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doodle-pops · 3 days

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Insufferable Beginnings

Turgon x reader

Request: Turgon x reader, enemy’s to lover in Valinor, angst?… (help I live the enemy’s to livers trope to much 😭😭) - Anon

A/N: I originally wanted to keep this short, like under 3k, however, dialogues became my weakness and I fell in love with the hating each other a little too much. However, I do hope that this was good enough to your liking. Apologies if it’s too long. Enjoy!

Warnings: female reader, arranged marriage au, enemies to lovers au, angst/comfort, arguments, insulting one another, a knife gets drawn (a butter knife), kissing, confessions, since it’s set in Valinor I used Quenya names

Words: 4.6k

Synopsis: Arranged marriages when you and your millionth reason why were at each other’s throats was always the best way to introduce a new emotion on the battlefield and seek victory.

“Must you look so disparaging? It is our wedding, after all, cheer up and have a drink!” Turukáno sat beside you, or rather two feet away and towards the end of the table, leaving you to wallow in your bitterness. He managed to find your expressions throughout the entire day more entertaining than ever, it made the wedding interesting.

Casting a dreadful and bone-chilling side eye at your newlywed husband, your fingers twitched in your lap with unbridled rage to wrap them around his obnoxiously long neck and choke. However, he remained aloof under your threatening gaze and took another gulp for his sixth cup of wine for the night. Anything to avoid going home, sane, to a shared house.

“I’ll only smile if you disappear and leave me alone.”

He paused with the chalice against his lips, pondering before scoffing and taking a violent chug. Emptying the cup with an enthusiastic exhale and slamming it on the table, he reached for the vat of wine to refill. “So you can find yourself in the arms of one of your pathetic suitors or my cousins since you enjoy kissing their asses so much.”

“Anyone else would be a better company.”

“What’s stopping you then? I thought you loathed me with an unbridled passion to the point that you would do anything to make your life less miserable,” he half-heartedly muttered while gazing at the ruby liquid in his cup. “Or maybe you didn’t want to humiliate yourself knowing that no one else would accept you and your terrible personality.”

“What makes you think that one of your cousins would not accept me?”

“So it’s my cousins you’re interested in. Well, I think you and Tyelkormo or Atarinkë would suit each other well, especially with the similar personalities you all share.”

You growled through bared teeth, “Do not ill-speak of the House of Fëanáro. They are far nobler, skilled and of better status than you can ever be.”

“Ah, so you admit that your personality is dreadful then?” Awed by the revelation of your words, he flashed a blinding grin at you.

“You act as though your personality is perfect, and do not make this about me when it is not!”

“My personality isn’t perfect, but it’s better than yours,” he snickered and sat upright. “Besides, it is your wedding day, you are the centre of attention, so everything is about you.”

“You’re simply bitter and jealous that I would never choose you in a world of standards because you are as poor as your insults.” Flipping him off with a triumphant smirk, you crossed your arms and performed a mental victory dance at your comeback.

“Of course I am,” he muttered half-heartily as he slammed his chalice on the table once more and slumped deeply into his chair. As much as he wanted to leave the table, his grandfather and father were eyeing you down like hawks. “No power and no high status. Yet I was still chosen to be your future husband by the King.”

Not caring that he was being stared at, Turukáno exited the hall and rushed out of the palace to find a secluded spot for a bit of fresh air. He didn’t care about what became of you during the rest of the night. You could have returned to your parent’s house and left him alone in your supposed shared home or run off with his half-cousins, he would surely find something worthwhile to fill his time with.

Making his way through the half-empty streets of Tirion, he slid his body through a few alleyways before breaking into the hills and entering the outskirts of a small forest. A familiar path he took which led to a small pool—a place where he and Findekáno formerly commuted before his successful marriage—now became his fortress of refuge to his unbearable hater.

Being petty, bitter, and judgemental were common traits of the second son of Ñolofinwë, however, you brought the worst out in him. It was only the day you entered the picture with your desirous hatred towards him, his boring life became infuriating. There wasn’t a day you didn’t make his life a living hell.

Wanting nothing more than to refrain from continuing his thoughts on you before his head exploded, he undressed and took a midnight swim, spending the rest of his wedding with peace of mind. He would deal with you another day with the guarantee to make you regret hating him.

The first year of marriage was always described as challenging and for God’s sake how fucking true it was. You weren’t even past the first three months without wanting to launch objects at him, which you had already done numerous times before. But the point was that you wanted to launch the entire dining table at him for interrupting your peace of mind. Why did he have to show up at the same hour? Did he not have something more important to do like die?

“Can you not eat so loudly? It is breaking my concentration?” you retorted sharply.

“Then cover your ears. To eat I must; to hear, you can choose,” he lazily replied in a bored tone.

Your left eye twitched as did the cutlery in your hands as you pressed the knife and fork into the porcelain plate to evidently create a hairline fracture. Casting a look at the servants lined up on each side of the room with a monotonous expression, you felt a wave of embarrassment.

“What, no counter to my response? Finally realised how foolish you appear hating me unnecessarily?” he mocked.

Deeply inhaling, you managed, “I merely asked you to cease chewing so loudly. Is that not a possible task, something a Prince of your lowly status can adhere to?”

Countering without waiting for a second, he stated with plainness, “I must chew if I am to eat, don’t you know that or have you forgotten the fundamentals of eating?”

“Then don’t eat, starve and die.”

Turukáno’s lips twitched as he fought a sarcastic grin, instead, scoffing as his breathing fumbled before he lifted his head to gaze at you across the table. Your seated presence at the opposite end, surrounded by an array of candles left a glowing aura casting a glow on your figure to appear as some omnipotent being…a demon in sheep’s clothing.

“My dear, have you not paid attention to the tranquillity of the room? A pin drop can be heard; thus you will hear my chewing, same can be said for yours.”

“I do not chew loudly!” you snarled, visibly vibrating in your seat.

“Of course not, how rude of me. Where are my manners?” he satirically replied, casting a mocking smile at you; his turquoise eyes shining brightly under the glow of the candles. “Allow me to clarify, you yap like a goat.”

Springing from your chair, your palms came crashing down on the table, prompting the ornaments to tremble, even the servants shifted on their feet at the intemperate tension. “You should have care how you speak; it might be your last.”

“What are you planning on doing? Launching another poor object at my head and missing like you did in the last fifty attempts? Best of wishes, may your aim be true, or would you prefer I stand within three feet, so you don’t miss?” he snickered with a shake of his head.

Darkly whispered, you picked up your butter knife and stabbed it into the napkin. “I could end you right here and now,”

“How terrifying?!” he dully muttered and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Somebody save me!”

“Would you stop that!”

“Ah, so it would appear that I have struck a nerve?” Turukáno grinned delightedly and took a sip of his wine while appreciating the sight of you pointing your knife at him.

“You have been a pain in my ass since the day I met you!” you rumbled, jabbing the knife through the air towards his figure peacefully sitting unbothered.

Wanting nothing more than to bask in the glory this unnecessary argument brought, he rose from his chair and strolled around the table. Fingers gliding along the tabletop as he took his time to approach you, he appeared smug. “What you are telling me, is that I’ve always been on your mind? I’m touched. No one has ever thought of me so much as you did, my number one supporter and hater. Makes this union worthwhile because you can continue to think of me even more while allowing it to consume your every thought.”

At this point, Turukáno was standing before you as your body had turned to meet him head-on, the knife in your hand still focusing on him. Despite his towering figure, you were able to match his height with the passion in your eyes that made you grow. Those turquoise eyes of his darkened and narrowed into slits as the gazed down at you. No one dared to whisper a word, only the sound of heavy breathing which was still too soft for the other’s ears.

Suddenly, his left hand gingerly reached out to grab the wrist of your right, which held the knife and brought it to his throat. He knew you couldn’t cut him with a butter knife, yet he wanted you to realise your folly. The action urged the servants in the room to break their formation and panic as they looked on. He felt the trembling of your hand as he held onto it, steadfast, while the expression on your face spoke the reason for him. All bark and no bite.

“Do it,” he taunted with s whisper, gazing his playful eyes at your paralysed ones and pushing the knife harder against his skin.

You wanted to reply. Counter as equally as petty as his insults or even take actions, but the wheels in your body weren’t rotating. You didn’t know why, but the longer you stared into his slithered eyes; you noticed the ring of green around his iris, the small mole under his left eye and his neatly shaped wine-stained lips. His change in demeanour made him appear ridiculously attractive and you fought to deny it, but comparisons between him and the sons of Fëanáro’s beauty had already crossed your mind.

