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saetoru · 9 months

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)

synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break

word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)

contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry

notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak

everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.

they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.

you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.

you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.

when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.

satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.

it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.

he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.

you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.

but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.

“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”

you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.

he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.

he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.

“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”

“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”

“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”

“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.

he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.

“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”

“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”

“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”

“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”

“sure,” he chuckles.

and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.

“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.

he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.

“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”

“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”

“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.

with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”

you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.

you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.

you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.

—————

just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.

the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.

this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.

how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.

his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.

instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.

his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.

the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.

“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”

it’s way too early for this.

by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.

that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.

maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.

“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”

he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.

that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.

“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”

“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”

satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.

but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.

his bare chest, in fact.

you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.

“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.

this is…new. very, very new.

“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”

“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.

you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.

“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.

it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.

“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”

“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”

“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”

“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.

and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.

this is going to be a longer break than you thought.

—————

the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.

you grin, reaching over when—

“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”

“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.

“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.

“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.

he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

“do you still throw away the ends of these?”

you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”

“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder.

“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”

“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

“yeah, as if.”

“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.

ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence.

“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.

“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”

yeah. very snobby.

“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.

he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.

“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”

“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”

“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.

satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”

“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”

“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”

something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.

“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”

“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”

it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”

“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.

“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”

“i know you’re not talking—”

“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.

but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.

“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”

“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”

“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”

“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.

suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.

“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”

you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.

you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.

you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.

and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.

—————

satoru meets you when you’re six.

he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard.

somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.

a magnetizing one, in fact.

it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you.

when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.

the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him?

he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.

so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs.

your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better.

he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop.

“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines.

it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his.

satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone.

it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction.

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru.

“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”

he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower.

fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you.

“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”

and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.

would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.

god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.

he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you.

it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?

——

“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”

“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends.

oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted.

“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”

“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”

“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”

“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”

“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”

satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.

silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.

—————

it’s night four.

satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new.

he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome.

scarily handsome, in fact.

you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend.

maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen.

you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.

you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.

“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”

“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk.

“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”

“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused.

he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”

“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”

“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.

satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle.

“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”

“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him.

you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?

he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it.

“how would you know—”

“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it.

“satoru, what are you—”

“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”

“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.

it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information.

“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”

and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips.

so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.

your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble.

“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”

“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”

“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone.

no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples.

“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw.

“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.

“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.

“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb.

“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign.

for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”

“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”

“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”

you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core.

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.

it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.

“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”

“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up.

but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you.

“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”

before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal.

you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale.

“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.

“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”

he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face.

satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him.

your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.

suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night.

it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length.

you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more.

“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”

so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you.

“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”

“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”

“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”

“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”

“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”

“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”

satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him.

your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans.

the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness.

you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.

“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”

“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you.

it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.

your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever.

“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”

“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin.

“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”

suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.

fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.

“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”

do not comment about a part 2

but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything

#teepods.writings #fics.#thirstee!#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut

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wolfies-toys · 2 months

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I've been sitting on this pattern and tutorial for a while now! so time to finally share it with you! I was lamenting that the jellycat pip and sugar mice were long retired and difficult to get your hands on unless you are willing to pay much more than they retailed for each mouse, so i decided to try and eyeball a pattern and make some myself! they're not exact as i only used constructed visual references but they're close! please note that this pattern set is intended for personal use only. Rough tutorial under the cut!

This pattern is for printing onto A4 but you can check your scale with the measurements I've provided or just play around with how big or small you want to try and make them! i didn't really get any wip photos of pip mouse but it's method is largely the same with the nose being the major change, which i will detail in text in the instructions below.

for sugar mouse i would recommend using polar fleece as it will act the right way for the ears to do their squishy marshmallow looking thing. but minky should also work or other similar fabrics! for pip mouse if you can find a similar curly looking fabric with a thin backing that'll be ideal but fleece will also work well, you just wont get the furry texture, you want a fabric with a little bit of stretch to it. i however would not recommend fabrics like felt or non stretch cotton for these guys as it's likely to not take shape the same as there's no give to the fabric.

once you have printed out the pattern and cut the pieces in your fabric, you'll want to sew the ears up and turn them inside out, then put them aside for later. just leave them as is for now but here you can see i was playing around with pinching the turned through ear into shape.

Then moving on, sew the back pieces together along the spine and front of face. you then want pull the bottom open ends apart gently and place the open sides flat up against the base piece so that they're aligned, it can be good to pin this in place so it doesn't shift.

then, get your tail rope, and tie a knot at either end, placing the base of it inbetween the seam at the butt so that it'll sit in the right place, then sew the seam up directly with the tail in place, make sure you sew through the rope to secure it and make sure it doesnt shift. Sew around the bases seam leaving a hole in one side so that you can then turn your mouse through.

once turned through you will want to stuff your mouse with polyfill quite a bit so it takes shape! i like to put weighted beans in mine for extra effect, you can use dried rice or wheat too, just sew a little circle pouch a bit smaller that the mouses base with scrap fabric and fill and seal! then insert into the turning hole while you stuff. once stuffing is done you can sew the hole up with a ladder stitch. the weight from the beads will allow your mouse to sit up quite well.

next you will want to get those ears you put aside, take each corner and bring the ends together in the middle. then sew them gently together at the ends with one or two stitches in about the same spot. you want them to look 3d so dont sew the ends to the back of the ear, just end to end so they meet in the center.

Then pin the ears in place on the head

then you need to ladder stitch the ears in place while they're pinned so they dont shift around, go all the way around the outside edge of each.

now you're almost done! next they just need a face! sugar mouse only needs embroidery by way of a french knot for both the eyes and nose (you can find good video tutorials on how to sew a french knot online), pip mouse will also need a french knot for the eyes but has a separate process for it's nose. (for the pip mouses nose you will need to leave the marked nose hole open and then stitch the nose fabric to the square nose backing in line with the dotted direction on the pattern, (it should look kind of baggy when it's unstuffed) sew it up completley with no hole, then cut a tiny slit in the backing and add polyfill there before closing with a basic stitch, then you ladder stitch the nose directly to the marked nose hole)

in order to hide the embroidery anchor knots i find the best way is to start by going down through the middle of the ears and then coming back up where you want the eye to be, and then going back down and up through the ear for the finishing knot, as it creates a very easy cover for them and looks nice and clean!

then you have yourself a little buddy!

haha they're great to squish! if you use this pattern i'd love to see your results!

#toys #plushie #pattern #tutorial #made by me

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ddarker-dreams · 2 months

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Worthy Motivator.

Blade x Reader.

Warnings: Typical Blade morbidity, Blade's slightly yan because I can never write him as Normal, and not SFW implications. Word count: 1k.

Author notes are at the end of the story!

Washcloth in hand, you wipe away the perspiration clinging to your skin.

While doing so, you squint, an act your reflection obediently mimics, confirming that yes; this disheveled figure is indeed you. You smooth out your hair, moisturize your face, then apply a light layer of toner. The process is completed in a timely fashion. A few hand motions made midair dim the bathroom’s lights.

Yawning, the door slides open at your behest, retreating into the wall like a turtle does its shell. The room is dome-shaped and customized to your liking. A light birch wood floor, pale pink walls, and windows showcasing scenery of a tulip field stretching on for miles. Windmills dot the distance, turning at their leisure. Gentle orange hues from two rising suns envelop the room in a cozy glow.

If you hadn’t known any better, you’d believe you were actually on the planet Ethos, not traversing the cold, unforgiving space between galaxies.

While playing with the settings to change the time being depicted to twilight, it finally dawns on you that you’re not alone.

Blazing eyes freeze you in place and your breath catches in your throat.

“Blade,” you greet, wincing at how gracelessly the word rolls from your tongue, “I didn’t expect…”

You cut yourself off, figuring that finishing the sentence will strengthen the bizarre atmosphere. What can be said, anyway? ‘Thanks for that,’ or ‘couldn’t have done it without you,’ maybe? Both options seem equally terrible. To make matters worse, he doesn’t explain why he’s stuck around. He continues to stand beside your nightstand, arms crossed over his chest, his lips drawn in a straight line.

You’re the only one boasting signs of your previous tryst, the most obvious being your unsteady gait. Hoping to convey some decorum, you clasp your hands behind your back and straighten your posture. Surely, he’ll spill whatever’s on his mind and then make himself scarce. That’s been his modus operandi ever since this undefined relationship stumbled into existence. You tried not to take it personally. You’re both adults, if he doesn’t want to stick around for pillow talk, you won’t fault him for it.

His eyes sear through your being.

“You’re going to Illij.”

You blink, thrown off by the flat delivery and the intentions it conceals. He’s either painfully blunt or cryptic in his word choice. It’d be nice if he could find a middle ground between both extremes, but that’s wishful thinking.

With unusual impatience, he adds, “Alone.”

Ah.

A certain magenta-haired beauty’s previous words resurface in your mind.

“—Alone? Not taking Bladie along for the ride?” she had tutted. “You’ll hurt his feelings.”

You thought she was teasing, as she’s wont to do, yet your developing dilemma proves otherwise. That, or you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the truth in her words.

Whilst shifting your weight from one foot to another, you meekly reply, “Kafka gave me permission.”

He has the audacity to roll his eyes at you.

“Permission, huh?”

The condescension corrodes your former sheepishness.

Placing a hand on your hips, you reply, “That’s the word I used, yes.”

Your room pulsates with palpable tension. He stands to his full height — having been seated on your bed’s edge — sauntering over like a cat poised to pounce. You cross your arms over your chest as the distance shrinks. He’s yet to fully dress himself, wearing only his signature gray pants. His bare torso is marred with innumerable scars that vary in length and angle. Every time you both succumb to the heat of passion, his bandages occupy a new spot, depending on the circumstances of his latest battles. Presently, the cloth coils around his midsection and upper left arm.

He’s close enough now for you to notice the latter unraveling.

It isn’t anything logical that urges you forward. The sentiment resides deep in the recesses of your psyche, unsuccessfully shoved down by denial and trepidation. This formless substance takes shape as you meet him halfway. Blade towers over you. Given the massive gap in your abilities, you should fear him, but you know your pounding heart isn’t spurred by negative emotion.

Much to his perplexity, you set aside the nascent quarrel, focusing your attention elsewhere. Nimble fingers resecure the rebellious cloth.

“You’re terrible at taking care of yourself,” you mutter. “Honestly, what am I s’posed to do with you…?”

It’s subtle, but this shift in tone relaxes his muscles. That is, until you admit:

“I don’t like you being my bodyguard.”

Confusion contorts his countenance, then something more raw; something dangerously intimate.

“I don’t like seeing you get hurt because of me,” you continue, lowering both your voice and head. “It’s… it’s awful and— and then— you don’t even care!”

Hoping to avoid further humiliation, you stop there, taking deep breaths to prevent tears from flowing. This wasn’t the direction you wanted the evening to take. You wanted to take a bath, dip into a game Silver Wolf wouldn’t stop raving about, and then prepare for your imminent trip. The trip that’d put thousands of lightyears between you and a man whose blood spilled for your sake could rival an ocean.

