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80s4life · 11 months

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No Time For ‘What If’s?’*

Word Count: 5,096

Status: Requested!

Ask: can I get a SFW/NSFW whatever. Cobra Kai John Kreese x f! reader student (who's 20+ and not in highschool) who sometimes looks at him a certain way but always looks depressed and Kreese took notice... {There's more, but I'm not giving away all the goodies}

@: @harlequinautumn

Summary: I decided to make this somewhat of a song inspired prompt. This is based off of the song "Daddy Issues" by The Neighborhood. I think you can see where this us going...

Warnings: some angst, fluff, smut, dd/lg type of energy, age-gap, master/sensei/daddy kink, teacher/student kink, READER is in her 20′s, self-consciousness, self-hate, uncomfortable with body issues, appearance, etc.

Masterlist Karate Kid Masterlist Cobra Kai Masterlist

{Gifs are not mine, credits go to @sensei-venus & @danlarussc}

Had to put this last gif here because GRAND DADDY...

Scribbling in the notebook, you try to hide the blush on your face with the final thought you write into it. ‘He touched my arm during practice to help me keep my balance. His hand was warm and comforting, yet strong and held the promise of security,’ you smile. It’s childish, you know that, but unlike most of the kids in Reseda, Kreese, or better known as Master Kreese in your diary, was a man. He held a great promise with his status and a stern maturity in his movements and emotions.

What’s more, he can manage to keep it in his pants, to both your comfort and frustration.

You look up, feeling his eyes on you and your smile instantly drops into a numb pout. You’ve loved him for as long as you could remember. It wasn’t your fault however, as it was never planned.

He was your Sensei in the beginning, knowledgeable and strong, stoic with knowledge. Somehow, you’d find as the more time you’d spent in his class and in the higher rankings, you grew tired of his teachings and more interested in him as a person. He kept his personal life private and away from public eyes - most certainly the cool teacher you could sneak into a bar or eat at a fast food restaurant with just to hang out. Soon your innocent interest had faded into something carnal, sinful. There was nothing you could do to stop the mind of a young adult, much less one that still held the feelings of her teenage years.

He made you feel like that little 15 year old girl every time he looked at you, unable to see his feelings through any aspect of his body. You could never tell if he was scrutinizing you or just plainly looking.

“Break’s over guys. Back to the mats!” he commands, eyes sliding from yours to encase the room through a tactical sweep.

Clasping the tiny lock through its metal bearing, you lock your diary with a click and shove it into your drawstring back, hurriedly shuffling back onto the mats to endure your next beating.

After about an hour of endless training without any breaks, Kreese glanced at the watch embracing his veined, muscular wrist, checking the time. Without a word, the class is ordered to do another set of push-ups before he calls it a day.

Huffing, you grab your tiny towel and lay it across your shoulders, using one of the ends to dab at your forehead. The boys pat you on your back as they start to gather their things, some heading to the showers to wash up quickly, others complaining about the homework they haven’t gotten to yet.

“God am I glad I don’t have to do that shit anymore,” you murmur, giggling as you could hear Tommy groan.

“Can I give you a call later, Y/N? Help me go over my essay for Mr. Whees?” Johnny asks, breathy and miserable.

“Sure Johnny Boy, but you’ll owe me an ice cream cone next time we head to the beach.”

“Sweet! Deal!” he punches your shoulder, speeding out of the dojo to get a headstart on finishing said writing that’s due tomorrow morning.

Giggling, you wave your goodbyes to some of the other guys as you grab your bag, walking slowly towards the showers, feeling the extent of your workout in your calves and knees. Stopping just short of the room, you peer into Kreese’s office, “Sensei?”

“Y/L/N,” he answers, the rumble of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m gonna head to the showers. It’s going to be a while, so if you need me to lock up, I can.”

“No, you’re fine, Y/L/N. I’ll be working on some paperwork for a while also.”

“Okay, thanks,” you blush, a small smile spreading on your lips as you slink off of the doorframe and continue your way to the showers.

In your drunken haze of lust, you had seemed to miss Kreese’s eyes slip to your bag, shiny pink diary having poked through the jagged holes in the old drawstring bag. He couldn’t help his curiosity, having taken notice to your attachment to the small object, always writing, always peering over its covers to see if anyone was watching. It was peculiar, and though he had been caught a few times, your reaction and apparent nervousness is what made him want to know exactly what was in that book.

Hearing as the soft hums of pleasure radiates with the heat of the streaming water, Kreese keeps a close eye on where your book lied, checking to see if any of the boys were left in the dojo. Walking towards the chairs at the front of the dojo - where you had last left your drawstring bag - Kreese closes the blinds of the dojo; the appearance of it being closed a small comfort and reassurance of another day spent and gone. No one else will try to come back in, no one will bother him.

He turns to leave and go back to his office, but his feet won’t carry him. Peering down at the loose drawstring bag, pink book still peeking out of its covers, he debates whether or not he should satiate his curiosity or infiltrate your personal space. Choosing the latter, he pulls the book slowly as to not mess with the bag’s positioning too much.

