#of course... he is always a bunny to me

[chocodile]

Would it be safe to assume hyden doesn't enjoy being called a "bunny" then?

He might not mind it as much as one might assume. Like, he knows he's a Rabbit, he just figures he's a different kind of Rabbit. You know, the kind that, in a just world, would possess razor sharp teeth and claws. A superior kind of Rabbit.

So "Rabbit" is fine… "Bunny", on the other hand, reads as sort of twee and infantalizing, culturally. It would be a bit like being called a "boy" or "girl" as an adult… situationally okay from family/close friends or in playful contexts, but something that would usually imply condescension coming from a stranger.

Of course, he's far too much of a sigma male to be fazed by mere mouth sounds made by lesser minds. No, the worst thing about it is that "Bunny" was Milana's pet name for him. Hearing it brings up some bad memories about their break up.

[ninetyminutes]

I recently read this article about Lorne Michaels written by Susan Morrison and within the article I found this gem…

Getting him to stay, Chase told me, "wouldn't have fucking taken much! All he had to do is tell me he loved me, basically. But his nature is to be above it in some fashion." He attributed Michaels's reluctance to insecurity.

And I just about died.

Now I need a fic of Chevy and Lorne arguing aka Chevy yelling at Lorne about how Lorne needs to just make up his mind on if he wants Chevy to stay or not. And Lorne refuses and is like “it’s your decision, Chev.” And Chevy gets angry and the tension is building and finally Lorne just snaps and admits he loves Chevy in this grand outburst of emotion that’s totally unlike Lorne. And they’re yelling and it’s raining and him. Lorne is just rambling about how he never wanted Chevy to leave but he can’t be the reason Chevy doesn’t make it big, how he knows Chevy could never like him back, and how he can’t help it because there are somedays it feels like Chevy is the only one who keeps him going, etc etc. And Chevy cuts him off by kissing him. Oh and they’re outside and it’s raining because of course it is.

[pickletrip]

How violent can this feral bunny get? Chen Yi has cuts in his neck, lower lip, his right hand and a huge bruising on his left arm. Chen Yi was definitely not resisting Ai Di in this encounter. He can easily pick Ai Di and throw him over his shoulder like a rag doll. You think he would get beat up that easily? Ha. I think not. He's enjoying this more than Ai Di knows. Look at the grin on his face while Ai Di is preparing to torture him even more.

My man even started eating spicy food for the love of his life. If this isn't a depiction of love then what is?????

[victorluvsalice]

-->And then it was Victor and Smiler date time at the Freezer Bunny Arcade in Newcrest! Haven’t been here in a while (I think Smiler was still living in Britechester the first time they and Victor visited), but the arcade was on my mind after watching onlyabidoang’s “Functional Objects” video featuring all the arcade stuff Cepzid created. It was raining when they arrived (and soon ramped up to a major thunderstorm -- great dating weather!), so I sent them inside into the cafe area at the back right away. They sat and chatted for a while, with Smiler telling Victor an engaging story for his entertainment --

As some random sat down at their table with his coffee. *grumble* Fortunately, he didn’t try to join their conversation, and I was able to get the pair to move to another table once Victor ordered some pain au chocolat from the barista (which went a LOT fucking smoother than it did at the other cafe – Steampunk Cafe LOOKS nice, but it doesn’t play very well, unfortunately). They continued having a very pleasant, occasionally flirty chat, sharing the spirit of the day and officially developing a “Close” family dynamic, awww. :) Randos did keep coming to sit at their table, but again, nobody actually tried to TALK to them – they just let the pair get on with their date. Sheesh, wonder why everyone kept bothering Victor and Alice...

-->Anyway – Victor finished his snack, then donated some plasma to Smiler so they could have a snack before grabbing some sleep replacement potion from the aspiration rewards store so he didn't pass out from blood loss on their date. Smiler wandered over to the skeeball machines while Victor found a table to drink his potion --

And ended up next to, of all people, JOAQUIN, who’d showed up here too. >( Fortunately I was able to keep him from trying to talk to Victor, allowing Victor to Energy himself up and join Smiler at skeeball. They both completed a level one game and ended up winning a child’s toy apiece. XD Smiler then went over to the pinball machines and had a good game there, while Victor played some Whack-A-Gnome poorly. I had him go get a gumball to make himself feel better after that (and after seeing Joaquin) –

[technikki]

was provided with a rough translation of one of the 4th light novels' chapters by bestie rachel fullscoreshenanigans so im dumping a small compilation of don moments that made me chew a hole through my wall

[blkkizzat]

Mess Up Your White Tee, I'll Eat You Dirty~ ♡

Otaku!Gojo x Bimbo!Reader~ ♡

𝐜𝐰: otaku!gojo—nuff said ♡ minor references to this thirst. 𝐰𝐜: 2670 𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐮!𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬: @buttercupblu143 for goated inspo & @yung-notorious for beta.

Otaku!gojo who has you tooted up, ass-naked on all fours—your knees planted at on the bed, titties squished into the mattress. Your feet dangling off the edge as your toes curl just like your spine—deeply in a mean arch.

Never failing to make you the star of his own hentai fantasies, of course Gojo loves to have you spread wide for him.

Both your asshole and pussy exposed, gaping on full display so your freakass otaku boyfriend can devour your pussy from the back like she's a refreshing bowl of kakigori on a hot summer day.

Although it's not like Gojo can enjoy the view when he's practically drowning himself in your cunny. His face obscenely drenched and dripping with your juices as he slurs deliriously into your gooey hole.

"Bunnn, s'gud—shiiii... s-she's mochi sweet~!"

Gojo's favorite lil' mochi ball, of course, being your clit. So cute and swollen, he makes sure to pay special attention to her as he takes his time savoring the texture of your sensitive flesh.

In between the suction of his sloppy puckered lips, Gojo's tongue peaks out to lap gently at her before swirling the tip across every nerve on your lewd bud. The tortuously euphoric sensations leaving you seeing stars as you've lost track on how many times you've cum thus far.

The results of Gojo's messy eating gush through your folds, ass and thighs as your slick and his spit reflects a glossy sheen that glows in the dim room when the first rays of early morning light pour in.

That's right—it's already morning.

Shiiit.

You'd lost count of how long he'd been at it when he said he needed a 'midnight snack'. Yet this is completely your own fault Bunny for telling Toru he could 'eat whatever he wanted, as long as he didn't get crumbs in the bed again.'

You didn't think the first thing he'd reach for would be you!

Nevermind that you felt like crumbling yourself—limbs frail like goo, you can't even run now. Utterly at this otaku freak's mercy and he didn't look like he was slowing down anytime soon.

"P-Please...s't-toru—hiccup—stawp, enough..."

But his perverted nonsensical coos for you to stay still make him sound like a weak and wounded animal—like the lil' freak actually thought he'd die if he didn't bury his face deeper into your quivering cunt.

The sound grips at your heartstrings and would almost have you feeling sympathetic for him if it wasn't for the contrast of Gojo's own swiney hands gripping onto your hips with unearthly strength, keeping you in place—making you feel more like the prey.

Truthfully you weren't going anywhere and no matter how pathetically helpless Gojo appeared, he'd always muster the most devout dedication to worshipping your body.

All you can do is brace yourself right now, biting down harder on the sheets. As a testament to that wet spot beneath you is bigger than your own face at this point. Evidence of how badly you've drooled and damn near chewed a hole through the custom 100% egyptian cotton digimon themed linen.

But it's times like these you were thankful your eyes spent more time in the back of your head then starring the cute cuddly Gatomon and Gammamon characters smiling back at you on the sheets—they were too innocent to be subjected to Toru's depravity, they—

—wait! The hell!? For that matter how come you even remember their names!? Urgh.

"O-One more... jusss' one more! P-Plwease, Bunny! My ecchi angel... blwess me with your holy pussy water jussst once more my pervy prwincess, I-I need it!"

Gojo's words have you both recoiling a mix of cringe and overstimulation as you feel him pull back briefly to spit a wad of fluids onto your plump sloppy pussy only to just as quickly slurp the suds back up again.

The wet, gurgling sounds of his lecherous gluttony echo in surround sound throughout the bedroom.

Yet despite all the shame and cringe the most overwhelming feeling is the disbelief that your body hadn't gone completely numb already—somehow you feel another orgasm building, relentless and inevitable.

God, something had to be equally as wrong with you for enjoying Toru's ecchi ways this much, not to mention, remembering the names of actual digimon on the sheets—Gojo's otaku influences would literally be the end of you...

Furthermore, you even don't know how Gojo's still going at this point!

Although you were making a big enough mess all yourself, you knew the sheets below your hips were not only stained with your creamy fluids but his own thick cum. A small puddle had formed on the completely saturated sheets as you couldn't keep track of how many times the lil' freak has cum—moaning obscenities into your pussy as he nuzzles your asshole down to your clit with his entire face.

All the while dick throbbing against the bed completely untouched each time.

He should have been tapped out from dehydration by now.

You had to do something to stop this seemingly never ending cycle—get him to fuck you somehow or something so your pussy could finally drain his completely balls dry and you could get some well earned sleep!

Like clockwork, upon another warm ejaculation spurts out to splash against your knees. The intensity of Gojo's throaty cries soften against your skin and you can feel gojo's insane grip on your cheeks loosening slightly.

Now is your chance before he recovers—you absolutely have to use this moment to turn things to your advantage!

Willing your body to cooperate, your arms are trembling as you push yourself upright. Torso rising while your legs slip further off the bed, towards the floor—seeking just enough leverage to turn around. You’re so focused, gathering the energy just to move a bit, you don’t even notice the sole of your foot brushing—ever so lightly and completely unintentional—right up against Gojo’s cock.

Immediately the raw sound that leaves him is sharp and guttural, a croaked moan straight from the depths of his chest as his eyes shoot open wide. Already hypersensitive and twitchy from release—not to mention delirious with lust from eating your coochie damn near off the bone all night—your foot is the last thing Gojo expects to feel in the moment.

Gojo’s sudden cry startles you, making you freeze mid-motion. The jolt steals your momentum, and before you can recover, your arms buckle beneath you—sending you crashing back down face-first into the sticky, aftermath of your own undoing.

But it's too late now... and before you know it Gojo grabs your ankles, repositioning you back into your arch as he pulls your feet up and together, slotting his thick, throbbing length between them.

Shit the feeling is almost painful.

Gojo forces his cock, still red and throbbing from just previously ejaculating to rub against the soft soles of your feet—fuck they are just too warm and welcoming to resist fucking into!

Any attempts to jerk away are even more futile than before in this position.

In fact, you're actually spurring him on.

You don't realize it, but the way your toes are squirming has them unintentionally fondling gojo's big breeder sack, already engorged as his more turned on than ever—full with his next creamy load ready to blow.

Gojo himself is in utter bliss.

He truly loves every inch of you—even if you are usually too ticklish and embarrassed to let him worship your feet for very long.

But this—your angelic, goddess-like hentai footies wrapped around his dick?

Amazing.

Phenomenal.

Revolutionary even!

In his mind Gojo deems it the best fucking sheath for his hard and leaky cock...well, third best other than your pretty mouth and perfect pussy of course!

Gojo thrust begin slow at first, the head of his cock sliding between your arches, his previous spilled release smearing across your skin like a filthy markings a dog would of his own territory.

God, why hadn't plotted to use your divine lil' feetsies as a onahole before!?

Well, Gojo suppose he has.

He's definitely rubbed his dick feverishly against the dakimakura image of you, which highlighted how cute and pretty your feet were, whenever you're away.

Gojo had made a custom printed pillow—one of many versions—decorated with the image his favorite shot from that absurdly over-the-top yet iconic photoshoot he somehow convinced you to do—ya know, the one where you actually let him dress you in his homemade Digimon TCG lingerie.

Those ultra rare and some one-of-a-kind cards sewn together with obsessive care with paper paste and dental floss adorned your kneeling body in the photo.

Heels tucked right beside your ass, feet bare and exposed as the only parts of your body were covered were clad in a scandalous collage of holographic Megas. One of your arms folded defensively under the shiny balconette-like-card-bra—the other behind you as your back arched just right looking over your shoulder at him with wide, uncertain eyes. The cards formed lingerie so epically scandalous it could both summon a digital monster and a nosebleed—and it surely had that effect for Gojo.

The very peak of 'ecchi cosplay couture', Gojo had nutted many times over the perfect image from the perfect memory of you looking both mortified and turned on—dressed like the final boss of his wet dreams and immortalized on a dakimakura he had made MANY prints of for when he inevitably dirtied one beyond repair.

But now? This?

Gojo doesn't think the dakimakura does the seductively silken feeling of your actual feet on his cock any justice—he's hooked like an addict now.

“F-Fuhhhck, B-Bunny bae, your feet feel s-s'gud, angel.”

Even with his cock melting between your footies, Gojo can't keep his face outta your cunt for long.

Only allowing you what seems like mere moments of reprieve before his tongue dives back right in. Licking, fucking and sucking it into your gummy hole like he’s trying to juice every last drop of pleasure from your peachy pussy. Your ass jiggles from your ankles jerking your legs back with every thrust of his hard cock pumping between your feets.

