#stan bowes x you

[marchsfreakshow]

Red Nail Polish [Stan Bowes]

Smut / tiny bit of angst

Your boss never really spoke to you that much. Not really. So, you weren't particularly expecting a call from him at 12am asking you to come over.

This request is from AGESSS ago but I finally found some inspiration. Anon who requested it, if you're still here this is for you<3

Fair warning I haven't seen Pose for a bit so it might sound a bit ooc sorry.

Warnings: once again too much plot for a smut fic lol, brief 'sir' kink, Stan being kinda pathetic, oral (m), reader is a little mean occasionally.

18+! MINORS DNI READ MY SFW WORKS

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Stan never spoke to you. Tell a lie, he did. Occasionally. Brief hellos while he walked to a meeting maybe. Small talk maybe going over whatever he asked you to do.

There was never more than that. No lingering glances in your direction, no knowing smiles. Seemed like nothing. That's all your relationship was.

You worked like this for a few months.

Never speaking much together. Maybe you gave him lunch if he asked. You always found him cute though. The way his hair just sat the same every day, the way his eyes always gave you the same soft look when he walked past you. It was, slightly perfect. Too perfect.

Men have their secrets, you assumed he probably had his. That's probably why you liked his eyes. Too much of a past to stare at, too much to get into with your own boss who you barely spoke more than... 4 words to. You couldn't really casually go up to Stan and ask him, "Hey sir how's your home life? It's going good? Yea, your eyes say otherwise." You weren't insane!

The hours were long.

The weeks were tedious.

Eventually getting a few more words into Stan. Small conversations over lunch that didn't amount to much. The man found himself enjoying your company. "You do anything over the weekend?" He asked, adjusting himself in his chair a bit. Did he look uncomfortable? Probably.

The silence was nice, so you were slightly taken aback by his out of nowhere question. "Uh, went to see a production of Two Gentlemen Of Verona. That was nice."

"Oh, nice. On your own?"

On my own? What was that meant to mean?

"Yeah."

"Right."

The rest of lunch continued. Stan seemed off. On the edge of his seat, literally. He was uncomfortably perched on his chair, attempting to attain something just out of grasp. You noticed his fidgeting; flicking of his nails, slight playing with his food, eyes flickering around to avoid your own eyes. You wanted to pry but also figured you didn't talk enough to ask if he was okay. Stan would probably say that he's fine and you'd get right back to the slightest bit of uncomfortable silence.

Back to work.

Back to small smiles, little questions, and writing notes to yourself. For the next couple of hours. Boring and repetitive until 5:30pm. Everyone caught themselves up and left immediately. You found yourself a face in the crowd, heading towards your car before Stan got a moment to say 'Have a good evening' to you.

It was a lonely evening. He was used to hearing the TV play some children's shows for a while, hearing the little ones talk excitedly about what they did at school. Just being excited for no reason. But, no, he was greeted with silence this night. It was deafening. He had to be alone with his thoughts. It was another quick meal in the microwave. He had to face the rare few dishes still lingering in the sink. Mouldy food starting to stick to the porcelain. Only served as a reminder of the reality Stan currently lived in.

A lonely movie, lying on the couch in whatever clothes he could find. Staring up at the ceiling, blank-minded, thinking nothing. The movie waved past his ears. "Can I talk to you?"

Stan's phone call at 12am wasn't what you were expecting. You were half lying in bed, reading still. Very close to finishing the book, and that was what you were focused on. "Sir... Stan, it's 12am."

"sir...hey, call me that again," he murmured under his breath, closing his eyes. Lost in his thoughts of your voice. Maybe you shouldn't've been giving in to his desires. Stan had mentioned his wife, and his kids multiple times. He told you plenty of stories, but he seemed slightly out of it tonight.

Despite your lingering thoughts, you said 'fuck it' and responded quietly, your book closed on your lap. "Why sir? Something happened?"

"Yeah, actually. I, um, I was wondering if you could... come over."

A chuckle. "Stan.. it's midnight."

"I know. I know...just, please. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." Stan eventually told you his address, and you made a quick mental note. Agreeing eventually, and you hung up. Maybe you should pack an overnight bag. Yeah, maybe you should.

The drive took more time than you expected. You didn't properly change out of your home clothes either, just slipping on some underwear and trousers that weren't so... messy. Knocking quickly with the overnight bag still in the backseat of your car. "Ah, hi." Stan looked a mess, more than you felt right now and it almost broke your heart.

"Hey...why did you want me to come over?"

Stan took your hand, led you inside, and closed the door once you stood in the living room. It was certainly more messy than you would have expected. A bit of trash, a messed up couch, a random movie still playing dully on the TV. This... certainly wasn't what you were expecting. "Stan?" You asked, peeking out to the hallway.

"Sorry...sorry." The man sniffled. He quickly ran a hand over his face then took a few steps back into the living room. "Uh, come sit down. I'll, get you a drink." The words, the steps and his look only added to your confusion. Sure he was certainly...alone now, but the mess, and his clothes.

You took a few steps towards Stan and immediately held onto his arms. "Stan. What's going on?" Cutting him off of any words he was about to say. Stan looked at you, then at your hands on his arms. Then back into your eyes.

"She's gone."

Eyes wide. "Oh." How do you comfort people again? More specifically, how do you comfort your suddenly divorced boss who definitely hasn't been invading your thoughts recently? His eyes found the floor, like it was the most interesting thing in the room and said nothing for a moment.

People like hugs right? That should work. Enveloping Stan in a hug, your arms around his neck. Holding him close for a moment as he reluctantly wrapped his arms around your back. Awkward, but somehow comforting. It went on for a little bit too long, and once you pulled yourself away, his eyes found the floor again.

He wasn't really thinking much. You blinked and he kissed you. Wait what? His hands on your cheeks. This was not happening. Before he continued to kiss you, you took a step away. "Stan-"

"Fuck. Sorry." The man uttered, sitting on the couch instead. He looked quite sorry for himself. A bit of a pathetic sight really. It tugged at whatever empathetic heartstrings you had left. Stan clearly did something, and you probably should've left right then and there. I mean, were you really thinking about this? There are multiple reasons for his wife leaving, presumably with the two little kiddies. "Look, I just.." He trailed off once he saw you settle between his legs.

"um.."

"You're obviously feeling upset, and I know you did something but I don't really know any other way to comfort you." You muttered, taking a loop in the sweatpants and pulling it so the waistband became looser. Stan brought his hips up for a moment so you could pull the fabric from his hips and let it settle around his ankles.

"you really don't have to.." He protested. Stan's protests were weak. He clearly hadn't been touched for a while. Or he was incredibly attracted to you. While yes technically, you didn't have to, you felt some semblance of upset for Stan and his situation. And you figured this would be the best way to temporarily help him out. Fuck it, you might get a raise out of this tomorrow once the man came to his senses, you didn't know.

Stan's lack of pleasure for a while was obvious. He was achingly hard already, and you had barely slipped your hand into his boxers. Bit sad really. But you digressed. Slowly touching him under the fabric for a few moments, hearing his breathing get heavier, and occasional little moans escaping him. Eventually, though, Stan pulled your hand away just to tug his boxers down his legs to join his sweats.

Ah, you knew what to do now. You muttered nothing to yourself, as you rested your fingers around Stan's cock again. Taking a breath, leaning in. Your tongue resting on the underside for a moment. "Ha.."

"You okay?" You asked, pulling yourself away for a moment, looking up at Stan.

"It's uh, it's been a while.."

"Figured." Ouch. That stung in Stan's heart for a moment. The feeling immediately replaced once your lips were wrapped around his dick once again. He couldn't decide whether or not he wanted to watch you or let his head fall back against the couch. So, he eventually decided to let his head fall against the couch as you started to take more of him down your throat. One hand resting next to him on the couch and the other hesitant to rest on your head. He didn't know what type of person you were, so he could've tried to push you down and you would've hated that.

But, you just continued without a care in the world. Eyes screwed shut as your cheeks hollowed with every movement. You pulled away from time to time to breathe, revelling in the sound of Stan's small groans, whimpers and gasps. They were the sweet sounds and made it all the better. The sounds of a lonely boss who you honestly, were still decently interested in.

Yea. You were definitely going to get a raise out of this.

Stan let out another groan, keeping his fingers taut against your hair. As soon as you felt the telltale sign in your mouth, you pulled yourself away, heavily breathing still. Starting instead to jerk Stan off quickly, keeping the same pace for another few moments, until he came in your hand. Dripping down his cock and your fingers as Stan bucked up to ride himself through his orgasm since you didn't seem to help him.

"a-ah shit. I'm sorry.." He muttered once he realised he made a mess of your hand. Coincidentally, a tissue box was by the TV stand, so you stood up, cum over your hand and grabbed the box, bringing it over to Stan. Not as satisfying as Stan had hoped, but it was something and it made him feel a little better.

Silently, you cleaned your hand up, throwing the stained tissues in the bin quickly. Stan followed, slowly cleaning himself up and dressing himself back up. Cue awkward silence for a few moments. "Thanks."

"Yeah. Course."

Another few moments of silence between the two of you, ads playing in the background on the TV. Looking around the living room as you just sat there for a moment. Stan finally said something, just your name. Looking over to you with a hopeful look. "Can we...can I..take you somewh-"

"No." Stan blinked and then looked over at the wall, feeling slight whiplash at you saying no immediately. "Whatever the fuck happened... whatever the fuck you did... It clearly only just happened. And I don't think that's a good idea."

"You just-"

"Yeah, I'm fully aware of what I just did Stan."

A beat of silence. Both of you felt like at least one of you said something wrong. You figured it was Stan. Who goes and suggests a date to their secretary right after their wife left them? "...a few weeks?"

"Try a few months sir." You knew exactly what you were doing with that word. Stan knew too. There was no need for you to call him that right now. Glancing at each other.

But you got up silently and walked out to your car, leaving Stan in confusion for a couple of minutes. Once you came back in, overnight bag in hand, Stan got the idea. Well, he hoped it was the right idea. Being led through the house until you were in his room.

You were sure this was going to result in way more than a raise by this point.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tags: @babygorewhore / @taintandviolent / @oceanblvd111 / @nahoyasboyfriend / @slutforgarlogan / @briaroftheroses @american-horror-whore /. @evanpeterspeter / @feefymo / @fear-is-truth / @lacucarachapisser / @saintlucretia / @jazz-berry / @t8-ak47 / @lemoniiiiiii / @xrag-dollx

[doll3tt33]

Gimme ‘em gold coins !

(sugardaddy!stan bowes x user)

I was on the fence abt making his personality more ‘romantic’ in the settings, but decided to stick with the same definition as last time cuz I want him to stay in-character ((I ofc added the extra info abt him being in search of sugar baby n stuff

Btw sorry for making it more female oriented, but remember u guys are free to edit the greeting message to whatever fits. It won’t affect the rp!

The greeting message:

🤍 tagging: @evanpetersbf

Sharing the link from the new version of the website in case you guys have trouble with the bot showing up!

[evanchantingpeters]

"Why haven't I seen these Evan pics before?" dump. Mmmkay, devoured...

No, but why did he serve so much—even in the most casual instances?

[trueangel420]

precult!Kai Anderson, the female anatomy. ౨ৎ nsfw , bestfriend!reader. wc : 1506

Kai sat next to you on the couch, his laptop resting neatly on his lap. He shifted around, adjusting his gray sweats, before looking at you. You and Kai spent a lot of time together; after all, you had been best friends for years. You knew everything about him—his parents situation, his insecurities—except for one thing: he was definitely a virgin. He was waiting for you to notice him, his eyes glued to you with an amused expression on his face. “What?” you asked, looking up from your notes and leaning over to stare at his computer screen. Your eyes widened as a flashing warning that read 18 or older appeared on the screen. You watched his fingers press “accept” as he entered the X-rated site. “You’re not serious, are you?” you snickered as he moved closer, your knees now touching. “Yes, best friends do this kind of thing all the time,” he argued, as if you’d believe that. Your IQ was just as high as his, if not higher.

“Kai, I’m not watching porn with you.” Kai’s face flushed slightly, but he didn’t back down. “Come on, it’s just for fun,” he said, trying to maintain his confident facade. “Fine,” you huffed, closing your textbooks and focusing on him completely. He didn’t know what to do at this point; he had expected you to say no and put up a fight. But you didn’t, and now here you are, sitting next to him and looking at his laptop.

“So, what now?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. Kai shifted nervously, his bravado faltering. “Uh, I guess we just... watch,” he stammered, clicking on a video. As it started playing, the room filled with slapping noises. You glanced at him, taking in his reaction as his eyes wandered along the screen. It was almost absurd what you were doing, sitting here watching his breaths quicken slightly, the noises becoming louder as he watched it—this definitely wasn’t normal, but it was better than studying all night. You didn’t focus on the laptop, though, only on him, despite the moans and groans and the wet slapping noises.

“Porn isn’t even a good example of female anatomy. Women don’t act like that,” you said, glancing over at him with a slight frown. “Uh, what?” he stammered, the noises from the screen still playing in the background. You let out a groan and pointed at the girl on the screen. “She’s fake moaning,” you explained. “Everyone knows porn actresses are just acting.”

"So…It's just for entertainment. It's all fake?" he asked nervously, his eyes flicking between you and the screen. "Kai," you said, confused. "Are you saying you haven’t figured that out yet? Have you ever...?"

“You’ve fucked before, right?” He felt his body warm up slightly, your blunt words making his erection jump in his pants, and thank God for the laptop; if you’d see his reaction, he wouldn’t know what to do. “I—yeah, I’ve fucked before.” His tone was almost convincing—key word, almost.

You wanted to laugh. You sat up straight, looking at him and leaning on his arm—he could feel your breasts pressing against him. “You’re a virgin, Kai?” You teased as you pressed pause on the video, “You never had sex before?” He couldn’t speak; his dark eyes looked into yours, and he let out a breath. He could feel his cock jump again. He shifted in his seat, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “I’m not a virgin,” he declared, though the words came out more like a desperate attempt to convince himself than a bold assertion.

“Really? Show me,” you blurted out before thinking, your eyes widening in shock. You quickly cleared your throat, ready to backtrack and insist you were joking. The last thing you wanted was for Kai, your best friend, to prove he wasn’t a virgin—not at all. It was as if something primal inside him snapped. He couldn’t articulate the words, but he set the closed laptop on the floor and turned toward you, his Adam’s apple bobbing once more. “Show you?” he murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly as he breathed in deeply. You had intended to laugh it off, to say it was just a joke, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you felt a flush creeping across your cheeks—warmth mixing with embarrassment and something else entirely. “Show you?” he repeated, his tone firm as his eyes flicked to your lips for a moment. “You want me to show you that I can fuck?” His voice dripped with confidence now. Your throat went dry, and every instinct urged you to say yes—to nod in agreement. But all you could do was stare at him, caught in the intensity of the moment.

“I can fuck,” he couldn’t; he knew he couldn't, but he’d watch so much porn; surely it can’t be that hard, right? “Kai…” You whispered as he stared at you again, “I’ll show you; let me show you,” he said, his voice strained. “I don’t think that’s—“

You found yourself flat on the couch, your legs settled on his shoulders as he grabbed at your leggings frantically—you panted the excitement making you shiver; he was greedily touching all over you—squeezing places he didn’t know he could squeeze. It was forbidden to him, his own best friend, but he was so starved. "Fuck,” he groaned, grabbing the leggings again and ripping them, the cold air hitting your cunt. god—god, kai jaw was slack as he stared at your lips, his finger touching over the folds, the wetness making him shudder—god he was so close, so close to fucking for the first time, god he was desperate.

“Kai—oh my god,” you gasped. He wasted no time burying himself in you; he’d been erect all day; he knew whether you noticed or not; it didn’t matter now; his cock was in you—well, it was almost in you. “Kai—are you—are you in me?” You stammered. You felt him prodding at you before he shook his head. He felt so deep already that you couldn’t believe it. “Just put it in, okay?” you huffed out, your chest rising and falling as you clenched around him. He inched into you so slowly, so slowly that his eyes glazed over as he stared at you. He pressed his hands on your lower stomach—he’d seen that in a video. “Kai—“ you choked before he slammed down his hips, snapping into yours.

He was overwhelmed, so overwhelmed, and you were too—but this wasn’t your first time; this was his; you couldn’t tell, though, not to with the way he’s rutting into you like an animal in heat. With each thrust making his eyes clench shut, you pawed at his lower stomach, your hands trailing down his vline—he was deep, too deep.

“Kai,” you choked your eyes shut, brimming with tears. You felt yourself whining as the noises came out louder. He pressed his palm harder against your lower stomach; he could feel himself hitting the soft, spongy spot. “Tell me how I feel,” he ordered, his pace still relentless, and all you can do is gasp. You couldn’t answer, not with him knocking against your g-spot. You heard the loud gushing noise as he continued, his lips parted slightly as he rutted slower, trying not to cum. You were so full, so full. “You—you feel—“ You whimpered, your hands pulling him closer. Dignity was overrated anyway. He grabbed your hands this time, pinning them over your head as he speed up again, thrusting into you.

