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chuuya-centric · 4 years ago

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have u considered... chuuya breeding you with his phat dick™

— BABY MAKIN’ :: minors do not interact !!

+ROSTER . . . chuuya nakahara

+SYNOPSIS . . . chuuya has baby fever, and it’s catching.

+CONTAINS . . . penetrative sex, creampie, breeding kink, cunnilingus, idk what else lemme know if you notice something else

+ADDRESSED TO . . . @nozomiasl @nameless-shrimp @ravenina14

+NOTE . . . this wasn’t supposed to be a whole five-page-long fic, but this is how it turned out😭 i’m also only on like episode 2 of season 2, so it may be ooc for him. apologies in advance for any mistakes. it’s currently late as hell and i have a headache and i haven’t taken a break yet and i’m just skfmfkdka pls forgive🙏🏼

“chuuya? hey!”

chuuya jolts when he feels your elbow nudge his ribcage, the glassy oblivion in his eyes shattering into surprise as he shifts his attention back to you. your lips are bowed into a frown, your forehead creased with concern and head tilted slightly. one manicured fingernail is tapped against the smeared glass window of the shop in front of you, pointing out a scarlet dress draped over a stylishly poised mannequin. “didn’t you hear me?” you question. “i’ve been saying your name.”

“hm? uh, no.” he confesses with a sheepish rub against the back of his neck. now snapped from his thoughts, the boisterous chatter of the shopping district’s weekend hustle and bustle resumes, nearly drowning out the shuffle of his soles against the concrete sidewalk as he slides the surplus of shopping bags from his aching wrist to the crook of his elbow. “say it again.”

“never mind that,” you dismiss his request with a wave of your hand, “are you okay? you’ve been zoning out pretty often. are you tired? do you want to go home?”

he shakes his head. “nah, i’m fine. why don’t you run in and try that dress on, doll? red suits you.” while chuuya will admit that he hasn’t been very attentive or engaged during your outing, he’s reluctant to reveal why. truth be told, the entire time you’d been babbling about the overpriced dress, his undivided attention was locked on a family reflected in the glass pane just behind you—a family consisting of a doting mother and father as well as a little girl with sticky, chocolate-stained fingertips and an even sweeter grin. they’d been seated on a bench, the mother fussing over her daughter’s messy appearance while the father chuckled to himself and ruffled the little girl’s hair. the sight had softened chuuya’s heart more than it should have. a unique warmth had trickled through his chest, pooling in his abused heart and giving rise to a string of what if’s and maybe’s that left him red-faced and fumbling to regain his sense of self-control.

this isn’t the first time chuuya’s found himself captivated by family dynamics, either. just two days ago, he’d been scouring stores in the mall in search of a new wristwatch, only to find himself in an entirely different store on the other side of the building, his hands shoved in his pockets as he wandered through aisles of baby clothes and bibs. last week, he’d found himself using his ability to fetch a child’s lost balloon, and he even chastised them for not being careful as he squatted to tie the string around their wrist. three weeks ago, he’d been stopped in his tracks by a little boy clinging to his legs with tears and snot streaming down his face, wailing about how he lost his mommy.

it had taken chuuya two hours to deliver the boy to the police station—two exhausting hours that consisted of nothing but panic as he broke his damn back trying to locate the boy whenever he wandered off and even had ten years shaved off his life when he snatched him by the collar before the little boy could chase a dragonfly into the middle of traffic. still, despite the ungodly amount of grey hairs chuuya is positive he acquired during his time with him, he still sat perched upon the roof of the police station until the boy was safely reunited with his mother. the final straw, and the moment where chuuya finally understood exactly how deeply rooted this “issue” is, was when you offhandedly commented that you wondered what it would be like to raise a child, and he felt his heart leap. maybe baby fever actually is real, and maybe chuuya nakahara, a high-ranked port mafia executive, has been struck with it.

it would be a lie if he said that he hasn’t entertained the thought of having a child with you, but there are several more factors to consider, such as his position in the port mafia and whether or not you actually felt comfortable raising a child. the financial stability offered by the mafia’s salary would pretty much guarantee that neither of you would have to pick up extra jobs or struggle to provide for your child. however, although chuuya’s reputation would ward off any potential kidnappings, there’s no assurance that mori wouldn’t dangle chuuya’s child over his head as a bargaining chip if he ever expressed a desire to leave the mafia—not that he ever really thought about leaving, though. even so, does he really want to bring a child into the world right now?

