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#alp
hier--soir · 7 months
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a lover's pinch | one
joel miller x f!reader
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pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x
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Friday.
You sit with three almost strangers.
Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.
They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.
Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?
Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.
And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.
Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.
After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.
It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.
The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.
“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.
You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.
It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.
“Mind if I sit here?”
Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.
You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.
Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.
Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.
A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.
“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”
He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.
Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.
“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.
You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.
“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.
“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”
‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”
You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.
“You here alone?” he asks.
“No,” you say. “With friends.”
“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”
You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.
“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”
The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.
“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.
“And you?”
His eyebrows raise in a silent question.
“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.
“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.
It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.
“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.  
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.
He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.
“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.
Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.
“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.   
Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.
He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.
“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.
He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.
“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.
“To the bar or to Maine?”
“Either.”
“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”
“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”
“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”
“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.
“Ever been?” you ask faintly.
“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”
And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?
“Can I tell you something, Joel?”
You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.
“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.
He hums, smirk broadening.
Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.
“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.
Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.
“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”
A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”
“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.
Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”
A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.
“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”
His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”
Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something? 
Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.
“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.
Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.
“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”
The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.
Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.
You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.
“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”
Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.
Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.
“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.
“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.
“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”
He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.
Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.
You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.
Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?
Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.
“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.
“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”
He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.
“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”
A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.
“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.
“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.
“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”
Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.
“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.” 
“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”
You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”
And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.
Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.
“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”
You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.
“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”
You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.
“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.
“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”
“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”
Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.
And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.
“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”
And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you. 
For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.
You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.
But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.
“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”
You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome. 
“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.
“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”
You heart is in your throat all over again.
Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”
A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.
“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”
You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.
The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.
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Tuesday.
You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.
A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.
You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.
After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.
Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.
Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.  
As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.
The theatre room is easy enough to find.
Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.
Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.
You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.
You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.
He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.
You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.
“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”
You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.
An accent like that is hard to ignore.
You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.
Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.
And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.
Joel… your professor.
Fuck.  
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thank you for reading!! x
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auteurdelabre · 2 months
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I swear I think about this story more than I think about my own family. @hier--soir
(I want Professor Joel biblically)
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sakamichibeeldarchief · 4 months
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littlemissomega · 6 months
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Malyshka
alpha!Wanda x omega!reader
Summary: Y/N joins the Avengers thinking she’ll be able to hide being an omega. Wanda bursts her bubble.
Warnings: smut, overstimulation, mating, biting, penetration, omega heat, fingering, knotting, pet names (malyshka, baby, luv, luvie), Bucky’s an asshole, a kinda maybe spark better Bucky (I can’t write fight scene without banter), scenting, scent blockers
Sorry if I forgot anything
Author’s note: This request for this was so sweet! I finally made myself sit down and finish this over the weekend :) I also marked where the smut starts if that's what you're here for
Edit: Just realized I posted this the first time with 'Emily' instead of 'Y/N'. I write my fics with a different name for the reader cause it flows easier with I brain, I just forgot to change it later. Please ignore 🤦🏻‍♀️
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“Okay, everyone, this is Y/N! She’ll be joining the Avengers,” Tony voices.
Y/N fiddles with her bracelet as she gives the group of strangers a small smile. The overwhelming scent of alphas smacks her in the face, making her feel shyer than normal. She prays her scent suppressants and beta scent perfume are strong enough.
“Who decided that?” a brown haired man asks.
“I did. And I think you all will agree when you see what she can do,” Tony responds.
“It would have been nice to be consulted right, though,” a blond man points out.
“Well, I do bank roll this team, so…”
Y/N’s cheeks flush as the good discuss her like she didn’t there.
“Guy, don’t be rude! Ignore them. I’m Natasha,” the red haired woman smiles, “That’s Bucky, and that’s Steve. Steve is only agreeing with him because he wants to get laid later,’ “Hey now, ‘Tasha!” Steve laughs. 
Natasha shrugs at him with a smirk.
“That’s Clint,” a man dressed in all black waves at her, “And that’s Thor,” Natasha finishes, pointing at a man with long hair.
“Nice to meet you guys,” Y/N smiles, finally finding her voice and feeling awkward and meek around the group.
“Am I the only one who wants to see what the little lady can do?” Thor asks.
“I agree,” Bucky nods.
“Okay! I guess she can spare you, Buck. Show you guys what she can do,” Tony smirks.
“Gladly,” Bucky smirks back, shrugging off his jacket.
Y/N ties her hair up and pushes her sleeves up, trying to compose herself.
I can do this! Mr. Stark believes in me, so it can’t be that hard!
“Here’s the rooms; No cheap shots. We’re all big kids here. No weapons. If the other person says ‘yield’, you win and everyone stops. If the other person is pinned or down for 30 seconds or more, then the other wins. And don’t kill each other,” Tony explains.
“Remember that word, beta,” Bucky voices, getting in a fighting stance.
Y/N ignores his taunts, focusing on the energy bubbling up in her core. She imagines it spreading through her body and resting under the skin of her hands. Her hands start glowing with lavender purple energy, and Bucky’s cocky expression cracks for a second.
“Begin,” Tony announces, leading against the wall.
Bucky lunges forward, but doesn’t get far before a stream of glowing lavender energy shots from Y/N’s hands; wrapping around Bucky’s foot and pulling him to the ground. He lands with a grunt but doesn’t stay down long. Natasha’s laugh rings through the room.
“A little warning would have been nice, Tony!” Bucky calls as he swings his metal arm back to punch her.
Y/N’s glowing hand makes a shape like she caught his fist (she’s not actually touching him), and his hand stops. Her eyes start glowing a faint purple as she turns her hand to the side, and Bucky’s arm goes with it. He lands on his back. A frustrated groan slips from his lips, causing the corners of Y/N’s to go up.
Bucky rolls to his feet and jumps forward. Right before he grabs her, Y/N teleports to the other side of the room. He stumbles forward, but regains his balance.
“The f-”
He starts towards her again, and Y/N’s wills the water in a cup to the side to rise, turning into a disk of ice. It shoots towards Bucky, but he catches it with his metal hand and throws it back at her. The ice evaporates before it reaches her.
“Okay, no more magic, kid. Why don’t you level the playing field and beat me fair and square?” Bucky asks as he lunges toward again, panting slightly. Y/N side steps him and teleports behind him. She kicks him square in the back, causing him to go down.
“And why would I do that? I’m just using my resources wisely!” Y/N points out.
“Oh, so you don’t think you can beat me without your little party tricks! That’s okay, not everyone is strong enough,” Bucky eggs her on.
“You’re kinda an asshole, you know that?” Y/N shoots back, “How ‘bout this; I don’t use magic for 60 seconds. Give you a little head start. If you can beat me in that time, then great. If you can’t…”
“Deal,” he growls, kicking his leg out and sweeping her feet out from under her.
Y/N tumbles to the ground, landing hard on her ass. Bucky pins her to the ground, but she elbows him in the nose, causing his grip to loosen enough for her to slip away. She makes it to her feet before he makes his next attack. He swings a punch at her, but she douges it, dunking under his arm and elbowing his side. Bucky lets out another growl and Y/N shivers. 
“You scared, beta?” Bucky chuckles.
“No, I’m just getting a little cold from how little I have to work! And my name’s Y/N,”
Bucky wraps a hand around Y/N’s throat, and she tucks her chin while bringing her other arm around and breaking his grip. She grabs his arm and spins him around, putting him in a choke hold. Bucky’s hands fly up; trying and failing to break her grip around his neck. Y/N wraps his legs around her waist to stabilize herself as Bucky starts slamming her into the wall. She lets out a grunt as the air leaves her lungs.
“You smell…sweet?” Bucky points out, his voice muffled from his lack of air.
Shit, Y/N thinks. She realizes she’s started to sweat, which must be causing the scent blocker to wear off faster.
“I think you’re hallucinating, Barnes,” Y/N huffs as he slams her into the wall again, “And, your time’s up,”
Y/N teleports away right as Bucky slams against the wall again, causing him to take all of the blow. She kicks him in the stomach and he crumbles against the wall. Purple bands of light wrap around him, pinning him down. He struggles against them, but they don’t break.
“And.. Y/N wins!” Tony announces as the 30 seconds is up. The bands of light disappear immediately, and Bucky stumbles to his feet.
“Good match,” Y/N smiles, sticking her hand out to shake Bucky’s.
Bucky begrudgingly shakes her hands. Y/N thinks he’s being a good sport until he jerks her forward, dipping his nose down so it brushes the scent gland on her neck. Y/N gasps and stumbles back.
“Interesting,” Bucky chuckles softly.
“Did you just fucking scent me??” Y/N asks, shocked.
“Whoa, that’s too far, Bucky!” Natasha scolds, shoving Bucky.
“Sorry, sorry!” Bucky responds, the smirk not leaving his face.
“Are you okay?” Natasha asks.
“Yeah! Yeah..it’s whatever,” 
“He’s just grumpy cause he lost and wanted a reaction. That was pretty badass though, newbie!”
“I agree! That was hardcore!” Thor laughs, slapping Y/N on the back. Y/N jolts forward a little, but laughs it off.
“Hey, has anyone seen Wanda today?” Steve asks. He’s holding hands with a still slightly fuming Bucky.
“I’m right here!” a voice calls from the door.
Y/N turns to see a beautiful woman with dark ginger hair that falls in soft waves and blue gray eyes. She’s dressed in red and black leather, and Y/N struggles to keep her eyes on the woman’s face instead of the curve of her breasts. Her scent of fresh coffee and cinnamon hits Y/N like a freight train, causing a whole different heat to grow in her core. She can feel her own scent growing stronger.
“Hey, Wanda! You missed the show!” Natasha laughs.
“Did I?” Wanda asks, looking at Y/N, “What’s your name, malyshka (babygirl)?”
Y/N opens her mouth, but no words come out. Natasha quickly covers for her.
“This is Y/N! She’s joining the Avengers and she just kicked Bucky’s ass!”
Wanda’s eyes don’t leave Y/N, causing her to squirm a little. Y/N pulls out her phone, and looks at it, pretending to see a notification.
“Oh, I have a missed call, so I need to go call them back! But it was nice meeting y’all!”
Bucky smirks and gives Y/N a knowing look as she runs from the room. She fainting hears the other calling bye.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Y/N mumbles as she slams her bedroom door shut, rummaging through her stuff for her scent suppressant. She swallows two of them dry, then douses herself in the beta scent perfume.
Flopping down face first on the bed, Y/N reminds herself that joining the Avengers is a good thing. Her stupid omega pheromones just need to get their shit together. And Bucky keeps his stupid mouth shut.
Two weeks pass, and Y/N starts to settle into her new life. She trains with Natasha and Steve during the day, and they go on missions. She and Bucky continue to bully each other and have ‘friendly’ competitions. And Wanda. Oh Wanda.
Wanda has been so kind to Y/N, showing her around the compound and taking every chance to talk with her. But she also takes every chance to touch her. From putting a hand on Y/N’s shoulder when passing to letting their legs touch on the couch, Wanda has taken every chance. And Y/N hasn’t minded. Not at all.
Y/N hates how shy she gets around Wanda, and the almost gravitational pull she feels to her.
A knock on the door snaps Y/N from her thoughts.
“Are you okay, Y/N?” Natasha asks through the door.
“Yeah, I’m fine!” Y/N voices, rolling over.
“Okay! Well, dinner’s ready! You hungry?”