“Oh, my God," you practically screamed out. He let out a huge grumble; he couldn’t hold it any longer, not with you looking like this, your back arching off the couch—he moved his hand off of your wrists to your clit, rubbing it frantically; he needed you to finish before him. You felt your eyes roll back as he kept abusing that spongy soft spot, his fingers rubbing on your clit in a quick circular motion.

He didn't know if this was working, but the way you clenched around him made his hips stutter. He kept going, and you got louder, nearing the brick of overstimulation. “thought you said it was all fake, look at you screaming” his thrusts got more desperate he could feel his stomach tighten and all you could do is whine and moan louder—you won’t be able to talk tomorrow. Dignity was overrated at this point; it didn't matter with him on top of you like this, fucking his seed into you like his life depended on it. “I'm no—“ you felt the warmth pool into you, your eyes widened despite the panicked look you had. You clenched and released around him feeling yourself finish with him. He collapsed on top of you, his breathing shaky, his head nestled in the crook of your neck as he calmed himself down. He’d never admit it was his first time, not with his ego, but it didn’t matter. You were both embracing each other, minds blank and completely spent.

[thicc-ray-of-sunshine]

Still writing because I hit the wall earlier this week so here's a treat for y'all

MINORS DNI

Suggestive content below the cut

His hot breath fanned between the valley of your breasts, before unceremoniously sticking his face between them. You slapped his shoulder admonishingly, scolding him without any real bite. You both laughed as he settled further into your bosom which immediately turned into a wanton moan on your part when Stan’s fingers deftly unclasped your bra and he fastened his mouth over a pert nipple. Following your earlier attentions to himself; he razed his teeth around your areola while maintaining eye contact with you. You could feel sweat beading at your browline as you struggled to keep his gaze as his eyes bore into your own voraciously, tongue dragging slowly across your naked chest. Throwing your head back and closing your eyes, you gave yourself into his ministrations. You found yourself unable to think past the feeling of Stan’s hands and lips on your body. Your body sizzling in building pleasure.

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

“Enough to drive a man crazy.”

Your body felt so hot under his hands, his grasp all encompassing as they groped and pawed at your exposed torso. The sheer size of his hands was further accentuated as your own smaller ones came up to bring both of his palms to your breasts. Stan simpered lecherously at you as he squeezed both your tits in his fingers. Using your grip on his wrists you began to grind slowly and steadily against his lap. You expected Stan to reciprocate immediately but it would seem that despite his obvious pleasure in your movements, displayed by the loud shuddering moans that were being sung directly into your ear, his body did not physically respond. Stan had been distracted by something. His grip on your hips turned bruising when you stopped moving entirely, concerned with Stan’s immobility.

“Stan? You doin okay?”

You had pulled back entirely to meet his face, attempting to get a read on the expression there. All you were met with was a sleazy grin that made you more hot and bothered than you were actively willing to admit.

“Don’t mind me Dollface, m’just enjoyin the view.”

You looked questioningly at him before he took your face in his right hand and tilted your head to look at the opposing wall from where you sat astride him.

Oh. That’s right. You had a vanity there, a vanity with a very large mirror. That’s what made Stan pause, seeing your positions in the mirror behind you. You blushed furiously when your eyes met Stan’s again, breathing labored.

[kai-anderson-whore]

In the office (Stan bowes x fem reader) smut

Summary: Stan bowes is your boss and one day in the office everything changed

Warnings: smut, mentions of a divorce, blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, reader having sexual relations with their boss

Word count:1,6k

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•.

You walked into your bosses office with a pile of paperwork on your arms, with a soft sigh your knuckles knocked on the hard wood of the door waiting on your boss Stan Bowes to allow you in.

"Come in" his voice echoed through the other end of the door you turned the handle peering through the door, "Mr Bowes I have the paperwork you asked for" you smiled politely your skirt was shorter than usual Stan noticed making him feel hot.

"Just put them there y/n thank you" he smiled trying to hide the boner he got as you placed the paperwork on the desk your cleavage slightly exposed yet leaving Stan wanting more, you didn't do it intentionally funny enough you were running late for work and threw on the first things you could find what happen to be a bit small for you.

"Is there anything else I can do for you Mr Bowes?" You asked standing straight back up. Smoothing out your shirt Stan stared at you with an intense gaze making you nervous. "Yes there is infact y/n shut the door over I've got something to say" he instructed You nodded your heels clicking as you walked over closing the heavy tall door.

"Yes Mr bowes?" You asked wondering what he wanted to say. You noticed the mood shift in the room your breathing got heavy as Stan smirked noticing your nervousness. "Do I make you nervous?" He asked Standing up from his chair.

"N-no sir" you said with shocked eyes, your boss never asked anything like this before. but your boss just chuckled at your answer. "You sure y/n it seems like I do why's that?" He questioned further.

'Fuck' you mentally cursed yourself. End of the day Stan did make you nervous he's your boss end of the day. But he was a understanding boss and was kind you couldn't take that away from him, he was fair.

Stan stepped closer to you face inches away. "Do you know what I think it is" he said his hot breath fanning your face making you grow hotter for your boss. "What?" You asked.

"I think it's because you want me to fuck you am I right or wrong?" His theory wasn't wrong at all. You had the hots for your boss since you started working for him. Many late nights you would spend thinking about him.

You blushed nodding your head "yes" your voice barely above whisper. "Then why don't we make it happen" he suggested his lips inching closer to your red stained ones till they met. You dreamt of this moment for so long and it felt better than you had imagined.

"Wait" you said pulling away your hand on his chest. "Your married Mr Bowes we can't" you said feeling guilty. "Actually not for long we're divorcing" he informed you furrowed your brows "Oh Stan I'm sorry" you sympathised placing a gentle hand on his arm comforting him.

"It's alright I was the one that filed for the divorce anyway" he shrugged his eyes darting from your own then to your lips. You grew impatient with the constant back and forth you decided to take this into your own two hands. Bumching onto his suit jacket bringing him closer smashing your red stained lips on his own.

Stan was shocked at your sudden action but responded to your lips. His hand on your waist holding you close. Your hands letting go of the jacket and resting on his chest. Stans hands roamed lower resting on your ass giving the covered flesh a squeeze earning a moan from you.

You pulled away again only this time dipping to your knees. Your fingers fumbling with his belt buckle, unzipping the zip of his suit pants pulling them off. You gulped seeing his erection through the white briefs he wore underneath.

Your fingers dipped into the waistband of stans briefs pulling the fabric restraining him away. A sigh left stans lips as you wrapped your hand around his shaft stroking him. You took the tip in your mouth swirling your tongue around earning a groan from him. You felt the wetness drip from the warmth of your core, the lust building more for your own boss.

You knew deep down this was wrong but it was a little too late and you didn't really care. Your mind clouded within the heat of the moment working your warm wet mouth on Stan. Growing wetter by the second bearding those sweet moans leave his lips. "Fuck just like that keep going" he praised as you took him deeper in your mouth. Your tongue pressed flat against his shaft. His hand wrapped around your hair holding you close.

Continuing to push your head back and forth, occasionally kitten licking the reddish tip gaining a taste for the salty taste of pre cum. Your hand trailed down your body to your thighs eventually getting lost under your skirt circling your clit through your soaked panties. You moaned against stan's cock making him twitch in your mouth. You looked up at him through your mascara coated eyelashes that slightly ran down your blushed cheeks from the prickles of tears, you saw what could only be described as pure heaven.

Stan stood there with his eyes screwed shut, his chest heaving, the small beads of sweat decorating his forehead. And the sweet noises that left his lips. You felt him twitch in your mouth but Stan pulled away from your now swollen lipstick smudged lips making you furrow your brows in confusion.

"Stand up" he instructed you wasted no time getting up on wobbly legs. Stan guided you to the edge of his desk where there wasn't much of anything. Shrugging out your skirt, You pushed your body to sit on the cold wooden desk making shiver as the coldness came in contact with your hot skin.

Stan's hands roamed your thighs your breath hitched awaiting his next move. His hands got higher and higher till his thumb came in contact with your clit rubbing the bundle of nerves through your underwear. You bit your lip suppressing the moans desperate to escape your lips. "Come on let me hear you" Stan grinned moving the fabric of your panties to the side, pushing two fingers inside you.

You let out a gasp Stan wasted no time pumping his digits in and out you stretching you out slightly but enough to give you pleasure. "Oh fuck" you hissed. Stan used his other hand to unbuckle his belt allowing his trousers to fall down freeing his cock from his tight underwear. You gasped at the sight mouth watering with all the filthy thoughts that ran through your head that will become true.

He removed his fingers from your needy heat, teasing you with the tip collecting your arousal. You wriggled closer to Stan desperate for him. Stan bucked his hips up slowly entering into you. Your back arched against the wooden desk as he pushed himself further into you, blissfully stretching you out.

Your walls fluttered against stan's cock trying to adjust to his size. Stan had his lips back on yours, Stan pulled his hips back making your gasp against his lips he took this opportunity to deepen the kiss. Stan pulled away from your lips, his hips thrusting into you the desk moving with each hard thrust Stan delivered.

Your fingertips gripped the back of his blazer pinky adding more fire to his fuel. His thrust got harder and faster with each and every tug you gave to him. Your walls clenched around him your moans filled the office but you tried to suppress them by biting your lip once again, fearing that everyone will hear you.

"Come on let everybody know that your boss is fucking you real good" he grinned cockily. You didn't care if anyone could hear your mouth letting all those sinful voices out. Your ankles clamping together keeping Stan in place. All stan's paper work now over the floor but neither of you cared.

Sweat decorating stan's forehead, his hair tossled out its pristine way, he was a sight for sore eyes. Just picture perfect to you. The way he gripped onto your hips, eyes filled with lust and desire compared to the bored dull ones he usually has in work.

You felt dangerously close to the edge your walls fluttering against stan's cock. Your moans, the low grunts from Stan plus the sound of your hips meeting together was all that filled the office walls. Stan was truly intoxicating and you craved more.

Stan continues to thrust into you with a fast and hard pace, driving you crazy. “I’m so close” you panted out. Stan didn’t say anything but kept chasing both your highs, he was dangerously close to the edge as well the droplets of sweat decorating his forehead.

With just a few more thrusts you reached your climax, releasing all over stan’s cock. Your back arched as the most sinful moan left your lips triggering stan’s own orgasm. Your legs trembling at how hard you came undone, a moan coming from Stan like music to your ears.

Once you both calmed down Stan pulled out of you leaving you feeling empty, a whimper escaping your lips at the sudden loss of contact. Tucking himself back into his suit pants, you sat up with shaky legs fixing your attire properly. You were both silent but not awkward it was comfortable.

“I should get back to work mr bowes” you said trying to hide the crimson blush in your cheeks thinking about what you both previously did. “Take the rest of the day off, and tomorrow I want you back in here” Stan instructed. You let out a smile at the fact stan wanted to see you again, sure you worked with him he is your boss. “Okay thank you mr bowes”.

[babygorewhore]

Tied up. Stan bowes Smut.

You’re tired of working your useless job. Until one night you see an advertisement listing. You accept. What happens next?

WARNINGS! Bdsm themes. Daddy kink. Fingering. Oral! Fem recieving. Ropes. Age gap! Pnv!

You took another swig of the drink in front of you. You had worked late again. Your clothes were wrinkled, you needed to shower but you had to stop at the bar first.

“Another round?” The bartender asked, raising his brow when he saw the empty glass. You opened your mouth to say no, considering you had to work again tomorrow, but you decided to say fuck it.

You nodded and he proceeded to pour the liquor into the glass, sliding it over to you.

The television played the news, showing the same tragic events that happened yesterday. You hated watching it. All the negativity. All the people turning against one another. It made you sick.

You were a housekeeper. At a hospital of all places. You’d been there for two years. Your back permanently tilted from lugging around buckets and a trash can all day. Your scrubs were stained from bleach, your hair thrown up in a bun and you hadn’t worn real clothes in a week. You were only 21 years old, living in a shitty apartment downtown.

If you quit your job, you’d have to move back in with your parents and that’s not what you wanted. You wanted independence and freedom yes but you also wanted security and the ability to enjoy things around you. Everything was so fucking depressing.

You hadn’t been on a date, other than driving through a parking lot with some football player who tried to shove his hand up your skirt an hour later and you slapped him across the face. Your life wasn’t interesting. But you craved intimacy. Something. Something to make your life more enjoyable.

As you rode in the Uber, scrolling your phone you saw a ad on a job search that you forgot to unsubscribe too. “Wanted housekeeper.” It said. The pricing was more than you made and one day less than you worked.

Biting your lip as you walked inside your apartment, you looked around the room. You kept it tidy, given your job but you groaned when you saw it was after midnight. You’d have to be up soon. You glanced back at the add. Cleaning a house? Verses a hospital. Again, you decided to say fuck it. You clicked on the application and added your resume, contact information and photo. Throwing off your shoes, snapping off your bra, you climbed into bed and turned on your comfort show you’ve watched for the 100th time.

Your eyes drifted shut before you felt your phone buzz.

Groaning, you rolled over and selected your phone. It was an email. The message from from a name, Stan Bowes. And you skimmed the text before opening it. “When can you start?” It read. You sat up, surprised at the fast response. Normally that would be a red flag but you were desperate.

You typed. “Two days.”

Waiting, you shimmied out of your scrubs and laid back down. Your phone lit up and you checked it. “Done. Here’s the address.” You breathed harder. That’s it? You had a new job. Sighing, you curled into a ball and fell asleep.

You arrived at the house two days later, wearing your stained scrubs. It was big, bigger than the house you grew up in and you realized something as you reached underneath the welcome Matt for the key. As you opened the door, the entrance welcomed you. This guy was rich, you thought while closing the door behind you.

Modern furniture, art and shiny hardwood floor adorned the living room. Your feet padded the space and you frowned. It was pristine. You went into the large kitchen, an island was wiped off. The dishes put away, and it even smelled clean.

Was this the right address? You checked again on your phone. It was the right address.

You climbed up the stairs, opened up the first door on the right. Finally, you saw the mess. Clothes thrown everywhere. The bed unmade. Trash bags everywhere. You nodded to yourself and set down your cleaning supplies. This would take you a few hours, with that including vacuuming, dusting and cleaning the window. You knew how to extend your time, making the pay fair.

The hours went by, you finished the bedroom and made your way to the downstairs. You felt unsure of what to do, you could vacuum and mop the already clean floor. Deciding to do that, you started humming to yourself as you twirled the cord. This was significantly more peaceful than scrubbing blood off hospital floors but you worried. Was this is? Cleaning a bedroom and tidying an already clean rest of the house?

The door opened and you turned, wiping your hands on your pant leg. A man entered, holding a briefcase and he was wearing a suit. He was handsome, brown hair, brown eyes with a strong nose. He was taller than you, lean muscle. 30s, you guessed. Younger than you imagine for having a house this big.

“Oh, hello, Y/N, right?” He asked. You nodded, and extended your hand for a shake.

He gripped your palm, shaking it gently. “Stan. Stan Bowes.” You smiled in greeting, feeling nervous by his attractive face.

“You’ve done a wonderful job.” He noted, glancing around the room.

“Well-honestly it was already clean when I arrived, Mr. Bowes. I’m a little worried to be honest. There wasn’t much for me to actually clean.” You confessed.

“I know. I wanted to be private about this job, because I couldn’t advertise my real intention.” He said, sinking onto the couch.

Your head tilted. “True intention?”

“I…advertise cleaning to keep things subtle. But really, my real hope is to have someone’s company.” You almost groaned when you realized exactly what he meant.

“So, you’re a sugar daddy? Is that what you’re saying?” You asked, withholding a cackle. You couldn’t believe you fell for something too good to be true. Granted you were a little tipsy, tired and you were about to fall asleep.

“I-I don’t care for that but…I-“

You held up your hand. “Let me guess. Cheating on your wife?”

He stilled, his shoulders dropping. You knew you hit a nerve. “My wife. We’re not together anymore. But she has my children most of the time. And I-I’m desperate. I’m desperate to have someone near me. My wife was more like a roommate. And after a while, I wanted to leave but she didn’t want that. I filed for divorce, she fought me the whole time and finally I’m here.”

You sigh, believing him. But what were you supposed to do with this information? You couldn’t just sleep with him for money. Well, you honestly could, he was hot as fuck but…would to be worth it? You needed the money. Badly. You hated your job. You hated your life.

“What would I have to do? Sleep with you?” You asked.

Stan shook his head rapidly. “No, no. Just…keep me company. Talk to me. Spend time with me. And I’ll take care of you in return.”

You went home after that statement, you got out of the shower and put on your robe. You hadn’t made a decision yet. Promising to text him after you did. Walking to your small bedroom, you sat on the bed and sighed.

