CB97💥

mia, 26, MDNI, infp-t, sagittarius, ficrecs.etc main blog: @diorforever (which is where I’ll be following from.)

[seosexual]

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ daddy 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ masterlist

soundtrack: lithen when you're in love / spotify

genre: Fluffy, angsty, and if you squint hard enough a sprinkle of smut

tags: emotional themes (grief, abandonment, burnout) slow burn, so much praise, insecurities and self-worth issues, emotional intimacy, single dad au, strangers to lovers

summary: he moves into the house across from yours in the quiet cul-de-sac and you don’t think much of it at first. Just a new neighbor, that’s all. You don’t know much about him, only that he works on cars in his garage, mows his lawn shirtless like he’s trying to be a problem on purpose, and always looks a little too tired. Should be easy to ignore. Right?

𐙚

Part One

summary: A quiet cul-de-sac, a man who keeps to his garage, and a life that looks sealed off from the outside. Until a little girl opens the door you didn’t know was there. What starts as curiosity turns into small everyday crossings of distance, where tired hands, shared meals, and soft routines begin to blur the line between neighbor and something more. preview: Three days later, Chan learned two very important things. One: His daughter had somehow become emotionally attached to you at alarming speed. And two: You were apparently immune to embarrassment. “Dad,” the toddler whispered loudly from the shopping cart seat, “there she is.” He looked up immediately and spotted you near the produce section, dressed in soft shorts and an oversized shirt while carefully inspecting mangos like your life depended on it. He barely had time to fully think and react before his daughter started waving both arms aggressively from the cart. “HI!”

𐙚

Part Two

summary: You didn’t mean to become part of their routine.But somewhere between late dinners, early mornings, and a child who loves loudly without hesitation, the line between helping and staying starts to disappear quietly, without permission. preview: For once, Chan didn’t immediately have a response, he just looked at you, like he was trying to decide what to do with that. His gaze dropped briefly, towards your mouth, then back up. A tiny movement of course, something that was easy to miss. But for you, impossible to ignore. Your breath caught, and so did his. And suddenly the space in between you felt very little, very quiet.

𐙚

Part Three

summary: By Friday, what was meant to be a simple one-on-one outing starts to feel like something neither of you can easily label. The evening unfolds through small, shifting moments that blur the line between casual conversation and growing connection, leaving both of you more aware of each other than you intended. preview: And when the crowd shifted again, neither of you drifted apart until the music began to wind down and the crowds started to thin. You followed the rest of the stragglers toward the exit, watching them as you went. A couple holding hands. A man trying to negotiate with a vendor before closing. A group of friends going into the photobooth. Right. Photos. You stopped walking and Chan quickly followed suit.  “What?” You smiled mischievously, “We forgot to take pictures.” He stiffened up, “No.”

𐙚

Part Four

summary: Chan’s life as a single dad and his growing connection with you begin to naturally intertwine as you become a steady presence in both his and Jia’s world. What starts as simple comfort and routine slowly builds into something more charged and emotionally loaded, though neither of you rush to define it. preview: “Hey, free to chat?” he asked, like he hadn’t been standing outside long enough to lose an entire argument with himself. “I am” your voice came through easy. “You okay?” That alone made him exhale a little,“…Yeah,” he lied automatically. Then, he added on weaker, “Not really.” That got a small laugh from you, “I figured,” you said. He shifted his weight, still standing outside the shop without fully committing to going in or walking away. “Is this one of those situations where I’m overthinking something that doesn’t need thinking?” he asked. There was a pause on your end. “Probably.” That was so blunt he almost laughed. “…That’s not comforting.” “It’s not meant to be,” you said lightly. “It’s meant to stop you.”

𐙚

Part Five (contains smut)

summary: after acknowledging your feelings and sharing your first night without Jia together, you spend a quiet weekend settling into the developing relationship. You begin to learn what it means to simply be together. preview: You kiss his nose, "good?" His hold on you tightens as his eyes meet yours, "Perfect," he pecks your lips. "You are so perfect." Your heart hammered against your ribs, so loudly you were convinced he could feel every beat through the fabric of your shirt. Judging by the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, maybe he could. "You're staring," you whispered, trying to hide your face against his shoulder. "I know." "It's making me nervous." He laughed softly. "Don't be acting all shy now." You groaned, burying your face even deeper into his chest. "I mean it," he said, still smiling. "You're cute." "I'm choosing to ignore you."

𐙚

Part Six (contains smut)

summary: By Sunday morning, Chan realizes he's deeply attached to you, cherishing the quiet intimacy and shared moments from the weekend. As you both prepare to part ways, he expresses his desire to make your time together more consistent and meaningful. Despite the uncertainties about the future, there's a sense of comfort and promise in simply being together in the present. preview: You pecked his lips, “I’m already knowing baby, it’s okay. You should go pick it up." He still didn't move. You laughed quietly. "Chan." "I know," he repeated, smiling this time. "I'm just….not in a hurry for this weekend to be over." Your expression softened, "it isn't over." "No?" You shook your head, "We still have tonight." His eyebrows lifted hopefully, "after Jia goes to bed?" "If you'll have me." A grin spread across his face before he kissed your forehead, "I'll always want you, babydoll."

𐙚

Part Seven (contains smut)

summary: What starts as a simple morning together turns into something neither of you expected. As Jia begins to see you as part of her everyday life and Chan learns more about the dream you’ve been carrying, he finds himself wanting to help in the only way he knows how: quietly, completely, and without asking for anything in return. preview: You nodded, turning back toward the stove. “I can tell.” She followed your gaze, her eyes widening when she noticed what you were cooking. “Are those pancakes?” “Mhm.” “For breakfast?” You looked over your shoulder, pretending to think about it. “I was hoping they were.” Jia giggled as she climbed into her chair at the table, still looking down at her butterfly shirt every few seconds like she couldn’t believe how well it turned out. Chan moved beside you, reaching for a plate while you continued flipping, “you found everything okay?” he asked quietly. You looked over at him. The question was simple, but the smile that came with it wasn’t. You shrugged lightly. “I’ve been here enough times.” His eyes stayed on you for a second longer before he nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You have.”

𐙚

Part Eight (contains smut)

summary: Chan has never been the type to make grand gestures. Instead, he remembers, he helps, and he quietly moves mountains when the people he loves need him. As he throws himself into helping rebuild your nursery, you discover that his greatest gift isn't the work he's doing, but the way he makes you feel like you were always meant to be there. preview: Chan looked at you for a second before smiling to himself. He turned back to the stove, trying to hide it as he slid another pancake onto a plate. Jia, however, noticed immediately. "Why are you looking like that?" Chan glanced over his shoulder. "What?" She pointed between the two of you with her fork. "You keep doing that." You frowned, trying not to laugh. "Doing what?" Jia scrunched up her nose, searching for the right words. "That." Chan let out a quiet laugh. "That's....not very descriptive, bug." “I don’t know how to say it,” she admitted. She looked between the two of you again before taking another bite of pancake. “You look at her like you look at me.” Chan’s smile softened. “What does that mean?” Jia looked at him like the answer was obvious. "You always say I'm your important girl." She pointed toward you with her fork. "She's important too." The kitchen fell quiet for a moment. You looked at Chan, and he looked back at you. Somehow, Jia had managed to say in five words what neither of you had ever quite figured out how to.

𐙚

Part Nine (contains smut)

summary: The nursery is finally ready, and after months of work, everything seems to be falling into place. But some things have a way of changing just when you think you've finally found your footing. preview: The front door flew open before Chan had a chance to remind Jia to check who was outside. "Uncle Bin!” Hyunjin walked in behind them carrying a small backpack covered in cartoon dinosaurs while Minho followed with a paper bag balanced under one arm and three takeout coffees in the other. "I brought breakfast," Minho announced, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. Chan raised an eyebrow. "Bribery?" Hyunjin wandered into the kitchen like he'd been there a hundred times before, opening cabinets until he found a stack of plates without asking. "We're kidnapping your child." Chan looked up from his coffee. "You're....what?" "For the day," Hyunjin clarified.

𐙚

FINAL (contains little smut)

summary: a positive pregnancy test, dating a former single father, and a new business, what could go wrong? preview: Jessica slipped her shoes on by the door before looking back at you. “Call me if either of you needs anything.” You nodded. “Thank you.” Her expression softened. “Both of you.” Then she was gone. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the house quiet again. You both began cleaning almost without discussing it. There weren't many dishes left, but neither of you seemed ready to go to bed yet. You gathered the glasses from the coffee table while Chan folded the blanket Jessica had been using, smoothing it out before draping it over the back of the couch. The ordinary movements felt strangely comforting. When you passed him on your way toward the kitchen, his hand settled briefly against the small of your back. Neither of you said anything. A few minutes later, you heard a small noise from Jia's room. Chan looked toward the hallway immediately. “I'll check.”

[ughyeka]

A BRILLIANT SERIES!! go read!!!

[seochangbingifs]

dual pov chan & changbin via mei.stay and DOODLE_chacha

[l1aapntl]

Take you for a ride

Pairing: Bangchan x F!Reader

Genre: smut, porn with little plot, secret relationship

Warnings: profanity, nipple play, p in v, unprotected sex (not cumming inside this time though), spanking, praise kink, fingering, hickeys, hair pulling, choking

A/N: Hey so I don’t really like this but I DID promise a chan oneshot so here you go! I know I’ve been inactive and I apologize, I’ll try writing more often! Enjoy your reading:)

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Y/N, are you ready to go?” Chan called out from the kitchen, already pulling his black leather jacket on as he grabbed the keys from the kitchen counter.

“Be there in a minute, Channie!” You replied, checking your outfit one last time in front of the mirror.

Chan leaned against the doorway, whistling when you entered the kitchen. “Damn.” He said, smirking as he looked at you up and down. He could never really hide his attraction for you, especially when you were all dolled up.

“Stop with the eye-fucking, will you?” You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, pecking his lips once before grabbing your own keys, just in case.

“Nah, never,” he replied, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Chan unlocked the studio door while you stood behind him, rubbing your eyes. It was still early, but with coffee, you hoped the sleepiness would fade away eventually.

You switched the lights on before sitting down on your chair, letting out a sigh. “Chan-ah, order coffee?” You asked, batting your eyelashes at him. “Pleaseee,” you whined, kissing his cheek.

“Fine, but just one, yeah?”

Chan didn’t like it when you drank coffee. Sure, it helped you wake up but sometimes you just got too energized. The caffeine was just.. Too strong for you.

After a couple of minutes, Han came in, his hair messy from sleep. “You don’t look happy about recording,” you teased him, standing up to hug him.

“I’m not happy for anything. I’m too tired and it’s too early, hyung,” he said to Chan, rubbing his face.

“Not my fault you sleep at 4AM, is it? Maybe it’s time for you to finally fix your sleep schedule.”

It went on like that for 10 minutes, until Hyunjin entered, making them stop. “Oh, my God, Jinnie, god bless you for stepping in,” you groaned.

“Why? What happened?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he threw his bag on Han’s face, who was still sitting on the couch. Han glared at him, placing the bag next to him as he rubbed his face again. “That hurt.”

“You’ll live.”

Shortly after, the recording session started, Han entered the booth first, warming up his voice and repeating his lines out loud before giving you and Chan a thumbs up.

The session went on smoothly, each member taking turns in the recording booth as you and Chan work on the recordings and some corrections.

After a bit, you glanced at Chan, your eyes darting all over his face. Furrowed eyebrows, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his hair messy. Yeah, that was a sight you could get used to.

You looked at the laptop in front of you, pretending to read something as your foot slid up under his loose sweatpants slowly. You sensed the way he tensed, you could tell by the way his breath hitched.

Then he moved his foot away, shooting you a glare. Not now. But you didn’t listen. Then again,

When did you?

You leaned back against your chair, stretching your arms over your head, your tank top riding up dangerously. Chan glanced briefly at your exposed skin, his eyes locked on the bra picking out before he shoved your shirt down. “Y/N, not now.” He murmured, turning back to Changbin, who was inside the booth and thankfully, completely oblivious.

You pouted, but eventually relented, instead just focusing on the laptop in front of you for real this time.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The car ride home was tense. Not with anger or frustration, but you could still see Chan’s lingering tension. On his shoulders, on his jaw, in his pants. You tilted your head, smiling lazily. “Need help with that?” You asked, your hand moving to squeeze the obvious bulge.

Chan exhaled sharply, looking down at your hand briefly as his hips twitched, before looking back at the road in front of him. “Not now,” he said, once again.

“You keep saying that.” You whined, biting your lip. “Please? I’m needy.”

That was his last straw. He pulled the car over, killing the engine before unbuckling his seatbelt, before reaching over to undo yours as well. He gripped the back of your neck, pulling you closer and crushing his lips against yours.

You moaned, shifting to straddle his lap. Your back pressed uncomfortably against the steering wheel, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was Chan, and his cock.

He was impatient, mayyybe a bit angry as well. He yanked the tank top off of you, throwing it in the backseat before leaning back to watch your tits. “Fuck yeah, look at these,” he breathed out, before capturing your nipple in his mouth. He flicked it with his tongue, his free hand going to pinch and roll the other one.

“O-Oh, yes—” you moaned, your palm pressing against the window, which was already fogging up. The other hand threaded through his hair, tugging lightly to keep him close.

Eventually, your clothes were gone, now sitting on the backseat as you breathed heavily against Chan’s mouth. “You wanted to tease me today?” He asked, shoving two fingers inside your already soaked cunt. “You’re never this needy,” he continued, sucking at the skin of your neck before pulling back. Hickeys were already starting to form, but fuck that.

“Why is that, hm?” He asked, gripping your jaw to make sure you looked at him as he pushed his fingers deeper. “Have I not been giving it good enough to you? Is that it?”

You shook your head through tears, your nails digging into his chest as you grinded shamelessly against his palm, moaning loudly as it rubbed deliciously against your sensitive clit. “N-No, you’re—Fuck, Chan—” you stammered, eyes rolling back in your head as you felt your orgasm building.

“Answer the fucking question,” he grunted, slapping your cheek gently, your eyes opening. “Did your parents not tell you it’s rude to ignore someone?”

“T-They did—Just—Don’t.. Don’t stop, please..” you cried out, your mouth falling open. He tsked, bringing his free hand up and shoved two fingers into your mouth. “That’ll get you to stop whining, yeah?”

You came hard, back arching against the steering wheel, your vision turning white for a split second before collapsing on his chest. You were still busy sucking on his fingers, drool rolling down from the side of your lips.

“Such a fucking mess,” he said, pulling his fingers out. He slid down his sweatpants and boxers, his cock slapping against his stomach, the tip red and already licking pre-cum.

“Now be a good girl and ride this cock.” He breathed out, wrapping a hand around your throat to kiss you again. You whimpered against his mouth, your pussy already throbbing again with need.

You slammed down hard, both of you breaking the kiss to moan. He squeezed your throat just enough to make you dizzy, his other hand coming down to spank your ass. “Fuuuck, jus’ like that, mm, good fucking girl.”

The praise only managed to get you even wetter. You wrapped one arm around his neck, the other slamming against the glass as it slid down. You were sure the car was moving too.

“Fuckfuck, Chris, ‘m so close, please..”

Hearing his English name on your lips made him snap completely. He threw you in the back before following, pressing your face against the seat. He grabbed your ass, pulling it up before thrusting into you from behind.

One hand moved to grip the handle above the window, the other stroking your back up and down, while giving your ass a few spanks now and then. “Yeah, yeah, just like that—Fuck!” He moaned, his cock swelling inside you.

You sobbed into the seat, your cunt heating up once again as his tip brushed against your cervix. “I’m—mmm—I’m cumming!” You screamed, earning a breathless chuckle from him. “Yeah? You cumming for daddy?” He asked, biting his lip when you nodded.

He thrusted a few more times until you orgasmed, before pulling out, fisting himself a few times before shooting ropes of cum on your spine, your name spilling from his lips.

He leaned his back against the door, before reaching out, pulling you in his arms and kissing you sweetly. “You okay?” He asked breathlessly.

You nodded, smiling. “Mm, more than okay.” You mumbled, resting your head against his shoulder. The car was completely fogged up, hot and smelling of sex. He looked down at you, smirking lazily. “That’s what happens when you tease me too much,” he said, and you snorted.

“But you like it.”

“Maybe I do.”

“If it results to this, I should do it more often then.”

He hummed.

“Maybe you should.”

[hyunpic]

stray kiss

[seosexual]

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ daddy 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

final | series masterlist summary: he’s new to the neighborhood, moving into the house directly across from yours in the quiet little cul-de-sac. you don’t know much about him. only that he works on cars in his garage, mows his lawn shirtless like he’s trying to ruin your life, and always looks a little too tired. it’s not until a little girl appears in his driveway one afternoon that you realize the handsome mechanic across the street comes with a tiny family attached. pairing: girldad!bangchan x reader genre: fluff & angst, little smut cw/tags: emotional vulnerability, abortion/adoption conversations, crying, anxiety symptoms, fingering, oral (f receiving), familial themes, fear of abandonment, emotional triggers and trauma soundtrack: lithen when you're in love / spotify * ✩˚word count: 14.2k ˚✩ *

You stayed there for another few seconds before finally reaching down and pulling the bag free. The knot was still loose, and you tightened it automatically as you lifted it from the can. You already knew what you were going to do. Get it outside, get through the rest of the day, wait until Jia was asleep, then sit down with Chan and tell him the truth.

It didn't work.

The words were simple enough in your head.

You stepped out of the bathroom with the bag still clenched in your hand, only to hear a customer's voice from the front of the nursery.

"Sorry, could I ask you something?"

You looked up to find an older woman standing beside one of the display tables, a small fern cradled between both hands. She began explaining the lighting in her kitchen, and despite everything occupying your mind, you slipped naturally into answering her questions. The bag remained curled tightly in your fingers while you pointed out the differences between the plants she'd been considering, your attention split between the conversation and the weight of what you were still carrying.

Chan appeared a few minutes later from the greenhouse, a stack of empty trays balanced against his hip. His eyes found you first, then dropped briefly to the bag in your hand. "You okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

He shifted the trays higher against his side. "I've got that."

Your fingers tightened around the plastic. "I can take it."

"I know." His eyes stayed on yours. "But you're helping her."

You hesitated. Chan gave you that quiet, patient look that usually meant he wasn't going to argue with you about something that didn't need arguing.

"Go ahead," he said. "I'll take care of it."

You finally loosened your grip, as he took the bag from your hand. The exchange lasted barely a second, but something about letting it go made your stomach twist. You watched him turn toward the back of the nursery before forcing yourself to look back at the customer.

Outside, Chan carried the bag toward the service entrance without giving it much thought. He had a dozen things running through his head already, most of them related to the nursery, the afternoon rush, and whether Changbin had remembered to move the last shipment out of the delivery lane.

The bag caught against something, he stopped and tugged causing the plastic to stretch before giving way with a sharp rip. A few things shifted inside. Something small slipped through the opening and landed on the concrete near his shoe.

Chan looked down.

For a second, he didn't understand what he was seeing, then he did. The test lay on its side, the result unmistakable. Everything inside him seemed to go quiet.

His hand remained wrapped around the torn plastic while his eyes stayed fixed on the test. The nursery continued around him, completely unaware. He could hear the greenhouse fans humming, the muffled voices of customers, the faint scrape of a cart somewhere behind him.

But all he could think about was that morning.

The empty drawer.

Your face when you'd realized.

The pharmacy.

The way you'd held the pill in your palm.

The fact that he'd watched you swallow it.

And now this. His gaze dropped back to the test.

Positive.

Chan's first thought wasn't anger or fear. It was simply, just the fact that you had known before he did, and you had been carrying it alone.

He crouched, picked up the test, and slipped it back into the torn bag. His fingers moved automatically as he retied the plastic, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He could go inside. He could find you. He could ask what this meant.

But then he thought about the way you'd held onto the bag, the hesitation when he'd offered to take it, the fact that you'd been carrying it yourself instead of simply leaving it for someone else.

You had been trying to decide how to tell him. Maybe you were scared. Maybe you didn't know what you wanted yet. Maybe you were still trying to understand it yourself. He couldn't take that choice away from you.

Chan carried the bag the rest of the way outside and dropped it into the dumpster. He stood there for a moment afterward, staring at nothing.

Then he heard Jia laughing.

He turned toward the sound and found her beneath one of the young trees near the edge of the property, crouched in the dirt with a collection of tiny stones and flowers scattered around her knees.

"Daddy!" She looked up, grinning. "Look what I made!"

Chan walked over and crouched beside her, "what is it?"

"A fairy garden."

He studied the little arrangement with the seriousness it apparently deserved. "That's pretty good."

"I need another rock."

"Another rock?"

"This one is the house." She pointed to a pebble barely larger than his thumbnail.

Chan smiled. "Of course it is."

Jia immediately went back to arranging everything, explaining which flowers belonged where and which rock was apparently the front door. Chan listened, but his mind kept slipping away.

Another baby, the thought came quietly. He looked at Jia, still so small despite everything. Four years old. His little girl. The person who had taught him what it meant to be responsible for someone else's entire world.

He knew what another child would mean now. He knew the exhaustion. The sleepless nights. The fear of getting something wrong. The way your entire life could become organized around someone who couldn't even tell you what they needed yet.

But when he let himself imagine it, the first thing he felt wasn't dread, it was warmth. Another tiny hand. Another voice calling him Daddy. Jia showing a baby her fairy garden with the absolute confidence that she would know exactly how to be a big sister.

And you.

His chest tightened.

He didn't know if you wanted that. He didn't know if you were ready for it. He didn't even know if the test was right. But the possibility had already found its way into his mind, and now he couldn't seem to push it back out.

"Daddy?"

Chan blinked and looked down. Jia was staring at him, "you look sad."

He swallowed. "I'm okay, bug."

She studied him for another second before apparently deciding she believed him. Then she climbed into his lap without warning and wrapped her arms around his neck. Chan held her, a little too tightly at first.

She laughed against his shoulder. "Daddy, you're squishing me."

He loosened his arms immediately, smiling into her hair. "Sorry." She settled back against him anyway. He closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't know what came next.

He only knew that, somehow, the possibility of another child had stopped feeling like something terrifying and started feeling dangerously close to something he wanted.

And that scared him more than anything.

When Jia eventually wriggled free, she pointed toward her garden. "You can go now. I'm busy."

Chan laughed quietly. "Right. Sorry." He stood and headed back toward the nursery. By the time he walked through the doors, his expression had settled back into something normal.

You were standing near the register, looking down at a stack of invoices. You glanced up when he approached, your eyes immediately searching his face.

"Where's Jia?"

"Outside."

You nodded, then started telling him about a supplier who had called with a question about one of the afternoon deliveries. Chan listened.

At least, he tried to. His attention kept drifting back to the test, to the possibility he was carrying around inside his chest now.

"Chan?"

He blinked. "What?"

You gave him a small frown. "I was talking to you."

"Sorry." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

"You okay?"

He looked at you. Like really looked at you. You were standing there completely unaware that everything had changed for him ten minutes ago. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm okay."

You didn't look convinced.

But he reached for your hand anyway, threading his fingers through yours and giving them a gentle squeeze. He wasn't going to force the words out of you. Not when you were still finding them yourself. So he stayed beside you, quieter than usual, waiting for you to tell him when you were ready.

The rest of the afternoon settled into a strange rhythm. Nothing was obviously wrong. That was almost the problem.

Chan stayed close without hovering, finding reasons to be wherever you were. When you reached for a box on the higher shelf, his hand was already there. When you carried a tray of small pots toward the greenhouse, he took half of them from you without asking. When you stopped to rub the back of your neck after spending too long bent over a display, a bottle of water appeared beside you a moment later.

It was sweet, but it was also making it increasingly difficult to think.

You had been trying to find a moment alone with him for nearly an hour, but every time you thought you had one, someone walked through the doors or a customer needed help or Chan appeared beside you with that quiet, watchful look that made the words disappear again.

It didn’t work.

You could say it.

You knew you could.

You just needed the right moment.

By midafternoon, the nursery had settled into its Saturday rhythm. Families wandered through the greenhouse, couples debated between houseplants, and children dragged their parents toward anything colorful enough to catch their attention. The place you’d spent months rebuilding finally looked like the business you’d always imagined.

You should have been completely absorbed in it.

Instead, you kept noticing Chan.

He was across the greenhouse helping a customer carry a large ceramic planter toward the register when your eyes met. His expression softened immediately, and he gave you a small smile before turning back to what he was doing.

You looked away first. You were beginning to wonder if he could hear your thoughts.

“You’re staring.”

You nearly jumped. Chan’s mother stood beside you, holding a coffee she’d apparently brought from somewhere nearby.

You blinked. “What?”

She nodded toward the greenhouse, “at him.”

Your face warmed. “I wasn’t.”

She smiled into her cup. “Of course.”

Before you could defend yourself, she glanced toward the greenhouse again, watching her son maneuver the planter onto the counter. There was something knowing in her expression when she looked back at you, but she let the subject drop, taking another sip of her coffee instead. “How’s everything going?”

“Busy.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

The comment caught you off guard. She smiled, not pushing, simply waiting until you finally glanced down at the clipboard in your hands. “It’s good,” you admitted. “Really good. I still can’t believe this is the same place.”

“I can.” She nodded toward the greenhouse. “You worked for it.”

Something in your chest loosened. “Yeah. I did.”

“And he helped.”

Your eyes drifted toward Chan again. He was still across the greenhouse, talking to a customer while helping them maneuver a large ceramic planter toward the register. “Yeah.”

She watched you for another second, her smile softening. “He likes helping you.”

“I know.” A quiet laugh escaped you. “He’s not exactly subtle.”

“No,” she agreed. “He never has been.”

Across the greenhouse, Chan glanced over again. This time, his mother caught him. She lifted her coffee in a small greeting, and he shook his head with a smile before returning to the customer.

You tried not to smile, but apparently failed.

“You two are cute,” she said.

“We’re not…” You stopped yourself before you could finish, already realizing how quickly you'd reacted.

Her laugh was quiet. “I didn’t say anything wrong.”

You looked away, pretending to study the clipboard. She didn't tease you further. Instead, she looked around the nursery and said, “Jia loves it here.”

“She does.”

“She talks about it constantly.”

That made you smile. “She mostly talks about the snacks.”

“Those too.”

You laughed, and for a moment, the strange tension sitting beneath your ribs eased. It didn't last long. Chan appeared beside you a few seconds later, setting the empty planter cart against the wall before looking between you and his mother.

“Mom. What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” you said at the same time she answered, “Jia.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Should I be worried?”

“Always.”

He laughed under his breath, but when his attention returned to you, the amusement faded just enough for that familiar concern to settle back into his expression. “You okay?”

There it was again.

That quiet question. That careful look he'd been giving you all afternoon.

You nodded. “I'm fine.”

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't call you on it either. Instead, he reached over and took the clipboard from your hands. “I'll finish these.”

“You don't have to.”

“I know.”

His mother watched the exchange for a moment before glancing toward the greenhouse. “Why don't you two take a break? You've been working all day.”

“We're almost done,” you said, looking toward the remaining displays.

Chan glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “She's not wrong.”

You gave him a look, and his mother laughed softly into her coffee. “Anyway,” she said, shifting her attention back toward the entrance, “I actually came for something.”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“To steal my granddaughter.”

As if summoned, Jia came running through the greenhouse, dirt on her knees and a flower tucked behind one ear. “Nana!”

His mother barely had time to set her coffee down before Jia crashed into her arms. “I have something to show you.”

“Another fairy garden?”

“A better one.” She grabbed her grandmother's hand and immediately began pulling her toward the door. “Come on!”

His mother laughed as she followed, then glanced back at the two of you. “I'm taking her home with me tonight.”

Chan blinked. “Tonight?”

“Unless you have plans with her.”

His eyes flicked toward you. Your stomach tightened. “N-no...no plans.”

She studied you for a second, something unreadable passing through her expression before she nodded. “Good. I'll bring her back tomorrow.”

Jia was already halfway to the door when she turned around. “Bye!”

You smiled and waved. “Bye, sweetheart.”

Apparently that wasn't enough. She ran back, wrapped her little arms around your waist, and squeezed before darting toward Chan. He crouched automatically, catching her against his chest as she threw her arms around his neck.

“Be good.”

“I am always good.”

His mother laughed.

Jia giggled as she took her hand again, and the two of them disappeared through the front doors. Chan remained there for another moment, watching until they were out of sight before finally letting the door swing shut behind them.

