Hi My Loves, Here Are Some Links And A Masterlist Of My Indiscretions. All Of My Writing Is X Fem!Reader

Title: Puppy Love.

Pairing: Yandere!Yuuji x Reader x Yandere!Yuuta

Word Count: 2.6k.

TW: Hybrid AU, Puppy!Yuuta, Puppy!Yuuji, Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Somnophilia, Biting, Oral Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, and Obsessive Behavior.

You heard Yuuji, first.

 He’d always been the louder of the pair, not that it was a very steep competition. You hadn’t had him for very long, but—well, it was less that he came out of his shell quickly and more that he’d never had a shell at all. It only taken a day or so for him to get used to the idea of living with you and Yuuta full-time, a week for him to start acting like he’d always been a part of your little family, and another month before he started pawing at your bedroom door at night and whining when you reminded him that you preferred to sleep alone (meaning: without multiple two-hundred pound hybrids draped across you). He was energetic, overly friendly, even if you wouldn’t go so far as to call him disobedient or difficult. You figured having a more, for lack of better phrasing, dog-like hybrid in the house would be good for Yuuta, bring out his more instinctive side. In reality, the added stress of an overly hyper roommate had only worked to make him just a little more anxious than he already was, but you still thought it was good for him. If nothing else, Yuuji gave Yuuta something to focus on that wasn’t you, and Yuuta could use more distractions.

But Yuuji, though—He was what you should’ve been focusing on, at the moment. Through the haze of exhaustion, you could hear the door creaking open, the muffled sound of padded feet on carpeting and the tiny, almost inaudible vocalizations Yuuji never seemed to realize anyone else could hear. Soon enough, you felt the foot of the mattress dip as he clambered onto your bed. Any other night, you would’ve forced yourself to sit up and tell him to leave, would’ve called on the dozens of books and hundreds of blogposts you’d read about hybrid obedience training and found the strength to ‘reinforce boundaries despite personal feelings’, but you were tired beyond the point of discipline, and Yuuji didn’t mean any harm. One night of letting him curl up next to you wouldn’t hurt, even if you did make a mental note to show Yuuta some extra affection in the morning – just to keep the scales balanced. For all their many differences, they were both prone to crying favoritism.

You never stirred, but you settled deeper into place, curling into yourself as Yuuji remained at your feet. You might’ve fallen asleep entirely, if Yuuji hadn’t spoken.

His voice was quiet, low, audibly trepidatious. It reminded you of Yuuta’s nervous, stuttering inclination, although not quite as unsteady. “Are you sure it’s alright to…?”

“I am.” You weren’t sure who you expected to answer, but the sound of Yuuta’s voice almost startled you awake. It was normal for Yuuji to bend the rules. Yuuta was supposed to know better. “She’s asleep, right? Just don’t wake her up.”

Yuuji didn’t respond, but you felt the sheets draped over your shift, a warm hand curl around your calf. For as little reassurance as Yuuta had provided, it seemed to be enough for Yuuji.

It was half curiosity and half fatigue that kept you quiet as Yuuji moved around you. Whatever they might’ve been up to, nothing could’ve seemed worse than having to wake up and sacrifice much-needed sleep for the sake of scolding your (usually angelic) pets. At worst, you’d wait until you could catch them in the act or, better yet, grit your teeth and bare it until they left. Anything not to have to deal with this for another eight hours.

You rolled onto your side, twisting your leg out of Yuuji’s hand and letting out a soft groan as you curled into yourself. It wasn’t a subtle position, let alone an inviting one, but Yuuji only whimpered, only edged closer to you. This time, when he touched you, it was to take up your shoulder – his hold gentle and breathing heavy as he nudged you onto your back. Whatever he was doing, he seemed determined to see it through. It might’ve been more admirable, if you hadn’t been so confused.

You felt your sheets pull away from you next, then another hand on your ankle, Yuuji’s rough claws pressing lightly into your skin as his loose grip flexed. You felt him draw your legs apart, and with the corner of your mouth already quirking downward, you started to open your eyes, to sit up and—

Suddenly, you felt something wet and warm press into your cunt, and you stopped moving entirely.

Whatever lingering exhaustion you might’ve felt was swiftly replaced with cold, pointed terror. This time, you forced yourself to hold still, it wasn’t out of confusion or curiosity, but an abrupt and paralyzing fear.

It wasn’t a feeling Yuuji seemed to share. His tongue was already moving across the length of your slit, his drool already soaking into the silk of your panties. He was making those noises, again; deep and throaty, closer to the sounds a prowling animal would make than anything remotely similar to human speech. Both of his hands found their way to your ass, claws biting into the plush flesh as he buried his face in your pussy. He was just as rough with his mouth – his pointed canines ghosting over the inside of your thighs and catching on the material of your panties, his broad togue laving over your covered entrance as if he could taste you through the fabric. It was only when he bowed his head, when the bridge of his flat nose ground against your clit that you started to wonder if he actually could, but forced yourself not to linger on the idea for very long. Thinking about what he was doing, assigning a motive to his actions – that would only make this worse. Thinking at all would only make this worse.

You bit down on the side of your tongue with as much force as you could afford to use, willing yourself to hold still, to not react – a wounded animal, playing dead as to not attract the attention of a predator. You felt Yuuji’s hands shift, calloused fingertips pressing into your thighs, then—

“Stop.”

Yuuta. Wonderful, miraculous, well-behaved Yuuta. You would’ve sighed, if you weren’t holding yourself so stiff. You could hear him moving closer, too – his footsteps feather-light compared to Yuuji’s. You braced yourself to break up a fight (there’d been a few when Yuuji first came home with you, when you first realized that Yuuta had never learned to share), but rather than barking, growling, any of the sounds that came with two animals trying to tear each other apart, there was only rustling fabric, another shift in gravity as Yuuta positioned himself by your side. “Y-you’re doing it wrong,” he stammered, and something deep inside of you seemed to curl up and die. “You have to take her clothes off first. Otherwise, she won’t feel anything.”

It was almost strange, hearing him take charge. In any other context, you might’ve been proud.

Yuuji whined, but obliged. His nails scraped against your hips as he balled his fist around the fabric and tore, making no effort to spare the delicate fabric. The remaining scraps were discarded with just as little care, and before you could fully wrap your mind around what was happening, he was back to lapping at your cunt. With the only barrier between you gone, it felt less like he was trying to eat you out and more like he was trying to eat you alive – his tongue too thick and too long, his hands too big and too prone to groping at whatever was underneath him, the boundless energy you were so used to finding either infinitely adorable or impossibly exasperating sudden not quite as harmless than you’d always considered it to be.

The next time he found your clit, you couldn’t stifle your reactions – little, half-choked whimpers and moans escaping despite your pursed lips. Your hips twitched, and for the first time, you felt Yuuji draw back willingly. He was such a sweet dog. Even with your eyes clenched shut, you could picture him tilting his head to the side, his ears flopping in the same direction and his big, dark eyes going full puppy-dog. Usually, you’d melt at the sight, give him whatever he was asking for and comfort him the best you could, but you didn’t have much comfort to spare, and Yuuta was already answering on your behalf.

“That means she likes it,” he explained, his voice a little quieter, a little more airy than it’d been before. “Keep going, she’ll make more.”

There was a short lapse, passed in silence. For a second, you let yourself believe he’d come to his senses, that he might stop, but it was only for a second. His response was enough to dash any remaining hope you might’ve had. “…will she get louder?”

“Mhm.” And then, with the slightest note of pride, “She does for me, at least.”

