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eatommo · 2 years

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Common Tongue [d.d]

A/N: Here she is! Just in time to get ready for kinktober! My first Din Djarin fic, it's drastically different than writing for Matt, but I do think I have a good understanding of his character. Star Wars is my home fandom, so I'm very excited to expand my writing to that universe.

Summary: Damage to the Crest causes you and your crew to seek refuge in a very crowded Inn. Left with few options, you make do.

CW: Multiple orgasms, mutual pining, playing with light, sensory depravation, p in v, creampie, fingering, mentions of sexual fantasys, smidge of breeding kink, one bed, helmet stays on, touch starved Din, glove kink, mask kink, implied squirting

You had never seen so many people on one planet before, down every street you turned there was another hoard of people going about their business. Typically, you would feel small, scared to get swiped off the street by some street gang looking to make a quick buck, or worried about getting lost. Luckily enough you had the shiniest beacon in the galaxy parting the crowd in front of you, the Crest had taken yet another beating and was in desperate need of repairs.

So here the three of you are, the little green child sitting in Mando’s satchel at his hip, cooing at you when you make eye contact. You’ve grown quite attached to the little thing over the last few months, just a few nights ago he had crashed in your bunk with you while Mando was out grabbing rations for the limping to Hosnien Prime for repairs.

For being a bounty hunter, he was surprisingly considerate of your needs and always made sure you were fed and slept, and even would occasionally make stops on planets just to show you something he had told you about. From meadows filled with luxurious flowers, or planets with seas raging under lifted platforms, to forests with trees taller than you thought possible.

Then there was this crowded metropolis, neon lights and holograms reflected off the helmet you kept a steady gaze on, half tempted to hold onto his cape to make sure you don’t lose him. A gruff-looking Trandoshan mumbling something incoherent to himself steps between you and your fierce guide. Dread fills your body but quickly dissipates when you hear your pilot’s modulated voice, “Step away from the girl.”

The crowd parts around you, and the lizard-faced man is speaking to you in a language you don’t speak probably a form of Dosh. You shake your head, eyes pleading to the visor of Mando’s helmet for help. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

You hear the unmistakable sound of beskar on beskar as the spear from his back is drawn, “She isn’t interested now beat it.”

Scaly hands draw up in defense, and you know he is swearing under his breath, but the way his body moves away you can picture the spear sitting at the base of his spine. As he steps aside, you watch the helmet tilt and look you up and down. “Are you okay? Did he touch you?”

You shake your head, “I’m okay.” You wipe your hands on your flight suit, “What did he want?”

“I don’t speak Dosh, but I could guess.” He offers his arm to you, “Stay closer, I don’t want to call too much attention to us or the kid.”

You take his arm, the cold touch of his vambrace soothed you, reminding you of the cold walls of your bunk on the crest, “Where are we headed?”

“An inn, it's just down the street here, I’ve stayed a few times but not recently.” His body is tense with caution, his hand remains on his blaster for the remainder of the few-minute walk.

You step into a modest looking in, and before you can speak to your surroundings he is handing you the kid to go and speak with the gorgeous green-skinned Twi’lek at the counter. His posture changes as he talks to her, and you wonder if they have a history together, knowing that he is constantly moving across the galaxy, and he doesn’t seem to have any exes or flames that you’ve heard about but you know there's bound to be someone in the endless systems he tells you about.

The thought bounces around in your head for a while, who was this mystery man? For all, you knew he was married, or a Wookie, or something even more improbable. He could be hundreds of years old, he’s traveled more than the last 3 generations of your family combined. After all, Grogu is 50 years old and he is hardly more than an infant, so you find it difficult to pass up the idea of a geriatric old man under all that armor.

You are broken from your ridiculous stupor, by a little bit of laughter in the lobby in front of you. The Twi’lek is fiddling with her lekku like those teen girls you used to watch in holodrama’s, you feel something bitter crawl up your spine and cause you to lick your teeth in disgust.

You continue to peer at them while running your finger over the child's ear, attempting to lull him into sleep. You straighten as Mando does, beginning to bounce the babe in your arms in second nature. “I trust that conversation went well.” Clocking the slightest tick of his helm to the side at your words.

“It’s not a large room, but it’s a roof over our head. Even managed to get some food delivered to the room.” His hands reach and take Grogu from your arms, “They even have warm water.” The child nuzzles into your chest, refusing the embrace of his dad who threatens him with a bath.

You smirk at the T-shaped portion of his visor, raising your eyebrows in a taunt as you pull the babe away from him playfully. “To that, we say dinner first. Right little man?” He grins with delight, hand coming up to your cheek before reaching for the metal piercing in your ear.

“There will be enough food ad’ika, maybe even some Spotchka for you.” He adds, with a sigh at the little one’s pout when you turn your head away from him. “You’re going to hurt her.”

He leads you to a room through a maze of hallways, you follow him closely, slowly growing deliriously tired. The door of the room slides open as you walk up, revealing a plain room with a simple bed and a desk against the wall. You set the child down, letting him explore the new space, if he wasn’t tired enough to sleep soon you may collapse.

You sit on the edge of the bed, ready to curl up like a loth cat and sleep for days. “You should probably freshen up, I’ll get the kid fed, and then we can switch if you’d like.” You remember when he was a man of few words, but you noticed that with each passing day he was getting more accustomed to having you around, time and time again he was surprising you.

You nod, beginning to unbutton your flight suit as you walk towards the fresher with your bag. When the fresher door doesn’t close directly behind you, you glance around searching for an access panel and you notice that it just tints a sheet of glass in front of you to a white smudged appearance. Interesting.

“It doesn’t look like there’s a door. Just some sort of privacy shield on the outside of the shower.” You set your bag on the sink, digging through it for a tunic to sleep in.

“The room is only meant for one person, she is bending the rules to accommodate us.” The modulator relays reality to you, and you feel as though your brain has to stitch the pieces together from fiction.

Sure enough, as you turn to heel and glance around, there is no door leading to a separate room anywhere, not even a storage area or a closet. Your eyebrows are lifted as you take in and process the situation more, to the single bed. Grogu is currently rifling through Mando’s bag in search of something he is seemingly desperate to have; a snack. “Huh.” You glance around more as if the punchline will land the moment your eyes fall on a door you missed. “Dibs on the bed.”

“You can have it Cyar’ika.” You both turn and look at the child who is trying to open a pouch of ration bars.

Your heart swells at the mysterious nickname, he uses it sparingly, and you can’t fight the fear it's something cursing you or belittling you. You haven’t the guts to ask. You’ve got plenty of things to call him, but his kindness fights the bubbling defensive tone in your throat.

“You’re too good to me.” You whisper under your breath with a laugh, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you undress and step into the warm water that falls from the ceiling like rain.

A knock on the door and you hear the clang of silverware as you run your fingers over your skin, checking for injuries that could need tending. “The food is here.”

Your foot slips on the metal floor beneath you, you barely catch yourself on the glass wall of the shower. You start to laugh in embarrassment but as you look up a metal visor is standing above the blur or security glass peering down at you, “Are you okay?”

You struggle to try to retain some of your dignity by covering your breasts and shooing him away, “Go! I’m fine!” The embarrassed laugh escapes your mouth, but you’re not as bothered by the situation as you should be.

Your cheeks start to hurt, with a smile not leaving your face as you finish up, enjoying the clean feel of your skin after nothing but desserts for almost two weeks while camping on Tattoine following a tip on a bounty.

You walk out into the room, wearing a tunic that falls just above your knee and some underwear, the chest band you wear getting on your nerves over the last few days.

The baby is curled into a blanket in a crib that must’ve been brought with the food, passed out. You look at Mando and nod in approval. He hits a button on his vambrace and the crib is enclosed similar to the kid's own that was destroyed.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you. You just surprised me.” The blush creeping up your neck makes you want to physically shake it off. “No spotc-”

He pulls a carafe of the glowing blue liquid swirling it before handing it to you, “The rest is yours, I did have a little bit.” He admits with a tilt of his head, you swiftly bring the bottle to your lips, eager for a sip of the sweet liquid. You don’t notice a drop from the bottle fall down your chin and drip onto your breasts. Staining the white tunic you wear blue.

He does.

You finish some blue milk pancakes and half of a Ronto wrap. Downing sips of Spotchka in between bites of food. “Did you eat something?” You ask, taking a few seconds before you finish the last of the pancakes.

“Yes, I ate most of the pancakes.”

Your ears prick at his voice, he seems exhausted you can’t even recall the last time he slept, knowing it’s been even longer than yourself. “Maybe we can share the bed, it's bigger than both of our bunks on the crest, I know you must be exhausted.” He’s nodding with you, and you smile to reassure him, “It’s gonna be just like a wake-over.”

“A what?” He asks, slipping his boots off before crawling up to sit against the headboard. You swirl the little bit of liquid at the bottom of the carafe.

“A wake-over? You know when a friend comes over and you’re up til odd hours talking about life and boys and sex..” You trail off, waiting for him to recognize what you're describing, he’s just shaking his head.

“I guess I’ve never been to one.”

Your mouth drops open in surprise, even with your dim childhood, your dad working in mines for the empire you had a few goofy childhood memories to hold onto. “Well, I’ll show you the ropes.” you finish the rest of the alcohol its warmth spreading over your skin like wildfire, before settling next to him.

……..

“Do you usually sleep in all that armor?” You tap the silver metal with your fingernail, amused, and the light ting that rings in your ears. The heat from the alcohol feels like it's spreading into the air of the room, and sticking in the words between the two of you.

“I’m not usually sharing a bed with a pretty girl.” His tone is lighter than you’re used to. “But no.”

“It can’t be comfortable, c’mon Mando.” You tease, the foot or two between you feeling closer by the second. “I don’t bite.” You can sense the clenching of his fists in the sheet, between you, unable to see it in the dark.

“I do.” He teases, the words are almost regretful or frustrated. “I can remove the armor, is it bothering you? I just have to leave the helm.”

“Isn’t it heavy?” you muse, lifting the plate slightly with your finger. Wishing you could reach into his mind and unburden him.

“It’s like a second skin, I do fall asleep in it sometimes.” The room is pitch black, but your nerves are on fire with each little shift of the sheet, trying to calculate his body position. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, very.” You shift your hips a little, inching closer to him. “When was the last time you were with a woman? Do you get to take the helmet off for anything?” Having already cleared the topic on the agenda for your little sleepover experience, you cross the threshold for your typical conversation.

“I haven’t shown anyone my face since I was a foundling, I haven’t been with a woman since my clan was disrupted on Navaro.” He is honest, and it feels strange to hear him speak so vulnerably, but you still press on.

“I know foundlings are very important but are you required to marry Mandalorians?”

