#he's so sweet he wanted to make sure i had one that i loved and w salt and pepper diamonds there's so much variation that it took a while t

[gutsby]

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.

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?”

[goaskangel]

perv!toji and his sweet virgin gf yayaya

toji wouldn’t necessarily call himself a cherry chaser but when he laid his eyes on you, he knew he just had to have you. you’re just so much softer and gentle and sweeter than he could ever be, he craved to feel your soft lips on his scarred skin and smell the aroma of your perfumes and scented lotions. 

and you thought it was just so cool, that a big guy like toji would wanna be with somebody like you. you should’ve at least expected it sooner, that he would want something from you. you can’t help yourself! you’re just too nervous, too shy to give yourself to a man, even if he was the most handsome and sexiest guy you’d ever met. he’s awfully touchy and lovey and part of you just feels bad. you’re too unsure of dressing in front of him, too diffident to keep a kiss going, but you really wanted to make sure he felt good.

but toji loves you, so he sticks around. tells you about all the other ways you could make him feel so good.

he lays you down comfortably on his bed as he unbuckles his belt.

“mmm, i don’t know, toji. never done this before.”

giving you a reassuring grin and nod while retrieving your hand in his bigger palm, “don’t gotta do anything, baby. don’t know why you’re so worried, i’ll handle everything. jus’ sit there all pretty for me.” he snaps his boxers off just below the pudge of his cock, and god he’s big. he takes your hesitant hand and manipulates it around. you whine gently when your fingertips squish up against a vein, he swears under his breath as he wraps his hand around your pliable one. slowly at first, he starts to stroke himself with your palm. he’s raging hard and he can tell if he doesn’t concentrate on not coming immediately on your inexperienced hand, he’ll shoot. and he can’t let this opportunity go to waste so quickly. 

“you’re so hard…” you’re practically hypnotized, the way big drops of pre pumps out of his leaky cockhead and coats his foreskin and length in a shiny layer makes your mouth water. “god, i’m always this way around you, doll. make me feel like–like a teenager again.” his breath hitches when he feels you trying to go faster, allowing it.

“mhm, that’s good.” he grips your hand tighter and bucks impatiently into your palm, your hand now slippery and gooey with his sticky pre. “thinking about that tight cunt you’re too shy about. you wondering what i’d feel like inside you? inside that tight, virgin pussy?”

“toji, stop it.” you pout at his words, they are working considering how tight you have your thighs clamped. you always wonder about it. especially now, seeing his thick cock just weeping in front of you. how he’d prep you up and talk about how he’s been waiting for this day, pushing his chubby tip through the tight ring of your heat. you can’t take your eyes away from how fucking big he is. your fingers start to cramp when he races them against himself, coming incredibly hard into the air onto your wrist. big, heavy load just sitting on your knuckles and his rough jeans. next time he won’t let that go to waste!

masterlist

[amirasainz]

Girl I just read the dad Lewis one with baby Hamilton and I got an idea. What if baby Hamilton likes carlos like having a silly crush on him and she doesn't understand why he's not wearing red anymore then finds out why and first she's upset with Lewis then she's sad for carlos thinking he's sad. so Lewis arranges a meeting for them to show that carlos isn't actually sad.

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl ❤️

Sweet Confusion

Yn Hamilton had always loved the paddock. At just three years old, it was a magical place filled with roaring engines, gleaming cars, and the friendly faces of drivers who felt like family. But more than anything, it was where her daddy was. Her daddy was her hero, and the paddock was their shared world. She adored the fast cars and the tire changes, but what made it truly special were the people—especially the drivers.

Her favorites were her daddy, George, Charles, and Carlos. Charles always waved at her when she ran around with her dolls, and Carlos would often crouch down to give her a high-five or a playful grin. Their kindness made her feel like the paddock was her second home. But this year, something felt different.

As she walked into the paddock, holding her daddy’s hand, Yn noticed they weren’t heading toward the usual garage. Instead, they were walking toward the Ferrari area. Her little steps quickened to keep up, but she didn’t ask questions—not yet. When they entered Ferrari’s garage, her eyes lit up at the sight of Charles standing nearby, his familiar smile warming her heart.

"Hi, Charlie!" Yn called out, waving both hands excitedly.

"Salut, ma petite!" Charles replied, kneeling to give her a hug. "How’s my favourite fan today?"

"Good!" Yn beamed. "I’m with Daddy!"

Charles chuckled and ruffled her hair, but Yn’s smile faltered as she glanced around. Something felt off. "Charlie… where’s Carlos?" she asked, her tiny voice tinged with concern. "Carlos isn’t in the red garage anymore."

Charles hesitated, his smile fading for a moment. He wasn’t sure how to explain it to her. "Hey, Yn," he said gently, "why don’t you sit here with your dolls for a bit? I’ll be right back."

Yn nodded, sitting down with her toys, but her eyes kept darting around the garage. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something important had changed. A few minutes later, her daddy appeared beside her.

"Hey, my girl," Lewis said softly, crouching to her level. "What’s with the serious face?"

"Daddy," Yn began, her voice small and uncertain, "where’s Carlos? Why isn’t he in the red garage anymore? Did he go away?"

Lewis sighed, realizing she’d noticed the change. "Carlos isn’t at Ferrari anymore, sweetheart," he explained gently. "He’s racing for Williams now. It’s a new team, but he’s still the same Carlos."

Yn’s face scrunched up in confusion. "But… why? I like him in red. Did you take his red away, Daddy?"

Lewis’s heart ached at her innocence. "No, darling," he said, brushing a hand over her hair. "Carlos made a choice to race for Williams. It’s something he wanted to do. He’s still your friend, and you’ll still see him. He’s just wearing a different color now."

Yn looked down at her dolls, her little hands gripping them tightly. "But I like red," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I like Carlos in red."

Lewis pulled her into a gentle hug. "I know, sweetheart. But Carlos is happy, and that’s what matters. You’ll still get to see him and give him hugs, just like before."

Yn nodded slowly, though her face still showed a hint of sadness. "Can we go see him now? I want to make sure he’s okay."

"Of course we can," Lewis said, smiling reassuringly. "Let’s go visit him."

They made their way to the Williams garage, and as soon as Yn spotted Carlos, her face lit up. He was chatting with his crew but immediately turned when he saw her.

"Chica!" Carlos called out, kneeling with open arms. "I’m so happy to see you!"

Yn rushed into his embrace, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. "Carlos! I was worried about you. You’re not wearing red anymore. Daddy says you’re happy, but… I miss your red suit."

Carlos chuckled softly, his heart melting at her innocence. "I’m still the same Carlos, Yn. The color of my suit doesn’t change that. I’ll always be your friend, no matter what I’m wearing."

Yn looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. "Promise?"

"I promise," Carlos said, smiling warmly. "And you know what? I’ll still give you high-fives and hugs, just like before."

Yn giggled, her worries fading as she touched his blue suit. "Okay, Carlos. I like your blue suit too."

Lewis watched from a distance, relieved to see Yn’s smile return. "Thanks, Carlos," he said, walking over. "You’ve always been great with her."

"Always will be," Carlos replied, giving Yn one last hug before standing up. "She’s a special kid."

Yn clutched her dolls, her heart full again. "Daddy, can we go find George now? I want to show him my new doll!"

Lewis laughed, ruffling her hair. "Of course, sweetheart. Let’s go."

As they walked away, Yn glanced back at Carlos and waved. He waved back, his smile as warm as ever. Even though things had changed, the paddock still felt like home. Carlos was still Carlos, and that was all that mattered.

[kitbunnyroo]

thinking about...abandoned android boyfriend....

lemme apologize from now...this is a looong one. it could be structured better, but it's literally just me updating this over the course of some hours/days (?). hope you enjoy this ridiculously long tidbit thooo! <3 (help y'all hit that 30 fast....tyyy!)

also omg thank you all for all the love on the centaur man post??? we love big strong bby fr, 100% will bring him back if y'all wanna see more of him 🤍🤍 (also, not proof read nothing i write is, so forgive any errors plsss)

like picture it, you just find him in a scrap yard cause your pet ran into it or something right...and you can tell that he's functioning, so you're confused as to why he got put for scrap? considering these things are crazy expensive, and the people who threw him out were ever so kind enough to leave all his original packaging, you took him back home.

it did take a while to get his station set up in a little corner, but it wasn't too bad, especially as you looked into the illuminated green eyes of the android who stood a good head or two taller than yourself once you figured out how to get him up and running again.

after you explained in even greater detail how he came to be in your possession, you could almost hear the mechanics in his brain recalibrating all the missed system updates as he now addressed you as master/mistress. not ideal, but who are you to complain once he fixes the drip in your sink that almost cost you hundreds of dollars. maybe having an android in your home wouldn't be so bad.

time flies and you come to find out he was scrapped cause beyond functionality, he had somehow developed a conscious of sorts. which when you think about it, anybody else would be freaked out by their machine suddenly smiling and showing human emotions. was it freaky? hell yeah. was it bad?....not so much.

there was lots of reassurance to be done...he thought that once he started to slip and his consciousness shone through again you'd dump him to be scrap metal too...well, after they remove the scarily realistic skin-like material that outlines his hardware. "So...you're not going to power me off and box me up like the last family did..?" he'd find himself asking after long conversations about how you don't really care he got more human-like as the days went on. living on your own it isn't that bad to feel like you have extremely helpful company rather than a machine in your empty halls. and when he looks at you oh so sweetly? how can you not tell him this is his home too.

android housemate, doing his best to make sure you're always happy. always stress free. always well taken care of. always healthy. always satisfied. so when he's cleaning your room and finds a vibrator, he's everything and appalled. why would you have this when he's right here? was he not good enough? did you not want him to help you? was it his fault? but he simply places it on it's charger and closes your door. when you get home that day you can tell something's off, it's the same air as the early stages when he thought you'd throw him out. so you just make sure to be extra sweet to your caring housemate.

android housemate, now doing research on human pleasure, watching porn, reading all sorts of articles and Quora forums. this seems easy enough to do...he just doesn't understand why you wouldn't ask him to help. darling android housemate realizing that his fans start to go double time when the pixels start to look like you instead of whoever is actually in the videos...even more so when he realizes that's what an imagination is like and that his is picturing himself with you in these videos...he wonders if that can happen....

yandere (???) android housemate who's suddenly gotten all clingy once you're home. as usual, dinner is hot and plated, desert already lined up, but as you shower you can hear him making the time to pick out your outfit from your drawers instead of double checking all is well in the rest of the house...odd, but you don't pay the particularly revealing choice of clothing much mind. dinner goes as usual, till he offers you a much more...inviting? smile after you tell him about your grievances of the day. his eyes never leaving you, even as you eat and he updates minor software...you ask if he can close the windows cause there's a much too warm of a breeze coming in, and he's suddenly glad he has the capabilities to hide the blush that threatened to rise to his fabricated cheeks since it was just his fans. he was getting a bit too much enjoyment from the sight of you wearing an outfit he had picked, enjoying his meals that he makes you everyday, you chose him from the scrap yard that he's convinced held many other androids...

yandere (??) android housemate that's gotten cold to you since you brought home another human and claim that they're your partner. he'd thought that he was being clear with his consecutive months of flirting since his research began, but apparently not clear enough. now he's forced to watch as you bring this human over, it is nice to hear you brag about how lovely he treats you though, especially when he sees them almost shrink where they sit, obviously he can already tell they won't be able to treat you better than your housemate. how could they? they're just a weak human, and he's an android that's learnt every last one of your tastes.

yandere (?) android housemate that's gotten over his chilly attitude in favour of comforting you after your breakup and every proceeding one from then on. on one hand he doesn't enjoy seeing you hurt, but on the other hand he knows the only one meant for you is him, so he'll continue to let these humans know that they won't ever hold a candle to him when it comes to your affections. you don't have to be in pain, you just have to realize he's the one for you. and you can go back to your blissful life.

yandere...android housemate who's worried after you stumble through the door after a work/college party, clearly intoxicated out of your mind. he effortlessly picks you up and takes you to your room, laying next to you when you refused to let him go cause his generated warmth was nice compared to the cold of the air conditioned room. he listens to you babble on about who knows what, and then about your latest break up, and then he's shocked when you blurt out that he'd make such a good boyfriend if he wasn't an android...and somehow, somewhere in his wiring, that hurt? but it also lit something cause you went on to praise all he does for you, especially highlighting his advances and he comes to the conclusion that you only started looking for a human partner because you had assumed that although he had a conscious, he couldn't feel romance. and boy was he now determined to prove you wrong.

yandere. android housemate, now doing everything possible after that night to display romantic affection. sensual massages after particularly aggravating days where his fingers work wonders to the tension coursing through your body, at first you don't think much of it, but when you feel the spikes of breeze specifically from him after every one of your moans, you try to keep your voice down. he downloads them to his software though, and is quickly researching the different modifications available for his kind.

