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burgojo · 2 months ago

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27 CLUB. GETO / M!READER / GOJO

summary. satoru's crushing on suguru but finds out he's got a boyfriend! you are, however, equally dreamy, and if satoru was capable of such introspection, he might realise he has a type...

wc. 9.7k

tags. smut | dom top reader, switch bottom geto, sub bottom gojo; established geto/reader. non-sorcerer + rock/metal musician reader, reader is described as a big guy. skinny gojo supremacy, geto with piercings. somno, riding, doggystyle, exhibitionism, dub-con, degradation/praise, daddy kink (once; r. receiving), humiliation, gojo's a crybaby, edging, frotting, choking, overstimulation, gojo gets passed between reader + geto for a bit

"You brought me to a dive bar? Lame."

Suguru's brow twitches, but he says nothing – outwardly. "You were the one begging me to let you come with. Pick a side."

"I'm on the side of good music. I don't want to hear screeching kids out past their bedtimes."

"You think that's the sort of thing I listen to?"

"I mean," Satoru waves a hand in Suguru's general direction, eyeing his choice of clothes, "your outfit has so many holes in it. You could pass as a rebellious delinquent. Like one of them gyarus."

"I do not—" Suguru inhales, shaking his head; leave it to Satoru to think fishnets and cropped shirts count as clothes full of holes. His bangs sway over his eyes; for the first time in perhaps forever, his hair is loose. Satoru can't take his eyes off it when it shines blue-black under the street's neon lights. "I'm not falling for that again. Now, stop dragging your feet. We're here."

They halt in front of a big, dark block of cement. Its windows are blacked out with curtains, and years' worth of posters pasted to the walls overlap, flaking and peeling until only the fuzzy back sliver of the paper remains. The dates on the posters keep changing – the oldest one is from 1998. The ones on top are advertising weeks in the future, up to a month, and the shitty photo-editing reeks of their garage-band histories and amateurish natures.

One of the posters catches Satoru's attention. A young, attractive woman with dark hair and very few clothes on smoulders at him.

With a question on the tip of his tongue, Suguru approaches his side and follows his gaze questioningly. The eye-roll he gives is so quick it's almost pre-emptive. With a hand draped in black and silver jewellery, he grabs the back of Satoru's collar and hauls him away, almost lifting him clean off his feet. "Goodness, Satoru... Have some decency for once in your life."

"Hey! I thought you'd appreciate me taking an interest in your hobbies. And be gentle with that! It's designer!"

Suguru only lets go at the bottom of the stairs, where the evening light abruptly dims and every surface becomes twenty per cent stickier. Satoru grimaces at the palm of his hand, having caught himself against the wall when Suguru tossed him into the dingy basement like a sack of potatoes.

"This place is a real trash heap," he complains – or shouts, rather. The bass in the music rattles his bones like maracas. The place is less like a bar and more like a club. His sunglasses slip down his nose from the vibrations alone, and he pushes them up with a disapproving sniff. "Why couldn't we stay above ground? There seemed to be a perfectly okay bar up on the roof. Looked real nice and moody, too – good for dates."

"Because up there, they have to actually believe your ID," he says in a tone that adds the 'stupid' at the end for him. Without waiting for a response, Suguru pushes his hands into his pockets and leads the way into the bar. He waltzes up to the bartender, who seems to be between patrons. She dries a rocks glass in her hands. Her head bobs loosely to the beat of the live music.

He lifts two fingers. "Beer, please. Whatever's cheapest."

Satoru makes a noise at the back of his throat.

"It's not for you. Geez, Satoru, the world doesn't always revolve around you," he sighs exaggeratedly and flicks his bangs out of his eyes to meet Satoru's gaze. He smirks. "You want something to drink?" He points at the tiny backboard propped up beside him on the countertop, detailing a range of drinks and their prices. "Here are their non-alcoholics. If it won't make you sick, I recommend the raspberry float."

"Then I'll get that." Satoru leans against the bar in the space between Suguru's stool and the next. He shifts, trying to appear natural, and he places his other hand in the pocket of his jacket. He really doesn't need it in this cramped bar – not with the number of people crowding around, driving up the heat.

At the other end of the room, a large group stands at the base of a raised stage. The trio upon it complete sturdy rock covers of popular songs on the radio. They make for exciting listening, though their sound isn't what Satoru usually goes for.

Suguru flags down the bartender for Satoru's bright pink sugar abomination, and she drops off his two beers with a nod. Satoru doesn't have the time to wonder about them further before Suguru turns to him with a wry smirk.

"Sit down, greenie. You look like an idiot."

"And you don't?" he retorts, but hops up on a stool anyway. He prods the glistening mug of beer closest to him, inspecting the amber liquid within, and lifts his eyes.

What surprises him is that Suguru isn't looking at him – or at his drinks, either. Isn't one of the first rules of going to a bar ensuring one's drinks are always within sight?

He tilts his head, a light crease marring his brow. "Suguru? What're you looking at? Pay attention to me. I'm bored."

"I'm looking for someone," he replies coolly, scanning the crowds near the stage. With a sigh and a slump of the shoulders, he glances over at Satoru with a small smile, resting his elbow on the bar. "Sorry. I'm a little distracted. I haven't come here in a while, you see."

Satoru doesn't see – which is ironic – and wants to ask. But asking means he'll look his way, and that means Satoru won't be able to admire Suguru's pretty feline features for as long as he'd like. He'd get all embarrassed about it and growl at him.

Propping his chin on his knuckles, Satoru traces each curve and plane of Suguru's features with his eyes, committing every line to memory. Suguru won't always be this young, and the dim neon lighting is so nice on his skin, cutting deep shadows across the soft fantasy of his face.

Purple and green. Fitting, for a place called the Viper Lounge.

"Satoru. Your drink is here."

With a blink, he straightens up, and the pretty bartender lady shoots a knowing wink his way. The tall pink drink almost glows under the lights, and the float bobs with the tiny streams of fizzing soda bubbles that rise to the top.

Smiling to himself, Suguru glances back at the stage as Satoru's unyielding attention averts to the bartender, bothering her for a matching pink drink umbrella. The room is painted black, like a secret born to the night, and the stage matches the paint job. It makes its users seem to float several feet off the ground.

He taps his cheek with a soft sigh, fiddling with his brow piercing. His hair catches on it sometimes, but that's the price he must pay.

He watches Satoru absently. Where were you? Had your schedule changed in the weeks he'd been busy?

Then, with the faint echo of the microphone, an all-too familiar voice:

"One! Two! Three! Four!"

The leap from silence into rapid metal is violent. The drums beat lifeblood through veins. Steel shreds the guitar. Bass peels flesh from bone and snaps it back together.

Suguru's reverie shatters like glass.

There you are. Tall with confidence, clad in leather and denim. Your hair's shorter than he last remembers, but wilder, already-damp strands of hair sticking to your temples as if fresh from a romp in the sheets. Jewellery glints under the moody stage lights, and it's hypnotic, the way you charge up the crowd with your voice and your guitar. The amp by your feet is beat-up and worn, having played stepping stool to leather boots too many times, but it explodes with sound. Your sound.

You've got a quartet for a band, all faces made familiar through his connections with you. His heart flutters at the memory of your arm slung around his waist, pulling him into your side as you laugh at something your drummer said.

Satoru's head tilts as Suguru slides off the seat and grabs the two beers. "Suguru? Hey! Where are you going?"

It's too loud to hear him, what with the singing and the screaming and the heavy thump-thump-thump of drunken dancers jumping around. Suguru weaves through the crowd of crying fans – mostly girls; your bassist is your only female member – and it's easy to recognise him, his physical training and broad body letting him part the drunken gaggle just by walking forward and keeping balance.

He reaches the front of the crowd and lifts his face to you, a little smile playing at the corners of his lips. His dark eyes are endless in the shadowy room, and the way he raises the mug of beer feels like the hand of the devil. His tongue toys with his snakebite piercings, the soft pink of it peeking past his lips like a taunt.

During the lull of the song's vocals, you crouch down, avoiding the stares and grabbing hands of dozens of fans. You grip the beer – Suguru's smile widens – and rise to your feet. The rim's already at your lips, and rapid bob of your Adam's apple as you swallow invokes a wave of screams and a chant of "Chug! Chug! Chug!" that fills the bar.

Droplets run down your throat and soak into the collar of your shirt. Your skin glistens. Sweat dampens your throat and the furrow of your brow.

As the melody builds to a crescendo, you slam down the empty mug and launch into the song's chorus, the rough metal gravel of your voice sending more than one fan into hysterics.

Suguru watches the way your fingers fly over the guitar neck with impossible ease, smiling into his beer at the memories of those same fingers wrapped around his neck, his hips, his—

An arm falls over his shoulders. "Suguru! Don't run off like that again! Where you go, I go."

He glances over his shoulder. Satoru's almost shouting in his ear, and some ways behind him, he spots at the bar the empty glass with the pink umbrella balanced recklessly on the rim.

"Sorry," he shouts back, a sheepish, apologetic grin on his lips. "Got carried away. Did you like your drink?"

"Yeah," he says above the noise. "C'mon, hard to talk here! Let's find a booth."

Satoru slips in on one side, and Suguru takes the other. The deep red leather of the seats feels decadent in the low lighting, the same way velvet and jewels go together. Satoru peers over his glasses at Suguru with a shit-eating grin.

"Not gonna lie to you," he begins. "I'm pretty sure that normie over there was eyeing you up like a piece of candy."

There's a twang to his words, and Suguru smiles behind his glass of beer, leaning in and peering at Satoru closely. Nearly imperceptibly, Satoru leans away.

He straightens. "Are you jealous?" he says, almost in disbelief. "No way."

A pause.

"What?" he laughs, waving a hand as if to disperse the very thought from the air. "Jealous? Me? Of him? Don't make me laugh, Suguru. I'm way cooler! And better-looking."

"I'm not sure," Suguru hums, sparing a glance at the fans trying their damndest to touch the singer's steel-capped boots. "For starters, he drinks well."

"Don't say 'for starters' like you're about to dive into a list of compliments." Satoru pouts, crossing his arms. "Is he the person you were looking for earlier?"

"Mmh. He's got a good voice, doesn't he?"

"He sounds like he smokes three packs a day. But you don't care what I think, do you? You've already made up your mind."

Suguru chuckles, vanishing about half of his drink in two gulps. It's rather impressive. "That sound is raw talent and cultivated skill. You sound like you hate him."

"Nah, you're just trying too hard for a guy in some no-name garage band. Did you see his clothes?" He peers over his glasses at his friend. "They're western brands. Not cheap here. He's a total poser."

"But he looks good in them, right?"

"Eh. So-so."

"I bought them for him."

"I mean, they fit well on him. And they match the whole 'rockerboy' thing, but that's more because of you than him."

He hides his grin behind his beer, sipping on what remains to nurse it until your gig ends. Satoru's too predictable.

—

Later, Suguru ventures into the staff lounge with Satoru on his heels. Pleasantly warm with alcohol, he finds you alone by the couch, one boot kicked up on the footstool and an arm thrown over your eyes. Your chest rises and falls slowly with your breaths, and Suguru quietly slips around the furniture to take a seat next to you. He grasps your forearm and lowers it.

Satoru stares.

You're handsome. He gets it now.

One eye cracks open. Your hazy eyes pass over Satoru as if he's not even there – how annoying – and land on Suguru. Your gaze brightens and you sit up, lowering your boots to the ground.

"Oh, it's you!"

Your voice is surprisingly mellow, low and smooth like caramel. Despite your neutral affect – and the fact that you're not even addressing him – Satoru's cheeks warm.

"It's me." Suguru's voice is soft.

You gaze at him a while longer, the pause filled with your bright, contradicting smile. Then you grunt and sit forward with your elbows on your knees, your leather jacket creaking quietly. "My favourite man. What can I do you for?"

"You're too sweet, YN," he says, a flicker of shyness crossing his features. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Your brow furrows and you sigh, glancing aside. "I know, I'm sorry, doll. It's been difficult trying to adjust to my new job – just been dead tired all the time. Anyway – what is this, an interrogation? You gonna introduce me to your buddy or what?"

You cock your head up at Satoru, who stands in front of you with his hands in his pockets. With Suguru to your side and the corner of the room on the other, you have nowhere to go.

Suguru spares a glance at his friend. "Satoru, sit down." He turns back to you. "He wanted to come and I couldn't stop him. Just ignore him. I wanted to talk to you."

"Sure. What about?"

He places a hand on your knee. His nails are painted black. "I really wanna stay at your place."

If Satoru wasn't watching closely, he would've missed the way your eyes widened the slightest bit. He has to commend you – you smother it quickly.

"Tonight?"

"Mhm." He shuffles closer to you. His fingers twitch as he glances down at your hand, as if he has to suppress the urge to take it in his own. "Thought we could catch up a bit – braid each other's hair, do our nails, the whole nine yards."

You blink. "That's... awfully forward of you. You usually dance around these things until I finally figure it out."

His lips twitch up. "I can be direct when I want to be."

"Oh, so you just enjoy riling me up."

"I like what comes after."

Suguru's head tilts slightly, and your faces are an inch apart. His eyes flicker to your lips.

"Of course you can stay, Suguru," you murmur, your expression softening. "I'm glad you came here."

"Even though I'm breaking the rules?"

"My whole shtick is being counter-culture. That includes disobeying rules when they're stupid."

"When they're stupid," he echoes. He smiles, his dimples losing him his tough-guy persona. He bumps your shoulder with his, tucking his loose hair behind his ear. "Are you staying here for any reason?"

You shake your head. "Been paid and everything. I'm just abusing the couch for an air-conditioned nap. The others are going clubbing in a few hours if you want to meet up with 'em and say hi."

"Did you want to go?"

"Nah. I had a killer headache last night and don't want it coming back. Mostly, I planned to bake something."

Satoru can't hold it in any longer. "You bake?"

Two sets of eyes swivel to him where he stands by the fridge, checking out its contents.

"Uh, yeah." You turn to Suguru and stretch, resting an arm over the backrest behind his shoulders. A classic, almost dorky move, and one you do all the time, but Suguru's heart still flutters. "Who is this guy, by the way? Why's he wearing sunglasses inside? You're not cool, dude."

"I have sensitive eyes," he declares, pointing overhead at the bright, artificial white lights. "Name's Satoru."

You raise a brow. "I think you've been mentioned once. Last name?"

"Need-to-know basis."

You narrow your eyes at him.

Suguru interrupts the staring contest, shoving himself into your line of sight. "You said you had a headache. Are you okay?"

You drop the glare and smile at Suguru, squeezing his shoulder. "Mm, don't worry about it, baby. Nothing a few painkillers can't solve."

He lifts a hand to your face, tracing the shape of your cheek with his knuckles. His touch is so light it almost tickles. "If you say so. Don't forget to sleep more. It's not good for your skin."

You offer a fond smile. While swiping a few chocolates from the bowl on the table, Satoru notices how Suguru leans into your touch and how he presses his side into yours as much as he can, thighs and shoulders brushing. He didn't know he was... that sort of person.

Rather vacantly, Satoru thinks he should be more upset right now. After all, he's been pining after Suguru for the past year, and now he finds out that Suguru's got some normie with tight leather pants falling into his bed? He was planning on confessing after Suguru's birthday, but he supposes he should trash that plan.

Fuck. Awkward.

"Hey, Satoru." Suguru's soft voice draws him out of his thoughts. "YN wants to try a new recipe. Wanna come with?"

"You're gonna be my guinea pigs," you agree. Your heavy gaze rakes Satoru's body, and he suppresses a warm shiver. "Or my little white mouse."

Satoru tries to ignore his blush. He straightens, pocketing another chocolate. "You don't care about inviting a stranger to your house?"

"Any friend of Suguru's is a friend of mine." You stand and stretch with a pleased groan that feels far too intimate. "I don't have shit worth stealing, anyway, unless you count my banged-up guitar. It's, like, twenty years old."

"Not old enough to be vintage, too young to be seriously desirable." Suguru sighs, slumping against your side dramatically as you pass through the door together. "Story of my life."

"Ew. Don't joke about that." You glance past Suguru – Satoru's eyes, you notice past the glasses, are an unexpected shade of cornflower blue. "Hey, Baby Blues. How'd you two meet?"

"Hm? Oh, high school."

"Ah, you two are the same age?"

"Same class and everything," Suguru says as you wander towards your car, the keys jingling in your pocket as you try to find the correct one by touch alone. There's a shadow of a guitar case in the back of the car. "Can't get rid of him anymore."

"That just means you always have someone to shout you a drink or two." You pull open the door for Suguru and draw a vaguely round shape in the air with a finger. "Karma's a circle."

"Yeah? And where are you in that circle?"

Swiftly, you shut the door and turn to Satoru, nodding your head in the direction of the car. "Hop in, Blue! You'll be glad you came when you try my tiramisu."

—

Some time later, Satoru finds himself on your soft leather couch, nursing a very flushed Suguru on his left and a less-flushed you on his right. You cackle at his attempts to take the game controller off Suguru, and when Suguru gets touchier in order to body-block him, you can tell from his flustered expression that he doesn't really know how to deal with it when you're right there.

"I'm fine," Suguru sighs, batting Satoru's hands off. He leans in further, trying to push him back, when he persists. "Satoru, you're blocking my view with your big head! It's your fault if I die."

You own a PS2 with a pretty neat collection of games. Suguru is doing less than well with Metal Gear Solid 3.

"Let me have a turn," Satoru pleads, pouting when Suguru expertly weaves the controller away from him. He's had years of practice with it. "I'm so good at stealth games! Lemme try, I wanna go—"

"Just say you wanna impress YN. It's less desperate, man."

Satoru's jaw snaps shut with an audible click. His eyes are so blue that Suguru can see the shine of them behind his almost-opaque glasses.

Suguru smirks and shifts on the couch, tossing his legs over Satoru's lap victoriously. He settles comfortably among the pillows and returns his attention to the television.

"W-What?" he stutters. Did he hear that right? Was he drunk on the tiramisu's brandy?

"It's okay," Suguru says, sneaking past a guard successfully. He smiles victoriously, lip piercings glinting in the light. "I wouldn't mind sharing if it was you. Have you seen the size of him? I can't eat all that by myself."

You chuckle, one arm slung over the back of the couch. In your other hand is a brandy glass, the dark amber alcohol you used in the tiramisu sparkling under the light as you gesture with the glass. "Dunno 'bout that last bit. You try pretty hard to."

"I don't like leaving my meals half-finished. I'm also generous to those less fortunate – Satoru's never dated anyone, you know? I wouldn't want him getting hurt by some selfish asshole because he doesn't know any better. That's why I think you'd be good for him."

