something something babysitter!reader, price calling you to pick you up earlier because his shitty ex wife made sure he has the wrong time for the court hearing, you rush over to his house. hes incredibly thankful while horribly stressed, quickly tying his tie around his neck while on the way to the door. you, being the sweet thing you are, follow him around to help, baby on your hip, keys in the other. he takes them while you're standing in the doorframe and without thinking; call it force of habit; he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before speeding off.
You’re abby’s babysitter and mike pays you back in his own way
⟢ 18+ mdni sub!mike schmidt, riding, p in v, calling him a good boy once, f!reader
Whenever Mike got caught up with his late night shifts at his new job, the first numbers he’d dial on the phone attached to the wall every time, and every night, were yours. He always needed someone to watch after his little sister, Abby, while he was gone, and you were the first one that came to mind, he trusted you enough with her. She was a good kid, always stuck in her room coloring, and you never really complained about watching her. Besides her talking to her so-called “friends.” Mike’s aware of that though, he believes she’s going through some kind of phase.
Meanwhile with Mike, his situation was hard, hard enough, and his selfish aunt wasn’t making it any easier for him. She didn’t think twice calling him “unfit” and “unstable,” throwing those words around to prove her point of how “terrible” of a guardian her nephew is. All she really wanted was the monthly custody check from the state. She didn’t care about Abby at all. She never really did in the first place.
He was doing everything he could to prove her wrong, but with the new security guard job his career counselor helped him get, it didn’t exactly help him make ends met. The pay wasn’t good; the hours were worse. And on top of that, he couldn’t even afford to pay you back in return for all the nights you stayed with Abby, and he felt guilty about it every single time. All those evenings you showed up, doing so much for him while getting nothing in return.
Oh, it was eating him alive, he really didn’t think he deserved you. Nope. Not at all. And if he weren’t such an awkward idiot as well, maybe he’d be able to talk to you without fumbling over his own words every time you were around.
He wanted to pay you back so badly. God, he wished he could, but his pockets were empty, and he knew it. But, he still wanted to offer you something that actually showed how much your kindness meant to him each time you were there for him. Something more than the money he didn’t have for you yet.
“A-am i– i being good for you?” Mike asked,his voice breaking between whimpers leaving his lips as you rode on top of him, your hands holding onto his shoulders as his bed beneath you creaked from every movement of your slamming hips. “Am I– ah–making you feel good?”
“Mhmm…” you hummed softly in response, his cock brushing against your spot that had you creaming around him as you rode yourself through the pleasure, your walls clenching his length so tightly from your release.
Mike’s hands gripped onto your sides as you moved yourself against him, your cunt drenching around his aching hard cock. His tip twitched inside you, a sudden warmth rushing through his whole body, signaling just how close he was to his orgasm.
“Mmh– c-can i cum?” he asked, gazing up at you with those pleading eyes of his. “Please– fuck, i’m begging you. please, please, please,” he begged, his arms then wrapping around you, pulling you closer as your hips continued to move over him.
His desperation pulled an ache in your chest, your hand sliding up from his shoulder to gently thread your fingers through his dark curls. “Yes, Mike… you can cum. You’ve been such a good boy for me.”
God, he was so close, so overwhelmed already, hearing those words come out of your mouth pushed him over the edge. He pulled you down closer, pressing his face against your chest as he buried himself deeper inside you, quickening his thrusts upward. “Oh- thank you, thank you– a-hah–”
His breathing grew heavier, shakier by each thrust, holding down a moan in his throat so he wouldn’t wake a certain someone sleeping. He felt his climax approaching close, his warm breath hitting your skin as the wet sounds of your bodies meeting grew louder. That familiar warmth under your belly returned, fluttering through you for the second time.
“fuck, y/n… ahh…” he moaned softly, his eyes fluttering shut as soft sounds slipped past his lips and hit your skin as he came with you. His warm, heavy release filled up your wet cunt until the both of you finally came down from your high, chests rising as you caught your breaths.
Your fingers stayed threading his locks, soothing him as he kept his face pressed to your chest. Slowly, he lifted his head, eyes flicking up to meet yours, his voice came out low and shaky
“Um, i-uh– I do plan on paying you back,” Mike managed out.
“Eventually,” you teased.
He dropped his flushed face back to your chest, hiding himself there from you as a quiet “yeah…” came out of him.
A smile tugged at the corners of your lips at his shy action. “It’s okay, Mike…” you said softly. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Tags: babysitter!reader, baran is exhausted :( reader just wants to take care of her!, age gap (but no ages mentioned), reader is a college student, fluff, comfort, petnames (maternal? erm...sure), mentions of food, one use of yn
Summary: For the first time since her divorce, Baran doesn’t go home to an empty house.
Word count: 1.3k
Her key misses the lock an embarrassing amount of times, but Baran finally manages to slot it in around the third try. She shoves the door open too hard with it still in, nearly stumbles face-first into the house. The dark doesn't greet her like she expected it would.
She blinks into the warm glow of the living room, only remembering, when you sit up on the couch, that you're here.
Oh. Right. (Even more embarrassing, perhaps, is your car in the driveway.)
"Hi, Ms Al-Hashimi." You greet as she drops her keys in the key bowl.
A low sigh filters from her mouth. "Please, azizam. We can't keep having this conversation again."
You're suddenly very close, and not chastised in the slightest. "Sorry," you say, lips pressed together into a smile as you reach for the bag on her shoulder, "Baran."
"That's better," she mumbles, frowning at you when she realizes what's going on. "What are you—?"
"How was your shift?"
Baran blinks. Her shift. Looking back, she can't grasp on to a single thing, other than the fact that it stretched too long, took too much.
"Long." She finally says, belatedly realizing that you're pulling her stethoscope from her thigh pocket, carefully winding it around the straps of her bag. Her bag, now hitched on your shoulder. She frowns a little. "I'm sorry, I've kept you."
"It's okay," you say easily. "Got some studying done. Are you hungry? There's leftover spaghetti, I made a big batch."
You're steering her to the kitchen before she can answer. Baran feels strangely like a new hire being ushered into place by Dana. You pull out a stool at the island, lightly nudge her, and she takes a seat.
"You with me, Doc?"
"Yeah." She startles. "Yeah, yes. I'm sorry."
You make a sound in your throat. "They worked you to the bone, didn't they?"
"It's the job," she says tiredly, glancing around the kitchen. The mess she'd left this morning is gone. Her bag is…off your shoulder. Not on the counter.
Baran massages her temples.
"It's inhumane," you frown, flicking the stove top on. "I don't care how many days you get off, 12 hour shifts are fucking crazy. Oh—" You cringe. "I mean—"
Baran feels herself laugh. It's a little haggard but probably—definitely, she thinks as she looks back on it—her first one all day. She takes out the clip from her hair, runs her fingers through the tangle of curls at her scalp.
"How was Amir today?"
"A perfect prince," you say, scooping the pasta into a bowl. Baran smiles at your wording. "We went to the park, studied a bit. Then he saw a cat."
Her nose scrunches. "Please tell me he didn't kiss it."
"I caught him just as he was trying to sneak one in." You say, setting the bowl down in front of her. The steam wafts over Baran's face, fogging her skin. Her stomach gives a weak growl.
"Thank you, sweetheart." She mumbles.
"What's the—what's the thing you say? When you're giving someone food?"
Baran's chest warms. "Nooshe jan," she says softly.
"Nooshe jan," you parrot back at her, smiling. You spin around and grab a glass, start filling it with water. "Want something to drink?"
"I'm fine."
You set the glass of water down by her side. To her surprise, you also sit. You tap the surface of the counter, waiting until she's had a few bites before you speak.
"Is it really normal for you to come home this late?"
Something twists in her gut. Her next mouthful is hard to swallow, suddenly dry. Baran pushes it back with a drink of water.
