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cambria-writes · 2 years

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it is sunday my dudes!

a bit of a later update because i did, in fact, go see heilung last night and stayed up way too late and then got sick. (stress and tired sick not like, sick sick.) i think i was able to proofread this two or three times, but if i missed anything please let me know!

also who’s guessed what the chapter titles are

pairing: eddie munsonx reader rating: T warning: mention of minor character death, vague mention of attempted suicide, loose mention of severe depression, lots of swearing, underaged drinking (because this is still the states), spicy topic but only if you squint and only for a fraction of a second word count: 4,129

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕱𝖎𝖛𝖊: 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔖𝔭𝔢𝔩𝔩

You don’t sleep.

You spend Eddie’s entire watch with eyes wide opened looking at the ceiling. Chrissy Cunningham is dead and some kind of inter-dimensional asshole is responsible for it. And for some god-forsaken reason, you and Eddie both have to rely on a bunch of kids and their glorified babysitters to keep you out of trouble.

It’s literally the worst idea you ever could’ve thought of, but considering you and Eddie are the ones the least knowledgeable about whatever the fuck is going on... you don’t really have a choice but to accept to be sitting ducks.

You can hear Eddie pacing in the hallways. Has been for the past several hours. Sometimes you hear him slide down a wall to sit on the floor, only to get back up a few minutes later to resume his pacing. You absently scratch at the raised scar on your left arm. You’re wondering if maybe you should give Eddie the full story behind it when you hear him walk in the room again.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked, worried, sitting up and scooting back to have your back against the well.

“What, you mean besides the fact that I’m the prime suspect for the murder of a seventeen year old cheerleader?”

You pull your knees up to your chest, wrap your arms around them. “Shit, sorry I asked.” You mutter, resting your chin on your knees.

Eddie sighs, and you feel the foot of the bed dip when he sits down. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t...” You see the shadow of his arm when he covers his face with his hand.

“I know,” you say quietly, drumming your fingers against your legs. “All of this is fucked.”

“Super fucked,” he agrees, and you can vaguely see him lay back on the bed. “We shouldn’t have run away.”

“Ed, there’s nothing we could’ve–”

“We don’t know that!” He shouts, and you can’t help but flinch at the volume. “Shit, sorry. Sorry I, fuck.”

You uncurl and crawl forward and feel around until your hand finds a shoulder. Grab it a bit more firmly when he flinches.

“Eddie, there’s nothing we could have done. We didn’t know anything,“ you say, hoping that your voice sounds as firm as you want it to. ”You heard Max. Nancy’s gonna try and snoop around Forest Hills tomorrow to see if she can find anything out. Steve and the kids are gonna try and see if they can figure out why it was Chrissy. The best we can do is just...“

“Wait,” Eddie finished for you, after you trail off. “I know. I fucking hate it.”

You pull your hand away and pull your legs under you to kneel on the bed. Bite at the inside of your cheek for a second before you speak up again.

“I could try to do it,” you say hesitantly, and the uncertainty you feel makes it sound more like a question.

Eddie sits up and turns to look at you. “Try what again?”

“The whole plane shifting,” you say, digging your fingers into your knees. “If I bring the guns with me–”

“No,” Edide cuts you off, pulling a leg up on the bed to face you. ”Absolutely not.“

“I think Vecna’s the one who kicked me out.”

A second of silence.

“You what?“

“When I did the thing earlier,” you continue, balling your hands into fists to stop the shaking. “There was a man who talked to me before I landed face first on the floor. I think that was Vecna.”

You can hear Eddie swearing under his breath. “And that’s not an even bigger reason to not do that again because?”

“Maybe I can talk to him again or something, I don’t know. I just...”

You feel Eddie getting up and off the bed before you see him.

“Fuck this, I’m too sober for this shit,” is all he offers in the way of an explanation before walking out of the room. You hurry after him the best you can, trying not to trip over anything or run into any walls. You slam your hand against the fridge door when he reaches for it.

“Are you insane? We’re basically wanted fugitives and your genius idea is to get drunk?”

Eddie sighs and turns around.

“Look, neither of us can fucking sleep, I’m losing my mind, you’re suggesting doing the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard, so yeah, in comparison, getting drunk and passing the fuck out sounds like a fantastic idea,” He says, putting his hand back on the fridge door handle. “Get your hand off.”

You stare him down for a second. “Fine. Make sure the fridge light stays off.”

You take a few steps back. Eddie opens the fridge slowly, swats at your shoulder for you to hold the fridge’s light switch down while he grabs what’s left of a twelve pack of beer.

“How did you even know that was in there?” You ask, once the fridge door is closed and Eddie puts the case down on the counter.

“He’s a dealer?” Eddie says, that like that shoulder be self explanatory. He grabs your hand and places a cold bottle in it. You feel his hand cover yours for a second while he seems to use one of his rings to pop the cap off.

You stare down at the bottle with equal amounts of incredulity and suspicion. You hear Eddie pop the cap off his own bottle and knock it against yours.