The colour of Satoru's face rivals Suguru's. He rubs his cheeks, sinking into the couch. "Stop telling him my life story! You're making me sound really uncool. You're so wasted, Suguru – is this what you're like outside of school?"

"I'm not that far gone," Suguru groans, controller going limp in his hand. He reaches around Satoru to give it to you, which you accept – you immediately start blitzing through the in-game building, attention now completely elsewhere. He levels him with an unimpressed stare. "I could probably take you right now."

"You want to fight me in your boyfriend's apartment?" Satoru squawks. "He made food for you! Control yourself. Gosh..."

"'Control thine emotions'," he mocks. "I'm perfectly in control. You need to admit that you like my boyfriend."

"I don't." Panic drips from his voice.

"You totally do. It's cute – I've never seen you with a crush on anyone. A rich boy liking an underground rockstar? Embarrassing. I've read that manga before."

"No, I don't – I'm not a manga protag—" He cuts himself off, jabbing a finger into Suguru's chest. "I just have eyes, okay? I can tell when someone's, like, visually appealing. You're visually appealing. Doesn't mean I'm going goo-goo over you."

With a roll of his neck, Suguru leans in, propping his elbow on his shoulder. He levels his gaze at him, blinking slowly.

He sucks in a breath. He can smell his honey-scented shampoo. He's holding on by the skin of his teeth.

"A-And," Satoru continues, shifting in his seat. How incredibly unfortunate it is that he's sitting between you and Suguru. Why is that, anyway? Weren't you the ones dating? "You're being weird. Who the fuck talks about this? Like, seriously."

"YN and I talk like this all the time. You're just a prude." He sticks out his tongue, and the flash of a silver piercing studded into his tongue leaves Satoru breathless and shocked. He scrambles forward, reaching towards him, and pinches Suguru's jaw with one hand.

"What the hell is that?" he exclaims, brows furrowing. Memories of the previous conversation are all but gone.

Suguru lifts an eyebrow, glancing aside. He'd almost forgotten how strong Satoru can be. "What's what?"

"That." He shifts his grip, forcing Suguru's lips to part. His tongue flicks against his front teeth, and the little silver ball catches the light.

"A pierthing," he replies, muffled. He lets Satoru, alarmed at their sudden closeness, pull away first with a scandalised blush. Suguru rubs his cheeks and lets his tongue loll out of his mouth, showing it off with a glint in his dark eyes.

Satoru stares. How is his tongue so long?

"Cool, right? I wanted to match YN's look. It makes us look ten times better than the next couple."

He blinks himself out of his daze. "Did it hurt?"

"Not as much as you'd think. I had to get used to talking with it, though – I was lisping like crazy while it healed. I was thinking of getting a septum piercing to balance it out – or just more on the ears."

"You never tell me anything." He pouts. "How'd I never notice it...?"

"You think I don't tell you things? Fine. How about this?" Suguru shuffles forward and drapes an arm over Satoru's shoulders. He offers a lazy smirk and cups a hand by Satoru's ear. "It makes guys feel great."

His heartbeat pounds in his skull. He swears Suguru glances down at his lips – but that could be his woozy double vision. His hair looks so soft...

"Done," you announce, setting the controller in Satoru's lap – he picks it up hastily before Suguru can nab it. He huffs and crosses his arms, empty-handed. "Your turn, Blue. I wanna see some slick action, or we both get to watch Suguru struggle with holding people up."

"I am not that bad!" he snaps. "The controller buttons are sticky."

"A bad workman blames his tools," Satoru says automatically.

He immediately begins to argue.

Hm. You can see why Suguru's so endeared with the white-haired man, especially when he takes off his glasses to blink his huge, glossy blue eyes up at him. He's pouting, Suguru's waving his arms around, and you're certain you've got enough room in your bed for three.

—

In the darkness of your bedroom, you're slowly dragged from the depths of sleep by a weight above you. Your brow furrows, a little grumble falling from your lips, as hands trail down the sides of your face and play with your hair.

"YN."

You release a soft breath.

"YN. Wake up."

Your eyes crack open, and you find yourself frowning up at Suguru's shadowy figure. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, but when they do, you notice that he's not wearing any pants.

He shifts on your lap, face inches from yours. His long hair is swept over his shoulder, slightly messy with sleep. His eyes, however, are perfectly awake, staring down at you with an animal hunger.

"Hey, you," he whispers fondly, barely a breath. He lowers his body over yours even further until your chests press together. You wrap a lazy arm around his waist. "Need you, baby."

"Suguru," you whisper back, only just now noticing the state of your boxers. They're slick and sticky, and you know for certain not all of it is because of you. "How long have you been at this?"

"Five, ten minutes. I don't know. I got impatient." He ghosts his lips over yours, tucking his hair over his ear before he cups your face. "Need you so bad. Need you right now."

"Fuck, seriously?" you huff, shifting slightly so you can rest back on an elbow. "Damn nymphomaniac..."

A body beside you rolls over. You freeze.

Shit. You'd forgotten he was here. Satoru had been insistent on taking the couch, but Suguru's large brown eyes and sweet words had worn him down. When you chimed in to express your agreement with your boyfriend, he'd broken fully, and accepted.

"I've already prepped myself," Suguru breathes, pressing his bare cock against the front of your boxers. He rolls his hips slowly, kissing you equally torturously. "Please, baby? Needa come so bad."

His words are slurring. Usually so put-together, Suguru grinds against your growing bulge with a soft whimper, eyes fluttering shut as his cockhead catches on the cloth.

He's going to be the death of you.

You place your hands on his waist, lifting him just enough to reach your waistband and free yourself from your boxers. Suguru sighs shakily and tucks the band below your balls, batting away your hand to be able to hold it himself. You roll your eyes at his attitude but allow him to admire your cock. He nibbles on his lower lip as he rakes its length with his heavy gaze.

"You're already hard," he teases under his breath, closing his fist around it and stroking it from tip to base and back again in one rough motion. You jump slightly, a hiss slipping out between your teeth. Suguru silences you with a hot kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he strokes you and swallows your sounds.

He shifts cautiously on his knees, mindful of Satoru's still body next to him, and opens his hand to slot his cock against yours. He purrs as he tugs them both, head falling against your shoulder as he rocks back and forth atop your lap.

"So good," he whispers into your skin, his hot breath fanning your neck. You can feel him tremble – with excitement, with exertion. His breaths are shaky as he quickens his fist, rutting against you.

He's dripping. Your shared arousal slicks up your cocks, and Suguru's wet palm squelches quietly with every stroke. He shudders out a soft moan, nails digging into the pillow beneath your head.

"Is this what you wanted?" you growl under your breath, hands pressing firmly against his waist and forcing him to grind harder into your cock. His hips stutter. "Fuckin' whore, doing this when your best friend's a foot away from you..."

He swallows a moan as you dig your thumb into his leaky slit. "Y-Yes – yes, I wanted this. 'M sorry for being such a slut," he whines softly, his thick thighs tensing atop yours. His cock jumps as Satoru shifts in his sleep. "Oh, fuuuck..."

You chuckle breathlessly as Suguru leans into you, his slick fist squelching louder as he grinds more desperately into you. You hold your hand in place, formed into a loose circle, and allow Suguru to fuck into it as his tip catches on the ridge of your glans with every thrust.

"G-Gonna come," he whispers against your jawline, free hand tangling in your hair. His little moans feel so much louder right by your ear, and your heart races whenever it pitches that much higher. "Ohh, god..."

"Yeah," you pant, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him close. You press your palm against his shoulder – his heart pounds through his back. "That's right, dollface. Don't hold back. I wanna see my pretty slut come for me, alright? Wanna have your come all over me."

His rushed, shallow little humps rock the mattress dangerously. You grip the shelf of his hips in warning, slowing him down. He whimpers like an injured animal, pleading.

Swallowing roughly, you wrap one hand around his cock and use the other to grip his plush ass beneath his oversized t-shirt, your fingers digging into the soft skin. He gasps softly and presses into your touch, humming gratefully as you jerk him off, your thumb swiping over his swollen tip.

With an arch of his spine, his arms tightening around you, he comes, his pants and sighs soft and breathy against your skin. He presses his hips against yours, coating your cock and stomach with spurts of hot come.

Your head falls back against the pillow, an exhale escaping your lips as your eyes flutter shut. Suguru collapses on top of you, hips still jerking intermittently, and you can feel his sticky pleasure dripping down your sides in rivulets. Fuck.

Suguru tucks his head under your chin, dragging a thumb down your side and smearing his pearly release over your warm skin. Your stomach tenses under his touch and he smiles, tongue running over his piercings.

"I want yours inside me," he declares, leaving no room for argument. "Don't waste it."

"Waste it?" you breathe. "Waste it for what? You want kids or something?"

His lashes flutter as his gaze lifts to yours, dark and smoky. "Something like that."

He picks himself up and positions himself upright on your lap, shifting on his knees to better balance his weight. He glances at Satoru's curled body and mop of messy white hair, almost glowing in the darkness. Heat swirls in his stomach as he notices how tightly Satoru's gripping his pillow. A wicked grin tugs at his lips.

Suguru grinds his ass against your cock, one hand reaching back to rub the tip and press it against his fluttering hole. He lets the tip catch against his rim, throwing his head backwards and scattering long locks of hair in a cascade down his back. His hole clenches around nothing.

"Feels like you're about to burst," he teases softly, continuing to rub against the shaft. "Your balls are so heavy, too... Please let me have your come, daddy. I want it all inside me."

"Dirty little thing. If you can stay quiet, I'll let you have it," you mutter, bending one knee to give him some support. He grips it, lifting his hips, and slowly sinks down on your thick cock, hole clenching and fluttering around you at the stretch.

"I can, I promise." He exhales shakily, expression twisted with pleasure and pain. "Fuck."

"Take it easy," you murmur, eyes flashing with concern.

He chuckles, breathy. "What if I said I liked it?"

"I'd call you a whore."

"And I'll prove it." With a sharp inhale, his hole swallows the rest of your cock in a single gulp. His thighs quiver, his mouth falling open in a silent moan. His cock throbs, hot against his skin.

"Holy shit," you exhale, eyes wide as he trembles around your dick, his long hair flowing over his shoulders as he stares down at the join of your bodies, fascinated by his own capacity. You can feel every pulse of his heartbeat, every ripple of his silken insides. He's tight as a vice, gripping your cock, and he moans softly as a spurt of precome makes the fit a little easier.

He grins, eyes dazed but focussed solely on you. He moans when you wrap your fingers around his cock, wet and hot, and begins to rock his hips, fucking into your grasp.

"Hard already," you note in an almost condescending tone of voice, twisting your fist and making him suck in a sharp breath. "You're such a pervert, aren't you, Suguru? Touching your boyfriend when he's sleeping, riding him where your best friend could wake up and see how shameful you are... I bet you'd fuckin' come if he watched you like this."

A hand shoots up to muffle his cry. Your cock nudges his prostate and he presses into it, but you keep shifting your damn hips to avoid knocking into it directly.

He's helpless. Why did you know him so well? Why was he cursed to suffer at the hands of a sadist?

"Quiet," you whisper warningly, grip tightening on his hips and forcing him to keep moving. You experiment with a few upward thrusts, meeting his bounces halfway with meaty smacks that feel far too loud in the silence of the room.

"I can't keep quiet if you're fucking my brains out," he hisses, but his aggression melts away the moment you crush his prostate head-on. Briefly, his eyes roll back to show their whites, and he shudders out a broken, muffled moan.

You pat the side of his ass, making him flinch at the sound. "Relax," you huff offhandedly, "I'm not even doing all that much. You're just too much of a slut to notice the difference – a cock inside you, and all your thoughts fly right out the window. You're so pretty, doll. Stop thinking so hard."

"Asshole," he grunts, but doesn't stop bouncing. He throws his head back. "Ohh, fuck me, your cock is so damn good..."

"That's right, baby. Just like that," you groan, his tight slick hole dragging with every lift of his hips. His pace grows unsteady, messy, a creamy white ring forming around the base of your shaft. You quicken your strokes, matching Suguru's shallow bounces, and he gasps your name, cock spurting precome that you smear over his shaft to make the glide easier – filthier.

"Fuck me," he curses, his voice growing dangerously whiny. "Why are you holding back? Just come! Come inside, please, I-I'm so close, wanna come with you—"

You thrust into him roughly and squeeze his cock. He chokes out a sharp gasp, far too loud, as thick come paints his insides white. He spills into your hand, his creamy release running over your knuckles and down his swollen, pulsing shaft. He grips your shoulders, nails digging into your skin, and his sides tighten as his movements slow, each bounce long and slow as he grinds down as deep as possible.

His muscles loosen as he pants, slumping down on top of you as he dips his tongue between your lips. You groan lazily as his piercing bumps your teeth and rolls against your tongue. You squeeze his hip, smoothing your palm over the generous curve of his ass. Your lips smack softly and he shivers, his cock giving one more valiant throb.

In the corner of his vision – the peripherals of his senses – Satoru twitches.

Suguru sits up immediately, to your confusion.

"Baby?"

He hushes you, not sparing you a glance. His gaze bores into his friend's back.

"Satoru?" he whispers.

Like clockwork, he stiffens.

A grin tugs at Suguru's lips. You stare up at him, propped up on an elbow. You don't have his sorcery-enhanced sensitivities – you don't notice that the white-haired figure next to you is breathing harder than usual, or that he's shifting far too much for sleep.

"Satoru," he hums, soft and coaxing. "I know you're awake."

Your heart drops like a stone. Suguru, however, smiles wider.

"Not moving won't do anything, you know."

Then—

Slowly, he sits up. His hair is more of a mess than it usually is. His oversized white shirt has risen slightly and shows off a sliver of pale skin.

Suguru is going to kill him. He's sure of it. His voice is soft and dangerous.

"How long were you awake?"

His head feels foggy, still reeling from shock. "Uh..."

Suguru lifts a hand to his mouth, eyes crinkling with a little titter. He points down at Satoru. "Long enough, I'd wager."

He looks down. His face explodes with heat.

The hard-on strains at the front of his shorts. A dark spot mars the cloth where his tip would be.

Shit. Fuck. He'd borrowed your clothes – so had Suguru – and here he was, soiling them with his envy and desperation. He was such a freak.

"I-I can explain," he stammers, and you can't help admiring the way he seems to swim in your clothes. The elastic in the shorts had to be pulled as tight as possible for it to stay up without help, and even then, they sat teasingly low, showing off his delicate hipbones whenever he stretched.

Smirking, Suguru gradually lifts his hips, eyes fluttering as he pulls off of your cock. Satoru's ocean eyes widen at the sight of it resting on your stomach.

"No need," he says evenly. Satoru doesn't need his Six Eyes to catch the drop of pearly liquid rolling down the inside of his thigh as he leans over to turn on the lamp on the bedside table. It douses the room in a faint golden glow. He bites back a whine as Suguru continues, as if nothing's wrong. "Come here, Satoru."

When he extends his hand, it's like salvation. Satoru stares at his kind, open palm.

He takes it. Suguru's slender fingers wrap around his, tugging him closer. He coaxes him nearer, the way one would with a frightened animal.

You're looking at him. You're both looking at him. Something sick and twisted in him likes it.

"Do you want us?" Suguru says softly. "Or have I read you wrong?"

Satoru swallows around the dry lump in his throat. His lips part. "I... I thought you wouldn't like me that way."

"Oh, Satoru," Suguru croons, lifting a hand to brush his white bangs out of his eyes. "Always so perceptive about everything but yourself."

Satoru's eyes dart away and amongst his jittering nerves, he latches onto the steadiness of your gaze, trained on him. He flushes when you smirk, your bare upper body displayed like a piece of art beneath his stare.

"Who do you want first?" you ask, and Suguru presses himself into your side. You level your gazes at him, and he stutters out some nonsense before falling quiet, pinned beneath your attention. "Suguru's already prepped, if you swing that way."

Suguru rolls his eyes at your choice of words, though he smiles fondly. "Surely he wants you, rockerboy. You're new – a novelty."

"And you're something familiar in an unfamiliar situation. Why wouldn't he choose you?"

"Can't I have both?" Satoru says quietly, though he blanches when your shared attention turns to him. "U-Uh, I mean—"

Suguru turns to you thoughtfully. "Hm?"

Your eyes glitter. "Hm."

—

"That's it, sugar," you chuckle, sliding a warm palm up Satoru's side to wrap around his throat. He gasps as you grip his jaw, forcing his lips to part, and maybe you're stronger than he'd like to admit – one hand on his shoulder, one around his throat, and that's all you need to lift him plain off the bed. His fingers scrabble at the sheets, barely brushing, and in his desperation, he grips your waist. The position only has him arching even further, your cock slamming into his bruised and sensitive prostate.

"Ah, ah, ah," he moans, eyes fluttering and silvery hair sticking to his damp temples. "Ah – Suguru, d-don't watch...!"

You wrench his head up, forcing a cry from his throat. You click your tongue, shaking your head. "Tsk tsk tsk. Look at him. Look, Satoru."

He mewls and obeys despite the hot shame and arousal crawling around his guts. The way you say his name makes him dizzy – not soft and purring like Suguru, not reverential or tense like other sorcerers. To you, he's just a brat, and you're firm with him in a way that nobody else has ever been. Not cruel – just firm.

When Satoru lifts his watery gaze to Suguru, he finds him staring down at the length swinging between his legs. His hole clenches as his thighs attempt to close – to hide himself away. You hiss in pleasure, knocking his knees apart with your own.

"Fuck," you rasp, stroking his lean hip and admiring the way bruises bloom red on his pale skin. "Look him in the eye, Satoru. You wanna make him come, right? We're doing this for Suguru. Don't be so selfish that you forget who you're serving."

"S-Sorry," he hiccups, shakily arching his back and exposing his bare, leaking cock, deep red with want. His gasps and moans are loud, echoing off the walls, almost drowning out the sound of your thighs smacking his ass. "Ah—! S-Slow down, I – nngh!"

Satoru's cock throbs painfully. The cockring you'd placed on him strangles his base, and his heartbeat pulses in his dick. He wants to come really bad.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Suguru's foot nudges his pulsating cock, pressing roughly against it. A teasing smile plays at his lips and he hums as Satoru chases the friction with a miserable, choked noise, whimpering when you drag him back towards you.

"I-I – it feels—" He can't think straight, head spinning like he's been slammed against concrete one too many times. His breath snags on the thick air as your fingers dig into his jaw. Your dick punches the breath from his lungs, dragging the painful pleasure up from deep in his belly. He sniffles softly, hazy eyes welling with crystal tears. "Ahn – Suguru," he sobs, so weak and pathetic even to his own ears that it makes his cock swell within its cage, its tip drooling incessantly.

