#age gap!reader

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Batmom -age gap freebie

Please

Bruce quirked an eyebrow and watched you for a moment. He wasn't sure WHAT exactly he missed- and he was frantically scanning his memory for anything it MIGHT be. But.

He could FEEL a storm coming.

You were about to make a fucking scene. A big one. And he took a deep breath, mentally preparing to strap in as he watched you look the assembled kids and your assistant.

"I want a list of EVERY drag event coming in the next two weeks," you announce calmy.

"Why?" Bruce asked. "Not that I'm opposed but-"

"Because," you answer, just as calmly, "If people want to hassle them and make a scene, I'll make a bigger one. I fucking DARE them to try some bullshit if I plant my ass in the front row with an entourage."

"Y/N-"

"You can punch them later if you want," you shrug. "But now I'm gonna make sure that the best part of my fan base gets left the fuck alone." You push yourself back from the desk and stretch, yawning.

"I thought we were your favorite," Steph pouted, teasing.

"Listen, darling," you hum, "The girls, the gays, and the theys made me a fashion icon and a living meme. I basically just hold out my hand and money falls into it." You snort. "If you guys want to handle certain things your way, that's fine. But sometimes you don't need finesse. You just gotta show up."

[rintareo]

nanami’s never experienced having a young girlfriend before. he used to shame others who hit on women significantly younger than them. big age differences always seems iffy to him. plus the idea of dating someone younger only made him feel old.

yet he became such a hypocrite when he started dating you. his young girlfriend in her early twenties. practically a ten year gap.

he wanted to be disgusted with himself sometimes. it felt shameful but he couldn’t resist. all those thoughts were thrown out the window the moment he’d sink himself into the welcoming young pussy of yours.

so cute and eager to please him. screaming for him to fuck you, praising him for how well he filled you up. you were just an ego boost for him and you didn’t even know it.

he’s never felt more alive than when he comes home to you ready to leave his stress. either with your warm mouth or tight pussy. always something new with you. you know how to keep him on his toes.

[onlypinkslut]

warning 18+ older roommate!toji fushiguro x college f!reader he’s sad. quiet. heavy. you let him use your ass when he’s upset 🎀

you weren’t even supposed to live with him that long.

it was meant to be a temporary thing three months max. just until your lease got sorted out, or until your boyfriend found a place closer to campus. but then three months turned into five, and then midterms came, and then your boyfriend said he didn’t want a roommate after all. and you were still here. still in that quiet, cool apartment with the fridge full of protein shakes and beer, and the hallway that always smelled like his cologne.

toji was older than you. older in that hard-to-place way. he never said his age, but you knew it was somewhere between thirty and forty. maybe closer to forty. the lines around his mouth made him look tired, but his body didn’t. he worked out every day, left early, came back late, didn’t talk much, didn’t smile much either. you always felt like he noticed more than he let on. always watching, but quiet about it.

it wasn’t flirty. not at first.

just weird little moments.

like the way he’d look at you too long when you came home from class in one of your tiny skirts. or how he never asked about your boyfriend, even when you were pacing around the living room whispering into the phone at night. or how he always seemed to walk in right after you showered, towel still wrapped around your body, hair dripping down your back.

but he never crossed the line.

until tonight.

you were on the couch, like always.

your little shorts were riding up from how you were lying on your stomach, tank top thin and braless underneath. you weren’t even trying to be cute. just comfy.

your boyfriend had texted you something boring, so you were ignoring him. scrolling tiktok. humming under your breath.

and then the front door slammed.

you jumped a little. turned your head slowly.

he was standing there. fists clenched. jaw locked. breathing uneven like he just came back from a fight.

you blinked.

you okay?

he didn’t answer right away. just stared at the wall for a second like he was trying to talk himself down from something.

then, he came over. not fast. not threatening. just walked slowly to the couch and dropped down beside you, hard, his big body sinking deep into the cushions.

he was still in his gym clothes. black shirt stretched tight across his chest, sweat dried along his collar. you could smell him.

he didn’t look at you when he spoke.

fuckin bitch at work tried to make a scene.

you stayed quiet. let him talk.

snapped at me in front of everybody. like she thought i was gonna sit there and let her.

you rested your chin on your palm. glanced over at him.

what did you do?

he scoffed.

walked out. told the boss she could fire me if she wanted.

he rubbed his face.

i’m fucking tired.

you nodded. it was weird seeing him like that angry but quiet. his voice low and hoarse, like he’d been holding it in all day.

he looked over at you.

you always this quiet?

you shrugged.

sometimes.

you heard him sigh again. then he leaned back, stretching one leg out, his thigh almost touching yours.

you laughed softly, glancing back at your phone.

he stared at you for a second too long.

you don’t mind if i sit here a bit, right?

you shook your head.

you live here too.

his gaze lingered.

can i ask you something?

you nodded.

what’s your boyfriend do when you’re upset?

you paused. looked up.

uh… i guess he talks to me? i don’t know. asks what’s wrong.

toji smirked. not cruel. just… knowing.

talks.

yeah.

he leaned over suddenly, one thick palm resting on your lower back, fingers spread gently.

can i try something?

you blinked.

what?

his tone was calm. quiet. almost careful.

s’nothing, don’t make it weird. just… helps me calm down.

his leg moved, sliding up behind yours. his whole body shifted until he was hovering over your ass.

i’m just gonna sit like this for a second. don’t move.

you didn’t have time to react. he eased down, slow, his full weight settling over the backs of your thighs, his hips pressing gently against the swell of your ass.

you could feel it. thick. heavy. even through both layers.

your mouth parted.

toji…

shh. not weird. it’s not sexual.

he rocked forward, slow, grinding his hips into the softness of your ass, slow and rhythmic.

just helps me. not thinking about you. just need to relax.

his hands smoothed up your sides. then back down. you felt his breath on your neck.

you feel warm. soft. grounding.

your thighs squeezed together.

you should’ve told him to stop.

you had a boyfriend.

you weren’t supposed to like this.

but he rolled his hips again, slower this time, a soft grunt in his throat.

feels better already.

and you didn’t move.

you didn’t even breathe.

just stayed there, heavy on top of you, hips pressed into your ass, breathing slower now. you could feel the heat of him through his sweats. the way his cock had thickened, twitching occasionally against your soft shorts.

you didn’t say anything. neither did he.

for a long time, it was just the sound of the tv playing something you weren’t watching, your phone screen dimming in your hand.

then, slowly, his voice came again. lower this time. not angry. just… tired.

she took everything.

you blinked.

he was staring at the floor in front of the couch, arms braced on either side of your waist.

the house. the cars. even the fuckin dog.

his body moved over yours, barely rocking, just enough to keep himself calm.

and megumi. she took him too. didn’t even let me fight for custody. said i was too unstable.

his voice cracked a little.

was i a bad dad?

you didn’t know what to say. you swallowed hard.

i don’t think so. you’re a kind man toji..

his breath shuddered behind you.

he leaned down a little, chest pressing against your back.

you remind me of how things used to feel before everything went to shit.

you looked down at your hand. it was trembling.

toji…

he cut you off, softly.

no, i’m serious. you’re calm. sweet. you don’t make me feel like i’m losing my mind every time i come home.

his hips rolled again. slower now. deeper.

i’m not trying to make this weird.

you squeezed your thighs together.

it’s just comfort.

you didn’t move.

you should’ve.

his hips were still rolling gently over yours, steady and quiet, like it was just breathing. like it wasn’t anything filthy, just some low, grounding rhythm he needed to stay sane. he wasn’t moaning. wasn’t panting. he wasn’t even hard yet. that’s what made it worse.

he was just calm.

and something about that scared you more than if he’d pinned you down.

his hand was still on your back. not holding you. just resting there, like he needed to feel you moving with him.

you felt so soft tonight.

you felt like permission.

he didn’t say anything for a minute. just moved slowly, the heat of his sweats dragging over your ass with every push of his hips.

his hips pressed forward just a little more that time. the drag of him against you firmer now.

you were quiet. you didn’t want to hear this.

but he kept going.

she got cold after megumi. turned into someone else. someone bitter. angry.

you closed your eyes.

and you? you’re not like that.

he reached down again, the tips of his fingers dragging over the waistband of your little shorts.

you’re still warm. you still make people feel safe even broken bastards like me.

you sucked in a breath. your legs tensed, thighs trembling.

toji…

his hand didn’t move. it just stayed there, warm and big and slow.

shhh. not doing anything. just feeling you.

he leaned down now, chest heavy against your back, breath brushing the edge of your ear.

you’re tense. don’t be. this isn’t weird.

you tried to shift your hips. his hand caught them. gently. firmly.

i know it’s hard. being touched like this by someone older. someone who’s supposed to be safe.

his voice dropped lower.

but baby, i am safe.

you let out a shaky breath. your phone slipped from your hand to the floor.

he didn’t even flinch.

you want me to stop?

you nodded.

he paused.

then pulled your shorts down anyway.

only halfway. just enough to let your cheeks spill out, bare and soft under his palms.

see? nothing bad’s happening. just skin. just you and me. you have a cute butt sweetheart.

you should’ve screamed.

you should’ve left.

but he was gentle. slow. sweet even, in a way that made your stomach flutter and ache.

his cock was hard now. you could feel it dragging thick and heavy along your ass, clothed still, but pulsing.

his hands held your hips like they were something fragile.

god… your body.

he breathed it out, low and wrecked, like he’d been holding it in for years.

so much softer than hers.

he lifted you gently. rolled his hips up against your bare ass, the thin fabric of your panties wet now, clinging.

just keep letting me.

you whimpered.

but you didn’t stop me.

he leaned in closer, lips brushing your neck.

your boyfriend still young, chasing life.. maybe he doesn’t touch you like this.

maybe he doesn’t see you like i do.

he thrust again, slow and deeper this time, grinding into the soft spot between your thighs.

your legs spread without meaning to.

fuck, he whispered. that’s it.

just let me soothe myself.

he rubbed his cock along the curve of your pussy, still covered by your soaked panties, every stroke a little longer now, a little heavier.

you felt his hand move around to your stomach, holding you still, the other sliding over your lower back, stroking you.

you’re not doing anything wrong.

his breath was so close now.

you’re just helping me.

and the worst part was..

it felt true.

he didn’t stop.

his hands stayed on your body even while he talked, like touching you helped the words come out smoother. he kept one palm low on your spine, warm and firm, grounding you to the couch, while the other slid lower, curving over the round of your ass.

he gave it a squeeze first.

then rubbed it.

then shook it once, gently, like he was testing the weight of you.

god… she never let me touch her like this anymore.

he said it like it was nothing.

like he wasn’t palming your bare ass cheeks while grinding his cock up between them.

every fake thrust was a little heavier now, cock dragging up the crack of your ass through his sweats and your panties. you were soaked. you didn’t even know when it happened. maybe sometime after his first groan. or maybe after that third thrust when he whispered you’re softer than her.

he rolled his hips forward again, this time deeper, until the fabric between you was hot and damp and clinging.

his voice cracked mid-sentence.

before the baby. before the fucking lawyers.

his thumb hooked the thin waistband of your panties. didn’t pull just played with it, twisting the fabric, tugging it up slightly between your cheeks so it pressed tighter against your pussy lips.

she used to beg for it. used to say she loved how strong i was.

he tugged your panties again. then let them snap back lightly against your skin.

you stayed silent. frozen. dizzy.

now i’m just a paycheck. just a man she wants to rot.

he lifted your hips up again, forcing you to arch slightly, your ass in the air now, bare and soft and trembling under his weight.

but you… fuck, baby, you’re like a memory.

he moaned a little under his breath, grinding down harder, dragging the full length of his cock along your soaked fabric.

you’re like how women used to be. quiet. soft. grateful.

you let out a shaky breath.

his hand stroked the curve of your ass slowly, then squeezed again.

then both hands were on you palming, groping, parting your cheeks just enough to press himself between them.

you feel so fuckin good.

his voice cracked again.

i haven’t touched anyone since the divorce.

he rolled his hips again. the fabric twisted. your panties were soaked through, sticking to your slit, your clit catching just slightly with every grind.

and your boyfriend… he has no idea.

he chuckled softly. not mean. not cruel. just… certain.

you’re laying here with your shorts pulled down and your soaked little pussy rubbing against my cock.

he leaned closer, lips at your ear, breathing heavy.

you whispered his name.

toji…

he kissed the back of your neck.

not sweet.

not gentle.

just claiming.

shhh. i know, baby.

his fingers slid under the band of your panties this time. deeper. skin to skin now. not rushing. just resting them there.

you’re just helping.

and i’m gonna keep using you like this until my cock stops hurting.

his hips pressed forward hard. slow. deliberate. your clit throbbed. your thighs trembled.

just my own little remedy.

my soft little cure.

his hands started rubbing again. up and down your hips. over your ass. down to your thighs.

you’re such a good girl.

his cock dragged right over your cunt. again. again. again.

and the worst part was

you were clenching.

his hands didn’t stop.

they moved like he was sculpting you, rubbing your skin slow, gripping deep in some places, featherlight in others. he was rocking his hips now in soft, lazy grinds cock heavy and leaking behind the fabric of his sweats, dragging up and down your soaked slit through your panties like it was nothing. like it was natural.

your shorts were bunched around your knees. your panties soaked and crooked. and your ass was wide open in his lap, his hands sliding around it, shaping it, spreading it every few seconds just to watch it part.

and god, he watched.

he looked between your cheeks like it was holy.

not rushed. not desperate. just fixated.

fuck… look at this.

he whispered it like awe.

look how perfect you are down here.

his thumbs spread your ass open wider. you felt the cool air hit everything your folds, your twitching hole, the slick that made your panties stick.

you whimpered.

he leaned in. you felt his breath on your lower back.

you’ve got the prettiest lil pussy i’ve ever seen.

he let your cheeks fall back together with a soft slap. then parted them again.

and this fuckin hole… twitchin like it knows.

he chuckled under his breath. slow, low.

baby, this is insane. it’s so tight. so small.

he spread your ass again. stared. watched it clench.

god, you’re squeezin up for me.

you buried your face in the couch.

toji, please…

please what?

he closed your cheeks again. rubbed them in slow circles, then grabbed both and shook them softly, admiring the bounce.

you feel how hard i am, right? just from looking at it.

he ground his cock back between them, slow, dragging it over your pussy lips again and again.

not even fuckin you. just looking at you.

he parted your ass again. slow. careful. reverent.

your lil hole is fluttering like it wants to be kissed.

you let out a soft cry. he groaned.

fuck, you’re perfect. every inch of you. this is what real women look like. not those fake women who don’t know how to take care of a man.

his hand dragged up your inner thigh, fingers brushing the damp edge of your panties.

you’ve got folds like heaven. warmth like home.

he rocked again. slower. your panties clung to your clit now.

i could stare at this pussy for hours. never even fuck it. just rub on it. feel how soft she is.

he kissed your lower back. then kissed just above your ass.

you were trembling now. thighs shaking. face buried in a pillow.

you’re made to be held like this.

he spread you again, slowly. wider this time.

fuck. it’s twitching again.

he moaned, dragging his cock between your cheeks like it was a silk pocket.

don’t worry, baby. i won’t put it in.

he kissed the dip of your spine.

not unless you beg.

and even then, i’d take my time.

you’re not a hole to fuck.

you’re a place to rest.

he rubbed your ass again. grabbed both cheeks. shook them. groaned.

i’ll fuckin cum just like this.

he buried his cock between them again, grinding hard, low, moaning softly like he was almost there.

your hole’s too cute to ruin.

your pussy’s too perfect to rush.

he dragged his tip down once more, pressing it just over your clit through the soaked fabric.

let me finish like this, baby.

just let me use it.

just a lil longer.

his hand reached back down.

this time there was no pause. no warning. no question.

he hooked his thick fingers in the sides of your panties and pulled them down, slowly, steadily, inch by inch, until they slid over the swell of your ass, your soaked folds, your trembling thighs.

he groaned softly, more breath than voice, and let them drop to your knees, then slipped them off completely, tossing them somewhere behind the couch.

then he sat back on his knees, both palms full of your ass, eyes locked between your legs like it was sacred.

fuck.

his voice came out ragged now.

you’re even prettier bare.

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. your face was buried, your body on fire.

he parted your cheeks again, slow and steady.

little hole’s twitching again.

he stared, quiet, fixated.

then tilted his head.

is it cause you’re nervous? or cause you like this?

he didn’t wait for an answer.

he just kept looking.

your asshole fluttered open gently with every slow breath. your pussy below was wet and glistening, folds soft and slightly parted from how swollen you were.

goddamn, baby…

he rubbed his thumbs around your hole in lazy, slow circles, not touching the center. just framing it.

your body knows what it’s doing.

he spread you wider. let your hole open, then held it. watched it.

look at her.

fuckin opening for me.

he let go slowly.

watched your cheeks fall back together.

then squeezed them in his palms and rubbed them together, fat and soft and warm like bread dough.

what kinda boyfriend lets his girl walk around with a perfect ass like this and doesn’t keep her home?

he smacked your cheeks together lightly.

then peeled them apart again.

look, look how it moves.

he leaned down, nose close, staring like it was art.

your lil hole’s breathing, baby.

he brought your cheeks together again, slowly rubbing them.

and your pussy… fuck. she’s leaking just from being open.

he reached between your thighs, didn’t touch just hovered.

do you even realize how wet you are?

you whimpered. he laughed.

answer me.

you know this isn’t normal, right?

he spread you again. tilted your hips. watched the slick drip between your folds.

what’s your boyfriend gonna think when he sees the mess you made? when your pussy’s all puffy and your lil hole’s red and twitching like someone’s been using it?

he dragged his cock slowly between your cheeks again, this time skin to skin.

you felt the wet spot of pre-cum smear.

you think he could handle seeing you like this?

you think he could keep calm? ´cause i can’t.

he pinched your ass gently and rolled the flesh in his palms.

you’re too soft to ignore.

too fuckin perfect not to look at.

he kept your cheeks parted, watching your hole open again. slow. pulsing.

do you like being looked at like this, baby?

you like when an older man like me stares at your asshole like it’s worth more than rent?

he ground forward again, moaning deep in his chest.

cause i’d pay for this.

i’d worship this.

and you’re just laying here. letting me.

he pinched both cheeks together, held them shut, then dragged them open again slowly.

your hole’s not even shy anymore.

she wants attention.

she wants praise.

he leaned down, breathing against it.

i could put my tongue here and make you lose your fuckin mind.

not even touch your pussy.

just right here.

he kissed the curve above your hole.

light. respectful. filthy.

you whimpered again. he stroked your hip.

shhh. it’s not weird.

it’s just helping me.

i’m just calming down.

his cock slid back into the mess between your cheeks.

his thrusts got heavier. deeper. slower.

and you just laid there.

open.

dripping.

trembling.

while he used you to forget his life.

and you couldn’t take it anymore.

his hands had been spreading and squeezing you for so long, his voice low and warm against your back, whispering about how soft you were, how good your little twitching hole looked, how soaked your pussy was and you were still just laying there, silent and trembling, thighs clenching, trying not to make a sound.

but now it was buzzing.

everywhere.

between your legs, under your skin, up your spine.

he had you bare and open.

panties gone.

folds glistening.

hole twitching.

and every time he moaned, every time he touched you like you were sacred, something in you lit up.

you couldn’t pretend anymore.

not with how your heart was beating.

not with how your thighs kept inching wider.

so you reached back.

you lifted yourself up, just slightly barely on your elbows and then slowly, you brought your hands behind you, palms warm, fingers curved.

your manicured nails grazed your own ass.

and then you parted your cheeks wide.

for him.

you heard his breath catch.

oh… baby girl.

he sounded broken. reverent.

you held yourself open, cheeks stretched wide with your own delicate hands, and you tilted your hips a little, just enough to give him the perfect view. your asshole twitched once, slow, deliberate. your pussy below was swollen, wet, lips parted from all the pressure and grinding.

you took a breath.

you didn’t even recognize your own voice when it came out.

you can rub it there if you want.

not inside.

just… between.

if it helps you cock..

silence.

then a groan.

low and thick and wrecked.

fuck, sweetheart.

he leaned forward, chest pressed to your back, cock heavy between your hands, and you felt it the weight of it, the heat, the slow grind of fabric against your stretched skin.

you held yourself wider.

your nails digging in a little.

you wanted him to see everything.

feel better, toji.

you whispered it like a sin.

and he moaned.

you’re such a sweet fuckin girl.

you know that?

who the hell raised you like this?

his hands gripped your hips again.

his cock dragged along the dip between your cheeks, slow and thick, fabric catching on your fluttering hole.

not even gonna fuck you.

just let me feel this.

he rutted forward again, groaning, his tip catching your tailbone through the fabric, then gliding down over your hole, your folds, your clit.

you felt it.

you loved it.

you whispered again, softer this time.

does it feel good?

he gasped.

feels like fuckin heaven.

your ass is the softest thing i’ve ever touched.

and your lil hole… baby, she’s clenching just for me.

you rubbed your cheeks together gently, squeezing them with your own hands, then spreading them again.

your own fingers were still gripping the underside of your ass, stretching yourself wide while his bare cock rubbed slow between your cheeks. the room smelled like sweat and sex not fucked sex, not messy moaning porn sex but need. tension. body warmth and breath and skin dragging on skin.

you could feel everything.

the way his cockhead slipped down and caught on the softness between your folds before gliding back up. the weight of it dragging between your cheeks. the friction of slick and heat. the tip was wet he’d been leaking on you for minutes now, every grind leaving more precum smeared across your skin. your hole had started twitching from it, flinching from the pressure every time he passed over it like a nerve ending exposed.

you could tell he was trying not to come.

you could hear it in his voice, the way his breathing changed, lips parting, chest rising and falling faster as he buried his cock deeper between your ass cheeks and moaned against your back.

his hands came to your waist, then lower, thumbs hooking into the dip of your hips, pulling you back into him as he rocked forward with a sharp exhale.

fuck, baby.

i don’t even need to fuck you. this is better than anything i had with her.

you swallowed, lips parted, voice soft.

you can… put the tip there.

he froze.

what?

you kept your hands where they were, nails grazing your own skin.

not inside. just… you can press it there. if it helps.

his groan was raw.

oh fuck.

you nodded slowly.

just the tip.

just to soothe you.

he growled deep in his chest, leaned forward over your body, and whispered right into your ear.

you’re so fucking good for me.

you felt him shift one hand bracing the small of your back, the other gripping the base of his cock. his tip slid down again, lower, lower, and then stopped right against your hole.

you gasped.

the head of his cock was hot. thick. slick. and when it pressed gently against your asshole, you felt it pulse. not pushing. just resting there. full contact. your hole twitched on instinct, fluttering under the pressure. his groan came slow, heavy, drawn out from the chest.

oh baby… that’s it.

you’re holding her so still for me.

fuck, she’s reacting already. twitchin like she knows it’s me.

he didn’t thrust.

he just rubbed. slow circles of his tip over your asshole, coating it with warm precum, letting it glide back and forth, pressing just enough to stretch your rim without slipping in.

you’re not even fighting it.

you’re letting me soothe myself right on your sweet ass.

you were made for this.

this little spot right here.

he pressed the head flat against it, not pushing in, just covering you with the heavy heat of his cock.

you stayed perfectly still.

open.

offering.

not because you wanted it.

just because he needed it.

just to help.

you’re my good girl.

you hear me?

fuck your boyfriend. fuck everyone.

this is mine now.

he ground forward again, hips slow, cockhead sliding wetly against your rim, rubbing his release over you like it belonged there.

and your hole just twitched under him, again and again, waiting.

he didn’t push in.

but he wanted to.

and you could feel it in every quiet breath.

his cock didn’t leave your skin.

it was resting right there, the tip broad and flushed, heavy against your hole. you could feel every twitch of him. the way he throbbed at the base, the heat pooling inside him, the way the pressure kept building, slow and unbearable, until he couldn’t control it anymore.

then he pulled back.

not far.

just enough to let the tip hang.

just enough to slap it.

his cockhead hit your ass once right over your twitching rim.

you gasped, body jolting softly under the weight.

it wasn’t rough.

it was intimate.

another loud slap again. louder this time.

sticky now.

wet.

a ring of his precum had built around your hole, glistening. and when he slapped himself down again, the sound was so filthy it echoed in the quiet room.

fuck, baby.

listen to her.

he slapped again.

you’re clenching every time i hit her.

you like that, don’t you?

you whimpered.

you didn’t say yes.

but your body did.

he pressed the tip back into your rim, slow and heavy, then dragged it down between your folds and back up again.

he could’ve slid in.

you both knew it.

but he didn’t.

he rubbed.

slow, sticky circles, cockhead grinding soft on your asshole, sliding down, collecting slick, dragging it back up like he was painting with it.

then the moan came.

thick.

guttural.

and then..

the first hot spurt.

right on your hole.

it landed heavy.

wet.

thick.

his cock twitched hard in his fist.

you held yourself open tighter.

the next spurt hit the curve of your cheek, then down the split between them, dripping into the mess of your folds.

fuckfuckfuck… your ass takes me so well.

she wanted this.

he was groaning through it, thrusting shallow, rubbing his cockhead through his own cum now, smearing it over your hole, circling it slowly while your body stayed arched, spread, obedient.

he didn’t stop moving.

even as he came, he kept rubbing.

cockhead swirling over your rim, dragging slick into your soft skin.

massaging it in.

you’re mine now, sweetheart.

you’d let me do this again.

no one else gets to see this hole twitch like this.

no one else gets to paint her.

he gave one more slow slap, thick with cum, letting it drizzle down your crease.

you stayed exactly where you were.

hands on your ass.

hole dilated.

pussy throbbing.

his breath on your back.

and he just kept rubbing.

soothing.

like it was never about the sex.

just the comfort of being buried in your warmth.

his calm.

his good girl.

his favorite place to break.

≧∀≦ this little filth has been rotting in my notes for literal months and i finally gave in.🎀

thank you for reading this💗💗

onlypinkslut

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the fundraiser rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

part two

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

[daryltwdixon]

I Like it, I Love It

I want some more of it

I try so hard, I can't rise above it

I don't know what it is 'bout that little girl's lovin'

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it

Summary: Joel Miller knew he was going to hell. And if he wasn't sure before, he knew it for certain now. Especially when he picked you up and you were wearing that tiny denim skirt and your cowgirl boots. You’re half his age, and he’s old enough to know better. But with your fingers laced through his and that bright, infectious smile, he finally starts to forget the guilt and the shame. He might even let himself have fun. || smut MDNI 18+, also fluff, girthy (but legal!) age gap, rodeo / fair date, summer romance, no outbreak, Joel POV, shy!joel, soft!joel, new relationship, reader isn't a virgin but its her first time with joel, reader is afab, smallchested!reader, reader is a lil insecure of her body, slightly angsty!joel, he's feelin' guilty, joel miller is down bad, older!bf, car sex, pinv, praise kink, nipple play, nipple orgasm 👀, fingering, grinding, riding, a lot of kissing (like a lot), picture whichever joel you prefer, 'daddy' mentioned but no daddy kink, size difference || all my love to @littlcdarlin for our filthy discussions of tiny titties and joel miller loving you in a mini skirt. also of course @cavillscurls who has also helped me with ideas for this! y'all are filthy pervs just like me :)

Joel Miller had made peace with the idea of going to hell a long time ago.

The air smelled like fried dough and horses as you scampered ahead, all bounce and bright energy, the summer heat curling around your shoulders. There was a hum of excitement in the fairgrounds even from a distance, something charged and electric that settled deep in his chest, though he knew it had less to do with the lights and music and more to do with you.

You made your way in a tiny denim skirt, cowgirl boots kicking up dust, legs long and golden in the sun. All smooth, soft skin begging to be touched. And Joel figured, yeah, his seat in the fiery pit was reserved and waiting.

And touched you he had, just a little, just a polite hand on your knee during the ride over. He caught the way you glanced at him, the way your fingers twitched like you were tempted to take his hand and move it up your thigh yourself. You wanted more, and he did too. But he hadn’t crossed that line. Not yet.

Because Joel was a gentleman, or at least trying hard to be one. You were only a couple of months into… whatever this was. Dating? Seeing each other? Going steady? You hadn’t defined it and Joel hadn’t asked, partly because he was terrified if he put a name to it, it might fall apart, and partly because he still couldn’t quite believe you were even here with him. That a girl like you had looked his way in the first place. Most days, he felt like a man trying to catch lightning in a bottle, grateful but always expecting it to slip out of his hands.

Still, the guilt sat just behind the thrill. You were young. Young enough that he should know better. He could see it in the way people looked at you, the way they looked at him when you were together. Sometimes he felt himself spiraling a little, late at night when he was alone, wondering what the hell he was doing letting a girl like you anywhere near him.

Up ahead, you grabbed a spot in the ticket line and turned back to him with that familiar light in your eyes, the kind that made it impossible not to smile back. Joel caught up, slow and steady behind you, hands in his pockets, already fighting the urge to touch you again.

“Before I get too distracted, we need a plan,” you said as you moved up a step. You glanced at the handful of people still ahead in line, then turned to face him fully, eyes bright and serious in that teasing way of yours. “What do you wanna see?”

Joel shrugged, more interested in the way your lips curved up than in any of the rides or games. “What do you wanna see?”

You held up a hand, ticking off your demands. “Spray and Race game. I will be kicking your ass at that, by the way.”

Joel nodded, amused.

“And then we have to see the barrel racing, obviously. Can’t come to the fair and not watch a bunch of cowboys do their thing. That would be criminal. Oh, and if I don’t get either funnel cake or kettle corn by the time we leave, I will riot.”

“Can’t have that,” Joel said, letting a chuckle slip out as he rested his hand on the small of your back, guiding you gently forward with the line.

You looked up at him again, smiling like you couldn’t help yourself. “Okay, but seriously, what do you wanna do?”

Joel shrugged, easy. “I’m happy doin’ whatever makes you happy, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “Cornball.”

He kissed your hairline gently and you stepped up as the ticket booth opened.

“Two, please,” you said, cheerful as anything, leaning your elbows on the wooden counter.

The woman behind the plexiglass had a kind face, her cheeks round and flushed, oversized glasses magnifying her eyes making them look cartoonish. She gave you a warm, buttery smile as she slid the tickets toward you.

“Here you go, dear,” she said sweetly. “Y’all enjoy the fair now.”

Joel reached into his pocket to pay and slid a couple bills across the counter. Before he could tuck his wallet away, you turned, leaned up, and kissed him on the corner of his mouth in quiet thanks. It was just a soft, grateful thing, casual and comfortable. Nothing out of the ordinary for two people dating.

But Joel saw the woman’s energy shift in real time from sweet to surprised. Her smile faltered like it had hit a pothole, and her eyes went sharp.

Joel flushed to the tips of his ears, but you were already thanking her, plucking the tickets from her hand like nothing had happened.

And just like that, you were off again, sunlight on your shoulders, tickets in hand, skirt swaying as you moved toward the fairgrounds. Joel smiled politely at the woman who was now fully glaring daggers into him, and he turned to follow you.

“This thing is rigged!” you huffed, letting go of the water gun with an exaggerated sigh. 

The plastic clown stared back at you with its chipped paint and smug little smirk, like it knew exactly how badly you’d missed the mark. You crossed your arms, glaring at it as Joel laughed behind you, the sound low and warm in his chest.

He wasn’t laughing at you, not really. There was too much affection in it. He was caught somewhere between loving the look of focused frustration scrunched between your brows and fighting off the sudden urge to win you the biggest stuffed animal at the booth, just to see your face light up again.

So he stepped forward, doubts flaring in his gut for half a second before he shoved them down and moved in close behind you. 

Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward. 

His chest met your back first, solid and warm, and you stayed still as you let him fit behind you like a puzzle piece, with his legs bracketing yours, close enough that his knees brushed the backs of your thighs. When he bent over you, the hem of your skirt shifted just enough for the soft curve of you to press against the front of his jeans. He clenched his jaw, eyes locked on the clown’s face, trying like hell not to focus on how good you felt against him.

He raised his hands, letting them hover a moment before easing them down, covering your smaller ones with his own. His palms were wide and rough, fingers slipping into the empty spaces between yours until you were surrounded by him, snug in his arms, your hands now steadied on the plastic grip of the water gun.

Your next breath was sharp and audible. He felt it echo in his ribs.

He adjusted your grip on the plastic gun, his hands never leaving yours, “Let me show you how it’s done,” he murmured, voice low near your ear, and he felt the reaction ripple through you. 

Your arms tensed at first, then softened, and he could see the goosebumps rising along your skin, catching the light.

He probably shouldn’t have enjoyed that as much as he did. Probably shouldn’t have let his lips graze the shell of your ear. But he was already in it now, already pressed against you, mind foggy as the smell of your vanilla perfume invaded his senses.

“Deep breath in,” he said, quieter this time, watching the way your lips parted as you listened, your chest rising beneath his. “Slow breath out.”

He swallowed hard, trying not to think about how natural this felt. How right. He focused on the target instead. The clown, the ridiculous game.

“Gotta squeeze the trigger like you love it.” he murmured.

You let out a quiet, breathless laugh, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you moved back into him, and he felt the swell of your ass push into his lap even more.

But before he could react to the feeling of your warm body pushing into his, the starting bell rang, loud and shrill, snapping both of you into motion. Joel pressed his finger over yours on the trigger, guiding the plastic gun with a steady grip. Water sprayed clean and fast, hitting the target right in the center.

You gasped softly, maybe surprised it was working, maybe still recovering from how close he was. Joel kept his focus, eyes on the game, though it was damn near impossible with the way you felt against him.

“Gentle, steady now,” he said when he felt your aim start to slip, adjusting your elbow with a nudge.

The buzzer went off a second later, a shrill little chime of victory as the clown’s mouth filled and your light blinked bright red at the top of the board. You’d won–first place, of course.

Joel eased back, slower than necessary. His hands lingered a second too long on your waist before he finally stepped away, the heat of you still clinging to him even as you turned with wide eyes and a grin that could’ve leveled him.

“I won?” you said, eyes lit up, like you couldn’t quite believe it.

He nodded, watching you, unable to look away. “You won.”

You picked out a prize without hesitation, grabbing the biggest, fluffiest looking stuffed animal on the rack and hugging it tight to your chest. Joel didn’t even care what it was. All he saw was your face, still flushed from the game, eyes shining, mouth curved in that soft, teasing way you got when you were proud of yourself.

The day stretched long in that golden, syrupy way only Texas summers could manage. The kind that made the day feel like it went too fast and too slow all at once. Joel let you lead him from one booth to the next, happy to be tugged along whether you were forcing a cowboy hat onto his head or pressing cotton candy to his lips. It was far too sweet for him, but he still smiled and shared bites with you, watching the sugar dissolve on your tongue. But it wasn’t the thought of his teeth rotting that did him in that day. No, it was the taste of your lips when you leaned into him, sticky-sweet and warm as you kissed him again and again, always grateful for buying you whatever you asked for. 

