I Got Asked On A Date By A Girl I Like 😊

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ daddy kink

You’re trying. 

Your body language betrays you. The effort and the turbulence beneath, your eyes flicking rapidly through the parking lot, the ramrod straight line of your spine, your quadricep tensing and relaxing under his palm as he works his fingers from your knee up, back and forth. 

“What’s wrong?” You sigh. Slump. Turn to face him with an anxious pout. 

“I just… I don’t love the restaurant store.” He gives you a chance, and then prompts, pushes just slightly.

“What’s the rule?” 

“Tell you when I’m scared, or anxious. Or overwhelmed.” He squeezes approval, and you continue. “It’s chaos, especially on a Sunday, and… it’s like a warehouse so the sound bounces…  all of it is really loud.” You latch onto his forearm, hard intake of breath sharp before softening, your fingers applying firm pressure. He doesn’t mind. You’re anchoring yourself to him, with him. It’s all he could ask for. 

“It’s okay baby, we’ll get it done and then go home. I’ll be with you.” Your head bobs repeatedly with a nod, but you make no effort to unbuckle your seatbelt or get out of the car. You need a little comfort, a little encouragement, things that are his job to provide, so he’s out of the truck on his side to open the passenger door, reaching over to unbuckle your seatbelt. “Close your eyes and open your mouth.” He works his thumb behind your teeth and rests it on your tongue, a pleased flush rushing through him when you immediately pull and suck on him. “Good girl.” You calm almost immediately, strained muscles and back turning plush, tight corners of your eyes smoothing away. When you lean in, looking for more contact, he decides to test the limits. Your limits. “Breathe through your nose,” he murmurs encouragingly as he presses deeper into your mouth, “there we go.” You try, but when his knuckles meet your lips and his thumb brushes your throat, the back of your tongue, you seize up, trying to swallow, trying to find air, and jerk away, gagging. He follows the movement, width of his hand against your neck with a finger against your pulse, keeping you steady and still through the swift rise and then decline of panic. It crashes like a wave, receding just as quick and leaving something in its place.

You blink rapidly, gears turning, so obviously trying to reconcile something you’re feeling, something he can so easily read. Worry. Shame. Spiral.

“Stop.” He brushes a kiss across your forehead. “Don’t go there. When it’s time, I’ll take care of you. Do you understand?” Your chest loosens. 

“Yes daddy.” Music to his ears.

“Does your throat hurt?” 

“It’s okay.” He cups the back of your head, guides you into his arms, and place your ear over his heart. You’ve started to tap your fingers with the rhythm, against your skin or his, self soothing, and it makes him whole. It’s not just a sexual dynamic with you, it’s everything, an entire soul under his shelter, a whole human using his heartbeat to ground themselves, and nothing is more fulfilling. “Ready to go?” You tug on him instinctively, hopping from the truck, keeping your grip locked in his. 

“Yeah.” He smiles at your resolve, the confidence. 

“Brave girl. C’mon.” 

It doesn’t bother him that you lock up again, the store is a madhouse. It’s overcrowded, and loud, the metal roof of the warehouse doing nothing to dull the senses, bright lights and too many boxes, bags, things being tossed around. 

You’re wide eyed, rooted to the floor, still clutching his arm in a stranglehold and he herds you towards a corner. 

“Tell me.” You don’t start immediately, scrounging around for words, and he encourages with a gentle reminder. “Remember your rules baby.” It doesn’t take anymore coaxing after that. 

“I’m overwhelmed.” You blurt, wincing, but just as he predicted, hoped, you visibly relax, and he takes your face in his hands. Holds his whole world. 

“Proud of you sweetheart.” Tears shine in your eyes, dew drops in the corners, and when one falls he wipes it away. “Do you need me to finish your list?” 

“Please, if it’s…” He doesn’t waste time, just moves you to the cart, stations you at the helm so you can steer and he can manage the rest. 

“You’ll push the cart, and stay in the middle of the aisles. I’ll get the things you need.” You blow out a breath. 

“Okay.” 

“When?” 

“Dunno. Sometime next week, I think. Wasn’t real clear.” Simon groans, rubs his nose into his palm and then pauses, listening for footfalls in the hall or the adjacent bedroom.

