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ryukatters · 7 months

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it's your fault for loving me — y. okkotsu ⁺˚⋆｡°✩

⟡ pairing: yuuta okkotsu x fem!reader

⟡ cw: /DARK CONTENT, /yandere! yuuta, /dubcon, /NONCON, ex-bf!yuuta, stalking, he breaks into your apartment, he /manhandles you (he’s strong), /implied babytrapping, /possessiveness, MINORS DNI

⟡ wc: 2.9k (someone sedate me)

⟡ song inspo: language by brent faiyaz

⟡ summary: Your ex boyfriend breaks into your apartment. What do you mean he needs to leave? He’s staying right here.

The slow, muffled drag of your feet ricochet off the hallway walls as you trudge along to your apartment. You fumble with your keys for a little bit, but find no resistance as you insert it into the slot.

“Huh, that’s odd…I could’ve sworn I locked it.”

You chalk it up to exhaustion. You're only practically ever home to sleep due to the way you've been throwing yourself onto mission after mission. Even now, sleep is a luxury you can barely afford. You kick off your shoes lazily, not bothering putting them in their rightful place on the shoe rack.

Maybe before, you would have cared more about keeping the house tidy. Or maybe before, your loving boyfriend would pamper and coddle you the minute you opened the front door, so you never had to worry about the little details like putting your shoes in the right place.

You were exhausted.

You wanted nothing more than to wash up and plop down onto your soft, soft bed. You don’t even make it to your bedroom door before you pause, anxiety prickling your nerves.

You sense him before you see him. Yuuta’s cursed energy has always had a tendency to seep out whenever he was around you. Whether it’s a testament to how he’s able to fully relax in your presence or a display of raw power, you’re not sure.

"You're home," a certain black-haired sorcerer chirps. "How was your mission?"

In the past, simply hearing Yuuta’s voice would be enough to melt away the pent up stress from a hard day of exorcizing curses. It’d soothe your aching muscles and tired soul as you let yourself be enveloped by the weight of his affection. But right now, it did everything except that.

The shiver of excitement that used to run down your spine is replaced by trepidation caused by the only person who used to be able to comfort you.

You know better than to ask how he knew you were on a mission, much less ask how he managed to break into your apartment. It seems he's been in here for a while, with the way he seems to have made himself at home on your bed, much like the way he used to before.

"Why are you here?"

The question makes him sit up.

“Because I missed you. Is that so bad?”

You want to laugh. The whole situation is all sorts of fucked up, and the two of you are talking about it the same way one would the weather.

“Yuuta, we broke up 2 months ago,” you press, vexation lacing your words. You could never imagine yourself using that tone on him. Yuuta’s always been so meticulous in loving you, in making sure you were happy. He’s never given you a reason to be upset with him. But that was then, and this was now.

You could say whatever you wanted to say. You were tired and definitely not in the mood to deal with a supposed burglar that happens to be in the form of your ex-boyfriend.

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” he says simply.

“You walked out on me!”

“Because I thought you needed some space. And now I’m back. But I never said we were breaking up.”

Space was an extremely generous term for what Yuuta gave you. If you could consider watching your every move from a distance, keeping tabs on who you talk to, and making sure you stay out of trouble secretly, “space.” He would never let you know that though. It’s too much, too soon.

He couldn't help it, not when his precious baby could get hurt. He’d never forgive himself if that happened.

“Come and sit, my love. You look so tired.” He pats the space next to him. You will your heart not to flutter at the familiar nickname.

Your body moves before your brain can catch up. It’s almost like listening to him was muscle memory. You pause in your step, cross your arms, and glare at him.

“Leave, Yuuta. I don’t want to see you.” The words rise from the very depths of your soul and spill out of your mouth like bile, burning and spiteful. It hurts to speak to him like this, even after he’d abandoned you with no hopes of return.

“Sit, love.” A little more demanding this time. “I’m not repeating myself again.”

The tension in the air is palpable, so thick you can cut it with a knife.

You take a seat. Yuuta doesn’t miss a beat before he has his hands on you.

“Missed you,” his hand reaches out to cup your jaw, thumb rubbing against the plushness of your cheek.

You’ve always been so soft, it’s one of the things Yuuta loves the most about you.

You flinch. Blame it on the adrenaline coursing through your body like wildfire. Your fight or flight response is shot. Yuuta’s touch seems to rewrite everything that’s been hardwired into your brain.

He presses a chaste kiss to your temple, before moving down to kiss the tip of your nose, and both of your cheeks. Each press of his lips leaves feels like it’s being seared into your flesh, a metaphorical branding iron of sorts— to show that you’re Yuuta’s and Yuuta’s only.

Your mind goes blank when he sucks a kiss into the side of your neck, whimpering pathetically as he grazes his teeth along the sensitive skin.

“We can’t do this,” you assert, but the words get stuck in your throat, so it comes out more as a whiny sigh. Your body seems to have a tendency to betray you when it comes to him.

“But we can,” Yuuta coos, pushing you down until your back is flat against the mattress. He takes both of your hands in his, lifting them up until they’re above your head, effectively pinning you in place. “We’re doing it right now, aren’t we?”

Yuuta can appear pretty unassuming to outsiders. He’s quiet, reserved, almost meek. If one were to take a closer look, however, they’d realize that beneath that unostentatious front was a more commanding aura, one that forces you to submit to his whims with his sweet tongue and sensuous touches. Perfectly calculated, perfectly executed.

"I fucking hate you,” you spit, thrashing against his hold, but to no avail.

"No you don't,” Yuuta shuts you down with conviction. Like it’s the absolute truth— the kind that can’t be twisted or broken. It almost feels like he’s chastising you for thinking otherwise. “Take that back right now.”

To be honest, hearing those words stung more than any physical blow you could have ever landed on him. Has he not shown you enough love? Or have you already forgotten?

Isn’t what you have pure love?

A hand wraps around your neck, lithe fingers inching up before they grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “I said,” blunt fingernails digging into your skin, “take it back.”

You sputter out an apology with teary eyes, an odd mix of humiliation and regret seeping into your bones, stomach swirling with shame and to your horror, a tinge of anticipation.

It’s pathetic, really, how easily you give in.

“Now give me a kiss, sweetheart.” Yuuta bridges the gap between the two of you. He presses his already throbbing bulge against your clothed pussy, moaning into your mouth appreciatively.

You feel so dizzy you think you might explode.

Yuuta makes quick work of the buttons on your uniform, releasing your wrists so he can throw the offending garment and all your underthings beneath it to some random corner of the room.

Calloused hands roam your body, squeezing and groping, as if to map out the cartography of your flesh, committing each peak and valley to memory. He watches in fascination how your skin bristles with goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

He ignores your pleading cries and attempts to push him off. Yuuta is being driven by pure instinct alone. That sick, twisted voice in his head that he’s always tried to suppress whispers. It goads him on to take what he wants, to make sure you remember that you’re his, and his alone.

He knows that you haven’t been seeing anyone. You were always so loyal, even when you were upset with him. Anyone who did try was taken care of the minute they left your sight.

It’s been far too long since he’s had you. His desire fills him with a sort of quiet rage, one that metamorphoses into something darker, more sinister and morose the longer he goes without you. Almost like a curse that’s gone far too long without feeding.

Yuuta Okkotsu loves you to the point of madness.

He thinks he might literally implode in on himself any second longer without you.

It’s almost laughable how different the two of you are. An ethereal beauty too good for this world, yet here you were in between the legs of a cursed man with too much love than he knows what to do with.

“Yuuta, please,” you cry out. You flail your legs in an attempt to kick Yuuta off. He catches both with ease, throwing them over his shoulder to slide your bottoms off, leaving you completely bare.

He can’t suppress the groan that tumbles past his lips. You’re even more beautiful than he remembers.

You’re dewy eyed and gasping, nails clawing at his forearms and beating at his chest in a last ditch effort to stand your ground. Nothing can deter him.

Yuuta could easily heal himself if he wanted to. But the angry red welts and blossoming hues of purple on his pale skin are a badge of honor of the utmost prestige. It’s undeniable proof that you’re real, that his love for you isn’t just a fragment of his imagination, and that none of this was just some pipe dream. He could take a little pain if that meant you got to be his.

He’s always been yours without any reservations.

“You can cry if you want, if it helps,” he says genuinely, but the gleam in his eyes shifts into something predatory. “But you should know you’re really fucking wet.” As if to prove a point, he slowly fucks his middle finger into your weeping hole, then his index, then his ring. They curl up to rub against that spongy spot just the way you like.

You let out a sharp gasp, spine arching off the mattress.

You tried to ignore him—detach yourself from the whole situation, let him get his fill, and be done with this whole ordeal. But it’s Yuuta— the man has a grasp on both the corporal and spiritual parts of you that you can’t bring yourself to understand. It seems like he knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. And right now, he’s managed to make a home in all five of your senses. There’s no escape. He's made sure of that.

He pulls out his fingers with a lewd squelch. A clear sheen of liquid coats every digit, stringy as he parts them to show you. He smiles knowingly.

“You keep fighting me, but it turns out you want it after all, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks burn in humiliation. Whether it’s from the situation at hand or the truth behind his words, you’re not too sure.

“Don’t you know?” Yuuta rasps, fingers going back to work their way inside you rhythmically, bringing you closer and closer to the precipice, paying special attention to how you try to mask how your face contorts in pleasure.

He presses his forehead against yours, willing you to look at him wordlessly. “I know what’s best for you. I know what you want. And right now, this little pussy wants to be fucked. Isn’t that right, my love?”

He’s met with a breathless moan. You’re so close. Tears threaten to fall as your chest heaves in exertion, trying not to teeter off the edge too soon.

You look so pathetic it’s insane. Yuuta swears he can feel his mouth water in anticipation for what’s bound to come next. He thrusts his fingers with calculating speed and precision, the heel of his palm slapping against your neglected clit just right.

He leans down right when you cum, lips catching yours as you moan into his mouth. Satisfaction swells in his chest as your slick drips down his wrist.

“You’re ready.”

Yuuta unbuttons his pants, pulling it down just enough for his cock to spring free, tip slapping his abdomen as it leaks with precum. He fists it, jerking his hand up and down his length. He slaps it against your clit once, twice, and a third time before he slips it inside your weeping hole.

Your walls spasm around his cock to accommodate his sheer size and girth, struggling a bit more than usual. You feel so full. It’s been far too long since he’s fucked you. You claw at his lower abdomen, trying to make space between the two of you. It’s all too much, all at once. Yuuta won’t have it. He slips his hands under your sweaty thighs, pinning your ankles on either side of your head, effectively folding you in half. You cry out at the stretch.

“Always take me so well, angel.”

He sets a steady pace, dragging his cock in, pulling out, and then back in with an absurd amount of force. The sound of skin on skin ricochets against your bedroom walls like a sort of cacophonous symphony. You don’t get the luxury of the sweet, slow thrusts he usually blesses you with, while he coos about how good you are for him.

“Where’s all that attitude from earlier? Am I making you feel that good?”

You glower, refusing to acknowledge the fact that your body betrays your mind— that Yuuta’s bringing you closer and closer to nirvana the further he drags you down into hell.

He slides his hand down your tummy, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts.

“Yuuta—!” You clench around his length, hurtling towards your second orgasm quickly.

“You’re so greedy. Cumming again already?”

He’s met with silence. He’ll forgive your transgressions this time around. He’ll just have to teach you how to be his good girl again.

A particularly rough thrust has you choking back a moan.

“Thought so. Cum for me, sweetheart.”

Your peak hits you like a crashing wave. Your body tenses, leaving you gasping for air as you clench around Yuuta’s cock. You cry out deliriously, falling apart as Yuuta continues to pound into you. It’s too much, but you can’t pull away even if you tried. You’re stuck.

“I’m the only one that can make you feel this way, understand?” He grits his teeth, staving off his release just a little longer. He fucks you through your orgasm thoroughly as he chases his own.

He presses all of his body weight on top of you, your legs on either side of his head as he folds you into a mating press. He groans at the change in position, allowing him to fuck into you even deeper.

Realization cuts through your cloudy judgment like a sword.

“Yuuta— Yuuta, please. Pull out–!”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears. He’s rambling now, intoxicated by all you have to offer, yet you’re the one paying the price. The effects of overstimulation are taking over now, your body twitching involuntarily with each thrust.

“I’m not leaving you, ever. It’s just you and me.”

You shake your head in objection, mind too hazy to voice out any resistance. Tears well up, threatening to spill from your lash line.

Yuuta nods with a grin, canines glinting, just like a predator that’s caught its prey. “It’s true, sweetheart. I’ll make sure of it. Say I’m it for you. That I’m the only one.”

“Say it.”

“You’re it for me, Yu. The only one.” You babble, tears streaming freely now.

You feel the moment he reaches his plateau— the way his dick twitches inside of you right before your walls are being painted white with splashes of Yuuta’s hot cum.

Your fate’s been sealed.

He fucks into you a few more times, heavy balls slapping against your ass as he rides out his orgasm. A white ring wraps around the base of his cock, the copious amounts of seed he’s poured into you threatening to leak out.

Yuuta doesn’t bother pulling out. In a quick show of dexterity and freak strength, he manages to flip the both of you so that your positions are switched, with you lying on top of Yuuta’s chest. The steady beat of his heart fills your mind.

Your entire body is on fire. You feel numb. You let yourself be carried away by the prospect of sleep, hoping that you’ll wake up to find that this was all just some wild fragment of your imagination.

He presses a hand against your head, like he was afraid you’d pull away and ruin whatever fantasy he’s deluded himself into believing.

The simple truth is– Yuuta Okkotsu loves you. And he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that no one else gets in the way of that.

He runs his hand up and down your bare back lovingly, admiring your spent form. You’ve always been so soft. So pliant, so willing to give in to his desires.

It’s the thing that Yuuta loves most about you.

a/n: i had to reupload bc this hellsite sucks. hopefully this shows up in the tags now

tagging @princess-okkotsu again hehe

#i do not wish to be perceived #yuuta x reader #yuuta x you #yuuta x y/n #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu x you #yuta x reader #yuta x you #yuta x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #/dubcon tw #/noncon tw #/babytrapping tw #/yandere tw #/stalking tw #/possessiveness tw #kat’s writing #kat’s demon time

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saturnsorbits · 15 days

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LiSyK: Lesson One

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Prince!Bakugo, Concubine Reader and Kirishima, Smut, Voyeurism, Unprotected Sex, Unprepared Sex, Cum Eating (Kinda). Word Count: 5k.

A/N: So, it's a series... No regular uploads, I'm just going to see where it goes.

Bakugo claps his hands, the sound echoing around the chamber like a rifle shot. 'You'll find my bed behind you.'

You blanch. 'Your bed, my lord?'

Concubines were a fixture of the royal rooms and have been for as long as anyone could remember. It wasn't unusual to see a collection of beautiful men and women lounging in living rooms or bedrooms, their skin almost entirely bare with only silk and gold to adorn them. Some, if favoured enough, were even gifted their own rooms were they could entertain their lord at their leisure.

And yet, it was unheard of to entertain a prince in his own chambers.

'Is there something wrong with my bed?' Bakugo's voice is a growl, low and deadly in the back of his throat. The idea of seeing you, the two of you, in his own bed sets up a stirring in his groin – one the demands to have its reward.

'No... No, I -.'

Kirishima's voice is an even timber when he steps in, easily picking up where your babbling had left you off. 'To share your personal bed chamber is a true honour, my lord.'

You curtsey, bowing you head low, thankful for the out.

The implications of Bakugo's excitement swarm in his head, but the buzzing never comes close to dampening his desire. Nodding towards the bed, he clenches his jaw tight. He'll deal with whatever fall out that comes later, right now... Both his heart and cock are set on this. 'Continue.'

Perching on the edge of the bed, you scoot backwards until your back presses against the plush cushions piled at the headboard. You can feel your pulse migrate, its steady rhythm sinking lower and lower until you're forced to resist the urge to cover your sex.

At the foot of the bed stands Kirishima. He smiles, soft and without his teeth, the apples of his cheeks swelling as he tries to render you at ease. The bump of his throat bobs as he leans forward, hands braced on the mattress as he prepares the advance on you, but before he can move, Bakugo's voice is ringing out clear from across the room.

Even across the room, Bakugo's throne feels far too close for comfort. He perches there, one knee raised with all the posture of a boy king. Atop his head the gold circlet of his crown sits off centre, the mess of his hair forcing it to tip towards his forehead. Beneath, his ruby eyes shine – deadly in their stare as he grips the edges of his chair with an almost white-knuckled force.

'Strip.' It's a command. One he's glad doesn't slip from his tongue with the anxiety that bubbles in his stomach. The acid is thick there, anticipation turning to bile as he fidgets, hoping neither of you can see his cock already raising to half mast under his trousers. 'Bare yourself to us.'

You swallow, tasting trepidation at the back of your tongue as you sit up and work at the straps of your covering. You'd been gifted new clothing after being chosen by the prince, upgrading your simple cloth rags for finer silks and golden bands. Now, a thin silken top cascades over your chest, the folds of the material deep and red, like waves of fresh fire licking at your skin. At your neck, a chain keeps the material from falling as it hangs from your golden collar.

The collar bares a series of symbols. Those for both the house of Bakugo, granting you movement throughout the entire fortress and those for the prince himself: a mark of his ownership. The chain wraps your back too, meeting in a clasp that you quickly undo, allowing the material to sink and expose the edges of your breasts as you work at loosing the chain to let the entire article slip away.

Kirishima's eyes linger. He can't help it. The fabric covering you slips to the mattress and immediately leaves you bare. Soft tits fill his vision, the gentle rise and fall of your chest making them jiggle slightly as you try and calm your breathing. His palms are sweating, making him thankful for the bedsheets under his hands and his voice demands he speak words of praise and devotion, even despite his not having permission to utter a word.

