Oblivion

hey fang, how do we feel about isagi + prone bone position and him moaning in your ear telling you about how much he loves you and how perfect you are for him

im thinking deeply of him today and this just came on my mind and wanted to know your thoughts

tell me, tell me, i tend to you | y. isagi

✮ tags ; prone-bone <333, porn no plot, afab + fem!reader (referred to as isagis girlfriend), aged-up charas + isagi is a pro player, reader is a dorming uni student, fingering, creampies, praise and affection, isagi is a little bit of a tease 18+

✮ wc ; 3.1k (idek)

✮ a/n ; anon you sent this in sept im so sorry. but he's in my mind. i desire and want him bad. title from a brent faiyaz song

✮ synopsis ; isagi is always wanting to be as close as possible.

Isagi lingers on you like a shadow.

He sticks famously to your sides. All your paparazzi photos that eventually blow up on twitter are taken with him wrapped around. His face buried in your shoulder while you're standing in line. His hand in your lap while you watch movies.

Just a few months, he was trending on twitter because of his P.D.A. A video taken by his manager, closing in on him resting his sweaty head in your lap. Rubbing his face against your thigh with a pout before reaching out for your hand and rubbing his thumb over your ring size.

Through the muffled audio, only one thing could be heard. The sound of your named in his voice, lips curling around the words i like you before placing a kiss to the back of your hand.

He isn't very public about your relationship otherwise. When people ask about you, he's minimal with the informaiton. But every time it does end up in the public eye, it's almost always because everyone finds the way Isagi sticks to you to be endearing. He likes being close to you.

He's always been big on physical touch. When he's tired or stressed - the first thing he does is collapse on top of you, itching to be looked after. He'll bring your hand all the way to his neck and wait for you to scratch his scalp asleep.

And when he misses you, the first thing you'll recieve is a bone-crushing hug and a plethora of kisses all over your face. Always followed by a muffled confession of longing.

It should be no surprise to you that Isagi is always aching for ways to close the gaps between you. Searching for solutions to ensure he can be as close as he can, fit himself into the crevice between your heart and ribs just because.

It's not surprise to feel Isagi hover over you after a long week away from home.

You lay flat on your stomach as you sift through the syllabus of your classes next semester. The sun is barely starting to set and you're comfortable in your bed - heather grey sheets and a big comforter over you.

You smell like citrus and soap. Crisp, cool evening air lets you breathe easy as you read through a bunch of repeated plagarism policies and pre-emptively stress about due dates. Your face is propped up on your palm. Your legs are up, crossed at the ankle and swinging as you read.

You're too entrenched in it to hear the shower turn off. You only notice Isagi when he's already entered back in the room, feeling his presence before you turn your head to look.

He clicks the door behind him gently, locking it before leaning back on the door frame. You turn your head without looking first, before Isagi clears his throat to catch your attention.

When you finallydo look, you feel something stir in your stomach. You've got a good looking boyfriend, you always seem to forget. His shirt is gone and discarded - a part of basketball shorts just barely pulled up over his boxers.

His hair is wet, pushed back and dripping on his shoulders where a grey towel is hung around his neck. You feel conscious of yourself, and your proximity. How many weeks it's been since you've last seen him. So you laugh, soft, crossing your arms and resting your chin on your upper arm.

"Hey, handsome."

He grins at you.

"Jeez. Hey. I missed you."

Before you get a chance to reply, Isagi makes his way towards you. Feet padding on the floor before he stops, pulling his knee up till its resting on the matress. He's just in front of you, your face directly towards his abs.

He bends down for you, hands on the side of your face. You pull yourself up, pushed up on one hand to meet in the middle. When Isagi kisses you, he's soft. He's a lot more confident than when you first started dating, slow strokes of his thumb across your cheek. Everything feels likes its stopped around you.

Isagi looks hungry when he pulls back, kissing the corner of your mouth as he cradles your face in his hands.

"You been busy?"

"Mm, a little? University is opening up again soon so I was being pro-active."

"Woah, you're so smart. My girlfriends so cool."

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm getting in your good graces before you abandon me for your dorms."

"You're already in my good graces, dummy."

"Nice."

He kisses you one more time, this time your forehead before pulling away. When he's stood up again, you move to pull the comforter off your body and let him join you in bed.

But Isagi reads your actions before you can do it. He pulls them off in one fell swoop before pausing, breath catching. When you look up, his eyes are blown out. You turn your head to look at him clearly, brows tightened in confusion.

"Baby?"

"Ah," He says, dropping the comforter on the other side of the bed "What're you wearing..."

You raided his closet not too long ago, fitting into one of his stretchy tanks before putting on some shorts. You've got on socks since it's cold, white and tight around the ankle. House clothes.

"Comfy clothes. I borrowed your tank."

"Yeah... noticed that too."

He reaches his hand out and places them on the back of your thigh, squeezing softly. Your eyes widen.

"Isagi?"

"Mm?" He says, innocent as you feel him get on the bed. You can't turn your head anymore when he does "Don't worry about me, focus on your school stuff."

You huff out some air.

"And how do you want me to do that, huh? What're you—"

You feel Isagi above you. Both of his knees on either side of your hips, his thumb and forefinger reaching around as much of your waist as he can reach. He hooks his thumb underneath your tanktop, pushing up slowly. You hold your breath at the sudden contact, and when you go again - to figure out what exactly he's doing, you feel something hard pressing into your ass.

It clicks all at once and you gasp.

"Isagi."

"Don't even—," He punctuates his words by bending over you. Isagi fits above you like its nothing, he's overpowering sometimes. The presence of subtle intimidation as he fills his voice with airy cheer "—worry about me. Just focus on what you need to do."

But of course you can't. You couldn't even if you tried. Isagis hands squeeze your sides, pushing under your weight to squeeze the fat your tits between his palms. Calloused and rough against your soft skin, caught between the thick cotton.

A moan splinters off from the sentence you intended to form, soft and easy. Like habit, you push your ass against Isagi's bulge as you feel it. Hard through the cloth and eager against the curves of yoyur body. He lets out a little whine.

"I missed you," He hums, syllables drawn out as he gropes you. You feel his mouth at the nape of your neck, pushing your hair away so he can reach it. He kisses down the slope of your throat, down your shoulder - before sinking his teeth in. The hard point digs and digs, until there's something like a bite mark that throbs in your skin.

Isagi kisses it afterwards and you draw a deep breath as he opens his mouth to do it again and again.

"Sure seems like it," You giggle, turning your head just to peek at him "You're like a leech today, hm?"

"I'm always like that. You just look uhm...sexy in my clothes. Makes me wanna.."

"Makes you wanna fuck me?"

"Ngh, yeah. Just like this."

"Whatever you want. Congrats on your big win, sweetheart."

"Fuck, you're so," He says through a laugh, where his voice pitches off. Deeper and sexy and confident in that unusual way. It feels like he's possessed by something but you love it. You love stroking Isagi's ego. You love the way he acts when you do "Don't even know. Maybe it'll make more sense if I fuck you."

"Isagi," You whine this time, again with purpose and he laughs "I missed you too."

"Don't rile me up on purpose."

"But it's fun,"

"Not for me," He says, and he means it. You know that he does because he makes a grunt of frustration as he rolls hips up "Just makes me...want to keep you all to myself."

"I'm all yours, Isagi. Always and forever."

"Yeah," He pulls the fabric of your shirt all the up until the material is bunched at the top of your breasts. When your skins all exposed, he presses his soft lips at the top of your spine and slowly works his way down. His hands squeeze your ass hard enough to pull you apart. He rests his forehead on your back "Always, love."

There's something resting in his voice that makes every nerve in your body heat. You're aware of your proximity. Of Isagi's bare chest and the warmth that's radiating off of it. Your heartbeat thrums in your throat like you're about to spit it out.

Isagi doesn't pull your shorts down far when you feel his fingers in the elastic waistband. He doesn't even tug it down to your knees, instead leaving them tight and half-way squeezing your legs together. You feel yourself collapse into your bed, arms crossed in front of you.

You squeeze your eyes closed as you feel his hand. He's hover over your calves and his hands are pulling your pussy apart. You can feel your clit throb, arousal sticky and pooling in thick strands. It drips as Isagi keeps you open with his hands, thumb starting at your clit and running against the seam of your cunt with a deep sigh.

"You're prettier than anyone I've ever seen. So pretty."

"Isagi." You moan, whimpering as he teases you. Pulls your pussy open until you can feel it stretch without anything inside, running his fingers along your folds until they're sticky without pushing in "Give it to me."

"You want me?"

"Uh-huh. C'mon, c'mon."

"Yeah, that's right. Shouldn't keep you waiting," He says, humming, before you feel his hand close to your face. "Open up."

You follow without protest, lips parting as Isagi's fingers enter your hot mouth. His fingers are long, thin and pretty - reaching the back of your throat without any effort at all. You moan around them, sliding your tongue between them.

"Get 'em messy. Nice and messy,"

Your head feels heavy on your shoulder, mouth drooling around Isagi's fingers without a single thought in your head other than how much you want to be closer. How much you want to stick to his usual routine of clinging. You feel the spit drip down on your chin, onto your chest. Isagi coos at you.

"That's good."

He pulls his hand way before tilting your chin, kissing you gently depsite all the drool and mess. Maybe because of it.

He sneaks his hand between your thighs, middle finger sliding against your folds and your whole body trembles at the promise of being touched. Everything feels like it's melting around you, sliding and and the air in the room is thick. Isagi has nice hands. Gentle and nice with a few scars on his palms, and his fingers are long.

They don't hurt when they stretch you out. But you feel them, feel the texture and feel the length and feel the rest of his hands rest on his ass. You can feel the beat of Isagi's heart nearly, at the proximitity and suddenly one finger feels like too slow.

He pumps it out of you, slow and and steady and you whine and whine. You feel like you'll collapse if the wait is any longer. With mercy, Isagi slides another finger and helps you stretch out. He hums through it, buries himself all the way down to the knuckle. Deeper and deeper until he's touched that part of you.

You feel your body losing strength as Isagi works you open, till it doesn't feel so tight so he can fit into you easily. It's all emptiness, all waiting to be full with Isagi all over.

"Gonna put it in, okay?" He informs you. You can't see him behind you, so you're left to conjure pictures of it. It makes your heart flutter, stomach flipping as you think of what Isagi must look like above you.

You hear his clothes come off, the silky swish of shorts and the smooth and texture material of his cotton boxers going next. Isagi lets out a warm puff off air from his lips. He rubs the tip of his cock against the roundest part of your ass in what feels close to affection. You can feel it, how it leaks and twitches and throbs against you like a promise.

And Isagi does that for so long, rubbing his cock against you. Against the puffy folds of your cunt and against your thighs and the creases of everywhere he can reach. He's teasing you. It leaves you gasping, arousal coming to the boiling point of frustration.

"You want something?" He says, almost coy. Near playful in that egotistical, mean sort of way he doesn't usually do unless you plead. You moan, voice coarse.

"Yoichi," You say, figuring maybe that'd be enough for him to push in but he doesn't it "Please, baby. Give it to me."

