if u see a man with a slutty waist, broad shoulders, glorious biceps, send him to me . . . 📞
main masterlist ✶ buy me kofi <3
hanna ♡ she/her. 20. southeast asian. libra. hufflepuff. procrastinater. dreamer. dramatic. i write sfw but also reblog nsfw. multifandom. blurbs. inconsistent writing schedule. i write fem!reader w she/her pronouns
RECENT WORKS!
you & me? — neteyam [NEWEST]
wedding feels — clark kent
too good for me — clark kent
my other blogs! . . . @adoringletters @lomliverpool @lomlhotchner
est. 2022. you are not allowed to copy and distribute my work elsewhere without my permission.
touchy bestfriend!toji’s broke ass crashing on your apartment
fluff
“you’re terrible at this,” you mutter, squinting as you try to read the faded print on the back of a box of instant pancake mix.
toji is leaning against your kitchen counter, his massive arms crossed over his chest, watching you with a look of lazy amusement. he’s wearing one of your oversized t-shirts that looks ridiculously tight on him, the fabric straining against his shoulders. “i didn’t come here to be a chef. i came here because my apartment doesn’t have electricity right now.”
“yeah, well, if you’re going to crash here, you’re helping.” you point a finger at him. “stir the batter.”
he lets out a low, huffing chuckle, stepping up behind you. he’s so large he completely blocks out the light from the kitchen window, his shadow enveloping yours. instead of taking the bowl, toji just reaches around you, his chest pressing flush against your back, his large hands resting over yours on the counter.
“like this?” he asks, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. his voice is a low, teasing rumble that makes your heart do a stupid flip.
“you’re not even stirring, you’re just standing there,” you huff, trying to ignore how hot your face feels.
toji doesn’t move. he just leans his chin heavily on your shoulder, his thumb casually rubbing circles against your hip. “exactly. i'm doing a great job.”
Osamu whips around on instinct, confusion quickly taking over when he sees you storming straight toward him.
Fast. Angry.
Gorgeous.
He’s sure he’s never seen you before, but the way you’re looking at him, it seems you’ve definitely seen him.
You’re frowning, anger written all over your face, but all he can think is how unfair it is that someone this pissed off can look that good.
He barely has time to process what’s happening before you’re right in front of him, foot tapping, arms crossed, irritation rolling off you in waves.
“Hey asshole,” you snap, “I know you think you’re too good for this group project but if you don’t get your shit together I’m gonna shove your volleyball so far up your ass you’ll be tasting it for years”
Osamu blinks.
Once.
Twice.
“…Huh?”
“Don’t ‘huh’ me, you fake blonde” you fire back instantly.
Oh.
The dots finally connect in his brain, this is not about him. Unfortunately, that realization comes just a second too late, because you’re already going again, words sharp and relentless.
“Just because you think you’re hot shit doesn’t mean you get to ditch your part and leave the rest of us hanging!”
The dumbstruck look on his face does nothing to calm the anger burning in your stomach. You scoff, eyes rolling on instinct, “Helloooo? What, did you finally take one too many balls to the head?”
He knows he looks stupid right now. Feels it, too. Mouth slightly open, eyes stuck on you like he forgot how to function.
God.
He’s in love, has to be.
He opens his mouth, ready to correct you, maybe even flirt a little..
“Get your part done” you cut in, “You look fucking stupid in a hat, by the way”.
Ouch.
You flash him quick, biting smile, spinning on your heel and leaving in a silent fury.
He just stands there, heart beating way too fast for someone who just got verbally torn apart for no reason.
“…Man,” he mutters under his breath, a slow grin spreading across his face, “…Atsumu, yer so screwed.”
He continues his walk home like nothing happened, but your face is already burned into his brain.
That little frown.
The attitude.
The confidence.
The way you didn’t hesitate for even a second to go off on someone twice your size.
Yeah.
He doesn’t even bother fighting it.
He’s in love.
————————————————————————
A/N: Osamu “yes ma’am, whatever you say ma’am” Miya 🫡
he’s down bad.. got yelled at for no reason and thought hm yeah I want them bad
There’s a photo booth tucked into a quiet corner of the mall. Its faded plastic siding and heavy velvet curtain make it look like a relic from another decade. You stop so abruptly that he almost walks into you.
“Oh, no,” he says immediately, already knowing what you’re about to make him do.
You turn with bright eyes. “Kuna.”
"A photo booth? Seriously?" Sukuna flatly cuts in and takes a step back, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, looking at the machine like it’s an insult to his intelligence. "We're adults, not high schoolers on a first date. I’m not squeezing into that tiny fucking box."
“You are,” you insist, reaching for him with both hands.
“I'm literally two meters of muscle, angel. I don't 'fit' in there,” he grumbles, but you've already hooked your fingers around his wrist and started pulling.
Sukuna lets out a long, resigned, and put-upon sigh to show you he’s doing you the biggest favor in the history of the world, but he follows, easily keeping up with your excited steps, even if he complains the entire time. “It’s dumb. We’re both going to look stupid, and I’m too big for that thing anyway.”
Standing in front of the booth, he looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him here, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. He has to duck just to get his head past the top of the frame. Once inside, the space feels impossibly cramped, even more so than it seemed from the outside.
His broad shoulders take up nearly the entire width of it, forcing you to tuck yourself firmly against his side just to make room for his legs.
"Move over, Sukuna. You're hogging the whole seat."
“I’m not hogging it. I’m on it,” he grunts, his knees nearly bumping the opposite wall as he awkwardly tries to maneuver his massive self. He looks less like a man getting his photos taken and more like a bear that accidentally got stuck in a dog crate. “There’s not enough room, woman. This thing was built for children.”
You burst out laughing at the sight of him being so clearly defeated by a piece of 90s mall furniture. “You look completely ridiculous. Here, stop fighting it.”
Without waiting for him to argue, you step over his leg into the narrow gap between his knees and sit down on his right thigh. Sukuna lets out another low grumble, and his big hand immediately comes up to steady your waist.
“Well,” he mutters as he adjusts. “I guess that’s one way to solve the floor plan issue.”
You pop the coins in, and the machine’s timer begins to count down for the first photo.
Flash. Sukuna’s still wearing the same deeply unimpressed look he brought into the booth, jaw tight, brows slightly furrowed, the full weight of being dragged into something he would rather not do visible in every part of his face. You, on the other hand, are bright-eyed, caught in a blur of laughter, your face turned toward him instead of the camera, delighted by his misery.
“That’s perfect,” you beam.
“It’s awful,” he mutters, silently begging the machine to wrap it up so he can escape this cramped little prison with whatever scraps of dignity he has left.
You can’t resist teasing him just a little, so you reach up and poke his cheek, giggling softly as you whisper, “Come on, at least pretend you’re having fun, you big grump.”
The machine beeps the second countdown, and his arm hooks securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest so you don’t slip.
Flash. This time, he's got a look of reluctant acceptance, as he's finally resigned himself to the fact that escape is impossible and that the only way out is through. His chin rests near your temple, the scowl is a little less intense, and he looks like he’s trying really hard to remember he’s supposed to be annoyed.
“Okay, no—wait,” you say, trying to physically force a smile onto his face by lightly pushing the corners of his mouth up.
He catches your wrists instantly, pinning your hands away from his face.
“I'm not smiling for this.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not.”
You poke his cheek again, a little harder this time. “You look like someone stole your last protein shake. Come on, just one little smile for me, Kuna.”
He huffs through his nose, low and exasperated, keeping his jaw stubbornly locked.
For the third countdown, you lean in to murmur softly into his ear, “You know I still have a video of you trying to pet that stray cat and getting rejected. Imagine Satoru seeing that.”
Sukuna’s eyes widen, and the corner of his mouth twitches violently at the memory as he fights the laugh that wants to break free.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. You called it ‘baby,’ remember?”
He clenches his jaw, stares straight ahead with fierce determination, struggling visibly as his shoulders tense and his nostrils flare slightly, but he refuses to give you the satisfaction of seeing him break.
Flash. The photo captures his full internal battle.
You giggle against his ear, poking his cheek one last time for good measure. “See? You’re fighting it so hard. It’s adorable.” You turn back to the screen with a wide grin, basking in your small victory.
With only four seconds left on the timer, Sukuna suddenly moves. His hand shoots from your waist to the back of your head, tangling in your hair and pulling your face to his. His thumb grazes your jawline, turning you fully toward him, and then he meets you halfway, drawing you into a deep, slow kiss.
Flash. It goes off right in the middle of it, capturing the moment perfectly, but Sukuna doesn’t stop. He just keeps kissing you, even as the machine starts spitting out the first photo strip. His hand stays tangled in your hair, his other arm locked around your waist like he has no intention of letting you go anytime soon.
The photos slide out of the slot, but neither of you reaches for them.
When Sukuna finally pulls back, you’re both a little breathless. He rests his forehead against yours, looking at you with dark and satisfied eyes.
His voice is low, rough, and full of that familiar blend of exasperation and affection as he murmurs against your lips, “You’re impossible.”
You smile, still a little dazed, fingers curled into the front of his shirt. “And you love it.”
He lets out a quiet chuckle, presses one last soft kiss to your mouth, then keeps one arm around your waist as you step out of the cramped booth and back into the bright lights of the mall.
You grab both strips of photos, the paper still slightly warm, and look at the progression from grumpy husband to reluctant participant to barely contained laughter to the sudden, fierce kiss that ends it all. You giggle and make a big show of tucking them into your purse, giving him a mischievous side-eye.
"Well, since you were so miserable and forced to be in there," you tease, starting to walk away, "I guess you won't want these. They’re both mine. Proof of your suffering."
Without saying a word, his long fingers dip right into your bag, snatching one of the strips before you can even react.
"Nice try, brat.”
He carefully folds the paper, making sure the crease falls between the photos, then flips open his leather wallet and slides the strip behind his driver’s license, smoothing it with his thumb.
"I did the time," he says after, catching your hand in his and lacing your fingers together as you head for the exit. "I’m keeping the prize."
gojo’s fingers are stained with a faint trace of soot and grease, his expensive black silk shirt torn slightly at the shoulder where a stray bullet had grazed him an hour ago. he doesn’t seem to notice or care. he’s sitting on the edge of the polished mahogany desk in his private office, one long leg dangling off the side, watching you pace the floor.
he wears his usual dark sunglasses instead of the heavy blindfold, the bright blue of his eyes visible beneath the rims.
“you’re going to wear a hole in my rug, sweetheart,” he hums, his voice entirely too light for someone who just survived a coordinated ambush by a rival family.
“ou could have died, satoru!” you snap, stopping right in front of him, your hands trembling as you glare up at his smug face. “you took off your vest. you promised me you wouldn’t do something stupid.”
gojo’s smirk softens, the playful, dangerous mask completely dropping from his features. he reaches out, his massive hands catching you by the waist and pulling you firmly between his knees. the heat radiating off his body is sudden and overwhelming. he tilts his head down, his dark glasses sliding down his nose so he can look directly into your eyes with an intense, fierce gravity.
“i took it off because it was slowing me down,” he whispers, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrates straight against your chest. his thumb brushes a stray tear from your cheek with an achingly slow, careful pressure. “the only thing that scares me in this city is the thought of someone getting past me to get to you. i’m the strongest man in the underground, my love. but the second you cry? i feel like i’m losing the whole world.”
a/n: everyone i write are losers in love, how i love simps ;(
ruin the friendship | gojo satoru x you
⟡ fluff, soccer player!gojo, lowkey a 5+1 if u squint | 2.7k
Satoru meets you on a fleeting day that only September knows how to do. The autumn afternoon tasted of woodsmoke, the sky a deep blue that seemed to go on forever. The soccer field impossibly green against the fire of the turning trees, gold and scarlet leaves drifting lazily across the track, the whole campus holding its breath… Or maybe none of it looked like that at all.
Maybe it was only because seeing you standing there made Satoru's whole world arrange itself into something worth looking at.
Well, the half of you that he could see in his vision. You were tucked behind your friend, who had enough to say for the both of you. She was halfway through introducing the college newspaper before he noticed you at all. The setting sun pooled golden along your throat and cheekbones, your hair lifting softly in the wind, and your expression, through all of it, utterly relaxed.
"So would that be okay?" Yumi finishes, he had caught her name somewhere in the middle of her spiel, but the rest of it flew over him.
"Uh," Satoru hums, a real testament to his sharp mind. Suguru answers for him; at least one of them had been listening. Suguru walks Yumi back through everything she had just said, the newspaper, the semester, the plan to cover the sports section, like he had been listening to every word.
Well, because he had been. Suguru had been listening while Satoru was just standing there with the sun in his eyes and you in his line of sight, watching the way you hadn't looked at him yet, the way he already found himself wanting to know what your voice sounded like, what you thought about, what you were like when you weren't standing on the sideline of a soccer field looking like you had somewhere better to be.
"Great! See you tomorrow," Yumi says, already turning on her heel. You nod after her, a small polite gesture, your eyes cast somewhere just past Satoru's shoulder, and then you turn and follow her across the track, leaves skittering around your sneakers as you walk away.
Satoru’s eyes follow you, and he only snaps out of it when Suguru reaches over and smacks the back of his head.
“You done?”
Satoru gapes at him. “What?”
Suguru just looks toward where you disappeared, then back at him.
Satoru immediately looks away. “Shut up.”
“Do you like soccer?” It slips out of Satoru’s mouth before he can stop himself. It was either that or saying something objectively worse, like admitting the fact that he’s thought about you an unreasonable amount since yesterday’s practice.
Suguru told him your name yesterday, and you introduced yourselves properly today, which means there is absolutely no reason for him to be embarrassing himself like this already.
“No, not really,” you confess with a shy laugh. “The sports section wasn’t exactly my first choice-” Your eyes widen slightly. “Not that there’s anything wrong with soccer. Or sports. God, that sounded bad.”
Satoru laughs, not because you’re funny (although you are, a little) but because you’ve known him for roughly 10 minutes and already managed to reject something he likes, unlike most people who hear he plays soccer and start pretending they’ve always been deeply invested in its history.
Satoru has never put much belief into that whole opposites attract thing, mostly because it sounds like something people say after making objectively questionable decisions, but he looks at you for a second longer than necessary and thinks maybe there are more flawed theories in the world.
Satoru’s known you for almost a month, mostly through awkward encounters at practice and increasingly less awkward walks afterward. Somewhere between post-practice interviews and waiting for his teammates, who insist warm-down stretches take thirty years, he learns you’re pre-med.
He also learns that you’d originally wanted to cover research studies in the biology department for the paper instead of sports. Unfortunately, most of those positions had already been filled by upperclassmen before applications even reached sophomores.
Satoru nods sympathetically and says something supportive like a normal person when you tell him. Secretly, though, he’s glad, which immediately makes him feel like a terrible person.
