#I'm in the mood for FLUFF
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ok,,,,,,,,,,,,I'm giving in to my desires and writing an aquarium date fic for Gojo
this is gonna be disgustingly self-indulgent
#ShadeSpeaks#I'm in the mood for FLUFF#i can't stop thinking about it#(you pointing at a yellow margin moray eel) look it's nanami (followed by gojo LAUGHING HIS ASS OFF)
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i love your comedy and fluff! but my masochistic heart is itching for more angst to fluff for gojo🥲 and i have this brainrot ever since i read "baby", "protect" and "wife": childbirth gone wrong, that's why he is sooo concerned about your wellbeing during your maternity leave~
࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 09:45 P.M 」
tw: childbirth. there are two very same ask for this now and so that's the cue for me to practice my crack/angst more :3 okay this is basically an extended version of protect's epilogue and oh, it's a happy ending! mini sequel -> 11.10 p.m
a part of gojo's love entries
“you’re always doing whatever you want! ow!”
“deep breaths, sweets. deep brea—”
“easy for you to say! you don't contribute anything other than shoving that damn stick into me! and now i’m left with the consequences!”
“i kindly remind you that you very much enjoyed my stick that night—”
“i hate you!”
satoru looked at your tear-streaked face and patted you in the head—his notable love language, erupting into laughter. “of course you do.”
lying on the hospital bed, tears welled up in your eyes as you roasted your husband and your contractions kept getting closer together. three hours after you woke up to your labor pains, all you could feel was that you were ready to burst.
gripping his hand tight, you purposefully dig your nails in just to spite him. “i’m serious. i hate you. you’re not putting me up for this again!”
“you say that now, but the moment we are home, those words are going to be null and void,” satoru snorted in an attempt to lighten the mood, ignoring the slight pain you inflicted on him, because what was this compared to what you were going through?
but his facade dropped as soon as breath was knocked out of you and you whimpered. he instantly gathered you in his arms.
“hey, hey... take deep breaths...” when you did, he planted a tender kiss on your damp forehead. “that's it, there you go... the baby's going to be here real soon, okay?”
you panted, limp in his hold as dull pain overwhelmed you. “yeah... your baby.”
“our baby, love. not just mine,” he corrected, smiling. he had one hand on your swollen belly, palming the subtle firmness, and gently rubbing it. “our munchkin.”
“i’m just the container though.”
“heh, no,” he chuckled softly. “you're everything.” his eyes crinkled affectionately, a hint of laughter still in his voice, and your heart actually melted when he whispered: “my everything.”
truthfully, despite your bravado, you were scared shitless. yet, as you nestled your head against your husband's strong chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his reassuring heartbeat, and when you gazed into his eyes, you were sure, because he exuded confidence as if he had no doubts that this was going to go perfectly fine.
and so holding onto him you did. he held your hand through it all, talked you through your pain, and you were so, so grateful to have him by your side.
the next hour was a blur, as excruciating pain blinded your senses. you were wailing when everyone told you to push, and you gave it your all. you kept it up even as you felt like being torn apart.
and before you knew it, cries unlike any other, ones you had only imagined until that moment, echoed through the room.
“he's here!” satoru's hitched voice reached your ears, and you went slack, falling back to the sheets.
you were completely spent and all you could register was that the cherished baby both you and satoru had been waiting for was here. you shivered, your mind tuning in and out—lightheaded, wondering why you felt so drenched down there.
“holy shit! i can't believe it! i can’t—” if you were awake enough, you would realize that it was one of the rarest times when satoru was choked with emotions. he turned to you. “i—”
and suddenly you felt strange. an eerie chill seemed to engulf your entire being. your hand slipped from satoru's grasp as your vision dimmed, the world growing darker.
“are you okay? hey—” his voice sounded distant, and you struggled to keep your eyes open. satoru finally realized that something was wrong, as his six eyes discerned the rapid dwindling of your cursed energy, and the room reeked of the tangy scent of blood.
you barely made out the nurse's shouting next. “blood pressure is dropping!”
"come on!" now he was utterly panicked and tried to get a hold of you, shaking you slightly. “hey, stay awake—look at me, i’m right here, please—”
but to his horror, your head lolled back as you lost your consciousness. soon, he was thrown out of the delivery room. just like that, in one sick twist, his world was crumbling down hard and fast.
a sense of helplessness washed over him as he stood outside the room, barred from being by your side. inside, you were bleeding out, and he was unable to do anything but wait.
didn't he say he would protect you with everything he had? once again, gojo satoru was humbled—not everything was in his grasp. he couldn't save those chosen by fate not to be saved.
suddenly, it felt like suguru all over again, except the stakes were higher. he shuddered—his fist clenched so hard that it drew blood, while his other hand clutched his chest, desperately willing the searing pain away.
would he really lose you this way? the sheer thought made his ears ring. no fucking way. even hell knows he'd go berserk. would fate really let him decimate anything in his path? surely, no... right?
he was unaware that he had been murmuring these silent prayers when the doors slid open, revealing the doctor who had been assisting with your delivery earlier with the news. it was a case of a postpartum hemorrhage, she said, an unfortunate incident.
all things considered, you were going to be okay. that knowledge alone was enough to make him breathe freely once more.
when he was allowed to see you, the moment your eyes blinked open, the first thing he did was burying his head in the crook of your neck.
and there you have it—the first time you had ever seen him really shaken to the point of shedding tears.
“you scared me,” he rasped, voice thick with emotion. “i—i can't stop thinking— if you really left me—”
“i’m fine now...” you were somewhat wonderstruck by the knowledge that you had this potent hold over him. oblivious to how your soft voice calmed the depths of his soul, you stroked his hair, and he breathed in your scent, grateful to every force imaginable for returning you back to him.
“sleep,” he gently pulled away, his eyes rimmed with red, his fingers caressing your cheek. “you need it. i’ll be here when you wake up, i promise.”
“the baby—”
“they just cleaned him up. he's resting too,” satoru reassured with an impossibly tender smile, and his next words made your heart lurch.
“my strong girl, you did it. you're a mother now… thank you. thank you... for making me the father to our child.”
you felt like you might burst into tears. you felt so loved, so secure, even after you went through the most challenging ordeal in your life. and as you drifted to your rest, you could hear the love of your life whisper in your ear ever so lovingly—
“i know i have said it before, but i’ll say it again. with everything it is that i have, i swear to you, nothing will befall you and our baby, for i will spare nothing and give everything for both of you... even my own life.”
#𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#gojo satoru#okay i'm just in the mood of very soft gojo#jjk imagines#jjk drabbles#jujutsu kaisen x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru fluff#jjk fluff#gojo x you#satoru gojo fluff#gojo satoru angst#gojo angst#jjk angst
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"just hold me"
#g/t#giant/tiny#g/t fluff#fluff#borrowers#ocs#oc: mags#can you tell i'm in a mood#i started this blog to do fearplay this is so rare for me#give him a kiss
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jude blurb — #1
ever since he was a kid, jude felt the urge to chew on his lip whenever he was anxious. before an important exam, a big match, or when he wanted to talk to the pretty girl in the back of his class. his mum scolded him whenever she caught the sight of him pulling the skin off his lips, but it was useless, the habit was already ingrained in him.
when you started dating him, you tried your best to make him stop as well, in vain. you told him off whenever you caught him, only to find him chewing on his bottom lip a couple of minutes later.
until this one day, you were sitting on your couch in your shared living room reading your book while jude was on his phone replying to an important email. you could tell he was overthinking his reply, his leg was bouncing up and down, his eyes were fixed on the ceiling and finally, his teeth were grazing his lips. you looked at him for a few seconds and smiled at his antics, as much as you hated this stupid habit of his, you couldn't help but find him adorable when his mind was racing. but then you thought of something, something that would finally put an end to jude's habit.
you put down your book and approached jude quietly before pressing a quick kiss on his lips, a kiss that definitely took him by surprise.
"what was that for ?" he asked you, giving his full attention to you.
"i'm sick of watching you ruin your pretty lips. so i'm trying something new..." you grabbed your book, and kept reading like you just did the most mundane thing ever, while jude was still looking at you surprised by the whole situation.
"stop torturing your mind with this email, you can always reply later." you dropped your book to your thighs once again and let one of your hands wander to his face, slowly tracing his cheekbones, his jaw, and finally his lips.
jude didn't reply, simply answering your loving gesture with a kiss on your forehead letting you read the end of your chapter.
needless to say, jude got used to your newfound method after a while, sometimes biting his lip just to get a kiss from you when you were too busy to give him your full attention.
#idk how to feel abt this format#i'm in a fluffy mood#soooo you'll get this#before i get to my reqs#(biggest joke of all time)#jude bellingham one shot#jude bellingham imagine#jude bellingham blurb#jude bellingham x reader#jude bellingham#jude bellingham fluff#football blurb#football one shot#football fanfic#footballer imagine#football imagine#football x reader#football fluff
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so scarlet (it was maroon)
in which eddie gets everything he dreamed of - except you. based off of "maroon" by taylor swift.
→ warnings: smut, severe angst, hurt/no comfort, 18+ minors dni
→ pairings: rockstar!eddie x fem!reader
→ wc: 11.3k+
→ a/n: don't mind me, just trying to see if tumblr will let me finally post this. this is cross-posted from ao3 (and wattpad)
ao3
"When the morning came, we were cleaning incense off your vinyl shelf 'cause we lost track of time again. Laughing with my feet in your lap, like you were my closest friend"
“You’re fucking with me,” Eddie sits up to stare at you, lit joint still dangling between his ringed fingers and the last of his latest hit lingering in a ghost of white smoke on his lips.
“I’m not,” you laugh at his reaction, tilting your head forward just enough for where you were sprawled out on his bed to get a better view of him, “I’m scared to take cold medicine now.”
“There’s no way you got high off of the recommended dose!” he cackles, shaking his head in disbelief, a hand coming down on your shin to ground himself. You watch his shoulders shake with laughter, how his curls come down to curtain around his reddening cheeks and his reddening eyes, how his doe eyes are pinched shut and crinkled in the corners.
A map of a million lifetimes, branching out from the corner of those eyes. A million lifetimes, a million possibilities, a million futures. And every single one of them begins and ends with Eddie.
If you stare for too long, you’re going to say something you regret in your high, so you sit up as he had in order to snatch back the joint, “Stop babysitting. Aren’t you the one who’s always chastising me on ‘puff, puff, pass’?”
He feigns offense, mouth wide open and face scrunched up adorably so, as you take a delicate hit. The smoke enters your mouth quickly, wasting no time as it barrels down your throat and curls into every crevice of your lungs. Your chest aches slightly at the intrusion.
His eyes never leave yours. He watches the glaze continue to intensify over them as you slowly exhale. His thumb begins to trace gentle arches over the bare skin of your leg as his warm palm shifts upward, inching until it’s over your knee and resting on your thigh. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”
“Learned from the best.”
“That you did, sweetheart. That you did.”
He holds his free hand back out for the joint, and your fingertips brush as you return it to him.
“So what? Was it better than this kind of high?” he teases before bringing it to his lips. They’re pursed in preparation, and you only lose your concentration for a moment before remembering to answer him.
“I dunno, Munson. You’ve got some good shit here but… Dayquil might be giving you a run for your money,” you mock, tilting your head and leaning in closer to him. He’s grinning again, looking up through shy lashes before he takes his hit.
This time he doesn’t exhale immediately into the cloudy air of the room. Instead, he takes you off guard as he shifts on the bed and pulls you closer. Soon enough he has you in his lap, draping one arm around your waist as he takes the hand not holding the joint and gingerly grabs your jaw.
You already know the drill. You’re familiar with the process of his shotguns as his fingers tap your cheeks and you let your mouth fall slightly open, leaning to meet him halfway. He still doesn’t exhale, not until his lips have grazed over yours lightly, teasing before he finally seals the two of you together. The kiss is messy, as it always is with him; your tongue can’t differentiate between the taste of him and the taste of the smoke as he presses the kiss deeper. You’re not even sure you breathed in enough to capture any of it, but none of it feels like a waste as he’s biting your bottom lip, hands pulling your hips impossibly close. The joint is eventually discarded on one of the ashtrays on his bedside tables as you lose yourselves into each other. His nose presses itself into flat against yours between hot breaths.
“We can’t-” you pull back, a trail of saliva chasing you before Eddie follows, capturing you in another kiss that you pull back from, “The joint-” another interruption with another desperate kiss, “The incense-”
“The incense will be fine, baby,” he insists, pouting slightly, “It’s not going to burn the house down.”
He kisses you once more, wasting no time to fall backwards into his pillows and dragging you with him. For a moment, you’re straddling him, hovering over him, but he quickly turns and presses your back into his sheets before he’s rolling over on top of you, caging you in. You don’t mind it. You never mind him taking up your space, your breath, your mind.