It outmatched a few of them.

You struggled to catch yourself the longer you focused on his face, grip on your knife slipping, yet the grip around your wrist tightened and tugged. Your lips parted and your head inched closer, grateful for your height, you were able to lean into his personal space, breathing in his air. Wine and spearmint. The alarms were blaring in your head that it was a precarious move you were making, but his standstill stature encouraged you to persist and bridge the gap.

Turukáno didn’t know who moved first, he or you; all he knew was that his hand gripping your wrist had tossed it over his shoulder, with the knife still intact, as his lips moulded against yours. It was full of anger, confusion and hidden truths as your bodies were entangled in an unceremonious form of solving the argument. Lips breaking apart to gasp for air, catching your breaths before returning to the task, his hands were busy cupping your cheeks to tilt your head to increase the vigour. He forgot—or rather, didn’t care—about the knife in your hands behind his neck as he pressed his body closer, wanting you to experience his heat, raging from the passion you sparked tonight.

Yet nothing was ever long-lived as you caught your biting his luscious lip and pulled away, gasping. Casting your eyes downwards, a questionable frown appeared. Unable to take the confusion and possible humiliation of the suddenness of the scene, you muttered a curt, “Excuse me,” and slipped out of his embrace, vacating the room while leaving him hoping.

You began to avoid him even more; more than what you normally would, yet failure was the start of something different. Your mornings were clashing, him showing up at the same time for breakfast, exiting and entering the house, and needing to share the same space. It was as if fate was playing a sick joke on you to remember your kiss. He appeared the same, refusing to bring it up and make any eye contact, however, his persistence to irritate and aggravate you never ended. The night of the dinner was just the beginning of him goading you to commit your desire.

Standing at the entrance of the drawing-room, you fixed your body behind the pillar that rested a vase and observed him. He appeared relaxed and a level of comfort you wished to achieve in the shared household. How was he able to be unbothered? Didn’t your presence usually provoke him? Was he not thinking about you the way you always thought about him?

“Cease your staring from behind the pillar, please. I know that I’m not the best-looking elf compared to your idolised house, so spare me your soft gaze as though you considered me,” he huffed and turned the page of his book without lifting his head to make contact.

Soft gaze?

“I was not gazing at you, I was glaring…” He was right, whether you were gazing at him or not, you were silently observing him. Clearing your throat to avoid making a fool of yourself, you stepped into the spotlight and clasped your hands together. “I was coming to call you, There’s an invitation addressed to you…and I.”

“My grandfather?”

“Hmm, a dinner party.”

The room fell into silence as you both took in the silent meaning behind the invitation. This was the first event after the wedding that would display the depth of your relationship with his family and others.

Turukáno’s eyes lifted off the pages to fall on your nervous figure standing in the doorway. No animosity or disdain was held in his eyes as they softened on your appearance; he almost felt sorry for the discomfort you were about to be placed in, similar to himself. Gatherings involving the entire family usually made him cautious and uninterested due to the typical outcomes.

“You can stay at home if you are uncomfortable attending. I’ll make up an excuse that you’re unwell and request tranquillity,” he suggested while shutting his book and placing it on the table.

Puzzled at the sudden shift in the atmosphere, you wrinkled your forehead. “What about your grandfather when he questions why you’re not at home looking after me?”

“I’ll make up some lie, whatever comes to mind,” he monotonously muttered, drifting his eyes to meet your astonished ones.

“Why?” Your question lingered heavily in the air like it weighed a ton. A sudden increase of pressure showered over you, leaving him wondering if he had made a mistake in his response to warrant your opposition.

“Why not? You’re not interested in meeting my family for known reasons, and if you want to stay at home, you are welcome to.”

“But don’t you hate me?” you delicately uttered. “You shouldn’t be concerned about how I feel or whether I desire to stay at home; you should ignore me like you have always been doing.”

Opening his mouth to counter, he closed it and dropped his gaze to your feet. The look of puzzlement decorated his face the longer he contemplated a response while reasoning with himself for the corner he was backed into. There was never a discussion he wasn’t able to counteract, but here you were causing him to fumble. A sharp look at your face, the squinting of his eyes and a nervous chuckle he conjured a response rattled off the tip of his tongue. “I don’t hate you; I don’t particularly like you, but ignoring you is incredibly difficult when you have an unmistakable aura that causes me to consider you in whatever way I can.”

His eyes widened at the acknowledgement of his words. Unable to feign his mistake, he rose immediately off the sofa and marched to the opposite exit of the drawing room.

“You…You don’t hate—”

“Forget what I said. Simply do whatever you want for the dinner, it doesn’t matter to me.” With that, he departed the room and rushed to his chamber, slamming the door.

In the following days, Turukáno had done his best to avoid you after his slip-up while you became fixated on decoding his grand speech and his nonchalance towards his actions. It wasn’t like him to use words which didn’t coordinate with his enmity-like personality. All the screaming, shouting, slamming the doors and throwing objects at each other died down, and all you received were his typical smart-ass comments which started carrying a two-meaning message. You were positively sure that he was not aware of his choice of words; he never mixed his vocabulary.

For the prim and proper Prince he was, he was enunciated.

Hence why you were gawking at him all night from behind a pillar, avoiding interactions with his siblings and cousins to observe his mannerisms. His face seemed to be a lot more relaxed, visibly pleased, lips stretched into a grin, and laughing. You had never seen him like this around you, it was a side he withheld during your arrangement, and it stung that you would never be fortunate to experience it due to his hate towards you. No sweet moments exchanged, smiles and words reserved only for you, or another kiss like that night.

Licking your lips and biting it, your fingers touched your lower lip as you held eye contact with his figure. The events of that night were still unexplainable.

“Staring at my brother.” The teasing voice of Princess Irissë came from your left before you felt her arm linking with yours and pulling you closer to her. “Well, you should be, especially after how great your relationship with him is going. Look at how much my brother is smiling; he’s talking about you.”

“Y-Your Highness?!”

“Relax. You can drop the formalities for now. It’s a family dinner and we’re all family, so call me nésa,” she laughed which resembled crystal bells tinkering.

Feeling overwhelmed by the plethora of information you consumed, your chest felt tighter all of a sudden, as though the dress shrunk. “I uh, do not understand what you mean by your brother. He is talking about me?”

Surely not good things, no wonder why he was smiling. Prattling his cousins’ heads about how terrible you were to live with. You felt your heart sink to your stomach, not realising how much you hoped for good things to be spoken about you.

“Of course he is! You’re his wife!” she exclaimed and gave you a small shake before guiding you away from the pillar. “He was asked to produce grandfather with a report at the start of the dinner in private, we were all there, and we heard him speak about how things are looking brighter, and that he’s pleased. So that means you two no longer hate each other and grandfather’s idea worked.”

Holding eye contact with her before looking at the wine in your hands, you felt uneasy at the explanation. “I guess it did,” you uttered in disbelief.

It didn’t take long for interrupting footsteps to break your concentration. Knowing the echo and presence before the voice rippled into your ear, your head snapped up to gaze at him already looking upon you with softer eyes and a tender smile. Your lips quivered as you bit back the urge to cry the longer you held his gaze, unable to focus on the sound emitting from his lips.

He was cruel and unkind to make you feel such a way.

“Is everything alright? You haven’t responded to a word I said,” he inquired worriedly, inching his head closer to yours. At this time, Irissë had slipped free and sauntered away to annoy her cousins, leaving you two to embark on your hateful-love relationship.

“I um, I.” Why was speaking so trivial? Just spit out your words for they were at the tip of your tongue. “I must speak with you, immediately.”

You had no time to witness the painful frown on his face as you swivelled and marched out of the ballroom with him following a few metres behind, confused. Exiting the room and meandering through the corridors, an earful away from eavesdroppers, you fumed in your mind at how careless you were to allow things to escalate to immeasurable heights. You couldn’t undo what had been done, not even the sea could wash it away. Though Turukáno hoped he had not said anything during the day to disrupt your tranquillity, he was most mindful of his words and behaviour due to his joviality.

“Have I said or done something to displease you, Y/N?”

“Yes! Yes, you did!” you shouted and spun on your heels to stand in the middle of the corridor and face him. “You, You, ugh, you infuriate me on levels beyond comprehension! How can you say those things so openly without disgust?”

