#don’t really like how this one turn out

[rafecameroninterlude]

Rafe visiting sweetheart pogue reader after knowing her better at her little bake shop she works at and they get to talking and she confesses its her absolute dream to open and run her own bake shop and he buys her a little cute shack to start her business off !!! 💕💕

warnings: super sweet fluff, sexual tension that rafe has to force himself not to act on

a/n: this came out longer than i wanted it to, but i loveeee writing for pogue!sweetheart!reader so much, pls send reqs for her if you’d like <3

it was a rather slow day at the icecream shop, so when you heard that little ding! indicating that someone had walked in, you were more than happy to see none other than rafe. “hey!” you chirped, adjusting the pink apron that currently hugged your waist.

“are you the only one working?” he walked up to the counter, your bright smile making his heart beat wildly in his chest. “yeah..” you trailed off, looking over to your manager’s office, “maybe i could ask for a quick break so we could talk?” rafe nodded. “i’d like that.”

he waited until you disappeared before he flipped the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ and turned the small lock on the door, so you two could converse without any interruptions. “okay!” you walked back up front. “favorite flavor?” rafe’s mind went blank as you reached for something, your skirt riding up your thighs as you did so.

“uhm- uh, rocky road is good.” you finally grasped the cups you were looking for, beaming at rafe’s response. “i love that one, too! but strawberry cheesecake has been my go to for a while now.” rafe didn’t want to make it obvious that he was staring hard, but he found that it was rather difficult when you were around him.

he couldn’t wrap his head around how someone so sweet and bubbly and charming as you are, could also be so unintentionally sexy at the same time. “rafe?” you snapped him out of his trance, a soft laugh leaving your lips. “here we are.” you walked around the counter, placing the cups of icecream down on a nearby table.

you reached behind you as rafe took a seat, your nails not allowing you to untie the knot you made in the strings of your apron. “what’s wrong?” he looked up at you in confusion. “my apron is a little stuck..” you turned, backing up until you stood been his legs. “can you untie this for me please? i just got my nails done and i did it a bit too tight.”

rafe was going insane. here you were in a mini skirt, potentially giving him a full view of everything that was underneath as you coyly waited for him to ‘help you out’. “sure, yeah-” he cleared his throat, hands coming up to fiddle with the strings that stopped just above the curves of your ass.

once he had it off, you sighed, taking the seat across from him. “where are you coming from?” rafe was still flustered when you took your spoon in your mouth, his eyes following the way your lips wrapped around the damned thing. “work, actually.” he blinked away, zeroing in all his focus elsewhere.

“really? what do you do?” now it was your turn to watch him, the veins on his arms making you lick your lips. “construction. it’s my dad’s business.” you nodded, trying to push the image of rafe all hot and sweaty from working outside, out of your head. “so you’re a handy man?” you teased, unintentionally tapping your foot against his leg.

“i know my way around.” you caught rafe looking at your lips, a shy smile taking over your feautures. “i wish i had those skills, it’d make things so much easier for me.” you raised your eyebrows. “how so?” he leaned forward. “well.. it might sound dumb, but it’s my dream to open my own little bakery. the problem is; i don’t know where to start, i don’t know who i have to get in contact with for licensing and permit stuff, and i definitely don’t know how to install any kind of kitchen appliances.”

rafe thought for a moment.

“do you have a certain location in mind?” he asked. you hummed, shaking your head. “no, i don’t care where it is. i’d just like a bigger space.” rafe nodded. “that doesn’t sound dumb by the way,” you looked up, “i think it’s neat that you want to open up your own business. the entire island will be over the moon once they find out they can get those chocolate chip cookies whenever they want.”

you had never shared that information with anyone, but by the way rafe responded, you were glad it was him that you spilled it to. rafe saw the small flash of sadness pass through your eyes before you shook it off. “one day..” just as you were about to check the time, your manager walk out of her office. “closing shop early today, do you mind helping me out real quick?” without hesitation, you got up from your seat.

“wait for me?” you gave rafe your icecream and apron to go outside with.

“of course.”

-

over the next two weeks, you found yourself by rafe’s side, whether he was following you around while you made sales, or helping you bake, you two seemed to be attached at the hip. “are you working tomorrow?” rafe currently sat on the floor of your camper, leaning against the lace-trimmed cushions of your pull out couch. “nope!” you offered him a spoon of buttercream to taste test, watching as he took his digit in his mouth.

“goddamn, that’s amazing,” rafe gave you a thumbs up, “but anyways— i was asking because i have a surprise for you.” placing the bowl of frosting on the counter, you turned. “oh?” you sat down, his head resting against the side of your knee. “i think you’ll really like it.” rafe kept his eyes down in his lap. “can i guess what it is?” he shook his head, “i won’t tell you if you’re right or wrong.”

sighing in defeat, you and rafe spent the rest of the night decorating cookies and taking turns shuffling songs until he was ready to head back home. “i’ll be here to pick you up in the morning, ‘that sound okay?” he was leaning against your doorframe, your fingertips itching to reach out for him. “mhmm, thank you for all your help today..” you stepped closer, swallowing thickly as he rested a hand in the curve of your neck.

even though rafe wanted to kiss you and feel your lips on his, he settled for a peck on your temple, which you were more than happy to receive. “goodnight, y/n.” he waved before getting in his truck and driving away. locking the door shut, you couldn’t help the pout that graced your lips at your now empty, quiet, camper.

eager to know what rafe wanted to surprise you with, you were quick to get ready for bed, forcing yourself to go to sleep before having to wake up and get ready.

“promise you’re not peeking?” you giggled, your hands resting on top of rafe’s as he guided you to some unknown location. “i promise!” finally, rafe came to a stop, a shiver running down your spine at the feeling of his body pressing against your backside.

“okay, go ahead and open.” you were buzzing with excitement, your mouth falling agape once your vision cleared. there, in front of you sat a perfect little shack, the word ‘sold’ on a red banner adorning the front. you blinked, slightly confused. “this is so cute! did you buy it or something?” rafe nodded, his mouth falling to your ear.

“it’s yours.”

you took a minute to process his words, letting go of a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. “rafe..” he placed his hands on your shoulders, turning you around. “a couple weeks ago you said it was your dream to have your own bakery but you didn’t know where to start, this is your starting point.” your eyes were watering now as you looked up at the man in front of you.

“i don’t think i can accept this.” you laughed, butterflies swarming your tummy when rafe wiped your tears. “you can, and you will.” you couldn’t hold back anymore, throwing your arms around him. rafe wasn’t used to this feeling in his chest, but he knew it felt right.

“it still needs to be renovated, but i talked to my dad and he agreed cameron development will cover everything.” you pulled away, dumbfounded. “i- why?” rafe’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. “why not? you deserve it.” sniffling, you looked back at the shack, already envisioning the place up and running. “i can’t thank you enough, rafe.” you couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe that rafe, let alone anyone, would do something like this for you.

“we’ll get to that later,” he winked, making you laugh, “should we go pick out a paint color?”

[babyleostuff]

calling them your boyfriend when you’re married | ot13

[ ☁️] when you call them your husband version

warnings: generally gn!reader, but mention of "wife" and "girlfriend" with minghao

𝜗𝜚 choi seungcheol

just… don’t do this. he would get offended as hell, probably would give you a whole ass silent treatment, being extra pissy and mean, like - HE’S YOUR HUSBAND, HE DIDN’T MARRY YOU FOR YOU TO GO AROUND AND CALL HIM YOUR BOYFRIEND!!! i mean, he kind of gets it that you said it as a joke to tease him, but it doesn’t make it any funnier for cheol, he’s like a lil puppy anytime you call him your husband, so don’t use the b-word around him, please. you’d really have to give him lots and lots of kisses and pouts for him to forgive you.

𝜗𝜚 yoon jeonghan

for some reason turns into a mum, and scolds you? “yah, i’m not your boyfriend anymore, why are you calling me that?” like, jeonghan would give you a whole ass lecture on why he does not want to be called “boyfriend”, and why you should only use the term “husband". he’d be extra petty too, if you asked him to help you with something he’d be like: “oh, so now you need your boyfriend’s help, hm?” and he would not let this go quickly, he’d make your life extra harder that day because he. is. not. your. boyfriend.

𝜗𝜚 joshua hong

takes this very personally because he's the epitome of husband material, and he didn’t marry you to be called “boyfriend” again??? he’d turn his sassy shua mode on, and become a whole ass drama queen because he does not want to be called the b-word - he’s literally right there, in his husband glory, ring on his ring finger with your wedding date engraved underneath, so why is he being called “boyfriend”, hm? so don’t expect shua to be all lovey dovey for the day, he’ll need some pampering to forgive you for the outrageous act of calling him your boyfriend.

𝜗𝜚 wen junhui

pookie is sad, don’t calm him “boyfriend”, please? jun wouldn’t be overly emotional over not being called “husband” a few times, it’s not like it would be the end of the world, but at the same time whenever you call him your boyfriend he feels a weak pang in his chest, almost as if his body physically reacts to the lack of “husband”. he would stare at you trying to convey his dear request of: “baby, i’m your husband, remember??? please call me husband???” the word husband coming form you is just very reassuring, and it makes him feel very loved. 

𝜗𝜚 kwon soonyoung

so so offended, WHAT DO YOU MEAN BOYFRIEND??? OH YEAH, SO THE RING ON YOUR FINGER IS WHAT??? JUST AN ACCESSORY??? AND THE WEDDING WAS JUST FOR FUN??? does not take the whole “boyfriend” calling lightly, being a husband is very serious for soonyoung AND HE WILL NOT TOLERATE THE B-WORD. Why would you even think of calling him your boyfriend, like we went from “boyfriend” to “fiance” to “husband” for a reason, SO LET’S NOT FORGET HOSHI’S YOUR HUBBY NOW!!!

𝜗𝜚 jeon wonwoo

at first he’s really taken aback because what do you mean “boyfriend”, you always refer to him as your husband ever since you got married (because duh - you’re married). would just kind of stare at you in confusion with question marks above his head, trying to figure out if you were actually talking about him, and why the hell you just called him your boyfriend. didn’t realise until a bit later how hurt ? he felt when he figured you were seriously talking about him, which was so weird because he used to love when you called him your boyfriend in the past, so what changed? (marriage happened you simp, he just adores it when you call him your husband).

𝜗𝜚 lee jihoon

would just roll his eyes, because he’s not the one to fall for your jokes. he knows that there is no way you’d call him anything but your husband if it wasn’t for a prank, so you wouldn’t get a big reaction out of jihoon. would just give you head pats and nod his head saying “whatever you want baby”. BUT, deep inside he’s crying. being your husband is one of woozi's biggest blessings, so hearing the word “boyfriend” when you are in fact married is a bit of a no no.

𝜗𝜚 lee seokmin

don’t call him boyfriend??? don’t break his heart??? why would you do this??? would immediately assume you’re unhappy in your marriage because why is he suddenly reduced to “boyfriend”? seokmin would stare at you with big (and sad) puppy eyes until you wouldn’t have explained why you used the forbidden b-word, because there is no way he would move on from that without hearing a proper explanation (and a proper apology). he just really really loves being your husband and being called “husband” - there’s just something magical about it, he loves hearing that word from you.

𝜗𝜚 kim mingyu

at first he wouldn’t pay much attention, because he’s not “boyfriend” anymore - he’s “husband” *cue in a proud mingoo smile*, so he thinks you’re talking about someone else? but then… WHO ARE YOU CALLING BOYFRIEND??? turns into a sulky and whiny mess, because “babyyyy, i’m your husband remember?” would follow you around and just whine, oh my god, it’d be so annoying you’d immediately regret calling him anything except “my dearest, loveliest, most precious husband” because how can a grown man sulk like that? over something you said as a joke. he would go on a whole ass rant about your engagement and the wedding to make a point i guess? as if he was trying to remind you that you’re in fact married.

𝜗𝜚 xu minghao

okay, then no more “wife” for you. would make sure to go around and tell everyone about his “girlfriend”, loud enough for you to hear. hao treasures his “husband” status very dearly, so when you suddenly start calling him your boyfriend he’s having none of that, thus will tease you right back, because he knows how you always go low-key crazy over him calling you his wife. your hubby is just so so petty he won’t forget this one quickly, and he’d want you to beg for him to stop, because as much as he wants to tease you back it truly breaks his hear hearing the b-word from you.

𝜗𝜚 boo seungkwan

would throw a tantrum because he’s dramatic like that. he takes his role as your husband very seriously, so you calling him “boyfriend”? not happening. the second seungkwan hears the b-word that he used to love so much (now he hates it because HE’S YOUR HUSBAND) he gives you the silent treatment in the pettiest way possible, which is funny because his clingy nature doesn not allow for him to ignore people, especially not you. and when he sees you struggling with unscrewing the cap from the water bottle he literally has to walk out of the room and lock himself in the bathroom so he wouldn’t walk up to you and help you. 

𝜗𝜚 vernon chwe

it’s not that he doesn’t care, because he does, but at the same time he’s fairly fine with anything you call him as long as you put “mine (insert name)” before it. of course he loves it when you refer to him as your husband, but he wouldn’t throw a tantrum just because you called him “boyfriend” once or twice. as i said, as long as you call him “yours” it’s all good (it makes him shy as hell, and him blushing is guaranteed, but it’s such a nice, silent way of saying how much you love him).

𝜗𝜚 lee chan

sad, sad, sad. don’t break his heart like that - “what do you mean boyfriend?” he wouldn’t outwardly mention how sad he got over you calling him your boyfriend instead of husband, but ohmygod it’d be so visible, chan would look like a puppy who was just denied a treat, it’d be so so adorable if not for the heartbreaking pout. there’s just something about you calling him your husband, and hearing those words coming from your mouth that always make him so happy that suddenly hearing “boyfriend” would be so upsetting.

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[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi finding out you pretended to be a boy in order to get trained properly and him falling head over heels for you after

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 4,2k

Synopsis: If there's one thing you always hated, it was being underestimated. Because you're nothing but a petite girl in the eyes of every other demon slayer you stumbled upon with even the sound hashira going easy on you. They left you no choice but to pretend that you're a boy in order to finally get the training you deserve. Little did you know it will be the wind hashira himself who uncovers your dirty secret...

Warnings: it's Sanemi so language, the bonus scene is for those of you who are in desperate need of some spice (no direct smut), last part not proofread because this needs to be published and I'm tired lol

Thank you sooo much for that super cool request, @xxx-oneofthegirls-xxx, I hope you like what I came up with (also, you made me listen to one of the girls nonstop while writing this hehe)

You stare at your foreign reflection in the mirror, cheeks still burning. This looks ridiculous and you know it, your plan so plain and stupid that you regret your decision more and more with each passing second.

But you have to do this.

“Don’t overwork yourself, (y/n). You’ll rest here while the others run a few extra miles.”

“But Tengen-sama, I-“

“Here, let’s get you something to eat!”, Suma cried out.

“You’re overworking that poor woman, Tengen-sama”, Mako commented dryly.

“I already told her to take a break!”

Because without pretending that you’re a boy, they’ll never take you seriously. Not when you’re a petite girl, not when everyone treats you like porcelain because of your small frame and gender. You came her because you’re ready to fight, because being a demon slayer is your true destiny. You want to get trained hard, you urge to surpass yourself each and every day.

You stare at your eyes filled with determination in the mirror. Therefore, you need to make sure they see nothing but a normal boy in you. 

It’s hard to breathe properly with countless bandages tied around your chest in order to hide your feminine curves to their eyes. Carefully, you tie a ribbon around the ends of your hair and pull them up. Good, now your hair is about shoulder-length. A plain hairband that is convincing enough as a sweat band turns your usual longer hair into a temporary short cut.

Is this enough? Will the mist hashira actually believe you?

Confidently, you change into the uniform you stole from a boy nearby earlier and grab your katana. There is no other way than finding out.

“Where’s that little girl? Didn’t Tengen-sama allow her to continue?”

“Huh, you mean the little wallflower? I bet she gave up when she saw what hashira training really means. She wasn’t even strong enough to hold a sword.”

Your heart drops to the floor while your eyes automatically look down in panic and distress. Everyone underestimates you over the sheer fact that you’re a girl. But why? Why would you give up? Why is everyone thinking you aren’t strong enough when women like Shinobu Kocho show them how it’s done? You didn’t train since you were 4 to get reduced to your gender and height.

No, you’ll show them soon enough how good you really are and that you’re no one to be messed with.

“Look at him!”

“Who is that guy?”

“He fights as good as Tanjiro!”

“I’ve never seen him around. Do you know him?”

And you did. Training after training, hashira after hashira. Somehow, you surpassed them all. Despite your small frame, your disadvantage towards the boys with their ability to move freely in the scorching hot sun, you made it.

“It seems like you’re decent handling your sword. I have no use for you here anymore”, Obanai proclaims dryly.

You…you did it? You’ve been here for 3 days, spent the first day tied to a wall while getting smacked by some useless comrades. But you really convinced him, the serpent hashira, the man a lot of the others were so afraid of.

Your heart jumps up and down in excitement. You convinced him.

“Thank you”, you mumble in reply with deepened voice.

“Let’s see how you’ll keep up with Shinazugawa. Now get lost.”

Shinazugawa? You’ve heard that name before. Is this…the wind hashira? Your eyes widen as you sprint down the forest in the merciless sun. If Iguro Obanai is considered rough, Sanemi Shinazugawa has to be a menace. You heard from countless slayers that went back home as soon as they arrived at his estate, some beaten up so badly that they needed treatment.

For days.

You swallow hard. If this man finds out that you’re not who you pretend to be, you’ll be dead. But you have no other choice. After everything you’ve been through, you won’t give up because of the wind hashira’s bad reputation.

“How’s training going?”, Sanemi mumbles while staring into the distance.

“All of them are trash. There’s only one that is decent, though”, Obanai replies dryly.

“Don’t tell me it’s that Kamado brat-“

“No, I’ve never seen that boy before. No one seems to know who he is. He’s pretty small for his age and acts even weirder than the others but I can’t deny that he’s skilled. Even Kanroji…praised him”, Obanai presses out.

He’ll definitely never forget you for taking up the space of a full hand-written site in her note to him.

“You all went too easy on him, then. I’ll mop the floor with his ass when he gets to me.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. There it is, the estate of the wind hashira. Only him and the stone hashira are left. Only these two until you’re able to drop your false identity and use your newest skills in a real fight. When you’re done here, you’ll finally be able to protect your village properly. No demon will ever hurt your friends and family again.

You just have to get through a few more days of training. A few more days with the wind hashira…

-two days later-

“Get lost, brats”, Sanemi barks out in sheer frustration.

Are these losers really supposed to be useful in a fight against Kibutsuji? They aren’t even good enough to hold their wooden sword correctly, let alone find the right stance to fight. God, this is such a waste of time, so fucking annoying that he smashes his own wooden sword into the ground roughly.

“Fucking useless rabble”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

When his blurry sight catches yours, he’s even more infuriated. He really thought the other pillars were too gentle with you. You, with your thin and small frame, with your innocent eyes that almost make you look like a girl. And while you look like the biggest loser of this whole corps, you manage to fight better than all the others.

“Enough of this bullshit, we’re using real swords now”, Sanemi barked at you while already grabbing his sharp katana.

“Fine.”

You didn’t storm towards him, didn’t act out of confidence or rage. You stayed so calm that Sanemi didn’t know how to act for the split of a second.

The split of a second. This minor moment was enough for you to lift your blade and scratch his cheek ever so slightly.

“Did he…Just hit the wind hashira?”

“This can’t be true. A strange guy like him, hitting one of the most powerful demon slayers?”

“You…You have some fucking nerve, little brat! I’ll make you pay for this!”

Oh, how often he tormented you. Made you stand up in the middle of the night for a fight, forced you to stand up against all your comrades. He pushed you over your limit over and over, made you suffer in a way he never did before.

But you still stand your ground. Still, you grab your wooden sword and follow the others inside at dawn as if nothing happened.

And it simply drives him insane.

“You, little brat!”

“Yes, Shinazugawa-sama?”

Your guts turn in an instant. In contrast to the other hashira training, this feels like a trip to hell and back. It almost seems as if the wind hashira made it his mission to let you suffer more than anyone else. What have you done to deserve his anger? Did you act out of line, aloof? It has to be the fact that you injured his cheek during your fight…

“Never mind. Get out of my sight.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. Instantly, you turn on your heels and make your way to dinner. Maybe you’ll finally have to chance to wash yourself tonight. With all those unexpected training sessions and the wind hashira torturing you until far past midnight, you didn’t even find the time to take a bath. Urgh, you can’t wait to finally take those bandages off and to wash your itchy scalp. All that sweating without the relief of a jump in the cool lake nearby is definitely hard to endure.

But tonight. Tonight you’ll finally get the chance to escape the merciless gaze of Sanemi Shinazugawa.

He doesn’t know what keeps him up tonight. Is it the full moon that lights his room, his still enraged heart? It’s still hard to believe that you’re acting up like this, that you manage to hit him. Out of all the jerks he trained, why does it have to be the smallest and therefore weakest one?

Maybe all he needs is letting his anger out on you. Sanemi storms into the dormitory wearing nothing but a casual yukata. He might hunt you around the lake for a few rounds or lets you practice your sword bows until you turn blue-

But his eyes don’t get greeted by your hair sticking out underneath you’re blanket.

“Where the hell are you, brat?”, he hisses to himself.

“This feels like heaven”, you moan to yourself while you dip your head into the cool water.

You never cared about getting covered in mud or dried blood sticking to your skin. But oh, the feeling of cleaning yourself up again after a rough day is just unmatched. Gently, your fingers brush through your wet hair, free yourself from all the dirt of those last days.

When will you be able to return? After that, only the stone hashira is left. How did you manage to land all the way over here? Hiding behind the identity of a boy no one know in order to get treated equally. Your efforts were definitely worth it. With those countless new techniques you’ve learned, you’ll finally be able to stand up against the demons that haunt down your village on a regular basis. Finally, you’ve got the education you deserved.

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

All color drains from your face in an instant. You don’t have to look past his knees to know who stays right in front of you. Why didn’t you hear him coming? How did he manage to show up in front of you without you noticing?

“S-Shinazuwaga-sama”, you breathe out.

It doesn’t matter how he found you. With your hair open and your upper body barely covered by the water, he already saw through your well-hidden secret. Or better said, your lie.

“You’re so dead.”

You can’t escape. In the matter of seconds, he is with you in the water and grabs your wrists roughly.

“You lied into our faces this whole time?”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

“I had to-“

“You’re nothing but a little girl!”

“You left me-“

“What else do you have to hide? Are you even a demon slayer? I’m totally in the mood to kill you right on the spot-“

“YOU LEFT ME NO CHOICE”, you finally blurt out.

“No choice? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Tengen-sama treated me like porcelain because I’m a woman, but I didn’t want that! I wanted to train like the boys do, I wanted to suffer like everyone else! How am I supposed to become a decent swordswoman when everyone goes easy on me because of my gender!?”

“You…You lied to us.”

“I did.”

“You aren’t a guy.”

“I’m not.”

Thick silence hangs between both of you, only interrupted by sharp and heavy breaths. What now? Will he send you away in dishonor or even worse, exclude you from the corps completely? You’ve worked so hard to even get accepted, poured your heart and soul into those past days. All of this, vanishing in thin air?

“Please don’t send me away”, you finally press out.