yandere android housemate that gets tired of being referred to by his model name and demands you give him a proper one. and you do. and he loves it. thankfully, he's still linked to the cards of his previous family, so he can make purchases using their money instead of yours without suspicion. he gets his "personal" modification made under their card, leaves right after you do for school/work, and he's back before you're home, already getting things sorted for when you're back. now he just has to hide the tent that forms whenever you call him by the name you gave him....

newly named yandere android...you're not sure anymore. after walking in on him far too many times since you're used to him usually being smooth, but now he has an...enticing, length of dick just hanging between his legs now, it's kind of awkward. even more so when you find yourself outside his newly appointed bedroom to ask him to do something, and end up overhearing his whiney voice floating through the air. now you can't help but wonder how it feels if the rest of his skin feels like regular human skin...maybe an android boyfriend won't be so bad after all...

your android housemate, putting in extra work to keep you happy once he realizes you're not bringing home any more humans. even the vibrator and any other toys you might've had are stored away rather than readily available near your bed. maybe if he does a good enough job, you'll finally ask him for help. you swear you see a subtle throb in his pants sometimes when the thought runs through his not so little android brain.

your android boyfriend with fans so loud when you finally ask him to touch you, that you could've sworn you misread his intentions. but as soon as you try to back out of the situation he's pulled you against his chest with one of hands deeply entangled in you hair while the other hugs you close to him, if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was desperate for that moment...that and the fact that once you're finally in bed he takes initiative to slip under your blanket next to you instead of going to his own room, his hands finding their way snugly around your waist to cuddle you but surely making their way lower down, quicker when he realizes that not only are not trying to stop him, but you're basically leaning into his touch. the frenzy he goes into when you whisper his name that you gave him has your legs quivering on his shoulders, toes pointed every which way as those same illuminated eyes stay glued to your body, confusingly realistic tongue moving more enthusiastically with every sound you make.

your android boyfriend. who now takes any chance he can get to ask if he can fuck you. if his tongue game was this good...what else was he capable of? the thought barely has time to run across your mind because as soon as you agree he's gonna have you folded in half and stuffed full of the most realistic dildo you've ever felt. it didn't feel fabricated in the slightest. from the throb of the veins in your walls to the way it drags so fucking good inside of you, and he makes sure to study your body as he goes. this particular spot made your eyes roll? he's going right back there. you like having you sensitive bits teased while his balls are slapping your skin so hard you can hear them through the wet mess? he's abusing them. by the time he's done you've came enough times to lose count, and best believe he makes sure to endlessly thank and praise you through every bit of it. comments of how good you make him feel, the dimming of his eyes enough to let you know he really does feel it, thanking you for letting him be this close to you, begging you not to go when you try to squirm away from the overstimulation (he calms down a bit so you can catch yourself whenever it's really too much), not to mention the starved kisses he gives you whenever the position allows (all the time). he'll have your back against the wall and hold you up so the only place you can go is further onto his cock while his tongue finally gets to explore your mouth. you'd never believe an android could be so adorably vocal. the moans, the whimpers, the whines. (he can't bring himself to degrade you though, sorry </3)

your android boyfriend making sure he puts the utmost effort into after care. if you let him hit, he's sure to run you a shower or bath of your preference, and trust that when you're out he's already got you a freshly made meal with an accompanying drink. he always makes sure to ask if he was too rough with you, gently massaging your muscles while you relax after your meal. if there's anything, anything at all you desire, he already does it for you, but now he'll go the extra miles if it means you'll be even happier.

your android husband, proposed after years of taking you out on the most wonderful dates, planned more of the wedding than you did since he only wanted you to worry about looking your best, he does let you help if you want though <3. android husband who can't cry, but you almost swear you see him sobbing as you walk (or he walks if you'd prefer) down the aisle, the tears slowing down but never to a complete stop till it's finally time for the "I do"s. your android husband who takes you on a splendid honeymoon of nothing but relaxation, good sights and food, and even better sex. he knows he can't get you pregnant, but that doesn't mean he can't try extra hard once the topic of children roll around. if you do want children though, he's not against adoption (or a sperm donor once their background checks out)

(for his family he invited his previous family, who were surprisingly chill with him using their cards to fund your vacations and now wedding...talk about rich rich)

your android husband <333.

this totaled to 2,264 words (woah??), and i can NOT lie?? i like it. hope you enjoyed this terribly long read and tysm again for all the support like hello!!🤍✨

[juricel]

seeing your posts and as a small attempt to break authors block here's a lil request (^_-)

ok so id like to request yandere shadow milk cookie with a s/o who somewhat acts like candy apple cookie? like... not ACTUALLY candy apple cookie but theyre obsessed with him and is willing to do everything he desires and commands + gets really jealous when he interacts with someone ^o^

-🐧 anon

(btw ive read your old orphaned fics in ao3 and miraculously found your tumblr you dont know how happy i am)

a/n: okay first of all... how... and second of all, we do NOT talk about my orphaned ao3 fics. not in this household. zip mouth.

— yandere! shadow milk cookie x obsessive! reader

໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა ۪ ׂ CONTENT WARNING: yanderes, heavy possessive and obssessive behavior, unhealthy relationship, implied forced established relationship, implied emotional abuse, psychological manipulation, emotional abuse, threats of physical violence, imprisonment/kidnapping, coercion, control, dependency, non-consensual power dynamics, potential ooc.

𖦁 to say that he adored your obsessiveness is an understatement—no, he was besotted with it: savoring your sweet fixation like a sugared poison on the tongue, watching with bright, slitted amusement as you knelt before him without question, without hesitation, a devotee at the altar of his caprice. how you squirmed beneath the lightest flick of his attention, how your breath hitched when he, with deliberate carelessness, let his interest wander elsewhere. ah, but that was his favorite part—the way your jealousy trembled at the edges of you, coiling tight, teeth bared but mouth shut, the way your hands clenched in your lap, as if to keep yourself from lunging, from begging. he would press upon that wound like a scholar taking notes, tilt his head to better see how it darkened in your chest, how it shaped the curve of your shoulders, how it swelled against your ribs like a swallowed scream. It was divine, this spectacle of you unraveling in real time, caught in a dance between anger and longing, between dignity and desperation, ah, you were just too cute like that, he couldn't help himself from prodding on it, gently, softly, and slowly making you break in jealousy! but more than that—more than your ire, more than your brittle restraint—it was your fear that delighted him most, that quiet, gnawing terror that, if he ever truly turned away, you might cease to exist altogether.

𖦁 cruelty? oh, but that was such an ugly word, so ill-fitting, so crass. he never meant to be cruel—never. he was merely curious, merely an observer conducting a harmless little experiment, a scholar of your trembling devotion. how could he resist the temptation to nudge, just a little, just to see? a whisper here, a lingering touch elsewhere, a fleeting glance in another’s direction—what a marvel it was, the way you burned. and if you had not responded so exquisitely—if your breath had not hitched so prettily, if your fingers had not curled into your palms, if your voice had not quivered with that delicious mixture of fury and desperation—then, surely, none of this would have been necessary. but you had, and so it was, and really, really now, how could you blame him for indulging in such a delectable reaction? oh, but please—don’t cry. won’t you look at him? won’t you listen? there’s no need for all these trembling lips and damp lashes, no need for those hands to shake at your sides as if they don’t know whether to strike or to cling. he’ll never leave you, not ever, so why weep as if he would? and really, as much as he wants to regret it—the tears, the way your breath catches between sobs, the exquisite fire in your eyes when fury overtakes sorrow and your hands lash out, striking him with more love than hatred—he simply can’t. because you are beautiful like this, you are his like this, raw and fraying and utterly caught in the web of him. surely, you wouldn’t mind a few lies, would you? soft ones, sweet ones, warm as milk and thick as honey, sliding down your throat. if only you had paid him more attention, this wouldn't have happened. if only you had never turned away, never left his side even for a moment, he wouldn't have done this. if only you had been good enough, loved him enough, wanted him enough—then, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, he wouldn’t have needed to do this at all. but he knows you understand, don’t you? you always do. that’s what he loves about you. wasn't he such a sweetheart? a cruel obsessive lunatic

𖦁 oh, but perhaps, perhaps… if you came to his spire, if you lived in it, breathed in its air, let its walls wrap around you like an embrace—if you stayed within the sanctuary of his love, right beneath his pinky, tucked neatly where you belong—then maybe, maybe he wouldn’t have to be so cruel. yes, yes—that was it. the answer had been so simple all along! if you stayed, if you never left, if you allowed yourself to melt into the fabric of his world, then surely he wouldn’t need to do such things, wouldn’t need to test you, wouldn’t need to watch you unravel just to be certain you were still his. stay, won’t you? let him love you properly, let him keep you as you should be kept. it’ll feel just like home, he promises—just like home, only better.

𖦁 you’ll do anything he says, don't you? of course you will. you always do. so then, listen closely—for this was his command: be good. be quiet. be his. come to him, right where he can see you, right beneath his strings. it’ll be heaven. oh, it will—a place where you don’t have to think, don’t have to fight, don’t have to worry. just let go, let him pull, let him move you as he pleases. wouldn’t that be easier? wouldn’t that be beautiful?

𖦁 surely you won’t mind being kept in a cage, right? after all, isn’t this what you wanted? to be his, to have his undivided attention, to be held so tightly you could never slip away? oh, but he’s giving you everything—his love, his time, his adoration. isn’t that enough? isn’t that what you craved? so don’t ever leave. don’t even think about it. because if you do—if you even try—then, well… he’ll have to make sure you never do it again. he’ll have to fix you, won’t he? break you down, piece by piece, until you can’t walk, can’t eat, can’t move without him. until every little thing you do, every breath you take, is only possible because of him. oh, but don’t look so afraid. this is love, isn’t it? this is what you wanted, this is what you've yearned and sought for all along, there was no use in thinking anymore, he'll help you! for he has more than enough knowledge to assist you.

a/n: I loathe shadow milk cookie so much I want to wrap him up in unmarred flowers, let the thorns of roses prickle his skin and watch until his blood mingles with the petals, till air thick with the smell of iron, till life drains from him in a slow, sickly feast of pain.

anyway, for those who had requested during my hiatus, please resend your requests if you still would like it done! the second owner usually deletes them without a glance so I could pay more attention to my studies and church duties (all requests after this work has been deleted as i immediately went into hiatus afterward)

[drdemonprince]

What do people do about dom guilt/shame after engaging with “hard” kinks? I just tried knife play for the first time last night and I had a really good time toying with my sub and just seeing this other side of him that really wants to get cut up. I’m worried I crossed some kind of invisible line and I’m evil now even though we both liked it.

We’re both inexperienced with engaging with “hard” kinks and we have some mutual friends and I’m unsure what they’d think of me if they knew. So that adds to the stress a little. At the same time though, I love that he trusted me enough to ask for that and the look he got in his eyes was incredible.

aftercare! Doms need aftercare! especially after doing darker or more serious scenes. One Dom that I know has his subs message him the day after a particularly intense scene to check in and reassure him that he is not a bad person, that they actively wanted everything that he did, and that they are doing well (or if they are struggling in some way, he wants them to tell him so that they can work through it and he can offer support). so much of the focus gets put on the needs of the sub in these matters, and on protecting the sub from harm, but it is equally important to make sure that the Dom is given space to self-regulate, reassurance, comfort, or whatever it else it is that they need to process this stuff.

you'll come to know a lot better with the more practice that you have. some people are really fired up energetically after a big Dommy see and what they really need is to eat a meal and take a walk and cool down a bit. other people like the conventional cuddling while watching a movie and eating sweet snacks form of aftercare that comes most readily to people's minds. but psychologically the impact of being a Dom is quite different from that of submitting, and so you may need things like seeing your sub exercise agency, having somebody else take care of you and making decisions, a lot of detailed feedback on how the scene went from the subs perspective, everybody to switch out of role and to act relatively normal and jokey, or some combination of these things.

for now, continue talking it through with your partner, ask them for support and care, and maybe journal a little bit on how you're feeling in the days after a scene. It is completely normal to experience a drop and to feel tired, disgusted, ashamed, we're like you're a bad person, and you can learn to anticipate this and work with it to minimize how much it bothers you and prevent a lot of larger meltdowns from occurring. but the only way we figure this stuff out is from learning! feeling a little bit bad or even a lot bad it's not a sign that you've screwed up here. it's just data. and so it's all very worthwhile to get.

[cloudyluun]

Epilogue: Home. | single-parent!harry

Summary: Life with Harry was already perfect—but now, it’s getting even bigger. Between lazy mornings, chaotic family dinners, and one very unexpected but very wanted baby on the way, you finally have the life you never thought you’d get. Telling Theo and Lily is a disaster (obviously), Harry won’t stop touching your belly, and somehow, your home is even louder, messier, and more full of love than ever before.

And you wouldn’t change a single thing.

A/N: Listen. I know what I did. And I’d do it again. 😌

Was this entire epilogue an excuse to write Dad!Harry in his domestic, protective, lovesick era? Yes. Did I also write it because I got this request that literally said “This will make you feral and want Harry’s babies”? Also yes.

But honestly, was I wrong?