The nursery felt different almost immediately.

Not empty or quiet, exactly. There were still customers moving through the greenhouse, the faint hum of conversation drifting from the register, the occasional clink of a pot being set onto a table. But the one person who had given you both an easy excuse to keep moving was suddenly gone.

Chan turned back toward you.

You looked at him.

For the first time all afternoon, there was nothing between you. No Jia, no customer waiting for help, no task that desperately needed doing. Just him standing a few feet away with the clipboard still in his hand, watching you with that same quiet attentiveness he'd had since morning.

Tonight, you told yourself. When you were home. When Jia was with Chan’s mother, when there was nowhere either of you needed to be and nothing left to distract you.

Tonight, you would tell him.

𐙚

By the time you got home that evening, the house felt strangely unfamiliar without Jia. Her shoes weren't kicked off beside the door, her stuffed animals weren't scattered across the living room, and there wasn't a cartoon playing somewhere in the background. The quiet should have made things easier. Instead, it gave your thoughts far too much room.

You and Chan moved through the evening almost automatically, cleaning up after dinner and putting things away without really talking about anything important. You kept waiting for the right moment to appear, but eventually there was nowhere left to hide from it. When you ended up beside him on the couch, his arm resting along the back behind you, you knew you couldn't keep carrying it alone.

He noticed before you said anything. His eyes moved over your face, lingering for a moment before he asked quietly, “You've been somewhere else all night.”

You looked down at your hands. “I need to tell you something.”

Chan didn't say anything. He simply turned toward you, giving you his full attention in a way that somehow made it harder to begin. You'd spent all day thinking about this moment, rehearsing the words in your head until they had become almost meaningless, but now that you were sitting beside him in the quiet of his living room, they felt impossibly heavy.

“The pill didn't work.”

His expression barely changed.

You noticed. It wasn't the surprise you'd expected. Not the confusion. Just a slight tightening around his eyes, like he'd been waiting for you to say it.

“I took it,” you continued. “Right after you came back from the pharmacy. I thought that would be the end of it, but my period didn't come.”

Chan's hand shifted against the couch cushion, though he didn't say anything.

“So I bought a test.” You paused, suddenly unable to look at him, as your fingers twisted together in your lap. “It's positive.”

The words seemed to settle over the room.

For several seconds, neither of you moved. You'd imagined this conversation so many times that you'd convinced yourself you knew how it would go. You'd imagined panic, anger, reassurance. You'd imagined him being happy, and somehow that possibility had frightened you almost as much as everything else.

He didn't look stunned. He only lowered his eyes for a moment before reaching across the space between you and taking your hand.

And that was when you knew.

“You know already.....”

His fingers tightened around yours, “I saw it.”

Your heart stumbled, “when you took the bag...” You stared at him.

“The plastic caught on something outside,” he continued. “It tore, and the test fell out.”

You looked away. “Oh.”

“I didn't mean to find it.”

“I know.”

“I almost came back inside.” His thumb moved slowly over your knuckles.“I wanted to ask you. I wanted to know what you were thinking, if you were okay, if you'd been carrying all of this around by yourself.”

His voice softened, “but I didn't think it was mine to take from you.”

You looked back at him then, “you didn't say anything, why?”

“Because you were going to tell me.”

You looked down at your hands. “I wanted to.”

Chan's thumb moved slowly across your knuckles. He didn't press you for an explanation, and somehow that made it easier to admit the truth.

“I kept thinking I'd find the right moment, and then every time I had one, I couldn't do it.”

“I figured.”

You glanced at him. “How?”

“Because you were carrying that bag around like it weighed a hundred pounds.”

A small, humorless laugh escaped you. “It kind of did.”

His expression softened, and he leaned back into the couch without letting go of your hand. “I knew you were scared. I just didn't know what you were scared of yet.”

Your throat tightened. “Everything,” you admitted.

Chan shifted closer, his knee pressing gently against yours. He didn't tell you everything would be fine. He didn't tell you not to worry. He simply waited.

The silence stretched until you finally forced the rest of it out. Your eyes lifted to his. “I don't know if I want this, Chan.”

Something shifted in his expression, but his hand didn't leave yours.

“I know how that sounds.”

“It doesn't sound like anything.”

“It sounds like I don't want your baby.”

“That isn't what you said.”

“I don't mean I don't want you. I don't mean I don't love you, and I don't mean I don't love Jia. I do. You know I do.” Your voice caught, and you took a breath. “I'm just scared.”

Chan nodded once. “I know, baby. I know.”

You looked away, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. “I planned to build that nursery because I wanted something that was mine. I spent months figuring everything out myself before you got involved. Every decision was mine. Every risk was mine. And now I'm looking at it and thinking about what happens if suddenly everything has to change.”

Your voice wavered as you stared at your hands.

“I don't know what it means to build anything on top of that. I don't know if I can run the nursery and be a mother and still be me. I don't know if I'll resent myself for wanting one thing and needing to make room for something else.”

The words came faster after that, like you'd been holding them behind a dam all week.

“And I don't know what this means for you. You already have Jia. You have your business. You have this whole life that you've worked so hard to make stable, and then there's me. I don't know what adding another person does to all of it.”

Chan was quiet for a long moment.

For a moment, you thought maybe you'd said too much. Then he looked down at your hands and exhaled slowly. “I don't know either.”

You looked at him.

He stared down at your joined hands. “I don't know if I can do it again.”

The admission was so simple that it almost hurt.

“I don't know what another baby does to my life,” he continued. “I know what it means to be a dad. I know the hours. I know what it costs. I know what it's like to be so tired you can't remember the last time you slept properly and still get up because somebody needs you.”

His eyes drifted toward the hallway, as if Jia were still there even though the house was empty.

“And I love being her dad. I wouldn't trade that for anything. But I've spent four years building something that works. Me and Jia. The business with the guys. Our routine. Then you came into it, and that changed things too, but in a way I wanted. In a way I chose.”

His eyes came back to yours, “and now this is something neither of us planned.”

You felt your throat tighten.

“I don't know if I can do it without everything starting to crack.” There was no shame in his voice when he said it. No attempt to soften the admission.

Just fear.

The same fear you'd been carrying.

“I thought you'd be happy,” you whispered.

Chan's expression changed. “I might be.”

You stared at him.

He gave a small, almost helpless laugh. “That's the problem.”

Your eyes burned.

“I can picture it,” he admitted. “That's what scares me. I can picture Jia being a big sister. I can picture another little person running around that house. I can picture you with a baby, and part of me...” He stopped, swallowing. “Part of me wants it.”

The honesty of it made your chest tighten.

“But wanting it doesn't mean I'm not scared.”

You nodded because you understood that better than you wanted to. “I don't know what I want yet.”

“I know.”

“And I feel awful even saying that.”

“You don't have to.”

“What if," you pause, "W-what if I don't figure it out?”

Chan shifted closer until your shoulder rested against his chest. His arm came around you, not pulling you toward an answer, just holding you there. “We don't have to figure it out tonight.”

You closed your eyes.

“I don't have some perfect answer,” he murmured. “I wish I did. You know I do.”

A shaky laugh escaped you. “You're usually pretty good at answers.”

“Not this one.” His hand found yours again, fingers threading through yours. “I don't know what to do either,” he said quietly. “But I know I'm not leaving the room.”

You looked up at him.

He held your gaze. “I mean it. I'm not going to make you decide what you want before you're ready. I'm not going to tell you what you should feel. And I'm not going to disappear because this scares you.”

Your eyes filled before you could stop them. “I don't want you to hear me say that I'm scared and think I'm saying I don't want this life with you.”

Chan's expression softened. “I'm not.”

You looked down, your fingers tightening around his. “I love you. I love the life we've built. I love Jia. That's why this scares me so much.”

His expression softened as his hand closed more firmly around yours. “I know,” he said quietly. “That's what makes me understand.”

That was all it took.

You leaned into him, and his arms came around you as you finally let yourself cry. He held you against his chest, one hand moving slowly over your back while the other stayed wrapped around yours.

Neither of you solved anything.

The test was still positive.

The nursery would still be there in the morning.

The life you'd built was still waiting for you, and now there was another possibility standing beside it, neither welcome nor unwelcome enough to be named yet.

But Chan stayed, and for tonight, that was enough.

𐙚

Morning came quietly.

You woke slowly, your body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that sleep hadn't quite managed to fix. Your back ached from the way you'd fallen asleep on the couch before Chan had eventually coaxed you upstairs, and there was a dull tenderness through your body that made you pause when you shifted beneath the sheets.

For a few seconds, you stared at the ceiling without remembering why you felt so tired.

Then you did.

Last night came back in pieces. The conversation. The crying. Chan's arms around you. The things you'd finally said aloud after spending days carrying them alone. You turned your head toward the other side of the bed.

Empty.

For one strange second, your chest tightened before you heard the faint sounds of movement down the hall. A cabinet closing. The quiet clink of a mug against the kitchen counter.

He was still here.

You pushed yourself out of bed and made your way into the bathroom, stopping in front of the mirror.

You looked exhausted.

Your eyes were swollen, your cheeks still faintly marked from where you'd cried yourself to sleep, and there was something about your reflection that made you feel as though you'd aged a year overnight. You looked at yourself for a long moment before turning on the faucet and splashing cold water over your face.

Nothing had changed while you slept. The nursery was still yours. The test was still positive. You still didn't know what you wanted.

But when you stepped into the kitchen, Chan was there.

He was standing at the counter in a pair of gray sweats and an old T-shirt, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. His hair was still messy from sleep, and for some reason, seeing him like that made the tightness in your chest ease.

He looked over when he heard you. “Morning.”

Your voice came out rough. “Morning.”

His eyes lingered on your face for a moment. He didn't ask if you'd slept well. He could probably tell you hadn't. Instead, he poured the second cup of coffee and held it out to you.

You took it, letting your fingers brush his. “Thanks.”

He nodded and stepped closer, his hand settling against the back of your neck. The gesture was so familiar that it almost hurt.

It was the same place he'd held you when you'd been panicking over the pharmacy. The same steady pressure that had told you to breathe when your thoughts were moving faster than you could control them.

Except there was no countdown this morning. No pharmacy. No desperate attempt to undo what had happened. Just his hand resting there while he pressed a quiet kiss to your forehead.

“You okay?”

You considered lying. Instead, you gave him the only answer you had. “I don't know.”

His thumb moved gently against your skin. “That's okay.”

You looked down at your coffee, “I feel like everything is exactly the same.”

“It is.”

“But it doesn't feel the same.”

“No.” There was no argument in his voice.

You leaned against the counter, letting the warmth of the mug settle into your hands.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was simply different now, filled with all the things you'd said the night before and all the things neither of you was ready to say yet.

Eventually, Chan reached for his own coffee. “We'll figure it out.”

You looked at him.

He gave you a small smile. “Not all of it today.”

Something about that made your throat tighten. “The nursery first?”

“The nursery first.”

“And then?”

He shrugged slightly. “Then whatever comes next.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You're making it sound very simple.”

“It's not simple.” He took another sip of coffee. “It's just one thing at a time.”

You looked down at the cup in your hands.

The last time he'd said those words, you'd been standing in the kitchen with a pill in your palm, watching the clock and trying to convince yourself that seventy-two hours was enough time to fix everything.

This time, there was no clock. No deadline. No pretending that one decision could make the uncertainty disappear.

Just a morning.

A cup of coffee.

His hand finding yours on the counter.

One thing at a time.

--

You were halfway through getting ready when Chan found you in the bedroom, already dressed and standing in front of the mirror trying to decide whether you had enough energy to deal with another full day at the nursery.

He leaned against the doorframe for a moment before speaking. “Can I ask you something?”

You glanced at him through the mirror. “Sure.”

He didn't answer immediately.

That made you turn around. “What?”

Chan rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking much less certain than he had a moment ago. “Would you be okay if I told my parents?”

You knew exactly what he meant. Your expression softened. “About the baby?”

He nodded.

You looked away, thinking about it. “I don't know.”

“That's okay.”

“I just...” You turned back toward him. “I don't want everyone knowing before we've even figured out what we're doing. I don't want people asking questions when I don't have answers.”

“They won't.”

His answer came quickly enough that you looked back at him. “I wouldn't tell them anything you weren't okay with,” he added. “Just need another viewpoint.”

You studied him for a moment.

He exhaled, his shoulders dropping slightly. “I think I need them right now.”

That was what made your answer easier. Not that he wanted to tell them, that he needed someone too.

You nodded slowly. “Okay.”

His eyes lifted to yours. “Okay?”

“Your parents can know.”

A small breath left him, almost like he'd been holding it.

“But that's it,” you added. “No siblings, no friends, no telling anyone else until we're ready.”

“Of course.”

“And if your mom starts planning a nursery before we've even decided what we're doing—”

“She won't.”

You gave him a look.

He hesitated. “She probably won't.”

You laughed softly for the first time that morning. Chan smiled, stepping closer until he could wrap an arm around your waist.

“I'll call them.”

You nodded, resting your hands against his chest. “Okay.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back. Then his phone was already in his hand. “Actually,” he said, glancing at the screen, “I think my mom is going to know something's wrong the second I say I need to talk to her.”

You sighed. “Great.”

“She knows me.”

“She sounds terrifying.”

“She is.”

You smiled despite yourself. For the first time since waking up, the thought of telling someone else didn't feel quite as frightening. You didn't have an answer, but, for the first time, you weren't the only two people carrying the question.

By the time you reached the nursery, Chan had already called his mother.

You didn't hear the entire conversation. He'd stepped outside while you unlocked the front doors, pacing slowly along the sidewalk with one hand tucked into his pocket and the other holding his phone to his ear.

When he finally came back inside, you looked up from the register. “Well?”

Chan slipped his phone into his pocket and came back toward the counter, his expression thoughtful. “She knows something is up.”

You waited, watching him. “And?”

“She said she'd talk to us after we leave.”

Your stomach tightened slightly. “At your house?”

He nodded. “She said she'll bring Jia back later, and then we can talk.”

You nodded slowly, trying not to think too far ahead. “What did you tell her?”

“That we needed to talk to her about something important.”

You gave him a look. “That's vague.”

“I know.”

“She definitely knows.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “She's my mother. She probably knew something was wrong the second I called.”

You leaned against the counter, studying him, “are you nervous?”

Chan didn't hesitate this time. “Yeah.”

Something about the honesty in his voice made your expression soften.

“I haven't had to tell my parents something like this since Jia.”

You nodded.

“And I don't know how they're going to react.”

“Do you think they'll be upset?”

He thought about it for a moment. “My mom will probably scold me first.”

Despite everything, you smiled. “Probably.”

“She'll scold both of us.”

Your smile faded slightly, “yeah.”

Chan reached across the counter and took your hand, his thumb brushing slowly over your knuckles. “But she'll listen.”

You looked at him. He sounded certain of that, even if he wasn't certain about anything else. You squeezed his hand. “Okay.”

His gaze stayed on yours. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

He gave your hand one last squeeze before letting go, and the two of you returned to work.

The nursery continued around you, Sunday customers wandering through the greenhouse and asking questions, children pointing excitedly at flowers and plants they'd never seen before. You tried to let the familiar rhythm of the day pull you back in, but it was difficult to lose yourself in work when you knew there was a conversation waiting for you at the end of it.

Chan seemed to be struggling with the same thing. He stayed close without hovering, finding reasons to pass through whichever section you were working in. When a customer needed help carrying a large pot, he was there before you could reach for it. When you struggled with a stack of trays, his hand appeared beneath the bottom one and took half the weight without a word. Every so often, you'd catch his eyes on you from across the greenhouse, his expression thoughtful before he inevitably looked away.

It wasn't quite the same watchfulness from yesterday. There was less uncertainty in it now, but more weight.

You wondered if he was thinking about what his parents would say. You wondered if he was thinking about Jia. You wondered if he was thinking about the baby.

You didn't ask.

Neither did he.

Instead, the two of you worked.

By late afternoon, the rush had begun to thin. The families disappeared first, followed by the couples who had spent far too long debating between two nearly identical houseplants. Eventually, the greenhouse settled into a quieter rhythm, the only sounds coming from the irrigation system and the occasional bell above the front door.

You were rearranging a display near the entrance when Chan appeared beside you with two coffees. “You forgot yours.”

You looked at the cup he held out. “I didn't forget it.”

“You've been carrying the same one for two hours.”

You glanced toward the counter, he wasn't wrong.

You took the fresh cup from him, your fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”

He stayed beside you for a moment, looking over the display you'd been working on. “Looks good.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

You smiled faintly and turned another pot so its leaves faced toward the sunlight.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. Then Chan's hand found yours. You looked down at your joined fingers before looking back at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You're doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Looking at me like you're trying to figure me out.”

His thumb moved over your knuckles. “Maybe I am.”

“You'll be waiting a while.”

“I've got time.” The words were simple, but they settled somewhere deeper than they should have.

You squeezed his hand. “Your mom is going to be there soon.”

“Yeah.”

“And your dad?”

“She said he'd come.”

Your stomach twisted again.

Chan noticed immediately. His fingers tightened around yours. “Hey.”

You looked at him.

“We don't have to have all the answers tonight.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“We just have to tell them what's happening.”

“And then?”

He gave your hand a small squeeze. “Then we figure out what comes next.”

You looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “Okay.”

The front door opened before either of you could say anything else, and a customer stepped inside. Chan released your hand, but not before his thumb made one last pass over your knuckles.

“Go,” he murmured. “I'll get this.”

You nodded and headed toward the office, grateful for the interruption and, somehow, a little less afraid of the evening waiting for you.

𐙚

The drive back to Chan's house was quieter than usual. Neither of you seemed to know what to say, and with the conversation waiting for you at the end of the night, even the familiar roads felt different.

When you pulled into the driveway, Jessica's car was already parked outside.

Your stomach tightened.

Chan glanced over at you before turning off the engine. He reached across the console and took your hand, giving it a slow squeeze. “She'll wait,” he said quietly.

You looked at him. “What if she doesn't?”

“She will.”

There was enough certainty in his voice to make you believe him.

For the moment.

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in. Jia's shoes were by the door, her little backpack tossed beside them, and the sound of her laughter drifted from the living room.

You barely had time to take off your shoes before she came running around the corner.

“Daddy!”

Chan's entire expression changed.

He crouched just in time for her to throw herself into his arms, wrapping her around his neck. “Hey, bug.”

“You're home!”

“I am.”

She pulled back enough to look at him before immediately reaching for you too. “You're home too!”

You smiled and bent down to hug her, holding her a little longer than usual.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Behind her, Jessica watched quietly. You caught her eye over Jia's shoulder. She gave you a small, knowing smile but didn't say anything.

That somehow made your stomach twist more.

The evening moved around the subject without touching it. Jessica stayed for dinner, helping Jia tell you both about everything she'd done that day while Chan listened with the kind of attention he always gave his daughter. You laughed when you were supposed to, answered questions when Jia asked them, and tried not to think about the fact that Jessica was watching the two of you from across the table.

She never asked. Not once.

By the time Jia started rubbing her eyes between bites, Jessica seemed to make the decision for everyone.

“Alright, sweetheart,” she said, reaching for the plate. “I think someone's ready for bed.”

Jia immediately protested. “I'm not tired.”

“You've yawned four times.”

“No, I haven't.”

Chan smiled. “You definitely have.”

She frowned at him. “Traitor.”

He laughed and leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “Come on.”

The bedtime routine took longer than usual.

Jia insisted on choosing the story, then changed her mind halfway through. She wanted water, then remembered she needed to tell you something very important about a butterfly she'd seen earlier. By the time Chan finally tucked the blankets around her, her words were already beginning to slur together.

You stood in the doorway while he kissed her forehead.

“Goodnight, bug.”

“Goodnight, Daddy.”

Her sleepy eyes found you. “Goodnight.”

You smiled. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

She reached one small hand toward you. You stepped closer and let her hold your fingers for a moment before her eyes finally drifted shut.

Chan looked at you from the other side of the bed.

Neither of you spoke.

You quietly slipped out of the room, leaving the door cracked open. A few minutes later, Chan joined you in the hallway.

The house was finally quiet.

Jessica was waiting down the hall. She looked up when the two of you entered the living room, but instead of speaking, she simply gestured toward the couch.

“Come sit.”

This time, there was no urgency in her voice. Just patience, and somehow, that was more frightening than being asked outright.

You sat beside Chan on the couch, close enough that your knee rested against his while Jessica settled into the armchair across from you, folding her hands loosely in her lap. For a few seconds, nobody said anything. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, exactly. It was simply the kind that came when everyone in the room knew there was something waiting to be said.

Jessica looked at Chan first, then at you. “You've both been quiet tonight.”

Chan glanced down at his hands. “Yeah.”

“I noticed.”

There was no accusation in it. If anything, she sounded tired. You looked down at your lap, your fingers twisting together, and Jessica's expression softened.

“You don't have to tell me everything at once.”

That almost made it harder.

You swallowed as Chan shifted beside you, his hand finding yours beneath the edge of the blanket. His fingers closed around yours, steady and warm. Jessica noticed, but she didn't comment.

Instead, she looked at her son. “Are you two alright?”

Chan was quiet for a moment. “We're trying to be.”

Jessica's brow furrowed slightly. “That's not usually how you answer that question.”

A breath of laughter escaped him, but there wasn't much humor behind it. He rubbed his thumb across your hand before finally admitting, “No. We're not really sure what we're doing yet.”

Jessica waited.

Chan looked at you before meeting his mother's eyes again. “We found out yesterday that she's pregnant.”

The words landed softly.

No dramatic reaction. Jessica simply went still, her eyes moving to you and then back to Chan. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.

Then Jessica exhaled slowly and leaned back in her chair. “Okay.”

You weren't sure what you expected, but somehow that simple word made your eyes sting.

Jessica looked between you again. “Okay,” she repeated, quieter this time. “That's a lot.”

Chan nodded. “It is.”

“And you don't know what you're going to do.”

It wasn't a question.

He shook his head. “No.”

Jessica's gaze settled on you. “And you?”

Your throat tightened. “I don't know either.”

She nodded slowly, accepting the answer without trying to pull another one from you. “Good.”

You blinked. “Good?”

“You're allowed not to know.”

The tension in your shoulders loosened by a fraction. Jessica leaned forward, resting her forearms against her knees.

“You're going to have people telling you what you should do. People who think because they love you, they get to make the decision for you.” Her eyes flicked toward Chan. “Don't let anyone do that.”

Chan looked down.

Jessica continued gently, “Not me. Not your father. Not your friends. Not anyone.”

You felt Chan's fingers tighten around yours.

“But,” she added, “you also don't get to pretend this isn't going to change things.”

The honesty of it caught you. Jessica wasn't trying to make the situation prettier than it was, and she wasn't promising that everything would magically work out. She was simply sitting there with you in the middle of it.

“You're scared,” she said.

You nodded.

“So is he.”

Chan gave her a look. “Mom.”

“What?” She looked at him pointedly. “You've been staring at the floor for twenty minutes.”

He sighed. “I know.”

Jessica's expression softened. “You're allowed to be scared too, Christopher.”

He swallowed. “I know.”

She looked between the two of you again. “But being scared doesn't mean you don't want something.”

Neither of you answered, because that was the problem. Neither of you knew what you wanted yet.

Jessica seemed to understand that. “You don't have to decide tonight,” she said. “You don't even have to decide tomorrow.”

Her gaze moved toward the hallway where Jia was sleeping.

“But whatever you decide, you need to make the decision together. Not because you're afraid of disappointing each other. Not because you think one of you owes the other something.” She paused, her voice softening. “You do it because this is your life.”

Your eyes burned, Chan's hand tightened around yours again.

Jessica leaned back, letting the silence settle before adding, “And if you want my opinion, I'll give it to you.”

Chan finally looked up. “I think we do.”

A small smile touched her mouth. “Then we'll talk.”

She was quiet for another moment, studying the two of you as though she was deciding where to begin. Then her expression shifted, the softness giving way to something closer to disbelief.

“Although,” she added, “I do have one question.”

Chan immediately looked wary. “What?”

Jessica's eyes narrowed. “You two are unbelievable.”

Chan winced. “I know.”

“Do you?”

You couldn't help the small, nervous laugh that escaped you. Jessica glanced at you before turning her attention back to her son.

“You have a brand-new relationship, a brand-new business, a four-year-old, and apparently neither of you thought contraception was worth discussing properly?”

“We did discuss it.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow.

Chan hesitated, “eventually.”

“Clearly not well enough.”

His mouth pressed into a line, and you looked down at your hands to hide another nervous smile.

Jessica sighed, though there wasn't much anger behind it anymore. “I'm not angry about the pregnancy. I want you both to understand that. I'm angry that you're sitting here looking like the world just ended because you think you were supposed to have everything figured out first.”

Chan's gaze dropped to the floor. “I don't know if I can do this again,” he admitted quietly.

Jessica's expression softened, “you're doing it again.”

He frowned. “Doing what?”

“Trying to solve ten years from now because you're scared of what happens tomorrow.”

Chan went still.

“You did this when Jia was born,” she continued. “You sat in my kitchen at three in the morning convinced you'd somehow ruined your life because you didn't know how you were going to be someone's father.”

“That was different.”

“It was exactly the same.”

He shook his head, but there was no argument behind it.

“You were terrified,” Jessica said. “You thought you weren't ready.”

“I wasn't.”

“No,” she agreed. “You weren't.”

Chan looked at her.

“Neither is anyone else, no matter how much they prepare.”

The words settled over the room.

“You learned,” she continued. “You adjusted. You made mistakes. You apologized. You figured things out. And most importantly, you kept showing up.”

Her voice softened. “That's what being a parent is.”

Chan swallowed, his thumb moving slowly over the back of your hand.

Jessica turned toward you, “and you don't owe anyone an answer just because there's a test with two lines on it.”

Your throat tightened.

“You get to be scared,” she said. “You get to be angry. You get to wonder what happens to your plans. You get to look at everything you've built and wonder where a baby fits into it.” Her gaze moved around the room before settling back on you.

“You worked very hard for your life.”

You blinked quickly, trying to keep your eyes from spilling over.

“Don't make yourself choose between being a mother and being yourself before you even know what either one looks like.”

Your fingers tightened around Chan's. He shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. Jessica watched the two of you for a moment before continuing. “You built that nursery one problem at a time, didn't you?”

You nodded.

“You didn't walk into that empty building and figure out where every plant would go five years from now. You fixed the roof. Then the greenhouse. Then the plumbing. Then the landscaping. You dealt with whatever was in front of you.” A tired smile touched her mouth, “so stop trying to build an entire life in your heads before you've even decided what the next step is.”

Neither of you spoke.

The fear was still there. The uncertainty hadn't magically disappeared. But for the first time since you'd seen those two lines, the future didn't feel like one enormous thing pressing down on your chest.

Jessica leaned back in her chair. “You don't have to decide whether you can handle the next eighteen years tonight.” Her gaze moved between you. “Just decide what you need to know next.”

Chan looked down at your joined hands, “and if we don't know that either?”

Jessica smiled faintly. “then you figure that out too.”

She stood, smoothing her hands over her jeans before glancing toward the hallway. “One thing at a time.”

Jia was still asleep, the house finally quiet after an evening that had felt much longer than it actually was.

“Get some sleep,” she said.

Chan gave her a tired smile. “We'll try.”

“No. Actually sleep.”

He laughed quietly. “Okay.”

Jessica pointed at him. “And Christopher?”

“Yeah?”

“Do not spend half the night Googling things.”

His expression immediately gave him away.

You looked over at him. “You were going to.”

“I wasn't.”

“You absolutely were.”

Jessica shook her head, already reaching for her coat. “I raised you better than this.”

That earned another small laugh from Chan, and somehow the sound made something in your chest loosen.

Jessica slipped her shoes on by the door before looking back at you. “Call me if either of you needs anything.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

Her expression softened. “Both of you.”

Then she was gone. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the house quiet again.

You both began cleaning almost without discussing it. There weren't many dishes left, but neither of you seemed ready to go to bed yet. You gathered the glasses from the coffee table while Chan folded the blanket Jessica had been using, smoothing it out before draping it over the back of the couch.

The ordinary movements felt strangely comforting. When you passed him on your way toward the kitchen, his hand settled briefly against the small of your back.

Neither of you said anything.

A few minutes later, you heard a small noise from Jia's room.

Chan looked toward the hallway immediately. “I'll check.”

You followed him anyway.