"It happens from time to time," she says quietly. "Again, I'm very—"
"Doesn't it get exhausting?" You interrupt. You don't seem upset, more…troubled. You're so young, she suddenly thinks, barely even any creases in your frown.
Baran toys with a forkful of her food. "It does, yes. Often, even. But it's also very rewarding." On the off chance. She catches the worried gleam in your eyes, so unflinchingly earnest. "I must look like the dead." She says dryly.
Your eyes go wide. "No, not at all!" You rush out.
Baran's smile cracks. "It's okay." She pats your arm. "I'm okay, I've gotten used to it. I've been doing this a long time."
You don't seem convinced. She must really look like shit, then.
"Can I draw you a bath?" You ask genuinely. "Would that help?"
Baran goes hot. She shifts in her seat, shame warming her cheeks. "I—" She wets her lips, "I appreciate the thought, Y/N, but you're here for my son."
You shrug. "I'm here anyway. I really don't mind, Ms Al-Hashimi."
She shoves more pasta into her mouth. "Baran."
"Baran."
She chews slowly, letting the silence drag. Her ears ring around it. Sometimes, just its presence is too much. All that empty space with nothing to fill the rush in her head.
"It's late," she says eventually, setting her fork down. "Why don't you spend the night?"
You hesitate, surprise washing over your face. "Um—"
"Do you have classes tomorrow?" She presses.
"Only in the afternoon."
"Then you can sleep comfortably." Baran's smile is small. "Don't worry, I won't have you get up with Amir in the morning," she tries to joke. You smile a little, still hovering on the edge. She squeezes your hand. "Please. It's late now, I'd hate to think of you going home at this time." You're so young. You've got a car, but Baran knows well the horrors stirred by the dead of night. Too well. "If I'm not mistaken, it's a shorter drive from here to your campus?"
You gnaw on your lip. "It is, yeah. Are you—" You lean forward against the counter, "Are you sure it's not any trouble?"
"None at all." She promises. "The guest room is available. I can give you a change of clothes, and you can take off whenever you'd like in the morning. You've got all your materials, your electronics?"
College kids don't really do textbooks anymore, she's noticed.
"Yeah." You nod.
"Perfect."
You go limp against the counter. "Thank you so much, Ms—Baran. Honestly, the streets can get kinda creepy at this time." Your face folds into a wince.
Baran hums in understanding. "You're more than welcome to sleep over, any time. It's my fault you're staying so late, anyway."
"Aw, no, don't do that, boss." You wave a dismissive hand.
Baran smiles into a sip of water. She'd felt the weight of her exhaustion ever since she clocked out of the hospital, a bone-deep heaviness that continued sinking down deeper all throughout her commute. She doesn't know if it's the simple miracle of food and water on an empty stomach, or your unexpected company, but she feels farther from death's doorstep.
"There's more if you'd like." You gesture to her empty bowl, lips pressed into a pleased smile.
"No, thank you, sweetheart." She says gently. "It's very good, though. You're an excellent cook."
You give a humble shrug, your smile breaking free. "Pasta and stir fry are my two specialties. You don't wanna see me anywhere near a chicken breast, though."
Baran laughs, endeared. You push your chair back and pick up her bowl, spinning to the sink before she can stop you.
"Hey, leave that, please."
"I've got it," you say easily. "See? Almost done. You head on up, Ms Al—sorry, Baran. Get me something cute to wear." You send her a sideways smile, eyes bright.
Baran sighs and squeezes your shoulder. You're a good kid. "Thank you," she says softly.
She sees the pulse race in your neck as you tip out the rest of the water in the bowl and set it on the drying rack.
Summary: You stay over at Wanda’s one night after babysitting the boys, only to find out that the walls of her house are very thin.
Warnings: 18+ nsfw content; bottom!wanda, top!reader, masturbation, fingering (w receiving), mentions of oral (w receiving), mommy kink, dirty talk
A/N: This came to me and I had to write it, it’s mainly smut with a little bit of plot. Enjoy my loves!
——————————
It was late when Vision came by to pick up the boys and it was even later when Wanda got home from her work meeting.
Technically your shift babysitting the twins was over as soon as Vision left with them, but you waited up for Wanda, wanting to make sure she got home safely and didn’t need anything else.
And maybe, just maybe, you really wanted to see the redhead before you went home.
You’d had a crush on Wanda since you met her at a family party. She was one of your mom’s friends from college who she’d reconnected with later in life.
Wanda was absolutely stunning and you felt butterflies in your stomach the first time you shook her hand. Everything about the woman was attractive and you couldn’t help but want her. You knew it would never go anywhere, but you couldn’t stop yourself from having feelings for her.
So of course, when your mom suggested you start babysitting her boys, you couldn’t say no.
Wanda thought it was a great idea and her eagerness to have you help her out made your heart flutter.
Now, here you were, curled up on her couch with a movie on while you waited for her to come home, knowing that you could’ve left the second the twins’ father had picked them up.
You heard the lock on the front door over the dull sounds of the movie you put on and when Wanda walked in, she was surprised to see you.
“Oh, hi Y/N! Are the boys still here?” She asked, looking around as she set down her things and took off her coat.
“No ma’am, Vision picked them up about twenty minutes ago,” you responded, feeling nervous as she looked over at you. “I- um, just wanted to make sure you made it home safe. I’ll be leaving now.”
“We’ve been over this, call me Wanda,” she corrected with a smile. “And that’s sweet of you, but it’s pretty late for you to be heading out. Why don’t you just sleep in the guest room for tonight?”
Your heart jumped in your chest at the thought of spending the night. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose,” you managed, rubbing the back of your neck anxiously.
“Of course! You’re not imposing, I’m offering. The guest room is already made up, you just make yourself right at home,” Wanda replied, heading down the hall.
“Okay, thank you Wanda,” you responded, making your way to the guest room to get situated for the night.
While you were putting your things in the guest room and setting up your phone charger, Wanda came in with some of her clothes for you to wear to bed, a shirt that smelled like her and a pair of sweats. She also gave you a spare toothbrush and let you know that you could use the toothpaste in the front bathroom. You thanked her again and she said it was no problem, smiling sweetly at you before saying goodnight.
By the time you finished getting ready for bed, you were beyond tired. It had been a long day taking care of the boys and doing schoolwork and your body was begging you for sleep.
As you laid in bed, ready for sleep to take over, you heard something strange. It was faint at first and you were almost able to ignore it, but then you heard it again.
By the third time, it was unmistakable.
You heard moaning - more specifically, Wanda moaning. You couldn’t believe your ears and you almost convinced yourself that you were making it up somehow.
But the longer it went on, the louder it got.
Wanda was touching herself with you in the house and you could hear it.
You felt a pang of arousal with every moan that came from Wanda’s room down the hall, feeling yourself grow wet at the sounds of her pleasuring herself.
When you heard her let out a breathy “fuck” you couldn’t stop yourself from sliding a hand down the front of your sweats - Wanda’s sweats.
You were already wet enough that it had seeped through your underwear. Just the sounds Wanda was making and the thought of what she was doing were enough to turn you on.
You pictured her in her bed, legs spread, touching herself as she moaned. You wondered if she was staying outside, making tight circles over her clit, or if she had two fingers stretching herself out, her palm nudging her bundle of nerves with every stroke.
You began rubbing yourself over your soaked underwear, getting off to her sounds and your imagination.
You were already close - it didn’t take much when you could hear the object of your desires touching herself in the other room. This was like a dream come true, you only wished you could be the one pleasuring her instead.
Her moans rose in pitch and you could tell she was close. You moved your fingers faster, wanting to cum with her.
She came with a long drawn-out moan, the sound bringing you over the edge with her. You wondered what she looked like when she came undone, back arched against the bed, face contorted in pleasure.
You stifled your own sounds as you came, not wanting her to know you were listening to her.
When the moment was over, the guilt hit you like a truck. You pulled your hand out of your pants and tried to ignore the sticky wetness between your thighs, your underwear clinging to you uncomfortably.