He wants you to get the opportunities you actually wanted, but selfishly, he likes that sports means you end up here instead, sitting on cold bleachers with your laptop open and asking him questions after practice and pretending not to laugh when he starts giving useless answers just to keep the conversation going.
On the first practice of the week, you’re nowhere to be found. Satoru notices on his first sweep of the bleachers, the sidelines, and the small cluster of students hovering near the track. Yumi is there, which means you should be too, tucked somewhere close to her with your laptop balanced on your knees. But today the space beside her is empty.
He tells himself it’s nothing. People miss things; it’s normal. He repeats this to himself twice during drills and once more during the cooldown. But after practice, he finds Yumi anyway, hands shoved deep in his pockets like that makes any of this casual.
"Hey," he says, "Where's your friend?"
Yumi's pen stops moving. "She's sick."
"Sick?"
She turns to face him fully then, "Relax, she’s not dying. It's a cold, not medieval tuberculosis."
Satoru laughs in return, because it was funny, but underneath it, the same low hum of worry was sitting unmoved right in the middle of his chest. "...Do you think I could get her number?"
Yumi stares at him. "I just told you," she says slowly, as if he's a little bit foolish, "she's sick."
"I know."
"So why do you need her number?"
He opens his mouth, then closes it. His hands are still in his pockets, which is the only place they could be right now, because they have gone slightly damp, and he absolutely has no interest in Yumi knowing that.
Yumi watches him for another second, letting him sit in it, and then the corner of her mouth pulls up. "I'm kidding," she says, already flipping to a new page in her notepad. She scribbles your number down, tears it off, and holds it out to him.
Satoru sits in his car for an embarrassing amount of time, staring at your name at the top of a blank text message. He types something. Deletes it. Types something else, reads it back, winces, deletes that too.
He deletes it. Too formal, sounds like a get-well card from a coworker.
Satoru: Hey! It’s Satoru from the soccer team. Yumi gave me your number.
He deletes that too. He should’ve scrapped it after the exclamation point.
Satoru: Hey.
He stares at that for a long moment, then deletes it. He throws his phone face down on the passenger seat and runs a hand through his hair, tipping his head back against the headrest. He has played in front of hundreds of people, taken penalty kicks with the score tied, and not once felt his hands shake, so he doesn’t know why drafting a single text message to you is doing this to him.
He picks his phone back up.
Satoru: Hi, it’s Satoru. Yumi mentioned you were sick, feel better soon.
He reads it four times. It’s fine. It is completely fine and normal. He sends it before he can talk himself out of it and turns his phone face down on the passenger seat, wishing that he could do the same with whatever is sitting in his chest every time he thinks about you.
He hears his phone ding and something in his chest flinches, which is insane, which is genuinely embarrassing. But he still reaches for his phone off the passenger seat so fast he nearly fumbles it between his fingers.
You: hiii satoru!! yeah im okay, just a cold! thanks for checking in tho
He reads it once and types back:
Satoru: And here I thought you had perfect attendance
He stares at it and immediately regrets sending it. But 2 minutes later, your typing bubble appears.
You: i have a 102 degree fever. so sorry i couldn't make it out to stand in the cold and watch you run in circles like a hamster on a wheel >:( have some compassion
He grins at his phone like an idiot.
The next time you come to practice, there is a bottled tea drink sitting in your spot on the bleachers, impossible to miss. Beside it, a post-it note pressed flat against the cold metal.
Glad you're feeling better.
Beneath the words, occupying considerably more space, is a small doodle of a hamster. You look up. Satoru is already on the field, in the middle of warming up, looking right at you.
Suguru falls into step beside him during a water break, glancing once in your direction and then back at Satoru. "So when are you going to tell her?"
Satoru, mid sip, chokes. Water goes everywhere, a significant amount of it landing directly on Suguru, who recoils and shoves him hard in the shoulder.
"Tell her what?" Satoru asks.
Suguru wipes his sleeve, unimpressed. "That you like her."
Satoru wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He seems to be processing this like it’s new information. "I don't… " he starts, and then stops, and then says nothing.
You had only made it out to a handful of games during the season; you and Yumi split the roster between you, trading off week by week. But it’s the last game of the season, and you are both there, and Satoru sees you from across the field during warm-up and has to actively remember how to breathe.
You are wearing his jersey. His number, his name across your back, which you have because 2 weeks ago in the library, you had knocked your drink across the table and onto yourself, and the only thing Satoru had in his bag was a spare jersey. You had given it back the next day, freshly washed, but he had told you to keep it and then walked away before his face could do anything embarrassing.
Your hair is tied up with ribbons in the team’s colors, and there is face paint on your cheeks. You are standing next to Yumi, who is scribbling something in her notepad.
Suguru appears at his shoulder. "Breathe."
Satoru shoves him lightly for being insufferable and then, annoyingly, takes his first breath after seeing you.
A week after the last game's victory, the final sports issue finally gets printed. You and Yumi had spent stupid amounts of time on it, more than necessary, probably. You had argued over layouts, stayed late editing quotes, and gone back and forth over photos until both of you were cross-eyed under the fluorescent lights of the newspaper office.
You almost don't give it to him, but you'd written this one with him in the back of your mind the whole time. And it was the thing you'd spent the better part of two weeks on, the piece your editor sent back twice with notes that made you want to close your laptop and walk into the ocean.
There was no practice to go to anymore, no bleachers to sit on, no easy excuse to find yourself in the same place at the same time. You hadn't quite realized how much of your access to him had been built into the structure of the semester until the season ended and took all of it with it.
But you ran into him on a Thursday morning. He was coming out of the building you were going into, his bag over one shoulder, looking like he'd had roughly just enough sleep.
"Hey," he says
"Hey," you hum back, and then, before you could think about it long enough to talk yourself out of it, you pull the folded copy from your bag and hold it out to him. “The final issue."
He takes it and finds your name before he finds anything else, which he does every time. He stands there in the cold of the path like he has nowhere else to be, like the words you wrote were worth taking the time over, and you let yourself look at him the way you don't usually let yourself look at him.
October had been all fire and gold, the air still holding the last warmth of summer in the afternoons. But November had come in quietly and taken all of that away, leaving something crisper and cleaner behind, the trees stripped back now, the sky a pale gray that sat low over the campus.
Satoru’s white hair catches the morning light the way it always does, but there is something about the gray November sky behind him that makes it look softer. A few strands have fallen across his forehead, and the cold, with its real teeth to it this week, has put the faintest color along his cheekbones.
He turns another page, and something in his expression shifts. You look away before he can catch you watching.
"You wrote about the last game like you actually cared about it," he says, which was not what you expected him to say.
"I did care about it," you say, carefully.
"You told me a month ago that you didn't even know the offside rule."
"I looked it up," you confess, and something paints his face at that, something warm and slow, and you feel your heart do the thing it has been doing around him for months.
He closes the issue and looks at you. "It's good," he says, which you can tell is not what he actually wanted to say, which is its own thing to think about.
"Thank you," you say.
The wind moves through the bare trees lining the path, and he shifts the issue to one hand, and you watch him not quite look at you, which is unusual because Satoru Gojo has never once had trouble looking at anything directly in his life.
"I kept thinking about what you'd write," he says finally, still not quite looking at you.
You don't say anything.
"And then I kept thinking about that and then about other things and then," He stops, then starts again. "You take up all my mind when you're not with me. And half of it when you are."
Something blooms in your chest, your heart doing something without your approval, your hands not entirely steady either.
"That's a lot," you say finally, which is not really a response, which you are aware of. So you reach out and close your fingers around his wrist, then lean forward and rest the top of your head against his chest.
"I know," he smiles.
You pull back to look at him and think about September, the soccer field, the afternoon you didn’t dare to look at him yet. You think about cold bleachers and post-practice walks and every conversation that started about one thing and ended somewhere neither of you had planned. You think about his jersey still hanging in your closet.
"I chose the photo of you from the third game," you say. "There were better ones technically."
"You're not looking at the camera. You're looking at something off to the side, and you're..." you stop for a second. "It's the best one because of your smile. I've never seen you smile like that in any of the other photos."
"I know that photo," he says, quietly.
"It ran on the front page."
"I know." He hums, "I was looking at you."
He closes the distance slowly. His hand comes up to your jaw, cold from the November air. He’s so close that you can see the gray sky caught in his eyes, and then he kisses you, his thumb moving once against your cheek. When he pulls back, he doesn't go far; his hand is still at your jaw, and you feel the cold on your face and the warmth of his hand and your own heartbeat, shaky and loud, and entirely his fault.
the cigarette between satoru’s lips burns down to the filter, a thin trail of smoke curling up past the jagged, pale scar that cuts directly through his left eyebrow and runs down to his cheekbone. he’s leaning against the brick wall of the alleyway, his tailored black suit jacket unbuttoned, looking entirely too relaxed for a man who just cleared a room of rival syndicates single-handedly.
you’re leaning against his chest, shivering slightly from the cold rain, his heavy cashmere overcoat slung over your shoulders. his left hand is resting flat against the wall right next to your head, effectively locking you into his space, while his right hand gently pinches your chin, forcing you to look up at him.
with his dark sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, those piercing blue eyes lock onto yours. “i told you to stay in the car,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates right against your ribs.
“i got worried,” you whisper, your fingers tightening around the lapels of his coat.
satoru spits the cigarette butt onto the wet asphalt, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading across his face. he leans down until his lips are brushing against your ear, his thumb smoothing over your lower lip with a rough, calloused gentleness. “worried about me? sweetheart, you know full well what i’m capable of. but...” he drops his forehead against yours, his breath warm and smelling faintly of tobacco and mint. “the fact that you care makes me want to do something really stupid. like kiss you senseless.”
frat!gojo, who swears he’s not possessive over you—you guys are friends, the kind of people who can joke about terrible dates and worse hookups, taking bike rides to the beach in the dead of night, laying in the sand and staring at the stars, the kind of people who know each other inside out, close enough to test the boundaries of what’s platonic but never enough for it to be romantic.
frat!gojo, who hates how nervous he gets around you—he’s good with women, with sorority girls throwing themselves in his direction all the time, but you’re just different. you’re soft, you’re sweet and when you look at him he can feel his words die down in his throat, blood rushing to his head when you smile at him, it’s damn near pathetic.
frat!gojo, who always butts into conversations you have with other people, trying his hardest not to punch suguru through a wall while he whispers into your ears, making you laugh the way only gojo is allowed to :c.
frat!gojo, who always waits outside your classes until they’re done, following you around like a lost puppy, hogging all your attention all day—well, he’s a lot more interesting than the rest of your friends anyway, can you blame him?
frat!gojo, who’s always begging you to go to his frat parties—you know that it’s just his excuse to wanting to see you all dolled up and on his arm, but a part of you also wants to make him suffer every single time you set foot into one of his parties.
frat!gojo, who’s has the wind knocked out of his lungs the second you make your way through the door, your dress shimmering in the shitty lights, your jewellery shining through while you awkwardly wave at him from the entrance.
frat!gojo, who’s at your side instantly, pulling you closer to him by your waist, bringing his glass of vodka to your lips while you tilt your head back, swallowing while staring right at his pretty blue eyes. and gojo nearly has his heart beat out of his chest—the way you were looking at him really wasn’t fair, your eyes all wide and trusting it just wasn’t good for his heart.
frat!gojo, who swears he doesn’t do relationships—he doesn’t know what it means to be a good boyfriend, but when he looks at you, he knows that he can try.
frat!gojo, who slowly has his chaotic facade crumble before you—he’s softer around you, more genuine, it’s like his fratboy persona switches off the second he has you in his vicinity it’s almost comical.
frat!gojo, who holds himself back when he sees people asking you out. he knows it isn’t fair to be all jealous over you, you aren’t even his, but a part of him knows that if he doesn’t get his act together, someone will swoop in and take his place.
frat!gojo, who’s petrified of losing you—and the only way he knows how to show it is to be insufferable, constantly annoying you, making sure he’s part of your daily life so you don’t forget about him.
frat!gojo, who’s so down bad his frat brothers almost feel sorry for him, watching him eye you from the distance, just hoping someday, he’ll have to courage to get closer to you.
:3 he’s so laaaame
all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.
smau!, where you agreed to casually see satoru gojo. what you didn't agree to is him trying to be something more than fwb
satoru is down bad, reader is kinda mean, pining, suggestive, satoru is annoying (canon), reader is in love now but they dodge it
part 5 | part 6 | part 7
a/n HIII im back i have so much stuff irl but tumblr literally brings me joy lmaoo so i wrote this rq. english is not my first language so yk
⭑ ⭑ ⭑
you never mention any of it — the soup, the caring, the shower. satoru takes two days off to recover. he texts you nonstop after he gets a little better and now you can’t stop smiling from how annoying he is.
shoko is looking knowingly at you while you try to stay calm. you don’t hold for long, though. “what?” you scoff and she laughs at you, her long fingers playing with a cigarette.
“stop smiling like an idiot. who you texting?”
you don’t answer. she already knows.
“and here i thought he was the one whipped. girl, you’re glowing.” shoko sheepishly says, eyes crinkling as you roll yours and turn away. she starts smoking and opens window further so the smoke won’t get into the apartment.
“it’s the new serum i’m using.” you reply trying to dodge all the allegations but fail miserably when your phone tings and you quickly look to see if it’s satoru.
“damn, serums text their owners nowadays?”
you leave her without any answer, just flipping your friend off.
⭑ ⭑ ⭑
“earth to my precious baby,” satoru says right by your ear, making you groan. you open your eyes and see him already giggling like a child he is. when you roll to the side and pull the blanket higher to continue sleeping, he protests, “no, no, no. we have a lecture in twenty.”
“i don’t.” you mumble and slowly drift off as he traces her fingers along your hips. “satoru, leave me alone—“
“don’t say it like that, i’m fragile,” he sighs and pouts – you can tell it from the way his fingers stop and his voice changes slightly. “stop pouting, you’ll get wrinkles.”
“i don’t— okay now you’re being scary. how did you know?”
“you’re predictable.” you say, trying to fall asleep.
“no, i’m not!”
“gojo, i swear—“
“okay if i am predictable, was it predictable i’m gonna do this–“
you don’t register what happens. he starts tickling you so hard you yelp. he gets your stomach, hands and the spot you hate the most because it’s too sensitive — your neck.
you hated how satoru knew so much.