A hand comes up to rest on your neck as you take a moment to press both hands into his chest, forcing distance. His eyes snap wide open, and they’re shining like a dozen moons at once, even with his pupils blown out.
“And if it does? It if does burn down the house?” you whisper, hands beginning to wander, one finding its way up and around the back of his neck, toying with the curls in its path. The other smooths over his shoulder, prepared to pull him back in impossibly close even without an answer.
He’s looking down at you with all the love in all of Hawkins, in all of the world, as he smirks and answers, “Then I say let it burn.”
"And I chose you, the one I was dancing with in New York, no shoes. Looked up at the sky and it was maroon."
Within a year of graduation, Eddie had made it very clear he wanted to get out of Hawkins. Corroded Coffin had been slowly but surely crawling their way to popularity outside of Hawkins, and when the moment was right, he came to you with an offer you couldn’t refuse.
“Come with me. Move to New York. I know, it’s insane, but-”
“Yes.”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely. Was it ever really a question, Eddie?”
He was it for you, and so when he’d been prepared to beg you on his knees to move with him, it had been a no-brainer. You packed up all your belongings without second-thoughts, said goodbye to the town that never really deserved either of you, and started your life in a big city.
The apartment was small and impossibly cramped, but the first night you two arrived, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if it was in the dingier part of town, or that you two were going to be penniless the next several months as you barely scraped by with rent. The moment you walked into that one-bedroom apartment, you knew it was yours, and you knew with certainty then that you had done it - you had escaped the bleary town and come out the other side.
“Holy shit,” he sighs as he places down one of the last few boxes you’d brought with you amongst one of the several piles littering the living room. You’re sitting on top of one particularly sturdy stack of boxes, the top one serving as a seat most likely filled with your books from home.
“Yeah,” you breath, looking around, completely stunned, “Holy shit.”
Eddie turns in a full circle, almost as if he was drinking it all in, before he faces you once more. His face is a blank slate only for a second before the serendipity and sudden gaiety takes over his features. He’s unexpectedly running in your direction, arms wrapping around you and lifting you off the boxes as you squeal, swinging you around effortlessly.
“We fucking did it!” he cheers over your giggles. When he finally finishes spinning you, letting your sock-clad feet find stability on the hardwood floors, he still doesn’t let you go. He only pulls you into his chest tighter, “We did it. We’re in New fucking York.”
You smile brightly, pressing your cheek painfully against his t-shirt, nodding as you echo, “We did it.”
The moment pauses as he pulls away as suddenly as he had picked you up, still radiating happiness.
“Hold on, wait here. I’ve got an idea.”
He jogs over to one of the stacks of boxes at the entrance of the kitchen as you just laugh, “Not like I’ve got anywhere to run off to, Munson.”
“You better not!” he calls over his shoulder, digging for whatever his brilliant idea was.
You disobey him indirectly by wandering across the living room, steps slow and careful as you approach the large window offering a lackluster view. All you could see, for the most part, was the large brickwall of the neighboring apartment building. It was old and faded, scattered marks of paints from clear graffiti at random intervals. The city had clearly tried to wash away the few remnants of whatever art the random city vigilantes had covered it with, but the reminders of what once was remained. A nod to the fact that sometimes, no matter how hard you try to wash away things, their legacy lingers stubbornly.
You don’t even hear Eddie setting up one of his old boomboxes with a favorite mixtape of the two of yours until it begins to play from the speakers, probably a bit more loud than you should have if you were attempting to be considerate neighbors.
But neither of you cared.
When you turn, you find Eddie approaching you steadily to the beat of the song playing. He takes a step with each beat, swaying his hips in clear exaggeration.
He’s only several paces from you when he holds out a hand, grinning like a fool as he says, “Dance with me, sweetheart.”
You take it, immediately. There’s not a trace of hesitation as you let the boy who held the sun in your eyes drag you across the barren living room, not even dancing to the beat but growing dizzy with love regardless. You let your own happiness mingle with his. As he spins you for the hundredth time, dipping you low and dramatically, you imagine that this is it - this is as good as it could possibly get. Because you’re with your boy, and you two are dancing to your own beat as the mixtape ends, and there couldn’t possibly be a more perfect person than him.
He brings you back up to him as he stands up straight, and not a word is passed as lips crash together. An eager kiss, all teeth and revelations and silent promises of forever. It’s saccharine sweet as his tongue passes over your lips, begging for more closeness. Your chests are so tightly pressed together that with each breath he gasps in, you’re forced to exhale.
“I love you,” he mutters, pulling back momentarily and staring into your eyes. His arms cradle you so carefully, as if scared that when he lets go, you’ll completely disappear from him, “I love you so goddamn much, it hurts. I can’t believe this is real.”
“It’s real, so you better believe it, rockstar,” you reassure him, “Now shut up and kiss me.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he mutters, already so close to you that his lips brush against yours before he’s back on you, hot and heavy.
You’re not sure how exactly it happens, or who first starts encouraging the steps taken towards the hallway, but you end up with your back against the wall as Eddie leans completely into you. You both feel drunk on each other, giddy on your current reality. After a particularly harsh tug on his hair, in sync with a yearning squeeze on your hip, he whispers ‘jump’ into your kiss. Hands find the back of your thighs, molding them into his knuckles as he carries you into the bedroom.
The room is only filled with a few artifacts: boxes of both of your clothes, Eddie’s prized guitar propped up in one of the corners, and a mattress on the floor only covered in a comforter and no sheets yet. The afternoon light is golden as it flutters in through the open window, the sounds of the city muted by your breaths.
He’s impossibly gentle as he lowers the two of you down onto the mattress, careful as he lets you unwrap your legs and flop back. Even with his carefulness, you find your own eagerness causing your movements to be too rough, bouncing back slightly and bumping noses with him. You both take a break to laugh.
“Careful, you klutz,” he warns, balancing himself up on his forearms as he looks down at you in adoration. You don’t respond, instead lifting yourself to capture his lips in yours, pulling him down. Your teeth clash with his as you both continue to giggle into the open-mouthed kiss.
He gives in, hands roaming as they slip below your tattered shirt you’d worn for the occasion of moving. His warm hands find home on your chest, squeezing softly and thumbs flicking your already pebbled nipples in order to pull gasps from you. He lets his head drop to your neck, his messy curls tickling your nose as he presses wet kisses down your jugular. Each kiss is in sync with the heavy beating of your heart.
He stops when his path leads him down to your collarbone, sucking and nipping before releasing blooming skin to glance up at your face, twisted in euphoria. “This is real, isn’t it?”
His voice is so soft, you almost don’t hear him. But you look down at him, a boy made of contradictions - of sunshine and moonlight, of passionate and tender actions - and can only smile in serenity.
“Yeah, it is.”
It’s the only encouragement he needs to continue his worship, leaving no patch of supple skin unkissed.
"The burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me, and how the blood rushed into my cheeks. So scarlett, it was maroon."
It could have been hours later or days when you’d finally tired yourselves out. It took an impossible amount of willpower, but eventually, you two had untangled yourselves from each other, leaving the warmth of your comforter to continue unpacking.
Or rather, you were unpacking. Eddie had taken to stretching out on the bed, back propped up on the bare wall behind him with his guitar in his lap, strumming mindlessly as he watched you begin to pull your clothes from one of the boxes. You took your time, smoothing out any wrinkles that had formed during the move, focused as you hung your shirts on hangers and put them away into their home in your new shared closet.
Eddie pauses whatever song he had been practicing when he catches sight of a particular shirt you pull from the box.
It’s a white t-shirt. Nothing impressive, but what piques his interest is the splotch of once-red-now-maroon painting the center of the fabric. It’s faded, feathered at the edges, but he knows the story behind that stain all too well.
“You really kept that shirt? Even after I ruined it?” he chuckles, shifting his guitar off his lap, scooting towards the edge of the bed.
You hold it up, laughing as well, taking in the stain that refused to wash out, “Yeah. Sentimental value or whatever,” you tease, looking down at him. You take his breath away like this, in nothing but his Judas Priest shirt that barely reaches your thighs, nothing but underwear on underneath, hair in tangles from your previous activities. But you’re glowing, a glow that he’s been lucky enough to witness on multiple occasions, and it takes everything in him to keep his hands to himself, “Never really wear it, though. Guess I should get rid of it, huh?”
“No,” he answers you far too quickly, “Never. Keep it forever. We can frame it, hang it in the hallway.”
You know he’s not serious, but the thought still makes you smile. You’d never really get rid of it, far too attached to the memories it held, even two years later.
Another Harrington party. Another sea of almost-adults getting far too drunk, far too rowdy. You’d been to your fair share of them, but they never really got easier.
There’s an excitement in the air you can’t place. Maybe it was from graduation, still nearly six months away but on the horizon nevertheless. Or maybe it was simply from the holiday - Halloween. Whatever it was, it buzzed through the air and across your chilled skin.
Your costume was last minute. A half-assed attempt at a pirate costume. It had been thrown together with things you could already find in your closet, for the most part - one of your more flowy white t-shirts, black jeans you’d taken scissors to the knees of in an act of temporary rebellion, heavy boots originally bought for hiking. The only real clues as to what you were had been aiming to disguise yourself as were the cheap eyepatch and doltish pirate hat you’d bought when shopping with your friends for the occasion. But you’d long forgone your eyepatch as the alcohol impaired your vision well enough without the loss of use in one of your eyes.
The hat was a cheap velvet-texture, deep maroon in color and an extravagant black feather barely holding on by the factory glue used to secure it.
Your friends had long since abandoned you. One of them went off with a jock who had caught their eye, the other getting dragged into a very serious game of beer pong. It hadn’t bothered you too much - it had left you to your own devices, nursing a cup of whatever punch had been spiked in a dark corner of the kitchen. You watched your classmates trail in and out for their own dose of alcohol without much interest. Until he walked in.
He was glued to the side of the host himself, Steve Harrington. You overheard a couple of scolding sentences coming from Steve’s lips, something about ‘cutting him off’ and how he needed to ‘compose himself’. It was entertaining, at the least, to watch the boy fumble with himself.
“C’mon, you’ve got to have more whiskey around here somewhere, pretty boy!” he whined, leaning into Steve as he lost his balance momentarily.
“No, Eddie! I mean it, you’re cut off! Now stay here or so help me God-” Steve appeared irritated, but was far more patient than you would have been as he carefully guided his friend to lean on the counter across the room from you. He left the room in a hurry, and you snickered under your breath as the predictable happened right before your eyes - once Eddie was left alone, he immediately began to pilfer for more alcohol.
It takes him a second, to your amusement, before he reappeared from the lower cabinets he had crouched in front of, letting out a loud ‘Aha!’ with a bottle of red wine in hand. He wasted no time in digging through multiple drawers as if it were his own house before he found a corkscrew, and the entire time, your eyes continuously flickered to the entrance of the entrance, waiting until Steve returned and would catch his friend red-handed (literally).
He never did, though. Eddie has enough time to begin struggling with the cork, curses and mutters falling from his lips as you watched on. You’re only pulled from your watchful gaze when you hear a loud pop, and hear a triumphant ‘Fuck yeah!’ from the boy.
Maybe you thought you should intervene, considering you were clearly not as far gone as Eddie, but you weren’t quick enough. You’d walked up behind him, about to announce yourself and stop him, when he turned suddenly, a red cup in hand that was nearly overflowing with red wine.
Eddie hadn’t expected you to be so close, hadn’t even realized he wasn’t alone in the kitchen. Immediately, the cup collided with your chest and the red wine sloshed down the front of your shirt.
You gasped, jumping back slightly, as he cursed, “Oh, shit! Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
Wide, brown eyes found yours, looking sincere in their apology.
He looked around before grabbing a random kitchen towel, unfortunately also a starch white, and began to try and dab at your shirt clumsily.
“No, no, it’s okay,” you insisted as you felt your cheeks begin to burn. He continued to attempt to rectify the matter, clearly panicked. You have to eventually grab his wrists, pulling him and the now-ruined towel away. He looked back up.
It was almost like slow motion. His eyes met yours and you felt time stop. Your fingers stay pressed into his wrist, feeling the beat of his pulse, for far longer than necessary.
“It’s fine,” you said once more, finally prying your grip from him. You might have been a little too drunk to care, and you’re sure that sober you would be disappointed in the comfortable t-shirt now being collateral damage, but for now, it didn’t matter.
“I had no clue you were there. I’m- Fuck, I’m drunk. I’m an idiot. Sorry,” he slurred, looking down at you.
You shrugged, playing it off, “Shoulda announced myself sooner. Don’t be sorry, it’s a problem for sober me.”
You really had liked that shirt. It was a shame.
“You know, if you really wanted more alcohol, they still have punch left,” you jabbed a thumb over your shoulder, in the direction of the crystal bowl on the counter you had just been leaning on.
Eddie’s face scrunched up in disgust immediately, “Ew, God no. That shit’s way too sweet.”
You bit your lip to fight laughter, “And wine is any better?”