And just like that, Yuuji’s head dipped, his mouth latching onto your pussy with a renewed concentration. You willed yourself not to move, not to think, not to do anything that would mean having to open your eyes and acknowledge what was happening, but it was impossible not to feel the heat of his mouth against your cunt, not to let the sounds of saliva and arousal against tongues and skin seep into the back of your mind and tint the pleasure slowly starting to pool at the pit of your stomach with a vicious, sickeningly sweet, nectar-like quality. It wasn’t long before your own pitiful noises were just as difficult to suppress, before your hips were jutting upward involuntarily to meet Yuuji’s mouth, before you could feel a mix of drool and slick and every other ungodly thing pooling on your sheets beneath you. Yuuta shifted beside you, edging close enough for his thigh to press against your arm. “You’re—You’re making a mess, she’ll be mad if—”

His voice cut out abruptly, drowned out by a sudden, bubbling moan from Yuuji. Yuuta tried to catch his attention again to the same result until, finally, there was a low growl. Yuuji yelped has his face was shoved further into the space between your thighs – Yuuta pushing down on the back of his head, as little as you wanted to picture your sweet Yuuta doing something like that – but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his lapping only seemed to get faster, more reckless, more wild. You didn’t want to, no part of you wanted to cum because of your pet’s mouth, but you could feel the pressure mounting, the heat building, the walls of your pussy convulsing around his tongue as you reached your climax.

There was nothing you could do to stop yourself from crying out as you came, any hope you might’ve had of making it through this without letting either Yuuji or Yuuta know how much of it you’d been conscious for immediately abandoned. You tried to make good use of your adrenaline, to shove Yuuji away and run, but he’d always been strong, even for a hybrid, and he didn’t even have to pull away to pin your hips to the mattress and nurse you through your orgasm, his tongue now fucking into you unabashedly. He only stopped when the last of your aftershocks had died out, when it was all you could do to lie limp and mutter all the little ‘no’, ‘stop’, ‘please’s that you’d pictured yourself screaming only seconds ago. Even then, the separation wasn’t made by choice – no, it was Yuuta who finally, finally dragged him off of you. Even through the darkness of your bedroom, you could see his fingers knotted in Yuuji’s untamable hair, his knuckles white and his grip steadfast. By the time he let go, Yuuji’s back was straight and he’d gone surprisingly quiet – his dark eyes glassy and fixed on yours. By the time you could force yourself to look to Yuuta, he wasn’t much better. He was focused on you, too, but he didn’t look quite as dazed, quite as mindless. His lips were parted, but his eyes were narrowed, and he was wearing the expression he’d worn when you first brought Yuuji home, all displaced resentment and palpable betrayal. If you hadn’t known him so well, you might’ve called it anger.

Yuuji broke the silence. He whined sharply, slumping forward and kneading down where his hands were still planted on your hips. You opened your mouth, ready to tell him to get down, to get out, but Yuuta cut in before you had the chance to spit anything out. “Turn her over. It’ll be easier if she’s on her stomach.”

Yuuji didn’t hesitate. You felt his hands on your midriff, and then, you were on your chest, Yuuji’s form hunched over you as he ground something stiff and hot and leaking against your ass. You tried to push yourself up, to get away, but you were barely able to get your knees underneath you before Yuuji’s arms were around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck and his pointed teeth bared against the side of your throat. He didn’t growl, didn’t bite, but you went still regardless. You didn’t think Yuuji would hurt you, but you never would've thought he would do this, either.

Whatever aggression he might’ve felt faded quickly – as soon as he started rutting against your ass. You could feel him panting against your throat, his breath humid and stifling, and his chest pressing into your back. He was too close. He was too much. When he spoke, it was almost deafening, even if you knew it couldn’t be much more than a mumble. “Hurts so bad,” he muttered, as his cock ground uselessly against your ass, your thighs. “Been hurtin’ so bad since you took me home. I was so happy when Yuuta told me you could help, and—and, that you wouldn’t mind, and—”

His voice cut out abruptly as the blunt head of his cock caught on your entrance and, with a cracked whine, thrust into you. There was no time to adjust, to block out – just a sudden heat inside of you and the immediate, overwhelming fullness of his cock battering the walls of your pussy. “Off,” you half cried, half screamed – your voice a jagged, shaking mess. “Get down, stop, get—”

But Yuuji wasn’t listening. His tongue lapped clumsily at your neck as he fucked into in slow, languid thrusts – his hips slamming into your ass with enough force to bruise. You went limp, sobbing openly into your sheets, but Yuuji was strong enough to hold you up on his own, to not have to care what state you were in underneath him. So caught up in your own misery, you didn’t notice Yuuta moving until he was in front of you, until his hand had worked its way underneath your chin and tilted your head back far enough for your tear-clouded gaze to find his. His expression was that same mix of resentment and pity and bitter, bitter anger. Still, when your eyes met his, the corner of his lips quirked up, some of the harsher lines around his eyes fading into nothing.

“I wouldn’t be this rough with you.” His tone was flat, softened. He ran his thumb over your cheek, leaning down just far enough for his lips to brush against the top of your head. “I would be a good mate. You don’t need anyone else.”

Again, he leaned in, slotting his lips against yours with a feather-light sort of gentleness. At the same time, you heard Yuuji moan, felt his teeth sink into your shoulder, and started to wish you couldn’t feel anything at all.

Different

I wasn’t in a good mental place yesterday, so I wrote the third part of Circumstances and Unwillingly for Osamu, because why not. Do enjoy this fuckery (: (And I know I said no spice on this one, but well, it happened, it be like that sometimes) I hope I can do the other two justice, let me know what you thought!

Characters: Yandere!Osamu Miya x (afab)Darling, Yandere Atsumu Miya Rating/Warning: Mature, Yandere, Lemon, Dub-Con Words: 4845

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Chop.

Half-listening to the sound of a knife cutting through the hill of parsley on the cutting board before you, you sighed, burying your face in your arms propped up on the kitchen countertop. Osamu side-glanced you, estimated your behavior as if you were a diamond and he the jeweler, unwilling to even miss one movement you made. Part of him still believed you’d reach for the knife to attack him or risk yourself, but you wouldn’t. At least, not that day. 

Actually, you were glad that after all that happened, Osamu had left the door to the room open, allowing you to roam. It was bad enough that Atsumu had used you for his sick pleasure, and you had to endure Osamu being very thorough in cleaning you up, you wouldn’t have wanted to be alone in your roam, stuck in the dark and silence while he went and made dinner. The only thing that was promoted by being locked away was the endless stream of thoughts that you couldn’t escape, no matter what you did. 

If only your memories had been kind ones, but by now, they were only filled with the bad things that happened to you lately. 

As if you were a child, Osamu had lifted you out of the water in the bathtub and made you stand facing and touching the wall, bending over for him as he scrubbed you down. The fact he kept his underwear on had reassured you at first but having him - who, in fact, had never seen you stark naked like this before, much less touch you inappropriately - clean you inside out was just as bad. You couldn’t even describe the feeling of his fingers digging into your pussy, not for pleasure but the sole purpose of cleaning, all while he cursed under his breath about his brother.

Keep reading

Price is literally so gross. silver fox seeking a pretty young thing after a divorce to the MAX. his ex wife comes over to drop off their son but you open the door instead, cotton-plated in one of his shirts and hair damp from your recent shower. Price takes over and you can hear his wife’s voice from the foyer—“how old is she? she barely looks an undergraduate, John” and he acts sheepish but Lord knows he doesn’t care. Ou.