Walking back to his office, he leaves the door open a crack, the sound of the shower humming prompting him to see what’s been eating at him. What has been making you look so enthralled and sad at the same time. What’s been making you so mysterious.

Kreese almost doesn’t even want to open the book. He knows everything about his students, but you? You’re a mystery. A chase. He almost doesn’t want the high of the cat and mouse game to end. However, he just rolls his shoulders, prying the key to the lock from the bindings you had not-so-subtly tried to hide.

‘Silly Girl. So mature yet so naive,’ he thinks, unlocking the small metal that kept him from his answers.

Leaning back in his chair, he props his feet on his desk, opening the book at last. Shuffling through some pages, he comes to find this pink book as your diary. Delving deeper, he flips through some random pages, the headers and dates catching his eyes and honing in.

January 21st: The Reckoning

This date isn’t far different from any other day, just a date. However, the header is what piques his interest.

‘Another day at the dojo. Another array of cuts and bruises. Johnny and the boys are just finishing their first year as freshmen in highschool and I’m stuck here. 22, young, single, graduated, andddd no life plan ahead of me. I realized that my interest in Sensei Kreese is starting to feel different. I no longer want to know about him, I want to know everything. What type of coffee he likes, if he even likes coffee, what he does in his freetime, what does he like most in a partner? Ugh.’

January 22nd: The Realization

‘Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT! Rereading what I was feeling yesterday and watching it bloom tenfold has finally made me come to my senses. 8 years of practicing with this man and I finally catch whiff of what my so-called “interest” was and I finally come to my senses now? “Stupid Girl” as Kreese would say. Stupid Girl is right!’

A bemused smile perches on Kreese’s lips. It’s like high school all over again, and he’s the center focus. He flips a few pages more.

February 3: Valentines Sluts

‘February has just came around and so has my birthday. However, I keep seeming to find myself going into a Valentines craze. Almost as bad as high school. I stared at Master Kreese for a while during break today (thank God we got one). He was wearing his signature black gi with yellow accents, his arms string with veins of hard labor drawn into them. His hair was a bit scruffier and his eyes were a tired blue. God, how I could get lost in them. My eyes trailed down a bit though. Sorry...not sorry. I used an excuse that I rolled my ankle and needed to rest for a bit, but I only ended up watching him. How he helped the boys stretch and train. He worked so hard that his skin turn a light shade of red, sweat droplets sliding down his forehead to his cheekbones, jaw, down his neck, on his collar bones, and sadly, disappeared down his shirt. Oh what I would give to be that droplet of sweat. Almost as exciting as it would be if I could get him that riled up. Happy almost Valentines Day *winky face with heart eyes drawn on the side of page*’

Kreese lets out a low whistle, chuckling a bit. Suddenly, things were getting steamy. He’s a bit surprised by your diary; such a pristine, put together, grown woman, and here you are, displaying your thoughts like a horny teenager.

Skipping through more dates, Kreese finds more and more sinful readings, something small turning much greater. However, there were undertones of regret, sadness, and...lack of self worth. Not only have the thoughts gotten increasingly dirtier, but they also grew more insecure and sad. And, as the dates grew closer to present day, it seemed that all confidence and harmless thinking were starting to take a toll. You were no longer happy with yourself, however, you kept writing all your fantasies as if they would make you feel any better.

Finally, Kreese nears the end of your diary.

Today: Confusion

‘Again, I found myself staring at him. Again, I snuck away to write about him not even 10 feet away. And, again, I find myself no closer and so much farther away from the man I thought I was getting to know. I’m 25 now and still have the mental and physical strength of the lowly 14 year old that met him in high school. I’m starting to fear I will never get to tell him how I feel. Never get to live and explore. Never be enough for him. I almost got caught writing about him today and I couldn’t care less. If anything, maybe it would be a gateway to romance? Those hot scenarios I’ve built up, gotten off to, and scribbled down in these old pagers. But, those are all just more scenarios and fantasies never lived. Maybe it’s time to move on.’

You go on to think of your past, future, and present, and how any of it was either worth or waste of time. He wants to keep reading - wants to delve deep into your wondrous mind.

He didn’t hear the shower stop, too caught up in the insecurity you call yourself.

“Sensei?” your light voice calls out, hair damp and pinned in a clip. Rugged jeans with rips, converse, and a white cropped tee with black sleeves adorning your delicate features. Your brows are furrowed, a mixture of confusion, loss, and fear flashing in your E/C orbs; rounded by the initial surprise and emotions that cross you in such an unexpected predicament. “W-What are you doing?”

For a moment, Kreese just sits, book still open with the presence of his thumb on the page he’s left off on. He’s silent, studying you as he recounts all that he’s read from your book and more. “Reading your diary,” he states plainly, obviously. Truthfully.

You crumble on the spot, wanting to dig a hole and die in it. “Where’d you find it? Wait - How’d you unlock it?” you all but screech, going straight for your bag.