"Give you what? C'mon, tell me, hm?"

"Want your dick in me." You say with a whine. He laughs over you, bubbly and boyish and miserably attractive. If you weren't so horny, you'd be angry but he sounds so good like that.

"Really now? Guess I should give it to you since you asked so nicely."

"Thank you, thank you—oh fuck."

Isagi feels good when he pushes the tip into you slowly. He pushes it into you slow. His cock is hard and longer than thick and it feels so impossibly good. Your stomach tenses in anticipation for every inch and he gives you it just as promised. With a smooth roll of hips, his own body reacting naturally to your soft, wet heat.

He's so hard inside of you, throbbing. The skin on skin is too intense to breathe - even the tiniest motion leaving you falling forward. Whatever you feel is strengthened by the sound of Isagi's voice. The harsh way he groans.

His body weight melts into yours and nothing exists outside of you. All you can think about is Isagi's cock, and the weight of his body. His chest and the rest of his body is alarmingly strong, pure sinew under the skin that tenses and strains. You feel his chest, plush and broad, right up against your back.

And this time you can hear his heartbeat, really. You can hear it pump against his, how loud and fast it is and how it rings in his ears. Isagi is inside of you and all over you. His chin is resting on your shoulder and you can hear his breathing in all of it's uneven desperation.

All of Isagi is all of you. You don't know where he starts and where you stop. Isagi is inside of you and he's so close to you and your everything is in carnal cohesion with one another. The only thing your body wants wholly is for him to move.

And he does, eventually - after pushing his cock all the way to the base. And you're still laying flat on your stomach, now pinned under his weight.

Instead of a hard thrust, your met with a deep and shallow one. It's different. It doesn't knock into you. More like a carving, a gentle scraping touching a part of you you'd never thought you'd reach. The euphoria of scratching a deep itch, Isagi melts you into him.

"Oh, love." He groans, hips rolling over and over "You're perfect, feels perfect, feels so good fuck."

You whimper against your sheets, cheek planted onto them as he fucks you with the weight of his whole body.

"I'm so lucky. Gotta keep—ngh, fuck—winning so we can stay like this, yeah? You like when I win, right?"

You nod your head wearily before forcing out a soft yes.

"And I like winning for you. I like when you brag about and I like that everyone knows that you always cheer for me. You know that? Love you so much."

"Isagi," You beg, with all the patience and need you can muster "Fuck me, fuck me."

Isagi laughs against the shell of your ear, teeth nipping slightly.

"Uh-huh. I will. C'mon, grind against the bed a little. Make yourself feel good."

You don't know if Isagi is just good at reading you, but you whimper. He lets up just so you can angle yourself - your clit rubbing against something that you were laying on. A blanket squished underneath you, Isagi moves so you can rut yourself on it while he fucks you. It's thoughtful. Makes you so horny you can't do anything but lose yourself to him.

You squrim until your little achy clit catches onto the material. Everything is tight together and Isagi smiles as he feels you clench around his cock hard. You're gonna cum soon. With just a little more effort, and he knows.

"That's what you needed right? I'm gonna move with you. Cum when you feel it."

He matches your paces with terrifying precision. The control in his movements is intoxicating, matches the perfect rhythm for you're grinding yourself and everything around you is coming undone.

You're going to cum. You're going to cum hard and it's going to be around Isagi's cock while he's in you all the way. Everything is so snug and your whole body is locked. A fist clenched or the weight of something before it breaks.

When you cum, everything blurs together. Every motion and every sound and you're so dizzy. Everything smells like sex and sweat and Isagi is whispering sweet nothings in your ear. It's pure euphoria and you choke on the air around you. Your body shudders and your cunt throbs like it doesn't want Isagi to leave.

Isagi fucks you through your high, and when you're all tuckered out - his lips are against your neck.

"Can I cum?" He asks, just in case. You giggle.

"Do it inside." You purr. Isagi curses over you, and another wave of pleasure floods you as he spills inside. Thick spurts of cum making your insides white until he practically collapses above you.

When he's finished, he rubs his cheek on your skin and you laugh.

"You're heavy," You tease. Isagi hums.

"Move later. Wanna stay like this"

"Not even gonna pull out, huh?"

"Nope."

---

2024 collection part one

January

Condescending boyfriend:

♡ HOPELESS

Yandere kidnapper is a sexual sadist:

♡ RIBBED CONDOMS

Yandere kidnapper throatfucks you after anal:

♡ ATM

Awful nasty incel:

♡ drabble

Boss uses his assistant whenever he wants and however he wants:

♡ BOSS

Yandere captor using you as his pretty rope-bunny:

♡ ROPE-BUNNY

Simpy boyfriend is unabashedly obsessed with your ass:

♡ ASS

JJK—Hunter Gojo traps Nymph reader in the woods:

♡ FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Ex-boyfriend kidnaps you:

♡ LOVE ME

Yandere captor staking claim to all your holes:

♡ STUFFED

JJK—Gojo x maid darling:

♡ drabble

Yandere captor has too much libido:

♡ REMINDER

Another day waking up next to your yandere captor:

♡ MORNING WOOD

JJK—Senpai Gojo teasing Kohai reader:

♡ TRUTH OR DARE

You break up with your fuckfriend, and he doesn't take it well:

♡ FUBU

Creep captor dresses you up like a doll and takes pictures of you:

♡ DOLL

JJK—Yandere Gojo with a reader who is immune to his techniques:

♡ FINITE

Yandere captor loves watching you cum:

♡ THAT SPECIAL PLACE

BNHA—Childhood friend Deku never stops crushing on you:

♡ WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR?

You're a popular airhead, and he's your loser tutor:

♡ BLIND TRUST

JJK—Immature bully Gojo picks on reader:

♡ MILK

You become the spoiled prince's personal maid:

♡ FARM ANIMAL

Poly yandere captors make you cum for them:

♡ A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE

Yandere plays the good guy:

♡ GOOD GUY

Stepdaddy puts you in your place:

♡ BRAT

Businessman yandere comes home to his little trophy wife:

♡ STRESS BALL

JJK—Childhood friend Gojo doesn't want to share you with anyone:

♡ TOGETHER FOREVER

JJK—Boyfriend Suguru shares you with his best friend Satoru:

♡ FAVORITE PEOPLE

Poly wolfboys x bunny reader:

♡ BUNNYHOLES

Beast boyfriend x human reader:

♡ INSTINCTS

February

You try running away from your two poly yandere captors:

♡ ROPE OR BAT?

You're an older guy's pleasure pet:

♡ BEDTIME FEEDING

Omega reader tries running away from Alpha mate:

♡ SILLY LITTLE MATE

Jock bully asks you to tutor him:

♡ NERD

BNHA—Childhood friend Bakugou and you:

♡ NO ONE ELSE

JJK—Asylum patient Mahito x psychologist reader:

♡ EAT

Massive warrior claims you as his war prize:

♡ WAR PRIZE

Step-daddy puts you in your place:

♡ TRAINING

JJK—Bully Suguru is not like other bullies:

♡ BULLY

Snugglebug boyfriends who're just so clingy and hopeless:

♡ VIRGINAL

HAZBIN HOTEL—Adam is an entitled prick:

♡ GENESIS

JJK—Noaya falls for his favorite brothel whore:

♡ WHORE

Spending Valentine's Day with your incel kidnapper:

♡ HAPPY VALENTINES

Poly wolfboys x bunny reader:

♡ GROOMING

Delinquent childhood friend x reader:

♡ SUCKER

Businessman x trophy wife:

♡ TASTE OF MONEY

Rich boyfriend is condescending:

♡ SNOB

Pet collector buys bunny reader:

♡ BOUGHT & SOLD ♡ THE OTHER PETS

Sweet boyfriend won't stop talking about anal:

♡ SECOND VIRGINITY

March

Aromantic psychopathic yandere kidnaps you:

♡ NUISANCE

JJK—Okkotsu Yuta x mean girl curse:

♡ MEAN GIRL

Reader owes the mob:

♡ PROPERTY

DEATH NOTE—L is fascinated by you:

♡ PAPER SWANS

Your college roommate rubs you the wrong way:

♡ PERFECT STRANGERS

When the playboy finally falls in love:

♡ PLAYBOY

BNHA—You and Bakugou survive under a collapsed building together:

♡ SHARED TRAUMA

You let your bully fuck you in exchange for him leaving you alone:

♡ WORSE OFF

Boyfriend is embarrassed:

♡ POST NUT CLARITY

Ex-boyfriend wants you back so badly:

♡ UNFAIR

April

Ghost month! This month doesn't exist!

May

Rich husband owns everything you have:

♡ BARBIE

Ex-military yandere kidnaps you:

♡ EX-MILITARY YANDERE

Teacher teaches you a hard lesson:

♡ HARD LESSON

Your boyfriend is down bad, and it's threatening:

♡ BRUISER BOYFRIEND

Your toxic boyfriend is a little old-fashioned-minded:

♡ BENEVOLENT SEXIST

June

JJK—Sukuna adds virgin!nun!reader to his harem:

♡ UNHOLY

Breaking up with your bad boyfriend:

♡ BAD BREAKUP

BNHA boys as mythic creatures x darling:

♡ MYTHIC

JJK—God!Gojo x human sacrifice:

♡ DIRT POOR

Your childhood bully tracks you down:

♡ APOLOGETIC BULLY only avaliable on AO3 ♡ PART TWO

You make the big angry alpha blush:

♡ BIG ANGRY ALPHA

You were certain you were an Alpha, but as it turns out...

♡ TWIST OF FATE

Can two Betas do the work of one Alpha?

♡ TWO BETAS, ONE OMEGA

JJK—You stab Gojo. He kinda likes it:

♡ KNIFE

The old-fashioned boss with intern reader:

♡ NEW INTERN

JJK men as mythic creatures x darling:

♡ MYSTIC ♡ MYTHIC

You're not cheap, but you're worth it:

♡ FAVORITE WHORE

You open your heart to your fuck-friend:

♡ DAMAGED

Your Alpha Mate is so in love with you it's a little exhausting:

♡ LOVEY-DOVEY ALPHA

JJK—Gojo Senpai won't leave you alone:

♡ TAKE A HINT

JJK—Soft boyfriend Gojo headcanons:

♡ Boyfriend Gojo

♡ PART TWO COMING AFTER NEW YEAR'S EVE

I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man!

pairing: john price x fem!reader

wc: 7.2k...sorry lmao plz read…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, fluff, established relationship, oral (m. receiving), road head, porn w so much plot, hair pulling, angst, emotional conflict, complicated family dynamics, dysfunctional family, i.e., ongoing conflict, reader having familial issues (mostly maternal), age-gap, secret relationship & marriage, & john being a protector.

author's note: this was brought to fruition by a singular barry sloan edit that had me salivating and @sai-int's fic 'a ticket to play', which single-handedly re-sparked my love for price! so, yeah, anyways, enjoy this horny mess!

dividers by @/saradikagraphics!

John Price is a man...

“John, you didn’t,” you hiss, eyes wide as you set down the groceries on the counter, your wrists aching from the heavy load.

