this is my first time writing and posting something like it. jack o'connell has me so obsessed that i had to do it. it doesn't have any tags because i don't even know what to put, and if you see any grammatical errors, no, you didn't. english isn't my first language, so just imagine it's written correctly. let me know if you want a part 2!!
• cook falls in love with you because you're the only one who doesn't kiss him or fuck him or mess with him because you're more worried about your future than snorting drugs up your ass with the group but when someone sees him hanging around you every chance he gets like a fly and asks him if he likes you he totally denies it, not because he's embarrassed that the nerd has his heart but because he doesn't want to be reminded that you obviously deserve better so he always observes every detail of you in silence while you're not looking even though he still makes jokes by offering to distract you from your books with his cock but what you don't know is that inside he begs you to say yes.
"do ya need help with that?" he said pointing at your notes and sitting on the chair next to you without permission.
"i don't think you can help me with this even if you were born again"
"love that about ya. i would like to know if you are that bratty during sex'"
"i'd rather watch an 8-hour documentary on how grass grows than sleep with you." you said while you look straight ahead pretending that you're paying attention to the teacher and not to how he turns to look at you while smiling as if you had just told him the biggest compliment in the world. you also pretend that you don't like the way his teeth look when he smiles and you don't know exactly by heart what they look like right now even when you're not looking at him.
• he didn't expect you to show up at that bar on his birthday at all. he couldn't have been happier that you'd put aside your responsibilities for a day to be there with him, not even when you left a small pack of cigarette papers as a crappy birthday present. so he had to hide how he felt being a complete, hyperactive, drunk idiot. he still has that unused pack tucked away in his pocket, and every time he changes pants, he takes it out and puts it in his new one just to have it there w him.
• that night you agreed to go to a party with them. you got so drunk that you ended up tangled up with cook on the corner of some stairs. cook moaned like a bitch the moment your mouth touched his. he always wanted this and imagined it five hundred times while watching you in class. but you didn't hear him because of the loud music. the next day, you forgot about it, and no one witnessed it because no one saw you two. so now it only exists in cook's mind, and no one believes him, they make fun of him saying that he was so high that he probably had hallucinations even when he still remembers how warm the skin of your waist felt under his hands when he held you while kissing you.
• he knew he was fucked and deeply in love with you the day you didn't judge him, you just hugged him and offered him a room to stay the night without hesitating for a second when his mom kicked him out of the house even when that wasn't compatible with the way you always kept him away from your personal space. you didn't think your grandma would have any problem welcoming a "friend" of yours who needed help into her home with you. he loved you even more when you kept the secret and walked home on a different street so no one would suspect he was staying with you and ask questions about it. he never understood why you did it, but he never asked, just as you never mentioned the reason why he slept in the bed that used to belong to your older sister that is in your room.
• like the traumatized kid that he is, he has nightmares he's never talked about with anyone. the first few nights you witnessed cook's nightmares, you ignored them because you didn't know what to do and didn't want to make him uncomfortable by intruding on his vulnerability. until one night, he was crying in his sleep again, and you had to wake him up. he was half-conscious, asking you to stay by his side, so you curled up next to him and let him wrap you completely in his arms. that night, you discovered a level of intimacy neither of you had imagined existed before.
• since that day, you've been together. only god knows what you are, but cook respects you (in his own way), and you respect him, since you both know each other's vulnerability and kindness. no one knows about the two of you, but cook always makes sure no guy bothers you, even when no one approaches you with other intentions. he even gets into fights to defend your name because nothing bothers and offends him more than someone messing with you. meanwhile, you help him become better in many ways, even if it costs you a lot. no one could believe it when cook passed the math and history exams.
• no one knows how difficult it was to get cook to study. it took weeks of trying and watching him get distracted by your own face, trying to steal kisses, or just plain trying to get into your pants. you thought you weren't succeeding until he passed more than two exams and you realized he's capable of retaining information and how sweet it's to hear him recite details about world war II.
• you don't agree to kiss him that often because deep down you don't want to be just another girl for him and you enjoy keeping things more interesting between the two of you although whenever he's lying on your thighs or on your chest and you touch his hair while he kisses your cheeks wanting more you simply want to eat him alive.
• one of the few times you let him kiss you properly, you almost ended up having sex a room away from where your grandma slept.
"we can't do it here, cookie" you said breathlessly as he kissed your neck. your legs on his waist.
"if you keep calling me cookie, i'm going to ruin ya so much that people will hear you 5 blocks from here. i swear."
• you never asked him for labels because from the start you were afraid that he would never respect the basic conditions of a relationship and you already knew that he was going to hurt you sooner or later so it completely surprised you when you started to notice that he no longer hooked up with girls or insinuated anything about anyone else, not at school and not at parties. you tried to casually get information out of the girls at the parties you didn't go to and they all answered that they thought cook was turning gay or that he probably had such a big scare with drugs that he can't even get a hard-on. the two answers generated such great satisfaction in your heart that you began to wonder how hard your fall would be when he finally let go of your hand.