“sa-sa-satoru! st-stop!”
you laugh together and he ends up on top of you, your head caged between his hands. and in that moment, satoru looks too domestic, too cozy. he looks like someone you would spend your life with.
and it terrifies you.
maybe he sees that in your eyes, because he quickly pecks your lips and leans away, still smiling.
satoru knew he was trouble. everyone said that. his family (mostly, lovingly), his friends, professors, people around him. but you? you were much bigger trouble for him. and he was completely fine with that.
he just couldn’t understand why would you reject him. he thought you liked him, too?
after awkward silence you quickly gather your things and leave. satoru doesn’t stop you because he knows if you have set your mind you’re doing it one way or another.
laying in bed naked and sad, satoru texts suguru. his best friend will totally get him and help, right?
…right?
satoru tells him everything and waits but his best friend ignores him. what a douchebag.
when he’s all alone in the class he doesn’t even care about, he slouches in an uncomfortable chair and texts suguru again, thinking this time geto will be in a better mood and help.
TAGLIST: @sal1mav @sunnyfieldsz @florallyarranged @mrskamikazekaito @satorusane @yujmelon @ilovebakugo123 @newpersonsameoldmistakez @forvrlasting @theprettiestmilan @joojoobugs @ughsrespect @scentofangels + idk why but i couldn’t tag many ppl im sorry :(
frat!sukuna, who first insisted that your relationship was strictly sex, nothing more—with some flimsy excuse about how he doesn’t have the time for a relationship, doesn’t have the time to commit to something that serious, and about how a relationship would only drag him down.
so he does what any good friend situationship?would do—he shows up to your place, fucks you until you can’t remember your own name, and leaves before something in his chest convinces him to stay.
frat!sukuna, who has to have you facing him to cum, something about just looking at your face contort in pleasure while you take him in, the way tears rim your eyes while he thrusts into you languidly—he simply can’t bring himself to cum if he isn’t look at you and your pretty face drunk on his cock.
frat!sukuna, who tries to walk out of your apartment the second he’s done with you, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. so he lingers, hovers around your sleeping form until you finally drag him back under your sheets, calling him ridiculous while he presses soft kisses to the back of your neck.
frat!sukuna, who has your drink order memorised to perfection, always leaving your sugary concoction of a drink on your desk before each class begins with a scrawled on note that says ‘don’t get any ideas.’
frat!sukuna, who never denies anything when his frat brothers start calling you his girlfriend—it’s too much work to correct them, he says, but you don’t miss the way his cheeks tinge the same shade as his hair every single time one of them pats him on the back and calls you his girl.
frat!sukuna, who always has to have you close to him, with his arm slug around your shoulders or wrapped around your waist when he’s near you.
“it’s to make sure you don’t run away.”
“now, why would i do that?”
frat!sukuna, who almost decks toji in the face when he sees him flirting with you, his split lip curled into a girl while you laughed at his stupid jokes and for one second, sukuna’s afraid he’s going to lose this, that he’s going to lose you.
frat!sukuna, who starts tiptoeing around the idea of a relationship, insisting he takes you on dates—taking you out to fancy restaurants and late night bike rides when he knows exam stress starts to take over your brain. he’s spent enough time around you to know everything there is to know, but what sukuna doesn’t know is how to handle a relationship.
frat!sukuna, who’s been treating you like his girlfriend since the start, never skipping aftercare, always being there at your every beck and call—and avoiding every girl that had eyes for him like the plague since he met you.
“good god, did she neuter you, kuna?” toji slurred between drinks while sukuna tried to dodge the sorority girls coming his way.
“shut up.”
frat!sukuna, who’s softer during sex now, worshipping your body endlessly, covering you in soft kisses and bites marks before he eats you out like a man starved.
frat!sukuna, who’s basically a guard dog around you, glaring at everyone who so much as shows even mild interest in you, clinging to you like a needy puppy every second of the day that he possibly can.
frat!sukuna, who has words stuck in his throat every single time he tries to ask you out, always stuttering out nonsense he didn’t mean to say because, what if you turn him down? and what if there’s someone better?
frat!sukuna, who gets you a massive bouquet of your favourite flowers, showing up to your apartment in the dead of night, flowers scrunched in his hand, his chest heaving when he finally asks you out.
frat!sukuna, who tries to hide his flustered face when you finally say yes, spinning you around in his arms while he kisses the top of your head—because after all the mental gymnastics he’s done to have you in his arms, he finally gets to call you his girl.
eek.
dividers: @/pixopix .
all works belong to @lilithkleia do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI, lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.
Hi!◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜ I was wondering if you would be able to write a Patrick Jane (The Mentalist) x Reader with this prompt “She never smiles…” “you’ve never seen her looking at you then.” with Patrick saying the first part? Of course you don't have to if you don't want to!⸜( > ᴗ <)⸝♡ - Anon💜
He’d been fascinated by you, usually Jane could predict what people were going to do but with you it was harder.
He could get a read of you like everybody else, if you were having a good day, a bad day, things like that, but when it came to guessing your next move you always kept him on his toes.
Nothing was as simple as it seemed either you.
Walking over to your desk, Jane set you down your favourite coffee and beamed brightly at you as you looked up at him.
“What’s this for?” You asked.
“You’ve been busy all morning, you haven’t had your daily coffee yet.”
You took a sip of the coffee, nodding your head as you stood up, grabbing a couple of files.
“Thanks Jane, I’ve got a meeting but I’ll be back in an hour or so for our game of chess.”
He smiled softly, watching as you walked down the hallway.
Then he frowned a little bit, sitting down in your chair as he looked through your desk.
Most of the time you kept books or games for him in there to keep him from getting too bored, and finally he found what he was looking for, and he started going through the books.
“It’s illegal to go through a federal agents desk Jane.”
He looked up at Rigsby.
“I’m looking for a book, but I do have a question for you.”
Rigsby gave a small nod of his head, leaning against the desk behind him.
“Have you ever made (Y/N) smile?”
Rigsby thought for a moment, then he finally shook his head.
“No, I don’t think anybody has.”
Jane nodded his head, getting his book and stood up, making his way over to his couch.
He’d tried a lot to get you to smile, getting you your favourite things, playing small jokes on you, showing you photos of baby animals because everybody loved them.
But you didn’t smile.
He wouldn’t say you were emotionless, you had great control over your emotions, but he did recall them all saying you used to be an undercover agent.
When you came back from your meeting, you came back with Lisbon, and she walked over to him while you walked over to your desk.
Jane studied you as you spoke with Grace and Choi.
“She never smiles…” He mumbled.
Jane looked up at Lisbon.
“You’ve never seen her looking at you then.” She smiled.
With that, she left, and he went back to reading.
As evening came around, you weren’t getting ready to go home when you noticed him sitting ready.
You smiled a little bit, and began packing your things again, only turning around when you were done and you found him stood in front of you.
The little smile quickly fell as you took a few steps back.
“Jeez Jane, you can’t be sneaking up on people it’s how you get hurt.”
He grinned a little.
“You smiled at me!” He beamed.
“I didn’t..” you grumbled.
You brushed past him as he quickly followed you.
“You have a really beautiful smile.” He said softly.
You smiled a little bit more, and you looked at him, which made him grin brightly to see you smiling directly at him
a/n: "jess wtf is this??" well it's an idea that wouldn't leave my brain until it was done ok. i don't even know who would fuck with this but here you go enjoy patrick jane being soft. is this the thing that gets me back into writi g period?? who knows man but this felt nice to write enjoy yall
- - -
“What are you doing on my couch?” The soft voice that worms into your ears only makes the pressure behind your eyes pound even more.
"It’s not your couch, Jane," you grumble, "and it should be pretty obvious what I'm doing."
Even with your eyes closed, you can still hear the faint smile in Jane's voice. "Okay, fine. I'll redirect. Why are you on my couch?"
You take a grounding breath through your nose; your exhale escapes like a whistle from your lips. It helps. A bit. "Guess?"
If it's even possible, you can hear Jane's grin get wider. "That's no fun."
"It's all you do, guess," you grumble. The leather underneath you squeaks as you shift your weight. "Shoot, Sherlock."
Jane goes silent a moment. You think he's probably scrutinizing you the way he does your suspects, with those unreadable eyes of his and a vague smile on his lips.
His footsteps shuffle against the floor of the station, echoing against its silent interior. It's just you and him tonight. You make quite the duo - insomniacs whose jobs are never done.
The air shifts. When you crack one eye open - against your better judgement, as the harsh lamplight bores into you and into your brain - Jane has crouched down to meet your gaze.
The quip you have behind your lips dies when you actually see Jane's face. Instead of the wry smirk you're expecting him to wear, he looks strange. The look in his eyes is as unreadable as ever, of course, but it's not assured or even amused. It's something else you can't place, something duller.
"Are you okay?" you ask. You move to sit up - he gently, but firmly, lays one hand on your shoulder.
"That's my line," he quips. His other hand lifts to your forehead, his fingers gently coming to rest against your chilled skin. Under his breath, he mutters, "I was right."
"Aren't you always?"
The look in his eyes snaps away, that strange look disappearing the moment one side of his lips curls upwards. "I suppose." He releases your shoulder but keeps his other hand on your forehead. “Time for my line. You okay?"
You shrug noncommittally. "It's not that bad. Just a headache. Figured I could crash on your couch."
The other corner of his lips lifts. "So you think it's my couch."
"Shut up, Jane,” you grumble. Jane’s hold on your shoulder relaxes, but he doesn’t let go. “Let me rest my eyes in peace, will you?”
“No,” he says simply. No? He cocks his head to the side. “Lift your head up.”
You quirk an eyebrow, but do as he says. He smoothly moves to sit where your head once was, places his fingers gently on your face, and guides you so your head lies - surprisingly comfortably - in his lap.
Something is wrong, yes, but it’s not the headache drumming behind your eyes or the growing chill in your bones that makes you ache. It’s the fact that your head is in Patrick Jane’s lap and it’s… fine. It feels normal. What it should be doing is making your heart beat out of your chest, not slowing it down.
"That’s good, thank you,” Jane murmurs. He brushes his fingertips against your forehead. He squints at you. Frowns. That strange look appears again. His eyes seem focused, but vacant, sad. His pupils dart around your face, searching for something. “Sure you’re not sick? Pretty sure you’re burning up right now.”
“Scorching?” you ask, trying to smile.
He mirrors it, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Positively. Third degree burns.”
One of Jane’s hands comes to rest in your hair, the other settling on your shoulder once again. And again, against your better judgement (which you’re beginning to believe just may not be in the room with you right now), you raise your hand to your shoulder, placing it above his.
His eyes widen a fraction, then soften. “You don’t have to do that. You’re the one who’s sick. I'm just trying to help.”
“Had to do something.” Thinking is getting harder to do. You let him hold your hand. It’s firm, and comforting, and is he rubbing his thumb against your palm? “You’re doing that that thing you do.”
“I don’t do a thing,” he protests, then frowns. “Correction, I do many things, but I’m not doing one right now. You’ll have to be specific.”
“With your face.” God, has Jane always been this warm? “Your eyes.”
Jane smiles. This time it reaches his eyes. They crinkle kindly, but something lingers.
“Windows to the soul,” he murmurs, running his fingers through your hair. The pressure against your scalp feels amazing, and he must notice, because he doesn’t stop. “You should try to sleep. You’ll feel better.”
"No,” you mumble, but Jane’s warmth and the way he’s running his fingers through your hair and how he’s holding your hand is taking you away, somewhere far and soft and gentle, away from your body’s aches and pains. You can feel his chest as he slows his breathing, buoying you into the clement waves of sleep.
The last thing you remember before sleep pulls you under is the soft brush of lips against your forehead.
݁˖𝜗ৎ neighbor sukuna when he wants to be more than that | 18+
part one, part two & part three.
contains: unedited, fluff, smut, a little angst, unckuna, baby yuji, mentions of alcohol and drugs, mentions of death, dry humping, cumming in boxers
words: 11.4k
As a kid, you hated watching parental death in children's movies. It twisted your heart, made your nose tingly and had you searching for your parents to hug them and make sure they're still here. Mufasa falling off the cliff and into the canyon with the stampede is still a tearjerker for you now as an adult. You'll never forgive Scar for that.
So when you're watching Yuji's current favorite movie, The Good Dinosaur, you tend to look away or go do something else when the scene of the Apatosaurus dad's demise comes on. The toddler watches that part intently every time, cooing and reaching his chubby hand to the screen to try and wipe away Arlo's sadness. Sometimes he offers whatever snack or toy is in his hand as consolation, making you melt at his sympathy.
This afternoon, though, you're sitting on the far end of Sukuna's couch while said man is sprawled on the other side, arm over his eyes to block out the brightness of the living room while the other rests on his stomach. His lips are slightly parted on even breaths and the hood of his sweater is covering most of his coral pink hair, the matching sweatpants low on his hips as the waistband of his briefs wink at you.
A sour zest of the tangerines you have peeled cling to your fingers as you watch Yuji's attention stray from the movie playing and towards the older, meaner version of him sleeping on the couch. It's a well-deserved nap after the business trip, back-to-back meetings and parties he's gone to in the last two weeks. However, the toddler is used to his uncle being awake in his presence.
His pudgy cheeks seem to droop, brows lowering as his big, brown doe eyes narrow onto Sukuna's sleeping form. Then he's trudging over to him. You're about to open your mouth to stop the two-year-old before pausing. Sukuna has been asleep for a good four hours or so and you know he's made sure to catch up on sleep in the past few days so having Yuji wake him wouldn't be a bad thing.
He raises his hand above Sukuna's open mouth and you realise that he hadn't finished all the tangerine slices from the one you gave him earlier. Clenching his little fist, he squeezes the fruit until it bursts and the juice trickles into the unsuspecting man's mouth. You cover your mouth to hide your gasp and chuckle. It takes a second for the realization to hit obviously because the guy is sleeping but then his eyes shoot open and he sputters, coughing as he looks around, hood falling off.
Face creasing at the tarty sweetness of the fruit on his taste buds, he grimaces. Eyes narrowed into slits, he finds Yuji on his right, smiling sheepishly as he backs away. Sukuna's features drop into a scowl and his nephew tries to make a run for it.
“Oh no, you don't, you little brat,” he grumbles in that groggy, deep voice of his that has Yuji giggling in fear.
Grabbing the toddler's hand, Sukuna snaps his teeth like he's going to bite his fingers off. Yuji screeches and keels, dropping to the ground to crawl away only for a bulky forearm to brace around his midsection and yank him up onto the devil himself.
Kicking and flailing his arms, the toddler shrieks out a “No! No! No!” as Sukuna's chest rumbles with a frighteningly animalistic growl. But the scariness fades as he lays the little boy on his chest, fingers attacking his sides mercilessly as Yuji thrashes back and forth, screams crashing into fits of uncontrollable giggles. He squirms and writhes to get free as Sukuna chuckles darkly at the seemingly harmless torture he's inflicting.
Eventually, his tiny body grows exhausted as Yuji's laughter dissolves into light snores, cheek smooshed to his uncle's chest, limbs spread out in a starfish pose as he rises and falls with his uncle's breaths. The latter has fallen back into his slumber too.
