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cheonstapes · 2 months

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miguel o’hara stars in… ‘SUGAR BABY CHRONICLES’ ヽ(´o｀；

･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡. miguel o’hara x fem!reader .｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･

SMUT

REQUEST from my lovely @miguelzslvtz; So I was thinking of an older!Sugar daddy Miguel x reader. The reader is working at small country club and Miguel noticed her. She’s serving him drinks, and taking care of him. He tells her she’s too good to be working there and introduced the idea of being her sugar daddy (basically some arm candy). He invites her over to his mansion for a party and she’s dressed up for him🫶🏻 all night she’s being looked at by other men and woman, he’s being very protective of her. He loves on her all night and makes sure she’s taken care of💗💗spoiled✨

cw; older!miguel, slight age gap (reader is in early 20s, miguel is in early 30s), cumming inside, slight breeding(not really, i just have a problem), sugardaddy!miguel, readers a little bit of a tsundere kinda, miguel’s really in love, cunnilings, shower sex, hair pulling, NAWT PROOFREAD!!

4k+ words (longest fic omg!!)

@cheonstapes; hi again…🤗 these hiatuses are killing me. i’ve been absolutely swamped and i lost so much motivation to write but im glad to say i think i’ve found my footing. i found myself again and i’ll work on balancing everything from now on! i apologise for the mammoth amount of time it took me to do this (this is what i get for working chronologically) and i have not forgotten about your requests if you sent one! pyramids and project ex will still be coming but i want to make sure requests are out of the way as they’ve been there for months and it’s not fair for the lovely people who’ve waited so long. thanks again! i love you all🩷

you loved your job, you really did.

not many people can say that genuinely, but when you’re getting the tips you’re getting, seeing the men you’re seeing, you definitely don’t wanna leave anytime soon. working at such an elite club meant you were among the rich of the rich — the big shots of the city that wouldn’t be caught anywhere else.

at the very least, the uniform was modest enough — obviously though, there would always be a few buttons left undone on your shirt, your skirt pulled up just that little bit higher. that window of flesh, no matter how small, was a guaranteed extra thousand in your pocket by the end of the night — and that wasn’t even counting him.

mr. o’hara. that’s all you knew him by. the man was overtly secretive, often arriving alone or occasionally with a very small group of associates. he was by far your biggest tipper. at times, you wondered if he owned the club due to the pure influence he has on your boss — somehow, much to your excitement, convincing him to bump your pay-check up by a lofty sum. the amount of money you make could send you into an early retirement, but of course you wouldn’t do that. it meant you wouldn’t get to learn more about him, and you needed to learn more about him.

summer was always the busiest, the great weather meaning there was more members than usual coming out to play. although, running around and serving for 9 hours a day was extremely tiring — gruelling even. there was sweat dripping down your face, your black dress feeling like a leather coat with the way it clung to you like second skin.

one last drink. you had one last drink to serve and then you could go on your break. double checking the table number, your eyes widened slightly as you saw him. mr. o’hara was not a small man by any means — the bulging muscles tucked away under his tight dress shirt, shoulders almost akin in length with the table. to put it simply, he was the epitome of sexy. you were barely at his table and you could smell him already, the masculine musk of his oud creating a musky, rose scented bubble that ensnared all your senses.

“‘s that for me, sweetheart?”

yes, yes it was. but he really wanted to hear you say it. your voice was such a sweet caress to his ear — he could guarantee an angel got its wings every time you spoke. miguel usually prides himself on being in control of his emotions, his body — but having a pretty, little thing like you just within his grasp was the ultimate challenge of restraint.

the man felt absolutely helpless, his heart pounding in his chest like a hormonal teenage boy when you placed the drink in front of him. “you know it, mr. o’hara — you order the same thing everyday.” fuck. the sip he was having was definitely becoming more than a sip the longer he held the cup to his mouth — chub twitching against the fabric of his slacks.

you were just the sweetest little thing — much more enthusiastic than the other girls that worked there. he might be just imagining it too, but he can feel deep in his heart that you dress up just for him. miguel knows you want him, and he’s more than happy to give himself to you.

“you know me better than i know myself, dulzura. almost like you’re keeping tabs on me, hm?”

“i mean, yeah, i kinda am. it’s my job, mr. o’hara. you’re one of our most frequent regulars, it’d be crazy if i couldn’t tell you your order ‘fore you give it to me.”

oh…yeah.

in miguel’s defence, it’s been a while….a long while since he last flirted — and having an 8-year-old daughter who’s judging your every move means there’s not a lot of time to work on your game. but he’d be damned if he lost an angel like you, he will be yours. plus, gabi does need a woman like you in her life too.

“do you enjoy it, though? your job, I mean — not keeping tabs on me.”

“you probably won’t believe this, but i actually do. the pay’s good, at least, and i can afford to pay my bills, uni, and still have fun. i’m kinda lucky, i guess.”

“you wouldn’t have to worry about that with me, nena.”

miguel knew he was probably breaking some sorta rule, flirting with staff or whatever — but god you were worth it. if being able to take you home meant that he would never set foot in the club again, then so be it.

“sorry, what was that, sir?”

“…quit your job — not in a ‘you’re bad at your job way’ — i’ll take care of you. i can give you everything, anything you want.”

you couldn’t say you were surprised, especially with the nature of your job — old men say stuff like this to you all the time. but, miguel wasn’t any old man. as much as you loved your job, had a stable income and good connections — the thought of quitting and running away with a man like him? fuck, it was so tempting.

“alright then. i hope you live up to those words, mr. o’hara.”

———————————————————————————

mr o’hara (sugardaddy?)

i’m throwing an event at work tonight, i want you to be there.

sent 16:42

(y.n)

hi, mr o’hara. i’d love to but i finish work at 7,i don’t know if i’ll be able to make it. and i don’t really have anything to wear :(

sent 16:50

mr. o’hara (sugardaddy?)

don’t worry about it, gorgeous. i’ve already got you off work for the rest of the week, and i’ve got you something nice to wear.

sent 16:50

(y.n)

oh, really? well, i guess i’ll see you there then! ;)

sent 16:56

mr. sugardaddy

mmhm, i can’t wait to see you, babe. and call me miguel.

sent 16:56

———————————————————————————

miguel had promptly sent his driver to pick you up in a sleek black sports car, much to the dismay of your co-workers. a beautifully wrapped box was placed on the seat beside you, a bouquet of orchids and a small note that read ‘for you, las flores más bonitas para la chica más guapa - m’

it was hard to not feel a tinge if heat was rising in your face, for someone whom you’re only just getting to know to be so utterly romantic — it was a new experience! relationships had never been something you were particularly interested in, but there was no denying the allure that someone like miguel held and only time could tell how it would all play out.

arriving at his mansion, which was nothing short of jaw dropping — the halls were mostly desolate aside from the quite bustle of the staff that were preparing for tonight’s ball. an elderly woman escorts you upstairs to the master bedroom, your eyes roaming the area as you take in the grandeur of the building — aged walls paired with a modern nueva york touch.

“where’s mr. o— miguel?” the woman turns to you, an indecipherable smile on her lips.

“mr. o’hara is just getting prepared for the ball. don’t fret over him, he’ll join you shortly.” well, it was a bit rude to invite someone over and not be there to greet them but ok! “ah, i forgot to mention,” she opens the door, stepping aside to let you in. “i left you a little something on the dresser. i believe you both’ll be needing it.” the woman winks, silently closing the door behind her — leaving you alone in the large room.

god, even the room smelt like him. a musky wood and cinnamon smell, with the faintest hint of vanilla from the candle burning by the window sill. it wasn’t everyday you were in the presence of such luxury, especially old money luxury. your eyes flitted over to the dresser the woman was referring to, that sneaky grandma.

a box of xl condoms, birth control, towels, all wrapped in a cute gift basket. “seriously? who does she think i am? i’m not fucking on the first date.” wait— was this a date? it definitely felt like one, but it was hard to be 100% sure. this was too much to deal with now, all that was left to worry about was the ball and getting ready.

on the bed behind you lay a beautifully wrapped box, with a red ribbon to top it off. it fell gracefully onto the bedsheets as you unwrapped it, lifting the lid to reveal the shimmering red dress underneath. a sleeveless satin dress, fabric lined with the finest crystals, a slit raising mid thigh, lined a sheer lace. it was the definition of classy, with a hint of seduction.

putting it on felt like a crime, something so beautifully should be preserved and put into a museum. it took all of your willpower to not tuck the dress away somewhere safe and just go and get one of your own — but alas, it was a gift, the least you could do is wear it. the craziest part was how perfect it fit. practically a glove, clinging onto every curve and crevice of your body — extenuating places you never even noticed before.

smoothing out the wrinkles, making sure it was as perfect as possible — fuck, you looked hot. the colour complimented your skin exquisitely, adding a soft glow to your complexion. in the time it took you to get ready, it seemed like the party was already amping up. you could see the surge of people from the window, flashing lights and an abundance of cars being handed to the concierges. you still had yet to see miguel and what better time to look for him than now?

there was a pair of red heels that matched the dress to a T, slipping them on and bouncing down the steps. the butterflies fluttered wildly in your tummy the nearer you got to the party, joining the line of people being checked in by security. though, from the corner of your eye, you catch sight of him. standing there in all his 6’ glory, curls lightly slicked back, wearing a tight button up shirt and those sexy slacks.

something about seeing miguel like this, so carefree and relaxed, set something off inside of you. even though you were supposed to be his guest, you did everything in your power to avoid his gaze — purely cause you don’t think you’d be able to maintain eye contact him for longer than a few minutes without jumping his bones. but of course, fate was destiny’s whore, and soon enough you were being escorted straight into the ballroom.

“were you avoiding me, cielo?”

a hand splayed across your waist, leading you deeper inside the hall as he whispered in your ear. it was obviously due to the fact that you probably couldn’t hear him all too well because to the loud music, but the way his hands caressed your sides, his lips brushing against the lobe of your ear — it felt all too intentional.

“no…i just didn’t want to cut in line. i figured i’d see you when i see you.”

“is that so?” he slid a champagne flute in your hands, grabbing one of his own as he tilted his head at you — a stray curl unfurling down his forehead. “you’re like an open book, cariño. you think i don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head by now?”

“so you’ve been studying me, hm?” now it was your turn to raise a brow, tilting your head back as you took a long sip of your champagne. it wouldn’t be a huge surprise if he had been, it was kinda obvious from all the stares he’d give you and when he’d ‘enquire’ about you from your colleagues.

“mmm, studying’s a strong word. i was simply…observing you. can’t blame me for wanting to know someone as enchanting as you better.”

he had quite the mouth on him, didn’t he? you couldn’t stop the small smile that graces your lips, shaking your head in disbelief.

“you’re so stupid, miguel.”

“if falling for you is stupid, then i’m the dumbest of them all.”

it was so bad, so bad that it was actually good. and that comment shaped the rest of your night together. considering your new arrangement, he took the liberty of introducing you to his circle of friends and their wives — conveniently leaving out that he was your new sugar daddy, but that was a story for another day. miguel revelled in the looks they all gave you, seemingly forgetting they themselves had a date nestled on their arms. he really couldn’t have picked a better dress, but damn if it wasn’t killing him.

you really didn’t know how beautiful you were, and he so badly wanted to show you. the dim lighting was a blessing for the tent in his slacks, giving him a flimsy disguise for the arousal he felt at that moment. after more than a few drinks too, wandering hands and lingering words, it was becoming unbearable. however, scaring you off wasn’t on his bucket list tonight. he didn’t take this long fighting for your attention to loose you on the first date. he vowed to do everything at your pace, leaving it up to you to make the first move.

as the party wrapped up, and miguel said his goodbyes — you stood at the door, shivering from the cold air as it nipped against your bare arms. the fun you had was incomparable to any party you’ve ever been to, but you thought you may have overstayed your welcome. shakily tapping on your phone with freezing fingers, ordering an uber to pick you up —

“leaving already?”

“yeah, i had a lot of fun tonight, though.” it was a genuine smile, one that spoke a million words. “thanks for inviting me, miguel.”

for a man so big he sure did move so silently. he stood behind you, gently grasping your hand in his as she looked down on you. “when i invited you, i didn’t invite you as a mere guest — you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

it didn’t even sound like he was simply offering, miguel was begging. you could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice — urging you to stay the night, stay with him.

“miguel, are you sure? i don’t even have anything to change—“

“i’ve already organised sleepwear for you, but you could wear something of mine if you’d like?”

that sly smirk slid its way onto his face once again, rolling your eyes as you walked past him — pulling out your phone to cancel the uber. “fine, i’ll stay. i might take you up on that offer too.”

lo and behold, an array of skincare and pyjamas were set out on his bed as you entered the master bedroom once again — and to top it off, gift bags filled with designer items that you’d never thought you’d ever own. “miguel…is this all for me?”

“unless i have another sugar baby, who else would it be for? ‘course it’s for you, darling — consider it a…’welcome’ gift.”

“more like my entire tuition fee, hell. you didn’t have to spend all this money on me, y’know?”

“cariño,” you could see miguel walking up to him from the mirror in front, his arm slipping round your waist to pull you into his back. “i spend my money how i want, and i want to spend it on you. so i don’t want to hear no more complaining from you, understand.” the small nod you gave earned a small grin from him, a hand smoothing up the curve of your back until it reached the shimmering zipper under your neck.

“you look like a goddess tonight, baby. so fucking beautiful…” his words were whispered softly into your neck, gentle breaths caressing your skin. as he spoke, the zipper slid lower and lower — until your dress was held together by the tips of his fingers. the cold metal of his rings brushed against your bare skin, the tips of his fingers dancing on the curve of your waist as he lets the fabric pool at your feet.

“m-miguel, i’m sweaty from all the dancing! at least let me wash up first, or something.” if you weren’t sweating much then, you were definitely sweating buckets now. the heat radiating from you mixed with the heat simmering between the two of you made for a heady cocktail of unspoken desire — and you silently cursing yourself for almost breaking the number one rule: ‘don’t fuck on the first date.’

“we can use my shower then, it’s large enough for the both of us.” we? oh, you’re definitely breaking that rule now. “i didn’t say this was gonna be a joint effort, did i? i can wash myself, miguel.” you weren’t even convincing yourself with the breathy way you spoke, the way he was caressing you, the pure adoration in his voice was something you haven’t felt before. plus, this is the guy who’s willingly paying you to simply be around him — it’s a win-win situation.

“i know you can, baby —“ letting out a deep chuckle, miguel intertwined your hands and lead you towards the bathroom — “but it’s more fun with two, no?” the gentle pitter-patter of the waterfall shower reverberated through the silence of the room, the sound of fabric rustling followed shortly after. glancing down at your feet, miguel’s clothing was promptly discarded — your widened eyes trailing up his hefty frame.

“fucking christ…”

the man in front of you was nothing short of absolutely beautiful. despite spending everyday surrounded by older men, you never found yourself truly attracted to them until now — or maybe it was simply just miguel himself. “i thought you wanted to take a shower, muñeca?” oh, yeah, the shower. before you could even finish your thought, miguel was already occupying half of the space in there, leaving a small pocket for you to slide into.

the expeditious beating of your heart was muffled by the steady stream of water, but it was more than clear to miguel what you were feeling in that moment. the moment was strangely intimate, and dare i say innocent, for the predicament you found yourself in. his hands gently roamed your skin, barely making contact with any sensitive areas aside from fleeting brushes. he made a point to use his hands instead of a rag, claiming he could ‘clean you better than a flimsy cloth’.

it was truly getting unbearable, utterly frustrating. your subconscious and ovaries were in an intense battle of wits, when a third party made itself known in the worst way possible. you really had forgotten that miguel was as naked as you were until you felt the base of his cock slide between your ass cheeks, chest flush against his back. the slightest hitch of your already shaky breath earned another rich laugh from within him, thick fingers playing with the skin of your tummy.

“you feeling cleaner or what? i’m more than happy to keep going if you are, baby.”

of course you wanted him to keep going! you were already as wet as is, in every way possible. “i..i think you might’ve missed a spot.” the hand on your tummy paused, his breath hitting your ear as he bent down slightly. “i did? i like to consider myself very thorough, cariño — enlighten me.” you did your best to turn with the small space you had, looking up at him with a more confident expression than the one you wore previously.

“here.”

now it was miguel’s turn to be surprised, the tip of his finger brushing against your swollen clit before tapping against your slit. it had been so long since you had a real good fuck, and right now you were genuinely about to give this man some babies if he kept on smiling like that. “mm, looks like i did. forgive me for being so careless. i’ll make sure she gets extra attention.” his words trailed off as he sunk to his knees, the gentle spray of water splattering against his face.

he tapped your ass, lifting you up with one hand as he pressed you against the cool glass, legs resting on his shoulders. his pretty lashes were dusted with droplets of water as he gazed at you from between your thighs, nipping and sucking on the sensitive skin as he kneaded your skin gently. his thick tongue was enough to completely spread you open, eagerly collecting your creamy essence.

miguel was moaning like a pure slut, you would think he got more pleasure in eating you out than you did. his eyes were rolled back, hips absentmindedly bucking to the rhythm of the shower as he sucked on your clit. the position was not uncomfortable by any means, but the unadulterated pleasure you were feeling made it hard to stay upright — nails raking down the expensive marble tiles as you practically grasped for straws.

“grab my hair, darling. i don’t want you to fall.”

whilst his words were slightly muffled, the undeniable concern in his voice had you moaning embarrassingly loud. miguel was clearly strong enough to hold you up all alone, so you surrendered the grip you had on the wall to rake your trembling fingers through his hair — tugging on the curly strands.

“nngh..fuck..”

he fucking whimpered. miguel o’hara, the richest and most powerful man in this city, was shamelessly whimpering between your thighs. that was certainly the biggest ego boost ever, the fact that it’s your pussy that has this huge man so drunk. pushing out your hips, you practically smothered his face — riding him mid-air as you felt the delicious sensations bubbling up inside of your stomach. breathless chants of his name left your lips, panting softly as your head fell back against the panels.

“c-cumming! ugh— fuck, miguel!

the jerks of your body made miguel grip your ass tightly, licking his lips of your release as he shuffled upwards, grinning down at your disheveled form. “you’re breathtaking when you cum for me, beautiful. can’t believe you’re all mine.” he whispered against your lips, forehead to forehead as he kissed you for the first time. it felt like a million tiny fireworks going off inside of you, the previous tension in your body instantly melting away as you leaned into his touch — tongue’s pressing against each other as drooled slipped down your necks.

he kept his mouth latched onto yours as he gripped his leaking cock, dipping the pearly tip inside of your sensitive hole. his movements were unhurried, sloppily kissing you as he dipped in-and-out, in-and-out. it was a steady pace that you soon found yourself liking more than usual, a stark contrast to the inexperienced fucking’s you were getting before. “inside, please…i wanna feel you, all of you.”

you were too dangerous for this old man’s heart. having a pretty little thing like you beg for him to fuck you like you deserved, to mold that sweet cunt into the shape of his cock — it was all too tempting. he was more than willing to do anything his sweet baby asked him to, and he wasted no time in giving in to you. “shit, cielo, no one’s ever fucked you right, huh? she’s gripping onto me like a vice.”

he was right, in every sense of the word. you didn’t know how many partners he had before you, and really didn’t want to find out — but one thing was for sure, miguel knew exactly how to please you. your head fell against his chest, his hand lifting it up by your chin as he pumped into you. “tell me, dulzura, i’m the only one that’s made you feel like this? only man to fuck this perfect pussy right?”

he took the tiny nods and breathy whimpers as a yes, grinning like a madman as he revealed in the satisfaction of ruining you for anyone else — not like he was gonna let you go in the first place. his pace picked up vigorously, finding the perfect balance between pounding into your sore cunt and softly rutting against your ass. the skin where you both combined was tinged red, the on-going waterfall above unable to fully wash away the evidence of your cream on his pelvis.

“only you, miguel — no one…no one’s better than you. i’m yours, daddy.”

those words, hushed and warm, pushed his already inflated ego to the edge. his hips bucked widly, prodding at the spongy spot inside of you as she pressed his lips against yours once more. all sounds were trapped between your connected lips, muffling the choked squeal that left your lips and the guttural groan that left his as he came deep inside you. he did promise to clean you extra throughly, and what better way to do that than flushing out your canal with his cum!

he lazily rolled his hips against yours, ignoring the sticky liquid bubbling on the side of his spent cock. “did so well for me, my beautiful princess. i’m so proud of you.” the fluttering of your heart made you instinctively turn away, cheeks flaring with heat as you pouted — you really can’t believe you fucked on the first bloody date. your little tough act didn’t fool miguel, in fact it fuelled him even more. he continued to praise your very essence, worshiping the ground you walk on despite your protests — smiling softly as he sees your fierce resolve weaken. “there she is, you ready to let me love on you now?”

“yeah, yeah. but first, we need an actual shower. no fucking this time.”

“no promises.”

this was the last place you saw yourself in life, but maybe being in miguel’s arms were where you were supposed to be.

- thank you for waiting and make sure to watch ateez at coachella!!!!!

#cheonstapes #cheonstapes films!🪷#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel smut #miguel o'hara headcanons #astv miguel #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara smut #miguel fanfic

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loveshotzz · 3 months

Text

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter one -

Late arrivals and big asks

A broken down car, a party at Reefer Rick’s, and a bandaid that needs to be ripped off.

warnings: 18+ drinking, smoking, lots of tension, some king!steve angst in the form of a flashback.

wc: 10.1k

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

The air is sticky, thick with the kind of humidity only Indiana could have at 9:30 pm. An annoyed breath expands into your lungs as you lean against your car that refuses to do anything but sputter. Despite your irritation, your glossed lips twitch with the nostalgia that creeps into your heart because after all these years it still smells the same.

Crossing your arms, your eyes trail over the clear night sky not polluted with the kind of man-made smog that blankets the city and the stars shimmer like diamonds in its absence. The warmth of the overrun engine is still hot on your exposed calves, the light breeze making the bottom of your sundress dance across the tops of your thighs. White beams emerge, cutting through the dark at the top of the hill, followed by the roar only a tow truck can make, and this time, the smile you fought off before spreads wide across your face.

Robin.

Butterflies wake up in a frenzy deep in your gut, with nerves that twitch from your fingertips at the thought of finally getting to hug your best friend after months apart. You push off the side of your car as the truck approaches, eyes squinting to make out the second outline in the front cabin as it pulls over. You recognize the messy mane of hair that could only belong to Eddie Munson in the driver seat almost instantly and his dimple filled smile brings you back to memories you thought you’d long forgotten.

“Well, well, well, would you look at what the cat dragged in!” Robin sticks her head out of the window with a wide grin as the big tires slow to a stop in front of your car, “are my eyes deceiving me or is my best friend in the entire world actually in Hawkins, Indiana right now?”

The rasp in her voice sounds just like it does over the phone and despite the roll of your eyes, your cheeks hurt from how happy you are.

“Shut up, don’t act like you didn’t guilt me out here by saying the fate of your future depends on it.” Uncrossing your arms, you open them wide, “I made the ultimate sacrifice for you, so are you gonna hug me or not?”

Dramatic? Yes. But it works like a charm when she flings open the passenger door and charges at you in a mess of honey blond waves and freckles, almost tackling you with the force of her impact wrapping her arms around you.

Too distracted by Robin, you almost don’t notice the creak of the driver's side door or the filled out frame of the man that used to be a lanky teenage boy walking past as Eddie starts to attach your car to his truck. He’s taller than you remembered even bending down, and despite the navy blue coveralls, you can still see that his pale skin is littered with even more tattoos.

“I can’t believe my guilt trip worked!” Robin beams, finally letting you go, her whole body practically vibrating with excitement as she claps her ring clad hands together.

“I really can’t believe it either,” you laugh nervously, the reality of what it means to come back starting to set in after seeing just one familiar face, but this isn’t high school anymore and you’re definitely not the same person you were five years ago either.

“Thanks so much, Eddie,” you break the ice when he stands back up, and the sound of your voice has his big brown eyes warmed with gold light up just like his face when he turns his full attention onto you. Scruff filled dimples poking even bigger holes in his cheeks.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart, I almost didn’t believe Robin when she called me. I thought it was a prank.” He beckons you over with open arms, “now that I know it’s not, you have exactly 10 seconds to get over here and hug me before I change my mind.”

There’s zero hesitation about giving into his ‘demand’ and when your arms wrap around his waist, you’re brought back to afternoons in the woods behind the school with heavy lidded eyes and lopsided grins.

“Your own auto shop, huh?” You smile up at him, pulling away, “Eddie Munson, the business owner.”

He rolls his eyes but the pink tint that colors in his cheeks tells you he appreciates the praise.

“Yeah, something like that.” He chuckles, “Got a soft spot for that old man in the trailer park, couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

Your heart warms at the fondness that drips from his ton.

“Okay, as sweet as this little reunion is. You’re late, and we have a party to get to.” Robin interrupts snatching your keys out of your hand, dropping them in Eddie’s.

“A party?” You snap confused, and Eddie takes that as his queue to walk away with a knowing smirk.

“Yes, this is the summer of fun and reckless abandon, this is the last summer of our youth before we have to be adults. Do you understand me?” Her fingers are digging into your shoulders by the end of her rant, with the kind of look in her eyes that you’re absolutely going to have to revisit after a few weeks.

“This is the part where I remind you that I graduated college last year.”

Your best friend scoffs at you.

“Just humor me, okay? It’s your grand homecoming.” She pushes out her bottom lip, and makes her eyes big in a way she knows you can’t say no to.

“Fine.” You huff, making her finally let you go with the kind of pleased smirk that tells you she never thought she was going to lose to begin with.

“Great, it’s time to rip the bandaid off anyway.” Robin practically mumbles the last part turning on her heel to head back to the truck.

It takes a minute for her words to stick to your ears and their meaning to ring loud through your head, but when they do it feels like the air is stolen from your lungs.

“Rip what bandaid off, Robin?!”

It’s his name tightens in your chest but you refuse to say it, even after all this time it burns coming back up.

“Since you had to drive for so long, I’ll sit in the middle because I’m just that good of a friend, you know?” She winks with a shit eating grin before pulling herself up and disappearing inside the cab of the truck, ignoring your question, like she’s not asking you to do the one thing you said you’d never do.

See Steve Harrington again.

I tell myself, ‘draw the line.’

You wonder if Robin can feel the daggers you’re glaring into the back of her head as the two of you walk up the driveway to Rick’s house. Gravel crunching hard under your converse as you keep up with her black combat boots. She looks effortlessly cool in her high waisted jean shorts, and her oversized army green jacket covered in patches. You’d compliment her if you weren’t so mad.

“I can’t believe you guys still have parties here.” You scoff, making your sour attitude known, but your best friend ignores it with ease.

“I can’t believe you forgot to have fun. Don’t you live in the city?” Turning around with a smirk, she can’t help but laugh at the look on your face.

She stops abruptly, almost making you run into her leaving you both just close enough to the party to hear the bass of the music spilling through the cracks in the windows. The low chatter of people echoes through the trees that surround you and bounce off the lake not that far away. The thought of hearing the calm baritone of his voice mixed in makes your chest tight with the kind of nerves that dare you to high tail it and run.

“It’s been five years.” Robin’s playful demeanor breaks and becomes pleading with a kind of desperation you’ve never seen from her before. “He’s not the person you knew in high school, I need you to understand that. You think I’d call someone like that my best friend?”

“Hey!-“ You object at the title, and it makes her lips twitch despite serious lines that crease her face.

“Stop, you know what I mean,” her painted fingers grab onto yours, squeezing them lightly, “please, just give him a chance. I’m not asking you to get back together or even be friends, just get along enough not to kill each other this summer. I can’t choose between you. I won’t.”

The genuine love she has for Steve is apparent in the way her ocean blue eyes threaten to drown you in their sincerity, and you can’t find it in yourself to say no to her.

“Fine.” You accept your defeat in practically a whisper, but it makes your best friend squeal nonetheless. The giddiness from before coming back tenfold as she links arms with you, continuing your way up to the house.

It’s just a summer, right?

The crowd gets bigger as more people start to come into view, between groups smoking cigarettes outside, couples arguing by cars, others making out against them. The smell of beer gets more pungent with each step, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the way the moon glows against the peaceful waters behind the madness of the house.

Salt N Pepa’s ‘Push It’ plays loud enough for you to make out the words when you reach the front steps, walking through clouds of tobacco smoke to get to the unlocked door. The interior hasn’t changed at all since high school, the smell of stale lime and tequila stinging your nose. The bass of the music vibrates under your shoes as Robin unlinks her arms and you have to fight the urge to yank her back.

“Drinks or …Steve first?” She asks, her nerves about the situation finally showing themselves as she bites at her thumbnail.

“Absolutely drinks! Is that a trick question?” You half whisper, half yell, looking around as if saying his name out loud might summon him.

“Okay! Okay!” Robin hisses, grabbing your wrist, leading you towards the familiar path to Rick’s kitchen.

Suddenly you wonder what your makeup looks like after a long day of traveling in your car, your fingers tugging at the bottom of your dress before adjusting the front of it so it sits just right. You itch to grab your lip gloss that’s tucked into the side of your bra, but you don’t want to deal with the look you’d get if you went for it.

Rounding the corner to the living room, your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach before you even have a chance to stop it when your eyes meet that messy head of chestnut hair, and a pair of hot pink nails tangled inside it.

“Oh - I - god dammit.” Robin groans, when you're met with number two on your list, making out with a pretty blond on the couch.

Despite the years and distance, there’s still a sting that you feel in the corners of your eyes. It’s not enough for any tears to fall, there’s none left for him anymore, but it’s enough for the anger you’ve clung to since the day he broke your heart to boil hot under your skin. It singes the wings of the butterflies that try to take flight when you see the way his frame has filled out, how he’s somehow grown more handsome than the last time you saw him.

Robin coughs, squeezing your wrist in reassurance.

“Hey, - uh, Steve.” The sound of his name catches his attention, long brown lashes fluttering open to reveal the deep coffee of his eyes that widen when they lock with yours for the first time in years.

His lips pull from the blond’s with a loud smack, leaving a small trail of glitter on the side of his mouth that he tries to wipe away quickly with his wrist. Black ink you’ve never seen before looks bold on his tanned skin that glows like it’s been freshly kissed by the sun.

His gaze wanders up and down your body like he’s unsure you’re actually real, and if it wasn’t for the obvious shock of your arrival and the way the color seems to drain from his face, you’d snap at him for the way it lingers over your curves.

“Um, Robin, what the fuck?” The sound of his voice makes your heart skip a beat, and again when his hand drags through his hair just how you remembered.

“Surprise?” She shrugs, wincing when he scoffs loudly and the warmth that went missing floods his cheeks, turning them bright red. The blond next to him eyes you up while she clutches harder to his waist, and you can’t stop the rise of your brows and the giggle that bubbles past your lips because of it.

Steve’s head snaps towards you, something softening the moss that hides in his eyes when he hears the noise despite the sarcasm that drips from it, and you really get to look at him for the first time since high school graduation.

God, you wish you could’ve had that drink.

The jawline that always drove you mad is sharper, peppered with the kind of hardly there stubble that tells you he’s only missed one shaving day. A problem he never used to have, and somehow, it makes him all that much more attractive.

His hair is a little messier than his carefully crafted look that used to take him a good forty five minutes every morning. It curls wildly at the ends now, tucking behind his ears and fanning along the nape of his freckled neck. It still looks as soft as you remember, though.

His shoulders are broader, stretching the white cotton of his shirt tight enough across his chest that you can see the outline of a thick patch of hair that had only just started growing when you knew him last. The dark wash of his jeans makes them look almost black, fitting snug over his thighs, cuffed at the bottoms framing the tops of his boots.

Why couldn’t Steve Harrington just peak in high school like he was supposed to?

“So yeah, this is awkward.” Your best friend laughs nervously, “We’re going to get a drink or three because this scenario is by far the worst case and not the way this was supposed to go in my head, but anyway, look who’s here for the summer! We’ll talk later!“

Robin grabs your wrist before Steve can respond, pulling you back into the party and away from your ex-boyfriend while the realization of the summer you’ve foolishly agreed to hits you all at once. It turns your body weightless as the two of you weave in and out of the crowd. It tightens in your chest, the music turning muffled hitting your ear drums. Suddenly, you're not the woman who crossed state lines to the one place she said she’d never come back to, happily living the lie that you’d actually forgotten about him to be a good friend.

You’re the girl who let him keep you a secret, and you hate him for it.

Sneakers hit the sticky tile floor that hasn’t changed since 1984, the harsh lighting of the kitchen makes you both squint. It’s calmer than the rest of the house, just a few groups lingering off in the corners, too deep in conversation to care about you and Robin. Letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your ears start to pop too, Eddie Money’s Take Me Home Tonight coming through crystal clear.

“The band-aid might have been violently ripped off, but hey, it’s ripped off nonetheless.” Robin shrugs, finding the half-drunk bottle of tequila on the counter. “I think we should count this as a win and take a shot to celebrate.”

“A win?! Are you kidding me?!” You hiss, completely bewildered.

“Yes a win - oh no.” Her blue eyes go wide at whatever’s behind you, but it doesn’t take you long to figure out when that familiar spice and cedar of his cologne hits your nose.

“Right so, who’s going to let me know what’s going on?”

His voice comes out close enough to send your lashes fluttering, mimicking your heart. The nerves you’d just gotten over threaten to come back tenfold, but you manage to swallow them down just like in high school, turning around.

“I think it’s obvious what’s going on, Steve,”

It’s not as hard to say his name as you thought it would be, but it is hard to stare at his face from this close. Specifically, the two moles that dot his cheek that you always used to kiss, or the ones on his neck that you hate still taunt you for more.

“I’m here for the summer.”

Steve Harrington had thought about this moment a lot, but Rick’s house was never the backdrop for it. His eyes take in the features you’ve not only grown into but somehow are even more beautiful than he remembers. Even if they’re twisted in a glare.

“I meant, why didn’t I know until right now?” He manages to get out with a shake of his head narrowing his eyes at Robin, who’s too busy trying to find clean shot glasses to notice.

