synopsis- due to your reputation as a renowned criminal psychiatrist, you're assigned to a difficult patient at riker's island. during a session, he makes an offer that tempts the boundaries of your professional curiosity.
starring- benjamin poindexter and psychiatrist!reader
rated- x (18+) for explicit sexual content, graphic nudity, and strong language
run time- 2.8k
“When’s the last time you got laid?”
Instantly your hand stilled, and your inked thoughts came to an incomplete halt on the page of your notebook. Lifting your head, you locked eyes with your patient, who was already watching you with a hint of mirth in his eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“You seem tense, Doc. Doesn’t seem like you’re doing much to relax-”
“This session is for you, Mr. Poindexter, not the other way around.”
Benjamin let out a quiet chuckle while leaning back in his chair, the chains connected to the cuffs around his wrists rattling.
“Sweetheart, I’ve told you my favorite ways to kill people. I think we’re way past formalities.”
He’d gone through several psychiatrists already. It was mandatory for his sentence, but he’d refused to participate. He was already in prison, and he had no delusion they would ever let him out. What could they really do if he just sat there and ignored everyone they assigned to him?
The entire time he’d been here at Riker’s Island, that’s exactly what he’d done. Every time someone new was brought in, Benjamin would sit there silently, sometimes barely blinking, and just stare them down. He never said a word. Until you.
You were lucky number thirteen.
You’d been made aware of Benjamin’s refusal to participate in therapy prior to being assigned to him. You had expected to have the same experience as your colleagues. But for some reason, he was different with you. He did talk to you. Sort of. He could be incredibly evasive, and sometimes he made comments just to see if they’d provoke a reaction, but he would participate just enough to keep seeing you and you hadn’t been able to figure out why. It was as puzzling to you as it was to everyone else.
Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you gripped your pen and continued to write.
“I’d appreciate if you focused-”
“Little hard to do when you look like that, Doc.”
His blue eyes wandered appreciatively over the half of your body he could see sitting across from you, and a wicked smirk stretched across his mouth when he met your gaze again. His remark caught your attention. You weren’t wearing anything out of the norm. It was a dress you’d worn in a session with him before. He’d never made a comment on it before, or on your appearance, until now.
All of a sudden, a lightning strike of clarity cracked through the clouds of mystery that surrounded him, illuminating an epiphany that made you feel stupid for not considering it before. Pausing your notetaking once again, you lifted your head to look at him, tilting your head to the side as you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.
“Are you only participating in these sessions because you desire me sexually?"
Benjamin pursed his lips faintly with a casual shrug, that smug smirk of his never fading.
“If you’re asking if I wanna fuck your brains out, then…yeah.”
He’d never been anything but blunt and shameless the entire time you’d been around him, so you weren’t sure why that cavalier comment affected you the way it did, but it sparked something within you that made your cheeks feel warm. Attempting to appear nonchalant, you calmly set your pen down in your notebook and leaned back in your chair while holding eye contact with him.
“So that’s why you’ve been so well behaved.”
“Good boys get rewarded.”
“You’re not exactly a good boy, Benjamin.”
“Oh, but I can be.”
He didn’t bother to hide the hunger that darkened his eyes considerably, and it was audible in the sudden huskiness of his voice. He leaned in closer until his forearms were resting on the desk, loosely gesturing around with his hand, making the chains rattle again.
“See? A little good behavior, a little cooperation, and now we’re alone. No cameras, no nosy guards, no two way mirrors. Total privacy.”
Because of his cooperation, and decent behavior, he’d been given a few more privileges. The big cuff that covered both of his hands was reduced to just cuffs around his wrists. No more guard supervision was required, they now waited outside. And recently, your sessions were able to be moved to an office instead of an interrogation room.
Everything started to fall into place, and his revelation made you let out a scoff of disbelief. He’d planned this.
“And what exactly was your end goal, here? You thought you could just talk me into sleeping with you?”
Benjamin let out an amused laugh, his lips spreading into a tooth bearing grin.
“You don’t strike me as someone who can be talked into anything, Doc. I thought making an offer would be more realistic.”
“An offer.”
Your voice was dry as you repeated his words, sounding as uninterested as you looked.
He stared at you for a moment silently, and for some reason the intensity of his eye contact made something twist in your stomach. The ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly sounded louder, like it was right by your ear, a clandestine countdown you weren’t privy to. He didn’t look away, and you couldn’t. It was like you were stuck in some silent staring contest.
“Let me eat you out.”
Of all the things you expected to come out of his mouth, that was not one of them. Your shocked surprise must have shown on your face, because he smirked as he leaned in closer and dropped his voice to an intimate whisper.
“C’mon, Doc. It’s a mutually beneficial offer. You get to relax, I get to taste you.”
A dry incredulous laugh bubbled up in your throat, and you couldn’t keep it from escaping. Arching one of your brows, you crossed your arms over your chest.
“You really expect me to believe you’ve been playing the long game just to go down on me?”
“It’s not just for you. Like I said, it’s mutually beneficial.”
You couldn’t believe it. He was serious. As far as you could tell, he was actually serious. Very rarely did you find yourself speechless, but you genuinely had no idea how to respond to that. There was the entirely plausible idea that he was fucking with you, just to see how you’d react. He didn’t exactly have many opportunities for entertainment, and being in solitary confinement, you were the only person he “socialized” with.
Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you attempted to redirect the conversation.
“Benjamin-”
“Again with the formalities. How many times I gotta ask you to call me Dex?”
“Nicknames are generally reserved for friends.”
“We could be friends. We could be very good friends, sweetheart.”
Leaning back in his chair casually, he clenched and unclenched his fists, making the metal of the chains connected to his handcuffs rattle once again.
“Look, I’ve been in prison for a while now, sweetheart. Certain needs I can take care of with a little imagination, but not that one. And I really miss pussy.”
You were supposed to be getting the conversation back on track and make him focus on the session. You should’ve threatened to end it early for how inappropriate he was being. But when he’d clenched and unclenched his fists, it had made his biceps flex, and you unexpectedly noticed just how taut the orange jumpsuit was over his arms and broad shoulders. Had he always been so…big?
“C’mon, Doc. I’ve been good, don’t I deserve something sweet? I promise I’ll make you come. You know I never miss a target.”
Flashing you a wink, Dex’s wicked smirk stretched wide across his mouth once again. That should’ve been the end of the conversation. You should’ve ended it before, honestly. But you’d been curious, and now your curiosity had put you in a confusing situation, because you should be getting up and calling the guards to come take him. But you didn’t. And he noticed.
“You’re considering it.”
“I am not-”
“You didn’t say no. You’re not walking out. You don’t even look offended or disgusted. As a matter of fact you look…interested.”
This time when he let his eyes wander over you with evident lust, you felt a shiver that straightened your spine despite there not being a draft in the room, and your skin prickled in response. He slowly tilted his head to the side, and it would’ve been menacing if he was threatening to harm you instead of offering to pleasure you.
“When’s the last time someone made you come with just their tongue?”
The heat that bloomed in your cheeks betrayed your silence, and his brows lifted, amusement breaking through the clouds of desire in his eyes as his words dripped with mock sympathy.
“Oh…no one ever has. Now that is a crime, Doc.”
A part of you felt ashamed for being attracted to him. You knew what he was, what he had done. Your brain was screaming at you for even entertaining the thought, for looking at him in anything but repulsion. But the guilt and shame that should’ve settled in your gut and made your skin burn was nowhere to be found. In its place was heat born from reckless curiosity, a carnal chemical demand, and a youthful thrill of doing something you weren't supposed to.
All at once you felt like a teenager again, sneaking out for the first time to meet up with someone you weren’t allowed to be with. What the hell was wrong with you? This was your patient, and he was a dangerous and violent criminal. This wasn’t just crossing a professional boundary, it was crossing a moral one too. But why did it feel so…exciting? Why did it have you pressing your thighs together and your body buzzing with anticipation?
Why did you want it?
“I won’t hurt you.”
His voice interrupted the flurry of conflicting thoughts and feelings he’d shaken up. He was still staring intently at you, but his smirk had faded into a more serious expression. There was a conviction in his voice that made you feel like he meant it.
“I don’t know that.”
“Trust me, Doc. You’re the last person I want to harm.”
Holding your gaze, he leaned forward again, dropping his voice to that intimate husky whisper that had a flame of desire igniting in your lower belly.
“It can be our little secret. You don’t have to take the handcuffs off. I won’t even touch you if you don’t want me to. All you have to do is come sit in front of me, take off your panties, and spread those pretty legs for me.”
You glanced at the closed door. It wasn’t locked. Anyone could come in unannounced, and that would be the end of your career. That should’ve been the moment the logical side of your brain took over and made you walk out. But instead you glanced over at the clock, noting that you had twenty minutes left with Dex, and your eyes fell on him again. The tension between you was like a dense invisible fog that made it almost difficult to breathe. He didn’t say a word, he just stared you down with his offer dangling in the silence.
You weren’t sure if it was even a conscious decision when you stood. It was like you were bewitched, your body moving of its own accord. Dex tracked you with his intense stare like a predator as you floated around your desk. He leaned back in the chair and spread his legs wide for you to fit between, and he eyed the hem of your dress hungrily. As you hauled yourself up onto the edge of your desk, you realized you’d never been this near to him before. He was even bigger up close.
He licked his lips as he watched you hike up your dress. Your fingers were trembling as you lifted your hips slightly to slip your lacy panties down your legs. When you slowly spread your thighs, Dex inhaled sharply, and his gaze zeroed in on your glistening cunt.
“Goddamn, Doc. You’ve been holdin’ out on me.”
He didn’t hesitate to lean in, dragging his tongue languidly through your drenched pussy, letting out a groan as he savored your taste. The warmth of his eager tongue and the vibration from his groan made your eyes flutter, and you gripped the edge of the desk with a soft whimper.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about how good you’d taste, how pretty you’d be.”
He took his time, taking another slow lick before turning his head slightly to gently nip at your inner thigh, earning another whimper from you. His pupils were completely dilated when he looked up at you from between your thighs.
“But I gotta tell you, sweetheart, the real thing is so much fucking better.”
Immediately his tongue found your clit, giving it a few swift flicks before suctioning his lips around it, and your eyes nearly rolled as you dipped your head back, your hand instinctively flying down to grip at his hair. He growled when you tugged at his roots, and the obscene sound of slurping was the only noise that combated your breathy panting and moans. The metal chains connected to his cuffs were cold against the backs of your thighs, digging into your skin in a way that was sure to leave indented evidence.
“Oh God-”
It was a subconscious reaction when you started to roll your hips, but he didn’t seem to mind that you were essentially riding his face. He groaned against your pussy, his tongue spreading you open and slipping inside you while you grinded your clit against his nose and clamped your thighs around his head.
You hadn’t realized you’d grabbed onto one of his cuffed hands until you felt him interlace your fingers together and squeeze your hand, a silent gesture of encouragement. You tried to be mindful of the fact that there were guards outside, but God it just felt so good. Dex was tearing noises from you that you’d never heard yourself make, and he made you feel things that only a battery operated toy had ever been able to conjure.
“Fuck…Dex…”
He pulled away just for a moment to glance up at you and growl out a command.
“Let me touch you.”
You were nodding fervently in an instant, and Dex hooked his hands under the backs of your knees to pull your legs over his broad shoulders. His reach was limited by the handcuffs, and the metal was biting into his skin as he pushed the boundaries of his restraints to be able to touch you, but he didn’t stop. One of his hands firmly gripped your thigh, and with his other he slipped two of his fingers inside you right as he wrapped his lips around your clit again.
Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream when his skilled fingers swiftly found that special spot inside you, stroking it in a ‘come hither’ motion while pumping his digits and suckling at your clit. Both of your hands were now tangled in his hair, and your thighs had started to quiver around his head while your breathing was reduced to choppy, staccato gasps.
“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck-”
Dex grunted at how roughly you tugged at his hair, tightening his grip on your trembling thigh. He was fingering you faster and harder, flicking his tongue over your clit like a metronome at high speed. When his teeth just barely grazed over your sensitive bundle of nerves, you completely shattered.
By the time you climaxed on his tongue, you were practically hugging his head between your shaking thighs, hunched over as a wave of raw pleasure cascaded throughout your body, leaving a tingling feeling of bliss behind. One of your hands had let go of his hair to clamp your own hand over your mouth to muffle a euphoric cry that was accompanied by wrecked whimpers as Dex kept licking your pussy, drawing out your orgasm, swirling his tongue like he was collecting sweet cream dripping down an ice cream cone.
“Dex…fuck…please-”
You begged for mercy with a whine as you pushed at his head, trying to escape his delectable torment. He still had his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, and the hum he let out that vibrated against the hyper sensitive bundle of nerves felt like getting shocked with a jolt. He chuckled against your core at how your body jerked in response. Releasing your clit with a soft pop, he finally leaned back to look up at you with a glistening grin. The lower half of his face coated in your wetness, and when he licked his lips, his eyes were almost as hazy as your own.
⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; A bit of Dex's sadism shows through despite his best efforts.
⋆ tags/warnings. benjamin poindexter x female reader. SMUT!!!! PURE PORN. im so tired of the "bullseye is innocent" crowd, that man is a SADIST, so warnings for sadism, lowkey sheltered dex, slightly rough dex, insecure dex, obsessive dex, you're his north star, he's having sex with the love of his life and lowkey doesnt know what to do, some HEINOUS things, dex is probably a virgin but knows how to use his talents during sex LMAO, swearing. i love this man, but he's such a hard character to write for. I hope i did him some justice.
♫ “What is mine, What is all mine. / Ain't a man in this world who can pull me down from my dark star. / Hold you just a little while, i'm gonna give her all my life.” Dark Star by POLICA
"Don't. Move."
The low, husky baritone of his voice commands just above a whisper. There's a tense expression on his face, one of his hands brought up to hold you still. Despite the bark in his words, the hold he has on you is weak. Like a fumbling boy trying not to damage a prized vase. A prized vase he just wants to throw against a wall and break.
Two of his fingers come up to spread the lips of your pussy with a swallow. His jaw is clenched so tight it might crack. His focus is unwavering, unable to be split on anything else other than that little sensitive bud of nerves of yours.
Intrusive thoughts rear their way through his head.
Touch her. Lick her. Fuck her. Shove your fingers down her throat. Take out your cock. Line it up like a shot. Just up until the head pops past that tight little ring of hers, and she spasms like you pulled the trigger.
His thumb brushes over your swollen clit- once, feather-light- and your hips twitch involuntarily.
There it is. No guesswork. Always so easy to find. You could pinch it until she screams. You could rub it until she blacks out. You could slap it raw. You could suck it between your teeth and finger-fuck her until she twitches. He thinks and thinks and thinks.
He doesn't register your pleas at first, trying to focus. Push these thoughts out of his head. But when he does, Dex’s eyes snap up to yours, dark and fixated.
“I said. Don’t. Move.” The words come out rough, but the warning is soft, almost gentle. It's that strict familiar edge underneath that makes your stomach flip. “You’re dripping down my fingers. And I’ve barely touched you. Look at this...mess.”
He says it like he's annoyed- but he's not. Not in a million years. But he takes the opportunity to degrade you, knowing it's one of the few times he'll allow himself to. God, if only he didn't feel guilty. He wars with himself most nights.
You are his North Star. He would kill any man, any woman, any child that looked at you wrong. He protects you. And you protect him from all these...impure thoughts.
So why is it, the more time he spends with you, all he wants to do is use that perfect aim of his to fuck you out so filthy he feels sick after?
The thought sits there, ugly and heavy. Dex hates it. He hates how hard his cock is, how his fingers are already soaked past the knuckle, how his mouth is watering at the thought of destroying the only person he’s sworn to keep safe.
His thumb stays glued to your clit, pressing with that terrifying accuracy. No wasted movement. He starts rubbing tight, mean, perfect circles that make your legs jerk.
“Stop twitching,” he mutters, voice low and rough. “I told you not to move. You can’t even do that right?”
Fuck. It gets him hot, talking to you like that.
His fingers curl hard inside you, stroking that same devastating angle with machine-like precision. The wet, obscene squelching fills the room.
"Look how easy you open up for me." He scoffs, but his lips twitch into a crooked smile. His voice drops even lower. “I could aim my cock right here-” he presses viciously against your g-spot, and out comes a groan from him.
He begins to abuse the spot uncontrollably, not even looking at his fingers ramming into that perfect place. No, his eyes are all on you, his breathing heavy and his teeth gritting, fighting for some semblance of composure. To make you proud.
But you're squeezing him so tight. And you're arching into his touch. And he's fucking his North Star. The thought makes his eyebrows pull together and a ragged breath fall from his lips.
“You want me to lose it? Huh?”
His thumb rubs your clit faster, merciless and accurate. Deep down, somewhere inside him, he knows you can't answer. He knows you can't do anything to resist even if you wanted too. And he likes that.
“Answer me.”
He pushes. Harder. Rougher. He hopes you know how sorry he is for this. But he knows that it would be all a lie. How can he feel sorry, when you're trapped up against him like this?
“Thought so.”
He yanks his fingers out, flips you onto your back with rough hands, and shoves your thighs wide apart. His cock is flushed dark and leaking as he lines himself up. No more waiting. He pushes in with one rough, thick thrust, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumps as he stretches you open.
“Don't… don’t move,” he hisses through gritted teeth, repeating, voice strained and mean. “Just take it. Take it.”
Every time you cry out, he has to close his eyes, still buried deep inside you. His intrusive thoughts tell him if he gets one more look at you, he might just give in and fuck you like the animal he really is.
thinking about pathetic loser boyfriend!benjamin poindexter who is so miserable without you…
people are sooo intimidated but you think that’s just crazy! you’ve never really understood it. see, the thing is: dex melts in your presence. he is the sweetest to you; he is attentive, gentle, chivalrous, kind, generous… everything your friends seem to exactly not think of him.
your guy friends hate him. they tell you that he says the weirdest things to them—like ominous warnings, threats to their lives even. but you call them delusional and deaf because there is simply no way! that is crazy! dex would never say anything like that :( they must have misheard or misinterpreted his words.
when you tell dex about it, he snorts and presses a kiss to your shoulder and reassures you that no, he definitely did not say that and yes, he thinks your guy friends are trying to get into your pants by talking badly about him. like they have a chance. which does make sense. more sense than dex threatening your friends’ lives, anyway.
your female friends think he’s… okay. a little intense, perhaps. certainly intimidating, but that one, you reason, is probably mainly because of his resting bitch face. dex just has that kind of face, you know? he just looks stern, serious. but he can’t help it, it’s literally how he looks, okay!
but you suppose it could be worse.
a few weeks into your relationship, you discover something: dex is highkey hyper co-dependent on you. it’s like he can’t be calm if he isn’t around you, like he is constantly anxious otherwise. you, teasingly, call it separation anxiety. you have no idea how right you are.
to other people, dex is this… incredibly intimidating-looking, super jacked guy who looks like he could kill you with one hand—little do they know…—but you get to see that other side of him: his vulnerable side.
because dex is absolutely miserable without you. you went to a friend’s wedding in a different country for a week, and seeing as you didn’t even know dex back then, you obviously didn’t take him with you. even though he pleaded and begged you to let him come with, he was going buy tickets on his own, he could look for a hotel in your area—but no. you turned him down with a giggle, come on, it was silly to spend that much money just for a week. besides, you reasoned with him, it was just seven days. it wasn’t that long.
turns out, it was. at least for dex. because when you come back, you find him moping all over the apartment, lifeless and depressed and absolutely miserable. like, the man doesn’t take care of himself, there’s bags the size of california under his eyes, he is overall just super tense, exhausted, tired and looks it, too. but the second he sees you though, it’s like the life is literally flowing back into him, and he brightens up immediately. like a flower finally receiving water after weeks of drought. he will then proceed to follow you around like a lost puppy, like he’s scared you’ll disappear again if he lets you out of his sight.
it is at this moment that you decide you will never leave him alone again. that poor man is suffering when he is not with you, and how could you ever put him through that?
dex knows he’s a little overwhelming. and he is so thankful that you put up with him, with all his little tics and needs. but he rewards you very generously, especially in bed, like when he’s burying his face between your thighs, tongue darting in and out of you skilfully, as he grinds against the mattress and moans because of how good you feel. if he’s honest, he loves eating you out more than any other position. mostly because he has you right where he wants you:
⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; This whole fic was inspired by this post by @masterfishbaiter71 ! Anyways, this entire fic is just about edging Dex til he has a meltdown and goes fucking crazy on you ;)
⋆ tags/warnings. benjamin poindexter x female reader. SMUT!!!! PURE PORN. Guys please don't edge Dex, for your own safety, warnings for sadism, mentions of dacryphilia for both dex and reader, dex taking his anger out on reader, kind of switchy vibes (starts off with somewhat subby Dex and ends with reader getting destroyed lmao), m!receiving oral smex, BLOWJOB BLOWJOB BLOWJOB, facefucking, sadomasochism, you're his north star, per usual that white boy loses his self control, emotional Dex, swearing. I saw this post and flatlined pretty much. I love my little dexy-poo. Again, tysm to everyones support on my fics! Im so excited for tommorrows episode!