“Are you dumb? Ain’t no way I’m letting you stay-“

“I can’t return home in dishonor. I did all of this to be able to protect my family and village. If I return home like this…”

You can’t finish your sentence, your throat suddenly feeling so tight that you even fail to breathe.

“Get out of my sight.”

“But I-“

“I said get out of my sight!”, he screams on top of his lungs.

You flinch backwards and almost trip into the water. Talking doesn’t do much. If you’re not leaving the next few seconds, he might drown you.

With a heavy heart you leave the water, carefully hiding behind a tree until you’re fully dressed again.

“What’s your real name?”, he shouts towards you harshly.

“My name is (y/n)”, you mutter, not daring to look into his cold eyes.

And then you stumble back. Back into the dormitory you know so well by now. Back into what might be the last night at the demon slayer corps for you.

“Remember that skilled guy you told me about?”, Sanemi mumbles while staring at the ground.

“Yeah. What about him?”

“It’s not him. She’s a fucking girl that pretended to be a guy.”

It still feels like a feverish dream. Why did nobody realize sooner? Not even himself…God, he’s such an idiot for not throwing you out instantly. You lied straight into his face, you lied to the whole demon slayer corps all this time. You deserve to leave, you deserve all that hatred and disgust.

“That’s actually quite impressive. How did you find out?”, Obanai comments dryly.

“I caught her bathing. Said she didn’t want to get differently because she’s a girl.”

Just the thought of seeing you there lit by nothing but moonlight, your long hair draped like a veil around you and your female curves he didn’t even know existed…

“That are some unexpected news. Do the others know?”

“I won’t tell ‘em. I’ll kick her out the corps when I return.”

“Why kicking her out? No matter if boy or girl, you can’t deny she’s the most promising one until now. Why not keeping her?”

“Keeping her?”, Sanemi repeats in sheer disbelief.

“Ain’t no way I’ll ever speak to a filthy little liar like her again.”

“Her plan worked, though. And I hate to admit it, but she did pretty good.”

Sanemi’s furious eyes dart towards Obanai in nothing but frustration. You fooled every single hashira until now. You hold so much potential that eventually…Would you survive as his tsugoko?

“I’ll leave”, he finally speaks out before turning his back on Obanai and storming away.

What the hell is he supposed to do?

How utterly dumb you feel sitting on that porch with your wet hair still open in the cool breeze far past midnight. You have no idea where he went, if he’s out to inform the head of the corpse about your behavior or even worse, your own family. Is it too early to pack your few belongings, to leave before he comes back? You definitely can’t stand another round of getting yelled at by the wind hashira.

“What are you doing here outside, brat?”

Fuck. He steps out of the darkness like an unpromising shadow with his face as hard as stone.

“I can’t sleep anyway”, you murmur.

“I’m so fucking mad at you for shitting me like this. Pretending you’re a guy while you’re just a girl.”

“I’m not just a girl”, you clarify sharply.

“Shut the fuck up. You’re a lying little brat but-“

He takes a deep breath in while sitting down next to you.

“But you’ve got what it takes. I’ve been looking for a decent tsugoko for quite some time now and-“

You can’t believe your ears. This man can’t possibly be the wind hashira you know by now, the man who looked like he’ll drown you any minute just a few hours ago. He can’t suggest to take you in as his tsugoko, right? There’s absolutely no way this man wants to train you on a regular basis-

“And maybe you’re that decent fit.”

Oh.

“Me, as your tsugoko”, you repeat his words in order to make them sound real.

“I’ll still kick your ass for lying into my face like that, though”, he adds aggressively.

Never in your life would you ever dreamed of being the apprentice of a hashira. You always worked hard, always made sure to develop your skills with everything you do, but being considered a tsugoko? Of the wind hashira, who never takes in a student? Who seems so rough and cruel but allowed you to handle your katana even better?

“I’d love that”, you finally breathe out.

“I’m beyond thankful you’re e-“

“Shut up immediately. A yes is enough. You’ll stay here with me, then.”

“Y-yes, Shinazugawa-sama!”

“No go to sleep, I can’t beat your ass when you’re tired”, he mumbles before getting up and leaving while your feelings are still over the place.

You, the tsugoko of Sanemi Shinazugawa?

-a few months later-

“Gimme your best shot now, brat!”, he barks at you.

Sweat runs down your forehead like a waterfall, your heavy panting tasting like blood. Just one more hit, one more strike and you’ll get him.

“Thunder breathing, fourth form-“

“Too slow”, he comments next to your ear.

Within the split of a second, you find yourself just inches away from the dirty ground with Sanemi’s arms keeping you from falling.

“Still not fast enough. Do it again.”

Mindlessly, he still drops you into the dirt with his sword casually draped over his shoulder.

You lift yourself off the ground with trembling limbs. There you are again, deep within your trip to hell and back. What you expected when agreeing on being the tsugoko of Sanemi Shinazugawa?

You grab the handle of your sword even tighter and storm towards just like you did hundreds of times before with the smallest of smiles creeping up your features.

Well, exactly that.

-steaming hot bonus: meeting in the lake at night-

You allow the cool water to caress your countless wounds gently. How good it feels to finally bathe every single day instead of once every few days. When the truth came out and everyone started to realize that you aren’t a boy, you regained a part of your freedom along with the merciless training of the wind hashira. Each and every day, he tortured you and others with his cruel training methods before you slide into the lake before the sun sets and go straight back to sleep.

Not today, though. It has to be almost midnight by now, the stars in the sky glimmering so magnificent that you can’t look away. Sanemi allowed you to visit your family and friends today. As you have learned, demon attacks have subsided since the sister of Tanjiro Kamado mastered the sun. And even though that means your loved ones will be safe, you can’t deny the slight turn of your guts. This means a war is around the corner, that Muzan Kibutsuji himself might come for all of you.

But this is nothing you should think about now. Not when you just returned and desperately longed for a bath. You dip your head into the cold water, moan to yourself as the water surrounds you fully-

“What the hell are you doing here, brat?”

Sanemi.

Out of instinct you cry out while burying everything except for your head inside the dark water. You’re butt-naked. How long has he been here already? And…has he seen you? Suddenly your whole body feels hot against the cool water around, cheeks turning dark red.

“Calm down, idiot-“

“How long have you been here already!?”

“What? I’m always taking a bath around this time. You’re the one who shouldn’t be here”, he clarifies dryly.

There he stands. Droplets of water run down his bare chest and almost make him shimmer in the moonlight. His wet hair stick to his face so delicately that you can’t force yourself to look away. He looks…hot.

Hot?

“I-uh…I just returned from…home”, you stutter.

“Hope your family is fine”, he mumbles along with slicking his hair back.

Within these past months, you’ve caught a glimpse of Sanemi you’ve never witnessed before. This man isn’t as cruel as everybody makes him look, his words aren’t always meant as harsh as they sound. Sanemi has a very tender side. Especially when his eyes soften for the blink of a moment, you couldn’t help but feel lost.

“They are. Apparently, the incidents with demons involved lessened when I departed”, you press out.

God, you’re acting ridiculous and you know it. Sanemi is your teacher, your training partner. Even though you’re living under the same roof (he even gave you an own room), there aren’t any romantical feelings between both of you.

“Good to hear. I’ll let you rest a little tomorrow morning. You have to be dead tired.”

“I’m fine”, you lie in an instant.

Truth is, you’re so drained out that the water is the only thing that’s able to keep your knees for failing you at the moment. Not only from your journey, but all those countless harsh training sessions, dueling yourself over and over with Sanemi and the others. But you’d never admit it, would never say it out loud.

“You’re probably the baddest liar out there. Your cheeks are red as hell, (y/n)”, Sanemi comments dryly.

You don’t dare to move when he stretches out his hand. Enough to gently caress your cheek, enough to cause an explosion in your stomach.

Did Sanemi just touch you? Tenderly?

“I…N-no…I…”

You can’t find the words. In fact, you are too distracted to care about something like words. Slowly but surely, he draws closer with his perfectly formed chest exposed to your hungry eyes.

“(y/n), I…There’s actually something I wanted…Well…Fuck!”

Is that really Sanemi Shinazugawa, stumbling over his own words? And why is it him who’s blushing at the moment?

These past few months made it really easy for you to actually respect the wind hashira. Not only his frightful skills when handling the sword, but just him. Him, when he’s brushing the fur of the cat that visits his estate from time to time. Him, when he tucks you into your blanket when assuming you’re already asleep. Him, when checking on you in his own unique way.

How ridiculous to even think about him like that, to even allow your heart to jump up and down in joy. But you can’t help yourself. Despite the way you despised him when the two of you first met, you really started to love this man with all your heart.

“(y/n), you’re a pretty decent women”, he begins again while drawing closer.

“Well, I…Thank you?”

A decent woman? Is that what he thinks about you?

“I still can’t believe you lied to me about being a girl, though”, he barks at you.

Oh.

You hate the way your heart drops. Were you really dumb enough so think he might have something to say, that he might tell you he has feelings for you as well? How ridiculous, how absolutely dumb.

“I think I should get going. It’s been a long day”, you mumble.

It’s probably the best to get away from here as soon as possible. But just when you start moving towards the shore, his hand grabs your arm tightly and twirls you around.

Right against his bare chest.

“Don’t you dare leaving now, brat”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

“I…there’s something I wanna tell you…”

“Why are you acting like a child?”, you finally spit at him yourself.

Oh, you’re having enough of all those ups and downs. Especially today, when you’re totally drained out already. You really don’t have the nerve for him to pick on you again, not when his last statement lies like a heavy stone in your stomach-

“Acting like a child?”, he challenges you.

Just before his lips crash into yours.

Longingly, Sanemi wraps his strong arms around you, devours you against his body while all you’re able to do is holding onto his broad shoulders for dear life.

This…is really happening, right? This is really Sanemi, pressing his lips against yours over and over again while your naked skin brushes against his?

“You’re fucking driving me insane, brat”, he mumbles against your lips before grabbing you even tighter.

“Since the moment I realized you aren’t a boy.”

He grabs you by your waist firmly, your naked skin rubbing against his sixpack almost making you lose everything that’s left of your self-control.

“I can’t get you out of my head.”

Your hands wander around his biceps, feel the deep valleys of his muscular back. God, this feels so good – almost too good to be true. But even if this is nothing but a dream, you’ll enjoy every minor movement, every sweet moment until you open your eyes again.

But when you do, you don’t find yourself in the comforting darkness of your room. No, his eyes glimmer like molten iron when staring down at you in the moonlight, his hot breath brushing against your wet face so seductive that you threaten to lose your balance.

“Still saying I’m acting like a child, brat?”

[zweiginator]

imagine you’re using arts phone cause urs died or wtv and you stumble on him and patricks convo and cause ur hella nosy you go through it and it’s then saying the FILTHIEST things about you sending each other shitty yet lewd pictures of their dicks mid strike… like kat zimmerman all over again 😫😫😫

Yes …… and art is a little out of it just not thinking because he’s hanging out with you, and you’re asking him for help!!!

So of course he gives you his phone to use and he’s just kinda standing there with his hands in his pockets not knowing what to do while you’re trying to call an Uber, muttering how you’ll pay him back.

And Patrick is sending him tons of texts, just spamming the fuck outta art.

Yo are you with her?

What is she wearing

Don’t leave me hanging

they can’t be talking about you, surely not. You barely know Patrick or Art. Art you know more due to the fact that you had a class with him last semester. You had met Patrick a few times when you went over to their shared apartment to study a couple times.

But nothing notable happened. Just studying, awkward small talk—that’s it.

You’re curious, and open their messages, scrolling to the beginning of the day.

Patrick complains about not being invited out.

Sorry it’s a Stanford thing, Art responded.

I can’t wait to see her

The messages start out sweet.

Can’t wait for you to tell me exactly what she’s wearing , patrick said.

Another one from Patrick underneath.

What I’d give to cum all over those tits

It doesn’t surprise you to see Patrick’s texts; you don’t know him as much. But you know Art. He’s sweet. Cute. Nervous and antsy.

Me too

Innocent enough.

Art sends another text.

I’d fuck her face until she cried

Your face grows hot. Art is looking at his watch, tapping his foot.

Bet her little pussy is so tight, what if we shared it

And then a video. You make sure the volume is down; you’re sure it would be pornographic had it been turned on even slightly. Patrick bucks his hips up, fucking his hand. His mouth hangs open, veins in his cock pulsing. His phone , propped up on a book, falls over from the force of his thrusting. His cock is huge. It’s almost scary.

Art sends one back; he sends it along with a text: I’d love to fuck her with you. he spits in his hand slowly. It drips into his palm. He coats his shaft, the pink head, even his balls. Spit drips onto the chair beneath him. He’s slower, more deliberate. You accidentally turn the volume up a bit. Art’s moans are soft, they grow into desperate groans. He moans your name—and then he moans Patrick’s.

Art’s face is white. You realize you outed yourself. No, you shouldn’t be looking through his phone—but is he really going to be mad at you after what you found.

“Oh fuck. Um-“ he doesn’t even know what to say. Nothing about this is redeemable. There’s no excuse, no way out. You’re the girl he has daydreamed about marrying and you just saw perverted homoerotic texts, and he and Patrick jerking off. Together.

You find it cute, how embarrassed he is. And the sick part of you—which takes up more of your brain than you’d like to admit—is flattered that they long for you like this. Want to fuck you this bad. You turn his phone off and hand it to him.

“Tell you what. I’ll just sleep over at your place tonight. That shouldn’t be a problem right?”

Art shakes his head. “No, not at all—you’re more than welcome.”

“I really didn’t know you and Patrick were so close.”

Art wants to fucking die.

[lovebugism]

hey bug 🫶🏻 “cant stand that they're ignoring them” maybe r and Steve work together and he's been extra annoying lately. So r decides to ignore him. But he's only acting like a fool because he's in love 🥺

this fic ended up taking a life of it's own, so it's a wee bit different from your request, but i hope you like it anon!! — the one where you and steve are the personification of the "idiots in love" trope (friends to lovers, 1.5k)

Steve hears you before he sees you. A pair of whispers float down the windowless corridor of Family Video, sounding much more obvious in the otherwise silent store. He pauses mid-stride, with his fingers frozen on the buttons of his vest. His ears strain to listen. They find your familiar voice with little effort.

“—I can’t ‘just ask him out,’ Rob. It’s not that easy. I’m way too chicken shit.”

“Well, the worst he could say is no,” Robin attempts to assure you, voice deep and gritty and barely a whisper.

“Yeah, actually,” you huff, horrified. “That’s absolutely the worst thing he could say.”

“Except, he won’t because he’s not an idiot,” she argues.There’s a brief and stagnant pause, a fleeting moment of silent communication, until Robin exhales a heavy sigh. “Okay, he is a little bit of an idiot— but he’s an idiot that’s been in love with you for two years, so… He’s not stupid enough to turn you down.”

Distantly curious and very boyishly heartbroken, Steve decides to make himself known. He plasters a lopsided smile on his plush mouth, only slightly forced, to compensate for his bleeding heart. “What are you guys talkin’ about, huh?” he wonders, knowingly.

Your head snaps over your shoulder, eyes wide with horror. “Nothing,” you blurt, too quickly to be convincing.

Robin is not as nonchalant as you are. Totally unable to be casual, she says the first lie that comes to mind. “Eddie Munson,” she answers in a feeble attempt to cover your ass. 

Steve’s forced laughter fills the empty store. Robin cowers at the glare you give her and musters a wavering smile.

“Eddie? Eddie Munson?” Steve echoes, still chuckling. He folds his arms over the countertop across from you, biceps golden and strained against the sleeves of his polo. His smile is even prettier up close, but it hurts a little ‘cause he’s laughing at you. “You? Have a crush on Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson? There’s no way!”

You’d tell him there really was no way if he wasn’t being such an asshole about it. You thought you’d been caught for a moment — thought surely Steve would know that you were talking about him — but he’s a bigger idiot than you gave him credit for, turns out.

“It’s not that funny, Steve,” you squint.

He hums a teasing I don’t know type of sound and clicks his tongue against his teeth. “It is a little bit funny. I mean— Munson’s a total dumbass.”

You bite back a knowing smirk. “Well, I happen to like that about him,” you argue, leaning into the stupid joke. It’s easier to lie when it feels more like you’re talking about the quote-unquote dumbass in front of you.

“Well, you’d be the first,” Steve scoffs. His fake smile trembles at the edges when it gets harder to keep his guard up. “So, like, what now? Are you guys gonna be like… boyfriend-girlfriend or…?”

You meet his teasing smirk with a flat face. “You’re so annoying.”

“Have you guys kissed yet?” Steve pries, like he’s trying to break his own heart. “Or are you too scared of catchin’ his cooties?”

You roll your eyes and turn away, taking a fresh stack of tapes with you. Steve, assuming your silence is his answer, inhales a cartoonish gasp and follows behind you. “Holy shit, you have! Was it the worst? I mean, I’m assuming it was ‘cause… Eddie’s only ever had experience with the back of his hand, so… It must’ve been awful.”

His sarcasm is just investigative journalism, really. He wants to know what’s happened between you and the town freak — how far deep you’re in with Eddie and how much of a shot he’s got left with you.

“I’m not entertaining this,” you lilt and beeline for the Romantic Comedy section.

Steve follows close behind. “Why not?” he presses over your shoulder, towering over you as you slide the tapes into their designated spots. “I know Munson better than most people, you know? So maybe I can put in a good word for you or something—”

“Not necessary,” you deadpan.

He keeps on going. Digging the hole, as it were. “I could talk you up a bit. Get some top-secret info on his big fat crush on you—”

Your heart twists with every word out of his mouth. Not because he’s teasing you, but because you thought maybe, maybe, Steve might’ve liked you back. But now it feels like you just made all that up in your head. Because if he liked you like you thought he did, he wouldn’t be trying to set you up with someone else.

“—Help make it official and everything.”

“I don’t have a crush on Eddie,” you blurt before you mean to.

Steve’s rambling ceases. He feels immediate relief first, then palpable confusion right after. “…What?”

“I have a crush on you, you idiot,” you grouse, shoving the leftover tapes into his chest and storming off towards the breakroom.

Steve stands frozen in place while you leave, with a stack of VHSs held haphazardly in his arms. Wide-eyed and slightly embarrassed, he watches you disappear around the corner of the hallway. His gaze flits to Robin then, who tries to look busy on the computer, but really she’s just clicking at random spots on the screen.

“Well, I totally fucked that up, didn’t I?” he wonders dryly.

“Sorry,” the brunette grimaces. “That was kinda my fault— No one ever taught me how to be casual, so now I kinda… freak out when I have to be normal.”

Steve scoffs. That much was evident to him a long time ago.

He stalks into the break room sometime later — tail between his legs, heart in his throat. The old door squeaks open and shut again, a harsh sound in the deafening quiet. If you notice his presence, you make no effort to show it. Or look at him. Or even acknowledge his existence. 

Steve knows he doesn’t deserve either.

“Hey…” he starts softly, voice wavering.

“Don’t,” you interject, much harsher than you intended, with your back still facing him. You stand at the counter and stick clearance stickers on tapes that aren’t selling well as an excuse to busy your anxious hands. “Don’t say anything, okay? Just… let me be an idiot in peace.”

Steve chuckles under his breath. “I don’t think you’re an idiot.”

You flash him a glare over your shoulder.

“I’m the dumbass in this equation, alright?” the boy assures and stands at your side. He keeps a few unsure inches between the two of you, just in case he’s totally screwed everything up. “I mean, seriously. I can’t keep my mouth shut for shit.”

You scoff a faint laugh that you try to keep hidden.

An absentminded smile tugs unknowingly at his lips. Steve watches you with an unwavering stare made of melted honey as he confesses, “When Robin said you had a thing for Eddie, I just… My heart fell to my ass, you know? And then everything just started building up like vomit, and I started spitting it all out before I even realized…”

Your face screws. “Jeez…”

“Sorry,” Steve grimaces. “Gross metaphor.”

“I just don’t want things to change between us,” you admit distantly, gaze averted as you smooth a 20% off sticker over Class of Nuke ‘Em High. “I don’t want things to be weird now.”

“Things aren’t weird,” Steve reassures with a quiet chuckle.

You flash him a hopeful glance, eyes twinkling beneath your lashes. “So we can still be friends?”

“Of course,” the boy scoffs. “Who else am I gonna run to when Robin’s annoying the shit outta me?”

You try hard to bite back the smile tugging at your lips, but Steve makes it extremely difficult. “Right,” you nod, caging your beam between your teeth.

“But… you know…” Steve starts, slow and vague, as he props an elbow over the countertop. A cheeky smirk sits crooked on his mouth. “I do have it on good authority that—”

“Please don’t bring up Eddie again,” you plead jokingly.

“No. I was— I was gonna say that the guy, you know, that you wanted to ask out tonight or whatever…” the boy trails off, going suddenly shy as he averts his gaze, scruffy cheeks flaring pink. “I was just gonna say that he definitely wouldn’t say no.”

Your chest warms. “Oh…”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “He’s had a crush on you for, like, two whole years now, so… He’s not stupid enough to turn you down.”

“Is that so?” you question with a teasing lilt, turning to face him fully. You catch his eyes falling to your mouth, for no more than a flicker of a moment, and you smirk.

“How ‘bout Benny’s Burgers?” he questions, voice low and honeyed and full of yearning. The proximity’s got his head spinning. “Tomorrow night? Six o’clock?”

“Sounds good,” you hum, trying to play it as cool as he is now.

Steve nods with a similar casualness, then swipes a golden hand through his hair when a chestnut strand falls over his forehead. “Good,” is all he says in response — lest he say more and his voice break with excitement.

You wait until the door clicks shut behind him to squeal to yourself like a teenage girl.

[hoesformatt]

CUFFED

matt smut, I’VE BEEN FEELING FREAKY DEAKY (doja cat ref) + get ready for the pussy to pulse + I WROTE THIS WITHIN 24 HOURS CAN I GER AN APPLAUSE

sub!matt • poc!reader friendly

contains: SUBMISSIVE (I mean it) MATT, pet names, mommy kink, matt x tutor, oral (m!receiving), handjobs, fingering, riding, spitting, choking, hair pulling, cuffs, titty sucking, no use of y/n

word count: 1.8k (my longest yet)

semi-proofread ✍🏾

Matt stacked up the textbooks on the table and I sighed at the sight of the tower he had made with them. “Do I really have to study all of this” I rolled my eyes, watching Matt pace around the room. “You ask that at the start of every session, the answer never changes.”

I had to take tutoring because I was kind of flunking my university classes and it was only the first semester of my first year. My parents made me take these sessions since they paid for my 4 years.

Half of the time, the sessions sucked. I hated studying for hours at a time and writing all my assignments by hand. The other half of the time, I was too busy staring at my tutor, he is just too cute.

His brow-line glasses that sat up on his perfect nose, the dorky button-ups he wore that only looked good on him, sometimes I just wanted to kiss his cheek. Matt would get antsy and blush whenever our skin would touch but he would always move away ‘to keep professional’ or whatnot, what’s so bad with a little handjob or a quickie?

“Alright, are you ready to start? This assignment is due in 3 days” He pulled out his seat beside me and I was already regretting not taking an edible right before this. “Yeah whatever,” Matt looked up at me, unamused, flipping through the textbook and finding the right pages.