“Cheers to the town freaks,” he says, before taking a very long and audible gulp.

“Cheer to that, I guess,” you say, and chug as much of the bottle as you can before the carbonation starts to hurt your throat.

“Woah there,” Eddie says, bringing your arm down. “Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick.”

You shrug him off and take another more reasonable sip of the beer, and turn around to sit on the kitchen floor, against the fridge door. You hear Eddie take another drink before sitting down next to you, legs stretch out in front of him.

“Wanna play twenty questions while we wait for this to kick in?” you ask, leaning your head back and turning slightly to look at him.

“Sure,” he snorts, putting the bottle down on the floor between his legs. “You start?”

“Alright,” you say, taking a second to think. “Okay. Favourite Band?”

He chuckles. “Corroded Coffin. Yours?”

“Hold up, who the fuck?”

“It’s my band,” Eddie shrugs. “Answer the damn question.”

“Blue Öyster Cult,” you answer, after some consideration. Eddie makes a sound you register as disgust. “Shut up,” you say, and punch his shoulder. “They’re a good fucking band. Do you still play guitar?”

“You know it baby,” Eddie says, and the pride in his voice makes you grin. He takes a sip of his beer and puts the bottle back down. “Do you still write?”

The grin falls from your face and you take a sip. “No. Not after I... not after what happened. Do you write your own lyrics?”

“Sometimes,” Eddie answers. You see him twisting one of his rings. “What... what happened? For that,” he asks, waving vaguely at your left arm.

“Pass,” you immediately say, chugging down another third of your beer.

“Hey, no, that’s not how this works,” Eddie complains, pulling the beer bottle away from you. “Answer the question or you don't get this back.”

“That’s bullshit!” You whisper harshly, leaning over to try to grab the bottle back. When you see that Eddie’s arms are clearly longer than yours and that there’s no way you can get it back, you settle back in your spot and cross your arms. “It’s... not something I like to talk about.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Eddie acknowledges. “How many people have you talked about it with?” You stay silent. “Yeah. Should probably get that off of your chest at some point. Might as well be now.”

“It was...” You groan, letting your head tilt back and smack against the fridge. “It was three years ago. I’d been having those nightmares so often I just... sometimes I woke up and I couldn’t tell if I was awake or not,” you start, closing your eyes against the sting of tears. “I thought—when it happened I thought that, if I just...” You clear your throat with the intention of continuing, but Eddie pats your knee.

“I’m good. Sorry for...” He trails off, and takes a second to chug the rest of the beer. You look on, speechless, as he reaches over his head for the case still on the counter. Clears his throat, too, and grabs another beer. Grabs a second one to put in front of you. “Your, uh, your turn.”

You sniffle and paw the tears from your eyes and clear your throat again. “Right. Um, okay.” Slap your thighs and lean back against the fridge. “Why do you wear your bandana like that?”

You can almost feel Eddie freeze mid-gulp. He sputters and covers his mouth for a second.

“Wear—my ban—what do you mean ‘like that’?” You can’t help but laugh.

“Wow, okay,” you take another sip of your nearly-empty beer. “I don’t know that I need a straight answer with the way you just reacted, damn.”

“No, seriously, what do you mean,” Eddie asks again, though it sounds much more like a statement and his voice sounds a little bit too steady. When you turn your head to look at him, you almost flinch with how intently he’s staring right back at you.

“Uh,” you flounder, hurriedly looking away. “It just uh. You—do you know what flagging is?”

You hear the bottle being put down on the floor.

“Do you?”

“Is that your question?” you joke, drinking the last dregs of your first bottle and reaching for the second. Eddie stops you by putting his hand on top of the bottle. You slowly look back at him, and it feels like forever before he sighs and takes his hand back and nurses his own beer.

“Sure, that’ll be my question,” he says, and you’re not sure if you appreciate that he’s looked away if that’s what he’s asking you.

“...yeah,” you answer quietly. “I do. How’s Wayne doing?”

You chuckle nervously along when Eddie laughs. “That’s your question. How’s my uncle doing? Seriously?”

“Well yeah, what the fuck,” you say defensively, bringing the bottle closer to your chest. “I haven’t seen him in years, I wanna know how the old man’s doing. What’s so wrong with that?”

Eddie shakes his head and chuckles. “He’s fine, doing alright. As fine as he can be given that he’s housing the town f—”

“I swear on my father’s Elvis vinyl collection you better not call yourself the town freak again or so help me god,” you threaten, tossing the bottle back.

“Don’t need to since you just did,” he replies, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Oh fuck right off. Ask your damn question.”

You go back and forth like that for a good while. Eddie keeps asking things about what you like, which bands you’ve been able to see live, which college you would’ve gone to if you had the choice, what your major would’ve been. You ask him music related questions, like what his favourite brand of amp is, which key he prefers to compose in, how he even goes about composing in the first place.

It’s the first time in four years you get the sense that this is how normal people your age are supposed to act. And feel.