You had just touched yourself to the thought of Wanda with her in the other room. She probably had no idea you could hear her and you felt horrible for taking advantage of the opportunity.
With the heavy weight of the guilt of your actions, you tried to sleep, unsure if you’d be able to after what just happened.
The next morning, you’d barely rested, your mind racing all night with thoughts of Wanda until you eventually succumbed to sleep.
How could you look her in the eyes after what you’d done? After what you’d heard her doing?
You managed to get out of bed and use the bathroom before you trodded to the kitchen, still wearing Wanda’s clothes.
You were making yourself a cup of coffee when the redhead walked in, wearing only a silk nightgown that dipped low in the front and barely reached past her ass. You almost choked on your drink when you saw her, not expecting to see so much skin.
She looked divine, hair slightly messy from her sleep, face free of any makeup, curves on display in her skimpy nightgown. The task at hand of acting normal around her had just become significantly harder.
“Good morning Y/N,” she greeted, entering the kitchen. “How did you sleep?”
You cleared your throat before speaking. “I slept okay, thank you,” you managed to get out, still trying to calm yourself down. “What about you?”
“I slept great, I must’ve needed it after that work meeting,” she replied, making herself a cup of coffee as well.
“That’s good,” you said back, unsure of how to continue the conversation. You watched her as she moved around the kitchen and nearly whimpered out loud when she bent over to get creamer out of the fridge, her nightgown leaving little to the imagination.
You coughed to cover up the noise that almost escaped you and Wanda turned to you, coffee in hand.
“You know, Y/N, it’s not proper to listen in when a woman is having some alone time,” she started, a slight smirk on her face.
Your blood ran cold at her words and you tried to think of something to say back. “What?” you responded, your voice barely coming out.
“I know you heard me last night, detka,” she said, her eyes never leaving yours as you struggled to not look away.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to cover up, heat rising to your cheeks as you spoke.
“Don’t lie to me honey, that won’t get you anywhere,” Wanda cooed.
You didn’t know how to respond, looking down at your lap awkwardly as she spoke again.
“I know you weren’t asleep yet,” she continued. “Did you like what you heard?”
You didn’t answer at first, dumbstruck. It felt like she was coming onto you but you couldn’t believe the older woman would reciprocate your feelings towards her.
You shook your head no, trying to save face.
“I don’t believe you sweetheart,” Wanda said, approaching you. “I think you did like it.” She stood beside you now, leaning in. “I bet you touched yourself to the thought of me when you heard me, am I right?”
You couldn’t help the sound that came out of you, something between a whimper and a groan.
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” she whispered, reaching out to tilt your chin towards her so you were looking at her again. “Such a needy little thing, hm? You couldn’t help yourself could you? Did hearing mommy make you wet?”
Your mouth fell open at the title she gave herself and you throbbed at her words, feeling hot under her gaze. This time, you didn’t lie.
You nodded, still having trouble forming words, and she bit her lip, smirking.
“Yeah?” She asked, stroking your cheek with her thumb. “You poor thing, I bet it was hard knowing what I was doing in the other room and not being able to see for yourself. What did you think about when you touched yourself?”
Her words were turning you on. “You,” you breathed out, arousal clouding your thoughts.
“Be more specific,” she demanded, still looking at you intently. “What did you imagine?”
You mustered up the courage to tell her the truth. “I imagined it was me making you feel good instead,” you mumbled, somehow managing to hold eye contact with her.
“Yeah? You imagined it was your hand on my pussy instead of my own?”
You moaned at that, nodding again. At this point you were panting. You felt humiliated admitting all of this to Wanda, but at the same time it made you incredibly wet.
“You wanna make mommy feel good, detka?” She asked, her own arousal increasing with every honest answer you gave her.
“Yes,” you whimpered. “Please.”
“Oh good girl, those manners will get you everywhere,” she said, smiling. You felt a gush of wetness at the praise, your pupils dilated and your breathing heavy.
She backed away from you until she was leaning against the counter. “Come here.”
You obeyed eagerly, feeling excited for what was to come. You couldn’t believe what was happening, still not entirely sure this wasn’t a vivid dream you were having in the night.
Wanda slipped her panties off and lifted her nightgown, showing you her glistening pussy. Your mouth watered at the sight and you felt your ego inflate at the fact that she was so wet for you.
She grabbed your hand and brought it to her dripping cunt, letting you feel the wetness you caused.
“Fuck,” you muttered, mesmerized by the feel of her soft folds under your fingertips.
“Go on baby, make me feel good,” she encouraged, wanting more from you than just the featherlight touches you were giving.
Your gaze was locked onto where your fingers grazed her pussy, unable to look away. You brought a finger up to her clit and began to rub circles into it, causing her to moan softly against you.
The sound snapped you out of your haze and you looked at her, wanting to see her while you brought her pleasure.
You picked up the pace, touching her with purpose now, wanting to see her cum for you. Her mouth fell open, eyebrows furrowed, gasps and moans falling from her lips as you pressed down harder.
Her clit throbbed under your fingers, her hole clenching around nothing as you stimulated her hardened bud.
“You’re so pretty like this,” you whispered, in awe of the sight before you. “Even prettier than I imagined.”
“Yeah? What else did you imagine?” She asked, wanting you to tell her all of your fantasies about her.
You slid a finger into her opening and she gasped, hips jerking forward. “This,” you said, sliding another finger in alongside the first, feeling her walls clench around you. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”
Wanda moaned, moving against you as she tried to get more, your fingers fucking into her slowly. “Tell me more,” she panted out, practically riding your fingers. “What else do you want to do to me?”
“Fuck mommy, so many things,” you admitted, lost in the moment, her breath catching in her throat at you using her title. “I want to fuck you every way I can think of,” you started, almost losing your train of thought when you realized you could hear the wet sounds of her pussy as your fingers moved inside her.
“I want to taste you, I think about it all the time,” you said, fucking into her harder. “You sound so wet right now and all I can think about is having you in my mouth.”
She moaned at your words, her eyes closing in pleasure as you brought her closer to the edge. “Be a good girl and make me cum, and that can be arranged,” she managed, hips bucking against you. “Fuck, I’m close.”
You watched as one of her hands came down to rub at her own clit, your cunt throbbing at the sight of her touching herself for you. The sight of her masturbating was even better than you could have imagined the night before, when you were desperately trying to picture what she would look like with her hand between her thighs.
“I’m gonna cum,” Wanda cried out, her pussy spasming around your fingers, trapping them inside as she barreled towards her orgasm.
You leaned in to kiss her neck, making your way towards her ear. “Cum for me, mommy,” you said, your breath in her ear making her shiver as she reached her peak.
“Fuck!” Her body shook against you and she moaned loudly as she came undone, her walls tightening around your fingers and her wetness dripping down to your palm.
You continued to fuck her as she rode out the aftershocks and she continued her stimulation on her clit until it was too much. You slowed your pace, bringing her down as she opened her eyes. She looked at you tiredly, her body spent from the intense orgasm as you pulled out of her, your fingers wet.
You were too busy committing the sight to memory in case you never saw it again to notice the way she looked at you, love and adoration in her eyes.
After a few moments, her breathing evened out. “I knew you could hear me,” she began, catching your attention. “I wanted you to hear me.”
She bit her lip teasingly, waiting to see how you would react.
“You… you wanted me to hear?” you repeated her words back to her, your brain trying to process what she was telling you.
“Mhm,” she said, a lazy smile on her face. “I see the way you look at me, I’ve known you wanted me for a while now,” she explained. “I waited to see if you’d make a move on me, but you never did. So I took matters into my own hands… literally.”
She chuckled at her own joke and you joined her, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“I guess I wasn’t as discreet as I thought,” you mused, thinking back to all the times you thought Wanda had almost caught you staring.
“No baby, not at all,” she responded. “You look at me like you’re desperate for me.”
