babysitter!reader x single-dad!ray waller (night swim. 2024)
gif creds @mrsducky
1.9k words
author’s note: celebrating the end of kinktober with my first ray waller smut fic. . . felt right !!
The kitchen is quiet, except for the faint hum of the fridge and the soft creak of the old wooden floor under your bare feet. You’re moving one way, Ray’s moving the other, a half-empty glass of water still in his hand.
You barely brush past him—barely—and yet he still reaches out. His fingers slide over your waist like a ghost, slow and deliberate, stopping you in place.
Your breath catches.
His jaw tightens, throat bobbing as he swallows. Then, with a quick flick of his wrist, Ray sets the glass down on the counter a little too hard. The sound is sharp, breaking the silence. His eyes never leave yours.
And then he crashes his mouth to yours.
The kiss isn’t soft. It’s hot. Hungry. Desperate. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you in like he’s been holding himself back all night. You fist your hands in the fabric of his shirt as he backs you into the counter.
In one clean motion, he lifts you up, hands sliding beneath your thighs until you’re perched on the cool marble, legs parting instinctively to let him step between them.
His hands roam everywhere—up your hips, under your shirt, around your ribs. You grab the back of his neck, scratching lightly at the base of his scalp, and he groans into your mouth like it’s a reflex.
Tongues slide, wet and messy, breaths mixing. He tastes like mint and sleep. You bite his bottom lip, just a little, and he exhales sharply against you.
Your hands slip lower, finding the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers sneaking just inside. His stomach jumps beneath your touch. He drops his mouth to your throat, kissing and dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin there, whispering filth into the soft space behind your ear.
“You’re drivin me crazy, sweetheart.”
“Been thinkin about this all night.”
His words make your skin buzz. Your heart pounds against your ribs, matching the rhythm of his against your chest. His hips press in closer, rougher now, like he can’t help himself. You tilt your head back and let him breathe against your neck, let his hands grip your thighs tighter.
"Shit—can’t get enough of you, baby"
His hips roll deeper into yours, the rough press of his body slotting against the heat between your legs. You meet him with equal hunger, one hand still tangled in the fabric of his shirt, the other sliding up to his neck.
You lean in and bite his earlobe—sharp enough to make his breath hitch.
Ray groans, low and guttural, the sound vibrating against your mouth. His hands drop fast, catching the waistband of your sleep shorts and tugging them down with a rough, practiced yank. The fabric bunches at your knees as he gathers spit on his tongue, swipes it over his fingers and presses them against your mound.
He rubs you like he already knows every inch of what makes you come undone. Because he does. His touch is firm, rough, perfect. You arch against him immediately, a breathy moan catching in your throat.
“Yeah…” he murmurs against your ear, voice low, dark. “That’s it.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes gone cold and sharp—focused. You mewl, helpless, eyebrows lifting into the softest, most pitiful little expression that only makes his jaw tighten. His fingers circle your clit with cruel precision, the rhythm one he’s learned like a language.
Your legs tremble around him when his middle finger slips inside. You lean back on one hand, fingers struggling on the counter for balance, the other clutching the front of his shirt like a lifeline. His hips keep brushing yours, grinding deeper with every small shift.
Ray leans forward, kissing the front of your throat—hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses. Up to your chin. Then a long, filthy stripe of his tongue dragged along your jaw that makes you shiver.
His breath grows heavier. He starts sinking down, fingers still moving, eyes fixed on you like a man starved. You know what’s next—he always gets wreckless when he goes down on you.
But then—
A floorboard creaks above you. A faint shift of weight.
The sound freezes both of you. His hand stills between your legs. You both look up at the ceiling, breath locked in your chests.
Seconds stretch. No more sounds.
You exhale shakily and look down at him, still crouched between your thighs, pupils blown wide. You reach down and fist the front of his shirt, yanking him up by the neck and shoulder with frantic hands.
“Ray,” you whisper, barely breathing. “We gotta be quick.”
His lips twitch in something between a smirk and a curse. He stands fast, crowding you back against the counter, kissing you hard and deep like he’s trying to swallow the panic whole. Both of your hands fumble between you—yours tugging at the band of his sweats, his shoving them down just far enough.
Ray drags the blunt head of his cock through your slick. You’re both breathing hard already, the sound of it filling the quiet kitchen like static. When he pushes in—slow, deep—your head tips back and your lips part on a broken gasp.
“Fuck,” he groans, low and rough, his forehead pressing against yours.
It’s been a while since the last time. It shows in the way you both shudder the moment he bottoms out, in the way curses tumble from your mouths without either of you thinking. You can feel every inch of him, thick and hot and pulsing, stretching you just right.
“God, you feel so fuckin good,” he mutters.
“You too—fuck, Ray—” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.
For a moment, neither of you moves. Just breathing. Soaking in the burn of it. Then he starts thrusting slowly, dragging himself out just enough to push back in, hitting deep each time. The counter digs into the back of your thighs but you don’t care. You just moan into his mouth, messy and hot, and he groans when he hears it.
“Your moans are so fuckin sexy, yknow that?” he pants against your lips.