“Didn’t know it was your mother, sweetheart,” he replies, his tone sincere. He quickly grabs the bags and begins unpacking the groceries.

You glance at the house phone positioned beside the fridge, then peel off the old sticky note attached there. You read it aloud, “Don’t answer calls from the 406 area code. I’m talking to you, John,” before pausing to think, lips pursed in contemplation.

He opens the fridge, sliding the milk jug inside before carefully shutting the door. When he turns back to see your knowing smile, his eyebrows lift in a silent acknowledgment, a quiet ‘ah’ escaping his lips.

“Well,” you urge, grabbing the aromatics from the counter to put up. “What did she say when you picked up?” You ask, attempting to sound as casual and disinterested as possible.

“Oh. Nothin’ you’d find interestin,’” he hums with a knowing smile as he tears open a pack of paper towels.

You press your lips together. “Well…yeah,” you mutter, picking up a few grapefruits. “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me,” you defend, emphasizing the ‘doesn’t.’ “I just want to know what she thought,” you shrug, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Mhm,” he hums thoughtfully as he gathers the now-empty reusable bags, hanging them on the hook next to the cabinet.

“I’m serious,” you say, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “I really don’t care.”

"I know you don't, hon." He turns to wash the fresh berries in a colander, the water splashing against the metal steadily.

"You don't believe me," you exasperate.

He lets out a low laugh as he washes the berries. "Didn't say that."

You lean against the kitchen island, your body language betraying your frustration. "You were thinking it," you accuse, with a dramatic sigh.

He sets the berries back into the colander and turns his head toward you, a playful half-smile on his lips. “No, I wasn't,” he replies, clearly amused.

You poke your tongue into your cheek, mentally cursing yourself for marrying someone so adept at reading your emotions, your inner conflict laid bare.

“But,” he says, tearing a paper towel to dry his hands. “Now, I’m starting to feel that you do care.”

You don’t respond, trying to avert your gaze as heat creeps into your cheeks like he’s caught you sneaking a cookie from the cookie jar.

“Baby,” he moves closer, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders and pulling you into him. “It’s okay to care,” he whispers softly into your hair, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

You gently shut your eyes, pressing your face into his warm abdomen, finding comfort in his presence.

“Damn it,” you mumble, your words muffled against him. He chuckles softly in response. “Alright, fine,” you pull back slightly, locking your eyes onto his as his hands cradle your cheeks. “I do care. Now, spill the juicy details.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. “Well, she started by checkin’ in on you.”

You release a dry laugh, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, right. She always has ulterior motives," you grumble. "I swear that woman is always up to—"

"Shh," he squishes your cheeks together as both thumbs rest over your lips to silence you. "Will you let me finish?" He prompts, quipping a brow.

"Sorry, yeah," you apologize, your voice coming out muffled and nasal. 

He nods with a smile, moves his thumbs off your mouth, and drops his hands to massage your shoulders. "Said your sister is gettin' married, and she thought it would be nice if you came down for her engagement party this weekend," he supplies. 

Correction remarried.

She's on her fifth? No, her sixth husband now.

Guess she thinks six will be the lucky number.

Who’s gonna tell her?

However, that’s beside the point; you care about something much more…pathetic.

You feel frustrated because all you really want is to know how your mother reacted to the deep, gruff voice of the Englishman who answered the phone.

You wait with a bated breath, eyes wide with anticipation, but his expression remains flat, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What else?" You finally question, unable to contain your curiosity.

"That's all," he plainly says, his words hanging in the air.

You scoff. "She didn't ask about the random guy answering my phone?" You voice with disbelief.

Your mother is a shallow woman, but surely you getting what she’s constantly pressured you into getting would have her jumping for joy.

A sly smirk grows on his lips. "Am I just some random guy?" He jokes.

You smile yourself before pressing a kiss to his lips, arms coming to wrap around his torso. "You’re my husband, so not to me," you begin. "But to her, yes," your hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him down to peck his lips again. "You know that," you say matter-of-factly.

His hands drift to your waist. "Mhm, I'm your dirty little secret," he hums softly.

"John," you frown, guilt flooding your brain. "You know I would, but—"

"Just jokes, baby," he interjects, pressing a light kiss on your temple as his eyes light up. "I love you in any way you’ll have me," he murmurs softly.

"God, you’re perfect," you reply with a smile. 

"She did question who I was," he starts. "Had no idea she was so southern," he remarks casually before continuing. "She thought I was the plumber," he quips, trying to lighten the mood slightly.

He tried, but he could feel the tension in the air.

Sees the disappointment and anger in your eyes.

In your posture.

You're fucking pissed.

"Typical," you remark, stepping away from him, arms flailing around. "She—she thinks I'm so incapable of finding someone that she would resort to thinking you're a person I pay before actually thinking you're with me." Your voice is filled with frustration.

"Hon—" John begins, voice soft as his hand reaches for you.

"And she wonders why I never visit," you release a dry laugh. "Never reach out."

"Come ere,'" he coos, hand pulling you by your wrist, so he can engulf you in a hug.

"It's not fair," your voice is once again muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but he can hear the tightness in it and the sniffle against him, a clear sign of your emotional distress.

"No, it's not," he affirms, fingers easing through your hair.

"Nothing is ever good enough for her," you exhale into his abdomen, fueled more by anger than by despair.

John gently kisses your hair while his fingers soothe your back with a gentle massage.

"I’ll never be good enough for her," you mumble absentmindedly, your voice lacking emotion.

"Sweetheart," he begins, his voice low as your hair muffles the sound. "Don't take offense, but you're mother is a real nasty woman. You're fuckin' perfect, and if she can't see that, it's her God-damn loss," his tone rough yet sincere.

You chuckled, a smile spreading across your face as the corners of your eyes crinkled. "I love you."

"Love you so much," he whispers, gently planting another kiss on your head.

He leans back slightly to look into your eyes. "Want me to run you a hot bath?" He asks, gently massaging your shoulders.

"That sounds really nice," you reply, taking a deep breath. "Thanks."

"Course. That's what I'm here for," he says effortlessly, leaning down to kiss your lips tenderly. "I'll let you know when it's ready."

You nod quietly as he moves to draw the warm bath.

The thought of sinking into steamy water and enveloping bubbles soothes your mind.

Honestly, to hell with your mother's opinions.

They just weren't worth the headache.

And there was no way you were going back to that house.

The promise of the bath, with its comforting warmth and enticing bubbles, would wash away your worries and quiet the thoughts swirling in your head.

Visions of your mother and that place would fade, never to resurface again.

"Can't believe she thought I would actually come down," you sigh contentedly, feeling the warmth of your husband, John, as he works shampoo through your hair, creating rich suds.

So much for the visions of your mother fading. 

It had been a whole day since your mother's call, and the weight of her words still lingered, stirring up a storm of conflicting emotions within you.

"Still on your mind?" John asks, eyes hyperfocusing on ensuring the shampoo coats every strand of your hair.

"I just—I don't understand why she thought I would come," you suspire, turning to massage the loofah against John's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the tension in his muscles.

"Must have gone mad, I suppose," he jests, his fingers massaging the shampoo into your scalp, adding a touch of humor to the heavy conversation.

Your lip quips at his joke, eyes lighting at the sight of him taking such good care of you, ensuring your scalp is tantalizingly clean. "Maybe," you murmur. "Because all she ever does is ridicule me and constantly ask if I've found a man.” You gently move the loofah over his chest to ensure he is squeaky clean.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs, his hands coming to massage your facial cleanser into your face before returning to the issue at hand.

"Wouldn't let tryin' to examine your mother's psyche take your day, hon," his hands move with familiar ease as he massages the liquid into your cheeks. "You'll never know why. Can't change that,” he says.

"I hate how logical you are," you sigh, finding yourself relaxing at his touch.

He lets out a gruff laugh. "Would you rather me be some git?"

Your eyebrow quips, eyes remaining closed. "What does that mean?"

His lip quips. "Sweetheart, how long have you lived with me here, in England?" He enunciates the last word as he moves you under the faucet to wash away the cleanser's remnants. 

"Not long enough, I guess," you smile cheekily, wiping your eyes free of water to open them. "Honestly, forever isn't even long enough," you add, trying to shift the focus, though it's true; you can't quite remember how long you've been living together  

"Oh," he tuts softly. "Nice save. Can't argue with that," he replies, smirking before leaning in to kiss your lips.

After a stretch of silence, you turn around so he can wash your back with the loofah. Your mind is still swirling with thoughts. "I kind of miss seeing my niece," you find yourself reminiscing.

"Even though my sister and I don't get along too well, her daughter and I have always had a special bond," you say with a sigh.

"What else do you miss?" Since you never really talk about where you grew up, John prods, he's curious.

"Well, in the spring, my cousins and I would go flower picking in the field behind my grandfather's house," you find yourself getting more excited.

"He also had an old peach tree, Mindy, he called it, that we would pick dozens of peaches from and just lay in the shade under the tree and eat them till he thought we might become peaches ourselves," you snicker, turning around to face him, eyes light.

"They were fucking good peaches."

"Sounds like you miss it," he grins.

Your hand turns the lever off, and the water stops, leaving a lingering warmth on your skin. "I do," you confess, stepping out of the shower to grab you and him fresh towels.

"But, my mother knows how to ruin the best of memories," your voice is monotone. "I want those great ones to stay intact, you know?" You shrug, wrapping the towel around yourself, offering comfort.

He wraps the towel low around his waist. "Course I get it, sweetheart," his voice soft yet gruff. "Let's get you all nice and dry, and we'll order some takeout. Yeah?" He asks, reaching for your hand to lead you into your shared bedroom to get dressed.

"Sounds perfect," you voice, the thoughts of going home almost completely absolving. 

A few misses wouldn't make you completely switch gears and go.

It just wasn't worth it.

Only your mother could figure out how to make the enjoyment and amazing things crumble up and burn. 

But you won't let her. 

So, you've made up your mind. 

You will not be going.

That's final.

It's two days to Saturday.

You've been manically counting down the days.

And so, naturally, instead of basking in the serene morning, with birds chirping and the gentle glow of the sun filtering through your kitchen window, you're perched on a barstool, computer propped up, as your breakfast grows cold, hand hesitating over a plane ticket that will whisk you away tomorrow morning to your hometown. 

Just one click, and you'll have solidified yourself as going.

You're only feeling so impulsive because your impulse control, aka your husband, is at work.

Your finger hovers over the 'confirm' button for about twenty minutes.

You know what's holding you back.

The anxieties claw up about your mother and what ifs that could happen.

And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, it all becomes clear.

'Could.'

It's not a promise, just a possibility.

You had spontaneously decided that you wouldn't let the could control your decisions.

Yes, one thing was holding you back, but what about the multitude of things that you wanted to see or the many people who loved and cared about and desperately wanted to see after so long?

You were not going to let the 'could' control your decisions.

You were going to overcome this worry and take the leap.

You sit up tall in your chair, turning your head with a wince as you click "confirm."

"Oh," you murmur. "That was dramatic for no reason," you say monotonously.

But, now you can't help but feel a surge of excitement.

You would get to see your niece after so long.

