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#a blue-armed wiggle man
yunymphs · 1 month
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𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔... nearly spits his morning coffee.
“dada, where do babies come from?” his three-year-old daughter asks, bouncing in her chair.
your husband swears his heart almost falls out of his ass, and you have the same expression on your face... one of shock and somewhat of embarrassment. kids say the darndest things, but damn, gojo didn't think they meant literally.
you exchange a look with your husband, eyes unsure. your pancake spatula nearly falsls out of your hand as you stand in front of the stove.
"well..." gojo begins, gazing down at his baby girl.
her baby blue eyes are so big, so full of wonder and so, so curious. his deep ocean reflecting the small pool in her eyes, and gojo laughs softly.
"when a mommy and daddy love each other very much... errr," he pauses, eyebrows furrowing— he tries to find the right words.
"satoru!" you scold, making a confused expression, one that asks him what the hell he's doing without saying the words out loud in front of your innocent baby girl.
"when a mommy and daddy what, dada?" your daughter interrupts, little mouth stuffed full of pancake.
his mini me reaches for the little pink cup of milk before gojo wiggles his finger in front of her, telling her to slow down and swallow her food before she drinks anything else. choking hazards were a real threat with this one.
"well, babies come from..." your husband begins again.
an awkward moment of silence.
"storks."
you release an exhale of relief.
"the store?" your daughter asks, eyebrow crooked.
"no, baby. storks. they're big, white birds that bring babies to your door." gojo bluffs, words drawn out and slowed.
you laugh softly, watching your daughter take in the new information. you turn back to the stove, flipping the pancake with ease and letting it cook a lovely golden brown.
"when a mommy and daddy want to have a baby... the storks are nice enough to bring one to their house." your husband smiles, impressed that even he could whip up a story this ridiculous.
"is that how i was made?" your daughter chirps, and he nods.
she takes a big gulp of white milk before sliding off of the chair, doing a dance with her arms.
"wow! can the storks bring me a baby sister?" your daughter giggles, and this time— you feel like your heart has dropped out of your ass.
gojo watches as his baby girl makes a rocking motion with her arms, as if to mimic the presence of a baby. your husband chuckles into his mug of coffee.
"i'll have to ask mama first, but if she says yes, perhaps we can see if the storks can bring you a sibling." gojo smiles confidently, already imagining the way your eyes are rolling back into your head in annoyance.
this man will be the death of you.
"okay!" his baby girl chirps, white pigtails running off to go play with toys. you call after her, telling her to wash her hands before doing so.
gojo returns to your side, sly smirk plastered on his stupid face. he takes a sip of coffee as you slide the pancake onto another plate.
"so..."
"don't."
"well, the storks aren't gonna make their own babies." your husband chuckles, putting his coffee cup down. "i do miss seeing your tummy all around."
"i can't believe you told her that ridiculous story."
"i can't believe i even came up with said ridiculous story."
"god, now she's gonna be checking the front door every week for a sibling." you bite back a smile. "you're the worst."
"i know i am. we better come up with something though. wouldn't want my baby girl to think i don't stick to my word." your husband gives you a cheeky wink.
"fine, fine."
needless to say, the storks did deliver... approximately nine months later.
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© YUNYMPHS 2024 modifications, reposts, and translations of any kind are strictly prohibited.
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zylev-blog · 23 days
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“Drop it!” Jason yells, chasing after a glowing green puppy.
A glowing green puppy that stole his gun and was currently running from him. Why was a dog green and glowing? He had no idea but he really didn’t want the gun to start firing inside it’s mouth. That would be bad. He can practically hear Alfred scolding him already.
Unfortunately, him having a gun on him would be a strange occurrence since he was not currently Red Hood, but Jason Todd, rich socialite son of Bruce Wayne.
He was also in Gotham Park, a very public place.
He groaned in frustration as the puppy continued to run from him, excitedly yipping as the gun wiggled in its mouth.
“I said, drop it!” He yelled, cupping his hands over his mouth.
The puppy didn’t listen and continued to run through the park. He put on a burst of speed, trying to catch the dog. His hands wrapped around its stomach as he tried to tackle it to the ground. He found himself face planting into the ground, his mouth filling full of dirt.
What the fuck?
He spit out the dirt and leapt to his feet, chasing after the puppy who now had a very big lead on him.
“Cujo!” A male voice called.
The puppy excitedly barked and sat at the feet of a man, dropping the gun onto his feet while wagging its tail.
“Where did you—is this a gun?!” The man asked. “Cujo, who did you—“
Jason broke around the corner a second later, covered head to toe in dirt, cursing under his breath. He didn’t care about the sight of the man in front of him, he just wanted to grab his gun back and hide for the next ten years. He was never going to hear the end of this from his family!
“Where did you get a gun?” The man questioned.
“It’s not a gun.” He said gruffly, taking the gun from the man and putting it into the back of his pants.
“It looks like a gun to me.” The man crossed his arms, black hair falling into his blue eyes.
“It’s a taser.” He lied, “Shaped like a gun.”
“Uhuh.” The man didn’t sound convinced.
He went to walk away from the man, annoyed at the entire encounter.
“The only people who carry guns on them are cops or criminals. You a cop?” The man asked.
“Even if I was a cop, I don’t narc.” He scowled, spitting out dirt that was stuck to his tongue.
“Criminal it is, then.” The man smirked.
The next second, he was dodging a blow that would’ve hit him in the head. So this was how it was going to be, then.
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countcvnt · 24 days
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Experiment
Chapter One: Scrambled
[Poly!TF141/Fem!Reader]
Summary: Your memory is hazy, almost nonexistent, after being plucked out of a safe house and experimented on for months. When you're finally rescued you don't remember the people closest to you. Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (not much else this chapter), me using an english to scottish translator, not beta read Word Count: 3.3k A/N: Had this silly idea and turned it into a serious/angsty fic. I hope you all will like it as much as I do! Also, Reader has a call sign! It's Ace. If you prefer, you can read it here on AO3
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Your eyes are heavy, your body burns, and you can't stop shaking. You aren't even sure of where you are. Your eyes are trained ahead of you, looking at what you assume is a two way mirror. A scientist is standing to the side of you messing with some needles and medicines. Your half lidded eyes cut towards him and you see a thick blue substance in a syringe.
“What's that?” You croak, voice hoarse.
“Hm?” The scientist doesn't even look at you, “curious now, are we?” He asks, pulling the syringe up and turning to you. He doesn't answer your question though, not in a way you would like. “We are about to figure out what this is.”
‘We’. Your stomach flips. He didn't even seem to know what it was. You accept your fate. You have from the very beginning. You don't know how long you've been part of this ‘program’, and to you, it didn't matter anymore. The only thing that matters is trying to get out alive. No one seemed to be coming for you. No one has in all of the days you've been hidden away. You didn't expect anyone to save you now. So, you had decided to save yourself. Figuring out how to do that was becoming difficult though.
You know that behind that two way mirror are a bunch of guards. You know they're heavily armed. You know, no matter what they have juiced you up with, you aren't beating a bunch of armed men. So, you sit idly. Letting them poke and prod and decide you are going to wait until the perfect opportunity shows itself. You just have to hold on until it does.
A loud alarm suddenly rings throughout the building and you cover your ears, flinching. The scientist seems more agitated than anything. He doesn't seem as bothered as you are, by any means.
“Guards!” He calls out, looking towards the large mirror. “Guards?” He questions.
He puts a finger up at you, asking for you to wait a minute. As if you have any other choice. A loud bang comes from outside the room and chills run up your spine. The guard walks towards the door and he peeks out. He quickly shuts and locks the door before returning back to you. He scurries over towards the metal stand beside your seat. He grabs the syringe and picks it up.
Something clicks in you. The alarms are still blaring and the guards seem to be gone to check it out. You watch as the syringe comes towards you, headed right for your neck. You move faster than you're used to, and grab the man’s hand and push him back. A lot harder than you had meant to. He slides back and hits the wall. The syringe does not leave his hand.
You rush towards the door. You wiggle the door knob and try to rip the door open. It doesn't budge. You turn your head back and see the scientist steadying himself. Fear kicks in.
“Help!” You scream, slamming your fists into the door. “Please, help me!”
“That was really stupid,” the man behind you says. “No one can hear you, no one is coming to save you. They haven't yet, have they?”
Tears prick your eyes. You turn back around and your back hits the door.
“Y'know, I'm going to be honest.” He stalks towards you. “I know they picked you because you're so… compliant. But really? I think that big guy with the mask would have been a better choice.”
That stings. “Who?”
“Which one?”
“Both.”
“You know I can't give out classified information. But if this works, I promise, you'll know everything. As for the other guy? I'm surprised you don't know who I'm talking about. But honestly, after all the brain scrambling you've had done to you, I understand how you don't remember him…”
You lose it. Something in you snaps. You lunge forward and grab the man. The both of you tussle briefly. Until you get him pinned. Your body slams into his and you hold him down. You raise your fist and bring it down, slamming it into his jaw. Screams, pleas fall from his lips. He's begging for you to quit. But you don't. You, at that moment, decide you are going to do that to every single person who has harmed you, who caused this.
The door behind you blows open, but you don't falter. Your fists continue to slam into the scientist’s face. Until you hear someone with a Scottish accent say your name. You freeze. You turn to find a man in the doorway, his eyes wide. You furrow your brows when he whispers your name again. You move to get up, without thinking about the man below you. You don't realize he's moving. His hand comes up and the needle is pressed into your neck. Whatever the liquid was is quickly administered into your bloodstream.
You hear your name again, louder this time, but you fall to the side, eyes too heavy to hold open. Your head slams into the now bloodied white tile and you're out.
So much for escaping. _____________________________________ You wake up to beeping. A sound you had grown accustomed to recently. You feel monitors hooked up to you, and an IV in your arm. You twitch ever so slightly, every muscle in your body contracting. And then it hits.
Anger.
Your eyes snap open. Your legs swing over the side of the bed. You rip every single monitor off of you, the IV flying across the room. The monitor begins to beep loudly and as you rush towards the door, exiting the isolated room, an alarm blares. You flinch momentarily, but do not let the sound stop you. You are looking for someone, anyone to give you a hint of what's going on. Nothing around you looks familiar. But from all the ‘brain scrambling’, that's normal. You're used to not knowing as much as you figure you used to.
A man in a bucket hat turns the corner, rushing towards what can only assume is you. You let out a low growl and begin to sprint. Your body slams into his and the both of you are sent sliding across the floor. You grab his vest and lower yourself to him, all of your weight holding him down. “Where the fuck am I?”
He's looking at you with confused eyes. He doesn't make any sudden movements. He immediately presents himself as a friend, not a threat. You squint and then see someone else coming around the corner.
“Price! Oh my-” the young man freezes. He says your name and your world is instantly rocked.
You haven't heard your name in god knows how long. The Scottish man had called out for you earlier, but before that? You really can't think of a time when someone had called you something other than some experiment number. “Who are you?” You hiss.
You feel the man under you tense up. He swallows hard and he says your name this time, slow and soft. He isn't showing any signs of wanting to throw you across the room or knock the shit out of you. You take it he isn't a threat and shift.
“You don't remember me?” The man in the ball cap asks, brows furrowed. “You don't remember us?”
Your heart jumps into your throat. You push yourself off of the man below you and you stand up. You brush yourself off and watch as he stands up. He radios someone to cut off the alarm and it's promptly stopped. You are thankful for that. You stand in the hall awkwardly and watch him and the other, younger man talk to each other with facial expressions.
“You're probably hungry,” the man in the bucket hat turns towards you, “how about we go get you some food?”
You aren't stupid, you know that also entails speaking with them about everything you just went through. Despite not wanting to talk, you nod. You are hungry and haven't had an actual meal in possibly months. The man reaches out to touch your lower back, to lead you to wherever he wants to go. You flinch away from him, everything in you tensing. You can tell it's a reflex. A habit. He's used to doing that. Your eyes scan him and you're searching your brain for everything, anything about him. But there's nothing.
“Sorry.” Is all he says. He leaves it at that. “Gaz,” he looks away from you and towards the other man. “Please go grab some food and meet us back at room 2B.”
“Yes, sir.”
The tension is palpable. You want to run. Fast. You can. You know you can. But something is keeping you tethered there. You follow a couple feet behind the man who had yet to introduce himself and keep thinking about ‘Gaz’. Your mind is reeling. You keep thinking about his name, his face, everything. You close your eyes tight and inhale sharply.
“Kyle.” It's all you say. It stops you dead in your tracks. Your eyes open and your breathing is heavy. “His name is Kyle.” Your breathing is suddenly ragged. You can't catch your breath and feel like everything is crumbling in on you. You fall to your knees and try to keep yourself from wailing. “I don't even know your name!” You whisper to keep yourself from sobbing. Your voice cracks.
“Price. John Price.” He drops in front of you. He reaches for your bicep. You don't flinch away this time. “Hey,” his voice is low, “look at me.” Your eyes cut up to him. “We're gonna help you through this. I promise.” You nod. You want to trust him. You need to. You feel like you can. You inhale slowly and Price helps you up. “We're going to go to room 2B, you're going to eat some breakfast, and we're going to ask you some questions.”
You nod and start following Price again. You make it to the room in silence and Price opens the door for you. You walk in and find four beige walls, a table, and four chairs. Nothing else. Until you look in the corner of the room and find a little camera. You lock onto it and squint.
“Why?” You point at it.
“Oh,” Price walks in and closes the door behind him, “it’s protocol. Security and all.”
“Fair enough.” You sit down at the table and look at the Price. “You gonna sit?”
Price holds onto his vest and leans against the table. “Not yet.”
You shrug. “Suit yourself.” Your stomach growls. You touch it through the thin white shirt you're wearing. “You think Gaz will be here soon?”
With that, a knock comes from the other side of the door. Two knocks, a pause, and another knock. Price opens the door and Gaz walks in. He has a tray filled with food and you are growing antsy. He sits across from you and slides the tray towards you. You try to not immediately dig in, but you can't help it. You grab a glazed donut first and begin to devour it.
“Oh,” you pause your munching, “thank you, Kyle.”
Gaz freezes. His eyes widen and he turns towards Price. It's your turn to freeze. You look up at him mid bite and blink. Gaz motions towards you and asks, “Did you tell her my name.”
“No.” Price shakes his head.
“You remembered?” Gaz seems ecstatic. “What else do you-”
“Nothing.” You snap. “I don't remember a damn thing.” You huff as you move onto the muffin on the tray. You unwrap it and begin to devour the sweet. “All I know,” You speak through bites, “is that I was locked up for God knows how long and they were experimenting on me-”
“Four months.” Gaz speaks quietly.
“Huh?” You question him. “How do you know?”
“We looked for you when you disappeared. It was four months ago when they got you. You really don’t remember anything?”
“Like I said,” You huff, “I just know they were juicing me up.” Before they can question you further, a light bulb goes off in your head. “Wait.” You squint at them, “The Scottish one. Where is he?”
They tense up. Gaz talks first, “You remember Soap?”
“Huh?” You cock your head. “Is that his name? He’s the one that found me. I assume he’s here. Or did he not…” You trail off.
“No, he’s here…” Price begins, “…We don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“Oh.” You shrug. “I guess that makes sense. How am I supposed to, uh, assimilate without being overwhelmed. I mean, why don’t we just rip that band aid off?”
“Trust me,” Price locks eyes with you, “we do not need to rip that band aid off right now.”
“Okay, okay,” You put your hands up. “Do you wanna ask your questions now?” _____________________________________ “This cannae be healthy,” Soap looks at Simon.
Simon shrugs, “Don’t care.” He’s watching the cameras closely.
“Thay aren't even in th' room yit! Ye'r peepin' an empty room!” Soap’s eyes move from the screen and back to Simon.
Simon’s eyes cut from the screen and to Soap, “Shut it. Price wants us to stay away from her for now. He didn’t say we couldn’t do this.”
As he says that, the door of the room opens. Price is visible first. And then, another figure walks in. You. Simon and Soap both tense. You look directly at the camera and point, asking why it’s there. You’re so clear. Soap’s heart jumps. Simon shifts.
“She remembers Gaz’s name.” Simon speaks through gritted teeth.
“A'm sure that's a targeted attack against ye, Ghost.” Soap is trying to find humor in this situation. He’s grasping for straws.
Simon is not enjoying it. “Shut the fuck up, Johnny.” Simon growls.
Soap focuses back on the screen and notices you aren’t even sure how long you’ve been gone. As Gaz gently tells you four months, Simon grumbles the amount of time at the same time.
“If Price doesn’t wanna overwhelm her, why the fuck is Gaz in there.” Simon is seething. “Why can’t we all be in there.”
Simon shuts his mouth as you say they had been juicing you up. He tenses. Soap does the same. They both need to know what it means. Simon feels like he’s going to combust. His eyes narrow once you mention Soap. Soap looks like he’s about to jump with joy, until he realizes you don’t actually remember him. Not past him saving you.
“Fuck this,” Simon pushes past Soap. “I'm going in there.”
“Hey! Price said-” Soap starts. He doesn't finish. “Fine-” he rushes out behind Simon. He guesses they're just going to bust into the room and Simon is going to make you remember. He isn't quite sure what Simon has planned really. But he decides he can't sit in the security room and just watch. He needs to see you.
So does Simon. _____________________________________ You reach for a fork for your eggs and lean back in your seat, plate in hand. You relax (as much as possible) and you look at Gaz and Price. You are studying them. Really digging into their features. You want to remember so badly. You have no reason to trust that they used to know you, a part of you is ready to attack in case they are lying. But most of you trusts them. How else would you remember Kyle’s name?
“Listen,” Price inhales sharply, “we want to help you, without overwhelming you. We need to know what you know.”
“Listen,” You mimic his tone, “I don’t know what you aren’t getting. I remember nothing, nada, zilch.”
“Okay,” Gaz interjects, “What’s your last memory?”
You're sent into deep thought. You place your hand on your chin and look off. “Well-” You begin, “I remember-”
The door of the room busts open. You tense, ready to pounce. Your palms hit the table and you stand up straight. The fork clangs against the ground. Two men walk into the room. The one who saved you and-
Words play in your head over and over again. ‘I think the big guy with the mask would have been a better choice.’ For a moment, your world is completely rocked. ‘I’m surprised you don’t know who I'm talking about.’ Your eyes lock with the large beast of a man. His eyes soften. Briefly. You swallow hard.
The entire room is silent. Until you open your mouth. “He wanted you…”
“What?” Soap is the first to question you.
“The scientist, the one doing the experiments on me-” You are tense again “-he didn’t want me.” Your head hurts. You place your hand on your forehead and groan. You are thinking too hard. Remembering too much.
“Hey,” Price motions for you to sit down, “it’s alright.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ghost,” Price looks over his shoulder, “not right now.”
Ghost stiffens. He doesn’t say anything else. You sit down and inhale slowly. Your eyes move from the floor, past Price, and they hit Ghost. You feel something stir inside you. Like your emotions know more than your brain does. You want to scream. Every single man in that room seems to think so highly of you, and you don’t even remember them.
“I think I need to sleep.” Your voice is a whisper.
You don’t know the last time you got a good rest. You figure sleeping will help you. Price begins to grab for you, before freezing. You lean into him, letting him help you up. Price moves past the men and you tag along beside him.