How cute – begging his best friend for help. As if he'd listen.

"Don't slow down," whispers Suguru, voice like silk. "He can take it. He's the strongest."

That means nothing to you, but Satoru's gut clenches violently. Humiliation curls around his thoughts, burning the fringes of his mind with an electrifying shame.

Suguru slinks forward, sliding his thigh between yours in the mess of legs. His touch flutters over Satoru's warm cheeks and he presses close. You slow your pace to a snail's crawl, dragging against and kissing Satoru's swollen gummy prostate.

"I can't," Satoru whimpers, weak in your hold. He leans into Suguru's gentler touch. "I can't do it. I can't. It's too much."

"No, it's not. Don't be silly," Suguru hums, taking his cock in his hand and making Satoru sob and jerk. He aligns it with his, rutting against it lazily. God, he's got another fucking piercing right beneath the glans of his dick – it catches, smooth and hard, on the ridge of Satoru's tip. His bright eyes lose their focus and his hips twitch. "I'm not letting you go until I think you're done. Just try not to pass out, okay?"

"He won't. He's a good bitch – barely needs any training. He takes me like a fuckin' champ." Your cock punches into his guts and he squeals, his cries high and melodic even as he falls limp in your hands, his fingers scrabbling at your hips and thighs. Suguru moans at the contact, his fist wrapped around both his and Satoru's lengths. "F-Fuck – you're both so damn pretty like this."

Satoru gasps as Suguru smiles and leans over his shoulder to kiss you. Pressed between your bodies, Satoru can hear every wet smack and soft moan of your kisses right in his ear. His cock throbs violently, leaking a constant stream of pre.

Suguru's hands rest on his hips, gently guiding him back and forth between your cock and his. His cock is warm and velvety, and Satoru whimpers as Suguru presses further into him to kiss you deeper with a pleased sigh. Your grip tightens on Satoru's jaw, pulling him into your chest, and he mewls, squeaky little moans falling from his lips as your cock fills him up over and over again, fucking him like he made you angry.

"S-Suguru—!" He can't get the rest of his sentence out before two thick fingers shove into his mouth. His yelp melts into a moan as they press down on his tongue, silencing him.

"Hot," Suguru observes, parting from you to catch his breath and watch the way his friend sucks and drools on your fingers, his cerulean eyes dazed and glossy. "Kiss me again."

You oblige, twisting your hand in his long, loose hair and pulling him towards you. His lips are warm and plush, and his breath hitches as your tongue rolls across his, flicking the silver piercing there. You pull back for air but he doesn't let you, yanking you back in and tracing the length of your tongue with a debauched moan.

Satoru can hear it all. He can't watch – no, not with your firm grip on his jaw – but not being able to see makes everything ten times worse. He feels like a toy, his high withheld and his sight limited. For all his gifts, he still has to fucking turn to see things, and he wishes really, really badly that he knew what it looks like.

He can imagine it clearly. Your faces flushed, your hair mussed. Suguru's delicate features relaxed into a wanton expression, his piercings glinting in the low light as his tongue twists with yours. Your brow furrowed, your lips swollen, as you suck on his tongue.

Desperately, with tears in his eyes, he slobbers around your fingers, gripping your wrist in both hands. Saliva runs down your knuckles and Satoru chokes as you push your fingers deeper, sliding over his tongue possessively. He adapts quickly, muffled moans high and needy as your cock slams into his guts.

He swears you can't be a non-sorcerer. How else could you ruin him so easily? How else are you tracking every little twitch that gives away his most sensitive places? How else are you still going?

You've backed off now, instead staring at Satoru and the way his lips close around your fingers like they're a cock. Suguru, equally mesmerised, licks his lips.

As if you're one being, you remove your fingers from Satoru's slick mouth, and Suguru cups his face and kisses him.

Kisses him.

He can't think. His body moves on instinct, his teeth clashing with Suguru's in a messy and uncoordinated manner, but he is kind, and he coaxes control from him to teach him how to kiss. Blue eyes made even bluer with the red ringing his lashline, Satoru moans and scratches at Suguru's shoulders, cock throbbing as the ring bites into his raw shaft. Suguru's fingers brush against his tight, aching balls and he blubbers like he's going to die.

"Please," he manages to choke out, gasping and jerking as Suguru scrapes his nails down his dark red length. "P-Please..."

He doesn't even know what he's begging for. More? Less? For Suguru to stop looking at him as if he'd hung the stars? He's a sinful, degenerate mess, he knows it – far from the perfect and powerful sorcerer the world expects. The Gojo clan heir, ruined on something so obscene and mortal as a big, thick cock.

You turn his face towards you, watching the tears fall over the flushed apples of his cheeks. He's so pale that every little touch burns him with lust, and his embarrassment spreads from his cheeks to his chest and down his shoulder blades.

You press your lips against his and he whimpers, a hand shooting up to grip your hair. He kisses back, moaning as you swipe your tongue over his lower lip, and the slick sounds of your lips smacking makes his walls flutter and clench around you.

He's clumsy, but eager. He whines like a puppy, bouncing on your cock, and leans into your touch when your hand smooths over his stomach, shiny and slick with his pre. He pants into your mouth. You swallow his moans.

Firm and swift, Suguru snatches Satoru's chin and pulls his face towards his. He makes an ugly sound as Suguru wraps his hand back around their cocks, forming a loose hole for them to fuck into – Suguru's release is thick and creamy, and it feels filthy when he smears it over both their cocks.

He came! He came, he realises joyfully, relief and arousal flooding his veins in equal parts – he came because of him! Satoru melts into the kiss, lips slick and parted as they pant and moan, sharing hot breaths between them. The air is muggy. Suguru licks into his mouth, hardly human, and tears stream down Satoru's cheeks, his brain so mushy he can't tell your limbs from Suguru's, or his own from the bedsheets.

Barely letting him breathe, you grab Satoru's face and stick your tongue down his throat. He hiccups, eyes rolling back as you grind into his ass and come with a grunt in hot, thick spurts. His toes curl and his lips pout pathetically, chasing yours when you pull back to check on Suguru. He whines and tugs your hair to make you turn those pretty eyes back to him again, your warmth spilling into him and making him yours. You allow it, your tongue running over the slick nubs of his teeth.

Suguru scrapes his canines over Satoru's pale throat, only marred by his blush. That won't do. He drags his pierced tongue down his jugular and across his Adam's apple, made more pronounced by the angle of his neck – Satoru sobs into your mouth, chest heaving as he grips Suguru's hair and feels the sting of hickeys bitten into his fair skin.

Through his tears and dizzy pleasure, he's given back to Suguru, who coos at him and kisses him sweetly – no tongue this time, just their swollen lips moulded together as if they belong right there and nowhere else. He twitches as your teeth sink into his shoulder, decorating his other side with love bites. He's never gonna be able to hide them all.

Passed around like a cigarette, like a whore, Satoru barely realises it when Suguru slips off the cockring – with some difficulty, as his cock, stomach, and thighs are so wet with pre that it makes everything feel like a damn waterslide. The moment it scrapes over his swollen tip, he's crying out and tensing, sobbing as heavy spurts of sticky come spray Suguru's stomach and thighs.

He tries to say their names – because they're so kind, so good to him, he has to say thank you and be grateful because they could've left him there all by himself – but the first syllables of their names devolve into relieved, babbling moans. Suguru strokes his hair, holding him close, as you help him ride out his bliss, your pace gradually slowing as he twitches and jolts in your hands.

As his high peters out, he slumps into Suguru's arms, whining shakily as you pull out with a slick pop. He clenches around nothing, his hole gaping and abused, and clutches Suguru like a lifeline.

You hum, pressing a thumb against Satoru's dark puffy hole and pulling gently. Feebly, it clamps around nothing, and a dribble of thick white come leaks out, joining the mess between his legs.

Man, those legs. He could be a model with a body like that. Despite being taller, Satoru's slimmer than Suguru, and he feels tiny and fragile in your palms, shuddering and trembling. You squeeze his slim thighs, watching his fair skin dimple under your touch like marble, and his muscles twitch, unsure whether to pull away or press into you. He decides on the latter, moaning softly when you grab his ass appreciatively.

"Such a darling," Suguru hums, voice light and adoring as he brushes the tears from Satoru's warm red cheeks with his thumb. "You did well, Satoru."

Giggling dreamily, he nibbles on his lower lip, pushing his cheek against Suguru's shoulder. He reaches blindly behind him, and when he finds your hand, he pulls you in behind him, forcing your arm to wrap around his little waist. He purrs, perfectly pleased now that he's squished between two big, warm bodies. "Yeah...?"

Suguru nods, his long hair falling over Satoru's shoulder too. "Yeah."

Eyelids half-closed and nose buried in Suguru's neck, Satoru follows easily as you lead them to lay down on the bed. When your arm loosens around his waist, however, his hand shoots out with startling speed and accuracy.

"W-Where are you going?"

If you didn't know any better, you'd think he sounded afraid.

"Bathroom. Gotta get you two cleaned up before it gets gross," you reply gently. He has Suguru to ground him. That doesn't seem like enough, though, because his large blue eyes well up again and his lower lip trembles. His grip tightens around your wrist and you're surprised when it almost begins to hurt.

"Stay," he whispers, slender pale neck craned to look you in the eye. It's covered in bruises and bite marks.

"I'm not leaving," you chuckle, stroking his inner wrist with your thumb. "You're in my bedroom. Nowhere else for me to go."

He shakes his head, stubborn – they're both like that. "Don't care," he whimpers, tugging insistently. "Come back. Clean later."

"But you're the messiest one here, Satoru," you point out, amused, and you don't miss the way he shivers when you say his name. "Surely you don't want to stay that way?"

"Don't care," he repeats in a mumble. He hums as you obey his iron grip and return to the bed, lying down in front of him. He snuggles into your chest, sighing soft and content as Suguru shuffles closer behind him. He feels your arm join Suguru's, resting over his waist. The heavy weight of them combined and the radiating warmth from your chests fade his thoughts into pleasant nothingness.

"Suguru?" you murmur.

"Hm?" His chest rumbles delightfully against Satoru's back.

"I've got him. You can get washed up if you like."

"It's alright. He'll pull me back down, just like you. It doesn't feel bad – I sorta like it. I've been covered in worse, anyway."

You curse under your breath, arm shifting around Satoru. "Do I wanna know?"

"No."

You chuckle lightly, and your next words are soft and teasing. Suguru responds in kind. Satoru's eyes flutter closed, the rest of your quiet conversation becoming hazy background noise as it lulls him to sleep.

Surrounded by warmth – a very human warmth that Satoru's been chasing for years – he can't help curling up like a cat, breathing soft and even as your rumbling voices pass over his head. Yours is deeper than Suguru's smooth, easy cadence, something of your musical talents emerging in the depths of your voice. It makes it easy for his subconscious to follow – at least for a while, before they blend into one lilting track.

Dreams come easy to him. How could they not when this pretty fantasy of his has just come true, tucked in the arms of Suguru and his dreamboat of a boyfriend?

Well, it's like Suguru said: can't get rid of him. He's yours, now – no takesies backsies.

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rigroofing · 2 years ago

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luveline · 1 year ago

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𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐳, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie has a staring problem that you barely notice, though you share an aching, awful crush. One of you has to bend first, and it’s not who you’d expect. fem, 5k

ditzy-ish reader, pining eddie, mutual pining, confessions, first kisses, fluff and hugging, idiots in love, mild states of undress

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

It’s a day fit for a funeral in Hawkins. Rain hammers his bedroom window like hailstones, plinking against the frame, condensation running down the panes in thick rivulets he soaks up with an old t-shirt.

It’s supposed to be spring time. Green grass, flowers, a gentle humming sun to warm the back of his neck while he sits out on the couch on the porch, a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers, the tip shimmering with heat.

But the rain pours. He’s cleaned his room for the first time in a month, at least, and his back aches in the best way as he lays down amongst fresh sheets. His room feels strange when it’s organised, but he doesn’t mind. He pictures the state of it through a second pair of eyes. This is a boy who cares about things, who takes care of them, who could take care of me, too.

Rain again rackets on the metal roof above. He and Wayne keep a couple hundred bucks stashed for the day the roof flies straight off —they take turns hiding it, because cars break down and groceries get more expensive every year, but god will they need it, and so they safeguard it well.

He syphoned a little of the money recently with Wayne’s support. It was for a good cause.

“Jesus,” Eddie murmurs to himself, not tired but feeling dull as the clouds outside eat the remaining sun.

It’s depressing to be poor, and to lose a day trying to hide the evidence of an entire life in a small room. He could sleep a hundred years.

He’s just finished pulling the sheets over his shoulder when somebody knocks on the front door. Wayne opens it three rooms away, the sound of the rain doubled.

He gives a startling shout, “Ed! Your girl!”

Eddie topples out of bed. Doesn’t mean to, foot caught in the bottom of the sheets and stuck as he scrambles to slide out of the mess. He’s begged Wayne not to call you that when you’re within earshot, but Wayne’s a mean (kind) old bastard (middle aged dad) who wants Eddie dead (happy, and in love).

“Come on in, girl. You’re soaking.”

“It’s raining.”

“It’s pouring down. Did you walk here?”

“Took my bike. Thought I’d get struck by lightning in the car.”

“How’d you figure?”

Eddie goes to grab the door handle and spins on his heel, staggering onto his bed and up against the wall, where a mirrored tray once used by Dio himself for rolling hangs from the wall. He checks his face in the polished surface, his warped mouth and nose, too small eyes, and swears to himself that one day he’ll get a real mirror with a fully-functioning reflective surface.

Then he hops down off of the bed, causing a reverberation he knows traverses the entirety of the trailer floor. Eddie snatches a rare clean towel from his laundry chair and speeds down the hall.

“Hello,” he says, more casual than he feels to find you unexpectedly in his house. “You’re soaked.”

You give a sweet smile. “It’s raining out, did you not know?”

Your hair is dripping, water racing down the curves of your face to collect at your chin. Eddie can see the smudges of your makeup where it’s washing off as he wraps a towel around you, kohl on your cheeks, eyelashes turned to half-diamonds and sticky-looking. You grin at being covered, taking the towel from his fingers before he can dab you dry.

“Why didn’t you just call me?”’

“I can never remember if your phone number ends in three or four.”

“Seven. I wrote it down for you a hundred times.”

You rub your eyes and spread all manner of glitter and shadow over your skin. You wipe your neck and the glitter spreads like an alien rash.

When you talk next, you shiver, “I lost it a hundred times, sorry. Is it okay that I'm here?”

Wayne, who’s been watching with a distinct sense of amusement from the couch, lets out a chesty laugh. “Honey, it’s always okay that you’re here on my account. And it’s my house.”

“It’s fine.” Eddie turns your shoulder so he can mouth over it without being caught. Asshole.

Another laugh follows. Eddie would cut each of his fingers from his hand and then his hand from his wrist if it were something Wayne needed him to do, but that doesn’t make him any less of an opportunistic asshole. If there’s a way to fuck with Eddie, he tends to try it. He loves Eddie with all the tenacity of a father who loves his son, but Wayne got infected with little bitch disease or something and Eddie can’t cure it.

“Can I please wash my face? I didn’t expect to get soaked.”

“Didn’t you?” He regrets his flippancy quickly, leading you down the hall. “You could take a shower. What do you think?”

You’ve never showered here, but Eddie’s trying to, you know, date you. Romance you, get to cherish you, however anyone wants to say it. And it’s not a war of attrition, just a natural escalation of sharing, or a minimising of boundaries.

No, that’s pervy, isn’t it?

“I mean–” He starts to correct himself.

You interrupt with your answer, “Yes, please, do you think I could? But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I have your purple hoodie in my room, and there’s gotta be a pair of sweatpants here that fit you,” he says.

They’ve got a whole bunch of clothes here that floated in from somewhere else, Eddie’s other friends or stuff they’ve bought by mistake. He’s sure he can find something.

“You have my hoodie?” you ask, black kohl spreading across the towel as you wipe your cheek.

Eddie only smelled it one time. When he’d realised you left it in his van he brought it in and folded it, waiting for the next time he’d see you to give it back, but that night he’d been getting out of the shower wondering if he could call you or if that was too soon, and your hoodie had been right there. So he stood there in his pyjama pants with his wet hair and he didn’t think about picking your hoodie up, he just did, and when he pressed it to his face it still smelled of your perfume.

He put it back and felt like a loser for days.

“It’s in my closet, you left it in the van Monday,” he explains quickly, nudging you through the doorway of the bathroom.

The Munson bathroom is teeny tiny but not unnavigable. There’s a shower pressed to the far wall that could squeeze in two people, their toilet to the right, a sink basin opposite that with a medicine cabinet and just enough room for a dirty laundry box that’s always, always full.

Eddie opens the shower and turns it on. “It takes a while to get really hot but then it’s not hot for long, sorry. There’s my shampoo if you want it, and soap, and body wash. Sorry, none of it is super girly.”

“Sorry sorry,” you say, pretending to hit him in the stomach. “What’s with all the sorries, handsome? I can’t wait to smell like a boy.”

The way you say it. Eddie doesn’t know what it is, but it’s why he’s crazy about you.

Probably shouldn’t tell you that as you're taking off your jacket, though.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

Eddie heads out of the bathroom to their skinny linen cabinet hidden in the hallway. He grabs the last two towels from the middle shelf and takes pause, fabric starchy in his hands. Just be normal, he thinks, a pep talk from Eddie to Eddie. She hangs out with you all the time for a reason. She held your hand at the movies.

Eddie’s in better spirits when he remembers that. Your hand in his, your ring pushing his ring further down his finger, your cheek touching his shoulder as you’d leaned in and asked if he wanted some of your popcorn.

He opens the door without thinking, shower pattering against the perspex wall, your legs crossing tightly as he enters, turning yourself away from him.

“Woah!” you say, laughing.

“Holy crap.” The image of your red underwear immediately stamps itself into his mind as he pulls the door shut between you. They were really cute, red and white gingham, showcasing just the slightest curve of your– “I told you I was coming back!”

“I thought you’d knock!” you laugh. “Sorry I flashed you. At least I had my shirt on.”

At least, he thinks wryly, shoving his arm through the gap in the door, heavy towels pulling at his fingers. His head’s about to snap off, it's turned so far away from the door’s opening. “Here.”

“If you wanna see me naked so bad you can just ask,” you tease.

“Take the towels, loser.”

You take the towels and he closes the door, preventing any more accidental creeping, and giving himself a reprieve. Gingham underwear. Wavy lettuce edgings kissing your skin.

Holy fuck. Being a person is so lame, Eddie thinks. He wants to have a crush on you purely, and yet seeing the way you’d crossed your legs to hide from him, smiling, he can’t not think about kissing you —touching you. If he doesn’t get you laid out in his bed soon for some slow kissing he’s not gonna make it.