And the flower field and, of course, Mindy the peach tree.

Who could forget your childhood room full of posters and knick-knacks you collected throughout your teenage years.

You find yourself smiling as you get that familiar chime from your email confirming your flight ticket.

Can't get cold feet now.

You take a swig of your tea, which has long since gone cold, but your throat is parched from the anxiety that grips you, a knot tightening in your stomach.

The mug was a gift from your husband for your birthday last year.

It featured your favorite flowers made into it and even had your birthday engraved on the bottom.

John was always so thoughtful.

You pause your movements, lips hovering over the clay mug, a moment of hesitation freezing your actions.

John.

Your husband.

Of course, he didn't care that you bought the ticket or wanted to go, but he would be pissed if you just left.

Sure, you could wait until he returned home, but the urgency to communicate your decision gnaws at you, compelling you to act now.

You hurriedly reach for your phone, fidgeting to press his number.

He's at the top of your contacts.

You tap your fingers against the cool granite countertop, waiting until he picks up.

It rings.

And rings.

...and rings again.

Until the line picks up, you sit up, ready to unload on him, only for it to be his voicemail line.

"Shit," you curse, hanging up as your foot bounces on the metal footstep on the barstool.

As you sit there, unable to wait until he gets home, you can't help but feel a surge of dramatic emotion. This internal conflict, this emotional turmoil, is what drives you to act impulsively.

But this is a big deal.

You never go home.

Rarely mention it.

So your next actions feel rationalized to you.

Without a second thought, you spring up, grab your keys from the hook by the door, slip your shoes and coat on, and speed to your car, most likely looking like a mad woman. 

But at this moment, who cares about appearances? 

The urgency of the situation overrides any concern for normalcy.

Normalcy is overrated, anyway.

You throw the car into gear, and though you are in a rush, you don't speed there. 

Carefully, you make your way, chewing on your lips nearly the entire drive.

Despite your earlier determination not to return, you find yourself on the way, a plane ticket already in your possession.

The anticipation of what your husband has to say fills you with a slight unease.

He wouldn't be mad.

More surprised than anything.

And honestly, you shamelessly loved seeing him at work.

His professional demeanor, always in control, never fails to impress you.

You can't help but oogle him.

It secretly really got you going.

But, this time, it was a purely innocent visit, of course.

You find a parking spot, ease into the front part, giving the officer guarding the gate your name.

She quickly lets you through.

You are the captain's wife, after all.

Walking, you head straight through a door and through another one.

So many God-damn doors in this place.

Until you reach the middle portion of the base, grass surrounds you, and various equipment is placed orderly around.

Sandbags, wooden ladders, and weights are among the items you see. 

Your eyes sweep the area until they land on the man you're looking for. 

He stands tall, his broad shoulders filling out his uniform, a few strands of hair escaping his signature hat.

His eyes are focused on the recruits, his expression a mix of determination and frustration.

From the looks of it, he's training new recruits, something he doesn't often do, but it's a real treat when he does.

His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his veiny arms. 

His arms, usually strong and steady, now appear more veiny than usual, a sign of his apparent frustration with the recruits. His jaw is set, and you can see the tension in his muscles as he barks orders.

"Runnin' like a fuckin' slug," he reprimands. "Pick up the pace."

You hate how hearing that makes you feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Get your head out of your ass," he grunts outs, clearly annoyed. "The hell are you lookin' at," he asks a recruit who, along with a few others, seems to be on another planet, eyes wandering behind him.

John turns to his side to see you in a cute dress, waving to him sweetly. "Course," he lets out a dry laugh, giving you a small wave.

He turns back to the recruits, his authority palpable.

"Eyes off my wife, or you'll be doin' extra laps," he scolds, his tone low but intimidating, before yelling to move to the ladders with Soap.

He makes his way over to you, a warm smile on his face. "Nice surprise, hon," he greets, kissing your cheek.

"I'm gonna go," you murmur.

His brows furrow in confusion. "Go where?" 

You raise a brow at his confusion. "To...see my family."

His eyes bore into your intently. "By yourself?"

"I didn't think you'd want to go," you say honestly. 

"I'm going with you," his tone final, with no room to argue. "You bought a plane ticket?" He questions.

"I did...sorry, I just thought—" you begin before he cuts in, his hand pressing against your cheek. 

"No worries," he says. "I'll get the ticket when I get back to my office," his tone casual. "You're sure about this?"

"I think so," you say. "Plus, if I cancel the ticket, we'll be out six hundred dollars," you laugh out.

"Screw the money, okay? You tell me if you don't want to go," he tells you, face serious.

"If I change my mind, you'll be the first to know," you lean up, pressing a short kiss to his lips. "Also, you should always wear your shirt like that."

His eyes narrow as he lets out a laugh. "You like it?"

"Looks sexy," you purr quietly, teeth coming to bite your lip.

His face warms slightly. "Should see what it looks like off."

"Are you flirting with me, captain?" You say, hand coming to your heart in false surprise. 

"Just givin' you a preview for later," his tone is husky. 

"I'll be waiting," you begin, beckoning him to lower his head so your lips can hover over his ear. "Already so wet just thinking about it."

He releases a low grunt as you press a kiss to his cheek.

"See you at home," you say sweetly as if you didn't just give him a hard-on at the thought of you all wet and needy for him.

"See you, sweetheart," he almost chokes out as you turn to go away, your ass swaying in the dress you wear.

He's going to make you pay later.

And honestly, you can't wait.

You need something to take your mind off tomorrow's morning flight. 

Though it was going to take a lot more than sex to ease your mind.

A horse tranquilizer may help.

No. Too dangerous.

Whatever, you'll take your chances with John's hand all over and in you to have you sleeping and at ease.

Maybe you'll get lucky, and you two can sneak off to the airport bathroom and finally join the mile-high club.

That would definitely keep your mind off things.

For now, you’ll wear a smile, and excitement will radiate from your being.

Everything will be fine.

Nothing bad will happen.

Even so, what’s the worst that could possibly happen?

Statement retracted.

Your trip thus far has been a shitshow, and you haven't even seen your family yet.

Your flight got delayed three hours because of fog.

That was understandable, annoying, but understandable. 

What wasn't was the lady who insisted on sitting between you and John on your flight in the seat you paid for.

An older lady, maybe in her late forties or so, with a determined look in her eyes and a set to her jaw that said she wasn't going to let a little thing like a seat assignment get in her way.

She was nice at first.

She became insufferable rather quickly.

Very persistent.

You deduce she did that so she could sit next to your man. 

It didn't bother you so much, plus you knew if you showed it did, John would make a scene, and you just wanted to close your eyes and sleep, so you let her have your seat and sat by the window instead.

But every time you got settled, eyes closing gently, the soft lull of the plane helping you drift off.

"Going off to college?" She piped next to you, oblivious or noncaring about your eyes shut.

Your eyes open rapidly, and you look at her, awaiting a response. "Uh, no. I graduated a couple of years ago," your voice is drowsy. 

"Oh. You two must be going on a father-daughter trip, then?" She poses.

Your wide eyes drift to John's; a smile etched on his face. "Such a kind father you are," she compliments without missing a beat.

The sheer absurdity of her assumption leaves you speechless, and John can't help but let out a quiet laugh.

"Thas' actually my wife," he says, trying to contain another laugh. 

"Oh," her eyes widen in shock and apparent envy. "Well, aren't you a lucky one," her tone is dry as she eyes you.

That was funny.

But not when she did it about five hundred times on the eight hour flight.

It was like a broken record, playing the same tune over and over again, and you were the unwilling participant. 

Over and over again like clockwork.

Drove you bat shit crazy.

Sure, maybe you could have just told her to shut the hell up, but you kept telling yourself it wasn't worth the fight, and you didn't have the energy to make the effort.

Also, since the lady was sitting in the seat between you, formally yours, you didn't feel comfortable asking John about the bathroom sex.

She would have most likely dropped dead or asked to join.

You didn't want either.

So, it is safe to say that when the plane landed, you sat up excitedly to escape the stuffy plane.

The lady tried to follow you and John out, but you grabbed John by the wrist, dragging him behind you as your legs gained more momentum to try and escape her.

It was like a horror movie.

"Oh my God. She was so weird," you laugh out to John as you manage to get away from her, stepping out of the airport to collect your rental truck. 

"I know. Kept lookin' at me the whole flight," he says with unease as he places your suitcases into the backseat of the truck, shooing away your hands from the bags so he could lift them himself.

"Do we need to get you a counselor?" You half-joke as he opens the car door for you to get in as he moves to the driver's seat.

"Think so," he gruffs before his eyes fixate on you. "You okay?"

You had put the address into the truck's maps system, settling back into the leather seat, eyes now on his. "I'm nervous," you confess.

"Nothin' to be nervous about. I'm here for you, okay? If you need to leave, just tell me," his voice is soft as his hand caresses your thigh in comfort. 

You give him a nod, turning to look out the window at the passing buildings, a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

You had already texted your niece you were coming, so you're sure your mother and sister know. 

It's not like you'd be staying with them.

That's too much too soon.

Plus, you and John could have sex anytime in the hotel with no fears of your estranged mother walking and seeing John balls-deep in you.

It was really better for all parties.

Once you pull up to the house, you swear you could hurl.

"Was this a bad idea?" You ask John nervously as he pulls your suitcases out of the backseat.

He gently sets them on the dirt. "It's just nerves," he says, locking the truck. "Let's scope it out, and if you want to leave, we'll go. No questions," his hand rests gently on your shoulder.

"Promise?" You prod, tilting your head towards him. 

He smiles at you. "You have my word, sweetheart."

You release a deep breath. "I think I'm going to pass out."

He chuckles deeply, hand snaking around your waist to lead you to the front door. "I'll catch you if you do."

You feel your nerves subside with John by your side as you flip up the familiar peach-shaped doorbell cover to ring the bell.

Stomping feet approach, the voice growing nearer and nearer until the front door pulls open to reveal your sister.

Flawless as ever. 

Her eyes light up. "Thought my daughter was tellin' fibs," she jokes, pulling you into a warm, tight hug. "Missed you." Her genuine affection wraps around you like a comforting blanket.

You reciprocate the hug with equal tightness. 

Although you may not have gotten along well, she was still your sister, and you could feel the love a million miles away. 

She pulls away, eyes falling onto the mysterious, hot, stoic man to your side. "Who's this good-lookin' hunk?" She coos, smacking her gun.

"This is my, um, my husband, John," you say, fumbling your words a little.

"Nice to meet you," his voice is low and most shockingly British, as he sticks his hand out.

Cordial as ever. 

"Oh, come on. That's just not even fair, sis," she jests, taking his hand fast and tight.

Her playful banter adds a lightness to the moment that almost absolves your nerves entirely.

"Where's...mom?" You ask, your heart pounding in your chest, the unease apparent in your tone.

She looks back at you. "Kitchen," she says before offering a reason. "She's makin' peach cobbler. Come on in," she steps aside so you and John can enter the door.

The familiar scent of the old wooden floors, the sound of the creaking stairs, and the sight of the family photos on the wall all bring back a flood of memories.

