#boyfriends dad

[admirxation]

Actress / Leon Kennedy oneshot

boyfriends dad!Leon Kennedy x afab!reader

summary: your boyfriend has brought you home to meet his father, but it turns to a non conventional meeting when your boyfriend goes to sleep.

cw: this fic contains cheating, I do not condone everything I write; this is just fiction where real people cannot get hurt, please read the warnings and continue at your own discretion // 18+ heavy smut (mdni), cheating, kissing, touching, tit grabbing, grinding, fingering (f receiving), finger sucking, degrading, unprotected sex (p in v), and creampie.

word count: 2.8k

thank you @valslullaby for this idea, my fellow older man lover, please check their fics as well they’re so good

When you told people you were going to college, the description and the idea of college tended to be romanticised, further enticing you to the whole ‘college experience.’ These conversations usually involved older people looking back on those former years through rose-tinted glasses and appreciating the simpler times, wanting to regress to that time when troubles weren’t as hard, where your biggest stress was getting an assignment in last minute compared to getting the rent due and food on the table for you and the whole family. The conversation tended to have them blissfully remembering how much they could drink and how they could handle the hangovers back then, remembering how easy it was to make friends in the same class as you and all they could do now was focus on a good credit score and getting on the property ladder.

But the conversation of college didn’t just come with remembering the good times; it came with some advice, some embarrassing advice you didn’t want to hear about—the sex talk. When you accepted your dream college's offer, the “be safe” talk was constantly repeated; you remembered how you wanted time to quicken and have the conversation end every time it started. You understood that they just wanted to keep you safe; after all, you would rather them tell you what to avoid than just outright forbid and have you get into some serious trouble—but who in their right mind wants to want to discuss their sex life with their parents?

The conversation consisted of the basics you already knew: you can say no anytime (obviously), make sure he uses a condom, watch how much you drink and who you’re going home with, the usual safety many people knew and practised. However, while you remembered it all in exact order to recite, you never thought you needed to use it when you entered the dorms since you didn’t have much luck when it came to your love life. That was until you met him—your current boyfriend.

You two were in the same class, him sitting next to you; it started with him acting stupid and you sharing your notes, compliments on how smart you are, later going to the same afterschool study sessions, then getting closer with every day that went past. At first, you didn’t think too much of it, thinking this would be a casual relationship that would end in the first semester, but then you started seeing each other more frequently; he was even buying you countless gifts that made you wonder what in the hell he was doing to afford it all. Then it turned to him meeting your parents; you tried not to admit it to yourself, but you wished that they wouldn’t like him, hoping to use it as an excuse to end things, but alas, they loved and approved of him, commending you for your “great taste” in picking a partner. You just smiled and hugged him that night as he gushed about his excitement about what they thought, but all you could think when nestled on his chest was: I’m forever stuck.

He was lovely and a nice enough guy, but something about him was off, maybe a touch of immaturity, not having much in common or just an outright lack of interest. Continuing your cowardly streak, you agreed to meet his father, wishing things would pick up after his first meeting.

The days rushed by when it came to driving back to his place, and you received constant text messages from your parents reminding you to be polite and make a good impression. A part of you was thinking about pretending to be rude and unlikeable, but you couldn’t bear someone thinking of you like this, especially an adult, after being raised to respect your elders, like most people.

You were quiet for the whole car ride, not sharing a single word, hoping he would perhaps disapprove of you—a girl could wish to get the easy way out.

As you two approached the front door, you heard heavy footsteps come closer and the clicking sound of a door unlocking. Later, you were in Mr. Kennedy’s gaze. You gave him a warm smile, watching his eyes widen as he quickly looked you up and down.

“Ah, it’s lovely to finally meet the mystery girl my son can’t shut up about,” he said, seeing your boyfriend roll his eyes in embarrassment as he entered his house. “Come in, come in.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kennedy,” you showed him respect.

“Oh, no need for formalities, just call me Leon… Mr. Kennedy makes me sound so old; I don’t need the reminder of how the years have slipped by,” you couldn’t help but let out a small giggle at his words; you never imagined his father to be like this, the way he described him didn’t fit the current person you were greeted with. Your boyfriend described how much he looked up to him, how he was his whole world and that he would trust his instincts; if he disliked something, he would dislike it; if he loved something, he would try his best to find a love for it. At first, you found it ridiculous how much he needed Daddy’s approval; you even told him he ought to just make his own thoughts. But standing there in his presence, you could understand; he had a gentle and subtle touch of influence in his stance, but also an overwhelming quality about him that made you want to follow his will.

Another thing you couldn’t deny was how attractive Leon was. You expected some normal military dad who was such a bore, but you couldn’t help but steal a few glances at the attractive older man.

For the whole night, Leon made you feel welcome, helping you with your bags and asking you for any refreshments you would like; your boyfriend mentioned how he hadn’t seen him so happy and eager for years; it must have been the presence of a lady, you thought. You forgot about the desire to have him dislike you; you even thought of continuing to ignore those feelings as nervousness in the relationship, but at the moment, you were so invested in everything Leon was doing and saying to you—you couldn’t describe the feeling he had over you.

As the night wore on, you saw your boyfriend’s eyes get heavier, but you were still wide awake as your conversations with Leon continued at the same pace as in the early afternoon, all the way to the late evening.

“I think I’m going to bed now; I’ll see you tomorrow,” your boyfriend gently kissed your cheek, automatically reciprocating it as he trudged upstairs back into his room, hearing the heavy door click into place.

Your heartbeat picked up when you noticed it was just you and Leon in the same room. You thought about all those thoughts you had when you first saw him, how you analysed his stature, how you looked at how his biceps filled the sleeves of his shirt, trailing down to his hands and how he used them in his manner of speech.

Whatever junk was playing on the television went on for a few minutes after your boyfriend had gone to sleep, and you noticed how Leon leaned back in his chair and listened carefully toward the bottom of the stairs, trying to hear if your boyfriend had gone to sleep already.

“He’s a fast sleeper,” you tried to break the silence. “I’m quite jealous of people who can hit the pillow and sleep -” You weren’t expecting to be cut off.

“Hmm,” a smirk played at the corner of his lips, making your curiosity peak. “You know, you’re a very good actress.”

“E-excuse me?”

“I know you don’t love him, gods, that kiss was pathetic… I know you don’t want to kiss in front of his old man, but that kiss was… plain… Does he really eat this shit up?” You were shocked how he saw through your facade; no one, not even your friends, who thought they knew you better than anyone, could see your true feelings. You felt anxious, like a cold spike that hung around your heart, that sensation in your chest; you were nervous about how he looked through, but in a way, relieved? Relieved that someone could finally see how you were walking on eggshells in your so-called ‘serious relationship.’

You sighed: “I’m sorry… Sir… I didn’t —”

“…Just because I’ve seen through your little act doesn’t mean I think of you differently.”

“Why? I’m kind of wasting your son's time,” you paused for a moment, “I didn’t mean for it to go as far; I just wanted something casual, and I—”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, sweetheart, I don’t need to hear the excuse… I always knew… He showed me pictures of you… I was shocked he wasn’t making it up; in all honesty. A very pretty girl I thought, and I’m glad my theory was right.”

“You’re going to tell him when he wakes up?” you wanted to be prepared for when he would take the news, trying to talk to yourself and make sure you came clean until you heard Leon’s next words that curated a shake into your core.

“No, I think he can find out when he uses his brain… But I will say, this information does make me happy.” Your eyebrow peaked in interest, and you wondered what he meant. “It makes me feel less guilty.”

“For what?”

“Don’t play coy… I’ve seen how you’ve been looking at me,” you blushed as you swished your head to avoid eye contact, your heart thumping like an animal in a cage the moment you heard and felt him get closer, sneaking into the cushioned seat right next to you, placing his fingers on your chin and turning you to face him, “Don’t be shy now. I have to say I was excited to see that beautiful girl in the pictures; I’m quite glad she’s right in front of me now.”

“I, I, don’t think we-”

“Oh, now you’re a good person?” he teased with a taunting tone in his voice, slowly leaning back, “If you want me to stop, I will… just say the word, dear,” he tilted his head to the side, showing you he was hearing out for a ‘no’.

You couldn’t deny how much you were curious about what he was thinking. You were ashamed but also wanted to indulge in how Leon thought about you. You bit the bottom of your lip softly, slightly licking your lips as you briefly thought about what you were doing. You thought about the implications of cheating on your partner, for a little bit of fun, especially with his father, but that part of you couldn’t care about the right thing as you had Leon staring at you.

“Fine, I’ll —”

“No, wait… I don’t want you to stop,” you say in one breathless sentence.

“Hm,” he leaned in closer, placing his hand on your cheek as he brought you to his lips, “Just tell me when you wanna stop, darling,” he said as he pressed his lips onto yours for a moment, “and don’t worry… I’ll keep your little secret. For now.”

Your heartbeat continued to beat quickly, and you felt your blood rush through your body as you closed your eyes and got lost in his kiss; your lips brushed and glided against one another, and his tongue slid slightly in your mouth and smoothed over and around your tongue. You softly moaned into the kiss as your began to lose yourself even more, your fingers trickling through his blonde hair, feeling yourself drift into the experience as he pulled you closer as he placed his hand on your lower back and collided his body against yours, your arms wrapped around him as he slithered up to your chest.

His hand rose to breast, squeezing the mound that drew soft and whispered moans, continuing to meld into your soft plush as he continued to kiss you through your tender sighs; you instinctively moved your leg around his, making invitation for Leon for push you further into the sofa, not breaking from the countless interlocks and sensual touching. You felt him grind along your clothed pussy, feeling his growing bulge along your cores heat, pushing and rubbing against you as he continued to sway his hips forward and grind into your pussy that was already getting wetter the more the kiss and touches deepened.

He moved from your breast, grinding his index finger on your already hardened nipple, smirking at you not wearing a bra: “hm, you come prepared,” he said as you left a final strong squeeze and continued to graze down your torso, slithering to your core and lifting your dress up, placing a collective of his fingers along the wet patch of your underwear.

“You’re already soaked, you dirty girl,” he whispered in you ear, before leaving a subtle nibble on your earlobe that drew a deeper breath from your lips, arching your back into him as he continued to rub along your covered clit, squirming as his fingers went in perfect circular motions.

“Mm, fuck,” you moaned in a whispered hush, biting your lip as Leon stared at your core, no longer being able to wait as he wrapped his fingers underneath the waistband and travelled the material down your hips, staring at your glistening wet cunt as he discarded the cloth onto the floor, lost in thought as he proceeded to touch your heat, feeling how wet you were the more he circled along the bundle of nerves, your puffy clit stimulated more and leaving you to try your best to keep hushed tones.

“You’re such a beautiful girl,” he whispered to you, then proceeding to place his hand over your mouth, “now try to be quiet darling… we have a secret to maintain.”

He pushed his index and middle finger inside your wet hole, creating a catalyst for your widened eyes and drawing in air for a deep gasp as you felt his long fingers penetrate inside of your walls, feeling him pump in and out, using his thumb to press along your needy clit; your eyes rolled to the back of your head, exposing the whites and seeing a blurred vision as your walls tightened around his fingers, making his cock grow harder against his pants.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he expressed as he continued to pump his fingers, licking his lips as he felt and heard how wet you were, “and all because of me… easy to please a slut.”

Your breathing hitched into a tremble as he poked the right spots, a tingling sensation within you as you closed your eyes and got lost in his expertise before he slowly took away your excitement, feeling your hole flutter from neglect as you stared at him licking his fingers: “you’re a sweet treat,” he complimented as he wrapped his fingers around his trousers and glided them off, seeing his large member and feeling it slap against your pussy.

“Do you want this?” he asked as he positioned himself to your entrance.At first you nodded to which he replied: “be a good girl and use your words, or I’ll leave you squirming.”

“Yes… I w-want you, p-please L-“

“You can call me sir now.”

“P-please Sir. I need you.”

“Good girl.”

He slotted his length to slide into your aching hole, pressing the head of his cock against your walls before hitting the cervix with his tip; “god, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned as he swayed his hips as he continued to fuck you.

Saliva collected at the corners of your lips, as your body swayed up and down as Leon pressed his hands into gripping your waist, pounding his length inside you and you trying your best not to scream out; oxygen felt scarce the more you gasped in need for him.

“Shh, shh, shh, try to keep that pretty mouth quiet darling,” he cooed as he continued to rock forcefully inside you, feeling a wave inside you about to erupt in motions.

Your eyelids fluttered as your walls spasmed around Leon’s large cock, feeling his balls slap against your ass, him lifting your legs around his neck to get deeper and bruising your delicate cervix even more.

Your blood rushed through your veins all at once, as you released a muffled and large orgasm trapped by his hand over your mouth, feeling your stomach coil up into a knot as you released and made a mess all over Leon; but he didn’t care, as he continued to push further and deeper as he watched your tits bounce to the rhythmic thrusts he gave to you.

Before you could recover from your orgasm, feeling your cunt continue to pulsate, you felt Leon’s movement quicken into rougher grinds; as your moans got more laboured and strenuous you felt him drape your walls with his hot cum, swimming out and covering your walls and pooling out, making such a mess.

In a moment of recovery, Leon stopped to catch his breath, keeping himself inside of you and watching you gasp for air, before dictating you: “Go clean yourself up, no one likes a messy slut.”

a/n: the partners dad leon fics are literally my favourite to write atm, and i’m glad to see so many people going feral over them hehe. just wanted to note that i am working on father in law leon kennedy series, and im thinking of not continuing the las plagas series as i don’t find myself or others liking it. thanks for anyone that reads and I appreciate and am grateful for all the engagement.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #smut #boyfriends dad!leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader smut #cheating leon kennedy #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x you #fanfiction #leon s kennedy x reader #cw cheating #boyfriends dad #leon kennedy imagine #imagine #leon kennedy imagine smut #death island leon kennedy #death island #leon death island

[chelseypprimrose]

The Boy’s a Liar / bfd!Negan x Reader / no-apocalypse AU 🧟

Warnings: daddy kink, breeding kink, boyfriendsdad!negan, oral (female receiving) use of belt, squirting, swearing, use of degrading names, general Negan ness, voyerism, unprotected sex, reader is a little evil to her boyfriend : NOT PROOFREAD YET

Summary: Reader finds out her boyfriend cheated on her via a Snapchat story, she takes sweet revenge with her boyfriend’s hot as fuck dad.

A/N: I’ve never wrote for breeding kink before so please be kind lol 🤍 I had a lot of fun with this one!

“Fucking waste of my damn time.” You cursed yourself, boys are so stupid. You couldn’t stop watching the Snapchat story of your boyfriend’s best friend, your boyfriend so obviously kissing a woman that wasn’t you. Not a care in the world, disrespecting you and the values you held in a loyal relationship. You didn’t know it this was a common occurrence that you just hadn’t noticed or a drunken one off. Not that it mattered, it was still a betrayal of your trust.

Eyes glossy with tears, you were driving towards your boyfriend’s house that he shared with his father, Negan. You didn’t even have a speech prepared, what you were going to say, if this was the final nail in the coffin of your relationship, your mind was running at a mile a minute.

Pulling into the driveway, you turned off the engine and put your car keys into your handbag, getting out and walking with purpose to the front door, your heels slamming on the concrete floor. You knocked on the door loudly, no answer. You knocked again, your hand shaking with annoyance.

The door finally opened but it wasn’t your boyfriend who stood before you, it was Negan.

“Hey doll, what you doing here so early? I was just making breakfast if you wanted any?” He offered before he took a proper look at your face, noticing the black tears of mascara that ran softly down your face.

“I don’t know what kind of fucked up morals you’ve taught your son, Negan, but I thought you were a better man. Obviously I was wrong.” You said with spite, you were letting your feelings be known to anyone who would listen. It was just unfortunate that it was the wrong person to direct your anger towards.

Technically, Negan hadn’t done anything wrong, but he was guilty by association in your current messed up state. You just needed to vent at someone, and Negan was the closest person to your boyfriend.

“Woah, doll? What’s wrong, what’s he done?” Negan moved aside so you could come in, walking towards the kitchen, the smell of fresh bacon and egg filling your nostrils. You placed your handbag on the kitchen counter, arms crossed, your hand playing with your necklace.

“He went out last night and he kissed a girl, I saw it on his friend’s Snapchat.” You managed to get out through a small sob, your eyes filling up with tears again. You couldn’t believe you were crying like this in front of his dad, you felt embarrassed.

“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry dollface, I didn’t raise the kid to do shit like that, we are loyal to our women.” Negan sighed, his hand running through his salt and pepper beard, trying to find the words to make the pain in your heart go away. His eyes watched you as you grabbed a tissue from the box placed on the dining table, using your front phone camera as a mirror to wipe your tears away.

“You know what though, it might be a blessing in disguise.” Your head whipped around to give him a look of disbelief, in what world could this be a blessing? “What the fuck do you mean, my boyfriend cheated on me? How could that even remotely be a blessing?!” Feeling your anger building up again, Negan walked around to your side of the counter, towering over you, his head coming down to whisper in your ear. “Oh please, Y/N. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me, remember that party a couple months ago, goddamn doll, you couldn’t take your eyes off my dick in them swim shorts.” He gave a small laugh, his hand coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear, his eyes watching your chest raise with each breath you took. “You need a real man to take care of you, I heard you with him. I’m experienced enough to know when a woman is faking it to spare a man’s feelings.” Your eyes met with his, how on earth could he tell. You couldn’t even deny it, while your boyfriend was good enough, he was too soft with you, complaining when you’d asked him to just choke you a little bit. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt you, he’d said, your eyes rolling in annoyance.

“How the fuck do you know that?” You asked, his cologne hitting you in the face as he got ever so closer to you. “Like I said doll, I know women. You want to be played with don’t you? You want someone who knows how to please you properly, give into it doll. I could give you all the pleasure you’d ever need.” You let out a soft moan, knowing this was wrong but your petty nature taking over, not only was this such an evil way to get back at him, you longed for Negan. He was right on the nose with how you looked at him, you’d always found him attractive, just trying to stop yourself from jumping his bones whenever the two of you were around each other.

“Fuck it, I’ve always wanted to know what your cock feels like, deep inside me.” You whispered out, your hands wrapping around Negan’s neck as he captured your lips in a kiss. His hands finding their way to your ass, squeezing the round globes hard.

He lifted you up, walking towards the stairs. “I’m going to have you begging for mercy when I’m finished with you doll.”

It was almost animalistic, months of repressed attraction coming to a conclusion. You’d never have even thought about your late night fantasies coming true, until this very moment that they had. Negan kicked the door to his bedroom open, not bothering to close it behind him. Placing you on the bed, his hands grabbing the bottom of his t-shirt to pull it over his head revealing his toned torso and arms, his tattoo that you loved so much coming into view.

Your hands started to feel up on his chest, wanting skin to skin contact with him so desperately. You tried to sit up a little to take your tank top off but Negan stopped you in your tracks, slamming your arms down above your own head. “Don’t you fucking dare doll, that’s my job.” A dark look coming across his face, he ripped the tank top off you hastily. His eyes glued to your bare chest, you hadn’t bothered to put a bra on today, in a sleepy haze just wanting to get over here to question your boyfriend. “Such beautiful breasts doll, he’s going to regret giving you up.” Negan stated as he took one of your erect nipples into his mouth, a soft bite as he did. You moaned out, watching his every move, his eyes locked to yours.

Leaning up, Negan unbuckled your belt sliding it out of your jean loops, grabbing your hands, wrapping the belt around your wrists as your hands were placed back above your head. The leather tight and digging into your skin, only turning you on more, heat rushing to your pussy. Negan took the time to unbutton your jeans, pulling them down your legs revealing your small black thong that left little to the imagination, pulling them to the side, Negan licked a strip starting from your opening to the top, focusing his attention on your throbbing clit. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your boyfriend never took the time to ever focus on your pleasure, either because he couldn’t be bothered or he just didn’t care, you didn’t know.

You felt the extra wetness as Negan spat right on your pussy, bringing his fingers to slowly enter you. Starting at a slow, agonising pace he could feel your body relaxing as you let your body give in to the pleasure you were feeling. You wanted nothing more than to grip onto his hair, but your bound hands didn’t allow it. As he felt you relax, he quickened his pace up, moans leaving your lips loud and clear. “Such beautiful noises for me slut, and I know these are real.” You felt your core tightening as you kept building up wave after wave of pleasure, you’d never even realised you could get so close to orgasm so fast, Negan caught on to this and took his fingers out of you, dripping in your juices. He forced his fingers into your mouth, you sucking the wetness off like it was your last meal.