“Why would you need to know?” You snap, making a nervous hand card through his hair

“Cause I’ve, uh, you know, I’ve asked about you a few times,” the last part comes out a little harsher, clearly directed at your best friend, who you know is actively ignoring you both now.

“Why? Why would you need to know anything about me?” Your hostility still shocks him even though he was expecting it. His eyebrows shoot up just like his hands in surrender. “Why didn’t you tell me, Robin?”

She groans loudly, slamming the tequila bottle down on the counter before turning around.

“You said you didn’t want to hear anything about him after you moved, why would I tell you he was asking about you?”

“Wait -“ Steve butts in this time, “seriously?”

“Oh my god, can you two shut the fuck up for a second and take these shots? You’re really putting a damper on the beginning of the best summer of our lives,” Robin snaps before waving a hand in front of three freshly poured shots.

It’s a struggle to tear your eyes from him, your body responding to his presence in a way that feels like it’s turning against you. It has you downing your shot in one quick motion before anyone else can even touch theirs.

“Wow, okay.” Robin deadpans before shaking her head, wasting no time in following your lead.

“So we’re not cheersing anymore? Isn’t that bad luck?” Steve mutters, shoulder brushing against yours as he leans forward to grab his shot, the slightest touch enough to engulf your skin into flames.

A whole summer? Fuck.

“Robin, pour another one.” You rush with pinched brows as you try to move past the bitter sting of the alcohol going down your throat, taking a step toward her and away from him, you add “and we’ll cheers.”

You refuse to meet his gaze when you say it, but you can feel the intensity of it on the side of your face, begging you to break.

“Rob’s, how are you guys getting home?” Steve finally breaks, giving up his quiet fight for now, and you hate the way his nickname for her softens your heart.

“Huh, that’s a good question, I hadn’t thought that far yet.” She admits, over pouring so tequila splashes against the countertop, looking up at him with a mischievous grin.

“Seriously–

“RECKLESS ABANDON STEVEY!” Cutting him off, she downs her shot in his disapproving face.

“You didn’t cheers again.” Steve sighs, hands finding his hips as you whine an irritated, “We needed to cheers!” At the same time.

Your eyes meet his finally, his knowing smirk twisting the corners of your lips despite yourself. You blame the tequila starting to warm the blood in your veins.

“Well, you need to take yours then if we’re doing another one ‘the proper’ way, or it’s not going to be even.” Robin points at your drink in a silent challenge.

You know how this game works.

“Fine.” You shrug, downing it with more ease than the last one.

“Oh my god. Stop! Do not pour another one before you answer my question, please!” Steve sounds exasperated, grabbing the bottle from her before she can disobey, “How are you getting home?”

You try not to focus on how much larger his already big hands are now, or how small the bottle looks wrapped up in his palm compared to your best friends. The second shot takes the edge off your nerves in a way that your shoulders relax. Leaning against the counter, you cross your arms, watching the two of them bicker, catching Steve’s wandering gaze on your exposed legs while he tries his best to keep his focus on Robin. It boosts your ego in a way that has the anger hiding just under the surface go from a boil to a slow simmer.

“I don’t know Harrington, do you know anybody with a car?” She wiggles two thick brows at him, the second shot making her blue eyes glassy, and her smile a little more goofy.

“Why’d I know you were going to say that? And why did I know you were going to do this?” Steve sighs, letting her snatch the bottle out of his hand.

“What? Bring her to the party?” Robin snorts pointing a thumb in your direction, making you gasp.

“Robin!”

“No! What? No. But don’t think,” Steve clears his throat looking at you awkwardly before finishing a little quieter, “don’t think we’re not going to talk about this later.”

“I can still hear you.” You remind him with a sarcastic smirk.

“Yeah, I know you can. Look, I’ll DD for you because obviously tonight is, uhh,” he gestures to you with cheeks that grow pinker by the second, “a big deal. But you gotta stop doing this to me, I need you to get your license you’re out of colleg-”

“Shots! Steve’s driving us home!” Robin whoops loudly, and an irritated Steve pinches the bridge of his nose before walking away.

Your eyes follow him out the door, shoulder blades flexing under cotton when he runs another hand through his hair before disappearing from sight. You try to push down the small pang of jealousy that makes a familiar home inside your chest remembering the blond girl waiting for him on the couch.

“Okay, okay,” Robin interrupts your inner struggle at the perfect time, sliding an overflowing shot over to you with a giggle that's contagious and it banishes Steve from your mind just like magic. “I’m not going to forget this time, promise.”

“I don’t think I can afford for you to forget again,” you smirk, raising your glass, tequila spilling over the tops of your fingers, “cheers!”

“Cheers!”

You both down them at the same speed, slamming the empty glasses back onto the countertop with laughter that bounces off the walls and threatens to drown out the music. And for a second you think maybe you can actually do this.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” She squeals, throwing her arms around your neck, doing a terrible job of holding her weight up. Grabbing onto her waist, you do your best to steady her, “Look I just want to say while he’s gone, I know this isn’t easy for you, okay? I know.”

She hiccups before pulling away slightly to look at you as she finishes,“But It means so much to me, and I just wanna say I’m proud of you. I mean, who knows, you’ve changed, he’s changed-”

“Nope, no, you’re done. Where’s the weed? I wanna smoke some weed.” You push Robin away, rolling your eyes at the loud laugh your reaction gets from her.

There’s a long summer ahead of you, but right now, all you need is to find a joint and try not to think about your ex in the next room.

With a few more shots and a couple of hits from a blunt you and Robin you’d stumbled upon being passed amongst a group outside, you start to really feel like you’re back home. Nostalgia hits you hard in the gut as you walk through the crowded living room hand in hand with your best friend, giggling and stumbling back to the kitchen on the hunt for some food.

“God, I’m so hungry!” Robin practically growls when you hit the harsh lighting again making you both hiss.

An empty bottle of tequila sits on the counter now and red solo cups litter the floor that weren’t there before, and a growing pile of bitten into limes cover the counters in a sticky mess. Alone and left to your own devices Robin begins to raid the cupboards, huffing when she finds nothing behind every door she aggressively yanks open.

“Why is his kitchen always so empty? Like? Do we just always miss the party?” You hiccup, tripping on a tile that’s coming out of the grout.

You catch yourself on the kitchen island in front of you, a loud laugh bubbling up from your chest, too drunk to focus on how gross the formica feels under your fingertips.

“There’s literally nothing to eat in here, not even like an old bag of stale chips.” She opens the first cabinet one last time before slamming it shut, officially giving up with a thump of her forehead against the wood. “This is why he’s always at the diner.”

“Wait, Rick actually lives here still?” Another hiccup, you foolishly lean your elbows on the counter, something you’ll regret in the morning as you stare at your best friend with a toothy smile, completely unaffected by the news about the missing food that seems to be ruining her entire mood.

“How can he sell weed and not have any food in his house? What happens when he gets the munchies?!” She throws her hands up, ignoring your question and answering it all at the same time. “I’m gonna find a bathroom, and then we’re gonna find Steve - don’t make that face, he’ll take us through a drive-thru.”

“Don’t be gone long, I don’t know anyone here!” You whine with a childish drunk stomp of your foot, still sporting that sour look she told you to wipe off. The carefree girl from moments before now gone in the blink of an eye.

“Literally like five minutes, I swear!” She promises, turning around with a smirk as she crosses her heart with a ring covered finger like you used to do as kids, easily earning the smile from you she was hoping for.

You watch her disappear into the party, staring after bouncing honey waves until they’re out of your sight.

Suddenly alone for the first time in hours, the kitchen feels quiet. The bass of the music is distant, and your thoughts are heavy just like your feet as your last shot of tequila settles with the rest. Your brain wanders to places that you thought you’d banished from the corners of your mind for years. It takes you to the pink fullness of his lips, and has you biting the bottom of yours. Then it’s the freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and explode across his cheeks, even leaving their mark on the bottom of his earlobe.

You’d found that one the night you’d tried to count them all. You never finished.

Then you remember the blond on the couch, and how her pink nails dug into the thick chestnut of his hair that you used to tug on when his kisses got to be too much. She turns into Nancy Wheeler and those stolen looks in the hallways at school, and suddenly, you hate him all over again.

“Jesus, you’re in here alone? Where’s Robin?” Steve’s voice makes you jump at the worst possible time, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scar-“

“Seriously?!” You snap, turning around with crossed arms. Leaning against the counter, you hope that you don’t seem as drunk as you are, but the way his lips twitch regardless of your attitude tells you that it’s not working. “She went to the bathroom and then was going to look for you.”

“So, it just makes sense for me to hang out here then, right?”Steve raises his hands in a silent plea for permission.

His big boots take heavy steps towards you, and just like on cue, has your body betraying you. The plush dough of your thighs pressing harder together each time he gets closer to closing the gap.

Cautiously taking the spot a few feet away from you, he keeps his hands up till he feels safe enough to shove them in his pockets. The spice of his cologne smells fresh, and you wonder if he sprayed it before walking in here. It overpowers everything else around you, invading your senses and committing itself to memory despite you.

“I um, I really hope this is okay to say,” he stammers watching the way one of your eyebrows arches up, and it doesn’t take long for his hand to escape from his pocket to run through his hair again, “but it’s, it’s good to see you. I m-missed you, Robin’s missed you.”

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your girlfriend?” You ignore him and tuck his words away to unpack another time with a sober mind.

“Cassie? She’s not my girlfriend.” He answers without any hesitation, something sparking alive inside the gold of his eyes that has one side of his mouth tugging up.

“Does she know that?”

“I’m pretty sure she does considering she left with another guy not that long ago.” He snorts, the confidence you’ve always known him to have finding its way back, and you don’t miss the way he scoots closer.

So you scoot back.

“Sucks to suck, Harrington.” You sigh, impressed with how well you’re playing off the victory lap you’re shamefully running in your head at the new information.

“There you are!” Robin rushes in, face flushed and out of breath, interrupting the moment you weren’t ready to have yet at the perfect time “Somehow I got roped into like a keg stand and I think it’s really time for us to go home guys.”

“Robin!”

“What?!”

She tries to shush you, but even you can see from across the room the way sweat starts to bead across her forehead, the blush in her cheeks going pale before she runs to the trash can. Steve pushes off the island without any hesitation, rushing to the other side of the kitchen, gathering her hair in his hands to hold it back.

“What were you thinking?” Steve scolds her in the softest way possible, rubbing her back as all the beer finds its way out of her body.

Those big eyes of his that you’re sure are going to haunt your dreams meet yours, and in that moment the room decides it wants to spin. You’re not sure if it’s the night of tequila with nothing but a weed chaser catching up to you or if it’s the onslaught of feelings you’ve successfully suppressed for the last five years coming back to seek their revenge. The deadly combination of both comes to a head the more you watch the gentle way Steve handles Robin and it makes you realize it’s time to go.

You manage to pull yourself together enough to help Steve get Robin in his car, heart almost stopping when you walk up to the same Maroon BMW he took your virginity in. It takes everything inside of you not to abort the mission, run to Robin’s apartment by figuring your way through the woods you used to play in, do anything but sit in those leather seats. But your best friend’s drunk rambles of how happy she is to have her ‘two amigos and how that it makes three now’ while professing her undying love for both of you has you putting on a brave face, and then your big girl pants when you have to sit in the front seat next to him.

It’s in perfect condition, just like the morning he pulled into the parking lot Junior year with it. Your stomach twists in the kind of knots that have you wrapping your arms around your waist. The smell of leather and pine pulling on the back of your throat, and all the memories that come with it. He keeps the radio low, and you can hardly make out the faint sounds of whatever late night talk show was on over the soft snores of a passed out Robin in the backseat.

“I thought you’d have a different car by now.” You grumble sinking further into your seat, keeping your eyes trained on the trees that zoom past your window.

“You’ll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands, honey.” Steve chuckles, relaxing a little more into his own, a big hand finding a new resting spot on the stick shift.

The endearment sends you reeling, the tequila making it hard to bite your tongue.

“Don’t call me that.” Quickly realizing that staring out the window does nothing to help your already dicey equilibrium, you decide to finally look at him, but you’re not sure if that’s any better.

‘What? Honey?” He asks, fully knowing the answer but egging you on just the same with a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Narrowing your eyes, you turn fully in your seat doing your best to ignore the way the street lights bounce off his sharp features as you face him.

“What? So you just make out with girls that you’re not dating and get away with it?”

Steve snorts, licking his lips and meeting your angry gaze with an amused one.

“I am twenty-four and single.”

Scoffing at his answer, you pause to collect your words that keep getting tangled on the tip of your tongue from too many drinks and how the whites of his teeth start to show in a grin as he glances in the rearview mirror to check on Robin.

“You think you can do whatever you want don’t you?”

“No -“

“What? Because you didn’t peak in high school like you were supposed to, you somehow just got hotter, you think the rules don’t apply to you or something?”

“Good to know you still think I’m hot.” Steve’s face cracks into a smile, turning into an apartment complex you’re assuming is Robin’s.

“You’re the worst,” you try to deflect weakly, turning back in your seat with a huff.

“I definitely used to be,” he mumbles mostly to himself, putting the car in park, both of you jerking forward slightly. The sudden lack of movement makes Robin groan in the back, lashes fluttering open to look at her surroundings.

“Oh, thank god, I think I’m gonna be sick again.” Her throat sounds hoarse when she finally speaks, but it’s all she can manage before a dry heave has the boy next to you scrambling.

“Not in my car! Not in my car!” Steve’s quick to jump out of the driver's seat rushing to get your best friend out of the back, leaving you alone to fight with your seatbelt.

Frustrated, you blow a breath out from between your pressed lips tugging on the smooth material while your thumb smashes the release button. It doesn’t budge and the cedar starts to pick at your nerves. An angry noise squeaks from the back of your throat catching Steve’s attention who finally gets Robin on her feet. The spice of his cologne swallows you whole when he emerges back into the car. Leaning over the console he’s gentle when he pushes your hand away. You don’t protest his help this time, eyes tracing the gold chain that slips out from under his shirt. It shimmers everytime it swings from his neck when it hits the moonlight, clicking the button with ease, releasing you from your self imposed trap.

“Thanks,” you grumble, using a wobbling arm to open your door, clambering out less gracefully than you intended.

“Are you good to follow me? I don’t think Robin’s gonna make it up the steps on her own.” Closing the car door, he leans over the top of it, his eyes watching the way you maneuver around his car like you’re walking on thin ice.

“I’m fine,” you growl, right as you lose your footing catching yourself with an open palm on the hood of his trunk.

“Seriously, I can help I just have to take you both one at a -“

“Steve, I said I’m fine. I don’t need anything from you.” You interrupt and if you weren’t so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, you’d see the way the harshness of your words make him wince.

He stares at you for a minute longer before muttering a quiet ‘whatever’ scooping Robin up and tucking her into his side. You follow them at your own pace up the cement steps to the second floor, thankful that her apartment isn’t too far from the landing when you get to the top. Your legs start to feel like Jell-O waiting for him to unlock the door, the long drive from New York and the night finally catching up to you in a way that makes your eyelids heavy as Steve pushes open her front door.

“Bathroom! Bathroom!” Robin manages to get out when she and Steve cross the threshold first, a string of cuss words spilling out of his mouth as he tries to hurry her to the place she was begging to be taken to.

You use the full force of your weight with your back to the door, closing behind you with a loud slam. The navy blue couch in the middle of her living room begging you to sit down, an invitation your clumsy steps accept, leading you to the fluffy cushions. Collapsing onto them with a satisfied hum, you sink into the foam, lashes fluttering and eyelids getting heavier with each second that passes, and soon you find yourself giving in with a warm cheek pressed into the arm rest.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the feeling of your laces being tugged loose stirs you awake. Trying to focus with vision still blurry from sleep, Steve’s messy head of hair comes clear into your line of sight. Long fingers pull the white strings from the metal eyelets of your converse, a warm palm wrapping around your ankle that sends a shiver up your spine as he slowly wiggles your sneaker off your foot. The white tube socks that cover your feet make him smile with a thumb that dares to rub a small circle on your skin before dropping it to work on the other.

“Steve,” you manage to get out, voice still thick with sleep.

“I’m just tucking you in, that’s all hon- and then I’ll get out of your hair.” He clears his throat after the nickname that set you off earlier burns like acid dying on his tongue.

You grumble something unintelligible, rubbing the mascara off your eyes as he pulls your other shoe off the pad of his thumb doing the same thing to your other ankle making your toes curl. Both his hands find their way to your calves squeezing softly at the muscles before he starts to lift them up.

“Come on, let's get you laying on your side.” He coos, helping you adjust so you’re finally horizontal. You groan a little, reaching out for him on instinct, the softness of his touch making a very drunk you crave more.

“I’d love to cuddle but I think you’d actually kill me in the morning,” he laughs to himself knowing you won’t remember any of this when you wake up.

You make some more noises that he can’t figure out if they're supposed to be words or not as he drapes Robin’s thick throw blanket over you. Grabbing the material in your fists when you feel it, you pull it even closer, a low satisfied hum spilling from between your lips that still sparkle with leftover glitter from your gloss. He watches the way you curl into yourself, fingers twitching at his side to run his knuckles over your cheek.

“Steve,” his name comes out clear as day, kicking up his heart rate.

“Yeah?” He squats down next to your face, the warmth of your breath hitting his face while your eyebrows furrow in your sleepy state trying to get whatever you want to say out.

“You really broke my heart, you know that?”

Your words punch the air out of his lungs, just like your unexpected arrival. Something he’s fantasized about happening more times than he’d like to admit.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs defeated, giving into his urges for comfort with knuckles that brush against the warmth of your skin, a familiar burn stings his eyes when you subconsciously lean into it.

You don’t say anything else to him, the furrow of your brows smoothing out as your face finally starts to relax under his touch. He watches the way your shoulders move with each deep breath that pulls you further into sleep and away from him.

He takes a selfish minute to stare at you uninterrupted, tracing your cheekbone one last time before he stands up to leave, he knows he won’t get any sleep, and the words you won’t remember saying are already haunting him like a bad dream.

“Do you really wanna love me like you say you do? Give it to me like you say you do? Cause it’s hard enough you gotta treat me like this, lonely enough to let you treat me like this. Do you really love me?”

Steve was late, glancing down at pink the digital watch on your wrist, fifteen minutes late. Five lockers down from his, you wait for him at what’s been your meeting spot for the last eight months. Far away enough from his locker that no one would suspect you waiting for the King of Hawkins himself, but close enough to the janitor's closet for him to steal you away from sight without anyone noticing for the forty-five minutes of study hall.

Hushed argumentative whispers catch your attention, nerves making your feet move from side to side unsure if you should abandon ship and just go and study for the final in your last period. Nancy Wheeler's eyes meet yours as she rounds the corner with her best friend Barb, the corners of her lips pulling up ever so slightly giving you a small wave which you return as she tries to ignore her friend.

“He’s just trying to get in your pants! Come on, you have to be smart enough to know that.” Barb points at the note Nancy is clutching in her hand so hard that the whites of her knuckles show.

“It’s not like that, I’m just tutoring him.” She argues but the blush that creeps across her cheeks and spreads down her neck gives her away.

I’m just tutoring him.

That simple sentence is enough for your world to tip off its axis, chest tightening at the realization of who they're arguing about. All the canceled plans the past few weeks with the excuse of extra tutoring starts to feel like a knife to the gut. Prince Charming rounds the corner holding and twists the handle with a bright flirtatious smile that used to be just for you, only now it’s flashed at the dainty brunette who melts under it because no one is immune to Steve Harrington.

It takes him a minute to see you, too wrapped up in Nancy who’s back is pressed to the lockers, caged in by Steve’s big hand splayed against the metal by her head. They’re too far to hear what he’s saying to her, but the confident way his teeth flash and the sweet giggle he earns from it tells you everything you need to know. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing them fall. Fists clenched at your sides, the blunt ends of your nails dig into your palms as you hold in the sob that threatens to give you away as you walk past them, meeting his guilty eyes before you round the corner.

The pounding in your head wakes you up before the sun that leaks through Robin’s small kitchen window. Your hangover rings in your ears with a vengeance, and has you letting out a pained groan. Everything after the joint you shared outside at the party is nothing but a blur, a scattered puzzle with pieces missing as you try and figure out how you ended up back home and tucked into the couch.

“Are you alive out there?” Robin’s voice calls out weakly from down the hall in her room.

“Barely,” you grumble, agitation kicking in from dehydration and the old wounds your dream decided to rip open.

“I’d say I’m never drinking again but we both know that’s a lie,” she says, muffled by what sounds like a pillow.

A giggle tries to escape, but it only makes you wince, clutching your forehead willing the pain to subside.

“How’d we even get home?” You croak, rubbing harshly at your eyes before attempting to sit up, covering them with a cupped palm as your surroundings get brighter.

“Steve,” Robin’s voice comes out right next to you, surprising you by appearing in the entryway.

Hearing his name out loud sends the kind of rage that scorches through your veins, it burns from your fingertips remembering the look on his face when you broke up a few weeks after that day in the hallway your dreams so sweetly reminded you of.

It was Pity.

Your best friend ignores your silence and the sour look on your face as you silently take a trip down memory lane while she shuffles into the living room wandering to the attached kitchen.

“How far is Eddie’s shop from here?” You grimace watching her chug from a carton of orange juice.

“Oh, super close. You can walk from here.” She answers, wiping her upper lip with the back of your hand, “they opened like two hours ago, I’m sure he’s already looked at your car.”

“I think I’m going to shower and go over, do you want to come with me?” Raising your hands above your head, you stretch your sore muscles as a yawn comes out in the middle of your question.

“I think I need to rot in bed for a little while longer before I go walk amongst the living, I promise I’m all yours after I don’t feel like a freaking crypt keeper.” Your yawn is contagious, giving you a view of all her perfectly straight teeth.

“I demand something greasy for lunch when I get back then.” You point at her finding your footing on the carpet, noticing your converse are tucked nice and neat against the couch next to you. The feeling of Steve’s knuckles is a ghost against your skin, details starting to come out clear from the murky waters.

Heat rushes to your cheek at the memory while your emotions start to go at war with each other over what to feel towards the man who tucked you and your best friend in last night, but also broke your heart in a way you don’t think you’ll ever quite forget.

“I’m on it boss, god, I wish Benny’s was still open.” Robin interrupts the inner struggle she’s oblivious to you having as she walks past you flinging herself on the couch you’d just won the battle of leaving “But I’ll think of something good, I promise.”

Just like your yawn, the smile she gives you is contagious despite the sharp pain you get in your head from moving too much and you both laugh wincing when it only gets worse.

Ibuprofen first, then your car.

Birds chirp loudly, mocking the headache that's turned into something more annoying than painful after a handful of ibuprofen. The sticky air is still suffocating even in a pair of black biker shorts and an oversized loose fitting tee, while the sun shines golden against the cerulean sky without a cloud in sight to hide you from its light.

The heat warming off its rays makes beads of sweat start to collect at the crown of your head and the nape of your neck, while the incline Eddie’s spinning auto body sign sits on top of threatens to take your breath away. Unwanted thoughts of Steve Harrington keep your pace quick, stewing over the last twenty-four hours and everything it’s unraveled.

The small parking lot is empty when you reach it, kicking small rocks with the toe of your sneaker as you cross it. The double garage doors are open, Metallica’s Seek and Destroy echoing loudly, tugging up the corners of your lips. Your Chevrolet Caprice is the only car semi-lifted in the air with a pair navy coverall-clad legs underneath it.

Opening your mouth, Eddie’s name dies on your tongue before you get a chance to shout it, clocking him and his wild curls sitting in the glass office inside. Those big brown eyes meet yours from across the way, a dimple filled grin lighting up his face waving excitedly from his chair before standing up.

“Glad to see you’re alive, princess.” He teases stepping out of his glass case, with coveralls that are gray today.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle,” you laugh, confused eyes darting to the large boots under your car that don’t seem to have any reaction to the sound of your voice.

“Oh, I heard all about your first night back home. In fact my shop opened thirty minutes late because of it,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the open metal frame where the door should be. Faded bats that you remember when they were fresh dancing across his arm with his movements.

“Wait, what?” You ask, confusion pinching your brows together right as the mysterious pair of legs start pushing out whoever’s under your car.

“I didn’t get back to my place till almost four in the morning after getting you two home and in bed,” Steve emerges flashing you his million dollar smile as he sits up on the dolly, the sleeves of his own coveralls tied tight around his waist and hair wild like he’d just rolled out of bed, “I slept through my alarm.”

The immediate glare that hardens your face when you see him has Eddie's eyes light with obvious amusement.

“What are you doing here? And why are you touching my car?” You snap, trying to push the worries about what you look like deep under the irritation and the distraction that begs to steal your anger with his arms on full display like this. Or how the patch of chest hair that peeks out the top of it shines with sweat.

“I work here,” Steve snorts like it’s the most obvious conclusion, because, well, it is, “and I volunteered to look at it, Eddie’s got his hands full.”

That was a lie, he begged him.

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Snorting, your attitude makes him roll his eyes, pushing himself off the ground.

It’s a struggle to hold his gaze when he stands at full height, biceps flexing with his movements practically daring you to look. He pulls out a faded maroon rag from his pocket and starts wiping off the fresh black from his hands that’s already stained under his nail beds. The hard bottoms of his work boots making their way across the cement floors of the garage.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me anymore, that’s what happens when someone leaves for five years.” Steve antagonizes, his lack of sleep leaving him with thin patience.

He stops just close enough for you to smell how the woodsy spice of his cologne mixes with the sweet bitterness of the oil that seems to find a way to leave its mark on every surface in here. Including him.

“I’m going to finish balancing the books, why don’t you tell her the good news first and then the bad,” Eddie pours ice over the tension that threatens to boil over before it can turn hostile, catching the way both of your nostrils flare and shoulders square up.

“Wait, there’s good news and bad news?” Your focus on Steve shifts as Eddie’s words sink in.

“Like I said, I’m going to finish balancing the books.” The metal head reminds you, giving a half salute with two fingers while simultaneously shooting a stern look to Steve who’s mouthing something behind you. “Your mechanic’s going to go over everything with you, we can talk about pricing when it’s all said and done.”

“Seriously?” You bluster as Eddie shrugs with the kind of nonchalance that sends you reeling before sitting back down, tuning the dial-up on the radio in his office. End of discussion.

“Look -“

“How do I even know that you know what you’re talking about?” You interrupt, making his full lips set into a straight line.

“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before crossing his arms, the tops of his shoulders moving with them.

A pleading expression softens his features instead of the hard combative one you were anticipating, and it helps your blood pressure return to normal. The realization hitting you that maybe skipping breakfast with a hangover probably wasn’t your smartest idea.

“N-no, sorry, I just feel like -“

“Shit? Yeah, I bet.” He chuckles, and your jaw clicks. Maybe if you count to three…

“Just tell me what’s wrong with my car, Steve.” It comes out clipped, but it's an improvement from your fingers twitching to rip that handsome head right off those shoulders that won’t stop trying to distract you.

“How about you tell me the last time you had your oil changed?” He counters, taking a few steps back to sit on the hood of the rusted baby blue Buick behind him.

“Uhh, I- I think,” All the blood rushes to your cheeks, warming your skin as you try to wrack your brain and not focus on the way his legs spread wide to keep his balance. “Maybe, like, six months ago.”

“Six months?!” The number must be worse than whatever Steve was preparing for when a dirty hand runs through his hair, “and then you drove it three states to get here?”

“Yeah, I - I mean, hearing you say it out loud,” you grimace thinking of all the weeks you ignored that flashing orange light on your dashboard.

“So then you shouldn’t be surprised when I tell you that your engine locked up.”

“Is this the bad news?”

“Kind of,”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“Look, the good news is that I can fix it, the bad news is that I have to order a few parts that could take up to three weeks to get here, then the job itself is going to take me probably another week.” He sighs standing up, starting back towards your car with you quick on his heels.

“That’s the whole summer!” You argue like it could possibly make a difference, frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes watching him pop open the hood.

“More like half of it, but hey, you’re lucky I can even get it running again without having to replace the whole thing.” He meets your gaze from under his lashes leaning over the engine, long nimble fingers unscrewing the cap where your oil should go.

“So what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get around?” You know that part isn’t his problem, this entire mess is your own doing but it doesn’t stop it coming out in a whine. You blame your hangover.

“You’re gonna be just fine, city girl,” Steve grins up at you before reaching even further under the hood, muscles flexing with him, “besides we both know I can’t say no to Robin.”

He pulls at a small tube that’s purpose is unknown to you but you keep eyes trained on his movements like you have an idea, anything to keep the focus off the gold chain that dangles from his neck.

“Or you.” The last part comes out so quiet, a focused look pinching his brows together as he continues his investigation.

“Me?”

He doesn’t look at you when he shrugs, pulling at something with a little more force that makes you both flinch.

“How much is this going to cost me, Steve?” Your defeat shows in your tone, as the question slips quietly from between your lips that you wish you’d have put gloss on now.

He grunts at the same time something pops against metal under his hands, muttering a string of curse words under his breath before standing back up wiping his palms on the white cotton of his tank top. Charcoal stains fill the small grooves in the fabric with each swipe of his hands, pulling the collar further down every time. It’s a losing battle not to look at his chest when every motion reveals more of the thick curls underneath.

Steve clears his throat, letting you know that you’ve been caught and it’s at this moment you wish you could walk in front of the moving truck that drives loudly past the shop, only exaggerating the silence that follows.

“Don’t stress about that today,” he smiles, letting you off the hook for now, something mischievous dancing in his eyes for another time. “Like Eddie said, we’ll figure it out.”

“Don’t stress about it?! Have you met me?” You huff, the money you’ve saved up for the summer starting to dwindle right before your eyes.

“I have actually,” Steve chuckles, stepping close enough for the tips of your shoes to touch his boots. He feels bold when you don’t make any attempt to move away like at the party or retreat when he closes the gap. A thumb and forefinger finding their way to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, “and you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

Your lips part on their own, the full force of his face from this close stealing the breath from your lungs. You can smell the coffee he had this morning and the mint from his toothpaste still lingering on his breath. The stubble that lines his sharp jaw is even more noticeable today, tapering off at the top of his neck making the cluster of moles that live there stand out even more. A pink tongue runs over his full bottom lip and it has your lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks.

“Now go get some food, grumpy,” his voice comes out low, a teasing edge to it that reminds you of what it’s like to have Steve Harrington flirt with you. “I’ll call when I get the parts, okay?”

It’s like detention junior year all over again as you turn into putty in his hand. Still too attractive for his own good, all you can do is nod while all the fight you had left inside you disappears as the pad of his thumb swipes soft against your heated skin just under your pouted lip before letting you go. He turns on his heel after that, walking back to the box of tools he has spread out over his workbench before adding,

“Do me a favor and tell Robin she owes me a new shirt.”

beta’d by @sweetsweetjellybean

🌻 chapter two

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

Text

saw this prompt @newgrangespirals @steddieas-shegoes; needed to write it but also i kind of derailed it bc my brain has a mind of its own and its focus is steddie so i apologize also on ao3

He’s met with silence.

Eddie supposes Murray Bauman must only ever be met with silence after speaking; he doesn’t seem the type of man to hold an easy, casual conversation. Especially now.

Even Argyle is silent, his fork stalled on its way to his mouth as he looks from Murray to Jonathan, whose face is red, then Nancy, who’s equally flushed.

Eddie looks at the table, his vision blurring. His hands are shaking.

“Murray,” Joyce says in a lethally calm voice. Eddie had forgotten she was here. “Go.”

“What do you mean, go?” Murray says, his voice quieter like he’s starting to sense what he’s just done. “We’re in—“

“Murray,” Joyce snaps. Eddie flinches. His fingers are knotting with the hem of the tablecloth, his food uneaten on his plate. “Go. I will deal with you later.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Murray’s chair scrapes across the uneven tile floor, and his footsteps retreat. And then there’s silence again. Tense, tense silence.

“Steve,” Nancy says quietly, and Eddie looks up at her, glaring even though she hasn’t done anything to him. Jonathan looks at her too, anxious. Joyce sips her water, her hand shaking, and Hopper has his head down, his face hidden in his hands.

“I’m good,” Steve says shortly, and Eddie looks at him, his stomach flipping. Steve is smiling a little, but it’s an awful smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He pushes his plate away with a breath like he feels just as sick as Eddie does, and he nods, but he doesn’t look like he’s really here. “I’m…”

“Steve, it— it wasn’t—“

“You told him my name,” Steve snaps, looking at her across the table, his eyes wide. Nancy looks like she’s going to start crying, and Eddie finds that he really doesn’t care if she does. “And you still…”

He laughs. Dryly, humourlessly. Eddie feels like he might throw up.

Steve closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose the way he does when he feels a migraine coming on, and he laughs again.

“Steve—“ Jonathan tries to say, but Steve just holds his hands up, shaking his head.

“I’m just…”

He pushes his plate farther away, moving his chair back with a loud scrape, and then he’s leaving too, going upstairs. Eddie watches him go, watches Robin get up to follow him before she deflates, seeing the way Steve gestures for her to stay, to leave him alone. Robin’s hands are shaking, and Eddie can practically feel the anger radiating from her.

The silence is back after a door slams upstairs.

Joyce sets her glass down loudly, and she puts her hands flat on the table next to her plate, taking a deep, shaky breath. Hopper says her name softly, but she holds a hand up, shushing him.

“I have never…” she starts slowly, her voice shaking with anger. “I have never been more disappointed in my life.”

“Mom—”

“Jonathan,” Joyce snaps, fixing a look on him, and he falls quiet. “…I did not raise you to be the other man. And Nancy, I…” She puts her hands on the table again, taking a measured breath before she looks at Nancy. “I am not your mother, but I think I am well within my rights to say I’m disappointed in you, too.”

“Ms Byers—”

“I don’t want to hear a word out of either of you,” Joyce says calmly before she touches her face, rubbing her chin anxiously as she stares at her plate in front of her. Nobody is eating anymore. Eddie still feels sick, but he also feels like he’s blended into the wall, like everybody’s forgotten that he’s here at all. He looks at the table, at the fraying tablecloth that’s clutched in his fingers.