A whole hour went by and everything that Matt was teaching me was going through one ear and out the other. “Ok, I can tell you don’t care what I’m teaching you” He folds the book together and it makes a loud clap sound and pushes the notes and other things to the side.

He was clearly annoyed by my behaviour and I just wanted a reaction from him, or what’s in his pants. I might be a little wrong for trying to bone my tutor instead of learning but this was my way of fun.

Matt lifted himself from his seat to go on his way into my kitchen, “I’m kinda hungry” He opened my fridge, examining everything in there before closing it again with can of Dr. Pepper. He ran his hand through his hair, leaning on the kitchen counter and I couldn’t help but adore the boy.

“Do you have anything to eat?” My mind strayed to inappropriate thoughts and they lingered in my brain until he cleared his throat. I opened my snack drawer and my tutor was enlightened by the amount of food. “Take what you need,” Sitting back on my seat, I closed my thighs together tight because everything he seems to do was so… Attractive.

Especially his hands, the way he would play with his pen… I wanted him to play with me in that way.

I was thinking that I could kill two birds with one stone, getting Matt to do my assignment and getting him to cum in me.

“Matthew, c’mere” He was alarmed by the way I used his full name and his cheeks turned red almost instantly.

The chair he sat at was so far away and I needed him close to me “How do you expect to learn or read the textbooks when you’re that far?” Matt pushed his chair towards me, nibbling his lip as he was in close proximity to me.

“Where we left off?” I nodded, not even paying attention to what he was talking about. A few minutes went by and Matt showed me one of the picture examples and pointed at it. While I leaned in, I placed my hand on his thigh, sitting in closer.

He bit his bottom lip, leaning back and putting down the book after I saw it. My hand never moved and I could tell by his expression that he was fighting the fact that he liked it.

It had gone quiet as caressed his thigh, inching closer to his crotch and he just watched, being more relaxed by the second. Matt’s eyes were glued to my clevage, taking off my top in his head.

I applied pressure to his cock, groping his tent and instantly, a high-pitched whimper escaped his lips and one of his hands slapped over his mouth and the other around on my hand. He gazed up at me, waiting for me to repeat my actions.

“Do you want me to touch you, Matthew” I asked for consent, “Y-yes,” He answered hesitantly with his head tipped down. I gripped the hair at the back of his head pulling up his head “Talk to me nicely,” I teased “Yes p-please,” I let go, satisfied.

“Take your jeans off” Ordering Matt, he immediately unzipped his jeans, dropping them to his ankles and he was about to remove his briefs but I stopped him.

Reaching out to hold his hardened length, his girth was amazing and I fondled with his length. When I found his tip and rubbed it relentlessly, earning whiny moans from him, he jerked around in his seat, gripping the table.

“Mhmm-more” Matt thrusted upwards, craving more friction between us, his whimpers were music to my ear as he never stopped making those noises. I giggled a bit at how much of a pathetic mess he was and I haven’t even touched him raw.

The brunettes’ cheeks were a bright pink and I pulled on the band on his boxers, peering in to see his tip was a similar color. He begged me to touch his raw dick, practically humping my hand, out of breath. Pressing my cheek against his bulge, it was fun to see his face twist from pleasure to impatience. “Fuck! Just touch me! Please touch me!” His inappropriate outburst took me aback.

“Get in the room and sit up on the bed and I’ll touch you,” Matt took off his pants fully, taking himself to my room and leaping on my bed with his legs open.

He ignored the cuffs that were on each side of my bed and when I entered my room I held a silk blindfold. Matt gaped up at me as I unlatched one of my handcuffs “Give me your wrists” he looked at me worriedly, raising him arm to give it to me.

I clicked the cuffs on, checking if they weren’t too tight and I did the same to the other wrist. I made sure the only thing Matt could touch were the bars of my baseboard, “I’m gonna tell you this one time, you do not yell at me, you hear me.”I slipped off his glasses, getting a good look at his sky eyes before tying the knot of his blindfold.

Impairing his most important senses, stripped the boy of his restraining briefs and his cock flew out. I etched every part of his perfect length in my head from his rubbed-off pink tip to his long, thick length, that I dragged my tongue on.

I stuffed his shaft into my mouth, deep-throating his length before pulling it out and spitting on it. “You like that?” Matt's grip on the baseboard bars tightens as he moans out loudly. You could hear sheer pleasure in every moan and gasp as I sucked his length.

“Y-yes—oh fuck... f-faster,” His body starts to squirm “M-mhh…” I stroked the end of his shaft that couldn’t fit in my mouth, squeezing and stimulating the cum out of him “Are you gonna cum?” I teased Matt while I smiled at him with a twisted pleasure face. I watched his squirm on the bed, cuffed to the bed and unable to see me work on him.

Matt nods, as he can't speak from all the pleasure. He moans loudly, thrusting his hips into your mouth, and with a final moan, he reaches his climax. “Oh fuck— oh shit!” He pumps his load into my mouth. “You’re such a good boy for me.”

He nodded once again and Matt blushed hard at your words, but he was still riding the high of his climax. I straddled him and he tried to fight the tight cuffs, he wanted to touch me badly, trying to control his breathing as he felt my wet cunt against his shaft.

I began to bounce on his cock, slowly removing my top so my tits could fall in his face. I put my nipple in his mouth “Suck baby” Matt complied, sucking on it softly, before nibbling gently.

As I rode him harder, his breathing became harsher, trying to hold back a moan. “Oh fuck yes Matt, suck harder” I rode his harder, making sure all of his inches fit inside my heat, I watched his length disappear within me. Matt nodded while he sucked harder on your nipple, leaving a small hickey on my skin.

Matt moaned, pleading for me to take off the cuffs and the blindfold. He tried to steady himself as he felt the pleasurable sensation of his cock sliding in and out of me. Loosening the tie of the blindfold, I removed it from his head and he was met with my breasts bouncing in his face.

“Do you deserve to have the cuffs taken off, baby?” I sat on his length, completely taking every inch of him inside my wet walls, enjoying the feeling of him throb inside. “Yes I deserve it, yes, yes I do—,” Matt was so fucked out he could barely make sentences.

The sounds of the cuffs un-clicking put Matt to ease and as soon as they were removed, he groped my ass, sliding me down upon his lap. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” Matt threw his head back exposing his adam’s apple.

“Lemme cum, mommy I need to cum” He cupped my breasts in his warm hands putting them in his mouth again and sending vibrations down my nipple with his moans. My eyes rolled back aggressively and the sounds of the bed creaking got louder.

Our moans were uncontrollable and every time his tip hit my g-spot, my orgasm came closer. “Are you gonna cum with me baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes—Shit!” I felt Matt ejaculate in me, glazing my walls while my cum mixed with his coated his shaft and with my liquids. When I lifted up, to pull his cock out, my ass and his thighs were covered in our cum along with my bedsheets.

“Your dick is so good I might not make you write my assignments.”

tags: @lunariaxzz @chrissturniolosbitch @leahsbussy @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @idkwhosnyla @zayyluvz @i8kth @nonamegirlxsturniolo @mattssluttygf @78yaz @love4chris @mattslutt @nickgetsmewetter @hearts4chriss @thenickgirl @jnkvivi @cottoncandyswisherz @imaslut4kehlani @babyddolly @carvedtits @chaossturns @conspiracy-ash @kriissy4gov

[atlabeth]

plastic hearts

pairing: spencer reid x fem!gideon reader

summary: spencer gets a front row seat to some gideon family matters.

a/n: full 100% credit to @hotchfiles for her gideon!reader idea and thank you sm for allowing me to take a stab at her w spence, i love messy women and this was actually so fun for me lmao. i owe you everything for getting me out of this mini writing slump!! this just reinforces the fact that arguments are my fav thing to write bc this came out of nowhere lmao

wc: 1.1k

warning(s): very messy family relationship lol gideon and reader argue the whole time. reader's got daddy issues and a one-sided grudge against spence. drama and tension and not a good time for anyone but me

“Gideon, I was looking over the most recent case file and I—” 

Spencer is just barely able to avoid stumbling over both his words and himself only after he’s walked halfway into Gideon’s office. He’s nowhere to be found, only a pretty girl around his age sitting in the chair across from his desk with taut lips and a frown that you turn on him. 

“You’re not Gideon,” Spencer says dumbly. 

“Very astute,” you say. “They clearly hire the best here.” 

“W— who are you, exactly?” he asks. “And why are you in Gideon’s office? And where is he?” 

“That’s a lot of questions.” You tilt your head to the side. “Not surprised he hasn’t talked about me.” 

And once again, Spencer finds himself just staring at you. He’s pouring over every interaction he’s had with Jason Gideon since he started working here, every knickknack and tchotchke he’s ever seen on his desk, any pictures he might’ve seen from glimpses at his wallet. 

“You’re Reid, right?” Your eyes narrow in, and despite being around you for no more than a minute, he already feels like he’s doing something wrong. “He talks about you a lot. Probably more than me.” 

“Spencer Reid,” he says. “Uh— Doctor Spencer Reid, actually, but—” Spencer blinks and shakes his head, because why are you the one leading the conversation here? “Who are you, exactly? Because Gideon doesn’t really like visitors and he never really has them anyway and I really have to talk to him about something, so if you could just tell me where he is that would be great.” 

“I don’t know, but I’m surprised you don’t. He seems to like you a lot more than he likes me.” You huff a laugh. “I’m supposed to be here. He probably just forgot about it.”

Spencer opens his mouth to ask you again to just please say your name because the last thing he needs on his hands right now is a security hazard with him as the first line of defense, but he’s saved by the bell, because Gideon walks in right at that moment. 

He stops in his tracks as soon as he crosses the threshold, the pile of files and folders in his hands losing his interest—Spencer doesn’t even think he sees him, the way his eyes immediately lock in on you. He says your name, and Spencer doesn’t have to be a profiler to pick up on the annoyance. He swears he gets a hint of guilt, too. 

“I didn’t know you were coming to the office today,” he says. 

“Figures,” you remark. “We only made plans a week in advance and I only emailed you three times and called you today to make sure. How could you possibly remember?”  

“I never got a call.” 

“You never picked up.” 

“I was busy,” he says. “This job—” 

“I know,” you intone dryly. “It’s always the job.” 

“Gideon, I have a question.”

Spencer knows it’s not the best time, but the tension has shot up and the temperature has shot down, and he would really like to get out of here as soon as possible. Gideon frowns as he looks at him, and if Spencer didn’t know who he was working with he would have thought he was noticing him for the first time. 

“How rude of me.” Gideon walks over to his desk, and his voice is oddly restrained as he gestures at you. “Reid, meet my daughter.” 

He doesn’t even get the chance to say that wasn’t his question, because his eyes nearly burst out of his head as Gideon says your name and, more importantly, your title. 

“Your— your daughter?” 

“There it is,” you say wryly. “It’s heartwarming to know how much you talk about me, Dad.” 

“We don’t need to do this right now,” Gideon says as he sets his files down. He looks more tired than usual. 

“No, I think we do.” You lean forward, resting your elbows on your legs. “Because you finally agreed to fit me into your schedule for once, and instead, I meet boy wonder before I meet you.” 

“You don’t need to bring Reid into this,” he says. 

“I think I do,” you repeat. “Because I know about him and his three PhDs and how he’s the youngest agent here, and he doesn’t even know my name.” You look at Reid, a falsely disarming smile spreading across your lips. “You didn’t know my name, did you? I mean, based on that reaction, I don’t think you knew he had a daughter.” 

Spencer’s mouth opens and nothing comes out. He looks at Gideon for help, and he lets out a deep sigh as he says your name.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Can we reschedule?” 

“No,” you say. “I have a job of my own too, y’know. This was the only spot I could carve out to come see you—I’m blocked in for the next month.” 

“We just got a case,” he says. “We have to brief everyone and be out within the hour.”

“Of course,” you say bombastically. “You always have a goddamn case, Dad.” 

“I have no control over it,” Gideon says, his voice pained. “You know that.” 

“Maybe not over the case, but you have some pull here,” you say. “And you’re in full control when you decide not to pick up the phone.” 

“I didn’t ignore you,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head. 

“That’s not good enough.” You pick your purse up from the ground and sling it over your shoulder, and your glare shifts to Spencer. “Maybe I should get a job here. Maybe you’d give me the same attention you give to him.” 

Spencer blinks. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been more uncomfortable in this office, which is saying something with their field of work. 

“I— I’m sorry,” he stammers, because what else is he supposed to say?

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “At least one person is,” you mutter. 

You walk out without another word, and Spencer sees Gideon’s jaw clench for just a second. 

He calls out your name, mostly in annoyance with a hint of desperation, and he starts towards the door. He pauses before he can cross the threshold, and he looks at Spencer. 

“Not a word of this leaves this office.” 

Spencer nods far too many times in confirmation, and then Gideon dashes out. He hears him calling your name yet again in the distance. They have a new case, they’ll probably be on the jet within the hour, he still has these files in his hands and that unanswered question, and yet he’s rooted in place with wide eyes. 

“Gideon has a daughter?” he repeats quietly to himself. 

[weixuldo]

Who's your Daddy?

Older!James Kelly x f!reader

(SORRY FOR BEING GONE SO LONG OMLLLL- i’ve never written anything other than starwars lol- but I hope this is enjoyable. I also havent ever written fauxscest and I wouldn't say i'm really into it, but I feel like it fits the character lowkey)

One of James' customer mistakes you for his daughter and you actually play along...James isnt thrilled

warnings: dead dove do not eat?, Fauxscest, age gap, orgasm denial, just regular schmegular smex, name calling,

________________

 “Fuck Jamie!” you squealed as DILF!James Kelly harshly bent you over the old camaro that had been sitting in his shop for the past two weeks. 

His strong tattooed hand had your nicely curled hair in a strong grip as he smacked your ass with the other. “You wanna act like a child so bad, then I’ll treat you like one” he said as he continued to spank you. 

Earlier, James had been finishing up a job on an old Ford pickup and was negotiating payment with the owner when you skipped out from inside the shop wearing shorts and a tank top.

In James’ “office”- really just a room with a chair and desk that he’d toss papers on (or eat you out on)- he had a bowl of candy just in case a client brought around their kids. James never really knew what to do with kids, but you told him having a candy jar would make him seem less scary.

Of course he had one the next day.

But clients never really brought their kids around the shop so you got to enjoy the majority of the candy. Today you were feeling the cherry lollipop and twirled it around your mouth as you scampered out to see what James was up to. 

As you walked out you saw James broad back facing you as he stood with his arms crossed towards a gruff man with gray hair. They looked like they were talking shop- how boring.

You sighed and were about to go back inside when the gray haired man noticed you. 

“Kelly, you never mentioned ya had kids?”. 

James was taken aback- kids? 

He turned to see what the man was looking at when his icy eyes landed on your tantalizing form; it was nearly 97 degrees and humid as fuck- why the hell did you look so good?

He subconsciously licked his bottom lip before remembering the man’s comment; he turned back just about to protest when you skipped up to him and threw your arms around him. 

“He’s never mentioned me?” you said with a fake pout. 

“But dad- I thought you were proud of me? Why don’t you tell your friends about me?” 

James was too stunned to speak- sure, you’d occasionally call him “daddy” in bed but he never thought that act would leave the bedroom. His left eye twitched as he looked down at your doe eyed expression. 

“Haha- I’m sure yer Dad’s proud of ya kiddo- probably just wanted to hide you away cause you’d have all the boys riled up” the gray haired man chuckled as James fought to keep his frustration at bay. 

“Is that why daddy?” you asked innocently. 

James was pissed

…

and extremely turned on.

But he was really bothered that his client was obviously checking you out right in front of him. He clenched his jaw once more before straining out an answer. 

“Yea thats why, sweetheart. I’d hate to have to get the shotgun out of the shed for something other than hunting” he falsely smiled. 

You hugged him once more before heading back inside “Well I’ll let you two keep talking- Thanks for choosing my dad’s shop” you smiled at the man before your boyfriend. 

He shot back a bright grin “Not a problem darlin’, I’ll be sure to come to yer Dad’s shop from now on haha”. 

James clenched his fists at his sides, he could feel himself losing his composure.

The man finally paid James and added a little extra and told him to “buy somethin’ nice for that daughter of yer’s”. 

Oh- James would definitely not be buying you something nice after the little stunt you just pulled. 

“She's a looker Kelly, better keep an eye on her'' the man commented once more before hopping into his newly fixed truck. 

James just nodded as he counted the money the man paid him, “Yea, i’m always lookin at her- especially when she's bouncing on my cock”. 

The old man’s eyes almost popped out of his sockets; “Pardon?!”. 

James finally met his eye once more with a smug look, “Yea, she’s not my daughter- that’s my girlfriend”. 

The man just sat with the truck held in reverse as he tried to replay the whole interaction. 

“And I’m gonna fuck her raw for that shit she just pulled- Thanks for the tip and have a nice day” he said before shoving the cash into his pocket and shutting the garage gate. 

You had taken a seat at James’ desk as you mindlessly scrolled on your phone. You thought it was funny to play with him like that but you didn’t think it would get him too worked up- so when you heard him call for you to come out to the garage your body buzzed with nervous excitement. 

He had called your name harsher than he normally would so you could tell he was feeling some type of way but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what… were you about to be lectured, yelled at, or fucked? 

Maybe all three heh

James was standing domineeringly with his feet slightly parted and arms crossed tight as you entered the garage. 

“Yesss? What’s wrong Jamie” you answered innocently. 

He clicked his tongue and cut his eyes, “you know damn well what you were doing”. 

You pouted your pretty lips and shook your head, “I don’t really see anything wrong with joking” you said smugly. 

Annnd now you’re here, bent over his camaro with him ruthlessly plunging his thick cock in and out of you.

James’ veins popped as he tugged at your hair with one hand and angled your hips up with the other. He was panting like an animal as he forcefully thrusted into you, heavy balls slapping against your swollen clit. 

“Fuck, please! Jamie- Slow down!” you cried as you grounded yourself on the hood of the old car as your boyfriend hit it from the back. 

“Jamie?” he questioned, squeezing your ass harder.

“James!” you managed.

He let out a low chuckle that made you even wetter than before, “you wanted to call me dad so bad earlier, what happened, doll?”. 

You could hear his stupid smirk in the way he spoke, you wanted to say something but all that was coming out were pathetic whimpers and moans.

You felt him shudder as you clenched your gummy walls around his throbbing cock- “s-shit” he cursed under his breath as he slowly pulled out until just his tip was left in you. 

Your eyes were already brimming with tears-but when he stopped his movements, the tears started to flow. Your poor pussy ached for him to slide between your folds- once he started, you needed him to finish. 

It was almost criminal how empty you felt without your boyfriend’s dick inside of you. You began to whine the longer he held still. 

“You think you’re so slick, little brat” he growled as his rough palm made contact with your bright red ass cheek for the umpteenth time. 

He leaned down to whisper in your ear and you felt the cool silver of his cross chain as it slid down your arched spine. 

“Who am I” he asked with a dangerous lilt to his voice. 

“James” you cried again, you knew that was the wrong answer but you needed him to keep going.

Without warning he plunged into you and bottomed out as your eyes rolled back in pleasure. But just as fast as he was in, he had resumed the previous position. 

“Incorrect” he said before pulling completely out. 

You whimpered before he flipped you around so that you were staring at his flushed face; God he was perfect. Looking down between the two of you- his hard cock was completely coated in your combined juices and twitched as he stood over you. 

He grabbed your hips and lined himself up with your aching core once more before shoving himself in with an abrupt snap of his hips. You gripped onto his forearms as you yelped. 

“Who am I” he asked once more, his voice low with lust. 

“D-Daddy” you cried in humiliation as you shied away from James’ watchful eyes. 

He halted his movements and leaned closer to your ear, “Almost. What did you call me earlier, doll?” he said with a devious smirk. 

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, “...dad”. 

“What was that baby? Didn’t hear ya” James taunted. 

“DAD!” you wailed as you dug your nails into your older man’s forearms. 

“That’s it, Sweetheart” he smiled as he quickened his pace. 

You moaned as his sloppy thrusts jiggled your breasts around for Jame’s viewing pleasure. You felt your high approaching fast. 

“Fuck- I”m close- I” you cried as James continued diving deeper and deeper into your sopping cunt. 

James bit his bottom lip and pulled out as fast as he had been fucking you; leaving you with a disappointingly empty feeling. You gasped at the loss of his massive member and your eyes shot open to see why your boyfriend felt the need to pull out. 

There he was in all of his glory; brow adorned with sweat , face flushed, brows drawn together, and lips parted. Soon you felt his warm ropes of cum spilling onto your stomach, you whimpered at the wasted seed and your lost orgasm. 

He finished stroking himself with a shudder and squeezed out the rest of his spend onto you with a low groan. 

“W-why?” you almost cried as your boyfriend began to clean himself off. 

“Good girls wouldn’t cum from their dad’s dick-” he tossed you a towel from the hanger on the wall, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson, little one”. 

“Once you’ve had time to think about your actions and clean up- maybe I’ll consider letting you cum” he said before leaving you alone and empty in his dim office. 

***

lol I hope you enjoyed :)

[hectorthedoggo]

I will put this in ao3 and edit when i have the means to. but. @kani-miso it's 0009 sibs i thought of you and decided to make this 🎀🎀

UPDATE I ACIDENTALLY DELETED THE TAB WITH MY EDITS AO3 is going to kill me

“Alright. Milgram's up.” The creature stayed. Es stayed frozen from where they were sitting on the couch. Oh God. What's the consequences of my verdicts?

Wait. Up? This is Trial 2?

They disregarded that. It must be a mistake.

If these verdicts even are mine, I can’t tell. I've been dreading this. I'm scared. They clutched their arms, trying to gain some warmth, some friction, for what was to happen next.

Jackalope narrowed his eyes at them. “A nervous one, aren't you now. Anyways, so since the administrators decided that you were too unstable, you'll go free. Congrats.

Oh yeah, and the verdicts didn't really have consequences, it was just a little social experiment. It doesn't matter. Good luck surviving in the real world!”

What. What the heck is he talking about? “Wha- What do you mean- Who's the admin- wah!”

They felt a pulling sensation, and suddenly, they were standing in a Walmart™ parking lot. The only other person nearby was Mikoto Kayano.

But, nobody was dead. He was in his original clothes, but. Wait, where are we? What's this big sign that says ‘Walmart’?

What is a Walmart, and where the hell did Milgram go?

They also had a little pack with them, and upon opening it, there was a little message printed out. Nothing else.

‘mikoto is your legal sibling btw. gl lmao be glad I even gave you this note ur probably my favorite warden - Jackalope (professional child neglecter)’

At least the pack looked cool looked cool…

Es was about to have a mental breakdown. Why did Milgram leave me like this? Is this what I am to them?

“Woah, what happened?” Mikoto wondered, “Hey, Es. Did you do this? Is Milgram over? Did they identify it to be a mistake?”

They started shaking. They threw me out like garbage. I…

“Es?”

They sniffled at the situation. I’m… garbage. Because, as my usual logic says, I am what Milgram deems me to be.

“I- I have no idea…” they extended the last vowel to emphasize how little idea they had.

They threw the note on the ground --- or at least tried to, it just flew away, right into Mikoto’s hands ---, and started to sob.

The tables had turned. Mikoto looked like he knew why he was here, Es didn’t (nande boku ga koko ni iruyo). It was genetic.

Meanwhile, Mikoto had gotten the note, and he read it. “Wh- huh?”

