Jan 3
Vi taking care of Caitlyn and baby (toddler) Lavender
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Vi taking care of Caitlyn and baby (toddler) Lavender
parking lot blowjob because dad needs a moment of silence after he picks his daughter up early from school and she’s so excited to get out of class early she doesnt even think twice
nightcap negotiations aka cate turns a babysitting job into a very personal career move tw: girlcock, g!p reader, babysitter!cate, single parent!reader, daddy!reader, dominant!reader, submissive!cate, age gap, power imbalance, underage drinking, blowjobs, cunnilingus, fingering, vaginal sex, creampies, multiple orgasms, etc. 4.8k+ words
Cate told herself she’d play it cool. She told herself that right up until the front door opened and the woman who filled the doorway made her lungs forget their purpose.
You. Thirtyish, stressed in the intoxicating way expensive whiskey looks stressed in a cut glass tumbler—amber, edged, waiting to unravel someone. Short hair, bright eyes that evaluated with ruthless efficiency, a leather jacket shrugged off one shoulder with the bored grace of a sinner shedding a halo. Broad shoulders beneath a ribbed tank and an oxford button-down rolled to the elbows. Black jeans that did sinful things to your thighs. Silver hoops glinting in your ears. Keys and authority in the same hand.
Oh.
Cate smiled like she hadn’t been absolutely sucker-punched by desire. “Hi. I’m Cate. From the listing?”
You blinked, recalibrated, and offered a hand big enough to swallow Cate’s. Your grip was warm, rough at the fingertips, a musician’s calluses or a mechanic’s—Cate couldn’t tell which and wanted to know both. “Thanks for coming on short notice. Come in.”
Cate followed the command like her name had just become “come.” The house smelled like laundry, coffee gone cold, and a cinnamon candle that had lost the battle hours ago. There were toy trucks clustered against the baseboards and crayon drawings magneted to the fridge—blocks of color labeled in a careful adult hand: Logan’s dinosaur (blue), Logan's sun (yellow), Logan's daddy monster (green). Cate’s heart did a complicated little flip she refused to name.
Logan himself was five, all knees and grin, a comet in socks skidding across hardwood. He introduced himself by way of a dinosaur roar that made Cate laugh, then immediately shy, then brave again. She held up a hand for a high five and he slapped it with a pleased squeal.
“He’s down by eight,” you said, returning from the hallway with a bundle of folded pajamas balanced on your forearm. “No TV after seven. He’ll try to negotiate. Don’t let him. There are fish sticks for dinner because apparently we live in a world where that’s a thing. If he tells you he’s allowed to eat on the couch, he’s lying.”
“Got it,” Cate said, accepting the pajama bundle like it was precious. She looked up. You were closer than she’d realized. Cate could see the tiniest constellation of freckles across the bridge of your nose, the faint, pale press line of a day’s worth of stress between your brows.
And that mouth.
Focus. She’s your employer. Don’t make a whole life choice with your eyes.
“Any questions?” You asked.
So many. Of the HR variety and the deviant imagination variety. Cate shook her head. “We’re good.”
Your shoulders loosened a fraction, like permission had been granted by the universe to keep going. “I’ll be back by ten. Text if anything—” You paused, measuring Cate in a way that felt like being fitted for future sins. “If anything actually urgent happens. Otherwise…I’ll be back by ten.”
“Sure,” Cate said, and behind her smile she stowed an echo of that measurement to take out later, turn over, learn.
Cate was good at her job. She managed homework (coloring a windmill with all the wrong colors and zero shame), dinner (the fish sticks were better than advertised, capitalism occasionally delivered), bath time (forty minutes of boat drama and one very serious conversation about sharks), and a story (Logan demanded a dragon voice, Cate obliged, gleeful and throat sore by the end). He fell asleep clutching a plastic T-rex. Cate tucked the blanket to his shoulders and switched on the star projector he’d insisted didn’t help—then immediately sighed as the ceiling filled with wobbling constellations.
She stood there too long. The quiet had a cathedral hush. Cate let it soak her bones. Then she slipped out, closed the door, and walked back down the hall with all the stealth of a thief who didn’t yet know what she planned to steal.
She turned off some lights. She wiped the counter. She sat on the edge of the couch and pretended she didn’t keep checking the clock.
At 10:06, the lock clicked. Keys on the entry table. The leather jacket draped over it like an afterthought. You toed off your boots one at a time, steadying your hand on the wall. You had a look Cate recognized from mirrors in the late afternoon—the one you wore after delivering a performance for an audience that wanted the show but didn’t care if you were bleeding backstage.
