Something Something You’ve Been Seeing This New Guy For A Few Weeks Now, Sparks Aren’t Flying Between
Something something you’ve been seeing this new guy for a few weeks now, sparks aren’t flying between you two but he’s hot, pays for your drinks, only mostly stares at your tits when you’re talking, and best of all he consistently fucks your brains out at the end of each date, so you’re in no rush to break things off yet
Something something he asks you out on another date but says his car is stuck in the shop for a while, asks if you wouldn’t mind being a ‘real bonnie lass’ and picking him up from work, swearing up and down that he’ll make it worth your while in bed tonight
Something something you’re surprised when the address he gave you is a well fortified military base, unable to recall if he’d ever mentioned what his job was in the first place, but visions of his mohawk between your legs tonight silences any apprehension as you pull through the gates
Something something you shoot him a text from your car to let him know that you’re here, but the reception is shoddy and you end up walking around a bit in hopes of finding better connection so the message can go through
Something something you’re focused on your phone screen, smiling to yourself when you finally see the text become delivered, hardly noticing when you walk into a brick wall of a man, dropping your phone to the ground
Something something you both bend down to pick it up at the same time, hands connecting and instant sparks flying through your fingers, letting out a genuine laugh when you end up knocking your forehead against his and falling on your butt
Something something the tall, masked stranger offers you a hand up, never letting go of you as you start talking, the two of you hitting it off instantaneously, hardly paying attention to the sky around you steadily growing darker and darker, each word slipping past his lips in that deep, gravelly Manchester accent of his has you forgetting why you were here in the first place, until he asks
Something something, you explain you’re here to pick up a friend for what’s supposed to be a fourth or fifth date, though you don’t see things going much further, especially now that mister tall, dark and handsome is standing before you, a vision plucked straight out of your wildest fantasies brought to life
Something something, Johnny finally looks away from the recruits long enough to see to see your text, unaware that his plan to show you off as his newest sweet piece of ass to his mates has quickly turned into his Lieutenant stealing his girl right out from under his nose
More Posts from Junkyuholic and Others
i miss salauddin sm pls give me more
hmmm I miss him too. ok how about some tooth rotting fluff?
Salauddin wakes up in the middle of the night, an hour before Fajr prayer. He always wakes up at the same time at night. He doesnt look to the other side of the bed, but he sees your form lying there, sleeping.
You never wake up for Tahajudd like him.
Salauddin makes his ablution, performs the Tahajudd prayer, making dua for you before anything else. He prays that you're always happy, prays for forgiveness from Allah on your behalf, prays to meet you in heaven. And then he makes a short prayer for himself, forgiveness for his past and future sins. He then prays Fajr, the morning prayer.
Salauddin then sits on the prayer mat, and he feels you sit beside him. He takes your hand in his, and starts tasbeeh on your fingers, counting them on your hands so that you get the reward too. He closes his eyes and he feels you lay your head on his lap. Usually, he would smile, but not today. He's mad at you today, and you know that. But you wont ever apologise, and he wont ever make you. He just needs to let it pass.
With his eyes closed, he recites the Quran. He's a hafidh, and he knows you're one too. But he still recites better. However, he loses his concentration today due to his frustration with you, and he hears the amusement in your voice as you correct his pronounciation, correct his mistakes.
Still he does not react. He keeps his eyes closed, his voice monotonous, not showing any signs of fluster. You cant get away with it everytime, not so easily at least.
He's mad at you. And you will know it.
After finishing recitation, he gets up and begins getting ready for the day. He hears you calling his name gently-
"Yusuf. Yusuf."
Yusuf. Only you are allowed to call him by his real name. And you use it to your favour, you know how his heart flutters at hearing his name roll from your tongue.
"Yusuf."
No. Not today.
He stands in front of the vanity, fixing his clothes. He wears his chaddar- the white chaddar you adore. Usually, he would wrap it around your shoulders, but not today.
Salauddin picks up the bottle of kohl, its the same one he bought you. He hears you whine his name as he places the kohl in his eyes. Usually, he would line your eyes with kohl before his, but not today.
Not after what you did last night.
He sits down in the balcony, the servant leaving a some dates and hot tea. He feels you sit opposite to him, trying to make him look at you, but he instead kept his eyes focused on the pyramids.
"Yusuf?"
Salauddin would usually feed you dates from his hands, after he took the seed out. He knows how it annoys you when your hands get sticky from the juices. But not today. Today, he only took the seeds out and put it in your plate and poured tea in your cup. You never had to use your own plate and cup, not when Salauddin fed you from his plate and shared his cup with you, blowing on the hot drink.
Not today.