He stared over at Es. “Es, this is a mistake, right?”

“That is the least of my worries right now, pudding boy!” they snapped at him, instead channeling their sadness into aggression.

He completely disregarded their feelings, to the point where he might not have even heard them. “Right… my mom did mention that our father got remarried. Wah, Suu! You’re my little sib!”

He went up to their grieving form, and gave them a little fistbump, lifting up their unwilling arm to do so. Why did he do that? Last time we touched, John was beating the shit out of me.

A random car pulled up into the Walmart™ parking lot, and the window unrolled. 

It was a woman with brownish hair, who looked like Mikoto. “Oh, you’re the other sibling that your father was talking about. You two can just get in the back in the car, your sister’s taking shotgun. Nice to meet you!”

Why the fuck does Mikoto’s sister have a shotgun? Are they all like this?

Mikoto followed in with them, and buckled in. Es had no idea what was going on.

They could not find the seatbelt, too busy processing the upheaval of their life in the past 5 minutes.

“Yo, sib. The seatbelt’s over there.” Mikoto smiled and gave a thumbs up, like a reliable older brother. “I saw it.” I did not see it.

They touched it, and got stung by the heat. Their, wait, no, Mikoto’s sister turned back at their sound of pain, turning off her phone. “Ah, yeah. It’s summer, don’t touch it.”

They scowled, forgetting their dread in the face of the overheated car seatbelt.

The car chimed, and the keys jingled. “Alright, folks! You two seem pretty tired from wherever the heck you disappeared to. Would you wanna go home, or get some ice cream?”

The sister turned around, and smiled a little wide. “My dear siblings, do you know the answer? There is a correct one.”

Es scowled. “What the fuck is an ice cream. Why is the cream ice?”

“Are you serious?” She scrutinized their face, finding the truth, “Step on it, Ma.” She went back to her phone, probably texting her friends about this weird kid in a warden outfit that was apparently her sibling now.

Mikoto looked over at Es and shrugged, like a comical cartoon character. Like a ‘what can you do?’.

I won’t allow these insolent- wait, these aren’t prisoners. Unless the sister girl did something with that shotgun of hers. It would run in the family, I guess.

Wait, that would mean that I’m also violent. Nevermind.

The 11th cell came to mind, and they dismissed it. Wrong kinda fic, buddy. We staying fluff here.

“So, Mikoto. And, what’s your name?”

“Es. I think?”

The woman put on her strict mother voice. “... okay. Mikoto and Es. What was so important that you had to completely disappear for like a years. No note! Job gone! You could’ve died, for all I knew! Es, sweetie, I’m sure it was Mikoto’s fault. He’s such a bad influence.”

Es raised their hand to ask a question, slightly flustered from the pet name. She indicated that they could speak.

They decided to just reveal it all. “Um, Mikoto committed murder… eh, Mikoto, he has DID and was stressed from his job, hence the murder. And I was the warden of the prison that held him and 9 others.”

Mikoto lost all of his composure at all of his darkest secrets being revealed, the dramatic guy he was. “What… Es, don’t… I… that’s not… I don’t have DID? I was doing… I was doing just…”

He seemed a little overwhelmed at the prospect of having to unpack all of the luggage that Es laid out, so another guy came out. “I am not straight. Oh- sorry, hi, I’m John. I’m the guy who totally committed the murder 100% trust guys c’mon vote mikoto innocent 2024-”

I already had to deal with that yapping last interrogation. Es shut him up with their hand. He waved it away. “If you’re gonna say that shit about Mikoto, Es hasn’t been going to bed at a healthy time or eating healthy.”

They were betrayed at his reveal. “I can’t believe you.”

“We’re going to fix that, Es. You’re going to get the regular kid treatment.” The mother nodded, eyes steeling. Oh no, not the normal teen treatment!

John had some other stuff going on behind there. Maybe Mikoto’s cheesiness had rubbed off on him. “As soon as we get out of this car I’m giving you a hug.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Yes.”

Speaking of unwarranted physical contact. “Oh yeah, mo- Mikoto’s mother, um… John beat me up in Trial 1.”

“SNITCH?!”

“What’cha gonna do about it?”

“Give you another hug.” He deviously grinned, knowing that wasn’t the answer they expected or an answer they liked.

“I won’t allow it.” But, they weren’t the warden anymore. They couldn’t deflect affection as well as they used to.

The sister was unbothered by this discourse. Perhaps it hasn’t quite set in. “I guess I got two extra surprise siblings. Cool.”

-

When they got to the ice cream store after a prolonged amount of awkward silence, the moment the car doors opened, the chase was on.

Es nearly ran into oncoming traffic to escape any chance at being loved, as one does, but John grabbed them and lifted them up by their elbows, giving them a hug once they were out of the street.

“Jeez, you’re light. C’mon, we’re getting ice cream and you aren’t gonna kill yourself.”

“‘M not!” They kicked their legs to try and get the man off of them. But, they had about the strength of a 5 week old kitten compared to him, without the claws.

He plopped them down, Es seething about their lack of power they had here.

The sister turned off her phone, finally, and turned to Es. “Okay, I just wanna make sure. Were you joking earlier about not having ice cream before?”

“I’m the prison warden of Milgram, I don’t need-”

She interrupted them before they could start monologuing and crying about how Milgram didn’t exist anymore. “You’re getting Birthday Bash.”

“What- but it’s not my birthday?” It could be, for all I know, but she’s doesn’t have to know that.

“Ok, what is your birthday?” Dammit.

“Great question!” Es stared into space, tone full of sarcasm. Milgram never tells me shit.

“Mikoto or whoever the hell you are, do you know their birthday?”

“Nah.” John responded. “By the way, um, this kid was the one who named me John, because they thought it would be funny to be a know-it-all and reference some English name.”

She looked over at Es. “No offense, but you suck at naming. I think we were all thinking that.” We…

Es tried to defend their horrible naming skills. “What?! Who else was gonna name him?”

Mikoto’s mother decided to join in the conversation, but left after putting her two cents in. “Me. Or Mikoto, since he’s where John came from.”

John smirked. “See, Es! But the name has stuck, so you owe me.”

Es crossed their arms, huffing. “I don’t owe you anything. You beat me up that one time, so if anything, you owe me!”

He couldn’t exactly find a defense for that, so he took their hat off their head and held it as high as he could reach, exposing their hat hair. “Hey!”

They jumped to get it, but to no avail. They looked pathetic.

Meanwhile, Mikoto’s mother and sister had already gone in to order. Order, like what a judge says?

It’s all a law reference.

John grinned. “You're a silly little creature, Suu.”

“You're not Mikoto, stop that.” I do not like that weird ass nickname.

He put on an innocent face. “What do you mean? I'm Mikoto, and I love my company so much! Hahaha, I would never commit murder. This must be a mistake!”

Es was somewhat surprised. “That's stuff he actually said in his first trial, how did you get it so accurately?”

“I hear this guy's internal monologue.”

That’ll do it. “Ah.”

 He threw their hat into the air while they were distracted, and they stepped back in surprise. He caught it. “Nice hat.”

“Get away from-”

The rest of the family brought over ice cream, and Es was handed a mash of colors in theirs that seemed unnatural.

“Is this food?”

“Eat it.” John asserted.

They shrugged. If this is poison, at least I don't have to worry about Milgram and all that stuff.

Worst case scenario, it doesn't kill me and it tastes bad. I'm not sure what my best case scenario is. Dying? It tasting good? We’ll see.

They bit down on the food with aggression, and it tasted… amazing, other than the fact that it was cold.

“What the heck is this? In a good way?” They temporarily forgot about their slight suicidal ideation.

“Bro has never heard of the wonders of overly processed foods…” the sister commented, smirking.

Why is she calling me bro? Huh? If I question her, will she bring out the shotgun? I'm scared of her. She’s my older sister now, isn’t she…

To be honest, Kotoko was scarier. I’ll be fine.

She wasn’t addicted to her phone, though… wait, right. Kotoko kinda was.

They grinned, and momentarily forgot their troubles in the face of their action. I’m so much better than these people. This tastes good. Mmm… ice cream… I like it…

They did get a brain freeze, and brought their hand up to their forehead in pain.

They got their head patted by John, who had somehow consumed his (larger serving of) ice cream. “Do you want the rest of that?”

“Yes?” They answered.

He grabbed a spoon, and took a bite of their ice cream. “Wow, this tastes nice.”

Es disliked the younger sibling experience. “Give me my hat back. I didn’t forget about that.”

“No.” However, he made a mistake: it happened to be in grabbing range. They quickly snatched it, and grinned in pride.

But, while they were distracted with John, they forgot about their other older sibling, who took a sizable amount of their precious ice cream.

I just discovered ice cream. Will they stop stealing it?

-

They were next in a car, making sure to avoid the seatbelt this time. About ⅓ of their ice cream had been usurped, and they didn't have the strength to defend it.

But, it wasn’t that bad. These people are nice…

I… I guess this is my life now? It’s not that bad.

Finally, there were no catches to this fact.

They would have to buy new clothes, the warden outfit was scratchy.

[jeonghunny]

— the part where you didn't reject me, yoon jeonghan.

fluff | 806

jeonghan has been in your life for as long as you can remember.

he was in the playground when you were kids, he was in the school cafeteria in high school and now here he was in the lecture hall next to you in college.

jeonghan was notorious for his playfulness. you’re all too familiar with his constant teasing, the light-hearted back and forth that makes up most of the conversations you have with him and the occasional flirtatious words and actions he’d slip in here and there.

he’s always been a physically affectionate person. holding your hand, giving you cuddles, lots and lots of hugs, placing one hand on the small of your back as he walks you to your classes and pressing fleeting kisses to the top of your head — all platonic of course. or at least that’s what you’d thought.

because that’s just how he is and you don’t want to read too much into it, never allowed yourself to. not wanting to assume anything, too afraid of what the outcome might be once you let yourself fall.

but you’d never let anyone know that you do get flustered on the days where he gets more affectionate than he normally would be.

you’d never let anyone know about the one too many sleepless nights where he’d consume your every thought when you would finally allow yourself to fall.

butterflies forming in the pit of your tummy when he jokingly calls you “babe” and pulls on your hands as he whines and tries to coax you into joining one of his many outrageous bets.

“what’s in it for me?” you question, raising a brow at him.

“i’ll give you a kiss.”

there’s that smirk. the one that makes you wonder if he’s actually being serious or if this is just one of his never-ending jokes.

“who said i wanted your kiss?” you roll your eyes at him and try to pry him off you.

you don’t try too hard though, knowing you’ll miss his touch once he actually does move away from you.

“come on,” he pushes again as he snuggles into your side.

and you give in. of course you do, you always do.

the day everything changed began like any other monday for you.

you went to your classes then headed over to jeonghan’s place to hang out.

laying on the couch with your legs hanging over his thighs, a box of cold pizza on the table before you, you munched on a slice as you searched for something to watch on the tv.

“why aren’t we dating?” he pondered out loud while looking straight ahead at the tv as if the question wasn't even directed at you.

you choked on your food and jeonghan started laughing.

your eyes are wide, mouth hanging open when you turned to him. “excuse me? what did you say?”

“i asked why aren’t we dating?” he repeated with a straight face.

“are you being serious right now?”

he shrugged, expression on his face unchanging. “i mean i like you and i think— no, i know you like me too. so why aren’t we dating?”

“you like me?” your voice suddenly a pitch higher as you sat up.

“mmhmm,” he chuckled slightly then continued chewing on his pizza as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.

you stayed silent as you tried to process the information and in true jeonghan fashion, he moved onto the next topic, pointing out something silly that was happening on the tv screen.

neither of you brought up the conversation again for the rest of the night.

jeonghan finds himself outside the hall waiting for your last class of the day to end and he jogs toward you when he spots you among the crowd of people exiting the place.

you feel his fingers curl around yours before you even notice him there next to you.

“what are you doing here? you don’t have classes today,” you move your arm to keep the stack of books from falling.

“i’m fulfilling my boyfriend duties,” he reaches over to take the books from you with his free hand.

you squint your eyes at him, “when did you become my boyfriend?”

jeonghan clicks his tongue then sighs, “are you really that forgetful?”

“are you delusional?” you counter, tilting your head.

he shakes his head before looking directly into your eyes with a teasing look on his face, “did you forget last night when we were on my couch?”

“i didn’t forget, but please remind me which part specifically was it that made you my boyfriend?”

and there’s that smirk again. the one you used to despise so much but grew to love. the very same one that makes you question the words that come after.

“the part where you didn’t reject me.”

[spongebobiscool]

Summary After receiving an injury from a villan named Boom while working on the job, you were ordered to bed rest for the next weeks. You assumed you’d be spending those weeks alone, but from the knock on your door and the person behind it, you couldn’t be anymore wrong.

Pairings Katsuki Bakugou x reader

WC/ 942

A knock came to your apartment door and you walked up to answer it. To your surprise, it was the Katsuki Bakugou behind it. He had a muscled arm against the doorway, straining all of his muscles. You felt your breath hitch at the sight.

“Well, if it isn’t the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight,” You said sarcastically. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He rolled his eyes, painting his usual scowl across his face. “Listen extra-“ oh, here we go, “I just wanted to apologize for today.” He began, his face becoming serious.

Before answering the door, you were busy honing your wounds due to today's villian. He called himself Boom. Boom wanted to be just like Bakugou, a copycat in a way. And he was a tough one, having the power to send explosives kind of like Bakugou’s quirk but a little bit of a cheap knock off. That didn’t mean it was any less painful when he directed explosions your way and sent you flying to the nearest building.

And it really didn’t help when Bakugou took charge of the operation and because of it, the next harsh explosion was sent your way. A quick trip to the hospital later and you were told that you had a sprained ankle, a couple broken ribs and that you’d need to stay off the job for the next few weeks. You didn’t blame him for what happened, you were heros. It happens.

You could see the guilt behind his vermillion colored eyes. It was hard to pick you but you could see it. You shook your head at him, “You don’t need to apologize for anything. Things happen,” you said, shrugging your shoulders.

“But I’m a hero, and I put you in danger. I’m sorry,” he bowed his head to you and you nearly smiled. Who knew Katsuki Bakugou could have so much compassion for others?

With as much as you could, you moved to the side to show him the door. “Would you like to come in?” You asked. He seemed unsure but continued to walk through the door. With your sprained ankle, it was hard to take a step back. Especially because you limped toward the door and left you crutches against the couch.

You couldn’t stop yourself from realizing just how tall and big Katsuki Bakugou was. He wore a black tank top and sweatpants but converted himself off with a jacket. “I have tea if you want some,” you choked out. He nodded and watched you closely.

To get away from his hard stare, you turned on a heel and started walking. “I’ll make you some,” you said, limping out of his way but it took one chord to nearly send you to the floor. Thankfully, strong arms and a hard body grabbed onto your waist to keep you upright.

“I’ll make the tea,” he grumbled. “Now sit ya’ ass down,”

You rolled your eyes and did as he said while he went into the kitchen to make the tea. It didn’t take him long to figure out which one you liked the most. You only had 2 boxes of both you really liked. While the kettle was running, Bakugou went to sit by your side. “What’s all this?” He asked.

You looked down at the bandages and felt your cheeks heat up. “Nothing. I was just cleaning myself up-“

“Let me do it,” the shock hit you like a slap in the face. He wanted to do what? You watched him grab the alcohol and gauze, realizing that he was indeed serious. The wound was a slightly deep cut that hadn’t healed yet. “Where are you hurt?” He asked.

Hesitantly, you turned your back to him. The wound was on a lower region on your shoulder blade and it would require you to nearly remove your top. You pushed your hair out of his way, revealing your naked back to him and the harsh bloody slash that laid in your back.

You winced as he began working on your shoulder, cleaning up as much blood as he could. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I never meant for you to get hurt.”

Wow, you never thought he would felt this guilty for a mistake. Things happen for us heros. It’s never one person's fault and it definitely wasn’t his. You shook your head again. “You don’t need to blame yourself.” You said. “It’s not your fault so please.”

He didn’t say anything after that and continued to clean your wound until he finally bandaged it up with another piece of gauze and a big ass bandaid. You felt his hand hovering over your back and you swallowed hard. The tension was so thick. “Why do you care so much?” You mustered up the strength to ask.

He scoffed. “I’ve always cared-“

You pulled up your shirt and turned to face him. You would’ve cowered from the intensity of his eyes if it wasn’t for the adrenaline rushing through your body and the alcohol you drank earlier. “Not like this,” you countered.

For the first time, you think you’ve might’ve broken him. Bakugou clears his throat and stands up. “I’m gonna check on the tea,”

You stood with him, calling after him, “Katsuki-“

He stopped. He stopped and turned around to face you. “Say that again,” he breathed. His chest rising and falling at a thunderous pace. His eyes, those vermillion colored eyes never left you.

“Say what,”

“My name,” he said. “Say it again,”

All the air left you, “and what if I don’t?”

He shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips as he walked over, towering over you. He pulled you close and you could just then tell the reason as to why he wanted to hear his name so bad. Yep, definitely big. “I’m okay with spending the rest of this night making you scream it,”

[wheresarizona]

Learning to Live Part 33

summary: It’s the happiest day of his life—Javier is finally a married man, and he can't keep his hands off his new wife.

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, alternating POV, explicit smut, age gap (about ten years), two extremely horny newlyweds, Husband Javier Peña, mutual masturbation (m & f), hand job, dirty talk (you describe to each other how you want to fuck for the first time), praise kink, breeding kink, marriage kink? (it really turns you both on that you’re husband and wife), wedding ring kink (don’t look at me), Javier being so in love and unbelievably happy, banter, special appearances by their bovine children (it’s so cute), Chucho interrupting a heavy make-out sesh, anxiety, mention of dysfunctional family, a surprise POV we’ve never seen)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader (no physical descriptions - nickname Cielito)

word count: 11.3k+

a/n: First, I’m sorry for how long this took. It’s been a very rough and busy few months, but I’m back to it! This is part one of (I’m hoping and praying) only two that will be about the wedding reception. I’m like 7k+ into the next one. Thank you for your patience and all of the comments on the last chapter. I loved reading everyone’s reactions! 🥹🥹🥹 Thank you to the love of my life, @juletheghoul, for betaing and always ensuring my Spanish makes sense!

songs mentioned in this chapter: “Amor Prohibido'' by Selena & “Tiburon” by Proyecto Uno

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

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When Steve told her Javier had a girlfriend, Connie asked him to repeat what he had said because she thought she’d misheard him. He’d told her again, a little slower, "Jav has a girlfriend."

Who knew four words could sound so foreign together?

She’d had to clarify, "Our Javi? Javier Peña? He has a girlfriend?"

Steve had looked amused. "Yes, honey. Javier Peña has a girlfriend—I'm glad I'm not the only one who can’t believe it."

"Like, a girlfriend, girlfriend, or just one of his lady friends he's seen more than once?" She’d known that in Colombia, he’d had favorites amongst the working girls he saw, not to mention Elisa.

"A girlfriend, girlfriend—he's dating whoever this woman is."

"Are you sure?” She’d had to ask. “Maybe you just misunderstood him…"

And though Connie Murphy loved her husband dearly, she sometimes needed to double-check things he said, so she'd waited for Steve to leave the room before she had called their friend herself to verify what she'd been told was true. To her utmost surprise, Javier had confirmed it—he had a girlfriend, and he was serious about dating her.

Once the shock had passed, she’d needed to know everything about this woman who’d caught his attention, and once again, she had been surprised by what her friend said and how much he wanted to share.

Javi was not a chatty guy. Sure, you could have a conversation with him, but he never gave more information than was asked or pertained to the discussion. Connie had known something was different with their friend when he had, without much prompting, started telling her at length about this girl he had met in a grocery store—it’d been clear he was completely smitten by how fondly he spoke of her, and it had made Connie grin like a fool that Javier Peña finally had his sights on settling down, something he’d more than earned after everything in South America.

When she’d gotten off the phone with him, she’d gone to Steve and ordered him, not asked, ordered him, to get the new couple to visit as soon as possible; she’d been dying to meet this person who had their friend head over heels, and her annoying husband’s response was to tell her to calm the fuck down so they didn’t spook the woman who’d only been dating their best friend for a little over a week—she hated that he’d been right, but after a month of them going steady, and things looking good, she’d gotten back on Steve’s ass about convincing them to visit.

It may be surprising, but Connie and her husband weren’t very skeptical about the new development in Javi’s life—they were well aware of what happened between him and that awful girl from his hometown he left at the altar and how wary it’d made him in terms of relationships, so they trusted his judgment, plus all he’d told them about his girlfriend was reassuring, and there weren’t any red flags, they were all bright green; this woman made him happy and seemed like a good person, that last bit was proven when they finally met her. They more than approved of the marriage, and as soon as they were given a date for the wedding, they were making plans to attend because they weren’t going to miss the happiest day of their best friend’s life for the world—and Olivia was over the moon about being the flower girl and getting a new dress.

Connie would be lying if she said she didn’t cry during their ceremony. When they all still lived in Colombia, Javier’s parents had contacted her regularly to check up on him. She’d gotten to hear firsthand how much of a romantic Chucho was from his wife, and after Antonia passed away, his love for her was just as strong, if not stronger, with the way he’d reminisce and speak of her, almost as if she wasn’t gone. Even though it made sense that Javi inherited his father's romanticism, it was downright mind-boggling to hear him say such beautiful and touching things that could've come straight from a sappy chick-flick; it also had to be the most she’d ever heard him speak in one go.

It was sweet to see Javier so in love, and she was happy he was marrying someone who felt just as strongly about him—he definitely deserved this happiness he had found, and it was about damn time he got himself a family. The man was destined to be a dad; he was terrific with her kids, so good, in fact, it made Steve realize he needed to step up as a father. She’d always be thankful to Javi for that. Before her husband got more involved, it was Connie doing just about everything for Olivia, and it was exhausting and honestly put her off wanting any more children, but once Steve changed his act and started pulling his weight, she was ready for their family to grow.

The Murphys were excited to see Javier doing so well and marrying such a wonderful woman.

They were out on Chucho’s land at a hill with a giant oak tree sitting atop it, surrounded by grassy fields and the Rio Grande river in the distance, you could see if you stood under the tree. The sun had set, and the couple was officially married; Javi’s dad had them sign their marriage license, along with Steve and the bride’s best friend, putting their names down as witnesses, the newlyweds taking off back to the house for the big party that’d be happening with the new wife climbing into the driver’s seat of her new husband’s truck.

Steve and Connie had just packed their kids into the SUV they rented and were getting into their seats up front. Her husband turned the key in the ignition to start it. His seatbelt clicked into place right after hers, and he looked over at her with his hand on the wheel and a smirk on his face—he was about to say something that’d get a reaction from her.

Her eyebrow rose. “What is it?” she asked.

He adjusted in his seat, glancing back at the children, then meeting her eyes again, and whispered for only her to hear. “Five bucks says our newly married friends find a way to ‘fold laundry’ on their way back to the house.” That was their codeword for sex, so their kids didn’t know what they were talking about.

“Steven,” she loudly gasped, and he chuckled.

“Come on, baby.” He grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together on her dress-covered thigh. “Five bucks.”

“How would they…?” She was trying to figure out the logistics in her head on how they could possibly fuck while driving, especially with Javi’s wife driving. “Wait, are we talking them making it to home base (penetrative sex)? Or third base (touching below the waist)?”