Jia had rolled onto her side, one arm wrapped around her stuffed dwaekki, her hair spread messily across the pillow. Chan stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her before stepping inside to pull the blanket back over her shoulder.

You stayed beside the door.

He glanced back at you. “She sleeps like you.”

You smiled faintly. “She does not.”

“She absolutely does.”

“She kicks.”

“So do you.”

You gave him a look as he smiled, barely there, before turning back toward Jia.

She stirred, blinking sleepily. “Daddy?”

“I'm here.”

“Is it morning?”

“Not yet.”

She yawned and reached one hand toward him. Chan crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, letting her curl her fingers around his.

“Go back to sleep, bug.”

Her eyes closed almost immediately. You watched him brush her hair away from her forehead, his expression changing in that quiet way it always did when he looked at her.

There was so much love in it.

And somehow, for once, it didn't frighten you.

Not completely.

𐙚

Later, the two of you ended up back on the couch with mugs of tea that neither of you drank very much of. The house had settled into the kind of silence that only happened after Jia was asleep, every room dim and still, the faint hum of the refrigerator filling the spaces between your breaths.

Chan sat beside you on the couch, his knee pressed against yours. For several minutes, neither of you said anything. You watched the steam disappear from your mug while he stared down at his own, turning it slowly between his hands.

Eventually, he exhaled. “My mom was right.”

You glanced over. “About which part?”

“Most of it.”

A quiet laugh escaped you, and his mouth pulled into a faint smile. Then his expression settled again. “I keep thinking I need to know what happens next.”

You looked at him.

He rubbed his thumb along the handle of his mug. “I just don't know how to stop.”

You turned slightly toward him. “You don't have to stop. You just have to stop trying to solve everything tonight.”

His eyes lifted to yours. “I know.”

“You keep doing it, though.”

“I know.”

That made you smile despite yourself.

Chan nudged your knee with his. “It's annoying, isn't it?”

“A little.”

“A little?”

“Very.”

He gave you a tired look, but there was no real offense behind it. For a moment, the tension eased. Then his gaze dropped back to his hands. “I think part of me is scared that if I don't have a plan, I'm going to miss something.”

Your smile faded. “Like what?”

“Anything.” He paused. “Something you need. Something Jia needs. Something the baby would need.”

The last word was still strange coming from him. You could hear the uncertainty in it. “You don't even know if there is going to be a baby yet,” you reminded him gently.

“I know.”

“But you're already worrying about what it would need.”

“Yeah.”

You looked at him for a long moment before reaching over and taking his hand. His fingers closed around yours immediately. “We don't have to decide everything tonight,” he said, almost as if he were reminding himself.

You nodded, your thumb brushing across his knuckles. The motion was idle at first, soothing, the kind of touch you'd offer without thinking. But Chan's hand went still beneath yours, and you looked up to find him watching you with an expression you couldn't quite name.

"What?" you asked.

He didn't answer. Instead, he lifted his free hand and pressed his palm flat against your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw once before settling there. The silence between you shifted—not broken, but thickened.

"You keep doing that," you said softly.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me like I'm something you're trying to memorize."

His thumb moved again, slow and deliberate. "Maybe I am."

The words landed somewhere between your ribs and stayed there. You didn't pull away when he leaned in, and when his mouth met yours, it wasn't urgent. It was careful. Deliberate. A question that didn't need to be spoken because his hand was already cradling the back of your neck, pulling you gently closer.

You kissed him back until the tea grew cold on the coffee table.

When he pulled away, he didn't go far. His forehead rested against yours, his breathing quiet against your mouth. For a moment, neither of you moved. His hand remained at the back of your neck, his thumb brushing slowly over your skin.

Then you shifted closer.

It was almost unconscious. Your knee moved between his, your hand settling against his chest as you leaned into him again. Chan's arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you gently across the couch until there was barely any space left between you.

The kiss that followed was slower, but it carried something different now. Less uncertainty. More familiarity. His fingers slipped beneath the edge of your shirt, warm against your side, and your breath caught softly at the contact.

You didn't pull away.

His hand moved carefully along your back while yours found the hem of his shirt, your fingers curling into the fabric. The couch shifted beneath you when he moved closer, and for a few seconds, everything outside of this room disappeared.

The nursery.

The test.

The questions neither of you could answer yet.

All of it faded beneath the simple comfort of having him there.

Chan kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, lingering there before finding your lips again. You felt his breath hitch when your fingers brushed through his hair.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Is this an apology?”

He blinked, caught slightly off guard. “What?”

“This.” Your fingers remained curled lightly against his shirt. “Are you apologizing?”

His expression changed. “No.” The answer came quietly, but immediately.

“Then don't.”

His brows pulled together.

“I don't want you apologizing for this.”

“I wasn't.”

“You were thinking about it.”

A small, reluctant smile touched his mouth. “Maybe a little.”

You shook your head. “Don't.”

He studied you for a moment, his hand still resting against your waist. “Okay.”

You waited.

He exhaled slowly. “I'm not sorry for loving you.” The words were so simple that they almost hurt.

Your expression softened.

“I'm scared,” he admitted. “I'm scared of what happens next. I'm scared I'm going to get something wrong. I'm scared of what this could mean for you and for Jia.”

His thumb moved gently against your side. “But I'm not sorry that you're here.”

You leaned into him again, your forehead finding his. “Good.”

He kissed you once, softly.

Then again.

You took his from his free hand and set it beside yours on the table.

His eyes tracked the movement, then found yours.

"Bed?" you said.

Something in his face loosened. "Yeah."

His hand in yours, he stood, and you followed him down the hall. Past Jia's door; cracked open, her nightlight a soft pink pool on the carpet, her breath a tiny whisper of sound. He didn't let go of your hand when he pushed his own door shut. The click felt like a seal.

The room was dark except for the streetlight through the blinds. He turned to you and his hands found your face first, thumbs along your cheekbones, like he needed to look at you before anything else.

"Hey," he said, soft.

"Hey."

He kissed you. Slow, at first, a question. Your hands fisted in his shirt and you answered it, pulling him closer until his chest pressed against yours. His mouth opened over yours, deeper, and you tasted the faint sweetness of the tea he never finished.

The bed met the backs of your knees. You went down together, his weight settling over you, one forearm braced beside your head. His hips found the cradle of yours and you both breathed out at once.

"This okay?" he murmured against your mouth.

"Yes. God, yes."

His hand slid down your side, over your hip, under the hem of your shirt. His palm was warm and broad against your stomach, and he paused there, just that, his thumb tracing a slow circle above your navel.

You knew what he was thinking. You could feel it in the stillness of his hand. "Stop thinking," you whispered.

His laugh was a puff of air against your lips. "You first."

Then his mouth found your neck and you stopped thinking entirely.

Your shirt went over your head somewhere between kisses. His followed. Skin against skin, and he made a low sound at the feel of you, your breasts pressed flat against his chest, your nipple catching on the edge of his ribs.

His hand slid lower, over the curve of your belly, slipping under the waistband of your underwear with a deliberate slowness that made your skin prickle.

Two fingers, then three, traced a path down through the slick heat of your folds before they found your clit, circling it with a precision that made your breath hitch.

You arched into his touch, a sharp sound escaping your throat that you quickly swallowed against his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt rough against your lips.

"Quiet," he reminded you, though his voice was wrecked, strained with a hunger he was barely containing. "Jia."

Right. Jia. Four doors down, asleep. The risk of it added a jagged edge to the pleasure, a frantic energy that pulsed between you. You pressed your mouth to his neck instead, your teeth grazing his skin in a silent plea, and he rewarded you.

One finger slid inside you, slow and probing, then a second, stretching you open. You were already wet. Embarrassingly, gloriously wet, the slickness making a soft, squelching sound around his knuckles as he curled them upward, searching, finding the exact spot that made your hips buck off the mattress.

"There it is," he breathed, his voice a low vibration against your skin.

He worked you like he knew you. Like he'd spent the entire evening memorizing the map of your body and this was the final exam. His thumb circled your clit in a relentless, rhythmic grind while his fingers pushed deep, hitting your cervix, and the world narrowed to the wet sound of friction, the heavy weight of him, and the oppressive, intimate dark.

"This pussy's mine," he murmured, the possessiveness in his tone sending a shiver straight to your core. You clenched around his fingers, your internal muscles squeezing him tight.

Your hand found his wrist. Not to stop him, but to hold on, to anchor yourself as the pleasure began to spiral out of control. He watched you fall apart. That was the thing; his eyes stayed locked on your face, tracking every twitch of your eyelids, every bitten-off breath, as if your pleasure was a ritual he needed to witness in its entirety.

"Let go," he said, his voice commanding yet tender. "I've got you."

Your eyes closed, and the thought came anyway, unbidden and terrifying; his fingers inside you, and the possibility of something else in there. Something small. Something that would need a plan, a future, and everything he was afraid of missing. You clenched around him at the thought, a sudden spike of anxiety mixing with the lust, and he went still.

"Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere." You pulled him down into a kiss, open-mouthed and desperate, tasting the salt and heat of him. "I'm right here."

He didn't just want to use his hands. He shifted, sliding down the bed, his body a warm weight moving away from your chest until he was positioned between your thighs. You gasped as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, exposing you completely to the dim light of the room.

He didn't hesitate. He leaned in, his breath hot against your inner thighs before his tongue lashed out, licking a long, wet stripe from your perineum up to your clit. You cried out, the sound muffled by your own hand as you pressed it over your mouth. He ignored the silence, diving in deep.

His tongue was broad and insistent, swirling around your clit before sucking it into his mouth, pulling it with a rhythmic pressure that made your toes curl. He used his fingers simultaneously, sliding two back inside you, pumping them in time with the flick of his tongue. The combination was overwhelming; the wet, slapping sound of his mouth against your pussy filled the quiet room. He drank you in, his tongue probing deep into your heat, tasting every drop of your arousal.

His fingers sped up, pressing, curling, and the tension in your belly wound tight and finally snapped. You came with a violent shudder, your face buried in the pillow to stifle the scream, your thighs shaking uncontrollably around his head. He didn't pull away; he stayed there, continuing to suck and lick through the peak of your orgasm, holding you through the aftershocks until the shuddering stopped.

He eventually pulled back, a thin string of saliva and your own juices connecting him to you for a brief second before he crawled back up. He pulled his fingers out slow, and you felt the sudden loss of it, a hollow, empty ache. He wiped his hand on the sheet; his sheets, his bed, his smell enveloping you; and pulled you firmly against his chest.

You lay there, breathing each other's air, the scent of sex heavy in the room. His heartbeat thudded under your ear, gradually slowing from a gallop to a steady rhythm. His hand found yours, lacing fingers together over his heart.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The house creaked. The streetlight shifted, casting long, skeletal shadows across the wall.

"We don't have to solve it tonight," you said, echoing his own words back at him, your voice small and fragile.

He whispered, soft and warm into your hair, "I know." His thumb slowed on your knuckles, a rhythmic, soothing motion. His breath evened out, deepening into the heavy, unconscious rhythm of sleep.

That fast. Like letting go was the easiest thing in the world.

𐙚

The next morning began quietly, almost normally.

You woke to the smell of coffee and the faint sound of something being moved around in the kitchen. For a few seconds, you stayed where you were, staring at the ceiling and letting yourself forget. Then the weight of the previous night settled back into place.

When you finally made your way to the kitchen, Chan was already there. He stood at the counter with his back to you, pouring coffee into two mugs while the toaster clicked softly behind him. He looked over when he heard your footsteps, his expression immediately softening.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

He slid your mug toward you without asking how you wanted it. You wrapped both hands around it, letting the warmth seep into your palms as you leaned against the counter beside him.

Neither of you mentioned the conversation from last night.

You didn't need to.

A few minutes later, the sound of small footsteps came from the hallway. Jia appeared in the kitchen with her hair sticking up on one side and a stuffed animal tucked beneath her arm. She climbed into her chair without so much as looking at either of you and reached immediately for the cereal bowl Chan had already set out.

He watched her for a second.

“Good morning to you too.”

Jia looked up, blinking sleepily.

“Morning.”

“Thank you.”

You covered your smile with your mug.

Jia's eyes moved between the two of you. “Why are you laughing?”

“Your socks,” you said.

She looked down at her feet as though she'd only just noticed that she'd put on two completely different pairs.

“They're both mine.”

Chan nodded seriously. “That's true.”

She seemed satisfied with that answer and went back to her cereal. The moment passed easily enough that you almost forgot there was anything unusual about the morning at all.

Jia complained when Chan gave her the wrong spoon, then insisted that the blue one was the only spoon that made cereal taste right. He argued that spoons didn't change the flavor of cereal, which only made her more determined to prove him wrong. By the time she was halfway through breakfast, he'd given up and traded spoons with her.

You watched the whole thing over the rim of your coffee cup, smiling when you caught Chan's eye.

He smiled back. It was ordinary, that was what made it strange.

Nothing about the house had changed overnight. Jia was still Jia. Chan was still Chan. There were still dishes in the sink and crumbs scattered across the table and a grocery list stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet you'd never understood the appeal of.

But beneath all of it was the knowledge that something had shifted.

When Jia finished eating, she disappeared into the living room with a stack of coloring books, leaving the two of you to clean up the kitchen. Chan gathered the bowls while you wiped down the table, and for a while the only sounds were running water and the scrape of a chair being pushed back into place.

Once everything was put away, Chan dried his hands on a dish towel and glanced toward the living room before reaching into the drawer beside the refrigerator. He pulled out a notebook and carried it over to the table.

You watched him sit across from you and open it to a blank page. “What are you doing?”

He glanced at you. “Trying to figure out what comes next.”

Something in your chest tightened.

He uncapped the pen and wrote at the top of the page.

Next.

You looked at the word for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

“We don't have to figure everything out today,” he said.

“I know.”

“I just think it might help if we figure out the first thing.”

You nodded. “The appointment,” you said.

He wrote it down.

“One appointment,” he said quietly. “We confirm the pregnancy, find out how far along you are, and talk to the doctor about everything else. The pill. What we need to do next.”

You watched his handwriting move steadily across the page. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The appointment was simple enough. It was something you could actually do, something with a beginning and an end, and that made it easier to look at than everything waiting beyond it.

Chan turned the pen between his fingers, “And after that,” he said, “we talk about our options.”

Your eyes lifted to his.

He didn't rush to fill the silence. He just looked at you, giving you enough space to understand that he meant all of them.

“If you don't want to continue the pregnancy, we talk about that,” he said quietly. “If you think adoption is what you want, we talk about that too. And if we decide we want to have the baby...” His voice faltered slightly before he continued. “Then we figure out how we make that work.”

You looked down at the notebook again.

The three possibilities had existed in your head for days, but hearing him say them aloud made something inside you settle. Not because any of them had suddenly become easier, but because none of them had been taken off the table for you.

“You're really okay with talking about all of it?” you asked.

Chan's brow furrowed. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“I don't know.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Because you think I want one answer?”

You didn't respond.

His hand found yours again, his fingers closing gently around it.

“I don't know what I want yet either,” he admitted. “I know what I'm scared of. I know that a part of me wants to believe this could be a second chance.” His thumb moved slowly over your knuckles. “But that doesn't mean I get to decide for you.”

Your throat tightened.

“We'll talk about it,” he continued. “We'll find out what we need to know, and then we'll make the decision together.”

You looked at the page again. The word Next sat at the top, followed by the appointment and the possibilities neither of you was ready to name as a choice.

It still scared you. Maybe it always would, but it no longer felt like you were standing at the edge of it alone. You leaned back in your chair, letting out a slow breath. “One thing at a time.”

Chan nodded. “One thing at a time.”

𐙚

It wasn't until that night, after Jia had gone to bed again, that the conversation shifted again.

The two of you were sitting on the couch with the television playing quietly in the background, neither of you paying much attention to it. Chan had been quiet for several minutes when he finally reached for your hand, his fingers settling between yours.

“There is something I haven't told you.”

You turned toward him. “What?”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb moving slowly across the back of yours. “I've been thinking about what my mom said.”

“About Jia?”

He nodded. “When she was born, I thought I was going to lose everything.”

You didn't interrupt. He seemed to need the silence.

“I didn't know how to be a father. I didn't know how to be a husband. I didn't know how to keep everything together.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “And then my wife left.”

Your chest tightened.

Chan stared at your hands. “I spent a long time thinking that meant I wasn't good enough. That maybe I hadn't been enough for her. Maybe I wasn't enough for Jia either.”

“Chan…”

“I know that's not fair.” A small, tired smile touched his mouth. “My mom has told me that more times than I can count.”

You squeezed his hand.

“But I still think about it.” He finally looked at you. “And when I found the test…” He stopped.

You knew exactly what he meant. The bag in his hand. The torn plastic. The test lying on the concrete. The moment everything inside him had gone completely still.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “Really scared.”

You nodded.

“But there was something else there too.”

Your heart beat harder.

“I thought maybe this was a second chance.”

You went still.

“Not a second chance to fix what happened,” he added quickly. “I don't mean that. I know I can't go back and change anything.” His fingers tightened around yours. “I just mean a chance to do some things differently. To be there from the beginning. To not spend the first few months wondering if I'm doing enough. To not feel like everything could disappear if I make one wrong move.”

His eyes dropped again. “But I'm not asking you to give me that.”

Your throat tightened.

“If we choose this, I want you to know something.” He paused, making sure you were looking at him. “You won't be doing it alone.”

The certainty in his voice made your eyes sting.

“I don't care what happens with the nursery. I don't care if you need to change your schedule or slow down for a while. I don't care if you need me at every appointment or if you need me to take over things you don't have the energy for. Whatever you need, I'll figure it out.”

“Chan…”

“I mean it.” His hand came up, brushing gently beneath your eye before the tear could fall. “I want you to keep your business. I want you to keep your life. I don't want you waking up one day and realizing you've disappeared because you were busy taking care of everyone else.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“And I want you in my life.” The words were quieter now. “Not because you're having my baby.” He held your gaze. “Because you're you.”

The tear slipped down anyway. He wiped it away with his thumb. “I can't promise you that I'll know what I'm doing.”

A small laugh escaped you through the tears. “That would be a first.”

He smiled. “I can't promise I'll get everything right. But I can promise you won't have to carry it by yourself.”

You looked down, swallowing against the ache in your throat. There was something almost painful about hearing him say it so simply, because that had been your fear from the beginning. Not just the baby. Not just the nursery. Not even motherhood.

It was the possibility of losing yourself somewhere inside all of it.

Chan seemed to understand that without you having to explain. “I don't want you to give up everything you've built,” he said. “And I don't want you to think choosing this means you stop being the person you were before.”

You swallowed. “What if I can't do both?”

“Then we'll figure out what both looks like.”

“And if I don't know what I want?”

“Then we wait.” He said it without hesitation.

You looked at him. “You'd wait?”

“Of course.” He shifted closer. “I don't want you choosing this because you're scared I'll leave if you don't.”

Your eyes burned again.

“I'm scared too,” he admitted.

You hadn't expected him to say it so plainly.

“I keep thinking about what happened before. About my marriage. About Jia. About the way everything fell apart.” His gaze drifted toward the hallway where his daughter was sleeping. “And part of me is terrified that I'm going to repeat something I don't even understand yet.”

You reached for his hand again. “You won't.”

“I hope not.” His honesty hurt more than reassurance would have.

He wasn't pretending he knew everything. He wasn't promising that nothing would go wrong. He was just sitting there with you, scared and uncertain and still choosing to stay.

“I don't know what this looks like,” he continued. “I don't know how I'm supposed to split myself between Jia, you, the nursery, work, and another baby without feeling like I'm failing somebody.”

He looked back at you.

“But if we choose this, I'll figure it out with you.”

Your fingers tightened around his.

“And if we don't?”

His answer came just as quietly.

“Then I'll figure that out with you too.”

That was the part that finally broke something open inside you. Not the promise that he'd provide everything. Not the promise that he could make it work. Just the certainty that he wasn't asking you to make the decision for him.

He was staying either way.

Chan leaned closer until his forehead rested gently against yours. “One thing at a time,” he murmured.

𐙚

The appointment was quieter than you expected. There had been questions, paperwork, the doctor's calm explanation of what they could tell from the tests, and the confirmation that left you sitting there with Chan's hand wrapped tightly around yours.

Pregnant.

The word had stopped being a possibility sometime between the positive test and the drive to the clinic. Now it was something real, something with a due date and a heartbeat you hadn't heard yet but already knew existed somewhere inside you.

The doctor answered everything you asked. How far along you were. What the emergency contraception meant now. What you needed to do next. What your options were. And then, eventually, she left the two of you alone.

The door clicked shut.

For a few seconds, neither of you moved. Chan was still holding your hand, his thumb moving slowly across your knuckles as you stared at the paperwork sitting on the edge of the desk.

“So,” you said quietly.

His thumb stilled. “So.”

You swallowed. “I think I want to keep it.”

Chan went completely still.

You forced yourself to look at him. “I'm scared.”

“I know.”

“I don't know how I'm going to do this and keep the nursery and keep my life and...” Your voice faltered. “I don't know how I'm supposed to be someone's mother without losing myself.”

“You won't.”

The answer came quietly, without hesitation.

You searched his face.

He squeezed your hand. “We'll make sure you don't.”

Your eyes burned.

“I want to keep it,” you repeated, softer this time. “I think I do.”

Chan looked down for a moment, breathing out slowly. When he looked back at you, there was fear there, relief too, and something almost disbelieving beneath both.

“Okay,” he said.

You waited.

His fingers tightened around yours. “Then we keep it.”

There was no dramatic rush of certainty after that. You didn't suddenly stop being afraid, and neither did he. But something shifted. The decision was no longer something hanging over the two of you. It was something you'd made together.

Outside the clinic, neither of you spoke much on the drive back. Chan kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the center console, palm turned upward. You slipped your fingers into it, and he closed his hand around yours.

“You okay?” he asked.

You looked out the window before answering. “No.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “Me neither.”

You glanced over. “That's reassuring.”

“I didn't say I was good at reassurance.”

“You're usually better than this.”

“I'm trying.”

You smiled faintly. “I know.”

By the time you returned to the nursery, the afternoon had already picked back up. Someone needed help choosing a fern, a delivery had arrived at the back entrance, and one of the hanging baskets had somehow ended up crooked.

For a while, you let yourself disappear into the work.

It helped. This was still yours. The nursery hadn't changed because you'd made a decision. Neither had you.

Later, you found yourself standing near the greenhouse with a tray of seedlings balanced against your hip when Chan appeared beside you.

“You okay?”

You looked around at everything you'd built. The glass, the plants, the rows of tables you'd spent months arranging and rearranging until the space finally felt like yours.

“Yeah.”

He followed your gaze. “Still yours.”

You looked at him, “still mine.”

His smile was small. “Good.”

That was all either of you said before someone called your name from the register.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly.

By dinner, Jia was already talking about something that had happened in the garden, completely unaware that the two of you had spent the day learning that her world was about to change. She sat between you at the table, swinging her legs beneath her chair while Chan tried unsuccessfully to convince her that vegetables were, in fact, part of dinner.

“I ate three.”

“You ate one.”

“I ate three.”

“You moved the other two around your plate.”

Jia looked at you for backup, and you tried not to smile. “Your dad has a point.”

She sighed dramatically and picked up another carrot. “There.”

Chan nodded solemnly. “Excellent work.”

She chewed it with exaggerated effort, then pointed her fork at him. “Happy?”

“Very.”

For another few minutes, the conversation stayed ordinary.

Then Chan caught your eye. It was barely noticeable, but you knew what he was asking. You gave him a small nod, and he set his fork down.

“Jia?”

She looked up. “What?”

“We have something to tell you.”

Her expression immediately changed. “Am I in trouble?”

You laughed softly. “No. You're not in trouble.” Chan reached across the table and took your hand. “We went to the doctor today.”

Jia looked between the two of you, suddenly serious. “Are you sick?”

“No,” you said. “We're okay.”

Chan smiled at her. “Actually, you're going to be a big sister.”

Jia stared at him. For a second, she didn't react at all. Then her eyes widened.

“A real baby?”

“A real baby.”

Her gaze dropped immediately to your stomach. “Is it in there?”

You laughed softly. “Yeah.”

She leaned forward in her chair, studying you with an intensity that made Chan smile. “Can it hear me?”

“Not yet, probably.”

“When can it?”

“Eventually.”

She thought about that for a moment. “Can I talk to it now anyway?”

Chan's smile softened. “I think you can.”

Jia immediately turned toward you and leaned closer, lowering her voice as though the baby might be sleeping.

“Hi, baby.”

Your throat tightened.

“Hi, baby,” she repeated, even more seriously.

Chan looked down at his plate, smiling to himself.

Jia sat back in her chair. “Can the baby have my yellow blanket?”

“We'll see,” you said.

“I think it should.”

“Jia.”

“It needs it.”

Chan laughed quietly. “Apparently that's settled.”

She nodded, satisfied, and went back to her dinner before suddenly looking at you again.

“Mom, can I have more juice?”

Everything stopped.

The word hung there between the three of you.

Jia seemed to realize what she'd said a second later. Her eyes widened, and she looked at you uncertainly. “I didn't mean—”

You reached across the table before she could finish.

“It's okay.”

Her shoulders relaxed.

She looked at you for another second, then reached for the juice.

“Okay.”

Chan hadn't said anything.

You looked at him.

His eyes were on you, and there was something in them you couldn't quite name. His fingers found yours beneath the table, closing around them carefully, almost like he was afraid the moment might disappear if he moved too quickly.

Jia had already moved on. She was telling you both about all the things she was going to teach the baby, which toys it could borrow, and why she thought it should sleep in her room even though Chan had already explained that babies needed their own space.

You listened, smiling despite the ache still sitting somewhere beneath your ribs.

Across the table, Chan squeezed your hand.

For once, you didn't wonder what came next.

You just sat there and listened to Jia plan a future none of you had expected, with Chan's hand warm around yours and the nursery waiting for you in the morning.

For now, that was enough.

masterlist

a/n: MY SHAAAAAYLAAAAAS we made it gang. When I first had this drafted, I had no clue it would blow up this big. I just love dilfs and kids LMAO but ty ty ty to everyone who tuned in weekly/biweekly, put up with my slowness and what not, everyone who commented and reblogged. I received both love and hate, and honestly they both kept me going. This is it for our family gang. If we meet them again in the future it'll be a cute and fluffy drabble.