“You fucking dirty girl, you like the way you taste?” He asked, his fingers still in your mouth as he pulled his shorts down, revealing his boxers to you. “Yes, I love it so much. I need to fill me up Negan, ruin me please.” You managed to get out through heavy breathing and his fingers. He chuckled, manoeuvring your body so you were on all fours, facing the mirrored closet doors, next to the entrance of the bedroom. “I’m going to fuck you so dumb baby girl, you’ll forget your own name when I’m done with you. Going to get you drunk on my cock. You won’t even want another man to touch you.” You whimpered, seeing Negan pulling his large cock out of his boxer shorts, them falling to the ground. His tip was red, leaking with precum, standing erect. He looked like a Greek god, his posture so manly and authoritative. He lined up at your opening and wasted no time, starting at a hard and fast pace. “Oh my god, Negan yes! Fuck!” Your nails dug into your own hands, the leather of the belt still digging into you causing pain but you didn’t care, the feeling was too good to complain. Your toes curled with pleasure in your heels, Negan’s hands gripped on your hips like he was holding on for dear life. “Shit doll, you feel so fucking good, so tight for Daddy.” You eyes widened at the nickname, you’d always wanted to experiment with a daddy kink but he’d never allow it, said it made him feel weird. You couldn’t believe how much this man was filling your darkest fantasies, you felt like maybe your boyfriend cheating was a blessing in disguise after all. Negan’s hand came down to slap your ass, the motion leaving a good red mark on your cheek. You looked towards the large mirrors in front of you, seeing Negan’s body go through the motions, his hips bucking against your ass as he fucked you deep. “Yes daddy, I’m so tight for you, you feel so good inside me.”

Neither you or Negan heard the front door open, your boyfriend finally getting back from his night out, guilt filling him up as he remembered what had happened last night. He knew that what he did was wrong, that kissing that woman was wrong. Still tired and hungover, he at first thought his imagination was playing tricks on him when he heard moaning coming from upstairs, he didn’t think his dad was dating anyone, a look of confusion coming onto his face. He made his way up the stairs, looking through the open gaps of the banister, his features wrinkling in disgust and disbelief when he saw you, head thrown back in pleasure as you met Negan’s thrusts in a timed motion. He rushed up the whole flight of stairs until he got to the door.

“What the fuck is happening here?!” You heard the voice of your boyfriend, your eyes opening with a gasp, you thought Negan would stop, embarrassed that the two of you had been caught in such a way but he went even faster in and out of you, your hands trying to grab some of the blanket that was at the end of the bed, failing miserably due to the fact of your hands being bound together.

“Hey son, just treating your girl to a proper fuck, you were stupid as fuck to let this one go, she’s one dirty fucking girl! Maybe this will teach you not to go round sticking your dick in other women when you’ve got an absolute diamond at home. Now stand there and watch boy.” Negan laughed, your eyes meeting with your boyfriend, you couldn’t help with the moan that escaped your lips as Negan moved down to grab your chin, his head coming to the side of your ear. “Tell him doll, tell him how good daddy’s fucking you.” You smirked, looking out the corner of your eyes to look at Negan. “So fucking good daddy, filling me up, better than he ever could. Please keep fucking me like this daddy.” You whimpered, your lips meeting with Negan as he kept his eyes open, staring at his son.

Your boyfriend didn’t know what to do, he rushed out of the room, slamming the front door behind him as he was trying to gather his thoughts together.

“That was so fucking dirty doll, oh my goodness! I can feel you getting close girl, let yourself cum all over my cock. I want to finish inside you, fill your body with my baby.” You screamed out as your orgasm took over your body, black spots coming into your vision. Your pussy felt like it had a death grip on Negan’s cock, his thrusts coming to slower pace as he let you ride out your orgasm. “Pull out of me, I want to ride you daddy.” Negan didn’t need any more encouragement as he pulled out of you, lying down on his back as you dug your heels into the mattress, sat on top of him. “Be careful with those things, don’t want a hole in my mattress dollface. You look fucking good in them though, sexy as fuck.” He said, as he shoved his cock into your dripping hole. You bounced up and down, even with your orgasm taking energy out of you, you couldn’t stop, you needed Negan like a hardcore drug. His musk mixing with a light sheen of sweat over your bodies. Negan’s hands gripped your ass as he directed your body as you grind into his hips, your second orgasm building up in your core. His cock filling you up, “That’s it baby, bounce on daddy’s cock for me, I want to see my seed dripping out of you.” You quickened your pace, feeling Negan’s cock twitching in you. “That’s it daddy, fill me up with your seed, I want you to fill my pussy up daddy!” You screamed out, uncaring about neighbours being able to hear you, you were too cock-drunk to care. Negan growled, his seed spurting out in you, his hands gripped your hips like a vice, his breathing heavy. You came to your end as well, gushing all over his cock, wetting the bed below you and Negan’s stomach as you squirted for the first time ever in your life. You moaned louder than ever, falling to the side of Negan, his flaccid cock sitting on top of his torso. You both were spent, the only thing that could be heard in the room was heavy breathing. Negan got up slowly from the bed, he released you from the belt, your wrists red and sore. He grabbed a small towel from the on-suite bathroom, cleaning you up from your squirt wetness. He laid back next to you, his arm coming over you to pull you closer, a sloppy kiss on your lips. “Life is never going to be the same again after this doll. Shit, I know it’s wrong to ask but leave him, I’ll treat you better than that stupid boy.” You looked at him, a smile coming across your face. “Negan, you could ask me to do anything right now and I’d say yes, that was the best fuck of my life, Daddy.”

Negan laughed and slapped your ass as he caught you in another sensual kiss.

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[bunnystalker]

boyfriend's dad wesker hcs (18+)

you're sweet and kind, and your boyfriend's dad is... not.

a/n; reader is in their 20's/in college with wesker's kid, jake. wesker is a good dad just not here though! reader is dating jake muller-wesker. albert is a major perv here guys sorry. based on re5 wesker -`♡´-

cw; afab!reader, dom!wesker, lowkey size kink, nonconsensual recording, wesker being a creep, major age gap (12+ years), mentions of smoking and drinking, stalking, breadcrumbing as a manipulation tactic, eventual sex (clit stimulation, fingering, p in v, unsafe sex, cumplay, creampie), dubcon, cheating, grooming (technically), praise and degradation, slight daddy kink (if u squint),

petnames (reader received); dear, darling, sweet girl, dolly

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who has never cared for anyone younger than him, let alone someone as young as his son.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who takes interest in you after his darling son, Jake, brings you home in a hurry to get to bed. he's working in the living room, waiting for his son to come home.

he's not surprised to see his son rush through the front door, but he is, however, surprised to see he brought someone home. he moves his laptop from his lap to stand up and introduce himself the moment he notices you're there. the look on your face is one he's seen before- desire and the unmistakable reddened scleras from smoking weed, all directed at his dopehead son.

"jacob-"

"later, dad." jake rushes you to the basement, where his room is, and you're gone in an instant. it's clear you're just as high as your little boyfriend, gone off a blunt and some vodka. for some reason, that irks him.

he walks over to jacob's door and leans against it, ready to knock with his knuckles just an inch from the door when he hears something come from you. a moan, then a hushed whisper from jacob telling you to be quiet, and another, softer moan from you.

so maybe his face goes red and he sits there for a moment, focused on the way you sound and how loud you get when you cum. he's just as quiet as he was when he approached his son's room while walking away, forgoing his work and retreating upstairs to fist his half-hard cock.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who has a knowing look on his face the next morning, up early as hell just to catch you sneaking out of the house because your dumb boyfriend's still asleep. who's sitting on the couch and sees you looking a little rough, hickies covering your neck and your clothes messed up from your rush to get them on. you're a hungover wreck.

"good morning," his voice startles you, of course it does. you hadn't even noticed him, a residual high from smoking so much weed the night prior making your mind foggy. instead of running, like you want to, you approach the couch, your nerves aflame. why does he look so smug?

"mr. wesker, i-i'm so sorry about last night, it was so rude of me to not introduce myself…" you're blushing. you're intimidated by him and he loves that. he gives you a charming smile and reassures you that it's alright, dear, just hurry to class. he sends you on your way with a pat on your lower back.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who asks his son about you later. jake tells him all about you, just as wesker was hoping. while jake is in class, he installs cameras in the house- invisible to the naked eye, of course. he'd hate for you to feel surveillanced and scare you off.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who tells jake he's working late tonight as an excuse to sit in the parking lot of an abandoned building and watch the cameras from his phone. he pays special attention to the one he angled at the couch as he palms himself to the video feed of you, so cutely sitting there and talking with his son. he doesn't even have to try to spend time alone with you because you're always at his place, anyway.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who adores it when you blush from something he said or did, who wants you all to himself, his son be damned. he compliments your outfits, your hair, your perfume (how can he smell that when you're three feet away?) when your boyfriend isn't around. he'll brush a hand through your hair and murmur something about how soft it is, leaving you red in the face when your boyfriend comes back.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who knows it's wrong to want you and doesn't care. he loves the way you give your full attention to him when he's talking, how you pretend that you don't see the looks he gives you, or that you're not affected by the subtle touches and unspoken promises of more. a hand on the small of your back as he passes you, one on the back of your neck as he gives you a tour of the home- something his son neglected to do- his gaze lingering too long on the curve of your throat and waist, his imagination running wild.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who finds a pair of your panties in the wash, presumably forgotten, and takes them for himself. uses them to get off, his tongue on the gusset as he imagines your taste and how you'd clench around him when you cum.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who tells you that his son isn't good enough for you. who plants seeds of doubt in your head and waters them religiously. you're too oblivious to notice what he's doing, because mr. wesker is so nice, he would never do that to your relationship, right? who tells you that an older man would treat you right, much better than his stupid son.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who waits for you to get into a fight with his son about something so he can comfort you after his son storms out of the house, leaving you crying in his bedroom. you don't know what to do, don't know who to turn to, and like an angel, he's there for you. he pulls you into his lap and lets you cry it out, rubbing your back the whole time and whispering sweet nothings in his ear that leave you confused and in need of more comfort, because why does your boyfriend's dad make you feel better than your boyfriend ever has?

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who loves the way you wrap your arms around his neck, and in your vulnerability, trust him with your life. you're putty in his strong arms, his hold secure enough to make you feel safe. he knows you don't mind when one of his hands moves to your thigh, kneading softly to get your blood running south. he feels your face heat up, your hips shifting slightly to mute the gentle throb of your clit. as if you could get away with such a subtle thing like trying to hide your arousal.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who gently forces your thighs to part to accompany his hand. who's been anticipating this, the way you moan into his neck as he thumbs your clit through your panties. how you press into his hand when he slips two fingers in after moving your panties to the side. the way your hands grab at his shirt, your fists clenched around the fabric like you'd die if you let go of him.

"that's my good girl, taking my fingers so well. i know, i know, this is just what you needed, right darling? your legs spread so nice for your boyfriend's daddy." he croons, his lips just centimeters from your ear. the fanning of his breath against your neck, his long fingers in your cunt and the noises they draw out of you- utterly sinful. you know it's wrong, but just thinking about your boyfriend coming home to this sight has your cunt squeezing and aching for more. he knows you want it just as bad as he does, the way you're gripping his fingers like they're his cock. you're close already and he wonders just how long it's been since you've been fucked properly.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who kisses you to keep you from whining when he pulls his fingers out of you to undo his belt and pull his cock out from its cloth confines. who hisses slightly when you stroke him, slightly inexperienced but for him, you're willing to learn. who's so encouraging, holding your hips as you pierce yourself on his cock with little pushback. whose tip nails your cervix and he's not even fully inside. who's fine with that because as much as he wants this, he doesn't want to hurt you. who guides your hips in the way he knows you enjoy, because he's watched your boyfriend move you the same way.

"just like that, dolly. your cunt feels perfect, gotta ruin it for everyone else, don't i? mold it to my cock so you can't cum any other way. you'd like that, right sweet girl?" his nails dig into the meat of your hips, bouncing you at a steady pace. you nod dumbly, the pleasure melting your brain into nothingness. you could get addicted.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who doesn't pull out to cum. he keeps you brainless on his dick, forcing an orgasm out of you as he rubs that spongy spot inside of you. he grins when you moan his name as the pleasure comes crashing through you, your nails digging into his shoulders. he loves that sound.

"t-too much- fuck- please-" you whine, burying your face in his shoulder as he holds your hips steady, thrusting up into you with an unforseen vigor. he's not stopping until you're full of his cum, maybe even crying a little.

"quiet, darling. i'm only doing what's best for you." he hisses, his hips stuttering with stifled groan. you moan in unison, his thick, sticky seed spilling in you, but he doesn't stop fucking you.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker who fucks his load so deep inside of you, you're worried it might actually take. who strokes your hair as you remain on his lap, recovering when he's satisfied with himself.

"you're not going to tell my son about this, are you darling?" he runs his fingers through your hair until you're alright to sit up.

"no."

"good girl. come here." he kisses you again, sweeter this time, but you get the feeling that he's never going to let you go.

-`♡´- bfd!wesker, who refuses to let you out of his grasp, even if you break up with jake. you're not escaping him that easily.

#bunny's fics ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ #resident evil #bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #resident evil fanfiction #writing #albert wesker smut #albert wesker headcanons #dark content #afab reader #boyfriends dad #boyfriends dad wesker #depraved #dilf lover

[greg-montgomery]

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader ♡ (boyfriend’s dad!hotch) - 18+ minors dni

summary: part 2 to this.

your bf cheated on you? fuck his dad!

cw: uhmm a little bit of choking? age gap.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“Put your phone away.”

Mark stared at his father for a moment without even lifting his head, and then continued to type on his phone.

“You’re being rude,” Aaron said.

“What’s your problem?”

“Your brother has been talking about this dinner all week. When Jack sits at the table, that thing better not be in your hands. Understood?”

“Understood,” Mark said, and placed the phone right next to his plate harsh enough to make Aaron wonder if the screen cracked.

Despite his annoyed appearance, Mark kept his promise and stayed engaged in the conversation with Jack. His little brother admired him and Aaron would do anything to protect his son’s feelings - even from someone who shared the same blood as him.

Still, Aaron had no complaints; Jack seemed happy and that was more than he could have asked for.

Sadly his feelings quickly changed, when after dinner he accidently overheard Mark talking on the phone. Aaron was a profiler, but any regular person could easily understand he was flirting with a girl. The only problem though, was that the name he had called said girl, was not yours.

--

Mark made his way outside the kitchen only to be stopped by his dad with a hand on his chest.

“Who were you talking to?”

“What the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Who were you talking to?” Aaron repeated, determined not to give him an easy way out.

Mark raised his eyebrow at him. “Don’t you think I’m a little too old to be asked questions like this by my dad?”

“Are you cheating on Y/N?”

“Why are you so fucking obsessed with her?” he snapped. “Why do you even care?”

“I didn’t raise a cheater.”

“No, you don’t give a fuck about me. It’s her you care about.” He smirked, and Aaron was worried his next words would be exactly what he was afraid of.

Mark confirmed his fears. “You think I don’t see the way you look at her? You wanna fuck my girlfriend and then be the one who teaches me about ethics?”

Aaron stood there frozen watching him walk away, too stunned to stop Mark from leaving without saying good night to his little brother.

--

Ethics.

His son was right. There was nothing ethical about the way he looked at you. There was nothing ethical about the way he wanted to steal you from Mark. And there was definitely nothing ethical about the way he had fucked his fist in the shower to the thought of you that same night you had asked for his help.

But Mark didn’t treat you right, he knew that. You deserved better and Aaron could be that for you.

He’d hold you in his arms, keep you safe from the rest of the world, let you know how beautiful and precious you were. Then he’d sit you in all fours and take you until you forgot your own name.

--

“This is so wrong,” you sighed, rolling your hips forward and the word ‘wrong’ went straight to his dick.

“That’s why it feels so fucking good, baby,” he said staring at your lips and you leaned in to kiss his open mouth.

How did he get there? In any empty parking lot, and his son’s girlfriend riding his cock?

- -

It all started with a sweet “Mr. Hotchner?” when he picked up his phone in the middle of the night.

Then those two beautiful eyes he’d do anything for, looking at him like he was their hero.

“You said you’ll always be here. That’s why I called you,” you said when you were inside his car. Your cheeks were smudged with mascara and he wanted to murder the reason behind your tears. Only the reason was of course no other than his own son.

“You did well, sweetheart.” He cupped your cheek rubbing it with his thumb, and you nuzzled his hand. “You can trust me.”

“I do.”

It was impossible for him to keep his hands away or not to leave a soft kiss on your forehead.

“It’s over,” you sniffled. “This is the second time he cheats on me. I’ve had enough.”

“He never deserved you, honey. I’m sorry he hurt you.”

“Don’t be. You’re nothing like him,” you whispered. “How are you two even related?”

Your hand found his and your fingers naturally intertwined.

The kisses on your forehead soon turned into kisses on your cheeks and then on the corners of your mouth. He couldn’t stop and the way you were trembling against him was an invitation to touch you more.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered against the skin of your neck and you pulled his hair softly. He shouldn’t be doing that, but he’d rather take his last breath at that moment than let you go.

“I know. But I need you so bad,” you whined.

“Take off your panties and come to my lap.”

Aaron watched the fabric move all the way down your legs and pulled you into his lap. Before he had the chance to lift up your dress, you started rubbing yourself against him. He took your chin between his fingers and made you look at him. “Aren’t you a desperate little thing?”

“I wanted you to fuck me from the day we met.”

“I know.”

The feeling of your wet pussy against his slacks and the sound of your little moans drove him crazy. He bit your right nipple through your dress and you finally called him ‘Aaron’.

“Say my name again.”

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron,” you moaned, moving desperately against him.

“Baby, I need to be inside you,” he said.

Once he was buried in you, his hands went on your hips, guiding you, showing you the pace he needed you at.

You were so good; such a good learner.

“This is so wrong.”

“That’s why it feels so fucking good, baby.”

You leaned in to kiss him and Aaron took the opportunity to wrap his hand around your neck. He noticed you failing to bite back a loud moan.

“You like that, huh?”

“Mhm…”

“Want me to rub your little clit too? Will that make you cum faster, sweetie?”

“Fuck, yes.”

He did as promised, moving his free hand between your legs, touching you softly and slowly. He loved the tortured expression on your face.

“Faster, please,” you begged him.

“You’re so fucking desperate,” he moaned, and picked up his pace.

It didn’t take much longer for you to cum, and he followed right after you.

You didn’t leave his lap. Aaron wrapped his arms around you protectively and pulled you so close to him, it was hard to tell where his body ended and yours started.

“What now?” you whispered, your face hidden in the crook of his neck.

“Now you’re mine.”

tags : @hotchhner @sabage101 @yurfavmommy @mrs-ssa-hotch @justarandommom @m4gn3ziu @rosaliedepp @indigosamsblog

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #boyfriend's dad!hotch #hotch 🪐 #nsfw.

[atiglain]

One thing to know about me is that I also have an annotated copy of the illiad. It’s an abridged version from my childhood and every time Hector’s name is mentioned it’s surrounded by glitter-gel pen hearts bc he was my first crush as a child.

#When I hit my ankle in a scooter and my dad came over he was like oh you hit your Achilles tendon! And I was like my What. And he was like #Achilles tendon! And I was like don’t say that to me. #The scene where hectors is dragged around by Achilles was super fucked up because that was my BOYFRIEND #AND YOU KILLED HIM

[dcxdpdabbles]

Freelance Inventor Part 2

Dedicated to @jimmysorsprinkles Thank you for enjoying my random dabbles. I saw that you wanted more Dads, Danny/Bruce, who are unknowingly co-parenting, so here it is! (set during the first prompt through the years of Danny just being a dad whenever he's home)

"I just don't know what to do," Bruce admits, watching Dick stomp about in tiny angry circles, muttering in his native tongue under his breath. He's been out there for about a half hour, doing laps in the yard. Danny knows he deliberately chose to do so under the window leading to Bruce's office.

The kid definitely wanted his guardian to know he was mad at him .

It was the fact Dick was unconsciously hunching his shoulders, curling his fist, and even raising his knee slightly higher than he needed for his stomps that were a nod to Bruce whenever the man was upset.