Later, at the rodeo arena, you led him up into the metal bleachers with a half-finished bag of kettle corn tucked under one arm and your stuffed bear you won in the other. The crowd buzzed around you, cheering and stomping as the barrel racers burst out into the dirt, all speed and muscle. Bulls followed, snorting and kicking against the reins, the announcer’s voice booming over the speakers like thunder rolling through a canyon.

At some point, you shifted. Instead of sitting beside him with your legs stretched out straight like everyone else, you turned and draped them across his lap. Your thighs settled on him, warm and bare, boots dangling off the other side of his legs. You leaned back on your palms, smiling up at him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel rested his hand on your knee without thinking, like it was second nature now. But something in his chest shifted, slow and deep. Watching you watch the riders, your body relaxed and fully at ease in his, he felt it settle into place like a quiet truth.

You wanted this. Not just the fair or the games or the sugar highs. This. Him. His hand on your knee. Your legs over his lap. Your lips on his in front of a crowd that might judge the way you looked at him—an older man, years and miles ahead of you. But you didn’t care. You wanted people to see. Wanted them to know he was yours.

And Joel wasn’t sure what the hell to do with that. With the quiet, aching certainty that you didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. That you wanted him, plain and simple. Because the truth, the part he couldn’t shake no matter how sweet this all felt, was that he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

He was too old. Not just in birthdays, but in body and mind. Every morning he woke up sore in places he didn’t used to notice. He needed two cups of coffee before his brain even came online. He’d lived more lives than he wanted to admit, made more mistakes than he knew how to name.

And still, here you were. Laid up across him like it was the only place you belonged. Smiling up at him like he hung the damn moon.

He swallowed hard and looked down at your knee beneath his hand. Your skin warm, your body settled into his like you’d been doing it for years.

You were real. This was real.

And maybe… just maybe, he was allowed to want it, too. Even if he was still trying to believe he had a right to.

By the time the sun finally dipped beneath the horizon, the fairgrounds glowed with soft light, strung bulbs swaying between posts and tents, flickering like lightning bugs trapped in glass. The air had cooled, but instead of slowing down, you pulled Joel into a wooden building near the edge of the fairgrounds with a painted sign outside on the windows that said:

Swing Dancing Tonight: Live Band!

Joel followed you inside, the bar buzzing with life as people line danced on the floor, women and men alike to an old honky tonk song. The band was lively and energizing as he ordered you drinks at the bar. But before he could even hand you yours, you were already in the middle of the dance floor. So he sipped his beer, watching you sway and stomp to the song. He could watch you like this for hours, thumbs in your belt loops, hips swaying to the rhythm as the drums beat through his chest. He watched how your legs moved, long and shining in the bar light, the way your skirt hugged your hips so perfectly as you turned, giving him the perfect view of you. You were all confidence and charm, laughter rising over the music as you spun yourself in a circle or stepped just slightly out of time.

Then, the song ended, and another started. One he actually recognized.

Spent 48 dollars last night at the county fair

I throwed out my shoulder, but I won her that teddy bear…

“Joel,” you said, breathless and bright, pointing at him with one hand and waving him over with the other. “You know this one, don’t you?”

She's got me sayin' "Sugar Pie", "Honey", "Darlin'", and "Dear"

I ain't seen the Braves play a game all year

He felt a grin twitch at the edge of his mouth but didn’t move. Just shook his head slightly and kept his arms folded over his chest.

Your face scrunched into the kind of pout that always worked on him. “Aw, come on,” you pleaded, stepping closer. “Come dance. Please?”

Joel glanced around. The room was full of couples—young people, mostly, folks your age with their arms around each other, moving with an easy rhythm. There were a few older couples too, clinging close, still smiling like they remembered falling in love every time the music hit them just right. Joel didn’t see anyone else who looked like you and him. The difference in age stuck out like a sore thumb. He knew how it looked. He always knew.

But then he looked back at you.

The way you were beaming at him, not caring who was watching. Not ashamed or holding back. You wanted him, wanted to dance with him, here, now, in front of all these strangers, like none of it mattered.

I'm gonna get fired if I don't get some sleep

My long lost buddies say I'm getting in too deep

He exhaled slowly, then dropped his arms and nodded. “Alright.”

You lit up, grabbing his hands and leading him to the floor, smiling wide as you pulled him into place. His hand found your waist and your hand curled into his, small and warm. You were already moving before he had a chance to think. He stumbled through the first few beats, stepping left when he should have gone right, but you didn’t mind. You were giggling, swinging your hips and mouthing the words to the song like it was written just for you.

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it

I try so hard, I can’t rise above it…

Joel watched you, half focused on the dance, half lost in the way your smile grew wider each time he got it right. And he did get it right, eventually. Something about the rhythm caught him. Something about your fingers tightening just slightly in his hand each time the music swelled.

Don't know what it is 'bout that little girl's lovin'

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it

He spun you around, and when you landed back in his arms, you pressed in a little closer, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and something soft in your eyes. Joel felt the guilt unravel a little more. It didn’t disappear, but for the first time that day, he stopped listening to the nagging voice in his head that told him he was no good for you. 

Then a tap on your shoulder pulled him out of it.

“Excuse me,” a voice said.

Joel turned, keeping one arm around your waist. You paused too, breath catching in your chest from the last spin. A man stood just beside the two of you. Tall, dressed in boots too clean for real ranch work, and smiling a little too confidently.

“Can I help you?” you asked politely, eyebrows lifting.

The man looked between you and Joel, then nodded toward you.

“I was wonderin’ if I might steal you from your daddy for a dance.”

Joel felt your spine straighten where his hand laid across it. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He waited for your reaction. Because, after all, this young man was closer to your age and seemed like someone you should be dancing with if it wasn’t for him.

“No thanks,” you said, sweet as anything. “I’m perfectly happy to keep dancin’ with my daddy.”

And when you turned to Joel smiling, it was with a wink. Surely not very subtle, and not in the least bit shy. His stomach flipped. He might’ve choked on the word if he hadn’t been too focused on keeping his mouth shut and his hands respectful.

The man blinked, frowned, then gave a quick nod before turning back toward the crowd.

Once he was gone, you turned back into Joel, your hands finding his chest again, your grin sharp.

“So rude.” you shook your head with a little grin.

Joel chuckled low in his throat. “Poor kid’s probably off pouting after bein’ turned down by a pretty thing like you.”

You laughed, eyes bright. “Well, maybe next time he’ll think twice before trying to cut in.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Next time?”

You leaned in, “You think I’m lettin’ anyone else dance with me tonight?”

He didn’t get the chance to answer before you moved in even closer, lips just shy of his.

“Why don’t we make sure everyone in this place knows exactly how much I like my daddy, huh?”

And then your mouth was on his.

Your hands slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck, nails grazing skin, tugging just enough to make his knees want to give. Your lips were hot, certain, hungry, certainly not the casual kind of kiss you gave him earlier in the day, out on the fairgrounds, sweet and easy in thanks.

No, this was all for him, a kiss with weight behind it. With purpose and damn near possession.

Joel’s hands slid around your waist, fingers pressing into the small of your back. He pulled you close, pressed his mouth harder against yours like he was drowning and you were the only air he had left. The music thumped somewhere in the background, but he barely registered it. You were all he could taste. Sugar and sweat and something warm that settled heavy in his chest.

You broke the kiss eventually, barely, breath brushing over his lips as you smiled.

“Think they got the message?” you asked, smug and breathless. 

Joel gave a low laugh. “Not sure. Might need to run it by ‘em again.”

And then he was kissing you all over again.

Eventually, the music wound down and the last of the dancers trickled out. Voices quieted, boots scuffed across the old floorboards toward the exit, and the warm hum of the fair outside dimmed to a gentle hush. The tents had started closing down, lights blinking off one by one, vendors packing up what was left of the night. It was quieter now, the energy settling like dust in the air, and Joel walked beside you back toward the parking lot, your fingers looped loosely in his.

The moon was high and clear, silver light stretching over the dirt and gravel. The air had cooled just enough to feel like relief after a day of heat and sun, and the scent of fried dough and hay still hung faint on the breeze.

He opened the passenger door for you, helping you up with a hand at your waist before closing it gently behind you. Then he circled around, climbed into the driver’s seat with a low groan in his knees, and exhaled hard as the silence wrapped around the two of you.

“I had a lot of fun today,” you said, voice soft in the quiet, eyes turned toward him as you set your teddy bear in the back seat.

Joel looked over with a slow, tired smile curling on his mouth. “Me too, baby.”

He leaned across the console and tipped his chin up slightly, looking down at your mouth, just to invite you in. He meant for it to be a quick kiss. A thank you. Something simple.

But the moment your lips touched his, it was anything but a simple kiss goodnight.

You lingered, lips warm and sweet, your mouth soft against his, your hand rising to his jaw, nails grazing over the rough edge of his beard, and Joel shivered, a quiet sound catching in his throat.

He didn’t dare move, not when you deepened the kiss like that, the press of your lips firmer, the way you breathed into him like you were trying to get as close as you could. Your tongue slipped forward, slow and teasing, and Joel swore his heart damn near stopped.

He lifted his hand to cup your cheek, fingers spread along your smooth jaw, and tilted your face to kiss you fuller. Your lips parted for him, welcoming, and when his tongue met yours, you gave the softest little gasp, like it startled something in you.

Then you shifted closer and he barely had time to register it before your hand braced against his chest and you pushed, guiding him back into his seat. His breath caught, pulse thudding in his neck as you climbed into his lap, straddling him like you’d done it a hundred times. Your knees pressed into the leather on either side of him, the denim of your skirt hiking up just enough to make him dizzy.

“Baby, what’re—” he started, voice rough, but the question never made it past his mouth. Because then you were kissing him, really kissing him, and everything else seemed to disappear. 

Your hands slid up into his hair, fingers tugging gently, grounding yourself as your mouth moved over his with something between hunger and certainty. You were warm and pliant against him, chest brushing his, thighs squeezing around his hips. His head spun with the closeness, the heat, the soft weight of you in his lap.

You’d done this before, though it was all you’d done together, all the kissing and heavy petting to last a lifetime. Joel was content with it, never wanting to push for more. His hands found your waist, steadying you there, not to stop you, but partially to feel you, partially to anchor himself. You moved with a slow rhythm, your body pressing in, every little shift setting him further on edge. You kissed him deeper and hungrier with each passing moment.

His fingers flexed against your sides. You were already breathing hard, your mouth dragging over his, then down to his jaw, where you pressed a few kisses there too, so soft and addictive. Joel tipped his head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, and let himself feel it.

The truck windows were already fogging up from the heat between you. Sweat prickled at the base of his neck and your thighs were warm around him, your hands still tangled in his hair, and when you whispered his name against his lips between kisses, he felt the restraint in him begin to fray.

But when you pulled away to press your forehead into his, he saw the furrow in your brows, the pained look across your face as you spoke for the first time.

“Please, Joel,” you breathed into his mouth, lips wet against his, soft and trembling with want. “I’m ready. I want you.”

The words cut through the haze in his skull like a hot knife. He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands rising to cradle your face, his thumbs resting beneath your jaw. His calloused fingers tilted your head gently, angling you toward the windshield where the streetlamp's glow filtered through the dusty glass. He needed to see your face, to find your gaze and to know you were sure. Your eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, lips parted and swollen from his kiss. You looked like sin incarnate, lit up in the dim streetlamps, and it made something deep inside him curl and twist and clench.

“Baby…” he murmured in warning, his voice barely holding together. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep telling you no. 

But you didn’t look uncertain. Not even close. Your fingers dug into the front of his shirt, clinging to the fabric like it might disappear if you let go, and then your hips rolled forward, grinding into the hard, aching shape of him beneath his jeans. He swallowed hard, trying to hold on to reason, but the friction sent a jolt through him that scrambled every logical thought.

“I mean it,” you said, voice cracking open with need. “I need it so badly. Need you.”

He studied your face, silent, trying like hell to slow the blood roaring in his ears. There was a flicker of hesitation—one that made his heart stutter—but it wasn’t yours. It was his. Because deep down, Joel knew he should stop this. Knew he should say something responsible, something like let’s wait, this ain’t the place, I don’t wanna rush you. We should wait til we get you home. Something that would make him a better man than the one currently hard and straining beneath your thighs.

He couldn’t stop the wriggling worm in the back of his head that kept telling him you were younger. Too young for him. But you were looking at him like he was the answer to every ache in your body, like you had no idea what you were getting yourself into. That look alone was almost enough to make him want to stop this entirely. Almost.

But then your mouth found his again, and you moaned into the kiss, and whatever was left of his restraint dissolved under the heat of your breath. You sounded like you were made to fall apart for him. You felt like a fever in his arms, your skin hot and soft and flushed. And he wasn’t strong enough to let go.

“Christ,” he muttered, and his hands slid down from your face back to your waist, pulling you tighter into his lap. The denim of your skirt had already hiked up too far, bunched high on your hips as you straddled him. He hadn’t been able to stop looking at you all day. Your legs, the way that skirt clung to your curves, the fucking sway of your hips when you walked away from him. Now, with you on top of him, split open around his thighs, skin warm and trembling, it was like every filthy thought he’d buried was clawing to the surface.

And God, the way you moved against him, slow and teasing, your skirt nearly around your waist, the bare stretch of your skin beneath his hands, the greed built up in him even more than ever before. Not just to have, but to see. 

He pulled back, just an inch, his voice low and rough. “Can I… see more of you?”

Your breath hitched as you pulled away, and you didn’t answer, not at first. You sat there, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide, and he was nervous he crossed a line, that this wasn’t what you meant when you said you wanted him. He held his breath, but then, sighing, you nodded, maybe a little too quickly. Reaching for the hem of your top with shaky fingers, you paused as you brought the fabric up halfway, like something caught in your throat.

Joel noticed. “Hey,” he said gently, brushing your wrist with his thumb. “What is it?”

You didn’t meet his eyes when your voice got quiet, “I just… I know I’m not—I mean, I don’t have very big… you know.”

The words barely made it out, and Joel felt something in his chest pull tight. You were still holding your shirt, halfway lifted, frozen.

It was odd, seeing you lose that confidence that you held earlier. He watched you all day, playful and devilish in your flirtations with him. But now, now that it was just you two in the cab of his truck, he was seeing between the lines.

He sat up straighter, his hands steady as he helped you lift it the rest of the way, slow and careful, like peeling back something sacred. He tossed it into the footwell without looking. His focus stayed on the soft curve of your chest rising with each breath, the barest quiver in your chin as you tried not to read his expression too hard.

Joel didn’t say anything right away. He just leaned in and pressed a kiss to your collarbone, then another just beneath it. Gentle, slow, barely-there pecks, all warm and wet and worshipful. He moved along the slope of your neck, your shoulder, tasting skin, breathing you in.

Then he looked up at you, voice quiet but thick.

“What, these?” he said, quiet and low, barely more than a breath. His hands came up, big and warm, palms open as they slid gently to cup you. He wasn’t grabbing or groping, but feeling. Mapping you out. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen as he let the pads of his fingers learn you one soft inch at a time.

“But look,” Joel cooed, eyes flitting between your eyes and where his hands swallowed you, thumbs brushing lightly along the curves of your breasts. “Look how perfectly they fit in my hands.”

And they did. God, they did. His hands were weathered, rough in a way that made him almost hesitate, but you didn’t flinch or tense under his touch. You watched him, wide-eyed and flushed, your lips parted, chest rising fast beneath his broad hands. He couldn’t stop staring. His big, work-worn hands looked even larger against you, rough knuckles against smooth skin, thumbs grazing tender flesh. The contrast made his pulse spike, his brain full of static.

His hands flexed without thinking, fingers cradling you a little firmer. The weight of you in his palms, the way your body gave under his touch lit something in him that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with awe. Like this wasn’t just about wanting you. It was about having you trust him enough to let him look at you like this. There was a moment, maybe two, where Joel seemed to freeze in it, torn between restraint and reverence, like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going or just stay like this, memorizing the way you felt in his hands.

You made a soft noise in the back of your throat, a breathy, barely-there whimper when his thumbs grazed your sensitive nipples again, and he felt it like a bolt down his spine.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice thick. “You feel how perfect you are?”

You hesitated at first, fingers fisting into his shirt at the shoulders, then nodded, slow and shaky, and he could tell you were trying to say yes, but the words wouldn’t come. Your hands slid down his arms instead, fingers curling around his biceps as you leaned in closer, your back arching into his touch. Joel could feel the way your hips shifted, how you melted into him inch by inch.

He kissed your neck again, slower this time, then your collarbone, trailing heat with every little peck. Then lower, just a little, until he was brushing his mouth across the swell of your chest. Not hungry or greedy, just gentle, open-mouthed kisses that made you shiver against him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured into your skin, his voice gone hoarse.

You shook your head quickly, and he felt your hands tighten around his arms.

“Not stoppin’,” you whispered, barely audible.

Joel smiled against your skin, and one hand lifted to brush a thumb across your nipple, slow and light, just enough to make your breath catch.

You arched into him then, eyes fluttering shut, your whole body moving without thought, and Joel felt something in his chest crack wide open.

This wasn’t just about convincing you you were beautiful. This was about showing you with every kiss, every touch, every look until you never doubted it again.

He didn’t wait long after you gave him permission, just enough time to kiss his way back up to your jaw, watching the way your mouth stayed slack, your eyes heavy-lidded, drunk on him already. He liked you like this, pliant and sweet and soft. He wanted you out of your head and into your body, melting into his hands and mouth and all the ways he knew how to love someone without saying a word.

Joel dipped his head again, this time without restraint, and took one of your nipples into his mouth. His lips closed around you slow and warm, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak in quick, flat strokes. You gasped, your hands shooting up to grip his hair, hips stuttering forward into his lap as your body twitched under the sudden wave of sensation.

He groaned against your skin, the sound rough and real, because fuck, the way you reacted to him from such a simple touch would damn near ruin him for good.

His hands gripped your waist, steadying you, keeping you anchored as he licked and sucked, teeth just barely grazing before his tongue smoothed over the bite. Your thighs trembled around his hips. You were panting now, your body moving without hesitation, instinct driving you to grind down onto him in slow, desperate rolls.

“Joel,” you breathed, high and quiet, your voice caught between pleasure and disbelief. Your back arched hard, head falling back, spine pulling tight like a bow. “Oh my God—”

He didn’t stop. He moved to your other breast, lavishing just as much attention, his hands sliding up your back to hold you steady while your whole body writhed in his lap. Your hips rolled down again, this time firmer, needier. Joel could feel how soaked you were through your panties, and the friction making his head spin.

You were panting harder now, moaning freely, completely gone, and Joel had no fucking clue how he was keeping his own composure. All he knew was he didn’t want this to stop. He didn’t want to do anything but keep you falling apart right there in his arms. He closed his lips around your nipple again, sucking harder this time, tongue dragging over the sensitive peak before he gave it a sharp, deliberate nip. The sound you made had every ounce of his blood roaring to his cock.

And then he felt you shuddering against him. A full-body, violent, uncontrollable shaking of your limbs as your thighs clamped around his hips, your back arched so hard it looked like it might snap. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as your whole body seized against him.

And then you collapsed forward, burying your face in his neck, breathing fast, chest heaving.

Joel pulled away and blinked, stunned, his hands still holding you gently in place, too afraid to move.

“…Did you just—?”

You nodded against his neck, laughing, breathless and wide-eyed as you pulled back to look at him.

“I think I did,” you whispered, grinning in awe. “I’ve never… I didn’t know I could do that.”

Joel stared at you like you were the most miraculous thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

His heart was thudding like a drum. His whole body was vibrating with adrenaline and want, but more than that—God, more than that—he was absolutely done for. Completely head-over-heels wrecked by the way you smiled at him, still shaking, still glowing, sitting there on top of him like you belonged nowhere else.

He let out a low laugh, forehead resting against yours, the both of you sweaty and flushed and grinning like idiots.

“That was the most amazin’ thing I think I might’ve ever seen.”

You giggled, brushing your fingers through his sweat damp hair, gaze dipping down to his lips, swollen and wet from everything you’d just shared. Your thumb dragged along his jaw, soft and slow.

“I was serious, you know,” you said, quieter now. The words felt heavier, more deliberate. “I’m ready. If you are.”

The smile tugging at his mouth faded gently, not with worry, but with something more careful, something reverent. He lifted his hand, fingertips tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. His eyes searched yours, wanting to be absolutely sure he’d heard you right.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Here?”

You nodded, biting your lip, and he saw it in your face—you meant it. You weren’t offering it out of heat or thrill or to prove a point. You were giving it because you wanted him. Because this was where you felt safe.

Joel exhaled, slow and shaky, and let his hands drift down to your thighs. He started at your knees, broad palms dragging up the delicate skin, every inch of contact slow and unhurried. When he reached the edge of your skirt, his fingers slipped beneath it, warm and steady, thumbs sweeping along the crease where your legs met your hips.

You were soft and warm. His fingers slid further up, curling around the backs of your thighs, then higher, gripping your ass with both hands and pulling you closer into his lap, only your pair of panties and his denim between the two of you. You gasped into his mouth at the sudden pressure, your hips grinding down against him in a way that nearly made him lose his composure right then and there.

“You looked so damn good today,” he said, pecking you on the lips before breaking away just long enough to speak against your jaw. His voice was thick, hoarse, full of the ache he’d been carrying since the moment he picked you up. “All day, walkin’ around like that, in this little thing... you knew exactly what you were doin’, didn’t you?”

He nipped at your skin, lips brushing over your jaw, the curve of your neck. Your breath caught again, your nails scratching lightly over his chest as you rolled your hips, and he swore under his breath. 

“Joel,” you whispered, his name cracked open on your tongue, a whine that made his stomach clench. You were so soft over him, so willing, like you belonged there, like you knew he wouldn’t say no.

“I got you,” he whispered, kissing the underside of your chin, then lower, pressing his mouth to the hollow of your throat. “I got you, baby. Just… tell me what you need.”

“Touch me,” you begged, voice breaking into pieces, desperate and trembling. “Please. More. Just—more.”

He should’ve stopped. Even now. He knew that. This wasn’t some clean-cut moment, some perfect night. You were in the front seat of his truck, in some nowhere parking lot, and he was hard as stone beneath you, pulse hammering behind his ribs like a war drum. But the way you said please, as if asking for something as important as the air in your lungs, shattered the last of his resolve.

His hands moved even further up the back of your thighs, kneading your ass in his thick fingers, pulling you closer to him. His fingertips were nearly touching as they brushed the sides of your lace panties and found the heat of you, the fabric clinging to your pussy as your arousal stuck to the cotton. Every one of his rational thoughts disintegrated. A deep, guttural sound tore from his chest, something raw and entirely outside himself, and his mouth found your collarbone, teeth dragging over the skin, tongue smoothing it over.

You whimpered, the sound muffled as you buried your face in his shoulder, and his hands tightened on your ass, holding you steady as his fingers traced over the damp cotton. He could feel everything through it—every ridge and dip, the soft, swollen lips beneath the fabric, the way you pressed into his touch like your body was trying to pull him inside.

“Jesus,” he muttered, breath stuttering, eyes fluttering closed for a second like the weight of it was too much. “Baby... this all for me?”

You whimpered, burying your face further against his neck, your arms wound around his shoulders now, trying to hold on as his fingers moved with slow pressure over the damp cotton, mapping the shape of you.

With a little more pressure, he dragged his middle finger along the center of the panties, right where he knew you needed it. Your hips jolted, a sharp breath punching out of you, and he kissed and bit gently at your shoulder, trying to stay steady while you ground down on him again.

He slid his fingers beneath the lace from behind, his knuckles grazing your ass, and slipped two fingers through your folds, the heat and slick coating them immediately. The angle was tight, but it didn’t matter. He pushed in slow, groaning deep in his chest as you clenched around him, your whole body going taut.

You gasped, your thighs shaking on either side of his, your hips rocking back to meet the thrust of his fingers. He fucked you slow, steady, letting his palm grind against you with each pass, his other hand still holding you tightly, keeping you flush to him. The sound of your breath, the soft, broken moans, the wet slick of your pussy around his fingers was all too much.

“You make the prettiest little noises, baby girl,” he breathed against your neck, voice low and rough. His tongue dragged along the damp skin there, catching the salt as you moaned under him. “Pussy’s so wet for me, huh?”

You nodded fast, breath hitching as you turned your head, finding his mouth and dragging him into another kiss. It was messy, open, all tongue and teeth. You were already shaking, and then he pushed in a third finger.

You whined, body jerking in his lap, fingers clutching at the front of his shirt like you needed something to hang onto. Your mouth fell open against his, panting into the kiss as he fucked you slow and deep, the stretch overwhelming but perfect.

“Gotta open ‘er up for me,” he murmured against your lips, curling his fingers just right. “Gotta get her ready, alright?”

Your hips rocked harder into him, back arching as you ground your clit into the thick seam of his jeans, chasing friction. The pressure made your thighs tremble. His fingers were thick and relentless, and you were soaked, dripping around him with every push.

“Feels—s-so good,” you mewled, breath broken, voice small and high.

“Yeah, baby?” he smiled, lips brushing your cheek, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to hold you steady. “Tell me.”

“Your fingers are so—god,” you gasped, blinking up at him, tears catching at the corners of your eyes, “so thick, Joel, fuck—filling me up, f-feels so good.”

He groaned, dragging his mouth over your jaw, licking into the curve of your throat as his fingers thrust deeper, curling to stroke that perfect spongey spot. Your entire body tensed in his lap, thighs shaking, your moans getting louder, needier, your hands everywhere now—his neck, his hair, tugging, pulling, clinging.

But then your rhythm shifted. You started grinding harder, faster, hips snapping down against his palm in stuttering, frustrated motions.

Joel felt it the second it changed. The edge in your breath, the heat in your voice.

You whined again, a little sharper now. “Need more.”

His brow lifted, but his fingers didn’t stop. “You got more, baby. Right here. Let me—”

“No,” you cut him off, hips jerking back harder onto his hand. “Not your fingers. I need your cock, Joel.”

His eyes blinked widely at your filthy mouth, but all he could muster was a wrecked groan, low and rough, his jaw locking as he tried to keep himself together. His fingers didn’t stop right away, but they slowed, drawing out the tension just enough to leave you gasping. Your walls clenched around the retreat, your body chasing it even as he pulled away.

“Such a greedy little girl, ain’t ya?” he muttered, voice rougher than he meant, more strained. 

He dragged his fingers from you with a wet sound, both of you shivering at the loss. His hands moved to your hips again, gripping tight, dragging you forward until you were pressed flush to him. The thick line of his cock was unmistakable beneath the denim, rock hard and hot through the layers. You gasped as he pulled you against your bare thighs, your panties soaked and clinging.

Even through the denim, it was too much. Your heat, the damp of your panties, the softness of your thighs around him, it all short-circuited whatever thread of self control he was still hanging on to.

Joel’s head tipped back slightly, breath ragged. “Feel that? What you do to me?”

You nodded, a little amused glint back in your eye, though your mouth was still parted and heaving in breaths. You reached down, and he watched as your hands fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking loudly in the truck cab. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, just below where your mini skirt bunched up and he could see the pink of your panties, with white lace trim around them. His mind felt like it was buzzing with static.

Joel felt the tug of his belt give, then the pop of the button, the slow scrape of the zipper. He hissed through his teeth as your hand slipped inside, dainty little fingers wrapping around him. So warm and firm, but your grip wasn’t shy, and neither was the way you stroked him once, slow, before pulling him free.

He let out a low, broken sound, his head tipping back against the seat as his hips twitched into your palm. Jesus Christ, he was already leaking, hard as hell, and your soft hand felt like heaven.

He looked down just in time to see your thumb swipe through the wet at the tip, smearing it along the ridge. Your eyes flicked up, lashes heavy, lips parted, and then your tongue slipped out to wet your bottom lip. His eyes narrowed on the sight.

“It’s so… big,” you said, half breathless, caught somewhere between awe and nerves.

He couldn’t help the twitch of a grin, pride low and warm in his gut, but it faded fast when you licked your fingers and brought them back down to him. Joel’s mouth went dry as he watched, wide-eyed, his cock jumping in your grip as you used that spit-slick hand to spread the moisture, dragging it over the head and down the shaft with slow, deliberate strokes. His head hit the backrest again, a low moan escaping him as your hand wrapped fully around him. He was pulsing under your touch, every vein thick and straining, and all he could do was grip the seat with one hand and brace his other on your thigh.

His breath caught as you lined him up, the swollen head of his cock notched against your entrance, slick heat already soaking him. His hands flew up to your hips, fingers curling into your skin tight. He looked up at you, chest rising hard beneath his shirt.

“Fuck,” he managed, voice shredded. “Baby, take it slow. Alright?”

You nodded, teeth sunk into your bottom lip, and began to lower yourself down on him.

It was hell and heaven all at once.

He’d never felt bliss like this before. You were so tight, so velvety and wet and welcoming to his cock. He forced himself to keep his eyes open even as they drooped heavily, needing to see you. He watched your jaw slacken, your eyes roll back and your lashes flutter shut, the way your neck arched back at the feeling of him filling you completely. 

If you didn’t take this slow, he was going to embarrass himself. Two pumps, and it’d be over. 

“You okay?” he rasped, voice hoarse and frayed, trying to keep his focus on your face, not the overwhelming squeeze of your walls around his cock.

You nodded, still dazed, still adjusting to the stretch. He watched your hands slide up his chest for balance, fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt.

“So… so full,” you whispered.

Joel groaned, his eyes squeezing shut for just a second. “You feel like heaven, baby. Fuck. Can’t—can’t move just yet.”

He breathed through his nose, short and hard, jaw clenched tight as he fought to stay still. Your walls kept fluttering around him, tightening every time you shifted. He could feel every tiny twitch, every squeeze, and it was sending his brain sideways.

You shifted your hips once, just a little roll of them, and his body jerked.

“Jesus Christ,” he bit out, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above your hips. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You grinned, a soft chuckle escaping, voice high and breathless, and gave another little roll, just enough to make him groan again.

“Not trying to,” you said sweetly, rocking just once more, a little deeper this time, “but you feel so good, Joel. So deep.”

Your hips rolled again, slower this time, deeper, and Joel’s whole body tensed under you like a live wire. He hissed through his teeth, hands sliding down to grip the plush curve of your ass, thumbs digging in as he tried to ground himself, to breathe, but Jesus, it was like you were made to ruin him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he gritted, watching the way your body moved over his, the way your thighs flexed as you lifted up and sank back down, taking him in inch by inch. “Just like that, baby. You’re doin’ so good.”

You moaned, a soft, desperate sound that made his head spin, and then you started to move in earnest, just slow at first, a grind that let you feel every ridge of him, every twitch and pulse as your slick walls dragged along his cock. His jaw clenched, hips rising to meet yours on every stroke, and then you found your rhythm.

Up, down, harder, faster. Until the sound of skin of skin filled the cab of the truck, your breathless moans and his gritted grunts, all a symphony of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard.

Joel could barely think. All he could do was feel—your heat, your slick, the way you clenched around him tighter with every bounce. His hands never stopped moving, guiding you, holding you open for him, sliding up your back, your waist, gripping anywhere he could find. 

“That’s it, baby girl,” he said, mouth hot against your throat. “Look at you, pretty little thing, ridin’ me so good,”

You whined, nails digging into his shoulders as you bounced harder, grinding down between strokes, chasing it now. Joel felt you start to shake, the rhythm turning erratic, frantic, your breath coming faster as your thighs quivered on either side of him.

“My good girl,” he rasped, barely able to get the words out, his lips brushing your jaw, his voice thick with everything you were pulling out of him. “Takin’ your old man’s cock like it was made for ya, huh?”

You cried out, the sound catching in your throat as your head fell forward onto his shoulder.

“That’s it, atta girl,” he growled, hands locking down on your hips now, helping you ride him, thrusting up to meet you with punishing force. 

You were trembling in his lap, gasping his name again and again, every breath broken, every moan more high-pitched than the last. He felt the change in the way your walls fluttered around him, the way your legs started to give out, and he knew you were close.

“Gonna come for me again, hm?” he whispered, lips finding your chest as you pushed back up, a look of bliss and agony on your face when his tongue lapped at your nipple before taking it in his mouth, teeth scraping until he let it go with a pop as he said, “Come on, baby girl. Let me feel it. Wanna feel your sweet pussy squeeze the life outta me,”

Your body tensed hard as he took your other nipple between his teeth. Your back arched, your mouth dropped open as you cried out his name.

Joel felt it in the way you clamped around him, how your whole body seized and shook, how the heat of you spread and pulsed around his cock. He didn’t stop his tongue on your chest or his heavy thrusts into you. He couldn’t. He chased you through it, fucking you through your orgasm, his rhythm relentless now.

“Good girl,” he groaned, releasing your breast, head tipping back as you convulsed around him. “That’s my girl.”

It’s all he could say, all he could muster up as his blood roared. He knew he was going to leave bruises on your hips with the way he was holding you, his fingers digging deep, guiding you down onto his cock again and again as he fucked up into you, chasing the tight pull in his gut, the pressure building so fast it burned.

Your body was limp against him, boneless and spent, your forehead pressed to the side of his neck, still clenching around him in aftershocks that made his vision blur. He could feel the way you twitched as he pumped into you, cock filling you to the hilt every thrust. He could hear the wet sounds of your slick coating him, and it was pushing him right to the edge.

Maybe it was the sound of his breath, ragged and uneven in your ear, or maybe it was the way his thrusts had started to lose rhythm, hips stuttering beneath the weight of everything building inside him. Whatever it was, you knew.

You shifted, lifting your chest off his and sitting upright in his lap. His eyes opened, dazed and half-lidded, just in time to see you reach for his hands, pulling them from your hips and guiding them up to your chest. You pressed his palms back against your breasts, dragging a soft gasp from him as his fingers curled instinctively around you, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

And then you started to move.

Your hips rocked in a slow, devastating rhythm. Grinding forward, rolling back, twisting just enough to make him feel every flex and clench of your body around his cock. The new angle let him feel you in full, the grip of your pussy tighter than anything he’d ever known, slick and pulsing and dragging him deeper with every shift of your weight.

His eyes locked on you, chest rising hard, muscles taut, and he could barely keep up. He could hardly even breathe.

“Gonna come for me, Joel?” you asked, your voice breathless, raw, and almost sweet in its teasing.

He groaned, hands tightening around your breasts, his fingers twitching as you ground down harder. Your pace picked up just enough to wreck him, every movement drawing him closer to the edge.