Kreese slings out of his chair and around his desk instantly, catching your wrist in the middle of the dojo.

“What are you doing, Sensei? Can’t you see I’m already embarrassed enough? You’re just making it worse-”

“Is all of this true?” he asks, holding the book up, now closed. His thub no longer holding his place. ‘Shit,’ he thinks, shaking his head.

“It’s a diary, isn’t it?” you try to lighten the mood, scratching the back of your neck and nodding to the front cover plainly stating, ‘DIARY’.

“Yes, but everything inside?”

“Every page, every day, for the past 8 years.” You figure it’s time to come clean, no matter the consequences. This has gone on for long enough, and by the looks of it, he’s not too mad at you. Or happy, or sad. In fact, now that you look at it, he looks as if he feels nothing.

You take a step back, your hand limply being allowed out of its hold, and briskly walk for your bag. Just as you go to walk for the door this time, the same warm, calloused hand wraps itself around your much tinier wrist, yanking you back the other direction. “Sensei, please,” you beg, “Just let me go home! I’ll never bother you again, and you can forget all about this ordeal. It’s really not that big of a deal!”

Pulling you through to his office, he turns and locks the door with a key. To ensure your inability to get out, he takes the key and places it in his front jean pocket and sits down on his side of the desk. Motioning for you to follow his lead, you just stand there.

Almost annoyed, he states, “Well, I’m not going to tell you again,” pointing to the chair opposite him.

Eyes rounded, you stare blankly from his face to the chair and back again. ‘Is he serious?’

Sitting down, you watch in horror as Kreese opens the book back up again, finding a specific page in your novelty of recountments. “Ah, here it is,” he chuckles.

Reading the page out loud, he starts with the header:

“June 11th: Midnight Blues

‘I took some time alone today. It seems everyday is getting harder and harder. Not only am I trying to finish my senior year, but I’m trying to find my way - my path. Sitting on the hood of my car, somewhere tucked behind the Hollywood sign (my hiding spot), I looked up and watched the stars and tried to get my plans in order.

Mom wants me to go to college in Charleston, SC with her, but Dad wants me to stay somewhere close and doesn’t care if I go to college or not. Mom’s got family down South, Dad has just me. Both are choices I don’t want to make; I don’t want to hurt either or’s feelings.

Then there’s Kreese. God how I love him. If I were to choose to leave or which parent, it would be a choice solely on where he will be or how he feels. But, then again, what does he feel? I mean, he would never look at a little girl like me. It’s disgusting, though I’m legal, and a big inconvenience. A little girl following a man who has seen all parts of the world with her tail wagging and eyes bugging out of her head at the sight of him. He’s grown, experienced, and independent. He would look for someone way older than me for sure. It’s only right, given they would share similar aspects to him.

No one ever looks at me. And neither will he.’”

“Ring a bell?” he asks, finishing off the page.

“It was the end of senior year and there was a whole ton of shit going on. I don’t remember much, i-it was 4 years ago. All I remember was being diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression sometime afterwards. Though, if I can add to that, I’d had it for years, but neither mom nor dad wanted to get me examined since I was 14. It was a shitshow that summer.”

“Do you really think such heinous things of yourself?” he asks, brows furrowing as he stands, looping around the desk slowly as he assesses you.

“Yes. There’s always been that little voice in the back of my head...” you trail off, fingers interlocking and fiddling to try and ease said stress, eyes locking with his in a trance.

“Where do you get that shit from?” he almost snarls, making you bow your head in shame. “Ah. Ah. I want to see those pretty eyes.”

“Why’s you read that page to me?”

“I wanted you to feel exactly as you felt then and try to sum up your thoughts and emotions. You see, I study you, and now, I’ve read you. Those feelings were never resolved...Why do you hate yourself so much, Babygirl?”

“I-I.” you stutter, trying to form some sort of answer. “I’ve never sought the validation I’ve needed.”

“And, why not?” he asks, arms splayed behind him and hands propping him up as he leans on his desk before you. Staring down at you.

“Because the only person I’ve ever needed validation from was you.” This time, you stand to meet his level, “I’ve never cared for what my parents thought because they only cared to one-up each other with me as their weapon. I never sought the validation of teachers because they only said what would get them more money in the end - once again, using me. I never sought validation from the girls or the guys at school because I’ve always been the odd one out. The only person I’ve ever sought validation from was you. You because you treated me as equal with the rest of the boys. You saw something in me that made me feel like I shined like a brand new corvette. So, you tell me: why have you always done that, knowing damn well I could’ve gone without it?” You got so close to him that you hadn’t realized the inches between you two, breath heavy with the long-held exasperation.

“That,” he points at you, “That fire. You’ve always had it. You shined through everyone else and paved your own way without making any noise, or causing any destruction. You’re a strong, beautiful force that somehow has managed to fall over and over again, yet always got back up and never sought anyone’s help.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you’ve finally heard what you’ve always waited for. He’s watched you all along, guided you. He’s ensured your safety since he had met you - 14 years old, scared, weak, and hopeless. You thought you’d never get out of that shithole you were stuck in, but you had Kreese.