You blushed at that, groaning. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-” you started, but she cut you off.
“Don’t apologize, detka. It’s cute. It makes me feel wanted, desired,” she spoke, her words becoming breathier. “It makes me so wet.”
You groaned, feeling arousal shoot through you at her words. “Fuck Wanda, you drive me crazy.”
“Keep fucking me like that and I’ll do more than drive you crazy,” she quipped, raising an eyebrow.
“Deal,” you replied, your heart beating a little faster at the thought of doing this again.
“What was it you said earlier?” She pulled you in closer until your bodies were flush, your faces centimeters apart. “Something about wanting to taste me?”
You grinned, understanding what she was getting at, before slowly dropping to your knees. It was going to be a long morning, you thought, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
contains...babysitter!reader, age gap, 18+ MDNI, art cheats w reader but it is lowkey implied that tashi planned the whole thing, car sex, semi-public sex, head (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, inspired by this post from @traumatrios
You had never been interested in tennis before Art.
You weren’t interested in sports at all, really — you just wanted to buckle down and focus on your college work, earn some money with an easy part-time job. You didn’t have time to follow sports, or anything else.
But then you got a call. You had been in the middle of a lecture when your phone buzzed against your notebook, a California number shining up at you and enticing you to pick up. Normally you would’ve let it go to voicemail, but you had recently gone around some of the fancier hotels in your city with flyers, asking for babysitting jobs and posting your number, so you excused yourself with a wave and took the call in the hallway.
You didn’t know who Tashi Donaldson was when she introduced herself, but the hotel she’d asked you to come to later that night was fancy enough that you didn’t question it. You had done an extensive google search afterwards, of course, but simply raised an impressed brow at her repertoire.
Then you met Art, her tennis player husband and the father of the lovely little girl you would be taking care of, and suddenly you were pretty interested in tennis.
It started when Lily had a bad nightmare and you couldn’t get her down — well, it started when you met the guy, palm sweaty in his own as he introduced himself, but it didn’t really start until you had to put one of his old games on the TV for the girl to watch until she fell asleep at your side, tear tracks from her bad dream dry on her cheeks.
You had been planning on carrying her back to her bed when she was down for the count, but you had been so fixated on Art’s movements; his determined look, his arms, his legs, that you ended up dropping out too. You woke up a few hours later with a blanket over your body and Art standing quietly at the kitchen island behind the sofa.
“You looked peaceful. Didn't wanna wake you.” He’d said, sipping at his tea, and you knew you were done for.
Now all of a sudden you had time to watch a tennis match in the morning, play one as background noise while you studied. You had started following his tennis journey right from the Junior Open in 2006 — you didn’t think you'd ever actually see him again, but you could fantasise about it whenever you remembered the smell of his cologne as he thanked you for taking care of Lily, promising a big tip would go straight into your account in the morning.
(The money went in fifteen minutes after you’d left).
It came as a pleasant surprise when Tashi’s number popped up on your screen once more, a few months later. You had been in your kitchen, and took the call the moment you recognised the digits.
“We’re a little ways out of town.” She’d said, “But Lily raved about you for days after last time, and we know you better than a stranger. If you can’t make it out here, don’t worry, but we still wanted to try our luck.”
We she’d said. As in her and Art.
You cursed yourself for lusting after a married man in the uber to the hotel.
From then on out, you became their primary babysitter. Since they travelled a lot, and Tashi’s mom was with them most of the time, you only really sat for them once every couple of months. The town you lived in was sunny and had a huge private sports centre for professional athletes — a fact you weren’t aware of until Art told you over a cup of tea — so they always came back. You were glad you could count on them coming back — it was like magic, the way your phone lit up with Tashi’s now saved contact whenever the late night bingeing of matches and interviews stopped fueling your infatuation.
The guilt was almost enough to make you ignore it, say you were busy or just get a new number all together. But you never did. As much as you knew it was wrong, you always dropped what you were doing and drove to that cushy hotel where the receptionist knew your face and let you in with a smile. You travelled that same memorised route to the master suite, knocked on the door and made sure you were standing far enough away from the peep hole that you didn’t look weird and distorted when Art would look through before letting you in.
It was always Art now. Tashi had greeted you a few times but lately it had always been him — a sick part of you thought she might’ve known about your crush on him, played with it for fun because she couldn’t play tennis anymore. But that was crazy, and you really needed to sort yourself out.
You would greet him with a smile, push through the small talk, lean up against the kitchen island and watch his shirt stretch around the planes of his back as he made you coffee (On those unlucky days he would be wearing a shirt. Sometimes he would be just done with warm ups and physio and would answer the door half naked and covered in sweat. Those were the good days). Then Lily would come running at you from her room, hug you around your waist and pull you in to play; Art would laugh and grin at you, sliding the coffee cup in your direction and holding your eyes before heading to his room to get ready.
You would be knee deep in headless barbies and chewed up polly pocket clothes when he and would return, dressed up and ready to go. He would lean down, kiss Lily on the forehead, and press his hand to your back in a silent goodbye. Then he would leave, and you would spend the whole day trying to pull yourself together.
He was married. He was ten years older than you. He had a child, and was paying you to look after her.
But he always made you coffee when you arrived — just how you liked it because he remembered. He always checked in on you, asked you how your life was while you nursed the mug that was warm from the beverage and his hands. He would tell Lily to behave for you because We like her, and we don’t want to scare her off. He would let his land linger on your back half a second longer every single time he left.
But.
But Tashi was the one who would call you. She was the one who made you coffee the first time, told you it was the least they could do for you. She would walk out of her room with Art, smile at you and tell you how beautiful you look in that shirt. She would grin at you before leaving, waiting patiently by the door for her husband to take his hand off your back.
You were evil. Truly. The guy was married.
But as evil as you were, you always made sure there was an old game of his playing on the TV when they would return — because then Art would prompt you to stay and listen to him talk about it. And you would have an excuse to lean up against that island and watch him make tea while Tashi excused herself to bed. Hours would pass before he was checking his watch and hissing out an apology for keeping you so late, and then letting you leave.
The first couple of times he’d simply make sure you got in your uber safely. Then he started calling cars himself, the same ones that would drive him and his family to and from matches, press events. The same sort of service celebrites used, not their babysitters. You didn’t mind — it was a thrill, listening to him ask the person behind the wheel to make sure you got back safely.
(The bar was under the court at this point, but at least you were aware of that).
But tonight was different. In more ways than one.
In the beginning, all was the same. You were left sitting on the plush carpet of Lily’s room surrounded by lego pieces, a burning in your gut and guilt in your heart. You played doctor, you made dinner, ordered room service after her relentless begging, put on a movie, carried her sleeping form to bed, came back and watched Art play tennis until he returned.
You had started to run out of games to watch, ones you hadn’t already seen, so settled for an old game from 2006. He was playing against his old partner, Patrick something, and you wondered where the lesser known second half of Fire and Ice had disappeared to after that night.
Then Art came back, Tashi right behind him, and you smiled at them both over the back of the sofa. Tashi watched the game, something unfamiliar glinting in her irises, before blinking back at Art, “I’m going to bed.”
He responded a little slower, kissing her goodnight and looking back at you, “Tea? This game was one of my most memorable.”
“Even though you lost?” You teased, leaning against the marble.
He paused, looking back at you. He blinked, “Yeah.”
You drank your tea. You pretended like you weren’t full of shame for standing that inch closer to him. You let him talk until he had nothing left to talk about, and watched him check his watch. You waited for him to pick up the phone and call the car — only he paused by the phone, hand floating just before it, and retracted his steps to the kitchen, “I’m gonna drive you back, if it’s not too much trouble. Saves waking up my driver.”
“Oh.” Your fingers twitched, and you told them to stop. “Sure, of course.”