“Yeah, I’ll be out in a second!” Y/N responds, glad to be included in the group.
Y/N quickly takes her hair out of the ponytail, fluffing the top of it. When she opens the door, Natasha is waiting for her. She smells of fresh sheets and leather polish. She’s an alpha, but her scent isn’t as overwhelming as most.
“What’s for dinner?” Y/N asks as they enter the kitchen.
“Chicken noodle soup!” Wanda responds, “How’d your call go?”
Gods she looks so pretty
“I-It was good! Just a friend,” Y/N voices, nervousness pooling in her stomach.
As they make bowls, Y/N realizes Bucky and Steve are missing.
“Where are the others?” She asks, carrying her bowl to the table.
“Oh, I heard Bucky and Steve arguing earlier, so they’re probably fucking by now,” Natasha laughs.
“My room is next to theirs, and you wouldn’t believe the things I’ve heard,” Tony voices, “Haven’t had a good night’s sleep since they mated,”
Y/N blushes, staring at her bowl. It’s always amazed her how some people are so open about sex. She picks up her spoon and takes a bite of the soup, almost moaning as it hits her taste buds.
“You like the soup, malyshka?” Wanda asks with a grin, sitting down next to her.
“Yeah!” Y/N nods, swallowing, “It’s really good,”
“I’m glad you think so,”
“Sorry, what does malyshka mean? Is it a different language?” Y/N asks. Wanda has taken to using the nickname with Y/N, and she had never asked what it ment. 
“It’s Russian for babygirl,” Natasha explains with a small, knowing smile.
“Oh,” 
That’s all Y/N can say as her face turns bright red. She coughs a little and takes a gulp of her water. Wanda’s shoe brushes against her calf.
“Don’t choke, princess!” Wanda chuckles.
Princess? Babygirl? This woman is going to be the death of me.
Y/N sets her cups down and focuses on eating without embarrassing herself. Halfway through, Steve and Bucky show up. Steve is limping significantly.
“Nice of you to join us,” Tony snickers.
“Shut up, Stark,” Bucky responds with a chuckle, “You’re just jealous you’re not getting any cause Pepper’s on a business trip,”
Y/N grimaces as pain shoots through her abdomen and lower back. She grips her spoon harder; her knuckles turning white. Natasha taps her foot under the table and mouths ‘You okay?’ at her. Y/N nods, relaxing her grip on the spoon even as the pain continues. The intense need to bury her face in Wanda’s chest and sit in her lap fills her.
It doesn’t help that every breath she takes is overwhelmed by Wanda’s rich scent.
Is she doing that on purpose? Y/N wonders. She can feel herself starting to sweat and takes a sip of water.
“Are you okay, Y/N?” Steve asks, sounding genuinely worried.
“Yeah! O-of course!” Y/N responds, trying to sound normal.
“You look pretty flushed. Are you warm?”
Steve you’re very sweet, but please shut the fuck up. Y/N begs in her heat.
“A little! It’s just the soup. I think I’m actually gonna turn in for the night,” Y/N decides, grabbing her bowl to put in the sink. Wanda stops her.
“I can get that!” Wanda voices.
“No, that’s okay! I can-”
“Leave the bowl, malyshka,” Wanda voices, dominance seeping into her voice.
Y/N sets the bowl down and rushes up the stairs.
“What’s up with her?” she hears Tony ask.
“I wouldn’t bother her for the next week,” Bucky responds, sounding arrogant and almost condescending.
“Why not?” Natasha asks.
Y/N doesn’t wait to hear Bucky’s response. She quietly closes her bedroom door and uses the lavender light to create a barrier around the room. Now, no one will be able to scent her or hear her.
She stumbles over to her desk and opens her computer, looking at her heat calendar. It isn’t supposed to come for another 2 weeks!
“Go awayyyy,” Y/N whines as the cramps continue and a different type of need fills her. She changes into a soft, silk shorts and tank top set before climbing into bed. She nuzzles her face into the only blanket she brought from home.
Y/N tosses and turns for hours, kicking off the blankets as her body temperature goes up. A fine layer of sweat settles on her skin and pain shoots through her. She can feel herself growing wetter, and her mind keeps straying to how bad she wants to be knotted. 
  —--Spice starts here—----
She tries resisting, but she can’t help but kick off the shorts and slip her hand in her underwear. Y/N dips a finger in her dripping hole and moans. She drags the finger up to that hypersensitive bundle of nerves as draws gentle circles on it. Her moans float through the room.
A knock at the door causes Y/N to groan.
“Y/N, are you in there?” Wanda asks through the door.
Her brain is too foggy to form words.
“Y/N, open the door right now,” Wanda orders. Y/N whimpers at the dominance in her tone.
The door burst open before closing again. Y/N turns her head to see Wanda standing there, eyes and hands glowing a faint red color. Her scent is intoxicating. She’s wearing a cropped tank top and a pair of low rise pajama pants. The large bulge at her crotch is unmistakable. 
“Oh baby. Did you get your heat?” Wanda croons.
Y/N nods, burying her face in the blankets. She jolts in pain as another cramp rips through her and rubs another circle on her clit, hoping to help ease the pain.
“Y-you should go Wa-Wanda! It’s not appropriate,” Y/N struggles to say, finally pulling her hand from her underwear.
“But you don’t really want me to do that, do you?” Wanda asks, her voice getting closer. 
Y/N looks up to see Wanda right next to the bed. She sits down and lowers her face closer to hers. Wanda gently grabs her china and forces her to make eye contact. Y/N whimpers and her core throbs.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me, malyshka. And I know you feel it. The bond. Begging for us to solidify it. You’re my mate, and you know it,” Wanda voices, grabbing her hand and bringing it to her mouth.
“W-what?” Y/N stutters.
Wanda eases Y/N’s slick covered finger into her mouth and sucks gently. Y/N and Wanda moan as she releases it with a pop
“Awww, you’re such a dumb baby omega! Thought you could pretend to be a beta and everything!” she brushes a stand of hair from Y/N’s face condescending, “No, you’re my mate and I’ve known from the second I saw you,”
Her eyes go wide as Wanda dips her head down and brushes her nose against Y/N’s scent glades. A small growl slips from Wanda’s lips and every hair on Y/N’s body stands up, causing her to whine.
“I’m going to burn whatever fake scent you use. And it you ever take a fucking scent blocker again, I’ll spank your pretty ass ‘til you can’t sit right for a month,” Wanda growls.
“Y-yes ma’am! I’m sor-sorry!” Y/N squeaks.
“You will be,”
Y/N lets out a shriek as Wanda picks her up and throws her over her shoulder.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Y/N asks, her tone sounding meek.
“Going to wash off that fucking beta scent! I wanna smell your scent when I pump you full with my pups,” 
“Mommyyy,” Y/N moans, her grip tightening on Wanda’s shoulders.
The tile in the bathroom is cold against Y/N’s bare feet. Wanda presses her against the wall; her lips a breath away from Y/N’s.
“I’m trying so hard to restrain myself, because I wanna fuck you for the first time in a bed, but you’re making it really hard, malyshka,” Wanda whispers, her lips dipping to hover over the scent glad on Y/N’s neck. 
Y/N lets out a breathy moan; squeezing her thighs together as Wanda’s nose nuzzles against her scent gland.
“Your scent is finally pecking through those damned scent blockers,” Wanda voices, “Now let’s wash the rest off,”
The cool air chills Y/N’s skin as Wanda pulls the shirt off her, leaving her bare. Her nipples pebble into stiff peaks and the shorts quickly follow the shirt to its place on the ground. Y/N wants to touch her so bad, but doesn’t want to anger her. Wanda’s eyes don’t leave her as she turns the shower on.
“Listen carefully,” Wanda turns her fingers up Y/N’s arms, barely touching them, “You’re gonna get in the shower and get nice and clean, and I’m gonna go get a few things. You aren’t gonna touch yourself of put on any more scent blockers, then you’re going to dry off and go wait in bed,”
“Do-Don’t want you to leave,” Y/N pouts, practically shaking with need.
Wanda gently rubs her thumb over Y/N’s bottom lip before connecting them with hers. Y/N melts into the kiss; hands coming up to brace herself on Wanda’s shoulder. She whines when Wanda pulls away.
“I’ll be right back. Be a good little omega and do as your told,” 
Wanda leaves the door cracked behind her and Y/N lets in a shaky breath from getting the shower. The cool water is a shock to her system and she quickly washes her body. Her skin is hypersensitive and she struggles to hold back whimpers as she washes her scent glands.
After turning the water off, she dries off with a fluffy towel Wanda must have left for her. Y/N wraps the towel around herself before tip-toeing back into the bedroom. The room is empty and she sits on the edge of the bed, apprehension building in her.
The temporary relief Wanda’s calming pheromones brought disappears and the intense pain continues. Y/N leaves back in the bed, gripping the sheets and pressing her feet into the mattress. Her whines fill the room and all she wants is Wanda’s knot deep inside her, breeding her.
“Fuck, malyshka, you’re so beautiful,” Wanda practically moans from the door.
Wanda’s holding a bundle of different sweatshirts, blankets, and t-shirts.
“Wh-what’s that?” Y/N asks.
“I brought you a few things for your nest, baby,”
“Want you now though, Mommy,” she whines.
“One second, luvie, I gotta get your cozy nest set up,” Wanda explains, arranging the different things on the bed.
Y/N bucks her hips and moans at the intense scent of her mate around her.
“Mommy hurryyy need you so bad!” 
“All done, baby,” Wanda soothes, straddling Y/N’s hips. Y/N’s shaky hands come up and tug at Wanda’s pants.
“Need you now, Mommy!”
“I know luvie, but Mommy’s just gotta taste her sweet baby first,” Wanda croons, sliding down her body.
Wanda growls at the sight of her omega’s dripping pussy. She licks fromm her dripping whole to throbbing clit.
“Fuck, I shouldn’t have waited so long to do this,” Wanda groans, “You’re such a good omega, you would have spread your legs for me that first night, wouldn’t you have?”
“Uh huh, Mommy! Just for you!” 
The vibrations of Wanda’s chuckle ripple through Y/N and cause the knot in her core to grow. Wanda lips attach to her clit and her moans fill the room. Her hands fly down, lacing in Wanda’s hair and presses her further into her pussy.
“Oh my god that feels so good Mommy, so sensitive!” Y/N moans.
Wanda doesn’t give any warning before slipping two fingers into her, filling her to the brim. Y/N bucks her hips up, desperate for me.
“Mommy pleaseee, need you in me so bad!”
“What part of me, malyshka?” Wanda asks innocently, “My fingers? My tongue? Or is there something else you want? Use you words,”
The fog in Y/N’s head grows with how desperate she is, and she struggles to form the words.
“Fuck, Mommy, need your cock! Need your cock in me so bad! Need you to bread my and knot me and fuck me so good!” Y/N blabbers.
“Good girl,” Wanda croons, her eyes glowing red. Her clothes disappear and she straddles her again in a second, her hard cock lined up with Y/N’s dripping entrance.
Y/N wrapped her legs around Wanda’s hips, bringing her lips up to suck on one of Wanda’s perky, hard nipples. Wanda moans and thrusts into Y/N a little too fast. Y/N whines at the intense stretch and sucks harder.
“I know, malyshka, Mommy’s cock is so much bigger that your little baby omega pussy,” Wanda croons condescending, “You’re gonna take every inch like the good little girl you are, though,” Y/N give’s Wanda’s hair a little tug in response.