“Come on, handsome,” you whispered, leaning in, your breath hot against his cheek. “Know you can. Know you wanna come inside me, don’t you?”

Joel’s whole body seized, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He could feel you squeeze around him as you said it. The flutter of your pussy gripping him like you were trying to pull every last bit out of him.

“F-fuck,” he gritted out, “Are y–are you sure, baby?”

He didn’t think he could take any more. But then you reached for one of his hands, lifted it gently, and brought his fingers to your mouth.

“Come for me, Joel,” you whispered, and then you slipped one of his digits into your mouth and hollowed out your cheeks to suck, soft and slow, tongue warm and wet.

And Joel saws stars as he came.

He groaned from deep in his chest, hips bucking up into you as his cock throbbed inside you. His release hit him hard. His hands scrambled for something to hold, one sliding across your waist and thighs, squeezing hard as his vision blurred. The one in your mouth stayed, his other fingers tightening around your jaw and cheeks. Heat coiled through his spine, thick and hot, pouring into you as every muscle in his body tensed and shook.

As he came down, he pulled his hand from your mouth, bringing your body to him, your chest against his and held you close. His forehead pressed to your shoulder, the soft rise and fall of your breathing the only sound between you for a long moment. You stayed wrapped around him, warm and wet and still twitching with aftershocks.

His breath came slow and heavy, chest rising beneath yours as his eyes slipped closed.

“My god,” he muttered, voice worn raw, scraped down to gravel.

You didn’t say anything right away. Just smiled, fingers combing gently through his hair, your body soft and loose in his arms. He felt your lips brush his temple, then his ear, warm and light, and when you shifted, you kissed the tip of his nose.

“That was…” you murmured, smiling against his skin, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

He hummed, a small sound low in his throat, eyes half-lidded, lips curved with something lazy and content.

You leaned down and kissed him again, soft and slow, and his felt cock stirring faintly inside you, twitching in the warmth he hadn’t pulled out of yet.

“Amazing,” you finished, lips brushing his.

Joel could’ve stayed in that moment forever.

His hands were still resting low on your back, fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing along your spine. He blinked slowly, gaze flicking between your eyes and your mouth, still a little swollen from kissing him stupid.

You tilted your head, smiling like you knew something he didn’t.

“What?” you asked softly, your voice still a little breathless, lips brushing his again.

Joel wasn’t sure where it came from. His mind was fogged with desire, those damn post coitus hormones and having the prettiest girl he’d ever seen his arms. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But it echoed from the cavern on his mind until it was screaming to be let out.

“Be my girlfriend?”

You blinked, surprised, but your smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew, soft and wide and toothy. Your cheeks warmed, and not just from the heat of the truck cab.

“Joel Miller,” you said, sweet and teasing as you pushed a bit of damp hair from his forehead, “are you asking me to be your girlfriend right after blowing my mind in your truck?”

He huffed a laugh, eyes narrowing in mock offense, his grip on you tightening like he didn’t want to let you squirm away from it.

“Well, yeah, suppose I am,” he said, a little more grounded this time, the words settling deeper in his chest. “I mean it.”

You stared at him for a beat longer, still grinning.

“Okay,” you said finally, soft and sure, like it wasn’t even a question. “Yeah. I’m your girl.”

Joel let out a slow breath through his nose, every part of him relaxing under the weight of those simple little words.

I’m your girl.

The smile that broke across his face was unguarded, wide and real, his hand lifting to cup your cheek as your eyes stayed locked on his. You were both grinning now as you brought your forehead to his, lost in it for a long, quiet moment.

Then he pulled you back in, kissing you again slow and deep, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

taglist: @lizaispunk, @joelscowgirl69, @littlcdarlin, @cuntyhunty22, @glitterspark, @joelsslutt, @melmel-fandom, @pastelpinkflowerlife, @plsilovedilfs, @yxtkiwiyxt, @whisperingcherub, @teehee18, @thebumbqueen, @alyhull, @yourgirljasmiin, @alicenasflowers, @dariaanddaria, @onthelo1012, @soymiguelsesposa, @emmiland, @heavymetalhater, @pedropascalsbbg, @izzy698

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ sugar-daddy!gojo loves to spoil you. he'll do anything and everything for you, all you have to do is say the word. or, don't. he'll probably pull something crazy, anyways.

like, this. the second you mentioned wanting to hit up the mall, maybe make it a date with him, he was buying out the whole goddamn place. your eyes had gone wide, insisting that there was no need for that.

you could go on a normal date. as a normal couple. but, this was gojo, so normal was out the window. he'd pouted, but settled for renting it out instead, all of the day.

now? now, as your return gift to him, you were modeling beautiful lingerie for him, doing little spins for him, to showcase your curves. your initial plan of one or two purchases vanished as he added every item to the growing bill.

it's not his fault, he can't help that you look so fucking sexy in everything. gojo'll show you how much he likes you in them, too, eating you out in them all. he picks his favorites based on how pretty you look when you cum in them.

this baby blue on you had on now, though — god, he was a goner. your hardened nipples poked through the sheer fabric, and he peered up at you, from where he was on his knees. gojo's nose bumps against your clit, and if his strong arms weren't practically holding you up, you'd be a puddle on the floor.

"satoru," you whine, drawing out the syllables of his name. "please, please..."

his saliva and the slick of your arousal coats your folds, and you shiver as his warm breath brushes over them. "uh-huh, pretty girl."

his tongue darts out, tracing the swollen line of your clit, then dips lower, lapping at the slick entrance to your core. two fingers, slippery with your wetness, slide inside you, stretching you open. he curls them, hooking and pulling, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

you throw your head back, hands tangling in his soft hair, tugging at the roots. "can feel how tight you are, baby," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust.

gojo's fingers thrust deeper, rhythmically pumping inside you, while his tongue continues its relentless assault on your clit. the combination is overwhelming, a messy, wet, glorious friction that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"oh, fuck!" you cry, muffling yourself by biting down onto your fist.

"ah, ah," he reprimands, "none of that, now. 's not like there's anyone else here, make all the noise you want. show me how bad you want it."

and, because his mouth his too busy talking to be eating you out, you're quick to listen.

you can feel it, the pressure building in your core. "shit, 'toru," you cry, tears brimming on your lash-line.

"mmm, jus' like that. i— i can feel you clenching like that," gojo groans, knowing you're close. and, well, he's right, because moments later, he's lapping at your release, swallowing every drop, his own moans mingling with your ragged breaths.

"look how nice you took that. good girl," he coos, pressing wet kisses to your trembling thighs.

and, as he pulls off this pair, tossing it by the others — you notice that the entire pile is the same color, the shade of his eyes. you don't even bother to roll your eyes.

well, he's the one paying, right?

[cloudedcreams]

thinking about a younger! yandere with an older darling.

you had barely recognised him when he had approached you in a coffee shop. it had been a while since you had both left high school, though you could remember him from the year below. he'd always had an awful habit of staring, which clearly hadn't disappeared, but other than that you couldn't remember much about him.

he was eager to get your number. he seemed nervous, though it wasn't enough to hold back the enthusiastic gleam in his eyes, his arms shaking as he handed you his phone.

you could weakly make out recognition from his features. he used to simper around you, always with the face of somebody who was mentally at war with themself. you'd always been able to tell that he wanted to approach you, but you didn't hold the care to bother with anybody who was younger than you.

it wasn't a large age difference, especially not now tuat it was less prominent seeing as you were both adults. you gave him a smile and gave him your number, and he practically leaped of joy.

he insisted to buy you another drink, picking out a sweet caramel frappe that practically melted on your tongue. he was trying his best to be a gentleman, you guessed, and you gave him a hug before leaving that he practically melted in.

he was very clingy, that much hadn't changed. it seemed that growing up had made him more bold with his advances, more confident. he wasn't ugly either, with a charming and eager smile that lit his whole face up.

he'd make sure that you enjoyed keeping him around.

[nemo-writes]

𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ synopsis: you help keep pittsburgh trauma orderly—until small, unsettling glitches hint at something ominous unraveling. whether the mystery—or your guarded heart—breaks first is the question that will decide everything.

⤿ warning(s): panic attacks, stalking, obsessive behaviour, medical-talk, non-con elements, violence & blood (⚠️ check chapters for individual warnings ⚠️)

chapter one;

chapter two;

chapter three;

chapter four;

chapter five;

chapter six;

chapter seven;

chapter eight;

chapter nine;

chapter ten;

chapter eleven;

chapter twelve;

chapter thirteen;

chapter fourteen;

epilogue.

divider credit

[pome-seed]

Summer Surprise ࿐࿔ Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Age-gap 40s DBF Bucky Barnes x Mid-twenties Reader

Summary: You've been looking forward to kicking off the summer with a week on your dads new boat. You decide to have one last night of fun before committing to a week on the sea with your family. But you're thrown into a world of shock when you realize the older man you slept with, only days prior, is not only friends with your dad, but also joining you for the trip.

Word Count: 21.0k

Warnings: Graphic Sexual Content. DBF!Bucky. Oral sex (M&F receiving. Mostly F.) Soft Dom!Bucky. Age-gap (40 y/o Bucky x mid 20s reader). Hand jobs. Hair Pulling. Light Choking. Heavy Teasing. Smug asf Bucky. Neck fixation. Body Worship. Wall Sex. Tension. Just so so so so much smut. P with P (but not toooo much plot) ABSOLUTE filth.

18+ blog, Minors Do Not Interact.

Author's Note: Hey guys! I really enjoyed making this one. This one is a little crazy and a little wild. But I hope you guys like it!!! Also, requests are always open.

The air is charged with electricity, the rhythmic base pulsing through the floor. Your delighted laugh is muffled by the heavy beat as you roll your hips into your friend. 

Wanda presses up behind you, her hands slithering around your waist to tickly Nat’s hips. Nat smacks her hand away with a snicker, her body swaying into yours. 

You pant, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to your skin from the heated room. “Fuck,” you groan. “I’m thirsty, Imma get a drink, you want anything?” You shout over the music, pushing out from between the two women. 

“All good,” Wanda laughs, turning to grind back into Natasha. 

You giggle at the pair and start shoving your way through the packed crowd. You’ve never seen your favorite club as packed as it was tonight. Usually, that would make things a little more fun, but tonight it made things a nuisance. 

You push through people packed body to body, shouldering through couples and friends to get to the bar.

About two feet from the bar, a drunk man shoulders past you to collapse into a free barstool. You feel your heel slip as you wobble- your stomach drops to your feet in a moment of panic. But before you can roll your ankle, strong hands slide onto your waist and steady you.

“You okay?” A rough voice shouts from above you. 

You roll your head back, looking up at a jaw dropping man. A drunken smile slips onto your lips as you unconsciously lean back into him. “All good now,” You giggle.

The man helps maneuver you so you're facing him, a chuckle falling from his lips. “You sure?” His dark blue eyes trail down your body shamelessly. His hand stays on your hip.

“Mhm,” you nod heavily, your gaze flickering between the salt and pepper in his hair, to the pretty crows feet that form when he smiles down at you. 

He couldn’t be more than forty. Your light buzz sinks a little deeper as you ogle the man, watching the way the neon lights flicker against his skin.

“You want a drink, sweetheart?” He leans down into your space, so he doesn’t have to shout as much for you to hear. 

You swallow heavily. “You buying?”

“For someone as pretty as you, absolutely.” His tongue swipes over the point of his teeth. 

You grin and nod, shamelessly leaning into him. “Lead the way, handsome.”

And he did lead the way. Just not to the bar.

He led you to the alley out back, where the line to get into the club stretched to the street. And without a care- or thought for your dignity- in site, he presses you against the cold, chipped bricks. 

His facial hair burns against your face as you suck gently on his tongue, your hands frantically fisting at his hair. He chuckles into the kiss, his large hands pinning you in place by your hips. 

He nips at your bottom lip, rolling it until it stung, then soothed over it with his tongue. He pants softly into your mouth, a hand traveling up to grip your jaw tightly. He angles your head, pressing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. 

“Fuck-” He groans quietly against your lips, his other hand slipping down to grab your ass.

He smells of expensive cologne and lingering smoke. He tastes like fine liquor. 

“Gonna take me somewhere-?” You gasp against him. “Or ‘re you gonna fuck me right here?” 

He laughs, deep in his chest, against your neck, his lips trailing rough kisses down the expanse. “That eager?” He whispers, dragging his teeth along your throat.

“Fuck yes-” You pant, arching up into him.

He snickers quietly as he pulls back, his hand sliding back around your jaw. “I’ll take you somewhere baby,” he swipes his tongue over your sore bottom lip. “I’ll take care of you.”

And that's how you end up in a strange hotel, your hair in this random mans fist, as he fucks you into the mattress. 

You can barely see straight. Your body aches and your thighs are barely holding your weight by now. The man’s strong fingers press bruises into the soft edge of your hip as he drags you back against his cock. 

You choke on a broken wine, your jaw loose as he yanks on your hair.

“Fuck-” he grunts, fucking his cock back into your soaking entrance. “Do that again, sweetheart,” his lip twitches back in a snarl as his muscles clench. 

Your eyes roll back as your trembling hand pushes between your legs to circle your clit. 

“Just like that, baby, doing so good.” He pants, his nails scraping your scalp as he regrips your hair. 

“Oh shit-” You moan, rocking back into him.

He smirks to himself, his large hand swinging back to deliver a quick slap to your ass. You whine, your mouth falling open further. He smacks your ass again, pressing his palm to the red mark that follows.

“That feel good, sweetheart? Huh?” He thrust his hips at a steady pace, deep and hard, punching the air from your lungs. “I asked you a question, baby.” He smacks your ass again.

You nod quickly, your scalp burning as he fists your hair. “S-so fuckin’ good…”

“Yeah? Feels so good gettin’ stuffed full of cock?” He chuckles to himself, his own words making him smile. “Bet it does. Bet you’ve never been fucked like this, huh?”

You shake your head, pushing back against him needily. He pulls you back on his dick, grinding into you slowly. He tugs gently on your hair, and then you feel his breath ghosting across your throat. He presses a soft kiss to the hinge of your jaw. 

“Ever been fucked by someone older?” He whispers, his lips dragging over your shoulder.

Your vision nearly blanks out when he grinds his hips into you again. You gasp when a sharp sting against your ass shocks you back to reality. “No-...” You groan.

“Mm,” he hums, sinking his teeth into the curve of your shoulder. You nearly sob, your fingers circling your clit a little slower. You don’t want this to be over yet. “‘S it feel good?” He whispers, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “Do boys your age make you feel this good?” His stubble burns where he drags his chin against your cheek.

You shake your head. He softens his hold on your hair to massage your scalp. 

“Does it make you wanna cry?” He whispers, kissing the corner of your lips. He rolls his hips into you a little slower. You choke on a garbled noise.

Your stomach twists almost painfully, something hot and aching spreading through you. 

You nod, blinking through tears to try to ground yourself. 

You can feel him smile against your cheek. He nips your jaw. “I bet.” He snickers, snapping his hips against yours as he pulls back. He curls his fist back around your thick locks of hair. “I won’t stop you, baby,” he groans, his chin dipping to his chest as he stares at himself sinking into you.

“You can cry, sweetheart. Go ahead and cry.”

You can’t remember falling asleep.

The last thing you could recall from the night before was the man spreading you out on your back, softly kissing your cheeks. His tongue dragging over your skin as he licked away your tears. 

You remember his kisses trailing down your stomach, his hand wrapped around your throat. 

You remember him smiling against your inner thigh, before he gently kissed your soaking cunt.

After that, everything was a blur. 

So now, as you stretch slowly beneath the silky sheets, you feel sore and raw. Every part of you feels so deliciously tender. 

Calloused fingers twitch over your stomach. You shiver, glancing down at the thick arms wrapped snug around your waist. You look over your shoulder to find the man sleeping soundly, his face nuzzled into your hair.

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning like a fool. But you can’t help it. Your whole body still feels loose and raw from the way he picked you apart the night before. 

So you relax into the sheets and trace your nails over his knuckles, forcing yourself to stay quiet. To savor the moment a little longer. 

His body feels warm against yours, heavy and relaxed. You feel his soft lips brush your nape. Your stomach flutters as you tug the thin sheet a little higher over your chest.

Your little savory moment is cut short when he releases a heavy breath against the back of your neck, his arms winding tighter. 

You make a soft noise as his arms press into your stomach.

His chest rumbles in a sleepy chuckle, his lips dragging over your skin. “Morning,” he whispers, his voice all gravel and velvet.

You swallow hard, your mouth now deeply dry. Your confidence now heavily lacking, now that you’re sober.

“Morning,” you mutter.

His hand slides from your stomach to your hip, massaging gently into the muscle. “Feel okay?”

You suppress a shudder, and nod, your eyes glued to the wall across from the bed. “Mhm.”

Something nervous curls in your stomach.

The man makes a rough noise before he starts to turn onto his back- pulling you with him. You shift with him, pressed into his side- almost on top of him. Before you can do much else, the hand not glued to your waist rakes the hair from your face. 

You blink up at him now, blue eyes flickering over your features. 

“Hi,” he whispers, his teeth nipping his lip. 

“Hi,” you groan, dropping your face to his chest. The hand in your hair slips to cradle your nape as he laughs. You can feel the vibrations through his ribs. 

“Where’s all that gusto?” He hums, his nails gently scratching your hip. 

“You fucked it out of me,” you huff.

He makes a surprised noise at that, his palm loosening around your neck. Once he gathers himself, his nails start gently scratching at your scalp. “There it is.”

You sigh against him, and faintly you realize he still smells like cologne and smoke. You swallow, your lips pressed to his chest. “I’m Y/n, by the way,” you slowly lift your head, an embarrassed smile curling at your mouth.

“Bucky,” he mutters, still stroking your scalp. “Nice to meet you, doll.”

“What a meeting,” You snicker, pushing up over him a little further. You drag the sheets with you as you slowly straddle the man. He watches you, his hands falling to your thighs, where they peak beneath the white sheet.

He hums to himself, biting back a smirk as he looks at you fully. He looks sweet, bathed in warmth and sleep. You rest your hands against his chest, your touch trailing as you reach to cup his jaw. On a whim, you lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips. He hums again, his tongue brushing yours. 

“You have pretty eyes,” You whisper against his mouth, feeling his facial hair scrape your face. “So blue.”

He smiles into the next kiss, struggling to keep his teeth out of the mix. “Mhm?” He murmurs, his hands stroking up and down your waist. “Didn’t see much of me last night?”

You shake your head. “It’s hard to see when you’re sobbing.” You snicker. 

He groans softly, his head falling back against the pillows in exasperation. “You can’t say that when you’re on top of me, doll.”

You rake your fingers through his hair, pushing it back. “Oops,” you smirk, your stomach fluttering at how pretty his eyes look with his crows feet. 

His hair is soft beneath your fingers, thick and tangled. Your gaze sweeps over his face, his neck, his chest. Faint freckles mark his warm skin. You wonder faintly if he has any tattoos. 

“Whatcha starin' at?” He chews at his lip, a hand dropping to gently palm your ass over the sheets.

“You’re really fuckin’ attractive.”

He chokes on a laugh, a grin spreading across his face. “Jesus, girl.” He shakes his head at you. He slowly sits up against the headboard, dragging you closer in his lap. “You’re blunt when you’re sober,” he smirks, leaning down to kiss your shoulders.

“Can’t help it,” you mutter, arching your neck to give him space. 

“‘S that right?” He nips gently at your throat. 

“Mhm,” you sigh.

“I’ve got a few new observations too. Wanna hear?” He lifts a brow at you, struggling to suppress his smile. You nod, your hands slide to rest on his shoulders. 

He leans in, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “You look good with makeup running down your face.”

You flinch back with an embarrassed gasp, your hands smacking over your face. “You’re kidding-” you groan. “Is it everywhere?”

He snickers heartily, his fingers slowly wrapping around your wrists. You try to keep yourself covered but he easily tugs your hands away. “I’m just teasing, baby,” he chuckles. “You’re fine.”

“Are you?” You lift a suspicious brow at him. 

He shrugs slightly. “Only a little.”

You groan and drop your head onto his shoulder. “Oh god-” you huff. In reality, you shouldn’t feel so bad. You know he seems to like it. But the image of yourself you’ve cooked up in your head looks like a mess. 

And Bucky is by far the hottest man you’ve ever slept with. So being a mess is less than desirable. 

He rubs your back gently, his cheek knocking into the crown of your head. “You’re fine, you’re fine. It’s only a little eyeliner.”

You shake your head in embarrassment, your lips pressed firmly to the thick muscle of his shoulder. 

“You’re not gonna look at me now?”

You shake your head. 

“Mkay,” he hums. You gasp when his fingers slid into your hair, curling around the strands and yanking. He easily pulls you back to look at him, a gentle sting sizzling against your scalp. He tilts his chin up and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your eye. “So pretty.”

Your stomach twists, butterflies knotting inside you. Jesus. You’ve never had a one night stand like this before.

You stare at him, your face aflame. 

“Not gonna hide?”

“No…” you whisper. He easily retracts his hand from your hair.

“Good girl.” He snickers when your eyes bulge. 

“Jesus-” you shake your head at him, wiping your eyes with your finger tips. Before another word can leave your mouth, your phone rings somewhere in the room. Your spine immediately straightens. “That’s mine-” You blurt looking over your shoulder past the bed. 

You awkwardly climb out of Buck’s lap, dragging the sheets with you in search of your phone. You find it by the door, with your heels and purse. 

You have three missed calls from Wanda. 

“Shit…” You mutter, calling her back. It rings once before she’s answering. 

“Y/n? Finally!” Wanda groans.

“Hey, what’s up? Are you okay?”

“Ah- we’re locked out of the house, can you come by and let us in?” She awkwardly mutters.

“What? Both of you? Where did you sleep last night?” You frown.

“We got a cab to Pietro’s, slept there. But we still can’t find our keys.”

“How did both of you lose your keys?” You groaned.

“Nat put hers in my purse, and then I put mine in my purse, but I think I left my purse in the cab.” You could hear her cringing through the phone. “Nat’s gotta get ready for work, so can you please come home and let us in?” 

You stiffen, glancing back at Bucky, who is shameless staring at you from the bed. “I uh- yeah, I’ll be right there. Gimme like-” you glanced at the time. “20-30, okay?”

“Thank you so much- we owe you.”

“Big time,” you hiss, then hang up. You turn back to face Bucky, your fists white knuckled against the sheets. “I have to go.”

“I caught that,” he smiles, lazily rolling out of bed. Your face heats as you watch him find and tug on his boxers. You watch him shamelessly, your gaze traveling down the expanse of muscle beneath his skin. 

He steps into your space, and only now did it really sink in how tall he is. Large hands cup your jaw, pulling you up to kiss him. You sigh against his tongue as he takes the lead, easily molding you beneath his hands. 

You lean your weight into him, your body sagging against his. 

He pulls back with a wet sound, his tongue darting out to lick over your lips. 

“Can I see you again?” You blurt, your eyes fluttering open as he sighs against your skin. 

He smirks, his nose nudging yours. “You wanna see me again?” He teases, stretching it out.

You nod slowly. 

He chuckles, then reaches to snag your phone. “‘F course, sweetheart.” He muttered, already punching his number into your contacts.

You try not to look as light-headed as you feel. You try not to seem as excited as you are. “Thanks,” you mutter when he hands you your phone back. You see he sent himself a text from your number. 

Pretty girl from the bar.

Weirdly enough, the fact that he put a period at the end of the text is what turned you on.

You watch as Bucky quietly searches for his pants. You stand there, wrapped in the sheet, wearing nothing but your fragile dignity. He doesn’t pull his pants on when he finds them, and instead fishes out his wallet. 

Your brows pinch together in confusion. But then he pulls out two twenties and holds them out for you. “Call a cab so it’ll be here when you’re ready.” When you don't move, he smiles softly at you. He pulls your purse from the floor and sticks the money inside. 

“I’m gonna get cleaned up in the bathroom, so you can get changed out here, okay?” He lifts a brow at you as he sets your purse back down.

You nod. “Okay.” You mutter, stunned by his caring actions. 

He shakes his head at you with a chuckle as he gathers his clothes and enters the bathroom. The door closes with a soft click. You release a shocked breath. 

You would have stood there longer, if you didn’t remember that Natasha and Wanda were shivering and waiting for you. You roll your eyes and start gathering your clothes. 

When you’re finally dressed and pulling on your heels, Bucky emerges from the bathroom. He’s holding a damp cloth, folding it up as he approaches you. 

When you look up at him, he gently pinches your chin and starts wiping smeared mascara from your temples. 

You swear you could have blacked out from arousal right then and there.

“Did you call a cab?” He asks, steadily stroking the warm cloth over your eyes. You nod. He smiles and wipes the remaining smudged makeup from your skin. “Good.” He tosses the rag onto the bed. 

When you finally stand, he dips down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You lean into it, your stomach twisting with images of the night before. 

“Get home safe, sweetheart.” He brushes a soft kiss over your lips, then he’s gone.

You: I’m still sore

Bucky: I bet. Did you get home safe?

You: Yup, safe and sound. 

You: When can I see you again?

Bucky: I’ll be busy next week, but after that, when are you free?

You: Any day after that, I’ll make time :)

You: I’ll tell you my work schedule when I get it

Bucky: Can’t wait. I was thinking of your pretty smile the whole way home.

You: That all?

Bucky: And a few other things. 

You: Liiiiike

Bucky: Typing this shit out is a lot harder for someone my age, doll.

You: You act like you’re 60

Right as you send that message, another from him comes through.

Bucky: I was thinking about what you would look like with your mouth full.

Bucky: I’m 40, I’m getting up there.

You: I like where your head's at

You: I can’t wait for next week to be over

Though until this morning, you wouldn’t have meant that. You’re actually really looking forward to the upcoming week. 

To kick off the summer, your dad invited you and your friends to join him and your step-mother for a week on his new boat. It had been a long running tradition in your family to spend a week with your dad as the weather turned scorching. 

He always looked forward to spending time with you, and now he had a shiny new investment to show off to you and his friends.

Free vacation on a boat? Who turns that down?

Natasha was giddily joining you, though Wanda wasn’t gonna be able to make it. She already had a trip planned with her brother to go visit their parents back home. So you and Nat promised to take as many pictures as you could. 

“Are you still texting him?” Nat glanced at you, momentarily taking her eyes off the road.

“Maybe,” you grin, tapping your thumbs against the screen.

“I should have left you behind.” She rolls her eyes. “You better not spend all week drooling over your phone.”

“I won’t, I won’t. I’m just having fun.” You snicker. “He’s so cute with how he texts.”

Nat rolls her eyes. “Don’t start.”

The air feels brisk on your skin, with each brush of the breeze. You can almost taste the salt. Laughter drifts from ahead.

Further down the dock, you see your dad handing his wife a crate of beer. She tucks it under her arm and steps onto the looming, luxurious Yacht. “Dad!” 

He grins when he sees you, waving dramatically. “Hey, hon,” He scoops you into a bear hug. “And Natty,” He yanks Nat into his arms. She chuckles, smiling to herself .

“Hey Mr. L/n,” she pats his back and releases him.

“How was the drive?” He lifts another pack of beer, handing it to his wife. The older woman waves hello and smacks a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Good, Nat drove the whole way,” you bump her shoulder. “I’m just itching to go swimming- when’s take off?” Your father lifts your bags onto the boat, leading the way to the cabins.

“We were just waiting on you two, I’ll let the crew know we’re good to go while ya’ll get settled.” You follow him through the bottom lower deck, into the first of the several lounge areas.

You whistle low, dragging your fingertips along expensive sofas. Nat hides her shock with slightly raised brows. Just past the kitchen is a spiral staircase that leads below deck. 

Your room was larger than you thought it’d be. “Geez…” You huff.

“I would have given ya’ll one of the nicer rooms, but since you’re sharing, I thought you’d be fine with the two twins. ‘S that cool, hon?” Your dad slides your suitcases into the shiny, luxurious room.

“There’s bigger rooms?” Nat gapes. 

“I’ll give you the grand tour after dinner, how’s that?” He grins. “But first, you two get changed, I want you to meet everyone. We’re having drinks on deck one. Bars on deck three.  ‘You girls need anything else?”

“Nah, we’re fine- we’ll meet you up top!” You pull your suitcase on your bed, yanking the zipper open. 

You dad says his goodbyes and slips out of the room. Natasha immediately turns to you with a dropped jaw and widely gesturing hands.

“I mean- come on!” She flops back on her bed. 

“Right?” You laugh, pulling out your bikini and shawl. “The perks of the corporate ladder.” You sigh wistfully.

“Maybe we need to quit our jobs and go for the office life.” Natasha stretches with a groan. 

“You wouldn’t last a day,” you toss your sunscreen at her. 

“Hey,” she catches the bottle and shoots up. “I’ve got a good two weeks in me.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up, get dressed. I wanna indulge in the free bar.”

The yacht pulled off from the dock shortly after you boarded. You could feel the initial sway of the water as the mass steadily bobbed. After getting dressed, you and Nat made quick work of exploring the kitchen and luxury lounges. 

On the second deck, you found a built in, fully stocked bar. A young man worked the bar, who you eagerly interrogated about the boat. 

Apparently, there was a crew of 11 people, all who slept in the very bottom ship. There were three chefs, one bartender, and the rest worked on steering and maintaining the boat.

Two of the maintenance crew worked the diving deck, which was stocked with scuba gear and emergency watercrafts.

Natasha moves behind the bar to pick through the liquor while you continue interrogating the young man. You assume your father had just hired him, because he seemed eager and a little nervous.

“Y/n, hon, c’mere!” Your father shouts from the deck below. 

You pull back from the built in bar, plucking a cherry from a small bowl. “I’ll be right back,” you chuckle, leaving Nat to continue mixing your drinks. 

You jog down to the lower deck where your father and his friends are talking over beer. You adjust your sunglasses as you step around the built in couch. 

“I want you to meet everyone- where’s Natty?” Your dad frowns, squinting up at the bar. 

“She’s getting our drinks, she’ll be-...” The words die on your tongue as one of the men by the railing turns back to look at your dad. Then you. 

Cool blue eyes find yours. 

You can see the moment recognition fries his brain. Furrowed brows shoot to his hairline, dark eyelashes flutter as he gapes at you.

“Oh, hon, c’mere,” Your dad shoves you forward. “This is James, he lives a few houses down from me. He’s my running buddy.” He grins ignorantly.

Your tongue feels weighted and dry as you stare up at the man. “Hi.”

“James, this is my daughter, Y/n. She’s here with her friend Natasha,” he points over your shoulder to the red head.

Bucky’s shocked expression shifts back into something resembling calm. “Nice to meet you,” his lips twitch in a soft smile. You glance down at the large hand outstretched towards you.

You visibly shake your head, snapping yourself out of your daze. 

“Yeah, you too-” You loosely shake his hand. You try not to shiver when his callouses brush over your smooth skin. 

Bucky’s lips curve into an amused smile.

“Uh- James, you said?” You blurt, yanking your hand back.

“James, but I go by Bucky.” Bucky straightens, his curious gaze sweeping over you. You stiffen, turning to your dad to avoid the obvious flush that begs to creep up your neck. 

“I prefer James,” your dad shrugs, nudging the man. 

“So…” you swallow, “you’re the James my dad’s been training with?” You knew your father had a friend he worked out with. You knew he had help training for the marathon he ran last spring. But him?

Bucky nods slowly, his blue eyes piercing. “Mhm.”

Your words fizzle out as you stare up at the man. The air feels thin and sharp around you. You feel the weight of your phone in your hand, memories of the texts you shared with him just that morning haunting you.

“And this is Bruce, we work together-” You dads voice cut through the moment as he pulls forward his other friend.

You swallow and take a step back, turning to the other older men introducing themselves to you. You nod along in a daze, not absorbing a single name or relationship. 

“I’m- I’ll be right back, I’m gonna grab Nat so you don't have to repeat all this later.” You awkwardly interrupt your dad. 

Bucky’s gaze burns into the side of your face.

Your dad makes a face and nods, cracking open a beer. “Mkay, be quick!”

You’re already walking away, trying not to shiver under the weight of Bucky watching you. You can feel it. You hear the low rumble of his voice as he says something to your father. 

Your ears start ringing. You nearly slam into Natasha on the way back up the stairs. “Come with me-” You blurt, dragging her with you.

“Hey- don’t make me spill, I just made these.” She hisses.

“I don’t care-” You pull her into the cabin on the second story. You slam the sliding door shut, heaving a rough sigh. “He’s here- and he’s friends with my dad.” You shiver, suspiciously glancing out the window at the deck. 

You look for only a second, but it’s like he can feel you. Blue eyes snap up to the window as he takes a slow swig of beer. You choke down an undignified yelp. 

“Who? What is happening right now?” Nat smack your arm. 

“The older guy from the other night- he’s here.”

Nat stares at you for a long moment, a disbelieving smile spreading across her red lips. “The guy that screwed your brains out?”

You shiver and roll your eyes. “Yes, Nat he’s here- oh my god and he knows my dad-” You huff. 

“He’s actually friends with your dad?” Nat snickers, taking a sip from her cocktail. “That’s rich.”

“I was literally texting him on the drive here-” You take your drink from her. You gather you’ll be needing a lot of those to get through this trip. 

Nat peaks her head through the glass door. She glances back at you with a cheeky look. “Might wanna finish that, looks like he’s coming up.”

Your heart, once again, drops to your ass. You down the rest of your drink, then the rest of Nat's. “Get out, go, go-” You shoo her. She snickers to herself as she slips out. You hear her voice as she says a sly “Excuse me,” on the way down the stairs. 

Oh god.

You barely have a second to collect yourself before he’s standing in front of you. 

The door slides shut with a click. 

Your gaze slides from the floor to his face, shamelessly taking him in. He’s dressed in black swim trunks and a compression t-shirt, accentuating the dips of his muscles.

“Hi,” you gulp.

“Hi,” he tries to suppress the cheeky grin that fights its way onto his face. His sharp gaze trails over your bathing suit, to the cover up that covered nothing, to the tight grip you had on your glass.

“So this is what was keeping you busy for the next week.” You supply helpfully. 

“Mhm,” he takes a careful step closer. You don’t pull back. He slowly pulls the sunglasses from your face and sticks them in your hair. “Your dad, huh? Didn’t see that coming.” He mutters, his fingers brushing a line down your cheek.

You glance out the tinted windows, down where Natasha was socializing with your dad. Nerves and paranoia curl into something painful as it flutters in your stomach.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your breath hitching in your chest when his thumb drags over your lips.