“Unbelievable,” Joyce mutters to herself. “I can’t…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Nancy takes a shuddering breath. She might be crying.

“Eddie, dude.”

Eddie looks up, his eyes meeting Argyle’s. He’s looking over at Eddie anxiously, his head tilted a little bit, and as they look at each other, the others look at Eddie too. And suddenly he isn’t in the wall, but he’s the centrepiece of the table, the showstopper, the freak.

It’s like they all remember what Murray said at the same time.

“Eddie,” Joyce says, her voice softer than it was a moment ago. Kinder. Eddie looks at her. “Honey, if… if it is true. None of us have any problem with it.”

If it is true.

They all know it is. Eddie can tell just by looking at them that they all know.

He feels so… small. Like he’s fifteen again. Like he’s new in high school, like he’s walking down the hallway and feeling all the stares, the eyes and eyes and eyes looking, watching, analysing, judging. Even though Joyce’s gaze is kind, and Hopper gives him a slight nod when their eyes meet.

Eddie’s chest feels so tight he can’t breathe, each breath shallow and weak, and he’s kind of lightheaded, and he feels fucking nauseous.

“I, uhm.” He clears his throat, his stomach churning, and he untangled his fingers from the tablecloth, taking a sharp breath. “Excuse me,” he says quickly, breathlessly, moving his chair back so fast it tips on the uneven tiles. He feels like he might pass out as he goes upstairs, hearing Argyle say something quietly behind him.

Upstairs feels even quiet than downstairs. Like every room could have an echo.

Eddie finds a room that’s empty except for some cardboard boxes, and he shuts the door behind himself before he goes to the opposite side of the room, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to the wall. It’s cold.

He’s breathing too fast, and his head feels light, like if his eyes were open his vision would be dark. He wraps his arms around himself tightly, squeezing as he exhales until he wheezes, until there’s nothing in his lungs, and then he inhales as slowly as he can. In, in, in, until he can’t anymore. He holds it. Exhales. Does it all over again.

Until he can breathe without suffocating.

He turns to rest his back on the wall, and he slides down to the floor, closing his eyes and pulling his knees to his chest, exhaling shakily.

He’s never felt like this before.

He feels so… lonely.

He feels almost cold, even though sunlight is streaming through the window, beams of golden light glowing across the floor.

He cries. Even though he tries not to. He can’t help it, and the tears are absorbed by the sleeves of his hoodie.

Steve’s hoodie. Eddie hates that he’s wearing it, even though Steve brought it just for him. Even though Steve specifically made sure he brought a black one, even though it smells like Steve. Eddie hates that Murray noticed that it’s Steve’s.

He stays there for a while. Until the sunlight dims.

He only lifts his head when the door breaks open, and Steve’s voice says, “Eddie?”

Eddie stands quickly, wiping his face and sniffling as Steve finds him and shuts the door behind himself.

“Hey,” Eddie says, his voice wavering. “You okay?”

Steve nods. He doesn’t look like he’s been crying, but his eyes are shining blankly. And Eddie aches.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really have to. Steve blinks at him, hesitating.

“I kind of already knew,” he says like it’s a question. “I just…” He exhales, swallowing, and Eddie knows he’s talking about Nancy and Jonathan. It. “I, like, convinced myself I didn’t care? That it— it didn’t matter?”

Eddie listens, leaning against the wall, watching Steve push his hair back anxiously.

“I mean— the world was ending, who gives a shit if— if I get cheated on? It’s so fucking stupid.” He doesn’t seem to realize he’s even talking to Eddie. He’s just talking. Saying what he didn’t say downstairs. “But I’m so… Jesus. Hearing it out loud, like— like Murray was fucking proud, like it was funny, I’m just… I don’t know.”

Steve deflates, leaning against the door, looking at Eddie, and his eyes are shining.

“Embarrassed?”

“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, Steve,” Eddie says softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“...I trusted them,” Steve says quietly, weakly.

“You trusted them,” Eddie repeats. “What they did is their fault, Steve, you didn’t do anything wrong. Trusting them wasn’t wrong,” he adds adamantly, watching the way Steve’s eyes shine. “You thought they were— they were trustworthy. You didn’t know they’d do something like that.”

Steve sniffs, looking at the floor. His cheeks are flushed, and Eddie hates himself for thinking he looks beautiful.

“You have every right to feel hurt,” Eddie says gently. Steve looks at him. He swallows. “And to feel angry.”

“What about you?” Steve asks quietly after a moment. Eddie blinks.

“What about me?”

Steve looks at him. His eyes flick back and forth between Eddie’s for a moment, intent and searching before he speaks. His voice is so soft. Kind.

“He just outed you in front of all of us,” he says quietly. “You’re not angry?”

Eddie blinks again.

Steve looks at him so kindly. Eddie likes being looked at like this. Like Steve is listening to him even though he isn’t speaking. And Eddie realizes that Steve just knows, that he doesn’t question it. That he knows how Eddie is feeling, but is waiting for him to say it himself.

Eddie’s lip quivers, and he feels like a child again.

“I…” He hesitates, taking a breath as a wave of nausea washes over him again. Steve just looks at him. “I’ve never come out to anyone,” he says weakly. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. “I’ve never gotten the chance to. My— My dad found some zines in my room when I was fourteen, and I didn’t… I didn’t have to say anything.” His voice is shaking. He’s never told anyone about this, not even Jeff. “The only time I ever heard that man say anything about God was when he was trying to beat the queer out of me,” he says, laughing the way Steve laughed downstairs. Humorless. Almost hysterical. “And he— he called Wayne to tell him everything because he…”

Eddie trails off, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

“I told myself no one would ever know when Wayne took me in, but I swear it was like overnight, the whole town knew,” he chokes. “Because of— of my hair, or my clothes, or— or because people associate queerness with evil and— and Satanism, I don’t fucking know, but everyone knew and I…”

He covers his face, his face hot with embarrassment as a sob escapes him, and it feels so stupid to be so upset right now, but Steve just waits patiently, listening and looking at him.

“People keep taking it,” Eddie chokes, his face wet with tears now, looking at Steve desperately. “It’s mine, and people keep taking it from me.”

Steve nods.

And then he’s coming close and wrapping his arms around Eddie, and Eddie is crying into his shoulder, his hands clutching at Steve’s shirt the way they clutched at the tablecloth earlier, his fingers gripping the fabric so tightly his knuckles ache. He’s shaking. But Steve’s hands feel steady as they run over his back, and Eddie wants to die.

Because Murray told them to have sex. And Steve is still here, holding Eddie while he cries, even though he knows Eddie is gay, even though Murray told the whole table that Eddie likes Steve, that it’s so painfully obvious that he likes Steve. That he’s pining, yearning.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his face into Steve’s neck, his shoulders shaking as he sobs, and Steve moves a hand to hold the back of his head, his fingers pressing into Eddie’s curls to cradle his skull. And it’s almost fucking tender, and Eddie doesn’t know how he got here. Or where he’s going to go.

Steve is murmuring to him. Quiet I got yous and It’s okays, his voice breathy and soft in Eddie’s ear. Eddie melts against him, and Steve holds him tightly, swaying with him, rubbing his back and scratching his fingertips over his scalp carefully the way he does when Eddie has nightmares.

Eddie whines into his neck, choking on his breath, and Steve’s arm tightens around his waist like he’s preparing to catch Eddie if he falls.

“I know,” he whispers softly. “It’s not fair.”

Eddie shakes his head.

It’s not fair.

It’s fucking bullshit.

The whole world thinks it knows him better than he knows himself. Even if they’re fucking right. It’s not fair. He’s never gotten to speak for himself, never gotten to really introduce himself.

He aches when he finally stops crying, his fingers relaxing but still holding Steve’s shirt loosely, and his hands are sore. Steve runs his hand through Eddie’s hair. He waits, holding Eddie close even though he isn’t crying anymore, touching him gently, kindly, as Eddie catches his breath.

“You know what I’m angriest at?” Eddie asks softly after a few moments, his voice weak and breaking from his crying. Steve touches his head again.

“What?” Steve whispers.

“...He’s fucking right.”

Steve is quiet. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut as they burn again.

And then Steve is shifting, holding the back of Eddie’s head, and Eddie blinks his eyes open to look at him. Steve looks into his eyes intently, and it’s almost too much, but Eddie can’t look away, his hands tightening on Steve’s shirt.

“About everything?” he whispers softly. Tentatively.

Eddie looks back and forth between his eyes, and he nods.

He feels sick again. He can’t breathe.

Steve’s hand moves to Eddie’s face, and he’s so fucking warm. His thumb brushes over Eddie’s cheek so lightly Eddie can barely feel it. And Steve’s face relaxes, like he’s deflating, as he touches Eddie’s face, as his other hand presses into the small of his back.

“I really fucking hate him,” Steve breathes. His eyes flicker across Eddie’s face, and they linger on Eddie’s mouth. Eddie whispers his name. Steve hesitates, stammering silently for a moment before, “Can you say it?”

Eddie steps back a little, and their hands fall even though they’re still close enough for Eddie to see the green in his eyes.

“...Say what?” he asks hesitantly. Steve looks at him, his eyes shining, and he looks so desperate suddenly.

“Everything,” he says breathlessly. “I wanna hear it from you.”

Eddie’s eyes fill with tears, but Steve looks like he’s begging, and Eddie is weak.

“I’m gay,” he says softly, whispering like he’s worried someone outside might hear. “And I…” He takes a breath. Steve’s eyes look back and forth between Eddie’s like he’s looking for it. “I have, like… a huge fucking crush on you.”

Steve’s eyes drop to Eddie’s mouth like he’s watching his lips form the words. Eddie is trembling. Steve suddenly feels like he’s across the room, like he’s far away even though they’re standing so close.

“I might fucking be in love with you, Steve, I…”

He chokes on his breath, and Steve is touching him again, reaching for his face and wiping away his tears carefully, stepping closer. Eddie’s hands find his waist, and he grips his shirt again.

Steve says his name.

It always sounds so nice in his mouth.

“You don’t– You don’t have to,” Eddie says, trying to tear himself away, closing his eyes as Steve holds his face and wipes his tears. “I know, it’s…”

“Eddie,” Steve whispers, his hands tightening on Eddie’s cheeks, and he’s so close now, their noses almost brushing. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Eddie’s eyes widen. He leans back to see Steve clearly, and Steve looks so nervous that Eddie aches.

“Really?” Eddie asks weakly.

“I…” Steve pauses, brushing his thumbs over Eddie’s cheeks and licking his lips, hesitating. “I might be fucking in love with you too,” he whispers.

Eddie closes his eyes, exhaling as Steve strokes his cheeks again. He gasps for breath when Steve’s forehead touches his, his hands tightening on Steve’s shirt before he slides his hands over his waist gently. He can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” Steve asks again, his breath soft on Eddie’s face.

“Yeah,” he chokes.

Steve’s palms press to Eddie’s cheeks, and Eddie’s hands clutch at Steve’s waist desperately when Steve’s nose nudges his, when their lips brush. He feels like he’s dying.

But Steve kisses him so softly, so sweetly. Holding his face tenderly in his hands and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling away to look at him, to check, even though Eddie is holding him against himself, even though Eddie’s chin lifts like he’s subconsciously searching for his mouth again.

Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and Steve is smiling at him. It’s such a soft smile, and Eddie forgets everything that’s happened today. Except Steve’s lips on his.

“Please,” he breathes. Begs. Pleads.

Steve kisses him again. One of his hands slides to hold the back of his head again, his fingers threading into Eddie’s curls, and his other shifts down to Eddie’s neck, his fingertips slipping under the hoodie as his thumb brushes over Eddie’s throat so lightly it tickles a little bit. Eddie’s hands press to Steve’s waist and slide to press into the small of his back, and he’s probably wrinkling the fabric of his shirt, but neither of them cares as they tilt their heads, as their lips part.

They pull away to look at each other after a few moments, close enough that they’re sharing breaths as they both breathe hard, as Steve’s fingertips scratch over Eddie’s scalp lightly and Eddie’s eyelids flutter for a second. And then Steve is tilting his head and leaning down to kiss Eddie’s neck, his fingers twisting in his hair to hold him in place, and Eddie is dying, letting out a whimper as his eyes close and his hands reach for Steve’s arms. His fingertips dig into the soft flesh of his upper arms, squeezing as Steve presses a slow kiss under his ear. His mouth is so warm.

Steve kisses him when he lifts his head, and Eddie kisses him back desperately, reaching to wrap his arms around his neck, whining when Steve’s hands find his waist and pull.

Then Steve pushes, reaching up to hold the back of Eddie’s head, and Eddie stumbles back, his fingers tangling in Steve’s hair and tugging when his back hits the wall. Steve’s hand blocks his head from the wall, and Eddie smiles against his mouth, gasping when Steve’s tongue slips across his lip.

“Steve,” he gasps, lightheaded as Steve sucks on his lower lip, as one of his hands slides under the hoodie to touch his skin. His palms are a little rough with calluses, scratching the sensitive scar tissue on Eddie’s waist lightly, and Eddie groans.

Steve pulls away with a gasp, looking at Eddie desperately, frantically, his other hand holding his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, and his lips are shining, and his hair is a mess, and Eddie wantshimwantshimwantshim—

“Do you wanna leave?” Steve asks, his voice rough, and Eddie looks at his mouth, still panting. “I… I don’t wanna see any of them, I just…” He’s breathless too. His hand runs over Eddie’s scarring again almost mindlessly as his thumb brushes his cheek. “Do you wanna go?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes.

Steve smiles softly, his eyes shining at him, and he leans in to kiss him one more time, caressing his cheek. (Caressing. Jesus.) Eddie hums, savouring it before they part with a quiet, slick noise that seems to echo in the empty room.

Eddie feels lightheaded again, but he’s smiling like he’s sleepy as Steve shifts his hands to press his chin up, smiling at how pliant Eddie is. Eddie laughs under his breath, his hands holding Steve’s shoulders.

“I’m so fucking… relieved right now,” Eddie whispers, his head falling to rest on the wall behind him. Steve kisses him again before he pulls him close, hugging him tightly.

Eddie buries his face in Steve’s neck, wrapping his arms around him tightly, wanting to jump up and wrap his legs around his waist, to cling to him like a koala, wanting to climb inside him, to be as close as fucking possible. Steve exhales roughly, pushing a hand into Eddie’s hair.

Steve holds his hand as they leave, ignoring the others that are gathered in the living room, even though they’re clearly waiting for the two of them. Eddie lets the door slam shut behind them. Steve drives. Eddie reaches over and puts a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently as he looks out the windows and watches the world go by.

He’s kind of anxious about this, whatever it is. Anxious that he isn’t what Steve thinks he is, what Steve hopes he is, anxious that he isn’t enough for him.

But he’ll try his best, he knows he will. He’ll bring Steve fucking flowers, he’ll write him fucking poems if it makes him smile. He’ll ravish him the way he deserves, touch him the way he likes, tell him every chance he gets how fucking beautiful he is. He’ll kiss him good morning and learn how to make his coffee just right. He’ll memorize the pattern of his moles and name constellations on his skin.

He’ll remind him every single day, as long as Steve lets him have him, what he deserves.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie prompt #steddie one shot #steve harrington one shot #eddie munson one shot #stranger things #stranger things one shot

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lostfracturess · 5 months

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symptoms and causes | ch. 01

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

ღ summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

ღ wc 13.1 k

ღ warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note so exited to start this series!! dive in and let me know what you think—i love hearing your thoughts! & pls like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world !! ♡ (fanart in the header)

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

next chapter ->

"Who's that?"

Every gaze in the room turned towards you.

"She's my student—," Dr. Geto responded, a trace of amusement twisting his lip. He didn't have to follow Dr. Gojo's stare to know its target. "—a first-year medical student."

A murmur rippled through the group of students, their eyes stinging like needles in your neck. You were acutely aware of your position—the youngest, the least experienced, an outsider among those who had studied for years.

"What?" Gojo's voice sliced through the air. He turned his scrutinizing gaze towards Geto. "You brought a fucking first-year into my operating room?"

Ouch.

Geto chuckled. "Relax, Satoru. She's good."

Gojo's expression tightened. He turned back to you, those unnervingly bright blue eyes raking over you from behind his surgical glasses. It made your skin crawl. "You, first-year. Bypass, endovascular, or direct microsurgical approach?"

The air in the operating room was thick.

Dr. Geto and Dr. Gojo had been circling the issue for at least half an hour, dissecting strategies as if the patient weren't laid skull open before them, the aneurysm a ticking time bomb in the patient's brain.

None of the students dared to move, too terrified to even breathe. It was a test. But hesitation wasn't in your vocabulary.

"You should do a hybrid approach. Start with endovascular coiling to reduce the risk of rupture. Parallel prep for a bypass, using intraoperative Doppler for flow assessment. Stabilize, then microsurgical clipping. Definitive closure."

Silence filled the room. Somehow the eyes of the other students stinging even more now. Your boldness given such a complex situation was either brilliance or audacity—perhaps both.

Geto's laughter broke the tension. "I might've forgotten to mention—she's my best student."

Gojo's gaze lingered on you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "That's some complex shit you suggest. The endovascular coiling has to be precise to reduce the risk of aneurysm rupture, and then we switch to microsurgery in an already compromised field."

"Complex, yes, but you have no other choice. The endovascular phase provides stabilization, making the surgical field less treacherous for clipping," you countered.

"And the risk of thrombosis?" Gojo pressed.

"Could happen."

"Could happen?" Gojo repeated. "That's your statement on that?"

"It's either the hybrid approach, or the patient is dead anyway," you said, maintaining his unyielding gaze.

"Is this woman serious?" Gojo murmured, almost inaudibly. His gaze shifted to Geto, seeking perhaps a silent judgment or agreement. Geto, following the exchange with an unreadable smile, seemed more amused than concerned.

"So?" Geto prompted.

Gojo's gaze snapped back to you, his eyes raking over you as if searching for a flaw in your logic. His silence stretched taut between you, a wordless evaluation. Finally, the verdict, "Let's proceed with the hybrid approach."

You exhaled sharply, only then realizing you'd been holding your breath.

A flurry of activity erupted as the nurses prepared for the surgery you'd proposed. You watched closely as the surgeons moved with practiced precision around the patient's exposed brain tissue—both undoubtedly the best neurosurgeons in the country.

"Your name," Dr. Gojo demanded, his focus still on the task at hand. "What is it?"

You gave your name in response.

He repeated your name, as if testing how the name felt. "Do you always approach problems with such boldness?"

"If the situation demands it."

Something in his masked face shifted, a subtle expression that might have been a smile. Whatever it was, it seemed out of place.

"Interesting."

─── ·✧· ───

The corridors of Tokyo Medical University were bustling with life, echoing the footsteps and chatter of students. Lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces, you stood somewhat disoriented in front of the map of the University. Finding your way to your anatomy class felt like an impossible task, especially with less than four minutes on the clock.

It was your first day.

And already the middle of the semester.

Definitely not a good start to come late.

The university you used to attend was half this size, and somehow you already missed it. But who would turn down the opportunity to study at the country's most prestigious medical university? Especially with the chance to learn from the most renowned neurosurgeons teaching there?

So here you were.

Two minutes left.

All of a sudden, someone ran into you, causing you to fall to the ground.

"Whoa, sorry! I'm so sorry!" You looked up to see a guy with tousled black hair and noticeable dark circles under his eyes. He quickly extended a hand to help you up. "Are you okay?"

Brushing off your clothes, you nodded and accepted his hand, feeling a surprising strength as he easily pulled you back to your feet.

"You new here?" he asked, studying your face. "You seem a bit lost."

The subtle irony in his comment almost coaxed a smile out of you, especially considering his own worn-out look. "Yeah, it's my first day, and I'm already running late. I'm trying to find Dr. Ieiri's anatomy class."

"No way, that's my class too! Come on, I'll show you, but we need to make it quick," he responded, already moving ahead with a sense of urgency. You hastened to keep pace with his swift strides.

"I'm Yuta Okkotsu, by the way," he introduced himself as you weaved through the bustling corridors. "So, what's the story behind your mid-semester transfer?"

"I was at a different medical school, but then got this offer to transfer here."

Yuta's eyes widened slightly. "An offer to transfer? That's pretty impressive. You must be quite talented."

"I'm not so sure about that, I think I just got lucky."

Yuta led the way through the bustling corridors, his familiarity with the campus evident in every confident turn he took. Finally, you arrived at the large doors of the auditorium where Dr. Ieiri's anatomy class was supposed to be held. Pushing the doors open, you both slipped inside, but there was no sign of the professor yet.

"Made it," Yuta gasped, a grin spreading across his face despite the shortness of breath. "With, uh, time to spare!" He glanced at his watch. "Okay, maybe not."

Yuta, still catching his breath, gestured towards a group sitting near the back. "Come on, you can sit with us. My friends are cool, I promise."

As you followed, you noticed a girl with striking green hair. She was leafing through a thick textbook with an expression that suggested she found the content less than challenging. "That's Maki," Yuta whispered to you. "Don't let her scare you—she's actually really nice."

Maki looked up as you approached. "New student?"

"Transfer student actually," Yuta corrected. "Is Inumaki also running late?"

Before Maki could respond, the doors swung open. But instead of Dr. Ieiri, Dr. Satoru Gojo stepped in, his presence as commanding as when you first saw him.

No way.

The room fell into an instant hush. Dr. Gojo sauntered to the front of the auditorium, his silver hair gleaming in the gentle sun.

"Good morning, class," he began, his voice effortlessly filling the hall. "Dr. Ieiri is unavailable today, so I'll be taking you through the nervous system."

He scribbled his name on the board, one hand nonchalantly tucked into his trouser pocket. Turning back to face the class, he rolled up his sleeves, his captivating blue eyes even more striking without the barrier of surgical glasses.

As his gaze swept across the students, it abruptly landed on you. For a split second, his confident demeanor wavered, replaced by a flicker of surprise crossing his features.

"The first-year?"

Following his gaze, all heads turned towards you—dozens of stabbing eyes.

Fantastic, center stage yet again.

You locked eyes with Gojo for a heartbeat, maybe a minute, maybe a year. Heat spread all over your skin. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but then he cleared his throat and regained his professional poise.

"As I was saying," he turned his attention back to the class, "—since Dr. Ieiri isn't here, we'll dive deeper into the nervous system. So listen well."

His eyes met yours one more time before he launched into the lecture.

─── ·✧· ───

As the lecture came to an end, the students began to gather their belongings. You also began to pack up your notes, still processing the intense lecture Dr. Gojo had just given. It was clear—he was not a professor who took it easy on his students.

"Should we grab a bite? We've got a few minutes before the next class," Yuta suggested, glancing at both you and Maki as you made your way towards the exit. But just as you were about to step out, Dr. Gojo's voice halted you in your tracks.

"Not you, first-year."

The remaining students cast curious glances your way as they continued to file out of the auditorium. Yuta paused, his gaze shifting between you and Dr. Gojo.

"I'll catch up later," you said to him. He nodded before disappearing with the last of the students.

Turning back, you found Dr. Gojo leaning nonchalantly against his desk with his arms crossed. His intense gaze was focused on you. The room quickly emptied, leaving only the two of you.

"I'm curious, what brings a first-year into an operating room?" he finally broke the silence.

"Dr. Geto invited me to observe."

"Dr. Geto?" he echoed, pushing himself off from the desk and taking a few steps closer. "How did you come to know him?"

"He invited me to transfer here," you explained. "He's overseeing a research project that I'm a part of."

"You what? You mean you're working with him on the neuroprosthetics?"

"Yes," you simply said.

He paused for a moment, then let out a chuff before taking a few deliberate steps closer. "Tell me, what did it take for you to get into this university? To become part of Suguru's team as a mere first-year student?"

Your brows furrowed slightly. "Are you insinuating something, Dr. Gojo?"

His lips curled into a half-smile, his approach halting just a breath away from you. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of suggesting anything untoward, like a student getting ahead by... unconventional means. That'd be highly inappropriate, wouldn't it?"

The air around you seemed to thicken as he loomed closer, his tall frame nearly casting a shadow over you against the backdrop of the window.

"I didn't know you were even Suguru's type," he continued.

Was he for real?

He knew nothing.

Nothing about the countless hours you'd poured into your studies. Nothing about the sleepless nights spent devouring research papers. Nothing about the relentless drive that had earned you recognition in the scientific community despite your young age. And here he was, accusing you of fucking your way up the ladder.

"Why? Are you jealous?" The words slipped out before you could think.

Gojo's eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched. "I can see why Suguru took an interest."

The intensity of his gaze was unnerving, yet you found yourself unable to look away. It was as if he was trying to read your very thoughts, peeling back layers with nothing but his piercing blue eyes.

For a moment, his gaze drifted downward, lingering on your lips. Your pulse quickened, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. "Too bad, I'm on the neuroprosthetics team too," he remarked. "We'll be seeing quite a bit of each other, it seems."

Suddenly, he stepped back, breaking the intensity of the moment. "Make sure you live up to the expectations, first-year. I won't go easy on you just because you're a rookie."

With those final words, he turned away, leaving you standing in the midst of the empty auditorium, your mind racing.

Was he for real real?

─── ·✧· ───

"Ugh, I hate that guy!"

Geto looked up from his desk, a single eyebrow raised in response to your dramatic entrance into his office. "That guy?"

"I mean Dr. Gojo," you clarified, pacing the room. "I can't keep up with his arrogance."

He leaned back in his chair, regarding you with a calm, measured gaze. "He's not as bad as you think. You just need to get to know him better."

Know him better?

Yeah, that was the least you wanted to do.

"He just accused me of sleeping with you to get into this university!"

The words tumbled out of your mouth, more bluntly than you intended. Your relationship with Geto had always been somewhat informal, feeling more like a friendship. But this level of frankness was a step further than usual. But the anger and frustration boiling inside you made it impossible to hold back.

Geto couldn't suppress a laugh. "Sounds like something he would say," he mused, interlacing his fingers behind his head.

You stopped pacing the room and turned to face him. "Ha?"

"Listen," Geto began. "Gojo is a good man. He's always worked hard, so it might be a little irritating for him to see someone new get the recognition he's worked for years to get."

"But I've worked hard too," you countered.

"I know," Geto leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "That's why I invited you here, to be part of my research team. He'll see your potential sooner or later." A warm smile played on his lips.

"So I just have to wait for his approval?"

"It looks like it," Geto shrugged.

Great.

"Besides we need him on this project, so it's best if you two find a way to get along. You'll learn a lot working with Gojo," he added.

You sighed. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Gojo is not easily impressed. But I have a feeling that you made quite an impression on him with your boldness in the operating room the other day. Not many students would suggest such an approach as you did."

"Is that a compliment?"

"You can take it as one, yes," he replied with a chuckle. He then stood up and began packing his bag. "Oh, and also, we're starting work on the project tomorrow, right after your last class."

Fantastic.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes," he confirmed, nodding. "I think it's best we dive right in. Gojo will be there too, of course. It'll be a good opportunity for both of you to start fresh." His smile widened, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You couldn't help but feel he was somewhat enjoying the situation.

─── ·✧· ───

The air was filled with the sterile scent of preservatives.

Anatomy class was in full swing, the only sound being the quiet murmur of focused students. You stood at your desk next to Yuta, Maki, and Toge, each of you meticulously dissecting and examining organs under the microscope. But your mind was elsewhere, lost in a blur of thoughts about the research project starting later that day.

As you sliced an organ in half with a practiced hand, your gaze drifted unfocused, the image under the microscope blurring. A wave of nausea washed over you. Perhaps it was the onset of the flu, or perhaps it was a convenient excuse to avoid facing Gojo later.

"Hey, you okay?" Yuta's voice pulled you back to the present. You realized you had been staring blankly at the tissue sample for longer than necessary.

"Yeah, just thinking about the project later."

Maki glanced over, her eyes sharp behind her safety glasses. "With Dr. Gojo, right? That's going to be—interesting."

You paused. "What do you mean?"

"Dr. Gojo, well, he's notorious for being an ass," Maki said, her focus still on her own dissection. "He's undeniably a genius, but he's also—brutal. He has a way of pushing students to their limits, often too far."

Fantastic.

Just what you needed to hear.

Your stomach churned. "I had a feeling about that."

"His standards are high, and he's not exactly gentle in his criticism. If you don't meet his expectations, he'll let you know, and not kindly," she continued. "He's made more than a few students question their life choices."

"Yeah, I've heard similar stories. You either meet his expectations or you're pretty much done," Yuta added.

The thought of working with Dr. Gojo was getting more fun by the minute.

Maybe you should call in sick.

Toge contributed his one-word insight, "God complex," which seemed to perfectly sum up the mood of the conversation about Dr. Gojo.

"But—," Maki interjected, finally looking up, "—he's still the best in his field. If you can handle the pressure, he's undoubtedly the one to learn from."

Yeah, but what was the price for that?

You let out a tired sigh.

Returning to your task, you carefully aligned the organ under the microscope. Gojo was intimidating, no doubt, but you had worked your ass off to reach this point. You weren't going to back down just because he was a dick. After all, Geto was also working on the project, so how bad could it possibly be then?

You glanced up from the microscope to adjust its focus. However, you couldn't help but notice Yuta. He glanced at Maki over his microscope with this look—that certain look.

Interesting.

─── ·✧· ───

"Your idea is just ridiculous!"

"Oh really? Yours is just shit!"

You didn't know how it ended up like this. It was barely two minutes into the discussion about a critical aspect of the research project, and here you were, shouting at each other. The entire lab had gone silent, all eyes glued to the heated exchange. Geto, leaning against a counter, watched the scene unfold with an amused smile playing on his lips.

"Your approach could compromise the entire neural interface integration," you argued. "It's too aggressive and doesn't take into account the potential for neural tissue damage."

Gojo was standing so close, that you could see the flecks of color in his eyes, feel the heat radiating off him. And could probably spit in his face.

Maybe you should do that.

His approach was risky—dangerous even. How could he not see that?

"It's necessary," Gojo countered. "—playing it safe doesn't always work."

Yeah, you know that. But not in this case, not with this patient. It was borderline reckless.

"There's a fine line between a breakthrough and recklessness," you shot back.

"You're so naive," he retorted, stepping even closer. "You don't understand when it's time to take some risks."

You stared at him. "Taking risks? No, you're just being insane!"

"You—" he started but Geto quickly intervened.

"Alright, that's enough for now," he said, placing a hand on each of your shoulders, physically creating space between you and Gojo. "Let's take a break."

But Gojo's eyes never left yours, unbroken even as Geto gently shoved him backwards. You stood there, your breath ragged, your heart racing. Around you, the lab slowly came back to life as the others resumed their tasks, occasionally stealing glances in your direction.

"Could you get us some coffee?" Geto asked, pressing a few bills into your hand.

Yeah. Sure.

You nodded. The unexpected surge of adrenaline that had coursed through your veins didn't leave you needing caffeine, but hell, you took anything that would get you away from him. As you made your way out of the lab, you could still feel his gaze on you.

Taking your time, you wandered to the cafeteria. Okay, maybe you just didn't find the way. But you didn't really care. The university was already empty at this hour. The moonlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows that danced along the walls.

By the time you returned to the lab, the coffee had grown cold in your hands. Geto immediately perked up at your return, pushing himself away from his desk and walking over to you. "Ah, great," he said with a smile, taking a cup from your hands. "Thanks."

Your gaze shifted to Gojo, who hadn't moved an inch, his attention seemingly absorbed by the computer screen in front of him. Without a word, you placed his cup on his desk.

The rest of the evening was a blur of lab work, discussions, and planning.

You were focused on analyzing a blood sample to identify specific markers and genetic predispositions to determine if a patient was eligible for research. Normally an easy task, but your concentration began to waver.

Glancing at the clock, you noticed that it was well past midnight. The lab was quiet, most of the equipment was turned off, and the only light was the dim glow of a few workstations. Geto had left some time ago, urging you to do the same, but you stayed. It would take longer to continue your work tomorrow than to finish it now.

However, each test you ran seemed to produce inconclusive or erratic results. You rechecked the protocols, ran the tests again, but the results were still the same. Exhaustion was clouding your judgment, leading you to make mistakes you wouldn't normally make.

After yet another failed attempt, you let out a sigh and rubbed your tired eyes.

How was this so fucking hard all of a sudden?

"Let me help you," said a voice from behind you. It was Gojo. You thought he had already left, or maybe you were just so focused on your own task. You felt his presence close behind you as he leaned in to examine the blood sample results on the screen.

"See here," he said, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. He reached around you to steer the controls, his arms encircling you. Your skin heated. "The centrifugation speed and time must be precisely calibrated. It affects the separation of cellular components, which is critical for accurate marker identification."

You nodded slightly, even though you already knew that. Somehow, you were now a bit ashamed of your own sudden stupidity. As the sample was prepared and placed for analysis, his presence remained close, his body heat and the soft cadence of his breathing a constant distraction. The results started to display on the screen, this time showing the definitive patterns you had been seeking.

"No need to thank me," Gojo said, straightening up—giving you some much-needed air to breathe. "You should go home, it's late."

You glanced at the clock on the wall. Yeah, you should really go home.

As Gojo moved towards the door, he paused briefly, his hand resting on the handle. "Burning out won't do you, or the project, any good."

You watched him for a moment. Somehow, in the dim light, his features softened the usually sharp lines of his face. "Are you concerned?"

"Concerned that you mess this project up," he said with a grin on his lips.

You let out a tired sigh. "Of course."

─── ·✧· ───

Another day. Another fight.

The tension in the lab was palpable as you and Gojo stood across from each other. The issue had resurfaced. So had the friction between your methods. Your opposing views seemed like an insurmountable chasm.

"You're not considering the long-term implications of your approach," you insisted, your voice tinged with frustration. "We need to think about patient recovery, not just the immediate results."

"The primary goal is to ensure the success of the procedure. Your 'cautious' tactics might compromise the project's objectives," Gojo retorted.

You bristled at his words. "It's not about being cautious—it's about being thorough and responsible. We can't afford to overlook potential complications."

The debate intensified, each point you made met with a sharp rebuttal from Gojo. As the argument escalated, he took a step closer, his blue eyes locked on yours. "Your method will not work, first-year. Playing it safe will kill this patient."

