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gutsby · 6 months ago

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Too Close for Comfort

Pairing: Joel Miller x Babysitter!Reader

Summary: You’ve been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you’re surfing the web on her dad’s computer, and you find some…unusual things in his search history.

Or, Joel likes to jerk off to your lookalike on PornHub. It’s time you showed him what the real thing is like.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Creampie. Mommy/Daddy Roleplay (HEAR ME OUT!!) Brief boot humping. Squirting. Perv!Joel. Breeding kink.

Note: ‘Just call me if anyone else checks in…and by anyone, I mean any swingin dick’ is a line from No Country for Old Men

Word count: 12.7k

Purple slime had been Sarah’s idea.

It was an innocent thing, really. The four-year-old had practically been bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes wide and shining with excitement when she’d begged—‘Can we pleeeeease?!’—and who were you to tell her no?

You’d only be breaking one small rule of Joel’s, after all. One silly little admonition he’d made before leaving for work the first day you’d started babysitting for him. That had been over a year ago, and he hadn’t even sounded that serious when he’d said it. He probably wouldn’t mind if you bent the rule this one time at Sarah’s behest.

‘Don’t go in the computer room, please.’

Don’t use Joel’s desktop. Don’t rifle through any of the drawers in Joel’s office—it was a mess, but everything was in its place, according to him. Just don’t go in there.

But in exchange for Sarah agreeing to take her nap that day without protest, you’d promised to order her slime.

Purple, gooey, glittery, sticky stuff for her new collection.

You weren’t sure when the fuck putty had become the plaything of choice for kids in Pre-K, but you hadn’t been in a place to judge; whatever Sarah wanted to do, so long as it was safe for her to play with, was totally fine by you.

It was just one rule.

Surely if Mr. Miller knew how badly his daughter wanted the slime, he’d be fine with you booting up his computer once. That was what you kept telling yourself, anyway.

What kept humming through your mind as the desktop came to life and you toggled straight for Google Chrome.

Be quick, be quiet, it’s fine. It’s fine.

Purple goo—it was safe. Innocent. Completely justifiable.

What could the sweet, old, forty-something and forever polite Joel Miller possibly have to hide on this machine that made it wrong for you to buy this one simple toy?

You reached for the keyboard and inhaled a quick breath.

Then you typed one letter, and your heart nearly seized.

P…

…ornhub.com

It was the very first thing that appeared in the search bar.

You couldn’t unsee it. Instinctively, your hand clamped over your mouth, and your eyes widened. You couldn’t help but read the four URLs that immediately dropped down below the first; they were just so garishly inviting.

Hot, Naughty Babysitter gets POUNDED by her Boss!

Slutty Babysitter Gets Railed from Behind and Loves It

Big Dick Boss Gives Babysitter a Passionate Raw Fuck

‘I’ve Never Done This!’ Babysitter Deepthroats Cock

“Oh…my gosh,” you said, words muffled by your palm.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. It was just too bizarre, too far out of character, too unlike your boss.

The man had scarcely said ten words to you altogether that didn’t relate to your job in some way or another. He rarely ever engaged in casual confab, and he certainly wasn’t the type to flirt, or make you uncomfortable in the slightest. Frankly, in all the time you’d been babysitting, you always thought you were just…invisible to Joel Miller.

Not this. Never this.

You were still staring at the screen when you realized that you’d missed one URL title from the list. It was long.

It was the most unnerving one of all, you came to see.

Babysitter Lounging Poolside in Hot Red Bikini Gets a BIG Surprise—Her Old Boss Teaches Her How to FUCK

Your hand lowered from your face. It trembled, contemplating, before coming to rest atop the mouse.

Something about this seemed familiar. Strangely…off.

You couldn’t explain it, but your head and your heart and your hand gravitated to that one odd link in particular. You hadn’t even meant to move the mouse. Or press it with your finger. But there you went, following your instincts like some dumb, brainless ditz, and then the screen was changing. Going dark with the shift to an adult site before brightening anew with the thumbnail.

It was paused on one frame. Your jaw slackened.

The girl staring back from the scene was you.

Or looked exactly, uncannily like you anyway.

It was then that you noticed what she was wearing, too—what you guessed wouldn’t be on her body for long—and you glanced down to your own shoulder. Just like your on-screen doppelgänger, you were wearing the same bikini in a bright, cherry-red hue beneath your tank top.

You wore it under your clothes damn near every day, indulging in the Millers’ backyard pool more often than not, and even being allowed to swim there on the days Sarah had summer camp—Joel had been so obliging.

So accommodating and sweet.

You never thought he’d be seeking your fucking twin online on a porn site after watching you traipse around his property wearing it. Your gut clenched; you clicked.

“Hey, sweetheart! Everything go OK?”

The voice that rumbled through the speakers was low. Male. Vaguely paternal and with a hint of a Southern lilt.

You swallowed, knowing exactly where this was going.

You weren’t sure why you were even watching when you could already predict what would become of it. The camera panned over a body identical to yours; it landed on a face that was smiling and sweet and so like your own you almost had to question whether it might not be you after all. Had you somehow forgotten this secret porn alter ego in a bout of amnesia? You kept watching.

The girl bit her bottom lip and let out the phoniest giggle.

“Yes, sir. Perfectly fine. Do you like my new bikini?”

Be so fucking serious, you thought, critically.

Then you remembered it was porn, not an Oscar-winning film. You saw the camera tilt down to her tits, and you had to admit, she had a great rack. A bit nicer than yours.

For a beat, you wondered if Joel had thought the same.

You had to batter those thoughts away, because the next second brought a big, burly hand onto the screen. It reached for the girl with her perfect, perky breasts and it kneaded them softly. No further pretense or prelude was needed—they just jumped right in and let it happen, like this was a normal thing for a babysitter and a boss to do.

Maybe in some other universe it was. In a world where a girl your age could just smile, and bat her eyes, and let them roll back gently as a whimper crossed her lips and she begged him, ‘More, daddy, more!’ this was all okay.

The man squeezed the flesh harder. She whined, and he proceeded to push the red nylon aside and expose the whole expanse of her breast—and holy shit, even the nipple looked like yours. Your mouth opened wider, and for a moment, it was like you couldn’t breathe as you watched that old, sun-kissed hand fondle the breast of a girl who looked just like you. Who was peering up at a man who sounded almost like Joel, murmuring, ‘Attagirl.’

You’d heard your boss say that once.

It had been such a silly, off-handed thing that you doubted he even remembered saying it. But one time, you’d struggled to open the passenger door to his truck before he drove you home. Once you’d narrowly managed to pry it open and slide into your seat, he’d laughed and rumbled: ‘Attagirl.’ Your face had warmed.

Just like your cheeks were doing now, all hot and bothered and desperate to hear more. Presently, the man slid the top off of the girl’s chest, and her breasts hung freely. You could hear him groan behind the camera at the sight, and not too long after that, before he could reach to touch her tits again, she was crawling on her knees toward him. Shuffling easily and expertly across the lawn chair and undoing the belt, button, and zip of his pants in a matter of seconds. A hand smoothed over her head, and you could see her preen beneath his touch.

Before she’d even wrapped her lips around his cock, your stomach was churning. Your fingers were stirring from the mouse and moving gently—again, of their own volition, it seemed—toward the waistband of your own bottoms. It was sick, admittedly. So wrong to be wanting to touch yourself to the very same video your boss had indulged in himself, in the very same chair he had done the deed. But you couldn’t help it. Your fingers slipped under the the fabric of your shorts, then your bikini, then your throat let out the tiniest noise upon seeing a cock appear on-screen. It was abnormally large, of course.

Silently, you wondered if Joel’s might not look the same. Your stomach flipped as soon as the girl took it in her mouth, and your index and middle fingers landed on your clit. You barely needed to touch to feel a jolt of pleasure.

Her head bobbed up and down. You felt powerless to do anything else but rub. And circle. And moan the slightest bit when you saw her coat his length with her shiny spit.

You heard that your noises mirrored hers. You didn’t care. Really, it felt as though you were in a trance, and you couldn’t stop watching, or touching, until you’d had your fill. Like Mr. Miller had done himself. It was all too much.

Before you even realized it, five minutes had passed, the man and woman on-screen were shifting from oral to raw, penetrative sex, and you were nearing your peak. Right before the cock that had been lodged down the girl’s throat could slide into her wet, glistening cunt, you felt your stomach lurch. You rubbed harder, watching the fat and leaking tip of the man’s cock tease through her folds, and just as he was about to slide in and you could finally find your release…a door banged open downstairs.

You almost screamed.

As quickly as you could, you yanked your hand out of your pants and clicked out of that browser even faster. The second you heard footfalls on the steps, you scampered out of there. Half-sprinting, half-tip-toeing down the hall and toward the bathroom, before halting at the door. You made your presence known with one light stomp of your foot, pretending to be turning and walking out, and as soon as you did, Joel was right there. Staring.

Sweating.

Scrubbing at his face with one weary hand, before taking a rag and wiping it through his beard. He sighed heavily.

“Long day?” you chirped while trying to mask the panic.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Joel answered, voice wan, “How’s my little terror? Asleep? She give ya any trouble?”

Just asked me to buy her a toy online and inadvertently led me to find your internet Spank Bank archives full of women who look like me. Other than that, it was fine.

“I put her down about an hour ago. She was great.”

You forced a smile, and Joel seemed to believe it.

“Perfect. Need me to give you a ride home?”

“No, no, you should stay here with Sar—”

“‘S’alright. Tommy’s right downstairs.”

Of course he’d brought him home.

“No, really, I can walk. It’s fine—”

“Don’t be silly. C’mon, kiddo.”

Kiddo.

The man had been jerking off to the thought of you for who knows how long, and now he called you ‘kiddo’?

You hated how arousing the nickname sounded from him

You despised yourself for rubbing your clit in his office.

Most of all, you loathed the way your panties had gotten wet the last time you’d climbed into his truck and heard that word crawl off of his old, drawling tongue: ‘Attagirl.’

Reluctantly, you nodded your head. You followed him downstairs and hoped the car door wouldn’t stick again.

He had to stop.

It was no longer a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ his dick would lead him straight off a cliff, and today, Joel was starting to think that precipice was looking extra nice. Tempting.

Almost as inviting as the divot he could see at the small of your back, glimmering with a couple hot beads of sweat under the midafternoon sun. He swallowed.

Sarah was at camp today. You’d had the time to yourself, and the weather was blistering hot, and of course, where else would you be but his backyard? He’d told you ad nauseum, ever since you started babysitting his kid, that his pool was open to you whenever you so chose to go.

Presently, Joel wished he could revoke that invitation.

Seeing how you were flipped on your stomach, body all soft and warm and splayed out on one of his deck chairs—wearing that fucking red swimsuit, of all things—Joel was left to ogle from his office window, and inside, he felt like a certified pervert. Arguably, he was. His old, worn hands had all but glided to find his mouse as soon as he’d sat down at his desk and saw you out there, and no sooner had his cursor found Chrome than his cock started to stir. He’d wanted to watch. If not you in all your bare, sun-baked glory, then surely the woman he could see getting her throat and cunt stuffed on his screen.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Was he really that much of a gooner he couldn’t let his kid’s babysitter lounge outside without stroking his dick?

Shit. He had the bottle of lotion in one hand and the box of tissues in the other in no time at all. He ripped three free Kleenex aside and reached for his mouse once more.

He was pissed at himself. He toggled over to the Hub with a grunt, and in no time at all, had you pulled up.

Joel liked to pretend it was you, anyway.

If he couldn’t have the sweet young thing every swinging dick in this town would’ve killed to have himself, he could rub one out to a girl exactly like you. He could fantasize.

He could skip the video to 8:53 on the dot, as he always did, and he could rub himself raw. It wouldn’t take long.

He always fast-forwarded to that exact part, without fail, because she moaned like you then. He’d never forget it.

It had almost been six months since it happened, and he still remembered that sound as clear as day. You’d been hauling your backpack off the couch in the living room, having stuffed the thing full with more school supplies than you could feasibly carry, and Joel had been in the kitchen, unseen. You’d lifted the bag with effort, and once you had, you let out a soft but audible whine. You dropped the bag back down to your feet, and when you bent to try again, you’d moaned fully. It was like the stretch had made you feel good, or something. You’d huffed and managed to get the weight slung over your back with modest success, then left, but Joel had been changed. Too quickly had he retreated to his office and swore to find any clip where a moan sounded like that.

“Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!”

Granted, the dialogue was cheesy, but the sound after it was identical to the one you’d made. Joel repeated it.

He hadn’t even noticed, but he’d already lathered his hand and cock with lotion. He was scrubbing vigorously while your twin wiggled her hips and begged her co-star to put it in, to quit teasing her pussy like that, can’t you see I’m practically dripping for you, daddy? Look at it!

Unfortunately, Joel’s head was turned the other direction—away from the screen, and toward the window—watching you where you sat out on the lawn.

He stroked harder. He groaned.

You had just turned onto your back. Your tits looked incredible. Joel reckoned they’d look even better with his dick pushed up between them, and at the thought, his mouth watered. His lips were slightly parted, and he feared he might drool. What a sight he must have been then: jaw slack, lids heavy, cock in hand, and moan after moan bubbling out of his throat. He got closer to climax.

“Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.”

It wasn’t long after that that Joel heard the girl whine in pleasure—the man behind her had notched in the first inch and told her to behave—and meanwhile, he watched your chest rise and fall, rise and fall outside. It was calm. Unlike the girl being taught how to fuck poolside, you remained untouched. Spotless. Placid and serene while your hands picked up a magazine and began flipping through it. While Joel’s orgasm crested inside him, he wondered if you’d ever want to try something like that. Roleplay. Or would it be fake at all? Had you ever been touched by a man, shown the best ways to give and receive pleasure, or was it all brand new, like it was supposed to be for the woman on his screen? Joel panted, and he fucked his hand harder. He groaned.

“Oh, daddy, it’s so big! Feels so good going inside me!”

“You love gettin’ fucked by an older man, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy, yes! Please don’t stop—oh, OHHH!”

Joel wanted to be the only older man you had.

If he wasn’t the first, he sure as fuck could be the last. Give you all the dizzying, euphoric feelings your body deserved and stretch you open gently for the taking.

He could teach you so much, ruin you for any oth—

Shit.

What the fuck was this asshole doing here?

At the back gate, he saw his neighbor Dieter.

The man strolled across the lawn, and Joel’s orgasm receded in a blink. He was walking right over to you.

No. No, no, no. Joel released his dick from its vice grip and felt the thing twitch in indignation. Meanwhile, the sound of skin on skin continued to flood his eardrums from out of the computer speakers, where the happy babysitter-boss duo was hitting a brutal pace. The girl let out one over-the-top shriek of pleasure, and Joel clicked pause. He toggled out of the browser. Then he redirected his gaze out the office window, where his own girl was being accosted by Dieter. His blood boiled with anger.

Who did this creep think he was? The man never so much as looked Joel’s way or approached his property unless it was to ask to be ‘lent’ some booze or else ask after some friend, relative, or coworker Dieter wanted to be introduced to—he was perennially unemployed and a fuckboy bachelor to his core. The last Joel had heard, he’d spent the last year in Los Angeles, or Paris, or some other too-big city to chase his singing and acting dreams

And here he was now, hitting on his poor, defenseless babysitter. Joel wouldn’t stand for that in any world.

Though his dick was still erect, it had softened some, too. His rage facilitated that, and him shoving his length back in his jeans, zipping it up, and all but punching the desktop off made it spongier still. He walked like he was mad at the floor beneath his boots. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so defensive—he had just been rubbing one out to the sight of you less than five minutes ago—but now wasn’t the time for thinking. He had to act.

Protect, if he had to.

What if his neighbor wanted to go for a swim, too?

Joel would drown the man with his two bare hands if he so much as reached for your bikini-clad form. He stalked loudly down the hall and searched for a less sweaty shirt to wear, then some deodorant, then a comb. He peered in the bathroom mirror and saw his black-and-grey locks all out of sorts, and for a second, he contemplated taking a shower. You’d probably be able to smell his unsatisfied desire from outside. He looked, and felt, a bit unhinged.

Joel decided he didn’t care, before plodding downstairs.

Outside, you lay in the same position he’d seen you last. Your hand was shielding your face. You were smiling.

And beside you, Dieter was grinning even bigger.

Joel made a beeline down the porch steps, then across the lawn, like his life might’ve depended on it. Scowling.

“—but getting cast in Gladiator II would’ve been wild—”

Of course Dieter was yapping about his failed acting career. Of course. Joel could hear him drone on as he approached, though he didn’t register a word of what he said. Instead, he waved a hand. He feigned a calm tone:

“Dieter! How’s it going?”

And he slowed down, too.

Just as he drew in, his neighbor volleyed a look his way. Joel couldn’t miss how his smile twitched down a little.

“Joel.”

Accepting a cordial hand in greeting.

“Doing alright, how ‘bout yourself?”

Joel nodded fine, just fine and offered some offhand remark about not having seen him since last summer, and Dieter couldn’t resist the chance to puff up and mention a school he’d been attending. Joel didn’t hear it, or give a shit. His gaze was already trained on you. Your own flitted from Dieter, to Joel, then to Dieter again, and your lips were smiling kindly enough. You seem humored.

“Mr. Bravo just got back from Berlin,” you beamed.

Then Dieter met your look and shook his head.

“Dieter, sweetie, Dieter. Or Dee, if you want.”

Joel almost wanted to vomit in his mouth.

“Germany, huh? What brings you here?”

No sense in beating around the bush.

Joel meant to ask why Dieter was here, in his backyard, with his babysitter, of course. Why the fuck he was eyeing you like that, like your tits were two Emmys and the only way to earn it himself was to stare as long, and as hard, as possible. Joel cleared his throat instinctively.

Dieter blinked and cast a glance back to him.

“Oh, here. Yeah. I, um…I just wanted to see if you had that— that—” He snapped his fingers, “That leafblower.”

Leafblower?

He was so full of shit.

“My leafblower,” Joel repeated.

It was fucking July, for crying out loud.

Evidently, his neighbor didn’t seem to care. He met Joel’s gaze with an even look, and he nodded his head.

He doubled down: “Yeah, the leafblower. I’ve had some debris pile up in my yard since I’ve been gone, y’know.”

“Are you gonna be in Austin long? Or are you going back overseas once you’ve had that casting call?” you asked.

You cocked your head with genuine curiosity. Joel grit his teeth, but he tried not to let his discontent show anyplace else on his face. A muscle might’ve jumped when he saw how smugly Dieter smirked at your intrigue.

“Oh, I’ll be here long enough, don’t you worry,” he said.

That was it.

Joel gestured to the shed in the back corner of the yard, about to tell Dieter that the leafblower was in there, go knock yourself out, when his neighbor cut in once again.

“In the meantime, maybe I’ll have you babysit for me. I hate to steal Sarah’s pal, but maybe you can split your time between my place and Joel’s. What do you think?”

You blinked a little quicker, like you weren’t quite sure what to say at first. Joel took the chance to interject.

“You don’t have any kids, Bravo,” he practically growled.

“I know. I’ve got cats, though,” Dieter just grinned back, flitting a cheeky look to you. “And you have no idea how naughty those pussycats can get while a man’s away.”

That was really all Joel could take. He didn’t even let you answer; he just pointed to the shed and made a fist with his other hand at his side. His chest was heaving breaths.

“You and her can chat when she’s off the clock, how ‘bout that? Leafblower’s in the shed. Door’s unlocked.”

His words didn’t invite protest of any kind. Dense as he was, Dieter probably sensed that he’d ticked his neighbor off with the suggestive comment to his babysitter, and he backed away, both literally and figuratively. He bid a quick, cavalier goodbye with a shit-eating grin stretching his lips, and then he went to the storage shed and left.

You were still blinking, still creasing your brows tight, by the time the back gate had slammed shut behind him. You watched after him, teeth gnawing at your cheek.

“He seemed like a funny gu—”

“What do you think you’re doin’?”

Joel’s words appeared to sting like a slap in the face. You jerked your head back to him, seeming to say, ‘What?’

“You know what. Don’t play innocent now,” Joel griped.

You continued to stare, then started to shake your head.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Don’t Mr. Miller me, either,” he snapped, far shorter than he’d ever spoken to you before. His nostrils flared, “You’re old enough to know better. You did all of that.”

“All of what?” you shot back.

“Attracted men like Dieter into my yard.”

“He’s your neighbor! What do you expect?”

Offense marred your tone. He didn’t entirely blame you.

“No, no—he never sticks his nose over here unless he sees something he wants. You were flaunting yourself.”

At that, your mouth fell open.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Miller? Are you serious?”

“Language, young lady—”

“I don’t give a shit.” You stood up from your chair. Your eyes flashed with ire. Just like his hands had before, yours curled into fists. You stood your ground with him. “You invited me to come swim here whenever I wanted to. You did that, asshole. What did you expect me to sunbathe in, army fatigues and fucking combat boots?”

Joel blinked hard at that. He didn’t like being mocked.

“Still shouldn’t be that damn skimpy. And I said lang—”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, dad. Don’t act like you’re mine.”

Don’t act like you’re mine.