For the prince to be able to touch you seems obvious, for you're nothing short of a royal gift, but for him... He's not quite sure how he managed to get so lucky to be allowed to lay his eyes on a treasure such as you.

'Show him everything.' Bakugo clicks his tongue. His fist is balled in his pants, pulling them from his crotch to save their staining. Shifting in his seat, he attempts to hide his arousal. Not for the first time, he's glad he placed himself away from your gazes.

'Yes, my lord.' Your breathing catches as you unbuckle the silk skirt at your hips. You'd been denied underthings. Such items are inconvenient for the prince, should his cock wish to be buried in your tight heat at short notice. Instead, leather straps sit at your hips with long silken strips of material stitched to their edges. Falling to mid calf, the material flows effortlessly with your movement just as it drifts easily to the floor now as you unbuckle it.

'Knees apart.'

You comply, sensing the tightness in the princes voice and drop your knees, exposing the softness of your inner thighs and the sweetness of your sex to the air.

You're dripping. Even from this distance Kirishima can tell. There's a sheen coating your skin, a slick mix of arousal that gives off a heady scent. It infests his lungs, soaks into the roof of his mouth as he drags more of your aroma into him with each breath. His fingers twitch on the mattress gathering more sheet between them as he tries to stop himself from moving too soon and gaining the punishment of the prince.

Bakugo leans so far off his throne he's not confident he won't fall. He's never smelt sex before, but if it smells anything like you do, he's not sure he'll ever be able to be without it. Your musk is an aphrodisiac, making his mouth water and his cock twitch as he gives up attempting to hide his erection. Reaching for his belt, he loosens the buckle and reaches into his pants squeezing around the base of his cock as he pulls it into the air.

The princes cock is average in length. Delicate, almost, in how it bends slightly to the left – the rose petal head rounded and plump, dribbling more than it's fair share of pre-cum down the man's fist. Along the pale shaft, a series of purpling vein's break up the tone. Most are wide, pulsing with his heartbeat and splaying as they reach his base, where a delicate crop of blonde hair obscures the rest. It's darker than the hair on his head, closer to the brown of his fathers as it trails, reaching up over the muscle of his stomach and beyond.

Kirishima gulps, quickly snapping his gaze from over his shoulder and back to you. He can't say for certain, but he's pretty sure he has a bigger cock than the prince.

It should be an ego boost, something to brag about in those few moments of peace he's awarded outside of his royal duty, except there's just one thing he's worried about.

You.

'Stretch yourself...' Clenching his teeth, Bakugo refuses to show his breathlessness. His cock kicks in his hand, demanding a friction he withholds; but even with his precaution, there's no removing his affliction entirely from his visage. He straightens, rolling his shoulders to flatten against the back of his throne. Still, greed and longing sink into his tone. 'Let me see.'

Reaching between your thighs, you do as your told. The stickiness of your cunt clings to your fingers immediately, your clit twitching as clumsy fingers spread into a 'V' to expose your insides.

'Fuck.' The word trips from Kirishima's tongue carelessly and drops into the air like the last firework at new year. Around him, the world freezes – the muscles of his shoulders tense as he watches your abdomen hitch. He hadn't been given permission to speak. For all he knows, your allure has truly become the end of him. After all, it isn't unknown for rulers to punish their concubines for far less than speaking out of turn.

Bakugo clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and savours the knot that appears in the centre of Kirishima's back. The muscles bunch, writhing in a manner that makes him wonders if he could recreate it. 'Yeah...' He sighs. 'Fuck.' Coughing the delicacy from his voice, he licks over his lips before addressing the scene again. 'You. Kirishima. Strip.'

Kirishima complies in a heartbeat.

His loin cloth is much like yours in design, a thick strip of leather wrapping his waist just below his navel that buckles at either hip. Attached is the same material, thin and translucent and falling to mid-thigh; sheer enough to almost see the heft of his cock as it lays against his thighs.

Thick fingers work at the buckles, nimbly loosening the leather until he can swiftly shuck the material down his legs and discard it with a flick of his foot.

From his throne, Bakugo has to bite back the groan that threatens to rock through his chest and spill into the air. His mouth waters. Kirishima's cock is larger than he'd expected... A lot larger than he'd expected.

It bends under it's own weight, almost hanging despite his being fully hard. His foreskin is dark, a flush of deep mauve that slips back just enough to expose a slither of dark cherry head. Pre-cum leaks from him like a tap. It glistens on his skin, making the two thick vein's that raise from his skin just below his head glow in vague purple as they pulse. The crop of hair at his base is thick and black, a stark contrast to his own pale, downy hair.

Bakugo swallows, ridding his throat of the desire to be full. His tongue flattens to the roof of his mouth, his taste buds desperate for a lick of whatever divine nector drips from the pair of you. 'Go on then...' He barks, excitement flooding his bloodstream as he attempts to maintain some kind of dignity with his hand still squeezing the base of his cock. 'Fuck her.'

'I... Uhm,' Kirishima's cock bobs, threatening to steal his cohesion. He struggles to remember his teachings, a million and one things racing through his mind as he tries to remember the diagrams and words of the old mothers. 'I need to, to... Prepare her first.'

'Of course.' Bakugo frowns. He knew that. Of course, he knew that – he's eager, that's all. Maybe a little too eager.

'Can... Can I?' Kirishima's eyes shine when he brings them up to meet you. There's a gentleness there, a softness that barely disguises the blind pleasure that coils his stomach into knots. He reaches forward, a hand brushing the skin of your shin as his thumb draws an awkward half-circle in your calve.

You nod. With your fingers still spreading your cunt, you can feel the rush of slick that gathers there as you wait under his gaze for your devouring. It coats your fingers, leaving strings of pearl on your skin like jewellery.

Kirishima climbs up onto the bed, forcing it to dip under his weight. You feel bare laying there, exposed, as you watch his eyes dip between your legs and grows hungry. Fighting the urge to snap shut your legs and scramble away, you force yourself to relax. No-one has seen you quite like this before. Your intimacies have always been your own, exposed only to the King's consort Inko to confirm your virginity before a bright 'V' had been painted on your chest.

You wonder if you're pretty down there. If you look appealing... Fuckable.

A large hand wraps your thigh, a reassuring squeeze drawing you from your thoughts and back into the moment. Kirishima smiles, the tips of his teeth worrying his bottom lip as he reaches out with his other arm and hovers centimetres away from your sex. He catches your eye, eyebrows raising slightly on his forehead as the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. 'You'll tell me if you want me to stop, won't you?'

There's a trepidation lingering under his skin, the kind of anxiety that is laced with excitement and easily highlights his inexperience and yet, his movements are sure when he finally touches you.

The pad of his thumb swipes at your clit making your back arch. Your eyes widen as the breath is taken from your lungs, a soft gasp leaping from your mouth. You become aware of your body then, more aware than you've ever been as the tingles of pleasure begin to recede with his touch. It leaves you raw and desperate, hips lifting from the bed in order to seek him out once more.

'Louder.' Bakugo's voice is broken. His cock still sit in his hand, pulsing angrily at it's neglect. Already he can feel his balls pulling up tight against him, threatening an end to something he hasn't even been able to start yet. 'Make her louder.'

Kirishima repeats the action. This time, the pad of his thumb presses harder, circling, until he earns another gasp from your lungs. He's surprised to learn that you're soft. Softer than he'd expected. You're so wet he can feel it clinging to his skin, the heat radiating through his thumb and making his mouth water. Against the mattress his cock stirs, smearing pre-cum against his stomach as he grinds down, offering himself only the smallest amounts of relief. He licks his teeth. 'Can...' His thumb moves lower, slipping off the wet hood of your clit and hovering over your entrance. 'Can I?'

'Please.' Lifting your hips from the bed, you attempt to rub his thumb back over your clit, desperate for more of his touch. You don't know what he's offering, you're not sure you care as long as it means you get to feel his hands on you again. 'Please...'

With your permission, Kirishima presses into you until you squeeze around the base of his thumb. You're hot inside, your walls silken and soaking, tightening around him as he pulls back out, testing your reactions. His eyes flicker to yours, a quick check in before he twists his wrist and offers you two fingers. This time you struggle with the stretch. He can feel it, the flutter in your walls as you breathe through the intrusion, but soon enough, you're relaxing, sucking him in and whining soft and breathy above him.

Your voice doesn't feel like your own. Each noise that escapes you is new, sinfully sweet as it escapes your throat and floats through the air. The women at the temple may have trained you, but they had never prepared you for this. Their lessons had always been focused on pleasing, not being pleased – the pillow dances and allure routines, all of it was useless here with you on your back and a man's thick fingers pressing up into the spongy roof of your cunt.

You writhe as a pressure builds below your pubic bone, encouraging a series of moans to leak from your mouth. It feels as though you might burst as your cunt clenches, but before you can discover just what comes next Bakugo's voice is spilling into the room and Kirishima's fingers still inside of you.

Bakugo is hanging on by a thread. His cock has gone pale with his grip around the base, his balls pulled so tight he can feel his pulse beating through them. Still, he refuses to embarrass himself. Not without seeing what he came to see. 'That's enough...' He speaks through his teeth, gritting out his words. 'Fuck her already.'

Kirishima looks to you before he moves. His brow is set, his eyes cool as he waits for your permission once again. He crawls over you until his arms bracket your shoulders, your chests almost level.

You look stunning like this, your lips shining, eyes wide and watery as you heave in deep, steadying breaths. There's no denying that he wants you, the sheer fact he's been allowed to touch you alone has his cock jumping against his stomach, but his mother's taught him to be respectful before anything else and so, he waits...

'I said...' Bakugo growls, but before he can finish his sentence, you're shifting.

Looking between you body and Kirishima's, you stifle a squeak as you see just what you have to contend with. Lined up as he is, it seems as though he'd reach your navel with ease – a far from appetising idea and yet, there's a yearning that spreads from the curve of your stomach to the depths of your cunt. One that has your insides tingling.

You don't care how big he is.

Don't care if it'll hurt.

As a matter of fact... A small piece of you wishes it will.

You reach between your legs, petting over your pubic hair until you can smooth your fingers across the twitching peak of your clit. A breathy whine slips from between your lips, but you continue, denying yourself in the quest for something more. Slipping further, you take two of your own fingers and arc your spine, feeling the beating of your cunt squeezing around you softly. With the other hand, you lean forward, taking Kirishima's cock in your palm and giving it a slow, gentle tug.

The man shudders at your touch. His whole body quakes at the faintest gripping of your fingertips, thick muscles rippling like he might collapse. Locking his elbows, he narrowly avoids falling on top of you as you ease him down and press his tip to your clit. He's panting openly now, his chest heaving as he struggles against the sin of your hands. If he's like this now, he dares not to think of what the tight heat of your cunt will do to him.

Tapping him against you once, twice – you enjoy each jolt of pleasure as it zips down your legs. It leaves you tingling and wanting more as you finally, finally line him up with your entrance. His cock catches against you, but before you can bask in the power you hold over him, Kirishima slips his hand between your bodies and collects your wrists in one, large palm.

He doesn't speak when he pins your hands above your head, he doesn't think he can. Instead, he holds your eye and hopes you can see what you're doing to him. Shifting his hips, he rocks into you and almost sees the Gods when the head of his cock sinks into you. You feel divine, hot and wet and tight and begging for his release. He breathes, unsure just how long he'll last. For a moment he waits, giving you just the tip and nothing more, waiting for the both of you to adjust.

The stretch he gives you is impossible. Even with so little of him inside of you, you feel full, incapable of taking the more you know he's going to give you. There's a burn radiating through your pelvis, a persistent, but delectable pain that subsides only as you breathe through it. You moan, a pretty noise escaping your throat as you feel him rut just a little deeper, taking the air from your lungs. Fisting your hands in whatever bedsheets you can find, your ribcage lifts from the bed, tits pressing flush with Kirishima's chest.

Bakugo thinks he might explode. He can see the rim of your cunt, Kirishima's cock stuffing it full and barley a quarter in. It's exhilarating as he watches both of you shiver, trying to hold it together as much as possible. Loosening his grip on his cock, he chances a slow, but firm pull upwards and quickly regrets it.

You moan, eyes rolling as flick up your hips as harshly as you can. The movement sheaths him further inside of you, dragging a harsh grunt out of his lungs as he falters. His cock presses up into you, bringing tears to your eyes as he slides back out almost immediately, but his fullness isn't a sensation you're willing to give up. Desperation claws at you, begs you for more, for a release you're dying to experience. 'Please, please, please...'

You're incensed, but then again, so is Kirishima.

Maybe that's why he gives you what you want, despite knowing you probably can't take it. Dipping his head to your neck, he rolls his hips to fill you completely and hopes he he can hold out long enough to please both you and the prince.

Your body struggles, cunt pulsing with that familiar sweet throb as he stills his movements once more and waits. You feel light headed, your body pulled taught as you hiccup through your next few breaths.

Teeth graze the junction of your shoulder, a whispered 'Is it too much?' tickling your ear before you feel the slow sensation of him pulling out. You move instantly. Wrapping your legs around him, you stop his retreat and squeeze tight, anxious to keep him inside, to be stretched and full.

The moan he lets out is pure sin. It's deep, guttural, lingering in his throat as he rocks his hips back into you and basks in the heaven that your cunt provides. With your ankles locked at the base of his spine, he's forced to bottom out – his thicket of pubic hair brushing against your clit making you twitch and writhe against him.

A strangled whine leaves Bakugo's throat as he comes to terms with his nearing end. He fucks his fist, hips lifting from the cushioned throne seat as he quickens his pace, eyes glued to were your two bodies meet on the bed. It takes barely a handful of strokes, especially when Kirishima's hips begin to move earning a cacophony of moans from both of your throats.

You can't help it. Neither of you can.

Both of your eyes drift to the back of the room, stealing quick glances at the prince. He looks ethereal, lost to his own throws of pleasure with his eyes squeezed shut and his head tipped back. A trickle of moans sneak from his lips despite his breath catching behind his Adam's apple, making goose flesh prickle on both of your arms. It feels wrong, to watch him like this – to see him so vulnerable, throat exposed, cock in his hand and cumming in his own fist, but you swear you've never seen a more beautiful sight.

He cums in waves. His body shaking as he coats his fist, his hand still smoothing the rest of his orgasm from his body. Eventually, his breathing levels out, the faint tingle from his release making him loose and light-headed. His skin prickles. The odd tug of being watched itching at the back of his neck, but when he finally blinks open his eyes there's no-one watching him.

Kirishima groans. He could feel you, your cunt pulsing around him as you watched the prince come undone. It spurs something inside of him, calls on him to please you in the way your body so desperately wanted to be pleased. Spreading his legs a little wider, he forces your hips open allowing him to reach even deeper inside of you and begins to rock his hips.

Something spoilt bubbles in your stomach. Watching the prince has made you hungry, but before you can get carried away feeling jealous of his release Kirishima begins to fuck you. Each of his thrusts gets deeper, his pace quickening until it becomes hard to concentrate. His cock fills you perfectly, making your whole body raw in a way you've never felt before.

It isn't long before Kirishima feels the tell tale pit in his stomach begin to swell. His balls pull up tight, the muscle in his abdomen twitching as he holds onto his composure with his finger tips. Still, he knows exactly what he has to do. Angling his hips down, he ensures his pubic bone brushes yours with each stroke, the thick mess of hair at his stomach tickling over your clit with each stroke.

You moan with each of his thrusts. There's no pain now, no sharp stabbing as his cock presses up inside of you. Instead, there's the dullness of a rising pleasure, one that threatens to tip you over the edge at any moment as you hold on for dear life. With your wrists still bound in his, it's impossible to pull him as closely as you want him, but Kirishima seems to read your mind.

Without pausing his rhythm, Kirishima presses his forehead to yours. Your eyes lock, the wildness in your iris' laid bare for him as his brow scrunches in concentration. He learns more about you in those following few seconds than he has for the week you'd been sequestered together before the selection. It's as if he's attuned to every inch of you, every hitch of your breath, each twitch of your lip and pulse of your cunt.

That's why he sees it coming.

He watches as your eyelids flutter, eyes rolling back towards the ceiling of the bed chamber. Your chest heaves, breath lodged there as a wave of pleasure strong enough to steal your breath rolls through you. Your mouth drops open, lips spit slicked and shining.

And then, then he feels your cunt pulse.

You milk him endlessly. Tightening around him in a vice he's not sure he'll ever want to escape, your pleasure is the most delectable thing he's ever experienced. A groan leaves his throat raw, his biceps shaking as he keep fucking your through your high, prolonging it for as long as possible. There had always been talk of what it was like to make a woman cum, the teachings endless, but none of it had come close to the real thing.

'Not...' Bakugo is breathless. His crown is still lob-sided, his smile lazy and satisfied as he kicks a leg back over the arm of his throne. 'Not inside. Don't come inside of her. That's an order.'

'Yes... Yes, my lord.' With his composure waning, Kirishima waits barely a beat, just until your cunt relaxes, the ghost of a smile tugging at the side of your lip. And then, he pulls out.

You whine, lurching forward as your wrists are released, but you don't get very far before thick strings of pearl are being lashed over your tits. The liquid is warm and coats your skin generously, painting you in his release. Above you, Kirishima fists his cock. His abdomen is tight, his nose scrunched, eyes heavy and half-lidded as he fights to keep looking at you.

And then, just like that, it's over.

The prince allows you a moment of reprieve, a minute or two to bask in the enormity of what has just occurred. The deflowering of a concubine was often a ritualised event and yet, here you were, with the spend of another concubine on your chest having just been taken for the first time. Kirishima's palm curls around your shoulder, steadying you as your world spins. His comfort is welcomed, something you offer him back with a hand on his thigh.

Bakugo clears his throat. 'Go...'

Your head snaps towards him, eyebrows scrunched. There's a shake in your knees still, one you're not sure will support you if the prince chooses to toss you out of his chambers so soon.