Eddie opens the strip vent above his window and prays it doesn’t flood his whole room. Clean, it doesn’t look half bad, he could bring you in here respectfully, you could stay the night without fearing for your life.

You take a quick shower. He’s barely gotten over his nerves when you’re walking into his room, a towel around you, not a hint of shyness about you.

“You didn’t bring me anything to wear,” you explain.

Eddie just stares at you.

“Eddie?” You wrap the towel tighter. “Come on, you’re staring at me.”

“Sorry.” His mouth is bone dry.

“You have my hoodie, right? Just need some pants.” You cross your arm tightly across your chest. “I don’t usually notice when people are staring at me.”

“You aren’t usually naked in my room,” he says, genuinely and embarrassingly apologetic.

“I’m not naked. Come on, please? Do I have to wait outside the door?” you ask with a laugh.

Eddie stands up. Shakes his head hard, almost trips over himself trying to get to his dresser. He decides honesty will be best at this point, lest you think he has only one thing on his mind, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just in my head about something and I wasn’t expecting you to come out like that. It’s not right. You’re just… you’re really pretty.”

“Thank you.” He can’t see you, sorting quickly through his middle drawer and all his miscellaneous pants for a pair he’s sure would fit, if he could just remember where it was. “What are you in your head about?”

“What?”

“Eddie, are you okay?”

“No, no,” he moans, rubbing his face with his hand, ring scratching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not okay, princess, I’m overheating or something, Jesus Christ.” He finally lays eyes on the sweatpants he’d been thinking of, grabs your hoodie from the top shelf and drops them both at the end of the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“I don’t have any underwear.”

“And that’s something I can’t fix,” he says, leaving the room in a hurry.

Eddie gets to the living room and keels over. His hair falls in his face, his shirt slides down his back. What the fuck is wrong with him?

Wayne, sliding his shoes on in the recliner, gives a start. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie lifts his head, yanking hair from his face, the skin of his under eyes pulled down harshly. “Oh my god.”

Wayne wrinkles his nose.

“No ones ever been such a pathetic excuse for a man before,” Eddie says.

“Your dad’s in jail,” Wayne points out. “And not for the impressive stuff.”

“I’m pathetic.”

“You’re fine. You’re not supposed to be not pathetic, you’re twenty.”

“I’m twenty one.”

“The extra year doesn’t mean much. I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still an idiot.”

Wayne stands and shrugs on the jacket laying over the armrest.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I thought you were definitely gonna ask her?” Wayne asks knowingly. That’s what Eddie told him, after all. “Next time I see her, Wayne, I’m asking her to go steady.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You can’t leave.”

“Eddie.” Wayne gestures for Eddie to stop slouching like some fiend from a bad horror. “Listen. I get that you’ve always been sort of… behind everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. She likes you. She biked here in a hurricane.”

“What if she says no?” he asks.

Truthfully, Eddie’s more scared of you saying yes.

Wayne shrugs. “Girl like that’ll still be your friend after. It’ll be fine, okay? Do you need a hug before I go?”

“No.” Eddie rubs his eyes some more, sore now from being touched. “Maybe.”

Wayne crosses the room to give his shoulder a squeeze. “It will be fine. You’re great with rejection, Eds, but I have a good feeling about this one.”

Eddie felt better about it, before he embarrassed himself staring at you. But Wayne’s right, even if Eddie’s read things wrong between you, he’s sure you’ll still want to be his friend. You and Eddie are the same kind of weird, though he’s more angry where you’re carefree. If everything goes wrong, you’ll probably just give an unnecessary apology and offer to braid his hair. Which will be torture, but Eddie’ll still say yes.

Wayne calls goodbye, and you shout, “Bye, Mr. Munson!” to which Wayne wiggles his eyebrows.

“Get lost,” Eddie says.

“Go make her a drink. I’ll see you later.”

That’s not a bad idea. Eddie makes you a mix of orange and grapefruit juice with a couple of ice cubes and a plastic straw, your reaction predicted and then proved.

“It’s a cocktail,” you say, pleased, sitting on the side of his bed.

“It’s not a cocktail, just juice.”

“Can I have some socks, please, Eddie?”

Eddie passes you your drink, fingertips brushing. “Yeah. Anything else?” He pretends to be exhausted as he trudges back over to his dresser.

You laugh and sip your drink. “No, I think you’re treating me quite well.”

Eddie grabs a random pair and finally gets to sit down beside you, the dresser drawer left out, a spare sock fallen to the floor. You shuffle back into his pillows, propping your juice on his side table, and holding your hands out for the socks. Again, your fingertips touch his as he passes them to you. You seem to enjoy it, a smile lighting your face as you pull your knees up to put the socks on.

“Thank you for waiting on me,” you say quietly. Not shyly, just quiet.

“You’re welcome. Came all this way to see me, didn’t you?” He gives you a shove. You shuffle back further. “In the pouring rain.”

“It felt important at the time.”

“Yeah?”

You get the socks on and don’t care about them once they're past your heels. Eddie does the honour of smoothing out the bands so that the elastic won’t dig into your skin, and when he’s done he can feel you looking at him heavily. You’re not one for continued eye contact, but you smile like you were waiting for it all day, like it’s a relief to see him.

“Bad weather,” you say, slouching down. “I think I’m still wet on the inside.”

“Gross,” Eddie says, pushing you over bodily to sit beside you. This isn’t new, he doesn’t need any nerves, and he’s grateful when they don’t come. “Here, I’ll pull the blanket over you.”

“Can’t move,” you say, leaning back against the pillows.

Eddie stretches his legs out. You keep yours up, but you turn to his side, and before he can really make any sense of you, you’re dropping your face into his shoulder.

“Are you still cold?” he asks, searching for the truth in your strange comment.

You nod into his shoulder. “I’m freezing. The shower didn’t get very hot.”

“Sorry,” he says, letting his cheek rest on your head.

You lift your chin as he does it, his lashes pressed to your forehead, the two of you stuck together like two warped jigsaw pieces. You probably weren’t made to be together, but you make a nice picture, and you fit snugly now. That’s what Eddie thinks.

This is the sort of moment that makes Eddie wanna ask you out. Maybe you’re just the best friend he’s ever had, but something about this closeness feels different. You wrap your arm around his stomach in a hug and he knows this is different.

“It’s okay,” you say finally, sighing as you shift downward into his side, getting comfortable.

“Please don’t bike here in the rain. It’s, like, torrential. You could actually get sick.”

You feel warm where your body presses against his, but Eddie doubts that’ll make a difference if the cold already made you sick. The bike ride from your place to his isn't short. He covers your arm with his and tries to be your space heater, cheek sliding over your forehead.

“Eddie…” You hug him with tenderness. Eddie’s reluctant to say cuddle, but it’s close. “This might be a surprise to you, but I think it’s worth the rain and the cold to see you. Especially when you do this.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re rubbing my arm.”

He hadn’t noticed his hand caressing up and down your arm where it rests on his stomach.

“You make me feel amazing,” you say, dropping your face into his chest.

That’s his last straw. Eddie gets both arms around you and cuddles you (it’s a cuddle, okay! he’s a loser!) to him, arms tight but not cruel. All this fuss and you’re finally laying on top of him. He decides he won’t ask you after all. He’s not that brave, and he doesn’t want this to end.

Your legs fall onto him. You relax completely. Even after you shower he can smell your perfume.

“You smell nice,” he murmurs.

“It’s on my hoodie,” you murmur back.

Right. Eddie should remember.

“You make everything smell like you.” Even his van keeps your scent most days.

“Too much?”

“The right amount,” he says firmly.

You lay on his chest for a while, just breathing. Eddie rubs your back, tells himself he will ask, actually, because he can’t imagine not getting to do this again. You might even stay over. He could live hours of this. He didn’t know having you lay on him could make him feel like this.

He can’t believe you’ve never done it before.

Rain pounds the window. Condensation drips down onto the sill. You let your legs stretch out flat and then manoeuvre to be laying half atop him, hoodie riding up your back.

“Any warmer now?” he asks.

“Yeah, you’re warming me up.” You lavish in his arms for a moment, and then lift your face. “Oh, this is a bad angle.”

“For me or you?”

“For me, duh.”

Eddie doesn’t think you could have a bad angle. He rubs at your upper arm as you start to shift. “You know, your bike has just as big a chance of getting hit by lightning as your car does. More, probably.”

“You think so?”

“It’s physics. So, please don’t do it again.”

You hum. “Hm, should I risk getting struck by lightning, or spend the evening without you?” you murmur, your arm moving, moving slowly, your hand resting gently on the column of his neck. There’s something ironic in your voice, wry, but your eyes are warm. He’s paralysed. No one has ever spoken to him like you. “I think I’d rather get struck by lightning.”

You stare at one another. He laughs. You join in, your thumb a pressure at his neck, and when you move up his chest to lean in, he isn’t expecting it.

“We’re very close together,” you whisper.

“Super close,” he whispers back.

“…Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your eyes slip shut, your lips so close that something in him aches, just enough wit about him to cup your shoulders in his forearm.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t sound half as calm as you do.

“Would you… Do you think we could be official? Would you want that?” You tilt your head to the side. “Is that stupid?”

“Official?” he asks, panicked, his eyes squeezed shut hard enough for a moment that they ache.

“Like, you’d be my boyfriend. I’d be your girlfriend. We’d be close like this all the time.”

Eddie panics so hard he just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Like, we’d kiss?”

“I hope so,” you say, your nose pressing against his, the tip to the side of his, and then against his nostril. The heat of your breath is hard to ignore. “What do you think?”

What does Eddie think about it?

He catches your lips in a slow kiss. Achingly slow, not even sure it’s a kiss until you reciprocate, and your fingers dig behind his neck to tease his hair. Your lips part against his, the heat of your tongue sudden and undeniable —Eddie didn’t know you had it in you. He squeezes you to him, attempting to crane his neck downward, reliant on your enthusiasm as you move up, as you use his neck to pull yourself closer.

Your noses crush together, and it actually hurts. “Sorry,” he says, easing you back, “you okay?”

“‘Nother kiss,” you say hopefully, distractedly.

He can’t not give it to you.

Your hand spreads flat against his chest and you kiss, you kiss, long and slow movements against him before turning your head to take it again. Eddie doesn’t always know what to do with himself, but he knows kissing, no matter what anybody might think about him, and he takes the lead.

His hand screws into a fist against your hoodie, the slip of your back further exposed as you shiver into his mouth, a sound you shouldn’t make sweet on his tongue.

You pull away, breath on his lips. “Wanted you to kiss me for so long,” you murmur.

Eddie knows you’re not saying it to flirt, and that makes it worse.

“I should’ve kissed you a long time ago,” he says roughly.

“You wanted to?”

“Yeah. Yeah, so much, I’m a loser about you–”

“I’m always a loser,” you interrupt, “but especially about you.”

You scratch your fingers through his hair, encouraging his head down for another kiss. This one rougher but not rough, his arm slips finally behind your head where he’d needed it to be, hooking you in his elbow to keep you in one place. To kiss you soundly, without interruption. Your almost feverish ebbing inward is a dream, your nose rubbing up against his is a fantasy.

His heart hammers and hammers at his ribs.

You pull away to let him breathe. “You’re very excited,” you tease lightly.

Eddie kisses you, breathless. He kisses you so much he’s surprised you allow it, but your thumb rubs his cheek, and he knows he’d been right all along. You want him like he wants you, with startling, mildly pathetic urgency.

He feels like a fucking prince. Girl of his dreams in his lap, everything he wants, and he didn’t even have to ask.

—

Eddie spends a week in bliss. You’re suddenly everywhere, all the time, attached to his hip or some other part of him, and he forgets for seven whole days that he bought you a ring.

The rain dries up, the Munson emergency fund lives to die another day, and he remembers the ring only minutes before you’re knocking at his door.

He trips over himself trying to answer it before Wayne, who’s taken to being as painfully embarrassing as is possible for one human being, can get it for him.

“One day you’re gonna eat shit and break your nose,” Wayne says.

Eddie yanks open the door. “Yeah, thanks. Hey, beautiful, what’s with the sunglasses?”

You slide them down your nose. You’re a vision on his front step, not that you’d ever notice your own intrigue. “The sunglasses?” you ask, tucking them away. “What do you think they’re for? Three guesses.”

He grabs your waist, leaning down out of the doorway so as to save Wayne the agony. “That’s smart,” he says, kissing you quickly in hello. “You’re funny. Need anything before we go?”

“No, I’m okay. Hi, Mr. Munson!” you add.

“Hey, honey! How are you?” Wayne calls.

You look up into Eddie’s face with an obvious delight. “I’ve never been better.”

Eddie grins back.

He waves a quick goodbye to Wayne and then he’s out the door. You grab his wrist and practically dance him to the car, where you offer your keys, and he deigns to drive. From there it’s smooth sailing, familiarity with a better twist, Eddie driving with the windows down and your hands twined on your thigh. Things haven’t changed much since you asked him to go steady, there’s just a whole lot more of this. Touching, kissing, no weird guilt about staring.

As it turns out, you’re as eager to be laid out in his bed as he is to lay you out. He’s never wanted to kiss you more, and now he’s allowed.

“Eyes on the road.”

He leans over to kiss your cheek. The sun has warmed your skin, and his kiss makes you smile. You look pretty no matter the weather.

“Before we get there, I have something to give you.” He takes his hand from yours to slide the box from his pocket. He holds it up. “But you can only have it if you swear you’ll call me tonight before bed. No excuses. You know exactly what number to call.”

“Ends with a three,” you say, nodding.

He sighs. “No, it does not.”

“I’m kidding! Two one nine seven, I have now committed it to memory.”

Eddie pays attention to the road, though it’s clear and long heading out of the trailer park and into town. “That deserves a gift.”

You’re back in your glitters today, a skirt to enjoy the fine weather, a button shirt with a cute triangle collar, you’re lovely as ever, if a tad much for some. Not Eddie. He loves the dark clothes, the tinkling bracelets, the fun way you smile like everything he says is a secret between him and you. People stare wherever you and Eddie go, but as long your arm is sewn through his he couldn’t care less.

“A gift,” you say, smiling in your way, and taking the box politely. “I don’t think I deserve it for just remembering your number.”

“You deserved it for less. It’s not much. You can pay me back in three or four amazing kisses. Right here.” He points to the tight juncture beneath his jaw.

You attempt to lean over and kiss him immediately. He pushes you back, laughing, worsened by your own breathless laughter as you steal one exactly where he’d tapped.

You settle back down, Eddie’s hand dropping kindly to your knee. “I wonder what it is,” you say.

“Then open it.”

“I am!” You pop the box open, it’s springing hinge snapping into place. “Oh, woah. Woah. Where did you get this?”

It’s a slim ring, with a weirdly shaped band of quality metal around some cheaper but not totally worthless gemstones, of which there are three different colours: a topaz orange, a lime green, and a pinky-red ruby colour centre stage. They have nice cuts. It’s strange as you are, and he knew when he saw it you’d have to have it.

“If I put it on my marriage finger, are we engaged?” you tease.

“That one would be way heavier,” he says, giving you a squeeze.

You slide it onto your middle finger and hold your hand up in the sunshine. It fits in with your other ring nicely, though it is, to Eddie’s pride, far prettier.

He has half a mind to pull over and kiss each knuckle, but he’s trying to be less dramatic about you. It’s not working.

“Thank you, Eddie. I love it.”

“Best boyfriend ever?” he asks hopefully.

To his mild fear but better pleasure, you climb up onto the console to press three quick kisses to his cheek and jaw, your hand under his ear holding him in tender place. “Best boyfriend ever. Even if you stare too much.”

“How am I supposed to not?” he asks, with more weight than he’s intended.

You speak matter of factly for the first time in your life. “I am going to cause an accident,” you promise, attempting to kiss his nose. “A bad one.”

“Sit down, please.” He lets you kiss his nose, and then jabs you in the side. “Sit down, oh my god! That’s not funny, you’re so pretty I will total your car.”

“Now who’s not funny?”

You both laugh at the same time, the unfiltered, un-cute cackling of two idiots with the same sense of humour, and the same wealth of ridiculous honeymoon love.

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. if you did, please consider reblogging or commenting!! thanks very much <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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htchnr · 7 months ago

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ミ★ the walls come down ꜜ WARWICK!VANDER.

𖦹 masterlist. 𖦹 buy me a ko-fi!

「 summary,, requested by a lovely anon; could you write a smut fic where Warwick!Vander recognises reader?. 」

「 ꜜcontent,, smut ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ monster fucking ⋆ belly bulging ⋆ creampie ⋆ overstimulation ⋆ kinda of sweet sex(?) ⋆ sappy and cut off aftercare. ꜜwc,, 1,1k. 」

you don't know how this spiralled the way it did — your back being harshly pressed against the crappy sleeping bag you had dragged into the greenhouse when Viktor let Vander sleep there — his impossibly fat cock filling you up in a way that makes you feel like you're suffocating.

low animalistic grunts and growls sound from him as he hammers his heavy hips into yours, his pace not once faltering. your eyes roll back each time you catch a glance of the clear bulge in your stomach, as your fingers press down against it occasionally Vander lets out a rough snarl. his pace only quickens at the feeling.

" Vander-! slow- " you gasp, your nails digging into his thick and hairy biceps. your finger tips occasionally reach the metal, flinching at the somehow cold metal. " oh fuck! " you cry out as the bullying of your insides causes you to tip over into what you think must be your fourth orgasm by now.

Vander growls at the feeling of your tight, hot and wet walls spasming around him once again. finally, it was enough to tip him over the edge as well — his heavy hips stilling with a brutal final thrust and what could only be described as a roar as he spills his load into you. he buries his head against your chest and you gasp at the feeling, his thick cum leaking out in obscene amounts. you could feel your belly swell with each spurt.

you lay there, occasionally spasming beneath him as you both come down from your intense highs. all you can do is look up at the glass roof, your hands still firmly holding his thick biceps as you feel him take deep and heavy breaths.

" Vander? " you quietly call out, dragging your hand to hold the back of his head.

he lets out a sound, low and rough, akin to what you could only assume to be 'five more minutes' as he nuzzles his face impossibly closer into your chest. you let out a breathy laugh, combing your fingers through the thick fur atop his head. your eyes watch the small twitches from his long ears each time your gently brush against them, mesmerised by this intensely calm version of him.