It's quiet now and you take the moment to admire the wholesome sight of the duo as they're napping together peacefully.
But of course someone—the tyrannosaur—has to ruin the moment by lazily popping an eye open, squinting it at you in accusation.
“Stop staring like a creep or you'll be napping here too,” he warns.
Hands up in surrender, you press your lips together to hide your growing smile, going back to watching the movie as you wait for the perfect opportunity to snap a picture of them.
Sukuna won't ever admit it but he wishes those mundane moments with Yuji would last longer. So he could feel the swell in his heart that made it seem too big to be contained in his chest, ease whatever was bothering him and make him melt like cotton candy in a puddle after the rain, all pink, sugary and liquefied.
And he especially wants sleepy, sweet Yuji back now as he tries to wrangle the infuriatingly fast toddler in for a bath after a long, hot day of splashing around at the beach and building sand castles. Sukuna's skin had burned in the shower after all that time in the blazing hot sun but he had a good time with you and his nephew so he couldn't complain much.
The two of them always drew attention when they were out together, looking like the epitome of a father-son duo. Ladies would flutter around Sukuna under the pretext of gushing over Yuji while his uncle caught them staring at him even with their sunglasses on, shades doing nothing to hide how they ogled at his shirtless form. He'd stifle a smirk at how they'd falter and sour when Yuji would call you over, assuming you're his mother and the man was yours.
Sukuna never denied it.
You had kept Yuji entertained so he could shower first then left for your apartment to do the same while he gives the little boy a bath.
Or at least tries too. The menace that nearly comes up to his knees thinks bathtime is the code word for a game of fucking catch with how he's racing around the apartment and looking back to see if his uncle is on his tail.
Sukuna plays along for a bit then grows frustrated when he can't catch the kid. So he taps his foot and waits around the corner for the brat to zoom by then snatches him up and takes him to the bathroom.
“Come on, stinky butt, you gotta get cleaned up,” he tells him as the little boy dangles off his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
No, it's not smooth sailing from there. Getting Yuji in the tub is easy once he sees all his favorite bath toys floating in the water. Sukuna opens the tap and turns around to grab a towel for less than a fucking second. When he faces the tub again, it's brimming with foam, bubbles in the air as Yuji giggles somewhere in the bath like a kid stuck in a ball pit except more fun and safer.
“Crap, where the heck are you, squirt?” he hisses through his teeth while the toddler squeals with delight, water sloshing wherever he is.
Still, Sukuna panics, shoving his hands in the water, shutting off the faucet and feeling around for the toddler. Once he feels little hands grab onto him, he hoists him up, uncaring if water spills out of the bath as he sighs in relief.
Just then the bathroom door opens.
“Hey, have you seen my pho—” Your eyes lift and you halt in your steps at the scene before you.
Yuji, covered in bubbly foam that makes him look both like a cloud and the abominable snowman. Sukuna, holding him, arms glistening with soap suds, white shirt plastered to his upper body, the ink on his arms, chest and abdomen visible through the sopping fabric. Both of them are staring at you as you stare right back.
Slowly, you walk out of the bathroom backward, hand on the door as you begin to close it.
“I'll let you two get back to it. Might need another shower, bud,” you snicker, referring to Sukuna's soapy form as he cusses, knowing you're right.
The door shuts and he frowns at Yuji who gives him that eyelash-batting, head tilted, toothy smile he uses to get out of being scolded or punished.
“Nice try, pal. But that won't work on me,” he smugly states as he empties the tub a bit and resumes actually cleaning up the toddler.
Another thing Sukuna despises is driving with Yuji in the car. Sure his nephew is better behaved when he's strapped securely in his car seat, juice box in hand and visible through the rear view mirror for his uncle to check on, but he demands specific music to be playing.
His current obsession is Lottery by Latte or whatever the artist's name is. It's all your fault. Yuji heard it one too many times while you were having one of your dance parties, spontaneous karaoke nights or while you were getting ready for a night out. The catchy, upbeat music had caught the toddler's attention despite the inappropriate lyrics and he's too young to understand so he supposes it isn't bad.
But playing it at least five times during a drive is annoying even if he drums his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat and nods his head before realising what he's doing and getting annoyed.
“Tch, stupid girl boss song.”
That doesn't explain why he's whistling a tune that sounds an awful lot like that stupid song while pushing the shopping cart through the aisles of the grocery store. Yuji's a good kid but he's still a kid so he does throw tantrums for things he's denied until Sukuna relents and tosses whatever processed, sugary treat he wanted into the cart.
He can't decide what's worse—the tantrums or his nephew cheerfully greeting random strangers who are so taken by him. Sukuna thinks the kid makes himself an easy target with his friendliness. It's why he teaches him to box, kick people in the nuts, bite, scratch and give scary scowls like his intimidating uncle.
“There, now you know how to defend yourself,” he mutters to the toddler while rubbing his aching jaw where Yuji mimicked his uppercut a little too well. “I have to hand it to you, bud. You've got a mean right hook. Lotta potential there. I'll get you back for that when you're older.”
Sukuna tries to include the toddler in all his activities so he's not a bother or bored. The last time he let him do his own thing, he found his expensive body lotion decorating the hallways, turning his floor into a slip and slide by emptying his cup of juice or climbing up on the high furniture.
Thus, when he's feeling nostalgic and decides to play some Rayman, he hands the little boy a disconnected controller and lets him think he's one of the side characters on screen. The colourful lights flash in his wide, awestruck eyes as he fiddles with the buttons like he's actually participating, tubby body tilting with each turn of the character on screen, pulling a chuckle from his uncle who's doing all the work. He high fives him when “they” win.
You join them sometimes but these days it's less frequent as you were promoted at work and are still adjusting to everything. Sukuna doesn't mind taking care of his nephew but he does pop into your apartment now and then with snacks and to see if you want to rant or go out to clear your mind. He enjoys your company and you're without a doubt friends now so it's only given that you two would hang out.
Sukuna always thought you were beautiful, even now after he's witnessed the good, the bad and the ugly after knowing you for over a year. You're so cute when you're lounging around at home, bare-faced and comfortably dressed. You're pretty when you're all dolled up to go out for lunch with your friends. You're incredibly attractive when you're dressed up for a night out with him and your mutual friend group.
Alas, tonight has to take the cake. You're almost unrecognizable as you step out of the elevator, tinkling laughter carrying into the hallway as his and Yuji's heads turn to you.
The lighting seems to shift to cast you in a spotlight. Your dress pours over your frame, a glimmering silhouette and satin lines. The lingering perfume you're wearing makes Sukuna's head spin. You look like you belong in a dim jazz club as the lead singer, captivating the audience with your dazzling smile and melodic voice. Classy and refined.
The man's coat covers your shoulders and does not do your look justice. Your hair is swept over one shoulder, luscious waves flowing down your chest as it's swept behind your other ear, earring twinkling. Lashes kissing your cheeks when you blink and lips a glossy sheen, you chuckle at something your date says that's not funny at all if you ask Sukuna.
“Nana?” Yuji calls out, his pout showing his confusion as he blinks. Looks like his uncle isn't the only one who's unsure that the woman before him is truly you.
Gone was the woman who'd wear joggers and an old shirt, ponytail askew as she chased after him in the apartment. The woman who sports oversized tees with socks and dances around Sukuna's kitchen in the mornings is nowhere to be found either.
Head lifting at the familiar name the toddler has for you, you come to a stop just before your door as you see the uncle and nephew duo about to enter their apartment too, clad in matching hoodies and dark blue jeans down to the exact same sneakers and beanies. Yuji always loves being a carbon copy of Sukuna, and thinks he's way cooler than Jin.
Your straight posture, self-assured stride and the air you carry yourself with as if you're all too aware that you turn heads and know how to wield that to your advantage falters at the sight of them. The faint quirk on your lips, knowing and flirty slips into something softer, your cheeks aglow, gaze dreamy and grin painfully sincere as you beam at Yuji who smiles right back and waves at you.
“Hi, baby!” You greet excitedly, hand lifting to return his wave, wavy hair bouncing with your movements.
“Baby…?” Your date asks, rudely interrupting as Sukuna resists an eyeroll. That'd be rude of him and he wants this guy to be the only jerk for now.
Lips parting, you blink like you just remembered he's here and look at him bashfully. “Ah, yeah. Shiro, this is Yuji and Sukuna. They're my neighbors. The kid I take care of now and then,” you introduce, gesturing between them.
Shiro walks up to them and holds his hand out. Sukuna takes it, unsurprised when the idiot tries to squeeze it in an attempt to exert dominance.
“Nice to meet you, Sukuna. I've heard good things,” Shiro says politely, passive aggressiveness oozing from him behind those spectacles and his pork broth colored hair.
Your neighbor meets him head on with a grin, flashing his teeth like a tiger baring its teeth but it's deceptive enough to come across as a smile. His hand clamps down on Shiro's one, rubbing it so he can feel the bones in the fucker's hand grind together.
Eyes widening slightly, Shiro tenses.
“Likewise but she flatters me too much,” he replies in a low, seemingly friendly voice but his pinprick pupils are a different story as the man swallows thickly and retracts his hand once Sukuna releases it.
Oblivious to the tension between them, you shrug off Shiro's coat and take Yuji from Sukuna, standing in the middle of the men as you bounce the little boy on your hip.
“Say hi, Yuji,” you tell him.
As if suddenly aware of stranger danger, Yuji's lips curl into his mouth after he mumbles a half-assed greeting then ducks his face into your neck. Sukuna cackles in his mind, glad that the little brat is on his side. He sizes Shiro up from where he's towering behind you like a python deciding the best route to devouring its prey.
“Thanks for walking me up, Shiro. You didn't have to,” you tell him as you'd already exchanged your greetings in his car before he insisted on walking you to your door.
You knew he wanted more from the way he was eyeing you up over dinner but you were not up for sleeping with a man on the first date much less one who spoke about his business and how much money he had rather than ask anything meaningful about you. Safe to say, you think this date would be your first and last with him.
But you still remained polite and planned to let him down gently over text.
Shiro gulps, color draining from his face as his forehead beads with sweat. What a wuss, Sukuna thinks with a snort.
You notice and frown in concern. “What's wrong, are you okay?”
“Looks like you're coming down with something, man,” Sukuna chimes in, faking worry as he cocks his head. “Probably should get that checked out.”
Noting the pointed glare in his crimson gaze, Shiro nods vigorously. “Y-Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks for tonight. I'll see you around,” he blurts the words out in a rush before nearly running to the elevator.
Stroking Yuji's hair, you watch him go, befuddled and a little offended. “Damn, was I that shitty of a date?”
Behind you, Sukuna scoffs as he opens the door to his apartment and you step in wordlessly, causing a smirk to pull at his lips. Yuji fell asleep so it's only given that you'd come in to put him down but let the man be delusional for a bit and pretend you're coming back from a date with him instead.
To his surprise, you vent about the date being a total flop and how you were not planning on going on a second one with that self-centered finance bro. Sukuna responded in solidarity, patting your shoulder like a good friend while he secretly grinned like the Cheshire cat, smug that he won't have to see pork broth around you ever again.
“Next time, you can let me know so I can fetch you if it goes south,” he offers.
He's not stupid enough to admit that he's thrown off by you suddenly going on dates and not telling him after you said you doubted you'd entertain men anytime soon just a few weeks back. So he just suggests being there for you if you need a quick escape from another shitty date he hopes never comes.
Besides, you shouldn't be with someone who gets scared and runs for the hills with their tail between their legs when your neighbor scowls at them. How would they protect you drom actual bad guys and criminals then? That won't do and he says as much.
Not to you, of course. You'd bite his head off if you knew he gave Shiro a fright.
Instead he confides in his trusty buddy, Yuji, as he paces up and down in his apartment the next day while the little boy tries and fails to watch the cartoon playing when his brick wall of an uncle keeps blocking his view.
“She went out on a date and came back so late without letting me know beforehand. What if he was a creep and ended up taking advantage of her?! How would I help if I didn't know?”
“Creep?” The toddler repeats, the whole spiel too long for his young self to say.
“I know, right? Got scared of the sight of me too. Must be one of those abusers who cower when another man confronts them.”
“Scared of me?” Yuji tilts his head.
“Not you—Well, I guess you are quite scary when you frown like that.”
That earns an exaggerated frown from him. “I'm a naughty boy!”
“Damn right you are but that isn't the point. This isn't good for the baby.”
Sukuna rubs his stomach, feeling like he's getting an ulcer from the stress of hypothetical worst case scenarios that could've happened last night but thankfully didn't.
Yuuji points to himself, used to being called a baby. “Me?”
“No, me!”
For the next few days, Sukuna doesn't let you live the date down, mentioning stocks and his offshore bank account just to mess with you until you snap and toss a toy or soft ball at him while he cackles evilly. Yuji copies you and hits him square in the chest with a rubber dinosaur.
“It's not like you're any better. At least I try to go on dates and get to know people instead of going on one and then sleeping with the woman,” you accuse when he tells your friend group about it during your weekly bar hop.
His smile drops into a light scowl at that, pointing at you with his glass. “That's not true. I can totally go on a date without hooking up after. Maybe you're feeling some type of way because you can't do a one night stand without catching feelings.”
That has you bristling. “I could. I just refuse to.”
Rolling his eyes, he takes a swig of his bourbon. “Right.”
Annoyed that he doesn't believe you, you set your margarita down and level him with a determined stare. “I could seduce anyone I wanted.”
Snorting, his brows bounce. “Yeah, you couldn't seduce a hooker.”
As much as he's stating all of his claims like they're non-negotiable facts, Sukuna does not know that for sure. He'll just keep talking shit to rile you up so he can grin in the face of your wrath.
The sharp glare you give him is a complete contrast to how you were laughing a little too loudly with a guy at the bar counter earlier, scoring free drinks for your table.
“Wanna bet?”
His tongue rolls in his cheek as he holds your gaze, his own sparking with something mischievous.
“I'm listening,” he murmurs while Shoko, Suguru and Satoru's interests pique as they listen in.
It's too late to back out now so you continue, not even knowing where you're going with this as you tip up your chin. “That I could get more men's numbers tonight than you could women's,” you declare.
Satoru whistles low, leaning in now. “Is that a bet I hear? Why not up the stakes and see who could seduce someone quicker and take them home?”
Lifting a hand at that, Sukuna dismisses the idea with a wave. “Nah, the number thing is better. Wouldn't want this big mouth over here to bite off more than she could chew.”
Your eyes narrow but you don't refute his words. It would be out of your depth to spontaneously go home with someone tonight. Sure, you've done it in the past but that's not something you're fine with doing now.