“I’m talking that at least one of them, by any means necessary, does a home run trot (orgasms) before they get to the party.”

“Oh, that’s a losing bet.”

He pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“What, because I don’t wanna lose five bucks? They can’t make it to home base while driving, but I have no doubt one of them will finish from third—probably her, and good for her—let’s be real, Steve, we know them, and there’s no way they’re making it to that fancy as heck hotel room Javi rented to score the first run on opening day (consummate their marriage), either.”

Steve seemed to be thinking over what she said. “When I talked to him the other day, Javi was determined to do things right by her, and with how he held out until their third date, I think there is a chance they’d wait.”

“Enough of a chance you’d wanna wager on it?” She smiled sweetly at him.

“Heck no.”

“When did tío (uncle) start playing baseball?” Olivia asked.

Her dad turned his head to look at her in the back middle seat. “Oh, your tío has been playing baseball on and off since he was a teenager, sweetie. He doesn’t like to talk about it ‘cause he’s not very good at it.”

“Steve,” Connie hissed, playfully slapping his arm, and he smiled. “What your Dad means,” Connie said, turning in her seat to meet her daughter’s eyes, “is your tío is embarrassed that he plays baseball, so don’t ask him about it.”

“Why is he embarrassed?”

“Uh.” There really wasn’t a better answer. “‘Cause, like your Daddy said, your tío isn’t very good at it.”

Steve had a shit-eating grin. “So, don’t mention it to him, baby girl,” he said.

“I won’t.”

The parents faced forward, and Steve let go of her hand to put the vehicle in drive.

“I think I’m pretty good at baseball,” he whispered. “Been hitting a lot of home runs lately.” He glanced over at her and winked.

Her eyes rolled, Connie smiling. “Don’t be smug about it, Babe Ruth.”

“Do you even know what team Babe Ruth played for?”

“Um, the Yankees, maybe? Do you know?”

“I think you’re right?” he answered. “But you know I don’t like baseball and hated playing Little League as a kid.”

Nothing felt more right than the weight of the gold band on his finger, and Javier couldn't help but glance at it every once in a while to make sure it was really there and he wasn't dreaming; that was what today felt like, a dream, a dream come true, and the evidence that it'd actually happened was right there on his hand for him and everyone else to see.

After the kiss, there were congratulations and pictures taken, and as everyone started walking down the hill to the parked vehicles, Chucho stopped Javier and his wife—his wife—the older man silently handed him a pocket knife, and Javier didn't need any further instruction. He grabbed Cielito's hand and led her around the tree to where he knew his parents’ initials were carved, and added his and his new wife's nearby but used the letter 'P' for her last name and included the date beneath it.

All he wanted was to be alone with his bride, but on their way to his truck, his father stopped them again to sign the paperwork that'd make their marriage legal, the document sitting on the hood of Chucho's pickup—Cielito went first, writing in her pretty, flowy cursive her old name, then passed him the pen, Javier quickly scribbling down a messy version of his signature.

"Anything else?" he impatiently asked his dad, handing him back the ballpoint pen.

Chucho was smiling. "Nothing from you two, Mijo." He clapped Javier on the shoulder. "Get going—I just need to have the witnesses sign, and we'll see you back at the house."

"Thanks, Pop." He took Cielito's hand, hurriedly pulling her behind him.

“Thank you, Pop!” his wife giggled as she followed him. Her tone was amused when she said to Javier, “Someone’s impatient.”

He quickly glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Yeah, I am,” he said, looking forward again.

They were almost to his vehicle, and she stopped walking, which had Javier stopping, too.

He turned in place to meet her eyes, his eyebrows creasing. "What's wrong?" he asked.

She let go of his hand to hold open her palm. "Keys—you're not driving."

He frowned. "I'm fine."

"I don't care if you feel fine. You downed a few shots of whiskey, and I'm not letting you drive."

The pressure of not fucking up during the ceremony had gotten to him before it even started and caused a minor panic attack that his wife helped him get through with a flask of whiskey—it was true he downed two or three shots and was a little buzzed; however, he was nowhere near drunk, and definitely not close to having a blood alcohol level that’d get him in trouble with the law if he drove.

But since his wife didn’t want him to drive, he wouldn’t because he’d do anything she said.

He sighed, getting his keyring out of his tuxedo pants pocket and dropping it into her waiting hand.

“Please, watch out for holes,” he said, “and don’t drive too fast.”

She stepped close to him, smiling. "I know your truck is your baby." She lightly patted his cheek, and he grabbed her hand, his eyes staying on hers as he turned his head to kiss the center of it.

"That I only trust you to drive.”

In college, he had an old car that got decent gas mileage, so he didn’t break the bank when he visited home—it was the same vehicle he fled from Laredo in, on the day of his first wedding. It got him through the DEA academy, and when he received his first assignment, he sold it because he was being sent to Guadalajara, Mexico, and had no need for it. Getting rid of that car was Javier letting go of the last remnant of his previous life, and boarding the plane to Mexico with nothing but the clothes on his back and a duffle bag was the beginning of a new one.

The vehicles he drove while working with the DEA were all owned by the United States government; he didn’t need to buy one for himself. When he finally quit his job, he didn’t have very many earthly possessions and showed up at his father’s with his overnight bag, his duffle bag, and all of his suits, the two boxes containing the rest of his shit arriving a couple of days after him. He borrowed the spare pickup used for work around the ranch if he needed to drive anywhere. Once Javier returned to Laredo for good after a year in Miami with the Murphys, that was when he pulled the trigger and bought himself a truck—a nice truck that was only a couple of years old and practically new with how little miles were on it.

His ‘95 Ford F-250 SuperCab was a deep maroon and was a huge step up from the old pickup he had in high school and the shitty car he sold when the DEA sent him to another country.

She snorted. "Javier, this is literally the first time you're letting me drive it."

"I would’ve let you drive it sooner if you’d asked—I trust you, and now you’re my wife, so it belongs to you, too.”

Her face lit up. "Wait," she said, "say I’m your wife again."

"You're my wife."

"Damn straight, I am your wife now, and you're my husband! Oh my god, we're married!"

His smile was big as he chuckled and stepped into her space, his large hands cradling her cheeks as he kissed her.

He loved that she was just as excited as him over their new titles. They broke apart, and his eyes took in how beautiful she looked, and the need to be alone with her slammed into him again.

"Let's go," he said, taking her free hand and leading her to the driver’s side of his pickup. He let go to open the door for her and offered a palm, which she gladly accepted, to help her get up into the cab. He ensured she was inside and closed the door, walking around to the passenger seat to join her.

He took off his tuxedo jacket and set it on the backseat—once inside the cab of the truck, with the doors closed, he scooted over to the middle of the bench seat while she made adjustments in order to drive comfortably; her dress was rucked up her thighs to better move her legs, and his were too long, having to rest his feet on the passenger floorboards.

He gravitated toward her, getting pulled into her orbit, Javier unable to keep from cuddling up close to her after their seatbelts were buckled. His upper body twisted her way, nosing against her skin and peppering kisses along her jaw as she brought the engine to life with a turn of the key.

It was twilight outside, the sun setting, leaving traces of itself behind with the horizon colored a soft orange, the sky darkening to a deep blue that could rival the color of the ocean.

He couldn’t believe this beautiful woman was his wife—this beautiful woman who smelled fucking incredible and had him half-hard in his pants at the fact he was hers, and she was his; Jesus Christ, he had never wanted her more than he did at this moment, feeling arousal burning hot in his belly. He had to touch her, his right hand going across his body to rub his fingers along the inside of her knee, his lips pressing to the column of her throat, luxuriating in her perfume and the softness of her skin.

“You’re gonna be stuck to me like an octopus all night, aren’t you?” she asked amusedly as she switched on the headlights and put the truck into drive, getting them on their way.

He slid the tip of his nose up the side of her neck to her ear, pressing his lips to it as he whispered, “Yes, I’m gonna be all over you, my wife, my smart, amazing, sexy wife, who I’m dying to be inside of—when we get to Pop’s, let’s have some fun in my room before we go to the party; I wanna make you feel good.”

She giggled. “There’s not enough time before your dad meets us there.” She rubbed his thigh, then rested her hand on it, staking her claim, her touch feeling electric and making sparks dance low in his belly—no wonder she loved it when he did the same thing to her; it felt really fucking good.

“We’ll be quick,” he told her. He kissed the sensitive spot right below her ear and smiled at how she shivered. His fingertips skated over the soft, stretchy fabric covering her inner thigh on their path to the heat radiating between her legs. "Come on, baby," he said, softly kissing her jaw. His hand made it to her pussy, where she was hot, and her neediness had started to seep through the layers. "You're already so wet for me."

He was so focused on her that the sudden feeling of her palm on his dick had a groan slipping from his throat and excitement jolting in his stomach. His mouth went dry as she started stroking him over his pants, getting him completely hard in record time.

"As much as I'd love to have a quickie with you back at the house," she said, "it's too risky. So, counteroffer."

His hand was under her dress, rubbing her sex.

"Counteroffer?" he asked and nibbled on her earlobe.

She gulped, and he loved that she was just as affected by him as he was by her. "Yes, a counteroffer—we've got twenty-five/thirty minutes before we're back at your dad's, and I know you're ridiculously horny—" That was an understatement; his libido was running rampant and his desire for her was consuming every cell in his body, and he thought he might go insane if he didn't fuck her soon. "—and,” she continued, “you won't be able to enjoy yourself at the party because of it. So, how about I make you feel a little better by getting you off with my hand."

The thought of her jerking him off made him twitch in her palm.

When it came to hand jobs, either the person giving it knew what they were doing, or it felt like they were trying to tug his dick right off his body. His wife was thankfully in the first category and had taken the time to learn what he liked; in terms of only using hands, there was nothing better than her working him over—he'd rather fuck her, of course, but if this was all they could do for the time being, then he wasn't going to say no, and she was right; if he didn’t come and alleviate some of his horniness, he wouldn’t be able to enjoy himself tonight.

He rasped in her ear, "Counteroffer."

She snorted. "A counteroffer to my counteroffer?"

"Yeah, it's called negotiation."

She squeezed his shaft, and his breath caught in his throat. "Okay, smartass, what's your counteroffer?"

His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he smiled. "We get off together—I'll rub your pussy, and you can jerk me off, but only if you'll still be able to drive.” It was getting darker now that the sun had set, and his truck’s headlights guided them across the landscape. “Otherwise,” he went on, “yes, mi amor (my love), you can make me come with your hand."

She bit her lip, thinking it over, her eyes staying on what was in front of them—his pickup’s newer suspension dulled the bumps of the uneven ground. “I’ll still be able to drive, and it’s not like there’s anything out here for me to hit.” There weren’t any trees or cattle where they were, just miles and miles of grass and more grass until they reached the gate that opened to the road. “How romantic,” she said, “our first time fooling around as husband and wife, and it’s hand stuff in your truck, like our first date—get your dick out. Let’s do this.”

Her agreement was like pouring gasoline over the flames in his belly, making them roar, his skin practically vibrating from anticipation. Right away, his hands went to his belt, the buckle clinking as he undid it, and within seconds he had his pants open, his cock springing free when he pushed his underwear down and tucked them under his balls to keep them out of the way. He was already leaking from the tip, so hard and throbbing, he needed friction desperately, having to grip himself and give it a few strokes.

She glanced over at his lap, her face illuminated by the soft light of the sky outside and the pickup’s dashboard; the first word that popped into his mind was ‘beautiful.’

“My husband has the prettiest dick,” she mused, “and it’s all mine—talk about being the luckiest wife in the world; move your hand, babe.” He let go and watched as she turned her attention forward again and spit in her palm, the action causing heat to shoot down to his cock, making it twitch.

Her touch was searing when she took him in hand, his hips bucking up into it of their own accord as Javier groaned.

“Last night, I couldn’t sleep,” she said, stroking him from base to tip and twisting on the upstroke for her fingers to rub along the sensitive spots under the head. “I was alone in your room—” She stayed at his dad’s the night before without him. “—in your bed, smelling you everywhere, and I missed you so much that I kept thinking about our wedding, but when that started making me anxious, I began imagining what we’d do after partying with everyone.” She didn’t know he got them a suite at the nicest hotel in town. Her palm felt so good on him, he just remembered he was supposed to be getting her off, too—he leaned into her side, his arm reaching across his body to get his hand under her dress, over the stretchy material covering her, knowing his fingers hit the right spot when her breath hitched; he started circling her clit, his lips going to a spot behind her ear he knew made her toes curl, and kissed it. “Mmm,” she hummed in appreciation.

“What were you thinking about?” he asked, the words coming out huskier.

She had to clear her throat.

“What your reaction will be when you see my lingerie.”

The thought alone had him breathing out a fuck, picturing a variety of pieces she could possibly wear, and what he knew for sure was whatever she chose would be better than anything he could imagine because she was intimately aware of all of the little things that drove him wild.

“Then I started imagining how you’d fuck me in it,” she said, her tone turning sultry. Javier’s heart was pounding, his lips parting; she had his dick in the tight clutch of her fist, steadily moving up and down his shaft, gliding with ease from her saliva and the beads of precum catching on her fingers. “I touched myself while I imagined you tossing me onto the bed and burying your face between my legs—“ He jerked in her palm that she played with herself while thinking about him. “—you’re dying to lick my pussy, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he answered truthfully. It was the first thing he planned to do when he had a chance, wanting to taste his wife.

“Yeah, you are—god, that feels so good.” His fingers continued swirling around her bundle of nerves. “Go a little faster.” He did. “That’s it,” she purred. “Mm, so I imagined you eating my pussy while you pushed two of your amazing, thick fingers into me, slipping in so easy from how wet I was and your come that was still inside me from when we fucked last night.”

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, easily imagining everything she was saying, thrusting up into her hand.

“There’s that slight stretch when you press them in, and they’re long enough to reach that spot—you know the one—I can’t reach it, I can’t even find it with my vibrator, but somehow you always zero in on it to make me see god, and you love that. You love to make me feel good, so I was rubbing my clit while thinking about how you’ll have me on my back as soon as we get home with your mouth on my cunt, and your fingers hitting that spot over and over again until I’m crying out your name, and coming all over your face.”

She had his mouth-watering and his cock weeping arousal, Javier needing to get her just as worked up as him, so he didn’t get to the finish line before her—he needed to make his wife come before him. It was a challenge to focus with her stroking him just right, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself before he hovered his lips over her ear so the hot air leaving his mouth would tickle her skin.

“What you imagined,” he rasped, “is that what you think will happen, or what you want to happen? Do you want your husband to eat your perfect little pussy when we’re finally alone in our room?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

His lips met the side of her neck, softly kissing it. “And after your husband drowns in your come, what do you want? Do you want his big dick down your throat? Or will your needy cunt be too hungry for your husband’s cock?” She moaned, and the sound went straight to his groin; he fucking had her. Javier’s fingers kept moving against her clit the way she liked. “Mmm, of course, you want me to fill your tight pussy; you’re always craving my dick.”

“God, yes,” she gasped, her hand continuing to work him over.

“No one’s ever stuffed you so full or filled you so perfectly, huh? Is that what you want, baby?” He kissed her jaw. “You want your husband to fuck you? You want your husband’s dick? My dick that belongs to you and only you.”

“Yes,” she answered, and he nuzzled against the side of her throat, loving how her perfume filled his nose. Her breaths were coming out heavier, her jaw slack.

“I’ll fuck you, mi amor.” His voice was muffled as his lips began a journey from the spot where her neck met her shoulder, kissing up to the delicate skin behind her ear, where he sucked—she let out a loud moan. He kept speaking, “I’ll give you whatever you want—I’ll fuck you however you want. You want me to put you on your hands and knees and fuck you until you’re cockdumb?”

“Oh, fuck, I’m almost there.” Her words came out breathy. “Don’t stop.”

His mouth was at the side of her head, keeping his voice low, “Yeah, you want me to fuck you until I have you drooling—I’ll fuck you so good that the only word said from those perfect lips is my name. Then after I make you come all over my cock, I’m gonna fuck you full of me—fill you up to the point I’m dripping out of you. I know you want your husband to fuck his come so deep inside of you that we’ll have a baby in nine months.” She made a choked noise. “You want your husband to get you pregnant.”

The previous week was their first attempt at actually trying for a baby, and now that there was a chance she could be pregnant, saying all that stuff riled them up even more than it usually did, so it wasn’t surprising that it did her in—her hand suddenly stopped, her body tensing up tight as she softly gasped his name, Javier’s fingers still rubbing her swollen bud to extend her high.

“Good girl,” he praised and kissed her cheek.

She was panting, her chest heaving. Her driving hadn’t been hindered, and she swallowed hard, Javier stopping his hand.

A smile was on her lips as she glanced over for a second. “My husband’s turn.” She winked, and he huffed out a breath. She dragged her thumb over the tip of his dick, smearing the dribbling precum, then tightened her palm around it, moving up and down in quick, shallow strokes.

“Fuck,” Javier whined. His mouth fell open, and the muscles in his gut were knotting up.

Truth be told, the shit he said to her had gotten to him, too, and he couldn't believe how close he was to coming after the handful of minutes they’d been at this. It reminded him of his first experience messing around with a girl in his teens, both of them virgins with no idea what the fuck they were doing, and he was so excited he blew his load after a minute of her hand fumbling on his cock—this time he made it past a minute, but compared to how long he usually lasted, this was going to end embarrassingly quick.

Cielito’s attention went back to looking out the windshield. “You wanna know what got me off last night when I was fantasizing about tonight?” He was so hard it hurt, and he couldn’t speak, so he nodded. “That as you fucked my brains out, I could feel your wedding ring on my skin wherever your hand was—my ass, my tit, my back, my belly, my face—I knew I was being fucked by my husband, that you were mine.”

The realization he’d feel/see her wedding band, too, caused a strangled moan to leave his mouth—his hips thrusted up into her palm as best he could while sitting, the rhythm jerky with desperation.

“Is my husband gonna come for me?” It thrilled him every time she called him that and fueled the white-hot ache boiling deep in his stomach that begged for release. Javier was so close he was balancing on a wire and on the verge of tipping over. “Come for me, baby,” she ordered. “Come for your wife.”

Wasn’t this a similar scenario to the first time he got a hand job? He was fooling around with his wife for the first time and was abso-fuckin-lutely excited to have her touching him, add in his happiness over being a married man and the fact this incredible woman loved him, and yeah, it did make sense that Javier was about to come quicker than a virgin in a whorehou—“shit,” he groaned. “‘M coming.”

His balls drew up, and the coil in his gut snapped, Javier letting out a shuddering moan as he came in her hand—she caught spurt after spurt of his spend in her palm, the pleasure exploding behind his eyelids, and erasing all thoughts from his mind as she wrung him out to the point he slumped in his seat, panting, and riding out the aftershocks.

The orgasm had him all nice and relaxed and had calmed the horniness, turning it from a screaming ache to something softer and easier to handle.

It took a moment for his brain to start working again, and the first thing he said was, “I love you.” A need came over him to feel her lips on his, so he gently grasped her chin in his hand, turning her head at an awkward angle that allowed her to still see where they were going while he kissed one side of her mouth.

“Mmm, I love you, too,” you muffled against his lips, breathing in his aftershave and spicy cologne with its familiar citrusy notes and the lovely musk.

Honestly, it was pure luck that you didn’t run into any holes while you distractedly drove. Javi touching you while you jerked him off would’ve been impossible to do on an actual road, not to mention unbelievably dangerous, with your attention being pulled in three different directions—driving, getting fingered, and jerking him off. Your husband—god, you loved the thought of that—your husband didn’t have any issues fooling around when he was driving, and you weren’t sure if it was because of his skill at multitasking or all of the practice he’d had in his youth; his truck from his teens saw a lot of action and was his favorite place to get busy. It was probably a mix of the two, and he was both skilled and had the practice, which would explain why he was perfectly fine with you choking on his cock as he drove—when he was sober. It was possible Tipsy Javi wouldn’t have any problems, either, but that wasn’t something you felt like testing.

One of your hands was on the steering wheel, and the other was closed to keep the handful of Javi’s come from dripping out—obviously, you were thinking with your pussy when you offered to give him a handy since you didn’t have a plan for what you’d do once he finished.

His mouth left yours, and you faced forward, your husband tucking his softened dick back into his underwear, then he leaned in the opposite direction of you to pop open the glove compartment, hearing him rustling around in it. He straightened, his big hand carefully grasping your wrist in his lap.

“Open,” he said, and with your palm up, you did.

Warmth filled your chest when you felt him using tissues to clean up the mess, and you looked over to see he had a small pocket pack of Kleenex opened on his thigh.

“The best husband,” you told him and focused back on driving. “Thank you, baby.”

“You’re welcome, cariño (sweetheart).” He’d gotten most of it wiped up. “I know you were playing dirty when you licked your fingers clean on our first date to try and get me to stay the night, but tonight, I don’t need a show; nothing will keep me from going home with you, and letting you use me however you want.”

“Love that for me, but be honest, babe. You’re wiping it up so I don’t turn you on by eating it.”

He sighed and finished cleaning your hand, discarding the used tissues onto the floor.

“Yeah,” he grumbled, moving to put the remaining pack of Kleenex back from where it came.

You smiled. “My adorably horny husband.”

He sat back in his seat and lifted your hand, kissing the inside of your wrist; the sensitive skin tingled beneath his plush lips and the tickle of his mustache.

“Who’s only horny for his beautiful wife,” he added, his thumb gently rubbing over where he kissed. “Now, keep your eyes forward and your hand up like this for me, please.”

“Intriguing request,” you replied, keeping your hand raised in front of him.

There was movement out of the corner of your eye, Javi getting something from the open glove box.

"Whatcha doing?" you asked, hearing what you thought was the soft slide of a lid coming off something.

"In a second, you'll know—be patient."

You frowned. "Fine."

He was right—a second later, you discovered he was putting a bracelet onto your wrist, thinking it was some kind of bangle with how Javi had to push the thin, rigid, ring-shaped metal over your hand to get it on and somehow tightened it, keeping it a little loose for your comfort.

"Before you look," Javi said, holding your fingers in his palm and sliding the pad of his thumb along your knuckles. I know we didn't talk about getting gifts for each other, so please don't feel bad that you don't have anything for me.”

“You got me a wedding present?” you whispered.

His face dipped to kiss the back of your hand. “Yes,” he answered, then turned his head, pressing his lips to your bare shoulder. He spoke softly, “We have our rings to celebrate our marriage, but I wanted you to have something that celebrated us as a family.”

Your eyes started to burn at the sweetness of this man, and for the umpteenth time, you wondered to yourself how in the world you got so lucky that he was your husband.

“Oh my god, Javi—can I look?”

“Yes,” he answered, reaching up to push the overhead light and clicking it on. The inside of the truck brightened.

You held up your hand, your eyes moving back and forth between the headlight-illuminated ground ahead of you and admiring the bracelet—it was gold, like your engagement ring and wedding band, the ends of the thin wire crossing each other, and looping around the opposite side to keep it together with two small teardrop-shaped pendants dangling from it, the first one you immediately recognized as the birthstone for the month you were born, and the second was turquoise, the opaque robin-egg blue gem shining under the light.

Tears muddled your vision. “Our birthstones?” you asked but knew the answer.