• you were the first person who made him feel loved and wanted. he knows you're waiting for him at your house in case he doesn't have a place to sleep, or when he's smoking with freddie and jj. he knows you just want him to be okay. you made him not feel alone anymore. you wiped his tears when no one else was there, even when he didn't even want to be there. you saw his soft side, buried deep inside, and you brought it out with you, taking complete ownership of it. sometimes he wakes up in the night and sees you cuddled up with him, and he feels a little less miserable with himself. the nights he's not with you he misses you and he also misses your grandma and her cooking and how, at least for a few nights, he felt what it was like to have a family.
• when he's so caught up in his thoughts about you and how good you make him feel, he can't help but fantasize about you becoming part of his family permanently in the future, but that thought also terrifies him because he's not supposed to be thinking about being the father of your children and having a little girl who looks like you bear his last name at his age. he's not supposed to be thinking about it because he doesn't want to ruin your life by chaining you to a person like him forever but sometimes he likes to forget that and fantasize. he never confesses to you that he thinks of you that way.
• but he does confess that his first kiss with you wasn't when you were cleaning his wounds after kicking some guy's ass for bothering all the girls in the group that night at the party. you thought, for an idiot like him, that had been pretty noble. he just looked you in the eyes and said, "think this is the exact moment when ya kiss me," and you had no choice but to agree with him. he told you that his first kiss with you was at a party on his birthday and that it was the best gift he ever had. you beat yourself up for not remembering, but he tells you everything in detail until you have to shut him up before he gets to the part where you asked him to fuck you right there. he just made that part up just to make fun of you.
Like Candy
Dance with Shadows
Blood Drunk
Love at First Bite [Beneath the Eternal Moonlight]
Quick Remedies
Pleasure Interlude
Call to the Devil
Sweetest Sin
Hungry as a Dog: Pleasure Interlude II
Second Helpings
Hour of the Hunt
Love at First Bite II [On the Brink of Pleasure]
A Little Taste
Awaiting Salvation
One More Moment
In Servitude of Kindness
Handjob blurb
NSFW alphabet
Foul Tongue
Baby Did a Bad Thing (miniseries)
Devout
For Worse
Dogstooth: Part One
Dogstooth: Part Two
Dogstooth: Part Three
Slave to the Pain
Cry Real Pretty
Pretend Saviors
Sir Jimmy Crystal (28 years later)
Jawbreaker
Personal Savior
Breeding blurb 1
Breeding blurb 2
Dry humping blurb 1
Dry humping blurb 2
Pretty Boy
Orgasm denial blurb 1
Orgasm denial blurb 2
Orgasm denial blurb 3
Jimmy wearing panties blurb
Blowjob blurb 1/?
Meeting God
Creaming his pants blurb
Cry for Your Jimmy
Head in the Clouds
Hitting Jimmy blurb
Sick!reader blurb
Titty-fucking blurb
Teeth of Desire [Root I]
Princess Castle
Favorite Toy
Paradise
Milk
Jimmy Says
Spoiled
Down From the Clouds
Paddy Mayne (Rogue Heroes)
Stubborn Hearts
When did we Stop Fighting?
Walter "Lion" Kaminski (Jungleland)
Cockwarming blurb
Casino blurb
Riding blurb
No Tears Left to Cry
Brett (Eden Lake)
A Touch of Evil
Bubblegum-Flavored
Truth or Dare
The Last Party
Sweet Dreams
Audios
remmick NSFW audio compilation
remmick NSFW audio compilation version 2
oliver mellors NSFW audio compilation
sir jimmy crystal NSFW audio compilation version 1
summary: You’ve been married to Lion Kaminski for eight years, co-own a laundromat, and have two daughters—but watching him be a good dad still makes your thighs clench. When he catches you staring, it turns into a filthy afternoon reminder of exactly why you said “I do.”
wc: 3.2k
a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ONE OF MY FAVE HUMANS ON THIS SITE @novar3ads, who really wanted girl!dad Lion, I hope you enjoy pookie!! photos/refs courtesy of @sinfulteeth
warnings: daddy kink, breeding kink talk, creampie, hair pulling, soft degradation, praise kink, oral sex (f!receiving), rough sex, wedding ring kink, crying during sex (overstimulation), possessive behavior, domestic smut, married sex, implied pregnancy, humor, soft aftercare, girl dad Lion Kaminski
likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated, please enjoy!!