It seemed like Dick had picked up habits from Bruce during his short time here. If anything, Danny thought it rather cute if it weren't for the fact Dick was so upset.

"What happened?" He asked, standing beside Bruce, overlooking the pre-teen throwing a fit.

Bruce's frown is sharp and hinted with just the edge of uncertainty that anyone who didn't know him well would have dismissed. "He was being reckless in one of our extreme sports, and when I rightfully scolded him for it, he took it as me not trusting him."

Danny tilts his head, considering. It's been over three years since he became acquainted with the Waynes, and in that time- between his travels, his inventing, and his general desire to learn all he could in any way he could- he noticed that Dick was very quick to anger as a defensive mechanism.

This clashed horribly with Bruce's own mechanism- which was shutting down or at least emotionally wise. While Dick sneered and raged against the world, Bruce tried his best to forget he was human and detached himself from the situation.

Which wouldn't be so bad if it didn't feed into Dick's insecurities or Bruce's anxiety when they both reacted to adverse situations.

He has spoken to Jazz about it, and his sister has given him some advice that has helped him smooth things over with the young boy. Empathizing and paraphrasing the boy's issues was a big step in letting him feel heard and his feelings acknowledged.

For Bruce, he treated him like a ghost who had never seen a human. Plenty of ghosts were never human, were born in the ghost zone, or had been there for so long that they had forgotten what humans were like. Danny took time to explain why someone reacted the way they did- at least, why he thought so- and never made Bruce feel less for needing the help.

It was fun, in a way, to see Bruce's eyes lighten up with understanding and get him to talk about his rooted issues, but having to do so on carefully balanced tones and word choice. Phantom had so much practice de-escalating ghosts that it was a walk in the park with Bruce.

"I'll talk to him," Danny promised, leaning over to rest his hand on Bruce's shoulder and not batting an eye when the taller man landed down to rest his forehead on Danny's shoulder.

Where Bruce couldn't say in words, he yelled in his actions. It reminded him a bit of Wulf.

Bruce took a deep breath before nodding. "Thank you."

Danny hummed, reaching up to pet Bruce's hair like he would soothe Wulf, on days the werewolf would twitch too much at the door slamming, and suddenly his friend was mentally back in Walker's prison. "No problem. But, I will also be speaking to you later, and you are going to listen to Dick's side of the story without interrupting at dinner."

"Yes, Danny"

Alfred threw him an approving smile as he marched outside to meet Dick's rage-filled eyes and nervous hand twitching. He could catch the ending bits of whatever rant the boy was muttering.

"You're right. Bruce is an idiot sometimes." He starts grinning as the boy's eyes narrow further.

"You don't speak Romani."

"I may not understand what you're saying, but trust me, I feel it." Danny chirps, watching Dick's shoulder relax a little. " What did he do this time?"

"You won't even believe it!" Dick snaps, and then he's off, Danny keeping pace with him step by step as the boy works himself into another frenzy.

Later that night, Dick explained that he hated how Bruce made him feel so belittled and unimportant, his voice tight with a itch to fight, and Bruce carefully- with significant prompting from Danny- explained how he didn't mean it that way. He was only worried that he was about to watch Dick die in front of him, and he couldn't live through losing his family again.

Dick looked shocked to be considered family, and Danny swore he helped the boy sneak into Bruce's office, which so happened to have the adoption papers Bruce was hiding. Alfred gave him a large sample of pudding for dessert.

______________________________________________

"Hey, kid," Danny whispered, watching Jason tense up momentarily. It's not overly noticeable, but Danny has grown used to seeing little ghost blobs show emotions by how they twisted and twirled over the years, so he could tell what the slight tightening of the fingers around the book meant.

Anxious.

It would be understandable if Jason had been present for another one of Dick's and Bruce's explosive arguments. He came from a household that had an older male figure beat him whenever Willis got in a mood, so while he knew that Bruce or Dick would never hit him, Jason still tried to make himself scarce.

Jazz was the one to point out Jason's usage of escapism in the form of books to comfort himself, and so Danny took whatever time he could manage to read the same books as Jason while on his travels.

"What?" The boy grunted, voice soft but weary.

Danny sits across from him, making sure to stay in Jason's eyesight at all times. He had realized in only his second visit after meeting Jason that the boy did not like having someone too close in his space.

He grew up on the streets where being weary of older men kept him alive- Danny would never fault him for what he had to do to survive.

Unlike Dick, who was always down to talk about why he was upset if only to rant, Jason preferred to have a distraction. So he offers him a smile that he hopes projects You're safe with me and pulls out a book from his bag.

Jason's eyes light up at the cover. "I had some theories on Mr. Darcy being in love with Mr.Bingley before he met Elizabeth, and Bruce won't agree with me. Help me find citations as proof?"

"It's so obvious that he was, how can the old man not see that!" Jason snorts, tilting his head in a cute habit that he picked up from Dick. He really looks up to his big brother no matter how tense things can get.

Danny is glad he's gotten Dick to explain to Jason that he didn't hate him, but he was going through a lot, and Jason as a street kid, understood on some level.

"The old just hate listening to other people's suggestions even when we're right!." Jason leans over to read the book Danny places between them, considering Jane Austin's work while Danny files away the real reason he's upset with Bruce.

Later, after Jason and he present a bemused Bruce with a report on why Mr.Darcy is bi and had feelings for his best friend before meeting his wife, he tells Bruce to explain why he didn't consider Jason's suggestion in their extreme sport.

Jason goes to bed that night with a better answer than "because I said so," and Danny forces Bruce to go up to his room and re-read Pride and Prejudice to connect with his youngest.

Alfred offers them extra blankets and pillows since the two get so caught up reading to each other that Danny just decides sleeping in Bruce's bed is easier than walking down two wings to the guest rooms.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm not going to bed," Tim snapped when Danny knocked on his door. His fingers are flying over the keyboard of his computer, his little face glowing from the computer screen, and Danny is almost reminded of himself whenever he gets caught up in his work.

It may worry Bruce and Alfred, but Danny is a Fenton. He knows what it's like to have his brain run over time and sacrifice sleep or meals to get his ideas into the world.

His mother is the same, his father is the same, his sister is the same, and even Danny's clone is the same. It's fitting that the little boy he caught following Batmam around with a camera is the same since he all but forced Bruce to adopt him.

He hadn't meant to.

He had been testing an air purifier when he returned to Gotham since Bruce and the kids were out of state, and his ghost hearing picked up the sound of a camera click.

Imagine his surprise that when he turned to the roof opposite him, he found the tiny little face of an eleven-year-old staring back, holding a camera, and Batman swinging away in the distance. Danny became attached to Tim that night, even after he chased the boy down to ask if he was safe.

He did not like the implications of his parents always "working" while Tim ran amok in Gotham.

It took almost two weeks of following Tim around Gotham to help him with his photos before the boy allowed him to take him to Wayne Manor. It took three more before Bruce realized that Danny wouldn't allow Tim's parents to win him back, and together, they took the Drakes to court.

Danny has never been more grateful that Bruce was loaded with money and that his inventions gained him contacts in high places that wouldn't mind taking the Drakes down.

Tim was a lot like Bruce- where he shut down- but he needed people to be around him more. Sometimes just sitting in the same room- where Tim could glance up and see him- was enough for the boy to be at ease.

This was great for Bruce, who thought he didn't need to do much to make Tim happy- until Danny reminded him that Tim was a poor boy who was gutted for any form of parental approval.

He had to almost punch Bruce after overhearing him tell Tim he was proud of him, but there was room for improvement. Bruce meant it as helpful, constructive criticism, but Tim- whose parents all but drilled how useless he was- only heard criticism.

Only heard, he was not enough.

So now Tim was going, who knew how many hours without sleep, trying to fix whatever issue he thought he had caused. How a fourteen-year-old could have caused issues at his adoptive dad's multimillion-dollar company was beyond Danny, but it meant a lot to Tim, so he didn't need to understand it.

He just needed to respect it.

"Don't want you to," Danny grunts, throwing himself on Tim's queen-sized bed. "I just wanted to know if I could crash here. Bruce pissed me off."

Tim's fingers pause. "What did he do?"

"He tried to tell me how to handle my inventions' payment. I'm a freelancer! I know how to do that." Danny complains while twisting under the covers. Tim slowly turns around to look at him, but he acts like he doesn't notice. "I know he'll try to talk to me in the guest rooms, but he won't find me here. I just don't want to listen to another "I can do it better" lecture."

After a moment's pause, Tim admits. "He did the same to me and my team."

He means Cassie, Bart, and Conner. The little team of photography buddies Bruce introduced Tim back when they started homeschooling him. Dani suggested pulling Tim out of school is one of the best advice his clone ever gave him.

Tim took the pictures, Cassie and Conner modeled, and Bart made the clothes. Their work was slowly gaining traction online, and Tim seemed to glow whenever the Team was mentioned.

"Course he did." Danny sigh. He leans back into the pillow. "Know why he did it, too. Bruce doesn't want me to be taken advantage of, but it's hard not to hear him think I can't keep up, especially when my family is doing the same thing."

"Yeah," Tim's voice is soft. "It's frustrating that all your hard work is overshadowed or that everything you've done so far doesn't prove that you know you can."

Bingo. Danny discovered Tim's issue; now he just needs to bring it home.

"I know I'm great at what I do. You said so yourself- my past proves I am crazy good at work. I leave other people breathless in awe all the time. I can adapt and overcome so much faster than others. Bruce can see that, but he forgets to praise it." Danny huffs like he's trying not to be forgiving, and it causes a smile to unwillingly appear on Tim's face.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow but today I'm being petty and hiding. Thanks for letting me sleep here"

"You're welcome, Danny." Tim goes back to his typing, but only after a minute or two of Danny asking if he can turn off the light does the boy save his work and shut his computer down.

The room is plunged into darkness but Danny doesn't need the light to see how Tim sinks into his mattress. Tim is smart- crazy smart that every part of him that's Fenton crows with pride- and he can easily see through Danny.

"Thank you Danny" He doesn't say what for but he doesn't need to.

Danny reaches over, grabs the blankets, and makes sure they cover the small shoulder, tucking Tim in properly. "Any time kid"

The next morning, Bruce wakes them up with a powerpoint of all the things he thought were impressive about Tim and his team's last photo session. A powerpoint for Pete's sake.

But it makes Tim smile so much that Danny lets it slide. At least he listened when Danny chewed him out for forgetting to praise Tim.

Alfred offers Danny some of his private tea jars, which according to Dick, means Danny is in for life as Tim, Jason, and Bruce go over the PowerPoint again. Jason has begone to heal for his bitch of a mother's betrayal a few months ago.

Thankfully, Danny was in the area when he called and reminded the lady why she should not mess with Bruce's kids. Dani paying her a visit in her jail cell was just the Fentons' sending their regards.

(His dad gave Dani the ani-creep stick, and his mom hacked the cameras to loop. Jazz just watched hours of her to realize what made the woman scream and cry before sending the clone on her way. It was a good family bonding moment)

No one believed the woman claiming to be haunted that her son was Robin. Honestly, where on earth she got that idea Danny would never know.

His Jason, the sweet school-loving boy who graduated as valedictorian, running around punching criminals? Honestly, what was she going to claim next?

Bruce being Batman?!

Please.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #freelance inventor #part 2 #spirit halloween #Danny being a dad for the three first robins #Bruce not understanding emotions #And the kids not understanding their own emotions #Jazz trained her brother well #Fenton's are crazy and Super smart #They are aware of Danny's Not-Boyfriend and his kids #They love them

[gurugirl]

Ex-Boyfriend's Dad!Harry

ex-boyfriend's dad!harry x reader - forbidden relationship au

Series Warnings: explicit content, smut (including anal, rough blow jobs), age gap, angst, daddy kink, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, choking, slight degradation, use of small implements (collar and leash, anal plug)

Series Summary: You break up with your boyfriend and confide in his dad about some very personal issues you had with his son. And Harry thinks he can help.

Based on these requests: Here Here Here Here Here (there are more in my #into the drafts tag but y'all get the hint - this was heavily requested 🖤)

Part 1 (8.2k words) TEASER

After you break up with your boyfriend, his dad, Harry, stops by your apartment to drop off a few of your things. But that's not all he's there to bring you.

Part 2 (10.8k words) TEASER

Harry wants to show you what you've been missing if you'll let him. OR The filthy smutty one

Part 3 (8.3k) TEASER

You get to try things with Harry you never had the chance to before but the more you get to know him the more of him you want. And that's a problem.

Part 4 (10k) TEASER

You and Harry are both missing each other and despite Tyler's sudden interest in talking to you, Harry's determined to finish what you both started.

divider by @firefly-graphics

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry edward styles #firstpost #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harrystyles #harry styles x yn #harry styles au #harry styles x you #harry #harry smut #dad!harry #dilf!harry #daddy harry #ex-boyfriend's dad!harry #older!harry #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fiction #harry x reader #harry x yn #harry x you

[bleedingoptimism]

It’s a little after eleven when Eddie finally manages to get Tarja to bed. It’s hard for her without her plushie. And really, Eddie is very thankful having a hyper-fixation with her toy seems to be the only ‘consequence’ of having divorced parents Tarja seems to have right now. He always worries if having two homes and constantly moving between them is good for her or not. Especially with Tommy being Tarja’s other dad, but against all odds, he’s good to her. So their kid is doing just fine. She’s happy. And if she’s happy, Eddie is happy.

He’s getting ready to open a beer and relax when there’s a knock on the door. He smiles, assuming is Steve bringing Toothless over and almost knocks his beer to the floor when he opens the door.

Steve looks… well he looks amazing, dressed to the nines. Must’ve been date night. But his eyes are red and puffy, his face covered in dark blotches, and his lips are swollen like he’s been biting them too much.

He’s hugging Toothless to his chest and he smiles at Eddie when he sees him, but he looks so sad it breaks his heart.

Eddie throws the beer behind him, sure it will land on the couch and cradles Steve’s face between his hands, “What did that asshole do?

Steve leans into his touch and shuts his eyes for a moment before sighing and stepping away from him, walking inside and sitting on the couch still holding Toothless like a lifeline. 

“Nothing, he was just-” Steve shakes his head and chuckles darkly, “He’s just so mean,” 

Eddie drops to his knees in front of him and dips his head to look Steve in the eye just like he did that day in the park.

“Break up with him,” he says.

“I can’t.”

“Tommy doesn't deserve you, Steve. You are worth so much more than what that asshole makes you feel. You deserve better. More. Everything,” Eddie pleads, placing his hands on Steve’s knees and squeezing, “If it’s because of Tarja, we’ll figure something out, ok? Lots of people keep in contact with their parent’s significant other after they break up” He rushes, the speech he didn't have quite prepared last week coming out of him in a single breath, “We are friends, right? So you can still visit and see her. Visit me. You don’t have to stop being a part of our lives.” 

Steve is staring at him right now like Eddie just gifted him the moon and he’s so beautiful it’s kind of hard for Eddie to keep eye contact, but he squeezes Steve’s knees again to ground himself and does. Steve needs to know he’s very serious about this. About him.

Eyes shining, Steve takes a deep breath and nods slowly, a tear falling down his cheek that Eddie follows with his eyes and watches until it hides under Steve’s v-neck shirt.

“Hey, even I didn’t put up with Tommy's shit for Tarja’s sake and I birthed her,” he jokes awkwardly, trying to make him laugh and feels like doing a little victory dance when Steve snorts cutely,

“Okay,” he hiccups.

“Yeah?” Eddie smiles back at him, relieved.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “Fuck Tommy.” And drops back on the couch, looking exhausted, “Can I stay here tonight?” he asks in a whisper, like he’s afraid Eddie will say no. As if.

“Yeah, of course,” Is what he answers, and has half a mind to invite him into his bed but knows it’s a terrible idea. So he lends Steve his favorite flannel pajamas and sets blankets and a pillow on the couch and they say their goodnights.

And if he does a little dance when he closes the door to his room, no one is there to see.

In the morning, Steve stays for breakfast. And attempts to kill Eddie by making his heart explode, cooking it himself from scratch with Tarja’s help, who is so happy she won’t stop running around the kitchen making Toothless fly and sing about ‘happy family breakfast time’.

It’s actually hard to tell if she’s happier to have her plushie back or that Steve is there. Eddie, on the other hand, knows exactly what he’s happiest about. Death by tenderness. Is that a thing? He amuses himself thinking about a couple csi’s with sunglasses saying it, 

“He died because he witnessed something too cute,”

“Ah yes, death by fondness. I’ve seen it before.”

After, Eddie walks him to the door and Steve smiles sweetly at him, and holds his hand, squeezing it once before letting go, “Well, see you. I guess,” he says bashfully and there’s a moment there, a second where time stops and Eddie thinks he should kiss him. Wants to kiss him, needs to kiss him.

But he doesn’t. Because Steve is still dating Tommy, and just because he said he was going to break up with him doesn’t mean he wants to start something new with Eddie.

Eddie himself called him his friend for the first time last night for christ sake. ‘Fucking chill’ he thinks to himself.

🧸

And then a week goes by without hearing a word from Steve. But Eddie doesn't hold it against him.

At first, he figures he needs time to think but then he starts to wonder if he really is going to break up with Tommy. Four days in, he gets paranoid about it. Maybe Steve got brainwashed into thinking Eddie is bad for him. Maybe Tommy told him Eddie was putting ideas in his head, that he shouldn’t talk to him anymore… With him telling Steve to break up with his boyfriend and all... 

He’s well aware of how manipulative Tommy can be and has seen the way he belittles Steve to keep him around, so he knows it’ll be hard for Steve to actually go through with it.

And he can’t exactly show up at Tommy’s and steal Steve away, no matter how appealing the idea might be. The only thing he can do is just think of Steve, wish him well, and send him strength to do what he needs to do. At the end of the day, it needs to be his decision. His choice.

As Tommy’s week with Tarja approaches he starts getting more and more anxious, wondering if it’ll be Steve or Tommy who picks her up.

When the day finally arrives, and the doorbell rings, Tarja runs to open the door and Eddie peeks his head through the hallway.

“Daddy!” Tarja screams.

“Hey, Tata! You ready?” Tommy says and Eddie steps into the hall to greet him too.

“Not yet!” Tarja chuckles and Tommy smiles at her,

“Okay, go get ready. I’ll wait here,”

Eddie walks to the door and leans on the doorframe, “Hey,”

“Hi. Long time no see,” Tommy says and then adds, “You look great,”

“You don’t,” Eddie answers, because it’s true. He looks like shit. Greasy hair, bags under his eyes, chapped lips, wrinkles on his clothes, “What happened?”

“Steve broke up with me.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he smiles, he doesn’t even try to hide it, “He did?”

“Don’t smile, fucker,” Tommy says but there’s no heat behind it. He knows he deserves it.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, not sorry at all.

“Stop,” Tommy whines because Eddie’s smile is actually getting bigger,

“Sorry,” he repeats and then clears his throat, “Did he tell you why?”

“Because I’m a horrible person,” Tommy groans.

“Hey, the first step is to ad-”

“To admit it, yeah, yeah. I know” Tommy interrupts him, groaning again.

Eddie sighs, and punches Tommy’s shoulder lightly, “Look, Tommy, I’m just going to say this because, well… you are pathetic. You need to do better.” And then he points to his back, to where Tarja’s disappeared to get her stuff, “She’s going to grow up and realize you are an awful person and she’s not going to want you in her life. And I’m not going to dissuade her from it, because I already don’t want you to be in mine, you know that, right?”

Tommy looks at him seriously and then nods once, fast and hard. Like he gets it. Like he agrees and is determined to change. And Eddie hopes for Tarja’s sake he is. But knows, deep in his heart, that either way, she’s going to be fine.

“Also, just a heads up. I’m in love with Steve and I’m going to ask him out,” he adds in a rush when he hears Tarja running up behind him.

“You are shitting me,” Tommy whispers, shocked and clenching his teeth.

Eddie laughs, “Nope,” he says, closing his lips loudly around the P.

“Eddie,” Tommy warns him like he’s waiting for Eddie to say he's joking.

“What? I hear he’s single,” Eddie smirks.

“You motherfuc- Hey Tata!” Gathering Tarja in his arms, Tommy drops the subject but he glares at Eddie as he kisses Tarja’s cheek goodbye and murmurs ‘unbelievable’ as he’s leaving. Eddie closes the door and starts laughing at the look on Tommy’s face.

He needs to call Steve.