@itsraininghyunebuckets , @armynstay, @thereaderinyourmind , @nougatjade , @river121798, @hunnybunny05 , @babydollyriri , @ddearina , @ebnabi, @darlingjunnie , @bamsopoong02 , @straystar-8 , @hyunjinxxs , @amaranth-writing, @gwinamlvr @peachluffe @amarecerasus, @monbrigh , @bangct @changbinniescurlyhair, @babythisisourcinema , @marley1773, @cchapssaltteok , @moonychn, @susu6944 , @whoschanandwhydoyallwannabanghim , @canthavetoomuchchaos , @alienoddityfrompluto , @rockstarkkami, @nebugalaxy , @pedropacals0l0s, @charchartumb-lr, @akilovescake , @moon-1307, @certifiedbahnger, @blueberrieseungmin , @murisakimine , @fanaticstay , @my-leo-obsessions, @barbie-girl84 , @lonelydarknessblog, @channie-juseyo , @fanficwriter5 , @sproite, @angeldust296 @jasmine87906 @ready2readnwrite @darlingjunnie @lamentingweaver

[namtan]

FELIX & CHAN 'THIS & THAT' ENCORE ⟡ MUSIC BANK (260814)

[neighbourscat]

౨౿ ⁺ ‎‎?! ✿ [ 18+ ]. ❝ when you give your creepy roommate an inch and he takes the whole damn thing! ❞

𓍼ོ.☘︎ ݁˖༘⋆ 𝔦𝒻 icky, manipulative dork!roommate cameron cade … was working on the autobiography of his life, he would title this chapter: getting thee perfect girl. and then, he would start the very first paragraph with: 1. guilt trip! go through her fucking wallet, boys. you’ll always find something incriminating in there. because yes! he went through your fucking wallet! that’s what he did. and if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here now; mouth latched onto your cunt, whining through his own slobber and rocking his thick cock along the couch’s cushion.

it happened like this: he was going through your hamper. as one normal human did when horned. and he wasn’t looking for any one specific clothing piece. he thought it ridiculous to limit himself to only one pair of panties. or any one bra. or any one sock from its duo. no. when he had to rub a load out, he wasn’t picky. real men aren’t picky. they were greedy and grateful for any good they could get their hands on. and cameron used whatever good was available.

so, that afternoon, he had just finished gagging himself with your ovulation panties from intimissi and fondling the cups of your victoria’s secret bra and dumping mild strips of white into your pink-and-teal striped sock, when he accidentally stomps hard on your fucking wallet. your wallet was in the front pocket of your threadbare sweatpants; the pair that’s been spread across this floor for days. actually. yea, he nearly tripped and broke his head open. you are a fucking slob. you live in a minefield of shit and that would’ve been so embarrassing! to be found with his head cracked and cock limp.

standing amongst the girl stuff strewn about; magazines and markers and notebook planners, empty vitaminwater bottles, and coupons and receipts, brand-new books, unread, older books, torn and frayed, was icky, manipulative dork!roommate cameron cade … holding your wallet. he opens it and the first thing he sees is some bullshit. str8 bullshit! … so, you were quite the collector, as it seemed.

he was staring at folded photo-booth strips. all strange and odd and confusing and of the neighbour (enemy) down the hall. you love that man. and you want that man, the same way cameron wants you and has been wanting you. he felt sicker when he realised those picture cards were smeared, loved, and sticky with layers of lady juice. that must’ve been why they all have that weird, fuzzy filtered look. in that moment, he wondered when you’ve been able to sneak off and rub yourself. hmmm? because he always kept an ear to the wall that separated his bedroom from yours.

it had been eons since you were last in a real relationship and pushed to a real good orgasm. it was no wonder you’ve shifted your aim to the cool, nice-smelling neighbour man down the hall. you’re angry and so pent and so blind to the potential of the dork that slept right next door. literally, right next door. what was it, hmm? he also wondered. was it the bubble-wire speculates? or the chunky wrist-watches? or how it seemed like the only pattern of clothing he owned was checkered or cartoonish? or how he’s the professor’s assistant and always wrote please ask me for help! i don’t bite :) on your tests after every poor grade in organic chem. or how he did a shoulder shimmy when any meal was fantastic or how he has six franchises memorized and can ruin them for anymore? … was it ‘cause he worked at chili’s?

having your wallet in his hands also helped him piece together an on-going suspension. the late night disappearances. those weren’t to go meet up with the girls, obviously. he knew that for sure now. not only does he not appreciate being lied to, he couldn’t stand you being intimate with the neighbour man. so … that early morning, when you returned, cameron had been in the kitchen. waiting like a disappointed father of a wild teenager. and he acts like you’ve committed a heinous felony:

“seriously? to him? you touch yourself to this dude-know what? i’m gonna tell him. just wait, you weirdo.” … “what? what were you even doing in my freaking room? creeper!” … “i was-i wassss looking forrrr my mug. yeah-the red mug you stole!” … “you were going through my shit, huh? i did not steal that ugly ass mug! you are so damn strange, i need to get out of here, a-fuckin’-sap.” … “yea-yea, you do. you, like-take up so much space. leaving belts and sandals, vapes, and those nasty pads around.” … “oh, don’t even start that, you asshole. you know they’re never used.” … “my point still stands. i bet my mug’s buried under some pile in there-go get it.” … “i would never, on any given occasion, put my lips on something that belongs to you. ever.”

said with so much conviction. passion. and yet, hours later, after cameron threatened to show the photo-booth strip to that neighbour man … you begged him not to. but he told you to beg for peace. and you begged cameron for peace. then, he told you to get down on your knees and you did and you looked up at him … “let me eat it.” … “wha-what?” … “take off those shorts, and let me eat’you out. please. please.” and he swears won’t tell.

icky, manipulative dork!roommate cameron cade … has a tongue and index-finger made of gold. pure, astounding gold. “this-this c-changes nuh-nothin’-“ but in cameron’s foggy, twisted mind, this couldn’t possibly be a one-time sort of thing. because that wouldn’t be fair to your pussy; who’s gushing and happily splashing over and into his swollen mouth. there wasn’t a thing you could say that would make cameron detach from your lower half.

even the name-calling had him totally oozing through and pitifully tottering in his boxer-briefs. the insults and stab at his character had only made his index-finger curl and hook up even harder. ♥︎ “s-sstop being so mean to-me.” ♥︎ cameron muttered through schlooping~!, and then a glob his hot spit plops above your sorry clit. and then. with each passing suckle and slurp, there’s another sprinkle of arousal. thighs sticking to his cheeks, finger wrinkled from scissoring you open … cameron cade was made for this. his lips were made for you. your pussy. you are the sole reason he even has a mouth. a heart. a fat cock. you are the reason he can’t cum thinking of anyone else.

and no matter what he did or how hard he tried to fight the greed off, you would have always ended up like this: folded like a pretzel and forced into a meaaann mating press. all you can do is gasp! and look at him like he’s completely lost his entire fucking mind! toes curled, thighs shaking, shins smushed into both large shoulders. maybe you hated it—being trapped beneath a weirdo who made the promise not to cum inside of you, even though, that was most definitely happening—but your cunt didn’t. you hating him did not stop you from squeaking and pleading and your cunt from spritzing his dick another coat of sheen. but seriously, how could you still hate him when he’s ramming and stroking those guts so good?

the sticky shlupshlupshlup and slosshing sounds of your pearly, slimy pussy is purely engulfed by his loud, throaty pants and shaky oouh ffuck!’s. he’s getting close. he’s so close. so so cclosse. he’s pounding hard and tearing up, from how good it feels to be buried within your darling body.

[sonder-slut]

im satisfied, i dont need anything else!! check pls!!

[nonscathingbullets]

I will ALWAYS advocate for chubby girl representation in fanfiction!!!

Chubby girls should be able to feel like their favorite characters could/would love and desire them!

[sonder-slut]

it’s truly not a joke to me!!

[sonder-slut]

ditzy, hyper feminine, WAG reader who is obsessed with sanrio plushies, popmart, and pink with cam cade who is amused by her whimsy and her cuteness and enables the collections. Cam corrupting reader while she shows cam all the sanrio character plushies she owns.

room tour — tyriq withers.

pairing ⁀➷ cameron cade x plus-size black! reader!

synopsis ⁀➷ your fiancé cameron knows you miss him when he’s away, but he wants you to show him just how much.

song of chapter ⁀➷ ‘in my room’ by troye sivan ft. guitarricadelafuente.

word count + warnings ⁀➷ 6.0k || nsfw content, 18+ content, no minors allowed!! kissing, pet names (babe, baby, mama, princess) corruption themes, foul language, ditzy reader! girly!reader, wag! reader, small flashback of you and cam, dirty talk—cameron is talking so crazy, omg, dry humping, cameron is mean & rough, omgggg, but we love it! oral (m receiving) p in v intercourse, slight anal play (cam humps both holes 🤧) sexual activity with / on stuffed animal.

an — y’all have sent some really good requests, omgggg! loved writing this one because i love a ditzy, girly reader—truly one of my favs. i aint gone lie, i went all in with this one, lolll. hope you enjoy anon and thanks for sending!!

‘i’m all alone in my room, i’m just thinking bout you. it’s a feeling i can’t describe.’

ᥫ᭡

“but, this one has a tan, cameron, it’s not like the other ones. can we please get it, baby?”

the most adorable frown forms along your glossed lips, arched eyebrows pulling downwards as you plead with your partner. cameron just watches as you stand there with a pink and glittery sticker clad macbook in your hands, fuzzy bunny slippers on your feet, a cutesy white tank top and a pair of lace bloomer shorts on your chunky body.

you were currently begging for his card to purchase yet another stuffed sanrio item. it’d become routine at this point, but this cinnamoroll toy was different from the others you collected, cutely designed with a bronze tan and a pair of pink bows above his ears.

it was too freaking adorable!

you desperately needed him!

“why do you want all these stuffies, y/n? you’ve been buying these toys for some weeks now, how much more do you need?”

“i know, i know, cam, but this one is different, i swear, babe.”

your soon-to-be husband and current quarterback star, cameron cade, sat up from his spot on the comfy sofa. you two hold a silent stare down, both trying not to laugh at the serious expression on the other's face.

“you gotta show me this room, girl. i gotta see what you’re talking about.”

that forces you to break, immediately squealing like crazy as your fiancé stands from his seated position, following you upstairs to a special part of the house. this 7,000 square foot miami condominium was breathtakingly beautiful, filled with illustrative art along the walls and premium italian furniture throughout the home. you loved the shared space between you and your fiancé, finding true comfort in residing with him.

cameron had his side of the house and you did as well, albeit a bit more girly, but it was still yours.

and you took great pride in the space.

cameron hadn’t been granted permission to see the room as you were still putting the finishing touches together, not wanting him to see a single thing until everything was completed. you were close to done and truly needed this last plushie, so you’re absolutely willing to let him inside if it meant you could get the items you wanted.

shelves almost as tall as the ceilings were filled to the brim with your favorite plushie characters. they ranged from the sanrio hello kitty members all the way to the san-x franchise of rilakkuma stuffies. large plushies that costed a few bucks to the mini trinkets you won at passing arcade visits, each and every item was plastered along the walls. on a nearby dresser sat acrylic display cases that showed off your collection of adorable sonny angels, all sporting pieces of pink accessories in some kind of way. and when cameron turned a few inches to the left, there was another case on the opposite side of the dresser filled with your favorite anime films. mostly pink cover sleeves, unrelatedly so.

cameron couldn’t believe his eyes, watching in shock as you go over each and every aspect of the room as if it were nothing. you were seriously devoted to keeping up with this aesthetic. you’d always been a very feminine and prissy girl, making sure to keep lipgloss, blush and a compact mirror on you at all times—stating ’cuteness was close to godliness’. and it made cameron laugh each time.

it was one of the reasons cameron took an interest to you those years ago during a college football game.

you sat in the campus bleachers with the most heartwarming smile on your gorgeous face, pink ribbons in your curly hair and a bedazzled hello kitty phone case in your hand. cameron remembers you handing him your phone after the game ended, grinning softly as he typed his number into the device.

“i saw you all the way over here. i could hardly focus on my game and shit, you fucking distracted me.”

covering your mouth, you giggle. “i did not.”

cameron nods, handing your phone back so he can finally get a full look at you and he makes sure not to miss a single second. the both of you standing on the sidelines of the football field while the rest of the crowd slowly begins to disperse. your full cheeks are what catches his attention the most, high cheekbones glimmering with a slight sparkle as you peer up at him.

“you did. you’re so fucking pretty, i thought i was seeing shit in the crowd, thought my mind was playing tricks on me.”

he makes you laugh again, genuinely finding his comments hilarious. cameron takes true pride in being the one to make you happy. you both stand silent for only a few, as your close girlfriends call out so you all can head home. it brings you and cameron back to reality, much too lost in the others eyes to realize your surroundings.

“i guess you gotta go, huh?”

“yeah,” you sigh, not wanting to leave so soon. “do you want a hug goodbye?”

you’re the one to make cameron laugh this time, truly taken aback by your sweetness. “i’m all sweaty and shit, i don’t you want me getting on you.”

“i don’t mind,” you sway your arms, but maintain eye contact with the dashing quarterback.

cameron gladly accepts the hug, pulling you into his embrace by making your head rest on his chest as you’re a few inches shorter than him, while he takes a deep inhale of your scent.

strawberry fucking pound cake.

the rest was history for cameron cade. from that moment then on, you were his and remained to be till this day.

present day cameron has so many questions—he needs to know how you were able to pull this setup off, wants to know if you had help from anyone else, before finally asking you what was your sole purpose for this room.

but he doesn’t know where to start.

the first words to fly out of his mouth are— “you sleep in this bed too, baby?”

his heavy feet track through the bubble gum pink colored carpet you had installed a few weeks earlier. so soft underneath his toes that cameron doesn’t realize this home was purchased with all gray marble tile flooring. he now stands beside the full-sized pink canopy bed perched in the corner of the room, large fingers trailing over the sheer curtains you replaced as they previously came with white ones. you and he shared a bed in the main area of this house, one much fuller and without crowding—less googly eyed, bow adorned, fictionally named plushies surrounding you both at nighttime.

but up here, things were different.

this room held all your vital items and interests. it gave cameron a deep glimpse into what he thought he’d already known about you.

“some nights, yeah, i do,” you nod and stand beside him as he admires the way you’ve decorated this room, truly taken aback by the work you’ve put in. “mostly when you’re gone, cammy.”

you capture his slightly drifted attention, forcing him to turn around after you’ve softly spoken. “you miss me when i’m gone, baby?”

you nod again. batting naturally long lashes up at him when he steps closer than before, fiddling with the tips of your ballerina acrylic shaped nails. you’re fucking angelic and it causes cameron’s heart to clench as he stares down at you. he’d never met someone as darling as you—so light, yet grounding. you truly kept him amazed with your every little move.

“i mean, yeah, sometimes. i miss you a lot when you’re away, cam. that’s part of the reason i keep all this stuffies, they make me feel better some.”

he hadn’t known the true depth of your loneliness. you’d been spoiled with all the finer things in life—the prada charm bracelet and pink quilted chanel handbag he recently surprised you with were just a few. you also appreciated the little stuff, like the simple plushies he’d brought home.

but you only wanted one thing in this world.

“baby,” cameron sighs.

“babe,” you call out, using a nickname just as your fiancé had.

“why haven’t you told me anything, baby? why don’t you say something to me?”

“i don’t want to stress you, cameron. you have all these football games and press conferences going on and i know you don’t want to be bothered with my silliness.”

life, as the fiancé to a superstar football player, was not easy work. you understood the role you’d taken on and understood the importance cameron played to his team, but you couldn’t help the way you felt. as beautiful and cozy as your home was, things got lonesome. you had a few fellow w.a.g friends to talk to and your family member as well, but nothing compared to being cuddled up with your soon-to-be husband, cameron.

cameron’s puckered lips press against the side of your head, silencing any of the nonsense you were thinking currently. “it’s not silly, baby. if you’re lonely, you have to tell me. i want to make you happy in any way, if you want me to be home more, i’ll try to make it happen for you.”

“really?” you peer up at him with a pouted lip, your smaller fingers toying with the ends of his large digits.

“yes, really. even if i gotta take you with me and we pack up all these fucking stuffed animals, i want you by my side,” cameron’s chuckle rumbles against your lips as he pulls you closer, warmly pressing his mouth to yours. he lingers there for a brief moment—not moving his lips in a sudden urge, but simply taking in this time to be with you. you allowed him to get a full sense, inhaling your scent for a moment.

when you weren’t wearing delightful cake or fruit secreted perfumes, your scent usually lingered on the powdery side. delicate and calming—something so gentle that cameron would often get hit with whiffs of you while out of town.

“what do you do when you’re lonely, mama?”

there it was.

you miss out on his question initially—you’d always been a bit tardier in the thinking department, but cameron loved it and you regardless. you lift your head up and gaze upon your fiancé cluelessly, while he kept the same expression as before.

“what do i do?” you repeat, not sure what he meant.

cameron nods, his head still resting onto yours. “do you think of me, baby?”

it makes you giggle. “all the time, cam. you’re all i can think about. sometimes i lay here and wish for you to fly home and get in bed with me.”

“mmm,” his muffled voice vibrates on the top of your head, fingers now twirling through the tiny pieces of curly hair you pulled into a low ponytail with the help of a tulip printed silk scrunchie. “do you touch yourself, baby?”

the question makes you moan, a combination of confusion and buzz taking over the words you try to form. the noise you allow to escape, causes cameron to grunt, a breathless snort following behind. you’re still the clueless thing he’ll always love, staring up at him softly as you speak.

“what do you mean, cam? what—what are you saying?”

the knit in your eyebrows seems a bit worrying. “hey, hey, it’s okay, baby, i’m just asking—just wondering do you think about me when i’m gone.”

“i—i do, cam, you know that, you know you’re all i want.”

“i know, baby, i know,” he mutters, pulling you back into his tender embrace. it relaxes you only for a moment before cameron’s next words stir you alive once more. “i just—i just know you probably fuck yourself so good while you’re in here.”

“cammmm,” you whine. why was he tormenting you like this? these statements were too much for your little head to handle, pouting your full pink lips as cameron’s hands grip the underside of your plush ass. “baby.”

“baby,” cameron repeats after you, absolutely relishing in the times that you get like this.

you’re such a sweet girl, caring fiancée and kind person that you sometimes lost track of this side—forcing cameron to draw it out of you, as he knows you’re everything but 100 percent pure.

“i bet you do that little thing where your eyes roll back and forth and you start to shake like crazy,” he chuckles at the thought, visions of you doing said thing flashing in his head. “your body gets stuck like that and you can’t help but to keep fucking yourself until you’re fucking crying.”

“cameron…”

you call out for him, but your fiancé isn’t finished just yet.

“probably get so wet at the thought of me that you have no choice but to rub at that clit. you probably make a mess in this fuckin’ bed. probably have to wash the sheets a few times through the week, ‘cause you keep ruining ‘em.”

“cammy…”

it continues.

“i bet you moan so fuckin’ loud—probably so happy you’re home alone so you can cum as hard as you want to. you probably do it in front of these fuckin’ stuffies, probably give them a show while you fuck yourself like crazy, don’t you? hm? tell me i’m wrong.”

“baby—baby,” you stutter in shock, squeezing your thighs together as cameron recounts what he believed to be true and surprisingly enough, he’s not at all wrong. “y—yes.”

those nights—those long and excruciatingly lonely nights when cameron was away and fast asleep on the other side of the country, you found yourself wide awake at home. you’d lay there, flipping around the mattress until the thought wouldn’t escape you, forcing you to dive a hand into the lace lined panties you wore, forefinger tapping softly at your little bud until you brought it to life. you’d cum three times in a row on some of those nights, thinking—dreaming of cameron and how good he took care of you.

what can he say? a man knows his future wife.

“i want to see it, baby. i want to see what you do, you gotta show me.”

you fumble with cameron, feet treading backwards until you’re bumping into the bed. you barely have a chance to think or even speak up for yourself when you begin to feel cameron’s lips trace over the inside of your neck, growing dick thumping against the side of your hip as he whispers.

“baby—cameron,” your head spins, eyes closing and opening every millisecond as you try to regulate, but fail to do so.

“show me, princess. you gotta show me what you do.”

and it hurts. it hurts to pull away from cameron’s warm hold, but you do as you're asked, slowly climbing into the neatly made bed. like a pet of sorts, you move around in a circle until you’re fully comfortable in the middle of the bed. you rest on the soles of your feet, knees digging into the mattress, before you reach over to snatch up the gigantic teddy bear perched in the corner beside your bed.

that throws cameron off balance quite a bit, squinting from where he stands as he watches you move. it’s only now occurring to him that the toy you grabbed looked nothing like the other stuffies you owned. velvety light-brown fur and a round tip black nose makes this stuffed animal thoroughly different from your sanrio items. cameron doesn’t know what he expected, but he can only watch in silence as you proceed. he’d requested this from you and knew that asking too many questions would drive you into your head and you’d lose the momentum you’d just built up.

and all cameron wants right now is to watch while you play.

raising your hips from where you sit, you quickly remove the lace bloomer shorts you currently wore, making sure to keep the pink thong bikini underwear on before stretching your body across the splayed stuffed animal. it’s only a few inches shorter than you, so you’re able to lay onto it with ease, staring up at cameron before starting.

you’re attempting to— “please don’t laugh at me, cammy. i already feel so silly.”

and cameron’s standing here with a hot palm over the edge of his clothed dick, fighting the toughest battle of not cumming when you look like this. so vulnerable and compliant that it’s driving him fucking batty. tiger-like stripes cascading down the sides of your hips and thighs, small beauty marks and such scattered across your face and neck and your eyes? fuck. your wide eyes marvel at cameron like he’s the only man walking this entire planet, like he’d been placed here strictly to be with you.

laugh at you?

“baby, i’d never fucking laugh at you. i promise and fucking swear that i won’t.”

he means it and it gifts you the courage to continue with your previous task. you shimmy about as you begin to explain this complicated process to cameron. “i started with just cuddling the bear at first—you know, holding him at night when you’re away for work.”

cameron nods while you continue.

“then—then, i, um, i,” why was this so embarrassing? the tops of your full cheeks begin to blush with nervous heat when you try to get in the mood.

it was different when cameron wasn’t around. you’d usually get excited all on your own, able to bring out the desire you so vehemently craved while he was away, but now that he stood a few feet away from you, things weren’t so easy.

you clear your head, starting your thoughts over once again. “i began cuddling it, then i started to hump it.”

the wrangled groan cameron releases makes you shiver from where you lay. he’s turned on beyond words at your explanation, trying not to cum so soon as you speak to him. “keep goin’, baby, let me see you do it, c’mon.”

“okay, okay,” you whine, scooting the bear lower so that it can make contact with your awaiting pussy. you stutter from the sensation, a rough tip of a toy bear's nose, brushing against your clit, makes you so needy, but you aren’t able to go full throttle. you search for the memories of the nights when cameron was away to help you get there.

thinking of the ways you cried into the mattress as you grinded your pussy onto your own two fingers, stirring a deep swirl within the lower half of your stomach when you thought about cameron and his mouth. you’d think about his fingers and tongue as well, big hands able to pry you open like it was nothing, tongue swiping over every fold and crevice on the inside of your juicy thighs.

aligning the pointed nose of the 5ft teddy bear to the tip of your pulsing clit, your hips begin to grind along the surface. the sharp inhale releases from your timid body, hands shaking as you grip the teddy bear tighter. you start to feel it—the excitement and thrill of doing something so risqué that you can’t help but to buck your hips faster.

“oh, oh, my—“

“yeah, baby, there you go, you fucking got it, girl.”

and cameron is like a predatory hawk as he scopes you down, watching with his mouth hung wide open, almost as if he can feel the pleasure you’re experiencing. practically salivating as your nails clench around the fluffy ears of the bear, slowly pushing forwards and backwards in a precise rhythm, voluminous thighs quivering while they keep the trapped stuffed animal beneath you.

“cam—“ your words break off after every sentence, unable to fully express how you truly felt. the actions overwhelm you, and cameron certainly does not help the situation by standing so close yet so far. “cammy, baby.”

“you got it, babe, stop worrying so much.”

he doesn’t get it. cameron is too busy being invested in seeing you fall apart, that he doesn’t realize how intense this moment was for you. you’d always been a whiny thing during sex, the desire you had tucked down inside always made you emotional, but this experience with cameron seems to heighten those feelings. you heave brokenly, tossing your head forward before pausing for a second, your poor thumping clit begins to swell from the rugged friction of cotton panties and a stuffed teddy bear nose brushing against it.

“cameron…baby,” you cry again, needing to feel his presence closer. he was right there, why did he insist on torturing you?

cameron is wordless as he approaches you, usually heavy footsteps become silent from the fluffy carpet. he catches you completely off guard when he snatches your tank top over your chest, exposing your breasts to the harsh air in the room. your nipples point, stiffening to peaks as cameron brings a hard hand down to smack the flesh on them both.

“cammy—uh!”

“why you keep fuckin’ whining, hmm? i thought you was gon’ show me what you do when i’m away, baby? what happened to that?”

“i’m trying, cameron, i’m trying.”

but cameron doesn’t believe it. “you not trying hard enough, mama. i know you got that shit in you, why you playin’ with me?”

“i’m-i’m nottt,” you moan. “i’m not, i swear.”

the unexpected grip of cameron’s hand wrapped around your curly ponytail makes you yelp. he holds you in place, pulling your head back just an inch so he can stare directly into your eyes, his commanding presence taking over the whole room when he glares down at you. it’s sinister with the way he turns you on when he’s like this. so fucking horny and anxious that all he could think about was being rough with you, marveling in the way you obeyed his directions. he never had to do much, a snap of his fingers or a grunt in his throat and you’d be doing exactly what he asked of you.

which is why he can’t understand the hassle with you riding this goddamn teddy bear.

“why you can’t do it then, huh? tell me what it is, baby, talk to me.”

“i-i need more, cam, need you to help me.”

cameron was home now, you shouldn’t have to handle these tasks all on your own.

“don’t you know i want to see you cum, mama? i want to see what the fuck you do when i’m away, you gotta be a be good girl and show me.”

“but, cam—“

“you want this dick in yo’ mouth?” the question is blunt, cutting off your rambling as cameron speaks for you. “tell me—is that what you want?”

and you can only nod, shivering in your spot on the bed, when cameron unties the drawstring to his gray sweatpants, heatedly blowing air from his lips as he rushes to undress. his hardened shaft is already outlined perfectly through his briefs and pants, big dick practically fighting to be freed after being tortured from no action. cameron had been wanting to fuck you since you danced your way into the living room with those lace bloomers on, allowing him to see bits of the smooth flesh along your expansive hips. it’s instinctual when cameron jacks a hand over himself, blushed tubby head leaking with clear beads of precum that drip down the base of his dick.

cameron doesn’t have to say a word, predictably you’re already opening your full lips, tongue drenched in salvia as your mouth had been watering the entire time cameron stood before you. you comply without any back talk, moaning softly when cameron taps his dick across the side of your chubby cheek, trailing a string of sticky precum behind when he drags it over your lips. he smooshes your frowned pout onto the head of his dick, forcing you to gloss your top and bottom lip in the smooth and shiny substance.

“mmm, cammm,” you bat your curled eyelashes up at him, panting in a cadence like an excited puppy. “wan’ you to fuck my face, daddy, wan’ you in my mouth so badly.”

cameron still has that vice grip on the middle of your ponytail, curls bunched around his fist like he’s afraid you’ll get too far away from him. “you gotta promise you gon’ take me, princess. i’m not fuckin’ stopping until i’m bruising that throat, i need to know that you gon’ act right.”

“i am daddy, i ammm,” your words continue to flow like a song, dragging the syllables to each of your words out due to your deep desire and need.

“then open your fuckin’ mouth and take this shit, y/n.”

your eyes peel closed, and your mouth is drawn open. and cameron’s dick is already standing tall, eight inches wagging before your very eyes, meaning you didn’t need to move hands or touch him anyway. you keep your arms to your sides. you allow him to get you started, raising up some, so he can sink his dick into your saturated mouth, he holds your hair in his hand and cameron can easily drag you over his brutal length in one go.

“gawd fuckin’ damn,” cameron’s groan is just as rough as he was currently being. coming out in strangled exhales through the ends of his flared nose, cameron can’t get enough.

it doesn’t last too long, quick enough for you to coat his dick in the sheer, thin film of your saliva, before he’s pulling away. cameron sends a love tap to your cheek once more, proud at how you take him without breaking apart. you look ready, grinning at him with leaking lips, as he adjusts you again. this time cameron goes in totally, holding your face to the very edge of his groin while you gag around him, throat constricting when he forces you to stay put.

“eat that…shit up, baby—there y’fucking gooo,” it’s a thread of words that cameron mumbles out when he can feel the sensation of the back of your throat bumping into the tip of his reddened dick.

“mhmmm,” you hum, tears filling the corners of your eyes and threaten to spill down to your cheeks.

“breathe, baby. take a breath, girl,” cameron comforts you by pulling out, praises flowing from his mouth while he tweaks at your hardened nipple, twisting one before slapping both breasts once again. they blemish easily, cameron’s heavy hands cause them to mark, but you absolutely enjoy it.

you involuntarily begin to grind against the stuffed bear again, vibrating pussy longing for the friction you’d previously given it and it doesn’t take too much. your pulsating clit aches for more, fully prepared for whatever she has coming after cameron has coaxed you in the right way, gifting you the encouragement you needed to continue.

you could feel your climax incoming and can immediately tell your fiance cameron isn’t too far behind, massive dick twitching in his hands as he strokes along the shaft. he’s trying to wait it out, trying to prolong the nut that’s begging to be freed, but you can tell he’s close. his thumb and forefinger squeeze around the tip of his dick as he groans softly, shaking his head wildly when he attempts to regulate.

it makes your pussy wetter than ever—watching as your gigantic fiance tosses his head back in satisfaction when you reach to tap the tip of his dick against the flat surface of your tongue, allowing him space to jerk himself off to you.

“my fuckin’ baby,” cameron praises, consistently enamored by the way your body responds to him. “gon—gonna fuckin’ make me nut, princess, gonna cum all over your fuckin’ face, shit.”

the veins in the side of cameron’s neck protrude as he blubbers out to you, face a shade of crimson red when he holds his breath before ultimately releasing hot strings of sperm all over your puffed cheeks and pouted lips. he essentially covers your entire pretty face with a painting of white substance, keeping your head forced back as he makes you taste all of him.

