your bedroom door.

So you now find yourself straddling Price as he leans up against your headboard, his large hands on your hips. You have your hands on his shoulders as he slowly sinks you onto his cock, a soft groan passing through his lips. You keen, moaning desperately as he fills you slowly. It's almost too slow.

His cock drags along your walls, inching further and further. Price doesn't let you take control until the head of his cock nestles taut against your cervix, your clit flush with the thatch of hair around the base of his length.

You whimpered loudly as he grinds you against him, your body automatically listening to his non-verbal commands. The movements shoot hot bursts into the depths of your womb, swirling around the base of your tummy, your legs clamping tight around his lap.

"Come on then, sweetheart. Want you to ride me," he whispered, nosing the soft skin beneath your ear. "You can do that, can't you?"

You whimpered again, muscles already tired. After all, he had just dragged three orgasms from you five minutes ago. Two with his mouth, another with his fingers.

He kissed up the column of your throat as you attempted to drag yourself against him, but you whimpered for a third time when you couldn't be fucking bothered. Muscles, orgasm-lax. Core, fluttering and pulsing around him.

"Tired, sweetheart?" Price cooed gently, taking hold of your hips once more. "S'all right. I'll help you. I'll teach you."

He began to move you with his hands, pushing and pulling your hips in a fluid movement. He dragged you up and down gently, too, and you felt overstimulated at the feel of his hard cock against your slick walls. You whined at Price's gentle pace, and at the fact you could feel everything.

Your slick hole was a fluttering mess around him, making Price groan deeply into your neck, where he continued to suck bruises along the sensitive flesh. He rocked you against him, side to side, up and down. His grip was tight, but he was so gentle. He guided you through it, speaking softly, nothing more than a whisper as he praised you.

"Good girl, there you go. Just like that," he murmured, peppering kisses along your collarbone now. "Feel's so good. Making me feel so good."

You hummed a moan, scared that it would turn into another loud whimper. Price detached from your collarbone and placed his mouth to yours, kissing you slow. It lacked definitive movement, your lips smoothing together, smearing saliva as his tongue swiped against yours. You whined, your clit stimulated as he ground you against his pelvis.

"Perfect girl, sweetheart. My perfect girl. S'that feel good? You feel good, baby?"

You nodded, eyelids drooping. His cock was warm and heavy inside you, knocking firmly at the plug of your womb. Your arousal pooled around his cock and out of your cunt, stretched wide around him and glistening with the remnants of three orgasms already.

Your fourth one was already building. Buzzing like static in your lower abdomen, blooming into heat that made your legs tremble around Price's lap. His grip on you tightened, and he watched you as your face contorted in pleasure— eyes closing, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

"Feels so good, doesn't it, sweetheart?"

"J-John..."

It was always when you were the most overstimulated, the most desperate, that his first name slipped out. And he fucking loved it, which is probably why he was so intent on getting multiple orgasms out of you each time you slept together.

"You can come, pretty girl. You want to come 'round my cock, yeah? Go on then, let go for me, sweetheart. Want to feel you come 'round me."

You moaned quietly as your orgasm rocked through you. You sobbed out in pleasure, the sting of pleasurable tears at the back of your eyes as you came around his cock. Your cunt squeezed him tight, and he grunted softly, continuing to fuck his cock into you as you fell lax against him.

"That's it, that's it, 'atta girl, so fucking good for me," he mumbled, thrusting into you a bit harder now, your arms clinging to his shoulders. "Such a good girl, baby. Did so well. 'M so proud of you, sweetheart."

You sobbed against his shoulder, body burning up. It felt so good. You were growing dizzy, overstimulation blanketing you. But Price kept you grounded.

"M'coming, m'coming, fucking hell..." He dragged out, grunting. He came deep inside you, filling you full and warm. You whimpered out, and he rubbed his hands down your back, soothing you.

You both fizzled down from your highs together, evening your breathing in silence. Soon after, Price lifted you from his lap and tucked you beneath your bedsheets, placing a kiss to your temple.

"Get some rest." He told you, before he was disappearing into your bathroom.

He had a quick shower, scrubbing himself using your body wash. He liked to smell like you. It was his favourite smell besides his own cologne. After, he wrapped a towel around his waist and, with his stomach grumbling, headed downstairs in search of something to eat.

He settled for some cereal, and ate it leaning against the kitchen counter. He wanted to eat with you, but the way you passed out as soon as he tucked you into bed made him stay downstairs, not wanting to disturb you further.

Halfway through his cereal, Price heard a car come up the driveway. He paused, spoon near his lips, listening as the engine stopped and a door open and closed. Footsteps, paired with a distinct humming.