Choke.

another soulmate au nobody asked for :)

Akaashi Keiji x female reader x Bokuto Koutarou

TW dub-con, implied future non-con

It wasn’t a good day to begin with.

You’re late, rushing through the busy campus hallways to make it to an exam that quite frankly you’re at least 70% sure you’re going to fail, mostly because instead of cramming last night you’d been… otherwise occupied with your boyfriend.

And you really, really just want this whole thing to just be over with already.

With your nose stuck in your textbook, frantically pouring over your notes right up until the very last second, it’s hardly a surprise that you don’t see the two of them rushing down the hallway in the opposite direction until you’re quite literally colliding with the taller of the pair – the broad shouldered one.

Your notes go flying, the last of your coffee too and for one split second, you’re pretty positive that you’re gonna end up flat on your ass with a little more than some bruised pride. But just as you’re about to hit the ground, not one but two hands reach for you, catch you, and the very second they do, you feel it:

A flash of guilt and momentary alarm, embarrassment, you think, and chagrin, each emotion hitting you like a sledgehammer, overwhelming you, one after the other in a dizzying blur that’s distinctly other, and then–

Shock.

Dawning surprise. 

Keep reading

Request: treasure13 reaction to gf having to kiss someone for a acting role. Sorry if english isn’t so good.

Hi and thank you for requesting! Your English is perfect, don’t worry.

I did this at 10pm so it’s probably not that good (I’m so sorry!!) ALSO I excluded the underage members, so the ones born from ‘01-‘05, - excluding Mashiho since his international age is 18.

I’m assuming the ones born from ‘01-‘05 would have girlfriends/boyfriends around their age so they’re minors and I just don’t write things like that. Sorry :(

Enjoy 😊

Treasure13 Reaction To Girlfriend Kissing Someone For An Acting Role

Hyunsuk

Would not be so happy about it and would be very obvious in showing his dislike towards it. His jealous side would come out, and he would be watching you very intently while you kiss the guy/girl, would be a pouty puppy afterwards. Understands that it’s part of your job so he wouldn’t ask you to turn down the role, but would avoid the topic of it. “Okay but you and I and the rest of the world knows I have better lips, I mean looooook at these.” Points to his lips and proceeds to say “I eat lip balms, he/she doesn’t, I guess I’m the real winner here”.

Jihoon

When you first told him that you had to kiss someone for a role, he was like ‘wtf’. Jihoon would be a best friend boyfriend (you get me?) so he would tease you at first but then not be so happy about it afterwards. He seems like the type to bottle things up, so he wouldn’t say anything about it but he would be a bit down for a few days, but then you’ll remind him that it was just a role and that your HIS girlfriend and then we’ll have the normal Jihoon back, and then he’ll annoy you like crazy for the next couple of days, mocking the way you did the kiss scene, would pretend he’s you and make out with whatever, a balloon, a plate, a remote, you name it.

Yoshinori

He’d get mad, at your company for giving you this role, but he would be happy that you have a role and that you’re following your dreams. But he would not be looking forward to the kiss scene at all. At. All. Expect a possessive Yoshi for a couple of days, his arm always around your waist, more affection, PDA, yeah, expect it. When asked about the scene “yeah, it was cute” but what would been going through his mind is ‘would’ve been even cuter if it was me she was kissing’

Junkyu

“Eh? Na?” Y’all remember that bit from YGTB. Yeah that’ll be Junkyu when you tell him, “Eh? Kiss scene? You? Another man/woman?” Probably would be in shock for a while, but then get super happy for you that you landed at role!!! Whenever the kiss scene comes up he’ll probably just cover his eyes and yours for the lols. Would ask if he’s a better kisser, if you say yes he’ll get cocky, if you say no he will be cut, “you’re joking right?” “Y/N?” “Oh my gawd”

Yoonbin

“Oh, okay 😗🙂” is his reaction, would nod as well. He wouldn’t complain about it at all. He’s just so laidback. But he would get jealous, lowkey though. Expect a cuddly posessice Yoonbin for the next couple of days, don’t even expect it actually, he’ll be so lowkey about it, you wouldn’t notice. Would be the type to say “okay, remember that I’m a better kisser” with a smirk on his face, just before your about to do it, via text or if he’s there watching.

Mashiho

“Kiss scene?” “Yeah I’m having a kiss scene” “okay 🤓” that’s how it will go, but expect more questions from him and he’ll do a background check on the person your kissing.

I just wanted to say that they all would be extremely supportive boyfriends!!! None of them would ask you to refuse the role or whatever, Stan talent, Stan manners, Stan respectful boys, Stan TREASURE13 ✌️

❌Gifs are not mine! Credit goes to their rightful owners!❌

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...

A Simple Cup of Tea [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: A Simple Cup of Tea [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: You have to be prepared and poised and perfect. But it’s hard to be all those things, even with the looming threat of your husband sitting next to you, when you’ve got a secret hidden underneath your clothes…

Word Count: 1875

Notes: yandere, forced marriage, abuse, bondage, NSFW 

Poised.

You must be poised. Every movement, every gesture, must embody a quiet grace. Your face must be pleasant, without seeming garishly joyous. Your voice must be soft, melodic, clear; yet loud enough to be heard without being required to repeat yourself. 

You must know how to keep a conversation going smoothly, like water in a stream, yet understand when to keep silent. You must know all of these things and so much more, and act on them at all times in the proper degree; all in order to avoid embarrass yourself and more importantly, embarrassing your husband.

In other words, you must be perfect.

And you try–you have to try, because what other choice does Scaramouche leave you?–but it’s difficult. You were never born for this stifled life he’s pushed you into, for a life spent mostly within the walls of his home or at most, behind the high, impenetrable walls of the courtyard.

Keep reading

Title: Going Live.

Pairing: Yandere!Nanami x Reader (JJK)

Word Count: 7.6k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Camgirl!Reader, Kidnapping, Physical Intimidation, Long-Term Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Delusional Behavior, Slight Exhibitionism, and Panic Attacks + Disassociation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were a lot of things to Nanami Kento – his world, his light, his love – but above all else, you were the reason he looked forward to getting home.

Calling it ‘infatuation’ would’ve been a disservice to the depth of his feelings for you. It’d been love at first sight; instant and wholehearted, a shackle snapped shut around his neck that he had no will or desire to escape. His eyes were on his watch as soon as he crossed the threshold, his coat shrugged off and abandoned along with his tie in the doorway. He didn’t bother turning on lights or taking off his shoes, doing anything to make his empty apartment seem more lived-in, his focus solely dedicated to reaching his home office with as few disruptions as was possible, with Gojo and the higher-ups still attempting to contact him about the curse he’d finished exorcising less than an hour prior. They could wait. You wouldn’t.

He was smiling by the time he collapsed into the leather-cushioned chair, his laptop still on his desk from the night before – the last time he got to see you. The motions were automatic, practiced to the point of reflexivity. One hand glided over the keyboard while the other found his phone, silencing it in the same motion as he tossed it haphazardly onto the desk, out of his view. He checked his watch one more time; 6:59. Good. He was early.

His grin brightened, as did his laptop. Your stream flickered to life a second later and with it, your smiling face. The relief was instant, pure warmth accompanying it. The bittersweet tinge – as subtle as it was prodding – came only a moment later, but Nanami did his best to ignore it.

You were the sole reason Nanami Kento looked forward to getting home. The center of his world, the sole light in his otherwise bleak life. The person he loved more than anything, more than everything.

It was only a shame, then, that you had no idea he existed.