“What things?! What have I said about you?!” he cried and took steps closer, still maintaining his distance.

“You–…I hate you! I hate how you…how you were talking about us and the house and how things are getting better! Or how you were smiling and happy and laughing and making everything seem like it is perfect and great when it’s not because I hate you!” Your temper flared as millions of reasons raced across your mind, and yet you were able to stutter out jumbled words, making a smile stretch across his face. “I hate the way you look at me with those eyes and I hate the way you look at others because you’ll never genuinely look at me like that. I want your eyes on me, but you’ll never because of how I hate you!”

“You hate me?” he questioned in an affectionate teasing voice.

“Yes, I do! Because ever since this arrangement began, you made me feel crazy and I found myself unable to think of anything else! I am utterly consumed by you, and I hate it! I’m supposed to hate you!”

Tears cascaded down your cheeks as you struggled to breathe and glared at him through the crystal droplets. You knew he was looking at you the same way you wanted and hated. Your emotions were truly a bitch who couldn’t make up its mind.

Turukáno grinned and took more steps to bridge the distance between you both. Standing three feet apart, he looked down at his boots as his voice rumbled in his chest. “I know and I accept this,” he softly whispered. “I’m not the best at emotions, but I also hated you till it was aggravating. You were constantly on my mind every second of the day, consuming and leaving me thinking about you more than I breathed. I thought of everything about you, even your insults. You were able to contest me, a feat no one else could muster and still stand facing me; I enjoyed the pleasure it brought, drinking and desiring more. Then I started seeing you as my equal and no longer my source of hate, but my reason to look forward to each day. I considered you and thought about you too much, I bent the knee before you…”

Standing there baffled, you wanted to know who this individual was.

“I know, I know,” he shrugged. “I’m not great with emotions so it was impossible for you to notice my changes. I thought I was subtle, and neither are you.”

“Excuse me?! You’re telling me about how I feel?” you sniffled.

“You claim to hate me, but you don’t,” he breathed as he finally bridged the gap, standing in the same proximity as the kiss. His fingers twitched with urgency to hold you again as they remembered the last time they held you closely. “You don’t tell someone you hate them; you show them, make them feel it. And how you feel for me is what I feel for you, it was only masked by hatred.”

Scoffing with a teary eye roll, allowing a few drops to roll down your cheek, you countered with a teaspoon of attitude, “What do you know about how I feel? You’re just a foolish Prince who thinks he knows people better than themselves.”

Lifting his hands, he was allowed to cradle your face, thumbs wiping away the tears. Smiling along with his thoughts, he felt relieved that your flame had not been diminished. “Of course I am, but you’re no different. Foolish for hating me till it makes you look ridiculously in love.”

“You should stop talking because you’re not making any sense like you always do.”

“Then silence me if you dare.”

The silence that followed rang sharply in your ears as your eyes locked and dropped to each other’s lips.

This time, you were aware of who had made the first move when your lips moulding against one another. Grinning into the kiss, this time you were able to bite his lower lip without feeling disgusted as it only deepened the kiss, causing him to groan from your actions. Turukáno’s hands cupped your cheeks and tilted your head higher to allow him to take over the kiss while your arms contently encircled his slender waist. There were a few blissful sighs and breaks to take in air as you lazily kissed in the open corridor, unconcerned by the possibility of being trespassed upon. Regardless, Turukáno had the decency to break away first with his soft turquoise eyes roaming your face, landing on your lips one last time before exhaling.

“Tell me,” he muttered affectionately. “Do you still hate me?”

“Irrevocably.”

“And do you hate me for getting us into this arrangement?” he asked again.

“No,” you gently murmured. “I can live with it.”

“Then that is enough for me.”

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thatumbrellaoni · 13 hours

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Deep in my enemy I find the lover;

Scene from a post-DSOD AU (ryou sandwich = tendershipping + gemshipping) I've been picking at for a while.

Part I is detailed here (contains malik/ryou but the relationship ends).

Part II is in progress (the actual tender/gem saga).

Everything will be posted under the #occult killer au tag when it's done. But here's a summary, so major spoilers.

Post-DSOD, supernatural entities start targetting Ryou. While figuring out why, he fights them with the help of his friends. On top of that, Bakura reappears, followed by Thief King Bakhura―and it definitely doesn't help when Ryou instigates/ends up in a very complicated (and physical) relationship with the two.

Eventually, the mystery unravels. The final entity reveals to Ryou that he's been an anomaly for a very long time: He was supposed to die in that car crash as a kid, but due to being Bakura's destined host (the events of YGO needing to happen), the accident took Amane and his mother in exchange. This devastates him.

What Ryou and Yugi initally thought was a "new evil" born because the Millennium Items were disturbed once again during the events of DSOD is really just the Outer Gods now more aggressively trying to restore a long lost balance (Ryou has "died" a total of three times in YGO but is brought back each time because of Bakura/'s influence). As long as Ryou's borrowed lives are not "returned", entities will always be after him/attempt to take the lives of those around him as compensation.

"Death is your gift."

This AU started because of two things: ① the slew of fanart I see of Ryou beating Bakura up/threatening to throw the Ring away, ② Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer reminding me of Bakura 🤭 (demon, pale hair, black coat, Spike dresses like a punk vs JP Bakura talks like a street punk, Buffy is stronger than Spike vs Ryou defeats Bakura in Monster World). I'm like, ah yes. Tendercore jk.

Anyway, the story takes some inspiration from Buffy (scenes and lines are borrowed), but it's not a 1:1 AU. It's not a vampire AU either. This comic is actually inspired by dialogue from Buffy S6E10.

If you're wondering what's up with Bakura's outfit, it's based on Takahashi-sensei's illustration (the IG link there no longer works). It plays a role in this story btw (even the nail polish). It's not just a glowup to me!

#bakura ryou #yami bakura #tendershipping #ryou bakura #dark bakura #thatumbrellaoniart #ygo #yugioh #occult killer au #yuugiou #umbrella #imagine bakuras surprise when he returns and ryou beats him up when he steps out of line #it fucking hurt but strangely he is aroused #as for thief king... if youre familiar with buffy yall can take a guess how he comes back maybe #theres also angstshipping in part 1 since malik echoes angel/angelus' role #it ends tho #and no weird dangling of it like in buffy #we are spuffy/Bakubaku here #I just want something about ryous constant resurrection because I dont see anything about it ever #ryou most underutilized character #so much potential you can do so much with him!#so look at me #Im the captain now #if this story were a lighthearted comedy itd be called how to train your demon #also this is not a love triangle

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lesbian-empress-nero · 3 days

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Warm.

September was warm. It was muggy. And god dammit, Yosuke was tired.

Yesterday had been long, tiring, and he was ready for a nap.

Luckily, he didn’t seem to be the only one. Rise damn near collapsed into his arms, tripping rather ungracefully on a dip in the ground.

On instinct, Yosuke reached out, bringing her close to negate any harm that might have befallen her. He hugged her for a moment while she groaned into his shoulder, finally peeling herself away and looking exhausted.

“Wanna head back to the inn, Senpai? I’m tired,” she asked, and Yosuke nodded sluggishly. He understood her completely. He caught Yu’s eye, almost talking to him with just their expressions. An added bonus of being partners, he supposed.

I’m tired.

Are you okay?

Fine. Heading back with Rise.

Be safe.

I promise.

With that out of the way, he took Rise’s hand, and the two of them trekked back to the inn.

“Senpai, I’m sleeping with you tonight,” Rise said, completely deadpan. Yosuke snorted.

“Like hell you will, Rise-chan,” he replied, and felt Rise lean against him for support.

“I will, and I’ll steal all your blankets,” she promised, earning a tired grin from her senpai.

“On second thought, I’d love to see you try,” he replied, and Rise giggled sleepily.

Yosuke liked it whenever Rise smiled or laughed genuinely. To him, it meant she was comfortable around them, that she didn’t have to hide who she really was. The idea was comforting.

Sure as hell, back at the inn, Rise managed to slip her way inside Yosuke’s room. He gave up the idea of kicking her out a while ago, and instead just let her stay. It’d be nice to have a bit of company after being alone for so long.

They settled down close to each other (they both knew the other liked cuddling), and Yosuke automatically shifted to press a kiss to Rise’s forehead. He’d done it hundreds of times with Yukiko and Chie (and later Kanji and Teddie, too), as a sign of his affection towards his friends.