He walks out of the room without eating, to attend to his duties. He didnt feel like having breakfast today, but he hopes you're not starving yourself at his expense... wherever you are. You dont follow after him when he left, you're a little short tempered like that. If he ignores you a few times, you give up trying to get his attention until he comes to you himself. You're not like him, you dont have patience for your beloved like he does.
But not today. Maybe some time apart will make you think about what you did.
Salauddin is fine as noon comes and he offers Dhudhr prayer, still no sight of you. You're probably taking a nap. He does get a little concerned after praying Asr, no sign of you all afternoon. Did you sleep through lunch?
Finally disturbed, he gives in and goes to look for you. He goes to the bedroom first, no sign of you. Then he makes his way to the dining hall, the library, before finally going to the stables.
He spots your figure there, standing in front of your favourite horse Rumi.
As always, he comes to you.
"Y/n."
He watches you turn away from him, crossing your arms over your chest with a huff. You're mad at him.
Salauddin's lip twitches.
"Y/n." He walks closer, coming up behind you.
"No." You say sharply as he tries to turn you around, shrugging his hand off your shoulder.
"Y/n-"
"No. I'm mad at you." You state.
"I know. I'm sorry." He apologises, as always. You never apologise.
You turn around, frowning at him. "You ignored me all day."
"I'm sorry."
"You misbehaved with me."
"I'm sorry."
"You didnt feed me."
"I'm sorry."
"You were mad at me." Were? So you know he's let go of his anger?
"I'm sorry."
"You should be."
He nodded. "I'm sorry."
"You didnt visit me all day."
"I'm sorry. I was going to now." He offered his hand. "Lets go?"
You smiled, finally letting go off the anger as you let him encase your hand.
Salauddin walked out of the stables, telling the servant to take care of the horses, especially Rumi.
A few minutes later, he reached the place he visited the most with you only.
The sun had set, the sky turning dark to indicate the time.
He looked at you. "Why dont you go in and wait for me? I just need to pray Maghrib."
You walked inside while he offered the evening prayer. And like every prayer, he prayed for you first, then his subjects and then himself.
He finished his prayer, and stood outside the entrance. He noticed a small flower growing outside. A pink flower. He plucked it gently.
With a deep inhale, he walked inside. His steps were gradual, despite it being darker than earlier. He knows you're not scared of the dark. Where you are, he hopes its not as dark.
He spots you sitting on the ground, waiting for him, looking sad. You perk up when you notice him.
"You came." You smiled. "You took so long."
"I'm sorry." He joined you on the ground, sitting next to you. "Here." He showed you the pink flower, watching your eyes lit up.
"Wow." You were in awe. "Its so pretty. Come on, place it."
With a smile, he nodded at your request. Salauddin took the flower and placed it on the grave.
The two of you sat in silence, and he felt you put your head on his shoulder.
"Only one flower? You should bring more." You complained.
He nodded. "Next time." He could never say no to you.
How could he explain to you that no matter how many flowers he dresses your grave with, you wont come back.
Salauddin stayed there for a bit longer, wiping his tears before returning home with you.
He offered the night prayer Isha, before lying in bed, where you were already waiting for him.
"Yusuf?" He opened his eyes. You were both lying on your sides, facing each other.
"Hm?"
"I'm sorry for not coming in your dreams last night." You pouted, surprising him as you apologised for the first time.
"I promise I'll visit tonight!"
Salauddin smiled. "Okay."
He could never be mad at you for long. He forgave you when you left this world, he can forgive everything else too.
Ngl, I cried writing this.
the squid game kuroo one !!!! i will defs be going back to that
Poly's Fave Fics
im so sick of scrolling thru my likes just to find a 500 word piece so here are all my favs on tumblr. none of these are mine.
JJK
Geto Suguru
Polluted (Multi)*
Bullying hcs
Gojo Satoru
Polluted (Multi)*
One moment was all it took (Dark!Soulmate!Gojo)*
Bad Boys Bring Roses (Yakuza!Gojo)*
Sukuna
Fight Night *
Polluted (Multi)*
The morning after (yakuza!sukuna)
Satosugu
Satosugu murdering your kid (cuz they love you or whatever)
College au Satosugu
Haikyuu
Oikawa
Naga!au
Bully*
Like Nobody Else
The Lion’s Den
Iwaizumi
Naga! au
Like Nobody Else
Inexorable
Bokuto
Delusional fool*
Tutoring Session*
Kuroo
Undone (Squidgame au)*
Gift wrapped*
Osamu/Atsumu
Different*
control+shift+n*
complex*
Tendou
Unprofessional(office au)
Outrunning Fate
HxH
Illumi
Trips
Enjoy the Silence (vampire!Illumi)*
Ingress [Part Two] [Part Three]*
Chrollo
30 Seconds (Bodyswap Soulmate AU)
Incitement*
Snowfall
Cost Affection
Uvogin
Lucky find*
Set Up (poly!Uvogin x reader x Franklin)
Shalnark
Sixth floor game
Moving Up (mafiaAU)
Nobunaga
Digging Deeper (College!Au)*
DBH
Connor
Connor likes to inflict pain*
Conor+Nines study group*
Connor + somnophilia*
Connor+hank escape attempt
The blue dress
Nines
Conor+Nines study group*
Obey Me
Simeon
Simeon gives mc an Aphrodiasic *
Simeon+Diavolo Corruption*
Drugging Mc with Cookies
Simeon+somniphilia *
Diavolo
Dissonance
Simeon+Diavolo Corruption*
re-l, ergo proxy
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...
