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boolger · 1 month ago

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A lapdog at a farm - chapter 6

<-former chapter -AO3-next chapter -> Call of duty. My ko-fi, Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. WC: 6.1k

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tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, it dies later on, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy, pregnancy

Authors note: this is unedited until I pull myself together and fix it tomorrow. Thank u for your patience while I stumbled through life.Enjoy sinners.❤️

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You found him in the living room alone, reading. Your uncertainty made you whine, your fear of him actually getting rid of you overtaking you once more.

“John?” Your voice was barely above a whisper and you slowly crawled closer to him in the armchair, leaning against one of his legs, carefully looking up at him.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He lowered his book, a soft smile on his face, looking down at you with a gaze you had missed. A look shared just between the two of you, with an understanding and loving gentleness that made your heart swell. Nikolai was outside, having forced John to stay. To relax.

“Are you going to ban me from the house?” Your voice shook a little, for once not dramatic in any way or using it to get attention; it was from genuine worry of being abandoned, “or get a new lapdog?”

You could see it happen honestly, some cute little thing that was everything you were insecure about. Having spent a whole life being forced and told to be a lapdog, suddenly being pushed out of that box felt weird. It scared you, the thought of Price not wanting you back inside then, not a good enough working dog but not a good enough lapdog either. You’d never had full control over your life - and once again, your fate was in the hands of somebody else.

John blinked down at you while you tipped your ears down a little, tail still while you waited for the reply.

Waiting for your upcoming future to be revealed; to be forced to be an outdoor dog, just for your owner to find a new sweet thing to cast his love upon. Somebody who accepted everything without question.

“Oh, princess,” the softness almost took you by surprise and then his warm hand was on your head, gently petting you and you felt your eyelids lower as little, breathing in the love, “my sweet darling puppy.”

A whimper left you.

“I have not been giving you enough attention, have I?” He was whispering too now.

“I just -“ you hadn’t planned to cry but you felt the tears threaten to break free from your eyes, “I know you want me to get along with the others but I don’t wanna lose you, I don’t -“

His hands moved and suddenly the book slid down to the floor, while you were grabbed beneath your armpits and you were more than happy to help crawl up in his lap.

“My sweet girl,” he whispered into your skin as you nuzzled closer, both his and your own arms sliding around to hold around the other. Intertwined. Your soft body was pulled tight against your owner and you breathed in the pure scent of him, feeling your tail wagging even as you sniffled a little.

“I will never get rid of you,” he whispered, “no matter what happens, you’re my princess puppy. My sweet darling, my perfect Daisy, eh?”

You nodded into his neck, your fingers digging into his clothes. Trying to make your brain understand the words, accept them, try to keep your anxieties away.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered but Price just gave you a squeeze.

“Don’t apologise,” he answered gently in his own whisper, “I’m sorry, darling, we’re not going back to the city but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve my attention. Misbehaving or not.”

You cried into his neck, one of his hands gently petting your back, his hand a calming touch as your rib cage shuddered now and again.

“I love you, sir.”

“I love you too, my sweet girl,” he promised, “even when Nikolai moves in permanently or when you get along more with the boys, you’ll always be my favorite girl, my favorite puppy. Got it?”

“Yessir,” it was barely a whisper any more. Settled in his lap, you might have been instantly fucking in the past, but for now the two of you just enjoyed each others closeness.

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Outside the safety of the farmhouse that you never wanted to live in, laid the dangerous grounds; filled with terrifying animals and farm hands that tease you, with creepy sheep that screamed, with threatening fields that seemed never ending yet the fear of the unsafe on the other end seemed worse.

There was the stench of so many things, so many objects that could offer pain, animals that could attack, hybrids that could bite.

But you had found one single spot that you supposed you liked.

… a little bit.

Not if anybody asked.

You carefully pet the head of one of the mothers, as it bleated at you, eyes carefully watching you. Whether it didn’t find you dangerous or remembered you from the other day, you weren’t sure - and it wasn’t like you could ask it.

But none of them attacked you as you joined them, sitting down close to the baby goats, just as Gaz had shown you the other day.

Their tiny bodies happily snoozing away in the hay, small tails wagging.

… you supposed this was a nice place on the farm as well.

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You curled a little closer around Price’s feet that night, listening to the distant barks now and again. It was a riddle to you how the other hybrids were able to stay up so late. You knew they slept in schedules and you had seen them nap several times during the day. Still.

Perhaps it was your fear of the unknown in the dark that you didn’t like. You assumed the pack had seen worse than these dark fields; they never spoke about it, at least not while you were near, but you weren’t stupid. Sure, you had been sheltered a bit since everything had been focused on being a lapdog and you weren’t that great of a reader, but you had seen television. Listened to the radio. And, you had seen their scars, heard a bit from John and Nik - you knew Soap had lost most of his hearing because of explosive, you had seen the bullet scars and their implicit history on their skin. You didn’t want to know about how Ghost got the scars around his mouth or how it looked like one of Gaz’s legs had been stuck in a bear trap like contraption at some point.

Still, despite knowing that they could take care of themselves and was dangerous on their own, you were horrified when you woke a few days later, early in the morning - to the distant sound of barking and snarling, to howls that sounded more wolf than hybrid - to the sounds of the different farm animals getting antsy.

You had woken Price then, worried about them even if you didn’t say it directly — Nik woke the moment your owner got out of bed, your whines making him groan.

Uttering the word ‘wolves’ had awoken them both fully in a matter of seconds.

You could still hear scuffle in the distance, angry barks and sounds that confused you and you didn’t want Price to go outside alone. Even as Nik got up and Price got his shot gun, you were worried.

Was he going outside? What if the boys were hurt and they couldn’t keep John safe?

It had gone quiet.

Despite your lack of knowledge about anything and your fear overwhelming you in the early morning hours, you still followed, quickly tugging on shoes and a jacket.

The lights outside of the gravel driveway lit up the place as John and Nik went out first, the motion sensors activated. You barely needed to take more than a few steps outside to see why. They walked with calm steps.

There was a heavy sound as the body slammed onto the ground, completely still. Then another. The wolves laid on the gravel, no sound escaping their maws that seemed giant to you - blood seeping into the fur.

Blood was smeared across the faces of the three hybrids, making them look like brutal deities in your mind. Stepping out of a nightmare, victorious over the monsters. You couldn’t help your tail wagging a little with pride - or how your pussy reacted to the sight of three strong hybrids as well.

Tongues licked off blood from fangs and lips. Eyes rested on you - then their owners - then back on you.

They had saved the goats and sheep from being wolf dinner - both Nik and Price praising them, ruffling their hair and patting them. The shotgun was lowered and after a quick check it was confirmed that they wouldn’t be needing them. Both animals were dead.

There was pride from them, but also from Nik and John, who tried getting them inside, promising food. But the hybrids refused, wanting to stay out instead until later. To make sure no other wolves came by.

Soap sneaked from the two of them to you, his tail wagging proudly, chested puffed up a little.

“Could nae let ‘em get close tae yer goats, princess,” he rumbled darkly, and you didn’t move as he got close to you - almost touching you, sniffing your neck. Another please rumble leaving you.

“Thank you,” you whispered back, your own tail wagging a little, for once not minding the sniffing, despite the quite disgusting blood on him. Unsure of how to describe that you were relieved that nothing happened to them either… that wasn’t anything you would admit to anyways.

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“Ex-fucking-cuse you?” You all but snarled, hands instantly going onto the table, body ready to jump across the table and attack the man who had just offered the worst fucking idea ever. Hadn’t it been for John’s quick hand on your collar and Laswell’s hand gently pressing against your chest to get you to sit your ass back down, you would be fully attacking Nikolai now.

Nikolai, who looked quite amused - and rather pleased with himself over your reaction.

“Settle down, princess,” there was a stern tone in Price’s voice but you still tipped your long ears a little downwards, baring your filed down teeth at your owner’s boyfriend.

“That’s not your decision!” You were almost screaming, growling so loudly you almost surprised yourself.

“Sit down, milaya,” Nikolai said, amusement barely hidden in his tone and you regretted not biting the man’s finger off that first day.

“You don’t decide that over me!” You screamed this time, your collar tugged further backwards and it wasn’t until a sharp slap from John landed on your cheek, that you looked away from him.

“Sit down, princess.” His voice was harder now and you finally followed John’s order, sitting back down on your chair. While Laswell’s hand retreated, Price’s grip remained on your collar. The woman didn’t particularly look too pleased neither how this was going; you had a strong suspicion that she had seen this coming or knew of it - and that it annoyed her to have her meal disturbed by it.

She had teased you about it so many weeks ago, had she not?

“He can’t decide that,” you whined, looking over at John, wanting him to agree with you, to not let Nikolai control your body like that.

“No, he can’t decide that -,” John’s voice was almost sweet and you could feel your heart almost stop its intense pounding in your chest, only for it to pick up again as he continued, “but neither can you, technically.”

You whimpered, trying to make yourself a little smaller somehow, despite your size, “- sir-“

“I’m your owner, my pretty pup,” he reminded you, letting go of the collar, the warm hand instead softly patting the cheek he had just slapped mere moments ago, “so I can make that decision. If I want your implant taken out, then that’s what we’ll do.”