♫ “Baby, I could slow down, if that's what you need me to do. / We can go another round, maybe to a new altitude. / I'll make you need it, and you want it.” Altitude by Montell Fish
"I'm...I'm trying-" He growls out a plea.
The words fall from his lips in short spasms and bursts. He's struggling to get them out, his jaw clenched like it might break. You see him white-knuckling the sheets, twitching like he wants to reach out and grab onto you. Onto any part of you he can get his hands on.
Your tongue flicks over his tip once, twice. Precum pools in a small bead at the top which you kitten lick off intently. You hear Dex moan- and it's a strangled, ragged sound.
"Trying to...what, Dex?" You tease. Laughing against his throbbing cock. He can't respond when you begin to just kiss the length of him, wet and hot. You feel his whole body jerk and a low groan tear out from him.
The only sound in the room is the slow, wet obscene noises coming from how you're working him. And the sound of Dex's heavy choked breathing.
He's close. So close. It's times like these you get to see his brain completely shut off, all the noise that plagues him turn into a pliant, quiet mush at the feeling of your mouth on him.
"I-I'm going to-"
Cum. He's going to cum. You know that, smirking around the head of his flushed red cock. Poor guy can't even finish his sentence. You almost feel sorry for him the moment you pull back.
The loss of your tongue is jarring. It's the third time tonight. You've been teasing him, watching his control falter with every lick and kiss. You've also been careful not to take him fully down your throat, cataloging every reaction he gives you. The sight of his pretty face contorted with a desperate, needy pleasure.
You chuckle when his abdominal muscles flex, his whole body tense. The absence of your mouth feeling like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on him. A sharp gasp is ripped from his throat, hips bucking in shallow thrusts to chase the loss.
His whole body taught with the effort not to snap.
You finally look up from your place between his thighs, if only to catch a glimpse of his face. You note his hollow cheek-bones twisted into a grimace at the loss. The beads of sweat trickling down his forehead and abs. The way his veins prominently stick out and throb from under his skin and forearms. The way his chest heaves at the lack of contact.
And yet, what finally gives you pause is when you meet his eyes.
His eyes. Those gorgeous, dark eyes of his- heavy lidded and red rimmed. Overstimulated and wrecked, like he's been crying, or at least is on the verge. Glossy and wet as he desperately attempts to blink them away.
For a moment, you think he really just is that needy. Crying for his North Star's mouth on him, eyes dimmed with nothing but complete worship. But when his eyes meet your own, biting the inside of his cheeks, it's when you finally notice the truth.
The way his brows are lowered. The way his body trembles. The way his cheeks are flushed. The way his cock pulses impatiently under your hand. His locked jaw.
That look of pathetic desperation in his eyes is nothing short of a hot, wild, frenzied anger.
He's not just needy. He's fucking furious.
Your train of thought is cut off entirely when you feel a hand come up, tangling in your hair, and pushing you down in one hard, smooth motion. You feel the head of his cock immediately hit your esophagus.
As if on instinct, you gag around him, throat tightening as he groans loudly. He pants as he pushes you all the way down, manhandling your mouth onto his cock like a fleshlight. He holds you there for what feels like forever, those glossy eyes of his drinking in the sight of you gagging on him.
"Breathe...Breathe through your fucking nose." Is all he orders, trying to catch his own breath while you sputter around him. The words come out harsh. The change of pace is jolting. His eyes are still wet with need, the hard lines of his body still rigid underneath. You feel his hands tighten in your hair to a pressure than borders on painful.
He's seething. That anger boiling over and melting into a mean look on his face he was trying so, so hard to repress for you. But you just couldn't let him, huh? Had to make him the bad guy.
He observes as your mascara quickly begins to run, your own eyes welling. Something about it makes him shudder. Only when he sees tears of your own does he begin to move. You two can cry together.
"Good. That's...That's good. That's it." He loosens his grip on you ever so slightly to pet your hair, take you in like the goddess you must be, his saving grace. His body begins to relax, coming down from his anger as his breathing calms down...right before he rams his cock sharply down your throat.
You let out a loud gag and whimper around his cock, and he inhales sharply in unison.
"All quiet now, huh." He grits out, shoving you down further as you choke. The force of his words are coupled with the sharp thrusts of his hips fucking up into your throat. When you whine, he decides to push you harder. "Look at me. Look at me."
His words sound like both a livid command and a desperate plea.
You struggle to open your eyes, but when you do, you're still met with bloodshot and glistening gaze that now completely matches your own.
He holds you there, both of you shakily breathing, tears pooling while you cry around his dick.
He briefly wonders if you knew. If you knew you were killing him like this. If you knew how hard he was trying not to grab your head and fuck your throat raw. Be...gentle.
Guess it doesn't matter now.
Dex’s grip tightens in your hair, fingers flexing like he’s still fighting himself even as he starts fucking your throat in short, brutal strokes. His voice is low, rough, and broken.
“Couldn’t…just...wait anymore.” The words come out both furious and strangled. Like he's desperatley trying to apologize, to tell you why, but they lack any and all remorse the more he bullies your throat.
Each thrust is measured but punishing, his cock sliding deep, stretching your throat until fresh tears spill down your cheeks. His eyes stay locked on yours the whole time- glossy, furious, and starving.
His thumb gently wipes a tear from your cheek even as he keeps ruthlessly using your mouth, the contrast between the soft touch and the vicious snap of his hips making your head spin.
He's close. Again. For the fourth time tonight. And something tells you this one won't end in broken pleas or shallow thrusts up into nothing.
He’s panting hard, hips snapping up faster, losing the last threads of control.
“Swallow it. All of it. Right now.”
His voice cracks on the last word. And with a final groan, he shoves himself as deep as he can go and holds you there, pulsing hard as he spills straight down your throat in thick, endless spurts. He stays buried, breathing ragged, thumb stroking your tear-streaked cheek almost tenderly while his cock twitches against your tongue.
He leans down to rest his forehead against yours, pulling you back up with a gentleness that contrasts his earlier actions. His touch is hot, the sweat of his body sticking to your own. Your throat will be sore tomorrow.
The two of you stay like that for quite some time, losing count of the hours. You might just end up kissing each others tears away.
Dex, who puts his hand over your mouth while fucking because your dirty talk makes him cum so fast. Don’t get me wrong, if he fucks you in a position where he can watch your face, he won’t last long when he sees those begging eyes of yours. But when you are so turned on and lust fully consumes your brain you start mumbling all the filthy words, he tries to shut you up with kisses. And when you pull away to murmur another sentence against his mouth he knows he’s already lost. You mumble how you want him to cum inside you, fill you up, all out of breath. Or you praise him, saying how good he fucks you, going so deep you can feel him in your stomach. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but your voice. He picks up the pace to fuck you harder, knocking the air out of your lungs along with the dirty words, mistakenly believing that it will silence you. The moment you tell him you want him to fill your mouth with his cum he is gone. He puts his big palm over your mouth to muffle your words so you can only whine and moan against his hand. And he can no longer hold it anymore, his hips lose their rhythm, thrusting erratically. He presses his hand harder against your mouth, thinking it might help him regain control. It does absolutely nothing. Your words keep echoing in his head. He is too far gone and the only sound you hear from him before he cums is a desperate groan.
toxic!jack abbot who never thought he’d have kids (f!reader)
tw: reproduction manipulation/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance
*****
Jack Abbot knows he’s missed his window. He’s fifty now, fully gray, and spent his thirties and forties too deep in grief to even consider looking at a woman, let alone kids.
Now, when the urge to reproduce finally shows its ugly head, it is far too late. Most women old enough to show any interest in him either don’t want kids or simply can’t. And no younger woman wants to shack up with a man like him— too old, too stubborn, too harsh.
At least, he thought that before he met the new med student.
You’re a nervous thing, eager to impress. A people pleaser, too, if your willingness to work the night shift is any indication. You’re smart, even Jack has to admit it.
And best of all?
You’re completely, utterly, unbelievably in love with him.
It doesn’t take much for Jack to get you underneath him. It’s only the third week of your rotation when you cave to his soft touches and gentle praises. He invites you over for dinner (“I do this for all the med students!”), and with a stomach full of good cooking, you don’t hesitate to roll onto your back for him.
Your cunt is unlike anything he’s ever felt. He knows from the moment he sinks in that you’re a keeper. You moan underneath him like the good girl you are, but when Jack is on the brink of coming, cock pulsing from the way you moan underneath him and your tits bounce at each thrust, you start pushing him away.
“Please pull out,” you beg. Despite how close you are, your eyes are wide and afraid. “I’m not on birth control.”
Like a fucking saint, Jack pulls out and paints your breasts with his seed. Like something a little more sinister than a saint, Jack catalogues that for later.
After that night, Jack assigns you to each and every pedes cases, makes sure to comment on how good you are with kids, how you’re a natural. The praise makes you squirm, but you always spin some long excuse about how you don’t plan on having kids for a long, long time. Jack just shakes his head. How naive you are.
You simply don’t realize how awful it would be for you to wait too long like he did. You’re so young. Now’s the perfect time! And wouldn’t you look so darling all round and swollen by his seed?
See, the thing is, when you come, you go somewhere else. Your eyes glaze over, you stop listening, and the only noises that come out of your mouth are sweet pants of uh, uh, uh. So, Jack starts having you ride him.
You’ve done it before, on nights when Jack’s leg is driving him up a wall, but not once on top have you managed to get yourself off of his cock on your own, too fucked out and brainless to remember you should. It’s always been Jack, ever the gentleman, who has lifted you off of him.
But… if you really wanted him to pull out, then you’d just get off of his cock.
At least this way Jack can wash his hands of it when you show up to work, red eyed and jumpy, three weeks later. Jack knows immediately what’s wrong (or right). You avoid him all night, going to Ellis or Shen for cases, dipping out of trauma room the very second a patient is stable, and locking yourself in the bathroom during your limited breaks.
Finally, he finds you, corners you in the staff lounge when you’re making yourself a cup of tea— mint. No caffeine.
“You’re avoiding me.” Jack cups your chin gently, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip, “What’d I do, sweetheart? Are you mad at me?”
“No, it’s…” Your eyes are glassy. Jack finds himself excited at the prospect of seeing you cry for him. “Could you order me a blood test?”
“Which patient?” He says like he didn’t understand what you meant.
“Uh… it’s for me.”
“A blood test?” He asks in faux confusion. “What do you need that for?”
You squirm, and Jack has to bite back his grin. Though, he can’t bite back the way his scrub pants are quickly tightening.
“Uh,” you scratch the back of your neck, voice hardly more than a whisper. “I think I’m pregnant.”
When you cry, Jack tucks your face into his neck so you can’t see him positively beam.
your best friend vivien hugo is so adamant that you two belong together, to the point where he’d do anything for that to happen | yandere themes, smut
best friend!hugo, who’s known you since the two of you could even learn to walk. he’s been your next door neighbor and school buddy forever and you know everything about him (so you think), and he does so for you too! he may appear quiet and calm, but you know your viví cares for you very much so. he's considerate of you all the time.
he protects you and has been doing so since elementary school, making sure everyone else was nice to you. then, when middle school came and you began getting asked out, your viví managed to make things less awkward for you as the day after you'd get asked out, those people just stopped bugging you... because your viví managed to deal with it. you couldn't be more grateful. even with his current position in the arsenal team and the fact that you now go to university in london, you are just happy and content that your relationship has never faltered.
yandere!hugo, who loves you. he really does. he's known you for majority of his lifetime and knows you like the back of his hand. you're his n/n, his sweetheart. hugo knows that sometimes, he can be a bit much (according to his stupid sister who keeps bugging him to leave you alone), but you're so grateful. you've been his only real "friend" who understood him when he went on his tangents regarding destiny and fate and whatnot, and that's when he realized you were the one for him.
all because you said "if destiny really is real, then i hope it's our destiny to be best friends forever!", and hugo as a child really ran with that.
but unfortunately, as the years go on, only more people come to realize your beauty—especially the idiots you two had the misfortune of having in your middle school class. how could they dare asking you out?! what if you got frightened? luckily for you though, you have him. and of course he’ll always defend you (albeit, maybe not for the reasons you may think). because why would he ever let another guy even think about being by your side? as his position as someone so close to you, he wants to help you—to lecture you. so he just gives you small lectures on what to do and not to do: don't make friends so easily.
yandere!hugo, who always manages to glue by your side. from middle school on out, your friends were his—since he didn’t want to make friends, because why would he if he has you? a small part of him liked it too considering the fact that your friends would joke around and ship you and him together.
that you were the sunshine to his moon, or something like that. and hugo loved it… he especially loved your flustered reaction to it. it was a reminder of how much he really has entered your life. you even have dinner together at times and would sleep in the same bed if you were up. he fucking adored it; even if your friends would blow up your phone, asking why you bailed on hangouts last minute, he would just block them... you're so close to each other, so of course you'd let him track you. he just wants to make sure you're safe, especially now in your university days where he's aware of how rampant parties can be.
so vivien resorts to his old habit of giving you "lectures". as a professional football player, of course he's been to parties and been everywhere and has learned things you haven't... so of course you have to listen to him when he says that there are scary things at parties that you couldn't even imagine—and that your new "friends" can sell you out at any moment. because of course, vivien knows best.
yandere!hugo, who has a habit of stealing little knick-knacks of yours; whether it be hair-ties or maybe even pens you've used (especially the ones you've bitten since you have such a cute habit of doing so when you're focused).
but the thing he (albeit, shamefully) favors, is your panties. fuck… he really liked your panties. his favorites were the ones he helped you pick out when you two entered to victoria’s secret together (since you’re close enough to do so… and vivien loved it when he was referred to as your boyfriend at the store).
he couldn’t help it—he just loved to use the soft lacy fabric and fist his cock against it, imagining how your soft skin once was clad with it. he could imagine just rubbing his cock against your panties while you cried of overstimulation, his tip throbbing with the friction and anticipation of entering your sweet cunt.
yandere!hugo, who tries to ruin any romantic relationships you ever tend to have. because why would you ever want to if you have him? it started in high school when you confided in him that you had a crush on someone on his football team; so what did vivien do? he assisted in setting that guy up with someone else. now of course this came with consequences as he hated seeing you cry—but it’s for your own good! how could you ever be with someone other than him?
then when he left to london for arsenal, he still tried his best to sabotage. any guy you’d post, he ended up blackmailing them on leaving you. he’d use his notoriety as arsenal’s star youth midfielder to manipulate these guys to leave you… because you belong to him.
yandere!hugo, who finally snapped the moment he noticed that you were paying attention to something else other than him. you're great at a certain class, and had been asked by a professor to tutor someone. fine—that's incredible (he knows you're amazing at what you do anyway), but how could you be so daft? that idiot you're helping tutor, his eyes just roam about your body and you just don't care? what?!
so he does what he always does, and gives you a lecture. but this time, this lecture was special. vivien enjoys romance movies (since he's simply projecting how he feels about you), and really gave his best performance as he burst into tears, confessing his love for you and kissing you so softly. and imagine his surprise as he sees that you return his feelings! now he really has to protect you. even if it makes you detest him a bit, it's just for your own good. because as he told you: "i love you more than you'll ever know."
yandere!hugo, who knows damn well how bad it is to deceive you, even while dating you. however, it’s necessary; he has to do what he has to do for your own good—especially if you’re to be his. so when you asked to go to a halloween party since your friends keep talking about it, he snapped… well not really (also didn't he get rid of those bastards?!).
he just smothered you in kisses and light touches… and just fucked you senseless so you’d forget about going to that godforsaken party.
"viví...o-oh god-!" missionary never did vivien wrong, especially now. it’s his favorite position—arguably the best sex position. he's fucking relishing in he fact that he can see everything—from the way your legs trembled in his grip, to how your wet cunt is stretched out from taking him, to the way your eyebrows are pinched together and your eyes watery from tears.
"are you gonna leave me now? hm, n/n? you wouldn’t? right?”
“haahhh—hic—n-noo, viví—! i w-would never!” you kept blabbing on, probably due to your horny and sexually overwhelmed state, "i'm yoursss! i-i'll always be yours... i'll n-never leave you."
vivien felt as if he could cum already the moment you said that... "hold out a bit more for me, okay?"
"mhmmm!" you were full on sobbing, gyrating your hips and arching your back above the mattress. your tattered halloween costume was still on, the lacy black dress that was apart of your vampire outfit split open. your mascara was running and your lipstick was speared across yours and vivien's lips—where he could even taste the gourmand essence of the cosmetic.
vivien could get used to this... to fucking you senseless everyday. because that's your destiny anyway. to be only his.
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ok this took me longer than expected to do (which is funny bc i was so excited for this request but like i hope i wrote it well and it isn't that buns bc sdclfqqpqod;doqpiqn i feel like this appears a tad bit ooc but yayayyayaya) thank you for your request, nonnie <33333
Robby finds Jack devouring your tits when he attempts to switch shifts. Jack's shift was supposed to end ten minutes ago, and Robby had tried to page him twice. No answer. Seems a little ridiculous to text or call when they have to be in the same building.
Usually, when the hunt for his friend becomes unnecessarily difficult, it means the guy is buried in a chart or is being ruined by you whilst saving lives. Multi-tasking and whatnot. Very useful skill.
Instead, as the sun rises, Robby finds Jack's face buried in your chest in a supply closet.
"Jack...please."
"Shh, Sleepy. I got you. Not gonna bite them off this time, I promise."
"...You can---can if you want to."
Robby hears it before he sees it, the wet slurping like someone was savoring a thick milkshake, drowning in your soft, breathy whimpers.
...He's not exactly sure how he knew it was you before he saw you. That's a bad guess. Bad in the sense of what the fuck?
Your back arches against the shelf with your bra pulled up, your tits spilling free, nipples swollen and very, very wet. Jack's got a well-lubricated mouth, apparently. Which might be why you look like you're about to collapse in your own slick.
Jack swirls his tongue. He licks. He suckles as your fingers clamp down on his hair, just as harshly as his mouth clamps down on you.
...His cheeks are hollowed out. You got him hollowing his cheeks out and drooling?
"You taste better when you're whining, baby."
He's nourishing himself off of Sunshine's body. And he's chosen to do it in the worst place possible.
Robby books it when Jack dives in deeper, sucking harder with his stubbled cheeks caving in, but his able to catch your hips jerking against his body.
...Didn't know you could get off to a tit like it's whiskey. Okay. Gross. Fucking hell. His face is burning. Everything's too loud. Should he let them finish? Probably, committing suicide would be trying to take Jack off of you.