“Yes, mi amor.” He turned off the light and took your lifted hand into both of his. “My dad always bought my mom jewelry for special occasions, like her necklace you’re wearing—” Chucho was letting you borrow it, the necklace made up of what looked like connected silver waves with purple sapphires in each dip. “—I think that was an anniversary gift, or maybe a birthday—”

“Anniversary,” you told him. “Their twentieth. Your mom yelled at him when he gave it to her for spending so much money, then changed her tune and supposedly gave him a bunch of kisses, but with how fondly your dad sighed recounting the story, I’m positive he was giving me the Disney version of events, when in reality what actually happened couldn’t be shown in theaters if you know what I mean.”

“I’d rather not know what you mean or think about that shit—anyways,” he said, and the sudden topic change made you smile, “I went to the jeweler downtown—” That was where you got your wedding bands, and Javi had his mother’s engagement ring altered. “—and after talking it out with them, I thought you’d like the bracelet. The idea was that as our family grows, it would, too, and we’d add our children’s birthstones as they come along.“I just wanted you to have something special for today; what do you think?”

"Tissue me," you said, shaking his hands off your one and holding out your palm. "I don't want to ruin my makeup while I happily cry."

"Fuck," Javi said, immediately digging out the Kleenex from the glove compartment again and putting two tissues into your hand. "I'm sorry."

You blotted at your eyes as you spoke, "There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Javi. This has just been a great fucking day, and this bracelet is perfect—I love that we can add onto it as we have kids. I love you so much." The overwhelming happiness had you crying and trying to catch all the tears before they fell down your face.

"I love you, too, Cielito," he replied. He managed to get his arms around your middle to hug you from the side while kissing your cheek.

It took some seconds for you to calm down, and you loved how he was holding you.

The mascara-stained tissue was clutched in your fist, and you leaned toward him, gently knocking your head against his. “Thank you,” you softly said.

His voice was as low as yours, “For what?”

“Loving me, marrying me, having a family with me—everything, thank you for everything, and making me the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

“I should be the one thanking you for everything—I know I came with a lot of baggage, but you looked past it; hell, I think you barely glanced at it before giving me a chance, and I’m thankful that none of it scared you away.” He took a deep breath. “You love me for me, flaws and all, and you need to understand that I’m yours—you have all of my love and devotion, and I’m gonna do everything in my power not to fuck this up because you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I want to give you the entire fucking world. So, thank you for everything and for making me the happiest man in existence.”

You turned your head his way as best you could while still being able to see out of the windshield and puckered your lips. “Kiss me,” you demanded.

Javi chuckled, sitting forward to reach your mouth and kissing you tenderly, his arms around you tightening. He pecked the tip of your nose before he pulled back, his eyes roaming over your face in what little light there was from the dashboard and stereo.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he sounded almost in awe.

You snorted and faced the truck’s hood. “My makeup is probably all messed up,” you replied. “I’ll need to stop by your room real quick to touch it up and go to the bathroom before the party.” He visibly perked up in your peripheral, and you rolled your eyes, continuing to speak, “No, we’re not having a quickie, Javier.”

His shoulders slumped.

“You told me to be patient a little bit ago,” you said, “and now it’s your turn to be patient; hold your horses. I promise we’re gonna have sex, but we need to get through celebrating with our friends and family first—we owe it to them after how they’ve helped make today perfect. Knowing your family, the party is probably going to go on until tomorrow morning, and I think we’ll be fine if we disappear around midnight; then we can go home, lock ourselves away from the world, and fuck to our heart’s content, or at least until your dick chafes.”

You didn’t have to look at his face to know he grimaced. “Amor (love), you do know that my dick chafing means I’m fucking you wrong, right? Like, it’d mean you were dry, or there wasn’t enough lube—would I ever do that to you?”

“No, of course not—I’m exaggerating, babe.” You patted his thigh. “Sometimes I think your middle name is actually ‘Foreplay’ with how into it you are, and even if I tell you to stick it in without warming me up, you always make sure things are slick enough for you to Slip ‘N Slide right in.”

“Did you really just use ‘Slip ‘N Slide’ to describe me putting my dick inside you?” He sounded amused.

“Yeah? You make it slippery and slide right in—where’s the lie?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I love you so much.”

You grinned, glancing over at him. “Thank god you do, ‘cause you kinda married me,” you said, switching hands on the steering wheel to flash him the rings on your left ring finger.

In the dimmed cab, you could see him smiling, and he pressed into your side, saying between kisses to your shoulder and neck, “I didn’t ‘kinda’ marry you. I married you. Period.” His hand pawed at your dress-covered breasts. “You’re my wife, and I’m your husband. We’re officially Mr. and Mrs. Peña.”

“Isn’t that the best thing to say?”

He chuckled, lifting his head to meet your eyes. “It really fucking is.”

"You're joking," Javier said, not believing what Cielito told him.

His outfit was put back together, wearing his black tuxedo and bow tie, with the lavender-colored pocket square and one of his mother’s violet roses pinned to his lapel—he stood in the entryway of his dad’s house outside his childhood bedroom, his wife blocking the door in front of him. She crossed her arms over her chest, and the look on her face made it clear she wasn’t joking.

“I’m serious,” she replied. “You’re not coming in here with me alone.”

They had promised Chucho before the wedding that they wouldn’t do their big entrance at the party without him there because he wanted to take pictures of it. So, the plan was for Cielito to touch up her makeup, and then the two of them were going to hang out for a few minutes until his father and everyone else from the ceremony got there.

Surprisingly, the home was practically empty, with everyone in the backyard where music was already blaring. His prima (cousin) Alma had greeted them when they arrived and was in the living room behind him, staying close in case they needed anything since they couldn’t go outside.

His face scrunched up from confusion.

“You’re acting like I have no self-control—I can keep my hands to myself.”

She scoffed. “That is a dirty fucking lie, and it’s not just you; we both have shitty self-control. The moment that door shuts, and we’re alone, it’s game over, and our marriage will be consummated on the floor of the bedroom you grew up in.”

“The dusty ass floor? No.” He shook his head. “You deserve better than that, and I’d fuck you against the bathroom counter so we can look at each other in the mirror—you love that shit.”

She gestured toward him with her hand and harshly whispered, “And that is why we can’t go into the room alone! You’ve already thought out exactly how you’d fuck me!”

His palm went up onto the doorframe above her head as he leaned in close, ignoring how her eyes darkened, and whispering back just as aggressively, “I’ve had that figured out since the moment you said ‘I do!’ Right now, all I want is to be in the same room as you, and that’s it. So, why don’t we both promise to be on our best behavior, no funny business, or whatever the fuck, because I need to be near you, my wife.” His free hand cradled her cheek, rubbing his thumb along the apple of it, his gaze locked on hers as he practically pleaded, “Please don’t leave me out here alone.”

It was true that all he wanted was to be close to her. He’d steal some kisses, but that was as far as he’d go since she made it clear on their way here that they weren’t going to have sex before the party; Javier wasn’t going to be an asshole and try to change her mind, he respected her choice.

With how her expression softened he knew she could see he was telling the truth.

“Come in with me,” she said, putting her hand over the back of his on her face—he loved that he could feel the cool metal of her rings on his skin. “But we will be on our best behavior and absolutely no funny business.”

He smiled. “None.” He nudged his nose against hers. “Is kissing funny business?”

“No,” she breathed. “Kissing is fine—no tongue, though.”

“No tongue. Noted.” He slotted his lips against hers, kissing her sweetly.

“Ustedes dos son repugnantes (You two are disgusting),” Alma said loud enough for them to hear from the living room—she was the youngest of Javier’s primos (cousins), and in her last year at university. Spring term was starting the following week. “Y tontos (and dumb),” she continued. “Les digo con amor (I say it with love). Si ustedes están tan preocupados, mantengan la puerta abierta (If you guys are so worried, then keep the door open). La solución es obvia (The solution is obvious). La tía Lupita tenía razón cuando dijo que los dos son unos dramáticos (Tía Lupita was right when she called you dramatic).”

Javier groaned, breaking the kiss. “No llames tonta a mi esposa ni hables como si no estuviéramos aqui (Don’t call my wife dumb and don’t talk like we aren’t here),” he told the young girl.

“Es que hablan tan alto que ni siquiera puedo ignorarlos (You’re so loud I can’t even ignore you). Apurense, que tío está en camino, llegará en cualquier momento (You better hurry up, tío’s on his way and will be here any minute).”

“She’s right,” Cielito said. “I better hurry up and fix my face.”

His head moved back to look her in the eyes. “Okay,” he replied. He whispered the next part so the woman in the other room didn’t hear him, “She had a point about the door—we should keep it open.”

“Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”

The bedroom door stayed open when they went inside, Javier following his wife into the bathroom. This was something he loved to do, leaning back against the vanity and watching her put on makeup, or other times wash her face or apply her creams and serums, as they talked and joked around, the smile never wavering from his face. It was comfortable being there with her, and her presence soothed him; he was listening to her telling him about her day, and he wished he could’ve been there while she got ready for their wedding, but he also loved that the first time he saw her all dressed up was when his father walked her to him at the ceremony.

Alma was correct, and Chucho arrived, finding them in the en suite, the Murphys, Robyn, and his primos Sebastián and Angelita going out back. With how rowdy these parties could get, his wife decided to take off his mother’s necklace and put it back in its thin, black leather case to keep it safe. Once she finished touching up her makeup, it was time to head outside.

Their reception was being held under a giant white wall-less pole tent in his father’s massive backyard—the dance floor was set up in the center of it with many circular tables on either side, the DJ booth his cousin Diego was using at the edge of it closest to the long side that had a buffet along it prepared by his tías and their daughters/daughters in law, and a bar manned by his tío Ángel; the middle of the opposite side had a two-person sweetheart’s table where Cielito and he would sit to eat, the desserts table with the three-tier wedding cake and other sweets next to theirs.

They didn’t bother with a seating chart, seeing as 90% of the guests were related to him, and the remaining 10% were friends who everyone liked—there was a round table close to them reserved for his dad, the Murphys, Robyn, and Seb since they declined to sit at a bigger table with the newlyweds.

Chucho told them to follow him out the backdoor because he had a surprise before they made their grand entrance at the party. Javier held his wife’s hand as they exited into the backyard, the sky darkened, and stars were beginning to shine, the area lit up from string lights overhead being held up by poles, the lemony scent of citronella wafting in the air from the numerous tiki torches surrounding the tent to keep away bugs.

It wasn’t a surprise, it was two surprises, Cielito gasping “Oh my god,” when she saw, and Javier grinning—Daphne and Velma, their beloved bovine children, had flower crowns on their heads made of light and dark purple peonies, with a few white ones amongst the others—at eight months, the calves were barely half the size of a full grown cow and were tethered with long ropes from their halters to a small metal-fenced corral set up for that night; a bale of hay was in front of them and out of reach that had a hand-painted sign leaning against it that read, ‘Our parents got married!’ with the date beneath it, and a big bucket of vegetables nearby for people to feed them.

Immediately, the newlyweds were walking toward their bovine daughters, and upon Daphne and Velma seeing them, their tails started wagging in excitement like giant puppies—tail wagging meant different things for calves and full-grown cows. A calf did it when they were happy; an adult, though? It usually indicated they were irritated, and you better get the fuck out of the way, or you were going to get kicked.

As soon as Javier and his wife were close enough, they were giving the girls pets; he was scratching the red-haired calf under her chin on the spot he knew she loved.

“Oh, mis preciosas que lindas estan! (my lovelies, look how pretty you are!),” he cooed. “Que chulas (So cute).” He traded places with Cielito to give Velma some love. “Me encantan tus coronitas (I love your little crowns). Mis princesitas (My little princesses).”

“Mijo,” his father said to get his attention, and he looked back over his shoulder at him. The older man had his camera hanging around his neck, and he held it up. “Quiero tomar una foto de tu familia, por favor (I want to take a picture of your family, please).”

His family.

If someone told him a year ago that in the next twelve months, he was going to meet his soulmate, marry her, and they’d actively be trying for a baby, he would’ve asked what they were on because it had to be something good with how delusional all of that sounded—if they’d said scientists would find proof the moon was made of cheese, that would’ve been more believable than Javier getting a family of his own and truly being happy.

But it had happened. He found his person, the one, and now he had his own family.

He made sure to tell his wife many times before their wedding that she was a part of his family, and he meant it—their marriage simply solidified it, setting in stone that she was officially a Peña, and their lives were firmly intertwined for life; it also was the beginning of their own little family, one that started with the two of them and would slowly grow as they had children.

Warmth spread through his body that in another year, they could have a kid—they'd hopefully be living in their house they were building with their baby and the dog he wanted to get; he didn't have a particular dog in mind, but his father said that when they move in with him while waiting for their home to be finished, they could get one, and Javier planned on adopting from the local shelter.

“Por supuesto que sí, Pop (Of course, Pop),” Javier replied. “Dame un segundo (Give me a second).”

He walked over to the bucket and pulled out two long carrots, handing one to his smiling wife when he returned to her and stealing a quick kiss. They’d found the best way to get the calves to stay still while getting their pictures taken was plying them with treats, so the two humans got between the bovines, Javier beside Cielito with his arm around her back, facing his dad. They both held up a carrot to the girl on their other side, who happily started to munch away. They grinned as the flash repeatedly went off, Chucho taking many photos.

“¡Bésala (Kiss her)!” his father ordered, making him and his wife laugh, but doing as they were told, turning their heads toward each other, and Javier sealing his lips against hers.

All that time ago in the grocery store when they first met, something happened as they talked; he felt a funny sensation in his gut that he didn’t recognize at first because it was so foreign, and it wasn’t until he was unable to stop thinking about the sweet, beautiful woman who helped him find the perfect tomato on his drive home that he realized the fluttering in his stomach was butterflies, honest to god butterflies that he probably hadn’t felt since high school.

The thing was, they never went away after that first encounter, and any time he was around her, the butterflies went wild like he was some lovesick teenager.

And right now, the wings were flapping like crazy in his belly as he kissed her, his wife.

A hard skull headbutted his hip, and he ended the kiss, Cielito giggling as they separated. He looked down at Velma, who’d finished her carrot and was begging for more by bumping into him, his wife, in the same predicament.

The woman next to him cooed to Daphne, “Your abuelo (grandpa) feeds you well. Why are you acting like you’re starving?”

The camera’s flash had stopped going off. His father must’ve finished taking pictures.

Javier bent at the waist to scratch the black-haired calf’s cheeks.

He spoke in a sweet tone, “Porque nuestras hijas son malcriadas (Because our daughters are spoiled). Aren’t you? Bien, una más y luego tenemos que irnos (Okay, one more then we have to go).” They’d need to run back inside to wash their hands.

Chucho walked over to the bucket, his camera resting against his chest as he grabbed two turnips and brought the root vegetables to them that they took and gave to the girls after saying thanks.

Running inside to wash their hands should've only taken a couple of minutes, but the newlyweds fucked up and closed the door when they went into the bathroom, so a couple minutes turned into five and would've been more if his dad hadn't interrupted their heavy makeout session his wife started—when his father yelled and banged on the door, Javier had Cielito backed against a wall with her dress raised enough to hike her leg up on his hip, while his big hand gripped her thigh over a blue garter he couldn’t wait to take off; their lips were fused together with his tongue in her mouth, the no tongue rule while kissing clearly flying out the window.

Sure, it was embarrassing, but it confirmed that their self-control was so shitty when they were left alone that later on, once they arrived at the party and the festivities started, if he could find them a nice secluded spot, things would heat up to the point they’d end up fucking, and Javier wanted nothing more than to be inside his wife; she said no sex before the party, she didn’t say anything about no sex during it, and you can bet your ass he was going to exploit that loophole the first chance he got—he was already figuring out potential places he could take her inside and outside Chucho’s house.

He had to adjust himself in his pants, so it wasn’t obvious he was hard before they sheepishly exited the bathroom to his dad standing in the hallway shaking his head with his arms crossed in front of him.

“Eres peor de lo que yo era con tu mamá, Mijo (You’re worse than I was with your mom, Mijo),” Chucho said. “No puedo dejarlos solos ni un minuto (I can’t leave you alone for a minute).”

“Oye (Hey),” Javier replied, “me dijiste que la besara antes (you told me to kiss her earlier). No puedes estar enojado conmigo por hacer lo que dijiste (You can’t be mad at me for doing what you said).”

If his mother were here, his smartass response would’ve gotten him hit upside the head with a chancla (flip-flop)—his father, on the other hand, just gave him the look that meant Javier needed to cut the shit; it was the look that even as a full-grown forty-year-old man, made him gulp.

“Eso fue diferente y lo sabes (That was different and you know it). Ahora, deja de ser grosero con tus invitados haciéndolos esperar y sal afuera (Now, stop being rude to your guests by making them wait and go outside).”

“Lo siento, Pop (I’m sorry, Pop). Nosotros vamos afuera ahora mismo (We’re going outside right now).”

“Bueno (Good).” Chucho nodded. “Le diré a tu primo que estás listo (I’ll tell your cousin you’re ready).” He meant Diego, who was the emcee and deejaying.

Returning to the backyard, they waited for their arrival to be announced and got to watch from a distance how his primo was working the crowd under the tent from his small DJ booth. Diego was currently playing “Amor Prohibido'' by Selena, and the beer and liquor were already flowing amongst the party guests, many of them standing at their tables dancing and singing along to the song. They could see his dad weaving through the people, heading to his cousin.

Cielito stood in front of him, fussing with his hair while he held her hips over the buttery-soft material of her dress.

She was nervous.

He could see it in her eyes and how she repeatedly asked if she looked okay, which he always answered with the truth: she looked more than okay; she was stunning. Now, she was fixing his already perfect hair, and next, she’d move onto his tuxedo to probably smooth out wrinkles that weren’t there or adjust his bowtie that needed no adjustment because it soothed her to take care of him.

“Is it all the people, mi amor?” he asked softly.

“Huh?” She smoothed her palms over his jacket-covered shoulders.

“Is it all the people that’s making you nervous?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Selena’s upbeat tune, which Javier knew every word to, was still going.

“You wanna know something?”

She was busying her fingers with straightening his straight bowtie. “Sure.”

“This song reminds me of us.”

She looked at him, her hands pausing. “The only people who consider our love forbidden are my DNA Donors…”

He took her hands into his larger ones and kissed her knuckles. “Exactly.” He leaned closer so his mouth was near her ear and quietly sang some of the lines from the beginning of the track:

“Y cuando al fin estemos juntos, los dos (And when we are finally together, the two of us) Que importa que diran (What does it matter what they will say) Tu padre y tu mama (Your father and your mother) Aquí, solo importa nuestro amor (Here, only our love matters) Te quiero (I love you).”

The song was almost over, and Javier switched to singing along with what was playing:

“‘Amor prohibido,’ murmuran por las calles (‘Forbidden Love,’ they murmur in the streets) Porque somos de distintas sociedades (Because we’re from different societies) ‘Amor prohibido,’ nos dice todo el mundo (‘Forbidden Love’ is what the whole world tells us) El dinero no importa en ti ni en mí (Money doesn’t matter in you nor in me).”

He kissed her cheek. “The song reminds me of us,” he said, “because it’s true; it doesn’t matter what those people you share blood with think, or that we’re from different walks of life, and money doesn’t even fit into the fucking equation—the only thing that matters is our love; what we have means a whole lot more than anything that can be bought or social status, and they can all fuck right off with their opinions ‘cause they don’t mean shit. lo que importa es que te amo, y tú me amas, y eso es algo que durará incluso después de que este mundo ya no exista y el sol deje de brillar (All that matters is I love you, and you love me, and that is something that will last even after this world is no more, and the sun stops shining). Te amo más que a nada (I love you more than anything).”

Suddenly, his wife was gently pushing him back, her mouth finding his a second later, kissing him hard; he hugged her flush against his body, unable to keep the smile off of his lips—love had filled every nook and cranny in his chest to the point of almost bursting, contentment making his body feel all warm and fuzzy.

The music had stopped, and Diego could be heard over the sound system, “Señores y señoras, familia y amigos, démosle la bienvenida a los novios, Mr. and Mrs. Peña (Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, let’s welcome the bride and groom, Mr. and Mrs. Peña)!”

When it came to them choosing the language used for their ceremony and reception, they based their decision on what the majority of the guests spoke fluently—their ceremony was in English because it was attended mainly by the Murphys and with the high ratio of the reception’s guests being his family, they went with Spanish.

The beginning horns of their intro music, “Tiburon” by Proyecto Uno, started playing over the sound system, and they broke apart, grinning.

He cupped her cheek. “Ready, Mrs. Peña?” he asked.

“Ready, Mr. Peña.” She stepped to stand at his side, taking his hand, and he lightly squeezed it before they started walking with smiles on their faces toward the uproar beneath the tent of music, cheering, and clapping.

The moon was hanging in the dark night sky, surrounded by bright, twinkling stars, their path illuminated by zig-zagging string lights above their heads. The tent was wall-less, but they put up white lattice arches at either end, which were decorated with fake ivy and signs at their sides welcoming everyone to the party. Inside, rows of more string lights were across the ceiling; the tablecloths on every table were the same shade of soft purple as his pocket square, and atop the tabletops were clear vases filled with sprigs of lavender, that served as decoration and kept away any bugs who made it past the citronella tiki torches outside—his wife’s great idea.

As soon as they got to their little two-person table, dinner would start, keeping people busy for a while and giving them some time to sit alone together.

Javier was on a mission to get them seated as quickly as possible; he didn’t wave, he didn’t stop to talk to anyone, he just smiled, holding his wife’s hand that every few seconds he’d give a reassuring squeeze to remind her he was right there, and matched her pace, unable to stop himself from looking over to check up on her at almost the same frequency of his palm tightening around hers—he was so focused on her that everything else was a blur of faceless people and camera flashes.

The moment they were at their table, he was turning her way, his hands framing her face as he searched her eyes, and she visibly relaxed when she met his gaze, the tension leaving her shoulders. Her palms came up to cover the backs of his hands with a happy, little smile on her lips.

Javier spoke loud enough for her to hear over the ruckus. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

He crookedly smiled and closed the distance, tenderly kissing her—the room seemed to erupt in louder cheers and wolf-whistles. His mouth left hers to whisper in her ear, “I love you, and if it gets to be too much, just say the word, and I’ll get you out of here.”

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[mysunshinetemptress]

Rápido

Alexia Putellas x Jenni Hermoso x child!reader

Warnings: none except more shitty writing sorry

You’re still only small, still wobbly on your little legs, and still along way off being able to express your feelings opting to often at times throw tantrums.

You’ve spent more time on football fields than in playgrounds, more time in locker rooms, training rooms, and even physio rooms than a nursery, interacting with children your own age. But that’s to be expected when your Mama and Mamaí are world-class athletes playing for one of the best teams in the world. Surely the experiences they give you during your globetrotting are way better than the silly little nursery, your classmates are also professional athletes who know how to walk, talk and write, is that not better for you than some other snot-nosed two-year-olds who cry when they can’t reach a colour to draw on paper with.

But while all of these experiences are great, you’ve never really learned to share, you haven’t had to, your Mamaí’s are yours, your Tia’s and Grandparents are too. They have to be, they don’t spend any time with any other little kids like they do you. Your their baby, the teams baby they remind you as such when you start to kick off at the sight of them holding other kids hands as they walk out on to the pitch while your stuck with your Tia Alba and Abuela.