“fuckin’—fuck, shit, baby, shit,” he cries, body falling limp for a moment after he’s totally drained his dick into your mouth and face. and you sit there like the angel you are—humming and swiping cum off your face to lick the remains off the ends of your fingers.

“missed tasting you, cammy.”

“fuck, baby,” he laughs and moans at the pornographic sight of you, dick as hard as it’d been from the first time you two had sex.

you still remember the night you and he foolishly fucked each other crazy on the ferris wheel of the town's local carnival. it was late and no one seen you guys, thank goodness, but you still had visions of the night.

your daydream is rather quickly interrupted when you feel cameron pull at your arms, adjusting you in any way he pleases by tugging you further along the bed. it helps to make room for him, as he now joins you in the mattress, forcing you to face downwards and up against the body of the splayed teddy bear.

“arch that shit, c’mon,” a sharp smack is forwarded to the heaviest part of your backside, cameron’s big hand marking territory as he helps to prop your ass into the air.

“babyyy,” you whine, a hiccup tucked in your chest as you try to follow his instructions. “cammyyy.”

“just give it to me, baby. want you to drench my shit, then i got you, okay?” cameron is trying to be the sweetheart you remember him as, but he’s in such desperate need of release that he can’t think properly. you don’t know exactly what ‘it’ is, but you do exactly as your fiance says.

he hovers over you in the bed, one knee propped while the other pushes into the mattress. you feel him move around, hands caressing all over your body sweetly before he moves to tug away your underwear, helping you be free by tossing them onto the floor.

“goddamn, baby,” you listen to him groan, watching in admiration as you glisten and wet the inner parts of your thighs and panties with ease. “you gon’ wet my shit up, like that?”

you nod, face blush against the teddy bear. “please, fuck me, baby.”

“oh, fuck,” you make cameron moan, gripping the head of his dick as he adjusts, still leaking with cum despite coming just a few seconds ago. you sound so good when you beg him like this—willing to do whatever it takes, so long as you’re able to cum how you need to. “that pussy so perfect, baby.”

there’s a breeze, a small passing of air against the wettest parts of your pussy and ass when cameron holds you open. he stares as if you’re a work of art—finely crafted and created just for him to view, gummy pink inner walls coated in the perfect hue of gloss with an up drawn button clit placed perfectly in the center.

a masterpiece.

you’re unable to see cameron from behind, but you can feel his presence as his nudges the head of his dick along the entryway of your pussy. he’s quick when he does it, not giving too much or little, but just enough to let you know he’s right there.

“that pussy tryna swallow me up, baby,” his chuckle is dark, teasing. “she missed me?”

you and he both know the answer, but you can’t help the whine dying to escape your lips. “yeahhh.”

“mmm.”

mmm.

so to the point that it hurts you, not physically of course, but just enough that you raise your hips in the air and begin to grind into your fiance’s dick, hoping this would help to fasten things up. it instead only worsens the matter for you when cameron’s rough thumb brushes along the entrance of your second tightened hole. working from your pussy all the way up to your asshole, cameron uses the elixir you’d created as a lubricant to stimulate both he and you.

“agghh, fuck,” you shake, a profanity slipping from your lips when cameron’s dips into your hole ever so slightly. the sensation of him fucking his big dick into you makes your pussy tightens, a drippy string of cum excreting from her at the lack of attention cameron gives.

“where you want me, baby? hm?”

your eyes are rolling in pleasure, the mattress basically vibrates underneath you both while you lay still and let cameron handle you however he wants.

“my—my pussy misses you, cammy.”

“oof,” you knock the wind out of cameron’s chest with the answer you give, listening as he heaves hotly into the air. “yeah? you need it that bad, baby?”

“need it, so, so bad, daddy.”

cameron can’t make you wait any longer—you’d done everything he asked of you and then some. he worked you into a frenzy and now he had to be the one to bring you back down.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” the flow of cameron’s words match in rhythm of the slap, slap, slap he sends to your pussy with the outer side of his dick, edging you more before finally aligning himself into your entrance.

the muscle in your thigh twitches, eyelids squeezed shut when cameron moves at his own pace, holding one of your ass cheeks in the rough palm of his hand while squeezing at the base of his piece. you’re silent up to the very last second, covering your mouth with the teddy bear before you moan out reflexively.

“ohhhh…my god, cammm!”

“fuck, yesss,” cameron’s laugh is sharp, just as brutal and punishing as the snap of his slim hips, lower half colliding with your round ass instantly. he finds joy in seeing you fall apart like this—silly little whimpers escaping your lips when he pounds into you like he’s angry.

you’re pushed into the furriest part of the teddy bear toy, sobbing weakly into the fabric when cameron pushes you down harder, helping you find the right position and arch in the lower part of your back.

“that’s—“ you hiccup, gasping. “that’s my spot, cammmm, that’s my spottt.”

“i fuckin’ know, baby.”

cameron’s aware. he can tell by the spongy feel of your walls restricting him, that he’d reached the highest point within your pussy. and she just gushes around him, a white ring of cum coating his dick when he raises his knee at the perfect angle.

“you feel so good, daddyyy, you feel so good, ooh, my—shittt.”

“give me that shit, baby, stop playin’ with it,” cameron encourages you with a coarse smack to your ass, another following soon after before he’s smacking both over and over. “soak my shit and stop playin’.”

you cum like never before. a scream belting from your throat while you shake around wildly, body slumping into the plush teddy bear laid before you. it can barely hold the weight of you and cameron, orgasms overruling the both of you while you cum onto cameron’s dick, his hot nut fills your pussy to the brim.

all rights reserved. no part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the prior permission of the author. by complying with the authors moral rights, no persons shall face penalties for illegal copyright infringement and will not face zero charges.

—𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐓

[sonder-slut]

ouuu sister. freakie by jae stephens has been stuck in my head for so fucking long. ive been thinking of a little fic based off the song where cameron is with an innocent seeming reader but one day she decides to surprise him with a lap dance or a pole dance to the song. reader isn’t a prude or anything but it’s surprising for cam that she would do something like this. heavy on the innocent themes and corruption themes.

permanent ecstasy — tyriq withers.

pairing ⁀➷ cameron cade x plus-size black! reader.

synopsis ⁀➷ cameron is surprised to find that there is a naughtier side to his seemingly innocent girlfriend.

song of chapter ⁀➷ ‘freakie’ by jae stephens, ‘no angel’ by beyonce & ‘surprise’ by chloe

word count + warnings ⁀➷5.3k || nsfw content, 18+ content, no minors allowed!! alcohol usage, stripper! reader, mentions of marriage, mentions of anxiety and exhaustion, innocent reader trying something new(😝) body admiration, praise, lap dance, pole dance, twerking, kissing, caressing, teasing, foul language, cigar smoking, oral (m & f receiving), sexual content.

a/n — anon you’re so real for the song suggestion! love me some jae stephens. also, i am truly sorry for the wait in this request, but i hope you enjoy it!!

p.s—i try not to write too much about specific skin tones—any photo i use in my moodboards are almost always used to give an idea of the readers body type and outfit. unless stated otherwise in the fic, then it’s usually for visual purposes.

‘tonight you get my freaky side.’

ᥫ᭡

the scent wafting through the darkened room fluttered with cameron’s every sense.

he tries to adjust, already aware that there wasn’t much he could do to change the atmosphere, cameron scooted further into the velvet seat and took a big gulp from his short rimmed glass, a whisky sour tingling his chest the way he needed it to.

it relieved some of his trepidation.

just a smidge.

there was still a burning to his nose due to the strong cologne worn by the burley man across from him. sitting with both legs spread out far enough that his wife has to cross her own legs just to attain some room. it makes cameron snort, thoughts wondering on how one smell could linger throughout a lounge as large as this one.

“you okay, baby?”

the gentle waver of your voice brings cameron back down, your sweetness always the very thing to calm him after he’s been anxious. your small finger reaches to toy with the ends of his large ones, tickling him softly as you rest your head on his shoulder.

as apprehensive as cameron may have been, taking time away to be with you helped him tremendously.

cameron cade came home everyday for the past two weeks exhausted and depleted from football conditioning. he’d spent the majority of his time with his football mentor isaiah as he coached and trained the young man to near perfection. you watched each time he burst through your door and face planted onto the queen-sized mattress, groaning roughly into white pillows as he complained about practice.

with true concern, you tried to reduce the tension in his body, but cameron hissed and snatched away in pain each time, apologizing as you only wanted to help him. you’d sigh and warn him that working this hard wasn’t good for his body and in the long run he’d do more damage than good.

cameron listened, but ultimately continued with practice each day. i need this, baby, he’d tell you with a muffled voice as he drifted to sleep.

this weekend would finally be his break away, able to really spend time with you the way he wanted to. you planned a special evening for the both of you, a night out on the town with refreshing drinks in hand. the two of you sat adjourned to each other while a selection of sensual jazz music floated soothingly around your heads.

love birds, you two were.

both sets of eyes peering back into the other without a break in between, hearts in sync as they pound through your chests in timed rhythm.

cameron loved you. loved you more than anything he’d ever encountered before in his life. you hadn’t known it but training for these past couple weeks were gruesome to him mentally as well as physically. he preferred not to stress you with the details though, all he needed right now was some alone time with his lady.

“i’m aight, bae. i’m all good.”

a hum titters in your throat, reaching your head up so you can peck cameron’s lips. it’s quick, smooth. something brief so he can know that you’re here for him, but nothing too lingering or lewd, as you two weren’t alone in this deluxe lounge.

“i’m glad we can be with each other, cam. i missed our dates nights together.”

“yeah,” he sighs, throwing back the last of his drink, shaking around the halfway melted ice in the glass as he sets it on a nearby end table. “i’m sorry for being away so much, baby, i don’t mean to leave you hanging and shit. i know everything ain’t been perfect since we both been working all the damn time, but i do want you to know that i see the hard work and appreciation you’ve put into this relationship and i want you to know that it ain’t for nothing, y/n.”

it makes your heart clench. “baby, i knowww. i know you’ve been working hard to set up a future for us, i know you truly want to make everything perfect, i promise i don’t forget those things. that a big part of the reason i wanted to take this night out with you, you deserve a break away cameron. you work so hard for us and i just want to know that i see everything you do, nothing goes unnoticed, cam.”

the final part of your delicate message makes cameron lean down to kiss you once again, fingertips now squeezing at your full sides when you giggle quietly into his mouth.

“you gon’ make a nigga tear up in here, baby.”

you laugh some more, pressing a smooch to his cheek after he’s finished kissing you. you meant every word, seeing first hand how much football meant to cameron and how hard he struggled just to get here. he had big plans for the future and you were a major factor in the end result.

“are you going to a grab a refill on your drink, cam?”

cameron almost forgets about the glass of alcohol he’d just finished, too touched by the words you’d given him a second ago. “oh, yeah, yeah. lemme head to the bar to grab another one. you getting something, babe?”

you shake your head no, collecting your gold clutch that matched in color to the bottom of your heels. “i’m gonna head to the ladies room and freshen, i’ll be right back.”

cameron watches to make sure all is well as you make your escape to the bathroom. once things seem fine, cameron stands to place an order at the bar, grabbing another whisky sour and an ice-cold glass of water for you, before thanking the bartender and taking his seat once again.

“you and your woman are such a beautiful couple,” the deep tenor of the large older guy sitting across from cameron, captures his drifted attention.

“ah,” cameron smiles. “thank you, you and your lady look amazing as well.”

cameron compliments and genuinely means his statement. despite the snicker he held earlier, cameron could clearly sense the love floating through the married couple. he could only hope you and he would hold the same regard for each other years into your relationship.

“are you married, son?” his wife chimes in, voice a bit raspy as she sounds like she smokes cigarettes occasionally, more or less.

“um, not yet, no.”

“well, what are you waiting on, boy? you got a good woman by your side and they don’t come a dime a dozen, you better put a ring on it.”

cameron’s chuckling, rubbing a finger over his top lip before, speaking. “i’m working towards it. we both plan to get our careers going first, then we’ll lead towards marriage and such.”

it seems to be the perfect answer for the older couple as they both relax into their seats. “well, it’s good to know you’re planning on it.”

a ding to cameron’s phone interrupts the conversation he was currently having, forcing him to fish into his pocket for his cell phone, only to see it had been a notification from you.

boo bear 🧸 ❣️ — come here.

cameron — wya? you okay?

boo bear 🧸❣️ come here, cam.

the message makes cameron squint, standing from his seat without forgetting to grab your drinks, he bids farewell to the couple before taking steps through the dimly lit lounge spot. cameron makes sure to be careful as he walks despite the single drink he’s had, cameron could already feel the alcohol working through his system.

he passes the men’s bathroom and heads towards the women’s, standing outside the door for a second before tapping against the metal door once. there’s no response—nothing from you or any other patron attending tonight’s event. the bathrooms empty.

cameron — are you still in the bathroom, y/n?

boo bear 🧸❣️— not anymore, baby.

“this girl…” you make cameron mutter out loud, confused as to where you could have gone that quickly.

cameron — wya, baby? i ready to head back to the crib and get it going😝

he’s playing but gravely serious as well, meaning every word that he types, as this alcohol lowers his nerves and heightens his hormones.

boo bear 🧸❤️ — walk closer, cam.

“closer to where, baby?”

cameron’s confused as he follows your orders, stepping away from the bathroom to inch his way closer to a set of private rooms. every door is locked shut— possibly in use or in need of a key to be opened. cameron doesn’t let sealed doors keep him from finding you, though. able to walk his way deeper through the elongated hallway until he sees one door that isn’t locked but instead cracked ajar.

“what the hell?”

the slick tile flooring that cameron currently stood on, switched before his very eyes, an array of bold red and creme striped carpet leading him down a flight of warped stairs. cameron’s nerves were already lit a flame and whatever little game you intended to play tonight only added to the damage. but, cameron doesn’t text and complain to you, as he knows whatever idea you have for him would be for his own good.

so he walks down the shaded stairs, hand holding onto a nearby rail as he takes careful steps to the newfound destination. further inching into the secluded area, cameron stumbled upon an entirely new scene of the lounge. another set of unopened doors along a hallway, printed silhouettes of nude women are plastered long the walls, illuminated only by the red lighting shining through the room.

“where the fuck am i?”

cameron can’t figure this shit out.

boo bear 🧸❣️ — door 3.

you read his mind like no one else can.

cautiously, cameron takes steps toward the door number you’d just given him, knuckle rapping against the dark wood, before it creaks open all on its own.

cameron’s eyes wander over the mysterious room. tufted furniture pointed towards a set stage, led lights surrounding the elevated glass box, while a 6-foot metal pole stood cemented directly in the middle. there are bottles of wine and trays of fat cigars laid across the marble table, available to any lucky man who’d been welcome in here tonight.

huh…

“hey, daddy…”

cameron’s inhale is pointed, breath caught in his chest as he frantically whips around at the sound of your voice. and you’re here—you’re here and you are not dressed how you were before. it’s not a subtle change in any way, cameron can’t believe his eyes when he glances over you. the cute blouse and blue denim pants you wore when you both arrived to the lounge has been switched to a more…seductive style of clothing.

a faux fur coat hangs off the ends of your shoulder, draping across the floor as you stride forward. leather one piece bodysuit snatches you in all the right places, pushing your breasts higher upon your chest with the help of extra padding. the sound of your matte black calf leather gladiator shoes helps you keep firm structure as you approach your astonished boyfriend.

cameron has so much he wants to say, so many thoughts flickering thorough his head right now and all he can conjure up is—

“babe…”

he’s breathless at the sight of you, already madly in love with how beautiful you looked tonight, cameron is sent over the edge by the change of scenery and sexy clothing you wore.

your strut is otherworldly, rendering cameron speechless as he watches you walk across the room.

cameron felt like he’d been dreaming.

you needed to pinch him and let him know this was reality.

“baby…” he exhales, eyes scoping over your entire frame while you remain calm, a seductive smirk pulled onto your fully glossed lips, dark mauve colored eyeshadow over your lids and a lined lip to match in color. “what the fuck, baby? what the hell?”

“i want tonight to be special, cam. something for just us two.”

the night had already been so special, cameron’s not sure how you planned to top it off.

the ends of your nails scrap against the neat lining along the nape of cameron’s neck, holding him close so he knows this is real and not a fantasy. you could practically taste the sweat seeping through his pores, nervousness and excitement surging through him without a break in between.

“baby, how did you—how did you do all of this?”

you shush him, thumb rubbing along the bottom of his lip as you gaze deeply into his light eyes. “let me show you, cam. come have a seat, baby.”

you hold his hands in yours, walking backwards together until you can feel the leather sofa behind, pushing cameron into the seat before another word has a chance to leave his mouth. stunned like never before, cameron watches in silence as you take control of the room, slipping off the coat you wore before taking fluid steps onto the dance stage. you press a button on a small remote, filling the silent room with speakers that blare music, the sizzling beat of jae stephen’s ‘freakie’ rumbles through cameron’s chest.

pick the one you want, i got layers.

cameron can’t be bothered with questions at the moment, mouth falling open as you begin to put on a show for him. both hands holding onto the top and lower half of the slick pole as you grind your back into it slowly, body resembling waves as you move fluidly, ensuring to keep focus with your boyfriend, he takes in every part of you.

enjoying the way your thick thighs jiggle with each commanding step you take, sashaying around the stage as if this had been your second job. easily dropping onto your knees, you bounce your ass before him, a sliver of your pretty pussy peaking through your garment as you do so. his mouth waters at the dimples and stretch marks along the sides of your hips when you bend down to wave your legs back and forth in a slow and teasing manner.

said you want a main with different sides.

the song speaks for you.

you’d been a good girl for as long as cameron has known you, always so careful of what you said and how you behaved when in public. you didn’t have to try, it was simply how you were, but cameron didn’t expect to see this side of you, the one of his girlfriend twirling around the cylindrical metal with both her legs wrapped around the damn thing like it was nothing.

stealthily you begin to unclamp the zipper to your one pice out, carefully pulling it over your shoulder in an alluring sweep, sliding the leather suit down until it reach your thighs. there you stand, full figured curves keeping cameron in a deadlock trance. you looked so sexy underneath this lighting, crimson colored strobes shining across your smooth skin at just the right angle.

the music transitions, switching to a dark themed rihanna song you had on a shuffled playlist. cameron’s not quite sure what the song is, as his main focus is stuck on your every move. clacking steps against the floor as you approach him, pulling his hand from in between his lap to force a squeeze to your full breasts.

“don’t tell me you’re shy,” you smile, rolling your hips with the slightest movement, teasing your boyfriend while he shudders at the switch in your tone. you sound like a fucking siren, ready to swoop in and take him down whole.

“not shy, baby, just shocked.”

“don’t be, baby,” you raise a leg and pop an ass cheek right before cameron’s face, flashing him with the sight of your gorgeous pussy. you immediately notice the shift forming in cameron’s pants, big dick not able to contain how he really feels about you. “let me take care of you. is there anything you want me to do, baby?”

cameron wishes that he had a stack of money to throw right now. he’d easily max out his bank account if it meant you’d perform for him all night.

“yeah,” his deep voice rattles in the back of his throat, hand pressing roughly into the calf of your leg, holding you still while he admires you. “lit me a cigar, baby, but take your time while you do it. i wanna watch every second.”

“yes, daddy.”

the quick swat to your ass when you walk away makes you grin. you can hear cameron mumble a curse word under his breath when you squat to a lower level to reach the coffee table, striking the lighter up before blazing the dull end of a large cigar for your boyfriend. you stand and walk back over to place it in between his lips, watching for a moment as cameron inhales and releases a cloud of smoke from the spiced cigar.

he looks so sexy from where he sits, the top of his white button up has become undone, revealing the beginning of his strong, sculpted neck to you. while the sleeves of his shirt now rolled up to the edge of his elbows. he looks, relaxed, chilled and ready to see what else you have in store for him.

you take a seat in his lap, thick thighs spreading across his toned ones while your ass brushes against the fabric of his jeans. you rest your head on his shoulder, holding the side of his face in your hand while you grind slowly.

“fuck, baby,” cameron’s huffs as he takes another hit from the cigar. “you look so fuckin’ good right now.”

it makes you moan and giggle at the same time, pussy getting soaked by the minute. you slid out of his lap, falling onto the toes of your tall heels. you pop your ass to the beat of the music and cameron can’t help but to reach down and smack it as you dance.

“you working that muthafucka, baby. i like that shit.”

you caressed the outside of his thighs, squeezing and rubbing, until you begin to cradle his hard on in between your two hands.

“mhm, your dick missed me, cam?”

there’s a rough grunt hidden in his chest, punching it’s way out as he speaks. “you fuckin’ know it, girl. c’mon, pull that dick out, baby.”

cameron commands for you to move, quickly settling into the dominant position of the night after he’s gotten comfortable with the situation.

you love it, live for it.

the tips of your acrylic nails clack against the belt buckle tied around cameron’s waist. you undo the latch, before unblocking cameron’s pants, helping him to slide them down the front of his legs some so you can have better room to work.

“do you remember when we first met, cam?”

and cameron can hardly remember anything at all when you look at him like that. your eyes captive him in ways no mortal being should be allowed to do. so sweet and knowing—years of being a beautiful girlfriend to this lucky man, giving your everything to him in the process. cameron had never experienced a love quite like the one you’d gifted him, and he was truly grateful—always working hard to provide for you, only for you to return the devotion right back to him.

the tender feeling is the opposite of the indecent action you perform with your skilled lips, stirring cameron’s emotions in a completely different way.

both sides of your mouth are stuffed to the brim with cameron’s fat dick. you swallow him down wholly, throat tightening and loosening as you try to adjust. it had been some time with this man and oftentimes you needed a second to get used to his size. you would estimate a good nine inches if you had to, especially after being with your boyfriend for this long. but each moment spent with him, he felt bigger than the last.

you leave a trail of saliva along the rigid skin of cameron’s hardened dick, coming up for air, you take your time to pump him slowly, giving yourself the proper chance to breathe. you’re excited, always turned on beyond words by this man and it often made you think you could handle more than you actually were able to. your small fingers wrap around the fiery pink colored tip, using a mix of your boyfriend’s precum and your dripping mouth as a lubricant.

“you’re so big, daddy,” you pull your abused lips into a frown, batting your long lashes up at cameron while he struggles to think properly. “dick so big, baby, i love it so much.”

“you love it?” cameron’s hips want to rise from the leather sofa, missing the warmth your mouth previously gave him. “you love it so much, baby?”

you nod, moaning softly while pulling your heavy tits from the enclosure of your lace bra, allowing your taut nipples to peek through as you place them onto cameron’s lap.

“tell me you love me, doll. tell me how much you love me.”

always an obedient one during these times. “i love you so much, cameron. love you so, so much, baby.”

leaning forward, cameron meets you from where you sit. grabbing hold of both sides of your face, your boyfriend forces you into a kiss, rough and soft at the same time, as he suckles down on your nasty tongue. cameron doesn’t mind one bit, able to taste himself and the sweet taste of your mouth in the process. he only furthers the filth as he wipes away the elixir of sticky precum and spit, now rubbing the mess across the head of his dick while you moan in delight at the sight.

“now, you gotta show me how much you love me. show me with that fucking mouth how much you love me, baby.”

it makes cameron swallow down softly, toes beginning to curl inside his white socks. you allure him in every kind of way, his eyes never leave yours as he watches all the movements you make. his thick dick now sits nestled comfortably between your breasts as you smush them together, creating a pocket of sorts when you start to slide them up and down.

“aw, fuck baby, just like that, there you fucking go, there you gooo—oooh fuck!”

cameron encourages you to continue, the back of his head falls into the couch when your pointed tongue darts against the tip of his dick. he’s close to coming and you can tell with the sounds he makes. usually, silent as he tries to adjust, trying to remain calm when his orgasm is nearing—the veins in your boyfriend’s neck begin to appear, the whites of his eyes sunken into the back of his skull and he can only mumble out quietly to himself, but you're able to hear. listening with enjoyment as he rumbles on —

“so-so fuckin’ good, goddamn, fuck! your fuckin’ mouth…”

“want you to cum on my tits, daddy. want to you to spill all over my face and breasts, then i want you to cum in me, baby.”

“don’t—don’t stop, baby, don’t you fucking stop.”

with both your movements and the way you’re speaking to him, cameron can’t help the flipping going on in the lower half of his stomach. without a word or warning, short ropes of hot cum eject onto the bottom of your face and the top of your full breasts. the sight of you making such a mess and the gentle surprised gasps you release makes cameron groan out louder, lifting his hips from the couch to fuck into your breasts more, ensuring he’d completely drained himself.

“oh, baby,” you’re giggling as you watch cameron slump into his seat on the couch. you’d sucked the life from this man. swiping your fingers across your chest and the side of your face, you place them into your mouth to taste the cum that’d been recently expelled. “you taste so good.”

raising from your knees, you crawl onto the couch with your boyfriend, scattering his exhausted face with sweet kisses as you moan out. “are you gonna clean me up now?”

cameron’s head turns as he tries to adjust, not able to respond to you the way he wants to. “baby…what the—what the fuck?”

he didn’t know who you were anymore.

the usually ‘innocent’ girl he previously knew, sat beside him sucking leftover cum from the sides of her fingers while her boyfriend tried to capture his labored breath. some one had to have come out and swapped the typically sweet girl he’d known with a heart stopping vixen who stood here ready to ruin him.

he goes to say something else, but the spread of your legs while you pat at the start of your soaked pussy takes away his ability to, watching in amazement at how wet you’ve gotten. a gleam of white substance coating the outside of your smooth pussy and the inside of your inner thighs.

“want you to eat me, daddy.”

cameron can’t deny you or that pretty pussy of yours.

“fuckkkk, c’mere baby, c’mere.”

it’s quick when he pulls you up, yanking you by the arm so you now stand on the seat of the couch, rushing to take off your high heels so you don’t fall or ruin the integrity of the furniture. your pussy is face to face with your excited lover, the edge of his pointed nose skimming over the flesh of your lady part as she is drenched all over. the excitement had gotten to you—being in a secluded room with the love of your life as you worked him to no end made your pussy clench as she knew what was to come.

and cameron isn’t hesitant at all when it comes to giving it to you.

the calloused ends of his fingertips dig into the skin of your wide hips, holding you in place so he can easily smother himself into your sweet embrace. almost like he’s face planted when cameron’s forehead rests along the front of your soft belly, guiding his mouth closer and closer so that he can place a firm kiss to the stiffened bud that sat right before him. the cool breeze of his mouth makes you shiver and makes your clit jump, before your thoughts are pushed to the side without regard, cameron now forcing you silent when he suckles around your clit harshly.

“taste so muthafuckin good, girl,” cameron compliments with grit, voice husky and low as he keeps you close, hands kneading the flesh of your ass as if it's freshly made dough.

“oooh, fuck,” your legs buckle around him, knees not able to support yourself entirely as the smooth sensation of cameron’s skilled tongue takes away your ability to think.

and cameron knows you so well. you don’t have to say a single thing before he’s immediately clasping on to you tighter so you won’t fall or hurt yourself. your hands latch onto his shoulders and the top of his short shaved head, fingers scratching his scalp while you peer down to watch him at work.

“don’t be scared,” cameron’s words comes out muffled, but you’re able to hear him. “get that shit, girl. soak my muthafukin face, baby, c’mon.”

between cameron’s salacious voice, the thumping sounds of the weeknd’s highly acclaimed debut album and the sensory blogging lights, fucked you completely up.

your voice is whiny, a heightened pitch in your throat when you moan and roll your hips fluidly into cameron’s face. he’s a fucking genius when it comes to pleasing you. yeah, you could purchase private rooms for a special night out, practice pole dancing for weeks on end and wear the most revealing pieces of clothing you could find—but none of that could ever compare to the way cameron fucks you.

the domination switches.

“i’m—i’m gonna cum, cam, please don’t stop baby, don’t stop eating me.”

“not gon’ stop,” cameron responds, his tongue exploring you further, now curling into your pussy as it were destined to be placed there. “give me that shit, y/n, drench my shit, baby, c’mon.”

your mind goes numb, hand caressing the mound of your soft breasts as you search for comfort. your head falls backwards when you attempt to relax, the feeling of cameron tongue fucking you so deeply practically brings tears to your eyes. the feeling passes through you—a fluttering sensation in the lower half of your abdomen, before you yank your head forward in surprise.