Sniffling you couldn’t help your actions, hand grasping his black T-shirt and pulling him in. Your other hand goes for his cheek, cupping it and pulling him down to your height. Slowly, you allow yourself the reprieve of almost a decade with this man, lips just hardly touching each other. You’re waiting - waiting for him to turn his back and pull away, but it doesn’t come.

His huge hands grasp your waist to pull you in close, one hand leaving your hip to brace the back of your head, connecting his lips to yours. He pulls you as close as he can, your body getting up to straddle him on his desk, his arms crushing you chest to chest.

Your tears mix in to your kiss, the salty droplets of water mixing with the dancing of your tongues and you feel him squeeze. You grab at his shoulder, neck, chest, and soon grasp the hairs at the nape of his neck tenderly; starved for the attention and connection you’ve wished for ever since your teenage years.

He happily obliges, his own hand tangling in your hair at the base of your head and yanking it back - not hard, but strong enough to make you gasp at the excitement, sudden movement, and slight pain it had caused. His lips are on your neck now, suckling and licking at the coloumn of it, growling like a crazed animal about to eat its next meal.

You moan out, the action causing you to gasp again, eyes wide and mortified.

You can feel his cheshire grin on your neck, suckling a huge hickey into your collar bone with pride. Pulling back, he takes a good look at you, breathless, chest bouncing at the force of it, straddling his hips with your slimmer, toned ones - both from young age and practicing in the dojo.

His hands move from you head and back down to lay on your hips, “Tell me how you want me to take you. Or should I look at one of your excerpts? Hm?” he teases, hazely green eyes turning to dark, mossy embers.

“I’m sure you’ve read enough,” you tease back, breathing out with defeat and humor.

“I can think of something,” he assures.

Standing up, his hands supporting your weight by your thighs, he loops around the desk, placing you to sit on it. Slowly, he traces your thighs, then your hips, waist, outline of your breasts, collar bone to your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your eyes are glued to him, his arm slipping from your hand back up to the sleeves of your T-shirt, tugging at them, signaling for you to lift your arms.

He pulls your shirt off slowly, tantalizingly, taunting you as it is lifted over your head and thrown to the floor. He sucks in a breath, the sight of you leaving him silent. No words were spoken, but his lips were on your once more, forcefully taking you in like it’s his last time. ‘Impossible.’

Unbuttoning your jeans, he helps you off the desk to shimmy out of them, pulling you close to him once they’re thrown somewhere, too. He kisses in between your thighs, one for each, going to trace up your stomach. You stop him.

Looking at him with uncertainty, you’re hit with embarrassment and uncertainty.

“What’s wrong, Sweetheart?”

“It’s not you... I-It’s me.”

Deeply, he searches your eyes, already knowing the answer but searching for the confirmation. Sighing, he places a knuckle under your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet his. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, you’re gorgeous, Baby Girl.”

You still look at him hesitantly, which causes him to sigh again.

“Let me show you what I see,” he smirks, a softness in his eyes that tells you there’s nothing to be scared of. Just as he had throughout your highschool years: the drama, bullying, home life, and all.

You nod, hands grasping both sides of his face and pulling him in, kissing him sweetly. He whimpers a little bit, hoping you wouldn’t catch it, but you did. It ignites a fire deep within your gut.

He teases you, a finger sliding your underwear over to the side, fingers playing with your clit. You suck in a deep breath, back arching as you support your weight behind you, on your hands. His hands lays on your sternum, pushing you down further until your resting on your elbows.

Refusing to be pulled down, you sit back up, allowing him to play with you while you attempt to lift his shirt above his head, shakily. He watches you with amused eyes, liking the struggle your body portrays under the heat of his pleasure. He allows you to fumble around a bit more before he helps you out, lifting the bottom of his shirt and taking it off over his head. Hands going back to what they were doing prior.

Your eyes are glued to him, drinking him in as the fire burns brighter and hotter within your core. Greedily, you go for his belt, able to take it off with want and newfound strength as you grow more impatient.

You can hear him chuckle under his breath, pressing you back down by the sternum again, helping finish your goal. He removes the belt with one hand, pulling you off the desk and forcing you to face it. Taking the belt, he ties it around your wrists, tucking it into a drawer like a leash, too thick and sturdy to be able to pull it back out.

Whining, you look at him over your shoulder, begging him with your eyes.

“You’ve been a bad girl. Good girls don't get tied if they do as they’re told. You keep moving without permission, so I had to limit you. Now. If you use your words, you’ll get what you want.”

You moan in frustration, head spinning back to lay against the desk, arching your back and attempting to wiggle your ass against his crotch. But, to your disapproval, he takes a step back, watching you squirm.

You groan again, giving in, “Please, just fuck me.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Pulling your panties down to your ankles, Kreese teases and taunts you with a finger, sliding it through your folds and occasionally at your entrance, but as quickly as the finger is there, it’s off and somewhere else less needy.