Joel’s chest tightened. His gaze seared into yours, almost as though he were as angry as you were now, but deep down, the man only felt remorse. Resentment. Whatever rage he harbored now was reserved for himself

He shouldn’t have gone there.

He shouldn’t have masked his own jealousy with pseudo paternal scolding. He looked like a dickhead doing that.

And you weren’t shy to let him know it in the slightest.

Presently, your finger was jabbed in his face. You were planted less than two feet from where he stood, and though you were noticeably dwarfed by his size, your next words had him beat by a foot, if he’d had to guess.

“I watch your kid, Joel. I am not your daughter. If you don’t want me hanging around here in my hot red bikini, then you can just say that. But don’t blame me for him.”

Joel bristled at your words, though he wasn’t sure why. When he opened his mouth to speak again, you added:

“And don’t blame me for that, either.”

Suddenly, he realized your finger was pointed at his legs.

Or, rather, what was poking up stiff between them.

Joel’s cheeks heated up to a thousand degrees.

You’d just caught him. You’d seen his arousal.

And you were turning on your heels again.

Before Joel could even try to summon the words to his tongue, you were grabbing your things. Shoving your shoes onto your feet. And Joel had only to stand there.

Feeling stupid and inert beside you.

As you went to the back gate, he somehow managed to call that you didn’t have a car, let him drive you back.

You didn’t even dignify his words with a verbal response.

You just raised your middle finger over your shoulder.

And then the gate crashed shut behind you.

You would be walking home that day.

Two big eyes and round cheeks were all you could see.

Then, they darted beneath the covers and were gone.

“Oh no, where’d sweet Sarah go?” you wondered aloud. Sitting at the edge of the bed and pretending not to see where she’d just dipped her head under the blankets, you furrowed your brows and proceeded to pat around you.

Everywhere you felt with your hands, you completely ignored the big lump under the duvet. It was a game.

A silly one at that—hide-and-go-seek was generally best left to places where you couldn’t figure out her location in the blink of an eye. But you played along. You heard a soft giggle. You continued feeling around the twin-sized mattress like this was the most bewildering puzzle of all.

“Whe-ere’s Sarah?” you sing-songed.

You heard a shuffling of limbs, a sniffle.

Your palm tapped right by those little feet.

And as soon as you did, she screamed. At four years old, Sarah hadn’t quite mastered the art of being stealthy.

You’d cut her some slack. You always had.

Blindly passing where her body lay, you glided to the opposite side of her bed and tapped inquiringly there.

“Is she…here?” You got a pillow.

“No!” Sarah shrieked back.

Such a helpful, obliging kid. She’d make a terrible spy.

“Is she…up here?” You rapped the headboard twice.

“No!!” she squealed.

You glanced over at the clock on her nightstand. It was approaching bedtime. Taking note of this, and knowing you couldn’t keep up with the charade for much longer, you let out a sigh. You stood from the bed, looked around the room with dramatic éclat, then started to walk away.

“Okay…I guess if Sarah’s not here I’ll have to leave…”

The second you said that, Sarah threw the covers back. She jumped up in bed, and she stomped her little feet.

“No! No! I’m here! I’m here!”

You spun on your heels, eyes wide with faux surprise.

“Sarah!”

And then you rushed back over, just in time to watch her drop to the bed and flash you a wide, exuberant smile.

“Your Sarah,” she corrected.

She adored it when you called her that. Your Sarah.

You nodded your head in agreement, “My Sarah. Sorry.”

She nodded too, like she’d just reminded you of the most important thing, and then she slipped back under her covers. She let you drag the purple duvet over her frame, all the way up to her chin, and when she was all snug inside, she gave another smile. She kicked her feet again.

“Stay,” she commanded, tone still sugar-sweet.

“I will, baby. ‘Til your daddy gets back, I’ll be here.”

“I mean forever!” Sarah dragged out the last syllable, and, not yet content with the answer you’d proffered, tried swaying you again, still more emphatic, “For-ever!”

If your daddy wasn’t such an ass, I might consider it.

Instead, you smiled back at her and shook your head. You smoothed the hair away from her face, then you leaned in and kissed her forehead with a gentle peck.

“Then my family would miss me. I gotta see them.”

“Says who?” Sarah’s pout was unmistakable.

Before you could reply, she cut in again.

“You can be my family. My mommy.”

Your throat constricted at those words. You weren’t sure what to say, or how to assuage your sweet Sarah then.

Again, you were about to open your mouth to speak, when your pint-sized companion piped up again. This time, her voice was softer. Surprisingly delicate and low.

“I want you to be my mommy,” she told you quietly, “Then you’ll live here. With me and daddy. And you’ll never have to go home again and we can play all day!”

Your heart ached. You kissed the tip of her nose and turned away, momentarily, to hide the hurt on your face.

Sarah Miller deserved much more in a mother than you.

When you looked up again, her grin was big. Hopeful.

“Don’t you wanna be my mommy too?” she asked.

“‘Course I do, baby,” you answered without hesitation, “But…don’t you think your daddy should have a say too?”

Somehow, her face got even brighter.

“He will! He— he…”

Sarah trailed off a second, as if considering her words. She didn’t understand what marriage meant. You’d help.

“Your daddy,” you finished for her, speaking slow and soft as you leaned in close, “is a good man who deserves a good woman to make your mommy. Don’t you agree?”

She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Yeah, but—”

“And a mommy’s gotta be someone he really loves.”

“But he…”

She was thinking again. You could tell. You pressed on.

“He is gonna find someone great someday. He’ll love you and her to bits, and y’all will get to play together all day.”

“But he loves you!” Sarah cried, at length.

A beat.

Your breath faltered.

The girl’s words had scarcely hung in the air for more than two seconds, and their meaning hardly registered in your brain before your own were coming out fast. Certain

“Your daddy doesn’t love me, baby. I’m just his friend.”

“Yes, he does! He told me so himself!”

Again, you shook your head.

“You misunderstood him, sweetie.”

You tried to smooth her hair back again, but Sarah’s head bucked away. She scrunched up her nose in clear protest and refused to let you cradle her face until she’d spoken her piece. When she did, her voice was pleading all over:

“Daddy loves you, he told me. You can be my mommy.”

And for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you felt your heart balloon in your chest. Your gut clenched—but not for the reasons she or you wanted it to. The truth was that you didn’t have the words to tell a four-year-old girl that her father didn’t love you like that at all, that his head and his heart were anywhere but with you, and that, if you were being honest, you were furious with him. How he could so much as hint at such nonsense was beyond you. His little girl dreamed of having a mother. It was stupid and senseless and cruel to even suggest that that woman could be you. You sighed.

But, despite your every thought and feeling to the contrary, you knew you had to soothe the girl with some small semblance of hope. Something to hold her over for the night, so she didn’t cry herself to sleep thinking that you didn’t want to be her mommy. Gently, you leaned in.

You lifted the covers back up from where they’d fallen. You tucked them snug around her torso, and you paused.

Your tone was measured and soft when you spoke next:

“I don’t know about your daddy, baby. What I do know is that I would be the luckiest lady alive to get to be your mommy, alright? I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

And you meant it. You saw one look light up her face, and every ounce of anger that had been provoked by her father was forgotten in an instant. Her grin ensured it.

“Anywhere,” she parroted back.

“Anywhere,” you said, again.

Then you kissed the crown of her head, wished her sweet dreams, cut the little light off. You left the room quietly.

It was only when you were out of there and far enough away down the hallway that your skin started to burn.

You couldn’t help it. Anger was fast to trickle back.

This feeling was only compounded when the next moment brought a sound to the landing on the stairs. You glanced over down the hall, muscles all tensing at once, and when you saw him there, it was as though your rage just bubbled over. Your jaw clenched; your stomach flipped in a way so decidedly unlike how it had done for him two days ago, in his office, and suddenly, your throat was working again. You kept your voice low this time, keen not to draw Sarah’s attention out there, but the words you used were clear. Quiet. Doubtlessly effective.

Even in the dark, you saw his brows jump when he heard:

“Joel, we need to talk.”

It had been two years since he’d had a woman in here.

Joel wished it were under any circumstances but these.

Presently, your eyes were ablaze. The two of you had just stepped into his room and shut the door behind you, and with the click of a latch, you hadn’t thought to hold it in:

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He blinked.

Well, many things.

Joel wouldn’t have had the space to explain it all if you’d given him a week, and still, he had to say something. He blinked again, made a sound in his throat as if to clear it, then shook his head. His shoulders sagged in his jacket.

“I…I’m sorry.”

For the other day. For getting caught up in his own anger and taking it out on you. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was apologizing for now, or what he should say, but he thought it best to start there. He shrugged his jacket off and set it over the back of the nearest chair. He turned to you again, where you were standing with a warning look.

“Don’t say sorry to me,” you said. “Say sorry to Sarah.”

Sarah?

Before he could speak, you went on.

“You’re just setting her up for heartbreak, you know that? I mean how selfish— how stupid could you possibly be?”

You pursed your lips like tears might threaten if you didn’t. This caught him off guard—his daughter? What could he have said or done to hurt her in any of this?

“What are you talking about?”

“You said I’d be her mom, Joel!”

He winced. You furrowed your brows and set your mouth in a line—really trying to fight the emotion behind it—and, while all the rest of you bristled in anticipation for what was to come, Joel softened. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to be the guy who lost his head at the thought of seeing you cry and forget the whole reason you were upset with him in the first place, but he couldn’t help it. Though you looked like you wanted to kill him right then, Joel drew closer. He shifted toward you.

“Did— did she, uh…call you…mommy?” he said, pained.

“Yeah. And you let her believe she could,” you spat.

He hadn’t meant to do that, either. Sarah had been calling you that for a while when you weren’t around to hear, and after enough times telling her otherwise, he’d just stopped correcting her on it. Sarah wanted a mother. You were the closest thing she had, and who was he to sabotage that? At the time, he’d just wanted to…pretend.

That was a running theme he had going with you.

Right now, you didn’t seem to care about that.

You just rolled your eyes in that cool, juvenile way when you didn’t hear a response from him, and he had to bite his tongue from saying something worse. He hated when you did that. It made him remember your age—the reality of you being his kid’s babysitter and how guilty he should feel for wanting to do something more about that eyeroll.

He wasn’t your father.

You weren’t Sarah’s mother, either.

You most certainly weren’t the girl on his computer screen, as much as he would’ve liked to see you that way, and even though you were standing here in his bedroom.

That was all fantasy. Make-believe. This was his reality.

You were visibly pissed and wouldn’t budge an inch.

“Is it really so bad if she says it?” he grit out.

Your eyes widened. You scoffed.

“Of course it is, Joel!”

You backed away.

He hated seeing that, too. He hated having you move from him, not toward him, wearing that scowl on your lips as you did. His fingers twitched—itched—at his side.

“Sarah’s young. She doesn’t…mean anything by it. She’ll grow out of it soon enough. And I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You’ll hurt her even worse by not telling her the truth!” you snapped. You sounded exasperated saying it now. “We’re not a family. I’m the goddamn babysitter, and— and— you’re Sarah’s father. Act like it, for Christ’s sake.”

That set his teeth on edge.

Joel felt the urge to fight back, but narrowly refrained. He flexed his fingers, and he bit down hard to keep the vitriol at bay. Because that was exactly what fathers did. They controlled their anger; even when faced with a smart-mouthed babysitter who wore his patience out.

Even when your arms were folded over your chest in that impossibly tight, white tank, and your tits looked like they might spill from the fabric at any given moment. Joel swallowed and refocused his gaze before going on.

“Don’t tell me how to be a father.”

Something flared in your eyes.

“Why? I’m fucking right.”

“Language, young lady.”

That only seemed to irk you worse; your hands flew up.

“Yeah, well,” you started, accusing, “If we’re playing house, I might as well be allowed to say what I like.”

“We are not playing hous—”

“But you want to, right? That’s why I’m always here.”

“No, I need a—”

“Maid? Mommy?”

You paced closer. Joel’s jaw clenched.

“Obedient little housewife?” you sneered.

Your eyes were shining like two derisive pools. With every blink, you seemed to mock him more. Goad him on and beg for your reward, though you hardly knew what it was.

“C’mon, Mr. Miller,” you chided, voice low, “What is it?”

What he was, or what he’d stand to take. It wasn’t this.

“Keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth, I’ll show you what.”

The words flew off his tongue before he could stop them.

It was a reflex—something that had been stewing in his mind since the second you’d set foot in his room and went on provoking him. But it was wrong, of course.

He was wrong for even thinking it, much less saying it.

Now your eyes were round, and your mouth was slightly agape, and your brain was likely working a thousand miles a minute to process what had just been said.

Joel had to fix it.

“That— that ain’t—” he began, already hating himself.

To his surprise, and embarrassment, a laugh rang out.

Its sound was explosive and short. It split the air with such hot, bitter force that his words dropped off. His gaze had no choice but to remain plastered on yours.

“Oh, I bet.”

You grinned, humorless.

You didn’t appear shocked in the slightest. In fact, his remark seemed only to embolden you then, as you teased that smile wider, drew yourself closer, and tipped your chin up. You looked doubly enlivened by his last admission. Vindicated in some strange, inexplicable way. Your breaths were warm, and the swell of your breasts came to hover just inches from his chest when the last thing he needed to happen, happened between you next.

You pointed again. Joel didn’t need to look down.

“‘Don’t tell me how to be a father,’” you repeated his words from before, voice taking on a low, faux baritone.

Your amusement was clear. His cock was hard.

It seemed you’d never let the latter slip past you.

“Is that what we’re gettin’ at here, Mr. Miller?” you asked, tone now precocious. Probing, “You showing me what a great daddy you are, and me being the mommy you al—”

“No.”

Joel pushed off. He didn’t want to hear another thing.

He headed straight for the door, prepared to usher you out of it. This conversation had taken an irreparable turn.

When he reached for the handle, though, he had to stop. Your voice made him stop, echoing from the opposite end of the room. Joel turned, and he saw you on his bed.

“I’m just curious. Is that really what you meant?”

You were sitting at the foot of it, legs casually hanging off. Your look was innocent, and still more knowing than Joel could bear. The heat left to swirl in his groin nearly suffocated him below the waist, and he inhaled deeply.

“Mean what? I didn’t…mean anything.”

His touch fell from the doorknob all the same.

Your feet were swinging when he faced you completely.

“Just like you didn’t mean for Sarah to call me mommy?”

Maybe he had meant it more than he let on. He couldn’t answer. Joel felt every bit the creep he knew himself to be—decades your senior and letting you rest on his bed, soft, smooth legs kicking back and forth as he watched.

He was good at that, wasn’t he? Watching. Waiting. Aching from the comfort of his home office while he watched those filthy clips on repeat, images of you flitting through his mind at every stretch, moan, and whimper. His will was powerless to his perverted needs. He had only to defend himself against their influence by planting his feet firmly in place and refusing to move.

“You wanna teach me, though. Don’t you, daddy?”

It was as though your words reached him from another place. Somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind—his memory—and the tone of it stirred him. It was familiar, in ways you couldn’t have possibly understood. Unless you were living in his head, there was no way in hell you could’ve known what those lines meant to him.

‘Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.’

It made him ache.

Joel still wouldn’t move, but you could come to him.

He blinked once, and you were there. Off the bed. Walking to him. Down on your knees in front of him.

This had to be the work of his own sick imagination.

He groaned at just the sight of your smile, curving slow.

And then you peeled off your top, revealing the bright, nylon, cherry-red fabric he’d seen far too many times on his computer screen and off it—on you, by his pool. Joel sucked in a breath and shook his head, gaze darkening.

“Thought you didn’t wanna play mommy,” he growled.

If this was all just in his head, he could talk as he wanted.

“I don’t,” you answered him soberly. Suddenly, your chin was in his hand. Your eyes were still glistening up at him. “But you need to get this out of your system. Just once.”

Out of his system.

Joel was out of his fucking mind with desire.

“Just once?” His voice cracked as he said it.

Only one time. That was alright. Forgivable.

From what he half-believed to be a figment of his own perverted mind came the word from your lips: ‘Once.’

The next had the thumb that was cupping your chin slipping between those same lips. Still smiling while your mouth slid down to his knuckle. You sucked him gently.

And in just one glimpse, one fleeting second on that lone, thick thumb, the sight below him had every other obscene thing entrenched in his memory beat by a mile. You were better than everything else he’d seen or tried to dream up. You were real, he hoped, sliding your shiny wet lips up and down the surface of his skin, and when you pried them off, and you asked for his cock, he had no choice but to oblige. He had to rack his brain for words.

This was his babysitter, his daughter’s companion, his—

“Sweet fuckin’ girl,” he said when he first felt you there.

Before he even knew what became of his belt, buckle, and zip, the base of his cock was in your hand, and your lips were hovering precariously over the tip. Your breaths were soft and hot. Your graze drank him in with curiosity.

“Should I kiss you here, daddy?” Your mouth lowered.

“Right there, sweetie,” Joel breathed out.

He truly couldn’t believe it when the warmth of you enveloped his tip. When the first lick of your tongue came to collect the bead of precum sitting at the slit and he damn near bucked his hips up. You licked at it again.

And again. And again. And again.

You whimpered lightly, enjoying the taste.

The second you pulled your mouth away, Joel hissed.

“Baby, please—” he started, tone strained.

“What? Where does daddy want it?”

The question was so innocent.

It was clear you wanted to hear him guide you through it, as evidenced by the way your lips twitched at his hand smoothing down and over the crown of your head. Joel held it like he might never get this chance again, and, at once, his voice lowered along with it. He scarcely recognized himself with how gently he spoke then.

“Let daddy show you,” he said, “Open your mouth.”

And you did.

Your jaw fell slack, your lips split apart, and your eyes peered up with a wide and open stare. In a look, you seemed already to say that you trusted him to fill it.

No sight on a screen could’ve made him so hard.

He fed you an inch, eyes locked with yours as he did. His cock slid in another, and another, then stopped. He pulled back. The wetness and the warmth of your mouth nearly did him in, and the way you whined for more had him fisting your hair tight. Trying to keep his composure.

“That alright, honey? Feel…nice goin’ in?”

“Yes, daddy,” you hummed obediently.

Your mouth opened wider.

“More, please?”

Your tongue was flattened in a second. Joel slid back in, and his shaft was greeted by the slick, shiny cushion of the muscle underneath. He sank in. He invaded every inch of your mouth he could find, and he breathed out.

“Just like that, sweetie. Takin�� daddy so well.”

What little gurgles he heard stifled between your lips at that, spit drooling gently from either side, he only found more endearing. When he pulled back and saw strings of your spit trail after its path, he felt delirious. You were real, coating the whole throbbing length of his cock with your saliva and your precious soft whines, and you were sweet for him. Pliant for his cock. Jaw obliging and inviting and hanging wide open for him to fuck again.

He let you have it. He slid in once, grazed your throat, slid out again. He cupped your face in his hands and thumbed your cheeks. He coaxed your lips wider for him. You took it all well; you responded to every tender little directive from the man who was stuffing your mouth, ‘Faster now, atta girl’ and ‘Take daddy deeper’ and ‘Keep that pretty mouth open and those eyes on me.’ Joel was so caught up in the feel and the friction and the intimacy of every passing moment that he almost didn’t see when you started to shift your legs. Parting them.

And, right when the head of his cock had reached the back of your mouth and was teasing down your wet, open throat, he felt it fully: your whimpering plea.

You grinding your cunt against the toe of his boot, and peering up at him with eyes all wet, wide, and needy.

You rutted your hips. It looked like you couldn’t help it.

It seemed as though it were a mere spasm of the body that you couldn’t control—like his cock down your throat was too good for your sense or your oversexed mind to handle. He’d scarcely stirred in place when he felt you humping him, whines rippling down his length with every bob of your head as you keened for some kind of release.

Joel had never seen anything like it. He didn’t know what to say or do except stroke his hand over your scalp and pin you with a look. His cock twitched in your mouth.

“Is that how we ask to get fucked in this house?”

His tone surprised him with how steady it stayed.

Your mouth still full of him, you tried to shake your head.

What came next was more instinct than logical thought; Joel pulled you off his cock and onto your feet. His touch on your body was soft. He couldn’t pinpoint a reason for his being so gentle, but every second that elapsed now seemed to demand it. He was teaching you to please. There could be no better place for kindness than here.

He’d lead you to the bed and guide you down himself. He’d tell you to open your mouth and then he would kiss it, and lick inside it. Maybe spit inside it, too. He’d tug at your bikini straps, watch your breasts give way to the pressure of the pull before bouncing right back in place. He’d take off your top. Latch his mouth around a nipple, swirl his tongue across the skin, and he’d kiss you again.

Joel did all these things, and you let him. You met him with whimpers, with wide open legs, and eventually, with your feet digging into the covers beneath you, begging, ‘Daddy, please put it in.’ Your gaze was febrile as you did.

Whether you meant it, or were simply pretending for him, gave Joel pause. Just as you’d tried to yank your jean shorts down your legs, he dropped his hands to your own. He stopped them in their path. He leaned closer.

“Do you know what you and me are about to do, hm?”

His question was barbed but sweet. Testing the waters.

Were you game to keep playing house? Did you want it?