“i’m cumminggg,” you cry and shake your head back and forth, torn between pushing cameron away or keeping him put as the overwhelming force of your orgasm makes you tremble. “i’m—i’m cumming, cam, oh my godddd.”

“mhm,” is all cameron can respond, too preoccupied with drinking down every drop of cum you release into his mouth, lips skimming over your clit and slit without a second to stop.

you’re coming back to earth—eyes still sealed shut, goosebumps scattered over the entirety of your body, when you feel cameron move around from underneath you. it surprises you completely when he stands and holds you in the inner part of his strong arms. you begin to yelp, but lose the ability to when cameron forces you into a kiss.

you’re melting. holding onto the back of his head when cameron tosses you around freely, helping you to adjust. breathing from the both of you is labored and messy, teeth clattering over the others while your noses brush together.

“love you, baby.”

“love—love you too cameron, oh my, fuckkk,” you can hardly finish your sentence, words falling into whispers that land to the ground beneath you when cameron lowers you onto the tip of his big dick.

the burn of his head nudging at your sweetly honeyed entrance makes you search for refuge, frantically smothering your face into the side of his strong neck while you allow him to take control.

“don’t act like you can’t handle it. what happened to all that vixen shit you was just doing?”

your previous moves are thrown to the side, submission taking over as you need cameron to get you there.

“you’re—you’re so big, daddy.”

“what that mean?” he kisses you as he snorts, holding the sides of your hips together, slowly guiding you over the agonizing length of his dick. “you take my shit any other time.”

you can barely respond, shaking your head when the pressure becomes too much. “baby…”

“i feel you dripping down my dick, baby, you got this shit, don’t you?”

you’re unable to fight against your boyfriend’s words, releasing soft sighs and huffs when he drags you over the veiny shaft of his dick.

“how you gon’ be my wife if you can’t take my dick like i need you to?”

the mention of marriage and you being his wife is enough for you to coat this man’s entire dick a sheen of opaque white cum.

“wife?” you sniffle, voice still soft, but laced with a hint of confusion.

“yeah, i want to make this shit official with you girl, want you for the rest of my life, baby.”

there couldn’t have been a better time for cameron to express his feelings to you—your firm calves dangle in his buff arms, swollen cunt encasing him totally while he keeps you hoisted in the air, dick perched inside of you at just angle. you’re fucking naked and cameron’s pants hang around the strongest part of his thighs, while he stretches your pussy out.

what can you say—you and he were far from conventional.

it wasn’t a proposal, as cameron wanted the scene to be set perfectly when the time came. he instead viewed this as a…warmup. warming you up with the spread of his dick and the question of spending the rest of your life side by side with him.

“oh, cam, yes, yes, yes!” you cry in response to his statement and to the orgasm you felt filling the pit in your abdomen, thighs shaking in his hands while your face draws into a wide mouthed expression. “yes, yes, yes!”

all rights reserved. no part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the prior permission of the author. by complying with the authors moral rights, no persons shall face penalties for illegal copyright infringement and will not face zero charges.

—𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐓

[dovesrecs]

- peter parker fic recs

[18+] This isn’t a complete archive of everything I’ve enjoyed! Any fics I’ve reblogged but haven’t added here can be found under #doves recs

SMUT

unraveled - @y2sb

your eyes! - @luiluvr

mask on - @capsslutt

loser - @golddustwomanwins

love bites - @yasministration

brand new spidey - @sluvaffair

i'm here for you - @liliesonthego

black-eyed hunger - @cherry-lala

poor peter! - @obsessedweveryth1ng1

the summoning - @musingsofheaven

i kinda hope they catch us - @heyysteven

the feeling of falling upwards - @quietbluetune

does it come out... anywhere else? - @filmjules

brand new changes, same ol' spidey - @heyaheyrinny

hurts, but i know how to hide it. kinda like it - @uhhhj13iguess

SFW

hell bent - @levanterhaze

wrong way - @lunshimmer

the golden rule - @luversloop

the anchor - @fireinmoonshot

heartbeat - @thought-you-knew

affixing attachment - @kentcant

stay with me - @thollandsgirl2013

letters i cant send - @fawnindawn

those eyes, i still know - @marsaffair

next, please - @palacearcaderadiostation

call me if you get lost - @superbassbuck

for this, i can manage - @celestialwyvern

did you get your taste back? - @xreader1989

love grows where my florist friend goes - @opheliasdemise

in dreams, i meet you in warm conversations - @everythingcollided

[yasministration]

thank you for recommending my work honey!!

[scrimsturn]

strawberry moon | p. parker ᝰ.ᐟ

summary — ever since peter’s arachnid DNA started to change, he’s been obsessed with you. it hasn’t been easy for him considering you live right across the hall from him. he’s even having wet dreams about you. he knows you way more than you know him. not that he’d tell you that, anyway.

pairing — bnd!peter parker x fem!reader

warnings — MDNI, smut, piv, fingering, oral (both receiving), whiny & subby top!peter, unprotected sex, finishing inside, multiple orgasms, pet names, wet dreams, stalking, mask on (and off), mentions of violence, smoking, slight spoilers. i think that's it?

wc — 9.8k...

a/n — apologies if there are any errors. inspiration from strawberry moon by tori amos <3 v obsessed, highly recommend.

masterlist. | 18+ MDNI

“Thank you.. oh f-fuck thank you,” Peter whines, his pitiful voice barely coherent as he watches you take him in his mouth, head bobbing rhythmically as he lays before you on his plushy bed.

Peter’s hands seek your head, wanting to pull it closer to him, but he ultimately plants them on the bed, grasping at the sheets as if they’re some sort of lifeline. His knuckles turn white, his eyes rolling involuntarily. He can’t focus, how can he?

It’s not like this is the first time, or that he’s too nervous to make such a move… he’s thankful for anything you give him, and doesn’t want to take it for granted.

“Yes, oh god, thank you s-so m-much..”

Every time you suck him off, Peter can’t believe how fucking good it feels. He wonders how you’re so good, then quickly pushes the thought aside. He doesn’t want to think about the how or why.

Peter’s moans are fucking pitiful. Such a whiny boy with shaky thighs and rosy cheeks, the heat of it all rushing to tint his skin. You can taste the pre leaking from him, his cock pulsing against your tongue. The smirk that spreads across your lips as you lick the tip and hold eye contact with him makes Peter huff. His cheeks darken even more, his body heating rapidly at the sight of you as you take him fully again.

“Oh, please… I’m, fuck,” Peter’s pathetic attempt to warn you dies out, his hands gripping the sheets even harder, seemingly seconds away from ripping them. Another reason why he’s careful with touching you. Sometimes, he just can’t help himself. Pathetic.

When you slow down your pace just to tease him, you hear his squeaky whine, the breath being knocked from his lungs. Just as you expected. Peter gets so fucking needy, and you relish in it. It doesn’t take him very long to get close, ever, and a part of you can’t stand it because you want this too. You want to make it last just to see and hear how pitiful he gets.

“No- shit, please,” Peter whimpers, emphasizing his plea to gain some sort of sympathy from you. You oblige, gradually fastening your pace, the filthy, sloppy sounds echoing between you. He can’t help it. His hand flies to your hair, fingers lacing through the soft strands before he tugs. “I-I’m-“

Unable to properly speak, his jaw slacks and his eyelids squeeze shut. Thighs trembling, he chokes out a cry, feeling his cock pulse with each string of cum that stuffs down your throat. Then, it’s over. Just like last time.

Peter shoots up into a sitting position, gulping thickly with a huff as reality sets in. His duvet covers are thick, splayed across his lower half, which is feeling exceptionally more warm than usual. The room is dark, cold, and very much empty. He feels it instantly, the way his briefs cling to his skin, wet and warm.

“Fuck… not again,” he whimpers, peeling his briefs down just enough to expose the globs of thick cum sticking to his skin. Now this wasn’t the first time. It’s almost nightly at this point. He glances over at his door, as if you would somehow know what happened or be there. You never were. He then turns his head toward the alarm clock on his nightstand, 3:14am. “Hey evie?”

Peter’s desktop illuminates with light as numerous monitors flash on, the system starting up.

“Yes, Peter?” evie’s artificial voice responds.

“We need to make a different kinda inhibitor,” he groans, pushing the covers off his legs before getting up, making his way toward the bathroom.

Peter didn’t go back to sleep. He spent hours trying to formulate an inhibitor that would target his arachnid DNA and block hormone levels… particularly his testosterone. With a cheap Newport cigarette lit between his lips, his fingertips pattered across his keyboard, his eyes laser-focused on the screen.

With a soft chime, his phone illuminated on the desk just beside the keyboard. He quickly glanced over, scanning the words across the screen before looking at the map beneath the text, the pinned location insinuating that you’ve arrived to work.

Peter knows it’s wrong. Having secret hidden cameras around the city is one thing, but using them to watch someone that’s not a threat is another.

He tried, really fucking tried, to let it go. To stop. But he can’t.

That’s just another reason why he needs to make an inhibitor that actually fucking works.

Ever since you moved into the apartment across the hall four months ago, he hasn't been able to get you out off his mind no matter how hard he's tried. He’d often think about the first time you met, running into each other in the hall as you rush to work and he heads to get flowers for May.

All of the innocent conversations in passing, the friendly smiles and waves… He tried so fucking hard. You’re just so pretty. So sweet. God, you smell so sweet.

He can smell you from your apartment across the hall, the scent similar to fresh-picked strawberries. He fucking loves strawberries.

That wasn’t what started it, though. After the incident two months ago, with you stuck in the middle of a bank robbery, it was as if a flip had switched and caused a surgical spell. You were sweet and innocent, just trying to deposit a measly check, and next thing you knew, you had a gun pointed at you. Since then, he feels like he has an obligation to protect you — to keep you safe. Knowing you only strengthened that feeling, but your voice… your face… the way you smell. It all adds to it.

He wants to get closer to you, so fucking badly, but he just can’t with how hectic his life is. He tells himself it’s safer for you to stay acquaintances, no matter how much it bothers him.

Ever since that incident, ever since he saw your terrified expression through the lens of his mask, he had your face in his records. He specifically had evie program a separate alert system with facial recognition just for you. So when he gets a legitimate alert, he knows if you’re nearby. That's what he tries to tell himself, anyway.

If only you knew that spider-man had a special system just to keep you safe.

But that's why he needs this to work. It has to. He knows his behavior is wrong. It's weird. Fucking creepy, even...

“Smoke detected,” evie’s voice alerts, prompting a banner message across the monitor screen. Peter’s eyes roll, mentally damning Tony for implementing smoke detection into her programming.

“Just a cigarette, evie. Same as last time, and the time before that,” Peter murmured, his voice muffled from the cigarette trapped between his soft lips.

“Cigarettes can impact your vitals,” evie’s voice responds, to which Peter sighs, pulling the cigarette from his lips and smashing the end into the ashtray beside his phone, the bright amber ash crushing into a pasty grey. He wasn’t a casual smoker. It was usually during late nights or early mornings like this, where he just needed something to ground him. He hated to admit that it calmed him, or at least thought it did. Maybe it was all in his head, but either way, he knew it wasn’t good for him.

While he waits for the inhibitor to finish, Peter thinks of a few ideas on how he could test it. Truly, there’s only one way to really test it. He has to talk to you, really talk to you, without making things awkward. He needs an excuse to see you that wouldn’t lead to a “hi” and “bye” situation. He hates how his heart races every time you smile at him or even pass by him. You have his mind completely scrambled with your fingers wedged in the folds of his brain.

He’s pacing now, crossing back and forth in front of his desk with his eyes planted on the hardwood floor. His hands moved around as he spoke, a somewhat comforting expression he did during deep thought.

“Maybe… I can wait and we bump into each other in the hall? No, that’s stupid. I could just… knock? What would I say?” Peter groans at himself, covering his cheeks with his hands and slowly pulling them toward his temples. “Or I could…”

Peter’s feet come to a halt, his eyes slowly moving to his apartment door, then to his monitor. The pin on the electronic map shows you’re still out in town.

Oh, he has an idea alright.

Not a sane one, at that.

He really needs that fucking inhibitor.

Within minutes, he has his suit on and is swinging around the outside of the apartment building, his webs allowing a clean swing around the brick structure before he lands on your fire escape just outside your bedroom window.

No, this is insane.

With his eyes squinted behind his mask, he looks through your window, immediately spotting it. A beautiful silver chain necklace with a diamond pendant, carefully laid on your nightstand. The same one he sees caressing the skin of your neck every time he sees you. He recalls the way it lies against your chest, the chain slightly pooling against your collarbones. Why’d you leave it today?

No, I shouldn’t do this, he thinks, shaking his head at the reckless idea. But he couldn’t muster any real flaws in the plan. He gets your necklace, then returns it to you as himself. Not as Spider-Man. That’s innocent, right? No, it’s not.

It’s not like he’s stealing it— well, he is. But… he’s giving it back to you. It’s not a total robbery; it’s harmless.

His gloved hands latch onto your window, pushing it up with ease despite the lack of a handle. It’s as if the breath had been knocked out of his lungs, replaced by the intoxicating scent of you.

Fuck it, he thought, slipping through the open window with ease and landing on his feet with precision. His heart was thumping, but not out of nervousness. Excitement.

Glancing around your bedroom, he takes in the sight of your decor, mentally picturing and framing it inside his head against his will. He’d remember regardless.

He slowly stalks toward the nightstand, the finger pads of his gloves gently catching on the chain just before he tightens his fingers around it, holding it up at eye level. Yes, it’s the exact same one you wear all the time. Not particularly expensive looking, as far as he could tell. Not that it mattered much.

Peter felt another thump in his chest, you’ll notice it’s gone. That should’ve been enough for him to put it down. But he’s giving it back to you. Shit, what is he gonna say? That he found it in the lobby? That’s ridiculous.

Peter groans, clenching the thin chain in his fist, pressing it against his mask-covered forehead.

“This is fucking stupid,” he whispers, cursing his own thoughts. No, it’s going to work. It has to. He wants you to understand that you can trust him. He’s more than just your neighbor. He’s your secret protector, but he wouldn’t directly call himself that. He has good intentions, but that doesn’t make his actions any less wrong. He knows it too: “…and creepy.”

The skin on the nape of his neck prickles. He should put it back. This is wrong. This isn’t who he is.

Peter’s thoughts are suddenly interrupted as his head snaps up, his senses spiking. As soon as he hears the familiar jingle of your keys, his throat tightens.

Fuck.

He quickly tucks your necklace into his suit, where his phone would usually sit. Of course he forgot to grab it. Too fucking concerned about getting into your apartment, he was completely unprepared. No wonder he had no idea you were on your way back.

Peter slowly stalked back toward your window, his footsteps completely silent. As soon as his hand grasps the frame of your window, he hears a startled gasp that was awfully similar to a yelp. He whips around, seeing you in the doorway of your bedroom, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Peter’s lenses widened on his mask, emphasizing his own surprise.

For several seconds, the two of you just stared at each other.

“Oh my god.”

Think. Quick!

“Hi,” Peter greets you with a slight change in his voice, lifting a hand and giving you a small wave. He's pathetic, really.

“Spiderman?” you breathe, unsure whether you should take a step forward or a step back. The spider-man is standing in your room. You’ve seen him in person once before, your mind flashing to the incident at the bank. The way he focused on you, but never spoke to you. How could you forget?

Your expression shifts, your wide eyes narrowing slightly, eyebrows leveling and furrowing closer. Why the hell is Spider-Man in here?

“What… are you doing here?”

“Oh- aha. Just a, uh, mixup. Wrong apartment… building. Entirely. I’m a little scrambled. Hit my head on the fire escape,” Peter rambles, mustering lies while using his hands to emphasize his words since he lacked showing expression from behind the mask. His pulse is racing; he's sure you can see the way his suit shifts against his chest.

Your eyes are intensely boring into him as you take in the explanation. Strange, but believable.

“Well... are you okay?” you take a step forward, the space between you shrinking, dangerously close. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Peter feels like he’s about to fucking explode. Is he okay? No, not at all. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to see him.

“I.. yeah! I’m fine, I’ll just go—“ he stammers, turning back toward your window.

“Wait-“ you stop him, slightly lifting your hand in his direction to halt him before crossing your arms over your chest. You couldn’t help but wonder. “This might be a stupid question, especially since I'm sure hundreds of people a day, but… do you remember me?”

Peter’s eyes widen again, his mask mirroring his expression. He turns back in your direction, his eyes scanning your face. Of course he does. He knows you way more than you think. It’s not a stupid question, but kind of ridiculous considering what Peter knows about you.

Though, you’re referring to him infiltrating the bank robbery, saving you amongst other innocent civilians. A pang strikes in his chest as he remembers how terrified you were, but it quickly dissipates just being in your presence.

“Uh, well,” he ponders, quickly trying to muster a response that doesn’t sound creepy while also wanting to validate your curiosity. He mirrors you and crosses his arms over his chest, trying his best to shove his panic to the side. “Now that I think about it… yeah, I do.”

“Really?” your eyes light up, and you take a step closer, your arms falling to your sides now that you feel less strange for asking. “I just- I never got to thank you.”

“Oh, no need. You don’t have to-“

“I know,” you shrug, your lips spreading into a slight smile as you step even closer, your eyes shifting from his face to his chest, then his biceps— fuck, he’s built. “but, thank you. Really. I feel a lot safer here, living here alone and all.”

Truth is, you don’t have any family here in New York. Peter didn’t know that, though. You weren’t sure what compelled you to tell him, either. Regardless, he's Spider-Man — not a threat.

Peter’s breath hitches in his throat. This is exactly what he’s been craving; your undivided attention. He made an impact, and you made it a point to mention it. He quickly shakes it off, taking in your words.

You’re not alone here. You’re so blissfully unaware that he is the same man living across the hall from you. He tries not to think about the way he feels himself twitching against his briefs within the suit the closer you step toward him. He physically can’t help it, and it doesn’t matter how tender the conversation is. He can practically feel the warmth radiating from your body despite being just a few feet away.

He needs to leave. Now.

If he doesn’t, if he allows himself to sink into your spell any further, he’s afraid he won’t be able to help himself. He can’t avoid the filthy visuals raiding his mind, disarming him of critical consideration. Your fingers had somehow sunk even deeper in the crevices of his brain. Leave.

“O-of course! Yeah, no worries at all,” he waves you off, his voice matching his relaxed, confident persona. He climbs through the window, stepping onto the fire escape with ease. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

“Whoa, hey! You can’t just break into someone’s apartment and then leave like it's normal,” you softly scoff, arms raised at your sides to express your disagreement.

“Technically, I didn’t break anything. Just came through the window, which was unlocked,” he quips with a matter-of-fact tone, the space enabling him to finally breathe and collect his thoughts.

“How is that any better?”

Well, it’s not.

Avoid the question.

With his hands still planted firmly on the windowsill, he tilts his head at you, “Lock your window.”

Mirroring him, you tilt your head as well, raising a brow at the order, “Why, so no one else can stumble in here after getting concussed?”

“Because there are people out there who aren’t as nice as me. Now lock it, and keep it that way unless you’re home, yeah?”

It’s somewhat of a cocky response, but it’s true. He lets you sit with that for a moment, the two of you just sharing a few seconds of silence before he shoots a web to the top of the building, making a quick getaway.

You stand there astonished, still trying to comprehend the fact that you came home to find Spider-Man in your room. You wish he stayed at least a little bit longer. There was something about him that felt comforting and familiar, but you couldn’t quite figure out why. You have to admit, you feel a sense of pride at the fact that he remembers you.

If only you knew.

Two nights later, Peter is pacing around his apartment, per usual. The clock on his monitor strikes 9:34pm; he's been contemplating for hours. The more he thought about how he'd return the necklace to you, the more he realized how risky it is.

There was no way he could return it as himself, as Peter, and manage to pull off a lousy lie about how he found it.

All he can think about is how you'd figure it out. He can't risk you putting the pieces together. Fuck, why didn't he think of this beforehand?

Truth is, his behavior has been beyond risky and ridiculous. You quite literally drive him insane to the point where rational decisions are nonexistent. For a split second, he even considers moving away, saving himself the absolute torture of living beside you and not being able to do anything about it.

Deep down, he knows he would never do such a thing... but he can't involve himself personally with you, he just... can't.

He has to return your necklace, but not as Peter. He understands that, but what is he going to say?

Doesn't matter. He can say a lot more with a mask on, knowing you won't figure him out. In fact, he could just tell you he took it and face zero consequences, but what's the fun in that?

As he waits for the inhibitor that’s just nearly finished, Peter lies down on his bed, staring up at the cracked brick ceiling. Maybe a tranquilizer is what he needs. He doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep until evie’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Inhibitor complete. Trial number forty-seven on standby.”

Finally.

The washer in Peter’s apartment tumbled, numerous articles of clothing swishing and sloshing, covered in suds. His suit was laid flat on top, shaking along with the rumbling of the machine.

“Alright,” Peter sighs to himself, reaching around to settle the inhibitor on the back of his neck. He feels it latch on, letting out a small grunt as his eyes scan the monitor in front of him.

“Arachnid levels decreasing,” evie states as the orange-tinted bar lowers in real time.

“And my hormones?” Peter inquires, raising a brow.

“Decreasing,” evie’s responds, pulling up a second page on the screen to show various hormone levels. Peter lets out a breath of relief, nodding to himself.

“Perfect," he whispered, snatching his suit off the top of the washer.

In your bedroom, you're comfortably sprawled out, sketchbook in hand as you continue marking the thin sheet of paper with a charcoal pencil. A loud knock startles you, causing you to jump and inevitably scratch the pencil across the paper, ruining your work.

Your head whips in the direction of the sound; your window. On the other side of the glass stands Spider-Man, his arms crossed comfortably on the outside of your windowsill as he waits for your response. His suit is glistening, the loud pattering of rain bellowing in his ears.

You quickly close the sketchbook, tossing it aside before standing from the bed.

Peter would usually feel his heart racing the moment you look at him, but he feels calm. Much better. Even though you look so fucking good in your pj shorts.

Hands finding the latch, you unlock the window and push it up, opening it swiftly. The sound of the rain pattering loudly against the fire escape and nearby streets is much clearer now. Before you can even ask why he's here, his voice shuts you down,

“Good girl,” he drawls out in a high teasing tone, voice still quippy and unrecognizable. You blink, your lips parting slightly, but no words come out. What an introduction.

That's the first thing he says? Not that you can complain. You'd be lying if you denied the way it made your stomach twist deliciously.

“W-What?”

“You locked the window.”

You let out a breath, unable to contain your smile and the slight tint in your cheeks. Face flushing, you turn away from the window to make your way back toward your bed, sitting on the edge of it.

“You scared the shit out of me. I can’t keep seeing you like this, you know,” you say, which catches him completely off guard. You can't see it, but a sense of hurt mixed with panic flicks in his eyes before he can control it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean with you, at my window, uninvited,” you explain. Peter’s mouth opens slightly, words dying in his throat. Before he has a chance to panic further, your next words take him by surprise. “Come in.”

“What?”

“I said come in. You can’t be uninvited when I’m telling you I want you here,” you add softly. You took the chance, throwing the ball into his court for him to catch.

Was it bold? Yes. Did he find it hot? Also yes.

Feeling an instant wave of relief, you hear a cute, "Oh," before he chuckles, slipping through your window, his feet landing effortlessly on your bedroom floor as he stands upright. He takes in the environment, your ambient lighting causing the droplets of water on his suit to reflect even brighter.

"Care to tell me why you've blessed me with your presence again? Everything okay?" you ask jokingly, yet still surprised by his sudden return. It's been two days, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about him since then. That’s what he hoped, at least.

"I was just coming to check on you," he lies, standing still so as not to get any of your belongings wet. Besides your floor, of course.

“Why?”

“Because someone broke into your apartment.”

Another lie.

“That was you."

“I meant the building.”

“Still applies.”

“I’m aware,” he quips, the eyes of his mask squinting playfully at you as he tilts his head slightly. You snicker. This back-and-forth game gives him a rush he hasn’t felt in a while. He feels much more confident this time, much more willing to play such a game.

That fucking smirk, he thinks.

“Well, as you can see,” you start, holding your arms up at your sides. “I’m fine.”

Peter tsks, sucking his teeth slightly as he steps toward you, almost as if he's sizing you up. "Well, that's not the only reason I'm here."

You watch as he lifts his hand, loosening the grip of his fingers to release the chain in his fist, dangling it in front of you. Your necklace.

"Oh my god," you softly gasp, reaching for the silver chain and grasping it from his hold. "How did you... Wait, did you take this?"

Now he's panicking.

"W-what? No, no. I found it," he lies again, his tone strong but his legs are feeling a bit weak. Shit.

"...In my room?"

"No," he laughs, trying to muster an explanation before you can dig any deeper. His heart is thundering so fast, he can feel it in his veins, causing him to twitch slightly. "Why would I steal from you?"

Good thing you're gullible enough to believe Spider-Man wouldn't steal from you. Because that's not who he is, right?

"Where was it?"

He rehearsed this, but the way you're looking at him makes it impossible to mutter out a lie. On the ground outside of Delmar’s? No. Fuck it.

"Don't worry about it."

"But how did you know-"

"I've seen you wear it," he admits, unable to control the smile spreading across his lips beneath the mask.

You don't think much of it. He must’ve recognized it from the bank. Opening the clasp, you reach behind you to latch it around the back of your neck, the necklace now resting against your collarbones, the pendant nearly reaching your cleavage. You twist slightly to face away from him, “Can you help me, please?”

He doesn’t answer, immediately grasping the ends from your delicate fingers. His gloved fingers graze the nape of your neck, and he notices the instant goosebumps that litter your skin. He struggles at first, the chain being so small and not having much to work with, but he manages, “anddd... got it.”

You turn back and smile up at him, at his figure standing directly in front of you, head peering down at you.

You felt incredibly inferior, watching him stare with his head tilted in such a way, like you were some sort of prey. If only you could see what's underneath the mask.

"Thanks. I owe you one, again,” you smile, eyes fluttering up at him. His stomach is doing somersaults.

"We talked about this. You don’t owe me anything," he quickly responds, referring to your last conversation. All in all, he’s grateful to return it without consequences. He appreciated the gratitude, but he didn’t expect a damn thing from you. Just the ability to see you.

Pausing, unable to form a proper response, you gaze up at him. Never, ever would you have thought you would be in this position before. Especially with him being so intimately close to you.

You stand, instantly feeling the heat radiating from him. He’s so close. Less than a foot away, chests just barely touching. His posture is steady as he awaits your next move, shocking even himself. If it weren't for his inhibitor, his mind would be going absolutely nuts.

"I know," you finally murmur a response, your eyes searching for his, but all you can see is white mesh. You lift your hand, instinctively trying to reach for him, but you stop yourself. He doesn't move.

You do it anyway. Your hand finds rest at his jaw, your thumb softly rubbing over the ridges of the mask. What is it about him that gets you so?

Is it that he saved you? No...

Maybe the fact that he remembered you and made it a point to make you safe.

It's not like you could stay casual after hearing him praise you like that.

"You... you should probably stop," he warns softly, but doesn't pull away from you. He knows you can feel his chest thundering just a mere inch from you. Despite that, the inhibitor was working, because if it wasn't... you'd definitely not be standing any longer.

"Do you want me to?"

He doesn't answer immediately, his eyes intently focusing on yours through his mask. Is that even a question? It's not like he could just tell you that this is practically torture for him.

"No."

That's just enough for you to raise your other hand, fully grasping his jaw on both sides to get a good look at his mask. Curiosity gets the best of you, your thumb reaching down and gently tugging at the edge of his mask beneath his neck. You just want to feel his skin, feel how warm he is. Feel how real he is.

In a flash, his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping your hand in place.

"Hey, hey. I didn't say you could do that," his tone is playful but his thoughts are a complete contrast, his grip tight on your wrist, but not too tight. Just enough to convey the message. God, he wanted to let you, though. So fucking bad.

It’s too risky. No matter how badly he wants to.

Even if he only shows his lips, he’s sure you’d recognize them after so many small talks. After so many exchanged smiles.

"Then how am I supposed to..." you trail off, the word kiss dying in your throat as your eyes trail down to where his lips would be beneath the mask, then down to where his hand is wrapped around your wrist, his grip firm but soft. He understands immediately.

"You don't."

It killed him to say it.

"I can't kiss you?"

"No."