“Goddammit! Fuck me, please!!” you grit out, growing antzy and frustrated with your head laid against the hardwood. If you weren’t tied down to the fucking desk, you’d take matters into your own hands by now.

He yanks your hair by the back of your head, pulling you up, the back of your head against his shoulder. His mouth nips your earlobe, whispering, “I’d watch your tone if you want me to give you what you want.”

“Yes, Master,” you grit out, smiling as you feel his whole body grow still.

Letting go of your hair instantly, his pushes your head down into the desk, taking his member in one hand as the other makes sure you are fully prepared. Without warning, he plunges in about halfway, giving you time to adjust, although surprised by the intrusion.

You groan loudly, your voice echoing off the desk with force. You can feel him shake with pleasure within you, a loud, breathy moan releasing from his lips. Nodding your head weakly, he starts to set a pace within you, making sure he’s arched enough to tease your G-spot.

You moan again, hands clutching the vice he’s got you trapped in. “Say it again,” he yells, starting to thrust deeper, the pleasure building.

He’s starting to go off the edge quickly, but you can’t let him. Not yet. “Untie me first,” you order plainly, refusing to give him what he wants just yet. “It’s my turn.”

He shuckles with a little annoyance, but otherwise pulls out, slightly shoving you out of the way so he can quickly untie the belt. Because of the force he’d given you at a simple command, you decide to give him just as much of a hard time.

Once untied, you turn to face him, a sultry smile on your face, a devilish look in your eye. Using the same force he had applied, you shove him into his desk chair, forcing him to sit when the chair hits the back of his knees. Slowly, you go to straddle his hips, your raises above him, teasing him.

“Masters aren’t supposed to be so mean if they are promised to get what they want, are they?”

“N-No,” he stutters, the change in demeanor so delicious to soak in. You have him wrapped around your little finger.

“’No’, what?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Good enough,” you giggle, grinding down into him, bottoming out inside of you.

He whimpers out again, the sound music to your ears. Slowly you set a pace, his hands coming down to grasp your hips and help you grind in perfect tandem. Together, you bounce, while he charges up to meet you, slowly grinding you forward and backwards a bit, too. The motion makes you gasp, the perfect mixture of friction and being full of him. You moan out, your hands laying on top of his tightly as you feel the edge creeping slowly.

“Call me again,” he groans out, head leaning back onto the headrest of the chair.

“Look me in the eyes.”

Doing as you asked, he looks at you fully, a bit of heat rising to the surface and making him a tint of red from the chest up. A sheen of sweat covers the both of you, making you both shine in the dim lighting of the room. “Master.”

His head throws back into the shair again, his thrusts intensifying in speed and force. You whine out, grabbing his biceps now, nails digging. “Master, make me finish. Please.”

His hands dig into your hips, forcing your body down as he charges faster, the chair squeaking. Your moans get louder and louder, more frequent with the force applies. “I-I’m gonna cum,” you warn, too close to wait for permission.

Just as you feel the tight knot snap, you’re filled with his warm seed, one hand moving from your hip to yank your hair again, his lips capturing the colum of your neck as he bites down, a deep growl releasing as he fills your with his potential kids.

You ride your high until there’s nothing left, jumping at the overstimulation or any contact at all. Finally releasing his hold, his hands lay on your thighs as yours rest on his shoulders, catching your breath.

You giggle, opening your eyes after a moment to look at him. You kiss his lips sweetly, a grin on his face as well as he admires you. “I love you, Kreese. Always have.”

He chuckles as he tucks your head in the crook of his neck, hands rubbing your back, fingers playing with the clasp of your bra. “I love you, too, Y/L/N.”

“Y/N.”

“John.”

“John,” you mimic.

“Y/N,” he copies, chuckling as he plays with your hair.

“’February 14th: Valentines Day’,” Kreese recounts the page he had engraved in his head. That was one of your dirtiest of fantasies.

You gasp, swatting his shoulder as your cheeks burn with the reminder, “You Devil!”

May 28th: When Two Hearts Intertwined.

106 notes · View notes

80s4life · 2 years

Text

When A Door Closes (Another One Opens)*

Word Count: 3,057

Status: Requested!

Ask: i have a request for john kreese. . . so basically he has a long day at the dojo, coming home in a bad mood, only to see that the reader has surprised him with dinner and lingerie. and he takes his frustrations out on her. with an age gap and daddy kink and maybe some fluffy (or as fluffy you can get with him lol) aftercare if you so wish <3

@: A spicy, SPICY anon that awakened something in me istg

A/N: Below, there is a provided link of lingerie I picked out, however, it doesn't have to be used and it can be whatever you choose. This is just what I used and described for this! Go wild!

Fandom: Karate Kid/ Cobra Kai Series (could really be any age of Kreese at this point, man never gives up on karate)

Relationship: John Kreese x Female!Reader

Summary: He works hard, day and night, 24/7, 7 days a week, 4 weeks a month, 12 months a year. The man lives and breathes for the children and Cobra Kai, but sometimes, and only sometimes, the pressure is just too much. Even for big bad, John Kreese.