He tries a couple of times but he doesn’t pick up and he starts worrying Steve might not actually want to talk to him, and then there’s a knock on the door but Eddie, too preoccupied with his anxiety, opens without looking, thinking Tarja forgot something.

When he doesn't hear her, Eddie looks up from his ‘ignored calls’ screen to see nonother than Steve standing there, looking nervous and like a fucking dream with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. A fucking bouquet of flowers. For him. For Eddie. All different shades of red, because he knows is his favorite color.

Eddie just blinks at him a couple of times and Steve flushes even more and drops the hand holding up the flowers, scratches the back of his neck nervously, “This was stupid, the flowers were fucking stupid. They are stupid. I’m stupid, right?”

A laugh bubbles out of Eddie and he grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and pulls him inside. He closes the door once they are both in and slams Steve against it, crushing their lips together. Steve circles his arms around Eddie and holds him close, instantly returning the kiss with fervor. 

They kiss as if it were fate. They kiss until it's hard to breathe and Eddie pulls away only to kiss him again, and again, and again.

“Not stupid,” he murmurs between kisses and feels Steve’s smile against his lips.

Eventually, Eddie takes a step back and lets Steve into his home properly, “Hi,” he says cheesily.

“Hi,” Steve says back grinning, then he lifts up the bouquet again, which is now completely ruined by him still holding it strongly while they made out like crazy, and his smile drops,

“Shit,” he pouts cutely, god Eddie wants to eat him. He laughs and takes the flowers anyway, putting them in an empty glass bottle, because he doesn’t own a flower vase, because he’s a normal human being. ‘Who the fuck owns a flower vase?’

“Come here,” he says, holding out both hands for Steve to take and follow him.

Steve takes his hands but doesn't move, instead swings them from side to side, “Wait, let's talk,”

Fuck, yeah. They should. That’s a good idea. Fuck. Damn, Steven Whatever-The-Fuck-Is-His-Middle-Name Harrington and his sensible and very logical choice…

Eddie huffs exaggeratedly making Steve chuckle and redirects them to the couch, where they sit still holding hands, “Alas,” he says dramatically, “You are right, we should talk. I actually wanted to ask you out properly, not debauch you the second you walked through the door. Sorry about that” he lies, not sorry at all, again.

Steve blushes and smiles, drawing little circles with his thumbs on Eddie’s hands, “Yeah me too. I wanna do this right. Ask you out. Go on dates. I think we should take this slow,”

Eddie makes a face and groans at that. He doesn't want to take it slow. He wants Steve to move in right now or something. Steve rolls his eyes amused at his interruption and keeps going,

“I came here to ask you out the right way because I want you to know I’m committed. But we should think about how this will affect Tarja… and Tommy too. We should go out a few times, spend some time alone, and I want you to meet my friends and my parents and I want to meet your friends and your uncle too and just do this properly and-”

Eddie interrupts him with a kiss, he can’t take it anymore, he’s been dying to kiss Steve for months now and he’s so sweet and thoughtful it makes Eddie insane, makes him feel like he needs to ruin him, but in a nice way, like with devotion and love.

Steve lets go of his hands to wrap his arms around Eddie’s waist and hoists him until he’s straddling Steve. Eddie leans his elbows on Steve’s shoulders, and buries his hands in his hair, pulling and messing with it.

“Okay but have you considered having hard, hot, wet sex, and then maybe we do what you said?” He asks panting against Steve’s lips and actually feeling how that punches the air out of him.

He hugs Eddie closer to his chest and whines, “Yeah okay, we can do it your way,” and gets up, lifting Eddie with him as if he were weightless. Eddie squawks and laughs all the way to his room.

🧸

They spend the week together, talking, eating, drinking, laughing and fucking. Except it’s more than that because when Eddie is inside Steve, with his tongue, his fingers, or his strap, it feels like more. It feels like love. Like fate.

Steve, still determined to take things slow, doesn’t stay there all the time, going back to Robin’s where he moved back to after breaking up with Tommy. He actually brings her over one day and the three of them spend the afternoon together. Eddie decides they are going to be best friends immediately because Robin is hilarious and merciless. When Steve gets back the next day he kisses Eddie so good and hard his knees almost give out on him and tells him he has Robin’s seal of approval. Something he knows Tommy never got.

When the week passes Eddie says goodbye theatrically as if they were cross-star lovers in a bad soap opera and Steve chuckles and calls him ridiculous but kisses him so passionately that Eddie drags him right back inside and they say goodbye again a few hours later.

They had decided to wait until Eddie talked to Tarja about her feelings over Tommy’s and Steve’s breakup and whether she still wanted Steve around or not before having him over again.

But when Tarja gets back home she’s gloomy and silent. She hugs Eddie in greeting when she arrives and then spends the rest of the day lying face down on the floor and occasionally sighing loudly, obviously trying to make Eddie ask her what’s wrong.

And really, Eddie shouldn't find it as funny as he does, but he thinks about calling Wayne and telling him he gets it now when Wayne used to tell him he had too much personality.

Eventually, he lies on the floor next to her and asks. Tarja looks at him with big sad eyes and says, “I haven't seen Steve in a million years! And Daddy said he is not his boyfriend anymore! So I’ll never see him again and I miss him”

Eddie coos at her, “I’m sorry you miss him little dragon, but you can totally see him again! Would you like me to call him? Since he’s my friend too?” Already trying to strategize on how to tell her they are more than friends.

Tarja lights up and jumps off the floor and onto Eddie, punching the breath out of him, “Yes! Yes! Call Steve! Steve smiles more when he’s with you than he did with daddy anyway. Why don’t you boyfriend him instead?”

Well… that was easy.

He chuckles and shakes his head, “That’s a great idea sweety, go grab my phone,”

Tarja runs and grabs Eddie’s phone off the table and hands it to him, he doesn’t bother getting off the floor so she kneels beside him listening attentively as he dials Steve’s number. 

“Hi, handsome, you talked with Tarja already?” Steve greets him after it rings twice.

“Yeah about that, turns out Tarja talked to me, actually,” he chuckles, “Hi, by the way”

“Hi,” Steve repeats lovingly and laughs, “What do you mean?”

“She had this awesome idea!” he says winking at her and she covers her mouth with her tiny hands to hide her giggles, “That, since you are not with Tommy anymore, you should be my boyfriend instead,” he continues, voice going soft and chuckles when he hears Steve's breathless ‘oh’ on the other side of the line, “Come over?”

“Of course, gimme an hour? I'm with a client” Steve hums and Eddie whispers he’ll give him anything he asks for and hangs up.

An hour later Tarja is still lying on the floor, only now it’s with papers and crayons spread all around her when the doorbell rings. She looks up at Eddie excitedly and he nods at her, “Go on then”

Tarja runs to the door and opens it wide to reveal Steve standing there as beautiful as ever, giving Eddie a deja vu of the first time he saw him.

“Papa Steve!” Tarja yells and jumps up to hug him.

Steve gasps and falls to his knees with her in his arms and looks up at Eddie with shocked wet eyes.

‘So much for taking it slow,’ Eddie thinks with a smirk.

Fin.

☝️first part

☕🥐💕?

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #trans eddie munson #kid fic #i wrote something #i keep thinking about #you know how kid memories are weird and warped in your minds #i keep thinking about tarja being very much convinced that she is the one who got them to date just cause she suggested it to eddie #when she's older i mean #like they cannon convince her other wise she soooooo sure cause she perfectly remembers telling eddie to 'boyfriend' steve and that they #were not together before that #steve and robin think its hilarious #eddie hates giving her the credit #dunno if tommy gets a redemption ark but i imagine tarja and him have coffee from time to time and they catch up on their lives. #and tarja rolls her eyes a lot at him but he's not as bad as he used to be #its mostly like 'yeah yeah dad im sure tthings were different in your time sure'

[lovecanyon]

Inside Y/N L/N’s Bag | Vogue | Dad!H

MASTERLIST | PATREON

“Hi Vogue I am Y/N L/N and this is what’s in my bag.”

After she introduces herself, Y/N looks down at the bag in her lap. The bag she had used every single day was a personalized Pleasing mesh bag. It was a light pink color and had a blue ribbon tied onto one of the straps.

It was clear that it meant a lot to her.

“What I carry with me everyday is this.” She says grabbing onto her bag. “You can fit anything in here. And the thing about this is, it’s technically Inez’s diaper bag.”

Y/N then grins at the memory of Harry gifting her the tote.

“This specific bag was gifted to me by my husband a while ago, right before he had launched Pleasing. My son actually loves this bag and has one of his own but smaller. He doesn't go anywhere without it.” Y/N shares.

Setting her carrier onto the wooden coffee table in front of her, the Styles woman reaches into her bag and pulls out a bag of candy. Beau's favorite type.

Y/N remembers the night when Harry had got their son addicted to the chocolate minstrels.

“My son is obsessed with these and when I saw them I had to get them for him.” She laughs. “I spoil my kids way too much.”

The next thing Y/N pulled out was her phone. Just a plain iPhone 14 with a case that she had stolen from Harry or borrowed it, so she said. Once she taps on the screen her face lights up.

Her lock screen was a photo of a newborn Inez sleeping on Harry’s chest with Beau right beside them.

She almost shed a tear.

“This is my phone, nothing special until you look at the lock screen.” Y/N grins. She loved her family so deeply.

After placing her phone onto the table, she slides her hand into her carrier pulling out a blue bandanna. It previously belonged to Harry until Inez came around and slid the bandanna off of her father’s head.

It was truly her favorite thing in the world. You could say it was sort of like a safety blanket for her.

“Harry’s bandanna or should I say Inez’s bandanna. That girl loves this thing so much.”

-

A small bag of diapers, bibs, toy trucks, hair clips that she had stole back from Harry, kids sunscreen, Love on Tour’s backstage/V.I.P passes, bandaids, Harry’s headphones, her family’s passports and a camera

“Since we’re currently on tour and always traveling I always have to carry my children’s essentials.” Y/N explains looking at all the items laid out in front of her. “You can never be unprepared.”

Just five years ago her bag was filled with very different items than now. She was now a mother and had a family with a man she’s always wanted to grow old with.

Two kids later and she’s become a changed woman, a better one. She’s always valued the life she had, especially right now. Y/N couldn't have been more happy.

“Another toy!” Y/N laughs, pulling out another toy from her bag. “A mini statue of our dog Kendall who was actually named after Kendall Roy from Succession since Harry is obsessed with that show.” She holds out a miniature dog in her palm.

Following the toy, she slides out a pair of rings that clearly belonged to Harry Styles since they were his initials.

Y/N leans forward and slips the rings into her back pocket. She remembers the last time Harry had lost jewelry. It was at Coachella and he went insane looking for them.

“We are not losing any more rings.”

Comments:

harryfan2 WHEN WAS THEIR WEDDING OMFG?????

harryfan10 best mother in the world truly

harryfan4 harry’s love for succession has me rolling 😭😭

harryfan8 this. is. what. we. needed.

harryfan13 THE LOCK SCREEN

harryfan7 i cannot stress how much i love this video

harryfan5 the literal girl version of harry

harryfan9 harry is finally y/n’s husband 🧎‍♂️

harryfan11 i’m literally crying

-

tag list: @harrysmatcha @harryspinkpillow @helen-with-an-a @florencepughily @peterparkerbae @toji-dabi-wife @fallonx @drphilssoulmate @cherriesrae @alienorknight @valluvsu @ayeshathestyles @hazgoldenstyles @eiffelmezarry @tsukishimawhore @renatavieira @michellekstyles @eleanordaisy @shawnsblue @agustdpeach @hannahnikohl @whoscamila @ch3rryrry @msolbesg @futuristicpalacegardenpsychic @youusunshineyoutemptress @cherryfragrancx @milkiane @golden-hoax @sunshinemendes8 @your--sweetest--downfall @melllinaa @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cashtons-wife @stellarossii @scenesofobx @manifestrry @lomlolivia

#harry styles x reader #dad!harry #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #boyfriend!harry #husband!harry #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fake ig #harry styles fan fic #dilf!harry #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine

[floofle-universe]

Just a father and his beautiful children

#he just wanted to hang out with his boyfriend but got two grown ass kids instead #crowley #good omens season 2 #good omens fan art #good omens #muriel #good omens memes #good omens muriel #Gabriel #good omens gabriel #meme redraw #ineffable dads #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #unwanted fatherhood arc #my man’s is not happy Jajsksk #floofle art #my art #my meme #season 2 in a nutshell #apparently #MAKSKSKK I need to make more of theses #aziracrow

[proxima-writes]

I’d like to request a boyfriends dad fic where reader is on vacation with their family and Joel gets handsy with her but she convinces herself it’s okay. Then when her boyfriends ditches her Joel fucks her. Bonus points if boyfriend comes back super drunk while Joel is fucking reader and Joel just puts his hand over her mouth and continues fucjing her and bf passes by them but doesn’t notice 🤷🏻‍♀️

Just some thots…if it inspires you a fic/Drabble would be awesome

I may have....gotten carried away with this one.

title: karma is my boyfriend's dad

pairing: boyfriend's dad!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6588

summary:

Your boyfriend, Sean Miller, is an asshole. The one redeeming thing about him?

His dad, Joel Miller.

And he's just invited you along on the family vacation to Panama City Beach, Florida.

author’s note: thank you for the request!! this was a fun one. my 1000 follower mark is quickly approaching and i cant wait to do something fun for it! thank you for all your support and love so far 💕

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, alternate universe - boyfriend’s dad, age difference (21F and 56M), power imbalance dynamics, infidelity, asshole boyfriend, alcohol use, sunscreen as a flirting mechanism, reader wearing a bathing suit, touching in public, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, almost getting caught, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), thigh riding, sex against a door. let me know if any are missing!

Sean Miller is a shitty boyfriend. He constantly ditches you to hang out with his frat brothers, he’s left you at parties by yourself, he’s forgotten birthdays and anniversaries and, to top it all off, he’s never made you come. You’ve been with the guy for two years and not a single orgasm in all that time. 

You deserve better. You deserve orgasms. 

The only redeeming thing about Sean is his dad, Joel Miller.

Joel is the textbook definition of a DILF. He’s tall and broad with dark curly hair streaked with gray and kind brown eyes. Even approaching the upper fifties in age, he’s built like a tank. Wide shoulders and biceps that stretch his flannel shirts to the point where you’ll sometimes sit there willing a thread to pop, his thick thighs and a tight ass always hugged by the most sinful pair of Levi’s. 

But besides looking like sin, Joel is kind. There’s been more than one occasion where Sean had forgotten your plans, leaving you waiting at his house where he still lives with his dad and Joel would always take pity on you and invite you to watch a movie with him, the two of you sitting on opposite sides of the couch while he played a comedy to cheer you up. On your birthday, he sent you a Starbucks gift card and a text when his own son didn’t even remember. When you would update him on how school was going, he’d always pat your shoulder and say, “‘Atta girl.” 

That last memory in particular always makes your tummy erupt with butterflies.

In the last few months, things with Sean have been especially strained. He’s started hiding his phone from you, flipping the screen face down anytime you’re within arms reach of him. On the rare nights he spends at your apartment, he’ll get calls that he insists on taking privately.

Honestly, you were more than ready to end it before Joel caught you in his kitchen one day and asked if you wanted to come with him and Sean on their vacation to Panama City Beach.

“Really? I thought this was supposed to be, like, a guy’s trip?” You ask. You stayed the night last night and Sean was still asleep, always one to sleep until noon if given the opportunity. Joel is making coffee while you sit at the bar.

Joel shrugs. “I’m sure he’d want his girl there. You two can party and leave the old man behind for his bedtime,” he says with a playful smile that makes your heart flutter. 

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Miller, but there’s no way I can afford a ticket to Florida right now.” You reach for the cup he offers, only for him to pull it back out of reach.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover everythin’,” he replies. “Say yes and you can have your coffee.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to be a burden.”

Joel’s fingers brush against yours as he hands you your warm mug. A shiver runs down your spine at the contact.

“I’m positive, darlin’.”

________

Joel knows that his son treats you like shit, and he fucking hates it. He’s tried to talk some sense into the kid but all his wisdom just goes in one ear and out the other. He has to pretend that he doesn’t hear him bringing other girls over and it eats him up inside because he wants you to know, wants you to have better, but if he tells you, he’s severing the one tie he has to you and what then? He’s fifty-six, over thirty years your senior. He’s lived over two lifetimes in the course of your one. There’s no way in hell you’d look at him twice, and that’s not even including the fact that he’s your boyfriend’s dad.

Joel’s not sure what possessed him to invite you on vacation. You’re right, it was supposed to be a guy’s trip, a gift from Joel to Sean for his twenty-first birthday that was unfortunately right in the middle of his finals. He knows damn well Sean is, in fact, not going to be happy that you’ve been invited along. He’s certain the younger man fully intended to turn his hotel room into a revolving door for women he picked up at the bars along the beach, one time flings he could write off before returning home to a sure thing.

He tells Sean about the change of plans that evening over dinner. His son whines petulantly, slamming his fork down on the table.

“Dad, seriously? Why the fuck would you invite her, this is gonna ruin everything,” he says. 

“Shouldn’t be talkin’ ‘bout your girlfriend like that,” Joel admonishes. Sean rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t even put out anymore, I don’t even know why I keep her around. I should just break up with her before the trip.”

Joel’s jaw clenches with frustration. “I already bought her ticket. She’s comin’ whether you like it or not and that’s final.”

“Fuck this shit,” Sean says, chair scraping across the floor as he stands. “Whatever. Won’t stop me from having a good time.”

Joel’s counting on it.

________

Joel and Sean pick you up from your apartment at 4 am for the 7 am flight to Florida. Your boyfriend is passed out in the front passenger seat, but Joel shakes him awake and tells him to get in the back. The younger man grumbles but does as he’s told while Joel helps you load your luggage into the bed of the truck. The trip will last four days, so you’ve squeezed everything into a single carry on and your backpack. 

After all, it’s Florida. You plan on spending every day in a bikini.

Sean passes back out as you settle in his vacated seat, placing your travel mug of coffee in the cup holder besides Joel’s. He gives you a polite smile as he puts the truck in reverse, placing his arm on the back of the seat and twisting to look out the rear window, his other hand deftly turning the wheel. 

You can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, your core already aching at his proximity. 

You’re in for a long four days.

_______

The three of you make it through airport security quickly, the early hour lending some reprieve from the crowds. 

“Why is this flight so fucking early?” Sean grouses, slumped in one of the uncomfortable terminal seats. 

“Did you want more or less time in Florida?” Joel replies, flipping through his newspaper.

“Whatever,” Sean replies with a roll of his eyes, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up and burrowing into it.

You return from your quest for breakfast at that moment, a white paper bag in your hands and a bright smile on your face as you sit between the two men.

“I got you a bagel,” you say to Joel, pulling a plain bagel wrapped in wax paper from the bag.

“You get me anything?” Sean asks, peeking from beneath his hood. Your shoulders drop.

“Oh…no. You don’t usually eat breakfast,” you reply. Sean groans. “We can share mine?” You offer.

“No, it’s fine, whatever. Thanks for thinking of me.”

Joel’s brow pinches in irritation, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he watches your smile fade into a frown as you look at the bag in your hands. He nudges you with his shoulder.

“Hey, I appreciate it,” he tells you quietly. You give him a tentative smile.

He misses the bright one.

________

“I call window,” Sean says when the three of you have boarded the plane, flopping into the seat after haphazardly tossing his bag into an overhead compartment without waiting for a reply. 

Joel fixes his son’s bag before settling his own beside it and turning to hold a hand out for yours. You hand your duffel over to him with a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Which seat do you want, darlin’?” Joel asks you.

“I can sit in the middle,” you offer, scooching past him in the tight space. Your back brushes his chest and he catches a whiff of your strawberry shampoo, the scent making his mouth water.

He sits beside you, tucking his backpack beneath the seat in front of him. Your thigh brushes his as you get comfortable in your seat, the row a tight squeeze for the three of you. 

“How long is this flight?” You ask, pulling a pair of headphones from your backpack. Sean’s already unconscious again, his head tilted against the window and his mouth open in a snore.

“‘Bout two hours,” Joel says. You nod, shifting in your seat again. Your shoulders knock into his when you do, and you give him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. Tight fit,” you tell him. He swallows around the lump in his throat.

He can think of something else that would be a tight fit.

The flight attendants go through their pre-flight duties and take-off occurs without any issue. When they give the green light to use electronics, you pull out your phone, cursing when the screen remains black even as you hit the power button.