“Hey,” you said softly. “How’d it go?”
“Perfect,” Cate said, and then because it was true and it felt like the right thing to say to someone who needed a true thing, added, “He’s a great kid.”
Your face softened, quick as a sliver of clouds letting through the shock of sun. “He is.” You scrubbed a palm along the back of your neck, eyes flicking toward the hallway. “You’re sure he went down okay?”
“With a T-rex and a deep, philosophical meditation on sharks.”
You huffed a laugh, and then the living room felt smaller, the air warmer, the center of gravity a little to the left, around the couch where Cate sat with her knees together and her hands folded and her skirt just a touch shorter than necessary. An accident. Obviously.
“You want a drink?” You asked, like the idea arrived and you couldn’t talk yourself out of it fast enough. “I mean, unless you have to—”
“I’m off for the night,” Cate said. “A drink would be nice.”
You hesitated one heartbeat more. Cate didn’t rush into the silence, she let it choose her. Then you nodded. “Wine okay?”
“Perfect.”
You disappeared into the kitchen. Cate stared at the dark window where her reflection sat like someone you could pin to the glass with an exhale. She pressed her palms to her thighs and felt the sprint of her own pulse. “Play it cool,” she muttered to herself. Then: “Absolutely not.”
You came back with two glasses and a bottle already opened, which meant you’d been halfway to wanting this before Cate even said yes. You poured. You didn’t sit on the other end of the couch. You sat close. Not touching. But close.
“How old are you, Cate?” You asked, and there it was—the check, the line drawn with care.
“Nineteen,” Cate said easily. “Second year at Columbia. This is the part where you tell me that makes you feel ancient.”
You tilted the glass, watching the liquid. “This is the part where I tell you it makes me feel responsible for not being a cliché.”
“Who says you would be?” Cate asked, light, teasing, offering an exit with every syllable and lighting it with neon anyway. “We’re just having a nightcap.”
Your gaze cut to her mouth. Drifted lower. Came back like you’d scolded it. “And you like the job?”
“I do.”
“Good,” you said. “We need the help.”
We. Cate kept her breath steady. “You’ve got a lot on your plate.”
“You have no idea,” you said, but there wasn’t a bitterness to it so much as a bone-deep tiredness. “Work, drop-off, pick-up, a school that thinks every family’s resources are unlimited, and then Logan deciding he’s a dinosaur professor this week and requiring peer-reviewed T-rex research.”
“Not to be controversial, but I would peer-review that,” Cate said, and was rewarded with another of those quick laughs. She wanted to wear the sound like a perfume. “For what it’s worth, I like helping.” That was also true. She liked being useful. She liked being the solution.
You turned toward her, an inch closer than before. “I can tell.”
Cate let herself look—really look—at the line of your throat, the slope of your collarbones, the way the open button of the oxford broke the clean line of chest into a V Cate could fall through. “Can I say something reckless?”
Your mouth crooked. “Can I stop you?”
“I walked in tonight and realized I had met you already,” Cate said, breath thinning but voice steady. “In a dream. You were wearing that shirt.”
“That’s a lucky guess.”
“Maybe,” Cate said. “You were also—” Her smile edged wicked. “Bossy.”
“Ah,” you said softly. “That tracks.”
Silence stretched. It didn’t feel empty. It felt like fabric being tugged over a mattress, smoothing, preparing.
You lifted your glass. Sipped. Set it down. “Cate.”
“Mm?”
“I pay you to take care of my kid.”
Cate met your eyes. “And you’re doing a great job at being a responsible adult about it.” A beat. “I’m also allowed to want things that have nothing to do with my job.”
“And what is it you want?”
“You.” The word landed without tremor, a surprise even to herself in how calm it sounded. “I genuinely think fucking you would fix something in me.”
Your hand flexed on your knee. The line in your brow returned, softer now, not worry but calculation—ethics, desire, need. “You think that’s how this works?”
“I think I’m very good at certain kinds of problem-solving.”
A muscle jumped in your jaw. You breathed out through your nose like that might keep you from doing something ruinous, and when you spoke your voice had gone dark at the edges. “Cate, I’m your boss.”
“And we’re both grown,” Cate murmured. “And your kid is asleep. And you asked me to stay for a drink, and I’m looking at your mouth like it’s a door I really need to walk through.”