Your lips curl into a small frown. You understand and respect his boundaries, but you can't deny how much you've thought about this. Rehearsed this. Ever since you caught him in your room, you couldn't help the thoughts that pooled in the moment he left. The fact he'd saved you once before only strengthened that.

What if he just took you, right then and there? God, that's fucked up. You knew that, but... the way you'd feel your core twist and get damp, fuck.

I mean, who doesn't want to fuck him? He's a hero. He's sweet. He's incredibly muscular, and his suit only accentuates that. You could go on and on.

It's not crazy to think about. You're not the only one that thinks this either, confirmed by the many reddit forum threads you dove down after he left. But, you are the only one to have this kind of luxury. The luxury of him being in your room, so close to you, touching you

"You're right, I'm-" you cut yourself off, taking a step back as you rethink your actions. What the hell are you doing? You don't even know him. You're being ridiculous - pathetic, even. You shake your head at yourself, shyly plastering your hand over your face. "I'm so sorry-”

"No, no, don’t be,” he whispers, releasing your wrist from his grasp, shaking his head. If this is his chance, he’d be a goddamn fool to pass it up.

“I can’t kiss you, but..” he continues, his hands moving to find your waist, gently gripping your soft skin through your soft, silky shirt. "I can touch you.”

No, he shouldn’t be doing this. He should’ve left right after giving you the necklace. This wasn’t part of the plan at all.

Tilting your head back up, you peer at him through the gaps of your fingers, your cheeks tinted rosy pink.

“Wha.. what?”

It's a bold move, he knows that. At least it's something he can actually give you.

Slowly, he backs you up, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed, inevitably making you fall back down into a sitting position. He leans down, hands planting on your plushy covers on either side of your thighs. You’re trapped.

“You heard what I said. I can touch you— I want to touch you,” he repeats, his teasing grin beneath the mask widening as he watches your eyes melt. Despite his rather audacious idea, Peter truly didn’t have a dominant bone within him. Not when it came to sex, anyway.

He would try for you, though. If that’s what you wanted.

The heat radiating from your skin through your shirt was a clear sign of just how much he was affecting you. You don’t know he can tell, but he does. He can sense it. He can smell it.

Despite how much he’s wanted this, how much he’s been dreaming of this, he couldn’t shake the thought in the back of his mind that this wasn’t right. This feels too fast. No real connection. No romance.

But if you want this just as much as he does, he’s not fucking leaving.

“I…” you start, your words absolutely failing you. You feel so small below him, so vulnerable. An idea sparks, and there’s a particular glint in your eye. Fine, you can play that game. “If I can’t see you, then you can’t touch me until I say so.”

Oh.

Peter wasn’t expecting that. Not by a long shot.

“Oh really?” he murmurs, his purr causing you to instinctively squeeze your thighs together. You’re fucking leaking. Maybe he can… just only when you tell him to. You’re calling the shots. His padded fingers move to gently caress your jaw, softly grasping your chin. “You sure about that?”

Who is he kidding? Peter knows he would be a fucking mess if you told him when he could and couldn’t feel you or take control of himself. He loves seeing you flustered, though. It’s a sight he will never forget.

You grab his hand, pulling it away from your chin before pushing him over to land beside you. He lets you, allowing himself to plop down on the bed, his legs still hanging off the edge. He stabilizes himself, sitting up to grab your waist as you straddle him.

Just before his hands can make contact with you, you quickly grab his wrists, shaking your head at him with a grin, “Nu-uh.”

“That’s not very fair.”

“You heard what I said.”

Peter let’s put a short, weak huff of protest at you using his own words against him. You’re fully aware that he’s much stronger than you could ever be, and yet he was letting you control him. You release his wrists, pressing a hand against his chest, pushing him down until his back is against the bed.

Softly grinding your hips on his way down, you could feel him twitching and hardening against your clothed cunt, his suit failing him tremendously.

“Shit, you’re that easy?” you tease, moving your hips back and forth, the friction only worsening the wet spot forming on your panties, seeping to your shorts. He could feel it.

“F-fuck, so are you,” he whimpers in defense, unable to control how pathetic he is from the change in dynamic, his gloved fingers grasping at the blanket to avoid touching you without permission. “You’re so wet.”

“You can feel that?” you smile, leaning forward to cup his jaw, running your thumb over his mask-covered lips. You lift yourself up, and he whines at the loss of contact. A playful smirk tugs at your lips, “Aw, don’t be like that.”

Your hand moves from his face and down his chest until you feel his abs, feeling them twitch beneath your touch. You need to see him.

“Take it off,” you demand softly, removing yourself from his lap and moving to lay properly on the bed, watching as he struggles to regain himself to stand. Once he does, you watch him discard the suit, taking note of the way the cloth tightly hugs his muscles until it’s gone. Your eyes light up as soon as his abs are exposed, you almost want to throw the whole game out the window and have him take you. But you had to admit, watching him struggle and fall apart was even better.

Your eyes trail down to his briefs, the large tent exposing just how much he needs you. Of course, he kept the mask on. He stands there, unsure of what to do, suit discarded to the floor.

You twist your wrist, motioning for him to come closer with your finger, curling it toward you. His drops his bare hands to the bed, carefully crawling onto your covers until he’s hovering over you.

“Now take mine off.”

Holy fuck.

Swallowing thickly, Peter’s hands shift to the hem of your shirt, wanting to slip them underneath and touch your warm, bare skin. He contains himself just enough. He gently pulls your shirt up, his heartbeat picking up once again. He pushes it above your waist, exposing your bra that's so pretty and lacy. Almost as if you'd planned this already.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers to himself, the barrier of the mask making it difficult for you to hear. You don't bother having him repeat himself, lifting your back slightly to allow him to pull your shirt over your head.

He reaches to grab your clothed breast, eyes wide and hungry, but he stops himself. Still lifted, you unclasp your bra and before you can even move another inch, he's tugging it off you, the straps easing off your shoulders.

"Shit," he nearly moans, the sight enough to have him leaking. He's already throbbing, it's almost painful. He wants to touch them, to squeeze your plushy skin, but you haven't told him to yet. "You're so pretty. You know how fucking pretty you are?"

"I've been told," you smile irresistibly, your shoulders lifting slightly in a shrug. You've been told? By who?

Stop it, he thinks to himself, to his own thoughts. He has you right here, underneath him.

His hands shift downward, eager and cold, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shorts. He doesn’t waste any time. As he tugs your shorts down your thighs, you hear a pitiful, muffled whimper. You look down to see his thumb just barely grazing the wet spot on your panties.

God, you smell so sweet.

“Please,” he whimpers again, his fingers hovering over the side of the thin cotton, wanting to pull them aside. You smile, your hand lowering and wrapping around his to guide his hand, having him push them over, exposing your slick folds.

"Go on," you nod, slightly condescending and full of pity as you hand-over-hand guide him further, allowing his finger to graze before pushing closer, his finger slipping between your wet slit and making a filthy squelch. 

“Pretty,” he huffs. He’s fucking vibrating. Every bone in his body, his mind, everything is telling him to just take you. He’s being good, though. You have to give him that credit. 

He pushes his finger inside you, a puff of air being knocked out of his lungs as he feels your walls hug around it. You’re tight. He curls it inside you, earning a tiny moan from you as you buck your hips up ever so slightly. All restraint is lost. 

“Oh, god,” you whimper softly, melting beneath him. You sound so pretty. He can’t take it. He can’t keep holding back. He needs you to break and give in fully. 

Peter’s free hand moves to your lower stomach, pressing down to hold you in place as his finger works inside you, pumping slowly yet deliciously loud. 

“S-shit, so wet. So fucking wet,” he murmurs to himself, easing in a second finger. It almost feels like he’s done this before, or it’s just from the spike in confidence after hearing the pretty noises you make. 

Softly biting your lower lip, you try to grasp his hand, wanting to stop him just to tease him but he surprises you. Quickly, moves his free hand to grab yours before holding it down against your stomach, on the same spot that his was previously. “J-Just.. wait. Please, let me.”

Of course, you give in. Peter experiments, pumping his fingers as deep as he can, the veins in his hands prominent. He watches, completely mesmerized, at the way your pussy sucks in his fingers, accepting them, your juices leaking around them. The filthy sound your pussy’s making combined with that warm squeeze — he can’t wait any longer.

If you smell this good, he can only imagine how you taste. He needs to know. He pulls his hand back, looking up at you.

“Please… Cover your eyes,” he demands in a gentle tone, waiting until you cover them with your forearm, your back resting comfortably against your plushy sheets. He pulls the mask up just enough to expose his lips, raw and plump from him biting them, trying to keep himself from sounding utterly fucking pathetic. 

He doesn’t even bother properly removing your panties first, he just keeps them held to the side as he dives down. You gasp, feeling his tongue dip between your folds, collecting your wetness on his tongue before swiping it up to your clit. You taste just as sweet as he thought you would; even more so. 

He groans against you, the vibrations shooting straight into your core. His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, pulling a loud, unapologetic moan from your throat. The pretty sound causes his cock to twitch against his briefs, his hips starting to slowly rutt into the mattress. He’s ravenous. 

“Fuck, you taste so sweet... so good.. s'good,” he slurs incoherently, his tongue working almost expertly, swirling around your sensitive bud with such focus, softly sucking then lapping at it. Over and over. 

You feel his fingers push inside you again, your mouth falling open with a pitiful cry. His mouth works meticulously with his fingers, feeling your orgasm creeping closer, the spindle in your core tightening with each passing second. 

“My fucking g-god, you’re… you’re doing so good,” you breathe between your words, your chest rising and falling rapidly as he laps at your messy cunt like a little puppy. He whimpers against you, his fingers curling each time he sucks around your bud. The friction he's created, rutting his cock against the mattress, he's already fucking close.

So are you. It shocks you, really. You’ve never had someone get you so close so quickly. It’s like he was made for this.

“Shitshit, I’m— fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you squeak softly, whimpering when you feel his free hand on your waist, his fingers squeezing your soft, plushy skin. He keeps the same pace, not wanting to ruin this for you. He can feel you squeezing around his fingers that are expertly pumping inside you, curling deliciously to graze your sweet spot. “F-fuck!”

Your thighs squeeze together, trapping his face against your messy cunt as you start to cum, your eyes blowing wide. You’re shaking, and not just because of the force of his fingers ramming into you, working you through your orgasm. Peter can feel how hard you’re breathing, his thumb rising and falling on your stomach as he keeps his grip on your waist firm, holding you.

Just as you start to reach down for his head to pull it closer, he pulls away from you, the filthy pop of his lips disconnecting from your clit echoing between you. 

"Shit, what's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong," he responds a little too quickly.

You can hear the rustling of him pulling his mask back down, your heart jumping in your chest. 

“You can look now,” he breathes, moving to hover above you, his cock throbbing against your thigh within the confines of his briefs. You’re still panting as you move your arm away to see him hovered above you, your eyes searching his through the mask. “Did I do a good job?”

“Such a good job,” you huff, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Your hand instantly moves down to his clothed cock, your fingers curling around him. You feel the definition, and how much he’s throbbing. 

Nearly instantly, he’s whimpering. You feel his two fingers, still wet and messy from you, pushing against your lips. You were hoping to taste yourself on his tongue, but this’ll do. You part them, sucking them as soon as they touch your tongue.

Peter didn’t expect it to feel so good, the way your tongue wraps around his fingers makes his head spin. You hadn’t even really touched him yet and he’s a leaking, moaning mess. 

Taking him by surprise, you slip your hand into his briefs, your soft fingers wrapping around him to slowly stroke him as you continue sucking on his fingers. His eyes roll, his head tilting back slightly as he relishes in the feeling. It’s just like how he imagined it. 

Despite being unable to see his face, you can tell he’s falling apart. You swear it’s like he knows what he’s doing, but has never been touched before. Maybe he really is just that pathetic. 

You start to fasten the pace of your hand, but just as you start, he’s just as quick to stop you.

“S-stop,” he whimpers, pulling his fingers from your mouth and lifting his hips. You retract your hand, and before you can ask what happened, he’s quick to continue, “I’m already getting close.”

What?

He pushes his briefs down the rest of the way, kicking them off. You see the way his cock springs free, aching red and already leaking precum at the tip. In an instant, he's hovering over you again, his cock just mere inches from you. From where you want him the most.

“You poor thing-” your teasing is cut short when you feel his arms wrap around your thighs, pulling them closer to him. You gasp, eyebrows raising as he softly grinds his tip against your slit free-handed. He’s rushing and he knows it. He can’t fucking help it. 

You wanted to degrade him, to remind him of his rules, but he's just so desperate. So needy. It's a pretty sight.

“J-Just tell me when I can, please,” he huffs, his tip rubbing between your folds causing a filthy squelching sound. His eyes are focused on your pretty cunt, at the way his tip fits perfectly against your slit before he starts to push in, “Oh my god, fuck, please. Tell me. Tell me I can—“

"Of course you can, baby. Touch me," you purr teasingly, your hands move to his hips, gently tugging to pull him even closer. The pet name nearly makes him rut, but he's hanging on to the last thread of control he has left. He pushes in slowly, the pitiful sound he makes nearly making you gush.

"O-oh my, fuck. Thank you. Shit, you're so tight," he whines, pushing into you slowly, watching your pussy take him, sucking him in inch by inch. Your hands tighten on his hips, your nails sinking into his taut skin.

“Feels so good, doesn’t it?” you purr, intently watching the way his movements stutter at your teasing. He can't take it. He can't fucking take it anymore.

"Yes, yes. Feels so fucking good," he whimpers, pushing in the rest of the way before bottoming out completely with his hips snug against yours. The feeling makes your eyes roll slightly, your head tilting back against the pillow.

When you move to roll your hips against his, his hands fly from your thighs to your waist, pushing you slightly up the bed with such ease, stopping your movements, "S-stop, stop."

You look up at him, naturally searching for his eyes through the mask, "It's okay, we can stop."

"No, I just," he grunts, his hips shaking slightly as he fights to control himself. "I need a second."

“Okay,” you nod softly, lifting a hand from his hips to wrap it around the side of his throat, your thumb gently caressing his adam’s apple. He swallows thickly, and you feel it bob under your touch. 

With the remnants of your orgasm still rippling through you, you can’t control the way your cunt flutters around him. Fuck, is he gonna have to cum before he can keep going? He wants this to last. 

Slowly, his hips start rolling against yours, “I-I’m okay, sorry, m’sorry,” he whispers, looking back down at where you’re connected before rambling on. 

"You have no idea-" he grunts, eyes locked onto the way his cock is fully stuffed inside you, your pussy taking him so good. So wet and eager. He pulls his hips back until his cock slips out halfway, glistening with your juices before he slowly pushes back in, listening to the filthy sound it makes, "-how much I've thought about this."

His hands are still tightly gripping your waist as his hips work to keep a steady pace. He doesn't want to go too fast, he can’t. This is so embarrassing. 

Your eyes light up at the admission, hand still gently wrapped around the side of his neck, “Shit. I’m- me too.”

His ears perk, his hips never faltering. His thrusts are slow and deliberate, your response making him whimper. 

“I want to see you,” you whisper, your fingers slipping down to the edge of his mask at the base of his neck. “Let me kiss you.”

He stills. Is it too risky? At this point, how would a kiss be more ridiculous than him literally eating you out?

Well, it’s not, but it’s too much risk. 

“You can’t.”

“Why? You don’t have to tell me your name.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

How is he supposed to answer that? 

His hands leave your waist, leaving your skin cold. He slips a hand underneath you, between your back and the mattress, lifting you enough to press your chest against his. Your face rests just above his shoulder as his hips continue thrusting against yours, deep and slow. His arm stays there, tightly holding you against him, your eyes struggling to stay focused. That’s when you hear it. 

With his free hand, he pulls the mask off, but purposely holding you close enough that he could hide his face over your shoulder. 

“Y-You really don’t trust me?” you manage with a moan, feeling his bare chest tighten against yours at the accusation.  

“That’s not it,” he groans softly against the side of your neck, his lips finally touching the skin of it, warm and wet. You feel his cock twitch inside you, your eyes hooded with the inability to focus. 

“Mmh, then what is it?”

“I trust you. I don’t trust what might happen.”

“Please.”

“I can’t, f-fuck,” he whimpers against your skin, his hips starting to fasten in pace at the sound of your plea. The filthy fucking sounds your pussy is making is driving him insane, his cock easing in and out effortlessly. You know there’s no winning this. 

You wrap your arms above his shoulders and around his back, holding him as you tuck your chin into the crevice between his neck and shoulder. You feel him breathing into your neck, his breath shaky and weak. That oh-so familiar scent has Peter’s head spinning. 

“You smell so good. I fucking dream about this, about you,” he pathetically admits, voice weak and breath hot against your neck. “Y-You- fuck, you make me fucking cum in my sleep. Make me- agh, wake up all messy.”

He’s losing it. He’s so vulgar.

He hears your gasp, so close and soft beside his ear, it sends a chill down his spine. 

“It’s pathetic, isn’t it?” he whimpers, his voice barely audible when all you can focus on is how much of a loud fucking mess he’s making of your poor cunt. “I dream about fucking you, just like this, making you cum around me, s-shit.”

The thought has his hips stuttering before he picks up the pace even more, his hips smacking yours with a force that causes your body to jolt with each thrust. His grip is tight as he holds you, feeling you jolt against him all while he whimpers in your ear, struggling to not look at you. His other hand remains on your waist, helping to stabilize you as he fucks into you. The filthy squelching of your cunt grows even louder, and you feel the vibrations of a low growl against your neck, “F-Fucking god, do you hear it?” 

“Mh-m, yes,” you moan, your nails digging into the skin of his back. Peter wouldn’t be able to explain the sudden confidence boost, particularly with his words. 

“S’fucking messy,” he whimpers, your wetness splashing on his thighs after each deep thrust, dribbling down his skin. You feel his lips connect with the side of your neck, sucking a harsh love mark into your skin before softly licking it to soothe it. He does it again, over and over, his pitiful noises vibrating against your throat.

Your eyes roll at the feeling, your senses overloading. You feel your core tightening, your second orgasm growing dangerously close. 

“I’m gonna… mmph, fuck, I-I’m close,” you moan into his ear, your pussy milking him with each jolt he causes. With the arm wrapped around your back, he pulls you closer. With his other, he releases your waist, his free hand moving to grab your arm and guide your hand down to your stomach. Pressing his hand on top of yours, he forces you to feel your lower stomach.

You feel it immediately, your stomach bulging slightly with each pump of his cock. He’s in your fucking guts.

“Y’feel it? Feel me in your tummy?” he moans softly in you ear, his pathetic expression one that he’d be embarrassed for you to see. There’s no way you don’t feel it, even he can as he holds your hand down against your rapidly bulging skin. “Feel me filling y’up.”

That was a statement. A demand. Your eyes roll back again, your body growing weak in his hold as he takes complete control. You don’t have any fight left in you to tease him. You’re so fucking close, facing an internal conflict with the need to cum and the desire to keep going. 

“Fill me up,” you whimper, rolling your hips against his, purposely squeezing your pussy around him, wanting to milk every last drop. “I wanna feel you cum.” 

“O-oh my, haah, g-god, aaagh,” Peter instantly whines, his mouth parting open as he starts driving into you faster, pounding his hips into yours. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

He was being so good, now he’s rushing just because you told him to fill your pretty cunt with his cum? 

How pathetic can he get?

“You’re doing so fucking good,” you praise softly, feeling him fuck into you even deeper with your hand still prisoned between his and your stomach. That’s all he needed. 

“S-shit, t-thank you,” he whines louder, his voice cracking in your ear as his chest tightens against yours, his breath growing shallow. He doesn’t have time to warn you before he’s cumming. “Thankyouthankyou, fuck!”

His cock twitches with each spurt of thick, warm ropes of cum stuffing inside you. The pathetic sounds he’s making and the feeling of his cum filling you up is enough for you to break, your pussy spasming around him uncontrollably. Your body goes slack against him, thighs trembling as you gasp like all the air in your lungs was violently knocked out.

What’s shocking is he doesn’t stop. His hips keep moving, pistoning relentlessly as he keeps cumming. Your pussy can only contain so much, the leftovers of cum leaking out of you, bubbling around your slit and making a filthy mess each time he pulls his hips back and thrusts back in. It’s like he purposely wants to overfill it, to stuff you full and keep fucking it back into you, not wanting to waste it. 

With your limbs weak and achy, you’re completely limp, but that doesn’t mean you want to stop. You lift your hand from your stomach, lacing your fingers with his before he plants your hand back down against your plushy skin, not letting up. You move your other hand from his back to the nape of his neck, barely grazing his hair as your fingers unintentionally land on his inhibitor.

Oh dear. 

“F-fuck, don’t. Don’t touch that,” he struggles, a whiny moan escaping him as he feels your pussy squeezing him so fucking tight. He pulls his hand from yours on your stomach, quickly moving to grab your wrist, but it's already too late.

He feels it detach from his skin.

You didn’t mean to, only wanting to grab onto him, but it catches onto your fingers and slides out of place. 

“Shit!” he grunts, his free hand moving to cover your eyes. He sits up, still inside you as he looks around for the inhibitor that’s now fallen and out of sight.

“W-what! What was that?”

“Just- don’t move,” he pleads, his head twisting as his eyes search the bunched up sheets. “Fuck, where did it go?”

“Please, just let me see you,” you beg, your hand moving to grab onto his that’s blocking your vision. 

“N-no! Just hold on a second—“

“Peter.”

Oh, no.

He stills completely, eyes widening as he takes in hearing his name coming from your mouth. His ears start ringing. 

“Peter, I know it’s you.”

“What? That’s… not my name,” he lies, eyes still wide, his cheeks flushing rosy red. 

“Inhibitor complete. Trial number forty-seven on standby.”

This can't be happening.

“What did you say?”

Peter gasps, his back shooting up from his bed. Eyes wide, heart pounding. He’s in his room. Peter’s hand quickly moves up to graze the back of his neck. His skin is damp, a cold chill creeping through him at the realization he never had the inhibitor on.

No, no, no. It felt so real.

Whipping his head in the direction of his monitor, he sees the notification that the inhibitor is complete, blinking across the screen. The same notification he swore he already saw. But he didn’t.

When he laid down for that nap at nine, he never truly woke up.

How did he possibly wake up from a nap, put the inhibitor on, and go see you, all within one dream? It made sense, considering how fast things escalated and how he knows what your bedroom like looks now, but…

Something is wrong. It felt too fucking real.

He glances over at his nightstand, the clock blinking 6:26am. Beside his alarm clock was… nothing. No, he could’ve sworn that’s where he put your necklace, carefully laid on the stained wood.

What is going on?

That’s when he feels it. The dampness in his briefs, warm and sticky. His hands fly to his face, a frustrated groan bellowing from him.

“Fuck!”

a/n: phew… this was a big one. forgive me for the sloppy sex, i wanted it to feel natural & unnatural at the same time since he was ‘dreaming’ about it. did you catch on?? (feel free to send in requests <3)

[missmanlykink]

LANDLORDS!DAUGHTER!READER who sneaks out almost every night to get fucked by PETER PARKER. at first, peter was a little nervous to be messing around with you. your dad obviously wouldn’t be too happy to learn that he’s been sooo deep inside you that ur mind started to go numb. but, you always assured peter that you’re dad would never know. you’d kiss down his worries while snaking a hand up his shirt, fingers splayed over his hard stomach, gently grinding down on his growing bulge.

peter does in fact like a little FUN thrill in his life. something good that was catastrophic, or serious or, nerve wracking. he loves being able to shove his face between your thighs, lapping at the pretty, sweet spot until you come undone with his name slipping from your lips. or, waiting up for you to silently leave your families apartment so he can lay you on his mattress and sliding his thick length into your dripping cunt. all of noises go straight into your ear when he’d rock his hip. whimpering out praises, telling you how bad he’s been needing this. the risk was always worth the fun.

[filmjules]

𓏲⋆ ASKING PETER TO SAY YOUR NAME WHILE DOING PUSH-UPS

CONTENT ⋮ fem!reader, established relationship, suggestive, no more than kissing and a little grinding, references to previous sex, talk about peter’s body

“Peter. Peterrrr,” you whined when he didn’t give back more than a grunt as a response. “Can you do something for me?”

He paused his workout, taking a deep breath while staring at you, waiting for you to continue. Unluckily for him, you wanted a real response from your boyfriend.

“Yeah? What do you need?” his voice was sweet and patient like it always was. “Want some more attention?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head.

“Nope,” you said, popping the p, “I want you to do as many push-ups as you can. And say my name after every one...”

“Okay..? Like—like this?” he asked as he did a test push-up. You hummed an, “uh-huh,” and waited.

Now did you know that Peter was going to catch on? Obviously. You were surprised he hadn’t already said anything.

After a second he did it, he grunted your name, breathy and all too similar to how he sounded in bed. That was the point, but you didn’t expect it to be so hot. Peter looked up at you through his lashes, his muscles clearly straining but he wasn’t too fazed.

“So, why’d you want me to do this again?”

You said the first lie to come to mind. “Research purposes?”

“Research?” he laughed breathily, doing a few more while keeping eye contact. “Really?”

You nodded, another idea popping in your head when you saw a picture of him and Ned on the wall. “Ned and I... We were betting on you. So... Twenty bucks! Yay.”

“Uh-huh. So, it’s not because you wanted to hear me panting your name?” he teased, your name slipping from his lips again.

Pressing your thighs together discreetly, you shifted in your seat. “No. I mean—Maybe! But hou can’t really blame me, can you? Those juicy sweats do your ass wonders. And your arms? I mean, holy shit, Peter,” you rambled, the light blush spreading on Peter’s face going unnoticed by you.

“Baby,” he hummed, getting your attention. “Come here, sit on my back. It’s too easy.”

You faked a sigh, trying to act unaffected. “Fine.”

He did almost a hundred with you on him before he asked, “Am I be done yet?” His head was turned back, looking at you over his shoulder. His very muscular shoulder that looked very... biteable?

Peter laid flat on his stomach, taking your silence as a yes. He did what you asked him to, and now you were looking at him like you wanted to eat him up.

You rolled off him, just enough to still have your body pressed against his. Without thinking, your mouth landed on his shoulder. Your teeth gently sunk into his skin, followed by a short, sweet kiss.

“Really?”

“Peter,” you shushed him, following with a sweet request, “Give me a kiss.”

And of course, he obeyed.

His lips met yours in a bruising kiss, hot and needy like the two of you weren’t making out right before he started working out.

His strong arm snaked around your body, pulling you up and onto his lap as he rolled on his back. Your legs fell to either side of him, straddling his lap.

You started to roll your hips, feeling his quickly growing erection beneath you. He groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding down to hold you by your thighs.

But just as you started to get into a rhythm, his crime alert went off. The robotic voice read off the crime, of course being one that he couldn’t just leave alone.

“I’m sorry,” he pressed a short kiss to your lips as he stood you up, changing as quickly as he could. “I’ll make it up to you. When I’m back. I promise.”

masterlist

note seeing him in those juicy couture tracksuit pants and that tight little crop top did something to me 🤤 and the ARMS hello!!! it's everywhere. i'm drooling. longer fic coming soon i just wanted this rq 🙈

[lunarexperttrace]

SPIDERMAN COME SAVEEE ME PLEASEE

LIKE SERIOUSLY LOVE ME SOME PETER THIS WAS HAWTT

[celestialwyvern]

Peter catches you touching yourself

SUMMARY - you're ovulating and get the bright idea to please yourself alone. Unfortunately for you, it doesn't escape peter's enhanced senses.

WARNINGS - nsfw, piv, creampie, breeding kink if u squint, scent, whiny peter, masturbating, not proofread (written on a phone in the back of a road trip omg)

You're ovulating, and peter’s been smelling you all day.

Ever since you woke up, your body’s musk has been clinging to the air in the flat, wrecking his heightened senses.

Every breath he took felt like a direct hit, his urges screaming at him while he forced himself to keep his distance, trying to focus on anything else so he wouldn't just drag you to the nearest flat surface.

Now it’s past midnight, and he’s sitting at his desk trying to stitch up a tear in his suit with e.d.i.t.h. guiding him. You figure he needs space to work, so you slip into the bedroom alone, sliding under the sheets.

Except you’re needy, too. The heat between your legs has been throbbing all night, and thinking about how close he is only makes it worse. Your hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingers sliding into your own slick heat. It starts slow with small circles, your hips tilting subtly into the touch.