“I’m going to show you where your room is. If you need anything, please let one of us know. But for now, we’ll leave you alone.” You are led down the hall and towards the barracks. It’s silent between the two of you, until you reach your room. “You have this room to yourself. I had some things rearranged, if it needs to be changed, and you aren’t comfortable alone, let me know.”
You nod at him. “Thank you. For everything. I’ll see you in the morning?”
“0600 sharp.” Price begins to leave.
“Wait,” You stop him. “You don’t happen to have my phone, do you?”
Price turns back to you. “No, that was not recovered. But, we can get you a new one. I’ll work on that while you rest.”
You nod. You head into your room and close the door behind you. You look around. There are two beds. You groan at the fact you can’t remember who used to be your bunk mate. You’re scraping through your brain, really searching for just an inkling of a memory. But… Nothing. Nothing at all comes to your mind.
Nothing about the four men convinced that you know them, anyway.
You lay down in bed and cover up. It’s not the most comfortable bed you’ve ever been in, but it is the most comfortable bed you’ve laid on in the last four months. Your head hits the pillows and you close your eyes. It takes longer than you’d like to go to sleep, but not as long as you expect it to take. You only hope you don’t dream of anything at all. You can’t be that lucky. _________________________________ “Price!” Simon shouts at the captain. His face contorted with anger and pain, and he is more glad than ever that they can’t see him through his balaclava. “What the fuck was that? We need to know-”
“No,” Price stops him immediately. “We do not need to stress her out further. We will figure this out eventually, on her time.” Price reassures his team. “You did not see the look in her eyes, the way she tackled me to the floor-”
“She what…?” Soap tenses.
Simon bristles instantly. He’s seething again. “What do you mean?”
“Ghost,” Gaz starts, “I know you want to know what happened. We all do.” He’s trying to get through to him. “But something is not right. The way she easily took Captain Price down- That wasn’t the Ace we know.”
“Of course!” Simon growls, “She was gone for four months, being poked and prodded-”
“Ghost,” Price interrupts, inhaling sharply, “she pinned me down and I could not get up. They did more than poke and prod at her. They-”
It clicks. “They were making soldiers… Enhanced soldiers.” Simon whispers. His face contorts again, this time with confusion, “Why did they pick her?” He remembers what you said. ‘He wanted you.’ Simon momentarily feels a pit in his stomach. “Ace couldn’t have been the only one… There’s no way they did this experiment on one person.”
“She was the only one at the underground compound.” Soap shifts. “Maybe she was the only success?”
Simon is stuck on why they picked you. It’s not like you weren’t capable. But you were never on the field fighting for your life. You were always on the sidelines, helping them get into the places, helping them get information. How had they spotted you and decided you were the best candidate? He knows that question is going to keep him up at night.
“Come on,” Price brings Simon back to reality. “We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
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riediaries · 3 months
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the wailing sound of a baby fills up the room for the nth time tonight. the crying continues and becomes louder throughout the second.
you groan, waking up from your needed sleep. as much as you want to wake up satoru to take care of her, you can't. you are both equally tired and sleep-deprived because of your daughter.
you try to get up slowly to not wake up satoru but he already beat you into it. he gets up and pushes your body gently to the bed.
"sleep some more." he leans down to give your forehead a kiss and then gets up to be with his baby daughter.
"hi mochi." he smiles to her. that smile alone makes her feel really safe and comfortable as she's now calming down. she raises her two chubby hands, wanting her daddy to carry her.
"do you think it's too early for you to wake us up?" he jokes. satoru checks her diaper for poop just in case and after that, he carefully puts his gentle hands on her body to lift her up.
you can not take off your eyes on the scene unfolding in front of you. quietly observing the two white haired baby and the big baby.
satoru continues to rock her body as he hums in a melodic tone. the crying comes to stop and she hiccups.
"yes.. yes.. daddy's here.." he swaddles his baby around his arm in a gentle way, afraid to hurt her in any way.
you get up and your feet automatically makes its way to your little family. you hug your husband by the waist, putting your chin on his shoulder to see your daughter eyeing his father. blue eyes to blue eyes.
you were not glad by the genes of this man covering your daughter whole. from head to toe. she's the carbon copy of her dad but on the other side, you were happy that the only man you love is practically the twin of your daughter.
this thought makes another thought on your mind in which you giggle.
satoru breaks his eye contact with his baby and turns his head to you. "hm? what is it? and shouldn't you be sleeping?"
you continue to giggle and put your forehead on his shoulder, an attempt to muffle your giggles but satoru's plump lips makes out a smile.
"what is it? what's funny?" he asks again. he's curious why you're giggling a little too much.
you sigh and turns your head to meet his stunning blue eyes that was passed down on your daughter.
you look at your daughter first who's already eyeing you, too. great. two pairs of beautiful eyes watching you.
"there's this saying.." you start and your attention goes back to satoru.
he hums, signaling you to continue.
"this saying says that whoever was the carbon copy of the kid was the one who enjoyed a little too much during the making.." you burst out of laughing.
as you make your point, satoru chuckles at that saying, slightly agreeing. "oh?" he raises an eyebrow and grins.
"oh.. is that so?" he wiggles his eyebrows this time.
"mhm.." you hum. "so.. you enjoyed it a lot, huh, satoru?" you tease him.
he laughs quietly. "uh-huh, you caught me, babe." he leans to you, pecking your lips shortly. "i enjoyed it a lot and i will enjoy it more in the future." he whispers on your lips as teases you back.
it's now your turn to frown. "no way." you roll your eyes to dismiss his earlier thought.
he grins even more and turns his attention back to the baby who's been quiet. "but she needs siblings soon enough to have a playmate. isn't that right, baby?" babying the words in the last sentence.
"c'mon. you clearly enjoyed the making, too. even though just a little of your genes were taken out for our baby." he laughs and your daughter giggles, it's as if she's teaming up with him to tease you.
"oh my.. what a little rebellion we have right now." you chuckle at your daughter's early stages of being a mini satoru.
"you should team up with mommy when you grow up." you boop her nose which made her giggle more, making you and satoru smile at your child that has you and satoru's best qualities.
giggles and laughs filled the room at three am in the morning, too early for some playful interaction with your little family.
"no, right? baby girl should team up with daddy and that's why, mommy.." he turns to you again. "we should make another one for you to have a teammate soon enough." he laughs, louder this time.
"no–"
"but this time, i will make sure you'll enjoy more than me so that the second one will be your own very carbon copy." he grins and you slap his back.
what a rough future you'll be expecting.
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proxima-writes · 11 months
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somebody to hold
pairing: könig x female reader
rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)
word count: 4,884
summary:
König discovers cuddle therapy.
You discover König.
author’s note: i don’t play COD, i just have a mask kink. all translations are from google, so feel free to send me corrections if they are needed! translations available at the end of the fic
content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), potentially bad German translations, mentions of König’s social anxiety, descriptions of scars, touch starved könig, oral sex (m receiving), size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, mild breeding kink, choking, fingering, ab riding. Let me know if any are missing!
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“Hey, your next appointment is here,” the voice of the practice secretary, Amy, says from the doorway of your office.
You look up from your computer, brow furrowed as you click around your calendar. “I didn’t think I had a late appointment?”
“Last minute add. And just…prepare yourself,” she says, eyes comically wide before she disappears.
You shut your laptop and head for the waiting room, curious about what’s got Amy acting so funny.
You stop short in the doorway. Perhaps it’s the veritable mountain of a man sitting in the tiny plastic waiting room chair fully kitted in military combat gear, including a sniper hood that only reveals two pale blue eyes that scan the room. His hands rest on his large thighs, fingers curling against the fabric of his tac pants.
You’re not unfamiliar with military clients. Your office is near a base, after all. You’ve had a few wander in before. But you’ve never had one quite like him.
“Uh, hi? Hi,” you say, clearing your throat. His eyes shoot to you and you swallow nervously. You give him your name, followed with, “I’m going to be your cuddler this evening. Do you want to follow me back to the session room?”
The man gives a single nod before unfolding from his seat. He absolutely towers over you, his build just as broad as it is tall, and he has to tilt his head down to look at you. He holds an arm out, gesturing for you to lead the way.
You lead him to the back session room, a space curated for comfort. It’s painted a deep blue and lit only with dimmable lamp lighting and string lights that can be turned on or off, depending on the client’s preference. There’s a large couch pressed to one wall, a sectional that has a hidden portion that pulls out to fill in the middle, essentially turning it into a bed. It’s perfect for both seated snugglers and the prone cuddlers.
There’s a snack and water station set up on a wood console table near the door, and beside it are cubbies for storing belongings. A large basket of soft blankets sits near the couch, along with an array of pillows.
You look back at the man that has followed you through the door. Those blue eyes take in every detail of the room before they land back on you. You toe off your sneakers, leaving you in your frog patterned socks. You wiggle your toes.
“Did Amy explain the rules to you and brief you on the terms and conditions?” Another silent nod. “Okay, well, everything we do is completely up to you, within those parameters. We can talk or touch as much or as little as you’d like for the length of your appointment. I can make some suggestions for positions, if you’d like?”
His hands fidget at his sides, fingers flexing and curling into fists like he’s not sure what to do with them. He stares down at the shoes that you’ve left by the door.
“You don’t have to take anything off, if you don’t want to,” you reassure him. “Why don’t you take a seat on the couch?”
The man takes two broad steps before taking a seat, as instructed. You feel a weird sort of giddiness that a man clearly as powerful as him listened to your orders.
He sits with his back straight as a bar of steel, eyes trained on you for the next step in the process, hands placed on his thighs once more. You take a tentative step closer.
“I’m going to sit right here, okay?” You narrate as you sit down near him, a cushion of distance between your bodies. “Is this alright?”
He nods.
“Would you like me to be closer? Or farther?”
“Closer,” a deep accented voice says. It makes your breath catch, the quiet gentleness of it and the way it sounds rough from disuse. “Please.”
You scooch closer, the distance between your bodies shrinking but not yet removed. “Okay?”
“Ja. Yes,” he says. A pause. “Could you…closer?”
“Of course. Is it okay if our bodies touch?”
He nods. You close the gap between your bodies, your thigh pressed along his and your arms brushing with each breath. He’s tense, shoulders tight and fists clenched as he breathes rhythmically through his nose and out his mouth. You let him take a moment to adjust.
“What’s your name?” You ask quietly.
“König.”
________
You are very warm. König can feel the heat of you even through his gear.
He feels a bit ridiculous, sitting here on a couch beside a stranger who he has paid to cuddle him. And he can’t even reach that point yet. Even just having you sit beside him has him trying to calm his breathing.
In…2…3…4….Out.
“Would you like to talk about anything?” You ask. He glances down at you. Scheiße, you’re pretty. That fact certainly isn’t helping him keep calm.
He shakes his head, not trusting his voice to reply. You give him a small smile.
“Well, do you mind if I talk?”
No, he doesn’t mind at all. He’d listen to your voice for hours if he could, the way it's so soft to his ear compared to the shouts and commands he’s used to hearing day in and out. He shakes his head.
Your small smile grows, a bright grin across your face that makes your nose crinkle adorably. König finds his shoulders relaxing the slightest bit.
You tell him about your day and how you were looking forward to the weekend because there is a show that you wish to catch up on. You talk about your cat, a little orange tabby that you adopted three years ago named Toast and how he likes to perch inside the window and watch the birds outside of your apartment. You also mention that Toast has an entire wardrobe of sweaters for the winter that he hates, but you love putting him in them anyways.
Slowly, the tension leaves König’s body. He relaxes against the back of the couch and adjusts his legs, stretching them out in front of him. His hands, which once fidgeted in his lap, are now folded on his chest as he tilts his head back and listens to your stories.
“König?” You place a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Our time is up.”
He blinks. Oh. He must have fallen asleep. He looks over to find you smirking at him.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to bore you to sleep,” you say, voice self-deprecating.
“It was not boring, liebling,” he replies quietly.
______
The following week, you notice a calendar event labeled [CLASSIFIED]. You ask Amy about it.
“It’s the big guy from last week. He made a standing appointment,” she tells you. “But he’s all big, scary military so he didn’t give me a name to put down.”
You smile to yourself. You know his name.
It feels like a fun secret between the two of you.
You’re thrilled that he wants to come back. You hadn’t stopped thinking about his voice and those bright blue eyes all weekend.
When it's time for his appointment, you smile brightly at him in the waiting room. He follows you back to the session room, just as silent as the last time he visited.
You remove your shoes, just as before. He sits on the couch without being prompted.
“Would you like me to sit beside you? Like last time?” You ask. He nods.
You sit down, close enough that your limbs brush, just as you had the week prior. He seems a bit more at ease this time.
“How is Toast?” He asks. You beam at him, thrilled that he remembered you told him about your cat. You tell him about your weekend spent on the couch with your furry friend.
“Can I--,” he begins to ask, pausing uncertainly. He lifts his arm slightly.
You wiggle against him, settling against his side as his arm drops across your shoulders.
“Danke,” the man says. “Thank you.”
“Of course, König.”
______
It goes like that for four weeks. Konig sits on the couch and allows you to settle in beside him, your sides pressed together on the couch. You talk to him about anything and everything that comes to mind, and he listens intently.
He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, you cling to his words. Especially when he slips into speaking in German.
And if you have to press your thighs together for relief during those moments? Well, you hope the man doesn’t notice.
On the fifth week of his appointments, König surprises you.
When you remove your shoes, König begins to unclasp the buckles holding his tac vest to his chest. You grin at him in encouragement as he sets it to the side.
“I feel…naked,” he comments with a small huff of laughter.
You bite your lip, trying to hold back the cheeky reply that ran through your head. He is a client, after all.
He sits beside you on the couch, just as all the other sessions started, but he fidgets with the strap of his leg holster. “Could—,” he starts, pausing for breath. “Could we….lie down?”
“Of course,” you murmur. “Do you have a preference for position?”
“You can…lay your head on my chest?” He says. You give him an encouraging nod, standing up so that he can rearrange his large body so that he’s laying on his back. You reach for the pull tabs of the middle section, sliding it into place. He looks at you in surprise. “That was neat.”
You giggle. “Yeah, this couch is the best,” you comment as you crawl onto the cushion and settle your body along his, your head pillowed on his hard chest.
“This is…nice,” he says.
“Yeah, big guy. It is.”
______
Two weeks into sessions where you lay beside König, he begins talking.
In a quiet, albeit deep, voice he tells you about how he struggles with social anxiety. Being as big as he is was never useful for him until joining the military. He was mercilessly bullied in school as a young boy. He wanted to be a sniper, but his size was a burden to the position. Not to mention, he can’t sit still. He fidgets constantly, and his mind tends to wander if his body is not in motion.
His heart beats quickly beneath your ear as he tells you all the things about himself that he’d been keeping close to his chest for the last two months. He doesn’t stick to just the serious things. He tells you that his favorite color is blue. He has a massive sweet tooth and would kill a man for some traditional Sacher torte.
The laugh that accompanies that particular bit of information might just be your favorite sound in the world.
You don’t mention when your time with him has come to an end. You let him keep talking, afraid to break the spell and return König to his more stoic state.
König ends up noticing that the time has gone past his scheduled appointment. His blue eyes go wide and he sits up abruptly, knocking you off his chest as he begins to apologize profusely in a mix of German and English.
You place a hand on his chest. “It’s okay, König. Really. I just…I like spending time with you,” you admit quietly.
He rests a large gloved hand over yours.
“I enjoy our time as well, mein herz.”
______
König doesn’t show for his next scheduled appointment.
Or the one after that.
Or the one after that.
By the fourth missed appointment, you start to lose hope that you’d ever see him again.
You just hope he’s okay.
______
A sharp knocking noise breaks through your heavy sleep. You roll from the bed, landing gracelessly to the ground and startling Toast, the tabby darting beneath the bed for cover. Another knock sounds through the apartment as you stumble towards the door.
You stand on the tips of your toes to peer through the peephole with bleary eyes. Fumbling with the locks, you pull the door open as quickly as you can.
“König?” You ask breathlessly.
______
The adrenaline from the mission still courses in König’s veins as he tries to wait patiently for you to answer the door to your apartment, but he’s about one minute from either kicking down the door or picking the locks.
He imagines you would likely not appreciate either effort.
But finally, finally, he can hear your soft steps on the other side of the door before the locks disengage and the door is pulled open.
“König?” You ask. You’re wearing a large t-shirt that hits the middle of your thighs, more skin on display for his greedy eyes than he’s ever gotten the chance to see before.
“Liebling,” Konig replies. He steps forward, tentatively crossing the threshold to your home. When you don’t stop him, he takes another step. You look up at him with wide eyes.
“Where…what—,” you stutter, moving aside so that he can fully enter the apartment. He shuts the door behind him.
“Please, liebling, I–,” he starts, words catching in his throat as he looks down at you, the emotions bubbling up his throat. “I need you.”
______
König keeps his eyes trained on you as he unbuckles his helmet, lifting it from his head and dropping it to the floor. Next are the protective braces on his arms and legs, followed by the heavy tac vest and thigh holster.
He lifts the sniper hood, revealing the black balaclava beneath. His chest heaves with harsh breaths as his wide eyes scan your face.
You step forward, wrapping your arms around his middle and squeezing tightly, your head pressed to his chest as you close your eyes and inhale the scent of him.
“Missed you, König,” you murmur. His arms wrap around your shoulders, holding you impossibly tight to his body.
Suddenly you’re lifted from the ground and you squeak with surprise, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms circling the back of his neck, holding onto him like a koala. The position puts you face to face with the man. His eyes search yours.
“Is this okay?” He asks. All you can do is nod. “Where is your bedroom?”
“Down the hall, last door on the right,” you instruct. König abandons his gear by the door, taking broad steps down the hall in the direction you gave. He gives the door a gentle kick, opening it wide enough to enter.
Toast darts out from beneath the bed, sliding past König’s legs and out to the living area.
He sets you gently on the bed, standing between your spread legs. His eyes remain fixed on yours as he kneels, deft fingers tugging at the laces of his boots.
You could get used to a view like this.
König stands to his full height once he’s removed his boots. A broad, scarred hand cups your cheek tenderly, calloused thumb moving across your cheekbone.
“Mein Liebling," he murmurs. His hand leaves your face and works the fly of his pants open, tugging the rough fabric down over his thighs.
You try very hard not to look but when he curls his fingers into the hem of his combat shirt, you can’t help the greedy way your eyes rove the miles of pale skin.
You take in the muscular thighs that give way to a defined Adonis belt, the cut so severe beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs that you long to trace your tongue along the valley. His abs flex, guiding your exploration up towards his thick chest.
There’s a litany of scars across his body, from smaller bullet wounds to deep slashes covered in thick scar tissue. You reach a hand out, lightly trailing your fingers across one that spans from his collarbone to the middle of his chest.
His hand curls over yours, holding it still against his warm skin. You can feel the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palm.
König’s free hand grasps the top of the balaclava and pulls, finally revealing the face of the man that’s occupied your every free thought over the almost two months you’ve known him.
Shaggy dark blonde hair falls across his forehead, slightly damp with sweat. Thick straight brows over the ice blue eyes framed with long blonde lashes you’ve become so familiar with. A slightly crooked nose and high cheekbones that lead into a strong, stubbled jaw.
There are scars on his face, too. A long silver scar slashes through this eyebrow and across his nose. Another cuts across the high point of his cheek.