That earned her a real smile, slow and dangerous. Your hand finally settled on Cate’s bare knee, palm wide, heat deliberate. Cate swallowed. Your thumb moved once. Cate felt the awareness ripple all the way up her inner thigh. “If we do this,” you said, low, “I’m going to be mean about it.”
Cate’s laugh cracked into a soft sound that wasn’t a laugh at all. “Promise?”
“Finish your wine,” you said.
Cate did, obedient. You took the empty glass, placed it on the coffee table, and then—finally, finally—laid your hand against Cate’s jaw. Your fingers were callused, tender. Cate leaned in, and you met her halfway.
The first kiss was not careful. Cate’s first thought was: I knew it. The second: oh, thank god.
You kissed like a woman who’d been holding your breath for months and had just found oxygen. Cate opened for you and let the heat rush in, let the small shocked sound in her throat tell the truth, let the slide of tongue and the bite to her lower lip burn her up inside. You pulled her closer, dragged her onto your lap with easy strength, and Cate went, knee bracketing your hips, skirt climbing high enough to be an answer in itself.
“God, look at you,” you muttered against her mouth. “Teasing me in that little skirt.”
“It worked,” Cate breathed, rolling her hips the smallest, sweetest bit just to hear the way your inhale sharpened. She could feel the shape of your cock thickening under the denim, hot and growing and too much in exactly the way Cate wanted it to be. “I wanted your eyes on me.”
“You have them,” you said, and kissed her again, harder.
It got feral fast. The kiss cracked open the need and everything poured out. Your hands were greedy in Cate’s hair, on her waist, sliding down to cup her ass and pull her flush. Cate’s own hands mapped muscle through shirt, the breadth of chest, the slope of shoulders. She caught the hem of the oxford and hauled it up, impatient. You helped, ripping buttons with zero ceremony. The tank went next, baring your chest to the lamplight. Breasts full and high, nipples already tight. Cate made a helpless sound and leaned down to mouth at one, tongue circling, teeth grazing, her hand palming the other and savoring the weight.
“Fuck,” you hissed, hand on the back of Cate’s neck now, guiding, encouraging. “That tongue.”
Cate smiled against her skin. “You like it?”
“Think I’m going to keep you,” you said, and it sounded like both a vow and a threat. You snagged a hand in Cate’s hair and tugged her up for another kiss, the other hand sliding under Cate’s skirt, fingers along the inside of her thigh. A decisive, pleased noise when you found how soaked Cate had already become.
“You’ve been dripping for me since I opened the door, haven’t you?” You said in Cate’s ear.
“Yes.” Honesty was a kink. Cate rocked into the hand that cupped her through the thin cotton of her panties. “You going to do something about it, daddy?” She said the last word deliberately, a gamble, a gift.
You stopped moving for exactly one heartbeat. Then you exhaled a laugh that was nothing like gentle. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you just asked for...”
“Show me.”
You stood up in one smooth motion with Cate clinging, and Cate yelped a soft laugh as her legs wrapped around your waist. Your hands slid under her, gripping her ass with sure, proprietary force as you carried her down the hall. Cate buried her face against your neck and inhaled sweat and soap and something smoky that made her want to bite. She nipped instead. You grunted, pleased, passed the kid’s closed door like a shadow and shouldered into your own.
Your bedroom was filled with dark furniture and rumpled sheets, the blinds tilted to let in a smear of streetlight. You dropped Cate on the bed, watching her bounce, skirt rucked, thighs open. Cate propped on her elbows, hair messy, mouth wet, eyes already glassy with want. “Like the view?” she teased.
“I’m going to frame it,” you said, and then your hands were on Cate’s knees, pushing them wider, dragging her to the edge of the mattress by the backs of her thighs. Cate felt small and claimed and dizzy. You hooked two fingers in the fabric of her panties and tugged it aside. The sudden kiss of air against Cate’s slick cunt made her gasp.
“Please,” Cate whispered, and she did not sound like someone who ever begged.
You dropped to your knees like a prayer. Your mouth found Cate’s cunt like it belonged to you and you alone. Tongue firm and hungry, licking a long stripe that made Cate clamp a hand over her own mouth on instinct—Logan down the hall, be quiet, be good—and then moan anyway. You laughed against her, the vibration turning Cate’s thighs useless.
“That’s it,” you murmured, breath hot against Cate’s clit before you closed your lips around it and sucked. “Be sweet for me. Keep your voice down unless you want my kid to ask why I’m making the babysitter cry.”