Rise grinned mischeviously. “Wow, Senpai, I didn’t think you were into me like that~” she teased, and Yosuke froze.

“No, it’s not-”

Rise’s expression softened. “I know. Your heart belongs to him, doesn’t it? I see the way you look at him, like he’s your entire world. He... looks at you the same, you know.”

“...You’re just saying that because you know it’s hopeless,” Yosuke scoffed, looking away from the shadowed figure of his friend.

“I’m serious. He looks at you like you hung the stars just for him, and the way he talks about you... One would think you actually did. He loves you, Yosuke. I think he has for a while.”

Yosuke fell silent. Yu Narukami, being in love with him of all people? The Prince of Junes, Trash King Extraordinare? There was no way.

And yet... Yosuke had caught him staring before. His eyes were always soft, a smile always on his lips. Yu was always looking at him the way a lover would. And then there was the ‘Partner’ thing...

It had been a spur-of-the-moment nickname, shouted inside Yukiko’s dungeon after Yu had knocked down the enemies. Yu had taken it in stride, calling Yosuke ‘partner’ whenever he had the chance. Now, Yosuke couldn’t imagine the two of them as anything else. They were partners, through and through ‘til the end.

“...You realise now, don’t you? How in love with you he is? He adores you, Yosuke. You mean everything to him,” Rise murmured, and Yosuke nodded.

“...Yeah. You were right, as usual,” he concluded, and Rise smiled smugly.

“What else would you expect from the Lovers arcana?” She said, and Yosuke raised an eyebrow.

“Forgive me, o idol of love, for ever doubting you,” he said dramatically, hugging her close. She laughed, relaxing in his arms.

He pressed another kiss to her forehead, and the two friends drifted off in each other’s arms.

AAAAJHH i'm so happy to have more souyo content i love them so so so so much!!!!! yosuke kissing his friends is so in character for him??? like after he gets over some of his internalized homophobia... also love Rise being their... wingman? idk if that's the right word but TELLING THEM THEY WOULD BE GREAT TOGETHER AND LOVE EACH OTHER!!! partners in the romantic sense rather than just friends....

#nero answers #shackle-foes #persona 4 #persona #p4 #souyo #souyo week 2024 #yosuke hanamura #souji seta #yu narukami

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withlovewriting · 3 days

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All I Ever Knew, Only You 15: The Pickle Theory

Chapter Fifteen.

I'm stuck on you, I've got this feeling down deep in my soul that I just can't lose, Guess I'm on my way, I needed a friend, And the way I feel now, I guess I'll be with you 'til the end, Guess I'm on my way, I'm mighty glad you stayed

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 6,354

Chapter Warnings: Fluff. Is this the beginning of the pining? Who knows... Not me... Mentions of a funeral/Barb's death/survivor's guilt. One scene in this was based on the actual scene of Steve singing 'Old Time Rock and Roll' by Bob Seger into the bat to Nancy. I also genuinely don't think I even wrote a curse word once in this chapter. Baffling, I know. Also possibly an absolute lie, too. I cba to re-read through and check.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, no use of y/n, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

Previous Chapter

Chapter Fifteen: The Pickle Theory.

News around Hawkins traveled fast, especially when said news was a released recording of the U.S. Department of Energy admitting involvement in the death and cover-up of Barbara Holland. That news, in fact, went nationwide.

'Exposure to an experimental chemical asphyxiant' had been the official cause of death on Barbara’s death certificate, and even now, as you stood at her graveside, eyes practically penetrating the expensive, white, and empty coffin, guilt still nipped at your ankles. It was a feeling you were sure would remain with you until you ended up in your own — albeit, nowhere near as fancy — coffin, the shadow of guilt lurking around every corner, always in your peripheral vision, never quite able to look it in the eyes.

The ghost of Barbara Holland would haunt the town of Hawkins forever, would haunt you forever.

Standing next to your mother, you watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground, the uncontrollable sobs from Mr and Mrs. Holland, who now knew that no amount of money, and no type of professional or investigative journalist would find their daughter alive. She was dead, lost to the Upside Down forever.

Maybe believing that she had simply passed out and suffocated was the kinder, lesser of evils.

Either way, you were unable to look them in the eyes as they pulled you into a tight hug, Mr. Holland patting you awkwardly on the back as your mother — showered and relatively sober — comforted Barb’s mother, reassuring her that she too had been through the loss of a daughter, and to take it day by day. That with time it will get easier. If they needed anything, then they had her number. All of the things you’re supposed to say to someone who is burying a loved one.

Horse shit, you thought, watching them interact.

You, hell, the entirety of Hawkins knew your mother was still lost in the storm of losing a child. Of having her husband walk out. Of being condemned with a child that she wholeheartedly blamed for the death of her firstborn.

It didn’t get easier, your mother just became more inebriated.

Mr and Mrs. Wheeler had already excused themselves, the latter placing a gentle hand on Nancy’s arm as she passed. She stood shoulder to shoulder with Jonathan, downcast expressions as they spoke quietly between themselves. Steve stood a foot or so away, brows pinched together as his eyes remained on the framed picture of Barbara.

Sending a quick apology to Mr and Mrs. Holland, you made your way toward where the smaller group stood, hands in your pockets to keep the cold December chill from your fingers.

“You’re gonna tear that if you hold it any tighter,” despite your quiet mumble, the boy still flinched, eyes darting away from the picture of the redhead to meet your own, one brow now raised, “the memorial card. I don’t know what it ever did to you, but…”

“Oh,” Steve swallowed as he loosened his grip, eyes peering down at the paper, “didn’t realize.”

“Hey, we’re uh… We’re gonna head out now. Will we see you later?” Nancy questioned, her small hand on your forearm, just as her own mother had done to her.

A small huff of laughter forced its way from your chest as you shook your head, “Yeah, I don’t think so. Not really my kind of scene.”

Nancy’s forced smile matched your own as he nodded, an awkward ‘bye’ as she and Jonathan made their way toward the latter’s Ford.

“You got plans tonight or something?” Steve questioned as he shoved his free hand in his pocket.

“Uh, no. Just Nancy trying to get me to join her do-gooders club.” When Steve’s head tipped slightly to the side, you sighed and explained, “The Snow Ball is tonight. They needed volunteers but I don’t really wanna spend my evening with a bunch of middle schoolers. Plus, I have plans with Hopper. Did she manage to rope you into it?”

“Understandable,” Steve nodded, “And no. We, uh… We haven’t really spoken much since, you know…”

Whilst you and Steve had managed to keep your friendship on track the past month, the same couldn’t be said for Steve and his ex. Although Nancy didn’t explicitly tell you any information regarding herself and Jonathan and the time they spent together with Murray, it was evident that something had happened between the two, and whatever it was had put a permanent pin in her on-again, off-again relationship with Steve and even though he’d been dealing with rumors circling around the school since Tina’s Halloween party, it was obvious that Steve's feelings were still a little hurt.

“-Plus, I already have plans.”

Cocking your brow at the boy, your face remained otherwise stoic, “You have a hot date or something, Harrington?”

The boy seemed to stutter, and suddenly he found the grass under his shoes much more intriguing than he did just a moment ago before finally shrugging and repeating himself, as if you didn’t hear him the first time, “I just, uh… I have plans. You need a ride home, or…”

“Uh, no. Thanks. I drove. I’m just waiting for my Mom to finish up so I can take her to work.”

“How’s she been?”

Steve knew it was a peculiar question, and one he’d never bothered to ask before, but there had always been rumors swirling around the town of Hawkins, and he’d seen — or rather, heard — only a small portion of your mother’s drunken behavior for himself.

Your brows pinched as you watched him for a moment, almost expecting a cutting jeer to fall from his mouth as they often did with most people around town. A backhanded compliment or worse… a pitiful stare.

“She’s fine,” you shrugged, pulling down the bottom of your dress. The same dress you’d worn to Will’s fake funeral when the Upside Down was nothing more than a hypothetical, half-assed drawing on a napkin.

Steve’s mouth opened and closed, his brow furrowing as he tried to decide how to respond, but it was obvious you weren’t willing to talk about it.

“Steven, right? You’re the Harrington’s boy?”

Steve’s head turned, and a forced but nonetheless polite smile spread across his lips, one that had been enforced into him since childhood, “Yes, ma’am. Nice to meet you.”

