#is it too late to just burn the house down

[missmarveledsblog]

Dustin's got a sister? ( Eddie Munson x Henderson!Reader)

summary : friday where DND nothing would stop that except the discovery of Dustin Hendersons older sister of course which leds to eddie wondering if he was wrong about the whole love at first sight thing being crap .

warnings : fluffy fast burn , mutual pinning , eddie being a simp for sure . picture doesn't represent the reader it was just a fic cover i made

Friday meant one thing to Eddie munson and that was Hellfire night . The club were beginning what he could only describe as his best campaign yet ,the loud roars and cheer or cries filled the basement of Dustin Henderson since the older boys graduated it became the new spot . What Eddie didn't know was that the boys were not the only ones in the house as the music upstairs caused them to halt and look to the owner of said basement in confusion .

 " It's just my sister , ignore her" he shrugged, wanting to continue but the sudden excitement of Lucas and Mike only made the older boy more curious .

" sister since when do you have a sister" Eddie almost challenged. " since my mom and dad you know and then she was born" Dustin's head tilted knowing he'd mentioned her before .

"and She's smoking hot" Lucas blurted out for Mike Wheeler to nod eagerly in agreement.

" How come we've never seen her around?" Gareth asked .

" because she went to a different school and usually she was with her asshole boyfriend but they broke up also she hangs out with Steve and robin, she also busy with college stuff " Dustin looked around the table seeing all their confused faces.

" Wait, I've never seen her when I hang out with them" Eddie looked at the boy .

" that's because she was with her boyfriend ,I literally just said that" he rolled his eyes.

" hey dusty bun you down there .... Oh shit sorry i forgot you had company" all their eyes landed on the woman standing there hair wrapped in a towel and dressed in shorts and tank top .

" hey Y/N" Lucas waved dreamingly . 

" Hey Sinclair," she smiled . 

" Hey wanna join," Mike asked.

" I can't tonight. I got a paper due on Monday, just came down to see if Dustin ate , but now the question expands , "Do you guys want pizza?" she smiled bright towards them, eddie could have sworn he had drool coming out of his mouth .

" yeah totally would eat pizza with you" Jeff chin resting in his hands . " Ok pepperoni would be a safe choice right" she looked, seeing them all nod . " ok i shall call when it's here " she ran up the stairs, cheeks heated suddenly aware of her attire and the eyes of the boys roaming her body . 

" How the hell is that your sister?" gareth asked, totally in awe .

 " Told you , smoking hot" Lucas beamed proudly.

" You asked her to join, why ?" Eddie almost whispered not ready for the answer in fair of his mind short circuiting even more that it was . " because she's the reason that we know how to play" Mike whispered back, sending the group of boys almost into a group of school girls fawning .

 " So you're telling me that the smoking hot goddess of a woman is a nerd like us" .

 " Can you all please stop calling my sister hot?" Dustin grimaced, suddenly regretting offering his basement for the Hellfire club . when the music changed and the familiar riffs flooded his ear drums . 

" Is that?... YOUR HOT SISTER LIKES METAL" Eddie almost roared across the table . 

" Is it too late to quit hellfire?" Dustin groaned.

It seemed the campaign was forgotten about after half an hour of questioning. Dustin Henderson was never more grateful for the pizza man's arrival but when she told them to come up he was almost trampled as his friends tried getting up the stairs .

" holy shit you guys must be hungry , no need to panic i got more than enough " she laughed seeing them pushing each other out of the way . 

" Totally starving" gareth smiled brightly.

" ok well plates are there and help yourself" she pointed to the counter .

" ladies first" Eddie smiled, arm outstretched . 

" Thank you" she moved, grabbing her plate and pizza before heading to the sofa. " I just stuck on halloween if you guys wanna join" she called eyes on the screen not seeing the pushing and shoving happening in the kitchen before eddie smiled victoriously beside her. " I love this movie" he winked . 

" I literally only started it so you all aren't missing much ... wait what about the campaign" her head tilted as they all sighed in content.

" Apparently due to hormones it's over" Dustin grumbled sitting on the other side of her . 

" Shit sorry that was my fault if I'm being too loud I can go to my room" she offered only for a chorus of no's and don't to fill the room . " you're fine, really we can do it another time apparently" Dustin smiled seeing the worry on her face. Before anyone else could say anything the doorbell went off making her run out to see who it was totally forgetting she invited steve and robin over.

" hey if you can find a place to sit" she led the two in.

" Hey guys," the three kids called.

"Hey Harrington man , nice to see you , how come you never mentioned the sweetheart of a sister Dustin had before" Eddie smiled yet glaring at his friend.

" because Dustin told me not to" he shrugged, heading off to the kitchen .

 "Do I embarrass you or something?" She turned to her brother.

" No just you were with that douche before and i didn't want him embarrassing me" he lied easily . 

" That's a good point," Robin nodded .

 " I hated that guy so much" Steve agreed eagerly as he handed Robin her plate as he sat beside Dustin .

 " Ok enough about my ex and let's watch the movie" she huffed, letting her damp nearly dry hair out of the towel . As soon as the lights went out all their attention went to the movie playing well mostly to the movie. Eddie's attention did try to stick to the screen but it often shifted to the girl sitting beside him. wondering how the hell he wasn't a puddle in the chair or if the beating of his heart was audible given how fast it was , was he sweating cause sure as hell felt like it . He watched the light of tv shine on her face, her relaxed state or... shit she grabbed his hand , why was he short circuiting over a girl grabbing his hand . 

" Sorry that part always make me jump" she whispered soft laugh spilling from her pillow plump lips , he could of sworn he saw a blush on her face but wasn't sure giving the limited light .

" if you need to grab it again feel free too" he whispered back smiling so wide showing off his dimples .

" thank you munson" now he was hoping more parts would make her jump . her hand in his throughout the movie it turned out his campaign wasn't the highlight of this Friday after all.

Once the movie ended Dustin hit the lights making them all groan at the sudden intrusive brightness . except the light snores filled out the room making them all turn to see the older henderson and eddie passed out cold her head on his shoulder and his hand holding hers .

 " Awhh that's so cute" Robin cooed, hiding her amusement.

" Damn it, I was gonna ask her out " Gareth growled, making everyone turn to the boy . " I said that out loud huh?" he stood rubbing the back of his neck .

 " Very loud," Steve snorted . "Come on i can drop you guys home" he stretched as the all looked at him wide eyed.

" Seriously "king"Steve Harrington is going to let us be seen with him" Jeff almost gasped out.

" yeah yeah dont cream your pants , come let them sleep" he ushered the gang of still shocked boys out the door. Only for Dustin to slam it shut behind them waking the two .

 "Where is everyone?" she asked, confused.

" yeah i remembered more people being here" Eddie rubbed his eyes . 

" Steve's dropping them home since you two were all cuddled up in sleepland" . 

"Shit i'll go clean up and head out before your mom comes home '' Eddie yawned and stretched ready to head back down to the basement . 

"Just stay, she's not home till Sunday," Dustin yelled, heading down to his own room . 

" If you want to, I mean we can watch another movie," she smiled nervously was he making her uncomfortable or was it something else.

" Yeah i could totally stay, I got some clothes in my van , let me grab them" he beamed with excitement.

" I'm going for a smoke so i'll come out with you" she grabbed her shoes and jacket pulling out the carton of cigarettes and lighter . 

" Lead the way princess" he opened the door letting her walk out first. The night's crisp air hitting them , she stood on the porch as he ran down grabbing the backpack out of his van given his original plan was to sleep at jeff's for the night so wayne could have a night's sleep in his room for once. When he looked back to see she was sitting on what he called the outdoor sofa to rile Dustin up, her eyes looking up at the sky lost in the stars above even then she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen . The slow exhale of smoke and she turned to smile at his approaching figure .

 " You cold, i can give you my jacket" he was already going to take it off pulling out his own cigarettes.

" no it's not too chilly tonight ,it actually a nice night" she mused moving so he could sit beside her.

"So Dustin mentioned you went to a different school. How come" he asked, wanting to know everything and anything about the woman sitting beside him . 

" You don't remember me huh?" she asked, confusing him completely.

" we actually went to the same school til i'd say middle school i changed schools because tommy hagan kinda made my life hell so my mom moved me to a different school since the principle wouldn't do anything about it , i was fat kid with curly ass hair , he called me sparky cause of this'' She shrugged the jacket showing the lightning bolt scar on her arm Making him remember completely who she was.

" shit yeah i remember, i also remember you punching him when he picked on other kids" he mused.

" another reason i had to move schools, the irony of letting myself being their victim and yet seeing ready when i seen them torment someone else " she snorted, tapping the ash of her cigarette . 

" Shit i would've never pictured you and Dustin to be siblings," he chuckled.

" Well back then my parents were still married and I wasn't always Henderson" She pointed out.

" Well that also checks out, still i've always thought that scar was metal , how you get it?" . 

"Wasn't struck by lightning sadly that would of been cooler no i burned it trying to make my own shield" she giggled. "

That's still metal in my books" he chuckled. 

" I guess your right I mean my mom didn't think so in the ER but hey it was good shield think it's still in the garage" throwing the cigarette away , sneaking a quick glance at the most adorable and probably hottest guy she ever met sitting beside her .

" you in college now or ? " he asked .

" yeah just an hour drive away, studying nursing what about you ? " she turned. Her eyes made him completely weak at the knee's .

" apprentice mechanic " she noticed how his smiled didn't quite reach his eyes when he said it .

" well if you ever get hurt on the job call me, I'll come nurse you back to heath " she nudging him playfully there it was a real smile on his pretty face.

" come on we head in or I'll be the nurse when you catch some flu or cold being out here " he stood holding his hand out to help her up .

" wanna was nightmare on elm Street" she asked.

" of course and if you get scared you can hold my hand " he winked as they walked into the house.

" I mean it is scary movie dare I say even terrifying you might get sick of me holding your hand" she teased heading to the other side of the room to grab the tape and a blanket .

" never would I do such a thing " he held his hand over his heart those damn dimples that made her heart skip a beat or the glint of the rings as he held his hand over his heart.

" could you put the movie in , I'll grab the snacks and some drinks " she scurried of the kitchen . Putting the movie on pause before he called to say he was putting some pyjamas on before it got started .

When he came in she had snacks pile on top of each other along with the soda . He could of sworn he caught her checking him out but brushing it off instantly.

" ready" she lifted the blanket up for him to join .

" born ready darling " he hit the lights as the second movie of the night started playing he suddenly felt the,warmth of her palm in his . " just incase I get to scared " she winked now he was one who was grateful for lack of lights cause he was sure he was beet red now.

" better safe the sorry " he whispered his voice almost cracking in the nervous manner of possibly the hottest most beautiful girl he'd met holding his hand ... his goddamned hand . the two say eyes locked on screen itching to look at the person at their side . She inched her way closer as the movie played when jumpscare came on she couldn't help bury her head In his chest . The smell of his cologne and cigarette filled her sense as she felt the vibrations of his laugh as he wrapped his arms around her.

"I'll keep you safe princess " she could feel the almost cocky grin in his words feeling her little plan worked .

" thank you eddie my hero " she cooed looking up through her lashes making his gulp audibly leaning up and a peck to his lips, he was sure to die in his spot . A victory smile she kept her head on his chest while his arm was wrapped around her , she could hear the now steady beating of his heart as he gotten comfortable in the new position his hand rubbing up and down her back . Wasn't long til the two got way to comfortable and feel asleep in each others arms to content to even care .

[achilles-rage]

Helpless

summary: you keep seeing eddie die in your dreams, and when you wake up in the middle of the night at his house in tears, you run. eddie chases you down, desperate to comfort you and make you feel better.

word count: 3.4k

request: anon- can you please do an Eddie Diaz fic where reader has a nightmare where Eddie dies in front of her and when she wakes up she runs and Eddie chase her and finds her crying in an alleyway and he comforts her.

a/n: this was kinda fun to write. y’all really like making eddie go through it in requests, just like the 911 producers<33 enjoy!

warnings: descriptions of violence (eddie getting shot), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

You weren’t there when Eddie was shot; he was working, and you were helping your friend move, so your phone was off. You’ve heard the story so many times, however, that you can picture all of it in your head. The deafening sound of the gunshot, the way Eddie collapsed, the way his blood spilled onto the road under him as his breathing became ragged.

That day was the reason you’re dating now. After he woke up in the hospital, you couldn’t hold back your feelings; you had gotten caught up in the moment and pressed your lips to his before you could even think. 

You were both surprised, of course, but Eddie was quick to reassure you that he’d been waiting months to do that, and he was sort of glad that you had done it before he was able to talk himself out of it, again.

It’s been months since that day, yet everything still feels fresh in your mind, especially when you go to bed at night beside him. His resistance to sleeping in a shirt means that you can see his wound; that you can feel it when you run your hands up and down his chest and shoulders.

You sometimes wake up in tears in the middle of the night, Eddie’s lifeless eyes burning holes in your brain as you try to slow your racing heart. It’s been happening more frequently, though, and you’re not sure why. Nothing bad has happened since then; nothing too traumatic, anyway.

You’ve been putting off spending the night at Eddie’s for that reason. You don’t want to wake him up in the middle of the night and force him to relive that trauma while at the same time trying to calm you down. You weren’t even there, for God's sake. It’s been getting harder to say no, though, and he’s beginning to get suspicious at your less than believable excuses.

First, it was that you had an early workout class with your friend, and you didn’t want to be up too late. Then, it was that you were pet sitting for a friend, and the only reason that went over well is because you begged your neighbour to borrow their cat for a little while because Christopher begged you and Eddie to come meet her. 

Eddie had finally noticed something was up when you told him that you couldn’t spend the night at his place because you had to do your laundry. He had seen you do your laundry two days ago, and while he doesn’t bring that up, he puts on the best puppy dog eyes he can muster, wrapping his arms around your plush middle and pulling you flush against him.

When he whispered a soft “please” in your ear, you couldn’t help but agree. You just hope that tonight goes by peacefully, and you don’t have to relieve one of your worst fears yet again.

Now, you’re at Eddie’s house, chest heaving and clothes scattered around the floor of the living room as you try to take advantage of the fact that Christopher is at his Abuela’s for the night. Eddie looks up at you straddling his lap, giving you a dazed smile as you both come down from your highs, and you lean in to give him a gentle kiss, your hands on his cheeks.

When you pull back, your hands move from his cheeks to his shoulders, then slowly drag down his chest. Your fingers dance across his scar, and you swallow, trying to keep your expression relaxed and happy as your gaze follows the path of your hands.

“It’s getting pretty late. I’ve gotta pick up Chris early for school tomorrow, you wanna come?” he asks when you both have caught your breath, although you’re still straddling his lap.

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.” you tell him, and he smiles, pulling you in for one last kiss before he taps your hip twice, signaling you to stand. 

You get off of him and your eyes watch his movements as he stands up, and when he holds his hand out for you, you take it immediately.

“Shower then bed?” he asks, and you take a second to respond with a nod, forcing a smile onto your face. You’re dreading going to sleep, but you know you can’t put it off forever. That doesn’t mean you won’t try, though.

When you’re both in the shower, the steam filling the room and the hot water is hitting your back, you pull Eddie into a rough kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck as you push your naked bodies together, and he groans softly, hands immediately going to your wide hips. You figure that this could help; either it would make him want to stay up later, or maybe you’d be tired enough to not have any dreams. You’re not exactly sure that’s how dreams work, but you figure it’s worth a shot. 

He loves how you feel against him, and he kisses you back with equal fervor. When his tongue slips past your lips, you think it’s a good sign, but when he pulls back after a moment or two, you let out a soft whine.

“Mi amor, I love you, but I think you wore me out earlier.” he jokes softly, and you can’t help but smile at the way the corner of his eyes scrunch up as he smiles down at you. You lean up and give him one more peck, before you drop your hands and step back under the stream of water.

“It was worth a shot.” you tease back, giving him a wink before you tilt your head back and close your eyes. You let out a content sigh as the hot water hits your back, and although you can’t see him, you hope that he’s at least rethinking your suggestion.

You open your eyes when you feel his hands on you, feeling your cheeks grow hot as his large hands begin to spread body wash across your skin. His eyes follow the path of his hands, admiring your soft curves and stretch marks and freckles as he washes your body, and he can feel himself growing tired as the relaxing atmosphere consumes him. 

When he’s finished, he lets you wash off the suds, and then you grab his body wash and return the favour. You start out innocently, hands ghosting over his chest, and torso, and back as you wash the day off of his skin. Your hands begin to wander soon, though, and he raises a brow, giving you a warning look.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” he teases, and you give him a sheepish smile as your gaze moves up to meet his.

“I don’t know what you mean.” you tell him with a shrug. He chuckles softly, rolling his eyes before he leans down to kiss your forehead.

“We’ve gotta get up early, baby. I don’t want you to be cranky tomorrow.” he tells you in a fake stern tone, although the hint of a smile on his lips tells you otherwise.

“That was one time, and I had every reason to be cranky that morning.” you tell him with a scoff, rolling your eyes in response to his eye roll.

“Keep telling yourself that.” he muses, watching as you finish washing his body with a smile. When you’re done, you switch spots a bit awkwardly to let him wash off, and then the water is turned off and you’re wrapping yourselves with towels.

When you’re both finally settled in bed and the light is turned off, you lay beside Eddie, staring at the dark ceiling. Eddie rolls onto his side beside you, draping an arm over your waist and squeezing your soft belly gently as he stares at the side of your face. You turn your head to face him after a moment, a small smile on your face.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugs, feigning innocence as he keeps his gaze on you, then squeezes your belly again, making you laugh softly.

“Just admiring my girl.” he says in an equally quiet voice, and you shake your head, feeling your whole body heat up and your heart clench. He always knows what to say.

“What time do we have to leave tomorrow?” you ask, scooching just a little closer to him.

“Well, Chris forgot to pack a shirt for school tomorrow, and he said he ‘absolutely cannot’ go to school wearing the same shirt as yesterday, so we’ve gotta pick him up and bring him back here instead of just driving him to school. Should leave around 6:30.” he explains, and you laugh softly. You don’t mind having to get up earlier; you love Christopher with all your heart, and you know you’ll just have to sit in the passenger seat while Eddie drives anyway.

“You sure we can’t stay up a little bit later?” you ask, looking over at him with your best pout, and he smiles, rolling his eyes. You still don’t want to go to sleep, no matter how tired you are right now.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? I have a late shift tomorrow, and I promise I’ll make it up to you after we drop Chris off at school.” he tells you with a smirk, then grabs one of your hands and brings it up to his lips.

You can see the tiredness in his eyes, and you feel a little guilty, so you sigh loudly before you nod.

“Fine. But I’m holding you to it.” you tell him sternly, your lips quirking up at the sides as you narrow your eyes slightly. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, mumbling a quick “promise” against your lips before he pulls away.

“I love you.” he tells you as he pulls you towards him, forcing you to roll onto your side and let him slide behind you.

“I love you.” you reply as you relax into his grip, eyelids getting heavier. 