He is so beautiful.
You watch as his cheeks turn pink and you belatedly realize you’d said that out loud. You shift to your knees on the mattress, reaching for his hand and pulling him toward you. He plants a knee on the soft surface and you guide him up until you’ve reached the pillows.
Stiffly, he lays beside you, head turned to watch you with those familiar blue eyes. You lay your head on his chest, sighing at the heat of his skin beneath your cheek. You wrap your arm around his waist and throw a leg over his hips, squeezing him tightly.
König doesn’t speak. He has an arm around your body, fingers pressing into the grooves of your ribs to hold you close. You breathe in tandem and his tense muscles begin to relax in your hold.
You shift your leg slightly, eyes going wide as you feel his cock against your knee. Feeling brave, you shift again, dragging your knee along the side of him.
His breathing stutters and you can feel his abs tense beneath you. You slide your hand across his chest, skimming your fingertips across the tight muscles.
“What are you doing, Kleine?” he asks. You lift your head from his chest to look at him.
“I want…can I—,” you stutter, losing your words at the dark look in the man’s eyes.
“I would let you do anything you wanted to me,” König says. “All you have to do is ask.”
You swallow nervously. “Can I touch you?”
“You are touching me,” he replies, a little smirk tilting his lips.
You ghost your hand across his straining length in retaliation. The smirk drops so fast you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips.
“What happened to all that cockiness, hm?”
“Do not tease.” His hips flex beneath your palm, grinding his cock against your hand. “I have very little patience for it.”
You sit up on your knees beside him, moving one of his thick thighs to the side with a press of your hand so that you can crawl between his legs. He looks down at you with half lidded eyes, an arm thrown behind his head to prop him up to see better. You curl your fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs.
“Is this okay?” You ask. He nods.
Permission granted, you slowly work the elastic down until his cock bobs free, slapping obscenely against his abs. Your mouth waters at the sight of the thick, uncut length of him.
“Jesus Christ, König,” you mutter. “Where do you think this thing is going to fit?”
“Ideally? Down your throat and then your cunt,” he replies easily. When you look up at him with wide eyes, he grins so brightly you feel like you’re looking into the sun.
And you’d gladly go blind for it.
You lean forward, giving into the urge to dip your tongue against the divot of his hip, running it along the cut of his abs reverently. His hips jolt at the contact, a whine spilling from his plush pink lips.
“Scheiß,” the man growls. “Bitte, baby, please,” he begs.
You let your tongue trail along the underside of his cock, tracing the prominent vein there to the flared head. You swirl your tongue along the tip, gathering the bead of precum and swallowing it greedily.
König’s chest rises and falls rapidly with his heavy breathing, his large hands fisting your blankets so tightly you briefly worry his bones may crack. He watches you intensely, almost like he’s worried you may disappear if he so much as blinks.
“Relax, König,” you coo, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock. “Let me take care of you.”
______
König has to think about the steps for disassembling a rifle to prevent himself from coming down your throat too quickly. The tight wet heat of your mouth feels so heavenly that for a moment, he worries that he may have actually taken a bullet to the chest on this last mission and he is actually in heaven.
But then you swirl your tongue around the sensitive head of his cock when you draw up his length and he realizes there would be no sin as glorious as this in heaven.
You eyes catch his as you slide him to the back of your throat, your lips straining around him as you try valiantly to take more of him than your limit allows. You gag around him, throating tightening exquisitely before you withdraw for a gasp of air.
You return to your task with admirable determination, eyebrows pinched together in concentration as you work to relax your throat and draw him in deeper.
“Just a little more, liebling, you can do it,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek, feeling the bulge of him in your mouth as his thumb traces the stretch of your lips around his cock. “Nimm das alles für mich.”
Your lips meet your small hand that is still wrapped around the base of him and you breathe deeply through your nose as you hold yourself there for a moment, throat fluttering around him. He groans, fighting the urge to flex his hips and drive himself even deeper.
“That’s it,” he whispers. Your eyelashes glisten with little tears, tiny pearls of wetness that speak to your efforts to please him. “That’s my baby.”
You moan around him as you pull back, his cock dropping from your mouth with an obscene pop. Your breathing is labored as you scramble up his body. König’s hands steady you with a grip around your waist as you reach for his face, tugging him into a messy kiss.
It’s a desperate clashing of lips and teeth and tongues that has König groaning, little whimpers slipping past your lips as he explores your mouth. Your teeth nip into his lower lip before trailing down his jaw and neck.
“Let me see you, Schatz,” he asks, a hand sliding up the back of your thigh to grip your ass and grind your body against his.
You flip beside him hastily, tearing your panties down your thighs and pulling your shirt over your head. Gloriously naked, you straddle his waist.
You’ve positioned yourself just out of reach of where he wants to feel you the most. His hands circle your waist, sliding up until his thumbs caress the underside of your breasts.
“So schön, meine liebe,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across one tight nipple. Your hips flex and roll across his stomach and he can feel the slick wetness drenching his abs.
“König,” you moan, blunt little nails curling into the hard muscle of his pecs. Your head drops back, the long line of your throat calling to his hand.
He gives into the impulse, wrapping his fingers around your delicate neck, not constricting but merely holding. Your eyes go wide, hands gripping his wrist as you lean into the hold, your hips still grinding against him.
“You are making quite the mess,” König comments with a grin. You shudder in his hold. “Do not worry, liebling, I have never been afraid to get dirty.”
You moan, the sound vibrating deliciously against the hand he still holds around your neck. Your hips still over him as your release courses through you, your eyes fluttering shut.
König releases your throat and you sag against him. He runs a hand down your sweat slick back, over the curve of your ass until he can slip a single finger into your still fluttering hole. You gasp against his neck and he smiles.
“So fucking tight,” he groans, working his hand against you. You make little whimpering noises, lips working against his neck as you rock back against him. He eases a second finger into your dripping pussy, which earns him the sting of your teeth against his skin. “Scheiß!”
_______
You push yourself up on shaky arms, staring down into König’s dark eyes. His fingers slip from your pussy and you whine quietly at the loss.
“Wanna fuck you, König, please?” You murmur.
“I would love nothing more,” he says. He takes his cock in hand. “Take it, liebling.”
You lift your hips to position yourself over him, the fat tip of him notched at your entrance as you start your slow descent. The stretch of him is almost too much to bear, and it must show in your face because he drags a soothing hand across your thigh.
“That’s it,” he coos.
You slide another inch further with a whimper. “You’re so fucking big,” you tell him breathlessly. He chuckles, his cock pulsing inside of you and making you moan.
“Just think about how good it will feel when it is all inside of you, mein süße,” he says. “Filling every inch of you.”
You moan, your body accepting another inch. Your thighs shake with your efforts.
König’s hands grip your hips tightly, sure to leave fingertip shaped bruises that you’ll discover in the morning. On a deep breath, you lower yourself until you’re fully seated and stretched to your limit.
“Good fucking girl,” he growls. You meet his eyes, the blue nothing more than a thin ring around his blown pupils. His chest heaves as he breathes that same controlled rhythm you’ve watched him use before.
In…two…three…four…out.
You shift your hips experimentally, gasping at the overwhelming feeling of fullness. He wasn’t kidding about filling every last inch of you.
Pressing your hands to his chest, you lift your hips just barely off of him before dropping yourself back down. He moans, your name a curse and a prayer on his lips as you continue to build up a rhythm for yourself until you’re lifting almost fully off of him and slamming back down.
“Scheiß! Fuck!” König shouts as your pace picks up. “Mein perfekter kleiner Schatz.”
You lean forward to meet his lips, more of a sharing of breath than a kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you still as he thrusts up into you.
“König!” You cry, the slide and stretch and dull ache of him too much and yet not enough. His powerful thrusts are so deep at this angle that your eyes well with tears. Each drag of his cock from your pussy hits a spot that makes you see stars. “I’m gonna cum, please, König, please make me cum.”
“Anything for you,” he promises through gritted teeth, his hips picking up speed as he uses a hand on your ass to help slam you down on his cock. He turns his head, his nose brushing against yours tenderly in direct contrast to the way his hips pound against you. “Cum for me, engel. Let me see you.”
With a cry, you do just as he commands, your whole body going taught before sparking like a live wire, your release rolling over you so strongly it's more like a tsunami than a wave. He moans against your lips, hips pounding in an erratic speed as he works you through your orgasm and into his own.
“Fill me up, König,” you slur. “Wanna feel you. Bet you’ll get it so deep with your huge fucking cock.”
He comes with a deep groan, pressing up so deep as he spills inside of you that you gasp at the sensation, the warm heat of him filling you to the brim.
You collapse against him, the sweat on your bodies cooling in the chill of your apartment. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head.
“I missed you,” you murmur, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“I will always come back,” he whispers, smoothing the sweat damp hair from your forehead. “So long as you are here for me.”
You tug the blanket from the foot of the bed over your bodies, snuggling into his side. You enjoy the quiet together, his fingers drifting up and down your back. The rapid patter of paws on the wood floor announces the approach of your cat.
The orange tabby hops on the bed, walking on light feet until he reaches the pillow König rests his head on. He curls up along the top of the man’s head, purring contentedly.
“Hello, Toast,” he says. His eyes flick to you. “This is a good sign, yes?”
“I’d say it was an excellent sign,” you reply, kissing the man’s cheek. He smiles.
“Good. Because I think I will be here a while.”
Translations:
Scheiße - fuck
Danke - thank you
mein herz - my heart
Mein Liebling - my darling
Kleine - little one
Bitte - please
Nimm das alles für mich - take it all for me
Schatz - treasure
So schön, meine liebe - so beautiful, my love
mein süße- my sweet
Mein perfekter kleiner Schatz - my perfect little darling
engel - angel
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osachiyo · 6 months
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"𝓐𝓶 𝓘 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶 𝓸𝓯?" ༉‧₊˚.
↺ includes : dazai osamu & chuuya nakahara x fem!reader
↺ content warnings : nsfw content (mdni), threesome, double penetration, facefucking, overstimulation, unprotected sex, oral (m &f recieving), hairpulling, dumbification etc
↺ synopsis : you had one too many drinks at a bar after getting dumped by your ex boyfriend on your birthday, and end up fucking the two most dangerous men you have ever met
↺ w.c : 2.7k+ words of absolute filth
↺ author's note : Ik I said this will be posted on the 29th but I kindaaa finished early...I honestly thought dazai & fyodor would win in the poll but I'm pleasantly surprised that chuuya won. Happy reading & I hope y'all enjoy <3 ps. this is supposed to be a bday fic for someone but I unfortunately could not find the ask so whoever you are, happy early b'day!
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You squealed when Dazai parted your shaky thighs, licking his lips at your soaked lacy panties. "oh, bella, we barely even touched you and you're already dripping down there? naughty girl.." his voice dropped an octave, making you shiver. "quit yappin' and get to work, shitty dazai," Chuuya scoffed from behind you, gloved fingers pinching and pulling at your swollen nipples, coaxing little whines and moans from you. "you are just jealous that I'm the one about to devour her right now," the bandaged man shrugged, but still complying nonetheless. His fingers hooked under your panties and swiftly pulled them down, breath hitching as he watched webs of your sticky arousal cling to the thin fabric. Chuuya noticed that your attention was on Dazai and he wasn't having that. He turned your face to the side and smashed his lips against yours, swallowing your moans as Dazai nibbled on the insides of your thighs. Just how did you get stuck between these two unbelievably attractive men?
...You sighed, slamming your shot of Tequila down, the alcohol burning in your throat. "And he just broke up with me like that! On my fucking birthday too! What the fuck?" Your friend only patted your back, frowning, "girl, I knew he was no good from day one. let's just forget about him for now, yeah? try to enjoy tonight?" You nodded, a frown etched on your face. "Yeah, I know...but I really loved him, y'know? Even though he was terrible in bed," you giggled, nudging your friend's arm playfully. "How about we get you some real action tonight?" She wiggled her eyebrows, both of you chuckling. "Who should I go for?" You scanned the bar, looking for your partner for the night when your eyes land on Chuuya. The ginger haired man was at a corner, sipping away at his expensive drink, target locked. You touched your makeup up a bit before strutting towards him, giving him your best doe eyes when he looks up at you, "You here alone?" He smirked, "No, I'm here with some... colleagues. What about you, pretty girl?" You took a seat beside him, grinning as he poured you a glass of the 20 something grand drink, "I'm here with my friend, We're here to celebrate my birthday." He handed you the glass, "Oh, happy birthday. how's your night goin' so far?" You sipped on the drink, scrunching your face at the bitter taste of the alcohol, "Well...not to spill my life story or anything, but I got dumped today," he frowned, placing a gloved hand on your shoulder, "Sorry 'bout that, hon. Must've been an ass to do that on you birthday." You laughed, staring in his greyish blue eyes, "Yeah.." he leaned closer, his breath fanning over your lips, you could almost taste the 'aged monopole' on his lips—
 "chuuuuuuuyaaa~" Dazai interrupted you both with his sing-song voice, making you both jump. "What the hell are you doing here?" Chuuya gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed. You turned around to lock eyes with chocolate brown ones; oh, he was pretty. You could see a smirk splayed on his lips, winking at you before looking at Chuuya. "I thought I smelled a dog around here, and would you look at that? It's my dear ex-partner Chuuya!" The said man swung at Dazai, landing a punch on his stomach. "Oumph— I was wondering what you were doing with such a pretty woman," he said, taking your hand in his, kissing the back of it. "May I have the honour of knowing this pretty lady's name?" You giggled, "Of course, it's—" Chuuya cut you off by snatching your hand away, glaring daggers at Dazai. "Get the hell out of here, mackerel," Chuuya groaned. "This pretty lady has been through a breakup tonight, on her birthday, and I'm sure she doesn't need you annoying her to death too." Dazai only pouted, "Or are you just afraid that she'd leave you because of me, hmm?" He looked at you, smiling. "Trust me, baby. I can do much better than this malnourished ginger." You could see Chuuya's right eye twitch. "You really think so?" The brunette man leaned closer, towering over the both of you. "I know so." "Then let's fucking prove it."
...Everything after that was a blur to you. You didn't remember when you left the bar with them or when you entered the hotel. All you knew was that it felt so hot. It felt so hot when Chuuya pressed open-mouthed kisses on your nape and behind your ears, all while Dazai made himself comfortable between your spread legs. He shoved your panties in his pocket for later use, his tongue darting out to kitten lick at your puffy clit. He could feel your pussy throbbing on his tongue, clearly wanting more of his touch. Chuuya pushed the straps of your tight black dress down your shoulders, massaging your plump breasts while kissing you deeply. "Oh, you taste fucking divine," Dazai hummed, snickering when you clenched down on his tongue from the praise. "You like that, birthday girl? like it when I praise you?" You could only moan, nodding your head. The ginger man behind you flipped you over so that you were on your stomach, ass pressing against Dazai's face, and he moaned, calloused fingers spreading your cheeks apart as he slurped your juices up. Your cheek was smushed against Chuuya's dress pants, drooling on the expensive fabric. You could see the prominent bulge on his crotch, just begging to be touched. "Put that pretty mouth to use, darl'," he whispered, unzipping his pants and pulling his boxer's down, his cock finally springing free and slapping against his stomach. Your mouth watered; it was so pretty. Reasonable sized with a girth promised to make you see stars. The tip was flushed pink, precum pearling at his slit. You picked the underside of his cock, paying extra attention to the large vein, making him hiss. He grabbed the back of your head, tapping his cock on your warm cheek, "Open up, hon." You happily obliged, sticking your tongue out for him to shove his shaft down your throat, making you slightly gag as tears prick your eyes. You gasped when Dazai pushed two slim fingers into your hole, your insides sucking them in eagerly. "There we go, sweet girl. Taking my fingers so nicely~" You cleched down on him at the praise, moaning around the fat cock in your mouth. The red-head shivered at the vibrations from your mouth. Tipping his head back slightly, fingers tightening their grip on your hair as you start bobbing your head up and down. It was messy; webs of his precum and your saliva was dripping down your chin, your mascara running down your puffy cheeks as you tried your best to breathe through your nose. Dazai scoffed when Chuuya smirked at him, successful in stealing your attention. He blew on your clit, making you jump. You tried to look back at him but Chuuya's grip was firm, patting your head softly before doing an experimental thrust in your mouth, tip of his cock nudging against the back of your throat. On the other hand, Dazai was getting lost in your cunt; skilled tongue swirling over your swollen clit, fingers curling against your g-spot, moaning into your pussy when you clenched particularly hard. Chuuya was now thrusting up into your warm mouth eagerly, holding your head down while muttering out small curses. He loved the way your eyes rolled back from the overwhelming feeling of Dazai eating your cunt like the best meal he's ever had while Chuuya fucked your throat 'till it burned, your lipstick staining his cock.
You jolted forward when a lubed finger pushed into your other hole, the feeling entirely foreign to you. Dazai's warm hand smoothed over your ass, giving it a playful smack, "Relax, pretty. You are gonna take the both of us, aren't you?" Your eyes widened, the both of them inside..at the same time— could you even handle it?
Chuuya patted your cheek softly, turning your attention to him, "You don't have to if you don't want to, we won't force you into anything." Your heart fluttered at his caring nature, hearts practically swimming in your pupils. You pulled your mouth off of Chuuya's cock, making him hiss. " 's okay.. I can take it," you whispered, making Dazai smirk devilishly, "that's my girl."
They switched places now; Chuuya between your pretty legs while Dazai eagerly thrusted up into your welcoming mouth, slobbering all over his cock. Your jaw was hurting from how hard he was shoving himself in and out, back arching like a cat's when Chuuya's long fingers brush against that one spot inside your walls. His tongue swirled around your puckered hole, making you squeal and try to kick your legs and fail, his hands firmly gripping them, "Behave," he growled into your cunt, making Dazai snicker. "How's she taste?" Dazai grinned, hissing when your tongue swipes over his slit. "Fucking amazing," Chuuya's eyes slightly rolled back, going drunk from your addictive taste on his tongue. Dazai's thrusts sped up, now hitting the back of your throat as you creamed all over Chuuya's face. He was glad your back was turned to him so you couldn't see him cumming in his pants like a pathetic teenager. "Came in your pants already?" Dazai laughed, cutting himself off with a groan as he holds your head down, cumming down your throat.
Dazai picked your already tired body up, placing you on his lap, telling you how good you did for them while kissing your tears away. "Now, get ready for the real thing," he smirked, slapping the tip on your clit before lining his cock up with your entrance. "Hope you're ready, princess," Chuuya uttered from behind you, rubbing soothing circles on your back, pushing your hair out of the way to kiss and nibble on your marked neck as Dazai pushed into you with a wet 'pop!' Your jaw slacking as he buried himself to the hilt, pressing his forehead against yours as he panted out little praises. Your body was tense in Dazai's hold, clenching down on his cock when his fingers found your clit, trying to get you to relax and it worked as you went limp in his arms. Chuuya on the otherhand, was busy lathering lube all over his cock, pumping it a few times in his first before lining it up with your puckered hole. Slowly but surely pushing in, focused on how you moan into Dazai's lips, the smug brunnete swallowing your moans. "Does it hurt, doll?" He grunted, grabbing your hips for stability as he tried his best not to shove himself all the way in. "Hurts— hurts so good.." you slurred, eyes rolling back from the sheer pleasure of both of them inside you. His cock pushed fully past the tight ring of muscle, balls touching your ass while he shuddered, fingers digging into the plush of your hips so tightly that you're sure it'll leave bruises tomorrow. But you didn't care, not when you were stuffed full by these two men you had just met, creaming and clenching on their cocks. "God, she's clenching so damn hard. Aren't you, baby?" The man in front of you panted, fingers still rubbing circles on your clit, pinching the small bud when you whine and whimper for them. Chuuya turned your head around to face him, capturing your parted lips for a sweet kiss, rolling his hips experimentally and groaning when you tighten even further.