“It can be, when shared with someone as pretty as yourself,” he has a shameless, flirty grin on his features, raising his eyebrows suggestively at you. You broke, laughing softly and shaking your head.
He had a point. The punch wasn’t very good.
“Alright, then, mister ‘you’re cut off’. I suppose I’ll join you in your antics,” you turned to the sink, dumping the remnants of your punch before turning back to him and reaching for the bottle of wine he still held.
His hand flew out of reach, tsking immediately, “Nope. Allow me.”
It wasn’t a good idea, but you let him take your now-empty cup regardless. He put it down on the counter and focused intently on filling it, nearly emptying the wine bottle as he topped it off just as full as his own had been.
“Jesus, you’d make a shitty bartender. You’re definitely overpouring right now.”
“Hush,” is all he replied as he finished the task at hand, setting down the empty bottle once he poured the last few drops into his own cup, attempting to make up for what was now soaking your shirt. It had started to dry, becoming cold and uncomfortably sticky, but you were too distracted with the boy in front of you to care. “M’lady,” he finally handed back the cup, looking far too proud of himself for not making another mess.
“Thank you,” you teased, giving a messy and exaggerated bow, careful to not spill the wine.
Once your glass is back in your own hand, his began to fumble into the pockets of the leather jacket he wore. It led to him spilling some more of his wine onto his own shirt this time, and you considered how lucky he was that he was wearing black.
“Here,” you gave him no choice as you gingerly took the cup from his hand, freeing him up to find whatever it was he was so desperate to find in his pockets. You take the moment to glance over his costume: he was wearing black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. On his face, a pair of small, circular sunglasses were perched haph-hazardly on his nose, the lenses a barely opaque red. You noted the obnoxiously long necklace swinging against his chest, a large silver cross at the end, “What are you even supposed to be dressed up as?”
He yanked a pack of cigarettes successfully from his pocket, grinning like a fool, “Ozzy Osbourne. Duh.”
“Duh,” you mimicked, handing him back his cup of wine before turning more serious,“From Black Sabbath, right?”
His eyes lit up. “You know Sabbath?”
“A little bit,” you shrugged, but that was enough for Eddie.
He slung an arm around your shoulders, cheesy grin and all, as he rattled the pack of cigarettes against your ear. “Say, you smoke?”
You didn’t, but for him, you did. “Yeah, yeah. I could use some fresh air anyways. Lead the way, rockstar.”
"When the silence came, we were shaking, blind and hazy. How the hell did we lose sight of us again?"
“Eddie, you have to call them back and tell them you’ll do it!”
“No! I can’t!”
“You can and you will.”
The fight had started over Eddie’s casual mention of a phone call he’d had earlier that day. It had been six months of New York, of bliss, of living in a pattern of waiting. Every day, you were both waiting; waiting for the next show Corroded Coffin would book, waiting for the next chance he’d have to send off yet another demo to another record label, waiting for the shimmers of what could be his big break. It had been comfortable while it lasted - the two of you were still wrapping your head around having your own routine. Of having something that’s yours.
The phone call today was the end of that waiting game.
The management of a slightly larger band, extending an offer to Corroded Coffin - they wanted them to be the opener for their next tour. It wasn’t an overly large one, it hardly spanned over three months and most of the venues were painfully small compared to what you believed Eddie should be playing, but it was an offer. Gigs, travel paid for, an opportunity for exposure right at his fingertips.
He had told them no.
“I’d have to leave. I’d be on the fucking west coast until December. I’d miss your birthday!” Eddie continues to argue. The two of you were standing in your living room, finally filling out. Shelves had collected framed photos, small knick-knacks that partially came from you and partially came from Eddie. You finally had a couch. It wasn’t a nice one, but it was a couch and it was yours. Something that belonged to both of you.
“You’d be playing shows! Selling merch! Gaining fans! This is your chance. Who cares if you’re not here for my birthday? We can celebrate over the phone, who cares?” your voice was breaking from frustration, not understanding how Eddie isn’t more excited. Instead of the joy you had expected to find on his face when he revealed the news to you, all you could see was fear. He was petrified. You finally drop your voice, taking on a soothing tone as you step in front of your boyfriend, taking his face in shaking hands, “Eddie, I’ll have other birthdays. But this? If you don’t do this… there might not be other tours.”
You could feel tears building up, some from exasperation, but most for the boy in front of you. This was his chance. He was your entire world, and you couldn’t let it pass him by.
He has tears mirroring in his own eyes, searching your face frantically, “I… I don’t want to be away from you. Not right now, not when we’re just figuring all this shit out.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you tearily laugh, “Where would I even run off to, huh? No, stop this bullshit - don’t be an idiot. You go pick up that phone right now and tell that band they have an opener, and a damn good one at that. Right now.”
He’s frozen, leaning his cheeks into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. He just wants to live in this moment. He doesn’t want to think about the enormity of the decision in his hands - he just wants to stay here, in your arms, in the space you two had come to call home.
When your thumb swipes one of his escaped tears from his cheek, he caves. His voice is a ghost of a whisper. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll go call them. But- But when I get back, we’re celebrating the hell out of your birthday, do you understand me? Fuck Christmas, Jesus has had, like, thousands of birthdays. When I get back, all I care about is you.”
You believe him. You believe him with your entire being, never once worrying about him missing something as trivial as the celebration.
“We sure will. Now go on, rockstar. Catch your big break.”
He finally smiles for the first time since he broke the news.
At the moment, all you saw was a world full of beginnings for your boy. This was it, the moment you’d been waiting for, and you couldn’t have been happier for him. The rose-colored glasses never gave you the chance to see it was the beginning for the two of you - the beginning of the end.
"Carnations you had thought were roses, that's us. I feel you, no matter what."
“I miss you.”
Those three months couldn’t have dragged on slower if they tried. But Eddie kept good on his word; every night, like clockwork, he called you. The two of you would take about anything and everything: he’d tell you about the latest crowd that included people who seemed to actually enjoy Corroded Coffin’s set, you’d tell him about the takeout you had for dinner after nearly burning your shared kitchen down, he’d mention the names of cities you could only dream of visiting, and you’d indulge him in theatrically stories of your latest customers from Hell at the small dinner you waitressed at.
“I know you do. I miss you too, Eds,” you sigh over the line, curled up on his side of the bed, even though it had finally stopped smelling like him. Long gone were the scents of late night cigarettes and woodsy cologne, replaced by a nauseating sweetness of your own shampoo and perfume. You hated it, but you’d never let him know that. Not when he seemed to actually be so happy. His breakdown over the offer seemed to fickle now, as it was clear he was enjoying himself. He was living out his dream. Something neither of you had fully processed yet.
“Hey, just two more weeks, right?” you whisper, eyes staring into the shadows across the room. Two more weeks. Fourteen days, and he was all yours once more.
It was your birthday. And it had been the most lonesome to date - a few coworkers had convinced you to go out for drinks after closing up the diner, but the entire time, you had just been anxious to get home and prepare for your phone call with Eddie. Just as the two of you had said, you had committed to somewhat celebrating over the phone.
“Do me a favor. Go into the kitchen real quick,” his voice instructs over the line, and you perk up slightly.
“What? Why?”
“Just trust me, sweetheart.”
You do as he asks, making your way out of the bedroom and down the hall. The apartment is dark, and a bit cold, but you don’t pay it any mind as you make your way to the kitchen.
“Okay, I’m in the kitchen. Now what?”
“The drawer to the left of the fridge. Open it.”
“Our junk drawer?”
“Yes, the junk drawer,” his tone is teasing, never growing irritated with your endless questions, “Open it.”
You hadn’t really touched the drawer since Eddie left, normally only discarded random pens and junk mail filling it. But you're shocked when you find the drawer more organized than you remember it - and in the center of it is a pack of candles.
“Candles?” you ask softly, a smile playing at your lips as your free hand reaches down to grasp the package. You flip it around in your palm, heart warming at the notion, but still feeling confused, “Babe, I appreciate it, I really do, but I don’t exactly have a cake, or even a cupcake, to put these in.
“You don’t? Damn it. If only I had thought of that,” he hums in a teasing tone, making you lower the hot phone from your ear and glare down at his caller id that illuminates the screen, “Well. What a shame. Hey, do you know the time by chance?”
“Munson, I’m gonna kick your ass,” you mutter, turning to look at the clock over your oven, “It’s 7:59. What’s your game here?”
He doesn’t answer, leaving you further puzzled, instead mumbling what sounds like to himself, “Three, two-”
“Why are you counting down?”
“One.”
A loud knock echoes through the apartment, causing you to jump.
“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” you hiss over the line, gripping the candles impossibly tight.
“Go answer the door.”
“If you’re on the other side of it, I’m kicking you straight in the-”
“It’s not,” he interrupts, “I wish it was, sweetheart. It’s not. But just trust me, yeah? One last surprise, promise.”
You grumble your entire way to the door, still holding the package of candles as you stop in front of your front door. You pause, taking a deep breath.
“That doesn’t sound like you’re opening the door.”
“Give me a second. Jesus, for all I know, you hired a hitman and I’m about to be brutally murdered when I open this door,” you bite back, and you can hear his guffawing laughter over the line. Your chest burns, wishing you could hear it in person instead, imaging the glee on his face in the moment.
“Not a hitman. That’s for after we have life insurance, baby,” he drawls, and you finally muster the nerve to reach out and twist the knob. You swear you can hear chattering on the other side of the door.
It takes you some struggling as you refuse to let go of the candles, but when you finally swing the door open, you gasp.
There in the threshold stands your friends from Hawkins. Robin Buckley, Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, and Johnathan Byers. It’s clear that Nancy and Steve are mid-argument when you open the door, but Robin stands there, proudly showcasing a birthday cake in front of her, shit-eating grin on her face.
“Surprise!” she yells, capturing the attention of the rest of the gang that you and Eddie had left behind. Everyone faces you now, beaming, as you immediately go teary-eyed.
“Oh my God,” you gasp out, dropping the phone and candles to the floor, in shock. Steve steps in first, chuckling as he pulls you into a hug. It’s only then that you notice the bouquet in one of his hands, cellophane crinkling from how tightly he’s holding you. He shuffles the two of you out of the way just enough so that everyone else can enter.
“Your face! God, Munson was right, that was so worth it!” Robin barks as she steps up to the kitchen table and sits down the cake. She’s the next to hug you, yanking you out of Steve’s grasp and nearly crushing you, “Happy birthday,” she whispers happily into your ear, swaying the two of you as she continues to embrace you. You catch sight of Steve over her shoulder, wearing a look of amusement, chuckling and shaking his head.
Jonathan is the one with half a mind to pick up your abandoned phone and candles at the sound of muffled yelling over the line. He wastes no time, putting Eddie on speaker.
“Hellooo? World’s best boyfriend here, remember me? Wow. Can’t believe you’ve already forgotten me. Guess I’ll go fuck myself.”
You laugh as Robin finally lets you go, reaching up to swipe away the tears of jubilation.
Nancy rolls her eyes. “She’s in shock. Give her a second, Munson.”
Jonathan continues to hold your phone as you’re passed into Nancy’s arms and then his. Each whisper their own soft ‘happy birthday’, rubbing your back gently until your focus is back on the phone.
“Edward Munson-”
“Ah! There she is! She lives! And remembers me!”
“Fuck off,” you half-sob, half-laugh. It may not have been as good as him standing there, on your doorstep and embracing you, but it was damn good, “You’re so dead when you get home.”
“Dead? Wow. Weeks of planning only to meet my demise,” he sighs dramatically, “I suppose it’s a good way to go. At the hands of the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. Beat that, Harrington.”
“Way to stay humble,” Steve chimes at the mention of his name, still grinning. He suddenly remembers the flowers in hand, suddenly thrusting them in your direction as he says, “From Eddie, by the way. He told me if we didn’t get you flowers, he’d castrate me.”
“And I meant it! That’s still on the table if you guys don’t make this her best damn birthday ever.”
“I’m sure he would,” you sniffle, reaching out and gripping the flowers. Your heart cracks slightly, not knowing how to tell him that despite how absolutely endearing the surprise had been, it’d be impossible for them to make this your best birthday.
He wasn’t here. It could only make the top of the list if he were here.
You feel no resentment, though, as you bring the flowers to your nose, smiling until your cheeks ache. “Red carnations. Pretty,” you hum, lost in the moment.
There’s a beat of silence before Eddie’s voice rings out across the room.
“Carnations? Harrington, I said red roses. You’re a dead man walking.”
"And I lost you, the one I was dancing with in New York, no shoes. Looked up at the sky and it was maroon."
Once Eddie returns home, it’s just as he promises - he almost doesn’t even make it through the door when his lips find yours at 3 AM, his suitcase thrown off somewhere to the side of your entryway. He’s too busy to care about anything else but you at the moment.
“Fuck,” he gasps between kisses, “I fucking missed you. God, I missed you.”