After a few minutes, you feel Eddie’s arm draped over you get heavier, and his breathing become steadier, and you can tell he’s asleep, but you still try to hold out. You don’t last long, however, as Eddie’s warm embrace and the darkness finally lulls you to sleep.

You gasp when you hear the gunshot echo through your ears, and your eyes immediately find Eddie’s form as he falls to the ground. You’re frozen in your spot as more gunshots are heard, and the pool of blood grows bigger around Eddie, and you feel helpless. 

You try to scream; to yell for help, but nothing comes out. You can’t will your legs to move, or any other part of your body. You watch as Eddie’s breathing slows, and becomes more and more ragged, and you can’t turn your gaze away from him.

You can see the whisper of your name fall from his lips as the life leaves his body, and yet you still can’t move. You feel like you’re glued to the ground, and everything is in slow motion as the beating of your heart moves to the forefront of your hearing. 

You can hear the sirens around you, they’re distant, and you know they won’t make it, because you didn’t do anything. You couldn’t.

When you wake up in Eddie’s bed, and you can barely focus on anything but the hot tears streaming down your face and the way your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest.

You raise two shaky hands up to wipe your tears, and then you rest your face in your hands, trying to slow your breathing. 

You and Eddie drifted apart in your sleep, but it’s the warm touch of his thigh against yours that forces you out of your head and makes you look in his direction. 

He’s facing you, and in the darkness, his face looks exactly like it did in your dream: lifeless. You let out a ragged sob as you jump out of bed, not knowing what to do other than get out of Eddie’s house as soon as possible. You know deep down that it’s a dream, but having Eddie so close to you like this makes it feel even more real.

Eddie picked you up and drove you to his house, but you’re only a couple blocks away, and in your haze, you don’t even think about how dangerous that could be. You’re also so wrapped up in your dream that you don’t see that your abrupt move to stand up caused him to wake up, and he’s now staring at you with a confused expression as he calls your name hoarsely.

He curses under his breath when he sees you dart out of the room and down the hall, and stands up to follow you. He calls your name as you race to the front door, and when you slip on your shoes and run out the door, he stops. He races back to his room and pulls on a pair of sweatpants, a shirt, and shoes before he’s back out the door and following you down the street.

He’s surprised at how fast you’re moving, and he has to run to try to catch up with you already at the end of the street. When you pass under a streetlight, he notices that you’re also running, and he picks up the pace, desperate to catch up to you and figure out what the hell is going on.

All you can hear is your sobs and your shoes hitting the pavement as you make your way home, and your throat is burning as you get further and further from Eddie’s house. 

You finally have to stop a block or two from your house, ducking into an alley and leaning against the bricks as you try to catch your breath. You’re still sobbing, and you drop your head into your hands as you close your eyes, but you shake your head quickly and open your eyes when you see Eddie’s dead eyes boring into yours.

You let out a soft yelp in surprise when you feel a hand on your upper arm, and when you look up and see Eddie, you cry harder, letting him pull you into his strong arms.

He shushes you as you sob into his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso and your hands gripping tightly onto the fabric of his shirt, as if your grip will stop him from disappearing right in front of your eyes.

“You died.” is all he can make out through your sobs, and his brows furrow as he continues to rub your back gently.

“I’m right here, baby, I promise. I’m not going anywhere. We’re okay.” He tries to calm you, letting you sob into his chest as he shushes you, but he can’t tell if it’s working or not. You’re still shaking in his grip, and he’s not sure what to do. He wants his happy girl back.

“Can you tell me what happened, mi amor?” he asks in a soft voice. He feels you let in a big shaky breath, your cheek still pressed against his cheek, and then you speak.

“I keep having this dream about when you were shot. I just watch you die, and I can’t do anything.” He nods slowly, his expression getting sadder as he finally puts the pieces together. You’ve been pulling away from him over the last couple weeks, and now he knows that you didn’t want to tell him about it. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, and you inhale a shaky breath as you shrug. “Baby, you have to tell me about these things, you can’t just keep it in.” he continues, and you chew on your bottom lip, feeling increasingly guilty. You know you should’ve told him, or someone, but you didn’t want him to worry.

“I don’t want to lose you.” is all you can say. He sighs, then presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Let’s go home.” he urges softly, and you nod, finally pulling back from him and looking into his eyes.

He gives you a sad smile as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, then begins to walk you home. He keeps you close the whole way, still remaining vigilant to everything around you, and when you’re finally home, he turns on his bedside lamp and sits you down on the edge of his bed, kneeling between your legs. 

You meet his gaze, chewing on your bottom lip, and he raises a hand to rub his thumb across your cheek. He smiles to himself when he sees you lean into his touch, and his other hand goes to your thigh when he begins to speak.

“I’m not going anywhere, yeah? I got shot months ago, and I’m still here.” You blink slowly as you look down at him, knowing that he’s right. You still can’t shake the feeling, though. You can’t forget about the way his body fell limp and his eyes rolled back. And you couldn’t do a thing.

“I just feel so helpless. What if you-” you stop yourself before you can finish your sentence. You feel like if you say it, it’ll happen. He sighs, shaking his head as he shushes you. He hates that you have to think about this kind of thing.

“I have my team with me all the time. I promise you, if anything does happen, I’ll be okay.” You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut as you nod. You know his team; you love them, and you know he’s right. “What if they’re not there? I have no idea what to do.” you say. You know it’s silly, but you can’t help but think about how the situation would play out if it were to happen with you there and not Buck. You’re no firefighter. You have no idea what you’d do in that situation.

He thinks for a minute, eyes darting around the room. He’s desperate to come up with a solution for you. He wants you to be able to sleep soundly again and stop worrying so much. 

“How about this? We’ll get you signed up for some classes; CPR, stuff like that. So you know what to do.” he offers with a hopeful smile on his face. You think for a moment, letting out a relieved sigh at the idea. That could work. You feel so helpless in your dream, and learning what to do in a situation like that may actually help you stop feeling like that.

“Okay.” you say with a soft smile, and his smile widens just slightly. He stands up and cups your cheeks, then leans down and kisses your forehead softly. 

When he looks back down at you, he sees that your eyelids are heavy and you’re almost completely relaxed again.

“You wanna go to sleep now?” You nod, sighing softly as he takes his hands away from your face. You lay down while he rids himself of his shirt, then he lays beside you again, pulling you to lay your head on his chest.

“And no more running away, okay? You almost gave me a heart attack.” he tells you in a stern, but slightly teasing voice. You nod against his chest, laughing softly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do.” you admit, and he squeezes your shoulders, jaw clenched.

“Talk to me if you have that dream again, okay, mi amor?” he asks in a pleading voice.

“I promise.” you mumble, your eyelids growing heavy as Eddie’s heartbeat acts as a lullaby.

“Good. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” he whispers, feeling you melt into his body.

“I know.” you whisper back, your eyes finally closing as you fall into a peaceful sleep.

He keeps you close the entire night, and when you wake up in the morning and tell him you didn’t have another dream, he’s extremely happy. Now all he has to do is help you find some courses to teach you some basic life saving techniques, or teach you himself. Whatever is necessary to make you feel better.

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[piratefalls]

an 8x06 fix-it where tommy gets home, admits to himself that he's being an idiot, and turns around.

By the time he walks through his own front door it's been an hour. An hour since he broke Evan's -- Buck's, he reminds himself, knowing it's useless, that it'll always be Evan -- heart, and his own in the process, and he just...stands there in his living room. He stands there among the dark furniture and a stack of blankets and his widescreen tv, shelves full of odds and ends he's collected over the years. He stands there and keeps trying to convince himself that he did the right thing.

Tries to convince himself that it means nothing when he looks at his couch and sees them curled up, Evan's head resting on Tommy's shoulder as he tried so hard to stay awake through Mannequin. Sees the recliner and remembers the way Evan's hair felt as he carded his fingers through it, the warmth of his skin as he pressed a kiss to his birthmark.

Keeps trying to convince himself even as he looks straight ahead to the kitchen, sees himself coming in the door one night after a long shift to find Evan had not only made dinner - a roast and potatoes, something warm and comforting to help usher in sleep by the time they both got to bed - but set the table, an ivory taper candle burning bright in the center. Remembers how nice it was to come home to the warmth of another person's presence.

His conviction wavers when he looks down the hall and sees the first time he pulled Evan toward his bed. Knows that if he walked to his room he'd see shadows of the way Evan looked standing there, no shirt, pants unbuttoned, begging Tommy to just touch him already, what are you waiting for. The place where he heard Evan gasp and moan, felt him tremble and shake in his arms, remembers the way his eyes widened the first time he made Evan come. The many nights they spent after that wrapped up together under the covers, Evan's fingers tracing the curve of his spine as he hummed his contentment into the skin of Tommy's shoulder.

The full spectrum of regret hits him in the chest like a punch when he sees Evan's hoodie thrown over the back of the couch. Sees the remote control pack hanging off the arm of the recliner that's only there because Evan got sick of searching for the tv remote whenever he came over. Sees the little toy helicopter Evan bought him because it made me think of you.

Looking at it makes him ache. Makes him long and want in ways he never has before, and he’s still scared. Still afraid of being burned even though this time he's the one who set himself on fire. What did he think it would accomplish, breaking two hearts to protect one? In the end his is still in pieces on Evan’s kitchen floor, all because he pushed up some imaginary deadline on their relationship. It's stupid. He's stupid. It's all so deeply stupid.

He looks around and Evan's fingerprints, proof that he was here, are everywhere. His house - his life - is filled with Evan, tucked away in every nook and cranny, his heart a steady cadence of a name he's not sure he has a right to say out loud anymore. He sees his future, haunted by a ghost of his own making, and he asks himself, What have I done?

Then a moment later: What if it's not too late to make it right?

He pulls his keys out of the dish by the door and all but runs to his truck. He backs out of the driveway faster than is probably advisable (he's pretty sure he hits a curb, but it doesn't matter, it's a guaranteed fix but his relationship is not). He pushes the limit part of speed limit, and is at Evan's building in record time.

He knocks on Evan's door but there's no answer. Tommy's not really surprised, even if his heart squeezes tightly in his chest; Evan's not obligated to open it, or even acknowledge his presence at all, but Tommy needs to at least try. He doesn't have a key - they didn't quite get there - so he reaches into his back pocket for his phone. It rings before he gets a chance to even unlock it, screen lighting up with Evan's face, soft with sleep after a night of marathon sex that took place after two weeks of conflicting schedules. After another second, he swipes to answer.

"I know you probably don't want to see me, but can you let me in?" The pause on the other end lasts just long enough that Tommy checks to see if the call has disconnected. "Buck?"

"First of all," he responds. "Never call me that again. Second, what are you talking about?"

"Bu--Evan... I'm standing at your front door."

He hears Evan snort on the other end. "Well that's unfortunate, because I'm currently standing at your front door. Full of righteous indignation and a desperate need to call you an idiot to your face."

Tommy can't think of anything to say except, "I'm so sorry. I should have talked to you instead of walking away. I shouldn't have assumed anything. I just got --"

"Scared," Evan finishes. "I know. And I came here to tell you to suck it up, because I'm scared too, but you're worth fighting for. We're worth fighting for." Evan lets out a deep sigh. "I'm sorry, too, by the way. I should have asked if you were ready to have that conversation instead of jumping straight to you moving in. And I probably should have started by telling you that I want to live with you because I love you."

Tommy grins, heart nearly beating out of his chest, so full of hope it could burst. "You think you can find it within yourself to tell me in person?"

Evan groans after a second. "How do you know about that?"

"It was an open channel, Evan, everyone heard Bobby say that."

There's a moment of silence before Evan responds. "So we should definitely talk about this. And, like, so many other things. Will you wait for me at the loft?"

"I'll be here."

"And once we get done talking about how you're an idiot and how we should both practice better communication, I expect a lot of groveling. I mean a lot."

Tommy's grin spreads. "As you wish."

Evan groans again, and it's the best thing Tommy's ever heard.

"Hey, Evan?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

He can practically hear Evan smile as he murmurs, "I know. I'll see you soon."

And Tommy's so sure in that moment that, with a little bit of work and a lot of talking, everything is going to be fine. Maybe even forever.

[spookypete-94]

Dead!GhostxLiving!Reader

Just for you @meraziam. I liked this concept and I'm glad you do too!

Part 1 here

Ghost followed you home from the cemetery curious about who you are and what exactly happened to make you so angry.

TW for mentioned abuse and suicide

Enjoy!

The idea of going to the cemetery to tell off your dead abusive ex made you feel better... at the time. Now you just felt ridiculous. Someone could have seen you curse out and spit at a grave... what were you thinking?? You had to look insane.

Maybe the walk home would calm the nerves, wearing off the anger and embarrassment of your recent tantrum.

Leaving the graveyard, you couldn't help but notice feeling cold. Like the frigid from being outside too long on an icy day, seeping into your bones. Lingering and making your bones ache.

Perhaps sickness was setting in. Maybe winter right around the corner.

If only you could see the large hulking figure with an arm wrapped around your waste. It was black, longer than a normal human arm. A shadow holding you close, trying to console your feelings, but he was pulling your energy away making his stronger.

Returning home, Ghost stepped through the main door after shutting it on him.

Rude, but he couldn't blame you. He would close the door on himself in turn if he could.

Looking around he noticed the damage. The holes in the walls, broken items of yours from being thrown around, glass and debris scattered. It was all familiar to him. He was used to seeing this from growing up, but his heart fell, nonetheless. Memories of everyone in his household hiding and cowering from his father returned. Pieces of the puzzle all coming together.

You on the other hand made a cup of hot tea, still trying to shake off the cold burn you had picked up on your walk. Adding honey to your tea made Ghost feel nostalgic, something his mother did when he wanted something sweet.

Glancing over, he looked down at the laptop you were aimlessly scrolling on until you had clicked a press release from the local news. Reading over your shoulder, he learned what your name was along with verifying the name of the man you had visited that was in the ground. The man had been drunk when he struck you, trying to hold you down while you were trying to get away. Anger and panic rose within him, probably the same you had felt during the event. Luckily, you were able to slip away, calling for help... But the police were too late finding your broken lover gone. Maybe it was shame that caused him to take his own life, maybe it was something even greater than that.

How he would give anything to console you, to hold you and make this right. Can't you see how better off you are without someone hurting your beautiful self? You have Ghost now to look after you and keep you safe. He was here to take care of you, to make you his new home.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could have sworn a shadow was there. Every time you would look over though, it seemed to blend in with the rest of your surroundings. A trick of the eyes? Or maybe your head was still rocked from the assault. Either way, it pleased Ghost to know you could at least see something about him even if it wasn't his entire self. This fed him and made him stronger in his state.

Sure, you had noticed the little things around the house being done. Like the dishes being washed and the laundry folded and set on your bed. Pretty panties left on the top of the pile. Maybe your memory was still short from the trauma, but honestly you had no recollection of doing any of these tasks. It was like someone was taking care of you. Someone making sure your house and routine was running smoothly.

It was you hiring a handy man to come fix the holes in the walls however that Ghost learned more about his new abilities. Watching another man step into your home enraged him. Ghost wanted to protect you and have all to his self. He made himself tall, form black as night, not even a chance of any light shining through. Approaching the handy man slowly, like he was stalking his prey. The poor victim turned and ran, unsure of this unnatural being that was encroaching, all too sure that it was not of this world.

So, when you came home and the work was done, you didn't even think about it at first. Until you noticed tools left next to the check to pay for the job left on your table was when it seemed suspicious.

Who does the work and doesn't take the payment for it? The handyman even had gone as far to block your number after reaching out to get him his check.

Finally, what made you even think about someone else being in the house was the heavy footsteps sounding down the hallway and into your bedroom one night.

Sitting up in your bed, you glanced around, trying to calm down. Were you dreaming again? Still breathing heavy, trying to convince yourself that was the case and everything was fine. Until you saw the other side of your bed sink down... like someone was laying on it. An indent in the blankets and pillow where a head would be. The feeling to get up and run away was overwhelming, but at the same time you weren't exactly terrified.

Was it your dead ex?

"Who are you?" You asked.

Just as expected, no answer.

Instead, the indent moved as someone rolled closer to you, an arm slithering around you to pull you back into them.

He never held you like this... this was someone else entirely.

"Who are you?" You asked again. Still no answer. The cold feeling was back, and your energy was zapped, leaving you tired and craving sleep.

That's fine. You would find a way to communicate somehow.

Simon Ghost Riley Masterlist

[buck-star]

Marshmallow lover | B.B & S.R

>> Bucky comes home from a mission, flashbacks are brought back. But luckily you know what Bucky needs to clam down. Not only you and Steve but also hot chocolate. <<

Pairing: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Boyfriend!Steve Rogers x Girlfriend!Reader

Wordcount: 2.852 Words

Warnings: poly-relationship, m/m/f, established relationship, anxiety/panic, mention of punching), nicknames (babydoll, princess, majesty), fluff

Authors Note: Dedicated to @mercurial-chuckles. Cause you asked for Stucky, hehe. I had another idea but I just haven’t had enough motivation or ideas to write it. So I hope you like that one anyway.

Events: Stucky Bingo [SB6010 | B3 | Writing Format: second person + November Prompt: Home | @stuckybingo] Steve Rogers Bingo [SB4054 | C3 | Free Space | @steverogersbingo]

It was one of these early winter days, where the weather wasn't too cold but you could already feel the breeze the winter was bringing with itself. The air was cool; your hands would have been ice blocks already, but luckily your boyfriend was holding one of them, and the other has been stuck in your pocket since the two of you left the house.

Actually, the two of you thought about staying home until Bucky came home — from the mission — in the evening. But when Bucky told you that he wouldn't be home before the late evening, Steve decided to force you in a loving way to go shopping with him. He knew you loved decoration, so it was the best opportunity to make you leave the house and have some fun with him. Otherwise, you would have sat in the hallway, watching the front door until Bucky walked inside.

It happened once, and both of your men made sure that they would distract you if the other one was on a mission and came home late. Of course, they understood why you acted like that; it was weird to have one of you not in bed at night or missing at the table during meals. Even watching television was different if one of them was on a mission — which didn't happen often anymore.

But after the last time you refused to leave the spot in the hallway unless you had to use the bathroom, Steve took you shopping this time. And luckily, he managed to get your mind off of the fact that Bucky could be injured when he came home. Even though you seemed distracted, Steve felt a little restless; he knew you felt the same, but he just hoped the decoration was distracting enough for you. Little did he know that you hoped the same for him, because deep down, you wanted to return home to make sure that Bucky was fine once he came home. But you tried to calm yourself; Bucky could call you once he was home, and he could take care of himself for a bit too. Plus, he sometimes even enjoyed having a moment just for himself after some missions.

When you had some items you wanted and were happy with, you and Steve made your way back home. It was just a short walk, but the later it got, the colder it was. You were shivering, and Steve's strong arm around your waist and his muscular body pressed against your side didn't help much to warm you up. “You know, my tooth...” you chuckled softly, moving them inside your shoes even though you didn't really feel them because of the cold anymore. “They are pretty cold. Guess they would fall off if I bumped them.”