It was routine at this stage frustration would bubble in your tiny chest like a deflated soccer ball. You would stomp your foot, a wobbly attempt that would send you teetering before Tia Alba swooped you up, whispering words you didn't quite understand in order to calm you down.

Today is different though, you don't arrive at the stadium with Tia Alba and Abuela, in fact, you don't even get dropped off at Abuela's house, maybe your Mamai's forgot but you don't dare let out a sound in case they remember.

A grin stretched ear to ear on your face as Mama hoisted you out of the car seat. The familiar scent of freshly cut grass and popcorn mingled in the air, a symphony that announced you'd arrived at your favourite place – Camp Nou, Barcelona's legendary stadium. But today, something felt different. It was just you and Mamai's. Mama was here, her strong arms scooping you up and burying your face in the familiar scent of sweat and something sweet that must be Mamaí's perfume. While your Mamí retrieves everyone's bags from the back of the car before coming over and smiling down at you.

"Hola, Rápido," Mamí chuckled, her voice warm against your ear. "Excited for the big game?." You nod happily "Si, Mamí."

Suddenly, there's a loud shout from behind you and your Mamaí’s turn to see Mapi running straight for you all.

"There's my favourite niece!" she exclaimed, reaching out her hands. You giggled at the energetic defender reaching towards her, wanting to be passed off. Your Mama laughs happily giving you over "Hola to you too Mapi." Mapi waves your Mama off as she starts talking to you excitedly and begins to walk inside, Ingrid pulls your Mama into a hug "Hola Ale, Jenni how is Rápido today?." Your Mamaí’s begin to walk in with the younger Norwegian as they smile at the sound of your giggles. "She is good, she still doesn't know about the surprise yet." Ingrid smiled watching your interaction with Mapi as they made their way into the changing room "I think she'll love it."

Your eyes widened as you entered the locker room, hand clutched tightly in Mapi's. It wasn't just the usual pre-game buzz. Today, colourful balloons were tied to every locker, and a giant banner adorned the wall that read: "Welcome to the Team, Rápido!"

A gasp escaped your tiny lips. All your Tia's, your Mamaí's teammates, were gathered around, beaming at you. Cata, the gentle giant of a goalkeeper, knelt down, her arms outstretched. you were, usually shy around so many people, but you ran towards her, a shy smile forming on your face. Cata scooped you up, showering you with tickles, making you erupt in a fit of giggles.

Suddenly, a booming voice filled the room. "Rápido!" It was your Mama, holding a tiny Barcelona jersey with the number "10" emblazoned on the back. It was small just like you, the number your Mamí always wore. Your eyes welled up with a mixture of confusion and excitement.

Mama explained, "This is your jersey, Rápido. You're officially part of the team now!"

Unable to word how grateful you were you ran straight for your Mama, who didn't hesitate to pick you up and hold you close and squeeze her as tight as your little arms could "Gracias Mama." Your Mamí lets out a gasp pretending you had hurt her feelings after not coming over to her. You wiggled out of your Mama's arms as she put you down before running over to your Mamí " Wow so fast Rápido." You nodded happily before trying to squeeze her just like you did your Mama "I'm wearing you." Mamí laughs "Yeah you are wearing my number."

The locker room erupted in cheers and whistles. Mapi hoisted you high in the air, your tiny "10" jersey flapping in the excitement.

Ingrid ruffled your hair playfully. "Looks like we have a new teammate, and she's already stealing the spotlight from Alexia!"

Your Mama, playfully nudged Ingrid with a grin. "Don't worry," she winked, "I think Rápido has plenty of time to learn from the best."

Cata, still beaming, handed you a miniature soccer ball. It was soft and squishy, perfect for your tiny grasp. You bounced it clumsily on the floor, sending giggles rippling through the room. You lay the football down stepping back from the ball and looking at Cata before kicking the ball as hard as you could, Cata softly fell to the right as your ball rolled left past the goalkeeper. The locker room erupted into cheers as the door opened and Jonatan walked in.

"Ladies we have a game to get ready for vamos." The room let out a small apology as your Mamí picked you up putting you on her bench before getting changed into her own kit.

"So you're going to walk out with Mama doesn't that sound fun." You nodded "And you." Mamí shakes her head "No remember I have to hold another little kid's hand." You looked at her confused "Why."

The confusion etched on your face tugged at your Mamí's heartstrings.

"Because today," Mamí explained, kneeling next to you, "we get to share the walkout with other special little kids. Just like you get to today."

Your brow furrowed, the gears turning in your tiny mind. The idea of sharing wasn't entirely foreign, but it usually involved toys, not something as special as walking out onto the pitch at Camp Nou.

That same frustration bubbled in your tiny chest like a deflated soccer ball only this time it felt ten times worse.

You shook your head confused as to why you couldn't walk with both of your parents like you normally do happily in the middle "but why."

Suddenly, the locker room door opened "Ok ladies to the tunnel." Your Mama comes over taking your hand "Ready Rápido?." You shook your head "No Mamí." Your Mama looked at you her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion "Mamí is right there."

You turn your head just in time to see your Mamí take the hand of a random little girl.

A pang of jealousy shot through your heart as you watched Mamí clasp hands with the unfamiliar girl. Her smile, usually reserved for you and Mama, was directed at this stranger. You mumbled, a tiny voice barely a squeak, "But that's not me, Mamí."

Your Mama's brow furrowed. She crouched down, her warm brown eyes filled with concern. "What's wrong, Rápido?"

You struggled to find the words, your lower lip trembling slightly. Finally, it tumbled out, a garbled mess of emotions, "Walk out... with you... and Mamí ... in the middle..."

Your Mama tries but fails to stop your tears and before she can even talk to your Mamí about it the referees in front are walking towards the pitch.

Your Mama tries to walk out after them but your feet are planted firmly to the ground and you are really crying now Alexia knows you are boarding on a tantrum and the Camp Nou tunnel is not it the place for it so she scoops you up Instead, pulling your head into her neck as you continue to cry.

The cheers of the crowd outside the tunnel were a distant roar compared to the storm raging inside you. The hope of walking out with both your parents, a tiny hand held firmly in each of theirs, felt stolen, replaced by an unfamiliar girl who had somehow usurped your special place.

Mama, ever perceptive, felt her frustration even through the tears. "Shh, Rápido," she whispered, "It's okay to feel sad."

Pulling back slightly, she wiped your tear-streaked face with a gentle thumb. "Remember what I told you? Sharing your Mamí and I doesn't mean we you any less. This a chance to share the magic of the game with other little fans, just like you."

You sniffled, trying to process this. Sharing toys was okay, even sharing snacks with you Tia's sometimes. But this felt different. This was your little family.

Sensing your hesitation, Mama smiled. "Why don't we make a deal? Right now, your Mamí walks out with the other little girl and holds her hand. Later, all three of us to walk together and Mamí and I will swing you, would you like that?"

At this point your standing in line every other mascot in front of a Barcelona player except you as your Mama still tries to bribe you.

A tiny spark of hope flickered in your eyes. The thought of playing the swing game might just be enough for you to settle.

Your Mamí looks over to you and Mama worries etched across her face but Alexia just shakes her head and so Jenni turns back to the front.

You only begin to calm down after your Mama has pinky promised to swing you after the match, only then are you happy to go off and sit with Abuela and Tia Alba telling them happily about scoring on Cata and how Mama and Mamí are going to swing you.

Later, as the stadium erupted in cheers, Mamí found you by Abuela and Tia Alba. you were, still buzzing from the match rattling off all your favourite moments as Mamí listened patiently.  At a pause in your ramble Mamí held up her pinky finger with a wink.

"Swing time, Rápido,?" she asked.

You squealed with delight, launching yourself into Mamí's arms for a tight hug. As you walked towards your Mama, the tantrum and jealousy from earlier had completely disappeared. 

Grabbing your Mama's hand you let out a scream as they swung you high into the air laughing at your little giggles. You still have a long way to go with sharing but for now, it's just you and Your Mama and Mamí.

[lemonlover1110]

suguru as dad plss 🙏🙏

Suguru Geto

Summary: Suguru's twins just make mornings unnecessarily difficult.

Warnings: Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Suguru knows how much you adore sleeping in, so he tries to help you with that task by taking over in the mornings. He wakes up early to begin cooking breakfast for his baby girls, making a special menu for each one of the twins. Nanako prefers a sweet breakfast while Mimiko leans more to the savory side.Suguru loves to spoil his four-year-old daughters, especially when it comes to food. 

When he’s done preparing breakfast, he wakes them up so they can start the day. They’re his little angels the first hour of the day, the sweetest the girls can possibly be. They clean up after themselves, have the best manners, and the most important part, they get along. Mimiko helps Nanako and vice versa– He doesn’t know what happens after breakfast though because his sweet girls turn into mini demons.

“Mimiko, did you put on your outfit?!” Suguru yells, checking if she’s somewhat ready. Mimiko delays the process of getting ready each and every morning, which makes Suguru run late. He drops them off at preschool before going to his job, but soon enough this routine will have to change because he’s always late.

“I don’t want to!” She stomps her little feet, walking to her bedroom to hide under the covers of her bed. She walks by her father as if he doesn’t have the ability to stop her. Which he won’t, not until he’s done with Nanako’s hair at least.

“How about space buns, honey? Do you like that idea?” Suguru changes to a sweet tone when talking to Nanako because even though both girls are difficult in the morning, she’s the easier one in the morning. She hums in response, more focused on playing with her dolls. 

“Ow! That hurts, daddy!” Nanako whines, even though the comb has yet to brush her hair. Suguru sighs, remembering to be patient with her. He isn’t even rough with her hair, he does everything possible to be gentle with those pesky knots that get in the way– But she seems to prefer running around with her hair tangled. 

He begins to comb her hair and style her hair, drowning out the cries that she makes just because she feels the brush on her hair. He looks at the clock, knowing that he still has some time but he needs to hurry up. Suguru wants to be early for once in his life, an arduous task these days. He clears his throat before yelling, “Mimiko, when I go in there you better be changed or else!”

“There. Go get changed, Nanako. I need to do your sister’s hair.” Suguru says, and Nanako pouts, but she puts her dolls down and goes to the bedroom to pick out her outfit for the day. Suguru stands up as well, and follows behind Nanako to grab Mimiko.

He wants to laugh, seeing his daughter’s body under her purple bed covers. Does she really think that she’s invisible once she’s under the covers? He’s smirking, very loudly asking, “Where is Mimiko? This girl disappeared from thin air.”

“Daddy, she’s there!” Nanako points out, and Suguru pretends to be shocked, hugging his little girl through the covers. He can already picture the pout that’s on the girl’s face after her sister snitched. Suguru takes the cover off, and he’s proven right.

“Let’s go get you ready, honey.” Suguru says, and he can see the tears building up in her eyes. She doesn’t want to. He sighs, before asking, “Why don’t you want to get ready? I thought you and your sister loved looking pretty.”

“You always say we look pretty no matter what. Do you lie to us?” Her eyes are filled to the brim with tears, one sudden move from Suguru will make this unnecessary longer. 

“No, baby! What I mean is…” What does he mean? He doesn’t know what he means. He takes a moment to think about it before turning the cards on her. “Why don’t you like getting ready? You know you two have to go to preschool, and I don’t like being late.”

“I don’t want to leave you, daddy.” Mimiko confesses, and it makes his heart flutter. His baby girls just make getting ready difficult because they don’t want to leave him. He’s already a big softie for his daughters, and this confession certainly doesn’t help. “Can’t we just stay with you?”

“Mimi, don’t you want to go with your friends? Nanako is excited.” Suguru says, and she hugs her father tightly. He hugs her back, kissing the top of her head. “Nanako, do you want to stay today?”

“Yes!” She doesn’t waste a second, and he thinks about it for a minute.

Would it be too bad to take the day off and keep them home just for today? It won’t become a routine… Except it definitely will. 

[cuckette]

YOU JUST CAN’T TELL !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. pornstar!leon, corny ugh, smut, daddy-daughter incest, mentions of rough sex, barebacking waheyyy, corny corny corny, anticlimactic

note. HAPPY BELATED FATHERS DAY TO LEON KENNEDY WORST AND BEST DAD EVER!!! title from my michelle purely for the opening line LMFAO I hate this.. but I wanted it gone from my mind so I can move onnnn um rbs and nice words appreciated 💪

all I’m saying is idgaf if u think leon is pure American 1998 leon is Irish-Italian and he’s tan in di trust me anyway I really don’t like this so please refrain from any criticism I usually don’t mind it but um 😳 I’m too insecure ab this fic bc it’s corny and ignore mistakes :3 thank u to anon who paid me to finish this :3 um again readers personality changes so fast pls ignore all the corny stuff n inconsistencies kind of reads like my aita fic 😓

The basement is where you and Rose end up after dressing up all pretty for a night on the town. Only the dank walls and the scuttling critters are able to see how cute your getup is. Another outfit wasted ‘cause your dad is more than wasted in the lounge.

“Your dad is, like, a dick.” Rose plops down on one of the two blue bean bags you have to decorate this infinitely grey and murky room. An old television you’ve never bothered to work sits atop a pile of books you’re sure dad has never read.

“He’s not a dick, he’s being sensible,” you tell her, kicking off your heels in a heap near the basement stairs.

“He’s a drunk, ugh.” She kicks her feet in the air. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”

“He’s not a drunk.”

“An alcoholic then.”

“Okay, well, not everyone can be like your dad, Rose.” Your dad is a present deadbeat if those exist. He’s laid-back, sleazy and lazy—An asshole essentially, and when he’s not an asshole, he’s a cunt.

You’re being quite harsh on him nothing your dad does is intentional—Leon’s kept you alive over these past years, he’s not shy when it comes to affection and I love yous, but by god can that man drink.

You knew him as a baby, but babies don’t really know anyone unless they’re eye level with the breasts they suckle from. Then they know that’s mommy.

Like, you never had to spend more than a few days with him up until about three years ago. Mom moved on with her boyfriend, which meant that you were no longer a part of her story. Which you understand. Mom was great. Until the kids at school pointed it out, you never thought about how your dad was never around, she didn’t need to fill shoes that hadn’t been there in the first place. You didn’t need a dad. Never have, and you thought you never would.

As a child, Christmas, birthdays and the odd vacation were the only times you saw Dad. He was alright. Nothing to write home about. Put you on his shoulders when you asked, he tucked you into bed when he remembered and once he let you take a sip of whiskey when mom turned her head.

When Leon got drunk, that was another story. He got touchy-feely with mom and he pinched your cheeks too hard and got sappy about the life he could’ve had. Then you would hear him grovelling at her feet in the other room.

Baby, baby, please. You know it didn’t mean anything. She was a co-worker, you know what I do—It never means anything, why can’t you understand that?

And anytime he did that, mom would pack your bags that night and leave the following morning with you in tow.

Your aunt Sherry, she’s always been the apple of Leon’s eye. Now that she’s grown up, has been for ages, out in the big bad world, married, you think dad lets you stay with him as a sort of placeholder.

“Well, duh.” Rose beams at the slightest mention of her dad, and you wish you could do the same.

Your dad brings to mind the clammy awkwardness of a first date. Does that even make sense? Something about him has always just been off. Like, like, the colour of the walls. Cream. Not white. He’s accidental anal as a human being, y’know, those stupid Oopsy! My dick slipped into the wrong hole, but I’m going to keep going! videos. Yeah, that’s what your dad is. There’s no other way to put it.

“Bad haircut too, makes him look like a lady,” Rose says, staring and frowning at the TV so hard she might make it move. “Y’know, like those moms who show up to, like, everything and ruin everything.”

“Your dad is balding, Rose.” You point out, picking at your skin because it’s quite literally the most interesting activity there is to do.

“At least my dad drives us places.”

“You’re eighteen, you should’ve learnt how to drive years ago.”

“You’re nineteen, you should’ve learnt aeons ago.”

You face away from one another.

Your dress feels too tight all of a sudden.

“I’m sorryyy, Rose.”

She kisses her teeth, then shrugs. “It’s whatever.”

“Let’s just… I don’t know…” You look around at the smoke cloud that has dispersed into four walls, at the gunmetal floors that leave your feet sticky, at that silver screen. “Put on a movie.”

“Does it even work?” Rose gets up to kick the piece of junk, it rattles and she picks up the remote, clicking any and all of the buttons.

“Wait, wait, I think we have to, like, put something in it.” You crawl towards one of the many unmarked boxes that are laden thick with dust, really brings the colour scheme in this place together. Makes the endless grey pop. There’s no luck with the first few, they’re full of old clothes and pots and pans and things you couldn’t care less about.

Then you hit the jackpot. Enough tapes to re-open a Blockbuster.

Rose crouches down beside you. “There’s tons, holy shit.”

“I know… I know, I just feel guilty touching dad’s things.”

“Who gives a fuck?” She takes the tape marked Racoon City in black marker out, then she feeds it into the VHS player. “He won’t notice.”

The TV crackles, grey like everything else, and then it comes to life in dingy blues and grey greens. A red title card pops up.

RESIDENT EVIL : RACCOON CITY

NIGHT OF THE FUCKING DEAD

Rose drags her bean bag closer to the screen, and you follow. “What is this, like, some old zombie movie?”

“What do you fucking think—Hey, that’s my dad!” You point a finger at the TV when he shows up twenty years younger, copper hair hanging limply around his face as the rain pours.

“Oh, ew.” She grimaces. “He was even uglier back then.”

“I think he looks sweet.” All long legs and the sort of face that makes you wonder whether it’s high-fashion or a severe case of anorexia. His cheekbones gleam in the red-blue lights—something about cops is so American, even the lights are the colour of the flag—taking cautious steps towards a dark alley with a hand on his holster, ready to take out his gun when needed.

“Oh my god, he’s gonna die,” Rose groans, wiping a hand across her face, “what a moron.”

In the dark, as Leon’s back bumps the brick wall, a figure emerges from the dark in typical George Romero zombie fashion, staggering towards your dad and making all sorts of ghoulish noises.

“Hey! Stay back, put your hands in the air where I can see them!” The audio is tinny, but that’s dad alright.

“He’s an idiot, like, actually.” Rose’s commentary keeps you from immersing fully.

“Why is she dressed like that?” You ask when the zombie comes into view, her face is made up in perfect splotches of green and grey and purple, false lashes so thick you bet she can’t see a thing. Type of lashes you wear before you get a facial.

A trail of a sticky white liquid drips down the corner of her mouth. You assume it’s spit. Rabies gone wild. Her denim shorts are cut above the crease of her ass cheeks, splattered in more sticky fluid, and her tank is torn across her perky tits in a very deliberate manner, enough to bare the fat, but hiding the areolas.

“Nineties, man.” Rose shrugs.

“Ma’am!” Your dad says, his tone urgent, “Please stay where you are or I’ll have to shoot!”

The zombie just goes ughhhhhhh and guhhhhh as she slow-walks right into his chest, then she says, “Diiiick.”

And you make the same face your dad does on screen.

Before you can stop the meteoroid from blowing your world into a million tiny pieces, she drops down on her knees in a zombified manner and tugs down his pants, his fat cock knocking her cheek and his heavy balls weighing the whole shaft down.

“No fucking way!” Rose leans forward in her seat beside you.

You grab her arm and gasp, “Turn it off—Turn it off—Rose, turn it off! Oh my god, how do you pause this fucking thing?”

Cursive font pops up beside his face, head tipped back as he gets his dick eaten by this zombie bimbo.

LEON S. KENNEDY, ITALIAN STALLION.

Rose laughs. Her night is going great, all fine and dandy, she doesn’t have to watch her dad’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “Your dad's Italian?”

“Shit, Rose, I don’t fucking know.” The panic in your belly settles when you find a stop button. “Oh my god, just, just go home!”

“You’re seriously mad at me?” Rose crosses her arms and refuses to budge an inch, in fact, she makes herself comfy. “It’s not my fault your dad is a pornstar.” No, but it is her fault you found out your father is a pornstar with a very extensive resume.

“Shut up! Shut up.” You cover her mouth with your palm. “He might hear you, shut up, okay?”

“Okay, okay, calm down.” She brushes you off like this is not the worst thing that could possibly ever happen to you, like, ever. Worse than a broken nail, worse than snagging your tights and worse than being murdered and never found. Rose is so insensitive and uncaring sometimes, most things come as an afterthought to her. “Let’s watch the rest.”

“Are you fucking—Rose, are you fucking with me?” Disgust coils in your stomach like a fat python, sluggish with its latest meal.

“No? I think it’ll be fun,” she says, dead serious, “we can skip all the, like, actual porn.”

“The whole thing is actual porn, Rose.”

“C’monnn, we can sleep at mine next week, get dad to take us wherever we want.”

You don’t know how she ropes you into these things. How she gets underneath your skin like an invisible mite of some sort. How she sits your ass down and forces you to watch your dad make his way through a horde of dick-crazed zombie girls.

(At this point, you could probably opt out, but you’re in too deep.)

A single shot rings out, and in all her glory, red shorts so tight it gives her a camel toe, Auntie Claire comes to save the day and you feel lightheaded.

“No—No, no I can’t do this, turn it off, Rose…” You cover your face, and then proceed to watch through the gaps in your fingers as they make cheesy conversation in flirty voices—Oh, Aunt Claire, you don’t deserve any of this.

Your dad fucks her against the wall, she braces her hands on the crumbling brick and tries to look like she’s enjoying it, but you can tell she’s not feeling it. Well. She’s probably feeling his cock, but you doubt she’s liking it.

“I thought she was a lesbian.”

“She is!” Your bottom lip trembles. “This is so sick, Rose, I can’t watch it anymore.”

They traverse the halls of a seemingly abandoned police station on screen then proceed to suck and fuck in almost every room. They continue, something about a D-virus and a G-spot virus and there’s an immaculately dressed woman who steps out of the shadows a good hour into the film.

Yeah, you have been sitting here watching your father eat pussy and push his dick into whatever rotting zombie ass sticks itself in the air for an entire hour. You’re not proud of it.

She slots into the trite plot as a femme fatale, in her bodycon dress and click-clacky heels. According to the on-screen text, this is a lady named Ada Wong, she's too pretty to be doing this. To be saying this.

How big is that gun, officer? Oh, I think you should body search me, officer—Really, you should do a cavity check. You must have no idea what I'm hiding, right? Those handcuffs should be put to use, no? After all, you can’t trust me, officer.

“I can’t watch it anymore, Rose,” you tell her again, “I’m serious, I feel fucking sick.” It’s too much, watching Leon lay back as she sits on his dick, he groans when she manages to take all of it. The camera is focused on her ass. How it ripples when it smacks against his thighs, how it looks when he reaches around to grab at it, jiggling the fat like a fucking pervert.

Leon turns her over, her tits hanging so low her nipples brush the ground and tells Ada he’s arresting her. Pushes his dick into her ass. Just like that. He pulls her hair and she lets him. Though, something in her eyes tells you that she’s not one to take it like a dog, that this is purely for male convenience.

You turn it off, and you dry heave for a minute flat.

“We didn’t get to see the ending!” Rose shoves you in the shoulder, and her investment in this shitty porno is so genuine it brings you to tears. Because what the fuck is wrong with her? What if that was her dad—Well, no, anyone would be mortified at that. Nobody wants to see Mr. Winters with his dick out.

“Fuck you, Rose, you can watch that shit at home if you want it that bad.”