“Well, if they’re goin’ we are too. I’ll see what’s going on, let you know later.” Gaz grunts an affirmative and hangs up. He’s been restless, itchy, just like the others, but Simon’s in no rush. 

Not now. 

Not when he has you, here in house, with your things in his bedroom, his bathroom, with your toothbrush next to the sink. The slow migration of your stuff has begun and is in full swing, two fuzzy blankets, your switch, your kindle, even that weird pillow you have that you call Pusheen. It’s a stuffed cat of some kind, he thinks, and you use it as a pillow half the time, which means it’s little eyes are sometimes staring at him in bed. 

But you love it, and you don’t know yet, but he loves you. 

Every sweet piece, even the weird stuffed cat. 

Which is why he’s dreading the next mission, the next time he loads onto an airplane and drops into an undisclosed location, the next time he has to turn his mind dark, shutter his heart, forget about anything that could interfere with completing an objective. 

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t want it. 

And he doesn’t want to dwell on it right now either, so he shoves back from the desk and closes his laptop, opting to find you instead. 

You’re in the kitchen. There’s a beater in your hands, something else that’s new to him, and the rich scent of chocolate in the air. 

“What’s this?” He tugs you close, holds you against him with your back to his chest, kisses your ear. 

“Whipped cream.” You shiver, goosebumps raising the hair on your arms. “It’s for…. I made hot chocolate?” 

“Is that a question?” He nips your skin. it’s getting harder to control the instinct, the urge to mark you in every way possible. 

“N-no it’s… I made it. You can make whipped cream! I don’t know why anyone buys whipped cream in a can. I mean, I know. It’s because they don’t realize how easy it is. It’s really so simple and so much better. Obviously, people don’t have time to make it by hand, I know that, I’m not trying to make anyone feel bad, but…” 

“But?” He squeezes your hip. 

“But… it’s so good this way.” The stainless steel bowl glints under the kitchen’s pendant light. “Do you want some?” 

“Of course.” You bounce a bit on your toes, the smile he dreams about lighting up your face. “I don’t think I’ve ever had hot chocolate.” You give him a shocked look.

“Wha… what?” He shakes his head and sips. It’s silky and smooth, but not something that would rot your teeth. There’s a hint of decadent bitterness to it, well balanced, a roasted coffee taste of some kind.

“Didn’t get a lot of sweet stuff, ’til you.” Whipped cream dots your upper lip and he tries to tamp down the rushing blood in his veins. 

“That’s um… that’s…” He puts the mug down, already half empty. 

“It’s what, sweetheart?” 

“It’s nice.” You whisper, drifting closer, and he slides his hands up under your hoodie. 

“Hmm,” You’re so soft, everything about you, head to toe, and you tremble under his touch, the circles he scrawls into your skin as you try to regulate your breathing. He can’t help himself. “You were such a good girl for me today, weren’t you?” 

“Yes daddy, I tried.”

“You were. So good, and so sweet,” he taps your phone and sighs at the glowing numbers on the screen. Tomorrow. “It’s late, and you should be asleep already, go on.” He urges you away from the kitchen with a pat on your ass, even as you try to protest. “Bed, little berry girl.” 

“I can clean up-” 

“Bed,” he pauses, cocks his head and reaches for the bowl of whipped cream. “Will this still be good in the morning?”  Maybe he’ll wake you up with his mouth on your nipples, tongue working circles through cream as he drags his teeth across them, pinching them so he can hear your surprised little squeak. He’d paint you with his own if you were ready, decorate your body with his cum, drag it down to your pussy and then smear it over your clit, working back and forth until you were making your own mess on his hand. 

“Um… yes? If it’s left in the fridge.”

Maybe… 

“Perfect.” 

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZTdpboa9o/?k=1

Bucky and Gorgeous

Thin Ice

Bucky has a few rules. The most important one is that you always say have to tell your biker you love him before you leave the house. Because 'I love you Bucky' are his four favorite words.

Pairing: Beefy Biker!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of smut, implied overstimulation kink, Biker Bucky being a menace.

A/N: Written on my phone. Based on that tiktok

|Masterlist|Biker Masterlist| Library|

“I’m running to the store, do you need anything?” you ask, walking past Bucky on your way to the front door.