“My phone died,” you explain. He smiles sympathetically.

“You wanna watch a movie on mine? I downloaded a couple,” he offers.

“Sure. We can share my headphones?”

“Good idea.”

Joel plugs your headphones into the jack on his phone and passes you the right earbud before sticking the left one in his own ear. He queues up a movie, some action film called Triple Frontier that seemed interesting based on the synopsis, and holds the phone on his lap. You lean into him, that strawberry scent settling over him once again.

You keep fidgeting in your seat, twisting and readjusting your upper body against the arm rest between your seats. After the third time, he reaches down and flips it up, your body slumping closer to his. When he looks down at you, your face is tilted up towards his and he has to concentrate very hard to keep his gaze trained on your eyes. 

“Thanks,” you whisper before returning your attention to the movie. “Hey, that guy kinda looks like you.”

________

The flight passes quickly, much to Joel’s dismay. He would have liked to keep sitting pressed up beside you for longer. 

At the car rental facility, Joel gets handed the keys to a Jeep Wrangler. Sean’s eyes light up when he sees it.

“Can I drive?” He asks. 

Joel sighs. “Fine, just be careful would ya?”

Sean lowers the soft top before hopping in the driver’s seat. Joel insists that you sit in the front passenger, because he’s a gentleman, but he quickly regrets the choice.

With the top down and the music blaring, Sean is in a relatively good mood. He’s smiling at you and even reaches over to grab your hand, pulling it towards him to press a kiss to the back of it. Joel can feel the tug of jealousy in his gut as he watches you smile back at him but there’s nothing that he can do about that.

After all, you’re Sean’s girl.

And he’s just going to have to live with that.

________

Sean is standing behind you with his hands on your hips, lips trailing kisses along the exposed skin of your shoulder in your tank top while Joel is speaking with the hotel clerk, checking into the rooms. You squirm away from Sean’s attention, the man dropping his hands from you and frowning.

“Why are you being such a prude?” He snaps. 

“I’m not being a prude,” you say with a sigh. “Your dad is right there.”

He tries to pull you back towards him with an arm around your waist. “Come on, babe. He’s probably already heard you moaning my name,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Not likely, you think. 

“I just don’t think it’s appropriate.” You step out of his grasp again as Joel approaches, holding three key cards.

“Room 102 for the two of you,” he says, handing two of the cards to Sean. “And I’m in 104, if y’all need anything.”

“Great,” Sean says, grabbing your hand. “Come on, let’s go put our stuff away.”

You trail behind Sean, but can’t help looking back at Joel.

You’re surprised to find his dark gaze already fixed on you.

________

“Come on, let’s go find a bar,” Sean whines. You’ve just left the bathroom after changing out of your travel outfit of leggings and into a bikini and a sheer cover-up dress.

“It’s so early. I highly doubt there are any bars open. Besides, I need to charge my phone,” you tell him, packing a tote bag with your sunscreen, a book, your copy of the room key, and your sunglasses. “Why don’t we go to the pool?”

“It’s PCB, babe, there’s bound to be a bar open,” Sean says with a roll of his eyes. “But if you wanna be boring then by all means, go to the pool.”

You sigh. “You do whatever you want, Sean.”

He grabs his wallet from the nightstand, shoving it into his pocket. “Fine. I will. Come find me when you’re done being such a fucking bitch.”

The door slams behind him as he leaves, the sudden noise making you jump in surprise.

You can’t even find it in yourself to be upset.

________

Joel’s just opening the door to his room when he hears his son’s raised voice across the hall. He freezes, the door half open as he listens.

“Fine. I will. Come find me when you’re done being a fucking bitch,” Sean says before slamming the door. 

Anger courses through Joel’s veins as he listens to his son’s heavy footsteps echo down the hall. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, before opening the door fully and crossing the hall to knock on your door.

When you open the door, you look surprised to see him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Joel has to make a conscious effort to not let his eyes wander your body. He can see the neon pink strings of your bikini tied around your neck and god does he want to see more.

He clears his throat. “Hey. Everythin’ alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. I was just about to go to the pool,” you tell him.

“I’ll come with you,” Joel immediately offers without thinking.

“If you’re sure. I don’t want to get in the way of any plans you had, Mr. Miller,” you mutter.

“I’m sure.”

________

Joel sets some hotel towels on loungers positioned beside each other on a sunny part of the pool deck. The pool is fairly busy and to your surprise there’s a live DJ and a bartender is already making a steady flow of drinks behind the poolside bar. The pool itself is huge and even boasts its own lazy river that you’re looking forward to floating down.

Your attention is dragged to Joel once more as he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it up. Your mouth goes dry as you watch his back muscles work, rippling beneath miles of tan skin that you want to trace with your fingertips. 

You shake your head free of thought and remove your coverup while his back is still turned, stuffing it into your tote bag you’ve dropped beside the lounger. You pull out your sunscreen and sunglasses, slipping them over your eyes to combat the harsh Florida sun.

When you look up, you’re surprised to find Joel already watching you, gaze fixed squarely on your chest. You clear your throat, wiggling the sunscreen bottle at him.

“You want me to get your back?” You offer. 

“Sure. Thanks,” he replies, voice rough. You have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together for relief from the ache between them, your brain conjuring scenarios of that deep timbre in your ear telling you how good you feel around him. 

He sits on the lounger with his back to you, waiting for your next move. You squirt some sunscreen into your palm, rubbing your hands together before smoothing it across his back. His shoulders tense briefly at the first touch of your hands before he goes lax against you, his head dropping as you smooth the lotion on him.

You get lost in the feeling of his skin beneath your fingertips as you drag your hands over the broad muscles of his back and shoulders and down his spine. In a moment of bravery, or stupidity, you let your fingers drag the tiniest bit beneath the elastic of his navy swim shorts, just enough that it could be passed off as an honest mistake. 

When you’re finished, you hand the bottle to him over his shoulder. He takes it silently, lathering the rest of his body while you adjust your lounger flat and lay face down. You reach behind your back, tugging at the strings of your bikini until they fall to the side.

“Could you do me next?” 

________

Joel takes a seat on the lounger, his hips brushing yours. He’s hard as a fucking rock in his swim shorts, has been from the moment you opened your hotel door wearing your sheer coverup, pink bikini taunting him beneath.

It was a stupid fucking idea to ask you to come to the pool with him. He was clearly thinking with the head in his pants and not the one on his shoulders because he didn’t stop to consider that he’d be getting a front seat to the soft skin of your thighs and tummy, the curve of your waist and ass and breasts on full display for him to commit to memory. 

And now you were asking him to touch you. Giving him permission to have his hands on the same flesh he imagines when he’s gripping his cock roughly in his palm and chasing an orgasm that offers hardly any relief. 

He swallows nervously before uncapping the sunscreen and squirting it directly on your back. You give a little yelp of surprise, the lotion no doubt unexpectedly cold, but you settle back down when he smooths a palm across your back. 

You’ve untied the strings of your top, leaving him with no obstacles as he works the lotion into your skin. He loses himself in the repetitive motion, smoothing his hands across your shoulders and down your spine like you had done to him. He lets his thumbs press into the divot of your lower back, fighting the urge to drag them beneath the scant bit of fabric covering your ass.

As he finishes, he drags his hands back up your sides, his fingertips dragging across the soft skin of the exposed sides of your breasts. He feels the hitch in your breathing as he does and he worries for a moment that perhaps he’s gone too far. 

“Thanks,” you say, voice breathy. “Would you mind getting my legs for me? I don’t want to get up.”

Joel thinks he should mind. He should absolutely mind being asked by his son’s girlfriend to rub lotion into her back and legs. The action is too intimate, it’s crossing a line and he knows this.

He just can’t bring himself to give a fuck anymore. 

Wordlessly, Joel squirts some more sunscreen into his palm, this time warming it between his hands before smoothing it on your legs, starting with your calves. He slides his palms up your legs, high enough that his fingertips brush the crease where the curve of your ass meets your thigh. Your legs spread just the slightest bit and Joel lets his thumbs drift toward your inner thighs.

He’s playing with fire now as he presses his thumbs deeper, higher, the tip of one even grazing your bikini bottoms. He desperately wants to slide it beneath the elastic, to drag his thumb through your slit and find out if you’re wet just from the touch of his hands.

But Joel pulls his hands away and stands, moving over to his own lounger and laying facedown on the towel covered cushion. His dick presses uncomfortably into his thigh and he uses that discomfort as a means to will the hardness away.

He’s in for a long four days.

________

Your pool day with Joel runs from the early morning to the late afternoon. Neither of you hear from Sean during that time, but you can’t find it in yourself to be bothered. Not when Joel Miller is sitting beside you in an inner tube, floating down a lazy river as you talk about everything and nothing, drops of water clinging to his skin and catching the light. You could stay in a moment like this forever so long as he’s there, too.

As the intensity of the sun starts to wane, Joel suggests finding somewhere to get dinner.

“Pick somewhere nice, though. My treat,” he says as you’re parting ways at your hotel room doors. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, shutting his door and leaving you smiling in the hallway like a girl with a crush.

You let yourself into your hotel room, not surprised to find it empty. Your phone is still sitting on the charger with no new notifications. The part of you that’s been in a relationship with Sean Miller for two years feels a pang of sadness at your boyfriend’s silence.

The part that wants to fuck his dad doesn’t give a shit.

You shower and change into a sundress before slipping your sandals back on. Checking the time, you grab your bag and head to the lobby to meet up with Joel.

Joel’s already in the lobby, leaning against the wall near the exit and scrolling through his phone. He’s wearing a light blue short sleeve button down that hugs his biceps deliciously, the tan of his skin popping against the fabric, his usual boots, and khakis. You were almost certain this man didn’t own anything besides perfectly broken in Wranglers. His hair is combed back, still damp from his shower, and he looks so good you have to consciously stop your jaw from dropping.

“Hey, you pick a place?” Joel asks as you approach, slipping his phone into the pocket of his pants. 

“There’s an oyster bar nearby that looks good,” you reply. He holds the door open for you, broad palm ghosting across your low back as you exit the cool hotel lobby and out into the hot Florida night. The traffic on the sidewalk is thick, people moving like the nearby ocean as they ebb and flow from place to place. 

“You hear from Sean at all?” Joel asks as you navigate the crowds, his arm brushing yours as he sticks close to your side. You shake your head and Joel sighs. “I’m sorry. I love the kid, I do, but goddamn if he doesn’t piss me off sometimes.”

You sigh. “It’s not your fault, Mr. Miller. You don’t have to apologize for him.”

You’re both quiet after that. You don’t know what’s going through Joel’s head as you sneak a glance at him and catch only his furrowed brow and tense jaw. 

You nearly pass the restaurant in your distraction, but Joel catches you by the arm, tugging you with him to the entrance.

It’s a cute little bar and restaurant, the kind of place that’s cozy without being horribly cramped. The lighting is dim and booths line the walls while tables sit in the middle, candles flickering and casting shadows on the walls and across the white tablecloths. 

The hostess seats you at one of the booths, tucked away in the corner. You sit across from Joel, setting your bag beside you after digging your phone out from it. When the waitress walks away without leaving menus, Joel looks adorably confused. 

“You have to use your phone,” you tell him with a giggle. “They have the QR code menus.”

“I’m gettin’ too old for this shit,” Joel complains. You roll your eyes, standing and moving over to his side of the booth, settling beside him. His thigh presses to yours and you’re acutely aware of the contact as you lean close to share your phone screen with him. 

When the waitress returns, you place your drink and food orders. Joel opts for whiskey, neat, and a medium rare steak because you can take the man out of Texas but you can’t take Texas out of the man. You order a spicy pineapple margarita and a plate of herb crusted oysters.

You should probably move back over to the other side of the booth, but you don’t want to. The feel of his body pressed to yours lights up your nerve endings in an unfamiliar way, his clean woodsy smell settling over you like a comforting blanket. He doesn’t say anything about how you remain seated next to him, just turns his head to talk to you.

The drinks arrive first. The sour tang of the pineapple makes your face pucker when you take a sip, making Joel laugh. You might be imagining it, but you think his gaze lingers on your lips for just a beat too long to be coincidence. You cross your legs beneath the table, squeezing your thighs together for some semblance of relief from the ache between your legs.

A second round of drinks is ordered and delivered while you talk about a TV show you both enjoy. This drink leaves you feeling pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. Joel makes a joke about one of the recent episodes and it makes you laugh so hard you’re leaning against him for support.

You place your hand on his thigh close to his knee. Joel tenses beside you but doesn’t say anything, his eyes dark over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. You can’t bring yourself to look away but you’re also frozen in place, not daring to drag your hand further up. The spell between you is broken when the waitress drops by with your trays of food, setting them on the table and walking away with a request for another round of drinks from Joel.

“These look amazing,” you say, squeezing lemon over them. Joel’s started to cut into his steak, inspecting the center and giving a tiny nod of approval that makes you smile. “Hey, did you know oysters are an aphrodisiac?”

Joel coughs on the piece of steak he’d been eating, reaching for his whiskey and tossing the rest back as he swallows. “They’re what now?”

________

“Aphrodisiacs. They increase your sex drive,” you say, your lips wrapping around the bite poised on your fork. Your eyes flutter shut as you let out a little moan of satisfaction. “God, these are better than sex.”

“Must not be havin’ very good sex, then,” Joel immediately responds without thinking. His hand freezes halfway between his plate and his mouth, his eyes going wide as his brain catches up to his mouth. “Sorry that...that wasn’t appropriate.”

“It’s fine, Mr. Miller,” you say, patting his knee. Your hand lingers there again, the second time this evening, and it makes Joel’s brain misfire. This whole dinner has been a test of his self-control and he is quickly fraying at the edges the longer you sit pressed beside him, that god forsaken strawberry scent flooding his senses. 

The waitress delivers the third round of drinks and your hand leaves his thigh to pick yours up and take a sip. His eyes track the way your lips wrap around the straw, mind wandering to something else he’d like to see them wrapped around.

He takes a sip of his own drink, letting the burn of the whiskey down his throat distract him. The third drink is making his mind spin, a voice in his head urging him to trace his fingers along the exposed skin of your thigh beneath the table. He sets his hand on his own thigh, casual as can be.

You’re telling Joel a story about the time a guy in one of your classes was so hungover he fell asleep in the middle of an exam but Joel can barely concentrate. His eyes keep lingering on your lips and trail lower, lower, lower, over the delicate line of your neck, the dip at the base of your throat, the swell of your breasts.

Joel stretches his pinky, the tip of his finger barely skimming the soft skin of your thigh. He watches your face for a reaction and finding none, he feels emboldened. He inches his hand closer, his ring finger joining his pinky in caressing you. 

He’s focused on your face, watching for any indication that you notice what he’s up to beneath the tablecloth. He holds his breath as his fingers dip beneath the hem of your dress. You stutter in your story, tripping over your words and Joel’s fingers pause in their exploration.

Joel shouldn’t be doing this. He should pull his hand back and forget any of this happened, forget the silky smooth feel of your skin beneath his fingers, forget the way your smile lit up your face as he floated down the lazy river beside you. 

Then you’re tilting your head, eyes boring into him like you can see right through him, see every depraved thought running through his head and your knee presses more tightly to his, your legs spreading beneath the table and Joel’s hand sliding to your inner thigh with the movement.

“Can I get y’all anything else?” 

Joel rips his hand from your leg and swallows guiltily as he looks up at the waitress standing beside the booth. You sit up straighter, your heat leaving his side and he curses the interruption.

Perhaps it was for the best, though. 

You’re still Sean’s girlfriend, after all. 

________

Your skin is buzzing with the liquor in your veins and the phantom feel of Joel’s touch on your thighs. The man is quiet on the walk back, brooding even. His brow is furrowed, jaw tense, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants like it’ll stop him from touching you again. 

The thought makes you downright giddy.

“Thanks for dinner, Mr. Miller,” you say as you stand in front of the doors of your respective rooms. 

He gives you a tight smile. “‘Course, darlin’. Have a good night,” he tells you before disappearing into his room, the heavy door shutting behind him and echoing in the hall. 

You swipe the key for your room, opening the door to find it still dark, everything the same as you left it. You drop your bag on one of the beds, pulling your phone out to check if you have any missed messages and finding none. 

The silence from Sean is the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.

You leave your room, crossing the hall to knock on Joel’s door. The man answers a moment later, already changed into a t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. 

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks, opening the door wider. 

“Left my key in the room,” you reply. “You mind if I stay with you for a bit?”

You can see the struggle flash across Joel’s brown eyes, but it’s just as quickly swallowed by a shade of lust that makes your breath hitch. 

“Sure, darlin’,” he finally says, stepping back and making room for you to cross the threshold. 

You turn to face him when the door shuts. You can’t tell who makes the first move, only that one moment you’re staring at each other and the next your body is being pulled against his, thick fingers digging into your hair and pulling your mouth to his in a bruising kiss.

He turns your bodies, your back hitting the door as his mouth continues to explore, his tongue dipping between your lips to tangle with yours. He tastes like whiskey and feels like sin, his broad body pressing against yours. Your arms wind around his shoulders, pulling him towards you desperately like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Fuck,” Joel groans against your mouth. “Been wantin’ to touch you so goddamn bad, you have no fuckin’ idea.”

His hands drag up your hips and over your waist, fabric of your dress bunching in his fists. He looks down between your bodies, watching as he slides a thick thigh between your legs, the sudden pressure against your sensitive core making you gasp. You rock against the hard muscle, unable to fight back a whimper at how good it feels.

“That feel good, baby?” Joel asks, lips close to your ear. “Come on, darlin’ move a little faster for me, that’s it.”

His hands grip your hips, urging your movements over his thigh. Your head tips back against the door with a thud as you gasp. His lips trail hot kisses across your jaw and neck, his teeth nipping at the skin just over your pulse point. One of his hands drags the strap of your dress down, exposing your breast to the cool air of the room, your nipples going tight with equal parts chill and anticipation. 

Joel rubs a thumb across the tight bud, almost reverently, before bringing his mouth to it, pulling it between his lips and swirling it with his tongue. The sensation makes your hips move faster over his thigh and you can feel how slick you are in your panties with each thrust.

“You have any idea,” Joel groans, other hand leaving your hip and ripping the opposite strap down so that he can give your nipple the same attention, “how fuckin’ hard it is, huh? To keep my fuckin’ head on straight when you walk around lookin’ like an angel that a devil like me don’t deserve?”

“Joel,” you moan, your chest heaving with strained breaths as just this man’s thigh brings you closer to relief than your boyfriend ever has. “Joel, please!”

“Please what, sweetheart? I’m already in this deep, you gotta know I’d give ya anythin’,” he says. “You wanna cum, baby? Wanna soak my thigh for me, get these pants all messy so that I can’t think of anythin’ but you when I gotta wear them for another three days?”

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, your orgasm cresting unexpectedly. Your legs clamp tight around his thigh, the aftershocks coursing through you with surprising ferocity. When your grip on him loosens, the man drops to his knees, looking up at you with a wicked gleam in his dark brown eyes.

“How’d that feel, baby?” He asks, running his hands up the outside of your legs until his fingertips find the elastic of your panties, easing the fabric down your thighs while he waits for a response.

“G-good,” you mumble, feeling a bit self-conscious in the aftermath. You’d just come from nothing but grinding against this man’s thigh for crying out loud. You reach up to fix your dress straps, but a pinch to your inner thigh has you yelping in surprise.

“Nuh uh, wanna see those gorgeous tits when I look up at you,” Joel admonishes. You can feel your cheeks heating, blood rushing to your face from just his words. 

He lifts your leg, draping it over his shoulder. The position leaves you a little off kilter, your hands landing on his head for balance.

“I’m gonna eat this pretty little pussy now, okay?” He says, rather than asks. He gives you no time to respond, leaning in to lick through your folds with a deep, satisfied groan. You cry out from the overstimulation to your sensitive clit, your fingers pulling against his hair. He hums, the vibrations pulsing through your bundle of nerves and making you damn near sob at the sensation.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” is all you can manage to say, a slur of his name as his tongue circles your clit and dips inside your entrance, messy slides of it through your folds as he drinks you up. You look down briefly, only to find him staring right back at you, his heated stare making your blood boil.

“Gimme one more, baby, and then I need to get you on my cock,” he groans before doubling his efforts, licking and sucking and nipping at your flesh until you’re sobbing out his name as you come for a second time. “Fuck, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls.