Licking his lips, there's a new softness in Bakugo's tone when he speaks again, shifting in his seat as he does. 'Go clean yourselves up. There's a bath through those doors, the servants should have it warm by now. You're welcome to it and whatever you wish to use in there. Sooth your muscles and return to your own quarters. I'll call for you again tomorrow.'

Kirishima glances at you and shrugs. There will be time to talk about the princes strangeness later, for now, you're not about to turn down a chance for a dip in the royal baths. Scrambling to your feet, Kirishima supports you into a messy curtsey before the prince before you slip out of the room and descend upon a world of luxury.

The door to the baths slams shut behind you, leaving Bakugo alone once again. He shouldn't have let you in there either, people will certainly talk if you're discovered, but the servants are obedient folk and his harsh nature keeps away the other prying eyes efficiently enough.

Springing from his seat, he crosses the room in barely two strides before he's at the bed. He crawls across it, feeling the warmth of your bodies still radiating through the sheets as he goes, imagining what it will feel like to be caught between the scene he witnessed only moments earlier. There's evidence of the act. Dips where you'd been lying, the sheets rumpled and tossed, but the thing that catches his eye is the darkened wet patch clear on the bed.

He doesn't think, he just moves. His chest meets the bed, rosy nipples rubbing against the sheets as his tongue slips from behind his teeth and drags across the wetness. The taste of you bursts across his tongue. A deadly mix of both you and Kirishima ensnares him, causing him to go back for more. He laps at the sheet until his saliva mixes with your essence overpowering your tastes, leaving him wanting.

Collapsing on the bed, Bakugo stares up at the ceiling and listens to the hushed tones and splashes of you in the next room.

Tomorrow. He thinks.

Tomorrow, he'll have you...

Or, at least some of you.

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#bakugo x reader smut #kirishima x reader smut #kiribaku x reader smut #mha smut #bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader #kiribaku x reader #saturnsorbits #saturnscribbles #LiSyK: Lesson One

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bellaveux · 7 months

Note

hi, are you still taking requests? if yes then i would like to request top! wanda x sub!reader where r was caught touching herself with their recent purchase wand vibrator and wanda decided to let r cums but r has to count 50 to 0. and after every time r cums the count will shorten by 10 but the wand will be increasing up a notch. and at the end wanda decided to finish it by fucking r senseless. please and thank you. 🥺

count for me | w. maximoff

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: wanda comes home and finds her favorite girl playing with that new vibrator she had recently purchased.

content warnings: minors dni. smut; dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader, pwp, use of toys (vibrator), overstimulation, strap-on sex (r receiving), kinda pervy wanda, rough sex, multiple orgasms, dumbification kinda, praising

wc: 1.9k

She could hear you. The moment she walked through the front door of your shared home. She could hear the way you whimper, whine, and try to muffle your moans—a soft buzzing sound breaking the silence that filled the entire house. The air seemed to be holding its breath as she walked slowly down the hall. The sounds of your pleasure had already started making her dizzy, almost as if she were getting drunk off of it. It had been too quiet when she first arrived home, and you were unusually nowhere to be seen, but the hushed silence faded away when she got closer to her bedroom door. With each step she took, the prettiest moans that fell from your lips got louder and louder, bouncing against the walls and into her ears. When she got close enough, Wanda's measured steps ceased, and a subtle tension filled the air.

The door stood just a crack open, revealing a slender slit of the space inside the room. A soft beam of light filtered through, casting a delicate glow that painted the room in muted hues. Wanda's gaze lingered on the partially open door, and in that suspended moment, curiosity mingled with a gentle sense of trepidation. She took a peak. She couldn’t help it.

The lamp was on. You were there. Laying on the bed you shared with her, writhing, trembling, and quivering with your hand holding that new vibrator Wanda had recently bought for you underneath your panties as you whimpered into the pillow. You looked so pretty. Her sweet girl, moaning her name quietly as you tried so desperately to chase the high of pleasure you were struggling to get. The sight of you made Wanda weak in her knees to the point where she almost just gave out and kneeled down. She composed herself remarkably, and took a deep breath before pushing the door open even more and stepping inside.

You couldn’t see her; your eyes closed shut as you continued to pleasure yourself. And before you could react, you felt a pair of lips press against your neck. You jumped slightly in surprise as Wanda held you down against the mattress.

“Started without me, sweetheart?” She whispered into your neck. You moved slightly, pressing your lips together as you tried to pull the vibrator away from your clit, but Wanda grabbed your wrist and pushed it even harder against your bundle of nerves. “Oh, don’t let me interrupt, baby. Keep going for me.”

“W-Wanda—”

“Tell me, baby. How many times did you come before I came in?” She asked as she left wet, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck all the way up to your jaw.

You shuddered at the feeling, your blush only darkening on your cheeks, “O-Once.”

“Is that the truth?”

You nod your head rapidly, eagerly trying to convince her that it is with just your face and doe eyes looking up at her.

“Hmm…” Wanda hummed into your ear. “How about you start counting for me, detka? Fifty to zero. You can do it.”

So you started. Fifty to zero, like she said. You could feel the way Wanda smirked against your chest, nuzzling her face against your breasts, immediately noticing the way your hardened nipples pushed themselves against the fabric of your thin shirt. A hand wraps itself around the wand vibrator, her hand tracing over the buttons softly. You were on forty-five, continuing to count as best as you could as Wanda guided the vibrator against your clit.

“Come for me, baby?” She said as you whimpered into her hair.

And you couldn’t help but obey, the sound of her voice ringing in your ears. You shuddered as you came, letting go of the wand to wrap your arms loosely around Wanda’s frame as she hovered over you.

“Again. Start on thirty five, sweetheart.”

And you tried, “T-Thirty—Ah!”

With a click of a button, Wanda turned the vibrator’s intensity up and pressed it even harder against you. You shook underneath her with your mouth open, unable to say anything. She smiled against your cheek before moving to press her lips against yours, shoving her tongue into your mouth as you moaned against her.

She pulled away after a moment of kissing you and smirked, “Count, baby.”

You counted. And counted and counted. All while it kept buzzing. It was faster now. Much, much faster. The wand, your pleasure on the rise, Wanda hovering over you as she watched you. Starting from thirty-five, you made it all the way to twenty-one before you fell apart and came underneath her all over again. Wanda groaned when you cried her name out, coming for the third time tonight. Eventually, your eyes teared up as she continued to hold the vibrator against your cunt without giving you a chance to catch your breath.

Then, she turned it up all the way to its maximum speed.

You squealed and desperately tried to push her hand away as you cried her name out like a prayer. “W-Wanda! Wanda, I-I can’t–”

“Yes, you can. You’re my big girl, aren’t you?” She said, holding you still as you quivered and tried to close your legs shut, practically trapping her hand in between your legs. “Count again, baby. From ten.”

You sobbed against her shoulder. It was too much pleasure. You couldn’t think. You almost couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t stop shaking. And Wanda just smiled at you, kept telling you how good you were doing. So, you kept counting. For her. You tried, at least. With your best effort, you made it to zero, but you came all over again, your slick gushing on the vibrator and Wanda’s hand. She pulled the wand away from your puffy pussy, turning it off, then throwing it to the other side of the bed, and you sighed in relief. A smirk graced her lips as you looked up at her, green eyes staring down at you with pride. God, you were perfect. Her pretty baby. You tried to catch your breath in the meantime before Wanda leaned down to capture your lips with hers, her hands softly smoothing over your legs.

Wanda pulled away to catch her breath. She looked at you with hungry eyes, carefully inspecting all of your features. Stray pieces of hair matted to your forehead as sweat dribbled down your temples. The way your chest rose and fell quickly. The way your hands gripped onto her own shirt. Your legs still quivering. A tiny smile lingering on your lips as you looked at her. Fuck, was all she could think.

Before you could say anything, Wanda pulled back and stepped away.

“Wanda?” You breathed, too tired to move from your spot on the bed.

Under the dim lighting of the lamp on your side table, Wanda suddenly came into your view after hiding in the shadows but immediately leaned down to kiss you once more. She swallowed your whimpers and your quiet moans before flipping you onto your stomach in a swift movement. The kisses she littered against your neck and back were soft as she held you down with her hands pushing you slightly against the mattress.

“Stay still for me, detka.” She whispered from behind you, her whole front pressing against your back.

The first thing you felt were her fingers playing with the hem of your panties, moving them to the side, exposing your already glistening pussy to her. She is too impatient to undress you properly. For a moment, you thought you heard her chuckle, but you could barely think already. She palms your ass a few times before you feel the tip of something hard and big against your cunt. Wanda didn’t give you a second to even ask, slipping her strap into you with ease. Your moan fills the room, louder than all of the whimpers you were letting out just a moment before.

“W-Wanda–”

“Can’t get enough of you, (Y/n),” she groaned, as she slowly thrust her strap into you.

And with the sound of your muffled moans against the pillow and the sight of your hands gripping the sheets, Wanda’s pace didn’t remain gentle for too long. She quickly sped up her thrusts, using your hips to balance herself. Nothing but sweet words of praise left her mouth as she fucked her strap in and out of you.

“Taking me so fucking well, baby. God, look at you. So pretty getting all fucked out by me, huh?”

Among all the mindless praise Wanda whispered into your ear, she straightened her back to admire you beneath her, getting high off of the way you cried her name out as she continued to fuck you. Her hand pulls the flesh of your ass cheek slightly over, watching the way her strap sank into your gushing hole, her length glistening each time she pulled out. Wanda can’t help but roll her eyes to the back of her head as she listens to the way your pussy squelches each time she bottoms out. You always looked so pretty to her, even more so when you’re taking her cock like the good girl you are. And with her name rolling off your tongue like you couldn’t even think about anything else, fuck, you were perfect.

When Wanda thrusts into you one last time, you clench hard, gushing all over her strap. She can feel the way your cum coats her lower half, and she stops for a moment, just to feel the warm, clear liquid running down her tummy and her thighs, feeling as the cold air hits them, leaving her wet and sticky. It wasn’t the first time she made you squirt, but each time she does, she always takes a second. To admire you. Her dumb baby trembling underneath her. How proud of you she was.

“Fucking hell, (Y/n)…”

Wanda leans over, pressing her front against your back as you feel the way her breasts squished against you. You can feel her hair brushing up against your neck and shoulders as she left gentle and soothing kisses against your skin and shoulders. Her hands palmed your hips softly, almost as if she was trying to calm your trembling legs.

Honestly, you didn’t really have the energy to say anything else but her name, “Wanda…”

“I’m here, baby,” you heard her say. “Did so good for me, you know?”

Wanda listened to you hum in satisfaction. She pulls out of you very slowly and carefully before flipping you onto your back. You felt her kiss your lips briefly before she disappeared again to discard her strap and grab a rag to clean you up.

This part was one of Wanda’s favorites. The gradual descent from the high she had you chase over and over and over. The warmth of her palm adorns the side of your face, her thumb smoothing over your cheekbone as your eyelids began to feel heavier with each second that passed. You try to keep your eyes open, just to see your lover staring down at you, still with those dark and lustful eyes. But they were also warm. And sincere.

Wanda rolls her lips onto themselves as if she were trying to bite back a smile. She tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear before leaning down to place the most gentle kiss she could ever give you, muttering those three little words softly against your lips.

— navigation!

#bellaveux writes!#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel #avengers x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #the scarlet witch #mcu x reader

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soulofapatrick · 10 months

Text

Amortentia - Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: You brew Amortentia and it leads somewhere you didn't ever expect Words: 1.7k Warnings: none really Notes: I am alive I promise, been really busy as we're getting ready to move house

Y/N’s POV

Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world. The way many people find their partners in Hogwarts and the most exciting class of the year. Everyone is buzzing around, whispering and giggling with their friends about the vial sat on Professor Slughorn’s desk, left completely unguarded. I take on glance at the shimmering blue liquid and cringe a little before finding the closest seat to the door, throwing my bag on the floor after pulling out the Potions book.

“Hey Y/N,” Harry slides into the seat beside me with his signature unruly black hair and this bright green eyes that seem to hold a hint of mischief and determination, and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. He wears his Gryffindor uniform somewhat neatly, his tie slightly askew adding to this charm.

Ron isn’t far behind, grumbling about the upcoming lesson. His fiery red hair is as untameable as ever, and his freckled face displaying nothing but annoyance as he throws his arms over mine and Harry’s shoulders and letting his knees buckle while pretending to swoon, “Oh Theodore, my love, it youuuuuu-“

“Oh shut up!” I push his arm off my shoulders and he falls with a cry of surprise, Harry trying to catch him but ending up letting Ron fall to snigger behind his hand, “You’re probably going to fall head over heels for Snape… oh Snape, oh how I love thee Sn-“

“Alright, let’s begin this lesson shall we?” Professor Slughorn comes breezing in, not as well as Snape as he’s just too happy for that. Ron squeezes my shoulder before he slinks off to sit in one of the only spaces next to Neville who looks like he would rather be anywhere else.

As the lesson commences, Slughorn goes over the instructions and safety precautions for handling Amortentia. The excitement in the room is palpable as we prepare to brew the potent love potion. The air is filled with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, but I find myself feeling grateful for Harry taking over, using his special edition of the potions book that is full of scribbles and notes presumably making the potion better. The simmering cauldrons and swirling concoctions coming together creates an almost enchanting atmosphere, the scents in the air shifting and blending, giving the room an ethereal quality.

A figure appears over my shoulder, surprise and curiosity coursing through my veins when I recognise that familiar scent of oranges, honeycomb and something darker like amber which can mean only one thing: Theodore Nott is standing behind me. His calm and composed demeanour a little intimidating as I don’t think I’ve ever seen him actually smile more than a very small lift of the corner of his lips. Oh his lips, so plump and flush and-

“How’s the potion going Mouse? Have you blown up-“ He stops abruptly, leaving forwards over my shoulder and taking a very deep breath, causing me to stumble a little over the response I was trying to formulate. His voice is low and husky, sending shivers down my spine at the nickname he calls me.

“Um, it’s, uh, it’s coming along.” I manage to stammer rout, feeling my cheeks heat up, “Haven’t blown anything up… yet.”

Theodore’s lips quirk upward ever so slightly, and I catch a glimpse of what could be a hint of amusement. He leans in a little closer, and I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, sending more shivers down my spine, but it’s a delicious kind nervousness, a feeling I can’t quite put into words. Before I can fully process the situation, Theodore buries his nose in the crook of my neck, taking a deep breath. My heart pounds in my chest so loud I’m sure Ron can hear it from across the room, and time seems to slow down. The scents of oranges, honeycomb and amber envelops us, creating an intimate and intoxicating moment.

I can hardly believe that Theodore, the stoic and straight-faced Slytherin, is here, so close to me, and that he’s showing this level of vulnerability. His actions are unexpected but oh so incredibly thrilling. I dare to steal a glance at his face, and I’m met with a sight I’ve never seen before - a softness in his expression, a hint of something more than his usual guarded demeanour. It’s as if he’s letting down his walls, revealing a side of himself he rarely shows to anyone.

My heart races, and I find myself yearning for more of this closeness, more of this connection. It’s like a spell has been cast, and I’m under Theodore’s enchantment. The excitement and nervousness intertwine, and I feel a sense of wonder at the unexpected turn of events, how close he is to me. I can feel his breath ghosting over my lips, knowing that I could just lean forwards ever so slightly and close the near non-existence space between us. The smell of oranges, honeycomb and amber suddenly gets so intense I have to grab the edge of the table and Theodore’s forearm.

“Aha! We did it!” Harry exclaims, breaking the moment and has Theodore pulling back. Theodore’s eyes meet mine, and I see a spark of something familiar and yet different. The air between us crackles with unspoken words, emotions swirling around us like the brewing potions in the classroom.

“Oh god.” I choke out and I think Theodore actually smiles for the first time, the corner of his lips tilting up into more of a smile than he’s ever shown before, “Wh-what do you smell Teddy?”

He leans in once more, his nose brushing against my collarbone and neck. His closeness sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. And then, he presses a soft, gentle kiss to my jaw, sending shockwaves of sensation through me. It’s a sweet, tender touch that leaves me breathless.

“You.” He whispers, his voice barely audible, but the impact of his words reverberates within me. The world seems to stand still, and my heart swells with emotion.

Theodore Tiberius Nott, the guarded and enigmatic Slytherin, had just confessed, in his own subtle way, that he feels something for me. My cheeks flush with a. Mixture of excitement and disbelief. It’s a moment I never thought I’d experience - being so close to Theodore, sharing this intimate connection, and hearing him express his feelings in such a heartfelt manner. In the heart-stopping moment, I can see the turmoil of emotions playing across his face. His eyes meet mine with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. And then, without warning, he mumbles a single phrase that sets my heart racing even faster.

“Fuck it,” he whispers, and before I can process his intent, his hand cups my jaw, and he draws me up into a kiss. It’s a surprise, but the moment our lips meet, it’s as if everything falls into place.

The kiss is soft yet intense, filled with all the emotions that words can’t express. It feels like an explosion of passion and longing, an unspoken confession that’s now imprinted on our lips. Theodore’s lips are warm and inviting, and I respond with equal fervour, my heart soaring with joy and disbelief. Time seems to stand still, and the air crackles with the intensity of our shared emotions. It's a kiss that speaks volumes, a revelation of hidden desires and unspoken feelings. All the walls Theodore had erected to guard his heart have crumbled, and in this magical moment, he bares himself to me in the most intimate way.

Just as the world around us seems to disappear in the enchantment of the moment, reality crashes back in with an unexpected interruption. Ron, being the protective and ever-observant twin brother, appears out of nowhere and is shoving Theodore away from me.

“Hey! That’s my sister!” Ron’s voice is filled with shock and indignation, “You can’t just go around kissing my sister!”

“Ron!” I can’t help but practically facepalm at him as he’s… he’s being Ron, “Shove off,” I reach around Ron and manage to get a grip on Theodore’s sleeve enough to pull him back over to me. Ron's protectiveness is well-intentioned, but I can't let it ruin the magical moment that Theodore and I just shared.

