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santaasi · 4 months ago

Text

obviously blind

pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader

summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3

ᯓ★ now playing…

slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

Would you promise me you'll never let me go

November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.

It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.

When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.

“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”

By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.

“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”

The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.

“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”

James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.

At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.

A girl.

Not just any girl, but you.

You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.

You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.

“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”

You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.

“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.

Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.

And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.

“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”

You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”

But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.

Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.

“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.

It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.

Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.

Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.

“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.

James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.

It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...

“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”

James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.

“Padfoot—”

“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.

Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.

“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.

“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”

James groaned, though his smile was fond.

Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.

“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”

Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.

When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.

“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”

Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”

Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”

Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”

You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering.

As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.

James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”

James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.

And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.

July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.

Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.

Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.

Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.

THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.

Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.

“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.

James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”

James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”

James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.

James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.

You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.

“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.

By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.

“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.

“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”

“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”

“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”

But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.

AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.

It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.

One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.

James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.

It was unbearable.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”

You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”

“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.

Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.

But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.

BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.

And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.

“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.

“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.

“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”

James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”

Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”

James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.

March 30, 1975

My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.

How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.

And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.

It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.

“Darling,” Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.

“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.

Never by name. Always darling.

Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.

James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.

IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”

James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”

James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”

“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.

You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”

“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”

James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”

“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”

From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.

One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.

“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.

James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”

James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”

Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.

LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.

And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.

“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.

Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”

It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”

Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”

Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“Alright, what are you two plotting?”

“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”

James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”

Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.

And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.

DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.

But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.

You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.

Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.

Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.

“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.

You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”

James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.

It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.

That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.

Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”

“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”

Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.

“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.

“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.

Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.

November 27, 1976

My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love

THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.

Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”

“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.

Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.

And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.

Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

The idiot was besotted.

Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.

“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”

As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.

Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.

The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.

October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?

Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.

And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.

February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!

Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”

Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.

Then came the letters about Lily.

March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”

He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.

It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?

By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.

December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.

The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.

And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.

The final letter undid him.

December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.

Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.

“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now.

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.

Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.

It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.

And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.

Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.

Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.

The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.

But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”

James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.

“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”

The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”

James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.

He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.

It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.

Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.

“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.

Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”

James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.

“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”

There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”

James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”

James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.

“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”

James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”

For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.

“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.

Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”

James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”

As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.

And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.

THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.

From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.

But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.

Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.

James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”

“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.

You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.

The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.

“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.

“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”

That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.

Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.

A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.

“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.

“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.

“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.

James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”

Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.

By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.

For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.

“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.

James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.

James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.

"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.

Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.

He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:

To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,

Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.

So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.

December 25, 1976 My Love, It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try. Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart. Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard. I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose. I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you. Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure. How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.

I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you. Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you. Forever yours, Jamie

thankx for reading <3

god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).

and if you've finished reading this, thank u and I love you so much! I hope you enjoyed every part of it and I will be very glad if you leave a comment, because it seems to me that I have left all of myself in this work!

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox. btw my requests are open so… make a wish :3

p.s. if you liked this work i’d really appreciate if you go and read more of my works in my masterlist and give it your opinion. i’m very proud of my latest work ‘muse’ and hope you’ll like it just as much as ‘obviously blind’

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

#– santi 🪐#james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter x y/n #james potter fanfiction #bsf!james potter #james potter x fem!reader

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philtstone · 8 months ago

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ok one of psychs funniest meta gags is how a popular media property will exist & be referenced regularly in universe but when the actors from that property show up as guest stars in the show theres NO acknowledgement of it. shawn knows every brat pack movie half by heart but when he meets ally sheedy the fake serial killer he never once comments on how similar she looks to ally sheedy the actress. there are like 20 karate kid AND my cousin vinny references including a literal picture of ralph macchio in that one scene but no one notices that officer conforth Is Literally The Same Guy. shawn and gus are lowkey genuine star trek nerds and spend a whole episode gaslighting Real Life George Takei but when william shatner shows up in the flesh hes just juliets loser dad. not even a passing "hey, you look familiar" joke. its SO funny.

#what a bit to commit to you know #phil.txt #psych #sorry im incapable of not making posts about this show. inshallah soon i will be normal again

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joemama-2 · 6 months ago

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velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms, depression, manipulation wc: 5155 a/n: hi everyone! i'm so excited for this piece of work as I have a lot of exciting ideas planned in store! this will probably have slow updates, so please please please be patient with me. thank you all for reading! i'm aiming for at least 15ish chapters, maybe more or less, depends how much i write in one chapter in the future. series masterlist < next chapter

“Cash or card?”

“Card.”

The sound of light dinging follows, the transaction completed. “Here you go, Miss. Have a good day.”

“Thank you, you too.” The woman takes the small bag from your outstretched hands, giving one last smile before exiting. The bell at the top of the door rings, signifying her exit. You sigh and look at the clock, one more hour. It’s not that long. But you’ve been here since opening and the shoes you’re wearing are beginning to hurt your feet. Maybe you should’ve broken them in more.

It’s a quaint little cafe. Most of the customers are teenagers, college students, or overworked office workers who need caffeine to get them through the day. Other than that, you have no qualms. Of course, it does get a little annoying having to tell the newer, much younger co-workers that they can’t do this or that.

A mundane routine of making coffees, packing orders, and ringing them up. Just one more hour.

As soon as the clock strikes 5:00, you’re clocking out and saying goodbye. The school is an exact walk of ten minutes, six if you’re fast. Then another ten back to the apartment. And finally, another fifteen to the convenience store.

Hustle and bustle is all you’ve ever known. Sure, you like it most of the time. But you just wish you could get a break. It’s always go, go, go, but never take a rest and time to yourself for a moment. But when you see that adorable smile plaster on those chubby cheeks you never shy away from pinching, it’s all worth it. “Mama!”

“Baby!” you crouch down and open your arms. The young boy wastes no time in throwing his body into yours, face nuzzled into your chest and arms around your neck. “How was school? Fun?” you ask, hand rubbing his back up and down.

He nods. “Mhm! Mr. Ito says I got the most gold stars out of everyone in class.”

Your smile grows wistful, aweing. “Wow, such a good boy, aren’t you?”

You carry Koji into your arms, starting the walk back to your very humble apartment. He chatters innocently the entire trek, with you occasionally adding on or asking questions. His soft white hair pokes at your cheek, to which you straighten down with one free hand. It’s days like these where you wish you could just lounge at home with him, basking in his sweet innocence. But while most people are ending for the day, you’re barely starting your second half.

You feel the self-deprecating thoughts fill your mind like a virus while stationed near the light, waiting for the pedestal symbol to indicate. Your grip tightens around your son slightly, as if anchoring yourself to reality and reminding yourself you’re doing it all for him, and to keep going for him.

It’s hard, yes. But so is parenting.

The symbol comes on and you walk, seeing the building of your complex in the distance. Forcing any lingering negativity away, you clear your throat. “So, what did you learn today, baby?”

Koji looks up at you. “We learned how to add! I helped Mina.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

He giggles bashfully, leaning into the kiss you place on his cheek. Eyebrows raising as a sudden memory hits him. “Oh! And Mr. Ito said Dad Appreciation Day is coming up soon. There’s gonna be food and music.”

Your smile wavers, footsteps momentarily pausing before continuing. “Oh, really?” you ask, inhaling a wavy breath of air. “That sounds like fun.”

“Mhm.” Koji nods, then tilts his head curiously at you. “But everyone is bringing their daddies. I wanna bring Papa too.”

And you really try not to make your guilty grimace visible. “I know, sweetie. I know.”

“Can Papa come?” he frowns.

No, he can’t. But you’re not about to tell your five-year-old that the reason his father can’t make an appearance is because he doesn’t even know he has a son. It’s been a difficult conversation for you. You’re not sure when or how to have these sorts of hard ones with children. So you’ve been dancing around the subject. Saying his dad is away on vacation, or fighting intergalactic dragons, or some other excuse you’ve been forced to use. He believes you, most of the time. But that doesn’t stop his curiosity and growing impatience.

The last thing you want him to think is that he has no father in the first place.

He does. You’ve shown him pictures and videos occasionally. Of, and of course, he’s an exact carbon copy of the man. From his bright blue eyes, albino hair, and all the way down to his stubborn personality. You were a little annoyed when your only child took quite literally everything from his father, only leaving him with a couple of things from you–your nose and helpful nature.

“We’ll see. Papa is busy, remember?” you gently reply, walking through the parking lot of your complex to the lobby.

Koji’s frown deepens and so do the metaphorical scars on your heart. “But Papa’s always busy! I wanna see Papa.”

“I know you do, baby. You will soon, okay?”

“Do you promise?”

You hesitate but eventually nod with a forced smile. “Mama promises.”

After leaving Koji with the babysitter, you give him a quick kiss and recite the list with the babysitter before rushing off to your second job. A convenience store.

Not the most savory place, mainly because you get all sorts of crazy and odd customers, but also because you are close. You hate closing. But you need the second disposable income and this is the only place that fits with your schedule. It’s also a little more leaned back than the cafe, when there are no customers, you spend your time browsing the web for jobs.

You’ve probably sent in over 500 applications over the years, with not even half of those places reaching out. Even then, you’re not guaranteed a job. The job market is horrible nowadays and you’re living through it.

Whatever, you think to yourself as you clock in. One day at a time.

It’s around eleven at night when you're slugging back into your apartment, lights dim, and silence enveloping the place. “Thank you, Sana.” You mutter, exhausted but still sparing the 20-year-old a smile. You hand her a small envelope. “For today and last Saturday. How was he?”

Sana thanks you kindly and grabs her stuff. “All good, no tantrums today.”

“That’s good.” you walk into the kitchen, grabbing some food you’ve meal prepped. “Get home safe, okay?”

“Thank you, Y/N. Sleep well.”

When she leaves, you give yourself a moment to slump over the kitchen island, sighing in both relief and lingering tiredness. The silence feels nice, like an old and familiar friend welcoming you and praising you after yet another day of the same routine. You’ve always loved routines, but you can’t help but crave at least some sort of spontaneity. Putting the tupperware of chicken and rice into the microwave for a minute, its light humming makes you zone out. The conversation from before with your son ringing in your mind like a very annoying bell.

Soon, images of his father, your ex, flood your mind. An old fluttery sensation residing in the pit of your stomach, your body suddenly feeling all too warm for your liking. Your fists clench to stop their light trembling, shaking your head free of him.

Not now.

You stop the microwave at one second, before it makes that obnoxious beeping and wakes your son. There are two chairs at the small dining table, you sit at one of them and eat your now warm meal. You’ve started meal prepping after one too many missed meals and a few incidents where that light-headedness and blurred vision caused you to faint. Luckily, you were alone when that happened. Unluckily, you were alone when that happened. Nursing a few bruises to your forehead after making contact was not a fun time.

You take time to eat, in no particular rush. Although you know you should be getting ready for bed soon for another early day tomorrow, your body doesn’t move. Either consciously or subconsciously. The end of the day is when you find yourself attempting to unwind and detach from the day’s events. But, the stress of unpaid bills, debts, and worry for the future always find time to crawl back.

It’s exhausting, extremely so. Sure, you’re an adult and this is normal. But don’t you deserve at least a little bit of time when you don’t have to worry about anything? It feels like every waking second your mind is working overtime, your body in a constant state of motion. It’s worn you down completely over the years. But you have a son who needs you, so you suppose you shouldn’t be feeling pity for yourself.

This is what parenting is all about, isn’t it?

Making sacrifice after sacrifice for your child. However, when you feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper, slowly losing more of yourself, what if there’s nothing left to sacrifice in the first place? The eviction bill from this morning taunts you as it lays upright in front of you in the middle of the table.

It’s then do you think, no, you do have one thing left.

Koji.

If Koji’s gone, then you really have nothing left. There’s no reason to live if that happens. And with the path you’re going down, that’s feeling more and more like a dreaded possibility.