“No, that doesn’t matter, and it’s almost better because our numbers are so small.” His voice is almost a whisper, the modulator barely catching the small sounds. “One might even say it’s encouraged.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat, and it's like a rubberband snaps some clarity into your brain. He’s inches from your face, this is the closest you’ve ever been to him apart from him having to squeeze past you while making repairs. Even then you felt a surge of energy in your chest, an unnameable force drawing you closer to him, it frightens you because you’re so unsure of his feelings.

“So do you have a special someone? Maybe this generous Twi’lek? She was very beautiful.” You tease, doing your best to hide the jealousy in your tone.

“Twi’leks get me in trouble,” his eyes never leave your face, watching the temperature reading on your body shift as his words poke at your brain, “Do you not speak Mando’a?”

He feels your laugh reverberate off his chest plate, “Of course, I don’t speak Mando’a. I hardly know Rodian and I grew up in a Rodian’s mechanic shop.” You chuckle slightly unsure of what he’s going to say next, “I am pretty good with droidspeak, not that's any help around you.”

“I’m sure it’ll come in handy sometime. You’ve become a very important part of our little…” he pauses for a second as if looking for the right word, “crew. I’m very thankful for the way you look after the child. He likes you.”

You smile softly, eyes growing heavier by the moment as the warmth of the alcohol settles in your cheeks. “You’ve been very kind to me Mando, for a Wookie.”

“You’ve got me. I’m the galaxy’s shortest Wookie, who also happens to be a Mandalorian quite the story. Maybe I should write a holodrama.” His dry humor surprises you, but your heart thumps in your chest as you ask a question that has been bouncing around your mind since you met him.

“What is the story? I don’t know how much you know or what you’re allowed to say. But who’s the man behind the mask?” You let your finger run over the center of his chest plate feeling the ridge rise and fall with each breath.

“I don’t remember much, I was a foundling like the child.” he takes a deep breath as if chasing your hand as it pulls away to adjust your pillow.

“I’m sorry.” Your heart swells in your chest, you’ve seen him interact with the child and the love he carries for his covert. It moves you to know that this skilled and deadly man lying in front of you is also the best possible thing to have happened to you and that he has brought with him the adorable little man you’ve grown to love. “Thank you, for everything you’ve done for me. I think you and the little guy are the best things to happen to me.”

You’ve never wanted to see his face so badly. It’s as if you’re feeling your relationship with him shift, feeling the need to be closer to him with every passing beat of your heart.

Goosebumps spread across your skin when his hand comes to rest on top of yours between your faces, “Cyar’ika, I don’t know where else the adventures with the little one will take us but I hope, after he’s reunited with his kind, I can still find more places in the galaxy to show you.”

Your chest constricts, trapping a light gasp you suppress. “What does Cyar’ika mean?” The air in the room is electric, and you can feel each nerve in your body brim with energy like you’re ready to combust.

The only word you can use to describe his tone is bashful, the faceless man smiling the word, “Sweetheart.”

You surge closer to him, aching to kiss him before catching yourself, his hand finding up to your face and tilting your forehead to his. The cool metal only makes you realize just how warm your skin is. “I can’t take it off, but this is a Mandalorian kiss.” He runs his thumb across your cheek soothingly, “I will kiss you mesh’la, that is more of a need than a promise.”

You nod, not able to help the rush of need overwhelming your thoughts. You wanted to see him, feel his skin under your hands for the first time, and you wanted the taste of blue-milk pancakes off his tongue. You gulp, “Am I allowed to touch you?” You lift a corner of his chest plate in question.

The bed moves and dips beneath you, and before your heart can stop you hear the clang of his armor hitting the ground. The helmet hisses out a groan as his body presses against yours, the flight suit and your tunic the only barrier between your wanting skin and his. Briefly considering turning on the light, just so you could get a glimpse of your companion, you hesitate for a moment before you let your fingers run over the endlessly broad expanse of his chest.

The first thing you clock is his warmth against your palm, then you feel it rise and fall with his breath, the clip of his heart echoing with your own. You let your hand shift, more confident now, creep up to the back of his neck letting your fingers run over the little bit of hair peeking from below his helmet, his body tensing for a brief moment before practically keening into your touch. “I want to feel your skin, my sweet girl.”

You nod, sitting up briefly to lift the tunic over your head the cool air of the room immediately sending a shiver up your spine. His gloved hand ghosts up your side, every nerve in your body being coaxed into submission by his finger. He caresses your cheek, and you’re stunned by its size and the tender swipes of his thumb over your lips before he’s pressing it into your mouth. Instinct kicks in and your teeth bite at the soft leather offering a small tug, you are rewarded with a muffled groan.

His hand slips out of the glove with ease, immediately falling to caress your breasts, pinching your nipple between his fingers. You gasp as the sharp jolt of pain turns to pleasure as he soothes the sensitive bud with his thumb. “So beautiful, so soft.”

Blush continues to heat your cheeks and you nervously laugh, “Can you see?” your voice is a little timid as you feel the shift of his gaze wrack over your body through the emotionless veil of his visor.

“Everything mesh’la,” The strain in his voice is a warning before he’s pulling your body flush against his, “beautiful.” He offers the translation this time and the adjective seeps into your skin with each caress of his hands over the rises and falls of your curves.

You try to count the fingers that are touching you, you feel for scales, tentacles, and even the hairy palms of a Wookie. All you discern is warmth and tenderness, nerves on fire making you unable to sit still.

You press your forehead against his helmet, attempting to urge him to move on. “Can I see your skin?” You let your hands toy with the zipper at the base of his throat, letting your fingers brush over sparse but coarse rough hair and warm skin. Does he have a beard?

“I don’t want the lights to wake the child.” His pram sits a few feet away, “Next time.”

You nod, pulling the zipper down lightly asking for permission, he moves away from you but pulls up to sit straight as he stands. His body towers over you, and you let your hand tug the zipper down a few inches, barely able to discern the swell of his pectoral muscles, and the delicious hollow above his collarbones. You run your fingers over the rigid muscle tone of his chest, lavishing in the soft skin, fingers brushing over a rougher patch, a scar, or a birthmark.

“It doesn’t hurt, it was from a bounty on Yavin-7.” You nod, gently tracing over the raised skin, wondering what other old wounds you could soothe and memorize, each little story behind the marks on his body. Pulling the zipper down to his hips, you see the dark contrast of his briefs against his skin, a moan catches in the back of your throat. You reach to push the fabric of the flight suit off his shoulders, but he beats you to it, stepping out the pant legs and pulling his arms free.

“Keep your hands on me, please.” He guides your hands over his abdomen, the dip of his navel, the waistband of his underwear. He pauses, asking for permission to continue, your heart slams in your chest, the need to satisfy him in any way possible the only thing on your mind. Your hand brushes over the length, pleasantly taken aback by his size. Your thumb rubs small light circles over the head of his cock while staring up towards his visor. You’re unable to make anything other than his silhouette out, but you feel his gaze steady and hot on your exposed bodies, watching your every move.

“See what you do to me Cyar’ika?” His hips push against your hand, his voice as breathless as you feel, “It’s all for you sweet girl, take what you want.”

Not wasting any precious time, you lean forward slightly, letting your tongue run across his length clocking the slight shutter to his breath through the modulator. A trail of wet, open-mouth kisses follows as you let a finger trace over the waistband half teasing and a half asking for him to remove them.

When you lift your hand a moment, you blink and they’re around his ankles then gone, discarded in the cloud of darkness that surrounds the two of you. His cock bobs, aching and dripping in front of you and you hurry, falling to your knees, to suck down the beads of precome he offers you.

“Maker,” husk sounds fall his helm and reverberate in your ears, “I’ve never done this before.” When you pull away from him slightly, he chokes out, “Had someone’s mouth on me like that. Never had time. Please.”

Not one to deny him, at least not this time, you let your tongue swirl over the sensitive head of his cock before taking it into your mouth. His abdomen tenses under your palms and his hips lift to push further into your mouth on instinct, you adjust accordingly swallowing around him eagerly. You begin to move your head in time with his short shallow thrusts, taking as much of him as you can bare without gagging at first, wanting him to be as comfortable as possible.

You hold his hips steady as you lower your mouth further, relaxing your throat and tears brimming as you try and take as much of him as possible, your jaw aching and throat constricting around him as you struggle to accommodate his girth. His fingers find purchase on your scalp, tangling in your hair and pulling lightly.

Letting him take control you relax further, flattening your tongue to add more pressure to the underside of his cock, milking more of that salty precome down your throat as his thrusts grow rougher spurred on by your eager moans.

He pulls away after a few moments, panting and staring at the obscene sight of your lips swollen and wet with spit that dribbles onto your chest. He pushes your body up onto the bed, fingers running through your drenched folds, you find yourself writhing against him aching for any stimulation he offers you.

He brushes a skilled thumb over your clit, listening intently for a hitch in your breath he may or may not have heard from your bunk too many times to count.

You throw an arm to cover your eyes, focusing on the way he rubs small focused circles over your clit, moving every so often to gather your slick from your core, before circling back up. Fighting the urge to beg and fuck yourself against his hand, you whine low and desperate.

“What is it, sweetheart?” His tone is almost taunting like he’s pulling you up to the precipice of climax on sheer luck alone. “Is there something you need?” He swipes over your entrance before sinking two digits to the hilt and immediately curling it up pushing against the spongy spot inside you that makes your vision white. He draws out your first orgasm of the night expertly, your legs shaking with the force of the sudden release.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your skin, making your hair cling to your neck and forehead and breath coming out in shaking gasps. “You’re more beautiful than ever mesh’la.” If there was excess blood in your body, it was in your cheeks, you weren’t sure of the look on his face but he was smug and proud of the mess you made for him in his voice.

He pulls his fingers from you, and his hand disappears and you hear a moan from above you, “So fucking good, sweet girl.” You struggle to comprehend his words when you’re pulled to the edge of the bed, legs falling apart in desperation.

His hands ghost over your breasts again, coaxing your body as if he was guiding it with string. If you didn’t know any better you’d think his helmet needed repairs, the gruff static of his breath washed over your body, wondering how much detail he could gather from the gaze of the helm. He circled your navel, bringing a single finger up to the tip of your chin and tilting it up.

A bright flash of light blinds you. You flinch away, trying to let your eyes adjust. The first thing you see is a tan human appearing hand spreading across your chest possessively. You can see the goose flesh littered across your skin, but when you try and look at the Mandalorian's helm the light obscures your vision.

You make out a familiarly broad chest, a tampered but muscular abdomen, and a light trail of dark hair partially obscured by his thick heavy cock bobbing angrily in time with his movements.

He sinks his fingers back into you. A small plea falls from your mouth, fists gathering the comforter at your sides. He’s gentler this time, he works at an agonizingly slow pace. Scissoring and twisting his fingers under the harsh scrutiny of his tactical light, lifting his free hand to rub delicately over your overstimulated clit.