And despite your utter repulsion at the way your feet being so vulgarly violated—you're moaning, shamelessly writhing even at all the foreign sensations.

You're absolutely mortified—you think you are... at least you would be if the absolute perverted frenzy Gojo worked himself into wasn't affecting you as well. The once ticklish tingles that would have your recoiling are now amplifying the electricity you feel in your core and despite yourself you're sinking back into Gojo's face—much to his excitement.

No matter how hard you try not to be as turned on as you are, Gojo's pure otaku fueled depravity is too contagious.

You lose yourself and your senses melt in the sound of skin slicking and squelching as his long length slides along your skin.

So wet—so obscene—mingling with the slurps of his tongue still gorging on your cunt, working her overtime. You clench around his tongue, obediently giving him more and more of the creamy essence his flicks beckon forth.

In turn, Gojo's hips piston even faster now—his hot girth sliding through the tight tunnel of your feet he uses his palms to press even deeper around. The intense friction making him babble more delusional praises into your cunt.

"Ah-Ah-Ahhhh shiiiiiit my sweet perverted hentai queen's feet is g-gonna make me blow s'f-fucking hard—ya foot pussy gonna be a gud nasty girl for me n'take it all Bunny?!?!"

Gojo growls, his voice distorts into your pussy once more, the erotic hums building uncontrollable pressure in your belly as your final orgasm coils tight like a spring.

Likewise Gojo's length is thrashing wildly between your feet, the tip oozing precum with every thrust, as his balls slap roughly into your curled toes—he’s so close.

"C-Cumm, cum, cum, cum—ah, with m-me pwease pwincess, wuv you—all of you, pussy, feet, ass—HAH!"

More deranged than ever, you don't know how you can even understand his desperate muffled pleas and yet somehow your body does. Because just like that, you’re coming undone, your pussy spasming as pleasure wrecks through your body. Feet arching, constricting even more around his cock, milking him as he lets out the most pathetic whine of the night so far.

Gojo blunted nails dig around your ankles as his thrusts slow. His cum still somehow shooting out in thick, hot ropes, splattering across your soles all the way up to the back of your thighs, splashing down on the bed and floor.

Finally spent, Gojo pulls out, dragging you too him—he's trembling, you both are. Yet while he's deliriously giggling, your legs still twitch as you can still sense the phantom strokes of his tongue digging into your cunny. Your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of what seemed like non stop orgasms all night.

It's almost enough for you to want his cock up there for real now if every other muscle in your body wasn't screaming for rest, fearful he'd catch a second, no, fourth wind of the night.

Gojo mutters against your skin, his voice hoarse.

“You’re so so fucking perfect Bunny, m'so lucky to have a princess as pervy and nasty as you.”

Gojo softly peppers kisses on your neck but you ignore him as you hum in response.

Eyes shut—you're preoccupied. Your brain bargaining with your body on if and how you were going to manage to get up, at least long enough to grab the wet wipes from Gojo's desk and rip the nasty sheets off the bed.

"My Bunny-hime, don't worry about the mess, I'll buzz the maid—"

"NO!!"

Eyes flying open you immediately reject the offer. The last thing you wanted was to see any of the night shift maids who you suspect heard the symphony of lewd noises coming from the room all night—typically being close by in case they were ever needed.

You already have a hard time looking any of the staff of the Gojo residence in the manner. Even if they all seem perfectly "normalized" to the eccentric tastes of the family, what with routine maintenance of the sex dungeon and all. You don't see them bat and eye as they look completely normal, transporting baskets of sanitized sex toys or cleaning and dusting the expansive lewd museum of hentai figures.

"Mmm, n-no, Toru... I mean, its late, ah, I mean super early still! Don't bother them, just... let's just go sleep in a guest room hm? I just wanna cuddle."

You manage a small tight lipped smile in your exhaustion. You knew how much he loved sleeping in his own room, on his custom digimon sheets but you're hoping the promise of cuddling and softly caressing his undercut would be enough in his exhaustion to spare you the embarrassment.

"Kay! Whatever, you wish my ecchi angel!"

You sigh in relief as Gojo slips a t-shirt over you before he scoops you up princess time. His own arms are shaky with exhaustion but you feel comforted in the fact you know he'd sooner die then ever drop you. Also you are thrilled you didn't have to remind him anymore to at least cloth you before he tried to leave his room.

Burrowing your face in his chest you drift off as you feel his arms.

Otaku!gojo who smiles once more as he sees you drift off, placing a kiss to your forehead. His own thoughts drifting as he makes his way to one of the many Gojo estate guestrooms.

As much as he loves fucking your pussy, he wonders if you'd let him fuck other parts of your body now... like your armpit.

Oh! Oh! Maybe if he shibari tied your leg and thigh together he could fuck the crease of your thigh...

Gojo’s face lights up with excitement, eyes gleaming as he looks down, ready to ask what you’d think about that—only to find you fast asleep.

He chuckles softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. Yeah… he’d let you rest for now.

an: hopefully this lil throwaway oneshot can hold you otaku!gojo girlies off for a while 🩵🤭. i'm still working on the nursery p3 but i got a burst of inspo when i was told the gospel of forced footjobs while getting eaten out from the back. hsjdfbkjshdbfs. i think this one even out freaks the suguru footjob fic i did. btw, manga is 'oohata-san is my dream gyaru!' (there's an hentai coming soon i talk about that and link the preview here)

[goyardgoyangi]

how street racer! sukuna curbs his road rage

You hear about the ticket before he even tells you.

Something about Sukuna yelling at a traffic officer after nearly sideswiping a sedan and cutting through two lanes without signaling. Classic. The guy’s a menace behind the wheel — fast, reckless, and pissed off 90% of the time.

He doesn’t tell you until a few days later, when you’re over at his place and he casually drops, “Got sent to court-mandated therapy.”

You look up from your phone. “Because of the ticket?”

He shrugs. “Road rage, technically.”

“Jesus, Sukuna. You threatened a cop.”

“Yeah, well. He looked stupid.”

You don’t push it. You know he’s got a short fuse — especially behind the wheel. And you’ve been in that passenger seat long enough to know he doesn’t exactly drive — he dominates.

But later, when you’re both in the car, he mentions it like it’s nothing. Like he’s telling you the weather.

“My therapist said I need a calming visual in the car,” he says, eyes on the road, voice bored.

You don’t think he’ll actually do it — take advice from a therapist, let alone that kind of advice. Not him. Not the guy who thinks calming down is for losers and once told you meditation was “just closing your eyes and lying to yourself.”

So you let it go.

But then, a few nights later during a grocery run — you're craving pad thai, planning to make it just so you can plate it on the vintage dish set he bought you during your last date, the one with the chipped gold trim you’d fawned over at the thrift market — you're wandering past the toy aisle when you say, “God, I love when guys have stupid little trinkets in their cars. It’s dumb, but so cute.”

You’re not even talking about him.

But Sukuna files it away like it’s scripture.

Later that week, when he’s alone and trying to be subtle about caring too much, he scours resell sites until he finds the exact two he wants. Doesn’t bother with the blind boxes — he doesn’t trust chance. Wants what he wants.

The bunny one reminds him of you — all soft eyes and twitchy moods, always flinching when he teases, always curling into him like a sleepy little thing once he’s fucked the fight out of you. You doze off in the passenger seat after, cheeks warm, head bobbing like a bunny nuzzling in for comfort while he drives to pick up your favorite post-sex takeout.

The peach? That one’s his favorite — a subtle reminder of what he likes to see when he’s behind you. The curve of your hips, the way you move when you’re lost in the moment.

He pays the ridiculous resale price and doesn’t even flinch. Rips the adhesive tabs from their packaging and sticks both to the back of his rearview mirror — one on each side — so they’re always in view when he drives.

A stupid little bunny.

A stupid little peach.

Both staring at him with plastic smiles.

You notice immediately, of course.

“You trying to copy me or what?” you tease, shoving your phone case with a cherry sonny angel. “Seriously though, why the hell do you have those?”

“They’re just there,” he mutters, tapping the wheel like it’s no big deal. “Came in a set or something.”

Sukuna isn’t the sentimental type. Not openly.

You narrow your eyes. “Sonny angels come in blind boxes. You sure these came together?”

He doesn’t say a word.

You lean in closer with a pout. “Kuna, did you paid resale prices? I thought you said my sonny angels were stupid.”

“They’re not stupid,” he snaps, before catching himself. “I mean. You said they were cute.”

You blink.

He won’t look at you, won’t explain more. But when you ask again, just to annoy him, he grumbles something about how you’re cute like a bunny and your ass looks like a peach and his therapist can go fuck herself but maybe she was onto something.

You nearly die laughing.

[leclerc-hs]

bunny! - ln4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader summary: in which lando always calls you bunny OR your favorite place to be is riding lando's cock warnings: smut, riding, dirty talk, language, pet name!, NOT PROOFREAD (I hate re-reading stuff I write if you couldn't tell hahahah) word count: 1.2k ish author's note: this idea came to mind LAST NIGHT and i just had to write it since i'm off of work today. talk about me feeding y'all LOL xoxo still working on oscar's version of aphrodisiac chocolates!!! I literally wrote this in like an hour so it’s shortttt. xoxo ily ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Lando calls you Bunny like it’s your actual name.

Don’t forget your lanyard later, Bunny

Hey Bunny, can you hand me that?

Y’look great, Bun

It was constant. In the paddock. During interviews. Even the fans notice it. Some thought it was a childhood thing. Others assumed it was just something that stuck.

And the rest of the grid? Of course they asked. 

And every time, you and Lando offered a different answer.

She had these ridiculous bunny ears the first time I met here…never wanted to take them off.

Her nose used to do this little twitch whenever she was annoyed…I swear

She loves carrots

And tonight was no different. 

You’re curled into the booth beside Lando, wine glass in hand, one leg draped over his under the table. He was warm, hand on your thigh. Thumb brushing soft, lazy circles.

And then it came up again.

“Alright…someone has to ask again,” Pierre points his fork toward Lando. “Bunny. What’s it actually from?”

Groans went around the table. Everyone chattering how he’ll never tell you. Just let them have their secrets.

And Oscar grins. “No, I wanna hear this one.” He leans forward. “What’s the excuse tonight?”

Lando doesn’t miss a beat. Fingers gripping your leg. A grin pulled onto his mouth.

“Showed up to my flat in bunny ears once. Wouldn’t take them off.”

You scoff beside him. “It was Halloween.”

“She wore them to sleep.”

And laughter erupts around the table.

And his hand tightens on your thigh. And you felt the shift in his demeanor.

The part no one ever saw.

The reason why he started calling you that.

Didn’t know that the first time he’d said it, was barely a whisper, as you rode him in his driver’s room after a race.

How you were so worked up, desperate, how your knees trembled as you bounced on him like you couldn’t stop.

They didn’t know how he said it when you were on top. How he groaned against your lips.

“Okay but seriously,” Charles says, laughing. “Is it like a….is it like a kink thing?”

You choke on your wine. And Lando drags his fingers higher up your leg.

Lando didn’t even so much as blink. “Absolutely not.”

And later, after everyone said their goodnights and you slipped into the car with him, Lando was quiet. Calm. Fingers brushing against your skin whenever they could.

And when you got back to the hotel. The door clicking shut.

He says, “Everyone thinks it started with ears…”

He presses you into the wall.

“But it was this fuckin’ cunt, Bunny.”

His voice was low. And you gasp, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, as he grinds his hips into you. Slow. Heavy. Could feel how hard he was. 

He kisses your jaw, under your ear…biting, sucking, claiming you.

“Fuck,” he groans into your skin. “Remember that night? In the driver’s room? You got on top of me like you needed it. Like you were gonna die if I didn’t let you bounce on my fuckin’ cock.”

You whimper.

“I think about it every fuckin’ day.” He groans.

And you don’t even get a chance to respond before he lifts you off the ground, hands gripping your thighs, and carries you straight to the bed.

“M’so obsessed with it,” he says, voice rough. Kissing you again as he drops you on the mattress and yanks his hoodie over his head with one hand. “With you. With this fuckin’ cunt.”

He kneels between your legs, pulls your panties off, and then stuffs them in his back pocket.

He pulls his jeans down, cock hard and thick. Leaking.

“Don’t even wanna fuck you from behind anymore. Just want you on top. Losing your fuckin’ mind on my cock.”

You crawl into his lap, straddling him like instinct.

And he hisses when your cunt touches his tip.

“Y’turned it into a fuckin’ problem,” His hands grip your ass.

You drag his cock through your folds, teasing him. And he hits his head against the headboard with a thud as he drops his head back.

“Y’think I don’t notice the way you moan when I let you sit on it?” He pants. “The way you tell me to shut up and take it like a good boy?”

You sink down on him in a single motion.

“Fuck, Bunny…” He gasps. Hips jerking.

And you start moving. Steadily. Rolling into him.

“Every time you do this,” He says through gritted teeth, hands grabbing your hips. “I tell myself that it’ll be the last. I’ll tell myself Lando, be normal. Change it up.”

And you bounce on him harder.

“But then you climb into my lap with that fuckin crazed look in your eye. And I let you. Always let you.”