I wanna see Papa.

Koji’s words play repeatedly. For a second, you feel yourself resonating with your son. Only for a second. You reach for your phone and go to Google, typing in a name that still haunts you. You’re barely three letters in before his name appears and you’re clicking.

A smiling image fills your screen along with other general information.

For some unknown reason, your breath hitches. You feel like he’s almost staring at you, smiling at your pathetic predicament. Grip tightening around your phone, swallowing down an unexpecting lump, tears fall from your eyes and onto the phone screen.

Why you’re crying, you don’t know. It could be many things, but you won’t address that right now.

Gojo Satoru.

The father of your child, your ex of 4 years.

You rarely look him up, almost never. Only in desperate times when you feel yourself drowning and needing some sort of comfort. It’s stupid. You haven’t been together or even seen him in five years. Not since you ended things with him. Not since you felt his hands roam your skin, whispering sweet words.

He didn’t even protest or question why. Almost like he knew your breakup was inevitable. You’re not sure if that hurts more.

You’re twenty-eight now. But while your life still feels the same from when you met Satoru at the ripe age of nineteen, you’ve reached a plateau. But him? He’s thriving, of course. Making a name for himself, as an heir to one of the biggest conglomerates in Japan, the Gojo Group.

You’re happy for him. But where is that happiness for yourself?

You feel a little, no, a lot jealous. You always were of Satoru. Being given everything he wants without much thought, never worrying about money, and a stable home life. You’re extremely jealous of that bastard.

But right now, jealousy isn’t in the picture. It’s your son’s father. And if you want to keep your son, give him everything he wants, that starts with one person.

Letting him meet his father.

“Honey, do you like your pancakes?” you ask your son who’s currently scarfing down his plate of breakfast. Adorned in an adorable shirt uniform shirt and some little black trousers. He hums back excitedly with a muffled “yes, mama”. With a chuckle, you dry up the rest of the dishes, then your hands. Dropping him off at school is the first thing on your agenda, as per usual.

The walk to his school is a familiar one, wanting to get your son knowledgeable with the route so when the day comes that he needs to walk him himself, he’d know his way back. You pass by other kids and parents, some children yelling bye as they step onto the school grounds, with others giving their children long-lasting hugs.

You walk until you reach his door, his teacher, Mr. Ito, standing outside and greeting his students as they enter. When he makes eye contact with Koji, he smiles a bit wider. “Good morning, Koji.”

“Good morning!” your son happily replies, waving up at his teacher. With one final hug and kiss shared, he’s running in to already begin talking to his friends. Standing back up, you see Mr. Ito already looking at you. And you especially don’t miss the way his eyes not so subtly rake up and down your figure. You clear your throat. “Good morning.”

He meets your eyes again. “Good morning, Y/N-san. How are you today?”

“Good, and you?”

“Very good.”

The way his tone is almost causes you to visibly shiver, brows furrowing slightly in discomfort. One of the things you dislike the most about Koji’s school, his teacher. Although he hasn’t outwardly done or said anything inappropriate, you’re a smart woman. “That’s good. Well…have a nice day.” Doing anything you can to quickly end this dreaded conversation, but still wanting to maintain a level of politeness.

You’re about to turn on your heel and leave when he calls out. “Ah, Y/N-san?”

Damn it, what now? “Yes?” you turn and look at him.

The distance between you reduces as he steps a little closer. “I have some concerns regarding Koji’s behavior in class. Would you be available to set up a conference anytime this week?”

“Behavior? Has he been misbehaving?” You did not expect that.

“Well, it’s complicated. He has some trouble listening as talks when he shouldn’t. I’d like to nip this in the bud before it grows out of control.” Mr. Ito cooly replies, smile looking more like a hidden smirk. “So, will you be available?”

You hesitate, not really. With your two jobs, you barely have time for yourself, let alone your son’s teacher. But if it’s regarding a behavior problem, then do you have any choice? “I think I’ll be free this Saturday. Weekdays are very hectic for more.”

He nods. “That’s fine, we can grab coffee.” When your head tilts slightly, he adds on with a chuckle. “And discuss Koji over coffee. On me.”

Right, of course. You know what this is, but just think about your son. That’s the priority. “Okay, 8 am at Latte Lounge sound good?”

“Sounds excellent, I’ll see you then. Have a wonderful day.”

With a simple nod back, you turn around and finally leave. Practically feeling the way his eyes shamelessly check out your behind. A frown inevitably grows on your face, why wouldn’t it? As long as this man doesn’t try anything…more, you should be fine. And if he does, 1) you’ll be in public, and 2) you’ll tell him straight up.

Whatever.

“Pizza or teriyaki?”

“Pizza!”

“Of course.” you chuckle and put the frozen pizza in your cart, your son clutched onto your right hand after announcing he can walk on his own because he’s a big boy. The grocery store isn’t crowded during this time of day. Rightfully so. It’s 7 pm on a Tuesday, most people already cooking dinner by now. You always grocery shop at this time, your son appreciates it too. There’s been a few times when you both got quickly and very overwhelmed with the bustling nature of the grocery store on a weekend morning. Currently, you’re moving through the snack section now, picking up a few of your and Koji’s favorites.

“Mama, can I pick a cereal?” Koji asks and points to the cereal aisle next over. When you nod, he happily runs off. You still however make sure to look over at him frequently when picking up and putting down a few snacks.

You reach up to grab a pack of Hello Panda, the pink and chocolate ones, before a hand beats you to it. “Oh, I’m sorry.” As soon as you look over, you and the stranger meet eyes.

Immediately, there’s a silence that falls over you two. Eyes each blown wide in shock.

Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me.

Just your luck. As soon as the stranger speaks, a strange nostalgia fills you. “Y-Y/N?”

It almost sounds weird coming from his lips. Your friend–well, ex?--friend gets out. He still looks the same, just more…manly.

“...Suguru, I–I’m… surprised to see you.” you awkwardly laugh. Reunions were never easy.

“Oh my god,” Suguru breaths out, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Well, shit. I mean, how are you? You..you look good.” His eyes move down your figure in an appreciative way.

“Thank you, I’m good. How are you? Your hair is longer.” you motion to his sea of black, healthy locks. “ ‘M a little jealous.”

He laughs with you, the sound reminding you of old times. “Yeah, been working on it. And I’m good.”

Another pause is permitted, as if you two aren’t very sure what to say to one another. Well, in all honesty, it has been five years. “Well,” he clears his throat and puts his hands in his pockets. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, you know,” you glance down at your cart. “Just some shopping.”

He also looks down, head tilting slightly. “Ah, right.” With a nod, he juts his head toward the direction of the kid’s toothpaste. “Just for one?” He laughs, joking of course.

You mentally curse yourself, putting a pack of cookies on top of the toothpaste to hide its already revealed existence. “Uh, ye—”

“Mama! I want this one!” Koji runs up to you, showcasing his desired cereal.

Well…..shit.

As if things weren’t already complicated.

With Suguru’s eyes even wider than when they were staring at you, his mouth is practically on the floor when the young boy looks at him. His sharp eyes dart across his features and…..

“I-is this—”

“Koji.” you cut him off, gulping and shifting the child closer to your leg. “My son.”

Suguru spends another good minute staring at the boy, who innocently stares back. When his eyes slowly move from the blue ones to yours, there are a million and more questions swirling in his brain. He’s not even sure which one to ask first. But he goes with the obvious. “...Is….is he…..”

You nod uncomfortably.

He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, hand running through his hair. “Holy shit, I mean….holy heck.”

Your lips purse, putting Koji’s cereal in your cart before picking him up in your arms. “Koji, this is Suguru. Say hi.”

“Hi.” Koji childishly smiles at the older man. “Are you Mama’s friend?”

Suguru spares you a glance. “Uhm…yeah. Yeah, kid, I am. Nice to meet you.” He then shifts weirdly, not sure if he should shake the boy’s hand, which seems too formal. He decides to gently ruffle his hair. “So…how old is he?”

The question is directed towards you, but Koji answers. “I’m five!” He holds up five small fingers.

“Five?” Suguru’s brows furrow at you. It’s surprising how quickly you recognize that scolding look of his. “Have you—”

“No.” you once again cut him off, shifting Koji to your hip. “I haven’t.”

“Why?”

That’s a good question. One you know the answer to…slightly. But with Koji looking between you two curiously, you can’t exactly say why. At least not here. “I….I just…haven’t.”

Silence.

You can feel Suguru regarding you with many emotions, but the main one is confusion. He bites his lip as he thinks over how to react properly to this situation. From the looks of it, Koji is just as clueless as him, maybe even more. “Jesus Christ, I don’t even know what to say right now.” Heavily sighing, he looks back at Koji, then you, then Koji, then finally you. “You’re going to…right? I mean, he deserves to know, Y/N. You’ve just–I mean, come on.”

There’s not much of a response to that, much to his expectation. You always used to do this when you were guilty. But Suguru has always been the more… empathetic of the two. “Look, I–I know you’re probably going through your own things, but…”

You look at him again, remorseful. His lips purse and with a heavy sigh, he takes a card out from his pocket and hands it to you. “Here’s my business card, it has my number. We lost your old one, so.”

Your hand reaches out to take it, examining the words, Rising Futures Foundation. "Building futures, one child at a time.” You meet his eyes again, forcing words out. “Okay…thanks.”

“No need,” he waves you off, taking down the two Hello Panda boxes and putting them in your cart. “I’m sorry, I have things to do right now, but please…give me a call, okay?”

With slight hesitation, you nod. He mirrors you before focusing on the child again, a smile forming. “See you, buddy.” Suguru pats his shoulder lightly before walking away and away from your vision.

Your mind is being overrun, body feeling stiff and stuck, unsure of how to process what the fuck just happened. No doubt he’s about to tell his best friend. Then said best friend will find you and Koji. Then maybe he’ll try taking you to court for hiding his son for five years. You’ll obviously lose because you have no lawyer and Satoru has the best. Your son, your one and only, your sole happiness will be taken away from you and you’ll be left alone to rot in angui–

“Mama?” Koji’s small hand is put to your cheek, stirring you from your mild comatose state. “Are you okay? You have tears in your eyes.”

“What?” Raising your hand to your eye and sure enough, you are letting loose some tears. “No, no, Mama’s okay. I’m not crying, just…just tired.”

But with growing age, so is his perception. “Are you sure? Did your friend make you cry? I don’t like him then.”

Oh, how sweet. You smile, head tilting. “No, baby. Don’t say that, okay? Mama’s fine. I promise. See? I’m smiling. Wanna smile with me?”

Like clockwork, he follows your emotions and smiles, giggling. “Yeah, I wanna smile with you. I like smiling with you, Mama.”

“And I like it when you smile with me too.”

Maybe, this isn’t too bad. You were just thinking that you want Koji to finally meet his dad. So, this is good. This ensures a meeting. But, it also ensures a deep-rooted, most likely bad confrontation that will take place between you two. Why wouldn’t it? At least you’ll be able to prepare yourself now, mentally.

You can imagine the harsh words he might say. The raised voices and brutal questions about how you can do this to him and so on. In hindsight, you deserve it. What kind of woman does do this to a man? Children are supposed to be bundles of joy, not hidden secrets. Of course, there’s the lingering worries of what legal action Satoru, or his family, might try to take.

That would quite literally fuck you over so hard.

But…maybe Satoru will go easy on you because of your past. You really don’t know. This situation is messy as fuck and it’s mostly—a lot—because of you. You have no one to blame but yourself. Hopefully, he’ll take pity on you, even though you hate when others pity you. It’s different when it comes to him, the father of your son. It always has been and it probably always will be.

Honestly, you’re a little relieved that you ran into the best friend of the man than the man himself. Now that would’ve been bad.