He’s bent over the sink, a thin sheen of sweat on his back makes his colorful back tattoos shimmer as rays of sunlight from the open window stream across his skin, his work pants slung low around his hips as he removes the drain.

“Can you grab me some chips and the one dip I like?”

You sling your purse over your shoulder, putting your keys in your pocket. “Okay, I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you,” he calls out, turning back to the leaky faucet. “Bye Gorgeous, I love you.”

“Bye Bucky,” you respond, covering your mouth to stifle your laughter, quickly closing the door with a soft snick, you jaunt down the steps to the yard. You wonder how long it’s going to take for him to realize you didn't say I love you.

It’s a dangerous game, playing with your boyfriend like this, but you’re having too much to stop.

Bucky cocks his head to the side, putting the wrench on the counter. Anticipating his four favorite words. I love you Bucky. The only other phrases that even come close to making him as happy are yes right there Bucky and don’t stop, m’ close and you can have the last bite and I can’t wait for bike week.

Sure, the last two are more than four words, but he does love hearing you say them.

A second ticks by.

Then another.

His brows hit his hairline when he realizes you actually have the nerve to leave without saying it back.

The hell you will.

“Hold up,” Bucky rushes down the hallway, skidding across the smooth wooden surface. Grabbing the doorknob, he flings it open, blinking as the bright afternoon hits his face.

“Excuse you Gorgeous,” he snaps, the warmth in his blue eyes belies his dark, icy tone. “You forget something?”

You stumble to a quick stop. “Huh?” You say innocently, peering over your shoulder, the stark indignation on his bearded face makes you giggle. Oh, he’s furious.

“Don’t you huh me.” Bucky holds up his ring-adorned hand and gestures for you to come back. "Get your cute ass over here."

Another giggle slips out and you turn towards your towering biker, a smile stretches across your lips as you stroll over to him.

“I. Love. You.” He states emphatically, his eyes focused on your face, daring you to keep playing with him.

“I love you too,” you tell him when you reach the steps.

“Thank you.” He glares down at you, plush lips twitching as he tries to maintain his stern expression. “And?”

“Uh...” You drag out the word, knowing it's going to push him over the edge.

It does.

“You’re on thin ice, gorgeous, real thin ice.” Bucky takes you by the waist and walks you into the side of the house, his hand cupping the back of your head before it hits the dusty red brick.

You love the way he manhandles you with just the right amount of tender possessiveness that makes your knees weak and your heart race.

"You know what I want." He pins you against the wall with his heavy weight, leaning his entire tattooed body on yours, and stares down at you expectantly. “You broke the rules Gorgeous. So pay up.”

A few nights after the first time he told you he loved you, Bucky swore he would never go a day without saying it to you and you made the same vow without hesitation because you could spend your life proclaiming your love for this man. The rules are something the two of you came up with after a few drinks while on a date. The mostly consist of ways for him to get at pretty girl. Not that you mind.

“Bucky, I thought that was a joke,” you tease, gazing up at him.

Bucky instantly melts into your touch, the second your lips brush against his. A moan, his, maybe yours, floats between you, his soft, chapped lips parting. He takes your hands and places them above your head, his hips grinding into yours, turning the kiss into something wild and passionate. Your tongue slips into his mouth, tasting the sweet blueberries muffin and coffee he had for breakfast. When you pull back to bite down on his lower lip, he shivers. Only you can make him do that.

His sharp gasp is followed by what you can only describe as an animalist growl, and God does it sound so damn erotic, you feel the deep rumble wind it's way down your spine, warmth blooming in your veins. Before he can open his mouth, you’re leaning up on your tiptoes, clasping your hands behind his neck and pulling him down so you can pay up.

“God damn I love you, gimme one more,” he groans, his hand drifts down to your throat and he pushes your chin up with his thumb, claiming your mouth, his lips slotting over yours, deepening the kiss until all you feel are his soft lips on yours, taking every piece of you, claiming you.

And he’s giving you all of him, the vibrant promise to always love you is there with every caress of his hands, with every sigh of your name on his lips, with every adoring glance.

He finally breaks away, nodding to himself. “That’s more like it.”