You let out a displeased whine, almost ready to cry.

“Then I’ll go into he-heat,” you whispered pathetically, the few memories you had of those not good ones, hazy and feverish moments flashing before your eyes, almost childishly adding “I don’t wanna.”

“Yes, you will,” Price agreed softly, caressing your cheek gently, while he stared into your eyes with a soft look, as he had just confirmed a fear of yours. It was like no one but the two of you existed for a few moments - as if everything and everyone else had disappeared into smoke, leaving you and your owner as the last breathing beings of the universe, “but you might get a litter with the boys - wouldn’t that be nice, princess?”

“No.”

Nikolai let out a huff. You knew both Kate and John were watching you, looking for any signs of your chubby ass jumping over the table in order to strangle Nik. Instead you just let out a growl. You received a nudge with the elbow fit on Kate. You were probably real close to losing table rights and being forced to eat on the ground but you didn’t care.

“Not now, of course,” Nikolai tried, “summer first.”

“Why not spring?” Price suggested and Nik shook his head, while you wanted to suggest that they could go fuck themselves with both ideas.

The worst thing was that you maybe, just maybe didn’t mind getting a litter. You would never admit to it, especially not while Nik was in the room, but your instincts had been screaming every second you had spent with the goats. But it was out of your control, so you refused out of pure spite.

“- can become better friends,” you heard Kate say as you zoned back into the conversations, almost wanting to snap at Kate now. She had brought up litters the very first time that they had met the mutts.

“No they won’t. Worst thing they’ll do is probably knock you up.” The memory of her words echoed in your mind for a while.

“-spring, then pups will be born in late winter,” Nik pointed out, as they sat there and talked about you and your apparent upcoming litter, “nyet, summer - then puppies will come spring. Good for their lungs.”

“We don’t know if it will even take quickly,” Kate pointed out and you felt her hand gently petting you, scratching behind one of your dog ears, as if to comfort you which wasn’t too often she did so, “she has had implants for quite a while, after all.”

You wanted to cry and scream and beg to be the one to decide when at the very least. Or if. The idea of going into heat scared you shitless - with three beasts to help you through it? No thanks.

The food on your plate with the cute paw patterns along the rim suddenly didn’t look so enticing, despite there being everything you would usually love on it. Even a couple of strawberries.

You barely managed to eat those, ignoring their talks for the rest of the dinner.

You didn’t eat much more, disappearing the moment you could, rushing out the door, ignoring the sharp stones biting into your bare feet or your lack of jacket. Not stopping or listening as Price and Nikolai called out your name.

Pretending you didn’t want to scream and cry, throwing a tantrum on the floor inside- but you didn’t, for once. Though tears swelled in your eyes.

They didn’t go after you, probably because they suspected that you weren’t going to run off - and you weren’t, which wasn’t hard to guess, given how you ran directly towards the stable.

It wasn’t that you liked the stables. No. It was tolerable… maybe a little nice. Out of the whole farm, it was tolerable.

You didn’t enter the booth you had been in before however, not wanting to scare the animals off by being upset. They were all laying inside after a nice day spent out in the sun, doing whatever goats did during the day - now relaxing as the dark overtook the sun’s place. You kept your sniffling to a minimum, stubbornly drying away any of the tears.

“ ‘you upset?”

The deep voice caught you off guard, making you jump - several of the goats looking towards the voice. A few of them bleating.

Ghost stood a little further down the hallway of the stables, the great Pyrenees hybrid looking at you - you couldn’t quite decipher what he was thinking, if he found it amusing or was pitying you. Scarred white ears tipping towards you.

You huffed, crossing your arms, trying your best to look tough, raising your tail a little as you let out a stubborn “no,” trying to ignore how your voice shook a little.

“Uh-huh,” Ghost answered, clearly not convinced one bit and you considered bolting back inside, “so it wasn’t you screamin’ bloody murder in th’ hous’ a moment ago?”

Your tail fell a little and you looked away, ignoring the way Ghost sighed - as if upset with the fact you wouldn’t just admit what was wrong, what had happened. As if the two of you had a normal kind of relationship or… whatever this was, that your owner was trying to force upon you.

“Come,” he grunted out then - and you looked back at him; he had already turned around, walking down the stone floor. You dared to cast another glance at the goats, who were all staring at you, as if to say ‘get going’. So you followed, a little tense, still drying off a couple of tears with the back of your hands.

Ghost had stopped in front of a couple of hay bales, not too far from one of the bigger windows. The big hybrid sat down with a grunt, yawning for a moment; his big canines exposed, reminding you of how they felt when they sank into your skin, pierced it and entered your muscle. There was nothing threatening about him right now however - in fact he patted the spot next to him on the bale. You stood a couple of steps from it, unsure whether to do as he silently asked you to.

There was no growling. No hard stares from him, in fact, he was looking out through the window, keeping tabs of things, even when inside. You finally sat down with a sniffle.

For a couple of seconds, there was only the sound of you sniffling and the faint sounds of the animals in their booths. Baby goats with their light voices. Shuffling in the hay. A horse moving in its booth, the faint sound of eating.

“What happened, then?” he asked, voice a little softer than what he usually spoke like. You dared to look up at him, his body giant even when sitting down - as if he could feel your glance, he looked down at you, meeting your gaze. Suddenly your nails were much more interesting to look at.

“Why do you care?” you asked almost accusatory, voice not that loud, vary about his interest in you. You earned a huff in response.

“You sounded quite upset,” he said a few moments later, “we got worried.”

Your bare, slightly cold toes curled. We got worried. They cared… or at the very least, they were curious. You weren’t sure if you even wanted them to be either. Even though attention was attention, no matter the kind, you supposed.

“You don’t care,” you accused in a voice that barely sounded rude, barely sounded like you meant it. The other man let out a hum like the asshole he was and it annoyed you; it wasn’t the reaction you had expected, wasn’t a mean laughter or a tug on the tail.

Instead you were met with his half lidded eyes watching you, as he quietly waited. He didn’t move to hurt you. Finally you caved.

“They wann’ take out my implant,” you finally murmured, looking down at your feet now. You would need a bath when you got inside. There was sawdust and tiny pieces of hay on them, dirt from the outside. You settled a little more on the hay bale, trying to get comfortable as you were uncomfortable with being honest with Ghost.

“Implant?” Ghost repeated and you didn’t even care whether it was a question or not, you merely nodded. The silence filled up the air for a few moments and you dried another of the stupid, stubborn tears of your cheek.

“‘That will mean you go into heat, yeah?” he finally asked and you wanted to curl upon yourself at the mere mention. Maybe bury yourself in the hay. Once more, you nodded, your tongue feeling as if it was swelling in your mouth.

“I don’t want to,” you whispered, “Nikolai just said it… so casually.”

“Why don’t you want to?”

“They didn’t ask me,” you sniffled, “I don’t like heats.”

“When was the last time ye’ even had one?”

“... years ago,” you admitted to the bigger hybrid, “I didn’t like it.”

“Hm. Sounds like ye’ didn’t have a good partner then,” hadn’t you been too upset you would have rolled your eyes at him - then again, it wasn’t like he sounded demeaning. More just… pitiful. You didn’t want pity from him, you wanted it from your owner.

“Was it with a hybrid?”

The question caught you off guard - you looked up at him again and Ghost was looking down at you, towards the left; he somehow seemed non judgemental, even though you had expected him to be mean about it.

“T-the first time, yeah.”

“The others not?”

You shook your head and looked away again. It wasn’t like you wanted to talk to him about this whole thing, about your body, about heat. Yet, here you fucking were.

“It’s easier when it’s with hybrids. The pheromones help.” His explanation was gentle and your mind almost found the gentleness confusing. You were too used to his sarcastic comments, to his meanness, to his thirst for your body, whether you wanted to or not.

“Doesn’t matter,” you murmured, “don’t want a litter anyways.”

“They talkin’ about puppies too?”

He sounded genuinely surprised - and then a familiar spike hit the air. The scent of lust sparked, escaping the bigger hybrid. You didn’t dare to look at him. Neither of you moved.

“I just want to decide for myself.”

Ghost huffed. You didn’t look at him, ignoring the lust still crawling through the air.

“you’re a hybrid,” it was a reminder, a statement you knew was true even as the following words hurt, “you know you don’t have that choice.”

“I know,” you snapped, ears tipping backwards a little, finally looking up at him again, baring your teeth a little at the hybrid, “I just want some sort of control.”

He stared down at you. The pupils of his eyes had expanded and in the slightly dark stable, his eyes almost seemed black.

“I haven’t heard ya’ say that you don’t want our puppies though,” he said instead, darkness seeping into his voice even if it wasn’t that loud, a hunger you had heard before.

“I don’t want to,” you whispered in return, lying, trying your best to keep the anger in your voice.

“No?” he asked again, disbelief in his voice, a teasing tone as he added, “don’t want us to fill you up, huh? Fill you with puppies?”

The idea made your entire body feel hot and you wanted to hide from the shame that followed the lust. The idea of them actually breeding you, leaving your belly swollen a couple of months later.

“Hehe.”