Raising with hands, Satoru concedes. “Alright then, let's set some rules. It's eight now so we'll make the deadline midnight so it doesn't go on too long. What are the stakes?”
“Loser has to change Yuji's diapers and potty train him for the next month,” you decide. Diaper duty was no fun but trying to teach the toddler to go in the potty was way harder.
Sukuna gets serious like something grave is at stake and you have to hide your smile behind the rim of your glass as you sip your cocktail.
Nodding, he sniffs and agrees. “That's fine with me. So the winner gets to be off diaper duty and potty training for a month?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
His face splits into a grin. “Great, this is too easy.”
Satoru claps. “Let's shake on it then.”
Holding out his hand, Sukuna smirks. “May the best man win.”
Glancing at his hand, you barely touch it before moving away and rising from your seat.
“Oh, I plan to,” you assure him and walk off without letting him reply.
This is not what Sukuna had in mind for tonight. Not by a long shot. He wanted you to get all worked up about his lack of faith in your seduction skills so you'd agree to try and seduce him.
A stupid attempt to get closer to you, sure. But he can't exactly think straight around you when you're all electric and daring on a night out with your bold makeup and short little black dress, your movements all slow and intentional.
For what it's worth, you'd definitely be able to seduce him. Though it wouldn't take much because he'd be so easy for you.
Sensing that he's being watched, he turns to find his three friends smiling at him knowingly. They knew his plan flopped. Biting back a growl, he flips them off then leaves the table too to find his first mark.
Around eleven, you've already gotten over fifty numbers in your phone. Men weren't hard to win over after all. A little attention, intent nods, a few dazzling smiles and some giggles while peering at them with your big bright eyes had them taking your phone from the bar counter before you even asked. Some even forgot Bro Code in their friend groups when you went over to chat them up, all of them punching their digits into your dialing pad.
It wouldn't be this easy on a normal night. Not when Sukuna would be lurking behind you, features drawn in a bored expression that came off threatening without even trying. He didn't mind when you used him as a bodyguard to ward off creeps and unwanted admirers. Tonight though since he was busy trying to win your bet, men were able to flock to you without the shark circling you. But he was still close by like a dark fin cutting through water. Watching. Waiting.
Sukuna's pretty certain that he's winning this bet. Already fantasizing about watching you cuss him out and struggle with getting his nephew to sit and do his business in the red potty he has. The thought has him beaming at the woman he's dancing with. She's hot, has the body of a model, a pretty smile and knows how to charm someone's socks off.
And yet, he finds his gaze straying to where you are even as the woman turns around and grinds on him, his hands hovering over her hips but not touching.
As if you knew he was watching, you caught his gaze over the sea of patrons filling the busy bar at this hour and smirked. He's about to return it when you cup the chin of the man you're talking to and kiss him.
Suddenly Sukuna can't feel anything as he stares dumbly at the scene before him. Then his lip curls, nose wrinkling in disgust at how bad of a kisser the guy is. Way too much tongue. Doesn't know where to put his hands. Barely moves his lips against yours.
What a loser, Sukuna thinks. He's probably a virgin too.
By the time the clock strikes twelve, Sukuna knows you won. That whole kiss thing threw him off his game so he only managed to get like sixty numbers while you had nearly eighty of them.
“Kissing wasn't a part of the bet, though,” he points out.
You lift a shoulder, basking in your victory as you steal a sip of his drink. “There weren't any rules against it.”
His jaw ticks.
“Whatever, it looked like it sucked anyway. Poor guy was probably a virgin.”
Again, you're unfazed while he's simmering inside while keeping up his usual cocky facade.
“Even better. I do enjoy teaching virgins how to please me.”
His shit-eating grin falls at that and reappears on your face as you wink at him. How was that enjoyable? Even an experienced man like Sukuna would be able to learn from you. Quicker in fact.
“Get ready, Ryomen. You're on potty duty for the next month,” you sing before joining Shoko for a dance.
A switch flipped in Sukuna after that night.
All of a sudden he was knocking on your door at seven in the morning, asking if you wanted to go out for breakfast. Bringing you coffee when he knew you were swamped with work. Fixing your bathroom sink efficiently when it was leaking, no smart comments about it being the perfect setup for a porno. He'd offer advice and encouragement when you had a stressful presentation or meeting coming up then be the first to ask how it went and take you out to celebrate after.
It was a lot to take in but it didn't feel bad. Sure, it was strange at first but it's not like he became a sweetheart overnight, he was still a cocky bastard with a gruff exterior. Though you think you were getting too comfortable with his new behaviour, almost expecting him to be there now rather than just happy if he was and fine if he wasn't.
Then, when you were out, you noticed that he didn't flirt with anyone like he used to. Mind you, charisma came like second nature to him. But now there were no lazy smirks, his eyes didn't wander to the beautiful women that passed by, no winks at the waitresses to fluster them.
He was acting like…a taken man.
As if you were his girlfriend without the pressure or expectations of being one. He stopped going out so often on weekends, spending time at your place when Yuji wasn't around, knees touching as you sat on the couch and talked about nothing and everything, content in the comfortable silences. He didn't make a move either so you struck off this potentially being a ploy to get into your pants.
You were glad it wasn't as you valued his friendship and didn't want him to fuck it up by treating you like another conquest. You didn't even want to think what chaos would unfold with regards to Yuji if it did.
Sukuna started to feel steady, like actually worthy of consideration as an eligible boyfriend. You shook off that thought the second it popped into your mind. There's no way he'd want to be in an established relationship.
Right?
You kept your thoughts to yourself for as long as you could. Not wanting to come off as egotistical if you asked him if he was doing all this in an attempt to court you. The idea had warmth blossoming in your chest like it would whenever you'd witness his quiet moments with Yuji or when he would give you that soft smile while you two were lounging around and doing your own thing in the same room.
However, alcohol was not good for someone who wanted to conceal their thoughts and you happened to have plenty of it at Yuki's birthday party one night at an exclusive nightclub.
Dancing and drinking to your heart's content, you'd bumped and grinded with Shoko. Even Utahime joined which shocked Sukuna. Then you were throwing it back against the birthday girl herself who caught it and moved with you like she'd done it all her life.
He wouldn't be surprised if onlookers assumed that the four women moving together, all charged on the dance floor, were in some kind of polyamorous situation. Sukuna was convinced you'd kiss at any moment.
Suguru has escorted Shoko and Utahime home. Choso had to carry a giggly Yuki, who was blowing kisses at you, out of the club as she refused to stop dancing.
Leaving Sukuna to deal with your drunken antics.
And you're an aggressively flirty, overly affectionate kind of drunk tonight as he ushers you out of the club and to the parking lot.
You've got a crooked grin on your face as you sway, turning this way and that to look at the neon lights that smear across the wet gravel, spinning so fast that your legs give out.
He catches you with an arm around your waist before you fall.
“Oops,” you giggle once then a flurry of them ring out of you and into the night because everything is so funny.
“Geez, woman. You need some water and painkillers,” Sukuna hisses as he ushers you to his car.
You chuckle into his shoulder, admiring his side profile as he buckles your seatbelt. When he gets into the car and pulls out of the parking lot, you roll your head to look over at him.
“You're so grumpy,” you inform him in all seriousness. “But like in a hot way.”
There's a ghost of a smile on his face as his brows raise.
“Is that so?” he asks, knowing you're going to regret saying this when he teases you about it tomorrow.
“Mhm, when I first met you, I thought, ‘Ah, at least this neighborhood's got eye candy,’” you confess easily, liquor loosening your sharp tongue.
Coughing to hide his chuckle, Sukuna nods as he keeps his eyes on the road. “I see,” he says a little too smugly.
“Yeah, but then you came with noise pollution and that kind of ruined it,” you add as his smile faces into a grimace as he recalls how loud he used to be with his dates.
“Right.”
“But you're cool now, I suppose,” you console cheerfully.
He chuckles, catching the way your eyes are closing then reaching over and patting your head. That would have earned him a swat if you were sober.
“Get some rest,” you hear him say and don't need to be told twice.
Your good nap is rudely interrupted when he shakes you awake in the parking lot of your apartment complex.
“Nooo,” you whine, pulling away from his hands.
Huffing, he pats your shoulder. “Come on, we've got to go upstairs. You can't sleep here.”
You shake your head and he heaves a heavy sigh.
“Carry me up then, you big strong man.”
Sukuna does just that and you blink your eyes open once he's unlocking the door to his apartment and stepping in before setting you down.
He kneels to help you out of your shoes and something stirs in your belly. Maybe the alcohol. Maybe butterflies.
You're quieter this time as you run your fingers through his hair, still giggly but softer.
“Ryo, you're so good to me,” you murmur as he unbuckles your other heel.
The nickname is new coming from you and he feels his heart tug at it, so affectionate as it melts in your mouth and drips off your tongue like honey.
“You'd say that to anyone dealing with your drunk ass,” he retorts, no bite behind his words. Though he does hope you wouldn't tell anyone else that.
When he stands up once more, you clutch the lapels of his leather jacket and yank him to you with surprising force. He catches himself with a hand to the wall, eyes wide.
“I could be good to you too,” you purr, a lascivious smile on your glossy lips.
And fuck, would he take you up on that offer if you were in your right senses. He can only dream. For now, he places his hands over yours and pats them.
“You can't even walk in a straight line. Ask me again when you're sober, yeah?” he suggests, suppressing a smile at the pout that pulls at your face from the rejection.
He's surprised when you push away and stagger off, nearly tripping on his living room rug. Following you, he finds you in his bedroom, about to strip.
Snatching one of his shirts from his closet, he puts it on for you right as you shimmy out of your sparkly dress and kick it off. A confused noise leaves you at the sight of you still being covered.
That doesn't deter you though as you press yourself against him on your tippy toes. Pretty lashes bat up at him as you tilt your head and give him a deceptively innocent smile that's more coy than anything.
Poking his chest with a manicured finger, you hum. “You look so sexy when you're all stern and serious.”
He snorts, eyes unwavering. “Doubt you're looking at anything with your eyes almost shut but okay.”
A sultry laugh emits from you, breathless and low as your glassy gaze roams over his face in obvious appreciation.
Biting your lip, you tilt your head back and grin up at him like a succubus.
“Why don't you do a twirl for mama?”
Stilling at that, his brows furrow. “A twirl for ma—You know what, I'm not even gonna ask. You need to sleep, woman.”
A sound of disagreement thrums in your throat as your index finger trails the side of his face, following the inky path of his tattoos, goosebumps rising on his skin.
“I know exactly what I need.”
Sukuna's having none of it as he picks you up and carries you to bed. You squirm and struggle for a bit before relenting, exhaustion setting in finally. He quickly goes to his bathroom, coming back with painkillers and a glass of water, making you take them.
Then he sifts out makeup wipes from your purse, gently and carefully removing the glittery stuff from your face. He's amazed and annoyed by how many layers there are.
“Why is there so much? Fuck, you don't even need this shit,” he murmurs in irritation as he takes out the mascara from your eyelashes.
It must've felt good because you were down for the count by the time he was done, soft snores coming from you.
Tired himself, Sukuna takes off his leather jacket and toes off his shoes, unbuckling his belt. He can't be bothered with a shower right now after handling you for the past half an hour so when he goes to lock up, he just crashes on the couch in the living room.
All the lights are off as he drifts off. He's on the cusp of slumber, steadily approaching it when he hears shuffling and soft footfalls padding out of the hallway and into the living room.
Cracking an eye open reluctantly, he groans at your silhouette as you approach him with a bright smile. “Not again, brat.”
Unfazed by his less than enthusiastic reaction, you climb onto the couch that's thankfully big enough for the two of you. If you both sleep on your sides, that is.
“Let's have a sleepover!” You exclaim excitedly.
Your neighbor's face is smushed to the cushion beneath his head as he groans in response. Nevertheless, he lifts a lethargic arm, inviting you and you giggle as you accept, snuggling up to his chest and nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, throwing a leg over his hip.
It's not long before your breathing evens out. Relieved, Sukuna keeps his arm band around your waist so you don't fall off the couch during your slumber and lets himself pass out too.
A dry throat and fatigue greets you in the morning as you blink your eyes open to sunlight streaking into the living room. You're glad that you don't have a pounding headache but you've got to admit, you've never felt this heavy before.
The reason for that additional weight is made clear when you try to move but aren't able to. Then you register faint snores and breathing coming from behind you and freeze.
Glancing around, you note that you're in Sukuna's apartment.
Which means…
Slowly, you look down to see an all too familiar arm around your waist and the owner of that arm's t-shirt swallowing you. The man is currently spooning you, hand splayed over your stomach.
Your muscles scream. There's an ache in your legs, a dull one between them too and you instantly think of the worst-case scenario.
Did you sleep with him while inebriated?
Oh, no, no, no!
Wriggling as you try to escape his hold. A gravely grumble sounds from behind you as he stirs.
“It's too early for this shit.” He lets go of you and you instantly sit up right, facing him.
“Why am I in your shirt?” you immediately question.
Opening one eye, he squints at you.
“Because you took off your clothes,” he answers like it's obvious.
Your eyes grow wide. “Did we—?”
He hums. “Yeah, you couldn't keep your hands to yourself. Did it twice and you proposed after.”
A strangled noise leaves you, face on fire.
Sukuna blinks awake slowly, relishing watching the horror pale your face and panic bloom in your puffy eyes.
He observes your internal struggle, no doubt troubled that your friendship is ruined and wracking your brain for how you let this happen. Then he cracks with a grin, leaning in to laugh into your shoulder before you can have a full meltdown.
“I'm joking, woman. You passed out in my bed then insisted on having a slumber party on my couch. That's all,” he clears your worries.
“Then why am I sore?!”
He shrugs. “That's on you. You were shaking your ass and dropping it low on Yuki and the others last night as if it was your birthday.”
Scowling even as relief blossoms in your chest, you grab a nearby couch cushion and start whacking him with it as he barks out a laugh, hands shielding his face.
Eventually, he snatches it from you and gives you that stupid, self-assured smirk.
“Trust me, if we ever did anything,” he starts, expression softening into something deeper. “You'd never have to guess if it happened or not.”
His almost rose gold irises in the sunlight have you ripping the cushion out of his hands and smacking him again, shoving down the funny things it's doing to your insides.
You're pulling away and Sukuna can feel it. It irks him but he doesn't confront you about it. Maybe you're just embarrassed about the night you got drunk. It's not like he told you about all your transgressions in which you called him hot and sexy and tried to make moves on him.
Perhaps you recalled those moments yourself and got embarrassed.
He'd tell you that you had no reason to be. He didn't mind taking care of you in that state at all. In fact, it made him proud that he could. While he doesn't admit it, he likes being a caregiver, a realisation that became more apparent when he had Yuji under his guardianship. It always gave him this warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest when he got to be there for people he cared about.