“I’ll be fine on my own. I’ve got Silv’s disguise software and she knows how to track me. So — I don’t know — take it easy, or something. You’ve got the month off.”

His response is immediate. “I can’t.”

“Wh— did you not hear anything I just said?” you sputter.

“I heard,” he confirms. He raises his hand to the bandage you rewrapped, as if trying to savor your lingering warmth. “When you’re gone, I cannot ‘take it easy.’”

Blade uses your stupefaction to his advantage. He takes your much smaller hand into his and places it over his heart. It thumps at a slow, steady pace, like it hasn’t been obliterated and formed anew thousands of times. Your fingers twitch. His body, though colder than the average person’s, emits just enough warmth to indicate life. You feel the raised, textured skin that’s present above his every vital organ. It speaks of untold horrors; untold suffering.

His chest rumbles as he says, “If I’ve no choice but to live… you’d make for a worthwhile reason.”

You rest your forehead against his chest and squeeze your eyes shut.

Kafka… are you sure it isn’t my feelings that’re in the most danger?

A/N: owing to mental illness, aside from nexus, i devised another storyline for (slightly) less unhinged blade, this time with a stellaron hunter reader. while it has the material to make a series, i don't plan on starting up another multi-chaptered work until i make further progress into my current project 😭 still, i'm happy to talk about it if anyone's curious! here are some tidbits that give additional story context for this universe:

reader isn't super thrilled to be a stellaron hunter. a desperate situation ended in them joining the ranks. they're the emanator of the aeon of illumination, whose name i'm still undecided on. essentially, they're a 'consumer of stars,' capable of absorbing + storing well. you guessed it. stars. as you can imagine, this ability can provide immeasurable energy or devastation depending on its usage.

as a consequence, when reader's performing the sealing process, they're extremely vulnerable. it isn't exactly subtle, people tend to notice when their nearby sun is going cyaaaaaa ✌ and try to stop them. that's where bladie comes in. he kills anything and anyone that threatens them.

ethos is a pretty meadow planet that's known for harvesting clean energy (hydro, solar, wind) and using minimum technology. most of its inhabitants go their entire lives without ever seeing a computer. long distance communication is carried out through a dedicated fleet of carrier pigeons.

illij is a laissez-faire paradise. consumerism galore. ads projected in the night sky, ads projected in your dreams in certain low income areas where people can't afford space adblock™. it's a lot but sometimes reader appreciates the distraction.

#blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #stellaron hunters x reader #hsr blade #reader insert #blade brainrot #my stuff

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swordsandholly · 2 months

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Across The Way

Ch. 2: And So It Begins

Retired!Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader

MDNI

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Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

A/N: I got this out a lot faster than I thought I would. Hopefully my work doesn’t get too insane and I can get the next out in a timely manner - it’s going to be a bigger one!

“You were right.” Simon carefully cuts through the loaf with a serrated knife. He’s never lost his skill with them, despite their uses becoming increasingly more domestic over the years. It’s charming, in a way - the juxtaposition of where they started and where they are now.

“Right about whit?” Johnny asks.

“She is a pretty little thing.”

“Donnae tell me I need tae be worried about ye sneakin’ off at work.” He jokes. Simon would never, of course, but it’s fun to see the way his cheeks heat up at the implication. Without his mask he wears every expression with reckless abandon.

Simon settles his large frame into the seat across from Johnny at the dining table. It’s small, they don’t need much. The chairs always creak under Simon’s weight in an almost threatening fashion. He pushes a plate with two pieces of the bread and some eggs over to Johnny. There’s an odd tug in his chest when he picks up the slice - an urge to be gentle as he spreads butter over it. Gentility is not a compulsion he feels often.

“S’good.” Simon mutters around his bite.

Johnny nods along after taking one himself. There’s love in it - he can tell. A piece carefully crafted with only absolute perfection in mind. How strange that food can carry such a feeling.

“Was a wee bit worried we’d be stuck across from the nicest, worst baker in the world.” He mutters.

Simon huffs out a half laugh.

~~~

Your first week goes by in a blur. For a small town they sure do manage to keep you busy. It’s good, you remind yourself. Better than none. If you keep it up at this rate you’ll be able to hire help by the end of the summer quarter.

By Monday, the first day of your “weekend”, you’re overdone. Head dizzy and body exhausted, you spend the day in bed. It’s a gratifying exhaustion, one you hope to build more of a tolerance for. As of now, though, you elect to remain deeply buried under the covers.

When you wake for a second time the sun is already near setting again. The entirety of Monday slunk by with you in bed. You grumble to yourself angrily like an old man. You wanted to unpack today - to at least get your clothes and kitchen items put away.

“Stupid.” You grouse. At least you still have time to shower, you suppose.

As you stand the world blacks out for a moment, your body swaying in place. You allow yourself to fall back on the bed, sitting while your vision slowly comes back into focus. Blinking away black dots and off squiggles that dance across your eyes. On attempt number two you manage it, making your way to the bathroom.

The work is worth it. The pain is worth it.

This is what you always wanted, after all.

You are happy. You can feel it in your bones. They’re lighter than they used to be - your whole body thrums with excited energy even as you have to lower yourself with the upmost care into the shower seat. Even as you have to scrape one of the cheap fold out chairs you managed to get over to the stove while you cook a late night dinner. Thank god for low counters.

When you were arranging your schedule it took a while to get it perfected. To compensate for your body you have to have time to rest and be able to do a lot of baking preparation before the work week starts. Monday and Tuesday are for rest. Wednesdays are for prep. The shop is closed but you’re in the back working your ass off mixing and kneading and shaping doughs. As well as practicing new recipes you want to add to the store’s line up eventually. Your goal is to sell American biscuits, preferably in batches of six, but those take a lot of work and don’t keep as long. They’ll have to wait until you have hired help.

It’s all chance and whatever you can manage to make happen. You learned to be okay with that, though.

You’ve got plenty of spoons, you tell yourself. Just need to use them wisely.

When you finally close the fridge, now fully stocked with dough ready to proof and bake, you check the clock. It’s still the early afternoon. You finished sooner than you assumed you might. The thought makes you giddy - makes you feel accomplished.

It makes you feel normal.

As you exit into the warm spring sun you take a moment. Ever since you arrived you haven’t been able to just stop. To just take everything in - let the foreign air fill your lungs and the aura of the town sink into your bones.

It’s a lovely little main street that you’re located on. The building to your left is a large family owned pharmacy (very convenient for you) and to your right is an empty brick building. It looks like a former post office, but from what you know the current post office is a few blocks down beside the grocers. It’s quaint, the lot of it.

Your eyes settle on the shop across from yours housed in a simple brick building painted white. The upstairs is an apartment much like yours, you think, but from what you know it currently remains empty. The sign above the door reads A Cut Above the Rest. You wonder if that was Simon or Johnny’s doing.

Would it be weird to go in? You suppose not, after all they came to yours. It’s only fair you give them some patronage as well. Plus you need to ask how the bread was. Hopefully they liked it - you realized halfway through the night that you didn’t even ask if they like sourdough before shoving it into their hands.

That thought kept you up later than you’d like to admit.

You look both ways down the street. This particular spot doesn’t have a crosswalk but the road is so dead even when the downtown is busy you figure it’s worth risking. The lack of danger doesn’t stop you from fast-walking across, though.

The shop’s old-fashioned door bell chimes prettily as you push it open. For a butcher it smells extremely clean - almost clinical. It’s small, with an L shaped display counter and a register at the end nearest the door. Packages of sausage links and the like hang on displays across the back wall. Beside the wooden saloon doors that lead behind the counter is a little dog bed with a very well crafted name plate reading Riley hanging right above it.

So cute.

“Afternoon.” Simon appears from the back, wiping his hands on a rag. You jump a little, so lost in taking in your surroundings you forgot what you came here for.

“H-hi!” You smile. You forgot how intimidating Simon is. His gaze levels you - pins you underneath him like a fly under a swatter. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic. “I thought I’d come check your shop out and ask how the bread was?”

“It was good.” He replies bluntly. Totally monotone. The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. You decide that’s it’s a smile - whether that’s the reality of his expression or not.

“It’s really nice in here.” You look around. There isn’t much for decoration. The walls are too covered in menus and diagrams of cuts to leave room for anything extra. There’s a shelf of odds and ends opposite the main counter full of high end mustards and condiments. Little things to go with whatever you could think to make out of the varieties of meat they offer.

“Thanks.” Simon nods. “One moment.”

You watch with curiosity and a slight frown as he makes his way into the back. He almost has to duck under the doorway. Old buildings with low ceilings and all that. The place definitely wasn’t made with a six foot plus behemoth in mind. You continue to look around, rocking back and forth on your heels. They have a perfect score on their inspectors plaque. You might not know Simon well, but he seems the type to be absolutely precise about everything. The score doesn’t surprise you.

Yours is almost perfect - some rules are different here than in the US. Next time, you swear you’ll get it top notch! You look across the street at your shop. You wonder if you made the wrong choice with The Honey Bun. It’s bit much now that you see it from afar but it still makes you smile. That’s what matters, you guess.

Simon comes back out with a small, nicely wrapped package. “You don’t ‘ave any dietary restrictions d’you?”

You shake your head and he pushes the package toward you. Your eyes widen - it’s a great cut of high end beef. Like, really good beef as far as you know. Something you’d never be able to afford even if your business wasn’t brand new. You stare between Simon and the little pack in your hands. “Th-this is so nice but I-“

“It’s only fair.” He cuts you off. “Neighbors, yeah?”

You can’t help the grin that splits your face, eyes misting up despite yourself. Kindness has not been a constant in your life - more of a rarity. Something you had to claw and fight to earn. Being given it so freely but such a taciturn man has you reeling just a bit.

“Thank you… I’ve got to head back but, uh, thank you. Really.” You press the small package to your chest. “Tell Johnny I said hi?”

“Course.” He nods.

“Thanks again!” You grin, giving a little two finger salute before practically skipping all the way back into your dingy little apartment. Happily, you pack away the meat to use later. It’s too nice to just make any dish out of - best to save it for a special occasion. Your first gift in your new life. Best to savor it.

~~~

“Afternoon, bonnie.” Johnny appears in your doorway while you sweep up from the Saturday rush, bell chiming upon his entrance. “Hope I’m not a bother.”

“Not at all.” You smile, resting the broom on the counter. “Hello to you as well, Miss Riley.”

She huffs out a quiet bark in reply, sitting dutifully at Johnny’s feet. You don’t have much experience with service dogs - other than the well known rule not to pet them while they’re working. They were always too expensive for you to get and your condition wasn’t labeled serious enough to warrant financial aid. (Despite the fact that you can, and have, passed out and hit your head on something hard.)

“Can I get you something?” You ask.

“Och, I’m a’right. Just wanted tae stop by an’ say hello before headin’ home.” He gives you that dashing, bright grin. “Simon always kicks me out of the shop at close.”

“He doesn’t need help?” You ask. Surely cleaning up a butchers shop is a huge task. You have your work cut out for you with all the flower - you can’t imagine cleaning that amount of blood and mess.