“Then we get you home pretty fast. Don't want your toes to fall off. Bucky wouldn't like that either," Steve joked, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your hair. The two of you didn't talk much; there was no need. It was just the closeness to one another, the happiness and love that you felt whenever you were close to your boyfriends. So you just walked quietly along the streets with him, the sky slowly darkening, and you were glad you were almost home already.

After a few more minutes of walking, you finally walked into the warm house. It was almost a burning feeling on your skin, and you hissed softly. Steve had to shove you into the house, or else you would probably have walked backwards and out of the warmth back into the cold. He chuckled behind you, his calloused hands holding you by your waist before pushing you further into the hallway so he was able to close the door behind you.

“It's warm, isn't it? Maybe it’s because you're surrounded by such hot men.” Steve laughed softly, taking your jacket, before he took off his own jacket and shoes. You narrowed your eyes when you walked further into your house, looking around to find Bucky. You were sure he was home; his shoes were in the hallway where they belonged. But instead of your boyfriend coming immediately to greet the two of you, he was nowhere to be seen. Steve's voice interrupted your thoughts before you could even start to worry. “Maybe he's in the bedroom; he loves showers after a mission. While you look for him, I'm gonna make some hot chocolate for us.”

You nodded, pecking Steve's lips softly, before you turned away to walk to your shared bedroom. You didn't hear any noises, neither the shower nor Bucky looking through the wardrobe to find something comfortable to wear. You tried as best as you could to not worry about him. Bucky was sometimes pretty quiet, especially after missions. It was almost like he had to get used to home again to know he wasn't on a mission any longer.

The door of your bedroom was almost closed, but you saw a little part of the bed, the small bedside table, and a hint of something else — feet. Or it was more the toes that were curled, like they were the only part that was holding him grounded. You pushed the door open, looking to the side where Bucky was sitting. Your eyes widened as you saw him curled up into himself. His knees were pressed against his chest, his hands properly bruising his skin already, while his eyes were unfocused. Bucky was just staring into the air with a fearful expression on his handsome face.

You slowly walked closer to him, unsure what to do. Sweat was running down his forehead; even his hair was sweaty, and his clothes were stuck to him like a second skin — soaked in sweat. You're not sure how long he was sitting there like that; his teeth gritted, his jaw clenched, and you noticed his other muscles being more visible than usual through his clothes. Bucky was tense like he was still in a fight, and in a certain way he was — but instead of fighting against some people like Hydra, he was fighting his own battle with himself, with his fear in his mind.

“Bucky?” You asked softly, your voice just above a whisper when you kneeled down in front of him. There was still some distance, so he wasn't able to reach you if he would punch or kick. You have seen Steve in such situations with Bucky before; he had to take the one or another punch already — which caused Bucky to feel even more guilty after. But Steve always assured him that it's not as bad as it looks and that it would never change anything about the way he feels for Bucky or sees his boyfriend. And even though he never hurt you, Bucky was always sorry that you had to see him struggling so much with his nightmares and flashbacks from the past — you never judged him; you only loved him more when he couldn't love himself.

Bucky didn't react when you called him by his name. His fingers only tightened around his legs. You wanted to reach out, but you know you shouldn't. Bucky once had his hand around Steve's throat the moment his fingertips brushed along his lover's leg. And you knew Steve was stronger than you; he had struggled to get the other super soldier off of him, so you were pretty sure Bucky would crash you before you could even call for Steve. And both told you to never call Steve for help; they trust and love you, but they were too worried about you — and Bucky would never be okay with himself again if he would hurt you. And you understood it.

After another time calling him by his name but getting no answer, you sigh softly. Tears slowly formed in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks, and everything inside of you screamed to wipe them away, to pull him into you, but you were too afraid to scare him even more. So, you decided to make the only thing that came as an alternative solution to your mind — Steve.

From the time you walked into the bedroom to the moment you got up to walk to the door and shout for Steve, only a few minutes passed. But for you, it felt like at least twenty minutes, not being able to help Bucky and not wanting to leave his side while you tried to come up with something that could help without Steve's help.

You opened the door of your shared bedroom a bit more, looking out into the hallway. “Steve!” You shouted, earning immediately a soft ‘Yes.’ from him. He was still making the hot chocolate, but he was worried the moment you shouted his name instead of coming into the kitchen with Bucky. “I—I need you here. Or Bucky needs you... WE NEED YOU.”

Steve would have chuckled about your wording, but he knew that this wasn’t a situation to laugh about. He immediately turned off everything that could burn. His footsteps were loud and heavy when he walked to your shared bedroom. He noticed you looking out of the door, narrowing his eyes when he didn't see Bucky close to you. The big grump was actually holding you close, hugging, carrying, or kissing you the whole time. But right now, it was only you who waited for him to come to the bedroom.

"Where's Buck? Are you okay? Did he… What's wrong?” Steve asked, not even letting you a moment to answer. You brought your hand to his cheek, stroking it softly before giving him a slight, soft smile. He knew you didn't feel like you tried to show, but he knew you did it to calm the two of you down. It wouldn't help any of you to freak out or be more worried. After a moment, you take your hand away, taking a step to the side, and letting Steve walk into the room.

“He doesn't react when I talk to him. I-I don't know what I can do, but you... You trailed off, watching Steve's eyes widen as he saw your boyfriend looking like a lost puppy. You watched him walk over to Bucky, pulling you with him before Steve pushed you to sit down on the bed, and he kneeled down in front of Bucky. Steve was way closer than you were earlier, and you pulled your knees up, hugging them while you watched your boyfriends intensely. “You know what to do, right?”

Steve nodded, smiling softly. He turned his head back to Bucky, placing his hand on the brown-haired man's knees. Bucky hissed; his metal hand shot up to place a punch into Steve's pretty face, but he caught Bucky's hand. Steve held Bucky's hand tightly, trying to force his hand back down, and after a moment it even worked. You watched them with slightly parted lips; when did Steve find out how to catch Bucky's hand — especially his metal hand?

“Buck, it's me. It's Steve. You're home; do you hear me?” Steve asked, his voice soft. He ran his thick fingers slowly up and down the side of Bucky's thigh. He leaned a bit closer; his other hand was still holding Bucky's metal hand, and you wonder if Bucky was trying to punch him with his other hand but he didn't. “You're home, with me and our princess. You know, your babydoll.”

Bucky gasped softly, his eyes wider than before. His hands made grabbing motions, and Steve smiled softly, feeling Bucky being less tense than he was just a moment ago. Steve let go of his boyfriend's metal hand, using his hand to wipe away some sweat from Bucky's forehead.

“Hi, Buck,” he chuckled. Bucky slowly calmed down, noticing his surroundings. Bucky was slowly letting go of his legs, stretching them slowly between Steve's legs while his head fell forward against Steve's shoulder. “You're home; we are home. We got ya. Scared our princess a bit.”

“My babydoll?” Bucky's voice was hoarse and quiet, but Steve understood him anyway. He slowly nodded, caressing Bucky wet strands. Steve then turned his head to you, nodding at Bucky and mouthing that he just asked for you before he even asked anything else. “My babydoll, my Stevie.”

“We’re here, Buck. Do you want her to come closer as well, or do you need a moment?” Steve asked softly. He knew — you both knew — that Bucky was still pretty shaken up and that he could use some time to calm down or that he needed to feel the two of you, to smell the two of you, and to see the two of you to calm down completely.

Since the brown-haired man didn't really trust his voice, he only lifted his hand, making a grabby hand into the direction of the bed where you were still sitting. His other hand was interlaced with Steves, holding him close to Bucky. You slowly moved down from the bed; your knees were cracking softly when you stretched them out, and Steve laughed softly.

“Thought we were old, but you're cracking just like we do,” he told you, smirking before he moved a bit to the side to make space for you in front of Bucky. You rolled your eyes, moving closer to Bucky, but before you could have even said anything or moved another inch, he pulled you into his lap. You were straddling his thick thighs, your chest pressed against his.

Bucky hid his face in the crock of your neck, pulling Steve against his side so the two of you — the two people he loved the most, who meant everything to him — were as close as possible to him. After a moment of comfortable silence, he lifted his head. He was still sweaty, but his ocean blue eyes were brightened, and the sparkle you and Steve loved so much were visible again. A soft smile was tugging at Bucky's lips, causing you to smile as well. He leaned closer, pecking your lips before he did the same with Steve, sighing softly.

“Hi,” he chuckled, resting his head on your shoulder once again. “Missed you two. Do I smell hot chocolate?”

Both you and Steve laughed softly. When it came to hot chocolate, especially with marshmallows, you had to be faster than Bucky, or else he — accidentally — drank everything before you even reached the kitchen.

“Mhm, it’s probably cold again, but I can warm it up while you get a shower, sweaty,” Steve teased, using the nickname on purpose instead of ‘sweety’. Bucky rolled his eyes, growling softly, but he then nodded. Steve wasn't wrong; he felt like he had already taken a shower, but this time with his own sweat. “We got some marshmallows, and our princess got a lot of decorations.”

You nodded; your eyes lit up as you opened your mouth to start and explain what you got and why you got it. Bucky chuckled, loving your excitement. But he wanted you to show him and explain it while the three of you would be sitting wrapped up in a blanket on the couch with hot chocolate and marshmallows. So he pressed his lips onto yours before you could even start to tell him more about it.

“But I'm taking my babydoll to take a shower with me,” Bucky grumbled, and there he was again. Your Bucky, the love of your and Steve’s lives who never let go of you, who needed to be close to you, needed to kiss you and just show you all the love and affection. Of course, he did the same with Steve too, but he had another task, so it was you who was going to join him in the shower. “Plus, need her to wash my hair. Feels so much better when she massages the shampoo into my hair with her soft hands.”

“Of course you do,” Steve chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky and then your forehead before he got up to get the chocolate ready. Bucky opened his mouth, but Steve turned around, smirking at him. “Yeah, with as many marshmallows as you wish, my majesty.”

“Good boy.” Bucky grinned at Steve, who suddenly blushed and turned away. “Mission completed, making Stevie blush. Now, my next mission is to get you into the shower with me. Mhm, missed you. I love you so much, babydoll. And you too, Steve, I know you're standing in the hallway.”

“I love you too,” you say in unison with Steve, who then made his way down the hallway back to the kitchen. Bucky got up, keeping you in his arms before he walked with you to the bathroom, getting the two of you into the shower. It wasn't just cleaning him; it was a lot more Bucky being possessive and touch-starved, and you were his solution — you were gladly his way to get touches and be happy when it meant kisses, hugs, soft touches, and all the compliments you loved so much to hear from your boyfriends.

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Taglist: @pono-pura-vida @sergeantbarnessdoll @rogersbarber @kimmie113080 @sebastianstanisahotmf

[lubnabowsandpoetry]

I accidentally deleted my work on ao3 and it felt like burning down the library of Alexandria.

Anyways here's the prologue while I go ahead and re-release it. Reader is a firefighter (I watch too much 9-1-1) and Ghost needs therapy.

Prologue (I didn't start the fire!)

The late-autumn air, harsh and unrelenting, seeped through the thin sweater of the lieutenant. Despite his stature his steps were quiet, his boots making little to no sound. His eyes on these streets were always darting around, observing. With his hand clenched in fists in his pockets, his right one wrapped around a combat knife, he started to walk more confidently. He was almost where he was supposed to be. The weather forecast in Manchester predicted heavy rain, yet there was no sign of that. Just the usual cold wind.

When the lieutenant finally reached the address that was written on a note in his hand he took in the abandoned residence. The roof looked like it was about to collapse, the door was barely attached to the hinges and outside walls were littered with graffiti. He payed no mind to the tiny garden gate and walked up the path leading to the front door as if he owned the place. Technically speaking, he did. Kind of.

Just to let out the smallest bit of frustration he kicked down the door. Unnecessary, but it did the trick. He stood in the foyer of the house as if he were a guest expecting someone to greet him and offer him a drink. The remaining furniture looked like it would explode to dust any second. His entire life was being a soldier, and maybe also some of his comrades. He was really beginning to enjoy Soap’s company. He’d never admit it though.

His old life taunted him whenever he came from another mission. There is no distraction that lasts long enough to make him forget.. His past ghost haunting his chambers. Therefore, he decided to dig up the grave of his youth himself. Since the spirits of his past were going to release themselves anyways.

Ever since he saw you.

You who reduced him to nothing but a teenage boy. Reminding him of the childish joys, making him feel giddy at the sight of you.

He just had to see you again.

Carefully pouring gasoline in every single corner of the house. Making sure the outside had its fair share aswell.

He grabbed his lighter out of the pocket of his jeans, the same one he had used countless of other times to light up a cigarette.

Then he set his past aflame.

He watched as the fire started to lick at every inch of his childhood home. He lived there until the age of six. No tasteful memories really resided there. Just an empty shell. He grabbed his phone and entered three digits.

‘’9-9-9, what’s your emergency?’’

‘’Send the fire department.’’ Preferably a specific firefighter

PS: It is out there again. 5th chapter out!

[imsodishy]

Take a Step That is New

another episode of Four's Company (a series on ao3)

this episode filmed in front of a live studio audience

May 1987 

The cheery chimes above the door at Dot's Dinner ting-a-ling as Steve walks in and he almost throws his stupid briefcase at it. He settles at the last minute for telling it to, “Shut the hell up,” and heads for the counter. 

“Whoa, buddy, rough day?” Robin's already saddled up on a stool, Billy’s just serving up her burger and onion rings. 

The boxy fan they’ve set up on the counter does nothing to dispel the muggy heat that’s settled over the city, just moves the humid air around. It also does nothing to improve Steve’s mood, sweltering in his stupid suit, he yanks at his tie until he can breathe again. 

Steve claims the stool next to Robin, peels off his stuffy jacket and slams it down on the teal formica counter top with zero thought for whatever grease or condiments it might find there, then he plonks his head down next to it without acknowledging Robin, and groans like a dying seal, “I hate my fucking life.” 

It’s not true, Steve likes his life. Mostly. 

What he fucking hates is his job. Which makes up… some way too big percentage of his life; 9 to 5, Monday to Friday is a big chunk of the week. The heat doesn’t help. 

Robin pat-pats his shoulder consolingly. He hears Billy huff at his dramatics before walking away from the sad spectacle of Steve’s life. Off in the corner Seymour, a grumpy old regular who basically lives at his booth, frowns. He’s always frowning at something though. Mostly at Steve, though not exclusively. Eddie earns his fair share of stink-eye. 

Robin's hand is still on Steve’s shoulder when he can sense her lean in closer and– “Don't fucking sniff me, dude!” He snaps upright, leaning as far away from her as he can without toppling off the stool. “It's so weird.” 

“Sorry! Sorry,” she says, “You seem stressed is all, and I was just checking you didn’t go crawling back to sweet lady nicotine's disgusting embrace.” 

Robin’s been rabid lately on her bid to get all three of them to quit smoking. It started with a not in the house rule, and has quickly progressed to all out war on the cancer sticks. Steve's the only one who's buckled so far. He's on an almost two month streak right now, and she's been playing hard defense to keep him on it. He draws the line at the sniffing though. That is simply unacceptable. 

Steve rolls his eyes, and grumbles, “I didn’t smoke,” God, he could really go for one right now though, “If I bring a lighter to work I’ll end up burning the building down.”  

A strawberry milkshake clonks down on the counter in front of him as Billy basically drops it like a bomb, “Oh my God. Quit! Just quit your stupid fucking job that you hate!” he explodes, “I cannot listen to your sad-sack, bitch-baby, whining about it anymore.“ 

Steve pulls his milkshake in close just in case Billy tries to confiscate it for bitch-baby behavior. “I can’t just quit,” he whines. 

Billy just rolls his eyes and doesn’t try to take Steve’s one joy away from him. “Why? Because your Dad got it for you?” 

And like, yeah, but Billy doesn’t have to be such a dickhead about it. 

Billy landed his job at Dot’s Diner like some kind of magic. Seriously, their first day in New York, they hadn’t even unpacked any of the boxes they'd schlepped into the house when Billy dusted off his hands and said, “I'm gonna get the lay of the land,” and walked out the front door. 

He came back six hours later with a job and a peanut butter milkshake. It took him a month after that to tell them where he worked, and he tells them frequently that he's regretted it everyday since he caved. They do spend a lot of time there bothering him, despite the fact he refuses to give them freebies. His boss, Sal (who reminds Steve a lot of Benny from the diner back home, if he had about two dozen extra tattoos, like they both rolled off a big, gruff, diner proprietor assembly line somewhere), is actually way more likely to sling them a free coke or some fries once in a while. 

“We could find you another job,” Robin says, as she’s been saying for months, “One that makes you at least sixty percent less arson-y, guaranteed!” 

Robin got her job at the campus bookstore through student services, (obviously not an option for Steve), although, with the first year under her belt, she's talking about looking elsewhere for employment, since the school pays them peanuts anyway, and she thinks she'll be able to balance her schedule better now on her own. 

The door chimes jangle crazily as Eddie bursts into the diner, “Outstanding news chums!” he booms, ignoring Seymour scowling in his direction. 

“Easy on the door, Munson,” Billy warns. 

Eddie shuts the door with exaggerated care, before he hustles over to the counter and hops up on the stool on Robins other side. He gives himself a drumroll, rattling all the flatware on the counter. Old Seymour’s glare intensifies. 

“I have news,” he repeats, flipping his cup right-side-up for Billy to fill with coffee he doesn’t need, upcoming nightshift at the bar or no. 

Robin takes a guess, “You talked to you boss about getting the time off for the Hawkins trip?” she doesn’t sound that hopeful. 

And for good reason. “What? No,” Eddie dismisses her with a flapping hand, “I have an audition with a band!” 

“Gasp,” Robin says flatly. The only news Eddie gets this excited about is when he's auditioning, or sitting in, or has a lead on some new band seeking a guitarist. 

Eddie, by his own account, got his so-called day job (it’s nights, bar-backing) by just hanging around the bar/music venue he frequents all the time, bothering the bartenders (and selling them weed) until one of them slapped a rag in his hand and told him to make himself useful. Which suits him just fine to fill time while he chases his music dream. 

“Look, I'm going to Hawkins either way,” Eddie tells her with a carefree shrug, “If Rosco won't give me the time off I'll just quit and get a new job when we get back.” 

“See!” Billy says, slamming the coffee pot back into it's cradle, “You see how easy that is, Harrington? You lose a job, then you get another one. C'est la fucking vie.” 

Eddie leans around Robin to look at Steve, “Oh-ho. Did the little Lord Harrington finally break free from the yuppie rat race?”  

“No,” Steve says, and slurps a big sip of his milkshake. 

Steve didn’t get his own job at all, obviously. It was already lined up for him before they even rented the moving truck. It came pre-approved for him courtesy of his father and his father’s business connections. Steve's been working there for almost a year now, but he's still not entirely clear what they do. 