As time wears on, you unfold your legs and, now that you’ve kicked off your own shoes, knock your foot against Eddie’s for a bit. You slow down on the drinking after the second bottle, so by the time you’ve finished your third, he’s already halfway through his sixth.

“Dude,” you breath, looking up at the kitchen window. “Fat load of good doing watches did. It’s fucking daylight already.”

Eddie groans and lifts his arm, shakes the sleeve up to look at his watch.

“Shit, it’s like, half past six,” he says, and lets his arm drop back to the floor. “Man, I’m dead.”

“No shit,” you snort, waving at the small crowd of bottles off to his right. “You drank half a pack, you raging alcoholic.”

“Yeah, uh huh, whatever,” he mumbles, leaning his head back against the counter. “If no one’s busted through the door yet I’m pretty sure we can sleep.”

“We should probably sleep,” you agree. But neither of you make a move to get up. Instead, you chug the rest of your third beer before leaning forward to put it on the floor with your other two empty bottles. “Problem is that I really don’t wanna get up.”

“Cheers to that,” Eddie says, lifting his bottle to chug the rest of it after you. “We gotta, though. Come on,” he continues, making a show of getting up, using the counter to prop himself up and extending a hand down to you.

You sigh wearily and grab his wrist. You very much ignore whatever it is that hits you in the gut when you feel his rings around your wrist in return.

You both stumble to keep your balance. Walking down the hall, though, you can’t help but laugh at how Eddie needs to keep an arm braced against a wall.

“No one asked the peanut gallery,” he grumbles, swinging himself through the door of the bedroom and heading straight for the bed.

You stall in the doorway, though. Suddenly, sleeping alone on the hard floor with just a pillow doesn’t seem as appealing as it did in the dead of night.

After orienting himself the right way up on the bed, Eddie lifts himself up on his elbows to frown at you. “Hey, you good?”

You open and close your mouth once or twice before finding your voice. “I, um. I’m not entirely sure...”

Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs before scooting over on the bed to get closer to the wall. He pats the space next to him.

“Come on you coward,” he says, though by the time you stand next to the bed, his eyes are closed and he already looks half asleep.

“...yeah, alright,” you say, sitting on the bed for a second before lying down. “Just don’t cuddle me in your sleep. I don’t need to deal with an awkward morning wood situation. I’ve got enough on my mind already.”

Eddie snorts in response, but doesn’t say anything.

He’s out like a light in minutes.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper to yourself, pulling the pillow from the floor and shoving it behind your head. “I’m gonna be fine.”

And though it takes longer than you’d like—the sun’s over the horizon by the time you do—but you eventually fall asleep, too.

March 22nd, 1986

“...one of you guys please answer? I’m seriously about to hijack a car and drive over there myself. You know I’ll do it, Eddie.”

You groan and turn over in bed, turning away from the obnoxious sound. Though you try to block out the noise by hiding your head under the pillow, the constant static of the walkie talkie tuning in and out is starting to wear on your very last, tired, fraying nerve. When you manage to get yourself to sit up on the side of the bed, you’re about to grab the walkie and whisper some very unkind things into it. Eddie sweeps into the room with a… dishtowel? Thrown over his shoulder, for some reason? And snatched the thing up from the ground.

“Henderson I swear to Christ if you keep badgering us every half hour I’ll replace every single damn can of hairspray with contact glue,” he growls, pacing around the room with a hand on his hips. “Copy that?”

“Jesus, no need to be touchy,” Dustin answers, and if you weren’t so annoyed you’d actually find his indignation funny. “Wait, no, fuck off! I’ve been trying to get an answer from one of you for like half an hour!”

“Yeah, uh huh,” Eddie starts, turning around to throw you a quick wave. “Ever occur to you that maybe we’d need to sleep considering we’ve just been exposed to fucking Hell 2.0 and couldn’t get a god damn wink?”

The banter leaves with Eddie once he steps back into the hallway. You take a deep breath and let yourself fall back on the mattress. You’re not hungover, not really. But you’re also not exactly used to plane shifting, drinking and running from the law while being sleep deprived all at once.

It’s a lot. It’s a lot to contend with.

You throw an arm over your eyes if only just to avoid looking at the alarm clock on the desk. You don’t think you want to know what time it is. So, instead, after giving yourself some time to breathe and relax—as much as one can given the impossible scenario you’re in—you get up and follow the smell of freshly made coffee.

In the kitchen, Eddie is busy in front of the stove making pancakes, judging by the already sizable stack on a plate on the counter next to him.

“Siddown,” he says, though he doesn’t turn around to look at you.

“You can cook,” you say, a little slack-jawed, as you slowly sit down. You also notice that the table is significantly cleaner than you think you remember it being.

“You can cook,” Eddie repeats back, pitching his voice to imitate yours. “No shit, Sherlock,” he scoffs, taking a step back from the stove and perfectly throwing and flipping the pancake before it lands back in the pan. “How many you want?”

“Ugh,” you groan, sliding the chair back so you can rest your head on the table. “Do I really have t—”

“Yeah, no, eating isn’t negotiable, princess.”