As he shook your mother’s hand, Steve tried to ignore the cold, yet somehow clammy skin that pressed against his, and the reason it shook despite her being wrapped in an oversized coat.

Your family had been a talking point of the town ever since your grandmother lost her mind and was sent to stay in Pennhurst in 1958 before eventually being let out only to end her own life a few years later. He’d heard his mother gossip about it with her book club, joking about taking bets on when your mother would finally lose it, and if that had contributed to your father’s leaving. Although he had empathy for your mother and was trying hard to become a better version of himself, something about the way your mother gripped your bicep once she'd released his hand made him bite the inside of his cheek. It wasn’t a protective grip, it was possessive.

“It was nice to meet you, Steven” your mother quickly turned her attention toward you, “but we should get going.”

You nodded, and sent Steve a tight-lipped smile as you began to escort your mother toward the car, “Enjoy your date, Steve.”

Although your mother was at work this evening, you remained silent as you tiptoed into her bedroom, as if she would pop out at any moment and catch you red-handed.

It wasn’t often that you entered your mother's room, typically only sneaking in to borrow a piece of clothing that she wouldn’t notice or to put the laundry away. But this was an emergency.

You’d visited El — who was now legally, kind of, adopted by Hopper — after she’d called you through the radio. She wanted to talk all things Snow Ball and for some reason, she assumed you’d have all the answers.

You’d told her what you knew, but couldn’t help feeling a little rejected when you mentioned that you hadn’t actually attended any of your middle school dances, and watched the way her face fell. Changing the subject, you’d asked her what she was wearing, and she mumbled that Hopper offered to take her shopping for a dress, and although you loved Hopper, you didn’t trust his fashion choices for a teenage girl.

So here you were, carefully searching through what was maybe the only pristine thing left in this house. A simple cardboard box that housed the memories of your sister, the only place they were allowed to stay. Every picture of your sister, any real proof that she was a living, breathing person and not just a figment of your imagination lay in this one box.

Taking a deep breath, you took a moment to calm yourself, your heart feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest, ribs be damned. Unpeeling the barely sticky packing tape and gently folding back the flaps of the box, your nose wrinkled subconsciously as the musty smell of dust clouded your senses for a moment.

There, laying atop some folded clothes and items of your sisters, sat a framed photo. Your sister’s first school photo of middle school, and ultimately, her last.

Familiar eyes peered back at you, a smile so bright that it could’ve lit the world on fire if your sister had so wished it. She was like sunshine; bright and soft and warm, the saccharine to your acerbic. And when she died, she left your family with nothing but the frigid chill of your moonlight, never quite enough to defrost your mother's icy heart or to make your father stay.

You allowed your eyes to run over the picture once more before moving it to the side, pulling up the edges of the few fabric pieces that were folded neatly in the box until you found the familiar blue dress, tiny pink dots sewn onto the fabric and a matching belt loosely tied around the waist still as if it’s owner would eventually come back to claim it.

Replacing everything back the way it was — sans the dress — you pushed the box back into your mother’s closet before rushing back to your room, the door shutting with a slight slam.

Gently laying the dress over your bed, you grabbed a near-empty body mist from your desk, spraying the ‘Love’s Baby Soft’ that you'd received last Christmas over the blue dress, hoping it would cover any lingering smells that made it a little too obvious that it had been hidden away for years.

In fact, the last time you saw this dress was the evening of what would’ve been your very first Snow Ball, when your mother was trying to mangle your tiny body into it.

You were 12, and she was drunk as always, deciding that the only way you would go to the dance, was if you wore your dead sister’s dress. You screamed, and she shouted, fighting against her and the fabric that she had half pulled over your head, the thin, pink-rimmed collar almost choking you as you wrestled against her cruel hands.

Eventually, she gave up, her vision too blurred to follow you as you ran from the room, from the house… from her.

And since then, you’d had no interest in school dances.

Staring down at the fabric that linked to so many different and conflicting emotions, you chewed on your bottom lip for just a moment before moving toward your desk, hands fumbling as you moved items out of your way, eventually grabbing a blue hair clip.

Releasing a long sigh, you swallowed down any incertitude and packed the dress and the clip, into your backpack, slamming the front door behind you before grabbing your bike, and heading to Hopper’s cabin.

“I still don’t like it,” Hopper sighed, the same glare on his face that had been there since Eleven walked sauntered out of her bedroom, “You should’ve checked with me first.”

Rolling your eyes, you unbuckled your seatbelt and sent him a glare of your own, “It’s a tiny bit of make-up, Hop. You can barely even see it. But you like it, right El?”

The younger girl nodded, eyes darting across the middle school's parking lot as she tried to find a familiar face in the loitering kids that mingled about outside.

“Hey,” turning in the passenger’s seat of Hopper’s Chevrolet, you caught the girl’s attention, noting her bouncing leg, “You gonna sit out here all night, or head in, have fun, and dance the night away?”

“You want me to walk you in?” Hopper asked, his own seatbelt already unbuckled as he began to open the door, only stopping when your hand fell to his forearm.

“I’ll take her,” you told the man, lips forced into a tight smile as he watched you for a moment, only to sigh and nod.

Leaning out of his window, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth already, Hopper called out, “I’ll pick you up at 10, sharp.”

“Got your ticket?” You asked, stopping outside the door as El turned toward you, the crumpled paper gripped in her clammy palm, “Hey, you're gonna have a great time, alright?.”

You rubbed your hands on her shoulders reassuringly before patting down her dress. Your chest somehow felt lighter, and a little heavier at seeing it again.

“I don't know how to dance,” the girl blurted out, brown eyes full of fear as if she'd only just realized, “You said I would have fun dancing. But I don't know how to dance.”

Despite her sudden desperate outburst, you couldn't contain the laughter that escaped you, “Please, I don't think Mike Wheeler of all people is gonna be a ballroom genius either.”

When El's frown remained, the only change in her was the soft pink blush over her cheeks, you let out a deep sigh, bending slightly to look her in the eyes,

“Don't overthink this, okay? You don't have to impress anyone. You don't have to prove yourself. Dance, don't dance… It doesn't matter. Do whatever you wanna do.”

A sweet smile graced her features before El pulled you in close for a hug. Squeezing her back, you fluffed her hair one last time before sending her on her way, “C'mon, you don't wanna spend the whole night out here talking to me. Go, have fun.”

You watched as she pushed through the large doors, holding out her ticket for Mr. Clarke who was manning the welcome table, only turning once to send you a quick wave, but you could tell by the amazement on her face that she had never witnessed a night like this.

Folding your arms over your chest, you watched her for a moment longer until she was fully out of sight.

"Thought you didn’t wanna spend your evening with a bunch of kids?"

The familiar voice made you swivel around quickly, eyes wide in confusion, “I know most of your friends are like, middle schoolers now, but it's kinda lame to turn up to their end-of-year dance. Newsflash, Harrington: you won't win Winter King.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve leaned over the passenger seat a little more, his now removed seatbelt allowing him to almost pop his head out of the window, “Very funny. Who are you to talk, anyway? You literally have no other friends.”

Scoffing, you feigned a glare, “Thought you said you had a hot date tonight?”

“You assumed I had a hot date. I just said I had plans.”

“And your plans were…”

“I promised Henderson a ride.”

Nodding, you checked over your shoulder just to make sure Eleven had entered the building. Although you could no longer see Eleven, you could see the familiar smile of Nancy, standing not too far from the entrance doors pouring what you assumed were cups of punch. When you returned your attention to the boy still idling in his car, you realized Steve too was watching her, “You still giving him bad advice?”

“Hey, don’t fix what ain’t broke.” Steve smiled as his eyes returned to you, but it felt a little too forced.

“I’m not sure Laurie would feel that way. Or Becky, or Amy, or-”

“Yeah, okay. Got it, thanks.” Sending you an exasperated look, Steve let out a long sigh before leaning a little further over the passenger seat, “You uh… You got plans for the rest of the evening? I said I’d drop off some of the kids after but… I’m free ‘til 10 if you wanna go get something to eat, or… whatever?”

Your face remained stoic, bar one brow raising up, “You’re not gonna drive me to the middle of nowhere and murder me, are you Harrington?”

“God, you’re so dramatic. Just… Get it. Or don’t. Whatever.”

Despite your best efforts, a smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, causing you to bite your bottom lip, “Let me go tell Hop. He’s waiting for me.”