“I’m not… She’s safe with me, I promise.” Theodore's words are reassuring, and I can see the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks. Despite his usual stoic demeanour, there's a tenderness in his touch as he holds my hand, a silent declaration of his feelings for me.

“I trust him.” I say firmly, giving my brother a pleading look. Ron just looks torn for a moment, clearly struggling between his protective instincts and his trust in me. But then, he takes a deep breath and nods reluctantly.

“Fine.” His says, his voice gruff but accepting, “But if he hurts you in any way, he’ll have me to deal with.” Ron eyes him warily but eventually takes a step back, giving us some space. ”Just remember, Y/N, he's a Slytherin," Ron says, his protective tone still evident.

"He's more than just his house," I reply, trying to convey the depth of my feelings for Theodore.

Ron studies me for a moment before he finally relents. ”Fine," he says, "But don't say I didn't warn you.”

With that, Ron turns and walks away, leaving Theodore and me standing there, still holding hands. I let out a sigh of relief, grateful that Ron didn't push the matter further.

“Ahhhh young love.” Slughorn’s voice floats across the room , filled with warmth and nostalgia, and I do the only thing I can: bury my face in Theodore’s sweater, feeling a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Indeed.” Theodore says, his voice laced with amusement as he wraps his arms around me in a gentle embrace. Slughorn giving us an indulgent smile before continuing with the class. The room seeming to take on a different atmosphere now, one that’s tinged with a newfound sweetness and magic. The shimmering cauldrons and swirling potions seem to mirror the emotions swirling within me, and I can’t help but realise how cliche this is. Expressing our feelings for each other during the lesson on amortentia…

“I’ll wait for you after class.” Theodore murmurs, kissing my forehead then my cheek before untangling himself from my embrace before heading back to his seat next to a predictably sneering Draco Malfoy.

“What just happened?’ I ask Harry, a little dazed still, his green eyes sparkling with amusement.

“I’m not actually sure.”

-----------

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jobean12-blog · 8 months

Text

His to Keep

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 3,626

Summary: You've been working for Bucky for almost a year and although you know there's so much more to him than just owning the club, you can't help but be drawn to him as he's drawn to you.

Author's Note: Just more mob!Bucky because I love him so! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: light mentions of v-i-olen-c-e and angst, but mostly sweetness and softness, tension and flirting, and d-o-m and obse-ssi-ve Bucky.

The piercing shot rings out, and before the echoing sound even dies, Bucky’s running. Your high-pitched scream pierces the air and he silently prays for your safety, his long legs moving so fast time seems suspended.

When he reaches the hallway, there’s a small group of employees gathered by the doorway, their expression filled with shock and horror.

They part without question as he approaches, rushing into the room and ignoring the violence that so blatantly fills it. His blue eyes search for you and finally his heart starts beating again when he sees you unharmed.

You’re crouched in the corner, eyes wide with terror as you take in the slumped over man in the chair, his tailored and expensive suit now stained red.

Bucky’s men immediately follow his orders to handle the situation but his attention never leaves you.

With slow steps he approaches you, holding his hands out and speaking your name softly. When your eyes lock with his the first tear slides down your cheek and he nearly crumbles to his knees, his heart shattering.

He gathers you into his arms with such a gentle grace, as if you’ll break and ushers you toward his office. With a nudge of his toe he opens the door and sets you down in his large leather chair. Carefully he takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over you, tucking it above your shoulders.

His eyes are laser focused on you as he fills a crystal glass with whiskey and forces it into your shaky hand.

“Drink this.”

You glance at it unseeingly, lost in your head, replaying what you just witnessed over and over.

He lifts the glass with a gentle touch and when it reaches your lips you drink reflexively. He waits until you finish all of it.

Taking a silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket, he kneels down in front of you, his hands moving with slow trepidation, but still you try to intercept it.

“Let me,” he orders. “Please doll.”

The second set of words come out softer and your hands fall to your lap.

He cleans your face of tears, his touch delicate and reverent and you can feel his warm breath fan your cheek as his thumb chases a stray tear that slips toward your mouth.

“Doll,” he whispers roughly, emotion clogging his voice.

Your wet lashes lift and you meet his eyes, your breath catching at what you see. You’ve never seen him look so vulnerable. His usual façade of unrivaled power and unrelenting dominance gone, replaced by a haunting look of dread.

“James?”

At the sound of his name on your lips his jaw clenches, his controlled restraint slowly slipping away with his mask and every moment he spends so close to you. He needs you to feel you. Your warm and soft skin, your pulsing heartbeat, your lips, every curve…

But he would never take advantage of you, especially after what just happened.

“Let me take you home.”

You nod and easily fall into his embrace, resting your head against his chest as he escorts you toward the exit.

When your soft sheet hits your shoulder you sigh, snuggling closer to your pillow as Bucky tucks you in. You had argued lightly when he told you to shower but now that you’re warm and clean you feel marginally better.

He pauses at the door as you fall asleep, knowing he can’t leave you here alone, instead sinking into your make up chair in the corner of the room, watching vigilantly as you succumb to slumber.

A week later you’re determined to leave your house, wanting to get back to work, even if it means facing the demons of that night. And you want to see him again. You’ve missed him, even though you know he’s never very far away.

He watches from his hidden vantage point as you close your car door and start the engine. He doesn’t need the GPS tracker he had installed on your car to tell him where you’re headed, but he turns it on anyway.

His own car starts, black and sleek in a nondescript way. He easily catches up to you, maintaining a safe distance behind you so you don’t notice him.

He phones Steve who’s working the back door of the club. “She’ll be arriving soon. Escort her in.”

Steve makes a small sound of acknowledgement and hangs up, promptly moving outside to wait for you.

Once Bucky is satisfied Steve has you covered he makes a sharp turn off the main road and takes the back streets toward his club. He needs to be there before you. Ready and waiting.

Before you even turn your car off, Steve is at the door, opening it and guarding you with his body.

In his office, Bucky waits, checking the crowd through the one-way glass that overlooks the floor. Security has been upgraded, covering every inch of his club to ensure nothing like what happened last week ever happens again.

Everything in the club looks to be running smoothly…not that he would have it any other way. All his endeavors are done with the utmost care and cunning precision. He wouldn’t be able to run this club any other way let alone the whole damn city.

He scans the floor until his eyes land on you and as if you can feel his gaze, your eyes glance up to the window where you know he’s standing.

The connection that’s been growing between you two for the past year has only been solidified since the unfortunate event that took place last week. He knew in that moment that he would do anything for you. Die to protect you.

Since the instant you walked into his club to apply for the job as manager he knew you were special. And having you work for him has been the sweetest torture. Day after day he watches you excel at your job, handle everything thrown your way with ease and professionalism, even the scummy clientele that try to lay hands on you.

No one touches what belongs to him and only the ones that don’t know who he is try. But they soon find out how big of a mistake they’ve made.

Steve alerts Bucky that you’re on your way up to his office.

The knock on his office door makes his heart skip a beat and even though he’s dressed impeccably he smooths his hand down his chest, adjusting his tie in the process.

“Come in.”

You crack the door open and peek in.

“Hi James. Steve said I could come up?”

At your questioning tone, Bucky smiles.

“You never have to ask to see me doll. You’re welcome to anytime.”

You smile softly and walk in, shutting the door behind you. With a slow saunter you move toward his desk and perch yourself on the edge near his chair.

He finds it hard to concentrate the moment you’re close. Even though you try to keep a cool demeanor, your body is inviting in its posture and your eyes devour every inch of him.

“Thank you for seeing me James,” you start. “I wanted to…”

Before you can finish he leans closer, a gentle interruption with his consuming presence. “First of all, call me Bucky. I’m only James to everyone else. And as I said before, I would love to see you anytime you want doll.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning toward him as if you’re pulled by some invisible string. “That’s actually why I’m here. I wanted to thank you.”

“For?” he asks, his eyebrows raised as a small smile pulls at his lips.

Your eyes drop to his mouth before your lips part to speak again.

“Taking such good care of me last week and rescuing me.”

“I hardly rescued you doll. I’ll never forgive myself for putting you in that situation and the fact that I wasn’t there to protect you will haunt me forever. I never wanted you to see this side of my…business.”

You pull your gaze away from his mouth and study his face. He’s beautiful. His large blue eyes framed by dark and long lashes and his perfectly shaped jaw surrounding a mouth with lips you dream about tasting.

“It’s ok…”

“No.” he says, his tone harsh.

His face crumples when he sees your eyes widen at his gruffness.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly recovers. “That’s not meant to be toward you…if anything had happened to you…”

You tentatively reach up to cup his cheek, your thumb softly brushing over the dark stubble that lines it.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I know you would never hurt me.”

His eyes are locked on yours, the tension between you palpable. You unconsciously trace your lips with your tongue, drawing his attention. He moves closer, closing the distance and resting his elbows on his spread thighs.

“Anything you want from me. Anything at all. You need but to ask and it’s yours.”

“Jame…Bucky, thank you.”

He visibly preens when you say ‘Bucky,’ and it makes you smile, triumph alight in your eyes.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do…?” you ask, looking at him from under your lashes.

“Nothing. You’re perfect. However, I’d like to ask you something.”

His words peek your interest and you inch closer, knowing after today there’s no turning back from this. From him.

“Dinner. I want you to have dinner with me doll.”

“That wasn’t a question,” you say teasingly, even as you drag your teeth over your bottom lip. “More of an order.”

“Mm, you’re right,” he winks. “Either way, I think your answer is going to be yes.”

“Like a date?” you question, your grin widening.

“Yes. A date.”

“What will everyone else say when they find out you’re dating your employee?”

Your question has his features hardening ever so slightly, but not at you.

“No one will say a word about it. I can assure you of that.”

You audibly swallow as you take him in, focusing on the way you feel about him, not what he’s capable of.

“I’d love to have dinner with you Bucky.”

He visibly relaxes and a genuine smile graces his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes in such an endearing way you nearly swoon off the desk.

“Good. Then let’s eat.”

You giggle. “Now? I thought you meant you were going to pick me up, you know, I’d get all dressed and then you take me out.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to give you time to reconsider.”

Reluctantly, but with a smirk, he pushes on his heels and rolls his chair away from you, grabbing his cell. He orders a spread of food from one of his restaurants, then sits back down.

“Sit,” he says, motioning to the chair across from him.

When you do he slides closer, framing you with his spread legs and caging you in with his thighs.

“So now that this is dinner, tell me something about yourself that I don’t already know.”

“Hmm,” you muse, tapping your chin.

You fall into easy and comfortable conversation, sharing more about your past. Bucky listens intently, hanging on to every word and prodding gently with well thought out questions.

A knock at the door surprises you both and you can see Bucky’s body tense. He was so immersed in you he lost sight of any possible dangers, forgetting his surroundings. He mentally berates himself, tucking that away and vowing to be more mindful, if only to keep you safe.

Thankfully, it’s only the dinner delivery.

He takes the food and moves to the casual seating area of his office, placing the food down on the coffee table. You follow him and sit on the floor.

He stares at you for a moment, his eyes wandering over your form before he follows suit with a light shrug.

“Have you ever sat on the floor to eat dinner?” you ask playfully.

“Not that I recall,” he answers, serving you food.

You both laugh and dig into the delicious dinner.

After your impromptu dinner date you and Bucky continue to dance around each other at work. The connection is strong, the pull between you taut with intense heat and longing. You can always feel his presence, his eyes on you, but it’s not uncomfortable at all, in fact, it makes you feel safe.

Later that week as you’re leaving your yoga class you feel someone following you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end but when you hear the instructor’s familiar voice you relax slightly and turn to say hello.

“Hi Matt.”

He greets you warmly and falls into step next to you as you walk toward your cars. The conversation is light at first but then he starts to complain about his girlfriend and how their relationship is failing. You begin to feel uncomfortable and as if sensing it, Matt drops his head.

“I’m sorry. Enough of my drama. I just need to move on I think.”

You take that as your cue to leave and start to say your goodbye but he keeps talking, chasing after you as you move toward your car.

“Hey, how is work going?”

“Uh..good, really good, thanks.”

Matt continues firing questions at you and your eyes dart around the darkened parking lot, quietly searching for Steve or one of Bucky’s other men.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” Matt says, the words pulling your from your spiraling thoughts.

You step back to gain space and before you can answer, there’s a loud clanging noise as the door of the gym next door slams shut.

A big and broad silhouette comes into view and both you and Matt automatically look over.

Steve’s large frame moves closer and you sigh in relief.

“Hey Steve,” you chime, taking a step toward him.

Steve respectfully keeps his distance while also always keeping you protected.

“Ready to go?” Steve asks as he glares at Matt.

“Yes,” you answer, waving at Matt.

Matt blinks several times, clearly confused at Steve’s arrival but grudgingly says his goodbye and shuffles off to his car.

“I was looking for you Steve,” you say once Matt is out of ear shot.

“I’m sorry it took me longer than usual. I was on a call,” he apologies.

“It’s ok,” you say with a soft pat to his shoulder. “Just glad you’re here.”

“I always am.”

When you look at him with curious eyes his own go wide. “Well…not always of course. Bucky would have my head, but I just meant…”

You throw your head back with laughter. “I know Steve. The first few months I thought I was just crazy but when I realized it was just you trailing me and keeping me safe I felt better.”

Steve gives you a more relaxed smile and opens your car door.

“Um Steve,” you say softly as you sit. “Do you think maybe…we could keep this just between us? Matt’s not really a bad guy. I think he’s just having a rough time. I’m sure everything would have been just fine.”

Steve’s mouth turns down in a frown. “You know I can’t do that.”

With a sigh you reply, “I knew you were going to say that.”

Steve’s lips lift into a wry smile. “When it comes to his girl he wants to know everything.”

“Is that so?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “Should I start keeping a diary so I can report in every second of every day.”

“Well, you probably don’t need to go that far, but…”

Your lips purse but when you see his expression morph into one of sheepishness for the second time that night you decide to let it go and take it up with Bucky himself.

Back home, Steve walks you to your door.

“Do you want to come in? Need a snack or drink?” you ask.

He doesn’t take a single step closer and shakes his head once.

“He’s on his way now.”

“Bucky’s on his way?” you squeak. “Shit. I need to change and tidy up!”

At your use of ‘Bucky’ Steve genuinely grins. The action catches you off guard but you realize that Bucky wasn’t lying when he said no one calls him that but you. With another flurry of thanks and goodnights you bid farewell to Steve, even though you know he’ll just be sitting outside in his SUV until Bucky arrives.

You prepare for your shower, determined to keep your head once he gets there and get some definitive answers from him.

At his knock, you open the door with a tentative smile.

“Doll face,” he greets, his voice deep and intense.

“Bucky,” you echo. “Would you like to come in.”

“Please,” he answers and brushes past you.

Just the delicate touch of his hand as he walks by sends goosebumps skittering across your skin.

“I’m sure you already know about what Steve did tonight,” you say as you walk into your living room.

“Of course,” he answers.

You look over your shoulder and narrow your eyes.

“Want something to drink?”

“Do you have whiskey?” he asks.

“No whiskey, just red or white wine and water. Take it or leave it.”

At your sassy tone his eyebrows raise every so slightly.

“Water is fine, thank you. And want to tell me what that sassiness is about.”

After you get two glasses of water you sit on the couch across from him, leveling him with your best glare.

“How long have you had Steve following me?” you ask him.

“You’re very observant,” he states.

“That’s not an answer,” you continue with sass. “And I’ve been paying attention. You know I have. But mostly to you.”

Your confession satisfies him. You can see it in the way he lifts his chin and his eyes glitter.

“I want you to fill me in Bucky.”

“On?” he asks as his arm falls over the back of the couch and his fingers ghost over your shoulder, mostly bare in your thin tank top.

“Bucky.”

You mean it to come out more demanding, but it’s breathy and your body shivers at his touch.

“Are you sure? You were pretty freaked out by what you learned last time you got a glimpse behind my curtain. And rightfully so.”

“Tell me. I trust you and I want to give us a chance.”

He takes a deep breath and shares as much as he can without putting you in any more danger.

“Why do all of this though? Do you have men following everyone that works for you? Why did Steve call me your girl?”

“Two of these questions have the same answer. From the moment I saw you I wanted you to be mine and after the incident earlier this month and I almost lost you, it became an overwhelming feeling.”

His fingers press into your skin as he glides them down your arm.

“And no. I don’t have men on anyone else that works for me. I keep them safe of course. But just you. Always you.”

His hand leaves your arm and he strokes his thumb along your jaw. You lean into his touch and sigh out his name.

“I’ve been patient,” he murmurs. “Fuck doll, I’ve been so patient.”

He presses the pad of his finger to your lips, tracing their softness.

“But with every breath I take, I think of you. Every beat of my heart, I want you.”

The moment stretches in sweet torture before you place a hand on his cheek.

“I want you t…”

Before the words are fully out of your mouth he’s on you, dragging you into his lap and grinding his hips up as he grabs the back of your neck and steals your breath.

You press closer, needing to feel every inch of him. Your arms wrap around his neck and you lightly scratch your nails over his scalp before your hands fall to his chest and you start to tug at his tie.

Your lips leave his and you trail kisses along his jaw, stopping just below his ear before tracing the muscular column of his neck.

He hisses out a curse and tightens his grip. You smile into his skin and loosen his tie. You’ve barely gotten it undone when his large hand lands on your ass cheek. The sting makes you moan and rock your hips but in a flash your eyes are on his, your chin caught between his thumb and forefinger.

You take in his appearance as he stares at you. His usually pristine shirt now wrinkled, the buttons at the top hanging open and his loose tie dangling messily. His normally untouched hair is tousled, wild from your fingers and his control is clearly wavering with every heaving breath he takes.