You’re silent as you nod in agreement against him, just eager to feel his touch once more. You’d waited three months too long for this moment, ever since he first left through that door for the tour.
“Needy, baby?” he teases, just as breathless as you are when the two of you finally pull apart, him kicking the door shut behind him. Your hands are grabbing weakly at the lapels of his jacket, too eager to be embarrassed, “God, always so needy for me. Just how I fucking like you.”
He’s always talkative, even during sex, but you have no patience for it tonight. “Shut up.”
“Aw, now that’s no way to greet your boyfriend you missed, is it, baby?” he eggs you on, looking down at you and your swollen lips with a wicked grin.
You open your mouth to snark back, but he refuses to give you the chance before he’s picking you up, lifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder.
“Eddie!” you shriek, but laughter laces the protest. Your hands grip the back of his t-shirt as he begins to walk down the hallway, and you start to kick your feet out of defiance, but a sharp smack sounds through the quiet apartment as he playfully slaps your ass, putting an end to the kicks.
“Yeah, you better warm up those vocal chords,” he chuckles. The moment you’re back in your bedroom, he’s quick to toss you onto the mattress, finally mounted on a frame. The comforter flares around you, your head sinking into a pillow as Eddie is quick to remove his jacket and shirt, climbing up the bed between your legs, “Gonna have you chanting my name like a goddamn prayer, sweetheart.”
He removes your pajamas as he has a thousand times before, but it still doesn’t feel fast enough. You find yourself squirming, trying to help him pull off the flannel pants and t-shirt you’d stolen from his side of the closet, but he stops all movements immediately.
He shakes his head, hovering above you, his hair like a curtain around the two of you as your top lip brushes his bottom one and his mint breath fans over your face. “Slow it down for me, yeah? Wanna enjoy this,” he murmurs.
You obey, stilling below him save for your chest, rising and falling rapidly with waiting breaths. He finally dips down, his pick necklace tickling your collarbones as his mouth covers yours.
A culmination of three long months is spent into the kiss. All the restless nights, long phone calls, endless yearning. You can tell that he had missed you, longed for you, just as much as you had him.
It’s languid, the way your body reacts to each of his touches. As far as it was concerned, no time had passed. He does as he had said, taking his time, savoring each kiss he presses down your throat and over your breasts. He’s memorizing each crevice of you, every soft curve he’d dreamt of for 91 days.
Your squirming resumes when his hot breath reaches your navel, but he doesn’t scold you, bringing his hands to your hips and pressing them down into the mattress. “Let me show you just how much I missed you. Let me take care of you, baby.”
He’s enjoying it, the sound of your whines a better soundtrack than any of the music that had damaged his eardrums during the tour. His fingers dance over your bare skin, skimming right over the band of your underwear and tracing lines down your thighs. It’s agonizing - the waiting is terrible.
Terribly worth it, as it turns out.
When he finally decides to speed up his teasing, bringing a finger to brush across your clothed slit, you gasp. Your hands twist into the sheets at each side of you, but he isn’t having it.
“Now that’s not where those belong,” he mumbles, a hot breath over your panties sending shivers down your spine. He’s quick - his fingers suddenly hook into the waistband, and he’s pulling them down and off over your ankles with an eagerness finally matching your own. He throws them aimlessly to the bedroom floor, joining the rest of your discarded clothes recklessly. Neither of you care - you won’t be needing them the rest of the night.
He settles into the mattress, a leg thrown over each of his shoulders before he grabs your hands and guides them to tangle into his hair. He’s still taking his time, sucking his way up your inner thighs and leaving flowering bruises in his wake. Once he reaches where you want him to most, where you’re aching for him so pitifully, he pauses.
He repeats his earlier words, “God, I’ve missed you.”
He takes you by surprise as he dives right in, tongue flattening and licking a long stride up, starting at your entrance. His nose bumps over your clit before his tongue begins to dance circles, painting a secret language between the two of you over the sensitive bundle of nerves. One of his hands joins him, middle finger circling your entrance slowly before he presses in. He sets a pace quickly, pumping the finger a few times, tongue working magic, before he adds a second one. They curl with intention, pressing into the spongy spot of your walls that he knew like the back of his hand. It’s the exact spot that makes your back arch off the bed.
He pulls back his mouth, fingers continuing to pump and curl vigorously as he looks up at you dreamily. He eases one of his arms over your hips, pressing down, holding you in place.
He’s a dream. A goddamn dream. He’s finally here, looking up at you, grinning like a Devil as he watches you unravel at his hand.
“So pretty. Always so, so beautiful, but especially like this,” he says more to himself, but you hear him, a moan falling from your lips. His mouth returns to you, lips latching onto your clit, sucking harshly.
“Fuck,” you breathe into the still air of your apartment room, not caring if the neighbors hear but your chest too heavy to grow much louder, head fuzzy and all-consumed by him, “Eddie.”
He was right. His name falls from your mouth in pants, chanting to him as if he were your God.
It only spurs him on, fingers working expertly as he alternates between sucking and lapping at your clit. You can hear how wet you are for him, how close you are before the knot forms in your abdomen.
“Oh my God- Oh, fuck. Right there,” your hips buck involuntarily into his face, and he loosens his grip on your hips, letting you, “I’m gonna…G-Gonna…”
“Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he encourages, fingers curling harshly, “Cum on my face, baby. Do it.”
He puts his tongue back to work, You force your eyes open to catch sight of him, buried in your pussy, admiring how pretty he looked from this angle. The sight of his tousled curls, twisted tightly in your grip as you yank mercilessly, is all it takes for you to finally come undone.
A broken prayer, repeated over and over as a warmth rushes over you. Your vision goes white, eyes tightly screwed shut, toes curling and thighs clenching over his ears. It doesn’t phase him, continuing his assault until he’s sure you’ve come down. You have to tug on his hair, more intentional this time, to pull him away from you due to how sensitive you grow.
He rises, letting your legs fall limply against the mattress as he wears a boyish grin on his slick lips. Slowly, he makes his way up to you, back to the virtues of patience as he takes his time to finally kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue, a bitter sort of sweetness, as he cradles your face.
“You good?” he gently asks against your lips. You can barely move, nodding lethargically.
“So good,” you croak, a smile breaking out. Your eyes crack open to see him looking down at you with pure adoration, “I missed you.”
You start to run your hand down his chest, reaching the zipper of his jeans before his hand stops you.
“No, not yet. We’ve got plenty of time for that. Just wanna hold you right now, baby,” he nearly pleads. You can’t deny him, not with his eyes shining like that, so you allow him to fall into place on his side of the bed before you curl up against his bare torso.
The two of you stay that way for what feels like hours, his arms wrapped around you as he traces out constellations on your bare shoulder blades. Just outside of your solace, a bubble you’ve trapped yourselves in, you can hear the faint call of the city. Honks from cars on the street, shouts from pedestrians, the occasional siren. It’s all background noise to this moment.
“I have something for you,” he suddenly whispers as you teeter on the edge of sleep. You hum in response, lifting your head lazily. He pats you gently, signaling for you to let him stand before he walks to his discarded jacket by the door. When he returns to your side, he's gripping a small, white box, tied with a scarlet ribbon.
“A gift?” you ask, excitement helping wake you up as you sit up quickly, “For me?”
“For you,” he affirms, taking a seat beside you. Your knees bump as your hands fumble to take the box from him. A soft glow from one of the restaurants on your street floods between the curtains and into the room, a soft neon pink illuminating your features as you carefully unravel the red ribbon.
As the silk falls, you hardly can contain your excitement before lifting the lid off the box.
A necklace.
Your eyes trace over it, already fawning with appreciation for your boy, but then you catch sight of exactly what the necklace is.
“Your mom’s ring?” you can’t hide the emotion that shakes the timbre of your voice. It cracks into a million pieces.
At the end of the delicate silver chain, sits his mother’s ring. The one you hadn’t even noticed missing from his barren right hand.
“Happy birthday,” he whispers, pulling you in and pressing his lips into your temple. You’re still too stunned, too overcome with a million and one feelings all at once.
“Eddie… I- I can’t… this is-”
“I want you to have it. I think she’d want you to have it, too,” he insists, taking the box from your grasp and lifting the necklace from its cotton cushion, “I know it’s not a lot, but I just… I wanted to get you something that let you know how important you are to me. Something for you to always have as a reminder that I’ll come back to you. You’re it for me, sweetheart. This is- this is real to me. The kind of real that lasts forever.”
You can tell he’s growing emotional, too, as his feather light touch brushes your hair to the side, bringing the necklace up around your neck and clasping it securely. When the ring falls to its new home at the base of your neck, cool against your skin, you can feel tears falling. He’s quick to swipe them away, his own watery irises peering into yours.
“You’re everything to me,” he says this with vindication. With such assuredness it terrifies you, burrows into your bones and claims you.
In this moment, you know he has forever stained you. There was no washing this mark he has left you off - there would forever be a piece of your heart occupied by the brown-eyed boy in front of you.
All you can do is lean forward, hands gingerly threading through his bangs as you push them back to plant a kiss on his forehead. A crimson blush spreads across his cheeks and neck at the act of tenderness.
When you pull back, he immediately lifts his fingers to the necklace he’s just gifted you, fingers careful but determined as they tug you back to him, kissing you with everything in him. He pours his soul, his body, and his heart into it.
“I love you,” you exhale against his swollen lips.
“And I love you.”
You believe him, because he believes himself. That’s the thing about endings - no one sees them coming.
"The mark they saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones, the lips I used to call home. So scarlet, it was maroon."
The next year proves you right. After that tour, Corroded Coffin became a phenomenon. A record deal falls into the boys’ laps quickly, multiple one-off shows selling out locally before the news finally comes that they are officially in the position to record their debut album.
The two of you celebrate with cheap wine, but it’s as sweet as champagne in your contentment.
The recording of the album is brutal. Night after night, you attempt to wait up on Eddie, eventually falling victim to drowsiness before he would wake you with his arrival from the studio in the early hours of the morning. You never minded, only happy for his warmth as he crawled right into bed with you, collapsing into you and letting the world melt away.
Long gone are the days of struggling paycheck-to-paycheck as the boys’ can hardly keep up with printing enough shirts for their shows, merchandise selling out in the handfuls.
You catch sight of a young girl wearing one of their shirts one day in the grocery store, and can’t help the flood of pride that overtakes your chest. Your boyfriend, your Eddie, was finally having all of his dreams come to fruition; the world was finally seeing him as the rockstar you’d nominated him as since that first night.
You can tell that it’s tiring. Eddie is exhausted by the time the album is finished, but you can also sense the satisfaction he felt at finally completing it. When the first demo arrived, he wasted no time in electing you to be the first to listen to it. It was an entire ordeal - the two of you ordered your favorite take-out, curling up on your couch and pressing together as the same boombox that had played that mixtape on your first night in your home now plays his songs.
Your reaction was exactly as he had expected, as he had hoped for.
You had always been his number one cheerleader through it all. With each new song, you were gushing to him with admiration and reverence. Pointing out lyrics that tugged particularly taut on your heartstrings, praising the guitar solos and vocals he’d worked tirelessly to perfect. You don’t leave a single stone left unturned, claiming this was your new favorite album.
“Careful, sweetheart. You’re really stroking my ego here,” he warns, but his smile shines as brightly as your own.
“Eddie, this is… this is… it’s fucking incredible!” you cheer, completely at a loss for words. You weren’t exaggerating - to hear all of his hard work paying off, to have watched him grow from covering Metallica in a stuffy garage to this left you starstruck. You were in absolute awe.
He blushes, playing with his hair and bringing it up to hide his emotional reaction.
The album could fail. It could become nothing more than a whisper in the night, but the fact that you liked it was all that mattered to him.
You look at him earnestly, taking his cheeks in your warm and soothing palms, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Eds.”
And you were. You continued to be. The album was a hit.
It climbed the charts with ease, just as you expected. Local alternative stations played it on loop. You were sure to hear it at least once during taxi rides, and had even heard it playing softly over the speakers at the gas station on the corner by your apartment complex. Eddie had been with you, and took pleasure in getting to inform the cashier that it was his song playing, his band was on the radio.
It was New York, so the cashier couldn’t have cared less, but it made you glow with pride.
But with a hit album came a new slew of responsibilities for the band, including a headlining tour.
The night that the band’s manager called Eddie, informing him they were set to start planning the tour, he’d run into the room, so frantic you were worried something bad had happened.
“Holy shit!” he yells, causing you to shush him once you recovered from the scare he’d caused you. He ignores you, grabbing you off the bed, lifting you up and spinning you, just like the very first night, “Holy shit! We’re going on tour! A headlining tour! I’m going to be a goddamn rockstar!”
Once you process his news, you become just as animated in his arms, “What? No fucking way!”
“Yes fucking way!”
“Oh my God!”
“I know!”