The sounds of skin against skin fill the room, mixed with heavy grunts and airy moans. The headboard repeatedly hitting the wall plays like a drum, the lights dim and the view of the dark city landscape is exposed. Satoru’s gripping the woman’s hips, leaving crescent-shaped indents in her fair skin. Her constant mewls sound heavenly in his ears. “God, you feel so….good…”

“S-satoru!”

“Yeah, say my name. Just like that, baby.”

He presses a firm hand down on the small of her back to keep her arch in place, feeling his release invade her warm walls, filling her with a lovely warmth. She clenches around him, moaning out once more as she finishes with him.

He collapses against her back, his heavy breaths tingling her ear. “Baby, that was…so good…” she croaks out.

Satoru’s mind is fuzzy, vision blurring slightly. He hums in response and leans back up to pull out, discarding the heavy condom with his load into the trashcan beside the bed. “Stay.” With a small pat to her hip, he’s forcing his limbs out of bed and to the connecting bathroom to grab a warm rag. Aftercare. Although most of the time, he really can’t be bothered to do something like this. Cleaning her up feels like a chore sometimes, but the last time he voiced that opinion, it led to a huge argument between the two.

In just a few minutes, they’re both cleaned and changed. Wearing his sweats low on his hips while she indulges in just one of his oversized shirts. Another small pet peeve he has. And another thing he must keep his mouth shut about. “What time do you have to go into the office tomorrow?” Himari asks, snuggled up against his chest, dainty fingers tracing circles along the firm muscles.

“Same time as always,” he sighs, grabbing the TV remote and putting a random show on. “You know that.”

“I know, but…can’t you just call off tomorrow? Please? I wanna spend the day with you.”

When he looks back down at her, she’s frowning. A small tug is pulled at his heart and before he knows it, he’s pulling her closer and placing a gentle kiss to her hair. “Can’t, baby. Maybe this weekend?”

Satoru can feel her ready to protest again, but the sound of the front door downstairs being opened and closed interrupts the moment. Followed by the familiar voice of his friend. “Satoru! You here?”

Satoru’s brows furrow slightly. A small grunt falls from his lips as he maneuvers Himari off his chest, standing up and walking out. He looks down the staircase and sees Suguru staring up at him. “What do you want? I’m sorta busy.” Himari comes out and hugs his waist, proof of his so-called “busyness”.

Suguru holds back an eye roll when the woman gives him a look, focusing on his best friend. “Need to talk to you. Privately.”

“For what?”

“It’s important.”

“So just say it now.”

“Damn it, Satoru. Just come down and kick your friend out.”

“Girlfriend.” Himari corrects with a scowl.

“Yeah, sure.” Suguru waves her off and motions for Satoru to come down as he walks into the man’s kitchen.

Sighing with his eyes closed, he turns to Himari. “Sorry, babe. My driver’ll give you a ride back.”

Once again, she frowns. “But I—”

“Please.”

His bottom lip pokes out in a small, but convincing pout. “I’ll see you later, mkay?” Satoru reaches his thumb out and brushes it along her cheekbone, which he knows she’s weak for. Confliction and hesitation dance in her eyes but she concedes. Gathering her purse and shows, she gives Satoru a dramatic kiss on the lips before leaving.

“Finally,” Suguru huffs from the kitchen, swirling a glass of whiskey. “I thought you guys broke up.”

“It was a break.” Satoru grumbles, walking over to stand across from his friend, snatching the glass out his hand and sipping. “Anyway, what’s so important you come unannounced for and demand my sweet company to leave?”

“That woman is not sweet.”

Satoru smiles and shrugs, “She tastes it.”

A groan is heard from Suguru, eyes rolling before he shakes his head. “Look, you should sit down.”

“That good, huh?” he plops down in the nearby chair and leans back, arm resting against the back of it. He nods. “Alright, shoot, baby.”

Suguru takes in a deep breath and steels himself for the more than likely hard conversation. A part of him feels like he’s intruding, like it’s not his place to reveal such a thing to him. But at the end of the day, it’s his best friend. And you, well…he’s not exactly sure if you’re still friends or not. “What I tell you might sound crazy, but I need you to promise you’ll stay calm until I’m done speaking, got it?”

Satoru’s brows raise in mild astonishment, seeing Suguru get all serious like this is quite amusing. “Okay, I promise.” He shrugs again. “Can’t be that bad, right? No one’s hurt.”

Not yet, Suguru says to himself. He claps his hands together, mulling over how exactly to break the news. “So, I came across an old friend today.”

“Oh yeah? She cute?” Satoru swirls the alcohol in his glass.

Suguru holds back another eye roll. “Yeah, she is.”

“Nice, man.” the white-haired man chuckles, head tilting. “So what, did she make a move on you or something? Now that’s crazy.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m actually quite favorable amongst women.”

“Are you now?”

“Listen, you ass. No talking, just listening.” When he doesn’t get a response back, he takes it as a sign to continue. “Anyway, I saw an old friend. And…she had a kid with her.” Satoru nods slowly, already getting lost on his this information is even remotely crazy, or relevant to him. But he stays shut, deciding not to face another one of Suguru’s mini-lectures. One more deep breath is let out from Suguru and he gets to the point. “It was Y/N, she has a kid.”

A small beat of silence follows as Suguru gauges his best friend’s reaction. He doesn’t look like he’s flipping out, but he doesn’t show much emotion either. Confusing Suguru, he waits for the inevitable lash out.

“Who?” Satoru ends up asking.

His best friend knits his brows, trying to see if the other man is serious or not. When his expression doesn’t change, he replies. “Y/N…” he speaks slowly. “...your ex?”

Still, no emotion. But his grip on the glass does tighten. “And she has a kid.” Suguru reiterates, almost in nervousness now.

“Satoru….the kid looks exactly like you.”

a/n: thank you guys for reading!!! Sorry if this chapter was a little short, i’ll try to make the next ones a little more longer. But writing super huge chapters isn’t my forte. Anyway, stay tuned for chapter 2 :)

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ceilidho · 6 months ago

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 20 / epilogue)

masterlist

Black trees against a yellow sky at evening time.

It’s late when you finally reach home. Dark enough to almost be night—a full day longer to return than it took to leave, but then you hadn’t ridden as hard coming back, too sore and sleep-deprived to manage the same pace. Even the meager sleep you got on the road was hardly sufficient.

Then the shape of your house appears on the horizon and you nearly break down in tears. The sight of it fills you with such relief that you nearly lose your balance, your head slumping forward. Too long. Days that felt like weeks, your body and mind weary from the long trek home. Against the gold of the horizon light, it appears like a boat arriving at port.

You throw yourself off your horse and to the ground before John has even had a chance himself to dismount and come help you down. He stomps over when your foot nearly catches in the stirrup, nostrils flared and mustache twitching with his scowl.

“Don’t go breaking your leg before I’ve even gotten you home,” he growls when he reaches you, fitting his hand around the nape of your neck and giving it a squeeze. You’d shiver, but your body is too exhausted for your libido to manage more than a half-hearted twitch. Instead you nod, head bobbing like a baby doll.

John takes the horses to the stables while you clamber up the stairs on wobbly legs, headed straight for your bedroom, passing out the second your head touches the pillow. Your growling stomach will have to be addressed in the morning.

You aren’t conscious for when John comes up to join you, but you swear even in sleep you can sense his presence in the room. Certainly when he curls himself around you, the wall of warmth at your back briefly making your eyes flicker open before sleep claims you again and they slide shut.

In the morning, you eat a big breakfast before letting John rub a liniment onto your inner thighs and bandage the cuts on your hands and face. The doctor he takes you to see after breakfast for the shoulder that Graves dislocated prescribes bed rest and light stretching for recovery and laudanum for any lingering pain.

“What did you tell him?” you ask when the two of you head out for a light lunch in town before heading back home.

“Told him you fell off a horse.” He shrugs. “Not that uncommon around here.”

All you can do is roll your eyes.

Still, it’s as good an excuse as any. No one questions your story when you tell it to them over the following days, when your shoulder is still too tender for you to move it too vigorously. Only Kate lifts a brow knowingly, all but cornering you for the real story when you finally get a moment alone.

“That sonuvabitch,” she hisses when you finally break and tell her what happened.

“It’s fine,” you insist, shushing her. “John… Well, John handled it.”

She nods approvingly, then looks like she might say more before thinking the better of it. Silence falls between the two of you.

“He—” you pause in the middle of your sentence, unsure of how exactly to say it. “It wasn’t so bad. Telling him, I mean.”

Kate must catch the slight inflection in your voice because she stares at you expectantly, waiting for you to say more. “…I’m happy to hear that.”

You inhale as if gathering your breath to say more, but nothing comes out. You know what it is you want to say, but it’s getting it out that’s the tricky bit. What you want to tell her is that your trust wasn’t misplaced in the end; all of your fears that the truth would shatter the affection and trust that had finally been shown to you after a lifetime of nothing were unfounded, proven ultimately wrong.

“Was there something else you wanted to add?”

You chew your lower lip.

“No. Nothing else,” you say in the end. There’ll be a time someday to tell her that her trust wouldn’t be misplaced with John or Kyle either; perhaps that day will come sooner than you expect, but for now it remains on the distant horizon. It’s not your place to lecture or admonish; your place in her life is to offer the same feeling of security and companionship as she’s offered you.

Today, you loop your arm through hers and join her for lunch.

In town, people greet you like you never left. Only one person asks you about the man you were walking with the previous day, and Kate covers for you when you stumble over your answer, throat constricting in your panic. There’s no suspicion in the question, but still you anticipate it because life has conditioned you to expect pain as a response to any action or inaction.

You are surprised when pain doesn’t come this time. But still, you are wary.

When you get home, John fills the tub with hot water for you and lets you wash up on your own while he tends to the horses, the third now unofficially his. You lean your arms over the side of the tub and drift in and out of your daydreams, ears attuned only to the sound of his voice and the owls calling from the trees just beyond the house. Eyes fluttering shut until slipping deeper into the water kicks you back into wakefulness.

“You falling asleep in there?” he asks when he stomps back inside, the door slamming shut behind him and nearly giving you a heart attack.

“No,” you deny, discreetly wiping the rheum from the inner corners of your eyes. “Just resting my eyes.”

“Of course,” he snorts. Amused as ever by seemingly anything that comes out of your mouth.

A telegram comes in to the sheriff's office some weeks later asking about a missing bounty hunter, and though you pitch forward in your chair when John tells you this, he’s quick to remind you that as far as anyone else knows, Graves moved on after his first visit a month or so back.

It takes time to reassure you, but slowly your hands unclench from the edge of your seat.

Still, you make yourself scarce for a week after that. It takes some time for you to feel safe again. You spend those first few days after hearing about the telegram constantly looking over your shoulder, plagued by the worry that you’ll be found out. Sharing your worries with John doesn’t go a long way towards alleviating them because his confidence never wavers. It’s almost infuriating.

“Would it kill you to just pretend?” you huff, cracking an egg into the skillet.

“Nobody’s gonna come looking for him here. ‘Far as anyone knows, he made his way west a long time ago,” he says, dismissing your concerns while clipping his fingernails at the kitchen table. You scrunch up your nose when you glance over your shoulder.

“You better not think I’m sweeping those up.”

He barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head at the same time.

True to his word, the front door stays shut. No one comes knocking looking for an errant bounty hunter. Perhaps that is a lesson that you can take away from all of this—that there is no reward for isolating oneself. Your safety has only ever been assured in community, in putting your trust in others and safeguarding their secrets in turn. Only love has ever held out its arms for you to fall into.

And now the days pass like clouds in the sky.

Tranquility hovers on the periphery of your life with every intention of calling out your name. It’s waiting for you with open arms.

In the evenings, John takes you upstairs to the bedroom and pries you open enough to fit himself in. His mouth blazes a trail across your body, sucking your nipples until they’re beaded, wetting his beard with the essence of your pleasure, and bringing you to the brink of completion time and again before pushing you over.