These things mattered to Joel; whether the wetness between your legs was meant for him and him alone. Whether you needed him there, like the breath in your lungs. He wouldn’t fuck you if he wasn’t. He might feel lonely at times—desperate to feel your cunt squeeze his too-old cock like your life depended on it—but he was a man who wanted to be wanted, too. An instant of clarity hit, and suddenly he was asking it, plain and in your face:

“Do you wanna do what mommies and daddies do?”

Your mouth fell slack. Again. You nodded.

Either you were the single best actress, or you wanted it. Hoping desperately for the latter, Joel kissed the side of your face. You turned your head, quickly, and captured his lips in yours instead. You pulled him down to you.

“Like this?” you murmured, words muffled against him.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and then ground your clothed lower half with his—Joel’s cock was tucked haphazardly back in his boxers, and his jeans, unzipped, hung just underneath them around his hips. He felt like a teen again, clothes thrown askew and hormones all wild.

Except he wasn’t. He was a grown man, in his own bed, with his child fast asleep down the hall. He thanked his lucky stars that their rooms were as far apart as possible, and that he no longer had to worry about the prying eyes of his mom or dad trying to catch him out after curfew. This wasn’t high school, or a night out in college, or the time a condom had split and Sarah had been conceived.

Now if he could just make sure she didn’t get a sibling…

Kidding.

“Pill,” Joel choked out, just as your legs drew him in to meet your movements, “Are— are you on the pill, or—”

Am I going to have to hit up a Texaco at 10 PM to get some rubbers and admit I haven’t gotten laid in a year?

You grinned.

“IUD.”

That works, too.

Joel probably shouldn’t have seemed so eager. He probably shouldn’t have taken your face in his hands and kissed you so hard, either. But his skin was ablaze; his eyes were wild; his limbs were molten; and his head—you didn’t want to know where it was. What he was thinking.

What he wanted to tell you while he tugged his cock back out and started working his hand up and down it. It felt too intimate, too depraved, to be spoken aloud.

Then, to his shock, you said the words yourself:

“Show me how you’d make me a mommy anyway.”

If not for protection. If not for common sense. If not for that thrumming, pulsing, warning repetition in his head: Do not get her pregnant. Do not give your kid a sibling.

But this was all pretend, wasn’t it?

Joel yanked down your shorts, practically tore them from your legs, and situated himself between them, breathing hard and fast, before he nodded his head and kissed you. With his one free hand, he held the base of his dick, and he guided it closer to your slick, puffy, aching entrance through the barrier of your red bikini. He rutted his hips.

You were bare beneath him, save for that one scrap of fabric between your lower half and his. You smiled, and you wriggled your body against his, and you drew him in. Joel groaned when he felt you slide your bottoms to the slide and let him feel, for the first time, how wet you were. How warm, inviting, and tight that cunt must be and how badly he needed it. How desperately he had to be buried inside that heat—he all but panted the words:

“Can daddy put it in?”

You spread your legs wider. You nodded.

Then he did. Without one breath of a thought to the contrary, he pushed the head of himself past the fabric, through your folds, into that wet and precious spot he’d only dreamed he’d ever feel, and he let out a full-throated moan. He felt your walls contract, heard the tender little squelch of your body making room for his length, and he damn near blew his whole load right there. You felt good.

Your chest rose with a breath, and your eyes widened.

Like you hadn’t just had him down your throat, drenched in your spit and gliding in and out: “He’s so big, daddy.”

Joel’s lips kissed your cheek. His tip kissed your cervix. You whined a little, and he pulled you in closer to him.

“I know, honey, I know,” he cooed, rocking you with the softest motions, “Ain’t that what mommy likes, though?”

Your lips parted again. A strangled whine of assent slid out, just as his hips withdrew himself back to that shiny, bulbous head, and then he fucked back in. Back and forth, back and forth, Joel sent your body bouncing with every thrust. He felt you clench, and the strokes sped up.

The bed creaked underneath. It seemed to shake the whole room. In truth, there wasn’t a thought in Joel’s head except for the ones relating to you and how good you took his cock, but somewhere, not far off, there was the instinct of a father idling too. With every stab of the headboard against the wall and every moan of yours under him he had to smother with his lips, he was reminded you two had to be quiet. He leaned in.

Grazing your ear with a stubbled chin, and fucking you gently into his bed, Joel sank his weight even lower.

“Can mommy stay real quiet for daddy? Can she try?”

From the way your eyes were glazed, he expected you to nod. And you did, just barely, heels digging in the mound of his ass and your fingers finding his sides. But then you slid a touch up his ribs; you squeezed the flesh. You let him pound your cunt for a few more precious seconds, and just when he thought that was the end of it, you tilted your head to him. Your nose bumped his, and you grinned, flashing the single most pretty, fucked-out look.

“Feels like a fucking dream, daddy,” you breathed.

Joel balked. He almost stopped right then and there.

Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!

Oh.

You couldn’t have known that.

There was no shot you knew where the fuck those words were from. Or what they meant. Joel furrowed his brow and kept rutting his hips, hands tightening in the sheets beside your head as the scene from his naughty all-time favorite film flickered briefly through his mind. No shot.

Then your legs wound around the backs of his even tighter, and your eyes were all but shining with a fresh, twisted glint. With a measured tone, you went on for him:

“He’s so big, daddy. Feels so good going inside me.”

You even mimicked her tone. Joel paled above you.

His hips stalled a moment, and your cunt hugged him tight. Your teeth nipped at his chin, playfully, and before he could even try to speak again, your lips were there.

At his ear, whispering what he’d dreaded hearing most.

“You should really clear those PornHub searches after you’re done. Or at least lock your office while I’m here.”

Joel’s thrusts stopped completely.

He was about to search for his voice again, when your walls clamped down around him, and his vision went swimming. His cock pulsed inside you, and he groaned.

Then his hips picked up; it wasn’t a conscious decision. He just needed to fuck, needed to finish, needed to see the light twinkle and burst behind your eyes while he stuffed your cunt full. It didn’t matter what you knew—your lips were curled in such a sweet, smug smile below him, there was likely no use in trying to explain himself now. Joel just gritted his teeth, and he tried smiling back. He fucked you faster, and harder, than he’d done before.

When you clawed at his back, the pace grew merciless. Every inch of the space around him, it seemed, was filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, whimpers, and moans. As before, Joel almost didn’t recognize his voice.

‘That so?’ was all it could manage to get out at present.

With your cunt fluttering repeatedly, hips rolling with his own, and those lips letting moans spill out one after the next, it was all he could do to try to keep his composure.

Joel kissed you, and then he flipped your body around. He moved back to find the headboard and rest himself against it, got your legs straddling his, and slid you down

Down, down, down on his cock. Stretching you out. Then moving you back up again. Making you bounce in his lap and have your hands fumble to find his shoulders. You squeezed his biceps and moaned, and at the same time, his slick-smeared lower half rutted to greet yours. Your essence drenched him; he could feel it soak straight through the black-and-gray hairs at the base of his cock.

You looked perfect like this—better than any girl on camera could’ve been. Your hips rolled, and you moaned while sliding up and down on his dick, again and again. Joel felt the trembling pulse through your body and his, groaned at the grip of your cunt around him, and helped you ride him. With one hand at the small of your back and the other cupping your face, he held you close to him. Your pace quickened, and the hand at your chin made its way to your throat, to hold you firmly there.

Joel had a thumb on your pulse and his eyes raking over your writhing form when he felt compelled to talk again.

Share a truth, since all the rest was coming out anyway.

He didn’t think so much as feel it flow from there, like the blood rushing through his veins. Joel winced at a fresh influx of pleasure and let you grind on him twice more. Then he was gripping you tighter, fucking up into you harder, and he was skimming his teeth along your skin. As a knot coiled deep within his stomach, he let it out:

“Wanna cum inside this pussy, baby. Fill her up with me.”

The head of his cock struck a dizzying blow to someplace close to your cervix, and you held him tighter.

“Yeah, Mr. Miller?” You couldn’t help the teasing tone.

You fought a breathless laugh, then were forced to suck in a gasp of air just as quick; his length sheathed itself inside you completely, and Joel’s grip constricted on your throat. He kissed you. He lapped his tongue into your mouth while he fucked up into you, again and again.

You whined, and he mumbled against you, “That’s right.”

You hissed at him deep in your guts, and he went on:

“Gonna stuff her full. Make her wet and messy and drippin’ with me. Show mommy how much daddy lov—”

He cut himself short. His balls were heavy, full, and ready to paint you white, but that line was a touch too far, even now. He couldn’t say it outright and not sound like a fucking creep, no matter how deep in this roleplay you happened to be. Joel squeezed your hips and grunted.

And, for what felt like the fifteenth time that night, you surprised him. Your chin tilted to his, your lips brushed against his mouth, and you smiled, again. It was tender.

“How much does daddy love me, hm? Show me.”

Your walls clenched at the end of the last sentence, and Joel couldn’t help but groan in your mouth. His eyes lifted to yours, and in your gaze, he found anything but incredulity—you already knew what he felt, somehow.

“Sarah tell you that, too? That I love you?” he growled.

He’d said it once. At the time, he hadn’t thought he’d meant it at all, but the words just sounded so good when it came to you. Sarah had asked him if he’d wanted you to be her mommy someday, if he loved you like a daddy loves a mommy, and he’d said he did. Looking back, it hadn’t felt half as good as it did right now: peering into your eyes, feeling your warmth swallow him whole, and sensing you were nearing your climax, all because of him. It made him want to say it over again, now face-to-face.

Be it roleplay, fantasy, fixation—he needed to say it now.

“Daddy does love you,” he went on, before you could even respond. His pelvis rutted against yours, and his gaze stayed steeped in desire as he felt you grip harder, “Loves you so damn much he wants to stuff a big load in that pretty little cunt. Make you his. That alright by you?”

Your gaze went blank in an instant. Your lips twitched.

Something delectably wet, tight, and far too tempting shuddered someplace inside you, and with pride, Joel sensed the remnants of it leak out and smear his tummy. You liked that idea. Still, you seemed hesitant as your teeth snagged your bottom lip between them. You drew one steadying breath, and you slowed your movements.

“I’ve never…had that,” you admitted quietly.

Then that sticky-sweet embrace your cunt held him in got even wetter. Like your mind wasn’t fully on-board, but your body was all in. You were close, by the feel of it.

But Joel would only give what you were fully ready to take. At length, he lowered one hand to the small of your back, and his thumb rubbed at the skin. He let you feel him in only the shallowest of strokes, bouncing you softly

“Ain’t gotta be inside, then,” he murmured, assuring, “I’ll shoot this load wherever mommy tells me to go, alright?”

That made you whimper.

From there, your mind seemed to be decided all at once.

“Cum inside. I-I want it.”

Joel swallowed thickly.

“You sure, sugar? I can—”

Suddenly, your hips were stirring. They started up quicker than before, and your hand was swift to plant itself flat on his chest, as though to stabilize yourself.

“Cum. In. Me.”

It was the most decisive, and desperate, you’d sounded all night. Your gaze flitted to his, and in it, he saw a plea.

With a look like that, Joel knew he couldn’t make you wait. He wouldn’t make you wait. Trying not to smirk as he did, he leaned in and kissed you, and felt you drip more arousal as something knotted in your belly. He smoothed your hair away and delivered the gentlest thrusts from below—he knew it wouldn’t take much.

“Mama goes first,” he prodded. He felt you tense, and clench, and leak a little more down his front, and when the head of cock nicked a soft ridge, he groaned, too. “Cum for daddy now and he’ll give you his load, OK?”

Then his touch slipped between your legs. You keened.

“Daddy, I—” you hiccuped, grip tightening like a vice when his thumb found your clit and started rubbing.

Joel circled faster.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

“I can’t,” you cried, “Feels too—”

Good. Your body seemed to finish for you.

It started with a pulse. Then a pinch. A trickling warmth. Joel hardly knew what else to do but keep rubbing that little pearl between your folds, even when you started to gush around his hand. It wet his tummy; it drenched all the hairs around the base of his cock, and still, he kept thumbing your clit and rocking you back and forth above him. He let you cry out and bite his shoulder while your climax tore through you, and though he knew you had to be quiet, he couldn’t help but relish the sound. He smiled

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Give it to daddy.”

And, while he also told you to keep breathing and let him have it all, he was right here—in a matter of seconds, he was slipping off, too. He couldn’t hope to try and stop it. With one more pulse of your walls, you groaned and got your wet, spent, needy hole stuffed full of him, just how you’d asked. Joel flooded your insides with his seed and kept you fucked straight down to the hilt so he wouldn’t see a drop of himself escape. He hugged you tight and heard you whine at that primal sensation, getting pumped with rope after rope of his cum, then he felt your limbs go limp. Joel kissed the side of your face. He cradled you, held you securely in place, and let the last of his spend paint your walls in a couple more gentle spurts

When it was over, he stroked your back. He sensed the aftershocks of your climax pass through your tired frame, and he made sure not to rock you too hard against him. He just wanted you to feel that he was there, if the heft of his cum and his cock still deep inside you wasn’t enough.

His head grew clearer, too. While still drawing short, ragged breaths in time, he managed to find the words that had evaded him before—what he should’ve said.

“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled into your hair.

You just nuzzled your face deeper.

“Don’t be.”

“But I—”

Then you tilted your head—enough for your gaze to meet with his, briefly, and tell him all that he needed to hear.

“You’re a good dad, Joel.”

He opened his mouth, but you were already pressing on.

“And I don’t…mind if Sarah calls me what she wants for now. I’m sure you’ll find someone great to be her mom someday, and then this whole thing won’t even matter.”

For some reason, the sound of it made Joel wince.

He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but he knew he didn’t want you thinking that. His grip constricted around you.

“No,” he muttered, indistinct. Defiant.

“No?”

You almost laughed.

It was insane, admittedly—just last night he’d been dreaming of the feel of you in the grip of his fist, wishing for nothing but his own release and a fleeting thought of your body underneath him, and here he was, doing this.

You’d said it was a one-and-done deal, and maybe it was.

But for him, maybe, it wasn’t. He’d be remiss not to try.

If you shot him down and left him to pine and meander through the manifold archives of PornHub for the rest of his horny life, that would be alright. At least he had tried.

With these thoughts thrumming through his brain, Joel was about to pull you closer and venture to speak again, when, for the second time, his words were cut short. His voice was presently supplanted by a sound that startled you both, and in a moment, he recognized what it was.

A knock.

“Da-a-a-a-a-a-addy?”

Shit.

He nearly caught a knee to the gut with how quickly you tried scrambling off his lap, limbs revived and frantic and desperate to get your clothes back on before that tiny voice could resume its speech—or get a hand to the door

“Yeah, sweetie? Give— give daddy a—” ‘Fuck!’ he cursed under his breath as he tripped over your shorts on the floor, “—a minute. I’ll be right there. Just gimme a sec.”

Joel fell. You floundered. His hand snagged the edge of the bed before he hit the ground fully, while you set off across the room to fight the strings of your bikini top and wrestle the thing on. The second you sensed that battle was lost, you grabbed your shirt instead. You were just yanking it on, and Joel was just regaining his bearings and about to chuck your shorts your way, when a voice through the door stopped the two of you cold—again.

To your horror, it was hopeful. Too sweet to be real.

“Can I sleep with you and mommy tonight?”

You could’ve soundly beat Joel’s ass with that pretty, skimpy swimsuit in your grasp and not regretted a thing, if he had to guess by the look you were flashing him now.

He didn’t blame you. His hands shot up in silent defense.

“Mommy— mommy’s not here, honey. She went home.” Joel shortly tried, and failed, to keep the pretense of innocence alive, all while dodging the first swing of your bikini’s bra at his head. He ducked; you struck a lamp.

He jumped back, a wordless grin stretching his lips as he righted that fixture fast. With one look, it seemed to say:

I’m so, so sorry, baby.

But inside his head, he couldn’t help but admit this was a little bit funny. Probably sensing this, you swung again.

“Yes, she is! I heard her,” Sarah huffed outside.

Joel was sliding up his jeans. Apologizing with his eyes and also trying not to crack an even bigger smile at you.

“Don’t be silly, Sar—”

“You’re having a sleepover!” she accused.

Well, in a manner of speaking.

Joel had just buckled his belt and redid his zip when a flash of red nylon smacked him in the face. Playfully.

You were evidently beginning to fight a grin like his, dropping the feigned indignation and pacing closer.

“Sleeping my ass—” you started in a whisper.

And you were about to chase him again, or else propose jumping from the window to get out now and save face, maybe, when Joel felt an old, familiar feeling crop up inside him. Like before, it wasn’t the kind of urge he could fight; his instincts took over, and he did it swiftly.

Admittedly, the timing was terrible—but he kissed you.

He pressed his lips to your own and relished the feeling. He grabbed both sides of your face and walked you back to the bed—the same one drenched in sweat and your release, which he’d definitely need to change in a minute—and for a fleeting moment, it was all he needed. Your mouth was on his, grinning a little and promising silently that if Sarah ever does walk in on us, I’m gonna kill you.

Against his better judgment, he pushed you back on the bed. He dropped his weight over your body and kept the kiss ongoing, feeling need surge inside for something far beyond the physical. It couldn’t be ‘one-and-done’ here.

But for now, at least, in spite of his feelings, it had to be.

Joel didn’t want to let go or stop kissing, but the next second left no room for much else, unfortunately. His daughter’s voice returned, and the words that followed proved impossible to ignore, for either one of you then.

All color drained from his face, and your eyes widened.

“I heard mommy screaming before. Is she alright?”

#THE WAY I’VE NEVER WRITTEN A NCFOM-INSPIRED FIC IS INSANE #IT’S ONE OF MY ALL TIME FAVORITE MOVIES AND THE TITLE IS SOOOOO FITTING FOR JOEL 😪#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic

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leclerc-hs · 3 months ago

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romantic chocolates? - op81

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader summary: in which you and your best friends brother accidentally eat aphrodisiac chocolate OR you and oscar get so fucking horny while on a yacht in the Maldives. warnings: smut smut smut, all smut basically. oral, p in v, dirty talk, language, marking kink, slight voyeruism, exhibitionism??, not sure what else...NOT PROOFREAD! (might be some typos) word count: ~3.9k author's note: SURPRISEEEE ITS OUT EARLY (I worked hard over the weekend lol) hope you guys enjoy!! THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR OSCAR EVERRRR (aside from a one shot i've had sitting in my drafts for months lol) comment and let me know what you think!!! xoxo

ln4 cl16 mv1 op81 cs55

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You’ve always had a sweet tooth.

Everyone knew it. Oscar especially. He used to tease you over it when you were younger. Would point out when your fingers were sticky with something sugary.

He never said it unkindly. Just amused. Soft. Something like you’ve got chocolate on your face and then passed you a napkin you didn’t ask for.

He’s always been like that. Gentle. Kind. The boy who was never loud. More of a listener than a speaker.

And he never made you feel silly. Not when you cried after falling off your bike and scraped your knee. Not when your towel slipped. Not even when you accidentally spilled juice all over your shirt on a long flight. He just handed you a new one from his backpack like he knew it’d happen.

You’d grown up like that.

And now here you were, years later. Sunburned and salty on a private yacht in the Maldives, still with a sweet tooth and one of his old McLaren shirts he gave you when he first got signed. Pulled over your bikini.

His sister, your best friend, left on in the morning for a tour with the rest of the group. Something about history and snorkeling. You’d both waved your hands declining. Something about being too burned and too sleepy for it.

“She’s going to get bored halfway through,” You sip on your drink. “Probably will call us in two hours.”

Oscar gives you a shrug. “I give her one.”

“She said it was a once in a lifetime experience.” You throw up your hands while repeating her words. Mocking her almost. Smiling.

“So is sitting here.”

And you laugh.

He’s sitting across from you, towel slung around the back of his neck, sun catching his shoulders. His hair is damp. Skin flushed from the sun. No shirt. Just a pair of swim shorts and bare feet.

You shift slightly where you are. Curled up in the shade. Bare legs stretched out. The oversized shirt clinging to you just a little too much where your bikini top was wet.

He glances at you when you move. Doesn’t speak. Just tracks it with his eyes. And looks away again.

His hand reaches for the table. “What’s this?”

You look over.

A little box. Dark. Red ribbon wrapped around it.

“Some welcome thing, I think.” You shrug. “Dropped it off yesterday.”

Oscar pulls the lid open, brows lifting. He picks up a wrapped square, amused.

“Well, well.” He says, looking at you. “Your kryptonite.”

You grin. “Shut up.”

“You gonna pretend you didn’t spot this the second we sat down?”

“I did not.”

He tilts his head, giving you a look.

“Mm, you’ve got that look.” He says.

“What look?”

“The one you used to get before stealing cupcakes at birthday parties.”

You roll your eyes, but blush. Cheeks reddening. “I did not steal…”

“You did.” He cuts you off. Already unwrapping one of the chocolates. “Always had sugar on your hands. Icing on the corner of your lips.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he tosses a piece toward you.

You catch it.

You watch him bring the chocolate to his mouth, tongue darting over his lip without thinking.

Peel open your piece and press it to your tongue. It melts fast. Rich.

You hum, licking a smear of it off your finger. “That’s actually really good.”

He doesn’t respond right away.

You glance up and catch him mid-swipe across his bottom lip. Looking dazed. Distracted.

Then he blinks, clears his throat. And nods. “Yeah, pretty good.”