Treasure Box Reactions, Headcanons and Scenarios
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unckuna 🥹
Sukuna is heavy.
It's a nice weight, you think. Blanketing and comfortable as he bears down on top of you. The weight makes sense; he's firm and sturdy and broad through his shoulders, tapering down into a trim waist that you can't think about for too long or it makes your head spin.
He's warm too.
There's a heat that seems to perpetually radiate from him, regardless of the climate, against all odds. It's just as soothing as his weight to seek out and leech from him—particularly when the two of you are out in the cold, inching closer to him on the sidewalk just to fight the frigid breeze or twining your fingers through his own to keep your fingertips from pricking with the chill. His hands are one of your favourite parts of him, usually.
But not at the present moment.
"Sukuna—" the warning is lost to his esurient mouth, mumbled into soft lips and swallowed down before it can elicit any actual response. Sukuna has you pinned down on the sofa, underneath his warmth and weight, and those hands you usually like so much are creeping dangerously up, up, up under the hem of your t-shirt—even in spite of your repeated insistence that this wasn't allowed to proceed any further.
His breath huffs against your slick lips, a laugh you think, and that familiar heat of his hands slithers back down towards your waist like it has every other time you've cautioned him.
"Stop bein' a tease," he mutters, slipping one hand underneath your back and pulling up so your spine arches and presses the two of you even closer together in that impossibly narrow space you occupy on the sofa.
Your breath hitches as your hips grind against his, and the look on Sukuna's face is deeply pleased by the sound. You huff a little. "I'm not teasing."
"Yeah fuckin' ri—"
"Yuuji's only down the hall," you don't even let him finish his snark, chastising him firmly.
"He's asleep," the man above you tries to reason, dipping down to nip at your pulse. Sukuna's nephew had only fallen asleep a short while prior, and as sweet a little boy as he may be, you were all too conscious of his bloodline—you didn't trust Yuuji to stay asleep any more than you trusted his beloved jichan to keep his hands off you, just because you said so.
Using the hand he still has tucked underneath the small of your back, Sukuna effortlessly tugs you up against him. Everything spins as you're righted, and before you know it you're straddling his lap on the sofa in his older brother's humble apartment, peering down the dimly lit hallway in the direction of Yuuji's bedroom. Sukuna mouths at your chest through the thin material of your shirt, sucking against the visible bud of your nipple. He'd weaselled you out of your bra soon after the two of you started fooling around—what had started off as a bit of innocent heavy petting—slipping it off and tossing it somewhere in the living room, and you've lost track of it now that things had kept spiralling out of your control.
You should have known this was how things were bound to turn out when Sukuna had asked if you'd accompany him to babysit his nephew that night. You had plans to see a movie, maybe grab dinner, and then almost assuredly end up bent over some piece of furniture in your/his/a hotel room by the end of the night. That's how things usually go with Sukuna. But then Itadori Jin had called his younger brother only a short while before the two of you were planning to meet, pleading with him to watch Yuuji for the night since he had to stay late at work.
When you first learned Sukuna had a nephew, more by accident than anything, it had surprised you. He didn't strike you as the type to get along with children when he barely gets along with other adults. Then you met Yuuji—even more by accident than simply finding out, happening to cross paths with them one afternoon—and it surprised you even more to see with your own two eyes just how deeply he cares for him. Upon first impression, Sukuna is rough and crass and unsympathetic—and while yes, those things might be true to some degree, the more you've come to learn about him, the more you've come to see other sides of him that you're not sure many (if any) other people have the chance to.
You spent your evening playing games and colouring with Yuuji while Sukuna prepared his dinner (which Jin had left in the fridge, but still, there was a certain level of preparation involved.) The three of you ate together at the kotatsu in the living room, and you laughed every time Sukuna barked at his nephew to stop trying to sneak his vegetables onto your plate. You watched Sukuna and Yuuji roughhouse before collapsing into a pile on the sofa to watch a movie, watched the six year old fall asleep on his uncle's arm, watched said uncle pluck him up (more delicately than you've ever seen Sukuna treat anything) and eventually take him to his room and tuck him into bed.