You hear banging on the wall from the neighbors, probably shouting at the two of you to quiet down, but neither of you can contain your excitement.
“I’m going to be a goddamn rockstar, baby,” he laughs deliriously, placing you back down so that you’re face-to-face with him, “A rockstar.”
“You’ve always been a rockstar, pretty boy,” you giggle, cheeks sore with elation, “The rest of the world is just finally getting the memo.”
The planning takes a while. Part of you is grateful, selfishly drinking in and enjoying the time you have left with him before you’re sure he’ll have to leave for an extended period. The names of cities you had never had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with once again enter conversations, talks of how far and wide the band would travel becoming Eddie’s favorite topic.
You’re proud of him, you really are. But reality seeps its way into the crevices.
What starts as the possibility of a brief, three month tour - something the two of you had already faced and defeated triumphantly - quickly turns into six months. And it doesn’t stop there. Six months could become eight, easily, with adding in a few pit stops to radio stations to guarantee continued radio-play. There’s talks of signings, of meet and greets, of music festivals. The more time given to planning, the more time given for the band’s popularity to grow even more.
The entire thing expands without consideration, lifting Eddie right up with it, right out of your reach.
The night before he’s set to leave for tour, your anxieties are getting the best of you. You had helped him pack, going over the list of necessities with him three times too many. He had everything he needed, packed tightly into a suitcase - everything except you.
That night, you sit on your side of your shared bed, watching Eddie pace with excitement. You feel guilty that your own anticipation can’t quite match his. All you can think about is how long he’ll be gone: eight months, two hundred and forty five days. Five thousand, eight hundred and eighty hours. Over three hundred thousand minutes. You’d done the math.
“Fuck,” he sighs, finally throwing himself down onto the bed beside you, “I still can’t believe this is happening.”
You can’t bring up your insecurity, your fears, to him. Not when he’s so happy. Not when he’s finally getting everything he’d dreamt about for so long, worked so hard for. No, it would be selfish to share your unease at the time and distance about to spread between the two of you.
Besides, you had done it once before. Not on this scale, of course, but you convinced yourself it would work out all the same. He would call as often as he could. He’d be coming home to you. It would pass - it would work out.
“It’s real, so you better believe it, rockstar.”
An echo of the past. A time that felt so far away from the two of you now. This time around, as you say them, you don’t feel the same joy coating your tongue.
Your tone is supportive, so Eddie doesn’t taste any of the disdain. Later that night, as he’s kissing you, hips rolling to meet yours in a sacred promise, fingers intertwined in yours as you pant each other’s names back and forth, he still doesn’t taste it. All he tastes is euphoria. And he brings you right to it with him, over, and over, and over again.
Euphoria tastes metallic by the end of it.
He leaves bruises painted up and down your neck, covering your collarbones and chest like an art piece hanging in the Louvre. You can’t help but wonder how long it will take for his marks to fade, for the physical reminder that he was here and in your arms to disappear from your grasp.
As he makes love to you, it begins to feel like a goodbye, because it is.
He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but it does.
The first month follows similarly to how his first tour did. Nightly phone calls, whispered love confessions and discussions of each other’s day. For a moment, you convince yourself that all of your fears and anxieties had been silly. They almost recede from your mind completely, fading with his love marks on your collarbone.
But then it begins.
Phone calls become less frequent. Every night because every other night, until they’re eventually weekly. At some point, you only have the privilege of hearing his voice over the line monthly. It is a slow burning fire, turning everything you had built with him to ashes. Conversations that once could drag on for hours turn to ten minute discussions that end in him rushing off the phone, someone on the other end of the line demanding his attention more urgently than you did.
You can’t even fight it. You need him, but they need him more.
You know you’ve lost him when he stops saying he loves you. It’s subtle, you don’t even believe he’s noticed, but one night’s phone call is cut particularly short, and the end arrives.
“Hey, baby, I’m sorry, but they need me for soundcheck,” he says, the line staticky with white noise, making it hard to hear him.
He’s never felt farther away, and they’re not even on the west coast leg of the tour yet.
“Oh,” you whisper, disappointment gripping your lungs, “Oh, that’s fine! Go, they need you.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles. You miss hearing that in person, that soft laughter in the shell of your ear over inside jokes and one too many glasses of wine. “Rockstar duties and all. We’ll talk more later?”
“Of course. Go give ‘em, Hell,” you keep your tone light, but the tears have started to build up across your waterline, “I love you.”
The line goes dead before you can even finish your sentence. The dial tone echoes back to you, and it doesn’t matter how hard you strain, no words of affection can be deciphered in its deafening ringing.
That’s when you break.
The flood comes, tears racing down your cheeks as you roll over and clutch the pillow that you’re not even sure was once his. The bed no longer has a clear boundary, a side that belonged to him and a side that belonged to you. It’s all muddled together now. You’re not even sure you’d recognize the smell of his cologne now.
A heart has never broken so quietly. The sobs are there, but no sounds escape your mouth as you whimper. You had always known it would be hard, everyone had warned you, but you had always assumed you could take it, because Eddie would be by your side, hand slotted with yours as it was the two of you against the world. But now you stood in the storm, and the space beside you was eerily empty. It was all a bit much. A gaping hole forms in your chest that night, gory as it bleeds scarlet red for a boy a world away, and you know that there is not a single bandage in the world to heal it.
He doesn’t call back after that, and the hole tears larger.
There’s a few texts here and there. But none of them ever say the three words you so desperately crave from him. You feel like strangers.
After two months of radio silence, save for two text messages from him, you’ve made up your mind.
He never calls, so you never tell him. You gather what belongings can be called solely yours, which isn’t many, and you write a letter in your cowardice. You find an apartment on the other side of town. There’s a nice job waiting for you, something that pays better than waitressing.
You leave your key on the kitchen counter beside a vase with wilted carnations.
"I wake with your memory over me, that’s a real fucking legacy (it was maroon)."
Six months later, the ache never fades. He calls. When he returns from tour to find an empty apartment, cursive letter calling it quits, he calls. You almost consider changing your number at one point.
There’s a flood of text messages. Small letters on a shining screen filled with all the words you needed to hear so many months before. All of the things he should have said, now revealed too late.
You don’t reply, because if you reply, you’ll change your mind.
You tell yourself it’s for the best. That in order for him to achieve what he’d wanted, he couldn’t have someone back home weighing him down. You were a road bump on his path to everything he was destined to be, and this was for the best.
At some point, he gets the message. You wish he hadn’t, selfishly so, but he does. The phone calls stop. The text messages don’t light up your phone at midnight anymore. You keep up your end of the lease on your once-shared apartment, sending checks to pay your half of the rent until the lease agreement has ended. You have no clue if he moves. Returning to that side of town would simply hurt too much.
A new normalcy is found. It is a lonely one, but it is one all the same. Sparse phone calls are still exchanged with your friends from Hawkins, but none of them ever bring up Eddie. You’re sure they know, that he had told them, that they had witnessed the aftermath (if there had been any). They were always his friends first, though, and so when the calls dwindle, it doesn’t surprise you.
It’s a year later when someone mentions his name to you. You had kept up well enough with Corroded Coffin, the last remnants of your past life being something you couldn’t get rid of. You knew they were thriving; they were in the talks of releasing a second album, and going back on tour soon. His name is mentioned when a coworker brings him up.
They ask you if you want to attend the Corroded Coffin show with them next week. They have a spare ticket and would prefer to not go alone.
You lie and say you have plans.
But the only plans you have on that bustling night are the ones spent in your apartment. Your one-bedroom apartment is in a nicer part of town, better views out of the window now. When you pull back the curtains, you don’t find a brick wall forever tainted by what once was - you can see the entrance to a music venue that’s sign currently advertises tonight’s show.
CORRODED COFFIN, ONE NIGHT ONLY - SOLD OUT
You avoid the window at all costs as you get yourself ready for bed that night. Neighbors had already off-handedly warned you it would be a noisy night, claiming you’d feel as if you were at the show yourself based on proximity. On your way home from work, you bought earplugs.
But the night grows older, a chill in the air as the clock strikes ten, and you can’t help it. You’ve been laying in bed for hours now, earplugs in, only feeling the faint thrumming of intense bass for less than an hour when you finally stand up. You approach the window timidly, scared of what you find. Maybe a ghostly reflection of him, standing in the street, holding up a boombox playing a mixtape of your favorite songs.
It’s a bitter hopefulness that is full of childish dreams.
When you stand in your window, curtains pulled back and earplugs finally disregarded on your nightstand, Eddie Munson isn’t standing on the street. All that is there is the neon glow of a red sign that shatters crimson shadows across your cheeks.
He’s not on the street. He’s too busy on the stage inside, being the rockstar he had always been destined to be. The one he could be now that you had let him go.
All that you see as you look out the window is your own tired reflection, donning nothing but a wine-stained t-shirt and a delicate, silver chain around your neck, a ring you couldn’t bring yourself to return resting heavily between your collarbones.
"That’s a real fucking legacy to leave."
reblogs, likes, and comments appreciated! <3
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfic#oooo look at me trying to post this several months later#and at 2 am no less#i'm just in a silly goofy mood and curious#will it post? will it stick? will it get me thrown in shadow jail?#time will tell!#also i made that divider myself i'm very proud of myself#formatting is bad but hey#it is what it is!
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Ani loves taking his pretty girl out for cute winter dates. It gets all chilly and snowy; her cheeks flush in soft pink and nose tingles from the cool breeze, which is a perfect excuse for him to adjust her scarf. "C'mere, love. Let daddy get you nice and warm." He tucks you in soft wool material and kisses a snowflake off your brow. Anakin is in absolute awe about how gorgeous HIS princess is, with white covering her hair and hands clutching a hot coffee cup – seeking a warm remedy for her reddened knuckles. He's obsessed with the fact that by the end of your little wintery adventure, your body will be covered in chills, and the only place to find relief will be the warmth of his embrace.
#can you tell I'm in a christmas mood yet?#anakin#anakin star wars#anakin x reader#anakin x reader fluff#anakin drabble#anakin skywalker#star wars anakin#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin skywalker x you#anakin x you#anakin skywalker imagine#anakin imagine#anakin fluff#anakin x y/n#anakin skywalker x female reader#anakin skywalker drabble#star wars#star wars drabble#modern anakin skywalker#modern!anakin
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The Wonder Of You
pairing: nicholas ruffilo x fem!reader
masterlist: here | crossposted: ao3 | word count: 4.5k
summary: you surprise your boyfriend with festive lingerie for his birthday. he shows you just how grateful he is with all the love he has in his corazón.
warnings: sweet, soft, FLUFFY, making love, soft dom!nick, festive (xmas-y), established dom/sub relationship, quite domestic, fingering/handjob, oral [m receiving], throat fucking, p n v, creampie, praise, again nick has a big fat one sorry it's just canon at this point - massive cocks are rare but he's got one ok, 18+ MDNI
a/n: happy birthday nicky🩷
And when you smile, the world is brighter
You touch my hand, and I'm a king
Your kiss to me is worth a fortune
Your love for me is everything
I'll guess I'll never know the reason why
You love me as you do
That's the wonder
The wonder of you
- 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙒𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙔𝙤𝙪 // 𝙀𝙡𝙫𝙞𝙨 𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙮
Your boyfriend sits in the living room while you spend time curating the perfect set up for his birthday in your bedroom. You already lit the candles, mostly unscented but some which smell like a warm campfire and one that smells like candy cane, because you know he likes that one especially. There’s a playlist softly playing in the background, curated with a mix of his favorite songs that set a tone, lots of Deftones of course.
You undress and pile your clothes on top of the hamper before slipping on the set you bought for his birthday. It was lacy red triangles covering your breasts and it flowed down over your torso in a light mesh. You step into what is really a joke and an overstatement of being called underwear – it was just a couple of straps, completely bare in the middle between your legs. A pair of puffballs hang just above your ass and the edges of the babydoll top are lined in white fluff. Stepping in front of the full-length mirror you smooth out the mesh and take in your silhouette. Your immediate reaction is discomfort, feeling like these are clothes you don’t belong in. The outfit is too revealing, too holiday-y, too colorful, too much.
But you know how much he loves Christmas and how much he won’t care what you’re wearing once he sees you in lace. Man brains are quite simple after all, he probably won’t be able to tell you the color of the outfit when he’s done with you.
You sigh, making a mental note to push your insecurities to the side for the night and try to just embrace your sensuality for him.
Your hand hesitates before turning the doorknob and peaking your head out. He must’ve gotten bored since you see him working on some tattoo design on his iPad.
“Okay. Ready.” You say quickly before shutting the door and making it to the edge of the bed. You sit and unwrap a candy cane to suck on.
It’s clear he was unsure what exactly he was walking into by the surprised look on his face as he takes in the room before landing on you.
“Oh.” His eyes wide and locked on you. “This is what you’ve been working on?” He asks, crossing the room over to you. “What’s all this for?”