Cate’s hand fisted in your hair. “You are—oh—“
You ate with focus, with purpose. You slipped two fingers inside Cate without warning, thick and sure, curling up until Cate’s spine bowed. Cate’s legs trembled around your shoulders. The rhythm got merciless, every stroke dragged along that devastating spot, every press of tongue against her clit wound her tighter. Cate bit her knuckles and listened to herself fall apart—embarrassingly easy for this woman, obviously, inevitably.
“Good girl,” you said, and Cate came like she’d been waiting at the edge for weeks. It ripped through her embarrassingly fast, a bright, hot shudder that stole her breath and made the corners of her vision spark. She tried to keep quiet and failed, a fractured cry slipping out anyway.
“Shh,” you soothed, easing her down with one more thorough lick that made Cate twitch. “There we go.”
Cate blinked up at the ceiling, chest desperate for air. She laughed, helpless. “Okay,” she rasped. “That did fix something.”
You stood, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, pride and heat in your eyes. You reached for your belt buckle, confidence radiating like a second light source. Cate sat up on her elbows, greedy, watching. You slid the belt free, unbuttoned, unzipped, shoved the jeans down over your hips. The bulge in your briefs strained at the cotton. Cate swallowed hard, arousal lighting the back of her tongue like a spark.
“How big?” she asked, voice gone soft and a little awed.
“Big enough to make you behave,” you growled. You slipped your hand under the waistband to free yourself. Cate’s breath stalled. Thick cock, the smooth crown wet already, weighty in your palm, precum beading. Cate’s mouth watered in a way that was entirely unfair.
“Come here,” Cate whispered, rolling onto her knees at the edge of the bed. “Please.”
Your eyes softened without losing heat. “You want a taste?”
Cate nodded, hands already circling your hips, thumbs stroking the hollows. She licked a slow stripe up the underside, savoring the way you hissed through your teeth. She took the head past her lips and moaned at the salt, the heat, the way the stretch felt like she was giving up an argument she hadn’t wanted to win anyway. She worked her mouth down, hand wrapping the base and stroking in counterpoint. Your fingers buried in her hair with careful pressure, guiding but not forcing.
“Look at you,” you said, voice roughened. “Such a good mouth.” Your thumb pressed at the hinge of Cate’s jaw. “Choke on it.”
Cate exhaled, relaxed her throat, and pushed down farther until her eyes watered. The sound that tore out of you went straight to Cate’s cunt. She pulled back, spit slicking the shaft, and took it again, messy now, enthusiastic, obscene. Your hips moved in small, devastating thrusts. Control, even now. Cate loved you for it, burned for it.
“Enough,” you said, and tugged her off with a wet pop. Cate blinked up at you, wrecked and smiling, a string of spit connecting her bottom lip to the flushed head for one shameless second before it broke. “Lay back. Hands on your thighs. Keep them open.”
“Bossy,” Cate murmured, delighted, and scrambled back, obeying instantly. She lay down, spread, palms pressing into the soft of her inner thighs to hold herself wide. Her panties were still shucked aside. She was slick everywhere, glistening.
You climbed up, braced yourself with a forearm by Cate’s head, and dragged the thick head of your cock through the mess of Cate’s cunt with a groan that sounded like relief. “You sure?”
Cate’s answering look would have been enough to start a war. “Yes, daddy.”
“Say it again.”
“Yes, daddy. Please.”
You guided yourself to Cate’s entrance and pushed—slow for one heartbeat, and then not slow at all. The stretch was stunning. Cate’s mouth fell open around a sound that would have been loud if not for the hand you slipped over it, palm broad and warm, pinning the noise back into her throat.
“That’s it,” you breathed, buried deep now, hips flush to Cate’s ass. “Take me. Take all of it.”
Cate nodded frantically against your hand, tears pricking from pure sensation. The fullness tipped her into something animal. You rolled your hips, small controlled presses that found that spot inside again and rubbed it until Cate was bucking, fingers digging crescents into her own thighs.
“Hands stay where I put them,” you warned, and Cate tightened her grip, obedient.
“Good girl,” you said again, and began to fuck her in earnest.
It was thorough and unapologetic. Your weight pinning her, the steady push and pull of your cock sliding in and dragging out, the wet slap of bodies, the hot whisper of breath against Cate’s cheek. Cate tried—to be quiet, to be still, to be good—but every thrust dug up a sound she couldn’t hold back. Your hand at her mouth turned those sounds into something filthier.