His head rests against the headboard. Neck thick. Veiny. Flushed.

“Ride me everywhere. Every fuckin’ place that you shouldn’t.”

He flexes his hips into you, just enough to make your cunt clench. And you gasp.

“Let you ride on me on that fuckin’ plane. My trainer two rows back. Had your sweatshirt over your lap like that would hide it.”

You whimper, pressing your hand to his chest. Cock twitching in you.

“Remember Suzuka?” He continues. “Showed up with no underwear under that skirt, climbed into my lap during lunch and said, five minutes. Just need to use it.”

He groans at the memory. At the feel of your cunt around him.

“Fuckin’ bounced on me while I tried to be normal. Bit into my shoulder while you came.”

You roll your hips harder, whining.

“Imola…my god…” He pants. “Told you I was exhausted. Needed to sleep.”

He lifts his head, eyes meeting yours. Eyes blown.

“And you just got on top. Said I’ll do all the work.” He huffs. “And you did. Fucked me so slow and deep. Grinding into me like you wanted my fuckin’ soul.”

You moan, squeezing him. Panting. 

“Monaco yacht…” His hands grip you harder. “Dragged me into that fuckin’ cabin during the afterparty…made me sit on that little chair.”

You both breath out. Hips grinding harder as he fucks into you.

“Remember how many people were there? How many of them heard the fuckin’ chair squeaking under us every time you dropped down onto my cock?”

You’re gasping now. Head falling into his neck.

And he fucking loses it.

Mouth on your throat, sucking a bruise there, as his cock slams up into you.

“Hotels, rental cars, Fuck…in a fuckin’ golf cart. Remember that?” He hisses. “Bahrain. Climbed into my lap after practice, pushed your panties to the side, said you needed to calm down. Calm down.”

You’re sobbing.

“It’s the only way I want it now. Moaning. Grinding. Milking me.”

Your body seizes. Hips uncontrollable now.

“Y’gonna come again?” He grunts. “Make another mess on my cock like always?”

You nod into his shoulder. Unable to speak.

“Do it,” He groans. “C’mon, Bunny. Fuckin’ come all over me.”

And you do.

With a loud moan, cunt squeezing him tight. Shaking. Trembling.

And he was right there with you. Hips jerking as he comes inside you, groaning your name out like he didn’t want it to end.

“Bunny…bunny. Fuck, I fuckin’ love you.”

You collapse into him. Wrecked. Smiling.

“You’ll do it in the morning, yeah?”

You laugh. “Obsessed.”

He kisses your temple. 

“Fuckin’ right.”

[bunny-jpeg]

john price would trap you with a baby. no questions asked. he knew the years were catching up to him. he knew that wouldn't be much longer before he couldn't pass on the price genes.

he felt bad when he masturbated, felt like he was wasting his boys. spurts of hot cum down his large shaft wishing that it was inside a pretty little things smaller cunt. his hand was too rough even with lubrication. he needed something with supple flesh that he could sink his teeth into and a wet pussy to stuff full. he wanted to feel himself impregnating someone.

that was where you came in.

you felt amazing, sex with you was something else. the way you were like a bunny when you rode his cock. you bounced on him, not slowing down until he wrung at least three orgasms out of you. he found it endearing that you could take him. and while cowgirl was fun and missionary felt classic.

if price wanted to get you pregnant then, he knew that doggy style would be the best course of action. sadly, that position was a little more difficult given your size difference. price the bear and his little cub, those weren't just terms of endearment. he was burly, hairy, but you were so much shorter that he couldn't easily slip into you. but things could always be modified.

he smothered you under him as you laid on the bed with your legs spread and price was on top of you with his cock invading your slick entrance. the feeling was different and the weight on top of you only added to the pleasure.

his mind was focused, as he worked himself into you. he slid in easily, little resistance from you. your pussy was greedy for him, not that price could blame you. you were just so perfect for him. he shaped you into the perfect thing for him. you were his angel, the sweetest fruit, the woman he wanted to carry his child. if you liked it or not.

thoughts of you dark puffy nipples, the waddle in your step, the complaints of back pain. how your body changed because of him, he marked you in a way that no other man could. price boys grew strong and were a handful both in the womb and out. hungry boys too, but price would happily massage your fat tits to make sure there was more than enough milk for his boys. might have a little taste himself, see what all the fuss was. the heavy milk on his tongue as he fucked his pretty wife.

no need to go out and find a job. price's got enough to make sure that your wallet and your womb were packed full. no need to worry your little head, just make sure the babies are taken care of and price will do all the thinking in the relationship. he knew your dream was to see your diploma on the wall, but he thought that a family photo would be much better.

hard to complete your degree when your pregnant belly doesn't fit in the lecture hall seat or it was feeding time for john jr. there was nowhere for you to nurse his hefty son and you'd in the end miss too much class because price would be keeping you at home to start on the next one.

"that's it, doll. that's my girl. she suckin' me right in. she know what she wants and she's takin' it. made just for, huh, petal?" he growled as he pressed into you further, his cock didn't slip out. he fucked you feverishly.

he felt you tremble as you came not once, but twice, back to back. price continued to fuck you, ruin your pretty little folds and let him feel as much as he could of your sweet sex. you felt amazing, only pussy price would want. he fucked you roughly with his hands pressed into the covers on either side of your head. you were too blissed out by the time he finished inside of you that you didn't even ask for him to pull out.

a good wife took every drop.

he soon after pulled his cock out, the sight of his cum sticking to your slick pussy lips with most of his seed inside of you. made his cock peek at attention once more. "there she is." he purred, "messy girl." he tipped your hips up and held them in his large hands. he dipped between your legs and played with your pussy. something to distract you while his cum slid into the back of your pussy.

now be good, and get pregnant <3

a/n: i don't know what came over me... i'm sorry

[i2sunric]

𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 (s.jy)

PAIRING: boxer-dad!jake x mom!reader (f)

SUMMARY: being married to a boxer is frightening— twice as much when you’re raising a child (or two) with that very same man. but none of it matters, not really, because your love for him is unconditional, stronger than fear, deeper than doubt, and it has always lived beyond the reach of worry.

WARNINGS: boxing, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of pregnancy, morning sickness, pet names (baby, love), fear, love making (it’s just the last scene and barely narrated, but you can choose to skip it), starring yunjin huh (lesserafim), babies (jihoon/james & jiheon/jane). lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 12th May 2025

WC: 9.2k

TAGLIST: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon @princesstiti14

NOW PLAYING: Brisbane by Youth in Revolt & Heavenly by Broadside

a/n: the meds against allergy the doctor gave me make me feel high so sorry if there are any errors or shit. anw let me know your thoughts on this fic! 🩷 i honestly like it sm (my search history is full of synonyms lol) and please, if you haven’t, read the sunghoon!dad fic i wrote too!

©️don’t copy or steal this fic & please REBLOG to share.

You always woke up first. That was just the way it went.

The early sun never failed to warm your face through the slightly cracked blinds of your shared bedroom, golden light slipping across the foot of the bed like it belonged there.

Jake’s arm was slung heavy around your waist, his breath slow and deep against the nape of your neck, and just a little too warm. One of his legs was tangled with yours, as if even in his sleep he couldn’t stand to be far from you.

And at the foot of the bed, curled up with a stuffed gray bunny that was beginning to unravel at the seams, was James— Jihoon when he was in trouble.

Five years old. Barely able to tie his shoes right, but already carrying Jake’s stubbornness in his bones.

You shifted gently, trying not to wake Jake as you slipped out from under his hold.

He grumbled something incoherent in his sleep and reached out for you, but you were already halfway to the kitchen.

It wasn’t long before little feet padded after you, and then James was clambering onto a chair at the table, face still puffy with sleep, hair a mess.

“Toast?” you asked.

He nodded, rubbing at one eye. “With honey.”

You ruffled his hair before turning to the counter. “You’re getting too used to sweet things in the morning.”

“It makes me run faster,” he insisted, already kicking his legs under the table like he had a hundred miles of energy to spend.

Behind you, you heard Jake’s heavy steps thudding down the hallway, groggy and shirtless, his curls a wild mess. He kissed your shoulder as he passed, then bent over to ruffle Jihoon’s hair too.

“Morning, champ.”

“Morning,” James beamed. “Can we box today?”

Jake laughed as he sat down. “You wanna box again?”

James nodded so hard his curls bounced. “I’m gonna be a boxer just like you!”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just buttered the toast. Carefully.

Jake noticed. Of course he did.

After six years, he could read you better than anyone. “We’ll be careful,” he said softly, glancing at you over James’ head.

“Boxing’s not a game,” you replied quietly. “It’s not— it’s not something I want him dreaming of every night.”

Jake’s eyes softened, and he reached for your hand as you placed the plate of toast down. “I know, I know it scares you. But he doesn’t see the blood or the bruises. He just sees his dad being strong.”

You looked at him, feeling your chest ache. “That’s exactly why I’m scared.”

James munched on his toast without a care in the world, his feet swinging. “Can I come to your next match?” he asked suddenly, crumbs on his lips. “Please, please, please, pleeeeeease?”

Jake blinked, surprised. “What, the next one? That’s in two days, James.”

“I’m big enough,” he declared, sitting up straighter. “I wanna watch, I wanna cheer. Please, mommy?”

You looked at him, at his big, pleading eyes.

At the innocence behind them.

And then you looked at Jake, with the same eyes who looked torn between pride and guilt. It wasn’t fair— how much James looked like both of you at once, how easily he could tug at your heart.

You sighed. “We’ll see.”

Which really meant yes. Because you were never good at saying no when it came to them.

That night, you helped James into Jake’s old boxing gloves. They were far too big, slipping past his wrists, practically swallowing his arms.

He tried to throw punches, but they were mostly flailing motions that made Jake laugh until he was nearly wheezing on the floor.

You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to smile too much.

Jake caught your eye, cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on his collarbones from messing around with James. “See? He’s a natural.”

“He’s five.”

“He’s my kid, he’s gonna be unstoppable.”

James fell over trying to jab at Jake’s leg. “Gotcha!” he shouted.

Jake swooped down and scooped him up, holding him upside down while James shrieked with laughter. “You got me, huh? You sure about that?”

“Daaaaaaad!”

“You gonna knock me out one day, champ?”

“Yeah! One punch!”

You bit back a laugh as you walked over, flicking Jake’s shoulder. “Put him down before he vomits dinner.”

“Fine,” Jake groaned, dropping James onto the couch. “You both take all the fun out of my life.”

James poked his tongue out at him. “No I don’t. I’m your best fun.”

Jake looked at him for a long second, eyes warm, and then over at you. “You both are.”

Two nights later, the arena smelled like sweat and nerves.

You had James on your lap, his little legs tucked close to his chest, his hands gripping a paper cup of juice too tightly.

The crowd was loud, the lights bright, and your heart was beating way too fast for someone who wasn’t even in the ring.

Jake stepped into the spotlight wearing his mouthguard and gloves, robe slung low over his shoulders.

He looked fierce. Serious. Beautiful. Like the fighter you’d first met back in college, when he was reckless and full of fire, but still somehow managed to be the kindest boy you’d ever known.

Jihoon bounced excitedly. “There he is! Look, mom, look!”

“I see him, baby.”

The bell rang.

The fight started.

And something was wrong.

You could tell, even if the others couldn’t.

Jake’s steps weren’t as light, his dodges not as quick. The other guy was aggressive, coming in hard and fast, and Jake—he was getting hit. A lot.

Your stomach twisted.

“Mom,” James said, his voice small now. “Why’s dad not winning?”

“He’s trying,” you whispered, arms tightening around him. “He’s okay, he’s— he’s just warming up.”

But then Jake stumbled. His lip was split.

His shoulder sagged like he’d pulled something.

And your son started to panic.

“Mom, he’s hurt. We gotta go help him.”

“James, no, listen to me— he’s gonna be okay, you can’t—”

But your words weren’t fast enough.

James wriggled out of your arms before you could catch him, ducking under the security rope, sprinting across the edge of the crowd.

Someone shouted. You were on your feet, your heart in your throat, but James was already halfway to the ring.

“Jihoon!”

He scrambled up through the ropes, small enough to slip between them, and ran straight to his father.

Jake didn’t even notice at first, too dazed by the last punch.

“Stop the fight!” you screamed. “Stop it, my son’s in there!”

The ref blew his whistle furiously, waving his arms. The other boxer dropped his stance immediately, confused.

Jake blinked down— and froze.

“Champ?”

James launched into his chest, wrapping his tiny arms around his waist. “Don’t let him hit you again! I’ll fight him for you!”

Your vision blurred with tears as you rushed down toward the ring.

Someone opened the gate for you, and you ruan inside, breath shaking, legs trembling.

Jake had dropped to one knee, one arm around James, the other shaking as he pulled his mouthguard out.

“Hey,” he whispered. “What are you doing, buddy? You can’t be in here.”

“You were losing,” James mumbled, clutching him tighter. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Jake let out a laugh that sounded like it hurt. “I’m okay. It’s just a match.”

“You were bleeding.”

Jake looked up at you then, and his face — Lord, his face —he looked so sorry. So wrecked.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve never let him come. This was too much.”