By the time Wanda is halfway in, Y/N is squirming and quivering. She finally lets go of Wanda’s nipple.
“Want your pups so bad, Mommy! Want you to breed me!” Y/N cries, spasming with pleasure and need.
“I know, baby, Mommy’s gonna fill up your pretty pussy so good; gonna make you all pretty and round!” Wanda voices, thrusting her hips forward so another inch goes in, “You aren’t so shy anymore, are you baby? All you needed was Mommy’s cock stretching you out to start talking!”
“Mommy,” Y/N whimpers as Wanda bottoms out.
“I know,” Wanda repeats, dipping her head to the crock of Y/N’s neck.
Wanda inhales deeply and moans.
“Can’t believe you hide your scent from me for so long, malyshka! You smell heavenly. Like fucking carmel and chocolate,” Wanda moans, licking Y/N’s scent glad. Y/N mewls at the sensation, squeezing around Wanda.
“Gonna cum, Mommy!” 
“Cum for me, baby,”
Y/N falls over the edge, stars dancing in her vision. Her chest comes off the bed and the sounds she makes are unrecognizable. A scream escapes her as Wanda’s fangs pierce her neck. Her hands move to Wanda’s back, digging in and drawing blood. Wanda sucks on the tender wound and continues thrusting her hips as Y/N comes down from her high. The solidified bond is overwhelming. Wanda’s scent becomes even more overwhelming and Y/N can feel the pleasure she’s feeling, making her even more sensitive. 
“Mo-Mommy?” Y/N stutters weakly, her orgasm still stringing out.
“Yes, my luv?” Wanda responds gently.
“Want you to cum, Mommy! Please cum in me,”
“Oh baby,” Wanda moans.
Every vein and ridge sets Y/N on faster as Wanda’s thrust quickens, hitting every sensitive spot in her.
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” Y/N sobs, tears of pleasure slipping down her cheeks, “Fuck, feels so go-good!”
“Mommy’s gonna cum down, malyshka,” Wanda pants, “Gonna fill you up so good,” Wanda’s knot starts growing, stretching her mate out even more. 
“Can fe- ohhh feel it, Mommy!” 
Y/N’s wall squeezes around her, and that’s all Wanda needs to fall over the edge. Her hot cum warms Y/N and she can feel it in every inch of her body. Wanda can’t take her eyes off Y/N’s absolutely wrecked face though. Her head is thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, and mouth in an ‘O’ shape. Wanda lowers her head and kisses her check, then her lips, her other check, each eyelid, her forehead, and makes her way back down to her lips as Emiy comes down from her extended high.
“How are you feeling, malyshka?” Wanda asks softly.
“Warm…and full and so good” Y/N sighs contently.
“I’m glad, luvie,” Wanda smiles, gently flipping them so Y/N is on top.
Y/N moans softly as Wanda’s cock shifts deeper with the new position. Her alpha strokes her back.
“I love you, Mommy,” she mumbles dreamily.
“I love you too, malyshka,”
Taglist:
@liidiaaag
@flourishandblotts-inc
@aagn360
@smromanoff
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hauntedhokage · 7 months
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Established!Kirishima/F!Reader & Kirishima/Bakugou
Slow burn Bakugou/F!Reader for eventual poly!Kirishima/F!Reader/Bakugou
series summary: you’re a successful news woman in a very happy relationship with top 5 hero Red Riot…who’s boyfriend is very hard to read and you low key think he hates you. Eijiro knows him better, though, and knows that Katsuki just has a crush but doesn’t have the emotional capacity to do anything about it. All it takes are some well placed nudges, and a little patience.
series warnings: slow burn (like…very slow), Bakugou & Kirishima have an open relationship, miscommunications galore between reader and bakugou, smut in part 04 (so far)
{ao3} | [tumblr masterlist] | {ko-fi} | [spotify playlist]
New chapters posted weekly on Wednesdays - chapter list below the cut
01: Stolen Shirt
02: Introductory Lunch 
03: Awkward Encounters
04: Date Night
05: Corrective Measures
06: Fight Night
07: Aftershock
08: On the Mend 
09: Planted
10: Patching Up
11: Dance
12: Early Mornings
13: The Date
14: Proposals
15: Proposals pt 2
16: Delivery
17: Smitten
....other parts TBA
Said "sugar make it slow and we'll come together fine"
All we need is just a little patience
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jasonguilbeau · 1 year
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Bunker - Uri - Schweiz
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twitterexile · 5 months
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We got to improve education in this country so the populace don't fall for Trumpian disinformation tactics from conservative politicians and Right Wing media.
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kairunatic · 2 months
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The Kohais at Ueno sure asking the real questions
>>A small continuation to this one
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summocrap · 5 months
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sakamichi-steps · 4 months
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hier--soir · 2 months
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night breeze
joel miller x f!reader
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rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: joel comes home to find you sleeping in his bed, wearing his clothes. warnings/tags: established relationship, consensual somnophilia, oral [f receiving], joel loves when you wear his clothes, premature ejaculation, reader wears joel's clothes; body type is not described explicitly but his boxers are described as "snug" on her thighs. word count: 1.8k masterlist follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is envisioned as a part of the ALP universe [set between 7 and 8] but it can be read as a stand alone.
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The air is calm at dusk.
Soft and sweet against your skin, the smell of salt in your nostrils.
The sky is a kaleidoscope of purples and pinks and blues, and a slick orange sun drips and wanes until its belly kisses the ocean. Lower, lower, until the sky spins navy and the water pitches black. You float in that black darkness, unbothered by the heavy swells that rise and roll beneath you. The water is rocky and rough, though the waves never seem to break. Too far from the shore, they simply build and build, with no end in sight.  
And the water should be icy, cold enough to chill you to the bone and set you shivering, but you just feel hot. A searing, stuffy heat that clings even as you float over the rolling masses, letting them lap at your neck and face. Humid and dry, you want nothing more than for the water to suck you in deeper. Down, down, until your body is covered, and your hair is a floating halo, and you are finally cool.  
Yet as time passes, you find that it is not the water that is warm, but you. That stifling sticky sun that sank beneath the horizon now burns at the centre of you, red hot and raging, ready to rise again already.
You try to smother it, to tamp it down. Tangle your legs on the water’s surface and hold your breath, but it burns still. A scorching scratch at the inside of your skin, your skull, your chest cavity. And something crawls its way up through your chest now. Something loose-limbed and drowsy, working its way past your stomach, your lungs, your throat, your—
A ragged moan wakes you.   
Your fingers twitch and tighten, gripping soft sheets. Eyes roll behind lids as you drift slowly into consciousness. The air in his bedroom is cold, but in the haze of your sleep-addled brain you can’t quite pinpoint why you’re so warm. Face down on a pillow, you blink lazily and start to piece together what’s happening.
Your shirt—Joel’s shirt—clings to your skin. Sweat beads along the skin of your back, soaking into the thin fabric. The waistband of his boxers is forgiving, resting against the soft flesh beneath your belly button, though the hem of each leg is snug around your thighs. Oh, your thighs…. something sturdy holds them apart.
Two solid weights pressing against the inside of your legs, spreading them wide across the bed. A third weight against the small of your back… a hand. Fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt, bunching the material at the base of your spine, keeping your stomach flush to the bed. Another moan startles you, sharpens your mind a little. Your tongue feels heavy, mind a slow blur as you realise that the sound came from your own mouth. And as that understanding sinks in, you finally feel it.
Something hot and wet, lapping at the dark fabric shielding your cunt. And you’re wet. Fucking hell, you’re so wet it’s near uncomfortable. The sopping material clings to your folds, a persistent tongue pressing it in deeper, soaking the material in your slick juices as they drip from you. You gasp, trying fruitlessly to turn your head and see over your shoulder in the darkness.
“S’me,” he says then, and his voice is a pained, haggard thing. Rough and wanton with desire, with need, muffled from how his face is buried between your thighs. “S’just me… fuck, m’sorry.”   
“Joel,” you rasp, breathless as his tongue glances over your clit through his boxers. He groans and then the thick point of his nose is pressing between your cheeks, nudging at your covered asshole. The pressure there sharpens your senses to a point, and sends a surprised moan peeling from your throat.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, just let me…” Joel inhales deeply, cursing under his breath when you lazily rut your sex back against his face.
“Jesus Christ,” you whimper. When you move your face, something damp tickles your cheek. Saliva, pooling out the side of your open mouth and leaving a small damp circle on his pillow. Embarrassment warms your face, but the sound of Joel moaning against your cunt is a welcome distraction.
Muscular shoulders keep your thighs wide open, and he mouths shamelessly at the material, licking and kissing everywhere he can reach, and it suddenly makes sense why you feel like you’re on the edge already. The boxers must be ruined; slick and spit mix together to soak the entirety of the fabric until it clings to your swollen skin.
“H-how… fuck, Joel, how long have you—”
“Don’t know,” he mumbles. “Twenty minutes? Fuck, I don’t—”
Lewd sucking noises fill the room and the muscles in your abdomen go rigid, mouth hanging wide open as his fingers curl around the gusset of the boxers, dragging them to the side. You moan and squirm against the bed as he dips his tongue between your folds, gliding it through the sloppy messy of you. His sounds match yours; hot exhales billowing against your exposed skin and sending goosebumps sprouting across the backs of your thighs.  
Joel pulls back for a minute. Keeps the material pulled to the side, allowing the cool night air to dance across the scorching skin between your legs while he watches you drip for him.
“Got home late,” he apologises, and you twitch as his breath hits your centre. He’s still so close. “Jimmy needed help with somethin’ and I—fuck, it doesn’t matter, but you were so perfect. My good girl, all tucked up in my bed, wearin’ my fuckin’ clothes, just waitin’ for me.”
“Tried to stay awake.” You hum softly, trying to inch yourself back against his face. But Joel just tuts, and you feel a sharp sting as he nips at the skin of your thigh. You pout against his pillow, body going lax and pliant once more. “Wanted to fall asleep with you.”
“I know,” he soothes, licking over where his teeth marks mar your flesh. His lips dance higher and higher until his tongue flicks into your hole. He swears low, resting his forehead against the soft plush of your ass. “But this? Comin’ home to this… fuckin’ luckiest man in the world, I tell ya.”
It's slow and steady when he lets his mouth fall upon you again. Soft little licks around your lips, tracing the dips and folds of your labia, mapping out every inch of you before his tongue dares graze against your clit. And when he does finally make contact, you jolt and whimper, already acutely aware of that familiar tingle in your spine.
Unable to reach him, your fingers tangle uselessly in his sheets, entirely at his mercy as he devours you from behind. Thick thumbs spread you open for his eyes to see, keeping you apart as he licks broad strokes up the entirety of your cunt before lathing languid open-mouthed kisses against it. Hot and wet and needy, his moans vibrate through you, letting you know he loves this just as much as you. Maybe even more.
Your clit pulses against his tongue, alive with a throbbing heartbeat of its own. And with every swipe and glide and circle you feel that heat swirl stiffer in your belly, the wave building and building. You can feel the way your hole, painfully empty, clenches over and over around nothing but air, winking at him and begging for more.
The slippery sounds of your arousal fill the room once more and soon enough you’re keening his name beneath your breath, spurring him on as you imagine the way it must shine on his beard, his lips, even in the darkness.