You don’t waste another second and this time you kiss him, pressing your softness against every hard plane of his body, maximizing every bit of contact as you try to pin him to the back of the couch. You nibble into his bottom lip and then swallow the sound of his satisfied growl.

“Doll,” he starts, and you hear the questioning tone of his voice.

“Fuck me, Bucky. Fill me and make me yours.”

For a split second you see surprise flash across his features but he instantly recovers with a smirk.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for his, how many times I’ve dreamed of you saying those words to me,” he murmurs, his body rigid with his restraint. “And remember, you asked for this. I’m going to give you everything.”

His words are a dark promise, one you hold onto with every fiber of your being.

@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @littleseasiren @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #mob!Bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #mob au #mafia au #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

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tinyhrry · 8 months

Text

Harry Styles Fic Recs

FLUFF

I'll be by your side (@tpwkwriter)

love on tour, forever (@harrysfolklore)

social media au: harry and y/n are besties. (@meetmymouth)

sharing a bed (@daaydreamy)

love in secret (@mydearesthrry)

jealous baby boy (@onlygrapejuice)

love in photos (@finelinevogue)

I just called to say I love you (@harrywritingsbyme)

leave the door open... (@meetmymouth)

I belong with you (@hazzashouse)

fruity (@watchmegetobsessed)

lost n found (@finelinevogue)

melted ice cream (@0oolookitsme)

birthday wishes (@mydearesthrry)

shower prank (@finelinevogue)

yearly styles' family awards (@valuunit)

sliding down the bed (@harryrryrry)

long live (@missmielyhoran)

trinkets on tour (@mydearesthrry)

sharing is caring (@justmystyles)

ring shopping (@finelinevogue)

smart girl (@bunnyteetharry)

a little too much styles charm (@maddie7writes)

love language (@alonetimelover)

black and white film camera (@justmeinatree)

assistant!reader (@ifancyharry)

the edge of all we've ever known (@stylesharrys)

when I look at you (^)

hayday, braids, and chocolate (@mydearesthrry)

unofficial (@watchmegetobsessed)

hot summer nights (@finelinevogue)

ANGST

Business or pleasure? (@justmystyles)

paparazzi nerves (@finelinevogue)

fight for you (@secret-rendezvous1d)

life goes on (@finelinevogue)

oreos and pickles (@missmielyhoran)

separation anxiety (@comfort-person)

the best thing (@finelinevogue)

saccharine expressions (@musicforastylesrestaurant)

hawaiian party (@skullsuited)

love me please? (@havethetimeofyourstyles)

we're not who we used to be (@coucouatoi)

a house isn't a home without you (@stylesharrys)

trepidation (@justlemmeadoreyou)

bestfriend's ex boyfriend (@harrysbabycherry)

series

one summer (@watchmegetobsessed)

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jiminrings · 3 months

Text

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

#target audience im on my knees IM SO SO SORRY HOW R U FEELING!!!!#yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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wineauntie · 3 months

Note

Hughes!sister where maybe she’s the youngest, and gets her first boyfriend?

Angst twist he cheats on her 😨

LOOK AFTER YOU – Hughes brothers x hughes sister!reader

summary: break ups are the worst, but your brothers are there to make things better.

note: angst and the boys being absolute angels (kind of!). Titled after the song "Look after You" by the Fray!!

warnings: cheating, swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n and y/n/n, implying of sexual acts, angst, friend betrayal,

word count: 2.3k+

You couldn't tell if the wetness on your cheeks were tears or apart of the pouring rain that surrounded you. You also couldn't tell how long you'd been walking in the rain with your arms cradled to your chest as your heart broke.

Your boyfriend of ten months had cheated on you...with your best friend, of all people.

You'd taken the bus over to her house to drop off some ice cream because she'd cancelled plans claiming she was "sick". The door was unlocked and having known your best friend since you were four, and knowing that you were basically family, you had walked right in.

You had called out her name, but when you'd listened closely you could only hear loud bangs coming from upstairs. Startled, you grabbed a rolling pin from the countertop and ventured upstairs.

"Oh come on baby, you know you like it,"

You had paused in your steps, your heart pounding painfully as the voice echoed. You knew that voice. You knew that tone.

"Oh, yeah?"

Your friend's voice teased from the room down the hall. Your eyebrows furrowed as a pang of trepidation rang through your body, you took a few more steps down the hall, avoiding all the obvious creaks.

Your mind was screaming at you to leave, but your gut encouraged you to continue.

"Does she take you like this? Does she feel as good as I do?!" Your friend's moaning made you inwardly cringe. Her high-pitched voice was awkwardly timed and trying hard husky in a way you knew to be fake.

"y/n? Never...you know that,"

Your eyes widened at the voice as blood rushed into your ears. In an impulsive move, you bound forward and shoved open the door to the room. You heard joined gasps and clattering as your best friend and boyfriend separated as much as they could.

He had, had her bent over her childhood bed, both stark naked with their hands up almost comically.

You had let out a stiff laugh, a sob bubbling in your throat as you dropped the rolling pin.

"Wait, y/n, it's not what it looks like!" Your best friend had cried out, her widened eyes full of tears.

"So you're not sleeping with him?" You had scoffed, trying to keep your tears at bay as you glanced between the two. Your friend had gone to speak again before you'd raised a hand silencing her. "Y'know what? I don't care. I'm done with you...both of you!"

You had let out a breath before you rushed out of the house, ignoring all of the yelling for you to come back and to stay and to talk this out. Your bottom lip had trembled as you half-ran, half-walked down the street, knowing that you'd taken the last bus to visit your friend.

As you had walked home, you replayed the moments of your relationship in your mind, searching for clues, for signs that you had missed. But the memories were like shards of glass, sharp and fragmented, cutting through the fragile fabric of your hope.

By the time you reached the familiar street where you lived, the rain had soaked through your clothes, seeping into your skin like the cold tendrils of betrayal. You quickened your pace, your heart racing with a mixture of fear and anticipation. The warm glow of light spilt from the windows, casting long shadows on the rain-slick pavement below.

With a deep breath, you gathered the shattered pieces of your resolve and stepped forward, your freezing hands shaking as you unlocked the door. Stepping into the home had you fighting your vicious sobs, as your hand covered your mouth.

"Y/n? Honey? Is that you?"

You let more tears spill over onto the flesh of your cheeks at your mom's soothing tone. Crap! You glanced down at your watch with a groan. You'd missed family dinner.

This wasn't good.

"Yeah, Mom," you called back, your voice cracking slightly as more tears escaped the corners of your eyes. Your head tilted upwards as you silently begged to not be beckoned into the room. "I'm just going to go dry off!"

"Y/n/n? Come here!"

You choked on a sob as Jack's usual teasing voice joined your mom's. The sound of chatter and eating paused and you knew there was no avoiding your family at this rate. You sucked in a breath before you entered the dining room, drops of rain dripping across the floor as you went.

As you stepped into the dining room, the warmth enveloped you, contrasting sharply with the chill that had settled deep within your bones. All eyes turned toward you, concern etched on your family's faces as they took in your dishevelled appearance.

"Y/n, what happened? Why are you all wet?" your mom asked, dropping her fork with a voice laced with worry.

"Oh, it's...uh, nothing," You forced a weak smile, trying to mask the turmoil swirling inside you. "Just got caught in the rain, that's all." You watched as Luke and Jack furrowed their brows, yet continued to chew through their food as you trembled from the cold outside.

But Quinn didn't seem to be buying it.

He studied you, with a penetrating gaze. "Are you sure? You look upset." He pushed, leaning back in his seat.

"Yeah, I'm fine, really," You averted your eyes, unable to meet his gaze as your lips shook. "I'm going to...I'm going to go dry off."

"Is something bothering you, sweetheart?" Your dad spoke up, his tone gentle yet probing.

"N-no," you croaked in response. Without another word, you fled. You could feel the weight of their concern bearing down on you like an oppressive blanket. With shaky steps, you ran from the echoes of their worried voices as they followed you like ghosts haunting the corridors of your mind.

Each step felt heavier than the last as you ascended the stairs, the creaking of the wooden boards beneath your feet a sombre melody accompanying the turmoil within you. The tears threatened to spill over again, blurring your vision as you reached the sanctuary of your room.

Collapsing onto your bed, you buried your face in the pillow, muffling the anguished sobs that wracked your body. The betrayal gnawed at your insides, a relentless beast tearing apart the remnants of trust and love you had held dear.

Your best friend was practically your sister, the two of you had been joined at the hip since meeting in pre-school and the fact she'd slept with...been sleeping with your boyfriend.

That betrayal hurt more than your actual boyfriend's betrayal.

You'd trusted her. You'd told her every single detail of your relationship with him, including your insecurities about not being enough for him or not having enough experience to be with him, with him being your first-ever boyfriend.

Despite going out with your boyfriend for ten months, you'd never told your brothers. Your mom and dad knew you were in a relationship but whenever you organised for him to meet your parents, he always found something to come up so that he couldn't. You weren't sure he'd even told his family that the two of you were together but you dismissed all those red flags because you had loved him and he had said he loved you back.

A soft knock on the door drew you out of your misery as you lifted your head from your now wet pillow.

"I'll be down in a minute," you called out in a shaky voice that was half-muffled by the pillow. You heard the door creak open and you buried yourself further into the comfort of your bed. "Please don't...just leave..." You felt someone settle on the side of your bed.

"Y/n/n? We're not leaving,"

You rolled over, exposing your puffed face and reddened eyes. Quinn sat beside you whilst Jack and Luke lingered by your door, both awkwardly standing with their hands in their hoodie pockets.

"Please just go," you mumbled with a sniffle. Quinn lightly shook his head, his hand brushing your mussed hair out of your face.

"What about 'we're not leaving' wasn't understood?" Quinn tutted, resting his hand on the side of your head. "You're upset."

"Great observation," you choked, shifting out of his comforting grasp. You were hit with a twinge of guilt as you shuffled away from your eldest brother. More tears escaped your eyes as you spoke again. "I just want to be left alone."

Quinn sighed softly, his gaze filled with understanding as he reached out to gently wipe away your tears. "I don't know why you're hurting, y/n," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to your wounded soul. "But pushing us away won't make it any easier. Let us be here for you."

His words cut through the walls you had built around yourself, chipping away at the barriers you had erected to keep the pain at bay. With a heavy sigh, you relented, allowing yourself to lean into his touch, seeking solace in the warmth of his presence.

Jack and Luke exchanged a silent glance before slowly making their way into the room, their footsteps hesitant as they approached your bed. Jack cleared his throat awkwardly, his usually confident demeanour faltering in the face of your distress.

"We're not going anywhere, y/n," he said softly, his voice laced with sincerity as he sat on the end of your bed. "We're your brothers, and that means we get to beat up people who make you sad... let us help?"

Luke nodded in agreement, his expression mirroring the concern etched on Jack's face. "Yeah, y/n/n," he added as he cleared his throat. "We're here for you."

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were not tears of despair, but tears of gratitude. With a shaky breath, you reached out and squeezed Luke's hand that had outstretched towards you.

"I had a boyfriend," you sucked in a breath as the three around you stiffened and straightened up, exchanging glances as you spoke.

"Boyfriend? You've got a boyfriend?!" Luke burst, breaking the silence of the room.

"Not the time," Jack scowled, smacking him across the head.

"Had?" Quinn softly prompted, his eyebrows furrowing as you nodded.

"For ten months," you confirmed with a gulp, hot tears trailing down your cheeks.

"Ten?!" Luke exclaimed once more, but this time both, Jack and Quinn, reached out to hit him. "Okay, okay, sorry!" You let a small and amused smile at your brother's typical antics as you furrowed deeper into your bed.

"We dated for ten months and..." you pushed as your voice broke. "I found him in bed with my best friend."

Quinn's expression softened, his hand gently squeezing your shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "I'm so sorry, y/n," he said softly, his voice tinged with empathy. "That's a lot to deal with."

Jack's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at the thought of someone hurting you in such a way. "Those two are dead meat," he muttered under his breath, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive.

Luke's eyes widened in shock, his mouth hanging open as he struggled to find the right words. "I can't believe they would do that to you," he finally managed to say, his voice filled with disbelief. "And you've known her since you were younger!"

You nodded, tears still streaming down your face as you recounted the painful betrayal. "I trusted them," you whispered, the weight of the betrayal heavy on your heart. "And I...I thought they cared about me, but guess I was wrong, wasn't I?" You let out a terse laugh, that became engulfed by another sob.

Upon the change, Quinn wrapped his arm around you, pulling you up into a comforting embrace. "They don't deserve you," he said firmly, his voice laced with conviction. "You're better off without them."

Jack nodded in agreement, his expression fierce as he clenched his jaw. "We've got your back, y/n," he declared, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Say the word and they're both dead."

Luke reached out, placing a reassuring hand on your knee. "I can egg their houses?" he suggested softly, his eyes reflecting the unwavering support of his words.

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of their support lift some of the burden from your shoulders. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Quinn pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his embrace offering warmth and solace amid your pain. "I'm glad you told us...you don't have to do anything alone," he assured you, his voice a soothing melody in the quiet of the room. "None of us want to see you hurt and alone, what kind of brothers would we be if we let that happen?"

Jack and Luke nodded in agreement, their expressions determined as they echoed Quinn's sentiment. "We've got you," Jack reiterated, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

"Now, why don't you get up and get changed," Quinn suggested, his nose shrivelling as he thumbed the fabric of your soaking T-shirt. "You're shivering and your lips are blue." Your fingers reached up and brushed your lips which were freezing to the touch. "We saved you some dinner, so go shower and change."

"We can have a movie night or something, " Luke threw in, his eyes wide in realisation. "We haven't had one in a while...not since last summer at least."

"I'm with him on that," Jack agreed, pointing to Luke with his thumb. "We can make a quick trip to the store and grab snacks while you get ready." You bit your lip to stifle a fond smile as you slowly pushed yourself to put your feet on the ground.

"Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with gratitude. With a shaky breath, you wiped away the last traces of tears from your cheeks, steeling yourself against the lingering ache of betrayal.

With newfound resolve, you straightened your shoulders and met your brothers' gaze with a small yet genuine smile. "Let's have that movie night," you said, determination lacing your words. "I could really use a distraction right now."

Quinn returned your smile, his eyes reflecting pride and admiration. "That's the spirit," he smiled, his voice filled with warmth. His hand squeezed your shoulder reassuringly as you passed him.

As you made your way to the bathroom to wash away the remnants of your tears, a sense of gratitude washed over you. Despite the pain of betrayal, you knew that you were not alone. With your brothers by your side, you would weather this storm and emerge stronger than before.

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #nhl x reader #hughes brothers x reader #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes x reader #wineauntie #quinn hughes fluff #hughes!sister #quinn hughes x y/n #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fluff #jack hughes fanfiction #hughes brothers fanfiction

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urvape1kz · 2 months

Text

CRAVING HIS TOUCH Gojo Satoru

Pairing Gojo Satoru x Reader!

Summary: After divorcing Gojo Satoru following years together and raising two children, you find yourself facing lonely nights. Encouraged to start dating again, you meet the seemingly perfect Kento Nanami. However, every moment with him only intensifies your longing for Satoru, who coincidentally also misses you.

Warnings: Authors first smut, MNDI, cheating, possessive behavior, toxic relationship/behaviors, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, choking, breeding kink

Dating, a degrading practice in the shoes of an underpaid not to mention divorced mother of two. A year ago you found yourself divorcing the man of your dreams, rich play boy Satoru Gojo. Satoru knew your heart inside out as if it were a map to paradise. He showered you with gifts from Dior and dates straight out of fairy tales on the top of the eiffel tower. Leaving him wasn’t fun; let alone easy. But his family's constant backhanded and abusive comments, along with their comparisons to his ex-girlfriends, made life with him unbearable. Despite your pleas for him to cut them off, he dismissed you with a casual "you know how my parents are” and never touched the subject again.

At some point it all just became too much and you inevitably left. Since then, your friends have been relentless, practically pleading with you to to look into dating apps or let them play matchmaker. So, after slogging through eight apps and enduring at least a million disappointing encounters, just when you were about to lose hope, you stumbled upon Kento Nanami.

He wasn't as handsome as Satoru, that was for sure, but he was no ordinary catch. Kento was a world-renowned chef with undeniable charm, easily winning you over. he other day, he asked you out to the movies, and you couldn't resist saying yes.

You spent hours preparing for your date, every detail was meticulously planned from your dress to your makeup. Everything was going perfectly, just as you had imagined, until you felt a slight buzz from your back pocket—it was your babysitter.

"I'm really sorry, Ms. (L/N)," came her shaky voice on the other end. "My mom had an accident, and I don't think I can sit for you tonight." She sounded on the verge of tears.

You let out a heavy sigh, understanding that it wasn't her fault. "It's okay, kid," you reassured her gently. "Take care of your mom. I'll keep her in my prayers."

A heartfelt "thank you" echoed through the phone before she hung up. As panic started to rise, you wracked your brain for options. Then it hit you— Satoru was still available wasn’t he?

Your finger hovered over his contact, once decorated with a bunch of heart emojis. You paced back and forth in your room, questioning whether reaching out to your ex so suddenly was morally okay.

Who calls their ex out of the blue like this? you wondered. But it's fine.. you reassured yourself. We're co-parents; this is completely normal I mean I would have done the same for him.

No you wouldn’t.

Despite your horrible attempts to muster courage, you couldn't bring yourself to call him. So, you opted for a text instead.

"Satoru, I know this is short notice, but could you watch the kids tonight? I have plans."

Almost instantly, he replied—unsurprisingly, for him.

Of course. You don’t even have to ask their papa’s been missing them a whole bunch anyways :)

His words tugged at your heartstrings, reminding you of the strained relationship you caused between him and his children. Taking a deep breath you shoved those thoughts away into an abyss because tonight was about you.

Going to Satoru's house felt like stepping back in time—a mix of nostalgia and trepidation. Everything looked the same as you left it; the flowers you'd planted were still there, blooming as beautifully as ever not to mention the welcome mat you purchased over four years ago when you two first moved in together.