“You’re full of surprises,” he hums, tilting his head down at you. He curls his hand around your jaw, lifting your head fully to look at him. You swallow heavily. “So,” he sighs, his breath ghosting your cheek, “What do you want to do?”

You try to hide the fact that you’re teetering on the edge of breathlessness. You try to seem unaffected. You blink stupidly. “What?”

His fingers twitch against your jaw, pressing softly into your cheeks. His smirk curls deeper. “What do you want to do?” He repeats. 

“Do you want to pretend nothing happened?” His free hand tugs the empty glass from your fingers. He slips it on the table behind you. “We can ignore the other night and play nice for your dad. Or,” His grip tightens slightly against your jaw, his smile deepening. His pretty crows feet curve against his skin. “Or we make good on our plans.”

“Our plans,” you pant, leaning into him subconsciously. “For seeing each other again?”

“Mhm,” he hums, his free hand skating down your naked waist. “I could show you a few of the things I’ve been thinkin’ about.” He drags his rough palm over your hip. He doesn’t even seem to hesitate over his next words. “You ever been fucked on a boat, sweetheart?”

You shiver, your eyes falling shut. You shake your head.

“Words,” he whispers, his nails pressing into your hip. 

“No,” you gasp, swallowing around your tongue. His firm grip on your jaw keeps you from hiding from him. “I haven't.”

“Mm,” he nods in thought. “Wanna try it?”

You nod without thought, blinking back up at him. Your body feels hot. You can feel your pulse in your toes. “Yeah.” You pant.

He smirks, tugging you closer by the jaw. He presses a bruising kiss to your lips, his stubble scraping your face raw. His tongue drags slowly over yours, slow and claiming.

He hums appreciatively, guiding you gently with each slick slide of the kiss. Your wandering hands find his chest, your fingers curling into his tight black shirt.

He snickers into your mouth as you press closer, mocking your desperation. 

A chorus of laughter drifts from outside, shocking you back into the moment. You yank back, he lets you go without a fight. You stumble into the table behind you with a wince. Bucky tilts his head at you, brown hair highlighted with grays falling into his eyes. 

“Careful,” he glances at your hip. But your gaze is stuck on the way his tongue swipes over his slick lips. He leans back against the wall, his arms folded over his chest.

You suck in a shaky breath, steadying yourself. Why can’t you catch your breath? “My dad can’t find out.” You blurt.

He chuckles. “Goes without saying, sweetheart.”

You nod to yourself, wiping a hand down your face. You wince internally, hoping your lips don’t look too puffy. “Okay- okay, um…”

Bucky sees your panic and sighs. He pushes off the wall, stepping back into your space. You curse yourself, still barely holding it together. He pushes thick locks of hair behind your ears, cupping your face. “If you don’t want him to find out, you have to relax,” he mutters.

You nod, your cheeks puffing from his hold. 

He bites back a smile. He pecks your lips, gentler than you were expecting. “C’mon, go get a drink and socialize. I’ll find you later,” he whispers, pulling back with a light smile. “Just relax.”

“Okay,” you nod obediently, taking a deep breath. 

He chuckles and releases you. “You’re cute,” he shakes his head, then slips out the glass doors. You’re left alone, struggling to breathe.

When you rejoin the party, Nat’s telling a story, and has every last one of the men wrapped around her finger. You slide up beside her, dropping onto the heated leather of the couch. 

The sun hangs high in the cloudless sky, beating down on your skin. You’re sweating. But you can’t tell if it's from the literal heat, or from the way you keep glancing back at Bucky- only to find him already looking at you.

He sips slowly on his beer, his palms growing slick against the perspiration. You spot the pink of his tongue as it swipes over the rim.

You snap your gaze back to the center, to where your father is boasting about fishing stories. 

“I’ve been trying to get my girl to come with me, but she just hates her old man,” he huffs, gesturing to you.

“Dad, fishing isn’t exactly up my alley.” You shake your head at him. 

“You go hiking with your mother all the time,” he pouts. 

“Because hiking doesn’t include fish guts, and sitting in silence. Take one of them fishing!” You snicker, tossing your hand at his group of friends. 

“James said he’d fish with me once we park her,” your dad pats the metal backing of the couch.

Your gaze flickers to the mentioned man, who peaked up once hearing his name. “You fish, James?” You watched him over the rim of your glass, sipping on your cocktail.

His lip twitches in amusement. “Mm, not much.” He mutters, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “But I’ll give it a try, since you’re slackin’ on your old man.”

You shake your head, taking a cherry stem between your teeth. “Please tell me you won’t be gutting fish out here,” you turn to your dad.

“We can’t eat it if we don’t prepare it, hon,” Your dad chuckled, setting a hand on his belly.

“The stink of fish guts is exactly what this vacation needs,” your step-mother, Claire, grimaces as she walks up with a bowl of chopped fruit. “I’m with Y/n. If you’re fishing out here, you’re throwing it back.” 

You grin, taking the bowl from the woman. “Thank you very much, Claire.”

“Will you give it a try then?” Bucky’s voice makes you freeze, a thick chunk of watermelon stuffed into your cheek. “Without the stink and death, might as well.”

You chew slowly, your stomach turning as you lock eyes with the man. “I think you can handle it on your own.” You pass the bowl of fruit to Nat. “I’ll sit in the hot tub and watch.”

“Watchin’s no fun.” He sips on his beer. Under the bright rays of sunlight, you can see the speckled gray of his hair a little clearer. 

“I’ll make do.” You shrug, crossing your legs. You don’t miss the way his gaze flickers to the movement. Your stomach twists with something hot.

“I’ll go fishing with you guys,” Bruce, one of your dads other friends, awkwardly chimes in. You could almost laugh at the innocent shift. 

“I’ll go with Y/n and sit back. I’m not one for fishing.” Everett, another friend, makes a sarcastic face before swigging from his beer. 

Natasha sets the bowl of fruit on the couch and tugs you up by the arm. “I’m done with fish talk, come sit with me while I tan.” 

You throw one last look over your shoulder as she drags you off. Blue eyes follow you with each step. You snap your gaze forward, your stomach twisting. “Jesus,” you whisper.

“You two are real subtle, babe.” Nat chuckles, dragging you down onto two soft beach chairs. You scoot your chair closer and cross your arms over your eyes. 

“He’s so hot,” you groan.

“Say it louder, for the crew to hear.” She snickers, laying back with a sigh. 

You bite back a smile, stretching your limbs out to soak in the sun. If you put aside the twisting flurry of arousal and attraction burning in your gut, you felt relaxed.

Beyond relaxed. Out here, the air is crisp and fresh, smelling of salt and sunscreen. On the lower decks, if you leaned close enough over the railing, you could feel the cold water misting your face. 

You’ve been excited for this trip for weeks now, feeling like summer has finally arrived. 

All you wanted to do was swim in the ocean and lounge around with free snacks.

Now, you wanted the same things. Just add screwing the shit out of Bucky to that list, and it’d be perfect.

After you finally get your fill of the sun, you and Nat move down to soak in the hot tub. You have to turn down the temperature so you don't get heat stroke, but god those bubbles feel nice. You sink back into the water and stare up at the clear sky as Nat rambles quietly.

Natasha doesn’t often allow herself to wind down. You were honestly still shocked you got her to join you. 

The jets hum softly beneath you, easing your muscles as the salt-tinged breeze brushes your skin. The day’s heat lingers, but the warm water cocoons you in comfort, making the transition into evening feel effortless.

It’s quiet, but not silent. You hear the soft lapping of waves against the hull, the occasional distant call of seabirds, and maybe the gentle clink of ice in a nearby cocktail glass.

The sun slowly drifts towards the horizon, casting melted colors across the water. Light reflects off the waves, rocking and swaying with each brush of the wind. 

The drive over took you girls longer than you thought it would, so by the time you set out, it was the late afternoon. With only a few hours on the water, dinner time was already around the corner.

“Girls, start drying off, we’re heading in for dinner,” your father shouts up at you from the lower deck. 

Nat rises from the water, playfully splashing you on her way out. “You coming?”

“Mhm, in a minute, I’ll meet you inside.” You hum, your eyes sliding closed. 

“Mkay,” Nat wraps the towel around herself and leaves you to yourself. You can hear your fathers loud, boisterous laughter from inside. You assume he’s getting giddy over dinner. 

You sink deeper into the water, the warmth beckoning you in as the air grows chillier. 

“You planning on skipping dinner?” You jump, water splashing over the edge as you look back. Bucky smiles at you from the steps, that cheeky look on his lips. 

“No, just didn’t wanna get out yet.”

“Mm,” he hums, tilting his chin up to glance at the temperature gauge. 

“Are you not heading in?” You swallow, feeling bare beneath his gaze.

He shrugs. “They’re gonna bring the food outside, to the lounge.” He nods his head to the lower deck. He snags your towel from the nearby chairs and holds it out for you. “C'mon.”

You lift a brow at him. “Bossing me around now?” You huff, but obediently climb out of the water. 

Bucky watches the droplets slide down the valley between your breasts. “‘Mhm,” he hums, a soft sigh leaving his chest when the towel wraps fully around you. “You’re good at listenin’.”

You swallow, your throat feeling dry. “Am I?”

“We’ll find out.” He smirks, gently pushing wet hair from your face. You shiver beneath his touch. 

You glance around you, paranoia mixing with arousal. “Someone could see…” You whisper. 

His smile twists deeper. His palm curls around your nape. Your knees feel like jelly. “I know,” he mutters, slowly guiding you indoors. You pant softly, feeling breathless as he maneuvers you with a possessive grip. 

You follow him into the small sitting area, nothing up there but the bathrooms and a few sofas. A spiral staircase stood between the two restroom doors. 

“Where are we going?” You waver, your breath hitching when his thumb strokes your neck. 

“Right here,” he pushes you out of view of the windows, pressing you to the wall. Your head knocks back against the firm wall, your gaze a little spacey. Bucky’s warm fingers slip beneath your towel, tugging until it falls to the floor. You gasp, your stomach clenching.

He smiles to himself, pleased with how reactive you are. His knuckles trail between your breasts, then brush over your stomach. “What room’s yours?” 

“Huh?” You blink, staring up at him. 

He chuckles, meeting your gaze. “What room’s yours?” He tilts his head, his knuckles brushing the hem of your bathing suit bottoms.

“It’s- It’s the fourth one down, to the left,” you pant. “I’m sharing with Nat.”

He nods slowly, his fingers sliding beneath the ties of your bottoms. You hold your breath. “Mkay,” he mutters, pulling back and releasing the band with a snap. You flinch, your stomach flipping. He snickers at you.

A heat rises up your neck, embarrassed and too flustered to care.

“My room is the first one to the right, when you go down the main steps.” He whispers, the hand on your neck gently massaging your muscles. Your lashes flutter. He leans down, trailing his lips over your throat. 

“Careful,” you swallow, “not to rub off my foundation…”

“Hm?” He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to the hinge of your jaw.

“I’m- I’m wearing makeup on my neck.” He pulls back enough to look at you, his brow quirked. “You left a few marks the other night. I had to cover them up.”

The sly grin that spreads across his face is less than subtle. His thumb presses firmly to your neck, where he still holds your nape. “Might wanna go easy on swimming.”

“Waterproof,” you smirk.

“Gotta love science,” he dips back down to press a lingering kiss to your jaw. “Where?”

Your shaky hand slides between you. You tap the curve of your shoulder. “Here,” you tilt your head back. “Here,” you brush the apple of your throat. “Here,” you trail your fingertips to several places along your collarbones.

His warm breath tickles your throat as he chuckles, finding great amusement in marking you up. “Don’t want daddy to see,” he pulls back, releasing his grip on your nape. 

You roll your eyes, arching into his touch as his fingers press into your side. “Shut up.”

“Do you remember what I said?”

You frown. “What?”

“Where's my room?”

“Oh-” you smack your lips, smiling awkwardly. “Nope.”

“First one to the right when you go down the main steps.” He repeats. “Repeat it back.”

You shiver under his authoritative tone. “First one to the right.” 

“What staircase?” He lifts a brow. 

“Main one, the main stairs.” You swallow. 

He gives you a pleased smile. “Good girl,” he whispers, leaning down to brush his lips over yours. 

You lean into it, but he’s gone too soon. He steps back, leaving you cold and panting. You frown at him as he picks up your towel. “Dinners starting. Don’t wanna keep them waiting.” 

You wrap the towel around yourself and nod, wiping a hand down your flushed face. Before you can get another word out, Bucky’s already leaving the room. 

You stare at him go, trying desperately to catch your breath.

You find yourself at Bucky’s door late into the night. 

Dinner was lengthy, shared over drinks and laughter, and plans for the next day. After the meal was finished, everyone took their desserts- scoops of ice cream- to the deck to stare at the stars. 

Out on the ocean the stars burned brighter. For the first time in your life, you could really count the constellations. 

Your father and his friends poured over generous amounts of beer, listening to music and shouting with laughter.

You and Nat stayed to yourselves, watching and snickering at your dad as he got more and more drunk. 

When the night finally came to an end, you felt more awake than ever. You spent the entire night dodging looks from Bucky- hoping to keep your composure. 

And now, freshly showered and changed, you stood outside his door. Praying he wasn’t asleep.

You knocked gently on the door, your knuckles thudding softly. 

With little to no shame, you leaned in and listened for any signs of life. You waited, barely breathing, but heard nothing. You started to doubt yourself, when you finally caught the sound of the bathroom door clicking.

The door swung open in front of you, revealing Bucky, messily toweling his hair dry. Your gaze travels down his body, to the dark blue boxers being all that clothed him.

A large hand slips around your wrist, tugging you inside. “Standin’ in the hall isn’t exactly secretive,” He chuckles, closing the door behind you.

“Right,” You whisper, peeking around him into his room. You blow out an impressed whistle. “Damn, my dad was serious about the rooms. We got the short end of the stick.” 

You step further into the room, to the full sized bed and spacious bathroom.

Plush cream carpet, smooth cherry wood accented walls, polished marble crowning, warm glowing lights. Three towering windows peaked out to the dark blue ocean. By the doors to the hall and bathroom sat a cushioned sofa, where Bucky’s suitcase lived.

Rough hands settle on your hips, a thumb slipping beneath your shirt. Your stomach tenses as stubble drags over the tender flesh behind your ear. 

“Maybe don’t mention your dad while you’re in here,” he chuckles throatily, the sound vibrating gently into your skull.

You nod shakily, leaning back into his firm chest. “Right,” you whisper. 

His warmth sinks through the thin fabric of your top.

“Did you have fun tonight, baby?” He drags a soft kiss along the side of your neck.

“Mhm, lots.” You sigh, tilting your head back for him. 

“Excited for tomorrow?” He presses his lips beneath the curve of your jaw, inhaling deeply. You shiver, your lashes fluttering closed. “Gonna go swimmin’?”

You nod, rolling your head back against his shoulder. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, smelling your conditioner. “Yeah,” you swallow. “Gonna go diving. What about you? ‘Re you gonna fish with you-know-who?”

He slaps your ass playfully, chuckling into your hair. “Watch it.” You press back into him with a sigh, a smile curling at your lips.

“Oops.” 

His fingers slip beneath your shirt, his palm pressing into you as he brushes your stomach. “Bring up you-know-who again and Imma fuckin’ gag you,” he huffs, dragging his finger tips along the hem of your bra. 

You groan, pushing your hips back against him. “Don’t tempt me.”

He shakes his head at you, pulling his hands from your shirt. He pushes you forward by the hips until you’re in the center of the room. You look back at him with a frown, swaying on your feet unsteadily. 

Bucky sits down on the edge of the bed, his knees spread naturally. “Look at me,” he tilts his head at you.

You turn to face him, but before you can move any further, he shakes his head. 

“I wanna see how good you listen,” he smirks, looking up at you through dark lashes.

You breath hitches in your chest, like your lungs are slowly being pressed down on by something stronger. Something big. “Okay,” you whisper.

He gives you a pleased look. He slides his hand down his thigh. Your gaze drops to his underwear. To the tent, steadily forming.

“Eyes on me sweetheart,” He chuckles, making you jump. Your eyes snap back to his. “Get undressed.”

You shiver, nodding shakily as you yank your top off. You nearly trip over yourself as you tug your pants off, tossing them somewhere across the room. “This too?” You breathlessly gesture at yourself,  your underwear.

“Mm-mm. Not yet.” He smiles. “C’mere,” he holds his hands out to you. 

You step between his spread knees, your hands falling to his shoulders. His rough hands slide down your body, along the dip of your waist, over the curve of your ass. You arch into his touch, a flush rushes up your neck as you stare down at him.

He leans forward, holding your gaze as he presses a gentle kiss to your stomach. His palms curl around the backs of your thighs, his fingers pressing firmly into the soft flesh. He tilts his head up, dragging a soft kiss along the swell of your breasts. 

His hands slide back up, over your shoulders. He pushes the straps back. “Now?” You whisper into the quiet air between you.

He smirks, his stubble casting a dark shadow into his smile lines. He nods, watching with his lip between his teeth as you unlatch the clasp. You drop the flimsy material to the carpet. 

A warm flush burns behind your skin as you inhale a shaky breath, standing before him bare. 

“Hm,” he hums softly, his large hands sliding up your stomach to gently palm your breasts. “So pretty, baby.” He presses a soft kiss to your nipple, his thumb circling the other one.

You shiver, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he swipes his tongue over the soft point. His sharp stubble drags over the tender underside of your breast. “Prettiest.”

You sink your teeth into your tongue, forcing yourself to stay quiet. Something about the quiet way he nips at your chest makes you feel breathless. Embarrassed. 

“Bucky…” You pant, swallowing around your dry tongue. 

“Want somethin’, baby?” he smiles as he rolls your nipple between his teeth. “Speak up.”

You tug gently on his hair. “I don’t know what I want…” 

He lifts his head, a smirk curled deeply on his face. “Yeah,” he whispers, his hand cupping your jaw. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, pulling at it gently. “But you know what to do.”

You nod into his touch, sucking his thumb into your mouth. He makes a pleased sound. You slowly sink to your knees, your tongue swirling around the rough pad of his finger. He presses down on your tongue, watching the way your jaw drops. 

He watches you, something dark in his eyes. Like he was seeing something you couldn’t. “‘S that feel good? Havin’ something in your mouth?”

You nod, your lashes fluttering as you lean into his large hand. “Mhm…”

His smirk twists into a dark grin, something pleased spreading across his face. He pulls his thumb from your mouth, then wipes it on your cheek. He pushes his fingers back into your hair. Your wet lips press together as your struggle for air. You blink up at him, something hot and slick pooling in your stomach.

“Show me you know how to be good.” He whispers, his nails scratching at your scalp. 

You drop your head to his thigh, choking on an aroused gasp. God, you can’t catch your breath. He chuckles at you, gently petting your hair. 

“Too much, baby?” He hums, his lips press together as he coos down at you.

“No- no,” you shake your head, swallowing around the lump in your throat. 

“Then do as you’re told,” the command is firm, but his sweet tone softens the blow. You shiver and nod obediently, fluttering your eyes open from where your cheek is pressed to his thigh. 

You pant softly, your hot breath ghosting over the aching tent in his boxers, inches from your face. You nuzzle forward, dragging your lips over his erection. 

Bucky sighs above you, spurring you on. 

You press a firm kiss to the shaft, his heat radiating through the fabric. You drag your tongue over the wet spot where the cloth stuck to the head. His fingers tighten in your hair. 

“Such a tease,” he chuckles, shaking your head with his firm fist in your hair. 

“Can I?” You whisper, your voice muffled from where you nuzzle into his bulge.

“‘F course, baby. Go ahead.” His thumb traces circles into your scalp. 

Trembling hands slip under the waistband, tugging down until he lifts his hips. Your breath hitches when you free his aching erection, the length bobbing subtly, flushed a warm color. 

You lean forward, sliding your tongue along the thick vein along the underside of his cock. Bucky’s abdomen visibly tenses. He huffs above you, but says nothing. 

You press another soft kiss to his tip, precum staining your lips as you pull back. You glance up at him, cold blue eyes meeting yours. Your lips twitch into a cheeky smile as they wrap around the head. 

His brows twitch together, his jaw clenching tight as he exhales a shuddering breath. 

You suckle gently, your tongue swirling around the head before pressing into his slit. His lashes flutter as he forces himself to keep his eyes on you.

“I was right,” he whispers, using his grip on your hair to guide your head down further. “You look good with your mouth full.”

You hum, hollowing your cheeks on the way down. Bucky’s eyes roll shut, his hips gently rocking into your face. Your throat spasms around him when he presses too far, but he doesn’t seem to care. 

You let your eyes fall closed, relaxing yourself as he guides you. You let him take what he wants. The dull ache in your jaw spreads, the tingle in your scalp burns as he yanks at the strands. 

But you take it. 

A moan falls from Bucky’s lips, the sound rough in his chest. He pants softly, rocking his hips up. 

“Takin’ it so good, baby. Just like I knew you would.” He grunts, his stomach twitching as the muscles flutter. “‘Bet you take everything so well. So good for me.”

You moan around his cock, swallowing as he rolls his hips into your mouth. He chokes on a groan, his hips stuttering until he’s pressed to the back of your throat. Your throat spasms again, a wet sound falling from your lips as you struggle to breathe.

Bucky holds you there, his grip on your hair tugging gently as he forces you to kiss his pelvis. 

He watches you with a satisfied smirk as you struggle, your eyes rolling shut. “‘Look so cute like this,” he hums, tilting his head. “All full and obedient.” 

You choke, your head instinctively pushing back against his hand. Your nails scrape down his inner thighs. You gag quietly, sucking in thin wisps of air around his cock. But you don’t fight him.

Deep down you like it.

Deep down, you burn hot with shame as you press your thighs closer together. 

Bucky finally pulls you back up, until only half his length rests against your tongue. You gasp greedily, your mouth falling open. You swallow around his tip, trying to gather yourself. Bucky rolls his hips, fucking his tongue over the slick expanse of your tongue. 

You blink up at him, tears blurring your vision. 

He grins down at you, his tongue swiping over the points of his teeth.

You watch the muscles in his stomach flutter, twitching as he drags his cock over your tongue. You pant, holding your mouth open for him as he takes what he wants.

You slowly push a trembling hand between your thighs, your fingers pressing against the soaked center of your panties. 

Bucky makes a displeased noise from above you, and then he’s yanking you off his cock, a sharp tingling spreading through your scalp. You hiss, your shoulders bunching up.

“So greedy,” he whispers as he kicks your hand away from your thighs. 

“Please…” You choke, wiping your tear stains on your shoulder. “Please.”

His expression easily morphs back to something pleased. Something dark. “You wanna show me how good you are, don’t you?” You nod eagerly. “Then wait to do as you’re told.” He whispers, nudging your knees apart with his foot.

“Bucky-” you whine, your lashes fluttering shut as he rubs circles into your throbbing scalp. 

“Shh,” he whispers, pulling his hand from your hair. “C’mere.” He gently pats his thigh. You slowly climb into his lap and slide your arms around his shoulders. He strokes a warm hand down your naked back, following the curve. He pinches your chin gently, guiding you to look at him. 

“So pretty,” he mutters.

You huff quietly, leaning in to kiss him. He hums against your lips, stifling a chuckle as you take what you want. His fingers curl around your knees as he lifts you up, but you barely register it. You're too busy rutting your hips against his, sucking softly on his tongue.

He moans into your mouth, his hard cock pressed firmly between your bodies. Your stomach twists as the slick head nudges your stomach. 

“Bucky,” you whisper. “Please just touch me-”

“I am touching you, baby.” He whispers, gently pressing you against the window. You huff quietly as the cold glass shocks your system. “Just relax, okay?” His palm slides down your thigh until he finds your panties. “I’ll make you feel good.” 

You gasp as his fingers press over the soaked fabric sticking to your pussy. He slips his fingers beneath the thin waistband, his callouses rough against your sensitive skin. 

“Yeah?” You gasp, grinding into the heel of his palm as his thumb slides through your folds. “You’re gonna-” you swallow around the choked sound that rises when Bucky pushes a finger inside your slick cunt. “You’re gonna take good care of me?”

“Mhm,” he hums, slipping another thick finger inside. “That’s right. ‘Can’t wait to fuck you to tears.” he whispers, curling his fingers against your fluttering walls. 

You groan, your nails scraping down Bucky’s nape. “Oh god…”

“Shh,” he kisses your cheekbone gently, nudging your head back against the window. “Just look outside, isn’t the water pretty? Hm?”

Your lashes flutter as you press your hips against his, rolling against his aching erection. His fingers twitch inside you as he gasps, slick precum sticking to your stomach. 

“I didn’t say keep your mouth shut, I asked you a question,” he whispers, his stubble burning against your cheek. “Isn’t the water pretty?”

You nod quickly, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “Yes- sorry, yes.” 

He smiles against your jaw, his breath tickling against your flesh. “Good girl.” He pulls his slick hand from your panties and wraps his large fingers around his throbbing erection. You suck in a shaky breath as you look down between you, watching as Bucky pumps his cock.

His flushed tip peaks through his fist, his slit dribbling precum before he swipes his thumb over the head. He squeezes on the upstroke, soft groans tumbling from his lips. 

You watch as Bucky yanks aside your panties, thumbing at your pretty pussy. You gulp, shifting against him as he nudges you with the head of his cock. 

“Greedy little thing,” he chuckles, rolling his hips into yours. You choke on a whine as he slowly fills you, his thick length stretching you open.

At some point, your eyes flutter closed, your body humming with electricity as you slowly sink down on his cock. He groans into your neck, his hands gripping you close. 

Something about the firm snap of his hips against yours, the mind numbing pleasure, the choked sounds Bucky makes, it all swirls together into a mess of ecstasy. 

You lose yourself in the feeling, clinging to Bucky as he fucks you into the window. Outside, the world is silent, gentle waves rocking against the yacht. Outside that room, the world was oblivious to the degrading way Bucky fucked you.

Oblivious to the way you gave yourself over to him. To the humiliating way he whispered in your ear, quietly laughing at every embarrassing sound you made. 

In the back of your mind you knew this was wrong. That this was dangerous. That if your father found out, you would drown in your own shame. 

But you ignored that little voice in your head. Because you didn’t care. You didn’t care about the age gap, or the humiliation, or the danger. You didn’t care because it just felt so fucking good to sink down on Bucky’s cock as he whispered filth in your ear. 

It felt good to pathetically beg for him to take you harder. 

It felt good to let go and sob as he fucked you so hard you saw stars.

Bucky’s rough hands slide over the curve of your ass, his fingers pressing bruises into the tender flesh of your thighs. Your sweaty back presses into the cold window, the chill like heaven on your skin. 

Bucky rolls his hips into yours, each thrust knocking you up the wall. He chuckles into your throat as you whine, his teeth nipping at your jaw. “‘S that feel good, baby?” 

You gasp, his cock punching something tender in your stomach. “Fuck-” you whine. You knock your head back against the window, panting softly. 

Bucky hooks his arms under the crooks of your knees, spreading you open for him to torment. “‘You like gettin fucked like a whore on daddy’s boat?” His tongue swipes over his lips. “Huh? ‘S it make you feel dirty?”

You choke on a sob, your eyes fluttering shut. “Bucky-” you whine. 

He chuckles, dragging his tongue along your throat. “Hm? Tell me, sweetheart.”

You pant softly, sinking down on his cock. Bucky unloops a hand from your leg and slithers between you, his fingers pressing over your lower stomach. Your eyes roll back as Bucky groans into your hair. He slides his palm firmly over your lower stomach, feeling his own cock move inside you.

You roll your head back, your tear stained cheek pressed to the cold glass. Your lashes flutter against the fog your breath casts. Beyond the mind numbing pleasure, you registered the dark roll of the ocean, moonlight reflecting off the surface. 

“You still in there, sweetheart?” He snickers, chewing at your earlobe. You shudder, rolling your hips against his. “Try to focus, baby.” he whispers.

You roll your head back to look at him, your fingers curling in his dark hair. A flush rises up his neck, painting his skin a warm color. His lips part around muffled groans, his brows furrowed. Blue eyes watch you with intensity, almost too much.

You shudder in humiliation, gasping quietly as Bucky pets his fingers down your stomach, his thumb brushing over your clit. “You’re so cute when you’re fucked stupid,” he grins lazily.

He swipes a stray overwhelmed tear from your cheek, then sucks it off his thumb. 

You rock your hips into his, the coil in your stomach twisting tighter. Desperation flares in your chest as your second orgasm draws closer, just within reach. 

“I-I can’t-” you whimper, locking your ankles tighter around his waist.

Bucky coos, his heavy hand petting down the side of your face. “It’s okay baby, it’s okay.” He whispers. He peppers gentle kisses against your lips, his facial hair scratching your soft skin. “You’re okay,” he slowly pumps his cock into your soaked cunt, each roll of his hips rendering himself breathless.

He pants into your mouth, his tongue pressing into yours. 

“You’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart.” He whispers, palming your breast between you. You sob against his lips, pressing closer to him as you whine. He chuckles, dragging a soft kiss against the corner of your lips. “Shh, gotta stay quiet. Don’t want anyone to hear.”

You nod helplessly against him, squirming as he slows his thrusts. “I’ll be quiet, I’ll be good- I promise…” you whisper. 

“That’s right,” he smiles, grinding his cock into your cunt. “Be a good girl for me and keep quiet. Wanna keep you all to myself, can’t have daddy hear his little girl sobbing over my cock.”

You choke on a moan, your stomach clenching at his words. Your walls flutter around him, making his hips stutter. “Jesus-” you gasp, rolling your head back into the window. “Please just fuck me-”

He snickers, his arms curling back under your knees as he pulls you away from the window. “I’ll take care of you, baby.” He carefully lays you back on his bed, then pushes your arms up over your head. “You just need to be a good girl and take it.”

He snaps his hips forward, catching you off guard. You make a punched out noise as he presses your wrists into the blankets and fucks you into the mattress. 

He licks over your lips as you pant, jaw slack. You press your heels into his lower back, pulling him closer.

“That’s it, just take it.”

“Get your ass up, James, we’re going fishing!” The door rattled heavily under the beat of your fathers fist.

You startled awake, your eyes snapping open. Bucky flinched on top of you, his head snapping up from where he was nuzzled into your neck. You twitch, blinking groggily against the sunlight streaming through the window. 

Bucky’s large hands skate down your naked body, his palm resting against your ass. 

The door rattles again, your father knocking repeatedly. “We're in the middle of the ocean, get off your ass!”

“I’m comin’!” Bucky shouts, wiping a hand down his face. “Let me get up, asshole.”

Your father laughs heartily as he walks down the hall. Bucky drops his head back against your chest, his lips grazing your collar bone. He sighs, grumbling as he curls his arms back around your body. You grunt as he pulls you close, rolling almost on top of you. 

You squirm, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Your leg shifts where it's thrown over Bucky’s hip, your arms stretch over his shoulders. 

Bucky yawns as he rubs his face against your shoulder, his stubble stinging your sensitive flesh. “G’morning…”

You swallow, your nails raking down his spine. “Morning, handsome.”

You feel him smile against your neck, a soft chuckle vibrating from his chest to yours. He pushes up, leaning over you with a lazy grin. He strokes your side, his fingers dancing over your breast to slide up your jaw. “Aren’t you pretty,” he hums, leaning down to peck your lips. 

You tilt up into him, your lips dragging over his tenderly. A soft blush flushes your skin, staining you with your own embarrassment. When he pulls back you finally get a good look at him, with his messy bed head and soft blue eyes, crows feet curling at the corners as he smiles. 

Words are lost on you for a moment. 

A knock cuts through the silence again, thumping against the door. “I’m making breakfast, are you coming up? The girls are still asleep, so it’ll just be us and the guys.” Your dad must be making his rounds, waking up his friends, since he circled back. 

You flinch again, cringing quietly. Bucky bites back a smile as he pushes his fingers into your hair, raking back the tangled strands. You involuntarily lean into his hand, purring beneath his firm touch. 

“If you’re not getting up, I’m waking up the girls and you’ll be the only one left out.” Your father grumbles from the hall.

You flinch, your body going rigid. “How am I getting out of here?” You whisper, dragging your nails down his chest.

Bucky winces, his fingers pressing into your nape. “Jesus, man, I’m coming- pull the stick outta your ass,” he shouts over his shoulder, leaning up a little further.

You shamelessly peak down between your bodies, ogling the muscles in his abdomen as they tense.

“Alright, alright, then I’m going up. Wake up the girls when you’re done, okay?”

“Fine,” Bucky responds, listening for footsteps. When he finally turns back, he catches you staring down at him. A sly smirk slips across his lips. “Eyes are up here, doll.”

Your gaze snaps up to his, suppressing a smile with your teeth. “Oops.”

He shakes his head at you with mock exasperation. He clicks his tongue at you. “Nasty girl,” he snickers, diving down to sink his teeth into your shoulder. You giggle, choking on a gasp. 

“Hey- I don’t want to bruise!” You squirm, stifling your laughter in his hair. 

He soothes over the bite with his tongue, licking gently over his teeth marks. “You’re already painting half your body with makeup, what's a few more?”

You tug at his hair. “It makes my life a whole lot harder,” you laugh.

He rolls his eyes playfully, leaning back over you. “Fine, but you should have reminded me last night,” he hums, kissing over your purpling hickeys. “I count two more, today.”

You groan, twisting beneath Bucky. “Jesus- my neck is off limits now.” You huff, covering your face with your hands. 

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head. “Nope, not happening. I like that part.”

You roll your eyes, grinning to yourself. “Shut up-”

He snickers, shifting between your legs. The sheets fall by your feet as he sits back on his ankles, your thighs spread over his. You shudder, instinctively reaching to cover yourself. Bucky catches your squirming hands, his hand wrapping around your wrists. 

“Ah-ah,” he grins, sliding a palm down your thigh, over your hip bone. “I like lookin’ at you.” He holds your wrists to your lower stomach. “I haven’t gotten to do that enough.” He mutters, his gaze wandering over your exposed body. 

“Bucky-” you pant, your cheeks heated in embarrassment. “We should- we have to go, my dad’s gonna come down to find us-” 

He smiles shamelessly at your subtly squirm. His palm strokes over the notch of your hip, over the dip of your waist, along the underside of your breast. 

“Shouldn’t be mentioning him in here, remember?” He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Especially not when you're naked in my bed.”

You groan, tugging against the hold he has on your wrists. “You brought him up like a thousand times last night-”

He snickers at you, leaning down to lick a kiss into your mouth. You groan, tilting your chin up into him. He smirks, finally releasing your wrists. 

“Alright, fine.” He huffs, pulling back. You swallow a disappointed sigh as he rolls out of bed. You watch him as he finds his suitcase where it's propped on a small sofa. He digs through it until he finds his boxers. 