“Yeah, okay, cool. I’ll uh, I’ll wait here, I guess…”

“Harrington?” Hopper questioned, the half-smoked cigarette hanging from his mouth as his stare turned toward Joyce.

“Yes, Hopper. Harrington. What about it?”

“And you’re just, what? Getting food? Going for a drive? I didn’t even realize you two were... friendly.”

Squeezing your eyes closed for a moment, you released a mumbled groan, “Yeah well, fighting two interdimensional demons from Hell kind of forces a bond, you know? Look, I wasn’t asking for your permission, Hop. I was just letting you know that I’ll pick my bike up tomorrow.”

Hopper’s frown deepened, his eyes seeming much darker against the night sky as you two stood in a silent standoff. Joyce’s elbow knocked into him, and the man offered out the cigarette to her, cringing slightly as she sent him a look that you couldn’t quite decode. They peered at each other a moment longer before Jim finally turned his attention back to you,

“I’ll uh, I’ll drop it at yours on my way back through. Just… Be careful, okay?”

“Thanks, will do. Night, Joyce.” You sent the woman a polite wave as you made your way back over toward the burgundy beamer, unaware of the mumbled conversation and prying eyes from the two adults behind you.

Steve almost jumped from his seat when you practically wrenched the handle from his door, gracelessly bundling yourself into the passenger seat and warming your hands on the heater as quickly as you could, his hands fumbling on the radio volume, knocking it up a little too high in his unnerved state.

Quickly lowering it back down, Steve sent you a silent glare as he started the engine, only to be met with a shit-eating grin.

Since Benny’s had closed down, The Hideaway remained one of the only places in town that served burgers. Enzo’s was way too upmarket for a greasy burger, and Steve wasn’t prepared to drive out of town just to eat, so instead he grabbed his now usual order from the Hideaway, your milkshakes, and a to-go bag with both of your burgers in — and a side portion of judgment and disgust when you ordered extra pickle in yours — and handed you the bag to rest on your legs as he started the car back up,

“We’re not just eating in the parking lot?”

“No food in the car,” Steve’s voice was monotonous, as if he’d heard, or said, the same sentence a thousand times before, “Henderson will smell it a mile away if we so much as open the bag. And then he’ll bitch about it and demand that I drive him to get his own. Which he’ll expect me to pay for.”

As Steve continued along Mulberry, you could barely keep the amused smirk from your face, “You always let a thirteen-year-old dictate your life?”

Scoffing, Steve took a sharp turn, your grip on the brown paper bag tightening just in case you lost your dinner before you were able to eat it.

“You’ve met the kid. No isn’t in his vocabulary.”

“Thirteen, Steve” you reiterated, “I’m sure even you have half a chance of winning against him in a fight.”

“Half?” He choked out, eyes darting from his windshield to you, and back again, “Please. I could kick that little twerp's ass if I wanted to.”

Scrunching your nose, you sent him an unsure glance, “I don’t know. The kid seems kinda… scrappy, you know? Like, his fighting tactics definitely include biting. Especially now he's got teeth.”

Steve hesitated for a minute, his lips pursed together as he considered your words, “I mean, yeah. I could totally see it.“

The rumble of Steve’s engine died down, turning off completely as he unbuckled his seatbelt and all but ripped the bag from your hands, exiting his car and making his way toward the trunk. Once seated, Steve pulled open the bag, waiting to hand you your own burger and shake as he watched you all but clamber onto the back of his car.

Unwrapping your burger and taking a bite, you finally took in your surroundings, a frown settling on your forehead, “Steve, did you bring me to Lover’s Lake?”

Almost choking on his too-big of a bite of burger, he scrambled for his milkshake, finally sending you a glare when he’d managed to dislodge the patty from his throat, “Oh my god. Not for that reason. Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s just quiet up here, you know? Pretty at night, too. I come out here sometimes to clear my head.”

“Just know that Hopper taught me three different ways to rupture a testicle-”

“Jesus, I’m not… That wasn’t my intention, alright? So please, for the love of god, leave my testicles alone,” Steve cringed, his legs instinctively shuffling closer together, “Plus my spot is Skull Rock. I kind of invented it, you know?”

Taking a sip of your milkshake, you sent him a dubious glance, “You invented a rock?”

“No, obviously not. But I, you know… It’s a popular make-out spot because I made it popular.”

“Wow, what a legacy.”

After rolling up the paper his burger had been wrapped in and throwing it back into the bag Steve cleared his throat as he looked up to the night sky. It was a relatively clear night, allowing the stars to shimmer brightly against the dark sky,

“You remember the 1979 Snowball?” When you remained silent, Steve continued, “Missy Goldstein drank way too much punch and threw up all over like, half the dance floor.”

A small chuckle escaped your chest, imagining the poor girl — hair in bunches and a nose that seemed to always be blocked — and the embarrassment she must’ve felt that night. You weren’t even there, but you’d heard the giggling about it even after the winter break.

“Oh my god, do you remember-”

“Steve, I’ve never been to a school dance, so no I don’t remember anything.”

The boy’s face scrunched slightly as if he was trying to wrack his brain for an image of you at any of the school dances, but you knew no matter how hard he’d try, the boy didn’t even know of your existence two years ago. As if he’d also come to this conclusion, Steve’s face returned to a more neutral expression,

“Not your kind of scene?”

You felt your shoulders tense slightly as you shrugged them, “I mean, I only really had two friends. Barb always went away to her grandparents over the holidays, and Jonathan wasn’t really the biggest fan of dances. At least, I guess, he wasn’t.”

Steve nodded, his face falling slightly at the mention of the boy and how quickly Jonathan was willing to change his habits for Nancy. Steve thought about how he’d originally signed up with Nancy back in mid-October to volunteer at the Snowball, and how he’d willingly offered to sacrifice his evening to hang up middle school kids' jackets and coats and listen to Madonna on repeat just to spend a little more time with the girl.

The quiet sounds that trickled out of the open front doors of Steve’s car caught his attention, the familiar lyrics of Madonna's ‘Holiday’ playing from his radio already half-way through by the time he'd pushed himself from the trunk of his car and made his way around to the front, turning the volume up.

As he made his way back, your eyes darted between his own and the outstretched hand awaiting yours. When you didn't move he rolled his eyes, “Get your ass off the car and dance with me.”

In stunned silence, you allowed Steve to lead you toward the front of the car, headlights dimmed but still on as you watched him move, imagining his lanky pre-teen limbs doing the same dance movements, albeit probably a little more awkwardly back then, “Oh my god, I… No. I'm not doing this-”

You could barely step back toward the car before he grabbed your wrist, pulling you a little closer to him as he waved your limp arm around in the air, “C'mon, don't be a party pooper. Dance with me! Holiday, celebrate!”

Despite the secondhand embarrassment that flooded your veins, you couldn't hold in the laugh that crawled up your throat, listening to him sing with a spirited fervor you'd never witnessed from the boy before.

Passionate enough, that after animatedly rolling your eyes, you finally gave in to his ridiculousness, your embarrassment still evident in your timid moves, but you were moving nonetheless.

As the song began to die out, you could barely keep your laughter in. Steve had spun you, shook you, and yanked at your arms until you were moving on your own accord.

By the time the next song began to play — Lionel Ritchie's ‘Stuck On You’ crooning through the open doors of Steve's car — you were both out of breath, your hand still held in his loose grip.

Feeling his thumb graze the back of your hand before his grip eventually tightened, he pulled you toward him almost bashfully, close enough that you could smell the familiar remnants of fabric softener.

Never in a million different lifetimes would you predict this to happen tonight.

“You okay?” His voice was soft, barely audible over the sound of Lionel as he sang about leaving on a midnight train, but somehow still made you jolt slightly, cringing when you felt his shoe underneath your own.

“Uh, yeah. Fine. I'm… I'm fine. Just not really used to… this kind of dancing, I guess.”

Your eyes screwed shut at the wobble in your voice. God, you were so embarrassed. Yet here he was — Steve Harrington with all of his charm — and suddenly you had no doubt as to why he'd won homecoming king, or how he’d won the attention of the girls of Hawkins High.

“It's my favorite kind,” the vulnerability was so evident in his voice that you were surprised he didn't shove you away and make a dash for his car, leaving you behind.

“Somehow, I can't imagine King Steve slow dancing at prom like this.”