The Sukuna you thought you met six months ago would have never changed all his plans, with relatively little hesitation or complaint, to babysit a six year old, and he certainly would never have invited you along to accompany him—a bit awkwardly, endearingly clumsy—just so the two of you could still spend time together.
Sukuna pulls away from your chest, a little string of saliva stretching from his mouth to the wet stain he's suckled into the material of your top. He blinks up at you, eyes heavy lidded and gaze hot. You trace your fingers through his unkempt hair, brushing it back from his brow.
"What?" he asks, his tone guarded, as though he's suspicious of how gentle you've suddenly become. "Aren't you gonna tell me to—"
"Hey," you cut him off, your hands settling on his shoulders. He pauses, his lips still parted in speech though the words have stopped. "Kiss me?"
There's not a moment wasted before he cranes up, obeying your request without any hesitation. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to give you the chance to change your mind. Maybe it's because he can't say no to you. Maybe it's because he wants it just as bad as you do.
This time you don't stop Sukuna when his hands slip up your top. Don't stop him when he takes it off all together, either. He's not as talkative as he usually is, having grown used to the way he likes to mouth off when the two of you are intimate like this. He's as conscious as you are of his nephew sleeping only a few rooms away. He's careful with you, not unlike how like he was with Yuuji, in his own particular way.
You don't plan to stop him at all, anymore. Your resolve to deny him (and yourself) having melted under a strange warmth you feel kindling in your chest. You're happy to let him—the Sukuna you think you might be the only one who knows—have you.
Or, you would be, if not for the unexpected return of his older brother, who flicks on the light in the living room with absolutely no idea what he's about to expose.
Thankfully you've learned from experience that first impressions aren't so important after all.
⋆ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍!𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 ⋆
A/N: He's back bitches, DADDY MIGUEL O'HARA.
SYNOPSIS: Miguel is a 45-year-old man who works in a local library, also giving tutoring classes in literature to the local village community, you decide to go visit him after being on vacation, awakening a side of himself that Miguel didn't know.
TW: Yandere themes, age gap, afab anatomy, betrayal, dark themes, threats, manipulation, smut, au.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA -He leads a peaceful life, always opening the library at 9 am and closing at 9 pm, sometimes staying overtime to look at the landscape outside the large windows, to try to forget his failed marriage with his wife.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who has the same patterns every day, namely: taking both children to school by car, buying the same fruits to eat throughout the day - a few dates, an apple and a bottle of coffee aluminum portable, hot and sugar-free in the dark green side pouch he carries everything he needs for that day -
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - What you see in a boring life, everything was the same, he worked out, went for walks on the weekends, watched the same period films after 11pm, in the same leather armchair that got hot in the uncomfortable summer heat, drinking the same beer while the black and white images of the Hollywood film passed through the lens of his glasses, while he smelled the cold food made by his wife, who as always, had left the children with him and gone out.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who woke up late that day due to the hangover from the several beers he had on Sunday, rushing to drop his children off at school and avoid an argument with his wife early in the morning. He calmly went to the library, after all, there was no one there at that end of the world. But he was wrong. He soon saw you, sitting on the steps of the cold concrete stairs while waiting for someone to open the library, he had never seen you in the community, so it was a surprise for him to see someone so beautiful and different from the routine faces in the village. Miguel got out of the car, adjusting his round glasses, giving you a polite "good morning", his strong accent mixed with the smell of coffee coming from his lips, he opened the library while looking you up and down, he would casually ask you your name and what you do there. You spoke your reasons politely, while explaining that you were on vacation and decided to visit the tourist attractions of that village, such as the lighthouse and rough sea, as well as the large library, which, in addition to needing some literature classes, you two were taking Miguel O'Hara nods and gives a practically invisible sideways shy smile.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who gets excited like a young man when he sees you interested in literature, Miguel would make a point of giving you some books as a gift, explaining about each one, especially if you like gothic literature, such as: Bram Stocker, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Edgar Allan Poe, Bram Stocker - or horror stories, he automatically falls in love if you, speaking excerpts from his favorite stories while pouring you some coffee, sitting in front of him while the two of you did a literary duo circle, the voices echoing through the ancient wood.
"-With a long scrutinizing look at the shadow, which frightens me, which haunts me, And I dream of what no mortal has ever dreamed of, But the vast and silent silence, silent remains; the quiet stillness." -O'Hara reads with a strong, hoarse accent, his voice was raw, reverberating his passion for each verse and word he spoke, holding the book in his thick fingers, now, with the abandonment of the wedding ring he wore, even though he was still married, you didn't need to know that detail.