It takes every ounce of self-control to not crawl away from him, the sensitivity almost unbearable, but his movements are seductive. Like the movements of his hands are rewarding you with each passing stroke of the pain.

Slowly you begin to grind against him, shifting your hips so you can almost bounce on his hand aiming for the spot you know he’s avoiding. You’re writhing under him before you know it, filthy pleas and whines are spoken outside of your consciousness. It’s not until the brink of your second orgasm that you realize the words are coming from you.

His pace is steady and unrelenting, the fire in your belly building with each passing second. He notices the roll of your hips becoming more dramatic and your jaw falling slack in a silent cry. “Make some noise for me Mesh’la. Cum for me before I fuck you as I’ve dreamed about.”

You try to focus your vision on the flex of his arm and the veins straining under his skin, but his cock is the real star of the show. Thick and glistening with a mixture of your saliva and his precome. You’re eager to feel him splitting you open, to know the way his cock feels when it sputters rope upon rope of cum inside of you.

The thought of being filled by him sends you over the edge, your orgasm careening through your body as you thrash against him again. A rush of your cum coats his fingers, and you watch closer this time as the helm tilts up and his fingers disappear and presumably sink into his mouth.

He moans, swearing under his breath and fisting his dick in his free hand. You struggle to hold your head up to watch, your neck and body exhausted.

Your chest rises and falls as he strokes himself under the harsh light of his helm, before letting the head of his cock trace your entrance. Gathering your wetness on the tip he brushes over your hypersensitive clit, a smug huff coming from the strong man above you.

The gaze of his helmet is heavy and delectable as you arch, displaying your body and the spoils of your release for him, silently begging for more.

Finally, he sinks into you in one slow and satisfying push, both of your moans mixing as you fight to sit up, wanting to see him seated inside you completely.

You throw an arm around his neck for support, the shift in angle making the impossible stretch even more delightful. He bends and presses the cold metal bite of his helm to your forehead, another kiss. You follow the tilt of the beskar down to the glorious view of your pussy flushed and glistening, covered in your cum being absolutely split open by his thick cock.

The two of you watch enamored as he slowly pulls out, sick squelches echoing in the quiet room as he continues to work you open. “Mesh’la,” he picks up the pace, the pleasure quickly overwhelming your brain. “Fuck this might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His praising words weaken your posture, feeling the adoration wash over your skin like you would stroke a loth cat, coaxing you to relax and fall against the mattress; mouldable clay under his breathless flattery. The long strokes feel like ecstasy each one making your fists furl tightly into the sheets.

He shifts your body slightly, lifting you so your ass is partially dangling off the bed, allowing him to pitch his hips up into you. You feel his hands settle on your lower belly, applying a soft pressure before he picks up his pace, fucking up against your g-spot with sniper-like precision.

Fuck.

The change of angle has your muscles limp, unable to do anything but revel in the pressure building in your gut. Even staring into the black abyss of the ceiling, you feel his stare fixated on the movement of your breasts in pace with his hips.

He swears under his breath, something in a language you don’t understand, but he brings a hand to rest on your throat, you keen, exposing yourself more.

A man of his capabilities wrapping a hand around your neck should bring panic and fear to your heart, but instead, a rush of liquid pours out of you, coating your thighs and his abdomen glistens with your release smearing between the two of you as he follows suit, pushing deep and spilling into your spent cunt with a modulated groan.

His shoulders fall slightly, visibly exhausted and tense with sensitivity. You let out a small giggle at the nervous tension growing between the two of you. The helmet quirks to the side defensively, and you quickly add “Thank you.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, “Thank you?” your cheeks warm as he caresses the line of your waist with a single finger, “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, I should be the one saying thank you.”

Catching his hand in yours, you offer a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve wanted it too, must’ve been the language barrier.”

He pulls his softening cock from you, letting the light fall to the sight of his cum sliding out of you before clicking off and your vision going with it. You give him a moment to move around you before pulling yourself to lean against the headboard.

The fresher light kicks on as din walks to the sink, finally getting a good glimpse of the crisp muscular lines of his body as the fluorescent lights highlight them artfully. “Can you bring me a-”

“Beat you to it.” He turns to hold a damp cloth in his hands. The muscles in his arms are prominent and lead your gaze to the rows of corded muscles that stretch through his pecks. The light dissipates as he crosses the threshold again.

Suppressing a frown you let him clean your thighs, and as he discards the towel you find the courage to speak your mind, “You’re pretty mesh’la yourself Mando.”

You take the shy wheeze from under the helmet to heart, enthralled to be so close to him that the words straight from his breath fall to your ears.

“Say it again.”

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ilovewriting06 · 1 month

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Mischief and Angel- Part 4

A/N- Sorry for the delay in this part but my daughter decided to get sick (first time mom and she's only four months old so I was beyond worried) and then she gave it to me. She's fully recovered and back to demanding to be fed every twenty minutes (I swear to God her stomach is an endless pit!) and she's finally down for the night and I finally finished this.

-------------------------------------------------------

It's been a week since Stiles and I learned that he was officially a billionaire. No one other than us knows just how much Stiles has but every bill that the Stilinski's have acquired over the years has been paid off and we didn't even have to dip into the savings account. Claudia's life insurance was more than we anticipated, not surprised, she was extremely smart when it came to money. All the bills were paid off with the insurance money and we even had $50 left over.

However, right now we are having a normal night as highschoolers, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my Go-!"

"Stiles, calm down!"

He looks at me with wide eyes, "Calm down! Y/N, Coach is putting me in the game! I fucking suck. I'm going to fall on my face, hell, maybe I'll actually score and it'll be for the other team!"

I suppress a smile at his antics knowing that he really, truly is an anxious mess, "Stiles, you'll be okay, I promise."

He blinks as he sits down on the bench, "I'm the benchwarmer, why is he letting me play!"

The game starts in ten minutes and it feels like Stiles' anxiety is getting worse. I stand behind him and drape my arms across his padded shoulders, "How about this, you play this game, and you win, I'll give you a nice surprise when we get home."

He perks up slightly and tips his head back to look at me, "Are you trying to bribe me with sex?"

I smirk, "It depends, is it working?"

-------------------------------------------------

I tense up from where I'm sitting in between Mom and Noah as Stiles catches the ball, "Come on Stiles! Run!"

He glances at me before he spins on his heel and takes off down the field. I hold my breath as he sprints down the field and weaves between the other team before throwing the ball into the net and gaining BHHS a point. My jaw drops in amazement at the way he's moving before it clicks, "Oh my God."

Noah and Mom finish their cheering before looking at me, both with questioning looks. I chuckle and brush my hand lightly across my neck where the mating bite is, "He said it made him feel stronger, I guess it gave him the ability to play lacrosse, and look really hot doing it."

Mom laughs while Noah scrunches his nose in distaste, "That's wonderful but can you not talk about Stiles like that in front of us?"

Mom snorts before leaning back to make eye contact with Noah, "Don't loop me into this, I find it sweet how much she fawns over him. Lord knows they've been harboring feelings for each other since they were preteens so it's nice for them to actually say it out loud instead of pining after one another."

I roll my eyes but I haven't taken them off of Stiles' form that is darting across the field and as soon as the game is called, with Beacon Hills High taking home the win, I'm darting off the bleachers and towards Stiles. He takes his helmet off and drops it on the ground to catch me. I launch my body at him before smiling and squealing, "I told you, you could do it!"

He chuckles and kisses my cheek before placing my feet back on the ground, "Yeah you did, now let me go so I can go shower."

I unlatch myself from him and smirk, "And once your done we'll grab some curly fries. You can pay." I send him a playful wink at the last part before darting over to Scott to give him an aggressive hug and a kiss on his cheek to congratulate him.

As Scott rambles on I feel a rush of anger and annoyance hit me full force. I look towards the locker room to see Stiles is stopped and talking to someone, and he is not happy. I ignore Scott and tune into Stiles' conversation with one of the lacrosse players from the other team. "Bet she's one hell of a lay isn't she? Seems like a real kinky chick."

I ignore the fact that he's right about the last part and focus on the fact that the anger I'm feeling turns into full on rage and I can feel his control slipping. I take a deep breath and try and calm him down by relaxing and comforting him through our bond. I smile as he regains control and he shrugs, "Not cool dude. We don't objectify women, especially women who are engaged. Especially not when you just said that to the face of their very pissed off fiancé."

The other dude at least has the decency to cringe and shrink back a little but Stiles continues, "Besides I don't kiss and tell and you'll never find out what she's like, personality or her preferences in bed. I don't usually speak for her because she's a strong independent woman, but she isn't here to defend herself so I'll speak for her this once," Stiles clears his throat before leveling the other player with a glare that could freeze over hell, "Angel would rather poke her eyes out with a toothpick and then dig out her intestines with a spork before she ever did anything with you. Not to mention I'll fucking chop your dick off and shove it down your throat if you so much as look at her again. Did I make my point clear or do you need some more imagery? I have a very detailed imagination I'm sure I could think of something else."

The dude backs up and nods frantically, "Look man, I was just messing around, I had no idea. I swear I won't say anything about her again, I won't even think about her."

Stiles grins and pats the other guy on the shoulder, "Good choice man. I wasn't kidding about that threat so remember that. Now I have to go shower so I can go get dinner with my wonderful fiancée and our wonderful family."

The other dude runs away and Stiles makes eye contact before winking and running towards the locker room. I sigh dreamily before looking at Scott who is glaring at the retreating figure that is still left unnamed.

Scott looks at me before frowning, "Fucking Brad."

I snort before bumping my shoulder against Scott's, "Alright Scotty boy, go get a shower. Once you and Stiles are done we're going to the diner to get some curly fries, Stiles is buying."

He smiles and grabs his gear before running towards the locker room where Stiles had disappeared to a few moments ago.

-------------------------------------------------

I shriek as cold water splashes my back before spinning around to see an amused Stiles. I roll my eyes and cross my arms, "Really?"

He shrugs, "You should have been more aware of your surroundings. What if I was some murderer and wanted you as my next victim."

I roll my eyes again before glaring, "You aren't a threat to me. My senses literally ignore you when it comes to shit like that. Unless you're distressed or overly excited or something, then my senses will react but it's more of a reflex to protect you."

He nods before he grabs my hand, "Cool, I'm hungry. Ready for some of Marie's infamous curly fries?"

I chuckle and nod before glancing at Noah and Mom, "I guess we'll meet you there. Stiles and I have to make a pitstop so you might get there first."

Stiles looks at me in confusion before I drag him across the parking lot to his jeep. When we climb into the jeep he looks at me, "Where are we going?"