His proximity was overwhelming, and for a moment, you lost your train of thought, caught up in the intensity of his gaze. "My method will keep him alive," you managed to say, trying to regain your composure.

Before he could respond, you glanced at the clock on the wall and realized with a start that you were late for your class. "I have to go," you said abruptly, the urgency of the situation breaking the tension.

"We're not done with this discussion," Gojo snapped.

"Yeah, whatever," you said as you hurried out of the lab and rushed to your class.

Gojo let out a low hiss under his breath. As you left the lab, Geto approached him, his expression serious despite the hint of a smile on his lips. Some might say he looked scary.

"Satoru," Geto began. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Gojo turned, his posture stiffening. "About what?"

Geto crossed his arms, leaning back against a lab table. "Could you please stop pissing off my precious student?"

"Ha?" he said, raking a hand through his hair. "Are you seriously siding with her?"

"I am," Geto confirmed. "I wanted her on this project because she and I are on the same page."

"Of course you are."

"Satoru, I don't want to throw you off this project, so please try to find a middle ground with her. Give her a chance."

Gojo exhaled sharply, the lines on his face softening slightly. "Your approach is too cautious. It won't work."

Geto maintained his calm demeanor. "We'll see."

"Fine," Gojo finally conceded. "I'll try to—work with her. On one condition."

"And what's that?" Geto asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We do it my way if your approach doesn't work," Gojo said.

"Fair enough."

Gojo looked away, his gaze settling on the empty space where you had stood moments before. There was a brief pause, his mind racing.

"Suguru, what exactly do you see in her?" Gojo asked after a while.

"Hm?" Geto looked at Gojo thoughtfully. "She has potential, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, potential," Gojo echoed, his voice trailing off slightly.

Geto tilted his head.

─── ·✧· ───

The sun streamed through the windows of the anatomy classroom, casting a warm glow across the rows of desks. Despite the bright light, your eyelids felt heavy, the endless fights with Gojo replaying in your mind and robbing you of much-needed energy.

You sat beside Yuta, Maki, and Toge, struggling to focus on the lecturer's words.

"Rough day?" Yuta whispered.

You propped your head up with one hand, blinking rapidly in a vain attempt to clear the fog of fatigue. "More like a rough week."

"You look like shit," Maki remarked.

"Thanks."

As the lecturer continued discussing the intricacies of human anatomy, your thoughts drifted back to Gojo. Despite all the arguments you had with him, all you could think about was the memory of his intense gaze, his closeness, his soft voice, even his scent. It made it impossible to concentrate on the lecture.

Yuta nudged you gently when you almost nodded off, your head dipping forward. "You really should get some rest after this."

Suddenly, an announcement woke you up in an instant.

"Now we'll do a quick test." Dr. Ieiri announced. "It's crucial for your upcoming exams."

A collective groan echoed through the class. You froze, your heart sinking. A test was the last thing you needed right now.

Yuta turned to you. "You got this," he said, trying to offer some encouragement.

You weren't so sure.

As the test papers were distributed, you stared blankly at the questions. Your mind, usually sharp and focused during exams, felt sluggish and unresponsive. One by one, you read through the questions, trying to recall the knowledge you knew was hopefully buried somewhere in your tired brain.

Fuck.

It was all questions about something like skin, bones and that shit. You could recall every little detail about the brain, but bones? Fuck, you really should have paid attention in that class.

Panic set in as you realized that you might actually fail this test.

─── ·✧· ───

1:07 AM.

You were still wide awake.

Tossing and turning, you found sleep elusive. Everything that had happened lately was replaying in your mind. You had barely been in Tokyo for a few weeks and your life was already so different. You barely had time to fix up your apartment, the moving boxes still there, waiting to be opened. And then the anatomy test—

You needed a distraction, something to focus on that wasn't your own disappointment.

So you decided to head back to the university lab. Maybe immersing yourself in work would help clear your head. The quiet, empty streets at this hour were oddly comforting as you drove to the campus. Upon arriving at the lab, you were surprised to see the lights already on. You pushed the door open, stepping into the familiar space.

No way.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, unable to hide your surprise.

Gojo hunched over a microscope, deeply engrossed in his work. He looked up, his expression one of mild annoyance. "I could ask you the same," he replied.

Nice.

Even in the lab, it seemed you couldn't escape his presence. He was always there, haunting both your mind and your reality.

"You shouldn't work so late. You're still a student," Gojo remarked.

You glanced at him. "Yeah, you've already told me that. But I want this project to work just as much as you."

Gojo looked your way, his striking blue eyes catching the dim lab light. "Don't you ever take a break? Go out? Maybe party or so?"

You observed him for a moment. His hair was disheveled, giving him a more relaxed, approachable look than usual. "I'm not really into the party scene," you admitted.

"I guessed as much," he responded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he returned his focus back to his work.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, somewhat hurt.

"It's not a criticism, just an observation."

Setting up at a nearby workstation, you began reviewing some data on a patient you were about to perform surgery on. He was the first to receive a transplant directly into his cerebral cortex, hoping to bypass the damaged spinal cord and allow direct brain control of a prosthetic limb.

It was the first time such an operation had ever been performed. And Geto would be the one to do the surgery. Gojo would have normally, but he refused. He was still convinced it was the wrong approach. Even though all the data showed otherwise.

Sipping from your coffee, you glanced over at Gojo, finding a strange comfort in his presence. He worked with a focus and intensity that was almost mesmerizing.

3:23 AM.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on your eyelids as you completed the final analysis. Now all you had to do was wait for the results. You rested your head on your hand, sinking lower and lower until your head touched the cool surface of the desk. Maybe a short nap wouldn't hurt.

Time passed unnoticed until a gentle touch caressed your cheek. It jolted you from sleep. You flinched slightly, your eyes fluttering open. Your gaze slowly traveled up, finally locking with Gojo's eyes. He stood beside you, his thumb lingering just a moment longer on your skin, stroking lightly over your cheek.

"You hungry?"

You straightened up, pulling back a little. Suddenly conscious of the close proximity. A warm flush spread across your cheeks.

Gojo pulled up a chair, turned it backwards and faced you. He unwrapped a small meal he had brought from a nearby bakery, the scent of fresh pastries filling the air.

There was a casual ease to his movements. Like everything he did. Whether he was slicing through a brain or just existing. He always seemed so unbothered. As if he knew he would never fail at anything anyway.

Blinking tiredly, you rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the lingering veil of sleep. As you moved, a jacket slipped from your shoulders. His jacket. He must have draped it over your shoulders while you slept. It smelled like him.

"Keep it," he said before you could part your lips. "The body cools down after sleep."

"Always the doctor, aren't you?" you replied with a hint of a smile, pulling the jacket back around your shoulders. "Thank you."

Reaching for the pastry he had brought, you became acutely aware of his gaze. The intensity in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine.

"Tell me something about yourself."

"What do you want to know?" you asked, taking a bite of the pastry.

"Everything."

You chuckled. "That would take a while."

"I've got time."

You hesitated for a moment, feeling his gaze still intently on you.

"Tell me how Suguru found you," he continued.

"Back in my hometown, I was already in medical university, working on a research project about a specific type of brain tumor called glioblastoma multiforme. My mentor at the time encouraged me to publish a paper on my findings. It seems that Geto stumbled upon my work. That's how I ended up here."

"Impressive," he said. "Why this specific type of brain tumor?"

A lump formed in your throat. "Because my father died of it."

Gojo paused, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to read your thoughts.

"My father was a neurosurgeon, too. I practically grew up in operating rooms," you continued.

"Why did he die?"

The directness of his question caught you slightly off guard. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts.

"The tumor was too aggressive. The surgery was useless, he knew that, but he wanted it anyway. They tried a radical surgery to remove as much of the tumor as possible while preserving vital brain function. But it failed. My father was just dead meat breathing after the surgery. My mother never got over that loss. I think she lost her mind."

The gruesome edge of your words surprised him, his eyes widening slightly. You looked away, unable to maintain eye contact with Gojo as his stupidly handsome blue eyes seemed to pierce your soul.

Silence stretched between you two.

"I'm sorry," Gojo said eventually.

"It's okay. He's long gone," your eyes lingered on the pastry. "It's what drove me to neurology," you continued, gathering the courage to look up at him. "I wanted to contribute to something that might change outcomes for people like my father."

"Is that why you want to go for the safe approach with the patient in our neuroprosthetics project?"

You thought about it. But it wouldn't help to lie anyway. "Yeah, that's probably it."

Gojo ran his fingers through his hair, releasing a weary exhale.

"Tell me about you now," you said, changing the subject.

He paused, then offered a brief, wry smile. "Not married, no girlfriend, no kids."

"That's not really what I meant."

"Sure?" he teased, the corners of his mouth turning up in a playful smile.

"Why not?" you asked him. This was indeed interesting. He was handsome. Tall. Barely in his thirties. A famous neurosurgeon. He was basically the whole package. Except—

"No time, I guess," he said.

"What a lame excuse," you retorted, leaning back in your chair. You stretched your arms above your head, trying to relieve the tension that had built up in your muscles. A slight smile lingered on your lips as you added, "I guess you're just too much ego for any woman to handle."

"Oh, sweetheart," Gojo replied, the nickname rolling off his tongue with a natural ease. "I suspect you have just as much ego as me."

Suddenly, Gojo stood up and closed the distance between you. You remained seated, looking up at him, your heart rate quickening. For a moment, he just stood there, looking down at you. The intensity in his gaze was palpable, and you found yourself caught in it, unable to look away. The room seemed to shrink, the space between you charged.

Then, leaning in, Gojo brought his face close to yours, his breath a whisper against your ear. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine. "Bad for you," he murmured softly, his voice a low rumble, "I do like arrogant woman."

Before you could respond, he straightened up. "Good night," he said. "You should get some sleep."

With that, he turned and walked out of the lab, leaving you sitting there. The air seemed to shift back to normal as the door closed behind him.

─── ·✧· ───

Your legs hurt. Your back hurt. Your hips hurt. Your neck hurt.

Everything hurt.

You stood on the sidelines of the operating room for nearly 6 hours. Standing still on the same spot. You'll never get used to that. It's the worst part of the job. But it was still a privilege to witness Geto and Gojo in surgery, right?

The room was filled with the sound of beeping monitors and the low murmur of the assisting surgical team. From your vantage point, you had a clear view of the procedure and the surgeons. They worked together with a quiet efficiency that was fascinating.

However, as you watched, something about Gojo caught your attention. His movements seemed slightly off. You started noticing it about an hour ago. But no one said anything. His hair was drenched in sweat and clung to his forehead. You could see the slight trembling in his hands, almost imperceptible.

Something was definitely off.

Your gaze lingered on him, studying his every move.

"First-year."

Gojo suddenly paused and looked up, his eyes meeting yours. You flinched slightly, as he caught you starring at him. "You want to try the next part?" he asked, his voice cutting through the hum of the operating room.

Was he serious?

Before you could reply, Geto interjected, "Satoru, are you joking? She's still a student."

Gojo's gaze didn't waver from you. "I know. But you said she's your best student," he replied his lips twitching with a smile. "I want to test that."

"You've done aneurysm surgery before, back in your hometown, right?" Gojo asked you.

Did he google you or what?

"Yes," you replied.

"Then step forward," he said.

You hesitated. Your gaze drifted to Geto for confirmation. Geto hesitated, then gave a slight nod.

Heart pounding, you stepped forward to the operating table. A rush of adrenaline surged through you. You took the offered surgical tools with a steady hand from Gojo, his eyes locked with yours. "We're going to work on clipping the aneurysm now. You've done it before, right?"

"Yes," you replied, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

"Good." He moved closer, positioning himself so he could guide you while still giving you control. "Start with an incision here," he instructed, pointing to a specific area on the patient's brain with his own instrument.

You could feel his gaze over your shoulder; the warmth of his body near yours. As you made the initial incision, Gojo moved even closer. "Now, carefully dissect the tissue to expose the aneurysm," he continued.

Your hands worked around the fragile brain. You did surgery before. Yes. But this was another level. Every eye of every nurse and doctor in the room was on you. Geto was monitoring the patient's data. He glanced at you from time to time, his expression unreadable. But you were at least three inches deep into a human brain, so there was no way out anyway.

After that, you would certainly have to vomit from the adrenaline.

At one critical point, your hands hesitated. Your heart almost exploded. In that moment, you could either kill this patient or save him. "Calm down," Gojo said, so low and close to your ear that only you could hear it. Gojo's hand cupped yours gently. "You're doing fine. Trust yourself," he murmured. His touch was brief, but it was enough to ground you for a moment.

Sweat trickled down your forehead as you isolated the aneurysm and prepared it for clipping.

"Good," he whispered.

Finally, as you placed the clip on the aneurysm and secured it, a wave of accomplishment washed over you. Hell, you really did it.

"Congratulations, an excellent clipping," Gojo said, his lips forming a smile. "You can step back now."

"Thank you, Dr. Gojo," you whispered. As you stepped back, a wide smile spread across your face, hidden beneath the mask but undeniable in the sparkle of your eyes.

Gojo took the lead again to close up the patient. But his gaze shifted to you every now and then.

Geto's eyes narrowed.

─── ·✧· ───

"You did a good job in there."

Gojo glanced in your direction as you both washed up in the scrub room after the operation.

"Thanks," you replied, meeting his eyes.

"I may have underestimated you," he said, his lips curving into a teasing smile.

Wait? Was that a compliment? From him?

Before you could respond, the door to the scrub room burst open. Geto stormed in, his face flushed with anger. He tore off his scrubs and threw them into the trash with a thud that made you flinch.

"We need to talk, Satoru," he said sharply. His intense gaze was fixed solely on Gojo, as if you weren't even there.

Shit.

Gojo calmly turned off the tap and reached for a towel, drying his hands with deliberate slowness. His face was an unreadable mask. He gave you a brief glance before following Geto out of the room.

"Don't you dare fuck my student," Geto hissed before the door had even fully closed behind them. But it didn't matter anyway, you could hear their voices through the thin walls.

Gojo leaned back against a table. His arms crossed over his chest. "What are you getting at?"

"Don't try to fuck with me, Satoru. I've seen the way you look at her."

"I supervised her, so that she wouldn't kill the patient. That's all you saw."

"Supervision?" Geto's voice was sharp. "Since when do you let a student handle such a crucial part of a surgery? What's gotten into you? What if she had screwed up?"

Gojo's eyes narrowed. "What's your problem? She's proven herself capable, and she performed brilliantly today, don't you think?"

Geto advanced a step, closing the distance between them. His frustration palpable. "This isn't like you, Satoru. You're blurring lines that should remain clear. She's a student. You're supposed to be her mentor, not—not whatever you're turning this into."

The room went silent.

"Your concern is noted, but misplaced," Gojo said. "My interest in her is purely professional. She has potential, real potential, and it's my job to support that."

Geto's expression hardened. "That's right, she has potential, and you're risking that if you can't keep your hands off her."

"What?" Gojo pushed away from the table. "Because you want her for yourself?"

"I can't believe you'd go there," Geto snapped back. "I brought her here because she's damn good at what she does, not for any other reason."

Gojo's face tightened, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You should know me better, Suguru. I was giving her a shot to show her skills, that's all."

In a sudden move, Geto closed the distance and grasped Gojo's shirt, pulling him forward. Their faces were just inches apart. "Listen, Satoru," Geto said. "I'm dead serious. One wrong step, one slip, and you could ruin everything—her career, the project, your own reputation. Don't think I'll stand by and watch that happen."

Gojo's eyes met Geto's, unflinching. He placed his hands on Geto's to release his grip. "I hear you, Suguru," he said. "But you're wrong. My interest in her is purely professional."

"Make sure it stays that way," Geto warned. He released his grip and stepped back.

Geto then turned and left the room. Gojo turned his head to look at you through the small window in the door that separated you. Your eyes briefly met his before he also left, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Great.

─── ·✧· ───

This day couldn't get any better.

You stood at the exit of the hospital. It was pouring.

Resigned, you decided to wait near the exit, hoping the rain would stop soon. Minutes passed, but the rain showed no signs of stopping.

"Waiting out the rain?" a familiar voice called out from behind.

You turned to see Gojo appeared. He had changed out of his surgical scrubs and was now in his regular clothes. His muscular arms and broad shoulders visible even under his loose button-down.

"Yeah, it looks like I'm stuck here for a while."

Gojo opened his umbrella. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car."

You hesitated for a moment.

"Suguru already left, don't worry," he added, as if reading your thoughts.

You frowned slightly. "That's not what I was concerned about."

"Then why are you hesitating?" He took a step closer, the umbrella now over you both. He stood at least a head taller than you, looking down at you with heavy eyes. You studied the tired lines in his face, the slight dark circles under his eyes.

"You look tired."

"Do I?" Gojo's voice was deep, his gaze lingering shamelessly on your lips. "Perhaps I am. I've been thinking about you all night."

"Bold statement, especially after Geto's warning."

"I'm not afraid of Suguru."

"Is that why you let me operate today? To piss him off?"

He leaned forward. "I let you operate because you can operate. Suguru is hesitant. He likes to play safe. With me, you'll have more challenge—more fun."

"Are we still talking about surgery?"

"Of course, sweetheart," he replied with a grin. "Come on, It's been a long day. I insist."

"Okay," you finally relented. "Thank you."

You stepped out into the rain together. The umbrella shielded you both as you walked side by side. You walked in silence, the only sound being the gentle drumming of raindrops. Gojo subtly shifted the umbrella, ensuring you were completely covered. His shoulder got wet.

When you reached your car, you turned to him. Somehow you stood so close now. His breath hot against you skin. Your stomach turned slightly, but you tried to brush the feeling off. "Thank you," you said softly, "—for everything today."

"Can I ask you for a favor?" He asked suddenly.

"Sure."

"Can you help me with a project?"

"Another project? Besides the neuroprosthetics?" you asked.

"It's a private one. I could use your assistance with processing data."

"Let me know when and where."

He smiled. "Perfect."

Gojo smoothly opened the car door for you, still holding the umbrella over your head. "Take care," he said gently, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. You both remained frozen. The world outside the umbrella a blur.

"You too," you finally replied, breaking the moment. As you got into your car, you were acutely aware of his eyes still on you.

He closed the door for you and turned.

─── ·✧· ───

"Sorry in advance if this hurts."

You tried to insert the needle, your hand less steady than usual. The needle missed the vein, making Yuta wince. "Sorry," you wiped sweat from your forehead. Then tried again, quickly changing the needle.

A week had passed since the fight between Geto and Gojo. Since then, Gojo hadn't visited the lab. You didn't know what to make of it. But perhaps it was for the better. Less fighting after all. Gojo still didn't approve of your approach.

Still, you couldn't force your mind to stop racing. Perhaps it was the immense workload you had. The research project, not to mention Gojo's personal research project, and inevitably, Gojo himself.

You were in practical class, sitting with Maki, Yuta, and Toge, focusing on a seemingly simple task—practicing drawing blood. But you failed every time.

Yuta gave you a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, you've done this a hundred times."

Yeah. Not really, but you should probably not tell him that right now.

You took a deep breath and tried again. Failed.

"It's alright, give it another go," Yuta said, even after you had stabbed his arm too many times to be comfortable.

The needle slipped again and missed the mark. "I'm sorry, Yuta. I don't know what's wrong with me today."

"Pressure?" Toge asked.

"Yeah, I guess it's a lot lately."

Suddenly, Dr. Kento, the instructor for this practical lesson, appeared behind you. His stoic demeanor sent a shiver down your spine without you having to see it.

"You're really not good at this," he commented bluntly, not really befitting a professor. But it was true.

Forcing a smile, you turned to face him. "Just a bit off my game today."

Dr. Kento's expression remained impassive. "Drawing blood is a basic skill. You should be able to do it in your sleep," he lectured. "But you look like you're torturing your patient."

"Ehh—," you began, turning back to Yuta and only then noticing his pained expression. All color had drained from his face.

Oops.

Dr. Kento's gaze then swept across the room, capturing the attention of the entire class. "Everyone needs to master this," he continued. "I expect you to be able to do this by the end of the week."

You kidding, right?

It was already Thursday. He basically meant tomorrow.

As if on cue, the bell rang.

You and your friends began to gather your belongings. As the room buzzed with the chatter of students packing up, Yuta brought up a topic that immediately drew everyone's interest.

"Hey, about the sports festival, which team should we join?"

"Sports festival?" you echoed, feeling slightly out of the loop. Your focus on the lab work had left you missing everything else that happened on campus.

Yuta nodded. "Yeah, it's a big event. Every year there's a sports festival in the summer with a bunch of team sports events and competitions."

Toge, usually reserved, showed a flicker of excitement. "Basketball."

"Yeah, the professors usually form a basketball team against the students. Should we join?" Yuta asked.

Maki already scrolled through her phone, looking up the festival details. "We should register then, hmm ... oh the professor team is already full, and .. oh Dr. Gojo and Dr. Geto are in the team."

"I bet they are just as competitive on the court as they are in the OR," Yuta added.

"Join?" Toge asked.

"Sure," Maki commented, scrolling through her phone for more details.

Out of curiosity, you asked, "Does anyone here even play basketball?"

Yuta, scratching his chin thoughtfully, replied, "Well, I've played a bit. And Maki's naturally good at anything, so—" he paused, seemingly realizing what he just said. His face turned a shade redder. "Ehh, I mean, you've played basketball before, right, Maki?"

Maki just shrugged, a confident smirk on her face. "He's not wrong."

"So, are we doing this?" you asked.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Great.

Now you had to learn how to play basketball too.

─── ·✧· ───

Later that day, you found yourself outside Gojo's office, clutching the stack of papers you had prepared for his research project. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you knocked softly before entering.

"Dr. Gojo, I've finished the analysis you requested," you said, placing the papers on his desk.

"Thank you. I'll check these later," he said, not looking up from his computer.

You turned to leave. But just as you reached the door, Gojo's voice halted you.

"Wait."

You paused, turning back to face him.

"Wash your hands. There are syringes and needles in the drawer on the bottom right."

"What?" you asked, not sure what he wanted from you.

He looked up from his computer. "You're embarrassing me," he said bluntly. "You know what Kento said to me earlier? He said, and I quote, 'Are you stupid? How can you let a student operate on the brain who can barely get a needle through skin?'"

You felt a knot forming in your stomach.

"It was just not my day, really," you stammered, trying to defend yourself, though your voice lacked conviction.

"How many times have you done that before?" he asked, his gaze intimidating.

You were lost for words.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he said, more to himself than to you. He stood up from his desk and rolled up his sleeves.

Before you knew it, you found yourself sitting next to him, wearing gloves and poised with a needle in hand. Gojo's arm was outstretched towards you, the veins visible beneath his skin. You stared at his arm. Somehow your mind now completely blank.

"Aren't you going to tie a band around my arm to make my veins more visible first?" he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, right," you muttered, your cheeks flushing. You wrapped the band around his arm and secured it tightly. Your fingers trembled slightly as they touched his firm skin. The contact felt unexpectedly intimate. It made your heart race.

He watched you, his expression softening slightly. "Easy now," he said in a more encouraging tone. "It's not hard. Just focus."

Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your trembling hands. The needle hovered over his vein, and for a moment, you were acutely aware of the silence in the room, punctuated only by the sound of your own erratic heartbeat.

You hesitated.

"Use your little finger against my arm to anchor your hand," he said.

Following his advice, you rested your finger against his skin, feeling a surprising steadiness in your hand.

"And angle the needle slightly," he added. "It's about finding the right entry point—not too steep, not too shallow."

You adjusted the angle of the needle accordingly, aiming for the vein. The tip pierced the skin, and this time, it slid into the vein smoothly. You let out a heavy exhale.

"Good," he said. "Now, draw the blood gently."

As you carefully drew the blood, you could feel Gojo's eyes on your hands, monitoring your technique. Once the procedure was complete and you carefully removed the needle. "Much better," he rolled down his sleeve, a slight arch of his eyebrow. "How is it that you've never really done that before?"

"I don't need to draw blood if I'm operating on the brain," you said with a shrug.

Gojo watched you, a stunned expression flickering across his face.

"The nurses usually handle that anyway," you added, hoping to clarify your point.

There was a moment of silence as he processed what you just said. Finally, he shook his head slightly. "I'm just going to ignore what you just said," he replied.

Changing the subject, he leaned back in his chair. "By the way, I saw your name on the list for the students' basketball team for the upcoming sports festival."

You raised your eyebrows, peeling off your gloves. "Oh, you did?"

"Yeah," he said, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. "I didn't know you played basketball. But I have to admit, I'm curious to see if you're as good at basketball as you are at clipping aneurysms."

"I haven't really played much before, so you might want to lower your expectations," a small smile tugged at your lips. "Have you played before?"

"I used to play pretty regularly when I was in universtiy," he said.

Great.

If he was anywhere near as good at basketball as he was at surgery, you were fucked.

"You should teach me then," you quipped, not quite meeting his gaze. As the words left your lips, you immediately realized the implication. You turned to him, a blush coloring your cheeks. "It's just a joke."

His smile widened. "Oh really? Too bad, I'd have liked that."

The room fell into silence.

You found yourself staring at him, and he returned your gaze.

His silver hair had a few strands that were slightly out of place. Your eyes studied his face as if seeing it for the first time. The typical intensity in his blue eyes had softened, replaced by an almost gentle expression. His sharp jawline moved slightly, as if he were pondering something.

Breaking the silence, you finally spoke, your voice softer than intended. "I wonder what you were like back in your university days."

"Why do you ask?"

"It's hard to imagine you not being the controlled surgeon you are now."

"You think I'm controlled?"

"No, that's not what I meant," you hurried to clarify. "I mean, you're always so focused, so—precise, and—"

Before you could finish, he leaned in closer, his intense gaze holding you captive. The world around you seemed to fade into a blur, leaving only the two of you in sharp focus. You could feel the warmth of his breath, barely a whisper away from your skin.

Gojo reached out, his hand gently cupping your chin. He lifted your face slightly, ensuring your eyes met directly.

"If you keep looking at me like that, I might lose my control sooner than you'd expect," he said, his thumb lightly brushing your jawline.

After a moment that seemed to stretch on, he slowly withdrew his hand and stepped back, breaking the connection. He turned away from you and walked back to his desk. "Thank you for your work. You can leave now."

─── ·✧· ───

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the university's outdoor basketball court. Maki, Toge, Yuta, and you had gathered for practice, despite the lingering summer heat.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," you said, dribbling the basketball on the sun-baked concrete. "None of us are exactly pros."

Maki, tying her hair back, grinned. "Speak for yourself. I've got some hidden talents." She effortlessly caught the ball and shot it toward the hoop, scoring a basket. "See?"

Yuta laughed and retrieved the ball. "That's just beginner's luck, Maki. Watch and learn." He took a shot, but the ball bounced off the rim.

"Practice," Toge said.

"Yeah, we really need more practice," you finished his sentence.

"Hey, watch this!" Yuta called out, attempting a fancy dribble move, only to lose control of the ball. It rolled away, and Toge scooped it up and passed it back with a short, "Focus."

"You're one to talk," Maki teased, swiping the ball from Toge and lobbing it towards the basket. It swished through the net effortlessly. "I still got it!"

You caught the ball and wiped the sweat from your brow. "I never thought we'd be practicing basketball as medical students."

Maki turned to you with a curious look. "Speaking of training, how's the research going? You've been spending a lot of time with Geto and Gojo."

You began to dribble the ball, more or less. "It's intense, but I'm learning a lot. Dr. Geto is incredibly intelligent, and well, working with Dr. Gojo is—an experience."

"An experience, huh?" Maki said with a grin "Is that code for 'Dr. Handsome has some unique ways of teaching me'?"

You flinched. Yuta quickly snatched the ball from your unfocused grip and shot it through the net.

"Dr. Handsome?" you echoed.

Maki opened a bottle of water. "Don't tell me he's not good-looking—they both are."

"I mean, they both definitely have their—charm, I guess."

"Charm, huh?" Maki teased, taking a sip of her water. "I've seen the way Dr. Gojo looks at you. There's definitely something."

"It's not like that," you protested, though your defensive tone might have suggested otherwise. "He's just an incredible surgeon to work with, that's all."

"He did let you operate with him, though. That's all I'm saying," Maki added.

"Aneurisym," Toge chimed in.

Yuta, bouncing the ball beside you, added, "Yeah, he let you operate on an aneurysm with him, which is pretty crazy."

You rolled your eyes. "Can we focus on the festival game instead of me?"

Maki laughed. "Alright, alright, we'll drop it. But seriously, how's the project going? I mean, besides the whole Dr. Handsome thing."

Yeah, where to start on that.

Taking a deep breath, you told them more about the research project.

─── ·✧· ───

As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink. You were still on the basketball court, practicing your shots. The others had already left. The court was quiet, except for the rhythmic bounce of the basketball and the occasional swish of the net.

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through. "Hey, First-year."

Startled, you turned to see Gojo approaching the court. He was dressed in athletic attire—a black, skin-tight t-shirt and shorts that looked criminally good on him.

"Dr. Gojo," you said, a bit surprised to see him there. "I didn't expect to see you practicing."

He picked up a basketball and began dribbling with ease. "I like to keep my skills sharp," he said, shooting a casual glance in your direction. "And I heard there was a new challenger on the students team."

You let out a tired sigh. "I'm just trying to make sure I don't embarrass myself too much at the festival," you admitted.

"Have more confidence in yourself, first-year. You're operating on brains, there's no room for doubts." Gojo shot the ball towards the hoop, scoring effortlessly. "And by the way, stop calling me Dr., just Gojo is fine."

"Alright, Gojo," you said.

Gojo passed the ball to you with a casual flick of his wrist. "Come on, first-year. Show me what you've got."

A cold shiver ran down your skin. Oddly, having to demonstrate your non-existent basketball skills felt more intimidating than clipping an aneurysm in front of him.

You positioned yourself at the three-point line, bouncing the ball a few times to find your rhythm. With a deep breath, you aimed and threw the ball, but it bounced off the rim and rolled away.

Gojo walked over to retrieve the ball. "Yeah, you'll definitely embarrass yourself if you play like that."

Ouch.

"Can you do anything besides brain surgery?" he probed further.

Ouch.

"You know that hurts," you said.

"It's all about posture and precision," he said, closing the distance between you two. He halted just before you. "May I?"

With a nod, you consented. He moved in closer, positioning himself directly behind you. His presence enveloping you in a comforting warmth. He smelled like sweat, but oddly, you found it rather attractive.

You could feel the light touch of his hands as they gently guided your shoulders, aligning your stance with the hoop. His closeness was suffocating, and you found yourself acutely aware of every movement he made.

"Bend your knees a bit more," he advised, his voice a soothing whisper near your ear. You could feel his breath, warm and steady, against the side of your neck, causing your heart to beat faster. His hands moved down to adjust your arms. His touch warm against your skin.

You tried to focus on his instructions. But the closeness of his body, the gentle pressure of his hands on your arms, made it damn hard to concentrate on anything other than him.

"Now, when you shoot, focus on a fluid motion," he added.

As you prepared to take the shot, Gojo's hands rested lightly on your hips, steadying you. You should have pushed them away. Touching you like that was far beyond appropriate. But you didn't. You wanted him to touch you even more in that moment.

With his guidance, you took the shot, and this time the ball sailed through the net with a satisfying thud.

"You see? You have it in you," Gojo said, leaning back slightly but still close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him.

You turned to face him, meeting his gaze. Your heart immediately dropped.

Even in the waning light you could see it clearly.

"Are you high?" you asked, a slight frown creasing your forehead.

For a moment, Gojo seemed taken aback by your question. He quickly masked his expression with a casual smile and stepped back, creating some distance between you. He began to dribble the basketball, his movements fluid and practiced, yet there was a hint of unease in his actions.

"It's nothing," he said, focusing intently on the ball rather than meeting your eyes. "Just a small injury during practice."

"And you decided to what? Throw in an opioid for that small injury?" you pressed.

He stopped dribbling and faced you, his expression becoming more serious. "No, of course not," he replied with a hint of defensiveness. "It's just a minor strain. I didn't take anything strong for it."

You couldn't believe what he just said. He—a surgeon—a doctor—out of all people.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, it's been a long day, and I might have pushed myself a bit too hard. But I'm fine, really."

You studied him closely. "You expect me to believe that?" you took another step closer. "What did you really take? Codeine? Morphine?"

A flicker of something undefinable passing through his eyes. "You're crossing a line," he replied, his tone firmer this time.

"Me? Crossing a line?" you countered. "Since the first day we met, you've been pushing boundaries, and now you say I'm the one overstepping?"

Gojo's expression hardened. "I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I am perfectly fine." His words were steady, but the slight tightness in his jaw suggested otherwise.

You didn't buy anything he just said. The feeling that something was off clung to you, refusing to be dispelled. His usual clarity seemed clouded, his sharpness dulled. His eyes slightly red. His skin paler than usual. It was unsettling to see him like this.

After a brief pause, he picked up the basketball and held it loosely at his side. "I think we're done here," he said. "You should go home."

You watched him for a moment longer. But then you decided to turn and walk away, leaving him alone on the court. As you made your way, his words replayed over and over in your mind.

Was something wrong with him?

Should you be worried?

After all, you worked together. And also—naturally—you were worried about him, right? Like any student would be worried about his professor, right?

The evening air suddenly felt so cold.

─── ·✧· ───

The lab was quiet except for the occasional hum of machinery and the soft clinking of your tools as you worked. You were deep in concentration, analyzing data for the upcoming neuroprosthetics project, when the door opened with a soft click.

"Ah, there you are," Geto said as he stepped in. "I've been searching for you. We've finally got the green light for our surgery. Everything's lined up and ready to go."

You straightened up, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "Really? That's great. When?"

Geto walked over to your workstation, a subtle smile on his face. "In two weeks. Are you excited?"

"More like nervous."

"Ah, that's natural. But don't worry, it will work. You've done an excellent job."

You felt a swell of pride at his words. "Thank you. I'm glad I could help."

Still, there was a question on the tip of your tongue, something you had been pondering since last week. Hesitantly, you opened your mouth, but then stopped. Words failed you.

"What is it?" Geto asked, knowing you too well.