"Gross."
So fucking gross. And the worst of all?
He knows he's gonna be fighting a hard-on his entire work day.
Sweet Dreams Bucky giving his girl free use, and he wakes her as usual, rutting against her in his sleep, so instead of letting him work through it on his own while she lays there dripping wet from his hard cock pressed up against her ass. Maybe she rolls him over, of course he whines a bit in his sleep from the loss of contact but it doesnt last long because you're straddling him in seconds, but he wakes before either of you finish and he's flipping you onto your back and fucking you into the matress. Whispering into your ear the dirty little dreams he was having of you on your knees for him and letting him enjoy his own meal 😏 calling you a good girl and telling you how proud he is of you for taking what you need... though it's really his fault in the first place 🥵🥵
I’m brining needy switch Bucky out for this.
okay. yes. this has to happen. I love desperate needy Bucky. Also what if the reader had some sweet dreams herself.
The original concept: Here
and a lil more here
And now...
You knew Bucky was a super soldier; you quickly learned the super part applied everywhere too. Super cock (but that’s all him, even before the serum). Super loads. Super horny. Super fucking horny. So much so, you find him whining and rutting against you in his sleep, mumbling your name, gripping your hips so he can grind his hard cock against you.
“Baby?”
You get no response aside from his little whimpers, he’s deep in his dreams, thinking about railing you, his face burying into your neck, hitching his leg over you while he spoons you from behind. He’s rubbing himself on you, his moans growing louder until he cums in his sweats, getting you both messy in the process because his load is big enough to soak though. You smile to yourself, your pussy clenching around nothing feeling his moments stop, his breathing steadying again and snuggling into you more.
Sweet baby.
Anyway, that’s how it starts. Why wake up soaked every night when you can just take care of your baby when he needs you? Your baby boy was so messy anyway; instead of letting him get cum everywhere, he might as well fill you.
Which makes him more feral than ever.
*****
Your body stirred, feeling your boyfriends arms warp around you tighter, his face nuzzled into your neck.
“Mmmh, y/n...”
He was still asleep, snoring softly in between his whimpers with his hips pressed against your ass. His cock was hard in his boxers, desperately searching for some friction, a sigh slipping from his lips when he rolled over slightly, so he could move better.
You blinked awake, feeling Bucky’s hard cock rutting against you, his sweet little moans and whimpers making your pussy start to drip. He was desperate, his arms wrapped tightly around your body, humping you as best as he could but you knew what he really needed.
You gently pull away from his hold, making him whine and whimper in his sleep, his face pouty because he can’t feel you anymore.
“No mommy...” He buries his face into the pillow, growing more needy, but his squirming stops when you gently roll him onto his back. He’s the most gorgeous sight imaginable, his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers, a prominent wet patch where the tip of his cock rests. You tug them down slightly, just enough to free his erection and an adorable content little sigh slips past his lip.
You carefully climb on top of him, your soaked pussy ready to take care of him, this was exactly why you stopped wearing panties to bed anyway. You lined yourself up, sinking down on his cock, moaning watching the way his face melted into pleasure. You started to roll your hips up and down on his cock, your pussy clenching over the way his brows were furrowed, his moans and whines half mumbled while he kept dreaming.
“F-faster...”
Your hands were planted on his chest, feeling his heart race. His hips started to chase more of your warmth, bucking and lifting off the bed, his head lulling to the side. You felt his cock harder, his pulse beating quicker; he was getting close. You slowed your movements to a filthy grind, loving the way he squirmed and moaned under you, such a needy restless baby.
“O-oh f-uucckk...mama let me cummm” His voice is strained, his begging made your pussy squeeze him. You giggled at his frustrated face, his hips desperately trying to move from under you. Bucky’s eyes hardly opened, seeing your perfect form wrapped around his cock, he could feel his orgasm right at the tip. He groaned, grabbing and wrapping his arms around you, rolling you over so your body was pinned underneath him.
“BUCKKYY” You cried out as he started to pound you into the mattress, his thrust unrelenting. You couldn’t control your moans, your vision already cloudy feeling him hit your g-spot repeatedly.
“You’re such a good girl for me, y’know that?” You could see Bucky’s dom side slip through momentarily, pulling away from your neck to lock his eyes with yours. “Such a good girl, love when you use my cock baby-fuck-so proud of my pretty baby”
Your eyes rolled back, squeezing and fluttering around him, only turning him on more because he knew you were as desperate as him.
“That’s my girl” He let out a dark chuckle, moaning when he felt his balls throb, tightening against his body “God, use me baby, need you to fuck yourself on me every. Fucking. Night. S’good baby, So. Fucking. Good.” He gave you three harsh thrusts before smashing his lips onto yours, swallowing your moans.
“You know what I was dreaming about mommy?” He was calling you mommy but your needy baby was too desperate, too pent up to whine and whimper for you anymore. His lips brushed by your ear, nipping it before whispering “Thought about how pretty you’d look sucking me mama, getting on your knees for me”
“You l-like when i s-suck you baby?” Your moans were strangled as you cupped his face while he gazed down at you, his hands moving to hold onto your hips to fuck you harder.
“So much baby, mommy’s mouth is perfect” A devilish smirk flashed across his face as he thought about his dream, every inch of your body covered in his cum. “D-dreamt about you- fuck me- dreamt about you swallowing all my cum-fuucckk - want mama to drink my cum-shit”
You nearly sobbed at how filthy he was, your orgasm right on edge, neither of you were going to last much longer,
“Would you swallow for me mommy?”
You nodded, too focused on how his cock felt to be able to speak but it wasn’t good enough.
“Fuck, say it mama, say you’d drink my cum”
“Wanna swallow you baby, fuck Bucky I can’t, I’m gonna cum”
Bucky moaned against your neck, feeling your pussy start to throb around him. He’d been desperate to starve his orgasm as long as possible but his balls were getting heavy. He pressed you further into the mattress, rocking his hips into perfectly, barely pulling out so he’d keep you nice and full of him.
“Fuck thought about eating that pretty pussy out, mommy letting me nurse on her clit, let me taste your pussy, have you ride my face”
“Baby, m’gonna cum” Your felt hot, moaning and crying while Bucky let his pleasure consume his body, his orgasm seconds away from erupting.
“Bucky, can’t, need to cuum”
His pace grew sloppy, your hands clawing and scratching down his back.
“Baby boy, m’gonna cum on your cock”
That set Bucky off, moaning loudly droppings his full body weight onto you.
“Make a mess with me mommy, cum with me, please? Cum for me y/n, fuck cum, I can’t hold it, Mama, CUM”
You screamed spreading your legs further for him, your thighs pulled up tight around his waist. Your pussy clenched and throbbed, squelching and dripping onto the bed. Bucky’s eyes rolled back, the head board slamming against the wall with his thrusts as he came in you.
“FUCCK”
You could feel his cock harden in your pussy, streams of cum pouring out of you and onto the sheets. You both laid there, panting and messy, sleep washing over you immediately after. Bucky kept his cock in you as he spooned you from behind, planting sloppy kisses all over your face before burying his face into your hair once again.
“Good night my babyy” Bucky slurred, softly snoring and clinging onto you while you pressed a kiss onto his palm.
“Good night baby boy”
Her dreams
You could feel his hands all over your body, his cock slamming in and out of you. You moaned, gripping and clinging onto his body, feeling the trimmed hair at the base of his cock rub against your clit. You could feel your pussy clenching, you needed more friction but you couldn’t get it no matter how hard you tried, you were so close, so fucking close, why couldn’t you just climb a little higher...
Bucky blinked awake, feeling your body squirm against his, while you whined in your sleep. Your body was tensed, your heart beating so hard, Bucky was sure he was able to hear it. You felt warmer and Bucky could practically smell how wet you were. He looked over to see your eyes still squeezed shut, you were still fast asleep but your moans and whimpers indicated you were definitely dreaming.
“Aww, my baby’s having sweet dreams”
He shuffled down the sheets, till his face was between your legs, his shoulders spreading them further apart. Your chest was still heaving, your sopping hole clenching and begging for some type of relief.
“So pretty’ Bucky smirked, slightly flicking his tongue onto your clit, watching your body jolt at the contact. “such a sensitive little pussy”
He latched onto your clit, gently suckling and flicking his tongue in circles, loving the way your moans started to grow louder, your body squirming on the bed.
He grinded himself onto the mattress, he was ready to cum just from eating your pussy out but that wouldn’t be fair, no, he knew just what you needed. He kicked his sweats off, spreading your legs apart so he could line his cock up with your dripping pussy.
He loved the way your face contorted, feeling the tip of his cock rub through your folds, gently prodding at your entrance without pushing in all the way.
As soon as your eyes opened, you let out a pornographic moan, feeling Bucky push himself fully inside you, his sparkling blue eyes locking with yours.
18+ af, minors dni. Dub con elements, please ignore if it's not your thing. Back at it with a dark Bucky who has the biggest corruption kink and loves to manipulate the sweet doll across the hall who makes him have the most unholy thoughts. He can't help how badly he craves for her to take care of him, comfort him, all while he pretends he has no idea what's happening with his body after all the abuse from Hydra. His mind is too fried. He's just too innocent with so many big feelings. So many big, thick, achy, leaky feelings-
Oop-
It started off with small things. Patching him up after a rough mission. Making him dinner. Feeding him. Falling asleep in her lap. Seeking her out when he has bad dreams. Calling her mommy when he was especially needy and just wanted to be held. Feel extra close. Around her, he's just a clingy little baby Bucky who loves to nurse from his pretty mommy for comfort.
It's all perfectly innocent. Sometimes after a nightmare. Sometimes before bed. Her nipples are so warm against his tongue, his pink lips sealed around every bit of her peaked bud. Who was she to deny him with the way he cuddled his face into her chest with the quietest "Mommy, please?"
Of course she lets him take her top off, it's nothing sexual, purely to comfort him, his gentle gurgles quickly turning into soft snores within minutes.
She'd always take care of him.
Like now when you were watching tv, lounging in a loose tank top. He splays himself across your lap and you idly play with his hair while he gets comfy, only wearing his boxers. He’s so cute and precious, reaching up to latch onto your breasts, tugging at your top so you'd take it off. He nuzzles his face in, struggling to maintain his facade of just needing to be held, no longer able to ignore the way his cock needed attention too.
You're so used to letting him take what he needs, you don't notice his extra squirming, still focused on your show until he takes your hand to show you where he actually needs you.
"Mommy, it’s hard" he whines while your eyes grow wide. It's always fuckin' hard around you, pretty girl.
He’d never done that before, spreading his thighs further so you could see where he needed you most, blinking up at you innocently while his thick cock pressed against the fabric, rubbing your hand over his bulge.
"B-Baby?"
"Mommy, help" he continues to pout before going back to sucking while shoving your hand down his boxers to his achy erection. You feel your heart beat out of your chest with your hand now wrapped around his velvety shaft, absolutely torn over what to do. It wasn't his fault his body was reacting this way. He was asking the one person he felt safe around to take care of him. He obviously didn't know any better.
God, you felt awful over how frustrated he would have felt not knowing who else to turn to when he was in such a cloudy headspace. You stay frozen until he puts his hand over yours, showing you how to touch him, stroking up and down with just the right pressure.
"S-sometimes I do this by myself" He moans between tugging your nipples between his lips, lifting his hips up to take off his briefs. His balls are heavy between his thighs, full and aching after waiting months for this very moment. "It feels good, is it bad?"
"No sweet boy, it's normal" You coo, giving him exactly what he wants while his body runs hot, his hips rutting up to chase more of your soft hand, "I got you, don't worry, relax Jamie" You pet his hair while stroking his cock, his mouth working between your breasts, lost in his own world. Even now, he looked so innocent, a deep blush on his cheeks while you made him feel good, it was going to take years to help him remember-
"It feels good here mommy" He wraps your hand around his dripping, swollen head, his hips pushing up, eyes nearly rolling back at the way his cock feels in your hand. He knows he's gonna blow-
"R-right there, m'gonna-make a mess" He moans between a shy pout and of course you reassure him you'll clean him right up because he's doing nothing wrong and all of this was perfectly natural. His body was responding to touch exactly the way it had to, he was safe with you-
"MMPHHHH" He cries out as the first stream shoots out, load after load still pouring out of his stiff cock. You wipe him down and he spends the rest of the night cuddled up with soft blankets, hiding his smirk with his face tucked into your neck while you rub his back.
I could stop here but just imagine what happens when he decides to get more bold.
"Do you ever feel like this?" He asks innocently and you nearly squeak in surprise. He waits intently for an answer and you pause before answering, carefully considering your words.
"Um, sometimes baby"
Liar, he thinks. I hear you pretty girl, always playing with that pretty pussy thinking I can't hear you.
"Can I help you?" You swear his voice drops an octave and so does your stomach. It felt so fucking wrong, why were you responding to him like this, he wasn't thinking clearly and you were getting turned on-"Like how you helped me?"
"No! No Jamie, you-you don't have to"
Oh, but he wants to because you're so good to him and it's not fair he doesn't help you too. That's how he manages to get you naked and spread out on his bed, shoving his cock in your pussy.
"M'I doing it right?" He still looks at you with the sweetest lost expression but you can't help but notice there's something darker in his eyes. His whines melt into groans, his pace growing faster. "M'so hard mommy"
"J-Jamie, I-" You're so confused over what to do, moans escaping your lips, your pussy swallowing his cock back in each time he thrusts.
"Tell me to stop mommy" You swear you hear a smirk in his voice, his movements suddenly more calculated, his hips perfectly rolling to hit that spot your fingers can never reach, "Tell Jamie to stop"
"St-Jamie, oh God" You pant, your orgasm barreling towards you and you want to scream stop because something is off but his hands snake between your bodies and he finds your clit- "Please!"
"M'gonna think about this when I touch myself, mommy" He rubs you faster, needing you to cum instead of worrying your pretty head, "Can I? Can I think of you when I make a mess? M'gonna make one now, I-
He couldn't wait for you to tell him why your belly would be getting bigger and bigger over the next few months.
Feel like I should issue a warning for this - PLS scroll all the way past this if this isn’t your thing. Maybe this should have stayed in the drafts or be deleted. But I can’t help the absolute headlock, deception, corruption, dub con, mommy and innocence kink has on me rn.
This is fucked and dirty.
Heed the warnings.
Please.
Imagine dark!Bucky taking advantage of your sweetness. You’re so soft and kind with him, helping him adjust to the new world, hardly realizing he’s damn well adjusted already and doesn’t need anyone to baby him.
But he loves when you do.
Maybe it’s because of all the shit he’s been through, touch starved, deprived of care and softness, that’s how he justifies the need to be utterly babied and taken care of by you. Fuck you’re so soft when you do it, cooing and walking him through everything, as if he doesn’t know a thing, he’s poor little fried brain.
It started with him pouting at dinner, happy to have you feed him instead. Sometimes you help him wash his hair so the shampoo doesn’t sting his eyes, sitting on the edge of the tub with a bowl of water, not minding one bit your clothes would get wet in the process. You even hold him in his sleep like a little boy because his nightmares are so scary.
He’d taken to calling you mommy when no one else was around.
PAIRING: ceo!bucky barnes x wife!reader
SUMMARY: three times in which the new intern tries to impress her hot, grumpy boss, mr. barnes. or, three times in which bucky can’t stop talking about his lovely wife.
WARNINGS: use of third person & second person & pov changes (she/her pronouns for reader); pictures don't reflect reader's appearance; reader wears a dress; original character (I’m so sorry if your name is madison 🥲); ceo!bucky (who is a little mean, tbh); whipped!bucky (he’s pathetically obsessed); pregnancy stuff (trying for a baby); fluff; smut; daddy & mommy kink; one (1) use of ‘slut’; mention of cockwarming; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); breeding kink; office sex (so... kind of public sex?).
WORD COUNT: 6k
A/N: I had so much fun writing this one-shot at the time and re-reading it put me in such a good mood, ngl. hope you’ll enjoy!
The little ding from an elevator has never felt so ominous. Wanda, Darcy and Carol scurry away like thieves from a crime scene, abandoning their morning gossip by the copier. Scott almost drops his freshly brewed coffee, fatigue instantly melting off his features and shoulders tensing up, while Monica throws her phone in her bag, pretending she’s been working all along on an already strategically open Excel sheet.
Once the elevator doors part, the whole floor falls into a silent distress. Mr. Barnes steps out with the same expression he wears every single morning: lips pressed in a thin line, jaw clenched, and a faint, permanent scowl, as if the world had already disappointed him the moment he woke up.
His suit is always impeccably ironed, not a single crease on his white, crisp shirt. His cologne—Tom Ford’s Beau de Jour—is never too strong, but it lingers in the air like a constant reminder of his authority. As far as his employees can remember, his left wrist has never been bare: a prized watch, very simple yet tasteful, that can’t strangely be associated with any expensive brand, rests there. He’s very protective of it, and nobody has ever dared to comment on its simplicity, especially after an unpleasant episode involving one of the company's previous clients, Mr. Pierce.
The older man attempted to touch it with a grimace, as a joke, he kept insisting after. Nobody ever believed Mr. Barnes’ blue eyes could turn even icier. His voice was tinted with a subtle growl as he intimated the man to get his filthy hands off his watch. Scott almost fainted when he noticed Mr. Wilson tightly press his lips together to avoid bursting out laughing.
Needless to say, Mr. Pierce’s company lost all its deals with Barnes Investments.
Mr. Barnes walks with purpose, the same black coat gently swaying with every clipped step and tie mathematically aligned. He doesn’t even glance at his visibly fidgety employees, his blue eyes hidden behind a pair of Ami Paris black sunglasses that he only removes once he enters his office, strategically located at the very end of the open space.
He also doesn’t greet anyone. His presence alone is a daily roll call.
The CEO doesn’t talk much in general—not unless he absolutely has to. But when he does, one either ends up walking away with a quiet pride burning in their chest, or crying and shaking in the restroom. His words are sharp and efficient. A simple “fix this” could ruin an entire afternoon. A “this is unacceptable”, a week.
The worst thing is that he doesn’t even need to raise his voice, because his perpetual glacial calm is enough to make a grown man in his fifties tremble like a fawn taking its first steps. His disappointed silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic tapping of his pen against the sleek desk, could send any adult into an existential crisis.
He doesn’t even need to walk past the desks to know what happens inside his company. Every attempt to impress him is ignored without mercy and humor is met with a slow blink, as if it were a personal insult to his entire bloodline.
Somewhere along the way, the office collectively settled on calling him Mr. Tightass behind his back. Despite that, the CEO puts equal attention in rewarding and commending his employees when credit is due. It still feels like talking with someone who has been constipated for a month, but coming from the strict boss himself, the praise is always very welcomed.
Every morning, he follows the same meticulous routine: he checks his schedule with his trusted assistant, Natasha; retreats into his office to scan the reports left on his desk, flagging all the things he disapproves of, and then closes the door behind him with a resounding bang that feels like an order to not be disturbed.
He is habit wrapped in a suit and polished shoes; an ongoing source of heart palpitations for the entire staff.
This is the environment Madison Carrell, freshly graduated from NYU, walks into two days later, with a smug smile and pink high heels, blissfully unaware of what lies ahead.
Wanda is the one designated to show her the ropes, and Madison’s first day unfolds in a tour of the office—from the rows of desks lining the wooden floor to the large glass-walled meeting room. They pause briefly in the break room, where the analyst takes her time explaining how the kitchenette works. That’s when a dull knock on the open door interrupts their conversation. There, Mr. Barnes slightly leans forward, eyeing Wanda with his usual blank expression.
“I need the volatility report yesterday, Miss Maximoff.”
“Yes, sir. I apologize. I’ll bring it to your office right now—” He raises a palm, stopping her nervous rambling.
“No need, leave it to Natasha and she’ll bring it to me.” Mr. Barnes has already turned away when she remembers the girl beside her.