He closes the lid of the box, slides it to the side. Then leans back, looking at the water.

And you sit there with him. Across from him on the cushioned benches. Chewing slowly. Feeling that heat bloom beneath your skin.

It’s soft at first.

Then deeper.

A warmth in your chest. A pulse between your thighs.

The wind sweeps your skin. And the fabric of your bikini suddenly feels too damp. Too thin. Too tight.

You swallow. Trying not to fidget.

Oscar hasn’t moved much. His gaze is still on the ocean, but it isn’t really. And you watch the way his jaw flexes. The way his foot shifts on the deck. Like he was grounding himself.

He doesn’t look at you.

And he always looks at you.

You shift again. Cross your ankles. Press your thighs together.

You glance at Oscar again.

And his lips are parted. Just a little bit. And his brow is slightly furrowed.

You sit up slightly. “You okay?”

He shifts. Then clears his throat, blinking. “Yeah. Just…hot.”

You nod slowly. “Same.”

He leans forward, breathes out. But his fingers twitch. And you notice as his back muscles roll slightly as he drops his head down, towel slipping down.

He stays like that for a few seconds. Then rubs a hand over the back of his neck.

His voice is quiet. Flat. “What was in that chocolate?”

You don’t answer right away. Because you’re fucking throbbing now. And your bikini is definitely soaked.

“Do you feel…” He swallows, throat bobbing. “Strange?”

You nod. And then remember he isn’t even looking at you. “Yeah.”

His jaw clenches.

He shifts again. Still not looking at you. And that’s how you know something is wrong.

Because he never acts like this.

You’ve seen him flustered, sure. After a race, dealing with the media, around too many people. But never like this. Not this tense. As if he’s afraid.

“I didn’t think chocolate could….fuck.” His voice cracks. And he laughs under his breath.

He grips the bench. Looking like he’s in pain.

“I think I need to go inside.”

And he stands too fast. Towel falling down. Hands clenched at his sides as he turns on bare feet and walks toward the main cabin.

You stare at his back. His shoulders. And he disappears down the stairs.

You’re so hot that you could cry. Unbearable.

You press your palm flat to your stomach. Like it’ll help.

But it doesn’t.

Because it’s not just the chocolate.

It’s him. Oscar.

Gone for less than a minute and his voice is the only thing in your head. The way his mouth looked when he licked the chocolate off his thumb. His hands. The muscles of his back straining as he leaned forward

The silence stretches heavy.

You make a quiet sound in your throat. Barely audible. And you can’t sit still. Can barely think. Can’t stop seeing him.

Your hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt. You’re hesitant at first. But then trail your fingers to the center of your ache.

And your hips lift off the cushion. A heavy breath escaping.

Your other hand grips the bench as you rock slowly against your own fingers. Over the bikini. Slow circles. Each one, pressing harder.

You let your head fall back. And the sky above is almost blinding.

“Oscar…”

You don’t even realize you said it out loud. It just slips.

And a few moments later, you don’t even hear him come back. Your fingers still at your bikini. Rubbing.

You lift your head. He’s there.

Flushed. Hair ruffled like he ran his fingers through it a million times. Eyes fixed between your legs like he’s in some sort of trance.

He just stares. Doesn’t even speak.

“I can’t stop,” You whisper. Honest.

“You’re…” He blinks. Voice low. Stunned. Like he just walked into his favorite fantasy and doesn’t know what to do. “You’re fucking touching yourself?”

You nod. And he groans.

“To me?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” You whisper.

“Jesus.” His hands twitch at his sides.

You shift, spreading your legs a little wider without meaning to. Unable to stop rubbing the tight circles.

“You look so pretty like that,” He mutters.

You tremble. “I need help.”

And his eyes widen.

“Please,” you whisper. “I can’t…Osc, please.”

He groans. Hands dropping to the front of his swim shorts, palming the hard line of his cock through the fabric.

“Come closer.” You plead.

And he stares at you with wide eyes. Flushed. He doesn’t move. At least, he doesn’t at first.

But then his gaze drops back down to your legs. Spread open. Your fingers rubbing slow, desperate circles. And his hands twitch.

“I…” He says, but he’s already squeezing himself. “I shouldn’t.”

“Oscar…”

“I shouldn’t be seeing this,” his mutters. “And I shouldn’t be this fucking hard.”

Your eyes fall to where his hand squeezes against his cock. Like he’s trying to fight the ache between his legs.

And you whimper. Hips jerking. “I can’t. I need….I need help.”

His hand squeezes himself tighter.

“Fuck.” A pause. A few silent moments of heated stares. “Do you know how many times I used to think about this?”

His voice has gone rough. And you blink at him. Heart stuttering.

“I used to jerk off in my room and feel sick after,” He whispers. “Because it was you. My sister’s best friend. Always walking around in those tiny shorts. That blue bikini. Always so fucking sweet.”

Your fingers slow. Jaw falls slack.

“I’ve thought about it,” His voice shakes. “Fuck. I’ve thought about this. When we were younger.”

Your breath hitches.

“Thought about your pussy more than I should’ve.” He mutters. “Wondered how soft you’d feel. How tight. If you’d let me take my time or if you’d beg me to fuck you rough.”

Your back arches.

“Wondered what you’d sound like when you come.” He continues. “If it’s all breathy. Or if you’d cry. If you’d say my name.”

“I’d press the pillow over my face after so no one would hear me,” He admits. “Every time.”

You gasp.

“I would.” You gasp.

His hand pushes harder into his cock. Groaning. “I’ve thought about fucking you with my tongue. Holding your legs and licking you for hours.”

You press your fingers even harder.

You whimper, other hand reading for a pillow or something to grab onto. “Osc, please.”

“You want my fingers?” He whispers. “Right here? Want me to fuck you with my hand?”

You nod. Repeatedly. Fast. Almost pathetic.

Oscar lets out a whimper. And then he’s kneeling in front of you before you can blink. Hand still pressing into his cock. The other trembling as his fingers brush your thigh.

“You’re so warm.”

Your hand falls away and he replaces it instantly. Pressing two fingers against the soaked fabric. Groans loudly when he feels it.

“Fuck, pretty…” He groans. “You’re soaked. Fuckin’ dripping.”

And then he pushes the fabric aside, stares. Pupils blown. “God, look at you…"

You shake your head. “Please.”

“I’ve thought about sliding my fingers into you since I was seventeen,” He pushes them in. Half-laughing. “Thought about curling them deep and slow….hearing you moan just like that.”

Oscar swears under his breath, leaning closer. Jaw locked tight. “I’d keep you like this for hours if I could. Legs spread and needy….mine to play with.”

You cry out. Rocking your hips.

And he curls his fingers. Watching your face.

“Yeah?” His thumb circles your clit now. Slow. “Right there? Knew I’d find it.”

And you careen forward. Hands flying to grab his shoulders.

“Come for me,” He mutters. “Right here. In my fucking shirt. On my yacht. On my fingers.”

And you do.

Hard.

And he watches every second. His lips parted. Cock throbbing.

And then he drags his fingers out of you slow.

Brings them to his mouth.

Licks them clean. Eyes locked on yours.

“Taste better than I ever dreamed,” He says softly.

And then he’s grabbing the back of your neck. Pulling your lips to his. Kissing you like he’s starving.

His tongue licks your mouth like its his. Like he already knows how to pull those sounds out of you and wants to hear every single one.

And his hands slip down your body. Down your shoulders, over your ribs. Brushing the dip of your waist. Until he’s gripping your thighs.

“Wanna see bruises here,” He says. “Want people to see bruises and know.”

He stays kneeling between you, chest heaving.

“You’re soaking, baby.” His voice cracks.

He leans forward. Kissing your inner thigh. And then opens his mouth, sucking hard. Pulling a moan from you.

You feel the bruise forming as he licks over it. Sucks it again. Fingers pressing into your skin, gripping it.

“That’s one,” He mutters.

He leaves another one. Higher.

Then a third on the other leg. Right by your cunt. So close that it makes your hips jerk into his mouth.

And then he’s standing. Grabbing you under your thighs. And lifts you.

Laying you down on the table. The welcome basket crashes onto the deck with a thud, but neither of you acknowledge it. The box of chocolates dangling on the edge.

He grabs it.

“What are you doing?” You ask. Breathless.

He doesn’t answer. Opens the box, takes out a single piece and holds it up. Gaze dropping down to your cunt spread open for him.

“Need to taste you with this,” He mutters.

He leans over you. Pressing the chocolate between your lips. “Bite.”

You do.

The sun’s hot against your skin.

And then he kisses you hard. Tongue lapping against yours, sharing the chocolate. You both moan and groan into each other before he’s dropping back to his knees.

“Look at you,” He breathes. “All messy. Want my mouth, baby?”

You nod.

And he leans in. Licks you.

One long drag up your slit.

You cry out. And he groans into your cunt. Licking you. Tasting you.

“Fuckin heaven.” He drags a hand to your leg. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

“Oscar…”

He doesn’t stop. Just hooks his arm under your thigh, and pulls you closer to the edge. Legs over his shoulder.

And buries his face in your pussy.

You grind into him instantly. Chasing every flick of his tongue.

Your hands fist into his hair, dragging his face closer against you. And he moans. Wrecked.

“Fuck,” you yell. “Oscar…oh my…fuck.”

He drags his tongue through you. Flicking your clit over and over.

“Keep fucking my face,” his voice is hot.

“You sound…my God..Oscar, you sound obsessed..”

“I am.” He grunts. Fingers curling in you as he nudges your clit with his nose.

And then he pulls one arm away. You barely notice it. Until you hear it and look down.

He’s got his hand wrapped around his cock, fisting it fast. Leaking.

He jerks his cock faster. Hips twitching into his own fist as his mouth works harder against you.

“Gonna come,” he confesses. “Gonna come from tasting you.”

You cry out.

“C’mon…” He urges. “Let me taste it, yeah?”

And it breaks you.

You moan into the open sky. Grinding against his face. Jaw slack. Eyes squeezed shut.

And then he groans, standing up and comes hard onto your cunt.

Hot, messy ropes of it. Spilling over you.

And then he’s dragging you off the table without a word. Not giving you time to even breathe. Panting.

His hands tight around you, and then he’s spinning you. Forcing you to face the ocean. Chest hitting the metal railing.

And he’s behind you. Silent.

You start to turn your head, “Oscar…?”

“No.” He says. Voice rough. “Stay just like that.”

His hands drag your shirt up. Slow.

His name in bold letters stretched across your back.

He groans. Violently.

“I should’ve fucked you in this years ago.”

Your breath falters.

“Fucking knew it,” He grabs a fistful of the shirt, twisting his hand in it. “Knew one day you’d bend over in this and I’d lose my fucking mind.”

You feel the heat of his body behind you, shoving your bottoms down with one swift flick of his hand. Cock thick and heavy. Dragging through your folds, collecting his come and your wetness.

He groans. You shake.

He presses forward, hips rocking against you. Grinding into your thighs.

“You’ve no idea what you look like.” His breath is heavy behind you. “Bent over. My name on your back. Come still dropping down your cunt.”

And you bite your lip. Arching into him harder.

One hand grips your hip, the other fisted around the shirt.

“You wore this shirt for years like it meant nothing,” His voice quieter. Mean. “Didn’t think about what it did to me every time you wore it.”

“Osc…” You attempt to say his name, but he shifts his hips into you harder and your voice cracks.

He laughs.

“Now look at you. Dripping all over me. Wearing my name like you belong to me.”

He sinks in slow. So slow that you feel every pulse. Every ridge.

And you whimper. He groans behind you. Like he’s in pain. Like he’s trying so hard to not ravish you.

But when his hips meet you, and he’s bottomed out. He just….stops.

Breathes in heavily.

“Fuck.” He says soft. “You’re so fucking tight around me.”

His fingers dig into your hip even harder. Bruising. Marking.

“You’ve ruined me,” He laughs. “Y’know that?”

And you don’t even get a chance to answer.

Because he pulls back and slams into you. Hard.

You cry out, hands gripping the railing that your knuckles turn white.

His pace isn’t gentle at all. It’s feral.

“Fucking ruined me,” He says again. “You in this shirt….you in my fucking name..do you even know what that does to me?”

You moan. So loud. And his hips smack into you. Over and over.

“You’ve been walkin’ around in it for years.” He spits. “Like it’s nothing.”

He thrusts deep, angling his hips at a better angle. “Like I haven’t been dreaming of fucking you in it since I gave it to you all those years ago.”

You’re babbling now. Unable to breathe properly. Your entire body trembling.

His hand slips from your hip and slides up your spine. He grabs the back of your neck and pushes you down. Just a little bit harder. Forces you to arch even more.

And fuck, he nearly collapses when he feels you clench tighter around him.

“You should see yourself,” He grunts. “Squeezing around me like you’re desperate to never let me go.”

And he’s lost all rhythm. He’s just slamming into you. Cock so deep.

“Can’t believe this is real.” He’s panting. “Can’t believe I get to fuck you in my shirt. Pussy covered in me.”

Your orgasm is close. And you’re shouting. Moaning.

"Bet she'd lose her mind if she knew what a slut you were f'me..."

You cry out. He feels you teetering on the edge.

“Don’t.” He snaps.

And you cry, “Oscar…please.”

“You’re gonna wait.” He demands, fucking into you more rapidly.

And he’s losing his mind. It’s sooo good.

“Say who’s inside you.” His hands squeeze the back of your neck. “Say it.”

You gasp. Jaw falling slack. Chest pressed harsh into the metal railing. “You…Osc..fuck, it’s so good..”

You sob out his name and Oscar fucking snaps.

“That’s it, baby.”

His hips hit you faster. Deeper. The filthy sound of it heard over the waves lapping the hull.

You sob into the railing.

He leans into you, head falling forward.

“Gonna come,” He chokes out. “Gonna come right inside you. Stuff you full. Let it leak out.”

And you break.

Orgasm ripping through you. Violent and hot. Back arching so hard into him. You sob out his name. Your walls clenching around him in a tight grip.

And he crashes with you. Body shuddering. Cock throbbing. Spilling into you.

He’s still panting against you when he pulls out. And it’s a fucking mess in between your thighs.

But before you can say anything, he’s dragging you upright. And you’re stumbling as he drags you across the hot deck. Hand across your stomach. Keeping you close.

And then he’s shoving you into the rinse off shower.

He reaches up. Turns the handle. And the water is so cold that you gasp from it.

Oscar laughs behind you. “Too cold?”

Your head falls onto his shoulder. “Asshole.”

And then he turns the temperature warmer, and then it’s all steam and heat again.

You expect him to rinse you off gently.

Instead, he grabs the shower head. Detaches it from the hook. And pulls your back against his chest.

“Gonna clean you up.”

You’re about to ask what exactly he means. But then he;;s nudging your legs apart. Brings the shower head straight to your cunt.

And you jolt forward with a sharp cry.

The heat. The pressure.

“Oh my god…Osc,” You’re mumbling.

And he watches you. Holding one leg to keep them apart.

“Stay open,” his voice is soft. “Wanna see you come again.”

And you whimper. Begging. “Too much…fuck.”

But he doesn’t stop. Just tilts the shower head just right. Hitting your clit.

“Thought I’d have to work harder for this,” He mutters. “But you’re soaking already.”

“Fuck…fuck.”

"Y'like this, hm?" He whispers into your ear. "Being used like some filthy secret?"

Your hands reach behind you and slip their way into his hair. Pulling it. He groans. Rutting his hips into your backside for some friction.

“C’mon, pretty.” He grunts.

And the water just keeps hitting you.

You sob. And then crash again.

Your legs shake. Cunt clenching around nothing. But he holds you up, turning you to face him. Pressing your back against the wall.

He finally sets the shower head down. Lets it spray onto the deck.

And then his hands are back on you. One at your lower back, one gripping your thigh, pulling it up to wrap at his waist. You balance on one leg.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “Y’okay?” His voice gentle. Caring.

And you nod, pressing your head into his neck. And his heart stutters when you lean into him. Like he can finally breathe.

“I’ve got you,” He whispers.

And then, he sinks back into you.

Slow. Gentle.

Your mouth falls open. The stretch still almost unbearable after everything. But the way he slides in, feels too fucking good.

You gasp. Digging your nails into his skin. And he cradles you against the wall.

He moves slow. Rocking. No rhythm. And he feels massive. Thick.

“Oscar,” You hush into his skin. “You feel…Y’feel so good.”

He nods. “I know, baby. I know.” And his voice is a whisper.

He grinds deeper. Barely moving but pressing into you. “Can’t believe you’re still this wet…” He grunts. “Still want more? Want me to stuff you full again, hm? Fuck you til it leaks down?”

You nod. Mouth open. Moaning.

“C’mon,” He pants. Hips jerking. Cock throbbing.

It’s quick. The feel of you wrapped around his cock. The overstimulation of the stretch.

You both come quick. Crying out into each other’s skin. Soft kisses in between the moans.

And then you’re both laughing. Smiling at one another.

“Holy shit…I’m dying.” Your best friend announces. “Never let me go on another tour ever ever again.”

Oscar snorts from beside you on the bench, looking at his phone. “Told you you’d hate it.”

“You didn’t say I’d almost drown.”

You keep your face still. Sipping your drink.

And she plops down on the lounger across the deck, sighing.

And for a moment…it’s quiet.

Until Oscar leans in slightly, elbow brushing your arm.

His voice low. “Y’think she noticed?”

You glance at him. Shake your head.

“She’s never been less observant,” You whisper back.

And he grins. One of those fuck-you grins that makes you stutter.

And you hold back a smile.

Your best friend groans across the deck. “God, I feel disgusting. Should we order dinner in an hour?”

Oscar clears his throat. “Sure.”

“Yeah,” You say.

And then you lean, just slightly, into his side. Just enough that his thigh is touching yours again.

He doesn’t move. And he doesn’t stop smiling.

"Hey, what happened to the welcome basket?"

Oops? taglist (holy shit SO MANY OF YOU ILY): @landoscarinthefastlane @dudenhaaa27 @330bpm-whiplash @xoln04f1xo @sainzluvrr @minjiahyung @madicecream123 @star73807-blog @simpfortoomanymen @art-h1ve @annaswrites00 @forumlabee @butterfly-daisies07 @nothereneverherever @widow-cevans @suns3treading @fmejenson @megatrilss1885 @10iceicebaby @sh1nedreamsm1le7 @ptrickbateman @chasingosc @uuoozzii @idkwtdwml123 @pinkdeadtopia @chiara8104 @ellie-bellie-29 @piastri-my-boy @1-of-my-many-obsessions @8junejpg1 @jaydensluv @astrlape @idontknow0704 @whistlef0rthechoir @op814kitty @asmoothoperator @illicit-affcirs @lilith-123321 @teddybearbeth @saudianna @skylyn-vais @fleurdangz @angxedxtz @marekmybeloved @liafics @dxrlxb @gabyasworld @treebranch23 @drysdalesv @morganalatina21 @bigcatharmony @ilovemuppets @acina27 @angelabunbun @megatrilss1885 @ilikecarsalotsometimes @roxanne-ragnvindr @euphoriapillz @luminouskalopsia @trinity2058 @livsturnioloo @wdsara48 @ini3103 @shimmermotorsport @marslovesran4eva @wherethezoes-at @monsterdesandia @mythicalmaven @3in1shampooconditionerbodywash @ella284-3 @landossainz @redcrescentmoons @jaeger-chan @altaccount283927 @ericasdumbworld @aerie717 @the0twst0shrimp0mc @ysavelelelel @phillza-my-beloved @thenalovescars @zicosbitch @scaroscar8115 @wertyuizxcvbnm @needy02 @dessashippr @quill-vy @o6hellnah @enchantedwaspwhisper @awesome-fandom-panda @biancathecool @lilorose25 @wowzees (not sure if all these worked but I took them straight from my comments on the sneak peak)

#oscar piastri x female oc #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x you #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #op81 fic #op81 #f1 one shot #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut

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koushirouizumi · 1 year ago

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vimeo

{Shaman King} (Original Anime) ~ Tao Ren x {AINU!}Horohoro {"Horokeu Usui"} "In The End" Music (C) Linkin Park (+Bonus Pirika) as {Platonic} Support (for Horohoro)

Short Summary: "T I M E is a VALUABLE T h i n g..."

Notes: Contains spoilers for later Horohoro fights {Original Series}, {plus a later Ren fight} - The fight is a bit graphic, (Heavy blood shown at end) Please be mindful watching by the end. {Ren revives in eps immediately after, so it's not actually permadeath, Horohoro just doesn't Know} *This is an OLD piece made 10+ years ago. {Please excuse Low Quality Footage}

*Any Lip-sync'ng was unintentional, but since it actually fit well, it was kept in as filler. {Might be removed in any future remake} *A remade version might include something like a silly endcard showing everyone's ok \o/ No Tao Rens were harmed in the making of this AMV!!

A.M.V By Me {DO NOT Reproduce or Reupload Under Any Circumstances Without my Permission} {Music © Linkin Park & Chester Bennington}

This embed may randomly not display at times, Showing like it’s “down”, but it’s not at this time! {It usually happens late at night[s] or seemingly when the site is experiencing very high traffic} If that happens, please consider watching at another direct link here!