You ignored his dark chuckle, knowing your own lust got exposed from your scent - in fact, you froze as Ghost leant down a little, ignoring your bared teeth and took a deep breath, inhaling your scent. He was nasty, you reminded yourself, even as you felt your pussy wetten, a nasty hound. You should bite him, attack him. Instead you didn’t move, his scarred nose touching your skin as he pushed a little closer, a deep groan leaving him.

Finally he straightened his back, pulling away. As you felt a whine escape you, he looked rather pleased with himself.

“Take control of what little things you can then, princess,” he finally crooned, “we will help you.”

For a moment you thought he was going to fuck you right there. Press your face into the bale as you got fucked from behind, howls muted by it as he filled your cunt with his cock. Yet he didn’t do that; despite not even hiding how he and his pack wanted to spend your heat with you, the implication of them knocking you up - well… you had expected him to fuck you. A part of you, that sinful, bad part that you sometimes hated, was almost disappointed.

“Let’s get you inside’,” he said instead of touching you as expected, “dont wan’ you to get sick.”

He abandoned you by the door, telling you to get some more clothes on so you wouldn’t be sick. You just nodded, his words still in your mind.

“Take control of what little things you can then, princess, we will help you.”

But what could you control? It sounded like they had already planned out your entire pregnancy, down to how to best care for the pups and socialise them - figure out whether they would work best as lapdogs or working dogs.

You weren’t sure why it caught you so off guard; it really shouldn’t have. Seeing them both naked wasn’t a new sight to you, you had had sex with both of them. Yet seeing them like this, together, their chest hairs touching as they grinded against each other, Nikolai’s cock deep inside John.

The sight made you whimper. The scent of sex was heavy in the air and it made your own pussy wet. You took a step closer towards them, both men looking over at you, though their movements didn’t stop.

The very least they could do after upsetting you, would be to fuck you silly. Nik hands tightened on John’s skin, love clear in his eyes as he looked back at John, smiling.

You took another step forward, carefully moving to pull off your shirt.

However, Nik stopped John from riding him, your owner letting out a displeased sound, bare toes curling as Nik’s cock rested fully inside him.

The Russian tugged at you, making you stop where you were, letting go of your shirt.

They didn’t want you to join.

“Misbehaved earlier, milaya,” Nikolai pointed out, his big hands resting on John’s hips, who huffed, clearly not pleased with the pausing.

“Go to your room, princess,” John urged, his gaze softer, skin sweaty, face red.

“Please.” You weren’t beneath begging, despite your anger at them.

“Do you want time in the crate?” That made you bolt, ignoring their giggles that were soon replaced with moans again.

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You stole one of their jackets in the hallway since it was the closest, putting on a pair of boots, before you left the farmhouse once more.

This time you didn’t go towards the stables.

You felt embarrassed, but you were upset, almost desperate. One dog, seeking out another. The same hounds you had promised never to like.

But you were fucked up, you knew that somewhere deep inside, but your instincts were begging for some comfort. Since your owners weren’t willing to give it to you, you went to the next best. The ones you had declared your hatred towards all this time, who had hurt your repeatedly yet still made you smile as well.

You hadn’t been in their little house ever since last time; it looked almost the same, safe some more clothes and their scent more present. There were a few photos on the walls.

None of them were there. You whined, entering it anyways, toeing off the boots, carefully going into the dimly lit place. It was almost like a little home.

You could remember when they had tumbled out from their respective carriers, drugged and confused. You sniffed around a little, before you ended up settling in the hay area. It seemed to be the lesser used sleeping place and you didn’t want to intrude in their nest, despite your hatred for them.

They probably would have done that to you, you realized, but you wanted sex; not a fight. You sniffled as you curled up in the hay, feeling the vague prickling from the straws.

You felt lost. Angry, upset. Worse, horny. If they didn’t want to fuck you, you had other places to go. Things had changed, whether you wanted them to or not and you had no control there either. Despite not getting along with Nikolai most of the time, he and John seemed… happy together.

As you laid in the shed, you listened to the world outside. You could hear an owl, or at least, you were pretty sure it was an owl. That was what they sounded like in television shows. Then there was the wind. It made some nearby trees sway, some fields too.

You sniffled a little more.

You had changed too, you knew that. With or without your consent - so had the other hybrids, it seemed. Price had confirmed he still loved you however and despite your current anger and betrayal you felt towards him, you knew your owner wouldn’t truly abandon you. Nik wouldn’t want that either.

The nearby footsteps roused you from your half sleeping thoughts and a moment passed by, before the door was opened - you wondered for a moment, if it was John or Nikolai coming to pull you back inside for not following their commands.

Instead it was Ghost.

Despite seeing him just a mere moment ago, you had already forgotten how big and intimidating he was; it surely didn’t help that you were laying down or he was barely lit from the light above you.

“Princess,” he greeted, tipping his head to the side, clear confusion over seeing you here. You whined, doing your best to prove that you were not here to fight, carefully wagging your tail as you curled to the side a little, showing your stomach.

He huffed, looking over his shoulder again, but despite his lack of words, he didn’t seem to be against you being in there, in fact you could see his tail wag. The scent from him became a little thicker.

He let out a sharp bark.

You heard their movements a moment later and as Ghost entered, Soap and Gaz followed — clearly much more surprised to see you there, a couple of excited barks leaving them. A sharp growl from Ghost made them quiet down then and you curled yourself to the side again.

Fearing for a moment that he would turn you away as well. While Gaz and Sop began to pull off their outdoors clothes, Ghost walked to the edge of the hay filled area, squatting down, as you carefully sat up.

You must have looked like a little mess, eyelids puffy, eyes red, hay in your hair. Pathetic thing, your mind supplied, why would they want you?

“Why ar’ you here, princess?” Ghost asked and you felt your muscles tense.

“I can leav—“

“He dinnae say that,” Soap was quick to interject, letting you and Ghost have some space. He smiled at you - so did Gaz. You dared to look back at Ghost… he looked worried, a small smile.

“I - they didn’t want to fuck me,” you admitted with a whisper, “I want somebody to want me.”

Simon let out a huff and you tried making yourself seem smaller. Telling them that they were second choice had perhaps not been the best decision.

“Do you actually want us?” Kyle asked, his arms now crossed, a more sceptical look on his face.

“Yeah,” you whispered, because that was the truth; their mere eyes on you made your pussy clench around nothing, “want you. Nice. Show me, I…”

You didn’t know how to describe it. Instead you dared to crawl through the little hay, all close to Ghost now. Stopping, looking into his eyes that was staring right back at you; your faces were so close they would almost touch with the wrong movement.

“Princess,” there was hunger in his voice that made you lick your lips.

“I am taking control,” you whispered, “making my own decision.”

A smug smile appeared on his scarred face and then the hybrid leant forwards nuzzling his nose against yours for a short moment.

“Let’s get you to the nest,” he rumbled, an almost underlying hum in his voice, the scent of lust almost exploding from everyone in the little shed “we’re not fucking you in the hay.”

They were welcoming you to their nest. Not forcing you and you whined with happiness, letting out a yelp as Simon then lifted you quickly with a little grunt. You landed on their mattresses and blankets a second later, a wagging Soap next to you almost instantly, licking your cheek.

“Dinnae worry, hen - I’ll take ye’ where ever ye’ want.”

Gaz appeared on your other side, arms curling around you and nuzzling into your chest.

“Stay with us tonight,” he asked softly, “please.”

How could you say no to a polite offer like that? You nodded, his tail wagging as well, thumping rhythmically against a pillow.

A moment later an energy bar hit your stomach and then the others as well.

“Eat first,” Ghost commanded, “we will need the energy.”

Since you hadn’t eaten much earlier, you were only happy to, hungrily watching together with Soap and Gaz as Ghost pulled off his shirt.

Gaz turned and nuzzled against you after eating, pressing his face against one of your tits.

“I’m sorry they didn’t ask you ‘bout the litter beforehand,” he said, meaning that Ghost had told them. The big man shrugged as you shot him a look, as he focused on eating his own energy bar.

You looked up at the ceiling, licking your lips for a short moment. Your pussy was dripping wet by now, knowing it was a matter of time before the other hybrids would fuck you dumb all night. As a short of fuck you to John and Price, but also because you genuinely wanted it for once.

An idea filled your head, only shortly distracted as Soap grinded against you, his hard on most likely leaking in his own underwear.

“I can smell ye’ kitty,” he crooned darkly and you had almost forgotten how he had called your pussy that, “I’m gonna make ‘er purr, pretty lass.”

You let out a needy whimper, closing your eyes for a moment. Thinking. It was stupid, probably a dangerous idea. Yet it slipped from your lips as you sat up and looked directly at Ghost.

“Rip out my implant.”

The little house went quiet immediately.

“Wat?” It was Soap who spoke the first, sitting up and looking at you, confusion taking over his horniness.

“No,” Gaz said, uncertainty in his voice over your idea, “didn't they want to wait?”

You almost wanted to growl at him.

“If I’m having pups, I want them on my terms,” you huffed, sending Gaz a sharp look, his ears tipping down in submission for once and you looked back at Ghost, who was undoubtedly their leader.

“Knock me up.”

“It’s just yet anger, innit?” He pointed out, mean but with a smile on his face that looked almost hungry , “sure you want our pups, darlin’? We’re not lapdogs.”

“Want somebody who can protect me,” you pointed out, “protect me ‘nd my pups. Not a lapdog.”