Your makeup had been completely ruined by the time they were finally starting to thrust in and out of you, the two of them perfectly synchronized with each other, as if they could read the other person's mind. Every time one of them pulled out, the other pushed in and vice versa. Your mouth formed an 'o' shape, clawing at Dazai's shirt as they worked you to your orgasm. Your brain couldn't function properly anymore, filtering out all thoughts besides the two men ravaging you right now, stretching out your holes and all you could do was lay there and sob out their names. "Oh shiit— did we fuck her stupid already?" Chuuya questioned, breathy moans and grunts leaving his swollen lips that were stained with your lipstick like his cock. "Sure looks like it, ah fuuck—" Dazai moaned, their rhythm slowly falling apart as their orgasm approached. " 'm gunna—" you couldn't even finish your sentence before squrting all over their cocks, head lolling back on Chuuya's shoulder as you twitched from the overstimulation. Dazai's hips stilled suddenly, shooting his seed deep inside of you, some of it dribbling out as he pulls out, some of it spurting on your cunt, coating your pussy lips in his release. Chuuya's arms hooked under your knees, bringing you to his chest as you screamed his name, tears flowing out of your puffy eyes like jewels. "Cumming— fuck!" He growled, slim hips pressed against your plump ass while he flooded your insides with his cum.
Your heavy eyelids widened when Chuuya lifted you up, now facing him. "What're you—" you gasped when you felt his cock prodding at your cunt this time, ready to fuck you to oblivion. Dazai gripped your hair from behind, tugging on it to make eye contact with you, "You didn't think we were done from just that, did you?" You whimpered at his low tone of voice, perfectly manicured nails digging into Chuuya's shoulders as he pushes into you again, your cunt fucked raw and sore. Bandaged hands spread your cheeks apart, groaning at the lewd view of his ex-partners cum flowing out of your hole. " 's too mph— much!" You babbled, wincing at Dazai pulled at your hair and landed a swift smack on your ass. "You can take it, honey," he bit his lip, slipping into your other hole with a loud groan, your eyes crossing at the mind-numbing stimulation.
"Shiiit— pussy grippin' me so tight," Chuuya moaned, throwing his head back as he thrusted into you vigorously. The three of you were rendered a drooling, panting mess; overstimulated and shaking as they bend and mold your body to their desire, turning you into their personal cocksleeve for the night and you loved it. Dazai's fingers found your nipples, pinching and pulling and the hardened buds, making you cry out even louder for them, slapping one of the soft mounds before flicking at your nipples again.
You felt something in your lower stomach turning, tightening as they thrusted in and out of your oversensitive cunt. Chuuya's hand suddenly wrapped around your throat, not gripping tight but hard enough to make you feel breathless and dizzy. Everything went white, you could hear ringing in your ears as you gushed all over them, your juices covering Chuuya's abdomen and dripping down his cock. A creamy ring had formed around the base of his cock, hands reaching everywhere they could before his hips stopped, his semen gushing into your walls and staining them white. Dazai came shortly after, burying his face into your neck as his cum filled your gooey insides.
They both pulled out before Dazai laid you on your back gently, softly shushing your sobs as you clung onto him, burying your face in his chest. His hand was splayed on your back, rubbing random shapes on your sensitive skin. "Shh, my pretty girl. Did so well for us, hm?" He whispered, kissing the crown of your head while Chuuya got up to get a washcloth and a glass of water. He handed you the glass of water and some pills, "birth pills," he clarified, looking away bashfully while Dazai snickered. You didn't even realize how dry your throat was until drinking the cold water, offering your burning throat some relief. "I should probably lea—" you got cut off by Dazai pulling you back into his arms burying his face into your soft chest, "Why not stay? I'm not the type of guy to let a pretty lady go home alone at 3 am after having such an intimate moment." Chuuya huffed and nodded in agreement, laying next to you before wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Dazai pouted, scooting closer and shoving Chuuya's arm off of you. "A dog should know it's place, you should honestly go sleep on the floor," Dazai joked. "HAAH?!"
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2K notes · View notes
xanaxspritz · 28 days
Note
How do the jjk men handle brat reader?
an: quick and dirty for you anon
brat taming headcanons with jjk men <3
gojo
gojo is just so fun and easy to provoke. he'll let you have your way for a bit, but as if a flip switched, the next instance you try to tease him he flips you over and pins you flat on whatever closest surface near you. he loves to see you squirm and wiggle, his cock grows harder and harder in his pants over the complete control his has over your restricted body with just his strong hands. "not so tough now aren't you? you little whore," says with a familiar look of unrestraint in his wide sky-blue eyes.
geto
does not hesitate to put you in place, hes not playing! he likes his girls obedient and malleable so he can train them just how he likes. when you talk back to him he promptly stuffs a ball gag in your mouth, or his hard cock if he wants to deepthroat you. "good girls are always quiet, yeah?" he smirks, ramming his fat cock down your throat
nanami
is of course a very patient man. he lets you get away with more than you should. he hates to hurt his baby girl, but punishment is due for bratty girls. you push him over the edge when your send nudes and videos of you playing with your pussy while he's at work he comes home, he orders you to strip down completely and kneel on all fours. when you refuse, he takes off his belt and picks you up himself, laying you across his knee and bounding your arms together with his leather belt. "now princess, which paddle would like me to use? the pink fuzzy one or the cedar oak?
779 notes · View notes
mavsstar · 10 months
Text
𝑀𝑦 𝑆𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑃𝑒𝑎
Summary ︱Mr. Levinson lives right next door to you, the sweet, innocent college girl. Little do you know that you're Mr. Levinson's favorite neighbor. He's there every chance you need the slightest of help, maybe a little too much.
Pairings︱Mechanic!Ari Levinson x Innocent!Fem!Reader, Robert Pronge x Innocent!Fem!Reader
W.C︱4k
Warnings︱18+ MINORS DNI, Trailer Park AU, it's pretty tame for right now, pet names (Sweet Pea),cursing, reader is scared of Pronge, masturbation (m!) and I think that is all the warnings. Let me know if I missed any!
Author's note︱I am very excited for this series :) This is set around the 90s just because I feel like it fits better with the idea I have going on in my head. It has been awhile since I've written anything so I'm hoping it's not too terrible. I hope you will enjoy this! Feedback is appreciated! Follow my side blog and turn on post notifications :D
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“Did you see Mr. Levinson today?” your Mother’s friend, Valerie, asked while wiggling her eyebrows. 
“Nope,” you instantly responded. “Have you?” 
“Already got my dose of that sexy man.” She smirked while winking at you. 
Ari Levinson towered everyone he’s ever met. He stood at a proud 6'6. It was hard to miss the luscious brown locks that fell over his face and the cerulean blue eyes that you could never find your way out of. His beard adorned his jaw and hid the pump rose colored lips he held.
Even when he was doused in motor oil and dirt he was still a beautiful man. He was your neighbor and very well known at the trailer park. Ari was a woman’s walking wet dream come to life. 
“He’s already up?” you asked as your eyes bulged out of your head. “It’s like 6 in the morning.” 
“Of course he’s up, he’s having his morning coffee.” 
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Only you would know that stalker.”
“It’s not stalking Y/N, it's called being an astute observer,” she retorted. “That’s besides the point, shouldn’t you be heading out by now?” 
“I should be but…” you started to answer, looking out the window cautiously, “I have a feeling you know who is outside.”
“If you don’t leave now you’ll be late for work which by the way is in 20 minutes,” she reminded you, pointing towards the clock. 
“Please don’t remind me.” You internally groaned as you threw your head back and rubbed your eyes. 
After a few moments you finally decided to lift yourself from the couch and head your way out. Goosebumps arose on your arms as you opened the front door. You hated this kind of weather, you couldn’t be without a sweater in the morning but by 3pm you’d be sweating like a dog. You shrugged on your brother's jacket, not bothering to zip it up and closed the front door.
Just as you predicted, the person you dreaded seeing most was standing right outside, Mr. Pronge. 
Robert Pronge was your neighbor and lived right across from you. Ever since you moved in he formed the bad habit of staring at you and hitting on you like there’s no tomorrow. From what you heard he was a sick sadistic bastard who liked to torture girls with pleasure. He’s had many lovers enter the trailer but seemingly none of them come back.  
You didn’t like the way he makes you feel. It felt like a hungry lion stalking its predator, ready to pounce at any moment’s notice. At the same time you couldn’t help but feel hot. Everytime he was near you, your heart raced from the fear and you felt a pulse in between your legs. 
“Morning Princess!” Mr. Pronge called out from his front lawn.
“Good morning Mr. Pronge!” You greeted back but only to be polite. You tried to avoid looking too much at him and instead looked towards the ground. 
You heard shoes beating against the ground and you prayed with all your heart that it was someone else running. Luck was not on your side that morning. When you looked up it was the one and only Mr. Pronge. 
“Where are you going Princess?” he asked. His breath was minty fresh even though his appearance would say otherwise. 
“To work,” you bluntly replied, trying to open your car door. 
“Aw Princess, don’t be like that,” he cooed. Once you did get your car door open, he immediately slammed it closed, almost smashing your finger in the process. “I’ll give you a ride. Come on, let's go.” 
“I appreciate the offer Mr. Pronge but I can take myself,” you insisted while attempting to reopen your car door. 
“Princess…” he warningly said.
Mr. Pronge didn’t like it when people told him no. The word no did not exist in his world. 
“I said I’ll give you a ride.” 
“Leave her alone Robert!” Ari yelled from his porch, causing the both of you to turn around. “She’s probably late for work!” 
Mr. Pronge sighed as he stepped back in defeat. “I’ll take you next time Princess.” 
You internally groaned at his comment. He could never leave you alone. Every morning he would play this game with you. On the bright side, you were one of the very few people allowed to tell him no and get away with it. 
“Thank you Mr. Levinson!” you yelled as you got in the car. 
“Anytime!” Ari walked over to Robert after you drove off. Though his eyes never peeled off from you the entire time. 
“You’re always in my way,” Robert playfully commented. 
Ari chuckled at the jab. Ari always had to save you from him every morning without fail. “Rob, how many times have I told you to leave the poor girl alone?” He asked as he brought his cup of coffee to his lips. 
“I will never leave her alone,” he answered with a proud smirk. “Not until I make her mine.” 
“Oh please! You’re old!” Ari jabbed at him. “She’s going to want a hot 20 year old guy not some 40 year old.” 
“Her father was not present in her life.” 
“What does that have to do with anything?!” Ari asked, confused at Robert’s statement.
“The girl has major daddy issues, Ari,” Robert said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “All I gotta do is caress her a bit, say sweet nothings in her ear and bam! She will fall in love with me.”
“Do that and she will call the cops on you.” 
“I’d like to see her try,” Robert remarked as he crossed his arms across his chest. “Besides, why do you care?” 
“Because her mother is really starting to get concerned and-” 
“Oh that's why you’re concerned!” Robert hooted. “You want to fuck the mom!” 
“I do not want to have sex with her mom,” Ari declared with a serious tone. “The woman is stressed enough and I feel bad for her and I feel bad for the girl. I see her peek her head out of the door every morning to avoid you.” 
“Ari?” 
“Yes Rob?” 
“Mind your business.” 
The following morning was the same dreadful routine. You were trying to stall, not wanting to face Mr. Pronge though you knew he would be there. He always was. Even when you would try to leave at an earlier time. It’s like he would sleep there and wait for you. 
 Your mother shoved your car keys in your hand. “Sweetie, you need to go now before you’re late.”
“But what if he’s out there?” you asked with a slight hint of fear. 
“Is he still bothering you?!” she questioned, her overprotectiveness coming out. “I’ve had enough, I’m going out there.” 
“No! No! No!” you instantly said, jolting your hands out to stop her from taking another step. “Please don’t say anything. Mom please!” 
Your pleads were granted. She stayed still as she squinted at the window, sending a silent threat to Mr. Pronge.
“Fine,” she said. “But If I hear or even get the feeling, I’m going to rip his nutsack and his stupid smirk off of him.” 
“Wow,” you said with your eyes bulging out in shock.
“Sweetie, you’re too nice and a little bit–how can I put this?” she sarcastically questioned herself as she tilted her head to the side. “Oh yeah, you’re naive.” 
“I am not naive,” you muttered under your breath, offended. 
“Yes you are,” she said as she was walking out of the living room. “Now go to work!” 
You grabbed your bag from the couch and swung it over your shoulder. Your hand went on the doorknob, turning it to open the door. You peek your head out to see if you’re one and only was out there waiting for you. 
“He’s not there Sweet Pea!” Ari exclaimed. “You’re safe, you can come out!” 
“Thanks!” you yelled from the door, fully stepping out. You confidently walked over to your car, happy Mr. Pronge wasn’t outside to terrorize you. Your happiness was soon cut off when you saw a complete flat tire. 
“Dang it!” you cursed to yourself. You peered down at your watch, it was 6:41 A.M. You were trying to calculate how much time it would take to go on the bus and you heard the dreadful sound of boots hitting the road. 
“Oh no,” you internally whined. 
“Got a flat, Princess?” Mr. Pronge sarcastically asked. “I’ll give you a ride.”
Ari quickly stepped in. “Robert no.” You didn’t even hear him walk over to you. You looked at Ari in shock and sent a cry for help at the same time. “Leave her alone.” 
“She needs a ride, I’m giving her a ride. What is the problem?” he challenged, taking a step closer to him. 
“You’re not taking her.” 
Robert straightened his back and puffed his chest out. “And why not?” 
“Because I’m taking her. She was just getting something from her car.” Ari grabbed your bag from your hand and placed his hand on your lower back. “Lets go Sweet Pea,” he said as he guided you to his car, opening the door for you and handing you back your bag. 
Robert stood in shock. Ari was taking you. And you let him. Though he couldn’t say he wasn’t impressed, he was just wondering how he did it. That lucky bastard. 
The inside of his truck was bigger than you ever imagined. It was dirty and there were oil stains everywhere you looked. Wrenches were scattered across the floor along with bolts and lug nuts. The only thing that was almost impeccable was the air freshener hanging off the rearview mirror but there were five oil stained fingerprints on it.
“Thank you for the ride Mr. Levinson, you didn’t have to take me. I could've taken the bus.” 
“Don’t even mention it Sweet Pea,” Ari said. “Plus I don’t think you wanted to ride with Rob now did you?” 
“No,” you answered as you shook your head. “He scares me.” 
“He scares you?” Ari repeated, barely shocked. 
“Mhm,” you confirmed with a small hum. “He’s really big and mean. Everyone says he’s the nicest to me and if that’s true I don’t want to see him when he’s mad.” 
“It’s true, he’s the nicest to you.” Ari found it weird when Robert wouldn’t constantly yell at you like he did with other people but he can see why. You’re the sweetest thing ever.
“Is that all?” 
“Mr. Pronge used to bring women and–and they would come out screaming and crying. It frightened me.” 
Robert used to bring women over all the time. They wouldn’t last for too long. They would run out of the house screaming all kinds of profanities after 3 weeks. You’ll never forget the moment a woman came to your house and asked if you had anything sharp. You gave her one of the knives from the kitchen. 5 minutes later the word asshole was embedded on the side of his car in big, bold letters. 
You’ll also never forget the time another woman came to your trailer. She screamed while she banged on the door like a madman. When you opened the door she had red hand prints on her body and a barely carved ‘R’ on her exposed hip. She asked you to hide her because he was coming. Sure enough a minute later Mr. Pronge came, demanding you to show him where she was hiding. Luckily your brother was there to kick him out.
He could see why you were scared. Hell even that scared him a couple of times. For some reason Ari didn’t like the thought of you being scared. Hell, he could barely deal with the fact how uncomfortable Mr. Pronge made you. 
When you approached the building Ari parked the car and exited out, lightly jogging over to your side and opening your door for you. He held out his hand to you to help you out of the truck, your hand delicately gripped his and he could feel the rush of dopamine releasing in his body. 
“Thank you again Mr. Levinson!” you beamed with a bright smile. You raised yourself on your tippy toes and slightly bounced to place a thank you kiss on his cheek. 
An unexplainable warmth rushed through him. The action was short and sweet but it made him feel weak in the knees. He would get cheek kisses from women quite a lot but it never felt like this. 
“Anytime Sweet Pea.” He felt himself staring at your eyes for a little bit too long. He forced himself to look anywhere else for a brief second, making sure you didn’t grow uncomfortable. “What time do you want me to pick you up?” 
“Oh it’s okay Mr. Levinson, I can take the bus or have my brother pick me up.” 
“Are you sure?” he asked you again. 
You nodded your head. “Thank you again! You’re a lifesaver.” 
“Don’t even mention it,” he waves off. 
You muttered a small goodbye to Mr. Levinson before taking off into the diner. He watched you go in with a small smile on his face.
 Even though this was your first real interaction, he knew he wasn’t going to get enough of you. You were the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. The whole way back he thought of you. You were like a deadly plague in his mind. A beautiful, rose scented, warm plague. 
Luckily your brother was able to pick you up after he got off of work. The next bus was going to come within another hour. When your brother picked you up, he was agitated. 
“What happened to your tire?” your older brother asked, not amused at all.
“I don’t know.” You shrugged your shoulders. “I went outside this morning and it had a flat.” 
“I helped Mr. Levinson changed the tire, it had 4 nails,” he said in a matter of fact one. “4.” he repeated as he held four fingers in the air. 
“I’m sorry,” you weakly apologized. 
“You need to pay more attention where you’re driving.”  
“I didn’t mean to drive over the nails. There weren’t even any when I drove yesterday!” you protested. “I only drove to the library which is 2 minutes away.” 
“So they magically appeared?” he sarcastically asked. “Just pay attention please.” 
“I will.” 
“You left your bus pass on the table this morning. How did you get to work? ” he questioned you. “Mr. Pronge didn’t take you, did he?” He turned to glance at you with a worried look. 
“No, Mr. Levinson did,” you told your brother.
“Did you make it on time?” He quickly glanced at you again, “because you are horrible at giving directions.” 
“Hey!” you barked at him. “I am not horrible at giving directions.” 
“Yes you are.” 
“Well lucky for me I didn’t even have to tell him, he already knew where to go,” you responded, “sure did save me the hassle.” 
“Did you thank him?” 
“Of course I did, I’m not rude,” you responded, half hurt he would think that of you. 
The rest of the ride was short but your brother took the remaining 4 minute drive to lecture you once again to pay attention. You tried to zone him out but he would snap at you, telling you to listen. You knew he did it to annoy you, it was simply too easy to annoy you. 
When you arrived at home, you jumped out of the car to look at the tire. Sure you had no idea what you were even looking at but it never hurt. You bent down to look at it and you noticed one thing. It wasn’t patched up like before. It was brand new. 
“Are you coming in?” your brother asked you. 