" okay, you can have five more minutes. " you quietly respond, a tired smile on your lips. Vander lets out a pleased sound and a long exhale. " you better not fall asleep on me big guy, cause i need to get us cleaned up in a minute or two. " Vander makes a displeased sound — typical Vander. even before he was changed he'd love nothing more than to stay buried inside you for as long as he possibly could.

your heart clenches at the thought, and Vander can feel the sudden change in emotion. he grumbles, slowly lifting his heavy head off your chest to look at your face. he tilts his head, a clear 'is everything okay?'. you smile, smoothing your hand down to his cheek. " i'll be okay, now that i have you back again. " you whisper.

Vander's eyes close, a low, sad sound leaving him as he leans down to press his forehead against yours. you close your eyes too, nudging your nose against his much, much larger one.

life was going to be difficult for him to adjust to again, but you think everything will be alright again now that he's here with you.

authors note y'all..... that turned out way sweeter than i intended. i wanted to go crazy with the feral fucking, but honestly i just wanna hold Warwick!Vander and tell him everything will be alright... 😭🫠 act 2 of s2 F U C K E D me U P and i'm gonna slowly heal by writing these Vander fics 😭❤️‍🩹

#<{🪩©2024 htchnr}>#<{🏷️vander}>#vander smut #vander one shot #vander imagine #vander arcane x reader #vander x reader #vander arcane #vander #arcane season 2 #warwick #warwick x reader #warwick x you #vander x you #warwick vander #warwick smut

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brotherblaze · 1 month ago

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doloroso —robert "bob" reynolds

—summary: Against his better judgement, Bucky calls you in to help Bob balance control while he adjusts to his mood stabilizers.

—word count: 2,1k

—warnings: mild gore

—also on AO3

Bucky’s grip around your bicep is firm.

You stand a few feet from the gaping void swallowing up the entire floor of the Watchtower. It hasn’t moved forward since you arrived. According to the docket Bucky sent over when he called, this is unusual. If this Void is truly as sentient as his information claimed, it (he?) should be advancing. You stare at the edges of the shadow, the way it laps at the glossy floor like the sea at sand and yet it doesn’t advance past a certain point.

“Look,” Bucky starts, his grip on your arm loosening, “I know… I know she had the whole ‘incapable of feeling fear’ thing going on but inside that is a maze of your worst memories. Just…” he pauses, presses his lips together, “keep moving. He’ll be in an attic-like room. Shaggy hair, baggy clothes. He’ll be the only one who interacts with you.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

In the corner of your eye, Bucky nods and releases your arm. His footsteps retreat.

You stand at the edge of the darkness. It rushes forward, just barely missing the tips of your boots and then retreats, surges forward and retreats again. You can almost imagine the sound of the ocean and the wind and the birds. Or is that a memory — someone else’s memory?

The wave of soot rushes towards you and you take a step forward to meet it.

For the longest fraction of a second in your life, there is nothing.

Then, it’s hot. The sun is sweltering down at you. There are stairs and columns and trees —

People push past you, stampede up the stairs towards — that’s the Acropolis of Athens. Tall and mighty, foundation and pillars and roof uncracked, uneroded by the passage of time. Someone trips, falls and someone else grabs them by the arm, drags their companion along up the stone steps. Someone shouts, points upwards.

You see a man standing by the pillars.

In another life he could’ve been you and you could’ve been him.

In another life, you were him.

He looks at you and he smiles.

An arrow pierces the side of his jaw and tears through the bone. He crumples like tissue paper and people are on him in a moment. A hand grabs the bloodied arrow and yanks, pulls the whole jawbone off with it. It skitters across the stone ground until it hits the nose of your shoe.

A crowd surrounds him, hands tearing and punching and feet kicking and crushing. You look away.

There’s a doorway to a balcony-like structure. Beyond it, a room of gray and metal and ice. You don’t look at the carnage, at people clawing him to pieces and turn to step onto the balcony.

It is cold. Cold and metal and frost on the steel bars separating the small room from the larger one. The floor is concrete, cracked and crumbling, a hole the size of someone’s fist lodged into it. Your breath fogs when you exhale. The crisp winter air makes your lungs sting when you inhale.

The Winter Soldier is standing in front of the bars, its back to you. A man stands on the other side, dressed in a green military uniform. His chest is adorned with medals. He speaks in a low tone, tells the Winter Soldier something. You can’t quite make out his speech, the intonation of his words.

There’s a woman standing next to the Winter Soldier. Her hair is neatly braided to the side and her outfit is crisp, clean; a white shirt tucked into a pair of black pants, a coat hanging on her shoulders. Her face is impassive but her body is turned towards the Winter Soldier, arms lax at her sides. Is she compensating for its blind spots?

Your eyes meet hers from across the room.

The Winter Soldier strikes. Its movements are quick and fluid and its human hand wraps around her throat. Her hands shoot to claw at its exposed hand and her mouth opens, face contorting in pain and — fear? Is that fear you recognize on her face? It feels wrong. It shouldn’t be there. It wouldn’t be the Winter Soldier — you’ve read her docket again and again and again to the point where you see the blocky letters on that paper even when you close your eyes — ‘claims to be incapable of feeling fear’. With how long she was appointed (self-appointed?) as its handler, The Asset should not — The Winter Soldier shoves its metal fingers into her mouth and grabs her jaw. Then, its flesh arm leaves her throat, fingers slotting into her mouth, too, and it pulls.

Her skull snaps loose from her jaw and flies across the room, hits the wall with a dull thunk and drops. It rolls towards you. Her eyes stare at you, unmoving, dull. They are your own eyes. You look away.

There’s a gap between the bars. The room on the other side has flowery wallpaper and a plush couch.

You edge past the Winter Soldier and slot your body into the gap.

It smells like smoke. The wallpaper is yellowing from the tobacco, peeling at where the wall meets the ceiling. The couch is ugly, a faded maroon with stains and cigarette burns underneath the plastic cover. The you that’s sitting on it, baby-cheeked and dull-eyed, is hunched over, feet not even meeting the floor.

The woman standing in front of you, a burning cigarette between her lips — her face is a blur. You cannot decipher any characteristics about it. The cigarette glows red hot when she inhales.

“That mouth will get you killed.”

You step past her, step over the ashtray on the floor. There’s a mirror on the wall that doesn’t reflect. In it, a man sitting cross-legged in an attic-like room. This must be Bob. You dive through the mirror.

This room is pleasant. Quiet. The air is clean, or cleaner than the cigarette smoke and smoke-stained walls, if maybe a little stuffy. Specks of dust dance around you as you approach the man.

“Hello, Bob.”

His head snaps up. “Who’re you?”

“If I said I’m a friend of The As — James, I’d be lying. But we do have history.”

“Why…?” he trails off, brows scrunching. He turns his head slowly, as if realizing where he is for the first time. “What happened?”

“You threw two supersoldiers through seven walls and then melted into the floor. I think that’s how he phrased it.”

Bob buries his face into his hands with a low groan.

“Well, anyway, that’s why I’m here.” Bob pulls back slightly, hands dropping to his lap, and tilts his head up to look at you. “I can help you keep control while you get accustomed to your new medication. ‘S why he called me.”

He nods slowly, his grin lopsided and stiff, a notch between his brows. “Yeah?” His voice wavers. He blinks rapidly and wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. “How are you going to do that?” The lilt in his voice bothers you but you can’t place why. It gnaws at you, at the very center of your being, of your very existence.

“I’m more of a concept than I am human,” you say. “Listen: I will help you take control back from the Void and the Sentry. The road ahead is arduous, but so is the road behind you.” You close the already small space between yourself and Bob, and hold a hand out towards him. He drags his glassy eyes from the floor to look at your hand. “Now, could you please show me the way out of here, Bob?”

“It’s not pretty.”

“I just watched two of my past incarnations get their head and/or jaw ripped off. I doubt what’s in your past can scare me.” You nod. “We can hold hands if you think that’ll make it easier.”

Bob stares at your outstretched hand for a long moment. Finally, he accepts it and you haul him up from the floor with ease. His hand is warm around yours. You tug on it to grab his attention. “Listen: close your eyes and I’ll handle all the ugly stuff. The first time is free.”

Bone-deep relaxation washes over him as his eyes flutter shut. He hears the thud of your boots against the wooden floor and follows the pull on his hand. He feels light.

When Bob feels like he’s back in his body again, he finds himself sitting on his bed. You’re sitting right there with him, right next to him, thigh pressed against his, your hand still clasped in his. He drops it like it burns and scoots away from you. He stutters a half-baked sorry when his brain catches up to the faux-pas he’s committed. You don’t seem to be bothered by the sudden rejection.

“May I have my tie back?”

He blinks once, twice, turns his head to look at you because you’re wearing it, you were just wearing it when you held your hand out for him to take — it’s not there. Your eyes drop to his chest for a brief moment before they meet his again. Something in his hindbrain pings as wrong and there’s this… oppressive fear constricting around his throat. His windpipe is being crushed.

“You’re wearing it.”

His hand shoots to his chest and he feels smooth fabric underneath his fingertips. He nearly tears it over his head and forces it back into your open palm.

“Thank you.” Then, you stand and step over the things strewn on his floor to make it to the mirror hanging on the wall. He watches you undo the knot on your tie and loop it around your neck, tie it and smooth it against your torso. “So, a chicken?”

“I was—” he swallows around the lump in his throat, a hand on his chest rubbing circles over his shirt to ease the rapid stutter in his ribs, “Meth. I was on meth.”

“Self-medicating isn’t uncommon,” you note. You don’t even flinch when there’s a knock at the door, metal against metal but Bob nearly jumps out of his skin. His heart is beating against his ribcage like a wild horse trying to make its getaway. It might just burst from his chest at this rate. “Come in,” you say before Bob has even had the chance to consider inviting whoever it is in.

The door slides open and Bucky steps in, Ava hot on his heels. She makes a beeline for the bathroom while Bucky stops a step or two away from Bob. His posture is stiff and wrong and the feeling of unease in Bob’s chest grows, wraps around his heart and dives between his ribs — “You okay?”

“I’m not lifting him alone,” Ava announces, halfway out of the bathroom again.

“It’s not that difficult.”

“He’s 200lbs of douchebag.”

“Just… give me a sec.” Bucky looks at Bob again, brow scrunched and does a quick once-over of him. As if he’s checking for injuries. “Bob? You okay?” He repeats, tone even, still stiff.

Bob’s mouth opens and closes, opens again, a million and one thoughts racing in his mind, avoiding each other in near-misses and colliding together like a 17-car pileup on the interstate. “I… Yeah.” He nods his head. “Yeah. Is John…?”

“He’s alive. Out cold but alive.” Ava places her hands onto her hips and looks at Bucky. “I’m not lifting him alone.”

“For the love of —” Bucky stomps across the room and pushes past Ava into the bathroom. They exchange a few not-so-heated words, more mocking and bickering than anything angry. Something thunks dully against the ceramic tub and they both hiss through their teeth, followed by a stretch of silence.

“Great, now he’s bleeding, too.”

“Eh,” Ava says after a moment, tone flippant, “he’ll be fine.”

“You have good taste,” you say. Bob nearly jumps out of his skin again. He forgot you were here in the room with them. How did he forget? You’re holding his copy of Frankenstein in your hand, finger tracing the lettering of the summary on the back. “You’d be surprised how many modern movies are so obviously inspired by Frankenstein.” You slot the book back into its place on Bob’s meager bookshelf, which is just the singular shelf with six books and a fake succulent. “If you need me, or if you have any questions, I’m just down the hall.”

His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, his body fatigued. So, he just nods and tries to manage a smile. If it looks more like a grimace, you don’t mention it.

part 2

banners by @/cafekitsune

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader #sentry x y/n #sentry x reader #bob reynolds imagine #robert reynolds imagine #x reader #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #sentry x you #thunderbolts x reader

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chicagoroofingcompany · 1 year ago

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Tips on How Metal Roofing is Installed

Discover the advantages of metal roofing and explore the step-by-step installation process in this comprehensive guide. Take advantage of decades of expertise to enhance your home's protection and aesthetic appeal. Visit our website and dive into the full blog for detailed insights and thorough installation instructions.

#metal roofing #metal roofing tips #roof maintenance #roof repair #metal roof installation

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radioactiveparker · 4 months ago

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https://x.com/hugetulip/status/1886984575076982982?s=46

This but make is steddie x reader 🫣🤭

An Elephant Never Forgets - Steddie X Fem!Reader (Smut)

Summary - Steve arrives at Eddie's trailer expecting to hang out, but finds himself spying on his two friends.

Warnings - Strong Language / Threesome / Soft to Rough / Boot Riding / Oral (M & F receiving) / Cum Eating / Perv!Steve / Sex Toys / Praise Kink / Unprotected Sex / Spit / Degradation / Cum Play / Hair Pulling