Releasing your hands, he smirks as you slump against the wall, panting heavily.

He takes a step back, tucking his knuckle under your chin, gently pushing your face up until you’re gazing into his blue eyes, darkened with a heady desire and unbidden adoration. “Love ya Gorgeous.”

“Love you too,” you say with a smile.

“That’s better. I'll never get tired of you saying that." He playfully raises his brows, his smirk widening. “So can I tell my pretty girl I love her too?”

You let out a light laugh, reaching up to nip at his chin. “Of course, you can,” you start, swatting his hand when he reaches for her. “Later, after I finish shopping.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “I need to fix the sink anyway.” He glances down at your thighs, toying with the zipper on your shorts. “But when you get back, I want at least two hours with my pretty girl to make up for what you did to me.”

Of course, he does, you think, honestly, you expect nothing less from your insatiable, needy biker. You give him one more kiss. “Bucky, you can have as much time with her as you want.”

“As much time as I want?” He repeats, planting his hands by your head, a mischievous glimmer flashing across his blue eyes.

Bucky gives you a pointed look as he’s suddenly reminded of his other four favorite words.

I can’t come again. Oh god, please Bucky.

Bucky waits until you realize what you just promised him, your eyes widening slowly and he chuckles. “If you insist Gorgeous. Just remember what you said when I have your thighs wrapped around my head all night.”

You can't think of a better way to spend your Friday night.

Argyle headcannons!

Personal head cannons

Sfw and nsfw included

Listed as i thought of them ❤️

(let people have opinions 🙄)

Sfw Headcannons

-His love languages are physical touch and acts of service

-He likes driving friends around bc he likes feeling useful

-He moans loudly when people get to close so that way they leave him alone

- laughs when they walk away knowing he made them uncomfortable

- gives off middle or youngest sibling vibe

- either l o v e s or h a t e s kids, theres no inbetween (im leaning more towards loves with a lack of knowledge about them)

- definitely a people person

-had a milf crush on Joyce when he first met her (same)

- says the most unhinged shit out of nowhere, high or not

- loves being around you

- 100% would walk with his hand in your back pocket

- helps his mom out with house bills

- cuts down on the weed when hes around you

- he doesnt care if you smoke or not but will always offer if hes smoking

- loves soft make out sessions when your in his lap, hugging around his neck and he can pull you closer around the waist

- kinda strong from lifting things out of the supply trucks (ingredients for Surfer boy pizza)

- he hates receiving gifts

- doesnt skip class often unless him and Jonathan made a plan to

- knows basic spanish from talking with his relitives

- was so awkward with cuddling at first but the more it happens the more he gets used to it (but he loves it more every time)

- he doesn't get jealous often but when he does he gets insecure instead of mad

- has to be touching you at all times

- loves when you play with his hair

- you have to have a hairtie on you at all times for him

- 👏nic👏names👏in👏spanish👏

- he likes to snap your bra straps when he knows they have the plastic peices on them

- likes to snap the waistband of your underwear too

- will scream if you chase him

- wont give in to pouting or puppy eyes but as soon as you start the silent treatment hes on his knees appologizing

- likes to hold your hand when he drives

- scared of locker rooms

-favorite color is orange

-god of forehead kisses

- loves being as close to you as possible, sometimes leads to both of you in your underwear cuddling just to have more skin to skin contact

.

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Nsfw Headcannons

- oral fixation, he always has to have his mouth doing something

- he is a sit not hover guy, he would love to soffocate if it was between your legs

- more of a giver then a receiver

- tits? Ass? Thighs? Stomach? He doesn't care, he loves all of it

- likes when you g e n t l y pull his hair

- refuses to do anything that would cause pain, he would feel so bad :(

- loves when you sit on his lap and ride him

- he loves being able to look at you and what hes doing so he can make sure hes doing it right

-often in the back of his van bc he doesn't know his moms work schedule and doesnt wanna get cought

- has atleast one or three poloroids of you with your top off, in his room or wallet (maybe in his van, but he doesnt want anyone to see them but him so probably not)

- likes to have music playing quietly in the back

- is a gentle lover

- is never rough, only soft sex

- likes when you beg for him

- likes begging for you too

Daddies/mommy's reactions when little!reader give them a drawing.