And if you just gave him the time of day, he'd tell you all of that. But now? You're only around when Yuji is there. To top it off, you're going on dates more often now. Like a creep, he presses his ear to the connecting wall to hear if you bring any of them over but you never do.
To counteract the fear of missing out he's developed after weeks of hearing you go on dates with other men, he decides to try dating as well. No point in dwelling in his apartment and sulking about it when he has no right to anyway.
Yet, as he sits in the dimly lit restaurant across from the woman who's exactly his type as she laughs at his jokes and compliments him freely, he can't help but think about another one who'd roll her eyes, insult him by telling him he looks like a thug posing as a gentleman in this suit and call him a carnivore for how he always orders steaks. Meanwhile this woman just agrees with everything he says even if he says something particularly controversial or condescending that you would have flung the salt and pepper jars at him for.
To make matters worse, you were more than happy to watch Yuji at his apartment alone tonight. Kaori and Jin had also gone out for their weekly date night. Choso and Yuki were away on a trip so they couldn't babysit either.
His date excuses herself to the restroom to freshen up after he pays the bill and he's left alone to confront what he already knew.
Sukuna has never been great at dealing with his feelings in a healthy way, alcohol and drugs being his vices since high school. Women were added to that list after he lost his mother. He had skipped her burial, unable to bear witnessing her being lowered into her grave and accepting that her departure was final.
Instead, he'd gone on a trip with some acquaintances where he drowned his sorrows in drinking, substances and sex. Lots and lots of sex. It felt good for years but the crash after all the ecstasy was never fun so he'd do it more frequently to prevent having to face reality.
As he grew older, the alcohol and drugs lost their grip on him. He never was the type to get addicted to things for long anyway. But the hookups became a habit. Up until you moved in and called out his “frat boy” behaviour and he acknowledged that the sex didn't even feel good anymore. The orgasms had no kick to them and he'd come out more numb than he went in.
Then Yuji and you came along and he felt like his heart started working again. No longer dormant and cold in his chest like it was when he was fucking strangers or fighting at bars to feel something. His nephew would have been absolutely adored by his mother. Sukuna thinks she'd have prevented Jin and himself from going down their self-destructive paths if she was still here. So he decided to be a good uncle like she'd want him to be, like he wanted to be and it healed something in him that he neglected for so fucking long.
There's a tug at the corner of his mouth as he reminisces on everything that's changed in his life since his mouthy neighbor and baby nephew came into it.
Speaking of the devil, his phone buzzes and he's quick to sift it out of his pocket, smile growing as he sees that it's texts from you.
Happy Feet: Shit, I forgot to ask if you're bringing her home!
Happy Feet: I can take Yuji to my place, we all know how loud you get.
Sukuna: Don't stress, I'm not turning this into a hookup.
Happy Feet: Wow, really?
Happy Feet: Who are you and what have you done with Sukuna?
Sukuna: Shush, brat. I'm just not up for that kind of thing anymore.
Happy Feet: Really?
Sukuna: Really.
Happy Feet: Is the date going that bad?
Sukuna: Not the greatest but that's not the main reason.
Sukuna: I'll tell you when I get back.
Putting his phone away, he prepares himself to turn his date down gently as she returns from the restroom and they leave the restaurant.
It took you a solid hour to put Yuji to bed with the long nap he took in the afternoon that you knew would come back to bite you in the ass later. You couldn't resist taking one with him, knowing you'd wake up the moment he stirred anyway.
There's finally peace and quiet in the apartment as you move around in the kitchen, humming to yourself in content while making yourself a cup of tea.
You're pouring boiling water into your cup when the front door opens and closes with a click followed by shuffling of Sukuna taking off his shoes and suit jacket.
He'd been planning on going straight to his bedroom to shower and sleep but seeing the kitchen light on carried him there instead. That's where he finds you in that white oversized sleep tee you wear with “Kiss Your Homies, Goodnight,” in blue font on the back, foregoing pants.
It makes him want to snort because you definitely never give him a goodnight kiss. Maybe he's not one of your “homies” then.
Glancing over your shoulder when he takes a seat on a stool at the kitchen island, your hair falls softly over your forehead. His hand itches to come over and tuck it behind your ear. Instead he props an elbow on the marble countertop and tucks his chin into his palm.
“Remember that night Yuji got sick?” he asks after a few beats of listening to your teaspoon clink against the sides of the ceramic cup.
Nodding, you hum. “How could I forget?”
That makes him smile lightly. It was a stressful night for you both.
Trips to the beach, zoo and even museums were common with his nephew. He loved playing in the tidal pools, pointing out the tigers and saying they were Sukuna, and gawking at the fossilized dinosaurs in the natural history exhibits. Firework festivals were rare but you guys took him to that too.
It was all good until one late afternoon while you were getting ready to leave for a festival, something felt off. Yuji is all smiles and babbles as usual but as the hours go on, he grows quiet and lethargic. Sukuna and you assume he's just sleepy because he missed his midday nap. But as you're about to leave, you find him lying on the floor which was weird because he didn't like the coldness of it at night.
Picking him up, you gasped at how hot he was. Nothing seemed to cool him down and next thing you know, you were rushing him to the hospital. Sukuna who was usually calm and cool in the face of chaos had yelled at the doctors and nurses when he wasn't allowed in the room while Yuji screamed and cried, afraid of the needle they were trying to poke him with to administer an injection.
He'd paced in the waiting room and you'd tried to calm him down, saying that his distress was valid but would scare the baby more. It's then you learned how much he hated hospitals. Hated the sterile scent. Hated that only a few people could visit a patient at a time. Hated seeing others rejoice over their loved ones recovery when his one was still in a critical state. It brought back horrible memories of when his mom was sickly and he didn't know which visit would be his last, hated the doctors that stopped him from seeing her right as she took her last breath.
After telling him you'll handle talking to the doctor and nurses, you suggest he go down to the gift store and get Yuji some toys and balloons to cheer him up. Sukuna always did like getting his nephew gifts so he agrees. While he's in the store, he sees an old video game that Jin and him used to play. Deciding to channel his anger into something productive, he calls his brother up and cusses him out. While Yuji's fever isn't life-threatening, his parents should still be here.
“I was a mess and you were so level-headed,” he muses as he looks up at the ceiling lights.
Shrugging, you bring your cup over to the island and let it cool a bit, steam curling out of it. “Someone had to be. Couldn't let you beat up the doctors.”
He grumbles at that. “They should've let me go in with him.”
“Yeah but I think you would've been more distressed than the baby,” you joke.
“Whatever,” he mutters, eyeing your cup then meeting your gaze, his pretty irises seeming almost pink in this lighting. “Thank you for that night by the way,” he says for the umpteenth time.
“Don't mention it, really,” you insist.
He stands, rounding the counter in a few strides, and then he's towering before you. “I mean it. You handled everything so well. Took care of Yuji and kept me in my senses.”
From this close, you have to lean back against the island and crane your neck to look up at him. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Though I don't want that to happen again.”
Sukuna's got that look in his eye again. That deep, contemplative one that softens the sharp lines of his face into something youthful, almost boyish. You wonder if this is what he looked like when he just turned twenty.
There goes that fuzziness in your stomach again. Not exactly butterflies as they don't set you on edge and make you nervous. Rather, you're calm, pulse slowing to something syrupy as the corners of your vision grow hazy like you're preparing to sleep. It still makes you nervous from how cozy you feel.
Clearing your throat, you pull at the front of your shirt, hoping the bagginess hides your pebbled nipples. “So your date, how was it?”
That steals the tender expression right off Sukuna's face as his nose wrinkles, features twisting into a cringe. “Don't ask. She was saying everything I wanted to hear and agreeing even when I was talking straight bullshit.”
You snort. “Isn't that what you like though?”
“For a hookup, maybe. But I'm looking for a girlfriend now,” he answers smoothly.
Arching a brow, you huff in amazement. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, but it's not going well,” he says with a sigh.
Skeptical, you lift a shoulder. “It'll be hard at the start but I'm sure you'll find someone decent soon. You're just not used to long term stuff.”
Inclining his head, he thinks about it. “Maybe but that's not why it's been so hard.”
You roll your eyes at that. Of course finding a partner wouldn't be hard for his ass with how women flock to him like moths to a flame. Or flies to shit like you used to say.
“And pray tell, why is that?” you ask, voice dripping with sarcasm as you twist and reach for your cup.
“You make it hard,” he bluntly states.
Rearing back, you forget your cup as your eyes widen. “Me? Are you calling me a cockblock or something? I've never—”
“How can I date anyone else when you're right here? When you're everything I want? When I look for you in all of them?” The questions spill out of his mouth and he doesn't try to stop them, having kept them tucked away within him for too long.
Feeling bombarded, you blink rapidly then let out a weak laugh.
“You're drunk, Sukuna,” you try to excuse the confession when you get a whiff of bourbon on his minty breath.
He snorts. “Hardly. Just slightly buzzed.”
“Better get to bed then before you say or do something you'll regret,” you advise, heartbeat picking up as you notice how his body is crowding yours.
It doesn't overwhelm you or make you want to flee and that's exactly why it's so dangerous. Makes you feel tingles in your tummy and between your thighs.
Lowering his head so he's at eye level with you, he speaks in a husky voice.
“The only thing I'll regret is waiting any longer to tell you how I feel. Who knows when one of those idiots you date will finally stick?”
His rhetorical question takes you by surprise. Not once have you assumed that he was bothered by you dating. Why would you? Besides, he was always so eager to listen to how they went.
“I think we should talk about this tomorrow,” you mutter.
Realising that he's all up in your space, he takes a step back and you almost ask him to come closer again. Running a hand through his hair, he sighs.
“Why not now? Do you not feel the same?” he asks, looking exasperated and honestly a little lost. “It's okay if you don't. Just come out and say it. I won't hold it against you. We can go back to being friends or whatever.”
Shaking your head, you twist your hands in front of you. “That's not what I'm saying. I just think it'll be better if we approach this with clear minds.”
“My mind is never clear when I'm around you, woman,” he hisses.
Your eyes narrow in defense. “That's your problem, not mine.”
With a groan, he rubs a hand down his face, eyes squeezed shut. He opens his eyes once more into slits as his brows crease.
“You're so good to him,” he refers to Yuji by pointing down the halls to where the toddler's nursery is. “Why can't you be good to me?”
Biting back a scoff, you deadpan. “You're not a child, Sukuna.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he grouches. “I like you way more than he does.”
You don't know how to respond to that, stomach and heart swapping places.
Mirroring his stance, you raise your chin, nose cocked in the air. “One bad date and you're settling for me, is that it?”
He grunts. “More like the only reason I went on that date is because you're seeing people too and I don't want to look like a jealous idiot.”
“That's a whole load of bull and you know it.”
Throwing his hands up in frustration, he looks at you, incredulous.
“Can you not see that I've wanted you for months now. Not just for sex, don't give me that smart look. Fuck no. I want to be your boyfriend,” he admits like he's trying to get it through your stubborn head.
Cocking a brow, you tip your head and stare at him down the line of your nose. “Even without sex?”
He pauses at the question then nods without much hesitation.
“Well, yeah. If that's the cost.”
“You're serious?” You were only testing him to see if he was after something physical but he took your words earnestly.
“Deadly,” he confirms.
Sukuna thinks about it then, “Do I get to kiss you though?”
“Yeah.”
Relief relaxes his face as he smiles. “That's good enough for me.”
“Shit, you're serious.”
“Didn't I already say that?”
“How was I supposed to know you weren't only agreeing to get what you want?” You argue.
Closing the distance once more, he ducks his head, voice low and rough. “It's as serious as me being unable to get it up at the thought or sight of other women, yes.”
Oh.
“Are you sure that's not just early signs of erectile dysfunction?”
Sukuna chuckles darkly, the sound trickling down your spine as he dips his head, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“I can assure you that I function quite fine around a certain mouthy woman.”
You're at a loss for words at that as his statement is punctuated by something thick and long pressing against your belly from where it's tucked into the waistband of his slacks.
He leans back carefully like he's afraid you might make a run for it. Eyes searching yours for any reluctance, he blows out a breath when he finds none. You bite the inside of your cheek, nibbling at it in anticipation.
Dipping his head once more, his breath brushes the side of your neck.
“Tell me this is a bad idea,” he murmurs.
It's hard to think straight with his mouth so close to your thrumming pulse. Your mind flits through responses ranging from agreeing this is bad and stopping to keeping quiet and letting it happen.
Almost imperceptibly, you shake your head. “It's not.”
That's all Sukuna needs to hear as he cups the back of your neck, pulling it back so your throat is bared to him. Slow, damp kisses are peppered against your sensitive skin as you hold your breath, a gasp sucked into your lungs when he parts his hot, wet lips over your pulse and sucks the heartbeats there.
His pecks trail up the expanse of your neck, across your jaw, brushing your cheek before his lips pause at the corner of your mouth. Once again, he gives you a chance to back out.
You respond by turning your head and pressing your lips to his.
Hand sliding up your neck, his thumb rests just beneath your ear as your fingers come up to clutch at the fabric of his dress shirt lightly. You're hesitant at first but when his lips part over yours in a gentle, tentative pull, your hold grows firmer, pulling him closer as you melt.
The second kiss isn't as careful.
It's the kind that has been building for months if not over a year. Deeper. Slower. Bodies pressing together, soaking in each other's warmth and the feel of his firm body against your softer one that's so malleable flushed to his. A rumbling groan vibrates in his throat as his tongue licks into your mouth, tasting you.
Breaking apart for a breath, Sukuna rests his forehead against yours, lips brushing against the corner of your mouth before coming down on yours once more. It's unhurried yet there's an underlying urgency now.
His hands slide down to your hips as your fingers slip into his hair.
The breeze from the cracked open kitchen window doesn't touch either of you as you're engulfed in each other's heat. The city lights blink in the distance like they're watching you.
Somewhere between the dizzying kisses and dreamy sighs, you found yourselves on the couch.
Sukuna's hands rub up and down your back, head tilting this way and that to deep the kiss as his lips pull and push against yours, sweet, sloppy and slow. Your stomach constantly somersaults, a heady drip of syrup drizzling in your lower belly and pooling between your legs in an ache.
To relieve yourself of it, you rock over his lap, seeking friction. His mouth comes off yours with a low, drawn-out groan as your clothed cunt presses down on the fat bulge tenting his trousers. Dotting a kiss to his brow, you glance down between the two of you, canting your hips experimentally.
Hands braced on his chest, you roll your body clumsily at first, chasing some form of stimulation before moving with more intention, breath stuttering against his cheek when your clit catches against the zipper of his pants.
“Lift your hips for a sec,” he tells you, spoiling your fun.