I smirk, "The diner, just park in the deserted parking lot behind the building across the street."

He raises and eyebrow before nodding but I can see his suspicion, "Okay."

---------------------------------------------

As soon as the jeep is in park I take my seatbelt off and turn in my seat to look at Stiles. He's looking right back at me and raises an eyebrow as he asks, "So, why exactly are we in an abandoned parking lot?"

I smirk and lean across the center console so that Stiles and I are nose to nose, "For privacy."

He pulls back slightly with a confused frown, "Why do we need priva-, ohh, y-yeah okay, I get it. Privacy...p-privacy is good."

I smirk as his eyes flutter shut and his head falls back. I increase the pressure of my hand before slipping my hand into the front of his red track pants. He wiggles slightly before moaning as I pull his half hard cock out so that I have easier access.

As I increase the pressure I move my hand along his shaft adding a few wrist flicks every now and then. Stiles' eyes fight to open and stay open but when he makes eye contact his pupils are blown and he's trying to catch his breath, "W-what's this for?"

I smile and place a few kisses along his jawline before pulling back just long enough to answer, "I did tell you that if you won that I'd give you a surprise."

He nods trying to talk before choking on his words when I lick across his mating bite, "Y-ye-ah, but you said when we...when we, fuck, Jes-...shit!"

I bite into the mating bite causing Stiles to shudder and grab my hair in one of his hands before giving it a sharp tug. I moan against his neck before whining when he uses his free hand to press into my mating bite, "N-no...it's gotta be quick. Jus' you."

He nods before moaning again, "Kay 'm close."

I smile and place one more delicate kiss onto his neck before ducking down and swallowing his dick down in one go. I only give him three hard sucks before he thrusts his hips up and his mouth falls open in a silent moan as his cum is shooting down my throat.

After he's come down from his high I pull off with a lurid slurp. I sit back up as I wipe my hand across my chin to stop the little dribble of his cum that escaped.

I tuck him back into his pants and he whines from overstimulation before I cut him off in a kiss. He hums into the kiss before we separate and he asks, "I thought you said the surprise was for when we got home?"

I grin before nodding, "Yeah, but you did so good I had to give you something. That and watching you play tonight really turned me on and I wanted to taste you."

He groans, "Stop, I can't go another round yet. It felt like you were trying to suck my brain out through my dick there for a second."

I chuckle and place a quick kiss to his cheek before sitting back in my seat and putting the window down to help clear the stench of sex out of the jeep, "That just means I was doing my job right. Now head to the diner, and don't worry you still get a surprise when we get home."

He lets out a deep sigh as he shifts slightly and rearranges the front of his pants. I laugh and buckle my seatbelt as I ask, "I thought you couldn't go another round?"

He starts the jeep and throws me a glare, "That was before you made me promises of future sexy times!"

I swat his forearm as he pulls out of the parking lot, "Stop thinking about it before you go from half hard to full on raging boner."

He groans again, "I can't stop thinking about it if you keep talking about it!"

I purse my lips in thought before I bite back a smile, "Think about the dude that was trying to get into my pants earlier."

He throws the jeep in park at the diner before whipping his head to me and growling, "Don't even. I was five seconds away from cutting his balls off and shoving them so far up his ass they were coming out of his mouth."

I coo and cup his face, "Aw, Mischief that's so sweet, I could blow you again right now if we had time."

He leans into my touch and his eyes flutter shut before someone clears their throat.

I squeak at the same time that Stiles shrieks. We turn to look out of the passenger window...that was still down, to see our parents and Scott standing there awkwardly. Well, Scott looks like he's about to vomit but I have a feeling that's from the smell emitting from the jeep.

I leaned forward and gave Stiles a quick peck on the cheek before clearing my throat trying to escape the awkwardness, "Okay, who's hungry for some curly fries?!"

--------------------------------------------------

I steal a fry off of Stiles' plate as he carries on a conversation with Mom and Noah but I'm not quick enough. I pout as Stiles catches my wrist as the fry is five inches from my mouth, "No, you still have half of yours, leave mine alone."

I give him a pouty face and my best puppy eyes, "But yours taste so much better."

He looks at me unimpressed as he pries the fry from my fingers, "That's because you aren't supposed to eat them. Now eat your own fries or ask for some of Scott's."

I huff before I turn to Scott with a wolfish grin. His eyes widen before he grabs his plate and pulls it closer to him, "NO! Eat your own!"

I hold my hands up in surrender as I relax back into the booth, "Alright."

He sighs in relief but I feel Stiles snort beside me because he knows me well enough to know I haven't given up. I wait another minute and finish my last few fries until Scott has relaxed and is taking a drink before I lunge across the table and grab the plate with curly fries on it. I pull it towards me as Scott shrieks, "Y/N! NO!"

He grabs the plate and we wrestle over it as half the diner watches, including everyone that works there. Scott is trying to pry it from my fingers while I try and land a hard blow to his shin. He hisses as I land a solid kick but not enough for him to ease up on his grip, "Stop it! They're mine! Go assault your boyfriend!"

I hear an appalled gasp from beside us before suddenly there's a hand scooping the fries of the plate and moving them to their own plate. We track the hand to find a scowling Stiles who is glaring daggers at Scott, "That's it, no more fries for either of you!"

Scott and I drop the plate at the same time causing a ping to ring throughout the diner. We both look at Stiles scandalized, as I pout, "What?! Why?!"

Scott nods, "Yeah! They were mine to begin with! She's the one that acts like a pig half the time."

I squawk and reach across the table to smack the back of his head as Stiles pushed the plate of fries to Mom, "Here Melissa, you can have them if you want. It's the least I can do for you having to raise these two idiots."

Mom shakes her head with a smile and declines before intently watching us to see what happens.

"IDIOTS?!"

"EXCUSE ME?!"

He turns to both of us with a smirk and snaps his fingers, "Sit."

Scott and I both freeze and sit back down to face Stiles before he gives one nod of approval before pointedly looking at me, "You don't get them because you were terrorizing your brother. I told you to ask, not steal."

I shrink down and glare at the table with my arms crossed as Stiles points at Scott, "And you!"

I look up to see Scott look around slightly scared, "What did I do?!"

Stiles narrows his eyes before grabbing my left hand and slamming it down on the table, "I'm not her boyfriend! I'm her fiancé, get it right or starve."

Scott's mouth dropped open in disbelief as Mom and Noah both cough to hide their laughs, something I don't do. I let out a snicker and go to yell at Scott before a hand clamps over my mouth. I look at Stiles with wide eyes as he frowns, "Zip it before you lose milkshake privileges for a week."

I muffle against his hand in protest and he tsks, "Welp, two weeks."

I squeak and throw him my murder eyes which only causes him to raise an eyebrow, "Three weeks! Want to keep going or are you going to be nice."

I smirk and go to lick his hand but Stiles is quicker, "And I swear to God! If you lick my hand you lose passenger princess rights for a month and Scott gets the passenger seat."

I deflate but Stiles' lips twitch in a smile when he feels my amusement and happiness through the bond. He removes his hand and nods, "Now what do you two says?"

Scott and I both sigh before grumbling, "I'm sorry."

Stiles nods before pushing me the curly fries, "Here you can have the rest I'm full."

I squeeze his arm in a hug as Scott glares and goes to protest before I put the plate in between us, "We can share."

Scott smiles and nods, "Okay."

Stiles looks up to see everyone staring at us and he shrugs, "You do what you gotta do to keep the peace."

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf #dylan o’brien #scott mccall #dylan o’brien x reader #stiles x reader #stiles stilinski smut #stiles x reader smut #mischief and angel #dylan obrien smut #dylan o'brien x reader smut

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steddieasitgoes · 5 months

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@steddiemas Day 12 Prompt: Hallmark Movie Tropes

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Dual POV, Getting Trapped In A Small Town, Stobin Owns A B&B, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Inspired By Hallmark Christmas Movies, Meet Cute,

wc: 3188 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Eddie doesn’t know how luck works, but he’s pretty sure he’s used up his lifetime allotment.

It’s the only way he can explain the last 72 hours without launching himself into a multi-day meltdown. Honestly, who the fuck did he piss off? How did he go from landing in New York after the biggest and most successful Corroded Coffin world tour yet, only to be thrust into the nearest recording studio because somehow the entire third album they recorded on the road is, ironically, corroded and unable to be played?

Eddie and the rest of the guys holed up in that dimly lit studio for 48 hours recreating only half the magic they’d manage to create on the road. If he’s straight with himself, he’s not even sure the songs they churned out are even close to the original. It would be easy to go back and check if he had his trusty laptop and notebook full of lyrics and chords and the like. Unfortunately, they’re a victim of his bad luck too — having been left and lost on the bus ride from the airport to the secluded studio in upstate New York. after their private car no-showed.

Naively, Eddie had thought nothing could get any worse when they finally saw daylight and handed over the second draft of their third album. But then disaster struck again in the form of a blown engine and a fucking snowstorm to end all snowstorms that has him stranded, alone, and cold in middle of nowhere New York.

All he wants is to get home to Wayne and drink his sorrows away with the famous Munson spiked hot chocolate, but no. Life has other plans for him, apparently.

Fresh off the Australian leg of the tour where the sun was shining, Eddie’s not dressed or prepared for this winter weather. Already shivering in the dead van, he bundles himself up in his leather jacket and ratty blanket he hasn’t washed in god-knows how many years and gets to walking.

On one hand, the fact that the snow is still falling is a massive pain in the ass. Eddie’s boots are quickly filling up with liquid and he’s pretty sure his face is going to be frozen if he has to stay out here for more than five minutes. On the other hand, the bright white shines in the evening light, making it so that he’s not tricking through bumfuck New York in the pitch black.

Unfortunately, there’s no pay phone in sight (his cell went dead hours ago) and most of the small shops Eddie passes on his trudge through town have their lights shut off and doors locked. He’s about to cut his losses and accept the fact he’s going to be sleeping (and dying) in his van when he spots a sign for a Bed and Breakfast up ahead.

Eddie’s senses are flooded the minute he pushes the heavy, Victorian-style door open. The air wafts over him like a warm blanket, heating up his frozen fingers and nose in a way that would make him cry if he could even produce tears right now. There’s a cacophony of noise coming from a nearby room — a piano and singing, plus tons of laughter. And don’t even get him started on the smell. Pine and apple cinnamon, hints of vanilla, maybe even fresh gingerbread. His stomach growls on cue.

There’s a small desk stationed in the center of the foyer, a golden bell sits beside a foot-tall Christmas tree decorated to the nines. A small welcome plaque sits in front of it. Brushing off his soaking shoes on the festive welcome rug, Eddie makes his way to the desk and rings the bell.