"Is something wrong with Gojo?"

He leaned against the table and crossed his arms. His expression shifted slightly. "Don't worry about him. He's just stressed lately."

Somehow you didn't buy it.

"Even so, you shouldn't get that close to him."

"I'm not—" you wanted to interject, but he cut you off.

"I'm not blind," he said firmly. "You have a bright future in science. Don't risk it by getting too involved with him. Satoru is a brilliant surgeon, but his personal life is a mess."

What should that mean?

You looked away, unsure how to respond.

Geto then changed the subject. "By the way, I have some more news for you—good and bad. Which would you like to hear first?"

"The good news, of course," you replied.

"Here," Geto said, handing you a journal. As you took it, the bold lettering on the cover immediately caught your eye. It featured an article written by Gojo.

You opened the journal, your heart racing as you skimmed the pages to find the article. And there it was—a comprehensive meta-analysis that you, too, had worked on.

"No way," you murmured, your eyes scanning the text in disbelief.

Below the article was your name, listed alongside Gojo's, credited for your pivotal role in the data analysis and interpretation.

"He mentioned me."

Geto nodded, a hint of pride in his expression. "That's a pretty big deal."

You were momentarily speechless. Being credited alongside someone as renowned as Gojo was insane.

"Now for the not-so-good news," Geto began.

You looked up at him from the Journal, your eyes still sparkling.

"You failed your anatomy exam."

─── ·✧· ───

The sports festival was in full swing.

Cheers and laughter filled the university campus. The summer heat beat down relentlessly. You already felt a little nauseous that day, and the sun only made it worse. Yeah, you weren't really cut for the heat. At least the bleachers were partly shaded.

You sat quietly besides with Maki, Yuta, and Toge, watching various events unfold on the field. Despite the lively atmosphere, you couldn't bring yourself into the festive spirit. Your mind was elsewhere.

Maki nudged you gently. "Still thinking about the exam?"

You sighed. "Yeah, I have to pass the next one, or I'll have to do this year again."

Yuta leaned over. "You'll go it, I'm sure. Plus, you got mentioned in Dr. Gojo's paper—that's huge!"

"Huge," Toge said again to underline it even more.

You managed a small smile. "I hope you're right."

Maki patted your back. "Dr. Handsome will sure put in a good word for you."

You sighed again. "Not this topic again."

Suddenly, the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, announcing that the basketball match between students and professors will begin shortly.

Yuta turned to you and the others. "Looks like it's our turn. Let's start getting ready."

You nodded, through a wave of nausea washed over you. The heat of the sun was merciless, more intense than you'd expected, and it seemed to be draining your strength by the minute.

Maki stood up. "Alright, team, let's show them what we've got!"

Should you vomit now, or later—or both?

Having changed into your sports attire, you joined your teammates on the basketball court. You began to warm up your muscles, even though the heat made that almost unnecessary. You felt your face burn. Nausea churned in your stomach.

You paused, closing your eyes for a moment, hoping it would pass.

Then, the professors' team made their entrance onto the court. Among them were Geto and Gojo. They began dribbling and passing the ball between them, occasionally doing stretches that showcased their well-built bodies.

They looked confident.

You calculated the odds of how badly this match might go for your team.

Why did you even sign up for this?

Your gaze inadvertently met Gojo's across the court. For a fleeting second, your eyes locked, sending a wave of unease through you. You haven't spoken to him since. Quickly, you averted your gaze and focused back on your stretches.

As Gojo and another professor continued their warm-up, they passed the ball back and forth, aiming for the net. Then a shot from Gojo missed its mark, sending the ball rolling your way.

As if he ever missed a shot.

The ball stopped at your feet, and before you could react, Gojo was there, sprinting up to retrieve it. He halted right in front of you. "You don't look good," he said, his voice so low that only you could hear it.

"I'm fine," you said. "I think it's just the heat."

Gojo reached out, his hand cool against your forehead. "You're overheating."

You quickly pushed his hand aside. "You might want to keep a professional distance, don't you think?" The words came out sharper than intended.

Gojo frowned slightly. "You should sit this one out."

"I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I am perfectly fine," you responded, mirroring his words back at him.

He took a step closer. "You're stupid, you know that?"

Before you could respond, Geto's voice called out from across the court. Gojo turned at the sound. "Coming!" He gave you a last look before quickly walking away. You watched them do a stupid boyish handshake as Gojo rejoined Geto.

At least he was not high today, you thought.

The crowd was already roaring with cheers and applause as both teams lined up. They all here to witness my downfall, you thought, struggling against the nausea that threatened your focus.

Right off the bat, Gojo weaved through your team's defense, fluid and precise. He flicked the ball to Geto, who faked left and then took a clear shot, scoring the first basket of the game. The crowd erupted.

Yuta sprinted down the court and dribbled past Gojo. He passed the ball to you, and you took your chance at a three-pointer. The ball arced beautifully, but it rimmed out at the last second.

At least you tried, right?

Not missing a beat, Toge snagged a pass from a professor and pivoted into a counterattack. He found Maki open. She didn't disappoint, scoring a layup to tie the game. Your team was holding up surprisingly well, mostly thanks to your friends' efforts.

Then, Geto feinted, passing to an open Gojo. With a swift move, Gojo scored another point, eliciting a fresh wave of cheers from the spectators. But Yuta was quick to follow, dribbling down the court. He passed to Maki, who nailed another crucial basket, closing the score gap.

In the final minutes, the game was deadlocked. Gojo had the ball, expertly evading your teammates defensive efforts. He made a break for the basket. Yuta, determined to block him, overreached and stumbled backwards, heading straight for you.

You barely had time to brace yourself.

The collision was inevitable.

Yuta crashed into you, and both of you went tumbling to the ground. The game halting abruptly to the sound of a sharp whistle.

"Are you okay?" Yuta blurted out.

Why was Yuta always running you over?

You rolled over to your side, feeling the heat of the ground beneath you. Everything spun, nausea swirling with pain. "I might need a minute," you managed to say, the world tilting around you.

Almost instantly, Gojo was there, kneeling beside you. "Don't move." He began to examine you for any immediate injuries, his hands tenderly scanning your exposed skin. "You feeling dizzy?"

Your response was a pained sound, a clear sign that you were far from okay. "You might have a concussion. We need to get you checked right away," Gojo said.

"I'm fine," you started to protest, but Gojo had already lifted you into his arms in one fluid motion. He held you close to him. Instinctively, you clung to his neck, feeling the pounding of his heart against your own. It made your stomach clench.

"I'm fine, really," you said again as he carried you off the court.

"Ah shut up, I know you're not." His eyes fixed on you, as if you were the only person who mattered at that moment. "You're really stressing me, you know that?"

─── ·✧· ───

The room felt so small.

His presence filled the whole space.

"There," Gojo said softly as he inserted the needle into your arm. "This should help with hydration and ease any nausea."

You watched as he secured the needle in place. He adjusted the flow of saline, his eyes meeting yours, a playful smile on his lips. "So much for not needing to handle a needle, huh?"

You rolled your eyes.

Then he cupped your chin and tilted your head back slightly. "Watch the light," he instructed, flicking a small penlight on and off before your eyes. His fingers warm against your skin. "Good," he said, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

"Maybe you should stick to brains, instead of sports," he added.

You smiled weakly. "I'll never touch a basketball again in my life, I guess."

His smile widened.

"Thank you," you said quietly.

"No need to," he replied. "Just do me a favor and stop making me worry about you all the time. It's draining."

Your stomach tightened. Gojo turned away and removed his gloves, tossing them into the trash. As the saline drip worked its magic, you began to feel better, the nausea and dizziness slowly receding.

"You mentioned me in your paper," you spoke up, breaking the silence.

Gojo turned to face you, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I did."

"Why?"

"Why wouldn't I? You've done most of the analysis."

"You could have done it without me."

"I know, but I wanted you to be a part of it."

Knowing that the analysis of such an important issue would get a lot of recognition, he should have added.

"Why?" you asked again, already knowing the answer.

"Because I want to support you."

"But I'm just a student, and you're—" You trailed off, feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. His crystal blue eyes seem to pierce right through you.

"And I'm what?"

He stood up and closed the distance between you, his hands coming to rest on either side of you on the bed. The nearness of his body made your breathing hitch in your throat. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, the subtle scent of his cologne blending with the sterile air.

His face was so close, his lips almost grazing yours. Your heart raced, pounding so loudly in your chest you were sure he could hear it.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. "—my professor."

"Too bad, isn't it?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice a velvet caress that sent shivers down your spine.

Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts, a thousand reasons why this shouldn't happen, why you should push him away. But your body betrayed you, leaning into him, closing the distance, seeking the touch of his lips against yours.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you whispered.

"Tell me to stop, and I will."

Your core heated, turning molten. Your lips parted slightly, surrendering to the moment.

You could tell how much self-control it took for him to not kiss you. You could see it in the way his jaw was set, his brow subtly furrowed, his eyes glued to your lips. Yet, he waited for your consent.

His lips were a mere breath from yours—so cruelly close. Every fiber of your being yearned for him to close the gap, for him to lose against his self-control.

Suddenly you heard your name and a knock at the door.

The door swung open abruptly. Gojo flinched back, the spell between you broken. Regaining his composure, he stepped back, putting a professional distance between you two. You straightened quickly, trying to hide your flushed face.

You wished desperately that he'd kissed you.

Geto stood in the doorway, his eyes flickering between Gojo and you.

You could tell what he was thinking.

next chapter ->

author's note: thanks for reading and feel free to leave your thoughts !! if you want to be added to the taglist, pls comment on the series masterlist ♡

#gojo saturo #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x female reader #jjk x reader #alternative universe #professor satoru gojo

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caruliaa · 2 years

Text

getting soo bitter hearing abt tswift tour presale codes on the uk store bc ik i wont be able to go but i also know that its not impossible like if i somehoww move out before the tour than maybe but itll have to be late in the year for that and my only current plan is to maybe bye tickets and sell them online if i cant make it but it might be to expensive for that and also ik after moving im immediately going to like. iv neve had ANY genuine independance before you think i have enough of a hold on myself to go to a fucking concert idk idk but i WANNA GO I WANNA GO SO FUCKING BADLY YOU HAVE NO IDEA IV NEVER EVEN BEEN TO A CONCERT OR ANYTHING HALFWAY CLOSE BEFORE BC IV BEEN SO CONTROLLED MY WHOLE LIFE AND I JUST HAD TO BE STUPID ENOUGH TO HAVE MY FAVE MUSICIAN BE ONE OF THE MOST POPULAR EVER AND GETTING TICKETS FOR HER WILL BE IMPOSSIBLE AND IL LBE BEATEN OUT BY PEOPLE WHOVE SEEN HER LIKE 10 TIMES ALREADY AND THEN WONT EVEN BE ABLE TO GO BECAUSE ILL PROB STILL BE STUCK LIVING WITH MY PARENTS BY THEIR RULES FOREVER OR i;; BARLEY HAVE ENOUGH MONEY TO EAT EACH WEEK LET ALONE GO OUT AND SEE A CONCERT OMFG !!!!!

#anywayy. got the presale codes from the website ahaha #also just had a. interesting text convo with my mother #were its obvious that she does not want to give me money. that she willngly signed up for a program gov to give me.#and has been willingly continuing to put money towards.#like i was just like 'can you please schedule the meeting about it' bc she keeps forgetting too #and she was like 'okay but why do you care sm why are you in such a hurry' like !! hello its like. money im legally entitled to hello ?!?!!#maybe if u didnt suck sm i wldnt be desperate for every resource to escape you !!!!!!!#and i was like 'i just dont want it to be forgotten about because its important' (WHICH IS ALSO FUCKING TRUE !!!)#and she was like 'its not going to be forgotten what do you mean by that its not gonna disappear' which.#obvs not what i meant by forgotten but she 'didnt get' me explaining it -_- (quote marks bc clear gaslighting attempt from mama dearest)#i just dropped it and she said that shell schedule it when she has the chance and i dont thinks shes super suspicious of me but. ugh.#i rly hope she does schedule it and doesnt just forget. ill get my support teachers involved idc !!!!!!!!!#ugh whatever . remind me to call the bank this week to have my acct no long a minors one #so i can start a paypal and do commisons and just general other work online and stuff #make some stupid money to move out of this stupid house and actually have some stupid independence and get my stupid life started #actually ill open tips on this blog idc. if u delight sm in 30 image bingus and being kermited to my girl gimmie money !!!!!! <3 #(/lh u dont have to ofc dw)#whatever i just get so stressed abt this stuff. like i shld be ig its smth worth being stressed abt but just. idk. im kinda sick of it #can i please be a Normal Teenager now and be able to go to concerts and drive and stay out late with my friends #whatever #flappy rambles #vent

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darklordofthesimp · 1 year

Text

Ipseity (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Part of the "Anything" verse, can be read as a standalone.

Summary: When the 141 has to make a choice between saving you or a fellow sniper, you know that your time has come to an end.

A/N: This was meant to be a short filler and now it's like 4.5k long. Hope you're all happy.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Graphic Language | Graphic Violence | Gun Violence | Graphic Description of Injury

The ringing in your ears woke you up.

It was a high-pitched squeal that scrambled your thoughts and made your head pound. You couldn't think straight, you couldn't get past the overwhelming dizziness whenever you tried to raise your chin.

Blood stung your eyes. Your chest burned. You hadn’t been in this much pain in years, every pinch of your nerves prodded at long-forgotten childhood memories. They were things that had been left behind from before you enlisted, things that no longer mattered. What mattered was that you were tied to a chair and barely breathing.

You were going to die here.

And nobody was coming to save you.

"Oh,” someone crooned from behind your seat. You didn’t have the strength to turn your neck and you thanked whatever cruel deity was listening that you hadn’t flinched. The least you could do was fake some courage for what was to come.

“Come back for more?” Your mouth was dry, wretchedly so. You wanted to gag and spit, but there was no moisture in your mouth- it was like sandpaper.

“There’s not much left in you for me to take, Sol,” Valeria said, her fingers trailing the length of your shoulder. Your body shivered beneath her touch as she slowly circled your chair, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Oh, I’ve always got something left for you, gorgeous,” you chuckled, flashing the drug lord a weak grin.

She snorted, the harsh light of the overhead lamp illuminating the edges of her features. She was a sharp woman, Valeria, somebody that you secretly admired. Not for her deeds or the atrocities she’d committed, but for her tenacity and her ambition- there was no stopping her.

“You’ve always been my favourite sniper, you know,” Valeria mused, pulling her hand from your skin to inspect it. Your blood stained her fingers, thick and warm from where it had oozed from your wounds.

“You usually kill your favourite snipers?” You tried to raise your eyebrow but sharp pain ripped through your face, you realized dimly that the skin of your forehead had been split.

“Only when they steal things that belong to me, Luz,” Valeria whispered, pressing her hands against the armrests and leaning in. “Then, I kill them.”

“We didn’t do it,” you met her gaze evenly, the false claim falling easily from your lips.

“You’d die a liar to protect your friends,” she nodded thoughtfully. “It’s unfortunate that they have chosen not to give you the same courtesy.”

You frowned, taken aback by the statement. You suspected that the 141 wouldn’t be there in time, you’d come to terms with the fact that your journey might end here. But, the way she’d said it… it was as if you were missing something.

Valeria’s brows raised, eyes wide as she mocked your surprise with a gasp. “Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it earlier.”

“Mention what?” You ground out through your teeth.

The drug lord huffed a laugh, pushing off from your seat and standing upright. Sweat began to form in a thin sheen across your skin, anxiety running rampant through your system.

What did she mean?

Valeria’s eyes hardened as she tutted under her breath, pulling the blade on her thigh from its sheath. When her attention turned back to you, the malice in her gaze made your spine straighten.

“What you stole from me,” she began, pointing the knife towards your face, “got someone very close to me killed.”

You swallowed thickly, your throat like gravel and your tongue like concrete.

The woman was seething now, the cool facade that she’d worn had melted into pure vitriol and hatred. It was an expression you’d never seen on her but on so many others throughout the years, it was the stare of someone who blamed you for their loss.

“So, as penance,” Valeria pressed the tip of the blade to rest against your chest, “your Task Force will have to lose one of their own- even after they bring me the information.”

“What-”

“We have the other sniper,” the drug lord shrugged. “The little broken one.”

Your heart stalled in your chest, fear dousing your body like a bucket of ice water. Blood rushed through your ears, loud and roaring and all-consuming with the sound. You couldn’t think straight, the image of your colleague being tortured flashed across your vision like a spotlight.

“Birdy.” You whispered the name but it sounded like a plea rather than a statement. Valeria must have heard the begging in your voice because she only smiled.

“Birdy,” she confirmed, with a smug tilt of her head.

God, please no.

“Let them go!” You lurched against your restraints.

The latina's eyes were like stone, hard and unyielding. She was in pain, she was hurting and now it was her chance to hurt you all for what you’d done.

“I will,” she nodded her head soothingly, fingers coming to trace your trembling jaw. You snatched your face from her touch and she raised a brow. When she leaned back with a sigh, you knew what was coming.

Valeria struck you hard.

The wounds on your face screamed and it felt like someone was making you gargle molten lava. Your eyes watered but you made no sound, you gave her nothing to indicate that she’d hurt you.

“The 141 will bring me what they stole,” Valeria sucked in a breath, watching you from beneath her lashes. “But they can only save one of you.”

Your eyes widened.

They can only save one of you.

You knew then that you were going to die here.

“What’s the matter, pequeño sol?” Valeria spoke with a mocking lilt. Your body trembled. “You don’t think they will come for you?”

“No.”

The word was soft and broken and you wondered if the drug lord had even heard it. The way that her smile wavered implied that she did.

“No,” she nodded, standing straight. “Neither do I.”

If you hadn’t been so shattered, you would have seen the glimmer of pity pass over her features.

You took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself, "will you keep your word?"

"What?"

"Will you keep your word?" You repeated firmly. No one was stupid enough to trust the word of a drug lord but right there and then you would take it as law. If you were going to die you needed to know that Birdy would be safe.

Your eyes bore into hers. Valeria swallowed and you could see her hesitation, the desire to spit on the dying flame in your chest and put it out.

Instead, the woman only nodded.

"I will."

Instantly, you relaxed in your seat and leaned your head back with a sigh. You closed your eyes, fighting the tears that had gathered along your lashes.

This was it.

This was the end of it.

You weren't stupid enough to expect anyone to come save you, not when Birdy's life hung in the balance. There was never a doubt about who was more valued on the team, despite your skills you'd never be able to contend with Birdy's spot on the team.

It wasn't about who was better, it was about who was loved.

And nobody in the 141 loved you more than they loved Birdy.

No one.

Your lips trembled and you fury rose like a volcanic eruption from within your chest. You would not die crying. You would not die without dignity.

"I'll be leaving to retrieve my package," Valeria sighed, sheathing her knife. "Once the handover is made, my men will put you down."

You grinned.

"After all we've been through," you feigned hurt. "I thought you'd want to do the honors, gorgeous."

But Valeria didn't bite. She didn't laugh nor did she retaliate, the woman only watched you with an unreadable expression.

"We are the same, me and you, Sunshine." The drug lord stood tall, "Deberías haber sido valorado. Morir con orgullo."

You blinked dumbly. "I don't know what the fuck you said but I'm going to assume you think I'm hot and that you regret not sleeping with me before I die."

Valeria rolled her eyes and turned away.

"You act tough, Sol. Don't die thinking this is anything but a betrayal."

Betrayal.

You offered nothing but a snort, laughing the chill of her words off your spine.

The woman left the room and immediately the silence was overwhelming. There was no one to lie to now, no one to throw your facade at. You found yourself almost asking her to stay as she closed the door behind her, biting your tongue to reserve your dignity. But, you didn't want to be alone, not when the end was approaching so quickly.

Though, you guess you'd done this to yourself.

Always good, but never enough. König was your best friend, but you knew he'd leave you in a heartbeat to save the sniper he truly loved- you couldn't ask any differently from him.

After all, if it had been between him and Ghost, you were sure you'd make the same decision.

A pathetic tragedy in itself considering the feeling wasn't mutual.

Simon Riley loved Birdy, just as the rest of them did.

You would never compare, you'd never come close, not with your ambitious demeanor- not with your shitty attitude. You'd never allowed yourself to view them as family and when they'd tried to include you, you hadn't let them in.

If your own family had wronged you, your own flesh and blood, what would the 141 do any differently?

By the looks of the situation: nothing.

No one was coming to save you.

The burning beneath your lids became so aggressive you wanted to tear the skin from your face. You wanted to gouge out your eyes, just so that the only thing dripping would be blood- not tears.

Never tears.

You were not Birdy, you did not cry.

You were not Birdy.

You'd never be Birdy.

The pressure in your chest grew and swelled and suffocated, extinguishing the fire you'd kept burning for years. Through everything, you'd held strong. Through hellfire and brimstone, you'd crawled your way across death and misfortune to emerge from the ashes stronger.

You did not break. Not until now.

A scream ripped from your chest, unrecognizable. It wasn't you who wailed, it was the child inside who mourned their life. It was the adult who'd never been loved the way they'd prayed for in the dead of the night.

Never enough.

Never enough for König, the man who always found himself by Birdy's side, chasing for the crumbs of their attention.

Never enough for Simon Riley, who'd taken your heart and crushed it every time he watched you with distaste- with disappointment.

You were never the priority.

Never his priority.

You'd never be anything to Ghost, not the way Birdy was.

But you were not Birdy and you'd not die wishing that you were.

You pulled at your restraints, thrashing in your chair with renewed energy. While you knew it was unlikely you'd escape, at least you'd be put down fighting.

"Hey!" One of Valeria's henchmen shouted.

You struggled harder, the skin of your wrists ripping from beneath the ties. Fresh blood trailed down your fingers and you smeared it wherever you could reach, wetting the braided rope until it was slick with crimson rage.

Your heart jumped as your hands slipped through the restraints, the gory lubrication helping you pull your crumpled fingers free.

"Stop!" The cool metal of a barrel pressed against your forehead, putting an instant halt on your plans.

You glared up at the man before you, his eyes were hard but his hand trembled, the weapon jittering against your skull.

"I will fucking paint this room with your brains," he hissed, the cigarette in his mouth jolting with each word. "Try me, I dare you."

"If the 141 comes with the package and I'm dead, Valeria will butcher your entire family, cabrón." You were careful as you spoke, enunciating each word as clearly as you could muster.

The butt of his weapon struck your cheek hard enough to send stars skittering across your vision.

"I speak," the man hissed, "not you."

"I'm trying to warn you-"

He hit you again, this time harder. You felt your teeth dislodge from in your mouth and panic gripped your heart as they slid down your throat.

"I said don't speak!" He shouted, the words warbled as your vision spun. Your head lolled to the side, gagging as you choked on your own bones. Bile speared through your chest as a combination of blood and stomach acid hit the floor weakly. Your teeth clattered across the ground, like dice rolling across the board.

"Ricky!" The man called over his shoulder. "Alguna palabra sobre el paquete?

"Aún nada, hermano."

"Mierda! ¿Por qué tarda tanto?"

The conversation fell on deaf ears as you fought to keep yourself conscious. Your hands were freed but now the element of surprise was lost and there was a barrel pressed against your face.

"I should kill you right now," the man spat in English. "You fucking murdered my brothers like a coward."

"They should learn to duck," you shrugged weakly.

This time when he hit you, it threw your seat backward. You hadn't been able to move your hands in time before the weight of your body and the steel spines of the chair slammed against your forearms.

A sickening crunch reverberated through the room, echoing like the toll of a church bell and while that was loud, your scream was deafening.

"Let's be honest with ourselves, Sunshine," the man laughed, watching you as you writhed and sobbed. "Nobody is coming to save you."

He cocked the weapon slowly, leaning down to press the barrel against your forehead once again. You couldn't even keep your eyes open as you struggled for breath, choking on your own spit and blood as you shrieked. You wanted to watch him, you wanted to go down with defiance- but fear gripped your throat so tightly you were choking on it.

You weren't going to die fighting.

You were going to die suffering.

When the gunshot came, your body recoiled so hard that your head smashed the concrete beneath you. In that horrible moment of silence that followed, you wondered if there was no peace even in death. Agony ripped through your nervous system, every inch of your body screamed for relief.

If this was death, then you were in hell.

"Think again, cunt."

The distinct cockney accent had your spine straightening and your eyes snapping open.

The gun clattered beside your head, unfired.

You weren't dead.

"Sunshine!"

You were being saved.

"Talk to me, Sunshine!"

The voice was so far away, he was too far away, he wasn't going to make it. You weren't going to make it. The man on the floor next to you must have sat back up because you could feel his hands gripping your shoulders, the gun rattling in your ears.

Fingers gripped your face, jostling you from your semi-conscious state. Your vision was blurred by your own blood and tears, the figure before you a mess of shadows. You screamed, trying to pull your broken arms from beneath the chair to defend yourself until help got to you.

Searing hot pain ran up the lengths of your arms and stabbed into your neck. You gagged, a low bellow wrenching from your throat as you heaved.

"Stop! Stop! Don't move!"

"Get away from me!" You wailed, voice shrill and unhinged. You tugged again and this time his hands came down on your shoulders.

"SUNSHINE!"

The roar of your name made your entire body freeze, clutching you by the throat with the desperation behind the callsign. You closed your eyes, a whimper falling from your lips to taint your dignity.

"Jesus." He sounded like Ghost. It couldn't have been him but, God, you wished it was. "Come on, Sweetheart. Look at me."

"I can't see," you wept.

His thumbs swept over your face, gloves wiping the blood from where it had settled on your lids and lashes. You tried again, blinking the crimson liquid from your eyes as best you could. You imagined that you looked a sight, the whites of your eyes a deep red, stained with evidence of your injuries. Finally, your vision settled.

Simon stared back at you, eyes wide.

You gasped.

"Simon?" You slurred, his name broken on your lips.

"Yeah, Sunshine. S'me." He murmured distractedly. His fingers were twitching on your neck, scanning the rest of your body for injuries.

Your heart was beating against your ribs, sudden anxiety flooding your being. If he was here it meant that they'd brought the package to you rather than to Birdy.

That meant…

"No, no, no," you whispered as the Lieutenant lifted the chair with one hand, pulling your broken hands from behind your back. "No, no, Simon, what're you doing here?"

Ghost recoiled slightly, a frown overtaking his features. "The fuck do you mean?"

"Birdy," you rasped, a sob building in your chest. "You need to get Birdy. What about Birdy?"

"Birdy's-"

You fought to stand up, pushing him out of the way as you stumbled to your feet. Your body swayed side to side as your vision swam, but you weren't going down- not again.

"Need a gat. Need Birdy- we can't lose Birdy. Everybody needs Birdy-"

"Sunshine."

"I can't lose Birdy!" You snapped, reeling on your superior with a broken gaze.

For a moment, he stood frozen, speechless. You'd never recover if they killed the other sniper, no one would. Everyone would blame you, it'd be your fault.

"König's got Birdy," Ghost said slowly, straightening to stand to his full height. "I've got you, Sunshine."

You gawked at him as though you hadn't understood a single word he'd said. Realistically, you truly hadn't. They'd come for you, knowing that it would put everyone at risk.

Simon had come for you, leaving Birdy to a man that he hated with every ounce of his being.

Simon had come for you, not Birdy.

"You're here?" You whispered and although it sounded fucking stupid, Ghost only nodded. He knew what you were really asking.

"Of course," he said. "Of course, I am."

"You came for me?" Your voice broke.

The soldier shuffled on his feet, shaking his head as though he thought it was obvious.

"I'd follow you anywhere. We both know it," he huffed, that dark gaze pinning your soul to your chest.

You rocked forward at the words, knees buckling from beneath you. Simon shot forward instantly, his arms looping around your waist and hauling you upward. His hand came to grip your chin, fingers slapping your cheek lightly as your eyes rolled backward.

"Come on, Sweetheart. Stay with it, it's nothin'," he growled, jostling your body to keep you conscious. Your head fell forward to rest against his shoulder, ears ringing and your mind shattered. "Sunshine, stay awake for me."

You couldn't any longer, you couldn't listen to him. He should have been used to it by now, you'd always been the troublesome one for him. Never directly disobeying him but never doing it the way he asked, always driving him bat-shit fucking crazy- always under his skin.

But, if Simon couldn't save you, you'd die happy knowing that he'd even tried.

You'd die happy knowing that somebody loved you.

—

When you thought of dying, you always had such a visceral image of what would happen. You'd be the last one on your line, and the rest of your unit would be shot down; you'd make a stand on a hill and wipe out the enemy until you were out of ammo. Then, you would fight until you were overwhelmed.

That was the death you'd imagined.

Not abandoned and left alone in a warehouse in a sick game of "pick the sniper you like more."

"They'll fully recover physically," someone sighed from above your head. "Mentally, though…"

"They'll be right," Simon finished.

"That's what they said about Birdy," the doctor muttered. "We all know how that ended."

"Doc-"

"Saint."

Simon cleared his throat.

"Saint," the callsign foreign on his tongue, "Sunshine's not Birdy."

To hear it from Simon Riley himself was all the validation you needed.

You stirred in the bed and immediately all conversation fell quiet, the both of them waiting for you to fully awaken.

You knew you were in the hospital before your eyes opened. You recognised the doctor who was talking, a medic who had yelled at you often for ‘being reckless.’ The smell of antiseptic was near seared into your memory and the sound of the monitor beeping was too familiar.

However, the room was brighter than you’d anticipated and you cringed into your pillow with a moan. The overhead light stung your eyes, searing your retinas and making it near impossible for you to think.

“Get the lights,” Saint ordered, realizing what the issue was.

The room fell dim, enough for you to finally pry your lids open and have a look around. Your jaw felt heavy like there was cotton in your mouth. As you probed with your tongue, you realised with a pitted stomach that there actually was something stuffed between your teeth.

You moaned, reaching upward to pull it out.

It was as though you’d set off a bomb with the movement. Both Simon and Saint immediately shot forward, hands on your arms to rest them by your side gently. They stood on either side of your bed, like two sentries, one dark and one light.

“Gonna need you to just relax a second for me, spitfire,” Saint chuckled.

You huffed, fighting the urge to gag on the material in your mouth. Your tongue ran over it, moving to dislodge it from where it had been wedged between your teeth.

“Now,” the doctor leaned over to adjust your drip. “Do you remember your name and what happened?”

Rather than respond, you opted to slowly let the gauze fall out of your mouth and onto your chest. Saint watched you with a deadpan expression as you fought with your facial injuries to perform this feat.

At the end of it, you offered a weak smile.

A long moment of silence ensued before the doctor sighed, staring at the lumps of bloody fabric sitting on the gown.

“I’m gonna go grab some shit,” they said. “Maybe a fuckin’ whiskey.”

They disappeared from the room swiftly, leaving you alone with the Grim Reaper himself. With a harsh sigh through his nose, the Lieutenant reached over and scooped up the gauze, dropping them into the bin.

“You couldn’t just answer the question?” He muttered, moving to crouch by your head. He wore only his balaclava, his hoodie down for once.

“Not with that in my mouth,” you rasped, words thick and sickly.

Simon snorted softly but he said nothing, opting to watch you instead. His gaze ran from your hair to your neck, over and over as if he were committing you to memory. His expression was gentle but there was something hidden that made you think that, at that moment, he was extremely vulnerable.

Anything you said from this point on would determine the relationship between you both. You remembered what he’d confessed when he found you beaten and bloody on the floor. It was clear as day and imprinted on your brain as though it had been branded on the inside of your skull.

“I would follow you anywhere. We both know it.”

You’d both reached the point of no return, no more smoke and mirrors, no more half-truths. Neither of you could get away with hiding your feelings behind hatred anymore.

Not after he’d chosen you.

“You came for me,” you whispered. A statement, not a question this time.

“Of course,” he said again, just as he had before.

You hadn’t realised you were crying until his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping the tears from your cheeks ever so gently. As much as you hated it, as much as you wanted to stop, you couldn’t hold them back.

The relief was palpable, the understanding that you were valued was freeing.

Simon Riley knew the kind of person you were, right at your very core, and he still chose to love you. He still chose to hold your hand and dry your tears with nothing but pure reverence in his gaze.

You realized then and there, that you were valued.

You were enough.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 ghost #cod x reader #cod mw2 #modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty mw2 #cod ghost

6K notes · View notes

thankyouivy · 6 months

Text

Slick Tongue - Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!reader Warnings: SMUT! (18+), oral [f rec], non-con voyeurism? (the team listens in), dryhumping, squirting, overstimulation, dirty talk, begging, HANDS, multiple orgasms, fluff! Summary: Instead of going out with the team for drinks after a stressful week, the only thing he wants to do is bury his head between your thighs. Notes: a gay and a lesbian attempted to write straight smut: this is that attempt. there is a significant lack of munch!spencer content on here and I am willing to attempt to fix that very serious problem. this is literally just 3k words of Spencer being a munch, enjoy! :]

———

“Reid, are you sure you don't wanna come out with us? I mean, after the last few days we all deserve a little fun time!” the grainy voice of Garcia speaks through the phone as Spencer makes his way into your shared apartment. Spencer chuckles and the ruffle of him taking his coat and shoes off can be heard on Penelope's side of the line. Spencer sets his bag on his desk on the way to your bedroom where he knows you’re waiting for him. “As much as I would like to spend more time with you guys, I have other things I need to atten- …”

You’re lying on your side of the bed, undressed except for the navy blue lingerie set Spencer bought for you in LA when the team flew there for a case, and one of his button up work shirts. This one is light blue and it complements the navy blue of your lacy bra and thong peeking out through the half-unbuttoned shirt. You look up from the book you have in your hand, and smile as you sip your red wine, and then place the glass on the bedside table. Spencer is just standing in the doorway and manages to get out a breathy “Hi,” before Garcia seems to snap him out of the trance he's in. He blinks a few times and looks around for a second before remembering where his coworkers' voice is coming from.

“Reid? Reiddddd??? Are you still there?” She says as he lifts the phone back to his ear. “What? Yeah, I’m still here. What- what is it?”