Part II / Main Masterlist
Part I: After Hours
The door to the laundromat clicks shut behind the last customer of the day, and you hear the lock turn before the familiar weight of Lion’s steps crosses the tile. It’s hot—sticky, end-of-summer Reno hot—the kind of heat that makes the air heavy, that clings to your skin like damp cotton. Out front, the sky hangs low and bright behind sun-faded awnings and warped pavement. The kind of heat that bakes the parking lot until it smells like rubber and old oil.
Inside, though, it smells like home. Fabric softener and dryer sheets. Soap and lemon. The faint trace of clean sweat. You’re sitting on the counter near the register, sipping a lukewarm iced coffee and watching him move.
Your husband is folding fitted sheets with a precision that makes your stomach flutter. And not just folding, either—he’s mastering them. His fingers work the elastic corners like a puzzle he’s solved a hundred times over, smoothing and flipping with calm, deliberate care. There’s a streak of pink crayon on his shirt—Hannah’s doing—and a glitter sticker stuck to his left knee that Harper must’ve pressed there when he bent to tie her shoes that morning.
You might actually combust.
Eight years of marriage. Two daughters. A mortgage. A shared business with rent paid up and a schedule pinned crooked on the bulletin board in the back office. And still, somehow, he looks like that.
He scratches the side of his jaw and mutters to himself about the folding, unaware of your gaze, his brows knitted. That stupid little furrow in his brow still gets you after all this time. He’s dressed down for the heat today—worn white tee clinging to his back where it’s damp, work jeans low on his hips, belt unbuckled just enough to breathe.
The muscles in his arms flex every time he shifts a stack of towels.
You cross your ankles to keep from shifting in your seat. You don't succeed.
“Daddy!” Harper’s voice rings out from the corner of the laundromat you’ve carved into a play area with puzzles and a tiny pink tent. “Hannah spit up on my bear again!”
A thump. A squeal. A tiny, guilty little voice: “Uh-oh.”
Lion sighs. It’s not annoyed, not really—just full of that long-suffering dad patience you love him for. He scrubs a hand down his face and throws you a look like, You seein’ this shit?
You grin into your coffee.
But he’s already moving. Already crouching down to scoop Hannah up in his arms with a grunt.
“What did we say about spit, trouble?” he murmurs as she wriggles, giggling.
She flings her arms around his neck and mashes her cheek into his shoulder.
“Sorry,” she mutters, muffled.
He rubs her back gently. “That ain’t Harper, baby. You gotta tell her.”
Hannah squirms down to her feet and toddles back toward her big sister, who’s holding the damp stuffed bear like a wet dishrag. Lion turns to Harper and crouches again, opening his hands.
“Bring it here, sweetheart. We’ll clean him up.”
You swear to god, you ovulate on the spot.
He takes the bear with both hands like it’s a sacred relic, carries it to the utility sink near the back, and gently starts to scrub at the spit-up with soap and a washcloth while Harper hovers beside him. Hannah, now bare-footed and dragging a blanket behind her, clutches the hem of Lion’s shirt like she’s tethered to him.
He doesn’t flinch when she steps on his boots. Doesn’t even look down. Just keeps washing the bear, murmuring something low and rhythmic about bubbles and bravery while Harper leans her chin on his shoulder.
Your chest hurts watching it.
Your thighs have done that clench thing three times in the last ten minutes.
You could write a damn dissertation on the veiny forearms of your husband, the strong curve of his nose, the quiet patience in his voice. No one would believe the same man who growled at a guy in traffic last week for cutting him off is the one explaining the delicate art of blot-drying plush toys to your six-year-old.
He catches you looking.
Doesn’t say anything—just cocks his head, one corner of his mouth lifting slow.
You glance away like that’ll help. It doesn’t.
He rinses the bear one last time, squeezes it gently, and sets it on top of the dryer to dry. Wipes his hands off on a towel. Walks straight toward you.
When he passes by to toss the towel in the bin, he leans close—low, voice rumbling just for you.
“You’ve been lookin’ at me like you wanna climb me like a tree since I bent over to fix that lint trap."
Your skin prickles. Heat rising to your neck.
You say nothing. Sip your coffee like it might protect you.
He stops in front of you. Hands on the counter on either side of your hips. Leans in.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he says, voice thick. “You’ve been staring for a while now, Mrs. Kaminski.”
That name still does something to you.
You can smell the fabric softener on him. The faint scent of apple soap. Underneath it, the smell of Lion himself—salt and sun-warmed skin and laundry heat.
“I was just watching,” you say, too fast.
He smiles. Slow. Knowing.
“You were drooling.”
“Was not.”
“You were starin’ like you wanted to suck the dad right outta me.”
You nearly choke.
He chuckles under his breath.