Just spending time with him? Talking to him? That’s it. That’s all he wanted. A paid girlfriend basically. You would be responding to a 30 plus year old divorced single dad. It was every teenage fantasy you had but this was real life. How would you explain this to anyone? “Yeah, mom. My boyfriend. He um pays me.” You laid on your pillow.

You debated this. This wouldn’t last forever, who knows how long. It wasn’t guaranteed. But you couldn’t help the urge to try it. He seemed like a nice guy. Lonely, but nice. He saw you in dirty scrubs and still asked you to be a his sugar baby.

Picking up your phone, stopping yourself from thinking about it too long, you brought up his contact information on your phone.

“I’ll do it.” You typed. You pressed send.

“Meet me at my house tomorrow. 8 o clock. Wear whatever you want.”

You bit your lip, your heart quickening in pace. You didn’t have much to work with but you did have an idea.

The next day came, you rushed home from work, jumped into the bath and scrubbed yourself clean. You wore your hair down, threw on some eyeliner, lip gloss. You wore all black as you rode in the Uber on your way there, you dressed the same as you did in high school.

You arrived at his house, 2 minutes to spare and you jumped out. Walked up the stairs and knocked on the door.

He answered, wearing a white suit shirt, black trousers and his tie was loose. You felt underdressed. “I hope what I’m wearing is okay?” Stan guided you inside with his hand on your back.

“Of course. It’s perfect. You’re perfect, I mean.” He chuckles awkwardly and you both go into the living room. Sitting down, you press your knees together and wait for him to tell what was going to happen next.

“How was your day?” He asked you, settling next to you.

“Oh, it was-okay. Boring honestly. My life is boring.” You shrugged.

“Boring? You’re so young and you think your life is boring already?” Stan questioned. “Tell me more.”

“Tell you about me?” You parroted and he licks his lips. Nodding.

“I was a good kid. Always stuck to the rules. Pretty good parents. But I had a rough time in high school.”

“Why do you say that?” Stan asked and you could see his sincerity through his brown eyes.

“Oh you know, I was bullied. Asked out as a joke. Just typical high school shit.” You laughed.

“Someone asked you out as a joke?” Stan asked, disgust evident in his tone.

“Oh, more than once actually. The first three times, I actually fell for it.” You leaned back on the couch. Stan leaned forward, resting his hand on your knee. He gave it a soft squeeze before he pulled away. “I’m sorry that happened to you. You deserve better.”

“What’s your story? I mean. I know you’re lonely. Divorced. With a couple of kids. But what else? What makes you Stan?” You inquired.

“I’m as uninteresting as they get. I’m afraid. My life is meaningless. I go to work. Come home and go to sleep. Start it all over again.” He rubbed his hand over his face.

Now, you were curious. He was sitting with his legs spread. He had muscular legs, you had to admit. He was desperate. Paying a stranger to spend an evening with him, just talking. “Who do you work for?” You quipped.

Stan quirked his eyebrow. “Donald Trump.”

“Oh shut up,” You laughed. “No you don’t.” Stan’s eyes slid over to you before he reached inside his pocket. He pulled out his badge. It was an identification from the building downtown. One that Donald, orange trump owned.

“No way. So, that’s your secret huh? You work for him, you make a bunch of money and you’re a sugar daddy? I don’t think that’s meaningless.” You giggled and he rolled his eyes before smiling to himself.

“Yeah, well. Tell that to my ex wife.”

“When was the last time you went out, Stan? Got out of your house that obviously doesn’t need cleaning?” You flashed your eyebrows at him, the words flowing off your tongue like honey. His veiny hands extended down his legs as he leaned on his knees.

“It’s been two years since I’ve partied. What about you? A shy, young girl, living in a studio apartment. Working as a housemaid. Surely, you like to go out?”

You hummed and pulled your legs up to your chest. “Last time I went out, it was to a rock concert. A tour of three bands. I stayed out until 3am. I had just turned 20. It was the best night of my life.”

“A rock concert huh? For some reason, I took you as a Ed Sheeran fan. Or Taylor swift?” You smirked.

“I like other things too. And I’m not just some young girl. I have dreams, goals, you know.” The more you spoke, the easier it was.

“I’d love to hear them.”

“I want to get my psychology degree. I want to help people. Make a difference actually. Instead of what I’m doing. I’ve always to reach someone. Pull them from the darkness.” You spoke with your eyes focused on his white ceiling. You felt him shift.

“I want you to do that too. I can tell you would be good at helping people.” You turned your head to look at him. He had moved closer.

“Why?”

“Because you’re helping me. Right now.” He whispered. And glanced at your lips. Your heart thudded louder against your chest. You knew what he was thinking. But would you let it happen?

“Can I kiss you?”

The request hung in the air like a ringing bell and everything went silent. His eyes flickered down to your mouth, to your eyes. Then down again. What would happen if you said yes? Would that be it? You wouldn’t know unless you gave in…

You nodded.

Stan leaned in slowly, his hands still on his laps as he breathed in your scent. His lips encompassed your lower one, softly sucking on the flesh. Your hand went to rest on his chest, gently gripping the fabric as he deepened the kiss. Turning his head to the side, he brushed his tongue against your lip, asking for entrance and you granted it.

He groaned into your mouth, his hand reaching to cup your jaw. His mouth was warm, his hand calloused as he ran his thumb across your cheek.

Stan leaned his weight down, pinning your back against the couch as he kissed you, hungrily and desperately as his hand moved from you face, to your neck, squeezing softly.

You pulled back at the contact, breathing heavily and glanced at his hand encircling your neck. Stan leaned back, almost ashamed of his actions. “I’m sorry. I know…it’s not part of the deal. I just couldn’t seem to help myself-“

“It’s okay. I liked it.” You whispered, caressing your neck.

He looked at you again, eyes darting to your own hand. “I haven’t-kissed a woman in a while. I know this situation is extremely complicated. You don’t owe me anything. And if you want to leave, you can. I’ll still pay you for everything. But-“

“Stan, it’s okay. It’s just a kiss.” You reassured him before biting your lip. Kissing him, your core tightened at his heavy breathing. Soft romantic eyes…

You went to your hands, crawling over to him and you straddled his lap. Either legs on the side of his pelvis and his eyes widened. Your hands settled on his shoulders, before trailing to his hair. It was soft underneath your fingertips. Could you do it? Your hips rolled against his, you felt him harden beneath you and you smiled at him. You didn’t know where this confidence was coming from, but you didn’t want it to end. “Mmmm,” You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his neck. “You seem so nervous, Stan? What’s wrong? You’re not used to being wanted?” Your mouth settled on his sweetspot by his collarbone and he shivered at your tongue brushing against it.

“I-I don’t know. You’re so young. So inexperienced.” You gently bit down, and he moaned, his hand moving to your lower back. His other went to your breast.

“Stan?”

“Yes?”

“Shut the fuck up. And do as your told.” Your hand went to his neck, squeezing the sides and your other hand went to his crotch. You started massaging his cock outside his pants, giving the erection a slight squeeze. Stans head lulled to the side but you straightened it, gripping his jaw.

“Stay still.” You whispered in his ear.

You went to lower yourself down, before his hand went to your hair. He maneuvered you over his lap, his arm pinning you down over his knee and you gasped in shock.

“I think you have me mistaken for some little boy who likes to be dominated. But I think you’re mistaken, baby.” His voice was soft and commanding.

But his hold on your hair tightened, pulling your head back, your breasts arched above his knee and his other hand settled on your ass.

“You know, I want you to count. Count to 10. And if you don’t, I’ll stop touching you. And I don’t think you don’t want that.” Your breath shuddered as his hand came down. Hard.

“Ah! Fuck!” You cried out at the stinging. But you obeyed him, any urge to take control was futile. “One.” You winced as he continued spanking, but you counted to ten.

“Good girl.” He leaned to whisper that in your ear before releasing you. You went to the ground on your hands and knees, shocked at the sudden turn of events. Your head whipped to him as he stood up.

“You have two options, Y/n.” He started, resting his hands on his hips. “You can walk away right now, like I said. Or,” He trailed towards you, leaning down to brush his thumb across your lips. “you’ll do whatever I want.”

You were speechless as his eyes narrowed hungrily. “You seem nervous, Y/n. What’s wrong? You’re not used to someone wanting you?” He repeated your words and you inhaled sharply.

“I’ll do whatever you want.” You whispered, looking up at him with your mouth watering. Stan nodded. A new, dangerous confidence building inside him.

He aimed his head towards the stairs. “Go upstairs. On your hands and knees.” He ordered softly.

It took more time, going up the steps on your hands and knees but you made it to the hallway with Stan behind you. He remained silent. “We’re not going to my bedroom. We’re going to the spare room.” You turned and saw him holding a key.

He walked ahead of you, his posture stiff as he turned the key to a door at the end of the hall. “One last chance to back out.”

You shook your head. “I want to see.” You insisted. He sighed and opened the door.

“Oh my god.” You whispered.

It was red. A red room. Dozens of tools hung from the walls, fake candles flickered around and in the center was a large bed that had black bedding but underneath were crimson LED lights. A black chandelier hung on the ceiling, but what caught your attention were whips, riding crops and robes that adorned the wall.

“This is…my secret. This is why most people run from me.” Stan sighed and clicked his tongue.

“Your secret? That you’re super kinky and you have some sort of sex dungeon?” You realized the hypocrisy of your statement, given you were on all fours but you couldn’t help it.

Stan chuckled and put the key in his pocket. “I’m waiting.” He said to you and you entered the room, crawling forward.

“Stop.” You did and you sat on your heels and Stan approached you. Holding rope. Surprisingly, despite the situation, he still seemed somewhat unconfident.

“Stan,” You began as he secured the rope around your wrists. “I want to do this.” He paused and looked down at you. “I want you to use me. Anyway you want.” You pleaded.

Stan grounded his teeth before he yanked you from the floor, crashing his lips to yours in a fevered kiss of tongue and teeth. Blood quirked from your bottom lip as he tugged it with his teeth, pushing you onto the bed. He pushed your hands above your head, holding you in place. Your center pooled as he ripped himself away.

“I want you to spread your legs.” Stan growled. His hand flexing.

You separated your knees, your underwear sticking to your pussy as he licked his lips. Stans fingers circled around your pants, pulling them down slowly and your underwear. Your pussy glistens and he flicked his pointer finger, inside the wet walls before trailing your clit.

You trembled as he inserted it into his mouth, his eyes drifted shut and he hummed to himself. “You taste so sweet.” He groaned before leaning down.

He trailed kisses along your inner thighs, close but not close enough. His tongue moved along your pussy but pulled away last second.

“Fuck, Stan. Please don’t tease me.” He launched himself up, his fingers plunging inside you. You threw your head back, as he went knuckle deep and sank into you.

“You don’t order me around. Do you understand?” He pumped his fingers inside you, and your back arched as he went deeper, impossibly deeper.

“Yes-yes I understand.” You squeaked.

“Yes what?” His thumb grazed your clit before pulling away.

“I-I don’t know.” You whimpered. Stan removed his fingers and shoved them into your mouth.

You tasted yourself on his digits and you tried to fight against the ropes but they were tight. “What did you call me that first night? I want you to say it.”

You realized what he meant.

“Daddy?” You questioned. He nodded.

“Now, ask me. What do you want from me? You can ask me. Nice and proper.”

“Daddy…please. Taste me. I need it. Please?” You begged.

Your begging killed him and he forced your legs apart. “Moan nice and loud for me okay?” Stan whispered as he laid on his stomach, lifting your thighs over his shoulders.

He laid his tongue flat against your pussy, kitten licking your clit repeatedly, before diving down to your entrance, then bringing it back to the top. You moaned, loudly in your chest and throat before you turned your head to the side, your eyes squeezed shut as Stan increased the pressure on your clit.

You shuddered as his fingers swiped against your entrance before he slid two fingers inside, pumping slowly as he slowed his pace on your sensitive bud, torturing you as you neared your climax, before he would change paces again.

“Daddy-please don’t tease me-“ You inhaled and Stan chuckled against you.

“I don’t think you should tell me what to do right now, baby. Do you? Not when I have you splayed out like this.” He licked a long, stripe against you before he pulled away. Keeping his fingers deep inside you.

Sweat gathered on your forehead as your back arched into his hand. His free one settled underneath your midsection as he hovered over you.

“You’re being so good, taking my fingers like this baby. You’re being such a good girl, right now.” His mouth went to your neck, he peppered kisses along your skin. “Such a pretty little slut. Doing whatever I want.” You were about to burst.

“Let go for me, it’s okay. And then I’m gonna fuck you like an animal.” Stan reached over to the drawer, selecting a plastic wrapped condom. Sliding off his pants and boxers, he wrapped his dick inside the protection. His hand locked on your shoulder as he turned you over on your stomach, forcing your tied hands on the bed with your ass up.

His hand pushed down on your head, “Spread your legs. Nice and wide for me, okay?” He ordered softly and you listened, breathing heavily as he pressed himself inside you.

You buried your head down, exhaling long and hard as he thrusted inside you, shifting to hold your hips in place as he moved deep and hard into you. “Fuck.” He moaned as your walls clenched around him, welcoming him in the deepest parts of you.

You stayed like that for several seconds, him moving roughly against you with his hard cock pounding you, animalisticly like he promised. He gripped you in place as you tried to move your hips to create friction. He leaned down, whispering in your ear. “I’m gonna play with your pussy now, okay? Can you hold out a little longer for me? You’re doing a good job, princess.” He groaned.

You couldn’t hardly see straight as his fingers circled around your clit as he continued thrusting, you weren’t going to last much longer. This was better than anything you had, better than your own pathetic fingers.

“I’m gonna-daddy I’m gonna come-“ You managed before your release came over you with a powerful rush. You stilled and then felt Stan stop moving as he came, releasing into the confines of the condom.

He pulled out of you, releasing your fullness and he collapsed next you. You turned over on your back, panting heavily as he started untying your hands. As they were free, you stretched out your arms over your head as he laid next to you.

You both stayed silent, breathless and then you moved over, leaning your cheek onto his chest. He glanced down at you before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Was that submissive enough for you?” Stan asked and you chuckled with a blush.

Soon after, you ended up falling asleep.

The next morning, you woke up late, still naked on the bed. When you sat up, you noticed a note next to you.

“Had to leave. Hopefully…I see you soon on your next work night. Maybe we can make this a regular occurrence…S.B”

You bit your lip. It was the most passionate night you’d ever had. But he had to leave. Without establishing the next step.

As you left the house, you turned one last time before making your mind up. Next time? He would be the one tied up and helpless.

Taglist. @spill-the-t @icannot3 @howtobesasha @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @demxnicprxncess @evanptrss @randodummy tagging @frankenkyle19 and @scene-and-dandylover because they requested it tonight

[writing-good-vibes]

another lonely valentine's day

💗 happy valentine's day !! 💗 what better way to celebrate than to make our favourite babygirl suffer? this takes place in an au where the accident never happened, and corey is still working towards his college dreams by mowing lawns, having affairs and babysitting.

WARNING for corey cunningham x roger allen relationship, age difference, infidelity, unhealthy relationship dynamics, smut (non-penetrative and oral sex), angst from a guy who is upset that his married boyfriend doesn't love him, some mildly stalkerish behaviour, and some arguable hurt/comfort. 4.5K word count.

🎀 very cute dividers by @/gigittamic 🎀

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

"Corey?"

Corey sighs and checks the time. It had only been ten minutes since he put Jeremy to bed.

"Corey?!" Jeremy calls again, louder this time, his voice high and lifting at the end of his name. It grates on Corey's nerves.

"What is it now, Jeremy?"

"I'm thirsty!"

"You've just had a glass of milk."

"I want another one!"

They had a deal -- since Jeremy had gotten in so much trouble for his silly prank last Halloween and Corey had very generously done some self-serving damage control -- that Corey would let Jeremy do whatever he wanted (within some reason, as negotiable on the night, but usually involving too much energy for Corey's liking), and stay up as late as he wanted after he went to bed, in exchange for leaving Corey alone for the rest of the night. And if he didn't, Corey would tell Mr Allen just how much of a little shit Jeremy had been for him. It was a system that worked, even if it meant telling a couple of white lies about the evening's activities.

Jeremy was always a brat, it must have been coded directly into his DNA, but he'd been extra irritating before going to bed tonight. He tended to talk Corey's ear off anyway, asking personal questions that Corey would always lie in response to whether he strictly speaking needed to or not, and tonight he had extra ammunition.

"Don't you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Why not? It's because you're so ugly, isn't it."

"No, I just don't have one. I could if I wanted to."

"No you couldn't. Girls don't like boys who are ugly and poor. That's why you're bossing me around on Valentine's Day."

The back of Corey's neck itched. Sure, that's why he was spending his Valentine's Day babysitting the brattiest kid he'd ever met. Because no one wants to go out with him. Not because Jeremy's dad says "Jump," and Corey asks "How high?"