Word Count - 2.3k

A/N - This (nsfw) had my jaw on the floor oml

~~~~~

Forest Hills Trailer Park met a tapestry of luminescent rays from the setting sun as the evening shadows deepened into rich purples. The wind blew a gentle fragrance of mud and pine, bringing with it the end of summer blues and a drop in temperature. Birds chirped their little lullabies as they settled into their nests and watched nature's masterpiece paint the sky.

When Steve finally arrived at Eddie's trailer, the sun had eclipsed the horizon, kissing the earth goodnight and bidding the world farewell to its burning embers. The sun's fiery glow had melted into twilight. The hum of Steve's engine had disturbed a small finch, who had been perched on Eddie's tin roof, and it soured into the slumberous sky and back into its tree house. Regardless, Steve paid no mind as he exited his car.

The stray fallen leaves crunched beneath his boots as he headed towards the front door, when he paused abruptly. Funny. Eddie had asked Steve to hang out after he had finished his shift at Scoops Ahoy, and yet, all the lights were off- there was no offensive music, no obnoxious singing, no unsavoury movie on the TV. Surely Eddie hadn't forgotten.

Steve tried his luck knocking on the door.

No answer.

He tried again a little louder.

Nothing.

Eddie's van was still in the driveway so he wasn't at band practice. Steve held a grip on the cool metal handle and pushed downward. With a gentle click, it opened. He treaded lightly through the trailer, starting with the living room to see if Eddie had fallen asleep on the couch. With no luck, he steered towards the hall where he noticed a faint golden glow from a crack in the door of Eddie's bedroom. The closer he approached, he could hear a faint buzzing getting louder and louder and the lewd sounds of slurping and the clicking of a wet tongue.

Out of curiosity, Steve approached the door and peaked through the crack, pushing against it only enough to see through and not cause it to creak. Steve's jaw hit the floor at the sight.

Eddie was positioned on the edge of the bed and had you sitting before him, head nestled snuggly on his lap as he softly raked his fingers through your hair. It seemed innocent enough, only you were suckling gently on the tip of Eddies cock, bright red and leaking its pearly juices into your eager mouth. And while that was shockingly arousing to Steve, it wasn't what had his eyes bulging from their sockets.

Unlike Eddie, who had his jeans hanging low on his hips, you were completely naked, your beautiful backside on full display for him. Your hands had been handcuffed behind your back, and your hips rolled gingerly along the leather of Eddies boot. And it wasn't until he heard you moan softly around Eddie's cock that he realised where the buzzing sound was coming from. A vibrator was strapped firmly in place around Eddie's shin, set to the lowest vibration. And as your clit swiped along it with each delicate rock of your hips, the dildo strapped vertically to the toe-cap of his boot prodded deeper inside of you. He could see the perspiration glistening on your skin. Who knows how long you had been going at it.

Steve could feel his loins burning at the sight. He knew it was wrong to be watching such an intimate moment between the two of you. He knew he was being a disgusting perv, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. It was addicting. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to replace that dildo with the full length of his aching cock. And this wasn't the first time he had thought about you this way, or Eddie for that matter. He had had the privilege of your companies for experimentation before. But never the two of you together at once.

The concept had his hand reaching for the bulge in his jeans, adjusting himself for a bit of relief. He couldn't prevent the hiss that sucked through his teeth at the gratifying sensation. But that feeling was short lived when Eddie's eyes snapped to his, catching him red handed.

Steve half expected Eddie to stop, to cover you up and start yelling at him for being a perv and a peeping tom. Instead, he signalled Steve to enter with a quick jerk of his head. Eddie began tapping his foot gently, the dildo prodding delightfully inside of you and distracting you from the creak of the door when Steve stepped over the threshold.

"That's it, Sweetheart, keep taking that cock." Eddie cooed at you sweetly, before locking eyes with Steve in a mischievously planned look. "You need some help riding it?"

You hummed around Eddie's tip in a delightful post orgasm delirium, your mind hazy with pleasure and a need to please him. At his question, you'd expected him to begin tapping his foot faster or increasing the angle of his foot to make it slide deeper inside of you. Instead, you gasped in shock when two hands placed themselves on your hips and began manoeuvring you up and down the length of the dildo. The sweet aromas of chocolate syrup and maraschino cherries were enough to tell you who had positioned themselves behind you.

"Steve." You moan airily, barely above a whisper, but loud enough for them both to hear.

In your pleasure, you didn't even question why he was here or where he had appeared from. All you could feel was the warmth from his soft hands as they worked you up and down. The dildo was not nearly as big as Eddie's cock, or Steve's as you recalled. It was the Goldilocks of dildos- it wasn't small enough where you felt nothing, nor was it big enough to make you cum, it was just right to keep you on the edge of euphoria. And Eddie had picked it out tonight especially, just to be a big tease, but with Steve now in the mix, the night was going to go a lot differently than he had planned.

"That's it, Honey. You're doing so good." Steve's voice softly rasped in your ear as he planted a kiss to your shoulder.

Your tummy warmed at the praise and, despite your aching thighs, continued to move with him as he pleased. With your lips still wrapped around Eddie, you clawed blindly at Steve's shirt with your tied hands. He caught on quickly and removed his shirt, pressing his bare front to your back, causing you to melt into him.

"Please." You mumble around Eddie's tip.

"What was that, Sweetheart." He asked stroking a thumb across your forehead.

"Please."

"Please, what?"

"More." You pleaded. "I need more."

"More? Oh I see," He teased. "You want Steve's cock, don't 'cha, Sweetheart?"

You nod desperately as you licked his head back into your mouth for persuasion. Eddie shuddered in pleasure, but agreed regardless. He bent over to switch the vibrator off, causing you to whine at the loss. He took you by the arm and helped you onto the bed. You lay on your back, hands trapped beneath your own body weight as the two of them stood before you and admired you in all of your glory. They ogled at the perked nipples on your breasts and the glistening juices on your pussy. You sighed in desperation, yearning for them to do something other than burn your image into their brains.

Steve made the first move. He reached for his belt and removed his jeans, giving himself a few tugs to spark more life into his impressive length. You bit your lip at the sight and your pussy drooled for him hungrily. He gave you no warning as he plunged himself in one fell swoop until his hips snapped harshly against yours. He held himself there, groaning loudly and absorbing the utter ecstasy that the walls of your cunt flowed through him. You gasped as he jerked his pelvis, pulling his drenched cock out until just the tip remained before repeating. His thrusts were slow yet fulfilling and his hand cupped your hips delicately to hold you in place. You whimpered with the stretch, pussy dripping to accommodate him.

You had barely noticed that Eddie had gotten himself undressed until he began stroking himself at the sight of you and Steve. Greedily, he swooped down to trail kisses across your tender breasts and down your stomach until he reached the place where you and Steve connected. His tongued lapped at your pulsing clit making you moan his name louder. He allowed himself to drool all over the two of you, making Steve's cock glide in and out of you effortlessly. Steve grunted at the sensation of the tip of Eddie's tongue licking along his shaft with every drag of his hips. He threaded a hand into Eddie's hair, holding him in place as he slipped out of you and shoved himself into Eddie's throat. Eddie moaned at the taste of your sweet elixir. Steve's groans grew louder and louder and he swapped between your tight cunt and Eddie's eager mouth with every thrust.

It wasn't long before his hips stuttered and whimpers of your's and Eddie's name flew from between his lips. He tried desperately to continue alternating between you and Eddie as thick white ropes spurted from the throbbing tip of his solid cock. His cum painted Eddies face and dripped from your pussy. Eddie swiped it from his cheek, collecting it on his fingers before forcing them into your mouth. You sucked his digits gladly, savouring Steve's taste.

Whilst Eddie was enjoying the view, he had waited long enough for his turn. He ripped his fingers from your mouth and used his brute strength to flip you on your front. You face smothered into the pillow as Eddie lined himself up behind you. His cock slid in embarrassingly easily. He tested a few slow thrusts before he was pounding into you wildly. Steve gripped you by the hair, pulling your face from the pillows that were muffling your moans. Your wails of pleasure were suffocated by Steve's tongue as he kissed you as sloppy as your pussy was.

Eddie collected your wrists in his hands, using them as leverage for every plough. They dug into your back, causing it to arch at an unnaturally deep angle. You knew you would be sore tomorrow, but the angle had Eddie hitting impossibly deep inside of you and you cried against Steve's lips. You whimpered when he stopped kissing you, removing himself from you for only a few seconds before you could hear a gentle buzzing.

A scream of pleasure escaped your lips when Steve pressed the vibrator to your sensitive clit and cranked up the power. Somehow, Eddie managed to fuck his cock into you harder. The pleasure had tears springing in your eyes and warmth spreading in your abdomen.

You tried to warn him, but it was impossible for you to scream anything that wasn't either of their names. Suddenly, white hot pleasure seared through your entire being, rendering you completely useless. Eddie gripped the fat of your hips to keep you positioned how he liked, his hips never faltering as your pussy clenched and leaked around his girthy length.

"That's it, atta girl." Eddie praised with a growl. "Such a fucking whore for us, aren't 'cha Sweetheart."

"Ahh." You sobbed at a pleasurable thrust, giving him the answer he needed.

The constant snap of his hips and the hum of the vibrator on your quivering clit gave you no opportunity to come down from your high, and instead prolonged it torturously. Eddie's stamina gradually began to wear out as he gasped for breath and his hips lost their rhythm. With a final thrust, the sheathed his entire length into the warmth of your cunt. His cock pulsed with every thick rope of cum that shot into your womb. You sighed at the sensation, your walls throbbing and milking his length of every last drop.

He nudged Steve. "Watch this."

The two of them gathered in front of your ruined pussy as Eddie pulled his softening length from deep within you. They watched in awe as a never ending flow of their cum leaked from your hole. Steve couldn't help himself as he licked a stripe upwards from your clit, collecting Eddie's cum on his tongue before violently spitting it back into your gaping pussy.

"Don't want it to go to waste." Steve shrugged inappropriately casual for what he had just done.

Eddie chuckled and then, upon noticing more cum leaking down your thighs, licked it up until it pooled in his mouth. He grabbed Steve's perfect hair forced him on his knees. He held his chin, forcing his mouth open before dribbling a mix of cum and spit into Steve's willing mouth. However, before he could swallow, he forced his tongue into his mouth for a sloppy kiss that had the glorious mixture smearing everywhere.

You whimpered, catching their attention. You could hear the salacious wet sounds of kissing and found yourself feeling left out. Eddie and Steve shared a knowing look.

Eddie gripped onto your hair as he had Steve's and pulled you up enough for him to tower over you and bring his lips to yours. You moaned around his tongue before you felt a second one prodding the corner of your mouth. The two of them licked into your mouth in a three way kiss that took your breath away. They kissed you until you were sure that your lips would be chapped in the morning.

The two of them released you, letting you fall into the bed in exhaustion.

"So, you wanna hang out?" Eddie smirked. Afterall, he would never forget making plans with Steve.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steddie #steddie smut #steddie x reader

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plumbheadsims · 10 months ago

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A THREAD IN CASE YOU NEED SOME INSPIRATION TO BUILD ACCURATE MEXICAN HOUSES FOR YOUR SIMS 4 LOVESTRUCK WORLD ❤️‍🔥🧵

the exteriors do NOT look like casita from Encanto, in fact, most of them are just big boxes with a little bit of color, also we don’t have open entryways, we usually have gates surrounding the main door.

we also don’t use the typical american mailboxes, we use the small metal ones like the ones from City Living and Snowy Escape.

and most of us have this metal things around the windows for safety reasons so if you want to add them it would make your builds more realistic

a tip for the interiors is that we don’t use carpet or wooden floors, we use tile floors in all the house, also the walls are usually plain white but of course some of us paint them to make it feel more like a home so you can also add that

here are some floorpans in case you need some inspiration, as you can see most of the houses are not that big, but of course you have freedom to make them bigger and also make your own floorplan.

now moving to the patio area, most of our houses don't even have patios but if we are lucky we will have a small one like these, don't forget the water heater, we also have lavaderos where we wash our clothes but I think the sims don't have any item similar to that one so you can just put a sink instead, you can also add a washing machine and instead of a dryer, you can add a clothes rack dryer like the one from Laundry Day

and if you don't want to add a patio you can do everything in the azotea (the rooftop), just add a small stair inside or outside the house that leads you to the roof, don’t forget to decorate and add life to the houses.

and to finish this thread I just wanted to say that this is not how ALL Mexican houses look like, we have so much diversity in our country, I just wanted to add the ones im familiar with, you can look up higher class Mexican houses, you can create ranchos, vecindades, haciendas, colonial houses etc, I hope this thread helps you <3

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #the sims 4 lovestruck #ts4 lovestruck #ts4 build #the sims 4 build

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dickgraysonisnothereforthis · 4 months ago

Text

Everybody’s on the Call Line (Jason todd x gn!reader)

Humor, fluff, established relationship. whole batfam gets involved. Reader is a hacker

This happened because I read the latest coffee shop au from @jjenthusee (and you should too!) and I remembered that I can also write cute fluff. So here this fic is, straight from my drafts where it’s been languishing for months. Anyway.

Swearing, as always. No use of y/n. I don’t know how long this is

———

Jason eases himself carefully onto the fire escape, metal creaking beneath his boots. He stifles a groan. He’s taking a risk sneaking into your apartment like this, he knows he is. If you wake up and see Red Hood snooping around outside your window, you’ll probably call the cops. But he’s tired as all hell, patrol was long and stupid, and your apartment was closer. Jason will just slide in while you’re sleeping, stow his gear where you won’t find it, and collapse into your bed. In the morning, he’ll just say he let himself in with the spare key you gave him. Easy. All he has to do is disable the window alarm he’d gotten for you, and then he’s home free.

The alarm trips, and Jason moves to silence it but then realized it doesn’t matter, you’re still up, working at your computer.

He freezes as you glance over your shoulder, then turn around to face him. He still has his gear on. Shit.

“Uh, hi,” you offer, looking at him with a curious glance as he races to figure out an excuse. “I don’t think we’ve met before?”

This throws him for a loop. You’re reacting very well to a vigilante crawling through your window at 2:30 in the fucking morning. But you’ve given him an opening, and he’s going to take it.

“No,” he says shortly, wincing behind the helmet. He’s never spoken to you like this and instantly hates the tone he’s using, but he’s got a persona to keep up. Or something.

You nod, seemingly unfazed. “No worries. Do you work with Red Robin?”

What? Why are you asking about Tim? Do you have some secret Red Robin crush that he’s going to have to push Tim off a building for?

Dumbfounded, Jason answers, “Uh, sometimes?”

You nod again. “Do you think you could give something to him for me?”

What the shit is happening right now?

As if to help tip Jason’s world off its axis, you’re interrupted by a tap at the window. Jason looks to see Red Robin crouched on your fire escape. You wave him inside.

“Hey, Escher,” Tim says. “Hood.” Jason has no idea what the fuck is going on.

“I’ve got the script,” you say, holding out a flash drive to him, but Tim shakes his head. “No good. They updated the security.”

“Well, shit.” You turn and dump the USB stick into a glass of water on your desk. “It’s a paperweight now. Only took me five hours to figure out.”

“I know,” Tim says, clearly frustrated. “They keep outmaneuvering us.”

Wait, wait. Jason’s still three steps behind you. “Escher?” he demands.

Both you and Tim turn to look at him, frowning. “Like, M.C. Escher? But, spelled ‘emcee,’” you say, as if that explains anything. “It’s my screen name.”

“You two know each other?”

“Yeah, we work together.” Tim raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t know that?”

Jason shakes his head, and Tim looks at you for a flash of a moment before turning back to Jason. “Sorry,” he mouths, shrugging. Jason waves him off. He’ll deal with that later.

Tim turns back to your computer screen, but your eyes stay on Jason, narrowing. “What does it matter if we work together? Do I know you from somewhere?”

Shit. You were always too sharp for your own good. Jason’s tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. “Uhh…”

You fold your arms over your chest. Behind you, out of your field of vision, Tim grins at Jason, delighted. Asshole.

“We don’t normally work with civilians,” Jason says, fishing for an excuse.

You sniff, rolling your eyes. “And yet, here you are. Which, the way, you haven’t explained. What are you doing in my bedroom?”

Fair. What is he doing in your bedroom? Would it freak you out if he said he was a burglar? Too late for that now.

“I told him to meet me here,” Tim says, pulling Jason’s ass out of the fire. “Sorry I didn’t tell you first.”

You shrug. “S’okay,” you say, spinning back around in your desk chair to face the screen.

Over your shoulder, Tim mouths, “you owe me.” Jason gives him the finger.

“Do you have a safe copy of the new security system?” you ask, looking at Tim intently.

He shakes his head. “Not yet, Oracle is working on duplicating it.”

You slump down in your chair. “Drat. I hate waiting.”

“Yeah,” Tim sits on the floor next to your bed, knees to his chest. “She said it’d be ready in a few hours.”

“Balls.” You fidget with a pen on your desk.

“Hold on. How did you start working with Red over here?” Jason asks. He knows you work in tech, that you’re a programmer, but he didn’t realize you were building code for fucking Batman.

Tim laughs. “I found them solving random problems on a Swedish forum.”

Jason blinks. Okay.

“Well, yeah. You found me there. Oracle found me hacking your comm links,” you grin, pleased with yourself.

Holy shit. “You got into the comm links?”

“Yeah,” you nod, satisfied. “I’ve done it twice now,” you add smugly.

“Don’t tell B,” Tim warns. “He doesn’t know. Oracle said she wouldn’t tell.”

Wow. You must be the real deal. He wonders if he can get you to fuck with Bruce’s plans, just to be a shit. "How long have you been working for the Caped Crusader, then?"

"I don't work for Batman," you say primly, as Tim sighs. "I help him out when you guys can't get your shit together."

Jason snickers under his breath. "Sore subject, huh?"

"They don’t like B," Tim confirms from the floor. "If you did it would make everything easier," he grumbles.

"It's stupid," you insist. "Come on, how is this a viable solution to any long-term problem?"

Jason laughs outright as Tim sputters. "He's a detective! He detects!"

"Then why does he have to dress up like that?" you point out. “You can be a detective in normal clothes, you know.”

"He needs armor, he keeps getting shot at!"

"Explain the cape, then," you shoot back. "Justify that monstrosity."

"It's fucking idiotic," Jason adds, piling on gleefully. "It'd be different if he could fly, but he just hops around."

Tim gasps, affronted, while you crack up in your chair. "Thank you. I mean, look at yourself, Red. You're sitting on my bedroom floor in a goddamn cape."

"It looks cool," Tim says defensively.

"No," you counter, "that looks cool." You point your finger in Jason's direction, and he feels his face heat up.

"Oh, come on," Tim scoffs. "You think his costume is cool?"

"Uh, yeah," you say, eyes taking Jason in as you nod. "Very cool. Very hot."

"Oh my god," Tim mutters. "It's tactically stupid. Why are his forearms exposed?"

"So I can see how muscley they are." You stare at them, eyes wide. Jason coughs awkwardly, and your eyes flit back up. "Sorry," you say, not sounding sorry at all. "I like leather."

"Of course you like his costume," Tim mutters under his breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you shoot at him, and Tim flusters. "Why do you care if I don't like your costume?"

"Yeah," Jason adds, letting some menace fall into his voice. "Why do you care if they don’t like your costume?"

"I didn't—I wasn't trying to—"

"I have a boyfriend," you interrupt, looking at Tim scornfully.

"They have a boyfriend," Jason parrots, grinning behind the helmet.

"Oh my god. I know you have a boyfriend. Relax," Tim pacifies you. "Relax," he adds, nodding at Jason. Jason grunts.

Before you can argue further, there’s another tap at your window, and Cass slips softly into the room. You light up. “Hello, my love!” you greet her excitedly. Cass raps you on the top of your head, and you beam up at her. Your hands twitch toward her before you stop yourself, folding them in your lap. Cass turns to Jason, placing her hand carefully on his arm. He bumps against her, waiting until she pushes back lightly. She then moves onto Tim, tugging gently on a lock of his hair, before depositing a flash drive on the desk. You snatch it up eagerly.

From Oracle, Cass signs.

“It’s O’s duplicate!” Tim plucks it from your fingers, driving it into your desktop.