Out in the main room, Peter stops dead.

With his enhanced hearing, it’s deafening. The friction of your skin, the soft hitches in your breathing, the slick sounds of you working yourself open, the helpless sigh that slips past your parted lips...

Just like that, the suit is tossed aside.

He stands up from the desk, his frame looming in the doorway. He doesn't make a sound as he walks over. He just stands there in the dim light, watching you. His pupils are blown so wide his eyes look almost black.

When your eyes snap open and you gasp, trying to pull your hand back, he doesn't give you room to hide.

In one motion, he’s crawling over the mattress, his heavy weight settling over you, pinning your wrist above your head before you can even cover yourself.

"What're you doing?" his voice is a low rasp right against your ear.

"I—I thought you were busy," you stammer, squirming under the sheer pressure of his body. "Peter—"

"You're acting like I haven't seen you a million times," he murmurs, his dark gaze burning into yours. "And you're acting like I haven't been smelling you all day. You think I didn't notice?"

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, taking a desperate drag of your scent that sends a shiver straight through his frame. "It's been driving me insane since this morning. And then you come in here and start touching yourself? Right down the hall from me?"

"I was trying to give you space—"

"Don't," he growls softly, his lips dragging across your jaw. "Don't ever give me space when you look like this... smell like this."

His free hand grips your thighs, dragging your shorts and panties down in one impatient pull.

"Look at you," he cooes, his thumb grinding against your swollen clit until youre a gasping mess, arching up into his hand. "So, so wet. All for me, right? Tell me it's for me."

"It's yours—fuck, peter, yes," you gasp, your hips blindly chasing his fingers.

A satisfied look washes over his face, and he yanks his sweatpants out of the way, lining his thick, leaking tip right against your entrance.

He's rubbing himself through your slick until you're arching off the bed with a whimper. "So fucking whiny for me."

"Peter, yes—fuck, please—"

He hooks your legs up, bending your knees over his shoulders, and drives in with one ruthless thrust that folds you nearly in half.

His enhanced strength lets him handle you even more effortlessly, rolling his hips into brutal thrusts that make your eyes roll into the back of your head, your walls gripping tight around his thick cock.

He buries his face in your hair, letting out groans and needy whimpers while he uses your tight, wet cunt as he pleases.

"Fuck—yes, baby, right there—feels so good, fuck—!" His voice stutters over the wet slaps of his skin against yours.

When you feel your climax rushing up on you, your nails dig hard into his back, pleas tumbling out for him to go faster, deeper—anything to take you over. He doesn't hesitate. His hips roll into shorter, punishing hits that push you straight off the precipice, your walls clamping tight around his cock as your orgasm tears through you.

Peter lets out a gasp against your neck as your climax pulls him right with you. His rhythm turns frantic, driving himself into you with desperate thrusts that knock the remaining air from your lungs. He’s whining against your skin now—utterly unraveled by the feeling of you coming around him—begging through broken breaths to just let go.

"Baby—please. Can't— can't hold back anymore, gotta fill you up—"

The moment you sob out his name, he snaps. Peter buries himself as deep as he can go, locking his hands around your hips and holding you flush against himself. A shuddering groan vibrates through his entire frame as his release hits him, his hips twitching helplessly as he floods you with heat, staying buried inside your pulsing warmth until every last drop is spent.

[ihavethedreamies]

Oh, Baby-Girl (1) | Bang Chan [NSFW]

Bang Chan - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~5.4k

Pairing: Bang Chan x Tall!AFAB!Reader

Genre: Mafia AU!, Reader-Insert, Smut, Some Plot

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Mentions of Guns (Mob/Mafia type stuff), Bodyguard! Chan, Mob Boss Daughter! Reader, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! & M! Receiving), Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Spanking, Daddy Kink (it is Bang Chan after all), Unprotected Sex (Not Recommended), Big Dick! Chan

-> Part 2 <-

P.S. If you haven't read my stuff before, or much of it, you might not notice, but the rest of you have probably figured out I got a bit of a face-fucking fascination. Thanks for getting to know me.

Revised (8/10/26) - Fixed all the bad grammar and spelling

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

Being a mob boss’s wife isn’t nearly as fun and glamorous as the movies and shows (and TikTok) make it out to be. However, being the mob boss’s daughter? A bit of a different story. You’re protected from the violence and crime but still get to reap the rewards. Fancy clothes, expensive jewelry, a nice car, and a bodyguard as well. Despite never being able to see him, you know you’re well protected as you walk down the streets of New York, spending all of your papa’s corrupt money. A few designer shopping bags hang in the crook of your elbow over your cropped jacket, fur lining the ends of the sleeves and lapels. Faux of course, you might be the daughter of a criminal but you’re not a monster. The thin heels of your over-the-knee (faux) leather boots click on the sidewalk as you tap away on your phone with your thumb. People move out of your way as you walk, you just have the aura of ‘fuck around and find out’. The gum in your mouth smacks as you chew, sneering at a child who doesn’t move out of the way fast enough. Your eye roll is hidden behind your Versace sunglasses, but your down-turned lip covered in dark red lipstick is still obvious. Your stiletto acrylic nails are the same dark red and click against your phone as you scroll through your search results. Despite how you look and dress, you still prefer to shop sales. That gives you more bang for your buck, since your father does limit your money some. As you pass an overly full trash can, you pluck the gum from your mouth and onto the pile. It’s lost all its flavor… Approaching the next store, you’re about to enter when you suddenly feel something instinctual rise up in you. You halt, people scurrying around you still, and with your natural height paired with six-inch pumps, you still stand a head above a lot of the passerby. You feel vulnerable for some reason and huff in frustration, shoving the door open to the boutique you stopped in front of. It’s not your original destination, but you instantly feel safer being inside. It’s not anywhere close to the first time your innate sense of danger has kicked in, and it won’t be the last. You know there’s at least one bodyguard tailing you even if you never see him, but that doesn’t mean the shelter of a store isn’t welcome.

“Welcome.” One of the employees calling out snaps you out of your trance, having been looking out the window at the street. You turn and give her a forced smile and remove your sunglasses. Deciding to look around while you’re in the shop, you admire some of the items, but none of them are up to your standards, but that lingering feeling…lingers. Picking up a pair of shoes to look over, you look out the window once more, trying to see if you can pick out anyone lurking outside. Nope. Pressing your lips together, you sigh and move to leave. Stepping back onto the street, you look around again, trying to be subtle, almost like you’re looking for a cab. Still not seeing anything that sticks out, you move on and toward your actual destination. You’re hit with an even greater sense of doom as you hear the screech of car tires in the distance and you spin around to see a black SUV hurdling down the street, unusually empty for New York. Like it’s in slow motion, as the vehicle approaches, the window rolls down and a gloved hand sticks out, a Glock in his hand.

“Shit!” You move to duck behind a parked sedan, and you yelp when your heel snaps as you dive for cover. Your ankle twists and your tights rip, but you get behind the vehicle as you hear the gunshots. People around you scream, and you scramble to hit the emergency button on your phone, but…it’s shattered. It must’ve hit the sidewalk harder than you did.

“Fuck!” You shove the device into your purse, and you watch as people run and scream. Getting up just enough to peer through the blown-out window of the car you’re hiding behind, your ankle protests, and you fall back down, catching yourself with your hand.

“Did you get her?” You hear a gruff voice shout followed by, “No!” Then, through the running pedestrians, a huge man appears, a gun in his hand. He’s right down the sidewalk, and you’re right in view. Before you even have the chance to pray, a figure steps between you and the assailant. You can’t see since he’s in your way, but you hear his gun go off and watch the goon fall from between the legs of your savior. He has to be the bodyguard that your father told you is constantly on your tail. The man groans and curses, the same SUV coming to help haul him away, clutching at his knee. Sirens grow closer and you try to get up, pushing on your scraped hand. You wince again, at least three of your nails on that hand are broken, a fourth cracked, and your heel is ruined. It would’ve been way too awkward to try and stand with just one pump, so you take off your other one.

“Here.” The man who saved you has an accent; you can’t quite place it in the moment. His leather-gloved hands grab your forearms and he more or less yanks you up. When you stand before him, he’s…short. About an inch or two shorter than you…with your heels off. He’s also really fucking hot. It’s clear he’s a bit shocked at the height difference as well since he’d never been so close to you. Was he the guy always guarding you? You guess it doesn’t matter if he’s shorter if he’s protecting you from afar. He shoves his pistol in the back of his pants, and you watch his white t-shirt struggle across his muscular chest as he does so.

“You okay, love?” Australian, it’s definitely an Australian accent. And it’s also really fucking hot.

“Y-yes.” You finally answer and you jerk to grab your bags, but he’s grabbing them alone with your purse before you can get close.

“Can you walk?” He nods at your bare feet, and you stand on one of them, rolling your twisted ankle to test it. Putting weight back on it, “I can manage.” He then starts to lead you into the nearest alley as the police cruisers grow closer. At least you have tights on as you meander through the not exactly clean back alleys, and he finally brings you to another big black SUV parked behind some bakery.

“Here.” He opens the passenger door, and you climb in as he throws your bags in the back. You sit, shaking still as he climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Sh-should I be up front?” Your voice is also shaking still, and he starts the vehicle.

“The windows are tinted, but we’ll be quick.”

“Quick? Where are we going?” Your father’s building is a good twenty minutes away, let alone the house on the outskirts of the city.

“Closest place is mine.”

“Y-you’re my bodyguard, right?” You just realize that even though he saved you, that doesn’t mean it’s his job. The man huffs and wrangles his leather jacket off, tossing it in the back as well. The clean lines of your father’s crest are tattooed into his bicep, and you slump in the seat.

“What’s your name?”

“Chan.”

“Just Chan?”

“Yep.” It seems he’s been waiting for you to buckle up, because he reaches around you to grab the still unfastened belt, doing it for you. He smells really fucking good too and your head swims. The spike of adrenaline seemingly got all parts of your body worked up, but you force the wave of arousal down. It is not the time nor place for any of that. The ride to his place is quiet, thankfully, because if he talked more, you’d be a goner. Trying not to be obvious, you would look to the side to stare at him. His side profile is immaculate, strong nose and jaw line, full lips…

“So…are you…?” You didn’t know how to word your question without sounding rude.

“Korean.” He knew where you were going, and you let out a small ‘ah’ of understanding. Your father didn’t get along with the Yakuza, nor the Chinese mafia, so Korean made sense. Korean-Australian at that…right?

“Australia?” You want to make sure, not great at picking out the different British-origin accents.

“Yep.”

“Am I annoying you?” He sags at your question and shakes his head.

“No, love, just trying to keep an eye out.” He pointedly looks in the rear-view mirror and you let out a quiet apology. The silence makes sense then.

“Put your sunglasses on.” Chan nods at the item in your hand, and you do so, pointedly looking out the window as he pulls up to the security gate of his building’s parking garage. Getting in without any comments from the guard, he parks in what you assume is his designated spot. The bodyguard gets out and opens your door for you, giving you his hand for assistance. You grunt when you land wrong on your still upset ankle and he catches you, making your chest press to his.

“S-sorry.” You flinch back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and he smiles gently.

“It’s okay, Miss (Y/N).” Fuck, if you’re already attracted to a guy with an accent, don’t EVER let him say your name. As he’s out of view to get your bags you mouth an exaggerated ‘oh my god’ and quickly shut your mouth when he shuts the back door. He leads you toward the entrance door for the building, staying slow to accommodate your slight limp. Getting in the elevator you still keep your sunglasses on just in case, though the building seems pretty secure. That doesn’t mean the security watching the cameras are always completely trustworthy though. Enough money can convince most people of anything. You exhale tiredly as you stop by his door and Chan presses the code into the number pad and it pings. He holds the front door open for you and you enter, hobbling down the entry hall. It’s a nice place and you wonder how much your father pays him to watch you nearly 24/7. Or…

“So, are you my guard a lot?”

“During the day.” So, yes.

“How long?”

“Hm…about three years.”

“Ah…” That’s a pretty long time. So, he probably knows a lot about you, and you’ve never seen him before in your life.

“Oh! I need to call papa…” You rummage through your purse that he sets on the coffee table. As you sit on the couch, you then remember that your phone is broken.

“I’ll handle it, love.” Chan sets your shopping bags and your shoes down as well and you’d totally forgotten about your heels. When did he grab them too?

“I need to call a few others as well, if you want something to eat you can rummage through the kitchen.” He nods toward the other room behind where you sit and you nod as he goes down the other hallway, deeper into the apartment. You take the chance to look around, and you wonder if he’s ever actually home. Well, if he’s watched you every day for three years, he probably isn’t. The decoration is simple, almost like it’s a hotel room rather than a living space, but it’s nice. Maybe his bedroom is more personal? Hearing his muffled voice from further in, you stand and meander to the kitchen like he suggested. Opening the fridge, there’s more than you expect since the rest of the apartment is barren. Nothing sticks out, but you notice an object is in the oven despite it being off. You know exactly what it is. Opening the oven, you grab the pizza box and open it as your mouth waters. You aren’t sure if pizza is your favorite because you have it all the time (it’s a front for your father’s shenanigans) or if you genuinely like it. Holding the day-old slice, you chew absentmindedly, snooping through the rest of Chan’s kitchen. He has a little wine display on the counter, and you pull one of the bottles out to look at the label. You snort, of course he has your family’s vintage. Maybe he gets a discount? At least you know you like it. Holding the slice in your mouth as you reach for a wine glass in the cupboard, you have to get on your tip toes to reach one. Can he even normally reach them? There’s dust on the glass, and you ponder if he ever uses them.

“Sorry I don’t use those glasses often.” His voice startles you, but you keep a firm grip on the glass then set it down.

“That’s fine… Do you just… drink from the bottle?” You easily and expertly pull the cork out with your bare hands since it’s sticking out enough and he blinks at the ease with which you do so. Just because you’re the daughter of a mob boss and don’t fight yourself, doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Your father made sure that if it comes to it, you can punch a guy’s teeth out just as well as any bodyguard. That doesn’t help with guns, mind you.

“Uh, no,” he huffs an airy laugh, it’s actually kind of cute, “I just use a normal glass.” He goes to the cupboard next to the one you’d been in and grabs a square-shaped cup that looks like it’s more for whiskey than wine.

“Are you doing okay, love?” He leans against the counter as you pour yourself a glass after giving him some.

“I guess. My ankle kind of hurts still.” You easily balance on one leg, lifting the other foot to roll the joint around, testing its pain level.

“Just because I’ve never met you face to face doesn’t mean I don’t know you. Are you really okay?” He presses and you flinch to look at him. It’s not…creepy per se, just…odd. You sigh, taking a sip, your hand still shaking a bit.

“Y-yeah. I mean, I’ve been around guns and stuff, but… I myself have never been shot at; you know?”

“I do, actually.” He smiles cheekily and you sigh in mock annoyance.

“Well, it’s a little unfair that you seem to know me so well, and I have no knowledge of you.” You walk around the island and back toward the living room, sitting in relief on the couch. You cross your leg over the other, injured ankle dangling in the air. Chan sits down next to you, leg up on the cushion so he can face you, toned arm resting on the back of the sofa. You feel his eyes linger on your tight-clad legs, your leather short-shorts showing most of your thighs. His gaze stops at the tear in the supposedly tear-proof pantyhose, then snaps his head up like he’s just been startled awake. The man knows you know he’s ogling your legs, and the tips of his ears turn red as he clears his throat. How is such a handsome man so cute?

“What do you want to know?”

“How did you get to be my bodyguard?”

“I had no mafia ties before. I guess that was a good thing. I was more or less scouted to be a bodyguard when I was a bouncer at some penthouse night club. It seems some of your dad’s guys saw I was good, and I got offered way more money than any other job. They doubled it when I took the spot as your personal bodyguard.

“I see. Where did you learn to shoot so well?”

“I started at the shooting range when I was in college with my friends. I got better through work and your father made sure I was an expert before he put his baby girl’s life in my hands.”

“Hm, you obviously don’t know me that well.” You pick up on a very small detail, wondering if he knows what it is.

“Hm… Not his ‘baby girl’, his ‘little kitten’.”

“Oh, maybe you do know me well then~?”

“Quiz me, baby-girl.” The way he says it is so different than two seconds prior. His tone deepens with it, and a smug look settles casually on his face. You can’t help but watch his throat move as he swallows a sip of wine and you take a sip yourself, then set the glass down.

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Red. Something else.”

“Brand?”

“Prada. Something real, (Y/N).” Chan leans further into the cushion. You’re right about at eye level, and you wonder…

“Does it bother you I’m taller?” You change the subject so fast he nearly gets whiplash. You are genuinely curious. You’re tall for a woman anyway, let alone when you do wear heels, and some guys don’t care for it.

“Height doesn’t play into what matters, baby-girl.” His slightly cryptic answer intrigues you, but you move back to the previous topic.

“What’s my favorite book and why?” He sighs, hugging a laugh at your shift back.

“You tell people it’s 1984 because of the psychological implications behind it, but your favorite is actually Dragon Rider because it got you into fantasy. You read it eight times in elementary school, and you have a signed copy.” Chan grins at your bewildered expression. Once again, in any other situation that would be creepy as hell that he knows, but three years of observation would key him in.

“Okay, smart guy,” you pick your glass back up, slinging your legs up under you on the couch, facing him.

“Why do I currently not have a boyfriend?” That’s something you can’t just say, it has to be observed.

“You hate romance. Flowers, chocolates, a fancy meal. You hate it, but because you like fancy clothes and jewelry, men think you lean that way. You’d prefer a movie date at home or going horseback riding.” Shit, that’s a little creepy. More so that he knows you so well, it’s like he can see into your head, that kind of creepy; not that he’s a creep. Chan nearly cackles as he giggles at your bewildered expression, and you whine. Why is he so cute?

“Why are you so cute?” You accidentally speak your thoughts aloud and you immediately freeze, since he does too.

“I’m cute?” He manages to get out after you both sputter for a few seconds.

“W-well, I mean-“

“I’m cute?” The simple inflection change completely shifts the meaning of his question.

“You think I’m cute?” You whisper and he sets his own glass down, then he takes yours so he can do the same. He shifts down the cushion, so his knee touches yours. Chan leans in and you clench your jaw to remain strong. Don’t kiss him, don’t kiss him, don’t kiss him-

“Baby-girl, if I didn’t do you really think I would still be watching you ten hours a day, every day?” Oh. That’s a good point. Chan crooks a brow, waiting for an answer or something, don’t kiss him-

“You want to kiss me that bad?” he finally asks, and you jolt back, eyes leaving his mouth and shooting up to his eyes.

“What?! No?” Your voice cracks and he presses his pretty lips together, so he doesn’t laugh at you.

“So, you don’t want to?”

“I never said that-“ He catches you. Literally. You try to reel back so you can get off the couch, but his hand grabs your wrist. It’s gentle, but tight enough that he can yank you back to him, and he swallows the squeak he pulls out of you. Your body melts, all the tension from the earlier attack as well as the sexual kind that’s been taking your body over, leaves. The kiss grows from a low heat to a full inferno rapidly. Your jacket is shed, then your necklaces and bracelets, and as his tongue creeps into your mouth, you claw at his shirt. Your fingers unevenly scratch at his skin through the fabric since about half of them are broken. You both pant when he pulls back, and he slightly shoves you down so your back hits the cushion and he sits up more on his knees. You watch with glee as his shirt comes off; fucking hell, he’s perfect…

“Oh, my god.” You gasp and his smug grin twitches briefly in bashfulness, but he composes himself.

“Let me see you, baby-girl.” He easily holds himself up over you as his body nestles above yours, his strong jean-clad thigh jamming between your mostly bare legs. He kisses you again as his fingers easily pluck the buttons of your shirt open and he pulls you up by the sides. As you sit up, you yank the shirt out of where it’s tucked into your shorts and then toss it away before falling back. The micro-fiber was a much nicer feeling than what could have been cold leather. You shiver when his calloused hands run over the smooth and soft skin of your sides and tummy. His nose runs over your collar bone, and he nuzzles the swell of your breasts where they sit in your plain nude bra. If you knew you were going to get fucked tonight, you would’ve worn something much sexier.

“Don’t worry, it’s coming off anyway.” It’s like he can read your mind, and you yipe in shock as he unfastens the front latch so quickly it’s like he did it telepathically.

“You wear them with a front latch because you can’t reach around your back from when you hurt your shoulder in middle school.” He really does know you well. You just blink but then Chan forces a mewl from you as his strong thigh presses hard into your covered mound.

“Focus, baby-girl.” His voice lowers even further, and it makes you shiver. Strong hands grip your ass over your shorts, pulling your hips to grind on his leg as his mouth meets yours again. You whimper through the kiss, goosebumps raising on your skin as the button of your shorts easily slip open, the zipper pulled down, and then your pants soar through the air somewhere you care not.

“They’re are already torn…” He justifies as he grabs the hem of your pantyhose and easily rips them to literal shreds. Chan lets the remnants fall to the floor and you feel your slick through your panties against your bare thighs. At least your panties are a cute lacy purple and not just plain nude.

“You’re absolutely stunning.” He praises, hand running up your thigh so he can hitch it against his hip. Chan rolls his hips, and you squeal at the large bulge in his pants pressing to your barely covered cunt. If he feels that big through his jeans, what the hell is he hiding? He chuckles when your hips jump to get another brush of friction, reaching into his back pocket. As he pulls the foil package from his pants you snatch it from him.

“Planning this?” You try to tease him, but his gaze darkens.

“Oh, baby-girl, I’ve wanted to fuck you for two years now.” The man declares. You turn the pack over to look at the label, making a mental note at the size, then you look at him coyly.

“You clean?”

“Yes?”

“Good.” You toss it behind your shoulder, then grab his belt loop, pulling him to you as you sit up. You smirk at him, head tipped back so you can look him in the eye.

“Can you really feel me like you want through a rubber?” He swallows hard, all that confidence from before seeming to leave, then rushes back.

“Not even fucking close.” He admits, pushing you back down and starting to lay open mouth kisses against your neck. He sucks hard, his teeth nibbling the flesh and you shudder with a delighted whine.

“We can put my pill to the test~” You tease, and he groans, kissing down your chest. His mouth seals over your nipple as he wrestles his jeans off and you exhale in bliss as his fingers rub at your folds through the fabric still covering them.

“You care about these?” He snaps the hem of your panties. You do, but you really want to watch him tear them up more.

“Nope.” You pop the ‘p’ and the lace rips and joins your other items of clothing somewhere behind him. You yelp when his hands grab your waist and shove you up the sectional, so he has room to lay on his stomach. Before you get the chance to prop yourself up on your elbows, his tongue runs up the fold of your pussy and his nose brushes your clit.

“Fuck~!” You toss your head back, body twitching as he decides to bury his tongue inside of you. He groans at your taste, hands roughly grabbing the backs of your thighs. He rolls you back, holding your legs apart and up as he mouths at you like a man starved. Your little mewls and squeaks fly out between heaving breaths, and you feel his grip tighten, knowing he’ll leave bruises. When he lets go of your left leg, he makes sure you rest it on the back of the couch, and then his finger presses into your twitching cunt.

“You’re drippin’~” He chuckles, then adds another finger and your whole body seizes. Expertly, he crooks his fingers up, the ends pressing against your cervix and with a final lick to your clit, you cum. He eagerly helps you ride out your high, then cleans his fingers off with his tongue as you pant for air. Your forearm is slung over your eyes as you come back to earth, and you only move your arm to watch as he removes his final garment. You hadn’t even got a chance to look at him in just his boxers, but there he stands in absolute glory. His cock stands proud, arching up toward his toned stomach and you heave yourself up so you can see him better.

“Oh~” You giggle, wrapping your fingers around his cock and he groans at the feeling. You bite your lip, eyes meeting his giddily, then you swallow the tip, whining at the salt of his precum.

“(Y/N), baby-girl~” He tosses his head back as you take more of him into your mouth. He’s thick, your jaw protesting a bit, and you still have a good few inches to go when the head hits the back of your throat. Your eyes flick to his again, and you make sure to watch his face as you keep going, only gagging slightly as your nose presses to his groin.

“Oh, fuck…” He nearly whimpers, gripping your hair, then loosens his fingers. He groans as you bob your head, breath harshly moving through your nose as his cock fills and leaves your throat. His hips jump and the sudden movement makes you gag a bit harder, but it makes your cunt clench as well.

“Shit, sorry!” He panics, but you pull off slowly, giving him your best boba eyes.

“Wanna keep doing that~?” You hope your intention is clear and he doesn’t even hesitate. The hands still in your hair pull you back onto his cock and you sit like a good girl as the fat head of Chan’s dick batters your throat. Your eyes roll back, loving not just his rough movements, but the pretty noises leaving his mouth.

“Hm, you want me to cum down your throat, baby-girl~?” Chan’s hips jerk unevenly, and you can feel his cock pulse on your tongue. You hum and nearly wiggle with glee as he presses your nose hard against his lower stomach and paints your throat white. You eagerly swallow each pump and drop, and he mumbles something about wondering why he waited so long to have you. Only half-softened, he pulls out of your mouth, and you lick the rest of his release off your lips. You don’t even get the chance to give him a smug grin before you’re flipped over onto your stomach, and he heaves your hips up.

“Tell me if I do something wrong.” His comment seems odd, but it seems he really does know you well… You gasp a moan as his hand smacks your ass, the skin stinging, and he can see your empty cunt clench around nothing.

“You want daddy’s cock?” His thumb runs through the slick of your folds, and you tremble. There’s a very specific reason you only call your father ‘papa’. You only wish you’d found Chan sooner to actually put it into practice.

“Fuck, yes, daddy~!” You squeal in joy, hiccupping when his other hand slaps your other ass cheek.

“Get ready then, baby-girl.” You’re ready mentally, but your pussy isn’t. Your cunt burns as he buries his fat cock into you with one thrust. You revel in the sting, crave it, and your already tight walls clench around him hard. Even if he wasn’t fucking you from behind, you’re sure he’s long enough to fill you completely, the tip nestled tight against your cervix.

“Fucking hell…” You sigh, nails digging into the thick fabric of the couch. He lets you get used to the stretch, but you just want him to move, you’re even getting antsy.

“Move, please.” Your wiggles are stopped with a hard spank. You yelp.

“Daddy, please.” You correct and he runs his thumb over your reddening skin.

“Sure thing, love.” Your cunt tries desperately to keep his cock inside, and a few drops of your wet land on the couch. Your breath leaves you when his hips snap, fucking back into you hard and fast, his pace not letting you catch it back. He loves the little mewls and grunts he’s literally fucking out of you. Your cheek is pressed to the cushion, drool already pooling from the corner of your mouth. He’s waited too long to take you, he decides, and he’s going to make up for the lost time.

“C-Chan, fuck-!” Your orgasm is cresting fast, a familiar burn rising with your orgasm.

Spank!

“Fuck, daddy, I’m gonna-“ Your breath shudders as your orgasm hits and he slows his pace some, grinding his cock into you as your pussy spasms.

“Oh, baby-girl~!” He groans as your cunt squirts even more slick onto his groin and balls, even both of your thighs. You slump after what seems like minutes and heave for air, but he isn’t anywhere close to done. Your near scream as he starts to pummel his hips against your ass again goes straight to his head. He leans over you, hands near your shoulders. Normally, he’s used to leaning over a girl quite a bit, but his hands fall to the sides of your shoulders rather than your head, your body just as long as his, legs even longer. Despite the small height difference (in your favor), you feel small under him; he has broad shoulders and thick muscles, and an even thicker cock. The hard and deep thrusts turn shallow, his dick barely leaving your cunt but battering your womb at the same time, bringing you up to another orgasm fast.

“So deep, daddy~” You nearly cheer, and he’s found your weakness. He presses his hips into yours, barely moving them and you gasp, a fourth orgasm already approaching. He feels your walls clench harder and you feel your pussy start to sting, but you need to fall apart again. It’s too much for him then, your raw heat and gummy walls begging him to pump you full.

“Gonna test that pill…” He mumbles, then groans as he finally falls over as well. The sticky heat of his cum fills you, so much it spurts out from around where your bodies meet, pushing you over the edge as well. Your head swims from the force of your final orgasm, stars dotting your vision. As he pants for air over you, he watches your eyes flutter; you’re wiped out.

“I’ll let you sleep over, baby-girl. Gotta rest for when I fuck you stupid tomorrow morning.”

-> Part 2 <-

Master-List

[the1dude]

Tyriq Withers enjoying summer