“Please,” you mewl, drooling against his pillow still, vaguely aware of your saliva gliding down your neck, thick and viscous. “Joel, fuck me, I want it, want you—”
“I will,” he swears, but you can feel how rapt he is by this. How every facet of his attention is trained on keeping his mouth on your pussy, his tongue rubbing firm circles around your clit just how you like. He gasps and pants against you, nodding a little, groaning when his nose glides through your folds and your scent coats his nostrils. “I will, I will, I just need you like this a little longer. I will. Promise.”
His grip is tender against the crease of your thighs, fingers digging in right where your leg meets the flesh of your ass as he eats at you. And you can tell by the way his noises deepen, turning guttural and depraved, that he won’t be making good on that promise tonight. Know it from the way his face ruts forward into your core every few seconds that he must be grinding his leaking cock against the mattress, feverish and desperate for relief. And the mere thought of it, of him hot and hard, straining inside his pants, has the muscles in your legs going taut.
Joel murmurs your name, so soft under his breath. His long tongue dips inside of you and then strokes up to flick against your clit, and finally you dissolve under his mouth.
The orgasm flows through you much like the waves in your dream. Joel coaxes it out from deep in your stomach until you’re a wet trembling mess beneath him; nothing but a rolling mass of waves for the sticky sun to sink into. Warm and wet, the high laps at your body from every angle until the edges of your mind are fuzzy, molten heat drooling from your cunt and onto his grateful tongue as he groans.
He doesn’t let up those soft swirls of his tongue until your hips are twitching away and you’re whining his name, and begging him to come up here. And so he crawls up your body, movements slow and sleepy as he drops heavily against your back. Thick thighs bracket your own, and that scruffy chin sits against the slope of your shoulder as he presses a kiss and a drowsy mumble of hey baby behind your ear.
“That was nice.” You smile when he takes your earlobe between his teeth. Curious, you work a hand between your back and his chest, fingers trailing down until you reach the damp spot at the front of his trousers. He exhales roughly, hips jerking backward, sensitive. “Fuck, did you come?”
“Shh,” he murmurs, his smile sheepish and shy against your skin. You laugh, heart swelling and eyes falling shut as you let him tip you onto your side and pull you back against his chest. A broad palm snakes over your hip, fingers dancing beneath the band of the boxers to rest against your skin, and he squeezes the flesh there greedily. “Gonna fuck you in the mornin’,” he vows.
You hum, already half asleep again despite how chilled your skin turns as your sweat cools. “Gonna wake me up with your cock inside me, hm?”  
“Fuck,” Joel chokes out, his grip on you tightening. “Yeah, baby. I will.”
“Is that a promise?”
“S’a promise.”
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thank you for reading x
1K notes · View notes
untaemedqueen · 1 year
Text
A Lions Pride
Mafia Leader!Jimin x Wife!Reader
Genre: Dark Romance, Smut, Fluff, Angst
Series Warnings: Death (On Page), Blood (On Page), Excessive Cursing, Excessive Alcohol Intake, Smoking (Cigarettes and Cigars), MCD, Dark Romance, Dom!Jimin, Sub!Kitten, Guns, Knives, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Anti-Heroes
Chapter Warnings: Car Chase, Possessive!Jimin, Daddy!Kink, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Hair Leash, Fellatio, Deep Throating, Multiple Orgasms, Cream Pie
A/N: This is a Patreon EXCLUSIVE BOOK, only the first chapter will be posted to Tumblr~!
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Chapter 1.
Your body clock is not working properly. You should have already been up by now, waiting for the alarm to go off so you can get out of bed. But this morning, you're roused by the loud screeching of your alarm with a wince.
Tilting your body towards the noise, your hand raises only to slam down on the device with a sharp thud.
Your eyes open blearily only to take in the paintings you've acquired over your years of marriage.
"Easy, kitten," your husband grumbles, wrapping his arm around you and burying his face into your neck.
"I have to get up," you whisper, clearing your throat of sleep.
"No," Jimin breathes defiantly, curling his hand around your waist, "Stay. I'll get the cubs to school."
"It's Wednesday, it's your day to rest."
Jimin lifts his head lazily, one eye opening to take you in as the sun begins to rise and highlight your bedroom in beautiful colors.
"You're five months pregnant, you should rest."
"Don't tell me what to do," you whisper, booping his nose and throwing the covers off of your body.
Running a hand through his hair, he grabs your pillow as you rise only to pull it towards himself.
Even after all these years together, you're still the most beautiful woman your husband has ever had the pleasure of knowing. He is the luckiest son of a bitch and he'll be damned if you don't know it.
"Kitten, have I ever told you how hot you are?" 
You hum gently, feigning confusion. Standing tall, you stretch out your limbs which are achy and dull with pregnancy pains.
"Not enough," you chirp playfully, grabbing your robe.
"You're very hot, baby," your husband breathes into the pillow below his face.
"You're pretty hot, too, daddy," you quip, heading to the bathroom.
Your husband groans long and low, lifting his head as you shut the door. "Don't get me excited when you're leaving!"
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"Hawon," you breathe, blinking at your nine year old daughter as she steals one of Hana's pieces of toast.
"What? She's not gonna eat it," she mumbles, with a full mouth.
"What did we say about talking with your mouth full?" Jimin inquires, making himself known as he waltzes around the breakfast bar. 
He kisses your temple, grabbing his coffee cup. "Thank you, Chae."
The sweet maid simply nods, going back to cleaning the oven.
"Talking with your mouth full makes you choke to death," Minseok announces, looking up from his Nintendo Switch. 
"Who told you that?!" your husband cries, choking on his coffee.
"Uncle Yoongi!" Hana cheers, grabbing her orange juice.
You can only roll your eyes, nudging your husband with a scoff.
Raising children in a family of gun runners and murders isn't as easy as one might think.
"I'll talk to him," he promises, taking a sip of his coffee and sighing.
"Mom?" Hana asks, swinging her legs sweetly.
"Hmm," you hum, wiping Sejeong's messy mouth as he grabs handfuls of scrambled eggs.
"Why are you having a stinky boy and not a girl?" your youngest daughter breathes.
"Girls are stinky! Not us! You smell!" Minseok retorts, pointing his finger at his little sister.
"Do we point at people? Is that nice?" you ask your son as Jimin grabs his little hand. 
Your husband bites down on his index finger gingerly, narrowing his eyes at him.
"Girls are still stinky," Seok huffs, folding his arms.
Mornings are always filled with this sort of family banter and Jimin loves it, if he's being honest. There's something so satisfying about seeing his family grow and interact and love one another. For years he never expected to be able to have something like this and now the head Lion finally has it all.
Running his hand over your pregnant belly, he sets down his coffee.
"Daddy?" Hawon chirps, grabbing her glass of milk and looking up from her book. 
"Hmm, princess?" he breathes, looking over at her.
"Can I have twenty dollars?" 
"For what?" he asks, pushing some hair back behind her ear.
"There's this new book at the school fair today about the reference and identification of the most significant amphibians, reptiles and mammals. I'd like to read it."
You can only smirk at her wide eyes, how excited she gets about reading. You were never studious and neither was Jimin, so you constantly question where this big brained daughter came from late at night during your pillow talks.
"Nerd," Minseok breathes, burying his face back in his game.
"You're a nerd," Hawon mumbles, holding out her hand and smiling widely.
Jimin kisses the top of her head and opens up one of the multitude of hiding spots of money only to produce a twenty dollar bill for his daughter.
"Can I have twenty?" Hana beams, holding out her own small hand.
Your husband chuckles deeply, the sound soothing your soul. 
"What does my six year old girl need?" 
"...Ice cream?"
Snorting softly, you pass Sejeong his sippy cup as he wobbles pleasantly within his high chair.
"I'll buy you ice cream later, I promise," her father whispers, kissing her forehead.
Turning your head to the clock, you stand up straight. "Alright, let's go. School time."
"Uuuugh," Minseok groans, jumping off the bar stool and slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
"Hey, mister," Jimin breathes, putting a hand on his son's shoulder, "it's too early for an attitude. If the school calls me again today, I'm taking your Switch away. Understood?"
"Mkay," Seok murmurs, pouting at you.
"Come on," you breathe, handing the bib over to Jimin and kissing his temple.
"Be careful driving. Take care of my little man in there," he whispers, running a hand over your stomach, "I love you. Love you kids!"
Your children mumble their love as they leave your large penthouse apartment and you give him a quick kiss on the lips before following after them.
"Jeong, when you get older you're gonna be a good boy, right?" your husband asks your smallest baby, getting down to his height and sipping his coffee.
The baby sputters his tongue and lips almost as if answering the question perfectly and Chae laughs, grabbing some bowls off of the breakfast bar.
Jimin narrows his eyes at his son and pinches his chubby cheek sweetly.
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There's something about your days being so regimented that it brings you peace. Albeit, they can be a little boring but after your years of excitement -- boring is welcome.
You like hearing about Hawon's day and how she secretly whispers to you about a boy she likes in her class so Jimin doesn't hear. You like hearing about Minseok's adventures in pissing off Ms. Choi even though you'll have to chide him for it later. And you enjoy hearing about Hana's day as she tells you new words she learned and childish but fun science experiments.
But there are some days, like now, that the Vixen is pulled out of you by force.
Jimin wanted his kids to go to an esteemed, rich private school where a bunch of other mafia families drop their kids off for the day. He wants them to have a good education and understand that at the end of the day you need to work hard for your money like you both have.
After dropping them off, you round the corner to head to Hyunah's new restaurant when a brawl catches your eye.
Busan streets can be dangerous but they shouldn't be dangerous at eight o'clock in the morning. And you would have driven right by if a very, very familiar brand on some of the boy's necks weren't showing. 
Slowing the Escalade down, your hand makes a fist and you punch the glove box open wordlessly. Grabbing your gun, you aim it at the window as it slowly lowers.
"You fucking pussy! Don't you dare ever touch my girl, you understand me?!"
Oh good, they aren't fighting about guns.
Whistling sharply, you stop your car in front of the eight men.
They angle their heads low to look in and when the four Lions spot you, they stand up straighter.
One of them catches your eye immediately and you raise an eyebrow at him. 
"Who the fuck are you pointing a gun at, bitch? You b--" the man is cut off as the Lions tackle him to the ground.
"Oh," you breathe, looking down at your nails. 
Shutting off your car, you climb out with a sigh.
The streets are quiet this morning and you count your stars that no ordinary person is passing by this old run down street at the moment. They might see something unfortunate that could scar them for life. 
Rounding the car hood, you click your teeth softly. 
"My little Lions, it's too early for this. You're gonna make me late for brunch," you hiss, smacking the Lion you know the closest upside the head.
"Noona, I'm so sorry," he whines, rubbing the back of his head as he cringes.
"Hoonie," you sigh, twirling your gun around your finger.
You watch with bored eyes as the men continue to fight and when one of them looks over at you, Sanghoon shields your body with his own.
"Who are you imbeciles anyway?" you inquire, motioning your hand for Hoon to stop all this nonsense.
"They're under Oh Byung, they're Hyenas and one of them touched my fucking girl like she was a piece of meat!" one of your Lion's hisses, being tugged away from the fray.
You look over your boys with a sigh, they're beaten bloody with split lips and black eyes but the Hyenas look even worse and you can deal with that.
Holding your gun up, you tilt your head.
It's only when a police car passes by that the Hyenas know who they're dealing with. They begin to smile at your audaciousness, hearing the siren as you hold your gun up in broad daylight but they begin to wither when you tilt your head slowly to the cop car.