“Be nice to her,” you warn, running a hand over your computer as the file loads. Strings of code write themselves across your screen. Jason moves forward to get a better look at you. He can’t help it, he wants to see you in action. Your face is scrunched up, tongue between your teeth as your eyes flash back and forth, following the cursor. “It’s incomplete.” You squint at Tim. “What gives?”

Tim tsks. “I don’t know. Let me get Oracle.” He puts a hand to his ear. “Oracle, come in.”

Barbara’s voice answers in Jason’s ear. “Here. I know, I know, it’s not all there,” she says, annoyed. “Let Escher know that I had to reverse engineer it from what we found.”

“She says she has to reverse engineer it,” Tim repeats.

You drum your fingers on the desk. “Okay, what else does she know?”

“What else do you—”

“Hold on, this is stupid,” you interrupt. “Can you, like, put her on speaker? Actually,” you click over to another screen, enter a command. “You’re broadcasting live, O.” Jason hears Barbara’s sigh through the speakers of your computer. “That’s three times,” you add smugly.

Jason let’s out a low whistle. Damn. You’re really good at this.

“We've got to stop meeting like this, Escher.” Barbara almost sounds amused. “How did you get in this time?”

“Hiya, babe.” You click back to your project. “That’s for me to know and you to never find out. I don’t want you closing your back door.”

Barbara chuckles. “Red and I will shut you out.”

“But for how long? I’m too slippery, baby.” Jason almost blushes underneath his helmet. It always trips him up when you talk like this.

“I had to reverse engineer the code from what it spit out when I tried to get in this time,” Barbara explains. “Can you fill in the gaps?”

“Some of them.” You type quickly, deleting code as you get error messages and retyping just as fast.

“Wait, here…” Tim points to something on the screen.

“Yeah, okay,” you back up to where he’s pointing and add something.

“There’s something about the updated security,” Barbara adds. “I think there’s a pattern somewhere.”

“Where?” you demand.

“I don’t know. Gut feeling. But I think I’m right.”

“Do you think there’s something generating new code?” Tim asks. “Like, a program that’s spitting out new security?”

“Oh.” Your fingers still on the keys, face relaxing. “Yeah. Good call, Red.” You scan the code again, scrolling back to the top. “Okay. This changes things.” You start from the beginning, erasing whole sections of Barbara’s work and typing out new code. “Well, shit,” you laugh under your breath. “This is some sexy-ass code we’re looking at.”

“You can fill in the blanks?” Jason asks.

You glance up at him. “Of course I can. I wrote it.”

“What?” Tim shouts. “This is you?”

“It’s me,” you confirm. “Guilty.” A small smile plays around your lips. “Sorry.” Cass steps forward, pinching your ear until you yelp.

“Fuck, Escher.” Tim rubs the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t know you were a traitor.”

“Chill, bird brain,” you say defensively, leaning out of Cass’ reach. “This was from, like, five years ago. I needed some cash.”

“You could be on B’s payroll,” Tim offers.

You snort as Barbara huffs a laugh over the comm line. “Fat chance, I’ve been trying to convince them for months.”

“I’m not a fucking lapdog. I play by my own rules,” you insist.

“Yeah?” Jason can’t help but push you. “And what rules are those?”

You cock an eye at him warily. “The rule of not tying my kite to some lunatic.”

Jason nods. Can’t argue with that one.

“Anyway,” you turn back to the computer. “Because I wrote it, I can build you the malware.”

“To get past the security or to neutralize the program spitting out new code?” Barbara asks over the line.

“Dealer’s choice,” you say, then stick your tongue between your teeth as you squint at the screen. “I can make both happen.”

The comm crackles in Jason’s ear. “Oracle, come in,” Bruce barks.

Tim whips his head toward you with a crack. “Nothing from you now, Escher,” Barbara warns. “I’m patching him through.”

You grin, eagerly pretending to zip your lips.

“Here,” Barbara answers.

“I heard from one of my informants,” Bruce’s monotone growl fills the room. Jason catches you roll your eyes and almost bursts out laughing. “They’re going to get into the controls for Blackgate prison.”

“This is Black Mask?” Barbara clarifies.

Bruce grunts as your eyebrows shoot up. “This is Black Mask?” you whisper, except you’ve never been very good at whispering. Tim slices a hand over his neck to silence you as Jason moves to your computer. He’s been eyeing the program you’re using to broadcast the comm connection, and he thinks he’s found the mute button. He taps a key and then turns his head toward you. “Off?”

You nod. “Off. Thanks. This is Black Mask’s security?”

“Yeah, he’s making a move against the jail. He’s going to get some of his guys out,” Tim explains.

“Hmm. Hmm hmm hmm.” You tap your fingers against your chin.

“What?” Tim folds his arms over his chest.

“I originally sold it to the Falcones.” You flick your hair out of your face. “Guess they sold me out behind my back.”

A security program that’s making its way through the mob? That’s…really useful, actually.

“Can you get in and stop them?” Bruce asks.

“Maybe,” Oracle hedges. “Hold on, I have to call in reinforcements.” She mutes Bruce’s line. “Escher, you’re up.”

“Wait, you want it now?” you say, aghast. “Christ, how long do I have?”

“Act quickly.” Bruce orders. “My intel says they’re moving at 3:45am.”

Your eyes fly to the clock on your monitor. “What the fuck!” you screech. “That’s in forty minutes! I can’t do it in forty minutes! I have to break through my own walls!”

“Escher,” Barbara starts, just as Tim says “listen, you have to—”

“I can’t, it’s not enough time!” you wail.

“Hey, hey,” Jason cuts in. “Easy. Don’t worry, love. You can do it.”

You look at him fearfully. “You haven’t even told me what to do!”

“Just get past the security,” Jason says patiently. “Don’t worry about shutting down the whole program.”

You nod at him, eyes wide.

“Deep breaths, now,” he instructs. “Come on, in for two, hold, out for four. We’ll do it together. Ready?”

You nod again.

“Okay.” Jason sucks in a breath, loudly so it’ll register over the modulator. You copy him, inhaling, holding, and exhaling on his rhythm. After a few breaths you shake your head, turning back to the computer.

“Alright. I can make it happen.” You resume typing, eyes narrowed as you focus.

“We’re alright, B, I’ve got someone on it,” Oracle says, satisfied.

Tim turns to Jason, clearly impressed. Jason shrugs. You’ve been together for a while now, he knows how to pull you out of a spiral.

He turns back to you. You’re ripping through code at a hundred miles an hour, hunched over the keyboard. Jason grimaces, he’s always trying to get you to sit up straight to help your tech neck. He’ll have to rub out the knots in your shoulders later.

Jason feels Cass’ eyes on him, and he tilts his head toward her. Less than forty minutes, she signs to him. I’ll have to take it back to the Clocktower.

Jason’s thought of that. He evenly points his chin in your direction. You can handle it, he knows you can. Cass nods.

Tim coughs quietly, and Jason raises his head to look at him. “You want the keys to the castle?” he mutters.

He means code you built that generates new security programs. Jason nods. “But that’s just between us, yeah?” It would be loads easier for Jason if he keeps the code out of Bruce’s hands. Black Mask has been operating in Jason’s territory, and Jason has a long string of investigations against him, well-beyond the scope of this Blackgate shit. Bruce needs to keep his nose out of it.

Tim scoffs. “Fine. Seems like you should get first dibs anyway.” He nods towards your desk where you’re still working stubbornly.

The room is silent, all three of them letting you work. After a few minutes, Tim steps toward you. “Here, you need any hel—”

Jason throws an arm out to stop him, just as Cass grabs his wrist and tugs him backwards, shaking her head. He holds up his hands in surrender.

Fifteen minutes later, you rap your knuckles on your desk. “Oi, peanut gallery!” You spin around in your chair, smiling wickedly. “I solved your case for you!”

“It’s not a case,” Tim mutters, and Jason scoffs.

“Don’t be jealous, RR,” Babs says over the line. “You can both be the prettiest.” Tim splutters as you laugh delightedly.

“Nice job,” Jason says, placing a hand on your shoulder. You grin up at him. He catches Cass and Tim share a look, sees her sign something too fast for his eyes to follow.

“Batgirl’s bringing it to you now, Oracle,” Tim says as you unplug the flash drive and hand it to Cass. You wave to her as she slips through the window.

“My backup came through,” Babs reports to Bruce. “They’ll be obsolete in a few minutes.”

“Copy.” The line fizzles as Babs cuts him off.

“Fuck yeah,” you grin in satisfaction. “Nothing like hearing that overgrown Bat say ‘copy.’”

Jason cackles as Tim rolls his eyes. “Oracle,” he says loudly. “Hood was in the dark about our friend here.” His eyes flick to you before he looks at Jason meaningfully.

And just what the fuck does he think he’s doing? Jason all but snarls at him.

“Huh. I could’ve sworn you were smarter than that, Hood,” Barbara admonishes.

“Shut up, O,” he grumbles. Jason glances at you to make sure you haven’t caught on to what they’re talking about, but you don’t seem to be paying attention; you’ve pulled up Steam and are scrolling through your game library.

“Maybe it’s time to clue them in. Take off your party hat,” Barbara says meaningfully. Tim nods forcefully.

“Butt out,” Jason says half-heartedly, but it doesn’t stick. He’s been thinking about telling you about Red Hood anyway; you’ve been together for a year and a half. He’s been…well, he’s scared. But maybe he shouldn’t be.

“We’d have to vote on it,” he says gruffly. Tim pumps his fist in the air. “In person,” he says meaningfully. Comm links aren’t safe, apparently.

“You have my vote,” Babs says confidently. “And Batgirl’s, too, she’s here.” Barbara pauses meaningfully. “I’m happy for you, Hood.”

“Me too!” Tim pipes up immediately.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason waves them off, like his heart isn’t pounding. “Can you call everyone over?”

“Roger that.” Barbara seems pleased. “Hood is asking us all to meet near him,” she broadcasts aloud. “Sending you coordinates.”

Dick, Steph, Bruce, and Damian all copy. Jason steels himself. “Alright, RR, time to go.”

You glance at him as he moves toward the window. “Heading out?”

“Yeah,” Tim answers. “Got a big family meeting to get to.” He grins at Jason.

“Okay. See you around. Nice meeting you,” you say to Jason, before turning back to your screen.

“Uh, yeah,” he says uncomfortably, while Tim snickers. “See you later.”

The troops have already assembled two rooftops over. “Hood, what’s the situation?” Bruce asks sternly.

“The situation,” Tim starts happily, “is—”

“Hold on,” Jason cuts him off. “Disconnect comm links.” He watches warily as everyone takes them out of their ears.

“Compromised?” Dick asks with concern.

“Uh, yeah.” Jason scratches the back of his neck. “Listen, uh…” he looks at Tim helplessly.

“Jason’s dating Escher.”

“What!” Dick screams as Steph claps her hands together excitedly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating anyone?”

“Uh—”

“Fuck, yeah!” Steph interrupts. “This is great! Escher’s the freaking best!”

“Language,” Bruce says as Jason takes off the helmet to glare at Steph accusingly.

“We play Minecraft together,” she explains. “I didn’t know you two were dating!”

“Wait, hold on. I thought you all knew about that.” Jason shifts his glare to Tim.

Tim shrugs. “Only me and Babs knew,” he says.

“Timmy, why didn’t you share!” Dick groans, bounding over to ruffle Jason’s hair.

Jason pushes him away, trying to swipe his feet out from under him. Dick dodges easily, throwing a light right hook in return. “Wasn’t any of your business, now was it?” Jason says gruffly.

Tim looks at Dick, raising his eyebrows. “Didn’t want to get on his bad side.”

“Fair.” Dick grins softly at Jason, bumping shoulders with him. “Nice job, Little Wing.”

Jason blushes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Congrats, Todd, but why are we all here?” Damian interrupts.

“I’m gonna tell ‘em,” Jason says simply. “About this. If it’s cool.”

“Fine with me,” Steph says instantly.

Tim nods, “seconded. Babs and Cass say it’s fine with them, we asked before we went dark.”

“Well, who am I to stand in their way,” Dick half-jokes, but he’s looking at Bruce with serious eyes. So is Jason.

“I’ll follow Father’s ruling,” Damian says stoutly.

That leaves the big man himself. Bruce smiles gently. “Of course, Jaylad. We’re all happy for you.”

Jason blushes all over again. “Thanks, old man.” He lets out a breath.

“But we have to ask Duke,” Bruce adds meaningfully.

“I texted him, he says it’s fine,” Tim says quickly. “But also, uh—” he holds his hand to his ear.

Warily, Jason puts his comm back in. “Jason, what the fuck!” you shriek. “What the fucking fuck is this!”

“I forgot to disconnect,” Babs says sheepishly.

“Jason, you ass! Why didn’t you tell me you ran around in a fucking costume?” you shout down the line. Steph and Dick keel over laughing. Jason realizes everyone has taken the liberty of putting their comm back in.

“Baby, please,” he says resignedly.

“Baby?” Dick mouths, beaming.

“Don’t you fucking ‘baby’ me!” you holler.

“Babe, you are a hacker,” he points out. “How come you didn’t share that with the class?”

That makes you pause. “Fair fucking point, I guess,” you mutter. Jason sees Bruce try to tug the comm out of Damian’s ear, but Damian dances out of reach.

“Uh, also, can you cool it with the swearing?” Jason asks. “There’s a kid here.”

“…if it’s Robin I am going to throw up.”

“Hello,” Damian says helpfully.

Your end of the line is silent.

“Hey, Escher, it’s Spoiler!” Steph cuts in. “Nice job shacking up with Hood.” She eyes Jason evilly.

“This is a fucking ambush,” you grind out. “Jason, you fucking ambushed me.”

“Language,” Bruce orders gently. Tim just about busts a gut while Jason waves frantically at Bruce, shaking his head rapidly. “Nice to meet you over the phone,” Bruce adds. Dick gives him a thumbs up.

“…likewise,” you say eventually. “I hope you’ll excuse me, but this has been insane, and I’m disconnecting. Jason, get your as— get back here after you’ve finished your family dinner.” Your end goes dead.

“They seem nice,” Bruce says after a moment. “We’ll have to talk about how they got into the comm links,” he looks at Tim reproachfully.

“See you later, Hood,” Dick says easily, nodding at your building.

Jason turns back to your apartment. He can already see you in the window, arms crossed over your chest. You’re trying to scowl at him, but he can see the smile trying to escape.

He shrugs his shoulders, grinning. You throw up your hands but beckon him anyway. Come on, come back.

Don’t worry, Jason’s coming.

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bernardsbendystraws · 11 months ago

Text

𝐏𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 — 𝐌.𝐒.

synopsis: Matt gives you some payback from your bratty behavior.

warnings: SMUT , dom matt, degrading, praising, and more.

ʚ with love and big tits, Rose ɞ

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Annoyed did little to describe the amount of frustration Matt had felt all day.

You were his and he was greedy. Your attention being spared more to Nick and Chris had left him with a passive attitude. He had been planning all day—-you were in for it and you didn’t even know it.

“Baby, c’mere.” Matt pats his lap, looking at you as you sit across the couch next to Nick.

Waving a hand at him, you reject the offer. “---’m busy right now, Matt.” you brush off.

Matt’s tongue rubs along the ridges of his teeth with anger and mischief.

You were gonna regret that and he was sure of it.

Each random TikTok audio blasting from Nick’s phone made his eyes burn harder onto you. He was scheming.

After a good chunk of time, you had finally spared your boyfriend attention. But, as soon as you started to sit next to him, he stood up and grabbed his arm around your waist.

“We’re going to my room.” he states.

Confused, you obey his guiding steps. He seems to be seething and you can’t quite figure out why.

As he locks the door shut, you open your mouth to ask.

“Nope, strip. You’ve been ignoring and brushing me off all day. You’re mine—you sit by me, on my lap. Did you forget, baby?” he taunts, looking down at you as he grasps your chin in between his fingers.

Your wide eyes bulge in shock with his aggression. He pulls your bottom lips down with his thumb.

“Don’t worry, I’ll remind you, okay? Strip and come sit on my lap, sweetheart.”

His sweet tone seems too kind for his aura. Something is off—something is lurking beneath the surface.

Peeling your clothes off your body, you turn to see him already stipped down with his cock stiff on the bed.

“Are you coming, bunny?” he asks, a daring glint in his growing smirk.

He leans back on his folded arm beneath his head. His other hand loosely starts stroking his length as his eyes wander up and down your figure. Your clean and perfect skin is taunting him—begging him to mark it up.

You need to be reminded of who you belonged to and he was gonna do just that.

With a slow crawl over his lap, you let out a yelp as he flips you onto your back. He hovers over you, his cold chain brushing the tip of your nose. You shrink beneath his intense gaze.

“Who do you belong to, baby. Tell me.” he demands in a soft tone.

Your tongue shakes in anticipation. The lack of friction between your spread legs makes you feel the wetness sting against the cool air.

“I….I…um, you?”

He tuts his tongue on the roof of his mouth, slowly bringing his face down to the crook of your neck. One stripe with his tongue up to your ear already has you shivering, your hands clinging onto his flexed bicep. Matt feels pride consume him from the reaction, pulling his attention back on his long awaited plans.

“You don’t seem so sure of that, sweetheart. Maybe we should fix that, hm?” he teases.

His hips lower to yours, his hard cock resting on top of your pussy flatly. You crave to be filled. Imagining him thrusting into you—you clench around nothing.

“I—-”

Lips press against yours, silencing you as he rests on one elbow to grasp onto your skin with his free hand. Your teeth clash against him as you gasp, a tweak of your nipple sending your back arching up into him. He pinches down harder, eliciting a whimper from your end.

“You know your safe word, right baby? Tell me my smart girl knows her safeword.” he purrs, leaning onto your neck and starting to nip at the skin.

“I—um, yes. I….I know it.”

“Good.” he praises, brushing your hair out of your face and he plants a swift kiss to your lips. “Smart girl for me, huh?” he questions.

Nodding your head, you feel his hand start to chase down. He loosely rests it around your neck. You feel the cold metal of his rings contrast against your heated skin.

With wide eyes, you feel his lips brush against your ear.

“But, smart girls know who they belong to, don’t they?” he spits, the soft tone leaking to a dark menacing taunt.

His hand squeezes lightly at the side of your neck. You gulp loudly, eliciting a laugh from his end. Trailing down, he roughly grasps your tit in hand.

“You’re gonna warm me while I mess around, okay?”

Nodding at this, he pecks your cheek. His hand trails down your stomach, the pads of his fingers lightly massaging into your clit.

“Oh my—” you grasp onto his arm tighter as your teeth clench with pleasure.

You whine as his hand slides down to your entrance, his fingers barely teasing around the rim of your leaking hole before his touch disappears.

“Matt—”

The tip of his dick pressing into you makes your mouth drop open.

“Nope. You get none of my attention the way ya want. It’s payback, sweetheart.” he announces.

He slides his thick cock into you, his dick halting as your wall clamp aggressively onto him.

“What? I—”

Pulling out somewhat, he slams back into you with full force. You shut up, cock drunk as he fills you up.

“Payback ain’t very fun now, is it? Gotta be nicer to me, huh?” he teases.

His hand that guided his cock into you holds onto the top of your shoulder. The pressure of his dick diving into you increases as he leans forward, pressing you down further on his cock.

“If you even try to grind on me, you’ll regret it. Got it?” he asks sternly.

Blissed out, you nod with hooded eyes. Matt moves his hand from your shoulder, harshly grasping your chin to direct your lazy gaze to him.

“Fuckin’ use your words. Aren’t you a smart girl?” he whispers, his lips lingering against your jaw as he slides kisses along the curve of your face.

You feel so full. You struggle to concentrate on his words as you fight the urge to sway your hips onto his.

Noticing your lack of response, he pushes impossibly deeper into you.

“Gonna answer me, baby?” he presses.

“Huh?” he laughs at your clueless response, his vibration affecting you greatly as your ears start to buzz from the pleasure of his cock halting in your gut. “I….what’d you say?” you breathe out, desperately trying to focus on keeping still under his body caging you to the bed.

His lips suck in the sweet spot beneath your ear. You grasp as his teeth sink in, your hips finding a mind of their own as they push against his dick.

Fuck, you messed up.

Licking the area with a dry laugh, he nibbles on the soft lobe of your ear.

“Such a dumb girl, sweetheart. Can’t even follow simple fuckin’ directions.” he mutters.

He starts slowly pumping his cock in and out of you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. His cock throbs inside your pulsing walls.

“Let’s see how dumb I can make you, yeah?”

You don’t have time to respond before he slams his dick and pelvis deep. You’re sure you will have a bruise on your inner thigh from the sheer force of his actions. It feels so good, your mind runs to the familiar knot gathering in your gut.

With an open mouth, you let out a breathy moan as he staggers his cock deep inside of you, slowly starting to gather a consistent pace.

“Oh,” he mocks you, mimicking your facial expression. “---feels that good, huh?” he sympathizes with an overly fake tone.

His cock starts to create a beautiful friction, his tip grazing deep inside to the soft flesh that makes your mind run blank. Soaking in the pure euphoria, your nails start to dig into his bicep, desperately holding on as your legs tense.

Closing your knees around him as you feel the build of tension consume you, each rut of his hips digging forcefully despite your clamped walls sends you further and further down the spiral of overwhelming ecstasy.

“Whose—fuckin’----girl, hm? Tell me.” Each word is paused by a grunt leaving his mouth as he pounds into you. “--be my smart girl, yeah?” he encourages.

“I….” your eyes lazily open as he grasps your chin tightly. His pace speeds up, relentless thrusts abusing your cunt.

“Fuckin’ tell me—or do you not wanna cum?”

At his words, you rushedly gasp for air, trying to collect your thoughts. You need to cum. The only goal in mind is chased by your words. “NO—please, Matt! I…” Dazing in and out, he pulls your chin harsher to bring you back to your pleas. “---’m your girl. All—my god!”

You’re not sure how, but the confirmation leaving your lips sends his hips powering harder—deeper—faster. It feels overwhelming as your orgasm barrels down, needing a release.

“My girl, huh? Whose pussy, baby? Whose this pretty little cunt belong to, hm?”

His hips show no mercy as his cock slams deep into your gut. You swear you feel a little nauseous just from how far he is inside of you. But—it feels so good.

“Yours! It’s—-’s yours!” you proclaim, broken through cries of pleasure as you feel tears leak out the corner of your eyes.