You turned to look at him. “Yeah, I just have to do something really quick.” 
“Don’t take too long, I’ll be done cooking in 10 minutes.” 
“I promise,” you told him before he went inside. 
You took out a sticky note, a pen and 50 dollars that took you 4 days to earn. You used the hood of your car as a desk and wrote a sweet but short thank you on the sticky note. Afterwards you walked over to his house and placed it under the surprisingly alive flower pot he had on his front porch. 
The both of you didn’t see each other for almost 2 days. You got overwhelmed with work that you barely were in the house. It wasn’t until Ari caught you late at the laundromat. 
“Sweet Pea?”
You turned around at the sound of your name. “Oh hi Mr. Levinson,” you greeted him with a huge smile. 
“What are you doing here so late?” he asked you though he could barely pay any attention to you at the moment. You wore a thin pastel pink cardigan with a pearly white nightgown that had a bow at the valley of your breasts.
“I forgot to do my laundry this morning and I didn’t have time so I came here after work,” you told him. 
“Isn’t it a little late to be working?” he questioned you. 
“I’ve been picking up other shifts at work,” you said, “it doesn’t help having the extra money.” 
“Speaking of money,” he began to say as he took out the fifty you gave him from his front pocket of his flannel, “you left this on my porch.” 
“Yeah it’s for you,” you innocently said, “I noticed the tire is brand new and I’m 90% sure my brother forgot to pay you.” 
“It’s your money, I’m not taking it. Here.” He passed the money back to you but you refused. 
“Keep it, you changed my tire and I’m paying you for your service.” 
“I really can’t—” 
“Please,” you begged him with puppy eyes. 
You pulled at his heartstrings. It agonized him, he didn’t want to take your money but he also didn’t want to make you sad. But he kept it anyway and stuffed it back into the front pocket of his flannel. 
“What are you doing here so late?” you asked him as you bent down and took out your now dry clothes. 
His eyes peered down for a quick second and he saw the nightgown riding up, revealing your baby blue panties. His throat went dry and he fought hard to keep his gaze up but it found itself looking back down. 
“I–I realized I forgot to wash my work clothes.” 
“I hate when that happens.” You came back up after you pulled out the last piece of clothing. “Then I’m stuck getting yelled at by the manager when I come in with the wrong clothes.” 
Ari chuckled to avoid an awkward silence. Really it was to refrain himself from stuttering or making a fool out of himself. In his head he wanted to compliment you and how pretty your nightgown was but the words wouldn’t leave the tip of his tongue. 
He took a deep breath before he spoke. “You look pretty in your nightgown,” he quickly muttered out. 
Your eyes lit up at his compliment. “Thank you Mr. Levinson. It’s pretty but I don’t think I’ll keep it.” 
“Why’s that?” 
“It always rides up and by morning it’s all the way up here,” you pointed to your upper stomach.
Oh what he would give to be a fly in the room in the morning. He quickly changed the conversation, it was obvious you were too oblivious to what you were doing to him. Your sweet voice and innocence were driving him insane but he loved it, he secretly wanted more. 
The both of you left the laundromat 40 minutes later. He insisted on carrying your basket for you. You both walked side by side. You were busy trying to keep up with him while he was busy looking down at your breasts. 
“Thank you for carrying my basket Mr. Levinson,” you thanked him as you took your basket from him when you got to your front porch.
“Anytime Sweet Pea.”
You kissed his cheek once again to seal your thank you. “Sweet dreams Mr. Levinson.”
“Sweet dreams honey,” he repeated to you. 
Ari was in a rush to get back to his trailer but a dear beloved friend was waiting for him. 
“Well would you look at that?” Robert sarcastically asked him. “She gave you a kiss on the cheek.” 
“Not now Robert,” Ari pleaded, dying to get back into his place. 
“What’s the big rush to get back home?” Robert crossed his arms as he smirked, “I see you’re sporting a hard on. Surely it can’t be because of her. Right?” 
“Oh shut your trap.” 
“It is, isn't it?!” he gawked. 
“No it’s not!” Ari protested. 
“Oh really?” Robert Challenged as he squinted his eyes.
“I was about to get lucky with Kim before she came into the laundromat and interrupted us,” Ari quickly lied. 
“So you waited for her to be done then walked her back?” Robert questioned Ari. 
“Of course I did,” he scoffed, “otherwise she would’ve ran into you. Not to mention she’s terrified of you, fuckin’ creep.” 
“Whatever. She wants me, I know it,” Robert boasted. 
“Yeah in jail.” 
Robert rolled his eyes and walked back to his trailer while Ari walked back into his. He immediately locked the door behind him and dropped the basket on the floor. 
“Oh thank god,” Ari hissed as he unzipped his painfully tight pants. 
His cock was rock hard and had been for the past 20 minutes. The pants barely gave him any friction and if anything, made it worse. He palmed himself through his boxers and moaned in relief. 
All he can think about is you in the short nightgown and how he’s never been this hard before. Sure he’s been turned on but it was nothing compared to this. It was like he was a horny spazzy teenager all over again. 
He freed his cock from his boxers and sharply inhaled at the impact of the cold air. The tip of his cock was bright red and oozing with precum. He used his thumb to spread his precum and use it as lube.  
His eyes screwed shut in bliss when he began pumping up and down. He tried to think of the porn he watched three days ago but instead you kept popping up. He imagined you being here with him, helping him out. 
“Does that hurt?” you ask him as you point to his angry, leaking cock. 
“It does Sweet Pea,” he rasped out. 
“Was it because of me?” you innocently ask him as you bat your lashes. 
“Yes,” he admits. 
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you apologize to him. “Let me help you,” you tell him as you take his cock into your tiny, warm hand. 
“Oh Sweet Pea,” he moans out. 
“You’re s-so bi-big,” you sputter out, slowly pumping him up and down. “Does that feel better?”
He doesn’t have the strength to talk so instead he nods eagerly. “G-Go a little bit faster.”
You obey him and start pumping faster. His moans fill the room as he gets lost in the pleasure you’re giving him. Your hand is cramping but you don’t care, anything to make him feel good. 
“Sweet Pea, I-I’m about to cum,” he warns you. 
You get down on your knees while you still pump him. “Let it all go,” you seductively say as you open your mouth. 
Ari was brought back to reality when his high overtook him and he orgasmed. It was so intense his thighs started to shake. He continued pumping and pumping until he got too sensitive he had to stop.
He stood there with his cum dripping down his hand and secretly wishing you were there to help clean it all up. The realization had hit him hard, he needed you.
2K notes · View notes
thepaperpanda · 1 year
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The Offspring || Douma x female demon!reader
Summary: Despite all obstacles, you were able to grant Douma with a demon child
Warnings: None, just Douma teasing Akaza and Akaza being so done with Douma also soft Douma
Word count: 3853
Authors: Cass & Rouge
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Douma was taken aback by the news. He never fathomed the possibility of impregnating you. Did he feel remorseful about it? Perhaps slightly, but his intrigue and captivation overshadowed any misgivings he may have had.
Frequently, he would sit with you on his lap and caress your burgeoning belly with slender fingers, all while his iridescent eyes fixated on the stirring movements beneath the skin. The sensation of feeling a life growing inside of you was something he had never experienced before, and it left him entranced.
Upon the arrival of your little one, his fascination only amplified. 
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Six months passed. 
He stood there, beholding the small bundle in his arms with reverential awe. The baby’s eyes, like a burst of rainbow hues, met Douma's own gaze, as if recognizing the demon before him.
You stood in the hallway, your gaze fixed on Douma as he played with your child. The door was half-opened, allowing you to watch the scene unfold without disturbing them. 
You couldn't help but smile at the sight before you. Douma had a special way with children if he only wanted to, and you were thankful that he was a part of your and your child's life; instinctively, you knew he'd have done whatever it takes to keep the both of you safe and sound.
The little baby was looking at Douma, his chubby hands reaching out towards the man.
Douma's low hum interrupted the quiet atmosphere. The corners of his lips tugged up into a sly smile, his eyes fixed on you as he addressed his son. "You like to watch me, don't you, Y/N?"
You smiled as you slowly entered the room, improving the cardigan over your shoulders. "Hey darling, forgive me, I didn't want to interrupt. I also love to watch you two interacting."
You approached Douma, and looked down at the baby boy he held in his arms. You saw the boy's tiny finger curling around Douma's slender, index finger, his colorful eyes looking up at you with curiosity. He was dressed in a soft blue onesie; it made him look even more adorable. 
You couldn't resist the urge to interact with your son, so you lowered your head and rubbed your nose against baby's tummy. This playful gesture earned you a burst of laughter from the child, his little body wriggling with joy. You smiled as you continued to tickle and play with the baby, enjoying his infectious giggles.
Douma tilted his head to the side, his gaze fixed on the tiny bundle in front of him. "It's hard to believe we created something so precious," he mused, his voice barely above a whisper.
You looked at Douma and smiled warmly at him. The corners of your mouth curled up, and your teeth were visible; your cheeks lifted, and your eyes crinkled with joy. 
The baby boy's gaze shifted to Douma, and a smile spread across his chubby face. His eyes sparkled with delight as he puffed out his cheeks, and his little arms reached out towards the man; his fingers wiggled as he tried to grab hold of Douma's turtleneck. The baby's whole body seemed to radiate with happiness as he cooed and giggled.
"Keito is in love with you, there's no doubt," you chuckled, looking up at Douma.
Douma couldn't shake off the strange feeling that lingered within him. He kept replaying the events in his head, trying to convince himself that it had all actually happened. "Is he not the most precious thing you've ever seen?" Douma beamed, cradling the baby in his arms. "I played a vital role in his creation, after all. Without me, he wouldn't be here."
You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help but smile at the way Douma was cooing over the baby. "And without his mother, he wouldn't be here either," you countered playfully. "Douma, could you please place Keito on the ground for me?" You requested, watching as Douma carefully lowered the boy to the floor.
Meanwhile, you made your way across the room and took a seat on the floor on the other side.
As you watched your son sit confused on the floor, you couldn't help but giggle. Patting your knees, you said loudly, "Keito! Keito, love! Come to mama!"
As he settled into his spot, you couldn't help but notice the way he patted his knees in a playful, almost childlike manner. His voice, too, took on a tone of cheerful exuberance, as he cooed in a singsong voice, "Keito! Come to your daddy."
The baby boy was absolutely confused about where he should go, whether to his mom or to his dad. He looked around with a blunt expression glued to his little face, his little hands reaching out to both of you; he was turning his head as if searching for an answer. His eyes darted from his mom to his dad.
Douma viewed parenting as a competition, a game he was determined to win at all costs. "Come to papa, my little blessing," he cooed, his voice dripping with honeyed sweetness. "Come to daddy. Daddy's going to cuddle you just how you like it."
You tried to make little Keito look at you and crawl towards you by calling out to him, "Hey Keito, look at me! Come on, you can do it! Come to mama!" You waved your hands and made silly faces to get his attention, but he seemed more interested in his father crouching on the other side of the room. 
Eventually, after a few more attempts, the boy finally looked up and smiled at Douma before trying to crawl on all fours like a little explorer towards his dad.
Douma's iridescent eyes twinkled with sheer delight as he eagerly outstretched his arms, beckoning the little boy towards him.
As the child reached him, Douma let out a boisterous laugh, scooping him up into a warm embrace. "My little blessing!" He exclaimed, his voice brimming with affection. "Of course you would come to me, your beloved father."
You improved your position to sit on your butt while letting out a sigh full of sadness. "Of course! I could have predicted it! I'm getting jealous of you, Douma. Keito always chooses you over me."
Demon's eyes sparkled with joy as he gently bounced the baby boy in his arms. "Of course he does," he said with a chuckle. "I am his father, after all. And we share those beautiful eyes." He leaned in close to the baby's face and whispered, "You're a blessed child, just like I was… and am still."
You smiled a little to yourself, even though your heart ached, as you thought about how your son always seemed to prefer his father over you. It wasn't that he didn't love you or want to spend time with you, but there was something about his father's carefree demeanor that drew him in.  
It hurt, but you knew that it wasn't a reflection of your love or your abilities as a mother. Instead, it was just a phase that you had to accept and be patient with. Despite the sadness that lingered in your heart, you knew that your son was lucky to have such a loving and involved father in his life.
As you sat on the wooden floor, lost in thought, you couldn't help but think about how much Douma had changed since you had become pregnant. It was as if the presence of new life growing inside you had awakened something inside him that he had never known existed before. He was always a curious and intelligent man, but now he seemed to be discovering the world and its human emotions in a new and profound way.
In the past, Douma held a disdainful view of children. They were a nuisance, always getting in the way and making noise. He had no desire to interact with them and would have been perfectly content to live a life without their presence.
However, all of that changed when his own blessed son was born. As soon as he held the little one in his arms, he felt a deep sense of attachment and responsibility. Suddenly, the child became his everything, his one and only source of pride and joy. "I never thought I would care for a child," Douma confided to you. "But now that I have one of my own, I can't imagine life without him. He's the most precious thing in the world to me."
After getting up from the floor, you cleared your throat. "Hey, Douma, I needed to tell you something, and I've almost forgotten. Kokushibo announced his visit. As far as I know, he'll bring that other demon you spoke about a lot, Akaza, was it his name?" You rubbed your chin with your sharp nail. "I think that Muzan is sending them to calculate the possible risks, you know what I mean?"
Douma's eyes widened as he perked up, a glint of excitement sparkling in his gaze. "Akaza is coming to visit me? How delightful! I have been dreaming of this for decades!" His voice dripped with anticipation, his mind racing with thoughts of what he could offer his esteemed guests.
Suddenly, the booming voice of Kokushibo interrupted his thoughts, filling the room with its powerful presence. Douma wasted no time and eagerly slid the door open to reveal both demons standing before him.
"Kokushibo-dono, welcome, and Akaza-dono! I cannot express how overjoyed I am that you have decided to visit me!" Douma exclaimed, his tone effervescent with pleasure.
Kokushibo merely strode into the room with a nod of acknowledgment, his stoic demeanor in stark contrast to Douma's bubbling enthusiasm.
You bowed my head respectfully towards Kokushibo, acknowledging his presence and authority. You approached Douma and stood behind him, as if you were trying to hide a little.
Akaza was not at all thrilled about the visit that he was forced to take part in, but he stepped in regardless. As he looked around the room, his eyes eventually fell upon you, and he was taken aback by your beauty. He couldn't help but feel surprised that Douma had managed to find someone as seemingly pretty and cute as you.
Akaza quickly regained his composure, and continued with politeness, albeit with a hint of skepticism in his tone. "Interesting place."
"My followers come here to see me. And, well now, him as well," Douma smiled proudly, showing off his baby to Akaza. "They ask me for all sorts of stuff."
Akaza couldn't help but feel a little annoyed at Douma's boastful attitude, but he kept his cool. "I see."
"That's why we are here. The child," Kokushibo said, pointing at little Keito.
Although you felt the urge to take the boy out of Douma's hands, you resisted the temptation.
Akaza glanced over at the tiny bundle cradled in Douma's arms, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Is that it?"
You nodded a little, looking at the pale demon from behind your partner's shoulder. "This is Keito."
Douma couldn't resist adding his own comment. "Oh yes, Akaza-dono! This is my little Keito. A child as blessed as me," he boasted, a sly grin spreading across his face.
Kokushibo strode over to the trio, his eyes fixed on the tiny bundle in Douma's arms. Without a word, he reached out and plucked the baby from Douma's grasp, holding him up by the back of his collar as if he were a mere kitten.
As Kokushibo carelessly plucked your son from Douma's hands, you felt a sudden wave of dizziness wash over you; your vision began to blur, and you swayed unsteadily on your feet. You couldn't believe how casually Kokushibo had handled your precious child, as if he were nothing more than a mere object. Your maternal instincts kicked into overdrive, and you fought to stay upright as a rush of panic coursed through your body. "Careful, you're handling a baby, not some kind of doll."
Akaza took notice of your distress and turned his gaze towards you, his expression betraying a hint of concern. His eyes darted between you and Douma, assessing the situation at hand.
Meanwhile, Kokushibo glanced at you before expertly cradling little Keito in his arms, as if he had done it a thousand times before. It was clear that he was confident in his abilities to handle the child.
Douma noticed Akaza's expression and sought to reassure you. "You see love? No need to worry! It's Kokushibo-dono," he said, flashing you a reassuring smile. "Oh! Right! Akaza-dono, this is my one and only Y/N," he said, tapping your shoulder to get your attention. "Love, this is my best friend, Akaza," he introduced, gesturing towards another demon.
You let out a loud sigh full of relief when Keito was placed safely in Kokushibo's arms. After looking at Akaza, you bowed your head slightly.
As Akaza turned to face Douma, his curiosity piqued. "How did you manage to find someone like her?" He asked, gesturing towards you. "I had no idea that demons were capable of breeding, though."
Kokushibo, cradling a small baby in his arms, looked up at the conversation. "Because they aren't," he chimed in a stoic tone.
Douma, however, remained unfazed. He simply smiled, pulling you close against his side. "You see, my dear Akaza," he began, his voice smooth as silk. "It takes more than just biology to create life. It takes love, devotion, and a strong desire to create something beautiful in this world."
As you heard Kokushibo's words, you could feel your face flush with embarrassment.
As Douma spoke, Akaza scoffed in disbelief. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, and his expression made it clear that he was highly skeptical of Douma's claims. "Yeah, surely. I bet you were blessed after devouring so many women."
The infant nestled in Kokushibo's arms looked up at him with wide, curious eyes, studying him intently, as if he were trying to decipher his intentions.
Kokushibo's six piercing eyes scrutinized the child before him, his curiosity piqued as to why it wasn't cowering in fear. His gaze bore into the tiny creature, searching for any sign of weakness or vulnerability.
With a dismissive roll of his eyes, Douma waved a hand at Akaza, as if brushing off his words. "Come on, Akaza, you know how it is. I at least devour women and gain strength from them. And I was simply fortunate enough to come across this cute little thing," he gestured to you, "who was kind enough to give me a child."
Akaza's patience was wearing thin as Douma continued to speak in his usual arrogant and disrespectful manner. With a deep scowl etched on his face, Akaza finally spoke up, his voice low and dangerous. "If you don't stop speaking that way," he warned, "I'll be forced to give you a punch, like the last time."
To Kokushibo's surprise, the baby suddenly broke into a wide, toothless grin, his chubby cheeks dimpling with delight.
Kokushibo's gaze shot up from the infant in his arms at the sound of Douma's voice. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken animosity. "Akaza," Kokushibo growled softly, his voice low and warning. "I did not bring you here so the two of you can fight."
Douma merely rolled his eyes, a look of pure boredom etched onto his features. "I don't want any blood on those floors. It's hard to clean."
You just stood there, facepalming at the entire situation. "Kokushibo-dono, can I have my son back?" You asked.
Kokushibo nodded and carefully handed the boy back to you.
You set your arms in a little cradle, to make sure Keito was safe in them.
Douma couldn't resist the urge to taunt Akaza. With a sly grin, he presented the baby boy to his fellow demon, holding the child up for him to see, almost shoving Keito into Akaza's face. "Look at this, Akaza," Douma chimed, his voice dripping with amusement. "I made this."
"Douma, please," you said firmly, your tone serious. "You need to be on our best behavior here. Remember, you weren't the only one involved in making this child."