“Um s—sir, this is one of the new interns, Madison Carrell.” His head turns enough to marginally eye the girl, giving her a curt nod before he’s returning to his cavern.
“Was that… James Barnes?” Wanda’s eyes flit on the intern, grimacing at her wide, sparkling eyes.
“Yeah, that’s him. A real gentleman, as you can see.” She rolls her eyes, stealing a handful of cereal from the glass jar.
Madison quietly gasps, patting her skirt as if to ensure she looks presentable. “I didn’t think I would meet him today. I’ve been a fan ever since he was invited to speak at a conference at my university two years ago.”
Wanda blinks once, one eyebrow raising skeptically. “A fan?”
“Of course!” The blonde wheezes. “He’s a brilliant, successful man who has built this company with his own blood, sweat and tears from the ground up. You should be grateful he even glances your way.” She stares at the vacant spot previously occupied by the CEO, trying to fruitlessly contain a grin. “And he's very handsome.”
“You know he’s married, right?” Madison’s head snaps toward the analyst, her smile suddenly replaced by a scowl.
“What?”
It’s impossible. She knows his Wikipedia page by heart and there isn't a single mention of a marriage, nor of his personal life in general.
“Yeah, and also very much in love with his wife.” The older woman nods, quite amused. Now she almost regrets telling her, nothing exciting ever happens in this office, after all.
Madison’s mouth curves up, looking almost sympathetic. “Oh Wanda,” the analyst's eyes narrow on the intern patting her forearm condescendingly. “Everything ends. Even marriages.”
The analyst simply smirks knowingly, already walking to the door. “Mh, if you say so.” She then eyes the blonde, nodding towards the open space. “C’mon, I’ll show you your desk. It’s right next to mine and Darcy’s.”
The break room is unusually quiet for a mid-morning. Madison stands by the kitchenette, pretending to tidy up a stack of colorful mugs while her ear is tuned to the hallway.
“Move Stark’s call to Wednesday, and if he complains, remind him we received an equally convincing offer from Williams Enterprise.” The moment Mr. Barnes’ deep, commanding voice thunders in the hallway, she straightens, a toothy smile brightening her face as his measured footsteps get louder and louder, until he crosses the threshold of the break room.
He steps inside, heading straight for the coffee machine with his red ceramic cup in hand—it’s his third refill already. He presses the button, then crosses his arms with a rigid posture, his left foot tapping rhythmically. Impatiently.
Madison takes a second to adjust her locks, before she turns toward the man. “Good morning, Mr. Barnes!”
He gives her a brief glance, nothing more than a flicker of acknowledgement, and a curt nod, before returning his frown to the humming appliance.
She clears her throat, refusing to let his disregard deter her. “I, um… I baked something. Thought I’d bring some in for the team.”
Mr. Barnes looks bored at this point, still not moving his icy eyes from the cup.
She swallows. “They’re chocolate chip cookies, fresh from this morning. I figured you might like to try one.” As the CEO turns with his steaming coffee in hand, he almost bumps into the extended tray of sweets. He grunts, clearly annoyed at this intern’s insistence, and in that exact moment, his wife’s words echo sweetly through his mind.
“They’re your employees, Jamie. Just… Try to be a little nicer?”
With a sigh, Mr. Barnes places the cup back on the counter, before taking a cookie under Madison’s hopeful eyes. But her enthusiasm is abruptly torn to shreds as she watches him break the tiniest piece off, almost a crumb, then taste it with the air of someone challenged to eat concrete for money.
A low hum escapes him, thoughtful. He eyes the rest of the cookie distracted as he starts mumbling.
“I wonder if my wife will bake cookies, she already made a pie two days ago.”
Madison blinks. Why does he need his wife’s cookies? She's literally in front of him right now, with a tray full of them that she specifically baked just for him! Does he know how hard it was to keep the team away from them, then look for a good hiding place in the break room so they would go unnoticed? She had to wait here for hours, pretending to clean and look for random stuff every time a passing co-worker eyed her with suspicion.
Madison forces a chuckle, an idea quickly forming in her mind to not let the conversation die. “What kind of pie?”
His fingers lightly scratch the stubble on his chin, still pensive. “Apple. It’s my favorite.”
Her eyes lit up. “I make a mean apple pie! Next time I can—”
“It was excellent. The crust was neither too flaky nor too hard. And the flavors were perfectly balanced.” He shakes his head, still impressed. Madison winces as he literally cuts her off, but by the hazy look in his eyes, she doubts he even noticed her talking at all. “She’s a baker, so she knows her deal. Always testing new recipes on me.”
Is he pouting?
“I finished the whole thing in two days.”
Madison stands there frozen, the paper tray cradled awkwardly in her hands as she watches Mr. Barnes swiftly set the cookie down on the counter.
“I need to text her.” He murmurs, not even glancing at his cup as he moves hastily toward the door. “Tell her to make another one for tonight.”
And just like that, he disappears, leaving the untouched tray and Madison’s crushed expectations behind.
It’s not until Scott pokes his head in that her vacant stare finally moves. “Can we eat them now?”
Alright, so the first attempt to impress her boss didn’t go as well as she predicted. That’s okay! Madison wasn’t elected student body president by throwing the towel at the first obstacle.
The next occasion presents itself the following week. Wanda was tasked with drafting a counter proposal to Mr. Stark’s new project, which meant Madison could not only be present during the presentation, but also outline a section of the submission and prove to Mr. Barnes she deserves her place there—someone who belongs in his professional world, beside him, not a lowly baker.
Right now, they are on a small break after four boring hours spent discussing the billionaire’s proposal. From her peripheral vision, Madison catches Mr. Barnes coming back in the room, along with Mr. Wilson, Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark. Her chest slightly puffs out, finally ready to spring into action.
“So I told him I didn’t give a fuck about fishing, and then he spent all night crying over his ex-wife—”
“Ask me about my lunch.” Monica balks at Madison, tilting her head.
“Excuse me?”
“Ask me about my lunch. Ask me where I bought those nice tomatoes!” She whispers, leaning sideways against the long table. Monica stares at her appalled, until their boss’ booming voice reaches her ears and her eyes roll to the sky. Of course it’s one of the new intern’s weird plans to catch Mr. Barnes’ attention. She can't believe Madison is still at it after ‘The Cookie Failure’, as Scott named it.
“Where did you find those nice tomatoes?” She mutters reluctantly.
“Louder.”
“Where did you find those nice tomatoes?” Her yell attracts the attention of the four men and other nearby employees minding their own business.
Madison gives her a little coquettish giggle. “You mean the ones in the salad I had for lunch? Of course I grow them in my garden!”
Last week, Mr. Wilson teased Mr. Barnes about his prettily packed lunch—no, she was not eavesdropping... She just happened to be walking past his office at the exact moment highly confidential conversations have the bad habit of being perfectly audible. At some point, he mentioned that the lettuce came straight from his garden, so she concluded he must have a green thumb.
Of course she didn't have the time, nor the patience, to grow fucking vegetables. No one would ever be able to tell the difference between store-bought tomatoes and homegrown ones, anyway.
Tomatoes were tomatoes. The internet agreed.
“My wife has a beautiful garden.”
Madison goes still.
“Does she now?” Mr. Stark amusedly teases him.
She doesn’t blink for a moment, like her brain has briefly stopped accepting information.
“Last year she grew tomatoes so perfect the neighbors thought they were made of wax.” He pats the pocket of his black pants. “Hold on, I have pictures.” And everyone gathers around him. Like bees around a flower. Even Monica!
“Look at the color! It’s incredible.” A few murmurs of agreement ripple through the room, no doubt praising her and her damn tomatoes.
“And these are her cucumbers. And her lettuce. And—oh, here she is mulching. She didn’t know I was there.” Madison almost has an aneurysm as a faint, unguarded smile appears on his lips. “She’s so lovely.”
Coughing, Madison raises her voice in a pathetic last attempt. “I, uh… planted some basil.”
And without missing a beat, Mr. Barnes destroys her while still swiping through the pictures.
“My wife grows five varieties of basil.”
Then, he stops short, his finger hovering over the screen as his lips press together to hide a grin. That's when Mr. Rogers clears his throat, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. His head jerks up, blinking as if he just woke up from a dream.
“Alright.” His frown returns. “Break’s over. Miss Maximoff, it’s your turn.”
“Shit.” Madison whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. She was so focused on looking up gardening tips these past few days that she completely forgot she also had to help Wanda present her counter proposal. Which entails talking in front of an entire board of stakeholders about things she only read in her university books.
Suddenly, those stupid tomatoes feel like they’re crawling back up her esophagus, and a cold sweat breaks across her skin. She makes it to the massive presentation screen on unsteady legs, her hands shaking so badly she can barely grip the clicker. Behind her, Mr. Barnes stands and starts walking toward them, while the rest of the table settles back into their seats.
“Maximoff, I read the counter proposal last night. Good job. The section about forecasted performance—”
Madison perks up. “I drafted that section—”
“My wife caught five mistakes there. Be careful.” He concludes, not sparing her a single glance as he turns to make his way back to the head of the table. Still, she catches his breathy comment.
“Such a brilliant woman.”
Her fiasco at Mr. Stark’s deal sets Madison back a few steps. Well, did she even move forward at all? After a week of reflection—mostly spent on TikTok tutorials about “what men like in a woman”, a suspicious amount of “CEO mindset” content and questionable productivity hacks she saved at 2 a.m.—the intern decides to take a new approach.
It’s Friday when Madison plans to stay back at the office, knowing Mr. Barnes always finishes late on Fridays. He doesn’t like being bothered over the weekend, so he ensures everything is done before he leaves.
Silence settles heavily over the building once the team leaves, making it easy to catch the rustle of papers and the faint creak of his chair around nine, signaling he’s finally done. Her coat is already on as she stands near her desk, deliberately checking her bag as if making sure she hasn’t forgotten anything. When he finally opens the door, she lets out an exaggerated sigh, lifting her eyes and putting on her best expression of surprise.
“Mr. Barnes! I didn’t think there was anyone left at this hour.” The man stops abruptly in his quick advance toward the elevator, turning to face her. “I had to finish a few things for Wanda and I didn’t notice the time. I’m just so happy to be here time kind of disappears when you get into it. You surely get that, right?”
He stares at her, deadpan. “Who are you, again?”
Her eyes bulge out. “I—” She gapes. “Madison Carrell! The new intern!” She rushes out, bordering on a shriek.
“Right.” He mutters, resuming his steps as she quickly jogs to reach him. “No, I actually don't get that. If it were for me, I would stay at home, or help my wife run her bakery.” After pressing the button to call the elevator, he stares ahead, still looking so put together after twelve hours of work.
James Buchanan Barnes—one of the richest, most hard-working people in the whole continent, two-time #1 on Forbes’ Top 100 CEO, and major partner at Stark Industries—longs to be a househusband just so he can stay with his wife? And run a fucking bakery?
“She’s always telling me I need to come home earlier.” He sighs, and to her shock, his mouth twists into something akin to a fond smile. “She worries so much about me. She sent me a selfie an hour ago and now I can’t wait to see her.”
Madison simply nods along, face frozen in polite agony while her bag takes the worst of it, her knuckles turning white as she crumples the poor handle. She just wasted four hours of her Friday night doing nothing only to hear the man of her dreams sing praises about a woman she’s never met, yet knows entirely too much about.
The ride in the elevator is excruciating. Mr. Barnes is too busy grinning down at his phone to entertain her, and Madison’s slumped shoulders are a testament of her crushed hopes. Once they’re outside, she notices a couple of people gathered in front of the window of a clothing store right across the street. They look like they are decorating for Christmas, strings of lights already up and various boxes blocking half of the sidewalk. Mr. Barnes shakes his head at the sight, and Madison catches it from her peripheral vision.
Of course a cranky and curt man like Mr. Barnes would be a grinch!
Such a shame she completely missed his soft smile.
“I can’t believe some people are already decorating for Christmas.” She scoffs. “C’mon, it’s still November! Who is the idiot that does that?” Turning her head toward him, her chuckle dies in her throat at his gelid expression.
“My wife.”
Madison’s heart drops to her stomach. “W–What–”
“My wife is the idiot who decorates for Christmas in November.” His caustic reply sends shivers down her back. Madison's jaw falls to the ground, and for a moment she just stands there, toes curling in shame and cheeks flaming red. Her mouth opens and closes twice, not really knowing what to say or do in front of the man eyeing her with so much vitriol.
Maybe the ground should open right this instant and swallow her whole. It would hurt less.
“I—”
“Goodnight, Miss Carroll.”
“What—” She whispers, completely caught off guard. “It’s Carrell!” She shouts, but he’s already halfway to his black Jaguar.
“FUCK!”
Wanda is so engrossed in her conversation with Darcy about the umpteenth date with a loser she met on Tinder that the loud thump on her right makes both women jolt in surprise.
It's Madison and she is... a mess.
Her ponytail is barely hanging on, a few blonde hair sticking in the air as if she was just electrocuted. Her makeup only consists of some smudged gloss—a rough contrast to the full face she has been displaying every single morning since she set foot here at Barnes Investments. Darcy and Wanda exchange a look of worry as they spot the big brown stain on her light blue shirt, probably coffee.
They’ve never seen Madison look so distraught in the two months she’s been here.
“Honey, are you okay?” Wanda tentatively asks.
“Okay? Why yeah sure! Why shouldn’t I be okay?” She grits out with a fake, entirely too big smile, while literally throwing her things on her desk.
“You sure?” Darcy raises an eyebrow.
“Of course! I mean, my crush is happily married to a woman who apparently has a pussy made of gold, because he can’t stop talking about her for one damn second.” Her pencil case almost flies to the ground. The desk shakes under the heavy laptop mindlessly tossed on its surface.
Her little outburst makes a few heads turn, prompting the two analysts to shoot on their feet.
“Hey, lower your voice!” Wanda whisper shouts. “I understand you’re disappointed, but did you forget said crush is also your boss?”
“No, Wanda. You don’t understand.” She growls out, looking like a feral dog. “Two days ago I had to bribe his assistant with a fucking thirty-five-dollar chocolate bar just to find out his coffee order! Do you know where Mr. Barnes buys his coffee from every. Single. Morning?” Wanda shakes her head, mildly scared as Madison leans forward, her right eye twitching. “From a fucking coffee shop on the other side of New York. It took me fifty minutes just to get there, only for him to tell me he doesn’t drink that shit anymore because that stupid wife of his says it makes him too jittery.” She mocks with a pout and a whiny voice.
“He switched to herbal tea, or something. Last week!”
“It’s been two months and I know more about this alleged wife of his than about the fucking company! He describes her as she is some sort of goddess who knows everything! And who the fuck keeps two hundred pictures of vegetables in their phone?”
At this point, Madison is having a genuine outburst, screaming and slamming her bag on the desk under her co-workers’ bewildered gaze.
“For God’s sake, is she even real?”
As if by magic, the ding of the elevator suspends the room in silence. Everything seems to freeze as the doors slide open, revealing a woman Madison has never seen before, cautiously stepping forward. Her A-line mini dress has a soft plaid pattern, the sleeves sheer and flowy. The skirt flares out with a gentle silhouette, half hidden under a long black coat.
The entire floor gapes, taken aback by the romantic, almost ethereal vision. There’s only one person who doesn’t seem fazed at all, and that’s Mr. Barnes, who abruptly opens the door of his office as soon as the elevator door shuts.
“Sweetheart.”
Your eyes immediately find Bucky's as he quickly makes his way to you at the end of the room.
“Jamie.” His own lips twist into a grin when he finally reaches you, circling your waist with his muscular arms.
“What are you doing here, doll? It’s your day off.” He mumbles, leaving a small kiss on your forehead. His blue eyes carefully take you in, poorly concealing his appreciation for your cute outfit, until they land on your bare legs.
“Where are your tights?” He frowns, gently tugging you forward. “C'mere, let's sit in my office so you can warm up.”
“I wanted to see you.” You hum, keeping your feet firmly planted on the ground as your fingers pull at his suit jacket, so you can drag his face closer to yours. Once your lips are brushing against his ear, you whisper as quietly as you can, hoping only your husband will catch your words.
“They're not the only thing I’m not wearing right now.”
Bucky’s eyes widen, before his saliva goes down the wrong pipe, sending him into a coughing fit under your amused gaze. His employees try to not stare at the scene, but it’s so endearingly rare witnessing their stern boss turn into this blushing, pliant mess in front of a pretty girl.
“Shit.” He swallows, awkwardly clearing his throat as he quickly recomposes himself. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
Everyone knows that at his core, Mr. Barnes is just a man pathetically in love with his wife, still, curious eyes follow you as he hastily guides you to his office with a hand on your back, his gaze not steering away once from your face as giggles unusually fill the open space.
“Thank God she came by.” Scott leans in, addressing the three women. “He’s always more lenient after her visits.” He elaborates, mainly for a flustered Madison, who releases her expensive bag, letting it fall on the floor with a dull thud, before storming off to the restroom. Wanda sighs, slightly shaking her head in exhaustion.
The man just stares at the two analysts with knitted eyebrows, completely confused. “What?”
“My pretty little slut, coming to Daddy’s office without wearing any panties.” Bucky grunts against the skin of your bare chest, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs to keep you nice and still on his desk.
It’s been six months since you and Bucky have agreed to try for a baby. Six months of pure, unhinged, hot sex in his office. It just so happens that your husband has been at work during your fertile window for the past few months, meaning that he could use that as an excuse to have you bare and whimpering in his office for a few days a month.
Never in his career has Bucky dreamt of actually having sex here, of all places. Sure, he fantasized about your warmth by his side during those hard nights spent here amongst mountains of documents—he, Steve and Sam worked overtime almost every day at the beginning; his company was too small and new to afford the luxury of going home at a decent time.
And you supported him through it all, his perfect darling.
So imagine his face when you showed up at his workplace one day, locking the door behind you before literally throwing yourself at him, your breath warm against his ear as you gasped out how badly you needed him to fuck you until you couldn’t remember your own name.
Honestly, it wasn’t his proudest moment. He ended up coming before you after only a minute top, too aroused as he stared at you eagerly riding him on his chair, a hand on your mouth to prevent any loud noise from spilling out as his employees kept working, not having the faintest idea about what was happening inside their boss’ office.
From that moment on, your little visits meant only one thing.
“Fuck, Daddy you’re so big.” You whine, clinging onto his shoulders.
He lets out an animalistic groan as he squeezes your hips bruisingly. “Say it again.” He growls, grinding his hips harder against you. “You know I love it when you call me that, baby.”
“Daddy please.” He slams his lips against yours, moaning as his tongue invades your mouth. When he pulls away, he goes straight for your chest, sucking on your nipple. Bucky loves to play with your breasts, you always get so responsive when his fingers tug and flicker your pretty nipples. Sometimes he just palms them for comfort during particularly frustrating calls he gets on the weekends from bratty assholes who refuse to go through his assistant first. Or out of boredom, while watching a movie. Until you get all worked up and end up cockwarming him throughout the rest of the movie.
“Can’t wait for these to swell up, gonna take such good care of you when they get too heavy and sensitive.” His head moves, the tip of his tongue already out to give some attention to the other nipple. “Wanna taste your milk so bad, baby. Will you let me? Bet it's just as sweet as your pussy.”
“Bucky!” Your head falls back as his teeth gently graze your erect nub, pulling a little pathetic whimper out of you that echoes loudly in the room.
“Shh-shh.” Your husband soothes, his voice back at your ear, his breath tickling your damp skin. “Been thinking about your pretty pussy all day.”
Bucky sounds a little dazed, his voice hoarse with something primal as one of his hands travels from your hip to your abdomen. “You’ll look so beautiful with your belly all big and round and full. All because of me.”