He stands, shoving his pajama pants down his thighs, his cock bobbing free. The thick length of it makes your mouth practically water as you watch him give it a few rough tugs. He smirks at you, reaching down to lift one of your legs, holding it up with the crook of his elbow at the back of your knee. The position leaves you spread wide for him as he takes his cock in his other hand, positioning the thick head at your soaked entrance.

“Tell me you want this,” he demands, the tip barely pushing inside of you. 

“I want this,” you repeat dutifully. He shakes his head.

“No, sweetheart. Wanna hear you say you want my cock.”

You whine, the sound damn near pitiful to your ears. “Please, Joel, I want your cock.”

“There’s my good girl,” he says with a smile, finally easing into you with a burning stretch that makes you gasp. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight.”

You moan as he bottoms out, hips pressing to yours. He kisses whatever skin he can reach as he gives you a moment to adjust before pulling out nearly all the way and thrusting sharply back inside, punching the air from your lungs as his cock drags against your g-spot with each thrust.

There’s a pounding at your back and a shout of your name, followed by, “Dad! Where the fuck is everyone?”

Your eyes go wide and Joel’s hips slow but to your shock, they don’t stop. He brings a hand to your jaw, fingers pressing to your cheek as he slips his thumb between your lips and shushes you.

“Haven’t seen her,” Joel shouts back, even as his eyes never leave yours. Your walls flutter around his cock as he continues to thrust, sharp but controlled so as not to make a lot of noise that can be heard on the other side of the door. “You should check the hotel bar. Said she might get some drinks there if you weren’t back when we finished dinner.”

“You guys went to dinner without me? That’s fuckin’ bullshit,” Sean whines. “Fine, whatever, I didn’t even want to see her anyways. Found me a blonde that I can bring back to the room instead.”

Joel’s eyes flash with rage and you shake your head gently. When Sean’s footsteps indicate he’s left, Joel’s hips resume a more punishing rhythm. He withdraws his thumb from your mouth as his hand slides lower, circling your throat possessively instead. You gasp, moaning loudly as your body relents to a third orgasm that leaves your vision fuzzy at the edges.

Joel’s own movements stutter before he’s pulling out, his cum splashing against your tummy as he grinds his cock against your hip, finishing with a gasp of your name.

You lean against him as you catch your breath, enjoying the feel of his hands smoothing over your hair.

“You okay?” He asks.

You grin at him. “Never been better, Mr. Miller.”

Sean may have found a blonde, but you’ve found your way into bed with his dad.

Karma’s funny like that.

Joel Miller taglist:

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727  @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo @bigboiseason123 @bean-is-reading @darlingpedro @silkiers @pascals-catt @bbyanarchist @therealcap @pedrosgrogu @Sadbloatedegg @dimitra300 @thesolarangell @pedrotonin @ievutebebee @peterrthree @worhols @lonesomecowboah @taraiel

Want more Joel Miller? Check out the master list.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #no use of y/n #joel tlou #joel x reader #boyfriend’s dad!joel miller #alternate universe

[monstersandmaw]

Male kelpie (dad-bod, single father, biker) x plus size f. reader - Part One (sfw)

Background info post on the Full Moon Motorcycles group here Oats Appreciation post here

Featuring a plus-size, bisexual, not very confident reader, and a divorced, Scottish, single-dad, biker kelpie with a soft-dad bod and a heart as big as his bike’s engine (possibly bigger).

CW: there is a very brief moment where a character (not Oats!) insults the reader for her size and uses some fat-phobic language towards and about her, unaware that she can hear him. If you’re sensitive to that, it is brief, but you can skip from “…you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.” to the paragraph beginning, “After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror…”. Also, if you squint, there’s a passing moment that could possibly be interpreted as the reader having some potential issues with food, but it’s not intended to be a big deal and it’s only for about two sentences. Still putting it in here too, just in case. 

Wordcount: 7562

You pushed open the glass door of Full Moon Motorcycles and willed yourself not to feel self-conscious or out of place.

Having both an older brother and a mother who rode motorbikes had at least given you a fair bit of familiarity with bikes and the general ‘biker culture’, but it was mostly the fact that almost all the ‘biker girls’ you saw posing on social media were slim and toned, which you were decidedly not.

From the utterly foetid takes in the comments section of the one post your brother had shared on his page with you in it, you’d also got the impression that the biker community was not particularly kind to any woman with a waist over 25 inches. It probably wasn’t the case, but your one experience with it had been enough to make you very wary.

And yet, as you made your way towards the bike shop’s counter and the older man with floppy, greying hair and warm brown eyes looked up, you were greeted with an open, welcoming smile.

“Hi there,” he said, standing up with a grunt from the comfy chair where he’d been sitting in the corner near the shop’s antique cash register. “What can I do for you?”

You smiled shyly and glanced along the wooden countertop before returning your gaze to him. “I’m looking for a present for my brother, but I’m kind of on a budget…”

“Gotcha. We’ve got some silly key fobs there,” he said, indicating a rotating display rack at one end of the counter, with mottoes that ranged from funny to explicit, “But if they like working on their bike themselves, you can’t go wrong with some maintenance supplies… Not the most glamorous but I promise they’ll be grateful to you all the same.”

“Could always tie a festive ribbon round it,” you said, and he chuckled and nodded.

“That’s the spirit.”

You eyed the reasonable price of the fobs with some relief, and then followed his gesture towards the various bottles of chain degreaser and the like, and a few other useful tools and kits that were stacked on shelves on the back wall to the right of a door that presumably led into the back and store rooms.

The right hand side of the shop had the counter and some shiny, new bikes that had been parked in a row around the perimeter of the space, and the left hand side was more open with a bench or two against the brick walls, and some red, mechanics’ tool-chests tucked against the back wall. A number of leather two- and one-piece suits hung in racks at the furthest end though, with helmets on shelves and a few rows of t-shirts, jeans, gloves, and boots displayed too. There were oil stains in the centre of the polished concrete floor, and you suspected that tinkering took place there outside of the shop’s usual opening hours.

The whole vibe of Full Moon Motorcycles was friendly and cosy, with a slightly industrial, grungy note for some flavour.

In short, you loved it.

“There are also some fun helmet covers –” the older man chuckled, and added, “A number of the regulars here have them, and there are also some earplugs, or perhaps a tough phone case and mount? A chain care kit? There are some vinyl stickers too, and t-shirts, socks, neck warmers, balaclavas, mugs, helmet care kits, thermals…”

Laughing, you held up your hands for him to stop, and he started to chuckle too.

“I’ll let you browse in peace, sweetheart,” he said, his whisky brown eyes twinkling. Even his un-looked-for endearment came across as kindly instead of creepy, and not many men could pull that off. “You just holler if you have questions and I’ll be happy to –”

The door opened behind you and he broke off as his attention was snagged by the arrival of a heavy-set guy in dark jeans and a softly-worn, black leather jacket. He held a black helmet with a tinted visor in his large hands, and he looked more than a little wind-blown and rumpled.

Incongruous with his rather roguish-dishevelment, a lock of his long, thick, slightly grizzled, black hair was held back by a little hair-clip with a Barbie-pink, fabric bow. It didn’t fit with the dark scruff of stubble on his jaw or the piercing green-blue eyes at all, but he seemed completely unfazed by its presence.

“Oats!” the older man exclaimed with obvious joy, clapping his hands. “It’s been a while, my boy! How was the trip to Scotland? You make it round the NC500 this time?”

The ‘boy’ looked to be in his mid to late thirties…

“Ach, no’ a chance this time, Hank,” the man chuckled with a heavy, Scottish accent lacing his rich, rough baritone. Exactly where in Scotland he was from, you couldn’t tell, but it was lyrical and attractive all the same.

“Ah, next time, next time. And is Natalie well?

“Oh aye, my wee Loch Ness Monster is doing just fine. She’ll be terrorising her mother for the Christmas holidays. I came straight from the road though — clutch started playing up just south of Birmingham.” He grimaced, but even that looked charming somehow. “Sort of hoped you might find a minute to take a look at it for me if I left the Old Girl here. No rush though.”

“No problem, Oats. We’ll get her running properly again in no time. Bet you’re missing little Natalie already,” Hank added sympathetically.

“Ah, you have no idea,” the man, peculiarly-named ‘Oats’, sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

“See she left you with a parting gift though,” Hank snorted, pointing at the bow hair clip.

With a slight frown to his dark eyebrows, Oats reached up and patted at his head until he found it, and then he laughed. It was a loud, delighted, full-bellied sound that reverberated through the space while it lasted, and he left the hair clip where it was with no trace of self-consciousness as he lowered his hand again. “Aye, that she did. Surprised it survived the journey down with my lid on and everything. Oh –” His unusually pale green eyes landed on you, watching him and lurking near the rows of t-shirts on the back wall, and he went still.

Those sea-grey eyes raked you up and down, clearly noting the way your black leggings clung to the curves of your thighs and hips, and the black hoodie, which maybe went some way to hiding the softness of your stomach a bit, and he swallowed visibly. He looked… hungry. That was not the usual reaction you had grown accustomed to from men, and you let the flare of heat lick up your insides for just a moment, daring to hope that maybe he did find you attractive.

“Sorry,” he said in your direction, with a soft, dusky smile. “Didnae mean t’interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you managed to croak back at him before returning your attention, however reluctantly, to present options for your brother while the older man, Hank, hobbled out around the corner of the wooden counter to chat amicably with the man. You couldn’t hear what was said as the two chatted in lower voices, but it was evident that they were good friends. While they talked, however, you couldn’t help noticing that he stole occasional sidelong glances in your direction, and you felt your face warm pleasantly.

‘Oats’ was certainly an unusual nickname, but then again, almost everyone who rode with your brother also had their own nicknames for one reason or another. As you browsed, you wondered what Oats had done to earn that one. He certainly looked like a snack to you, but you vowed not to let your attraction to the stranger show. Awkward situations (or worse, silences) tended to arise when you let that happen.

He had a tanned, outdoorsy complexion, and longish, black hair that was tied back in a low ponytail that brushed below the collar of his black leather jacket. It looked like it had a tendency to flop into his face when not restrained by that out-of-place pink bow. He filled out the jacket very well, and clearly had a soft paunch, and his thighs looked frankly delectable in those thick, indigo jeans. You prayed you wouldn’t have to see him fully from the back if he turned around, to witness the way he filled out the seat of his jeans too.

Fuck. Concentrate.

Bike gifts for brother, not delicious-looking stranger you’re never going to see again.

“Well, I shouldnae hang about, I suppose.”

Oats’ voice cut through your musings in front of chain degreasers and you jumped a little. Glancing back over at him, you offered him a smile when he too turned to look at you one last time, and a slow, charming smile crept onto his handsome face.

“See you,” he said with a dip of his head. Before he strode from the shop though, he let his eyes roam once more down the length of you and he bit his lower lip, almost regretfully, then turned away abruptly.

Oh yes. He absolutely did fill out the ass of those jeans beautifully.

Quite honestly, you weren’t totally sure what you ended up getting your brother for his birthday. You took whatever it was to the counter in a daze, your mind replaying over and over the way he’d looked at you.

“Must say,” Hank said conspiratorially as he fished your change from the antique cash register and slid it across the polished, wooden counter towards you. “I’ve never seen Oats quite so taken with someone, miss.” He chuckled, his kind, whisky-brown eyes glinting. “You take care now.”

Swallowing, you nodded and left the shop, hoping perhaps to find Oats waiting for you outside on the street, leaning against his motorcycle, but life was not a movie, and wherever he was, he was not lingering in the hopes of seeing you. In fact, the street was completely deserted, so you crossed, clambered into your little hatchback, and drove home with the feeling that you’d let a pivotal moment in your life pass you by.

Your sour mood persisted like a raincloud for the whole week, but by the time you were driving over to your brother’s on Saturday for his birthday ride, you were trying to pull yourself out of it. You had your own helmet with you, secured in the back of the car, and beside it was (now wrapped) the present you’d got him. In fact, it was a chain care kit, and, although you hadn’t noticed at the time, Hank had thrown in a free keychain that said ‘In my defence, I was left unsupervised’ which was very on-brand for your brother. You had planned to go back and thank him for the freebie as soon as you could, but your brother’s birthday ride had been planned for that Saturday, and work had been hell that week, so you’d not had the chance.

Predictably, Alex wasn’t in the house when you rang the doorbell, so you followed the sound of metallic clinking and laughter, and went round the side to find him tinkering with his mad little Honda Grom in the garage, while his two best mates — Eggs and Sparky — were lounging around and either making unhelpful suggestions or lewd comments.

“Yo!” Sparky grinned when he saw you, sitting up straighter and almost falling off the mechanic’s tool chest he was leaning his weight against. At Sparky’s exclamation, your brother sat up and banged his head on the handlebars of the short little Grom with a curse.

“Hey,” you mumbled in Sparky’s general direction. “Happy birthday, Alex.”

Alex scrambled upright and came over to hug you, probably smearing grease and dirt all over your armoured jacket, but since it was black anyway, you didn’t mind too much. Alex was about as opposite to you as it was possible to get — straight up and down like a beanpole, and tall. You took after your mother, inheriting all her thick curves and soft edges. Soft heart too.

“Thought this might come in handy,” you mumbled when Alex released you and you held out the brown paper bag stamped with the logo of Full Moon Motorcycles.

His eyes lit up when he saw the logo, and he tore into it like a chipmunk after a peanut, grinning in delight when he’d dismembered it, and in particular he showed off the keychain to his mates. Eggs snatched it and tried to claim it for himself, but Alex was having none of it, and the three of them scrapped and goofed around while you sat down on an old, metal stool in the corner and waited for the other two of your small party to show up, with a cool, curdling kind of dread in the pit of your stomach when you heard one name in particular. Nooner.

Within an hour though, you were all out on the road.

You took the pillion seat behind Alex, and warded his mates off at red lights when they came for his killswitch to immobilise him. A while later though, Alex zoomed off down the open road that would take you all out of town and towards the somewhat famous biker cafe, ‘Elusive Neutral’, that sat nestled amongst the fragrant heather of the rolling hills surrounding the old market town.

The sky was a gorgeous, autumnal blue and the weather was perfect, neither too hot nor too cold, and as your brother’s Yamaha flew along the winding A-road that was every biker’s dream, you cracked a smile and gently tipped your head back. As much as it had scared you when you’d first ridden behind your mother all those years ago, you did love the feeling of being out on a bike. Not that you were actually brave enough to want to try and learn yourself though. Something always held you back, made you wary and unsure, and then you inevitably felt down about that too. God, you wished you had Alex’s wild confidence.

Nothing good ever seemed to last for you though, and when Alex’s R1 had purred into the car park behind Eggs and Sparky, and you’d hopped off to let him reverse more easily into a space, you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.

“…if he didn’t have his fat sister with him, we could have fucking ripped it up along those twisties.” That, of course, had come from Nooner, named for the fact that he rarely stuck to two wheels and always pulled wheelies, or ‘nones’, whenever he got the chance. Out of all of your brother’s friends, he was the one you liked the least, for… obvious reasons.

“Talk about killing the vibes, huh?” Eggs replied, trying to suck up to him, as ever. “More like ‘crushing’!”

The reason Eggs had earned his nickname was that he’d lost a bet and shaved his head when they’d all been about sixteen, and he’d looked like a boiled egg til it grew back. You wished you had the sass to remind him of that every time his spine seemed to crumble in favour of earning a half-hearted snicker out of Nooner.

When Alex joined you, he caught the crestfallen expression on your face and frowned, but you shook your head and walked away from them, heading for the cafe alone.

“Can’t wait to shove some cake in her fat gob already,” Nooner added as an aside to Eggs, and your vision blurred as tears welled along your lashes. Why did people have to be so cruel? To trample all over someone else just to feel a little taller themselves?

You vaguely heard what sounded like Sparky’s voice countering the comment, but you didn't stick around either way. If you mentioned it to your brother again, he’d just say it was banter with the guys and not to take it to heart. Easy for someone who's never been on the end of that kind of comment to shrug it off, after all.

You ducked straight for the toilets when you got inside the airy, modern cafe, not even bothering to look around or find a table first.

After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror to see that you hadn’t turned your eyeliner into a panda cosplay, you headed out again and made for the little bar that doubled as a counter for people who were there solo to sit and eat instead of taking up a whole table to themselves. None of your brother’s friends joined you, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you saw that they’d settled themselves around a table in the far corner and already had a number for a server to bring their food order over. They hadn’t even waited for you.

“Fuck them,” you hissed through gritted teeth, taking a seat at the bar instead. The stools were made of old tractor seats, and they were surprisingly comfortable, and as you leaned your forearms on the countertop, the young woman behind the counter came over to you with a smile that made you feel a little better.

“Hey,” she said. “What can I get for you?”

You ordered a hot drink, and then took out your phone while you waited for her to make it for you.

For half an hour or so, you sat scrolling through social media and sipping your drink and telling yourself this was your brother’s day and not yours. He did come over a couple of times, but you declined to sit with his friends, and because he’d never had any real reason to doubt you before, he took you at your word when you told him you were happy enough where you were. “I don’t want to get in the way,” you said, and he believed you.

Patting you on the shoulder, he left you for the third time, and you looked down into the dregs of your drink with a heavy sigh. “This sucks.”

Outside, the sound of more bikes arriving made your ears perk up, and you wondered idly what they rode. Elusive Neutral had once been an old cattle barn, but it had been completely redone and the walls on two sides had been replaced with vast picture windows that showed the sweeping expanse of moorland beyond, and a small sliver of the car park at one end. Craning your neck, you saw a group of maybe five or six bikers draw up, some on hipster looking cafe racers and others on racy sports bikes. There was even a Ducati Panigale among them, and behind them followed an old, battered, blue pickup truck.

The door opened a little while later, and you glanced over, eyes drawn instinctively by the movement.

Above the general chatter and merry chinking of china in the room, the energy of the new group of bikers rose like a cloud of dizzy mayflies; buzzing and excited and full of joy. You watched them all with interest from your perch at the counter.

The first through the door was an absolute Amazon of a woman, with her long black hair restrained in a thick braid, and shoulders the width of a barn door. She was lean and tall, and in her biker gear she looked… incredible. Her face was strikingly handsome, but until she glanced down at the woman walking beside her, her features were hard and glowering and unspeakably stern. She held the door open for one of the others to follow her inside, but when she locked eyes again with the brunette by her side, her whole expression melted into unguarded adoration. Your gut twisted briefly with jealousy.

It wouldn’t matter to you who looked at you like that, if only someone would.

You looked away, and by the time you glanced back at the bikers, the whole group had filed in from outside. There was a guy with golden-brown skin and beautiful dark brown eyes who had his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a pale, skinny guy in black jeans and a moth-eaten, black jumper, with his long hair tied back in a bun, and behind them came a strikingly attractive guy in a manual wheelchair, flanked by a very short biker with slightly anaemic looking skin. You wondered fleetingly if the guy in the wheelchair had ridden a motorbike there, and if so how, before you realised he was probably the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, with long, flowing red hair and dark green eyes, and the kind of mouth that was made for laughing, and for kissing.

Jesus, was it an unwritten rule of being a biker that you had to be unfairly attractive? Even Hank, who you recognised with a start of surprise coming in behind the guy with red hair, wasn’t unattractive, in a bulky, older man kind of way.

The guy walking with him though… he truly made your stomach swoop.

It was Oats.

You looked away before he could spot you, sitting alone at the bar like some pathetic creature waiting for cocktail hour to begin. It was lunchtime on a sunny, autumnal Saturday though, and there you were sitting alone because you didn’t fancy sitting with your brother’s loser mates.

God, the way Oats had looked in his tough-looking leather jacket, with his eyes crinkled mid-laugh at something the guy in the wheelchair had shot back at them over his shoulder… You bit your lip and stared into the bottom of your cold, empty mug like it would divine some kind of solution to your situation for you.

The new group didn’t seem to notice you while they filed up to the counter, jostling and joking, and when they drifted off to another corner of the cafe, you turned back to your phone, trying desperately to resist the almost overwhelming urge to keep turning over your shoulder to watch them.

Before too long however, you startled at a soft tap on your shoulder, and you looked around to find Oats himself stepping back to a polite distance and smiling down at you like he’d found a treasure in an unexpected place.

“Hey there,” he said in that rolling, Scottish accent that did unspeakably indecent things to your insides. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but you were at Full Moon last week, right?”

Mute for a moment, you nodded, and mustered up a slightly dazed smile for him.