After a while, he leaves a piece of himself behind.

Weeks pass and the seasons change. The changes you notice in your body are physical as well as emotional. At some point since coming home, you must have started to unwind. Shoulders loosening up, knots melting down your back. Is it just you, or does the air smell fresher too?

You pin the laundry up on the clothesline and wait for your husband to come home. The sun sets earlier these days with autumn just around the corner. Already the leaves have begun to redden and brown, some breaking off from the branches altogether and floating to the ground where you know eventually they’ll rot and dissolve into the earth, starting the cycle of death and rebirth all over again.

Winter is fast approaching and you know this one will be tough with a little one on the way. You’ve already started preparing for the winter months—canning and storing corn and potatoes and other root vegetables harvested from your garden, making preserves from the fruits of autumn—apples and pears sealed in jars of thick syrup—and filling the cellar with barrels of salted and cured meats. In town, you visit the seamstress for clothes of thicker material and leave with an armful of wool flannel petticoats, fur-trimmed bonnets, and corsets of a heavier cotton coutil.

You rest a hand on your belly as you stare off into the distant mountains. Even the sky darkens earlier these days. When all of the laundry is pinned on the line, you pick up the wicker basket resting by your feet and bring it back inside, shuffling into the kitchen to get started on supper.

There’s still much that needs to be done before winter arrives. Firewood to be chopped, furs and blankets to be hung on the walls, the fireplace to be swept, and more. Enough to keep you busy and your mind occupied when you aren’t bent over a book because that’s also your reality these days. The librarian in town now knows you by name and knows to set aside a few books a week for you to pick up when you pass by with Kate.

You don’t think much of the knock at the door at first, absent-mindedly thinking that it must be a neighbor come to visit. Only when you open the door to an unfamiliar face do you pause.

It’s a woman, not too dissimilar in looks from you. A bit taller, but otherwise if someone were to describe you from looks alone, they might be tempted to use the same words for either of you. She stands on your porch with a suitcase held by her side, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead from the short trip from town. She dabs her forehead lightly with a handkerchief before pocketing it again.

“Hello there,” she greets, a bright smile on her face. “I’m looking for John Price. I was told he lives here?”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at her nonplussed, not understanding why a strange woman might be at your door asking for your husband in such a familiar way. It takes a moment for it to sink in. Then the light goes on and your confusion shifts to disbelief with a twinge of rage.

“We’re engaged to be married,” the other woman hurries to explain, taking a step closer, foot wedged in the door almost as if intending to barge right in.

Her gall nearly makes you lose your temper. Months ago, you might’ve welcomed her arrival, eager to prove to John that you weren’t the woman that he mistook you for so that you could be on your merry way. But that time has long since passed. There isn’t anywhere else in the world you’d rather be than here. You’ve put roots down, entrenched yourself in every way.

Your lips pull into a hard line, face set in stone. “You must be mistaken. He’s already married.”

She blinks, uncomprehending. “That’s…—are you sure? We’ve been corresponding. I know I’m a few months late, but I was held up back in—”

You cut her off by sticking out your hand, topaz ring shining bright on your third finger. “I’m sure. But thank you for stopping by; I’ll let John know you send your apologies.”

And with that, you shove her foot out with yours and shut the door on her face. On another day, you’ll allow yourself to feel guilty for your rudeness; for now, this is your happy ending to enjoy.

And savor it, you will.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #price x reader #price/reader #john price x reader #price x you #john price x you #john price x y/n

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sunderwight · 10 months ago

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Bingqiu AU where Luo Binghe's the chosen village sacrifice to the evil deity who lives up the mountain.

Normally the village sends maidens, but they've more or less run out of expendable girls of the right age and, ahem, "virtues". So of course Luo Binghe's early life bad luck kicks in. In the wake of his mother's death there's no one to really care about what happens to him, he's fairly pretty, and the village leaders decide that if they dress him up like a girl the teenaged homeless kid should pass well enough. And hey, y'know, he's probably got a hard life ahead for him anyway -- dying in a brothel of some venereal disease or on the streets of exposure or starvation. At least as a sacrifice, everyone else gets to benefit from his loss! And the kid will get added to a shrine and be remembered as a hero! If anything, he should be happy about this!

Binghe is not happy about this.

But he's also a skinny underfed nobody who is easily overpowered, dressed up like a bride, and tied to a post. So. Not much he can do but wait for the evil deity to come and do whatever horrible thing he's gonna do to him.

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan is pretty sure he's been isekai'd into the over-powered hero of some kind of supernatural adventure story? He's not totally sure because he doesn't recognize the setting, but the signs are there. He's got a shrine-like base of operations (though it seems to have become corrupted/ruined, probably he has to restore it somehow), he has a very resilient and handsome new body with spiritual energy of some kind flowing through him, and a very clearly magical sword. Plus lots of neat starter powers! Though it feels like he has other abilities that have been blocked somehow? Probably he has to level up in order to access them.

When he treks out of his "base" and finds what seems to be a distressed maiden, he takes it for his beginner hero mission. The girl claims that she's been doomed to be sacrificed to an evil god. That sounds a little above Shen Yuan's pay grade for dealing with, so he unties her and decides that they had better just get out of the whole region altogether. He already packed up anything useful from his base, anticipating he might get caught up in an adventure once he left, so they follow the river away from the settlement until they reach another one.

While they travel, Luo Binghe tells Shen Yuan about the cursed deity, Shen Qingqiu, who was cast out of the heavens for slaughtering one of his brethren and has apparently being do-who-knows what to maidens from the local village in exchange for his "protection" ever since. Sounds like a real asshole! And also mid-level boss type bad guy at least. Shen Yuan hopes he doesn't have to fight him, but he probably will.

Thank goodness he found Binghe, though! Clearly the helpful little sister type! He's definitely going to require her assistance if he's going to figure out how to navigate this world and level up his skills enough to take on a god.

#svsss #bingqiu #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain #luo binghe: I don't know why the evil deity toys with me this much but as long as he is amused then he's not killing me #luo binghe: each day he lets me live is another blessing especially since I have no hope of escape #luo binghe: is it for some sick amusement that he drags me to and from the dens of monsters and feigns ignorance?#luo binghe: if I reveal that I know the truth will the ruse end? does he do this with all his sacrifices?#luo binghe: or is he toying with me because he knows that I'm not really a maiden at all? standing on this knife's edge is unbearable #luo binghe: and yet somehow this is the most stable my life has been ever since the death of my poor mother #luo binghe: the world is cruel -- perhaps if I become whatever it is this god desires I might be shielded from more of it for another day #luo binghe: wait I have heavenly demon blood? then... perhaps my dark master considers me a suitable companion thanks to this?#luo binghe: are we two companions in this wretched world? outsiders sharing scorn and thus only able to find solace in each other?#luo binghe: is this what it feels like to care and be cared for? it's been so long I had almost completely forgotten it #shen yuan: gosh these upgrades are getting convoluted I wish I had a skill menu or something #shen yuan: oooh neat a slime! easy exp!

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chxrrywines · 8 months ago

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₊˚⊹♡ assistance | sam winchester x reader

a/n - not for kinktober just a fic i wanted to get out!! i’m unsure whether i like the dialogue on this im sorry if it sucks i feel i can never write dirty talk right *sobs* but i really hope you enjoy!!! <3

cws - fem!reader, 2k, nsfw 18+, phone sex, mutual masturbation, kind of softdom!sam, long distance, fluff, comfort, kinda unedited

other fics can be found on my masterlist

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

It was later than he’d liked by the time he finally got back to the motel. With muscles that ached from the day’s strain, brain fogged from how tired he was, Sam honestly just wanted to call his girlfriend and talk to her until he fell asleep.

He’d meant to text her a couple of hours prior to let her know the hunt was dragging on longer than expected, but his phone had fucking died when he and Dean were two hours into their trek into the woods to find the pack of werewolves they were hunting, and he’d been pretty miserable ever since.

Dean had disappeared off to the nearest bar after dropping Sam off at their room so he thankfully had the place to himself to mope around as he plugged his phone into the charger and showered whilst he waited for it to get some power. The shitty water pressure and barely lukewarm water did nothing for his aching back, so he was even more agitated by the time he got himself settled onto the uncomfortable mattress twenty minutes later, hair wet and skin still damp beneath his clothes with his eagerness to call her.

As much as he hated being away from her for so long, and too often, it was the safest thing to do. Sam wouldn't be able to forgive himself if something happened to her because she was too close to his shit. He still had dreams about Jess, about how that was all his fault. He couldn’t let it happen again.

His phone hadn’t even reached twenty percent but he was impatient and shuffled over to the edge of the bed so the phone cord would reach and held the phone to his ear as he called her, propped himself up against the headboard.

The phone didn’t even ring twice before she answered.

“Sam?”

“Hey, baby.” The words came out in an exhale, most of the tension left him just at the sound of her voice, the ache seeping out of his bones like a relief. It was what kept him sane whenever he was away. Her picture in his wallet, her hair tie on his wrist, her voice in his ear.

“Hi, Sammy. Got worried when you didn’t call on time.”

He winced at the thought. She worried for him, of course she did. Sam understood how horrible it must have felt for her, knowing what he was going off to do. He could only imagine the dread that must’ve curled inside of her whenever he was late calling. Too many things had happened in the past, too many things could still go wrong.

“Sorry, my phone died when we were still out, didn’t get back until way later than I thought,” he groaned, sank down the headboard a little to stretch out on the bed. The agitation still hadn’t quite left him, the stiffness in his muscles prominent. He wanted nothing more than to curl up with her in his arms and he couldn’t have it. “Miss you, honey.”

He could hear the smile in her voice as she responded, “Missed you more. Wish you were here, it’s cold at night without you in bed too.”

He snorted a quiet laugh. “That’s why you miss me?”

“Mhm,” she giggled, though her voice turned a little coy as she murmured, “among other reasons.”

“Yeah?” An automatic smile was curling at his mouth.

Another little giggle through the receiver. He didn’t even need to see her to know that she had that little bashful smile on her face. He also knew exactly what was on her mind, it was on his too.

It wasn’t the first time they’d have done this. He was on the road so often that their sex life wasn’t as amazing as it could have been, and it wasn’t like he didn’t pleasure himself when he was away on hunts anyways.

There had been many many evenings he’d spent in the shower, hot water rolling down his back as he had one hand pressed to the tiled wall whilst the other pumped his cock until his cum was washed down the drain along with his shampoo bubbles. It wasn’t ideal — bottom lip tucked between his teeth to stifle the heaving breaths and quiet groans, trying to get off as fast as he could before the hot water could run out or Dean could get back to the room. It was even worse when it became a result of having her on the phone. There had been many occasions where her soft voice and giggles in his ear had been enough to get him hard, on nights when he was really missing her and it had just been too long since he’d kissed her.

It turned out she did the same as him. Though when Sam pictured it, it was a lot more graceful than his time in the shower. Laid out all pretty on their bed, legs spread, fingers wet with her own arousal as her head tipped back against the pillows. Sometimes if he got a little selfish he pictured her voice all whimpery saying his name as she came, but he couldn’t get lost in that daydream often, or he’d get hard over that, too.

“Miss you,” she breathed again, and the shift in her tone was palpable. “I… I tried touching myself earlier but I couldn’t cum without you on the phone.”

The groan that left him was automatic and his cock throbbed, hardening beneath the material of his boxers. The idea that she couldn’t even get off without his voice in her ear did wonders for him, it was a wonder his ego wasn’t too big already.

“You need my help, honey?” He crooned into the phone, settled into the tone of voice he knew she liked to hear, the voice he used more often than not when he was whispering in her ear, hips slotted between her thighs, rolling in a rhythm that left her whiney and panting.

Her soft little “mhm” was enough for him to move his other hand down and palm himself, hissing in a breath through his teeth.