“Your birthday silly.” You place the end of the candy cane in your mouth and pull it out with a pop, your eyes fixated on his.
He glances over at the clock on the nightstand reading 11:14 pm. “Well, it’s not my birthday quite yet.”
“I figured we could start off strong.” You shrug, “I’m sure by the time we’re done it’ll be your birthday anyway.”
“Quite a bold assumption, with how fucking good you look.” He jokes, not being able to stay off your body.
“Mmm.” You hum around the candy cane before pulling it out to speak. “I’m sure we can make it last.”
You find his wrist and carefully bring it down while you part your legs for him, letting his fingers find your exposed pussy.
His eyes round at the discovery, “Fuck you’re so wet already.” He mumbles, cupping your cheek to tilt your face up to him. “You’re this wet just from wanting to please me?”
You hum an “mhm” around the sugary cane looking up at him.
His fingers glide up your folds exploring you while his eyes can’t look anywhere besides your occupied mouth. “Fuck baby.” The hand on your cheek slides down to around your throat, gently with no pressure. “I need that to be my cock in your mouth.”
You knew it wouldn’t take long for him to slip into his usual self. You hook your finger at the curve in the cane and slide it past your lips, letting your lips stay parted for him.
“Mmm.” His hand around your throat slithers up to your jaw and tugs his thumb across your lips before dipping it into your mouth. You instantly wrap your lips around his finger and suck on him just as you would his cock. Your eyes never leave his as you do so.
“Oh, what a good girl, getting a head start.” He praises which only fuel you.
You hum and nod around his finger while your hands fumble to find his zipper. You waste no time trying to palm him over his jeans, you don’t want to keep him waiting on his birthday after all. You tug his pants and underwear down past his knees, letting his hard cock spring free smacking against his stomach. No matter how long you’ve been together the sight of his size never ceases to amaze you. It never fails to fill your tummy with excitement and fear.
You don’t hesitate to begin working his length in your hands. His skin is silky smooth to the touch and the blood rushing through his member makes his veins so prominent beneath your fingertips.
The feeling of your hands has his eyes fluttering closed for just a second. His fingers never halted between your legs, now slipping into your entrance.
He leans down and presses his forehead against yours before pulling his thumb from your mouth. His gray-blue eyes lovingly track yours as he holds your jaw gently. “You are so pretty.” He says softly in the space between you two, so quiet you’d think the room was full of people and he only wanted you to hear.
A blush coats your cheeks, and you shake your head. “No, no. I look so silly.”
“Uh uh,” He nudges his nose against yours sweetly, “You know better than to say no to me.”
A small smile tugs at your lips, because for some reason it makes you feel so safe when he asserts himself like that. “Yes sir.” You reply meekly.
The edges of his lips tug up into a grin, “That’s my girl.” He whispers.
He pulls away just a bit to glance around the room, the red LED lights with the Christmas lights hung around the room and all the candles lit. “You did this all for me?” He asks quietly, holding your chin up.
“Of course.” You whisper back, looking up at him in awe. Even when his hair in a messy bun and thick rimmed glasses, he’s still the most handsome man in the world to you. “You work so hard. You deserve a little fun. And what’s more fun than having me be a toy for you?”
A chuckle escapes his lips, “While I can’t argue with that, I don’t need all of this for my birthday. It’s just another day to me, you know that.”
“I know. But I love you.” You state softly, nuzzling your cheek against his palm. “You deserve everything, and I just want to make you feel good. I want to show you how much I love you.”
“I love you too.” He smiles and leans down to your lips pressing a long kiss against them. “Well, let’s get that pretty mouth of yours to work then, hm?”
Rosy-pink tints your cheeks and a flurry of butterflies swirl in your tummy. You nod and let him pull his fingers from you. He slips them into his mouth and sucks them clean, humming at your taste. “God, you taste so fucking good.”
“Sh.” You wave off his compliment, mostly because it worsens the warmth on your cheeks.
The bed squeaks a bit as you readjust to lay flat on your stomach to be level with his cock. Your mouth waters at the sight of it. Thick and massive, the first half of his shaft a darker shade of his olive skin tone, with the second half much lighter. His tip swollen and pink with a driblet of precum pooling at the head.
You take no time in licking a fat strip up his slit before taking his head into your mouth. He lets out a grunt at the stimulation of your warm mouth around him. His hand finds your head and tangles his fingers into your hair.
You savor him, rolling swirls on the underside of his cock and then circling around the tip. His head is so big it almost fills your entire mouth, so you use your hands to take care of the rest of his length as you begin bobbing on him.
“Fuck.” He groans, tugging at your hair a bit, “Fuck that feels so good.”
You swoon at the praise which makes you work harder. Your hands working him, squeezing around his shaft for extra stimulation. You move up and down on him, taking as much of him in your mouth as you can, letting him hit the back of your throat each time.
“God, look how good you are for me, taking me so well.” He grunts a bit, rutting his hips for work just a little, knowing that too much might hurt you.
Your heart swells at his words and the noises he’s making, you can tell how much he’s enjoying himself and that’s all you wanted. You wiggle your ass up a bit just to show off just how little the strappy lingerie covers you.
“Mmm.” He hums, his hand running down your back and squeezing a cheek before landing a hard smack against it.
While you half expected it, it still stings but it’s exactly what you wanted. You know he won’t hurt you too much tonight since he’s being so sweet but usually, he loves hurting you and you love taking it.
You whine around his member and take him even deeper down your throat. You try your best to suppress a gag the deeper you go on him, but it’s not that successful. His fingers curl stiffer around your hair at the sound and swivels his hips forward ever so slightly, enough to make you gag again. He chuckles at your struggle, deriving twisted pleasure out of it. When you don’t give him a warning sign he pushes further down your throat. His favorite thing is testing just how far you’ll go for him. He loves how hard you work for him, and he doesn’t take it for granted, he loves watching his best girl choke on his cock.
You whine around him again and look up at him with your eyes filling with tears from the pain of his girth in your throat.
His lips pull to a sinister smirk at the sight of your makeup running down your face. “Oh my, look at you.” He loosens his grip in your hair and instead combs through it as he speaks. “You look so fucking gorgeous with your pretty mouth full of my cock.”
The praise alone has you nearly dripping on the bed and fills your heart with loving pride. You want nothing more than to please him and make him happy, especially on his birthday.
You moan with your mouth full and looking up at him through your thick lashes and he looks down at you in awe.
“Can I try something with you, my love?” He asks sweetly, as if he doesn’t have the power to command you to do whatever he wanted.
You pull off of him with a pop, nodding with a string of drool still hanging from his tip to your mouth.
“How about you lay on your back for me huh? Hang your head off the edge of the bed.”
Fear slithers up your spine at the idea of him having that much more access to your throat from that angle.
Nick picks up on your hesitation and bends down to your eyelevel, taking your chin gently between his fingers. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to baby. But I promise I’ll be gentle, okay? You can pat my thigh if you need me to stop.”
You tug at your bottom lip in thought but ultimately agree with an “okay” in an already raspy voice. You do as he asked and flipped onto your back, letting your head hang just off the mattress edge.
“Good girl.” He stretches out the words as he watches you put your body on display for him.
His leans down you as soon as you’ve settled. He uses both hands to gently finish brush all the rogue hairs away from your face and neck. His tattooed hands then find your cheeks and cupping them. “You are so goddamn beautiful.” He smiles, just taking in the wonder of you. “I can’t wait to make a mess out of you.”
You beam up at him and he can’t help but widen his grin. His thumb rubs your cheek tenderly before leaning down to press a kiss to your messy lips. He nudges his nose against yours, “I love you so fucking much, Princess.” He whispers.
Your heart swells at your favorite petname. With the way he treats you, he always made you feel like a princess, and he always made you feel so taken care of, so protected.
You were his. Completely, totally, entirely.
You belonged to him, and he belonged to you.
“I love you too Nicky.” You reply softly in the same low volume.
You let there be moment of comforting silence between you, your foreheads pressed against each other, his hands lovingly holding your head. You revel in the deep adoration you have for one another.
“I’m ready.”
“Okay my doll.” He presses another peck on your lips before returning to his original standing position.
He takes hold of his member by the base and uses it to press his swollen head against your partially parted lips. You open up for him, giving him full access to your mouth. He slides his length in, moving past your tongue immediately going for the throat. While the new position allows him to get deeper, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that it doesn’t trigger your gag reflex nearly as much as the previous position. This discovery allows you to relax and let him have his way with you.
He starts slow to test the water with long deep strokes but soon picks up speed. His hips thrust in and out of your mouth vigorously getting lost in it.
“Gah - fuck.” He groans out in a hiss. His hand smothers down around your neck, pressing down on the sides a bit. He wanted to feel himself destroy your trachea.
He leans forward a bit, only shoving himself down your throat more, to trace his fingers down your front finding your closed, bent legs. He taps your thigh softly, “C’mon baby, let me see that pretty pussy of yours.”
You didn’t think it was possible to feel anything other than the monster in your throat but still, your cheeks heated up and a flutter grew between your legs.
You bend to him, like you always do, obeying him out of devotion not out of direction. His hand slides down your inner thigh as you spread for him. You feel a tinge of insecurity and maybe embarrassment in your revealing lingerie, the crotchless thong offering no coverage for you.
His fingers glide up between your folds, circling around your clit before reaching further down and gathering the juices at your entrance. From this angle he can’t dip inside you but god just the proximity of his touch has you pulsing around nothing. He retracts his reach and brings his fingers to his mouth, slipping them in desperately needing the taste of you. He groans around his fingers covered in your slick and continues to roll his hips harshly into your throat as he savors you.
“God, fuck baby.” He groans and slowly pulls from your throat. As uncomfortable as it was having him lodged there, it brings a vague feeling of emptiness. You love having him inside you, one way or another.
Drool connects his member to your mouth in strands, his cock coated in saliva.
“I need your fucking pussy baby. I need to feel you.” He says, slipping out of the rest of his clothes, his body on full display.
His body was tattooed almost completely. Most people wouldn’t consider a body like his anything special perse, he wasn’t muscular or toned really, mostly just lean. Except for some muscle in his arms from playing bass and lugging around instruments all the time. He’d been very skinny most of his life but as he’s gotten older there was thin extra layer around his tummy, which you loved. As long as you’d known him, he never liked to show much skin, he was never one to be shirtless for no reason. Which you never really understood because to you, he was the most attractive man in any room. But since he wasn’t fond of showing skin, there were parts of him only you got to see. Tattoos only you knew were there and knew the stories of. Tattoos only you got to trace with your fingers and your tongue.
Loving him and catering to him was an art only you knew.
You nod and sit up, but before you even get a chance to breathe, he’s grasped your thighs and tugged you the edge of the bed. He whisks you up prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. Your arms slink around his neck and you once again press your forehead against his, this time getting a good view of his eyes. In the dim light with the faint red glow from the light strips, his eyes look extra green. You loved how his eyes could change depending on the setting. It amazed you how no matter the color, blue, green or grey, they always looked perfect for him.
“You are so, so good for me. I couldn’t ask for a better girl.” He says softly.
“You mean that?” You ask past the strain in your throat, leaning forward a bit to be even closer with him.
“Of course, my darling. Look at all you’ve done for me, and how good you make me feel.” He gushes.
“I do?” You hum ghosting against his lips.
“Mhm.” He hums back.
He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, you reciprocate, tangling your fingers in his messy black hair before lengthening the kiss. It’s soft, sweet, loving, patient.
It doesn’t take long for the kiss to escalate into a passionate flame. He climbs up onto the bed clumsily with you still wrapped around him. He carefully drops you in the middle of bed, your head landing on plush pillows without interrupting your kiss.
Your lips and tongues dance together as his hands wander your body. His soft hands gliding your every curve beneath the thin babydoll mesh. He detaches from your lips and begins kissing down your neck. His breathing is rapid and needy.
“I love you. I love every part of you,” He says hastily between open mouth kisses. “Every fucking part.”
You’re dizzy with how much you love him. “I love you too.”
He’s so fucking worked up that he’s already rutting the tip of his cock up and down your folds, putting pressure against your buzzing clit.
You whine at the sensation of his tip against your sensitivity and his sucking on the weak spot on your neck. Your hand tangles in his hair, gripping it with need.
As much as you don’t want to interrupt the sweetness of it all, you need him in a much different way. “Please fuck me, fuck I need your cock so fucking bad please.” You beg, the ache between your thighs screaming for relief.
He chuckles against your neck, even though you can tell he needs it just as bad. It doesn’t take much to bring you both back to your normal depravity. “Hm. You’re gonna have to do better than that. What is it you need baby?”
You groan a bit in defiant impatience. “Your cock. I need your fucking cock.”
“Hm. A little sassy are we? Not even a please that time.” He rolls his hips into you, sliding the underneath of his length between your soaked lips. “Let’s try again. Be more specific, what do you want?”