There were pleased growls from all of them. Both Soap and Gaz began to touch your shamelessly, pulling at your clothes to get them off and Ghost got down on all four, crawling towards you, making you lay down again, helping them get your shirt off. Bared and without any agression, they all shared a look.

“This isn’t a one time thing,” Gaz earned, “if we do this you’re ours. Not just sometimes, all the time.”

You whimpered at his words, nodding as you felt slick wetting your panties even more. Soap growled into your neck, taking deep breaths.

“No takin’ the pups from us,” he warned, “no matter who of us succeeds.”

“I won’t,” you promised quickly, moving your head to tip it up to kiss him and agreeing against his lips, “want my pups to grow up with their daddies.”

They all growled in delight, more hands on you and you helped getting the last things off, tugging at their clothes as well, making them undress so you weren’t restricted by clothes.

Daddies - they were going to knock you up; breed you, like a dark part of your mind wanted, breed you for days, not letting you leave without being pregnant. Fucking you day and night, making sure your cunt was stuffed with their cum.

Ghost were grinning darkly down at you, hunger in his eyes, cock hard between his legs, dripping already - your hand resting against Gaz’ neck and Soap’s hair.

“Now Princess,” Ghost crooned darkly, his fangs almost shining in the dim light of the shed, all of your tails wagging, the heavy scent of lust, with your slick and their precum in the air, “in which arm is that implant of yours?”

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xxhhunter · 3 months ago

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Haven’t posted this zosan here

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kendyzzlewp · 7 months ago

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Hard Work, Pays Off || ART DONALDSON

art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: after months and months of trying, it finally happens

tags: married life, husband!art x wife!reader, mentions of sex, exhaustion, tw: throwing up, pregnancy, pregnancy announcement, fluff

____________________________________________

Art Donaldson was exhausted.

He had never been so sexed out in his life. Trying to have a baby was harder than people had realized. Don’t get him wrong, it was very enjoyable, but the lack of sleep was not it.

It seemed like you were craving it. All day, every day. Waking him up in the middle of the night, lips on his neck, hand on his dick. In the shower, in the kitchen, in the car, hell, you almost got kicked out of a restaurant because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.

Art did his best to please you, bending you over wherever possible—pounding into you until you were a trembling mess below him.

He let out a yawn, his hand rubbing his tired blue eyes. His publicist rambled on about the latest endorsement deal, and he was trying to pay attention. It’s just that his voice was soothing, and the room temperature was hitting just right. If he closed his eyes for just a second…

“Art!”

That jolted him awake, almost spilling his to-go cup of coffee all over the table. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the stern face of his publicist, Mark.

“Sorry,” Art mumbled, straightening in his seat.

Mark sighed, shaking his head. “You’ve got to keep it together, dude. This deal is important. Nike doesn’t just hand out endorsement deals like candy.”

“I know, I know,” Art said, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to concentrate. “Just send me the details. I have to go.”

He stood up, grabbing his keys. Mark looked like he wanted to argue, but he just nodded, exasperated. Art didn’t wait for a response and headed out the door, eager to get home.

When he opened the door to the house, the sight of you asleep on the couch greeted him. You looked so peaceful, sprawled out with a light blanket covering you. Art’s heart softened as he watched you for a moment, your chest rising and falling with each breath; despite his day's exhaustion and chaos, seeing you like this made everything worth it.

He crept, trying not to wake you, as he set his keys down and shrugged off his jacket. He tiptoed over to you, crouching down to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. You stirred slightly, your eyes fluttering open.

“Hey,” you murmured, a sleepy smile forming.

“Hey,” Art replied softly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” you said, stretching. “How was your meeting?”

“Long and boring,” he admitted, chuckling. “But it’s over now. How are you feeling?”

You sighed contentedly. “Tired.”

Art smiled, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Why don’t we both take a nap? We could use the rest.

You nodded, shifting to make space for him on the couch. Art lay beside you, wrapping his arms around you as you settled in. The warmth and comfort of having you close began to soothe his tired mind.

—-

Weeks passed, and you still wanted Art every second of every day. It wasn’t even the fact that you both wanted to get pregnant; it was that he looked so good all the damn time. Every glance, every touch, every whisper had you pouncing on him.

This day, however, you woke up feeling off.

The smell of pancakes wafted in from the kitchen, making your stomach uncomfortable. The feeling of nausea danced around in your throat the moment your bare feet touched the cold floor.

As the bile started to creep up, you muttered a curse under your breath. With a hand clasped over your mouth, you darted to your ensuite bathroom, barely reaching the toilet in time. Nausea washed over you in waves as you knelt on the cold tile floor, your stomach heaving uncontrollably.

Retching echoed in the small room, each heave sending a surge of discomfort through your body. Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to catch your breath, the taste of bile lingering on your tongue.

Through the haze of nausea, you heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching and then Art's concerned voice calling your name.

"Babe, are you okay?" he asked, kneeling beside you and gently touching your back.

You shook your head weakly, unable to form words as another wave of nausea washed over you. Art's hand rubbed soothing circles on your back as you clung to the toilet, feeling utterly drained and miserable.

After what felt like an eternity, the nausea began to subside, leaving you feeling shaky and exhausted. You leaned against the wall, closing your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing.

Art stayed by your side, offering you a glass of water and a damp washcloth to wipe your face. His concern was evident in his eyes as he watched over you, and you felt a surge of gratitude for his presence.

"Thank you," you whispered hoarsely, taking a sip of water and leaning into his comforting embrace.

He kissed the top of your head, his voice soft and reassuring. "What happened? Was it something you ate?

You shrugged weakly, still feeling too queasy to speak. Art's hand rubbed your back soothingly as you tried to collect yourself.

"It's possible," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not sure. I just woke up feeling off."

Art nodded, his brow furrowed with concern. "Do you think you need to see a doctor?"

You hesitated, not wanting to overreact. "I'll see how I feel after a little while. Maybe it's just a stomach bug."

Art nodded again, understanding. He helped you up from the bathroom floor and guided you back to bed, tucking you in gently. You knew deep down that this wasn't a damn stomach bug. Still, you didn't want to get your hopes up after months of trying and facing the same disappointment each time.

"Try to get some rest," he said softly, brushing a stray hair from your face. "I’ll make you some toast.”

The mention of food sent you running to the bathroom again. This was not a stomach bug.

———-

As Art finished packing his tennis bag, his mind ran in circles. You hadn't stopped throwing up in days, only finding respite when you were asleep. The mere mention of anything edible sent you into a spiral that seemed to last for hours.

He was worried. He had to leave town for a stupid challenger that Tashi had signed him up for. Looking at your state, he didn't want to go, but the US Open was approaching. He needed the tournament to qualify.

Art sighed, running a hand through his hair as he glanced back at you, curled up on the couch, looking pale and exhausted. He hated to leave you like this, but his career was on the line.

"Hey," he said softly, kneeling beside you and taking your hand. "Say the word, and I’ll stay.”

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with fatigue and uncertainty. "You have to go," you whispered hoarsely.

"I know," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I don't want to leave you like this."

"But you have to," you insisted, squeezing his hand weakly. "You’ve worked so hard this season, don’t mess it up because of me. I'll be fine. I promise."

Art searched your eyes momentarily, finding the determination and strength he loved about you. He stood up with a heavy heart, leaning down to kiss your forehead gently.

"I'll call you every chance I get," he promised. "And I'll be back before you know it. Take care of yourself, okay?"

You nodded, offering him a weak smile as he grabbed his bag and headed for the door. Watching him go, you felt a mix of sadness at being alone and pride in his dedication to his career.

As the door closed behind him, you waited a few minutes before jumping from the couch. You went into your shared bathroom, hands shaking in anticipation as you grabbed the pregnancy test from the bathroom cabinet.

This is it. All the signs were there.

Throwing up? Check.

Sore nipples? Check.

Late period? Check.

Horny 24/7? Check.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your shaking hands as you unwrapped the pregnancy test. Your mind raced with emotions—hope, fear, excitement, and uncertainty. You knew deep down that this could be the moment you had been waiting for.

After following the instructions, you waited anxiously for the results. The minutes felt like hours as you stared at the test, willing to show the desired answer.

Finally, the moment of truth arrived. You looked down at the test, your heart pounding in your chest. And there it was, clear as day—two pink lines.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you sank to the floor, overwhelmed with emotion. You were going to have a baby. All the nausea, exhaustion, and uncertainty suddenly made sense. It was all worth it.

Now, the fun part.

——

Art was crushing the tournament.

Barreling through to the finals easily, finishing every match with such an advantage that it was almost embarrassing for the other players.

As you watched Art prepare for the final match, a sense of pride swelled within you. He had worked hard to get to this point, and his performance throughout the tournament was impressive.

You couldn't help but smile as you thought about the news you would share with him. The thought of seeing his reaction filled you with excitement and joy. Quickly closing the door, you sat with the rest of the audience, eager to know the outcome.

As Art stepped onto the court for the final match, you took a deep breath, knowing that win or lose, this moment would be one to remember.

The match was intense, with both players giving it their all. Art's determination and skill were evident as he moved across the court, his focus unwavering.

In the end, Art emerged victorious, the crowd erupting into cheers as he raised his arms triumphantly.