“Jesus,” he murmurs, eyes flicking toward the play area. Cartoons are playing. The girls are settled. Safe. “You’re lucky they’re busy. You keep lookin’ at me like that, I’m gonna take you home and remind you why you married me.”
You swallow.
“Maybe I need reminding.”
The noise he makes is low, deep, feral. He grabs your chin between his fingers, tilts your head up, leans in close.
“You say that again when we get in the house,” he mutters, “and I’m putting you on your knees first thing.”
You blink up at him, breath caught. Your thighs pressed tight. Your whole body buzzing.
He lets go with a grunt, turns on his heel.
“Girls! Grab your shoes—we’re headed home!”
You hop off the counter on shaky legs.
Lion leans in as he passes by, mouth brushing your ear.
“Gonna put the girls down for a nap,” he whispers, voice wrecked and low, “then I’m puttin’ you down for a stretch, Mrs. Kaminski.”
You nearly trip over the mop bucket on your way out.
The ride home is quiet. Golden. Late afternoon Reno sun bleeds through the windows of the truck, casting warm streaks across the dashboard and catching in the curls of Hannah’s hair as she dozes in her car seat. Harper hums along to the radio, swinging her little legs in time with the music, still clutching her freshly laundered bear like it’s brand new again.
You glance sideways.
Lion’s got one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh.
Thumb rubbing slow circles.
You don’t think he even notices he’s doing it. But you do.
Every pass over your skin—lazy, slow, familiar—sinks just a little deeper than the last.
You pull into the driveway of your small, sun-bleached house on the edge of town. The stucco's warm and cracked in places, the shutters could use repainting, and the porch light still flickers when it storms—but it’s home. There’s sidewalk chalk art trailing up the walk and a pair of muddy pink sandals left forgotten on the front step.
You unbuckle Hannah while Lion grabs the tote bag of snacks and half-folded coloring pages from the back. She whines in her sleep, curling against your chest as you carry her inside. Harper darts past you both, bare feet slapping against the tile, her voice already announcing that she’s gonna pick the movie today, Daddy!
Lion follows behind, closing the door with his foot. His eyes catch yours over the top of Hannah’s head.
You feel it like a jolt.
That look again.
You manage to get both girls down for a nap after a shared bowl of popcorn and ten minutes of some animated fairy movie. Harper falls asleep face-first into the throw pillows on the couch. Hannah goes under with a thumb in her mouth and one chubby hand tangled in your shirt. Lion lifts her gently, tucks her into her toddler bed with the kind of care that makes your breath catch all over again.
He lingers for a moment after, brushing her hair back from her forehead.
You wait in the hallway, heart thudding a little too hard.
The house settles into stillness. The TV’s on mute now. The fan hums from the kitchen. A warm breeze presses through the open windows, thick with sagebrush and desert dust.
Lion steps into the hallway and closes Hannah’s door behind him with a soft click.
You barely have time to straighten up before he’s in front of you.
That same heavy, loaded silence stretching between your bodies.
He doesn’t touch you yet. Doesn’t speak.
Just looks at you like you’re the first clean breath after a long-held one.
And then he says—low and wrecked and reverent:
“Bedroom. Now.”
He doesn’t raise his voice.
Doesn’t have to.
The second he says it—“Bedroom. Now.”—you’re moving.
There’s no rush. No mad scramble. Just this simmering urgency under your skin. Like something slow-boiling finally tipping over. Your bare feet hit the hallway carpet. You hear the quiet creak of the door behind you as he follows.
By the time you reach the bedroom, he’s on you.
His hand slaps the door shut behind you—click—and his mouth is already finding yours, rough and greedy, all teeth and heat and years of knowing exactly how to kiss you. His fingers grip your jaw, tilt your head back, and he takes his time sucking on your bottom lip before biting down, just hard enough to make you gasp.
“You know what you do to me?” he growls, crowding you back toward the bed. “Walking around all day watching me be a good fuckin’ dad—lookin’ at me like I invented the damn sun.”
“I didn’t say anything,” you breathe.
He chuckles dark.
“You didn’t have to. Your pussy was talkin’ loud enough.”
He kisses you again—hot, open-mouthed, hands on your hips. He walks you back step by step until the backs of your knees hit the bed, and you drop with a breathless little bounce.
He doesn’t follow you down. Not yet.
Instead, he stands over you for a second, breathing heavy. Shirt rumpled, belt hanging loose, eyes dark and locked on yours.
Then—
“You gonna thank me?” he asks, voice low. Dangerous.
You blink up at him, dazed. “For what?”
“For bein’ the best fuckin’ husband and father alive,” he says, grabbing your ankle and dragging you to the edge of the bed, “and for not bending you over that dryer earlier when you were eye-fucking me in front of our daughters.”
You moan—half embarrassment, half fuck yes.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
He grunts. Hard.
“Say it again.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper.