Art’s car wasn’t what you had expected. Thinking back on it, he didn’t seem like the sports car type, but his status and riches led you to assume you were about to get into one of the two seats in his Bugatti — you didn’t. The black jeep was expensive enough for someone like him, but close enough to home that you didn’t feel like an outsider climbing into the passenger seat.
The drive wasn’t all that far — twenty minutes both ways, so Art would’ve been back before Tashi fell asleep if he hadn't pulled into a parking lot five minutes out.
Your lips parted, eyes following his hands as they slid slowly off the wheel and into his thighs. His chest rose with a deep breath and his jaw constricted when he swallowed. Then he was looking at you, eyes piercing.
“Lily likes you.”
You were unsure, feet shifting beneath you, the sound encasing the silence of the space and forcing you to stop and blink, “I’m glad. I like her.”
“Tashi likes you.”
You weren’t too positive that she would like you if she could feel how you were feeling now — that all too familiar heartbeat pulsing between your legs with every one of Art’s breaths.
“I like you.” He finished, tilting his head until his temple rested softly on the headrest of his seat. His smile was almost taunting when he undid his seatbelt, “Which is your favourite?”
“What?”
“The games.” He clarified, knowing his question was too broad and that you would have to ask, “The ones you watch every time you’re over. The ones I assume you watch even when you aren’t sitting for us. My games. Which is your favourite?”
“Oh. Um —“ Slightly distracted by the way he shed his jacket, dumping it in the backseat. He’d lent all the way forward to take it off and his eyes didn’t leave yours once. “I don’t know.”
“The one you were watching tonight.” He asked then, “What’d you think of it? Honestly.”
“Honestly?” You swallowed, mortified that you were even entertaining this, “You looked a little distracted.”
He huffed a laugh, finally looking away and letting you breathe. It didn’t last long, because he was then getting out of the car and rounding the front of it.
The breeze was cool when it hit you, Art blocking most of it from where he stood in the gap. His hand was still on the handle, but you were busy unbuckling your own seatbelt — the message had been received, you had crossed a line and he was kicking you out of his car.
But when you turned, legs swinging carefully into the cold, his hand on your knee stopped you from really getting out. Your eyes snapped up to his, and you realised you had been caged — with one hand on the door and one hand on you, Art Donaldson had you right where you had been dreaming of him having you. It felt surreal.
“My opponent. In the game from tonight.” He breathed, glancing around casually like you were having one of your simple conversations over tea. “He slept with my wife.”
Out of all the things…
“What?” Your eyes darted between his, but the rest of your body otherwise remained still. Even when his hand on your knee travelled upwards.
“He’d slept with her before. In college. We weren’t together then.” He was now watching his hand move, like he wasn’t the one moving it, “But then he slept with her again, in Atlanta. After I’d already married her.”
“Wow.” You breathed, mainly because it was the easiest word you could slide out of your mouth whilst holding your breath. His fingers reached your thigh, begged to dip between them. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He was quick to respond. Your legs parted on instinct, and at this point you had surrendered to being an awful person — although maybe you’d fallen asleep on the couch and this was all a dream. You didn’t think you’d be able to face Art if it was. You couldn’t even face him now.
He took the newfound space for granted, stepping between your legs and holding them open with his body. His hand on the door followed him, taking its new place on your other leg. He rubbed up and down your thighs, but you couldn’t look away from his face.
“I don’t want you watching him play.” He spoke lowly, tracing his fingertips around your waistband, “I’ve seen enough of his games.”
“Okay.” You didn’t hesitate to let out, swallowing the hungered saliva that had built up in your mouth.
He unbuttoned your jeans, pulled the zipper down — painstakingly slow, but it allowed you time to brace your hands on the seat and the dashboard so you could raise your hips and let him slide them off you.
You were stuck in your head, but Art didn’t seem to notice since he was too busy folding your jeans and hanging them over the open car door. You dared question it through a heavy breath but he just moved on to your panties, throwing them precariously on the dashboard and exposing your glittering cunt to his bright eyes.
“We shouldn’t —“ It was a half-assed attempt at reconciling with your guilt, but the fact that you were half naked and spread eagle made it lose its meaning.
Art shushed you, kneeling down so he was looking at your pussy, “We can, and we will.” Then he glanced back at you, brow arched, “Unless you don’t want to.”
Any sense of rationale had fucked off when he put his hand on your leg, so you swallowed and said, “I want to.”
He wasted no time, licking a thick stripe from your asshole to your clit. You knocked your head back with a gasped moan, bucking into him and hissing when the gear stick poked you in the back when you led back too far.
You let out a shaky breath as he lapped you up, tongue dipping inside of you before travelling up to that sweet spot and sucking at it gently. You gasped and moaned, hands scrambling between holding yourself up and holding him down. His own were resting on your thighs — his calm and collected demeanour was a drastic contradiction from your own.
His head nodded calmly between your legs, relaxed in its position — yours, shaky and tense all at once, neck bracing whenever you fell back. His hands tapped soft melodies on your skin whereas yours tightened around whatever was in their old, whether that be the leather of the seats or the blonde of Art’s hair.
When he finally came up for air, his chin was coated in your slick, and he licked his lips clean before straightening up above you. You watched, paralysed, while he unbuckled his belt, threw it over the door with your jeans, and sent you a look under his lashes that you’d only seen him wear during his tennis matches.
You had been keeping quiet earlier, but when he bottomed out inside you and started to piston, your mind went wild. Choruses of Oh my God and Fuck!, shouts of Art’s name and whimpers under your breath — it all came tumbling out and you couldn’t even try and stop it.
Not that you wanted to; your vocality seemed to make him go faster, harder. It made him vocal, no longer calm and relaxed as he had been when eating you out, but loud and gruff. Grunts and moans you had dreamt about hearing outside of a television screen, now being huffed into the air you shared.
You came with a whine and Art followed not long after, and you settled there for a moment — legs spread in his passenger seat with him standing between them — until you could muster up the strength to push yourself up.
Five minutes later and you were both dressed, Art’s black jeep parked outside of your apartment building. You hadn’t exchanged any more words, but when you turned to slam the door once you had jumped out, you found his eyes on yours.
“I have a game this weekend. Two hours out. Tashi wanted you to come. A gift, for all you’ve done for us.”
(You went to the game. Art won. Tashi grinned like she’d made it happen and then offered to buy you a drink).
She was desperate when she applied. The kind of broke that made her skip breakfast and pray her bus pass didn’t expire midweek. Twenty-one, a full-time student, and buried in debt deep enough that she couldn’t see a way out of it without selling pieces of herself—her time, her energy, her sleep. Babysitting, at least, was honest work.
The ad had been short: In need of a sitter. Afternoons and occasional evenings. Must be patient. Call Rafe Cameron. 699-696-6969.
She’d called. He hadn’t said much, just gave her an address and told her to come by Tuesday at five. No interview details, no talk of pay. Just the kind of man who didn’t have time for formalities.
The house was nicer than she’d expected. Clean siding, trimmed hedges, a porch swing that looked used but not loved. She checked her reflection in the window before knocking—lip balm, cardigan buttoned up, smile rehearsed. When he answered, she forgot all of it.
He looked like the type of man who didn’t try anymore. His shirt was wrinkled, his sweatpants sat low on his hips, and there was a shadow of stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. His hair was still damp from a late shower.
“Hi,” she said, voice a little too bright. “I’m here for the babysitting job?”
He stared at her for a beat longer than polite, then stepped back to let her in without a word.
“Ellie’s five,” he said, walking ahead of her into the living room. “She likes dinosaurs, won’t eat anything green, and she’ll probably pretend she doesn’t like you for the first half-hour. Don’t take it personally.”
She clutched the strap of her bag, nodding. “I have three younger siblings. I’m used to moods.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You a student?”
“Yes, sir,” she said automatically.
Something shifted in his expression—barely. A raised brow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was amused but too tired to show it.
She flushed. It came out too respectful, too eager. She always defaulted to that when she was nervous.