As Art basked in the crowd's cheers, his eyes locked onto yours, a grin breaking through his focused demeanor. His expression softened with surprise and relief as he saw you in the finals despite how horrible you felt.

This was your moment.

With a steady hand, you reached into your purse, pulling out the newborn-sized onesie you had been carrying. "Way to go, Dad!" were scribbled in bold letters on the white material, a message of celebration and love.

As Art approached you, his victorious aura shining bright, you held out the onesie with a smile, your heart pounding excitedly.

"Congratulations, Dad," you said, your voice filled with pride and joy.

Art's eyes widened with surprise as he took the onesie from you, his expression shifting from disbelief to pure joy. A wide grin spread across his face as he looked down at the tiny garment in his hands, the realization sinking in.

"You're pregnant?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with emotion.

You nodded, tears of happiness welling up in your eyes. "Yes, we're having a baby."

Art pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you as he held you close.” I love you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I love you so much.”

As the crowd continued to cheer around you, you held onto Art tightly, feeling the warmth of his love and the promise of a new beginning. In that moment, surrounded by the echoes of victory and the anticipation of new life, you knew your future together was brighter than ever.

Hard work does pay off.

#married art donaldson #art donaldson oneshot #art donaldson drabble #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x female reader #mentions of Tashi #challengers #challengers fanfiction #art donaldson fanfiction #art donaldson pregnancy #art donaldson fluff #mike faist x reader #mike faist #mike faist fanfic

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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Hi, I just found your blog, and I love your Simon's fics! I was wondering if i could please request something where Reader and Simon had broken up bc he thought he put her in danger. After a few months, he comes to her after a mission and they spend the night but he leaves before she wakes up thinking hes doing whats best (and all that angsty jazz 🥲🤭) . A few weeks after she finds out shes pregnant and decides to take on her own, as reader thinks simon wouldnt care. But maybe one of the guys see her heavy preggo and tell simon, and hes fuming and super protective mode is on.

Sorry if it is too specific and for the terrible english. I just have this idea, and i dont think i can picture it right. Anyway, thanks for reading this and for your good work on your fics 💗 hope you have a lovely day

—Digging Gaze

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [You indulge in a one-night-stand after you'd both called it quits, only, it leads to more problems. When he sees you again, how will he react to the swelling of your stomach?] ❞

You knew it was the effects of a less-than-gentle breakup, but you should have at least cursed him out before you let him have his way with you on the living room couch. You’d woken up back in bed, alone, and had gotten dropped back to where you had been weeks earlier—stuck in the throws of confusion and hurt.

Simon had left you, and he never gave you a reason.

A part of you was heated; pissed off and feeling betrayed by the insult, yet, the rest of you knew that Simon needed to have his reasons—he always did. Even if you didn’t agree with them, and you knew he tended to look at life with a glass-half-empty type of glance.

So that left you here.

You were pregnant.

You’d found out two weeks after you’d slept together for that last time, your cheeks still hot from the memory and your fingers clutching the plastic of a test.

Pregnant.

It had been a shock, a deep panic. The both of you had been reckless. Stupid. And while you had stared at those two pink lines, you felt a sinking in your gut akin to a drowning ship. Should you tell him? It would be proper, of course.

But you don’t think you can face him again after you’d awaken to an empty bed—as if your entire relationship had only been about sex and not the deep nights of confessions and soft brushes of skin. You knew Simon Riley better than he probably knew himself.

And you wouldn’t put this on him.

At seven months, you couldn’t walk as much as you could before—and you would huff for breath as you went up the stairs to change the sheets—but who else could do it but you? Shopping also fell to you, and so, you pushed a large cart around and packed the metal basket with cravings and necessities. That was when you fell to a familiar face.

“Johnny?” You ask, blinking.

The Scot pauses, turning. His brows furrowed for a moment before a kind smile peeled his lips back.

“Hen!” He comes closer, laughing. “Well, I haven’t seen you in a good minute, then. What have you been up to in all—”

The man freezes at the sight of your stomach, jaw going slack as you fight an internal war with yourself to say pleasantries and leave.

“Hell,” Johnny clears his throat. “I guess you’ve been doin’ a great deal.”

You sigh, shaking your head softly. “Thanks, Johnny.”

“I’m just joking, Little Lady.” The man laughs and waves a hand. “Who’s the lucky man then? I’ll have to meet him one of these days.”

Your face blanks and your lips snap shut in an instant.

Blue eyes wait for an answer as the silence laps over itself. Slowly but surely, the realization dawns on his face in a tight pull of horror.

“You can’t tell him,” you interrupt his tight gasp. “Not a peep, MacTavish, you hear?”

“What the fuck,” he breathes at you, hand coming up to his mouth as he glances down at your swelling bump. “Holy hell.”

“Johnny,” you snap, his eyes jerk back to you.

“It’s bloody Ghost’s—”

“You can’t,” you growl, coming closer, “tell him.”

“What do you mean I can’t tell him,” Johnny hisses under his breath, looking at the people passing by and lowering his tone. “You’re pregnant and he doesn’t know!”

“That’s the point,” you ease out, exasperated and feeling drained already. Jesus, you needed to go lay down—your back was killing you. “Johnny,” you breathe, growing softer as you reach out a hand and put it to his arm. He grips it and holds on, looking incredibly concerned. “He doesn’t need to know, okay? That’s a lot of stress on him, and you know what he does for work. Even worrying about me was hard on him, what do you think a child would do?”

“You can’t think like that,” the Scot mutters. “He can help—what, you mean to tell me you plan to do this by yourself?” It isn’t malicious how he says it; Johnny’s worried about you. Incredibly. “Hen, no,” he shakes his head. “No, you can’t.”

“I can, Johnny,” you frown, dread filling your heart. “And I will.”

In the future, you really had to take into account Johnny’s flapping lips when under the spell of alcohol. Maybe you had enough faith in him to watch himself for the last little while of your pregnancy as he had into the latter half of the eighth month.

And then three firm knocks were at your door, and when you opened it, you were face to face with a painted balaclava and frazzled brown eyes.

Those eyes immediately snap down, and not even a word is uttered to your face until then.

The both of you are stone-still. Frozen. Dead to all else.

You swear it was hours of this—standing in the doorway with Simon’s fingers stiff in his pockets and his chest not even moving in a pulse or flare of his lungs. He doesn’t even blink.

“How far along?” His voice is monotone. A low drone in the ringing of your ears.

Damn that Scot.

“Eight and a half,” you say quietly.

Brown eyes shift up to yours. Simon stares, and you see his jaw clench under his balaclava, his shoulders moving. Again a long pause.

“When’s the next appointment—”

“It’s a girl.” You see his eyelids peel back and halt there, watching you. “In case you care to stick around and see her.”

Cruel perhaps, but it was nothing short of how he acted while leaving you.

Simon’s hidden face is slack, stuttering silently for a moment as the light fades outside.

“Didn’t…didn’t know,” he grunts out, blinking quickly.

“I know you didn’t,” you utter. “That was the point, Simon.”

“Johnny told me ‘bout it, didn’t believe him.” His brown eyes swirl, breaking. “Thought you’d mention it if you were.”

“You left,” you breathe. “Why would I reach out to someone that did that to me.”

“M’sorry, I-I don’t…” Simon clears his throat, looking away. His eyes are glossy, fingers moving out of his pockets so his twitching hands can splay out. “Could have explained, but I didn’t know how, Love. I’m not…this isn’t…”

Words fail him just like his ability to explain his emotions. Part of him was angry—angry that you’d gone all this time without reaching out when he could have helped.

A daughter.

But he was afraid, as well. Terrified. You were in the right and he knew it. Simon didn’t know the first thing about being a father…but then again, you didn’t know how to be a mother, either.

This was new territory.

“Marry me,” Simon pushes out with a quick force of breath.

“Wh—,” you choke on air. “What?”

“Let me make it up to you, yeah?” Gloved hands move at his sides, eyes honest but still shiny. “Wasn’t thinking—my fault and I can’t go on if I don’t know you’re safe.” He licks at the corner of his mouth. “...Both of you. Thought leaving would make the best sense, but I was…fucking hell. M’sorry.”

“Simon, there are many more ways other than marriage.” Your anger wasn’t something that could be washed away that easily, even if your heart fluttered at the idea and his apology.

You had more self-respect than that.

“Let me fix this,” he whispers, leaning closer.

Your hand rests over your stomach, staying there as the minutes draw. Simon waits, nervous and his fingers tap on his thigh. You know he’s afraid. You know he’s nervous about what he could bring home from work, even if those are only his paranoia talking in his ear like a demon.

You frown.

You huff.

And you open the door wider.

“The sheets need changing in my room. Get on it.”

The man says nothing before he enters the house and slips off his boots; disappearing into the linen closet.

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nachosforfree · 6 months ago

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fnan alt ending

#em draws shit #art #fnaf #willry #pregnancy mention

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amalepregnancyworld · 6 months ago

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#mpreg #male pregnancy #gay #pregnant #belly #pregnant man #mpreg mention #mpreg kink #gut #dad bod #bulk belly

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merakiui · 9 months ago

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the birds and the bees.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, slight dub-con, implied stalking, age gap (riddle is 19 and reader is 29) note - you're hired to teach riddle about the birds and the bees. you need the money. he needs to get laid.