Without a word, you simply reached out and gently took the child from his arms, cradling him against your chest.
Akaza let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head in amusement at the entire situation. "Well, well," he said, looking at you with a wry grin, "It seems that your woman has some balls after all, Douma."
Douma gasped, feeling offended. "Well, I at least have a woman."
"Kokushibo-dono, can I have a word with you?" You asked the Upper One, handling the baby back to Douma after a moment.
Douma gladly accepted and hugged the boy.
Kokushibo nodded and followed you to the other room.
"Kokushibo-dono, forgive me for asking, but did Lord Muzan say anything?" You asked after sliding the door closed.
Kokushibo's words hung heavy in the air, his face etched with a deep sense of concern and apprehension. "Lord Muzan wasn't pleased about this development," he said slowly, his voice low and measured. "It was something that should never have happened, yet he's holding onto a glimmer of hope."
As Kokushibo spoke, you listened intently, calmed a little by his words. "I wasn't even aware that it was possible for a female demon to get pregnant," you said, your voice filled with wonder. "So, what does this mean for us? To me and Douma? I just hope Lord Muzan won't kill any of us."
"He said that getting rid of you or Douma would be a waste of his time, but he will need the child's blood to run some tests on it."
"Of course," you whispered, nodding your head. "Thank you for bringing the good news, Kokushibo-dono."
Meanwhile, Akaza observed Douma interacting with the baby.
"What are you looking at?" Douma asked, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "You want to hold him?"
Akaza furrowed his brows, looking hesitant for a moment. "I don't know," he said, his voice uncertain, "I'm not really good with babies."
But despite his reservations, Akaza eventually relented, reaching out to take the baby from Douma's arms. As he held the child, his expression softened, and a look of wonder crossed his face. He gently poked the little boy's cheek with his finger. "Squishy."
As Douma observed the scene before him, he couldn't help but emit an amused chuckle. "Awwww! Akaza-dono! You two look so cute together! I never expected to see you looking so soft," he gasped, his voice laced with playful mockery.
"He's so small," Akaza murmured, gazing down at the baby in his arms. "And so fragile. Everything would be fine if not your scent lingering over him," Akaza looked at Douma, his face serious. "You don't deserve any of this, you do understand?"
Douma's grin never faltered as he spoke. "You may say that I don't deserve it, but I have everything I could possibly want. I have a woman I adore and a child that we brought into this world together."
Akaza's expression suddenly turned stern, and he glared at Douma. "Stop grinning like an idiot," he growled, "Or I'll wipe that stupid grin off your face. I have no idea why and how she got involved with you, and it's not my business. She seems like a decent demon, not that strong, yet still intriguing. I can assure you, that if anything will happen to any of them because of your careless behavior, I won't be that nice anymore."
The corners of Douma's lips curled upward as he watched Akaza interact with Keito. The sight was simply too precious to ignore. He couldn't resist the urge to tease his companion. "Aww! Are you going to be a good uncle, Akaza-dono? I always knew you had it in you!" Douma exclaimed, his voice light and playful as he wrapped an arm around Akaza's broad shoulders.
Akaza stood there, his fist clenched at his side, his eyes fixed on Douma's smirking face. He was trying his best to remain calm, to control the overwhelming anger that was bubbling up inside him. But it was difficult. So difficult!
Douma had always been a thorn in his side, with his arrogance, lack of respect for women and his self-assured demeanor. And now, with this baby in the picture, it was even worse.
As much as he wanted to punch Douma's face in, Akaza knew he couldn't. Not now, not when there was a child in the room. So he took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to compose himself. "Whatever, Douma."
As Douma's fingers wove through the strands of Akaza's disheveled hair, a mischievous grin played across his lips. 
Soon, you and Kokushibo returned to the room and after exchanging some more courtesies, you thanked him and Akaza for the visit and assured them you and Douma were at Muzan's disposal at any time.
"Keep the boy safe," Kokushibo had reminded the two of you before leaving for good.
The baby smiled at him widely, blinking shortly after as the little hiccup kicked in.
Suddenly, Douma let out a low chuckle, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Look at this, a hiccup."
You walked closer and looked down at the boy, who had a clearly confused grimace glued to his little face. "He's adorable. He's perfect."
"Only because he has a perfect mother," he whispered.
You smiled at Douma briefly, kissing your son's forehead.
"Y/N? I was thinking...” He hummed.
You gave your partner a glance, tilting your head slightly.
"Well, since we made it once, and now we know it's possible..." he trailed off, biting his lip softly. "Maybe our boy would like to have a little sibling?"
"I'm not going through this ever again," you told him with a sweet smile. "Once was enough."
"Oh, Y/N, please!” Douma whined. "Making the baby is fun! So let's make another one."
After giving him another glance, you let out a sigh, massaging your temples. "Douma."
As he leaned into your shoulder, his voice low and sultry, you couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine. "Do you see him?" He murmured, nodding towards the young demon playing in the corner. "He needs a playmate, someone to keep him company while we're away. We could be the perfect family, two beautiful demons and two adorable little ones."
You let out a sigh. "Firstly, how will you explain this to Lord Muzan? Secondly, how can you be sure it'll happen again?"
"Well... We won't know unless we try," he smiled at you sweetly.
"Fine," you told him, taking Keito into your arms. "Fine. Let it be."
"Oh, I love you, my goddess!" He exclaimed, his voice filled with pure adoration.
You smiled at his words, feeling your heart swell with love for both him and your child. "I love you too," you said softly, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his jawline. "You both are everything to me."
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3K notes · View notes
hansensgirl · 3 months
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summary. | Your affair with your boyfriend’s dad escalates drastically.
prompts. | Steve Rogers + boyfriend’s dad + “You’re so cute when you’re struggling like that.” + cum-play, requested by Anonymous.
pairing. | dark!boyfriend’s dad!Steve Rogers x fem!reader.
warnings. | NON/DUBCON, smut, cheating, age gap, restraints, cum-play, fingering, male masturbation, orgasm (f), Daddy kink, praise, dirty talk, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!
author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics
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You can’t even begin to imagine what your boyfriend would say if he caught you.
Steve keeps telling you his son won’t be home anytime soon, but you doubt it. He has a way with words where he can get you to do anything, and that scares you.
“Fuck, you’re so sexy, baby,” the older grunts, keeping your legs spread open with one of his strong hands. His skin is flushed and covered in sweat—you can’t help but admire him, even though you shouldn’t. 
The affair should’ve ended ages ago, but every time you tried, Steve managed to convince you otherwise. 
“I should’ve tied you up a while ago—I love seeing you like this, all vulnerable…” Steve says, and you wiggle your fingers just a bit. He’s got your hands above your head, wrists tied together with a piece of red silk. You still have feeling in your arms, but the knot is tight enough to prevent you from breaking loose. 
Your boyfriend’s dad strokes his large cock, pre-cum dripping down and onto his pale hand. He stares at your cunt, admiring his work. Your clit is raw and puffy, and your hole is leaking with his cum. It drips down to your ass and then the bed, staining the navy blue sheets. 
“Do you like it, sweetie?” Steve questions, looking up at you. You’re a panting, writhing mess, with your chest rising and falling. Your tits beckon him to play with them, and so he does. 
The hand he used to keep your legs open—even though the special rope that he tied you to the bedposts with already does that—travels to your chest. He pinches at your hard nipples, and you whimper, pouting at the sensation. 
“Uh-huh, I love it, Daddy,” you tell him, your mouth operating before your brain has time to even think about what he’s asked you. But it’s true—you love everything he does to you, even though you always fight him a bit at first. But Steve likes that; it makes him so hard. “I know you do, baby.”
Steve leans forward and takes one of your nubs into his mouth, sucking and teasing it with his teeth as he massages the other. He then switches, giving the other breast the same treatment until you’re saying, “Daddy… Please…”
You can feel the older man’s cock against your thigh, and you realize that you’re in need of another orgasm. When he’s around, you’re insatiable. Perhaps it’s the thrill of getting caught—the secrecy. Or maybe it’s just that Steve Rogers knows how to make you feel so good. 
“What does my princess need? Hm?” he questions once he pulls his mouth off your tit, releasing your nipple with a resounding ‘pop!’. “Wanna come again, Daddy… Please?” you ask sweetly, giving Steve your best puppy-dog eyes.
You catch sight of the greys that decorate his hair, especially in his beard. You’ve told him how much you love them before, and afterwards, he ate you out until you were crying.
“Daddy’ll make you come again, baby. Don’t worry,” he tells you, and you thank him nicely. “You’re such a good girl,” Steve coos. 
He stretches his dominant hand down to your messy pussy, and he rubs your folds just to tease you. You whine, and he chuckles. He reaches down to your leaking hole and groans when he feels just how wet you are. 
“Daddy really filled you up, huh, baby?” Steve notes, dipping his fingers into the mixture of his seed and your arousal. He coats his digits in his cum and pushes in, shoving two fingers into your cunt. Your back arches off the bed, and Steve praises you for taking his digits so well. “Daddy’s best girl.”
Steve begins to fuck you with his fingers, sometimes pulling them out entirely to spread his cum all over your pussy. The wet sounds that come from your pussy are so loud, but your moans drown them out. He curls his fingers skillfully, reaching that sweet spot that has your legs shaking just a bit.
“Fuck! ‘M gonna come,” you whimper, and the older man curses. “Gonna come for Daddy? Go on, make an even bigger mess, baby,” Steve urges.
As he says this, you come undone around his fingers. Your walls clench him, and you thrash around a bit from the amount of stimulation. 
“Good girl, so good for me,” Steve hums, and through your fucked-out stupor, you register the tell-tale chime of the sensor on the front door. Your boyfriend. He calls out, asking if anyone’s home.
Panic surges through you, and your stomach drops. Your sensual mood is immediately killed, and you try to wriggle out of the situation Steve has placed you in.
The older man chuckles. “You’re so cute when you’re struggling like that,” he says, and he doesn’t do anything to help.
“Steve! Untie me—he’s gonna catch us,” you spit through clenched teeth, scared and angry. “Mm, no,” he bluntly tells you, and you fight him even more. “Please! You can’t let him see us like this,” you reason, tugging at your restraints.
“I think it’s time he learns how much his girlfriend loves Daddy. Don’t you agree?” 
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rrairey · 27 days
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synopsis: comforting gojo after eating spicy food!! or trying to.... contents: tooth-rotting fluff
a/n: i read through my past fics and saw this hc soooo here I am writing it. and since I'm nice I'm spoiling you with fluff.
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"I-Its h-hot."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is!!"
Raising an eyebrow with no sympathy at all on your face, you watch as Gojo lunge for the whole carton of milk, not even bothering to get a glass.
That bitch put his mouth on the carton lid, smearing his germs all over the carton.
The strongest was now a pathetic snivelling mess.
After one bit of the ramen that you made.
With one jalapeno mixed into it.
One.
"Baby, it's too spicy."
Glancing over at you and tossing the empty carton of milk into the trash, his ethereal blue eyes filled up with tears as his lower lip trembled.
"That's because you have the spice tolerance of a goddamn rock."
"Have sympathy for your poor, suffering husband!!"
"Shut up."
Turning to you with a shocked look on his unfairly pretty face, you couldn't help the stab of sympathy as he sniffed, his usual smirk disappearing into a sad tilt of his lips.
"Do...."
Taking a sip of water, you watch as he turns to you with a betrayed gaze and gestures in a vague direction.
"Do you not love me anymore?"
You spit out your water.
"WHAT?"
"You don't love me anymore!!!"
"When did i say that?"
Turning away from you, he hunched his back, obviously pouting from where he was sulking and you shook your head with a small sigh.
" 'Toru, i would always love you."
Silence.
And with a roll of your eyes, you stand up and walk over to where he is sitting, crunching down so that you face his back and put a gentle hand on his shoulders.
Only to yelp as he quickly turned around with a snarky smirk, picking you up so that you were in his lap, and wrapped his long arms around you so that you had no hopes of escape.
"You fell for it!!! You actually fell for it!!"
"Let me go you big lunk!!"
"Nope~!"
Scowling as you wiggle around, you were now face-to-face with the beautiful man, a cocky smile overlaying the previous sad exterior.
"Satoru Gojo, Let me go-"
You were cut off by a gentle, but crushing kiss as Gojo leaned forward, quick as a damn snake to entrap his lips with yours.
The food was long forgotten about and getting cold on the countertop, the sweet innocent kiss, wasn't so innocent now.
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taglist:@no-b10g-here @anxious-chick @aleluvsuu @funky-writes @oneofthesevensins @ladywinterfell13 @kazhyloveslaw @dazaisms @cyb3r-c44t @princessluvz @notherenortherejustaway @okaydokeyyo @iheartamora @haloswrld @churipu @lysaray @olivianyx @desihopelessromantic @kiri1330 @scryarchives
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itadorey · 8 months
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𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍
pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: you contemplate gojo's existence on a roof, at night, alone (or so you think). wc: ~1.7k genre: mostly fluff, a tiny bit of angst at the beginning warnings: some jjk manga spoilers, talks about geto, talks about death i listened to "moon song" by phoebe bridgers while writing this so you could say it's loosely inspired
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gojo satoru is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer alive.
that isn't an opinion, it's a fact so widely accepted that the higher-ups have begun sending him on increasingly dangerous missions. you're unsure as to whether it's an attempt to end his life or if they're just taking advantage of the fact that there is no curse strong enough to beat him.
a sigh escapes your lips as you lie down, your back pressed up against the ridged shingles of the school's roof. it's neither uncomfortable nor comfortable, but you don't know if it's because of the architecture or if you're just numb.
you've been feeling numb pretty often lately.
things have changed in the past few years. there's an emptiness that seems to live within you, created by geto's defection and somewhat filled in by the presence of fushiguro megumi. you hope that the more time you spend with him, the easier it gets.
(it's hard when he looks so much like his father).
you think about megumi in an attempt to stop thinking about gojo, and you wonder if he knows how it pains you to take the boy in. you also wonder if it's some sort of self-inflicted punishment for him; saving the son of the man he murdered. it sounds like something gojo would knowingly put himself through.
the moonlight is bright as you force yourself to focus on the sky, your eyes studying the stars scattered about in a weak attempt to locate the few constellations you know. you shut your eyes almost immediately, sucking in a deep breath as you remember it was geto who taught you everything you know about constellations.
you wonder if gojo thinks about him often. (you know he does).
there's a brief moment where you wiggle around uncomfortably before sitting up, your hair blowing in the soft breeze as you bring your knees up to your chest. sleep has been evading you for quite some time now, but it's always worse whenever gojo is gone. you claim your insomnia stems from a place of concern, but shoko argues that it's because you have some sort of codependent relationship with your blue-eyed friend. you wonder if she's right.
it isn't long until you notice his presence, and you know that he knows that you know he's there. he doesn't move for a few minutes, and neither do you, content to keep staring out at nothing. it isn't until a stronger breeze blows, making you shiver, that he finally comes to stand next to you.
"cold night," gojo comments, one hand in his pocket. there's a bundle under his other arm, and you barely spare him a glance as you answer.
"you're back early," you mutter, identifying the bundle as the woven blanket you tend to keep at the foot of your bed. "i thought it was a five day thing."
"you know how it is," he says in response. you hum in return because yes, you do know how it is for gojo. for him, a five day mission can be completed in a matter of hours if he really tries, and you're all of a sudden reminded of just how powerful gojo satoru is.
his birth changed the balance of the world and yet, the holder of the six eyes, user of the limitless technique, and master of infinity leans down to wrap a blanket around your shivering form. you feel his fingers brush against your arms.
you stare at him for a few seconds as he adjusts the blanket, the sunglasses perched on his nose making you frown. they look frighteningly similar to the ones he wore back then. you think they might actually be the same pair. there's little hesitation on your behalf as you reach out, gently grabbing them and plucking them off of his face. his eyes are trained on you the entire time, and without the protection from the sunglasses, you are forced to bear the entire weight of the stare from his six eyes.
as you stare into bright, endless blue flames, you think it's not so bad.
the satoru from back then was bright and bold, as unforgiving as the summer sun as he developed into a formidable sorcerer alongside his best friend. you think the one you're seeing now is more like the moon; still bright and impressive but just a little less intense. he's more bearable, slightly matured by the highs and lows of being a caretaker to a grumpy child, but just as out of reach as he has always been.
you presume geto's sun died the day he left.
nothing is said as gojo takes a seat next to you, his knee bumping against yours as he tries to mimic your position. next comes the brushing of his pinky finger against yours, and you wonder if something happened on his mission. the tenderness of his touches is unusual but not unwelcome. it's something you don't think you'll ever get used to.
"here," you say, unwrapping the blanket from around yourself and extending one arm towards gojo. he looks at you, bewilderment clear on his face. you don't do anything but send him a tired smile, motioning for him to scoot in even closer. "it's big enough for both of us."
gojo listens without complaint, pressing himself up against you until you're able to rest your head on his shoulder. there's something comforting about having you close, and he knows it's because you bring him a sense of relief that he doesn't think he's felt since geto suguru left him behind.
left both of you behind.
"do you think about him?" you ask, breaking gojo out of his thoughts. he stays quiet, but you know that he knows who you're talking about. you've started to avoid saying his name out loud but its all you can hear in your head as you wait for his response. geto, geto, geto.
it soon becomes abundantly clear that gojo refuses to answer, and you keep speaking in desperate hopes of trying to finally get rid of the emptiness you feel inside. you think that'll never happen.
"because i do," you admit quietly, your chest tightening as you trace random shapes on your knee. "i think about him all the time and i just wonder where i went wrong because we were so happy, satoru. i think about all those late nights where we stayed up with shoko, laughing and pretending for once that everything would be fine. we knew our lives were dangerous but when we were together it didn't matter because we were together."
gojo pretends not to hear the soft crack in your voice as you get increasingly louder, cutting yourself off with a gasp before taking a deep breath and continuing.
"why did he leave?" you ask quietly. your words ring loudly in gojo's ears and for once in his life, he doesn't have anything to say. "i keep thinking about that day and i don't get it. why didn't he come to us? there was no reason for him to have left us just like that, is there? i thought he loved us. i know he loved you. and i can't make sense of his actions wit--"
"is that what you've been losing sleep over? that's stupid, you shouldn't be concerning yourself over this. and he loved you too, y'know? a lot," gojo says softly, cutting you off before you can spiral even more. there's a pregnant pause as he reaches out, grabbing your hand and bringing it closer to him as he toys with your fingers. you look up at him when he intertwines his hand with yours, eyes widening when you see him already staring at you. his free hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb softly stroking the area right under your eye. you're sure your eyebags are looking worse than normal. "and so do i."
it takes you a moment to process his words, the silence growing as you think back to what he had said before initiating physical contact with you. when you realize what he has admitted, that he's in love with you, you feel your face begin to heat up under his hand.
"what?" you squeak, eyes wide as you watch his face. you see amusement dancing in his eyes, the corner of his mouth pulling up slightly at your response.
"i am in love with you," he admits quietly, eyes darting down to your lips when they part open in shock. "and i would really like to kiss you right now."
gojo is rewarded with an answer when you lean forwards, your lips connecting in a clumsy kiss as you do your best to remain still on the roof. his hand disconnects from yours in favor of joining his other in cupping your face, deepening the kiss as he does so. your hands come up to grab onto his forearms, and you find yourself shifting onto his lap in an attempt to get even closer to gojo.