Johnny shrugs. “The cleaning chemicals trigger my migraines.”

You hum. “Well, you’re always welcome to stop by. Actually,” you turn on your heel, “I’ve got somethin’ I’d like you to try, if you want.”

“Never one to say no to food. Especially from a pretty girl.” Johnny says as he follows. He tells Riley to stay in front and she listens - the perfect little lady that she is. You nearly trip at his comment, keeping your back turned so that he hopefully doesn’t see the heat spreading from your face and down your neck.

“I-it’s, uh, you ever had American biscuits?” You ask, praying he doesn’t notice the shake in your voice. You have to get on your tip toes to reach the small basket you made the day prior - carefully lowering it and pulling back the gingham cloth you wrapped them in.

An image of home.

“Aye, had them once on a layover at some chain diner.” He nods. “Donnae think they were fresh, though.”

“Well these are proper biscuits.” You carefully cut one in half with ease. “Sometime I’ll have to make you some gravy to go with.”

“Yer gonnae make us fat, hen.” Johnny chuckles.

“There are worse things to be.” The words come out more defensive than you would have liked. An automatic mechanism - a harshness you've honed over the years.

You hate how easily you wield it, sometimes.

Johnny leans forward over the table, a furrow in his brow. “I dinnae mean-“

“Here.” You cut him off and hold out the biscuit on a napkin, smothered with butter in the middle.

Johnny lets your interruption go. Probably happy for an out. He takes the fluffy baked good slowly, cupping it in his large hand with care. You wonder if he always does that, touches things with such gentle love. Is it learned? Is it just natural to him? Does he touch Simon like that? Gentle caresses?

What’s that like?

Johnny takes a massive, enthusiastic bite. Somehow his blue eyes manage to sparkle even more, grinning as he chews. “Sh’gew!”

You laugh at his attempt to talk around the food. “Glad you like it.”

He swallows roughly. A full body gulp. “Why’d ye start bakin’ anyway?”

“My grandparents raised me.” You fold the biscuits back up in their little basket. “My grandma taught me how. She was the best in town - won the pie contest almost every year.”

“Tha’s lovely.” The smile he gives you is so genuine it makes your chest constrict.

“Mean old bat but she could beat anyone in the kitchen.” You laugh. “We swore she had some kinda magic. Like a green thumb but for cooking.”

“My mum’s like tha’. Can make anythin’ out of nothin’.” He nods along.

You fall into an easy back and forth - never breaching anything deeper than the most surface level of content as he eats. It’s manageable. Johnny doesn’t push and neither do you.

Riley barks from the front of the shop.

“Och, tha’s my queue.” Johnny brushes off his hands and checks the front of his shirt for crumbs. “Take care, aye?”