The Rosehearts’s Residence looks about how you expected it to after driving past houses of similar size and grandeur. Unlike you, they’re definitely not strapped for cash. It’s an impressive structure with its elegant wrought iron gates and expertly trimmed hedges. You’re immediately overcome with bitter jealousy when you step through the entrance, passing rose bushes in full bloom. If only your apartment could look and feel as nice as this place. You almost wonder if you should keep Mrs. Rosehearts’s contact in case she ever needs a gardener or a window washer…

But then that risks your cover, and the last thing you want is to get tangled up in trouble with the upper middle class.

Gathering your courage, you smooth invisible wrinkles in your pencil skirt, steady your balance in your Mary Janes—both at socially acceptable lengths and heights—and bring your fist down against the door. Seconds after the third knock, it opens to reveal a woman who looks as prim and proper as the landscape of her home. She takes a long moment, drinking in your formal features, and then smiles approvingly.

“Ah, (Name), you’re early.”

You soften your face into something polite and demure. “Better early than late.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

She steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. You meander into the foyer and are instantly reminded of those exquisite house tours on MagiTube. There’s a fine layer of modest Victorian wealth to the decor. Flowery wallpaper, a lofty ceiling, an aureate chandelier, a vase filled with fresh tulips of all colors… Oh, how you wish you could live here!

“Your home is beautiful,” you comment as you straighten your bow headband.

“Why, thank you.” Her eyes light up once more. “I’ve always admired this neighborhood. Everything is so well-kept. Speaking of which, where did you say you’re from?”

“Oh, I’m actually getting ready to move back to school at the end of the summer,” you explain, narrowly dodging her question. No way I’m telling her I live in a not-so-affluent neighborhood… She’ll totally kick me out. “I’m staying with my parents in the meantime and working a few jobs to support myself.”

“And what was it you’re studying again?”

You paste a hollow smile on, sensing her distrust. I already told you this when we met at the clinic. Do I really seem so suspicious?

“I’m studying to be an ob-gyn.”

“A wonderful profession,” she praises, nodding to herself. “Very wonderful indeed. And how old are you? I merely ask to confirm. There are so many miscreants nowadays. You can never be too sure.”

“I understand completely, Mrs. Rosehearts. I’m—” you almost falter, your real age on the tip of your tongue— “twenty-two. What about your son? You told me he’s also looking to get into the medical field?”

“Not looking. He will pursue medicine,” she corrects sternly. “Just like his mother.”

You swallow your disgust and try not to let it show so openly. Yikes… Talk about controlling.

Mrs. Rosehearts waves you onwards down the hall. “My Riddle will be leaving for his first year of college at the end of August. Though I’m certain he’s more than prepared, it never hurts to review.”

“Absolutely. So you’d like me to give him the talk?”

“Not just that. I’d like you to teach him well enough so that copulation and any other libidinous ideas are the last things on his mind. Stamp them out if you must. He’s to focus on his studies and make good decisions just as I raised him.”

Shouldn’t he already be familiar with this? Besides, he’s not a kid. Of course he’s going to think about sex. Most of us do when we’re horny.

But you can’t say that outright, so you settle for something vastly different.

“It’s important to stay on the right path and be responsible.”

Mrs. Rosehearts nods her agreement. Your stomach twists in discomfort.

On second thought, I don’t want to be upper middle class if these are the people I have to deal with. Is this guy going to have any chance to be social? To live his life? To make and learn from stupid mistakes? I bet he can’t wait to get out of here and go off to school.

“I apologize if this is rude in any way, but I just want to ensure I’ll be paid accordingly.”

“Of course. Good work must always be recognized and rewarded.” She stops at a door. “I cannot thank you enough for lending my Riddle your time. Teach him well.”

“I’ll do just that. You can count on it.”

Pleased with the level of maturity you’ve displayed, she raps her knuckles against the door and calls out, “Riddle, the tutor’s here.”

“Very well, Mother. I’ve just finished today’s readings, so you can send them in,” comes a muffled reply.

Today’s readings? you think, perplexed. Your gaze slides from the door to Mrs. Rosehearts. Does she have this guy doing summer school? That must suck! What a shitty way to spend your summer, cooped up inside filling out workbooks and stuff.

“I’ll be out running errands in the meantime. I trust you’ll be all right by yourself?”

“Perfectly all right,” you assure her, to which she hums and strides past you. You catch her perfume as she departs, and it reminds you of the types of scents worn by saggy, old ladies who have nothing better to do than sit around and complain about the state of the world and the way their children turned out.

In other words, a scent you associate with misery.

You wait until she’s out of sight before opening the door and stepping inside the study. There’s a mahogany desk in the center, and thick textbooks are piled high on either side. Beyond that, beside a big bay window with cream-colored curtains drawn to let in the sun, two large bookcases are packed with an array of tomes. At the front of the room, a blackboard has been built into a wooden frame. Chalk lines the ledge, situated within reach of an eraser. And sitting at the desk, his eyes glued to an open book, is a young man. A pair of round frames sit on the bridge of his nose, slipping ever so slightly down the slope of it when he peers at the page. He pushes them up when he finally lifts his head to greet you.

“Hey.” You wave awkwardly, easing the door shut.

He seems taken aback by your appearance. “Oh, yes. Right. Hello…”

Silence soon fills the space. You wonder if you should just save yourself this nonsensical waste of time and retreat.

“Sooo.” You fold your arms behind your back, rocking on your heels. “Your mother’s probably told you why I’m here.”

“I’m aware.” He shuts his book and stands from his seat. “My name is Riddle Rosehearts. A pleasure to meet you.”

You blink at his outstretched arm. “(Name). Likewise.” You grab his hand and shake firmly.

So stiff…

“So where’re we starting? The basics? You want the whole ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ version or—”

Riddle scoffs and yanks his arm back. “I’m not a fool. I’ll have you know I’m well aware of sexual reproduction and what it entails.”

“You can call it sex. No one’s forcing you to be all biological,” you tease. His body goes rigid, and his face reddens in what you assume is flustered annoyance. “Anyways, since you’re not as brainless as Mother Dearest wants me to assume, I’ll just get into it.”

Riddle stares at you, his arms folding over his chest. He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he huffs and lowers into his chair.

Wordlessly, you undo the buttons on your blazer and shrug out of it. Your blouse goes next, untucked from your skirt and shucked. Riddle’s eyes are so wide they nearly pop out of his skull when he spies the white, lacy false collar that just barely covers your breasts. You’re about to step out of your pencil skirt next when Riddle clears his throat.

“W-What’re you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No?”

“I’m teaching you the birds and the bees.”

“N-Not in that outfit! S-Surely not…” He averts his eyes, crimson crawling up to his ears. “You’re practically nude!”

“That’s the point of lingerie, silly.” Your skirt pools around your ankles to reveal the rest of your frilly ensemble. A black-and-white cupless bra and crotchless panties set, both with plenty of ruffles, held together with a pair of garters. Still wearing matching stockings and your precious Mary Janes, you bend down to gather your discarded clothes. They’re set aside on a nearby chair. “You can look.”

“A-Absolutely not!” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. “Y-You… You’re not decent. It’s rude to stare.”

“Come on. You got past anatomy diagrams just fine.”

Riddle opens and closes his mouth, speechless like a beached fish. Eventually, he manages to gather his coherency. “You’re a tutor, aren’t you? Where’s your dignity?”

“Nonexistent. I lied.” His head snaps over to view you, and he seems so scandalized by your admission that it’s almost comedic. “No way I’m studying to be an ob-gyn. I’m not even in school.”

“What?! But you—”

“It’s fine. I looked the part, didn’t I?” you joke, waving your hand about dismissively. “C’mon, mama’s boy. You’re going off to college. It’s nothing like those stuffy anatomy courses.”

Riddle tries and fails to look at anywhere that isn’t you, his eyes lingering on your chest to the space between your legs to the thigh garter and then to the ceiling. He’s so red you think he might explode.

“You’ve been with a girl before, yeah?”

With lips pursed in a tight line, he shakes his head.

“Sounds about right.”

“And you’re so experienced?”

You flash him a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, mama’s boy.”

“I’m not a mama’s boy!”

“No? So you just let your mother treat you like a little baby at your grown age? You let her pick out sex tutors for you?”

“I—” He stops himself from speaking to mull over your questions. “If it’s what she deems necessary…”

“Because our biggest fear is sexually awkward you knocking up some girl at school, right?”

“I… I would never! Safe sex is—”

“Very important when you’re not trying to conceive. Good boy. See? You know your stuff.”

Riddle’s eyes narrow into vicious slits. You brush his scorching vitriol off and turn towards the board. Procuring a piece of chalk, you scrawl words on it: Birds and Bees 101. Wholly unamused, Riddle folds his arms across his chest.

“Your mother told me you’re gonna study medicine, so you’re probably familiar with everything already. And I’m sure you know all about the baby-making process on a biological level.” You whirl to face him, your tits bouncing with the peppy motion. Riddle swallows thickly. “But just to make sure… Let’s review.”

“R-Review? You don’t mean—”

“What’s this?” Your hands close around your tits. Riddle’s enchanted with the way you squeeze them—the way they depress under your fingers.