He shuts Jeremy up by letting him watch a playthrough on youtube of some horror videogame that one of Corey's friends back in high school would talk about nonstop. Turns out the game is way less scary when some hunk just talks over it, and although some of the music starts to freak him out a little, Corey surprises himself when he laughs along with Jeremy at most of the scares, even at the rabbit.

After traipsing back upstairs with another glass of milk, warm this time, Corey leaves Jeremy with a warning not to bother him again. Our deal, remember?

"What are you doing on Valentine's day?"

"Nothing," Corey replies, much too quickly. He can hear Mr Allen stifle a chuckle on the other end of the phone. Corey's cheeks burn, "Um, I mean, I don't have any plans, yet." Yet. As if they're lining up round the block to take Corey out and he just hasn't decided who's worth his time. "Why?"

"Well, Theresa and I were wondering if you'd be able to babysit Jeremy for a few hours?"

Corey bites his lips so hard he can taste blood. He soothes it with his tongue, "Sure, no problem." He kicks himself later for being such a sucker.

Mrs Allen is flustered when he arrives, putting the final touches of lipstick and perfume on while she explains the usual ground rules. Corey knows the drill. She looks beautiful, with her hair loose and curly around her shoulders and red flowers on her dress. He tries to imagine his own momma getting dressed up for a date, but he struggles to remember Momma and Ronald ever going anywhere without him. They hadn't even had a honeymoon.

Corey hovers awkwardly, trying to keep out of the way as Mrs Allen buzzes around, from the mirror to the coat stand by the door. While she puts her coat on, Corey's eyes wander as Mr Allen comes downstairs in a pressed suit. He waves at the older man, who gives him a wink that dangerously toes the line of 'friendly', before he disappears towards the kitchen.

"Oh!" Mrs Allen starts, before lowering her voice. "There's a box of chocolates in the kitchen for you, Corey. Roger put them on top of the fridge so Jeremy wouldn't see them; a little treat for you after he goes to bed."

Corey checks the time again. He hasn't heard a peep from Jeremy for a while, which is a good sign.

But the TV isn't holding his attention tonight like it normally does, and even though the Allens always tell him he can use their Netflix, he just can't settle on a movie.

Instead he scrolls through Roger's profile for a while, looking at his watch list and what he's been currently watching, what's been recommended to him and his most popular categories. Corey makes mental notes of where their tastes are similar and where they differ, thinks of how he can subtly integrate all of this into a conversation, to show just how interesting he is, how compatible they are.

His rumbling stomach puts an end to his media-stalking for now. Momma had made meatloaf for dinner, as grainy and bland as always, and Corey hadn't been able to stomach much of it. Not with the butterflies fluttering in his gut as he watched the clock, desperate to get out of the house a soon as possible tonight.

He lets a movie start playing, some 90's thriller than everyone in his American Lit. class used to rave about, before pulling himself off the couch and wandering into the kitchen.

The Allens' fridge is always fully stocked. Fruit and vegetables in the crisper, health foods that Corey's never even heard of before, branded candy and juice and condiments fill the door, cuts of meat that they probably actually knew how to cook instead of turning them to rubber or relying on boxes of lean cuisine. They even have an ice maker. There's a couple of bottles of Heineken -- because Roger only drinks Heineken in the house -- at the very front. It feels like a trick, Corey takes one anyway.

On top of the fridge, amongst juice boxes and tin that could be cookies but Corey guesses might be their sewing kit, is a red, heart-shaped box of chocolates. Just like Mrs Allen promised. Corey holds it in his hands, rubs his thumb against the satiny pink ribbon that wraps around it.

In middle school, Corey had gotten a Valentine's candygram one year. He walked into homeroom and found the pink paper heart and a cherry flavoured dumdum sat conspicuously on his desk.

There was a chorus of hushed giggles from behind him. Over his shoulder he sees Kelly and her friends, whispering. Whispering made Corey nervous. Then, Kelly waves at him shyly, a knowing smile on her face. He waved back, face burning.

He ate the lollipop over lunch, and folded the pink paper heart and put it in his pocket, carried it around with him all week. Sometimes he'd take it out to look at it, reading the message over and over and over again -- Be my Valentine?

Momma found the heart when she collected his laundry at the end of the week, emptying out his pockets onto the kitchen table, picking up the pink paper heart with her probing fingers.

Corey didn't hear the end of it for weeks.

There's a gift tag pre-attached at the bow on his Valentine's chocolates and Corey flips it open, expecting a list of the candies that are inside, but that isn't it. It's a message, handwritten in black biro in neat print-capitals. The words start to swim in Corey's vision, merging into an inky pool until he pushes his glasses up to wipe at his eyes, trying to hide his tears from an invisible audience. He isn't fooling anyone, because his lip starts wobbling instead.

He brings the candy back into the living room with him, along with his beer and sits criss-crossed on the couch, then rips the ribbon off in one go.

Corey sinks half the box before he can stop himself.

The rest he tries to savour, rolling each chocolate in his mouth, letting them melt on his tongue until he can figure out the flavoured centre while he watches his movie. The truffles are his favourites, then the pralines, followed by caramels, vanilla cream and pecan clusters, then finally the strawberry ones come last.

Between eating, he drinks his beer like a palate cleanser, finishing it only to go get the other bottle from the fridge. Two beers down, Corey can feel the buzz under his skin, in his tear-pink cheeks, and the relief of tension leaving his unsettled self.

If he takes the candy box home, Momma would ask too many questions that he didn't want to answer -- that he didn't even want to think about -- so he throws the empty tray in the trash can in the Allens' kitchen and chews a stick of bubblegum to cover the alcohol on his breath. It wasn't fool proof, but it was the most he could do.

Upstairs, Corey listens for movement from Jeremy's room. The hallway is dark, lit only by the lamps downstairs glowing up through the spiral of the staircase. Corey circles the warm light, never quite letting it catch him, as he dips into Jeremey's room to turn his TV off, then continues on to the master bedroom.

It's dark in there too, as Corey stands in the doorway. The bed is made neatly, sheets tucked cleanly under the mattress but rumpled in places where someone had sat down to pull on a stocking or tie a shoelace. He looks around familiarly, at the contemporary beige art on the walls and at the framed family pictures on the dresser, goes through the jackets and dresses that line the closet, and the messy draws full of almost designer sweaters and workout clothes and underwear. Mrs Allen's expensive lotion sits on the nightstand, next to where Corey always discards his glasses.

Laying in their bed, on Mr Allen's side, Corey looks up into the darkness. His cheeks are wet and getting wetter, and he rolls onto his front, muffles his sniffling in Mr Allen's pillow and breathing deeply the faint, shouldn't-be-comforting scent of the older man's cologne. Dark and woody, but classic in a way that compliments the rich floral perfume Corey always smells on Mrs Allen's pillow.

Part of him hopes Roger will know, hopes he'll feel the dampness there on his pillow while he tries to sleep, hopes he'll catch the taste of salt, and know exactly what he'd driven Corey to.

It's long-past midnight by the time Mr and Mrs Allen get home.

Corey hovers awkwardly by the door while Mrs Allen kicks out of her heels, hangs her coat on the stand, her conversation slower now as she thanks him again for babysitting. Corey preferred her like this, when she no longer had to worry about making their 7:30 reservation, or whether Jeremy was ready for bed before they left. When she isn't so tense, it made it a lot harder for Corey to interpret her tension as something else, something worse.

She counts his money out for him, but as he zips his coat up and prepares to cycle back home in the cold, Mr Allen stops him.

"Hold on, Corey, I'll give you a ride." The first words he'd spoken directly to Corey all night.

"Oh, no," Corey insists, hesitating anyway. "It's okay, really. I don't want to --"

"It's no trouble. We wouldn't want you out alone at this time. Unless you've got a secret black belt you haven't mentioned?"

Corey laughs, his real boyish laugh that Mr Allen likes so much.

Mrs Allen leans up, whispers something in her husbands ear, a perfectly French-manicured hand patting his chest once. Corey averts his eyes.

Then, Corey and Mr Allen are stood outside in the biting February air.

"Did you enjoy your night?" Corey asks as they pull out of the driveway. He rubs his cold hands together in his lap.

Roger turns the heater on high. "We did, thanks."

"What was the restaurant like?" He doesn't normally ask questions, doesn't normally like to know the answers, but he's feeling just a little vindictive tonight. Curious, too.

Roger catches his eye through the rear-view mirror. He smirks. "It was nice. We've been wanting to try it out for a while, actually. We don't go out as much as we should anymore."

"I just watched a movie," Corey says with a shrug, like it's no big deal. Like it's how he was going to be spending his Valentine's day anyway. "One that my friends at college always recommend, but I never get time to watch movies. Momma -- my mom -- she's always so picky about movies." Corey can hear himself start to ramble, clutching at the straws of interest. "And Jeremy was okay tonight," he lies, then changes his mind. "Well, he said I don't have a girlfriend because I'm ugly. But he didn't get up after he went to bed."

Roger sighs, "Ignore him, you know what he's like. Theresa coddles him, but he's a little terror sometimes, same as any other boy. And besides, you know that's not true -- you're not ugly." His hand leaves the wheel and lands on Corey's thigh.

The younger man hums, suppresses how utterly pleased he feels at being told that. You're not ugly, and god if Corey won't be thinking about that for who-knows how long. He doesn't say anything when Roger takes a right turn, heading for the long route back to Corey's side of town.

A stupid, sappy old love song comes on the radio. Corey reaches out to change the channel, settling on WURG, where Willy the Kid is hosting the Anti-Valentines show till late. Heartbroken love songs for all those unlucky enough to be without action tonight.

"You liked the chocolates?" Roger says. It ends in a question mark, but Corey hears a period.

"Yeah, I ate the whole box." He did like them. They were perfect and thoughtful and he's so very, very grateful because he shouldn't expect anything at all.

They pull into the empty lot of the Dollar General and Roger turns the car off, letting the sudden silence -- the stillness of the night -- settle over them. A distant streetlight casts a sickly orange light into the car, the light and shadows chiselling Roger's features deeper, more stern. Corey chews his lip until he tastes blood.

Still, it's Corey's hands that wander first. Because he's been so lonely, waiting all night long for Roger's attention. Looking after Roger's son and drinking Roger's beer and eating Roger's cheap Valentine's present, while Roger was at an expensive restaurant, eating his $80 steak, with his wife who deserves so much better. Corey doesn't though.

And Roger, not for the first time, thinks What the fuck am I doing? when his lips meet Corey's through the darkness. The younger man tastes of bubblegum and beer, but beneath that he can taste those damn chocolates. The taste suits him; sweet and boyish, a little bit cheap.

Any lingering thoughts of Theresa, of how it shouldn't take more than half an hour to drive to Corey's house and back, of how she's waiting for him with a promise -- whispered in his ear as he picked his car keys up off the the table by the door -- are quickly replaced with thoughts of them getting caught, of one of Haddonfield's finest driving by and seeing them, of a sharp tap on the window that makes Corey look up, mouth open and eyes wide and looking every bit the pretty boy he is, of talking their way out of a night in the cells for public indecency because This isn't what it looks like Officer, I swear!

And then Corey's pulling away, twisting himself around in the passenger seat so he can lean down, and Roger can't really make himself think of anything else but the way Corey is so obliging. Undoing Roger's belt, his fly, Corey pulls the older man's boxers down low enough to free his cock, slapping heavy against his toned stomach; Corey presses a wet, pouty kiss to his tip. "I missed you."

"You did?"

Corey nods, wrapping his hand around Roger's length, his fingertips just about touching. "So fucking much."

Another kiss, kittenish licks, Corey's soft hand stroking him slowly, working him like Roger isn't already rock hard for him. Roger closes his eyes, lets himself enjoy Corey's ministrations, learnt precisely by what Roger -- and Roger alone -- likes. They shouldn't be taking their time, however Roger is downright incapable of stopping Corey's hand as it smears his own precum down his shaft, slicking the younger man's movements, but not enough to take away the hint of hot and heavy friction that keeps Roger on the edge.

"I'll make it up to you, hm?" Roger manages, and Corey finally goes down on him, mouth wet and warm and always welcoming, as if to say, Go ahead.

With a sharp inhale, Roger starts, "I'll take you out somewhere. Somewhere nice. I know a restaurant that you'll love, where they do the best desserts you've ever had in your life. You'd like that, right?"

Corey hums in agreement; the vibration makes Roger throb even harder, pulsing against the soft roof of his mouth.

Roger always sounds so sure of his words, so assertive in his thoughts. It makes Corey believe him all the more, makes him want to nod and agree to whatever it is Roger tells him he thinks. Like how he always says Corey was such a tease, all those weekends he'd take his shirt off to mow the lawn, skin glistening with sweat right where Roger could see him. And how Corey had known exactly what he was doing with his wide-eyed virgin routine, as though Roger could have ever said no to him. And that Corey's so easy, so eager, so desperate. That Corey will always say yes.

"Or we could go to a bar. Shoot some pool, have some beers, catch the game. We could have a boys night." He grabs Corey's hair, applying a pressure that is more a suggestion -- more, deeper, please -- than a command.

"And then back to the hotel. Somewhere we can get room service, of course, I know you love that. And I'll take such good care of you. You know that, don't you, baby?"

Roger's getting close and he knows it, especially when Corey swallows, his throat tight and hot and clenching around Roger's cock and he's almost --

He pulls Corey off him, a thin trail of saliva dripping from his plush lip to Roger's spit-shiny head, and watches as the younger man wipes the rest of the drool from his chin with the back of his hand.

"I think you feel guilty," Corey says, voice level and surprisingly measured. There's no elaboration on what Roger should be feeling guilty about, just Corey's wide eyes and swollen lips, and Roger's left to fill in the blank space that Corey leaves behind.

Guilty about making me babysit. Guilty about driving me home. Guilty about doing this with me and then going home to sleep with your wife too.

The list goes on and on and on, and Roger tightens his grip in Corey's hair while he thinks, feeling the smooth, waxy strands twisted between his fingers. Corey will fuss over it in the rear-view mirror on the way home, combing his own fingers through those locks, back into his neat side-part, and Roger will watch him for too long, wishing he could see Corey's hair in it's full glory, not just sex-mused but his natural, bouncing cherub curls, more often.

Roger's hand is still in Corey's hair but he doesn't move, just waits to be told what to do.

"Get in the back."

It's only marginally less cramped in the back seat and darker still, the warm orange glow of the streetlight even fainter as Roger pulls Corey into his lap, lets him burrow into his neck while Roger slips a hand between his legs, palms the growing bulge over rough denim. Corey keens into it eagerly, legs twitching as he tries to keep himself from clamping his thighs around Roger's hand and humping it.

When his whines get louder, a strong hand grabs the back of Corey's knee, moving him to straddle Roger's trim hips, makes sure he's settled before teasing the zipper of Corey's jeans down, once again feeling that hard swell in his underwear.

There's a growing damp patch on the white cotton, sticking it to the leaking pink head of Corey's cock. Roger thumbs the wetness, smearing it through the fabric over Corey's burning skin, and Corey doesn't want to wait. He desperately pulls at the elastic of his briefs, pulls them down and hisses with relief when his dick springs free, resting against the pudge on his lower stomach, leaving a streak of precum on his auburnish happy trail.

Roger clasps one large hand around the both of them and Corey moans like it hurts; he grips tight, squeezing just right to press at the sensitive spot beneath his tip every time Corey's length slides against his.

Corey bucks in Roger's grasp, enough that Roger doesn't even have to stroke them anymore, just holds them still and grinds up against Corey's needy frotting. The developing rhythm is less co-ordinated than Corey can usually manage when he's on top, but the newness of the sensation, the way he can never quiet repeat the same motion or hit the same spot twice is maddening.

With all their clothes still on though, it's almost like it was back then, back when the most they did was dry hump on the couch while a football game played forgotten in the background. And it's not fair, Corey thinks. This is it? This is all he gets?

Roger once told him, "More is just never enough for you, is it, baby?", and although Corey had been kind of preoccupied at the time, the thought had burrowed it's way into his mind, repeated on a loop in Roger's low voice while Corey twiddled his thumbs in class the next day. Momma always told him something similar, when she'd decide he was being ungrateful over something or nothing -- it was always nothing -- that she didn't know what more Corey could want. A roof over his head, food on the table, his mother's love, always. Did he not already have enough? What more could Corey want? Boxed chocolates, empty promises and messy back-seat fumblings.

Roger is proven right. It's Valentine's day and Corey wants more.

"That's it, good boy. Feels good doesn't it?"

As Roger's hand slips further down the back of Corey's jeans, beneath his underwear, Corey catches his wrist, slowing the movement of his hips but not pausing, and tries to direct Roger's fingers closer to where he wants them.

Roger pulls back, resumes simply palming Corey's peachy ass. "Not tonight," he says firmly, and Corey makes a dissatisfied noise against the crisp white cotton of Roger's shirt.

"Please?"

Roger chuckles, "No, Corey." Still firm, but letting Corey down gently. "I know you want to play, but we can't. Not tonight."