The interview—if you could call it that—was barely five minutes long. He didn’t ask about certifications. Didn’t ask for references. He offered her a glass of water she declined, and then sat on the edge of the couch, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week.
She stayed standing, trying not to fidget. There were toys under the coffee table, coloring books on the floor, a coffee cup going cold on the windowsill. She wanted to ask questions, but he didn’t leave room for them.
Ellie appeared a few minutes in—small and solemn in an oversized t-shirt, dragging a stuffed triceratops by the tail. She blinked up at the stranger in her living room and said nothing.
“Hi, Ellie,” the girl said softly, crouching down to her level. “I like your dinosaur.”
Ellie looked at her. Then at her dad. Then back again. “He’s my favorite,” she whispered.
That was all it took.
Rafe stood slowly, his gaze unreadable. “Can you start tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she said, too fast.
“You’ll pick her up from school. I’ll text you the schedule.”
He didn’t say anything else. Not about the pay, not about rules. Just gave her a nod like they’d made a deal. Like she’d passed some unspoken test.
As she left, Ellie waved once—just a small flick of her fingers from behind her father’s leg.
Rafe didn’t wave. He just watched her walk down the steps, jaw tense, eyes tracking her until she was halfway down the sidewalk.
She didn’t let herself look back. But she felt it—his gaze. Heavy. Curious. Cautious.
It was just a job. She reminded herself that on the bus ride home, when she replayed the entire meeting in her head. Just a job.
Except… she already wanted to be good at it. Wanted to impress him. Wanted to hear him say her name in that low, quiet voice again.
And she had a feeling that was going to be a problem.
W: Use of petnames, Biting, Unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), dean being dean, oral (f receiving), DBF!Dean, Age gap (reader is 20, dean is late 30’s), Angst, Hand kink, Creampie, Size kink (if you squint), I think that's it!
A/N: Dean would be such a girl dad you CANNOT change my mind. I'm a Dean girlie so I feel like it's easier for me to write with him opposed to Sam. That being said, I hope you enjoy this. I had a blast working on it.
A/N2: I posted this, no joke 30 minutes later i was in an ambulance 🥴
part two
You had just gotten off of work. Your 9-5 has drained you. Same papers, day after day. If you were honest you could have just skipped dinner, and went to sleep. God knows you need it, but here you are.
Walking into the grocery store to pick up a few things for a quick dinner. Deciding to roast some chicken, you stopped by the produce to pick up a few odds and ends for your lunch the next few days. While you were scoping out the best cantaloupe to buy, brown pigtails adorned with pink bows came into your vision. The little girl tugged on your blouse, “I think I lost my daddy.” She mutters shyly. Immediately dipping down to a crouch you tried to comfort her, “Well sweetheart what does he look like? Where did you see him last?”. The girl, who couldn't have been more than 6 years old, began to describe her father to her best ability. During the little exchange, her father came from the chip aisle, seemingly anxious. He breathed out in relief when he finally saw her again, “Babygirl where did you run off to?” He picked her up, setting her in the cart. “I wanted strawberries, then you were gone.” She pouted, “Sweetheart we could’ve gotten you strawberries you just have to ask.” he looked up from the girl to you, “Thank you so much, I’m so sorry.” You smiled at the man, “No problem she wasn’t a bother.” looking down to the girl you smiled again. He thanked you again and you both went about your shopping.
That night in the midst of making dinner, he was all you could think about. You didn't even know his name yet the thought of him consumed you. Dinner was silent that night, the sounds of your fork against the ceramic, too caught up in your thoughts to turn something on. You went to sleep later than normal, since you had opted to make food instead of ordering out. Your wallet needed a break, and so did your stomach.
---
Traffic was bad the next morning when you left to go to work, just what you needed. You were already running late due to your phone being dead. No phone = No alarm. You were finally able to clock in, sliding your card through the scanner to get in. Dull boring day was going by like usual when you got a call from your dad, “Hey is everything okay? I’m at work.” The man sighed over the phone, “Yeah sweetheart are you off tomorrow?”. He sounded happier than usual. Odd. “I can be, what’s up?” you questioned. “Nothing, just me and a buddy of mine going fishing tomorrow.” You relaxed as he spoke, “Okay this relates to me how?” You asked. “Well his babysitter flaked on him so he needs someone to watch his little girl.” There it was. You began to realize the relation. “So this is you calling me to ask to babysit?” You sighed into the phone, “C’mon honey it’s the first fish of the season.” He begged into the speaker. “Fine, but you totally owe me.” You reluctantly agreed. “Love you too pumpkin.” He hung the phone up, pleased. You slumped into your rollie-chair. Before you clocked out that night, you were sure to brief them of your absence, despite your affliction.
It’s not that you didn't like kids, truth be told you couldn't wait to start a family. It’s just you haven’t had a day off in over a month and here you are using it to babysit one of your father’s friend’s children. Maybe it won’t be that bad, you thought.
You woke up around 6am, the same as always. Only this time you were switching blouses and skirts, for sweats and a t-shirt. After showering, you got dressed in a simple black pair of sweatpants and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Thinking nothing of it, you threw on your red converse and headed out the door. The drive there was peaceful. Slow easy Saturday morning. Fog covered the road in a thin haze. Despite your gps failing halfway through, you had gotten it to boot back up and continue to give you directions.
Pulling up to the house it was beautiful. Gorgeous white house with a wrap around porch. Adorned with an American flag hanging from the banister. Charming baby blue shutters hung by the windows. This wasn’t just a house, no this was a home. Pulling up into the driveway, you are met with a familiar sight. Your father’s red Ford pick-up, parked right next to an intense black Chevrolet Impala. Parking a bit off to the side, you grabbed your bag and headed to the front door. Chatter muffled behind the door as you knocked. Your father was quick to greet you. “Sweetheart you made it! Come in.” He slid to the side and ushered you inside the home. “This house…It’s so beautiful.” you muttered, setting your back on the table by the door. “I helped build it, a long long time ago.” Your father smiled at the reminiscence as you both walked into the kitchen. An oddly familiar voice shouted from atop the steps, something directed at your father. Where have you heard that voice before? God it felt like it was on the very tip of your tongue and you couldn’t spit it out for the life of you.
Heavy boots stomped down the steps followed by a softer pair of slippered-feet. As the figure came into view, it felt like the wind was knocked out of you.
That’s where you knew him from.
“Nice shirt.” Was all he could mutter, sporting his signature grin. You smiled back, as the blush creeped from your cheeks to the tip of your nose. With no makeup on was a hell of a way to greet the man that consumed your thoughts. It also made it harder to hide the attraction slapped across your face. “Thanks, small world.” Was all you could find. Your father looked between the two of you confused, “Wait how do you know each other?”. He was almost scared to ask, knowing Dean’s past. “The grocery store actually, his daughter-” You started but he cut you off, “Cassie.” He corrected. “Right, Cassie wandered off on the search for strawberries was it?” You questioned, looking down at the little girl still dressed in her pajamas. Dean smiled at the two of you, as she rubbed her eyes. “Yep slipped right out from under me, and found your daughter-” He said. This time you corrected, “Y/n, nice to meet you. For real this time.” You smiled as you extended your hand, to which Dean took in his, shaking gently. You almost passed out when he took your hand, whole body buzzing with tension as his engulfed yours. “Dean.” He grinned, looking down at you slightly due to the height difference.
Both Dean and your father watched as you crouched down to the little girl, “And it is so nice to see you again Cassie.”. Smiling at the little girl, this time her tiny little hand darted out to shake yours, you were quick to return the gesture before standing back up to your regular height. “I’m sure you two will get along just fine.” Your father looked between you and the little girl and then to Dean who was staring at you. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone, okay?” Dean pointed between you and his daughter to which she just found hilarious as she bursted out in giggles. “No promises dad.” You teased, and a spark went past Dean’s eyes as he went to speak but choked on his words. “Right. You girls be good, okay? Have fun” You and Cassie walked the pair to, and out the door. Waving at them as your father’s truck pulled out from the driveway.