Before you could muster the courage to knock on his door, your four-year-old twins Kyoko and Yugo darted ahead, banging eagerly on his huge sturdy wooden door.

"Daddy, we're here! We're here!" they shouted, their voices echoing in the quiet.

Almost instantly, the door swung open, and they melted into his arms like ice cream. Standing up his gaze locked onto you with a deliberate intensity that felt almost robotic. His eyes traced over your short red dress, lingered on your bold red lipstick, and took in your meticulously styled hair. The air between you was thick with unspoken words and memories.

"You look... amazing," he finally said, his voice betraying a hint of awe that clashed with the tension in the room.

Before you could respond, your son Yugo's innocent voice broke the silence. "Mama's got a date, Papa!" he giggled, oblivious to the weight of his words.

A sudden chill swept over you, and you felt the atmosphere grow heavy as the four of you stood there, caught in an awkward tableau. Satoru's face tightened, his eyes reflecting a mix of hurt and resignation. For a moment, it felt like time stood still, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you.

The tension was finally broken by your kids' eager pleas to play video games inside. Satoru hesitated, his hand lingering on the door as if he wanted to say something—anything—but couldn't find the words. Then, with a sigh he slammed the door in front of your face, the door that you two once struggled to open entangled in passionate kisses that you could still feel on the tip of your lips.

Gathering your strength, you made your way to your car, feeling on the brink of tears. Just when it seemed like the weight of the world might crush you, a text from Nanami lit up your phone.

"Just bought the tickets. Missing youu 💋"

Despite the stress you were feeling, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. You put the car in gear and headed to meet him at the movies. As you pulled up, you spotted Nanami waiting outside, a beautiful bouquet of white roses cradled in his arms. His face lit up as he saw you, almost tripping over his feet to greet you.

"You make me feel underdressed," he smiled, planting a kiss on your cheek.

"Oh, please. You do that to me every day with your fancy suits and ties," you teased back, taking his hand in yours as you walked inside.

"So, what movie did you pick? You never really told me," you asked, leaning your head on his shoulder as you walked inside.

"'Amants Interdits.' It's a French film. When I heard about it, I just knew you'd love it," he replied, excitedly swinging your hands back and forth.

While his intentions were undoubtedly good, the movie turned out to be a melodramatic mess that tugged at every lingering heartstring in your soul, reminding you uncomfortably of Satoru. As the credits rolled, you felt Nanami's hand gently cup your face, his eyes searching yours.

"Did I pick a bad movie?" he whispered, leaning in to kiss your lips softly.

"Mm... no, it was amazing," you whispered against his lips, trying to muster a smile. "Just... sad. I'm not really into dramas," you added with a forced laugh. As you leaned in to kiss him again, he pulled back slightly.

"You look beyond beautiful tonight, but there's something in your eyes... a sadness," he observed, his tone soft yet tied with concern. "You stepped out of the theater more than once, and I can't shake the feeling that it wasn't just the movie weighing on you. Why don't you head home and rest? Tomorrow's another day for us to enjoy each other's company right?” he smiled pressing his forehead against mine.

“Nanami I don’t deserve you do I?” you muttered as the two of you walked out the theater cradled in each others arms. As he kissed you goodbye you opened your purse to find 2 hour old messages from Satoru.

Bought the kids take out hope you don’t mind

I don’t know if you want them to stay over but they’re asleep

As you drove, your mind raced with questions about how to handle picking up the kids. Should you say something? Should you ask for his help getting them to the car? No, that wouldn't be right. Lost in thought, you found yourself in front of his house sooner than expected. Taking a deep breath, you approached the front door and lightly tapped on it with your knuckles.

"Satoru, it's me," you whispered. Almost instantly, the door swung open, and your eyes met. There he stood, looking disheveled. His hair looked as if it had been untouched for days, and his eyes were reddened, as if he'd been crying for hours.

"You look la mess" you murmured, to which he scoffed, "You're one to talk," his eyes darting to the red smeared lipstick on your face. "How were your 'plans'?" he asked, his tone a mix of sarcasm and barely concealed anger. His breath carried the unmistakable scent of alcohol, worrying you with the kids in the house.

"Satoru, you've been drinking again, haven't you?" you yelled. "Where are Yugo and Kyo?" you demanded, pushing past him.

"They're fine, (Y/N)! They're my kids! Do you really think I'd hurt them?" he shouted, his voice escalating. "You’re probably too busy to think about that when your mind is on other men though right?!" he accused, closing the distance between the two of you.

"Satoru—" you began, but before you could finish, he had pressed your body against the wall, his hot breath mingling with that of your own.

Slithering his coarse hands between your thighs he felt the absence of your panties.

“You never dressed like this for me, was I just not good enough for you?” He whined as his fingers found their way to your core, teasing your clit."I've already cut off everyone—my mother, my sister, everyone. I'd cut off the whole world to have you back with me," he groaned into your ear. “Satoru.. You aren’t in your right s-state of mind right now..” you muttered stumbling over your words “the kids are here..”

"The kids want us to be together, can't you see? Kyoko told me how much you miss me. She said that when you're alone in your room, you whisper my name, pleading and begging for me, are you that desperate and needy to be filled? Does he just not do it for you?” You opened your mouth but before you could answer his his fingers slammed in your pussy making your body jerk with a cry.

"(Y/N)..." he whispered, biting down on the rim of your ear. "Tell me you don't want me, and I'll leave. I'll let you go forever, just as you want me to," he growled, his lips brushing against yours.

His touch was like a key turning in a lock, unlocking a flood of memories that surged through your mind. Each sensation seemed to echo with the past—every whispered word, every shared laugh, and every tender moment you had once cherished together. The feelings you'd buried deep inside started to resurface, tugging at your heartstrings and making your pulse quicken. It was as if time had rewound, pulling you back into the whirlwind of emotions you once knew so well.

Your silence was enough of an answer for him as he kissed up your neck. Allowing you to lean back onto him with your head on his chest. Soft moans falling past your lips as you let yourself grind on his fingers. Another loud cry filling the air when he landed it hard on your ass instead.

Carrying you to his couch he plowed you on the red leather sofa the two of you bought after you gave birth you the texture brought you back so many memories but between that and satoru touching you your midn went blank

"Look at yourself." He commanded sternly, forcing your head upward until you gazed at your reflection in the foggy window. Your eyes widening in embarrassment as you realized the state you were in. "Gonna give you another set of twins, triplets even, you want that baby?"

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you quickly nodded, desperation filling your heart. You needed him so badly; you longed for his cock to fill the emptiness inside of you.

"Ahh, fuck." Another sharp slap echoed through the room, stinging your already tender ass. "So you do talk" He smirked, eager to hear the words he desired. "Please fuck me."

He chuckled, enjoying your pathetic submission. "You can do better than that, baby." His deep voice sent shivers down your spine. "Please. Please fuck me Toru. I've been so alone, aching for you. W-want you to fill me up." You pleaded, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

"That's it. That's my slutty girl." His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he thrust into you, claiming your wet entrance with a single powerful stroke. Your knees buckled beneath you, and your back arched involuntarily as his thick cock stretched you wide. You could feel the swollen tissue near your cervix protesting against the relentless invasion.

A low growl escaped your throat as his hand wrapped around your neck, pulling you closer to him on the sofa. Your hands instinctively pressed against your back, feeling the rough fabric beneath your fingertips. Your heart pounded wildly, your body responding to his dominance.

Just as you were about to reach your climax, the room was suddenly interrupted by the shrill ringing of your phone. Satoru's eyes narrowed, his grip on your neck tightening momentarily. He snatched the device from off the floor, his gaze fixed on the glowing screen. Jealousy flared in his eyes as he recognized the caller ID: “Nanami <3”

"Toru, please, just put it away," you begged, tears starting to form. But before you could say anything more, he answered tossing the phone on-top of you, his smile smug, as if he'd just won the lottery.

"H-hello, Nanami," you stammered, trying to catch your breath as Satoru sped up. "Sweetheart, you sound terrible. Are you sick?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. You felt a lump in your throat, torn between guilt and pleasure. Ripping the bandaid off you blurted out "Nanami, we can't see each other anymore!" before abruptly hanging up.

Once again, you were caught in Satoru's snare, the familiar sting of knowing you were heading for heartbreak not enough to make you turn back. Despite the pain you knew was coming, something inside you couldn't let go, couldn't stop yourself from falling into the same old pattern, even if it meant ignoring the chance for something real with Nanami.

"Good girl..." he hummed, his voice thick with lust as he slammed into you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain throughout your body, leaving you breathless and vulnerable. "You know I just want the best for you, for us, for our kids," he blurted out in the heat of the moment. His words were laced with sincerity and madness, blurring the lines between love and manipulation.

Your heart raced, unsure whether you should trust him or run as far away as possible. But the intensity of his touch, the way he claimed your body, made it hard to resist his charms. You moaned softly, your nails digging into his broad shoulders.

Good girl..." he hummed, his voice thick with lust as he slammed into you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain throughout your body, leaving you breathless and vulnerable. "You know I just want the best for you, for us, for our kids," he blurted out in the heat of the moment. His words were laced with sincerity and madness, blurring the lines between love and manipulation.

Your moans filled the room, a testament to your surrender. As you both reached your climax sloppily kissed you “Get pregnant.. m’gonna have you all to myself” he blurted throughout kisses as his eyes gleamed with anticipation envisioning your soon to be large belly.

You let out a loud defeated whimper, feeling the warm residue trickle from inside of you as he pulled out. Your senses swam in a haze as your eyelids fluttered shut, and you went limp in his arms, surrendering to the overwhelming emotions and fatigue. He cradled you gently, his gaze fixed on your face as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

---

Waking up to the familiar scent of pancakes, memories of lazy breakfasts from your honeymoon in the states flooded back. Blinking your eyes open, you tried to sit up but quickly realized something was off. The room around you wasn't yours—it was Satoru's. Confused, you scanned the space, spotting your own furniture awkwardly placed among his belongings as if he had moved all your stuff in.

Slipping out of bed in one of Satoru's oversized shirts, the scent of freshly brewed pancakes grew stronger as you made your way downstairs. As you descended, the sounds of morning chatter became clearer. There, in the kitchen, you found Satoru at the stove, flipping pancakes, with Kyoko in a high chair, happily munching away. Yugo, spotting you, abandoned his toy cars and rushed over, wrapping his little arms around your leg.

"Mommy, mommy!" he cheered, his eyes shining with excitement. "Papa says you're staying together forever, and we're gonna have little brothers and sisters!"

Your heart skipped a beat as you shot a pointed look at Satoru, who paused mid-flip, giving you an awkward, guilty smile.

You truly despised him with every fiber of your being, yet there was a burning desire in you that betrayed your feelings.

“Gojo Satoru what have you done to me..”

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demonicbaby666 · 4 months

Text

Daddy’s Home

One Shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 2k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, top!JJ, bottom!reader, daddy kink, cursing, asphyxiation, strap-on use (reader!recieiving), face fucking, rough sex, face slapping, brief mention of blood, little bit of degradation in there also

Summary: JJ comes home and needs to blow off some steam...

A/n: This was a little rushed and proofread at like 6am but I hope y’all still enjoy! <3

This was the way you liked it. You craved the hard pounding, the force of scolding slaps and the sizable bruises they left behind. Love was a language you knew to be best spoken in pain, and you were happy to have found someone who thought the same. JJ had surprised you many a time before, but the first time her fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing so tight you felt your eyes bulge, was the moment you started seeing things through rose-tinted glasses. Now, a year and a half later, JJ still applied as much ferocity to the way she fucked you.

When you heard her entering the house, the digital alarm clock beside your bed read 11:43, and it was an easy conclusion to come to that it would be one of the nights JJ would find her way to bed and crash out. You were sorely mistaken. With a click of the nightstand lamp, you rolled over to see your fiance's radiant look of hunger glow ominously over yellow light. In a split second, she pounced, flinging the duvet to the floor. JJ allowed herself two seconds to watch the sudden pebbling of your nipples before she forcefully pushed your negligee up, silk gathering in folds just above your breast, and placed her lips around a raised bud.

She suckled hard and sought the help of her teeth to bring pain into the fold. With a drawn-out tug, your nipple was pulled further and further away from your chest, so far your stomach tensed, and a small cry broke from your throat—the sting resembling that of a sharp needle. You were held in place by the firm pressure JJ was applying to your shoulders and the weight of her body resting on your hips, but that didn't last long. Once satisfied she had paid equal amounts of attention to your breasts, leaving them both wonderfully sore, the blonde got back up to her feet. Standing above you again, she admired her handiwork, looking over forming and fading hickeys alike; she gleamed with pride.

"Take it off," JJ ordered, nodding to the thin fabric still gathered below your neck. An arrogant smile crept over her lips as she continued. "Daddy's not going to fuck you unless you're naked and spread for me."

The fact would always remain: no matter how many times you'd seen the ethereally nude form of your fiance, you would always be left breathless. Of course, this was known not only by yourself but by the woman who stood confidently undoing buttons, unfastened zippers, and removing article after article of clothing that fell to the floor with a dull thud. Beautifully bare, JJ looked down, an arrogant curling of her lips forming an elusive smile. She took fluid steps away, and with an added sway to her hips, the blonde turned and padded over to the closet, where she bent down to open and rummage through your sizable toy box.

In favour of meeting earlier demands, you turned your sights to the slim spaghetti straps hanging off your shoulders. The faint sound of rummaging dulled by the delicate swish of silk passing overhead, and, if only for a few seconds, the blanketed feel of its balmy texture removed the trepidation that was forcing its way into your stomach, churning and squeezing at the contents of your dinner. By the time your teddy drizzled off the side of the bed, pooling on the bedroom carpet to join the rotting duvet, JJ had found what she needed. You saw little with her back to you, but it was still enough. The click of a lid, the squeeze of a bottle, a familiar sultry moan and then, in the blink of an eye, JJ stood at the end of the bed, harness-free, cocky as ever.

With only a pat of her palm to the space in front of her, you were up on your knees, scurrying forward, ready to serve.

"You know what to do," JJ spoke sternly, expectantly.

Your bemusement, understandable as it was, was taken as an insult. A stinging slap of silicone greeted the side of your face, shocking your mouth open, in turn allowing JJ to freely glide the length of her cock through your parted lips. She wasted no time, fingers immediately in your hair, nails scraping along your scalp, until finally, with her grip secure, she yanked you forward.

This was something you had yet to do, the logic being neither the recipient nor the benefactor garnered any pleasure. So the immodest act of giving head had never entered your and JJ's love life. Yet, as the blunt end of the dildo prodded the back of your throat, causing you to gag, a sound came from above you—a sound that was far from dissatisfaction. A rising heat spread across your chest the second time you let JJ fuck her length into your throat, once again hearing her make the same sound. By the third time, the tremors in your hands had evaporated into the charged air around you, giving way to the opportunity not only to relax your throat and allow yourself to be used but in addition encourage it.

Quickly enough, with your hands posted on JJ's hips, you guided her fastening movements, hoping to convey your approval without the feeble need for words. However, if the implication was received, JJ showed no thanks. She only worked her cock harder into your mouth till tears were dripping down your face, and even then, she continued to thrust along to every cut-off whimper, growling as though the 9 inches filling your mouth indeed was an extension of herself. Admittedly, in a way, they were.

Your windpipe felt raw, tender and bruised. Your head was light, fuzzy and in need of sufficient oxygen. Still, you made no complaint, took what was readily given, and even prepared your thanks. It was when your watery eyes had, of their own accord, met with the winter grey of JJ's that she snapped back to her senses. Slipping out, your fiance used the pads of her thumbs to wipe away the mess of saliva surrounding your mouth, and the funny thing was, there was so much care in the way she did it that you didn't even glance at the possibility of feeling embarrassed.

"Thank you," you croaked, eager to appease even if it was detrimental to the recovery of your vocal cords.

"You did a good job, baby," she praised from above, the sincerity in her voice so clear and bright that the capillaries of your cheeks filled red. JJ lined her middle and forefinger to your bottom lip, dragging it down in liquid motion, her eyes predatorily filled black. "Now, you get your reward."

The pop of your lip set in motion the whirlwind of movements that next occurred. First - hands moved from taming your mane and cleaning your face to your shoulders. Second - a force had you reeling back. Your neck protested with a soft click as the thudded collision of your head hitting the mattress breathed life to - third - JJ's fingers, calloused yet soft, harsh yet gentle, demanding yet patient, roaming all over you. They started at your legs, prying them open to make room for her toned body to lay. Then, flittering over your stomach, up and up, blunt nails skirting over the ridges of your ribs, to finally mount their attack of piercing pinches to your nipples. Throughout, the presence of her additional appendage did not go unnoticed—enticingly weighing on your pelvis. The spluttering moans, whimpers and mewls only grew louder when the slide of JJ's hips had her length sliding into wet heat, running along your slit, offering the slightest of relief to the burning embers of desire low in your stomach.

A shudder rode the column of your spine, rattling each vertebra, an appropriate response to another slide of hips and an accompanying bite to your throat. By the time the sporadic spasms of your cunt walls grew too much, ceaselessly reminding you that you were clenching around thin air, and led to pleading murmurs, JJ relented. She pulled back, only to quickly line herself up and catapult forward, hipbones crashing into the sides of your ass with a smack. All the air in your lungs left you with your next breath, so shallow you felt your stomach dip. It was big, she was big. And the sheer stretch of her penetrating your pulsing pussy told you that, indeed, this toy was being christened. A vague memory of a drunken purchase between two giggling adults flashed in your mind. There were no giggles now, only grunts, bated breathing and wistful cries.

"Daddy's little cock sleeve," JJ whispered into the shell of your ear. Her smirk was not visible, but you needn't see when it licked each syllable that slid off her slippery tongue. It was a vile comment, heavy and grotesque, sickeningly and perfectly demeaning. It had you nodding your head and drooling like one of Pavlov's dogs.

