Honestly, Eddie doesn’t know why it had taken so long for him to realize his and Steve’s children could understand the shit that came out of his mouth.
(It took an embarrassingly long amount of time).
Even when Moe’s third or fourth word was fuck, he didn’t realize it (and she was using it mostly correctly too, which should have been a serious flag, but nope).
What made him realize it was when they started repeating the shit that came out of his mouth.
To strangers.
In public.
The first time Eddie had been really caught off guard by something one of his daughters said was when Moe, who was three at the time, had proudly announced to an unsuspecting grocery store cashier, “Daddy says my Papa’s a DILF!”
And, like, Eddie had just heard the term for the first time, and obviously he was goddamn delighted by it because…duh. Steve.
It just hadn’t occurred to him that his toddler might have caught it too, but little pitchers have big ears, or so the proverb suggests, and Eddie had taken it as a wake-up call that Moe isn’t a baby anymore (tragic as it may be).
He’s not the only problem though – Steve is just as bad, (if not worse, because he really doesn’t bother to check where their kids are before he starts running his mouth).
One particularly damning incident was at a restaurant, which is something they don’t even do all that often because, seriously, going to a restaurant with very young kids should be an Olympic event or something.
(The last time they all went out to eat, Nancy and Robin had made a drinking game out of all the times Steve and Eddie had to take a child to the bathroom and ended up so far gone that Eddie had needed to drive them home).
The incident started with the waitress asking, “Can I get you started with anything to drink?”
And it had ended with four-year-old Moe confidently announcing, “My Papa needs a fucking margarita.”
Thank god, the waitress had been a twenty-something college student and thought it was hilarious, but Steve had still been completely mortified.
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limitless (satoru gojo x reader)
notes: uh. should be working on my halloween fic lmaoo. but uh. thought i'd bang this out. inspired by a conversation with @shotorus about the names we use to refer to certain characters in narration. lmao.
contains: fem! reader (the only physical trait is that reader is shorter than gojo, gojo almost uses a gendered term for reader, but is cut off), established relationship (me: coughs up blood), typical gojo antics, nickname usage (darling, honey, sweetheart, babe), part of the infinite loop fic verse
wc: around 720
"...I have a question."
You look at Gojo expectantly. Normally, he just says whatever is on his mind without pause, without filter, so you don't get why he's standing on ceremony right now. "Yeah?"
"We're dating, aren't we?" he asks.
You nearly spit out your drink. He's not wrong; for better or worse, he is your boyfriend now. The fact of it is actually kind of unbelievable when you think about it. Not just you dating Satoru Gojo. But you dating Satoru Gojo. If you had told yourself that it would have come to this ten years ago, even five years ago, you would have thought yourself a liar.
Now he's the one giving you the expectant look, his lips curved upward that little smile that always manages to get your blood boiling. The cocky bastard probably just wants you to admit it.
You consider saying 'no' just for the hell of it.
You decide not to. It feels almost as if you’re pulling teeth when you respond, “...we…are.”
Gojo’s mouth puckers and you brace yourself knowing full well that he’s about to start whining about something. There’s always something with this guy…"If we’re dating, then why am I still just 'Gojo' to you? I call you by your first name!"
"You've always called me by my first name," you dead pan.
"That's because I've always loved you!"
You roll your eyes. You know that's a lie, but you don't intend to argue with him— at least not head on because you know that it’s just going to lead to a dead end. "No, you love disregarding proper social etiquette. Or rather, you don't see the point in it."
"Oh, darling, you know me so well!" Gojo gives you a saccharine smile and you almost gag.
"Don't call me that."
He pouts. "Well, if you say I always call you by name, shouldn't I call you something else to show how special you are to me?"
"...no, actually, just my name is fine." A nickname from Gojo sounds dangerous. The thought of being called some cutesy nickname in front of everyone you know is mortifying. In fact, Gojo would do it solely to embarrass you.
So, naturally, he ignores you. "If darling is no good, what about... babe? Honey?"
"Gojo, really, you don't—"
"Sweetheart? My love? Oh, I know, I bet you'd love to be called pr—"
"Satoru."
He immediately stops talking, his mouth hanging open in stunned silence. You didn't think that that would have that much of an effect to be honest. For once, it feels like you have the upper hand. You make sure to savor the moment because you know they are far and few in between.
"Just my name is fine," you repeat. "...okay?"
He gulps and answers, "...okay."
You try not to let your mind linger on the fact that his voice just now was lower than usual. "Good. So—"
"Say it again."
You blink. "Huh."
"My name," Gojo says, his voice thick with emotion. "Say it again."
When you don't say anything he takes a step toward you, the infinite cosmos in his eyes staring you down. You feel defiant. It's not fair of him to ask you anything when he looks and sounds like this. Gojo takes another step closer and you think that if you're adamant about not giving in to him you better do it before he gets too close.
"You've... " you start and hate how breathless you sound. This bastard knows exactly what he’s doing to you. "You've hit your daily limit."
Gojo pouts and takes another step. "Well, that's not fair."
"You're not fair," you retort.
He doesn't argue and you take that as Gojo admitting that he's playing dirty. "I think you should up the limit."
You hold your ground as he takes one more step closer.. "No. You think there shouldn't be a limit."
Gojo chuckles and leans down to bridge the rest of the distance between you. He cups your cheek, bringing your face closer to him. Your breath stills as you feel his own on you and it’s damn near intoxicating. His mouth is barely touching yours and your thoughts shift from trying to keep the banter going to how the slightest movement from either of you will result in a kiss.