You giggle at him. Despite being one of the smartest people in the BAU, all of his concentration and genius goes out the window when it comes to you, it seems. Spencer can tell Garica is saying something to him, but he can’t really tell what it is that she’s talking about. “Hey, Garcia- I’m- um I’ve got to go- no it's- nothing wrong! I just have to- I- I’ll see you tomorrow, have fun at.. wherever- bye.” He stammers out quickly, and shuts off his phone and throws it onto the bedside table as he makes his way over to the bed.

It seems in Spencer's delusional state of mind, clouded by the nakedness of his girlfriend, he has forgotten that when you turn your phone off, the call you are on does not automatically hang up, unknowingly leaving Garcia and the rest of the team to listen in on the escapades that follow:

“Hi, baby,” You greet him happily as Spencer reaches your side of the bed and leans down to place a passionate kiss on your lips. “God, I missed you,” he mumbles into your mouth and you smile and hum in agreement into the kiss, running your fingers through his soft fluffy hair.

His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, placing kisses along the edge of your face to your ear, and then down to your neck where he begins marking you up. You giggle happily as he works on his task.

He pulls away from the kiss momentarily to run his eyes over your body once more. You look absolutely delectable in this set, it's one of his favorites. He bites his lip and runs his hands over your sides and down to your hips. He leans back in to kiss you all while he makes quick work of your bra, unclasping the back and pulling it off as you work on taking off your shirt, it falls off of your shoulders gently revealing your gorgeous bare tits.

You bite your lip and the blush from your cheeks makes its way down the rest of your body, and Spencer groans at the sight of you. “Fuck, you look so good, baby… but in order for me to have any fun, these need to come off…” He says darkly, as his pointer finger slips its way under the strap of your thong and he places kisses along your collarbone.

You gasp as he grips your hips and slides you to the edge of the bed, dropping down to his knees immediately, and making quick work of taking his own shirt off, leaving him in only his work pants. You let him pull your panties down your thighs and off your legs slowly, already panting hard as he watches you open your pretty legs for him, giving him the perfect view of your tiny bare pussy and completely naked body.

“Fuck…” he says breathily as he licks his lips, obviously salivating. “Please baby…I wanna taste you so bad… been thinking about it for days…” He begs on his knees, and you moan at his words. He looks exhausted but eager, and that combination of things usually only means one thing; "Bad day?" you ask as he grabs the underside of your left thigh and places it over his shoulder, "Terrible."

You lace your fingers through his soft hair, and watch as he closes his eyes, tilting his head to the side to give the inside of your thigh an open-mouth kiss.

"Mmmm.. I’m sorry work was bad baby…Y'can tell me everything after you make me cum, yeah?" and then he's groaning, "Fuck yes," nodding his head and sighing happily, before surging forwards and lapping at your cunt as if its the one thing he wanted to do all day.

Immediately your hips arch off of the bed as his lips press against your folds. "Fuck, Spence," you gasp, he parts his lips before dragging his tongue up your centre, circling the tip around your clit, "oh my god," you moan, fingers tangling into his hair to hold him there. This spurs Spencer on further, his body pushes further between your legs, his hands holding your legs apart while he starts to moan into you. “Tastes so fucking good, baby.” He mutters and licks his lips, before licking at your clit softly.

Your view is obscene. Spencer's large veiny hands are gripping your plush thighs, making his arms muscles flex as he holds them open. His gorgeous sharp jaw moves in a steady rhythm, his long hair falling in front of his face as his dark eyes look up at you, completely focused on pleasing you.

Your body feels like it’s on fire. It feels like too much and not enough at the same time. You shut your eyes and tilt your head back as his tongue runs over your pussy over and over again. “Fuck! Spencer, that feels so good!” You gasp out. You can feel his smile against you as Spencer sucks hard on your clit, vulgar noises fill the room as he leans into you, one hand around your hip holding you down and the other pressing against your abdomen. His nose rubs against your clit as he mouths at your opening, and that sends you over the edge. You cum hard and with no warning, letting out a yelp followed by a string of loud moans. Spencer groans against you as he licks you through it, the vibrations just adding to the intensity of your orgasm.

He kisses your thighs when he's done licking up your arousal to help you come down from your sudden high, and then stands to maneuver you onto the bed properly. “You know, the tongue is one of the strongest muscles in the body…and although cunnilingus isn’t the intended purpose of the genioglossus, styloglossus, and hyoglossus muscles, they really do make it easy for me to make you cum.” He speaks as he positions you up against the pillows so you have a clear view of him, and places a pillow underneath your hips to get better leverage. “Speaking of cumming, did you know the average woman can orgasm up 5 times per session? So if you think I’m stopping at one… you must be out of your mind, sugar.” He licks his lips.

Without giving you a chance to reply, he delves back into you, his tongue lapping over you slowly, suckling over your clit which has you shuddering instantly, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Suddenly you feel his fingers tease at you, you gasp, then whimper with want, desperate for his long fingers to fill you. Without warning he presses two fingers into you easily with the aid of your cum-slicked opening. His gaze traveling up your body as you cry out and clench around him "fuck, baby, so fucking tight and desperate for me, huh?" Spencer mumbles.

He has you panting and whining whilst throwing your head back in no time. Your nails dig into his scalp, hips grinding slowly against his face and fingers as heat starts to form in the pits of your stomach. His fingers fill and stretch you in the best way possible as he works you open. Your orgasm builds again, embarrassingly fast, thighs shaking, back arching away from the bed while he plays with your body.

"Oh, fuck, i'm gonna- I'm gonna cum, baby" you cry out, letting your thighs close around Spencer's body, you feel him smirk against you as he lifts off you momentarily to mutter out a little “yeah? Gonna cum?”

"Mhm! fuck- Ungh- oh god!" you choke out in between your moans, stomach clenching underneath his hand as he doubles down, fingers speeding up slightly and his own moans sending vibrating pleasure straight up your body, "th- fuck, there, stay there,” he makes you babble, gripping his hair as you keep him where you need him. Spencer is revelling in the way his motions pull a string of pretty sounds from you; a mix of moans, whines and whimpers because words are failing to express how fucking amazing you feel.

“Doing so good, sugar" He groans, the heel of his hand pressed into your pelvis, the pressure making you clench around him. "So good," he groans as loud moans spill from your open mouth.

Spencer pulls his fingers out of you but before you can protest he's sliding them straight back in at a slightly different angle, hitting the exact spot you need him to. "Please," is all you can manage as the air gets punched from your lungs by a scream when he starts pressing and rubbing hard over it, knowing how close you are to your orgasm.

Your boyfriend watches your stomach tensing and he feels your knees trembling at his sides, your pussy walls fluttering around his fingers and clit pulsing on this tongue as he flattens it against you, “uh huh, come on, baby," he starts, fully aware of what his words do to you. "So close, I know..." He pauses when you interrupt with a high pitched whine, "cmon, cum for me," he finishes, moving his mouth to suck on your clit and curl his fingers inside you, and it sends you over the edge, your back arches away from the mattress, somehow pushing Spencers long, thick fingers into you even further, and you're done for.

Your cunt floods, wetness gushing from you and soaking the sheets beneath you. "Don't stop," you sob.

Spencer moans loudly as he continues his attack on your cunt with his mouth, greedily trying to lick up everything you’re giving him.

This time, he doesn’t give you a chance to breathe, keeping a steady rhythm of his fingers and mouth as he attempts to get you to squirt again. You loudly whimper and try to squirm away from his grip and relentless stimulation on your poor, swollen, fucked out pussy, but to no avail. He doesnt let up as he pushes your hips down harder, and all you can do is let out pathetic little cries and whines as he overstimulates you.

“I- I can’t again-” you cry out at him. It's all too much; his fingers inside you, the heel of his hand pressing into your folds, his lips and tongue toying with your clit, his free hand exploring your body, the stimulation is making your brain short circuit. He pulls his mouth away from you for a second, “yes you can. Just one more for me, sugar, yeah?” He pants, and then resumes his work when you let out a broken cry.

Spencer feels like he's harder than he's ever been in his life. The sounds you're making, the way you taste, the way you're trembling under his ministrations just spur him on more. The only thing on his mind is how he wants to make you squirt again, the very thought of it makes him lightheaded as he doubles his efforts.

In your haze of overstimulation, you can feel the bed rocking at a steady pace, and you realize Spencer is humping the bed. The thought of him getting himself off on the sheets below him, because eating you out is something he does for his own pleasure and not yours, goes straight to your core and your hips spasm upwards into his mouth.

“Spencer!” you moan, “I’m gonna- fuck-” one of your hands tangled in his curly locks, a silent plea for him to stay where he is as you grind your hips sporadically against his tongue. “Cum on my face, baby.” You could feel his smirk on you, and how it grew when your hips started to hump his face as he increases his pace.

"Uh huh, cum on my tongue," he hums against you, and that sends you hurtling over the edge for the final time. You come harder than before, you let out a scream as your body shakes and your thighs close around Spencer's head, trapping him there while your entire body spasms, eyes clamped shut.

His thumb presses and flicks against your clit as he eats you, and you're sure you black out, thighs practically vibrating from the intensity as your body releases even more cum than last time.

"Oh my god, baby," you barely hear Spencer over the pounding in your ears as your body continues to convulse and spurt liquid. His fingers move at an inhuman pace, desperately trying to milk as much cum from you as he possibly can, and all you can do is scream. When he is convinced you can't give him anymore, he gives one final lick through your folds and slips his head away from you.

Spencer looks incredible, his hair tousled and messy, the bottom half of his face completely soaked with your slick and his cheeks red as he catches his own breath and licks you off his lips. Gently, he slips his fingers from your body moaning softly to himself when your pussy squelches from the mix of ejaculate and his saliva. Strings of your slick connect his fingers together as he spreads them apart. "Were so fucking good for me,” He moans. Looking right at you, he slides those fingers onto his tongue, lips curling around them as he sucks you off them and hums at the taste, “so fucking good”.

After giving your hip a kiss, he lifts himself off the mattress and heads to the bathroom to wipe his face off and run a bath for the two of you. He comes back to find you still completely fucked out and breathing heavily, your body still twitching. He chuckles at you, completely spent and exhausted. “Want me to carry you, sugar?” he asks softly and you just let out a small ‘mhm’.

He picks you up with ease, holding you up by the bottom of your thighs. one of your arms wraps around his neck and the other grabs his face to kiss him deeply, whining when you taste yourself on his tongue. You can't feel his erection against you, but instead a damp spot on the crotch of his pants, which just makes you whine more, hooking your legs around his hips and burying your face in his neck.

He pets your hair and makes his way into the bathroom with you in his arms, placing you into the bath following close behind after making quick work of his remaining clothes. Your back presses against his chest as you both relax in the warm soapy water.

“So, what happened?” You ask in a sleepy mumble as his hands rub up and down your arms methodically. “Hm?” He mutters, burying his nose in your hair. “What happened at work?” You smile up at him, and he just laughs and places a delicate kiss on your lips.

Back at the BAU, Rossi, Prentiss, Morgan, Garcia, and JJ are still in the bullpen, and not out at the bar. Garica’s phone rests in the center of the roundtable as the entire team stares at it, slack jawed. “Well… now we know how he can talk so much without his jaw hurting.” Rossi says, dumbfounded.

The door to the room opens suddenly, Garcia snatches her phone and hangs up the call, that has now gone silent on Spencer's end, as everyone’s heads snap to Hotch.

“What are you all still doing here?” Hotch asks, receiving five immediate “nothing!”’s as they all scramble to collect their things and rush past him out of the room.

More of my stuff can be found here.

~ Ivy 🪴

#spencer reid #munch!spencer #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fic

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josephquinnswhore · 4 months

Text

Red Wine & Reparation

Pairing: joel miller x female reader

Summary: you and Joel became young parents, married young and divorced young.. coparenting can be hard.. especially when you still love each other.

Word Count: 7k

Content Warnings: no outbreak, awkward divorced young couple, Joel Miller being a cat guy, flirting, awkwardness, slight implication of attempted SA. Unprotected sex, oral—female receiving, praise, pet names, tongue fucking, slight submissive Joel???? Creampie, mentions of pregnancy, and breastfeeding kink ??

Note: in this fic female reader & Joel are the same age, late 20’s in this fic!! This is my contribution for this week lol.

You were expecting a visit from Joel in a few hours; although you’d tried to be in contact with him, it seemed he was struggling to get back to you. Texts gone unanswered, calls sent straight to voicemail. It was unusual, and as clingy as you felt, it wasn't like Joel not to be in contact, especially when it came to your daughter, Sarah.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He calls your name from the other side of the door. “Hey, you home?”

The door swings open and Joel stands on the other side of the door, you can't ignore the subsequent look of franticness in his brown eyes. “Hey.” His second greeting is a little more relaxed, if anything a little bashful. The tips of his ears are red under his dark brown curls.

“I just got a new phone, had a little malfunction at work with the other one, mind putting your number in?” You take the new phone, something that seemed way too fancy for Joel, an Iphone 13. As if your eyebrows raise of their own accord, it doesn't go unnoticed by him.

“I never took you for a man that cared about keeping up with the trends.” Your remark earns a scoff. “I just want to be able to keep up with everything Sarah’s into these days, all the facebooking and snapping or whatever she's got.”

His social unawareness pulls a laugh from her dry throat. “I'm surprised she wants you on her snapchat, teenage girls don’t normally want their parents seeing what they’re up to.”

He grunts. “How are you anyway—both of you.. I mean.”

“Things have been okay, I've taken a step back from work to try and relax a bit more, you know?” Although Joel nods, he can't relate, he’d just gone through the ringer of starting his own business with Tommy.

But Joel knows you need a break, he notices the physical telltale signs of stress. Lines beside your eyes that didn't seem visible a few months ago, the slight strain in yout voice and even your physical stance seems off. You seem to be trying to mask it, but he notices.

“Everything at work alright? They givin’ you trouble again?”

Again. How you'd forgotten about the last time you confided about how bad work had been getting. The unpaid overtime and extensive workload. Joel seemed furious at the thought of you wearing yourself thin and had even rung your workplace, that's an incident that got you a written warning.

In an attempt to dismiss his worries you wave your hand. “Ah it's not so bad, I’ve taken some time off with what little annual leave I have.”

“That’s good. You work too hard, you do.” His voice is softer than it had been a moment ago, his gaze settling on your own. He tries his hardest to suppress the memories as he stares into your eyes, he tries to forget how easy things were back then in comparison to now.

You break eye contact as you feel your kitten rubbing herself up against your legs. The little creature lets out a small mew.

Joel’s shock is evident on his face, the fluffy white bundle of fur rubs itself along your pant leg, its tiny mews echoing in his ears. “Oh my god, what in the world..” He stammers. “Is that…?”

Your entire face heats up. “I know.. I've never been a fan of cats but.. She's cute right?”

Joel can't help the instinctual reaction to kneel down onto the floor to get a closer look at the fluffy bundle of fur. He lets the small creature sniff his hand before petting her. With every stroke of his fingers along her pointed ears, she purrs louder. “What's her name?”

“Her names angel. Sarah named her.”

“Of course she would,” Joel murmurs, still petting the kitten as he looks up at you from the floor. “How'd you end up with a kitten anyhow?”

You huff at the memory. “Found her on the side of the road, I think someone dumped her.”

“God, that’s terrible. Why would anyone do something like that? Who just dumped a living animal in the middle of the road?” He shakes his head as he grumbles angrily. He strokes the kitten in a softer manner, expressing his sympathy for the little animal.

You're stewing in your own irritation at the thought. “Some jackass.”

The conversation seems to grow quiet, with the only noise being the kitten’s contented purrs. “She's a lucky kitty is what she is, havin’ two special girls lookin’ after her.” He murmurs, leaning in to tickle the small kitten under the chin with a chuckle.

“I never took you for a cat man, hell—you're looking like such a softie right now,” you tease.

“It's the one thing you never really knew then, right?” The kitten rolls on its back, purring as it scratches itself on the soft creamy carpet. “I bet you would’ve known all my soft spots had things been different back then.”

A sombre mood falls between the two. “Maybe so..”

Joel turns away with a regretful look in his eyes, it's a painful truth, and one the pair had both seemed to accept. Despite the way the two had seemed to adapt to the co-parenting situation.. They're both reminded every single day since their split of what could have been.

“Yeah.. maybe so.” He lets out a sigh, watching as the small kitten runs off, and he's left kneeling on the floor as he watches after it. He doesn't really know what to say.. And he's not sure you do either, it’s awkward to have these quiet moments between them.

“You know.. Sarah told me you went on a date last week.” You try to sound as encouraging as possible, but even as your heart cracks, it seems to break the silence brewing between you. And honestly, you’re nosey.

His face seems to redden at your playful accusation. “Damn.. she really has no filter, does she?” An awkward chuckle follows as he lets out a small groan and his knees crack as he stands up off the floor. As his gaze meets your own again, he wonders how you'll take the news. If he’s lucky, you’ll be jealous.

“She's a smart kid.. observant.” A small moment of silence briefs the conversation before you can stop yourself from asking.. “How was it? The date I mean.”

“That she is..” Joel murmurs before adding reluctantly. “The date was just.. Not a good fit. It didn't go well.” He shrugs, but you knew it would've been a massive blow to his self esteem. “I don't know why I tried… just thought.. maybe..” He rubs the back of his head and chuckles anxiously as he trails off.

It seems his self esteem did take quite the blow.

“Don't be so hard on yourself now, you're a catch, and any good woman will see that.”

Joel’s eyes narrow into a frown. “I'm hardly a catch.. Let's be real, I work too much.” He pauses. “Maybe I'm still caught up on..” He catches himself before he admits it..

Your ears perk at this. “Who doesn't love a hardworking man.” You tease lightly.

He manages a smile at your teasing. “I’m not a catch.. this..” He gestures to himself pitifully. “Is not a catch. Truth be told I’m.. I'm still pretty caught up on you and I'm not even ashamed to say it.”

“Hell—why?” Is all you manage to ask in a stutter.

“Because..” He lets out a frustrated noise and scratches his head anxiously. “Because I should have fought for you, I should have tried harder. You were everything I wanted. Still are.. Honestly.” His tone takes a solemn tone. “That doesn't just go away, all of those feelings.”

“You're right.. They don't just go away.” Your agreement to his statement has him wondering, his eyes searching your face for any sliver of teasing.

“So.. what does that mean? If I was to say.. If I was to ask something stupid.. Would you be angry?”

You're a little confused by his sudden bashfulness. “That depends on what you're asking.”

“Hypothetically..” He starts. “If I were to ask you out on a date, for old times sake..” He trails off and doesnt look back at you, there's a pregnant silence between you both..

“You want to take me on a date?” You ask in confusion.

He clears his throat and looks up to you, his eyes shifting around the room. “Is that a stupid question?”

“Well.. how about you ask me on a real date and maybe… I’ll say yes..”

His head spins in a daze, his heart doubles in size as he realises how much he wants this. “...are you serious?”

You simply nod, waiting for him to ask you on a date properly.

He's nervous, shifting from foot to foot, as if this was the hardest thing he's ever had to ask. “Okay then..” He mumbles to himself, clearing his throat, trying to steady his voice. “Would you care to.. Join me for a dinner date.. at my place?”

He actually asked..

“I would be happy to join you for dinner, Joel.”

It seems as if he's having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that you actually accepted. Even though it's what he wanted, needed.. He had somehow still expected you to decline. The look in your eye contractics his anxiety, though.

“You sure?” He asked, insecurity evident in his shallow voice. “I mean, you still remember how much I work, right? I have to finish this job for a client, he's on my ass about it, keeps asking me when I'm gonna be finished, but I told him I'm on track. Gonna put in some big hours to get this done.”

How could you forget, it was the reason you split all those years ago. His work was all consuming.

Your heart aches at his attempt to push you away–to take your pending rejection on the chin. “How about you let me know when you're free and you can cook for me, hm?”

The offer was flexible, giving him a chance to relieve himself of the pressure and try to find a day that works for you both.

Joel seemed to appreciate the offer, and his face visibly relaxed. “That sounds perfect, as soon as this project is done, and this client is off my ass, then we’ll figure out our date.”

“Sounds great, just send me a text and let me know, yeah?” You smile and tuck your phone into your jean pocket.

“Count on it.” He spoke with such promise it was hard not to get excited about what was to come.. Maybe they could rekindle what they once had. “I'll talk to you later then?” He takes a step towards the front door, his phone rings loudly, you assume it's a client of his.

“Yeah, we’ll talk later..”

As you close the door, it takes a moment to process what had just happened. A stupidly big smile resides on your lips, giddy with excitement, the disbelief that this is happening. Joel doesn’t text till late, but you’re ecstatic that he did get into contact about something other than who has custody of Sarah for the weekend.

Joel Miller 😉 10:45 pm

Hey, I'm sorry it's late, I just wanted to catch up. How's this weekend sound to you? For our date..

You. 10:47 pm

No sweat. What time were you thinking?

Joel Miller 😉 10:50 pm

Hoping to see you around 7. I'll cook dinner and we can just hang out. Unless you wanted to do something else?

You. 10:52 pm

No. it sounds perfect. 7 works for me.

Joel Miller 😉 10:53 pm

Great.. See you at 7 then.. Saturday..

You. 10:53 pm

Great! See you then handsome. 😉

Joel Miller 😉 10:58 pm

See you, beautiful. 😜😏😊

You can't help but laugh at the emojis Joel sent; he was such an old man that didn't understand a damn thing about technology, sure he was trying, but it seemed to get the better of him.

The week is slow and miserable, with your time off work and Sarah at school, you're not sure what to do with yourself for many hours of the days that slowly pass on by. You spend a lot of time reading your books that had sat and collected many layers of dust on the bookshelf in your living room, even taking your little kitten, angel, for walks on a small leash.

You find that as you become moderately okay with being alone, and in the company of naught but a small kitten, time seems to pass by much quicker than it did.

You'd been doting on what you'd wear all week–hell, you were still trying not to think too much about it. Choosing a simple lavender sundress, it was far too hot to wear anything that would stick to your skin. And whatever sin you’ve commited by wearing matching lavender lingerie is no one's business but your own.. Joel wouldn't know anyway.

It couldn't hurt to hope, right? It had been years since you been laid.

“God what the hell is wrong with me?” You murmur to yourself, one hand desperately clutching onto a bottle of red wine, as if you couldn't make it any more awkward. It's 6:50 pm. But you couldn't bare to sit across the damned street in your car a moment longer, your heart ager and anxiety running wild.

Knock, knock. Your hand raps on the hardwood door twice, hands shaking from being so anxious.

As the door opens, Joel grins. “Hey.. you're early.” Taking in his appearance, you can't help but swallow the saliva that had built up in the few seconds you’d spent greedily staring at him. Hell— it was only a brown cotton shirt and a pair of jeans, but he looked incredible.

“I know.. I hope that's okay.” His own eyes take a moment to appreciate your outfit, the perfectly fitting seam of lavender purple that fits snug around your breasts.

“Totally fine, I’m ready in here.. I made you something special.” The grin on his face is cheeky and he takes the bottle of wine from your trembling hands and opens the door wider for you to enter. “Come on in.”

He has absolutely outdone himself, it seemed Joel had managed to clean the entire house in the week coming up to this evening. The house is cleaner than it's ever been, his kitchen is full of colour of fruits and a wonderful aroma swirls around as you walk through the hallway. The counter is a little cluttered with spices and a half drunken can of beer.

“You've absolutely outdone yourself joel.” The compliment seemed to naturally expel from your lips, seeing how he had set the dining table up, in the middle was a simple summer salad and two wine glasses, as if he knew you'd be bringing the wine..

“I would be a terrible host if I didn't have something special in store for you..” As he trails off, the sound of a timer from the kitchen buzzes, and Joel rubs his hands together. “Here, why won't you take a seat?” He pulls the chair out, waiting for you to take the offer, of course you accept, taking a seat and he tucks your chair in.

“Be back in a moment with the food, make yourself comfortable.” The smell is absolutely incredible as Joel steps back out of the kitchen and sets a steaming pan of hot pasta right in front of you, sitting on the seat across from you.

“Jesus, how in the world? I remember all those years ago you couldn't even seem to grasp the concept of avocado toast.”

Joel laughs halfheartedly at your comment. “I wasn't much of a cook back then was I? Always relying on you to use your magic in the kitchen.” He grasps the wine and opens the bottle, pouring you a generous glass. “The fact that you remember that is pretty impressive though. That had to be what.. five or six years ago?”

You can't help but feel embarrassed to be caught out. “I guess I have a knack for remembering things, god.. Sarah would have been barely five back then..”

When you split..

Joel senses the tension in your voice, and serves himself some wine, taking a small sip. “Yeah, she was pretty young back then. It seems like only yesterday that she was a baby..” He takes a small pause as he reminisces. “I always liked when you carried her around in that sling you had for her. Never really understood why you didn't just use a pram..the sling seemed like much more work.”

You let out a small laugh. “I just liked having her close to me, and I hated those goddamn prams so much. I could never figure out how to use the stupid things.”

“Yeah, they were kinda bulky.. I never liked them much either, honestly. Still.. You'd spend like an hour just letting her nap on your chest, you would just carry her around the house.” He lifts the wine glass, his cheeks bare a resemblance to the dark red wine. “I always thought it was kinda adorable.”

The thought makes you stop and think, lifting the glass up to your lips to take a tentative sip. “Do you ever wish we could have a do over?”

He swallows the small amount of wine in his mouth, the smile that was on his face slowly fades. He never thought they would ever speak of this, of their past. He held a lot of guilt, that they fell apart because of him, he was the one who ruined a good thing. Now.. six years later, he had a chance to mend things, maybe even create something new between the two. “Every day.”

The silence hangs in the air between them for a few moments.. “Well.. either way. Sarah turned out wonderful, and that is something we both ought to be proud of.” Your hand meets his own for a brief moment.

Joel can't help but nod in agreement. Sarah was kind, intelligent, thoughtful and empathetic. He couldn't help but feel like Sarah was turning out more like you than him, and he was grateful for it. “But still, I can't help but want.. I don't want a do-over. What we had was good until I screwed it up, I just wish there was some way I could make up for that.”

“Hey—come on now.. You were working overtime back then..trying to keep our heads above water. I didn't.. I didn't understand the sacrifice you were making for our family back then.. You sacrificed a lot, joel..”

Joel looks up at you in surprise when you assure him of his goodwill. In a sense, he's grateful you're defending him, but you’ve always been too kind about the past, too forgiving, he doesn't know if he deserves it. “Yeah I was working a tonne of overtime.. I was trying to save up for a house, I wanted to take care of you both.. Guess it got out of hand.”

You can't help but feel a sense of nostalgia as you look around the house that you both raised Sarah in for the first five years of her life.. “You did it Joel, you got the house and.. Now you're starting up your own business. You've come a long way.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it was all worth it, I missed out on a lot of Sarah's younger years in the process… it's not time that I can get back.. and I know it was my own doing.”

“That was your sacrifice.. And it was so she could have a good childhood. That in itself makes you an incredible father. She knows what you did for us, for her, and she loves you.”

Joel knew that much was true, he concedes this as the truth. He couldn't deny that he had an incredible relationship with his daughter. There were many things joel regretted in his life and from the past, but he couldn't recall a single moment of regret when it came to how he chose to raise Sarah.

“I think we're well overdue for some more wine, wouldn't you say?” You grin, nodding toward the bottle, and with a small smirk, Joel complies, filling your glass half full and his own the same.

“That may be true,” he replies playfully. “But I'm still gonna need you to take it easy. I'm not prepared for what you'll be like once you're tipsy.”

“I'll be on my best behaviour.” You grin, almost too mischievously.

“I'm not believing that for a single second. I know you.. as soon as the wine hits, you’re gonna lose your inhibitions and start trying to charm me.”

Rolling your eyes is an appropriate response. “As if I need to try to charm you, Joel Miller.”

“See?” He chuckles, “even now, you're flirting with me.”

You are amused by his tone and can't help but be a smartass. “Hey—this is a date.. Isn't it?”

With genuine amusement in his tone, he laughs. “Well, I suppose it is. But you can't deny that if I keep pouring you this wine, you wont end up in my lap within the half hour?”

“Pour me another glass and find out.” You challenge, setting the now empty glass in front of him.

He raises an eyebrow, but pours you a third glass of wine, handing the glass back to you. “Here you go.” He wonders if he'll be right in his prediction.

You hold the glass up and take a sip, eyes closing momentarily as the warmth slides straight down to your stomach. Silently thanking him.

Joel leans back into his chair, after topping up his own glass that wasn't quite empty yet, watching you with a brightness in his eyes. “You know, even though we haven't been an actual couple in half a decade, it's still nice to be having one of these again.. as strange as that sounds.”

With a raised eyebrow and amusement in your tone. “I dont think its strange at all, I think it's wonderful.”

He hums in response, finally digging into the pasta that had been sitting there since he served it steaming hot off the stove, you follow in tow, deciding that your stomach has somehow made room for the deliciously smelling creamy pasta. You can't help but groan in delight as you chew the creamy pasta. “Fucking delicious.” You mutter.

As the two of you decide to eat, Joel notes that you’re out of wine… “I'll get another bottle.” You insist, seeing that he's digging into his dinner.

You know your way around the kitchen you'd spent years living in, reaching upward for the wine cupboard, it seems you can't quite reach, whispering to yourself.. “Goddamnit.” You don’t realise you’ve been staring at the cupboard for a few minutes until you hear him.

“Having some trouble?” You don't have the nerve to turn around at how husky his voice sounds. He decided to take advantage of the fact that he had disarmed you with his voice alone, and slips up behind you, his chest flush against your back. He doesn't bother to help you reach the wine, instead he wraps his arms around your waist.

You can't help but lean backwards into him, closing your eyes as you lean your head backward into his shoulder. Your heart skips at the sensation of him pulled taut against you, it had been too long since he held you like this.

His hand caresses the side of your neck, and he whispers softly into your ear. “How's the wine treating you baby? Seems like your skin is a little warm..” He teased boldly.

“Who said it's got anything to do with the wine? My handsome ex husband is holding me— I think that calls for some mandatory blushing, does it not?”

Joel chuckles and squeezes you tighter around your hips, his body pressing against yours firmly, your hips pressed against the bench. “Ex-husband… is that what I am to you now?” He asked, smirking.

You can't help but laugh breathlessly. “Legally, yes.”

“Legally, maybe,” he replies, his smirk broadening. “But in my eyes.. Who you truly belong to is not a matter of legality..” He leans in and whispers softly into your ear, his lips tickle the skin. “Just a matter of heart..”

You shudder as his warm breath warms your ears. “Joel Miller, the romantic.”

“What can I say, you bring out the best in me.” He replies softly, lips against your neck, his voice carries a seductive undertone. One hand slides up your arms and he grabs you to spin you around, his eyes boring into you as your back is pushed against the counter, you’re forced to meet his gaze as his hand grips the nape of your neck. “Do you want to know what I really think about you?”

His sudden manoeuvre has her shocked into near silence. “What do you think of me Joel?”

He hesitates, trying to find the right words. He can't mess this up, not with your large and vulnerable eyes watching him. “You're beautiful,” he praised softly. “You have the most kind-hearted soul I've ever known.. You're a wonderful mother… and you’ll be the only one I’ll ever truly want..”

Maybe the wine helped him be bold enough to be truthful in this moment, or oversharing. He felt like this might be the only chance he might have.

“Why did it take half a bottle of wine for you to tell me all this?” You mumble.

Joel goes quiet. He can't help but stare down at you, the smirk on his lips fades, you'd always been able to see through him. “I was scared,” a note of humility in his voice. “Scared that once you knew, you wouldn't want to look at me again. I always thought you were out of my league, ya know? I didn't deserve someone like you…still don't know if I do.”

His self depreciation was never something you would come to accept. “Don't talk like that, Jesus Joel. You really have no idea how much I love you, do you?”

“How can you still love me?” He asks, although he's almost afraid of the answer you'll give. “I hurt you, I let myself drift so far from what mattered..”

“Joel… you've done nothing that isn't worth forgiving,” you promise softly.

Joel can't help himself as he pulls you against him, chest to chest. He holds you tightly, as if it might be the last time…”But that's the problem,” he said softly. “Not that what I did isn’t forgivable…but that it didn't need to happen in the first place. It hurts me just thinking about how much I lost sight of things, but it can't have been worse than how much I must've hurt you…”

Your hands have a mind of their own as they cup his cheeks, making him look down at you. “Now you listen to me, okay? I love you. Things were not easy for us back then.. We were young parents and struggling to pay the bills, parenthood hit us fucking hard and we didnt make it..” You sigh, your eyes full of love and vulnerability. “Hell—I don't even remember half of it… but were here now, we have a chance to make things better than they were, we can start new.”

He nods as he rests his forehead against your own, a small smile on his lips. You easily wipe away any insecurity and self guilt he held for their split. You were right, of course. This wasn't the time to dwell on the past, on what could've been, not when the two of you were here… now, with a brand new start. “Let's try again, huh?” He asks in a low whisper.

Pulling your lip between your teeth, you nod against his own warm skin. “Let's try again…”

His hands are warm as they caress your cheeks, he pulls you into him for a kiss, lips meeting and you're flooded with emotion, all the doubt and uncertainty you both held washed away as soon as your lips connected. The bittersweet aftertaste of wine lingers on your warm lips. He struggled to pull away from you, but he looked down at your loved filled eyes, gazing softly up at him. “God, I've missed that.” He whispers softly.

He brushes a handful of strands of loose hair out of your face, looking down at you, you note his pupils are dilated. “You still take my breath away,” he laughs softly, caressing your cheek.

You flush at his praise. “Trying to get in my good books already?”

He was definitely trying. “You can't fault me for trying, I could really use some brownie points right now, ya know?”

Laughing at his sense of humour, you roll your eyes. “You're a crooked man Joel, and I love it.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?” An amused tone in his voice, his body pressing against your own. He leans down to kiss you again softly, his hands caressing your waist and letting his fingers trail up the side of your torso.

“Of course it's a compliment—other men have their heads on straight and they are just…weird. You're a little crooked, a little weird, and I like that..”

The way you accept his flaws leaves him more in awe of you, he can't complain at how endearing you find his oddities. “And so youre saying it's a good thing that I'm a little unhinged at times?” He chuckles, reaching up under your chin to trace small shapes on the soft skin.