His pupils blow. His jaw clenches. And then he’s down on his knees.
Spreads your thighs without ceremony, yanks your panties aside like they offended him, and groans when he sees the mess between your legs.
“You’re soaked,” he growls, breath hot on your skin. “All that just from watchin’ me fold fuckin’ laundry?”
You nod, breath hitching. “You’re hot when you’re domestic.”
He laughs—a real one, hoarse and disbelieving—and then buries his face between your legs like he missed you. Like he’s been starving.
His tongue is slow at first. Wide, lazy strokes that make your hips twitch. He pins them down, forearms hooked under your thighs, mouth working you over with obscene, practiced confidence. Like he knows every nerve ending by name. He groans into you, like he needs it—like he missed tasting you.
You tangle your fingers in his hair and tug.
He moans so loud it vibrates into your spine.
“Fuck, Lion—”
“Say it right.”
You whimper. “Daddy—fuck—Daddy, please—”
He pulls back for a second, lips wet, panting. “Gonna let me have it? Huh? Gonna let Daddy fuck that tight little wife pussy ‘til you’re cryin’?”
Your answer is already written all over your face.
He gets up and strips fast—belt undone, jeans shoved down, briefs next. His cock is already hard, already leaking, and fuck, it still makes you clench just looking at him.
“C’mere,” he mutters, dragging you further up the bed, flipping you over onto your stomach. “Face down, ass up—just like that. My good girl.”
You arch for him instinctively. He runs a rough hand down your spine, then grabs your hips in both hands and drags you back onto him.
You gasp—no warning, no teasing, he just slides in deep, slow but unrelenting, and holds you there. Your fingers clutch the sheets, legs shaking, jaw slack.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he hisses behind you. “Still tight after all these years. Fuck, you were made for me.”
“Only for you,” you whimper, voice muffled.
“Damn right,” he growls, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. “You hear me, Mrs. Kaminski? Only I get this pussy.”
You cry out—high, broken.
His wedding ring presses into your hip when he grips you harder.
He sets a rhythm—slow, deep, mean—and you take it, moaning into the mattress, eyes wet, body boneless. Every thrust hits that spot that unravels you. His hand comes up to your hair, fisting it, dragging you up so your back arches deeper and you have to take it.
“Pretty little fuckin’ wife,” he rasps. “So goddamn perfect for me. Gonna knock you up again if you’re not careful. Fill you up so deep you’ll be waddling around the laundromat.”
You whine.
He leans in, breath hot on your neck. “You want that?”
You nod—frantic.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, Daddy. Want it. Want all of it.”
“Yeah?” he pants, thrust-thrust-thrust, rougher now. “Wanna be Mommy again just ‘cause I did the dishes and tied some shoes?”
You moan like it’s killing you. Your orgasm's building fast. Your body’s starting to shake.
He notices.
“Oh, fuck—are you gonna cry for me, baby?” he coos mock-soft, still fucking into you hard. “Gonna let Daddy fuck you so good you cry like a sweet little wife?”
You do. Your body tips over the edge and your orgasm rips through you. You sob—truly sob, overwhelmed and wet and wrecked—and he curses behind you, hips stuttering, and then he’s grinding into you, teeth bared, as he empties himself deep inside you with a growl.
“Fuck—fuck, take it—take all my cum, baby—fuckin’ wringing me out—”
You whimper, legs giving out beneath you.
He collapses over your back, chest heaving, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip like a lifeline. His cock still twitching deep inside you. His wedding ring glinting where it’s pressed tight to your skin.
For a long moment, the room is just heat and breath and aftershocks.
Then, quiet—softly—he kisses the back of your neck.
“You okay?"
You nod, still trembling. “Better than okay.”
He chuckles into your hair.
“My girl.”
You’re still shaking when he rolls off you.
Not because he was too rough—not really. But because Lion Kaminski fucks like he loves: with everything he’s got. Every stroke, every sound, every filthy praise-laced word meant something. And now you’re wrung out from it.
You’re stretched, sweat-slicked, and full—both literally and emotionally.
Lion groans as he flops onto his back beside you, one arm flung up, the other lazily reaching for your waist to reel you in.
“C’mere, baby,” he mumbles, voice ruined.
You curl into his chest without hesitation, cheek pressed against the damp plane of muscle beneath his tattooed collarbone. You can feel his heartbeat, erratic but settling. He kisses the top of your head.
His chest rises and falls. His skin’s still sticky. The sheets are a disaster. But you don’t care. This is your favorite part. The quiet that comes after.
His hand strokes up and down your spine, fingers trailing along your ribs, your side, the dip of your hip. You shift slightly, wince.
“Was I too rough?” he asks instantly, voice thick with concern.
“No,” you breathe, dazed. “You were perfect.”