“You… here alone?” he asked, eyeing the currently-empty seats to your left and right. In fact, someone had only just gathered up their belongings and left.

“Kind of?” you croaked, letting your eyes slide over to the table where your brother and his friends were hunched over one of their phones, snickering at something. “It’s… It’s my brother’s birthday today. I… tagged along as pillion, but… you know… I’m kind of a spare part really.”

At that, Oats’ dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl and he looked across the room at them before returning his attention to you. Then, his unearthly, almost prismatic, silver-green eyes took in your empty cup and he grinned. “Can I get y’a top up?”

Your instinct was to refuse, but you bit your lip. This didn’t feel real. A cute, handsome, courteous guy was actually taking an interest in you.

“Sure. Thank you.” And the smile that spread itself across your face telegraphed your delight in a way that was impossible to disguise with any kind of suave grace.

Oats, however, seemed equally delighted, and nodded. The barista came back over and he leaned his weight on the counter to talk to her. He seemed to have that enviably easy manner with everybody, and he even charmed a free slice of cake out of her too with what felt like no effort at all.

“Chocolate? Or something else?” he asked you.

“Pardon?”

“Cake.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” you said, but he frowned.

“You sure? I’m gonna have a bit of their chocolate cake. It’s so good, it’s practically a sin.”

“I…” you faltered.

He didn’t pressure you though and shrugged easily, turning back to the barista. “Gimme two forks with that, love. Just in case.”

“No problem,” she beamed back while she bustled about, and Oats eyed the empty bar stool next to yours.

“May I?”

You swallowed your nerves and nodded. “Please.” And then, because apparently a demon of confidence had temporarily possessed you, you eyed his slightly helmet-flattened forelock and said, “No pink hair clips today?”

He guffawed loudly enough that your brother actually glanced over and frowned when he saw you talking with a stranger.

Oats snorted and shook his head. “No, not today. My daughter is still up in Scotland with her mother.” He fixed you with a more serious look and said, “She and I divorced, before you get the wrong idea about me flirting like this with a beautiful woman.”

The compliment caught you so off-guard that you just froze for a moment, but when the heat of a blush filled your face, you looked away and he chuckled.

“I’m not normally so forward, but I’ve been kicking myself for not talking to you when I first saw you in Full Moon. Hank was telling me just this morning what a muppet I’d made of myself for walking away like that.”

You looked behind you at the group of his friends and then turned back to him. “Won’t they think you’re being rude, ignoring them like this?”

He shook his head and smiled. “They’re probably all taking bets on how quickly you’ll shoot me down.”

“What? I’d have to be an idiot to do that.”

At that, his face split into a huge, handsome grin and he shook his head just a little. “Lucky me,” he said. “You ride?” he added, eyeing your jacket that was obviously a motorcycle jacket.

You shrugged. “Pillion. I’ve never ridden myself, but my brother lets me come out with him sometimes.”

Oats nodded, and then, as the barista set down his coffee, your top-up, and the plate of decadent chocolate cake with two forks, he said, “I’m Euan, by the way, but everyone calls me Oats.”

You introduced yourself, and then said, “Oats?”

He snorted and nodded. “Not the worst nickname, for sure.”

“Can I ask where it came from?”

Oats nodded and shunted the plate towards you first before leaning his elbow on the bar and watching you while he spoke. “I think it’s because I’m a dad, but I’m always prepared for most situations, and when it comes to my Natalie, she’s always hungry. I’ve usually got about a thousand granola bars stashed away about my person —” he said, cutting himself off to pat conspicuously at his jacket pockets. Pulling a slightly dog-eared crunchy bar from his breast pocket, he wielded it like a magic wand at you and said, “Case in point.”

“Hence, Oats,” you said, eyeing the healthy brand name on the packet.

“Exactly. Like I said, it could be worse. See the tall lass over there with the dangerous scowl?”

You didn't need to turn around to know which of his friends he was talking about, but you did anyway. “Yeah.”

“We call her Pixie.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” he chuckled, stowing the granola bar back into his pocket and taking a huge scoop of the chocolate cake with his own fork.

“What do you ride then?” you asked.

“Triumph Bonneville T120,” he said with almost exactly the same intonation and fondness as he’d just said ‘because I’m a dad’, and you couldn’t help smiling. “Can’t be doing with all these glitzy sports bikes and the like,” he added with a laugh, setting his fork down and blinking slowly. His lashes, you noticed, were thick and dark and enticingly long.

Laughing, you smiled. “Don’t say that too loudly — my brother rides an R1.”

“Nice,” Oats grinned back. “But nothing could entice me away from my girl.”

“I’m surprised you’re here, flirting with me then,” you said. Evidently that confidence demon was still lurking.

Again, Oats laughed, though it was more of a low whicker this time, and it rolled right through you and lit you up all over. God, how long had it been since someone had laughed like that for you?

“There are… exceptions,” he said in a rumbling murmur. “Tell me about yourself?” he asked, and you did.

You spent the next hour at least talking in an easy back and forth with him while he charmed a few more refills from the barista and a lot of answers out of you, before one of his friends sidled up shyly and waited for a lull in your conversation.

“Sorry to butt in,” the small, unbelievably beautiful woman said. She was the one who’d been on the receiving end of the adoring look from the Amazon, ‘Pixie’. She had chocolate-brown hair falling in thick ringlets around a gorgeous face, and, you were pleased to note, she had wide hips and a softness to her that a lot of the biker chicks you’d seen online didn’t have.

“Coco,” Oats beamed. “Meet my new friend.” He introduced you by name, and Coco smiled at you, holding out her hand.

When your palms connected, you felt a warmth rush through you and you felt like your heart skipped a beat. The feeling like you could tip forwards and drown in her endless, dark brown eyes almost unseated you, but she let go of you and stepped back with a pretty smile on her Cupid’s-bow lips. “Pleasure to meet you. Just wanted to tell Oats that we’re thinking of heading off soon. Ariel has a photoshoot he wants to get to in an hour or so, and Demon’s keen to get going as well.”

Oats nodded, and you tried not to let your stomach drop down to your boots at the thought of all this coming to such an abrupt end.

Coco turned her head sharply to look at you just as the feeling hit, and she smiled faintly. “You could always stay here though, Oats,” she added with a pretty smile. “We’re only going back to Full Moon, and Demon clearly has no intention of lingering there…” She shot a meaningful glance back at their table. Demon, the guy with dark hair and tanned skin, was seated with the guy he’d entered with now draped in his lap, his skinny legs dangling as he sprawled languidly back against the guy’s muscular chest. Demon whispered something into his ear before he clearly bit the shell of his boyfriend’s ear, which made him sit abruptly upright and flush a vibrant pink.

Oats laughed again and shook his head. “Fuck me,” he chuckled privately. “Never thought I’d see the day. You guys go on. I’m… I’m very much content here.”

“I can see that,” Coco smirked, and walked away.

When she was out of earshot, you turned to Oats with a hot flush of your own in your face and said, “Don’t stay if you don’t want to… I’m sure my brother will be leaving soon anyway…”

Just as you said that, and before Oats could reply, Alex reappeared at your side and jutted his chin in Oats’ direction. “You good?” he chirped at you.

“Fine,” you replied. “This is Oats. I met him at Full Moon Motorcycles when I was buying your birthday present.”

“Oh,” Alex replied, holding out his hand for Oats to shake. “Good to meet you, man. You tell her what to get for me? If you did, it was a good choice.”

“No,” Oats said carefully, his grey-green eyes sliding back to your face even while he shook your brother’s hand amicably. “No, whatever she got you, it was all her.”

“Oh, cool,” Alex said. “Listen, sis, we’re gonna hit the road in a while. Nooner and Eggs want to hit the twisties for a bit, but I can’t really do that with a backpack, so Sparky said he’d give you a ride home, if that’s ok.”

You swallowed. “Um…”

“I can give her a lift,” Oats replied after a swift glance in your direction. “She’s already got her own lid, and there’s room on the Bobber’s double seat for both of us.”

“I don’t know, man,” Alex said with a wary frown.

“Your choice,” Oats shrugged easily, looking at you and holding his hands up just a little.

For a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure, but the idea of wrapping your arms around Oats’ thick middle and sitting astride his gorgeous bike kind of decided it for you. Besides, it was a long time since you’d done anything truly just for yourself; simply because you wanted to. You nodded at your brother. “It’s fine. You go ahead.”

“You sure?”

Nodding to reassure him, you smiled again and Alex backed up a pace. “Cool. Text me later, ok?” he said as he retreated towards his friends, clearly trying to hide his excitement at not having a passenger for the great, twisting section of A-road they were heading for.

“Will do. Have fun, and don’t crash!” you called after him. “Or get a speeding ticket!”

He waved a hand over one shoulder without looking back, and you laughed and returned your attention to Oats. “Brothers.”

“Bikers,” he replied. “You try telling that to any of that lot though —” he gestured towards his own group of friends who were now filtering out of the door. “You ready to head out too or do you want to stay?”

You did want to stay, but the seat wasn’t that comfortable anymore, and you wanted to move around a bit. “No, I’m good to go,” you said and prepared to slide off the stool, but Oats stepped down first and held out his hand to you. You didn't need helping down, and his playful little smirk told you he knew as much, so you rode out the last of that demonic possession and let your fingers slide across his palm and he steadied you off the stool.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Pleasure.”

You picked up your helmet from where you’d stowed it on the floor at your feet and straightened to find him waving casually across the room to the good-looking guy with the ethereally pretty boyfriend. Before he stepped away from you and made towards the door though, you cleared your throat and said, “Oats?”

“Mn?” Looking down at you, his entire attention honed in on you, like you were the centre of the universe, and you swallowed back a sudden welling of emotion.

“Listen… Thank you… for… coming over to me today. Like I said, it’s my brother’s birthday, and he was here with his friends, and he only included me so I didn’t feel completely left out, but…” Accursed tears washed over your eyes for a moment but you blinked them away furiously and ploughed on regardless. “I’m really glad I came along today anyway,” you finished rather pathetically.

His full, beautiful lips curled into a gentle smile and he blinked softly and exhaled. When he spoke, his voice was low and his words private, as though you weren’t standing in a busy cafe surrounded by people and the cheerful clatter of coffee cups and laughter. “I’m really glad I did too. I wasn’t going to, you know? I was going to stay at home and edit a boatload of raw photographs for a client, but Demon convinced me to come out. I guess I owe him.”

“‘Demon’? For… For the speed?” you asked, wondering how he came by his nickname.

“For the horns,” Oats replied in deadpan humour. “Have a look if he’s still there when we go outside. You ready?”

You followed him out of the cafe with a nod, and just as you took a deep, indulgent breath of fresh, heathland air, Oats’ group of friends filed out past you on their bikes. The one named Demon was in the lead, and the nickname made immediate sense. Sitting astride a blood-red Panigale, with his boyfriend clinging on behind him like a limpet, the guy had pale, curving horns fixed to the crown of his helmet.

“Yeah, that tracks,” you said, and Oats waggled his dark eyebrows.

The Amazon had a Yamaha R1 like your brother’s, but hers had a pearl-white wrap that made it look almost spectral, and riding out in front of her was Coco on a yellow and black Honda Hornet.

The telltale red plait told you that the guy in the wheelchair was on a modified Kawasaki, with unusual struts at the back that looked like they would come down when he stopped to stabilise him instead of having to take his legs off the foot pegs, where they were currently Velcro-ed in place. Watching the whole group file out was Hank, standing beside a battered old pickup. In the bed of the truck, you could just see that the red-headed biker’s wheelchair secured in place.

Hank waved the last of them off, then glanced over at Oats. The older man lifted his nose just a little, as if he too was enjoying the fresh, moorland wind that whipped across the car park, and he nodded once at Oats, and then at you to your surprise, before clambering stiffly up into his pickup and closing the door. It shut with a raucous yelp of rusty hinges.

You stood there and watched Oats’ friends all file out, all waving at Oats as they passed, before they set off down the road in a roar of revving engines to leave a lonely looking Bonneville waiting patiently near the stone wall of the car park nearby.

“Yours, I presume?” you said, nodding at it.

“Yup.”

“She’s a beauty,” you mumbled, self-consciousness prickling at the sides of your neck for the silly comment.

Oats beamed though, his sea-foam eyes lighting up as the crinkles around his eyes and the slight dimples in his cheeks creased under the force of his obvious pleasure. “Thank you. She’s my pride and joy. You ready? Oh, wait, you should put your address into my phone before we get going,” he laughed.

You nodded, taking the offered phone from him. Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you took it, and a tiny thrill passed through you that you did your best to quash. With your address plugged in and a route home waiting to be followed, you handed it back to him and looked up into his handsome, rugged face as he smiled.

“Cheers. Let’s go,” he said, and you trailed along beside him over to his bike, heartbeat thudding in your ears with your nerves.

He swung a leg over and turned the key, then pushed the bike upright and nudged the side-stand in with his left foot before flicking the switch and bringing the bike to life. She growled beautifully, the low, thundering rumble of her engine sounding far more visceral and primal than your brother’s sports bike did. Perhaps it was the design of the lower-slung Bonneville, with its visible parts that made you think of a Steampunk aesthetic, but you instantly preferred it. Plus, the double seat looked way more cushioned — and less precarious — than the one you’d perched on to get to the cafe that morning.

Oats got himself comfy while you slid your helmet on, then he looked over his shoulder at you and nodded, so you took that as your cue and got settled on the pillion seat behind him. The footpegs were already down. The pulsing purr of the machine beneath you was almost enough to distract you from the fact that you were entrusting your life to a relative stranger, whom you’d never seen ride before, and as you climbed on and rested your hands politely on his shoulders, you felt a shiver travel through your whole nervous system.

“Do whatever’s comfortable for you, obviously,” Oats said over the noise of his bike, “But if you want to hold my waist — if you can actually get your arms around my middle, that is,” he chuckled self-effacingly, “— feel free. Totally up to you.”

“Thanks,” you yelled back, and, because apparently that pesky demon of confidence was still kicking around, you hugged his torso.

It was wonderful.

Slowly snaking your arms around his middle, you felt your chest press against his back and you caught the way he inhaled slowly and tried not to wonder what it meant. It felt so good to hold him that you had to remind yourself it wasn’t a hug. It was to keep you in place while a gorgeous stranger drove you home on his equally gorgeous bike. With a final thumbs-up to check you were happy, to which you replied with a nod of your head and tried not to clack your helmet against his, he pulled away and your heart leapt for the sheer joy of it.

Where the R1 was built for sleek speed and bursts of power, the Bonneville was build to be enjoyed, and oh gosh, did you enjoy every curve.

And not just the curves in the road, either.

Oats was soft, but he was solid, and the urge to rest one hand on his thick thigh was almost overwhelming, until he took the corners at just the right pace to be exhilarating without you having to worry about your safety, and you clung on instead and laughed behind the safety of your visor.

It was all over way too soon, and as the Bonneville chugged into your road like a steam train and halted outside your poky, terraced house with its quaint little kitchen garden out the front in the postage-stamp of space between the pavement and the house, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Please don’t let this be it, you thought desperately.

You went through the motions of getting carefully off the bike without staggering or falling, and again, Oats held out his hand to help steady you. You gripped his fingers gratefully and when you gave an extra little squeeze to his hand at the end, you could have sworn he answered with one of his own and a throaty chuckle.

He dismounted too, which surprised you, and you wondered if you were going to have to ask him inside. As much as you wanted that in principle, you desperately didn’t want it to happen today because the house was a mess: laundry was still hanging up all over the place, and you’d cooked a curry the previous night and it was definitely still lingering in the air.

Oats took off his helmet but left his bike idling, which went a little way to reassuring you, and when you looked more closely at his expression, you thought you saw a hint of something familiar lingering in the corners of his eyes. Was he nervous?

Swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind the thick, 5 o’clock shadow that looked like it lingered pretty constantly no matter the time of day, Oats took a deep breath, held it, and then smiled at you. “Fuck,” he exhaled, and laughed. “I’m… very rusty at all this.” He held his helmet in both hands before him, toying with the strap.

“If I gave you my number, would you maybe like to meet up again?” you asked, taking pity on the man.

“Very much,” he said softly. “Like I said, Natalie is with her mum for the holidays, and apart from a wedding I’m covering next week, this is a pretty slow time of year for me. I’m free… mostly whenever.”

The reminder that he had a daughter with someone else did make you wonder what you were letting yourself in for. Children weren’t really something you had any expense of, since neither you nor your brother had shown any parental inclinations yet, and you weren’t particularly close to your cousins who had small kids.

“Ok, let me give you my number and we can figure something out.”

That done, he slid his phone back into his pocket and zipped it up, biting gently at his lower lip for a moment. “I know it’s bold,” he said, “But may I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped and soared. Breathless, you looked up at him and whispered, “Yes.”

His tiny, gentle, lopsided smile heralded the kiss’ approach, and he took your jaw delicately in one, leather-gloved hand as he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. They were soft but insistent against yours, and you answered with a little moan as your eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned, pulling you closer with a low growl so that you were pressed flush against him for a moment before he stepped back and exhaled roughly. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you soon?”

You nodded, feeling like you were floating inches above the ground.

You watched him re-mount his bike and adjust himself a little once he was settled, then he revved it playfully for you, and rode away after a final look back at you. He flipped his visor down as he pulled away, and you watched the bike and its rider disappear down the road.

‘Soon’ couldn’t come soon enough… 

__

I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, please consider showing your support by reblogging. It really is the best (and totally free!) way to help the artists and writers whose work you enjoy.

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#oats the kelpie #monster romance #kelpie #male kelpie x female human #full moon motorcycles #supernatural biker group #plus size female reader #plus size reader #male kelpie x female reader #male monster x female reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #dadbod monster #dadbod #single father monster #monster dad

[mybodychoseviolence]

i promise there are people who will love you on your bad days. people who will make sure you have enough water and you're getting the food you need when you struggle to get out of bed. people who will open the bottles or jars or bags that you can't, whether it's because of a tremor or muscle weakness or joint problems or anything else that makes it hard. people who will help find ways to make life a little easier, a little more accessible, so you can function even when they aren't there. people who won't expect anything in return.

#shoutout to my dad and my boyfriend for helping me like this #chronic illness #chronically ill #chronic pain #chronic fatigue #disabled #disability #pots syndrome #potsie #pots

[guttednights]

(𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻) 𝓫𝓾𝓲𝓵𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓷

warnings: none, just older boyfriend Simon, being older boyfriend Simon.

I can't stop thinking about older boyfriend Simon being like, a dad in the way that he LOVES to craft. Like when you guys bought a new house together he literally told you "It has to have a garage". hell, you didn't complain. whatever kept him busy and happy while he's home on missions is fine with you. And besides it was kinda fun watching him make the garage into some kinda little workshop, with all his expensive tools, toolboxes, saws, woods, metals, honestly whatever was hanging out at his dad's place from when he was younger he was putting in this damn garage. give it 2 days after being home from and mission and he's already having to fix something (which he acts grumpy about it, but he loves doing it). Like most recently when you realized that your favorite shelf in the bathroom had split in half :(. you told him when he came home and a day later he was in the bathroom taking the shelf off the wall and walking to the garage to fix it. he put some wood glue on it, held it in place, and waited a day or so, then boom looks like brand new as he drills it back into place in your bathroom a day later. Fuck if you complain, you think it's hot, the way he can just fix almost anything, and not only that will build almost anything you ask him. And I like to think he is also good with lighting and plumbing, maybe his dad was a plumber and electrician and just taught Simon how to do everything in case one day he has "a pretty little wife to keep care of", and well be it, he did, he had you. One day after he came home, literally was home for like 4- hours before the sink in the bathroom started to flood. you were simply washing your hands when water was everywhere, you panicked and ran to Simon. Hands still sopping from washing them "Baby! The sinks flooding!" of course his natural protective instincts kick in, immediately drying you off first, and pulling you away from the bathroom. he then ran outside and got his wrench and other things to fix the bathroom. fast forward 20 minutes later and he's laying on the wet floor, wrench in hand tightening the faulty tube that has come loose under the sink. "all okay now doll, m'fixed it" *he said getting up and putting his tools back in his small toolbox. he helped you clean up the water with some towels and kissed your head lightly. And of course, on Valentine's Day, he brings you a rose bouquet and hand-built shelves (or whatever you want).