You knelt down beside them, pulling James into your arms, running a hand through his hair. “You scared me,” you whispered. “You can’t run off like that, Jihoon. Ever.”

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled. “I just— I didn’t want him to lose.”

Jake leaned in, pressing a kiss to both your foreheads. “I’ll never lose anything that matters, okay? Because I’ve already got you.”

The crowd was murmuring. Officials were everywhere. The match was called off.

Jake was disqualified, but he didn’t care.

All he cared about was you. And James. Safe. In his arms.

Later, in the locker room, after everyone had gone, Jake sat with James asleep in his arms, still wearing one glove that dwarfed his hand.

You sat beside him, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Promise me,” you murmured, “that if he really wants to fight when he’s older…you’ll teach him how to be smart. How to be safe.”

Jake nodded, kissing the top of Jihoon’s curls. “I promise. But for now…I just want him to dream about anything else. Anything safer.”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “You scared me tonight.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I love you, Jake.”

He turned, eyes soft. “I love you too.”

And in that quiet moment, with your son snoring softly between you and the world finally still, you felt it again— that fragile, powerful kind of happiness that could only exist when you had everything you loved right there in your arms.

☆.

It was supposed to be your morning to sleep in.

The deal was sacred: on Sundays, or holidays, or any day the world wasn’t demanding something from the two of you at dawn, one of you got to stay in bed while the other kept James entertained.

It had been years of trial and error, balancing exhaustion with parenting, love with chaos, but you’d found your rhythm.

This morning, you were supposed to be nestled in the warmth of the blankets while Jake took James to the kitchen for cereal and cartoons.

You’d heard them shuffling around in the other room— Jake’s low, sleepy voice, and James, wide awake, asking if he could have two bowls because he was ‘super strong today’.

But instead of dozing off again like you usually did, a sharp pain twisted through your stomach, a heat blooming behind your navel and spreading like fire.

You jolted upright, cold sweat already rising on the back of your neck, and before you could think or breathe or blink, you were rushing out of bed.

The bathroom door hit the wall when you shoved it open, and you barely made it to the toilet in time before your stomach gave out.

Violent, sudden.

Your knees hit the tile hard as your body curled in on itself.

“Baby?” Jake’s voice, thick with sleep, came from the hallway.

You couldn’t answer. The retching had stolen all the air from your lungs.

There were small footsteps, bare feet padding quick against the floor, and then James’s voice, high and worried. “Mommy?”

Jake was there a moment later, crouching beside you, his hand on your back.

“Shit— hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He was rubbing gentle circles into your spine, his other hand brushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead.

You forced yourself upright, gasping, “Phone. Get me my phone.”

Jake didn’t waste time asking questions. He was up in a flash, bolting down the hall.

But it was James who surprised you.

He knelt beside you, mimicking his father’s earlier movements, his tiny fingers clumsy as they gathered your hair and held it back.

“I’m here, Mommy,” he whispered. “You’re okay. Daddy’s coming.”

You shut your eyes for a second, heart swollen even through the pain. “Thank you, baby.”

Jake returned a beat later, sliding to the floor with your phone in one hand, his other reaching out to feel your forehead. “You’re burning up. Do you want me to call the doctor? What do you need?”

You didn’t answer at first, just searched the appa until you found the period tracker one.

You looked at him — really looked at him — and said, hoarse and quiet, “My period’s late.”

That madew him pause.

He glanced briefly at James, still by your side, loyal and worried and trying so hard to be brave.

“Late?” he asked.

You nodded. “Like…late late. And I know July’s always weird for me, and sometimes it skips, but this… this isn’t like that. This is…”

Jake caught on. He stood and reached for the bathroom cabinet before you could finish.

His hand went straight to the little white box buried behind cough syrup and cotton pads. The spare test.

He held it up. “This?”

You nodded, pressing a palm against your stomach as another wave of nausea rolled over you.

Jake knelt again and gently coaxed James to his feet. “Hey, buddy. Can you go watch TV for a bit? I’ll bring you snacks soon, I promise.”

“But—Mommy—”

“She’ll be okay,” Jake said, smoothing a hand over James’ss head. “I promise. Just give us a few minutes.”

James hesitated, looking from you to Jake, before finally nodding and stepping out of the room with one last glance over his shoulder.

You leaned back against the wall, breath shaky. Jake helped you up and steadied you with an arm around your waist.

“I’ll wait out there,” he said quietly, placing the test in your hand.

“No,” You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Don’t go.”

He hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Alright. I’m here.”

The test took less than a minute to take. But it felt like a year.

You placed it on the edge of the sink, both of you staring at it like it might jump to life and scream the answer at you.

You were still sitting on the toilet lid, knees tucked up, your arms hugging them to your chest.

Jake sat across from you on the closed tub, elbows on his thighs, eyes flicking between the floor and your face and the tiny plastic stick.

You broke the silence. “We weren’t planning this.”

Jake gave a breathy laugh that had no humor in it. “We weren’t really planning anything back then, either… when we had James.”

“That was different,” you said.

He met your eyes. “Was it?”

You bit your lip, chest tightening. “It feels scarier now.”

Jake didn’t say anything for a second. Then he moved closer, kneeling in front of you.

His hands found yours, his fingers cold from the tile but steady. “Whatever it says…you’re not alone in this. You’re never alone, love.”

“I threw up everywhere.”

“Still not alone.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, and for the first time since the pain had woken you up, you let yourself cry.

Just a little.

Jake held you through it, fingers curling into your hair, his lips pressing against your temple.

When the ten minutes were up, the test was still face-down on the sink.

Jake turned it over.

He didn’t say anything at first.

You looked at his face, trying to read it. He was too still. His jaw clenched once, then loosened.

His eyes flicked up to yours, wide and stunned.

You stood slowly, walking to the sink, feeling your heartbeat rattle in your ribs.

You saw the two lines.

Pregnant.

Your stomach swooped. Your hands trembled.

“Oh my god.”

Jake was behind you in a second. His hands came around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder.

“That’s real,” you whispered.

“Yeah.”

“That’s real.” you said, more convinced.

Jake nodded, kissing your cheek softly. “Looks like we’re doing it again.”

You turned in his arms, eyes brimming, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “What if I can’t handle it? What if it’s too much?”

“You will handle it,” he said firmly. “Because you’re strong. And because I’m here, and we already made the best little human in the world. We can do it again.”

You clung to him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “He’s gonna be a big brother.”

Jake pulled back just enough to smile at you. Really smile. “Can you imagine him? With a little sibling running after him?”

“He’ll boss them around.”

“He’ll protect them.”

You laughed again, eyes still blurry with emotion. “We need to tell him.”

Jake looked toward the door. “Now?”

You paused. “Not yet. Let’s just…hold it, just for a little bit. Just ours.”

He nodded. “Just ours.”

There was still pain. Still nausea. Still fear.

But Jake was here. You were here. And there was life, again, starting inside you.

Another heartbeat waiting to be loved.

☆.

You never liked hospitals.

They always smelled too clean, too sharp, like something was being covered up.

But you went anyway, let Yunjin drive you in her little too-fast-for-comfort car with her playlist blaring.

She didn’t let you argue. Not when she saw the look on your face after the test. Not when she showed up with a fresh croissant and a determined, no-bullshit attitude.

“I’m not letting you stay in bed and Google symptoms until you give yourself a panic attack,” she said. “We’re going to the doctor. I’ll hold your hand, throw up with you, whatever you need.”

True to her word, she was there when you lay back on the crinkly white paper of the exam table, heart in your throat, the sonographer squeezing warm gel onto your skin.

She didn’t let go of your hand once.

AAnd there it was.

That flickering heartbeat.

Tiny. So small it didn’t feel real until it pulsed across the screen like a drum.

You stared at it, lips parted, heart unraveling. The image was hazy, grainy, but it was there, this new, growing piece of you. Of Jake. Of your family.

You cried, of course. You always cried at these kinds of things, even if you tried not to.

Yunjin blinked hard a few times herself. “You’re really doing this again, huh?”

You laughed, a watery sound. “God, yeah.”

“You’re stronger than me.”

“No I’m not,” you said. “You’d be amazing.”

She squeezed your hand. “But right now, this baby’s gonna have the coolest mom on earth… and well, aunt, duh!”

When you finally did tell your son, Jake was the one who brought it up.

James had been building a Lego tower in the living room, lying on his stomach in his little dinosaur pajamas, humming to himself.

Jake sat beside you on the couch, his hand on your thigh, a soft press of reassurance.

“Hey, bud,” Jake said, ruffling his son’s hair, “we’ve got something kinda cool to tell you.”

James looked up, blinking, pieces of Lego clutched in each hand. “What?”

Jake looked at you. You nodded, and he smiled. “You’re gonna be a big brother.”

James blinked again. “What?”

You leaned forward. “There’s a baby growing in my tummy, sweetheart.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, “A baby? In there?” He pointed, alarmed, at your belly, which still looked more like you’d eaten too much lunch than anything else.

You laughed. “Yeah. In there.”

His mouth dropped open. “Is it gonna pop out soon?”

“Not soon,” Jake said. “You’ve got a few months, but eventually, yeah.”

James crawled closer, pressing his little hand against your shirt like he was trying to feel the baby through your skin. “Is it a girl?”

“We don’t know yet,” you said.

He tilted his head, clearly deep in thought. “Will it like dinosaurs?”

“I hope so,” Jake said, laughing.

James was quiet again for a moment, looking at you, then Jake, then back to you. “Do I have to share my snacks?”

You smiled. “Only if you want to.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said solemnly. “But only if it doesn’t touch my T-rex.”

“Deal,” Jake said.

And just like that, James accepted it.

Sort of. He had questions, of course— How does the baby breathe? Will it be loud? What if it’s a girl and doesn’t like trucks?

But in the end, he was still the sweetest baby boy on earth.

☆.

The first trimester was cruel.

The toilet became your closest companion.

Mornings were the worst: your body felt hijacked, your stomach constantly roiling, everything smelling too strong or too wrong.

Jake woke up every day with you, even when his eyes were heavy with sleep and his matches were approaching.

Even when his training hours stretched him thin. He still tried to take up time to stay with you, to train younger boxers instead of boxing himself.

But what surprised you most was James.

He’d peek into the bathroom every morning, hair sticking out in wild directions, clutching his little stuffed dinosaur by the arm.

And if Jake wasn’t already holding your hair back, James would quietly step in and do it.

He never complained.

He just stood there with a serious look on his face and said things like, “You’re doing a good job, Mommy,” or “It’s okay. Sometimes I throw up when I eat too much candy, too.”

Jake started calling him your bodyguard.

James puffed his chest with pride every time.

Sometimes, when the nausea got bad enough, Jake would carry you to bed, settle behind you, and James would crawl in on your other side and whisper stories to the baby. “Today I drew a robot. When you come out, I’ll draw you, too.”

It was in that moment that you realised you had won in life.

.

☆.

Valentine’s Day wasn’t usually a big deal for the two of you.

You’d never been the candlelight-dinner, wine-glass-clinking, heart-shaped-everything type of couple.

Your love was built on early mornings and grocery runs, on whispered goodnights and holding hands during hospital appointments, on parenting and partnership and choosing each other again and again, even on the days when your patience was thin and the dishes were stacked high in the sink.

But this year felt different.

You woke up to the soft creak of your bedroom door opening and the quiet shuffle of socks across the floor.

Your belly was heavy, so round and taut it felt like you were a balloon stretched to its final inch of give.

And you were tired. So tired.

But when you opened your eyes, you saw them— Jake, holding a bouquet of slightly squashed red roses, and James peeking from behind his leg with something hidden behind his back.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Jake murmured, kneeling on the edge of the bed and brushing a kiss against your forehead.

James stepped forward, biting his lip, then presented you with…a crayon drawing of what looked like three lopsided people holding hands. “This is us,” he explained proudly. “That’s you, and that’s Daddy, and that’s me, the little one in your belly is a circle. I didn’t know if it’s a girl or a boy.”

You took it like it was the most precious thing in the world. Maybe it was.

Jake handed you the flowers with a sheepish smile. “James wanted to get you chocolates, but I told him flowers are important too.”

“Mommy should have both,” James declared.

“You taught him well,” you said, kissing your husband’s lips. Then you reached under in the bedside table drawer and pulled out a wrapped box you’d hidden last night. “And so did I.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “What is this?”

“Open it.”

He unwrapped it to find a tin of dark chocolate truffles and a new pair of wraps for training —embroidered with Best Father Farter across the edge.

His smile cracked wide. “Oh my god.” he laughed loudly “I love them!”

James clambered onto the bed between you both. “Can we eat cake now?”

“After lunch,” you said, laughing. “But yes. Later, we’ll eat cake.”

Jake cooked lunch while you sat on a stool in the kitchen, rubbing your belly and trying to ignore the low ache that had been bothering you all morning.

James danced around in his socks, insisting on wearing a tie for ‘the special day’c and you let him because he looked too cute not to.

The cake was store-bought, a simple one with little pink sugar hearts, but James was excited about it like it was some magical treasure.

You stood up to grab a knife to cut the first slice.