“Go ahead and lay down for me, pretty girl. Wanna tell me what you’re wearing?”

There was the rustling of sheets over the phone before her voice spoke up again, “Just one of your shirts.”

Another groan. “You trying to kill me, baby?”

She giggled and his cock twitched beneath his palm. Jesus Christ he needed to get back to her, he needed her in person, to sate the need that wouldn’t be doused thoroughly enough over the phone.

“Go ahead and spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” he breathed, palming his cock again as he spoke, eyes squeezing shut as his head knocked back against the headboard. “Did you get yourself all worked up earlier, hm? Are you all soaked already?”

There was another hum, though he could hear the way her breathing had deepened, deep and heavy in his ear. He could picture the tickle of her breath on his face, the shape of her lips, the taste of her mouth after she’d just brushed her teeth. He needed her.

“Why don’t you start touching yourself for me?” He murmured, voice low with his arousal. Her resounding moan was enough for his cock to throb again and his hand finally dipped beneath his waistband, freeing himself with a quiet groan.

“Are you touching yourself too?” She whimpered, and it was a miracle he didn’t just cum there and then.

“Yeah,” his hand lifted and he tipped his head down to spit into his palm, groaning softly the next time he pumped his cock. “Yeah I am, dolly. Your pretty voice got me all worked up— fuck.” He breathed out the word between his teeth. He was already leaking pre-cum, thumbing over the head of his cock in a move that made him shudder, though it felt nice when she did it. Stroked his cock with her pretty hands, her pretty lips that wrapped around his head when she was on her knees for him, licking along the length of his dick in a way that always made him weak in the knees.

She moaned again and his hips jerked, rutting into his hand with a filthy groan. “How’re you feeling, honey?”

She whimpered, and Sam felt another dribble of pre-cum slide down the length of his cock. “Good— mm, good, j’st—” she took in a shaky breath, “feels better when it’s you, baby.”

“Oh yeah?” He grunted, pumping his cock just a little faster. “Why’s that, dolly?”

“Bigger hands,” she breathed. “longer fingers.”

Sam moaned, the idea of his fingers nestled deep in her wet heat enough for his cock to throb in his hand, and he knew he wouldn’t last long. But from the sounds of her pretty little whimpers, neither would she. “Can’t fill that pretty pussy up as nice as I can, hm?” He took in a shuddering breath. “Play with your clit for me, sweetheart.”

He could hear the moment she did, the sharp inhale, the whimpery moan, the rustling of the sheets as she, undoubtedly, spread her legs wider. “Oh god, Sammy—”

“Are you close, sweetheart?”

All he got in response was a high-pitched “uh-huh.”

“That’s it— shit, that’s it, baby,” he panted, pumping his cock faster, moaning softly as his head arched back. “Go on, dolly, make some pretty sounds for me as you cum, won’t you? M’gonna cum just thinking about you making such a mess of yourself, c’mon, baby—” he was practically begging between sharp breaths.

It only took a moment before he heard her sharp inhale and the whine that followed, and all it took was a few more quick ruts into his hand and the sounds of her before he groaned her name, toes curled and eyelids scrunched as he came. He could feel the evidence of his orgasm dribbling down his cock and his fingers as he shucked a few more times, hissing through his teeth as he finally stopped.

“Oh sweetheart,” he breathed, panting, not unlike her heavy breaths into the phone. “You sounded so fucking pretty, honey. That feel good for you?”

She took a shuddery breath and hummed again. “Yeah, thanks baby.”

Sam couldn’t help the breathy chuckle. “Don’t need to thank me,” he murmured. “M’always gonna take care of my girl, even if I’m not there. You made quite a mess of me, too.”

She breathed a laugh, and a moment passed of just their shared breathing as they both calmed down. Sam’s cock had softened completely against his abdomen, and he’d have to change his clothes and have another shower, but fuck was it worth it.

“I’ll be on my way back to you tomorrow,” he promised once his breathing had mostly evened out. “Should be with you before dinner, then you get me all to yourself.”

She yawned into the phone before mumbling, “Good, want you back to me as soon as possible.”

The sound of her so sleepy just left him so soft. “I promise I will be,” he breathed. “Why don’t you get some sleep, okay honey? I’ll call you in the morning when we’re on the road.”

“Okay,” her voice had completely softened, coated in a sickly-sweet fondness that left him putty in her hands. “I love you. Get back to me safe, okay?”

“I always do,” Sam smiled. “I love you too. Night, gorgeous.”

She yawned her own goodbye before the line went dead, and he let the phone drop back down onto the mattress with a heavy breath.

Just one more day, then he could have her in person, help her in all the ways he wanted to on the phone.

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester smut #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester drabble #sam winchester oneshot #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fanfiction #spn #spn x reader #spn smut #spn one shot #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural smut #supernatural one shot

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bugdoppio · 9 days ago

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OFFICIAL JJ INTRODUCTION POST! REJOICE!

my stupid yumeship .... guuhh !!! lore is down here if you wanna read it

they first met at joe's fantasy world, julie (my self insert! hurrah!) had just moved to eltingville and was checking stuff out, jerry was hanging back watching bill and josh argue over something, and she asked him if she could go over to joe and buy a first edition pokémon booster pack with her money for her, since joe was looking at her weird just for being there. he said sure, and when they went outside to open it together, they got two of the base set 1st edition holo zapdos. they both freaked out together and she gave one of them to jerry for helping her out. before he could say anything else, bill yelled at him to get back there, which he did, before noticing she stuck a post it with her number on the back of the zapdos card she had given him.

they started hanging out more and more, and eventually, with much sucking up to the guys and her drawing girls with big boobies for them, bill very very begrudgingly let her hang out for some of the eltingville club meetings, angrily kicking her out if she ever touched anything she wasn't supposed to.

other than jerry, her best relationship is probably with pete, with their shared interest of monsters and scary creatures, and he often makes her draw cool creepy stuff for him which she finds a little fun. although, she gets squeamish and is not too fond of actual horror movies, so they don't get that close, he thinks she's kind of a pussy for that. she's also kinda terrified of him after discovering he watches gore.

josh hates her, and she hates him too, probably. he kept bugging her about not being able to name any star trek characters, and when she asked her dad about them to tell josh, he dismissed her efforts as being a wannabe. though they bond the tiniest little bit over having watched akira and josh liking the same stuff as her dad (star trek, star wars, dr. who).

bill is fond of her even less, somehow. though he doesn't see her as a threat to the club as much as jerry's other girl friends (like agnes) were, he's still incredibly annoyed by her presence and tries to make up any excuse to kick her out of his basement whenever she shows up. the only times he doesn't complain is when she's drawing stuff for him or when kairo is around, since they're besties.!!!! (@ghiacci . farts)

jerry is the closest to her out of all of them (obviously), and, after getting over his fear of talking to girls in general with her, they got really really close. they very often had sleepovers together, hung out in the mall, had walks together, and more stuff, making it baffling to any outsiders to learn they weren't dating at all (yet). she torrented the first lord of the rings movie for him, and in turn he got her into d&d. they also watch ghibli movies and go to renaissance fairs together, and jerry almost passed out when he saw her in fake elf ears for the first time. they often draw stuff of each other (that one doodle of knight jerry and elven princess totally not julie i did), and they're both equally oblivious that it's supposed to be them when one shows a drawing to the other. jerry also always calls her over to open card booster packs for him, because she somehow has incredible luck whenever it's her that opens it for other people.

they all also sometimes make fun of her jojo's interest, calling it gay shit, but they do respect how much trivia and useless fun facts she knows about it. also, other than her drawing ability (and the fact that she's okay with drawing weird shit for them), they fuck with her music taste a lot (she listens to literally EVERYTHING). and whenever one of them is sick or unable to go for other reasons, she's happy to play d&d with the others as a replacement, though they get pissed off whenever she doesn't take it that seriously and jokes around a little (think perception check by tom cardy).

SPOILER ZONE !!! WATCH OUT

her and jerry stop hanging out after this fan, this monster, due to jerry's mother thinking she was involved and forbidding jerry to talk to her, and julie's mom also forbidding it for thinking all the boys decided to burn joe's down and that none of them respected her at all (kinda true). and, due to none of them really admitting they had crushes on one another and not dating at all around that time, that did stop their relationship from evolving.

she met mandi in college, bonding over liking cosplay and other stuff, and developed a crush on her, becoming incredibly surprised when she started dating jerry, her old crush, of all people she expected. they started hanging out together as a group, regaining jerry's friendship, before she eventually worked up the courage to ask to be their third when drunk in a bar and, since both of them liked her back too, they agreed. (jerry + julie + mandi ship name is jumanji btw. because i love being silly !!!)

julie got a whatever degree and became a full time commission artist, mostly doing gigs for big companies and games (i like to think she did something for like. marvel once and when she says this in the epilogue, bill, josh, and pete all fucking freak out).

ALRIGHT THAT'S IT I THINK. have jj eating a pizza slice for your troubles

#the eltingville club #welcome to eltingville #eltingville club #jerry stokes #yumeship #eltingville self insert #jj joyful #jerry eltingville #yumeship lore #bill dickey #pete dinunzio #josh levy #eltingville fanart #hemi art

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rainrot4me · 10 months ago

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Whispers In The Trees

Summary: Prepped your whole life to complete a ritual to hand yourself over to a monster, you demand the reason why. When he gives you the answers, he demands your body.

Characters: Slenderman x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Big size difference, rituals, tentacles, gagging, choking, suffocation, cunnilingus, Slender has a big tongue, vaginal, tip fucking, forcing, blood, clawing

Words: 5.2k

The curse of Slenderman had been in your family for generations.

Since you were little, this curse-like entity crept on your kin and ruled their lives. Demanding sacrifices and obedience every decade; deeming itself a God over you.

So as you trekked through the dense moonlit woods, you clutched the wicker basket so hard in your hands that it nearly cracked. You tried to think of your mother and her sisters, and her mother and her sisters, who have gone through this same ritual like generations before. The fog was dense all around you, the small flashlight in your hand doing little to breach the thick blanket.

The nature around you was quiet, a dull whisper of insects and animals as you trudged through the underbrush and thick roots. You knew this path, having walked it often when you were little to help your mother and sisters prepare for their turns, their time to appease the creature. You didn’t understand then, but now that you were dressed in thin white robes and bare feet, reality quickly faced you. In other circumstances, the outfit wouldn’t be bad, a nice Halloween costume of some cute cult girl from Midsommar maybe. But as you neared the familiar clearing past the trees, you didn’t find the idea of being a sacrifice funny anymore.

Standing just at the edge of the treeline, you took a deep breath, limbs shaking against the cold and fear that ran through you. It was late summer, well past midnight, and the night air brushed against your flushed cheeks leaving goosebumps. Closing your eyes, you stepped forward, leaving the dense forest behind you.

A sense of dread immediately engulfed you. The fog suddenly fizzled out on the ground like it wasn’t just blinding you. The air was silent, not a bug or animal to be heard no matter how hard you listened. And the breeze just stopped. It was like the whole forest was afraid to move into this clearing, hugging close to the treeline curiously but daring no further. But you had to, no matter how badly you wanted to turn and run back home to the safe arms of your family. To keep the vengeful creature at bay, this was the price that must be met. Every ten years, you watched as another woman from your family disappeared for a night late in the summer, silently praying that she would make it home in the morning. They always did, but the haunting look that followed them shook you to your core.

Reaching the center of the clearing, a dead spot in the grass was etched in a circular shape, the familiar pattern laid before you. Lying down your basket, you flicked off your flashlight, the moon illuminating a milky blue hue into the clearing bright enough for you to see. You shuddered, the silence creeping into your mind and making you look around quickly, paranoia gripping you. You huffed, rummaging through the items in the large basket and laying the contents out, preparing for the exhausting ritual. Your mother had taught you, every step perfect as she walked you through the routine. The symbol, the candles, even the perfect way to position yourself. It was like an art form for her as she taught you and your sisters.