—
You were told to have fun, and fun you had.
First order of business, like any, was to put on a gorgeous princess belle dress. Of course. Every princess needs a good breakfast so that you got to making. The smell of banana filled the air as you flipped the pancake, one of which was supposed to look like a crown, though ended up more like a squiggle. Cassie loved it nonetheless. After pancakes you decided to make cupcakes for your fathers’ return. A mess of sprinkles and frosting later, you have 12 well 10 cupcakes. You and Cassie had to make sure they tasted good. The two of you played for hours, swinging and running around the yard. Playing just about every game that could be played. The sun beginning to set, you had come up with one final activity. “Oh come on you’ve never built a pillow fort?” You asked the girl, and she shook her head, “Never-ever.” She replied. “Well it is your lucky day because we are about to change that sister.” You smiled down at the girl and the two of you started to round up all the pillows and blankets in the house.
One magnificent pillow-fort later, and both of you were tuckered out. Cassie had finally given up the ghost and was passed out in the fort as the credits of Princess and The Frog rolled in the background. The sound of car doors shutting, followed by the low hum of your father’s truck pulling out of the driveway filled your ears. You perked up as the door swung open and Dean stood there looking into the living-room.
You sat up against the leather of the couch as Dean walked into the living-room, “Oh you two had a blast didn’t you?” he muttered smiling down at the fort before meeting your gaze. “Best babysitter ever.” You motioned to yourself playfully. “I bet sweetheart.” He grinned while deconstructing the fort to retrieve his daughter. You started to refold the blankets and he held her close, still sleeping, and took her upstairs to her room. Folding the last blanket you grabbed your phone charger off the couch and put it in your bag, before starting to clean up the kitchen. You had just started to wash the dishes when Dean came back down the steps, this time empty handed.
“You don’t have to do that.” He muttered as you rinsed the batter bowl from earlier. “I don’t mind.” You smiled warmly. It felt almost domestic, intimate. He reached for the plate of cupcakes, picking one up and peeling back the wrapper. You watched as his hands worked at the paper before he brought the dessert to his mouth and took a bite. You swallowed hard and he noticed. “Everything alright there sweetheart?” He asked, grinning while he chewed and finally swallowed the bite of cake. “Mhm, any good?” You questioned and he nodded. “Been awhile since I’ve had somethin’ sweet.” He muttered.
It almost felt loaded.
Like he meant something other than that cupcake in his hand.
“Glad I could help.” You smiled and teased back, hoping you weren’t mis-reading signals. He smirked as you dried your hands with the dish towel. Leaning over to wipe down the sticky frosting-covered counter, Dean pressed against you. You froze as he spoke, “Now what did you mean by that sugar?”. Your face went red as you laid there against the counter, pinned between him and the cold surface. “T-The cupcakes, something sweet.” You replied in a choked stutter. Smooth. He laughed from behind you. You could feel the vibrations from his stomach against your ass as he spoke, “You and I both know damn well I wasn’t talking about a cupcake sweetheart.” His words went straight to your core, dripping with each word. You stood up, still pinned but now with your back to his chest. “You knew that, didn't you baby?” He whispered into your ear. Lips ghosting over your neck, leaving goosebumps in their path. You nodded as you melted into his touch. “I’m gonna need you to give me more than that angel.” He said as he turned you to face him. Grabbing your hips, he sat you on the counter. Barely meeting his height, he pressed his forehead against yours.
“Dean-” You whimpered in frustration, wanting nothing more than his hands on your body. “Haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already falling apart.” He whispered, his lips almost touching yours. Not wanting to wait any longer, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his. A tangle of limbs, resulting in your sweatpants around your ankles left you craving more. “Please I need-” His voice cut yours off, “Need what baby? Tell me and it’s yours.” He tested your restraint, leaning down to kiss your thighs. The top of his head pressed against your stomach, and your hand tangled in his hair. Dean groaned against the feeling of your nails on his scalp. “Fuck.” He growled. “Need you Dean, everywhere.” You whined, and he finally gave in.
Pulling your sweatpants past your ankles, he tossed them to pool on the floor. His hand cupped your head as he leaned you back fully against the counter. Gripping firmly onto your thighs he spread you open, head immediately going to your core. Pressing open mouth kisses against the cotton of your underwear, he watched intently as you squirmed against the laminate. His skilled hands pulled the thin fabric to the side, like a cupcake wrapper. Your nails scratched against his scalp as your fingers tangled in his short hair. Groaning against you as his tongue delved inside you. His eyes, once a soft shade of emerald green, were darker and boring up at you. Dean watched your every move as his tongue worked skillfully on your clit.
It was like a bomb went off when you finally came, taking your hearing and eyesight with it for a moment. Your chest heaved as you laid sprawled out on the counter, Dean licked his lips as you sat up, resting against your elbows. “Sweeter than that damn cupcake.” He grinned as his thumb rubbed against your thigh. “I need more Dean–please.” He looked at you with hungry eyes, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to sugar.” He traced your hips, and you grabbed for his belt, “Need, Dean.” You said it plainly, not being able to simplify it anymore. With that he didn’t waste any more time and he unbuckled his belt in the midst of a messy make-out. He quickly rid himself of anything that could keep you from him. Pressing the tip of his cock against your slit, he leaned his forehead against yours and watched as your eyes widened at the intrusion. The way your face scrunched he could tell that it hurt and he was quick to comfort you.
“I know baby I’m so sorry.” He cooed as he pressed inch by inch in until you were flush against him. Soon, pain turned to pleasure and you allowed him to move. Each rock of his hips buried deeper inside you, you weren’t gonna last long like this. Whines and groans mixed together as you both approached your orgasm. What you didn’t expect was Dean to pick you up, wrapping your legs around his hips and plant his hands firmly on your ass. Gripping the flesh, he pounded into you ruthlessly. Rutting the deepest he’s ever been.
He tried to hold off as long as he could, wanting to soak in as much of this moment as he could. You cried out into his neck, sinking your teeth into the soft flesh as you came. “Oh fuck-” He groaned, not expecting the bite. That’s what dealt him in, the sharp pain of your teeth into him was too much to hold off on. One last thrust he came inside of you, painting your walls with a thick creamy off-white. Setting you back down on the counter, he pulled his softening cock out of you. Whining at the loss, he kissed your lips as he dripped out of you and down the side of the counter. Wiping you clean with wet-paper towels, he muttered with that boyish smile, “You free next week?”.
Based on this request (changed some things - hope you still like it anon!)
Summary: The cute babysitter Harry's wife hired has always tempted him, but now that his wife is away for the evening Harry might just give in.
Word Count: 2,011
Warning: smut, cheating, implied age gap (your call on how large), inappropriate relationship (both consenting adults)
|main masterlist|
. . .
Harry was so fucked.
He knew better. A married man on the brink of ruining it all just for a taste of his kid’s babysitter. Truly, outrageously fucked.
He arrived home that day, knowing he’d have the house to himself all night with his wife gone out of town for a work trip. Knowing the cute babysitter would still be there, all doe-eyed and shy smiles. She definitely had a crush on him and he couldn’t stop thinking about that.
All day at work he went back and forth with the idea of it. The whole ‘fuck around and find out’ thing was more compelling when he might be able to get away with it. But it wouldn’t be worth it, he told himself even though he continued imagining what she’d feel like underneath him.
His actions completely contradicted that sound internal advice.
Because when he saw Y/n all cuddled up on his couch, a sweater draped over her shoulders and her bare legs stretched out long he allowed himself to stare for a moment. He shouldn’t have been thinking what he was but he couldn’t stop the blood rushing to his cock. He was going straight to hell for the kind of thoughts that were running through his head right then.
She slowly blinked her eyes opened and sat up with a sweet smile, “Hi. How was work?”