He exhales, presses another kiss to your hair. “Still—gimme a second. I’ll get a warm towel.”
You hum. “If you move, I might cry again.”
He chuckles, low and warm. “Don’t tempt me, Mrs. Kaminski.”
You lie there a moment longer, tangled up in each other, your limbs heavy and loose. You trace the edge of one of his tattoos with your fingertip. He catches your hand and kisses your knuckles, wedding band and all.
You whisper, “You really like it when I call you Daddy, huh?”
He huffs a laugh. “You say it like that and I’m gonna start all over again.”
“I don’t think I can survive round two.”
He smirks, clearly pleased. “Did I wear you out, baby?”
You nod against his chest. “You’re gonna have to carry me tomorrow.”
He stretches, lazy and content. “Good. I’ll do the school run in the morning. You sleep in.”
“You’re really gonna do drop-off solo? You and Harper always end up getting slushies and showing up to first bell sticky and late.”
“She’s got a reputation to uphold,” he says, mock serious. “Kaminski girls don’t roll in clean. We roll in loved.”
You snort.
He grins.
It’s quiet again for a moment. The sound of the fan ticking. A dog barking two houses down. The rustle of a sheet being pulled half-heartedly over your sticky bodies.
You let your eyes slip closed.
Lion’s voice floats up, rough but soft:
“You think we did alright?”
You blink. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs, arm tight around your back. “With them. The girls. I dunno. I think about it sometimes. What they’ll remember. What they’ll keep.”
You look up at him. His lashes are damp with sweat. His hair’s a mess. His expression’s that rare blend of thoughtful and unsure—something he doesn’t show often.
“They’ll remember being loved,” you say simply. “Safe. Heard. Held.”
He swallows hard.
Doesn’t say anything for a second.
Then murmurs, “I fuckin’ love you, baby.”
You press a kiss to his shoulder. “I love you too, Daddy.”
He groans—long and loud.
“I just got my heart rate back down—don’t start.”
You giggle into his chest.
He tightens his arm around you like he wants to sink into the mattress and never come back up.
And then—
Knock knock knock.
The bedroom door creaks.
“Daddy?” Harper’s voice.
You freeze.
Lion lifts his head, eyes wide. “Yeah, baby?”
“Um…Hannah flushed Barbie’s head down the toilet and now it’s making a glugging noise.”
You press your face into his chest to muffle your laughter.
He sighs—deep, dramatic, resigned.
“Ten minutes,” he calls. “Tell her Daddy’s on his way.”
“…Can we have fruit snacks?”
“…Ten minutes, Harper.”
You lift your head and look at him. His face is twisted somewhere between affection and pure defeated exhaustion.
You grin.
“What?” he asks, mock suspicious.
“Just…you really are the hottest fuckin’ dad alive.”
He groans and flops backward again. “Woman. I will fold you in half if you don’t shut up.”
You laugh and kiss him, one last time, slow and soft.
summary: lion’s girlfriend is a biter. lion is baffled by her strange display of affection and the marks she subsequently leaves across his skin. but isn’t there something about him just so biteable?
tags and warnings: third person perspective, use of Y/N, primarily fluffy nonsense, however there is a HARD CUT to a smut scene between the two of them which contains a blowjob. this lasts for all of 3 paragraphs but beware. reader has hair and wears a bikini. other than that, i’d say the only warning is biting and gnawing on lion
a/n: aouuuuhhhhuuuu second fic ever. MAJOR downgrade from the dramatic prose of the patrick fic with much less colorful vocabulary. idk i try to match the vibe of the fic with the writing style i utilize and this one is much more chill. mini fic, sorta. this fic is a nothing burger. nothing happens. also DON’T ASK ME WHERE STAN IS IN THIS. HELL. HE’S IN HELL OKAY
Lion loved his girlfriend. Did it need to be said?
He loved her quirks. He loved her obsession with that little game on her Nintendo Switch, even if he didn’t really get it. Loved her desire to collect all those little figures and pins that would dangle from her bag, even if they were a little noisy. Loved how she wanted to include him in her skincare routines, even if he doesn’t really care much about his face, considering it’d be bruised by the end of the week.
Loved how much she loved him back. Woke him up with kisses, always looping her arm with his, letting him nap on her chest while she scratches his head with those nails he paid for.
But the thing that gave Lion pause was the biting. “Chewing on him” as he called it. That, he… didn’t really get.
It was a hot June day. Y/N had just come in from the pool. She smelled like sunscreen and chlorine, and her skin was warm to the touch, kissed by the sun she’d been soaking in. She had a long shirt thrown on over her bikini, and although she was still dripping wet, Lion let her cling to him as he stirred his coffee with an arm draped over her waist. Her hair was soaking through his shirt, and the water droplets snaked down her legs onto the tiled floor of the kitchen, but he couldn’t really see it as a big deal. She’d been made all lazy and lovey from the sun’s rays, and he was happy to be on the receiving end. He kisses her head, swaying them from side to side as she melted into him, practically boneless.