A second or two later, a similarly aged man appears. A Santa hat sits askew on his head, cheeks flushed from the warmth inside, and a smile so bright he’s pretty sure it could be used as a homing beacon. He’s beautiful.

“Hi there,” the man greets, mossing his way over to the desk. “Welcome to Buckington B&B. How can I help you?”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

“Robs,” Steve whisper shouts, pushing his way past the swinging doors that separate the dining room from their private kitchen. He tries again, a little louder this time but still nothing. He can hear the piano in the other room, the hoard of guests singing along to whatever Christmas song is being plucked out by the five-year-old piano genius on vacation with her parents.

“Robin!” he shouts louder this time, pocking his head out into the backyard that’s currently two feet deep in powder, fresh snow. “Dammit, Robin. Where are you?”

“What’s all the yelling for?” she asks, appearing behind him.

“There’s a guy out front looking for a place to stay. Says his car broke down like a block or two away.”

“Okay, well, that sucks for him, majorly. But we’re already at capacity. You’re going to have to tell him to try Elaine’s or something.”

Steve knows Robin is right. They’re already at max capacity. Max-max capacity if he wants to get technical considering he gave up his room yesterday to the newlyweds who got stranded trying to get to the airport. It’s just well… Well, Steve’s always had a thing for unlucky people, especially when they’ve got a pretty face and a warm smile.

“See, the thing is,” he pauses, scratching nervously at his chin while trying to avoid Robin’s steadfast gaze. “I sort of already told him he could stay.”

“Steve!” Robin scolds, rolling her eyes. “We have no room!”

“I mean, yeah, you’re right. We don’t technically have any visitor rooms left. But, we still have your room.”

“Absolutely not,” she growls, crossing her arms. “No. Not gonna happen. I can’t believe you’re even asking me to give up my personal bed to a stranger! Nope.”

“Oh, come on, Robs!” Steve groans, throwing his hands on her shoulders to stop her vicious shaking. “Remember two summers ago when you made me give up my room for those best friends who fought the entire trip? You know the one you ended up hooking up with? I didn’t complain once!”

“That was different.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head. Definitely not different, but he’s not going to get what he wants if he argues with Robin. It’s not how their friendship turned business partnership works. “You owe me. I never cashed it on it, but now I am.”

Robin huffs and Steve knows she’s mentally stomping her foot like a child. If they weren’t overflowing with paying guests, he knows he’d be getting a long-winded lecture right now.

“Fine.”

He doesn’t wait to hear the list of conditions he knows Robin is going to have. She can’t even call him rude when he rushes out. After all, a freezing cold guest is waiting to be taken care of in the lobby.

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

It’s been a long time since Eddie’s been in a quirky room like the one he’s ushered into by Steve’s warm touch. Gone are the days of sleeping in motels on the side of the road on good nights, and shoved into the back of the van between equipment on bad days. Corroded’s management loves to book them the swankiest of hotels. Always looking for ways to send the label a massive bill — one that always ends up coming out of their own paychecks.

If it was up to Eddie, they’d be staying in places like this instead of the godawful monochromatic luxury prisons they get shoved into night after night. As an artist, he doesn’t get a say though. At least, that’s what he’s been told.

Glancing around, he takes in the bright-colored wallpaper. The dresser is cluttered with frames and other tchotchkes. A burnt orange rug takes up most of the floor and there’s an overflowing box of records perched in the corner by a small record player.

Eddie knows this isn’t a normal guest room — Steve had told him as much while guiding him up the stairs — and yet, he feels more at home in this quirky room than he has in months. Probably since the last time he visited Wayne.

Shit. He needs to call Wayne.

That unlucky string rears its head again as Eddie is met with dead silence when he picks up the pale blue landline. Of fucking course the phone lines would be down. The snow is dropping in sheets now. The telephone poles didn’t stand a chance.

At least he was lucky enough to land a place to sleep tonight, now all he needs is a —

“Hi, sorry to bother,” Steve says, pocking his head in. “I noticed you didn’t have any luggage with you when you checked in. It’s probably best to get out of those wet clothes. Hopefully, these will do.”

Eddie watches as Steve enters the room with a stack of clothes in hand. A pair of jeans and sweatpants sits at the bottom. Various shirts and sweaters stacked neatly on top. He’s pretty sure he spots a fluffy pair of socks at the top of the pile too. He might cry at the generous hospitality. After all, it’s a bed and breakfast not a fucking clothing store which means the clothes folded neatly must belong to Steve.

��You can leave the wet clothes outside the door when you’re done and me or Robin will come get them and throw them in the wash for you,” Steve says, setting the stack of clothes down. Then he’s moving again, hand reaching behind him before pulling out a laminated piece of paper from his back pocket. “I also brought you our itinerary for the evening. There are a few activities and tonight’s dinner menu. No pressure to join us. We also deliver food to rooms.”

“Damn,” Eddie whistles, glancing at the itinerary. “You guys really know how to take care of people around here, don’t you?”

“We try our best,” Steve smiles. “If you need anything else, just give us a shout.”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

Steve doesn’t expect to see Eddie for the rest of the night. Especially not after a freakout from one of the teenagers vacationing tips him off on just who he’s agreed to let stay in Robin’s bedroom. He knew Eddie looked familiar. Wait until he tells Dustin about this — the shithead is going to be so mad he passed up a Christmas at Buckington B&B with Eddie Munson for some cruise.

Color him pleasantly surprised when he walks into the main room a few hours later to find Eddie behind the keys of the baby grand piano. The excited teenager from earlier sits to his left, a few of the ladies circle the edge of the piano as they wait for their cue to start singing “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.”

He’s caught in a trance, watching Eddie in the soft maroon sweater he’s borrowed from Steve professionally stroke the keys of the piano. It only gets worse when he starts singing himself. Rich baritone cutting through the breathy singing of the ladies, carrying the tune in a way Steve’s never heard before.

Usually, Steve hates Christmas carols, but maybe he’s just never heard them sung right before.

He’s the first to break into applause when the song ends. Hands coming together before he even registers he’s the one responsible for the thundering noise. Thankfully, he’s quickly joined by the rest of the guests of the B&B. It makes the embarrassment wane inside for a moment until his eyes scan the room and discover that Eddie’s only looking at him.

“Well, then,” Robin says, sauntering over to him from the kitchen. “Now I see why you couldn’t turn him away.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says and deliberately looks anywhere but in the direction of Eddie and the grand baby piano. Not that it really matters. He can feel Eddie’s warm gaze on him without even looking.

Robin hums, shaking her head. “Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t!”

“Just remember that he’s staying in my bed and payback is one of the only dishes I know how to serve,” she says, winking before she’s whisked away by one of the young children looking for a game to play.

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

The quiet of the early morning should be a welcome reprieve from the cacophony of sound from last night. He had started as a gentle observer in the celebration, but when the young child holding court at the piano was sent to bed, well, Eddie stepped up as the piano player of the evening. It wasn’t long before he had everyone putting a rock and roll twist on those stuffy Christmas carols.

Maybe Corroded Coffin’s fourth album should be a holiday one.

Drinks were poured and ready before he even had to ask and his stomach was treated to a delicious spread of meats and cheese. The gooiest brownies he’s ever experienced and a perfect Gingerbread recipe that would have put his Nana to shame.

It was nice. Existing with others. Reminding himself that life doesn’t always have to be moving at 100 miles an hour like it does when he’s on tour. Sure, he still wished he was home with Wayne, but a call to his uncle when the phone lines came back washed away any of the guilt he felt.

Now, though, alone in his room as the sun begins to rise over the mountains of snow outside. Well, now, he feels that same sense of restlessness he always feels when he’s in one place for too long.

Sliding into a pair of slippers Steve dropped off last night, Eddie carefully pulls open the door and sticks his head out into the hallway. It’s quiet aside from a few muffled snores coming from down the hall. With the coast clear, Eddie tip-toes his way down the hall and to the stairs.

He didn’t get a formal tour when he arrived, but he’s pretty sure Steve mentioned something about a stocked coffee bar on the first floor that was available to them whenever they needed. The first two doors he opens reveal a closet and a bathroom and a wrong turn has him standing amongst cluttered laundry. Not ready to give up, Eddie pushes his way through a swinging door and finds himself face-to-face with Steve himself.

“Oh, hi,” Steve says, voice thick with sleep though his appearance makes it look like he’s been up for hours.

He’s in a yellow sweater and jeans. Hair tousled in a way that definitely doesn’t look like he just rolled out of bed like that. His eyes are bright and shining, just like they were last night. Eddie really has to squint to notice the subtle bags under Steve’s eyes.

“Shit, sorry. M’not supposed to be here, am I?” Eddie asks as he looks around the room. It’s a standard kitchen, except for the two pale yellow fridges that take up an entire wall. A window hangs over the sink just like it does at his uncle’s place and he’s pretty sure they have the same green stove too.

“You’re not,” Steve smiles. “But it’s okay. Robin’s not up yet and I don’t mind the company. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Orange juice? Hot chocolate?”

“Are you sure you’re not running a coffee bar here instead of a bed and breakfast?” Eddie teases, leaning against the kitchen island. “Hot chocolate sounds delightful, thanks.”

“We strive too please,” Steve says before fumbling through the cabinets for a mug. “So, what has you awake at this hour? Was the room not to your standard?”

“The room is great! I’m honestly just not used to the quiet,” Eddie says, eyes trained on Steve as he flits around the kitchen preparing their drinks. It’s weird to find someone so attractive when they’re doing nothing out of the ordinary. But he can’t help it. Steve is beautiful in a way Eddie can’t really comprehend. “What about you? Are you always an early riser?”

“Robin and I usually take turns on the morning shit. Technically it’s her turn, but I told her I’d handle it,” he pauses, shaking his head as he looks out the kitchen window to the snow-covered backyard. “Definitely regretting it now. There’s no way m’shoveling all that snow today.”

Pushing up from the island, Eddie crosses the small distance and joins Steve at the window. Steve isn’t exaggerating in the slightest. The entire yard is covered in at least three feet of snow. Some parts even deeper judging by the absence of a fence he knows should be there.

“Guess m’staying another night.”

Steve hums, sidestepping away from Eddie to finish making the hot chocolate. When he turns back around, his cheeks are the slightest bit pink and Eddie can’t help but wonder if it was the steam of the hot chocolates doing or his own words.

“One cup of hot chocolate,” Steve says, handing him a pipping hot mug.

It’s decent. Not legendary like last night's brownies, but then again hot chocolate never is. Nothing ever stands up to the famous Munson spiked hot chocolate. There’s too much chocolate and not enough milk. And it’s severely lacking in the alcohol department. Though, he supposes, five am is a bit too early for liquor.