“Please.” You cry out, trembling as tears threaten to spill from the corner of your eyes. It’s too much. Everything is too much. Your hot skin rubbing against his soft clothes, his filthy words, the way his blue eyes look at you with barely concealed hunger... His big cock stretching you open for him to move as he pleases.
“You’re so fucking wet, baby.” Bucky marvels, staring in awe as his length disappears inside you, the loud, squelching sounds heating your cheeks up in embarrassment. You’ve done this so many times, yet that sense of danger, of possibly being caught doing something so debauched in such a professional environment, never fails to make your stomach flip and your core throb.
“Everyone will know how good I fuck you, how good I am for my beautiful wife.” He growls out against your lips. “My gorgeous Mommy.”
Your whole body shudder as your tongues dance, your pussy clenching at the sensation of his thick cock plunging deep inside you. It makes your head spin, leaving you completely speechless as Bucky's hips speed up.
“Fuck, Daddy!” A whimper involuntarily falls from your parted lips, and your eyes squeeze shut. “Fuck, too big—” You gasp out the last word, his hips giving a particular brutal thrust that allows him to reach impossibly deeper.
“Yeah? I know, baby. I know. So big you can’t even talk properly.” He smirks. “Still, you take it so good, such a good girl.”
He covers your cheeks with sweet kisses, tracing a slow path down to the slope of your neck, where he makes sure to bite hard enough to elicit a surprised squeal from you.
“‘M gonna make you a mommy.” He pants harshly into your skin, his orgasm gradually approaching when you clench again. “The prettiest.” Thrust. “Sweetest.” Thrust. “Mommy.”
“Yes yes yes Daddy please!”
Bucky’s low grunts and moans get louder as his fingers gently rub your clit, making your eyes roll back at the blinding pleasure. Your nails almost tear through the fabric of his half-open shirt.
“You’re so tight. Shit, I can feel you coming baby.” He moans, watching you nod quickly, and his voice drops a little. “Yeah? You finally gonna milk Daddy’s cock, pretty girl?”
Your palm slaps on your parted mouth to stifle your lewd sounds. Your legs wrap tighter around his hips, and as he keeps thrusting faster and faster, your vision goes blurry and the knot in your belly finally snaps.
“Daddy.” You whimper behind your hand, toes curling at the overwhelming bliss quickly hitting you. “Oh my God, I'm coming!” Your body wraps around him tightly as your hole clenches down, squeezing him so hard he almost chokes on his own spit. His fingers are cruel on your throbbing nub, toying with it until your hips jerk in overstimulation. You feel that hot pleasure everywhere—the base of your spine, deep in your gut, in your walls keeping him nice and warm. It’s always this intense with your husband: he knows what to say and where to put his hands so your orgasm hits you like a freight train, leaving your body exhausted yet quivering for more.
“Fuck fuck—Daddy’s coming too.” He grits out, his thrusts messy and frantic, before his cock twitches, spilling deep inside you. “Shit—that’s it. Take it all, beautiful.”
Your chest is still heaving when you flop against him, forehead falling on his shoulder as your trembling fingers stay anchored to his shirt. His hands move to your asscheeks, thumbs leisurely stroking small circles into your skin as he tries to regain his breath as well. Yet, smugness drip off his voice.
“Gave it to you so good you can’t even sit up straight, mh?”
You don’t have the energy to clap back, mewling with oversensitivity as he continues to gently thrust his softening dick lightly in and out of you, the mix of your juices trickling down and soiling the inner part of your thighs. Your lips part anyway to say something, but everything dissolves into an incoherent squeak when he gives your ass a light spank.
Bucky chuckles, proud of himself, his arms moving around your waist, hugging your body closer to his. “So gorgeous.” He coos, his eyelids fluttering close as the tip of his nose nuzzles your neck, breathing in your perfume, by now impeccably mixed with the scent of your favorite body cream.
“So good for me. Fuck baby, I love you. I love you so much.” His hands gently cradle your cheeks, tenderly coaxing you out of your hiding spot as the strong urge to kiss you takes over his whole body. “Gonna have my baby and be the best mommy in the world.” He utters between sweet kisses.
“Love you too, Jamie.” Bucky's lips curve softly at the way your eyelids barely stay open, letting you cuddle against his chest. His heartbeat never fails to speed up when those three magic words fall from your lips.
“Think we did it this time?” You yawn tiredly, trying to keep your voice neutral. Still, your husband knows you too well after all these years by your side, instantly recognizing that hint of fragile hope in your question, and the faint change in your body, gone a little rigid.
His arms squeeze your waist once, before he drops a kiss on the top of your head, hoping it conveyed all his tenderness for your small family. That gesture, although little, instantly warms your heart, melting the tension off of your limbs as you squeeze his torso once.
“I have a hunch we did, my love.”
She just wanted to gather more information about your marriage from Natasha in a last, desperate attempt to convince herself she still had a chance. She is Mr. Barnes’ personal assistant, the only one who gets more than a single austere sentence out of him; the only one he calls by her first name. She must know something about his personal life.
But Natasha was not at her desk. As a matter of fact, the small hallway was completely deserted, she noticed with a frown.
And unfortunately, she had to find out the reason the hard way.
It's impossible to not notice the intern's pale face as she makes her way back to her cubicle, slow and stiff as her eyes stay fixed on nothing in particular.
With a gentle voice, Wanda tries to strike up a conversation. “Hey, are you okay?”
Madison simply retrieves her bag, then turns away, Wanda barely catching her mumbled words as she starts walking toward the elevator.
babydaddy!pope who is still in love with his baby mama
pt. 2
your coparenting arrangement with pope was interesting to say the least. you had your daughter majority of the time. not that you didn't trust pope with her, he was an amazing dad. you didn't trust his family with a tiny kid around. them being majority of the reason you two were not together. whenever he wanted his time, he would just show up at your house trying to play house. when you first had gotten pregnant he was over the moon and ready to drop everything when she came, until when she was born he became more hesitant to let go of the lifestyle he lived. he begged and pleaded you not to leave, but it was something you just weren't able to get behind. you leaving didn't deter him from constantly hitting on you, following you everywhere, and always keeping tabs on you.
you never tried to take him to court for money or custody. no reason to when a hefty amount of cash would be left in your mailbox each week with a note that always read 'for my two most beautiful girls' sure you missed pope and were still ever so in love with him, but you hated his mother more than anything. you couldn't stand the idea of your daughter being alone with that woman.
your phone rang early that morning, causing you and your daughter who was laid next to you in the bed to wake. she let out a sharp cry, your eyes closing tightly before opening to see who was calling at this ungodly hour. a small sigh left your lips as you saw it was pope. "what andrew?" you hissed more harsher than you meant into the phone as you picked up your crying daughter, making your way down the stairs of your apartment. "why's my baby crying?" he said immediately hearing the sounds of her cries. "our baby is crying because you called at the ass crack of dawn and woke her up," you muttered, laying her down to begin to change her. "did you need something?" you finally sighed, slowly getting her to calm down.
he never usually called, just showed up unannounced. when you were home you would invite him in, let him sit for a while. if you weren't home, you'd come back to find him sat on the doorstep waiting for you. "can you drop sunny over here today? smurf is having a party and no one ever gets to see her," he hesitated to speak, worried he already knew your answer. you hated smurf and she hated you right back, always claiming that you 'made her son soft.' which wasn't a complete lie, you broke down pope's walls like no one had ever been able to do before. "you think that i am going to leave my daughter there without me?" you scoffed, setting her in the highchair and putting your phone on speaker as you began to make your coffee. "baby you know you are always welcome to come over too. would love for you to be here," he spoke, his words giving you butterflies even though you refused to show it.
your thoughts were going a million miles a minute. being a single mother was one of the hardest things you ever did. of course, pope was there when he wanted to be but majority of the time it was just you and your daughter. normally you would shoot down his request immediately, claiming you were busy. he always knew you weren't. he would sit outside and wait for whatever plans you claimed to have but they never seemed to happen. "im taking that silence as a yes. it's a pool party. wear that red bikini," he finally spoke, ending the silence. you could hear the smirk in his voice which caused a slight smile to spread across your lips, reaching to hang up the phone without saying another word.
you sure as hell did not plan on arriving any earlier to the cody's house then you had to. you took your time that afternoon getting yourself and your daughter ready. you had dressed her in the red bathing suit pope had got her for her first birthday, a little hat and sunglasses on her face. yeah, you and pope weren't together but you still liked to dress up and look pretty for him. sue a girl for wanting to sleep with her baby daddy again. the red bikini he spoke up still fit you as perfect as the day he bought it for you, the bottoms a little tighter only due to the fact you gave birth and your ass and hips never seemed to forget that. you just pulled a large t shirt over yourself that was pope's that you had refused to get rid of before heading out the door with sunny.
the drive to the cody's felt like you were about to drive into an ambush. you hadn't seen them since probably a month before you gave birth, and it was the most freeing time of your life. you could see the large amount of cars outside of the house, your stomach doing backflips. maybe this is a bad idea, maybe you should just go home. too late. there stood pope at the end of the drive, his shoulders seeming to untense at the sight of your car. you parked, taking multiple deep breaths before stepping out. "hello beautiful," he mumbled, kissing the side of your head quick before moving to the backseat. it made your heart melt as he cooed to your daughter, being quick to unbuckle her and pick her up, pressing kisses all over her face which caused her to squeal loudly. a small smile crossed your lips as you watched the two before his gaze turned back to you. "that my shirt?" he smirked, hand reaching forward to tug at the hem that sat just at your mid thigh. you shrugged, trying your best to be nonchalant as you reached in the back to get her diaper bag and your purse.
he was quick to grab the bags from you, placing sunny back in your arms. "what kind of man would i be if i made the mother of my child carry all the bags?" he spoke, closing the door before nodding for you to follow him. "you trying to impress me or something, andrew?" you teased, following close behind him as you both made your way to the house. you could hear the music, hear the people talking and laughing in the back and it made a chill run down your spine. "am i impressing you enough that you'll let me put another one in you?" he asked, stopping at the door to turn back to look at you, a hint of hopefulness in his voice. you laughed loudly, his smile only getting wider at the thought of getting you pregnant again. your laugh quickly quieted as you made your way into the house, eyes scanning the room quickly.
"the lady of the hour!" you heard a voice boom, causing your head to snap in the direction of the kitchen. craig hadn't changed a bit since the last you saw him, the large man making his way over to way you stood holding your daughter tightly. "oh hi, y/n. didn't see you there," he teased, causing you to blush a little as he reached a finger to poke your daughter's cheek. he raised his hands up to try and hold her, pope immediately moving to stand in-between him and you. "no. no one is holding her," he muttered, your cheeks now bright red. the butterflies went crazy in you at the sight of him being protective of your daughter. what would be the problem if you did let him give you another kid? craig only rolled his eyes before looking back to you, patting your shoulder gently. "good to see you," he mumbled, an almost smile on his face before he made his way back out to the pool.
pope led you both up to his room, a room you hadn't stepped foot in in almost two years. it was still the same, organized nicely, bed always made. the only new additions were two picture frames on his nightstand. one of him and your daughter the day she was born, and one of you and him when you had first gotten together. it made your heart break a little, hating to think about what you used to have and how good it was. "can put your bags in here. ill lock the door," he mumbled, reaching to grab your daughter from you again before sitting down on the bed. you nodded, walking around the room a little to take in everything. it smelled just like him. "hasn't changed much in here," you spoke softly, moving to the window to look down at the party that was happening in the backyard. he just chuckled, laying your daughter down to tickle her before turning his gaze back to you. "you gonna swim in a shirt?" he mumbled, eyeing you up and down as you slowly turned back to face him.
a sigh left your lips as you moved to stand in front of him, your arms crossing over your chest. "you can let your family hold her y'know. i dont want them hating me more than they already do," you mumbled, a deep pit in your stomach. you didn't mind his brothers, they were always friendly with you whenever the two of you were together. it was smurf and her wickedness that you couldn't stand. "i know. i don't want them to. don't want anyone touching my girls," he mumbled, reaching forward to pull you towards him so you were now stood between his legs. another sigh left your lips as you stared down at him, his hand rubbing your hip gently. "not your girl anymore andrew," you spoke quietly, tears threatening to leave your eyes. he just chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed your hand, bringing it up to his mouth to press gentle kisses to it. "you'll always be my girl and you know that," he spoke quietly, moving your daughter to sit on one knee before he pulled you to sit on the other. you couldn't help but chuckle, relaxing into him as you smiled down at your daughter. "whatever you say," you muttered, a hand moving around to rest around his shoulder, head resting against his.
it was moments like this that you missed. you missed the family you had. you knew you could have it back in a heart beat too. but there was just one thing that worried you. "i heard my grand baby is here!" smurf's voice called from down the stairs, your head immediately dropping. there was that one thing that worried you.
Description: You meet Andrew at the bar, and are looking for a quick fuck. Andrew seems to have read things wrong and wants more from that night.
Warning: andrew cody x reader, delusional!andrew, mention of b*z and sm*rf, one night stand (not really), cursing, dirty talk, p in v sex, dick slapping, use of condom, NSFW MDNI 18+
Word Count: 2.7k
You met at Deran’s bar, you had seen him sitting broodingly from across the room clenching the same beer he had been nursing since he’d arrived. Although his energy wasn’t necessarily inviting, there was something pulling you into him.
Maybe it was the fact that you could see the bulge of his muscle from under his black t-shirt, his freckled skin, or maybe the fact that it had been almost a year since you had sex.
Ever since you had broken up, you had gotten zero play from anyone. Initially you needed that time to recuperate since the breakup was rough and messy, but now it felt as if you were going to burst if you didn’t get some immediately.
You and your friends sat within the booth, despite the growing conversation around you, you couldn’t help but fade out and focus only on the stoic man across the room. Your friend beside you noticed your gaze had wandered and your participation in the conversation had left. “Hey babe”, her eyes followed yours and found what was on the end of it. “Ohhhh…girl, I know it’s been a while you better hop on that!”
You rolled your eyes and gave a sheepish smile, “I don’t know…I mean he’s cute but…should I?”, You turned and looked at her.
“It’s been too long, you better go after it. It doesn’t mean you have to date him or anything, you have a hookup.”
You nod in agreement, quelling any inch of you trying to deny yourself a simple pleasure that could come.
“Okay I’m gonna do it”, You shimmy your way out of the booth and make your way over to him. You stand next to him and call the bartender over to order another drink, his eyes glance down at you before returning back to his lap.
“Hi, can I get a vodka cran please, thank you.” As the bartender walks away, you turn your focus towards the man.
“Soooo, what brings you here?”
He raises his head, turns to look behind him before looking at you with a puzzled look, “Are you talking to me?”
You giggle lightly, “Yes I’m talking to you. What brings you here?”
“It’s my brother’s bar…Deran. Just here for a beer.”
“Oh really? Wait which one? Are you Baz, Craig, or Pope?”
“I’m…Pope, but you can call me Andrew.”
“Okay Andrew, well is it alright that I stand here with you?”, You inch your body a tad closer to his, making your arms brush.
He looks down at the brief connection before responding, “It’s okay.”
If Andrew was being honest he was confused why you were standing with him. He saw you sitting with a group of your friends earlier so it made no sense for you to saddle up beside him.
He’s not gonna deny the fact that he noticed you when you walked in, it was hard for him to not notice a girl like you. You were very attractive and you had an outfit that accentuated all of the best parts of you. So it made him curious why on earth someone like you was standing near someone like him.
You both chatted for longer, the drinks flowing through your body providing you with the confidence to flirt with Andrew.
“So, do you have a girlfriend?”
Andrew gives a snort at your question, “No, do you have a boyfriend?”
“No, no boyfriend for me”, you say with a smirk.
The air settles but you both maintain eye contact. In most cases, your eyes would quickly dart away, but it was something about his warm hazel eyes that drew you in.
The rumble of his voice interrupts the comfortable silence, “Why are you over here?”. He gave no pleasantries to bring up the elephant in the room. You laugh at his brusque attitude, “Right to it huh?”
“I wasn’t trying to be rude.”
You grab his forearm and give a gentle squeeze, “I know! But if I’m honest I came over here because I think you’re cute and I was hoping to get to know you a little bit tonight.” You left out the part that you were hoping to get to know him in the bedroom too.
“You think I’m…cute?”
Why on earth did you find him cute, he thought to himself.
“Extremely cute. If I’m being honest probably the most attractive guy I’ve seen in a long time.”
Andrew honestly couldn’t believe his ears. If he was being honest he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. There’s no way that a girl like you thought that he was attractive.
You could sense Andrew was in his head about the new revelation, the admission and the music booming from the speakers nearby wouldn’t allow his brain to process how he felt.
Maybe a change in scenery will help, you thought. You gingerly grabbed his hand and pulled him in the direction of the door, “Would you come outside with me?” He nodded and allowed you to pull him along like a puppy on a leash.
You both walked outside, finding a spot near the fire pit. Andrew sat first and you sat beside him, choosing to rest your legs laid across his lap, your hands naturally gravitated to grab his hands and hold them in your lap.
“So, like I said earlier. I think you’re a very attractive guy and…if you are okay with it, I’d love to give you a kiss.”
Andrew’s hesitation was barely visible to the naked eye, but you could see it momentarily flash before he nodded profusely, wanting to taste your lips dearly.
You lean in and plant a fat kiss to kiss lips. Initially, he is frozen but after the feel of your soft lips pushing onto his, he melts into your kiss. He allows the kiss to remain chaste but it’s you who pushes for more. You slide your tongue on the seam of his lips, hoping he’ll allow you access to explore his mouth.
He opens his mouth timidly, giving you access to lick into his mouth. Your tongue tastes exactly as he thought, the slight punch of vodka, the twang of cranberry, and a hint of minty flavor from your toothpaste. You moaned at the flavor of his mouth, savoring the bready flavor of beer that seeped from him.
His hands slid from resting in your lap to now kneading the fat on your hips. If it wasn’t for the people who were the people who had come outside, your kiss would have led you to fuck him there in front of the fire pit.
You pulled away much to both of your chagrin and panted, “Would you want to come back to my place?” Your heart was pounding within your chest, not only because the kiss from this gentle giant was passionate but a part of you was anxious for his reply.
“Yes,” he growled. As you looked into his eyes now, they were no longer the warm amber color but now a deep dark brown with lust.
You both had made your way to his car, him making the short drive to your home, trying to maintain your composure and not kiss and lick his neck as you gave him directions.
Once inside, the kiss continued, only now he gained the confidence to pick you up and settle your core on his hardening cock, instinctively you wrap your thick legs around his waist.
You quickly pull away to tell him where your bedroom was, “down the hallway, second door on the left.”, then quickly pressed steamy kisses to his neck.
It takes everything in Andrew to not fuck you against the wall, but he knew he wanted to be a gentleman and treat you right. No lady such as yourself should have the first time with a man outside of the bedroom, truthfully if he had more time he wished he could have made it more special maybe some candles or something to make it more romantic.
In Andrew’s eyes, this wasn’t a one-night stand situation, he planned to make you his. It’s not that he wasn’t privy to a quick fuck, lord knows Smurf dropped plenty of women in his lap so he could release tension for a night, but with you he could sense that you needed a man like him as soon as you waltzed right up to him.
Andrew had found your bedroom with ease, making his way into the room and shutting the door with his foot. He threw you down on your bed, eagerly stripping himself down to his boxers, then climbed over your body. He started to peel your clothes off stopping after each item was removed to pepper soft passionate kisses where he could. You moaned at how gentle the man above you was being.
Andrew reveled in your beauty once all of your clothes were removed, the curve of your breast, your soft supple waist. His eyes finally landed on your core, your legs were crossed, hiding your wet entrance from him. He feels like most people feel on Christmas, unwrapping their present with so much eagerness, so excited to set their eyes on what lies inside. He gently pulls your legs apart and finally he's able to set his sights on just how wet you were, practically cooing at how gorgeous your pussy was.