You smile. “You too.”

~~~

Johnny’s words keep ringing in your ears. You don’t know why. It’s nothing special. There’s no reason to attach to them. You raise a hand to wipe off the fog and stare in the small mirror hung above your bathroom sink.

Pretty girl.

You scoff. You’re not a pretty girl. You’ve never been a pretty girl. Fat girl. Stupid girl. Sick girl. Tired girl. Sad girl.

That last one you’ve heard more than anything else. Out of all the descriptors of you it stands out as the most used. By everyone from teachers to your own family. Always just a sad, sad girl.

You got it from your mom, they’d say. It’s not like you would ever know.

You rip your eyes away from the mirror and try to let the thoughts melt away as you sink into the comfort of your blankets. Those thoughts live back on the other side of the Atlantic. They don’t get to follow you here.

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strangerstilinski · 2 months

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𝙞𝙩 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

word count: 2.5k warnings: none really, fluffy ending, steve is kind of a dick, mention of alcohol, gender neutral reader (pls let me know if i missed anything) based on that scene in tasm where peter spins gwen around to kiss her — with just a dash of enemies to lovers

It should go without saying that Steve Harrington is the bane of your goddamned existence. If the two of you aren't at each other's throats, it typically just means that you're both doing your best to pretend the other doesn't even exist.

And, sure, maybe it drives you a little bit insane that he seems to get along just fine with every person in your friend group except for you. It was like you pushed buttons that Steve wasn't even aware he had.

Nancy finds the whole thing amusing, says that Steve's clearly so in love with you that he doesn't know how to handle it. Eddie swears that Steve looks at you with hearts in his eyes, though any time you've caught his stare those ‘hearts’ tended to look a whole lot more like daggers. Argyle and Robin both insist that love and hate tread a very thin line, and eventually, a little push will have the two of you stumbling head over heels into each other's waiting arms. Johnathan tends to stay out of it, but then, he doesn't really need to say anything, because you've seen that look he gives you when he catches you looking a little too long at the moles dotted along the length of Steve's throat, or that stubborn lock of hair that tumbles over his brow bone, or the way his tongue pokes out and his eyes narrow cutely when he's concentrating-

You hate it. You hate Steve. Even now, you swear you hate him, regardless of the way you shamelessly ogle the curve of his bicep when he reaches across the back of the sofa to drape his arm loosely behind Robin's shoulders. You've accepted it. At this point, allowing yourself to admire his stupidly handsome physique was merely reparations for being forced to put up with him on a near-daily basis. Compensation for the never-ending bad attitude that he seemed to direct solely at you.

“Does anyone hear that?” Steve's voice speaks louder than your own suddenly, effectively cutting you off even though you'd been in the middle of a sentence. His eyes meet yours for just a brief second before his gaze is moving elsewhere, “It’s like, this annoying buzzing sound?” He's sitting up a little straighter following his interruption, brows drawing together like he's listening intently for something.

His sudden line of questioning has thoroughly derailed your train of thought. The longwinded story you'd been regaling to the group about a customer at work is cut short, the words dissolving on your tongue as your try to work out what on earth Steve is referring to. Until his interruption, you hadn't heard anything.

“What are you even talking abou-”

“There!” He cuts you off once more, “There it is again! Did you hear that, Robs?” The fingers he nudges into his best friend's ribs makes her squirm away with a deep laugh.

“Are you seriously implying that I'm the-”

“God, you are hearing that, right?” Steve interrupts with an irritatingly pleased grin on his face, “Like nails on a chalkboard-”

Though Robin's laughter isn't actually directed at you, your face burns hotly anyway. A pity-filled smile graces her lips when she meets your gaze after escaping the wrath of Steve's tickling, and the boy's chuckles of amusement only serve to make you grind your teeth together in irritation.

“Real mature, dickhead.” You snap, snatching up the beer you'd set down on the coffee table when Eddie had actually asked you about your day a few minutes before. “I was in the middle of a story.”

“Yeah, no offense, honey, but I don't think any of us were that invested hearing you talk about the ‘big tip’ that some douchebag with a hand tattoo left you.” Steve grumbled with a roll of his eyes, “If your stories weren't so boring, maybe we wouldn't all be sitting here hoping for a hole in the earth to open up under us just so we don't have to keep listening to-”

“Steve, c'mon man-” Eddie tries, though his voice is drowned out by your own.

“Jesus, do you have to be such an asshole all the time?” You snap in Steve's direction.

“I'm just saying,” Steve shrugged, “Probably the only reason he left such a big tip was because pulled the wrong bill out of his wallet. It sure as hell wasn't 'cause of your shining personality.”

“What, and just 'cause you're a jackass that means no man could ever possibly find me appealing?” You bite back.

“Yeah, well, your pretty face doesn't quite make up for your constant need for attention.”

“My need for attention?” You scoff incredilously, beer slamming back down onto the tabletop in front of you as the rest of your friends seem to fade even further into the background. “You're the one who can't stand when the focus is on me for ten fucking seconds.”

“Well I don't care if some prick hit on you at work-” Steve argues, “So, I guess, if that makes me an asshole-”

“It does, as a matter of fact,” You interrupt easily, “Because I'm constantly listening to you whine about your conquest of the week, and I'm able to do so without acting like a fucking-”

“Careful,” Steve hums, cocky little smirk reemerging on his lips, “You're sounding a little jealous, there, honey.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“'S my house,” He returns just as quickly, “How 'bout you fuck off.”

The blood in your veins is full of fire. Your face is burning with rage and your eyes prickle traitorously with frustrated tears, because that customer from your story? That was the highlight of your day, because the rest of it had been a fucking disaster.

You'd slipped on freshly mopped floors and dropped an entire table's drink orders. You'd been forced to finish your shift with sticky, soda pop-soaked socks squelching wetly in your shoes with every step. Your boss had given you shit, even though it was one of your coworkers who had failed to put out the wet floor sign in the first place. You'd burned yourself on a hotplate, twice. And then, after all that, you'd had no choice but to take an ice-cold shower before heading over to Steve's house, because the hot water heater in your decrepit apartment building was apparently broken. Again.

“Y'know what? Fine.”

You're already rising to your feet, wiping the palms of your hands down your jeans to dry the lingering condensation from your beer. You blink furiously to push back the tears that had been pooling at your waterline, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of the turn in your evening.

“Wha-” Steve is watching you with something like concern in his eyes now, “Wh-Where're you goin'?”

“I'm leaving,” You announce, gaze steadfastly avoiding where Steve has removed his arm from around Robin's shoulders so he can sit at the edge of the couch, like he's planning to rise to his own feet at any moment. “I, um. I'll talk to you guys later.”

There are protests from everyone, but you don't bear them any mind. You're already turning on your heel and moving toward the entryway with hurried steps. The front door slams shut behind you before you've even gotten your jacket all the way on. You've still got one arm still struggling to find the hole of your sleeve when you hear the door swing back open behind you.

“Hey! Wait up.”

Steve's voice does make you slow where you've begun to move down the driveway, though you don't turn around. Your steps finally come to a stop when he calls out to you again.

“C'mon, honey wait, wait, wait-”

You blow out a frustrated breath as he finally catches up with you, your arms crossing over your chest like that might somehow put up a physical barrier between the two of you.

“I really don't want to do this with you, Harrington. Alright?” An air of defeat laces your words, one hand coming up to rub at the headache that’s begun to pulse between your brows, “Just.. Not tonight.”

You move to step around him and the heel of your boots click against the pavement once, twice. But then something hooks into the belt loop on your jeans and you're tugged back around. You lose your footing at the unexpected shift in momentum, knees wobbling unsteadily for just a moment before you're twirled back around to face him and then your palms are meeting a firm chest.

The adrenaline has your brain whiting out for just a moment, any and all thoughts screeching to a halt. There’s warmth seeping into your palms from beneath Steve’s tshirt. The racing of your own heart in your ears drowns out the distant sound of laughter and the opening trailers of a movie rental coming from inside. Your eyes are level with his chin, wide gaze locked on his lips as they quirk up at one corner with his gentle smirk. You’re still standing pigeon-toed between his own larger feet, a little off balance but held firmly in place by the wide hand splayed across your waist.

“I'm sorry.” Steve says quietly.

It’s only been a second or two since he dragged you back into his space, and to your surprise, his head dips, just a fraction. Steve brushes his nose against your own, a gentle stroke that sends butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. The cool mint clinging to his breath fans out over your face smelling of the gum he’s always chewing and smacking obnoxiously, but the scent this close is intoxicating. The hand he brings up to cradle your jaw is intoxicating. The loose flap of leather on his watch that tickles at the side of your throat. The way he’s leaning in-

The passion he kisses you with, from the moment your lips touch, is intoxicating. It's all-encompassing. You can’t think, and you’re not sure you’re even breathing, but his lips are moving in unhurried synchronization with your own. Your knees are weak. You’re gripping the material of his shirt in your fists just for something to hold onto, but Steve’s arm is curled tight around the curve in your spine now to hold you steady.

His tongue brushes against your lips, licking softly at the seam of your mouth like he's asking for permission. The desperate sound that crawls up your throat at just that quick brush of his tongue nestles in the depths of Steve's brain where he files it away for later. He hitches his arm even tighter at your waist, pulling your stomachs flush until your chest heaves against his own.

Your head is a little fuzzy when your lips separate long enough for you to take a breath, and you’re gasping comically in an effort to fill your lungs. Steve’s quiet chuckle meets your ears, his hand sliding back from your jaw to cup the back of your neck.

“You kissed me.” The words fall from your lips in a whisper of disbelief. Your eyes are still closed, lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks. You’re terrified if you open them even a crack, the entire scene will suddenly fade away around you like some kind of dream. The airy cadence of your voice is partially due to your surprise, but also thanks to the far-too-easy grace with which you've been spun and manhandled and swept entirely off your feet.

“I did,” Steve agrees just as quietly, “I did do that.”

His forehead meets your own as your eyes flutter open and he simply holds you there for a moment, nose dragging across your cheek before he presses another quick kiss to your lips. His head tilts, thumb stroking soft over the side of your throat before his mouth finds yours again, and again. These kisses are different — casual, tender, sweet and unhurried. Like he’s kissing you just because he can.

“You-” Is all you manage to get out before your words are silenced by his lips slotting between your own, but you carry on with barely a pause as you click apart once again, “Y'r still doing it.”

“Mhm.” He hums easily, the sound rumbling beneath your hands on his chest.

“Why-”

Kiss.

“Are you-”

Kiss.

“Kissing me?”

Steve’s breath mingles hotly with your own in the narrow breadth of space between your parted lips, “D’you want me to stop?”

“No. Hell no.”

And there's that perfect smile of his. Straight teeth make an appearance as his lips quirk up at the corner, a breathy spearmint scented laugh that sounds a little too relieved for the casual coolness that he's clearly trying to give off. His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but no words seem to come. Lips parted, throat bobbing as he swallows around the heavy silence weighing down his tongue.

He looks so pretty like this, you think. The light shining above your heads catches in his brown eyes, caramel sparking with flecks of gold and green that you've never noticed before, but you're sure you'll never be able to forget the sight of it now. You're still sharing breaths, faces so close that you can't avoid watching the way his full lashes blink at you dumbly. As if he isn't the one who spun you around and pulled you close and effortlessly gave you the best kiss of your entire life. As if, maybe, he didn't quite expect to make it this far, and now he's at a loss for how to proceed.

You release his shirt from your fist, the fabric crinkled and stretched with how tight you'd been gripping it, only to slide your hand up the back of his neck. The tip of his nose catches the bottom of your own, lips brushing faintly while your hand finds a new home in his hair. The soft strands tangle between your fingers when you give it a gentle tug and push up on your toes to draw yourself impossibly closer.

“If I'd known kissing you was all it took to shut you up, Harrington, I would've done it ages ago.” Your quip lacks its usual bite, but it breaks the silence between you, and it also seems to break Steve out of whatever spell he'd fallen under.

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips as he searches for an appropriate response, “Maybe we'll just have to keep kissing then.”

You find yourself swaying just a little on your feet at the way his eyes flick slow back and forth between your own, “Maybe we will.”