Unwrapping the large bag of salt you packed, you began to follow the outline in the grass, pouring as you walked slowly. The symbol was forming nicely, a large circle with an x etched through it, the symbol of Slenderman, bore by anything he owned. As you closed the symbol, your heart pounded, the next steps coming quickly as you could feel the forest beyond the treeline begin to stir, its curiosity pressing. Setting candles along the salt, you spaced them evenly, lighting them as you went. It wasn’t nearly as perfect as your mother would have done it, but your shaking hands restrained you slightly, giving you little reason to care.

The candles flickered against the night, the warm glow surrounding you as you studied your work, praying desperately that it was good enough. You felt an impatience in the air, quickly cleaning up the rest of your items into the basket before sighing, and closing your eyes tightly. This was the part you dreaded. The part your family was reluctant to tell you when your time eventually came around. You hooked your hands under the hem of your white robe, the thin fabric almost see-through as you tugged it over your head, your bare body flush against the cold air. Your nipples had already perked, your nervousness making you squirm into yourself as you folded your robe neatly and laid it in the basket, turning back to the salt symbol. Breathing deep, your hands shook, goosebumps running all over your body. You took a step in, careful not to disturb the salt as you kneeled in the middle of the x, tucking your feet under yourself and straightening your back, placing your palms flat against the top of your thighs.

The salt was meant to protect you, a barrier that Slenderman couldn’t break. You were supposed to come out willingly, offering yourself to him without force. Was it for trust or some sadistic attempt at manipulation, you didn’t know. But as you breathed deep, you stared into the dark corners of the forest, eyes flicking nervously and watching for any signs of movement that you knew would come. You had only heard of Slenderman’s appearance, never seeing it besides what your family could recount. Terrifying, was the word they all used. It didn’t help as your heart pounded, the thudding echoing in your ears as you prayed he would never come. But it gave you a good time to reflect.

The specific reason why your family was enslaved to this creature was unsure, tracing back generations and lost with time. But like any of Slenderman’s victims, who's to say exactly why he did anything except for his own gain?

As you caught yourself zoned out in thought, you were quickly snapped back when you heard the rustling of leaves yards ahead of you. Your eyes snapped wide, back straightening quickly as your tits perked, your naked body on display amongst the candles and decor. You studied the shadows carefully, watching for any sudden movements, your pulse quick. But finally, slinking from the shadows, the lanky creature emerged. The sheer height of him made your heart sink, his bony limbs long and awkward. If it wasn’t for his movement, he could easily blend in with the tall trees surrounding him, making you suspicious of just how long he had been watching concealed by the dense forest. Your nails gripped into your thighs, teeth gritted as you tried to hold down your tears. His presence is overwhelming and otherworldly, defying the logic and rationality you’ve always relied on. The air around you seems to distort, amplifying the surreal nature of his presence until it feels like you can’t breathe. He was closer now, it barely even seemed like he had walked but more like appeared before you, only a few yards away from the circle protecting you. However, the worst part about the encounter was the lack of a face. It was like someone had pressed a sheet against his face, features protruding against the pale skin but offering no obvious facial structure. It was purely terrifying, this creature far beyond what you could’ve imagined.

His dark suit contrasted against his terrifying appearance, his buttoned coat and tie making you knit your brows, your unease only growing. Slenderman just stared, his vacant eyes absently staring down at you. His faceless visage and elongated limbs exuded an unsettling yet compelling magnetism that you found yourself drawn to, eyes refusing to look away as you studied him. Finally catching yourself, you looked down at your hands quickly, cursing yourself for being so disrespectful. “Slenderman, sir.” You mumbled respectfully, keeping your body at attention even though embarrassment wrecked you internally. “I come, as my kin does, to offer myself to you. To fulfill our obligations to you. And to-”

The speech you had so delicately rehearsed was cut short by a low grumble, the echo of the tall figure’s voice cutting you short.

“I hate to interrupt,” His voice was smooth, every word laced with the undertone of a darker grumble, like two voices were speaking at once, overlapping each other. “But hearing this same dedication every time I meet with one of you becomes rather tiring.” You sat shocked, unsure of what to do next as your careful instructions were quickly skewed. You kept your head down, eyes flicking against the grass as you carefully waited, shaky breaths the only noise between you. You felt so helpless against him, like if you made one wrong move that would be it. The only reason you weren’t screaming and running was the salt circle and the looming fact that if you did run your family would be massacred in minutes.

“Forgive my rudeness.” He coaxed, pressing closer against the circle until you could see his black dress shoes come into the edge of your vision. You dared to look up, your eyes slightly edging up until you were staring at his face again, that odd sense of being drawn in coming over you again. Slenderman tilted his head, vacant expression examining you. “But, you and I both know what we’re here for. There is no need for formalities anymore.” You knitted your brows, embarrassment creeping up your cheeks as you remembered just how bare you were. You gripped your thighs, nervousness running through your every word. “But I thought there was a need for formalities. This being a ritual and all.” You mumbled, eyes roaming the tall figure, his long limbs clamped respectfully behind his back as he chuckled darkly. “All of this,” He motioned towards the salt circle beneath you. “This is only for aesthetics. You understand, to make the scene more appealing for us. Humans have such an odd fascination with beings like me, so to combat your fickle bravery: you created a routine. Something to take your mind off of just how terrifying encountering me may seem.” He explained calmly, his body hauntingly still as he talked, but there was barely a motion of his jaw, like the voice was coming from somewhere inside.

You glanced at the salt circle, your efforts to make it look so nice thrown to the wayside. “So, the salt…” You glanced up, Slender nodding reassuringly. “I cannot penetrate it. Your protection is still guaranteed. However, I quite like it when you silly women step outside your protective ring and offer yourselves so willingly.” He was teasing now, his thin hands reaching around to adjust his suit before kneeling in front of you, his limbs awkwardly contorting to allow him in front of you. “But you are not like the others. I feel a very reluctant air from you. The others were a lot more… eager.” He cocked his head to the side. At this angle, you could clearly see the massive bulge beneath his dress slacks, the sheer size of the thing making your stomach twist. “I don’t find giving myself over to a cryptid demon so… appealing.” You huffed back, trying your best to conceal the dark tint against your cheeks. Slender only chuckled, the dark echo of his voice making your skin crawl. “But oh how fun it would be to show you otherwise.” He purred, tracing his pale claw against the edge of the salt, his actions impatient. You squirmed, nails digging into your thighs.

You straightened up, your bravery low but overruled by your curiosity. “Tell me why. Why the decades of demanding our submission while we cower for the rest? Then, when I am satisfied, I will offer myself. No resistance.” You demanded, eyes hooded as you tried to stifle your fear. Slender stood slowly, clasping his hands behind his back as he contemplated. Until he finally nodded, sighing.

“Alright, little one, I’ll bite.” He cooed, that ominous voice seemingly coming from nowhere but everywhere simultaneously. You settled, brain running a mile a minute as your heart beat heavily in your chest. “When old cryptids and beasts still roamed rampant through the Earth, your family was desperate. It must have been more than eight generations ago now, but they sought me out, begging for my protection against the things that went bump in the night. I obliged, my only demand being an offering. I never specified, but you hormonal humans took it upon yourselves to offer your bodies. For all I cared you could have given me your leftovers, but I was more than satisfied with what I have been given.” His words were thick with this cryptic dialect, his accent unheard of. “No such creatures roam these lands, long hunted out or deceased. But your family continued to show up despite my resignation, paranoia convincing them if they didn’t I in turn would be the monster that preyed on you. But, I’m afraid I have more important things to deal with than any of you.” Finished, he leaned forward, his white face vacant, but you could tell what he wanted.

“Then why do you still co-”

“Ah, ah, ah. I was promised if questions were answered I would get what I came for.” He growled, the calm voice laced with a tone of demand as you scowled. He waited expectantly, his hands tapping quietly behind his back as you stood, the salt on your knees falling as you shook them off. When you looked up, you realized really just how tall he was. You stopped at his waist, your face eye level with the terrifyingly large bulge nudging against the slacks in front of you. He was tall, towering and matching the height of the trees around you. He stepped back, standing straight as he waited for you.

Breathing deep, you took a step, your foot halfway out of the circle as your heart began to race. You could just wait him out, lay here until morning. But you feared his peacefulness would turn to wrath under desperation. Clenching your fists, you stepped completely out, straining your neck to look him in the face. Slender chuckled, his demeanour instantly switching as you felt the air stir, the forest pressing in on you with such an intensity you thought you were hallucinating. It was like he was controlling the trees themselves, making their branches press in and suffocate you. With a hissing, you finally saw the reason for the sudden intensity. Several black groping tentacles shot from his back, their form close to tree branches with their edges and curvature. He seemed to control them as well, the long limbs reaching around his body and whipping at the air, stretches and tears of the odd black liquid molding into new shapes instantaneously.

They encompassed your vision, the tentacles casting shadows across your face as they streaked across the moonlight. They slithered forward, sliding across the grass and in the air to grip onto your body. The tentacles were cool, like slimy tree branches that defied all laws of permeation. They slid around your ankles and up your calves, gripping tightly against your thighs before hooking onto your waist. They gripped your wrists, up your forearms and around your neck, tugging as they wrapped around your tits and waist. Soon you were completely secured, the tentacles curiously studying every inch of your bare skin, goosebumps rising everywhere they touched. It was electrifying, your body stiff under the chilled slime. Slender was quiet, his body just as curious as his tentacles as he relished in the way you squirmed under his touch. “So warm.” He mewled, his hands gripped tightly behind him. You shivered as the tentacles breached past your thighs, the slimy tips sliding against your folds, curiously spreading them open while you flinched. They slid further, pressing between your ass cheeks and making you hiss, the coolness sharp against your asshole.

“Wait-” You whined, your hands straining to push the tentacles off your body but they held your wrists still. They engulfed your tits, the tips wrapping around your nipples and tugging lightly, making you whimper. Slender watched carefully, his face never letting any emotion reveal itself. “Relax, little one. You made this decision. Now let me claim what has been so graciously offered.” He grinned. The tentacles slipped between your folds, your nervousness making you clench your knees together but they held them apart easily. Slipping against your clit, you groaned, your stomach tightening as you stood. Pressing further, they probed against your entrance, tiny little tips tangling with each other to slip inside of you, your warmth contrasting with their chill. You whined, eyes slipping shut as the tentacles pressed further in, stretching you as they squirmed and whipped. You felt incredibly full, your clit throbbing against the intrusion as a single tentacle flicked against the hardened nub.

Slender grunted, his eyes darker as he relished in the way you squirmed, your tiny noises making him strain against his slacks. “Go on, no one can hear you. Be as loud as you please.” You gasped, the tentacles in your cunt tangling together and pressing deep, stretching you wide. They began to pump inside of you, pulling out before pressing in quickly, your mouth falling open. Every inch of your body was covered in the cool slick of the tentacles, every inch sensitive as they glided along you. You felt a tug along your waist, the tentacles securing around you as they began to pull up, lifting your feet off the ground. You panicked slightly, the loss of stability unnerving as you were lifted to meet Slender’s face, your body angled back so he got a clear view of your cunt full of him. You whined, your face flushed and breathy as they trusted quickly, your slick coating the dark limbs beautifully. You found it terrifying how no expression or signs of interest flashed on Slender’s face, only the heavy breathing in his chest telling you how excited he was. Curling, you moaned loudly, throat straining as the tentacles pressed against your warm walls, squelching loudly through the quiet woods.