You didn't even need to explain, because although his fingers gently gripped your waist and your hands rested over his shoulders, they were the only parts of you that were touching, “Gotta leave room for Jesus, right?”

Trying to cover up your laugh with a cough you shook your head, finally staring into his coffee-colored eyes, “Didn’t take you for the God-fearing type. You're a whole new man, Harrington. Who'd have thought?”

Pulling back slightly, Steve watched you closely, his soft eyes glancing over your features as though he was mapping them into his memory. Apparently, he wasn't too upset with his personality change. Before he could speak, the radio host cut in, his voice all too peppy for your liking as he announced the time.

“We, uh… We have to go get the kids.” You moved away from the boy’s embrace, trying — but failing — to stop staring at his soft, winsome smile before stepping back toward the trunk of the car, grabbing the brown bag now full of empty paper and cups and throwing it into the foot well of the passenger seat.

“Maybe a little tardiness will help Henderson be more grateful about all the free rides he's getting.”

Laughter fell from your lips as you buckled yourself in, “Possibly. But do you really wanna deal with an annoyed Max?”

“She can't be much worse than you, can she?” Smirking despite his words, you gave him a half-hearted swipe on the arm.

It turns out, Max wouldn't be the issue.

She stood happily chatting with the group, the icy tension between herself and El finally seeming to thaw, partially thanks to the way Max's eyes would consistently flicker toward Lucas who looked more like a lovesick puppy as time went on.

Dustin, however, furrowed his brows the moment Steve's beamer came into view. Steve had agreed to drop back any of the kids who needed a lift, but between Hopper and Joyce it was barely necessary, and only Dustin and Max made their way to the car.

“Took you long enough,” the boy heaved himself into the car, leaving the door open for Max to climb in after as she made her slow departure from the group.

“Please, you've barely been waiting five minutes-”

“Hairs looking great, Dustin,” you interrupted, hoping to stem their inevitable argument in its tracks.

“Between you and Harrington, I think we have the world's supply of hairspray in one car-” Max joked, her cheeks slightly flushed.

Cutting her off, you caught Dustin's side-eye from the door mirror, “If it's so unbearable, why didn't you get a lift home with Lucas?”

“Hey, man, not cool-”

“-Henderson.”

The car remained silent for a moment before the boy finally sighed out an apology that Max begrudgingly accepted, her sapphire eyes glued on the window though clearly not paying much attention to the passing neighborhoods, any sense of joy she’d had getting in the car now completely diminished.

Pulling up outside 4819 Old Cherry Lane, you all turned toward the house when Max let out a frustrated huff, noticing the light on in the lounge. As Max clambered out of the car, a quick thank you on her tongue, the front door opened revealing Billy, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a puff of smoke surrounding him as he stared out toward the car, barely dodging Max's body as she prepared to shoulder past him.

“God, what is his deal?” Steve asked, his voice low as his dark eyes darted between you and the boy who continued to peer into the car.

Tearing your eyes away from Billy, you shook your head, “Hell if I know.”

Steve stared down Billy for just a moment longer before pulling away and heading towards the Henderson household.

“So,” Steve began, thumbs casually tapping the steering wheel, “the whole outburst earlier? Not okay, dude.”

“I know, I just…” Dustin's face fell as he tried to find the right words, “It didn't go exactly as planned. I mean, I treated her mean, and it definitely didn't keep her keen.”

Whacking Steve's upper arm, the boy hissing dramatically at you as if it had hurt, you turned in your seat to face Dustin, “Your first mistake was listening to Harrington.”

Blinking a few times, the boy remained quiet, causing you to huff and turn back around, ignoring Steve glancing toward you every now and then, “Plus, the prehistoric and misogynistic notion that treating people you like badly is normal, is stupid. It's not gonna make them like you back.”

“Like… Like pulling a girl's hair in the playground?” Dustin asked, the clogs in his brain finally starting back up.

“Pull my hair in the playground, and I'll punch you in the throat. But… yeah. Just like that. Or, you know, acting like you don't care.”

The latter of your sentence was aimed at Steve, along with a sharp glare. He at least had the decency to look ashamed, “Look, I'm sorry Henderson-”

“No, no… It's fine,” Dustin waved off his apology, “Turns out she already likes someone else anyway, so I never really had a chance.”

Your brow furrowed, eyes softening at the boy's words, “Look, Dustin. I know it totally sucks right now, but you'll meet someone. And I'm sure they'll be totally psyched about whatever interdimensional creature you show her.”

“I guess…” Dustin was quiet for a moment, eyes staring out of the window to his left before they met Steve’s in the rearview mirror, this time accompanied by a deep glare, “Did you guys get burgers without me?”

The drive to Dustin’s house passed by in silence. Mrs. Henderson’s downstairs light was off, but you could see the light from her television set casting the room in a soft glow.

“Can you walk me to the door?”

Steve’s face pinched, a mixture of annoyance and confusion flashed across his once soft features, “Uh, no-”

“Not you,” the boy stressed as if he were offended before peering around the console to see you a little better, “you.”

Your brows were in your hairline as you unbuckled the seatbelt, Steve’s frown only deepening, “Henderson, it’s literally right-”

“-Thanks for the ride, Steve.”

You trailed after the boy, confusion still etched on your face but Dustin didn’t give you a moment to question his ulterior motive, “So you and Harrington hung out tonight?”

Blinking a few times, as if that would help you understand the underlying tone in his voice, you kept your eyes to the ground, watching your shoes as they led you up the familiar path, “Uh, yeah. I dropped El to the dance so we had time to waste.”

“Together.”

Rolling your eyes your hand shot out, gently halting his movements as you grasped his elbow, “Seriously, Dustin. Whatever it is, just spit it out.”

Biting his bottom lip as he took the time to inhale — and exhale — deeply, his eyes shot toward the maroon beamer, noting Steve’s curious gaze on you both, “I just… Everyone knows what Steve’s reputation with the ladies is like, and Nancy only broke it off with him like, barely two months ago, and I know she’s with Jonathan now, but-”

“Dustin,”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, alright? And I don’t want him to get hurt either.”

You remained quiet for a moment, but your eyes softened as you looked down at the boy, “Dustin… It’s sweet that you’re concerned for me, and for Steve. But we’re just hanging out as friends, alright?”

When he cocked a brow at you, you couldn’t help but hold in the small huff of laughter that escaped you, “Seriously. Nothing is going on here.”

“I just… I like when we all hang out, and I definitely like the free rides he gives us to the arcade. And I just… I don’t want anything to mess it up, or anyone,” he sighed, sending a pointed look toward the car.

Turning, it was clear Steve was trying his best to lip-read one-half of your conversation, and you were certain if you stayed out here any longer he’d be hanging out of the car in an attempt to satiate his inquisitiveness.

“C’mon, Dustin. We’ve all seen the girls he’s dated before. I mean, Nancy Wheeler? I’m definitely not his type."

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short-”

You, at least, realized this wasn’t a conversation you intended to have with a thirteen-year-old and cut him off quickly, waving a hand dismissively, “Yeah, yeah. Keep your pep talk for another time. If you stay out here any longer either your mom or Steve is gonna have an aneurysm.”

Dustin pulled you into a tight hug, one you couldn’t help but reciprocate before bidding you goodnight.

All but falling back into the BMW, Steve was already questioning you before you’d even shut the door, “God, he really chewed you out over those burgers, huh?”

Trying to glance at him as inconspicuously as possible as you buckled up, you watched as the lights from passing vehicles danced across his features, the soft glow causing his honey eyes to appear hazel, “Yeah, he uh… He definitely had some opinions to share.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve sighed, “God, he really needs to tone down the dramatics.”

Ten minutes ago, you would’ve laughed. Told him that he had some audacity to call anyone else dramatic. But ten minutes ago, Dustin hadn’t questioned you over your blossoming friendship. Ten minutes ago, he hadn’t practically called you a rebound for Nancy. Hell, a rebound for Tommy and Carol, too.

It stung to think that there was a high possibility that Steve was only hanging out with you because he’d ditched — or been ditched by, once Billy Hargrove had come to town — his friends. Jesus, a little over a year ago he would barely blink at your existence, and you were fine with that. King Steve and his group of followers weren’t people you wanted in your life. You didn’t want to be his friend back then, either.

So, why now, did he suddenly want to be yours?

“I can see the smoke coming from your ears.”

“Hmm?”