“You’re going to cum again,” you said, not a question. “You’re going to soak my cock and make a mess of my sheets and then I’m going to flip you over and take what’s left.”
“Please,” Cate keened, words muffled by the hand over her mouth. “Please, daddy.”
You pulled your hand away just long enough to press two fingers to Cate’s clit, firm circles that matched the rhythm of your hips. Cate arched like a bow. Her palms trembled where they held her thighs open. She felt herself light up from the inside, a fuse running straight from where you filled her to the base of her spine.
“Cum for me,” you said, and Cate did—helplessly, heavily, clenching hard around you as heat spilled through her and broke her open, the kind of orgasm that shook something loose inside and let it fall, finally, into place.
You fucked her through it, pace stuttering only at the edges before settling back in, relentless. Cate could feel how close you were in the way your breath hitched, the way your mouth pressed to Cate’s temple like a benediction and a brand.
“Where?” You groaned, jaw clenched.
“Inside,” Cate said instantly, shameless, needy. “Please—want you—want it.”
A sound tore out of you that made Cate’s toes curl. “Fuck, Cate.”
“Give it to me,” Cate begged, undone. “Please, daddy, please.”
That was the last of your control. You drove in deep, groaned into Cate’s hair, and came with a force Cate felt everywhere, heat spilling, cock pulsing. The sensation flooded her, a dizzy, molten rush that made her gasp. You rolled your hips through it, grinding as if to push yourself impossibly deeper, as if to mark, to claim, to fill.
You stilled together gradually, breath syncing without trying. Cate loosened her hold on her thighs, arms trembling as if she’d been doing a plank for an hour. Your forehead rested against hers. Cate felt the steady thud of your heart where your chests touched.
“Okay?” You asked after a long, clean silence.
Cate smiled like a debauched angel. “Better than okay.”
You huffed and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth that was almost tender enough to hurt. You eased out with care that made Cate whimper anyway, and watched—eyes gone dark and satisfied—as your cum dripped back out of Cate in a slow spill. The look on your face at the sight made Cate clench again, heat sparking low.
“That’s mine,” you said, tone possessive but soft.
“Yes,” Cate whispered, struck by how much she liked that. The claim. “Yours.”
Your expression changed, a flicker of surprise: not regret, but the awareness that the game you’d been playing had turned into a new set of rules without anyone saying so. You brushed hair from Cate’s face with a careful knuckle. “You should pee,” you said gently, the command tucked into care in a way that made Cate’s chest ache.
Cate laughed, sated and floaty. “Yes, ma’am.”
She slid off the bed and winced at the delicious soreness in her thighs. You watched her go with the kind of hunger that already promised a second round. Cate felt it like a hand on her back, guiding her into the bathroom. She did what needed doing, rinsed a washcloth and pressed it between her legs, then stared at herself in the mirror—lips kiss bitten, mascara a little smudged, glow obvious enough to count as a light source. She was grinning like she’d gotten away with a robbery.
She came back to find you on your back, one arm flung over your eyes, the other resting over your stomach. The pose of a woman who hadn’t properly slept in months. Cate crawled in beside you, slid a leg over your hips, and tucked herself beneath that loose arm like it had always been meant to go around her.
“You can’t stay the night,” you murmured after a moment, voice apologetic around the edges. “Not with him waking up early and—”
Cate pressed a finger to your mouth, then replaced it with a kiss. “I know. I wasn’t going to try to steal your morning.”
You smiled into the kiss. “You already stole the rest of my week.”
“Good,” Cate said. “I’m very good at theft.”
You made a low, content noise. “I’m your boss,” you said, purely for form at this point.
“And I’m off the clock,” Cate replied, then nuzzled the line of your jaw. “Plus, I’m very motivated…”
“Motivated to do what?” You asked, the humor in it gentle now.
“To make a very compelling case for you hiring me indefinitely.”
Your laugh rumbled under Cate’s cheek. “Benefits?”
“Flexible scheduling. Competitive pay. And the opportunity to fuck your stress out on a regular basis.”
You groaned like Cate had offered you the keys to heaven’s gate. “Jesus Christ. Stop saying all the things I want.”
“Make me.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Oh, I’m tempting you.”
“Cate.”
“Mm?”
“Next time—”
“That’s a promise?” Cate brightened like a match.
“Next time,” you said, voice softening into something that felt like a secret. “I want you on your stomach, ass up, moans muffled into my pillow.”