One of his favorite things about you had always been your meticulousness. For tonight’s show, you were splayed out across the foot of a queen-sized bed, surrounded by pastel pink satin sheets and a fleece comforter of the same shade, a matching dormant hitachi vibrator (Nanami’s favorite and, guessing from how often it made an appearance in your shows, yours too) nestled between your thighs. Your outfit was aesthetically pleasing – a set of lacey, baby blue lingerie with white, knee socks – but paired with your set up, casual enough to give the impression that you hadn’t realized the camera you were posing in front of was actually on, as if you weren’t entirely prepared to be seen by a thousand or so strangers just yet. The fact that you didn’t start talking right away, only humming as you idly toyed with your hair, only added to the nonchalance of it all. You would make a good actress, if you ever decided to pursue something more, for lack of a more applicable phrase, legitimate.

Nanami’s attention drifted from you to your chat, slowly starting to fill with impatient viewers. Despite himself, he felt his absentminded smile waver, an irk of irritation momentarily tainting his bliss. He knew you weren’t entirely real, that he didn’t have any right to be possessive over a performer, but he loved you. It would’ve been difficult for anyone to watch someone they loved be exposed to so many prying eyes.

user34333: fuck she’s hot

hotbox420: looking good y/n!!!

lostandconfused: why does she still have her clothes on?

 The only silver lining was how oblivious you seemed to it. Another minute passed before you straightened, yawning slightly as you pushed yourself up, legs hanging over the foot of your bed. “Welcome home,” you started, with a quick stretch and a playful wave towards the camera. “Everyone’s already put the kids to bed, right? I’ve got a very special surprise I want to bring out a little later, so nobody’s allowed to leave early.”

Your tone was light, melodic, saccharine. Already, Nanami could feel his cock beginning to harden against his thigh, straining at the material of his pants. You were always mobile during your shows, prone to flitting from one position to another, but tonight, you almost seemed antsy as you pulled your legs back onto the mattress, tucking your knees underneath you and bowing your head, your neutral smile taking on a shy undertone. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” you admitted, speaking quickly enough for the words to blend together. Then, with more composure, “Who wants to get us started?”

Nanami’s hand was already on his keyboard, waiting for your cue. Somehow, he was still too late.

blueeyeswhitedragon sent 150 credits!

blueeyeswhitedragon: Bra first, pretty please.

You giggled as you raised your hands, leaning forward to give the camera a better view of your chest as you undid the clasp at the nape of your neck. Nanami’s breath hitched as the thin fabric fell away, revealing the soft curves of your breasts and your pretty, perfect nipples – already hard, already enough to make saliva pool underneath his tongue. The lower clasp was next, undone with more effort and more bouncing than what seemed absolutely necessary, but Nanami couldn’t complain, not when he was struggling to undo the fly of his dress pants without ever looking away from you. There was another giggle as the article fell away entirely, then a third as you cupped your chest with both hands, groping gently. “I used to be so shy about taking my top off on camera…” You trailed off, batting your eyes. “But, you guys think I’m pretty, right?”

Your requested affirmations flooded the chat in an instant. Nanami grinned, slumping back in his chair. He could compliment any part of you earnestly, but aside from donations, he rarely let himself participate in your chat. Speaking to you so openly, being one of a dozen people whose username you’d glance over in a second – that wasn’t what he wanted. Anonymous adoration wasn’t the shape his affection took.

Eventually, you collapsed back onto your bed. “Okay, okay, that’s enough,” you went on, as Nanami wrapped a fist around the base of his cock. “What next?”

There was another offer – 300 credits for your panties, 400 if you took them off with your back to the camera. You obliged, bent at the waist, inching the silken fabric down your thighs at an almost sadistic pace. After you finished, you seemed ready to move onto the main show, but another donation cropped up in your chat.

user34232 sent 75 credits!

user34232: for the socks pls

That, as far as Nanami could tell, seemed to catch you genuinely off-guard. He could see you blushing as you leaned towards the camera – or, he supposed, the laptop you had positioned underneath it, as if you’d misread something. “…my socks?”

Nanami stifled a grown, tightening his hold. With his free hand, he reached for the keyboard,

n. kento sent 200 credits!

n. kento: Don’t take them off.

You played your part perfectly, sighing as you let your head lull to the side. All it took was you batting your eye lashes while letting out the sweetest murmur of “Well, I don’t know if that’s fair, but…” for your chat to dissolve into a bidding war, donations ranging from five credits to five hundred. If you were making any earnest attempt to keep track of which side was winning, you clearly had no motivation to call it too early on – pulling your legs onto your bed and kicking your feet out playfully towards the camera. “Some of you guys ask for such weird stuff,” you went on, rolling your left ankle. “If someone doesn’t tell me what to do soon, I think I’m just going to have to change into another outfit.”

Nanami let out a breath of a chuckle, only half aware he was typing.

n. kento sent 1,750 credits!

n. kento: You look beautiful. Keep them on.

You laughed, and this time, Nanami chose to believe it was sincere. “I get it! We’ll move on.” You were already leaning back, rolling onto your stomach, giving your viewers a perfect view of your ass as you reached for something off-screen. “Normally I’d ask for a suggestion,” you said, as you brought what you’d retrieved back into frame – a pale pink rabbit vibrator, the penetrative half of the forked wand ribbed. “But I have something I’m kind of looking forward to. I promise, I’ll try to get past the boring stuff quickly.”

You thought too little of yourself. Arousal drooled from Nanami’s flushed tip as you positioned yourself on the edge of the mattress, legs spread wide and slick, glistening pussy fully on display. You were already wet, but he knew you would be. It was something you joked about often – how sensitive you were, how something as minor as a wet dream would have you soaking through your panties. Normally, he would’ve figured you were just playing it up for the sake of your viewers, but it was hard to deny the evidence in front of him.

A whimper slipped past your parted lips as you eased the head of the toy past your entrance, stretching yourself out on its bulbed tip. Now, now, he started to move his hand, pumping his fist over the length of his shaft in short, slow strokes, matching your tempo as you rocked your toy into your pussy. A dull hum fills the room as your thumb finds the switch built into the handle’s underside, and your expression immediately goes from dazed to pained, your tongue peaking out from between your lips and your eyes fluttering shut as your hips bucked against the vibrator. “It—It feels—” Your thighs threaten to twitch shut, but you hold them open, determined to give your audience the best possible view of your pussy clenching around your toy. “I really—I wanna get some bondage gear soon, so that I can—”

Whatever you might’ve said was replaced by a bubbling moan, and just like that, Nanami was fucking his fist without restraint. He knew how pathetic it was, but it would’ve been impossible not to imagine it was his cock sinking into your dripping cunt rather than an inanimate toy, not to wish it was your pussy clamping down around his length rather than his own fist. He wondered what you smelled like, if you wore perfume, what it would be like to have his face buried between your thighs. He was aware, vaguely, that your chat was the most active it’d been all night, people trying to catch your attention with donations and tips and compliments, but they didn’t matter. They weren’t watching you, not really, not the same way Nanami was. He knew you, well enough to know that you couldn’t think once something had been stuffed inside of your cunt. He loved you, enough to wish he was the one making your mind go so euphorically blank.

There was more moaning, more failed attempts to speak, but you didn’t let yourself cum. You were visibly trembling by the time you switched the toy off, and it took agonizing seconds to ease the wand out of your disappointed pussy – seconds Nanami watched with rapt devotion. More out of sympathy than anything else, he lets go of his cock entirely, gritting his teeth and attempting to ignore the pulsing ache forming in the pit of his stomach. What was next was better. What was next was worth waiting for.