When his lips descend on your own again, it takes ages before he lets you back up for a decent breath of air, and even then he parts from you with obvious reluctance. You're both breathing heavy, lips a little swollen and shining wetly. Steve's expression has a warmth that you realize you've never actually seen directed at you before. Steve smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and suddenly all you can think about is what Eddie has said a hundred times over.

It’s like there are hearts in his eyes.

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve x you #steve x reader #*

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astralnymphh · 9 months

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rouge cherries, lace panties 𖤐 | ellie williams

☠︎︎࿐-ˊˎ farm!ellie x fem!reader

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

✧˖ ° 🕯 bright blessings!

AN: a bit more simpler, lazier and shorter fic, might take a break after this but i grant you with sumn from my favorite ellie era at least!! cw/tags: NSFW 18+ MDNI! proposal, picnic, somewhat proofread, sexual jokes, takes place before santa barbara, sucking on fingers(almost choking on them), fingering (receiving), almost-oral (receiving), dirty talk, doing the deed in nature. WC: 4.2k designated song: sugar- she wants revenge

synopsis; you and ellie have been living on this farm for at least a year now, tucked in the towering mountains of wyoming and just a quaint trek from jackson. just you and her. you, her, the sun, and the moon. what could today entail? what makes this midsummer's day so special?

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

it's another day on the farm, yet like no other. it's harvest season, and your crops have got you cut out of your day and preoccupied. plucking fruit and tugging vegetables from the lavish soil in your garden with a certain ellie onlooking from your dusty oak porch. she's observing you in your most natural nature, tending to your art, the garden, and supplying you with a bountiful reaping of food for the inbound month.

there lay a tract of terrain beyond your fences, this beautiful pasture gilded in a magnificent solar ray every afternoon, and ellie's got an itching to bring you there today. with your knees sewn in the dirt surrounding a planter bed, wicker basket beside you and snapping blueberries off their stems, it's got you in a pretty tranquil state that doesn't include the awareness of ellie watching. so when dual warm hands plant on your biceps, it jolts you by instinct.

"how's the harvest babe?" ellie's silhouette looms over you and the berry bush, eyeing the pile of blueberries cradled in the basket, "looks good, when will you be done though, d'you think?" a smirk adorns her lips.

"umm.." your fingers pinch a lone berry, "I haven't gotten to the vegetables yet.." you remind her and yourself, rolling the navy berry between your fingertips.

ellie crouches behind you, "do you haaave to harvest everything now?" she whines, wrapping her lithe arms around your shoulders akin to a sloth and rocking you along with her see-saw motion.

"yes els, if you want food." a quaint giggle erupts from your chest.

"but we have food, babe. our pantry is full of it." ellie attempts to coax you, voice pitching at the brink of her sentence. her lips brush the hairs on your nape and leave damp marks of adoration.

"did you come out here just to distract me?" your mouth creeps into a sheepish smirk, extending your hand out to pluck the last cluster of berries.

"you can tell me to stop." her pecks don't falter, dotting the length of your placid shoulders, "should I stop?" the question phases through you like a tantalizing breeze.

a melody thrums from your hum, eyes drifting closed in the blissfulness that is her velvety lips, puckering against your jawline and tickling your skin slightly with her hair.

"els! that tickles.." you shrug your shoulder against your ear, nudging ellie's face off.

"so.. stop?" she reiterates and streams her steady palms down upon your hips.

you plant two cupped hands over her legs that now settle on both sides of you, whirling slowly to face her and furrowing your brows, "you're a menace. what happened to your little art project you started this morning?"

"well, I saw my wife working outside and just had to join." she draws out an emphasis.

"wife? wife? we aren't married."

"not like we can have a wedding, so I just declare it." her lips resume to your neck, chafing that earthy auburn hair against your cheek.

"you didn't even propose or anything."

"'chn ch-nge th-t." ellie's speech muffles in your collar, tender grips hugging the crests of your hips.

you don't catch her inaudible words, "huh?" you question, grasping the woven handle of your basket and returning it to your line of sight beside ellie's splayed leg.

"nothin'." her raspy voice clarifies as her head peeks up, melting foreheads and poking nose tips together.

you connect constellations dotting her cinnamon freckles with your eyes, trickling down and charting her coral lips. a smile tints yours, whispering, "what'd you wanna do today?"

"hmm?" her visage turns bumbled, "I never mentioned any-"

"you always bother me when y'want to do something.." you interrupt her, earning a hung-open-jaw look from her as she withdraws from your space.

she heaves, yet a cheeky nasal-lined smile summons on her midface, "you.. know that clearing in the woods, back there?" she juts her head in a vague direction, thumb swiping over her bottom lip.

you glimpse at the distant fence ellie points her head to and nod in understanding.

her hand lands on her thigh, "why don't we have a picnic there?" she offers, prodding your elbow with her raised knee.

"you trynna woo me, els?" you tease, easing your hand on her swaying knee.

"baabbee.." she whines, pleading for an answer that sounds a lot like 'yes'.

her whining casts a reminisce to this morning, you clawing your way out of bed, sorry, out of her locked embrace as you tried to prepare for the day. her tousled auburn hair buried in your chest, fingers drawing shapes on your back, pressing her bare torso against your side and begging for you to stay in bed.

"baabbbee.." her soft wail echoed.

"ellie, I gotta get up." her ardent skin was caressing yours and legs intertwined in a knot.

"nuh-uh, no you're not." ellie snorted and further tightened her bear hug to your demise.

"baby, we needa get out of bed, it's harvest day." you coaxed with a cherished kiss to her crown, weaseled only an inch from her before you got lulled back in.

her lengthy limbs, damn those things, can trap you well and remain unmoving. she only wore her nude toned underwear to bed last night, and you a lace panty. not a moment of your memory is blurred, in fact, what took place last night was well etched in your brain. ellie reeks of sex and so do you, she has traces of jasper red scratches on her back to prove it.

"need you babe.." she reaches for your furled hand, sowing soft and needy kisses on your knuckles.

you sighed and just gave up, curled your body with her and combed solace rows into her jumbled mullet.

"so, what do you say?" her voice in reality reels you in, breaking your chain of rememberance.

you take a gander at her features momentarily before deciding, "yes- sure, picnic sounds good." without hesitation.

"good, cause I'm fuckin' famished." ellie's face slants towards yours, her devious fingers slithering beside her, snatching up a blueberry and popping it in her mouth.

you spot this in your peripherals, "ey! don't eat my berries!" you chuckled.

"your berries? there's only one- two berries of yours that I know of, I'm actually quite acquainted-"

you lightly smack the silly smirk off her lips, fraudly disgusted by her immaturity, "you're so inappropriate!"

"not like anyone's gonna hear.." she ovalizes her lips and gusts the linear bang from her cheek.

"you're weird." you roll your eyes prior to standing up with the scratchy basket handle tucked in your elbow.

ellie follows suit, her hand wrapping and clutching yours loosely, "c'mon, I'll help you make the food." her stature stands a few inches above you, wriggling her bottom lip to the side in a crooked peculiar smile that invites those signature dimples to play.

you shun your pupils to the back of your head, giving her the once-over before pacing through the backdoor with her all giddy in hand.

♡

the iridescent glade comes into view as you're strolling towards it, ellie adjacent to you equipped with a basket in hand and worn out bookbag on her back. you haven't ventured into the woods much after moving here, but with no signs of infected in months you simply deem it safe. she hasn't taken you out like this anyways, not for a while. the last time was her birthday, since it only occurs on special occasions, so why today?

ellie fashions a proud smile shrouded by you being slightly ahead of her, definitely holding hands but you're too thrilled to explore this parcel of forest to take notice. she wore joel's buckskin leather jacket over a plaid shirt, usual jeans with slits in them and sturdy brown boots.

"hurry up babe! I can see it already.." you exclaim with a bounce to your step, swinging her arm around to usher her feet swifter.

a laugh enchants her, "i'm right behind you.. the spots' not goin' anywhere." she assures you calmly trailing a chuckle, but inside, her heart is blooming with beats and sending shrills of tension through her nerves. her mind was up to something.

"it's right there!" you steam off a squeal of elation just seeing the open pasture. the grass is of a radiant jade shade, smothered in a divine ray of sun casting down on it, it looks like it came straight from elysian fields itself. you tear from ellie's hold and dash towards the glade with eagerness.

"babe!" ellie shouts but not without a following chuckle, adoring the pure felicity you expressed brought by this mere sight of nature. she trots after you with a bit of struggle from all the baggage she carried.

you halt just as you reach the center of the glade, staring at the trees surrounding and the canopy provided by their outstretching branches creating crown shyness, all with a bright beam spread across your lips.

ellie catches up with you and sets the basket on the ground, observing the space in detail, "y'want it right here?" she peels the bookbag from her shoulders and tosses it to the grass.

"mhm.." you pump your head in agreement and swivel away from her, admiring the spires of bark and fauna that look like they came from a painting.

she unzips the bag in one swoosh, yanking out a slightly frayed, faded and old beige cotton blanket with little embroidered florals along the hem. ellie dusts it off and thrashes out all the crinkles, laying it flat against the earth and smoothing out all the ripples.

you tilt your head over to witness her squatting down, pulling various objects from the bag and hesitating before she places them down. she appeared to be deep in thought, decorating the empty canvas of a blanket like it was important to her.

ellie's forehead tauts, an arrangement of fine china at her feet, "does this plate look better here.. or here?" her voice chromatically turns gravelly.

"it looks good anywhere.."

"yeah- but I want it to look perfect for you."

"..." you stare with an amused grin.

"hmm, what's so funny?" she coos and hones her focus on you while carefully tossing the plate to one corner of the blanket.

"just you.. you're goofy." you comment with a dim-witted smile.

her gaze narrows and bares her teeth in a matching dumb smirk, tutting her head, "you wanna see goofy?" she challenges you and crawls closer.

"no, I wanna see a set-up picnic. don't get distracted." you tease and parry her with a nudge from your foot resting on her collarbone.

"tch, okay- okay." she leans back on her heel, hastily creating the idyllic picnic with your help.

soon, you're cuddling between some small pillows, bowl of dark rosewood cherries to your right and a knitted blanket draped over your bodies.

ellie lies beneath you, her legs cradling yours and advancing her fingers to the bowl of delectable cherries. she picks one up and hovers it above your lips, beckoning you to bite it.

"what d'you mean we can't get more sheep?" she wheezes a whimsical laugh, chest jittering underneath your back.

"we already have a dozen, babe." you sink your teeth into the cherry and yank it from the stem, juices oozing over the hill of your chin.

"i have more names for them in mind!"

"you can't even get the names of our current sheep right."

she flicks the leftover stem into the patch of grass, "uh- yes I can!" she scoffs and jossles her woody auburn locks up a bit.

"sure babe." you goggle.

you allow the conversation to diminish in peaceful serenity, before raising the interrogation, "why'd you bring me here today?" you shuffle atop her, jabbing her palm to keep feeding you. you're spoiled.

ellie snickers and leverages her hand towards the bowl once again, dangling a cherry from between her fingertips. her throat gritts harshly as she clears it, "i.. have something to show you.." her tone lingers on the vowels.

"oh?" a hint of subtle enthusiasm curls in your voice, "got me a present?"

"you'll see, just- get up." she heaves you upwards and hops onto her feet alongside you.

you clasp hands behind your back, a bit of a bumbled facade shadowing your expression when she just stands still like a statue. "umm.. is it not a present?"

"turn around." her lips curve into a mischievous glint across those pretty rosy lips.

"what the fuck are you gonna pull-"

"turn around!" ellie's grin broadens as she gestures to you to spin 'round on your heel, eliciting a dorky giggle from you.

you cave in and twirl on the tip of your shoe, mindlessly gazing heavenward to the scattered wisping clouds.

"you remember the day we started dating?" her voice flows past you, seeming to erupt from a lower stance like she was crouched.

"uh, vaguely."

this bestows a throaty chuckle from ellie, "and you remember what I gave you when I.. confessed?"

"yeah, you gave me bent daisies that you tore from the poor ground." you bash her, one brow inclining up your head.

"i'm not a botanist." she nicks the rear of your ankle, shambling against the fabric-veiled grass.

a tingle sprints up your leg at this contact, making you shy away from it slightly. a specter of stillness corrodes the air, so you perk, "can I turn now?"

"yes." ellie's speech trembles yet is laced with certainty, planting a seed of curiosity in your noggin.

you teeter over slowly like a creaking wheel, pupils hastening down to materialize ellie in your mind, propped by a knee, the other raised, pinching a tiny flock of daisies with their honey pistils staring back at you. her face bruising of an apple hue to her skin behind those sun specks, her verdant rings peering from those lashes and a brazen half-moon to her strawberry lips. they part as the realization begins to plague you,

"will you be my wife?"

your body goes hollow and nerves wrack up in shock, an elusive beam of emotions vibrate in your heart and collide your shaken knees to the blanket. a hand quivers against your mouth, the words stolen from you. the love just boils over.