“Um… Ahem. Well… T-The breasts. They’re a type of glandular organ located on a woman’s chest, and they’re made up of lots of tissue and fat. There’s the mammary gland—that’s what produces milk. Oh, and then there are the areolas right around the nipples. Those are—”

“You can call them what they are.”

Riddle blinks, shaken from his studious spiel. “W-What?”

“You know the word, mama’s boy.”

He flusters. “Yes, I’m aware. But…”

“No harm in saying it.” You run your fingers over your nipples and giggle sweetly like a schoolgirl. “Go on…”

He inhales a deep breath. “They’re tits,” he mumbles, desultory. “Y-Your tits.”

You clap, beaming brightly. “Well done! Moving swiftly on…” You run your hands down the expanse of your stomach, stopping just beneath your navel. “What’s here?”

“Your womb. O-Otherwise known as the uterus. It’s where a baby grows over the course of nine months.”

“Mhm. Good job.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat. “There’s more to your reproductive system than the uterus. Lots of parts. Important parts.”

“Right. But I don’t need to quiz you on it. You obviously know your stuff.”

Again, your fingers inch lower until they’re prodding at your folds. Riddle’s breath audibly hitches.

“And this?”

“Your vagina. It’s where—”

“What’s the other word?”

Riddle avoids your stare. “It sounds so vulgar…”

“So what?”

“S-So there ought to be a term that’s more…flattering.”

“Like what?” You approach him and, with the grace of a swan, lift your leg onto the desk to give him a better view of yourself. Shamelessly, you dip your fingers inside to spread yourself. “A guy called it the honeypot once. That pretty enough for you?”

Riddle squeaks and flinches back in his chair, his face now even redder than it was before. “T-That’s fine…”

“Really? I’d have thought the implication in that one is much dirtier than calling it a pussy.”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots, but once he does he gasps. “Ah. Then…”

You press inwards with your fingers, exaggerating a pornographic sigh. “Yeah?”

“Can I… M-May I call it your flower?”

“Sure.” His shoulders slacken with a flicker of relief. Your next words shatter that and his pride in one fell swoop. “That one’s not as special as you think, mama’s boy. I’ve heard it all—every type of flower you can think of.”

“Even a rose?”

“Especially a rose.” His lips twist into a disappointed moue. You chuckle and add, “You can call it a rose if you want. I don’t mind.”

Riddle meets your eyes then, searching them for the joke. When one doesn’t present itself, he relaxes. “All right. It’s a very pretty rose. Soft…”

“Aww. Thanks for saying so. It’s softer inside, y’know. See?” Spreading yourself wider, you angle your hips to bless him with the full view. “My fingers slide right in. Wanna guess why?”

“B-Because the vagina naturally—” He stops himself, his brows knitting together in contemplation. When he speaks next, it’s with a determined sort of conviction. “When you’re aroused, your rose produces a natural lubricant during sexual excitement.”

“Mhm. We call that ‘feeling good and getting wet,’ Dr. Rosehearts.”

“Yes. Y-Yes, I know that.” He eyes your pussy, a ravenous glimmer in his intelligent blue-greys. “And the wetness—it’s supposed to make it feel better. To make insertion easier, I mean.”

“Right again.” You ease your fingers out but not before thrusting them deeper just so he can hear the sinful sounds. They shimmer with your essence, enticing in a forbidden way. “What about the other parts? How about this spot here?” You brush against the hood of your clit, circling it slowly.

Riddle watches, hopelessly spellbound. “The clitoris.”

“I’m impressed. Most guys don’t know about it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But it’s your most sensitive erogenous zone! Just how uninformed does one have to be to neglect such a crucial part to your sexual anatomy?”

“Woefully uninformed, I’m afraid,” you mutter with a pout. Your fingertips drag your hood up to reveal that pretty, perky nub. “I think it’s dumb your mother wants me to talk you out of sex. You’re going to college. You’re an adult. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“I…” Riddle frowns at that last line. “I have no interest in it. Besides, it’ll only hinder my studies. If I really need it, I’ll just masturbate. That’s healthy every now and then, and it doesn’t break any rules.”

“Really? No interest at all?” You shoot him a knowing look and run your tongue along your bottom lip. “Because your dick’s telling a different story.”

Riddle sputters, embarrassed, and squeezes his thighs together. His hands fly to cover his lap. “That’s because you’re—” He gazes at the floor. “Because you’re so pretty…”

Temporarily thrown off course, you gape at him. “What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Gathering the remnants of your mask, you piece it together and laugh. “Not the first time I’ve heard someone describe it like that.”

“Not just your pussy.” Your gaze snaps to his. He smiles, impish. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Teacher.”

You exhale a short laugh. “Someone’s suddenly confident.”

Riddle rises from his seat. His fingers close around your wrist, gently pulling it away from your clit. He moves around the desk to stand in front of you and then, before you can comprehend his intentions, he’s pushing you down onto the desk. You yelp at the sudden change in position, your eyes blown wide when he presses his clothed hard-on against your bare pussy.

“You’re doing a poor job at dissuading me from wanting sex.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Not in that outfit.” He grabs at the meat of your thighs and parts them. “If Mother knew you lied to her…”

You shake your head at him. “Please don’t tell her. I… I’m being serious. I need this money.”

“Desperately?”

Your lip curls into the beginning of a sneer. You hate feeling powerless more than anything, but the fiery glaze in his eyes is just as troubling. “I’m not going to beg.”

“I haven’t asked for that yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Not funny. I agreed to teach you about sex. We’re not actually doing it.”

“A shame.”

“You’ll find a nice girl at school. Don’t lose hope, mama’s boy. Lots of girls like the smart types who’ll give ’em a lecture on biology and stuff.”

“I think you misunderstand. I don’t want other girls.”

“Okay?”

“My mother’s paying for a tutor and I desire you, so unless you want to leave here as a lying cheat…” He hums, seeming awfully haughty to hold the only thing that tethers you to him above your head. “You need the money, right?”

“Yes. Sure, of course I do. But—” You shift on the desk, silently horrified when he rocks against you. “We can’t. Your mother—”

“Weren’t you the one saying I should live my life? That I have the freedom to do as I please?”

“That doesn’t mean—come on; listen to yourself. You can’t honestly think I’d fuck you.”

“No? And yet you came wearing this outfit, parading around the study with your pussy and tits out.” He glances past you at the window. “And you didn’t even bother to close the curtains… How brazen.”

Your attempt to jerk away from him is made in vain. He pins you down onto the desk, one hand squeezing your breast, while the other works to fish himself from his trousers. Now hard and leaking, his cock rests against your stomach. It’s not a terrible size. If anything, it’s perfect. Just right for your tastes.

“W-Wait! It’s not safe. You can’t—” You inhale sharply, bucking up towards his hand when he presses his thumb against your clit. Biting your lip, you fix him with a glower. “If you pay me… If you promise not to tell your mother—”

Riddle leans in close. “No one needs to know. No one but us.”

Your eyes flit about the room. With a withering sigh, you submit to his touch. “You’d better pull out in time.”

Riddle rolls his hips once and his cock drags along your folds. You hiss through your teeth at this new friction, a sinful delight more dizzying than any type of alcohol consumed in excess. “Do you want to be a mother?”

“What I want has nothing to do with you. I’m just—ooh—t-trying to survive. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, so don’t poke fun.”

Riddle hums, kneading your breast and rubbing you to the edge all at once. It’s so very obviously his first time, his zealous nature trumping any sort of experienced technique. It still does the trick, though, sending little bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“My mother wouldn’t just choose anyone. Her standards are very high.” His eyes flick to your face, drinking in your expression as it shifts with restrained bliss. “Somehow you’ve earned her approval.”

“Lying’ll do that.”

“Maybe.” His fingers replicate the motions you did earlier, though with a singular objective in mind. He’s so focused on succeeding in this endeavor that it makes him look so stiff. Under any other circumstances, you’d find it cute. “Mother always knows what’s best for me. Obviously you’ve met her criteria if she’s hired you.”

“Spoken like a true mama’s boy.” Seeing as this is now your unavoidable fate, you reach up to touch his shoulders. He jolts, his initial glare softening. You tamp down another giggle and massage up and along his arms. “Relax a little. Don’t rush so much.”

Or do. Let’s get this over with before your mother catches us.

Riddle traces two fingers along your labia. He’s quiet as he takes all of you in, and when he sinks three fingers into your gooey heat his breath catches in his throat. “Are you… D-Do you feel good?”

You reach for his unoccupied hand and guide it to your clit. Riddle understands the suggestion well enough, for he massages you slowly. Sucking in another breath, you nod at him.

“Not bad. You’re getting there.”

His neglected cock throbs at the praise, and so you wrap your fingers around it to give it the same amount of attention he’s currently giving you. Riddle grits his teeth at the contact.

“You can move your fingers. Don’t just focus on my clit.”

“Ah. Right. Of course,” he babbles dumbly, so swept up in everything that you are, so very eager to please.

You’re like a work of art pinned to his desk, a delicacy more forbidden than anything from the bakery. Sugary-sweet, adorned in skimpy ruche, you’re a temptation laid bare. Delicately, as if you might shatter, he curls his fingers to press up against your insides. Riddle watches you arch up towards him, your hand working his cock maddeningly slow and steady. It feels good—better than anything he could have ever imagined.