It's real-estate... kind of? The company buys properties, but they do it by selling shares in the properties to other companies, then they use that money to pay construction companies to tear down those properties and build new ones on the land. Those construction companies use that money to buy steel and other building shit from Steve’s dad’s plants back in Indiana (and Michigan). Then Steve's bosses sell the whole shebang for several butt-loads of money for them and their investors to start the game all over again. 

Steve’s job largely seems to involve standing around, insuring their side of the boardroom has the most men in suits at all times, and occasionally kissing investor ass. He’s a Junior Account Associate somehow. 

It’s soul crushing. 

“Aw, cheer up, Stevie,” Eddie says, slapping him on the back, “Look on the bright side, at least you can always keep our beer fridge stocked with that fat paycheck of yours.” 

Robin does Steve the favor of smacking Eddie upside the head. 

Steve decides to change the subject, “What’s the band called, Ed?” he asks, because that’s always good for a laugh at least. 

Eddie holds his hands in front of his face like he's framing a marquee, “ God of Gore ,” he announces in a theatrical growl. 

Steve snorts to himself. Yeah, that’s good shit. 

“And,” he goes on, voice rising in pitch as he gets more hyped up, “Get this, their last guitarist up and moved to Indiana! How's that for kismet? It's fate, I tells ya!” 

“Who would willingly move to Indiana,” Billy wonders, “The whole state's a toilet.” 

Not at all bothered by the shit talking of their home state, Eddie hops down of his stool and announces, “Speaking of which, gotta drain the snake.” 

While Robin is busy grimacing at that, Eddie wiggles incredibly unsubtle eyebrows at Billy. He gets a, much more subtle, jerk of the chin back, so Eddie slips right past the bathrooms and into the kitchen, and doubtless out the back door to smoke in peace, away from Robin’s judgmental gaze. He’s made vague, placating noises at her about cutting back, but he’s just been sneaking around behind her back, with Billy as an accomplice. 

Billy might be smoking more out of spite. 

Eddie's whirlwind act really made Steve feel like the sad-sack Billy accused him of being, and he’s sick of that feeling, gets more than enough of it everyday at work.  

All the silverware rattles as he slams a decisive hand down on the counter, much to Seymour’s ire. “You know what I think would make me feel better?” Steve asks loudly and rhetorically. 

He shoves away from the counter and heads straight for the jukebox. 

“No!” Billy booms, pointing at Steve like he’s a cat on the counter. 

Steve backs slowly down the aisle, facing Billy the whole way with big, guileless eyes. “What's that?” 

“You’re still banned for Bryan Adams crimes.” Honestly, Steve’s probably got a couple bans stacked at the moment. Billy doles them out liberally.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hargrove,” Steve bumps into the jukebox because he still won’t turn away from Billy’s impotent glare. It's great, his ears are going red.  

“I call the shots here,” he tries, fruitlessly. 

“No you don‘t, Sal does,” Steve snorts, “And, anyway, I am a private citizen, this is a free country! My dime is as good as anybody’s!” He's been spending too much time with Eddie. 

Billy throws a spoon at him. 

Steve cackles as he plugs the jukebox. There’s a couple beats of bassy synthesizer. 

Billy tells him, “You’re a monster,” with feeling.  

Then— “ Watching every motion in my foolish lover’s game.”  

Steve slow dances back towards the counter, swaying to the dreamy beat of the bum-bum-bum-bubums, high on the joy of being deeply annoying. He slides back onto his stool just in time to dramatically sing along to, “ Take my breath awaaaaay,” right in Billy’s face. It's gone all red now, like the cherry on Steve's shake, which he happily pops between his grinning teeth. 

“It’s not my fault Sal won’t put Mötley Crüe in there,” Steve says, munching happily on his cherry. 

Billy storms off into the kitchen. 

“Someday,” Robin muses through he mouthful of fried onions, “he’s going to feed you a floor burger, and I’m not going to stop him. This song is sincerely awful.” 

“I like it,” Steve declares. 

“Of course you do.” Robin pats his hand condescendingly. 

She swivels on her stool to face him, a concerned little furrow in her brow, and ketchup on her cheek. “Seriously though, Steve, we could find you a different job. No problem. You got the job at Family Video, and Scoops before that.” Robin got him the job at Family Video, and he only got the job at Scoops because the first guy they hired showed up to the training stoned, but it’s nice of her to say. “You don’t need to stick it out because of your dad, you don’t need his help. It’s not your only option or whatever bullshit you’re worried about. You can get a different job. And, okay, no it wouldn’t pay as much, but you'd get by.” 

Robin wasn’t Steve’s first real friend or anything like that, he wouldn’t even say she’s his first good friend . But she’s definitely his best friend. Steve lays a hand over her slightly greasy one on the counter, and furrows his brow right back at her, “But then, Robin, who would keep the beer fridge stocked?” 

She rolls her eyes and turns back to her burger, “So we'd have to bid goodbye to Daddy Beer-bucks, we'd survive.” 

They would. Robin, Billy, and Eddie are resourceful, and smart, and self-sufficient, they’d figure out a way get by, even with Steve hanging like an anchor around their necks. But Steve hates the idea of dragging them down. Actually can’t stand it. He literally gets a stomach ache if he thinks too hard about it. When he can hear future Robin, somewhere down the line, when she’s sick of his shit, saying You can’t expect us to handle every little issue for you, dingus, in his head, except sometimes the ‘dingus’ morphs into ‘darling’ and imaginary-Robin sounds disturbingly like his mother (which doesn’t help the stomach ache problem at all). So he needs to keep bringing in enough money to pay his way. 

Steve just smiles at her. 

Billy reemerges from the kitchen to make a round of his tables, giving Steve the evil eye as he goes, before settling behind the counter to concentrate on glaring at Steve despite the fact that the song is long over by now, Eddie Money is playing now. Steve raises his eyebrows at his glare, “Don’t look at me, I’m all out of dimes.” 

Robin, perhaps prompted by Mr. Money asks, “Where'd Eddie go? He’s taking forever in there.” 

Billy silently points over her shoulder to where they can clearly see Eddie’s hunched form cowering miserably under the diner's awning from the unpleasantly warm rain that’s finally broken after threatening all day. He’s sucking down smoke like his life depends on it. Must not have been enough shelter in the alley when the rain started. 

“No!” Robin shouts, much like Billy had shouted at Steve earlier, and dashes out the door, bells cheerfully chiming her exit. Eddie takes a couple more panicked puffs before Robin gets to him and he has to start playing keep away with the butt. 

Steve watches them through the window for a couple seconds like a real life version of those weird old puppet shows, “What are those puppets that–“ 

“Punch and Judy,” Billy answers the unfinished question. 

He flicks a dime that bounces off Steve's forehead and drops to the counter with a ring-a-ting-ting. “Go put on some Springsteen, Bambi,” he says, smiling at him like he’s still a sad-sack, sure, but at least he’s one Billy’s kinda fond of, then he goes to top off Seymour’s coffee down at the far end of the other end of the diner. 

For Billy alone, Seymour’s got a great big smile.

Steve has stapled his tie to his desk. Which seems like the kind of thing most people would only do by accident. Not Steve, though. No, he simply got so bored that when the thought, I wonder if I could staple my tie to this desk right now, breezed through his head he went ahead and did it. 

Turns out he could, so he added a couple more staples for no better reason than the first one. 

Steve feels like his brain is melting out his ears which is maybe half boredom, half the heat. The AC has been in and out all week, something about the grid according to maintenance. Turns out a cracked window and a fan isn’t any more effective on the 10th floor of a Manhattan office building than it is in a ground level diner in the Bronx. 

“Harrington.” All the staples explode off his tie, flying all over his little hot-box of an office, when he jerks upright as Connor Michaels walks in to his office. The guy definitely notices the staples too, judging by the shitty little smirk on his face. 

The thing about all of Steve’s coworkers is that they hate him, because he’s clearly just a doofus nepotism hire who has no business working here. They all hide it behind a veneer of polite condescension while trying to use him as a connection since his last name is Harrington, though. It’s all so pathetically exactly like high school Steve can hardly stand it. 

Connor chuckles, “Tgif, am I right? Listen, I asked Laura to pull the permits for the Hell’s Kitchen property for me, but she’s on the rag or something and flipped out at me.” 

The other thing about Steve’s coworkers is that they’re all douchebags. 

“Okay,” Steve says to avoid stapling his smug face. 

“I know she does shit like that for you all the time, so think you could work your magic?” Connor wiggles his fingers vaguely that reminds Steve of how his mom would talk about his sport’s things any time it came up. 

Laura is the only exception to the douchebag rule. She’s smart, and competent, and the only woman at Steve’s level of management. She also hates Steve, but she doesn't try to hide it. She’s got integrity about it. The only reason she helps Steve with things like permits and filings is that she knows she’s the one who will have to clean up the mess if he royally screws it. She reminds him a lot of Robin in the early days of working at Scoops, just completely unimpressed by and uninterested in his King Steve bullshit. 

Steve does frequently throw himself on her mercy, she’s the only reason he hasn’t caused any serious problems so far. Which is maybe the other reason she keeps helping him, because he unreservedly admits that it’s a joke that they’re on the same level professionally. And not a funny one. 

Steve starts sweeping the staples that landed on his desk and not the floor into a pile, “Sure,” he says to Connor, hoping that’ll get him to leave. 

No luck. Instead he tucks his hand in his pockets and settles into a slouches against Steve’s wall, “How do you manage that anyway?” he asks lightly, “You tapping that?” 

Steve rolls his eyes, “No.” 

Connor hums, “Yeah, not surprising. I bet she’s a dyke.” 

And maybe, on a different day, when Steve wasn’t already at his boiling point both figuratively and literally, he would have responded more... diplomatically.

“I quit my job,” Steve announces as he walks through the front door of his house.  

All three of his roommates turn to gape at him from the living room. 

They were all lounging around in the bare minimum of clothes required for the living room with two opposing fans pointed at them in an attempt at a cross breeze when Steve arrived home with his briefcase in a cardboard box with shockingly little else in the way of personal effects in it. He really hadn’t built up much of a presence at the office over the nearly a year he worked there. 

“What?” Robin exclaims, as she mutes the TV, “What happened?” 

“I threw a stapler at a guy’s head.” Steve answers. 

“A stapler?” Billy asks, baffled, “Why?” 

Steve shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, I also said a lot of shit, but the stapler was probably the button on it.” Steve drops his things, steps out of his wingtips, and starts tugging at his tie as he makes his way across the room, “It wasn’t even- Like, I mean, it was business as usual, really. It wasn’t anything new, and I just... lost it.” He’s down to his undershirt and boxershorts by the time he collapses between Robin and Billy on the couch with a massive sigh like a slowly deflating raft. 

“Right on man,” Eddie says from his spot on the armchair, leaning over to slap Steve’s knee, “I bet that guy had a stapler to the face coming.” 

He really did, Steve must concede. 

“Shit, I can’t believe I quit.” 

Robin makes a questioning noise, “Did you actually quit, or did they fire you? For the stapler thing?” 

“Who gives shit,” Billy says before Steve can tell them he’s not actually sure technically, “It’s done and dusted either way. Which calls for a celebration!” 

Billy bounces up off the couch and goes to the kitchen to collect a round of beers for everyone, he’s the only one who’s foregone a shirt so far, which is unsurprising. He pops the caps of with his ring before doling out the bottles. 

 “To casting off the corporate shackles!” Eddie toasts, Billy and Robin here-hereing it. 

Steve takes a big gulp of his beer. “What the hell am I gonna do?” he wonders aloud. 

“Celebrate!” Robin says, she’s also in a t-shirt and boxershorts, which she stole from Steve a while back for loungewear, “Like the man said.” 

Steve huffs, “I meant like, longer term. The rent and stuff.” 

“Don't worry, Stevie my boy,” Eddie says, clapping him on the back, “Once we find you a real person job you'll do just fine. After all, the rest of us plebs cover our fair shares with our piddly little paychecks, right?” 

Steve, caught out, hesitates a beat too long (long enough for Billy's bullshit radar to ping), before saying, “Right. Sure. Yeah,” in a way that clearly doesn’t cover for him. 

Billy squints at him, “We have all been covering our fair share of the rent, right, Harrington?” 

Steve nods but he can’t maintain eye contact when he answers, “Right. Fair shares.” 

Robin, catching on immediately, groans, “Oh god, Steve, tell me you haven’t been doing something outstandingly stupid, like paying half the rent, this whole freaking time.” When Steve doesn’t answer right away she screeches, “Steven!” 

“Not half! I haven’t, okay?” he rushes to explain, “Just, like,” he holds up his fingers pinched so close together, “A little more, than you guys.” 

“How much more,” Billy demands through clenched teeth. 

“Well,” Steve tries to think of how best to phrase it, “Imagine we had a fifth roommate, who's rent I have also been paying.” 

“So, double,” Billy’s basically growling now, “You've been paying double what the rest of us have. This whole goddamn time!” Steve hadn’t thought of it that way, but the math does check out. He thinks. 

“And... also the utilities,” he admits reluctantly. 

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie says, shaking his head sadly. 

“Fuck!” Billy shouts and storms off, stomping his way upstairs without anyone trying to stop him. When Billy removes himself from a situation, it’s best to let him. 

“I can probably still get the job back,” Steve offers, even though the thought makes him nauseous. He’ll eat shit if he needs to, “If I tell them I was on coke or something they might actually respect me more.” 

Eddie’s still shaking his head, but more decisively, “No way, man. We’re not letting you go crawling back to those corporate shitbags now, not a chance in hell.” 

“No other job I can get for myself is going to pay a quarter as well, though.” 

Robin backs Eddie up though, “You were miserable, Steve. None of us wants you to be miserable like that, not for any amount of money.” 

Steve still can’t just let it go, though, “But without that money- 

“There’s no need to panic, all we need is a plan. You’ve got savings, yeah? That’ll give us a cushion until you get a new job- we need to do a comprehensive household budget,” Robin says, like she’s already running numbers in her head, “We’ve been way too loosey-goosey about it, anyway.” Because they’ve been relying on Steve to smooth over any gaps. Not that they necessarily knew that. They’d just hit him up for beer and pizza sometimes and called it a Shill tax. 

“I don’t know how to do a budget,” Steve admits with an apologetic grimace. 

Eddie slings an arm over his shoulders and tries to pull him into some kind of wonky headlock while Steve resists him easily, “Don’t you fret, for you are a very lucky boy, with three wonderful roommates, whose collars are all extremely blue. We’ll show you the ropes.” 

“You know what the easiest expense to cut is?” Robin says brightly, “Cigarettes.” 

“You know what!” Eddie wheels on her, suddenly apparently at his limit on the whole smoking thing. 

Steve watches them bicker back and forth for a couple minutes. Even though it’s clear that this has been building for a while, and of course the inescapable heat doesn’t help, Steve can’t help but feel like it’s his fault for dropping a stress bomb on their heads. Or at least it feels very reminiscent of watching his parents fight about the wallpaper when what they really want to fight about is their miserable marriage. What’s the word for that? Displacement? 

Eventually he slips out, leaving Robin and Eddie to their squabbles he can’t really contribute to one way or the other and heads upstairs.

Billy's not in his room, but Steve didn’t really expect him to be. 

Halfway up the flight of stairs from the second floor to the third there's a window, and outside the window is a strip of roof, about five feet wide by ten feet long, and gently sloped, covering their porch below. Billy likes to sulk out there, especially since the weather turned, though not quite so much since it turned mean.  

Sure enough, the window is ajar and Steve can smell smoke. 

He sticks his hands out the window, palms out, he comes in peace, “I’m coming out,” he says, “Please don’t hurl me off the roof.” 

Billy doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t bite Steve’s head off either, which from him is basically an engraved invitation. 

Steve hauls himself up onto the little stretch of roof, crab walking over ‘til he can plant his butt next to Billy. Even though the sun is sinking fast the heat hasn’t broken at all. 

He snags the cigarette right out of Billy’s mouth as he settles next to him and takes a long, indulgent drag. He only grimaces a little at the taste, Billy and his fucking Marlboros. 

“Ooooh,” Billy deigns to speak to him, snatching his smoke back, “Robin's gonna be mad at you,”  

“More or less mad than when I tell her I'm not going to Hawkins this summer?” 

Billy's hand freezes with the cigarette just about back to his mouth. His lips, already parted to accept it, now just hanging slack pointlessly. “Seriously?” 

Steve shrugs, shooting for nonchalance, missing by a mile probably. “Figure I can do without getting the full rundown on what an embarrassing disappointment I am in person. I’m sure I’ll get the CliffsNotes from our answering machine anyway. Those were always more my speed.” 

He figures they'll share a laugh at that, but when he looks over Billy's not laughing. In fact, he's not even smiling, he just takes a rough drag off the cigarette and then hands it back to Steve without prompting. “If your dad leaves any blowhard message on our machine, I’m deleting them.” 

Steve’s not sure what to say to that so for a while they just pass the butt back and forth in silence until he screws up his courage to ask, "What about you? You mad at me?” with a wince, “About the rent thing.” 

“Well I’m not fucking thrilled about it, Harrington.” 

Yeah, that was obvious. 

Billy runs an agitated hand through his hair leaving his curls, already frizzy from the humidity, even more messed up. “Thought- it felt like we were making it. Doing it for real, you know? Standing on my own two feet like a man,” he scoffs to himself, “ Stupid.” 

Billy’s got a very specific tone he does when he’s quoting his dad, and Steve fucking hates it. 

“You are,” Steve insists. Billy quirks an eyebrow at him, and Steve scrambles to clarify, “Making it. Not stupid. You’re making it.” 

“Not without a heaping helping of charity apparently. I can’t-” 

“It wasn’t charity, dickhead!” Billy’s mouth snaps shut, and thank god for that, because Steve has no more interest in hearing what Neil Hargrove would have to say about his son than Billy does in suffering through phone messages from Richard Harrington. “It just made sense. I took that stupid job from my dad, and the paycheck was the only good goddamn thing about it. And you guys have all this other stuff going on. You and Robin have school, and Eddie’s trying to do his whole music thing. I mean, what the hell else was I supposed to do with all that stupidly easy money I was barely really earning? Other than use it to buy you guys food, and beer, and, yeah, pay the fucking rent!” He’s worked up a good head of steam, but he deflates immediately in the wake of his outburst, “I mean, what the hell else am I bringing to the table here?” 

Suddenly self-conscious in the silence that follows, and way too aware that he’s breathing a little heavy, Steve snatches the cigarette from Billy’s hand. Takes a huffy little puff, like someone who doesn’t know how to inhale, then takes a slower, more measured one. 

“You sell yourself short, you know,” Billy says, uncharacteristically quiet. Steve looks over at him, but Billy's not looking back, he's gazing out across their neighborhood instead. 

“Look,” he goes on, slow and awkward, “I don’t exactly know where I'd be right now, if not for you. But, I know I wouldn’t be here .” He throws his arms out wide to encompass all of New York City, and their whole life here. 