“You’re right,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours. “There shouldn’t.”
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for the love of god, please don't perceive me.
barely proofread. established relationship. written with infinite loop!verse reader in mind, but can be read stand alone, especially i because i think they'd hate to be perceived too.
You roll over, turning your back to Gojo. He whines out your name but you ignore him. Dumb pricks like him do not get attention at bedtime.
Doesn't stop him from trying though.
He whimpers like a kicked puppy but you remain steadfast. You're used to these tactics of his— you can ignore them. Gojo should realize that too.
And he does, because he changes them.
You feel him scooch closer to you, the warmth rippling off his body calling to you like a siren song. It's hard, but you do not lean into him; you won't give him the satisfaction.
Then you realize Gojo has gone silent and in your experience that is never a good sign. You don't say anything. You don't budge.
Everything is completely still.
And then it's not.
Your entire body tenses up when you feel Gojo's hand at your back, sliding your shirt up as high as your stillness will allow. He cannot seriously be—
The bed groans as Gojo moves closer, his hand keeping your shirt secure as he approaches you. A shiver wracks your entire body when you feel the searing heat of his lips against your skin. You try not to move, try not to show that his actions are having an immediate effect.
He pulls away for a split second before going for another one, kissing a spot just beneath the first one. Gojo's other hand finds your waist, his fingers gripping you tightly, almost desperately, as he presses his mouth to your skin again.
With each kiss he moves lower and lower and lower still.
Your heart is beating wildly in your chest. It's so hard to stay still, but you must, you must, you must.
And then Gojo's mouth kisses the band of your pajama bottoms. He drags the hand on your waist down to your hip, fingertips dancing over the section of skin just above your pants. He traces the edge of them, before his fingers slide under to—
You can't take it any more.
You start to roll away but he's faster, grabbing you and flipping you around so that you're facing him. Gojo's legs tangle around yours as he yanks you close, arms winding around your form, trapping you in.
"Dammit!" you hiss.
"Got you now!" he gloats, cheeky, every bit of sensuality abandoned and thrown to the wayside now that he’s got you in his grasp.
Defiant, you flail around, trying to free yourself but it only results in Gojo's grip going tighter and eventually you give up and go completely still as if that'll get him to loosen his grip.
It doesn't.
"...so, how long are you gonna play dead for?" Gojo finally asks. He sounds amused, but there's something else in his tone— faint but enough to put you on edge. There's no doubt that he's planning something.
You don't want to, but you should say something; who knows what Gojo will do if you don't. Intent on feeding him some smart-ass remark, you tilt your head up only to find you've played right into his hands.
As soon as you move, so does Gojo, closing the distance between you to press his forehead to yours, angled so his lips are just hovering over yours.
You freeze. Gojo's breath is sweet, almost intoxicating, and suddenly you are at war with yourself. Instinct bids you move in closer, hungry and desperate for a taste of him, but your mind keeps you still, knowing that he's insatiable. You'd be going for just a taste but he would be consuming you whole.
"You alive in there?" he murmurs and the phantom touch of his lips makes it hard to focus. "Or do you need me to bring you back to the land of the living?"
Yes. No. Both words, both answers duke it out on the tip of your tongue and you don't know which one will come out on top.
Does it even matter? You know the real winner here will be Satoru Gojo like always.
The thought of it burns you a little. You hate letting him win and that's enough to give one side the edge it needs. "No."
He chuckles and you can tell he's not surprised in the slightest. "Oh yeah? Prove it."
You know what he's trying to get you to do, in fact he couldn't be more obvious. Truthfully, there's a part of you that wants it too—to feel his lips on yours, on you, breaths mingling as you grasp at him, fingers tangling in his hair while he tugs at your clothes, desperate for as much skin on skin contact as possible.
But there's another part of you that wants to deny him. It's the force of habit, really, the denial almost ingrained in your soul, hard-written into your body like your cursed technique. There's no reason to deny him anymore, not when you've become intimate like this and yet…
You cannot help it.
You wish you could take a third option.
(You wish you were more honest.)
There's little else you can do like this, angled and positioned for the kiss that Gojo has cornered you into. You feel his lips shift as he exhales, as if his grin is widening, as if he knows that you're realizing how inevitable the kiss is. That makes you only want to fight it more.
You just don’t know how.
“You know,” Gojo murmurs after a couple moments of silence and inaction on your part. “You’re not doing a good job at proving that you don’t need me to give you the kiss of life.”
“Shut up,” you grumble. “The fact that I’m responding should be enough for you.”
Gojo hums, making it look like he’s considering what you’ve said. You know better though, especially when he says, “...nah.”
“You are so…” you trail off as Gojo moves impossibly closer, his lips are feather light against yours and any normal person would probably consider this a kiss.
Not Gojo, though.
"So… what?" he probes. "Cool? Awesome? Irresistible?"
"None of the above."
Gojo’s arms and hands shift, his grip clearly loosening. For a split second, you consider taking the chance to see if you can free yourself from him, but you’re no fool; you know better— this is just preemptive positioning for whatever he has planned.
This is checkmate, then.
Gojo chuckles and you wonder if maybe he can read your mind as he says, his mouth hot on yours, voice a low timbre that stirs something deep in the pit of your stomach, “Guess I better prove it then.”
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