His eyes trail from your lips to your tits to your pussy stretched around his fingers. “Do you have any plans for this summer?”

The sudden question catches you off guard. You were expecting something related to sex, not whatever this new shred of curiosity is. Still, that doesn’t stop you from dragging him closer to the edge of ecstasy with every tug of your fist.

“Why?”

“I… I’d like to get to know you.”

“Me?”

“Of course. You’re more than a body to me.”

“How charming. I just—” You frown, unable to follow where he’s going with this. “Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Even though he says it like it’s a fact, he looks shy. “I want to know you.”

“Uh… Yeah… Okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not that… It’s just hard to imagine you having any girl friends.”

Riddle rolls his eyes and grinds his thumb into your clit. You bite back a whine as his fingers pump in and out of you. “Is that space open or closed?”

“You know which one.”

“You could be the one to close it.”

You meet his eyes then. For a short minute, the two of you hold each other’s stare. And then, breaking free from his hypnotic hold, you squeeze his length gently. He shudders, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“And what about you? You excited for your first year?”

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, rutting into your hand. His fingers spread you open, scissoring gently.

“Just make sure to take time for yourself. Have fun. Live.”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were at school—how’d you manage?”

“I never went.” He opens his mouth to interject, but you beat him to it. “Couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh…”

“It’s fine! I’ve got plenty of experience in other things. I don’t need school for that.”

Riddle doesn’t believe your feigned optimism for a second. “If you could’ve gone, what would you have studied?”

You release his cock from your hold and reach up to pull his glasses from his face. Gingerly, minding the fragile frames, you set them aside. You lift your index to your lips, effortlessly coy. “It’s a secret.”

Before he can protest, you tap the hand at your cunt next. Riddle’s fingers, wet and shiny, slide out with a slick squelch. “I think you can do it.”

“What?”

“Go to school and study what you want. I believe in you.”

A wooden laugh tumbles from your lips. “Thanks for the encouragement, mama’s boy.”

“I have a name, you know.”

You smile easily. “You want me to call you something else? How does ‘good boy’ sound?”

Even though he tries not to let it show, his cock betrays his reticence with a small twitch. He’s an open book. Not wanting to give you the satisfaction, he lines himself up instead. Your fingers slip down to spread yourself for him.

“S-Slowly…” you whisper, stumbling over your breath as the head of his cock presses inside. Shallow at first before more inches fill you.

Riddle heaves a shaky gasp, his eyes wide with amazement. “I… I’m inside you…”

“How’s it feel?” “Warm. Soft. Snug. R-Really good.” He bows his head and digs his fingers into your hips. You think he has a dozen more adjectives on the tip of his tongue, each one just as fluffy as the last. “D-Do you feel good? It doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You wind your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your hands come to rest upon his shoulders once more. “Move your hips.”

Riddle does just that. His pace is awkward and inexperienced, every motion unsteady and jerky, as he searches for the right rhythm. He falls into it surprisingly fast, and it isn’t long until he’s smoothly rutting into you. You grab at his shirt, your breath coming in reedy huffs.

“Good. You—haa—good. You’re doing good.” Praise pours from your lips like a waterfall, plentiful and refreshing. It invigorates him, fills him with a confidence that wasn’t there before.

The soft slap of skin on skin fills the room. You keep your voice in check, lest you lose yourself and alert Mrs. Rosehearts. Riddle seems to be doing the same, even though it’s obvious he’s struggling much more than you are. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress his groans.

“You can touch me,” you whisper, petting his cheek. He blinks at you, his face aflame with a bright blush.

Nervously, he reaches for you and then pauses. Contemplation passes over his features. “What feels better? I want you to—no. I will make sure you cum. I’ve studied it, actually. I know how long it takes.”

“Look at you, doing your research like a diligent student. You want extra credit?”

Riddle chuckles and pinches your clit between two fingers. The rest of your teasing tapers off into a lewd squeal. “What was that about extra credit?”

“You’re awfully bold for your first time.”

“I’m not clueless.” His hips press inwards, plastering you to the desk, and his cock brushes that special spot within—the spot that has you seeing stars, your every nerve tingling with pleasure. You choke around a delighted gasp. Riddle, feeling victorious, places his hand against your stomach, as if searching to feel his cock thrust up inside you. “Will I see you again after this?”

“If your mother wants me to come back and give you another pointless lecture on celibacy and safe sex, sure.”

“No, not that. Outside of this.”

“Don’t you have friends you’d rather hang out with?”

“I…do.”

“So spend time with them.”

Riddle doesn’t dignify that with a retort. With the way his eyes gloss over, you wonder just how many of these friends are within physical distance. The conversation stalls out into silence.

“You’ll make lots of friends at school. So many you’ll probably forget all about me.”

Riddle yanks your hips to meet his, driving himself deeper into your pussy.

“A-And you’ll find a nice girl to love if you’re looking for that kinda thing.”

“I am,” he confesses, breathless. “I want to get married and—mmh—start a family one day… I want to study law—become a lawyer… Mother thinks medicine suits me, but I can’t agree. Law is fascinating. It’s a perfect fit for me. Far better than medicine.”

You drag your thumb over your mouth, wetting it with your lipgloss, and then press it to his lips. The indirect kiss sends a tidal wave of arousal over him, darkening the tips of his ears in striking vermillion. You offer him a gentle smile while he recovers from that devastating flirt.

“I’ll make sure to hire you as my lawyer if I ever get into legal trouble.”

“You’d better not!” He laughs and shakes his head in amused disbelief. “But if you do, I’ll be there for you. Always.”

“Thanks, Riddle.”

Maybe I judged him too harshly. He’s not so bad.

In that stuffy study, just as the late afternoon gives way to red-orange streaked across a purple-pink sky, Riddle fucks you against that desk in all manner of rhythms. It’s when he finally picks up speed that you realize he’s nearing his end. You mirror his enjoyment, strung along by titillating touches and whispered words drenched in sweetness. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve reached rapture alongside him, your pussy now brimming with cum. There’s so much it leaks out of your slick hole when he draws away, only to burrow his cock deeper to stuff it back inside.

The room reeks of sweat and sex. You think, if not your disheveled appearance, the smell will definitely tell Mrs. Rosehearts all she needs to know.

“I love you,” Riddle murmurs, and you’re about to ask him what he means—maybe he’s caught up in the moment and doesn’t realize what he’s saying—but then he lifts your legs up to fold you into a mating press. Coherent thoughts are knocked out of your head when he spills over, filling you up for the nth time that day. You shiver beneath him, eyes rolled back into your skull and tongue lolling out. You feel so stupid, fucked submissive by some inexperienced, upper middle class mama’s boy. Which isn’t even an insult with real heat to it, but in your hazy mind it’s all you can think of to describe him.

He grinds against you in the aftermath, panting from the exhilaration and adrenaline.

“We need to…open the window,” you mutter, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

Riddle admires your fucked-out expression in his sex-drunk daze. He slides out just as he feels himself going flaccid. Cum drips onto the desk below. Briefly, you struggle to recall whether or not you took your birth control today.

Something to consider later. Definitely not right now when you’re still clinging to the vestiges of your orgasm.

— — —

Mrs. Rosehearts knocks on the door, opening it to find Riddle sitting at his desk, jotting notes and occasionally pushing his glasses up. You’re standing at the blackboard, writing a list of the consequences of unplanned pregnancies. The room smells pleasantly of roses.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

You gaze at her and smile, wearing the clothes you arrived in. Nothing’s amiss. It’s perfect—thankfully. “Welcome back, Mrs. Rosehearts. We’re just about finished here.”

“Is that right? I assume all went well?”

“Very well. Your son’s a fast learner. Extremely talented.”

“I would expect nothing less.” She withdraws an envelope and hands it to you. “Thank you again for explaining it in realistic terms. Of course I doubt that my Riddle will act senselessly while he’s away, but as his mother I’m prone to worrying. Boys his age are so easily influenced.”

“O-Of course! That’s a very valid concern.” You force a chuckle.

If only she knew.

“Your pay is in that envelope. Should I ever require your assistance again, I’ll be sure to call.”

“Right… Thank you.” You hold it close to your chest. “I’m happy to help.”

You follow her out the door. She pauses to address Riddle. “Do continue reviewing your notes. We’ll convene for dinner in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mrs. Rosehearts walks you to the gate. “I wish you luck in your studies. If I don’t see you again at the clinic, have a pleasant summer.”

“Thank you. You as well.” You smile, fidgeting slightly. A bead of sweat tracks a path down your leg from between cum-spattered thighs.

Finally! With this I can pay my rent and still have enough for a treat from the bakery.

It’s worth it, or so you continue to tell yourself.

— — —

From the window, Riddle watches you make the walk to your car. He lifts his phone to fit you in the camera and snaps a secret photo. He continues to watch you until you’ve driven off and turned the corner, disappearing from his sight.

A tiny smile tugs at his lips.

Within his phone, put under a password lock, a special photo album exists. It’s filled with pictures taken from your social media—all of them. Every. Single. One. He’s resourceful when he wants to be. He can play the parody of a tech genius when he sets his sights on something.

And you’re just perfect.

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