"els- i.. i.." the boulder in your throat clogs, managing to swallow it up and brim you with warm tears, "yes.. yes!"

she practically springs up and coalesces with you, arms wrapped around you and elevating you off the ground with blazing elation. you feel her wide smile plastered against your lips as they make merry, smoothing out to drag her lips over yours in a fervid kiss.

she parts, "no ring but.. we don't need that, right?"

"mhm, don't need it.." you sever your weight from your feet to her, sticking close, "I love you.. so much."

"love' you too baby.." she hankers down and sits criss-cross in front of you, easing you into her splayed lap. "now i can call you my wife."

"should we have our own little wedding? just us, like, as if it's some ritual or.. stating our vows or.. handfasting and declaring our love before empty seats.." you ramble nonsensically, assuming it just whooshes right over ellie's head.

"we have our picnic here," she opens her arms to signify the space around you, "we can tie that all up here, including the honeymoon!"

"hmm, 'weird that you mention the honeymoon. I think you said that so it happens now."

"no! I'm just.. throwing stuff to see what sticks.." she diffuses a dumb visage, knitting her brows together.

"i think you wanna get a fuck on in the forest." you leer in your suspicions and creep over her body till' she meets back to ground.

"and if you guess right? would you?" her demeanor shifts to boot a seductive one.

ellie still had some drive in her, even to last night's depictions. the way her lean vein lined arms are still pumping with detectable lust, yearning for your body in ways that should be bound to the bedroom only, but she doesn't give a fuck. she needs to fuck. a fucking given to her.

"fuck yes I will." you grind your pelvis longingly on her thigh, kneading your confined bud in one long swipe, a good start-up.

not an inhale later and ellie already has her jacket reeled off by the sleeves, a series of stripping set in motion when her shirt's buttons get popped one by one.

you follow through with one sweep of your top over your crown, tethering the bare skin surrounding your bra to the midsummer breeze, giving you a hare of raised bumps that are quickly cured by ellie's ardent skin adjoining yours.

her lips suture themselves to your plender gap, lapping at the groove of your collarbone delicately while her keen hands roam your legs, squeezing the soft plush padding of your inner and outer thigh with her fingers.

"I'm gonna make you feel.. s'fuckin' good.." she whispers in hushed mists of heat, sanguineous nibbles forging up your chin and gluing your lips together in a lustful frenzy.

"I need you ellie.. now.." you intone against her captivating lips and take hold of her wrist, guiding it to cusp your bra-clad breast.

"so bold of you.." she rewards a praise, tucking her nimble fingers behind the clasp of your bra and pinching it free. her hands tug the straps from your arms and whisk them away to some unknown plot of grass.

the course of wind grazes past your nipples, making you shiver. you watch her pupils dilate at the sight of your two perky buds reacting to the breeze.

"mm- fuck.. love these." ellie's mouth latches to one of your breasts, suckling the nipple lavishly with a damp suction and playing the other one like a flip-switch lightly with her thumb.

the barely-there feeling of her thumb summons a flurry of carnal want in your core, preluding to your now lubricious panties sopping for physical attention. this seeps through and forms a miniscule spotting on your inseam.

the hand that still had a gripe on your thigh fleets to your crotch, distinguishing this faint blot of wetness, welcoming a proud smirk to dent her midface, "fuckin' wet already.." her voice rasps hauntingly, "gonna get my fingers all pruney.."

you chafe in desire against her stationary digits, making her snatch them away and repel your pelvis with a push.

"nuh-uh, pants off first."

her face displaces from your hanging breasts, creasing the blanket back up and crunching the grass to gaze back at you. she peruses your zipper and deftly unfastens it to pull your pants down with a might. once they're off, her hands zip into the underside of your knees, flipping you over and mountaineering over you with an undeniable hunger in her manner.

"ellie!" an entranced giggle beams from your throttle, low-key turned on by the daring action.

"god, really soaked these huh?" her voice flows in a higher pitch, referring to your ocean-drowned underwear.

"yeah.. you did that.."

"mhmmm~” she vocalizes behind shut lips, “don't think I even need to remove 'em to taste you.."

you witness her descending into the depths between your legs, biting down her cushiony lips and nearly salivating at the front-row seat view to your sobbing cunt. her own arousal starts to stain her own panties and even little riffs of repressed whimpers vibrate from her lips. she graces you with one pour-over before smashing her mouth against your clothed slit, puffing a humid cloud over your entrance and licking up the seeped puddle of slick.

you jerk in sudden sensation, "babe! oh~ fuck!"

"yup, tastes so fucking good." she's like a beast to your crotch, slathering the soiled fabric with even more wetness likes she's fucking starving. her forehead is taut and eyebrows flit in concentration, you can already hear the eulogy ringing for your soon destroyed pussy.

your fingers nest in her hair, massaging and stamping into her scalp at the pure feeling of her tongue, you need her in indescribable ways, "need your fingers ellie.. need u're.. need.." you chant in fleeing breaths.

she grumbles in swelling arousal and unlatches from your puffy slit, brazen giggle chilling her throat at the sight of your avidness.

she huffs, "kay, gonna take these off.." ellie anticipates the moment she gets to stuff your pretty pussy to the brim, drowsy eyes never drifting from the lace concave between the valley of your lips. she slews those panties off instantly and brings them down to your ankles, making sure they'd never be found among the meadow around you.

you spread your legs for her sights to soak in, burgeoning a redness to her face like time and time again, a satisfied grin tugging the corners of her lips.

she sticks two ready fingers in her mouth, moistened them up, "gonna make you see stars, hmm babygirl?"

you gnaw your lips inwards at her affirmation, eyeing the route her hand takes from mouth to lower regions, forking your slit open and running them clit to hole, hole to clit, repetitively. this coats her digits in a glistening film of your arousal, visibly pleasing her.

"mm- that fucking sound.." the parting of your drenched folds entices her ears like a melody, "hear that baby?" ellie's voice chimes in a honeyed whisper.

"yes.. yes.." your essence shudders in her thrall, vulnerability afflicted by your neediness.

ellie beholds your figure in one final glance before aiming on your center and jamming duo digits in your aching pussy that vacuums her up with the help of your dripping nectar overflowing at the base of her knuckles. you wallow in the gratifying gauge she has brought you to, a fluxing whine tinting your tongue.

"good girl.. taking my fingers in so nicely.."

you contract around her, letting her know how much those words truly thrill you and she rebounds by thrusting her fingers in and out of you at a sluggish pace.

your jaw quivers open in the whirling ecstasy that begins to dribble into your void brain strictly honed on the pumping motion of her willowy fingers.

"hmm.." a visualization prompt in her noggin convinces a plan to unravel by her hand snailing to your mouth, luring it ajar, "open babe."

you obey with moving lips, flattening the plateau of your tongue beneath her fingers.

"like this don't you? mm- fuck." ellie grunts seeing you engulf her paired index and middle in your warm mouth without a gloom of delay splitting your will. her other fingers meddle with the crux of your delight, sloshing with every insert of her lengthy fingers piping you.

"oh my heaven on eart- auck.." a spastic cough tickles your throat around her digits.

"just suck baby.. just suck."

you resolve your words and pucker your lips down, swirling your tongue around her still fingers. muffled vibrations of moans string out around them, rattling your teeth.

each flick of her skilled wrist occurs in short breaks, meanwhile pumps hasten inside of you, thumb unfurling to patten down your clit in rigid circles. she coos, "gonna cum on my fingers?" in reply to your writhing contentment.

"fast- fhster.." you shear your chords forcing a plead on fingers narrowly itching the back of your gullet.

"awhh, u're such a mess." her hand forceps your jaw, locking her fingers wedged between your front teeth.

"guh- mmmm!" your body shrivels in unfathomable bliss and an inbound phantom orgasm overwhelming your senses.

ellie starts snapping her hand at an aggressive velocity that slaps against your swollen folds with wet smacks striding the open air, scrunching her nose up at the sheer speed she’s going.

"cum baby- cum.."

"I- ahh.."

"soak my fuckin' fingers, soak them in that pretty fucking pussy." she encourages in husky mewls, finger pads jostling your g-spot in a rhythm that drugs your mind with numbness, repeating, "cum for ellie.. cum for me.."

you swear your walls convulse prior to tightening up like a wringed towel and releasing a stinging orgasm upon you, growling on her fingers still present on your tongue.

"ghnnnn.. fck!" you curl up in pleasure and screw your eyes shut. this orgasm hits you like a bullet train and it shows in practice, clawing and digging your mark on ellie's available wrist with clamoring wails from the sanctum of your chest.

"yeah? so fucking hot.." she notes to herself in a low navelly tone, slipping her sticky fingers out trickling in your juices.

you chase your breath stranded in another galaxy, "can't feel my.. legs.. fuck, ellie, where'd you come from?" you quip in emphasis, face still beating red like a volcano.

"from boston, precisely." she sneaks in a dorky response.

"shut up.." you knock on her head with your foot, gasping when she grabs it and plants it on her shoulder.

she bucks her hips into your ass, squeezing her torso between the basin of your legs, levitating overhead. there's a solace moment of a love-staring-contest casting those green circlets infused with devotion and appreciation. staring back up into those eyes assures you, she's home, she's heaven and she's never leaving you. although, ellie, like the freak she is, breaks the innocent moment, "think this'll continue in the bedroom?." she peppers a solemn kiss to your forehead hazed in underlying intention.

"probably, knowing you."

"knowing me what?"

"you know."

"I don't."

"ellie!"

"we'll find out, hmm?" ☆

hope u enjoyed!! ☆ MASTERLIST!!!!

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2-dsimp · 2 months

Note

Ok so everyone and their mother has yandere CEO/ boss x a secretary/assistant/intern blah blah blah

BUT! Hear me out...what and a yandere assistant x boss darling??

Cw: slight blood/gore, obsessive/possessive tendencies, self-sabotage, lack of self worth,

Synopsis: 【You are the overseer in charge of the finance floor of the company SupeCo. And you happened to be issued a brand you employee who was albeit a greenhorn. But nonetheless passionate in preforming his duties as your assistant. You’ve in the short couple days you’ve grown a soft spot for him. And constantly prayed that he’d make it through his job, in one piece since you discovered that he tended to be accident prone.】

☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:

Yandere assistant! That’s always in attention whenever his darling boss is ready to put him to work. He’s practically twitching from getting withdrawals of receiving less than the amount of orders he’d like to have from you.

Yandere Assistant! Whose mind is buzzing 24/7 and is utterly pathetic all by his lonesome. And craves for you to throw whatever tasks you’ve got at him, anything at all, to satisfy his dream of being your personal lap dog.

Yandere assistant! Who loves hearing your voice calling out for his support from across the office hall. He just cannot relate to how his other coworkers cower at their names being announced by their own superiors. Since you were the best in his humblest opinion. And the only one he’d deem to be of importance to be more precise.

Yandere Assistant! That subtly does self sabotage if only to hog your time, in making you giving him lengthy instructions. On what to do since he clearly couldn’t fathom how to print out a piece of paper.

Yandere Assistant! Who swears that he’s not incompetent on purpose. But it’s just that he adores the way you’re so kind with your words. And oh so patient when it comes to correcting a member of your staff. Even going as far as to touch him to show exactly how to maneuver the printer. In short all of your lovely gestures made him jumpy. As he was sweating bullets trying not to turn into a feral degenerate and bend you over the broke ass printer to properly “use it”.

“Tem? Temothy~? Hello? I’m sorry Am I going too fast for you or—“

“Ah nonono absolutely not! Y-you’re fine B-boss I c-could hear you j-just fine!”

Your new hire assistant, Temothy, stuttered as he blinked out of whatever daydream he got afflicted with. Fixing you a mousy smile as he haphazardly fixed his messy overgrown bangs which obscured half of his face from view. You noted that He always had a soft spoken voice along with his habitual stutter speech pattern. Whilst he fidgeted a bit underneath your explicit worrisome expression as you fretted over his wellbeing like a mother hen.

“I only need to cut these stacks of paper for y-you with this cutter r-right? I’ll get on T-that right a-away!”

He managed in a squirrelly tone as he shakily grabbed ahold of the paper cutter. Lining up some blank pieces alongside the dotted lines with an unsteady hand.

It was his first couple days on the job and you found him to be quite the ditzy klutz but an endearing one nonetheless. It was refreshing how eager he is to always lend a helping hand even after he had just gotten off his shift. Which made you feel bad to ask him to come in to work when it was his day off since some of your employees decided not to come in for their shift.

“Wait Temothy dear you’re holding it the wrong way—!”

“Ouch! Oh my stars I’m t-terribly sorry B-boss! I got it all fuckin b-bloody! Ah paper towels… where’s the paper towels?”

You couldn’t believe your eyes and what you were hearing. Was this man seriously worried about how he dirtied the cutter station to which he earnestly tried to clean. While the skin on his palm was sliced open from pinky to thumb. And was bleeding rapidly as bloody rivets ran down his inner wrist.

“Temothy forget about the cutter and papers okay? You don’t need to worry bout none of that. What we need to do is patch you up first and foremost”