You didn’t even make it to the drawer.

Pop.

The sound wasn’t loud, but you felt it in your body, a deep, sudden release of pressure.

Warmth gushed down your legs.

You froze.

Jake, mid-laugh, stopped. “Did you— did you drop something?”

You looked down at your soaked pants. Then up at him.

“Oh my god.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Is that—? Is it happening?!”

“Yes! Jake, yes— go grab the hospital bag!”

James gasped, horrified. “You peed yourself?!”

“I didn’t pee myself, baby,” you said through gritted teeth as the first cramp twisted through your belly. “The baby’s coming.”

James blinked. “Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

Jake was moving at light speed— or maybe no speed at all.

He dropped the bouquet. Nearly tripped over James.

Grabbed his phone, then the car keys, then forgot both again.

“Okay, bag— hospital bag, where’s the— where did we—where did you put it?”

“By the door, Jake!” you snapped. “Where it’s always been.”

He stumbled off, yelling back, “I knew that! I’m calm!”

“You’re not calm!”

James was clinging to your leg like a baby koala. “Is the baby falling out right now?”

“No,” you hissed, hand gripping the table as another contraction hit, sharp and fast. “But soon if we don’t move.”

“Should I call someone?” Jake shouted from the hall.

“Yes! Call Yunjin. She needs to come stay with James!”

“I’m already on it!” he yelled back, fumbling his phone.

Yunjin picked up after two rings.

“You’re gonna want to get here,” Jake said, voice too high. “It’s happening. She’s— her water broke. Like actually broke. It’s go time.”

You grabbed the phone from him as he rushed back in. “Yunjin, please— just get here.”

“I’m on my way, don’t panic,” she said, though you could hear the smile in her voice. “Tell James I’ll bring candy.”

“I’ll tell him if I survive.”

You handed the phone back to Jake, your hands trembling. “Get the car ready. I’ll get shoes.”

“You’re not getting anything. I’m carrying you.”

“Jake—”

“I’m carrying you,” he repeated, gently but firmly.

James watched the whole scene unfold like a movie, his eyes wide. “Will it hurt?”

You knelt down, wincing, brushing his cheek. “Yeah, honey. It’s going to hurt. Daddy’s going to be with me, don’t worry. you’re gonna be the best big brother ever.”

He nodded, lip trembling. “I’ll tell the baby that I love her.”

Jake kissed his forehead, voice thick. “You tell her that in person. We’ll be back with your sister soon.”

The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and quick footsteps and voices that felt like they were underwater. m

The pain hit in waves, and each time it crashed, you wanted to scream— but you didn’t.

Not yet. Not until it got worse.

And god, it got worse.

Nine hours of it.

Jake never left your side, not for a second.

You yelled at him at least three times.

“Stop talking,” you growled at him during hour five, when he was trying to distract you with some nonsense story about his first amateur fight.

He shut up. Immediately. Nodded like a soldier.

Later, when you were gripping the rail of the bed so hard your knuckles went white, you hissed, “I hate you.”

“I know,” he said.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Got it.”

“Wait, no— touch me again.”

He grabbed your hand without hesitation. “Right here.”

You screamed. He let you crush his fingers.

And when it finally happened,.

the world shrank to pressure and burning and breathless, broken sounds, you gave one last push and everything stopped.

Then—

A cry.

High and raw and brand new.

They placed her on your chest, and your hands shook when they curled around her tiny, wriggling body.

She was pink and warm and squalling like she was furious about the whole ordeal.

You sobbed.

Jake sobbed more.

Your forehead pressed to hers as you whispered, “Hi, baby. Hi, Jane… Hi, Jiheon.”

Jake kissed your temple a hundred times, his face wet with tears. “You did it. You did so good.”

“She’s so small,” you whispered.

“She’s perfect.”

You looked at her again, this little piece of you and Jake and everything that had ever been good between you.

You were exhausted, ripped open and aching, but she was here.

Your daughter.

And she was worth it all.

☆.

The world came back slowly.

Not in one clean breath, but in fragments, blinking against the dim hospital room light, the hum of machines, the sterile scent of disinfectant layered beneath something warm.

Familiar.

Jake’s cologne.

Your throat was dry, lips cracked, body heavy— wrecked didn’t even begin to describe it.

Your stomach ached with the aftershock of labor, your muscles trembling in the stillness, and for a moment, you couldn’t even tell what time it was.

Everything had blurred together into hours of pain, blood, cries, and the weight of her tiny body on your chest before darkness finally pulled you under.

But now—now it was night.

The sky outside the narrow window was ink-dark, the city lights dulled by the thickness of the glass.

You shifted just slightly, wincing at the soreness that radiated through your hips and spine, and turned your head.

He was there.

Jake was sitting in the corner chair beside your bed, hunched forward with a blanket cradled against his chest, shoulders curved inward like a shield.

His hair was a mess,, and his eyes were fixed on her with an expression so full of awe it punched the breath right out of your lungs.

He was crying. Quietly.

Not the dramatic, shaking kind of crying— just slow, steady tears, running along the curve of his jaw and down to his neck as he stared at his daughter.

“Jaeyun…” Your voice cracked like ice underfoot.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look at you at first.

“She’s sleeping,” he whispered, brushing one callused thumb over her cheek, his voice so soft it barely stirred the air. “She has your nose.”

You watched him from the bed, your vision still cloudy, but yourr heart was awake now.

He looked so still, so unlike the chaotic Jake you’d known for years.

Not the boy who forgot his keys five times a week.

Not the man who cheered too loud at James’s school recitals. This was something different.

This was a father. Again.

You reached out with a hand that shook from effort. “Let me see her.”

Jake finally turned, startled like he hadn’t realized you were awake.

He sniffed, blinking hard as he carefully got up. “You’re awake,” he said, voice cracking. “God, you— are you okay? You fainted right after they took her. They said you were just exhausted, but you were out. I thought—” He paused. Swallowed. “I’ve been watching you sleep for hours.”

You blinked slowly. “You’re not supposed to say that like it’s romantic, stalker.”

That got a breath of laughter out of him, ragged and wet. He came to the side of the bed, kneeling so he could ease Jane down into your arms. “Here,” he murmured. “Hold her again.”

You adjusted your pillow, barely able to sit up.

But he helped, supporting your back, brushing the strands of hair away from your damp forehead. And then she was there, small and warm and impossibly real in your arms again.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered. “Hi, little Jane.”

“Jiheon,” Jake added softly. “That’s what I’ve been calling her. She likes it… i think. She keeps making this face when I say it— look.” He leaned in and repeated it again in a whisper, “Jiheon.”

Jane shifted slightly, scrunching her face before relaxing again. A barely-there smile tugged at Jake’s lips.

“You look like a dad of two now,” you murmured, brushing your finger along her hair. “There’s something different in your face.”

“I feel different.” He pressed his forehead to your shoulder and just breathed there for a second. “Like… more breakable.”

You rested your cheek on top of Jane’s head and closed your eyes. “You’re not. You’re stronger than you think.”

He pulled back and sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle either of you. “Do you remember what you said during hour seven?”

“Which part? I said a lot of things.”

“You said if I ever touched you again, you’d break my nose.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Still stands. For a while.”

Jake grinned and leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Fair. I’ll wait.”

You both sat there for a while, in the stillness that only came in the dead of night, surrounded by beeping monitors and the soft breathing of your daughter.

After a while, he reached out and brushed the back of his finger over Jane’s tiny fist. “She’s got my ears.”

You snorted. “Poor girl.”

He laughed, pulling the blanket higher around your shoulders. “James is gonna love her.”

“He already does,” you said. “He kept talking to my belly like it was a walkie-talkie.”

Jake smiled again, softer now. “He’s gonna be the best big brother.”

You were quiet for a while.

Just breathing. Just holding her.

And him holding you.

Then, your voice cracked the silence, barely a whisper.

“Thank you.”

Jake blinked. “For what?”

“For giving me them.” You looked down at Jane. “For giving me you.”

His face crumpled a little. “You gave me everything back.”

☆.

Coming home was a blur of motion and scent and warmth—soft clothes, white noise, the lingering chill of February air clinging to your coats and hair as you stepped into the house with a car seat cradled between both hands.

Jane was still asleep.

That delicate, floating sleep only newborns seem capable of, where their tiny chests rise like feathers and fall again, their mouths puckering occasionally, eyelashes still damp against their cheeks.

Your arms ached from holding her, your legs felt like jelly, and your stomach was a quilt of stretched skin and healing muscle, but lord— you were finally home.

Jake carried the bags in with one arm and hovered behind you like you might fall at any second.

His hand was low on your back. “You okay?”

“I’m… tired,” you admitted, your voice raspy with lack of sleep and recovery, but your eyes were clear. “But yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good. I want this moment to be good.”

You looked over at him. “It will be.”

James had been waiting by the window.

The second you stepped inside, his feet came skidding over the hardwood floors in his socks, eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open.

“Where is she?” he breathed, like he was waiting to see a mythical creature.

Jake gently nudged the car seat toward him. “She’s sleeping. Be soft, okay?”

James crouched like it was some sacred ritual, his tiny fingers gripping the edge of the blanket.

He peeked in with a squint, nose wrinkling, face twisted in deep thought.

He blinked.

Then frowned.

“…She’s kind of ugly,” he declared.

Jake choked on a laugh, reaching to ruffle his hair. “Hey.”

“But it’s okay,” James continued with a shrug. “She’s a baby. I heard some people get plastic surgery when they grow up. She can do that if she wants.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling a snort. “She’s not ugly.”

“She looks like a wrinkly potato.”

“That’s cause she just came out,,” Jake said solemnly, kneeling beside him. “She’ll look better after some milk and sleep.”

James tilted his head, clearly unsure how to feel. “She smells like butt.”

You bent down beside them both, the ache in your legs sharp but ignorable.

Jane stirred a little, her mouth making a soft sucking noise, her hands twitching. “You smelled worse when you were born.”

James’s eyes widened like you’d just told him he was adopted. “No way.”

“Yes way,” Jake chimed in. “You pooped on me twice in the first week.”

James’ face lit up. “Can I hold her?”

“In a bit,” you said, brushing your fingers along his hair. “After she’s fed. And once we’re on the couch.”

He nodded, serious. “I’ll wait.”

☆.

The days passed like smoke curling around your head—soft and slow and smothering all at once.

Jane didn’t sleep unless she was on someone’s chest.

Your chest. Jake’s chest. Occasionally James’s, when he insisted on sitting perfectly still on the couch, puffed up with responsibility.

Your nights bled into mornings, your mornings into afternoons.

You could barely tell what day it was anymore. You were always either nursing, changing, soothing, or trying to catch a moment of quiet to breathe.

But even in the chaos, there were moments that glowed— small, quiet glimmers of peace.

James tiptoed more than he used to. He would pad into your bedroom at two a.m., rubbing his eyes, clutching his dinosaur plushie under one arm.

“Is she okay?” he’d whisper.

“She’s just hungry,” you’d whisper back.

Sometimes he’d crawl into the bed next to you and lie on Jake’s other side, close enough to reach for your elbow. He didn’t ask for lullabies anymore. Just your presence, closeness.

Sometimes he’d doze off again before Jane had even finished nursing.

Other times, he’d stay awake. Just watching.

“I think she likes when you sing,” he murmured one night.

You paused, fingers stroking Jane’s back. “You think?”

He nodded seriously. “Even if you’re a little out of tune.”

And Jake— Jake was different, this time.

The first time around, he’d tried. He really had.

But he was younger, more nervous, too rough around the edges, and there were nights when you’d cried in the shower because you were the one holding everything together.

But not now.

Now he was soft in the ways that mattered.

He remembered the towel you liked best and warmed it in the dryer before you bathed.

He memorized your medications, prepped your bottle without you asking.

He rubbed your feet while Jane fed, whispered affirmations when you broke into tears at 3 a.m. for no reason except that your body wasn’t yours and your brain was drowning and you missed sleeping for more than two hours at a time.

He wasn’t perfect.

He still forgot to put lids back on properly and he still knocked over the baby lotion bottle three times in the same week.

But he had learned you. Learned your limits. Your moods.

What words would help and which wouldn’t. He never made you feel like a burden. Not once.

And when you had nothing left to give— he gave you back to yourself.

You came down one night after a long nap you hadn’t even realized you’d taken, hair sticking to your forehead, your robe askew.

You expected disaster. Bottles unwashed, a screaming baby, maybe Jake asleep on the couch with James up way too late playing video games.

Instead, you found the living room lit in warm lamplight, quiet.

Jake was shirtless, Jane pressed to his chest in the baby wrap, bouncing slightly on his feet as he whispered a lullaby in half-Korean, half-english.

James was curled on the rug with dinosaurs his book, whispering the words to himself, a blanket pulled over his lap.

Your heart cracked open.

Jake looked up and smiled. “She just finished feeding. I pumped from the stash in the fridge, you looked like you needed rest.”

“I did,” you whispered.

“Go back up,” he said. “I’ll bring you tea.”

You hesitated. “I feel guilty.”

“Don’t. You gave her a whole body, we’ll take care of you now.”

You did cry then.