“it’s fine.” you smile when he quirks an eyebrow in surprise. “let’s go home. your card needs a rest, anyway.”

“a rest, huh?” just like that, chuuya’s trademark grin returns, teasing and boyish. “the hell’re you talkin’ about? you didn’t even make a dent.” he juts his chin toward your feet, where you’re frequently shifting your weight from foot to foot. “and, from the looks of it, princess, you’re the one who needs a rest.”

“do not!” you shoot back with a playful twinkle in your eye. “and, the port mafia can’t possibly pay that well. i know your bank account is hurting at least a little bit.”

he removes his hat with his free hand and unceremoniously plops it onto your head, tugging the brim down over your eyes until you’re prying at his iron grip and complaining about how he’s ruining your hair. “mafia pays better than you think it does.” he releases the hat, letting you lift the brim off your eyes to glower at him through mascara-darkened lashes. “the black card isn’t just for show, doll.” he heaves a dramatic sigh with a flourish of his hand, “oh, well… it’s a shame. i was gonna buy us matching gloves, too, since you seem to enjoy stealing mine.”

“really?” your expression brightens, a beaming smile gracing your lips and eyes sparkling with the thrill of potential matching accessories.

“not anymore,” chuuya snickers, the plastic shopping bags slipping down his arm and bumping into his thigh as he moves to prop his hand on his hip. “you said you wanted to go home, didn’t you?”

“oh, what?” you whine, gripping the brim of his hat with both hands and pursing your lips. “that’s not fair! you never mentioned the gloves before!”

you continue grumbling and pouting about the missed opportunity, but your words simply fall upon deaf ears, reduced to nothing more than white noise in chuuya’s mind as he analyzes the way your blouse flutters and swirls around your stomach, stirred by both the slight breeze and the subtle bouncing of your body as you enthusiastically point to a nearby shop. if the hem of your shirt were to lift any higher, it would expose the band of your bra. under normal circumstances, chuuya would leap to tug your shirt down and bitch about you being careless and nearly flashing the pedestrians. but, even as the wind eases and your shirt settles back into place, he remains frozen, eyes fixated on your stomach.

he wonders what it would be like to come home and be greeted by you plodding around with a heavy belly and a strange concoction of something he’s better off remaining ignorant to piled high on a plate, courtesy of your odd cravings and increased appetite. he wonders what it would be like to kiss your round belly and listen for any movement from his child, or simply to run his palm over the skin and laugh as you, aghast, struggle to reach around your stomach and slap feebly at him when he tells your child about his long day of shattering kneecaps and cracking ribcages. now that he thinks about it, your tits would swell with milk in preparation for the delivery of the child. he nearly salivates at the idea of cupping your plump, tender breasts in his hands and listening to you mewl when the calluses blemishing his palms brush over your pert, leaking nipples. you would be so sensitive, so receptive to every little touch he feathers over your skin.

maybe getting you pregnant isn’t the worst idea he’s ever had.

his desires resurface later that night when he corners you in the kitchen. you’re preoccupied with stirring chocolate powder into a steaming mug of milk, pretty hips swinging in tune to the sweet, little melody you’ve been humming since he left the room a few minutes ago. the room is completely silent, save for your voice and the shrill clinking of your silver spoon colliding with porcelain. if someone were merely listening in, they would be oblivious to the presence of a second person leaning against the doorframe with their arms folded over their chest and black jacket slung haphazardly over their shoulders. but, you knew. you’ve always been able to sense him. after a few moments of observing, chuuya is on you in a billow of fabric and a staccato click of his shiny shoes. his arms snake around your waist, drawing you back against his chest.

“i thought you went to change,” you recall inquisitively, tilting your head to glance up at him. you lift the spoon from the darkened liquid and flip it over your shoulder. a single bead of chocolate winds down the handle, dripping over your fingers. still, you don’t let go until you feel the spoon shift and hear the clacking of chuuya’s teeth closing around the head.

after licking the spoon clean and popping it from his lips, chuuya deposits it in the sink. “i did, but then i remembered i wanted to talk to you about something.”

you hum when his hand returns to your waist, his chin moving to prop itself on your shoulder. a heavy sigh slips from his lips and fans across your collarbones, and he almost withdraws in surprise when he feels you shiver against him. you clear your throat before speaking. “what’s up?”