You huff, over his delaying. “I want your big fat fucking cock to fuck me raw. Please.”
“That’s my good girl.” The edges of his lips curl to a smirk, “Well. I think we can arrange that.”
Before you could even respond he’s already pressed his tip into your entrance. He wants to ram right into you, you can tell, but he knows better than that. He’s gotten really good at knowing how to stretch you out properly. His thumb finds your sensitive nub and begins rolling tight circles into it to help you relax around him.
“That’s it baby.” He reassures you. “You’re doing so good for me.” He fills you slowly, inch by inch carefully until he’s bottomed out. You hiss at the pain of him inside you. He fills you entirely and the stretch burns at first but sweetens when he begins moving in and out of you. Deep grumbly groans fill his chest at the feeling you tight around him.
“Fuck.” You wince a bit but let your eyes flutter close.
His movements start slow, but you feel his restraint bubbling beneath your fingertips like a volcano. “You’re doing such a good job, Princess, taking me so fucking good.” He groans into your neck.
His fingers work diligently on your pulsing clit, helping ease the pain a bit. You’ve been worked up all night thinking about this moment, combined with how his cock reaches the deepest parts of you and how his fingers work where you need him, you feel like you could explode any second.
“I’m trying to go slow baby, but you just feel so fucking good.” He says between the breathy moans that escape him. His actions match his statement, his hips working in quick but deep thrusts in and out of you.
You whine loudly at his words, only worsening you impending climax. Tingle fill your body down to your legs that wrap around his waist. You love seeing and feeling just how much he can’t control himself with you. The knot in your tummy is so tight it feels like it’s about to snap.
“I’m close.” You warn hastily, unsure of how much longer you’ll last – and you know he won’t like it if you don’t ask for permission first. “Can I cum? Please – fuck, please I’m so close.”
His fingers on your clit speed up just a bit to help you over your finish line. “Cum for me baby, c’mon cum all over my cock.”
Bright ecstasy blooms from where he works on you, sending a blazing buzzing across your skin. Explosions fill your tummy and your heart beats so fast it feels like it could rupture.
“Don’t fight it Princess, go ahead, give in to me.” He hums just beneath your ear.
Your nails dig deep into his back as your spine curves violently up from the mattress. Screams curses and moans rip through your chest and fill the room.
“Oh my, there we go.” His thrusts speeding up beginning to chase his own orgasm. “That’s my good girl, cumming so hard for me.”
His deep raspy voice and the way he’s talking you through with a bit of overstimulation from his persistent fingers pushes you over a different edge, feeling yourself squirt your juices all over his cock.
“Oh, look at that,” He lets out a strained groan. “I know it’s so much isn’t it?”
You cling onto him, biting down on his shoulder as you ride out your orgasm. His thrusts get quick and sloppy and hard, probably getting pushed over his own edge by the way your walls spasm around him.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He growls, his hands sliding beneath your thighs and hooking behind your knees to keep you in place. He slams hard into you repeatedly until he goes rigid, and you feel his cock twitch inside you – which with how large he is, is a bit painful but you love it. Milky white paints your walls and fills you up fully, pouring out of you before he even pulls out.
He rests atop of you and lets himself soften a bit before pulling from you. It’s an odd feeling being so full then being so empty, but at least you have his cum pooling inside of you for now.
He falls next to you and your chests rise and fall in time. After you’ve both come down a little, you look over at each other with glossy eyes and soft smiles.
-
After you both have showered and cleaned up, you change into some cozy pajamas. A unplanned cold front had rolled in so the warmest pajamas you had were matching Christmas ones. Nicholas lit the fireplace while you made your signature hot chocolate.
You cozy up next to him on the couch, beneath a blanket and a cat or two. The fireplace warmth and the lit Christmas tree are the only things lighting the room besides the glow of the mostly full moon from outside the window. You nestle your head on his shoulder and watch the fire crackle beneath the hung stockings – one for each of you and for each cat.
The heat of the hot cocoa almost burns your tongue – just almost, just like you like it. The hot drink fills your chest, warming you from the inside. Your eyes drift to the lit Christmas tree you had put up just a couple days ago. You can’t help but smile at how each ornament has a special memory attached. You take it in and appreciate it now because it is a miracle the tree lasted even this long with the cats trying to climb it every chance they got.
Even though you wanted to wait, he was so excited to put it up after Thanksgiving that you couldn’t say no. You can rarely say no to him, especially when his eyes are so bright. Holidays weren’t ever your thing, but he always made them so special. Being with him is a dream, so you savor the magic he brings.
You’ll love the holidays, as long as you have him to celebrate with.
You snuggle into him shivering a bit before looking up at him, catching him admiring the fire and the tree too.
“Hey.” You say quietly to catch his attention but not disrupt the peace. He looks down at you, with eyes so fully of contentment. “Happy birthday.”
The edges of his mouth curl into a happy grin. “Thank you, my love.” He kisses your forehead, “You didn’t have to do all of that for me.”
If you were more awake, you’d tease him and ask if he was complaining but you were far too drained for that.
“I know, but I wanted to. Because I love you.” You plant a peck on his shoulder.
“I’ll never understand why you love me as you do.” He states, using the hand not occupied with a mug to find and hold yours. “But god, am I grateful. You truly are the love of my life.”
You can’t hide the wide smile that stretches across your face and the blush that coats your cheeks. “And you are mine, Nicholas.”
tag list; i don't currently have a general tag list for all my fics so if you'd like to be added to that pls lmk!
a/n; thank you for reading if you did! i'm not that good at writing smut or fluff so sorry if it wasn't that great! this is probably the fluffiest thing ive ever written and im embarassed 🫣
Thank you for any support you guys ever give me on any of my works, it truly means the world to me that you guys enjoy my words and lil plots.
let me know if you liked it! i love hearing your thoughts🥰🩷
#it you weren’t in love with nick before you prob are now#again wtf is up with me writing fluff EW#nicholas just makes me soft idk ://#i love him your honor 😭#happy birthday 🥺#i am semi late per usual lol#very christmas-y sorry i'm in a mood#sorry about the elvis reference i had to live my truth#nicholas ruffilo fanfic#nicholas ruffilo fic#nick ruffilo fanfic#nick ruffilo rpf#nicholas ruffilo rpf#nick ruffilo x reader#nick ruffilo fanfiction#nicholas ruffilo x reader#bad omens fanfic#bad omens fic#bad omens rpf#bad omens fanfiction
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homie and s/o playing the no touching game and obvs homelander loses 🥹🥹💕💕
Homelander's eyes are narrowed. "So... what would I win?"
You can't help but laugh at his suspicion over such an innocuous little game. "You win the game," you say again, though it's not helping his comprehension any, so you elaborate. "It's just a game! You play it for the sake of playing it, and whoever wins, wins."
"Why would I want to win the game of not touching you?" He asks, clearly unimpressed by the thought.
You sigh, though it's out of amusement more than exasperation. "You don't have to play. Go ahead," you say, holding your hand out to him. "I'm happy to win."
Homelander recoils from you. "No."
You grin, dropping your hand. "Okay. Game on."
For the rest of the day, the two of you dance around one another like the other is radioactive, while also trying to trick contact. You try to ambush him a couple of times, try to fool him into bumping into you from around the corner, but between his super hearing and ability to literally see through walls, you're quickly humbled.
Similarly, Homelander does his best to beat you at your own game. He pads silently behind you, waits for you to back into him. He very nearly gets you when he utters a grave, "Oh, fuck." at his phone.
"What's wrong?" You ask, leaning over to look. You only just stop yourself from putting an assuring hand on his arm. You yank your hand back, and realize he has a video ready to play on his phone.
"Rick Astley? Really?" You say, rolling your eyes with a smile as you turn away. "I regret teaching you internet culture."
"Almost had you."
"Keep dreaming!"
As the day progresses, however, you notice less and less humor in his attempts. In fact, on the last one, you see a tightness in his jaw that makes you realize he may actually be getting sincerely upset.
Time to end things. The next time he makes his move, you decide you'll fall for it. It'll have to be convincing, of course, but you're confident you can make enough of a show to-
You're mid thought when two powerful arms wrap around your middle, pulling you back with enough force to make you yelp. You feel him nuzzle in at the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. His grip flexes on you, makes you feel like one of those stress relief balls. You put your hands on his arms, rubbing gently as you give a breathless little laugh. "You okay?"
"Stupid game," he grumbles, nudging your ear with his nose.
"That's a shame, I was about to let you win. I missed you."
"You did?" He asks, voice still low, still a touch grouchy, but with an unmistakable note of earnest hope.
"Yes," you assure him, biting back another small laugh. You twist around in his grip when he allows for it, and slip your arms around his neck. "Did you miss me?"
He kisses you, swift and firm. You make a noise against him that only encourages him deeper, has him clutching the back of your neck in one hand while the other snakes around your waist, holding you close.
"Stupid question, too," he murmurs, words warm against your lips. You grin, kissing him again.
"I'll take that as a yes."
#clearly i'm in the mood for fussy petulant homie fluff LMAO#thank you for the ask!!!#homelander x you#homelander x reader#my writing#darling anon#ask and you shall receive#fluff
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mellow mood soft vibes
#art#fanart#digital art#comic#project sekai#proseka#toya aoyagi#akito shinonome#akitoya#vivid bad squad#just fluff#I'm in a mellow mood
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Arthur: Do you think, I'll ever be good enough?
Merlin: no idea
Arthur: wow. Thank you Merlin. You're such a great help. I'm so glad I confide in you!
Merlin: -_-
Arthur: ...
Merlin: look, you asked ME if you'll ever be good enough for your father or your kingdom or whatever. But the truth is I'm not the one who decides that, so how the fuck should I know? You could be evil for all I care. I never asked you to be good. I'd be here either way. So, you're welcome, dollophead.
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It’s a dream when I’m with you
#genshin impact#genshin impact fanart#haikaveh#i'm definitely in a fluff mood#so this STARTED as a doodle#and it was SUPPOSED to stay that way#and then this happened
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Moodboard Monday/Tidbit Tuesday 🎿
Since I already posted the mood boards for the other two Christmas fics, it's only fair to show you this one as well.
“Sounds like a plan.” Buck gave him a brilliant smile and it made something soft and gooey shift in Eddie’s stomach.
There was just something about standing here under the warm yellow light of the kitchen lamp, while it was still dark outside, every sound muted by a thick layer of snow.
It was almost like there was no one else in the entire world right now; only Eddie and Buck, staring at each other with half-formed smiles over the brims of their mugs, sipping on hot coffee and making plans for the day.
It felt as if the darkness could hide whatever happened, whatever that soft gooey feeling was; it was the secret of the warm light and the soft snow.
tags under the cut 💛
I was tagged by @hippolotamus @theotherbuckley @thewolvesof1998 @jamespearce9-1-1 @daffi-990 and @exhuastedpigeon thank you my dears 💛
✨totally no pressure tagging: @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns @ladydorian05 @disasterbuckdiaz @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @eowon @heartshapedvows @nmcggg @rainbow-nerdss @watchyourbuck @eddiebabygirldiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @evanbegins
#I hope you like this mood board cuz I spent a ridiculous amount of time getting rid of stockphoto watermarks and coloring lmao#also I'll probably link some videos and stuff at the end of this fic because you all gotta see the joy on some of those kids' faces#this is gonna be nothing but fluff and sweetness which I'm not known for but meh#hope it'll make up for the hospital fic lmaoo#okay I shut up now#buddie#911#wip#the ski fic
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[Headcanons] Cooking different dishes for Buggy
I've been mulling this idea over for a bit, so I hope you like it.
I'd be open to writing more of these headcanons if you have any food suggestions!
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
Country: Philippines
Lumpia - Buggy ate more than his fair share before you told him to slow down and save you some. He “gave you a hand” with frying the lumpia when the oil got a little too hot and started splattering.
Adobo - He liked the chicken, but overall, this wasn’t his favorite. He wasn’t a big fan of how tart it came out. Next time, you’ll try adding a little less vinegar and offer him more rice.
Filipino spaghetti - Buggy was skeptical about sweet spaghetti, but the hot dogs won him over. He looked as giddy as a kid while eating.
Country: Italy
Carbonara - Buggy hardly spoke while devouring the first plate. It was almost obscene how quickly he ate. You’re not even sure if he breathed until he asked for seconds.
Zuppa di pesce - Buggy couldn’t deny that the bowl of fresh seafood looked beautiful. It was very tasty but he did make a mess trying to extract the shellfish, splashing soup and accidentally flinging a clam across the room. You ended up taking over and shelled the food for him.
Arancini - You probably should have told him to wait before eating one, since he burned his mouth. He thought they were good, but he’d probably like them better if he waited for them to cool down.
#now i'm in the mood for my mom's chicken adobo#buggy x reader#buggy the clown x reader#buggy x you#buggy fluff#buggy op#opla buggy#one piece buggy#buggy the clown#buggy x gender neutral reader#gender neutral reader#x reader
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The Accident - Part VII
Atsumu x fem reader
Warnings: None
Words: ~ 2k
About: You talk to your mysterious friend and finally part from Atsumu.