The submergence into deep water was a quick one. The muffling of your cries, the ringing in your ears, seeing only the black behind your closed eyes resemble the night sky so far out of reach, had you falling faster and faster, deeper and deeper into the abyss. You swayed and shook, breathed and breathed and breathed, but took in no air. Your lungs burned with effort as your body sweltered under the freezing jab of each savage push of JJ's prick. It was everything at once: pain, pleasure, love, carnal lust. It was the way you liked it: the hard pounding, the rough kisses, the hand wrapping around your throat to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

"Yes, yes, fuck!" you screamed through the gaps of your teeth. It was raw and broken, rasping and bouncing off the lining of your abused throat. Your following sentence forced its way out in the same manner, this time interspersed between harsh bursts of breath. "Needed to be filled with daddy's big cock so bad."

JJ read you better than anyone ever had or ever would. She read the different pitches of your moans like music, following the crescendo with rapt recognition. She knew from the pink flush spindling across your chest, rising to your neck and cheeks, the sudden quiet that filled the room, and the vacant cries coming out of your mouth like condensation that you were nearing your end.

"Wait," JJ spat.

Your eyes flew open, revealing the unyielding bite of a piercing gaze. Then came the sting of her slap, both poisonous and arousing. It tore a hole through the tension in your stomach, successfully distracting you long enough for JJ to fall onto her elbows. The whole length of her cock penetrated you—so deep it skirted along the edge of unbearable. But as the slow grind began, and the sound of low moans rumbled by the side of your head, when the suppressed sound of your cunt juices mixed with JJ's filled your ears, you knew. You knew you'd do this ten times over if only it meant the body above you was attaining even the slightest bit of pleasure. And, if the increasingly occurrent noises were anything to go by, JJ was indeed in a state of bliss, the dual end of her cock rubbing perfectly against her g-spot with every languid slide of her hips.

Tension was building again. Pulsing. Consuming. Suffocating. The world was still again as you sunk. The current moved your body for you, pushed your tailbone into the mattress, only to move it up again and force another circulatory orbit to the prodding length that caressed your sweet spot. Your hands found their way to tender flesh, marring crescent moons so deep they may have hindered JJ's ability to sit without pain.

JJ grew louder. You grew quieter.

Your back arched, and you scrambled for JJ. You found her lips, took the bottom between your teeth and forced her to endure a modicum of the pain you were enduring just to abide by her rules.

Defiantly, JJ yanked her lip back, ignoring the drops of red that fell to your cheek. Her hand, previously hellbent on turning your face blue, gripped your jaw, and she teased her ability to crush it, squeezing so tight you heard the whisper of a crack. Lips swollen, eyes fierce, body rocking, she uttered the phrase - sultrily, dominate and firm - that was to be both of your undoings.

"Come for daddy."

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#jennifer jareau x you #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau smut #criminal minds x reader #jennifer jareau imagine #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau fanfiction #criminal minds #cm #Jennifer jareau x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction

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lees-chaotic-brain · 5 months

Note

How would jjk men react to reader being pregnant with quadruplets?

Feat. Gojo, Yuta, Inumaki, Nanami, Megumi, Itadori (all characters are aged up)

Note: I did headcanons for this request because there were so many characters I wanted to include, and it would get a little boring to write the same scenario out in a full fledged fic like seven times. However, if there are one or two that you want me to turn into proper fics lmk!! I had to do research on pregnancy for this bc it's been awhile since my high school health class

CW: pregnancy, implied thoughts of abortion ig, mentions of fear regarding labor, AFAB reader bc, yk, pregnancy, one singular swear word

Word Count: 1.2k

JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

Gojo

I feel like Gojo would think you were joking at first, and wouldn’t believe you until you got frustrated and he finally realized you were being for real. He would have mixed emotions. On one hand, he was excited to have a big family and a house full of laughter and love. On the other hand, he was afraid, because more babies meant more defenseless mini-people for him to protect.

He had only known that he was going to be a father of quadruplets a few minutes ago, but he already knew that it would destroy him if he ever lost one of them. That he would gladly give his life for them. And then there was the matter of you. He already knew that childbirth was difficult for women, but quadruplets?? Childbirth was something that even he couldn’t protect you from and that terrified him.

After a serious discussion in which he made sure you were okay with the added risks and you continuously reassured him that this was what you wanted, he settled down and began imagining a future for your family. Until he realized that he would have to share your love with four little gremlins who would surely take after their clingy father. Then it suddenly seemed less appealing.

Yuta

Baby boy would be shooketh. Because he’s sorry please don’t be mad at him and oh you’re not mad at him and the two of you are having quadruplets well technically you are but he’s the dad and oh god what if he’s not good at being a dad and-

You would have to calm him down as he fell into a downward spiral. Once you had properly reassured him, and he had fully absorbed the information he was ecstatic. He has always wanted a big family, and together the two of you were making that dream come true. Cuddling up to you he would thank you for loving him and gifting him with the many kids he had always dreamed of having.

He for sure would be the type to rub your stomach and whisper sweet nothings to the growing babies in your womb, telling them how much daddy loves them and how excited he is to meet them.

He would also start baby-proofing every square inch of your house before you had even started your second trimester.

Inumaki

He would be in shock. Because he put- wait how many??? babies in you. There was no way he heard you right. There was no way that you were pregnant with quadruplets. Because, wait, he didn't sign up for this! Yeah, he wanted tons of kids, but four babies at a time was a lot. And the strain it would have on your body was concerning as well.

After he stopped opening and closing his mouth as he gaped at you, he managed to organize his thoughts. First he wanted to make sure you even wanted that many kids because, well, it wouldn’t be easy to give birth to or take care of that many. Once you had reassured him that you were, in fact, sure that you wanted to go through with the pregnancy and that you were prepared for whatever the future held for your not-so-little family he took a moment to process his own emotions.

At first he was conflicted. Sure he was excited, but he held his own private reservations. What if something went wrong during labor? What if he wasn’t cut out to be the parent of one kid, let alone four. But as the months sped by and your stomach grew, the anticipation grew, until one day he let go of any and all trepidation and allowed himself to be optimistic.

He also bought tons of matching onesies for the whole family.

Nanami

Ever the responsible adult and caring husband, first he sat you down and had a serious discussion about the pros and cons of having quadruplets, and whether or not the risks were worth it. Deep down he was thrilled, but he wanted to make sure the two of you were on the same page and understood what continuing meant.

Once the two of you had established you were going to see this through, and it was something the two of you wanted his planning would begin. First came the research. He thoroughly educated himself on everything regarding pregnancy, learning everything he needed to do to ensure your comfort and the healthy birth of his children.

Expect a special diet plan that fulfills the needs of you and your unborn children in the healthiest way possible, essential oil massages, weekly check-ups starting your second trimester, vitamin gummies and more.

He also would begin saving up because raising four children would be expensive. Would for sure have a whole financial plan set up and college savings accounts set up for each of his children within a week of his learning.

Megumi

Honestly, he wouldn’t have super strong feelings about it. He wanted to be a dad, but he didn’t care if it was one, four, or one hundred. He just wanted to have kids with you, and beyond that as long as you were happy he was too.

So when you told him, his only response was asking you what you thought about it. When you told him you were excited, he was excited too. He had wanted to build his own family for as long as he could remember, and you were helping him reach his dream. What more could he ask for? The only other thing that mattered to him was that his children had siblings. As a kid he had resented Tsumiki, but as an adult he couldn’t imagine the loneliness he would have experienced growing up without her. So yeah. If you were happy, and his children would have siblings so they would never have to walk through life alone, he was content.

There was nothing more he wanted in life than your love and a family with you.

Itadori

Kids!!! He had wanted a ton of kids, so this was perfect! You were happy with it, so even better! He sees it as a four-in-one deal, and is over the moon. His golden retriever personality becomes even worse when you’re pregnant. Like, this man is at your side 24/7.

Constantly following you around, looking at you with big pleading eyes as he begs to cuddle in bed with you so he can talk to your stomach.

Oh my god talking to your stomach. This man would talk to your stomach more than he talks to you. Asking what your kids want to be named. Telling your unborn babies about his day. That he loves them and can’t wait to meet them. Describes all the fun things the six of you are going to do once they’re born. Definitely tries cuddling your stomach because he ‘wants to know what it feels like to hold his children.’

Also is a little shit that constantly asks ‘are they coming yet? Why not??’

#lee's brain writes #jjk x reader #jjk x you #inumaki x reader #gojo x reader #yuta x reader #itadori x reader #nanami x reader #megumi x reader #nanami is baby daddy material for real #so responsible #i wrote a whole essay for inunmaki #and even after shortening it i had to make the others longer so that my bias wouldn't show #jjk fluff #jjk crack #jjk fic

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softshuji · 5 months

Text

Sometimes Tokyo is a suffocating place.

Rindou loves it, don’t get him wrong. The various districts, various people, all milling about, some on phones talking fast, pushing through crowds that part unwillingly as they plough through, mothers and babies in prams and it’s loud, so loud, the tinny buzz of voices on top of each other and his head aches with the need for some silence.

He walks into the library on a whim, his headphones blinking red and drained of battery and the cool quiet interior is a welcome respite from the noise, the collar of his shirt clinging to his neck under his hoodie, the occasional wisp of blond blue hair curling around his ears as the air con blows a blast of cold air.

Once he had hidden here with Ran, between the aisles as a police car rushed past, the two of them hunched over and catching their breath, a long stare that petered off into giggles and laughs, the two of them young and still new to it all. It’s a bit different now, a bit harder to get Ran’s attention since his Wife and child came along. He doesn’t resent it, he’s happy for him. Ran has been the source of his safety for years, it would be selfish to keep him like that- to rob him of what he knows Ran deserves. Peace, something to lean on when he is too stubborn to lean on him.

Old habits do tend to die hard.

But he can’t lie and say it isn’t lonely sometimes. The days when he picks up the phone, types out a text to his Brother- the only person who was only ever a call away, a message away, a shout across the house- and imagines him juggling the throes of newfound parenthood, something he loves and enjoys, and having his little Brother clinging onto him still, this far into adulthood when Rindou thinks he should be able to stand on his own two feet and wishes it was easier to do so.

There is only so much music he can listen to, only so much he can drink alone, only so many clubs he can waste his time at before it bothers him- the strobe lighting, the flirtations of girls who’ll forget his name when the next hotshot with a wad of cash comes along, and maybe he flirts back for a time, just to throw out the napkin with their numbers on later because it ultimately means nothing to him when there’s so little substance and he hates the idea of meeting someone like that- playing pretend because there’s so little else to do.

He’s angry that it seems so hard for him and he wishes he were a little less….him at times. A little more like Ran, a little easier, a little less rough around the edges, the jagged and sharp points of him that are stubborn and unwilling to be smoothed down by time. If it were a year ago, he’d call his Brother now and they’d drive at night and he’d feel a little less like he’s wading out to shore, a little more seen, a little less like he’s squashed between here and there and scrambling for something to understand.

Maybe he kicks at the ground then, and maybe he loses his footing and stumbles into you reaching up to get something from the shelf, you knocked sideways and him barrelling into you, one hand braced on the wall to stabilise himself, the other reaching for you to pull you to him instinctually.

‘Shit, fuck, I’m sorry,’ he says, headphones clattering to the floor, the wires corded around his hoodie, an avid crimson spillingacross his skin. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah, yeah, no I’m fine, don't worry.’ And you look up from where you’d bent to brush the dust from your legs with the beginnings of a smile. And maybe the light hits you at just the right angle, the sunlight dancing through the window, dust mites flickering in the golden glow- or maybe he’d touched your hand for a fraction of a second and it had been warm and soft or maybe he’s rationalising and something cold in him cracks a little but he smiles back and lifts a hand to rub at his neck with a trepidation that he curses himself for.

You laugh, awkwardly, a brightness around the edge of you that feels warm, that feels foreign and weird and genuine and he watches the reflection of himself in your eyes, bewilderment and confusion and an attempt at a lopsided smile when you retrieve his headphones from the floor, the two sides now coming apart in your hands.

‘Oh,’ you say, a worried bite on your lip, the two sides of his now broken pair in your two hands. ‘God I’m so sorry, I can pay you for these-’

‘No need, it was my fault, I’m the one who hit you.’

‘No, no, I was in the way-’

‘You weren’t, I was just not watching where I was going. You don’t have to pay for anything, they weren’t that good anyway.’

He neglects to mention that they were his favourite pair, a set he bought a year back to kick off the DJ thing that never really went anywhere, because it was only ever just him and the kit, him and the music and maybe it was a lonely experience to not have anyone to share that with, long nights where the tinny sound of the music is somehow an ache in the otherwise silent house.

‘You sure?’ You cock your head to the side, lifting the two halves. ‘They seem really good quality. I can’t pay for it all now but maybe-’

‘Don’t worry, seriously. I got a tonne more at home.’

You blink and he curses himself again inwardly, avoiding and resisting a sidestep on his feet in nervous apprehension. He sees then, your books scattered on the floor at your feet, and bends to pick them, resting them under his arm as he leans down before handing them to you gently, his fingers brushing yours on the underside and it makes his chest lurch when you murmur a quiet ‘thank you’ that he’s glad isn’t lost on the reverberating drone and shuffle of feet in the next aisles over.

‘Okay, I can get you a coffee? It doesn’t quite make up but I’d feel bad for not doing anything at all.’ You turn to pack the books into your bag and he watches you, the ease with which you hand the two sides back to him and wait expectantly for his reply, the loud and disastrous crash of his heart that he’s convinced you can hear, the long and ample silence that has his tongue clinging to the roof of his mouth.

‘You don’t have to say yes by the way- I’m not trying to- you know, I just feel bad for breaking one of your things-’

His lips part. ‘Yes, yes, I’ll….’ he chews on his lip, hands helplessly holding the broken headphones, the swirl of something that feels like desperation clouding the flecked hue of his eyes. ‘Yeah, I think that’ll be okay.’

And it feels strange and different and new and terrifying when you grin brightly and pat his arm and the hollow of his throat beats with nerves, pink flashing across his cheeks and ears in a way that feels so utterly like a betrayal.

You hum, hoist a stack under your arm and the sun is out, streaming through the windows as you lift your bag over your shoulder. ‘Okay nice, I’m going to go check these out but I'll meet you outside in ten?’

‘S-sure….’ he says, a whisper caught on his lips with a starved and suffocating breath, the dizzying euphoria, nerves and anxiety all rolling along his chest when he watches you leave with a short wav, the bag you’re carrying falling over your shoulder.

And maybe the pain is good this time, the sense of vertigo that has him bracing a hand on the shelf, a hand to his chest to rub at, slow and deliberate breaths to calm his racing heart.

Maybe this time, he feels a little less angry, a little less sad, a little more like something that feels scarily akin to happiness.

Reblogs appreciated!

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyorev x reader #haitani rindou #rindou x reader

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jokeringcutio · 5 months

Text

(f) Reader sends accidental Pic to Stepdad William Afton [ Explicit/SMUT]

Fandom: FNAF Rating: Explicit Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Non-con/Dub-con, First Time, Reader loses Virginity to stepdad, Stepdad teaching Stepdaughter Reader a lesson, age difference, forbidden relationship, height difference, infidelity, name-calling, Dark!William. All characters are mature in this. NOTE: These drabbles are in no particular order and not necessarily related. But they are all Stepdad!WilliamAfton x !StepdaughterReader Universe. As a reaction to this prompt:

Reader sends accidental Pic to Stepdad William Afton

The phone buzzed in your hand, a chilling reply displayed on the screen.

I'm coming home.

Panic surged through you like a tidal wave and you had to double-check the sender. But no, it was right there. Dad.

But why was your stepdad coming home, right now, when he was supposed to be working?

As you slowly scrolled the page up, thumb trembling, you came eye to eye with the picture you had intended to send to your crush.

Nothing wrong with it, was there? Most of your friends have done this. They’d encouraged you. Just take a picture with nothing on, send it to the guy you want to be dating, and voila.

But here, something had gone horribly wrong.

Because that intimate picture had been sent to William Afton, your mother’s husband, and since a few years your new dad.

Good lord, how had you made such a slip-up? Running your hands through your hair, you paced the room. Your stepdad was a strict man, not at all pleased when you announced you wanted to start dating. Very discouraging actually.

Boys were strictly forbidden, according to him anyway. But you were a girl with hormones raging and you’d met a nice bloke at your college. Plus, your friends had pushed you to do something like this. Just sent him a sexy pic. Not that you had shown all. But still.

It wasn’t something you wanted your stepdad to see.

Looking at your own picture one more time, you felt embarrassed. You looked good in it, your absolute best. Very seductive. A very revealing pic.

You were so going to get it now.

No way your stepdad was going to let you live this down. You instantly flicked your finger over the picture, deleting it. You weren’t in the mood to send it to the right guy any longer, only felt trepidation now that your stepdad could be home any moment.

He worked at the pizza plex nearby and was one of the managers. He could go wherever and whenever he wanted, and he had a really fancy car as well.

The sound of tires screeching signaled he had arrived sooner than you had anticipated. You had run out of time. Your heart raced and you clenched your fists, unsure of how to explain yourself. Casting a glance at your mirror – you were dressed in your unflattering comfy clothes – you mentally prepared to face your stepdad.

His car roared into the driveway, and then you heard the front door slam shut.

"Where are you?" William's voice boomed throughout the house.

"Upstairs!" you called out, trembling in fear. The sound of his heavy footsteps grew louder as he ascended the stairs. He was tall and very intimidating on a good day. You didn’t want to know how he would be on a bad one. But it seemed like you were about to find out.

He burst into your room, face flushed with anger and confusion. "What the hell were you thinking, sending those pictures?"