It's not like they have a spectacular view or anything, they're not up remotely high enough for that. Their sagging little strip of roof, on their rundown building, isn’t even facing the glittering Manhattan skyline. Down below them a taxi driver is shouting at a truck that’s blocking a cross street. The humidity is oppressive and the heat makes the streets stink like garbage, and it’s not like it’s any cooler in the house. 

Their whole life here? It doesn’t actually look like very much from the outside. 

Steve gets it though. 

He jostles their shoulders together, “You would have gotten out. You would have made it anyway.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” Billy plucks the cigarette out of Steve’s grasp, kills the last of it and pitches the butt to the street below. Steve watches the glowing trail of the cherry as it falls. 

“You know,” Billy says after a long stretch of mostly comfortable silence, “If you don’t go to Hawkins, you’re gonna have to let Eddie drive the beemer.” 

“Shit, I didn’t think of that.” He waves off the thought, “Can’t be helped. I need to start the job search anyway.” 

Steve thinks about that process for all of thirty seconds before he groans, “Man, my resume is gonna be so fucking weird.” Steve lists his employment record out on his fingers, “Scoops Ahoy, burned down. Family Video... I don’t think I gave notice at Family Video, I think I just left and didn’t come back. Kensington Group Limited, assaulted a co-worker with stationary.” 

“Well, if all else fails, you know Eddie would love to fake some references for you,” Billy says, “Bet he’ll do voices and everything.” 

“Just what I need. A reference from Gondelf.” 

Billy snorts a laughs, “It’s Gandalf, you know it’s Gandalf.” He’s right, Steve knows that, because Eddie never shuts up about that book. 

“Mmm, pretty sure it’s Gondelf. I mean, he’s an elf, right?” Billy just rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, and listing a little towards Steve. 

“Billy,” Steve speaks softly, earnestly. Billy hums back a question, “Would you... get me a job at the diner?” 

Billy explodes with laughter, “Fuck no!” 

“C’mon,” he wheedles, through his own laughter, “We can commute together! Sal loves you. Be a pal, put in a good word for me!” 

Billy punches him in the shoulder, “Sure, I’ll tell him you’re a chronic masturbator and that I’ve never seen you wash your hands.” 

“Thanks, buddy. I really appreciate that.” 

Billy grabs the shoulder of Steve’s shirt and rattles him around a bit like a dog with a squeaky toy, “I’m going to shove you off this roof,” he threatens through laughter. 

They lapse into giggly silence and then just silent silence. Billy keeps his grip on Steve’s shirt like he’s worried he might actually go toppling over the edge after all if Billy doesn’t keep a tight hold. 

Or maybe he’s just forgotten that his hand is there. 

“Hey,” Steve says after a while, just to get Billy to look him in the eye, “We’re gonna be fine,” he reassures him once he has. 

Billy’s undivided attention is always intense, eyes like blue lasers locked on to a target. It used to freak Steve out in high school, but he’s gotten used to it. It’s just how Billy is. Sharp like that. 

Sharp enough that he reads Steve like a goddamn book and knows that as much as Steve really was trying to reassure him, he was also, maybe just a bit, fishing for reassurance too. 

“We’re gonna be fine,” Billy parrots. 

They stare at each other, probably for too long, sitting in a little loop of comforting and being comforted. And Steve, he believes it. They’re gonna be fine. 

They have each other.

[cattailhighway]

Panic cleaning the whole house because the landlord wants to do a walk through, also known as: an entire year of normal neurotypical housekeeping, three day speed-run edition

[bunnihearted]

🧸♡ ⋆｡˚

[navree]

"cleopatra movie starring zendaya as cleopatra and timothee chalamet as octavian" i was having a good day and now i have an anger headache

[nomaishuttle]

much love to sve enjoyers much love to th ppl who make it.you guys r super talented. but also sve is so fucking scary to me i CANNOT imagine playing with it and ppl who do r absolutely insane

[enlichened]

ocd is so interesting to manage because you simply cannot know which compulsions you can indulge that will make your life slightly easier and which ones will become a rabbit hole that makes it all tumble down.

for example just barely after i start getting anxious about something happening to my friends/loved ones, I clench my right fist three times and then hold it for a second (sometimes to my chest, sometimes with the other hand). and it genuinely helps! i feel like i did something that, even if its not realistic or effective at all, was still something to Do with the anxiety. and kind of sweet sentiment-wise.

on the other hand. never let me check on a loved one while theyre in the other room or else ill die.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 ! ❞

❝ THE FOUR TIMES YOUR NEIGHBOR TRIES TO HOOK UP WITH YOU AND THE ONE TIME HE SUCCEEDS !! ❞

✧ pairing: uncle! sukuna x neighbor! reader

✧ summary: you had grown up next door to the itadoris, but you never had met their uncle. and for good reason, he had spent the majority of his life in and out of jail. but now he was finally out, and he only had one goal in mind -- getting you in his bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, modern au, uncle sukuna, degradation (slut, whore, brat), freshly out from jail sukuna, implied age gap (sukuna probably like late 30s / early 40s, reader is like mid twenties), wet dreams (f!), masturbation (f! +m!), dom!sukuna, sub!reader, dirty talk, oral (f + m), spanking (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, orgasm delay (f! receiving), implied multiple rounds, swearing, fanart found on pinterest (let me know if you know the og artist)

✧ w/c: 8,939

You were a pretty little thing. 

That’s what he thought when he first saw you. And when he saw you smile, his second thought was — how could he have you? 

You were the girl next door. Literally. Grew up next to the Itadori family, you watched the brat on weekends, helped around the house after the mom had left, and even slept over some nights in the guest room. 

The very room you were in now, pinned underneath him, legs spread as your cunt gushed as if you had been the one doing time instead of him. 

“Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly?” He clicks his tongue, the glint of his piercing in the low light of the moonlight that illuminated the barest hint of the room. It was by that light that you could not only see the way his lips curled into a smirk as his hand came down on your needy pussy, but the noticeable bulge in his pants, “g’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.” 

“Are the cookies almost done?” Yuji asked, rubbing the back of his head, squinting at the cookies through the oven window, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, “sure you’re not burning them?” 

“I know how to bake cookies, Yu,” you roll your eyes, as you clean the counters off of the flour and bits of dough and sugar that smeared the surface, “why are you so impatient anyway?” 

“He wants to leave before the wrecking ball blows through, and you should do that same,” Choso adds, emerging from his room with a yawn, and you tilt your head, his gaze slides to Yuji, “she doesn’t know?” 

Yuji shakes his head, “I thought Dad was—” 

Choso glances at you, gesturing to his face to tell you that you had something on your own, before his eyes slide back to his younger brother, “You know Jin can barely remember to tell us, much less—” 

You cross your arms, wiping the flour and sugar from your cheek, but you only manage to make it worse, “Can you guys just tell me instead of having an argument about who should have told me?” 

Yuji sighed, leaning against the counter, elbow propped up as he held his head up with his fist flat against his chin, “My dad’s brother is coming to stay for us for the summer,” 

“Your uncle?” and you miss the way Yuji grimaces at the question, too busy pulling on oven mitts, “Your dad’s great — I can’t imagine your uncle being any different,” you pull the cookies from the oven, swatting Yuji’s hand as he tries to take one off the still burning rack, “you’ll burn yourself, just wait,” 

Your own family was scattered here and there now — and the Itadoris had been like your own family as you grew up — Jin was like a second dad to you, he had always looked after you, even after you had graduated from college. The quiet man didn’t say much but he did a lot, and you couldn’t imagine his brother being much different. 

And then the door swung open, a large man caught in the backlight of the summer sun, casting a long shadow across the entryway made your breath stick in your chest as if it was where it belonged — pinned under his mere presence. 

“Looks like you’ve done nothing to change the place, did you?” He takes a step or two in and finally his body is cast into view — tattoos bound like ribbons against his skin, muscles are heavy cords that look more monstrous than human — as no human should be as hulking as he was. But that was nothing compared to his face itself — black tattoos lining both sides of his face in an intricate pattern that stole your breath from your lungs, while his eyes were black holes that cut right through you than at you, a flicker of flames burning underneath, “tch, brat, take my things up—“ he tosses the duffle bag slung over his shoulder at Yuji who catches it with a glare, before his gaze slides to Choso, “and he’s still here?” 

“Don’t be rude to my son and his brother, Sukuna,” Jin sighed, entering behind him as he shut the door, “Choso is welcome, and don’t forget you’re a guest here,” he takes the bag from his son, and takes it upstairs instead. 

And Sukuna’s gaze finally falls on you. It’s heavy, the sharp tip of a sword tracing every inch of your body as it circled its weak points — his eyes lingers on the curves of your body — and perhaps the points he liked too. 

“And who’s this?” he jerks his head towards you gruffly, as if you couldn’t answer yourself. 

You say your name, “I’m their neighbor,” and he nods, eyes darting to Choso, his body growing tense, as he gritted his teeth, but Sukuna was only all smiles, he took steps forward. You can’t help but avert your gaze, as he approaches, fingers outstretched, a slight flinch but it’s gone soon enough. 

You glance up, and find him taking a bite of one of your cookies, tongue darting out to lick the chocolate from his lips, “sweet,” he devours it, “not bad, brat,” and he leans close again to grab another, “but probably not as sweet as you.” 

And your eyes widen, as he bears no reaction, except for a small smirk that graces his lips, as he follows his brother upstairs, “You better not be fucking around in my things,” 

You don’t hear Jin’s reply, still utterly consumed by what just happened. 

“You okay? He’s just like that,” Choso murmurs, “he won’t bother you, I promise,” 

“No, no, I’m okay,” your lips curl in an offer of reassurance, but you’re sure it falls flat, as your eyes glance back at the stairs. 

And that was your first time meeting Sukuna. 

But far from your last.  

The next time you saw him was at a summer barbecue the Itadoris always had to kick off summer break. And most of your time was spent chatting with Choso and kicking Yuji’s ass at Mario Kart, until it grew dark, and Choso was stuck carrying a slightly tipsy Yuji inside.

You laid back in the patio chair, scrolling on your phone to the symphony of cicadas filling the silence, the smoke from the barbecue still lingering in the night — and then you hear the creak of the back door open. 

“You want another drink, Choso?” 

“I’d love a drink, girl,” and your eyes snap over to spot Sukuna, standing with hands tucked into his pockets, a black tank you assumed was several sizes too small. 

“Sure,” you say, slipping from your chair, “but we only have the mix for a sex on the beach,” and his eyes find yours, a ghost of a gruff chuckle on his lips. 

“Sounds perfect if it’s from you, sweetheart,” and you have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes — he may be nice to look at, but he isn’t smooth, you make the drink in relative silence. Until you sense his presence behind you, your head whipping back to find him looming, your breath caught in your throat. 

“Uh—“ 

“Just wanted to see a master bartender at work, you seem like you really know what you’re doing, with, what’s the drink called again?” And you force yourself to look forward, ignoring the weird mix of his musk and alcohol, with the clink of the ice cubes against the glsd breaking the silence. 

“Sex on the beach,” you offer it to him, and fuck, you don’t like it — don’t like him and his smug grin, the way your eyes can’t pull away from his, the way your heart clenched, and the way you wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug smile on off his face. 

“Good girl,” he plucks the drink from you, his fingers brushing yours, “want to have one with me?” 

And you almost find yourself saying yes, find yourself buckling under the heat of his gaze and the summer humidity that clings to your skin and strangles the sense from your head — and you can’t help but think how nice those fingers of his would feel around your neck—

“No, no, I probably should head home. It’s late—“ and just then the back door opens again, Choso standing in the doorway, “Choso, where’s Yu?” 

“I got him to bed. Come on, I’ll walk you home,” and you nod, grabbing your bag with a slight nod to Sukuna before disappearing inside, and you don’t catch the way your best friend glares at Sukuna. 

And you don’t see the way Sukuna stares at you as you walk away either. 

The third time you meet Sukuna is a few nights later — and it wasn’t for lack of trying to avoid him. 

“Can I have some popcorn?” you ask, eyes still glued to the TV, a movie that the two of you had seen a million times before during movie night, “Choso?” you glance over at him, but he’s staring off into space, “hello?” you nudge him, and he finally comes to. 

“Sorry, what?” And you sigh, leaning over and grabbing the popcorn bowl, “sorry I was just—“ he shakes his head, “nothing,” 

“You’re so convincing,” and you see a flush crawl up his neck, “C‘mon, what’s bothering you?” 

You toss a pillow at Choso, the pillow bouncing off his face to land in his lap, the glow of the TV in his dark bedroom giving you enough light to see the glare on his face, “Cho, you’ve been brooding all night — did Yuji call you by your name instead of big brother?” 

He scoffs, “I only got upset about that once,” or twice or maybe ten times, “it’s Sukuna. He’s been really grating on my nerves,” and your eyebrows knit together, as you put the volume of the TV down. 

“What has he done?” and Choso hesitates, several emotions flicker across his face before a stoic look glazes over his face, as he presses his hand to his lips, “you can tell me—“ 

There’s a knock at the door, and Yuji sticks his head in, “Hey, Dad has to sleep now for a meeting, so move to the living room,” and you throw popcorn at him, but he only catches one or two in his mouth and leaves. 

You sigh, “I should probably just go home anyway, I have to get some sleep,” you glance at Choso, who is fascinated with his floor all of a sudden, “you okay?” He moves to get up, but you shake your head, “just chill, I’ll walk back.” 

He opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it,  “I’m fine, just get home safe okay?”

You snort, “think I’ll be fine walking the ten feet to my door,” you grab your things, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” 

And you close the door softly, turning to head up the hallway and out of the house, bag slung over your shoulder, and you’re turning the corner, when you nearly crash into someone. 

A hand curls around your wrist to steady you, “You should watch where you’re going, brat,” and your eyes flit up to find a dark gaze looking back down at you, lips curled in a small grin, “don’t know what you’ll find wandering these halls,” 

You pull your arm away, “I’m pretty familiar with these halls and what wanders them,” 

“Not all of them,” the low tone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, as you brush past him, avoiding his piercing gaze, cutting through you with practiced ease, “what were you doing here so late anyway?” You ignore him as you go to grab your shoes, but find them missing. 

“Have you seen my shoes?” and he only tilts his head, arms crossed, muscles inked with tattoos that littered up and down, and you knew he could pin you down with barely an ounce of effort. 

“Maybe answer my question and I’ll tell you,” and your lips twist into a scowl, as you begin to look around, checking the coat closet, under the couch, “was he really that bad?” And his question makes you pause, “the cursed brat, in bed? Did he not do the job for you?” 

You haul yourself to your feet, “What is your problem?” 

And his expression is as milquetoast as ever, as if he had asked you about the weather as opposed to asking if you had fucked your best friend, “You don’t have to be fucking sensitive, it’s just a question,” he runs his painted nails through his dyed cropped hair, low light glinting off the black sheen, “unless it was that bad,” 

“Fuck off,” you scoff, trying to walk past him but he blocks you, “what?” 

“Maybe I’ll help you find your shoes, if you have a drink with me,” and you cross your arms. 

“Did you go to jail for stealing? Because with all those muscles and tattoos, I’m surprised you weren’t caught sooner,” and he’s leaning closer, breath warming your lips and your blood alike, boiling under your skin as if he had set you on fire without lying a single finger on you. 

“Didn’t take you to be one to admire me, little one, after all, I’m just your neighbors’ uncle aren’t I? Jailbird, criminal, fucking lowlife, right? And his fingers ghost over your jaw, “but I don’t see you pulling away, do I?” 

And you aren’t. But why aren’t you? Every brain cell is telling you to fucking run, but your body wants nothing more than to lean into his touch, to give in, let yourself be engulfed by him—

The creak of the door has you jumping back, “hey, you forgot your shoes—“ Choso starts, and his gaze snaps between you and Sukuna. 

“Thanks, Cho,” you slip past Sukuna, grabbing your shoes, “i was wondering what I did with them,” you step into your shoes, cheeks still burning as you can’t quite meet your best friend’s eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” 

And you’re gone without another word, the silence of your exit hanging overhead as the screen door clicks closed behind you. Sukuna watches you leave, and as he turns he’s met with a glare from Choso. 

Sukuna only gives a gruff chuckle, walking past as he lets his shoulder bump against Choso’s, “What are you fucking looking at?” 

And now he had visited you in your dreams too. 

“S’fucking wet,” Sukuna has you pinned down with one hand, face hovering over your drenched cunt, as he toyed with it, tugging your folds apart to let some of your pre drip onto your bedspread, “fucking slut, you were begging for this, weren’t you?” 

And a thick digit sinks into you with little resistance, making your back arch as pleasure rips up your spine, “fuck off,” you manage, between pants. 

“I know, brat, that’s what I’m trying to do,” he laughs, as he works a second finger inside you with practiced ease, “like I was made to fuck this cunt open, my fingers are already fucking drenched, and all I’ve done is open you up,” and to punctuate his point, he’s scissoring his fingers to stretch your walls out, dragging against them, as your mouth falls open in a silent moan. 

“A-ah, please—“ and he’s grinning now, a purr as he leans down to meet your blown out gaze. His fingers begin to fuck you open, his thumb rubbing against your clit as your body rocked against his hand. And a grunt has you looking at him, only to see him palming his erection, slit dripping with precum, “Sukuna, please—“ 

“Knew you’d be a good girl f’me, good little slut gonna break my fingers in two,” and his other hand spanks your clit, “now cum,” 

And you do, muscles clenching as you do, a cry of his name on your lips that does nothing but stroke his ego, your orgasm soaking his hand. Eyes fluttering open to find him licking your release from his fingers, as his other hand undoes his pants and tugs down his boxers, his cock already dragging against your still twitching cunt. 

“Fuck,” you mumble, under your breath, and he only smiles. 

“Now you’re getting it, baby.” 

And your alarm jolts you awake, you stare at your ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin, while you glance at your side to find nothing but your comforter beside you. Not to mention, as you shifted, feeling the telltale stickiness of your arousal and the dull throbbing of your cunt, the aftermath of your dream — your very wet dream. 

“Fuck,” you say, this time out loud and to no one but yourself. This was going to be a problem, if you let this go on. And you couldn’t. Not after the last time — you swing your feet over the edge of the bed and stand, glancing back at the stain of your pre that you flipped your comforter over — and not after that. 

“Have you been avoiding me?” 

Yes, you have done a good job. Until now. 

You gritted your teeth, as you stood in the doorway of the room. But how could you have avoided him in the guest room of the house he lived in? 

And as he loomed in the doorway of the kitchen, dwelling in the shadow of his form, you were kicking the ass of past you, the one that had convinced you it was okay to stay over because Sukuna had been out. 

“Had” being the operative word. 

It had been a few days since you had found yourself at the Itadoris. And more than a few days since you had found yourself dreaming of Sukuna — waking up with his name on your tongue and your panties uncomfortably drenched. You had gone through more underwear this week than you had in a month. And it didn’t help that you felt the need to get off once you did wake, the ache between your thighs was too much to bear before sleep. 