"-Only you, unique and beloved word, Lenora, you, like a scarce sigh, leave my sad mouth; And the echo, which heard you, whispered to you in space; It was just that, nothing more." -You completed, reading your part in the tale of "The Crow" while feeling the older man's gauze on your body, while Salvatore's hands massaged your bare shoulder, lightly adjusting the clothes you wore, a long and possessive touch.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who offers you a ride home, turning on the radio while asking you everything about yourself, if you were dating, if you had traveled with someone, he expected you to be totally alone, totally for him. Miguel drops you off at home while he says a quick goodbye, but he actually just hides the car in the middle of some trees, looking out your windows, writing down your nighttime habits in a diary - he got home later that night, his wife noticed the delay, but he just made up an excuse, mostly lying that he had lost the ring in a library cleaning, which was a lie, he got rid of the ring in the sea, near the local town port -
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who studied everything about you on the days you two were alone in the library, becomes his refuge. Don't get him wrong, O'Hara loves his children, but he hates coming home and seeing that his marriage is a failure, and that the woman he was once so in love with, young days that passed through his life in long ago, Now she's just a strange and cold woman, but you? You are his treasure, always happy, smiling sweetly, asking if he is okay, or if he has eaten that day, if he needs help with something in his work as a librarian, you are so angelic, so beautiful, so his. You're totally his, aren't you?
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who lies to you about his private life, saying that his wife and he are divorced and he just lets her live close to the children, he lies so naturally that even he himself believes in the madness of his mind.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA- Who finds an excuse to leave you up late with him in the library, telling you about some more books, and giving you a letter, letters that were always sealed in luxurious black paper like an envelope, with a red coat of arms with an 'M' for Miguel, big in the center, he always asked you to open it at home, they were poems and poetry written by him, about you, but each time, with each letter given to you, they became darker, more intense, more... Intimate.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Which makes you sit on his muscular legs that night in the peace of the library, while his big, calloused hands lightly run over your thighs, while he praises you. "-Your skin is soft like the finest and purest silk, your lips are full and shiny with life, your smile is like the epitome of beauty, I look at you and see an angel, not even the richest kings who had harems with several women And men, none of them come close to your beauty, mi angelito, did you know that? Your heart is so pure and beautiful, your soul is practically eradicated from your carnal being." -Miguel spoke hoarsely, as he forced you to look at him, his eyes shone, not only with enlightenment but with love, a sick love for you.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA -He fingers you slowly and lightly, giving you kisses on the head, feeling the smell and softness of your hair, his fingers enter and curve slightly, he was an expert in that, he wanted to make you come, to make you see the stars in the sky pleasure he could give you. Miguel praises you even more when he sees you moaning so beautifully, writhing in his lap, while he whispers in your ear how well you do it, being such a good girl/boy for him, giving yourself to him like that, like you It's beautiful when your pussy tightens around his fingers, how perfect you are when you let your sweet saliva run down your lips like that, while he gives you all the pleasure, making you squirm on his arm full of veins and scars from the time he had, dirtying the papers and reports he signed, but he doesn't fight with you, no my sweet girl/boy, you are his, Miguel just applies a chaste kiss to your temple, salty with the sweat of sexual effort and the heat of lust from your body, while he just said everything was going to be okay.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - Who was worried when you didn't show up after a few days, so he left work early, seeing you at a local fair. He tried to talk to you, but you were disappointed in him, you had found out he was married, and you felt dirty for giving yourself to him. Miguel O'Hara froze immediately, but he soon recovered his posture, telling you in a serious and cold air that she didn't mean anything to him and you did, but you didn't want to listen, just saying how rubbish he was as a human being and leaving the room. running, hiding in the crowd, he didn't go after you, just walking away with a neutral and serious air, thinking about the next step he would take, and he knew exactly what it would be. He spent every day at your house, placing flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, gifts and books on your doorstep, even if you threw them in the trash, he bought more and more, even more expensive and extravagant. Miguel didn't leave you alone, going to your house every day, even trying to knock on the window, but you didn't pay attention to him, but he didn't care, he wasn't going to give up, he stopped the car every day after his shift from work to look at you,or look at the lighting in your house, where you were, what you were doing, and who you were with.
YANDERE DILF LIBRARIAN!MIGUEL O'HARA - That on your last day in the village, he left you a letter, in a red envelope, you didn't want to read it, but your curiosity got the better of you, with you finally reading the content of the man's letter.