Warm smiles and familiar voices greet you as you step inside.

Cousins, aunts, uncles.

They approach you one by one, their surprise at your arrival evident, but even more so at hearing that you're married to the burly man at your side. 

Your aunts keep him occupied as you wander into the kitchen.

They keep him engaged in their lively banter, shamelessly flirting with him while their husbands sit in the living room, engrossed in their own discussions. 

You feel a little bad for leaving him to fend with the wolves, but he assured you he was alright and all but pushed you into the kitchen.

Sure enough, your mother was busy rolling out some dough on the countertop for the crust for the top of the peach cobbler. 

"Mom," your voice is quiet as you move around the island to where she is.

She turns. "Well, I'll be," she begins, eyes wide and full of surprises. "Ya came."

"I did," you amend with a smile. "And I brought someone I'd like you to meet."

"Some city guy?" Her head moves back to the dough, no longer on you.

"He, yes, he's from the city," your voice is outwardly confused.

"Thought so," her tone is snarky as she delicately lays the dough over the cobbler filling. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" It comes out more defensive than you intend. 

"Nothin,'" she says flatly. "Enjoyen' your fancy life in the city?"

You roll your eyes, already anticipating the direction this conversation is about to take. "Mom," you urge, your frustration palpable.

"No, hon. I get it," she looks up at you, shrugging. "Honestly, surprised you came. Wouldn't wanna dim your new sparkly life," her tone is condescending. "That is why it's been so long, right?"

"It's not like that," you try to justify, but you know it will do no good.

She completely disregards that, instead changing the subject. "Supper's ready," she bussies herself with stirring the gravy. "Better snag yourself a seat quick," her tone is dry. "Table hasn't grown none."

You release a shallow breath, turning around to escape this stupid God-damned kitchen and moving to find John. 

It's a familiar feeling, this resignation. 

Guess some things never change. 

You approach him, and before you say a word, his eyes are already locked on you, body language now stiff. "What's the matter?" His hands are on you in an instant.

You should have known.

He can read you like one of those mission reports he reads daily.

"Nothing," you mutter, forcing a smile, but the words feel heavy with the things you're hiding.

His eyes narrow. "Can't lie to me," he voices.

You'd just about rather crawl in a hole and die than re-account. 

What was supposed to be a happy recount turned sour rather quickly.

"Tell me," he urges, sensing your inner turmoil. 

"Drop it," your tone is more icey than usual. "Please." 

He gives you a light nod, eyes full of concern.

"Let's go eat, okay?" Your hand moves to his, intertwining your fingers, and guilt claws up your throat.

He gives you a nod as you drag him into the dining room to snag a seat at the main table.

Mom was right. The table is still too small to accommodate a family of this size, so another table sits outside and another in the living room. 

Others crowd around the breakfast nook and sit on barstool at the kitchen island. 

This house has never known loneliness. 

Your mother, father, sister, sister's daughter, and your sister's fiance are at the table with you and John. 

Your niece opts to sit next to you, gushing about her new boyfriend, the son of the florist downtown, and asking questions about the city.

"Hush now, darlin.' She gets all fussy about that," your mother chides your niece, referring to your early conversation about you living in the city.

"Mom," you quip, eyes wide at her sheer audacity.

She hadn't even addressed John, just jumping straight into a fight.

Typical.

"I'm just sayin.' Ya jumped all over me for talkin' about it," she says, trying to sound innocent. 

Seems her memory is slipping.

"That's not why I got upset," your tone is teetering between desperation and frustration, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air.

She plops some mashed potatoes on her plate before passing the bowl along. "Then what was it ya were so hurt about earlier, huh?"

You're sure steam is rolling out of your ears.

"You hold a, a vendetta against me for leaving," you spew without much thought, anger taking over. "Because you never got to leave, you take it out on me," you finish, and you're sure you're shaking. 

If all eyes weren't on you before, they are now.

John is leaning back in his chair, eyes wide.

He's kind of scared if he touches you, you'll punch him, so he instead crosses his arm over his chest.

"I think the city is cool," your niece randomly chimes in, clearly trying to ease the tension. "Would love to visit someday."

You give her a smile before your mother starts up again.

"Didn't your mother teach ya about city girls," she snaps to your niece. "Nothin' good ever came from any of em.'" 

You can taste the metallic taste of blood on your tongue; you had bitten your cheek so hard you bled.

"Ain't that right," your mother says, eyes shifting to your sister.

Your sister is great.

Just not in the presence of your mother.

She takes on her personality and thoughts.

Agreeing with her without a second thought

That includes her fights.

"It's true," she snickers. "City girls can't tell a pencil from a pecker."

You find yourself standing abruptly, and your sister matches your action, spewing more garbage. 

And for some reason, her fiance stands up, which makes John stand up, matching his movements.

He's easily a foot taller than her fiance, and he's much more muscular, too.

"Enough," John's low, commanding voice is fitting for a military captain. It splices through the room, the commotion dying as he speaks. "I will not sit here and let you treat my wife like this," his head tilts towards your sister and then to your mother. "Now or ever."

He doesn't even need to yell to get any attention. 

His voice just demands attention already. 

Your sister, usually so quick with a retort, is silent.

The fear in her eyes is unmistakable, adding to the intensity of the confrontation.

She’s scared.

Hell, everyone is.

Well, except your niece, whose lip quips secretly, a small smirk playing on her lips despite the tension in the room. 

"Your daughter came down on her own merit to see you," he points to your mother. "Could have done so many other things, but she wanted to see you," he enunciates the last word.

"Well, she—" Your mother begins, her face bright red with anger, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Tired of hearin' the excuses," his voice cuts through hers. She quickly shuts up, a surprising silence falling over her. "Can't even believe your daughter turned out as amazing as she did growing up with this," he gestures towards you.

He stands with his hands on his hips, disappointment is evident on his face. 

"My wife is a God-damn saint," his voice is rough.

You find your lip quipping at the praise and how much he appreciates you.

He worships the ground you walk on.

That was made abundantly clear. 

His hands reach to rest on your lower back. "Appreciate the food, but we'll be leavin' now," he mutters, stepping back to push his chair in.

You don't argue with him.

Hell, how could you?

He said everything you couldn't

Laid all your thoughts on the table and even added some extra.

He did what he was born to do: protect.

You step away, push your chair in, and turn around, not bothering to say goodbye as you walk to the front door.

You'll text your niece later. 

The chill in the air, carrying the scent of magnolia trees and damp earth, hits you like a slap to the face.

John's hand is still on your lower back, guiding you back to the truck.

He opens the door so you can slip inside as he makes his way around the driver's seat.

The heater is blasting as he shoves the key into the keyhole, and the engine is stirring alive as he easily backs out and pulls onto the road. 

The silence is heavy as he drives down a straight, desolate road.

It's silent for a moment before he starts to comment, apologizing profusely about how he overstepped and saying sorry that this trip turned out bad.

You're tuning him out and instead focusing on how he stood up for you.

He was just such a man.

He always knew how to be what you needed him to be.

Protector.

Listener.

Talker.

He always knew which role to take on to support you, to be your anchor in the storm of emotions. 

Just that thought alone made you incredibly wet. 

You don't know why.

You should be crying from the way things unfolded with your family.

But you're not sad, not even remotely.

Just incredibly horny.

You find yourself slipping the rubberband off your wrist and quickly tying your hair in a messy ponytail.

"Hon," John says, noting your unusual silence. "I'm so sorry," he quickly glances your way before looking back at the road.

You don't speak, opting to brush your hand against his cargo pants as your fingers fumble with his zipper.

He makes a noise of surprise. "What're you doin?'" He asks, his voice breathy.

"You took care of me," you mumble, shimming your fingers under the waistband of his boxers to release his erect cock, to which he grunts. "Want to do the same," your voice is lazy, as your lips brush against the sensitive head.

"Me yellin' at your mother got you all hot?" He jokes though it dies halfway on his tongue as your lips spread open to accommodate his size.

His knuckles are white as he tightly grips the steering wheel so as not to crash.

Your mouth makes a pop noise before you speak. "You're just so sexy. All manly like that," you mutter against his cock, the tingle of your words sending goosebumps throughout his entire body.

"Am I?" He chokes out as your lips move back to encase his cock.

"So hot," your voice is muffled as you take in more of his cock.

"Oh—Christ, thas' it, hon," he groans as you bob your head up and down.

His mind has gone fuzzy at the feeling of your tight throat, taking him so good, even swerving a little, before quickly straightening the wheels.

"So fuckin' good," he grunts, as one hand moves to gather your ponytail in a loose fist. 

Your tongue works in tandem, rubbing against the underside of his cock, sending more pleasure through him. "Such a good girl, babe," he praises, and you just know that your underwear will be soaked. 

"So good." Your moan against him at the next praise, making him sputter his hips up, his cock slipping in your mouth entirely. 

He chokes out some incoherent words you can't make out; taking note of his body going taut, you can presume he's close.

"Gonna," he strains out as you continue bobbing up and down, his hand tightening around the fistful of your hair. “Come."

You bring your hand to pump the base as your tongue flicks across the tip.

He groans with anguish, legs shaking as he comes in your mouth.

You pull your head up, your eyes boring into his so he can watch you swallow out every last drop, even using your fingers to clean up the residue in the corners of your mouth.

His eyes stay glued to your mouth before you yell at him to watch the road.

"Christ," he shouts, gripping the wheel tight to stay in his lane. 

You laugh as you lean, pressing a sideways kiss on his lips.

He can taste himself on your lips.

He almost comes again.

But the high lasts just as short as when you look in the review to see police sirens hot on your tale, the siren invading your eardrums. 

John curses but pulls off to the shoulder, sneakily grabbing his military badge in his pocket.

"You always just carry that on you?" You smile slyly, the body still warm from your escapades. 

"Will come in handy," he assures, rolling his window down as the officer makes his way to his window.

"Evenin', folks. Gotta call from a concerned driver sayin' you were swervin' out of your lane," he says.

"No, sir. Not us," you answer, John glancing towards you.

"That right?" The officer prods. "I'm going to need to see your license and registration, sir," his monotone voice says. 

"Yes, sir," John says, slyly flashing his military badge as he "looks" for his license. 

"You're military?" John nods. "Hell," the officer laughs, tucking his notepad back in his pocket. "I know you aren't some juveniles."

John laughs as he glances over to you, glancing down to see a little remnant of his come on your shirt.

He almost feels guilty.

Almost.

He lets out a cough.

"You alright, sir?" The officer asks, brows furrowed.

"Yeah. Fine," his voice is strained.

You shoot him a look before the officer starts again.

"Well, I'll let ya'll get on your way," he pats the top of the car.

You both issue a heartfelt thanks before John pulls back out onto the road, a palpable sense of relief in your voices.

"Can't believe he just let you off," you groan, hand coming to intertwine his. 

"Thought you'd be happy?" He laughs. "Can get to the hotel in record time now."

You raise a knowing eyebrow. "For what?"

"Saw you squirmin' in that seat," he teases, his affectionate tone wrapping around you. "I need to take care of my girl," he adds, his voice filled with warmth and love. 