But you oblige and he undoes his slacks, pushing them down and kicking them off. Big hands settle at your waist, pulling you to sit on his lap again, the restraints of his pants gone now so only his thin boxers and your flimsy panties are in the way.
Shuddering at the closer contact, you feel his cock twitch right as your clit pulses, squashing your breasts to his solid pecs as you grind against him with renewed fervor. His hold on your sides helps you set a faster pace, guiding you back and forth on his cock.
You're salivating, mouth agape as you feel every thick inch of it, all veins and ridges accounted for. Sukuna's tongue slips out and licks up the drool dribbling down your chin with a hum that would have you blushing if you weren't preoccupied.
“Feels good, hmm? Imagine how much better it'll feel inside you,” he murmurs in a growly grunt that has you whining. “That's it, baby. Make yourself feel good.”
His hips buck up to meet your grinds, moans falling from both of you as your clit bumps against his tip. You part your legs wider and rub down again and again, breaths growing choppy and voiceless with every roll of your bundle of nerves over his cock head.
A nimble finger hooks into the waistband of your panties and tugs them down, a cuss following as Sukuna peers into them and sees how the fabric clings to your folds with your slick that he can feel through his boxers, dampening them more and more with each hump.
“Shit, you're soaked. You sure you don't want me?” he taunts but there's a hint of awe in his voice.
“Shut up, some of that is you,” you mutter, slapping a palm over his mouth. He promptly licks it and your pussy pounds as if he'd lapped at your slit instead but he doesn't push your hand away.
Releasing your waistband, you feel him grin, eyes crinkling as you jump from how the elastic stings when it snaps against your skin. You throw your head back with an airy moan as his clothed cock nestles between your puffy folds as his hips thrust up against yours.
Grabbing handfuls off your ass, he uses it as leverage to ground you down on his harder and you can barely keep up. Hands gripping at his chest, you tug so hard that his buttons pop off, smacking you in the face as you shut an eye to avoid having it poked out.
“Shit, you're this eager, huh?” he asks now that his mouth isn't covered.
“Fuck off,” you retort, pulling a breathy chuckle from him.
It's cut off by a low swear as something pokes him in the ass. Pausing, he reaches under him and pulls out a fucking Lego.
“That damn kid,” he grumbles as he tosses it aside while you giggle. It's not long before something else stabs him in the back this time, and he pulls out a green and red stegosaurus. He flings it across the living room.
He tries to scowl at you but fails, both of you laughing quietly. Your giggles dissolve into moans as you pick up where you left off, a steady pool of heat welling heavily in your belly.
“Shush,” Sukuna hushes you when your noises get too needy and desperate, earning a half-lidded glare from you. “Gotta keep it down unless you want the brat to wake up and scream his head off.”
Crap, you completely forgot that the toddler was sleeping just down the hall. Some babysitter you were. If Yuji woke up all alone, he'd throw a fit and neither Sukuna or you could afford that right now. Sukuna's convinced he'll pop a blood vessel if he's interrupted now that he has you.
“We'll just have to settle for this now, yeah? Until I can get you alone,” he tells you and you nod. With him all warm and hard beneath you, you didn't need much more to get off.
Sukuna seems to share the sentiment as his groans and grunts grow breathier. Greedy, rough hands slipping under the hem of your t-shirt to grope at your supple flesh and bouncing breasts, pinching at your nipples.
Your back arches, pushing into his touch as your hips rut harder, pace growing sporadic and frantic, thoughts narrowing until all you can think of is your impending release. With each delicious glide of your hips, the friction builds and builds, every nudge of his tip against your clit carrying you closer and closer.
“Fuck, Ryo, I'm close,” you pant, sounding nearly panicked. And you are because you've been clenching your thighs around him so tight and stiff that they ache and you're afraid you'll lose momentum before you finish.
“Oh so it's Ryo when you want something,” he teases.
Understanding, he grips you by the waist and rolls you both over. Your back hits the couch as he settles between your legs, spreading them to accommodate his big body.
“I've got you, baby,” he promises.
Hitching one of your legs up and over his hip, he plants a hand beside your head as he takes the lead, rocking his hips between your thighs, watching his clothed cock pump between your panty-clad pussy lips. He hums in satisfaction, cock kicking as your eyelashes flutter, eyes rolling back as he maintains that pace.
“Like this?” he whispers.
You nod with a sigh. “Like that.”
With a hand gripping the back of your knees, he hump between your thighs at a mind-numbing rhythm as arousal sparks and ignites with you, stinging electricity rolling from your stomach straight to the back of your clit as your back bows off the couch with a gasping cry.
“Shh, I know, baby, I know.”
Sukuna swallows down your sounds, groaning himself as his hips stutter and then he's spending his seed in his underwear, kissing you lazily as you pant into each other's mouths.
“Knew this smart mouth would be sweet,” he mutters more to himself than you.
He regards you with that warm expression again that has you feeling more gooey inside as if you're not already a boneless puddle beneath him.
“You're so fucking pretty, you know that?” Brushing your damp hair away from your face, his thumb strokes your cheek, slowly but surely bringing you down from your high as he smiles softly at your glazed over eyes and lax face.
“Shut up,” you whisper drowsily, voice thick with cotton.
Chuckling, he nuzzles your cheek with his nose, pressing a kiss there before pulling back to look at you again like he can't get enough.
“I'm serious. You're beautiful, funny and so intelligent. Haven't been able to get it up for anyone but you in months. Did you poison my food or something?”
Scoffing, you humor him. “Maybe.”
Humming in mock suspicion, his eyes narrow.
“Must've put something in the little brat's milk too. You've got him wrapped around your finger, don't you? I'll admit, I was upset about not being his favorite anymore but then I realised I want to be your favorite too,” he rambles.
“You're competing with a toddler?” It's so ridiculous and so him.
“For you, yeah.”
“How idiotic.”
“You love it,” he claims.
“Not really,” you deny.
Grinning, he whispers, “Yes really.”
His amusement is contagious so you find yourself smiling back and he's leaning down to kiss you again, crushing you underneath his weight.
A sharp, piercing shriek rings out in the apartment, too loud for this hour of the night. You both wince and freeze.
Slowly pulling back, Sukuna shuts his eyes tight and cusses under his breath as he fishes out a fucking squeaky toy from beneath the cushion your head is on.
On cue, his nephew's cries fill the apartment and he groans, rolling off you to go settle him. You stop him with a hand on his arm as you stand up as well.
“I'll get him. You need to shower and get out of those soiled boxers, freak,” you tell him with a pat to his back as you saunter off.
“You did this to me!” He calls out behind you as you laugh.
note: this is the final part! argh, i'm gonna miss these two. i’ll probably write drabbles on them now and then.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
word count: 5.1k
warnings: cursing, talks of death, descriptions of violence
includes: childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers, insane amount of mutual pining, the slowest of slow burns, co-dependency on steroids.
summary: with no way out of the russian elevator robin, steve, and you have a thrilling conversation that has robin about ready to pull her hair out. but when a opportunity arises to escape you all take it, only to be met with the longest walk of your life. you all just don't realize what's waiting for you at the end of it or that it's somehow even worse than you would have ever imagined.
a/n: hello my loves!! so sorry this chapter took me so long, just have been so busy, but i'm so glad you all were so understanding <3 as always comments and reblogs are sooo appreciated. enjoy!! next two chapters are going to be.... interesting lol.
series masterlist
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
There’s not much to do in a giant metal box that’s thousands of feet underground– that’s something you figured out very quickly over the last eight hours. Dustin and Erica ended up falling asleep a couple hours after you guys made your grand arrival to wherever. Which left Robin, Steve, and you to figure out what the hell you guys were going to do.
Boxes are gone through hoping maybe there’s something that could help you guys out, but of course the search is unsuccessful. Everyone knows you guys are just going to have to wait this out and in the multitude of scenarios on how this can play out– you know the chances of you guys making it out of here alive are slim to none.
“What would your guy's last meal be?” Robin asks suddenly as the three of you sit on the metal floor.
A laugh escapes past your lips at her question. “You hungry?”
“Starving actually, but also we may very well actually starve down here if we don’t get out. So why not imagine one glorious last meal we’ll never get to experience.”
“Jesus Robin….” Steve grumbles.
“I don’t see you throwing out any thrilling conversation topics Harrington!”
Steve rolls his eyes at her with no real malice behind it. “Well then please, indulge us in your last meal choice.”
Robin leans back, her hands flat on the floor to hold herself up. You can tell she’s thinking about it and you’re expecting some elaborate meal and then ever so nonchalantly she says the most boring meal ever. “Probably meatloaf, mashed potatoes, a nice yeast roll, and for dessert a big ole slice of chocolate cake.”
Steve and you burst out laughing and for a second you forget that you’re trapped down here. “I’m sorry? Meatloaf is what you’d have for your last ever meal?”
Robin looks slightly offended, but she’s smiling at the same time. “I’ll have you know I love meatloaf and last time I checked it’s my last meal, so if I want meatloaf I’m gonna have meatloaf.”
You can’t even make eye contact with Steve right now without giggling and you’re pretty sure the delirium from no sleep is starting to set in. “Sorry you’re right– please eat all the meatloaf you want.”
“Damn right I will.” Robin glances between her two idiot co-workers and it’s so painfully obvious that you two are in love, yet neither of you will admit it. She wants to bang your heads together and hope that it would knock some sense into both of you. It’s tiring to be the confidant for both of you, to hear you guys talk about each other in code to her like she doesn’t have a working brain cell or two eyes.
Even now with impending doom lingering over you guys– Steve is still sitting here looking at you like a lovesick puppy. It also doesn’t get past Robin that you’ve been inching your way closer to Steve ever since you guys sat down and it’s not until your leg is touching his that you finally stop moving. You two were so annoying and there was no reason for guys to not admit what you felt.
Robin only wished she had the freedom to love like the two of you.
“What about you guys? What’s your last meal?”
You think about it for a minute, there were honestly so many things you’d want that you can’t really choose. “You know I have been craving a nice greasy burger from Benny’s…”
“God I miss that place.” Robin sighs.
“But I don’t think that would be my last meal. If I had to pick I think it would be my Mom’s–”
“Lasagna.” Steve finishes your sentence for you, like there’s no uncertainty that it would be anything else.
Your head whips towards him, surprised that he knew exactly what you were going to say. “Yeah….my Mom’s lasagna.”
Steve’s got a little smile on his face as he recalls just how good you Mom’s cooking is. “It would be mine too and when she makes that–”
“Really cheesy garlic bread? Oh god what I wouldn’t do for a slice of that right now.” There was nothing like your Mom’s cheesy garlic bread, in fact one year Steve asked for it for his birthday. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this considering all we see everyday is ice cream, but for dessert a–”
“Brownie sundae from the Dairy Barn.”
Robin watches the two of you in disgust. Of course both of your last meals were the exact same because why wouldn’t they be? You two were off in your own little world again doing your weird couple crap while not even being a couple. “I hate both of you.”
The conversation with Steve pauses as you both turn to look at Robin. “What?”
She pushes herself up from off the floor and dusts off her navy blue shorts. “You two are doing that weird shit again– it’s like I don’t know where one of you begins and the other ends.”
Steve scoffs. “Listen if you’ve had her Mom’s lasagna and cheesy garlic bread then you’d understand.”
“I’m sure it’s wonderful Steve, but that’s not what I’m talking about. You two are like weird conjoined twins, but you’re not siblings, you’re idiots who can’t see what’s attached to your hip.”
“I don’t follow…” You trail off, glancing between Steve and Robin hoping you’d get an explanation.
Robin literally wants to rip her hair out and if she’s stuck down here much longer with the two of you she thinks she’s going to go insane. “Nevermind.” She grumbles, deciding that poking around with the control box was more fun than dealing with you two idiots.
Erica and Dustin wake up not long after your last meal conversation ends on a sour note thanks to Robin. The kids are rightfully startled a little when they wake up, surely thinking this all had been a bad dream, but unfortunately this was your reality.
Before you know it Dustin is on the roof of the elevator trying to reach anyone on the surface with his walkie, but it’s no use, especially after hearing him repeat the same SOS message over and over again. After the fifth radio message relay Steve’s had enough and goes up to put a stop to Dustin’s attempts, mainly because he was draining the battery on your only form of communication to the surface.
“Robs those buttons aren’t gonna do anything, you said it yourself earlier.” She’s been messing with them for quite some time now and it’s quite literally pointless.
“I know, but maybe I’ll prove myself wrong.”
A loud banging sound coming from behind you breaks your attention away from Robin and you turn to see Erica banging one of the vials of green liquid on the edge of a metal barrel, trying to break it open.
“Hey, hey, hey! Erica, stop!” Your stomach about drops out of your ass as you run over and grab it out of her hands. “We don’t know what this is.”
“Exactly. It could be useful.”
“Useful how?” You counter.
“We can survive down here a long time without food, but if the human body doesn’t get water, it will die.”
“I hate to break it to you, but this is not water.” This was far from water, hell you could assume this was liquid death just by the color.
“No, but it’s a liquid and if it comes down to me drinking that shit or dying of thirst, I drink.” She gives you a snarky smile and you just scoff at her, she was the most headstrong ten year old you think you’ve ever met.
“Guys…” Robin calls out suddenly and you turn to see her with her ear against the door. She looks back at Erica and you– wide eyed. “We’ve got company.”
Seconds later you three have joined Dustin and Steve on the roof, all of you trying not to be seen or make a sound as you hear the elevator door open. From the metal grate at the top you can see two men walk in, they exchange a few words in Russian, grab some boxes, and then they’re gone.
There’s a very small window of time for you guys to make it out of here before that door locks you in here again and Steve thankfully thinks on his feet when he sees Erica holding one of the vials of that liquid. Once the men leave and you hear the sound of the door closing again Steve hurries down first and puts the vial between the floor and the door, leaving just enough of a gap for you guys to slide under it.
Steve makes sure Erica is out first, then Dustin, and Robin and you follow right behind. You can hear the glass starting to crack as the pressure from the door continuously presses down on it and you’re worried that Steve isn’t going to make it out in time, but by the skin of his teeth he slides under the door just before the vial cracks.
The green liquid splatters all over the floor and immediately starts sizzling, melting a layer of the floor right before your eyes. “You still wanna drink that?” You ask Erica jokingly.
“Yep.” She states, just to be defiant.
While the rest of you are still huddled around the decaying floor, Dustin’s turned around to find something you all surely want to see after being trapped in that metal box– an endless hallway. “Holy Mother of God.”
You all turn to see what he’s so worked up over and you all have just about the same reaction. “Hope everyone has their walking shoes on.” Steve sighs.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The tunnel seems to stretch on for miles with no end in sight as you start your journey to god knows where. There’s no crossroads or doors to rooms, it’s just one straight line, the same way to and from, and you realize that you guys are really screwed if someone else comes walking down this tunnel.