“Did you just call me princess?”

Eddie visibly freezes, though it’s only for a fraction of a second. He scoops the pancake up with a spatula before carefully dropping it on the increasingly large stack.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat. Still hasn’t turned around to look at you once. “Sorry, force of habit.”

You frown but hum in acknowledgement, but remain quiet after that. Eddie doesn’t say anything else until he’s done making another two pancakes. There’s nine on the stacked plate now, and after he puts that down in the center of the table, he grabs two other plates from a cupboard and two forks from a drawer before sitting down in front of you.

“No maple syrup?” you ask, grabbing a fork and stabbing the pancake on top of the stack to bring it to your plate.

“I honestly wouldn’t trust what’s in that fridge,” Eddie says, stacking three pancakes on his plate and immediately going to town on them. “I had to use water for these cause the milk looked about ready to develop capitalism,” he adds, talking around a full mouth.

“Gross, don’t talk while you chew,” you laugh lightly, cutting a small triangle out of the pancake to taste it.

It’s not terrible, but the lack of eggs and milk does make a noticeable difference. Considering you’re basically a fugitive for the next however long, though, you don’t feel like you have too much room to complain. Taking a look around the kitchen, you figure that there are definitely worse places to be stuck hiding out in.

“And worse people,” you mutter to yourself, tearing another piece of pancake to chew.

“Hm? What was that?”

You cough when you try to swallow. “Not-nothing. What did uh, did Henderson give you any news?”

Eddie’s shoulders slump and the change of his expression would have probably been comical in almost any other situation. Puts his fork down and leans back in his chair with both hands flat on the table.

“We are, in fact, wanted murder suspects,” he replies slowly, drumming his fingers against the edge of the table. “Well, I’m a wanted murder suspect, you’re apparently wanted for aiding and abetting.” You stay quiet and nod as you look down at the table. “Wheeler’s—Nancy, she was headed to the trailer park this morning to see if she can find anything out. She was able to let ‘em know about some guy named Victor Creel, and Harrington and his Merry Hobbits are off doing god knows what.”

“That’s,” you start, taking a deep breath and scooting closer to the table. “That's a lot.” Eddie nods quietly and you try your best to eat the rest of the pancake despite the lump in your throat.

“You know...” Eddie’s voice trails off when you hold your hand up to him.

You can hear chiming.

“It’s happening again,” you say, slowly standing from the chair. “I can hear the grandfather clock again.” You wait for a bit, closing your eyes to focus on the sound. “Four. Four times. It’s coming from... that way, I think.”

Eddie turns around to look at where you’re pointing, in the general direction of the back of the house. You can see him frown when you sit down, and jump in your seat when he whips around.

“No fucking way, that’s Forest Hills.”

“Yeah, and the rest of fucking Hawkins,” you scoff, leaning back in with crossed arms and tapping your foot on the floor. “We’re at the edge of town basically. Everything’s going to be in that direction.”

Eddie grumbles but leans forward. You can already tell he’s determined not to let this go.

“How close was it? Compared to before?” he asks, sliding his plate to the side to clasp his hands on the table.

“I don’t know?” You frown, biting down on your lip to think. “Last time, like when I heard it driving to your place?”

“Y-you what,” Eddie stutters, and you let your mouth fall open. Had you not mentioned that?

“Shit,” you whisper. “I told—when I met up with Harrington and the kids, I heard the grandfather clock ching when I was with them,” you start, bringing your hands down to wring them in your lap. “But I... I heard it when I got to your place, too.”

The chair practically falls backwards with how fast Eddie gets up and rushes at the walkie talkie.

“Hey hey hey someone better answer because we have something really important going on here,” he says, panic bubbling in his voice with every word, smashing the speak button repeatedly. “Hello?!”

“Oh my god, would you just,” You rush over to Eddie and snatch the thing out of his hands. “You’re gonna fucking break it, what the hell’s wrong with you?”

“You heard the clock before Chrissy fucking died,” he spits, and it’s in the shocked silence that the walkie crackles to life in your hands.

“Jesus Christ man calm down,” Steve says, and you slowly bring the device up to your face. “What’s so damn—”

“I heard the clock before Chrissy died,” you explain maybe a little too quickly, eyes locked with Eddie’s. “And I just heard it again now.”

“How many times did you hear it before last night?” Eddie asks, taking a step forward and putting his hands on your shoulders.

“I, uh,” you bite your lips and look off into space to remember. There was the time in the woods, there was the school parking lot... “I guess twice? I think? Two or three times.”

“How many times did you hear it before—” Dustin’s voice comes over the walkie, which Eddie snatches from your hands.

“Two or three times,” he answers, walking back until he can lean back into the kitchen counter. “I just asked.”

“How many times have you heard it today?” comes through the walkie.

You balk, because though you’ve heard it once today, you have no idea if you would’ve heard it more if you’d actually been awake.

“Just. Just the one time so far, she just woke up,” Eddie answers for you. You nod at him to confirm. “Yeah, just once.”