{I am NOT taking new AMV Requests (+for this series) at this time. Please DO NOT Ask!} (However, please feel free to enjoy This A.M.V.; +Feel free to comment!!)

#renhoro #ren x horohoro #usui horokeu #horohoro usui #tao ren #koushirouizumi sk #koushirouizumi posts #koushirouizumi sk posts #ainu horokeu usui #renxhorohoro #ainu horohoro #ainu!horohoro #yoh and horohoro #renyohtahoro #(ACTUAL 1ST m ANKIN... ONE..... {Testin to see if even W o r k s})#({OK SO YEAH THE START OF MY Still small S. K series of v IDS})#(This one is O L D like FROM START OF 02 SITE o LD)#(Around the time I made I was *still watching it* basically exactly around eps I end this on)#({I knew for a Fact that Ren revives bc yeah I was late to this series lmaooo} sO YES OK NO R E Ns w ERE h ARMED IN THE MAKIN OF THIS ONE)#({I p R O M I S E} I might end a silly end-card style thing just to show theyre clearly all right by the end I just cOULD NOT FIT IN BEFORE #({You Maybe Can G u e s s} W. M. M Began The Crashings yup so this was another I managed to save by the VERY End)#(A. K. A this one was VERY EXPERIMENTAL this was my LITERAL 1ST L I N K I N P A R K attempt o K PLS GO EASY ON ME)#({I was actually trying to tie in actual relevant scenes if 'filler ep' scenes})#({during the middle Ren is basically half p o s s e s s e d but Horo is r EALIZING WHATS HAPPENING and by that point it becomes RenHoro})#({also towards end} 'haha do you think Young me Had Things To Say re Xti@n-like Hegemony sequences between other @.M.V and this one????')#(No but genuinely what I love for this one still is the timing I did for Korpokkur scene)#({I was also trying to show despite L y r i c sTM but that Yoh and Horo are HAVING FUN F i g h t i n g} {'w EVE COME TOO FAR!!11!!')}#({ALSO bc its negl still one of my Fav fights even if its Short lived for Horo} {BUT OK I L O V E HORO TOO STILL HOROh O R O IS G O O D})#({I ALSO TRIED TO FIT IN P I R I K A MY h EART TOO BC I L O V E P I R I K A SOMUCH & SHE GOT SO LITTLE FAN s UPPORT ON OWN WAY BACK THEN})#({o K BUT ALSO THE QualityTM on this one got messed up too and i LONGSIGH ETERNALLY at the footage I was forced to use way back when})

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appleofmyheart · 2 months ago

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smoke nd toke! | t.fushiguro

summary... toji gets back at you for smoking his shit without his permission

mdni...toji x reader, mary jane usage, dirty talk, fingering, slapping, oral, dry humping, grinding, squirting, jerkin (lol), spitting, choking, hairplay, ruined/makeup, toji fucks ur face <3, swallowing, teasing, overstimulation, begging, ecstasy, stretching, lil bit of pain, p in v, creaming, comfort??

a/n...i was high when i wrote this so apologies if its js me rambling lowk! but im acc kinda proud of this one plsplspls dont flop! thank u for all the support everyone!

wc...1.4k

holyholyholy fuck stoner toji…what can I fucking say.

“Pretty girl’s all - heh - wet..aint she?” Toji slides his fingers through your folds before slapping your puffy clit.

“N–ngh!” you choke.

He gives your overstimulated pussy a slap before leaning forward, flattening his tongue. He groans, lapping your juices up like he hasn't eaten in days. Your legs twitch in response before he grips your thighs hard enough to leave a mark.

“You’re fighting but i can feel ya clenching ‘round me sweets.” Toji breathes against your pussy before straightening his back and reaching for the ashtray beside him with his free hand.

A strong smell of weed hits your nose. You glance down to see Toji blowing the smoke towards you. His eyes meet yours, tracking you like you were his prey. Something about it makes your cunny twitch nd clench. He passes the joint to you.

You place it against your lips. You inhale the skunky fumes of the flower as the man in between your legs continues to devour your slick. You almost choke when you feel him lick a long stripe against your pussy, placing the joint down back into the ashtray.

Your eyes are red and droopy and Toji’s tongue probing starts to feel a bit too good. “s’ too much!–hah–To-ji…” You moan brokenly.

His grip on your thighs tighten even more. “Wan’ you to cum..f’me,” he purrs against you. “I can feel ya gettin close, atta girl…”

He licked you more aggressively. His ministrations getting sloppier, quicker. Until your eyes began to cross and you could feel the chord in your stomach about to snap.

“Fuck–hmm– soo good..” You moan, digging your fingers into his hair.

The delightful sting of you pulling on his hair made Toji press his erection against the couch you were on, slowly grinding against the fabric to alleviate his urges.

“Ya gunna squirt f’me, dirty fuckin girl?” he chuckles, spanking your entrance in a crude manner. He giggles when he sees your pussy blush.

“F-fuck Toji..’feel it…” You confess, eyebrows furrowed.

He only smiles when you reach your orgasm. Liquid sprays from your entrance as he rubs your clit, enticing you to cum even harder. He opens his mouth to catch your squirt before spitting it back onto your pussy.

Toji stands, leaning closer to your ear and whispering utter filth. “So fuckin messy f’me arent ya? Silly fuckin girl thinks she can just smoke my shit whenever she wants without paying?” He teases you, reminding you about how you got yourself in this situation in the first place.

“No… m’sorry.. I didn’ mean t-to…” you slur, still catching your breath from the prolonged orgasm you just had. There's squirt all over the couch, and on the neckline of Toji’s shirt. He rolls his eyes at the pathetic attempt at an apology and holds your head up with his free hand. He pushes his grey sweatpants down, forcing you to watch his cock recoil from the restraints of his pants and boxers.

You hear his tip slap against his lower abdomen. You admire his length. He swears he can see hearts form in your eyes as he begins to stroke his cock in front of you.

“Like what ya see?” he pants. Being finally able to relieve his erection, he cups his hand under your chin and orders you to spit.

“Good girl.” he whispers as he spreads the glob of spit onto his cock, using it as lube. The schlk! schlk! of his ministrations make you drool absentmindedly, spit seeping out between your puffy lips.

He laughs out loud! “Hah!–i knew you were a slut,” He slowly pries at the entrance of your mouth with his tip, “Wana taste?” Forcing you to kitten lick his slit.

“That's it.. Such’a good girl..” Toji whispers.

The sight of your red, teary eyes and the spit streaming down your chin and neck make it impossible for him to not cum on the spot.

“N-ngh– take it.. A-all…” he says in a strained tone, sinking his cock down your throat.

He can feel it squeeze as you try to protest. “T’-much–ackg!” he silences you by grabbing your hair into two pig tails and humping his pelvis into you so you're pressed flush against his pubes.

The act smears your makeup. Your eyeliner is streaming down your face, your sparkly lipgloss getting everywhere from the smudging

At this point, his dick is glittery too.

He fucks your mouth till his legs start to weaken, feeling himself getting closer nd closer to shooting ropes down your throat. He watches your face as his dick ruins you. You’re blowin’ cute little spit bubbles and smacking his thigh in protest. Spit overload!

He’s sent over the edge.

“Augh baby…f–fuck yyes…” he holds your head in place, sheathing his dick into your throat like the sword in the stone. You swallow copious amounts of thick cum, the warmth trailing down your esophagus.

He holds this position for a bit, testing to see how long you can hold your breath for. You begin to choke on his length, smacking his thigh to alert him, but he doesn't move. Instead he stares at you till you’re about to pass out.

When he finally releases himself from you, he groans. “O-oh… fuck..,” biting his lip. “I need ya’ so badly doll..f–fuck, needa feeel ya squeeze around me.”

You can only moan in agreement as he sets you on the couch, his free hand reaching for the joint once more.

He slaps his cock against your already overstimulated pussy while he ghosts. A thick cloud of vapour escapes his mouth promptly.

“To-ji…. Hurry–ngyh–p-p-please.” You beg. “Need you ‘nside…”

He shushes you. “Be patient, girl.” He leans in closer, till your lips were brushing against each other ever so slightly. The smoke from his hit seeps into you. Seconds later, you've reached the peak of your high.

You feel as though you're floating. Everything touching you dissolves into your skin and you become a part of it. You were losing your mind over how good you felt and it only got worse the moment Toji sunk his cock deep inside of you.

“Oh my–g-god..” Your eyes roll up in ecstasy. The slight stretch you felt was painfully delicious. You’ve never felt so full!

Toji smiles at what he sees under him. He loved the way your pussy was drooling all along his base, the tip of his cock making your tummy bulge.

You became obsessed. Every thrust felt deeper than the last. The mixture of weed and pure pleasure made your brains melt. All you could do was pathetically moan.

“T-tojii…’tso deep..nghh..”

The raven haired man placed his hands on either side of your waist, gripping your skin till it hurt, “Fuckin slut.” He whispers to himself. Your pussy was squelching, leaving a creamy ring around his dick. The sight of it made him piston his cock even faster.

You whine. “O-oh..y–yes.. j’s like that..!”

“Oh does that feel good?” Toji pants.

You nod weakly. “Mhmf– i lovee it!”

He doesnt respond verbally but instead, physically. Toji motions his hips to an angle, hitting your g-spot at a different angle. In response, your pussy constricts around him like an anaconda. He watches your face contort.

“Oh this is the spot isnt it?” He smirks,

You can’t even respond, you’re too cock drunk. The ecstasy is overwhelming– you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm.

“To-toji.. Plea–heh– please… ‘m guna cum..!”

“Good girl.” He removes his hand from your waist so that he can push the hair out of your face. “You have no idea the absolute mess you've made of me..”

That sentence ruins you. A hot melting pleasure spreads throughout your stomach as you cum around his cock. “M’cummin!!”

Your toes curl and your legs shake and twitch, as Toji lets go of your waist, cock still inside. He leans in to kiss you gently–his plush tongue wrapping yours.

“fuck .. “ he gasps, his hips bucking to a halt. You feel his length twitch before hot ropes of cum coat your insides; seeping into your womb.

All you can do is sigh in relief, eyes heavy with pleasure. Toji’s still kissing you, giving you gentle pecks as you both come down from (one) of your highs.

A moment of silence before he speaks. “Next time…” He straightens, “You wanna smoke, you come to me.. I dont want you smokin cheap shit.”

You smile, propping yourself up with your elbows. You reach for the ashtray.

“mkayy.” you sigh dreamily. “Thank you.” You inhale the burnt fumes once more.

“You’re welcome, doll.” he says as he brings himself closer to your mouth to steal some of your smoke. He blows it back into your face. “Anythin for you.”

#jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji zenin #toji x you

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adoseofdidreality · 2 years ago

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also my blog name wasnt to pretend to be you but to make fun of your username because i think "a dose of did reality" (or even a "a DIDose of reality") is funnier than didadoseofreality

genuinely just replace the word DID with "the shot" or something wild and "a dose of reality" can become a really clever pun for antovaxxers. i think if the op is actually an antivaxxer they can steal that idea and try to come up with a better primary title to be followed by the subtitle "a dose of reality" :P

it would all be really silly shouty lies by an old man/woman/erson who's scared of The Furries Oh my Gosh!!! and it's hillarious

#also i highly doubt this was any good advertisement #me when stretch the truthor perhaps even outright lie on the internet #500 followers to What Blog Exactly?#is it one of the 5 random likes on your posts?#the only reason im interacting with you (outside of the whole 'engaging in syscourse is unhealthy but i like to argue my point anyway' bit)#is because you are so ridiculous and you don't evne cite any sources #you just vaguely say “the DSM removed fictives and social media from the criteria”#when 1 u didnt say what was changed and where we can find proof that it was changed in the way u say it did #and 2 even if it was changed to not directly call out certain experiences... its because other people dont experience that #like. some systems dont have any fictives #some systems have never touched a social media ever #to have that be part of the criteria itself would be silly #although having it as diagnostic examples in some form would be good #but i dont think im trusting this user to diagnose anyone properly anyway so. lol #they cant even find the block button jNKDSN #like oh wow i asked questions on a side blog i amde 5 hours ago because you dont hve anons on #ITS TOTALLY ADVERTIZING #the MOST i did was talk to someone else who's actually debunked your claims in some kinda-indirect way jnfkshjfh #but like. i dont think they care too much #i am using too many tags tumblrs gonna get mad. if ur reading this drink water. unless ur didadoseofreality then drink p-

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thevillainswhore · 7 months ago

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Dancing With The Devil II

Pairing: Alternative!Bucky Barnes x Cheerleader!F!Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Summary: It’s the night of the fundraiser, and after a few heated encounters with the one boy you should be staying away from, the tension between you finally comes to its peak when Bucky visits the kissing booth.

Warnings: College AU, bad boy v. good girl trope, inexperienced!reader, jealousy, kissing, dirty talk, smut, fingering, daddy kink, p in v penetration, tit/ass slapping, tit sucking/biting, degradation, mentions of fisting, mild drug use.

Author’s Note: Unbeta’d. Divider by @saradika-graphics. Part 2 and the final installation to this fic — Dancing With The Devil ❤️ song inspo: Chase Atlantic - Slow Down. Thank you for all the lovely comments for the first part, I will get round to responding, I promise 🤍 enjoy x

The night of the fundraiser had arrived; your college campus was set up with an array of stalls that were all decorated beautifully. But you were proud to say, thanks to your hard work, that the cheerleader’s stall, embellished in shades of pink and red, was a show stopper.

The kissing booth had been a huge success so far. Hundreds of students had joined in on the fun and you witnessed many shy pecks to the cheek, some very awkward kisses and a few audacious make outs that had the gathered crowd whistling and hollering.

Even your own cheeks heated as you discreetly watched the more outgoing boys slide their tongues into your teammate’s mouths, wondering how such an insatiable kiss felt.

Luckily, Sharonl had been by your side all night, inadvertently keeping you self-aware and in check of your own thirstiness.

Somehow, you had managed to convince Daisy to let you be a part of the kissing booth. You weren’t all too fussed that she had put you on the sidelines, unable to participate as you were stationed on ticket collection. In fact, you were more relieved.

A few students had tried to choose you for a kiss and without fail Daisy came rushing over each time to instantly shut them down, harshly explaining that you were only the help.

While it stung, you were kind of grateful. You had no desire to kiss anyone. Almost anyone, anyway.

Sharon had redirected your wandering gaze every time you looked through the crowd. You knew it was silly to look for Bucky, even when he asked for you to be there. But a small slither of hope within you couldn’t shut the possibility down, even if it was just to see him in passing.

Your thoughts had been stuck on him all week. From your waking moments to the silent ones at night on your own while you were trying to fall asleep. His scent seemed to follow you, no matter where you went and his salacious grin, rotting your brain, had gotten you in trouble a few times while you zoned out in class.

Bucky was a drug you craved — one you couldn’t shake, even if you didn’t really want to.

In your peripheral vision, you caught a familiar face trying to discreetly peek around the side of a stall opposite you and get a glimpse over in your direction.

“You know, Shar. You never actually told me if you had any plans tonight.” It was true. She had been too busy dealing with your own crisis for you to consider how she could be spending her time.

Your friend shrugged while sipping on her fruity slushie. “Nope. I’m a free woman, spending time with my girl.”

Guilt began to settle in your stomach, then. Sharon had been by your side all night, refusing to help set up the kissing booth when Daisy set you on the sidelines. And by the sight of her man, hiding out just to get to see her, you knew she must have blown plans with him to be with you. Instead, she had decided to be a good friend and keep you company.

You slammed your own drink onto the makeshift table with a sigh. “Sharon, you can’t stay here.”

She abruptly stopped sucking up the last of her drink through the straw to look at you like you had grown two heads. “And why the hell can’t I?”

Pointing your finger over to a freshly caught, red faced Steve, you gave her a deadpan glare. “Because right there is your man, literally stumbling over his own feet just to see you. That’s why.”

You watched closely as your friend took a quick glance at her boyfriend, tightening her lips with amusement before shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” you scolded, ignoring her attempt to butt in. “Just because I’m on ticket duty, it doesn’t mean you have to waste your night with me. You should be over there with him! He looks like a lost puppy.”

Sharon scoffed and shook her head. “Don’t be silly, I like being over here with you.” But you couldn’t quite believe her when you caught her once again sneaking a look over to him with a longing in her eyes.

“Shar.” You leveled with her, grabbing her hand with an honest smile. “I promise I’ll be okay, go have fun with your man.”

She looked as though she was about to retort back, though before she could, you stood up and brought her with you. “I mean it.”

Your best friend looked skeptical for a second before she gave in with a sigh. “You’re sure you’ll be fine?”

“Positive.” You reassured her instantly with a bright smile. “Now go! Shoo—go smooch Stevie and tell me all about it later.”

Sharon pulled you into a crushing hug, rocking you dramatically from side to side while she squealed in excitement. “I promise, I promise! Thank you, sweets! You’re a fucking angel.” Squeezing you tightly one last time, she eventually let go, kissing your cheek with a wet smooch and taking off to her boyfriend.

Slumping back into your seat, you wiped your cheek and watched as Steve caught your friend into his arms, spinning her around with a huge grin and bright eyes. You sighed in bittersweet happiness, truly glad to see your friend so loved up — you didn’t regret sending her off at all.

Even if you were now pathetically alone, working the ticket collection of the kissing booth you put together.

The line of students queuing up to hand in their one free kiss tickets seemed never ending as the night went on. You collected so many that the thought of seeing another physically made you feel sick — you didn’t even bother to look at whoever was in line anymore, fixated on your only entertainment of the evening; watching everyone but you enjoy the kissing festivities.

So when the next forsaken pink ticket with a lipstick print came into your line of vision, you sighed with bitterness.

“You can go through,” you mumbled while you reached up to take the token. But as you tried to pull it into your hold, you were met with resistance.

You frowned, beginning to look up. “I said you can—“

“Oh, I heard you loud and clear, Bunny.” Devilish, bright blue eyes stared you down. “But believe me when I say I’d rather stay here.”

It took everything in your power to stay composed. Bucky actually came, your mind internally screamed at you.

Your nerves went haywire while the two of you still held onto the ticket. As the night had progressed, your hope to see him dwindled by the second until you eventually gave up. But as he currently stood in front of you, eyeing your body in your cheer uniform, you had a hard time not throwing yourself over the table at him.

“H-Hi, Bucky,” you whispered, still a little awestruck.

He smirked. “Hey, you.” The finger that held tight to the ticket caressed over yours, sending a shudder down your spine. “Good turn out, then?”

You cleared your throat. “Mhm, we’ve raised a lot of money so far.” That’s when you noticed two of his friends behind him. “I see you brought company.”

“I’m a man of my word, sweetheart.” Bucky grinned until he raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d actually be at the kissing booth, though. Not collecting the tickets for it.”

“Oh,” you muttered. How could you put it without sounding so lame? “Yeah about that—“

Before you could try to explain, Daisy came trotting towards you and the entirety of your body filled with dread. Instantly dropping your hold on the ticket, she was soon by your side wearing her practiced fake smile.

“Newbie,” she called, gratingly. “What is with the hold up? I gave in and let you do this because I thought you weren’t so incompetent after all.”

Daisy’s harsh words cut into you like a knife and you slumped into yourself, embarrassed to be scolded in front of Bucky.

You missed how she glanced to the queue, subtly changing her tune once she realised who was watching. “Come on, honey,” she said in a sickly sweet voice. “You’re not just letting me down, you’re letting the team down. I know you can do better than this.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you mumbled, “Sorry, Daisy.” You were so angry at yourself. The thought that Bucky had seen the whole exchange had you suppressing the urge to bolt it out of there.

But you were even more mortified as you looked up and witnessed Daisy twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes in front of him. “You’re Bucky, right? The one who beat up Tony Stark?”

You watched silently while he looked her up and down. Though it was the exact opposite of the way he looked at you, you couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your stomach that he may be interested in her.

“It’s actually James,” he said, face devoid of his happy expression from earlier.

“Huh?” Daisy replied.

You thought you heard Bucky scoff, but you told yourself you were hearing things. “My name is James.”

Daisy laughed. “But I’ve heard people call you Bucky.” Leaning over the table, she not so discreetly pushed her chest together with her arms, a pout on her lips. “Don’t you want me to call you that too?”

A thick haze of green burned your skin. You weren't sure how long you could take watching their back and forth, especially when the one person who disliked you was so obviously flirting with your crush.

To your surprise though, Bucky didn’t once let his gaze falter down, inherently keeping his eyes on hers. “No. I already told you my name is James.”

Daisy reeled back a little, shocked that her usual tactics of spinning boys’ into her web was going down the drain. “Anyway,” clearing her throat, she recovered quickly. “I see you bought a ticket. So I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that any of our cheerleaders in the lineup are available for a kiss.” She flicked her hair over her shoulders and added, “Me included.”

You ducked your head, trying to force down the sick feeling rising up your throat. Bucky choosing Daisy would break your heart. You already knew you had become quite besotted over him, but with the new tortuous idea of them in your head that could soon become reality, your heart felt like it was ripping out of your chest.

Unable to see his expression, you missed how his eyes flicked to you, a handsome smile he only reserved for you on his face. “Easy.” He licked his lips. “I pick my Bunny.”