"in case it isn't clear, i'm in love with you too," you murmur softly once you've separated. your arms drop to wrap around gojo, and he lets go of your face in favor of hugging you close to him.
"well that's a relief!" he says in his usual teasing tone. it makes you happy to see him happy and for the first time in a long time, neither one of you are thinking about geto suguru in that moment. you giggle when gojo leans back, lying down on the roof as he forces you to cuddle him. you rest your face in the crook of his neck, letting your eyes drift close as he hums.
"you know you don't need to worry about anything, right?" gojo asks, his words uncharacteristically soft as he runs his fingers through your hair. "you have me, and i can do anything to keep you safe. in fact, i will to whatever it takes to keep you safe and happy and i hope you know i'd give you the moon if you really asked me to."
you snort at his cheesy words, your heart feeling lighter than it ever has as he joins you in your laughter. you lean up to press a kiss to his jaw before settling back into your previous position, wrapping the blanket more tightly around the two of you.
"i don't need the moon, satoru. i just need you."
he smiles.
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reblogs are appreciated <3
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highvern · 3 months
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Baby Blues
Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader
Genre: fluff, domestic!au
Warnings: gross tooth rotting fluff, dad!gyu mom!reader.
Length: ~500
Note: Drunk Goggles couple is back! for a moment! I'm in a bit of a slump and needed something easy and they're so near and dear to my heart. I saw a tiktok of a baby refusing to say dada and i couldn't let it go. threw in some speech development bc im annoying (babies use their lips to say M and B sounds and their tongues to say D which is a skill they develop later)
also GIRL DAD MINGYU SUPREMACY
read more here
“Say da-da.”
“Mama!”
“Your daughter hates me.” Mingyu huffs, head falling to the kitchen table with a thunk. 
Hana delights in her fathers dramatics, squealing her joy while yogurt goes flying. Her chubby fists clap against the plastic table of her high chair and little legs kick out. Mingyu smiles through the pain, never able to truly be annoyed with his favorite person in the world.
Mingyu had been trying to get her to say dada for the better part of an hour. So far each request was either answered with "mama", bubble noises, or unintelligible baby gibberish. You'd simply watched the entire thing unfold from behind your coffee cup, smirking into the rim at Mingyu's desperation.
“Our daughter doesn’t hate you." You say, rolling your eyes. "She’s a baby.”
“No, she hates me. Watch. Say dada, Hana.”
Hana doesn’t pause before shrieking, “Mama!”
“See!” He argues, arms out towards the babbling baby like she's torturing him on purpose.
“She just loves her mama, don’t you Hana?” You coo at her, stroking the top of her head covered in wispy hair as you wipe the mess of drool and her breakfast away.
“Ggggh!”
“Daddy is silly, isn’t he?”
“Bfffff.” Hana spits, ungracefully wiggling in her seat.
Eyes wide, you agree with her ramblings. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
“Hey! Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.” Mingyu pouts.
“We would never!” You give Hana a cartoonish wink that sends her into a fit.
Returning to the sink with dirty dishes, you listen to your husband try desperately to get Hana to say the words he’s been begging to hear since she called you mama for the first time a week ago. Hana humors him, pure sunshine under Mingyu’s constant attention; giggling at his crestfallen face every time like its new.
Deciding to take mercy, you approach Hana’s chair and lift her into your arms. “Gyu watch this. Hana, where’s baba? Baba?” You ask, pointing one of her pudgy fists directly at Mingyu.
“Bah…Bah?”
“She—she said—I’m baba!” Mingyu repeats dumbstruck, staring at your smiling face.  “LETS GO!” He whoops, rising to bolt around the kitchen. Jumping around the room like he won the lottery, fists punching the air in victory. 
It’s the same way he reacted when he found the positive test waiting for him on the bathroom counter almost a year ago. Unfiltered, unadulterated joy. Except there were far more tears when he found out he was going to be a dad, a broken lamp, and a broken couch.
Now, he grins like a mad man, chest puffed in pride that his daughter finally recognized him. As if it was ever a question despite Hana being a spitting image of Mingyu except for her nose which clearly comes from your gene pool. How she screams when he gets home from work and immediately picks her up for smothering kisses like he’d been gone more than a couple hours. Or when you’re all curled up on the couch and she falls asleep on his chest, her mouth open wide as she snores just like the man holding her. And the times all the boys visit to coo over their niece, bribing her with funny faces and silly voices to let them carry her, but the only person she reaches her little arms for his Mingyu.
Hana is Mingyu’s mini me, attached to his hip since her first day. But she's already learning how to get the best of him, no doubt a skill she inherited from you.
You and your daughter cackle in unison as Mingyu sweeps you both into a bear hug, alternating kisses between your lips and Hana’s almost bald head. 
“My girls,” he says with a squeeze, content seeping into his words.
“Mama!”
There's a sigh of resignation, and a nod of his head. “We’ll work on it.”
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ichangedmycornyahhname · 10 months
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Miguel O’Hara x spider-person!reader
Summary: Reader returns to the web of life after a run in with another spider person. Miguel of course isn’t too happy to hear about them interfering with other dimensions.
Warnings: smut- slutty smut | Miguel using his fangs and Talons to tease | Backshots? 🫶 | A little degrading | Choking | Kinda fluffy ig? | Miguel might be outta character but whatever
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She gulped, hands fiddling with one another as she walked through the twisting cavern where all of the other spider people resided. She knew she had screwed up, but she wasn’t about to let someone punch her and get away with it. Even if it may or may not have screwed up a timeline or two. Typically she’d find a way to avoid such a thing, or at least fix it. But this time, he had found out before she could do anything.
It’s not as though she didn’t like Miguel. In fact, the two had flirted once or twice. But it would seem their little fling was merely that. A fling. Which is why she was expecting a harsh lecture from the man.
She entered the lab he stayed in, the bright red, blue, and yellow lights beginning to overstimulate her eyes. Yet the large dark figure standing amongst it all is what kept her attention. “How many times do I have tell you?—“ He turned around, the lenses of his mask narrowing as he glared down at her. “You don’t go off without back up. Now you’ve gone and messed everything up Y/N.” He wasn’t wrong, and she knew it. That was why his words irritated her so. Her brows knitted, her twisting into a frown as she spoke up.
“You go out without backup all of the time Miguel. So how is this any different.” Her snarky comment seemed to do something to the Spider-Man, because he now found himself curling his hands open and closed as he inches closer to her. “Is that your excuse Y/N?” His curt response didn’t come as any shock to her, and all she could seem to do was shake her head and cross her arms. “That’s what I thought.”
That little comment only added more fuel to the fire. Her eyes narrowed beneath her mask, her arms unfolding as she turned around and began to walk away. She wouldn’t listen to his idiotic comments. Not today. Instead she attempted to excuse herself before she said anything she would regret. Although it would seem to be too late for that. In an instant she found her body being pushed against a cluttered desk, her cheek smushed against the cool metal. Her wrists were pinned beside her head, large firm hands grasping each. “Miggy— what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m getting sick of that attitude Y/N. Always rolling your eyes and making stupid jokes.” She jolted, the soft graze of a needle drawing her attention. Except, it wasn’t a needle. It was the small talons on his finger tips gently pricking at her suit. The odd feeling brought an even odder feeling within her stomach. And soon she found herself trying to look back at Miguel who was currently teasing at her shoulder blades with his fangs. They were sharp and prickled her back in just the right way. “Miggy..” She sputtered as her back arched, hips curving up in an attempt to get even the tiniest bit of friction. “Sit still.” Was all she received.
His hands traveled down her body, slowly trailing down her back, following the slight curve of her spine until finally his hands remained firm on her ass. His thumbs grazed over her bottom, squeezing and fondling as his kisses along her back trailed down. “Oh crap—“ Cool air slipped into her suit as the crotch area was torn through the middle and something warm intruded. Miguel’s finger rubbed circles around her sensitive area, the soft fabric of her panties drawing a chuckle from him. “So quick with comebacks, and now you’re wiggling your hips for me like a slut. How cute.” The sarcasm in his voice almost made her tell him to shut up, but his tongue interrupted before she could get another word out. The warmth of his tongue felt unfamiliar, as did the resounding slap that echoed through the place. Her ass stung, a whine leaving her as his thumb rubbed circles around the stricken area. “You’ll be fine.” He grumbled before he began to lap at her cunt. His tongue worked at her clit, licking and slurping lazily. And while he wasn’t even trying, she found herself humming softly at his touch. He continued to lap at her while using his hands to keep her in place. “Damnit wait-“
For once Miguel actually listened. His tongue no longer pressed pleasantly against her body, and he instead stood from his knees. “I didn’t mean literally- I just-“
Smack
A yelp of surprise bounced off the walls, her head lifting as Miguel’s hand remained stuck to her behind. A small smile was on his lips, the lenses of his mask narrowing ever so slightly. She knew that look. Miguel lifted one of her legs, hoisting it onto the table so that one leg was up and the other supported her. The bottom half of his suit was pushed down to his upper thighs, his happy trail peeking beneath the upper half of his suit. His meaty thighs flexed as he moved himself closer, and that’s when she felt the soft tip of his cock. It rutted against the side of her thigh, precum sticking to her skin as his hands found the small of her back. “Keep your legs spread like that. It might be a tight fit.”
-
“Miggy please! I can’t-“ Papers that had previously been on the metal desk were low strewn about, littering the floor. Her cheek was pressed against the desk, Miguel’s hand tangling in her hair as his heavy thrusts drew a moan from her each time. She could hear his hot breaths, and feel the way his abs flexed against her back as he leaned against her. Miguel’s fangs pricked at the top of her ear, his harsh pants making her clit throb. His hand that wasn’t occupied with her hair came down to squeeze at her curves, just as her pretty cunt squeezed perfectly at his cock. She gushed around him, squelches filling the room as he continued to pound into her.
Miguel was growing rougher, needier. He slipped his cock out and lifted her from the desk. Her feet met the floor, shaky and uneasy. “Spread your legs a little more. I won’t fit if you don’t.” He demanded as he kicked her legs apart a bit more. His hands returned to her body, one finding her neck while the other rested on her lower abdomen. “God, I was hoping you’d act like a bitch so I could’ve fucked that attitude out of you..but seeing how you melt for me..” His cock slipped back in, his hand trailing down from her stomach to her clit. He gave it the occasional rub, synchronizing it with every thrust. The act only drew more moans from her, her head lulling back onto his chest. “If you keep groaning like that I might cum mi amor..” His words, while a warning, only lured her in. She began to roll her hips as best she could, the friction causing Miguel’s breath to hitch. “Fuck you’re really are my slut huh? Cmere.”
His hips fucked into hers, the resounding slaps of skin being drowned out by their moans and groans. His cock throbbed inside of her as her orgasm caused her to tighten up. “Oh crap miggy…” She cursed under her breath. “Yeah I know baby..” He responded as his lips found hers, a slow sensual kiss ensuing. His finger swirled at her clit as he slipped his cock out, now fucking her thighs instead. The combined stimulation had her hunching over, her legs shaking as her orgasm crashed over her. “Y/N you’re spilling all over..fuck me.” Miguel groaned out, his head falling back as he bit back a moan. With his jaw clenched tight and sweat sheening his forehead, he came. Spurts of white decorated the messy desk, along with Y/Ns spider suit.
“Well fuck..if I would’ve known that was all it took to get you to fuck me then damn..” She chuckled breathily, her hands grasping at the desk as she attempted to steady herself.
“Shush, don’t ruin the moment..” Miguel placed a gentle kiss on the side of her neck, a groan leaving him as he wrapped his arms around her torso. “You’re still in trouble.”
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honestsycrets · 8 months
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enfócate | tutor!miguel o'hara x reader
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❛ pairing | tutor!miguel x student!reader, fake boyfriend!peter x reader
❛ type | explicit
❛ summary | jess is clear: miguel o'hara is a terrible boyfriend. he'll inevitably hurt you-- but peter has other ideas. or, you blow miguel in a library.
❛ tags | spanish tutor!miguel, bratty reader, a kiss with Peter, Miguel's jealousy, bjs, fake boyfriend!peter, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, undefined relationships, fuck boy Miguel.
❛ reqs fulfilled | see here.
❛ sy's notes | the pov on this piece bothers me, it jumps between reader and Miguel. however, i did write two separate pieces for this request (a combined 25 pages vs my usual 11/12). so, i decided to meld them together to create this piece. anywho, if it bothers you, i understand! ❤️ I yoinked a lot of the Spanish from my Spanish learners textbook, hopefully, it's acceptable.
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He knew he wanted you from the first day he saw you in the tea cafe. 
Jess and he rarely visited the tea shop. It was settled on the edge of campus. Close to the social sciences and arts, but far from the work he did in the Genetics department. As a Ph.D. student, however, not all the work was done in the lab. Jess liked to see the different types of people that came to this tea cafe, where the chair cushions were fluffy emerald pillows and plants hovered overhead.
“Miguel? What's---” 
You stood apart from the other students with their sloppy, half-cropped, or frumpy appearances, there was a particular care you took to dressing. It was the embroidered bow in your hair that drew his attention. When you left to fetch a refill of chai, he noticed the soft, frilled socks in tiny ankle boots. He just knew you would taste sweet, leering as he watched you at the drink bar. Jess glanced in your direction, the way you adorably bowed your head after the tea artist gave you your drink, and just knew. Jess looked over her shoulder. 
“Not her.”
Jess’s voice was a drawn-out sigh of your name, punctuated by her fist beating the table. Miguel perked at the mention of your name. Oh, so she knew you. She was probably sick of his shit. Good, he was also sick of being used as a vibe check for the lesbians she wanted to pick up.
“Don’t you have enough side pieces?” 
Miguel didn’t respond. 
“She probably has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Look who she's with.” 
That finally got a response. 
“You don’t know that,” he kept his eyes straight ahead. You caught him staring, wiggling your little fingers in a hello as you sat at a table. "I want her."
You sat with an incredibly frumpy, annoying photography student who once took his picture for the lab website. Could he be… his attention wavered when you pulled out a book: Español para el siglo. His lips quivered into a wildly sardonic grin. Oh no, no no. It was too easy. 
“You’ll ruin her. She’s too innocent.” 
He leaned in. 
“Are you going to help me or not?” 
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“Buenas tardes,” 
Two chairs and a thin desk. The small study room was more of a glorified broom closet for its students. You were lucky that there was a large window that looked out over the student union, flowers blooming up its brick siding. Bits of lush dark green ivy poked into the window’s view from the library’s tall wall. As the sun set on campus, rich orange and pink settled over the sunset on that warm Friday afternoon. At least the sight was pretty for how overwhelmingly small the space was.
It wasn’t the space that bothered you. It was your tutor.
He was big-- big big. Not just a little big, but really big. The kind of big that was on bodybuilding competitions. It made his long, blue-grey muscle shirt and grey sweats look tiny, sucked to his well-pumped muscle. The room felt a lot smaller as you looked at him, his long brown hair whipped back over his neck. His eyebrows raised on his dark forehead, arms turning one over another, a bundle of muscle.
“Ah... you're him? The man from the tea shop.” 
He pulled free his sunglasses and set them down. His warm chocolate eyes glanced from the edge of your now too-short skirt to the glint of a dagger necklace that beat between your breasts. He’s staring. Why is he staring-- you finger the dagger between your thumb and index fingers, soothing yourself with the manipulation.
“Miguel.” He warmed, pulling the seat out beside him. His voice was buttery and smooth, almost like rich caramel. The lilt in his voice lightened, inviting you to take a seat by him. You should. You thought. Sit down. “Siéntate." 
You stared.
"I said sit down.” 
That was a bad idea. You paused, slipping the bag down from under your shoulder and onto the beige tile by the door. Miguel watched every slight movement. That’s fine. It’s natural to do that. You tugged the bottom of your skirt and took a seat beside him. Miguel pushed the chair back in, pushing your chest to the edge of the desk space. Oh-- oh boy, he was strong. Of course, he was, he was built like a-- 
“Bueno. Now you're settled. How can I help you?” 
Do that again.
“Me? Oh! I... Jess said you could help me need to pass a test,” you murmured. The four semesters of Spanish seemed relatively easy compared to being stuffed next to this Adonis in this tiny study room. Your legs settled over your skirt, hands working over one another to will down the pulse of your wily excitement. What was wrong with you? “To pass my language requirement.” 
You should have been able to do that alone but-- let’s say you weren’t the most applied to the language in your childhood. A tutor was a great alternative to embarrassment and thousands of dollars in classes. If only he didn’t look like… this. His large hand left the pasty back of your chair.
“Hm,” he paused. “¿Puedes hablar español?” 
“Sí,” you murmured. “My mami was-- well, I should have listened to her.” 
Hm. 
You want to know what Hm means. Your leg tremored on its own accord. He swept a leather bag by his side up and pulled out a thick folder, running across several tabs. Lab notes, diet plans, pruebas. 
“It happens,” he notes, sliding a page free. “Let’s see how much you know, princesa.” 
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to know more, to hear the hum of Spanish bouncing off his lips. It was a world apart from your mother’s shrill screams on Saturday mornings to clean an already clean house. It held its own beauty and mystery when he spoke it. You took the page from him, setting it down on the bland tablespace by your phone, lighting up with a notification.
Jess When you meet Miguel, don’t do it.
"¿Princesa?" you asked.
"You dress like one. Don’t worry if you fail,” you plucked out a pink mechanical pencil, complete with little animated characters tightened around the wrapping. You perked at his words, choking a small smile. “I expect you to.” 
Why was he like this? You took another unfortunate look at him, his large forearm plastered over the desk, making the book he had to look like peanuts in comparison. God, he was hot-- you felt comparatively hideous, drooling over a man that was out of your league. Maybe he could be your piece of eye candy this year. Your phone buzzed along the table again. Miguel’s eyes shot to it, a frown pulling at his lips. 
Jess Don’t fuck him. He can’t keep his dick to himself.
He reaches over, flipping your phone down with an overworked smile sundering his expression. It’s almost fake. 
“Are you…” you turned your eyes to the questions on the page. “A student?” 
“Grad student,” Miguel answered. So, older than you then. “I graduated with a BA in Spanish and a BS in Genetics.” 
“Oh! A dual degree?” The man couldn’t be normal. He had to do both. “Did it… take a while?”
“No, it was accelerated.” 
He was unreal. There was no way this man was ordinary. It was physically impossible for the man to be that hot and successful. You scribbled across the page, nipping the back of your pencil at particularly hard questions.
“So you just do this for… a living?” you asked him. 
“I teach and train clients, yes.”
“Train?” 
“Gym,” Miguel set his cheek on his fist.
“I do cardio with Jess. No strength training for me.” Jess-- who suggested Miguel to you. You had some shit to bitch at her about the next time you saw her. Namely, why she didn’t warn you about Miguel. He was a boon for chaos in your life.
“I’d waste your time. I’m all marshmallow,” you pat your soft belly. “All pan dulce and burros.” 
He chuckled. 
“You have a beautiful body.” 
And that was that. You set the pencil down on a page half full of answers, glancing toward his full lips. They were quirked into an arrogant smirk. He knew the effect he had on women. He glanced to the page, then to you, his lips growing into a smile laden with arrogance. 
“Your hips--” he glanced down, “My girls couldn’t pay to get them.” 