It would be easy to ask Steve for a shot of whisky to add, he knows they’ve got a stocked bar around here somewhere judging by last night's festivities. But he’s not about to impose more. Nor does he want to risk giving away his and Wayne’s hot chocolate secrets. At least, not to a guy he’s known for less than 24 hours. No matter how cute he is.

“So, Eddie, where were you headed before you got trapped here?”

“Well, I don’t know that I’d call it trapped,” Eddie says, hiding his smile behind the mug. “I actually think this is the nicest place I’ve stayed in a long time.”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

Steve’s never been one to believe in luck.

He got dealt a shitty card right out of the gate, born to parents who could provide for him financially but never emotionally. Throw in falling into the wrong crowd and struggling through school, and well, Steve’s the poster child for privileged unluckiness.

Some might say luck found him in the form of Robin, but he thinks that a copout. Luck had nothing to do with bringing them together, nor did it have anything to do with the success they’ve found. That was all them. Blood, sweat, and tears.

Wishing on stars and believing in luck only happened in fairytales.

At least, that’s what he’s always told himself.

But now, standing in the kitchen listening to Eddie ramble on and on and on about how great the bed and breakfast is without ever breaking eye contact with him.

Well, maybe luck has finally found its way to him in the form of one stranded rockstar.

#steddiemas #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie fan fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #rockstar eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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hyperfixated-gvf · 1 year

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Blame It on the Mistletoe

On the first day of Tropemas, hyperfixated-gvf gave to me:

A jealousy fic with mutual pining and friends to lovers too!

Christmas Song Pairing: “Mistletoe" by Justin Bieber

Trope: Jealousy

~~~

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Reader

Warnings: Language, smut, semi-public sex, possessive/jealous themes

Words: 5.2k

Author's Note: Let's start with a big one and end with a big one - here's a toast to the start of another 12 Days of Tropemas! 🥂 You can find the Tropemas 2022 masterlist underneath the 'Series' section at the bottom of my pinned Masterlist!

18+ / MINORS DNI

~~~

There were three facts about the night that contributed to bringing you to where you were currently. And where you were just happened to be lip-locked with Danny Wagner in the middle of a corporate party.

Fact #1: You came here as Josh’s plus one.

Fact #2: You were tired of waiting for Josh to give you an indication (literally anything would have sufficed) that he saw you as more than a friend.

Fact #3: Despite it being a major health risk around the talent that had already proven being sick wasn’t going to help anybody, there were plenty of mistletoe sprigs planted in the most inconvenient of places.

Like here, at the end of the bar where you picked up your poison of choice. You were already a couple of Amaretto sours deep, and Josh had gone off to schmooze with an older gentleman that you vaguely recognized as one of the senior sound tech guys, which left you a little lonely, a little bitter, and wanting another drink. So, in the spirit of the open bar, you got one.

And then, long story short, Danny had bumped into you, winked, made a crude joke before pointing up at the decoration in bad taste, and then kissed you.

And you kissed him back, because why the hell wouldn’t you?

It was over all too soon, and he pulled back chuckling, a drunken flush settled high on his cheeks. “Now don’t go falling in love with me,” he warned jokingly, already starting to drift away, back to where he had been listening to an old gramophone with Jake. “I’ve been told I have magic lips!”

Already in a better mood than before, you laughed and shook your head. “Sure you do,” you called back to him, taking a rather long sip from your newly poured drink.

It wasn’t a minute later that Josh wandered up to you, standing closer than he normally did. “Having fun?” he asked lightly, only maintaining eye contact for a second before he looked down to where he was swirling his liquor against the sides of his glass.

You dipped your head with a raise of your brows. “Always,” you said dryly. “Although the bar has been a considerable player in that evaluation.”

Josh mumbled something that you were a little slow to catch; you were settling into a nice buzz, and it was loosening the lock on the box that kept your feelings of insecurity and resentment that developed as a result of you somehow tricking yourself into thinking that Josh would ever see you as more than what you were now.

Just friends.

“You what?” you asked, bringing your ear closer. Josh took a deep breath through his nose, and then looked away.

“Nothing.”

You were glad that perhaps your allusion to not having a good time when he wouldn’t pay you any attention caused him to stick close for a while. You weren’t familiar with the people here, and having Josh to talk to and laugh with, once he loosened up a little bit (which, considering you hadn’t even yelled at him, you weren’t sure why he seemed so uptight in the first place) was a blessing.

But even fun events like these were still work functions, and Josh was pulled into another dull conversation with one of the few journalists that had been invited eventually, leaving your eyes to wander and attention to stray towards something – anything – that would be more fun than listening to Josh tell the same story you’d heard six times over the course of the night.

And, like a beacon of light, you just so happened to catch sight of Sam through the doorway where a live band was playing soft, jazzy Christmas tunes.

Sam was always a fun time.

You drifted away from Josh and followed the call of music. “You look a little lonely,” you teased once you got close enough, and Sam tore his eyes away from the band to smile at you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, moving over so that you could both watch from the center. “Yeah, Mom and Dad just left with Ronnie, but I just really like this song. I wanted to hear it before getting back to work.”

You scoffed at his loose terminology, but listened closely and finally picked out the melancholy melody of I’ll Be Home For Christmas. “It’s a good song,” you agreed.

Watching the musicians play, you caught the eye of a trombone player, and she smirked from behind her instrument before nodding her head upwards. At first, you thought that it was a part of the showmanship, but then she did it again, even more pronounced, and you looked up.

Mistletoe.

You were already one down on the list, what was the harm in making it two?

“Hey, Sammy, look,” you said, drawing his attention to the same spot. “Give me a little sugar, Sugar.”

He chuckled and hesitated just a bit, brow furrowing, but just as the song ended and you were about to pull away and laugh the rejection off, softly gave you a platonic peck, drawing a small cheer from the band, who cried out that you were couple #4 of the night that had been caught under the lover’s décor.

Sam tilted his head when you looked back at him from laughing along with the band. “Where’s Josh?”

“Here! Sorry, got caught up in a little business. Y/N is just…on a streak tonight, aren’t you?” Josh chuckled tightly, catching you by the hand as he approached from behind. “I can’t let you out of my sight for even one minute, can I?”

You deadpanned. “Doesn’t seem to be a problem for you,” you said petulantly as Josh dragged you away, back towards the party again. “You said this would be a party, but it’s not. This is a black tie event, Josh,” you lamented, trying not to complain but unable to hold it back. “There’s a big difference.”

Josh didn’t look at you. “I’m sorry,” he apologized softly. “I know that I didn’t give you a whole lot of details and that it was last minute, but Y/N—” He finally turned on his heel and came face to face with you, eyes softening at your stumble to stop before you collided. “I really do appreciate you coming here with me.”

Were you a little less focused on his features up close, you might have noticed the small amount of emphasis on the last two words that Josh slipped in. But you didn’t. His apology did make you smile a bit, though. “I know,” you sighed, flipping your hair out of your face. “What would you do without me?”

“Waste away in sorrow and boredom,” he assured you, patting you on the arm as you looped it through his. “And, uh, just so you know, you don’t have to kiss everyone you end up under the mistletoe with,” he said quietly, so as not to draw attention amongst the murmurs of conversation.

You shrugged against him. “I know. But it was fun. And I was the one who initiated that one,” you laughed. “It would have been in bad taste to reject him after I told him to.”

Josh didn’t laugh with you. Instead, he steered you around the room for a leisurely stroll - a tour of the paintings that hung for the event.

But, once again, your companionship wasn’t fated to last, and you’d only made half a loop around the perimeter, pointing out funny details in the art fastened to the wall all the while, when a woman locked her eyes on you both and started making a beeline towards you.

“Incoming,” you sighed, ready to let go of Josh’s arm.

But he didn’t let it go; he tightened his hold, instead. “That’s just one of the studio execs. She’s probably just going to go over a couple of details for next week.”

Josh was wrong, though, and the studio exec grimaced at you apologetically before admitting that Josh had missed a piece of paperwork and needed to come cross his t’s and dot his i’s.

“It’s fine,” you said, waving her silent apology off. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I saw Jake and Lori mingling over there – I’ll just go join them.” Without much of a second thought about it, the exec stepped away and you again attempted to pull away from Josh, but he caught your arm.

“Wait.”

You glanced back at him, tilting your head in concern when you saw his jumpy, restless mannerisms. “Are you okay?”

He licked his lips and then let them pop open in a way that had you absolutely entranced. “Can you just…stay here? This won’t take long.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m just gonna go say hi to Jake and Mrs. Wagner, Josh. I’m not rushing out to my pumpkin now that it’s midnight or anything,” you teased.

“Please, Y/N?” Two minutes, and then I’ll be all yours, I promise. Just stay here for me,” he implored, looking serious as all was.

He wasn’t able to wait for an answer, not with the exec looking back and calling his name when she realized he wasn’t following. His gaze lingered, but he left with her, and you were stuck wondering what his sudden weird behavior was all about.

In the end, you did wait for two minutes. Five, actually, and you knew because you timed it. But it was weird being a loner lingering around some precious art with no one to laugh at it with, so eventually you disregarded Josh’s strange demeanor and sidled up next to Jake and Lori, who were just finishing up laughing about one thing or another.

“Hey guys, mind if I join your ranks?” you asked softly, knowing that the answer would be yes.

Lori’s eyes lit up, and she donned a slightly mischievous smile on her normally sweet-as-pie face that was more fitting of her son than it was on her. “Only,” she said dramatically, a sure sign that Big Dan was out there somewhere completely sober so that his drunk wife would have a safe ride home, “if you give Jakey a little kiss.”

The coincidence of it all. Out of everyone in the band, you’d gotten propositioned (indirectly) by each member except the one you wanted to. “Oh, is that right?” you teased, crooking a brow up at Jake, who rolled his eyes with a small smirk. “Is this a new band initiation thing?”

“No. Lori has been trying to get me to kiss every single person in this room because of the damn mistletoe,” he teased, smiling softly at Lori’s resounding giggle. It was nice to see her having fun.

You looked up, and sure enough, there was a small sprig hanging from a strand on the chandelier. “Well, I’ve managed to get caught under one with both of your little brothers,” you sighed, playing into Lori’s game. “Want to cross off another box on my BINGO sheet?”

“Do it, do it, do it,” Lori chanted gleefully, and Jake sighed overdramatically.

He held out his hand to you, amusement shining in his eyes. He reminded you so much of Josh in these moments, and it sent a rush of affection through you. “Well, if it has to be someone, I suppose you’re probably my best option.”

“Oh gee,” you snarked facetiously, “you really know how to flatter a girl.”

But you went anyway, meeting him in a kiss that was half-smile as Lori did a small happy dance, clapping softly and grinning so wide her eyes scrunched up and disappeared. “Christmas joy!” she cheered, and you broke away giggling.