Harry cooking breakfast with Theo and Lily while Y/N waddles around pregnant and happy?Harry whispering sweet nothings to Y/N’s belly every night like a lovestruck fool?Harry completely wrecked over pregnant!Y/N, praising her like a goddess, and making sure she feels worshipped?

No. I was absolutely correct. And I stand by that.

Anyway, I hope you love this, I hope it makes you emotionally unstable, and I hope you walk away knowing one universal truth:

Harry Styles was made to be a husband and a dad.

Love you. Mean it.

Wordt Count: 3k

Warnings:

Sickeningly sweet domestic fluff (read at your own risk)

Pregnancy (planned but unexpected, lots of soft moments, protective!Harry in full force)

Theo and Lily being tiny menaces and taking full credit for everything

So much baby talk, you might want to start nesting yourself

Harry’s hands permanently attached to Y/N’s belly

Bonus smut: Pregnant sex, praise kink, filthy but loving, Harry being absolutely wrecked for his woman

Aftercare that will make you cry

The phrase "I love our baby so much" whispered like it’s the most sacred thing in the world

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

You never thought this would be your life.

Not the lazy Sunday mornings tangled in Harry’s sheets, his body warm and solid beside you.

Not the quiet evenings where you cooked dinner together—where he stole bites of food off your plate and kissed your forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Not the mornings filled with coffee and pancakes and laughter, where Lily and Theo sat on the floor with their coloring books, bickering over which one of them was the better artist while Harry rolled his eyes fondly.

You never thought you’d get to have this.

But you did.

And God, you wanted to hold onto it forever.

--

It had been months since that night.

Months since you’d stopped running.

Since you had let him in.

And in that time, everything had changed.

Not in the loud, dramatic way you used to fear.

Not in the way that left you panicked and breathless, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But in the quiet way. The sure way.

In the way that made Sunday morning grocery runs feel like an adventure, because Harry let the kids pick out ridiculous snacks while you pretended to scold him for sneaking extra things into the cart.

In the way that made movie nights feel like home, because Theo would fall asleep halfway through, and Lily would always insist on using Harry’s shoulder as a pillow, and you’d end up curled into his side—his arm draped around you, fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin.

In the way that made your chest ache, because this wasn’t temporary.

This wasn’t something fragile.

This was real.

--

You realized it fully one evening, standing in Harry’s kitchen, watching him without him realizing it.

He was helping Theo with his homework, brow furrowed in concentration as he leaned over the table, listening intently while Theo explained something about a science project.

And Lily—Lily was sitting beside him, doodling absentmindedly in the margins of her own worksheet, occasionally nudging Theo and smirking when he huffed in annoyance.

It was so simple.

So mundane.

And yet, something inside you broke wide open.

Because this wasn’t just Harry’s house anymore.

It wasn’t just his space.

It was yours, too.

A place where your daughter laughed freely. Where you left your books scattered on the nightstand. Where there was a drawer of your clothes in his dresser, your toothbrush beside his in the bathroom.

You had slipped into his life.

And the most shocking thing was that…

You fit.

Perfectly.

Completely.

Like you had been meant to be there all along.

--

You didn’t say anything that night.

Didn’t mention the realization, didn’t try to put it into words.

But Harry noticed.

Because he always did.

When the kids had finally gone to bed, when you had curled up beside him on the couch, his fingers tracing absentmindedly along your thigh—he looked at you.

And just like that, you knew.

He knew it, too.

This was it.

This was forever.

--

The first time Harry called you his girlfriend was at Theo’s soccer game.

It was casual, slipped into conversation without a second thought.

One of the other parents had asked about the two of you, smiling in that knowing way people did when they’d already assumed the answer.

And Harry—**without hesitation, without looking at you first to check if it was okay—**had just said, "Yeah, Y/N’s my girlfriend."

Like it was obvious. Like it was something he didn’t even have to think about.

And the best part?

It didn’t send you into a spiral.

Didn’t make you want to run.

Because, for once…

You weren’t afraid of being someone’s.

Not when it was him.

--

The first time you said it back, you didn’t even realize you had.

It was late.

You were all piled onto the couch, the kids asleep between you, the credits rolling on some animated movie none of you had really been paying attention to.

Harry’s hand was resting low on your back, his breathing even, the room quiet, still, peaceful.

And you—**without thinking, without hesitating—**had whispered, "Love you."

Not as a grand declaration.

Not as something huge or dramatic.

Just as a fact.

As something that had been true for longer than you’d been willing to admit.

And Harry—still half-asleep, still groggy and warm and impossibly perfect—had hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of your head.

"Love you, too, sweetheart."

Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Like it was inevitable.

Like he had never once doubted it.

--

The first time you talked about forever, you were cooking dinner.

Harry had been chopping vegetables, Theo sitting on the counter beside him, chattering about his day.

And Lily—with zero warning, with the blunt force of a child who didn’t know how to sugarcoat things—had just said, "Mummy, are we ever gonna live here?"

You had frozen.

Harry had paused.

And Theo—completely oblivious to the weight of the moment—had just shrugged.

"Yeah, you basically already do."

And Harry—

Harry had just looked at you.

Not with pressure.

Not with expectation.

Just with certainty.

Like he knew the answer already.

Like he was just waiting for you to catch up.

--

So, you did.

Three months later, you packed up the apartment you had built your new life in.

And you moved in with him.

With Theo.

With your family.

And you didn’t second-guess it.

Didn’t overthink it.

Because for the first time in your life, forever didn’t feel like something that could fall apart.

It felt like something you could hold onto.

Something that had been waiting for you all along.

--

One night, long after the kids had gone to bed, long after the house had settled into comfortable silence, you curled into Harry’s side, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.

"Did you ever think we’d end up here?" you murmured, voice soft, sleepy.

Harry hummed, pulling you closer, fingers threading through your hair.

"Yeah," he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You smiled against his skin. "Really?"

"Mmhm." His lips curved against your forehead. "Theo and Lily decided for us, remember?"

You laughed, shaking your head.

Harry pulled back, tilting your chin up until your eyes met his.

His expression softened.

"Best thing that ever happened to me," he whispered.

And you—

You kissed him.

Because there was no doubt in your mind anymore.

He was it.

Forever.

Your life was full.

It was good.

And soon, it was about to get even bigger.

--

You’d known for weeks.

The first sign had been exhaustion—more than usual. You’d chalked it up to late nights, to work, to trying to keep up with two chaos-wielding children and a ridiculously affectionate boyfriend who didn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.

Then came the mood swings.

The tears over a burnt pancake.

The sudden, undeniable craving for oranges at midnight.

And finally, the truth had stared you in the face in the form of two pink lines.

Pregnant.

You had sat on the bathroom floor for a long time, staring at it, heart pounding, head spinning, stomach flipping.

Because you were happy.

Really, truly, unbelievably happy.

And that was the part that scared you the most.

Because happiness like this? It felt too good to last.

But when you finally told Harry—**voice shaking, heart in your throat, fingers twisting nervously in his t-shirt—**he had just smiled.

And then he had kissed you.

And then he had knelt in front of you, hands on your waist, pressing his forehead against your stomach.

And then, voice thick, barely a whisper:

“We’re having a baby?”

And when you had nodded—when the words had finally settled between you—he had wrapped his arms around you, held you like he never planned to let go, and laughed.

Like he couldn’t believe his luck.

Like you had just given him the world.

--

Telling Theo and Lily was another story.

Because they were menaces.

Because they would absolutely take credit for this.

And because you had no idea how they were going to react.

You and Harry had spent an entire week going back and forth. How do we tell them? When do we tell them? Should we make it fun? A surprise? A game?

But in the end, the kids decided for you.

Because of course they did.

--

You were sitting in the living room, curled into Harry’s side, your hand resting lightly over your stomach as Theo and Lily played a game on the floor.

And then, out of nowhere, Theo looked up and said—

"When are you guys having a baby?"

You choked on your tea.

Harry tensed beside you.

Lily scrunched up her nose. "Theo, you can’t just ask people that!"

Theo shrugged. "Why not? They’re obviously in love. People in love have babies."

Harry pressed his fist against his mouth, shoulders shaking.

You glared at him. Don’t you dare laugh.

Theo looked between the two of you, suspicious. "Wait a second…"

Lily gasped. "ARE YOU HAVING A BABY?"

Silence.

Harry turned to you, one brow raised, a smirk tugging at his lips. Your call, love.

You sighed, setting your tea down before glancing at the kids.

And then, softly:

"Yeah. We are."

For a second, nothing.

And then—

Absolute chaos.

Lily screamed.

Theo cheered.

Lily launched herself at you, hugging you so tightly you thought you might fall over. "I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! I’M GONNA BE A BIG SISTER!"

Theo, meanwhile, turned to Harry and held out his fist.

"Nice one, Dad."

Harry barked out a laugh, bumping his fist against Theo’s. "Thanks, mate."

And then, just like that, the room was filled with laughter, excitement, a million questions.

When is the baby coming? Can we pick the name? Do we get to help? Are we sharing a room? Is it a boy or a girl? Can we have a puppy, too?

Harry pulled you against him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"See?" he murmured. "Told you they’d take it well."

You smiled, watching as Theo and Lily started making a very dramatic list of possible baby names.

"Yeah," you whispered. "You were right."

And for once—**for the first time in forever—**you weren’t afraid of being happy.

Because this?

This was home.

And now, it was just getting a little bigger.

--

Life after that was loud.

It was chaotic.

It was perfect.

Mornings were a blur of sleepy kisses and coffee and Harry pressing a hand to your stomach every time he walked past you.

Afternoons were spent at doctor’s appointments, picking out baby clothes, letting Theo and Lily argue over whether they wanted a little brother or sister.

(Theo wanted a brother. Lily wanted both. You and Harry were mildly terrified.)

And nights—nights were yours.

Wrapped in Harry’s arms, his hands tracing over your belly, his voice a soft murmur against your skin.

"Can’t believe we’re doing this.""You’re so beautiful like this, love.""I’m gonna love this baby so much. And you. Always you."

And every single time, you felt it—the weight of what you had built. The life you had made. The family you had created.

You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

And neither would Harry.

Because ever since you told him you were pregnant, he had been soft with you—softer than ever before.

Not that he wasn’t always soft with you—but now?

Now, it was different.

Now, it was gentle hands on your stomach whenever he passed by. Now, it was offloading all the housework, refusing to let you lift a finger. Now, it was pulling you onto his lap at night, rubbing slow circles into your back until you melted against him.

It was sweet. Perfect, even.

But tonight?

Tonight, you needed more.

And you could tell, by the way Harry was looking at you—dark eyes flickering between your lips and the swell of your belly—that he needed more, too.

So when you shifted against him—**rolling your hips just slightly where you straddled his lap, teasing, testing—**he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Careful, love," he murmured, his fingers tightening on your thighs.

You tilted your head, running your hands up his chest. "Why?"

His jaw ticked. His grip tightened.

"You know why."

You smirked.

And then, deliberately—slowly—you rolled your hips again.

Harry groaned. "Fuck, Y/N—"

"You’ve been treating me like I’m fragile," you whispered, pressing your mouth to his jaw, kissing along his neck.

He exhaled sharply, his hands trembling against you. "Because you are."

You pulled back, meeting his gaze, your fingers tracing the edge of his t-shirt. "Harry. I’m pregnant. Not breakable."

He swallowed hard, eyes flickering down to where your belly pressed against him.

You could see the hesitation in his face. The battle between wanting you, needing you, and being afraid of hurting you.

So, you leaned in—pressing your lips to his, slow and deep, whispering against his mouth—

"Please, Harry."

And that?

That was all it took.

Because in the next breath, he had you on your back.

Mouths crashing together, hands desperate, his body pressing you into the mattress.

"You want me like this?" he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, over your collarbone. "Like this, baby?"

You whimpered. "Yes. Yes, please—"

He groaned against your skin, one hand sliding between your legs, teasing you through your underwear.

"Fuck, love," he rasped. "You’re soaking."

You gasped, arching into him, thighs trembling as his fingers stroked over you, teasing, torturing.

"Been neglecting you, haven’t I?" he muttered, his voice thick, wrecked.

You couldn’t even respond—not when he was slipping his fingers beneath the fabric, not when he was spreading you open, groaning when he felt how ready you were for him.

"Christ," he hissed, pressing a finger inside you, curling it just right.

You cried out, gripping his biceps, barely able to breathe.

"More," you begged. "Harry, more."

And fuck—

He gave it to you.

Another finger, stretching you, working you open, his mouth hot against your neck, his breathing heavy.

"Love having you like this," he murmured. "All soft and warm and—fuck—taking everything I give you."

You whined, grinding against his hand, so close, so close—

But before you could fall, before he could push you over the edge—

He pulled away.

You gasped, nearly sobbing. "Harry—"

"Shh, sweetheart," he murmured, kissing your belly before sitting back on his heels, shoving his sweats down, fisting himself in his hand.

Your mouth went dry.

Because—fuck—

You had felt him against you before, had been with him countless times, but somehow, seeing him like this—

Hard and desperate and completely wrecked for you—

You clenched around nothing, whimpering, needing him inside you, needing everything.