He finally looks up to see your face, your features highlighted by the moon shining through the window and your mouth agape in pleasure.
"Can I taste you?" he asked in a desperate tone.
As much as you loved the idea of having a hot muscular man between your thighs making you cum with only his tongue, something about getting head felt a little too romantic, something about getting head from someone who yearned to taste you was too much and didn't give the impression of a one-night stand.
You shook your head lightly telling him, "I need you in me". You grabbed the fat of his ass and pulled his hips to press against your wet slit, He pouted at the denial, but let out a groan at the contact. Soon the idea of him between your legs was forgotten but, for Andrew it was saved for later. He made work of pulling off his boxers as you searched your bedside drawer for a condom. You tore it open pulling the condom out, Andrew moaned at the feel of your hands gliding down his cock.
The moment the condom is on, Andrew pushes you back onto your back, grabs your thighs, and rests them on his hips. He grips his cock and slides his pink tip up and down your slick entrance. He looks up to you, confirming that you want to continue, you nod eagerly, wanting him to keep going. He slowly pushes inside of you, you both release a moan at the pleasure.
His dick was exactly as you imagined, thick, veiny, and filling you perfectly. With him a little over halfway in, it felt as if you couldn't breathe. When he finally pushed in fully to the hilt, you breathed out a deep sigh and ran your fingers up and down his muscular chest, Andrew paused, letting you adjust to his size.
"You can go Andrew" you whisper, looking deeply into his eyes.
He starts with a slow pace, treasuring the sweet whines you made on each thrust. Your pretty face screwed up in pleasure was feeding an insatiable piece inside of him, something told him that he would do anything to keep seeing this side of you.
Although the stretch of his dick felt heavenly, you were greedy for more, you made grabby hands pull at his neck and bring him down for a heated kiss. You trail your kisses down his neck, mumbling into it, "Please fuck me harder Andrew, I need you".
How could he deny you when you were so needy and asking him so sweetly?
"Yea you need me? You need me to fuck you harder sweet girl?" he said in a mocking tone.
You nod dumbly with a pout. "Please Andy, need you.”
He groans at hearing how badly you needed him. Without breaking eye contact, he grips your hips and pushes into you with a strong powerful pace, the sound of your moans and his grunts quickly being drowned by the loud slapping sound of his hips snapping into yours.
"Fuck angel, you're so fuckin' tight–shit–god this pussy's so good." he babbles. He brings his head towards your chest and sucks your nipple intently before switching to the next.
"Mmh, god Andy it's so good!" you moan out. You scratch up and down his back.
The sex is even better than either of you imagined, the undeniable chemistry between you has been bubbling all night, and the passion he gave was mouthwatering. Tonight was exactly what you needed Andrew was giving you his all and was eager to please you.
Just thinking about it was making you wetter by the second. So wet that Andrew could hear the wetness with each thrust.
"On is your pretty pussy talking to me? Y’like that baby?" he whispers to your core. He pulls out and taps his cock on your clit a few times before pushing back inside, now giving even stronger thrusts than before.
The more he thrust, the closer you got to your release. You reached down to frantically rub at your clit, but were swatted away by Andrew's meaty hand. He tsked, "Only I get to rub your clit angel." his fingers rubbed diligently while thrusting deeply inside of you, your orgasm is quickly approaching and Andrew can feel the grip of your pussy tightening around him.
"Whose pussy is this? Huh, whose fuckin' pussy is this?" he grunts above you.
In your head, you recognized this as odd but you were far too cock drunk to give it much thought. So you naturally gave him exactly what he wanted.
"Fuuuuck–it's yours...this pussy's all yours Andy." Unknowingly, you just helped Andrew stake his claim in you. For him, this solidified the beginning of your relationship. He melted into you and pressed a searing kiss to your lips.
You mumble into his lips, "I'm gonna cum Andy!” he responds by pounding into you harder grunting loudly in your ear, "Angel, I'm gonna cum too. Wanna cum with you–shit Let's cum together.”
You nod and within a few more thrusts and rubs of your clit, you're on the edge. "m'gonna cum Andy" you moan, running your fingers over his sweat-sheened chest. Suddenly his thrusts start to falter, signaling he's at his reach too.
You both moan out, your pussy clenching around him and him releasing into the condom. You both are panting into each other's mouths, exhausted from coming down from your shared high.
Andrew peeled off the condom, walked to your bathroom, and tossed it in the trash. You heard him rummaging through the linen closet, pulling out a towel before returning back to bed. He quickly wiped you down, trying his best to wipe away your slick.
You wrapped yourself in the blanket ready to fall asleep, before Andrew delicately placed his shirt over your head.
You were too tired to usher him out and chose to let him lie beside you. He grabbed your hips and pulled your ass back into his crotch and nuzzled his nose into your neck, then drifted off to sleep.
"Goodnight my angel”, he whispered.
When you woke up Andrew was gone. Internally you were grateful as last night you felt like Andrew was assuming that your one-night stand was something more.
You got up and walked into your kitchen to find a full spread of eggs, bacon, pancakes along with a bouquet of flowers and a note.
You walked closer and examined the note which said, “Morning beautiful. I had to leave but I'll be back later @ 6 to pick you up for our date. Last night was amazing. ~Andrew”
You knew then you were fucked. Apparently you should have made it clear that this was only for one night.
a/n: ugh the idea of pope being a quick fuck and him being like um no you’re my wife now has been rotting my brain for the longest, so i had to bring it to life! i really hope you enjoy, feel free to comment, like or reblog if you did! if you have a prompt feel free to inbox me or send me an ask :) 🐛💗
Summary: Andrew's girlfriend volunteers to be Lena's camp counselor. During a secret, late night meet up at the edge of the woods, she confesses a dark fantasy to him. Andrew fulfills it.
Content: +18 MDNI, established relationship, codependent tendencies from both pope and reader, size difference, slasher summer vibes, unprotected piv, dry humping, semi-public sex, fingering, oral f! and m!receiving, choking, facefucking, finger sucking, masked sex, knife play, predator/prey primal play, dacryphilia, pussy slapping, fem edging, bondage with zipties, rough sex, creampie, aftercare
Note: this is part two of of my fic sweetheart but can be read as a stand alone!! just written with the same shy freaky reader in mind! i hope you enjoy this new edition to the sweetheartverse <3
WC: 9.5k
[masterlist][AO3]
You are, single-handedly, the best thing to ever happen to Andrew Cody.
And he's painfully aware of it that day you pick up the phone to selflessly put an end to his anxiety. You don't hesitate or think twice. You see a solution even at the expense of yourself and you don't consider anything else.
The first week that school is out, Lena mentions summer camp no less than twenty times. So, Smurf finds one just out of town and signs her up.
She doesn't think about all the problems Lena's had with other kids this year. She doesn't think about the fact that they'd be dropping her off in the middle of nowhere with kids she's never met in her life.
They might be mean. They might exclude her or laugh at her or pull awful pranks. And no one would know until the four weeks were up, until summer camp was over, until she'd already endured it.
Andrew confesses his fears to you late one night, and the following morning he wakes to you making breakfast in the kitchen with your cellphone pressed to your ear, talking animatedly.
And when you're done, you tell him that you'd signed up to be a counselor at the camp Lena's going to. "So she has someone looking out for her," you explain.
Four weeks of your life, stuck in the middle of the woods with a handful of kids, all to protect Lena. All to give Pope a little bit of respite.
He doesn't understand what he did to deserve you, his sweetheart, but he promises to keep you. Happy, safe, satisfied—to keep you his.
The ache starts the moment you step out of his truck, encumbered by your duffel bag and Lena's backpack.
And even though you look back at him over your shoulder as you walk to the camp office building, hand in hand with his niece—even though you stop completely to run back to him for one last kiss, much to Lena's disgust—Andrew misses you the second you're gone.
He tries to busy himself by cleaning your shared room and color coding your dresser drawers. He pulls small jobs with his brothers and runs a few errands for Smurf and hires a new pool cleaner.
But the loneliness begins to suffocate by the second night.
He wasn't used to this. To the absence of your hand around his elbow, to the lack of warmth from your breath whenever you hid your face behind his shoulder, to the silence that presses in on him late at night.
He misses your quiet giggles and your whispered questions and the weight of your hand in his.
He misses the way you look up at him with wide eyes from down on your knees and the way you roll around restlessly in his sheets every night before finally giving up and admitting, "I can't sleep."
And he'll smile and kiss you sweetly and say, "I know, sweetheart. Take your shirt off."
Pope hadn't realized just how reliant he was on his nighttime routine of fucking you to sleep until he no longer could.
Sure, he could stroke himself to the gallery of photos he has of you split open on his cock, but it's not the same. It's not the same, and sleep evades him the same way it used to before he'd met you.
Before he'd been absolved of his sins by the sweetest little girl. Before you'd stuck your fingers between his ribs and taken hold of his twisted and mangled heart for yourself; without flinching, without hesitance—only a claiming.
And now you were gone, loving him in a different way, a way he had never experienced before.
On the third day, Craig is the first to point it out.
Pope is sitting in the same pool lounger you always lay on. His spine is straight and he doesn't speak, he only stares at the glimmers of reflection in the aquamarine waters.
"Dude," Craig says, lifting a joint to his lips and cupping his hands around the end to light it. "You've gotta get a hobby or somethin' man. I've got a girl coming over in twenty minutes, you can't just sit here all creepy and woeful cause you haven't gotten any pussy in a few days."
Andrew's lip curls. "Don't say that."
His brother shrugs dramatically. "Well, man. I'm just being honest. We're all thinking it, I'm just the one saying it."
"Saying what?"
"That this—" Craig sweeps his hands outwards, motioning to Pope and the state he's in. "It's not healthy. She's a real sweetheart and you love her, I get it. But this, like, codependency you've got going on is just sad, bro. Seriously."
Andrew doesn't respond, but the words stick with him.
He gets in his truck and drives himself to Deran's bar, knowing there's probably a hundred and one things to clean in the kitchen. A hundred and one things that will keep his mind busy.
But while he's reorganizing the back stock, he can't help but think about Craig's little speech.
Codependent?
Andrew Cody. Codependent.
No, he thinks. It's not that bad, is it?
Sure, he misses you. And yeah, it's hard to sleep without you. And he might be going a little stir crazy, not being about to take care of you in his day-to-day routines, but…codependent?
He's drinking a beer, sitting at the bar at the end of the night while Deran resets the register and wipes down the countertop one final time. Pope stares hard at his brother and carefully asks, "Do you think I'm…codependent?"
"Craig talk to you?"
The clarifying question comes immediately, and it does nothing to soothe his concerns. Andrew just levels his stare.
Deran lets out a sigh and says, "Uh…I wouldn't use the word codependent. Isn't that, like, a one sided thing?"
When Andrew speaks, the words come out monotone and rehearsed. "A codependent is someone who forms a dysfunctional, one sided relationship by prioritizing another persons needs over their own, often enabling harmful behaviors."
His brother stares blankly at him.
"I looked it up."
Deran sighs deeply and mulls over the definition for a moment, silence hanging between them while he counts the twenties in his hand. "I guess…maybe it's more like separation anxiety or something," Deran says. "You know, like a dog gets without it's owner."
"That's not helpful."
"You asked," he counters with a shrug.
Pope drops the subject.
And it doesn't matter, anyway. Because an hour later he gets a phone call from an unknown number and when he answers it, the sweetest voice speaks.
"Andrew?"
"Sweetheart? You okay? What's wrong?"
"I…I'm sorry for calling so late, but…"
He can hear it, even through the phone. The anguish in you. Pope hates it. Hates it so much that the words are rushed and desperate as they spill from his mouth. "Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it, okay? Talk to me."
A ragged sound leaves you, an almost-sob. "I—I can't sleep. I need to see you, to kiss you, to…please."
Oh—sweet girl. He knows what you need, even if you're a little shy with the asking. He knows because he needs it, too.
Pope's been fantasizing about this exact scenario for the last forty eight hours. So when he gives instructions, they're crystal clear.
"There's a…a trail. Into the woods, a little bit away from that cabin on the east side of the property, do you know which one I'm talking about?"
He's already got his keys in hand, halfway to his truck before you answer. "They call it Cabin Frog."
It makes Andrew laugh. He'd gone in the middle of the night two days before he'd dropped you and Lena off to scope the place out, and he does recall the cartoonish frog painted on the front door.
"Yeah, that's the one," he says, the faintest trace of amusement still in his voice. "Want you to take that trail through the woods, alright? All the way. It's gonna feel like you're walking a real long time, but once you get to the end you'll be at the side of that winding road we took to get to the camp."
"And you'll be waiting for me there?"
"Yeah, sweetheart," he answers gently. "Of course I will be."
"Do you promise?"
"Cross my heart."
By the time you hang up, Pope's almost out of Oceanside. The bustle of the city falls away behind him, allowing for the tall, towering trees to replace the lights.
He likes it out here. Thinks about one day finding some land away from all the chaos and noise and building a home for you there. Someplace that doesn't belong to his brothers or his mother. Someplace that's just yours.
But maybe it's wishful thinking. Maybe he's just excited and eager for the first time in days, fueled by the promise of seeing you.
Pope arrives at your spot before you do. He parks his truck on the shoulder of the empty street and gets out.
With his arms folded and his back pressed to the passenger door, he waits. It doesn't take long, though. He hears crunching leaves and cracking sticks beneath your feet seconds before you emerge from the darkness of the brush.
And the moment you see him, you melt into yourself. Shoulders relaxing, a long held sigh leaving your pretty mouth. You're dressed in nothing more than a pair of pajama shorts and one of Pope's old t-shirts.
That tightness in his chest dissipates right then and there. The tension bleeds from his muscles and everything settles in him as you run up the small, grassy bank at the side of the road and throw yourself into his waiting arms.
Pope smiles. For the first time in what feels like a long time. He smiles and presses his nose into your hair, inhaling the scent of you deep into his lungs. "Oh, sweetheart," he muses, hands squeezing you tight.
"I missed you so much," you mumble, face pressed into the crook of his neck.
Pope feels the wetness of your tears against his freckled skin and pulls back just enough to see your face. "Hey, don't cry. M'right here. Okay? I've got you."
His sweet girl.
When he slips his big hands beneath your shirt, pressed to the small of your back, it's not a sexual caress but instead a grounding one. Feeling the softness of your skin, warming the cold away with his heat.
Pope opens the passenger door of his truck, brackets a hand around your waist, and sets you on the edge of the leather seat. He pushes your knees apart to make room for him between them and rests his head against your chest.
He hears the steady thumping of your heart and feels himself finally, finally relax.
You card your fingers through his hair, messing up the structure of the ambery curls. Your nails scratch lightly at his scalp and he can't help the low groan that leaves him, the sound vibrating against your sternum.
When you tug lightly to pull his head back and press your mouth to his, he can taste the desperation on your tongue.
Andrew reaches up and grips your face just beneath your chin, holding you in place to lick into your mouth. He's moaning already, sounds mirrored in you, wanting to be impossibly closer.
Your hands grow fevered and he matches your every movement, fingertips pressing into the softness of your hips and the curve of your jaw.
He takes you right then and there; pushes your legs up to your chest and sinks his cock deep inside.
It feels like relief, like forgiveness, like coming home.
Andrew hadn't realized just how much he longed for the taste of your mouth. A craving satisfied only by your sweet sighs against his lips.
Even when he's finished, when he pumps you full of his release, he stays fully seated inside you. Not moving but simply feeling you, pulsing around his cock, sensitive and alive and his.
He traces the features of your face and feels like he'd taken his time with you for granted before. This closeness, the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips—he hated being without it.
After some time, he helps clean you up with napkins from the glove box and climbs into the cab of the truck with you.
Only then, when you've got your head in his lap, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, does he ask, "How's Lena?"
"She's good," you answer, sleepy grin widening. "I think she's having a lot of fun. And there's this girl her age—Caitlin. They've been making friendship bracelets the last few days. So many of them they're halfway up her arm now."
Hearing it makes Pope crack a smile. She deserves it. After the rough year she's had, he finds peace in knowing she's at least having fun and being a kid for a few weeks the way she should be. "Thank you," he says, voice quiet and a little melancholic.
"For what?"
"For taking care of her," he answers. "And me."
You reach for his hand at your hip and take it in yours. Pope lets you move his fingers of your own will, flattening them before placing them against the side of your cheek. "I love you, Andrew," you say.
It makes his chest pull tight. It's different when you say it. Not like when Smurf tells him she loves him, not like his brothers.
It's painfully different, because it's something you choose.
Even knowing all you know about him and his family, even seeing all you've seen, the things he's never been able to fully shield you from—you still choose him.
He brushes his knuckles against the side of your cheek. And because he doesn't quite know how to explain his own devotion, he says, "I'd do anything for you. Anything."
Andrew means it. Lie or cheat or steal or kill. Anything.
But you don't ask for much. You never do. Just his time and his affection. "Will you rub my back? I haven't been sleeping very well without you."
He nods, eyes shining bright with adoration. You turn on your side with your head still in his lap, and Andrew spends the next several hours stroking his hand lazily up your spine.
Not sleeping, because he doesn't want to miss this precious time with you. Holding his sweetheart close, smelling the scent of your shampoo and the cedar of the trees.
He wakes you a little before sunrise, giving you just enough time that you can sneak back onto the camp's property and back into your cabin undetected.
But before you go, you press your forehead to his and give him that pretty, warm smile of yours. You brush your noses together and peck his lips and say, "Same time tomorrow night, okay?"
"I'll be here," Andrew says.
"You promise?"
"Cross my heart."
This time, when the sun begins to set, Andrew brings a few things with him. He's in less of a rush because there's a routine created now that he can expect.
He's got blankets laid out in the truck bed and a cooler full of your favorite snacks and your favorite movie downloaded on his phone. Everything to make you comfortable, to keep you coming back through the woods every night to find him.
Craig is the first to notice the change.
They're both standing in the kitchen. Pope is making himself something to eat and Craig and Deran are piling leftovers from yesterday onto plates and popping the caps off a couple of beers.
Craig offers one to Pope, and even though it's only eleven in the morning he takes it. Because he's got no where to be until nightfall, and the weather is nice enough out today that he won't be scorched by the sun. He could use a little time to unwind.
His brother's eyes widen in surprise when he takes the bottle from his hands. "You're in a good mood today," he says.
Andrew just shrugs. Knows good and well what's gotten him out of the slump he was in, but doesn't want to give either of his brothers another reason to believe he's codependent. "What? I can't just be in a good mood?"
Deran narrows his eyes and lifts his beer to his mouth. "Seriously, man. Something must've changed."
Whatever relaxation Andrew had hoped for disappears with the conversation at hand. "Stop," he says simply. He wants to argue, but has no ground to stand on that wouldn't collapse under the smallest amount of pressure.
So, Pope leaves it. Gathers his perfectly made sandwich and his beer and leaves the kitchen, trying to ignore the look of concern on their faces.
He chooses not to speak when he overhears Craig saying confusedly, "Therapy, maybe?"
It doesn't matter to him what they think. Not when he shows up on the side of the empty road each night to you bouncing on the balls of your feet, more excited to see him than anyone else has ever been.
So, yeah—maybe he's a little codependent. But none of that matters when you tilt your head back to smile up at him.
None of that matters when you're sitting in his lap, kissing his cheeks and nose and forehead, feverishly rocking your hips against his thigh and making a big wet mess on the denim of his jeans.
Pretty, desperate girl. Always so needy for him, never fully satisfied. And of course Andrew understands, because he's just as insatiable for you.
He does start to wonder if maybe it's a little perverse, though. What he's doing to you.
It clicks in his brain one night when you emerge from the trees in nothing but a bikini top and a pair of jean shorts. The ends of your hair are wet, and when he tilts his head curiously you explain, "The camp counselors had a swim race tonight. And guess what."