You cooed as you briskly took his uninjured hand in yours and ushered him to your office where you always had a health kit stored underneath your desk. Completely missing how his breathing slowed and his wide eyes dilated into small heart pinpricks.

“Y-yes Boss…thank you for c-caring I’ll be sure to return this d-debt”

His usual timid expression darkened into something more depraved as a small fanged smile made its way onto his chapped lips. Of which he licked as he gave an experimental squeeze to your hand only to shiver in delight when you responded back in kind.

No one had ever been this kind to him, due to his bad luck he’s always the type to be scoffed at without as much as a second glance. Hell it was a miracle that he even landed this job as your assistant in the first place. But now that he was here he intended to stay permanently and serve you for the rest of your days as your loyal assistant. Whether you liked it or not, you couldn’t ever get rid of him not when you’ve already gave him your hand to hold near in dear to his heart.

#Temothy the assistant #yandere drabble #yandere oc #tw yandere #yandere male #male yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yanderecore #yandere community #yandere concept #yandere cw #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere male x reader

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holy-puckslibrary · 5 months

Text

━ 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — JAMIE DRYSDALE x reader (est. relationship) wc — 1.5k synopsis — jamie can’t keep his hands to himself, and neither can his girlfriend. (prompted on this ask)

note — title’s from summertime by bon jovi + yes, this is a re-upload from the main blog (@holy-pucks) since nothing of mine posted there shows up in the tags. if you’ve already liked or shared that post, i would really appreciate you doing the same with this new one :) thx a million in advance! xx

specific content warnings listed below the cut.

cw — alcohol consumption/tipsy!reader x tipsy!jamie, accidental exhibitionism (jamie getting handsy at a bonfire bc he just can't resist lol), suggestive lang + innuendo, + general fluffy filth but nothing super explicit really, pretty tame for me tbh

jamie drysdale has never been so pleased to have lost a fight in his entire life.

he didn't think it'd get cold enough to warrant lugging around an extra blanket (meaning him, not you—he's a gentleman). you thought otherwise, and pestered him until there was one neatly folded in the backseat.

objectively speaking, jamie was right; it wasn't even chilly. he was actually a little warm, if he was being honest, but that had a lot more to do with his wandering, beer-soaked mind than the weather or a superfluous layer.

—and he had a tent in his pants to prove it.

it's his own fault. he pulled you into his lap when there were more than enough lawn chairs scattered around the blazing fire, knowing full-well you fidget when you're tipsy. jamie knows you can't sit still to save your life, yet he sat you across his thighs anyway. and now he—and his raging hard-on—are paying the price.

he isn't embarrassed he's turned on, that's not the problem. that's never the problem. you've been dating for years, and anyone who's shocked by the effect you have on him has bigger problems than jamie's attraction to his own girlfriend.

it's the fact that he's about ten seconds away from pulling your suit to the side and rutting into you in the middle of a public beach with his friends not even a foot away.

someone across the half-moon crowd says something that makes you laugh—makes you wiggle. jamie's hands tighten on your hips to keep you still, but, by this point in the night, his body is too lax to be of much help. if anything, the impassioned touch eggs you on, and it isn't long before his hips are moving to match your mostly-involuntary movements.

jamie hisses through gritted teeth, jaw clenched so tight it aches. "baby, quit it—please."

fluttering half-lidded eyes meet his, clock his internal struggle, and immediately twinkle with mischief. under the guise of shifting your attention, you rub the outside of your thigh against the bulge threatening to tear his trunks.

"quit what?" you ask with a demure smile, your hands looping themselves around his neck. warm fingertips play with the feathered locks tickling his sunburnt neck, making him shiver.

"you know what," he glares. "i don't know when we'll get back home, and you're driving me insane."

"touch me here."

blinking in disbelief, he balks. "w-what?"

"touch. me. here."

each word is punctuated with a chaste peck to his ever-reddening cheek. the succinct affection bounces you in his lap, and jamie can't help but slide his hands further beneath the sandy blanket. at first, to halt the infuriating friction but, like usual, once his hands wander he just can't stop. consequences—and shyness—be damned.

"s'not a good idea." jamie nips your jaw, dotting a line of warm kisses along your neck, stopping once his nose brushes your ear. "my baby's loud as shit, and i'd rather not have an audience."

you swat his chest in offense, but giggle nonetheless. "am not!"

"are too." he smiles up at you.

"i can be quiet," you huff, determination furrowing your brow.

jamie reaches up to smooth the crease with his thumb. you catch his arm and press a sweet peck to the inside of his wrist. he shudders.

you hum into his skin, "i think you're projecting."

"that right?" your boyfriend feigns ignorance, amused.

"let me prove it," you whisper before leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. with your forehead flush to his, you try again. "please, jamie. i can't wait anymore—and i certainly can't wait until t strikes out with whoever he's obsessed with this week."

jamie snorts.

you make a solid point; it could be another ten minutes or upwards of two hours. his guess was as good as any—trevor himself included. jamie's really starting to hate that him finally fucking his own girlfriend hinges on his best friend's ability—or inability—to seal the deal.

"you make even a peep, and i stop. got it?"

what's the worst that could happen if he indulges you a bit? no one's even paying attention to either of you, anyway.

you nod, bottom lip pinched between your teeth. jamie tugs it free, fingertip dancing over the fresh indentations. your tongue slips out to tease his sun-soaked skin, and it isn't long before the digit is flush to your hot tongue.

jamie's eyes are almost black with lust as they watch your lips welcome and release his finger over and over again. your eyelids fall as he slips into a trance, mesmerized by your mouth.

"words, baby. gimme words," he prods, the words barely audible.

you surrender his hand with a faint pop, blinking down at him like you're already teetering on the precipice. "no sounds or you stop—i got it," you parrot. "now are you going to touch me?"

"needy, needy, baby," jamie teases after stealing a kiss. "i've spoiled you rotten, haven't i? can't even go a couple hours without begging me to touch you... s'alright, i can barely keep my hands of you. 'specially when i've got you sittin' all pretty in my lap like this."

"—jamie, please, just... just touch me already—need t'feel you."

chuckling to himself, jamie mercifully pushes the sodden material out of the way. he nearly moans at what he finds.

how much of it is from the evening dip you took with a couple of the other girlfriends, it's hard to tell, but he'd put good money on it being little to none. no, the damp patch growing in his lap is all you. sweet and warm, and perfectly you.

you gasp when he collects some of the escaped arousal with a few of his fingers. jamie raises a brow in your direction and you cover your mouth apologetically. he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. you're trying so hard to keep quiet, it's adorable.

"—haven't even done anything and you're already breaking your promise," he chides. "how am i supposed to give you what you want when you're already misbehaving?"

"the other one," you breathe. confused, jamie hesitates. "give me your other hand."

you fish his free hand out from between your bodies and bring it up to your mouth. his eyes bulge out of their sockets once your intentions become obvious; you mean to silence yourself by sucking on his middle and marriage as he fucks you with the other hand. your back is mostly to the group, but he's still paranoid as all hell.

yet, jamie can't bring himself to deny you—or himself.

"you're gonna be the death of me," he groans as your head dips.

too turned on to care, jamie relents and slips a gentle finger into you. your eyes pinch shut, teeth catching on his other hand, but no sound leaves you. as a reward for your good behavior, he sinks in even further, until he's knuckle-deep at both ends.

his movements are much slower than normal, but, somehow, it doesn't matter. jamie's thumb seeks out your clit, sensitive and swollen despite its neglect, and he traces lazy circles between deep, measured thrusts. all the while, he mouths at your neck with little concern for what evidence he might leave behind. jamie's sole focus is making you feel as good as he does right now with his half-naked, hot-as-hell girlfriend writhing in his lap, her pretty pussy clenching around his lucky fingers.

"—j-jamie," you warble around his drenched hand, hips bucking into the other with what little leverage you have positioned like this. "—close, s'close."

oh, he knows. he can tell. jamie knows your body better than you do; he's a diligent student.

"are you, baby?" jamie can't resist a bit of taunting. you're too far gone to push back. "poor thing, what do you need from me? tell me what you need to get there."

you're slow to answer, overwhelmed by the sensations attacking your mind from all angles. somewhere along the line, a second finger was added... and then a third. the burning stretch aches so good your vision blurs.

jamie, jamie, jamie—the beginning, middle, and end of your thoughts—jamie, through and though. he's everywhere, but it's still not enough.

"my n-neck," you eventually gasp. "please—kiss my neck again."

your boyfriend is more than happy to oblige. lips latched to the tender spot just below your ear, jamie lets his hand take control of the pace; he's no longer content to drag this out. it's been a long day, and all he wants is to watch his pretty girlfriend fall to pieces in his lap.

your peak is ushered in by a series of pitiful little whines and whimpers, mostly muffled by his spit-stained hand, but jamie doesn't have the heart—or the sanity—to chastise you for it. if he had it his way, his mind would play those beautiful, broken sounds on a loop.

but the reverie is too good to last. it always is.

"get a room, you two!"

a chorus of laughter and vulgar remarks succeed trevor's call-out. and, hot under the collar, jamie's cheeks burn pink as he buries his face in the safety of your neck.

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outrageousmenshair · 4 months

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Bowls Beyond Belief (pt1)

#Bowl Cut #Brutal Bowl #Super Bowl 24 #Mega Bowl 24 #Late Night Bowling #Rolling Down the Alley #10 out of 10 Pins #Lucky Strike #Going for the Spare #Disconnected Dish #Waga's Big Bowl #cut along the dotted line

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zzeraphilm · 19 days

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Building Bridges

Regulus Black X Potter!F!Reader

Summary: After finding the note left behind R.A.B in the presumed Horcrux. The Golden Trio seek Sirius’ help in locating R.A.B, they end up finding him yet the reunion is not as expected. (Roughly set at the beginning of DH)

Note: Sirius didn’t die in Order of the Phoenix and Regulus didn’t die in the cave he just run off abroad to hide :p

I haven’t written for Harry Potter (ever) so apologies for any thing that might be out of character! ;-; i kept thinking about this rough idea during work

——————————————————————————

Harry looked up and locked eyes with his Godfather, Sirius had been silent the entire time. They were perched neatly in a two by two formation, his two best friends behind him and his only remaining familial tie. They had taken a portkey to the Scottish highlands, the icy gusts of wind cutting threw Hermione’s ponytail so high it nearly smacked Ron on the back of his head.

“Sirius, are you sure this is the right place?” Harry’s fingers clutched his forearms, rubbing them vehemently to produce some warmth.

In front of them was a lonesome cabin, mere metres away from the vast forest line that dotted along the coastal shores. Crashing waves hit the jagged rocks like the sound of an applause.

Sirius clutched onto the note the Golden trio had given him.

“For years I had questioned by brother’s last found writings. I am certain this is what he meant.”

The quartet marched ahead, the uneven stone path dug into Ron’s trainers, nearly tripping him, thankfully Hermione caught him by the seams of his jacket.

The door beyond had its metal hinges rusted beyond repair, a faint shadow of the number plate ‘8’ was the only reminisce of the original oak. Cracks and blackened mould painted over the door, weirdly however, the door knocker was untouched, no sign of usage or age. Despite Sirius’ persistence to wait to check the area, Harry banged his first against the wood, the booming shakes forced the door knocker to tap in sync.

There was a faint shout from within the cabin, heavy footsteps and whispers. Then silence.

The door creaked open, a woman tight lipped and furrowed eyebrows, her E/C eyes shot daggers towards Harry. She glanced at Ron, then Hermione and finally she focused on Sirius.

With a swift push, the door flung open revealing herself and a disheveled man behind her aiming his wand towards them.

“Sirius! Oh My! You’re alive!” She threw her arms around Sirius, behind Ron was flabbergasted, yet Hermione had her wand matched with the man behind the woman.

“Y/N, what are you- Regulus?” Before Sirius could enjoy his reunion with his long lost friend, he could only focus on his brother.

“Regulus Arcturus Black.” Harry spoke softly.

“Do not call me that,”

Regulus’ grip on his wand tightened with a slight shake in his wrist, his fingernails dug into his palms. “How did you find this place?”

Y/N took a few steps back and held onto Regulus’ raised arm gently easing it lower and lower.

“Darling, put your wand down. Your brother has finally come home yet you show him such malice. It has been years may we talk about this over tea,” her whisper felt like a soft hug unlike any other. “Please?”

After guiding the four to their small dinning table, Y/N left to the kitchen to boil the kettle. With only two chairs at the table, Harry, Ron and Hermione insisted on standing behind Sirius, who sat opposite his scowl faced brother.