Daddy!Steve

Steve definitely gawks and admires it, in his eyes you've basically painted Mona Lisa.

Daddy!Steve will sit down with you on his lap and ask about the thought process. He will point at the animals that you drew and ask for their names, what they're doing, and all that.

Believe me, this man will make a whole essay of how much he loves your drawing.

“That's a puppy daddy, and that's a baby cat, and that's a rainbow!” You shuffled in happiness on his lap as he began to place kisses on your cheek, making the fat jiggle a bit.

“It's beautiful, lovebug. Daddy will put this right on the fridge so that everyone can see it!”

Daddy!Bucky

Bucky will take the paper from your hand and inspect it quietly. He definitely asks you what this is, but not in a mean way. He just has a difficult time trying to understand what you drew.

It frustrates you but he nods his head as you explain.

“Is that a tree?”

“No! That's a slide, daddy! This is the playground you take me to!”

“Oh, okay. It's pretty, baby.”

You pout but he chuckles at your cute expression and kisses your nose.

“I love it. Daddy's gonna put it up in your playroom.”

Daddy!Lee

He will grin at your drawing and look at it with the proudest expression ever.

He's definitely thinking 'my baby girl drew this masterpiece'

Lee places a kiss on the paper and then a kiss atop your head. Whispering in your ear praises of how amazing your drawing is.

You can't tell me that this man doesn't tear up a little when you try to draw him.

“Is that daddy, angel?” Lee looks down at your drawing with a smile, his heart warming.

“Uh-huh, and that's me!” You pointed and giggled.

“Immaʼ take this to work and frame it in my office. Everyone's gonna be jealous.”  He said with a huff, and you began to laugh.

“Really, daddy?”

“Really.”

Mommy!Natasha

She silently smiles at your drawing and lets out a small 'wow'.

She loves to keep your paintings next to the bedside table so that she can pull them out when it's nighttime and make a story out of them.

“And this bunny lives in this beautiful pink house that you drew, dove.”

“Yeah! And bunny has lots of friends!”

“That's right. You draw so beautifully, my love. Mommy's gonna fold it and keep it in my pocket.”

|||

John Price who definitely sees your job as a cute little hobby to occupy your time when he’s away.

He loves hearing you go on and on when you really enjoy it while he’s away. Not so much when he’s home and it’s stressing you out and it’s taking away from his ability to fuck you because of how exhausted you are. So, he does the thing that only makes sense.

He’s calling your office and threatening them by using his job title to get you fired.

A wicked, wicked, wicked man. But he needed you comfortable, you deserved happiness. Not to be stressed out from a job you didn’t need in the first place.

Worst part about it?

He loved to fuck you so you could feel better after being fired. You’d come home, tears pricking your eyes after you slammed the front door shut. And there John would be right there, rushing towards you with the at most concern on his face, asking what’s wrong. He knew what was wrong.

“This is the 4rth time John! I-“ your breath hitched, tears rolling down your adorable cheeks. Poor baby.

“I must be fuckin awful! Everyone- everyone hates me!”

“No, no sweetheart!” He’d coo, cupping your face and kissing your tears away. “Yer good at what ya do, they jus’ hate havin such a hard workin woman ‘round.”

You’re rubbing your face and hiccuping, “Y-you think I’m good John?”

“Of course lovie, you’d be wrong tuh think otherwise.”

You’d sniff, looking up at John with those big brown puppy eyes. “Show me.”

His sweet girl needed him, and after his Oscar winning performance he’d give her the best show she could ever ask for. He’s eating you out right in the foyer, then bending you over on the hardwood floor and slamming you fat veiny, dick into you tight walls like there was no tomorrow.

“Aaaatta girl. Always take me so well.”

“Worked so hard honey, Daddy’s gotta show you how good ya are, hm?”

“Gonna cum? Show me how pretty you can make my cock lovie. Always so. Fuckin. Pretty.”

Captain Price loved his little wife. He’d give you anything if you asked for it.

Except let you keep a job.