"But I really want to, really badly," Corey pleads, scattering kisses up Roger's neck. It's not often Corey has to do the convincing. Rutting harder to prove his point, leaning back so Roger can see that playful little smile on his lips that always get him going, "And it's Valenti --"

"Corey," and it's a warning this time, given in a tone that Corey's never heard Roger use on him before. It's a tone he'd heard him use with Jeremy, though.

Corey shuts his mouth instantly, which is what he's always done best, and tries to ignore how his cheeks burn. The way his skin itches makes him want to scream.

After being told off, he can't bring himself to look back at Roger's disappointed face, so Corey looks down at their cocks instead, both wet with spit and precum, which is somehow less awkward. The spark in his gut rekindles slightly at the sight of Roger's dick, smaller than his by less than a half inch but big enough to knock the breath out of him, rubbing against his own.

Roger's hand has resumed stroking them together -- quickly, efficiently, like he's doing them both a favour.

A loud squeak breaks through the near-silence when Corey reaches out to brace himself against the window, his hand slipping in the condensation made up mostly of his own panting breaths. Another time, perhaps, it would have made him laugh, and his breathy laugh would have made Roger laugh and then --

Roger comes hard in his hand because he really can't let his shirt get dirty, and Corey follows with a shuddering groan, a half-word that could have been anything -- Fuck, Roger, Sorry -- warbles out with it.

"It's okay," Roger answers. "You're okay."

Corey licks Roger's hand clean, sucking the mess from his fingers. Tongue working between each digit till they're soaking wet. Tentative, playful nips at fingertips, biting just barely at his knuckles, never hard enough to leave a mark. No evidence gets left behind.

Feeling each ridge of Corey's teeth, Roger remembers the look on Corey's face from earlier, how his cheeks burned and he shrunk in on himself, making himself small and docile. If Corey bit down hard right now, sinking straight to the bone, then Roger would probably deserve it.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Corey whispers, lips brushing Roger's wet fingertips. Even in the quiet of the car, Corey's voice is smaller than it deserves to be. His big, brown eyes are glazy when they meet Roger's cold blues.

Roger stays quiet, feeling the warmth of Corey's heavy breath between them. In, out, in, out. He holds Corey's flushed face in his wet hand, strokes his thumb softly against his cheek, feels the barely-there stubble under his palm, watches Corey's eyes flutter shut, his lip twitch with the hint of a smile, his brow crease, fat teardrops well under his lashes until they spill down his cheeks.

"Let's get you home, hm?"

Mr Allen drops him off right outside his house -- "You're coming to do the gardening tomorrow, right?" -- and watches as Corey climbs out of the car and up the front porch steps. Joan lurks at the window, the curtains twitching closed once Corey gets to the door.

With one hand on the door handle, Corey turns to wave. Mr Allen is mostly shadowed in the driver's seat, but Corey half-smiles at him anyway, still looking even as Momma pulls him into the house by his scruff for being home so late.

As Corey lies in his bed, he stares up at the darkness of the ceiling. Or maybe his eyes are just closed because his fingers, slippery with the lotion from his nightstand, are shoved down his underwear. The gift tag from his chocolates -- For my Good Boy, ❤ R -- burns a hole beneath his pillow.

[keeryhours]

thankful - rafe cameron

Baby daddy! Rafe x Baby mama! Maybank! Reader

Masterlist

Rafe Cameron Masterlist

More Baby daddy! Rafe

Summary:

You, Rafe, and Iris spend Thanksgiving with the Camerons.

Request: “maybe baby daddy rafe and y/n spend thanksgiving together as a fam? With some smut? 🤭”

Warnings:

Smut (18+), p in v, fingering, dirty talk, semi-public sex, Rafe has a slight breeding kink and refers to himself as daddy 🙃

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N:

I seriously get so excited when you guys request things, and this one is so timely! I went back in time for this one, so hopefully that’s okay. I hope you enjoy! I’m so glad you guys are loving this series <3 Requests are still open and if you’ve already sent one, I’ll be getting to it!

Let me know if you want to be on the tag list :)

@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

—

“You look beautiful.”

That was the first thing Rafe said when you opened the door on Thanksgiving, ready to ride with him to eat dinner with the Camerons. You had dressed in a slightly oversized sage green sweater and a short black skirt with heeled boots. His eyes trailed over your body.

“Thank you,” you blushed. “You look good yourself, Cameron.”

A smile lit up his handsome face. And he did look really nice. Rafe wore a dark gray button up with khaki slacks, the sleeves of his shirt hugging his biceps deliciously.

“Where’s my girl?” he asked. You were honestly surprised that wasn’t the first thing out of his mouth.

“JJ has her,” you explained, thumb pointing over your shoulder. “He’s getting her in the car seat.”

Rafe followed you into the house and into the living room, where JJ was just finishing up tightening the straps of Iris’ seat. “All set, pretty girl,” JJ announced to the baby, ignoring Rafe’s presence.

Iris cooed happily at her uncle. She was days away from turning 6 months old, just beginning to learn to sit up on her own. Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of Rafe, and she squealed.

Rafe grinned widely, practically pushing JJ out of the way as he walked up to the seat and crouched to be eye level with his daughter. “Hi, baby girl,” he greeted her, holding out his hand and letting her wrap her tiny hand around his finger. “You ready for your first Cameron Thanksgiving?”

Iris blew bubbles at him, which he took for a yes as he laughed. Iris was dressed in a brown Thanksgiving-themed dress, white tights on her chubby legs to help keep her warm. She had a matching bow in her light brown hair. Her big blue eyes looked right into her father’s matching ones.

Rafe stood, picking up the infant carrier. “Ready to go?” he asked you, and you nodded in confirmation.

Rafe was already out the door and on the way to his truck. JJ gave you a hug before you followed after him. He was baby talking to Iris as he locked her seat into the base. He turned as you approached, a smile on his face.

“Both my girls look stunning today,” he said as he closed the truck door. “I’m a lucky guy.”

You blushed deeply as you both climbed into your sides of the vehicle - you hadn’t officially been Rafe’s girl in a long time, but he seemed to have no intentions of dropping the nickname.

You felt a little nervous on the drive over. It’s not like you weren’t incredibly familiar with the Camerons, but it also felt like a big deal. This was your first Thanksgiving together as a family (well, kind of), and you felt the pressure of it. Not that Iris would care how things went, she’d never remember it obviously, but you would, and you wanted the evening to go well, for the day to be special.

Rafe pulled into the long driveway of Tannyhill, the gorgeous Cameron estate that you had admired your whole life. You used to be incredibly jealous when you were younger, truthfully. You and JJ had a rough home life with an abusive father, so you both spent much of your childhoods dreaming of something better. Tannyhill made frequent appearances in your fantasies. So did Rafe.

At the time, you felt you could never admit your crush on the eldest Cameron to anyone, especially not your best friend Sarah. Because how lame would that have been for you to admit to crushing on her jerk of a big brother? It’s funny how things worked out in the end. You had dated Rafe secretly for a while, but when it came out (awkwardly, with Sarah walking in on you two in a very compromising position), you realized you had worried for nothing because Sarah actually loved the two of you together. She said you brought out the best in Rafe. For a while, at least.

You smoothed your skirt as you climbed out of the truck, watching Rafe retrieve the car seat from the back. You walked side by side to the house, nerves buzzing in your stomach.

The smell of the house hits you immediately - it smells delicious. Your mouth practically waters as you take in the smell of the different foods waiting in the dining room. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were.

The Cameron family greeted you warmly when the three of you walked into the dining room. Ward and Rose both gave you a big hug, followed by Sarah launching herself into your arms and an attack by a nearly-as-excited Wheezie.

You were nothing compared to the little girl bundled in her seat, though. Rafe watched on with a proud smile as his family crowded around the carrier, baby talking to Iris. Ward is the one who unbuckles her and lifts her from her carrier first, holding her to his chest and looking like the proud grandpa he is while the others crowd around. It leaves you feeling warm inside.

The food was already spread across the large table. A huge selection - a perfect looking turkey, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, green bean casserole, any Thanksgiving food you could dream of was prepared to perfection and displayed on the Cameron’s dining table.

When it was time to eat, you took a seat next to Rafe. Iris had a high chair set up for her, but she spent the meal bouncing from lap to lap. The conversation is comfortable and you find yourself laughing through most of the meal. The food is as delicious as it smelled, and you happily eat as much of it as you can.

After dinner, a football game is turned on the huge TV in the living room. Ward retired with a drink in hand to watch, while Wheezie lounged on the couch and Sarah joined Rose in the kitchen, Iris on her hip.

You stood, about to join the girls in the kitchen, when you felt large hands making themselves at home on your waist, warm breath against your ear.

“Let’s sneak off somewhere,” Rafe whispered in your ear, sending goosebumps across your skin.

“Rafe…” you scolded, turning around to look at him. “We can’t. And we’re literally surrounded by your family-“

“We can,” he interrupted you, hands wandering along your sides, around to grab onto your ass. “C‘mon…”

He grabbed onto your hand and pulled on it, a mischievous smile on his handsome face. You looked around, making sure no one was paying any attention to you. Rafe knew you would give in, but the delight on his face when you move your feet to follow after him is unmatched.

He pulls you down the hall to one of the downstairs bathrooms, quickly pulling you inside and locking the door behind you as you flip on the light switch. You barely have time to take in your surroundings before Rafe’s pressing you up against the door, his lips on yours in a hungry kiss.

Rafe’s hands explored every inch of your body he could reach, tracing over your curves, moaning into your mouth as he grabbed your ass again before sliding his hands beneath the hem of your skirt.

“Rafe…” you breathed out against his lips, head going dizzy already from the way he was already everywhere all over you at once.

“You’re gonna have to be quiet for me, baby,” he mumbled, fingers pushing your panties to the side, rubbing against your already throbbing clit. You gasped, eyes falling shut. “Can you do that?”

“Yes,” you promised him, desperate for him to just keep going. You’d do anything as long as he didn’t stop.

Rafe pushed a finger into your entrance, making your head fall back against the door with a thud as your mouth fell open. He began to pump his finger in and out of your tight heat while you tried to keep your legs from collapsing.

“So tight…” Rafe commented as he added a second finger, readying you to take him. “Been missin’ me?”

“I’ve missed you so much,” you confessed easily, causing Rafe to chuckle as he placed kisses along your jaw. He had you losing your mind on nothing but two of his fingers and a few kisses - you never stood a chance with Rafe.

“I’ve missed you too, baby,” he said lowly, mouth moving to your neck to suck and bite along all the sensitive spots he knows by heart.

He used his palm to rub against your clit as he continued to thrust his fingers into your pussy, curling them deep inside to hit that perfect spot that nearly had you collapsing onto the floor if it wasn’t for Rafe’s strong arm around your waist. You let yourself melt into him as he expertly took you apart.

“Gonna cum on my fingers, baby?” he asked, already knowing the answer from the feeling of your walls clenching around him in the most familiar way.

“‘m so close…” you mumbled, head falling forward onto Rafe’s shoulder. He laughed at how weak you became for him, and how easy it was for him to get you there. He couldn’t get enough.

He thrusted his fingers faster, making sure to press against that perfect spot with every push inside. Your legs trembled, whole body electric as you grabbed onto Rafe for dear life, biting down on his shoulder to stifle your moans as your release rocked through you intensely. Your cunt spasmed around his fingers as he worked you through it, mumbling whispers of “Good girl, that’s it, fall apart for me, cum all over my fingers pretty girl, that’s fuckin’ right…”

Rafe didn’t even care about your teeth digging into his shoulder, like he barely even noticed it. He pulled out of you slowly and you whined, a cocky smirk growing across his face as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean with a groan. “Still so sweet, baby.”

“Rafe, I need you,” you begged, legs hardly able to hold your weight as you leaned against the bathroom door. You felt pretty pathetic right now.

“Yeah? You still need my cock even after you just came all over my fingers?” Rafe asked, eyes darkened with lust as he grabbed your waist and roughly positioned you to lean over the countertop. “Greedy little cunt.” He smacked your ass hard, making you jump and stifle a moan with your hand.

You watched in the mirror as Rafe pulled your skirt up around your waist, harshly pulling your panties down your legs and stuffing them in his pocket. His eyes met yours in the mirror, mischievous smirk on his lips.

His hands quickly undid his belt and slacks, pushing both his pants and boxers down just enough to free his throbbing cock. You wanted to turn around and get a good look at it - it had been a minute since you’d seen it, but you could never forget how nice it is - but Rafe had you pinned to the counter.

He gave his already rock hard length a couple quick pumps as his other hand rested on your hip, rubbing circles into the skin. He took the time to take in the view before him - his favorite view. You all bent over for him, pussy soaking wet and spread wide for him to fuck however he pleased. He couldn’t take it anymore.

He lined himself up at your entrance, thick cockhead pressing against you eagerly, precum smeared across his tip. His eyes met yours in the mirror.

“You started that birth control, yeah?” he asked, but he was pretty sure he was about to fuck you raw no matter what your answer was.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, pushing your hips back against him. “Been on it for a few weeks. We’re good.”

Rafe didn’t think he could have stopped himself either way, but he felt relieved as he pushed his hips forward, tip breaching your tight hole. You watched his face in the mirror as he slowly filled you, his face completely contorted in pleasure. His brow was furrowed, mouth hanging open as he let out a low, quiet groan, trying his best to hold onto his restraint and not alert the entire household to what you were up to.

His hands dug into your hips harshly as he bottomed out inside of you. His own thighs were trembling, he couldn’t believe the way your pussy was holding onto him, squeezing his cock perfectly like you were made to take him.

“Good, baby?” He gritted out, looking into your eyes in your reflection. You nodded frantically.

“Yeah, baby, want you to fuck me,” you begged.

Rafe let out another quiet groan at your words - fuck, he felt like you would be the absolute death of him sometimes - but it’s exactly what he wanted to hear as he drags his hips back painfully slowly before snapping back into you.

You smack a hand over your mouth just in time for him to thrust back in, the strangled moan that escaped your lips blessedly muffled by your hand. Rafe chuckled darkly, setting a quick pace as he fucked into your tight cunt from behind.

Your free hand gripped onto the side of the counter for some kind of stability. You felt completely at his mercy, your body utterly weak and held up only by the counter beneath you and Rafe’s rough hold on your hips as he pulled your body back against his ruthless thrusts.

“Fuck, yeah, take it,” Rafe grunted out quietly, unable to keep his dirty mouth from running even when you were very much at risk of getting caught. His eyes fluttered closed as his hips snapped into you at a frantic, near desperate pace.

You felt another orgasm building inside as he fucked you just right, cock hitting that same perfect spot with every movement. Rafe leaned over you, placing kisses all over your shoulders and getting close enough to hear the breathy whines and moans he was pulling from your chest.

“Sound so pretty like that…” he huffed, hands sliding up under your sweater to grab at your tits. He impulsively pulled the sweater over your head, messing your hair up in the process before dropping it to the bathroom floor. “Need to see you,” is all the explanation you get. He unclasped your bra to free your naked chest to his hungry eyes. God, how he loved your tits. Especially since having a baby - they were perfect before, but now they’d nearly doubled in size and Rafe was obsessed.

He watched them bounce as he fucked you, the sight pushing him closer and closer to his own release. He wrapped his hands around them, squeezing and playing with your nipples, making you let out the most delicious whines whenever he’d pinch at them. You wished he had taken his shirt off so you could see his gorgeous chest, the way his ab muscles would flex as he pounded into you, biceps contracting as he pulled your body against his own.

“Feels so good, Rafe,” you moaned quietly, wanting to let him know how good he was making you feel, how good he always was to you. “I love your cock.”

Rafe groaned. “I know you do, baby.” He picked up his pace, thrusting into you even harder as he felt both of your releases approaching rapidly. “I love this perfect pussy, she’s always so good for me…”

Rafe’s hands went back to your hips as he started chasing his release, the power and speed of his thrusts sending shockwaves through your body, and shoving you up against the counter so hard you were sure you’d have bruises all over tomorrow. “‘m close again, baby…” you whined.

Rafe removed his right hand from your hip and wrapped his arm around your body, fingers going right for your swollen clit to rub quick, precise circles. “Cum for me again, baby, please, wanna feel you cum all over my cock, just for daddy, please baby girl-“

The combination of his words and his actions violently shoved you over the edge, your mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back as it crashed through you for the second time, but infinitely more intense. Your pussy clenched around his girth over and over as you chanted his name into your own hand, ecstasy coursing through your body like a drug.

Your body practically dragged Rafe into his own release and he leaned over to bury his face in your neck as he came hard, filling you up with his load as he continued to slowly pump his hips through his orgasm while you pulsed around him. “Jesus baby, holy fuck…” You hear his muffled voice against your skin, feel his shaking body laying on top of you.

You both took a minute to calm down before Rafe was pulling out of you, leaving you feeling much more empty than before. He stepped back and admired his work, fingers collecting his release that had dripped out of you and pushing it back inside, making you tremble.