Releasing a small laugh, he pulled up outside your house, the once peaceful silence of the car now feeling suffocating.

“Your brains working overtime. What’s got you frying your mind?”

Sending him a tight-lipped smile, you shrugged, “Nothing, it’s… It’s nothing. Thank you for tonight, Steve.”

His mouth hung open, half ready to respond but you’d exited the car a lot quicker than he’d expected. Turning in his seat, he watched as you ran toward your front door, quickly unlocking it and slipping away into the dark house.

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x you #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff

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lovelydrusilla · 11 months

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that's fruity, your honour

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marsconer · 2 months

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i hate the ship wars. mostly bc i don’t see either of them. like katara doesn’t seem that interested in either of them. let my girl live.

#i can believe she married aang tho #what i can’t believe is that they were in love ever since she was 14 #pro katara #anti zutara #i love all ppl involved tho #something something #i would prefer a late stage kataang #like maybe if he got over his crush at the of book 2 like he was supposed to #and she had a moment to breathe after the war #and they could just be friends FOR YEARS #then sure #i mean aang was every single hope she ever had in #ok maybe #kataang critical #i don’t like zutara tho I SEE THE APPEAL #it’s enemies to lovers slowburn 300k words #but #i feel like they would have a 3 months relationship #and it would blow up in their faces

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lazarus-lazuli · 2 years

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need to see the moment where after his abuela described the symptoms of being near a vampire guillermo realized the fire in his heart and los goosebumps he got when nandor walked into that panera bread ten years before was not love at first sight but an intense homicidal rage

#what we do in the shadows #wwdits #nandermo #does it count as enemies to lovers if he didn’t realize they were supposed to be enemies?

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greatprotector-if · 1 year

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i have once again created a character that i have fallen stupidly in love with. he's called knell & he knew mc before they got adopted 😞 they were friends kind of 😞 they haven't seen each other in years but the Tenderness is Still There..

#ramblings #if i made them a ro (I WILL NOT) it would be friends to strangers to enemies to lovers #last time this happened i had to take the character out completely so that they didn't overshadow kallias & galen lol #yuze i still think about you every day #i mean i did give them a cameo but #they were supposed to be a reoccuring character #now they show up once and never again

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aroacesetitoff · 2 days

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just remembered i made a character whose last name is literally a type of ritualistic knife, and his boyfriend was literally a swordsmith who is specifically known for his cursed sword. Call that bladecrossed lovers or whateve

#zagreus athame #perseus “kingslayer” yamato #perseus yamato #they were supposed to start off enemies to lovers anyways but i could never get behind that #At worst theyre like rivals #posts that only make sense to me

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sweettint · 3 months

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I wish Damon Salvatore had remained the true and final villain ("Hello Brother" has a separate franchise fr) instead of giving him that redemption arc. Villain redemption arcs are my favorite but not this.. Maybe because it was not done right? In the beginning, his character was like a breath of fresh air, someone who does not regret his actions, and does as he likes without having much remorse about it. This is what vampires are! Monsters technically and his character depicted that so freaking well. But then they brought- him falling in love with Elena... From that point, his character dropped down for me. Not 'cause I don't like Elena, I love her (and am convinced she deserves better than both these brothers) but bcoz they started imposing his 'human side' 🤷‍♀️

Tbh it was still fine and sweet till season 4 but after that, their relationship felt so FORCEFUL and it went like she never was in a relationship with Stefan. Yes, I get how much his Ripper state has hurt her, that's why I'm saying their relationship arc had so many ups and downs, chemistry and all although they both spent half of their time crying.. anyway. This is why Elena ending up with Stefan made more sense because how can you after going through SO MUCH together, go back to being like teenagers or whatever you would call Elena and Damon had in just a few weeks :)

Hence show makers should have listened to Ian Somerhalder (the actor who played Damon Salvatore) and not gone with redemption BS, instead focusing on filling up some plot holes lmao.

Ps. I know earlier it was planned on having Elena end up with Stefan but Nina Dobrev left the franchise early on soooo there you have it! I wish they had also wrapped up the show within season 6 or something lol

#Team Elena let's go!#I loved Damon in the beginning but show runied him for me the more it drags on #Earlier I would even ship him and Elena because of their chemistry early on plus such a enemy to lovers maybe? But no show had to tarnish i #And I ended up hoping it ends with stefan at least? But oh well we know what goes down #Tvd up until season 4 was gold #But the more it goes on.. the more it felt like them doing for the sake of it #Anyways #the vampire diaries #tvd #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore #hello brother #elena gilbert #ian somerhalder #nina dobrev #have you guys watched that indian tv serial remake of tvd? lmao #tvd franchise #Last thing- yes damon's actions earlier ones were horrible but he's a vampire come on #They are not supposed to be the most righteous ones now

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mister-eames · 8 months

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Anyway, thinking about formative OTPs from your youth slash childhood, yknow, the ones before you even know what shipping or fanfic is, and how they are not so much the blueprint for subsequent OTPs but the first thing that makes every nook and cranny in your brain go ding ding ding !!!!! and in a world of contrived media it makes your heart swell and bellow: that's love!! that's chemistry!!!

and suddenly it's been twenty years and it's a friday night and you come to an abrupt understanding of why the fics you're reading now make you feel like you're 12 years old again and discovering shipping for the first time - because maybe you weren't watching or reading the thing for a ship but your heart stops traffic all over again, points, and says: that's love!!! that's chemistry!!

#this is about joey x pacey and arthur x eames #and how #you go into media with zero preconceptions and zero agenda #and there is this pairing that falls into your lap when it isn't supposed to #you weren't looking for it #but your heart threads these bits and does the fic 'oh' before you even read it #joey and pacey were not meant to be endgame #arthur and eames have two and a bit minutes of screentime together #and yet here we all are #and you realise yeah i have been obsessed with the same ship dynamics since i was in single digits #enemies to friends to lovers to exes to friends to lovers #its the banter!#its the exaggerated disdain!#that they must overcome!#and grow up!!!#even when you're an adult you still gotta grow up!#the character arcs involved!!!#its about this: life is complicated but i need to know everything is gonna be ok #don't look at me #arthur and eames are my adult otp to my jacey childhood otp #their paths waver and realign #meant to be in all sense #i don't even know what im saying anymore #except that it just makes sense to me #anyway

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rainparadefromhell · 1 year

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just found out that the annoying guy's name is andrew. it wasn't of my own volition. he acts like an andrew.

#when he started crying in class i almost started laughing so hard #he's so whiny and the actor can't pull it off #i like enemies to lovers but that whole thing was bad #he's supposed to be like a ben gross type of character but he just isn't #i can't decide why bc they're similar i just think the actor comes across genuinely mean and stiff and not funny at all #probably one of my least fav parts of the show this season #the season was kinda #well i'll put it this way #there were a lot more meh and bad parts than good parts #slocg #the sex lives of college girls #tslocg #whitney chase #whitney x andrew

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achilleid · 2 years

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0 draft!Enoch: I will destroy everything you love.

2nd draft!Shio: Start with yourself.

2nd draft!Enoch, behind 0: 🔪 anything for you Beyoncé

#wip; epyllion #they were a TRUE friends to enemies to lovers in zero draft #Enoch was BAD like DARKLING bad #there was some pretty bad stuff he did that at the turn point to enemies #and vice versa #but then as I learned more about his character #and he changed as I wrote and I realized things about his narrative #he crossed his arms and was like ‘I’m not doing that’#but you have to do that this is the betrayal arc in the enemies to lovers portion #‘I don’t want to be her enemy’#yeah but you are at cross PURPOSES—#’nope. i wanna do what she wants to do.’#……. this isn’t how this is suppose to go #*shrugs at me*#oc; Shio Moravek #oc; enoch volkov

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saetoru · 8 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“sure,” he chuckles.

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

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

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

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

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

it’s way too early for this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

his bare chest, in fact.

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

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

this is…new. very, very new.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

you grin, reaching over when—

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

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

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

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

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

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

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

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

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

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

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

“yeah, as if.”

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

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

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

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

yeah. very snobby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

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

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

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

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

“i know you’re not talking—”

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

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

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

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

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

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

satoru meets you when you’re six.

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

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

a magnetizing one, in fact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

it’s night four.

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

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

scarily handsome, in fact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

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

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

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

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

“how would you know—”

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

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

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

“satoru, what are you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

do not comment about a part 2

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

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

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