After years of believing his brother’s death, Sirius now was sat face to face with the little boy he used to love. But they were both no longer just boys, now they were men, in the eye of a hurricane waiting for things to come to a crash. Regulus’ hair had become unruly, his curls was as just as untameable as Sirius’. His previously porcelain face, had deeply settled in scars and frown lines that framed his lips. He was far from the young boy destined for power and prestige. He now slept under a rotting roof with walls that could barely hold its own weight. Sirius was torn between grasping his brother after years of separation or running away from everything all over again. But war was coming and time was of the essence. They must leave Scotland for London by nightfall, with everything Regulus knew of the Dark Lord.

“Here, it’s just my own blend of floral herbs and spices. It is quite hard to purchase any professionally made tea round here. It tastes better with a bit of honey, don’t worry.” Y/N laid out two teacups, three short glasses and one tall glass full of her freshly brewed tea. In the middle of the table was a pot of honey with a teaspoon lodged inside. “Please bare with the glassware, we only have enough for the two of us.”

Regulus sat in silence, eyes closed lightly sipping his tea that had two teaspoons of honey mixed in.

“Let’s cut to the chase.” said Harry, Regulus still not paying him any mind, whilst Y/N’s eyes softened when he spoke.

“Regulus, we found this note in this locket signed R.A.B, your initials.” Hermione chucked the locket by its chain onto the table, skidding across to meet Y/N’s fingers. “We know its a fake. We need to know where the real one is now. Voldem-“

“Do not speak his name.” Despite his stern tone, Regulus had delicately placed his teacup onto the table with no splash.

“Under my roof, my home. You do not say that wretched name.”

Sirius slams his hands onto the table, abruptly standing up.

“Regulus, first you fake your death and now I find you cozying up with Y/N Potter, of all people! You are to give these children that bloody locket now or I will show you how Azkaban has changed me!” Sirius’ voice boomed against the four walls, leading Regulus to look up with a scowl.

“Brother,” the younger Black rose from his chair and stepped towards Sirius, in a matter of seconds he had grabbed the elder Black by his collar and slammed him against the nearby wall. His tongue spewed venom targeted his brother.

“You still remain as ill-tempered as always. You have no right to stand in front of me and disrespect my family. Leave whilst I show you mercy!” Regulus already had wand digging deep into Sirius’ throat, in response Sirius had gripped his younger brother’s wrist, attempting to claw his fingers away.

“Regulus! Stop it this instant!” Y/N screeched, pulling her husband away from his brother. Sirius dropped to the floor coughing, Regulus looked down at his brother with a glare, spat on the top of Sirius’ head and left the room.

Harry was left stunned in place. His Godfather looked like a shell of a man the moment he locked eyes with his brother. Now, his estranged aunt was comforting his Godfather after everything. How strange.

“Come, let’s move to the living room and we can all talk calmly there, without my husband.”

Ron turned to Hermione and whispered ‘husband?’ With his eyes darting across the room to focus on the many framed photographs of Y/N and Regulus. Hermione, as shocked as Ron was, merely shrugged and followed the adults to the front room.

Like the rest of the house, the sofa was barely useable, the longer they sat the further they sunk into the cushions. Harry, Ron and Hermione shared the three seater, Y/N perched at the edge of her armchair. Whilst Sirius leaned against the wall by the door with his head down, he felt beyond ashamed at his reunion with his brother.

Hermione coughed trying to clear the air of any tension, “Sorry that we didn’t get to have your tea Miss Potter- or uhm Black-“

“Y/N’s fine dear.” Her E/C eyes softened at the teenagers, they reminded her so much of her brother’s friends in their younger years.

“Y/N, how are you related to me? Sirius hasn’t spoken about you until earlier today.”

She gasped comically, clutching her chest to add to the act.

“Pads, you traitor! You were supposed to be my best friend!” She fake cried but Sirius looked up pleading to her with a string of unintelligible excuses. With a light chuckle her demeanour changed.

“No, in all seriousness I’m not surprised. You were never supposed to know about me Harry. We may be related by name, but not by blood. I was adopted into the Potter family, almost like dear Padfoot here.” Sirius huffed in response.

“I basically was already part of the family when I join you guys.”

Y/N chuckled sincerely this time, her left hand covering her smile, a noticeable silver loop around her finger.

“Yes and you ate all of my hidden chocolates by the third day you were with us!”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at this family’s banter. He was so used to the bickering and squabbling of the Dursleys’, and he hadn’t seen Sirius so animated with anyone but him and Remus.

“Harry, I wish I could’ve been there for you. But before your birth I had responsibilities that called for me that I could not disobey.” Y/N stood up and began to rummage through a chest of draws in the corner of the dimly lit room. She turned around and knelt by Harry’s knees placing a little cardboard box onto his lap. She began to slowly take out its belongings. An enchanted photograph, a notebook and a rusted Snitch.

“After my brother and his friends left for the Order, I tried to join but was vehemently denied by Dumbledore.” She lifted up the tattered notebook, “It would be too long to go into details but to summarise - he did not see me fit to fight alongside James. Instead I was given a separate mission that meant relocation to France. I too was tasked by Dumbledore to find a Horcrux, more so, I was tasked on recovering Regulus. I found both, clearly.” She placed the notebook back in the box and picked up the photograph.

“This was the last time I saw your father, my brother. 1979, their wedding. Look at how young we were Sirius!” She looked up, smiling lightly at the man holding back her tears, he now was leaning over the sofa looking at the photograph in her hand. It was the entire Marauder’s pack alongside Lily who hand her arms linked with Y/N’s both laughing towards the camera. Sirius had his arm slung over James’ shoulders whose tie and top button were undone. Remus and Peter were behind the two, ruffling James’ hair and chanting a silent hoorah for their union.

“That was quite a night, if I remember correctly you couldn’t stop crying at the reception. Saying how you always dreamed of having a sister and Lily was the perfect woman for the role. You were so drunk!”

“I was not!” Y/N screeched, Sirius only laughed in response.

The teens laughed at Y/N’s outcry. Harry kept watching the photograph loop, his parents and their friends could forever enjoy an eternal happiness in this photograph. He only wished he could experience all of their joy and warmth together in person.

“Ahem. As I was saying,” Y/N sat herself down on the armrest beside Harry. “I loved your parents Harry, I truly wish I was there for your birth, for everything. Unfortunately after that night, I had to fulfil my duty as Dumbledore’s foreign agent. By the time news reached to me of James and Lily’s death and Sirius’ arrest, it was too late. I was ordered to not contact you. So I,” With a deep sigh Y/N looked towards the hanging photograph of her and Regulus.

“I threw myself at work, by my fifth year of scouring the neighbourhoods of Europe, I finally found Regulus. And well, you can guess that happened next.” She dangled her ringed left hand over her knee.

“I never meant to keep everything a secret for so long, it became life consuming. By the time I had realised nearly 18 years had pasted, I was a different woman. I’m so sorry Harry.” Y/N clung onto her nephew in a tight embrace, tears dampening his shirt. He gripped her back in response as if she were to disappear from his arms. As they parted, Y/N’s sombre gaze started to brighten.

“Regulus means no harm to you three,” she turns to Sirius “Of course, you know your own relationship with your brother better than anyone else. I know you don’t plan on staying here any longer than you must, so let me handle it. Just stay here for a bit, I’ll get you the locket.”

Then she left the room, leaving behind an ear piercing silence.

“Do you think we could grab some food from the kitchen whilst she’s gone?” Ron uttered.

“I’m sure she won’t mind. Knowing her, she has probably hidden her snacks behind some bowls.” Sirius chortled, he drifted into the hallway and entered the kitchen.

He opened the cupboards one by one until he found Y/N’s fine china. And just as he guessed, she had placed a packet of custard cremes behind a stack of bowls. Still using the same hiding spot, shame there’s no chocolates this time. Before he could shut the cupboard door, he heard shouting from the slightly opened backdoor to the right of him.

“You have no idea what they’ve probably been through to even get here Reg!” Y/N was stood next to Regulus, who was smoking a cigarette and tapping his foot against the grass.

“He shouldn’t be here. I don’t care for the young Potter, he can do what he pleases with that damned piece of shit. I just don’t want to see him for one more second!”

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me! Don’t you dare speak ill about my nephew! And in case you forgot, you took my name! You’re a Potter now as well, he is your nephew! Don’t you care about your family? Your brother is here acting more of a father figure than anyone else could for that boy who has only known pain. You of all people should know what it’s like to live like that.” Y/N hand grabbed Regulus’ hand and lightly rubbed the back of his palm.

“…so he can be there for Harry but not me. Y/N, I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I can’t just let him back into my life like nothing happened. We left that world behind because of how much it has failed me. You. Us. I only planned my life with you in mind, not once did I consider my brother and now Harry to be there. It’s all too much. I just want things to go back to how it was. Back when it was just you and me.”

Regulus began to softly whimper, Sirius could see from the crack of the door Regulus’ shaking head of hair against Y/N’s shoulder, he saw his brother’s shoulders shake whilst he clung onto Y/N’s waist. Y/N lightly rubbed Regulus’ back with her right hand and patted his hair softly with her left. Just as he did when the two were children.

“I know darling, I know. But we’ll take it slowly. One step at a time. For now,” The two pulled back from each other, their foreheads pressed against one another. “We give them the Horcrux, and once it’s all over. We’ll invite them round for a proper meal. And we can finally clean up the place, yeah?” Regulus hummed a light tune and nodded, he closed his eyes and kissed Y/N’s lips delicately.

——————————————————————————

“Exactly as I suspected! Right behind the bowls,” Sirius returned to the front room before he could see the couple be affectionate to each other. The thought of his best friend’s sister and his brother together was still alien to him. He drew a biscuit from the packet and kept it between his teeth, then threw the whole packet at Ron who gladly caught it in his arms.

It was nearing sunset, they would’ve ideally made their way back to London by now. Harry couldn’t help but sit in silence admiring the photograph in his hands, clutching to it like a prayer.

Y/N and Regulus walk into the room, hand in hand. Before Sirius could utter an apology to his brother, the younger Black pushed his fisted hand towards him, then revealing Slytherin’s Locket in the palm of his hand.

“Take it. Take it and destroy it. Once you’re done with it. Y/N wants you back for a proper dinner.” Sirius slowly takes the chain of the locket, once the weight had been freed from Regulus’ hand, he unlocked his fingers from Y/N’s and disappeared back into the halls of their cabin. Y/N only looked towards them with a glint of hope.

“He’ll come round eventually, you know. He’s changed over the years.”

Whilst Hermione and Ron were nibbling at the biscuits, Harry turned around and stood to face his aunt.

“Y/N can I, can I keep this? Just for now, I’ll give it back once I come back to visit. I just, I really-“

Y/N only chuckled at her nephew’s nervous demeanour, “Of course love. Just make sure you look after it okay? Plus I’ll need you back here with your uncle here so we can take more photos to put up on my walls!”

Sirius, who was still chewing half of his biscuit interrupts “Actually I’m his Godfather,”

The H/C haired woman flipped her head around, “Since when? Why would James- Are those my custard cremes?”

——————————————————————————

“Goodbye Y/N! Goodbye Mr Regulus!” Ron waved as they walked down the stone path back to where they left the port key. He turned to Hermione, “You know maybe living out in the wild seems alright, you know? Pretty nice don’t you think?”

“You think you could make your own food and drink from just the bare essentials like Y/N?” The curly-haired girl retorted with a smile.

“Oh well no, maybe I could just conjure up something!” The two continued to bicker and laugh till the end of the path. Behind them Harry and Sirius stuck a few seconds longer to speak with Y/N.

“I’m sorry for the state of our cabin, my dear. I’ll make sure Regulus repairs all of the broken furniture before your return!”

A faint “I heard that!” echoed from the hallway. Y/N laughed and drew Harry into a hug, lightly patting his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll see you soon.” Harry squeezed her tightly and thanked her again softly, promising to return the moment he is finished with his goal. He turns back and rushes to his friends.

Y/N steps back and turned to Sirius. “Pads, tell me who else is left from us lot?”

“Ah well, Moony’s still kicking, still part of the Order.” The two laugh at the thought of their shared memories. A light sigh trails the end of their joy.

“Merlin, things really have changed so much now. I heard that it was Peter, yes?”

Sirius nodded, still resentful towards his traitorous friend yet his eyes gleamed with sorrow. Y/N rubbed his forearm in response to comfort him.

“You’ve got us now. Reggie will take a while, but you’ve got Harry and me. We’re family now. So, don’t be a stranger okay?”

After a lifetime apart, the two friends hug as if it was their last day at Hogwarts all over again. As Sirius walked back to the teenagers ready to go back to London, he took one last look at the cabin behind him. From an upstairs window, he saw his brother. The two nodded at each other, either out of pure politeness or an unconscious agreement to meet again, to rebuild what was lost.

#regulus black x reader #regulus black #sirius black #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #the marauders #the marauders fanfic #regulus black angst #regulus black fanfic #sirius black x reader

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