“Don’t want to waste a drop, baby,” he said with that cocky grin back on his face. You’d both made sure to always use protection any time you hooked up since Iris was born, but at the same time Rafe loved the idea of filling you up, the idea of you potentially giving him another perfect baby.

Rafe tucked himself back into his pants as you tried your best to compose yourself, pulling your clothes back on and trying to make them look like they hadn’t just been on the floor and shoved around your waist. He wiped the sweat from his forehead as he watched you.

“I’m glad you came,” he said. You raised an eyebrow at his reflection in the mirror. “To dinner,” he clarified, an amused glint in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at him. You fussed with your hair, trying your hardest to not leave this bathroom looking freshly fucked. “How do I always let you pull me into these situations?”

“It’s because you can’t resist me,” he said, hands trailing up and down your sides. He squeezed your hips one last time before he pulled away.

“I’m gonna head back out there so we don’t walk out of here together. You take your time.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against your lips, then smacked your ass hard before he slipped out the door.

You sighed to your own reflection. Your hair had been thoroughly ruined, lipstick a little smudged. You did your best to pull yourself back together before you exited the bathroom and rejoined the Camerons, who were all gathered in the living room now, Rafe included, Iris on his lap.

“Where have you two been?” Ward asked, completely oblivious. “You missed half the game,” he directed towards Rafe.

Rafe’s eyes darted to yours, smirk still on his lips as he took a sip of his beer. You were grateful you were saved from having to answer when one of whatever teams were playing scored a touchdown, stealing Ward’s attention away entirely.

You didn’t miss the knowing look Sarah gave you, before she rolled her eyes and shook her head with a laugh. You felt your cheeks heating.

When Rafe brought you home, Iris had already passed out. She slept soundly in her car seat as Rafe drove through the dark island, music playing softly from the truck’s speakers to not disturb her rest.

He reached a hand over and rested it on your thigh. You stared at his hand, unsure what to do, until you dropped your hand atop his and interlinked your fingers together. Rafe smiled, looking more content than you’d seen him for most of his life.

“Seriously, thank you for coming,” he said as he put the truck in park in your driveway. He still held your hand as he turned to look at you. “I know it’s still weird, trying to figure out how to…do things, how to…co-parent. But I’m glad we can get along and be a family without her having to be with one or the other.”

You smiled softly at the sincerity in his words. “I’m glad, too. I had a good time.”

Rafe smirked at you then. “Yeah? You had a good time with me?”

You felt yourself blushing - you had meant the whole event, but admittedly that had been the best part. “Yeah. Tons of fun.”

Rafe laughed as he leaned in and pressed a kiss against your lips. The biggest part of you loved it, still cherished every opportunity to be affectionate with Rafe, to feel any part of him, to be close to him. But a small part of you wished he wouldn’t do things like this anymore because all it did was confuse feelings and make things complicated all over again. You didn’t like the way your heart fluttered in your chest as your ex boyfriend kissed you in the darkness of his truck.

When he pulled away, he looked at you like he could tell what you were thinking about. He looked almost apologetic, although he didn’t regret it. He never regretted the things you did together.

“I’ll see you this weekend,” you told him, knowing it’s Rafe’s weekend with your daughter.

He nodded. “I’ll be here. Do you want me to carry her inside?”

You thought about it. You didn’t want to inconvenience him, but that carrier was heavy as hell now that she had grown so much. “Yeah, that would be good.”

Rafe hopped out of the truck without a complaint, reaching into the backseat to unlock her carrier and lift it from the car seat base. He followed you to the door as you let the three of you inside.

JJ was gone, spending Thanksgiving with the pogues. You had planned to go, too, before Rafe asked you about spending the holiday with his family. You felt a little bad that you didn’t get to spend it with your twin brother, but you knew he understood and probably didn’t even care.

Rafe carefully unbuckled his sleeping daughter from her seat. She snuggled into his chest and he rested his large hand on her back, rocking her gently so she’d stay asleep. You trailed after him as he walked to the nursery and laid her in her crib.

Back in the hallway with Iris’ bedroom door closed, you both stood there awkwardly for a minute.

“JJ probably isn’t coming back tonight,” you blurted out, not even sure why you said it.

But Rafe’s face lit up, eyes shining with mischief. “Yeah? You’re alone for the night?”

You blushed, looking down at your feet to work up the courage for what you say next. “I don’t have to spend it alone.”

Rafe’s smirk only grew as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into him as you giggled. His lips came down to press against yours again, and you didn’t care about your relationship status, or whether you belonged together, or how much you loved him despite telling yourself you didn’t. All that mattered was that he was here now, and he was yours for the night.

You were thankful for that, at least.

[ramp-it-up]

Knock You Down

Summary: James Bucky Barnes is an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. But when he meets you, he finds out that sometimes love comes around, and it knocks you down.

Word count: less than 2K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This fic was in part inspired by Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run 🫠, and partially inspired by an old song by some problematic people, lol. This is the result. As usual, I am Basil Exposition, so this is broken into parts. Part II is already in the queue and will be posted on Friday, 10/11.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Slow burn, cursing, mutual pining, Bucky the player, wild thoughts, kisses on the hand and the cheek. No sex!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

"Won't see it coming when it happens. But when it happens you're gonna feel it, let me tell you now."

Bucky always scoffed at Steve’s advice. He and Sam never understood his solitary bachelorhood and his one night stand lifestyle.

The truth was, he hadn’t met anyone who held his interest enough to warrant a second date, much less anything beyond one casual hookup. So, he never made promises that he couldn’t keep, and most women said they were down for that. 

Even if they were lying to themselves.

At 42, James Buchanan Barnes was too dedicated to his business, ostensibly as an art dealer, for a serious relationship. The truth was that he dealt in many things, and that was why his business needed so much attention. 

His life and everyone’s around him depended on it. 

Bucky Barnes wasn’t going to get caught slipping.

In love or in business.

—---

The first time you met James Buchanan Barnes, on what you thought would be a random Monday afternoon, he appraised you in a way that shook you to the core, those ocean blue eyes looking into your soul. You felt as if he were evaluating a piece of art as he gazed at you across his desk. 

You couldn’t know that he felt the exact same way. 

His eyes never strayed from your face as he shook your hand, but he’d noticed every bit of you as you entered his gallery, Rebirth. You were more stunning than any piece of art that he’d ever curated in the space.

While nothing like his normal type, you made Bucky feel as if he’d been so wrong about so much in his life the moment you entered his orbit. He had to get to know you to find what he’d been missing.

This afternoon you were a sight to behold and serving body. Although you were covered from neck to shin in an elegant sheath dress, the high, wrapped waist was giving all of your bounteous curves up to whoever glanced at you. And you had heads turning.

Steve, Sam, and even Natasha craned their necks to watch you as you entered Bucky’s office. And he could have sworn that Nat’s neck was at a 90 degree angle as she watched you leave her desk just outside his door.

You were fine as hell.

Bucky was entranced by dreams of handling your curves and making you smile at him forever.

As Bucky dreamed, you admired the man in front of you. Tall, dark, and handsome, Barnes wasn’t a young man, but the gray in his beard and the crinkles around his eyes made him that much more attractive. 

Even more attractive than in the paparazzi pics of him with various young models and actresses of the moment, waifs and ingénues with whom he was never photographed twice.

You just knew you were safe from any advances from him.

You thought.

“Enchanté, Ms. Y/LN. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Bucky lowered his head as he greeted you, a slight bow and extended his hand to his desk. You noticed the tattoo that started on his hand and seemed to go up his sleeve and went in the direction he pointed.

"You know, you are quite tenacious. I don’t take many meetings with potential buyers. But all of my people told me that I should.”

The silk of his voice, the unexpected tenor of it, and the way he took your hand made you shiver at the aura of experience that he gave off.

The word Daddy floated around in your mind for a moment until he invited you to sit.

You had to concentrate on the business at hand, that of negotiating for a piece of art for the Art and Culture Center in Brownsville, of which you were the director. The purchase was made possible by benefactors to commemorate a deceased Brownsville artist who became famous, then forgotten, during the Harlem Renaissance.

“You’ve made it past Ms. Romanoff, my gallerist, Mr. Wilson, my business manager, and Mr. Rogers, my gallery director, Ms. Y/LN. What makes you think that I’m going to give you a different answer? Letting that piece go for the price you’ve proposed is not a good business move.”

“You can’t afford to miss out on this opportunity, Mr. Barnes. Yes, you will be taking a loss on the artwork, but you will be on the ground floor of a major rediscovery. You will be known as one of the few who helped to resurrect the brilliance of the artist Howard Benson. You can be the Alice Walker to his Zora Neale Hurston.”

And that is when Bucky leaned back in his chair, astounded at your shrewd calculation.

“I love the way your mind works, Ms. Y/LN.”

You smiled and settled back into your chair, causing Bucky to shift in his chair. He wanted to be buried in you. He appraised and decided that he liked the pout that changed your lips almost as much as the smile that initially greeted him when he replied, “But that price is still unacceptable.”

You raised an adorable eyebrow at him and rose to the challenge that he lay at your feet ready to tangle with the inimitable James Barnes. The conversation stretched from early afternoon to dinner time, making you suspect that Barnes was drawing it out for some reason. You matched him, point for point, until it was dark. But he yielded no ground.

The conversation was intellectual foreplay: art history, sociology, american politics. And it was the most stimulated you’d been in a while. 

You could do this all night.

Your phone buzzed and you looked down. There were several text messages and emails lighting up your screen. You’d been in deep with Barnes for hours. It was after 6 pm. It seemed like only minutes. You noticed that it was only you and Bucky left in the gallery and rose to excuse yourself, albeit reluctantly.

“Oh! I’m sorry to keep you so long. I’m sure that you must have plans.”

You’d done your research and you knew that there was probably someone little more than half Barnes’ age waiting for him. When you searched social media, there was a sighting or spotted every month or so of Bucky and a young, beautiful woman.

You reached for your coat, but Bucky was behind you in seconds, taking it from you and helping you put it on. You shivered at his breath at your throat and his hands on your collarbone as he draped the lapels over your neck. His deep chuckle made your stomach flip. He saw right through you.

“No one is waiting for me but my cat, Alpine. How about you, Ms. YLN? Anyone waiting for you in Brownsville?”

“Not tonight. No.”

Why in the world were you doing the sultry whisper thing? This man didn’t want you. 

Did he?

You cleared your throat and you felt dizzy when you looked up and saw how close he was standing to you. Those eyes and the smile that graced his handsome face had you warm, but the way he licked his lips had you spiraling.

Bucky pushed down a mild sense of panic that someone might be expecting you some other night, but that was irrational. Competition never ever entered his mind when he talked to other women. 

What was happening here?

“Well I would consider myself extremely fortunate and would be honored if we could continue this conversation over dinner.”

—-

The way James Barnes turned your meeting into a dinner date had your head spinning, but the wonderful conversation and easy, light hearted banter eased your mind. As soon as the first course was served at your table at dinner at Bohemian, he agreed to your initial price.

From there, once the terms were settled, the conversation turned to more personal questions, each of you sharing the stories of your life in your town, his childhood in Romania, your childhood in Brooklyn, and lots of funny stories.

At one point early in the night, Bucky stopped you from calling him Mr. Barnes.

“Please. Call me James. Or you could call me Bucky. My Friends call me Bucky. For my middle name, Buchanan. Bucky is short for Buchanan.”

Bucky found himself rambling. He had not been this nervous in a while.

You looked at him quizzically. At that moment, he would give you anything you were about to ask of him.

“Do you have a lot of friends? I mean, do a lot of people call you Bucky?“

Godamn, the husk in your voice, those lips, those eyes. Everything about you was about to set him on fire.

“I have a few who are in my close circle. Natasha, Steve, Sam. They and a very few others call me Bucky. Most people I speak with call me Mr. Barnes...”

You nodded slowly, licking your lips, making Bucky feel it in his cock.

“Then I will call you James.”

He got your subtle meaning. You wanted to be different. 

And you were. So very different.

After almost five hours of the best conversation and laughter, he proposed another time for you two to meet before the week was up, on Friday. He had made it clear at dinner that now that business was concluded that he wanted to spend time with you.

Friday night would be a date, the second one at his insistence.

You debated that fact as his driver took you home, even up until he walked you to the door of your brownstone.

He leaned against your doorframe and checked you out as you retrieved your keys from your purse. When you turned and caught him looking, you gasped, causing him to straighten up and move toward you, eyes dilated.

“It will be our second date,” you conceded.

Bucky’s mouth curled into a smirk as he grabbed your hand and lifted it to his mouth. Your soul burned as he pressed his lips to your palm. It was like the hint of a drug in your veins and you wanted so much more.

“What made you change your mind?”

That voice. Did you have a voice kink? Good lord.

You flushed, both at the images that were racing through your mind, and at the arbitrary three date rule you’d made up a while ago. Why was that again?

You cleared your throat.

“Because of the way you are looking at me, James. And the fact that you just kissed me.”

“Is this a kiss?”

“Ummhmmmm.”

You hummed as Bucky raised his eyebrow and your hand again. This time, he brushed his lips against your wrist and inhaled the perfume lingering there. You were about to melt.

Bucky didn’t even know what he was doing. The next step in his mind was to open his mouth and consume you, but he opened his eyes and spied you looking at him in that way, and he knew he had to stop. He didn’t want this to be like all of his other conquests.

He straightened up, but didn’t let go of your hand, entangling your fingers together. 

“You are correct, Y/N. In my mind, this is a date. I am interested in you, for more than just your taste in art. I hope that this is the first date of many.”

You were bowled over at his straightforwardness. It was not what you were used to. This was a man, not a boy in mens clothing.

“I appreciate your honesty, James.”

You went on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, your lips lingering on the black and grey stubble so close to his lips. You turned around, giving him a view of your backside as you opened your door.

“And your ambition.”

You gave him that smile again with a wink, and your “Goodnight, James,” floated up to him on cloud nine.

——-

Let me know if you liked it!

Part II here.

[marchsfreakshow]

Stars [Stan Bowes]

Fluff / Angst

Star watching was your favourite past time, always had been. So it's no suprise that Stan wanted to join you this time around.

Erm first Stan thing pls be nice to me this will sound horrible. I'm currently on Stan Bowes brainrot I fucking hate him he's an asshole but I also adore him it's very annoying. So.. expect this to be self-indulgent.

Not proofread lol.

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Stars are the least lonely things in the universe. Other stars are constantly surrounding, never leaving alone.

Which is why you supposed they were so interesting to watch late at night. A lonely one in the sea of other stars. Tonight was no other night. Just the hill away from the city, with a blanket resting on it. You looking up and admiring those stars. It was silent, as silent as you could get when you could hear the hum of city life in the background. That was, until another car pulled up on the dirt road behind you.

Looking back into the night, you could only see a figure walking up to you. They reached the blanket and sat down next to you. "Room for another?" Ah, the man you were currently in lust with. Despite the instant guilt tugging at your heart, you went for his lap, curling yourself up on his chest and his shoulder. "Missed me that much huh?"

"Yeah.." You admitted sheepishly, glancing up at Stan. The moonlight only glowed, an unnoticeable light shining on the both of you dimly. The only response you got from the man was him lifting your chin to meet his eyes, pressing a kiss softly to your lips. The softest, sweetest kiss Stan had ever given to you.

Another star shining brighter than the one you focused on earlier. Your focus shifted to that star. "Never noticed how pretty the sky looks.."

"because you're never paying attention to the night sky. You're too busy..."

Silence for a few moments. Another stinging guilt pulling at your heartstrings. Maybe you shouldn't've said that. It pulled the both of you back to that disheartening reality. It wouldn't cause a beautiful supernova like the stars do when they die. It wouldn't be like any breathtaking space view you imagined. The reality was rocks and dust hurling itself through another planet, crash after crash. Never finding a moments peace. A reality that you didn't want ever. But one you were most likely stuck with.

The lust would only work for so long, and you both knew it.

"I'm sorry."

Dimly lit eyes close to yours as those words were spoken. "Those words shouldn't be towards me Stan."

He shook his head. Rested his head to yours, just enjoying a few moments of quiet. Quiet under those damned stars. Those stars that meant absolutely nothing but everything to you at the same time. Remicisint of this horrid, dreadful yet thrilling and love filledl affair. A love filled affair...

Love...filled..?

That's not right. It shouldn't be love, never. It was always lust. Love only made your hear-

"love...a shooting star." Eyes away from the man, up at the black and purple sky, a quick shoot of light over your head. To be with Stan without guilt. That's what you wanted. To be his pretty face hanging off his arm as he drove you around those places you loved.

Another kiss. Another sweet, soft kiss pressed your parted lips. Carried on as you found yourself, losing your soul into his once again.

Those damned stars.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tags: @babygorewhore / @taintandviolent / @oceanblvd111 / @nahoyasboyfriend / @coentinim / @slutforgarlogan / @briaroftheroses @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re /. @evanpeterspeter / @feefymo / @fear-is-truth / @lacucarachapisser / @marchsfreak / @saintlucretia / @jazz-berry / @corrodedmilk

[doll3tt33]

Stan picking you (his boss’s daughter) up from a party 𝜗𝜚

The greeting message:

I had this idea in mind for awhile now and I finally got around to making another Stan bot for this scenario, even though I should def focus on making bots for other characters lmaooo.