“Still no idea where it’s coming from?”

“Quoth the cleric, ‘we’re basically at the edge of town, everything’s in that direction’, so no. Just that it’s closer to you than us, probably.” You roll your eyes at his dramatic reenactment of your previous statement.

All at once, you frown and hold your hand up, stopping Eddie before he can open his mouth again.

“Wait, hold up. The cleric?”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie starts, and despite the fact that you can tell his hands are shaking and his eyes still look a little wild, there’s a smirk growing on his face. “You got Detect Magic, Astral Spell and Plane Shift. What else are you gonna be?”

@anothermunsonsimp @doratheignora

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rinhaler · 6 months

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You Deserve Roses and You Know This

✧˖*°࿐ : 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ ex!Toji Fushiguro x f!reader

Genre: Smut & Angst Notes: reposting from my old account! Warnings: 18+, dubcon, vaginal sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), nipple play, dacryphilia, pregnancy, abortion ideation, miscarriage, depression, adultery, breeding, creampie ♡, smoking mention. Words: 4.1k

“Is it true? Did talking to Megumi make you cry today?” Toji asks you, peeling down your bra strap before sensually decorating your exposed shoulder in delicate kisses.

He didn’t notice, but as soon as the question left his tongue you had instinctively become dead behind the eyes. It was true. You’re an adult, and yet you were brought to tears by his seven-year-old son. It wasn’t that he said anything callous, quite the opposite, really. Earlier that day, Megumi had been sitting playing in your front room. You were babysitting, as you often did, while Toji and his wife were working. Your eyes hold shut as you remember his wife; his beautiful and kind wife while he continues littering your skin in adoration. You shouldn’t be doing this, but you can’t stop now.

Green sparkling eyes looked up from innocent children’s toys to pose you a question – “Why do you hate me?” he asked, genuinely. It was like a knife through your chest. You didn’t hate him. You could never hate him, Toji being partly responsible for his existence is enough reason to adore him with everything you have.

You just wish he was yours.

Toji is patient when he gets his time with you. It’s rare, after all, and he wants to make the most of it. Two large palms settle on your breasts, the straps are down but your bra is still firmly in place. He massages your flesh over the material, lips traversing the expanse of your body until he reaches your pulse point. He licks, slowly, hot eager breath contrasting your own temperature and making you shudder. This, he notices, pulling your back even closer into his chest. His left hand slowly yet forcefully moves up and down your adjacent arm, desperate to dispel the goosebumps that have formed on your skin. He suckles and licks on your ear lobe before nibbling it softly between his teeth. His breathing changes, his mouth level with your ear, he’s going to speak.

“Baby… what were you talking about?” he sighs, an even more chill inducing breath warms the shell of your ear. He pecks against it, the sound of tactile lips puckering slithers directly through your ear canal. You moan, unintentionally, and back further into your temporary lover. He holds your breasts once more; stabilising you, if only a little, as you begin to grind your core against his crotch.

“I- I can’t, Toji—”

Your attention is fixated on him as his hand encases half of your face and turns you to face him. But you both find yourselves closing your eyes as he places a kiss against your lips. It’s slow, yet heated, and you feel him smile into you when he hears you moan into his mouth pathetically. You’re well and truly at his mercy, though you aren’t embarrassed. How else should one act and behave around the love of their life?

“You can and you will,” he explains, biting your lip as he parts from the kiss. A singular string of saliva keeps you connected for a second before snapping. “you can’t have secrets with my son darlin’, you just can’t. So tell me, what were you talkin’ to him about?”

You gulp, nerves overcoming you like never before. Your eyes flutter shut yet again as he diverts his attention from your eyes to your body. The skin behind your ear is the next subject of his eroticism. And yet, he has the gall to chastise you for enjoying it. With one more repetition of tell me you realise you can’t stall anymore. Out of options. And you can’t lie.

“R-Rocco, ah—!”

“How does Megumi know about Rocco?”

“I- I told… him…”

He hikes your leg up so that you’re sitting on his lap like a little girl. The kissing has stopped and the touches have halted. Toji isn’t patient except with you. He’s never looked as furious as he does now, with you. Brows scrunched and the glimmer in his eye you love so much has ceased to exist. His scar looks as raw as it did the day he got it. A non-existent armour made you believe he wouldn’t mind you talking to his son about such a sensitive subject matter, but apparently it is not to be discussed under any terms.

“Don’t you ever talk to my son about Rocco again. D’ya hear me? Never.” he forbids, his eyes seem to soften ever so slightly when he spots that you can’t prevent the way your lip begins to wobble. “If you really wanna talk about Rocco, talk to me. Yeah? No one else, just me.”

“Y-You don’t let me—” you start, your thought isn’t completed. Thoughts are rattled from your mind as he begins manoeuvring you so that your back is flat against the mattress, jade green eyes boring into your very soul as he hovers above you. His arms dip behind your back, finally unhooking your bra and baring your chest to him.

Beautiful, he thinks.