It really was more reminiscent of the joy you felt when you were around the boys, and you were a little bummed that Josh hadn’t really been around most of the evening, but you had enough good company otherwise that you were beginning not to care.

But not caring was apprently not in the cards for you, since every time you began to settle into a group, Josh would come around and alienate you again. And that's exactly what happened when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“I thought I asked you to wait over there,” Josh whispered into your ear so that the others couldn’t hear him. His fingers were digging slightly into your skin, and it made your stomach flip-flop.

You shrugged. “Got bored.”

He didn’t answer you; instead, he sidled up and wrapped an arm around your waist, something he always did but, in a way that felt different this time. Almost…possessive if you didn’t know any better. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had quite the night, so I’m gonna get the car,” he said with a smile towards his brother and Lori. “Wasn’t expecting so much work this evening. You good to round the other two up?” That was directed purely at Jake.

He’d been the DD for the evening, and since they all had their stuff at Josh’s house, had decided to have an old-fashioned sleepover, putting more finishing touches on the album they were planning on going to the studio for the next week.

He got the confirmation he was looking for and you barely had time to say goodbye before Josh physically pulled you away from them, now grasping your hand as if you’d try to run. “You know, between the freezing cold and the warm party,” you said in confusion, trying to tug your coat on, “I’d much rather be in there. Do you need me to get the car with you?”

It came off slightly pissy, you were aware. But Josh's behavior was confusing and you were sobering up so nothing was as lighthearted anymore. You were out in the parking lot already, though, where you noticed that it had started snowing at some point during the party, and there was a light dusting covering all the cars now. Josh made it to his car without saying anything, but as soon as you hit him lightly to get him to stop ignoring you, he turned around as the car beeped unlocked.

Josh had never been angry with you. You’d gotten in teasing little spats and had run annoyed with each other, but never bona fide angry. And that’s what Josh looked at the moment.

“I had to get out of there,” he said, an edge in his voice. “Sorry, let me rephrase: I had to get you out of there.”

His bitterness wasn’t lost on you, and standing out in the cold with Josh angry at you wasn't how you’d envisioned the night ending. “Why? What was I doing? And why are you angry all of the sudden?”

He looked at you, disbelief written out comically plain on his face. “All of the sudden?” he said patronizingly, stepping closer to you. “Y/N, I’ve been…god, you don’t even see it, do you?”

“See what?” His vagueness was wearing on you, and you began to shiver.

“Ever since you decided you wanted to kiss all my fucking brothers right in front of me when I invited you,” he emphasized, growing agitated which, at the proximity you were standing together, made your heart rate pick up a little. “You don’t think that I might be a little bit angry?”

You blinked at him owlishly, eyes wide as you finally realized what he was saying. “You’re…jealous?”

He closed his eyes and ruffled a hand through his hair, muttering, “Hopeless,” before grabbing your waist abruptly and pressing you to his snowy car door. “So incredibly jealous. But I don’t want to have to be jealous anymore, Y/N, and I-- just...stop me if you don't want this, okay?”

It was all he got out before he slammed his lips to yours. He didn’t give you time to think, only react as he pushed forward on all accounts and began to overwhelm your senses.

It was out of character for Josh, this reckless carelessness. In all your daydreams, the first time he kissed you was like him: sweet, gentle, soft, and joyful. Not this erratic culmination of a frustrating night, sloppy and cold and rigid.

But you weren’t pushing him away. The 'erratic culmination of a frustrating night' applied to the both of you and, well, this was certainly a sign that he saw you as more than a friend. And either way - soft and sweet or rough and passionate - you weren’t complaining about the kiss, not when it came to Josh. You were sure it showed in how enthusiastically you kissed him back, pressing your hand to the back of his neck and clutching his coat with your other one, or hopes so, at least.

To finally get what you wanted after waiting for so long – it was quickly becoming a drug that you didn’t want to stop, but Josh eventually pulled away after a minute.

“Get in the car,” he murmured softly, the demand clear but with room for you to say no.

There was absolutely no hesitation in your actions, though, as you threw the door open and climbed in, immediately crowded against the seat by Josh, who’d slammed the door as soon as his feet cleared it. The way he grasped your thighs and manhandled them apart so that he could slot himself between them had your legs trembling, and you were certain that he felt it.

The action also, however, made your dress ruch up around your hips, exposing your panties and making you intimately aware of the dull pulse that had started when Josh pushed you against the car grow into a full flutter of tightening muscles between your legs.

“Look at you now,” he whispered, hands smoothing up your thighs until his thumbs pressed into the crease where your underwear stopped. “All spread out for…who, Y/N?”

The question caught you off-guard and made you reel back, immediately pushing back at his attempt to get you to submit. “Who the fuck else would I be spread out for?” you snarked breathily, watching in interest as his eyes, cast in shadows from the outside street lamps trying to break through the layer of snow covering you. “The ghost of Christmas past?”

If someone asked you to relay the events that happened next, you’d be unable to recall just how Josh got your panties off without knocking either of you to the floor or losing the moment. But he was just as intense now, staring intently at the burgeoning wetness that he dipped his thumb into before staring you down and bringing the digit to his lips.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I was understanding tonight,” he said quietly, the low noise in the car just adding to the atmosphere. “When you kissed Danny, it was no big deal. A funny little coincidence, I thought.”

“I didn’t go around meaning to kiss your brothers,” you said with a roll of your eyes. Besides, it wasn’t like Josh was around to know that, anyways. He just happened to show up at the wrong times.

He didn’t agree, apparently, and his hand shot up to your throat with a gentle pressure that was only there to warn you. From there, those same fingers slid up to grip your chin. “I wasn’t finished,” he said shortly, molten eyes burning into yours. You were frozen - pitifully turned on at his display of desire and the discrepancy from his usual demeanor (not that you didn’t want to jump his bones either way). “I was a little pissed when you decided to suggest it to Sam; the poor boy was just trying to enjoy the music,” he tsked, and your face burned even though you knew he wasn’t really insinuating anything humiliating.

But it was enough to loosen your lips again. “Sam kissed me back,” you pointed out, expression melting into wanton desire as he leaned down to interrupt you with another kiss.

“I said not another word,” he said into your ear afterwards, right before he straightened up. His hand tore at his belt buckle and snapped it through the loops in a way that had you much wetter than you already had been. “See, even Sam wasn’t such a big deal, because it was mistletoe. But then?” he scoffed, pulling back to rip his fitted dress pants off. Following it up with a blunt drag of his fingers across your clit so that you arched your back and squirmed underneath him, his voice faltered in arousal. “Then you went and kissed my twin brother right in front of me when I asked you so nicely to stay where you fucking were for once. And that–” he chuckled, looking for consent that you gave immediately, if a little breathily, “–that was just the cherry on top.”

His middle finger slid into you suddenly, slender and tough and skilled. You whined at the sudden intrusion, gripping the bottom of the seat as Josh used his limited space to pump his hand into you. It was quite evident how much your little game had excited you– the wet noises that sounded out when Josh added another one gave you away and seemed louder in the enclosed space of the car.

“Is this what you wanted?” Josh asked, his entire body tense as his forearms flexed with the ‘come hither’ motion he’d begun in fervor. “Kissing my brothers– do you know how long I’ve been waiting to kiss you?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but all that escaped was a half cut-off moan, shaking with the rhythm that Josh was making. Each thrust pushed you higher and higher, and you were surprised that the heat wasn’t melting the snow right off his windows.

Josh’s thumb met your clit, and the sensations were enough to make you whine. Against his cloth seats, your dress rode further and further up, until you used one hand to push it down again. It was getting in the way, obscuring your view of where Josh was taking his pleasure in yours, his eyes hooded and watching you – always watching you – while his other hand had brought his cock out to play. Or…for him to play with.

“What, you wanna be shy now?” he drawled, taking his fingers out and fisting his cock, warming it up with your slick before nudging himself between your lips and against your entrance. “Take your tits out, sweet girl. I wanna see them. I am the one you wanna show them to, right?”

“Yes, Josh,” you gasped, bucking your hips to try and slip him inside. It perhaps wasn’t the first time you’d imagined – it was better. It was raw (whoops) and validating in a way you didn’t know you needed after so long of just being the friend. “I want you,” you assured, peeling the stretchier material up until your breasts spilled out, having been tightly bound to you for the entire evening by the dress. It was on the few times you hadn’t bothered with a bra, and it was paying off, just to see Josh’s face drop slack as he drank them in, going so far to turn on an overhead light.

But that caused you to look nervously at the windows. What if someone saw?

As if he could read your mind, Josh ran his hands up your body to cup you and tease your nipples, already pebbled from the cold. “Don’t worry, Y/N, nobody can see through the snow and the tint. I promise.”

The peek of the Josh you knew made your heart clench, and with a pull of his shirt, he attached his lips to yours and guided himself into your body with a groan that echoed in your mouth.

“Oh, god, Josh,” you gasped, face screwing up as he stretched you out. Your toes curled and you clenched your thighs around his hips, fingers digging into his back while you brought him closer to you. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to feel you inside me,” you whispered, and Josh let out a soft moan at that.

“Well, you didn’t have to kiss my brothers to get me to fuck you,” he responded with a distracted grin, once he pulled up enough to brace himself.

You were about to roll your eyes and object when he finally rolled his hips forward, nudging his cock even deeper into you before pulling out and sheathing himself once again, beginning to fuck you in a rhythm that was short and powerful to match the minimal space he had.

The way he filled you up was nothing short of euphoric. He lit up the nerves everywhere he touched, and after fantasizing about it all those times, your body seemed to suck Josh in with the intent never to let him go.

“You’re so wet, Y/N, damn,” Josh panted, eyes hooded and glancing down to where the wet noises of each thrust were coming from. “Kissing Jake didn’t get you all soaked and ready for my cock, right?”

You knew your hair would look like a rat’s nest from how much you were squirming and thrashing your head back and forth against the seats. “No. I didn’t kiss them like I wanted to kiss you.”

Josh’s response was interrupted by his phone ringing, and speak of the devil, Jake’s contact popped up on his screen, and you suddenly remembered where you were and what you’d been doing before Josh decided to give it to you in his back seat. Josh didn’t care, though, and the phone rang out as he upped his efforts and snapped his hips into you as deeply as he could, snaking his fingers down to play with your clit.

Your back arched at the stimulation, and any comment you had was preceded with a whine. “Josh, we’re supposed to pick up your brothers.”

Josh hauled you up, and you repositioned with him, letting him plant his feet on the ground as you straddled him with your breasts in his face. If anything, the change made him care even less about what he was supposed to be doing.

“I don’t care,” he chuckled breathlessly, sucking a nipple into his mouth as he grunted and shoved his hips up into you.