And when Jake wrapped you in his arms that night, you believed him.

You believed that this family, this messy, tired, beautiful family, was being held together not just by your hands, but by all three of theirs.

And that was everything.

☆.

Two years later, the kitchen smelled like strawberries and sunscreen.

It was a Sunday afternoon in early June, sun slanting through the window blinds and painting long, golden stripes across the tiled floor.

The fan hummed softly in the corner, spinning slow circles that barely stirred the air, and Jan e your little girl with her chubby hands and mismatched socks was sitting in her high chair, smearing strawberry juice across her cheeks like war paint.

Jake was crouched beside her, wiping her chin with one of the soft, floral-patterned cloths you insisted on keeping in the drawer.

His hair was still damp from the hose-outside chaos that had been an hour ago— James, laughing as Jake sprayed him down while Jane screamed and clapped from the porch.

Now everything smelled of damp grass and sweetness.

You were at the sink, rinsing a bowl, humming under your breath, tired but soft around the edges with that summer kind of fatigue that didn’t bite.

James sat at the kitchen table, arms folded, face twisted in a look of intense concentration, like he was on the verge of solving the meaning of life.

“Dad?” he said suddenly, sharp like a question he’d been chewing on all morning.

Jake looked over, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, bud?”

James tapped a finger against the table. “How did you and Mom meet?”

You froze mid-rinse, hand still under the stream of water.

Jake blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Why do you wanna know?”

James shrugged, suddenly bashful, eyes darting to the side. “Just curious.”

But you saw the pink flush in his cheeks.

The way he pressed his lips together.

You turned the water off, grabbing a towel, and leaned against the counter just to watch it unfold.

“Wait.” Jake narrowed his eyes playfully. “Did something happen at school?”

James groaned. “Noooo.”

Jake smirked. “Oh my god, it did. Who is she?”

James covered his face with both hands. “Dad, no.”

“She sits next to him,” you supplied, grinning into your towel. “Pretty little thing with the pigtails and glittery pencil case, right?”

James dropped his head to the table with a muffled moan. “You guys are the worst.”

Jake cackled, reaching out to flick his son’s ear. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you how we met, but only if you promise not to laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

James lifted his head, expectant. “Tell me anyway.”

Jake stood, walking toward the fridge to grab a handful more strawberries, before leaning his hip against the counter and settling into storyteller mode.

Jane babbled, still chewing her fruit with delight.

“Well,” Jake began, “your mom hated me.”

“What?” James blinked. “Why?”

You crossed your arms. “Because he was cocky. And late. Constantly.”

“I wasn’t that late.”

“You were twenty-two minutes late to our first study session.”

“Okay, one time—”

“Every time.”

Jake huffed dramatically. “Anyway, we were in college. Same class, I noticed her first. She had this oversized hoodie and earbuds in every time she walked into the lecture hall, and she never talked to anyone.”

“I was tired.”

“Exactly. So mysterious.”

James giggled.

“I tried to sit near her a few times,” Jake continued. “You know, see if I could catch her attention, but she never looked up. So I asked to borrow her notes.”

You raised a brow. “You mean you spilled coffee on your own notes and then cornered me after class.”

Jake grinned at James like it was a badge of honor. “It worked.”

James’ eyes were wide now, totally absorbed. “Then what?”

“She agreed to help me study,” Jake said, placing a hand to his heart like he was reciting poetry. “And the rest… is history.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, it took a while,” Jake added. “Your mom wasn’t easy, she made me work for it.”

“Darn right I did.”

“But then we started spending more time together,” he said. “And she started smiling more. Laughing, she used to pretend she didn’t like me, but I could tell.”

“I didn’t like you.”

Jake shot you a look, grinning. “Tell that to the time you skipped your morning class just to meet me for coffee.”

You scowled playfully. “That was one time. And you had a cold.”

“You brought me soup.”

“Because I’m not a monster.”

James cut in. “Did you kiss?”

Jake opened his mouth, smirking, his eyes shining as if to say and not just that.

You threw a towel at him. “Don’t you dare.”

Jake caught it, snorting. “Yes, we kissed. A lot.”

James made a face. “Ew.”

“And we fell in love,” Jake added, softer now, his smile turning real, almost quiet. “Like, the kind of love where you still want to see their face even when they’re mad at you. The kind where everything feels like home when they walk into the room.”

Your chest squeezed a little.

“She’s still my best friend,” he added. “Even when she makes fun of me for how many times I lose my keys.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s gotten better.”

“Only because you put a tracker on my keychain.”

James giggled again.

“And then,” Jake said, grinning now, “we had you.”

“Wait— how did that happen?” James asked innocently.

Jake froze. You shot him a warning glance. He paled.

“Uh—well, that’s a whole other story.”

James squinted. “Why?”

“Because it’s for grown-ups.”

“But—”

“Nope,” you said firmly, swooping in to pick Jane up from the high chair as she started getting fussy. “You’ll learn in science class.”

James groaned. “Ugh. But science is so boring.”

“Not always,” Jake said under his breath.

“Jaeyun.”

Jake raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay!”

Jane curled against your chest, sticky hands tugging at your shirt, and you kissed her forehead before shifting her to your hip.

“Is that really how you fell in love?” James asked quietly, looking between you both.

Jake looked at you, and you looked at him— and your heart did that warm, foolish little flip it had been doing since the first time he held your hand, since he first made you laugh until you cried.

“Yeah,” you said, brushing your fingers through James’s hair as you passed. “It really is.”

Jake came up behind you, his hand sliding to the small of your back. “Still in love, too.”

You looked up at him. “Even after I threatened to cut your head off if you gave me another baby?”

“Even then.”

James groaned. “You guys are so embarrassing.”

☆.

It was past midnight and the rain hadn’t stopped all day. It tapped gently against the window, like fingertips drumming over glass, soft enough now that it no longer sounded like thunder, but like a lullaby to the tired world.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlight that spilled in from between the curtains.

The warmth of the bed wrapped around you both like a cocoon.

The scent of rain still clung faintly to your skin from earlier— just from standing by the door too long, shoes soaked, children loud and chaotic and cooped up.

You were fast asleep now, curled beside Jake under the heavy blankets, your body drawn instinctively to his.

Your hand had found its way to his chest, fingers splayed just over where his heart beat steady.

He could feel your breath on his collarbone, soft and rhythmic, your nose cold against his neck.

He didn’t move. He never did, not when you laid like this.

He only let his arm fold around you tighter, holding you like something sacred.

His eyes didn’t close.

It had been a long day, sure— Jane had tried to flush her brother’s dinosaur down the toilet, James had gotten stuck halfway under the couch trying to retrieve a Lego piece.

But that wasn’t what was keeping Jake awake.

It was your sigh. The small one you let out just minutes ago, right before curling closer to him in your sleep.

It had sounded like comfort. Like home.

And that’s what triggered it.

That memory.

The one he couldn’t forget, even if he tried.

The one from before the house, before the kids, before everything.

The night he almost lost you.

It had been raining then, too. Harder than this. Sharper.

You stood in the middle of a soaked parking lot, your hoodie clinging to your skin like paper, hair plastered to your face, eyes wet with more than just the downpour.

You had just stormed off, away from him.

Jake had followed you out of the gym, his steps echoing behind yours, water sloshing in his shoes, fists clenched at his sides.

“You’re not listening to me!” you shouted, spinning around to face him, voice breaking over the sound of the storm. “You never listen to me!”

“I do!” Jake yelled back, stepping closer, teeth clenched. “I always do! But you’re asking me to be someone I’m not!”

“I’m asking you to stop killing yourself in the ring every weekend!” you cried, your voice raw. “I’m asking you to choose something, anything, that doesn’t make me wonder if I’ll get a call saying you won’t come home!”

Jake’s jaw tightened.

Water ran down his face, indistinguishable from the tears in your eyes.

His chest heaved, soaked through, breath misting in the cold air.

“This is all I know,” he said. “Boxing is all I have.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping toward him. “You have me. You have someone who stands outside every goddamn fight praying you don’t bleed out, you have someone who waits up, and worries, and loves you so much it hurts.”

Jake blinked at you, and for a second, he looked like he couldn’t breathe.

And you shook your head. “But maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I’m not enough. Maybe this… us, was a mistake.”

The silence that followed made the rain sound louder. It filled the space between you like a wall.

Jake stepped forward, one slow step at a time, until he was standing in front of you, his hands shaking.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered.

You stared at him, your face trembling, your eyes full of everything you couldn’t say. “Jake—”

“I know I’m reckless, I know I’m a mess, I know I don’t always think. But you…” His hand rose, not touching you yet, hovering like you were a flame he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch. “You’re the only thing that ever made me want to slow down.”

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “I’m so scared of losing you.”

Jake’s hand finally reached you.

His fingers slid into your hair, soaked strands between his knuckles. He leaned in until your foreheads touched.

“I’m scared, too,” he said, eyes shut tight. “Of not being enough. Of being too broken to hold onto you.”

“You’re not,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re not broken.”

“I am,” he said, voice cracking. “But I’m better with you.”

The rain came harder then, a sudden gust slamming sideways into your bodies, but neither of you moved.

You were shivering. He was freezing.

The whole world felt like it was falling apart, but Jake looked at you like he’d found the eye of the storm.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t clean.

It was desperate and messy and full of everything you’d both been trying to say. His mouth found yours like he’d been drowning and just found air.

Your hands clung to his soaked hoodie, your body pressed to his like you’d never let him go.

Jake remembered how your tears had mixed with the rain, how his fingers gripped your waist too tight, how you’d gasped his name between kisses like it was a lifeline.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you’d whispered into his mouth.

“You won’t,” he’d vowed, breathless. “Not ever.”

And even back then, before promises and rings and babies with strawberry-stained mouths, he had meant it.

Now, in the warmth of your shared bed, he felt you sigh again.

Just a soft one. Almost imperceptible.

Your leg slid against his beneath the blankets, your head nuzzling deeper into the space between his shoulder and neck. Your fingers curled softly against his chest.

Jake swallowed hard. His hand moved to your back, rubbing in slow, gentle circles, his lips brushing your hair.

He breathed you in.

You were here. You were warm and whole and safe.

And so was he.

☆.

The light was soft when you stirred awake.

You shifted, your body stretching slow beneath the blankets, the cotton sheets warm from shared heat. And then you felt him.

Jake.

Pressed against your back, his chest bare, skin hot and solid.

His arm was around your waist, the other resting on the pillow beside him.

Your hand reached down, brushing over the blanket until you found his fingers resting over your stomach.

You laced yours through them, holding him there. And then you turned, slow and gentle, so you wouldn’t wake him. But he was already awake.

His eyes were open, dark under the faint shadows of morning. He was lying on his side, hair mussed from the bed, jaw dotted with the faintest stubble.

His eyes met yours right away.

“Hey,” you whispered.

“Hey.” His voice was husky, low from sleep… or maybe lack of it.

You frowned softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “You didn’t sleep.”

He didn’t answer. Just watched you. As if he was trying to memorize the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes cast shadows beneath your eyes.

You let your palm slide down to cup his cheek.

“What’s on your mind?” you murmured.

He hesitated.

Then, finally: “Nothing I can say without sounding selfish.”

Your brows drew together gently. “Try me.”

But instead of answering, Jake looked down. And you followed his gaze.

The scars. They were always there— some faint and faded, some newer. One near his ribs from that one brutal match three years ago.

Another near his shoulder, still pinkish, like a memory that hadn’t finished healing

You reached out slowly, letting your fingertips trail over the ridges of old pain, old bottles.

He didn’t flinch. He never did, not with you. But his breath did hitch slightly, the tension in his body curling tighter.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the one just below his collarbone. “I love these,” you whispered.

Jake’s throat bobbed with a swallow.

“They’re ugly,” he muttered, half-hearted, like he’d already lost the argument.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “They’re proof you survived. Every one of them means you came back to me.”

Something in him broke a little at that. His mouth opened, maybe to argue, maybe to say something tender, but the words didn’t come. His hand came up instead, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over the apple of it.

“I thought about you last night,” he said softly. “Back when you almost left. Out in the rain…. that fight.”

You nodded, heart aching at the memory. “It was a long time ago.”

His hand slid from your cheek to your neck, fingers splaying out along the curve of it, then down your spine, slow and reverent. “I didn’t sleep because I kept thinking what if you had left. What if I’d pushed it too far, if we never made it here.”

You shifted closer, pressing your body to his fully, your forehead resting against his. “But I didn’t. I stayed. You fought for me.”

His lips touched yours then— barely. A brush, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

Even after all those years.

Your hand slid down between you, over the swell of his chest, your palm flat and warm against his heartbeat.

“Still fighting for you,” he whispered, eyes on yours.

And it was then, without another word, that you leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft at first. Slow. Like a secret.

Your lips moved over his with a quiet kind of hunger, not the desperate kind from that night in the rain, but something deeper.

The kind that comes after years of waking up next to each other. After babies. After late nights and early mornings and scars.

Jake kissed you back like he needed you. Like you were the only thing keeping him grounded in that moment.

His hand slipped under the fabric of your shirt, finding the skin of your back, pulling you closer until not even air could live between your bodies.