Part I II -> Next part
"It's me. I'm okay- please don't worry. I'll be back soon."
"Where have you been? I was worried sick; I've tried calling you all night! You just texted me that everything's alright at 4am, but what's going on? Where are you?"
The voice comes out of the phone, quickly and fast as always, and you hold the phone a bit further away from your ear. "Please, I'm okay, I promise!" You can hear a few deep breaths on the other side, probably the attempt to calm down, and then the voice speaks again.
"Where are you right now? I'll come and pick you up, and then you can tell me everything."
"I'm at the—" you hesitate and then look at the name on the towel and read it out loud. "Do you know where that is?"
"Give me a second." You hear typing noises on the other side and then a little gasp. "That's an expensive hotel! One night costs 500 bucks, and the suits are literally thousands of dollars per night!"
"What?!" you're speechless for a few moments, realizing just how much money Atsumu might own—you are in a suite after all and you definitely did not pay for it.
"It will take some time to get there. I'll be there in an hour? I'll send you my location. Is there someone else with you?" Your thoughts drift to Atsumu, and you hum. "Yes. And I need to ask for a favor. Do you have a lawyer? Or do you know someone who maybe knows someone who can help me with a divorce for cheap?"
"A divorce? Who needs a—wait. Are you talking about yourself? Did you get married?" The voice is so shrill and loud that you almost flinch, and you find yourself regretting revealing that fact already. "I'll tell you the details later. Please don't worry about me." You try to sound as calm and soothing as you can, and after a few shocked gasps, you hear silence again on the other hand. "Hello? Are you still there?"
"Yes. I'll come and get you, and then you'll have to tell me everything."
You agree, and after a few more times of you repeating that you'll be fine and that you're being taken care of, you hang up. You take a deep breath, and without thinking too much about it, you quickly undress and go into the shower.
It's like heaven. The warm water feels soothing on your skin, and there are more products in the shower than you have ever used so far, but you find yourself drawn to the pretty bottles and decide to spoil yourself. It's not your water bill after all, and if Atsumu is paying for it, you can go all out and spend a few more minutes in the shower. The towels are fluffy and warm, thanks to the towel warmer, and you find yourself pressing your face against the soft fabric and inhaling the fresh and clean smell. The mirror is foggy by now, you probably showered at too hot a temperature, but the warm water just felt so good on your skin.
A soft knock on the door brings your attention back to reality, and you find yourself stepping closer to the pompous wooden door. "Y/n? I put the clothes in front of the door. Samu and I will wait on the balcony; you can get them anytime."
"Thanks!" you respond and hear footsteps leaving the room and a loud sound that's probably the window closing behind them. You wait a few more moments just to be sure that they are gone, and then you open the door a little bit to take the small pile of clothes.
It's a shirt with the hotel name, surprisingly tasteful due to the minimalistic logo of the expensive establishment, as well as a matching pair of sweatpants as well as a pair of socks. The fabric is soft, and you quickly put on the new clothes, only regretting that you have to wear your old panties, but there is not much you can do about it.
You take one last look at your phone, quickly checking your appearance one last time, wishing you'd have the time to wash your hair too, but you'll do that when you're back in your hotel room. You're just glad that you feel clean and warm now.
You step out of the room, feeling a little better and more alive already, and look around. You find Atsumu and Osamu standing on the balcony, both of them busy in a heated discussion, and you watch them for a few moments from your position after you noticed that they are not looking in your direction yet.
They are undeniably related. You can find similarities in the way they speak, in the way they use they hands when they talk and in the way they stand. They are both very attractive—something that you can freely admire now that they haven't seen you yet.
A notification on your phone informs you that your friend will reach you in a few minutes, and when you look up, you see that the twins have stopped talking and instead watch you through the window in silence. You pause momentarily and then lift your hand to wave at them. Atsumu's eyes take in your new clothes, checking you out from head to toe, and he gives you an approving thumbs up and a grin. Osamu rolls his eyes at Atsumu and simply pushes the door open.
"Hey. I'm glad the clothes fit." He comments, and you look down at yourself at his words. "Yeah, me too. Thanks. I appreciate it a lot; I feel so much better already."
Atsumu also steps into the room again, making sure to bump his shoulder against Osamu's when he passes him, ignoring the curse of the dark-haired male.
"Ya look better already. Feelin' alright again?" His voice is still tinted with the slightest bit of concern, and you smile at his words.
"Yes, thank you. I'm sorry for being so weird before. I was just a bit overwhelmed." Atsumu shakes his head and buries his hands in his pockets. "Don't sweat it. That's normal. Gettin' married like this is a pretty unusual thing after all."
"Right. Uhm. My friend will pick me up soon; I'll get downstairs and wait there. I'll give you my number, and then you can call me as soon as you find out more?" You look at him questioningly, and he is quick to fish for his phone in his back pocket. "Sounds good. I'll wait with ya till yer friend arrives." He watches while you type in your number and quickly save it. "Oh, you don't have to. I'll find the way on my own, don't worry." You shake your head, but he quickly wraps an arm around your shoulders and leads you to the door. "Nah, I insist. Where are your shoes?" You let him guide you, his arm around your shoulders feeling somewhat heavy but comforting while you look around for your high heels from last night. Atsumu guides you to the chair next to the door and ushers you to sit on it while he grabs the black shoes from the ground. "Do ya think they'll fit with the socks?" He asks with a frown, and you just shrug your shoulders as a response. "I hope so. I don't want to leave without socks; I don't even want to wear the shoes, to be honest."
His brows furrow while he looks at your feet. "Sorry, I wish we had some other shoes for ya." You quickly shake your head. "It's fine. It's just for the way downstairs. It's okay." He nods and kneels in front of you, and you subconsciously slide back on the chair as far as you can to create some distance between the two of you. "What are you doing?" He takes your left foot and places it on his thigh, and you feel every single muscle in your body tensing at the sudden contact. "Helpin' with yer shoes. Stay still for me."
You're at a loss for words while he slips the shoe on your foot; all you can do is stare at him while he secures it around your ankle. Surprisingly, it fits around your socked foot, and he nods before he lets go of your foot and reaches for the other. It doesn't take him long to get it on your foot too, and you shortly admire how skilled he is with his fingers, and then he places them both on the ground. "There ya go." He hums satisfied and gets on his feet, quickly offering you his hand to stand up. At this point, you just accept it and take his hand, allowing him to lead you to the door.
"Uhm. Bye, Osamu. See you. Maybe." You turn around and wave at the dark-haired twin who had made no attempt to come with you, and he nods acknowledgingly. "See ya."
You follow Atsumu through the door, who seems to be familiar with the hotel because he is quick to lead you to an outrageously big elevator. It's silent on the ride downstairs. You're standing each on different sides of the elevator, leaning against the walls, your bodies no longer touching. You don't really know what to say to him; you're too deep in thought right now, and he seems to feel somewhat similar.
"The exit is right there." He motions to the other end of the hall as soon as you get out of the elevator, and you hum while you follow him to the doors. You're lucky that there are barely people around because you certainly feel a bit underdressed with the clothes from the shop, but Atsumu doesn't even spare a glance to anyone you're passing. The receptionist greets you without batting an eye at your unusual attire; you're fairly certain that you both give a very unusual sight. Atsumu with his formal dress pants and half-opened dress shirt, and you with the hotel shirt and sweatpants and heels from last night. Surely not an everyday sight, but professionalism prevents her from looking longer at you.
It does not take long until you both stand in front of the hotel, just far enough from the entrance not to bother other guests but still close enough to see everyone who enters the building. You both stand there for a few moments in mutual silence, until you look up at him with a faint smile. "Thank you for showing me the way. I'll manage from here on. You can get back to Osamu; it's alright."
He frowns at your words and looks around.
"Can I really leave you here?" He looks a bit worried, and you nod with a tight smile. You really need some time to think about everything. "My friend will pick me up soon. You can go back to Osamu; it's fine, really!"
He hesitates for a second, probably not fully convinced that everything's fine, and the next thing you know is that his big arms surround you and pull you into a hug. You're stiff at first, unsure how you should react, but the comfort and familiarity that he is radiating by now makes it all too easy to melt into his touch and to hug him back. "Y/n. I meant it. I'll take care of ya, okay? Everything's gonna be alright. I'll make sure of that."
"Hmm." You hum against his shoulder, deeply inhaling his comfortable smell, and his grip tightens around you. "And if ya need anything—anything at all—call me. Anytime." You nod, hoping that he can feel your response and your gratitude because you don't trust your voice right now. You know you should probably pull back, but it feels too good to be in his arms, too good to be close to him, so you just stay, and he seems willing to let you.
"Y/n!" You hear someone yelling your name behind you, and you quickly pull yourself out of Atsumu's arms. You turn around and face a familiar face with big brown eyes which flicker from you to Atsumu with a surprised expression.
"Wait—Atsumu Miya? What are you doing here?"
Your jaw drops, and you turn your head back to Atsumu, who looks equally surprised to see your friend.
"You know each other?!"
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu fanfiction#atsumu#atsumu x reader#atsumu fluff#I feel like I'm stretching a few things here#but I just enjoyed writing the details rn somehow#I hope you enjoyed it too! <3#I feel like it's always easy to guess my mood from my writing#I was in no rush and relaxing today#because I'm a bit sick and spent the day in bed#I already started writing the next part#I might be able to post it tomorrow#I hope you're excited to meet y/n's friend! <3#it's definitely someone you know#and someone you maybe wouldn't have expected#but I wanted to show some appreciation for that character <3#I wanted to keep it a surprise until the next part
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Dean and Cas are best friends. (And they're in love) but Cas takes his role as a best friend very seriously.
When they watch movies together, Cas multitasks harder than anyone has ever multitasked before. He pays attention to the movie, but he also watches Dean to make sure he knows what parts the other likes the most. Afterwards, he listens to Dean talk about all the cool bits, and he doesn't miss a single thing. Because Cas is his best friend. And he cares.
He talks Dean into playing games because he's reluctant to admit it at first, but Cas knows he misses things like that. And really, it only takes a tiny bit of effort until Dean is openly geeking out. He lets Dean explain the rules, even though Cas studied them the night before, because the other likes it. And Cas likes listening.
They do all the things Dean didn't let himself do before. Things he didn't have time for. They go on pointless trips. They read books and talk about them for hours. They have sleepovers, although they sleep in the same room every night either way. And Cas is happy to do it all because he's Dean's best friend. And because he loves him.
#i'm in a very fluff writing mood can you tell#i'm also avoiding writing my actual fic#so yknow#it is what it is
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sweet nothing. kita shinsuke x reader.
inspired by "sweet nothing" by taylor swift.
they say the end is coming, everyone’s up to something
i find myself running home to your sweet nothing.
outside they’re push and shoving, you’re in the kitchen humming
all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing.
the rain is gathering on your shoulders as you step inside the house, shaking the water off your umbrella before sticking it into its holder by the front door. a sigh, heavy with exhaustion, leaves your lips as you slip off your shoes after a long day at work. “i’m home,” you say into the silence.
there’s no verbal reply, but you’re greeted into the house by a warm light and the smell of something delicious. “shin?” you say softly, your stomach growling at the smell wafting through the air. it’s coming from the kitchen, you deduce as you make your way over.
you find your husband there, back to you as he works at the stove.
a smile spreads across your face like butter.
there’s a song playing from his phone on the counter, you realize. he must not have heard you come in. it’s low, but you can hear the sound of humming from his closed mouth, probably spread into a smile as he cooks. though you’d usually have your arms wrapped around his waist by now, you lean against the wall and watch with a small smile. all the exhaustion and irritation you'd felt from work just a minute earlier fades away.
you never thought you’d ever want this, let alone have it. a small house on the farm, which your husband cares for while you’re at work. coming home to him after a long day. such a life seemed so simple, so mundane to you as a teenager, but now you realize that it’s everything you could ever ask for. shinsuke, you know, is all that you need. nothing else.
“oh—you’re home.” your husband turns on his heel and you chuckle at the fluffy pink apron he has on. at the sight of him opening his arms, you immediately rush into them and find yourself pressed flush against his familiar chest. “you made my favorite,” your voice mushes against his shirt.
“‘course. your favorite meal for my favorite girl.”
“mmm,” you hum. “i love you, shin.”
there’s a kiss pressed to the top of your head. “i love ya too, sweetheart.”
finally, you’re home.
#kita shinsuke fluff#kita shinsuke x reader#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu headcanons#kita fluff#kita x reader#haikyuu angst#kita shinsuke#haikyuu#kita#oh to come home to kita every day#i'm just in a kita + taylor swift mood today i guess#i wanted to to write to sweet nothing so badly and the only person that fit in my mind was the man shinsuke of course
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