You sigh as you watch them slide over the curve of his ass, shielding him from your prying gaze. He glances back at you, a grin curling at the corners of his lips. 

“Perv,” he tugs out a shirt and tosses it to you. 

You yank it over your head, shielding yourself. “You’re one to talk.” 

You crawl out of bed, picking your clothes up piece by piece. 

“That’s for sure,” he mutters, staring at you ass as the shirt rides up when you bend.

You straighten quickly, tugging the hem down. “You’re definitely the perv.” You chuckle, moving towards the door. “An old perv.”

He smacks your ass as he follows you to the door, making you jump. “Shut your mouth,” he huffs, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder. You lean back against him, swallowing a sigh. 

He nips at your jaw, his fingers tickling your hip. You roll your head back against his shoulder. “I should go…”

“Mhm, you should.” He whispers, pecking a dark bruise along your neck. 

You clench your teeth and pull out of his grip. “I should,” you blink through your haze. Without looking back, you creak open the door and peek down the hall. “It’s clear,” you whisper, turning back to him. “I’ll see you at breakfast?”

He nods, stroking his knuckles down your cheek. “Mhm, sounds good.” He leans down and kisses you. You sigh against his mouth, rocking on your heels. “I’ll see you then, sweet girl.” He whispers against your lips.

You shiver, pulling back. “Mhm,” you yank the door open and slip into the hall, breathless.

When you finally get back to your room, Natasha is there waiting- already in her bikini and lacy cover-up. When you turn to face her, wearing only Bucky’s shirt and a handful of bruises, she grins.

“You better tell me every last fucking detail.” She drops her phone. “But only after you shower and clean all of him off of you-” she waves a hand at you. 

You choke on a laugh. “For sure,” you drop your clothes. “And trust me-” you glance back at her, a hand on the bathroom doorknob. “There’s a lot of him on me.”

She grimaces, shaking her head at you. “Disgusting, get in there.”

You snicker and shut yourself in the bathroom. You make quick work of your shower after catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; hair knotted to all hell, neck littered in hickeys and love bites, lips swollen and flushed.

By the time you were clean and dressed in your bathing suit, Natasha was nearly asleep with boredom. And by the time you were finished telling her about your long, long, night of sexual escapades, you were starving. 

“Can-” you spoke through laughter, “can we please go to breakfast now?”

Nat sighs from where she’s spread out on her bed. “Fine- I can imagine you're fucking starved after all-” she gestures between your legs. “That.”

“Jesus,” you roll your eyes, grabbing your bag of sunblock and towels. “Let's go, once we eat we can go swimming.” You bounce your shoulders in excitement.

Natasha follows you into the hall, smacking your ass as you climb the stairs. “You just wanna get out there so you can see him.”

“Shut it, I don’t want anyone to hear you,” you shove her with your bag. She shrugs as she leads you into the first level cabin. 

“Whatever.”

The kitchen smells of bacon and toast when you both finally enter. You find your step-mother smacking a piece of bacon from your dads hand while they quietly bicker about his health.

“Eat some eggs first- you know what the doctor said about your cholesterol.” She huffs, hands on her hips.

Your dad peaks over his wife's shoulder and spots you, relief flooding his expression. “Hon, thank god, come here and let her fret over your health.” He gestures to your step-mom.

You roll your eyes and lean against the counter, plucking the bacon from your dads hand. “Don’t think I’m on your side,” you take a bite. “Eat some fruit or something- did you chop the fruit?” You ask Claire. She nods, turning back to your dad. “See, she even chopped you fruit.” You tsk.

Natasha busies herself with filling glasses with juice and iced coffee. “I don’t think you’re gonna win this one, Mr. L/n.”

You snicker, grabbing your bag to follow Nat. “Just eat your breakfast, dad, then you can go fish, or whatever.”

You step out onto the deck, squinting as the first rays of sunlight hit your skin. The rest of the men stand by the steps leading into the ocean, leaning against the railing as they sip on their coffee.

You snag a large chunk of watermelon off the large table that stretches across the sundeck, littered with plates of food. You pop it in your mouth, humming as the juice spreads over your tongue. 

Your wandering gaze flickers over to where Bucky leans over the railing to get a view of fish swimming past. You look away quickly as your dad steps outside, fishing gear in hand. 

“Can you get my back?” Natasha shakes her sunscreen at you. 

You swallow hard and snag the bottle from her hand. “Turn,” you flick the cap open. 

As the sun climbs higher, you find yourself distracted by the beautiful open ocean.

You laugh over breakfast on the deck- fruit, pastries, and maybe something savory- then both you and Nat stretch out, feeling the warmth of the morning sun sink into your skin. 

As the first sheen of sweat begins to stick to your skin, you drag Nat from her cushioned lounge chair. Your step-mother films you both as you dive off the stern, splashing into icy water. You release an undignified shriek when you pierce the surface, a chill zips down your spine.

Natasha curses, shivering as she rakes her hair back.

You laugh like kids, splashing and floating along the surface- only taking strides back to the stern when the waves pull you out.

The sea is refreshing, cradling you in its endless embrace. Around you, the yacht bobs gently, anchored on open water with no one else in sight. The water is unbelievably clear, glowing turquoise near the surface and fading to a deep sapphire below. Sunlight dances on the waves like scattered glass.

A soft breeze brushes your shoulders, the sun warms your face. Your laughter carries across the water, mixing with the sound of waves against the hull and a distant seagull’s cry.

When you get tired, you lounge on the floating mat tethered to the back of the boat, bobbing gently, talking about anything and everything.

You stare up at the blue, cloudless sky, Natasha's voice mixing with the sounds of waves, and gentle music floating from the deck speakers.

Above you, you hear your father shouting laughter with his friends.

You abandon Natasha on the float as you roll back into the water, finding your own blow up to aid you as you flutter your feet.  

You glance up to find sharp blue eyes tracking you.

Bucky leans against the yacht railing, watching you with a smirk as he sips from his beer. You try not to writhe beneath his weighted gaze. Try to focus on swimming with your friend, enjoying the sun, and snacking on fruit. 

But something about that smirk, those sharp blue eyes, the grays spotting his hair. God, he set you on fire.

Your dad was busy on the other side of the boat, patiently struggling with the fish. He decided to fish at a distance for safety reasons, of course, as you and Nat swam.

But you were more thankful because it gave you the ability to freely stare at Bucky. 

Natasha floats, her chunky sunglasses protecting her eyes. “If something tries to bite me, please stab it.”

“Thanks for the reminder, I’ll just get my harpoon.” You chuckle, leaning over your float as you gently kick your legs. 

“Just put your man on watch,” Nat slides her sunglasses up.

You flinch, sending a splash her way. She snickers quietly, steering her float further out. You glance back up to find Bucky still watching you, his head tilted slightly. 

You can barely remember your original plans for this trip. Probably soaking in the sun, reading on the deck, and dancing to overly loud music before bed. But now, all you want to do is huddle up in Bucky’s room and drool on his cock.

You slowly swim over to the stern, only a few feet away from where Bucky stands. “Gonna get in, or ‘re you just gonna stare?”

He takes a slow swig of his beer. “I’m feelin’ pretty good just staring.”

You bite back a grin. “Creep.”

He lifts a brow, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “Watch it.”

“Why? Whatcha gonna do?” You rest your head against the gently bobbing deck, salt water sticking to your skin. 

Just as he opens his mouth to respond, your father shouts his name from across the boat. He sighs, shrugging. “Just keep guessing.” He mutters, pushing off the railing.

You huff in disappointment as you're figuratively blue balled by your dad. 

“You’re a dirty freak,” Natasha shouts from where she’s floating. 

You snicker, pushing off from the dock. “Oh, I know.”

The sun has just dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a sky streaked with soft orange and pink. The ship is anchored in calm water, and warm lights glow along the deck. Dinner has just wrapped up- plates pushed aside, half-eaten desserts, and cocktails still in hand. The smell of grilled seafood and lemon lingers in the air.

“Bullshit!” You slap your cards down on the table, groaning loudly. “This game sucks.”

“You need to learn to play poker, hun.” Your dad chuckles, peeking at his cards before picking at his plate.

“Sorry I don’t have thirty years of experience.” You huff, sitting back in your seat. 

Bruce glances over Everett’s shoulder at his cards. “I’m with your kid, pick a new game.” He mutters, squinting at his little deck. Everett elbows the man in the side.

Bucky chuckles at the men as they bicker, his gaze shifting to yours over his cards. 

“I’ve been trying to teach you for years, hon. You never wanna come over for game nights,” your dad complains around his mouthful of food. 

You roll your eyes. “Because your game nights are game nights. I don’t wanna sit there while you and your boys shout at the tv. Besides, I’m usually working.” You laugh, picking a cherry from your cocktail.

“I thought restaurant schedules were flexible!” He crossed his arms. 

You chuckled, sipping from your fruity drink as the gentle breeze rocked through the air. “They are, but you still have to request your days off.”

“You’re a server?” Bucky’s voice cuts through the lighthearted banter, making your stomach drop. He takes a long swig of beer, watching you over the bottle.

You swallow, a flush rising up your neck as you nod. “Mhm, for two years. Nat and I work together.”

“Do you like it?” He tilts his head, his usually intense gaze softer now as he watches you. 

You shrug, your gaze nervously darting away from his. “I do, kinda.” 

“I keep telling her to go back to school, but I think she’s too scared.” Your dad butts in.

You flinch, your wide eyes snapping to your father. “Dad, that is not true-”

“Kinda is,” Natasha mutters from behind you, where she’s picking through dinner in the kitchen.

“Quit eavesdropping and just join the conversation like a normal person, please.” You shout, avoiding Bucky’s gaze as he watches you.

“So you never went to school, or you left school?” Bucky asks, resting his beer bottle against his inner thigh. You intentionally force yourself to not look at the delicious way he man-spreads. 

“I dropped out-” you cringe, blinking up at him. 

“She panicked.”

“Dad-” you groan.

“What? You did- you had a whole thing and dropped out. It’s normal,” he shrugs.

You turn back to Bucky, his patient gaze making you flush. “I didn’t have a whole thing, I just wasn’t sure if I was going down the right path. Now can we stop talking about college? I left so I didn’t have to think about it.”

Bucky smiles gently at the frown that curls at the corner of your lips. “It’s fine,” he chuckles. “There’s nothing wrong with rethinking things.”

You glance back up at him through your lashes, chewing at your cheek. “Yeah?”

He nods silently, tilting his head at you, like he wants to hear more.

“Well-” you swallow, “I like what I’m doing now. So that’s what matters.”

“Hey,” your dad throws up his hands. “I never said that was a bad thing. I just think it’s never too late to go for a degree.” 

You roll your eyes at him, downing the rest of your drink. You couldn’t say his insistence was wrong. He came from an experienced point of view- he spent years on his degree, then climbed the corporate ladder until he got where he was. And where he was, was on his own yacht. 

It wasn’t a bad deal.

It just wasn’t for you.

“Your age is for exploring new things,” Bucky shrugs at you, sipping his drink. 

You lift a subtle brow at him, your stomach turning. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” he nods, smothering his smirk. “I tried all sorts of things when I was your age.” He rolls his neck, wincing when it pops. 

Your dad groans, waving his hand at Bucky. “Don’t encourage her- nothing you got up to is something I want her exploring.”

You have to press your lips to a thin line to keep yourself from laughing. Something vaguely smug flashes behind Bucky’s eyes. He tosses his hands up in defense. 

You dad smacks a kiss to the top of your head, his arm looped around Claire's waist. “Goodnight, honey.” He sings, following his wife inside. You wave, watching them go. 

Dinner and games led into drinks, which led to your dad singing on a table. And after an awful three songs, your step mother dragged him off to bed. Everyone retreated inside after that, as the sun sank below the earth, submerging the ocean in a chill.

But you stayed. 

So, curled up on the sofa, you stare out at the sea. It's difficult to tell where the water ends and the sky begins, without the bright sun casting its rays. 

But the cold moon illuminates the night with a silver glow, making the waves sparkle like stars. 

The water is darker than you thought possible- inky, deep, and alive in its own way. Sometimes it’s perfectly still, like black glass. Other times it ripples with silver where the moonlight touches it. Fish darts just below the surface, like shadows scattering.

A gentle breeze rustles your hair, racing shivers down your spine as you pull your knees to your chest. You listen to the soft waves rock against the hull in a gentle rhythm. Like the sea was breathing, beating like a heart.

A thin blanket drops around your shoulders, making you jump. You look to the right to find Bucky rounding the couch, then plop down beside you. 

“Hey,” you pull the blanket around your body, shielding your skin from the chill. 

“Hi,” he smiles, propping his arm up behind you. You blink at him for a nervous moment, feeling at a loss for words every time you’re alone with him. He just sighs, his fingers brushing your cheek to tuck your hair behind your ear. 

You gulp, hugging your knees tighter to your chest. You instinctively glance back to the cabin, where a single light glows in the kitchen. “Someone could see…” You whisper.

“They’re all in bed. Natasha’s the only one roaming the kitchen,” he hums without tearing his gaze from your face. 

“Are you sure?” You glance back up at him, your cheeks dusting a warm pink as his knuckle strokes your jaw. 

“Mhm, I had to help Claire tuck your dad in.” He chuckles softly.

You chew at your lip, nodding faintly. “Ah.”

“Not ready to turn in yet?” he tilts his head at you.

You shrug, looking back out at the water. “Nah, I wanted to look at the stars for a bit. My favorite part of being on a boat is seeing the sky at night.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head back to look up at the moon. “It’s pretty.” He mutters quietly. 

You take a second to stare at his profile, quiet except for the gentle waves. “Mhm.”

“I was lookin’ forward to this trip for the same reason.” He counts the brightest stars. “Sure wasn’t expecting you, though.” He glances at you with a smile.

You huff, looking away from him. “That’s for sure.” You shook your head. “How did you two even meet?”

“I met your dad when I was movin’ into the neighborhood,” he chuckles, his fingers playing with your hair. “He came by and invited me for a barbeque.” You listened silently, shivering when he lightly scratched your scalp. “He started tellin’ me how he wanted to get in shape, so I invited him to join me on my jogs before work. That was about three years ago, now.”

You roll your head to look at him, biting back a smirk. “Speaking of work, my dad lives in a nice ass neighborhood. What do you do?”

“Mechanical engineer,” he hums, his gaze tracing your features.

You gape at him, shaking your head lightly. “Jesus, so you design machines, and stuff?”

“Mechanical systems.” He nods. “Trains, mostly,” his thumb grazes your nape. 

“Damn,” you whisper, self consciousness prickling at your skin. 

“It’s nothin’ special.” He tilts his head at you. “Tell me about you.” His blunt words make you shiver.

“You heard earlier that I’m a server,” you huff, looking out at the water. “There’s not much else I’m doing…”

“I doubt that,” He makes a face, his lips slightly pouty. He leans in, pressing into your space. “Tell me more,” he whispers, brushing his palm over your hair. “I wanna know.”

Your breath hitches in your chest. You glance back at the cabin in paranoia. “Bucky-” He gently pushes you until you rest on your back, your knees bent. 

Bucky leans over you, tenderly brushing the hair from your face. “What?” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “I only know one way to open you up.” He kisses between your breasts, his lips trailing over your bikini top to your stomach. “Tell me more.”

You swallow, your legs making way for his body as he trails down to your hips. “I um-” You stammer, glancing down at him as he unties your bathing suit bottoms. 

“Tell me about college,” he tugs the last tie free, letting your bottoms fall open. You suck in a tight breath, your knees instinctively wanting to close. He nudges them open.

“I dropped out,” you gulp, dropping your head back against the cushions.

“Why?” He presses a soft kiss to your core, his stubble making your shiver. 

“I didn’t know what was doing-” He spreads you open with two fingers. “I didn’t even know if I liked what I was studying anymore-” you gasp when he licks a stripe from your cunt to your clit with the flat of his tongue. “And I was just sick of school…”

“Mhm,” he hums, stroking his tongue through your folds. “So what do you want?” He mutters against you.

“I don’t-” Your lashes flutter as he sucks gently on your clit. “I don’t know-” you gasp. “I like serving, for now…”

“Why do they think you’re scared?” Bucky’s voice is muffled as he kisses your soaked entrance. 

“Because I am- a little…” You try to roll your hips into him, but he keeps you pinned down. This is his game. “I’m scared I’ll choose the wrong path and it’ll be too late. Or that I’ll realize down the line-” His tongue dips into your soaked cunt, fluttering slowly. You groan quietly. “-Realize down the line that I wanna do something else,” you continue breathlessly.

“Mm,” he hums quietly. He releases your clit from his lips, pulling back with a slick pop. “There’s no ‘too late,’ sweetheart. You can always change your mind about things,” he looks up at you, watching your face as he strokes circles over your clit with his thumb. “Use this time to explore different jobs,” he kisses your inner thigh gently. “Then go back to school.”

You nod shakily. “Yeah,” you pant. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking…maybe I’ll just start with taking a few classes…”

“There you go,” he whispers, pressing a wet kiss to your pussy. You pant as he strokes his tongue through your folds, dipping inside your entrance, then humming against your clit.

Your hands find his hair, needily tugging at the strands as he continues his slow pace, and eager interrogation. You answer every small question about yourself, eyes closed and toes curled. You feel him smile against you, like a cheeky bastard.

When your thighs finally twitch around his head, from where he folded your legs over his shoulders, he slides his hand up to cover your mouth. 

You cling to his arm, panting roughly against his palm as he silences you. Your orgasm washes over you silently, sparks flying behind your vision. Bucky guides you through it, sucking on your clit with gentle pressure. 

When you’re finally too sensitive to continue, he presses a soft kiss to your cunt, then pulls back. You’re left gasping for breath, staring at the sparkling sky. 

Bucky chuckles to himself as he sits up, carefully tying your bottoms back up. He leans back against the couch, rolling his neck as he drags your legs to rest over his lap. You shiver when you hear the man lick his lips.

“This is fucking crazy…” You huff, a lazy grin on your lips. 

“I know,” he chuckles, tracing slow lines along your knee.

You swallow around your heavy tongue. “Think it’s a bad idea?”

He shrugs, his thumb rubbing over an old scar on your thigh. “I don’t really care.”

“Me neither...” You snicker.

From the moment you roll out of bed, the day starts bathed in warmth. It feels like summer as a child, unhurried, with excitement hanging around every corner.

Natasha left you at breakfast, reading on the bridge-deck with her headphones in. You didn’t mind, though, since your dad made it clear he wanted to spend the day with you.

So as the sun climbs higher in the sky, your dad drags two paddle boards down from their mounts, and begs you to follow him into the water. 

You launch from the stern with a splash of enthusiasm, your bodies slick with sunscreen as you straddle the boards. The boards glide easily over the surface, and soon it’s just the two of you, standing tall, paddles dipping rhythmically into the sea.

You paddle side by side, sometimes drifting apart, then regrouping. There's light conversation and long stretches of companionable silence- just the sound of the paddles in the water and the occasional seabird overhead. 

At one point your dad loses balance and topples into the depths. He doesn’t allow you to laugh for long, though, when he tips your board and forces you to fall in after him.

Later, you both take a break, lying flat on your boards, drifting under the sun, arms trailing in the cool water. You talk about old vacations, future plans, and share quiet thoughts that only seem to come out when the world slows down.

Eventually, you head back toward the yacht, feeling sun-warmed and a little tired in the best way. Bruce helps your dad load the boards back onto the ship while you go to find Nat for food.

Cold drinks and a light dinner wait on the deck- fresh fruit, grilled skewers, and icy bubbling drinks.

When you finally sink into a seat on the bridge deck, a towel hugging your body, your stomach is rolling with hunger. Loud voices chatter over one another as everyone joins the table. 

You feel a warm tingle at the base of your spine when Bucky pulls out the seat beside you. He’s distracted in bickering conversation with Bruce, throwing sarcastic remarks back and forth.

You can’t even tell if he meant to sit beside you. 

“Honestly, the best part of this trip is the food- our kitchen back home still smells like charcoal from the last time Y/n tried to cook.” Natasha snickers, loading up her plate.

“Okay-” You roll your eyes. “I burnt something one time and you won’t let it go.”

“I don’t know, I’m with Natty on this one,” your father grins, biting grilled shrimp from his skewer. “Remember when you torched Claire's new pans when you visited for thanksgiving last year?”

Your eyes bulge from your head. “That wasn’t even me!” You argue, looking at your stepmother. “And I apologized for that-”

Your words die on your tongue as Bucky’s deep laughter drifts beside you. The low timber of the sound makes your skin feel heated. 

“Sure it wasn’t you, man?” Everett squints from the end of the table. “You always find someone else to blame when your barbeques go awry.”

Your father scoffs dramatically. You tune out of the conversation as you watch Bucky take a long swig from his beer in your peripheral. Natasha watches you two with a smug look. You suck in a sharp breath, steadying yourself. 

“I’m telling you, dad’s the one that ruined those pans.” You force a laugh, stifling a shiver as Bucky lowers his drink to the table, the back of his hand nudging yours.

“Maybe the both of you can’t cook.” Bucky suggests, looking to Claire for evidence. She nods with a cheeky smile.

You barely hear it. Bucky presses his glass bottle against your knuckles. You swallow, your stomach turning as you slip your fingers around the glass. The perspiration feels slick against your palm. 

You watch your father bicker with his friends as you carefully pull Bucky’s beer from his hand. You take a slow swig, your stomach turning at the absurdity of how dangerous this feels.

You swallow the cold liquid, your tongue swiping over the rim when you spill a drop. Bucky’s knee presses to yours beneath the table, the pressure steady and heavy. 

Your free hand slips beneath the table to tug at his swim trunks, as a warning or plea, you don’t know. He doesn't retract his knee. In fact, he presses closer, sitting up a little further in his seat to pick at some fruit. 

“If I can’t cook, it’s because of dad.” You chime in finally, setting the beer back on the glossed table.

Bucky easily plays nonchalant, barely acknowledging your fingers' gentle trail along his thigh. 

Your father rolls his eyes with a groan, waving his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah.”

You chuckle, finally dragging food onto your plate. You withdraw your hand and let your towel drop behind you, salt still scenting your skin. 

As dinner continues, the sun finally dips just below the horizon, casting a warm afterglow across the deck. Lanterns and soft string lights flicker to life above the dining table, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of the sea mixed with grilled herbs and citrus.

Everyone’s gathered around the table on the aft deck- sun-kissed and slightly salty from the day’s swimming and laughter.

As cool air settles over the ocean, your father suggests settling in for a movie in the lounge. A murmur of agreement spreads through the table, and soon everyone’s rising. You take one last long sip from your fruity drink and stand. 

“I’m gonna use the bathroom, but I’ll meet you in there,” you mutter to Nat, letting her take your towel as she heads inside. 

The nearest bathroom is on the upper deck, so you jog upstairs and go about your business. After drying your hands, you barely crack the door open before someone’s pushing inside.

“What-” You stumble back, your words fizzling to silence once Bucky clicks the door shut behind him. “Oh-” you whisper, gasping quietly as his hands slide down your waist.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he mutters, lifting you onto the polished counter. Your knees fall open on instinct as he steps into your space. Your head spins from his sudden actions. “Did ya have fun today?” He leans in, carefully pushing your wet hair back.

“Uh-” You gasp, barely able to catch your breath as Bucky drags a soft kiss over your lips. You sigh into him, squirming beneath needy hands. “I did-” you roll your head back against the mirror, your fingers pressing into the firm muscle of his shoulders. 

He smiles, dragging his knuckles down your waist. “Mhm?” He drags you closer to the edge of the counter, pulling your body against his. You groan as Bucky presses his hips forward, the tent in his shorts dragging over your inner thigh.

“Jesus-” You whine, submitting to the rough kiss he plants on your lips. 

You barely saw him throughout the day, busy swimming and indulging in the open waters. You could barely catch your breath enough to ask what had gotten him so worked up.

You pant into Bucky’s mouth, sucking his tongue into yours. Your wandering hands slide down his stomach. You slip a hand into his trunks. 

“Fuck-” he groans, his forehead knocking to yours as you wrap your fingers around his erection. 

“Yeah?” You swallow, swiping a drop of precum from his flushed tip. 

He rolls his hips into your hand, pressing bruising kisses to your lips. “C’mon,” he pants, urging you to continue. 

You greedily fist his cock, squeezing on the upstroke, his slick head leaking against your palm. He moans against your lips, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter. You swallow his choked sounds as you stroke his throbbing length. 

He huffs, dropping his head to your shoulder. “That’s it,” he groans, his fists white knuckling the counter. “Just like that-”

“Yeah?” You whisper, your warm breath fanning his flushed ear. You pull your hand out for a second, spit in your palm, then slip back into his pants. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder to muffle his aroused whine, his cock twitching as his abs flutter. 

Your spit slicked palm slides back over his erection, your thumb digging gently into his slit. 

“Fuck-” he groans, his hips twitching into your fist. “We don’t have much time-” 

“I know,” you gasp, fisting the swollen head of his cock. “I’ve got you, James.” You whisper, biting back a laugh when Bucky chokes.

“Shit-” he presses his nails into your hip.

He lifts his head, moaning into your mouth as he smothers you in a kiss. You nip gently at his lip, stroking your tongue over his. He swallows a choked whine as you roll your thumb over his tip. You pump his cock in quick strokes, maintaining a steady pace as his length twitches.

His stomach clenches as the coil twists tight. He groans against your tongue as he spills over your knuckles, rutting his hips into your fist. You continue to slowly stroke his twitching cock, spreading his cum over the length. 

He sighs in contentment, his lashes fluttering as you guide him into familiar overstimulation. He whines against your lips, his breath hitching as he rides the wave into pain.

You only release him when his hips instinctually twitch back. 

You pull your hand from his pants, your searching gaze finding his. He blinks up at you, licking over his lips as he leans back enough to see you. 

“‘Did so good,” he whispers, dragging his knuckles down your cheek. You smile pleasantly, leaning back against the mirror. 

“Yeah?” You wipe your hand off on the embroidered towel hanging from the wall. 

“Mhm,” he pecks your jaw gently. He pulls back after a second of peppering kisses along your neck. You watch him yank the small towel down to clean himself up. “Thank you,” he whispers against your lips, dropping a gentle kiss to them.

You shiver, arching into him needly. “No problem…”

He drops the hand towel into the trash by the toilet. His calloused fingers slide around your waist, his arms locking around your back. You stare up at him silently for a moment, your urgency dying as you settle in his hold.

“What got you so worked up?” You whisper, your cheeks dusting pink as he strokes your spine with practiced ease. As if this was normal. As if this was something he could get used to.

“You look good walking away,” he mutters with a smirk. 

You roll your eyes, dropping your head to his shoulder in embarrassment. “There's no way we’re not getting caught…”

“Not with that attitude,” he chuckles, lifting you off the counter. He sets you back on the ground, slowly releasing you. You sigh, pulling back from him. With only a hint of shame, you turn your back to him and wash your hands again.

He watches you fondly in the mirror, though you don’t notice, too busy trying to hide your face. 

“You go out first,” he tells you, nodding to the door. 

You slip out of the bathroom and make your way unsteadily towards the lounge. Everyone seems to still be settling in when you get there, arguing over snacks and movie choices. 

You sink onto a sofa beside Nat, curling beneath the blanket. Natasha stares holes into the side of your head, a sly smirk twitching at her lip. 

“Are you serious?” She whispers into your hair. 

You roll your lip between your teeth, watching as Bucky enters the room silently. He glances at you once before settling beside Bruce on the sofa parallel to yours. 

“Don’t.” You huff, embarrassed by your own depraved actions.

“Jesus, you’re barely gonna be walking by the time we dock.” She whispers, nudging you roughly.

You whip your head to the side, wordlessly telling her to shut up. She snickers at you as the movie begins.

The next night you find yourself back at Bucky’s door. 

After a long day of lazing in the sun, you feel bone tired and relaxed. But that didn’t stop the itch beneath your skin, like a craving. You felt his eyes on you throughout the day, careful and watching. You felt the weight, the unspoken words. 

You watched him from the sun deck, where you lounged with a sunscreen stained book, as he dived off the stern of the ship. You watched the muscles ripple in his back as he took long strokes.

You watched the water drip and collect in the dips of his muscles, streaking down his chest. You couldn’t help but feel like a dirty voyeur. But every time he looked up and caught your gaze, you knew he thrived beneath your watchful eye.

So now you stand in the hall, knocking gently at his door.

And when he finally opens the door and pulls you inside, you know you’re in for it.

“Fuck-” you sob, your spine arching off the bed as you writhe in overstimulation. You yank helplessly at dark locks of hair, your thighs twitching around Bucky’s head. “I can’t- I can’t…” You gasp, tears sliding down your cheeks.

You don’t know how much time has passed. It doesn’t matter. You’re lost in him.  

Bucky groans throatily between your legs, his tongue lazily stroking over your clit. His rough hands press gently over your lower stomach, his large arms locked around your thighs. 

Your nails drag roughly over his scalp. Your feet kick helplessly over the man's shoulders. “Please-” you tremble, your hips squirming against the sheets.

Bucky laughs at you, making you sob harder, as he sucks softly on your clit. 

Your eyes roll back as he drags another torturous orgasm out of you. Your toes curl so tight your leg starts to cramp. You nearly choke as your lungs refuse to expand, too breathless, too lost. “Bucky please-”

Bucky finally pulls back with a slick pop, his hot breath coasting over your sensitive core as he catches his breath. “Keep still, sweetheart.” 

You shudder, your eyes rolling open as you blink down at him. Your whole body tremors beneath his touch, goosebumps trailing over your skin. “Bucky-” you pant, your fingers tight around locks of his hair. 

He chuckles at your loss of words, his lips dragging carefully over your inner thigh. “You’re doin’ such a good job, baby.” He whispers, his tongue soothing over old bitemarks. 

You shake your head helplessly, letting it roll back against the pillows. “I can’t take any more…” Your voice is raw and dry, rough from smothering your own moans for the past several hours. 

“Mm,” he hums, gently kissing your cunt. “I think you can.”

You sob, your thighs clenching in an attempt to close around his head. He pets a large hand over your stomach, the touch traveling down your hip and thigh. 

His finger taps your hip, wordlessly telling you to look at him. You blink through tears, staring down at him. “Do you need to stop?” His warm blue eyes stare straight through you. “‘F it’s too much, we can stop, doll.”

You groan throatily at his easy care, at the way he so sweetly takes care of you. You let his words sink in, but you already know your answer. 

You shake your head. 

“Words, sweetheart.” He whispers.

Your stomach flutters painfully. “I’m okay,” your voice cracks.

Bucky smiles up at you, his large palm stroking over your stomach in appreciation. “That’s my girl,” he kisses your thigh. 

You choke on an overwhelmed sob, your trembling hands tightening in his hair. 

He taps your thigh slowly. “Open,” his tone is soothing, but carries a commanding undertone. You slowly let your thighs loosen up from where they clench around his shoulders. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You nod, shakily wiping tears from your cheek. 

“Words, baby.”

“Okay,” you choke.

Bucky smirks and lowers his head once more, his tongue making slow work of circling your cunt, before dipping inside. You make a broken sound as your walls flutter around him, your stomach clenching pitifully.

Your vision blurs as you obediently watch him, tears slipping down your cheeks when he looks up to meet your gaze. He smirks against your pussy, his lips wrapping around your clit to gently suck.

Your spine arches as your body begs for reprieve, but you know there’s no end in sight. 

Bucky’s determined to drag you through orgasm after orgasm, his tongue dragging lazily through your sensitive folds. 

He seems at home, happily indulging in you, listening to your broken sounds. He grinds his aching cock into the mattress, his hips rolling in slow circles as rolls his tongue over your cunt.

You lose yourself in the feeling, your heels dig into his back, his lips drag sloppy kisses over your core. 

You’ve never felt this way before. So worshiped. So devoured. You’ve never felt so helpless to pleasure.

But Bucky makes you feel it. He guides you through it. He takes you apart, piece by piece, until there's nothing left. Nothing but your stuttering breath and trembling body.

And to your deep shock, he seems just as lost as you. His fingers press bruises into your skin as he clings to you. Rough, throaty sounds rumble in his chest, spilling out between slow licks. His stubble scrapes deliciously against your sensitive flesh, sharp and slick at the same time. 

You watch him through blurry vision, your jaw loose as you whimper. You know you need to be quiet. You know you have to keep this secret. But you just can’t.

You’re aching, trembling, and so deeply overwhelmed.

It’s the kind of sensitivity that hurts and throbs but you just can’t stop.

Even when your body is screaming at you that you can’t go on. You make room for it, because you’ve never felt anything like this. 

You’ve never felt so fucking alive. 

As Bucky guides you through another quivering orgasm, you start to see stars spot your vision. Bucky finally pulls back with a slick smack of his lips- the sound makes tears slide down your cheeks. From humiliation or arousal, you don’t know. 

Bucky slowly climbs up your body, caging you in. You shudder when he leans down, dragging his tongue over your cheek to lick up your tears. You let him, your eyes rolling back as you sigh.

“You did so well, sweet girl,” he whispers, peppering gentle kisses to the curve of your cheek bone. His strong hands stroke up your outer thighs in a comforting motion. “You always take it so well for me, don’t you?”

You whine, tilting your head up to kiss him. He smiled against your lips, pulling back just slightly.

“I asked you something,” he whispers.

You shiver and nod your head. “Yeah- yes…” your voice cracks, dry and rough.

He grins, finally capturing your lips in a messy kiss. You moan quietly, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

Bucky presses his hips forward, his cock dragging over your slick center. You gasp, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. “If you’re too tired, I can take care of myself,” he mutters, his knuckles tracing lines down your jaw. 

You blink, dumbfounded. “That was all foreplay?” 

Bucky snickers silently at the look on your face. “Mhm,” he pecks a kiss to your drying tear streaks. “Why don’t you just lay back and watch? Hm? I don’t wanna overwork you,” his pecks your jaw.

You shake your head stubbornly, your tongue swiping over your dry lips. He pulls back to look at you, brow raised. “I-I want to.” You pant, sucking in thin gasps. Your trembling legs slowly wrap around his waist, your ankles locking. “I wanna take care of you too.”

Bucky groans shamelessly, his head dropping to your shoulder. You stroke your nails down his spine, trying to gather yourself. You feel like jelly. You feel broken. You feel healed. 

You feel so good, you could pass out.

Cold blue moonlight streams from the window, flickering against the black ocean. Bucky plants a soft kiss on your shoulder, and when he raises his head, the light makes his eyes shine silver.

“Okay,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Just lay back, baby,” his lips curl in a familiar smile. “I’ll make you feel good.”

And he makes good on his promise.

He always does. 