"Hands up!" one of the police officer's screams, jumping out of the car.
You hold your hands up and flash them the tattoo on your wrist.
"Oh! Mrs. Park, good morning! These men troubling you?" 
Twirling your finger, your Lions show their brands to the cops and they step behind you as you look down at your nails once more.
"Yes, they are. I'm late for brunch now because of these stupid morons. I'm pregnant, hungry and tired," you breathe, passing Sanghoon your gun.
He sheathes it under his belt and you sigh loudly once more.
"Do you want us to take them in?" the officer asks.
You look them over, they seem drunk and strung out and it wouldn't be in your best interest to get into a turf war with Oh Byung who you've never even met before.
"No," you surmise, heading back to your car.
"But, Madam! They touched my g--"
The Lion stops themself when you simply tilt your head. "If you have a concern about it, you can bring it up to my husband at the meeting tomorrow. You can ask for vengeance then. I, however, as I have said countless times already, am late for brunch. Do you expect me to have to stand here on some random filthy street while you exact your revenge and I'll have to clean it up for you by having to parley with Oh Byung?" 
The sharpness of your voice makes the Lions wince and the Hyenas stare down at you in confusion.
"I'm sorry, Madam. I'll bring up the matter tomorrow evening. I apologize."
You hum in agreement, rounding the car.
"Officers, good morning. Sanghoon, get your fucking ass in this car before I kill you myself," you hiss, opening the door and climbing in.
"Yes, noona," he whispers, rushing over to the passenger side and slapping a Hyena on the cheek in passing.
Peeling away from the curb, you watch in the rear view mirror as the police begin to split up both of the groups and you roll your eyes with a sigh.
"You're better than that, Hoonie," you chide the flower boy.
With a whine, he leans over to put his hand on your growing bump. "I didn't even do anything, noona. It wasn't my fault."
Most of the Lions know just how much you adore this younger man, since you've raised him from just a mere pickpocket to the brute he is now. Everyone knows he's your favorite.
"You're supposed to be keeping them in line, not letting them fight in the middle of the street on a random Wednesday morning! C'mon, Hoonie, you need to be smarter than that!"
With a sigh, he nods and pulls away from you. "I'm sorry, noona. I'll be better." 
"Yeah, you better be."
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Stepping into the restaurant, you nod your head to the hostess and she smiles at you widely.
"Mrs. Park, good morning! Hyunah is waiting for you in the private room!" 
You hum in agreement, taking off in the direction without a word.
As you walk, you don't feel the familiar presence of the man you just picked up off the street and when you turn around to look at him, you roll your eyes.
"Sanghoon!" 
There the handsome man stands, leaning against the hostess podium with a toothpick between his teeth. His smirk is broad and handsome as he flirts with the girl. He looks over at you quickly, watching how your eyebrow raises and your hands come crashing down on your hips. 
"Call me," he quips to the hostess, jogging to be by your side.
"I am gonna shoot you," you hiss at him, turning on your heel.
"Come on, noona. She was pretty hot," he breathes, pushing the room door open.
"You think everyone is hot," you scoff, smiling at Hyunah and taking off your sunglasses.
"Little Lion causing big trouble?" your friend teases, leaning over the table to kiss your cheek.
"Clearly. Morning, gorgeous," Yoongi breathes, kissing your temple and smacking Sanghoon upside the head.
"Ow!" Hoon whines, falling into his chair beside you and folding his arms.
Yoongi pulls out your chair for you and when you sit down, he stands behind you like always.
It's a weird dynamic Hyunah and him have now as their years go on. You expect him to always be by her side but that's never the case. He's always behind you, he's always been your confidante and your right hand man. You would have expected things to change but they never do.
Lighting a cigarette, your older friend leans back in her chair.
"Can you eat? Are you sick with this one?" she asks, ashing her cigarette.
"This baby is very good so far," you reply, throwing the word at her.
She hums in agreement, pouring herself a glass of sangria.
"What do you want to drink?" Yoongi inquires over your shoulder.
"Sparkling water," you reply.
"Hoon," your right hand man calls, leaving the room.
You watch them both leave and you quip an eyebrow to Hyunah as she sips her drink.
"Lioness…" she begins, crossing her legs, "promise me something."
Her voice is low with sorrow and you sigh.
"What'd you read in your tea leaves this time?" you jeer, folding your arms.
She doesn't smile, she doesn't take your words lightly like you expect her to. She just exists in the same space and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
"Promise me you will always take care of Yoongi and the Lees. Can you do that for me?" 
The tip of your tongue runs over your bottom lip and you pull the petal into your mouth to peel some skin off. She's deadly serious and it courses concern through your bones.
"Hyunah… What're you talki-"
"I said," she hisses, venomously, leaning forward, "promise me that you will look after my fucking family."
"You know I will. You know I promise," you breathe, confused.
She gives a small sigh of relief then. "I knew you would, I just needed to hear it."
"Care to tell me what's going on?" you inquire, watching the doors open up once more.
"No. I do not," she mumbles, pulling from her cigarette.
You watch the smoke shroud her face like some sort of ethereal veil and you clear your throat when Yoongi puts the water in front of you.
"Where's Sanghoon?" you mumble, grabbing the water.
"Hitting on the hostess," your friend replies.
You watch his eyes flicker over to his wife as he sits down and you can see an animosity in his irises that makes you want to shudder.
This man for the past nine years has loved his wife so completely and so confidently that this random flit of anger has you seemingly confused.
It wasn't like this last week or even four days ago when you last saw them. 
Four days ago, Yoongi was all over Hyunah at one of your meetings and now he doesn't even seem to want to look at her. 
"Let's order," the head of the Lees breathes, burning out her cigarette.
Yoongi wafts the smoke away from your face and when Hyunah gets up to leave the room, you search his eyes for understanding.
"Don't," he warns you softly, coursing his rough hands over his face.
"Yoon-"
"I said don't," he hisses, smacking the table roughly.
Furrowing your eyebrows, you put your hand to your stomach and he swallows thickly as his eyes follow your hand. "Just leave it alone. Please, Y/N, for me. Just leave it."
"I'm just confused," you whisper, leaning towards him.
He gives a short, full laugh only to roll his eyes moments later. "Yeah, you're not the only fucking one."
"You can talk to me, Yoongi. You know that don't you?" 
He takes a short breath between his teeth, running a hand over the back of your head. "I know. But there's nothing to talk about, okay? Hyunah is just being Hyunah and while it hurts me to say it… She has to handle her own problems. She doesn't want to talk to me."
You cringe softly at his pained voice and you can only sip your water as the Vixen who brought you up in the world reenters the room. She watches her husband pull away from you and clearing her throat, she sits back down.
"I ordered you porridge, you're too skinny with this baby," she breathes, grabbing her linen napkin and draping it over her lap.
"Thank you," you reply kindly, folding your arms.
You wouldn't be the woman you are if you didn't try to get to the bottom of this. And knowing yourself, you will get answers whether they like it or not.
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"Noona, I have a gun run," Hoon breathes, looking down at his Rolex.
"Then go," you muse, stepping out of the restaurant with Yoongi by your side.
Sanghoon gives an expedient nod, kissing your cheek goodbye and taking off immediately.
"That kid walks around like he owns this fucking city," your friend huffs, watching the Lion walk away.
"Oh, leave him alone," you laugh, shoving his shoulder.
"That's exactly why he acts that way. Because he knows how much you love him and how cute you think he is," Yoongi chides, opening the car door for you.
"He is cute," you agree, "I raised him."
The gun runner rolls his eyes, rounding the car and when he climbs in beside you, you simply blink at him.
"I said, don't start. Why are you starting?" he hisses, narrowing his eyes at you.
"I didn't say anything," you mutter, holding a hand up as you start the car.
"I can see it in your little Vixen face. 'What's wrong with her, Yoongi?' 'Why are you acting like this, Yoongs?' 'Please tell me!' Stop," the Lion grunts, folding his arms.
"Well if you can see it then answer," you breathe, pulling away from the curb.
"Y/N!" Yoongi yells, slapping his hand against the dashboard, "I told you already, she won't fucking talk to me about it! God, when you're pregnant, you're so fucking nosy. Shit!"
Stepping on the brakes, you watch him brace himself against the dash and you widen your eyes at him.
Grabbing the collar of his suit jacket, you pull him to you with hardened eyes.
"You don't take an attitude with me, Min Yoongi. It's not my fault that your wife is being silent. Don't you dare be this way to me. Do you understand?!"
The gun runner sighs, closing his eyes and pushing your hand off of him gently. "You're right, I'm sorry. I'm stressed out and I shouldn't take it out on you. You're just trying to help."
"If you need to take your anger out somewhere, you call Jina for one of the Golden Cage girls. You don't ever talk to me like that!"
"Fierce Vixen," he mumbles, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes.
The drive is silent for a while longer before Yoongi pulls out his gun and begins to clean it beside you.
When the Lion's are fucked up in the brain, when they're trying to work things out, they clean their guns. It's something they've picked up from Jimin after all these years.
"How many blocks have we driven?" Yoongi inquires, looking up from his lap.
"Uhhh, fifteen or so? Why?" you ask in return, tilting your head towards him.
"Make a left," he whispers, reassembling his gun with fast fingers.
You do as told, looking through the mirror behind you.
When a car turns the corner with you, you swallow thickly. 
"Make a right," he breathes, pulling out the gun cartridge and counting the bullets.
Once again, you do as told and the car follows you.
"We have a tail," he announces, pulling out the burner phone.
Cracking your neck, you keep your eyes on the road as he calls someone.
There hasn't been anything like this to happen to your family yet in Busan and in a way it finally feels like you're being welcomed to the big city. No matter how fucked up it sounds.
"Park."
Your husband's voice is soothing and commanding on the other end of the line. Any nerves you would have begun to feel simply slink back into the recesses of your mind.
"Min," your friend announces, cocking his gun. "I'm with Y/N. We have a tail."
You can hear Jimin take a sharp breath between his teeth and you glance at the rear view mirror once more. 
"They're gaining," you mutter, pressing your foot down on the gas pedal.
"Yoongi, you better look after my wife and baby, do you fucking hear me?!" Jimin yells.
You can hear the anxiousness in his voice and you find yourself smirking as the head Lion crawls out of his den at a steady pace.
"I hear you," Yoongi replies, putting the phone down on your lap.
"Kitten," your husband calls to you.
"I'm here," you promise, turning a sharp corner and bracing yourself.
"Kitten, are you okay? Do you need me to come and get you?" 
"I'm a big girl now, Chim. I can handle a little car chase."
"Watch our baby boy," he pleads and you can just picture him staring out the window and running his fingers through his thick black locks.
Narrowing your eyes at the license plate, you take another sharp turn.
52 -- 5087
You relay the numbers and Yoongi nods dutifully as he puts them in his phone.
"Watch the fucking--" Yoongi screams, looking up from his phone.
"Kitten?!" Jimin yells nervously.
"God! Relax!" you yell back, turning the car away from oncoming traffic.
"Baby, please, be careful!" your husband whines loudly.
"You're acting like pussies! Holy shit!" you laugh, turning down a dirt road and stepping hard on the breaks. 
"She always acts so fucking tough when she's pregnant like the baby is her shield or some shit!" Yoongi curses, shoving open the door and aiming his gun at the oncoming car.
"He better watch his fucking mouth," you hear your husband scoff.
Grabbing the phone off your lap, you also grab your gun and climb out of the car.