You release a shallow breath.

His girl.

You.

Just you.

That's what you loved about loving him. 

You didn't have to keep up with his expectations.

You could simply exist, and he would kiss the ground you walk on.

The thought lit up your brain.

John Price was your man.

And in his eyes, you'd always be his girl.

mini author's note: i'd have to be surgically removed from him...

- on childhood loneliness

@aphexxtween on tiktok/ @mazzystarjpg/ mastermind- taylor swift/ the virgin suicides/ @heavensickness/ if you’re anything like me- taylor swift/ pen15/ @mango-season

hi qts! im working on ALL my requests at the moment so if you feel like yours hasn’t gone through please send them in!!!

exams killed me and my imagination 😭😭

but thank you all for waiting so patiently and wishing me luck for my exams <33333

For some reason your ask inbox doesn’t allow people to request Anonymous. That might be why people haven’t requested

Thank you! I had no idea that option was disabled.

communal property [pt. 1] /// Ushijima x f!Reader x Tendou (18+)

Summary: Tendou shares everything with Ushijima—his food, his dorm room, even the AVs he likes. Why not his girlfriend, too? [Part 2]

A/N: The ‘you deserve two boyfriends’ meme but make it college AU. Y'all don’t even know how excited I got about this…it’s embarrassing…but ngl this is the good kush 😌

Tags/warnings: college AU, baby’s first poly relationship, soft??, exhibitionism, Tendou is a tiny bit shady with that sharing is caring mentality

They really do share everything, so you guess it makes sense that they end up sharing you.

At first—meaning, when you first start dating Tendou and Ushijima is just his intimidatingly hot roommate who seems like he’s constantly glaring at everyone—you think it’s weird. They have the same major and every semester when they enroll, Tendou plans their schedules so they can take at least half of their classes together. He texts Ushijima to set up times for lunch and dinner so they can eat in the cafeteria together, they meet up to walk to volleyball practice together, and (even before Tendou brings up the poly thing) Ushijima’s usually around when you’re with him.

They share stuff, too, not just their schedules. Their dorm suite (which is about 10 times nicer than the regular rooms on the same floor—it’s student athlete privilege, and yes, you’re bitter about it) is littered with items that always seem to fall under collective ownership. Boxes of energy bars and whey protein powder lining up the walls in neat stacks; medals and trophies and flags from high school volleyball; the singular bottle of body wash and the accompanying 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner they keep in their bathroom—all of it belongs to both of them. You ask Ushijima once if there’s anything he wouldn’t share with Tendou, and he has to think for a while before answering.

“My toothbrush,” he says seriously. “But if he asked, I would let him use it.”

They’re close enough to the same size that they can share clothes sometimes, and since they have a single closet with no system of organization, it’s really hard to tell whose is whose. This gets you in trouble when you start dating Tendou—if you think about it, it might be the reason the three of you ended up together in the first place.

The jersey incident, as you refer to it in your mind later on, occurs a few weeks into your relationship, when Tendou’s at an away game for the weekend and he leaves you a voicemail telling you he misses you. Everything’s new and shiny and you like hearing that he hates having to be away from you, so you dig his old high school jersey out of the back of his closet for the sole purpose of taking a racy pic to send to him. It’s gigantic on you—figures, since Tendou is stupid tall for some reason—but you tie up the hem under your tits and let it slip off of your bare shoulders and the effect is pretty cute.

And hey, you figure you may as well go all the way and dress up to cheer your boyfriend on, so you beg your roommate to let you borrow the ‘slutty cheerleader’ costume she wore on Halloween: itty bitty pleated white skirt, thigh high socks, hair tied up in pigtails and sparkly white pom-poms to complete the look. You put your camera on auto-timer and take way too many pictures, and when you’re decently satisfied with the results, you send them to Tendou along with your usual good luck, I’m cheering for you! text before the game.

It takes him about one minute to respond.

> holy fuck (y/n)

> jesus

> r u trying to make me cum in my fucking pants

> Attachment: 1 image

It’s a blurry selfie of him in his team uniform, substantial dick print clearly visible through the shorts. You flush, grin, and preen at your ability to give your boyfriend a hard-on from hundreds of miles away without even showing that much.

Unfortunately, that’s not all.

> where did u even get that shirt? u know its wakatoshis not mine right lol

< Wait, are you joking? you ask back, horror dawning on you as you twist around in front of a mirror to check the number on the back. Did you actually just send your boyfriend a sexy picture wearing his roommate’s shirt? You don’t want to believe it, but sure enough the back of the jersey reads SHIRATORIZAWA 1. You may be clueless when it comes to volleyball, but you’re pretty certain that 1 is the captain’s number, and Tendou was not the captain of his high school team. Shit!

> ya lmao mines at home, thats definitely wakatoshis

< OMG no!!! please don’t tell him 😰 You immediately pull the jersey off and bury your face in your pillow as your roommate looks on curiously. Knowing Tendou, you’re never going to live this down.

> dw abt it

> he thinks its hot lol

You can actually feel the blood draining out of your face. < WHAT!! You showed it to him???

> hes sitting right next to me😂😂 dont be mad please baby

< I hate you so much Tendou I’m seriously going to kill you

> wakatoshi looks all flustered, wanna see?

< No I hate you

Tendou sends the picture anyway. Ushijima does not look flustered in the least. He looks as serious and vaguely annoyed as he does every time you see him, and all you can think about is the fact that your boyfriend’s best friend saw you wearing that stupid cheerleading outfit and his old jersey and he probably thinks you’re a moron.

You refuse to answer any of Tendou’s texts until he comes back and apologizes sincerely. You can’t look Ushijima in the eye for way too long. And despite many requests, you absolutely do not let Tendou fuck you in the cheerleader costume.

Weeks later—ages—you’re sitting one of the dryers in the laundry room quizzing Ushijima on terms for your upcoming biochem test while he folds his clothes, and you lose your train of thought when you see the accursed Shiratorizawa jersey in his hands. You’ve always felt awkward over that stupid photo, but you decide now is as good a time as any to get it out in the open and lighten the mood.

“Hey, do you remember that time I thought that was Tendou’s? You know, when I…sent him that picture… He said you might’ve seen it by accident.” Your voice trails off, but you’re impressed at how well you’re faking nonchalance.

The dryer churns under your thighs and somewhere behind you there’s another student humming Kendrick while they fold their clothes. You keep your gaze firmly glued to the flashcards you’re going through so you don’t have to make eye contact, but out of the corner of your eye you can see Ushijima stop folding the jersey and look up at you. “Ah… Tendou showed it to me.”

That little shit. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was kinda hoping you’d forgotten by now.”

“I didn’t.”

His voice is closer than you thought and you look up reflexively. Ushijima is standing in front of you. He’s so big, you think despite the fact that this is not exactly a revelation (honestly, you think it every time you see him). His face looks the same as usual, but there’s a charge in the air. Some kind of tension, the kind you’re used to in different contexts but you barely recognize here because Ushijima is your boyfriend’s roommate.

You know you look like a mess (it’s midterm season and you’re too busy to do your own laundry) and the only reason you’re even here is that you and Ushijima are in the same biochem section and he is 100% definitely going to fail without your help, but somehow all of that falls away and you don’t feel like you’re sitting in the basement laundry room with ugly fluorescent lights flickering above you and half a dozen other students milling around. The way Ushijima is looking at you isn’t the way a guy looks at ‘some girl who’s dating his friend’ or whatever.

“I’m not going to forget,” he continues.

He’s watching you like instead of sitting on a dryer in sweats and a dingy old camp t-shirt, you’re wearing the same slutty cheerleader costume from the photo: made up like a beauty queen, pom-poms in hand, tits pushed up against the loose fabric of the jersey you’re wearing that’s about half a second away from falling off entirely. His jersey. Ushijima’s eyes move over you and you have to fold your legs and for some reason the thought crosses your mind that he’s about to kiss you, and no, of course that doesn’t make sense, but as soon as you think it you can’t stop thinking about it.

He’s going to kiss you. He’s going to kiss you. Ushijima’s going to kiss you.

He reaches forward and you shy away at the last second—only to feel like an world-class idiot once again when his hand closes around the stack of index cards at your side. “Heterotroph hypothesis,” he says flatly.

You breathe out a quick sigh, trying to feel relieved and not the tiniest bit let down. “Uhh…early life forms—something about the first life form, right? They couldn’t produce their own food, so they were heterotrophs…”

Ushijima flips the card around to read the back. “Correct.” And that’s that.

///

You didn’t start going out with Tendou thinking that you’d end up in a throuple with the two stars of your college’s volleyball team, but honestly, it’s not like there aren’t signs.

The jersey incident is the first, unless you count the fact that most of the stuff Tendou invites you to do is stuff he’s already doing with Ushijima. Late night study date at the library? You show up and Tendou’s there with Ushijima already, the two of them claiming an entire 6-person table with their papers strewn out everywhere, disagreeing about the meaning of one of the practice exam answers (they’re usually both wrong). Coffee date before class? Tendou’s late, but it’s cool because you can tell he literally sprinted to meet you at your favorite bench on campus, bringing with him you the iced coffee you asked for along with his ever-present roommate. It takes some getting used to, but you like Ushijima so you don’t mind.

Sometimes you think it’s weird that they’re friends. Other than being tall and playing volleyball, they really don’t have much in common. Ushijima has to be the polar opposite of your goofy, cheerful boyfriend, who can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life…then again, maybe that’s why they’re so close? You know through Tendou that there are a lot of people on the team who respect Ushijima, but it seems like it’d be hard to develop an actual friendship with the guy. Figures that Tendou—who doesn’t give up when he’s interested in someone, as you can attest to firsthand—would be Ushijima’s closest and oldest friend.

They’re not all different, though. You discover a third similarity between the two of them when you go to their first home game and see them really play for the first time: talent. It’s crazy—you’ve never been into sports, but you don’t need to be to see how good they are at what they do. The ball moves so fast you barely understand what’s going on, but there’s no mistaking how often the announcer says each of their names as they score point after point after point.

You learn a lot of things at that match: what a ‘guess blocker’ is, what Tendou’s face looks like when he scores (it’s pretty similar to his sex face—is that weird or cute??), and that Ushijima is one of the best spikers in Japan. The way he slams the ball down into the opposing team’s court doesn’t even look real sometimes. You keep wondering if the volleyball is going to pop like a balloon under the force of his hand.

After the match, your voice is hoarse from screaming but you still manage to yell congratulations for your boyfriend when you meet him and Ushijima leaving the locker room in the stadium. You’re still pumped on the adrenaline of the game, so you don’t even protest like you usually would when Tendou picks you up in the middle of your hug and lifts you off the ground effortlessly. “How was I? Awesome, right? I told you we would beat them!”

“You did, you so did—“ Even though your throat hurts, you can’t help gushing about every rally, every soul-crushing block, every impossible spike. “—and then the guy on the left thought he was clear to shoot it but you just—“ You throw your arms in the air and mime hitting the ball down like a blocker. “Wha-bam!—and the look on his face, I thought he was going to punch you!”