"William, I... I didn't mean—" you stammered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“When did I give you permission to use my full name?” William sneered, anger radiated off him in full waves. He pushed the aviator glasses back on his nose with an agitated growl. “I am still your dad, step or not. Address me respectfully.”

You hardly dared to look at him as you complied. “Yes, Daddy,” voice now soft as you glanced at the floor in shame. Yet, there was that little voice in the back of your mind, wondering what he had thought when he had seen your pictures. You looked like your mom – everybody had always said so. Had he thought you attractive?

Slowly, your eyes slid higher, from the floor to his feet and upward, past his shins and to the obvious outline of his cock in his pants. You swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, when you realized that your pictures at least must have had some effect on him.

You got your stepdad hard.

You quickly looked up at his face. The thin lines around his eyes betrayed his sternness, the corners of his mouth had dipped into a displeased frown.

"Did you even think about the consequences?" he snapped, his blue eyes blazing with rage.

"Let me explain," you pleaded, your voice barely audible. The weight of his accusations hung heavy in the air.

"Explain what? That you've been sleeping around and sending pictures to your boyfriends?!" William's tone was laced with venom, his words cutting deep.

"Dad, I'm not dating anyone," you stammered, feeling a hot flush creep up your cheeks. "I just... I wanted to send them to someone I have a crush on. He asked for them."

"Christ," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do you even realize what could happen if you do something so reckless?"

His question hung in the air, unanswered. You didn't know what to say, feeling small and humiliated.

"Think about it," he continued, his voice cold as ice. "Your pictures could end up all over the internet, with no way to get them back. And worse, that boy might want to fuck you."

As he spoke, he began unbuckling his belt, using his foot to kick your door shut. Your eyes grew wide, surprised by the suddenness of his actions. What was going on? Your body froze as you watched him, kicking off his shoes, unable to process what was happening.

Was this really the man who had been a part of your family for so long?

“It’s a good thing your mom doesn’t know what whorish behavior her daughter has been up to, because I swear, she would have gotten a heart attack.”

You stumbled backward, calves hitting the edge of your bed which made you glance shortly over your shoulder. There was nowhere to go any longer.

“Now, if you just do as I say, then we can keep this quiet,” William said, eyes gleaming behind his glasses. His pants fell to the floor and he kicked them off, leaving him in just his disheveled blouse and his socks.

His cock, long and thick, peeked out from between the edges of his blouse, the head an angry red and slit already weeping pre-cum. A mouthwatering sight, a man well-endowed. You could have enjoyed it, had he been anyone but your stepdad.

"Dad, please," you whispered, but your voice was drowned out by your own racing thoughts. It suddenly became very clear what his intentions were. You couldn’t just stand and watch. Your body kicked into action, and suddenly you found yourself bolting toward the door.

But before you could escape, William's strong hand gripped your arm, stopping you dead in your tracks.

"Where do you think you're going?" he snarled, his eyes dark with anger and something else. A deep raw hunger. Lust. You instantly knew there was no escaping the consequences of your actions.

But you were going to try.

You struggled in his grip. “Dad, William, no!” You cried out, as you tried to escape his grip. But his arm circled around you and you heard his breathing heavy and excited in your ear. You felt his chest, hot and hard, against your back. His cock pressed against the small of your back, the pre-cum staining the fabric of your shirt. Run, a voice inside your head screamed. But he was too strong.

Struggling, you felt him drag you back to your bed, so full of childhood memories. Always your personal safe little spot. And now? Now he threw you upon it without ceremony, crawling over you before you had the chance to get up.

You knew what he wanted to do to you. You could see it in those blue eyes, gleaming behind his glasses, pupils diluted with perverse intent. Could you ever look him in the eye again after this?

“Dad, please, think of Mom,” you tried to reason with him. But strong hands pried your legs open without hesitation, palms rough upon your knees, your thighs trembling as you tried to push him away.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice shaky and uncertain. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Surely he wouldn’t pop your cherry? Surely, he’d back down, laugh, and tell you he only had done it all to frighten you?

He leaned backward, trapping you to your bed with only his hips. Rising to his full height, he pushed his glasses back up his nose with a smirk, eyes roaming over your helpless figure underneath him.

“Oh, I think you know what I’m doing,” was all he said before two large fingers hooked around the waistband of your pants, tugging them down along with your panties, just enough to expose your cunt. Your breath halted as you looked at him in fear. He wouldn’t, would he?

“Dad,” you started, voice choked. “This is wrong. You can’t just-”

But you froze when you felt your stepdad’s long cock rub past your entrance, the tip dipping in and stretching your walls wide. He hunched over you, a grin plastered on his face while his eyes glinted. He brought his lips near your ear, hot breath flickering past your skin.

"I’m gonna teach you a lesson,” he murmured. You felt his fingers guide his cock, the fingertips pressing against your labia. Then, without a warning, he pushed himself inside in one firm thrust.

You threw your head back, back arched, and legs spasming. A loud cry was torn from your lips.

That fucking hurt.

Your stepdad was too large to be inserted in one go. Tears brimmed in your eyes while you brought your hands up to grab his shoulders, but he pushed them down and trapped them at either side of you.

“Take it,” you heard your stepdad growl through gritted teeth. “You wanted to tease some poor bloke, didn’t you? Then take what he has to offer you.”

His hips moved harshly, but it was just a few thrusts before he came to a halt. Your pussy throbbed painfully, desperately trying to adjust.

Through the tears, you managed to look up at him. William had raised a brow, looking at you as if he were studying your reactions while his hips gently started to move against yours again. You heard sickening slick sounds coming from where your bodies joined.

Experimentally, he moved his hips, and you arched your back again, fingers curling onto the mattress as you threw your head from side to side.

“Take it out,” you pleaded, “Please, Dad, take it out.” Soft mewls fell from your lips, it was pathetic. But you were in so much pain right now, split upon his cock. It was like he was tearing you apart. “It’s too much.”

You’d fantasized about cocks before, your mind wasn’t that innocent. But you’d never had a real one inside your cunt before and this – your stepdad’s cock – was just too large. The way it stretched your vaginal walls was painful, your pussy throbbing desperately around his shaft to try and adjust. But he kept moving his hips, making it harder to get used to the feel of him.

The head of his cock hit you deep, nudging against a part of you that you didn’t know existed. You shuddered on his shaft, taking deep breaths as your stepfather kept pumping his hips.

“You surprise me,” you heard the roughness in his voice, as if he was thirsting for something. “You're so tight," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "Like fucking a virgin.”

Something in his blue eyes flickered and you bit back another pained gasp. “Fuck, you feel so good."

Another deep thrust moved you up the bed. You tried to get a grip on the sheets, the blankets – just anything, but your dad kept pushing your hands down, pinning them at your sides. Once you relented and left them there, fingers digging into the soft material of your bedding, he finally placed his arms around your head.

“That’s better, sweet girl of mine,” William’s low voice hummed. “You’re starting to adjust to my cock. I can feel it.”

Wet noises confirmed that he was still stretching your cunt, but also, that you were wet enough for him to easily slide in and out of.

“Please,” you begged, voice sounding weak, but you had to try.

Your body trembled, muscles being stretched into positions they had never been stretched before. You felt how your chest was trapped to his own, how it became hard to breathe while his cock still pushed deep inside your sensitive core.

The pain slowly began to ebb away, your legs slowly started to relax now that they got used to being pushed this far aside. Your stepdad was a large man, both in height and width as in girth, and you had to spread your legs really wide for him to fit in between. But you managed.

“I don’t want this, Daddy,” you weakly said. And you felt weak. Perhaps that was the worst of it. Not his large cock splitting you open and tearing you in half. But the fact that you wanted to appear strong, and yet your voice sounded so small and tears were threatening to fall from your eyes.

Your stepdad glanced down at you and gave another thrust. “You don’t want this, sweetheart? You’d think those boys would care if it hurt or not?”

You flinched at the harshness in his voice. As if to punctuate his words, your stepdad moved his hips in a rather sharp thrust, hitting that spot deep inside with such ferocity that it made you flinch in pain. You groaned, gritting your teeth in order not to cry out.

Something in William’s eyes flickered, recognition at what he’d done to you, and then, he did it once more, chuckling as you clearly put in effort to keep from gasping in pain.

“This is how real men fuck. If you can’t handle it, you shouldn’t send out invitations,” his words were rough and mean, and his cock dipped in even deeper inside of you, stirring your innards, making you see starts. You sincerely regretted ever having even taken such photos, let alone sending them to your stepfather.

His thrusts grew bolder, harsher. His cock was buried to the hilt as he folded you over, drawing your knees up to your chest while his hands slipped under your shirt. You felt rough fingers grasp the soft flesh of your breasts, squeezing them painfully in a tight grip that made it impossible to keep from crying out.

“That’s it, baby girl,” William spat, “When I squeeze you I feel you clench down on my cock.” Another firm squeeze of your breasts and you became aware that he was right. Your pussy clamped down on his cock firmly, as if it wanted him inside. You let out another gasp. A denial might have escaped your lips, but if there had been a quiet ‘no’ then it was denied by your stepdad anyway. He thought he was right, and apparently, he didn’t care a dime about your feelings in any of this. He was just using you for his pleasure now, nothing more.

His hips moved a little slower now while he grunted, his hands stilled on your breasts. “Let’s get rid of that,” you heard him say as he tutted his lips. His fingers grazed at the fabric of your shirt. “I’ve already seen it all on the picture anyway.”

With two strong hands, he tore at the shirt, lifting it over your chest until he left your breasts exposed.

A whistle escaped his teeth.

“Well, would you look at that,” then he leaned over you again, his breath hot on your skin. “They look even better than on the screen.”

And then his mouth was upon them. His lips circled a nipple, sucking and suckling while the other one was assaulted by his thumb. You gasped and arched under his touch, glad that his hips had stilled, but still trapped under his weight – his cock snuggly all the way inside your tiny cunt.

He was working his lips on you, suckling and nibbling on your sensitive nipples until it made you gasp. You felt how your body betrayed you. How pain from the initial intrusion and the hard fuck started to morph into something else.

Your pussy started to pulse around his cock, not in pain or in an attempt to adjust. No, your body was drawing him in, starting to milk him for pleasure. Liquid started gushing down his shaft, easing the way for him as your body started to thrum. Your nerves started to tingle, a hot coil formed in your core. Each pinch, each nibble, each suck and each bite set your body on fire. Your core throbbed.

Your stepdad was really skilled with his mouth. The hairs of his bread tickled your skin and heightened the sensations.

And then he started to move his hips again.

William’s lips left your breasts but his hands lingered. Dark eyes – the blue now a deep black – stared at you through his aviator glasses. His hips moved forcefully against your own, but the pain had now fully morphed into pleasure.

“That slides a lot better now,” your stepdad drily commented, moving his hips expertly against your own while you felt his cockhead bump against something soft deep inside of you. The sensation had you mewling.

“Always knew you were a tease,” his cock thrust deep, tearing another moan from your lips, “from the very start,” thrust, “Just another whore begging to be fucked.” Thrust. “Want to be Daddy’s good girl?” Thrust. “More like Daddy’s good whore.” Thrust. “But you have impressed me, sweetheart.”

A thumb gently brushed past your clavicle and, at feeling the sensation, your eyes looked up to search for his. The sight you met was that of a demon possessed by lust. Darkness shielded his emotions, making him look all the more fearful to you.

“Never thought I’d get to fuck my virgin daughter.”

And with that said, William gritted his teeth and started to pick up the pace. His fingers dug into your hips as he held you in place, his cock repeatedly battering so deep inside of you that you were starting to feel sore. Globs of pre-cum softened your cervix as he pressed forth, the head of his cock hitting the entrance to your womb at a punishing pace, again and again, until you gasped in both pleasure and pain. A perfect combination, for your eyes fell shut as your body worked towards an orgasm.

Your pussy tightened around your stepdad’s cock, your toes curled and your fingers dug into your bed. William’s hands were tight upon your hips, leaving bruises where his fingers dug into your skin as he rutted you like an animal in heat.

And then you came. A blissful feeling. Like a volcano that erupted inside and made you see all the stars in the galaxy. The feeling overwhelmed you. Your entire body shook and trembled, your pussy milked your stepdad’s cock for all you were worth, nearly sending him over the edge. But he had control. With gritted teeth, he worked you through your orgasm until the stars you saw started to disappear and you slowly came down from your high,

You came back to earth again feeling your stepdad’s fingers tightly on your skin, hearing his rough grunts, and feeling the force of his harsh thrusts. He was getting near. Even as inexperienced as you were, you could tell.

Your eyes opened wide. Not only was your pussy overly sensitive right now – your body begging him to stop – but this was also your first time having sex. Ever. And you weren’t on any birth control.

And your stepdad should not come inside of you.

“N-Not inside,” you managed to beg, although it took a lot of you to be able to speak after having reached such bliss only moments before.

For a moment you feared that William hadn’t heard you or wouldn’t listen. But then, after two more firm thrusts, your stepdad withdrew and you let out a loud sigh.

Relieved, you smiled up at him and watched as he sat back on his knees. His glistening erection was an angry red, the head throbbing against his own belly. Slick stuck to his shaft, coating it, creating strings of yellowish white tinted with red that caught to the hairs on his stomach.

William seemed to catch his breath as he ran a hand through his wispy hair.

You wanted to thank him for not coming inside of you, for being considerate, but the moment you parted your lips to speak, he hovered above you again. His lips turned into a devilish grin, spelling doom and confusing you because – what was he up to?

“Daddy hasn’t come yet,” he ominously rasped. You loved the way his voice sounded, so deep and hoarse. It sent another spark of arousal through you. You wondered how he was going to finish, whether he’d come on your stomach or ask you to put your lips around him and swallow his load.

But then you felt his hands on your knees, pushing them apart once more. You reached up a hand, “Dad, no!” but it was too late.

He plunged his cock back in while he hooked a hand underneath your leg, pulling it upward, meeting your hips at a different angle this time as he started thrusting without hesitation.

He curled over you, his cockhead once again beating your cervix, sending a fresh bout of tears to your eyes because it felt so good but you were oh-so-sensitive down there. You gritted your teeth, completely helpless, and left at his mercy as he fucked the living daylights out of your already sore and tired body.

“Didn’t I say I was going to teach you a lesson, pretty girl?” You heard his low voice rasp as your stepdad pressed his forehead against your own. You felt his sweaty skin against yours, felt how your sore pussy clamped down on his cock as if your body wasn’t eager to ever let him go.

“Perhaps Daddy doesn’t want to come outside,” he grunted, his large hand upon your right breast, squeezing it. And despite having already cum, your pussy reacted accordingly and clamped down like a vice. It was becoming hard to breathe now, your body was overstimulated, your core sore. But William wouldn’t stop as he worked himself toward his own bliss.

“If I want to fucking come inside of you, then I will. Part of the lesson, kiddo. I don’t fucking care if you were a virgin ten minutes ago, or if you were saving yourself for some fucking dim-witted boy. You fucking got yours now, and you’d better keep everything that Daddy has to give you. Because… here it comes.”

The last few words were all punctuated by firm thrusts, and then your stepdad groaned and rolled his eyes back as his body stilled. His hands were still firmly upon you, keeping you pinned down, whilst hotness flooded your womb and covered your insides like hot burning liquid.

You let out a silent sob, feeling certain that William held you pressed down to the mattress on purpose, keeping you pinned underneath him until he was done pumping his semen inside of your womb. When he finally retreated, his cock slipping out of you, still half-hard but already softening, you let out a sigh of relief.

Yet, your pussy fluttered around nothing, suddenly feeling empty. You started to feel drowsy, body content after the heavy fucking, heart overruling your mind. You groaned and waited to see your stepdad put himself back inside his pants before you slowly sat up.

It felt awkward and painful between your legs, making it hard to move. A thick trace of cum and blood filled the bed, pooling from your sensitive cunt to the sheets. You looked at it in disdain, wrinkling your nose as you realized that this was all done by your stepfather.

Your stepdad had ruined your cunt, taking your virginity and coming inside unasked.

You glowered angrily at him only to meet his gaze, eyes cold. He took the challenge head-on and set himself down next to you, on the edge of your bed.

“Any boy would have done that,” he said, voice low but calm. His hand hovered in the air between you, almost as if waiting for permission, and when you didn’t recoil he placed it gently on top of your bare thigh.

“I did you a favor. And I suppose, a thank you would be in place.”

Was he serious? You looked at him, core throbbing painfully after the sex. After having fucked you so carelessly, he now expected that you would thank him for it?

But then you saw that darkness in his eyes and knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of this one. This was your stepdad, you were living under his roof, eating his food, dancing to his tunes – and you would be for quite a while to come, economic crises made sure of that. It just seemed the music had changed and you were no longer in the children’s disco.

And so you hung your head. A soft whisper fell from your lips, but you could tell he had heard you by the grin that slipped onto his. “Thank you for teaching me a lesson, Daddy.”

His big hand gently squeezed your thigh, skin warm and soft.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” his hand then left your leg until his fingers gently tucked your chin up, carefully making you meet his eyes.

“I just want you to know that although I am not your biological dad, I am your family now. And as your stepdad, I will always be here for you to help you. You need anything from Daddy, just ask. Don’t tease it out of me.”

You almost felt ashamed at this point, and had to remind yourself that you did not send him that picture to tease him. It had truly been an accident. Had he interpreted it the wrong way? Did he think you had wanted him to do this? Was it your fault?

“The world out there’s a nasty place, with nasty, vile men. And what job is it but a Dad’s job to prepare his gorgeous daughter for that world? So that’s what I’m here to do. Help you, guide you, teach you all you need to know.”

It could have been sweet, had his voice not lowered and his intentions not so thin-veiled with lust.

“Just ask. I have many more lessons to teach you.”

Your mouth turned dry at the silent promise that he would fuck you some more – and all the trouble that could come out of it if your mom ever found out.

What else could you say?

“Thank you, Daddy.”

He smiled.

“Any time, darling. Any time.”

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