You took a few panting breaths, your voice still airy by the time you managed to speak. “I have a—” You paused, grinned. Nanami smiled too. “I have a surprise for all of you, tonight. I think I mentioned that already, but— oh, right.” You perked up, playing excited. “We have to move to the floor, for this next part.”

You slipped off-screen, and a second later, the camera shifted to follow you – falling onto a corner of your room less staged than your bed, but just as pristine. Abstract, pastel tapestries obscured the walls, but the dark floorboards were left bare. On one side, most of a dog kennel was visible, decorated with string lights and clearly meant for one of your more niche shows, and on the other, he could make out the bottom corner of a poster – not for anything kinky, or sensual, or in any way suggestive, but an underground band, a local band. You probably hadn’t realized it was in the shot, let alone meant for it to be. You were usually more careful about giving away anything even remotely personal, but Nanami couldn’t be mad.

After all, it’d been that poster that’d let him find you.

He could still remember the first time he ever saw you – actually saw you, not through a screen, but in person. After he knew that you lived in the same city as him (the same district, even), it’d only taken a few more days to find your name, your age, your address. Still, he put off visiting you for weeks, telling himself that it didn’t matter, that you wouldn’t recognize him, that you wouldn’t want to see him. And, in the end, you hadn’t seen him at all – you hadn’t needed to.

That night, he’d watched your show from the rooftop of the building opposite of yours, straining to see you through a bedroom window left carelessly open. Even now, the guilt was almost tangibly agonizing, the shame practically unbearable.

Almost as unbearable as the temptation to go back.

But, that part would come soon enough. You were on screen, again, holding something he recognized.

“I have some exciting news,” you chirped, as you kneeled on the floor, holding a pitch-black dildo, a suction cup attached to the base. Despite its color, Nanami could make out defined veins running down the silicone shaft, a noticeable girth to the base. A perfect mirror of the cock currently pulsing for attention in his lap.

He felt himself grinning, as you went on. “I got my first real fan gift!” You held up the toy to your cheek, like a child showing off their first stuffed animal, before planting it on the floor between your thighs. “It’s so big, too,” you said, showing off its size, where the blunt tip rested well above your navel. “Everyone say thank you, Daddy Kento!”

Your chat was instantly flooded with predictable responses, but Nanami couldn’t look away from you. You were enjoying yourself, clearly. You must’ve thought you were so smart, renting out a P. O. box, going on and on about how grateful you were to your dedicated fans when he reached out to ask if you accepted physical donations, and you were smart. It was only a shame that Nanami loved you enough to look past all of your attempts to keep him away.

As you began to move onto your knees, he allowed himself one more intervention.

n. kento sent 3,000 credits!

n. kento: Take it to the hilt.

It was cruder than he usually cared to be, but as your eyes flickered towards your monitor, your lips quirked into a slight smile. You didn’t respond verbally, but you nodded, and sunk down onto his cock.

Immediately, his hand wasn’t enough, but he tried to make do – matching your agonizingly slow pace, imagining what it would feel like to have you lower yourself down onto his real cock, rather than a cheap imitation. Trails of iridescent slick dripped down the dark silicone, your camera positioned strategically to catch every bounce of your breasts as your breathing hitched, to provide the optimal view of your pussy stretching around the tip, then the head, then the shaft as you lowered yourself slowly. “It—It’s so big,” you repeated, bringing a hand up to your stomach while the other remained on the floor, keeping you stable. “I mean, I knew it would be, but—fuck—” Another inch, Nanami’s fist moving over the same part of his cock. You let out an airy laugh. “Just be thankful I’m so tough.”

“I am,” Nanami muttered, his voice echoing off the bare walls of his office. “You’re perfect.”

“I really wanna cum on this one, too – to, like, christen it, or something. Been keeping myself pent up all day for it.” With a pitchy keen, you brought yourself a few inches higher, then dropped. Your free hand shot away from your stomach and back to the floor as you continued to bounce on the toy’s length, getting just a little deeper each time. “Welcome it to family, y’know? Maybe make it a regular, for you sadists out there.”

Nanami stiffened at the thought of you fucking yourself on a replica of his cock in front of thousands of people twice a week; drooling and panting as you told your viewers how big he was, how good he felt inside of you. With his restraint brought to its limits, he fucked his fist carelessly, his attention fixed on the steady movements of your hips as you rode his toy. Your eyes didn’t flutter closed, this time – they clenched shut, and you couldn’t seem to keep your voice under control, little mewls and half-conscious whines bubbling up from your chest as you struggled to take that much more of him with every thrust. When you did manage to speak, your voice was uneven, whiney, so sweet it made him want to dig his teeth into something and tear. “I’m so close,” and then, as you brought yourself back down, so close to bottoming out, “I wanna cum!”

“You will,” Nanami whispered. He knew you couldn’t hear him, but it was true – you would, and if he’d been able to, he would’ve made you. He would’ve let you fuck yourself on his cock whenever you asked, would’ve woken you up every morning coming undone on his tongue and made sure you fell asleep with his cock buried inside of you. If you were with him, you’d never have to think again, never have to feel anything but pleasure – any time you wanted it, every time you wanted it. He’d make sure—

You didn’t moan as you reached the toy’s base, you screamed. One of your hands moved to the space between your thighs, two fingers rubbing quick circles into your clit as you nursed yourself through your orgasm. Nanami didn’t stand a chance, still chasing his fantasies as he spilled over his hand; searing hot cum pooling on his lap, soaking into the material of his shirt, spilling onto his desk. He didn’t stop moving his hand, though, not until you went limp – bending at the waist, bracing yourself on the floor. Finally, you managed to raise your head, flashing that brilliant smile towards the camera. Of course, Nanami smiled back.

In a daze, he watched you ease yourself off of the toy and wrap up your stream, so familiar from your script that he would’ve been able to recite it with confidence. Even after you signed off, the screen going black, he didn’t move, only letting his head roll to the side with a shallow sigh.

It was pathetic, just how much he loved you. It was painful, being so far from someone who made him feel so irrationally happy.

He could only count the days until he wouldn’t have to limit himself to only watching from a distance any longer.

~

There was a man in your apartment.

A man you didn’t want to be in your apartment, just to be clear. You’d heard the front door open, seen a bulky silhouette moving through your living room, and now, you were listening to him riffle through your bedroom as you hid in the en suite bathroom – crouched in the smallest corner you could find with both hands locked over your mouth, trying to stifle the sound of your own breathing. The door was locked, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t want to find out how much a thin sheet of wood would do to protect you. You didn’t want to give him a reason to acknowledge you at all.

As far as you could tell, there was only one intruder. You could only hear one pair of muffled footsteps, with second-long gaps between every little movement. The air caught in your throat as you heard him edge closer, closer, then pause. There was a dull clack, the sound of metal clashing against plastic, and you relaxed, sighing into your palms. Your filming equipment. It was expensive, but nothing you couldn’t replace. If you were lucky, he’d take what he could carry and leave.

And that was what he seemed to be doing, too – more rustling interrupted every so often by a few moments of heart-wrenching silence. Soon enough, you heard the intruder start to move again, his footsteps edging closer to the bathroom door as he moved to leave your bedroom entirely, and—

“(Y/n)?”

Fuck.

You didn’t say anything, holding your breath and digging your nails into your cheeks, willing yourself not to move, not to think. You didn’t make a sound, you couldn’t have, and yet he kept talking.

“I know you’re in there. Please, come out.”