You usher her up the stairs and push her out the door, throwing her duffel bag out too. Then you shut it in her face, graced with a moue, left to ponder in the echoing space of her confusion.

Dad is snoring on the couch, you tuck him under a blanket and clear the beer cans on the coffee table into a trash bag. You leave for your bedroom, then something awful gnaws at your insides, you squeeze your fists so tight they feel like they’re no longer there.

You head back into the basement, you bust out the rest of those tapes and you watch them like a girl possessed. Maybe it’s some attempt to get closer to him. Maybe Freud was right. Maybe it’s the inherently grotesque nature of the human mind that encourages you to watch Operation Javier where your dad gets split open by some big ol’ military man twice the size of him.

He gets put on his front, arches like a cat and digs his nails into the dirt as Krauser pushes into him. Then it’s on his back, legs dangling helplessly over broad shoulders and then Leon is lifted into the air like a ragdoll and you think he sobs. His form is beautiful, no notes.

Dad looks cuter in that one like he’s grown into his face and his body has started to fill out. His dick bobs uselessly as his clothes are folded while he’s still in them. Christ, by the end of it he’s coughing up cum and you think a little comes out his nose. Krauser holds him up in the air and Leon brings his hands down to spread his cheeks to show off his puffy hole, dripping another thick load. When he’s told to push out, you think he might prolapse.

You wonder why you didn’t get that ass of his.

“Oh… Auntie Ashley, no…” You always thought she had pornstar tits, but you had enough tact to keep it to yourself. She lets him fuck her tits, ballistics you think he called them, then he pulls her hair so hard she cries, uses it to drag her around, knees marked by the dirty ground, forces her mouth down on his dick.

It’s the best Leon has ever looked, you think it’s a shame that dad looks the way he does now. You thought he was meant to be saving Ashley, so why is he fucking her half to death? There’s a Spanish man who looks like he’s off the front cover of a bodice ripper, the military man is back and so is Ada.

You learn a lot about sex positions that shouldn’t exist from this one. You learn a lot about threesomes and foursomes and fivesomes. Long story short, Auntie Ashley gets a train ran on her and takes it like a champ.

“Oh, gosh, Leon… Wow…” Ashley twirls her hair as she watches Leon take the entirety of Krauser’s cock in his mouth. Actual fucking behemoth. Then they both suck on it together, they play with his balls and make out with his shaft. Leon helps Ashley sit on it and she moans so loud you scramble to turn the volume down.

At the banal end, they ride off into the sunset, but of course—It can't be over yet. Ashley offers overtime, and Leon accepts, then he twists her like a pretzel and puts her in reverse pile driver, his balls slap against her clit and your Aunt’s voice grates on you as she squirts around his dick for what could be the tenth or fiftieth time. She could die from dehydration, the poor thing. You think her pussy is really cute, but you’ll take that thought to the grave.

You watch the one named Damnation, where your dad looks at Ada like a boy who hasn’t quite gotten over his first love. He fucks a Russian man hard and the Russian man fucks him back harder. Body shots ensue. There’s another feature-length one with a lady named Helena who's tits sit pretty. Dad looks rough in Vendetta - it isn’t memorable. Domme Island is alright. Shit name, hot lady who fucks him into next week, his eyes roll so far back into his skull you think there’s a clunk. She locks her legs around his neck and forces his nose so deep into her cunt he’ll be wearing her pussy as perfume for weeks.

Now it all starts to make sense, it clicks into place like a seatbelt. Your dad is a washed-up pornstar. Of course he is. Oh, you understand everything now.

You don’t know what to make of this. Don’t know what to say or feel or do. Each time you descend the steps and submerge into the grey, you’re consumed by another round of mind-numbing porn. You put it down to morbid fascination. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s all there is to it.

The ache between your thighs is only natural, that’s what happens when you watch porn for hours on end, some part of it is bound to turn you on.

Dad’s porn career was ten years too long, a quick Google search tells you he only retired three years ago, around about the same time your visit turned into a roommate situation.

Some of his most recent videos are plain, to say the least, gone are the cop uniforms that were store-bought Halloween costumes, the action movie sets are swapped out for suave hotel rooms and houses you see on real estate websites. Like they’ve been furnished purely to provide surfaces to fuck on.

Before you can help it, before your brain is able to put a stop to your constant stream of bad decisions, before you’re even able to process the tags, you click on it.

The intro is a shitty logo flashing across the screen and then a split screen of multiple women being fucked in painful positions, cunts gaping, mouths hanging open and dicks big and hard enough to break through concrete.

It fades, and your dad appears on screen grabbing a pretty little thing that couldn’t be a day over twenty-one by her curly pigtails, sporting tits bigger than her head and a shaved pink pussy. He says something ‘bout how her pussy gets wet the second she sees a grey hair, spreads her legs for any old man, oh it doesn’t matter what he looks like as long as he’s been put through the wringer. The cock carousel.

(She’s just like you.)

Naturally, she sticks her ass out and says Yes, daddy! in an awful papery voice. When she moves to kiss Leon, you notice his sickening choice of facial hair. Who in the fuck told him that was okay? The moustache is more disturbing than any of this. Jesus Christ, it’s more jarring than seeing his dick.

You won’t take a dick a day under forty—What would your old man think, huh? Can’t even say that word around you can I? Hm? Haven’t even put it in yet and you’re goin’ stupid, baby.

Screw dad and screw this bitch with her stupid, fake, barely legal tits and her migrating lip filler and her veneers and her hairless legs and her grabbable little waist—

“Pumpkin, the Jehovahs came knockin’ again, that’s the second time this week, you didn’t take anything from them did you?” Dad, without his moustache, with his cock neatly tucked away in the depths of those sweats, opens your door.

Where does he put that shit? Up his ass?

While she’s busy shaking her stupid teen titties at dad on-screen, you slam the lid of your laptop shut and give him a plastic smile. “At least they knock, dad.”

“Don’t need to knock, my house,” Leon retorts, childish as ever, he’s changed for the worse ever since you forced him to take his meds regularly. You regret it - trying to whip him into shape. Maybe your daddy started drinking to deal with the weight of his own ego.

“My room,” you point out, when you shift you’re made aware of the wet between your thighs, panties sticking to your core.

“Okay, but you’re my kid.” He puts a leaflet on your side table and sits next to you. “I gotta check on you, what if you're kissing boys up here? Could take the door off its hinges if I wanted to.”

He has the face for porn, you note.

(And the dick for it.)

“I’m your kid now?” It’s hard to act like everything is fine when he’s beside you, a soft hand that has groped so many teen tits settling on your stomach, so you close your eyes and focus on the ripple of light in the dark of your eyelids.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dad takes his hand back, a small mercy.

“I’m your maid when your friends come over, and last time I checked I was your girlfriend when the landlord came over.” God, that’s so messed up. He’s so fucked up and your pussy is so wet. He hasn’t even done anything and that’s the problem. If Dad stepped up, if he tried to be a real dad, if he got out of porn young and he threw away those tapes, maybe you would have a shot at being mentally sound.

“She wouldn’t get off my back,” Leon argues, a vague scowl lining his lips, “had to do it.”

The landlord is an older lady with a severe face and a forward way of speaking. You’ve caught dad with a hand up her skirt, but he says she pushes it on him.

“You should be nice to her, might get to live here for free.”

“Doubt that, she’d take me and my money,” he muses, pressing his face into your neck. Dad is like a cat, he comes to you when you need it the least, he quietly begs for affection when you don’t have the time to give it.

“You need to shave,” you whisper, hoping he doesn’t catch your stilted breath when he drags his scratchy cheek over your soft skin.

“Look awful when I shave,” Dad mumbles into your neck, “don’t it feel good?”

Why is that hot? Everything sounds good when your pussy is wet. “No, it tickles… Can you go now, please?”

“Why?” His eyes plead with you, and you pet his head to appease his neediness. “I’m spending time with my daughter.”

“Okay, and your daughter has had enough, dad.” He’s getting too close for comfort, and your cunt is too wet for comfort.

“When you were a baby,” Dad starts, and you have detached yourself from this narrative entirely, in your world dad came into your life now, so when he speaks of the early days you space out and think of his dick, “you used to cry for me all day, didn’t even want mom to hold you, now you don’t even want to touch me.”

He sounds like a neglected housewife that has spent all too many years prettying herself up for a dick that isn’t worth it.

“I’m not a baby anymore.” You’re not a baby, and you wish he would see that now. You want him to see what he’s done to you, that he’s fucked you over so bad you can only get off to the sight of his dick gaping a tiny hole.

“I know.”

You have tits now, and your ass is decently big and you’re taller and 1 in 5 men have liked the way you suck dick.

“But you’re daddy’s baby,” he coos, pinching your cheek lightly to spare you from any pain.

“Gross.” He hasn’t been daddy since you were five and hopeful, he shouldn’t be daddy unless he’s willing to take you to bed like he did with all those other girls. “It’s too hot, get off of me.”

“Aw, baby, do you want me to get a kiddie pool out back? You could splash around in there while daddy fixes the AC.”

“No, ew, dad, I want you to get off of me.” It comes off harsher than you intend, but when you spiral headfirst into a porn addiction and come out of it with a crush on your dad, it’s just a little troublesome. Knowing that your daddy gets around like a ceiling fan but wouldn’t spare a glance at you for legal reasons is crushing.

“You’re being mean, kid.” He kisses your sweaty forehead, a silent apology for making your knees weak and your pussy wet. “What’s up?”

“Nothing’s up, dad, it’s just hot and you’re on top of me.” On top of you in all the wrong ways. “And the AC doesn’t even work, maybe you could get to fixing that?”

“I dunno how,” Leon admits, “why don’t you find, uh, y’know the guys to do the job on your thingy.” He gestures towards your laptop, you’re lucky the sound of his dirty talk and slapping skin isn’t leaking out from the cracks.

“My thingy?” You giggle, “you can find someone yourself, I don’t know what to look for.”

He takes one end of your laptop in his hand, you wrestle it away from him. “Why ya being so touchy? You talkin’ to boys on there?”

“Why would I use my fucking laptop to talk to boys, dad?” Your fingers tremble and you hug it to your chest like a baby would a teddy bear.

“‘Cause you’re being weird ‘bout it, let me see what’s on there, and don’t swear at me, young lady.” Ugh. You hate when he tries to be a good dad. It’s sort of cheesy, and you’re too far gone to find an ounce of respect for him.

“No, dad, it’s mine, that’s not fair—I’m not a kid you can’t take it from me—“ But he’s stronger, not bigger, but definitely stronger, strong enough to pin you down. When he opens it up, you cry out when the screen brightens up. “No, oh my god, stop it!”

“Oh.”

“Oh my god,” you whimper, your trembling bottom lip does nothing to stop tears from falling. When you try to get up, dad grabs your wrist.

“C’mere, sit down.” He doesn’t sound outright mad, but in your panic, you fail to notice the amusement that comes with his words.

“Stop it, I don’t wanna do those, like, I don’t wanna have, like, a talk or whatever with you, just leave me alone.” You wipe your eyes with your free hand.

“Hey, it’s okay, baby,” Dad says, a gentle hand cupping your cheek as he pushes the laptop off of his lap and onto your mattress, “you always get so worked up over little things, just like your ma.”

It’s not a little thing, getting caught watching your dad’s porn films is not a little thing—This is like the biggest possible thing ever. Other than his dick.

“Dad, can you stop? Like, oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You think it might be the first time you’ve ever cried in front of him.

“C’mon, now, don’t cry about it, honey,” he coos, pulling you into his lap with a grunt, “nothing to cry about, if you needed daddy’s help all you had to do was ask.”

What a fucking liar. Leon has never helped you out a day in your life, but when it comes to sex, when it comes to fucking his own daughter, now he wants to help?

“C’mere, baby, you want me to do that with you?” He nods his head at the screen where his past self has that cute blonde brat bent in half. “Daddy can teach you.”

You do want that. It’s all you want. You just don’t want to give in because nothing about this is normal. And it’s not that anything has ever really been normal, but it would be nice to pretend that everything is fine.

“That’s so fucked up, dad,” you sniffle, but when he slips a hand between your thighs you don’t protest.

“No, it’s not,” Leon hums, he lifts your skirt until it’s a belt around your waist, “good daddies teach their little girls how to fuck, so I guess should step up ‘n be a good dad for once, huh?”

“I… I guess so…” The air is knocked from your lungs when he wastes no time getting to your slick cunt, sliding your soaked panties to the side and thumbing your little clit.

“Doesn’t matter what you think anyway.” Dad pushes his finger into your sloppy hole, your pussy clicks. “‘Cause this is daddy’s pussy and he’ll do what he wants with it.” He’s talking like he does in his videos. You clench around him so tight he struggles to push in a second finger.

“I didn’t… I didn’t like it,” you whimper as he scissors you open, pussy dripping slick down your thighs, the floodgates have opened.

“Didn’t like what?” Dad kisses the sweat-slicked nape of your neck while he stretches you out, a third finger wriggling in beside his pointer and middle. He does it so clean, like—It’s dirty, but he’s so smooth, and it’s ‘cause he’s done this a million times before. To girls with tighter pussies and perkier tits and prettier faces.

“Like—Watchin’ it.” You try to stop the tremble in your voice, but he’s playing with your clit, pushing back the hood and pressing down on it hard like it’s a fucking buzzer. “I don’t like it… ‘Cause you weren’t with me.”

“What do you mean, baby?” Daddy asks, trying to make sense of your pout, his fingers come to a halt when you go rigid against his body, your spine digging into his front when you cum.

“It’s not fair, you were with other little girls ‘n not me, dad—“ You shudder, clit thrumming as your orgasm washes over you, it feels both warm and like you were doused in a bucket of ice water.

“Oh, baby,” Leon squeezes your tit with the hand that isn’t playing with your cunt— Like that’ll make you feel better about this deep-rooted self-hatred and whatever else a lack of a father figure has given you, “but you have dad now.”

And it’s not enough. You wanted him then. No matter how much you deny it, no matter how much you say mom was enough, you wanted a dad so fucking bad. But this’ll have to be enough. It’ll do.

“I’m all yours now, you don’t have to share me with anyone, okay?” He kisses your lips when you tilt your head up to look at him, and you melt into him.

“Okay.” You nod, the faint taste of whiskey lingers in your mouth when he pulls away.

Dad lays you down and you let him. It feels like he’s fucking you into bed, when he kisses your thigh you know he doesn’t see you like he used to. You’re not really a daughter to him, but he is obligated to take care of you in any way he sees fit, and if clogging up your leaky pussy with his dick is what daddy thinks is right, you’ll let him do that.

You were dreaming about it last night so you don’t know what’s changed.

“Can’t believe you found it,” Leon says to himself, he’s shaking his head as he lowers his sweats.

“Was really easy, dad, ‘s not hard to find.” You shift and spread your legs, his head rests on your thigh.

“Did you go lookin’ for it?” He squeezes your pussy lips together, licking your clit when it pokes out between them.

“No…” Your answer is partly true. ‘Cause you did come across those old tapes by mistake, and you really were horrified at first, but you did type your dad’s name into the search bar with the word daddy after it.

He raises his brows but doesn’t question you sooner ‘cause, in his words, your pussy’s too pretty to be thinkin’ of anything else.

Dad eats you out and your legs shake. You can’t even talk about it, fuck, you don’t even remember it, all you know is that it felt fucking good. And it hit you hard. Your makeup is dripping, you look like you got passed around at a frat party, and he hasn’t even put his dick in you yet.

You grope at his dick through his boxers like you’ve seen all girls in porn do, and then you swallow hard. ‘Cause it’s big and you’re not sure you can make it through sucking his dick without a couple of bumps in the road.

“Don’t have to do that, just wanna put my dick inside you,” he mumbles when you nose at his cock, suckling on the wet patch that leaks through his boxers.

“I need daddy inside me too,” you whine pitifully, and he coos, sitting you on his tummy, pussy so wet it gets the taut skin of his abdomen all shiny.

“You need it or you want it, baby?” He laughs softly, and a gentle hand comes to rub circles into your hip.

“I need it, dad,” you whine again, not knowing what to do with your hands so you place them on his chest. You really do need it. It’s a life-or-death situation.

“Okay, baby, sit on it, c’mon, I know you can do it,” Dad urges, the most he does to help you out is take the shaft of his cock in his hand, guiding it into your tight hole, but you have to do the rest.

Your body seizes as you slide down on his fat cock, your insides are shaped like him by the time he bottoms out. He’s wearing you. Using your cervix as a cock ring.

“Is it that good, baby?” Dad pets your head as your mouth is agape, his feet are planted flat on the bed and he ever so gently thrusts upwards, the tip of his cock jabbing your cervix in a way you’ve never felt before. It hurts so good and you want him to do it again. “Do you need dad’s help, pumpkin?”

Your legs tremble and your toes curl, you admit defeat with a single nod of your head. So daddy grabs your hips and batters your cervix as he bounces you on his cock like a doll. Like a pornstar.

“There we go, you’re a natural, baby, just like your daddy,” he tells you as you collapse into his chest, your face in his neck as you cry for him, for his fat fucking cock. Jesus Christ. Your dad is seriously rawing your pussy right now, you didn't even think of a condom—He hits that stop deep inside of you, and his fingers find your clit and you’re a goner.

There are no thoughts to think up when dad’s inside of you. Your brain is blank and all you can do is call out for daddy, you want him to hold you so he does, you beg him to kiss you and he does, he kisses you so hard it hurts, teeth clacking and your spit dribbling into his mouth.

Dad doesn’t cum inside of you though, and you have to admit you're disappointed. You wanted him to warm your belly and your heart. He holds you against his chest as you sniffle, and then he asks if you want to be a star just like dad.

“You really are a natural, baby, I wasn’t kidding.” Leon rocks you from side to side. “What’d you think, hm? Want to help dad out with his comeback? Nobody has to know.”

It’ll be too hard to notice. How your nose is the same as his from the side, how you both have dimples in the same places, that your top lip is thinner than your bottom lip just like dad’s. Things like that, they’ll slip under the radar, so you accept. ‘Cause you’d do a damn good job at being his on-screen daughter.

[headkiss]

i have a summer themed request for steve!! helping him out with his sunburns from a whole day spent outside, just stupid affectionate, doting fluff <33

i loved this idea so so much thank u sm for requesting!!! i hope u like it <3 | 1.1k of pure fluff

Summers in Indiana are hot and humid, your hair a constant mess of frizz, the light sheen of sweat seemingly permanent on your skin until you cave and shower it off only for it to start all over again.

It’s windows open all night and fans plugged in all day in yours and Steve’s shared apartment, the hum of crickets sneaking through the screens, a constant soundtrack to your nights.

And—your favorite part—it’s beach days with your friends whenever your conflicting work schedules allow. Half in Eddie’s van, the other in Steve’s BMW driving out to the closest beach where the wind coming off the great lake is a little cooler, where you can walk around in your swimsuits without any complaints from town grandparents.

It’s how you’d spent today, packing up coolers and towels in the morning, sitting in Steve’s passenger seat with Robin in the middle at the back, leaning forward the entire drive to ‘keep herself in the loop’ even though she’d been the one keeping the conversation going.

Then it was spreading out on the sand, towels in a row and sunglasses over your eyes as the sun beamed bright in the sky. Everyone taking turns going for a swim, Eddie’s curls an absolute mess upon his return, Steve shaking out his wet hair the way a dog would. You leaning into his chest in lieu of a chair once he sat down in his spot behind you.

Finally, it was coming home happily exhausted from a day in the sun and taking turns showering (because shared showers aren’t fun when sand’s involved).

You’re already cleaned up, your pajama shorts and tank top thrown on, hair still wet and dripping down your back. When Steve comes out of your bathroom in nothing but his boxers, you can’t stifle the giggle that escapes your mouth.

“What are you laughing at, honey?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Looking a little crispy there, Harrington.”

“Don’t make fun of me! I’m in pain!” Steve dramatically collapses onto your bed next to you, then winces at the scrape of the sheets against his sunburn. “Save me.”

“Poor baby,” you say, failing to hide your smile. His back and shoulders are reddened from the sun, along with his cheeks and nose, but nothing too horrible. You run a hand up his arm gently, “I did tell you to put some sunscreen on.”

“Not the time for ‘I told you so,’ babe, really,” Steve huffs, an arm thrown across his eyes—though it doesn’t hide the teasing smile that twitches across his mouth. “I’m dying here.”

“Oh, stop.” You squeeze his arm once before standing, “I’ll be right back.”

You walk over to your bathroom and find your bottle of aloe you keep under the sink (because Steve is prone to sunburns) and grab it before heading back into the bedroom, where he’s still sprawled across the bed.

“Turn over,” you say, “I’ll do your back first, okay?”

He obeys, shifting so that he’s laying on his stomach, his head resting on his folded arms. Despite his sunburn, you can’t help but admire the way his muscles ripple beneath his skin, the constellation of freckles that scatter across his back.

You feel warm and fuzzy whenever you get moments like this, quiet and full of trust, intimate and sweet, because you don’t think you’ll ever stop feeling lucky that you get to call him yours.

With the aloe in hand, you get onto the bed and straddle his lower back, and he sighs as your weight sinks him into the mattress a little bit further. Neither of you say anything—save for the appreciative hums escaping Steve’s mouth—as you massage the lotion into his upper back and shoulders.

Soon enough, you’re shifting off of him and patting his arm softly, “‘Kay, flip over, Stevie.”

He does, and pushes himself up to sit so that he’s facing you, that private smile of his that he seems to save for you on his face. He dips in to kiss you once, and then twice, because he can never seem to help himself. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say back. “Almost done.”

You spread a bit more aloe across his nose and cheeks, on top of the freckles that you can only see when you’re this close, and press a peck to the tip of his nose before pulling back.

“Mmm, I feel so much better,” he says. “Maybe you should kiss me again, just in case.”

“You’re a dork.”

“You’ll still kiss me though, right?”

You roll your eyes but don’t protest a bit when he leans in and catches your lips again. Twice, because once is never enough.

“Let me do you now,” he says, holding his hand out for the bottle that’s now laying by your knee.

“I’m not burnt,” you laugh, “unlike some people, I remember to use protection.”

He gives you a look that he always gives you before he turns something into a joke, “that’s what she-”

You cover his mouth with your hand before he can finish that one, “okay, okay,” you hand him the bottle of aloe. “Here you go.”

He grabs it from you and nudges your shoulder to get you to lay back against the pillows, your damp hair fanning out. Steve copies your position from earlier, swinging a leg over so he has one on each side of your thighs.

Lifting the edge of your tank top gently, he shifts it up to rest just above your belly button, his hands coming up to hold your waist before he catches himself and remembers what he’s meant to be doing.

Admittedly, you’d let him do this for you, sunburnt or not, ‘cause he looks at you and touches you as if you’re the most precious thing in the entire world.

His hands are soft as they spread the aloe across your stomach, careful not to get any on the band of your shorts or the hem of your top, and his brown eyes are warm as they wash over your skin, from where his hands work up to your chest and neck and then your face.

When he’s done, he tugs your shirt back into place for you and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your mouth. Twice, of course.

“There you go,” he says, “pretty as ever.”

“Yeah, because I’m not sunburnt, Stevie.”

“Stop it and let me compliment you,” he says, moving to lay down beside you.

And when you’re tucked safely to his chest, as close as you can get no matter the temperature, you think that summer just might be your favorite season, humidity and all.