Warnings: smut, fluff, daddy kink (as promised), lingerie, teasing, oral (f! receiving), age-gap pairing, strong language, aftercare, degrading (not sexual)

Masterlist Karate Kid Masterlist

Key: Y/B = Your Beverage (I didn't choose Your Alcoholic Beverage becasue some people don't like to drink)

{gifs are not mine, credits go to @danielslaw & @nautilusgf}

DADDDYYYY

Today really wasn't one of those days.

Not only has Johnny decided to pick a fight and come in with the biggest attitude Reseda has ever seen, but he also was unfocused, sloppy and directed every snarky idea he'd had at Kreese. Tommy was nervous and fidgety, Dutch was unbothered and unfocused, Jimmy was lost, and Bobby was just trying to go through the motions. However, despite every attempt Kreese had given, no order was to be set into place today.

Not when the tournament is tomorrow.

Sighing deeply through his nose, he gives it one last try, "Fall in line!"

Grumbling, the boys do as follows, trudging over and straightening their forms, hands outstretched stiffly before them, fists clenched at their thighs.

"Now," Kreese demonstrates a punch, high knee, defensive step back, high kick, then falls back into place, "Repeat!"

Begrudgingly, the boys try to follow along, but truthfully, only Tommy was truly paying attention. Although they were following through with their commands, they were tired, weak and annoyed. Since 12 this afternoon, they'd been hard at work, going through the motions to ensure perfection for tomorrow, but time's caught up with them and no breaks truly brought all of them to their breaking points.

It was in Kreese's best intentions to train them for their grand finale - their chance to prove their excellence to the whole town. He's overworking them, sure, but they needed to be ready. Not only to beat that LaRusso kid and his mentor, but to be able to leave that arena tomorrow as champions. He knew they had that ability, he knew his students.

"God dammit! Enough!" he screams, the children losing focus on what they were instructed to do. Face reddening, Kreese tries to calm the rage threatening to bubble over and consume him whole. "Is this a dojo or a fucking daycare?"

Straightening their stances once more, all humor leaves their faces, visibly paling under Kreese's scrutiny.

"Did I train babies or champions?" he asks, staring daggers into each one of the boys. "Hm?"

"Champions, Sensei!" they chant. All except Johnny, who instead, chooses to roll his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you, Lawrence. Something you want to inform the class?"

Looking straight into their eyes, Johnny says nothing, doesn't even move an inch.

"I asked you a question, I will not repeat myself," he warns, gritting his teeth at the adolescent.

"No, Sensei," he spits back.

"Good," a smug smile appears on Kreese's face, "Class is dismissed. Get cleaned up, eat, get some sleep, and be back here early in the morning for dressing and bussing. We have a tournament to win."

With that, the boys move almost instantaneously, muttering complaints amongst themselves as they quickly take their leave, too afraid that if they were to stay, they'd be forced to practice more.

Sighing deeply for what feels like the millionth time today, Kreese checks up on the office, arranging some files, but otherwise leaves everything as it is. Too tired to do much else, he switches off the lights with his keys in hand, closing the blinds and locking the front doors with a soft turn of his keys. Hopping in the truck, he turns the radio off, puts the windows down and speeds down the highway, wanting to get as far away from the dojo as possible for now.

When his car pulls into the driveway, he turns the ignition off with a grumble, placing his head on the steering wheel in order to compose himself. It's only inevitable that if he doesn't drop the attitude at the door now, he'll be sleeping on the couch tonight.

***

Hearing the familiar thrum of the engine outside, you quickly dry your hands off with a towel, going to check yourself at the door as you go to greet him. {x}

You can feel your pulse buzzing beneath your skin as you adjust the straps, making sure to pull the cups down and around to allow more cleavage to show, pulling the straps of the thong just a tad higher for your own approval. Giggling, your eyes catch the bow on your back, adding to the little maid touch you had in mind when you picked it.

It was a simple number, not too much and not too little, but you liked it. You knew of how hard Kreese had been working and the stress the dojo had been putting on him. Today was his night, and you were going to shower him like a king.

Opening the door with a wide grin, your eyes land on ones of deep frustration and annoyance, hands playing with keys as they jangle and rattle, locking his truck door.

Turning around, he stops in his tracks, eyes scanning your frame from head to toe. With a giggle, you lean against the door frame, giving a cheeky grin paired with a delicate wave, "Hiya, Handsome."

A small smile falls onto his lips instantly, walking up to the porch to greet you. Bending down, he goes to peck your cheek, "Is this all for me?"

Dodging his lips, you open the door wider and push yourself closer to the frame, allowing himself more access into your shared home. "Maybe, maybe not."

With a low growl, Kreese trudges in, placing his keys on the rack and taking his boots off with his feet, hanging his coat up as he goes. Sniffing the air, he smiles, "Something smells good," and beelines to the kitchen.