He couldn’t know. He couldn’t know. You’d kept the lights off, and you hadn’t moved in minutes, and—

He tried the knob, and something cracked deep inside of your chest. There was an airy sigh, then a dull thud, like he was leaning against the door frame. “Please,” he repeated, sounding more exasperated than angry. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“Y-you can take whatever you want,” you stuttered, your voice unsteady, just a touch louder than it really had to be. That was fine. You didn’t have to pretend to be brave, so long as you made it out of this alive and uninjured. “I won’t call the police – I can’t call the police, I left my phone in the kitchen. You can take it, too. I… I don’t have a lot of cash, but my camera, it should be worth—”

“I don’t want your camera, love.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought he sounded wistful. “Come out, or I’ll break down the door.”

Honestly, it hadn’t occurred to you that he could.

It took a second to pry your hands off of your face, and another to push yourself to your feet – your legs shaking as you struggled to stand. Almost mechanically, you moved towards the door; unlocking it in the same motion as you pulled it open. Light from your bedroom spilled into the entryway, revealing—

God.

He was taller than you’d expected him to be.

Six feet at least, with a build to match. The sleeves of his dress-shirt were rolled up to his elbow, showing off arms so muscular, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d planned to tear your door off its hinges with his bare hands. He had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, visibly full, but you could still see your equipment standing untouched behind him, and you couldn’t imagine anything else he would’ve wanted to take. His blonde hair was swept back, out of his eyes, and he was holding a butcher’s knife in his right hand, the blade wrapped in leopard-spotted fabric. Surprisingly, though, his weapon wasn’t what concerned you the most.

He was smiling. No, actually, that wasn’t right.

He was beaming.

“(Y/n),” he said, again. You didn’t let yourself wonder why he knew your name. “I—I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced myself earlier. I might’ve gotten a little carried away – I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

“…it’s okay,” you managed, your voice barely audible. “Are you going to kill me?”

His expression dropped. “No. Of course not.” And then, after a brief lapse, “I’d never hurt you. I…” You saw his right hand flex around the grip of his knife, and thought you might black out. “I’m a fan.”

Instantly, you felt the blood freeze in your veins.

Fuck. Fuck.

You knew you should’ve gone into accounting.

“I… You’re a fan?” You tried to smile, but it might’ve come across more pained than relieved. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to meeting people who’ve caught my stream. Should I know what to call you?”

And just like that, his grin was back, any momentary tension assayed. You wished he would’ve put down the knife, too, but beggars can’t be choosers. “Kento,” he said, and for the first time, you noticed the pink hue creeping over his cheeks. “Nanami Kento.”

You grit your teeth as you struggled to place him. After a second, it came to you.

Kento. Right. The dildo guy.

Somehow, knowledge provided little comfort. Still, you soldiered on. “It’s really nice to meet you, Nanami.” You clasped your hands behind your back, rocking gently on your heels. “I—I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting any guests. If you want to step out for a couple minutes, I can change into something more comfortable, and show you how appreciative I am for your—”

“I’m not an idiot.” He cut you off, still grinning. “You’re coming with me.”

You didn’t let your smile waver, either. “And, if I didn’t want to go with you…?”

 “I’m afraid this isn’t about what you want, anymore.”

You meant to say something – opened your mouth and everything – but nothing came out. Your heart tightened in your chest, a not inconsiderable portion of your mind screaming for you to run, run, run. And yet, when he took you by the wrist in a feather-light hold, leading you through your own apartment and out into the hall, it was all you could do to smile and follow after him.

~

The first thirty minutes of the car ride passed in silence. Nanami – because you couldn’t stand to keep thinking of him as ‘that guy who bought you a dildo shaped like his own dick and paid you thousands of dollars to ride it live on stream’ – kept his knife in his lap, his hand falling away from the wheel and onto its hilt whenever you so much as took a deep breath. Eventually, your eyes fell to the clock built into his dashboard, and you broke through your paralysis with a nervous laugh.

“It’s a little funny,” you started, for lack of anything else to do. “I’d actually normally be getting ready for my stream, around now.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him swallow, his jaw tensing. “I know.”

Great. Okay. Whatever. “I don’t mind, y’know,” you managed, before you could let yourself fully consider what you were going to say. “If it means we don’t have to go through with the whole kidnapping thing, I really wouldn’t mind sleeping with you – you can even take pictures, if you’d like that, or record, whichever you’d prefer.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I haven’t tried a lot of hardcore stuff, but I wouldn’t mind if that’s what you’re into. We don’t even have to go back to my apartment, you could just pull over, and—”

“That’s not what I’m interested in.” He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone left no room for protest. “I’m not going to… I’m not going to just fuck you once and leave you by the side of the road. I’m doing this for your sake.”

As if you’d willingly climbed into a maniac’s car. “I… I’m not following, Kento.”

“It’s for your own protection. Once I thought to look, it took me hours to find out everything about you.” He spared you a quick glance, that same uncanny smile. One of his hands left the wheel and, rather than moving to his knife, found your knee, squeezing gently. It took everything you had not to scream. “Imagine what someone could do with that kind of information. They could blackmail you, if they found your full name, or track you down if they pieced together your address. It’d be a miracle if they were only a stalker. It just wasn’t safe to let you keep going on that way.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. “They could even break into my apartment and abduct me at knifepoint.”

His gaze narrowed, but his smile only softened. Neither of you spoke for the rest of the journey.

After far too long and not nearly long enough, you reached your destination: a housing complex, leagues nicer (and more expensive) than your own rundown building. Calling them apartments would’ve been a disservice; they were more similar to free-standing condos, or miniature villas slotted just outside of the city’s more metropolitan districts. Without a word, you let him guide you into a relatively generic home, its only notable feature being the absolute lack of evidence of meaningful life within it. You wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a rental, leased exclusively to give him someplace to do… well, whatever he planned to do to you. It’d be more off-putting to know that someone actually lived someplace so vacant.

He led you through the empty halls and up a flight of stairs, keeping you in front of him and in his line of sight at all times. Finally, you reached the door he seemed to be looking for and, with a nod by way of instruction, let yourself inside.

Before you stood, puzzlingly, your own bedroom.

Or – the parts of it you could make out on camera, at least. The bed was the same size, the same model, made with the same sheets and littered with the same pillows, but the floor was covered in a harsh white carpeting, the surrounding walls soundproofed with suffocating black foam. Camera equipment identical to your own had been set-up at the foot of your bed, but an unfamiliar silver laptop replaced your own sticker-covered monstrosity. You didn’t see any chains, whips, or shock collars, which was good. You still didn’t know what the fuck was going on, which was bad.

Confused, you turned to Nanami as he crossed the threshold and rather conservatively, shut and locked the door. “There are clothes on the bed,” he explained, with a tone that made it difficult to tell whether or not he knew how weird this was. “A script, too. Memorize as much as you can.”

So he still expected you to stream. Or, that was what you hoped, at least – considering the only alternative was that he was planning to make an extremely elaborate snuff film. “I’m not used to using scripts.”

“You’ll manage.”

You didn’t bother trying to argue, only moving towards the bed and attempting to forget he was there entirely.

The ‘clothes’ he’d left for you turned out to be lingerie – the nice stuff, too, white and lacey and bridal with a babydoll cut. You glanced over his script (which, disturbingly, didn’t exactly not sound like you) as you got dressed and fixed your hair, doing the best you could without any of your usual supplies. You wouldn’t be able to reapply your make-up, but you’d put some on earlier, and—

You almost laughed at yourself, stifling a chuckle.

You’d been kidnapped, and you were worried about your make-up. If you got out of this alive, you swore, you’d never touch foundation or a ring light or a camera ever again.