“Ohmygod, please let me cum, Matt. I—needa cum. Need to,” you plea, completely cock drunk.

Matt coos fakely, grunting in your ear as your walls convulse around him—warning him.

“Whose name are ya gonna scream, baby?” he strains out through rough thrust, pushing his weight down to create friction on your clit. You desperately claw into his bicep at the knot struggling to stall through his words.

“Gonna be a good girl and—fuck—and show me how proud you are to be mine? You gonna do that?” You nod your head at his words, desperately crying out as you try to hold off the hot white flash of bliss.

“My good girl, huh? Go ahead, baby—scream for me. Let it all go,” he soothes the side of your face as you scream out, his name barely recognizable through the tears in your voice. The sight of your fucked out state and the way you helplessly constrict your pussy around him sends his cum shooting deep into you, squelching noises heard as you both run down from the high.

“Fuckkkkkkk, so good—my smart girl, shit.” he grits, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

The lewd noises get louder as he fucks you through the euphoric daze. A white ring collecting around the base of his cock makes him struggle to keep his composure as he feels your walls milk him dry.

“Damn,” you breathe out, gasping for air as you fall limp.

“You good, baby?” he asks, combing your hair back as he slowly pulls out.

“Yeah, just—-paybacks a bitch.”

#retired roses #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #⋅˚₊‧𐙚‧₊˚ ⋅ Rose Toy Old Works

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rqbossman · 4 months ago

Note

so im relistening to rqg, and at one point i remember you mentioning the heat COULVE MELTED THE RECORDING EQUIPMENT. so i was wondering, just how hot did it get?? like as an estimate? because typical summer heat should not usually melt technology i think

Receipt for Soundboard flambé: Ingredients: 1) One soundboard, the larger and older the better (analaogue sliders essential). 2) 5 podcasters, the larger the better for maximum discomfort 3) 1 room: small, insulated on all walls and ceiling + carpeted (ensure windows and doors covered in sound-proof cloth, British Victorian build near roof for preference.) 4) Laptop, elderly (must require constant mains usage) Method: 1) Insert podcasters into soundproof, insulated room. (For best results, do so in a old-build house, near the roof, during a heatwave) 2) Start laptop and Soundboard. (ensure both are at maximum capacity in both inputs and processes) 3) Record Podcast for 4-6 hours. 4) You will know your equipment is cooked when you smell burning metal. (You may smell burning plastic prior to this point. You can ignore that.) Presentation: 1) Serve soundboard with side of steamed podcasters, drizzle heavily with sweat and disillusionment. # of seasons to taste. Top Tip: If your electrical equipment is not too hot on all sides you need to further increase the temperature.

#alexander j newall #chaos gremlin answer #the magnus archives #meta #rusty quil gaming

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mercvry-glow · 20 days ago

Text

My Name, My Undoing | In Another Light (3)

In Another Light masterlist - Jack x Ex!reader

warnings. warnings. age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 27), exes to lovers, slowburnish, jack and reader are bad at feelings, mentions of sex, reader is hinted to have some form of depression and anxiety, death of a child, reader has a panic attack, possible suicidal ideation, jack talks reader off the ledge, more to come as series continues

summary. You couldn't take it anymore, and then jack finds you.

notes. guys they actually talk! are we so excited? I actually love this chapter, and it really shows how jack and reader feel about each other right now so enjoy until next time!

wc. 3500+

You don’t remember how you got to the roof.

It wasn’t on purpose, not really. You couldn’t even say it was by choice. Just motion. Just instinct. You’d moved through the hallways like a ghost, past the flickering lights of the other floors, past the rest of the hospital still stained with echoes of its wrongdoings and failures. Up the back stairwell—where it took you three flights of stairs to realize you were running.

And now, here you were.

Always here.

The rooftop of PTMC was still, except for the soft hum of the HVAC units and the buzz of a broken security light above the door. The city sprawled beneath you like it was asleep, distant and disinterested. It was nearly midnight—too late for visitors, too early for any sort of real relief. That strange hour when the hospital turned into something else. When everything you’d been holding back started to claw its way out.

You gripped the black metal of the guardrail with both hands, knuckles white.

Your heart was pounding—too fast. Way too fast.

At first, you thought it was just residual adrenaline. A bad trauma, the worst one you’ve had in a while. Then you caught sight of Jack again after the code, leaning against the supply closet door outside the room like he owned the ER. Like you didn’t just lose a little girl. Like what just happened was normal or inevitable.

But it wasn’t just that…

Your chest felt tight. Not like in the poetic, sad way. In the real way. Like your lungs couldn’t quite inflate. Like every breath was getting caught halfway down.

You sucked in air through your nose, out through your mouth. In. Out. You’d coached patients through this before. You’d knelt beside stretchers and whispered them through panic, through pain, through the kind of fear that turned people into strangers.

But now you couldn’t even talk yourself down.

What could you do right?

Your fingers were tingling. Your vision was dark and swam at the edges. You tried to focus on the skyline, the blinking red tip of the UPMC tower. You tried grounding yourself—five things you could see, four you could touch—but your body was already moving without you. Too far ahead. Too loud.

You tried so hard.

The air was so loud.

Everything was spinning and you couldn’t get a grip. Couldn’t stop the thoughts from tearing you up inside.

You’d done this before. You’d worked this shift before. You’d lived through worse than losing just one patient.

So why did it feel like you were dying?

Your knees buckled a little, and you dropped into a crouch beside the ledge after passing the railing, arms wrapping tight around yourself like you could hold your tired bones together if you just squeezed hard enough. Your face pressed against the sleeve of your undershirt as the tears came—not gently, not soft.

Violent.

Gut-wrenching.

Shaking sobs that left your throat raw.

And still—your chest wouldn’t expand.

You felt stupid.

You felt weak.

You hated every bit of this.

You hated that you had come back. Hated how easy it had been to step into your old shoes, like no time had passed. Hated how Jack still looked at you like he knew you’d fall apart eventually.

And here you were.

Falling apart.

A sound—distant, metallic—rattled behind you. Maybe a door, maybe a car below, maybe just the wind playing tricks. But you didn’t turn.

You stayed curled up on the rooftop ledge, hidden from the light, hidden from the world, letting the worst of it bleed out of you into the dark August night.

You didn’t need help. You Couldn’t help.

You just needed space.

Just five minutes to breathe again.

Just five minutes to stop pretending you were fine...

40 minutes earlier

They’d rushed Sophie into Trauma 1 just after 11:00 p.m.—John had been the one to call you in.

"She’s crashing," he’d said. "We need the whole team!"

Sophie. Three years old. Belly pain. Fever. You’d seen her plenty of times tonight, tucked her into her bed with a warm blanket and a quiet promise that she’d be okay. Telling her mother it was probably just appendicitis, and that the scans you were about to present her would tell you more.

She wasn’t supposed to code.

You weren’t supposed to be losing her.

But by the time you got back to her bedside, she was blue around the lips, more so than she was when she arrived, and barely breathing. Her tiny body limp on the stretcher as two nurses started compressions. The rapid response team was already in motion. You jumped in without thinking—hands moving, voice steady even as the inside of your chest cracked open.

Epinephrine. Airway. Fluids. Chest compressions.

The clock ticked louder than the monitors.

You watched her flatline twice.

You noticed when Jack stepped into the room, silent at the edge of the chaos, watching as you, John, and the rest of the team worked in tandem. He didn’t say anything—just nodded once when the other attending looked to him.

Backup, or oversight. A cold sort of comfort.

Everyone tried for sixteen minutes.

And when Johen called time—23:28—you were the one holding the bag mask still pressed to her mouth, your normally steady hands trembling.

The room emptied quickly. Too quickly. You were left standing near her side, eyes locked on the stuffed bunny clutched in her arm, matted with sweat and betadine.

You didn’t realize how hard you were breathing until the ringing in your ears started. You stood frozen in the middle of Trauma One, the silence around you so sharp it felt like glass. The monitors were off now, the code cart was already wheeled out, and the team had cleared with a kind of practiced sorrow that only came from too many nights like this.

You were still staring at Sophie’s bunny, your fingers curled slightly like you didn’t know what to do with them now.

“Hey.” John’s voice came from your right, gentle, low—carefully measured like he knew how you felt. He wasn’t wearing gloves anymore, and his white sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, forearms still dusted with powdered latex and sweat. His dark eyes didn’t move past your face.

“I’ll talk to her mom,” he said, nodding slightly toward the hallway, toward the quiet room—where you knew Sophie’s mother had been waiting. “You don’t have to.”

You blinked. Swallowed. “No. No, I should—”

“No,” he said again, firmer this time. “I’ll do it. I’ll… I’ll figure out what the hell happened here. Go upstairs or sit down or—I don’t care, just take a second. You don’t need to be a hero right now.”

You opened your mouth like you were going to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. You were barely holding yourself upright.

“She liked you,” John added, softer this time. “That kid lit up every time you walked in the room, you didn’t deserve this either.”

That broke something. You let out a shaky breath, looking anywhere but the stretcher.

John squeezed your arm briefly, then moved past you toward the door. “If you’re not gone in five minutes, I’m kicking your ass out of here myself.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a lifeline.

John was good at giving you those.

You stood there a moment longer—just long enough to see the dark haired male disappear down the hall—and then you turned, heart pounding as you walked straight past Jack.

He was outside the trauma bay. Leaning against the far wall where one of the supply closets was, arms crossed. Not smug. Not distant either. Just watching you like he knew what was coming. Like he could see the unraveling starting at your seams.

And maybe he could.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t say a word.

You just walked—through the ER, through the hospital, into the stairwell, and kept going until the weight of it all finally knocked you down.

Present

You curled further in on yourself, forehead pressing to your knees. Your scrubs were damp with sweat and tears, your fingers cramping from the way you’d been gripping your sleeves.

You couldn’t stop seeing her face.

Three years old, with curls stuck to her fevered forehead and those wide, scared eyes that had looked up at you for reassurance in place of her mother. You had given it to her. You had promised her she would be okay.

You lied.

And now a mom was down there somewhere without her baby. Sitting in a quiet room with the weight of the world collapsing on her chest. While you were up here—useless. Shaking. Sobbing. Falling apart because the truth was you didn’t know how to carry this anymore.

The night held a weight the day could never carry.

The door behind you creaked faintly again, metal on metal.

You flinched but didn’t turn around.

Heavy steps crossed the gravel-dusted rooftop. Slow. Sturdy. Hesitant.

And then silence. Whoever it was stopped a few feet back, giving you space. Maybe unsure of whether to come closer, or maybe just unwilling to intrude on a grief this loud.

You didn’t look up. You didn’t need to.

You knew who it was.

Of course it was Jack.

The silence stretched out between you, hanging there like the fog of your breath in the thick air. He didn’t speak. Didn’t offer comfort. Didn’t reach for you like someone who had the right to touch you. He just stood there, a steady presence on the periphery—anchoring you in a way that made you feel both seen and raw.

“I told her she’d be okay,” you croaked out eventually, voice wrecked and hoarse from the sobs. “She was scared, and I told them it was probably just appendicitis. I told her she’d be okay.”

Jack didn’t answer.

You finally looked over your shoulder. Just a glance. He was standing with his hands on his hips, his jaw clenched but not too tight, hazel eyes locked on you—not pitying. Not judging. Just… there, always there. Like gravity. Like he wasn’t going anywhere.

Your breath hitched again, chest spasming.

“She died thinking I lied to her,” you whispered.

This time, he stepped a little closer, but still didn’t cross that invisible line. Just enough that you could feel the weight of him beside you, the way you used to feel it late at night, when the world was too quiet and his presence was the only thing loud enough to hold you together.

“She didn’t die because of you,” Jack said, his voice low and firm. “You did everything right.”

You shook your head, curling back in. “It wasn’t enough.”

“It’s never enough,” he said, after a beat. “But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

The wind picked up slightly, brushing your damp baby hairs back from your face. You were still shaking. Still crying. But there was something about hearing his voice that made the panic in your chest loosen just a fraction.

Not gone. Not better.

But less alone.

And sometimes that was the best you could hope for.

You didn’t ask him to stay, you never have.

He just did.

Quietly. Unmoving.

Like he knew what it meant to come undone in the middle of the night, on the roof of a trauma center, where the only thing keeping you from breaking was the sound of another person breathing just a few feet away.

Like he remembered what your silence sounded like.

And knew exactly what it meant.

You don’t know how long you two sat there—sweat cooling, panic fading into exhaustion. The sobs came less frequently now, worn out by the force of them, replaced by tremors that wouldn’t stop no matter how tightly you hugged your knees.

Jack still hadn’t moved.

Eventually, you spoke again, voice cutting the silence.

“I shouldn’t have come back.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. The silence lingered for a beat longer than you could handle. And then:

“But you did.”

You flinched at the sound of his voice again—more than a whisper now. Real. Solid. Like you couldn’t pretend this wasn’t happening.

He stepped closer again. Still not too close. Still giving you the space you needed. But near enough now that when you finally looked up again, you could see the shadows under his eyes. He looked tired. Not just shift tired, but something deeper.

You wondered if he saw the same thing in you.

“You shouldn’t be up here alone,” he said. “Not like this.”

That got to you. You laughed, or something close to it—hollow and mean. “Not like this,” you repeated back, wiping under your eyes with the back of your hand, definitely smearing your mascara. “And what would be the right way, Jack? Crying in front of the woman who just lost her daughter? Losing it in front of everyone downstairs?”

His mouth twitched, not quite a frown. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” you cut in. “I know what you meant.”

There was a thick pause between you. Then, quietly:

“This is the first time you’ve said anything to me in over a year.”

Jack’s shoulders tensed. You saw it. Just barely. But he didn’t deny it.

You didn’t mean to look at him like that—raw, vulnerable. It slipped out anyway.

And it was too much.

Too much to be near him like this. Too much to feel everything that had been packed away and ignored and buried beneath a year of silence and pretending you didn’t care. You couldn’t do this. Not now. Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

“Don’t,” you said, voice cracking. “Please, Jack. Don’t do this now.”

“Do what?”

“Talk to me,” you snapped, harsher than you meant to, the words burning in your throat. “Pretending like nothing happened. Like we can just—pick up right where we left off, like before we got together and pretend that we’re just friends.”

Jack didn’t flinch. But he didn’t look away, either.

“I’m not pretending nothing happened,” he said. His voice was lower now. Careful. “You know me better than that.”

“Do I? Because I distinctly remember you saying that I didn’t know you at all,” you whispered.

Silence again. And this time it was the kind that cut.

You stood up slowly, every muscle trembling from effort and exhaustion, your heart pounding again—not from panic now, but from the weight of his presence. The sound of his voice. His stupid face. That look in his eyes that still undid you.

Your arms wrapped around your middle like they might hold in the scream rising in your chest.

“I’m not ready for this.”

Jack nodded once. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” you said, voice higher, sharp with panic again. “I can’t do this. I can’t talk about us—not tonight. I can’t breathe, Jack. I can barely fucking think.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m not asking you to.”

You let out a broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and turned away again, facing the skyline like it might ground you.

Your voice was smaller when you spoke again. “Why did you follow me up here?”

Jack didn’t hesitate. “Because I knew you’d come up here to suffer alone… and I didn’t want that for you.”

That almost ruined you.

Your throat clenched tight. Your jaw shook.

“I thought you didn’t care anymore,” you said, barely audible.

“I never stopped.”

The words hit you square in the chest. No warning. No soft lead-in. And suddenly it was all too loud again—the wind, your breathing, your thoughts, your past slamming into you like a freight train.

You dropped your face into your hands and shook your head violently. “Shut up! I can’t do this—”

Jack didn’t move closer.

But he didn’t leave either.

So you stood there, falling apart all over again—heart racing, chest squeezing, eyes burning—while the man who broke your heart watched it all happen in silence. Not asking for forgiveness. Not offering a fix.

Just staying.

Just standing there with you.

Because maybe that’s all either of you could give tonight.

“Hey,” Jack said, voice low. “Can we… maybe take a step back from the edge?”

You didn’t answer.

Your knees still felt like they might give out again, and your lungs were tight, your hands trembling from where you’d braced them on your thighs.

“I know you don’t want anyone to see you like this,” he added, softer now. “Least of all me.”

You blinked hard, staring at the roof gravel, the skyline blurring past the haze in your eyes. Jack exhaled, steadying himself, maybe steadying you. “You don’t have to say anything. But just—c’mon. Let’s step back a little, yeah?”

You were quiet for a few seconds too long, until he took a half-step closer and offered his hand—not reaching, not pushing. Just there.

“Can’t have you doing your best Batman impression up here,” he murmured. “You’re way too tired for vigilante hours.”

It was a weak joke, but it landed gently. Your breath hitched in something that could’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t hurt so much.

“You’re not funny,” you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Never claimed to be,” Jack said, just as quiet.

You finally took his hand.

His grip was warm. Solid. Familiar in the way that made your chest hurt even more.

He helped you to your feet slowly, like he remembered how your body locked up when you were overwhelmed. Like he still knew you, even after all this time.

Once upright, you swayed slightly, and he didn’t let go. Just stayed steady beside you, his hand still loosely curled around yours, like if he let go too quickly, you might fall apart again.

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said, trying not to look at him.

“I know.”

You swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Probably not,” Jack said gently. “But I am.”

Silence fell again, thick and full of everything neither of you were ready to say.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you finally admitted, the words leaving you brittle.

“I know,” he repeated.

You stared out at the city, your chest aching, your eyes hot. Jack stood close—close enough that you could feel his presence, but far enough not to crowd you.

“Do you wanna sit down again, now that we know you’re not going to hurl yourself off the roof?” he asked. “Or do you wanna go back down?”

In truth, you didn’t know what you wanted. Everything was too much right now. But the one thing you knew was that you didn’t want to be alone, even if that meant your company was Jack.

Not right now.

So you nodded, to what you don’t exactly know.

And Jack didn’t say anything else.

He just stayed. Right there with you, in the quiet. Not fixing it. Not filling the silence.

Just staying.

Something you didn’t know he could do.

Eventually your breathing slowed, falling in pace with Jack's own. The sniffles still continued, accompanied by a few quick, short breaths. The stutter in your chest did nothing to dull the overall ache, but for the time being, it was enough to just sit in silence.

You glanced over at him. He was sitting forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees, eyes fixed on some far-off point on the floor like it held all the answers he didn’t have. The overhead light cast soft shadows over his face, catching the curve of his cheekbone, the dip in his brow. His salt-and-pepper curls were disheveled, pushed back like he’d run his hands through them too many times tonight. The freckles lined across his nose and cheeks were more noticeable under stars tonight, like faint constellations on skin gone pale with stress.

His hazel eyes were tired now, or maybe they always were and you never took the time to notice. Dull around the edges, just like your own. There was a tremble in his jaw, not quite a twitch, more like tension he hadn’t figured out how to let go of. A few days’ worth of stubble darkened his face, and beneath it all, his muscles tensed beneath his scrubs like he was bracing for impact from you that never came.

The two of you hadn’t said much. Just sat there, breathing beside one another like the old days, holding silence like it was the only thing keeping you two upright. But you didn’t need words. Not when the grief was so visible on him—etched in the tight set of his shoulders, the way his thumb moved absently against the seam of his pants, like he needed to do something with his hands or else fall apart.

You swallowed hard, eyes stinging again. Not because you were alone in this—but because you weren’t.

Because he looked just as wrecked as you felt right now.

And you didn’t know what to say to him.

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