“What?” Both Daisy and you looked at him in shock; you instantly snapped your gaze up to him with wide eyes while she scowled in frustration.

Bucky kept his eyes on you with his next words. “How about it, pretty girl? Wanna kiss me?”

Your mouth dropped open, jaw unhinged. No words were able to formulate together to answer him quick enough before you were interrupted once again.

“Unfortunately,” Daisy snapped. “You can’t kiss her, you can only choose from the line up.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky begrudgingly looked back at her. “Says who?”

“Me,” she retorted smugly as she crossed her arms.

He scoffed. “No one—least of all you—is gonna tell me who I can kiss.”

You gulped, head still swimming with the fact Bucky was putting up a fight to kiss you.

“It’s the rules!” Daisy shouted, garnering the attention of more people.

Exasperated, Bucky sighed. “Listen, Dorothy—“

“It’s Daisy.”

“—If I were interested in you,” he spoke over her. “I would have asked for you. That is the whole concept behind this kissing booth, right? You know the idea you didn’t come up with.”

Daisy’s cheeks turned bright red while the people who listened in from the queue snickered at her expense.

Bucky glanced back at you, his lips curling up while he still directed his words to her. “I should be grateful, though. You just made my job of making sure no one else got to Bunny before me so much easier. Thanks Denise, you can go now.”

The hushed laughter of the students was agonizing, even for you. Therefore there was only so much painful embarrassment the ice queen herself could take. Defeated, Daisy spun around with a huff and stormed off.

You followed her retreating back, half panicked about the fallout it could cause in the future. But you were brought back to the present as Bucky held his hand palm up between you. “What do you say, then? Wanna get outta here, Bunny?”

Looking up at him, his eyes gleamed with mischief and satisfaction. A small bout of confidence gave you the courage to stand up, take his hand and be led into what was bound to be danger. “Yes please.”

His hand engulfed yours while he trailed you away from the swarm of people on campus, whoops and hollers fading into the distance, and to a secluded alleyway. Gently, Bucky backed you up against the wall and stood in front of you, leaving hardly any room between you. The light breeze along with the cold bricks chilled your bare arms from your cheer outfit as goosebumps cascaded over your skin.

“You cold, angel?” Bucky asked, a tenderness to his voice.

“N-No, not r-really.” You tried to lie, not wanting to be a pain. But the stutter to your response as you shivered didn’t help your case.

He smiled while he shook his head. “Stubborn girl.” Pulling his arms out of the sleeves, Bucky shucked off his hoodie and wrapped it over your shoulders. “Perfect.”

His intoxicating scent hit you all at once — it was an effort to not bury your head into the material and deeply inhale.

Instead, you shyly gazed into his eyes. “I actually wanted to thank you for the other day. With—with Tony,” you clarified. “I didn’t get to say it before.”

Bucky drew closer to you. “That was nothing, pretty girl.”

The thick tension in the air and the proximity between you, so similar to the events in the storage closet, caused you to overshare. “You’re not actually so scary Bucky—like everyone says you are. You’re actually kind of like a big teddy—“ You cut yourself off, too embarrassed to continue what you were saying.

He lifted your chin with his finger to look at him. “Ah ah, don’t stop there, Bunny.” His nickname for you sent tingles shooting up your thighs. “Carry on.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “I was going to say you remind me of a teddy bear, because you’re soft on the inside even if you do look a little scary on the outside.” Biting your bottom lip, you slowly opened your eyes.

Bucky smirked. “Yeah? You scared a’me, sweetheart?”

“Nu-uh,” you whispered as you shook your head with hooded eyes, placing your hands over his chest. “I really like how you look.”

Bucky grinned even wider. His large hands firmly gripped your face, eyes boring into yours. “I like how you look too, baby.” He pressed you further against the wall, licking his lips with animalistic hunger. His thumb smoothed over the pulse in your neck, watching with rapt attention as he felt the steady pump of blood.

Bucky was intense, full on and the epitome of your parent’s worst nightmare. But you just couldn’t find it in you to care. Sharon’s warnings, the common sense in your head — they were fighting a losing battle. You were doomed from the moment you met him.

“Y’know what else I like, Angel?” Bucky closed the distance between you, the weight of his body delicious while he skimmed his lips over the sensitive skin of your neck. “I like that a sweet innocent little thing like you can’t stay away from me either.”

“You don’t make it very easy,” you gasped as his tongue swept over the skin behind your ear.

He chuckled breathily. “Does your friend know you’re with me?”

You timidly shook your head. “N-No. She's with her b-boyfriend.”

“Oh.” The sensation of his teeth scraping the lobe of your ear forced a whine out of you. “So my Bunny’s bein’ a bad girl, right now?”

Your fingers tangled in the material of his shirt, pulling him closer. “Mhm.”

“Good,” he growled. “You’re not escapin’ me this time. No running away from Bear. I paid for my kiss after all.”

With a crazed look in his eyes, he ripped himself out of your neck and tightened his fingers into your hair, pulling you into him to crush his lips against yours.

“Mmph!” There was no time to process what was happening. Bucky’s fervid desire was blazing, like he couldn’t possibly stand the thought of not touching you for another second.

His tongue snaked into your mouth and you moaned at the delectable feel of his piercing flicking against your own tongue. The wet slaps of your lips while you made out echoed down the dingy alleyway; it was far from a comfy bed, but the rough brick scraping against your back strangely heightened your excitement.

Bucky suddenly grabbed your leg and hiked it over his hips. Saliva strung from his lips as he quickly pulled away to breathe into your open mouth. “Holy shit.” His chest rose and fell erratically, but a salacious grin decorated his face as though the struggle to catch his breath was exhilarating to him. “You’re sexy as fuck, Bunny.”

Your head spun from desire, a burning fever coursing through your veins like never before. “I’m so dizzy,” you slurred, completely relying on Bucky for balance.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he cooed before grinding his hips against your heat. “You haven’t seen nothin’ yet.”

The material of his denim jeans rubbed tantalisingly over your thin underwear — you felt the full force of his bulge against your covered cunt as your tiny skirt raised up.

You clawed desperately at his neck while your eyes rolled back. “Bear—please—”

“That’s right. Sing for me, baby,” he murmured, eyeing your neck with want. Your cries bounced off the brick walls when he began sucking your skin, just above your collarbone.

“Never—oh god—I've never done anything like this before,” you panted.

Bucky pulled away with a wet pop. You watched as his eyes dilated at the sight of a dark hickey staining your neck. “Don’t you fuckin’ worry about that. I’ll take care of you.”

Sharon’s warning still danced around in your head, a small voice clinging on to your last shred of restraint. “But—”

“Shh, Bunny baby.” He looked at you then, with his bright blue eyes and swollen lips. You hung onto his every word, even when the tips of his fingers teased the inside of your thigh. “I’ve got you, okay? You’re with me now.”

And just as Bucky pulled the soaked gusset of your panties to the side, you knew you were a devout sinner, ready to let him take over the entirety of your mind when he said, “Daddy’s never gonna let his Angel go.”

The pads of his two fingers slowly slid through the middle of your folds, the substantial amount of slick making the glide easy for him. “Oh fuck me,” he gasped. “Baby, you’re fuckin’ drippin’.”

Words were lost on you. Your nails dug deeply into his arms while you struggled to stand on one leg without shaking. “I—oh my god—I can’t.”

You missed the awestruck expression on Bucky’s face as he watched his own fingers move over your sex, the glisten of his rings coated with your arousal. With a sudden growl, he slapped your pussy, splatters of your wetness flicking over his forearm while you yelped in surprise. “Mm—that’s the good shit right there.”

He seemed to be entranced, lost in his own world as you clung to him. “Bear,” you whined needily. “Bear, I need you.”

But your cries went ignored. At least, only until he slowly sunk two fingers into your tight hole and made you scream out his name. “Bucky!”

The groan that rumbled through his chest vibrated through your whole body. His free arm slithered around your waist and pulled you into him. Blowing the strands of hair dangling in front of his eyes, he stared you down while he continued to fuck you with his fingers, each time grinding them into you as deep as possible and basking in the fluttering of your eyes. “You fuckin’ love that, don’t you, huh? Love Daddy shoving his fingers so far into your wet cunt?”

All you could do was nod dumbly, your head heavy and clouded over with lust.

“Of course you fuckin’ do.” Bucky laughed before suddenly pulling his fingers out of you and leaving you emptier than you felt before him.

You whined loudly with the sudden loss of fullness and slumped against him. “W-What—what’s goin’—Bucky—”

The sound of slurping beside your ear caused you to lift your heavy head with immense effort to the sight of Bucky sucking each of his fingers that had just been inside of you, like a starved bear. It winded you. He made sure to lick down to the knuckles, not a drop of your essence left untouched, even as he rolled his tongue over his rings.

You watched, dazed and dizzy until he hummed in satisfaction and finally opened his eyes to look at you. “You taste fuckin’ incredible.”

The fuzziness of your head switched off the part of your brain that made you tremble in his presence. You were holding on by a thread as you mumbled a “T-Thank you.”

A couple of seconds passed by with your heaving breaths and an unbearable knot pulsing away in your lower stomach. Though, Bucky soon interrupted the silence. “Wanna come take a look at my car?”

You frowned, an unfulfilled orgasm made you feel delirious. Had you heard him right? He had just stuffed you with his fingers, literally leaving you a disheveled mess on his shoulder and he asked if you wanted to go see his car?

“It’s a Mustang Mach 1. She’s a real beauty.” Bucky offered, as though the model type would sway you to say yes when you knew absolutely nothing about cars. He seemed so casual and so the only way you thought to act was the complete same.

Nodding your head, you took a deep breath and replied. “S-Sure.”

Grabbing your hand, he grinned and began walking you to the parking lot of the campus.

Little did you know, your very own devil was about to drag you into the pits of hell, tarnishing your white wings and making you his queen of the underworld.

“Oh my god—Bear, please!”

“Right fuckin’ there baby, ride my fuckin’ dick like the good girl you are.” Bucky’s fingers dug into the skin of your hips while you bounced on his cock, the skirt of your uniform bunched around your waist. “That's it, Bunny. Keep on hoppin’ for daddy, sweet girl.”

When Bucky had asked if you wanted to see his car, you truly thought that was what his intentions were. Even if he had just fucked you with his fingers, your naivety still let you believe he had no ulterior motives. Oh, how wrong you were.

You followed him blindly when he wanted to show you the interior, thinking nothing of the fact that he made you climb over the console and into the backseat for comfortability.

But now, as the windows fogged up and your bare tits bounced up and down since Bucky had torn his hoodie and the shirt of your cheer uniform over your shoulders, the only nonsensical thought your mind could supply was how much of a sucker you were for temptation — an innocent lamb ready to sin.

The meat of your asscheeks clapped against his thick thighs while your hand slammed against the window; the built up perspiration inside the car coming away as your palm slid down with a screech. “So—so big—you’re so big, Bear.”

Bucky’s sweat-stricken hair stuck to each side of his temple and he grunted deeply while the sound of your slick sloshed over his cock. “God, you’re leakin’ all over my dick.” He looked down and grinned at the sight of him stretching your hole wide open. “So fuckin’ wet for me, bun bun.”

Your needy whines were music to his ears as you threw your head back. “Mm—can’t help it—you— you do this to m-me.”

That seemed to please him greatly. “Yeah, Bunny?”

Bucky grabbed you by the chin, the chunky rings on his fingers indenting marks onto your protruding cheeks. “Who’s cock is stuffin’ your cunt full, huh? Who’s fuckin’ makin’ you soaked? Tell me, baby.”

“Y-You, Bear,” you moaned.

But Bucky wasn’t satisfied. “Say it like you fuckin’ mean it.”

“You’re keeping me full, baby! Daddy’s making me all wet!”

Bucky groaned with a sinister smile. “That’s more fuckin’ like it.” The thrust of his hips began to piston up into you and his balls slapped against the meat of your ass with the force. “Look at ya—all dumbed out ‘cause Daddy’s so deep in your hole.”

Drool started to dribble down your chin. The tip of his cock hit the sensitive nerves in your cunt just right and words were the last thing on your mind. “Can’t even think for me, can you, baby?”

The car bobbed up and down with the fast rhythm between the two of you, the suspension taking most of the beating. If you were of more sane mind, you would have been mortified with the thought of the scene should anyone walk by the parking lot. But as the muscles in your thighs burned from exertion, you couldn’t find it in you to care; not for the life of you would you stop, not when you had never felt such sinful pleasure in all your life. “I'm aching, Bear—please—I need more.”

Bucky’s eyes rolled back with the sweetest plea he had ever heard. With a growl, he ripped his hands from your waist and spanked your tits before wrapping them both around your neck to bring you nose to nose with him. “Don’t gotta do anything else but this baby, keep makin’ me feel good, yeah? Gonna fuckin’ blow soon.”

“Oh,” you whimpered. Your clit tingled with the prospect of Bucky cumming inside of your cunt and with a newfound energy, you worked harder to ride his cock.

Gazing at you with hooded eyes, he chuckled deliriously. “Sound good, bunny? Want me to blow my load inside a’ya?”

“Yes!” you pleaded, nodding your head desperately. “Want you to cum in my tight pussy, Bear.”

He laughed hysterically. “Look at how far you’ve come, Angel. Taking what you want like you own it.”

Your nails dug into the skin of Bucky’s chest. The quick glide of his cock in and out of your cunt was too much for you, so much that your mouth hung open shamelessly.

“Such a good slut for me, bunny—you wanna be my slutty little bunny, huh?” Gripping your throat tightly, he manhandled you away from his forehead to hold you up like a ragdoll. When you didn’t answer he lightly slapped your cheek until your eyes widened and looked at him. “Answer me you fuckin’ slut.”

“Yes Daddy!” you cried. “Please—I just wanna cum. Let me cum!”

Bucky bit his bottom lip as he looked down at your pussy sucking him in. “I don’t know, pretty baby. I don’t think you wan’ it bad enough.”

He was toying with you. You were a wreck in his hold with tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I do—I do!” you swallowed against the dryness of your mouth as you fought for breath. “Do anything—I’ll do anything for you, Bear. It's too much—please!”

“You cryin’ for me?” He laughed breathlessly. Sitting up with an excited vigor, Bucky licked the tear tracks on your cheek, still managing to thrust up into you while he whispered into your ear with a moan. “So goddamn beautiful when you cry for me.”

Running the tip of his finger down your stomach and down to your pussy, he forewent touching your throbbing clit and instead teased it against your already stuffed hole.

You gasped harshly at the feel of him pushing against your stretched cunt. “B-Bucky! N-No you can’t, you’re already—I’m already so full.”

But you were hopeless to the devil on your shoulder, the same one who began inching his finger beside his cock and pushing it into you. “Shhh, you can take it, baby. Make Daddy Bear proud.”

Taking a deep breath, you squeezed your eyes closed tightly as your slick helped to suck in both his cock and his finger. The sensation was unusual, but somehow you wanted more. Your mouth hung open on a silent scream.

“There’s a good Bunny—knew you could do it, sweetheart.” Bucky rubbed his thumb over the skin of your throat soothingly, giving you a couple of seconds to get used to the new feeling. But as soon as he felt the flutter of your pussy, he grinned wickedly and hooked his finger over the soft spongy spot inside of you. “Now hold on tight while I ruin your cunt.”

A loud squeak was finally forced out of you once he began fucking back up into you. You thought you felt full before, now you were holding onto the last of your sanity; lost in the pits of a torturous yet addicting feeling.

“What’s a’matter, hm? Thought you were already too full, baby? But just look at your slutty little pussy taking more.” Bucky hummed with a nefarious gleam in his eye. “Wonder if I could get my full fist in you.”

The juices from your cunt squelched loudly, dripping down the length of Bucky’s finger and gathering in the palm of his hand. The image of him steadily working you up to take the size of his fist, imagining the wide gape your hole would make as you clenched around his wrist was too much for your already overstimulated self to handle.

“Wan’ it,” you garbled around the spit in your mouth. You could barely keep your eyes open as you withstood the battering your pussy was so greedily taking. “Wan’ you to fuck me with your whole hand, Bear.”

Bucky sucked bruises on the skin of your tits as they bounced in his face, the wicked intent smothering his face deepening the more you lost your will to him. “Fuck, angel. You really are perfect.”

With his free hand, he palmed your ass, forcing you to bounce on him even harder. “We’re gonna have so much fun together, yknow that, baby?” His voice rang like a melody in your head, one you were becoming lost to. “Yeah. Daddy’s gonna teach you all kind of new things, pretty girl.”

The blossoming ache in your lower stomach magnified into a tight ball of pleasure, your clit painfully throbbing with the need to let go.

“I can’t—,” you sobbed. “I need to—gotta cum, Bucky—please.”

“Are you askin’ me permission, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” You cried to the roof of the car. “Please—please Daddy—please let me cum. I can’t hold it any l-longer.”

“You gonna cream all over Daddy’s hand, baby?” Bcuky’s voice grew hoarser as he pistoned his hips into your waiting cunt, meeting you each time you threw yourself down. “Gonna give me your sweet little cunt juices so I can taste you again?”

“Ugh!” You whined, high pitched. “Anything you want—anything you want!”

You were balancing on the fence between heaven and hell; the lines of pain and pleasure blurring so much that you were sure you were going to pass out as your legs shook and your stomach cramped with refrained edging.

But by some almighty higher force, your prayers were answered when Bucky’s fingers harshly pinched your enlarged clit and twisted, timing his motion perfecting with a scrape of his fingertip against your inner walls. “Make a mess on me then, Bunny.”

White noise blasted over the deafening screams released from your inner core, the rattle of the bouncing car and Bucky’s deep moans as your pussy clenched unforgivingly around his cock. Your soul seemed to ascend, overtaken by some unnatural force as your limbs seized and became weightless all at once.

It was like your body wasn’t yours anymore, like you weren’t actually present as your conscience waned in and out. One second you felt the explosive ricochets of electricity dance along your veins, and another you were sure you blacked out.

Your clouded mind came back into focus as a pair of hands squeezed your hips, your sex clamping down tightly on the length of a cock grinding inside of you.

“You were so fuckin’ good, Bun.” Bucky’s gruff timber woke you up fully. The sight of him licking your combined juices as he stared heatedly between your legs brought you back to the current.

Looking down, you blinked several times to find a thick load of milky white cum leaking from your hole.

“You—,” you swallowed the dryness of your throat as you tried to gather your thoughts. “You c-came in me.”

Leaning his head back against the seat, Bucky laughed with a fucked out smile. “I absolutely fuckin’ did, Angel.” He thrusted up into you one last time, smirking at the yelp you let out. “And don’t you look a pretty picture.”

Your bashfulness came back in full force as you buried your neck into Bucky’s chest, slumping onto his body with a whine, his cock still hard in your cunt.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, baby.” He sighed, satisfied as he grabbed a smoke from his front pocket half way down his thighs. “You did real good for me, sweetheart.”

You turned your head into his cheek. “I did?” You asked, craving his validation.

Lighting his joint and taking a hit, Bucky blew out the smoke from his mouth, grabbed your chin and fused his lips to yours once more, taking no preamble or measures before tangling his tongue with yours.

You whimpered as the taste of weed teased your tastebuds, squirming unashamedly, even when more of Bucky’s load rolled down your legs.

Regretfully soon, his lips left yours and he gave you one last peck to your forehead before bringing you to rest on his chest again.

“I’m fuckin’ keepin’ you, bunny baby.” Bucky slapped your ass and you jolted, clenching around him as you whined out loud. His tongue darted out to lick his raw-bitten lips, a hungry smirk on his face while he squeezed the bruised, sore flesh. “All mine.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes one shot

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ajdrawshq · 2 years ago

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i finished 7th dragon a lil while ago n some of the worldbuilding is so funny i cant stop thinking abt it. why is the lost city of atlantis populated by catgirls

#they made it so the women are all catgirls and the men are all more elven which is. something?????#story is kinda wild n not the Most interesting considering all the games ive played w time travel being a main focus #but its ok. enough to get thru it without issue after u get past the tutorial #the characters are also in the same boat where theyre alright but ive seen too many that did each characters job better #i DO rly like the custom character designs n stuff tho. might make ocs out of some of em that i grew fond of #i also appreciate that its a game set in the future that actually has ceased homophobia entirely AND openly. not enough of those i think #also idk if the balancing for the character jobs is perfect (bc one of em is just completely busted) but the dynamics u can create are fun #i always kept each team the same so i didnt play around w that part much but pairing physical-based jobs w each other #and magic-based jobs w each other seems really good #u can even base a team around most of ur characters dying for ridiculous damage output. rly funny idea that i might try one day #my favorite unit is the silly lil catgirl i had w the busted job. she wasnt on my main team so i discovered just how good it was p late #also u can date quite literally everyone. which has both good and bad perks as u can imagine #kind of a. persona type deal. yknow.#on the bright side there was a tragic clone character 👍 they did him so dirty tho there was so much more they couldve done w him #also theres an alien that looks like a stuffed rabbit and uses he/him that also turns into a girl. peak gender tbh #if anything the queer rep in this game kinda rules #not even sure if its on purpose or not. but it rules

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moonlightspencie · 9 days ago

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Just a Silly Phase I’m Going Through

Description: Best friends through thick and thin, Clark and reader think they can get through a tangle of complicated feelings without something changing. Loudly wrong.