He noticed. You supposed that the miniskirt wasn’t the best choice for meeting a new man.
“Do you talk to everyone like this?”
“No. Only the ones that look at me like you did." 
Oh. 
 If it were a game of whom ate whom up first, you had to be honest-- it may have been you. You couldn’t shoot anything back at that, angling your head down at the page guiltily. A sigh fell from his chest. His large hand came to the back of your head, cupping the thick bow on the back of your head. His fingers ran across the silk, teasing it between his fingers.
“Calm down, you’re not the first one to do it. You won't be the last,” he turned your head to look at him, large fingers combing through the strands of your hair. He chased the panic in your wide eyes, doe eyes blown wide. Your heartbeat soared into your chest, choking you there, looking for an outlet from your shame. 
“Breathe for me,” he leaned in, his warm breath tingling your ear. His cologne was clean, like the lapse of the waves on the shore back home where the tropical heat was a second skin. You listened, taking a weary, deep breath in, then out again. Again. 
“Go on.” His knuckles rapped on the sheet. Miguel’s hand fell away. You found yourself longing for it again. 
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“He’s gorgeous.” 
“I told you not to fuck him," your superior, Jess said, her feet bouncing off the stairstepper effortlessly.
“I didn't-- I just, he called me beautiful.” 
“He would call anyone beautiful if it meant fucking them. Don’t fall for it.” 
You knew Jess wouldn’t say it unless she were serious. She always knew what you needed help with, where to locate a good solution, and had the right words to calm you down.
“How?” you said, louder than you intended. You were suddenly thankful for the pounding music that beat down on your ears in your school’s gym and the rush of people that came and went. “Jess, you’re a lesbian. You don’t understand-- he’s thick. Like, he’s luchador status big. Big, big.” 
“I’ve dated some thick women.” 
“And he likes me,” you said pointedly, rushing to the topmost step, remembering his words. The way he calmed you down from your embarrassment, seeming without concern for his own body. It was… sweet. “Men usually don’t like me, Jess. I’m too… soft.” 
“Okay, girl, whatever,” you were pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Unless you’re going to be another one of his fuck toys, just ignore him.”  
“How?”
Her stare trained on the floors lapsed. Thirty and she was still going. “If you don’t want him, just fire him. What’s going to do? Come find you?” 
You stopped for the entirety of five… or ten seconds. Enough to consider her words. Enough to quite literally get plop off the stair stepper and onto the cold floor. Jess exhaled a stale breath, reaching over to jam the STOP button on your machine. Ow.
“Good job.” 
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Miguel likes to tutor you. Not because you’re good at Spanish, no, for a girl that grew up with a Spanish mother, your skills are quite poor. But he likes the opportunity to have you in a room all by yourself, late at night. Wednesdays are great days for that. 
Your soft buttercup yellow dress is short today, exposing your thick thighs that take up so much of the chair. He pretends that he’s listening as you go over a list of irregular verbs, your lip pouting in response to the irregular verbs. Some were simple in their familiarity like poder with endings such as pudiste; but the plurals and other irregular verbs, you pouted at. It was cute. 
“Miggy, it’s not funny, ” Oh, nicknames now. Miguel throws a glance at your glossy lips, undoubtedly sticky but oh so soft looking. 
“I never said it was.” 
“You’re smirking.” 
“Then don’t whine,” he said. “It’s cute.” 
“Oh--” As to be expected, you shifted your hands between your legs, drawing your skirt in between your legs. He faltered and took a glance, coasting his eye over its edges and memorizing the way it fell over your skin. You’ll ruin her, he remembers Jess saying. She wasn’t wrong, he sensed the bit of it now, how close you sat-- 
“Take a break, princesa. Vocabulary-- ascendencia.” 
Rather than take a break, you turned and caught the corner of his lips in what was a terrible, cherry-red kiss that would stain his skin. But the connection of your lips, puckered in a pouting kiss on his skin, caught him off guard. 
“Descent,” you took his red pen out of his loose grip, scribbling descent by the word. Fuck. Miguel took a sip of now cold coffee. A smile kept pulling at his cheeks, looking out of the window and catching the slight reflection of your lipstick smeared across his lip and cheek, he bobs his head into a nod.
“Correcto.” 
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You’re with Peter the first time you see Miguel with another woman. 
It’s at lunch. Tuesdays and Thursdays are regularly spent running to the College of Arts, waiting for Peter to get out, and a picnic. Today, you forgot to bring lunch, running off to the union hand wrapped around his elbow as he talked to you about a bright new camera lens filter.
“These new pictures are going to come out perfect! Thanks for lending me the money,” he beamed. You loved the way he talked about his art-- stopping to show you his newest pictures of the camera that hung around his neck. Peter was always good with a camera, catching you in all the prettiest angles in your trade of photos for… sponsoring a lens or whatever. Or, at least, bringing down the cost. “Look at this one. Look how pretty you look in that dress, kinda like a pin-up! We should do some’a those next.” 
Feet thumping over the pavement, you failed to sense Miguel's presence until you smelled his peppery cologne carried on the air. There, on a bench, he sat next to a girl. She was pretty, with long dark hair and soft skin. Her hand was on his thigh and his arm around her shoulder, eating the last bit of a flaky empanada-- your eyes burned, the closeness of her head on his shoulder, clearly done and finished, waiting for whatever next plan he had. You don’t want to know what that could be.
“Huh? Oh. hi Miguel!” Peter waved to your dismay. You held onto him a little tighter, wringing circles around his sleeve. Miguel spares you two a glance, his eyebrows pushing together. But he waves, lazy and short. You stifle the hot prick of tears at the corner of your eyes and yank Peter away. “Wha-- I’m coming, I’m coming!"
Days later, Peter has a plan.
“I’ve got it-- the solution to your tea guy problem! You should have told me sooner that it was Miguel.” 
Peter was very excited. Why, you weren’t sure. He liked to feel helpful. That’s why he was a photographer. Photography lets others feel beautiful and seen. He picked at your lunch, his head flopped on your thigh as he worked through his camera. 
“I’ll be your boyfriend!”
“You want to be my boyfriend?” you offered him a grape. He opened his mouth with an adorable ‘ah’ of his his lips. You slipped the grape between his lips. He chewed appreciatively. “I don’t know, Peter. Isn’t it lying?” 
“C’mon, I know Miguel. He’s macho. The kind of guy you have to make jealous. And I can do it! I’m boyfriend material. Aren’t I?”
“Sí. But I don’t think I can make him jealous.” 
It was a sunshiney day, sprawled out at lunch on a cool picnic blanket, tracing the clouds when you heard his voice. Soft, smooth, inviting. Your head spun around, this time with a lean blonde-haired girl-- her legs were long, tummy nice and flat, blue eyes shining like little sapphires set in her pale face. She swooned on his arm. The perfect sorority princess. What if he called her princesa, too?
“--close lab with me--” 
“I can do it myself.” 
Miguel’s eyes caught yours, raising his hand lazily to greet you as he walked down the sidewalk, undoubtedly back to his genetics lab on the other side of campus. Over where brilliant boys and girls and theys were, rushing through accelerated scientific programs while you figured out how to fix broken artifacts. He lived in another impossible world. A realm far away from Peter and you: photography and the maintenance of culture and art.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter's eyes were glossy with concern. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-- did I say something wrong?” 
You shook your head. Peter sat up, his eyes bounced up-- from Miguel over his shoulder to your sudden sad eyes. Peter set his hand on your cheek, the fibers of his soft pink cardigan tickling your jaw. Your eyes tore from Miguel, whose pace became sluggish as if steps along took immense effort. Peter’s nose bumped against yours, clumsy and oh so Peterish-- his hand on the middle of your back, his warm but cracked lips swallowing the gasp that tumbled from your lips. He tasted of sweet fruit, the sloppy lunch you shared, and a silly comfort. 
He watching? Peter murmured against your lips. 
You nearly forgot to return the kiss, captured in the way Miguel stared-- something in his warm brown eyes was almost wounded. Peter shoved you onto the picnic blanket, a soft sorry murmured under his breath as his thin frame fell between your legs. Miguel stomped away, his bumbling blonde rushing to keep up. 
“Oh yeah,” Peter rolled over onto his back, crossing his legs one over another. You watched Miguel stomp past the tall hedges, out of your line of sight. “He’s gonna be mad at you.” 
“Peter!” 
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Miguel was still in a bad mood hours later. 
“¡Qué surpresa!” he murmured, offering you your paper blotted with red circles. “You did remarkably shit on this test. Do you focus on anything? Or just Peter?” 
“Perdona me.” Your focus was shot with his consistent presence in your life. Not that he could appreciate that. 
“How long are you going to keep wasting my time?” 
“Are you talking about the Spanish or--”
Miguel set the red pen down, a sharp slam snapping the pen under his force. The fragile plastic snapped into shards of plastic. He flicked it away, paper and pen both, his large hand flexing in and out of a closed fist. You traced the tracks of his veins along his forearm.
“Are you mad that I kissed you?” 
“Stop.”
“Or are you angry that Peter did?” 
 “Don’t touch me.” 
Though he said that, you didn’t listen. You slid out of the chair and in between his spread legs, your hands trailing his handsome jawline. He jerked back when your lips caught his, the legs of his chair hitting the wall. Though he said no, his mouth opened to your kiss, and his palms flushed against your soft cheeks. You pinned him between your body and the wall-- and though you were sure he’d quickly whirl you off if he really wanted to, he didn’t. His tongue pushed into your mouth, owning yours. His hands skimmed your back, trailing lower and lower down your deep red dress until he connected with your ass. 
“You need to stop.” Miguel broke from his kiss. Though he said that, he brought you onto his lap. You felt little in his large arms, his hands guiding your hips over his crotch. “Before I do something you’ll regret.”
You listened to the sounds of the library’s floor. The scrunch of take out into the trash, the sing of a door opening and closing. It was dinner time. Most everyone had gone to get their snacks— and here you were, looking down at Miguel with rapt eyes. 
“Peter is just a friend.” 
“A friend who happens to jam his tongue down your throat,” he turned the word over on his tongue and found offense in it. “Now why do I doubt that?” 
“He only wanted to help.”
“By kissing you?” 
Your fingers trailed his jaw, dipping back down for another kiss if only to say you could. That Miguel couldn’t tell you what to do. A sound of frustration ripped up his throat. You felt him, his dick twitching to life behind those sweatpants. He felt big. You bit your lower lip— a movement that didn’t escape his attentive eyes. 
“By making you as jealous,” You slid off his lap and onto the dirty floor. But as you lifted a hand, cupping his dick through the heavy fabric, he couldn’t bear to stop you. 
His lips pulled in a wicked grin, your soft palm stroking along his length. He hooked his thumbs into his sweats, yanking them down over his knees and onto the floor. His cock kissed his belly, straining with droplets of moisture at the tip. Miguel set his hand on your shoulder and forced you to heel on the floor. His temperament evened out. “You were jealous.” 
“Yes--” you murmured. “Are.. those girls, are they special?” 
“Special? No, none of them are.” 
“I want to be.” 
“That so?” Your soft hands trailed along the dark hair on his calves, up his thighs, settling your nose where his muscular hand tightened around the root. He wrenched his swarthy hand along his length, drawing along his veiny cock shamelessly. "Let's see how much you do, princesa."
“Please.”
“Aquí se habla español.” Miguel teased. Your fingers dipped down, small tickles of your fingertips as his heavy balls. He watched you massage them with half-lidded eyes, his lips pursing in a pleased hum. 
“Por favor.” 
“Abre,” you did, sliding your soft mouth open, a well of saliva on your tongue. Miguel slid himself into your warm mouth, a ruptured groan fizzing in his chest. You didn’t want to be too loud— someone might look into the small window on the door, and see you on your knees between Miguel’s thick legs, sucking his cock down when you should be going over that test you just failed. 
You caught the salty beads at Miguel’s top on your tongue, sliding sloppily around his thick head, and lapping at his slit for more. Your soft hands stroked along his length, clumsy and shy. He hummed in approval, a sound you were more than thankful to elicit. Miguel took a fist full of your hair and drove himself into your mouth, your tongue stroking the underside of his length. 
“Pero mira esto,” Miguel wrenched his head in your hair, grabbing handfuls of it in his palm. “You can focus on something. Sucking my dick.”
Even if you wanted to look up, Miguel drove your head down onto his dick, the dark, trimmed tuft of his pubic hair tickling your nose. He drew his hips back. You nearly pulled off him, if not for his hand assuring that you wouldn’t move off of it. Drool coursed down from your lips, soaking your chin and neck, connecting to his cock as if it were a spiderweb. Your cheeks flushed with blood— you must have looked a mess. 
“Coño," Miguel tutted with his tongue, grasping his phone. Your lips pursed around his tip, eyes flickering up to catch the lens of his phone camera on your ruined face. A picture or a video, you weren’t entirely sure. Only that it sent thumps of pleasure down your core to know he wanted to record it, keep it close. You suckled along his sensitive head, working his moans free. He set his phone aside. 
Miguel stood and dragged your head along with him to pin you between the ledge of the desk space and his wonderful hips. His hands slipped behind your head, keeping you still and steady, driving himself deep into your mouth. Past your tongue, down your throat, it felt like he hit parts of you that you could only dream of. You struggled with his size, choking the urge to swallow him when he forced you to hold him there. As if your throat was just a hole for his pleasure. Your sad attempt to suckle him down was tempered by the rocking of his hips, his needy face fucking. Your eyes screwed shut, bits of color dancing behind your eyes, the easiest way to deal with this was to focus— on the way he tasted, the scent of his fresh body wash, the light judder of his hips as he came close. 
"Hah-- ay, qué rico," his nails scraped the back of your neck, sloppy and undefined thrusts filling your throat. He spurts thick ropes of his cum down your throat and mouth, withdrawing to jerk the last bursts of his cum over your lips. Miguel’s breath fell from his lips in heavy gulps, meeting yours down on your aching knees. Strings of coughed-up cum connected your sodden lips to his cock, globs of his seed slipping between your breasts. You ached. 
“Tate quieta.” 
You don’t know where you’d go, your palms catching yourself on the floor. He snapped another photo, humming appreciatively. Miguel reached into his gym bag, pulling a sweaty shirt free. Your fingers dipped into his warm cum that spattered across your warm chest, drawing it to your lips. He tasted salty, tangy, and just right.
"You look so-- so beautiful, princesa, just perfect," Miguel bent down, wiping the rest of his mess from your chest and face, gently stroking away all evidence of your face fucking before cleaning his cock and tucking himself away into his sweatpants. He chucked the t-shirt back into his bag, glazing his eyes over your hazy, exhausted eyes. He crouched down. 
“Rule one, I never share my women,” he settled his knuckle under your chin, urging you to look him in the eyes. Something told him you wouldn't be as easy as the others, but for some reason, he shrugged the thought aside. “As long as I'm fucking you, you date no one but me. If I find out you are, we're done. Am I clear?”
He was a walking red flag. But for once, in your good girl life, you wanted that. You wanted to fuck in the library-- against the genetics building late at night-- to kiss him during a sunny picnic. More than you wanted a lot of things. His eyes went soft with your answer. 
“Claro que sí, Miggy.”
He loves it when he gets what he wants.
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Text
The Farmer's Daughter 1
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Walter Marshall
Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)
Part of the Backwoods AU
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
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You stand on your tiptoes, a dangerous choice as you stand on a wooden stool, reaching to clip pegs around the folded edge of the linen sheet. You clasp it over the cord in three places and reel along the length, bending to pull a wet pillowcase from the basket.
“You’re grinding on the clutch,” Walter’s voice carries through the barn door before he emerges, “you need another driving lesson.”
“I know how to drive stick,” your brother, Timothy, argues with the larger man. “It’s not the clutch.”
“Ermph,” the other man grunts in return.
“Thanks for having a look though,” Timothy slaps his arm lightly.
He gets another grumble from the chronically grumpy man. Walter is older than your brother, by quite a bit; and you too. He’s tall and burly and his brow never truly loses its furrow. He’s fonder of your father than Timothy; you’re sure if he didn’t feel some kinship with your father, he’d never venture this far.
Walter is a big, burly man. He has a lumbering gait you can recognise even as he’s at the property’s edge, and his curly hair falls messily around his chiseled face. There’s a touch of silver in one curl but his age doesn’t show otherwise.
You refocus on hanging the laundry. You stand on your toes and strain to clip the beg on the line. The stool wobbles and you put your feet flat, steadying it. You suck in your lower lip and look around. Timothy’s gone, you hear him back in the barn clattering through the toolbox, but Walter remains. He narrows his eyes at you as you give a sheepish smile.
“Hi, Mr. Marshall,” you say.
“Hey,” he returns in his way.
You don’t expect much more so you wind the line further and once more bend to take another piece of clothing. You quickly forget his presence and go back to your precarious game. Back on your toes, the stool tips and you gasp, a scream catching in your throat as you brace yourself for the violent tumble.
You don’t hit the ground though. You barely even tip as you're caught under the arms. You open your eyes as Walter holds you well over the ground. He does so effortlessly. 
“I… Mr. Marshall, thank you,” you breathe.
“You shouldn’t do that,” he grits.
“Um, I know,” you wiggle your feet and look at the ground, “um, can you put me down.” He does just that and you laugh at yourself, “thanks.”
“Hm,” he sidles down to the basket. 
To your surprise he takes out the next sheet and easily throws it over the line. He holds out a hand but you just stare at his calloused palm. What is he doing?”
“Pin,” he demands gruffly.
“Oh, uh, sure,” you step up and place a pin in his hand. His fingers brush around yours as he closes them. You retract your reach as he clasps it over the linen. He puts his hand out for the next and again, you hand one over.
“Don’t do it again,” he says as he grabs the next piece of laundry.
“Mr. Marshall, I won’t, but you don’t need to–”
“It’s fine,” he carries on, set on his mission of putting out the drying. “Your father wouldn’t be happy if I let you hurt yourself.”
“Erm, I guess,” you give him another pin.
He’s silent as his blue gray eyes fixate on his chore. He bends to grab more, drapes the cloth over, and takes a pin to secure it in place. You work in wordless rhythm until the basket is empty and the line is full.
“How is he?” He asks.
You put your hands behind you and wring them, “better. Ma says he’ll be home next week.”
He nods and looks at you. He crosses his arms, straining the fabric of his long-sleeved tee. It’s warm out, enough to dampen his shirt with sweat. Still, he doesn't seem to mind.
“If you need anything,” he peers around the fields, “big place for just you and the other one.”
“Oh, Tim? Yeah, we manage.”
He scratches the scruff on his chin and shifts his stance. You’ve never seen him flinch before, never hesitate or doubt, but in that moment, he seems unsure. He clears his throat and drops his hand.
“Well, have a good day,” he bows his head slightly. “Have your brother take down the laundry.”
You look away guiltily, staring at the stool, “you, too, Mr. Marshall.”
He backs away a few steps and you cautiously glance at his boots as he does. He stops and you hold your breath.
“I don’t mind Walt,” he says.
“Right,” your voice flutters, “Walt.”
He twists on his heel and continues across the grass to the trodden road. He follows it down towards the fence. You tear your gaze away and gather up the basket and the stool. You leave them on the porch and sit in the shade as sweat speckles on your forehead.
Your heart is still racing, likely from your near disastrous slip. You think you will have Timothy take down the sheets. You may even convince him to help your fold.
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