And now here was the subject of your dirty dreams darkening your doorway, as if your dreams were some naughty prophecy waiting to unfold (though you were sure he could fold you). 

“What are you talking about?” 

And you knew exactly what he was talking about. You had made sure Sukuna wasn’t around when you came over (the absence of his motorcycle is a telltale sign), and always left before he returned. But tonight you made the mistake of drinking with Choso, the two of you finishing two bottles of sake before being completely fucked. 

Your head was spinning — you could barely have made it to the bathroom, much less your home. Choso had corralled you into taking his bed, before going and collapsing on his couch. It had been only a few hours into the night before you got up in a haze of confusion with your mouth drier than the Sahara. You pulled yourself up, slipped on thin sleep shorts that you had thrown off at some point due to the summer humidity, before finding your way to the door. 

You made your way to the kitchen, the squeak of the fridge as you pulled it open to grab a water bottle. And that’s when he spoke. 

“And here you are,” and the water bottle nearly slipped from your grasp, “no need to jump, brat, I’m not a monster or a shadow,”

No, but he’s so much worse, he’s real. 

“I was just getting something to drink,” you murmur, and he tilts his head, as he takes a step closer. 

“Just water?’ That’s not the kind of drink you still owe me,” and why was his presence so intoxicating? Several drinks in and you could still hold your own, still speak in complete sentences, and even make your way home on foot. But Sukuna comes near, and suddenly you can barely form a fucking syllable, your limbs feel far too heavy, and your body is nearly burning, as if he had turned your blood to wine without any miracle needed. 

No, it was more of a curse. 

“I don’t remember owing you anything,” and he’s tilting his head, amusement flickering across his lips, a step closer and then another, until you’re utterly engulfed in his presence. You can smell the mix of exhaust and sweat off of him from his motorcycle ride, the way his jaw tenses as if he is holding himself back from taking a bite, and the way his gaze pierces into you as if he has you pinned like a butterfly under glass. 

“Do I need to give you a reason?” And when his fingers ghosted over your swell of your cheek, a featherlight brush from rough, calloused skin that makes a shiver roll down your body, “didn’t think I had to with the way you were nearly melting into my touch when I saw you last, girl,” 

“I wasn’t the one begging for me to be there,” and he clicks his tongue derisively, and you wonder what else he can do with it, before his fingers grip your chin roughly, forcing your gaze to his. 

“Tch, so pleased with yourself just for resisting, are you, sweetheart?” he tilts his head, while his other hand slithers down your side until he finds your waist and tugs you close, lips hanging close, a forbidden fruit begging you to take a bite, “imagine how good you’d feel if you gave in,” and you almost do, melting into his touch, as if you were made to fit in his arms, leaning up so you could feel the warm breath of his welcome—

SLAM! 

You’re sent stumbling back again, clearing your throat, as the sounds of footsteps grow close, and Yuji wanders into the kitchen, mouth pulled open by his yawn, as he blinks as he spots the two of you. 

“Hey, I thought you were asleep upstairs,” he walks past the two of you to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, and sparing a short glance at Sukuna, “and I thought you had plans,” 

“Plans can change, brat,” Sukuna sighs, his eyes still trained on you — a homing missile with a target, and Yuji was an obstacle in the way, “shouldn’t you go back to bed?” 

“I could ask you two the same,” he leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment, while you only shook your head. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” your only exit opportunity and you’d take it — there had been enough mistakes made, and you didn’t need another to add to the list, and you’re slipping back into your room without another word. 

You don’t see the way Sukuna glares at his nephew, cursing the day of his existence with only his eyes, only gaining a confused stare in return, “What? Ow!”

And you’re only left questioning why Yuji is holding a bag of ice to his head the next morning. 

But you knew you couldn’t avoid Sukuna forever — and you couldn’t avoid how you felt either.

Especially when he gave you exactly what you wanted — space. You had barely seen him for the next week, the former criminal making himself scarce, apparently telling his brother that he had grown tired of “rooming with a bunch of brats,” and had found himself another place to stay for a while. 

Jin had sighed when you had asked over breakfast a day or so after he left, “I don’t know how long he’ll be gone, but we’ll see. The only requirement of his release was to stay in the prefecture—” 

“And that’s already far too close,” Yuji muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from his dad, “so we don’t even know if he’ll be back huh?” 

Jin shrugs, as he sips his coffee, “I don’t know — your uncle isn’t one to stay in one place — unless there’s something that he wants,” 

“I’ll take any amount of time that he’s not here,” Choso shakes his head, offering you a small smile, “and this way you can stay over in the guest room now,” 

“Yeah, true,” you offered a weak smile, as you continued to pick at your food. This was good news, things were going back to normal, but even so, as you pushed your food on your plate — why did your chest ache so much? 

“Yuck, do people’s heads really explode like that?” Yuji sat with the two of you in the living room, TV playing the movie Yuji had chosen, shoveling popcorn by the fistful. 

“How would we know that?” you snort, stealing popcorn from his bowl, “why did you even choose this movie anyway?” 

“He heard there was a Megan Thee Stallion cameo in it,” and Yuji’s cheeks flushed, visible even in the dim illumination of the TV, as he got to his feet. 

“I’m gonna get a drink, do you two want anything?” And you both shake your heads, as you stifle your chuckle. 

“You wanna stay over tonight?” Choso asks, and you tilt your head, toying with a popcorn kernel between your fingers. 

You shrug, “we’ll see,” your eyes drift back to the movie, but you feel the creak of the bed as he shifts. 

“You don’t have been avoiding staying over, even though it’s just us,” Fuck, your eyes still found themselves on the screen instead of him, anywhere but him, and you can hear the unspoken words — even though Sukuna is not here, “are you sure we’re good?” 

And you couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t him that was bothering you. It wasn’t him keeping you up at night, it wasn’t him who had been tempting you the last few weeks, and it wasn’t him that you wanted to see — no matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, even to yourself. 

So you don’t.  

You smile as best you can, “Everything’s fine, Choso,” and he frowns, still unsure, and you know there’s only one thing that will assure him, if only a little, “I’ll stay over,” 

And so you end up in the guest room — far too late. Even though Sukuna no longer lingered here, his scent still did, even with the sheet change and the small amount of his things gone, he was still very much here. 

And it did little for your sleep. Or maybe too much. 

Again, you dreamt of him, his large palms dragging down your sides, lips pulled in a smirk that he pressed to the hollow of your throat before it’s consumed by a flash of canines that pinch and tease the softness of your flesh. 

“S’fucking wet,” he huffs a chuckle out, “such a little slut, been wanting this for far too long haven’t you?” And he’s undoing your robe with ease, a single tug has your body revealed to him, “haven’t even laid a finger on you and look at the mess you’ve made,” he clicks his tongue, and a whine parts your lips, “already whining like a bitch?” 

He shoves two fingers inside you, a gasp ripped from your throat, thick digits stretching your walls, clenching around the intrusion, “Sukuna—please,” 

“Silly girl,” he murmurs in your ear, “I’m not even the one touching you now,” and fantasy melts into reality as his hand cups your chin, eyes fluttering open, “but I know I can make you cum faster than any dream,” 

Wait. What? 

And suddenly the touch down your body feels all too real, pain ribboning from the fingers squeezing your hips hard, and a gasp as your body trembles, still caught between sleep and reality. Your body can’t move, but it’s not the weight of your own limbs keeping you still. 

Your eyes shoot open completely, sleep shed completely from your mind. 

And you found Sukuna, his lips curled in a smile that was far too familiar from other sleepless nights. But was it? Or was it another dream that he had invaded, far too real as you slept in his bed, rather than your own. 

Your hand reaches out for him shakily, fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw, “Is this real?” you mutter, more to yourself, but he takes it upon himself to answer, his hand darting out to curl around your wrist, squeezing, while the other holds himself up, mattress creaking a divot where his hand pressed in, body heat all too close. 

“Want me to pinch you? Can’t say it’ll be the cheek you’re thinking of,” he chuckles, unable to meet his gaze, “don’t go acting like a shy virgin now, woman. You’re the one having wet dreams about me,” 

“No, I-I, it wasn’t—“ but your brain is short circuiting and his laugh that rumbles against you tells you he’s enjoying this far too much, “what are you doing here? I thought you left,” the statement comes out far too biting, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“I did, but it was just for a week. I had some business to deal with,” and a grin pulls at his lips, “why? Did you miss me, brat? Is that why you’re dreaming of me?” 

You’re squirming underneath him trying to look anywhere but him, “I’m not, it wasn’t—“ and he only hums, dragging a hand down your front, until he’s reaching your shorts, a brief pause to see if you’d pull away, but you don’t, and fingers pressing against your soaked shorts. 

“That why you’re soaked through your fucking shorts?” And the rough pads of his fingers grind against your eager hole, nearly swallowing you in, only the thin fabric of your shorts keeping his fingers from fucking you then and there, “least your body’s honest — so eager to get fucked,” and he’s teasing your drenched entrance, drawing his fingers back to have your pre like spiderwebs between the two digits. 

“Sukuna, please—“ and his lips curl. 

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll go,” a small whine left your throat, the throbbing between your thighs growing with the way his gaze undid you — unscrewed you by your hinges and watched you fall apart, only to ask you to put yourself back together. 

But you couldn’t. Not without him. 

“Sukuna—“ 

“I didn’t ask you to whine, are you going to answer my question—-“ 

“Fuck me,” the words fall from your lips as if possessed, and you can’t find it in you to regret them. 

And he smiles all the same. 

“About fucking time,” and his fingers meanly rub against your clit through the paper thin fabric of your shorts, “didn’t even fucking put on panties and you expect me to think you didn’t want me fuck you open,” and embarrassment burns at your cheeks, “did you get this wet from dreaming about me?” And no words come to your mind, and he gives you a sharp spank to your clothed slit, drawing a sharp gasp to your lips and slick flooding from your folds, “better use your words, woman,” 

“Fuck, please, I need—“ and his fingers practically rip your shorts off, letting your cunt gush onto the sheets. 

“Need me to fuck you that bad? G’nna beg this criminal to fuck you open?” And he’s toying with your folds, tugging your tight hole apart as his eyes rake over your pussy, exposed for him, “after all of your teasing, what makes you think you even deserve to be fucked? Maybe I should leave you like this, fingers buried in your cunt, wishing they were your neighbor’s uncle’s,” and a sadistic smile graces his features as it only can his, “fuck yourself for me,” 

You whimper, as his fingers leave your hole, clenching around nothing as if begging for his touch, “what? But—“ 

“Fuck yourself until you cum, wanna see what you’ve been doing when you’re fucking me in your sleep,” the absence of his touch leaves you keening and needy, for something, anything to get you off. Want overcomes inhibition, and your shaky fingers find their way to your cunt, fingertips tracing the outer lips, a gasp you barely recognize as your own when you rub against your clit, “c’mon girl, gotta open yourself up for me — think I’ll fit if you just rub yourself like that?” And he’s pressing his clothed erection against your thigh — and he’s fucking big — rock hard cock rubbing against you through damp damp sweatpants. 

And his fingers grabs your own, guiding them to your slick hole, letting them slip past your fluttering walls, while his own teased your outsides, “Good girl,” and the praise makes your walls clench, and he’s chuckling, “want to be a fucking good girl, then fuck yourself until I see you cum for me,” 

You swallow your whines, beginning to move your fingers in and out, your insides clinging to you, as if begging for something longer, thicker, better — and you knew his fingers would be. A moan falls from your lips, and he clicks his tongue. 

“Gotta be rougher than that,” and his fingers curl around the base of your own, using your fingers as a glorified fuck toy. Your head lolled back, as he controlled the pace of your fingers, fucking you hard and fast, reaching places you didn’t think were possible with your fingers, “that’s it, you’re close aren’t you? Like being fucked with your own fingers, don’t you, you slut?” And you’re shuddering, soft cries and moans filling the silence of the night with the loud squelch of your cunt. 

“Sukuna, f-fuck, ngh, I can’t—“ and he only begins to rub on your clit with his thumb. 

“Yes you can,” he gruffly chuckles, murmuring in your ear as he leans forward, “cum on your fingers like you have every night for me,” and he forces your gaze to meet his as your fingers brush that one spot that has your back arching, “say my name,” 

And you do, cumming hard around your fingers, as he uses them to fuck you through your orgasm, the wet noises of your folds growing louder as your thighs shake. Your eyes meet his, glassy with tears from your high, and Sukuna leans down to lick the salty tear from your cheek. 

He pulls your fingers from inside you, your sticky cum coating your digits and even dripping onto his own. He smirks as he eyes them, before sliding them into his mouth. A moan pulled from your lips as he sucks your essence clean from them, tongue dragging up the length of your fingers. 

“Shit, that was a nice moan,” and his eyes fall back to your drenched cunt, “Still so fucking tight,” he clicks his tongue, Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly? G’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.” 

he hums, taking in your ruined state — tear stained cheeks, your dripping cunt, and your red ruined lips from biting them, “so fucking pretty like this,” and you hear him shift, the distinct sound of his phone camera, making your eyes snap open. 

“No, fuck, no don’t—“ and he’s turning the screen around to show you how absolutely fucked you look, “please—“ 

“It’s a little too late for that, can’t have anyone buying your little virgin act anymore huh?” he’s grinning as he leans forward, pinning your thighs in place as you try to squirm away, “don’t move,” 

His order makes your muscles tense, unable to move your body under the heavy grasp of his hands splayed against your hips. The pads of his fingers dig into your soft flesh, as his lips dare closer to your weeping slit. 

“Fuck, are you a virgin though? You’re still so fucking tight even after that little show you put on for me,” and he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, his breath warming your twitching cunt, “either way, you won’t be one soon,” and he’s burying his mouth in your pussy. 

You moan, covering your mouth before he sucks on your clit, tongue teasing your hole open, a wave of heat flooding your body. The sounds of his licking and slurping fill your ears — and you wonder how the whole house isn’t awake yet. 

You can’t stop your hips from nearly fucking his face, but he spanks your thigh, hard, as he pulls his mouth from your dripping slit, “I told you not to move,” and he spanks your clit for good measure, making you yelp against your fingers, “tell me when you’re about to cum,” and you whimper, “or I can open this door and let the house hear us,” 

You nod, but he doesn’t miss the way your slit twitches at the thought, and his mouth curls in a nasty smirk, “such a fucking slut, maybe I will,” and he’s plunging two thick fingers into your greedy cunt, a gasp ripped from your throat at the intrusion, walls fluttering as they attempt to accommodate his digits. But it’s all squeezing and barely any stretch, as his fingers work you open. 

And it doesn’t take long to get you worked up, his digits knuckle deep and dripping wet, “gonna fucking break my fingers in two with your virgin hole, girl,” he grunts, your body burning with his touch alone, nails dragging against your walls, curling so they can bully that sweet spot just right, “you’re gonna cum aren’t you?” the telltale squeeze of your cunt tells him so, and you’re nodding, and his fingers slip from inside. 

You’re whining, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, “Please, fuck, wanna cum,” the pleasure that had built was throbbing, a dam close to bursting but denied its relief, so it remained, begging and waiting — “please, Sukuna—“ 

“So you do know how to beg like a good little whore, gonna fuck you again, but you can’t cum until I tell you,” and he’s sinking three fingers into you now, eyes rolling back as your back arches, but he’s fucking you meanly, curling and twisting his fingers, until the pleasure is a tight knot in your belly, barely hanging on from snapping, “wait,” he grunts, and it’s as if your warmth is made for him — or now it was, because he’s made it his, “wait,” and you’re sure he’s reached your cervix somehow, fingertips reaching places you’ve only dreamed of (literally), and then he leans down lips around your clit as he orders you, “now, cum,” 

And you do, hard, as he sucks around your clit while fucking you through your orgasm, cum flooding his fingers and face alike, drenching him, even as he slurped and sucked up every bit. 

He finally pulls away, a shiver slips down your spine as he slips his fingers from inside you, pink tongue flicking against his lips, still slick with your cum, What a fucking mess you’ve made,” he sneers, but he’s licking his lips clean all the same, “should make you clean up the mess you made, shouldn’t I?” And he’s pressing the pads of his fingers to your lips, you’re too fucked out to fight, lips parting with ease, “suck,” and you do, opening wide to let his fingers inside, lips and tongue curled around the same fingers that had explored your cunt. 

He watched as you obediently sucked every drop of your juices off, a trickle of drool slipping down the corner of your lips makes his already hard cock twitch in his pants, and he’s pulling his fingers from your mouth. 

“Better than your dreams, huh, sweetheart?” he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, he can’t fucking wait a minute longer, “turn around, gonna fuck this slutty princess cunt from behind,” but you only can watch as he tugs down his sweatpants and boxers alike, his cock slapping against his stomach. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you had imagined. Mushroom tip red and hard, as pretty veins run up the sides, and he was looking as if he’d not only split you open, but break you all together. 

Your thighs quaked at the thought, more slick slipping from your needy cunt — and you wanted him to.  

Your knees shake, as you turn slowly, much too slowly his pace, and he grunts, his hands gripping your hips, as he flips you onto your stomach, a yelp leaving your lips as you bounce on the mattress. “have to fuckin’ do everything myself for this whore’s pussy,”

You’re gripping the sheets, nails surely tearing holes in the thin fabric of the sheets, as his calloused palm comes down on your ass, hard, the smack echoing in the silence of the night, a mewl you don’t recognize as your own, “Sukuna, please, I can’t—“ 

“You can, you’ll take whatever I give you, brat,” and another smack finds your ass again, as he pinches the flesh for good measure, drawing another moan from your lips and another chuckle from his, “and you’ll take this cock too,” and he doesn’t spare you a moment as he presses his swollen, dripping cockhead to your drenched hole, smearing his pre all over your ass — as if to erase any doubt you were his, because there wasn’t — before finally sliding in. 

God, fuck. 

Your arms were already shaking, barely able to hold yourself up, but your face nearly plants into the mattress as he sinks into you — he was too fucking big. Even all the prep he had given you was nothing, nothing compared to how much his dick was stretching your cunt. 

He hummed, as your insides swallowed him eagerly, even with the slight resistance of your tight little pussy, watching as your walls parted for him with almost practiced ease, sucking him deeper and deeper, as if you were made for him. And you would be, after he fucked your cunt to his shape again and again — because this was far from the last time he would take you. 

It was only the first. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight — am I the first to fuck this pussy?” he grunts, grasping your hips tightly, your warm, wet pussy wrapped around his dick — he had waited far too long for this, too many nights spent grasping at his cock, thinking how much better it would be buried in your pussy. 

“H-hngh, Sukuna, s’big,” you’re nearly babbling as he works himself into you, inch by inch, not even halfway in, and you were gonna cum just from him putting his dick in, “can’t fit—” and he’s scoffing, watching you squirm against his length, but he only continues to fuck his way into your tight hole, another sharp slap to your ass as a warning. 