Holding the phone to your ear, you aim at the SUV.
"Jimin, earlier this morning some Lions were fighting with Hyenas. They might be trying to scare us or try to exact revenge," you calmly tell your husband.
"And let me guess," your husband hisses, "your favorite little boy was amongst them!"
Once the SUV stops and the doors swing open, Yoongi fires a warning shot high into the air.
"You step out of that car, I'm gonna put a fucking bullet in your goddamn skull! Do you hear me?!" your right hand man screams at the top of his lungs.
"Tell me where you are," Jimin pleads.
"Oh, baby," you coo softly, "don't worry about us, we'll be home soon. Can you ask Mirae to make me ginger tea?"
"Kitten, please. Tell me where you are and I'll kill these fuckers myself."
You ignore your husband, aiming your gun when a head pops up from the driver's side door.
Yoongi fires one more shot and the head ducks.
"You Lions are stepping on territory that don't belong to you!" 
Yoongi chuckles, leaning against the car and closing one eye. 
"We own all of Busan now! You go run and tell your boss that if he wants to act big then he can do it at a parley! You shoot either one of us, your whole family is gonna fucking die! Think carefully!"
You hum in amusement, climbing back into the car and brushing off your dress.
"See, I told you I'll be home soon," you tell your husband.
"Back the fuck up! Or I will shoot you where you stand!" you hear your friend scream.
You lean over the middle console and shove his door open for him as you begin to slowly back the Escalade out of the dirt road.
Yoong climbs back into the car, lowering his window and angling his body out of it. Holding up his gun, he flicks his hand and when the SUV starts to back out, he begins to laugh.
"I wish someone would give me a fucking reason to shoot them! Lord knows I could do with some stress relief right now!" he screams at the top of his lungs.
"What the fuck is wrong with him?" Jimin inquires, curiously.
"See you when I get home?" you ask happily, pulling out of the dirt road and shooting one of the van's wheels with a wide smile.
"I'll be waiting, kitten. You know I would wait a million years for you," your husband breathes.
"I love you," you smile, driving back towards the apartment complex.
"I love you, too, baby. See you soon."
"You guys are gross," Yoongi murmurs, beginning to take apart his gun once again.
"You love it," you tease, putting your sunglasses on.
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Stepping into your house, you smile at Mirae.
"Good morning, Madam."
"Morning, Mirae. Hi, baby," you coo, kissing Sejeong's forehead as the maid sets him down.
"Watch the baby," Jimin calls from the hallway and you turn to him with a smirk.
"Ginger tea is in the office for you, Madam."
"Thanks, Mirae," you breathe, looking over the apartment.
In truth, this apartment could rival the large estate you once lived in. No longer are there warm wooden walls to surround you but instead marble and granite meet your eyes. Jimin did right by his family, of course, as he always does. He renovated the top floor, ripping out the walls and doors until the whole place was one large home. All of your children have their own rooms and there's plenty more to spare which Jimin swears he'll fill them up over the next few years but you have no opinion on that matter. Your shared bedroom is way larger than your previous one and it has all the comforts you could ask for.
Peeling off his crisp black dress shirt, your husband tosses it carelessly over his shoulder, hooking it with his index finger. Walking down the large, sunlit hallway, your fingers brush over his hard abs as you pass him.
"Mirae, why don't you take Sejeong to your apartment for a while, hmm?" your husband breathes, following after you.
When you open up the office door, you watch Lion hop off of the desk like he knows he's going to get in trouble. 
"Naughty boy," you hiss to him as he scurries out into the hallway.
Before you can even get to the desk, your husband is wrapping his arms around you.
"Are you okay, kitten? You're always so bold when you have boys inside you. You need to be careful," Jimin whispers, cupping your cheek with a soft hand.
"We're just fine," you promise, planting a soft kiss on his lips.
When you pull away, his fingers reach up to the nape of your neck and he twirls your hair around his fingers to keep you from moving. "If I remember correctly, you teased me this morning. You know how I feel about that, baby girl."
You whine softly, drifting your nails over the large tattoo that now covers his stomach and side, it's an homage to his family. Every cub he's had, you, his brother's, your names are scrawled across his skin for life.
"Who do you belong to, kitten?" 
"You, daddy. Always," you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck.
His free hand roams over your backside until he grabs at the skirt of your dress.
"This is expensive," you warn him, pull away.
He chases after your lips with a sly smirk, tugging you closer with the hand on your neck. "And who bought you this pretty dress?"
"You did," you reply, reaching down for his Versace belt.
Your fingers slowly tug at the leather until it hits the floor with a loud thud.
"And if daddy wants to rip this dress up, he'll just buy you a new one," your husband whispers against your lips.
Letting go of your neck, he grabs the bottom of your dress and the sound of ripping fabric echoes through your ears until you're scantily clad in just a bra and thong.
"God, you're so fucking beautiful," Jimin groans wantonly.
When you jump up, he catches you easily, his hands settle beneath the globes of your ass and he presses you against the wall to open the office door.
"Watch the baby," he mumbles, biting his bottom lip as you suckle the thin skin of his neck.
His strides are quick and confident towards the bedroom and when you reach the solace of your room, he pulls you back to kiss him.
The tip of his tongue traces over your lower lip and when you open your mouth for him with a feeble whine, he groans long and low before you.
"Fuck," he curses, setting you down on the bed.
His fingers trail over your skin, producing goosebumps and you whine his name softly.
He kisses over your stomach, eyes on yours all the while as he makes his descent. When a gentle flutter makes itself known beneath his lips, he smirks.
"I know, mommy is impatient," he whispers to his son, tugging your thong until it's mere string.
"Daddy, please," you cry, spreading your legs.
If it's one thing that could never change between the both of you, it's just how easy it is to get you begging and panting with want for your husband.
"Oh? The tease wants to act like a little cum slut now, hmm?" your husband quips, spreading your lower lips with his fingers.
He finds himself groaning at the mess between your legs, shiny and slick with want for his large cock.
"Goddamn, kitten. You're fucking soaked," he hisses, slapping your pussy with the palm of his hand.
Your body writhes at the jolt of painful pleasure and the head Lion takes it upon himself to quell your pain. His pink, plush lips kiss at your throbbing clit, fingertips digging into your fleshy thighs. 
"Daddy, please!" you beg once more.
"Mm mm," he denies you, sucking your throbbing bud into his mouth.
"I want your cock," you whine, taking your bra off.
"That's very clear, baby girl. Your pussy is a fucking mess. Daddy has to clean it up now since you're such a little cum whore," he murmurs, suckling your lips and licking a flat stripe over your weeping sex.
Your body sags into the bed, fingers carding through your husband's black locks of hair.
"God, this pregnant pussy tastes so fucking good," Jimin sighs happily. 
It almost sounds like he wants to fucking cry. God, how he adores you.
"Fuck, kitten, I love you so much," he whispers against you, entering two fingers into your sodden core.
You sob loudly at the feeling, spreading your legs wider for more.
"I love you too!" you gasp, closing your eyes.
Curling his fingers to the soft patch of nerves inside of you, he diligently flicks the tip of his tongue to your clit.
"Oh my God!" he whispers against you, putting his free hand to your belly.
"Daddy!" you blubber, gyrating your hips for more.
"That's it, baby girl. Cum on daddy's fingers. Show me how much you love it," he coos, kissing up your body and replacing his tongue with his thumb.
He rubs fast circles, minding your stomach as his lips part around your puffy, dark nipple.
"Goddamn, you're ready to make milk already," he hisses, suckling softly on your sensitized skin.
Your fingers grip his hair harder and your cries are becoming stunted and small. 
The invisible band within you is tightening and your husband knows it all too well as you clench around him rhythmically. 
"Cum on my fingers, kitten. Good girl," your husband praises, rubbing tighter and faster circles to your nub.
There is nothing better than having you alone in this big bed, the only woman he could ask for, his soulmate.
"Right there!" you gasp, seeing stars paint your eyelids as he keeps his fingers taut to the nerves inside of you.
"Give it to me," Jimin orders, moving his hand so fast inside of you that you choke on a moan. He suckles at your nipple harder, leaving your belly to pinch and roll your other forsaken nipple between his fingers.
"Yes, yes, yes, daddy," you chant, feeling the invisible band within you break.
"That's my good girl," he whispers softly, fucking you through the orgasm and moving his fingers out of the way for you to squirt onto the bed.
He groans at the amount of wetness that squirts from you and when you open your hazy, love drunk eyes, you find your husband smiling down at you.
"Hi, there," he whispers, kissing you languidly. 
You can feel how hard his cock is as it rests against your thigh in the confines of his suit pants.
Tugging him closer by his belt loop, you flip him onto his back with a simple shove.
"Mmm, kitten," he groans, tucking a hand beneath his head to watch you.
Your fingers are cool and confident as you undo his pants and when you kiss down his chest, he sighs content.
"Fuck, your lips feel so good," your husband murmurs, letting his free hand lazily caress over your hard nipples.
When you whine at the feeling, the sound goes straight to his cock and it twitches, begging for mercy. His plush bottom lip tucks between his pearly white teeth and he sighs loudly when you free his hard cock from the confines of his pants.
"Kitten, be a good girl for me," he coos, grabbing your hair with his fist and making a makeshift ponytail.
"Yes, daddy," you preen softly, kissing down his long length.
"Sexy little tease," he hisses, tugging on your hair gently.
Swirling your tongue around the head of his cock, his jaw tightens. His eyes roll into the back of his head and his chest puffs up with pleasure.
"Oh, kitten, fuck. Take it deep," he moans, tapping your throat.
Doing as told, you swallow around him until your nose nestles against his pubic bone and the sharp breath he takes between his teeth tells you just how good it feels for him.
"God, look at you, baby!" your husband whines, leaning up on his elbow to palm one of your breasts in hand, "you look so beautiful stuffed full with my cock and baby."
You hum in agreement, bobbing your head and getting sloppy on his cock. 
His thick thigh muscles become terse and strained as pleasure shoots through him. His hips thrust on their own and he coos sweetly when fat tears begin to roll down your cheeks.
Brushing his thumbs against your cheeks, he moans your name loudly.
"Kitten! Fuck! Oh my God, you're gonna make be cum, baby girl!" 
He tugs harder on your hair, eyes squeezing shut. Just when he's right about to cum, when you can feel his cock throbbing and thickening on your tongue, he groans. "Off, pull off, I wanna cum inside you, baby."
You hum in agreement, rubbing your thighs together for any friction you can receive.
"C'mere, kitten," Jimin whispers, sitting up against the headboard.
You whimper for him, spreading your legs over his own. His fingertips drift over your inner thighs and he sighs softly at how dripping wet you are.
"Watch my boy," he murmurs against your lips, positioning the head of his cock to your entrance.
You sit down on him slowly, moaning at the stretch.
"So fucking tight," your husband gasps, putting his hands on your hips, "your pussy is so wet, shit."
"Daddy," you gasp, curling your arms around his neck needily.
"I got you, baby. Take everything from me," Jimin whispers, kissing you passionately.
Your hips lift only to crash back down at a rhythmic pace. The head Lion's hands glide over your skin, tongue running over yours and swallowing your pleasurable cries.
There was no one in the world he could ever adore more than you and still to this very day he feels like the luckiest man in the universe.
Pulling him closer, he steadies you when his stomach smacks into yours.
"Easy, kitten," he breathes, cupping your face.
"Your cock feels so good, daddy! I love how big it is," you whine, throwing your head back.