You pressed yourself to him, your hand roaming his torso, fingers tracing over his skin like you were memorizing the feel of him.

He let out a shaky breath against your lips, his hips shifting forward just enough for you to feel the truth of his want, hard and insistent against your thigh.

“I missed you,” he murmured, kissing along your jaw. “Even with you right next to me.”

You shivered under his mouth, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging gently to bring his face back to yours. “Then take it,” you breathed. “Take me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Jake rolled you onto your back slowly, carefully, his body hovering over yours, warm and heavy and familiar. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world and you let him, eyes fluttering shut, breath uneven.

His hands slipped under your shirt and you arched into his touch, letting him pull the fabric up and over your head. He looked down at you like you were art.

You tugged his mouth back to yours.

When he finally slid inside you, it was slow and careful. You both gasped— every time felt new, felt real, like the first and last and only time.

You clung to him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs locked around his waist.

He rocked into you gently, his mouth finding every part of you he could reach: your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast.

“Still with me?” he asked, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to yours.

“Always,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth.

The rhythm between you built slowly, nothing rushed. You moved together in sync, bodies finding each other like they were made to.

You moaned softly into his ear, hands trailing down his back, nails digging in just enough to make him shiver.

“Lord, I love you,” Jake breathed, pressing his hips deeper. “I love you so much it scares me.”

“I know,” you whispered, blinking through the haze of your pleasure. “I know, baby.”

You held on to each other through it all, the high and the fall, the quiet panting breaths after, the way your hearts beat wildly in sync beneath the mess of limbs and blankets.

After, when your breathing slowed and he was still inside you, arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your neck, you stroked his back softly.

You didn’t say anything. Just kissed the top of his head.

And somewhere down the hall, a floor creaked.

You both froze.

Jake groaned into your shoulder. “Ten dollars that it’s Jane.”

You smiled, lips against his hair. “Or James looking for cereal.”

Jake sighed. “We need a lock on this door.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, pulling the blanket over both your heads as if it could delay reality for just a few more minutes. “Later.”

“Later,” he agreed, pressing one last kiss over your heart.

[rafesangelita]

…DILF!RAFE X HOUSEBUNNY!READER AU

⋆𐙚₊˚🐇⊹♡

DILF!RAFE X HOUSEBUNNY!READER who spend their days fucking like rabbits. whether rafe had her clinging onto his bed sheets for dear life, or muffling her screams while he drilled into her poor cunt, he knew he had hit the jackpot when she was deemed useful in more ways than one. housebunny!reader who worked as a cart girl at the country club for only two days before rafe whisked her away and turned her into his pretty maid. with his kid out of the house for school, rafe enforced a strict dress code that kept her catering to him in mini skirts, thigh high stockings, heels, and maybeee a lacey bra (he preferred her to be topless most of the time). dilf!rafe who took care of absolutely everything; hair appointments, lash appointments, nail appointments, wax appointments, he made sure to always have his bunny in tip top shape, according to his liking.

DILF!RAFE X HOUSEBUNNY!READER who always get concerning glares whenever they’re out in public. here you have rafe always dressed in business casual, his clothes ironed flat without a single wrinkle in sight, courtesy of housebunny of course, and then you have the girl at his side that’s all glitz and glamour, her outfit drawing the attention of every single person in the same room. dilf!rafe who has an intense housewife + breeding kink, always telling bunny that he’s gonna keep her in the house forever while he’s balls deep inside of her. she never opposed the idea, the vision only making her warm, velvety walls clench around him even tighter. housebunny!reader who made rafe’s favorite meals, loving the way he nodded approvingly while he chewed. “you’re just too good to be true.” her heart is fluttering in her chest at his words, the praise not going unnoticed. dinner was always delicious, but dessert was even better.

DILF!RAFE X HOUSEBUNNY!READER who are sooo playful behind closed doors, rafe finds himself full on giggling before he’s masking his laughter with a serious expression so bunny doesn’t think he’s too soft. dilf!rafe who has the music taste of a frat boy in college, cursing under his breath as bunny sings along to the explicit lyrics booming throughout the house. “pretty girls don’t have filthy mouths.” he’s reminding her, smirking to himself when he see’s her sparkly lips come to a stop. housebunny!reader who does literally everything rafe asks her to do. “..sooo you want me to walk around with bunny ears, and that thing?” rafe is living for the hesitation on her face, and the fact that he knows she won’t tell him no. the following night, he manages to get the cute little bunny tail right where he wants it, housebunny!reader loving it more than she thought she would..

DILF!RAFE X HOUSEBUNNY!READER who plan bunny’s outfits for the week (it’s just an excuse for her to give him an unsolicited fashion show). “i would rather you wear nothing at all..” rafe grumbles when she comes out of his closet in an assortment of clothing. housebunny!reader who slips pink sticky notes into rafe’s pocket before going to work so he could find them throughout the day. ‘can’t wait to be your slutty lil’ bunny later ♡’ rafe is excusing himself from his meeting, sending her a text message that easily gets her needy. ‘just read your note. you‘re gonna be so fucked out by the time i’m done with you.’ she shoots him a quick ‘promiseee? ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა’ before squealing in excitement when he reacts to her message with a thumbs up. it’s not long before rafe gets home and has her legs on top of his shoulders, her knees knocking against her chest while he’s wiping away her tears of pure unadulterated pleasure with his thumb.

DILF!RAFE X HOUSEBUNNY!READER who are equally as nervous to have rafe’s son back home, unsure of what the small boy might think. housebunny!reader who nearly cries when she overhears little ray say she looks like a princess with her ‘pink puffy dresses’. dilf!rafe who is relieved and overjoyed that his boy adores her so much, since that was all he was waiting for in order to make her his, officially at least, since he already thought of her as such. housebunny!reader who wakes up to the smell of breakfast wafting up from downstairs, her eyebrows knitting in confusion as she wraps her fluffy robe around her body. “what are you doing?” she’s taking in the view of a shirtless rafe drinking out of a coffee mug, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. “making you breakfast since you’re not just my house bunny anymore..” at his words, you smiled. “just bunny then?” he hummed, “just bunny.”

୨୧ telling rafe you didn't use his credit card ୨୧ when dilf!rafe and bunny!reader first met ୨୧ dilf!rafe loves to make his pretty bunny squirm.. ୨୧ bunny comes home from all of her beauty appointments!

[militaryapple]

WHATS YOUR SAFE WORD?

synopsis. you ask caleb to degrade you, and when he agrees with his own terms you take it as a challenge.

cw. fem!reader, mild degradation, asphyxiation, fingering, cunnilingus, caleb has you in a headlock, marking, he gets hard when you call him colonel.

add ons. hope everyones having a wonderful monday

wc. 1.6k

"you want me to what?" caleb said surprised. degradation? it wasn't his forte. It's not like he didn't want to degrade you, tell you how much of a fucking slut you looked when you begged for him to fill up every little crevice of your throbbing cunt. he couldn't help but praise you though, you always took his cock so nicely. it was practically made for you. the sounds you made whenever he would go deeper in your sweet cunt, how perfect you looked when he fucked you senseless. it just rolled off his tongue naturally!

"caleb" you whined softly. he thought about it. oh he couldn't help but say yes to you, he couldn't say no. not when you look up at him, batting your eyes in a way that makes you look oh-so-innocent. he couldn't help but have a wide grin fall upon his face. "okay okay, fine pipsqueak." he said playfully "but-" and there it was.

your once gleeful face dropped. of course there was going to be a "but" this is caleb after all. why did he have to make this more difficult than it needed to be? it was just gonna be like.. a test the waters thing.

"hey don't look so sad on me now, I know why you're asking me to do this anyways." he clicked his tongue after finishing his sentence, pushing his hand into his pocket before pulling out a sheet of paper, and you felt your heart drop.

oh god.

oh lumiere.

"100% masochist.." how did he?

"98% rope bunny?" take it back.

"87% experimentalist?" your face flushed, you felt like you were burning before rushing towards him and grabbing the small piece of paper. dammit! this is why you don't do things with your friends after you drink! you leave evidence of shit around! you hit Caleb as hard as you could before he ducked and laughed. how could he even find this?! you swore you hid it well. well enough that after you woke up with a very bad hangover you forgot where you placed it.

"i know everything about you pips. you think I wouldn't be able to find a small little paper you attempted to hide away?" caleb said, almost mocking you. "did you forget who took care of you last night? I'm glad I looked at it when I did. i'd be a little sad to miss something this interesting about you." he shifted over on the couch where he was seated. you plopped yourself down next to him in embarrassment.

fuck your life.

"ah- back to our conversation, my only 'but' was that we have a safe word." his gaze shifting from the paper now peering at you. his face smug. like he fucking knows everything. "you go through my things, you make fun of me and now you want a safe word? ha? do you think i'd need to tap out or something?" you snarled back at him

caleb shifted from a comfortable position to a more.. open one. his legs widened as he couldn't help teasing you. look how flare you get? how your cheeks puff and your eyes burn into him. shit you were sexy like this.

"i'm just saying pip-squeak, if you cant handle it anymore, just say the word and i'll run a warm bath for you. we can cuddle and.." he trailed off as you moved to him, placing yourself on top of his lap as his gaze, once shifted downwards to meet your eyes now looking up.

"the safe word is apples. I won't need it since you're obviously challenging me." you retorted. there was no way you were losing some sort of game to caleb. he might have physical strength but you have mental strength, and that's more than enough.

caleb hummed in approval before grabbing you by your sides and swaying your hips on his crotch. oh fuck did it rub you just right. "I know everything about you." he whispered in your ear, his breath hot. fiery. you could feel the dent in his pants rising as the friction only made you feel so much better. you couldn't give in now, you both were just beginning.

caleb dug his face in the crook of your neck his kisses moving up as he bit the side of your neck, hard enough for you to feel it but not enough to make you bleed, softly coating the area with his saliva. "I know what you like," his nibbles becoming more and more prominent, "what you hate" the feeling was euphoric for you. "what you need." oh fuck, was he marking you?

you didn't have time to react before you were flipped to your front side. it didn't take any time before caleb unbuckled your pants and undoing your zipper. one of his arms putting you in a headlock, not quite hurting you but squeezing you, while his free hand made its way down your pants and in your panties. you would be lying if you said this wasn't turning you on, and caleb knew.

"you're drenched for me baby. what is it? you like the feeling of my big arms being wrapped around your pretty little throat? its almost pathetic." his arm tightening at the feeling of you wiggling beneath in, ah ah. you weren't getting out of this that fast. he rubbed your clit slowly, kissing the back of your neck as you pleaded for him to move faster. this was torture.

caleb was more than amused, he watched as you wiggled and writhed under him. oh how he would love to just give into you but he couldn't, not when you wanted him to be mean, and that's when he heard it.

"colonel, please."

could you say that? it didn't matter. he was rock fucking hard. hearing that from you was like sweet music to his ears. caleb rubbed your throbbing clit faster, your hand grabbing on his arm wrapped around your neck keeping you stern in place. "say it again, call me colonel, tell me how much you fucking need and how you cant do anything without me." you could only shake, you were so close to your release. your head fuzzy from the low oxygen you were getting, and the feeling of you creaming your pants.

caleb moved his hand away, moving it on your thigh as he rubbed it. you begged for him to touch you again. for him to make you cum all over him. "i know baby, just say it. say you need me, say you need your colonel." he coos. you felt fucking stupid. drunk off his slim fingers which made you feel so divine. all you could do was nod your head and let out a small "okay". caleb kissed the side of your head. "see baby? you're not that stupid."

he moved his finger back as he kissed and smothered you. rubbing your sensitive area as you babble out whatever you could. "I need you colonel. please, please I need you in so many ways. I'm nothing without you, I need you." it was a melody for him, a tune that would play over and over in his head until the day he actually dies. you shook as he felt you tense up. the familiar feeling he knows all too well. "you came? who said you could do that? jeez you are slutty."

he scooped you up and brought you to his room, throwing you down as he undid his pants. he looked over and noticed his work gloves, and a bright idea came to his head. caleb walked over and grabbed his gloves, sliding them on before towering over you and moving his hands to pop right inside your exhausted pussy.

"you cant expect me to just stop now. i wanna feel good too, until you call quits is all." caleb made fun of you. you weren't going to give out, even if he felt so fucking good, and the way his fingers slipped in and out of you. fuck the gloves were cold, but they felt so so good. you shivered underneath as he hit all your good spots.

you squirmed, your body aching for more, you grabbed on his arm and looked up, babbling for something, anything. though you were met by the soft coo's of caleb. "come on use your words, I know you can." he held you down while his fingers abused your cunt.

"please caleb, please just fuck me already." it was those few words that made him flip you upside down and slide his cock in you. he moaned and held on you while he got into a somewhat steady pace. in and out, in and out. his balls hitting your clit while his tip kissed your sweet spot. "yeah? you like that? nasty little thing." he coo'd.

you couldn't take anymore, you had to cum. your body shook. you were close, so so close it was like you would fall off a ledge. you grabbed caleb whining. "please colonel, let me cum, please I've been good." you pleaded. caleb drowned at your words, he was rearing his end too. "okay baby, yeah, cum for me, okay? come on come on." his body slammed into yours, feeling a wave of euphoria wash of you. it took Caleb a few more slaps before he eventually slowed down. he slid out of you, watching your every movement.