Then he felt a nibble on his shoulder. A soft graze of teeth like she was testing something out.
He stills. His grip on the coffee pot loosens slightly as he blinks down at her, still tucked into his shoulder.
“...Babe?” He finally murmurs quietly after a few beats of silence between them.
“Mm?”
“...Y'bitin’ me?”
She snickers under her breath at that, shoulders lightly moving up and down. He can feel her smiling against his shirt. “Nooo…” She says cheekily.
He shifts slightly to glance down at her face, still pressed against his damp shirt, and raises an eyebrow playfully. “Then what're ya doin'?”
“Nooooothing…” She snuggles further against him again to hide her expression.
He exhales a small, amused breath through his nose. “Yer definitely doin’ somethin’,” he teases back, voice warm and soft.
“Nope,” she pops the ‘p’ and shakes her head.
He kisses the top of her wet hair before resuming stirring the coffee.
She’s normal again for a while, until her hands start to sneak under his shirt, bunching the fabric and tugging it up to reveal his abs.
He watches her, amused, not resisting but not helping. “Whatcha plannin', huh?”
“Come swim with me…” She mumbles into his shoulder.
He pauses, looking toward the backyard where the pool sat, crystal blue and waiting. And he had to admit, the water looked so inviting on a day like this…
“Babe… I just made coffee,” he reminds her gently, nodding toward the machine in front of them. “And I'm not even wearin' swim trunks.”
She lifts her head to wiggle her eyebrows at him. “You don’t gotta be wearing anything, the way I see it.”
His ears instantly go pink. “Wha— no,” he scolds. “That's not… I ain't swimmin' naked in the backyard.”
She laughs brightly. “Then get some shorts on and come join me!”
“Alright, alright,” he grumbles playfully, not exactly proud of how quickly he folded, and sets the coffee pot down to pour himself a mug first. “But I'm drinkin' this real quick.”
Another time, he’s laying with her on the couch, half-watching the animal documentary channel playing on the T.V., half scrolling on his cracked-beyond-belief phone.
Then he feels it. Where his arm is draped over Y/N, a light nibble his arm.
It was right there, so close to her mouth. It was the natural thing to do.
Lion glances down at his arm, then back up at her face. He watches her for a moment with her teeth on his bicep before slowly tilting his head to the side.
“...Y'gonna chew on me all night?” he asks softly, baffled by this new habit of hers.
She snorts, taking him out of her mouth and snuggling back into the crook of his arm. “Maybe.”
He exhales through his nose, a small smile tugging at his lips. Okay. So… she liked this. Biting him was… a thing she did now, apparently.
“Okay,” he says simply, because if she wanted to nibble on him like he’s dinner, who was he to stop her? It’s not like she was really hurting him.
So he keeps scrolling on his phone with one hand and gently strokes her hair with the other, perfectly content, even as she occasionally gnaws on his bicep.
A couple days later, he’s taking a water break at the gym, exhausted from punching the same bag all afternoon.
He’s pleased when he gets a text from his girlfriend:
you still at the gym?
Lion wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and pops the water bottle out from his lips.
Yeah 👍, he texts back, then takes another long sip, water droplets trailing down his chin.
He's tired. His knuckles are raw, and he smells like sweat, but it's been a good session. He stretches slightly while watching her text bubble. He’s a little alarmed by the onslaught of texts that follow.
okay good
send me your biceps
bicep pics or i ghost you
He stares at his screen, dumbfounded.
You’re out of your mind
sick in the head, in fact
Lion sighs. He feels like a dumbass as he starts to roll up his sleeve, checking over his shoulder once or twice.
This feels weird
its not weird
you are sending a very normal picture of your sweaty upper arms to ur gf who wants em in her mouth
nothing weird about that
Jesus, girl 😂
ghosting you in threeee
twooo
oneeee
Okay, alright you maniac
He hesitates, then finally lifts his phone and snaps a picture of his biceps, flexed slightly for her like an idiot because yeah, okay, he worked hard for these— and sends it.
That everything you wanted? 😂
WOOOOOOO
BEIATIFUL
I MEAN BEAUTIFUL
!!!! 🤤🤤
Lion snorts.
You’re so weird
YUP
LEMME KNOW WHEN YOU WANT THAT DICK SUCKED 💋💋💋
Jeez 🤣
i’m not jokin pretty boy
Oh.