He didn’t have to tell you when it was time – you would’ve known by instinct alone. With Namami watching from an armchair pushed against the opposite wall, you clambered onto the bed and took your usual position, kneeling in center frame. He’d never asked for your credentials, and yet, when you glanced towards the laptop positioned just underneath the main camera, you found that your own profile was already pulled up, a miniature timer in the corner of the screen counting down the seconds until you went live.

As it reached thirty seconds ‘till, it occurred to you that you were in a soundproof room alone with the man who’d kidnapped you and was currently holding you hostage, and that no one could’ve possibly known where you were or, more importantly, who you’d been taken by.

As it reached fifteen, you realized you were being held captive and being forced to wear bridal lingerie that your kidnapped must’ve picked out with the occasion in mind.

As it reached five, for the first time that day, you thought you might actually start to cry.

And, as it reached zero, you put on your biggest, brightest smile and hoped beyond hope that you’d stop thinking entirely, eventually.

“Welcome home!” Skipping over your normal grace period only felt right. You didn’t think you’d be able to survive sitting in silent, motionless suspension for another second, let alone a full minute. “Sorry if I seem a little nervous tonight – to tell the truth, I kind of am. I’ve got a major announcement, and I just can’t put it off any longer.”

Reflexively, your attention drifted first to your own feed – you looked perfect, as always – then to your chat, moving quickly despite your sudden start. You caught a few of the longer messages in your peripheral.

secretary.lover: Is it just me, or does she seem kind scared lmao?

blueeyeswhitedragon: yeahhh i thought her room looked kinda weird too lol

justheretowatch: fuck ur pretty

rapidfire: let me guess, another fake dick?

“I know I probably should’ve given you guys more of a warning,” you went on, fighting the temptation to break, to yell for them to call the police, to give up entirely and make a run for it. “But…”  

You forced yourself to laugh, to beam, to clap your hands together in front of your chest like a schoolgirl – excited to tell her friends that she’d gone through with her first ever confession. “I’m getting married!”

You didn’t have a ring to show off, but you tried your best to preen regardless, to not let any amount of fear or discomfort or hesitation show on your shining expression. After a show delay, congratulations and well-wishes filled your chat (some genuine, others more reluctant), and you did your best to go on without letting the sizable knot slowly gaining mass in the back of your throat smother your voice entirely. “This is going to be my last stream – for a while, at least, until we get settled in. And…”

You tried to remember what’d been listed next in Nanami’s script, but your conscious mind was bogged down by a thick layer of buzzing static, your sense of improvisation dulled by a heavy dose of anxiety. Your eyes flickered to where Nanami was sitting behind your equipment, only to find that the chair he’d formerly occupied empty. You didn’t have time to panic before the edge of the mattress dipped under a new weight, and you remembered what you were supposed to say. “My husband actually wanted to cameo on my send-off show. I was a little hesitant—” Another dip in the mattress, this one much closer than the last. “—but he insisted. I thought you all deserved a chance to meet him, too.”

As soon as you finished, you felt a large hand on your shoulder, a sudden presence at your back. Your gaze fell back to your feed, your own image now accompanied by that of your captor – on his knees behind you, one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip, the framing positioned so that his head was cut off just above the mouth. The lower half of his face was covered with a black surgical mask, and you had to stop yourself from frowning. You hadn’t expected him to be stupid enough to show his face on camera, but still.

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you felt his hand fall away from your shoulder, slipping underneath the lace camisole of your babydoll. You tried not to move, not to flinch, but you couldn’t stop yourself from jerking forward as you felt his hand slip under your bralette, the angular ridges of his knuckles visible through the thin silk. Despite everything he’d said about not hurting you, about doing this for your protection, he made no attempt to be gentle – the calloused pads of his fingers pressing into the curve of your breast with enough force to bruise. You bit back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sincere reaction. If you wanted to go home, you had to put up with this. He’d never said anything about pretending to enjoy it.

(In the back of your mind, you knew he hadn’t said anything about letting you go home, either. Still, you didn’t let yourself dwell on such discontinuities).

 You should’ve known better than to think he’d attempt to follow the normal flow of your stream, and yet, it still caught you off-guard when his unoccupied hand found its way to the waistband of your panties, then to your clothed sex. You weren’t overly sensitive, despite how you might’ve acted in front of your viewers, but you were still on edge, still panicked, and while the adrenaline being held at knifepoint might’ve sparked was beginning to fade, having your kidnapper grope you on camera was enough to bring on a fresh wave. Reflexively, you pressed your back into his broad chest as his thumb traced over the length of your slit, pausing only momentarily to press into your clit with a dull, oppressive sort of pressure, biting down on your bottom lips to stop anything vulnerable and pathetic from escaping. If Nanami was affected by your stoicism, it wasn’t enough to stop him from pulling the flimsy material to the side entirely and slipping two fingers into you, your now-slick cunt providing humiliatingly easy access. In the same motion, the heel of his palm pressed into your clit, the friction immediately too harsh, too much. It would’ve been too much if he wasn’t touching you at all. It would’ve been too much if he was still sitting alone in his dark, empty house – getting off to the idea of degrading someone he claimed to care about so publicly.

It didn’t help that you were wet. Not dripping, sure, but wet enough for there to be an audible, slick clicking-type noise as he pumped his digits into you, never taking the pressure off of your clit. You could feel his cock pressed into your ass, already hard, already too familiar not to be nauseating, but he didn’t seem to be in a rush to move past your exhibition; his pace measured and experimental, his fingers prone to spreading apart and curling inside of you. To distract yourself, you moved your attention back to your chat, trying to pick out the longer messages between donation notifications.

user84343: girl i call dibs when you’re done with him

hotbox420: no seriously y/n are you okay???

bunnygirl69: still can’t believe you’re leaving us for him </3 can’t say i don’t see why tho ToT

absolutely.soaked: Blink twice if you’re in danger lmaoooo

“G-guys, I’m totally—” Your breath hitched as he forced another finger into you, the stretch now a touch past ignorable. His other hand kneaded at your chest, blunt nails scraping against tender flesh, and momentarily, you wondered if it really would’ve been so bad to take your chances and let him kill you right away. “I’m totally fine, I’m just—” His nails bit into your skin by way of warning, and you allowed yourself a single, stilted moan. “I’m just so happy that I finally get to—to—”

You didn’t know what you were supposed to say, but it didn’t matter. Nanami’s hand dropped from your chest to your side, his arm locking over your midriff and hauling you that much closer. You couldn’t stop yourself this time – whimpering as the tempo of his fingers sped up, as tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes. You glanced around the bedroom, searching for anything familiar, anything you could use to stabilize yourself, anything that you could start to find comforting. Instead, your eyes landed on the duffle bag he’d carried out of your apartment, the zipper now partially undone. You couldn’t see much, but you could make out the handle of a pink hitachi. It wasn’t difficult to guess what the rest of the bag’s contents looked like, what he’d spent so long riffling through your possessions to find.

It wouldn’t been pointless to try and hold back the crooked, ebbing sob that leaked past your lips. This time, when you turned to face your camera, it was with tears just beginning to spill and absolute terror written across your expression. “Call the police,” you managed to spit out, making no attempt to be subtle. “I—I don’t actually know this man, and this isn’t my apartment, and—“

It happened too quickly – like he’d been expecting you to do something so obviously short-sighted. You processed that he was pulling out of your cunt as you felt his fingers entangle themselves in your hair, and then your face was being shoved against the mattress, your body folding over itself as he forced you down. You tried to yell, tried to scream, but your voice was muffled by your own fucking comforter as you heard fabric shifting behind you, as you felt something warm and stiff and leaking align with your entrance. You refused to put a name to it, but that didn’t help. Nothing would’ve helped.