You couldn’t speak, the air in your lungs restrained as the tentacles gripped your throat, choking you. Some more moved up, pressing against your cheeks and against your lips, nudging their way inside. The tentacles tasted grimy, unlike anything as they slid around your tongue, filling your mouth full of him. You choked, the tips curiously pressing down your throat, quickly following the pace of the tentacles in your throat as they began to thrust down your mouth. It didn’t help when you felt a single tentacle slide across your asshole, forcing its way inside and stretching uncomfortably. You were gasping and gagging, every inch of you overtaken by these slimy things as they pressed against every inch and the entrance of your skin. That’s when you began to hear Slender’s ragged breathing, his chest heaving against his suit as he watched closely, entranced by the whole scene. He felt every slide and movement of the tentacles, relished in every vibration and constriction that your body gave him. He pushed you, seeing what made that beautiful voice stir or what made you flinch. He loved every answer he got.

Your senses were skewed. You forgot what direction you were facing or how high you were off the ground, everything becoming a blur as your body dissolved under his touch. Pleasure was racking your body, your resolve leaving you as Slender’s tentacles broke and pulled at every restraint you tried to use. No matter how hard you wanted to resist, these tentacles were quick to force embarrassing noises from your lips, pressing on all the right places. Squirming, the tentacles slicked against your cunt, pounding up into you at an inhumane pace. You couldn’t concentrate, every inch of your body was violated at his will. You couldn’t hold back anymore, your cunt throbbing against the thick tentacles inside of you as you felt your orgasm crash down. You gasped loudly, mouth full of slimy limbs as you came roughly, walls constricting around him. Your body thrashed, fighting against the restraint as you rode out your high, chest heaving. Your head was light when the tentacles slipped from your sensitive cunt, replacing themselves around your thighs as you were hoisted up higher, your brain too hazy to care.

Your body was angled upright, legs spread wide apart as your clit throbbed, aching from the intensity. Your heavy eyes watched as you were lifted to Slender’s face, your cunt open and raw inches from him. You whined, squirming as the tentacles slipped from your mouth, gasping. The tentacles retreated to your limbs, holding you firmly as Slender’s claws left behind him and reached up, wrapping firmly around your hips, pinching the plush skin. “You have such a pretty face when you cum. I would love to see it again.” He growled, pulling you close to his face. You were confused, wondering what he meant until you heard this sharp tearing sound loud enough to echo through the trees. You tensed, watching fearfully as Slender’s face split where his mouth should have been. It was terrifying. His mock mouth split wide, jagged pieces of skin splitting to reveal a dark interior, his mouth pitch black. Emerging from the dark, a tongue, similar to the shape of one of the tentacles, slipped through the jagged skin, pressing close to your cunt. You squirmed instantly, unsure if you wanted this to happen.

You didn’t have much of a choice as he ran his large, thick tongue through your folds, a groan echoing through him. His tongue was long, black, and inhumane. It pressed through your entrance, the warmth a nice contrast to the coolness of his tentacles that still slid against your skin. His claws gripped tight, holding your cunt flush against his mouth as he slowly lapped you up. He moaned at the taste, pressing against your velvety walls until he heard those wonderful gasps again. “Delicious.” He grumbled against your cunt, tongue curling and filling you as he relished the sweet taste of your orgasm. It was all too much, your body squirming against the sensitivity until you were gasping for air. He was so skilful with his tongue, lapping at every inch of your inside until you felt your orgasm rocking you again, your eyes rolling as you cried your pleasure. It was all too fast, his touch too addicting as you stared at his blank face, pleasure struck across his knitted brows.

“God… Fucking human.” The words sounded so vulgar following how polite he’s been. It caught you off guard. But you had little time to think as his tentacles were tugging you down quickly, laying you flat as they positioned your legs to spread around his hips, hips straining as the tentacles pulled. You whined, watching carefully as Slender unzipped his slacks and freed the bulge that had been haunting you from the moment you saw it. To say it was huge was probably an understatement. The thick length was easily larger than your forearm, not even two hands would be enough to hold the thing. You began to struggle against the tentacles, panic overtaking you as his cock twitched with excitement. “There's no way in hell that thing’s fitting inside of me! It’ll rip me in half!” You squealed, feet planted against his legs to hold yourself away from him.

Slender’s claws wrapped around your thighs, scraping the skin lightly as he tugged you towards him, his cockhead laying against your cunt. You cringed, fear riding up your spine. “I’ve never gotten this far with the others. Their voices and bodies were too annoying. But you intrigue me, little one. I’ll make it fit.”

You tried to close your legs, but Slender was already wrapping his claws around your hips, his claws easily overlapping as he nudged his hips between your legs and held you open for him. You were breathing fast, heart pounding as you watched the head of his cock line up with your entrance, the head alone the size of your entrance. He dug his claws in, pinching your skin as he began to press against you, nudging his cock into you. The stretch was rattling, the sharp sting making you cry out as the head of his cock barely pressed inside, your entrance begging for relief. Your hands reached down, gripping his claws tightly as tears spilt down your cheeks, your babbles echoing loudly. The tentacles slid across your skin soothingly, pinching at your nipples and rubbing at your cheeks the further he tried to press. “Ple- Please- Oh, God, please-” You cried, your stomach tightening as his head popped past your tight entrance, your walls constricting against the intrusion, “Breathe, little one. You’re doing wonderfully.” He groaned, hips stuttering lightly as he nudged his head in and out of you. You were whining, breath catching every time he pushed back into you.

He couldn’t go further than the tip, but Slender didn’t seem to mind as he shallowly fucked you onto his cockhead. You were whining, back arched and hips grinding as the sting and stretch of his head slowly turned to painful pleasure. The nudge of his cockhead against your walls made you moan loudly, tentacles sliding down to tug at your clit as he fucked you onto him. You could tell he wanted more, his slimy tongue hanging from his mock mouth and lolling with every thrust. His desperation showed as he breathed heavily, gasps ragged as he held himself back. Even though your mind screamed that you couldn’t handle any more, you gasped, gripping your hands against his thin forearms. “Deeper…” You whined, staring up at him through heavy eyes and flushed cheeks, jaw slack.

Slender’s body lit up, his claws gripping tighter as he groaned, brows knitting. He was reluctant, his movements nervous until his desperation overtook him, his shoulders crouching low to press his face close to yours. “Hold on tight, little one.” He hissed, your hands slinking around the back of his pale head as you gripped the collar of his suit. He breathed your scent in deep, tongue pressing from his mouth to slink against your neck, relishing in the taste of your sweat. You groaned as the tongue pressed against your cheeks, sliding across your lips before pressing inside. You sucked on his tongue, the long warmth pressing against your throat as Slender began to press your hips down further. It felt like you were tearing, the incredible sting making your eyes clamp shut, Slender’s tongue quick to distract you. His tentacles moved rapidly across your skin, pinching and pulling against every available sensitive service to help relax you. Slender’s cock pressed barely deeper, not even halfway inside of you, but it was all you could take.

You clawed at his shoulders as tears spilt to your cheeks, the fullness obstructing your breathing. Slender was moaning deeply, his ominous voice ringing across the trees as he began to thrust your body down onto his cock. You were both sporadic, hands and tentacles gripping onto every available surface as you stretched impossibly wide. You couldn’t believe the feeling, both painful, but so wonderfully pleasurable. You were so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but oh so full. It was nothing like you had ever experienced.

Slender was holding you tight, pressing your hips down roughly and pulling up quickly, just to nudge you down again. He was careful to read every signal your body gave. Every hiss of pain or sigh of pleasure, he was sure to adjust for you. “Sir- So full-” You groaned against his mouth, tongue slipping to glide against your neck. He groaned deeply, teeth gritted and brows knitted. “So good, little one. So good.” His tentacles flicked against your clit, tugging until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You couldn’t breathe as you felt your orgasm rush over you, hips jerking down against his cock until you were too tight to move. Slender still tried to thrust you down, but your walls constricted and kept him in place. You cried out, clawing against the back of his neck as he slammed his mouth back against yours, tongue invading your throat before you could catch your breath. Slender was quick to follow, warm seed shooting up inside of you in thick stripes as he groaned. His claws dug in deep, blood pooling around his pale skin until it was dripping down your legs. His tentacles lapped it up, pressing the thick liquid across your skin.

When Slender’s heaving chest finally settled, he took a deep breath, slipping his claws under your arms. “Hold still, little one.” He hissed, pulling you off his cock slowly as you whined, the sharp sting stretching your sensitive cunt. You couldn’t focus when he finally popped out of you, thick black liquid leaking from your ruined hole. His cum was hot, a thick black liquid that bubbled and gooped against your folds. You whined, emptiness making your cunt throb as your head pounded. Slender sat on the forest floor, laying down on his back as he pulled you with him, laying you down on his chest as you both settled. Your limbs were weak, eyes heavy with exhaustion as Slender’s tentacles ran soothingly across your back.

When you finally caught your breath, you braced your hands on his chest, leaning up to stare him in the face. His pale skin had fixed itself, with no sign of the mock mouth that tore across his flesh. The blank slate was all that was left. “I release you… Of your duties. There’s no need for you to come here anymore.” You sighed, resting your head against your hands. Slender reached forward, tangling his claws with your matted hair, sliding his fingers through the long strands. “But what if I want to come here? More often than just once a decade, that is.” He huffed, sliding his claws against your cheek. You sat stunned, glancing at his expression and searching for any tricks. “But why..?”

“I guess now I’ve found a more enticing reason.” He grinned, pinching your cheek. He blushed, turning away. You traced along his chest, the fabric of his suit soft under your touch. “You’re still released from protecting us. No need to give you more work than necessary. I suppose you won’t be requiring the ritual anymore?” You smiled, resting your chin against your hand. Slender chuckled, rubbing up your sides. “Only if you would like to reminisce, little one…” He growled, holding you tight.

In reality, you never imagined the monster that haunted your family to become humane to you. You also never expected to meet with him weekly, in the same clearing, exploring each other and relieving the urges only the two of you could satisfy.

Maybe it was a slap in the face to your kin, but as Slender held you close for another week, all you could think of was him.

He may have been a curse, but he was yours to bear.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

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pineconepie · 2 months ago

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yandere english prof?

Sorry this took so long, its been sitting in my drafts forever LOL. Here you go! I actually really like this one haha.

TW: Violence, blood (not detailed), injuries, bullying, light forced infantilization, parental yandere, manipulative yandere, implied extortion

Everyone hated your English professor, Ellis, but you never understood the hate he received. Practically day one, everyone was complaining about how mean he could be or how unfair or harsh his grading was.

At first, you believed them, not really knowing the professor well enough to come to his defense. He seemed to have a no-nonsense attitude with you just as much as everyone else.

It wasn't really until one day, when some guys of a nasty fraternity came in and began harassing you.

You had always ignored it, but it became more impossible to ignore when one of them tripped you on your way into the class.

"Jerk," you grumble under your breath, watching him saunter off with a laugh. You feel blood dripping down your nose.

You grab your phone to see if it looks bad, and sure enough, it does. If the pain in your face weren't indicating you landed straight on it, then the blood trailing down your nose and forming bruise on your eye were.

After wiping your face clean as best as you can, you continue your trek back to class.

Sure, it'd probably be a better idea to email your professor and explain to him what happened, but knowing how harshly he can treat students, you'd rather get the attendance than email him about something he might not even believe is true.

And so, you stumble through the halls with blood dried at the corners of your nostrils, one eye looking swollen with the other's vision blurred from crying earlier.

A black eye must already be forming. A few people give you odd looks, but almost everyone else minds their own business. Soon enough, you finally enter your classroom.

"You're three minutes late," Ellis coldly says as soon as you step through the door.

He isn't even looking at you, probably just figures its you, because his eyes are on a few papers.

"I-I'm sorry." Your voice cracks. You wince from the sound of it.

Ellis's gaze immediately shoots up at you. He looks baffled and furious at first. "What on earth happened to you?"