Lion repeatedly types and deletes, his bubble popping up and fading out over and over until he finally sends, Later? When I get home?
kay 😋😋😋😋😋
Lion finishes his water fast, suddenly quite motivated to leave the gym. Be there in 30, he sends, then starts shoveling gear into his bag like a man on a mission.
nom nom
💪🙂❤️, he sends her with his thumb.
ah ur so cute ily
And that’s precisely how Lion found himself panting and sweating all over again back at home, halfway to the shower. He slumps against the wall, jaw still slack and chest rising and falling from his fresh climax.
Y/N swallows the cum in her mouth, her throat bobbing, his softening cock still in her jaw. His whole body is still thrumming with the aftershocks, legs weak and mind fuzzy when she gives the slightest teasing press of teeth into his flesh.
“Hey—” he breathes out, nudging her back gently with his palm against her forehead. “No- no teeth.”
She pouts, but obediently releases his softening dick, though not without pressing one last tiny kiss to the tip. Then she looks up at him with the sweetest, most innocent eyes she could manage to say she didn’t just try to chew on his cock like a chew toy.
Lion stares down at her, unimpressed and still catching his breath. He reaches out to ruffle her hair affectionately. “C'mere,” he mumbles, pulling her up into a kiss, deep and slow, tasting himself on her tongue.
It’s another few days later. Lion was brushing his teeth one morning when spies a ugly red mark near his collarbone.
He freezes, toothbrush halfway in his mouth.
Oh. She bit him this time. Like… actually left teeth on him.
He spits out his toothpaste and pokes at the spot with two fingers. Yep, definitely left a mark.
Shrugging, Lion grabs his shirt and casually throws it over his head, the spot deliberately sticking out. No big deal. She wanted to leave marks now? Fine. Cool.
Later that morning, as he's sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal, Y/N pads in, still half-asleep. She spies the bite mark on his collarbone peeking out from under his shirt and immediately lights up with a proud little grin.
“...Y'like that?” he asks mid-chew, gesturing to his collar with his spoon.
She moves closer to his seat, inspecting the red ring of teeth indents. “My work? Uh-huh.”
He huffs. “Guess I'm your chew toy now,” he mutters with a shrug. He takes another bite of cereal before adding quietly, “...Ya gonna leave more?”
She kisses his temple. “Gonna go for your neck like a vampire, actually.”
“Hell no,” he says, jabbing his spoon at her. “No vampire shit. I got a fight next week, can’t walk around with hickeys like some high schooler.”
“Why not?” she faux-pouts.
“‘Cause I ain't tryna explain to the guys why my neck looks like a crime scene.”
Y/N’s lips tense as she fights back a smile. She presses her forehead to his, baring her teeth and playfully hissing. Lion growls back in response, giving her a crooked grin.
They’re in bed, the warm light of the nightlight the only illumination in the room, its glow giving Lion the outline of Y/N’s body lazily draped atop him. He strokes her back with a firm touch, absently pressing a kiss once or twice to the crown of her head. He thinks she’s asleep.
That is, until he feels the familiar graze against his arm once again.
Lion supposes this has happened enough times for him to finally ask about it.
“Hey… so,” he rumbles, soft and gruff, “Why d'you keep doin’ that?”
She plays coy, voice equally sleepy, “Doin’ what?”
“Ya know,” he says, nudging her with his arm. “The- the biting. Like… is it a thing? Or are ya just messin’ with me?”
She giggles. “‘A thing’ like what?”
Lion sighs. How to word this.
"Like… Do you just wanna bite me? Or is it— I dunno— a kink thing?” he asks awkwardly, rubbing his neck.
She laughs, sweet and musical. “We could make it one, if you’re into that,” she teases.
“O-oh,” he says dumbly. “...I mean, I guess? If you like it? I’m just, uh, tryna figure out why it is you’ve been chewin’ on me.”
She shrugs. “You’re tasty.”
He looks down at his arm. Normal human skin. Not particularly flavorful. “I taste like sweat and protein powder, babe,” he says flatly, confused.
She snickers. “No, you don’t! I would know, I’ve been taking bites out of you.”
“...Okay, but like… why?” he presses. “I ain't food. I don’t get it.”
“Mm… you ever see something so cute you just wanna put it in your mouth and chew on it?”
Lion stares at her in the dark. “...That's the weirdest compliment I've ever gotten.”
“You’re welcome,” she says smugly.
Lion shakes his head, but he’s smiling.
He resumes contently stroking her back for a while, until she hums, “…So, can I keep biting you?”
Lion exhales deeply through his nose. “Yeah,” he shrugs. “Knock yourself out,” and he leans over and kisses her forehead, because despite how bizarre this whole thing was to him, it was really just her being her. And that just… made it all the more endearing. And because Lion’s an idiot for her, he thinks he can sacrifice a few spots on his skin to be her chewtoy, if it meant he could flaunt some lovebites. He’s endured worse.