“I’m letting you now.” he explains, his head resting on your chest, looking up with intent behind his salacious stare. He latches onto one of your protruding nipples, taking it between his cracked lips. He sucks and pecks, and it’s almost lazy, but you know it’s with purpose. It’s driving you wild, you can’t help but wriggle helplessly beneath him, desperate to gain some relief on your eager heat.

He pins one of your legs down, stopping you from continuing your movements. It’s torture, you think, he’s expecting you to broach such a heavy subject matter while you’re so desperate for his touch.

“C’mon sweetheart… talk about Rocco,” he commands. You can’t. Tears stream down your face as you do your best to experience Toji whilst thinking back to the past. Your mind spins and you feel as if you can’t breathe. He releases your nipple with an accentuated pop as he smirks up at you. “I remember how scared you were to tell me… when you realised—”

“Fuck, Toji.” you croon, a mischievous finger slithered down your abdomen down the length of your clothed slit. Feather light touches against your clit and your entrance forced your hips to buck upwards carelessly. He snickered, repeating the action again and again. “I- I remember.” you stutter.

You’d only been dating for thirteen weeks. He was yours before his wife entered the fray, before you had to battle for his time and attention. Nerves got the better of you, the thought of admitting to yourself what you already knew made you nauseous beyond any description.

Your period was late.

It was something you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone inform Toji of. It had been so little time since you began dating. You thought he’d leave you, run away and never look back. So, there was only one thing for it. An abortion. You couldn’t keep the baby if you wanted to keep him. It was your only option. You were stressed, manic, exhausted. But at least you’d have Toji – that was all you cared about.

“You were so scared to tell me, weren’t ya?” he asks, hooking a finger beneath your panties before settling it in your inner thigh crease. He plunges a finger inside of you, chuckling when more obscenities fly from your mouth as your head falls backwards into the plush pillows. One of your hand grips the sheets below, whilst your other almost tears his hair from the roots. So little attention, and yet such a big reaction from you. “Thought so little of me, baby, ‘m sorry.” he finishes, adding a second finger to your scorching heat. It's almost as if the air in your lungs has frozen, weighing you down. It’s preventing you from speaking. From breathing. Even thinking.

It was confirmed when you finally took the plunge and decided to do a pregnancy test. Big, black, bold text told you the answer and where your future was heading. Motherhood, for certain. But you knew you had to take care of it before Toji became suspicious. It was something you didn’t even want him to know you were going through. Everything with him was perfect, it wasn’t something you wanted to ruin over something you believed could be easily taken care of.

So… why were you crying every day?

That’s what he asked you. You hadn’t been yourself, and that is what gave you away. Jokes he told that you found funny didn’t seem so funny anymore. The way he traced his fingers up and down your arms made you defensive, and paranoid. You didn’t want him to touch you in case he somehow sensed it in his fingertips. If he felt you he might just know that you’re carrying his child and he’ll skip out on you.

It all came to a head one day after you finished throwing up. You couldn’t keep your cries silent. Your body was betraying you, you felt hurt in ways you never had before and it was becoming impossible to keep it all to yourself. You didn’t dare tell a soul for fear of Toji finding out through the grapevine. But enough was enough, he thought.

“You need to tell me what’s going on with you.” he told you, but you shook your head.

“I can’t Toji, please. Trust me, I can’t.” you explained, “It’s fine… I will ruin everything if I tell you so… so I’m… I’m taking care of it—”

“Cut that shit out right now. This has been going on a fuckin’ while and I can’t stand to see you like this,” he responded, moving his head as you moved yours. You were trying to avoid his piercing glare, but he wouldn’t let you. He couldn’t. He’d never of forgiven himself if you carried on like that, unable to share your woes, and did something you might regret. “Trust me, I’m beggin’ you to trust me, baby.”

He forced you to sit down, and face him. He wiped away your tears with his thumbs and kept all of his attention focused on you as he watched you calm yourself down. Tear filled breaths that clogged your lungs fizzled into shaky exhales the longer you held eye contact with Toji. He wasn’t going anywhere, for now. If you explain you can tell him your plans. Maybe he’d support you if he knew you planned on freeing you both of the burden of parenthood, you hoped.

“I… I’m, uh—”

“Yeah? C’mon sweetheart, doin’ so good f’me just use your words.” he spoke, doing his best to tempt the truth out of you. With one final swallow of terror and closing your eyes for a moment to think, you finally found the courage to confess.

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted out quickly. “but it’s okay I’m gonna get rid of it. Okay?” you fumbled out words quicker than you could think. You just wanted him to know that there was no way you’d be keeping the baby. He was what you needed, not a kid. “Please, I promise I’m going to get rid of it, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. D-Don’t leave me, p-please. You are more important to me than a baby, I just want you. I—”

Your rambling was stifled as Toji pressed a finger to your lips. He kissed you on your forehead, a warm smile filled his features. Instantly, you were relived. It meant that your idea of an abortion was enough to convince him to stand by you. There was no reason to worry yourself sick like that, he was going to support you through it all.