“well—” chuuya begins, only for his voice to snag in his throat at the last second, the smooth speech he’d rehearsed in the mirror while you made dinner wilting and fizzling away into nothingness on his tongue. he bites back a sharp curse. he’d figured that the topic would be awkward to approach, but he didn’t anticipate falling to pieces this quickly. he’s never been one to shy away from foul language, and he’s capable of degrading and stripping away people’s self-confidence without blinking. and yet, here he is, flustered and embarrassed by a topic as simple as conception. “so, um,” he begins, angling his head away from yours so that you don’t notice the faint blush dusting the apples of his cheeks. “i’ve been thinking, and…”

“and?” you press.

he swallows. “i think we should… uh, try for a baby.”

“oh, really?” your answer is instantaneous, flowing from your lips as easily as if you were listing off items on a grocery list. “me, too!”

the silence that stretches between you is delicate yet deafening, disturbed only by the ringing in chuuya’s ears and the tiny inhale that flutters in his lungs as he absorbs the weight of your words. he feels as if he’s just been struck over the head with a blunt object, the rug swept from beneath his feet, completely and utterly stunned. you wanted what? wait... “you… you—what?” his tone is a bit sharper than necessary, but you don’t seem ruffled by it in the least.

“yeah!” your smile is nearly blinding, and he can practically feel your electric elation prickling through the fabric of your shirt and buzzing against his fingertips. “i was going to mention it to you tomorrow, but it seems like you beat me to it! wait,” your smile falters, eyes narrowing into suspicious slits, “is that what’s been bothering you all day?”

chuuya flushes at the teasing lilt in your voice, fiery indignation swelling in his chest and licking away his embarrassment. “of course not!” he scoffs. he releases you and steps away, leaving you to set your porcelain mug on the counter and pursue him, knowing laughter bubbling from your lips.

“you’re such a bad liar,” you sigh, feigning wiping away a stray tear. but then, your expression grows solemn, all traces of amusement winking from existence. “but, really, chuuya,” you take a step forward to place a hand on his arm. he hopes that you don’t feel the tension stiffening his muscles, but when your eyebrows twitch and furrow, he knows that you do. “are you serious about this? do you really want to have a baby?”

“don’t make it weird,” he grumbles. “of course, i do. we’ve been married for three years, now, and i’ve given it a lot of thought. i know that my job isn’t… the best for supporting a child, but... i think we’ll be okay. don’t you?” with a wince, he chances glancing in your direction, only to still when he notices your expression. your eyes are round with surprise, so vibrant and glistening with warmth that he’s having difficulty deciphering whether the glossiness of your gaze is due to raw emotion or mere tears. your countenance is so unguarded, so filled to the brim with hope and vulnerability that he wouldn’t be surprised if the pooling excess manifested in the form of teardrops and sniffles. much to his surprise, the stress gripping his shoulders starts to unknot, your expression alone lulling him into a sense of security and swaddling him in a cocoon of reassurance. you’ve always had a penchant for soothing his nerves, but this is a whole new level—new, but not unwelcome. no, not at all.

“yeah, we’ll be okay,” you nod with a smile. “there’s some stuff left to figure out, but we’ll definitely be okay.” chuuya’s eyes soften, and he steps forward to press an unhurried, gentle kiss to your lips. your lips are petal-soft and pillowy against his chapped ones, bearing the taste of milk chocolate and the strawberries you’d swiped from chuuya’s fruit salad when you thought he wasn’t watching. you pull back only slightly, just enough to whisper, “i want you to give me a baby, chuuya.” his stomach explodes with butterflies when you curl your fingers into his jacket and speak up a second time. “i want it now.”

“now?” he inclines his head, softly bumping his forehead against yours. “you sure, doll? we can always wait until tomorrow.”

you shake your head. “mm,” you hum in disapproval, “now.”

how could he say no to you?