Standing at the door for a moment more, your smile falls a bit, dejection striking right through your heart while your close and lock the front door, jogging past him in order to prevent him from entering the kitchen. "No," you hold up a hand, "Go sit down. I've got this."

Without much of an argument, he spins on his heel, grabbing a bottle of Scotch from the bar as he breezes into the dining room, eyes glazing over the ornate display you've set for him.

The table was decorated for two, rose petals dancing around the unused areas with not much of the hard wood shown underneath the sheer amount. The plates were set on either end, napkins neatly folded with the fine china glinting under the dim chandelier light, wine glasses placed to the left of both mats everything way laying on top of.

You watch patiently from the kitchen, leaning on the island as you watch, waiting for a reaction. Acknowledgement. Appreciation. Anything.

However, he just simply huffs, apparently amused at the seemingly childish display of affection you had so patiently, meticulously placed. Claiming one of the ends, he sits down, peeling the brand new label off of the Scotch you bought today with his teeth, pouring a hefty glass into the wine glass on the table.

Once more, you feel the pang straight into your gut, trying to fight the wave of irritation at his dismissive behavior. No, his asinine, entitled, arrogant behavior.

Not only had he so much as given you a once-over, but there was nothing else and he'd only been here for 20 minutes.

Saving face once again, you put the kitchen gloves on your hands, pulling the roast out of the oven and kicking it closed with your heel. Slowly, you pace your way to the dining table as seductively and politely as possible, making sure to put on a show of bending over when placing the pot on the heating mat at the center.

Taking the gloves off, you put them back in their respective place, grabbing your favorite bottle of Y/B to pour into your glass. To add to your annoyance, although small and petty, you thought he would've had the common decency of getting it for you.

"Dig in," you smile, allowing him to stand first, filling his plate with carrots, celery, pot roast, mushrooms, and some of the gravy they were slow-cooked in.

You soon follow silently and before long, dinner is going by quickly without a word spoken. Your irritation had bloomed into self-righteous anger and you let it show, all of your emotion written all over your face and body language.

Sitting back in your seat, your cross one leg over your knee, arms crossed loosely over your chest. Kreese, across the table, sits with his hands folded on his stomach, legs spread and eyes staring straight back into yours.

You can't tell if he's testing you or not, but whatever it is isn't going to last another second.

"You gonna tell me what the fuck your problem is or do you want me to play the guessing game?"

He snorts, rolling his eyes at the snide attitude, "What happened to the sweet housewife act?"

"It dropped the second the Dickhead shot down all of her hard work she'd done all day."

Kreese shrugs, eyes boring holes into yours, unwavering in your stare-down.

"Fine, you won't tell me, I'm not going to keep catering to you. You can sit here and have your pity party by yourself."

Roughly pulling out your chair, you don't bother to push it back in, going to walk past him as you leave the dining room, throwing the napkin somewhere on the table in annoyance. Striding out of the room, you take your bottle with you, taking a large swig, going to the kitchen to grab your keys.

Spinning around, you are met with calloused hands grabbing your hips, roughing throwing you into the island behind you. "Get the fuck off me, Kreese, I'm going home."

He doesn't listen to you, instead, his hands play with the thin material of the sheer lingerie, stroking your sides. Head dipping down, his teeth graze your earlobe, "You're so sexy when you're angry." Slowly, his head dips lower, biting your beck lightly, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You're an Asshole, you know that?"

"You can tolerate it," you can hear the smile in his voice, tongue licking a stripe from the base of your neck back up to your ear, placing another bite.

Whimpering, you mentally curse yourself for falling into his games so easily, hands slipping underneath his shirt, playing with the shirt hairs of his happy trail and tugging hard.

Yelping, he pulls back, allowing you enough space to break out. Briskly, you grab the keys back off the counter and trudge towards the door once more. This time, you are able to make it to the door, but just as you open it, a hand tugs on yours again.

Pulling you to him again, Kreese hoists you up and over his shoulder, preventing your from any further escape, closing the door and locking it as it was before. "Nice try," he giggles, "but you're not leaving that easy."

Groaning, you punch at his back and squeal, a hard smack landing right on your open ass. Walking past the front of the house, he takes you down the hall to the bedroom, opening and closing the door, then throwing you onto the bed with a soft bounce.

Scrambling to spin around, Kreese strips his shirt, puling you to the edge of the bed by your ankles. Grabbing your jaw with one large hand, his mouth collides with yours, your hands going to fiddle with the belt on his jeans.

Undoing the buckle and pulling it through the loops, you're quick to pull on his zipper, but his hands are quick to stop you. Rather, he helps rid you of your bra, pulling it up and over your head. "Such a pretty little thing, such a shame it had to go," he remarks with no remorse, watching as your breasts spring free, nipples hardening at the change in temperature.

You go to pull of your thong, but with a shake of his head, you stop your hands at the waist band, watching as he strips himself of his dark denim jeans, underwear close behind.