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Warnings: smut (p in v, oral, fingering)(18+), clark is a whiny little angel

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: horny again had to write about it. i did not edit this so if you see an error no you didnt (also using im not in love for the title cause mr gunn used it in guardians and i thought it was fitting)

Clark Kent. He was a lot of things. An alien, sure. A small-town boy. Kind. Nerdy. Superhuman. Sweet.

Most importantly to you, he was a life-long friend, and a massive loser. In the best way.

“Alright, Superman–” you started, though a hand quickly slapped over your mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered frantically, withdrawing his hand. “Sorry. I just… Don’t be so loud about it!"

"Sorry," you replied through a laugh, not in the least actually apologetic. “It’s just so dorky.”

He frowned; his jaw set in place as he looked away from you. You watched as he took a seat on the couch in your living room, melting into the cushions. Part of you felt bad having made him pout like this, but at the same time… ‘Superman’ was a dorky moniker. You’d been friends too long for him not to get teased about it.

You conceded, sitting next to him. “Okay, okay… Clark. Come on, I was just joking around.”

“Someone could hear you,” he mumbled, fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

“Someone could– Clark, we’re alone in my house,” I gesture at the obviously empty townhome. “Who’s gonna hear us?”

“I don’t know! Someone could, though!”

You sighed, placing a hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing softly. He could be such a baby. He leaned into you, still pouting, but enjoying the closeness.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me.”

“It won’t, Clark.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, but it can be inferred. Besides, you’d always be there to protect me anyway.”

He was quiet for a moment, but you noticed the tiny tilt of his lips at that. He leaned back to look at you.

“You’re my closest friend. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“Hey… I know this is getting bigger. And its… new,” you say softly, referencing his rise to near-stardom as Superman. It had been a quick transition, and you could tell it weighed on him. “But you’re still you, and I’m still me. Nothing is going to change.”

And you were right…

Sort of.

Things did start to change, but not necessarily for the worse. Actually, a lot of it was for the better.

Clark got a job at the Daily Planet: his dream.

You started working at a local non-profit for victims of extraterrestrial mayhem: ironic.

You both moved to downtown Metropolis, only blocks away from one another. It was nice. It was… more of the same. Which, again, wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. But…

God. Starting to fall for your best friend was embarrassing.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but suddenly his smile was more than comforting. It felt like home. Every time he looked at you, sure you still saw the boy you’d been friends with for ages. But you also saw the man he was now.

And good lord was he gorgeous.

He groans your name, reaching around you. “Please, just cut it out. Give it back!”

“Absolutely not,” you laugh, leaning away from him, trying to get the remote out of his grasp. “No more football, I want to watch something actually entertaining. Your team is miserably losing anyway.”

“What if they come back? It’s never too late!”

“They’re down almost thirty points in the fourth quarter.”

He frowns. “You’re mean. Have some faith.”

You scramble away from him, finally changing the channel to an old sitcom you both love. He grumbles under his breath, pretending he doesn’t think one of the jokes is funny. You sit next to him after putting the remote on the side table, glancing at him with his pouty lips and flushed cheeks. Even irritated he was hot.

“You’re a big baby.”

“I am not. You’re just pessimistic. They could have won, and then we would have gotten to see it and it would have been amazing. But no, you ruined our chances of seeing the greatest comeback in the world.”

“…dramatic, too.”

He cracks a small smile. “You just hate to see me happy.”

“You love this show, and you were getting worked up about them losing. You have a much higher chance of being happy not watching the game.”

He huffs again, plopping his head on your shoulder. He sniffs once. Then twice.

“Hmm…”

“What?” you question, wondering why he’s sniffing you like a dog.

“You’re wearing a new perfume.”

“Uh… yeah?”

He hums once. “It’s nice. I like it.”

“Oh,” you say shortly, swallowing. “Thanks.”

He nods, his messy hair tickling your neck. “Why’d you change it?”

You shrug. “Just trying something new.”

“So… you’re not like… dating someone or anything?”

“What?”

“Just curious,” he says quietly. “That would probably be a reason to change it.”

“I just liked this one, Clark. Wanted to try something new. If I was dating anyone, I would have told you,” you snort, a little curious why he was laying on the third degree.

“Okay. Just wanna make sure I can warn any guy that comes near you how much of a headache you are,” he says, trying very poorly to hide a smile.

“Oh, whatever.”

He pauses, then looks at you with wide eyes. “Wait. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to actually…”

“I’m not mad, Clark,” you reassure him with a chuckle as he starts to sit up.

“Oh. Okay,” he replied with a nod. “Just making sure.”

You both fall quiet for a while, watching the show. You’re halfway to falling asleep before Clark suddenly sits up straight, shoving his phone in your face, a headline about the miraculous comeback from his favorite football team gracing the screen.

“I told you they’d win!”

“Oh, well color me surpr–”

He groans, slumping down with his head in your lap, trying very hard to be angry. It doesn’t last long as you stroke his hair and offer to order his favorite takeout. He is so easy to please. You take a moment to look at him lying there, attempting to curl his body up onto the couch, but still somehow taking up every millimeter of space.

“When did you get so big?” you ask, voice soft and teasing.

“Always have been.”

“No, I very distinctly remember you being smaller and dorkier at some point. You’re… a man now.”

“That tends to happen in time,” he chuckles lowly. “And I was never dorky.”

“You still are.”

He grumbles. “Still always taller than you.”

“This again? Clark, we were having that argument as 12-year-olds. I think we’re old enough to move past that now.”

“No!” he all but squeaks out. “If you’re bringing up me apparently being small and dorky, I’m bringing up you being short.”

“I’m average height!”

“Yeah, to an earthworm, maybe.”

“Not my fault you’re freakishly tall.”

He laughs, looking up at you from your lap. You look right back at him, neither of you saying anything before he finally turns back over. A gentle smile is set on his face as he watches the show you put on. Your stomach does somersaults. You reason that you’re probably just hungry and finally order the food you promised him.

It’s a common occurrence, going to his place, or him to yours. All to do… practically nothing. Sometimes you might go out, or meet up with friends. You’re particularly fond of his friends from work, Lois and Jimmy. Even if they always tease you about how close you and Clark are.

But most nights, you end up on a couch, either watching a movie or reading. Usually just chatting about anything and everything.

It’s been that way between the two of you since you met him in middle school and he invited you over to meet the cows on his parents’ farm. He was a cute little kid with ears too big for his head and a sweet smile. And you were a little firecracker who his parents always seemed to love despite your knack for getting him into trouble.

Trouble like seeing if edibles would work on him. That was tonight’s experiment.

He yawns deeply, arms stretching above his head, testing the seams of that white t-shirt. And giving you a peek of what you would enthusiastically consider a happy trail.

“I am beat,” he smirks, looking down at you.

“Weed will do that to you.”

“Shouldn’t have let you talk me into that,” he shakes his head, putting his hands on his hips.

“Just wanted to see if it would actually work on you if you took enough. How is it?”

He snorts. “It’s doing something. I still think if we do it again, we should probably shoot for like 15 or 16 of those little gummy things rather than, what, 10?”

“12,” you correct him.

“Ah,” he nods slowly, turning around to face the tv instead of you. “You know, I really am beat. I could probably pass out right here, right now…”

“Clark, no–”

He groans, slowly falling backwards on purpose, right where you sat.

“Stop,” you laugh, pushing him away as he falls on top of you.

He giggles, not moving. “Aw, come on, short stack. I’m not that heavy.”

“You’re like a pile of bricks.”

“No, I am not,” he defends, frowning. “You’re mean to me.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes, turning around to face you. Neither of you realize just how close you are until it’s too late and you can feel his breath on your face.

You stare at him, and he stares right back. All would have been well, too, if you didn’t catch him glancing at your lips.

“Maybe you should…” you start, but are cut off by his lips on yours.

Whoa.

You’d always thought it was kind of cheesy when people described any kind of intimacy by saying fireworks went off. But now? Yeah, it made more sense for sure.

Involuntarily, you groan. He mimics your sound, hands on your hips as he settles himself between your legs, pressing your body down into the couch cushions as if he’d planned this. Your arms circle around his broad shoulders, one hand tangling in his messy hair. He practically moans your name into your mouth and you feel yourself soak through your panties immediately. Thank god for thick sweatpants.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice needy and wrecked already.

“Please what?”

“I… I don’t know,” he shakes his head, lips dragging over your jaw, neck, collarbones, practically anywhere he can currently reach. “Still thinking on it.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as he explores you, his hands moving over your chest, down your stomach, and to the waistband of your pants. He pulls back for a moment, looking you in the eye.

“May I?”

“Okay,” you reply simply. He could ask for anything at this point and you’d have agreed.

He smiles, kissing you deeply again. You let your body roll up into his, drawing another pretty sound from the back of his throat. You use the opportunity to slide your tongue against his. He counters, though, by tugging your pants off of you easily.

You’re not sure if you’ve ever been more turned on.

You reach down to try and start the same process on him, but you’re stopped by his hand entirely circling your wrist. You break the kiss, looking up at him in confusion. He merely shakes his head, kissing you softly as he places your hand on his shoulder. You groan, annoyed by the interruption, to which he smiles. The asshole.

“What’s so funny?” you mumble against his lips.

“You pouting. It’s cute.”

“You’re rude.”

“Let me take care of you,” he replies softly, kissing your cheek.

That does it. You shudder as he moves down your body like your whole worldview didn’t just shift from such a small action. The gentle look in his eyes, the way his lips met your cheek like his tongue wasn’t just in your mouth, his hands touching every part of you reverentially… it was too much. You knew you were officially in too deep. But you couldn’t hold back from falling further.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispers against your stomach, lips touching your skin from where he’d slightly pulled up your sweatshirt. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

“I want this,” spills from your lips before you can even think about it. You see him smile again.

It all happens at once. Too much, too fast, but somehow not enough. His lips trail up your legs as he tugs off your panties. Not before making a comment that he thought it was sweet how much of a mess you made for him. You’re squirming and moaning under him as his lips finally find your center, eating you like he’s starving.

“Clark,” you gasp out, a hand in his hair as he pushes your legs up to get a better angle.

He looks gorgeous like this. Hair falling over his forehead, tongue occasionally darting into your view when it’s not actively tearing you apart from the inside out. Worst of all, the louder you are, the more enthusiastic he gets.

“You’re a dick,” you moan, not meaning a word of it as you try to hold off from coming all over his pretty face.

“You love me,” he mocks your earlier words straight into your pussy.

Fuck.

You whine at the vibration, still slightly holding onto your dignity as you refrain from letting yourself finish just yet. But, of course, you just have to look down at him, unable to get enough of the view of his face between your legs. It’s heaven. And it kills you. The second you see that son of a bitch smiling while he devours you, dimples poking into his cheeks, you can’t hold on any longer.

Praises and a vague call of his name fall from your mouth like a waterfall as you gush against his lips. He stays put, cleaning everything you have to give him as you come, having the audacity to moan like he’s the one with the hottest person in the world going down on him. You shake with the force of your orgasm, still holding onto his mop of hair, twitching every time he gently licks at you.

“Clark…”

“Hmm?”

“Enough.”

“M’not done yet,” he replies, eyes still closed, mouth still moving.

“I can’t… can’t handle any more right now.”

He sighs, conceding. He kisses your cunt once more before moving back to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“That was… fun,” he breathes out as he pulls away from your lips.

“Fun?”

He tilts his head slightly. “You don’t think so?”

“I think you just ruined me.”

He smiles again. “I’d never.”

“Too late.”

“You can’t be ruined. Look at you.”

You blinked, looking up at him. “Huh?”

He shook his head, looking down. “Nothing. Just… You can admit you had a good time.”

You chuckle once. “Alright. Alright, fine. It was… definitely a good time.”

He smiles softly again. “Good. Um… I am gonna go get a towel for you. And maybe some mouthwash for me so you don’t have to smell… well… you on me all night.”

“You saying I smell weird?” You snort a laugh in response.

“Not in the slightest. Honestly, I almost finished myself off just tasting your—”

“Okay,” you interject quickly, blushing. It felt almost odd hearing him dirty talk. Even if it was also unbelievably sexy. “Point taken. Maybe I don’t necessarily want to smell myself on you for the rest of the evening.”

He chuckles softly. “Alright. I’ll be back then.”

The next few weeks it’s all you can think about. He doesn’t try anything else past a friendly hug when you’re together, but part of you wishes he would. The image of him fucking smiling while eating you out is imprinted on your brain.

The feelings it gave you other than pure want… that’s another story.

You’re sure he has to notice the fact that you can’t look at him without it turning into a gaze that could only be described as pathetic. Googly eyes could also be a good descriptor. But if he does notice, he certainly doesn’t mention it. And that feels almost worse than the embarrassment that would come with being teased about it.

You were finally able to admit to yourself, fully, that you’d fallen head over heels for him. There was no way you could deny it. Not when every glance sent a shockwave through you, and even the thought of him had you grinning to yourself like an idiot.

You were meeting up with him after work to go get dinner before vegging out at his place. You stood by the front doors of the Daily Planet waiting for him, having got off sooner than he did that day. It was fifteen minutes or so before you saw a giant stalking past you.

“Hey!”

He turned around, confused for a moment before a grin took over his face.

“Hey! I didn’t see you. I thought you worked until six today?”

“Got off early,” you replied, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. You looked at him in those silly fake glasses of his and couldn’t hold back a laugh. “You look like such a nerd in those.”

He frowned. “Come on, that’s a low blow, you know I need these.”

“I know,” you roll your eyes. “Doesn’t make them less ridiculous. It’s a good thing you’re hot.”

He blushed, looking away. Which you absolutely relished in. He didn’t often have such a reaction to you complimenting him.

“Aww. Are you blushing?” you tease.

“No!”

“You totally are!”

“You called me hot, what else am I…” he huffs.

“It’s not like I’m making moves on you. It’s an objective observation.”

“You need to look up the definition of ‘objective’ again.”

You laugh, trying not to let yourself get caught staring at him as he started on about his day at work.

You eat your meal together, go on a brief walk through the city afterward, and finally land on his couch, wearing his shirt and his pants, drinking tea he’d made you in his favorite mug. He always insisted on giving that one to you, despite it clearly being the one he loved the most. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you actually preferred the blue one he always shoved in the back of his cupboard.

“They’re thinking of replacing my boss,” you mention as he sits down with you, handing you a cookie he’d baked the day prior.

“What? Didn’t you say she was, like, the best part of your job.”

You nod slowly. “Yep. I’m thinking about maybe leaving. I mean… I love what we do there, but they’re just trying to change things for the worse at this point.”

He hummed, dissatisfied with the news. “Well… You know, there is an opening for an editor at the Planet.”

You snort a laugh. “You’re trying to get me to work with you, now?”

“It’s a good job. With benefits.”

“You’d get sick of me within a week if we worked together. Plus, I don’t have any media experience.”

“I could never get sick of you,” he rolled his eyes in response. “And I could put in a good word for you with Perry. You help me edit my stuff all the time and you’re great at it.”

“That’s not the same as doing it for a job, Clark.”

“Still counts.”

You sigh, trying to hide your smile as you shake your head at him. He merely shrugs, the suggestion entirely sincere to him.

“Just an idea. Think about it.”

“Alright. Just for you.”

He smiles, leaning a little closer as his gaze trails back to the movie he’d put on. You can tell he’s thinking about something.

“What’s going on in that big old head of yours?”

He snorts. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Tell me anyway.”

You watch him as he swallows once, then sets down his mug on the table. He leans back into the cushions.

“You want the honest answer?”

“Well, I don’t want you to lie to me.”

“Fair,” he chuckles softly, then looks at you. “I’m, uh… I’m kind of thinking about, well, last month.”

“What about it.”

“You know what,” he replies quietly, his face flushing a little again. “The thing we haven’t talked about since it happened.”

You chew your lip, nodding. “Right.”

“I just… It was… nice. But maybe we should talk about it at some point.”

Nice. You suppose that’s one way to put it.

“What do we need to talk about?”

He raised a brow at you. “Maybe the whole making out thing. And… the other stuff.”

“I mean… We did it. And it was a one time thing cause it was fun and– I don’t know. What else is there to talk about?” you question, trying to remain at least vaguely nonchalant.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admits softly.

Suddenly you’re hot. It hits like a tidal wave with the way he looks at you, clearly remembering everything in the same way you have been every single damn day since it happened. His wide eyes are darkened in a way you haven’t seen before, and his lips are looking suspiciously delectable in this moment.

You lean in, not hesitating to kiss him again. It feels even better than it did the first time, his lips working against yours in a way that has your head absolutely spinning. He pulls you up on your feet, not pulling away for even a moment.

“I need… I need you,” you mutter against his lips, hands dragging down his chest towards the waistband of his pants. “Don’t say no this time.”

He huffs, lips moving to your jaw. “You need me?”

“Please, Clark,” you gasp.

He kisses down your jaw, sucking a soft mark just under it before moving his lips down.

“Are you sure?” he all but groans against your neck, already pulling your top up. “I need you to be absolutely, one-hundred-percent positive about this, because I don’t know how else I’ll feel okay doing this to you–”

“Clark. Please. I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

He whimpers, whimpers, at that response, tearing at your shirt until its tossed across the room. He kisses down your neck, hands touching anywhere and everywhere they can reach.

“How is this going to affect our friendship?” he asks through kisses.

“I… I don’t know. Let’s not think about that right now, just– fuck.” He bites down on your neck before soothing it over with his tongue. “I just need this. Need you. We can figure out everything else later.”

He pulls back, drawing a frown to your face.

“You know I really care about you. Right?”

“Of course I do, can we just…”

He says your name, probably softer and gentler than you’d ever hear it. You stop talking, looking up at him.

“Please,” he whispers. “Just… I need you to be positive about this. Completely. It’s going to change things with us.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“It will,” he reaffirms.

“Why? Why can’t we just do this and… and be friends? Things don’t have to be different. They weren’t last time.”

“All I did was go down on you last time,” he states plainly, as if him even mentioning the act didn’t have your knees weak all over again. “This is different. I can’t… I can’t have sex with you and not let it change everything. I can’t be inside of you and have you expect that I’ll be able to look at you the same way.”

Your brows knit together. “What do you mean? That’s still sex.”

“It means…” he swallows, his gaze dropping to your lips for a moment like he can’t help it. “It means that I am dangerously close to falling in love with my best friend, and I don’t think I’ll be able to pretend like I’m not if we cross that specific line. Gosh, even if I just felt you touching me, it would change everything. I know it’s silly, but it’s just… different to me. And besides, we were high when that happened.”

“Clark,” you interject with a snorted laugh. “I took half a gummy, you took like 12 to barely get an effect.”

“Still counts,” he argues, pouting a little.

“Hardly.”

“You know what I mean though.”

You swallow. You do know. Partially because you haven’t stopped thinking about that night since it happened. He was scared that what happened to you in that moment would happen to him: ignorance would no longer be bliss. You’d know what it felt like to have one another. Fully.

“I know. But… I don’t care. Not if you don’t.”

He scoffs. “I lay my heart on the line and you don’t care?”

“Not… Ugh,” you groan, “not like that. I mean… I don’t care if it changes things. I-I want it to change things.”

His eyes widen as he looks at you, perfect brows raising almost into his hairline.

“You do?”

“You’re fucking oblivious–”

“Hey!”

“I’ve been in love with you for ages,” you blurt out. “Probably the whole entire past year.”

“Just a year?”

“Yeah, I… Just?” you question, pulling back slightly to give him the full effect of your bewildered stare.

He smiles. The bastard. All dimples and teeth and rosy cheeks.

“I win again,” he mentions like you’re supposed to know what he’s talking about.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I win. I’ve been fighting off being in love with you since, like, right after we left Smallville. Maybe before then, too, but definitely after.”

“What?”

He smiles even brighter somehow. “I thought all this time that you’d go run off with some guy or girl and leave me in the dust.”

“You like me?”

His smile slightly drops as he raises a brow, muttering your name. His hand reaches up, stroking your cheek tenderly. “I’ve turned down every girl who ever liked me. I spend at least seventy percent of my free time with you. And, honest, last time I talked to Ma she asked when me and you were coming home.”

“You really should visit them more often.”

“I know,” his smile turns unbelievably soft. “But I want you with me next time. And every time. I don’t ever want to be without you, you know that?”

“Clark…”

“I love you.”

Your mouth goes dry. You knew it was coming, but it still hits you like a freight train. His gaze so sweet and magnetic and sincere and so… Clark. That satin-soft smile doesn’t leave his lips.

“Maybe I should’ve told you forever ago, but I didn’t want to mess things up between us. You’re everything to me,” he whispers, kissing your forehead gently. “I’d give up anything for you, but the best part is that I know I’d never have to. You’re so lovely. So caring, loving… even though you try to hide it with eighty layers of sarcasm. It’s kind of endearing, you know?”

You laugh softly, eyes welling up. “You suck.”

“I love you,” he repeats.

You let a shuddering breath leave you. “I love you, too.”

He wet his lips, and you don’t miss the action. It’s hard to say who leans in first, but all that matters to you is that you’re kissing again, his lips soft and perfect against your own.