My dear, (Y/N) This may sound strange, but I like it when you hide like a scared little bunny, running away from me like that, as if I were a predator? so I am offended my dear. Do you know how far I'm willing to go for you? Do you know exactly what things I can do to try? Do you know the dark thoughts I can carry out with your friends or family? If you gave in. We would be even more than perfect together, we were born to be each other's my love. Just as the sun rises day after day, just as the moon appears in the dead of night. Just as the stars shine in the black sky of the dark and cold night, void of voice. Just as birds spend their lungs in a melodious song, unable to be stopped by foolish men. Just like every natural phenomenon and incapable of being stopped, I will make you mine. just mine. You can try to scream, try to escape or even ignore me, like a mirror covered with a fine linen fabric, I'm still there, watching you, attentive to your smallest details, your flaws, your sins, your darkest, hidden fears. inside your mind, the intimate and core of your most secret suffering... I know everything, I know you more than you know yourself. We are destined to be one, drawn by a happy and unhappy destiny, a piece of the gods perhaps, who are we to question love? In fact, I'll ask you one more time, you love me, right? Just try to say you don't love me... Then I will destroy you... I k-
You didn't even finish reading the letter, hearing heavy footsteps coming from the back door, while you saw a tall figure standing in the dark shadow of the hallway, something dripping on the floor while those familiar and maddened brown eyes stared at you, deep in your soul, Miguel O'Hara.
"-And you know, (Y/N)... you shouldn't leave the door open."
©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023
- on childhood loneliness
@aphexxtween on tiktok/ @mazzystarjpg/ mastermind- taylor swift/ the virgin suicides/ @heavensickness/ if you’re anything like me- taylor swift/ pen15/ @mango-season
Careless Accidents
jason todd x fem!reader
aka you get hurt and jason’s pissed
warnings: reader’s wrist is accidentally sprained from being grabbed too hard
You could hear scuttling from somewhere else in the garden, an estate more than sizable enough than the game afoot.
You were under the distinct impression though that the bats and birds are playing with you similar to how they would a child. Slower, weaker, and less experienced than the big kids. You weren't complaining though. Because, frankly, it was stressful. They tend to operate more like they’re in a warzone than a game, you felt like you were about to be sniped out at any second.
Rightfully so, apparently, seeing how silently Stephanie had crept up on you.
“Hey,” Stephanie hissed, ignoring the way you jumped. “We’re doing alright for ourselves,” she said smugly.
“Yeah,” you’d nodded, like you agreed with her more than you probably did.
“Okay listen, I think the flag—” what flag? “—is by the fountain so, I think because there’s three of us and two of them, we should bait-and-switch.”
“We’re on teams?” you asked, no longer completely sure you know what you’re playing.
“We are now!” she smiled, starting to run. “I’ll bait!”
She stopped briefly in her tracks and turned back to you hissing, “Don’t trust Cass,” before scurrying away.
Rather than sit around and wait there for…something?...to happen, you jumped up darting in the opposite direction with little to no indication whether this is a good move.
What you didn’t see is Cass rapidly approaching from your rear.
What you also didn’t see was Dick crouched down in a row of shrubbery, which gave him the perfect opportunity to snatch your arm up and yank you down with him. You’d mewled a bit as your wrist made contact harshly with the grass, immediately buckling under you.
Cass was keen to your pain immediately, slowing her sprint to a stroll as she observed you.
“Are you okay?” she signs.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”
The response was instinctual and you didn’t actually have time to register whether or not you were okay by the time you gave it.
You pushed up on your elbows, trying to figure out whether Dick is even on your team, but the way the others approached had you halting consideration. They’re savvy to the situation at a speed in which you can only attribute to their vigilantism, looking at you with concern.
“You good?” Tim asked, approaching languidly.
“That looked like it hurt,” Cass commented, crouching down next to you to see your wrist better.
Dick shook his head, “No, she’s okay.” He turned to you, prodding, “You’re okay.”
“Yeah, I’m, um…” you winced, looking at your wrist. “It hurts a little.”
Cass examined it closely, tilting it gently to the side. “It might be sprained.”
Dick paled.
“No.”
Tim pointed a thumb back towards the manor, “We can get it wrapped upstairs.”
“No.”
You were only then able to clock the barely contained grin on Stephanie’s face, begging to break.
“Ooooh. He’s gonna kill you.”
Cass had then kindly offered to take you inside and wrap it up for you, which you accepted, unexpecting of the plus-one of Dick trailing behind you like a guilty puppy all the while.
“You know I didn’t mean to grab you that hard right? I—”
Cass laughs quietly as she wraps the bandage around your wrist, amused by Dick’s now-third explanation/apology for the incident.
“I know, Dick,” you say, trying to appease him.
“I’m sorry,” he tells you genuinely, but you can tell there’s more there that he isn’t verbalizing.