"Harry, please," you whispered.

And he gave you exactly what you asked for.

He pushed inside you in one slow, deep thrust, groaning as he sank into you, his head falling forward, his hands bracing on either side of your head.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered, his voice wrecked.

You gasped, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him closer. "Harry—"

"Christ, love," he panted, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your lips. "You feel so fucking good."

And then, he moved.

Slow at first. Deep. Precise. Like he wanted you to feel every single inch of him.

And you—fuck, you were drowning in him.

The way he touched you, the way he filled you completely, the way he kept murmuring the sweetest, filthiest things into your skin—

"Love you like this." "Never been more beautiful." "Carrying my baby, taking my cock so fucking good—"

You were gone.

It didn’t take long.

Your body was already buzzing, already so close from the way he had touched you earlier.

So when he slipped a hand between you, rolling his fingers over your clit, whispering, "Come for me, sweetheart,"

You shattered.

Your entire body clenched around him, your orgasm crashing through you, pleasure rippling through every inch of your skin.

And Harry followed.

With one last deep thrust, one last ragged moan of your name, he spilled inside you, his body shuddering against yours, his forehead pressed to your shoulder.

For a while, neither of you moved.

Just heavy breathing, warm kisses, whispered I love yous.

And then—

Harry pulled back, gazing down at you, eyes flickering between your face and your stomach.

And softly, reverently, completely wrecked:

"I love you, and I love our baby so fucking much."

You exhaled, cupping his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

"I love you, too," you whispered.

And then, you kissed him.

Because this was it.

This was everything.

--

One morning, months later, you woke up to find Harry already gone from bed.

Frowning, you padded into the kitchen, only to find him standing there—Theo on one side, Lily on the other, all three of them squinting at a pan of very questionable-looking pancakes.

You raised a brow. "What is happening here?"

Harry turned, smirking. "Makin’ breakfast for my girl."

You snorted. "For me or for the baby?"

Lily gasped. "The baby wants pancakes!"

Theo nodded sagely. "Yeah. Mum’s gotta eat double now. She’s basically a superhero."

You bit back a smile, stepping closer as Harry handed you a plate, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Morning, love," he murmured.

You exhaled, looking around at them.

Your people.

Your home.

Your everything.

"Morning," you whispered.

And then—

You smiled.

Because your life?

It was exactly how it was supposed to be.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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[spr1ngtweaks]

You should totally write Harley + readers first kiss

First kiss with Harley 💋

ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕖𝕪 𝕊𝕒𝕨𝕪𝕖𝕣/𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣 (ℙ𝕣𝕖 -“𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣” 𝕍ℍ𝕊 𝕋𝕒𝕡𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘) 𝕩 ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕘𝕦𝕖!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

Welp...Kissing Harley for the first time was definitely not a sweet or easy experience. He wasn't the type to take the initiative in moments like that—or if he did, it wasn't the tenderness one would typically expect.

Feeling: At first, there might be a moment of hesitation—not because he is afraid, but because he is analyzing. His sharp gaze will sweep over you, as if measuring and considering every detail. But when the distance fades, when his lips touch yours, everything will change.

Harley kisses like he lives—intensely, with a bit of restraint, but also full of things he doesn't say. At first, he was stiff, almost hesitant, as if he didn't trust this.

But then, when he realized that he wanted more than that, the kiss became deeper, full of possessiveness.

Taste: There is a hint of caffeine—he always drinks black coffee, strong and slightly bitter. Mixed in with that is a hint of something sharp and cold, like metal and ozone, like his laboratory—a place filled with machinery, reagents, and ideas that never sleep. There's also something warmer, deeper, a lingering taste that's hard to forget.

But deep inside, there is a hint of something else—not sweet, but the echo of someone who once was something... more than that.

Something that has been lost.

Lips: Not as soft as those who spend all day thinking about love. There is a slight roughness at the corners of the lips, traces of sleepless nights, days spent biting the lips in thought amidst experiments and research.

But that very roughness makes each moment of contact feel more real, more vibrant—as if it were proof that he still exists, still feels, if only for this moment.

Does he have a deep kiss?(🤨) Sure... But it's not just about passion—it's also about desire, about an unnameable obsession. And when he lets go, he will pause for a brief moment, as if he is trying to confirm that it is not a mistake.

But just a moment—because he didn't want to wait for the answer.

───── ⋆⋅✝⋅⋆ ─────

If we consider it realistically, the first time you both kissed each other was probably not an impulsive or classically romantic moment. Instead, it was a slow but inevitable collision—like an equation that both knew the answer to, but neither wanted to admit. Maybe it happened on a late night, after a long shift when both were exhausted. The unfinished reports, the cold light from the flickering screen, the smell of chemicals still lingering on the sleeves.

A small argument between the two—not quite a quarrel, but tense enough to push both into a corner from which neither could retreat.

The silence dragged on for too long, breaths mingling in the narrow gap between you.

Or maybe it happened after some incident, when an experiment almost got out of control, or when one of you got hurt.

Harley is not the type of person to easily show anxiety, but in a rare moment, he revealed his loss of control—by holding you tighter than necessary, with a cold yet confused gaze, and then his lips sought yours as a way to regain control.

Not hurried, not gentle, but an obsession to hold on.

But no matter what, it's not perfect. It could be a hesitant, rough kiss, or too intense as if both were experimenting with something you both weren't sure you all could handle. But after that moment, Harley would be the one to pull himself away, his eyes heavy as if he had just made a mistake he couldn't fix.

Bonus: I don't think he's the kind of person who speaks flowery, overly romantic words... But, have you ever imagined that after you both kiss, looking into each other's eyes, he says something like this-

"Hm you taste like the chemical formula C12H22O11."

:D

Notes: So, if you guys want to make a request or have any suggestions, my ask box is always open, anything but SMUT (I'm terrible at it... I was traumatized when I reread that damn old draft of mine), maybe spicy 16+ would be okay...

[rosenclaws]

Can you please write insecure!oldman!Logan? He is embarrased and sad because he can’t do things he could with you when he was younger, you can’t have sex easily and he can’t run and stuff, you can do whatever you want with the idea 💗🫶🫶

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Smut, blow job, showering together, insecure Logan, angry Logan, mentions of blood.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: Yes sorry this took so long I had a lot of valentines stuff + just my daily life going on lmao. This is a little shorter because I'm not really feeling my smut writing rn idk why but I hope you enjoy it anyways.

Logan had always been a strong man. Always. Emotionally and Physically. In his prime he had super human abilities, his strength, his speed, his agility. He was an absolute monster on the battle field. Nothing and no one could stop him and boy did they try. He was the Wolverine, the X-Man. And now...now he's just a shell.

Logan traces his jaw as he roughly drags the razor along the side of his face. He grunts as he nicks himself again, his hand shakes as he tries to cut trim away the scruff but he just can't get his hand to steady. In a fit of frustration he slams the razor down onto the countertop. Crushing the poor appliance to pieces.

"Logan!?" He hears you call from the bedroom. Your voice drenched in worry.

"I'm fine!" He yells back.

The last thing he wants is for you to come wandering in the bathroom while he's like this. Bitter and angry. The man in the mirror is a far cry from the man he once was. His once dark hair was now old and greying. A rough beard had grown on his face, half due to laziness making him look much older. Wrinkles are everywhere, proving to anyone that looked at him that he was just an old man.

Under his shirt were scars and bruises. He never used to scar. His body was fit, he was muscled and for lack of a better term. Absolutely ripped. Sure he still has his muscles but his chest was littered with bullet scars and ugly tearing from the fights he's tried so desperately to shield you from.

You say you love him, he wants to believe it. But how could someone like you ever truly love a man like Logan. A man who has shed a river of blood and killed more than he can even remember. How does the world decide that now, after everything, he gets to come home to a sweet thing like you. A big smile and a warm heart waiting for him at the end of the day.

How could you want a man who can barely keep up with you. You're younger than him. To be fair pretty much everyone is younger than Logan. But physically, you go for runs in the morning, you dance around the living room, you're just so full of energy. A bright star in the sea of darkness and Logan, well he is the darkness. He's sore and tired and angry. The world does not shine for him anymore.

He can't go out with you, treat you the way you deserve to be treated. He can't take you dancing or go on a walk in the park. All he does is come home and sit on the couch. His joints creaking as it takes all his effort to even get comfortable. He sees you watch those romance movies with a longing in your eyes. It's a cold bitter pill for Logan to swallow but the truth is, he's just too worn down for you. You deserve more than what he can give you.

He looks around, its a small bathroom. It's a small house. He took every extra penny he could get in order to buy this little cabin. It took weeks to renovate it too. But Logan wanted to give you a place to life, to be safe. Maybe he can leave the house to you. He's so deep in his own head that he doesn't hear the door open. He jumps when he feels your hands on his chest.

"Logan what's wrong?" Your voice is soft as you gently cup his face, pulling him from whatever spiral he was sending himself through.

"Nothing. I need to shower." He grunts out, tilting his head to get out of your grip. You frown as he sheds his shirt and turns on the shower. You admire his back as he starts to unbuckle his pants.

"Can I join you?" You ask sweetly as you grab the bottom of your shirt and lift it up.

Logan turns around to deny you but the moment he lays eyes on you any words fail. You smirk as you slowly undress yourself, Logan watching you the whole time. You slip past him and stand under the hot water, letting it run down your body. You hold your hand out to Logan as to silently say, come join me. Logan kicks his pants off and joins you under the water. Groaning as the hot water hits his aching muscles.

"What happened?" Your brows furrow as you see the blood drip down his chin.

"Nicked myself with a razor." He mumbles, his eyes closing as you start to rub your hands on his shoulders.

"That's okay, it happens." You cup your hand to let some water pool and then use it to clean his face.

"You're too sweet on an old man like me baby." He whispers, his insecurities coming to light as he feels a sense of guilt coming over him. Guilt that you're even here with him in the shower, helping an old man like him wash his body.

"Oh hush you idiot." You lather body wash in your hands and start to wash his arms and chest.

"I'm serious baby, just look at me." He gestures lamely to himself. One of his hands coming to cup your chin.

"I can't keep up with the guys your age. I can't..." He sighs, his rough hands grab your waist and gently push you against the wall.

"I can't please you the way someone like you should be pleased." He admits. It's embarrassing to say but he knows it's true.

Maybe in another life, had you had met when he was younger things would be different. But he can't fuck the way he used to. 20 Years ago he could pick you up like nothing and tear you apart like it was nothing. But now, now he has to go slow and he can only last a round, maybe two.

"Shut up," You press your finger to his lips and he rolls his eyes.

"My turn to talk." Logan watches as you slowly sink to your knees.

"You think I don't know you're old? You wear dollar store reading glasses and say your knees hurt when it rains." He opens his mouth to complain but you shut him up by grabbing his cock in your hands. Your soapy warm hands are like heaven.

"I'm not some stupid kid Logan," He's acting like he's the big bad wolf who's hiding some terrible secret from you. You love Logan, all parts of him and you'll be dammed if you let him get in his own head and destroy the life you have now.

"I can make my own decisions and right now, I want to suck my boyfriends cock." Logan grabs your hair and tilts your head up so he can look at you. Lust blown wide in his eyes as you hold his heavy cock in your hands.

"You're gonna kill me one day you know that?" He groans as you stick your tongue out and lick the tip of it. A devilish tint in your eyes.

"What a way to go huh?" You tease as you take him as far into your mouth as you can, hell bent on sucking away any insecurities still floating in Logan's brain.

It's messy and hot and Logan feels like he's going to burst much sooner than he wants but he can't fucking help it. I mean fuck a hot thing like you has your warm mouth wrapped around his dick, how could he not fall apart. He places his hand on the back of your head and shoves you down until you choke.

You love when he gets rougher, he says he can't but his dominance shows in other ways, like the hold he has on your hair and the messy thrust of his hips. You moan around him and he slams his hand against the shower wall, accidently cracking the tile. Not strong my ass. It doesn't take long for him to come down your throat.

You drink it up with ease, wiping your lips as he pulls his softening cock out of your mouth. He pulls you up easily and gently pushes you against the wall, his lips on your neck biting and sucking anywhere he can get.

"Fuck baby," He groans as one of his hands slips down in between your legs.

"You can't get rid of me that easy old man." You groan as you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Yeah yeah," He lifts you up, ignoring the pain in his back as he carries you out of the shower and to the bedroom.

"Logan! We're soaking wet." You whine as he tosses you onto the bed, crawling up until he's slotted perfectly between your legs.

"I know." He says with a smirk.

"Feel better now?" You ask as he puts his arms under your thighs.

You were always good at keeping his bad thoughts at bay. Another night he might be pulled back in to his thoughts, but for now he'll just thank the universe for bringing you to him.

"Yeah I am baby, But I'm about to feel even better."

[stargrltara]

𝒞𝒜𝑅𝒩𝐼𝒱𝒜𝐿

·.✧ ✦ ✧.·

FIREWORKS CLASHED, FORMING A WARM HUE OF BEAMS TO ARISE IN THE NIGHT SKY. Echoes of laughter, music and screaming filled the carnival atmosphere as your fingers were interlocked with the tall figure beside you. Your gaze drifted up to his emerald eyes, and your lips formed into an amusing smirk as you pointed over to the one of the stools where there was teddies and other little prizes.