“I’ll make it fit, girl,” he growls — like fuck he was stopping now that’s gotten this far, there was only one way this was ending — and it was with his cock fucking you full of his cum, “c’mon, did the dream not compare to the reality? Did you think I had a tiny dick?” and he thrusts shallowly against you, sending another inch inside your already stuffed folds, drawing a needy whine from your throat, “so fucking loud, you gonna let the whole house know what we’re doing at this rate,” 

he murmurs, bending down to your ear, and your walls squeeze around him, a vice grip that has him nearly cumming then and there, but no he won’t, not yet, “fuck, did you think about letting Choso know? Maybe I’d let him watch me fuck you, only way he’ll ever see you like this,” and you whimper as he slams into you, finally bottoming out as his tip bullies your womb, making you cry out against your fingers, “to think the pretty girl next door is on her hands and knees like a slut for me now, getting split open by my dick. What would Choso think?”

You’re whining, “Please, fuck, slow down—” but he only pulls out a little to piston back in, balls slapping against your ass as he does, setting a mean pace, as he chuckles in your ear. 

“You’re saying that, but we both know that’s not what you want — slutty fucking pussy trying break my cock in two,” the sounds of your skin slapping against you as his tip brushes against your cervix rings in your ear, even as he murmurs in it, “y’’know he wants to fuck you right? The little brat is always watching you, nearly fisting himself at the sight of you,” he’s forcing you upwards, pressing your back to his chest, “he wants you, but he’ll never have you, because this pussy is mine,” and his hand finds the bulge in your stomach, pressing down, as you keen, head falling back against his shoulder, as tears pooled in your pretty eyes, “but he’d never be able to reach here and fuck you like you want — like a whore,” his other hand pinches and teases your pebbled nipples, before sliding up to your neck, squeezing lightly, “say you’re mine,” 

You can’t find the words, all of them fucked out of your body to make room for his cock seemingly — the only words remaining his name and “please,” but you have to do better than that, and he slows his pace to nothing, as he pulls out so only his tip teases your entrance, a whine leaving your pathetic mouth.

“If you’re not mine, guess I don’t need to let you finish, do I?” and you’re shaking your head, frantic and repentant. 

“I’m yours, i’m yours, Sukuna, please—” and he’s sliding right back into you, fucking you harder, balls slapping against your ass and sweet cunt swallowing him up to the base, a white ring of your pre cum forming around it — and he just knows you’re close, by the twitch of your sweet pussy — and his hand reaches around to rub at your clit,  “I’m—” 

And he ruts into you, hard and deep that you’re sure his length brushes against your womb — and you’re cumming, falling apart around him, but he doesn’t relent — but had he ever? He didn’t relent over these past few weeks, and he wouldn’t now, not until he was filling you up and watching his cum drip out of your hole—

You’re slipping back forward, face forward into the pillow and mattress, as he grunts watching your slick drip down your ass and thighs and onto the sheets — his balls tense with his release, “Fuck—” and that’s all the warning you get before he slams back into you to bottom out, as he blows his load. 

His release is hot as it fills you up, never ending it seems as he slowly fucks you through his orgasm, his spurts slowing with time, until he’s finally stilling, a soft grunt, as he pulls himself from inside your warm cunt. A soft groan at the sight of his seed spilling from inside you — you’re boneless and spent, until he has you jolting forward from the press of his fingers gathering his cum and stuffing it back in. 

“Kuna, fuck, I can’t—” and he scoffs, retracting his fingers for a moment, before he’s deftly flipping you onto your back, “too sensitive,” you whine as his fingers work their way back into you. 

“Did you think I was done, woman?” and his softening erection is already standing tall again, and you’re almost wanting his fingers now at this point, even as your body disagrees, pussy squeezing at the thought of him buried inside you again. He leans forward, lips brushing against yours, a kiss full of nothing of tongue and teeth, the faint taste of your own release on his lips, “we’re far from done.” 

The sound of your name catches your attention, your eyes snapping up from your breakfast, “what?” 

“Are you okay? Choso frowns at you, as he holds his rice bowl, the rolled tamago sliced on his plate, “you look tired,” It was another morning like always, but 

You shake your head, “I just didn’t sleep well, I kept waking up from my dreams,” and it wasn’t exactly a lie — yesterday was the culmination of a million dreams you had. Dreams that only ended when the sun began to come up, with his cock still buried in your cunt as you rode him, back pressed to his chest, as he worked you up and down his dick. 

And finally when he came again, this time all over your back, he finally pressed kisses up and down his back, easing himself out, as his toned arms engulfed you. 

“Should clean up and I should head to Jin’s room,” he murmurs, “I have a feeling I won’t have a place to live if he finds me in here,” and you chuckle, too fucked out and tired, “we’ll have to get used to sneaking around. 

“Oh will we?” you had mumbled, and he answered your question with another bruising kiss to your lips. 

Yuji tilts his head, scratching it, as you lift your glass to take a sip of water, mouth far too dry now, “Is that what those noises were? It sounded like you were having nightmares,” and you nearly choke on it, but force it down, hoping the embarrassment wasn’t evident on your face, stabbing your egg. 

“Yeah, I had a couple last night,” you lied, and even as you suddenly found your breakfast far too interesting, you could feel Choso’s gaze still on you — your cheeks burning as Sukuna’s words about him still rung in your ears — along with the distinct ache between your legs and on your ass he left behind, “I’m fine, I’m just going to need a nap,” 

“You’re not the only one, girl,” Sukuna walks into the kitchen from the rooms, as Yuji and Choso balk at his presence. 

Choso’s eyes narrow, “What are you doing here?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sukuna’s eyes find yours, the corner of his lip pulled upwards, as his gaze rakes over your form, “what’s for breakfast?” and you knew he only wished that you were the thing placed on the table for him to eat. Jin barely pays any mind, too preoccupied on his phone with his work email, as he passes a plate to Sukuna. 

“When did you even get in?” Yuji asks, as he finishes his own breakfast, leaning back on his two palms. And your insides begin to tie themselves in knots at all of these questions — knowing Sukuna would like nothing more than to tell them exactly what he was doing last night. 

“And where did you sleep?” Choso glares, adding fuel to the fire, as Sukuna looks down on him, lips a thin line,  “you didn’t bother our guest, did you?” and your cheeks burn all the same, a flicker of amusement on Sukuna’s features, lips parting only for Jin to cut in.

“He got in early this morning. He slept in my room,” Jin says with a sigh, “Don’t you two have to get ready? You’re going to your mom’s this morning,” 

“She’s not my mom,” Choso grumbles under his breath, “more like a leech,” but he still gets to his feet all the same, as Yuji follows suit, picking up their plates, a comforting hand on his older brother’s shoulder. 

“I should get to work,” Jin sighs, sparing a sharp glance at his brother, “behave,” and he turns to you, “feel free to stay as long as you want. Yuji and Choso will be back this afternoon,” 

And the three of them find their way out of the house, a rush of bags and feet, as Choso spares a glance at you. 

“I’ll be back soon — you can hang out in my room if you want,” Choso says, before scowling at Sukuna, “let me know if you need anything,” and you nod, waving him off, and the door shuts behind them all. 

Sukuna slides into place beside you, sitting as the two of you eat breakfast in relative silence. You finish up your meal, and move to get up, but Sukuna’s hand finds its way onto your thigh, holding you in place. 

“Are you done?” and you glance at him, plate empty and food untouched, “with eating?” 

“I am,” you raise an eyebrow, “And you?” 

“My appetite wants something else, sweetheart,” he leans forward, fingers inching higher until his thumb grazes your inner thigh. 

“And what’s that?” and he nearly growls his next words, thin patience already tearing in two, just as he would your clothes if you weren’t careful. 

“I’m done playing coy, woman,” he’s lifting you with ease, slinging you over his shoulder as you gasp, and he’s gotten you on top of the counter, the very same counter you had baked cookies on the day he had arrived, but now his hulking body was quickly pressing your legs apart, “there’s only one thing I want to eat in this kitchen, and it’s between your fucking thighs.” 

“Not sick of it yet?” you chuckle. 

“Think I could bury myself in your slutty pussy for days and not get sick of it,” and he looms over you, just as he had that first day, and he leans down to kiss you, stealing the logic from your mind and leaving only the need for his touch behind, “it is the sweetest thing I ever tasted after all.” 

“Really?” and he smirks, as his fingers dig into the fabric of your shorts ripping them and your panties down, the cool air against your already wet cunt. 

“Want me to prove it?” 

And oh, he would. Again and again. 

✧ a/n: i have a problem. i really wanted to write something with degradation ok?

✧ taglist: , @k0z3me , @monstrousbuu , @abiiebibie , @strawmariee , @luciiferslover , @sxnkuna , @psychxbby , @addehehe , @cpu1d , @dreamtardisspace , @authorintheshadows666 , @arcielee , @trxnmagic , @smilk01 , @abcdbleh , @elisaj313-blog , @jinslunv , @n3ptunxe , @pinkyvomit , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @rat-loves , @spider-fan72 ,, @niks1673 , @lafffyyytafffyyy , @miseraa , @astraxa-xx , @fushitoru , @hanxyy , @milky-milkyway , @nakariabnrb , @johannakhalafalla , @tojicvmbucket , @flyingtranscatofeffed , @vampzys , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @k1ttybean , @catsgomurp , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @forest-fruits-jam , @mua-for-now , @pricetagofficial

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[luvgam3]

Summary: You and your ex-husband Nanami have a good relationship. Even after the divorce you remained good friends and even better co-parents. Babysitting for one another isn’t out of the usual, and talking about your newest relationships isn’t strange either— but when you show up at his doorstep after a particularly nasty date it leads you both to wonder if your relationship is really truly over for good.

Cw: MDNI (18+), afab!reader, small mentions of cheating, you and Nanami have a kid together, girl dad Nanami, hair pulling, consent king Nanami, oral (fem receiving), aftercare !!!

“Fine! Fucking leave!” You yell, your voice cracking as cold rain pierces your skin.

That asshole. That shitty excuse of a man your boyfriend of two weeks, left you on the side of the road. Alone. In the middle of a late summer storm.

But what did you really expect to happen? The red flags were all neatly lined up for you. Sure maybe the fact that he smelt like a different woman’s perfume every time you met should’ve set you off, but maybe you were just over thinking it! Maybe he was a little too handsy for a man you just started dating, and maybe he was a little rude to waitresses, and bartenders, and you— but your last straw was calling him out on his empty threats. ‘I’ll leave you-‘ for this ‘I’ll shut your ass up’ for that. God did he ever stop talking. You snapped; telling him that if you pissed him so much then why didn’t he just drop you off on the side of the road. The only time he’d ever followed through… and it had to be now.

Low rumbles of thunder sound in the distance, blending with the pop of his engine as he speeds away. Inside your head is a loud jumbled mess of ‘where the fuck am I?’ and ‘who does he think he fucking is?’ but all of that sound is ultimately drowned out by that heavy pitiful feeling tugging at your heart. Angry tears prickle at the backs of your eyes as you walk, your heels crunching pebbles and walking through puddles, carrying you to the only place you know by heart. To the only man who you know wouldn’t leave you stranded.

If the night were to play out correctly you wouldn’t be showing up till noon the next day, even when dates did go wrong you never made it his problem. You were divorced after all, your love life mishaps stopped being his problem a while ago. Okay that isn’t entirely true… Nanami comes over to your house once a week for family dinner. After your little girl is tucked away in her bed and the dinner dishes have been done do you two sit alone at the table, drinks in hand as you catch up. Talking about your kid wasn’t the only topic of discussion. Friends, gossip, dates, normal adult conversation. The topic of dating other people because less and less embarrassing as the years flew by. Like the amazingly wonderful co-parenting duo you are— you came up with the babysitting agreement. Nanami happily took your daughter for the night so you could relax and bask in the company of anyone you wanted. He cherished every minute he got with his little girl, it was never a disappointment when you texted him asking if he could take her for the night.

Lost in the depths of your own mind you aimlessly walked down the dark and dreary road. Void of people, void of light. The only sound the pattering of rain and the rumbles of thunder.

Static buzzed in your ears as you slid into the empty apartment lobby, your soggy heels clacking against the neat polished floors. Your tears fizzled into a pale anger that burned the back of your throat as you pressed his floor number on the elevator. The only good thing about this entire situation, you think, is that the rain washed away the feeling of his hands on your skin. The scent of him clinging to your clothes. All gone. Washed down the sewage drain with the unpleasant memory of him.

Softly, you knocked on his door. It’s well past eleven, he should be asleep, but you know him better than that.

Nanami slowly opens the door, his brows furrow as his eyes meet yours. Concern painting his face.

You don’t have the energy to answer his unsaid questions, so instead you silently squeeze past him, kicking your wet heels off at the door. The air-conditioned room sends shivers up your soaked spine, littering your skin in goosebumps as you carry yourself to his liquid cabinet. Your fingers find the key he keeps hidden on the top of the rich oak cabinet, quickly pushing it into the lock and twisting. You’re on a mission as you blindly grab a bottle, bumping the door closed with your hip before turning to his rack of expensive drinking glasses, plucking two and setting them onto the counter with a soft clink.

He watches you pop the cork as quietly as you can, pouring the expensive liquid into two glasses, pushing one towards him without a word as you bring the sparklingly clear glass to your gloss smeared lips.

Married for four years, divorced for two, he knows the crinkle of your nose and the subtle twitch in your eye means one thing— you’re fuming. Beyond mad. If there was a word for that level of anger he’d use it to describe you in this moment.

He knows better than to ask what’s wrong, so instead he drinks with you; listening to the wall clock tick, to your nails tap against marble countertop, to the soft melody flowing from his record player. Darkness envelops you both, the only light combing from his little yellow reading lamp. It’s hardly enough to aluminate your faces, but the flicker of amber reflects in your fiery eyes.

“I think I got dumped.” You mutter, swishing the dark liquid around in your glass. You don’t wait for him to respond as you groan, willing the anger to subside and for the chill in your skin to vanish.

The crackle of the record prickles your ears just as much as the cool night air prickles your skin, filling your veins with ice as you continue to drink.

Nanami watches you, your hair drips onto your shoulders, your mascara streaky and your lips smudged. Disheveled and shivering in his kitchen. Filled with that unmistakable blinding anger you hold with such grace. If he was still your husband his hands would be wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him in a slow lazy sway to the soft music playing. But he isn’t your husband anymore. The word ‘ex’ stopped leaving a bad taste on his tongue a while ago— you’ve both worked around your usual ways to comfort one another and made them more friendly more… pg.

He pushes his glasses up into his hair, putting his glass down softly and disappearing into the dark hall. But you don’t notice. Not when your stomach pulls, not when your head is swimming with so many useless thoughts— thinking of the waisted days, waisted nights. Ugh even waisted money. All on some asshole—

“The bath is running, I left a towel out for you.” Nanami says as he reenters unnoticed, his voice soft and airy as he stops infront of you with a towelette. He tilts your chin to the side, your eyes scanning over his face as he cleans yours; he runs the cool wipe over your cheek, under your eyes and across your lips. He knows you’re more than capable, but still he handles you as delicately as humanly possible, swiping away stray hairs clung to your forehead and cheeks as if you would shatter under his fingers like the glasses you drank from.

He finishes, turning away to clean up the kitchen as you make your way towards the sound of running water.

The smell hits you before you push open the door; lavender scented suds decorate the surface of the water. Steam swirls into the air as you peel off your wet clothes— and for the first time tonight you were excited. Scolding water seeps into your skin as you step in, a tired groan escapes your lips as you sink farther in.

It’s funny how things change, how time passes and people grow apart, you think as you submerge your shoulders. Nanami used to run you baths almost every night, his small way of telling you how much he cherished you. Bubbles of every scent, bath oils and salts, candles and wine. The memory like a blanket as your skin tingles under the scolding water.

A soft knock at the door has your droopy eyes opening, “It’s unlocked.” You say, your voice horse and exhausted. Nanami softly cracks the door open, he walks in and places a small bundle of clothes onto the toilet lid, “You can wear these.” His clothes, a lounge shirt, too old sweatpants and a pair of boxers. You watched as he picked up your pile of sopping clothes, ringing the remaining water into the sink.

You’ve worn his clothes before. On laundry day, the morning after… an eventful night, even when you just missed him. That weird feeling in your stomach probably means nothing.

You watch him in the low light of the bathroom, his muscles rippling under his t-shirt as he works the water from the fabric in a comfortable silence.

“How was your night?” You ask, your fingers swirling through foamy bubbles. Nanami hums as he turns to face you; he rests against the sink, folding his arms across his chest. “Fine.” He says, his tone even as he scans your face.

It’s normal— seeing your ex wife soak in your bathtub, naked in your home for the first time in years. The thought makes Nanami shift slightly, his eyes focusing on the tile behind you. A safer option.

You mold the bubbles into little lumps, feeling his gentle gaze on you as if it’s normal again. Maybe tomorrow this memory will haunt you, make you burn up from the inside out. How oddly vulnerable the entire ordeal is. But for now you just smile softly, “what, you’re not going to ask me about my night?” You hum only half kidding.

Clearing his throat he turns back to the sink, “I assumed you wouldn’t want to talk about it.” Droplets of rainwater trickle down the drain as he squeezes the fabric again.

You don’t want to talk about it, so why did you even bother bringing it up?

You lean back, your eyes still glued to the fizzling bubbles in your palm and clinging to your skin. Where would you even start? Maybe how your date was ogling the waitress as soon as you got there, or maybe how he tried to gaslight you in the car, or how you have him the wicked suggestion to dump you onto the streets.

“Would you?” He asks, cutting through the silence, “Like to talk about it, I mean.”

Maybe you could talk about how your date never asked what you wanted. Or how he never called you gorgeous, just because. Maybe you could bring up how he only ever seemed to want you a little more when other women wouldn’t look his way.

There’s a line, right? Between ex’s and friends? There’s things you shouldn’t talk about past a certain point. Yet you still got excited to tell him about small insignificant things. Like the amazing bagel you had for breakfast, or how you and your daughter watched the most gut wrenching animated movie the night before and cried way more than she did; the small things you never seemed to tell your other partners. But you were friends… right? That’s what this was. A friendship.

You hum, “let me wash my hair first.” Nanami takes his cue, collecting your still wet clothing and leaving the bathroom.

You dip your head under the rapidly cooling water after heating the door click closed. The soft hum and the slight pop as the water envelops you like a liquid blanket, drawing you in as you hold your breath.

✮ ✮ ✮

His clothes seem to always sag on you, no matter your size they always felt so big. The cold hardwood floor sends a shiver up your spine as you step through the quiet hall. Nanami sits in his arm chair, your unfinished glass waiting for you on the coffee table, the record has been changed, joined with the soft hum of the drier now running, the warm yellow light still flickers away.

A time capsule of peace, this was your life. Coming home and reading your respective books on opposite sides of the room, or maybe together on the sofa huddled close together— but why’re you thinking about that now? Ugh it nags at you as you sit down, your body suddenly heavy as the plush couch pulls you in.

“What time is it?” You ask as you give in to exhaustion, your eyes fluttering shut and your head lulling back. You hear Nanami close his book, “2:45am.”