God, the cute, bubbly personality on her, even after just waking up from a nap… She hadn’t been tainted by years of grueling workplace drama and a sad and lonely marriage like he had and he found it refreshing.
“Was good. Uh,” he scratched the back of his neck, keeping his eyes on hers, “Everything go all right today here?”
She nodded and moved her legs off the couch, feet hitting the floor as she nodded, “He’s the sweetest. It was a good day. He kept asking for mom so I think he’s upset that she wasn’t here this morning but I told him she’d be back tomorrow night. Fast asleep now.”
But there was something in the way she was looking at him. Like she was just waiting for him to pounce. Rounded eyes, with that shy smile as she bit the edge of her bottom lip. Like she knew what he was thinking, her own mind filled with the same filthy scenarios.
It was late. Harry always got home late on Thursdays. After dark. After his son was already asleep, and usually it was his wife greeting him.
She parted her lips as she let her gaze lower to just below the buckle on his pants and then back up to his eyes.
“Yeah. We’ll be okay without her for a night,” Harry swallowed thickly as he sat his briefcase down and moved deeper into the living room next to the couch where Y/n was still seated. “What about you?”
“What about me?” She raised her brows as she craned her head to look up at him.
“I mean… you alright too? Still seated like you’re tired. You can stay if you want.”
She blinked her eyes and then did it again, letting her pupils connect with the space at his crotch before quickly bringing them back upward to his face, “Oh… I can go. I’m sorry…”
Y/n stood up quickly but Harry caught her by her arm, “It’s okay. You don’t have to go. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. Was really helpful having you stay late tonight.”
If she kept looking at him like that, those fuck-me eyes and plush parted lips, he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself.
“Oh. I’m glad. Was happy to help you out, Harry. I’d do it as often as you needed me to.”
He grinned and watched her moisten her soft lips when she poked her tongue out and looked up at him through her lashes. If she wasn’t begging for it he didn’t know what this was.
“You gonna stay?”
She nodded, still looking up at him as she tucked her bottom lip into her mouth.
In a moment of weakness, of sheer insanity, he raised his hand up to her face and thumbed at her bottom lip, “What’s going on, Y/n? You got something to tell me?”
She fluttered her lashes and leaned into his touch as she kept her pupils aimed right at him. But then her lips parted again and Harry found himself sliding the tip of his thumb between her lips before she wrapped her mouth around it and he felt her tongue gently lave against his pad.
Now he was the one with parted lips as he watched his kid’s babysitter suck his thumb into her mouth, eyes pinned to his still.
And before he knew it, he found himself fucked in the figurative and literal sense as he had her face down on his mattress with his cock nudged into her so deep she was keening and hissing at the bite of pain his fat length was causing.
“Shhh… be a good girl and keep quiet, yeah?”
“Mmmm!”
It was so good. It was so fucking good. He hadn’t been laid in a couple of months and the babysitter’s pussy was better than he imagined it would be. She was wet for him right away. When he got her very short shorts off her legs and buried his face between her soft thighs she was already so sensitive and dripping, wiggling and moaning like she was just as pent up as he’d been. Like she wanted it just as bad. She’d made a big mess of him and the sheets but he’d deal with clean up later.
Because when he finally pushed his throbbing dick inside of her welcoming pussy it was game over. He had her hips in both hands, tightly gripping the meat at her sides as he buried in over and over again, letting her juice coat every inch and wet his pubes with her fragrance. He watched as he stuffed her with his cock, her cute ass perked upward and she pushed back on every one of his thrusts. So pretty.
Everything was slick and gushy as he plowed into her guts, slapping his hips into her ass. He kept looking at the bedroom door (which was closed and locked) out of habit just in case, but now he was out of his mind as she trembled and drooled against the pillow his wife used.
He slowed his plunges and watched his shaft as he pulled out, “Fuck… got me all creamy, baby. Why don’t you flip over so I can see your pretty face?”
She was shaky as she dropped down to the bed, scooting herself to adjust and then spreading her thighs as he tucked right back inside of her, pelvis dipping against her own.
“Harry…” Y/n quietly breathed as she watched him. He was so thick and long, just like she knew he’d be. She never thought he’d ever step out on his wife but here he was, with his big cock driving into her, making her squelch and stretch wide for him. She almost couldn’t believe it was happening.
Harry groped at her tit, still on his knees as he steadied himself, his thighs working in, “Oh sweet girl…” he panted, quads and glutes flexing with every motion. He picked up her hand and brought her fingertips to his mouth, kissing as he pumped himself through her walls and then dragging his lips down to her palm and then wrist.
“Oh my god…” she whined before draping her arm over her mouth to keep her volume down.
“Who knew you were so filthy? Look at you letting a married man fuck your brains out.”
A muffled moan sounded from her throat as she felt him jerk into her harder, the coarse hair at the base of his dick scratched at her clit before he began to grind his hips against her, adding friction like he knew that was what she was searching for with her hips rising to meet him with every thrust.
“But look at how lucky I am. So pretty… Hot little pussy, fuckin’ drenched, baby. How long were thinking about this, hmm?”
Harry did feel lucky too. Y/n was a hot little thing that he’d had some pretty dirty thoughts about since they first hired her. It was his wife’s choice. Y/n was in her senior year of university with long smooth legs and an adorable shy smile that caught him off guard the first time he saw her. So he always looked forward to seeing her every morning before leaving for work, or in the early evenings when he’d come home to relieve her.
Harry grabbed her other hand, moving her arm from her mouth as he brought those fingers up to his lips to kiss every one of them as he threaded their fingers together on her other hand, never stopping the movement of his hips.
With the back of her hand pressed into the blanket next to her shoulder, she inhaled sharply, trying to catch her breath. “Since I first met you…” she admitted.
Harry grunted, running his tongue along her wrist before folding his fingers into hers like her other hand and then pressing it down to the bed as he leaned over her, pelvis grinding against hers, his balls squeezing against her bum. And that was fucking deep.
“Oh yeah? Fuck, coulda been fucking this pretty pussy for the last few months. Making you come for being such a good girl and just for looking so fucking cute all the time.”
She moaned softly, “It feels so good…”
Harry grinned down at her, feeling her start to squeeze and pulse, “It does doesn’t it? Such a bad thing to feel this good. Might be trouble for us.”
“Mmmm…” she panted and then gasped as she was thrown over the edge, walls gripping and milking his cock.
Harry watched Y/n as she fell apart, “There you go, such a good girl, so pretty, baby…”
Harry gritted his teeth as he fucked her through her orgasm.
He was already leaking precome and practically shaking by the time he pulled himself out and pumped his fat cock right over her tummy. He’d have loved to have just come inside Y/n’s pussy but what he was doing was already dumb as it was.
He grunted and sucked in through his teeth, “Oh fuck…”
He’d gotten a little come on his knuckles as he ran his fist down his shaft, letting the last bits drip out onto the girl below him. A pretty sight. She was all fucked out and dazed, tits rising and falling with every breath, his come marking her tummy and her pussy freshly fucked, still soaked.
He was a gentleman, helped her clean up, and kissed her a little bit more before sending her on her way with a playful swat to her ass. He’d have loved to ask her to stay all night but he worried that that would just confuse things further. She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone and Harry said it wouldn’t affect her job and that it would be their secret. Though he did hope he’d have another chance to feel her again one day, he didn’t count on it. His wife was returning the following day and Y/n was soon to finish off her last year of college and she wouldn’t be needing a babysitting gig anymore.
Did he regret cheating on his wife? In that moment, he couldn’t say he did. He had fun and it felt so good to have sex with someone who wanted his cock as bad as Y/n did. He only hoped he didn’t get found out and as long as Y/n kept up her end of the bargain (he was sure she would) he figured the whole thing was a win.
He’d just need to keep himself in check around her when his wife was present. But when his wife wasn’t around he couldn’t promise anything.
. . .
PART 2
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