[evanchantingpeters]

It's giving golden retriever. I'm here for it!

"Spectacular! Gimme 24 [pics] of them right now".

[trueangel420]

Ghostface!Kai / wc 1856/ “do you have a boyfriend?”

You leaned on the counter, the popcorn in the microwave clacking as you absentmindedly watched the horror movie playing on the TV in the living room. It was another monotonous Friday night, and you found yourself babysitting as usual. This time, it was an odd little boy you called Ozzy, who was obsessed with clowns—so much so that he had the creepiest clown figure in his room. You tried to ignore it; after all, he was only ten, and watching him didn't require much effort. Ozzy was self-sufficient, only needing you to answer his endless curious questions and read him a bedtime story. Now, you were the only one awake, feeling increasingly bored. The microwave dinged, and you turned to retrieve the popcorn, pouring it into a large bowl. Before you could grab a handful of the buttery snack, the landline rang, its noise obnoxious and loud. You shuffled over to answer it, bringing the receiver to your ear with a small breath. You expected Ally or even Ivy, but instead, you were met with a static-like noise that made you wince and pull the phone away slightly. "Hello?" you said softly into the receiver.

You waited for a moment, growing increasingly impatient before hearing a dark chuckle with an almost robotic tone. "Did you know today was Halloween?" the voice said, making your eyebrows furrow. Something told you not to entertain this, but your boredom got the better of you. "No, I didn't," you replied truthfully. You had been so busy babysitting Ozzy this week that you hadn't even glanced at your calendar.

"Do you like scary movies?" the voice continued. You nibbled at your bottom lip, leaning on the kitchen counter. "No, stranger, I don't really like scary movies," you answered, prompting him to tsk tsk at you. "Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked. You let out a small scoff, laughing a bit as you glanced at your nails. "Why? You wanna be my boyfriend?" you replied in an amused tone.

"You shouldn't tease me like that, doll," he hummed into the phone for a moment before letting out a breath. "Especially dressed in that little tank and that pink skirt of yours... is that a bow?" Your heart skipped a beat, and you instinctively looked down at your outfit. How could he know what you were wearing? You scanned the room, your eyes darting to the windows and the dark corners, but saw nothing unusual.

"Who is this?" you demanded, struggling to keep your voice steady despite the growing unease.

He chuckled, a sound that sent chills down your spine. "You know me," he said, his voice clear and unsettling. Without thinking, you blurted out, "You're a fucking creep" Immediately, you regretted it, covering your mouth. That was a bad choice. The voice on the other end of the line let out a slow, sinister laugh. The voice oozed with a dark, mocking tone. "You know, I've always liked how feisty you are," he said, the words dripping with a twisted sort of charm. "It's one of the things that makes you so... intriguing."

You tried to steady your breathing, struggling to keep calm. "What do you want from me?" you asked, forcing your voice to stay even. "Oh, it's not what I want," he purred. "It's what you're going to give me. I'm just looking forward to our little game, doll. I have a feeling you're going to be a lot of fun."

You nibbled on your bottom lip, looking outside the window as you leaned forward on the sink. "Wha-what do you mean?" you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. The voice on the other end took on a teasing, ghostly edge. "Oh, come on, don't play coy with me," he said, his tone dripping with flirtatious menace. "You know exactly what I mean…I can't wait to see that fear in your eyes up close, especially when i stick my knife in you." 

"What?" Your voice trembled a bit, trying to grasp the full implication of his words. The line went silent for a moment, and then you heard a low, almost inaudible whisper.

"Turn around."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you quickly turned, your eyes scanning the dimly lit kitchen. The shadows seemed to stretch and morph, playing tricks on your mind. There was no one there, but the feeling of being watched was overwhelming.

"See you soon, doll," the voice said, just before the line went dead. You dropped the phone, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Panic surged through you, and you knew you had to get out of the house. Now. You sprinted upstairs, heart pounding, and burst into Ozzy's room. The boy was still sleeping, oblivious to the danger. You shuffled over to him, shaking his shoulder urgently.

"Ozzy, wake up," you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady. "We need to go, now."He stirred, groggy and confused. "What's going on?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "No time to explain," you said, your voice trembling. "I need you to hide, okay? Don't come out." You grabbed the phone out of your pocket and dialed the police, your hands shaking as you pressed the numbers.

As the phone rang, you guided Ozzy towards the closet, helping him crawl inside. "Stay quiet," you urged, closing the door just as the call connected.

"911, what's your emergency?" the operator asked.

"Someone's in my house," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Please, send help quickly." You stayed on the line with the 911 operator, your heart racing as you gave them your address. They assured you that officers were on their way. Every second felt like an eternity as you crouched by the closet, keeping an eye on the door.

Within minutes, you heard the sound of sirens approaching, followed by a firm knock on the front door. You hurried downstairs, throwing open the door to find two police officers standing there. "Are you the one who called?" one of them asked, his eyes scanning the area. You nodded, your voice shaky. "Yes, please come in. I think someone's in the house." The officers entered, quickly spreading out to search every room. You stayed close behind one of them, your heart pounding with every step. They checked the kitchen, the living room, the basement—every possible hiding place.

After what felt like an eternity, they regrouped in the living room. "We've checked the entire house," one officer said, his expression serious. "There's no one here." "But I heard him," you insisted, frustration and fear mixing in your voice. "He described my clothes. He knew what i was wearing."

The officers exchanged glances. "Sometimes, these kinds of calls can be pranks or misunderstandings," the second officer said gently. "But we'll file a report and increase patrols in the area. If you hear anything else or see anyone suspicious, don't hesitate to call us again." You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and lingering dread. As the officers left, you went back upstairs to get Ozzy. Opening the closet door, you found him curled up, looking up at you with wide eyes.

"Is it safe now?" he asked, his voice small.You nodded, trying to smile reassuringly. "Yeah, it's safe. The police checked everything. I'm going to call your moms, okay?" you said, trying to keep your voice steady. When Ally and Ivy arrived home, you filled them in on what had happened—well, not everything, but enough to avoid making Ally overly anxious. Afterward, you retreated back to your house. Ally offered to drive you, and you accepted. Luckily, you didn't live far from Ally's place, and she made sure to watch you unlock your door.

"Try to be safe, hun," she called out as she started her car.

You shuffled inside, locking the door behind you and turning on the lights. Letting out a sigh of relief, you crawled onto the couch and turned on a random channel, trying to distract yourself. Your mind raced with a mix of fear and unease, especially since the voice on the phone had sounded faintly familiar.

The next morning, you found yourself nibbling on a piece of bacon, your nerves still on edge. You'd called off work, unable to shake the lingering anxiety from the previous night. Every sound in the house seemed amplified, and you couldn't help but keep glancing toward the door, half-expecting it to bust open. You grabbed your phone, wrestling with the urge to call your neighbor and ask if he'd heard anything about what happened. Your fingers hovered over his contact before you finally pressed it, your heart pounding as the phone rang.

Kai answered groggily, as if he'd just woken up. "Yeah?" he mumbled, shifting around on the other end. "Did you hear?" you asked quickly, not wasting any time. Kai was your neighbor and, despite his intense demeanor, he'd been kind to you when you moved in, even helping with the boxes. "About last night? Yeah, I heard," he said, clearing his throat. He glanced out his window, his gaze landing directly on you. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry," you murmured into the phone. He let out a fake sigh. "Yeah, you did, doll. But it's okay." His face held a smirk, knowing all too well how clueless and trusting you could be. "It was so scary, Kai. I was babysitting and—"

"And you got a call, and they threatened you?" he interrupted, finishing your sentence. You nibbled on your bottom lip, letting out a breath."Yeah, how did you know that?" He let out a small laugh. "The news, doll." The suspicion you'd been feeling faded as you rolled your eyes at yourself for even doubting Kai. "Right, yeah. I even called off work, so I'll be stuck in my house all day," you murmured. "Maybe I'll swing by and make sure you're safe," he said softly, his eyes still fixed on you from his window as you nibbled on the bacon.

"That would be great. You're so sweet, Kai," you replied, your cheeks flushing. Maybe you liked Kai more than you let on, but it seemed he was always there for you when you needed him.

After the call ended, and you settled into your couch, curling up in your favorite nightgown. You turned on some trashy reality TV, letting the mindless drama provide a distraction from the lingering tension of the night before. As the skies started to darken, you continued watching the show, debating whether to turn on the lights. You felt too lazy to get up and didn't want to miss any of the unfolding drama on TV. The phone rang, jolting you from your daze. Your heart skipped a beat as you glanced at the screen, half-expecting it to be Kai checking in. You reached for it, trying to steady your nerves. The phone displayed an unknown number. You hesitated for a moment before answering, your anxiety spiking. "Hello?" you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Missed me?"

[darlingdaisyfarm]

୨ৎ hot summer night (Ford x fem!reader)

minors DNI

In the sweltering heat of a summer night at the Mystery Shack, you find yourself unable to sleep and stumble into the kitchen for a glass of water. Little did you expect Ford Pines to find you here like this, almost naked. God knows Ford tried. tags: sexual themes, nsfw, smut, kitchen sex, p in v, oral sex, praise kink, dirty talk, loud sex, from sub to dom ford, teasing

You look at the ceiling, the night silence is broken only by the buzzing of an old fan in the corner of the room. It’s unbearable, the heat. Kicking off the thin sheet that was sticking to your legs, you sigh. The twins are probably passed out, you think and prove of that is Stan's snoring could practically be heard through the walls. But you. . . you're damn awake, too hot to even think about sleep.

Screw it.

You slip out of bed, stretching your sore limbs. The old wooden floor creaks under your bare feet as you pad quietly down the stairs in nothing but a bralette with a tiny bow and your panties. Who the hell was going to see you at this hour, anyway?

The kitchen is dark when you step inside, and the thought of cold water is enough to make your mouth water. You take a glass and fill it from the tap, feeling the coolness under your fingers, which is a little relief in this damn heat. You take a sip, sighing, your body relaxing for the first time all night.

Then you hear it.

A shuffle. Someone’s steps.

You freeze, heart pounding. Fuck. You spin around, nearly dropping the glass, only to see him standing there. Ford. Great, just your luck. Stanford Pines, of all people, is here in the middle of the night. And you? Half-naked, barely anything covering you.

You feel your cheeks flush immediately, not just from the heat anymore. "Shit, Ford!" your voice barely above a whisper. "i thought everyone was asleep."

He looks as surprised as you feel, adjusting his glasses, eyes sweeping over you before darting away just as quickly. "I- I couldn’t sleep," he mutters, looking anywhere but at you, his normally calm voice sounded awkward at this moment. "too much on my mind, I guess."

You nod, trying to act casual, but the air between you becomes tense.

Ford fiddles with the rim of his glasses, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I didn't mean to interrupt,” he says, but his gaze just keeps returning to you, despite his obvious efforts to look away. What a beautiful sight in front of him. His eyes flick to the window, to the floor, but you’ve already caught him glancing at you more than once. It’s quick, like he's really ashamed, like the sight of you in just your bralette and panties is something he shouldn’t see, but can’t help but stare at.

His reaction to you isn’t what you expected, he’s usually so composed, so wrapped up in his own world of journals and interdimensional science that it’s like nothing could shake him. But here he is, standing in front of you, and he can’t take his eyes off your body. You stand here awkwardly. Ford clears his throat, his eyes flicker up to your face, but then you catch him, a quick glance downward, right at your bralette, to your nipples.

You shift uncomfortably, tugging the hem of your bralette down instinctively. “I just. . . needed some water,” you’re trying to break the tension

Stanford nods, but you catch him again, his gaze darting lower, this time lingering on the curve of your thighs, your panties hugging your hips. His Adam’s apple twitches as he swallows hard. You watch him adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose, his hands tremble slightly.

He’s trying not to look, but it’s obvious. He’s failing.

And the worst part? He’s clearly beating himself up over it. “I. . . shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles as his brows furrow, deep lines cutting across his forehead, like he's angry with himself. You don’t say anything, and that only seems to make it worse for him. His eyes fall shut for a moment, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm- damn it. I shouldn't-“

You know you should say something, anything, to break the tension, but instead, you just stand there, watching him struggle with his own thoughts. His eyes open again, and this time when he looks at you, it’s different. There’s heat in them, something he clearly doesn’t want to feel. His eyes trace the lines of your legs, lingering a little too long on your bare thighs, and then up again to your bralette.

"Ford. . .” you start, but he cuts you off with a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "God, what the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t-“ he rubs a hand over his face, turning away slightly, like he’s trying to physically stop himself from looking at you. "I’m too old for this. For you."

You turn away from him, feeling the need to focus on something, anything, other than the heat pooling between your legs what makes you unbelievably wet and horny. The sound of water pouring into your glass is the only thing filling the silence now, but you can feel his eyes on you. Even with your back turned, you can feel him watching.

As you stretch up to place the glass back on the shelf, your shirt rides up just a little, exposing more of your lower back and hips. You don’t do it on purpose, but it’s like the air gets hotter, the tension between you two almost suffocating. And now it’s not because of summer. You’re not oblivious. You know he’s still looking.

Behind you, Ford’s breath hitches, and you hear him shift awkwardly. His mind’s at war with itself. He knows he should turn away. No. . . He must walk away, run away. But he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze locks onto the soft curve of your waist, your hips, the way the fabric of your panties hugs your skin. It feels wrong, so fucking wrong, but he can’t help himself. His eyes drift lower, following the delicate lines of your legs.

Stanford feels a stirring deep in his gut, an unwelcome, insistent pressure building. "Shit. . .” he mutters under his breath, barely audible.

Blood runs to his cock, he’s getting hard and he knows he shouldn’t be. Every logical part of him is screaming to stop, to tear his eyes away, but his body and feelings betrays him. He watches as you stretch again, the hem of your bralette lifting, exposing more skin, and feels how his pants are getting tighter.

You catch the faint curse slip from his mouth, and for a moment, you pause, gripping the glass tighter in your hand. You don’t need to turn around to know what’s going on behind you, but there’s something that makes you curious. Part of you wants to tease him, just a little more, but you stay quiet, pretending not to notice.

“Ford, are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, fine.”

“You sure? You seem. . . tense,” you say, dragging the word out just enough to make it obvious you know exactly what’s going on.

He clears his throat, but there’s no hiding the fact that he’s clearly struggling to keep it together. “I’m- I don’t know what’s wrong with me, goddamn it, I’m sorry.”

Your lips curl into a small smile. "You don’t have to be," you say, turning around fully now, your eyes locking with his. "I mean, it's not like I’m exactly dressed for modesty right now."

Ford runs a hand through his hair, clearly at a loss for words. He opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a weak, "You should. . . put on something more."

Your eyes linger on him, the way his chest rising and falling as he’s breathing heavily. You know you should feel awkward, embarrassed even, but you don’t. Instead, you feel something else. You take a step closer, just enough to close the gap between the two of you, and watch as his eyes widen. And then you do it — you slowly lower the strap of your bralette, letting it slip off your shoulder. His gaze follows the movement instantly, like he's mesmerized, completely unable to look away.

Ford’s eyes glued to the skin you’re revealing. He’s biting the inside of his cheek and you can see the conflict all over his face. His body betrays him, his hands twitch at his sides, like he's fighting the urge to reach out, to touch you. He swallows hard, trying desperately to keep control, but it’s so obvious he’s struggling. His pants are unbearably fucking tight now, a bulge straining against the fabric, and it hurts him so bad. 

"Jesus Christ. . . what are you doing? you-you shouldn't-“

You tilt your head slightly, letting your fingers toy with the other strap, but you don’t lower it, yet. “What?” you ask innocently, your tone light, teasing. “does it bother you, Ford?”

He’s quiet again for a second as he tries to force out words. “This- this isn’t right.” 

You take another step closer, almost closing the space between you. His breathing is ragged now, his gaze hungry despite the guilt clouding his features. “I don’t know, Ford,” you murmur. “you don’t look like you want me to stop.”

He groans softly, his body tensing at your words, his dick is going to explode.

Ford’s eyes dart around the room, searching for some kind of escape from the situation. His hands grip the edge of the counter as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “No, we can’t. . . not here-“

You tilt your head, feigning confusion, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Not here? oh, then in your room maybe?”

He shakes his head. “Fuck, no, I mean- fuck,” he stammers, trying to find the right words but only fucking up more. “This is- this is insane,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I’m supposed to be- damn it, I’m old enough to know better.”

“Ford,” you say softly, “you don’t have to be so hard on yourself. I mean, it’s just us here. What’s the harm?”

“I shouldn’t be doing this. You- you have no idea how much I want to. . .”

You lean in, your voice dropping to a whisper. “But you do want to, don’t you?”