For a while you all can’t seem to shut up, everyone theorizing what could possibly be at the end of this yellow brick road from hell, but eventually the silence falls between the five of you as you all realize you are more than likely marching towards your death.
You’ve been lingering behind the group for a good while now, observing the others, getting too in your head. You watch Erica with her cute overalls and colorful beads in her braids walk in front of you like this is just another stroll in the park and it makes you sick. She’s a kid, even younger than Dustin, and you hate yourself for even having the idea that got her dragged into this. She should be nagging some other place in the food court right now about free samples, not down here with you guys. If anything happened to her you don’t think you could live with yourself, yet even at ten years old she seems to be braver than you at the moment.
Steve senses the exact moment you start to fall behind everyone else and he knows you need a moment to yourself, a second to think about things, but he also knows if he leaves you behind him for too long you’re gonna start overthinking.
So, without missing a beat he slows his pace gradually until you catch up with him. He doesn’t say anything as you two now walk side by side, just makes sure his presence is known, his hand reaching out for yours like a natural reflex. And when you give his hand a squeeze as your fingers intertwine he knows you’re here with him.
When he hears Robin and Dustin start talking about comic book characters he knows they’ll be at it for a while, so he finally decides to start picking at your brain.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours? Hmm?” Steve asks softly.
His choice of words goes straight over your pretty little head and the worries tumble right out. “Can’t stop thinking about something happening to Erica or Dustin or Robin or you.” Steve’s hand squeezes yours a little tighter at the mention of himself, a silent confirmation that he’s not going anywhere. “I know we don’t know what’s at the end of this tunnel, but Steve it can’t be good. Our luck is absolute shit if you haven’t gathered that already and I’m just so tired of going through stuff like this. I mean you heard those guys speaking Russian, do you really think whoever we find down here is going to be thrilled to see five Americans, three of whom are dressed in freaking sailor uniforms?”
Steve doesn’t let the fact that he’s been thinking the same thing show. He needed to be strong for the kids, and Robin, but most importantly you. He’s your rock and he knows it and so he’s going to lie to your face and tell you everything is going to be alright. Even though he knows it more than likely won’t be.
“Hey, listen to me…” He squeezes your hand again causing your eyes to travel up from the floor to his big round ones. “We may not know what we’re walking into, but I promise you we’ll get through it like we always do. Anything happens you know I’ll be here– I’m not gonna let anything happen to you okay?”
“You know I’m not worried about what happens to me…” Your voice is barely above a whisper.
A switch flips in Steve and he can’t stand to hear you talk about yourself like you’re someone disposable in his life– in anyone’s life. Like the mere thought of you getting hurt doesn’t make his chest want to crack open. “I’m not having this argument again. In case you forgot you made a promise to me too so unless you plan on breaking it don’t say that shit to me.”
His tone is sharp and it has you not even knowing what to say back to him. He’d basically scolded you and you know you shouldn’t be so aloof about what happens to you, but you can’t help it, you’re always going to put the people you care about before you, but you guess you should accept that Steve is like that too.
You don’t even bother replying, he’s a little irritated with you, it’s not hard to figure that out. Especially after his long exaggerated sigh when he was done reprimanding you and you fully expect him to drop your hand, but instead he holds it tighter, like if he lets go you’re gonna set off on a suicide mission.
The other three are still deep in conversation, but you notice that Dustin slows his speed a bit until he’s walking at your pace. “Have you guys by chance thought that this might have to do with some other weird things that have happened in Hawkins?” He asks like Robin and Erica aren’t a few feet in front of you.
The three of you stop dead in your tracks, the idea had crossed your mind more than once. Too much weird shit had happened these past two years in connection with the Upside Down and the gate, but El had closed it last fall. So it all couldn’t be connected– could it?
“You think they know about the you know what?” Steve questions, eyes darting between Dustin and you.
“They could.” Dustin replies.
“So it’s connected?”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
You cock an eyebrow in Dusitn’s direction. “How?”
“I don’t know, but it’s possible.”
“I’m sorry, is there something you three would like to share with the class?” Robin hollers, breaking you guys away from your conversation and towards Erica and her.
You look back and forth between the boys and then over to Erica and Robin, but before any of you can decide if it’s a good idea to fill them in, the sound of static from the walkie in Erica’s backpack fills the air, and then a man speaking Russian.
You all rush over to her as she’s grabbing the walkie out and handing it to Robin. You all listen trying to figure out what’s being said, but Robin clocks it immediately, she knows that sequence of words like the back of her hand at this point.
“It’s the code.”
“Wherever that broadcast is coming from, it's close.” Dustin announces.
“And if there’s one thing we know about that signal it’s that it can reach the surface.” Robin adds with a hint of whimsy in her voice. “It might be our only way out of here, so let’s go.”
It seems like a very bad idea to go towards the Russians, but she is right, if you could somehow broadcast a message to the surface you may very well get rescued. That is if the Russians don’t get to you first, but it’s a risk you’ll have to take.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
It’s not that much further until you hear voices over a PA system in the distance and as you get even closer you can hear the sounds of vehicles and people talking. You know you’ve actually reached somewhere when you come to an actual crossroads, but you’re all hiding behind a utility locker in the blink of an eye when you hear the sound of boots clanking against the concrete floor.
Steve peaks his head around the corner a few seconds later, eyes scanning the immediate vicinity. “Okay clear.” He grabs ahold of your hand, pulling you with him. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Okay that was too close.” Robin exclaims as everyone else follows close behind you and Steve.
“Relax okay. Nobody saw–” Steve freezes in place as you all round a corner only to be met with what seemed to be the central hub for whatever this was.
People in white lab coats, trucks whizzing by with some familiar containers, men in what seem to be a hazmat suit of some kind, and soldiers with guns. There’s too many people, too many eyes for you all to be standing there out in the open, but you’re all a little shell shocked.
A soldier standing guard on the upper level glances in your direction or at least you think he does and you’re darting behind a cart before you can figure out if he saw you or not. Everyone else follows suit and now you’re sandwiched between Robin and Steve tighter than a sardine can while a plan starts to be put in place.
“You saw the comms room?” Steve glances around the corner of the cart, there was so much commotion going on there was no way she saw that room.
“Are you sure?” Dustin asks.
“Positive. The door was open for a second and I saw a bunch of lights and machines and shit in there.”
“That could be a hundred different things.”
Robin’s gaze shifts back towards her coworkers and she knows you guys are gonna think she’s crazy, but if that comms room can get you guys out of here, it’s a risk worth taking. “I’ll take those odds.”
You should have known Robin would be on board, but you can tell Steve is teetering on the edge, and well you guess you’re on the same page as Robin. You guys have gotten this far, might as well gamble a little more, it’s not like your lives are on the line or anything.
You all peek around the corner, spotting the door that Erica was talking about, it’s pretty much a straight shot, but there’s still so many things that could go wrong. “All right.” Steve states as you all hide back behind the cart. “We’re gonna move fast and we’re gonna stay low. Okay?”
“Okay.” You agree.
Steve leads the way and you all follow his path, ducking behind boxes and big containers, anything to hide you on your journey. You’re hunkered down behind some water containers waiting for someone to come out of the room and thankfully it doesn’t take long for you to hear the electronic beeping of the keycard mechanism. Steve barely catches the door in time before it closes and you all shuffle in, adrenaline pumping through your veins.
Of course this is never as easy as it seems because as the door closes behind you you’re all face to face with a Russian soldier. He reaches for his gun and you think okay, this is how it ends, you’re going to get gunned down in some underground Russian lab, but Robin is quick on her feet.
She starts reciting parts of the code to him and at first you think it’s working, mainly because you don’t understand Russian, but when he keeps shaking his head at her you know she’s failed. The soldier undoes his holster and Steve roughly grabs ahold of you, putting himself in between you and the Russian.
As soon as the guy starts to grab his gun Steve decides to say fuck it and charges at him. It all seems to happen in a blur and you think your mind kind of blacks out to try and protect yourself from witnessing Steve get beat within an inch of his life again– or even worse to death.
At some point you close your eyes and pray that Steve comes out of this alive. You want to be so angry with him right now for putting himself in this situation again, but you can’t because any anger you feel isn’t really anger. It’s fear and dread and it’s easier to be angry at him then face the emotions you’re really feeling.
You can hear everything that’s happening, the punches thrown, the grunts, things scattering onto the floor, and then eventually the sound of what seems like the final blow and someone hitting the floor. You don’t want to open your eyes, to see Steve unconscious on the floor, but a pair of steady hands on your shoulders has them flying open.
A wide eyed Steve Harrington stands in front of you, chest heaving, fingers digging into your skin so deep that you’re sure it’ll leave a mark, but you don’t care, you know he’s trying to ground himself. He’d never won a fight before, never really did any damage to anyone before, and now he’s knocked a guy unconscious and he doesn’t like how his hands can’t seem to stop shaking.
Dustin starts blabbing about how Steve has finally won a fight, but Steve couldn’t care less right now, not when you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you. His face is tucked into the crook of your neck and just breathing in your scent has his heart beat steadying.
“You’re gonna kill me by worrying about you before anything else gets the chance to.” You mumble.
He doesn’t reply and you really don’t expect him to. He knows what he’d just done was probably tied with trying to take on those demo-dogs last fall as the stupidest thing he’s ever done. But he’s always going to try everything in his power to stop any harm from coming your way.
Steve eventually pulls away from you once his heart beat slows down enough that he doesn’t think he’s on the verge of a heart attack, but once he’s met with Erica and Dustin arguing he’s about ready to go back to his refuge in your arms.
“Guys.” Robin calls out, her voice unsteady. “There’s something up there.” She points up the random staircase in the room and you all follow her lead. Blinding white flashes alter your vision for a moment as you reach the top of the stairs and sneak through the door, but when your eyes adjust and you see what’s in front of you your stomach drops.
There’s dozens of people, all doing different things, but that’s not what has got your jaw dropping. It’s the giant laser like machine with a deafening thrumming sound that’s tearing a hole into the wall, but it’s not just any hole. It’s glowing orange with the all too familiar connective strings of whatever matter it’s made out of. You look between Dustin and Steve, who both have the same startled look on their faces.
“The gate.”
You don’t want to be up here any longer than necessary and you’re ushering everyone back down the stairs before you get caught.
“I don’t understand. What’s this gate? You’ve seen this before?” Robin asks.
“Not exactly.” Steve answers.
“Then what, exactly?”
Now really isn’t the time to explain all of this to Robin, but she needs to know it’s not some little science experiment they are running in there. “All you need to know is that it's really bad.”
“Really bad.” Steve reiterates.
“Like, the end of the human race as we know it kind of bad.” Dustin adds.
Robin doesn’t like the secrecy talk between the three of you right now. “And you know about this how?”
“Um, Steve? Where’s your Russian friend?” Erica interjects, causing you all to look at the now empty floor with only a blood stain left behind as evidence.
As if on cue an annoyingly loud alarm starts blaring through the whole place, red and blue lights flashing like you’ve just gotten pulled over, and you know you guys are screwed. Steve runs over to the door to find the soldier doubled over with others surrounding him and seconds later you’re all being chased by them.
Your our only option is back up the stairs and into the control center which is of course filled with more people. It’s a constant maze of trying to figure out how the hell you guys are going to get out of here and you somehow end up out on the edge of the platform.
The force from the machine rattles your chest and sucks the air from your lungs. It’s terrifyingly beautiful to be this close to it, to see something so dangerous like this, but it doesn’t last long as the soldiers come running down the platform after you.
Steve takes the lead now and you backtrack off the platform to now being under it and by some miracle you find an empty mechanical room, but it’s a dead end, at least you think.
Steve, Robin and you are trying to hold the door closed, trying to buy even an extra minute to find a way for the kids to at least escape. Erica ends up finding a removable grate in the floor for Dustin and her to climb through, but you know there’s no way for anyone but them to make it out of here. The soldiers outnumber you by a mile and you three can’t hold this door closed for much longer.
“Come on!” Dustin yells.
“Go! Just get out here!” Steve yells back and everything in him wants to tell you to go with the kids, but he knows you’re not going to. He knows you’re not going to leave him and it makes him sick to think about what's going to happen when these guys finally bust down this door.
“Now! Come on guys!”
Your feet are sliding all over the floor as you try to get traction to hold the door and if Dustin doesn’t close that damn grate in the next second you all are dead. “Dustin just go get some help, okay?”
He’s still holding out and you can’t blame him, you would too, but he’s gotta save himself and Erica at this point. The yelling from the other side of the door just seems to be getting louder and you know that means more men have arrived.
“What are you doing? Just go!” Steve practically screams.
Dustin slams the grate shut and the three of you finally lose the battle of holding the door closed. It flies open with so much force that it throws you guys against the wall, heads banging against the concrete. Dozens of men come barreling into the room, guns pointed at the three of you like you’d just blown the place up or something.
You put your hands up thinking they won’t be rough with you, but you should have known this wouldn’t be a five star treatment. They grab you first and roughly you might add, you try not to resist, but the way they manhandle you has you more than uncomfortable. It goes straight through Steve, to see how rough and handsy they are with you.
“Get your fucking hands off of her!” He yells, which earns him a slap to the face.
Once they’ve got you all up off the floor and handcuffed they practically have to drag all three of you out of the room and down the hall to a much quieter part of whatever hell this was. They throw Robin into the first holding cell, then a little ways down the hall you’re thrown into the second one, and you could guess Steve is in the last one. You scramble up off the floor to get away from the men towering over you, scared they were going to just start beating on you, but they don’t. They just stand there for a moment, say something in Russian that you don’t understand, laugh, and then leave.
The metal door closes with a heavy thud and you’re left there alone. You don’t know what’s happening to Robin or Steve or if they are okay and who even knows where Erica and Dustin are at right now. You don’t know if you want to cry or scream or throw up– maybe a combination of all three at this point.
The unknown is a scary thing and the fact that you don’t know what’s going to come next for you or the people you care about is what’s scaring you the most right now. Every single scenario plays in your head as you sit in this cold concrete cell, metal cuffs digging into your wrists. You know this isn’t going to be shaken off as a little misunderstanding and you guys will be let go, but you don’t think you could have ever imagined just how bad it actually gets down here.
One thing you learn very quickly is that even though these walls are solid concrete, you can hear everything, and you think they’ve made it that way on purpose.
Because no one wants to hear the man they love get tortured.
fwb!frat!jo & fwb!frat!geto wanna see their princess even when she's sick ! fluff. cursing. mentions of fucking. pregnancy joke. use of petnames (princess, angel, baby) idk why i feel like i saw something like this somewhere— if i accidentally used an idea or smth pls genuinely let me know i'm paranoid and i read too much so i might have forgotten.