“You don’t have to get rid of our baby,” he smiled.

“W-What?”

“In fact, I don’t want you to do that at all.” he warmly spoke, pulling your body into his and forcing his head between the valley of your breasts. It wasn’t sexual, it was just a comfort to him to hear your heartbeat. “Maybe… we could start our own little family, huh?”

Tears roll down your eyes as you reminisce on it all whilst Toji adds his flat tongue to the equation of his fingers in your cunt. It’s all so romantic and wonderful and intense. You don’t think you’ve ever been happier than you were in that moment. The moment you knew he really would stand by you through anything at all. And despite your assumption, he was excited to become a father. He was excited to have a baby with you.

“I love you, Toji.” you speak, softly, unsure if it was even loud enough for him to hear. Oh, but he did. He doesn’t want to stop lapping at your swollen clit, knowing it’s exactly where you need the most attention right now. But a particularly harsh suckle and pop of the bead is a silent acknowledgement, he promises he heard you. “Gonna… gonna cum. T-Toji—”

“No no, baby, not yet,” he instructs. He removes his fingers from your hole, delicately rubbing them over your sensitive bundle of nerves instead. It’s slow and tormenting, but he doesn’t want you to cum like this. “I was so happy when we found out we were havin’ a little boy, y’know? So damn happy princess.”

You remember it well. Your emotions were running high and you had the ability to blame your hormones when you discovered the gender of your unborn child. But you couldn’t quite believe it when you looked over to see Toji’s eyes, eyes that are normally so strict and stern, glossy with tears on his lash line. He couldn’t help it, he claimed.

“Look what we made.” he pointed, the scan revealing perfectly what a handsome little boy you’d made together.

And later that day, he took you shopping. Money was no object. That is what you both decided. Neither of you could believe how much stuff you ended up buying. Paints for the nursery. A crib. Other necessary pieces of furniture. Toys. Clothes. Everything you thought you needed, you bought. You were both first time parents and completely clueless. So, if a shop assistant recommended it, you bought it.

You spent so much time together painting the walls of your baby’s new room. Toji was very irritable when you kept asking what to do and how to help. The paint wasn't going on as nicely as he hoped and his temper flared, it was extremely evident in his face. What do you do when you see an angry bear? Poke it with a stick. Or in this case, flick paint from the end of your brush at him. When he noticed what you had done and he turned to face you, you swear you could read murder on his mind. But when you began to laugh, he couldn’t help the laugh that snuck out of him.

There was more paint on the two of you than on the walls by the end of it.

“That was the day we decided to call him Rocco…” Toji mused.

He began to kiss up towards your naval and back to your neck. Your fingers laced through his hair as you begged for him to deliver the same salvation he was offering your body to your lips as well. He complied, slow patience had dwindled as your tongues found each other. It was wet, heated, sloppy. You felt yourself drooling out of the corners of your mouth, Toji Fushiguro is just so intoxicating. A drug you can’t quit though you know you should.

He’s all you have.

He doesn’t break the kiss from you, though his hand eventually meets his heavy, wanting cock. He guides it to your desperate entrance, lining it up perfectly before slotting himself inside. His hips roll, bullying his cock into you inch by agonising inch until your lip begins to quiver. He hushes you, though.

You both know you want it.

“I’m s-so – fuck – I’m so sorry, baby. I am so—”

“P-Please, pleaaaase stop.” you beg. He doesn’t. You are the one who wanted to talk about it. So desperate to talk about it that you went to a seven-year-old boy to discuss it. His son. “N-No more, I can’t—”

“It was the worst day of my life, too, I promise you that darlin’.” he mumbles in your ear. The thrum of his words rushes straight to your cunt, and you clench so hard around his cock you think he might have to stay there forever.

You don’t think you’ve ever been as embarrassed as you were when you came home from the hospital. Your pristine white maxi dress, stained in bright red blood by your crotch. The atmosphere in your house was foul. Two solemn adults who had lost everything in a few menial hours. Hollowness filled you, not a single emotion ran through you until you heard Toji a few rooms away. You sat on the sofa, turned on the TV and pretended it wasn’t happening. But you could hear Toji loud and clear.

He was in the nursery.

That was the first and only time you’ve ever heard him cry. A loud thud vibrated through you and you knew he had collapsed to the ground. Melancholy overtook him as his new reality was setting in. Your little boy was no more. No fault of your own, apparently, everyone made sure to repeat that enough times for it to really take root in the depths of your brain.

It didn’t help at all.

You couldn’t bring yourself to check on Toji. That would mean going into Rocco’s room and facing the truth yourself. So, you waited. You waited hours for him to finally come out. He came to see you, resting on the balls of his feet in front of the sofa where you sat. Fresh tears replaced old ones as he noticed the drying blood on your dress.

“H-How about a bath, huh?” he suggested.

You don’t remember saying yes, or nodding. But somehow, you found yourself naked and submerged in a bubble bath. It was like you had left your own body as he did his best to clean you. You could hear him sniffling. He was desperate to talk about it with you, all he wanted was for you to help each other cope. But you couldn’t. So, he did his best to lock it away too.