Clothes are discarded on the floor as he walks you back to his bedroom, laying you down softly on the bed, lips trailing over your body like he’s worshipping you.

“Golly, you’re… perfection,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

He leans down to kiss you, shutting up what he knew would be a teasing remark about the use of ‘golly’ in bed. You chuckle against his lips, and he hopes you don’t notice his matching smile. But you do. Of course you do.

He wipes that smile off your lips quickly, though, as he presses a finger into you. He moans into your mouth, crooking that finger as if he’s somehow already memorized your body.

“Fuck,” you groan, biting down on his shoulder.

He adds another finger, pumping them in and out of you, moaning like its doing something for him to take you apart like this.

“Clark. Please.”

“Shh, baby. Want you nice and ready for me.”

A strangled noise leaves from deep in your throat, and he takes the moment to kiss you again like his life depends on it. It doesn’t take him long to have you coming on his fingers, working you through it with only the kind of care and attention you’d expect from him.

“Attagirl. There you go. Breathe for me, baby,” he mumbles in your ear, kissing just behind it.

“Why do you have to be so fucking sweet and attentive,” you grumble, leaning your head back in his pillow.

“You don’t like me being sweet?”

“It makes me ridiculously horny.”

He laughs, pulling his fingers out of you to stroke himself slowly. You look down at him, quite literally salivating as you see him fully. The fact that his cock still looks that big with his huge-ass hand around it… God.

“You can take it,” he reassures you before you can even mention it. “We’ll make sure.”

You moan, eyes rolling back. “You can’t say shit like that to me.”

“I mean it.”

“That makes it worse.”

He grins. “You’re adorable. Come here.”

He pulls you closer, dragging himself through the slick built up between your folds, his eyes glued to the sight.

“I could finish right here,” he breathes out, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “Damn it.”

“Naughty.”

“Shut up,” he laughs, though its soft and broken.

The moment he slides into you, everything feels… right. It’s like a puzzle piece slotting perfectly into place. With a little bit of force. You don’t mind.

He pushes in slowly, eyes quickly flitting between your face and lips making those pretty sounds and your cunt swallowing him. The moment he fully sheaths inside of you, he crumples, his body falling on top of yours. Its crushing in the best way.

“You feel so perfect. Like you’re made for me,” he almost growls, pulling back before thrusting into you again.

You feel like a rag doll, his body lurching your forward with every thrust. He’s caring and sweet and kind, but it doesn’t exactly make him gentle in this moment. He holds your hip with one hand, lacing his fingers with yours with the other.

“I love you,” he moans, before whimpering again.

That does it for you immediately.

“I l-love you,” you respond, your voice broken between gasps and moans.

He whines with every thrust as he gets closer and closer to the finish line. It’s a blur of skin and sweat and the smell of something that’s so uniquely him.

“I need you,” he breathes out.

“You have me.”

He whimpers again, straight into your ear, as he falls apart, filling you with everything he has.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he moans, his hips not stopping their motion. “You should’ve… first… oh gosh…”

“I’m… fuck, don’t stop. It’s okay,” you reply, holding onto him for dear life.

It only takes a few more snaps of his hips before it’s your turn to finish. You grip onto his shoulders and back, back arching into his firm chest as you squeeze him hard, drawing another broken sound from him.

“Baby…”

“Shh,” you shake your head in response. “Not yet.”

“Hmm…” he lets out, the sound high pitched and needy.

You breathe heavy, as does he, his face still buried in your neck, planting soft kisses on the damp skin there. You lay there with him for minutes before you finally feel like you’ve calmed down enough to speak.

“Holy shit.”

He chuckles softly. “Yeah. I’d have to agree.”

You look at him with all the affection in the world as he leans back to look at you. He smiles softly, kissing your forehead.

“Was that… was I okay?”

You snort. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I mean,” he shrugs once. “I’ve only done that like twice. And never with someone I’m in love with.”

You smile a little. “It was perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod easily. “Easily the best I’ve ever had. Like seriously, if I wasn’t already into you I think this would have been my turning point.”

He laughs. “Good. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Loved it.”

“Me too,” he says gently, kissing you once. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, and then I am making you tea. Or cocoa. Or honestly like a five-course meal. Whatever you want as long as you let me do this again some time.”

You laugh, letting him carry you to the bathroom like you’re weightless. There were definitely perks to being in love with Superman.

#superman #superman 2025 #superman fanfiction #clark kent x reader #clark kent fanfiction #clark kent fluff #clark kent smut #superman smut #superman x reader #clark kent x female reader #david corenswet

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drfruitcake · 2 months ago

Text

Mrs. Robinavitch

Michael Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Wife!Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+/MDNI (smut, language) Word count: ~3,300 Tags: reader insert, female reader, no use of y/n, married, established relationship, explicit sexual content, smut, workplace sex, workplace quickie, p in v sex, no beta

Summary: A new resident decides to flirt with you, oblivious to the fact that you're married to his senior attending. Your husband isn't a fan. Or, you and jealous Robby have a little workplace quickie.

Notes: Just a random little dose of silly workplace smut. Reader is a female ob/gyn but no age is established. Meant to take place a few years after S1.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

The emergency department of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center bustles with its typical controlled chaos. It’s a Friday afternoon and you’d be lying if you said your mind isn’t on your weekend plans as you wander into the ER for a pregnancy case.

You smile at familiar faces as you make your way past the nurses’ station, offering a friendly wave at Trinity Santos and Dennis Whitaker before you dip inside Room 6.

“Who is that?” Gavin Meyer asks as he doesn’t bother to conceal his pitiful stare. He’s an R3 transfer in his first week at The Pitt.

“Oh, that’s R-”

Gavin is too busy gawking after you to notice Trinity pinching Dennis’ arm behind the desk, stopping him from finishing his sentence.

“She’s an OB,” Trinity cuts in.

“She’s stunning,” Gavin breathes. Dennis’ eyes go wide as Trinity bites back a snort. “Is she single?”

“She’s a little out of your league,” Trinity responds slowly.

“Oh, come on,” Gavin pleads. “The least you can do is introduce me. What if I get an OB case?”

“Introduce yourself,” Trinity answers. “She doesn’t bite… that I know of.” Dennis merely opens and closes his mouth, like a fish in moral despair.

Gavin’s posture straightens as the door to Room 6 reopens, but it’s Dr. Robby who emerges.

“Everything good here?” he asks as he strides behind the central desk.

“All good,” Trinity answers with a chipper tone. “Just helping Meyers get acclimated to some of the faces around here.”

“Good,” Dr. Robby replies as he glances at Gavin. “Don’t be afraid to introduce yourself to people, get to know them. We’re all here to help.”

Dr. Robby doesn’t realize his words are going to bite him in about 20 seconds, when you emerge from Room 6 and make a beeline to the group at the desk.

“Hey,” you greet Trinity and Dennis. “How’s it going?”

“Hi,” Gavin immediately interjects with an outstretched hand. It catches you off guard, but you recover smoothly and offer him a kind smile. “I’m Dr. Meyer. R3.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say politely. “I’m Dr.-”

“Dr. Robby!” Samira Mohan appears from Trauma Room 1 with impeccable, albeit accidental, timing. “We need you in here! Whitaker, you too!”

“Come on.” Dennis motions for Gavin to follow him, leaving you with Trinity.

“New resident,” you muse as you watch them scurry away. “He’s cute.” Trinity lifts an eyebrow at you and you snort. “Oh please,” you add. “I promise I’m not interested. I’m a married woman, after all.”

You return upstairs to the birthing ward until you inevitably get called back down to the ER. This time, it’s for a newborn who had been discharged the previous day.

Gavin is alone when you pass the nurses’ desk to leave. You offer him a smile and a nod.

“Hey, I didn’t get your name earlier,” he says quickly, stopping you in your tracks. You blink at him in confusion.

“The others didn’t tell you?” you ask with narrowed eyes. It's not that you assume everyone in the hospital knows you and your husband, but well, they do.

“No.”

“Oh,” you say as the realization settles. Fucking Santos. She’s done this before, but you can’t help but play along. You give Gavin your first name, intentionally omitting the last, and lean against the desk to strike up more conversation with him, at least until Trinity can return and break the bad news to Gavin. “So, what brings you to Pittsburgh?” you ask casually. “I assume you’re a transfer?”

“Transferred from Charlotte,” Gavin responds. “I help take care of my grandmother. Needed to be closer to her.”

“Ah, I see,” you say kindly. “I’m sure she’s glad to have you around. Are the two of you close?”

“We are,” Gavin says. “She’s the reason I got into medicine. She was a nurse.”

You catch his eyes flickering toward your left hand in search of a ring. You don’t wear yours at work – not because you want to appear single, but because you’d die if you lost the precious diamond ring you were gifted three years ago.

“That’s wonderful,” you offer, your eyes catching a glimpse of Dr. Robby, who has emerged from Trauma Room 2. The two of you lock eyes for a fleeting moment before you return your attention to Gavin. “I bet your grandmother’s so proud of you,” you continue.

“She is,” Gavin says happily. You can feel Robby’s gaze burning into the side of your head, but Gloria corners him before he can insert himself into your conversation with Gavin. From your spot by the desk, you watch from the corner of your eye in pure amusement while Robby and Gloria bicker about some administrative nonsense.

Meanwhile, Gavin turns up the charm. He leans closer to you as he speaks, eyes dancing over your features in clear interest.

“So, are you from Pittsburgh?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, Cleveland,” you answer. “But I did my residency here and obviously never left.”

“I take it you like Pittsburgh then?”

You offer a smile and a shrug. “It’s pretty alright,” you answer. “The people here at the hospital are great and the city’s not so bad. Where did you grow up?”

“I grew up in Richmond, Virginia,” Gavin replies. “So I’m pretty new to Pittsburgh.”

Robby’s face is turning red. You can see his agitation swelling as Gloria prattles on. He crosses and uncrosses his arms impatiently, unable to suppress a grunt of annoyance.

“Well, welcome,” you continue, offering Gavin a gentle touch to the forearm. “I’m sure you’ll adjust and grow to love it here.”

“Would be better if I had someone to show me around,” Gavin says. He trails off and waits, eyes studying you for a reaction, begging you to take the bait. You know this game all too well. It’s not the first time a resident has flirted with you, and you secretly hope it won’t be the last. Not because you’re actually trying to flirt, nor are you even seeking attention; you merely enjoy the entertainment in an otherwise predictable environment. And you know others, like Trinity, need the amusement, too.

That’s why you flash Gavin a bright smile and feign surprise at his suggestion. “I’d be happy to show you some cool spots sometime,” you say just loud enough for people around the desk to hear. That includes Robby, Gloria, Perlah and Trinity.

“Really? That’d be great,” Gavin says, his eyes scanning yours for any sort of sign to indicate mutual interest.

You don’t dare look at Robby; you know better. But everyone else nearby is treating this like live theater, and they can see the tightness in his jaw, clenched so hard he might crack his teeth.

“Of course,” you tell Gavin innocently. “In fact, we could make it a group thing.” You try not to laugh as Gavin’s expression immediately falls, but you know you can't lead him on or give him the wrong idea. “A bunch of us here at the hospital have been trying to make plans to go out for months now. This would be as good a reason as any to actually put a plan in motion.”

“Oh,” Gavin says, his lips thinning in disappointment. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“Awesome,” you say merrily. “Sounds like fun.”

“Dr. Meyer,” Robby’s voice cuts in. He’s finally managed to shrug off Gloria, who has turned her attention to a conversation with Dana. “Don’t you have any patients to check on?” Robby asks, his voice gruff.

“Oh, right,” Gavin says, clearly fearful of angering Robby. He sneaks a glance at you and smiles. “Hopefully I'll see you later.”

You wave after him before you finally dare to look Robby in the eyes. He peers at you from behind his glasses, but you can see a storm swarming in his irises.

“Everything alright, Dr. Robinavitch?” you ask innocently, tilting your head to the side as you gaze at him.

“Actually, no,” Robby answers curtly. “It seems people think the ER is a place to meet hot singles, considering all the flirting happening in front of me.”

You snort as you push off from the desk’s edge, preparing to retreat to the elevator. “I don’t see any hot singles,” you laugh as you turn your back. You stride toward the elevator, unaware that Robby has vacated the desk area to reach you in record time.

“Not so fast,” he growls in your ear as you jump in surprise. His fingers curl around your forearm as he redirects you from Elevator 2 toward a vacant bathroom. His eyes sweep over the corridor to ensure no one’s around before he nudges you into the bathroom.

“Real professional, Dr. Robinavitch,” you deadpan, crossing your arms as you peer up at him in annoyance while he turns the lock. You want to appear tough, but you also know you and Robby are probably a comical sight, given the way his tall, broad frame looms over you.

“You want to talk about professionalism?” he rasps with raised eyebrows. “You’re the one flirting with my residents in my ER.”

“I don’t flirt with residents,” you fire back, your lips parting in an amused smile. “They flirt with me.”

“You think this is funny?” Robby steps closer to you but you hold your ground and his gaze with conviction, daring him to act.

“I find it rather hilarious,” you muse. "You're jealous." Robby reaches swiftly, fisting a ball of your hair with his hand as he forces you backward. You realize he isn’t doing so for the power – he’s ensuring your head doesn’t smash against the wall behind you. Leave it to him to look out for your safety, even when he’s trying to assert his dominance.

“That resident is disrespecting me in my own ER,” Robby continues as he presses you against the wall. “And you’re the instigator.”

“Don’t blame me!” you laugh. “I didn’t ask him to develop a crush on me. I only just met the guy today.”

“He doesn’t seem to know who you are.”

“He knows what I do here.”

“But does he know you’re married?” Robby juts his hips forward through the last word for emphasis. You can feel your thigh muscles tense with arousal.

“No idea,” you quip with a shrug. “Our conversation hasn’t gone that far.”

“Seems like someone ought to mention it to him.”

“By all means, be my guest.”

“I will.” Robby continues to eye you and he can’t help but chuckle at your determined expression. “You love this, don’t you?”

“I do,” you admit cheekily. You snake your arms around his torso, your chin resting against his chest as you smile innocently upward at him. Robby presses a kiss to your forehead and returns the smile.

“You’re evil,” he rasps.

“I’ll make it up to you later,” you coo.

“Later? No, babe. You’ll do it now.”

Your eyes widen as his words catch you off guard. It’s not like Robby to do something so forbidden inside the sanctity of his precious ER. But ever since you got married, he’s relaxed; he’s not so uptight, not as agitated and not nearly as miserable to be around. He’s returned to his former self, much to the relief of everyone who works with him.

“Right now?” you repeat to ensure you heard him correctly.

“That’s what I said.” Robby leans in to press his lips to their favorite spot against your neck. Your eyes immediately fall shut as you inhale sharply, still surprised by Robby’s behavior. Sure, you’ve flirted and exchanged a suggestive touch every now and again, but you’ve never crossed the boundary of engaging in explicit activities at work. You’ve thought about it plenty of times, but you always assumed Robby was all business and no pleasure when it came to work, and you didn’t bother to challenge that.

Today, however, is clearly different. Because today, he can’t stand the sight of that pompous and obnoxious resident ogling you like the final piece of candy in the dish. Besides, Michael Robinavitch has never been one to back down from a challenge.

He kisses you slowly, to remind you that this is all rooted in love and adoration, despite his annoyance with Gavin’s behavior – and despite his desperation to remind you of your marital vows. Not that you need the reminder – you’d torch the world to ash and embers before you dared to risk your marriage.

“Awfully on edge today, are we?” you tease.

“Awfully mouthy today, are we?” Robby retorts. You grin at him.

“You already know what this mouth can do.”

“Jesus Christ.”

You can feel his hard cock pressing against your stomach. But you can also feel your time alone running out. Your absence from the ER won’t be noticed – though you really should return to the birthing ward – but Robby’s will. You were one code blue from interruption.

Your hands find the belt of Robby’s cargo pants and you work quickly to free his cock from them. He lets out a low grunt as your hands wrap around him and stroke, though he’s already fully erect. You begin to sink to your knees, but his hand curls around your wrist to stop you.

“Later. You can do that later,” he rasps.

He steers you by the wrist toward the sink, where he stands behind you, his reflection’s gaze meeting yours in the mirror as he pins you against the cool porcelain. His eyes swarm with desire. He tugs your scrub bottoms to the floor and you can feel his fingers inch their way into the waistband of your panties. Before those also find the floor, Robby presses a trail of kisses down the back of your neck, ending at your shoulder.

When he hooks an arm around you to press two fingers against your clit, he hisses in your ear as he feels how wet you are. You become spineless against him.

“Walking around my ER like that?” he says in your ear as he sinks his fingers inside you. “You’re bad.”

He supports himself with one hand flat against the wall as he uses the other to guide his cock inside you.

“Fuck, Michael,” you whine, but he stops to smirk at your reflection.

“You love this, don’t you?” he murmurs as he watches your teeth drag against your own bottom lip. You whimper in response, your walls clenching around him in a silent plea for more. He obliges you, filling you with his cock until it reaches the hilt. He groans at the tight heat that contrasts the cool bathroom.

He begins to thrust until you’re bent over the sink, fighting to stifle your broken moans. He keeps you upright with one arm, and as you sneak a glance at your own reflection, you realize you look absolutely pitiful – eyes glassy, cheeks flushed and lips parted as the man behind you turns you into a ruined, fucked out mess.

Your white knuckles match the porcelain as you grip the sides of the sink, the pressure inside your core mounting.

“God, M-Michael,” you manage through a pathetic stutter. He drives his cock upward into your sweet spot until you’re gasping over how good it feels. You’re on the brink of a climax and Robby is watching it all unfold in the mirror. He stares back at you with such intensity, you have to look away.

Your back arches and you push your hips backward as Robby continues to drive into you, murmuring absolute filth in your ear. Your eyes flutter shut as you focus on the mounting release within your walls. When Robby’s stare searches for yours in the mirror, he sinks his fingers into your open mouth, eliciting an unsuspecting gasp.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “I want you to watch me fuck you.”

It’s not an ask, and you nod silently in submission, his fingers still in your mouth. Robby groans at the vision before him in the mirror, which looks more like framed art to him; your bottom lip now raw and red from your teeth, your pleading eyes and shaking arms struggling to support you. It’s a portrait Robby’s committing to memory, a masterpiece he'll name Sin Incarnate.

Your legs are ready to give out but Robby’s now got both hands clutching your hips as he fucks you closer to your grand finale. Your whimpers chorus higher, threatening to breach the privacy of the bathroom door to passerby, but you’re too cock-drunk to care.

Robby rolls his hips until his thrusts become erratic, a sign you’ve come to recognize of his approaching climax. His eyes study yours in the mirror until he sees the familiar expression indicating your own orgasm.

“Come on,” he coaches you. “Come for me.”

You hum in response, tightening your cunt around his cock as it pounds against your front wall.

“Oh, fuck,” you manage as it triggers your release. It starts with a sharp cry and ends with you slumped over the sink, desperate to prolong the final quivers within your walls. Robby thrusts so hard, your feet nearly lift off the floor, your final pulses coaxing his own completion.

He swears loudly as he comes, his hips pinning you against the sink while you watch his head tilt backward in the mirror. He spills inside you, your weak legs struggling to keep you standing while your thighs become slick.

When he’s done, Robby’s frame is no longer tense. He rests his chin on your shoulder, arms wrapping you in an embrace as his primal mood shifts to something much more docile.

“You okay?” he asks. You nod, still recovering from your post-orgasm haze. Your eyelids are heavy as you peer back at him in the mirror and he smiles fondly at you.

“We should get back to work,” you note. “It’s probably chaos out there without you.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Robby replied before he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Except Meyer.”

“Cut him some slack,” you laugh as you both begin to redress. “He’s harmless.”

“He’s a punk.”

“He didn’t know we’re married.”

“Did you forget to mention your last name when you introduced yourself?”

“I may have… left it out,” you say as you flash Robby a sheepish smile. He checks himself in the mirror and shoots you a look as he moves to the door.

“I'll make sure he knows exactly who you are.” He steps into the corridor and disappears as the door snaps shut. You make sure you’re presentable again before you emerge about two minutes later.

You mosey toward the central desk to check if there are any more OB cases before you head upstairs. Robby is standing there with Dana and Gavin.

“Hey you,” she says cheerily. “Heard you’ve got a fun weekend planned.”

You open your mouth to reply when someone calls, “Dr. Robinavitch!”

“Yeah?” you and Robby respond in unison as you both turn toward the source of the sound. It’s Trinity, who’s smiling smugly as she emerges from Room 1.

“Wait,” Gavin says, his eyes shifting back and forth between you and Robby until he studies you with a furrowed brow. “Your last name is Robinavitch, too?”

“Mmhmm,” you answer as Dana backs away slowly to avoid a laughing outburst.

“As in… Mrs. Robinavitch?”

“That’s me.”

Gavin’s mouth falls open as he looks between you and Robby in horror. Robby clears his throat and checks his watch.

“Well would you look at that,” Robby says. “It’s 4 o’clock and I’m off early today. I’m taking my wife to the Finger Lakes to celebrate our wedding anniversary.”

He drapes an arm over your shoulders and steers you from the desk, leaving Trinity and Dana in stitches and Gavin in crisis.

#MDNI #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt fanfic #the pitt smut #michael robinavitch #dr robby

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