"Sit back, Baby," he instructs. Bracing yourself back on your elbows, his hands pull you even further off the bed until your ass reaches the end.

Hooking your knees on his shoulders, he bends down on his knees before you and with a sly grin, his head delves between your thighs. Sliding the thong to the side, his tongue flattens and licks a long, wide stripe over the entirety of your mound, then gives your lips one large suck.

Groaning, you arch closer to him, "Stop teasing, you've been enough of a Dick today."

A deep, full laugh, erupts from him, vibrating your core and making you whine again in want. Finally giving in, his lips attach to your aching clit, working in intervals of sucking and lapping at your moist skin.

Your hand attaches itself to his hair, pulling his head impossibly closer, moaning his name as the pressure starts to build in slow, pleasurable waves.

His tongue laps at your folds, occasionally flicking your clit. Adding his finger, another one soon follow as he works you open, your stomach tightening as you arch and flex at the impossible bliss.

Just as you feel the familiar knot begin to build, Kreese completely removes himself from you, backing away and standing before you with a satisfied smile plastered on his face.

Groaning, you throw your head back in annoyance, jumping when his hands find your waist again. Pulling you up, he turns you around and pushes you farther up the bed.

In annoyance, you attempt to get back up and tell him off, but his hand pins your head back into the cushions, the other placing weight on the small of your back as he lines himself up behind you, forcing you to arch up.

Stroking himself a few times, Kreese teases his tip at your entrance, pushing in slowly, allowing the head and then pulling back out again. Whining, you clench around nothing, his hand sliding his tip through your folds to gather your slick.

"Beg," he orders.

"Please," you muffle through the pillows.

"Please what, Baby Girl? You're going to have to use your words."

"Please fuck me. Take it out on me. All of it, I want it all!"

His hand hooks the small material of your thong to the side, he pushes in with one hard thrust, gasping as the sudden warmth and fill. Allowing you to adjust, he slowly ruts into you until he's buried to the hilt. You both sigh in content, giving a thumbs up jokingly as you allow him to move.

He starts small, but as he continues, the stresses of the day come back into the forefront of his mind. Growling, he grabs a handful of your hair, yanking it back as he starts to pick up the speed. Thrusting harder, you struggle to stay in place, hands coming up to latch onto the headboard, crying out as he continues his merciless pace.

His hand comes down to slap your ass, then gives another for good measure. His hands come down to dig into your hips, fingers feeling like daggers as they latch on, the slapping of skin and your moans being the only noises in the room.

The bed creaks as he slams in harder, throwing you forward as he continues his assault, another slap to you ass. Red hand prints decorate each of them equally, stinging in the cool of the room, your sweat adding to the force of each hit.

You whine, clenching around him impossibly harder. "K-Kreese."

"Ah-Ah-Ah," he tuts.

"D-Daddy!" you cry, white-knuckling the headboard.

"Go ahead, come. Come all over Daddy's cock."

You combust within seconds, jerking as he continues to ram you from the back through your mind numbing orgasm. Knees quaking, Kreese doesn't let up, head thrown back with his eyes closed. You moan again, your walls taut against his unsatisfied cock.

"Come for me, Daddy. Come inside. I want to feel you," you whine, eyes watering at the overstimulation.

Sure enough, his thrusts become sloppy and irregular, his seed bursting in you in hot, sticky loads. Growling beastly and carnal, he chokes on air, mouth wide open as he gasps for air. He slowly rides his orgasm, igniting a second from you out of surprise.

Feeling as his cock softens inside you, you hiss as he slides back out. He watches with bewildered amusement as he cums seeps out of your tiny hole, the white liquid dribbling out and onto the deep red sheets.

"Stay," he warns sweetly, going to the bathroom to grab a towel.

Coming back, he makes sure to lightly wipe, jerking as he pats your overworked parts. Cleaning up as best he can, he wipes at the sheets, too, throwing the towel somewhere on the floor.

Dropping onto the bed, you slip out of the thong, the material now a sticky and annoying constriction. Kreese follows behind you, laying in bed beside you, pulling the covers up to cover the both of you.

Turning to face him, you give him a playful smirk, "I guess my plan worked, huh?"

"I needed that," he grins.

You snort, "You need a good beating, too."

He playfully rolls his eyes, pulling you in to rest your head in the crook of his arm and chest, the other splayed across your waist.

"An apology would be nice," you joke halfheartedly. You really did want that apology, but that wasn't Kreese's nature; he didn't want to be wrong and most certainly doesn't want to admit to it when he is. "Just don't pull that shit anymore. I'm not just some punching bag."

He nods with a tired blink of acknowledgement. That's good enough. Pecking his cheek, you turn in his arms, tucking your head beneath his,. Your hands tangle with his, interlocking your fingers and with a smile, allow sleep to overcome you.

Just though the haze before you sleep, however, you hear his voice whisper, deep and low, "I'm sorry, Baby Girl," his arms squeezing you in just a tad bit closer.

BONUS!!! I found this meme funny and I've seen it a million times, so here:

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