Your hand slips back on the counter, using it for balance as he speeds up. For a few minutes it’s nothing but the steady sound of his hips slapping against yours, his cock sliding wetly in and out of you. You lean back slightly, just enough to look down between your bodies.
The sight hits like a punch. His cock is slick, shining in the faint kitchen light as it disappears inside you, over and over.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans, jaw tightening. “That’s so fuckin hot.”
You moan at the sight, at the way his stomach tenses with every thrust. He slows down again, pushing deep and staying there for a second, leaning forward to kiss you. His mouth is hot, hungry. His words are filth whispered against your tongue—filth that makes your walls flutter around him.
“You like that? You like me fuckin you right here in the kitchen?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice wrecked.
Ray leans back just enough, lifts the hem of his shirt to his mouth and clenches the fabric between his teeth. His soft stomach brushes yours, his body rippling with each snap of his hips, and you can see the way his stomach clenches and tightens with every thrust. You grab for the counter, breath catching, as he fucks you like he’s not stopping anytime soon.
He slides his hands to your hips and lifts you slightly off the counter, angling your body so every stroke lands sharper, harder. You gasp, too loud, and his eyes cut up to you—strict, commanding, with the smallest dangerous smirk.
He slows down abruptly. The kind of slow that makes your thighs shake with how close you were.
“S—sorry,” you whisper, breathless.
His smirk lingers as he thrusts forward again, steady and deep, knocking into your g-spot like he’s aiming for it. And he is. Every push makes your legs tremble and your mouth fall open. You bring your wrist up to your lips, biting down hard to keep from crying out.
Your eyes roll back when the heat in your belly starts to coil tight. Ray drops his shirt from his mouth, voice thick and gravelly, right against your ear.
“Yeah, that’s it. Cum for me. Cum around my cock like a good girl.”
You shatter around him, clenching tight, back arching against the counter. He curses loud against your throat, hips grinding through your orgasm. He sets you back down gently, but doesn’t pull out—just keeps pushing into you with deep, dragging thrusts that make your body jerk and whimper.
You reach out, hand pressing against his abdomen in a weak attempt to ease him, but he doesn’t stop.
His head tips back, throat tight, jaw slack. His eyes roll back as his hips stutter.
“Fuck—f-fuck, m’cumming,” he groans, voice breaking at the edges.
You feel him pulse inside you, warmth flooding as he buries himself deep, every muscle in his body tightening around the release. His thrusts slow to a lazy grind, the kind that makes your muscles melt. His forehead rests against yours, both of you panting into each other’s mouths, the quiet of the kitchen swallowing your breathless noises.
Ray lets out a shaky exhale, the kind that shudders through his whole chest, and finally—reluctantly—pulls out. The stretch of it has both of you letting out soft, involuntary sounds. The air between you is humid, charged, and his breathing is still unsteady, lips parted as if he’s trying to get words out that won’t come.
“Jesus,” he whispers, voice rough and low. “You fuckin kill me.”
You’re still clinging to the counter, knuckles white, heartbeat rattling against your ribs. He leans in, brushing a few sweaty strands of hair out of your face with gentle fingers, thumb dragging along your jaw before he kisses you again. It’s slower this time—warm, unhurried, a little shaky from the aftershocks still rolling through both of you.
When he pulls back, his eyes flicker downward. The sight makes his breath catch. He watches as his release slips out of you in slow, thick trails, catching in the dim light, and the corner of his mouth tilts into a quiet, sinful grin.
“You're too perfect,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
He runs his hands down your thighs, steadying you as he helps you off the counter. Your legs wobble, and he chuckles softly under his breath, catching you by the hips before you can stumble.
“Shaking already? Damn, sweetheart,” he teases, whisper warm against your ear. “Didn’t even fuck you that hard.”
“Shut up,” you mutter breathlessly, though the way your fingers grab at his arm gives you away.
He grins, still trying to catch his breath as his eyes flick toward the floor, scanning around with lazy satisfaction.
“Where the hell did I throw your shorts?” he mutters, half amused, still flushed.
You laugh softly against his chest, still trembling a little, as he spots the crumpled fabric kicked halfway across the floor. He bends slightly to grab them, muttering a half-teasing, half-affectionate curse under his breath.
When he straightens, he presses the shorts into your hands but doesn’t let go right away. He looks at you—really looks at you—his thumb stroking your hip as his breathing finally starts to even out.
“Gonna get me in trouble one of these days,” he whispers, voice warm now, soft enough for only you to hear.
And then he kisses you again, slower than before, like he doesn’t quite want to let the moment end.
🏷️.⊹ ࣪ ˖ ─── ‧˚꒰🧸꒱ ray waller debut. be gentle, he’s new here ₊ ˚ ⋆
@witchygagirl @walkerofshield @yeetaliano @novfr @archangelswing @xojadeelizabethox @bartonsparrow25 @hesaidgirlyoubetterhavefun @lightsabergirl @katieandersstark-blog @theloverofstuff @sh0t-inth3face
2 days until Christmas, a.k.a 2 days until the best time of the year! So I drew (and colored very badly) pb, and twins learning about Christmas, cuz out of the 4 if them bella would be the only 1 who knows about Christmas