His legs find purchase beneath yours and he thrusts his hips to meet you with every chance he gets. "Yeah? You love my big cock? You want to cum on it? Hmm? Wanna make your pregnant cunt cream all over me?"
You nod incessantly, mouth dropping open to give a silent scream.
"That's my good girl. Daddy loves your pregnant pussy, baby. Feels so fucking good," he groans, burying his face into your neck to suckle at your sensitive skin.
He feels it then, the rhythmic clenching around him that he knows so well. 
"Right there, baby? You like it right there?" he taunts, grabbing your hips and fucking up into you faster.
Your nails dig into his shoulders and your eyes squeeze shut. "J-Jimin!"
"Oh my God!" he cries, laying you down on your back and thrusting into you with everything he has.
His plush lips suckle roughly at your nipple and he scoffs loudly as pleasure flows through him.
"Fuck, daddy! I'm go-gonna--"
"I know, kitten. Fuck, I feel it, it feels so good. Give it to me, baby girl. Please," he begs, putting your ankles over his shoulders.
His hand comes to settle at the apex of your thighs and he rubs sweet, unforgiving circles until your back is arching off the mattress.
"Just like that, baby. You're gonna make me cum. Your pregnant pussy is so tight for me," Jimin coos, kissing you roughly.
You cry out into his mouth as your second orgasm racks through you and with a groan, he flips you over.
Cupping your belly, he knocks your knees open wider until your head is hanging between your shoulders.
"Jesus Christ, you're so amazing, kitten," he praises, kissing over your shoulder.
"D-Daddy, your cock is so fucking big," you sob, squeezing your eyes shut.
"Yeah, I fucking bet it is. You love daddy's cock in your slutty little hole, don't you?"
You can only screech a million affirmations as he spanks the globes of your ass, burnishing his handprint into your skin.
"Y/N," he moans loudly when you begin to buck back against him.
"Cum inside me, daddy. Please fill me up. I want to drip with you," you beg, tugging his hand from your belly to your breast.
Burying his face into your neck, he pinches and rolls your nipple once more until his thighs begin to quake. 
"I want you to walk around this fucking house with my cum running down your legs and my baby on display. Do you hear me, kitten?" 
You nod incessantly, gasping when the head of his cock nestles against your soft cervix folds. 
"Kitten!" he whines loudly, furrowing his eyebrows.
He gives sloppy, slow thrusts as his cum paints your velvet walls. Sighing loudly, he wraps his arms around you. Falling to your side, he kisses over the back of your neck.
"I missed you, kitten," your husband mumbles into your ear.
"This morning has been way too eventful for me," you breathe, closing your eyes.
"I have a lot of fucking questions for you," Jimin replies, rolling you onto your back and kissing your pregnant bump.
Rolling off of the bed, your husband grabs his briefs. You slip on his dress shirt, covering your breasts when the chill of the room finally seeps into your bones.
Pouring himself a glass of whisky, the head Lion fixes the waistband of his briefs. When he turns back to you, the smile that spreads on his face makes you raise an eyebrow.
"What?" you mumble, looking down at the shirt.
"Stand for me, baby," he coos, above the lip of his glass.
You do as he asks, walking over to him as he holds out a hand. Setting down his glass, he curls his arms around you as he faces the mirror. 
"Look at you," he whispers, kissing your temple.
One hand falls below your belly and the other fixes his shirt to cover your breasts. 
"God, I'm the luckiest man in the world," your husband chuckles, kissing the shell of your ear and swaying with you.
"You're gonna make yourself excited again if you continue on like this," you giggle.
Peering at your thighs as you begin to cream with his cum, he smiles wider. "You're right about that, baby girl. My cum looks so good on you, fuck."
Turning you around, he picks up his whisky glass once more. "Please explain to me what happened this morning, kitten."
You can only sigh, pulling him along with you to the bathroom. 
He leans against the door frame, crossing his muscular legs and folding one arm beneath the other. Taking a sip of his whisky, he watches with loving eyes as you turn on the bathtub.
"Don't make the water too hot, my little man can't handle it," he reminds you, watching you strip off his shirt.
"After I dropped the kids off this morning, I saw some Lions fighting with a family I've never seen before. Hyenas."
"Who's the head of the Hyena family?" Jimin inquires, helping you into the tub and sitting down on the bench beside it.
"Oh Byung, I want Namjoon to look into them. They're also who tailed me and Yoongi earlier."
"Yeah, good idea, baby. We'll have Joon look into them… Also what the fuck is up with Yoongi? He's acting…-"
"Oh my God! I know!" you gasp, widening your eyes at your husband, "This morning was so fucking weird! When I had brunch with Hyunah… It seemed like they were on bad terms."
Jimin sips his whisky, furrowing his eyebrows at your words.
"Hyunah and Yoongi on bad terms? That doesn't sound right."
"I know! And she asked me to always look after Yoongi and the Lees like…like something bad was happening," you bleat, running warm water over your goosebumped skin.
"Did you press her about it? Did she say anything?"
You give your husband an incredulous look to which he simply hums in agreement. 
"What about Yoongs, then?"
"He told me to 'mind my fucking business and don't start'," you recount, flashing your husband air quotes along with his words.
"I'll fucking shoot him in the neck… how dare he get snippy with you," Jimin hisses, setting down his glass.
"I mean don't get me wrong, we fight too and I get that but when he looked at Hyunah it was like… he fucking hated her. And I'm not just saying it to be dramatic, he really looked vicious and…and hurt."
The head Lion sniffs softly, staring at your belly as he lets your words process through his brain.
"I was only joking with her when I asked her what she saw in her tea leaves but she got so mad at me… like she saw red or something for even bringing it up."
"Huh," he breathes, tilting his head confused.
"I don't know. It seems like something to keep in mind and maybe even something to worry about if it doesn't get fixed," you bleat, grabbing the soap.
"Yeah, well, I don't want you worrying about anything. You just focus on making my baby boy big and strong. We'll deal with it if it comes down to it."
You give him a nod, laying back in the tub and sighing softly. 
"I'm gonna go pick the kids up from school, you get ready for the meeting later, okay?"
"Okay," you promise, closing your eyes.
"I love you, kitten."
"I love you, too, Chim." 
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Setting your gun down on the table, you sit down in your large chair and when Joon enters, you toss your phone into the soundproof box like always.
"Hey, Y/N," he chirps, kissing your temple and taking his usual seat.
"She fucking ripped my hair out!" Taehyung curses, stepping into the large apartment that's now your meeting area and combing his fingers through his hair to see a very apparent bald spot through the mirrored walls.
"And why did she do that, hyung?" Guk chuckles, widening his eyes happily at the sight of you.
"Hi, noona!" he squeals happily, rushing over and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. 
He runs a hand over your bump as he takes his seat beside you and you look incredulously at Tae who stomps his foot on the ground.
"Hyejin ripped my hair out because I taught Hyungwon what a 'pussy' is."
You can only snort, rolling your eyes at his antics.
"Hey, Y/N," he mumbles, sullenly, falling into his chair with a whine.
"You're the pussy," your brother-in-law laughs, stepping around the multitude of chairs to kiss your forehead. "Oh! Y/N! Jisuk made you and the baby a present if you wanna come over and grab it soon."
"Aw!" you pout sweetly, nodding to Jin, "I'll come over later to see it! How's my little Jungwoon?"
"He finally can eat scrambled eggs, you were right, he just needed a little more force to get solid foods down."
Winking at him, you watch the apartment door open once more.
This family has been getting bigger and bigger and you're so pleased to see everyone doing well.
"Uhm, noona?" Jeongguk whispers as Hoseok enters.
You lean over to him as he pushes his sunglasses up into his hair. 
"Yunjin has been having a really bad rash down there and Vixen was wondering if any of your girls ever had that…" he mumbles into your ear.
Pulling away, you pinch his cheek sweetly. "Oh yeah, that might happen. You might have to put more powder on after her baths or change her diaper more so she doesn't sit in the wetness. Try some baby powder at first and then put some ointment on for a few days. If it doesn't get better, then take her to the doctor." 
"Okay," he promises, nodding strictly and pulling out his phone to text his wife.
"Guk, come on," Hoseok says, kissing the top of your head and tossing his own phone into the box.
"Sorry, one minute," the youngest promises.
"Leave him alone, it's a serious concern," you breathe, looking down at your nails.
"Thanks, noona," he smiles, wrinkling his nose and tossing the phone into the box.
Yoongi and Jimin step into the space together and you watch your husband rolls his eyes.
Uh oh. What happened there?
"Guns," he breathes, pulling his gun from behind his back and placing it on the large marble table beside you.
He plants a chaste kiss on your lips and you reply in kind.
"Yoongi… phone," Joon says, grabbing the box.
Your right hand man sighs loudly and he throws the phone in with a grunt.
Drifting his fingers over the gnarled scar on his cheek, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it.
"Hyung, c'mon… you know noona is pregnant," Guk complains, wafting the smoke away from you.
"Did you knock her up? Is that your baby? Why are you so worried about what I'm doing? Worry about yourself, you hear me?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," your husband breathes, furrowing his eyebrows.
"What'd you just say?" the youngest asks clipped through his teeth, quick to defend your honor.
"I said mind your fucking business, Jeon Jeongguk before I fucking make you," the older man seethes, pressing both hands to the table and leaning forward.
You watch the smoke lazily rise, his scarred eye squinting to block out the toxic fumes and you only cross your arms at the sight.
"Burn out the cigarette!" your husband orders, grabbing his gun, "you know you don't smoke around my wife when she's pregnant."
"Well then I might as well quit smoking forever! She's always knocked up!" 
You take a sharp breath between your teeth at how wrong he is to say those words and you flinch when your husband kicks his chair back with fury.
"Y'know, you're acting like me when I was a fucking head case," Guk spits, narrowing his eyes, "I almost lost my life because of it."
You watch the youngest lift his shirt to show his gnarled, large scar and thinking about that day at his warehouse makes your skin clammy and your stomach roll.
"Burn. Out. The. Cigarette," Taehyung hisses to his left, practically pleading with his oldest friend to do as he's told.
"Fuck!" Yoongi yells, throwing the cigarette on the floor and stomping on it repeatedly. "You happy now?! You bunch of hypocritical fucks!" 
"What's up, man? Is it Hyunah?" Joon inquires softly, spinning his wedding ring around on his finger.
"Do you see my fucking wife at this goddamn table?! Do you see that woman anywhere near me?! Don't ask me stupid goddamn questions!" your right hand man screams at the top of his lungs.
Calmly, you stand up. 
"Yoongi," you breathe, rounding the table.
"No, Y/N, just fucking stop," he sighs, burying his face in his hands.
"Easy, kitten," your husband says, cautiously.
"Yoongi, you can talk to us," you promise, leaning against the back of Namjoon's chair.
Your friend kicks back his own chair and he grabs your shoulders roughly. His eyes are pained and frantic, looking down at you with gritted teeth.
You sigh softly when everyone's guns cock loudly.
"I don't want to talk about it. Why can't you just leave it alone?! I have my own problems with my wife. Just like Hoseok. Just like Taehyung. Or Guk or Joon or everyone else! What do you want me to say?! That my wife is acting out of order? That she makes me sleep in a different fucking bed?! That she suddenly turned on me four days ago and she won't tell me what's wrong?! Is that what you fucking want from me?!" he cries loudly, slamming his fist down onto the table until you envelop him into a hug.