You have a little mischief twinkling in your eyes.. “Oh you know—when you get all angry and protective. Definitely crooked, but so sexy.”

“You find it hot when I get territorial over you?” He couldn't help but laugh at her admission.

The wine flows through you, giving you a sense of boldness. You run a hand down his chest, manicured fingers tickling him through the brown cotton shirt. “Do you remember that time I was on a date with that jackass, I was drunk outta my mind—”

He scowls at the memory of that night, you, his ex-wife on a date with some chump named James. The man had tried to take you home, even though you were inebriated. “Yeah, I do,” he replied with a possessive tone to his voice. “You were wasted, couldn't even walk straight.. But I knew what that animal was thinking, I could see the way he looked at you.”

“All I could remember was how infuriated you were, the sexiest thing I'd ever seen..” Your eyes draw him in, batting your lashes at him.

Joel smirks, a light blush spreading from his neck up his cheeks, to his ears from your comment. “You thought it was sexy huh? I thought I'd lost my shit and went a little overboard..”

You can only shrug, unbothered by his reaction at that time. “Oh—maybe you did, I mean you did beat him to a pulp in that forsaken carpark, didn’t you baby? All for me.”

“That prick needed his ass kicked either way,” he growls. “There was no way I was letting him have you.. Drunk or not, that man crossed a line, and I’d do it all over again.”

Your heart doubles in size, and you can feel your knees weakening. “You'd do it all over again?”

He doesn't hesitate. “I'd do it a thousand times over.. At that moment.. in my mind, you were still my girl, being hit on by some creep. And I wasn't going to let him take you away from me.” He pauses, wondering if his explanation sounded too crazy. “You still meant alot to me.. Even after we split.. You always have.”

You run a finger down his cheek, the coarse hairs of his beard make a sound that sends a tingle down your spine. “What I wouldn't do to see that side of you again.”

Joel tilts his head slightly and takes a moment to ponder your comment. He was surprised to hear you admit how much you loved this dominant and possessive side of him. “That side of me.. You want to see it again, cause I can make it happen, baby girl. Just say the words.”

You couldn't help the way you trembled, sure that the only thing keeping you up right was Joel's hips pressing against your own, back digging into the bench. “Please,” you beg pathetically. His hand reaches up to your neck, holding you by the neck, forcing you to look up at him. He applies a small amount of pressure that has you whimpering.

The way you melt under his possessive gesture was enough for him to feel confident that this side of him was still within reach and you loved it. He leans closer to you and kisses you again, this time more forcefully. He lets his fingers dig into your soft flesh, squeezing firmly while knowing it's not causing you pain or discomfort.

Hearing your squeaking moans, and the way your body seems to relax into him as he takes control of you.. He takes this as motivation to move his lips against yours with a different kind of hunger. Feeding into the darker side of himself, trying to recapture that long-lost side of him that he's lost after letting you walk out of his life.

But he wouldn't let you go, no, not this time. He had his fingers digging into your flesh and his lips moving against yours with so much force, he shoves his tongue into your mouth..

His free hand wanders along your body, feeling the warmth of the wine and from the heat of his touch, your body reacting exactly how it used to, as if no time has passed at all. His hand gropes your breast roughly, squeezing and slipping past the two layers of fabric. He pulls away from your lips, eyes darkening. “Wearing a lace bra just for me, huh baby? Bet you've got a matching set on, don't you?” He growls.

“Y–Yes..” A feeble moan emits from your lips, smothered in his spit. The thought drives him wild, and slides down the straps to your dress and takes in the lavender lace bra you brought specially for tonight. “Fuck, you’re a naughty girl aren’t you?”

When you don't respond, he grabs at your breasts roughly, grasping the soft flesh between his calloused fingers, pinching your nipples harshly, making you cry out in pleasure, it was a sensitive spot for you, one that Joel remembered well.

He leans down, greedily sucking all the sweat off your warm skin, licking and nipping, his teeth biting down into the flesh of your neck, leaving an immediate mark, claiming his stake on you. You were his..

His lips messily kissed your breasts, tongue finally meeting the nipple where he suckled harshly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Do you remember when you were pregnant? Let me drink your milk straight from the source, didn’t you baby? Fuck.. what I wouldn’t give to do that again,” he whimpers against your skin.

Your heart races, running your fingers through his dark hair. He spends his time at your breasts, alternating pleasuring the two, making sure they’re both equally as tended to as the other. “Tits are so fucking perfect baby.” He praises.

His greedy hands trail down your body, the fabric of your dress bunching at his fingers, as he slides them down your legs, he’s on his knees.. face to face with the matching lavender lace panty that covers your pussy. An involuntary moan leaves his lips, he can’t tear his eyes away at the large sopping wet patch in the middle of your panties. “Fucking hell, I can smell your need, you know that?”

Your legs tremble at his sudden growl, he could smell her arousal? The thought embarrassed her. The thought didn’t stay long in her head, he presses his face into your cunt with the panties still on, moaning against you. His large nose bumping your swollen clit through the material, and you let out a whine and curl your fingers through his hair. “Please Joel.. I need more.”

He ignores your pleas for more, licking and sucking you through your panties, he can taste you through them, he’s like an animal being teased through a cage, and he’s painfully hard, teasing the both of you with his devilish antics.

“Fuck Joel! Please!” You beg a little louder, crying out as she tugs on his hair.

Without another moment passing, his thick fingers tear the lace in half, exposing your mound. You didn’t shave, your pubic hair was trimmed but still bush enough for Joel to dive into. His mouth watered, he had always had a preference for hair down there, he’d seen it in pornography magazines growing up, and he fucking desired it ever since.

Women these days are all about shaving, being bare and having brazilians.

Fuck that. This is what Joel needed.

“Fucking hell baby you’re gonna kill me.” He groaned into your cunt. Diving face first, his arms wrap around your ass and pull you tight, his face buried into your cunt as far as he could go.

You stumble and lift one leg over his shoulder, trying to support yourself a little more. It feels impossible though, the way Joel’s tongue dives into your cunt, lapping at the juices you’re giving him, pushing his tongue as far into your hole as he can reach. His hawkish nose presses into your clit and you feel your legs trembling, like you’re about to topple over.

“Joel..” you warn breathlessly. You’re close, so fucking close.

“Cum for me baby. Fuck.. please.” Suddenly he was the one begging, on his knees lapping at your cunt, whining against you. Feeling him beg against you was all it took for you to come undone.. your legs buckle and you tremble above him, clutching onto his shoulder, as you cry out, your clit tingles with pleasure as Joel slowly rolls his tongue against it, trying to string out your orgasm.

He laps you up, all of you, not letting a single drop go to waste, his eyes are black with desire and his face is glistening with you, smeared all over his face, finally, he rises to his feet. “Turn around baby girl.” He orders, his voice husky from your slick.

You can do nothing but comply, he shoves you against the counter, your hips against the cold wood. You can hear him, his breaths are quick, he’s frantically unbuckling his belt, tying the brown leather around your wrists..

You feel his hard cock against your ass, and your eyes widen, forgetting how big he was, did he get bigger?

With one hand he pushes you down onto the bench so you’re lying, face down. “That’s it angel. You’re so fucking sweet, aren’t you baby?” He praises senselessly, the swollen tip of his cock meets your hole and you squeak out, he stretches you, beyond what you ever remembered. “J-Joel.” You whine and inhale sharply, face still pressed against the cold countertop, arms bound behind your back and his throbbing thick cock pushing inside of you, you’re helpless, completely at his mercy and you fucking love it.

Your cunt can testify the fact, it’s dripping, all over Joel, he pushes himself into the hilt of you and groans loudly, a loud grunt leaving his lips. One hand holds you flat against the counter, the other holds your bound arms at his chest.

He slowly starts to thrust, legs quaking with desire, he knows he won’t last long, fuck, he’s never had a pussy so perfect, not after you, all he knows is the warmth of you, your perfectly tight hole, sucking him in deeper.

Your moans are loud, but muffled by your cheeks squished against the counter, you can almost feel him in your ribs, with every thrust it feels like you’re running out of oxygen. Strangled gasps leave your lips as your pussy clenches around him, threatening to spill over a second time..

Joel can feel it, the way you grip him, he knows he won’t last, he grunts as he presses himself flush against you, your arms behind your back hinder his need to be closer to you, but this way.. he wraps his hand around your neck, bringing you upright, flush to his chest.

“Fuck, that’s it baby.” He growls, his cock pummels into you mercilessly, and now you’re free to cry out as loud as you can.

“Joel.. Joel.. I’m.. I..” you stutter, in between moans, your cunt clenching around him. You tense up as you orgasm a second time, creaming all over his throbbing cock.

He brings you totally upright, his hand tightening around your throat. “Fuck baby.. I’m gonna cum.. fill this perfect pussy up.” He whimpered into your ear, biting down on your neck.

You can feel him tensing, seconds later.. heavy and warm ropes of his cum spurt so far into your womb you whimper, knowing that he’s sure to get you knocked up.. again. He lets out the most obnoxious grunting as he pants heavily into your ears.

“Joel.. fuck I’m.. not on birth control.” You whimper. He keeps his cock inside of you, until he softens and pulls out of you, untying the belt that restrained your hands, as your hands fall limply by your sides, he kisses your shoulders, knowing there’s ought to be an ache.

“Good. Maybe we can have a do over after all, hm?” He murmurs softly, kissing the back of your neck. His hands find their way down to your stomach, caressing it softly. “Wouldn’t hurt to have just one more.. would it?”

After all, Joel Miller was a possessive man, a greedy man. You would bare as many children as he wished, because you weren’t ever going anywhere again. You were his.

“Might as well marry me again while you’re at it.” You tease breathlessly.

He hums against your skin, his forehead resting on the back of your shoulder. “Already thinkin’ bout it baby.”

Because Joel Miller wouldn’t let you get away, not this time.

#young Joel miller #hbo Joel miller #Joel miller smut #Pedro pascal #Joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #Joel miller x you #Joel miller #the last of us

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imtryingbuck · 1 month

Text

Weightless

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x plus-size fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky and yn date and his dad’s nasty to her because of her weight (as always, I’m amazing at summaries.)

Word count: 4,707

Warnings: angst. Bucky’s parents being the worst. Bucky being the best. swearing. insecure reader. modern au. being mocked for having a poor background. mentions of cheating (not bucky or reader) ends in fluff

A/N: remember every body is perfect!

Masterlist

Waking up in the warm embrace of Bucky’s arms, he’s warm breath fanning lightly over her neck tickling her ever so slightly. Trying to shift out of his hold causing him to tighten his muscly arms around her.

“Buck I need to go toilet” she whispered.

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“You’re warm” is all he says as he pulls her body even closer to his.

“But Buck I really need to wee, I’ll be right back” promising in hopes that he’d let go of her.

“Okay, promise you’d be right back?”

“Promise”

“Gimme a kiss first”

Turning in the arms of her boyfriends she give him a kiss he released her, getting out of the bed she couldn’t stop the small smile from forming watching as he pouted and made grabby hands at her.

Finishing off in the bathroom Y/n raised an eyebrow at the man-child in the bed who was still pouting at her.

“Hurry, I’ve already forgotten what you feel like”

“Dramatic much?”

“Nope” he smirked.

Climbing back into the bed Bucky wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her bringing her closer to his chest than before.

“You definitely coming tonight, right?”

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea Buck”

“Why isn’t it? Me and you all dressed up, free food and booze, dancing, we even have to sneak off to find a bathroom-“

“Have to?”

“Oh it’s a must baby, I’d probably die if we don’t” he says grinning.

“Idiot”

“Plus I know you already have a dress, Nat told me so…”

It’s true Y/n did have a dress already, Nat and Wanda had dragged her shopping with them both in search of a new dress for Bucky’s parents anniversary party. Wanda had actually picked it out for her and at first she was a bit apprehensive until Wanda squeezed her hand with hers and telling her that the dress was in her size.

The girls all but forced her into the changing room with encouraging words and smiles. Y/n had to admit Wanda did pick out a stunning dress for her to try on and when she stood there finally finding the courage to look at herself in the mirror a small smile made its way on to her lips. The dress was beautiful and fit perfectly; not too baggy, not too tight, even her arms looked alright in the dress.

When she stepped outside to where the girls were waiting their jaws practically fell off. Both telling her that the dress was made for her, making her roll her eyes at the pair. A woman had walked by and complimented Y/n which made her blush and smile shyly at her.

However there was a problem with attending the anniversary party with Bucky. Problem being that she hadn’t been given an invite.

Everyone received a formal invitation with no mention of a plus one, Bucky and his sister had even received a card. Nat and her boyfriend Bruce received individual cards, Wanda and her boyfriend had individual cards, same with Steve and his wife Peggy.

But not her.

And at first she thought it was okay as her and Bucky had only been dating for two years but when Wanda told her that Vis had been invited after them only dating for a few months, it hurt. Y/n wasn’t stupid to the knowledge that her boyfriend’s parents didn’t like her, they made that very clear from the moment she had met them, with the questions and judgemental stares, the remarks about the difference between herself and Bucky’s ex Dot was enough to tell her that they did not like or approve of her or her relationship with their only son.

Winifred tolerated Y/n purely for her sons sake, she made the mistake once of calling her Winnie just as everyone else did and she looked at her in absolute disgust and told her not to call her that, that only family and friends can call her by that name.

George made comments about her weight from the beginning. His favourite pass time was to repeatedly remind her of how Dot was perfect for Bucky, he once told her that all she was to Bucky was something to pass the time with until Dot came back, and sadly she agreed with his statement.

Bucky bless his heart didn’t know any of this and genuinely believed that his parents liked his girlfriend.

Since she hadn’t been invited the plan was to make out to Bucky that she was ill right at the last minute, so all she had to do was play along for a few more hours.

“The dress is beautiful I have to admit”

“Just like you. Do you want to get dressed here so we can leave together?”

“Oh um my dress is at my apartment, so you can pick me up for there”

“Or I can come to yours and get dressed?”

Shit.

“My apartments a complete mess” she lied.

“And? Baby we’ll go to yours in a few hours have a shower, get dressed ooh can I braid your hair? I love doing it! And we can leave together, that way I don’t have to be away from you for long and I’ll save money for petrol”

Double shit.

There was no way of being able to back out of this now, she knew that she’d have to go to a party that she wasn’t invited too and hope to a higher power that neither one of his parents say anything.

“Okay”

Bucky happily braided her hair after carefully brushing the knots out. He started to learn how to do it after a couple of months into their relationship and now he was a pro.

“All done baby” he says pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

“Thank you Buck”

“Okay, okay go put on your dress, I’m dying to see it”

The smile was no longer present as she looked in the mirror, the dress was no longer perfect, it was tight around her stomach and her arms looked like tree trunks. She looked ridiculous and felt like it.

Tonight was going to be humiliating, she was going to embarrass Bucky in front of his family, his friends and strangers.

“Baby? You nearly done?”

“I-“

“Babe? Is everything alright?”

“I need you to close your eyes for me Bucky”

“Ooh I like this, okay my eyes are closed my love”

Slowly opening the door her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Bucky standing there in his black suit, hair done perfectly and his eyes closed with a soft smile on his lips.

“Baby, can I open my eyes now?”

“N-no. No please don’t”

“Y/n? Sweet girl what’s wrong?“

“N-nothing Bucky. I-um-I just remembered-“

“Fuck. Baby you… you’re stunning!”

“What?”

He moved closer to his girlfriend, eyes full of adoration and a hint of lust. “You’re so beautiful, and this dress is so gorgeous on you. I’m so lucky to have you by my side”

Bucky always knew how to make her feel beautiful and confident even in her darkest of moments when the voices in the back of her head get to loud for her to ignore, in the two years of their relationship there’s only ever been two occasions where she didn’t believe him. The first being when the two had sex for the first time and he kept the light on, she had told him he could turn the light off so he was more comfortable, his face contorted in confusion and he reassured her that he wanted to see her as he made love to her, the whole time he spoke words of love and affection. She honestly believed he was lying so he could get what he wanted from her.

And the second time was right now. Standing here in front of him as his eyes moved up and down slowly over her body, eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration, speaking the words that he spoke daily to her, she just couldn’t help but think that he was lying again.

“Buck, I-I look ridiculous. I think you should just leave an-and tell Nat and Wanda that I fell ill, okay?”

“What are you talking about baby? You look perf-“

“It’s too tight, and look at my arms James. It fit perfectly in the store… I-I don’t know what happened. I don’t want to embarrass you okay? So you go and have fun and I’ll see you tomorrow I promise”

“It’s not tight. Your arms are perfect. Nothings happened baby okay. You could never ever embarrass me, hell even if you wore a bin bag I’d still be so proud to call you mine. Sweet girl if you don’t want to go, that’s fine we can stay here and watch films but I’m not going anywhere without you”

“Its your parents anniversary party Buck you have to go, I’ll be fine I promise”

“So? I’m not going without you doll”

That went on for nearly 30 minutes.

“Okay. I’ll go with you but I’m chang-“

“Nope, you’re staying in that dress beautiful girl. Now get your shoes on so we can leave”

At the venue where the party was being held she couldn’t stop fiddling with her fingers and when her eyes saw a man at the door taking names her stomach dropped.

“Names”

“James Barnes and Y/n L/n”

The man looked up at Bucky and smiled letting him through, Bucky held her hand to lead her in when the man’s rough voice stopped the both.

“Excuse me Miss but you’re not on the list.”

“What do you mean she’s not on the list?”

“There’s no Y/n L/n on here sir”

“There’s got to be a mistake.” Bucky frowned, eyes shifting from her to the man.

“No mistake, I’m afraid sir”

“But she’s my girlfr-“

“Buck, it’s okay I’ll just head home. Enjoy your night” Giving him a quick kiss on the cheek she pulled her hand away, trying desperately to ignore the stares and mumbles from people around.

“Baby, Y/n hold on a second”

“Bucky it’s fine honestly”

“I’ll ring my dad and see-“

“No babe it’s okay really-“

“Y/n-“

“James, about time you showed up” George’s loud voice interrupted Bucky.

“Dad Y/n’s not on the list for some reason?”

“Oh? That’s strange, anyway come on son your mother wants to see you”

“But dad my girlfriend…”

“Oh fine, she can come in too. Now come”

Bucky’s eyes found hers and she tried so hard to get him to see that she didn’t want to do this but all he did was grab a hold of her hand and followed his father.

Despite how large the room was the air was stuffy, it felt like there was hardly any room for people to move around. Overcrowded and her very own personal hell is the best way to describe the hall.

The lingering looks from those around made Y/n self-consciously pull on the dress, she even tried to breathe in as long as she could.

“Son your mother wants to see you, on your own if you don’t mind” George says the last part to Y/n, nodding and sliding her hand out of Bucky’s she smiled at him - well at least she thought it was a smile it was more like a grimace.

“I’ll be right back okay, Nat and Wanda are over there” pointing over to where the two redheads were her eyes followed.

“I’ll see you soon”

Bucky takes his leave and so does she before George’s hand stops her.

“I want to talk to you” not giving Y/n a chance to reply he all but drags her off and away from the sea of bodies.

“What are you doing here? You wasn’t invited”

“B-Bucky made me come” George raises a thick eyebrow and she quickly notice she mistake “Sir”.

“You look horrendous. There was a reason for why my wife and I didn’t invite a disgusting, fat nobody like yourself, want to know why?”

“W-why sir?”

“Our soon to be daughter in law is here and to be truthful my wife and I can’t be doing with your dramatics, again.”

Again. Y/n knew he was talking about the time Bucky had made her jump causing the glass to fall from her hand and shatter on the floor of the kitchen floor. The apologies that slipped out of her mouth none stop as Bucky assured her that it was okay and he’d clean it up, Winifred hissed “your useless”, she tried to pry the dust pan and brush away from Bucky’s hands so she could clean up the glass but all he did was move her away with a smile on his face.

The glares that were given to her by his parents, aunt and uncle made the tears well up and annoyingly slip out. Y/n felt so bad for breaking a glass that didn’t belong to her and even worse as Bucky was the one cleaning it up.

She didn’t dare tell him that she had a shard of glass stuck in her foot.

“I-I-“

“What does he see in you huh? Must be a decent fuck, that’s the only reason we can see him being with you” he taunted, never in the nearly two years she have been unfortunate enough to know him has he ever spoken to her like this.

“It’s embarrassing that you came to a party that you was not invited too. Did you come to see how the rich live? Your parents too poor to keep a roof over the heads for the gaggle of children your mother shot out of her cunt.” Her nose flared at the way he spoke about her mum, normally she would have defended her but George had managed to render her speechless.

“Listen child this so called relationship between yourself and my son doesn’t make sense, he needs a real woman by his side not someone who is clearly trying to be something it clearly isn’t.” His hand reached out to grab her stomach and pulled, flinching as it happened she tried to pull away. “Dolores and James will get back together, they will get married. Matter of fact he’ll be proposing tonight and my beautiful Winnie and I will be happy to have her as our daughter in law. How about you run along back to the hole you crawled out of”

The small patch of her stomach was still in his hand, she knew that a bruise was already forming, he shoved her backwards.

“Go or I’ll call security.”

Stumbling backwards she turned the corner just to see Bucky standing with Nat, Wanda, Steve and Sam. And Dot. Her arm wrapped around Bucky’s as she clings on to him.

Was the pain there because of the realisation that she never stood a chance of being good enough for someone who proclaimed their love for her at every opportunity they had?

Or was it because of how happy he looked?

Or maybe it was because Dot looked up and locked eyes with hers and smirked.

Either way her heart ached painfully in her chest.

Sticking close to the walls Y/n kept her head down so she wasn’t seen by her now ex-boyfriend and his friends and so that the other party guests wouldn’t see the stream of tears flow down her reddened cheeks.

The exit was just in reach when her name was called.

“Y/n-sweetheart what is wrong?” Peggy asked worriedly.

“I-I-…I don’t feel so good. Bye Peggy”

“Y/n where’s Bucky? He shou-“

“Don’t, don’t tell him I’ve gone okay. It won’t matter anyway, thank you Peggy for being my friend for the pa-past two years”

Y/n sees how her eyebrows flick in confusion but before the British brunette can respond she rushes out through the doors she had come through not that long ago.

The slow drum of her heart feeling heavier with each step she took, the laughter and cheers mocking her pain fading in the background as the tears rolled down and off her cheeks.

“Hey ma” greeting her with a kiss to her cheek Winnie’s face lit up seeing her son.

“Oh Bucky you’ve arrived. Guess who’s here too!”

“A lot of people” Bucky chuckled.

“Dottie’s here” she beamed up at him.

“What? Why is she here?”

“She’s family Buck, stop being rude”

“Did you know that Y/n wasn’t on the guest list?”

“Who?”

The frown Bucky wore deepened, she’s met his girlfriend on numerous occasions. “My girlfriend ma-“

“Oh her, I thought she was your friend”

“Are you joking me right now? She my girlf-“

He’s cut off by a high pitched voice that he hadn’t heard in four years, the voice he had no idea how he put up with for a year. The same whinny voice belonging to the woman he was in love with until she broke up with him out of the blue and then a few days later she was dating the guy who spent year’s tormenting him. Brock.

“Bucky! It’s been so long”

“Hi” he mumbles making sure Winnie notices his death stare.

“How have you been?” Dot goes in to give Bucky a hug, frowning as he takes a step back.

“Fine thanks, ma I’m going to find Y/n I’ll see you in a bit”

“Who’s that?” Dot asks.

“His friend Dottie”

“She’s my girlfriend. Has been for the past two years-“

“Oh…that’s around the time I broke up with Brock, he wasn’t worth my time”

That’s not exactly what happened. Yes she broke up with him but it wasn’t because he wasn’t worth her time but because she walked in on him having sex with her best friend.

He remembers the day he received multiple missed calls, he sat in his car staring at the text message from Dot telling him what had happened and how she had messed up and that she wanted him back. Bucky sat and read the message over and over again he didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.

Laugh at the fact she had gotten karma, he had a nagging feeling that she had cheated on him with Brock so he thought it was fitting that she had to go through that.

Cry because she had messaged him about her life problems on the day he had his first date with Y/n. It had been two years since Dot had ruined him, two years on and he was still affected by what she had done. Then he met Y/n, he finally gained the courage to ask her out when she said yes he played cool but internally he was screaming.

The day his ex was having the worst day of her life as she put it, he was having the best day of his.

“I need to find Y/n”

“I’ll come with you, I want to meet the girl who’s been holding my place”

Before Bucky had time to respond Dot had wrapped her arm around his and dragged him off.

“Oh guys it’s been so long since I last saw you” Dot squealed as she got closer to Bucky’s friends who were huddled around together.

“What is she doing here Buck?” Nat asked with her arms crossed, Bucky felt like she was staring into his soul with how intense Nat was looking at him.

“I’m his date silly!” The friendship group all snapped their heads towards Bucky whilst his went to Dot.

“Let go of me. I’m not playing Dolores”

“Nope, it’s meant to be me and you James just like we always talked about”

“You’re insane aren’t you? He has a girlfriend who’s a thousand times better than you” Wanda spoke before Bucky could. Wanda never did shy away from making her hatred known for Dot.

“I heard she’s fat.” Dot sneered.

Now it was Natasha’s turn to jump in before Bucky or Wanda could defend Y/n “she isn’t and even if she was it doesn’t matter. Like Wanda said she’s a thousand times better than you-“

Bucky didn’t stop the smile from forming as his friends defended the girl he was in love with, the one who he knew was his everything. The one he brought a ring for with Peggy by his side, the ring sat in his sock draw waiting for their third year anniversary so he could get down on one knee. At first he thought it was a bit too soon but like Peggy reminded him, Steve proposed after only six months and they’d been happily married for nearly five years now.

Bucky is lost in his own little world drowning out his friends who each take it in turns to berate Dot, he’s oblivious to his surroundings and is completely unaware that Y/n sees him with Dot still on his arm, nor does he notice the smirk on Dot’s lips as she makes eye contact with Y/n.

The bubble pops as his father takes the microphone, the hall goes quiet as his father moves closer to his mother. His blue eyes bounced all around the grand hall in search for Y/n, as he does so he tries to shake off Dot.

“-my wife and Is 25th anniversary, truly has and always will be the love of my life-“

George’s voice filters in and out as Bucky starts to worry even more about where Y/n was, he sees Peggy pushing by people in a haste.

“Bucky, it’s Y/n… she’s left and she was crying. I tried to stop her, she thanked me for being her friend for the past two years. What’s going on?” Her eyebrows furrow when she sees Dot and how close she is to Bucky.

“W-when?”

“A few minutes ago.”

Bucky pushes Dot away and makes his way through the crowd, not apologising when he bumps into those in his way.

He gets to the double doors that lead to the hallway, he’s so close he could feel the cold air, when George’s voice that’s amplified by the microphone stops him.

“I want to welcome my son James and his darling fiancée Dolores up on the stage”

Stopping dead in his tracks he slowly turned to face his father with a puzzled look, George’s lips turn into a smirk.

The crowd cheers and claps unaware or unfazed by Bucky’s reaction. He sees Dot moving towards George with a beaming smile, he also sees the glares and confused looks from his friends.

“Come on son, don’t keep you beautiful fiancée waiting” George says through gritted teeth.

Bucky’s feet lead him before his brain can catch up.

He’s halfway through the crowd, ignoring his friends shouting at him in the background Bucky holds his head up even if heart is beating violently. He has to do this, he can’t fail himself or Y/n.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about father. I’m not going to marry Dot, Y/n is my-“

“Say girlfriend I dare you” George growls.

“She is my girlfriend Father”

“She’s a fat nobody who’s only using you for your money, stop playing around and get up here”

Bucky flinches at George’s words, he knows it isn’t true Y/n never lets him spend his money on her. The only time he gets to spoil her is on her birthday or on Christmas. Not once has he ever thought of Y/n being fat, if he’s being honest he’s never noticed her weight to him she’s the definition of perfect.

He knows one day in the future he will regret the heartache he’s about to put his mother through but right now he doesn’t care. Turning his head in his mothers’ direction he sees the smirk she wearing, maybe he won’t regret this. He takes a deep breath in and slowly exhales.

“Did you know his secretary he sacked two years ago is his mistress? She’s pregnant, and oh she’s standing just over there”

Though he feels slightly guilty at his mothers’ fallen face and at the tears already gathering in her eyes, he doesn’t stop himself from smiling when his father stands there on the stage in front of everyone he knows spluttering out incoherent words, George’s eyes bounce from Winnie to his mistress who’s trying to blend into the wall, trying hard to get away from the judgemental stares from those there.

“Oh and no I won’t be marrying Dot, congratulations on your 25th anniversary father.” And with that he leaves to find Y/n, laughing at his friends who all cheer at the scene he just caused.

“Baby I know you’re in there, please open up” He knocks for the umpteenth time.

Hearing the familiar clicking of the locks he’s greeted by a red eyes, tear stained cheeks of his love.

And a box.

“T-these are you’re things”

“No baby please let me in, I need to talk to you”

“There’s nothing to talk about Bucky, congratulations on your engagement I-I hope you have a wonderful life”

“I haven’t proposed yet-“

“Oh, okay break up with me then”

“I haven’t proposed yet... to you” he breathes out.

“W-what?”

“Can I come in and explain? Please”

Nodding Y/n opens the door wider for him to enter, Bucky removes the box from her hands replacing his in them instead he leads her to the couch. Wiping the freshly falling tears he tells her what had happened from Peggy telling him that she had left, to his father, right to him outing his father’s affair.

“Bucky!” she scolded; she was there with Bucky when he caught his father having sex with his 22 year old sectary. She tried to convince him that he should tell his mum, held him as he cried after he got himself worked up with all the emotions.

“What? They both had it coming, I also told her that the mistress is pregnant and pointed over to where she stood” he smiles “baby I had no idea what they was doing I swear-wait how did you know about the engagement?”

“Oh… your father told me-“ It was then Y/n’s turn to tell him everything that has happened over the nearly two years of her knowing his parents.

“Ba-baby I-I didn’t know, I’m so sorry” he chokes out, his throat swells up due to him trying not to cry. The guilt hitting him like a ton of bricks when he remembers all the times he dragged her with him to his parents house, or how it took her to tell him everything for things to make sense like how she always shut down for a few days after they spent time with his parents or how she would never eat in front of them, so many things made sense and the guilt was swallowing him whole.

“It’s oka-“

“No its not Y/n, I should of realised and baby I’m so fucking sorry”

“Ma-maybe if you go back and apologise to them they won’t be to mad, maybe they’ll understand and-and you and Dot can still get engaged” she hesitantly says even though it broke her heart.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your fathers right Buck, I’m not good enough for yo-“

“Shut up. Y/n I swear to god don’t say that ever again! Please don’t ever think that you’re not good or enough for me because I can promise you right here, right now that you are and always will be baby”

Before Y/n can respond a knock sounding from the door makes both jump, Bucky goes to open it instantly smiling as their friends all stand there, Sam and Wanda hold up pizza boxes with wide grins on their faces, letting everyone in Steve waits behind.

“Buck, here” the blonde whispers, holding the small box out that he instantly recognises.

“H-how?”

“I’ve got a spare key remember, I really don’t think you should wait Buck.”

“Thanks punk”

“You’re welcome jerk”

Watching from the doorway as his friends make themselves at home and seeing a genuine smile grace Y/n’s beautiful face as she stared back at him.

“I love you” he mouths.

Every time he says them words, he means them with his whole heart his entire begin.

He closes the door behind as his walks towards his future.

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

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rinhaler · 2 months

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I Should Just Walk Away !

His knuckles are split, what are you meant to do? Not tend his wounds? Someone’s gotta do it! It doesn’t mean you’re going to fuck him again. No way.

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ underground fighter!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot (and a sprinkle of angst?) Notes: I'm gonna make a masterlist and stuff bc I love this au but I'm lazy pls bear with me! ♡ Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, blood ♡, wound care, daddy!kink, size difference ♡, age gap, degradation, fingering, tit sucking ♡, slight edging?, dacryphilia, m+f masturbation, car sex ♡, vaginal sex, creampie ♡, pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby, kid), mutual pining ♡, angst??, calls ur pussy she/her ♡, (lmk if i missed any!!) Words: 8k

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Even after proclamations of love for each other, the rest of the ride home is silent and uncomfortable. In hindsight, it might not have been the best decision to divulge the truth of your tryst with Sukuna to your little brother.

You could try to reassure him. But what would be the point? You’re only a few years older than him, yet somehow, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a teenager. When you were Megumi’s age, though, you had parents.

They were alive.

Sure, you were somewhat rebellious but you behaved for the most part. You studied, worked hard, steered clear of ‘bad’ boys. And, as Sukuna so elegantly put it, you’re a ‘snooty doctor’. You’re thankful for that, because without that salary you’d never be able to afford subsidising your brother.

You had your parents.

But you’re all Megumi has.

It’s a little unsettling how quiet he’s actually being. You were bickering not too long ago, you’re taken aback that he seems to have no desire to continue. A fleeting thought that he might be trying to punish you enters your mind.

Your head snaps a few times to look at him, though he doesn’t do the same. There’s a little grimace on his face as he looks at you from the corner of his eyes.

It’s disgust.

“Are we okay?” you wonder, and the way it leaves your lips in a warble must be pathetic for your brother to hear. He scoffs immediately after, still outright refusing to say another word. You make sure to keep an eye on the road, though your gaze can’t help but wander towards your sibling when you get a chance. “I’m just going to make sure he’s patched up properly, okay? He’s not staying the night.”

“As if that matters.” he rolls his eyes.

It should matter. You don’t know what he means, and you don’t dare ask him to elaborate. There’s no reason for you to be scared of a seventeen-year-old. You aren’t. You’re more afraid of disappointing him.

“Megumi…” you take a breath. “It’s late. I think we should talk properly tomorrow.”

He takes a breath not too dissimilar to yours, you aren’t sure if it’s inherited or if it’s a habit he’s picked up from you. Is he mocking you? He doesn’t say much more, shrugging his shoulders is an answer all on its own. And still, it makes your heart twist as anxiety pierces through it like a stake.

“Fine.”