You nod, “I know, Dick. It’s okay. It was just an accident.”
Cass pins the wrapping in place securely and with a smile, signs to you that she’s all done.
You rotate your arm a bit, testing your movement under the wrap. As Cass leaves with the first aid kit, Dick remains sat at your side, leg thumping up and down.
He takes a deep breath, “What if…what if you avoid him until it heals?”
“Dick.”
He takes your uninjured hand in his with urgency in his eyes,
He looks down at your jointed hands before loosening his already mild grip significantly.
“Are you going to tell him?” he asks, looking like he’s bracing for bad news.
You shake your head sympathetically, “No. I can’t guarantee you that he won’t find out, but I won’t tell him.”
Dick takes a deep breath, looking at the ground with intense focus. “Okay. Okay.” He stands, “I need to go.”
You watch in amused bewilderment as he staggers out the door, looking around frantically.
Within the next few minutes, he creates and enacts his plan A. He walks into the living room, sitting down next to a very disinterested Tim, eyes forward and serious.
“I’ll give you two grand right now if you tell him it was you.”
Tim barks out, “Absolutely not.” He looks at his brother, still laughing. “No fucking way.”
Dick breaks the serious facade immediately, looking at him. “Five.”
A deadpan from Tim.
“You don’t have five thousand dollars.”
Dick throws his head back, back thudding against the couch. “Dude, please! He’ll kill me!”
Tim scoffs, “He’d kill me!”
Dick huffs, “No, it’s different for me! Do you have any idea how many times he told me not to do that?”
“Well then it sounds like you fucked up,” Tim sneers.
“Oh my God.”
He takes off again, combing through different rooms in the house with hope of finding a quick but effective hiding place for, say, the next twenty years?
He bursts through the study, unwittingly interrupting Bruce and Alfred having a discussion over tea.
The latter sits up with a tense brow, “Master Dick?”
The former turns around in his seat, “What’s the matter?”
Dick struggles for a second before confessing, “I accidentally sprained someone's wrist.”
Bruce scans his face slowly, nodding. “Alright…you’ll have to take responsibility for their patrol duties—”
Dick cuts him off with a sharp breath, “Said person doesn’t have any patrol duties to be affected...”
Bruce processes for a moment before shaking his head.
“I can’t help you.”
Dick’s panic takes over again, prompting him to continue his scurry through the room, towards the other door.
Alfred interrupts his process with a very logical argument, “You don’t think running away will make this worse, Master Dick?”
“I—I don’t know!” Dick whines, stopping in his tracks. “I don’t know what to do!”
Bruce purses his lips, gesturing, “Dick, when you make a mistake…you have to submit to the consequences, you know that.”
Dick gapes, “This is not a normal consequence!”
Meanwhile, you’ve busied yourself with fiddling with the knick knacks and mementos lining the shelves of Jason’s childhood bedroom.
You’re admiring a picture of him and Alfred from when he was young as the door creaks open behind you.
“Sweetheart?” Your boyfriend calls out, head barely poked in through the crack.
“Hey, Jay,” you smile, setting the picture frame back on the shelf.
He enters fully, covered in motor oil and grease, and smiles his sweet, easy smile when he sees you.
Moving onto the next trinket on the shelf, you pick up a stuffed animal placed intentionally at the front. Your gaze finds the mirror, watching his reflection as he pulls the stained shirt off his back.
You smile to yourself, noticing the way his back muscles flex as he adjusts. “How’s the bike?”
“Better than it was this morning,” he sighs. “Where’ve you been?”
He turns around to look at you, taking easy steps towards you.
You return the toy elephant to its place, moving to face him. “Uh, we were outside, playing…at least three separate games at once.”
The second you’re in proximity, your hands join like it’s second nature.
He nods, all too familiar with the family’s unique methods of gamefair.
“Did th—” He looks down at your intertwined hands, brow furrowing as soon as he spots the bandage wrapped around your wrist. “What happened?”
You glance down, shrugging. “Overexerted myself playing tag.”
He looks at you skeptically, but says nothing about it.
He turns your hand over gently, asking, “Is it sprained?”
You nod, relaxed. “Yeah. Cass said it’s mild.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“No,” you say, sweeping his hair back with your other hand. “Barely hurt then.”
He nods, but he doesn’t look satisfied with the conversation.
Regardless, he turns away again, shuffling through a drawer for a clean shirt.
“You, uh, you wanna stay for dinner tonight?” he asks, pulling his arms through, his head following.
“Yeah,” you say gaily. “Alfred said he’s making his ‘special spaghetti’, apparently it’s a household favorite?”
He wavers, halfway to between decisions. “Yeah…”
He huffs quietly, turning back to face you fully. “Can I see it?”