—

tonight was different. it was evident in the way your hands roamed each other’s bare bodies with a fresh heat glowing against your fingertips and lavished each other with as much attention and foreplay as possible. you two aren’t strangers to intercourse by any stretch of imagination, having engaged in sexual acts varying from slow and sensual to rough and jealous—but, never with the intent of conceiving a child. this is brand new territory for the both of you—new territory whose intimidating, daunting presence gives rise to a yearning for intimacy and emotional stability, a reassurance that you both are venturing the same path hand-in-hand, side by side.

your legs are tossed over chuuya’s shoulders, a pillow stuffed underneath the small of your back to elevate your hips and present him with an angle capable of allowing him to relentlessly abuse that one gummy area in your velvet walls that he knows unravels you in record time. your reaction is more than enough of a confirmation, rivulets of tears and saliva alike washing down your face to drip into the pillow cradling your head. all the while, your body twitches and squirms in a piss-poor attempt at escaping his ministrations. your thighs are slippery with sweat and threaten to slide right off his wiry shoulders, but he removes a hand from where both had been braced against the headboard, fingertips biting into the wooden structure and knuckles pale with tension. the grip he locks around your left thigh is borderline bruising as hikes it higher onto his shoulder, the plush flesh dimpling beneath his slender fingers and rippling so enticingly with each jolting slap of his pelvis against yours. you’re just so soft, so pliant… he can only imagine how good you’ll feel in his hands once you’re carrying his child.

“fuck, you’re tight.” chuuya’s voice is breathless, barely more than a feverish pant. a single bead of sweat drips off his jaw, spattering onto your heaving, bouncing chest. “so, so good—” he chokes out through gritted teeth, “for me.” he tilts his head to press a warm, sloppy kiss to the inside of your knee. the pendant of the silver anklet he gifted you for your two-year anniversary clinks and clatters against the dainty chain in time with each soaking-wet slap of his balls against your ass. “you okay, baby? you wanna—stop?”

you shake your head desperately with a whine, toes curling beside his ears and fingers flexing and curling greedily at the bedsheets until they threaten to rip. your eyes are glassy, pupils dilated with a deep-seated, carnal desire and unfocused as they slide over chuuya’s face. “more,” you whimper, “f-feels good. want you to fill me up, chuuya… want… want you to cum inside. want a baby.”

“don’t say that,” chuuya grunts, “forget getting you pregnant, i’ll fuckin’ ruin you, doll. don’t wanna do that—not tonight.”

“twins,” your lips twist into a dopey smile, “give me twins, then.”

“shit,” chuuya huffs out a laugh, “fine, maybe i will.” bolstering his weight with the hand gripping the headboard, he leans forward, his free hand slithering across your thighs to press them to your chest. you whine, sniffling pathetically as he easily folds you in half like a napkin. the new angle drags an unabashed, borderline pornographic moan from your lips as his cock bullies its way through your clenching walls and slides even deeper to slam its fat tip against your cervix. your body all but convulses at the feeling of chuuya’s cock stretching your cunt so deliciously and fucking open a clear path that you swear on your life travels all the way to your womb. one of your hands shoots up to shove at chuuya’s chest in a vain attempt at deterring him, but he snatches up your wrist before you can even touch him, pinning your hand beside your head.

“you said you wanted twins,” chuuya’s steely eyes drill into yours with a condescending smirk, “so, you’re going to lay there and take it. tried to be nice, wanted you to cum first,” he muses with a chuckle, “but, i guess you want something different. so, i guess that’s going to have to wait. you’re going to have to wait.” your toes bump against the headboard when he buries himself to the hilt, his balls twitching and locking against the curve of your ass as he fights against the orgasm looming over his shoulder. “take it all.” he commands.

“o-okay…” you agree weakly. but, honestly, when you’re folded into a mating press with your thighs forced up against your chest and your pussy spread open for your husband, what else can you do?

“goddamn, you’re beautiful,” chuuya groans, “gonna look even prettier with your belly all big and round with my kid. your tits are gonna be sensitive, aren’t they? swollen just like your stomach. can’t wait to watch ‘em bounce.” the way you keen at his words shoot straight to his cock. “gonna fill you up nice and full—make you a mommy. how’s that sound? you want it?”

you nod fervently, chest fluttering. “please!”

as if chuuya ever had any intention of denying you—or stopping after just one round.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #nero.reblogs #nero.after.dark

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