Being very close to your brother, Micheletto, and deeply wanting a child but he is the only man you trust to give you this. He willingly agrees because his mission in life is too keep you happy at all costs. Anyone who even thinks about harming you or your child will endure a slow, painful death.
as a fellow outsiders + brad pitt girlie, i’d love to request cliff booth age gap relationship. maybe Y/n is Rick’s costar or something?.
thank you!!
────۶ৎ stay down
or... cliff having to deal with you acting up in a very.. inopportune moment.
warnings : suggestive-smut leaning.
ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: RAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH I LOVE CLIFF HE'S SO DILFY.
♱ *ೃ.⋆
The sun was molten on the horizon, turning the hills of L.A. to gold. Cliff Booth had one hand on the wheel of Rick’s Cadillac Coupe de Ville and the other curled tight on the edge of the seat, white-knuckled with restraint.
You were supposed to be just sitting pretty beside him. Supposed to be humming to the radio, swinging your cowboy boots with that sweet little grin you always wore. But no—you had a different idea.
You were on your knees under the dash, tucked right between his legs, one hand bracing against his thigh, the other doing unspeakably perfect things that made him grit his teeth and stare hard at the road ahead like it owed him something.
“Jesus Christ, doll…” Cliff muttered, voice low and hoarse, forehead faintly damp with sweat. “You really wanna get me arrested, huh?”
You hummed, the vibration of your mischief traveling up through him, and he physically jerked against the leather seat. He tried to glare down at you, but you were tucked so damn well out of sight. Hidden like a sin. A hot little secret in low-rise denim and sugar-sweet perfume.
The top of your head bumped the undercarriage of the glove compartment as you adjusted yourself, settling in deeper between his legs like you owned the spot. Like it was your throne. Cliff’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror—empty road. Good.
He hissed when your tongue did that thing again, the one that made his hips buck just a little, the one that had him seeing brief flashes of white behind his eyelids. He slammed a palm on the dash. “You keep that up, baby, and I’m gonna miss the damn turnoff—”
But it was too late.
Red and blue lights flared up behind him.
Cliff swore under his breath.
You didn’t stop. You little devil.
“Fuck. You’re kidding me,” he hissed, hitting the turn signal and guiding the car off to the side of the highway. You stilled just barely, lips parting from him with a wet little pop, breath warm on his thigh.
“Don’t you dare move,” he growled low. “You stay down, sweetheart. Be real quiet now.”
But you just hum around him like you’re proud of yourself.
You’d started soft, playful, tongue swirling just to get him twitching. Then you got mean about it. Sweet little Southern accent whispering “Mmm, I love how heavy you get in my mouth…” before sinking back down like you were made for this.
Cliff clenches his thigh muscles. His left hand leaves the wheel just long enough to thread into your hair—not to stop you, but to warn you. A silent careful, sugar. Because he's close. Too close. And you know it.
Goddamn, you’re good at this. Too good.
But you weren’t done with your game.
Cliff rolled down the window and tried like hell to adopt his usual calm, cool grin. The officer leaned in—a young guy, fresh face, badge gleaming.
“Evenin’, sir. Got a little fast back there.”
Cliff forced a shrug and a lazy smile. “Yeah, sorry about that. Was just tryna get home before the heat really sets in.”
You took that moment—of course you did—to flatten your tongue back against him, slow and deliberate. Cliff coughed. Twice. Loud.
Another pass of your mouth. Your teeth just barely grazed. Cliff’s knee twitched. He wanted to throttle you. He wanted to praise you. He wanted to pull over and ruin you in the back seat.
“License and registration?”
Cliff handed it over with a shaky hand. “There you go, officer.”
More tongue. Slower now. Teasing. Cruel.
The cop looked at him strangely. Cliff gave his most innocent smirk. “Gotta love this car, huh? My buddy Rick’s. Drives like a dream.”
The officer nodded, then walked back to his cruiser.
The second he was gone—
“You little minx,” Cliff growled, voice dark and cracked with lust. He pushed your head back down with a rough hand, both desperate and furious. “You think that was funny?”
You giggled around him like an angel with a mean streak, and Cliff Booth finally lost it.
His hand gripped the wheel like it might save his soul, but his hips were lifting, his breath stuttering, his mouth falling open with a low, wrecked groan.
“Fuck—fuck, baby—don’t stop, don’t—”
You didn’t. Of course you didn’t. Not until he was stifling every noise he had against the back of his hand, cumming so hard it nearly blinded him, hips trembling under your grip.
When the cop finally returned to hand back his license, Cliff had both hands on the steering wheel and his sunglasses on, still panting like a man who’d just run a mile uphill.
“You alright, sir?”
“Peachy,” Cliff grunted. “Just gonna… ease off the gas a little.”
The cop left.
Cliff slammed the gear into drive.
“You,” he muttered darkly, looking down at you with a gaze that could shatter glass, “are in so much trouble.”
You blinked up at him all wide-eyed and innocent, licking your lips, and he nearly growled.
“As soon as we get home,” he promised, “I’m gonna show you what that fucking mouth of yours is good for, screaming my name all night long.”