Anything but that.

a/n: The only version of toxic Price I can handle 😭

the new baby you take care of is the cutest baby you've ever met. (a lil dubcon, baby trapping, 18+)

he has a big head with a tuff of little blond waves, and he has the brightest brown eyes in the entire world. he smiles at every face you make at him, and he takes a bottle like a champ and will nap for hours as long as you're quiet.

his father has a strict schedule set for him. when you met that big man for the very first time, you were speechless. your teeth had clacked together with how fast you tried to close your gawking mouth, but it was impossible not to with how much he towered over you, nearly touching the top of the doorway.

he is methodical, down to every minute. tacked onto the fridge, he had shown you his son's current schedule, which he emphasized with a dead glare must be followed to a T.

two feedings in the morning followed by a nap. another feeding. a longer nap. another feeding. another nap. all separated in increments of 45 minutes, with instructions on how to use the bottle warmer and how to measure the formula.

his son does not cry. his father had told you, if he cries, y'r doin' somethin' wrong. and he was right. the baby only cried when he was hungry, and he would fall into a dead sleep as soon as you gave him a bottle.

it's odd, to take care of someone else's baby. especially this man's. there's no woman in the house, as far as you can tell. the whole house is decorated very minimally, cozy and in shades of warm greens and cool blues and browns. there are no heeled boots by the door or pretty fur coats, and whenever you pass by his bedroom, only one side of his bed ever looks lived-in. there are no pictures on the walls, no makeup in the bathroom drawers, and no pads or tampons under the sink.

just a big, unfeeling man and his big, adorable baby.

but you think that your actions to get this big, unfeeling man to like you are starting to have the wrong kind of implications.

it starts with dinner. you start to make it, using the ingredients from his fridge to make stews and buttery mashed potatoes and roasted veggies. the image of you stirring a pot with his baby on your hip has not left him, and whenever you don't have some kind of meal cooking when he gets home, you answer to someone curt, annoyed, and cold, even to the touch.

then it's the decorating. you thought his couch was a little bare, so now there's a few throw blankets laying across the back of it. there's a vase of pretty tulips on the coffee table. you're growing herbs on the windowsill, little pots of thyme and rosemary and basil. you leave house shoes by the door now, and even when you're not there, he sees those fuzzy pink slippers in the foyer, and he can't help the way he chubs up just seeing them when you're not around.

you start to bring some extra changes of clothes. after the baby spit up on you more than once in a day, you bring a duffel bag with you once a week with extra changes of clothes. he snarls when he sees your clothes in one of his drawers; pretty black panties and matching bras, all laid out under your lounge wear right next to his fucking socks.

the toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. the multi-colored chapsticks in the drawers. tampons and pads organized in the cabinet, your moisturizer next to his shaving cream. he smacks his fist against the wall when he sees the finished package of your birth control in the trash because wot the fuck are y'doing taking those things when y'know i want another--

he can see you in the baby monitor. swaying in the dark of his son's room, the baby's head on your chest as you rock him softly. you're singing a little, a gentle hum to soothe him enough that his eyes start closing. he groans a little when he sees your eyes shut as you kiss his son on the forehead, cooing at him as you pat his little back and tell him to have sweet dreams.

you're making brownies when he comes home that night. his son is seated in his high chair, clapping his hands, and you're smiling at him and cooing in that baby voice you do as you take the warm brownies out of the oven. when you see him emerge from the darkness of his living room, you smile at him, taking off the oven mitts.

"hi, simon," you say softly, and his pupils dilate when you slip a hand over his son's head to soothe him. "i made some dessert, hope that's okay. thought you might wanna try my new recipe."

simon comes into the kitchen as you take his baby out of his high chair. you hoist him up against your hip, and when simon comes closer, you giggle as tilts his head to the side and stares down at you both. you tilt your head back a little, blinking up at him, and the flutter of your lashes is enough to have him rock hard in his cargos as his hands curl into frustrated fists at his sides.

"i'm gonna put him down for bed, it's a little late," you tell him. you hoist his son up a little higher on your hip, picking up his little chubby arm and waving up at simon. "say goodnight, daddy."

simon grins under his mask at the soft lilt of your voice. you try not to squeak when one of his big hands slides around your waist to hold you at your back, and he bends down to kiss his son's forehead through his mask.