You and Jason were having the most perfect date night. You went on some rides, watched the fireworks from above and even shared some churros which left little crumbs along his lips that you had to wipe off. It was nice for him to take a break from patrol every night, it was nice to spend some quality time with his favourite girl.

You yelled through the cacophony of chatter, “—Jason, let’s go !! ” Jason scoffed as you dragged him through the crowd to get to the gun range game, your heart racing, eager to win a giant teddy bear.

“Seriously?” he crossed his arms over his chest, an unimpressed expression on his face. “What are ‘ya trying to win? ..A teddy?” he chuckled dryly but you nodded, a massive grin on your face.

“Yep !” you gave the worker a ticket before picking up the faux gun, glaring at the balloons had to shoot before taking a deep breath. “Are you forgetting how old you are?” he remarked sarcastically, brow raised though slight amusement rolled of his tongue. You groaned at his words and aligned your finger on the trigger, aiming so precisely before you were again interrupted.

“Your aim looks off.” Jason muttered under his breath smugly, earning a furrowed brow from you. “..my aim is just fine,” you asserted, though your fingers danced at the trigger as you thought twice about your shot.

Jason stood broadly, arms crossed over his shoulders as he watched your concentrated state; eyes narrowed with focus and arm arched. Though, you were taking your sweat time to make sure you got the perfect shot, and Jason was getting slightly fee up. “You know if you want any help—“

“Stop distracting me.” you cut him off and his arms came up in defence before you pulled the trigger.

Miss. you tried again. Miss. and again. Miss.

“Baby, you’re wasting all your tickets.” He chuckled at your loss, pinching the bridge of his nose. He watched you groan, handing the gun back to the worker who just looked at you bluntly.

“I swear this shits rigged,” you sighed, now locking with Jason’s gunmetal eyes. “—Nope. You just suck.” He snickered as you hit him in defeat.

He turned to the worker after glaring at the balloons, analysing the difficulty, angles he would have to shoot at and whatever. “Give it here.” voice laced with confidence and smug as he held the gun.

He stood straight though his shoulder was slightly leaned back, angling the gun and aiming it specifically and strictly. One eye squinted as his finger lingered above the trigger, before..

Hit.

“Easy.” Jason gave you a shit-eating grin as you grunted, arms crossing over your chest in jealousy. “Thats so unfair ! “

He shook his head, “ ‘m just built different, doll.” before grabbing the teddy you wanted from the workers hands and handing it to you with a smirk.

Your eyes lit up, a massive smile on your face as you giggled whilst holding the teddy. “Ohmygod—ohmygod !!” Jason’s chuckled at your excitement, and you leaned in to hug his warm frame, body casting heat over yours and caging you in as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Thank you, Jay.”

But abruptly, Jason took himself out of your embrace and handed the worker another ticket before he held the gun again. You giggled lowly at his precision and focused state as he aimed for the hardest balloon. The highest one.

Hit.

“This is light work.”

Hit. after Hit. after Hit.

Jason was showering you with gifts, your arms were full with teddies, plushies and all sorts. He loved fuelling your delight, loved watching your lips perk up into a sweet smile as you kissed him on the cheek, his face flustering.

The worker looked unmoved as he handed Jason another of the rewards stacked on the shelves, “Sorry, man,” he muttered, “Cant give you ‘n your lady anymore — gotta save some for the kids.”

Your eyes narrowed in irritant, though Jason nodded, complying. “All good.” he waved a hand before glaring down at you; arms full with things. “You happy now?” Jason looked unfazed, but you both knew, deep down that he was enjoying spoiling you. There was a flicker in his eye of satisfaction at your content form, holding tightly onto the teddies like someone was gonna steal them from you.

You hummed, leaning into Jason’s arm motioning eagerly for you two to go to the next stool, the darts. He grunted as you moved him along. “Baby, we’re gonna make the whole park bankrupt.”

You snorted, lips curved into a smirk as his nickname rolled off of your tongue. “Isn’t that your whole shtick.. outlaw?”

·.✧ ✦ ✧.·

a/n: this is so rushed i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorryyyy!!! xox. T

[chuuqqi]

thinking about nanami kento ^ // ^

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀dreaming to be spoiled by him !! +18. MDNI.

nanami kento is an absolute dream boat. he truly is a gentleman in a world full of boys. he is handsome, genteel, polite, compassionate, and a masculine man – in all the right ways. he is the man described in love stories and fairy tales – one that seemed to only ever exist in a fantasy.

being with him has made you realised what true princess treatment is like and that you were only receiving the bare minimum from your previous relationships. he treats and spoils you like the doll you are. he brings you a bouquet of flowers every week, he makes you home-cooked meals whenever you come home tired, he refuses to ever let you pay for anything – a true man.

he knows whenever you are upset simply by the sigh you let out and he's always ready to listen to your concerns, never wanting you to bear even an ounce of burden on your shoulders. he surprises you with a sweet treat every now and then, buying confectioneries he thinks you'd enjoy immensely and feeding them to you. he buys you whatever you wish — look at a dress or some jewellery for more than a second, he's already at the counter purchasing said item. he adores how cute and excited you get when he does these things for you, which makes him want to spoil you evermore.

he cherishes you, he worships you, he treasures you, and he pleases you — in every which way.

a gentleman like him, he prefers intimacy to be romantic and loving. it's never just for a quick few minutes — he wants to savour the moments and please you until you're melting in his hands like putty. he revels in the way you squirm underneath him and the cute, soft moans you let. he holds his own groans back just so he can hear you mewl in his ear, his hands gripping you tighter as he ruts back and forth.

whether he has his head in between your thighs kissing and licking your sweet pussy or his dick is pumping in and out of you slowly and deliciously, sex with him is a gratification like no other. with him, you feel so cared for and so pleased. with you, he feels exactly the same and he always wants to be the only one to ever make you feel this way.

though do not be fooled — this man can get rough & messy! if he's had a stressful day at work or he hasn't been able to see you for ages, he will wreck you — pretty much use you as his personal sex doll. he will pound into you, moving at an ungodly pace that you sometimes wonder where he musters all this stamina and energy from. what riles him up even more is the way your hands scramble to hold onto something and so you settle for his hair, tugging at his strands roughly. the deep growls he lets out make your pussy wetter and tighter, pulling him in more as if you didn't want to let go.

aftercare with him is divine. he makes sure to clean you up, planting kisses all over your body — your face, your tummy, your inner thighs. he pulls you into a sweet embrace, whispering in your ear to ask if you are alright and if you enjoyed yourself. he tends to run his hands up and down your back as you begin to blabber about something and he just listens to you. he loves the fluttering kisses you plant on his chest while he hugs you and how you bury yourself in his embrace.

he is just the man of your dreams ♡

﹙⠀💌⠀﹚── nanami kento has been on my mind so much lately & i just needed to blurt this all out <3 ! this is also my first time writing any sort of smut so it's nothing so special~

[bitchface24-7]

What if Viktor was more than a Yandere, he was a pervert with the reader, and the reader was a very oblivious person. Note: Viktor and the reader are not in a relationship, and the reader only sees him as a friend.What could possibly happen? To our innocent and oblivious reader...

THE PERVERTED GENTLEMAN - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: you and Viktor have been friends for as long as you can remember. You used to have the biggest crush on him, but you realized he'd never like you back; always so focused on his work. So you let the feelings go, but a teeny tiny bit is still there. Viktor's a total gentleman, you wouldn't think so if you knew what was going on inside his head…

warnings: perverted!viktor, obsessive!viktor, yandere tendencies, stealing items, lack of personal space, oblivious!reader, Grammarly as my beta

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. I know it was said R only sees V as a friend but c'mon… if I was his friend id have a massive crush on him, and I assume ppl who read this got a crush on him as well. So we had a crush on him in the past in this, and still hold a sweet spot for him

You and Viktor have been friends for as long as you can remember. You always stuck by one another, like you were glued at the hip. You two were together for every milestone.

Obviously Viktor was a cute kid, and he grew into a very pretty teen, into a handsome man. You had the biggest crush on him growing up, you'd write about him in your diary like a lovesick fool in those romance novels you'd read. Eventually, when you hit your mid-twenties, the crush faded. You still hold a tremendous soft spot for him, the crush lingering in the back of your mind, but you'll never act on it.

Viktor's a man of science, married to his work. If you can't have him romantically, you'll make damn sure you can keep him platonically.

If only you had the ability to look inside his mind. Read his thoughts and opinions. You can read him incredibly well, but his mind is a puzzle you're aching to solve.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Viktor has loved you since he understood the concept of love.

You're his person, you always have been. When other kids ignored or made fun of Viktor, you stood up and fought back. You kept him company, you were interested in his contraptions. You’re perfect.

Not to mention how wonderful you are as a person. How beautiful. A cute kid, a pretty teen, a stunning adult.

Viktor has always been possessive over you. His hands on your shoulder, your back, your waist, your hips. Sharing a bed to sleep, sharing clothes, gifting you items to wear. His favourite one is a necklace with a V charm on it. You never take it off, and it makes Viktor smirk every time he sees it on you.

He has swippy hands. Items he’s… borrowed and never plans to return. A shirt here, a half-full bottle of your favourite fragrance, hair ties, chapstick, his most cherished item is a pair of your underwear. It’s soft, black, and cozy. One day you came over after a rainstorm and Viktor insisted you shower, as to not get a cold. He put your clothes in the dryer and fibbed that… the undies got lost. So he gave you a pair of boxers to wear instead.

You didn’t question him, didn’t even think he may be a dirty little pervert that stole your undergarment. You just smiled and took the boxers without any hesitation.

Viktor’s wanted you for what seems like a millennia. You’re in his thoughts, his dreams, his fantasies. If he’s not working, he’s thinking of you. It infuriates him.

Everything comes to a head when Viktor comes over to you house one day, and snoops in your room, finding your old diary.

Pages upon pages of unconditional love and lust is poured out into the book. Viktor feels his heart racing as he reads more and more of your love and untameable lust regarding him.

He doesn’t stop reading when he hears you enter the room and gasp. He doesn’t stop reading when you start to plead with him to give the diary back.

He just casually closes the book when he’s done and looks at you with a smirk.

He sees you gulp as you look down, unable to look him in the eye.

He feels like a spider who finally got their prey into their web.

Viktor’s gonna fulfill his fantasies, and he’s gonna make sure it ruins you for anyone else.

You are his after all.

🙏🙏🙏

He’d be one of the only men I’d be okay with perving on me. If he asks nicely, I’ll even pose for him ❤️

[hy6erion]

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭! - 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬, 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫, 𝐌𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐚, 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐕𝐢𝐤, 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐌𝐞𝐥

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲/𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲(𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲) 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩 (𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞), 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞/ 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐝𝐤 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐦𝐥. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞....໒( ᓀ ‸ ᓂ )७

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who meets you by complete accident. You weren’t looking for a sugar daddy, but Jayce was definitely looking for someone to spoil. Maybe you worked at a café near his office, your customer service smile making his heart stutter every time he came in for his overpriced espresso. Or maybe you were a friend-of-a-friend at some fancy charity gala, out of place in a dress you borrowed just to blend in. Either way, he clocked you instantly—soft, sweet, and so tempting. And when he heard you offhandedly mention needing a little extra cash? Well. That was an opportunity he wasn’t about to pass up.

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who is shameless about his wealth. He won’t outright flash cash in your face, but you’ll know within the first twenty minutes of talking to him that he’s rich-rich. Designer suit? Custom. Car? One of many. The watch on his wrist? Costs more than a year’s rent. He’s not bragging—he just enjoys nice things, and he wants you to enjoy them, too. He loves watching your eyes widen when he hands you a little shopping bag with something pretty inside, murmuring, “Go on, baby, open it.”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who doesn’t do subtle. He doesn’t just send you money—he wires it directly into your account with zero hesitation. No sneaky Venmo requests, no waiting for you to ask. You’ll wake up to a casual $5,000 deposit with a text that says, “Get yourself something nice, sweetheart.”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who makes it clear from the start that this is all on your terms. If you just want a platonic arrangement? Fine, he’ll be your generous benefactor, no problem. But if you do want something more? If you want to let him kiss down your throat after a fancy dinner, press you into silk sheets in a penthouse suite, murmur filthy things against your skin while he unzips your dress? That’s even better.