Price lowered his spoon, sighing.

Your dad. Home early. Of course he was.

Now, Price knew that eventually, eventually, he'd come out and tell your dad— his best mate— that you and him were seeing each other. He just didn't expect it to be today. When he was wearing nothing but a towel. Eating cereal in your kitchen. You asleep and naked upstairs.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." His own words echoed around his head.

I guess today was the day he was crossing that fucking bridge.

Your dad entered the kitchen, humming happily to himself, but pulled up short when he saw Price in the kitchen. Price nodded in greeting, continuing to eat his cereal.

"Price, mate, what're you doing here?" Your dad smiled. "And... in a towel? Eating my cereal..."

Price shrugged. "Just thought I'd stop by. I... need to talk to you about something anyway."

"What's up?" Your dad asked, settling onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island across from Price. He looked Price up and down, letting out a low whistle. "Price, mate, how are you still in such good shape?"

Price chuckled. "That good ol' military physique, eh?"

Your dad chuckled too, his eyes on Price's neck. He laughed again, pointing to his own neck in a slightly awkward gesture. "You didn't tell me you had a lady?"

Hickeys.

Fuck.

Price cleared his throat. "That's... what I wanted to talk to you about."

He put his bowl of cereal in the sink adjacent, appetite gone. Your dad waited patiently for him to continue, a small smile on his lips.

"I've... been seeing this woman for about nine months now," Price said. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I genuinely couldn't imagine my life without her."

"Aww, how sweet." Your dad pouted, then chuckled softly. "D'you love her?"

"I do, yeah. I love her so much," Price ignored the emotion he could feel building up in the back of his throat. "There's just... a couple things I think you should know."

"You don't need my permission to date people anymore, Price. We're not twenty anymore," your dad said. "Unless it's my ex-wife. That would be deeply concerning."

"It is definitely not your ex-wife." Price replied.

"Good!" Your dad laughed. "So, do I know her?"

"Yeah, you do."

"Oh, really? Who?"

Price cleared his throat.

"Price, mate?"

Price sighed. "It's... fucking hell, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for—?"

"It's your daughter," Price said quickly. "I'm dating your daughter."

Your dad's mouth hung agape, and silence filled the kitchen. Price kept your dads gaze as best he could. He was fucking scared.

Your dad closed his mouth, and slowly got out of his seat. Price held a hand towards him, a gesture to take it easy and hold on for a second.

"My... daughter?" Your dad spoke lowly.

"Yeah... yes, fuck, I'm sorry, mate, this is not how I wanted to tell you—"

"You're dating my daughter?"

Price nodded. "I love her. I feel like such a shitty fucking friend, but I'm in love with her. I'm serious when I said she's the best thing to ever happen to me—"

"Price, I know you're my best friend," your dad was rounding the kitchen island now. "But I'm going to fucking kill you."

"Fair enough." Price said, and ran.

Your dad chased after him, Price holding his towel up as he sprinted out of the kitchen. He skidded into the hallway, careful not to slip on the hardwood floors, and flew up the stairs. Your dad was right behind.

"Price, you fucking bastard!" Your dad shouted. "My daughter? Of all fucking people?"

"I told you I'm sorry!" Price yelled back, reaching the top of the stairs. "I'm in love with her!"

"Like fuck you are!" Your dad growled as Price slammed into the door of your bedroom and tumbled inside.

Luckily, you were awake and dressed, shocked by the commotion. Price hit the ground, still holding desperately onto the towel around his waist, and your dad stepped over him. He pulled his pistol out of his belt and jammed it beneath Price's jaw.

Well, that fucking escalated.

"Dad! Stop!" You shouted, scrambling off your bed and diving to the floor, literally throwing yourself on top of Price and knocking your dads arm away.

Your dad backed up, fuming.

"You're dating John?" He breathed deeply, out of breath. He gripped his pistol, knuckles tight around it.

You swallowed nervously, feeling the rapid rise and fall of Price's bare chest beneath your hands. "I am."

Your dad cocked the pistol, and you let out a scared yelp.

"Dad, don't!"

"Move, honey."

"Please—"

"Get out of the way."

"I love him!"

Your dad paused. Price looked up at him, still catching his breath. You continued to lay your upper half over his chest protectively.

"I love him," you repeated in a whisper. "He treats me so well, Dad. I feel safe with him. Shouldn't that be what you are about most of all?"

Your dad seethed silently, looking between you and Price on the floor. Then, with a great sigh, he sunk to the floor too. He sat near the door, his pistol still in his hands while Price sat up, and you sat beside him, an arm around his waist.