When he finally sinks into you, his hips pressed to yours, you struggle to breathe. You barely hold back overwhelmed tears as he gently grinds into you. 

Bucky holds you close, almost intimately, as his arms wrap around you. He pins you in place, his hands petting you as he silently rolls his hips into yours. 

You make a punch out little sound when his cock pulls out, then sinks back in. Bucky shushes you, cooing as he pets your hair. 

After that, everything becomes fuzzy. Blurry. A mess of tears and choked off moans, and delicious pleasure. 

The next morning, Bucky wakes first. 

He curls deeper around your body, clinging to your warmth as the pesky sunlight blinds him. He sighs heavily into your shoulder, already feeling the ache from last night sinking into his bones. 

He buries his face a little deeper in your hair, smelling the salt that lingers. 

He can’t help but smile to himself when you huff in your sleep. 

Bucky eventually pulls back and rolls out of bed, stretching out his sore muscles. He tugs the sheets back over you, where you’re curled up in his bed. 

When he checks the time, it’s nearly 11am. 

He rakes his hair back and tugs something on. He’s quiet as he gets ready, letting you sleep. When he steps into the hall, he can already smell breakfast.

Climbing up to the deck, barefoot and still a little groggy, he’s met with a breeze that smells of salt and coffee. The sky is wide and impossibly blue, the ocean calm, stretching out like a silk sheet all around him. Someone’s already laid out breakfast on the table under the shade of the upper deck. 

The food has lost its warmth by now, but he still builds up a hefty plate. 

The coffee is strong and earthy, still steaming in its carafe, and someone’s poured fresh orange juice into thick glasses beaded with condensation.

The others are lounging nearby, barefoot, sun-kissed, quiet in that contented, slow-morning kind of way. A few pages of a discarded book flutter in the breeze. The water laps gently at the hull.

“Finally, you’re up-” your father huffs as he approaches Bucky, his hands waving. “The girls are still asleep,” he complains, “but I want to go diving.”

Bucky squints up at him, chuckling as he sips on his warm coffee. “Better ask Everette. I’m goin’ back to bed,” he mutters, already turning his back.

Your father groans at him, shaking his fist. “You have the entire ocean around you, and you’re choosing to sleep.”

“Mhm,” Bucky grins, already moving down the steps. “What can I say, these are nice beds.” He grins.

He listens to your father grumble behind him as he descends the stairs. He knows your dad’s a little right, that he’s wasting time indoors when he could be swimming. 

But he’d rather go back to his room, where he’ll find you bathed in the warmth of his sheets. 

He slips back into the room, shutting the door with a soft click. He finds you still out cold, curled around a pillow, your hair scattered and knotted. He sets the plate of foot on the nightstand, then crouches at your bedside. 

He tilts his head at you, his fingers carefully brushing locks of tangled hair from your face. Your brows pinch together as you huff, pressing your face into the pillow. He carefully strokes your cheek, his thumb tapping against your chin.

Your eyes twitch open, squinting up at him.

“Morning,” he whispers. 

He watches the moment recognition sparks, the moment your cheeks dust a soft pink. “Hey,” you swallow, your voice coming out rough. 

“Brought breakfast,” he nods to the plate. “You hungry?” 

You nod, the sheets ruffle against your cheek. Bucky’s lips twitch in a fond smile. He pulls his hand back and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. You roll back to make room for him, dragging the sheets with you.

You groan quietly, your body aching as you stretch. “Fuck…”

“Sore?” He smirks, grabbing his coffee. 

You roll your eyes, pushing up to sit. Your lower back twinges, making you shiver. “You’re too smug,” you croak. Bucky holds his mug out to you, letting you take it. You take a slow sip, sighing as the warm liquid soothes its way down your throat.

Bucky shrugs, taking a dramatic bite of bacon. “Maybe.”

You chuckle, leaning closer to pick at the plate. “What time is it?” You pop a chunk of scrambled egg in your mouth.

Bucky glanced down at his phone. “11:27pm.” He reads. “Your friend’s still asleep, your dad thinks you're still passed out with her.”

You nod, stealing the bacon from his fingers. “She’s probably up, just covering for me. My dad won’t try to go and wake me up if he thinks she’s sleeping too.”

Bucky hums in understanding, tugging his mug of coffee from where it sat between your knees. “How sweet,” he smiles.

You lower your head, hiding your blush as you chew a square of fruit. “Mhm.”

Bucky watches you with a tilted head, aware of the effect he has on you. “Do you feel okay? Anything hurt?” His kind blue eyes trail down your body, still mostly hidden by the sheet.

“I’m fine,” you shake your head. “Sore, definitely, but fine.” You huff, rolling your shoulders. “The good kind of sore.”

He smiles, his crows feet curling at the corners of his eyes. “Mkay,” he mutters, reaching out to tuck your knotted hair behind your ear. 

You gulp, your gaze flickering back down to the plate. Oddly enough, the sex is what comes easy to you. All the parts in between, the care, the conversations, the sweet way he handles you, that's what makes you nervous. What catches you off guard.

You still have no idea what you're doing.

“Is my dad expecting you- I don’t want him to-”

“It’s fine, I told him I was going back to bed.” He cuts you off, easily shrugging. He pushes the coffee back into your hand as he lifts off the bed. “We have time.”

You watch him move over to his pile of clothes on the small sofa. He pulls out a black shirt and tosses it to the mattress. He turns his back, as if wordlessly telling you to put it on. You obey, your stomach twisting in knots as you tug it over your head. When you pop your head through, you find your panties dangling from Bucky’s fingers.

Your face heats as you snatch them quickly. He snickers, his head still turned. 

“So you’re making excuses to spend more time with me?” You attempt to tease him. 

“Mhm,” Bucky turns back to face you, flopping onto the bed once you’re dressed. “Absolutely.”

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” You groan, wrapping your arms around your body. “I don’t think my body can take any more.”

He grins, the grays in his facial hair shadowed by his smile lines. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll leave you be.” He picks a chunk of watermelon from the plate. “For now.”

You use the mug of coffee to hide your blushing grin. “I think I’ve gotten laid more in this past week than I have in my entire life.”

Bucky laughs, wiping a hand down his face. “Jesus,” he groans, his free hand dropping to your bare ankle. “I’ll take that as a good thing.”

“Oh, for sure.” You lift a brow at him. “Not to feed your ego, or anything, but I don’t regret a thing.”

His cheeky grin softens slightly. “Good.”

You stare at him for a moment, your stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies. “So…” you clear your throat. “Two more days until we dock.” You roll your cheek between your teeth. “What now?”

Bucky rolls his head to the side, his knuckles sweeping up and down your bare leg. “Well, we have options.”

“Do tell,” you sip at the coffee. 

Bucky rudely plucks the mug from your hand and sets it on the nightstand. You frown softly, your gaze finding his. He leans closer, looming into your space. “We could keep seeing each other,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours in a gentle kiss. 

You smile into it, a giddy feeling swirling in your veins. 

He slowly pulls back, his fingertips tracing a slow line down your cheek. “Or we could go our separate ways.” He hums, bright blue eyes flickering to yours. “What do you want?”

You gulp, your fists curling in the large shirt you wore. “Do you want to keep seeing me?”

He smiles, sweet and warm. “Of course I do, doll.” His words make you want to slap your hands over your face and giggle like a schoolgirl. 

“Yeah?”

His lip rolls between his teeth, failing to suppress his smile. “Mhm.”

“Me too,” you confess, subconsciously leaning forward. 

“Good,” he cups your cheek in his large hand. He pulls you into him, capturing your lips in a soft, but possessive kiss. You sigh into him, allowing him to guide you with a hand on your neck. 

He pulls back slowly, leaving only a few inches between you. 

“When we get home, I wanna take you out.” He mutters, his calloused fingers dragging down your jaw. You shiver. “For real.”

“Really?” You whisper, disbelief and nerves mixing together in your stomach.

“Oh yeah,” he nods. “‘Wanna see you all dressed up. Take you to dinner.” He kisses your jaw. “Fuck you in my bed,” his warm breath ghosts over your skin. 

You swallow, your lashes fluttering shut. “Okay…”

He smiles, pecking your lips. “Okay.”

So for the first time in your life, you found yourself wishing for vacation to be over.

A/N: Hi....ahaha...just utter filth. I hope you guys like it, I had a lot of fun writing this version of Bucky. I love older man Bucky. Anyways, requests are always open. Comment and let me know what you think!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT IN ANYWAY.

If you have no age in your bio and you comment or message me, I WILL BLOCK YOU.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Just found out about age gap!reader and I am LIVING for it like fr, I love how the dynamic is and of how sassy she can be. Definitely think the sass is used against other socialites and Bruce is very proud of that.

"Bruce, you have a wife," Jason whined, "why do we even have to be here?"

"Because," Bruce said adjusting his tie and watching you. For the moment you were sparkling under the lights. Playing the consummate hostess. Sipping your cocktail and making a fuss over all your guests. "We're a family. This is a family event."

"Lame." Jason sighed.

"Come on Jay," Dick said grinning. "If you're not here how are you gonna help us make Y/N's one-liners go viral?"

"Guys," Bruce said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "It's a charity event not a-"

"Come on B," Dick said, "You married a woman people mistake for one of your kids sometimes. People look forward to her being a sassy little shit to upper crusty assholes all year now."

"Point," Stephanie said adjusting video settings on her phone, "I don't know why I'm even doing this. Y/N is the most photogenic person on the planet. Ugh it makes me sick."

"Right?" Dick cut in, adjusting his own phone. "It's sickening."

"Fine," Jason sighed. "But only because last year I missed it when she made some old crotchety bitch literally clutch her pearls."

Well, Bruce reflected as he watched them disperse, at least they like her. If they hated her, it would be a nightmare.

[rintareo]

college professor ! nanami, who has a small crush on the barista that works at the college cafe. you’re cute, very cheerful and just an absolute sweetheart.

always smiling at him whenever he comes in for his usual black coffee. you started greeting him by name rather than just plain professor. he liked the way his name sounded on your lips.

he started asking about your day, how your classes were going, how long your shift was. casual questions which seemed to make you open up to him little by little.

it was a harmless crush, or at least he thought so. he never pictured himself going any further than just asking about your day.

yet here he was after closing eating you out on the counter. it was completely reckless and just happened so suddenly too. it was hard to resist when the moment presented itself. god was it pure bliss too. he had imagined it so often but this was even better.

actually feeling your thighs clamp down around his head. your cute little whines when he paid extra attention to your clit.

there was no fucking way he would ever go back. now that he had a taste, he had to have you completely. he was such a selfish man.

[onlypinkslut]

warning 18+ next part 2 > older pervy teacher!toji x innocent student f!reader🎀.

cw: grooming, manipulation, teacher x student, age gap, dubcon, taboo. mdni.

professor fushiguro had a reputation. not the kind that showed up in formal complaints or scandalous whispers, but the quieter kind, the dangerous kind. he was handsome, unnervingly so tall, built like a fighter not a lecturer, always dressed in black button-downs with the sleeves pushed to his elbows, veins peeking out like he wanted you to stare. and married. very married. a slim platinum band on his ring finger that he never took off, not even while scribbling equations across the whiteboard or wiping chalk on his pants.

he taught intro philosophy. the kind of class full of wide-eyed boys/girls who thought they were deep because they’d just discovered camus. but he never looked at them at least, not the way he looked at you.

it started subtle. lingering eye contact when he called on you, asking for your thoughts when you hadn’t raised your hand, brushing his fingers too close when passing papers. at first, you thought you were imagining it. that you were projecting something sick and inappropriate onto a man who clearly had no interest in silly little students. but then came the way he said your name slow, thoughtful, with the corners of his mouth curling like he was tasting it. like it meant something to him.

and then the school trip was announced. a philosophy retreat to another city. three days, two nights. guest lectures, roundtables, and some pathetic team-building exercises. you weren’t even going to sign up until he looked straight at you, mid-lecture, and said i expect all of you to come. some of you need the experience more than others. his eyes didn’t move. you didn’t dare look away.

the flight was cramped. assigned seats. you didn’t realize the horror of it until you read the manifest and saw

mr. fushiguro listed next to your name in tight black font. he was already seated when you boarded, legs wide, jaw tense from the early morning. and when you shuffled in, clutching your little bag to your chest, he barely blinked. just motioned for you to sit like it was normal.

his thigh touched yours. his elbow grazed your arm every time he shifted. he didn’t look at you. didn’t say a word. but when the lights dimmed and the plane rose into the sky, you felt it that heat, that wrongness, crawling up your skin like a fever. he exhaled slowly beside you and his breath grazed your neck.

then came the descent. everyone around you began to shuffle, seatbelts unbuckling, the aisle clogged with bodies waiting to leave. you stood up, trying to squeeze past him, but the line wasn’t moving and he didn’t budge.

you mumbled something excuse me… but he just looked up with that lazy, unreadable expression, eyes dragging from your thighs to your lips. and before you could step back, he gripped your waist and pulled you down, right onto his lap. your knees hit the seat, legs splayed awkwardly on either side of his, and you froze, heart hammering.

his voice was low and soft against your ear.

relax. just until the line clears.

you looked around in panic. students were watching, some snickering, others wide-eyed. your cheeks burned. you tried to shift off but his hands pressed into your hips, holding you there.

you’re shaking, he murmured. nervous flier?

you tried to speak. to move. but his thigh shifted beneath you, just enough to make you feel the hard shape forming there, and your blood turned to fire. he didn’t even pretend to hide it. just rocked his hips subtly, like it meant nothing. like it was normal.

good girl, he breathed, still loud enough for only you. you’re learning how this works.

you didn’t speak for the rest of the walk off the plane. your skin felt like it didn’t fit right, legs sore from trying not to grind down on his lap, jaw locked so tight you thought it might crack. professor fushiguro stayed close behind you the whole time, rolling his suitcase casually like nothing had happened, like your thighs hadn’t just clenched around him in front of half your classmates.

the others were loud. dragging their bags through the terminal, laughing, pushing each other like overgrown children. you stuck to the back, head down, trying to disappear.

but he didn’t let you.

careful, sweetheart,

his voice slid out behind you as you stumbled slightly on the escalator. his hand found your back warm, wide, steady and pressed there as you stepped off.

you really should wear more supportive shoes. your ankles are too delicate for all that walking.

you heard the giggles before you even turned. two girls near the vending machine, whispering behind their hands. someone muttered, he’s so protective of her, and another one snorted. you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

but he didn’t stop. he leaned closer, brushing your hair off your shoulder in one slow sweep, his fingertips grazing the back of your neck like it was just a kind gesture.

did you even eat this morning? he asked, frowning at your suitcase like it had wronged him. you’re already swaying. c’mon, let’s find you something light.

professor, i’m fine..-

no, he cut in gently. you’re my responsibility now. can’t have my favorite student passing out in front of the whole class, can i?

you swallowed hard. someone definitely heard that. the stares were louder than the voices now. you kept your head ducked while he guided you through the airport like a little girl his hand always on your back, his voice soft, too soft.

and then came the hotel.

they passed out room keys in the lobby. everyone was half-asleep, waiting for their pairings to be called. you hovered near the back, praying hoping but then the coordinator raised a small envelope and called your name, along with one that made your knees lock.

professor fushiguro.

your head snapped up.

you expected him to object. to say it must be a mistake. instead, he smiled. actually smiled. that same lazy, slow grin he gave in class when a student said something dumb.

looks like you’re stuck with me again.

the envelope was placed into his hand. he didn’t even give you yours. just held it in one hand and reached for your wrist with the other, tugging gently like he was leading a child through traffic. your breath hitched.

don’t worry, he whispered low, only for you. i don’t snore.

your knees nearly gave out.

the hotel room door clicked shut behind you with a soft finality. you stood frozen near the entrance, arms tight over your chest, suitcase still in hand. everything felt a little too quiet. a little too still.

the room was bigger than you expected luxurious in a way that didn’t feel meant for students. polished wood floors, a king-sized bed with a tall headboard and crisp white sheets, gold lamps glowing warm on each side, casting light that made the shadows stretch long. there was only one bed.

you stared at it too long.

he noticed.

looks like they forgot to give us two, he said casually, not even surprised. he rolled up his sleeves with slow fingers, loosened his tie and tugged it from his neck like he’d done it a hundred times before.

probably some kind of mix-up with the school. they’re always disorganized with this stuff.

you swallowed. your throat felt dry.

he turned back toward you, voice warm. you don’t mind sharing the bed with this old man, do you? it’s just one night.

you opened your mouth. closed it. shook your head.

no… it’s fine professor.

he smiled, soft.

good. you’re like my daughter, anyway.

your stomach twisted.

you didn’t say anything as he took your suitcase from your hand without asking, set it beside his, already resting near the bed like it had always belonged there. the two bags looked strange next to each other. intimate. like a couple’s.

you stood there while he moved through the room with ease, kicking off his shoes by the armchair, stretching like he was home. like this was normal.

then he picked up the hotel phone and called room service.

he didn’t ask what you wanted.

for her? something soft. salmon. jasmine rice. tea. nothing spicy.

your eyes snapped to him. his were already on you.

just something sweet and easy, he added, like he knew you better than you knew

yourself.

you nodded, too afraid to speak. your voice felt buried.

when the food arrived, he set it on the table and pulled the chair out for you. you sat.

legs crossed tight beneath the hem of your school-issued skirt, and picked slowly at the plate while he poured your tea.

you keeping up okay in class?

he asked, tone light.

yes, you whispered.

anyone giving you trouble?

you shook your head.

he sipped his own tea and leaned back slightly, watching you. the silence stretched.

you’re quiet,

he said.

always have been. the kind of girl no one notices unless they’re really looking.

you didn’t know if that was meant to make you feel safe or exposed.

you nodded again, forcing another bite of fish into your mouth.

his phone buzzed. he reached for it, glanced at the screen, and his face barely shifted but you saw it.

a small tightness in his jaw. he turned it around and showed you without a word. a picture. a little boy sitting in his lap, smiling up at him. a woman behind them, pretty, poised, hand resting on his shoulder.

my family, he said. no emotion in his voice. just fact.

they’re… cute, you offered, shy.

yeah, he said, already locking the phone and setting it face-down.

after you finished eating , he sat down in the armchair again, legs wide, thighs stretching the fabric of his dark slacks. he patted one.

c’mere. i’ll show you more pictures if you want.

you hesitated.

don’t act like we haven’t done this before, he said gently. come on, sweetheart. it’s just us.

your body moved before your brain caught up. you sat carefully across his lap, thighs draped over his, heart pounding in your chest like a small animal trying to escape.

he pulled you close. one arm behind your back. his phone in the other. photos flipped by birthday parties. vacations. family dinners.

and then his hand moved. not suddenly. not obviously. but slow. casual. it rested on your thigh, just above your knee. warm. wide. like it belonged there.

you squirmed.

he didn’t stop.

he swiped through another picture. his thumb rubbed slow circles into your skin.

you’ve grown a lot this year, he said quietly. filled out in places. you’re becoming a woman.

you tried to pull your skirt lower.

professor…

he kissed your cheek.

it’s okay. you’re like my daughter. this is just affection.

his hand slid higher.

you pushed it gently.

don’t be nervous, he murmured.

i just want to make sure you’re okay.

you sat still, heart pounding, thighs trembling over the stretch of his thick one. he’d pulled you into his lap again like it was normal, like the hotel room hadn’t gone too quiet, like dinner hadn’t already gone cold on the tray. the lights were dim now, golden and low. his hand rested over your stomach, the other between your thighs. not groping. just… resting.

he rocked you gently, side to side. you didn’t know why he did that. it felt like something a dad would do to calm a baby. but your pulse was racing, and your body felt so strange hot, stiff, twitching in ways you didn’t understand.

professor… your voice was small. you felt it tremble.

he hummed against your hair. mm?

why’re you… touching me like this… you asked, confused and breathy. it feels… weird…

that’s because you’ve never been touched properly before, he murmured, hand sliding slightly lower, grazing the soft curve of your inner thigh. your body doesn’t know what it wants yet. but i do.

you shifted, uncomfortable. the movement made his thigh brush directly against your pussy again and your breath hitched.

it’s okay, he said softly. you can feel that, can’t you?

feel what…?

the heat. his fingers brushed between your legs, right over your panties. right here. this part’s all wet now. that’s your body’s way of asking for help. and i’m going to help you.

but.. i don’t understand, you whispered, squirming in his lap. it’s not… i didn’t do anything..

you didn’t have to, he said, kissing your temple. your body reacts to me even when you don’t mean to. that’s what makes you different from those other girls.

you blinked. what girls…?

the ones who chase boys and drinks at dorm parties, he said, rubbing soft circles into your clothed slit. they think they’re grown. think they’re in control. but not you.

your eyes stung. you shook your head softly.

i don’t… i don’t party, you whispered.

you don’t even let boys touch you, do you?

n-no… never.

his hand pressed a little harder.

have you ever let anyone see this? he asked gently. right here?

you swallowed thickly, shaking your head again.

no. i never… no one’s ever…

do you even know what a cock looks like, sweetheart?

your whole face burned. i mean… no! not really. i’ve seen it in biology but not in real life.

no…

he smiled. god, he was so calm. so smug. like this was a lesson he’d taught a you.

that’s good, he said. i like that. means i get to be the first one to show you everything.

you looked down, still confused. but why… me? why’re you doing this…

he lifted your chin and looked you in the eyes.

because you’re the only one who still has something worth touching.

and then his hand slipped past the side of your panties hot fingers grazing your folds gently, slowly, carefully.

you gasped.

professor..

shh, he whispered, rocking you again. this is just a lesson. now tell me the truth…

his fingers rubbed delicately up and down your slit.

have you ever touched yourself here before?

you whimpered, eyes wide.

i… i tried once… but i didn’t know what to do… i stopped… my fingers hurts my pussy..

that’s because no one ever taught you, he said. and now i will.

your breath hitched hard when his fingers slid deeper, just barely spreading your soft, soaked folds open under the cotton of your panties. your whole body jerked, thighs twitching, lips parting but no sound came out at first. and then, like something cracked inside you, your face crumpled.

professor…

his fingers paused instantly.

what is it, baby?

your hands curled into his shirt, face twisting, eyes filling fast.

i-it feels so weird… it’s t-tingly and i— you whimpered, cheeks wet, i think i need to… pee or something…

you tried to close your thighs. tried to squirm away. but his arms held you tighter, locking you into his lap like you were made to stay there. he pressed a kiss to the side of your face, slow and gentle and warm like he wasn’t doing anything wrong at all.

shhh… no, no, sweetheart. you’re not gonna pee.

he whispered, brushing your hair back as your tears slipped down.

that’s just your little body not knowing what to do. it’s okay. it’s good. it means you’re feeling it right.

b-but professor, why’re you touching me there, you cried softly. i-it’s private…

he didn’t stop rocking you, just pressed his palm deeper against your soaked panties again and rubbing it.

it is private, he murmured, kissing your cheek. but you needed help. and no one else was going to teach you the right way. only me.

you whimpered, hips jerking forward without meaning to. the heat was unbearable. and the shame stung just as badly.

but you’re my teacher…

i know, he whispered. and that’s why it’s okay.

your eyes widened.

what…?

because sweetheart, he said, rubbing you slower now, lips brushing your temple. i see how soft you are in class. how shy. no one else notices. but i do. and that means i’m the only one who gets to help you.

you sobbed again, barely able to sit still, your hips sliding forward with every desperate rock of his thigh.

i don’t wanna be weird… i’m not like those other girls you said…

you’re not, he breathed. you’re better. softer. cuter. you don’t chase boys.

you don’t pretend to be grown. you just sit there with your pretty little skirts and keep everything bottled up, like your body’s too good for this world.

you hiccuped, voice cracking.

d-does your wife pussy pee like this…?

the question came out in a whisper. like something you shouldn’t have asked.

he went quiet for a beat. the movement slowed.

then his mouth dipped to your ear.

no, he said flatly.

his hand cupped your pussy again, rubbing the wet fabric in slow, grinding motions.

she’s old now. bitter. independent. thinks she knows everything. never cries for me like you do.

you blinked tears down your cheeks.

i’m not trying to cry..—

but i love it, he said. i love how overwhelmed you get. how honest you are when you’re like this.

his fingers slid under your panties fully this time, parting your slick folds with a quiet squelch that made your entire body tense.

you’re so sweet down here, he whispered. so soft. you’re leaking all over me, baby. it’s okay. let it happen.

but i-i don’t know why i feel like this, you whispered, trembling.

because you’re finally safe, he said, kissing your cheek, rubbing slow, deep circles into your pussy now. parting your wet lips with his thick fingers exposing your soaked twitching hole.

his thigh was so warm, and everything felt slippery between your legs. you didn’t even know when your panties got this wet. your whole body trembled against him, tucked into his lap like you were part of him now his hands guiding your hips in soft, humiliating little rocks while he whispered so gently into your ear, like this was all just... educational.

feel that, baby?

he murmured, hand slipping lower again to press between your legs,

cupping you through the soaked cotton.

you’ve been dripping since dinner.

i-it’s not my fault..

you whispered, voice cracking, tears brimming.

i don’t know why it’s happening...

he hummed, rubbing slow lazy circles over your pussy with two fingers.

because your body knows what it needs. even if your brain’s still trying to catch up.

your lip quivered. your thighs twitched. the damp heat had gotten unbearable.

but professor… this place… it’s gross and private. isn’t it wrong?

his voice honey-sweet.

it is private. that’s why it’s mine now. only someone who really cares should ever touch you here. and i care more than anyone ever could.

you whimpered, tears falling.

i don’t understand why it feels like this,

you sniffled.

i-it’s like… hot. and i get this.. tingly squeeze inside. like i’m gonna pee..—

oh, baby.

he whispered with a soft laugh.

you’re not gonna pee. that’s your little pussy trying to cum. it just doesn’t know how yet.

you shook your head.

i-i’ve never done that before. i never touched it like that. i didn’t know it could do that…

i know,

he said, rocking you a little rougher now.

you need me to teach you everything, don’t you?

yeah…

good girl. then let’s start with the basics. say the word.. 'cock.'

your eyes went wide.

i don’t want to..-

his fingers dipped just beneath your panties, grazing your soaked slit.

say it.

you swallowed hard, squirming.

..cock.

he groaned softly into your hair.

that’s it. again.

‘cock.’

you repeated again, blushing.

mmh. now say, 'i’m wet.'

your voice cracked.

i’m wet…

he licked his lips, dragging his fingers up and down your folds, so slow you thought you’d break apart.

say, 'touch me here.'

t-touch me… here…

good girl,

he growled.

you’re so fucking sweet.

you gasped as he unbuckled his belt behind you. your body froze. your heart skipped.

what are you doing…?

relax. he breathed, stroking himself now behind your back. i’m not gonna do anything to you. just sit right there sweetheart.

you flinched when something heavy and hot pressed against your thigh. you looked down. your breath caught.

what is that..—?

you whispered, panicked.

why is it so… big?

he chuckled darkly, wrapping one arm tight around your belly.

that’s my cock, baby. the thing your little body keeps reacting to. it’s big because you’re small. because you’re made to sit right here and take care of it just like this.

your eyes filled again.

it’s scary…

shhh, i know, baby. i know it looks scary. but it’s not for hurting you. it’s just for making you feel good.

he moaned, stroking himself faster now, grinding your soaked pussy down harder onto his thigh. you’re perfect, baby. so soft. so sweet. say it again.

professor c-cock… i’m wet… touch me here…

his whole body shuddered behind you. you could feel the heat spurt across your leg,

thick and wet and terrifying. he groaned deep, squeezing your belly tight, panting against your ear.

see what you do to me, baby? just by sitting there leaking like that… fuck.

you looked down at the mess between your thighs.

you were still tingling. still hot. still wet. your thighs were sticky where your panties clung, and your tummy felt tight in a way you didn’t know how to soothe. he’d told you to rest. to go lay down.

to be his good girl and not touch anything but how could you?

not after what he did to you.

you were on the bed, curled up in your thin little pajama set shorts too small, top riding up your soft belly, clutching your stuffed bunny with your cheek pressed to the sheets. your eyes kept drifting to the light under the bathroom door.

you heard the shower.

your thighs pressed together again. he was in there. naked. touching himself maybe. you weren’t sure what men did when they showered. but you knew what you saw earlier the thick, scary thing that had rubbed against your leg. it looked swollen. heavy. too veiny. and it made your whole body squeeze up with confusion and need. your bare feet padded across the carpet before you even realized it. bunny still in your arms, you crept closer to the door, the quiet hiss of water growing louder. and then you peeked. your breath hitched.

he was there back turned, broad shoulders glistening. his hips rocked under the spray.and between his thighs… it hung so long. thick. heavy. wet and twitching slightly. your whole body locked up. you didn’t even notice the sound you made.

his head turned.

his voice was sharp.

what are you doing?

you flinched, hugging your plush tighter.

i-i was just… looking…

you whispered, shrinking in the doorway.

he stepped out of the shower slowly, water trailing down his chest, down to his hips, down to the terrifying length between his legs.

his brows furrowed.

i told you to be in bed.

you whispered

i was.. but i couldn’t stop thinking about it…

he paused.

about what?

your eyes dropped.

your… your manly big thing.

he blinked. then he laughed.

this?

he asked, wrapping his big hand lazily around it, giving it one slow stroke.

it scared you?

you nodded fast, lip trembling.

it’s so ugly… and… veiny… and hairy… and it looks like it’s in pain or something…

he stepped closer, cock still hanging, still so heavy. your eyes widened.

it’s not in pain, babygirl.

he said gently.

it just gets like this when it needs attention. and yours made it like this, remember?

you squirmed in place, thighs rubbing together again.

i didn’t mean to…

he crouched in front of you, still naked, stroking it idly with one hand.

i know, sweetheart. but it’s part of being close. bonding.

bonding? you repeated, voice unsure.

mhm, he smiled. girls your age bond with their daddy’s big cock when they don’t have anyone else to teach them.

but… what is it?

you asked, voice soft.

what does it do?

he leaned closer, rubbing the tip against your center pajama shorts, right where you were still damp.

it makes you feel good. it helps when that little place between your legs gets too full. like earlier. you felt better when i touched you there, didn’t you?

you nodded slowly.

but… it looks like it wouldn’t even fit… anywhere…

he smiled wider.

that’s why we start small. we’ll get you used to it, baby. don’t be scared. it loves you already. can’t you see how hard it gets when you’re near?

he gave it another slow stroke, and you couldn’t look away. it twitched again. your whole body ached.

you’ll learn to love it too. he murmured. you’ll see. soon you’ll be begging me to let it kiss your little pussy. and when you’re ready, we’ll make it yours forever.

you whimpered, hugging your bunny tighter.

do i have to? he kissed your forehead, thick cock still brushing your thighs.

you couldn’t stop looking at it.

he stood there, still wet from the shower, his thick cock hanging heavy between his legs, twitching every few seconds like it had a mind of its own. it scared you. made your stomach twist and your thighs press together all over again.

you hugged your bunny tighter.

it’s still twitching… you whispered.

toji chuckled, slow and dark.

yeah, babygirl. because you’re still here.

your face burned.

do you… want to say hi to it?

you blinked.

what?

he stepped closer, his cock brushing your leg again. he likes you. i think he wants you to touch him.

but it’s not a person… you murmured, confused.

he’s not, toji said gently. but he reacts like one. look how hard he gets when you’re near. look how red and swollen his head is. that’s all for you, baby.

you looked down, trembling. it was huge. the tip shiny and flushed, leaking a little bead

that dripped slowly.

i don’t know how to touch it… what if i do it wrong…?

toji smiled.

you won’t. just pet it a little. like you do with your bunny..

your hand moved slow. so slow. your fingers brushed the side of the shaft, and toji hissed between his teeth.

fuck… see? he likes you already.

it’s… hard. but soft… you said, voice cracking. and warm…

he loves your hands, toji whispered, wrapping his own big hand over yours and helping you stroke down.

you’re the first person he’s wanted in years.

but why does it feel like it’s… pulsing?

because he’s excited. because you’re so pretty and soft and sweet. he knows you’re made for him.

you whimpered as your fingers closed around it shakily, barely able to hold half its thickness.

it’s so big… he won’t fit anywhere…

toji kissed your cheek.

not yet. but one day he’ll fit perfectly. your pussy’s still too small. but he’s patient.

your eyes were still wide. your thighs rubbed together from the pressure building again.

do you want to kiss him?

you froze.

w-what…?

just a little kiss. right here.

he stroked the leaking tip, smearing it with his thumb.

give him some love babygirl.

you shook your head fast.

b-but it’s… it smells weird… and sticky…

that’s just because he’s happy,

toji whispered.

he needs to bond with you. just like you bond with your bunny when you sleep with it.

but he’s not soft like bunny… he’s scary…

toji cupped your chin and gently guided your head down, cock pressed against your cheek now, hot and veiny and twitching.

just a kiss, baby. just a little one on the tip.

you whimpered again, mouth trembling.

i… okay…

you leaned down and pressed your lips to the flushed head. toji groaned loud, his hand tightening in your hair.

fuck, baby… you’re perfect.

you pulled back quickly, eyes watery.

he stroked your hair, breathing hard.

you were still on your knees.

the bathroom tiles felt cold under your thighs, and the smell of his skin clean but earthy, musky, older was thick in the steam around you. toji stood in front of you, cock heavy and hard, veins raised like it was angry. your bunny was clutched to your chest

still, squished between your arms and your trembling body.

now babygirl just a few licks with your sweet tongue.

he murmured, stroking himself slowly.

like ice cream. start from the base. all the way up.

your nose wrinkled. your eyes stayed wide, glassy.

i don’t wanna. it smells weird… and it’s hairy…

he laughed, low and deep.

of course it’s hairy, baby. i’m a man. not some pretty little boy from your books.

your gaze dropped again, shame pulsing between your legs. it was huge. thicker than your wrist. flushed and leaking and terrifying.

why’s it so veiny?

because it’s real. strong. and hard for you.

he took a step closer. his thighs flexed. you saw the way his abs weren’t cut, but thick. his stomach had a softness to it, a grown man’s stomach not flat, but firm. his arms were thick and veined, and his chest

had a scar down the side. older. rougher. experienced.

you’ve never seen a body like mine, huh?

you shook your head quickly.

n-no..

he cupped your jaw. tilted your face up.

that’s why you’re lucky. you get to learn with a real man who knows what he’s doing. not some awkward boy.

you squirmed. the tip of his cock rubbing your cheek again.

i’ll be gentle, baby. just one lick. come on… just like ice cream.

you pressed your lips together.

but i don’t want to… it’s… gross…

his hand moved from your jaw to your hair. stroked it softly. then he leaned down, whispering, and i didn’t want to get hard over my sweet little student. but here we are.

you blinked.

you did this,

he murmured.

you made it ache. now you have to help me feel better.

but…

he stroked your hair again, voice like honey.

you’ll feel better too. you’ll see. you’ll feel strong. grown. bonded. and i’ll be so proud of you. don’t you want me to say you did good?

you whimpered, lips parting slowly. he took your hand and wrapped it around the base again. your tiny fingers looked laughable against the girth.

now lick, baby. from the bottom.

your tongue came out. shaky. trembling. the first lick dragged slow along a vein that pulsed against it. you nearly gagged from the taste.

but i can’t…

you can, he whispered. you already are.

he held his cock with one hand, angled it up, and guided you to the leaking tip.

kiss the top again. let him know you’re not mad.

you kissed it. this time wetter. more open.

good girl, he growled. he loves your sweet mouth already.

your body burned. your panties were soaked. your hand was still around him, and your

tongue still trembled against the underside of his shaft.

you didn’t know how long you’d been like that on your knees, throat stretched, lips swollen and trembling around something too big, too hot, too wrong.

he hadn’t stopped. not when you gagged. not when your eyes welled up. not when your nose ran and the salty taste filled your mouth until you didn’t know if you could breathe anymore.

toji was patient. quiet. calm.

like this wasn’t inappropriate.

like he wasn’t your teacher.

you’re doing so well,

he whispered, his hand resting heavy on the back of your head gripping your hair.

guiding you down to the base.

he loves you already, you know that? he’s been waitin’ for you.

your knees burned. your bunny had slipped out of your arms, forgotten in the corner of the steamed-up bathroom. you were dizzy. your jaw ached. spit and precum clung to your chin in wet strands.

this isn’t wrong,

he murmured.

it’s necessary. you’re learning. bonding. this is what happens when a girl’s body starts asking questions. i’m just answering them the only way i can.

you whimpered around him, trying to nod, trying not to choke again. his cock twitched. he groaned softly.

fuck… that’s it, baby. almost there… just hold him a little longer…

he pressed deeper.

your throat squeezed. your chest shuddered.

your eyes blurred.

then he came. thick, hot, punishing pulses flooding your mouth, spilling across your tongue, sliding

down your throat before you could stop it. your body flinched, but he held you close, rubbing your back with one hand while his cock pulsed against your tongue.

shh… it’s okay. he needed to be close to you. he needed to know you accept him.

you couldn’t speak. couldn’t think.

you were still crying.

he pulled out slow, letting his softening length fall against your wet lips as your tears dripped down your chin and onto the tile below.

good girl.

he whispered, crouching down to gather you into his thick arms.

you didn’t resist.

your body folded into him, limp, shaking, soaked.

he carried you out of the bathroom like something fragile and ruined, whispering soft praises the whole time.

you did so good… took me so well… just like i knew you would…

he laid you down on the bed, tucked the blanket around you like nothing had happened.

your plushie bunny was pressed back into your arms, your body still trembling under the heat of shame and the ache between your thighs.

and then he crawled in beside you, propped up on one elbow, stroking your hair.

he misses your mouth already.

you looked up at him, dazed.

he sleeps best in it. and you… you sleep best with him.

he moved your head gently into his lap. you didn’t fight. your lips parted on instinct.

he placed the weight of his cock back between your lips, soft now. warm. familiar.

you closed your mouth around it slowly. your eyes fluttered shut. and tears kept falling.

shh… he whispered, stroking your cheek. this is how good girls rest.

you fell asleep like that.

his cock in your mouth.

his hand in your hair.

his lies buried deeper than anything else inside you…

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ thank you for reading my twisted little piece of fiction. this story is dark, filthy, and deeply personal🖤

so if you made it all the way through, i appreciate u more than you know. ur reblogs, comments, and thirst keep me going. stay dirty, stay curious, and stay safe🖤

onlypinkslut

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. II

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

part one

warnings: heavily implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), smut, oral fem!receiving, nervous but enthusiastically consenting reader

You’d tried to calm your nerves but they couldn’t be helped.