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who is so goddamn weak for you. If you so much as pout at him, he’ll cave. You could say, “Jayce, I saw these earrings—” and he’s already pulling out his card, nodding, “Get them, baby. And the matching necklace.” If you bat your lashes at him and whine about being cold? He’ll drape his expensive coat over your shoulders and hold you close, grumbling, “Gonna have to start keeping you wrapped up in furs, huh?”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who loves showing you off. You’ll never feel out of place on his arm, even at the most exclusive events. He’ll make sure you have a closet full of luxury, and he lives for the moment you step out in something new, watching his friends’ eyes go wide. “Damn, Jayce, where’d you find her?” And he’ll just smirk, pulling you in close and murmuring in your ear, “They’re all jealous, sweetheart.”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who gets filthy when he’s had a few drinks. After a night out, he’ll press you against the door before you can even get your shoes off, his lips hot and desperate against your neck. “You look so fuckin’ good in that dress, baby… but I bet you’d look even better out of it.” If you let him? He’ll pull you into his lap, his voice dropping into a needy rasp as he grinds you down against his cock. “C’mon, sweetheart, lemme take care of you. You know I love spoiling my girl.”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who gets possessive in bed. He’ll never push, never demand, but if you let him? Oh, he’s gripping your thighs, spreading you open, and moaning about how pretty you look taking his cock. He’ll hold your face, make you look at him while he fucks into you, murmuring between ragged breaths, “You like bein’ spoiled, huh? Like knowing you’re mine?”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who is completely whipped for you. If you ever call him while you’re out shopping, asking if you can get something? His response is always, “Get it, baby. Get two.” You wanna sit in his lap at dinner? He’ll pull you in without a second thought, smirking at how flustered you get when his fingers start idly tracing circles on your thigh. You wanna ride him in the backseat of his car after a long night? “Fuck, sweetheart, you don’t even have to ask.”

Sugar Daddy! Jayce who adores you, no matter what. You could come to him in pajamas, hair messy, no makeup on, and he’d still look at you like you hung the damn moon. He loves how soft you are, how warm, how sweet. And if anyone ever tries to disrespect you? Well. Let’s just say Jayce doesn’t mind throwing money—or a punch—to protect what’s his.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who wasn’t looking for a sugar baby, but somehow ended up with you anyway. Maybe you were a barista at his favorite café, always slipping him extra sugar packets when he looked tired. Maybe you were a broke student struggling with tuition, and he overheard you venting about how you might have to drop a class. However it happened, he found himself saying something like, “I could help, you know.” At first, you thought he was joking—until he was wiring money into your account without a second thought.

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who acts like it’s completely normal to fund your entire lifestyle. Need rent money? Already transferred. Want a new laptop? He’s sending links to the best models. Thinking about quitting your job because it’s exhausting you? “Then quit, darling. I’ll take care of it.” He makes it sound so logical, as if it only makes sense that he should provide for you.

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who has a soft spot for your little indulgences. You mention wanting a new perfume? It’s on your dresser the next day. You offhandedly say you miss a certain snack from your childhood? He finds a way to get it imported. You could be scrolling online, sighing wistfully at something, and he’ll just smirk, “Do you want it, or are you going to make me guess?”

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who loves spoiling you in ways that feel personal. He’s not flashy like Jayce, but he pays attention. If he notices you’ve been stressed, he’ll book you a spa day. If you have an important event, he’ll arrange for a stylist. And if he sees you shivering even slightly? He’s wrapping his coat around your shoulders before you can protest, murmuring, “There. Better?”

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who is a little condescending about how much you need him. He likes that you rely on him. He enjoys the way you come to him for everything, his voice dripping with amusement whenever he says, “You’re quite helpless without me, aren’t you, darling?” And if you try to deny it? He just smirks and tucks a wad of cash into your pocket. “Then by all means, don’t spend it.”

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who gets off on the power imbalance, just a little. He’s not cruel, but there’s something about knowing you depend on him that makes him shiver. The way you lean into his touch when he strokes your cheek, the way you bite your lip when you ask for something, the way you thank him so sweetly—it all makes him ache with possessive need.

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who turns into a menace when he’s teasing you. He’ll let you sit in his lap, but only if you can behave. He’ll take you shopping but make you ask properly. He loves drawing out your desperation, whether it’s for money, gifts, or even just his touch. “You want something from me, don’t you? Then use your words, sweetheart.”

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who is surprisingly rough when he finally gives in. He spends so much time being controlled, being composed—but when he wants you? That control shatters. He’ll pull you onto his lap and grind you against his thigh, his breath hot against your ear. “Is this what you wanted, hm? My hands on you? My cock inside you?” He’s a mess when he fucks you, panting, “Mine. You’re mine.”

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who makes you say it. He loves hearing you acknowledge your dependence on him, whether it’s a simple, “Thank you, Viktor,” or something far filthier. His favorite? “I belong to you.” Say it while he’s fucking into you, while you’re clinging to him, while he’s got your thighs trembling—and he’ll give you anything you ask for.

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who has no problem reminding you who takes care of you. If you ever try to push his generosity away, he’ll tilt his head, amused. “Oh? You don’t need my money? Interesting. Tell me, how much was that dress you’re wearing? Those shoes? That pretty necklace?” And when you have no answer? He’ll just chuckle and press a kiss to your forehead. “That’s what I thought, my dear.”

Sugar Daddy! Viktor who is possessive, but in a quiet, inescapable way. He’s not loud about it, but you know he doesn’t like sharing. If someone flirts with you, he won’t cause a scene—he’ll just wrap an arm around your waist and murmur, “Having fun, darling? Or should I remind you who really takes care of you?” And if you so much as hesitate? He’s pulling you into his lap the second you get home, his grip firm on your hips. “Mine.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Sugar Mommy! Mel who chose you the moment she saw you. You didn’t find Mel—Mel found you. Maybe you were serving drinks at a high-profile event, your uniform neat but clearly a little worn. Maybe she caught you in the art gallery, staring longingly at a piece you could never afford. Whatever it was, she saw potential. And when she saw you hesitate, checking the price tag on something as small as a cocktail, she made her move.

Sugar Mommy! Mel who is effortlessly smooth about it. There’s no awkward “Hey, do you want a sugar mommy?” conversation. No, Mel makes you want it before you even realize what’s happening. She invites you out for drinks, orders the best wine without glancing at the menu, and when the bill comes? She doesn’t even look at it. Her generosity is so casual, so natural, that by the time she’s slipping a sleek black card into your hand and saying, “Use it whenever you need, darling,” you already know you belong to her.

Sugar Mommy! Mel who doesn’t just spoil you—she elevates you. She doesn’t want to simply throw money at you. No, she wants to transform you. Your wardrobe? Remade. Your living situation? Upgraded. Your confidence? Unshakable. She doesn’t just buy you things—she molds you into someone who turns heads just by walking into a room.

Sugar Mommy! Mel who has exquisite taste and expects you to match it. If she’s taking you to dinner, she’s sending you to a stylist first. If you’re attending an event with her, she’s having something custom-tailored for you. And if you dare show up wearing something less than perfect? She’ll simply smile, brush her fingers along your collar, and murmur, “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

Sugar Mommy! Mel who loves to tease you about your newfound luxury. If you ever hesitate before accepting something, she just tilts her head, amused. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty, sweetheart. What else is all this wealth for, if not to indulge you?” She lives for the moment you finally let go, when you stop questioning whether you deserve it and just accept that you’re hers.

Sugar Mommy! Mel who adores the power imbalance. She doesn’t shove it in your face, but she knows exactly what she’s doing. She loves how small you feel in her world, how much you need her. And when you get overwhelmed by it all? She strokes your cheek, kisses you softly, and murmurs, “Shh, darling. You don’t have to worry about a thing. That’s what I’m here for.”

Sugar Mommy! Mel who absolutely wrecks you in bed. The same careful, refined Mel who speaks in perfect, elegant tones? Gone. In her place is someone who commands you, who takes what she wants while making you beg for it. She’ll have you spread out on silk sheets, one manicured hand between your thighs as she hums, “Tell me, sweet thing… do you think you’ve earned this?”

Sugar Mommy! Mel who has a wicked streak when she’s in the mood to tease. If you so much as think about bratting, she’s laughing softly, shaking her head. “Oh, darling. You do know that acting out only makes me want to punish you, don’t you?” And punishment? It’s slow, drawn-out, deliberate. She’ll have you squirming, begging, unable to think of anything but her voice purring in your ear, “Good girls wait, don’t they?”

Sugar Mommy! Mel who makes you say thank you for everything. She loves hearing it slip from your lips—breathless, needy, desperate. Whether it’s for a new dress, a new car, or the way she’s got her fingers buried inside you, she expects those two little words. “Thank you, Mel.” And if you forget? She just smiles, kisses the corner of your mouth, and whispers, “Try again, sweetheart.”

Sugar Mommy! Mel who never lets you forget that you belong to her. You can flirt, you can tease, but at the end of the day? She owns you. And if anyone tries to overstep? If someone gets too bold, too familiar? She won’t make a scene. She doesn’t need to. She’ll simply pull you into her lap later that night, her fingers tracing your skin, her voice velvet-soft as she murmurs, “You’re mine, darling. Say it for me.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who didn’t intend to share, but once they saw you, they couldn’t help themselves. At first, Jayce and Viktor had no reason to entertain the idea of a sugar baby. They had each other, they were successful, and money was never an issue. But then you entered their lives—maybe as an intern, maybe as a struggling student, maybe as someone who simply caught Jayce’s eye first. He was the one who started it, offering little gifts, slipping a card into your bag, but Viktor? He was watching. And when he finally spoke up, smirking at Jayce’s obvious infatuation, all he said was, “Are you going to keep her all to yourself, or should I have a taste?”

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who balance each other out perfectly in their spoiling. Jayce is the grand, dramatic one. He wants to take you on vacations, buy you expensive jewelry, show you off. Viktor, on the other hand, is calculated in his generosity. He doesn’t just buy you gifts—he curates them. He watches what you linger on in stores, what you sigh wistfully over, and makes sure it’s waiting for you before you even ask. Together? They create a perfect storm of indulgence.

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who both love watching you get used to luxury. Jayce gets all giddy when you finally stop hesitating before spending their money, while Viktor just smirks knowingly when you start accepting their gifts as a given. “Ah, you’re learning,” he murmurs, slipping a designer bag into your hands. “Took you long enough, darling.”

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who are so different in their possessiveness. Jayce is obvious—wrapping an arm around you in public, grinning as he introduces you as their girl. Viktor, on the other hand, is more subtle. He doesn’t need to declare anything—he simply reminds you in quiet, inescapable ways. A hand at the small of your back, a murmured “Ours, aren’t you?” when someone looks a little too long.

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who both love teasing you, but in very different ways. Jayce is playful, teasing you with gifts, making you ask properly before he spoils you. “You want me to buy it, sweetheart? Gotta hear you say please.”

Viktor is downright mean with his teasing. He’ll withhold just to hear you beg, just to see that little desperate pout. “You can have it, my dear. But only if you prove you deserve it.”

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who have a very interesting dynamic when it comes to sex. Jayce is loud, desperate, needy. He whimpers, begs, gets completely lost in the feeling of you between them. Viktor is quiet, intense, commanding. He doesn’t just fuck you—he studies you, learns exactly what makes you fall apart.

Together? You don’t stand a chance. Jayce is moaning in your ear about how good you feel, how perfect you are, while Viktor is holding your chin, forcing you to look at him as he murmurs, “You can take more, can’t you, darling?”

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who are both insatiable when it comes to you. Jayce can’t keep his hands off you, always pulling you into his lap, always kissing you just a little too deeply in public. Viktor, on the other hand, is more restrained—but that only makes it worse when he finally snaps. When he does decide he wants you? He’s relentless, murmuring filth in your ear while Jayce is already a mess beneath you.

Sugar Daddy! JayVik who both make sure you never forget who you belong to. Jayce does it with his enthusiasm, always touching, always reminding you, “You’re ours, baby. No one else gets to have you.” Viktor does it with his control, holding your chin, tilting your face up so you have to meet his gaze as he murmurs, “Say it for me, sweet thing. Tell us who owns you.” And when you do? When you moan, “You—both of you, I belong to you,”—Jayce groans like he’s about to fall apart, and Viktor just smirks, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “Good girl.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who saw you, exchanged a single glance, and decided. You didn’t stand a chance—not when Mel’s sharp eyes appraised you like something she was considering acquiring, not when Jayce leaned in with that easy, dazzling smile. Maybe you caught Jayce’s attention first—laughing at a bar, struggling to carry too many books at a café, hesitating before ordering the cheapest drink on the menu. But it was Mel who sealed your fate. One perfectly arched brow, one quiet murmur in Jayce’s ear, and suddenly he was approaching you, grinning, as if it was his idea.

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who make it feel effortless. Being spoiled by Jayce and Mel isn’t a negotiation. It isn’t something you ask for. It’s simply something that happens. One moment, you’re living your normal life, and the next? You’re drowning in luxury. A black card slipped into your hand with a casual “Use it for whatever you need, sweetheart.” A boutique owner greeting you by name because Mel already made arrangements. A reservation at the best restaurant in the city without you even realizing they owned it.

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who balance each other’s spoiling in very different ways. Jayce is the type to see you glance at something expensive and buy it immediately. No hesitation. No questions. He loves watching your eyes light up when he surprises you with something ridiculous. Mel, on the other hand, enjoys control. She doesn’t just throw money at you—she curates your life. Every gift is intentional, every change calculated. And she lives for the moment you realize she’s been shaping you into exactly what she wants.