His palm pressed into the back of your head, his body slotting against yours as he leaned down, lowering his head so that he could speak directly into your ear. “I’m doing this for your own good,” he whispered, his voice muffled but still painfully audible. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

You didn’t have a chance to response. He was already inside of you – his cock filling you to your breaking point.

You weren’t sure if your viewers could hear you, but you hoped they could. It would’ve been a pity to sob so loudly for the sole entertainment of the sick, sick man currently rutting into you, grinding into your cunt from behind with a kind of animalistic desperation – all desire and no control. It was a struggle to stay on your knees, not to go entirely limp underneath him, but you doubted it would’ve made a difference if you hadn’t, that he wouldn’t have fucked your limp body just as enthusiastically. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could just barely see the monitor – the miniature image of Nanami’s body moving on top of yours, his blond hair still obscuring the other half of his face, and then next to it, your chat. If you’d been thinking more clearly, you wouldn’t have let yourself look, wouldn’t have let yourself fully acknowledge that there were still thousands of people watching you, but you weren’t thinking at all, and you would’ve given anything for someone to say something that made you forget where you were, just for a second.

sniper727: so the bitch likes it rough? hot

callmeanonymous: FINALLY!!! I’ve been waiting for some cnc rp for actual years.

blueeyeswhitedragon: hey i think i might work with that guy

hotbox420: yeah no i’m calling the cops.

Predictably, your efforts were grotesquely unsuccessful.

Nanami didn’t seem as bothered. The weight on the back of your head disappeared as his hands found your hips, pulling up as he straightened his back. For anyone else, it might’ve been an awkward position – holding up your uncooperative form while bouncing you on his cock  – but no amount of unpleasant technicalities could’ve stopped him from burying himself to hilt with every stroke, keeping you in a constant state of mind-numbing fullness. You tried to talk, again, to call for help, but fractured mewls and pathetic whines drowned out whatever you might’ve said, and even those were put to an end as Nanami took you by the jaw, turning you to face him as his lips crashed into your – his mask either pulled down or discarded entirely, you couldn’t be bothered to check. The kiss itself was messy, rough, brutal, his tongue raking over yours as you sobbed unabashedly into his mouth – your connection only growing more chaotic as his hand once again found your clit and ground two fingers into the sensitive bundle of nerves. You knew what he wanted. You knew what he was trying to do.

And you couldn’t do anything to stop him.

With a ragged sob, you came undone around his cock, any strength you might’ve once had flooding out of your body and dripping down his shaft. Nanami groaned into your mouth, drawing back just far enough to bury his face in your neck and mouth meaningless nothings into your throat as he chased his own climax. He thrusted into you again once, twice, and then you felt pure heat pour into you – a new kind of torture that rendered you entirely senseless. You didn’t try to scream, again.

You were distantly aware of him moving, shifting, pulling something out of his pocket as he muttered a mix of ‘you did so well’s and ‘I love you’s into your skin. When you did finally manage to raise your head, you didn’t think to look toward the remote in his hand or your tattered lingerie or the cum slowly leaking out of your entrance. Rather, your attention landed on the same thing it always did during your streams – your monitor.

You’d never know why, but for whatever reason, you could feel your heart break in your chest as you realized that the screen had already gone black.

Different

I wasn’t in a good mental place yesterday, so I wrote the third part of Circumstances and Unwillingly for Osamu, because why not. Do enjoy this fuckery (: (And I know I said no spice on this one, but well, it happened, it be like that sometimes) I hope I can do the other two justice, let me know what you thought!

Characters: Yandere!Osamu Miya x (afab)Darling, Yandere Atsumu Miya Rating/Warning: Mature, Yandere, Lemon, Dub-Con Words: 4845

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Chop.

Half-listening to the sound of a knife cutting through the hill of parsley on the cutting board before you, you sighed, burying your face in your arms propped up on the kitchen countertop. Osamu side-glanced you, estimated your behavior as if you were a diamond and he the jeweler, unwilling to even miss one movement you made. Part of him still believed you’d reach for the knife to attack him or risk yourself, but you wouldn’t. At least, not that day. 

Actually, you were glad that after all that happened, Osamu had left the door to the room open, allowing you to roam. It was bad enough that Atsumu had used you for his sick pleasure, and you had to endure Osamu being very thorough in cleaning you up, you wouldn’t have wanted to be alone in your roam, stuck in the dark and silence while he went and made dinner. The only thing that was promoted by being locked away was the endless stream of thoughts that you couldn’t escape, no matter what you did. 

If only your memories had been kind ones, but by now, they were only filled with the bad things that happened to you lately. 

As if you were a child, Osamu had lifted you out of the water in the bathtub and made you stand facing and touching the wall, bending over for him as he scrubbed you down. The fact he kept his underwear on had reassured you at first but having him - who, in fact, had never seen you stark naked like this before, much less touch you inappropriately - clean you inside out was just as bad. You couldn’t even describe the feeling of his fingers digging into your pussy, not for pleasure but the sole purpose of cleaning, all while he cursed under his breath about his brother.

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tw: non con ish, toxic relationship

i need nate jacob’s complex bakugo or something

just… i know he gets massive character development later on in the manga, but if he had gone down the other path and given into his jealousy i could totally see him becoming a possessive, toxic masculinity ridden POS who has a death grip on his doe-eyed, nympho gf.

he walks behind you in the halls like a doberman, making other dudes who look at you cower with just a glare. everyone knows not to mess with bakugo - no one is stupid enough to think they’d get out with all their limbs un-exploded if they did - and to fuck with you, to talk to you, is fucking with him. bakugo doesn’t like people touching what’s his and you’re the most precious thing he owns.

bakugo is an angry guy, but something about you calms him down. you’re a pretty little thing - light, flirty, sexy - with baby soft skin and a smile that makes his chest tight. everyone wants you. you know it, he knows it, but nonetheless you stick by his side. his pet, his princess. god does it do something for his ego.

when he’s looking into your eyes he sees something good, something sweet that loves him back. he feels a swell of pride in his chest whenever he wraps a hand around your waist and you let him pull you in, or when you don’t fight when he grabs your wrist -burning small warning marks with his quirk - and tells you that you aren’t going out with your friends tonight. you worship him and he protects you. it works.

he wants to hoard you, consume you. he wants your life to be revolved around him and him alone. when he takes you to bed he spends hours between your legs, eating you out like a madman, forcing you to scream his name until your throat goes hoarse. “katsuki! katsuki! katsuki!” well into the small hours of the morning, until he’s positive your mouth knows how to say nothing else and the noise becomes more of a plea for mercy than an aroused encouragement. then he fucks you like an animal, thrusting into you violently, kissing you with tongue and teeth and saliva dripping down your chin, growling that you’re his and you’ll only ever be his.

and you, being the pretty, agreeable bitch you are, of course nod along, digging your fingers into his back as he cores you out.

but ultimately you aren’t surgically attached to him and you do have enough autonomy to leave, which, considering how HORRIBLE he is would probably be something that crosses your mind at least a few times. if you should choose to do that, prepare for his wrath. you can change all your classes, hide behind your friends, stay home all day - it doesn’t matter. bakugo will find you - he’ll break in through your bedroom window if he has too. crawling on top of you, pinning you down to your childhood bed, reminding you with flame dripping from his eyes that he wasn’t fucking lying when he said you’re his. now you’re gonna be good and lay still while he reminds you.