Tendou laughs and lays a sloppy kiss on your cheek, just as thrilled as you are by the win. “You really liked it that much? I thought you weren’t into sports.”

“I loved it! You were so cool! I can’t believe I’m dating someone so cool!” You wrap your legs around his back and hug his face close to yours, reveling in the fact that this weirdo belongs to you wholly and entirely, that you get to have him to yourself (well, other than his roommate). “And I’m not into sports, I’m into you.”

Tendou smiles in a way that makes the sides of his eyes crinkle up and little red patches bloom over his cheeks, a look that says, I like you so much (Y/N), I like you I like you I like you, except he’s probably trying not to be mushy like that since Ushijima is standing off to the side.

You feel a little bad for ignoring him (no one likes being the third wheel, even if he never seems to care) so when Tendou sets you down you turn to Ushijima. “And you! Holy shit, Tendou said you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good. It was super loud when you hit the ball—wait, are your hands okay? If I hit something that hard I’d probably break a finger.”

“My hands are fine…this is normal for me.”

But just because you’ve got them here in front of you and you’re still pumped from the exhilaration of the win, you can’t help grabbing Ushijima’s hand and flipping it palm-up to inspect. True to his word, there’s no redness, just the calluses he’s built up on his long fingers. “Wow.”

“You don’t need to worry about Wakatoshi,” Tendou tells you, grinning and then making a face. “He’s a monster, he can handle it.”

“No kidding. You’re both monsters.” You put the base of your palm up against Ushijima’s to gauge the size of his hand against yours, and without prompting Tendou grabs your other hand to press against his own. Tendou’s fingers are a bit longer, but Ushijima’s are…thicker, more solid. Your hands look like a little kid’s in comparison. “Can I be honest? Half the time I was thinking I actually feel bad for the other team. If I had to take on both of you at the same time, I’d probably cry.”

You’re (mostly) joking, but it’s still a complete shock when you see the side of Ushijima’s mouth curl up a tiny bit. You’ve known each other for months at this point, but you’ve never seen him smile until now. Half of you is wondering if this is some kind of optical illusion caused by the atmosphere and the dim light of the stadium cutting through the evening, but the other half of you enjoys it. You made him smile!

“Don’t sell yourself short, (Y/N).” Ushijima says, tipping his head to the side.

“Yeah…” Tendou chimes in, resting his chin on top of your head and folding his arms around your neck from his place behind you. “I’m sure you could take both of us. Right, Wakatoshi?”

So that’s probably a sign.

It’s not the first. And it’s definitely not the last. Tendou drops plenty of hints that the two of you should actually be the three of you; you just don’t get it. You don’t even get it when he forgets to lock the dorm room door a few times while the two of you fuck in between classes—he’s got you sitting on his face, whining, whimpering, panting his name while he slithers his long tongue over your clit, and Ushijima just…opens the door and walks in.

You tense up, and not just because Ushijima is witnessing what you look like naked and getting ate out like your pussy is a five course meal with extra dessert—you tense up because you’re about to cum, the kind of climax where you couldn’t stop it if you tried. And you try, you try to hold back, you try to lift your soaking wet cunt off of Tendou’s mouth, but your thighs are too weak and anyway he’s holding you down right in place to tongue-fuck you into literal oblivion—

—so you can’t help it, okay? You can’t help locking eyes with Ushijima, who looks completely dazed at what he just walked into and you can’t help panting out his name because it’s the only fucking thing in your stupid fucking brain— “U—shi—ji—ma?” you gasp, and then you’re squeaking and you’re tipping over that edge and your cunt is quivering around the slick muscle of Tendou’s tongue inside, goddamnit you are going to kill him for not locking that door, except who cares because he’s still licking and you’re writhing in his grip with his fingertips pushing into the fat of your thighs while he keeps you in place, and your boyfriend’s roommate is looking at you!—

And then Ushijima disappears out of the bedroom and you hear the door of the bathroom slam shut. Tendou’s grip eases, and he rolls to the side on his narrow twin bed to make room for you to fall back down flat onto it.

“You…didn’t lock the door.”

“No way,” he laughs, wiping his mouth. “Wakatoshi has a key, y’know. It’s his room too.”

The most annoying part is that Tendou does not look the least bit remorseful. You growl and attempt to push him off the edge of the bed with your foot (unsuccessfully). “You could’ve put a sock on the doorknob! Or texted him!”

“Aw, come on. We sexile him so often I feel bad…I thought he’d be out for longer.” Tendou rubs a circle on your back, still suppressing laughter, but that doesn’t help your frayed nerves.

“He saw—everything! He totally saw me cum, and I said his freaking name—“ You roll onto your stomach and stuff your face in Tendou’s pillow to muffle a scream. “Oh my god. I want to die. I wish we could get struck by lightning right now.”

“It’s okay, babe! It’s not that big a deal, I promise.”

You glare at Tendou, who inexplicably seems to believe what he’s saying. “Shouldn’t you be jealous or something? Another guy saw me naked.”

“Wellll…I’d be jealous if it wasn’t Wakatoshi.”

Ugh, what is that supposed to mean? You frown, irrationally annoyed at the implication that Ushijima would have zero interest in your naked body. “Yeah, I get it, he doesn’t see me like that. But it’s still embarrassing.”

“…You think Wakatoshi doesn’t see you like that?” Tendou shifts himself to hover over you, smirking down at your body. “He went to the bathroom, right? …What do you think he’s doing in there?”

What is Ushijima doing in the bathroom? You can hear the shower running through the thin wall between the two rooms. It’s the middle of the day, and he didn’t come from the gym. “He’s showering?”

“Hm…so Wakatoshi came in and saw you—“ Tendou punctuates this with a kiss on the side of your neck and you shudder. “You, the hottest girl on the fucking planet. Naked. Cumming. And you said his name.”

“Um—it was an accident...” Fuck, you shouldn’t be letting Tendou mess around with you while Ushijima’s probably like six inches away through the wall, but you have a bad habit of getting caught up in Tendou’s pace.

“You did. You moaned Ushijima all sexy—you know how sexy your voice sounds when you cum?” Tendou sighs and slides his hand up your inner thigh, hooking it over his hip. “Wakatoshi hasn’t heard a girl moaning his name in a while. What he’s doing right now…he probably can’t help himself.”

“So you think he’s—“ You bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut and try to stop yourself from picturing Ushijima in the shower, water dripping over those perfect muscles while he…um…does some self-care. “Oh my god.”

“Aww, you like that? Me and Wakatoshi both want to fuck you…that makes you horny, yeah?” You can feel Tendou shuffling with his sweatpants and pulling his cock out to line it up with your bare tummy while he layers kisses over your cheeks and gropes one of your tits. “We should give him something to jack off to… I bet he can hear everything. I bet he’s dying to hear what that cute little voice sounds like when my dick is stuffed up you instead of my tongue…”

No. Nope, nope, no way. Tendou’s too fucking good at this. Your pussy is twitching—dripping your juices sticky all over your thighs, but you also feel like you might spontaneously combust if he keeps talking. “I—I have to go back to my room,” you blurt before you can change your mind.

Tendou blows out a low sigh, then laughs and falls back to the side and pushes his hand through his hair like he never really meant any of it. “If you insist, princess.”

“You better apologize to him for me,” you say, rolling your eyes as you wiggle back into the pair of shorts you abandoned on the ground.

“Sure, okay. But the option’s open! Believe me, Wakatoshi wouldn’t mind.”

Wouldn’t mind what? you think. Somehow the obvious answer escapes you.

That is, until you meet them for dinner a week later (you’ve been avoiding Ushijima, and by extension you’ve been avoiding your boyfriend too) and Tendou decides that it’s time to be upfront, so as you’re sitting across from them at the booth in the dining hall trying to sneak leftovers into your backpack because you’re running out of meal points, he just comes out and says it.

“So (Y/N)— have you ever heard of polyamory?”

➠ [Part 2]

Flickering

💌Yandere!Dabi x F!Reader💌

9.7k words

Summary: 

Dabi seems so nice for a villain at first - chivalrous, even. But you should know much, much better than to get yourself tied up with someone like that.

Tags:

Short smut, consensual smut, progressive yandere, soft dabi for the first part but it does get worse dw 😌, kidnapping, murder, small hint at dabi having body issues, dick piercings, tongue piercing, dabi nice to u :)

A/N: uh oh *accidentally projects romantic fantasies onto dabi and then leaves them out to rot into my usual stuff*

———

It’s a quiet night.

Recently, there’s only been quiet nights. Still, unwavering - caught in an illusion filled with only passing cars and the rhythmic flickering of neon signs. There isn’t much to distract you from the sound of your own footsteps, and there is even less to be concerned about.

Unless, of course, the silence is a concern in itself. Which it is. Because on these streets there’s always a mugging or a robbing or some mis-doing to fascinate the watchful eyes from within the cars. Something to gawk at and something that must be ran from.

But ever since two weeks ago, when you found yourself staring into a pair of blue eyes that outshone the signs, there has been nothing of the sort. Your walk home has been safe and uneventful but you’ve never felt watched due to it - just lucky.

Keep reading

Yandere! Yokai Harem x Reader (III)

On your travels with the two demon companions, you stumble upon a fortified village plagued by monster attacks. It would be quite unlucky if the grand finale happened just as you step foot inside, right? Worry not, you're saved by a third mysterious yokai that you immediately recognize. The harem grows!

Content: female reader, monsters, violence

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Character Guide]

“Alright, how’s this?”

You do a clumsy pirouette before the two yokai men.

“That’s...are you sure?” Kiritsubo eyes you, mildly confused. “It’s usually what men wear.”

Of course, you already know. After weeks of walking through feudal Japan, you’ve reached the conclusion that modern clothing isn’t the most practical choice. Not to mention the strange looks you always get from other people upon your arrival in any village. You needed something to blend in, and the typical fashion for your gender might not be compatible with your training. You’d rather not swing a sword while covered in multiple layers of kimono.

Thus, you opted for the hakama pants typically worn by men. With your hair tied up and in this baggy attire, one could think you’re a young samurai. If they squint enough. You chuckle at the thought.

“She’ll wear whatever allows her to not be a burden.” Murasaki concludes with crossed arms.

One way to put it, you tell yourself.

“If you’re done discussing fashion, we can leave.” The dark-haired man continues with indifference, standing up and adjusting the swords in the folds of his sash.

Both you and Kiritsubo hurry and follow behind obediently.

“Where are we going this time?” You ask sheepishly.

“South-west. An old residence of his, although we will have to pass through a fortified settlement first. We should reach it before sunset.”

It’s hard to imagine you’re the supposed savior in this equation. Murasaki has been leading you by the hand each step, carefully considering every detail on the map, and extensively planning your travels every evening. All this on top of your daily training. You’ve now mastered the basics with the katana he’s provided you, as well as some common prayers for exorcising small-class demons.

You glance at the daisho pair of swords under his belt. A long, thin blade, and a shorter backup version, both in elaborate matching scabbards meant to showcase the status and wealth of the samurai wearing them. In this case, meant to express his rank as the advisor and right hand of the famed onmyōji. You certainly don’t doubt Nakamaro’s decision to rely on Murasaki.