You’re anxious about everything, all of it. What he wants you to do, what he’s expecting you do, whether it’ll hurt, whether you’re ready.

You think you trust Bruce, but you also know that these things are different for men and women. You don’t necessarily expect that he’ll have a mind for what you’ll need, but honestly, neither do you. You don’t know what to do to make this easier for yourself—you don’t know what to do at all. 

You bought the lingerie, you’ve got it on under your clothes and it feels like a costume. You can’t tell if that aids or worsens the anxiety. 

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and you wish you could quit it, you’re radiating enough nervous energy as it is, you don’t need to be sending him visual cues on top of it. 

Bruce holds your free hand in his as he guides you through the manor, you think it’s a different section than you’ve seen before. His hand engulfs yours unfairly as he leads, but the touch of his skin is so warm and inviting that you can’t tell if your hand is still shaking under it. If it is, he pretends not to notice.

He guides you up the stairs and into a corridor and then another before you arrive at a set of double doors. You’ve never seen double doors on the inside of a house before.

He lets you in ahead of him, and you have a distinct thought that you’re glad he can’t see the look of awe on your face as you walk in. His bedroom has an entire living room inside of it, and altogether it’s bigger than your whole apartment. A maroon couch and matching chairs surround a grand fireplace at the front of the room and the resulting glow from the active embers has the area shrouded in a warm light ahead of the shadows filling the rest.

You glance past the seating at his bed; large and proud. It’s definitely bigger than a king sized, with an overhead canopy and streams of dark burgundy curtains draping down from the corners. There’s another set of closed double doors past the bed, you imagine leading to the bathroom.

The end of the room displays a large window seat that looks like it’s never been used, and vast tinted windows. You look up to find the ceiling higher than you’ve ever seen in a bedroom with a very expensive chandelier hanging over it all.

He takes your arm, steering you out of your wonderment and leads you towards the couch rather than the bed, gesturing for you to sit down with him. You do, quietly glad when he positions himself so that you’re close to each other but not pressed right up against you. He’s able to relax his body more than you’re able to fake it on yourself, and you think your thoughts must be vibrating out of you by now.    

One hand comes to rest on your thigh as his other nudges your cheek towards him. “Hey, nothing’s happening right now. No need to be nervous.”

You nod blankly, but your thoughts are running wild with everything that you very much are nervous about.

He takes your hand in his, rubbing circles with his thumb. 

“You’ve got to relax,” he coos, “Remember what I said?”

You take a breath, “You’re not going to throw me in the deep end.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Just wanna make you feel good, right?”

You nod, easing your posture.

He looks you in the eye, “You gonna let me?”

You hum, nodding again.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pulling away.

You quickly find that the distance is not at all what you want, and you decide to push forward—as forward as you can—sitting up again to peel your jacket off. He watches you move with a look in his eyes, you take it for intrigue but it may just as well be something akin to pride. Pride in you? He’s openly flirted, kissed you, and straight up propositioned you for sex—but sure, he’s proud of you for taking your jacket off.

Your nerves transition into insecurity before you can catch them, and you’re starting to feel a little stupid, like a child playing pretend.

You watch tentatively as he tilts his head at you, running his own assessments of your actions. 

“Will you come sit on my lap?” he asks you after a moment. 

You suddenly become acutely aware of the amount of air in your lungs. This feels like a big request and you’re not even sure how to take his meaning. Does he want you to sit sideways? Your back to his front? Or fully straddle him? 

He wants whatever you want, he’d said. What do you want?

You glance down at his thighs, covered by fabric more expensive than you can imagine. Positive confirmation rings through your head immediately, willing you to push yourself forward a little more. 

You reposition yourself over him, straddling his lap in spite of your nerves.

Again, he looks pleased. Happy even. One of his hands comes to stroke soothing patterns across your lower back, the other resting on your waist. 

He makes sure to catch your gaze, “You’ll tell me if you want to stop.” 

He follows when your eyes stray, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

He places a tender kiss on your cheekbone, “How did shopping go?”

“Um, good. It was good. One of the sales girls helped me,” your breath is shaky as he kisses your jawline.

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I, uh, I just went to this little boutique up on third street,” he places another kiss on the column of your throat as you talk. “Um, it took longer than I thought it would. There were so many choices.”

His hands come up to soothe over your ribs, pulling you a little closer as they do. He hums for you to keep talking, his kisses continuing to lower until they’re down to your collarbone, though they remain relatively chaste.

“I—I didn’t really know what to look for,” you admit, breath shaky as you exhale. 

“But you like it?”

“Yeah, I—I do.”

He hums, smiling against your skin. His fingers inch under the seam of your shirt, caressing your waist. “Can I take this off?”

You nod timidly, trying not to seem so on edge with anticipation. You’re not confident that he can’t see right through you.  

He presses another chaste kiss to your neck upon receival of the permission, and your shirt begins to come off slowly, his hands skimming every new bit of skin revealed. As he pulls it over your head, he glances down at the baby pink bralette you’d picked out for yourself.

He groans quietly as he takes in the sight, “Oh, pretty girl. Beautiful girl,” He noses at your chest, leaving little kisses where his lips make contact with your skin, “Look at you. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your stomach flutters as his hair tickles your cheek. His hands roam up your sides, stopping to stroke placid circles along the sides of your breasts.

His touch makes its way around your back, expertly undoing your bra clasp without a second thought. Your bra hangs forward a bit off your shoulders, but he leaves the work of entirely removing it to you. And you do, with more confidence than you’d imagined yourself mustering.

He immediately shows his appreciation, kissing and caressing your chest with lover-like admiration. Your head falls back involuntarily as he noses at your soft skin.

He’s breathing heavy when he pulls back, humming low and deep before lifting you up off his lap to stand. The sudden shift has you a bit thrown off, working to catch up as he kneels down in front of you and repeats his earlier process with your skirt—kissing your thighs and tugging the fabric down bit by bit.

When it’s discarded on the floor you stand only left in your underwear, the lace practically illuminated against your skin.

He looks up at you from his place on the floor and smiles as he takes in the sight of your body. His hands find your hips as he asks you, “Has anyone ever seen you like this before?”

You hesitate for half a second before answering truthfully.

His smile grows, “No, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s nodding, “Yeah, I know.”

As he rises to stand he scoops you up by the back of your thighs and lifts you in the air with no discernable effort. Now at face level with him, you get a bit bolder and lean in to kiss him. He kisses you back, pleased, beginning to walk the two of you over towards the bed.

He sets you down gently atop the soft mattress, kisses pushing you backwards to lie back on the bed. He scoops your wrists up and leisurely moves your arms up above your head. His grip is benign as he releases one hand in favor of holding your jaw. Your kiss is deep and controlled on his part, but in a way that makes you feel light in the head. You like the cloudy-sensation very much.

After a while, he pulls back to look at you with clouded eyes. 

He practically purrs, “You’re such a kind girl. So sweet to everyone, all the time. Will you let me be sweet to you?”

Your breath is shaky as you nod, attempts at hiding your anticipation failing.

He nods back at you with a faux-sympathy across his face. “Let me hear you say it.”

You force air into your lungs, giving you the willpower to speak the words. “Will you touch me? Please?”

The corners of his lips turn up, “Of course, sweet girl.”

He nips at your jaw as his hands travel down, petting the inside of your thighs with a touch so feather light it almost tickles.

Your knee jerks inward towards his hand, your body desperately seeking out more of this new sensation. He obliges, tracing his touch back up, up, up until his hand dips under the lace trim of your panties, skimming over your clit. Your hips flinch back away from him momentarily in surprise, only to press back forward a second later.

He actually laughs at the action, like it’s endearing. You feel a little silly for it, but you’re not given much time to dwell as he persists, brushing against you with a bit more pressure.

He tilts his head, watching your expression carefully with a remarkably pleased look on his own face. “How’s that, sweet girl?”

You nod, beside yourself. “Feels good,” you whimper. “Feels really good..”

You don’t necessarily mean to, but your hips grind up against his touch, your body too mesmerized with the sensation to remember to be embarrassed.

He’s certainly not complaining about it though, his quiet coos encouraging you to chase the feeling. 

He lets you grind up against his hand, taking in the needy look on your face with contentment.

“Poor girl,” he tuts. “Just need somebody to take care of you, huh?”

That makes your cheeks burn, but your attention finds itself more concerned with the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

You whine when he pulls his hand back out of your underwear, only for him to stand resolute in his actions. 

“Not yet, sweet thing,” he hums, pressing you back down to the bed with a light but firm touch when you try to sit up. 

He hushes you gently, murmuring for you to be patient as he shifts his position over you. 

He starts to move down your body, leaving kisses in his wake. The sensation of his lips tracing down your stomach has you feeling butterflies.

By the time he reaches your waistline you’re borderline dizzy from the anticipation, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache.

He pauses there for a moment, torturously, and noses at the seam of your panties. A whine from you has him chuckling and finally moving to where you need him.

He kisses your clit over your underwear and you’re fighting thoughts of embarrassment over how sure you are he can taste how wet you are over the fabric.

It doesn’t seem to be enough for him though, as he tugs your panties down slowly, kissing your thighs as he goes.

Bruce’s hands hold onto your waist as he eats you out, holding you in place with an easy grip. 

You squirm against the feel of his tongue and you can’t quite figure out what to do with your hands. You almost wish he’d made you keep them above your head but really you’re not sure you’d be able to keep it together if he had. You’re not sure you’re keeping it together now.

He groans against your pussy, and one of your hands flies to grip his hair without permission from your brain. If you’re being honest with yourself though, your brain isn’t really the one calling the shots anymore.

You gasp when he licks a bold stripe, “Bruce—”

He groans again, briefly breaking away from you. “Oh, say that again.”

You sigh out, “Bruce, please.” 

He makes a pleased hum. “Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in. 

He complies with your pleas generously, giving you more. He’s gradual but resolute as he inserts two fingers into you, giving you the time to adjust. But he’d evidently done a very thorough job prepping you for it, you’re so wet that the initial entry doesn’t sting like you’d expected. No, rather the first thing you register is closer to pleasure. A lot closer.

He begins to pump in and out of you at he continues to suck at your clit, and somewhere during you have a distinct thought of “oh this is it.”

You let out a little gasp and for once, you break out of your own head and just relish in the way his fingers curl inside you.

The way your thighs squeeze around him as you come, doesn’t hinder him one bit, only has him applying his ministrations with more intent. It doesn’t take long for the trembling of your body to give way to full on shaking, your body stuttering beneath him.

He continues working at you the entire way through your orgasm, until you’re flinching from overstimulation. 

He gives you one more lick before looking up at you with hooded eyes. “Y’taste sweet too, you know that?”

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he starts to move back up to face-level, kissing the high point of your cheekbone.  

He pulls down on your bottom lip, your slick wet against your mouth.

You open without question, a clouding urge to please him the only thing running through your mind. 

He grumbles a low, pleased sound as you do, moving his hand only to provide room for him to kiss you again.

He sits back up over you and starts unbuttoning his shirt and you realize only now that he’s still fully dressed. 

He glances down to his belt as he undoes the buttons. 

“Will you help me out, sweet girl?”

You blink a couple times before registering the request, still overwhelmed by how quickly and skillfully he’d made you come. 

You struggle a bit to push yourself up into a sitting position, but he supports you by your waist, nipping along your jaw as encouragement.

Your hands shake as you undo the clasp, and while you’re still very much eager, if not moreso, you’re suddenly confronted with the very real possibility that you’re about to have your limits pushed. He ate you out and did a damn good job, stands to reason that he’d want you to return the favor.

So it takes you by surprise when he’s nudging you back against the pillows, removing his pants himself.

He keeps you occupied with an intense kiss as he does, and the distraction so smooth it’s almost like it’s rehearsed. 

You follow his lead easily, though surprised by his lack of desire to get his fill too.

He drapes himself over you nicely, his size easily dwarfing you out. He’s quick to block your chin from tilting down, gently bringing your face back up to meet his. 

He shakes his head lightly, murmuring, “Don’t worry about that. I got you.”

You are worried about it, but you trust Bruce, you know you do now.

You feel the weight of his cock against your stomach, at this exact moment, feeling like not much more than a daunting task.

“S’alright, sweet girl,” he lulls, brushing your hair back. “Okay?”

As heavy as the simple question is, you don’t need to think about it before you’re nodding and moving your hand to hold onto his bicep.

He peppers kisses all over your face as he starts to push in, effectively starting to distract you from the pain of the stretch. He hushes your whines soothingly and kneads at your waist with confident hands.

Your arms lock around his shoulders on instinct, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to convince yourself he’s almost all the way in, but you know you’ve got aways to go.

He pauses halfway, imploring you to open your eyes so he can check up on you properly.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he softly urges.

You will yourself to blink up at him and try to take on the challenge of both him and his gaze. Surely, an impossible task.

But you manage shaky eye contact that occasionally gives way to glancing down at his lips. 

It doesn’t feel good yet, but it only makes you more eager to keep going.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a breath. “You can keep going.”

He waits to find that reassurance in your eyes before he continues to push in, bestowing you a deep kiss in reward for your bravery.

Once he’s nearly bottomed out he waits a moment, then begins to rock in and out slowly, letting you get used to a starter of the sensation.

He brushes your hair back, weaving through the strands. “There we go,” he coos as you look down between you. “Doing so good.”

Your gasp is louder than they had been before, and closer to a sigh now. 

He’s fucking you gently, with a decorum that exceeds what you’d earlier told yourself you were stupid for hoping for.

It doesn’t take long at all for his movement to start to feel really good and your grip around his shoulders comes around to a different kind of intensity.

He noses against your jaw, applying kisses whenever  convenient. “‘S that feel good, sweet girl? Hm?”

He hits a particularly deep spot in you immediately after and it makes you borderline squeak. He huffs out a laugh that’s nothing short of affectionate. 

“Yeah?”

He then attacks that spot with extra intention, hitting it absolutely expertly every time. He speeds up a little, lips latched onto your neck as he fucks you nice and deep.

He drops a hand down between you and starts rubbing circles onto your clit with a pace that makes you want to scream.

You can’t help the moan you release when he teeths at your neck, clearly aiming to drive you crazy. But damn if he isn’t going about it the right way.

His circles pick up pace and you can be sure you’re leaving nail marks on his back. He seems to only get more encouraged by your sounds, working you closer and closer to the edge with every whimper.

He finally lets you over after a minute of shamelessly relishing in your moans, himself following close after.

He continues moving in and out of you until you’ve both completely finished, slowly coming to a stop. 

You get a moment to catch your breath before he pulls out delicately. You don’t even realize he’s moved before he’s got his boxers back on and is halfway to the bathroom.

You’re a little alarmed by the sudden shift in proximity, though you guess that’s the playboy experience, isn’t it? After a second you hear water running and assume he’s taking a shower.

You push yourself to sit up fully, minding your achy thighs, and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You glance at the foot of the bed where your underwear lies, then back over by the couch where the rest of your clothes lay discarded. You briefly contemplate how quickly you can get your clothes back on when the bathroom doors open again.

You glance up at Bruce, dazed, who looks surprised himself to see you sitting up. As he makes his way back to the bed you notice the supplies he has in tow and your brain begins to slowly start turning its gears again.

You don’t realize the glass of water in his hand is for you until he’s pushed it into your palm. 

His other hand carries a wet wash cloth that you, again, aren’t able to register the purpose for until it’s in action. 

“Drink,” he tells you as he spreads your knees apart gently, wiping away the mess between your legs with a notable amount of compassion for your sensitivity.

You do, gulping a few as he finishes, tossing the rag in a hamper before setting your glass down on the side table.

Your eyes return to the end of the bed and you nearly decide to get up, but he’s still standing so close to you, you’re not sure this is the right time.

You seem caught halfway between decisions now, you know you do. You’d honestly preferred when you thought he’d just ditched you for a shower because at least then this part wouldn’t be so awkward.

He watches you closely as you deliberate and seems to draw a conclusion about your hesitation rather quickly. His brow pinches as he processes, tilting his head at you. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, bewildered. “Right?”

“I—” you falter, looking to the couch and back to him again. “No?”

He stares at you for a moment with an expression you can’t define.

“Lay down.”

You don’t have a second to process before he’s climbing back in bed too, pulling you down to lay your head on the pillow.

He pulls the covers over you and splays an arm over your waist, clearly firm in his decision for you to stay.

Your eyes are heavy and his bed is so comfortable, it’s difficult for you to even consider either of you wanting you to leave now.

Maybe you’ll just sleep for a little while, get some of your energy back. 

The way he traces soft patterns across your stomach certainly encourages the idea and doesn’t give you much power to resist.

You let your eyes flutter shut to the feather-light touch and listen to the steady deepness of his breaths.

Well, this isn’t so bad either.

🐲 reblogging is an ancient art form, only the strong may master it 🐲

[cinnxmxngxrl]

could you do something like joel’s love interest has strict parents and joel waits for her RELIGIOUSLY and proves to her that he’s a risk worth taking for but then the angst part is that the parents verbally and mentally abuse the reader into thinking joel will leave eventually but joel sees through her and offers her freedom by running away together. he gives her a life without fear❤️

“Run Away”

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist here

Summary: When your controlling and religious parents forbid you from being with Joel, he offers you the chance to run away with him.

WC: 5-6k

Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, dirty talk, fingering, virginity loss, praise kink, creampie, grinding, inexperienced reader, undisclosed age gap, emotional abuse, misogynistic comments, religious beliefs, controlling parents, no outbreak

You didn’t even know how you and Joel had become this—whatever this was.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen. Hadn’t even seen it coming. But now you couldn’t imagine your days without that invisible thread tying you to him, pulling you closer. It was terrifying. It was thrilling. It was the only thing that felt real.

Maybe it started months ago, when your parents hired him to fix a leak in the roof. A simple job. A stranger with a toolbox. But the way he looked at you—quiet, steady, like he already knew what you were hiding behind all that silence—set something off in your chest. The way he moved was deliberate, careful. Every swing of the hammer, every step on the roof—he did it like it mattered. Like he was trying to fix something more than just a leak.

It began with stolen glances. You’d bring him fresh, homemade lemonade after hours spent working beneath the brutal Texas sun. He’d smile, say thank you in that low Southern drawl that wrapped around your ribs like a rope. Another time, he’d cut his finger on a piece of jagged metal, and you’d rushed to help him, gently cleaning the wound with trembling hands and bandaging it while pretending not to notice the way his eyes never left your face.

At night, you’d lie in bed thinking about him. Thinking about the way sweat soaked his T-shirt, clinging to his broad chest and outlining every hard-earned muscle. The veins in his forearms. The callouses on his hands.

And God—his hands. So much bigger than yours. So rough. So capable. You imagined what those hands would feel like on you—rough against the softness of your thighs, warm against your bare skin. You pictured the way he might say your name, slow and deep, the way his eyes might darken if you touched him the way you wanted to

You didn’t quite understand what you were feeling at first. You’d never felt this way before. About anyone. Heat would pool low in your stomach. You’d press your thighs together, trying to relieve the ache, but it only made it worse. The slickness, the need—it terrified you.

Your parents would’ve gone ballistic if they ever found out the kind of thoughts you were having about him. Or any man, really. Because thoughts like that were sin. Especially for a girl.

Especially for you. The good daughter. The quiet one. The one who never talked back, never raised her voice, never strayed outside the lines they drew for you. You were meant to stay pure. Untouched. But every thought you had of Joel was a knife slicing through that expectation.

Your mother had caught you staring once—just standing by the window, watching Joel as he worked with sweat beading on his brow. There was something primal in it—watching a man work with his hands, muscles flexing beneath sun-warmed skin. It made your pulse stutter. Made your throat go dry.

“You wanna end up like your sister?” she hissed, voice full of disgust. “Pregnant and alone without a man because she couldn’t keep her legs closed?” She’d looked at you like you were something dirty. Something broken. “Go to your room. Now.”

The shame hit you like a slap. But beneath it, deeper still, was defiance. A flicker of something fierce. Because even if she saw filth in your desire, you’d never felt more alive than when Joel looked at you like you were something he wanted.

And so things stayed the same. For weeks.

You kept your head down. Pretended to be the obedient daughter they wanted. Pretended Joel wasn’t all you could think about.

Until one weekend, your parents left town. A rare thing. They were too overprotective to leave you alone often, but they trusted you. Thought you were too docile, too submissive to ever disobey.

That Saturday evening, there was a knock on your front door.

“Hey, m’sorry to bother you. I needed to pick up my toolbox before I leave,” Joel said, standing on the porch.

He was standing there, golden in the setting sun, hands shoved in his pockets like he wasn’t sure if he should be there—and all you could think was yes. Yes, please, come in. Stay. You’d let him in without hesitation. He walked through the house like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“So… I guess the job’s all done now,” you said quietly. There was a hint of sadness in your voice, something vulnerable. You’d enjoyed having him around. Just seeing him made your day better, made life feel like there might be something more beyond your parents’ rules.

Joel offered a polite smile. “All done. Roof’s fixed. Shouldn’t be givin’ y’all any more trouble.”

You hesitated, your heart thudding in your ears. Then, in a whisper, “I liked having you around.”

He paused, toolbox in hand.

“You, uh… thanks for the hospitality.”

He turned to leave.

“Joel, wait,” you blurted, stepping forward, your fingers twitching at your sides. “Please… stay. My parents are out and… I’d like some company.”

You didn’t know where the words came from. That shy, quiet girl who never spoke unless spoken to—she was gone. Replaced by someone bolder. Someone hungry. You were starving for connection. For warmth. For the one man who made you feel like you weren’t just a shadow in your own life. He looked at you like you mattered. Like you weren’t something to be scolded or hidden.

That night, Joel stayed. You watched a movie together, ordered food. Laughed. And when he finally stood to leave, he leaned down and kissed you. Soft. Gentle. But filled with tension—weeks of craving packed into one breathless moment.

His lips were dry and warm, hesitant at first—like he was waiting to see if you’d pull away. You didn’t. You leaned in. Melted. Every nerve in your body lit up like a struck match. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim. A confession. A promise.

It was your first real kiss. Not some silly little peck on the lips behind the church when you were eight that had you believing you were going straight to hell. This one meant something.

He kissed you like he wanted to fix every broken thing you never spoke about. And in that moment, you believed he could.

After that, Joel came whenever he could. Stolen moments while your father was at work and your mother was busy volunteering at church. Even if he could only stay for thirty minutes, he came. The drive from his place to yours took longer than the time you had together. But that never stopped him.

Every time he showed up, you felt like you could breathe again. Like you were alive. You counted the minutes together like treasure—every touch, every laugh, every brush of his hand against yours a kind of salvation.

He’d hold you close, bury his face in your hair, and inhale deeply—like your scent was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You loved how small you felt in his arms. How safe. Like nothing could touch you when he was there. He smelled like cedar and sweat, like hard work and comfort.

Sometimes he brought you sweets. The kind your parents never let you have. “Too many chemicals,” they said. Sometimes he’d take you for a ride in his truck, the windows rolled down, his hand resting on your thigh. Those touches were everything. Not sexual, just grounding. Reassuring. The weight of his hand on your leg told you: I’m here. You’re mine.

No matter what you did together, it always left you with that glow. That warmth that stayed long after he was gone. Like his touch lingered on your skin. Like his voice echoed in your chest.

But you felt guilty sometimes. You couldn’t offer him much. You couldn’t give Joel what he deserved. You couldn’t go with him on real dates, couldn’t sit across from him at a diner booth and laugh over milkshakes, couldn’t walk down the street with your fingers laced together in the open air like a normal couple.

You couldn’t even kiss him without glancing over your shoulder, checking the curtains, your breath hitching at the sound of every creak in the floorboards.

You wanted to show him off. You wanted to stand beside him proudly, chin high, heart full. You wanted to tell the world, he’s mine. You wanted everyone in that suffocating little town to know that this was the man that loved you.

But the world wouldn’t let you.

Your parents wouldn’t let you.

So you kept him a secret, tucked into the corners of your heart.

“Why don’t ya let me talk to them?” Joel had said once, tracing soft circles on your arm with his fingers.

“You don’t know them like I do,” you whispered. “There’s nothing you could say that’d change their minds. They’re too stuck in their own ways.”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” And he kissed your forehead like that made it all okay. And for a moment, it did. His lips on your skin felt like a shield. Like maybe he could protect you from everything—even your own family. Even yourself.

That same day, while kissing on the couch, you’d let your hands slip beneath Joel’s shirt. You didn’t plan it. Your fingers just moved on instinct—drawn to the heat of his skin, the strength beneath it.

He didn’t stop you. Not at first. His breath hitched when your fingers skimmed across his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch. He let you straddle his lap, his hands firm on your waist.

You could feel him beneath you—hard, unmistakably aroused, pressing against the soft heat between your thighs through too-thin layers.

And still, neither of you said a word. You just looked at each other—his pupils blown wide, your chest rising and falling in tandem.

Eventually, like always, he’d gently pull back.

“It’s getting late,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I should go before your folks come home.”

This time, you didn’t let the moment die. You reached for the buckle of his belt, fingers trembling but determined. He caught your wrist. Gentle. Careful. But firm, and placed your hand back on your lap.

“Did I do something wrong?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“No… no, baby. It’s not that.” He let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to yours.“It’s just… not now. I don’t wanna rush it.”

“But I want to,” you said softly. “It’s not like you’re forcing me.”

“I know. I know. And I want it too. But not tonight.”

Things were as good as they could be under the circumstances. Bittersweet, but yours. Until everything shattered.

A pretty little box, tied in a ribbon, with a folded note tucked neatly inside:

For the sweetest girl in town –Joel

He exploded. You’d never seen him like that. He grabbed you by the shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He shook you like he was trying to knock the sin out of you.

“Please stop! Dad, you’re hurting me!” you cried.

“What the hell’s gotten into that head of yours?” he yelled, rapping his knuckles against your skull like it was a door. “Is there anything even in there?”

“I told you,” your mother snapped. “We failed with this one too. She’s a filthy whore just like her sister. What did we do wrong?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The shame crawled up your spine like ice water, seeping into every crevice of your body. Your cheeks were wet, your throat closed, and all you could do was stand there—frozen. Trapped. Worthless.

“What do you think he wants, huh?” your father spat. “You think he loves you?” He laughed bitterly. Cold. Cruel. The sound scraped across your skin. “What do you have to offer? You’re just a stupid little girl.”

“All a man like that wants is your body,” your mother added. “And once he has it, he’ll throw you away.”

“It’s not like that! He loves me! You don’t understand!” you sobbed.

“You’re a disgrace. As a woman. As a daughter,” your father growled.

His fists clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust himself not to hit something. “Going after a man like that. You should be ashamed, acting like a worthless slut.”

“She is a worthless slut,” your mother sneered. “That’s why she acts like it.”

“No respectable man wants a girl like that,” your father said. “An easy woman with no self-respect. You’re an embarrassment.”

Then he yanked you by the arm and threw you into your room, locking the door behind you.

Neither of them spoke to you for two whole weeks. They wouldn’t even look at you. They acted like you didn’t exist.

You cried into your pillow every night, the silence of the house louder than any scream. You couldn’t see Joel. Your mother quit her church duties so she could stay home, always keeping an eye on you. You weren’t allowed to go anywhere alone. Couldn’t even close your bedroom door.

But every evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, you’d press your forehead to the cool glass of your window. And there he was. Joel. Leaning against the hood of his beat-up truck. He never stayed long, just long enough for you to see him. To know he hadn’t left.

He’d smile, mouth the words “hello baby,” and even though you couldn’t hear it, you swore you felt it in your bones, in your chest. He never missed a night. He never gave up on you, always showed up religiously.

He waited. Every single day.

After a month, the frost between you and your parents began to thaw—but only barely. They still hovered, still watched you like a hawk circling prey. Your mother called every half hour when you left the house, her voice tight with suspicion masked as concern.

But little by little, they let the leash loosen. Just enough to breathe.

And all you could think about—what you ached for—was Joel. His touch. His voice. His arms around you. But all you could think about—what your body ached for—was Joel.

The way he looked at you like you were something he chose, not something he stumbled into.

You were starving for him. And this time, you weren’t going to hold back.

It was now late in the afternoon. Your mother had gone to a bake sale at church, claiming she’d be gone for hours. You’d told her you’d stop by to help later, maybe sell some cookies, smile at the neighbors. But that had been a lie the second it left your lips. You had no intention of showing up. You’d already made your mind up—heart racing, pulse hammering beneath your skin. You were going to see Joel.

It was your first time taking the bus, and the nervousness made your stomach twist the entire ride. Your legs bounced, fingers twitching in your lap, trying to ignore the looks from strangers around you. When you finally got off a few blocks from his place, your hands were trembling, but you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. You needed to see him.

The moment he opened the door and saw you standing there, his eyes went wide, like he didn’t trust they were showing him something real, and then he wrapped his arms around you. So tight. So desperate. It felt like he was trying to fold you into his body, like he could take you somewhere safer just by holding you close enough. You could barely breathe, and you didn’t care.

He held you like a lifeline. Like maybe if he held you close enough, he could shield you from the world. Or drag you into his chest and keep you safe there forever.

He held you like a lifeline. Like maybe if he held you close enough, he could shield you from the world. Or drag you into his chest and keep you safe there forever.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” His voice cracked with awe, like he’d been dreaming of you and didn’t believe this was real.

“I needed to see you, Joel, I—”

“I missed ya so much. You have no idea,” he said, clutching you tighter. “You’re all that’s on my mind. Day and night.”

He didn’t wait. He kissed you. Hard. Desperate. Like he’d been starving for you. His mouth found yours like a man breaking a fast, starving and half-mad with need. His kiss was messy, frantic, breathless—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands in your hair, on your hips, everywhere.

Heat surged through your chest, through your spine. He kissed you like he thought you might disappear again.

His arms lifted you, half-carrying you into the house as the door slammed shut behind you. You didn’t even notice where he was taking you—you just knew his mouth was on yours, and nothing else mattered. You ended up like you always did, tangled together on the couch, lips moving frantically, hands already searching.

Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, hungry and trembling. You dragged your palms across heated skin, over the rise of muscle and the scars that told a hundred quiet stories.

He shuddered under your touch, a sound tearing from his throat—low, rough, involuntary.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing you again,” he said against your lips. “Felt like I was gonna die without you.”

“Me too… I need you so much, Joel,” you breathed, dragging his shirt off and tossing it to the side. Your lips latched onto his neck, hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses leaving trails of fire in their wake.

“Mmm, baby, you gotta stop with that,” he rasped, breath shaking.

“I don’t wanna stop.” Your voice was already thick with want, your hips pressing down into his without you even thinking. And then you felt it—his hardness, thick and hot beneath you, pressing right against your core. You gasped and rolled your hips, needing the friction, the contact, the relief.

“Fuck—enough. That’s enough for now,” he said, voice soft but edged with warning.