You nod, happy to ease his mind.
You start to unwrap the bandaging, him doing half the work for you. The work is done silently until your wrist is exposed, revealing your bruised skin.
You both see it at the same time—the hand-shaped bruise wrapped around your wrist.
You’re both quiet for a second—him putting pieces together and you waiting for the shoe to drop.
He takes off suddenly, clearly having come to a likely very accurate conclusion about what had happened.
“Fucking idiot—”
You try for his hand but he’s out of reach before you can grab it.
“I’ll be right back,” he grumbles behind him.
“Jason—” you sigh, “At least help me wrap it back up first.”
He hesitates, halfway to the door, ultimately returning to you in defeat. He takes your forearm gently, scanning it over again before beginning to wrap it.
You watch his face closely, noting the clear vexation. “It was just an accident,” you tell him.
He scoffs, “It better have been.”
You drop your shoulders and lull your head to the side. “Jason. I’m not made of glass, you can’t expect other people to act like it.”
“I don’t. I expect him to mind his own strength, and if he can’t do that, he needs to keep his fucking hands to himself.”
You sigh, “Just don’t do anything harsh. Please. I think he’s worried you’re gonna punch him.”
“He should be,” he says shortly. He finishes off the wrapping, pinning it in place firmly.
You grab onto his forearm before he can pull away, “You’re not going to. Right?”
He doesn’t answer so you try to make his gaze meet yours, “Right?”
His eyes roll, “Yeah, fine.”
You smile, holding his face. “I love you.”
He huffs as though he’s inconvenienced, but confesses the obvious truth nonetheless. “I love you.”
He looks you in the eye, face serious. “You promise me it doesn’t hurt?”
“I promise,” you nod, brushing your fingers against his palm.
“Dick!”
The angry voice bellows through the tall halls of the manor, heavy footsteps thudding.
He stomps into the living room, Tim, Cass, and Stephanie watching the entryway with wide eyes.
“Where is he?”
Unwitting shoulders shrug and heads shake. Truthfully, at that. Dick, smartly, did not tell anyone where he was hiding.
Jason scans the trios faces, looking for any sign of apprehension.
He clocks the grin shamelessly plastered across his sister's face quickly. “Stephanie?”
“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But let me know when you find him, I wanna see—”
But Jason’s moving onto the next room before she can get the last words out.
He enters the dining room, looking right to left before finding his target, halfway to stuffing himself behind the fine china cabinet in the corner.
There’s a brief, tense moment in between where the pair realize what they’re seeing and when Dick sets off in a sprint towards the kitchen, Jason quick on his tail.
“Really? Really?” Jason shouts.
“It was an accident! It was a fucking—”
He narrowly dodges a swipe from Jason, then ducking before a ladle could make contact with his head.
“Are you stupid? Are you the dumbest motherf—”
Dick rounds the kitchen island as fast as possible, Jason testing him on the other side.
Dick takes a breath, “Dude, it’s fine now, it’s not that big of a—”
Jason recoils, “‘It’s not a big deal’? Come here. Let me sprain your wrist, asshole!”
He circles the counter quicker than the elder boy can think to move away and lunges at him.
Dick throws his hands up in front of him, “Wait, wait, wait! Truce! Truce! Truce?”
Jason drops his shoulders, leveling his older brother with a look. “You can’t call a truce if you’re the only one who did anything wrong.”
“I…” It doesn’t take him long to piece together that his defense makes no sense, so he resorts to his last option.
“Please?” Dick asks, nothing short of imploring.
Jason relents—slightly—upon hearing his brother's tone, but still finds it in him to shove him, though not nearly as hard as he’d been planning to.
“I told you a hundred fucking times not to grab her so hard—”
Dick nods heavily, waving a hand. “I know, I know—”
“Clearly you fucking don’t!” Jason shouts. He huffs, running a hand over his face. “You sprained her wrist. You’ve been doing this vigilante shit for fifteen years, how do you still not fucking know how to control your own strength?”
Dick grimaces, “I do! I do, I just screwed up, I’m sorry!”
“Don’t—” Jason narrowly holds back a scowl, “Did you apologize to her?”
“Yeah, of course I did!”
For a split second, Jason looks ready to keep arguing before purposefully dropping the anger from his body.
The resulting relief almost drowns Dick.
It only lasts a moment though, before Jason looks at him again, sneering, “Idiot,” before pushing him once more.
“Jason.”
Your voice has Jason dropping all turbulence in an instant. He and Dick both whip their heads towards the door, equally unexpecting of the interruption.
You tilt your head at your boyfriend with a knowing but disappointed stare.
He looks back at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, lips parted.
“I didn’t hit him.”
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