Andrew struggles to guess much of anything because he can't stop staring. Rivulets of water still drip down the center of your chest, just between your breasts that are held up beautifully by the polyester ribbon tied behind your neck. When he speaks it's a single word and it's low and slow and raspy, eyes locked on yours. "What?"
"I won! Fastest swimmer out of everyone. Lena was so happy. Seeing her giggling and jumping around—God, Andrew. She's so cute."
"You're cute," he says. "Come here."
And you do, of course. Let him pull you in by the belt loops on your shorts, talking and giggling all the while. So excited to recount your whole day to him that you hardly notice what he's doing until you're on the hood of his car and he's pulling your shorts down your legs and pushing your shoulders back.
It hits him then. With his head between your legs, staring up at you to watch your nipples pebble beneath your bikini. The rubber soles of your high top sneakers make little scuff marks on the black chrome paint as you writhe under the gentle ministrations of his tongue against your clit.
Andrew Cody's got the sweetest, filthiest girl in the palm of his bloodied hands. Wrapped real tight around his finger.
A sweetheart who'd do just about anything for him, and here he is indulging your every whim when in truth he should be protecting you. From himself especially. From the raging monster that lives between his ribs, from the guard dog he'd been molded into by the harsh edges of his life.
Andrew's too weak, though. Could never in a million fucking years deny you anything.
Especially when you set those cute little sneakers over his shoulders and beg so prettily, "Please, Andrew—more. Want you to be—hmm—be mean to me, make it—oh, god. Want you to make it hurt."
And he will, of course. Shoving your legs against your chest, squeezing the back of your thighs hard enough to bruise.
Later in the month, nearly through the final week of your new routine now, the thought crosses Andrew's mind again.
He wonders if the state of your desires has been subconsciously shaped by him. Wonders if maybe, somehow, that darkness inside has started to seep out of his heart and stain your sweet one.
Andrew's given the opportunity to confess these worries to you late one night in the back of his truck. He's got you tucked tight beneath his arm, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the muscle of his pectoral, right over his heart. "Can I…ask you something?"
You turn your head to look up at him. "Anything. Always."
He chews nervously on the inside of his bottom lip, mulling over how he can approach the subject without coming across insecure, despite the fact that he is.
"Do you…you don't…pretend to like the things we do for—for me, do you?"
A crease forms between your brows, and you prop yourself up on an elbow to fully look at him now. "What do you mean?"
Pope swallows hard, casting his eyes away, feeling suddenly as shy as you get around anyone other than him. "When we…when I…hurt you," he says. "You're not asking for those things just because I want them, right?"
"Andrew, what?"
"I just want to make sure I'm not changing you or….or corrupting you." He takes your face gently in his hands, stroking his fingers softly over your cheek. "You're so—so good. Such a sweetheart. And I'm…"
You wrap your hands around his wrists, pulling him away. It feels like a loss, like rejection, and he can feel his heart beginning to crack clean in two.
But then you look him right in the eye, voice more sure than he's ever heard it.
"I want you, Andrew. Not half of you. Not parts of you." You lean up further, on your knees now, a surety in your movements. "Do you…does it bother you? That I want those things?"
"No—no. Not at all. I…" The words get caught, stuck in his throat, horrified and exhilarated all at once to be so honest about the part of himself he's been taught to hate. The part of himself he knows is bad. Andrew is terrified of losing you, of scaring you.
But even as shy as you are, often hiding your face behind his shoulder, voice always timid and unsure, with this you seem certain. Unwavering.
With him, you've always opened your chest fully, willingly, your heart a soft feast for the darkness inside him.
And what is a man who's been denied softness at every turn of his life to do but devour it?
"Pope."
He stops, the spiral in his mind going quiet.
Not Andrew, but Pope. The worst of him. A name given to a boy with blood beneath his fingernails, a boy who'd already been molded.
You take his big hand in yours and bring it to the side of your neck, pressing his thumb just over your steady pulse.
His own heart hammers, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for you to realize you deserve better than this. Softer than this.
When you speak, the words are a whisper. A secret meant for him only. "I want you to violate me."
And because it's you who asks—his soft spoken, timid little sweetheart, who's never once flinched at the hard grip of his bloodied hands or shown an ounce of fear at a glimpse into what lives inside him—Pope does it.
Unleashes the worst of himself and lets his fingers tighten around your pretty neck. He presses you down and crawls on top of you, knees bracketing the top of your ribcage. Your hands come to steady themselves on the big expanse of his thighs, and the touch is so gentle that it grounds him. Helps him stay in the moment, reminding him that this is what you want.
Pope's hand on your throat moves up your jaw, cradling your face. He circles the shape of your mouth with the rough pad of his thumb, squishing your pretty lips beneath the pressure. "You have such a sweet mouth," he murmurs, his eyes dark and molten. "D'you know that?"
You can't answer, because he's shoving two fingers behind your teeth before you can inhale again. Your tongue swirls around them, between each digit, moaning around the thickness of his knuckles. He pushes them in deeper, deeper, until you're choking and gasping for air.
Pope doesn't pull them out, not right away. He lets those tears well in your eyes, lets your fingers flex at his thighs, nails scratching against the rough denim. But not once do you look afraid.
Instead, your glassy eyes hold a certain sort of magic in them.
When he does finally pull back, Pope's fingers come away slick and glossy with your saliva. You greedily suck in lungfuls of air that he'd denied you, lips turning up at the corners, forming the happiest looking smile he's ever seen.
Pope unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock out, already hard and aching. He grips the back of your neck and guides himself between your swollen lips, letting out a sigh of relief when you swallow him down.
Your mouth is soft and smooth, warm velvet around him, tongue gentle but seeking as you swirl it around the tip. He pushes himself to the back of your throat, humming when you choke on his length.
His other hand joins the first, cradling the back of your head, holding you firmly in place so that when he snaps his hips forward your mouth stays in perfect position.
It doesn't take long. Pope fucks your mouth with reckless abandon. Violates you, just like you'd asked. When your eyes go all cloudy, he pulls back just enough to let you breathe. To let the oxygen return to your blood cells, groaning low at the way his cock looks covered in your spit, webs of it clinging to his length and snapping against your lips.
Pope slides himself back into your mouth, down your warm throat, until your nose is pressed up against the trimmed hair at the base of his cock.
He steals your air and you stare up at him with so much adoration in your eyes that it makes his heart constrict. He's never felt a love like this—unconditional and absolute. His own devotion met with equal and devastating totality.
That familiar coil winds tight around his spine, and before he can stop himself Pope is spilling his release at the back of your mouth with a heavy groan.
You swallow him down until he's finished, his cock twitching between your lips. And when he finally pulls out, assessing the fucked out state of you, guilt begins to creep up around the edges of his psyche.
But then you giggle and wipe the back of your hand across your messy, spit-covered mouth, and Pope can't help but mirror the sound.
You cling tight to him for the remainder of the night, and Andrew presses gentle kisses to every inch of exposed skin he can reach with your head on his chest.
It makes him a little sad when sunrise comes and you have to leave him again, but the feeling is soothed by knowing you only do so only to protect Lena.
Still, the final week comes as blessed relief.
On Tuesday night, you come bounding out of the treeline more excited than usual. There's a wide grin on your face as you fall into his embrace, arms wrapped tight around his neck.
"You're in a good mood," he observes, hands resting against the small of your back.
"Mhm. After we put the kids to bed today all the adults got together to watch a movie. A scary one. You wanna know what it was?"
Andrew opens the passenger door of his truck for you, relieved just to hear your voice. "Tell me."
"It was Friday the 13th. You know, the one where the killer goes around and murders all the camp counselors."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, but it wasn't that scary. Some of it was even a little silly. But…there was this one part."
Andrew helps you up onto the leather seat in the cab and stands tall between your knees. He urges, "What part?"
"Well, it just…"
He sees it happen in real time; that slight embarrassment taking hold of you. You twist your fingers in your lap, fidgeting nervously. "Just what, sweetheart?"
Bashfully, you admit, "It got me thinking of you."
And he knows, before you even explain, that this particular scene had you thinking of what he does to you. Pope wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, breath growing a little slower. "Did it?"
"Mhm." You nod. "The killer is, like…super strong. He's tall and broad and big, you know? Like you are."
Andrew feels his face heat when you say it. "Big, huh?"
You giggle softly and press your forehead against his chest that is, in fact, big and broad. Corded with muscle beneath a masculine softness.
He nudges you back up with a shoulder. "Keep going," he says. "I'm still listening."
Your eyes shine brightly when your gaze finds his. When you continue, your voice is just a little lower, quieter—but that shy smile still persists. "He wears this hockey mask, too. Which got me thinking about that mask you wore for that one job—the one I helped with, remember?"
"Mhm."
"And the killer, he was…well, he was chasing one of the camp counselors through the woods. And it was late at night, and the actress was wearing the same shoes as me."
"Yeah?"
"Mhm. Same color and everything. And then she trips, and he catches her of course—"
"Well, of course."
You laugh at his dry attempt at a joke. "Of course. But then…I don't know. He has…he carries this big knife with him, too. Like a machete kinda. And…" You swallow hard, raise your index finger to his neck, and slide it across the crease in his skin. "He holds it to her, you know? Right here. And she looks so scared but…I don't think…if it were me. If it were…you."
Andrew picks it up then, what you're inadvertently asking him for. He knows you. Knows his sweetheart like the back of his hand, in fact. Can hear your desires even before you form the words around them. "You don't think you'd be scared? If I chased you through the woods and held a knife to your throat?"
Your breath stutters when he puts it plainly. But you don't speak, you just slowly shake your head.
He asks, holding eye contact so he'll know if you lie, "S'that what you want me to do to you?"
"I think…maybe…" You sigh, trying to fight of your shy demeanor. "Yes."
Truthfully, he's not sure what to make of it right away. Because Andrew would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it before. Or an adjacent thing, anyway. Chasing you down, tying you up. Seeing that look in your eye when you're not sure what happens next. Seeing just how far he could push, seeing how much he could take.
But it's all only fantasy. Buried beneath his own shame, his own guilt, practicing the learned behavior of suppression. Because it's you, and he's fire holding fragility in the palm of his hand, and Andrew Cody thinks he would die if he ever managed to hurt you. To truly hurt you.
He would die. Should die.
But…he's not taking, is he?
You're offering up your trust, your safety, your life. For him. For pleasure.
No, Andrew thinks. He's not taking, and it's not something as simple as surrender.
You're giving. Eagerly. Wishfully.
The weight of it overwhelms him.
Andrew lifts his hand to your face, brushing the back of his knuckles gently over your cheek. "And you're—you're sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Do you promise?"
"Cross my heart."
A smile pulls at his lips, hearing a phrase of his own echoed in your mouth. Vowing this time not on his darkened heart but on your sweet one. And because he'd give you anything, anything—even the very worst of him, Andrew nods stiffly. Says, "I think I want that, too."
Your shoulders slump just a little, relief bleeding the tension from your bones.
"But you'll tell me if you change your mind, right? Even during. If you…if you do get scared, I won't be upset or mad or—or anything. You just tell me, okay?"
You wind your arms and legs around him, pulling his body against yours, head resting at the crook of his neck. "I'm not afraid of you."
Only then does he feel himself relax, melting beneath your touch. Andrew lifts your face to his with a finger beneath your chin. But as soon as he presses his mouth to yours, his phone begins to ring.
With a sigh, he fishes the pesky device out of his pocket and presses it to his ear, listening to his brother fill him in on the situation going on back home, outside of the perfect bubble of devotion and safety he's created here with you.
When he hangs up, there's melancholy in his voice as he admits, "I've…I've gotta go. Scouting something for a job next week. And I won't make it tomorrow, either. But…Thursday night. Alright?"
"It'll be the last night before summer camp is over," you say with an excited smirk. "So we can…"
Pope nods. "Just don't—don't come all the way off the trail. alright? You find someplace to hide an' I'll…I'll find you. Yeah?"
He doesn't miss the flash of excitement as it flickers through your pretty eyes. But you only nod in agreement, press a kiss to his cheek and say, "Be careful. And come back to me in one piece."
Far sooner than he'd like, you're turning to walk back to camp and Andrew is turning the key in the ignition.
But even knowing he won't see you for two days, the unsettled feeling is soothed in knowing what comes next.
And when he swaps Craig and Deran out at the scouting spot, Andrew is left alone to his own thoughts and they're filled with only you.
Of how lucky he is that of all the people in the world you could choose to shower in your affection, you choose him. It makes Andrew feel lucky and blessed and perhaps a little undeserving.
He thinks about how pretty you always look and how much harder he'll be standing over you with a knife in his hand.
The thought does occur that maybe this whole thing is fucked up—that he is fucked up for wanting it as much as he does. But then he remembers the brightness in your eyes when you'd asked this of him, and it settles something heavy in his chest.
He moves through the next few days in a sort of haze. Unfocused, because his mind is stuck on you. Not an unusual thing, but more intense than any given day.
And by Thursday morning, Andrew feels like he's buzzing with excitement. A little nervous, too, because he wants this to be perfect for you.
He even picks out an outfit. Andrew isn't the type to typically care that much about how he looks, as long as it's neat and clean and comfortable.
But for this, he picks out a pair of black jeans and a black hoodie, an attempt to blend himself into the shadows where he'll be hiding in wait.
He doesn't own a hockey mask, but he does own an all black ski mask, and…there's a part of him that thinks maybe you'll like it even more.
It takes longer to pick out a knife than an outfit, though.
He has quite the collection, in truth. Mostly smaller ones, easily concealed in a pocket or a boot.
But the one he settles on is a little flashier. Sharp around the edges. It's got a heavy, four knuckled grip and a chrome blade. Serrated with a saw back and a glint at its point.
It's pretty, like you are.
Andrew packs his truck with a few extras for afterwards, too. Your favorite blanket. A thermos full of icy water. A towel and a change of clothes and the t-shirt he'd worn to bed the night before just in case you ask for one to sleep in.
He stops at Deran's bar before he goes. Sets a stack of cash on the table and says, "I'm busy tonight. So don't bother me."
His brother asses him, trying to unearth an answer he won't be telling. Because this is something meant for Andrew only. Deran might know about your shared codependence, but all he needs to know apart from that is the truth; that you're a sweetheart.
"O…kay?"
Pope's jaw flexes. "I mean it. Don't call me unless one of us is dead."
Deran laughs nervously. "Somethin' going on I should know about?"
"No."
"Okay, well…you're acting weird, Pope. I mean, what? I'm just supposed to agree and not ask any questions?"
"Yes."
"You pullin' a solo job or something?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a solo job."
Deran levels his stare. And then asks with the smallest trace of amusement in his voice, "You breaking in to a summer camp tonight?"
Pope's jaw flexes. He blinks, and points at the cash. "That's for whoever takes my scouting shift," he says. And because he doesn't trust himself to say nothing more, he turns and leaves.
It takes more effort than he'd like to admit to ignore his brother's laughing in the background.
But none of that matters, Pope tells himself. Not now. Not tonight. Not when dusk falls, and he parks his truck in the familiar spot on the side of the road.
Not when he slides the freshly-polished knife into the leather sheath at his hip or when he pulls the black ski mask over his face.
Andrew's heart beats fast as he steps into the woods. The trees here are tall, the underbrush thick. The air smells like soil and rain and there's a faint aroma of fresh blossoms beneath it all.
His steps are careful. Meticulous. He's silent as he disappears into the cover of thick branches and green leaves. Darkness begins to descend, and Andrew lies in wait, knowing any minute now you'll come.
Knowing you'll run.
He's off the trail. Not far, but enough that you'd never spot him without knowing exactly where he's at. He breathes in deep, shedding free of that veil he wears of a righteous man, letting the his own darkness breach the surface of his psyche.
Pope hears you before he sees you. The branches breaking beneath your sneakers, the subtle shift of your feet. And when he does see you, coming into view just up on the trail, the thought crosses his mind that you got all dressed up for this, too.
Your hair's done up all pretty, and there's glitter on your eyelids and mascara on your lashes. There's even a shimmery gloss on your lips, and Pope can't help but think of how nice your glittering mouth would look around his cock.
He doesn't approach, not right away. He just follows close behind, observing the way you move when you think he's not watching. You're a little more stiff—more aware than you are with him. Like his presence alone puts you at ease, letting you become the sweet girl you are with the protective predator at your back.
You're wearing a pair of shorts and a black tank top over a bikini, the straps thin. Easily cut away, Pope thinks.
He steps deliberately on a stick, the sound loud and echoing in the silence of the forest.
Pope watches you turn towards it, your eyes wide and searching. But he's too well hidden in the shadows.
Yet still, you know he's there.
You turn and run.
Pope gives you a head start. Counts to ten in his head before chasing after you, a dark shadow that meets yours all too quickly.
You look back over your shoulder and stumble when you see him catching up, your balance faltering for only a second.
The trees blur at the edges of his vision as he closes the space between you. When he's close enough to hear your panting breaths, Pope flings his hand out to grab your elbow.
You give a yelp and wrench your arm away, slipping out of his hold.
A raw, animalistic sound of frustration rumbles deep in his chest.
Pope forces himself forward, breathing hard beneath the knit wool of his mask. His heart pounds in his ears, hands itching for another touch of your skin.
You're fast. Faster than he'd though you'd be. A sweet little gazelle slipping fluidly through the brush.
But he's the hungry wolf nipping at your heels, and it doesn't take long before he catches up with you again.
Pope surges forward, this time waiting until he's close enough to enclose his arms around your waist.
You let out a cry, loud and echoing in the trees, squirming in his hold that you'll never free yourself from. He's too strong, too big, too mean.
He holds you tight against him, trying to wedge his leg between your thighs as you struggle. Pope reaches for the knife at his hip and unsheathes it, gripping the handle hard as he brings the blade to your throat.
Your squirming settles.
Pope smiles when he sees you swallow hard. "Yeah," he whispers, breath warm against your ear. "You know what that is, huh?"
He pushes you forward, sharp blade pressing against your neck. You let him maneuver you, forcing you over to a tree a few feet away.
The bark is dark and rough, the trunk thin enough for what he intends.
Pope grabs your shoulder and turns you around, pressing your back against the tree. He lifts the knife and presses the point of it to your chin, lifting your head so you're looking right at him.
Your shimmery lips are parted, your eyes wide and zealous and wanting. Andrew doesn't think he's ever seen you this needy before. So filled with desire that your eyes are glassy with tears.
"Aw, sweetheart," he says tenderly. "You gonna cry? Shh. S'okay. You can cry if you need to, hm?"
A whimper stutters out of you, a single tear sliding down your cheek as you close your eyes.
Pope leans forward and licks at the wetness, drinking in the saltiness of your overwhelm. "You're pretty when you cry," he whispers.
He rights his blade, pressing the edge against your throat again. And then he caresses your arm, fingers sliding all the way down to your hand.
"Don't move," he orders, rounding the tree. Andrew sets your hand against the back of it, reaches for your other arm, and brings them together. He takes one of the black zip ties he'd stashed in his hoodie pocket and wraps it tight around your wrists, the plastic sliding noisily over the raised notches.
Pope comes back around the tree to face you, standing just a few feet away so he can get a good look at you. Sweet and pretty, completely at his mercy.
He could do anything to you, anything. And you'd let him. Perfect, perverted girl that you are.
The muscles in your shoulder flex as you fight against your restraints, trying to free yourself.
Pope smiles beneath his mask and steps closer, bringing the tip of his blade to your face. Carefully, he slides the cold steel down your cheek, over your pulse, across your chest.
"Please," you cry, shifting frantically from one foot to another.
He hooks the knife beneath the straps against your collarbone and pulls, cutting them clean.
You whimper, and Andrew feels the adrenaline in his blood peak. His skin buzzes with the power he holds, watching you twitch in fear and arousal alike.