He makes a hand gesture for you not to answer that, and looks back at the several rows of students, some of which are paying attention to the situation, but most are talking to their friends or on their phones. He puts his head down and begins writing something on a small piece of paper, then walks to you and hands it to you.

As you grab the note, his hand squeezes over yours. He lets go after you look at him. "Take it. Go. Come back when you get something for that."

You nod quickly, then glance down at the paper to see that there's a pass.

Medical office, Room 305

He even went as far as to write the room number in case you forgot.

Thankful for that and everything else, you smile a little and make your way out the door, making sure not to get harassed again by some bully on your way.

Now that you really think about it, he's been having more of a soft spot for you recently, though maybe that's all in your head, too.

Like when you offered to help him clean up the room, and once you even stayed after class to ask him for help regarding what he was teaching.

Even though he could be intimidating sometimes, and downright frightening at others, you didn't find yourself scared around him. Only when he raises his voice, which he never does towards you.

Once you make it to the medical office and have the nurse inspect the damage, she determines that nothing is broken, just badly bruised.

You don't want to tell her that this incident was caused by bullies, so you just awkwardly tell her you fell down some stairs. She likely doesn't get paid enough to snuff out your lie.

She hands you an ice pack. "There," she smiles. "Not so bad. Try to watch where you're going next time, okay?"

Her condescending tone makes you feel worse. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

You apply pressure to your black eye as instructed, then head back to your English class.

When you get back inside the room, no one is there except Ellis. You check your phone, to see barely thirty minutes has passed. Maybe he sent them home early.

"Hi. I'm here." Your voice cracks again and you can't help but cringe. It sounds horrible, even to your own ears.

He looks up at you, brows pinching together in concern as soon as his eyes meet yours. He doesn't speak; he only pats the seat nearest to him on the front row of desks, gesturing for you to take a seat beside him.

Once you do, his cold fingers brush under your bruised eye. It should hurt, but they are so gentle against your skin that you barely flinch away from them.

"Who did this?" Ellis's gaze becomes narrow behind his round glasses.

You shake your head, suddenly feeling sick at your stomach. You hate how these kinds of things happen to you, especially since everyone else thinks they're harmless pranks.

They don't feel harmless. Especially when it feels like they leave physical and mental wounds everywhere on you.

"Nobody. I'm sorry."

He tuts in disapproval. "I know someone did this. Either you tell me, or I find out myself."

"Why do you care?" It sounds much more rude than you intended, so you try to soften your tone. "I'm sorry, its just... why would it matter if someone did?"

Ellis pinches the bridge of his nose. "Because you're too sweet. Too kind. It isn't fair that people treat you this way." He gives you another look over. "I dismissed my class today because of you, you know. I wouldn't do that for any of my other students, because they don't like me. And honestly, I don't really like them. But you..." he trails off.

"...but me?" you echo.

He scrubs a hand over his face. "You're like my child, (Y/n). It's my job as a professor to treat my students fairly, equally, but when it comes to you..." he sighs deeply, "...I worry about you every day. I wonder if you ate breakfast. If you've had anything to drink recently. How you slept. If anyone hurts you. None of my other students I let help me after class. Because if you're in front of my own two eyes, it's easier to just stop worrying. And I like being around you."

The information almost overwhelms you. "I had no clue."

"Well, now you do. So could you please tell me who did this? I'll have a heart attack if you worry me any more than I need to," he jokes with a weak smile, a very rare one.

"Just some guy from Delta Psi Lambda," you answer quickly. "I think his name was Brock, or something."

"I'll take care of him. Now, how's your eye?" As soon as you pull away the ice pack, he sucks in a harsh breath. "(Y/n). Oh, honey. It must be painful."

The term of endearment almost goes right past your head.

Almost.

"I mean, yeah. A little," you chuckle, trying to play it off. Really, it feels awful. "It doesn't feel too great, but it looks worse."

"It's bruising. Poor thing," he coos, taking your chin into his long, bony fingers and turning your head left and right, analyzing all of the damage. "This is unacceptable. Does anywhere else hurt?"

"No, this is all." You try to shrug again, but it comes out weird-looking. You can tell he catches it, too. "My nose was bleeding a lot earlier, but it stopped. Other than that, I guess everything else feels okay."

Ellis grabs a tissue and wipes off the leftover drying blood. His movements are careful yet firm, as if you would shatter to pieces if he wasn't gentle enough. "What am I going to do with you?" he sighs. "Can't trust you for even a moment before you're already coming back to me hurt." He presses a soft kiss on the crown of your head. "Do you need me to drive you back home?"

"I live on campus," you murmur. "I can just walk there."

He raises a brow at you. "That means they could just get you again if I let you go alone," he chastises. "Come on, follow me." He stands up, putting the papers into his work bag, then swinging it over his shoulder. He holds his free hand out and waits patiently for you to grab onto it, then he helps hoist you up.

As he does, your backpack slides down one arm. You watch as he puts it over his shoulder with his workbag, too.

...

A week passes, and Ellis is much softer towards you. He isn't as fatherly to you in front of people, but its pretty obvious that you've become the favorite.

He keeps asking if you have any food or drinks, and when you don't, he pulls out his lunchbox and offers whatever you need. You're not complaining. Free lunches are always good to accept.

"I don't need to eat lunch in here all the time now," you mumble, chewing on your favorite fruit that he offered. Weird that he knew that, but surely a coincidence.

Ellis pauses from what he's doing, which is erasing the whiteboard, and peers at you from the corner of his eye. "Why? Do you dislike spending time with me?"

You shake your head. "No, it's not that. I just... I think the bullies will leave me alone now. I haven't even seen any of the fraternity's faces since the incident."

"That doesn't mean I still can't worry about you," Ellis replies coolly. "You even forgot your lunch several times now. It worries me. I need to make sure you eat properly." The marker squeaks against the board as he writes reminders for next class's essay. Once he finishes that task, he sets everything down and heads to sit down at his desk. "I always pack extra for you now, because you're so forgetful. And thank goodness I do."

"Okay, Professor Dad," you sarcastically laugh.

He shakes his head at you while looking amused, making your words die in your throat.

That was clearly meant to be a joke, so why is he smiling like that?

Well, you know the answer, but it's still hard to believe. Even though Ellis seems to really care about you, he hasn't known you for very long at all.

So, why would he start acting so... so dad-like towards you? What exactly happened to turn him from the stern and rigid teacher persona into an almost doting father-figure towards one of his students?

"I-I didn't really mean—"

"I know. I get it," he says softly. "Just humor me. Let me keep fussing over you." After that, he falls quiet, working on grading some papers from earlier classes that day.

...

"You didn't bring a jacket?" Ellis asks exasperatedly. He's walking you to your dorm again after class ended, since it snowed.

Normally, you would've gone yourself, but due to the cold weather and Ellis's demands for you to stay in his classroom until he finished getting ready to walk you himself, you couldn't exactly refuse.

You look over at him, finding that his brows are pinched together in concern. "Oh, uh, no. I guess I forgot."

"For Pete's sake," he mutters, tugging the scarf from his neck and wrapping it snugly around yours instead. "I swear, you'll be the death of me one day, (Y/n). Can't even remember a simple thing like bringing a jacket." Despite sounding mad, there's also a tone of fondness mixed in with it.

You decide not to mention it, feeling embarrassed just thinking about it.

"Thanks," you hum.

"I don't mind doing things for you, you know," he adds after a moment. "I wanted to have kids of my own, but found out romance wasn't really my thing. And adoption costs way more money than what I have." He lets out a huff through his nostrils. "But it seems like you require the same doting as a toddler."

It doesn't even sound like its meant to be a jab at you; if anything, his voice takes on an affectionate edge.

"Is that bad?" you ask sheepishly.

"Not to me." He squeezes your hand, pulling you along beside him to cross the street. As soon as you reach your dorm and go inside, he dusts snowflakes off the top of your head. "That's better." You try to unwrap the scarf, but he stops you. "Keep it. I have several others like it. Besides, I don't want you catching a cold from being under-dressed."

You smile awkwardly. "Oh, okay. Thank you."

...

A month passes, and your friends had begun to avoid you. Even the bullies act scared to show their faces around you.

You wonder if its just Ellis's mere presence, but it's hard to tell. You decide a few days avoiding Ellis and trying to spend time with your friends again wouldn't hurt. You figure Ellis won't even notice too much, busy with papers and classes.

You notice Ellis giving you strange looks during class, but other than that, he acts normal. It's nice to feel like things are going back to the way they used to be again.

Barely a week after avoiding him, you hear someone yell your name.

But it isn't Ellis. It's Brock, and three of his other friends.

"Haven't forgotten what you did to me yet, did you? Because of you, I was nearly expelled!" he screams. Then, Brock runs towards you, fist flying directly towards your stomach and hitting you hard. You groan, then fall forward when one of his friends pushes you. "Hope you had fun trying to get rid of me, because you're gonna regret it!"

They get a few more punches in, and you can't even do anything about it because there's so many of them. You desperately look for anyone to be around, but there's no one.

"Stop!" someone yells.

You open your eyes from their previous screwed shut state, peering over at the man in glasses running towards you. Its Ellis.

He helps pull you away from all the frat guys, glaring down at each of them.

They must have some common sense, because they all freeze at the sight of Ellis. He barks something at them, but you can't pay attention over the ringing in your ears.

As soon as they begin sprinting off in the other direction, Ellis scoops you up bridal style and carries you somewhere.

You try opening your eyes to see where, but as soon as you manage to pry one open, he brushes his fingertips over your forehead.

"Don't stress yourself, love. Just rest." You close your eyes, and fade out from exhaustion.

...

You wake up in Ellis's apartment. It smells so clean, like it's never been lived in. Everything is so neatly organized, and nothing is out of place.

Not even a speck of dust lays on the windowsills or countertops. It seems like something straight out of a catalog.

You push yourself up into a sitting position, wincing from the pain in your arms and abdomen. Your lower back aches and twinges, too.

"Oh! Kiddo, please be careful!" You turn your head slowly towards Ellis's voice. He's holding some ice packs, water bottles, and bandages. His sweater vest has been changed for a plain gray shirt. "I'm glad you're finally awake. Let me take a look at you."

"What happened? Why am I here?"

He gives you a strange look. "You got beat up. Again," he emphasizes, clearly frustrated. "And you were so banged up that I brought you back to my place. I thought maybe I shouldn't take you back to your dorm, because you have no one who could take care of you." He clicks his tongue. "And besides that, you haven't come to me lately, and you're avoiding me. Now, you just got attacked again because I wasn't around to protect you."

You sniffle and in a sudden motion, wrap your arms around his neck. It surprises both you and him, but he's quick to embrace you twice as tightly.

His fingers curl into your hair, his other hand rubbing your back comfortingly.

"Hey, hey, shh..." He squeezes you. "Sweetie, calm down for me. You're going to hyperventilate if you breathe any quicker."

"I-I'm sorry... I d-didn't think th-they'd ever b-bother me again...!"

"Shh, breathe for me. Follow my rhythm." He takes deep breaths, waiting each time for you to follow. "That's right. You're such a good listener." Ellis cups your cheek and rubs away a few stray tears from it. He notices your breathing returned back to normal, so he smiles, placing a tender kiss to the crown of your head. "I've missed having you around."

"I'm sorry."

"That's alright. Now that I have you again, you're safe." He gets up, then walks to the kitchen. "Let me fix you something warm. You need it after today, poor baby."

As he cooks, you drift in and out of consciousness yet again. He chuckles when he notices you're basically passed out once again.

His phone rings. He scoffs, but answers it.

"What do you want? Yes, yes... you'll no longer need to worry about getting expelled for what you did... no, I'm not thanking you. Now please delete this number and never talk to them again. If I catch you even looking at them, I really will make sure you're suspended."

#answered ask #parental yandere #platonic yandere #familial yandere #forced infantilization #yandere #forced age regression #ellis oc

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