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who absolutely love seeing you get comfortable with being spoiled. Jayce gets giddy when you finally stop hesitating before accepting their money. He’ll tease you about it—“See? Told you it feels good to be taken care of, baby.” Mel, on the other hand, is smug about it. She just hums, brushes a finger under your chin, and murmurs, “That’s a good girl. You’re learning.”

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who are both possessive, but in different ways. Jayce is obvious—arm around your waist, introducing you as “Ours”, glaring at anyone who even thinks about getting too close. Mel? She doesn’t need to be loud about it. She simply owns the room, and by extension, owns you. If someone oversteps? One look from her, one coolly spoken “I don’t believe you were invited to touch what’s mine,” and the poor idiot immediately backs off.

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who love teasing you together. Jayce is playful, laughing as he tugs you into his lap, whispering in your ear, “C’mon, baby, you know you like it when we spoil you.”Mel is cruel with her teasing. She’ll sit back, sipping her wine, watching you squirm under their attention before murmuring, “If you want something, darling, you’ll have to earn it.”

Together? You don’t stand a chance. Jayce is coaxing, tempting, urging you to ask for more, while Mel sits there like a queen, waiting for you to break.

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who are so different in bed, but both leave you ruined. Jayce is needy. He whines, groans, begs when Mel lets him have you, pressing desperate kisses against your skin, moaning about how good you feel. Mel is controlled. She studies you, learns exactly how to undo you, and then takes her time doing it. “I wonder,” she murmurs, trailing fingers down your stomach, “how long can we keep you like this?”

Together? They wreck you. Jayce is panting in your ear, telling you how perfect you are, how good you feel, while Mel is watching, smirking, murmuring, “Such a pretty mess, aren’t you?”

Sugar Daddy! JayMel who make sure you never forget who you belong to. Jayce says it, constantly, grinning against your skin, whispering, “Ours, baby. All ours.” Mel reminds you without words—a gentle grip on your jaw, a look that commands obedience, a murmured, “Say it for me.” And when you do—when you moan, “Yours, I’m yours”, Jayce groans like he’s about to fall apart, and Mel just smirks, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Good girl.”

[watermelonlovershigh]

Late Night Questions /concept/

AN: this idea came to me after watching that viral clip from a tiktoker named avery woods podcast where she shamed vaginal births. i instantly thought of y/n watching that and maybe feeling insecure about her vaginal births and confiding in harry. i hope you enjoy. its super short but so very sweet. remember to leave your feedback. requests are also always open, even if it takes me a while to write it. xoxo

This story contains: mentions of c-sections, mentions of vaginal births, insecurities, comfort, fluff

{ dadrry - husband!harry - softrry - au!harry }

word count: 586

After viewing a TikTok where a woman shames vaginal births, you feel a surge of insecurity and decide to wake Harry from his sleep to confirm whether or not he would've preferred you to have a c-section to ensure your vagina remained in optimal condition for your sex life.

(Photo above is ai, it's not real. Got it from pinterest. I didn't create it either.)

You and Harry had settled into bed one night when a sense of curiosity enveloped you. Earlier, you'd watched a TikTok that suggested women who've had vaginal births are never the same 'down there' after childbirth, and that a c-section is the key to staying in 'pristine' condition.

You have given birth to two children, both through vaginal delivery: Lucy, aged five, and Harris, aged two and a half. Thankfully, you didn't face any complications that required a c-section.

As Harry spooned you from behind, you whispered, breaking the rooms silence, "Harry, would you have wanted me to have c-sections?"

He was half asleep already, so when he heard your question, he's thoroughly confused. Your question was super random. "Mhm, what?" Harry muttered behind you, his face against the back of your head.

"Would you have wanted me to have c-sections with our kids?"

"Baby," Harry begun as he shifted to hold you tighter, "why on earth are you even askin' me that as we're tryin' to fall asleep?"

You turned in his grasp so that you could face him, though you could only see the shadow of his body. "I watched a tiktok earlier where a woman mentioned her gratitude for having had only c-sections, saying it helped her maintain a 'pristine' condition 'down there' for her husband. So I was wondering whether my vaginal births with Lucy and Harris have caused my vagina to not be as good as it use to be, making you wish I had c-sections."

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Harry replied, "Sweetheart, that's undoubtedly one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard. Had a c-section been necessary, sure, I would've wanted you to have one. However, since neither of our children required one, I can't say I wished you'd had c-sections simply for the enhancement of our sexual relationship. And for - your - information, I must say that your vagina feels just as good as it did before we became parents. In fact, I may love it even more now, knowin' the incredible role it played in bringin' our two wonderful children into this world."

His words nearly made you want to cry. You have the sweetest husband any women could ask for. So kind and thoughtful, and always worshiping your body. Every insecurity you've ever had, whether it's the stretch marks on your tummy and thighs, the mole on your back, or the scar on your left arm, he makes sure to kiss and love on all your insecurities whenever you make love. Harry doesn't just love you, he loves every single part of you.

In a meek voice, you spoke, "Thank you for your kind words, H. You make me realize not everyone has a perfect husband like I do. Kinda feel sorry for all these women who think they need to be perfect for their husbands, when I'm not perfect but you love me just the same."

Harry let out a sleepy laugh. "You're welcome, baby. It's sad that some husbands shame their wives for things they can't control. Though I'm not perfect by any means, I try to be good to you. Love you so much, and even more after watchin' you give birth to our amazing children. As well as makin' me a dad. Thank you for that."

Once Harry finished speaking, the room went silent again. You stayed nestled up to his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you, holding you close, and you both fell asleep in each others arms.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

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taglist: @swiftmendeshoran // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @hsonlyangelxo // @lunabai // @ppleasingg // @harryscherrysugar // @devilsqueen722 // @mema10 // @harryswifee // @jewelaponte // @fruity-harry // @triski73 // @chronicallybubbly // @prettygurl-2009

My Masterlist Masterpost

[girlwhorizzed]

I WANT YOUR HIGH LOVE AND EMOTION ENDLESSLY..

in which ♡ you show your boyfriend how much you appreciate all he does for you, how selfless he is when it comes to you.

a/n ፧  haii guys :3 i haven't wrote jj in awhile so here!! hope whoever reads enjoys ♡

pairings ፧  boyfriend!jj ✗ reader

warnings ፧  m!receiving, f!giving, blowjob, language, smut, ꒰⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡

jj could barely care for himself. going on two-to-three days with the same worn out muscle tank that lost it's original color, and about two days without a shower. another two days without changing socks. he was used to living that way, not that he was proud or anything but he just didn’t care either. he never really minded going out smelling like smoke, he re-wore almost all the clothes he had to his name,

in his head — that was just the image that sold.

that's why, for a guy who can't even properly care for himself— cared for you like he did was surprising. he was surprisingly nurturing in his own way, it was an odd side to him that most people didn’t get to see. he’d bring you food if he knew you hadn’t eaten - even if he’d barely eaten himself, when you had bad headaches he’d be extra soft and caring, he’d always let you steal his clean shirts to wear to sleep in.

you had tried countless times to get this boy to atleast look like he’d showered in the last 2 weeks, but there was no use. he’d roll his eyes and shove you off - “i ain’t dirty mama, get off me" he’d smirk, laughing to himself.

it was a completely different story though when it came to you. you were practically the only exception to his lack of…cleanliness. always making himself presentable when you were coming over, making sure to spray a little more cologne— shave his armpits and put the cleanest or close to cleanest clothes he had, put on deodorant and actually ran fingers through his hair.

no one really knew about the sweet side of him, and he intended on keeping it that way, at least for the sake of his reputation around the island. his persona was that of a guy who only cared about getting by and getting stoned. no one would’ve been able to tell that he was actually a softie on the inside. only you and him knew the way he touched you and held you — like glass.

which is why today, your going to show him how much your appreciate it. , how much you appreciate the times he'd taken you to his home although you knew what went on there. the time he still attended midsummers face scratched up n'all for you even if he couldn't be your date. but it wasn’t as if this would be the first time you’ve reciprocated his efforts. you were always sure to be there for him, to bring him snacks or drinks or whatever you knew he needed after a long day.

you knew he didn’t expect anything in return and that he did it all because he wanted to but, you felt like today you were going to show him how much you appreciated the way he treated you — how he kept you safe and looked after you, even though you could clearly look after yourself.

with nothing left in mind to try and give him that he wouldn't reject, one thing you know he couldn't reject is getting his dick sucked. it's something that he'll push any task to the side for, for example. going to hang out with john b but just when he's leaving— his girl, so pretty and perfect gawing at his shorts. he can't reject that, never. that's your personal mission today and you keep your word to it.

when you get to the dilapidated home that you register as your man's home, his bike out front and front door open, you can already hear him inside the house, laughing and mumbling small-talk with another person— who you assume is a customer, you stay quiet and off to the side, like jj taught you when he's doing business.

he can sense you’re around, even with someone in his home. he always knows when you’re close by — something about him is just like that. his head snaps in your direction for a second, just a glimpse, before he returns his attention back to the business at hand. he knows you’re there to see him, like you always are, just waiting for him to be available. he wishes he could just pull you out and into his arms — right there infront of the guy who’s here for product.

jj's made it very clear and instructive face-to-face with you that it's not he doesn't trust you, it's he doesn't trust them. you'd think for having these guys he does business with in his circle, he'd at least trust them. but no, he’s quick to list the ways he'd harm them if anything ever were to happen to you. making it clear by a simple glare — that you’re off limits. he’s hyper protective over you, and he has a no-bullshit tolerance for anyone who wants to disrespect the boundaries he’s set. he knows they watch you when they think he’s not looking — they see you as some form of eye candy.

you feel a little flushed, cheeks red and warm. you always do when you take notice of that look in jj's eyes whenever he gets all protective over you, it's quick and short but you still take note of it, only catching sight of it every here and now. it's something wrong to feel but you can't help but at least get a tingle, or perhaps a little shiver between your legs. the way his brows furrow instinctively anytime your mentioned in any form thats inappropriate, and how his fists clench— he can't let any guy other than him see you that way. your his girl and although none of his customers are yet to try and chatty up with you, he's still on guard.

he knows how to be scary at the flick of a switch, he’s good at it. especially when it came to his pretty lil girlfriend being around. just the thought made his blood boil. he’d never be able to let it go if anything happened. he’s so on edge tonight that he barely even registers when the guy in front of him excuses himself to go to the bathroom, disappearing round the corner. he’s distracted. his eyes flickering over to you in the corner, his expression quickly softening. it almost seems like he’s missed you.

the paying customer returns back, taking to long for jj's liking— he slides the blonde a fifty during a casual dab-up trying to shield the exchange of money and weed, you notice even though their own jj's premise, they still do the same old tactics if they were exchanging in public— you’re used to this by now, the whole transaction, the way jj’s eyes dart from the guy in his home to your pretty little body all leaned against the doorframe. he’d be lying he said he never got a little thrill of being this close with you, while having a business deal go down infront of him. it was like he was rubbing it in their faces — having you in there while their business was being exchanged. ‘specially this guy, who’s definitely had a few looks that jj’s not happy about.

a couple minutes pass and the customer stills standing in front of the blonde, it ticks jj off even more and he's quick to shoo him off— rushing him out the door with a "c'mon man, get outta here."

he shuts the door hard behind himself, his gaze instantly snapping back to you. he takes the two large steps to close the gap between you both, suddenly grabbing your waist and pulling you closer to him — crashing your bodies flush together and you almost let out a yelp, not expecting him to be so rough. you try to helplessly call out his name but he holds you so intensely close that you’re pressed against his chest, which is heaving with heavy breaths, the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

you can feel his tenseness through his shirt, manicured nails massaging his scalp to attempt to lessen his stress, just as your about to suggest that maybe he just needs your pretty lips on his dick— you feel him start to relax into you. the way you touched him had almost an instant effect on him. he let out a shaky and unsteady exhale, his grip suddenly less tight but still as possessive as ever. every time you touched him like this it almost put him in a trance, like you’d just drugged him. he’s been like this for a while, he needs to relax. and you’re the only thing that’ll help.

he buries his face into your shoulder, the tension in his body quickly deflating away. a small moan escapes your mouth as he presses sloppy kisses against your skin. you speak softly and slowly because your starting to understand. he thinks that your going to get whisked away by some guy, whom your not sure you've even seen other than here buying from your boyfriend. "here, this time you stop caring for me, let me care for you."

he almost wants to protest, but the way you sound so sweet and caring is too much for him to deny. he’s tired, he’s agitated and he’s just desperate to lose himself in you. “yeah? and how’re ya gonna do that, mama?” he murmurs, against your skin, voice low and strained. he suddenly lifts his head, so his face is right infront of yours, eyes heavy and lustful as he takes you in.

you let out a giggle, even in this state he still addresses you with that coy little nickname. your not sure how you even achieved it in the first place. "you'll see." you say quickly, you lead him to the couch where most of your hookups always occur, he seems to have muscle memory because he's quick to pin you down and take action, but not today.