“Really?!” you bark out unintentionally. Maybe he’s more mature than you’ve given him credit for, because agreeing to talk properly is the last thing you expected. Your eyebrows knot briefly, and you look at him again when you reach a red light. “Are you fucking with me? You’re not serious, are you? You’re gonna sneak out in the morning and I won’t see you until—”

“I said fine. Didn’t I?” he grunts. “At least be quiet when you fuck him if you insist on lecturing me in the morning.”

“I’m not doing it again, I told you.” you assure him. “It was a stupid mistake and I regret it but I just wanna make sure his hand is okay. And then I’ll tell him to leave. I promise.”

“Should prob’ly tell him that, ‘cause he won’t stick around once he realises.” you both find yourselves looking in the rearview mirror at the man following behind you at a distance before quickly averting your eyes. “Don’t make promises you’re not gonna keep. You sound like my dad.”

“Ouch, babe. Noted.” you laugh a little despite being genuinely offended.

The rest of the journey is completed with your brain on auto-pilot. You aren’t even sure how you made it home without crashing once you realise you’ve parked perfectly in the driveway.

Megumi snatches your purse and ducks out of the car, making a beeline for the front door. You watch him as you allow your head to gently thud against the headrest behind you; he’s frantically looking for the house keys so he can shield himself from any possible sighting of you and his boss together.

He drops your purse on the ground with little care once he finds what he’s looking for, and you’re startled when you hear a knuckle lightly rap against your window.

“Nice place, princess.” he speaks, though it’s slightly muffled by the closed window.

“Stop calling me—”

“Oi. Pick up the purse.” Sukuna warns your little brother before he can hide indoors.

He looks over his shoulder at you both before slowly crouching down to pick it up. He grips it tight before finally disappearing.

Sukuna gives you room to breathe before offering a hand to help you out. Like you’ve never gotten out of your car before. Instead of taking it, you stare. You stare at his obscenely large hand and can’t help but remember his fingers had been inside of you mere moments ago.

You smile, as politely as you can, before hurriedly chasing after your brother.

He saunters after you with a lazy smirk playing on his features. You only see it when you remember you’d forgotten to lock your car. The sound of his Mercedes locking is a deafening reminder.

You enter your home; he hadn’t even bothered to turn a single light on as he charged straight towards the kitchen. You’d expected him to have locked himself in his bedroom by now. But instead, his silhouette is illuminated by the light emanating from the open fridge.

He grunts when you switch on the living room light, looking at you like a raccoon caught going through the trash as he chomps down on the cereal you’d bought on the way home from work.

“Can you get the first aid kit from the cupboard?” you ask him as you take off your coat and throw it down over the back of the couch. “You shouldn’t be eating so late, y’know.”

“I’m starving. I didn’t eat today, ‘m a growing boy, y’know.” he counters. He moves to look through each and every cupboard. He looks at you and shrugs before continuing to eat.

Your eyes are both directed to the sound of a gently closing door. You half smile at Sukuna as he enters before you look at your brother again in contemplation.

“Oh I moved it to the bathroom ‘cause we never use it.” you sigh as you make your way there. “You can finish eating in your room if you want.”

“Tryna get me out the way?” he rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, I don’t wanna stick around here anyway.” he side eyes Sukuna as he walks with his bowl towards his room.

You don’t see the amused grin he offers your little brother while you retrieve the first aid kit.

If you had, you’re sure you would have sent him home too.

“Sorry,” you groan, setting the kit down on the coffee table. You stand with your hands on your hips as you stare at him. It’s dawning on you, now, regardless of how exhausted you are. You’ve let a man you barely know into your home. A man older and stronger than you’d ever hope to be. You’ve welcomed a criminal into the space that is meant to be the safest for your little brother.

“I’m not gonna kill ya, sweetheart.” he cuts through your thoughts as if he can read your mind. It makes your heart race, though your face remains stoic as you try and disguise your evident worry. “Last thing I wanna do is scare you, though. I’ll go if you’re—”

“No, it’s fine.” you interject. “I’m tired, though. I’m gonna get changed because I wanna go straight to sleep after this, okay? You’re not staying.”

“Shame, I had fun.” he grins, circling the couch before sinking into it. His body is angled towards you while his eye looks you up and down with purpose. “Get comfy, I’ll be right here waiting for you, darlin’.”

Even someone as headstrong as you can’t deny how giddy he makes you. You walk backwards, unable to take your eyes off him before you eventually find your bedroom. Everything he says is so intentional, it’s almost vindictive. Like he knows just what to say to have you weak at the knees for him.

But this isn’t you.

You’ve never been the type to fall for a man’s alleged charm quite so easily. But you also didn’t think you were the type of person to fuck a stranger. He isn’t exactly a stranger, though.

He’s Megumi’s boss.

“Stop calling him that.” you whisper to yourself as you try and break yourself out of your spiralling train of thought.

You dress yourself in the most unflattering pyjamas you can find, wearing them with the full expectation of turning Sukuna off of you. He can’t possibly still be angling to fuck again when he sees you in mismatched pyjamas, complete with aged holes and stains from that one spaghetti night you and Megumi attempted.

There’s a feeble attempt made at wiping your makeup off, although you barely try. Your smile is almost blinding as you look at what a mess you are. The panda eyes from your smeared eyeliner and mascara enhance your sunken eyebags. Your eyeshadow glitters across the bridge of your nose and into your hairline beside your temples. Your pretty lipstick that you’d lined so perfectly is half removed while the other half is smudged down your chin.

You emerge from your bedroom with a confidence you only ever experience when you’re at home in your comfiest clothes. Despite your appearance, and even despite your company, you’re so content.

His eyes squint as he looks at your face, and even still, he’s smiling. He chuckles softly as you get closer to him, sitting beside him as you open the first aid kit.

“You look way prettier like this, princess.” he tells you, folding his arms across his chest as he continues to stare.

“Ah! Really? You think I look prettier?” you ask sarcastically.

“No, you look awful.” he laughs. “Is this all for my benefit? I still want to fuck you, admirable attempt though.”

You shake your head and roll your eyes as he laughs a little more, and you force yourself to frown when you realise his laughter is contagious. Everything he does is so effortless; you can’t remember the last time you genuinely smiled so hard it hurt your cheeks.

His eye fixates on you as you begin to look through your little first aid kit and pick a few things to use on his knuckles.

“I’m sure you could have done this yourself,” you start as you pick up a packet of antiseptic wipes and begin to clear the blood surrounding his knuckles. “Could have gone to a walk-in place if you were really worried.”

“Of course I could. Been doing this for years, did you really believe I don’t have my own first aid kit?” he asks. “I wanted you to do it.” he confesses, though he’s no longer smiling. You don’t stop wiping away the combination of wet and crusted over blood on his hand, though you can’t help but stare back at him.

Is he trying to scare you?

“You’re unbelievable.” you tell him, quietly.

“It’s hard to do it with one hand, sweetheart. And you’re a professional, I’d have to be an idiot to do it myself.”

You look away, only to pour rubbing alcohol onto a clean wipe. He can’t help but be transfixed as he watches you, admiring how your dainty little hands are so delicate with the equipment. How your face appears so irritated as you perform tedious tasks such as this, but you do it regardless, and he thinks it’s sweet.

“You should be on my payroll,” he finally smiles again. “My private doctor.”

“No.” you shut him down.

“I forgot how stuck up you are. I thought you’d at least be fununtil tomorrow.”

“Be grateful I’m doing this at all.” you reply with ease. All enjoyment and giddiness over his company seems to be a distant memory as you recall the type of man he actually is. You’re grouchy and exhausted, and he’s testing your patience. “I don’t like you and I don’t like what you do. And I hate that you’re involving Megumi.”

“Lighten. Up.” he warns you.

You press the wipe quickly into his cuts, and you can’t help but smile as he winces from the abrupt stinging pain. You laugh harder as he tries to downplay it. His expression becomes unreadable as he tries to appear detached. You can see it in his visible eye, though. It’s watering.

He can’t help but break at the sound of your laughter, however, as you continue to snicker whilst rummaging through for a roll of gauze to wrap around his knuckles.

“I usually don’t crack when I do that myself. You wanted it to hurt.” he smirks, shaking his head.

“Guilty.” you continue to giggle as you face him again.

He doesn’t say another word as he watches you wrap a thick enough layer of bandages around his bloody knuckles. The somewhat shallow lacerations seem to cause slight discomfort despite being taken care of. You watch him, purposefully, as he flexes his fingers a few times to test how it feels.

You aren’t sure if he knows you’re staring, but his guard seems down. It could be an act to disarm you, but you aren’t convinced he’s a good enough actor to pull it off. The genuine curiosity and intrigue on his face due to your handiwork makes you feel off. Is he judging your ability to provide proper care?

It’s not like you wanted to.

But you both know that’s a lie.

He grins when he finally notices you staring at him. And that makes you relax. You were right, he was genuinely lost in thought despite being in your presence.

“You should go now,” you say quietly. You angle your body to rest your arm over the back of the couch, your balled fist supporting your head as you begin to yawn. “I’m tired.”

“Sure.” he nods, moving to stand before relaxing into the soft seating. “I need your number.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, ya need to give it to me sweetheart,” he smirks, mirroring your body language. “Need it so I can tell you when I wanna see you again.”

You scoff, shaking your head defiantly at his bold claim. The thought of him clicking his fingers for you to come running like a loyal lap dog is almost enough to make you gag. You’d slap him if it wasn’t so late, you’re too tired and you don’t want to cause a fuss for Megumi or your neighbours.

“You’re never gonna see me again,” you smile, biting your lip as you look him up and down. “And you’re not seeing Megumi, either. He’s done with your little fight club. And I’m done with you, period.”

“Aren’t you meant to be smart? Concerning that a doctor could be so naïve.” he squints slightly as he regards you, looking you up and down as you had him. You’re so sure of yourself, he can’t help but wonder if you’ve forgotten about your current appearance. “I’ll be seein’ you both again. Megumi isn’t quitting. And I like you, and I’m not the type of man to give up things I like.”

“Tough shit,” you laugh lightly. “You’re gonna have to find another poor woman to pester. I’ve got enough going on without dealing with a loser like you.”

“A loser? Really?” he chortles. “You were moaning on my dick and calling me daddy earlier. Now I’m a loser?”

“Shut up.”

He leans in close to you, noses almost touching and his smile widens further as he sees how glittery your face is from your poor makeup removal. “Are you only going to be nice to me when I fuck that brat out of you?”

You turn your head away, your heart racing as your body betrays you. The want and desire bubbles in the pit of your stomach. But you can’t. You know you can’t; because you promised.

He isn’t special.

Sukuna is not special.

“You’re not fucking anything out of me.” you tell him, peering out of the corner of your eye to see him look a little surprised at your declaration. He thought you were playing hard to get. You aren’t playing. “It was a one-time thing.”

“Really?” he asks, barely missing a beat as he responds. “I don’t understand you. I thought—”

“Of course you don’t understand me. You’ve known me for a few hours. Just because we’ve fucked doesn’t mean you know me.” you remind him. And he nods, he agrees with you. He’d be a fool not to, and the man is no fool. “It was just a heat of the moment mistake. I mean it. I don’t want to see you again and I’m not letting Megumi fight anymore.”

“Why?”

“Why?” you scoff. “He’s a child. It’s dangerous. I don’t want him—”

“No, sweetheart. I’m not stupid, I know why you don’t want him to fight anymore. Do I look like a moron to you?” he asks, voice gruff and harsh as he interrupts without a care. His temper is visible and rising as he begins to run out of patience for your attitude with him. “Why don’t you want to see me?”

“Because you’re shady and I don’t want to upset my brother. He’s already upset, I don’t want to make it worse.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“Excuse m—”

“That’s a reason why Megumi doesn’t want you to see me. Yeah I’m a little shady, but you like me. I know you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t have let me come over here, see where and how you live, and tend my wounds like a good girl.” he sneers.

“Fine. I don’t like you and I don’t want to have a platonic relationship with a criminal. Let alone a romantic one. What happened earlier was a mistake.”

“… You’re lying.” he says, and it’s curt. You cross your arms over your chest and shake your head with an amused laugh as you digest his denial. How he can sit there and act so full of himself when you’re being perfectly clear is beyond you. It’s jarring.

You jolt as you feel thick fingers lightly grip your jaw. Your wandering gaze is now brought to him. Your eyes forced to fixate on the placid expression plastered across chiselled features.

“I see you, princess. You don’t wanna see me because you want to get mixed up with a criminal, and you’re scared of that. I see you.”

You stare at him, licking your lips not so discreetly as he continues to cradle your jaw. His lips curl at the sight of the little pink muscle slipping between your lips to wet them. You’re angry. Furious at yourself for letting him touch you, hold you, like this. And you hate yourself, right now. Maybe even more than you hate him, too.

Because he’s right.

Your lack of action gives him cause to stare down at your shimmering lips, it’s a warning. A silent announcement for what he’s about to do. He doesn’t let go, but his head tilts. He leans in closer to you, daring to give you what you both know you want.

And again, he’s thwarted.

You turn away, unable to look at him right after this time.

“… You should go, now.” you tell him.

He sighs, but pulls away. You almost mewl as his thumb softly swipes across your chin. And when he withdraws it, you feel your body fill with loneliness. Your skin feels colder.

And it hurts, because he’s on the right track. You’re pushing him away because of Megumi. But deep down, as much as you crave him right now, you know it’s the right thing to do. You jolt a little as he abruptly stands up from the couch, the breeze from his movement makes you freeze.

He sees it.

“Go to bed, you’ll warm up.” he says bluntly before making his way towards the front door. He stops as he grabs the handle, holding up his bloodied knuckles. “Thank you, for the first aid.”

“It’s… it’s fine. No problem. Goodnight, S-Sukuna.” you say, cursing yourself for the audible whine in your words despite your attempted conviction. You watch him as he grabs the handle before turning to face you again.

“Come with me.” he tells you, curling the tip of his index finger. “I need to give you something, don’t argue. For once.” he demands.

You’re compelled to follow, in spite of his demeaning way of summoning you. You truly don’t want him to leave, you don’t want him to go, so any extra time you can spend with him, you’ll take.

He walks ahead of you, leaving you shivering in the doorway as you try and preserve any warmth you can. He opens the door to his car and turns around, a little bewildered that you aren’t right behind him. It makes you giggle to see him look around in search of you before he finally spots you still at the front door.

“Come here.”

You close the door and rush to his side, quickly looking back to make sure Megumi isn’t looking for you. He rests his arm atop the roof of his Mercedes, before holding out a small piece of paper between his fingers to you.

It’s a business card.

“What kind of thug needs a business card?” you ask before you even think about what you’re saying. He scoffs, squinting at you.

“You’ve only fucked me once, you don’t know me.” he smirks. And at that, you can’t help but laugh. “What you said… makes it seem like we’ll learn more about each other if we keep fucking.”

“I don’t want to know you, Sukuna.” you sigh, reluctant to keep up the charade. Reluctant to keep pretending he doesn’t excite you. To keep pretending the few hours you’ve spent with him haven’t been the liveliest your life has been in years. Maybe ever, really. “I can’t be selfish, you don’t get it.”

“You’d be surprised.” he says, abruptly. “Why did you follow me out here if you don’t want to know me?”

“Because you asked me to, you said you wanted to give me something…”

“You could have said no. Do you always do what people tell you? You wanted to. I wanted you to. And now you’re here, you have my number. If you want to be selfish… you know where I am.”

“I don’t—” you sigh, shivering aggressively before you push his card back into his chest. “I don’t need this.”

He grabs your wrist hellbent on sending you away with this one little piece of the puzzle of his life. A way to talk to him again if you change your mind. He’s giving you access, he wants you to take it, desperately.

He crouches down, levelling his head with your own so his one, uncovered eye is levelled with yours. He can’t help but smile, it’s almost maniacal, as he watches your resolve falter under his glare.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good, kid.” he grins. “And you’re not all that smart, for a doctor.”

Your face burns with heat. And you can’t tell if it’s rage or lust. Do you want to kiss him or kill him? You don’t know, you don’t know. His smile grows wider as he realises what he’s done to you. Your faces are so close to each other and this time you can’t will yourself to turn away. You can’t submit, not after this.

“I’m smarter than you.” is all you can think to say. It feels pathetic and phoned in. And he reads it, too, by the ever-growing look of amusement on his face.

“I don’t doubt that.” he nods. “What’s got you all hot ‘n bothered, hm? ‘Cause I called you a dumb li’l doctor? Or ‘cause daddy, called you kid?”

You feel your face sear further. So much so you can even detect each and every drop of sweat beading at your hairline. You’d forgotten it was freezing outside, instead trying to find a way to subtly cool yourself.

“You d-didn’t even call me dumb. I’m not.” you say, stuttering over yourself like a true idiot as you try and gain some semblance of composure through this agonising conversation.

He closes the already small distance between you, placing his hand on the small of your back and pulling you towards him. Your eyes flutter closed under his as he examines you. His head tilting and turning, forcing himself in your line of view.

“I am learning more about you. Should we fuck about it, sweetheart?”

“What are you—”

“Do I remind you of your old man, hah? I bet that’s it… was daddy never proud of you?” he chuckles darkly, carding his fingers through your hair as he stares down at you. “S’that why you like me, darlin?”

“Shut up.” you respond, voice meek and pathetic as you wrestle with your will and want. His fingers lace through your hair, delicately holding the crown of your head before you find yourself being pulled closer still. His lips ghost yours, and he’s a tease. He’s such a fucking tease.

“Got a thing for older guys who talk to you like shit… I see it. Get too much respect at your little doctor job all day. Do you like being talked down to, hm? No wonder you like a thug like me.”

“You don’t know what you’re— You d-don’t even know.”

“Yeah? I don’t?” he asks, his tone melodious and teasing. His head tilts back, the feel of his lips intensely teasing yours soon broken as he does. But you look up to him, eyes full of anguish and sorrow like a kicked puppy who doesn’t know what it wants. You hate him and the reason is clear.

You don’t hate him at all.

You just hate that he’s right.

“I think I’m right. I think you’ve got daddy issues, and you like it when I call you kid.” you turn away as he speaks. But almost as quickly as you do, he’s forcing you to look at him again. His ruby eye flaring, an expression all of its own. A warning, a look of command. A look of lust. “Am I right, baby? Is your little cunt soaked ‘cause I call you kid?”

“… I have to go.” you say, quietly.

“Sure.” he smirks.

A sense of déjà vu overwhelms you as you recognise in his smile that you’ve done this dance before. You can’t move and you can’t speak. There is no desire in you to leave him now and return to your home, your bed, like you should.

All you can do is stare. Your eyes fixated on the man who has just read you like a book. His amused expression doesn’t falter. He’s patient, surprisingly. You wouldn’t have painted him as a man with patience. But looking at him now, you know he’d be willing to wait all night if he had to. He’d wait for the sun to rise just to prove a point.

But he doesn’t need to.

You lunge forward, your hand cupping his face as you break the boiling tension between you and seal your acceptance with a scalding kiss.

He won.

He told you before, he doesn’t lose.

Your lips suctioning and pecking at his would make you embarrassed if you weren’t so desperate. He welcomes it, too, meeting yours with just as much urgency. He wraps his arms around your back as you slip your tongue between his lips, allowing them to tangle and swirl in a passionate encounter.

He chuckles into it as you curse. Curse him, curse his name. You can’t believe he’s reduced you to this, again. Your heart heaves in your chest, and you break away just to instruct him.

“Open the fucking back door.”

He laughs again, keeping hold of you as he guides you in a way he can carry on kissing you and still do as he’s told. He ducks in first, pulling you in with him right after. You grind your hips against his heavy bulge as he closes the door after you. He looks up to admire you, to adore you.

“You smeared your makeup like a fucking idiot so I wouldn’t fuck you,” he laughs. “And look at you, humping my cock like a desperate little pet.”

“Shiiiit, I forgot I’m a mess.” you sigh, though you don’t really care. You wrap your arms around his neck, keening as his heavy palms grip your thighs press you flush against his body. “This is the last time. I m-mean it.”

“Whatever you say, princess.” he says, smugly.

You dismiss it, too enamoured by the feeling of his bulge alone as you continue to grind down hard and purposefully onto him. He’s relaxed, allowing you to take the lead and go at your own pace.

It’s embarrassing, really, you’re not as experienced as he seems to be. He’s older. And you hate to admit it, wiser. When it comes to encounters such as this, anyway. You’re smart and well read, sure, but casual hook ups are foreign to you.

You’ll keep that to yourself for as long as you can, you can’t think of anything worse than giving Sukuna that little tidbit of information about you. That he is only the third guy you’ve fucked.

He hit the nail on the head back at the club, but you can’t let him know that.

“Let me feel.” he mutters. His hand holds your hip to keep you in place. Another snakes down into your sleep shorts, his mouth falls open with an amused chuckle as he touches you. “Still full’a me, baby. Bet I’ll slide right in.”

His fingers play with your pussy without any real goal. And still, it makes you delirious. He smears the evidence of your previous tryst around your folds, and he watches with conviction as his fingers circle your clit.

He withdraws them, briefly, to move your shorts into the crease of your thigh. You watch him, and he doesn’t take his eye off you, either. Your lower lip droops as you admire him. Truthfully, you’ve never been in the presence of someone so domineering as him. He is the true definition of a red-blooded male.

Sukuna is huge. In the literal sense, he is unnaturally tall. His build is enormous, his hand is larger than your face. But his aura alone is enough to fill an entire room with an ambience that he sees fit. He could instil fear into the minds of men just because he wills it.

Unfortunately for you, you are not immune to his will.

“You’re so pent up darlin’, you must work hard. Y’need to relax… no wonder you can’t keep your hands off me.” he says. It could be read as demeaning. You think it should be. And yet, you don’t detect any malice from him. He makes a show of spitting on his fingers, keeping eye contact with you as the ‘ptuh’ sound leaves his lips. It makes you shudder.

Though when he touches you with such purpose, so lewdly, a whine you never knew you could make leaves your lungs. He looks up at you like you hung every star in the sky as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. The ‘shlick’ suctioning sounds of your already tainted walls couldn’t possibly be any louder.

He sees how embarrassed you are, but he doesn’t care. Your nose crinkles and your eyes close softly. He curls his fingers and his palm flattens against your clit. And you cry out for him, lurching forward as you wrap your arms around his head rather than his neck. He’s surprised to see your hips rock against his touches, riding his fingers like it’s the only contact you’ve ever known.

His free hand reaches up to tug down your vest. His tongue is flat and wide as he sticks it out to lick your bare tits. He isn’t rough, he isn’t aggressive, he isn’t rushing. He sensually swirls his tongue over your nipples, breathing heavily on occasion before he kisses them. You whimper when he sporadically skims his teeth across them. There’s no bite. No effort. He just wants to hear you cry for him like that. It’s like his teeth are barely there, just enough that you know they are.

“Do you touch yourself?” he mumbles against your skin. You can’t bear to look at him after hearing that. You pretend you didn’t, moaning louder as a diversion. It’s fruitless, and apparently you aren’t a good actress. He yanks your hair and forces you to look at him. His fingers stop, and your body writhes from the loss. “Don’t do that again. Answer me.”

“S-Sukuna…” you fuss. The feeling of your building pleasure being torn away from you is making you stupid. It’s pathetic. And yet, in spite of how humiliating it is, you’re still rolling your hips in a bid to get the feeling back. His expression falters to one you can’t read. You think it’s annoyance, but it’s so detached and expressionless. You yelp as he withdraws his fingers completely, with no time to feel the loss when he grabs your face with his slick-coated hand.

“I want to know if you make your pretty pussy cum after a hard day at work.” he says calmly, a low rumble in his chest as the words roll plainly from his tongue. Your eye contact falters as you notice him pulling at his sweatpants in search of his aching length. “And I want you to show me how you touch her. So go on, answer my question.”

“I… I—” you stumble. You watch him intensely as he frees his throbbing cock. He wraps his fist around himself and lazily strokes. He still glares at your features. While you’re utterly captivated by his cock.

It looks so angry. Too pretty and perfect to be real, you think. But somehow, it is. You think he’d be better suited as a porn star than a criminal with an asset like that. He spends an extra second squeezing his length just below the tip when he strokes himself, it’s like he’s ringing all of the pre out that he can. It dribbles out of his slit, coating his tip the more he summons. It’s beguiling.

You suppose you hadn’t really had a chance to admire him back at the club. It was so heated and hasty. Now, it’s purposeful. You look at his face again when you realise this is what he wants. He wanted you to look at how he touches himself and how gorgeous his cock is. He wants you to see how big he is and how much he aches and throbs when he needs to be buried in a sweet little cunt.

He wants the memory of this to stain your mind.

“I d-don’t.” you confess. “Not much… I’m always tired. Busy.”

“Mhmm… I can tell.” he nods, his voice is somewhat sympathetic. “Come here, princess. Sit on it.”

His hand grips into your hip while he lines himself up with your entrance. You don’t fight him, you don’t hesitate. You let him push you down, you eagerly suck him in. Your eyes roll back as you feel him swell through your walls. Even after taking him earlier, you’d forgotten how monstrous he feels inside. And this time, somehow, he feels bigger.

“Fu-uck,” you gasp as his tip immediately nudges at your sweet spot. You hold his shoulders and hope he’ll assist you. The thought of disappointing him makes you anxious. The idea of him knowing how inexperienced you really are makes you sick.

He throws his head back as your hole swallows him greedily. He looks at you through a heavy-lidded stare, and relief fills you as his hands grab the fat of your ass. You moan pathetically as he spreads them. But his ultimate goal is to bounce you on his cock. You feel weightless in his hands as he helps you. Each steep drop down onto his length makes your throat tight.

He's there.

You feel him there.

“Play with yourself, go on. Rub her f’me.” he says lethargically.

And your face feels like fire. The foreplay was gasoline and his command is a match. And yet, out of fear of him withholding pleasure from you again, you comply. Your hand slithers between your thighs and you do all you can to pretend you’re elsewhere.

You try and pretend you’re in your room, in your bed. What usually gets you going is a mildly heated scene from a movie or TV show. The sexual tension of an almost kiss makes your face flush, though a lot less than it is now. And you think it’s unbearable to witness sexual tension and not see any resolve, so you scamper to find a video online to suit your needs. Something quick and short as you reach into your nightstand to find your favourite toy.

The thought of being caught by your brother makes you sick so you have to be fast with it. The website you ordered it from assured the toy would be whisper quiet. And you can only hope it’s true. You don’t touch yourself, not without aid. And even then, it’s sparse. You haven’t rubbed your clit with your own fingers in years.

Years of being riled up and having a useless boyfriend who didn’t know what he was doing lead you to finishing yourself off each and every time. And you knew, the moment you got a job and your own income, you’d buy yourself a vibrator.

It’s hard to pretend Sukuna isn’t here, though. It’s hard to pretend you’re in your room with Netflix playing quietly enough in the background it can still cover the sound of soft core moaning from your phone while you vibrate yourself to completion.

Because his cock fills your each and every thought. Every sense you possess is dominated by him. The feel of him stretching you out beyond your limit and repeatedly hitting your sweet spot. The sound of the sticky tacking of his length as he slams you up and down on his pulsing member.

Your vision alternates between his gorgeous gaze and the point where your bodies connect again and again. Your pussy gushes slick and the evidence of your prior combined coupling stains your inner thighs and his crotch.

The scent of your sex fills the car and the heat of your sweaty bodies exacerbates it. Your skin is damp, as is his. And it’s overwhelming. He groans into a chuckle as you moan louder and louder for him. If anyone happens to be awake at this ungodly hour, they’ll no doubt hear you. If anyone looks out of the window, they’ll see how the car rocks back and forth. It turns you on further. The tang of sweat and arousal filling the car. It makes you lightheaded.

“I can— fuck— c-can taste you, daddy…” you whine. He urges you to fall forward so he can kiss you. It forces you to take over, moving your hips on your own as you try and maintain your building pleasure. “You’re too big… can feel you in my throat, Sukuna… tastes so good.”

“Dirty fuckin’ girl.” he smirks, kissing you again. “You’re fuckin’ filthy. Not the good girl you pretend to be, hah?”

You nod, agreeing. He’s right, after all. You’re talking in a way you didn’t know you had in you. He takes over again, holding your rear so he can take full control of your body. He guides you repeatedly until your eyes cross from the pleasure. Your walls tighten, and your throat feels hoarse as you cry out for him.

“Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight, kid. Don’t be shy. Cum for daddy.” he encourages you.

You cry, at that. Falling forwards to envelop him in your arms as you come undone. He coos, sweetly, kissing your cheeks and licking away your tears. The feeling isn’t lost on you, the feeling of disgust. You’ve never felt happiness or value like you did just now. Realising how right he was about your issues and using them to subdue you.

Your pussy gushes and he moans further, chest roaring as he finally lets his sight drop to see what a pretty mess you’ve made of yourself.

Made of him.

Made for him.

He pushes his thumb into your clit and rubs quickly, further extending your pleasure through it all. You could just about cum again when you feel him shoot another load into you, his warmth filling your womb for the second time today. It makes you feel special. It makes you feel loved.

The very idea of it has you pushing yourself away from him desperately. But he holds you close. His moans are boisterous and uncaring. It’s loud enough to wake the whole neighbourhood, you think. And at the very least, you’re sure Megumi will hear if he doesn’t have his headphones on.

His arms wrap tightly around your waist to keep you in place, his feet planted firmly on the floor of the car as he fucks himself into you. He’s sure to empty every last drop into your cunt, his balls slap against your ass as he ploughs into you furiously.

And when he stops, you freeze. You feel cold. You feel filthy.

He doesn’t discard you or try to kick you out. The opposite, really. He’s still holding you close, lightly peppering your chilled skin with kisses. Eventually stopping to rest his head on your chest. He feels you try to move away, but he only holds you tighter.

So you stop trying to leave. And instead, you run your fingers through his hair. He hums contently, at that. And you feel your heart pound harder, a little smile works its way onto your face.

Maybe he’s not so bad.

That thought alone makes you stop. He looks up at you, his stare soft and gentle as he wonders what made you halt your actions so abruptly. Before he can ask what’s wrong, you move to leave.

“I have to go, I really have to go now.” you say bluntly. He huffs, watching as you scramble to put your clothes back in place, clambering off him in a hurry. He doesn’t say anything in response. He watches as you scramble to open the door. Tears of panic begin to fall as you struggle to open it, you frantically pull and push as you try to get away. He leans over, and with little effort, he opens the door for you.

“Goodbye.” he says, simply.

“G-Goodbye.” you respond, ducking out and briskly walking to your front door.

You take a deep breath when you get there, preparing for the possibility that Megumi is about to greet you and bite your head off. Sukuna doesn’t move. He stays in the back seat and watches you with a sombre expression. With no inclination of what happened to change your mood, he can only assume he stepped out of line.

He doesn’t want to leave just yet. At least not until he knows you’re safely inside.

As you grab the handle of the door and push, your heart sinks.

“No, no, no… d-don’t do this to me now.” you sob, hysterically fiddling and pushing the door. You stupidly think that you just need to try harder and it will open. But no such thing comes to pass. You’ve locked yourself out.

Sukuna sits upright when he realises, watching as you slowly turn to look at him. His hand folds, gesturing for you to come closer. And with no other option, you do. Your phone is inside as well as your car keys. You can’t text Megumi to tell him what you’ve done. And even if you could, he’d only come outside to see that you’ve let him down. Again.

“Silly girl.” he says, looking at you with a weak smile when you finally approach. You duck down to look at him, not willing to get inside with him. “Do you want to come to my place? I’ll bring you back in the morning.” he suggests.

“I’m not fucking—”

“You can stay in a different room.” he answers your obvious assumption with a reasonable response. And still…

“N-No. I don’t want to go to your house.”

“Then I guess we’re sleeping in the car. Come on.” he sighs. He waits until you get in, begrudgingly, and then gets out himself. You watch him as he circles to the trunk of his car, looking ahead at your home as you wait for him to return. And he does, with a large, fur blanket.

“Why do you have this?” you wonder.

“I don’t remember. You better not be complaining, sweetheart. You’re lucky I didn’t fuck off right after I came like I usually do. Especially after that little performance.”

“Performance?!” you yell. You position yourself as far away from him as you can in the confined space, sitting as closely to the door as you can. “You just don’t get it! At all.”

“You’ve made that clear, princess. Don’t worry. I’ll steer clear when you get back inside tomorrow. I’m too old to be playing stupid games with little girls who don’t know what they want.”

You huff, covering your legs with the blanket before folding your arms.

“I told you it was a mistake.” you correct him. “I told you I didn’t want to see you or do that again.”

“Shut up.” he shakes his head. “Just go to sleep and we’ll never have to see each other again. Because that’s what you want, yes?”

You pause before speaking. Images of his delicate expression in your arms haunt you. You’d overreacted because of your own cowardice. Because of a promise you evidently had no intention of keeping. It wasn’t a performance. It was just… fear.

“Yes.” you tell him. Your response is bold and scathing.

He doesn’t react, he merely shrugs, adjusting the blanket over his own legs, too. His arms cross over his chest, and his head rests against the window. You can’t see beyond his eye covering, but you assume his visible eye is closed.

You do the same, hoping you fall asleep sooner rather than later.

You’re wrong, though.

His eye is open wide, looking upwards to the light polluted sky. There are a few stars visible, three. He stares at them, thinking about the events of the evening. He hadn’t expected to end up fucking once tonight let alone twice. But when you walked into his club and tried to give him a piece of your mind, he knew.

He knew he’d have to have you.

And he hadn’t expected to be so lucky so have you again, like this. But he can’t put his finger on why things went so sour. It could be one thing or a number of things. He has ideas. He thinks your less complicated than you seem to think you are. You’re keeping him at arm’s length, and that, he understands.

He’s a stranger, but he doesn’t have to be.

He doesn’t want to be.

But what can he do?

He’ll just stare at the stars until he drifts off to sleep.

Maybe things will be different in the morning.

—

chapter one | m.list | chapter three

#🦋 — luxe writes #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu #jjk x fem!reader #tw blood #tw daddy kink #tw size difference #tw age gap #tw degradation #tw dacryphilia

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