I dont know where this thought came from but I just had to write about it

(PS) i do not know anything about plumbing so please don't roast me if it is not correct thanks

#call of duty #cod x reader #ghost cod #ghost fluff #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley fluff #Older boyfriend ghost #older ghost #ghost dad #task force 141 #cod 141 #mw2 141

[divinehedons]

call it fate, call it karma

next: hard to explain | masterlist

pairing: bd!joel miller x f!reader

word count: ~4.3k

summary: it’s summer. and on a weekend visit to your college beau, you meet a texan contractor with wandering eyes. what he sees is what he wants. what happens if he wants you?

warnings: this is a dark, explicit fic, minors DO NOT interact. big, girthy age gap (reader is in her early twenties, joel is in his late 40s to early 50s), masturbation, possible dubious consent, explicit p-in-v sex, fingering, cheating(? but it's mutual HAHAHA). please let me know if i missed anything!

reblogs and comments are much appreciated, please let me know what you think!

Finals, madness, nights of mindless regurgitating, and finally, peace. Emerging from your last exam and into the allure of summer break, you try and picture the weekend you had planned with Christopher: a weekend at his father's house, with the promise of a pool and actually, finally spending time together, and driving you home by Monday while he returns to his mother's place.

The two of you pull into Texas, discussing what to have for lunch, whether or not you should bring some for his father. "It'll be nice, no?" you tell him as you add the extra box of pizza. "And hey, if he doesn't want it, let's devour it over movies in your room." He smiles at you, and you ruffle his hair just as he parks in front of the familiar house.

When you're reintroduced to the older mister Miller, you see him at the tail-end of a phone call just as your presence is announced. "You've met before, we had her at Thanksgiving," Christopher reminds, carrying your bags in. 

You hear a woman's voice, just slightly, from the phone (... mean it, no strange women…), mister Miller looking up with a rushed, "I got it, I got it…" before finally setting the phone down. He offers you a warm smile, nodding in recognition before welcoming his son with a shoulder squeeze. He says your name, and you try not to smile at the way he says it with that almost-indistinguishable drawl of his. "Still not tired of him, sweet pea?"

You remember that Thanksgiving. How you and mister Miller bonded over when you drove Chris's car back and panicked over a flat tire you caused while he was off with some buddies. You bonded because he taught you how to fix a tire that afternoon, him laughing at your small hands struggling with such big boy paraphernalia as you coined it.

You smile back at him and shake his hand. "Thanks for letting me stay over the weekend, sir," you say just as your partner disappears upstairs to set down your things. Just then, he tuts, taking a slice out of one of the pizza boxes, along with a newly opened bottle of beer.

"Told ya, doll. It's just Joel. Don't have too much fun, yeah?"

—

Joel didn't mean to stare when he last saw you. When you were kneeling over, lowering the jack after he taught you how to change a tire. You were in your colleague sweater, but your pants… dear God, your pants. Your pants that perfectly hugged the curve of your ass struck him dumb. He barely managed to shake himself out of it to tell you that youbdid a good job.

But since then, he had been imagining your ass. It's as if the sight of a college girl turned him right back to a drooling, horny teenager that never had enough. He did keep his hands to himself, never making a move. And he would've been happy to let you and Christopher be if he didn't start picturing you in those lonely nights when the house is quiet and he has his cock in his hand.

But it was impossible.

Just the thought of your ass cheeks red, bearing a handprint that perfectly fit the contours of his own hands, your curves, your flesh, the smell of your skin— such was the callings of his desire as he bursts, imagining that glass-eyed look on your face if you were taking his cock.

There was no shame in it, when he did finally give in to his desires. How could he not? You had fuck eyes for days, eyes that, if he was being completely honest, would damn God himself to the very gates of hell. There was no shame, too, when he realized just how much his own son wasn't taking care of you.

So seeing you again, now sprawled in a lovely little swimsuit as his own son holds you by your waist as you wade into the pool. He watches from the kitchen, knowing his looks would go unnoticed in the shade. It was burning outside, and it was still Friday. The street was quiet with everyone still away for school and work. He just couldn't stay away from you. When Christopher told him you were with him, he had cancelled plans, even work, on a Friday, under the pretense of bad health and multiple other excuses. He knows, for a fact, that he'd take every chance to see those fuck eyes of yours even if you never asked.

He knows, too, if he was getting you in his bed, he had to be creative about it.

Still, Christopher could be a little more discreet. Instead, there you were, nodding to him as he corners you in his own pool in his own house, reaching down to pull your bottoms aside to fuck up into you. He's gotten to know your quirks enough. How your creased brows indicate your frustration. Or how your shoulders tense from apprehension. And right there, where Christopher attempts to find his own orgasm without even a care in the world for your own, you're so frigid he would think you bathed in the Arctic.

The charade doesn't last long. Three minutes, by his count, until you're pulling away, swimming to the nearest floatie to lounge while Christopher tires himself out with a few laps. It's then that Joel pretends to swoop in, bringing out a few drinks in service of the two of you, slipping on some sunglasses so you wouldn't notice him ogling your willing body as you thank him.

"Got you that grape drink you liked last time, doll. Help yourself to more in the fridge if you want it."

"Thanks m-" he lowers his glasses to playfully raise his brow at you, "J-Joel. Thanks, Joel…" He flashes you a smirk, placing his glasses back on as he seats himself on the nearest spot, pretending to be in need of some sun.

"Chris, your mom's waiting for you to call," he reminds his son, leaning back as he sips from his beer. Just then, your beau sits up, wiping his mouth as he stood, beelining for the nearest door inside.

"Thanks for reminding, dad!"

Alone, with you, like this, Joel notices the way you rubbed your thighs together, the way you sighed after each sip. The hidden frustration as you floated about on his pool, displayed like a delectable centerpiece. It was clear as day: you didn’t get to cum and it’s bothering you. It took a few more minutes before he spoke.

"So why'd you fake it, sweet pea?"

The question comes to you out of nowhere. Your head shoots up and you look at him with those wide, bewildered doe eyes as you immediately stammer to try and find the right words. You try and play it off with a chuckle, but you feel your cheeks warm up. "What- wha…"

He chuckles himself, sipping from his bottle before leaning back with crossed arms. "It was three minutes of him wriggling, darlin'. No one was going to cum from that." He watches you sit up completely, every fiber at rest jumping into action.

"You saw that?" Your sweet voice, Joel noted, trembling from what he only assumes as embarrassment riddled with shame. "I… I-" You clear your throat momentarily, biting your lip gently before sighing, turning over. “You kind of answered your own question, Joel.” There is a beat of silence, palpable and tense as you feel his gaze wash over your vulnerable body.

The two of you hear Christopher, blundering his way back to the pool now that the phone call was out of his way. Joel sighs,getting up with a stretch as he passes by you again to disappear into the house.

“Our secret, doll. I’m nice that way.”

–

Over dinner, Joel speaks to you with a smile, perhaps he was feigning interest. Perhaps he truly was interested. Whatever it was, you feel the palpable weight in the air at the knowledge of what you shared with the older Miller. Christopher, clueless as he is, spends most of dinner with his hand on your thigh, chiming in every now and then between bites.

“So what was the exam you took before the two of you drove here?” Joel had been asking while you sipped through your drink, your brows raised as you smiled.

“It was some English Literature course," you said, meek as ever, managing a small smile up at him as he hums with interest.

"Ah. So that Shakesword guy or something? What did'ya like from him?"

"Shakespeare, actually… And I loved Macbeth."

"When we met, she was nose deep in Hamlet, if I remembered right." Christopher soothed his hand up and down your thigh, to which you nodded in agreement.

"Tell me about Macbeth."

You take a deep breath, feeling both eyes on you as you carefully swallowed down the lump in your throat. "It's the usual things. War, misery, curses, witches. But Lady Macbeth… that was where it was." He tilts his head to the side, nodding at you to continue. "She demanded divinity to transform her into a man. To take up the mantle from her weak husband. To take charge."

He chuckles softly, almost teasingly and knowingly, even. "Shit, doll, didn't think you had that many words in ya."

The rest of dinner goes by in relative ease, with Christopher letting you know he's meeting with some buddies tomorrow after he drops you off in the center of town. He promises, however, that he'll pick you up at three in the afternoon.

As you lay in bed that night, you glance haphazardly at your phone as it lights up in the late night silence. A message from Joel, a contact you saved under Mr. Miller back when you met over Thanksgiving. The message was simple enough.

Sweet dreams, Lady Macbeth.

—

Three in the afternoon on Saturday, you're seated where Christopher says he'll pick you up, bearing a bag for the sweater you bought him. You messaged him fifteen minutes earlier. On my way to the bench, bubba! Without a response, you think he's driving.

Above you, dark clouds seem to gather where once it was only bright summer sun. You quietly grip your bags tighter as you count in your head. He'll be here soon… I'll be out of the rain in no time.

You quietly count down the seconds. Six hundred. Five hundred ninety-nine. Five hundred ninety-eight…

Three P.M. turns to four, then four-thirty. You message Christopher two more times.

It might be raining soon, I have an umbrella!

Make sure you're not in the rain too much!

You stand under the umbrella, pacing every now and then, trying not to appear skittish, specially when the thunder and lightning began to roll across the sky, making the hair on your arms stand on edge. It was troubling, to be outside during a thunderstorm like this.

You count in increments of six hundreds. Ten minutes pass by again. Then twenty. Then thirty.

A particularly raucous lightning makes you jump out of your skin, and you swallow your pride, dialing the next person nearest you. The nearest person you'd think would answer.

And he does, in a record of two rings. He says your name and you audibly sigh in relief. "What's the matter, doll?"

"Joel, uhm… has Christopher answered your calls? We were supposed to meet at three-"

"Christ, doll, it's storming. He still hasn't gotten to you?"

You hesitate. You wonder if you were going to be too harsh on your beau if you admitted he wasn't. Just then, another strike of lightning has you confessing. "He… he wasn't answering my texts, I don't know where he is."

You hear him cuss at the other end, along with the sound of his keys and his heavy steps.

"Stay put for me, sweet pea. Where are you waiting?"

You tell him, and you don't even count to three hundred before he's pulling up in front of you, opening the passenger door and yelling at you to get in.

"Christ, doll, you're freezing! How long were you out there?" You feel his gaze on yours as you attempt to say your thanks, still visibly shaking from being out in the rain so long, combined with the fear of lightning. He immediately reaches back to retrieve the towels he had brought exactly for this scenario, covering you up in them as you finally manage. “Thanks, Joel. D-did… did Chris leave a word, or anything? I’ve been trying to reach him…”

You don’t miss the way he tries to hold back a smirk, buckling your seatbelt as he sighs. “He said he’s drinking with some buddies, doll. But I thought he already told you. He didn’t mention you’d be needin’ a ride or anythin’.” He pauses, as if for dramatic effect. “Actually, it sounded really loud when he called." You look right back at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you processed his words.

Oh. Oh.

“H-he probably just forgot. Or something,” you try to justify as Joel begins to steer the two of you through the storm and back to his house. “I just hope he doesn’t get sick from the weather or anything…”

“God, sweet pea, you’re just so goddamn sweet even if he’s an asshole, huh?”

It shuts you up for the rest of the ride. He escorts you inside, telling you he’ll hand you a set of clothes. That you should be rinsing off immediately. You do not see the way he stares at your soaked shirt, your skin so fucking close and yet so far. You obey, so quickly that it makes his cheeks hurt from smiling. It was so natural for you, and it makes him absolutely feral. Most of all, you’re so vulnerable right now. And it hatches a wretched plan in his head before he could stop it.

He takes a shirt and boxers from his own closet, under the guise of wanting to keep yours and Christopher's stuff private. And he opens the door, expecting to see you mostly naked. Oh, God, sweet pea, I'm so sorry! Feign innocence, caring and comforting.

What he didn't expect was you seated on the counter, a photo on the screen of your phone. One of his son, your beau, holding another woman that was so clearly not you, posted by some friend. He didn't expect to see you teary-eyed, cheeks bright red as you hiccup.

"I… I guess that's why… he wouldn't pick up…"

He sighs, tilts his head to the side. "Oh, sweetheart…" He rushes to you, embracing you gently, damp clothes and all, into his warm arms as he shushes you gently. You try to resist him when he begins to help you with your clothes. You try to resist him when he offers tenderness. But it's all so rare, so careful, with such gentleness that you find yourself agreeing with anything he asked. Let me draw you a bath, doll, meaning he'll watch you soak. Let me help you with that, meaning he wanted to be the one to strip you down.

"He never treated you like this, doll, did he?" The look on your face is enough to answer him. He clicks his tongue, leaning his ear close as he slips your unclasped bra down your shivering frame. "Oh, darlin'. Let me show you how a lady should be treated."

It's how you end up in the warm bath he had prepared, settled between his legs with his mouth on your neck, his hands running up and down your sides until you were shaking and giggling from the touch. "Pretty li'l thing like you shouldn't be neglected. He's a damn fool."

He begins to ask for things while he's already doing them. He drifts his hands to your breasts and whispers, "Okay if I touched ya like this?" He pinches your hardened nipples and says, "Feels good, doesn't it, darlin'?" You wriggle in his grasp, ticklish and alight, tethered in the receeding waves of emotion as he draws you into some semblance of relaxation, smoothing out each tense muscle as he speaks to you with such unabashed softness.

Your first moan escapes you before you could stop it. One hand flies to your mouth as you immediately attempt to pull away from Joel. And yet, he holds you, chuckling right against your ear that you feel the smirk on his face spreading against the curve of your ear.

"I bet he never made you feel that good, baby doll."

You try and argue, left stammering just as his left hand holds your left leg up against your torso, his right hand moving down to cup you by your cunt. You feel him hardening behind you, pressed against the small of your back, grinding against your skin there. He kisses the back of your ear, chuckling as you struggle to hold back the rest of your moans. "Come on, doll, make some noise for me… otherwise, we'll be here all night, because I'm not stoppin' 'til you use that fuckin' mouth of yours to prove I'm better than him.

He dreamt of this. Your willing frame whining and moaning from every touch he gives you. You could not even conceal the fact that you were on edge and you were wet. He spreads you with his fingers, pausing as he nibbles on your earlobe before finally, finally sinking his fingers right where you're pink and lovely and warm. The fact that you felt bursting from just two fingers had you shivering with excitement, a surprised squeal escaping your mouth.

"J-Joel… Joel…"

"You can take it, sweet pea, stay close to me…" His left arm relaxes its hold on your left leg, drifting closer to begin rubbing soft, languid circles right on your aching clit as you lean your head back and sigh dreamily, feeling that familiar ascent into almost-forgotten bliss. It was something you only felt when you fucked yourself. It was something that eluded you in your sex life. You feel Joel's eyes on your face; when your features contort with the pleasure, when your hands palm at his beard, pulling at him needily to plant a kiss to your wanton mouth.

It's almost too quickly that you're cresting, feeling your sides burn from want as you grind into his hands in an effort to cum faster. And just when it was three seconds away, he tears his hands off of you, revelling in the sounds of your protest, your whining as you looked up at him. Already, too, he's getting out of the tub, draining the water as he picks you up in his arms.

"I know, I know what you need…" Still, you whine, thighs rubbing together. "But if I'm making you cum, sweet pea, I'm doin' it right by making you cum all over my sheets. Got it?" You nod, wrapping your arms around him as he carries you, bath water dripping and all, taking you to his bedroom with his slept-in sheets and oscillating fan to the side. He lays you among the sheets, smirking as he trailed one hand down your front, against your skin with butterfly caresses. Like an observer in some strange gallery, the fount of art and beauty exhibited for his own decrepit sensual pleasure.

“Y’wanna tell me what’cha want, dollface?” You try. You try to look away from his fingertips running up and down your stomach, knowing the power beneath that skin. You feel the restraint on his face, along with that smirk you just can’t seem to wipe off of him. “Yeah… you’re just absolutely desperate for me, no?”

“Want you… please…”

“Where d’ya want me? Here?” He drifts his hand to your neck, giving the slightest squeeze. You whine, and he drifts his touch to your willing mouth. Two fingers, delving into the warm wetness of your tongue, the softness of the inside of your cheeks. “Certainly not here… you’re certainly not mouthy.” Then he drifts his touch to your stomach, drifting lower, lower, and lower… “That’s it. I’m getting warmer, yeah?” He chuckles, his free hand moving to turn your face towards him as he looks at those softened features, your willingness laid bare before him. “What do you want from me? My cock? My mouth?”

It’s so much attention, all-encompassing, and all at once. You wonder if his touch strikes like lightning. And if it didn’t, then why does he make you quake to your very bones? He continues his teasing, pushing and prodding at you so closely where you want him, but never close enough. The charade continues before you eventually find the courage, eventually pushed to the brink of such wanton need.

“Both.” You grit your teeth, feeling the warmth coating your cheeks as you whine. “Both, Joel, please.”

He chuckles darkly, rewarding you with a bruising kiss, beard digging into your cheek, your chin, your body spread eagle and willing. “That’s a good, fuckin’ girl…” He rewards you by settling between your legs, spreading you wide open, and fucking his tongue on your weeping cunt. His growls emanate against your willing flesh, making you tremble, the vibrations otherworldly as he pushes you right through your first orgasm that weekend. One, you hoped, that wouldn’t be the last. “You’re so fuckin’ easy and he can’t even make you cum? Fuck, doll…” You squeal, fingers tangling into his hair as your hips grind, chasing waves of that sweet release until your eyes roll back, your body surrenders, and you are left limp with from his minstrations.

“We’re not yet done, doll. Think y’can handle more of me?”

It’s when you see that dark look on his face, A shadow hard to miss once you saw it. He kisses his way up to your face, wrapping your legs around his waist. He does not waste time, immediately pinning you down so he can fuck his hard cock into you, letting your moans and whines echo into the empty house. The stretch is glorious, his cock hitting places you did not know could be reached before. And all the while, he’s watching your face and your body contorting to the sensations you could not explain. Body electric magnified, body electric divine. He thrusts once, twice– and already, you were reeling in another orgasm.

He calls you beautiful, and he makes you understand that you are– that the iniquity of others was not your doing. That you deserved to feel good and light and wonderful. All while he sinks his teeth against your shoulder, your arm, sucking hickeys throughout the expanse of your skins, marks you would not be able to explain. It would have continued that way, and it should have, had Joel not heard the crunching of gravel on his driveway.

He pauses, shushes you gently, cupping your face as you whined desperately, clawing against his bare chest as he clears your hair from your face. “You’re gonna have to keep quiet f’me, doll. Think ya can do that?” You nod desperately, taking one hand to press against your mouth, anything to make him move again and give you one more release. One you were so desperately close to. “You don’t want him to hear us, did’ya?”

It’s when you realize, when you recognize the familiar heavy footsteps of the man who abandoned you, the lover who should be doing this. You looked up at Joel with a panicked gaze, his palm pressing harder against your mouth when you began to make some noise.

“I don’t have the patience to tell ya again. Don’t make this harder for yourself, baby doll.”

It’s when he fucks you with abandon, barely concealing his own moans as you tremble in his hold, locking your legs around his waist as he thrusts. Despite only one or two light groans escaping him, you see how tense his jaw had become, clenching, grinding beneath the skin. You know he’s close, and yet he waits for you, reaching down to rub your aching little clit. He rubs you repeatedly until the riptide of pleasure swallows you whole. Your eyes gloss over, a singular, weak whimper escaping through your self-censorship, your warm breath absorbed by Joel’s palm.

Just a few moments more, and his cock buries deep into you, silencing himself by sinking his teeth into the curve of your shoulder. It is a way to silence himself, to relax, to completely surrender his orgasm to you. His warm spend fills your aching walls, his body falling against yours as he sighs.

Just then, you hear, right across the hall. You hear Christopher. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He steps out into the hallway. It’s followed with him raising his voice. (Hey dad! Have you heard from her?) Joel manages a soft chuckle into your ear. “Fucking asshole, no?” he whispers against you as he takes a deep breath.

“Thought’cha were meetin’ her at three?” he manages, and you’re shocked at how composed he was still was, and yet how possessive his hold on you had become.

If he gets to have you for five more minutes, he’ll take it. The truth was, it felt like you belonged right there in his bed, sheltering his cum within your warm walls as you demand affection, soft in aftercare. Call it fate, even if it’s such a loose term. Were you really fated for him when he took you for himself?

When Christopher leaves, he chuckles, collapsing against you again as his breath escapes him in ragged increments. You fall asleep almost immediately, as if you found home in his week-old sheets.

Call it fate, call it karma. He’d still fuck you again if he had the choice.

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