Cate shivered hard enough to make the mattress creak. “Yes, daddy.”
Your arm tightened around her. The light outside shifted with a passing car, the room floating briefly in a different color of dim. Down the hall, a little boy sighed sleepily and then settled.
“What time tomorrow?” Cate asked after a stretch of quiet in which she listened to the slow reset of your breathing.
“Seven-thirty,” you said. “If you’re free. I can do pickup, but drop-off—”
“I’ve got you,” Cate said, and heard how easy the words came. Dangerous. True. “Text me the gate code?”
“I will.” You hesitated. Then, softly: “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For wanting me,” you said, and the honesty of it shot straight through Cate like a bell. “For making it feel uncomplicated when my whole life is complicated.”
Cate tucked closer, pressing a kiss to the warm spot below your ear. “You are the least complicated thing in this room right now.”
“That’s a lie.”
“It is,” Cate agreed cheerfully. “But I’ll make it true as often as you let me.”
You laughed, quiet, wrecked. “God help me.”
“God doesn’t have jurisdiction here,” Cate murmured, smug and sleepy. “Only you.”
You laid like that, the city murmuring outside and the house breathing around you both. Cate kept her eyes open longer than she needed to, memorizing the slope of your nose in the low light, the pattern of freckles on your shoulder, the small tired lines that softened as you drifted toward sleep.
Eventually Cate slid out from under your arm. She smoothed the sheet. She tucked you in the way she’d tucked your son, gentle and without fanfare. She found her skirt, her top, her phone on the living room coffee table. She wrote a note in the clean, tidy print her mother would recognize and approve of: Thanks for the drink. Call me if you need me earlier. I can do weekends too xx —C
At the door, she paused and looked back through the chain of rooms—the couch where you’d started, the hallway where she’d been carried, the bedroom where her body had discovered a new kind of religion. She smiled to herself, locked up as she left, and stepped out into the cooling night, feeling fixed in places she hadn’t known were loose.
Her phone buzzed before she’d made it to the sidewalk.
YOU: 7:30. Gate code #1706. Bring your notes on sharks.
CATE: Copy that. I’ll bring my mouth too.
There was a longer pause this time. She pictured you snorting into your pillow to keep the sound in.
YOU: Come early. I want to taste you before he wakes up.
Cate had to sit down on the steps, laugh breathlessly, and press the heel of her hand to her mouth to keep from waking the neighbor’s dog. When she could breathe again, she replied.
CATE: Yes, daddy.
Cate walked home on trembling legs and a stupid grin, replaying the night on a loop. The game had started. Correction: the game was over. She’d won. And if winning meant this new routine—quiet doors, soft laughter, dirty promises whispered over a sleeping house—then Cate decided she could be very gracious about accepting her prize.
She set an alarm for 6:15. She laid out a skirt that was just a little bit shorter. She packed a dinosaur book and a pack of stickers and a preemptive apology for the sharks she was going to misidentify on purpose so you would correct her while your hand sat high on Cate’s thigh.
And before sleep took her, Cate pressed two fingers beneath the hem of her panties and idly circled herself, still slick with you, the afterglow tender and thrumming. She closed her eyes and felt it all again—the hand over her mouth, the deep, perfect push, the word mine murmured like a spell.
“Fixed,” Cate whispered into her pillow, smiling like a thief. “So fixed.”
Daddy helping my cramps go away, stretching me open slowly, cause I'm sensitive on my period. Making a bloody mess. Making me cum and shake so the pain moves through me.
Feeling all small when he gives me a bath to relax me and a cup of water to keep me safe and hydrated. Rinsing me off in the shower and tucking me into bed, soothed and sleepy.
Butch Adventures
— butch dada caregiver vi (arcane) icons
I've seen this flag for so many times and I never made anything with it, but I'm finally posting!! Although I see Vi more as an big sister caregiver, I like seeing her as a dada caregiver in some sort of AU. Married Caitvi living on the big mansion of the Kirammans and having kids, that's something I see Vi as dada (parent or caregiver)
This is 100% self indulgent, since Vi is my fictional caregiver, so DO NOT reblog / tag "my dada" or anything that claims ownership. Please credit if used and do not repost or claim as your own. Likes and reblogs are always welcome regardless of use!!
Tagging @bunnelbaby for credits and archiving 💙
dad Yang and baby Iris (they/them)
You fuckin kids have had Papa throbbing in my pants all damn day. Not very pleased, very fucking grumpy as a matter of fact.