You sigh, digging the heels of your palms into your tired eyes, “Shit.” Despite the pang of unmet hunger in the pit of your stomach, despite the exhaustion gnawing at you, despite everything that’s happened tonight— you giggle. The sound startling another one out of you as you curl in on yourself, “god what a fucking night.”

Nanami gazes at you, drowning in his t-shirt, absolutely hysterical— with what he wonders.

“That asshole—“ you start, your wet hair clinging to your face as you roll your head to face him, “never once asked me what I wanted.”

He nods, and you continue, “not when we went out for dinner, not when we grabbed drinks, not when we fucked—“ your hands fly up on a silent groan, “who does that?” The question far above a whisper.

Nanami was many things— always busy, always working, but he never neglected you or your needs. That’s one thing you could never replace in your newer partners, his attentiveness.

“People are greedy.” He says, pushing his glasses up as he gently places his forgotten book onto the coffee table. “They—“ should he say this? Should he even be thinking it? But you’re friends… friends… comfort each other. “They don’t know how to please you in the ways you want crave— need. They never take the time.” His voice a husky whisper.

You groan, tired and not thinking as you go to continue complaining, “Like you know what I want.” The words come out with an edge you never meant to put there.

“I’m not saying that—“

“You might as well be, I never asked for your input, it was rhetorical.” You snap, the words clawing their way out before you can stop them. Was it pent up anger that made you stand up? Or maybe that simmering unmet lust burning deep in your gut that made you walk in front of him, challenging him, begging him wordlessly. Or maybe it was that deep history, etched into your bones, your body craving his forgotten touch.

He stares up at you, his legs spread wide, his arms gripping the armrests. His breathing slows, his eyes set on yours in a heated stare.

“Do you know what I want?” You ask, voice low, your words crackle with need. “Did you ever know what I wanted?“

Nanami knew you like the back of his hand. You liked when he’d go down on you, legs spread wide by his strong hands. You liked to pull his hair when he’d bite at your neck, so he grew it out. You liked when he’d ruin you with just his tongue while he held your small hand in his much larger one. He knew every freckle on your body, every stretch mark, every hair. He knew what your moods meant, when you were silently begging to be split apart on his cock.

He knew what you wanted more than you did.

The record keeps spinning as he rises, his body towering over you, his voice rumbles deep in his throat, “You know the answer… but tell me—“

You swallow thickly, your body stiffens as he brushes your drying hair from your shoulder, his face lowers, his hot breath fans over the damp shell of your ear sending goosebumps flying across your skin. “As long as we’ve been apart… have you ever wished… it were me between your legs?”

Your eyes flutter, just like your heart as you press your palms into his firm chest. Did you? You stand there, your fingers pressing harder into his clothed skin as you wrack your brain. Maybe you have been comparing your partners to him, maybe that’s by you can’t keep one— fuck maybe that’s why you got yourself kicked out of a car tonight. But his breath is so hot against your skin, you can feel his hands hover above your hips. You both know what you want, you both know what you need.

“If I said no,” your voice breathy, “would you believe me?”

He laughs, the sound brings a slime to your lips as his forehead falls to your shoulder. In this moment it seems so simple, feels so familiar. And maybe that’s all you need tonight.

“Is it… okay if I touch you?” He asks, that sentence hasn’t been heard in years, you’d almost forgotten how wet it makes you. Almost.

You nod, your palms slowly sliding up his chest and around his neck.

That light moment slowly fading before your eyes as he presses his lips to the exposed skin below your ear. “Words.”

“Yes dammit you know I hate when you—“

You choke on your words as he pulls back, his hand threading with your damp locks and craning your head back. Your eyes frantically search his, the reading lamp the only light reflecting off of them.

Nanami’s usual gentleness is gone as he stares you down. “You need to be quiet for me, can you do that?” One hand cradles your cheek, the other tugs at your hand, begging to be held.

Before you can answer he’s pulling you with him, leading you to his bedroom. The darkness of the apartment swallows you both as you enter the room, the music fading, the sounds of your eager breath becomes the only sound ringing in both of your ears.

He doesn’t waste time sliding his warm hands underneath your shirt, pulling you closer to him as his lips crash into yours.

Everything about him invades your senses, the taste of his lips, his touch, the smell of him— all of it makes you clench your thighs together as his fingers press into your soft skin.

“I forgot—“ Nanami’s lips trail a path down your throat, his fingers sliding under the waistband of the boxers you’re wearing, “how incredible you look in my clothes.” His boxers, his shirt, his sweatpants— all of it reeks of him— the overwhelming scent of his cologne makes you dizzy as the pads of his fingers teasingly brush against your clit. The tips of your ears burn as you choke down a moan, your own fingers tangling into his combed blonde hair.

He makes a quiet ‘tsk’ before biting your neck, a soft nip before he’s licking the pain away, “quiet—“ lithe fingers sink slowly into you, “or I stop.”

Lust clouds every rational thought swirling around inside of your brain as you nod frantically, desperate for him to continue.

“Good girl.” Your hips grind down onto his fingers, clit brushing against his palm with an infuriating lightness. Not enough. Never enough. A soft whine of frustration sounds in the back of your throat. His free hand sneaks up your throat, his fingers dancing across your jaw, this thumb pulling at your plump bottom lip. A groan—husky and raw sounds deep in his chest as the diget slips past your lips into your warm wet mouth. Hot and slick as he presses the pad of his thumb down onto your tongue.

Dark eyes meet yours in the inky black of his room, “get on the bed.”

He pulls out of you, turning away from you before you can beg him to continue. Nanami rushes to the door, his feet light as he gently clicks it closed. You’re too busy peeling off his boxers to notice him lick a long stripe up his slick fingers, but you hear the sound he makes. He groans as his tongue licks every last drop of you from his fingers.

You sink onto the bed just as he flicks on a small lamp, your body cast in that familiar pale yellow glow. Nanami however is a silhouette before you, warm light framing his every move. Clenching around nothing you watch him peel his shirt off, the sound of his pants following suit. You crawl backward in search of the headboard, his hands grasp your ankles and in one quick yank you’re back at the edge. You instinctively clamp your thighs together as he sinks to his knees, hands prying your legs apart. “Don’t run from me, show me what I’ve been missing.” He whispers, his gentle voice sending shivers down your spine and to your waiting cunt. And he notices. You’re spread wide with his hands trailing torturously gentle shapes into your skin.

He feels so pathetic. He’s harder than he’s ever been as he gazes at your weeping pussy splayed out for him, leaking down your ass and onto his freshly washed sheets. How long will he just stare at you, mouth watering as you bite down hard on your bottom lip while your legs tremble under his feather light touch.

“Kento-“ you mumble, “this is embarrassing stop teasing m—“ you gasp at the sudden sensation. His lips find your swollen clit without fail, the familiarity slowly rising back to the surface. He mumbles against you, his words muffled and sending shivers straight through you as his fingers prod at your dripping hole.

It’s torture you think. The way he flattens his tongue against your throbbing clit, fingers sliding in with ease as you clasp your hand around your mouth. Lips trembling as you choke down moan after moan.

Nanami’s always been a tender lover, putting your needs above his own— it’s nice to know that hasn’t changed as you dig your heels into his mattress, thighs trembling and back arching ever so slightly as he bullies his fingers into you again and again. The desperate depraved moans you choke down slip out as small squeaks that have Nanami leaking through his boxers.

He can’t take it— how warm you are against his fingers, juices leaking down his arm, his tongue working in ways he’d forgot possible. He moans against you one final time before pulling off, licking his lips clean as you prop yourself up onto your elbows.

“Ken—“

“Turnover” his voice deep and laced with utter desperation as you watch him tuck his thumbs under the electric of his boxers.

It was like a game, waiting to see who will crack first as he peels away that last layer of fabric. He’s throbbing and so painfully hard under your watchful gaze. Your eyes taking in every vein, admiring that upward bend that had to seeing stars countless times— not even a foot away from you now.

“Can I-“ suck you off.

Large hands pull you forward, “Later.” That inhuman strength has you spinning, landing on your stomach with a startled yelp.

You push yourself up, arms trembling as he reaches over you and snatches a pillow. “W-wait, I wanted to—“ you go to stutter in protest only for his palm to press down firmly on your back, right between your shoulder blades. One second your hips are pressed into the soft bedsheets— the next they’re held high in the air only supported by his brutal grasp.

Your senses are on fire. Your cheek is pressed into a pillow that smells so much like his shampoo, your thighs covered in your cooling slick, all you can hear is your own hammering heart and jagged breaths as his hands slide over you. One trailing up the small of your back, sneaking over your shoulder blades and stopping at your nape. The other holds you up by the hips as he slots his cock between your slick folds with a sickeningly low groan.

Nanami presses his chest against your back, you can feel his heart, feel his body heat, you can practically taste the sweat that already adorns his face as his lips hover over the shell of your ear. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” He whispers, his voice so husky you can feel the rumble slide down your throat and live in your ribcage. You nod frantically, “Fine, okay you have my word— fuck—hurry up already! Please-please-please—“ you whine, a memory that will have your cheeks the richest shade of red come tomorrow.

“Good girl,” he hums, his tip slowly enters you with an infuriating slowness that has you gripping the sheets under you. “You learned how to use your words, m’proud of you angel.” He moans as he wills himself to go slowly, he wants to savor the way you clench around him again, savor the way you gush at his gentle praise.

One twitch of your hips and you’d be completely split open, and somehow that’s what you need. You press yourself into his sheets, rocking your hips back into him with that impatience that pissed him off and made him even harder.

More.

More.

More.

You groan, your lip bitten and raw as you beg. “Ken—“

His chest still rests against your back as he litters your neck in open mouth kisses, “I know, Angel.” His teeth graze the flesh of your neck to feel you tremble under him. “Be patient for me.”

It’s so hard to obey when he’s moving so deliberately slow— drawing it out so you feel every vein, every twitch, every slight stutter of his hips when you whine into the pillow under you. You don’t know how hard it is for him not to grab a fist full of your hair and press your face into the sheets— how hard it is for him not to snap his hips into yours at such a brutal pace it gives you a lip the next day. He needs to hear you scream his name until your lungs burn and your hands cramp from clinging onto him with the last of your strength.

Next time he thinks. Next time you’ll be all alone, folded in half under him with your pretty little face staring up at him as he fucks you again and again.

“So good for me.” He moans into your ear as his hips finally meet the swell of your ass. “So good.” He bites your neck, stifling a moan as you clench around him.

Nanami kisses the pain away as he pulls out halfway and then slowly entering again. And again. And again.

The feeling of him so deep in your gut has you panting, trembling and clawing at his pillow. Your hands ache from clinging to anything you can reach, but you’re afraid if you didn’t occupy yourself you’d scream, so completely under his control it drives you insane. You’re so focused on breathing and willing yourself not to be too loud that you don’t feel one of his hands leaving your body only to wrap around your wrist, his thumb circling your skin in time with his movements.

Slow and lazy strokes turn into quick sloppy thrusts, the soft squelch of your mixed arousal becoming louder in your ears. All you can hear is Nanami’s low groans next to your ear and the subtle squeak of the bed frame and it has your head spinning.

“Ken—“ you moan, teeth imbedded in your bottom lip.

He reminds that eager little yelp in your tone even when it’s being suppressed. You’re close already. So so close.

He sneaks his other hand under you, trailing it down your stomach as the other tightens around your wrist. 

Even if he can read you, he needs to know. To hear it drip from your lips and into the heated sizzling air. “What do you need? Tell me—fuck— tell me what you need.”

Your stomach flutters, ears burning and legs trembling as you whine. So high pitched and pathetic it has him reeling on top of you, his cock throbbing at the sound of pure desperation.

“M’so close— Kento please I need—fuck fuck fuck—“ you shudder as you feel the heat of his palm hovering over your clit. “Need to cum—“

His fingers hone in on your pulsing bud before the words even finish leaving your lips.

Who is he to deny you that high?

Maybe you’ve been so unknowingly pent up, or maybe you just craved his touch that much— but as soon as the rough pads of his fingers sought you out you felt your back bow, your lips tremble and you’re turning your hand palm up to intertwine your fingers with his as the coil in your gut tightens.

Nanami’s face scrunches as he feels your pussy tighten around him. You squeeze his hand, you tremble under him and moan and drool onto his pillow. His bed might’ve smelt like him this morning but tonight it drips with you. The body he’s craved ever since his eyes met yours for the very first time— his pace quickens.

“Cum for me,” he hooks his chin over your shoulder. “Please— I need you to— fuck— I need it.” He whimpers, words trembling as his fingers quicken, his hand could fall off for all he cared. He needed this. He needed you.

He’s whined before, but now in this moment it sounded so sinful. His face was so close to yours, you could feel his now damp hair touch your cheek, you could feel his breath and if you opened your eyes— see the bead of sweat trickle down the curve of his nose.

His gruff voice sounded so sweet as he begged you, pleaded with you to cum around his cock.

You nodded, frantic.

The only warning your body allows is a shiver that shoots up the base of your spine as you cum. White flashes behind your eyelids as you bite into the pillow, your teeth threaten to pop a seam as you ride our your violent high through choked sobs.

Nanami cums after you, your tight walls spasming around him as he pumps you full with a groan that hangs heavy in the sticky air.

It takes everything he has left not to collapse on top of you as he eases his way out. Leaning back he watches as his cum oozes out of you, and with gentle fingers he pushes it back in, watching the way you writhe as overstimulation knocks on your door.

With a fuzzy head you allow him to carefully lay you on your back. His hand cups your cheek as he presses a parting kiss to your forehead. You hardly register his absence till you feel him part your legs, a warm towel glides up your legs and you hum at the cozy feeling of it. The familiar comfort he brings you is something you’ve missed. Nanami takes his time cleaning you up before he urges you under the covers. You sleepily comply.

Sleepily. Who knew his dick would be your melatonin again, you think to yourself as you tuck yourself farther into his bed with a content sigh. Before sleep can fully grasp you, you feel Nanami’s strong arms pull you to his chest, his nose buried in the crook of your neck once more. It isn’t long before you fall asleep in his arms, in the pitch black of his room, in a bed that smells like black coffee and lavender, just like you used to. It’s so familiar, so inviting and whole.

Maybe your next boyfriend will be better than the last guy. In fact… maybe he’ll be just like your ex-husband.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

We NEED more soft!Rafe after the new season. He moved out and got a whole house to himself maybe he could ask his girl to move in? Becasue he wants her there and to be part of his life...his new life where he's a better person

Request: SOFT RAFE PLSSS

I don't know when I found time to write this, but enjoy soft!Rafe asking his girlfriend to move in with him! Feel free to send more requests, I'll write when I find time

Warnings: soft!Rafe, relationship moving quickly, mention of Ward's death

—

‘’Rafe, I truly can’t see. I’m not cheating,'’ you promised as you walked with Rafe’s hands over your eyes.  

He had picked you up in late afternoon and refused to tell you where you were going. Just that he wanted to show you something...and that you had to close your eyes during the whole drive. 

Rafe laughed a bit, trusting you. ''Okay, okay.'' 

You walked a few more steps, then he stopped and removed his hands from your eyes, revealing a large two story house. 

A frown formed between your eyebrows. ‘’Who's house is this?''

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. ‘’Mine,'' he whispered in your ear, giving you a gentle kiss on your jawline. ‘’As of this morning.'' 

Surprise filled your face. ‘’You bought a house?’’ 

Every time Rafe showed up to your place after a fight with his family — most often his father —, needing a bed to crash in for a few days, you tried talking to him about getting his own place. It would solve a lot of conflicts. But Rafe always said he wasn’t ready to leave the family nest. 

Behind you, Rafe hummed. ‘’I bought it with a part of my dad’s inheritance money. Sharing a house with Rose is not possible anymore. Too much has happened...’’ 

You covered his hands with yours in silent support. You’d heard the ugly stories about Rose and Rafe. He hadn’t always made the best decisions in the past, but Rose constantly blamed him for everything bad that happened to the family. Rafe may have deep personal issues, but it was wrong of her to villainize him.

‘’Do you want a tour?’’ he asked, his voice brimming with excitement, and the eagerness in his eyes made it impossible for you to refuse.

You followed Rafe up the steps to the porch of his new home. He fumbled briefly with the key before pushing the door open, but just as you were about to enter, he pulled you to a sudden stop.

“Wait,” he ordered, his strong arms wrapping around you as he effortlessly lifted you up.

You squeaked, startled by the sudden move. ‘’Rafe, we're not married, you know,’’ you said with a soft laugh, looping an arm behind his neck. ‘’You don't have to carry me over the threshold."

He set you down gently on the wooden floor of the entrance hall and shut the door behind him. 

Inside, the house felt big and empty, its openness accentuated by the sunlight streaming through the uncovered windows.

‘’I don’t know why, but I expected it to be fully furnished,’’ you admitted, glancing towards what you assumed was the living room. 

Rafe chuckled, his fingers lacing with yours as he guided you further in. ‘’Some people do buy them furnished, but this one wasn’t. You’ll have to help me pick out furniture because I suck at decorating.’’ 

The kitchen was massive and even had two ovens — a rich people thing. It was unfortunate Rafe didn’t cook. The backyard had a large patio where Rafe mentioned wanting to set a barbecue and a firepit, and maybe one of those large daybeds. He wanted his house to be cozy and feel like a home, not look straight out of a fucking magazine.

As he led you into the last room upstairs, the master bedroom, Rafe's voice grew soft. The words were burning on his tongue, but he didn’t know how to say them. 

‘’And here's our bedroom. I mean, the bedroom.’’ He made a mistake on purpose, just to see your reaction. 

You tried to hide the smile that spread across your lips, your heart beating fast in your chest. The slip of his tongue hadn't gone by unnoticed. Did he truly mean for you to live here with him? Was this why he took you to the house and insisted on making it a surprise? 

‘’There’s a big bathtub in the master bedroom, and—’’ Rafe continued, moving toward the bathroom to show you the bathtub, but you were not listening. 

Moving in with someone is a huge step in a relationship, not something you can decide on a whim. You and Rafe had only been together for a few months, so it felt a bit early to take that step. But then again, everything in your relationship had moved quickly from the start. He met your parents two weeks after your first kiss, and said ‘I love you’ after twenty-six days of dating — yes, you had counted them. 

When Rafe glanced back at you, he noticed you seemed deep in thought. ‘’Is everything okay?’’ he asked, an eyebrow raised in concern. 

You snapped out of your thoughts, shaking your head. ‘’Yeah, everything’s good,’’ you replied, smiling at him. ‘’I was just thinking of all the time it’ll take us to christen our house.’’ A mischievous grin curled on your lips as you walked toward him. ‘’Maybe we should start now. It’s a big house.’’ 

Rafe’s eyes flickered with surprise as he heard what you were implying. He expected you to refuse, to say it was too soon. 

‘’You’ll move in with me?’’ he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice. 

You nodded, and a smile curled on Rafe's face. He's never been happier.

—

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