It was as if you had returned to yourself when Toji took a break from washing your hair to wipe more tears from his eyes. A soft mumbling of ‘Oh, Godddddd…’ trailed from his lips as he tried to pull himself together. And finally, your lip began to jut out helplessly. Your eyes scrunched, and the tears began to flow. You were staring at your bloody dress, and listening to him try and hold it together. It was all equating to too much.

It was real, now.

“Our… baby—” you cut yourself off with a wail, Toji pulled you into his hold and sobbed into your sodden locks.

He hissed with each thrust inside of your gummy walls. A perfect home for him in the form of your bodies fitting together like perfect puzzle pieces. He doesn’t feel like this with his wife, only you. He couldn’t stay away, he’d never be able to do that.

He loves you.

Fuck, he loves you.

“’m not good enough… I’ve never been—”

“Stop it, baby. You are enough, I promise.” he tells you through gritted teeth. It’s getting harder and harder to have a normal conversation while he is fucking you so intimately. Every ounce of his love poured into every devastating thrust.

He loves you.

“Wasn’t good enough for you, or our- our baby.”

“Stop it darlin’. Please stop. I- I need—”

“I can’t live like this-!” you cry out. His hand covers your mouth entirely as his mind tries to process what he needs to say to you. Christ. What does he need to say to you? Everything and nothing all at once. He thinks he should start with I love you. But is he prepared to open that can of worms?

“I need… you. I’m gonna leave her, yeah? My wife. Let’s… try again. Me and you, hah? I won’t pull out this time, let me… let me—”

“Tojiiiii—”

“You’re good enough, baby, more than good enough. I’ll cum inside and we can try again. I need to, I need to.”

Your tears stream endlessly but silently. Is this really what you want? Do you want him to break up his family to satiate your unfulfilled desires? It doesn’t matter. You find yourself nodding anyway. Perhaps it will dull the ache inside of you. It could be the plaster to cover to puncture wound in your aching heart; it’s been bleeding since that day.

Toes begin to curl as he continuously batters the spongy centre that spells your eventual undoing with his fat cock head. He isn’t doing much better. Nobody and nothing will compare to the rush and the high he feels as when your precious cunt swallows him again and again.

“Gonna- cum, with me. Please, baby. Cum with me now.” Toji pants.

Your lips are on his again, both of you focusing on your impending climaxes. The way you break away to moan momentarily before smothering each other in kisses yet again is such a lewd, romantic, high that you can’t get enough of. He pounds you perfectly and it’s an arrangement neither of you have been able to let go of after all of these years.

“Oh God, I’m cumming- cumming baby…” he alerts you. You’re practically choking on your own orgasm as it swims through you. Nails dig into his back as you try and hold onto the feeling for as long as you can. He fills you with his warmth, heaving like a desperate animal while he breeds you to the brim.

What have you done?

Time wasn’t a healer for either of you. The days got harder and harder and you couldn’t even stomach looking at him. Each time you looked at him, you saw what could have been. What should have been. The father of your son. The man who was going to teach him everything he knew and help your little boy cause all kinds of mischief for you.

The man you thought could keep you both safe.

That’s how he found himself married to a woman he would never love as much as he loved you. There was a drift, it was aggressive and painful, yet necessary. But you found yourself brought back together a few years after Megumi was born. You were practically an aunt to his son. A second mother, even. A sordid little secret.

You don’t hate Megumi, you just wish he was yours.

The pair of you got changed after he had his post fuck cigarette, knowing you couldn’t risk dallying for fear of being caught. You didn’t doubt for a minute that if you called him in a few weeks and told him you were carrying his child, he’d kidnap Megumi and run away with you to start your new family life together. And you would love that, you’d love him. You’d love it all.

But, it isn’t right. Is it?

He grabs his car keys, readying himself to drive you home to be alone with your dark thoughts. Before you step outside, though, something plagues your mind. A question that you simply must know the answer to. He looks scared, honestly. The way you’re facing him and eyeing him up as the same words twist and circle through your mind. A heavy hand rests on your waist, the other on your cheek. He’s scared, it’s obvious, but he’s still encouraging you to talk.

“Do you ever think about Rocco?” you ask him, genuinely curious. Toji has never felt the need to bring him up, this is the first you’ve discussed him in years. It kills you to think that Toji has managed to shut out thoughts of his unborn son while you are plagued with them each and every waking moment of your pointless life.

And there it is. That warm, kind smile, that is the Toji you know and love.

“All of the time.”

Four simple words have you breaking down like you did that day in the bathtub. Your head is pulled into his chest as he holds you close and tightly, allowing you to bawl every emotion onto him. You can’t control yourself and you don’t want to stop. It’s fine, he thinks. It’s clear that you need it. At least you know something today that you didn’t know yesterday. One piece of information that might take some of the burden off your own shoulders.

At least you know you aren’t alone.

this is a repost from my old account

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