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Peter wakes up early to sunlight creeping in around the edge of the blackout curtains and a face full of hair, courtesy of his wife. He’s been waking up and spitting out coconut-scented strands for more than five years now, but he never feels any less fondly annoyed. Why she refuses to braid it before bed, he’ll never know.

He’s not sure why he’s awake, until he shifts and realizes he’s hard—and Stiles’s leg is draped over his cock, pinning it to his thigh and providing just enough pressure to keep him interested. He chuckles at his cuddly octopus, and rolls her gently off of him and onto her back.

As he does, he catches her scent and goes still. It’s just a little richer than usual, ever-so-slightly deeper, with a loamy note that makes his mouth water. He tucks his face into her neck, drawing in a deeper breath, and his cock pulses when it hits him:

She’s ovulating.

Peter doesn’t waste any time sliding down the bed and nudging her thighs apart. They’ve been trying for a baby for the last six months, and she’s given him the go ahead to “start without her” if he notices she's in the peak window. If he takes her now, there’s an excellent chance she’ll catch, and nothing short of an unscheduled apocalypse is going to keep him from trying.

He ducks his head and spreads her folds with his thumbs. She’s asleep, and nothing close to ready, so he starts licking gently over sensitive flesh. He traces her opening with the tip of his tongue, laves soft strokes over her clit, nibbles at her labia—all the things that would make her writhe and squirm and mutter at him to hurry up and stop teasing if she were awake.

It’s nice, to be able to take his time, coax her pliant, willing body into readiness without having to deal with his darling wife’s impatience. (Not that his ego doesn’t appreciate her impatience, but he’s a hedonist.) It only takes a few minutes before her breath’s coming faster, and she’s making soft sounds as he slips a couple fingers inside her plush cunt.

She moans as he twists them, and Peter wonders idly how long until she wakes up. The thought that she might not, that he’ll successfully breed her while she sleeps, unaware, makes arousal throb hot and insistent in his groin.

He doesn’t rush this part, though. He knows he can’t, knows she needs the warmup, even if she’s taken his knot more often in the last six months than in the entirety of their eight years together. He won’t hurt her, not with this.

It’s why, even after stretching her out until she can take three of his fingers, he grabs the lube off the nightstand. He slicks his fingers and slips them back inside her, making sure she’s good and wet before adding a little more to his cock, just to be safe. Then he goes down on his elbows, lines himself up, and eases inside. She stirs at that, head tossing on the pillow, but doesn’t wake.

She’s exquisite, like she always is, and he rocks leisurely for a little while, savouring the slow pace in a way he’s rarely able to. His wife is not a patient woman—and usually, that makes her an excellent fit for his stamina, because it means he can make her come over and over again until they’re both sated. But Peter’s enjoying the rare pleasure of being able to revel in the plush heat of her cunt, the soft give of her body under him.

At least until what he’s doing makes her skin start to glisten, thickening her scent. Smelling how ready she is to catch, for him to finally make her a mama when he’s sunk inside her is more than he can take. Peter bites back a snarl as he sits back on his heels, slinging her legs over his shoulders so he can snap his hips into her hard half-a-dozen times before pressing close and grinding deep as his knot starts to fill.


He turns his head to kiss the inside of her knee. “It’s alright, darling. Everything’s fine. I’m going to breed your little cunt properly, make sure you catch this time. You just have to be a good girl and lie there and let me.”

A little mewl falls from her lips, and Peter’s eyes close as his knot finishes expanding and locks, pleasure washing through him. The first pump of come sends endorphins roaring through him, but it’s not enough. The stupefying pleasure of getting to knot inside her delicious little body isn’t enough. He needs this to be the time it takes.

It’s why he squeezes a hand between them to rub at her clit. Her moans deepen, and she begins rhythmically clenching around his knot in a familiar pattern. “That’s it, love. Come for me, milk my knot and open wide for my come.”

She chokes on his name as she obeys, shaking and sweating as she comes so hard Peter can almost taste the rush of endorphins flooding her bloodstream. There’s a sharp-edged satisfaction in knowing the muscle contractions from her orgasm are drawing his come deeper into her body, into her womb, that has very little to do with how good her rippling cunt feels around his knot and everything to do with the fact that he’s almost positive they did it this time.

But, in the interests of making sure, he keeps her writhing on his knot as he makes her come again and again for the next hour. It’s a small price to pay, to be a father.