"I told you" you said sweetly. "we didn't need a safe word. I can take you." you were right to some extent, but you were still fucked out. as for Caleb, he moved back to admire what he had done to you, before letting out a small chuckle.

"what pip-squeak? you think that we're done? you haven't tapped out yet, which means we aren't done."

[xazse]

Ahhhh I loved your reader hybrid works, literal chefs kiss 😩🤌 can you pls pls pls do a bunny! Reader x Suguru and Satoru

You can’t!

Synopsis: Poor Bunnygirl and puppyboySatoru are experiencing the worst heats ever, good thing their owner Suguru is there to take care of them.

Notes: Hi I decided to bring in our Puppy!BoySatoru if you don’t like it just let me know and I’ll revise this entire thing for you!!

Pairings: Puppy!HybridSatoru x Bunny!GirlReader x Suguru

Warnings: Hybrid!Reader + smut + humping + Hybrid!Satoru + drooling + licking + penetration + lots of cum very nasty + Suguru is a good owner + collars

Suguru is exhausted when he read online that getting a hybrid would take a lot of work they weren’t lying especially Bunnygirls and Puppy!Boys.

He thought he would be ready and prepared, it should be a walk in the park! Of course bumps and falls would occur but with someone as patient as Suguru everything will turn out fine.

A year in everything was so fucking perfect, You and Satoru listened so well he really lucked out with the two of you. Most people would complain on online forums that handling was the hardest thing.

The issues started arising when you and Satoru started getting needy, you were kinda independent before but now you both are always on or under Suguru, you both felt the need to always have your hands on him, roaming his body and even touching each other. More issues started to come when it felt like you and him were so feverish and always sore.

A quick google search brought Suguru to the page of hybrid heats. It happens often and can be unpredictable, it’s slapped in his face and he isn’t sure what to do

“Please-Suguru hurts so bad..”

He surely wasn’t expecting to walk into the scene he’s seeing right now, Satoru laid on his back with you atop him, tears are brimming in both your lashes it looks like you two have been crying and whining for the longest time.

You’re in nothing but panties and a thin tank top with him sporting just his underwear. Satoru’s cock is fully hard pressed agains’t your cunt so snugly and he’s already made a mess: his cum seeping through.

It looks like this is what you two have been doing for all this time, just grinding against each other. He feels terrible, he hadn’t taken the time to fully explain what would be happening to your bodies.

He makes his way over to his dumb pets and you both follow so obediently, leaving each others arms to fully envelope in his. Satoru starts licking and sucking on his neck, he isn’t shy to rub his cock so blatantly, smearing his thick load even more.

He needs to teach his hybrids how to pleasure themselves whilst he isn’t here, he stops Satoru from his suckling. He gently has you lay down admiring just how cute you look, your ears are standing at full attention but your hazy eyes aren’t all there.

He pulls off your sticky panties, a clear line of your cum visible when they’re discarded.

He’s met with an even messier sight when admiring your pussy, your folds are glistening as well as his fingers when he teases your little clit.

Suguru positions Satoru in front of your spread legs, he isn’t sure what to do with himself besides following Suguru’s every direction.

Suguru dips his fingers in your cunt again, guiding them to Satoru’s mouth he has him suck them clean.

Satoru absolutely loves the taste of you, he groans so lewdly as he’s lapping up what’s left of your essence.

When he finishes that up Suguru grabs Satoru’s leaky cock with a rough grip and taps it a few times on your soddened clit, this elicits a few moans out of the both of you. It feels so good already, and yet Suguru can’t wait to show you both just how good cumming feels.

He guides Satoru’s hips pushing his sensitive pink tip past your tight entrance.

“Ahh..ngh…”

The whimpering starts, poor puppy Satoru’s brain can’t comprehend this feeling, he knows the pleasure part of his brain is needing more but his body wants to pull away at the same time, he’s scared at how wet and hot it feels. He isn’t telling Suguru to stop so he continues.

His bunny isn’t fairing any better, you’re gripping the pillows for dear life as a fat cock, something foreign pushes inside of you for the first time.

Suguru sets a slow nice pace, hands still on Satoru’s hips guiding him inside of your wet cavern and out again and again. He’s doing all the work but he doesn’t mind one bit.

Suguru pauses working Gojo into you and lets him feel you, for real this time. Your walls are twitching and clamping down on him so hard.

He slides down into the crook of your neck and cries right there, it’s such a sad sight but so arousing at the same time.

“Cmon Toru, gotta make bunny feel good too.”

Satoru listens and begins licking your sensitive neck, he knows that’s a weak spot of yours, always triggering it when he’s roughhousing with you. His hips begin speeding up, the wet sounds of your cum mixing together and being slammed against one another is loud and bounces off the walls.

You cry out loud letting Suguru know that you feel weird, your tummy feels weird and it’s hurting. He reassures you and says to just let it go.

Suguru teases and grabs Satoru’s balls, head diving into his first load of the afternoon, it’s a good bit of cum he produces, Suguru is going to spend a good hour cleaning the both of you up!

[kodzubaby]

maybe it's the way your friends talk about their children. the way they show pictures of their kids playing in the mud, face dirty but smiling widely. the way they talk how their fatigue just disappears once they got home and see their children. maybe that's the reason why you're having a major baby fever. but not just a simple baby fever—a longing for a family.

but you can't just have a family in a snap of a finger because you don't even have a husband, not even a boyfriend! you've looked at adoptions but you can't feel the same connection as to the thought of having your own child. you want to feel motherhood, you want to feel your feet getting swollen, you want the midnight cravings, the kicks that would jolt you awake—you want to get pregnant.

so you call your best friend, the one you've known since you were a child, the one who stuck with you through your weird phases when you liked biting ice cream even though you get a brain freeze and insisted that you're gonna get isekai-d to an anime and marry gojo satoru.

after two rings, he answers with his always gruff voice. "what?"

"kats... i want a child." you say, head plopped on your pillow with your phone on loudspeaker.

there was a pause on his end. "HA?! what the fuck are you saying?"

"i'm saying!! i want a family! like get pregnant!"

"why are you telling me this?! fuckin' weirdo!"

"cuz! i want you to get me pregnant!"

there was silence on the other line which made your heart beat fast. did you make him feel too weird?

"kats...?"

"shit, what the fuck. did you hear what you just said?"

"mmhm... was it... too much?" you bit your lower lip, unsure of what will his reaction be.

"of course it's fucking too much?! you just asked me to get you pregnant!" you can hear the frustration in his voice.

"'m sorry..." you shifted in your bed, laying sideways now while hugging the pink bunny stuff toy katsuki gifted you during your 13th birthday. "just... you know how i want to have a family... but i... i'm nearing my 30s you know. and i don't even have a boyfriend..."

katsuki sighs. "so, what? i'm your last option, huh?"

"mmhm"

"fuckin'." he mutters to himself. "this shouldn't be a conversation over the phone."

"yeah, i know... i'm sorry for suddenly... shocking you like this?"

"you've always been a weirdo, dumbass. i'll be there in 15."

that made you giggle. "see you, kats."

you end the call and lay down on your bed. thinking about how the conversation with katsuki will go. could you even ask him to impregnate you in his face?

second part!!

[songbirdseung]

𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑰𝑵'  𝑯𝑰𝑴  𝑾𝑨𝑺  𝑹𝑬𝑫 To him, you were the prettiest thing in the world. An apology from the universe, a delicate balm to soothe the chaos and cruelty life had thrown his way. And the best part? You were his. His pretty little thing.

Sunghoon saw you as his angel. His pure, innocent bunny, drifting through life untouched by anything harsh or bitter. Someone to protect, to dote on. To keep safe under his wing.

Of course he knew you were your own person, capable and strong. But how could he not baby you when you let him? When you leaned into his care so willingly? You deserved to be pampered. And Sunghoon would never give up the chance to walk beside you, hand resting gently at your waist, like it was meant to be there. He loved you... God, he loved you and even more, he loved that you felt the same.

People called him cold. Aloof. Made assumptions based on his looks or his quiet nature. But none of that mattered. With you, he was something else. Someone else.

“Can you stop taking pictures of me?” you huffed, reaching out to cover his phone camera. Again. As if he didn’t already have thousands of pictures; candid, posed, stolen little moments of you.

He just shrugged, gently pushing your hand away, camera still trained on you. “Nah,” he replied, with that sly little smirk and a snarky remark about doing whatever he wanted. You shot him a glare, but with those puppy eyes he always pulled, you couldn’t even bring yourself to scold him. And he knew it.

He wasn’t sure there was anything you could do to make him stop loving you. He was toeing the line of obsession, maybe even past it. But everything you did was spectacular to him.

“Dude, you’re supposed to be watching the performance to give actual feedback,” Jake muttered, leaning toward him during rehearsal. They were reviewing a group dance, and you just so happened to be in it. But Sunghoon couldn’t tear his eyes off you, every movement, every beat, every smile. He rested his chin in his palm, staring like a man completely captivated.

Jake sighed, shaking his head with a small laugh. “Lovesick idiot,” he mumbled under his breath. But Sunghoon didn’t hear it. Even if he did, he wouldn’t have cared. In his world, there was only you and he was perfectly fine with that.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he asked one night, the two of you lying on his bed after weeks of barely seeing each other, tangled up in soft sheets and the quiet hum of each other's presence.

You blinked at him, amused. “Yeah, Hoon... every day.”

You never quite understood what he saw in you. Not that you thought poorly of yourself, not exactly. But there was something about the way he looked at you, like you were magic. Like he’d burn the whole world down if it meant keeping you.

[thistle-wrote]

Sometimes John likes making his little bird upset. She’s cute when she’s mad.

__________________________________________

John Price was not a man who was used to push back or upset. He does whatever he wants whenever he wants to. A decorated SAS captain, especially one as stubborn as himself, very rarely has many people questioning him, maybe the occasional higher up but not his team, not his colleagues, not his ex-wife, not his most recent girlfriend. But this woman is driving him up a wall.

Eight months, eight months with his bird. He thought moving in with her would be a walk in the park, she’s so sweet, so loving, a good cook, she smells nice, beautiful. He thought it would be easy, but the fuse on that woman was so short.

“Bunny rabbit?” John questioned while wandering through his house to find his sweetheart. He stopped at the bedroom door, hearing low cursing and muttering.

“Bun?” he repeated leaning against the door frame and watching whatever tantrum was happening in the bedroom with a mild amount of amusement. Laundry was being thrown, why she was mad was a mystery to him although he could make a guess.

“Jonathan” his little rabbit turned to look at him, her lips pressed together, her gaze sharp, clearly upset, probably at him, he reasoned.

“Mhm?” His tone didn’t change, the look of amusement didn’t falter. He couldn’t help it, he’d always thought It was funny when she turned into a little brat.

“I swear to God, you are a grown man, you should have the common sense to be able to say to yourself ‘Gee John, there’s a laundry basket right there. Maybe I should put my clothes into it instead of tossing them onto the floor.’ That might save your girlfriend a lot of time whilst doing the laundry don’t you think?” She spoke to him in an almost mocking tone, irritated with him, speaking to him like a mother would to a disobedient child.

“Sorry love.” he crossed the room intending to put his arms around his woman, usually settling her a bit, she rarely turned down affection, never turned down attention but the way she flipped around to glare at him was a little jarring.

“Laundry” the little rabbit demanded while pointing at the pile of clothes on the pristine carpet, a demand, if he wasn’t going to actively choose to pick up after himself, then he was gonna be forced.

“Want me to pick it up for ya, bird?” he asked, entertained, trying to tug at her waist to get her to ease up a little bit. He would pick up the damn laundry if it would make her quiet.

“Oh no, you’re going to do the laundry. if you insist on making my job harder, you can do it.” Deadpan, almost cold. If he wasn’t so irritated by the fact she shrugged off his affection, he might be a little impressed.

“Seriously?” Looking down at her like she was crazy, of course, his woman asking him to do the laundry was not that absurd, it's just he doesn’t do laundry, he works. She does laundry.

“Deathly, go!” a white basket was shoved into his hands, he had half a mind to tell her no but she did not look pleased, he walked to the laundry room with her following in toe, her arms crossed, brow furrowed. 

He did the laundry, it’s not like he didn’t know how he lived by himself for many years, he had no want to do domestic chores, but he’s not some kind of incompetent man. The trouble was the entire time he threw clothes into the washer. She just sat there, outside the door, looking at him, as if to make sure he was doing it right. Once he finished, he turned.

“You done pouting at me?” 

“No, while you’re at it, you can sweep up the pile of ash by your recliner.” She refused to relent. God this was going to be a long life with this little bird but she’s damn cute when she’s upset. 

“Yeah? Maybe I should fuck the attitude out of you instead?” He’s a patient man, but he only puts up with so much. And John would be a liar if he said he didn’t get a little excited when she starts bitching. He ended up bending her over the back of the couch and suddenly she had no issues sweeping up that pile all by herself, pretty little thing.

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