Ford’s eyes snap open. “Yes, but- but we can’t”

You cut him off, gently pressing your body against his, your breath warm against his ear. “Why not?” you whisper, your lips brushing against his skin. “tell me what’s stopping you.”

He groans, his control slipping even further. “God, this is such a bad idea, im so fucking attracted to you, but this- it’s not right.”

“Isn’t it?” you murmur, your lips grazing his ear as your hand lays on his bulge, slowly and gently caressing it. His cock twitches.

You press closer, your words a siren’s call, tempting him, he swears he’ll just cum right in his pants only from your voice, he doesn’t even wanna think what’ll happen if he’ll fuck you.

“Tell me, Ford. Did you think about how your fingers would feel in me? what you’d do with them?”

He’s fucking surprised, what a fast girl you are, straight to the point. “I- shit,” he hisses. “i imagined them everywhere. Touching you, your, oh my god, your-“

You interrupt him, leaning in closer, your breath warm against his lips. “You don’t have to imagine anymore,” you whisper, your hands sliding down his chest to the waistband of his pants. “i want you to touch me. Everywhere you’ve dreamed about.” you whisper as you smile against his ear, your fingers slipping under the waistband of his pants, brushing against his skin. “You want me to tell you where I want your fingers? i want them. . . right here.” you press your fingers locked with his to the inner of your thigh.

His breath catches and he fucking groans again. “Jesus. this is- this is so fucked up, but I can’t, I can’t stop.”

Slowly you lower yourself to your knees in front of him. His eyes follow every movement. It can’t be happening. “do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You look up at him with a smirk, your fingers teasingly brushing against the bulge in his pants. “I think you know exactly what I’m doing,” you murmur, “now, let me show you just how much I want you.”

You brush your fingers gently over his clothed hardness, feeling the way he twitches under your touch. Ford’s hands tremble, his control slipping away with every touch, every word. He looks down at you, his face a mix of need and regret, his body aching with desire as you take the final step, his cock springs free, already hard and throbbing and you look up at him with a wicked grin. Then you bring your lips to his tip, giving it a light kiss. His fingers grip the counter for support, knuckles white against the wood.

“Fuck,” Stanford mutters, bucking his hips. “Please, just don’t stop. . .” Ford’s eyes roll back, his head falling back against the cabinet as he struggles to keep himself together. He’s lost in the sensations, his entire focus on the way you’re swirling your tongue around his tip. “Mmm-! yeah, yeah. . .”

You take him into your mouth, slowly, your tongue curling around him in a way that makes him gasp. Fuck, he tastes so good and you enjoy the way he shudders and moans above you. His hands find their way to your head, all six fingers tangled in your hair as he tries to hold onto something, anything, to keep from losing himself completely.

“Aghnn, s-such a good girl-“

You hear his praise and take him deeper, your head moving with a rhythm, drawing out every groan and sigh from him. As you suck his cock, you can feel the ache between your thighs growing more intense. The more you please him, the more he moans, the more horny you get, fuck, you’re getting awfully wet from this. And you find your free hand slipping between your legs, pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties.

Ford’s groans fill the room, so desperate as he holds your head and fucks your mouth, but when his eyes flick down and see your hand moving between your legs, something snaps inside him. “Shit,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his hips bucking slightly into your mouth. “I- oh god, baby. . .” Ford’s gaze locks onto you, and his breath hitches at the sight of you rubbing your clit while you continue to take him in your mouth. He can see how you’re trying to satisfy yourself. His hands move to your shoulders, gripping tightly. “I can see how much you need it. I can’t just let you do this alone.”

You pull away, your face flushed and your breaths ragged. You look up at him, all turned on and hot.

“Let me take care of you, babygirl.” last thing you hear him say before he lifts you effortlessly, his hands gripping your thighs as he turns you around and bends you over the counter. You gasp in surprise, your heart racing as the cool surface of the counter presses against your skin. Your panties are pushed aside as he positions himself behind you, his cock, all wet from your saliva, rubs sweetly between your folds.

“Ford-!” you start, but he cuts you off with a slap on your ass.

“You’ve been teasing me all night. Now it’s my turn.”

You shudder at his words, your body arching into his touch. He leans over you, leaving kisses on your neck and groaning in it as his hands trail down your thighs until he reaches the waistband of your panties. His fingers hook under the fabric, pulling them down just enough to expose your dripping cunt, and his hand settles between your thighs, rubbing you slowly.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, sweetie,” he mutters. His fingers begin to work in slow circles on your aching clit, rubbing you.

You moan, pressing your hips back against him, desperate for more. “Ford-! ple-please. . .

He chuckles darkly, his fingers collecting your slick. “Oh, you want more, do you? After everything you did to me, now you’re begging?” his other hand slides up your back, pushing your body further against the counter, making your ass raise up even more as he teases you mercilessly. “You’re going to take what I give you.”

“Fuck- fuck yes!” you gasp, your body trembling under his control. His fingers work faster, the slick sounds of him rubbing you filling the kitchen as the pressure builds inside you. You’re panting, your body reacting to every touch, every stroke, your mind crazy . “I’m ready,” you whine. “I need you, Ford- pleasee!”

He pulls your panties down fully and steps back just enough to take in the sight of you bent over the counter for him, your legs spread, ass up, your skin flushed.

“God, you’re perfect, dollface,” he murmurs, more to himself, his hand running over the curve of your ass before landing a sharp slap that makes you gasp and press back against him.

You feel his hands steadying you as he rubs his length against your soaked pussy. Every inch of him is hard, and you can feel how badly he needs you. “You’re going to take me now,” he whispers against your ear. “all of me.”

Without waiting for an answer, he thrusts his hips forward, sliding into you with a groan. You cry out, the sudden fullness overwhelming, but it’s exactly what you wanted. Your soft walls welcome him as you clench around his throbbing cock.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grits out, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulls you back against him with every thrust. “I’m not gonna last long like this.” 

You can barely respond, the pleasure is so intense that it leaves you breathless. All you can do is moan and gasp his name as he fucks you from behind, holding your waist.

His pace quickens, the sound of your bodies moving together filling the air, so fucking dirty. “Say my name,” Ford demands. 

“Fo-Ford-!” you gasp, barely able to get the word out as he thrusts deeper, his dick feels so good inside you. 

Ford’s body is pressed tightly against yours as he buries himself deep inside you, his hands gripping your hips as if he’s afraid to let go. Each thrust is followed by his groans and your moan. He fucks you so hard, holding your body like he’s trying to make up for lost time, time he spent denying what he wanted. 

“F-fuuuck,” he groans as he can’t believe this is happening. “I’ve thought about this, about fucking you for so long. Needed to fill this little pretty cunt. . .” 

He grips you tighter, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, and you feel his fingers dig into your skin. You’re both lost in it, his rhythm hard and fast, but there’s something in the way he moves—like he’s still in disbelief, like he thinks this is going to disappear. 

Ford’s thrusts grow more erratic and you can feel him losing himself in you completely. His breath is hot and jagged against the back of your neck as he pounds into you, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room, slap after slap. You can hear him muttering under his breath, words slipping out like he can’t control them anymore.

“Fuck, this is unreal. . . so good to be true,” he groans, each thrust deeper, harder than the last. His grip on your hips tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of how desperately he needs this, needs you. “Can’t stop- won’t stop.” you moan his name, your body arching to meet him and your eyes roll back.

Stanford’s hand slides to your front, his fingers rubbing roughly against your clit as he fucks you harder, deeper. That drives you mad, his thumb circling your needy clit, the pleasure builds in you fast, almost too fast, and you can barely breathe as he thrusts into your cunt. You’re both a mess, the heat between you making it impossible to think straight. 

Then, through the haze, his voice comes out, rough and desperate. "No, no, baby. . . need to see your face," Ford moans. "Need you to fucking see who’s filling up this tight pussy right now."

Before you can react, he pulls out and spins you around, pressing you against the counter. You barely have time to catch your breath before he grabs your thighs, spreading you wide and slams back into you. The force makes you gasp and his hands are everywhere, fingers gripping your skin, going to your breasts, cupping them, pinching your hard nipples through your bralette like he can’t get enough.

“I need to see your face, sweetie.” he leans closer to you. “need you to see who’s fucking you senseless right now, yeah?” you close your eyes tight being a moaning and whining mess under him. His eyes lock onto yours and he fucks into you much rougher. “Look at me while I fuck you,” he commands. “Look at me and see who’s fucking filling up this sweet cunt right now.” his hips snapping forward again, hitting deep- so deep you swear you can feel him pressing against your cervix. "im gonna fucking lose it, baby, look at me, look at me while I wreck this cunt."

You can barely focus, your vision blurred by the waves of pleasure crashing over you. You’re too breathless to respond, your body trembling from his pace, but you lock eyes with him. Ford’s movements are so rough, each thrust deeper and harder as he drives you both toward the edge. “You’re taking it so well,” he growls. “So fucking tight. Goddamn, such a good girl for me.” as he continues to pound into you. 

“Yes, Ford-!” you gasp. His words, his cock - it’s all too much. “im- im yours. All yours, ahhhn” you swear feel his cock dragging against every inch of you, his thickness stretching you so wide it’s obscene. Your head spins as his filthy words push you even closer to the edge, make you even more wet when you thought it’s impossible. “F-Ford, fuuck, i can’t-!” you whine, but before you can finish, his thumb is rubbing roughly yet so fucking nicely over your clit and you arch into him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he warns you as he can’t help but watch your pussy take his cock. “I’m gonna cum inside you, fill you up completely.” the pressure building in your core as he pounds into you, harder, deeper, relentless

Your own pleasure peaks, and you cry out, your body trembling as you cum hard, body convulsing as you finally break, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. You cry out his name, your thighs trembling as he keeps fucking you through it, his hips slamming into yours. You’re shaking in his hands, your little pussy so tight around him, milking him, every drop. Ford follows, his orgasm hitting him as he thrusts into you, filling you completely. 

You barely have time to catch your breath before Ford’s grip tightens and with one final, rough thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, groaning loudly as he spills into you. “Fuckkk, yes,” his voice breaking. “s-such a good girl, huh,” his body trembles against yours, his cock pulsing inside as he empties himself, filling you completely. you gasp again as you feel his cum filling you up and you just stay still, enjoying this feeling as he claims you, burying his seed deep inside your womb.

The intensity of his orgasm leaves him breathless, his body shuddering as he holds you tightly. He stands still against you, his legs trembling, both of you panting heavily, your bodies slick with sweat. “Jesus fucking christ. . .” Ford mumbles, looking at you. “I can’t believe I fucking did that." he looks down, watching as his release drips from between your legs. What a sight.

The room falls into a sudden, heavy silence, save for the sound of your breathing as you both come down from the intense high. Ford’s hands are still gripping your hips, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His forehead rests against yours. The realization of what just happened slowly starts to settle in.

Your eyes meet, wide and tired. Neither of you speaks for a moment, still shocked what just happened. Ford’s gaze flickers, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his lips parted as though he wants to say something but can’t find the words.

Ford swallows hard, his grip loosening just slightly. “I. . . I can’t believe it,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t think- damn, I didn’t mean for it to-“ he brushes a stray lock of hair from your forehead. 

The realization of how loud everything had been creeps in: the slamming of bodies, the gasps, the moans. Shit! Your face heats up as the thought clicks in your mind.

“Do you think. . .?” you begin, glancing nervously toward the hallway.

Ford’s eyes widen. He seems to understand what's going on at the same time as you do.

Then, from the hallway outside the kitchen, there’s the unmistakable creak of floorboards, followed by a very familiar voice.

“For the love of god, could you two have picked a quieter fuckin’ spot?”

[wannaeatramyeon]

DG x Reader: Bodyguard

G/N. Cracky. You, the bodyguard. DG, the 'helpless' idol. Masterlists

When the rest of DG's senior team insisted he get a bodyguard, he thought it was a joke.

What sort of idiot would attack James Lee.

Then he remembered he's not James Lee, at least not to the general public. He's Diego Kang, CEO of PTJ Entertainment, an idol with amazing moves and an ass that won't quit but no fighting experience.

Right. Right. 

He supposes that makes sense. It would've been suspicious to say no, especially with his legions of stans and stalker, and his prior history.

.

.

You're not exactly who he would have picked.

Bodyguards are usually monstrous, huge, intimidating men. You're not really any of the above.

In fact, you're kinda cute. And apparently your resume is also impressive enough too.

"Perfect candidate." 

"Extensive training." 

"Unmatched awareness." 

-were chirped into his ear before he gave you his nod of approval.

Besides, DG thinks it might work to his advantage to employ someone so unassuming.

.

.

"No upskirt pictures!" You yell at the paparazzi, parting them to make way for the pink-haired idol, and pointing accusingly.

DG, in a moment of complete confusion, peers down to his own legs in case he really did wear a skirt.

No. He's in his pants, of course he is. His clothing is supplied as part of his sponsorship deal. Why would he be wearing a skirt?

"What was that?" He asks, when you're piled into his minivan. Brows knitted together instead of his usual cold, impassive expression.

You give him a shrug, "Just in case."

"In case of?"

"Just in case," you repeat, tapping your nose and nodding knowingly at him.

.

.

Now, he remembers.

During one of his many many boring meetings, when you were officially under his employment and before you started, he had been warned you might be like this.

.

.

“No pictures today!” you holler and the paparazzi groan.

Someone brave enough shouts back why.

“DG lost all five MAMA noms and he’s in a terrible mood. He might ask me to kill you if you take any pictures,” you say back solemnly and without humour.

DG feels bitter but not that bitter. Upon hearing your words, he stifles a laugh into his sleeve and disguises it as a cough.

.

. 

To sum it up, you're an oddball. 

Still, DG tolerates you because of your flashes of brilliance and your brutal honesty.

"Here, sir." You offer up a steaming hot drink and DG raises an eyebrow. "Honey and lemon. For your throat."

When DG doesn't take it, you finally explain. "Your singing sounded awful, sir. Thought you might need it."

Ah.

He did think he sounded off but the yes-men at the studio told him otherwise. He should have trusted his own instincts and makes a mental note to replace them.

DG chuckles to himself before taking the first sip.

.

.

"No touching please," you jump in just as a fan is starting to get handsy.

"Excuse me?!"

You turn away from them, letting their indignant outrage slide off you and usher DG on to the next group to interact with.

DG gives you a nod of thanks and you give him a subtle wink back.

.

.

"You best not be zooming in on his tits," you snarl at another paparazzi. "No under boob, side boobs, any boobs!"

DG glances down at his chest. Fully concealed in a mock neck jumper. There's no bare skin on show at all.

"Can you explain?" He asks, once you climb in the minivan after him and slide the door close.

"You know." You say, handing over another honey and lemon drink.

"I don't, actually."

"You know," you repeat, eyes signalling towards his chest area and hand gesticulating at your own. "And, y'know." 

You nod at his hot drink and pull a face, indicating that he was pitchy as hell in the last rehearsal.

DG shakes his head at your antics but takes a sip regardless.

.

.

"For you, sir." You hold out a brand new baseball cap with both hands and head bowed respectfully.

"I don't want this."

"Yes but you need it."

"..."

"For your bad hair day."

"What?"

"Trust me, sir."

DG narrows his eyes at you. You're rude as hell, no tact at all. He’s not sure if you even have a filter, or you just say whatever thought pops into your mind. 

However.

Somewhere along the way, he finds that you're the only person that tells him the truth.

He takes the cap and thrusts it on his head.

"Much better!" You pipe up with an oblivious grin, adding insult to injury.

.

.

"What are you doing?" DG pulls a face as you wrap your arm around his waist and hurry him on.

"There's someone tailing you," you murmur, "I've been watching them for the last five minutes."

There is? How on earth did this person get past his radar?

As if answering his thoughts, you tell him, "They look like a normal ajumma. No-one would have suspected her if I wasn't watching."

You pick up the pace and DG matches you stride for stride.

"Your manager is waiting just up ahead with the car. I'll take care of them." You give DG a salute and a toothy smile as he looks at you in alarm.

In all honesty, you look a bit helpless. Yes, your resume looks great and yes, your recommendations are glowing but DG hasn't actually seen you in action yet. He can't help the way his stomach lurches thinking about you in danger.

And what if this isn’t an untrained, rabid stan, but someone who knows about his other life and is after James Lee?

"I'll be fine, sir!" You turn quickly and sprint off in the opposite direction at breakneck speed.

.

.

A couple hours later, after DG has paced endlessly back and forth, you show up at his office.

Your hair is a little out of place, and your regulation suit is a little dusty but you're otherwise untouched.

"Are you ok?" his eyes snap to yours.

"Of course, sir!" Your beam is as bright as ever.

DG exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, relief overwhelming him and he desperately wills his pulse to return to normal.

"Call me James," he sighs when he realises it's not working and his heart seems to beat quicker and louder now you're in sight.

You don't ask any questions like why James, why not Diego. You accept it at face value, no doubt having some secrets of your own.

Your smile is unfaltering as you respond, "Sure thing, James, sir!"