"goodnight, my boy."

you try not to linger on the idea that he may have grabbed your ass as you walked away. no, his arms are just so long, they grazed you while you passed by him.

the baby always goes down nice and easy. one bottle later, with a full stomach, he's rubbing his little eyes and fussing in your arms as he tries to fall asleep. he's a mover, simon's little one--always grasping around with his arms and flopping onto his side in the bed. oftentimes, after a nap, he's facing the opposite direction and on the other end of the crib when you come to get him.

so you shouldn't be surprised when as he's falling asleep, his little grubby hands reach for you and pull.

your eyes widen when you hear the pop of buttons. you look down, gasping, when you see his son has grabbed onto the front of your blouse and pulled the first few buttons out. they clatter onto the floor in a mess, and you're not able to see where they go with it so dark in his room.

"oh, god!"

you try to be gentle as you set the baby down in his crib. he immediately sticks his thumb in his mouth with his head lolling to the side, and you try to pick up anything you step on as you hurry out of the room, trying to hold your shirt together.

it's useless. you're standing there in the hallway, hastily shutting the baby's room closed, tits out at eight in the evening.

"tha' why he so good ta ya, mama?"

your eyes bug out of your head when you see simon there. he's standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes are focused on your poor open blouse. the bra you're wearing leaves nothing to the imagination--just mesh with underwire, and when simon comes closer, there's virtually nothing separating you when he reaches up with that gloved hand and cups one breast, thumb smoothing over your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"wha--simon--"

"thinks y'r his mum, pretty tits out like tha'," simon hisses. "'f ya wanted it so bad, why didn't ya just say?"

"simon--"

he tsks, using both hands this time to grip your blouse by the edges and tug it down your arms. it falls around your elbows, and he takes the straps of your bra with it, until it's pooled around your waist and your tits fall free.

"fuckin' hell," he breathes, and your lips part gently as he hikes up his mask and spits on your nipples before sucking them into his mouth. "mmmph..."

you arch your back as he rips the rest of the buttons off with one smooth tug. your blouse falls, and your bra follows it, until you're in nothing but your skirt, backing up into the darkness of his bedroom as he kicks the door shut. you scramble to get him back on top of you when your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you're laying down--grabbing around his shoulders as you try to guide his mouth back to your breasts where he can suckle on them with that filthy mouth of his.

"knew it--" he rasps. "fuck, i knew it--"

your eyes squeeze shut when he ruts his hips against yours. your panties are ruined, slick wet and digging uncomfortably into your folds, but the scratch of simon's jeans have your back bowing at a hard angle, your fingers sliding between your bodies as you reach for his zipper. you gasp when you feel him under your hand, straining against denim, the girth of him tying your stomach in hard knots as you think about what it'll take to get you open enough for him to slip in.

"keepin' me fat," simon murmurs. "holdin' my baby like tha', wot did ya think was goin' ta happen, eh?"

"h-huh?"

"'m gonna make you fat, too, swee'eart," he says, smoothing his hand over your tummy. "saw those little pills in y'r bag. it won't take today, but we'll try again tomorrow, yeah?"

you're drooling as he fucks you. your hips are hiked up, your skirt flipped up as his thighs smack against your ass. you're not privy to the way the fat of you shakes every time he's buried to the hilt, but simon appreciates it, tongue out as he watches you push back against him to try and get yourself filled quicker. he traces your spine with his fingers, leaning over you as he watches your fingers dig into his dark sheets and grip for dear life as he gives it to you fast and deep. it's a mess of wet between you, and you know the bed underneath you will be soaked by the time he's done with you, but you can't think about that when the very thing you've been wanting since the day you met him is so close, so within reach.

you haven't taken a single one of those pills since the first week you met that fat, beautiful baby. maybe simon didn't take too close a look at the dated little pills in your bag and in the bin, the little calendar you used to mark rotting away in a forgotten pocket, gathering dust.

when simon comes, your mouth is filled with saliva, and you gurgle between barely-lucid giggles as your hips sink into the mattress. he's saying something, but you don't hear it. instead you reach down with your fingers and stuff them inside, trying to gather as much of his cum and keep it. when simon tries to cum in your mouth later, you nearly bite his dick off.

how dare he try and waste it?

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