“Please… it feels so good,” you whispered, your hips still grinding on the bulge in his pants. You couldn’t stop. It felt too natural, too right—like your body already knew what it needed, and it was him. Only him.

“Baby, I don’t want you doing anything you’re not ready to do. You don’t owe me anything. Not like this. We’ll do it when you’re ready.”

“It’s not that,” you said, sitting up to look him in the eyes. “I want it. So much. And I’m ready, Joel. I promise. I am.”

His gaze searched your face, so serious and gentle, like he needed to be absolutely sure. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. A hundred percent.”

He stared at you for a moment longer, as if he were memorizing every part of your face—your swollen lips, the blush in your cheeks, the vulnerability in your eyes. His jaw flexed. You could see how much it meant to him, how he was holding himself back, terrified of crossing a line.

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. Then, with careful hands, he eased you back against the cushions. The way he looked at you—like you were something sacred—made your heart twist painfully in your chest.

He hovered over you, kissing your neck, your collarbone, whispering, “Is it okay if I take this off?” as his fingers tugged gently at your shirt.

“Joel,” you whispered, “I want you to take everything off.”

He growled, low in his throat, and your shirt joined his on the floor. His hands were everywhere—reverent and hungry—cupping your breasts, lips finding your nipple, sucking with a hot, eager mouth.

His palms were rough, calloused, and warm as they molded to the shape of your tits like he was memorizing every contour. His mouth was fire—wet, open, relentless—his beard scraping your skin as his tongue flicked and circled, teasing the delicate peak with a maddening rhythm.

The sensation sent a shockwave through your whole body. His tongue was slow at first, teasing, swirling around the sensitive bud before latching on again, sucking harder, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

You gasped, back arching, overwhelmed by the newness of it all. Your nipples pebbled under his tongue, thighs squeezing around his waist, trying to ground yourself. It was all so much—so electric. You were trembling.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And you’re giving yourself to me, such a good girl.”

His lips trailed lower, kissing down your stomach, tongue teasing over your skin. Every nerve ending in your body was alive, lit up, aching for him. His hands undid your pants, dragging them down slowly, deliberately, until you were bare beneath him. Your legs trembled. You felt exposed. Vulnerable. You’d never been this naked in front of anyone.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice soft as a prayer. “We can stop whenever you want, yeah?”

Your fingers dug into the couch. The air was cold on your skin but his eyes were molten, and you felt like you were glowing beneath him. You should’ve felt shy, but with him looking at you like that? Like you were the most perfect thing he’d ever seen? You just felt wanted.

“I won’t ask you to stop,” you said. “I want it all, Joel.”

“Just relax f’me,” he said as he settled between your legs, pushing them gently apart. “I’m gonna get you ready, babygirl. We’ve got all night. No need to rush.”

His fingers hooked under your underwear and pulled it aside. You were soaked. Embarrassingly soaked. He groaned.

“God—that’s the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen.”

The way he said it made your belly clench—filthy and reverent all at once, like he was worshiping at an altar.

Your cheeks flushed deep red. His bluntness, the way he said those filthy words with reverence—it made your head spin.

“You’re so wet, baby. It’s all soaked,” he muttered, staring at you like he was hypnotized.

You squirmed, embarrassed, instinctively covering your face with your hand.

“No, no,” he said gently, pulling your hand away. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a good thing.”

“Is it?” you asked shyly.

“Yes. Means I’m doing my job right. Means you’re getting ready to take me.”

His thumb pressed against your clit, and you nearly jerked off the couch. Your hips bucked, chasing his touch, your body burning for more. He started rubbing slow, deliberate circles. The feeling was like nothing you’d ever known. You couldn’t quite understand such pleasure. White-hot, intoxicating, overwhelming.

“Feels good, love?” he asked, his voice low and patient.

“I—it…” you moaned, breath hitching. “It feels weird.”

He chuckled softly. “Bad weird?”

“N-no… it’s good. K-keep doing it.”

“Just relax, love. Don’t think. Just feel.”

You closed your eyes and let yourself go. Let his fingers carry you. Let the warmth spread and grow and gather. You’d never known sex could feel like this. You’d been taught it was about biology—about duty, about giving men children. Never about this. About trembling and pleasure and the way your thighs started to shake as he circled your clit again and again.

Suddenly, the pressure snapped. It tore through you like a wave crashing against the shore. Your body arched, a ragged cry escaping your lips. You didn’t fully knew what was happening in your body, but you felt the world stopping for a second.

He slowed his fingers and leaned over you, smiling. “Jesus, you look like an angel when you’re cummin’.”

“I-I don’t know what that was,” you gasped, eyes still wide.

“You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

You shook your head.

“Did you like it?”

“It felt so intense… like nothing before. God, it was amazing.”

He beamed, proud and hungry. Then his tongue flicked out, dragging a long, wet stripe up your slit. You shivered violently. It felt filthy and perfect and everything in between.

His mouth was merciless—tongue exploring every inch of you with patient, devastating precision.

The wet, firm drag of his tongue against your hypersensitive skin sent you reeling again, your back bowing with a gasp. He didn’t rush—just tasted you, slow and deep, letting his tongue slip inside you before licking up to your clit again.

“Mmm, you taste amazin’,” he growled. “Delicious little cunt.”

“Joel… I want your—”

“I know. We’ll get there. But I need to work you a little more. Gonna be a good girl and let me use my fingers?”

“Y-yes.”

His middle finger circled your entrance before sliding in. You gasped, the stretch making your body tense.

“You’re so tight, baby. You gotta relax if you wanna take my cock.” His voice was low, guiding. “Just breathe—yeah… slow breaths. Just like that.”

You forced yourself to breathe, your chest rising and falling in shaky rhythm. He eased his finger in deep, letting it rest for a moment before starting to move, slow and steady. The rhythm was hypnotic. Each stroke of his finger brushed something deep inside you that made your toes curl. You could hear how wet you were, the slick sounds obscene in the quiet room.

Then he added a second.

You whimpered. The stretch burned—but it also made you moan. He pumped his fingers in and out, watching your face, gauging every sound, every twitch of your body. It was almost too much—so full, so thick inside you—but the burn was addictive. Your hips started to rock on instinct, needing more, desperate for what was coming.

“You think you can take another one, love?”

“Yes—yes, please, Joel.”

His third finger pressed in. Your walls clenched, thighs shaking. He curled them just right, searching until he found the spot that made you gasp. Then he kept hitting it, slow and focused, coaxing more slick out of you, letting you fall apart all over again.

“I think you’re ready, baby… you’re all pretty and opened up f’me.”

He sat back, unbuckled his belt, and dropped his pants and underwear. And then you saw it—his cock, thick, hard, flushed red at the tip, leaking clear fluid. Your breath caught.

The sight of it made your pulse thunder in your ears—huge and heavy and veined, the head glistening, twitching as he stroked himself.

“We can stop if you want.”

“I want to. Please. Keep going.”

“I know it looks scary, baby. But I promise I’ll be real gentle. I won’t hurt you.”

He stroked himself slowly, one—two—three slow strokes, then guided the leaking tip through your folds, slick gathering on his cock as he dragged it through your soaked heat, teasing your clit with the swollen head. You were dripping for him, open and trembling, your body aching for the stretch of him. He positioned himself on your sweet hole.

“Just breathe, okay? I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low and tender, a deep rumble that vibrated through your bones, steadying your nerves. And then he started to push in.

It was too much. Too big. Too overwhelming. The blunt pressure at your entrance forced your body to open inch by inch, your inner muscles fluttering in protest and desire. Your hands clawed at the couch cushions, closed eyes squeezing. Feeling the pain of being split open. It felt like pressure, heat, stretch—every inch of him pushing you wider, deeper, fuller. You couldn’t stop the little sob that slipped out.

“Oh god—shit,” he groaned. “You have no idea how fuckin’ good you feel. So warm and tight… Jesus—Tightest little cunt I’ve ever felt.”

You whimpered. your thighs shaking, chest rising and falling with short, gasping breaths.

“Are you alright, love?” he asked, voice thick with concern.

“I’m alright… don’t stop.”

He kept his thrusts slow, gentle, controlled. Each push was deliberate, patient, giving your body time to bloom around him. He didn’t rush. He wanted you to feel every second, every inch, to take him fully, sweetly.

Only the tip first, only a little at a time, inch by inch. Letting your body get used to him. He wanted you to have the best experience possible, wanted you to enjoy it.

“My love… so good f’me. Doing so good. Takin’ me so good… Letting me fill you up all full and nice.”He breathed, voice trembling with restraint.

He kept carefully slamming into you, scared to hurt you. But you adjusted to him slowly. Your body learned him, molded around him, grew greedy for the stretch.

“Takin’ your virginity like this—fuck, baby, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.” He murmured, brushing your hair from your face.

The pain began to blur into pleasure, enjoying the way he felt. The stretch faded into fullness. Every slow drag of his cock against your walls made you clench tighter, made your toes curl and mouth fall open. Each time he pulled out even slightly, your cunt ached to pull him back in, to feel that deep pressure again. You couldn’t believe something so big could fit inside you. Could feel so good.

“Harder, Joel,” you whispered. “Please… harder.”

And he gave it to you. Hips slamming forward, the sound of his skin smacking yours echoing in the room, wet and rhythmic.

“You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. So damn brave, lettin’ me have this first. So proud of you.” He muttered, pride and hunger thick in his voice.

It was deeper now, his cock bottoming out inside you. Your body welcomed him with every thrust, greedy, slick, shaking. Your head lolled back against the couch cushion, lips parted in ecstasy.

“You take this cock like it was made to be inside you,” he grunted. “Your cunt was made to take me.”

The filthy praise made your walls flutter, your nails dragging down his back in helpless, desperate pleasure. His name spilled from your lips over and over as he rutted into you—hard, needy, like he was trying to pour himself into your soul.

“I’m close, baby… I’m really close,” he panted. “Gonna pull out—”

“Inside,” you said quickly, clutching at him. “Inside, Joel.”

His hips snapped forward one last time, and he groaned loud into your neck as he came, deep and hot, emptying himself inside you with everything he had, painting your walls in white. You felt every spasm of his cock, every pulse of heat flooding your core. It made you gasp, your body clenching tight around him, milking him dry.

He didn’t pull out. Not right away. He stayed deep inside you, cradling your body against his, like he couldn’t bear the thought of being apart even for a moment. His skin was damp with sweat, his breath warm against your temple. He just held you, breathing hard, brushing his fingers through your hair. Slow, soothing strokes, like he was trying to memorize the texture of you, anchor himself in the reality of what had just happened.

“You okay?” he asked softly. “I didn’t hurt you too bad, did I?”

“I’m good—I…” You suddenly felt overwhelmed, a flood of insecurity creeping in. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm?” he murmured, looking down at you.

“I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t very good. I’ll get better and then—”

“No,” he said, cutting you off. “Don’t even think that. Not for a second.”

He cupped your face, stared into your eyes. There was nothing but honesty in them, nothing but fierce, protective love. As if he could see every ugly thing you believed about yourself and wanted to tear it all down.

“Doin’ this with you was the most amazin’ thing in the world.”

Then he kissed you. Your cheeks. Your nose. Your chin. Your forehead. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, meant to heal. To tell you wordlessly that you were enough. That you were everything.

“I promise you,” he whispered, “I’ve never felt this good. Not ever.”

You stayed there, without any rush, any care in the world. Just being in his arms, safe. The weight of him on you was grounding. Protective. As if nothing could touch you so long as he was near.

His heartbeat thudded slow and steady beneath your cheek, the warmth of his chest wrapping around you like a blanket, anchoring you to the moment. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The world outside, the weight of your past, the fear of the future—it all slipped away in the comfort of his hold.

“I don’t want you goin’ back there…with your parents,” his voice was soft, you could feel the tremble in it “Come live here with me.”

“As if they’d ever allow it,” you said quietly. You knew all the risks. Their control. Their wrath. The strings they’d pull. The shame they’d sling like daggers.

“Then let’s run away. Together. Just you and me, startin’ over somewhere else.”

“Joel—”

“No. Don’t Joel me. Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t do it. You’ll be free, we’ll be happy together.”

“Because you’ll get bored of me. And you’ll leave me. And then I’ll be all alone.”

The confession fell from your lips before you could stop it, your voice cracking under the weight of your deepest fear. It was the kind of truth you never meant to say out loud, the kind that lived in the corners of your mind and poisoned everything good. The words felt like blood drawn from a wound you thought you’d hidden well. Your throat tightened. Eyes burned. You couldn’t look at him.

“Did they tell you that? Did they make you believe that bullshit?” He said it with anger—not at you, never at you—but at them. His voice was shaking, laced with fury that anyone had made you feel so small, so disposable. He hated the ones who planted that fear in your head like poison. His jaw clenched, and you felt it where your cheek rested on his chest. His hands were gentle even as his voice shook.

“Baby, I love you more than I love myself. What do I have to do to convince you?”

His hands braided your hair softly. Each motion was careful, reverent, like he was weaving pieces of you back together. Undoing all the harm they’d done, knot by knot. Each stroke of his fingers through your strands was a vow. The kind of tenderness you’d never been given. Not once. You closed your eyes and let the slow rhythm calm you, ground you.

“You’re the most important thing in my life, my top priority. All I want is to keep you safe and happy. You know I’d do anything for you.”

“When?” you asked him, barely above a whisper. The question trembled in the air like a fragile thing.

“You pack your things and let me worry about the rest. I’ve got you.” His voice was low, full of certainty. Not a single hesitation. Just a promise, and you knew, right then, he’d burn the world to keep you safe with him.

And part of you wanted him to. Wanted to watch him light the match, watch it all go up in flames, just so you could finally be free—with him.

A/N: Soo, to the person who requested this, I really hope i didn’t let you down and it was everything you wanted and more. Thank you so much for your request!!🫶🫶

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[imaginedisish]

Dare (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys. Just wanted to say thank you for all the support I got this morning. All of your comments really warmed my heart. Thank you so, so, so much. I ended up getting this done pretty fast. Went with "Dare" by Gorillaz for the title. Made me feel better to write. I like this one. Hope you do, too. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan finds out you've never been eaten out while playing a game of "Truth or Dare," and he's more than willing to change that.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, softdom!Logan, pussydrunk!Logan (he does not let up, he is starving for you), older!Logan, implied aged gap (reader is in her 20s/old enough to teach at the institute), cocky!Logan, he is an absolute service dom in this, friends to lovers, mentions of mental health/self worth, fluff, some hurt to comfort, some angst, afab/fem!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,235 wowza didn't expect that and oh my god this gif

You’re lying on your floor—the door to your room wide open. Everyone is out anyway. It’s Friday night at the mansion—no one will see you like this. Students’ papers are scattered around you. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling choked up. It had been a bad day—a bad week. Maybe even a bad year. You feel like you’re slipping, losing yourself. 

Teaching the older students had become beyond challenging—possibly because you aren’t much older than them in the first place. Most days, it felt like everyone expected greatness from you, given the strength of your powers, which naturally comes with responsibility, and that can be incredibly overwhelming. It had all been—if you were being brutally honest—an absolutely terrible time. 

So, you’re lying on your floor, feeling numb. You stopped grading papers at least an hour ago, and simply decided to stare at the ceiling, your head spinning. You wanted to calm the noise, to take a breather. Luckily, you’re alone—everyone is on a mission or out given that it’s Friday night. 

Or so you thought. 

“What on Earth are you doing?” A familiar voice cuts through the silence like a knife, jarring you, and forcing you to look up. And there he is, in a white t-shirt and denim jeans, arms crossed tightly against his chest, leaning in the doorway. Logan. You want to roll your eyes at how good he looks. You want to slap yourself for thinking it in the first place.

He smirks at you, his brows furrowed playfully. You let your head fall back to the floor. “Grading papers,” you mutter. You can hear his footsteps as he walks into the room, drawing closer to you. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re grading papers to me,” he teases. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why aren’t you out with Jean or Rogue?” 

He stands next to you, and you look up at him. “Didn’t feel like it,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit up. You draw your knees into your chest. You decide to turn the question around on him. “Why aren’t you out?”

He sits down next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him, his shoulder bumping against yours as he settles in. He shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you, right?” He jokes, nudging his elbow into your arm. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. It’s impossible to fight it when he’s next to you. Your eyes meet his, and his smile quickly turns into something else—concern. “You’ve been off lately.”

You swallow harshly. “Did Jean or Rogue say something?” You ask. They’d notice, maybe they told Logan. “Did they ask you to stay with me or something?”

But Logan shakes his head. “No. I could just tell,” he says, worry clear in his voice. “Thought I’d hang back with you. All my idea.” He tilts his head, his jaw working, his brows furrowing again. “Is something going on?” 

You take a deep breath, turning away from him. You’re suddenly overwhelmed by his presence, by his kindness and his care. He stayed home for you. “I’m okay,” you mutter, avoiding the truth. 

“Hey,” Logan whispers, tentatively reaching his hand to your knee, waiting for you to shove him away. His palm is warm against your skin, calming and stabilizing. You turn back to look at him, his brows raised incredulously. “I know that’s not true,” he says. He has always been able to read you like a book. “What’s going on?”

You swallow harshly. “I’ve just been having a tough time lately,” you say, distracted by the way his thumb brushes across your knee. “I…” You trail off, letting your eyes fall closed. “Things are hard.”

“You can talk about it if you want,” he says, his voice deep and steady. “I’m here.” 

You sniffle, struggling to keep yourself in check. “I just…” you pause, looking off to the side. “Everything sucks.” You take another deep breath. “And the students are so hard.” You point to the piles of papers scattered around your floor. “And then there’s me, and all my shit. My powers. The responsibilities we have. I’m young, and I’m still learning. And fuck, Logan, this all just feels so impossible sometimes. It…it…” You trail off, finally running out of words, out of steam.

“It hurts.” He finishes your sentence, taking the words right out of your mouth. You turn back towards him, your eyes instantly meeting his. “It hurts a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah, exactly.” He squeezes your knee comfortingly. “You get it,” you murmur. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he soothes, his hand lifting off your knee, his arm wrapping around your shoulder instead. “I’ve got you.” You let yourself lean into his touch, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “Let’s take your mind off things, yeah?”

You nod against him, not wanting to move away, not wanting to separate from him. He feels so nice, so solid. “What did you have in mind?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t involve getting up.

“Wanna play a game?” He offers, turning his head to look down at you. You smile widely, almost mockingly. “What?” He chides. “You think I don’t know how to have fun?”

You laugh softly. “I just don’t see you as a game guy, Lo,” you confess. He chuckles, and you can feel his laughter reverberating through his chest. “Can you even think of one to play?”

Logan’s still laughing, shaking his head. “What about truth or dare?” He ever so slightly pulls you in closer, his lips pressed against the side of your head. 

You giggle, feeling light for the first time in a long time. “Are we in seventh grade?” You ask teasingly. You felt like a teenager, honestly—being next to Logan always made you feel like a love-sick schoolgirl. But you know you and him could never be. You were younger than Logan—everyone was—but you, being in your 20s, assume that Logan doesn’t see you the way you see him. 

He just shakes his head and laughs, pulling you back to reality. “Truth or dare?” He asks, ignoring your middle school comment and officially starting the game. 

You don’t want to get up, don’t want to move an inch, so you answer: “Truth,” hoping it isn’t anything too crazy. 

Logan thinks for a second, his head resting on yours. “Why’d you pick truth instead of dare?” He finally asks. 

You roll your eyes. “Boring!” You tease. “I only picked it because I don’t feel like moving.” And then you realize…perhaps your answer is more revealing than you previously considered. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

Logan hums. “And why don’t you want to move, exactly?” He’s onto you. 

“You asked your question, you got an answer,” you protest, trying to shut him down. “No follow-up questions.” It’s your turn now. “Truth or dare?” You ask. 

“Truth,” he says. “Because maybe I don’t feel like moving either.”

You smile, and you can feel him looking down at you. You’re too nervous to meet his gaze. You think for a moment, racking your brain for a question. “Did you really stay home for me, and was it all your own idea?” You finally ask. You regret the question almost immediately, fearful of the honest answer. 

“Yes,” he responds without a beat. “Jean said you were staying in, and said she didn’t know why, so I stayed too.” He pauses, and you can hear his steady breathing amidst the silence. “I was worried, princess.” The pet name burns a hole through your heart. “Needed to know that you were okay.”

You can feel tears building behind your sinuses. “Thank you, Lo,” you whisper. “That means a lot.”

He presses the ghost of a kiss to the crown of your head—almost not quite there. But you can feel it, hesitant and tentative. “It’s nothing, no need to thank me.” You finally find the courage to look up at him and find him smiling down at you. His lips part. “Truth or dare?” He asks again. 

You can feel some sort of tension brewing, building, thick and heavy. You try to ignore it, try to brush it off. Your heart hammers in your chest. “Truth,” you pick again. “But get a little more creative this time.”

He pauses, the gears in his head turning. And then finally: “Why’s your heart beating so fast? It’s loud, too.” 

Your eyes widen, suddenly remembering Logan’s heightened senses. He can hear everything. “Uh…” You trail off, not sure how to get out of this. “I-It’s not…”

He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?” His voice is deep and honeyed, smooth. “You gotta answer the question, or I get to ask another.”

“Those are not the rules!��� You protest, lifting your head to look at him. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that makes your stomach drop. 

He tugs you into his chest again, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Then answer the question,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. He’s so close. Too close. Your heart is only beating faster, louder now. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. But of course, you know. It’s all because of him. “Just anxious, I guess.” It’s a half-truth—you’re certainly nervous, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him why. 

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” Logan coos, his thumb brushing circles into your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Yes, exactly, you want to say. It’s you. But you don’t. You try to steady your breathing, try to calm down. “My turn,” you force yourself to say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says darkly. “And make it good.” You can hear the cockiness in his voice—a sudden shift in his tone. 

“We should just call this truth or truth,” you say, mulling over a question in your mind. It’s hard to think with him this close—hard to breathe. You want to rile him up, to find out what makes him tick—to make him itch the way he makes you. And then it hits you: the perfect question. “When was the last time you…” You stop yourself, suddenly too nervous to ask. 

“When was the last time I what, darlin’?” He asks, cocking his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. 

You huff. You’ve fallen into your own trap. There’s no backing out now. “When was the last time…” You pause again, biting your lip. You close your eyes. “…somebody got you off?” 

“Been a while,” he says simply. Your eyes flutter open, and Logan is completely relaxed, his eyes trained on you. He isn’t annoyed. He’s unbothered, unprovoked, as if you had asked him what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. “But it depends on how you mean. So, what do you mean?” He finishes. 

You’re slightly frustrated by how easy it was for him to answer. “I don’t know,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. “Whatever the last time was.”

“Few years back, not particularly proud of it,” he huffs. “Girl took care of me in a bar. That was it.” 

You nod. “Must’ve been nice,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened. You catch his drift; you know it didn’t mean anything. You likely didn’t know Logan at that time, having only arrived at the Institute two years ago. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous, shouldn’t care that he was ever with someone else, even for a fleeting moment. You’ve had boyfriends. You’ve been with other people. 

“It was fine. Just a blowjob.” He says it nonchalantly. “Didn’t mean a thing.” You look straight ahead, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. “Truth or dare?” He finally asks. 

“Truth.” Your fake, plastered-on smile becomes real when his eyes meet yours. It’s just what happens when you look at him. “And make it interesting.”

The corner of his mouth turns up slyly, and you know he has something up his sleeve. “When was the last time somebody did that to you?” He asks. 

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?” But you already know exactly what he’s asking. And you desperately do not want to give him the answer.

“Got you off, like that,” he husks. “With their mouth.”

Fuck. “Uh…” You trail off. You can feel heat spreading across your chest and up your neck, your skin prickling. “Never,” you say honestly. 

“What?” Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Never?”

You’re suddenly embarrassed. Your skin feels tight—so do your shorts and tank top. “Never,” you repeat, looking down at your knees, still pulled in tightly to your chest. Your heart beats rapidly. “Just hasn’t happened yet,” you choke out. “I’ve been with people, but…”

“Hey,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your chin and angling you up to face him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, princess.”

You smile shyly, reveling in his touch. “You didn’t,” you insist honestly. “Just a little embarrassed.”

Logan shakes his head, his eyes softening. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assures. “You deserve to be taken care of.” His hand slides across your jaw and cups the back of your neck. “Deserve to feel good.”

Your eyes flutter closed at his touch. “Lo,” you whisper, struggling to keep your composure. Heat pools between your thighs. “Tr-truth or dare.”

His forehead presses to yours. “I think we’re done with the game, pretty girl,” he rasps, the arm around your shoulder slipping down to your waist. “Unless I get to give you a dare this time.”

“What’s the dare?” You ask, your eyes fluttering back open. His lips are so close. Your noses touch softly.

He works his jaw, licking his lips. “Let me eat you out, pretty girl,” he pants, his chest heaving against yours. “Let me take care of you like you should’ve been already.” He hates the idea that you’ve never been touched properly, the idea that those younger guys didn’t know how to treat you right. But he can fix that. He can make you feel good.

“Fuck,” you curse, his breath fanning across your lips. “A-are you sure?” You ask. “I don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad for me or—” “You think that’s what this is about?” He cuts you off, pulling you closer so that your body faces his, your thighs slotting together like puzzle pieces. “You think I want this just because I feel bad for you?”

“Well…” You search his eyes. “Yes,” you say. 

Logan’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “I want you, pretty girl,” he pants, his knee rubbing against your aching core. “Wanted you this whole time.” His palm presses firmly against your back, his other hand gripping your neck tighter. He wants, no, needs you closer. “You ruined me the second I saw you. Haven’t been with anyone since then.”

“Logan,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to his neck. “I want you too. Always have,” you confess.

He smiles, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to yours. “Then let me do this for you,” he rasps, almost begging, like he needs this more than you do. “Need to make you feel good, beautiful.” “Please,” you breathe. “Want you so bad, Lo.”

He curses under his breath, his lips capturing yours, harder this time. This kiss is starving, all-consuming. His tongue swipes across your lower lip, and you open your mouth, inviting him inside. He lowers you down carefully, sure not to break the kiss, guiding your back to the wood floor below. 

His thighs rest on either side of your hips as he hovers over you, bracing himself with his forearm. His free hand trails up your body, exploring your curves, hiking your shirt above your breasts. He smirks against your lips at the realization that you have no bra on. 

“Look at you,” he mumbles, rolling a nipple under his thumb, palming your breast. “Fucking perfect.” His fingertips drag to the other side, massaging you gently, taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinching softly. “Can smell you, you know,” he grunts. “Know you’re soaking for me, darlin’.”

His hand slides between the valley of your breasts, trailing down your stomach, until his fingertips bump into the waistband of your panties. He hesitates, looking down at you, waiting for you to change your mind, to tell him to stop. “Please,” you beg. “Need you, Lo.”

Logan smirks, his hand slipping under the hem of your shorts and inside your panties. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart,” he groans. His fingertips flick your clit gently before finding your folds, feeling your arousal. “Barely even touched you,” he tuts. “And she’s already crying for me.”

He prods your entrance, spreading your slick, teasing you. He bites your lips, sucking so hard he might bruise—might draw blood—and you hope he does. You want proof that he was here, proof that he wants you—needs you this badly. You moan as his fingers find your clit again, drawing a few soft circles before pulling away, his hand slipping out of your shorts. 

You grab his biceps needily, impatiently, your nails digging into his skin. “Don’t stop,” you cry out. “Please, Logan.” 

He swallows your moans with another kiss, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then your neck—that sensitive spot just under your ear. “Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he soothes, biting down on your pulse point, licking the hollow of your throat. “Don’t think I could stop if I tried.” He nips at your collarbone, shoving your tank top further up your chest as his lips drag down the valley of your breasts. 

He kisses his way to your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your legs. His palms spread across your inner thighs, yanking them apart. He settles between them, his face just inches from your heat. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, still all too clothed, hidden behind your panties. 

“Lo,” you whine. He breathes you in, pressing another kiss to your clit. He digs his fingers into the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. 

“Wanna take my time with you, sweetheart,” he grunts, finally throwing your panties to the side. He spreads your legs wider, his face settling back between your thighs. You can feel his breath against your cunt, warm and teasing. “Wanna take care of you.” His lips finally find your clit again, and he licks at you. 

His tongue is soft, warm, wet. He laps at you again, harder this time, and you moan his name. “Fuck,” you curse as he licks a long stripe through your folds and back up to your clit, flicking the bud. Your legs twitch, your hips backing away involuntarily at the newfound pleasure. Logan’s hands slide under your ass, yanking you back to his face. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He mumbles teasingly against you, the vibration of his deep, bassy voice rocking your core. “Not letting you go until I’m done with you, darlin’.”

You curse under your breath as he licks another long, slow stripe through your folds before settling on your clit. His tongue draws gentle circles around the bud, and you can’t hold back the loud moan that falls from your lips. 

“Yeah?” Logan husks between laps. “Feels good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, looking down at Logan, his face buried against your cunt. His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move, taking in the way you’re squirming for him. “D-didn’t know it would feel this good, Lo.”

“Gonna try something, okay?” He says, his eyes searching yours. You nod emphatically, bracing yourself. His lips wrap around your clit, his teeth lightly grazing the bud as he pulls it into his mouth. And then he sucks, hard. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching off the floor.

He releases the bud, and does it again, sucking harder this time. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Logan!” You cry out, your nails digging into the floor below, searching for purchase. “Fuck!” He laps at you soothingly, drawing tighter, faster circles around your clit. 

“You okay?” He coos between laps, his tongue swirling rapidly. 

You swallow, meeting his gaze again. The sight of him between your legs, working your clit, his hair a disheveled mess—it’s overwhelming. “Yeah,” you heave. “More than okay.”

He smirks against you and wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking on the bud like hard candy. His right hand slides out from under your ass, trailing up your inner thigh. Your heart thunders in your chest as his fingertips find your folds, spreading your slick, your walls clenching down around nothing. 

“Know you need ‘em, pretty girl,” Logan croons, two fingers nudging your entrance. “Beg for it.”

But he’s sucking on your clit again, making it impossible to say a word. You whimper, your legs trembling. “P-please,” you stutter, choking on air. “Need…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed. You swallow harshly. “Need your fingers, Lo,” you finally manage. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, shoving two fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. 

“Fuck, thank you,” you whine, moaning his name as his fingers stretch you out. You suddenly feel so full, so warm, so close. He pulls out, only to plunge back in, deeper this time. He’s lapping at you with reckless abandon—a man starved, like you’re the air he needs to breathe. Your walls flutter around him, the liquid heat in your lower belly threatening to burst. 

“Tastes so good,” Logan mumbles against you, his long, thick fingers thrusting in and out. He hits that sweet spot deep inside you with every pump. “Such a sweet little pussy. Tastes better than I imagined.” You’re crumbling underneath him. His words alone might push you over the edge. “Nothing compares to you, you know that?”

Your walls flutter again, his fingers sinking deeper inside you. “You like that?” Logan husks. “Like knowing how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” you groan, his fingers fucking into you, faster now. His teeth graze your clit as he pulls the bud back into his mouth and sucks roughly. “N-need you, too. Always.” 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, scissoring inside you, dragging along your walls. He laps at you, his tongue stroking your clit. “Not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You curse under your breath. You can feel yourself melting, your walls contracting and releasing. “Lo,” you call. “I’m so close. Wanna…” You trail off, unable to finish. 

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Don’t hold back. Let it happen,” he coaches, rocking into you. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you come on my fingers.” He laps at you between sentences. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” And then everything is white-hot and blazing.

It’s earth-shattering—better than anything has ever felt before. The tension snaps, heat boiling under your skin. Everything is blurry, hazy, dizzied as you let go, and let go hard. You cry out Logan’s name, your thighs shaking as waves of pleasure drag you under. Your bones are burning, scorching. Everything is on fire—overwhelming and greedily all-consuming. 

Logan’s pumps slow, and he carefully pulls out of you. He laves at you, his tongue pushing through your folds, milking you dry, savoring every last drop. 

“Logan,” you whisper, your hands reaching down to his head, digging your fingers into his scalp. 

He hums against you, unwavering as his tongue laps at your folds, tasting your release. 

You’re still shaking, still coming down from your high. “Logan,” you call again, and he looks up this time, lifting his face from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, and he licks his lips clean of you. His eyes are dark, his palms squeezing your thighs possessively. 

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart,” he says, demand clear in his voice. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as he climbs up your body, hovering over you again. His lips find yours. “You taste that?” He mumbles, kissing you again, harder this time. “You taste how sweet you are?”

“Y-yes,” you answer, his hand sliding down your body, slipping between your legs, finding your overstimulated clit. 

He pinches the bud lightly, your back arching off the ground, your breasts pressing to his all-too-clothed chest. “Need more of you,” he husks, his hand dragging back up your body. He sits up and pulls you into his chest, taking all your weight as he hoists you up and stands. You instinctually wrap your legs around his waist. 

He places you in the center of your bed before striding across the room, closing and locking your bedroom door. “They’ll all be home soon,” Logan says, walking back towards you, spreading your legs and settling between your thighs. “Might have to be quiet for me, darlin’.”

“W-what do you—”

And then his face is buried deep inside your cunt, his tongue lapping desperately at your clit. “I told you,” he rasps. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[deunmiu-dessie-sideblog]

was just thinking of price punishing his younger gf, by having her naked body pressed to the floor, and her ass perched in the air, just a few feet in front of his desk. he nudges her knees apart, so he can get a better view of her pussy. and he just goes about doing whatever the fuck he does, and he has her there for hours-- her knees aching and back sore from the sharp arch that he's put her in.

john looks up from a piece of paperwork, and he can see the way her pussy flutters; see the way her stomach heaves softly, the soft pushing movement making her pussy leak; juices pooling from her hole, down her swollen folds, and then to her inner thighs. she's creamy and slick; literally dripping onto the carpet, and john is suddenly salivating. and she's been a good girl, no complaints and minimal whines and pleas-- that he can't help but push back from his chair, knocking it over in his haste to get to her.

she's too out of it to really comprehend what's happening before she's mewling out, thighs quivering almost violently as his tongue is suddenly thick and hot against her pussy. john swallows down her slick like a man starved, each curl and pull of his tongue full of her cream, and he rumbles deep in his chest like some kind of beast. his large, meaty hands grip the fat of her hips almost bruisingly as he devours her quivering cunt, her taste has him feral. she babbles mindlessly, her eyes rolled back; clit fat and stiff in his mouth.

and it takes him an hour or so to finally pull away from her pussy; she's a pile of overstimulated flesh, her plush little mouth parted and saliva dribbling down her chin, she looks like she's going to pass out but the only thing john does is push his thick, long cock into her pussy and fuck her into the carpet, her knees sliding and burning. this was a punishment after all.