He shifts the blade over, to the other side of your chest. He cuts away what remains of your straps and feels his cock pulse as your breasts bounce, released from their confines. With his free hand, Pope yanks the fabric down your chest, baring you to him, letting the polyester gather just above your hips.
A whimper escapes your mouth, and then his name, and Andrew pauses.
But then you say, "Touch me, please. Please, please, I can't—"
He sees the way your thighs press together. The way your hips move, chasing what little friction the seam of your shorts allows.
Pope tilts his head. "Filthy thing, aren't you?" He slides his blade down your chest, over the swell of your breast. He gently presses the tip of it against your hardened nipple, smiling at the way you squirm in response. "Got everyone fooled, hm? Always acting so shy. Embarrassed so easily."
His hand comes to your center, pressing hard between your legs. You moan at the contact, the sound desperate and guttural.
"But how pretty you sound when you're afraid," he whispers, rubbing his hand over your clothed cunt. He drags the tip of the knife across your sternum, laying the cold metal flat against your other nipple. "Begging me to touch you. To fuck you. To hurt you."
"Yes, please. I need it, I need it, Pope, please—!"
"Shh," he coos, bringing his hand up to cup your jaw, squeezing hard. "Open your mouth."
You do, and Pope sets his blade between your teeth.
"Hold it," he orders. "Don't drop it. Understand?"
You nod frantically, biting down hard.
"Good." Pope unbuttons your shorts and drags them down your legs. He tugs them off over your sneakers, leaving you in nothing but your cut top around your belly and bikini bottoms.
He drops down to his knees and hooks his fingers around the strings tied at your hips. And as he slowly lowers them, a groan leaves him as he sees just how wet you are.
Sticky and slick, webs of arousal clinging to the polyester fabric as he pulls it away. Pope doesn't think he's ever been this hard before in his entire fucking life.
"Sweet girl," he mutters, discarding your bottoms. He wraps his big hands around the backs of your thighs and pulls them apart. "This where you need me?"
A cry escapes from between your clenched teeth. He thinks you look real cute like this. Squirmy and needy, all for him.
He brings his hand to your cunt, sliding only the tip of his index finger through your syrupy folds. He collects your wetness, dragging it down to press his finger into your entrance.
Pope curls it upwards, stroking that soft spot inside of you, and watches as you struggle to hold the knife in your mouth. Drool begins to collect at the corners of your lips, slowly leaking down your shin. There's a crease between your brows, frustration manifested.
With his free hand, Pope spreads your cunt open. "Pretty pussy's just crying for me, huh?" He pulls his finger out of you, painfully slow, and drags it back up to your swollen clit. He circles it gently, watching it twitch beneath his touch.
And then, with no warning at all, he brings his hand sharply down against your cunt.
You gasp, teeth parting just enough that you drop the knife.
It clatters to the ground between your feet, and Pope looks up at you with a darkened look in his eye. "What did I say?"
Your clit throbs beneath his hand. "M'sorry, m'sorry, I know—"
Pope picks up the knife and wipes both sides of it on his jeans, cleaning the dirt and spit from around the blade. "It's alright," he soothes. "I'm gonna give you one more chance. Okay?"
With a frantic nod you say, "Okay, okay—I'll be good—I promise I'll be good."
He stands, slides his knuckles tenderly over your cheek, and smiles sweetly at you. "I know you will be, sweetheart."
Pope sets the knife back between your teeth and lowers himself down to his knees again
This time, he pulls his mask up just enough to expose his mouth. He leans forward and slides a pointed tongue through all your wetness, drinking deep. You moan in tandem with him, satisfied fully for the first time all night.
He licks every inch of you, tongue hot and wet against your clit. He slides it up and down, up and down, circling your opening that flutters around nothing, begging to be filled.
Pope eats at you like a man starved for it, chin messy and covered in your slick. He presses his face against you, hardly breathing as he licks and sucks feverishly. You taste so sweet, a blend of ambrosia made all for him.
His pretty girl. His sweetheart.
He can hear it in your moans when release threatens. Can feel the way your clit throbs when he sucks it deep into his mouth, tongue flicking over it, ratcheting your pleasure higher and higher.
Pope doesn't let it happen. Pulls his mouth away from you at the very last second, ignoring your whining to slap your cunt again. Not as sharply this time, yet still no less forgiving.
You cry out, thighs trembling, drool covering your chin.
He taps your clit with his fingers. Not quite a slap this time, but not meant for pleasure, either. Just a quick rhythm to keep you right there, right on the edge.
Pope sucks in a breath through his teeth. "So fuckin' wet," he muses. "Does it hurt, baby? Does it burn right here, right in your belly 'cause you need to cum? Hm?"
You try to grit out a response, but it's muffled by the steel in your mouth. Pope stands to his feet and wraps a hand around your neck.
He licks your mouth, right over the blade you hold, cock leaking now behind his zipper. Your eyes are so full of lust and adoration and love that it makes him feel high on it.
The taste of metal and drool and strawberry lip gloss coats his tongue. Pope gently eases the blade from your mouth, smirking when your shoulders slump in relief.
He returns the blade to the leather casing at his hip and palms himself through his jeans.
"I need—fuck, Pope—I need you to fuck me. Please. Please."
It makes him laugh. All those shy, sweet words gone completely now, overshadowed by your desperation. "Yeah," he says. "I know it."
Pope undoes the button of his jeans, watching you watch him.
Your eyes are so eager as he slides his zipper down and reaches in to free his cock, thick and so hard that just stroking it has him fighting back a sigh of bliss.
He closes the small distance between you, lifting one of your legs and setting it up over his hip. Pope lines himself up at your entrance, sliding his cock through your spit-slick folds once before pressing inside.
It feels like solace. Satisfying, blessed solace as he sinks fully inside your cunt, filling you up, spreading you open.
"Oh god—"
Andrew thrusts his hips into you. Hard and unforgiving. The bark of the tree scrapes against your spine, but there's nothing but euphoria on your face.
He slams his hips up into you, fucking you as deep as your anatomy will allow, the head of his cock pressing right up against your womb.
"That's it," he mutters. "Look so fuckin' pretty taking my cock." Pope sets a punishing pace, finding your clit with his thumb and circling it.
Your head falls back, and your sweet moans echoing in the trees. Each wet slide of his cock reverberates in the open space, and the pleasure buzzes beneath you skin. "Don't stop, oh god—please—"
Pope loves the sound of the word in your mouth.
Please.
You beg so beautifully, music to his sick and twisted heart. He knows what he does to you is perverse and wicked and he knows that he shouldn't want to hurt you like this.
But he does. God, he does.
And what's worse is that you want it just as bad. More, even.
He fucks his cock into you, grunting low at how tight and wet you are around him. "You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Hm?"
"Yes, yes yes—fuck, Andrew, please. Love you so much, I love you so fucking—hmm—"
The words send a shiver down his spine. To hear it now, while he's fucking you like this, rough and cruel and without mercy—it's euphoric.
He's never been loved by anyone else. Not like this. Not so true or so raw. You ask to be given the very worst of him and when he does you love it still.
The velvety walls of your cunt squeeze tight around him.
"Cum for me, baby," he orders. "Give it to me. S'mine. All mine. My fucking girl. My sweetheart. There you go. That's it."
He fucks you through it, even when his own releases crashes into him. Even when his cock grows too sensitive as he pumps you full of his cum, Pope doesn't stop the rhythm of his hips until your thighs tremble. Until your body twitches, balance faltering, pulling tight at the restraints around your wrists.
He's gentle when he pulls out of you to tuck his cock back into his jeans, and quick to grab his blade, reach around the trunk of the tree, and cut the zip ties away.
Your knees buckle, but Andrew is there to catch you. The way he silently vows he always will be. "Hey," he murmurs. "You're alright. Here, hold onto me."
He places your hands on his shoulders, and grabs your shorts from the forest floor. He shakes the dirt out of them and carefully pulls them back up your legs, righting the denim at your hips.
He then removes his ski mask completely, then his hoodie. Pope pulls it over your head, helping you get your arms through the too-big sleeves. When he's satisfied you're warm enough, he wipes gently at your face with careful fingers, cleaning away your tears and spit.
The entire time, you wear this sated, sleepy smile. Staring up at him through your lashes, mascara smudged now.
When he speaks, his voice is quiet. Soft. The words break a little in his mouth. "Are you…okay?"
You nod immediately. "I'm really good," you say. "Are you okay?"
Andrew kisses your forehead, cradling your face in his big hands. "Course I'm okay. Just wanna take care of you. Will you let me do that?"
An easy giggles leaves you, and Andrew wraps his arm around your shoulders.
He leads you back to his truck, where he hand feeds you your favorite snacks and urges you to drink water. He holds you close, your back to his chest, stroking his fingers delicately over your arm.
Your wrists are tender and beginning to bruise already, and Andrew thinks he'd hate himself for it if you hadn't told him how pretty they make you feel.
He tries to massage some of the tension from your shoulders, and wraps you up tight in a blanket. You fall asleep in his lap, safe and sound with his arms around you.
Only in the silence does Andrew admit to himself just how much he enjoyed the night. Only to himself does he admit that maybe he does want to hurt you.
Just a little bit. Just enough.
And he thinks it's not so bad, is it, if you want it too?
He gently wakes you just before sunrise. Just before the alarms back at the camp will start to go off, just before your fellow counselors will notice your absence.
Andrew hates to see you go, but the ache is soothed by knowing you'll return to him later tonight, just after five when he comes to pick up both you and his niece.
You kiss him hard before you start back down the trail in the woods. Look up at him through your lashes with a playful smile and embarrassment in your eyes.
Pope laughs when he sees it. Thinks it's a little silly, after all you've done together, to be shy about anything with him. "What?"
"Nothing, nothing…just—well…" He waits. Gives you the time to gather the courage. "Maybe, I don't know…maybe sometime, we could…do it again?"
A grin stretches wide across his face. "Of course we can, baby."
Your eyes brighten. "You swear?"
He thinks he'd promise you just about anything, as long as you keep looking at him like that. Like he put the stars in the sky. Like you're so unfathomably in love.
Andrew smiles. Kisses the tip of your nose and promises, "Cross my heart."
tags: INCEST! DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT! READER IS UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF A SEDATIVE, dad!joel x daughter!reader, reader gets her wisdom teeth removed, intox somnophilia, sweet dad!joel, reader does not consent to sex verbally but doesn’t feel uncomfortable or ask to stop, gentle sex, quickie, mentions of contraception, praise and creampie.
summary: you get your wisdom teeth taken out so dad fucks you while you are still high from the sedative.
repost of my old dad!joel fic :)
“Mmm, my tongue feels all weird, daddy.” You complain, your body slumped and exhausted in the passenger seat of your father’s car.
That was the third time you’d said that since he’d picked you up from the dentist. It was safe to say that the sedative you were under was working wonders, even if it meant you would repeat yourself. Joel was glad his first time seeing his daughter high was off a legal, doctor prescribed drug, and it was a little funny seeing you in your dreamlike state, a pout on your pretty lips.
“Yeah, i know honey. The doctor said it’ll feel like that for a while, s’nothin’ to worry about. Just relax, hm? Daddy’ll take care of ya this evenin’.” He comforts, reaching across the centre console and patting your knee reassuringly, the soft hum of understanding from you melting his heart.
Seeing you like this was adorable and if he was being honest, it was sending several disgusting ideas into his head of what he could do to you in this state. You were always up for sex, you were the one who started this whole illegal relationship between you and your father, and as taboo as it already was, the thought of fucking you while you were sleepy and vunerable was something even more risqué.
When the two of you pull into the front garden, Joel steps out of the car first, rounding the vehicle until he gets to your door. He opens it and offers you his hand which you brush away, instead reaching up and looping your arms around his head, your body completely lax and unwilling to move on it’s own.
Your eyes were lulled closed, the pieces of cotton stuffed into your mouth making you drool a little uncontrollably, all of which the dentist had told Joel was normal. He sighs at your laziness yet there wasn’t much annoyance behind it. He scoops you up into his arms bridal style, letting you tuck your head comfortably into his neck as he carried you inside the house.
He takes you on through to the living room, walking over to the couch to lay you down there, but you stop him. “No, want my bed.” You groan, clinging tighter to him so he didn’t put you down.
Joel feels like strangling you but decides against it, settling for a loud sigh that blew into your face and heading for the staircase, stomping up it a little louder than necessary. He looks down at you, watching your eyes droop further closed, slumber starting to call your name. Maybe you were better off sleeping for a couple hours, getting some rest and letting the drugs wear off.
He makes it into your bedroom and shifts you in his arms to lay you down on your bed over the covers, leaving you momentarily to grab a fluffy blanket draped over your desk chair to cover you. “Now, there ya go, kiddo. Try and get some rest now, yeah?” He suggests quietly, leaning down and pressing a lips again your forehead.
You nod wordlessly, a contented hum leaving your lips as you settle comfortably on your back.
Joel spends the next hour watching over you from the little purple armchair next to your bed, the same one you’d had ever since you were a little girl. Ever so often you’d make these little whining noises in your sleep, likely to do with the unfamiliar feeling of damp cotton in your mouth.
And as much as Joel wanted to concentrate on caring for you, on being the responsible father he was meant to be, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to the thoughts from before in the car. Of how vunerable you were like this, his baby girl, all drugged up and sleepy.
It makes his cock unbelievably hard thinking of all the different things he could do to you when you were so out of it. How it would feel to climb on top of you, something he’s done so many times before, and fuck his cock into you. How easily your pussy would lubricate itself for him when you were in such a biddable state.
It wouldn’t hurt to give it a go, right? Every time the two of you got up to something sexual, you were almost always the one to suggest it. Surely you wouldn’t mind him taking what he needed just this once. Hell, you mightn’t even remember it. Curiosity gets to Joel and suddenly he finds himself standing up from his seat and undoing the zipper of his jeans. His cock is hard and straining against his boxers as he pulls them down along with the denim and it takes everything within him not to take it in his hand right then and there and just relieve some of the pressure.
He carefully makes his way closer to the bed and climbs over your body, mindful not to jostle you too much, after all, this would be much easier if you just stayed asleep. He rests his weight on his arms either side of your neck, his hard cock resting against your inner thigh.
For a second, he just looks at you. His warm, brown eyes melting at the sight of you so pliant beneath him. Your mouth is slightly ajar, soft, breathy snores puffing through your lips. For a moment, the person laying in front of him — the adult in front of him — reminds him of that little girl he raised all those years ago. Your sleeping form makes you look younger somehow and it takes him back to your younger years, tucking you into bed and giving you a goodnight kiss.
And for a moment, he feels guilt eat as his chest, the same guilt he pushes down every time the two of you converse sexually. It was hard not to feel a level of culpability when he was about to take advantage of his daughter in this state. Usually, he didn’t when you were participating and, well, awake, but now, when he was alone with his thoughts, everything felt a little more raw.
Despite it though, he reaches down and wraps a hand around his cock, squeezing himself lightly to release some of the pressure built up in his erection. He then removes his hand and focuses on you, his hands coming down to remove your sweatpants by tugging at your waistband, taking your white, cotton panties off at the same time to kill two birds with one stone.
You whine a little at the disturbance and Joel holds his breath as you scrunch your face up in discomfort. You nuzzle the side of your face against the soft pillow beneath your sleepy head, momentarily tensing before relaxing back into sleep.
Fucking phew.
Joel tosses your underwear across the room somewhere he doesn’t care to look and moves his hand down between your legs. He cups your sex briefly to feel the warmth radiating from your relaxed body and it makes his cock harden even further and his heart soften at the same time.
He then runs his pointer finger through your folds, noting that you were understandably not wet. He takes his thumb up to your clit and flattens it over the nub, getting to work on circling the small organ slowly so he can hopefully loosen you up a little.
And sure enough, your pussy started to lubricate itself in the next couple of minutes, a soft, sleepy whine falling from your lips as your eyelids flutter open. You aren’t panicked when you wake. You trust your father and in your opinion, this wasn’t much different to him touching you while you were awake and consenting.
Joel doesn’t notice your awake immediately but when another slow moan passes your lips, a little muffled around the cotton in your mouth, it stirs Dad enough to look up at you. He feels a little embarrassed that he’s that desperate that he has to violate you in your sleep and for a moment he’s a little nervous of your reaction.
“Daddy,” you whimper sleepily. And your tone isn’t protesting, if anything, it’s pleading. Your little hole starts to pulse now, your slick coating your lips. Joel can tell that you’re still a little high with the way your voice sounds and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find that incredibly arousing.
“M’sorry, hon. Daddy’s just playing with his baby girl a little. Go back to sleep, honeybun.” He coaxes, slowing his ministrations as to not overwhelm you. When he’s sure you’re falling back asleep again, he slips his index finger past your opening, inspecting whether you were ready or not.
When he’s met with your wet, velvety insides, he’s pleased enough to remove his digit and line his cock up with your entrance. He hissed at your smooth, slick cunt against his swollen, blushing tip, his hand trembling on one side of your head as he held himself up while entering you slowly, feeling your walls give him a welcoming squeeze.
“Fuck, sweetie. Nice n’tight f’daddy when you’re all sleepy, huh?” He asks, being met with a puff of air from your slightly open, sleeping mouth. It truly amazed Joel how easy it was to work you up when you weren’t even awake and the fact that he was able to do this without stirring you made his cock leak.
And he can’t help the shameless whimper that passes his lips at the incredible feeling of your warm insides wrapped around him so perfectly as he started to pump in and out of your sweet pussy, his sweet pussy. The one he’s proud to say he created with the help of your mother — the one night stand he’d had twenty years ago.
He pumps himself in and out of you slowly and he doubts it’ll take much longer until he’s making a mess of this pretty hole of yours, he was getting old after all. He uses one hand to grip your hip, trying his best not to squeeze your delicate bones too tightly, though it was easier said than done when you sucked him in and clenched occasionally and involuntarily.
And being able to fuck you like this was almost better than when you were awake. Don’t get him wrong, he loves watching his baby girl react to his cock and babble sweet nothings as he makes her cum but when he used you like this, there wasn’t any pressure to hold out his orgasm until you were finished.
“There we go, honeybun. Gonna make daddy cum if ya keep squeezin’ me so goddamn tight.” He grits though he knows you can’t hear, almost immediately after he says that, your cunt twitches and clenches around him again, and it’s in that moment he knew he was done for.
Joel’s hips start to stutter and his thrusts become quite sloppy and uncalculated. And if he was being honest, it was a little embarrassing that he was cumming so quickly, it did nothing but remind him of his age painfully.
Regardless, he tightens his grip on you despite his efforts not to and starts to pound you now, the sounds of skin on skin colliding filling the room. They were loud enough to the point that Joel even felt a little concerned that not even that was waking you. But his pleasure outweighed his worry as his balls drew up into his stomach and his tip started to pulse.
Your father’s forehead comes crashing down onto your covered chest as he fucks himself through his orgasm. “My baby girl, my special girl,” he repeats multiple times. Copious spurts of Joel’s cum fills your insides, coating your walls and hopefully not travelling to your womb.
His own load starts to drip from you even while he’s buried inside of you, his thrusts barely there now as he stills. The creamy DNA drips down his length and coats his sensitive balls and the feeling is somewhat uncomfortable and a little erotic at the same time.
His dick slips out of you on its own, the mix of your juices and his seed creating a slippy substance and Joel groans as he feels himself start to soften.
And it would be fine, right? Him cumming inside of you. Normally, he was a little more careful when it came to protection but as soon as you were awake and feeling better he’d just take a trip down to Wallgreens and grab a plan b. Worse comes to worse, he’ll have to fish out a couple hundred dollars for a pill at planned parenthood. No biggie, right?
Jesus, How was he going to explain this to you when you woke full of his cum?
Thank you for reading, this has been in my drafts for so long holy shit😭 reblogs and comments help a ton so feel free to leave your thoughts :) I normally don’t get turned on while writing but goddamn this did things to me🫠