"How long has this been happening?"

"Nine months." Price said.

"And... you're serious? About... about loving her?" Your dad asked as though the words were painful to get out.

Price answered straight away. "Yes."

Your dad pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut in anger. He took a deep breath before he looked back up. He looked to you now.

"You love him, eh?"

You nodded.

"And he treats you well?"

You nodded again.

"For fucks sake," he hissed, then threw the pistol at Price. It hit Price's chest, and Price grunted. Your dad sighed. "Why'd it have to be my daughter, Price? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"A lot of things." He said. He picked up the pistol, and found that it was empty.

Your dad calmed himself. "Right... right, okay. I'm really fucking pissed but... I mean, you're an adult, honey. I'm... I'm not going to stop you from seeing Price, but I'm not fucking happy about it."

You beamed. You couldn't help it.

"You'll come around." Price said.

Your dad scowled. "Don't fucking push it."

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i stopped it here because i'm lazy

honestly this turned out so unserious but i think i prefer it that way lol

[bunbotbuggiman]

au where the peak lords reincarnate as Bingge's quarter demon spawn

saw a post (https://www.tumblr.com/cursed-angelic-art/686056254886559744/do-you-think-mobei-jun-is-the-one-playing-father) talking abt if mbj "played dad" for og lbh's army of kids and-

au where the peak lords reincarnate as Bingge's quarter demon spawn

they all have different mothers but are all the same age- were born the same year-

even sqq, who's nyy's favorite kid (because he reminds her of her shizun, during the good days before lbh became a disciple) despite not being her kid (she herself never had any kids, which doesn't bother her as much because neither did lmy or shl and they're the head wives still so) (in the same vein, Liu Mingyans favorite kid is the one who behaves most like her late brother)

This world's version of Shen Yuan, however, was born as the son of one of mbj's advisors, before said advisor and his family died in a tragic accident. so he was adopted by mobei-jun and shang qinghua at the ripe old age of barely a few weeks old.

His name: Mo Yuan, named after an old friend of Shang Qinghua's from his secret pre-transmigration life (In this world, SY is not a transmigrator.... maybe he is a reincarnation.... but there's no real way to tell, he sure doesn't remember anything)

So he's an ice demon. looks like Shen Yuan but everything about him is like 30 shades more MBJ. he adores his parents, and his parents adore him, and because of this mutual adoration he has successfully grown up completely secure in his status as their child in spite of fully knowing of his adopted status.

This being said, there are very few individuals who also know this fact, because since the transition was so fast (and because Shang Qinghua knows stuff, and Mobei-Jun knows he knows stuff) they just bullshit it and say that Mo Yuan is a magical plant baby who was born as a full demon in spite of technically being a half demon because of magic plant bullshit.

He looks enough like shang qinghua to make it believable anyways, so it's fine.

Mo Yuan and Shang Qinghua also have a really weird relationship where MY at some point got into Shang Qinghua's writings (only the age appropriate stuff.... he found out about the porn at a later age) and violently hated it, but Shang Qinghua found it:

A. funny that his son was so violently opinionated and

B. thought it was important that his son be able to have an outlet for these emotions so he honestly encouraged it.

So now they have a really close parental relationship but also are kind of friendly-close because when Mo Yuan found some of SQH's writings, he immediately was like "oh my god Baba you suck???? at writing????? How?????? You are a scribe???? This is so awful???? Baba, you could do this better, and this better, and- what the hell, take this out, oh my god..."

Also, his name in the au is 漠垣 Mo Yuán meaning North[ern] Wall, but his courtesy name is 漠 雪峰 Mo Xuefēng, meaning North[ern] Snow[y] Peak.

However, he is beloved by much of the palace staffers, who have watched him grow up much closer than any of Luo Bingge's children, who mostly grow up in the relative isolation of their courtyards and palaces and palace wings, so he is referred to by many of them by his nickname, 雪花 Xuehua, meaning snowflake.

So anyways, he meets + kinda grows up alongside many of the peak lords because he grows up spending a lot of time in the palace by virtue of his dads being, well, Mobei Jun and Shang Qinghua.

Shang Qinghua and Liu Mingyan, shippers prime and book club buddies into this universe (though Mo Yuan staunchly ignores all of LMY's writings because his face is wayyy too thin for that) immediately sees the way that the various children of Luo Bingge climb over each other in desperate attempts to charm and woo the chilly Mo Xuefeng...

and maybe eventually, how one son of Luo Bingge looks at him and how Mo Yuan looks back.

(I haven't decided what I want the pairing to be here.... oopsies y'all, come to y'alls own conclusions ig lmaooo)