In comparison, Kiritsubo carries a nagamaki at his waist. A comically long blade in your opinion, used mostly to bring down horses during battle. Any regular sword would’ve been too small for him. Despite his imposing appearance, you’ve learned rather quickly just how different Kiritsubo is from the other yokai. He’s quite clumsy in combat, often anxious about making mistakes, terribly apologetic, and overall has a heart too kind for his own good. If there’s hesitation coming from his side, Murasaki immediately follows with his ruthless, ending blows. As a matter of fact, even you’ve had to do the occasional killing to spare the man of such choices.

The silver-haired demon notices your eyes on him and smiles, excited. He reminds you of a large dog. A horned, fanged dog of monstrous strength, nonetheless the innocence is there. And he does make a great travel companion.

“How much longer?” You grunt, looking up.

“Are you tired? I can carry you for the rest of the way-” Kiritsubo instantly offers but is interrupted by Murasaki’s barked orders.

“She can walk. Don’t spoil her.” He glares at you, then nods ahead. “We’re almost there, so quit your whining.”

True to his word, you can finally discern the outline of a wall at the top of the hill. A few more steps, and you can even spot two guards standing beside the great gate.

“Stop there!”

The soldiers lift their spears threateningly. Before you can react, Murasaki steps in front of you with a hand placed on his sword.

“We’re just passing through.” He states factually.

“We’re no longer allowing visitors.” One of the guards exclaims. “The village has been raided by monsters recently and our Lord has closed all gates until the matter is solved.”

“That means no filthy demons go in.” The other adds in a mocking tone, his gaze lingering on the horns of your companions. His mouth curls in disgust.

You can tell Murasaki is angered by the disrespectful approach. He is not one to let such insults slide and you’d rather avoid him claiming unnecessary victims; therefore, you push past his arm and plant yourself ahead with a polite greeting bow.

“These yokai are with me. I vouch for their good behavior, so please consider letting us through. Perhaps we can even help you with these monsters.”

“You? How would you…”

The man stops abruptly, switching between you and the yokai. Eventually he inspects your scabbard, and he gasps, confusion twisting his features.

“Could it be? No…He’d be dead by now.”

“What are you talking about?” His partner inquires impatiently.

“That’s the family seal belonging to Abe no Nakamaro.” He explains, pointing to the golden finish at the end of your katana handle. “I’ve heard about him from my grandparents. But it’s been decades!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re saying this kid is a legendary onmyōji?”

“Who else would show up with demons as servants? Everything matches. Perhaps his powers have finally reached immortality”, he concludes solemnly.

The men continue their argument, and you clear your throat, embarrassed. What the hell? You can’t possibly look that manly. Sure, you’ve been skipping the makeup, and the clothes aren’t exactly curve shaping, but to be mistaken for an old man is like a slap to the face.

You’re about to deny their claims, but Murasaki swiftly pinches the back of your neck, and you wince. He lowers himself to your ear and whispers:

“This will be to our advantage. Just go along with it.” “Fine!” You mumble angrily. Then you turn back to the guards.

“V-very well, I see I haven’t been forgotten.” You admit, theatrically. “Lead me to your Lord and we shall discuss the details of your monster attack.”

Thus, you sip on your tea, kneeling at the luxurious table and awaiting the arrival of the feudal Lord. The servants are exchanging words, gossiping fervently next to the wall. “I wonder if he can cure my daughter!” one woman mumbles, visibly emotional.

“Do you think we can finally be saved? He’ll truly exorcise the beasts tormenting our village?” another whispers.

You wipe the sweat from your forehead and glare at Murasaki. You had no idea he’d given you Nakamaro’s old sword. Now you’re stuck pretending to be a pompous, long-dead asshat.

“What if they catch us?” You hiss between your teeth. “I don’t know shit about onmyōdō.”

“Then I’ll just kill them all. Simple as that.” The crimson-eyed man retorts, unconcerned. “Have a little fun, won’t you?”

“W-we’ll help you come up with answers, (Y/N). Don’t worry.” Kiritsubo chimes in, trying to reassure you.

You sigh in frustration and look out the window. The sun must’ve set a long time ago and has since been replaced by a pitch-black sky. What’s keeping the Lord? Surely, he can’t be having important business meetings late at night.

Almost as if your thoughts were read, the door slides open and a servant wobbles in. The rest of the household workers are silent, expecting the entrance of their master, but no one is following behind. You observe the bizarre limp of the woman. Suddenly, she collapses to the floor, revealing her bloodied back torn by deep wounds, caused by some sort of claw. Her body is stiff.

Panic settles in right away, and the servants topple over each other to get away from the fresh cadaver. You struggle to get up among the terrified crowd, but thankfully Murasaki grabs your wrist and pulls you out into a quieter hallway.

“What the hell?” is all you manage to say.

“Rotten.” Kiritsubo furrows his brows, sniffing the air. “Someone in here must be possessed. Could be more of them.”

Murasaki surveys the surroundings and gestures towards his partner.

“We have to see if the Lord is still alive. You go that way. I’ll take the front. Kill everyone suspicious.”

“What about me?” You demand, holding your breath.

“Get out and wait for us. You know how to draw a protection circle, don’t you? I won’t take long.” The dark-haired yokai answers before vanishing.

Judging by the screams and wails coming from all directions, you suspect Kiritsubo is right about multiple attackers. You sprint across the hall, looking for an opening. The self-defense lessons didn’t cover cursed humans with demonic powers. You’ll stay out of this one.

What an absolute mess. You have encountered some demons in your weeks spent here, but nothing to this degree. When the guards mentioned a monster attack, you imagined a ghost with a grudge, or some small fry yokai scaring the workers at night, not a mass curse that ends in a massacre. Of course, it had to happen the moment you arrived at the main house.

You find a room with a door leading to the inner courtyard. Seems isolated enough and it should provide a bit of shelter while you wait for the pair to finish the business. As you rush past the dead bodies, you notice a woman hiding behind a screen divider.

“Ah! It’s you!” she yells, aware of your presence.

From the shadow of her secret spot emerges the small frame of a child. The woman pushes the little human towards you, blocking your path.

“Don’t worry, he’ll protect us.” she gives her child another nudge. “Go on, hold onto him. You’ll be safe.”

What? No, no, no, no, no. Not happening. You’re getting out.

“Ma’am, sorry to break it to you under such circumstances, but I’m not-”

You’re interrupted by a loud growl. One of the possessed creatures must’ve followed your scent, and it’s now sliding into the room on all fours with the bones of the limbs twisting and creaking in unnatural pounces. You purse your lips in a frightened grimace. One advantage of the wide hakama pants – useful to know – is that no one can see your knees shaking cowardly.

Theoretically, you could use the brat as bait and run for your life. It’d make a decent obstacle. Unfortunately for your life span, you’ve been gifted with an idiotic sense of duty instead of survival instincts.

“Keep your distance. If I can’t kill it, get out and don’t look back” you advise, positioning yourself in the learned stance and sliding the sword out of its sheath.

Damn it! Then again, it should be like fighting a zombie, right? Given the pathetic way it drags itself around, it can’t be too difficult to hit. Aim for the head, you repeat in your mind. Your fingers grip around the handle.

The ghoulish beast lowers itself, like a spring about to recoil, and leaps across the room with an ease you did not anticipate. Despite your iron hold, it slaps the blade out of your hands with enormous force. The impact breaks your skin, and you wince. There’s no time to weep, within seconds it could go for your vitals next. While Murasaki hasn’t gotten around to teaching you much hand-to-hand combat, you’ve read your fair share of shounen manga. The first idea that comes to mind is to put the beast in a sumo lock. You bend your knees smoothly and wrap your arms around the monster, feeling for something to hold onto. You grit your teeth and attempt to lift the creature.

A thundering laugh resonates within the walls, and you jolt, startled.

“I never thought I’d see the mighty Abe no Nakamaro wrestling with ankle biters like this. What are you going to do, throw it out of the ring?”

The voice is deep, loud, and unfamiliar. You can’t afford to look back to see the source, but it’s not hard to figure out the possibilities. So far, you’ve only been called by that cursed name by the yokai accomplices. Although now is not the best time to seek revenge.

“Shut up, I panicked”, you snap in frustration. “If you can’t help, keep that trap closed!”

The sudden burst of anger seems to have triggered something within your body, a power you don’t recognize. You watch as your arms effortlessly pick up the monster and swing it across the room, its body demolishing the opposing wall and causing thick clouds of dust to rise and spread everywhere.

The impact must’ve alerted the nearby ghouls, as you can now hear the agitated trample and screeching rapidly approaching. You’re not confident you can pull the same lucky move a second time.

You turn to search for your sword, but it’s already being handed to you by the mysterious yokai who’s been observing your little fight. You have to step aside and tilt your head all the way back in order to fully view the gigantic frame of the man.

Ah, you recognize the features immediately. The same kind of fear you felt when you stumbled upon that old shrine statue is now tugging at your chest.

“You’re Suma, right?”

A proud, wide grin forms on his face, revealing a pair of glistening fangs. His expression is unexpectedly soft and friendly.

“We’re halfway through our introductions then, eh?” You pick up the sword and his fingers stretch out for a handshake. “What is your given name? I’m guessing you don’t willingly go by that…title.”

“I very much prefer (Y/N), yes.” You marvel at the significant difference in size, placing your small hand in his. “Was that your power I just used?”

“Mhhm. You sure surprised me there! It’s not something I did intentionally, but I s’ppose we just resonate that well, huh?”

He laughs again, completely unbothered by the impending danger.

“Alright, you can leave the rest to me. Take the lady outside, it will get a little messy.”

And with that, he casually walks towards the gathering of ghouls. You guide the family to the courtyard and wait for the battle to end.

“Do you think she’ll be fine by herself?” Kiritsubo is resting against the fence, keeping you under a watchful gaze.

“Let the humans sort it out among themselves.” Murasaki responds, somewhat bored.

The morning after the attack, you offered to deal with the survivors: ask them how everything started, if they’d noticed anything suspicious days prior to the event, and if the route to Nakamaro’s old residence was still open. The yokai men had found the feudal Lord in the jaws of a possessed creature and he quickly succumbed to his wounds. Consequently, only the remaining servants could provide them with clues.

A village being targeted like this is highly unusual, and Murasaki can’t shake the feeling it could be related to their master.

“Oh, where are you heading after this?” The silver-haired yokai glances at Suma, sitting lazily next to them.

“Where? After you just told me the whole story? I’m way too invested in this modern reincarnation that just popped out of nowhere, so I’m tagging along!” He announces with a chuckle.

Murasaki frowns.

“We don’t need your help.”

“Don’t be like that.” The giant man pouts dramatically. “Are you upset I saved (Y/N) before you?”

“W-we were on our way!” Kiritsubo retorts, visibly bothered.

“It’s a done deal!” Suma rests his hands under his head and yawns. “Besides, the little human already said he doesn’t mind.”

“He? (Y/N) is a woman.”

The redhead abruptly sits up and gasps.  

“Wait, what?”

“Don’t get funny ideas, man”, the silver-haired demon warns.