He buries his face into your neck and he hugs you so tightly that it makes you flinch. Namjoon puts his hand to your back to keep you upright as your right hand man sobs loudly.
Swallowing thickly, you run your hand over his back.
Jimin uncocks his gun and he motions his hand for the others to do so as well. Turning his back to everyone, he tilts his head.
Hyunah would never just act like this for no reason, she's so fucking strong. Hell, she had a personal hand in making you as strong as you are.
"Get off," Yoongi breathes, clearing his throat and pulling away.
You cup his face, wiping his now reddened cheek before stepping back and rounding the table to your seat once more.
Sitting down once more, you tilt your head to Jimin as he pours himself a glass of liquor.
When he turns back around, he kisses your forehead sweetly.
"Namjoon, I want you to look into Oh Byung. I want everything on him that you can possibly find," your husband announces, sitting down beside you and placing his hand on your belly.
Your friend simply nods, making a mental note of it. "You got it."
"Yoongi, I'm also sorry that you're going through the shit right now but Y/N has always been by your side, don't you dare ever speak to my wife like that again. I'll put a bullet between your eyes."
Your right hand man nods, staring down at the marble table with narrowed eyes.
"Any other agendas for this meeting?" you inquire, crossing your legs and looking down at your nails.
The Lion's voices begin to drone in and out of your ears and you can only feel your husband's thumb brushing loving strokes over your stomach.
Moving to Busan to get away from all the painful ties to life seemed all too easy and as you and Jimin sit side by side, you can practically hear each other's thoughts screaming at one another.
Yet another problem arises.
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cross-snuff · 6 months
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Connor Temple in Primeval: New World (2012)
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sakamichibeeldarchief · 8 months
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hauntedhokage · 6 months
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PART 04: Date Night
WORD COUNT: 2.1k
SUMMARY: Date night provides some information you weren’t expecting to hear, but you’re not mad about it.
WARNINGS: non descriptive sex, voyeurism (kinda), masturbation
[series masterlist] | {ao3} | [tumblr masterlist] | {ko-fi} | [spotify playlist]
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“That interview was good, given the circumstances.” Eijirou compliments as he drives to his chosen date location, and you smile as you look over at him. “Did you know you were interviewing him today?”
“No, Ayame was supposed to but she was sick today so they had me fill in. Dropped the question about his dating life.”
“That’s appreciated.”
“You really thought it was good, though?”
“Of course! You’re wonderful at what you do, the fact that he got more comfortable over time speaks to that easy. What was that question at the end though?”
“I dunno, he said it wasn’t a dig at me for dating you but he didn’t exactly answer my question when I asked what that was about.”
“You two talked after?”
“More like yelled, really. I told him he was fucked for wanting to be friends with me just to make your life easy, he said that wasn’t it, but we didn’t get to continue yelling at each other. He didn’t talk to you?”
“Not about that incident. I told him the interview was good despite him being a robot at the beginning, but that’s about it.”
That was weird. Those two texted all day, in your experience, and Bakugou wasn’t going to tell Eijirou that you yelled at him? Did Bakugou tell him anything when you were involved? Why wouldn’t he? Was he doing the same thing that you did, not wanting to cause a rift in his boyfriend’s other relationship so he kept whatever was bothering him to himself? That didn’t make you feel too good, all things considered. You both sucked at this sharing thing. 
“Hey Eiji?” you ask softly, watching as he parks the car at the arcade. You wait until he looks over at you, his smile falling into a soft frown when he sees the look on your face. “Do you think I hurt his feelings? By yelling at him and, I guess, ignoring him this morning.” 
The question makes him sigh, and he’s unbuckling his seatbelt so he could turn to look at you better. The hand that cups your cheek is warm, surprisingly soft, and brings a lot of comfort when his thumb carefully strokes your cheek. 
“I think you guys are speaking different languages, so every conversation ends in miscommunication - and now yelling. Bakugou is just- he’s something…unique. His mother’s child, a hundred percent, but for the longest time he didn’t think he needed anyone so he didn’t let anyone in. I had to force myself in to figure out how he thinks, which is fine at sixteen but now he’s a grown ass man and he’s got to learn to open up. All that to say, no, I don’t think you hurt his feelings nor do I think you need to apologize to him.”
“But us not talking isn’t really fair to you.”
“You guys are civil and not fighting over me, so it’s not a huge deal. I’m not sweatin’ it right now, because I trust it’ll work itself out between you two.” That statement has you confused, feeling like he knew something you didn’t, but that was a given considering you were talking about Bakugou. “Personally, I think he just likes you and doesn’t know how to handle that.”
“Likes me?” He could barely look at you most days over the last ten months, how the hell could he like you?
“Like he likes me. Feelings just aren’t his forte, neither are friends. Trust me when I say all of the friendships he has were forced on him and he realized he liked having people he could rely on. Works too hard to be strong, real macho.”
“Are you okay with that?”
“Baby you’re the most gorgeous girl in the world, I’m not surprised. And it’s Bakugou, I trust him with my life and I’d trust him with yours if it came to that. You need to be okay with it though and trust that you’re allowed to say that you’re not interested in him like that.”
You didn’t hate the idea, everything you’d heard about the blonde painted him to be a reliable and caring man once you got into his circle. Plus he was very attractive, which didn’t hurt anything either. But if you couldn’t talk to Bakugou then it just wouldn’t happen. That seemed like the natural approach. He needed to get over himself and you needed to try to be friends before friends-that-kiss could become an option.
“I’m not against it. But he has to talk to me and not make me feel like shit when he does, and who knows when that’ll happen.” He’s laughing at that, using his hands to fix the collar of your blouse as he leans in to kiss you. “Thank you Eiji.”
“My job is to make my lady feel better. Now let’s go have some fun, it’s date night!”
You stay put when he gets out of the car, knowing that he liked opening the door and helping you out of it. He keeps your hand in his until he has to let go to fish his wallet out of his pocket to pay for game credits, but then you’re tucked into his side as he leads you to the game he knew you liked the most. 
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His apartment was closer to the arcade, and Bakugou was supposed to be on a night patrol, which was why you had no issue with Eijirou taking the left turn instead of the right to get you into a bed that night. The mood definitely struck in the arcade, watching him come close to breaking the strength tester without even needing to put real effort into it had you handsy and he definitely was basking in the increased attention. Release was desperately needed after the way he made sure to push himself against you just right to “help” you in your quest for the perfect plushie out of the crane game, and the additional friction from being on his lap in the photo booth (with your plushie hiding the way his hand was between your thighs and fingers teased your core through your jeans).
You tell him that he’ll have to make sure to tidy up as he pushes you through the front door, his response a mumbled “yeah, sure” before his mouth is on yours and his fingers are carefully working the buttons of your blouse to get the shirt off. Your bra follows quickly after, your hands more concerned with holding onto him than getting him undressed as he picks you up to carry you back to his bedroom. His shirt is off seconds after your back hits the bed, and his jeans follow while you work on the button of your own jeans. 
“You don’t work tomorrow, right?” You only shake your head, starting to push your jeans down and bridging your hips when his hands take over to pull your underwear down with the denim. “Me neither. Thinking we can fuck all night, and then I’ll make you some good breakfast, run a nice bath, then we can fuck again, order lunch with a sweet dessert, eat that dessert erotically, fuck some more, and then maybe go out to dinner, and try to do the whole thing over again.”
He’s proud of his plan, even more so when you tell him that you think it’s a great plan, and the eager grin that stretches across his face warns you of a very long night. 
As if you’d want it any other way. 
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Katsuki knew it was date night for Eijirou, but he’d expected the night to end at his girlfriend’s apartment rather than theirs. Usually they always ended up at her apartment since he was often home on date night, and she…didn’t  want to be around him. Or felt like he didn’t want her around? Eijirou had been vague in their last conversation so he wasn’t sure exactly what the problem was aside from himself. 
So imagine his surprise to open the door and be greeted first by the sight of shoes haphazardly left by the doorway, a familiar blouse on the floor, then the sound of obvious bed rocking coming from Eijirou’s bedroom. 
He had ended patrol early, they likely would’ve been done and mess cleaned up before he got home if he’d just stuck to his plan of staying out all night venting his anger on walls in alleyways and screaming loudly while fighting criminals. But the night was quiet and he’d rather be in his bed than kicking at the sidewalk so he didn’t see the harm in turning in early. Now he’s regretting it as he’s quietly moving through the apartment, heading immediately for the single bathroom in the apartment - they wouldn’t hear the shower over themselves anyways. He knew firsthand how loud Eijirou could be, he wasn’t hearing shit outside that bedroom.
The downside was that he could still hear them over the shower, they were that loud. 
He’s now much more appreciative of how often Eijirou was at her apartment, knowing the man’s sex drive, but he’s also now painfully hard and wanting to ram his head into the shower wall repeatedly over it. He wishes he could say the boner was just because of his boyfriend, and being turned on by the sound of his boyfriend’s pleasure. But no, it’s not that. He knows it’s not because the first thing he thought of when he’d first heard the sweet moaning of the reporter that was likely under his boyfriend was how nice it must be to be the man bringing her that level of pleasure. To have her saying his name and begging him for more, 
He wanted to fuck his boyfriend’s girlfriend, and his hand moves on its own accord to alleviate the ache between his legs. The faster this was done, the better, considering he wasn’t sure how long he’d have the cover of Eijirou’s excessive volume to hide his appearance in the apartment and activity in the shower. He’s trying to think of Eijirou, just like any other time he’s jacked off, but he can’t and it’s so frustrating. He shouldn’t be thinking of her, not when he knew that she thought he hated her. Not when she wasn’t his to fantasize about, and probably would never be. But instead all he can think about is her. If their shared boyfriend comes into thought it’s in addition to the little reporter and how she must sound saying his name while he fucked her and Eijirou watched - maybe helped - but mostly watched. 
How fucking irritating that Eijirou was right. 
And as he paints the shower wall with his cum, Katsuki can only sigh as he fights the urge to punch the wall. He shouldn’t have done that, and he was going to have to say something about it. He shouldn’t - couldn’t - keep that piece of information from Eijirou. That wouldn’t be fair. 
But he also needed to get out of the shower. 
Once the sweat and guilt have been scrubbed from his skin, he takes the time to pick up the garments that were left scattered across the living room; putting her shoes and Eijirou’s into their proper places, then going to her blouse. The button falls out of the chest pocket and hits the hardwood flooring with a soft clink, bringing his attention to the pearl object and the earlier offer he made to fix it for her. And that’s when he makes a decision, tossing her bra into Eijirou’s hamper in the bathroom before he pulls out his small sewing kit and settles on his bed with the blouse in his lap and the needle threaded. 
Replacing buttons was easy, and chances were she wouldn’t even remember that the button had been ripped off at work while she had been trying not to stare him down. He’s glad to see the silky fabric hadn’t seen any other damage, since she did look really lovely in it, but in his close inspection caught a whiff of her perfume and Eijirou’s cologne lingering on the garment. He wouldn’t have thought that her chosen sweet scents would pair well with the earthy scents Eijirou favored, but here he was almost enraptured by how comforting they smelled together. 
He’s familiar with the feeling in his chest, but it doesn’t feel right to him. He’d only given her reasons to hate him, it didn’t feel right for him to feel this way. And when he pricks his finger for the fifth time because he was distracted, he has to lean over to bite into his pillow to keep the scream of frustration as muffled as he could.
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