his body covers yours, making you feel so small beneath him. it’s a sensation you love — the weight of his body against yours, all that strength and power that you know he has in him. you’re surprisingly strong, managing to shift you both so you’re on top in his place, his eyebrows raising in surprise. he doesn’t let on, but it’s something really sexy to him when you take control.

you slowly get off him, but not without accidentally giving him a little bump through his shorts as your getting off. "sit up." you instruct, already on your knees on the semi-molded wooden floor that you can put up with for now. you've ditched your pretty bow-pink kitten heels and wiped the access clear lipgloss off your lips from his sloppy kiss.

you could see the lift in his shorts, knowing he gets hard at the slight friction. he complies, he doesn’t say a word, but he does as he’s told. he props himself up against the couch behind him, legs spread to fit you right in-between them.

your dainty little hands are on his shorts in an instant, undoing his belt as quick as you'd do whenever jj picked you up some foolish little boxed figurine from some gift shop. once his shorts are down and you can physically see his dick sticking up through his boxers,

his gaze is locked on you, his eyes heavy and lustful with desire, a permanent smirk on his face tugging at his lips, "didn't know you were a freak like that." he joked, of course. at a time like this he cracked jokes.

you look up at him with your brows furrowed. "do you want to get your dick sucked or not?" you asked, straight forward and bluntly. he nods with a hence of speed that his head ought to fall off. you shake yours, giggling till his random erupt comment has you speechless— "don't get mad if my cum gets in your eye again, kay?"

a deep shade of red instantly spreads across your cheeks, his words causing the heat to pool between your thighs. you almost erased that memory from your head. “oh my god.. you’re gross” you huff, but there’s no denying the excitement in your tone.

he chuckles, the smirk he sports still plastered on his face. he’s almost never this relaxed and calm, but having himself pressed in your hands at a moment like this has him like a little puppy — he can’t help himself. he’s got yet another smart ass comment on the tip of his tongue before it gets cut off by a gasp from him, watching as your mouth lowers onto his dick. he can feel it twitch as you look up at him, making him let out a quiet whimper.

he’s trying to keep his cool, still wanting to make a comment or two while you’ve got him in your mouth. it’s hard though; you’re really good at this, he’s got to give you credit. his breathing is labored, one hand clutching the couch arm behind him while the other grabs the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair instinctively as a moan escapes his lip. you almost want to be on your knees just for him all the time. the things you do to him, all his self control is flying out the window.

at his noises and the facade he's trying to keep up but desperately failing, inspired you to work your mouth faster— swirl your tongue over his tip more than twice. you pull him from your mouth, your lips making a pop noise, the salvia and spit from your mouth connects your lips with his tip, your quick to shove his dick back into your mouth. your little hands are holding him down by his thighs from shifting around, he's all jittery and weak from you.

compliments, praises, curses under his breath. he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, at first. he’s so lost in the sensations you’re sending through him that his mouth is moving without even realising, words that you’re able to understand between his strangled moans.

“just like that, mama, you’re so goddamn good —“ he’s a mess. a sweaty, heavy breathing mess; all your doing. it’s so different from usual, when he has you all breathless and trembling beneath him — it’s all he can take to bite his lip as not to let any more embarrassing noises escape.

you feel his fingers grip a little more at your hair, his noises coming out a little louder. his moans are like music to your ears, the way his head tilts back and his thighs start to twitch at every move you take — it’s really a sight to see him like this. he’s always so confident and cocky, but he’s getting wrecked by you and he’s never really been like this. he’s just so vulnerable and sensitive, it just adds to the whole image of this guy everyone seems to be scared of.

your free hand that isn't holding him down from squirming around is fiddling with his balls— pinching and even taking a few moments to show appreciation to them as well, your mouth gives a minute rest to jj as you cup his balls into your mouth, it's a struggle but you still do so, your working to his finish line. there's spit everywhere, but your only focused on his dick. your lips are quickly back wrapped around him.

it’s just all becoming too much for him to handle, each passing second he’s getting more and more overwhelmed. the noises he’s making are completely foreign, he’s usually so composed and in control but for once he’s willing to give that up in your hands. he’s losing it, all the self control that he’s capable of is gone as he gives in. he manages to form a semblance of a sentence, his head lolled back against the couch and words strangled and strained, “gonna — baby, m'close.. gonna cum!"

you pull away from his dick, his hand still very much pulling on your hair— "c'mon jayj, it's okay, you can do it." you push out, beginning to pepper kisses all on his thighs, before wrapping your mouth around him one last time.

that little praise comment and the amount of pressure built up his release, before you knew it he was whimpering and groaning, tugging at your ends and unable to vocally speak a sentence at the pleasure, without warning— his warm cum shot up right down your throat, your sat on your ass now the abrupt unannounced cum sitting in your mouth, you look up at jj from your position not knowing what to do next. after all jj always guided you.

he’s finally able to form actual words; “shit— sorry mama. just swallow. ” his voice is strangled and breathless, but his softness to you and his tone is still very much there. his eyes are half shut, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath. he’s waiting on every little move you make,. he’s a pretty sight, all slumped on the couch and wrecked. he needs a few moments before he’s himself again, but for now he’s all yours, completely at your mercy.

you follow what he said, swallowing down the warm liquid from the stimulation you caused, you wipe your mouth afterwards with your hand— still sitting and waiting for what to do next. you look like a little puppy waiting for it's owners instructions, your lips are all plumped and filled with gloss that isn't your typical gloss but it still works.

the look he sees on your face is enough to get him back to his senses, still slightly out of breathe and hazy. he opens his mouth to say something but is quickly cut off by the sight of you still sitting there, clearly waiting for instruction. it’s then that he remembers that he usually is the one to guide you into things like this. he knows you’re lost. “c’mere.” he mutters through a huff of his breath, tugging at your arm.

you lift yourself up onto the couch next to him, a little too eager to do whatever he wants you to — just like usual. he can see it in your expression, he can see that you’re waiting for his guidance. he gives you a little smile, hand brushing his thumb against your cheek. he’s still got that gleam in his eyes, the smirk still tugging at his lips. he’s still him, he’s just recovering himself from such intense pleasure.

“take a drink.” he instructs quietly, nodding towards the glass of water on the table beside the couch. he’s watching you, waiting to see you take a sip. you do as you’re told, taking a long and thorough gulp of the liquid. he’s eyeing you intently, not speaking while you drink. he’s just observing you, taking you in.

once you’ve swallowed down it down, you place the glass back on the nightstand. you feel his fingers graze his way over to your chin, lifting your head up so you’re looking up at him. you’re so vulnerable as you sit there, your big innocent looking gaze staring back at him, waiting for him to give you what to do next. he knows it, he’s well aware of how you are after this type of stuff.

he can’t help but to let out a little chuckle as he sees your expression, soft and vulnerable — wanting to be told what to do. he can’t deny that it’s a turn on for him, you being so soft and willing to do anything for him. he wants to mess with you, see how far he can go and you would do for him. “didn't wanna kiss you if you didn't drink water, would've tasted my own cum.” he chuckles, thumb dragging against your lower lip.

you roll your eyes, slapping his bare shoulder playfully before you took it upon yourself to pull up his boxers, knowing him he would've stayed with his dick out all day. "should've spit it out." you joke, shaking your head judgementally as you switch positions to be facing the opposite way, but still keeping an eye to see his reaction.

he looks offended, like he can’t believe you’d have done that to him. he lets out a scoff, but then his face breaks into a smirk and then chuckling at your joke. he shakes his head, taking notice of your new position. he pulls you by your waist until you’re sitting in front of him on his lap, leaning back into his chest. he presses a little kiss to your temple before resting his chin on your shoulder. “you know i taste pretty good.” he teases, snaking an arm around your waist.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

drawing hearts in the byline

osamu d. x reader

in a rare moment of “weakness” for him, dazai shows you whats underneath his bandages. angst/comfort, slight nsfw (implied)

this is one of those ones i needed to write, and i’m so glad i did. heres to all the comfort i’ve found on this app 🤍

song: tolerate it

broad shoulders and lean arms hold you in place on his mattress, touch firm but not mean. he’s seeing you for you, all of you, long, slender fingers unbuttoning and unlacing whatever they can find. his brown eyes stare, chocolate swirled admiration, as he finds more and more of you to expose.

its not his first time, nor is it yours, but dazai has that sort of magic about him. the kind of enchanting bliss that makes nightly, mundane rituals between couples far past their honeymoon’s feel like its their first time meeting. the kind of magic you find once in a lifetime, the kind of love that should be celebrated.

lips ghost over your face, nose nuzzling in with yours, a tender, almost child-like sweetness only dazai manages. you both know that even if you don’t have sex, you still want to feel skin against skin while you sleep. its a need for any touch-starved light sleeper.

the way your eyes ghost over the white fabric, mummifying him and what lies underneath, isn’t lost on him. he’s far too observant to miss a gaze like that, let alone your gaze.

but instead, he smiles, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his. “looking at something, gorgeous?”

you wonder if that signature suave, that flintiness is a mask so fit, he either can’t go anywhere without it, or doesn’t realize he’s wearing it. either way, your hands intertwine with his, your thumb brushing over his bandaged knuckles.

“i just wonder why you always have these on, ‘samu. thats all.”

ah, the inevitable.

he hopes you don’t notice the slight fade that hits his smile, though he knows you will. years of barbed wire he threw blankets over, hoping it wouldn’t take up too much space or time. that he wasn’t taking up too much space.

he lifts his wrist, tracing over the lines of gauze. for a moment, he thinks, gears turning in his head, analyzing. he’s so used to holding his cards so close to his chest, most don’t realize he’s even hiding any. there are dangers with revealing himself, with making any moves un-calculated.

he short circuits when he feels your body shift closer to him, realizing that he is still in bed with you, and still needs to give you an answer. but he isn’t sure what to say- theres only one reason a man like him is always wearing bandages.

so why is he struggling to tell you the obvious?

“its not a pleasant story.” he settles on, eyes growing reminiscent. “its not even just one story.”

you bite your inner lip, looking for the words to say. some people don’t want to be comforted. some have a longing to simply disappear, and disappear is simply a soft word for that harsh reality.

his tendencies are so often treated as nuisances, you wonder if he ever had anyone that truly stopped and tried to understand.

“i just wanna know why.” you say, taking his hand. “i mean, i think i know. a little. but i wanna hear it from you.”

he’s embarrassed by how quickly that stinging feeling in his eyes arises.

“let me spare you from it.” his lips ghost a smile, fingers intertwined with yours. he isn’t sure what he’s done to deserve you- someone who sits and waits for him like a kid, using your best colors for his portrait, sitting with him in bed with zero traces of judgement or disdain. its funny how different we view ourselves and how others see us.

“don’t do that.” you’re stern, making sure he sees you. “i wanna be here for you. i want you to know that.”

he’s supposed so much older, wiser. and yet, he finds himself crumbling at just a few words.

his breath is shaky as he exhales. the only other person in his life who ever understood him died in his arms. he doesn’t want to wait to lose the second. he doesn’t want to lose you. for once in his life, he has something that may be worth living for.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

the bandages unravel like skin from bones. they’re not tight by any means, but he had gotten so used to wearing them, he wonders if the heater is off or if its just the air finding bare skin.

its his skin. he knows more than anyone what mars it by now. but seeing that look of horror cross your eyes, taking in the lines and burns, makes his stomach churn.

for once, he doesn’t have a witty comeback or a smart reply. he just lets you take it in. tolerate it.

he knows you’ll cry, but it still hurts when you do. those tears shouldn’t be falling from your eyes, his pain his alone. it had been that way for many years.

he anticipates shock, and tears, and sufferance. what he doesn’t expect is to feel your lips kissing down his wrist, actively seeking out those scars.

“beautiful,” he says, his free hand moving to your waist, almost instinctively. “what are you doing?”

“i love you.” you cut him off. “you don’t have to hide this from me. i’m sorry.”

he almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of your apology. why would you apologize for something he hid? he can’t figure it out, but he doesn’t try too, either.

its all foreign to him- kisses, love, acceptance. a vessel he taught himself to hate, to seek out death, you embraced and nurtured. he doesn’t have many words for that.

you finally work your way up to his face, forehead resting against his. dazai pulls you onto his lap, kissing you deep and slow, wanting to feel it until his lungs scratch for air. even after he gives out, needing to breathe, his face stays mere centimetres away from yours.

and that need isn’t one sided, either. your arms wrap around his neck, his bare neck, arms finding their place despite the many slits and scars. your heart is beating his name in morse code, the space between yours and dazai’s lips your temple, your mural, even your sky.

he lets out a humourless laugh, coffee eyes staring into yours. “is it tolerable?”

your quick to shake your head, shutting him up with another kiss. “i’m not tolerating it. not when i still love you. i’m not some god damn martyr.”

he blinks away a single tear, lips curving into a smile- a genuine one.

“i love you.” he whispers.

“i love you too.”

“well, now that we’re both undressed.”

“REALLY, ‘samu?”

he laughs, pushing you onto the bed, keeping you up the entire night. if you can celebrate him, he’ll learn to tolerate himself. maybe a little.