You were fast approaching your high, quicker than usual, and Josh was doing everything he could to get you there, it seemed: angling his hips, mouthing over your tits, and still slipping those damn fingers around your clit and where he was still moving inside of you. “They might come looking for us,” you said, your hips twitching and bearing down to help get him to where you wanted.

“Let them,” Josh grunted again. “You made me watch you kiss them, they can watch me fuck you. Fair trade.”

You would have laughed if you weren’t working your hips like a bitch in heat, desperately climbing a ladder upward, but not fast enough. You knew Josh was joking, but he seemed hell-bent on keeping up the narrative just for shits and giggles, and you wondered if it was part of his punishment when his fingers stopped dancing around your bundle of nerves.

You saw him wipe his hand on the seat, and that distracted you enough that when he leaned forward, you were pitched with him, which forced you to wrap yourself around him even more as he desperately grasped the seat in front of him and used it to anchor himself as his rhythm faltered and all he could do was recklessly push his hips into you, deep and hard and without much finesse anymore.

Your noises grew in frequency and volume; you were right there, all it would take would be a couple more thrusts at this exact angle and— and—-

“I’m cumming!” you sobbed into Josh’s neck, jolting with each powerful thrust into you.

Feeling you cum around him, Josh groaned and pitched up once more, and then warmth exploded inside you. He hugged you to him as he leaned back against the seats to catch his breath, and you whimpered as he shifted in you.

“Was that better than kissing my brothers?” he asked jokingly, stroking your hair with one hand while the other drew lines up your bare back.

Now that you were cooling down, you felt the consequence of not turning the heat on, and the sweat on your body quickly made you shiver, so Josh grabbed his coat and covered you while you nodded. “Josh,” you deadpanned, “If you have to ask that question, you need to gain a little more confidence in your abilities.”

He snorted as his phone went off again. “Ah, shit. They really are going to come looking for us soon if we don’t…” He trailed off, obviously not wanting to leave the warmth of your body, or give off the impression that he wasn’t going to participate in any aftercare at all, but you hadn’t exactly picked the perfect time and place for that, so you understood.

“It’s fine. Just…bring me back to yours and make me hot chocolate, and we’ll call it even.”

Josh looked scandalized, and he vigorously shook his head in dissent. “Uh-uh. You’re getting more than hot chocolate– who have you been fucking that your standards are so low?” You smiled, but as soon as you opened your mouth, Josh’s face scrunched up and he kissed you to interrupt. “Actually, don’t answer that. That’s gonna change when we get back to my house,” he promised, pressing another kiss to your jaw. “I’ll show you as many times as you want,” he grinned, finally dislodging himself as he waited for you to get off his lap.

You colored as you found and pulled up your panties as quickly as you could, not wanting to drip in Josh’s car. “I…might just take you up on that,” you said quietly, watching for Josh’s reaction.

His features softened and he smiled, which was a little off-putting since he was tucking his dick away simultaneously, then wiped his hand again on his nice, cloth seats. He must have seen your expression, because he cocked his head. “What?” he queried, moving to get out of the backseat.

“You just…wiped my cum on your seats,” you laughed. “Your brothers are going to have to sit back here, and they might–”

Josh tugged you out of the seat and pressed you up against the side of the car for the second time that night. “What? Feel you? Smell you? I bet their mouths would water,” he murmured lasciviously. “But I don’t care.”

You blushed but chuckled lightly. “You know, for someone who made such a big deal about me kissing his brothers, you’re sure making a 180 here with all the 'not caring'.”

“You wanna know why I don’t care, then?” he asked, lips by your ear as he fished for his keys.

“Enlighten me.”

“Because those are my seats, and I made you cum in my car. If that’s where I have available to clean your sweet slick off my fingers every fucking time I touch you from now on, so be it—“ and that was a promise if you’d ever heard one, one that had you squirming and refocusing on the desire you held for Josh, tucked away and safe in your body, “—and my brothers will know that there’ll be no more of this mistletoe shit.”

You ran your tongue across the roof of your mouth, ducking under Josh’s arm to escape the newly-grown tension and into the front passenger seat. You wouldn’t be held liable for anything that transpired when he was talking like that and making vows that sounded a lot like a commitment— at the very least, like this would happen again, maybe even several times.

“Watch out, Josh,” you sang playfully, catching his gaze at your ass before you disappeared around the back of the car. You reconvened inside, this time fully dressed and going to pick up his brothers for real this time. “Your jealousy is showing.”

~~~

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appocalipse · 2 years

Text

real to me

prologue

after saving the world together on numerous occasions, it's fair to say you and steve are good friends. not best friends or special friends, but friends nonetheless. and friends help friends, right? how hard could it be for him to pretend to be your boyfriend for your sister's wedding? even if he has to spend five days at your family's ranch... | fake dating + mutual pining + somewhat cowgirl!reader lmao | long fic | playlist

“You can't go alone,” your sister states firmly. “You'll be totally defenseless.”

She makes it sound like you're going to war instead of her own wedding.

You're sitting at a small diner somewhere in Hawkins, milkshakes half full forgotten on the table between the two of you — hers chocolate flavored and yours strawberry, as usual, accompanied by a large portion of fries equally forgotten. But beside them rests a third object, the real reason you are here: a wedding invitation. To her wedding; you're still staring at the damn thing as if it might suddenly grow a mouth and bite your arm off.

“It might not be that bad,” you try to sound optimistic and fail.

Lizzie, your much less single older sister, raises her eyebrows and looks at you across the table like you're crazy. “Do you remember the last time, before I started dating Dean? She introduced us to what, six guys at her birthday party?”

You pretend to think for a moment as if that wasn't an unfortunately vivid memory of yours. Nana had a handful of friends, all with grandsons conveniently around your age.

You try to be fair, shrugging. “Some of them were cute, though.”

You love your grandmother. You really do, without a doubt. The best of your childhood memories were made at her house, eating (and attempting to make) pie, or playing outside with Lizzie until the sun came down. Nana is far from a bad person. In fact, her problem is quite the opposite: she is too good, a walking beacon of light and happiness, and every time she saw you or your sister (before she met her current fiancé, of course), your grandmother made a point of introducing every guy around your age to the two of you.

Lizzie's wedding is the perfect event for her next attempt, as it's taking place at your grandparents' ranch, a good four hours flight from Hawkins; in other words, your grandmother will be in her element and you'll be lacking someone to have your back, seeing as Lizzie obviously won't be able to help when the time comes.

“You know what? Just bring a plus one,” she says, like this solves the issue. “She'll be pleased and leave you alone.”

That’s her idea of good advice?

“Oh, right,” you sink into the seat; her suggestion is about as helpful as trying to dry an ice cube with a paper towel. “Because guys are throwing themselves at my feet.”

“Steve!”

If the abrupt change of the volume in her voice — very loud — hadn't made you nervous, the size of the delighted smile that appeared on her face next definitely would.

Then, of course, there was also the absurd suggestion; you're about to let out a wry laugh and reply something like 'are you out of your mind?' when she starts to fucking wave.

Wave. Smile and wave, gazing over your shoulder with intent.

You follow her gaze and find, of course-

“Steve,” he's walking through the door — waving back, no less — still wearing his Family Video uniform, and panic is rising up your throat like a living thing. God. You wave too because it's too late now and he's unfairly handsome and it's not his fault; and then you turn to Lizzie and warn, in case it wasn't clear already, “Don't even think about it.”

She twirls a strand of soft hair around her finger innocently. “Why not?”

The time you have to try and change her mind is about how long it will take Steve to walk over to your table, and his legs are long.

“Because!” you whisper-shout. "We're not- we're friends, but not that close! I can't ask him that!"

Close enough to save the world together, but not close enough to pretend to be dating.

Sounds about right.

“Relax! Unless-” Lizzie leans on her elbows and lowers her voice as if telling a secret, though her excitement is still quite palpable, “Do you still have a crush on him?”

“I never did!”

“It's a small town,” she reasons. “At some point, everybody did.”

You hate that Lizzie is always right.

Too late.

“Steve!” she greets him again as the boy approaches your table, going all big sister mode, too happy for your liking. She is, as always, direct, “I need to ask you something.”

You'd like nothing more than to disappear from the face of the Earth.

You clear your throat probably louder than necessary, and still, Lizzie doesn’t spare a look your way.

“No, she doesn't,” you try.

Her eyes are pleading. “But he will be perfect, Y/N.”

"Don't-"

“Would you be Y/N’s boyfriend?”

Please, let me die right here and now.

Steve's eyebrows rise so much they could have landed on the back of his head.

“Be…what?”

“Fake boyfriend, I mean,” she clarifies, not sounding the tiniest bit sorry about the mishap. In fact, she seems to revel in it.

Steve, on the other hand, looks too much like a lost puppy. “Fake boyfriend?”

Your response is muffled by Lizzie's.

"Yes," she says.

“Ignore her,” you offer, hopeful.

And with the cat out of the bag, there's little you can do, so you slide to the side, making room so Steve can sit down too. His thigh brushes yours when he does, though, and you immediately feel sorry for yourself — he smells good and there’s literally no way to escape now, under Lizzie's gaze and between Steve and the wall. Trapped.

She picks up the wedding invitation from the table and hands it to a very, very confused Steve. “Be her date to my wedding. Our nana won’t leave her alone otherwise.”

“Lizzie!”

“What?” she finally looks at you, hand over heart and looking all kinds of innocent. “Nana will buy it if it's Steve.”

“Nana can smell a lie thousands of miles away.”

“That’s why it’s more believable if you pick someone close to you, like Steve," she tilts her head in his direction to illustrate her already very clear point, "Plus, she met him at your birthday party last year and she absolutely loved him.”

"Did she?" there's a hint of pride in Steve's voice when he asks.

"Oh, yes. She was about ready to give Y/N's hand-"

"Okay," you cut her off, realizing she’s a lost cause and turning to look at him instead, more embarrassed than you've ever been before. “I’m sorry you have to put up with this,” you mumble.

But, apparently unperturbed, Steve leans over to reach for your abandoned milkshake and, bringing the straw to his lips, he shrugs and calmly announces, "It's okay. I'll do it."

a/n: hi. this is it. this is the reason i was nervous. 😫 it'll be a long fic (10k at least me thinks) and idk if you guys are into this idea or not so feedback would be much appreciated. thank you, kiss kiss 💜💜💜

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #stranger things fanfic #fanfiction #I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING OKAY #i'm just testing the waters here to see what you guys think

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suguwu · 10 months

Text

lover be good to me: part four

You meet Kita Shinsuke on a rainy summer day, with a sea of hydrangeas swirling at your feet. You know him instantly, as only a soulmate can. He seems like a good man. Like a good soulmate.

But it’s your wedding day.

masterlist

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

pairings: kita shinsuke x f!reader, oc x f!reader

notes: we are finally at the end. thank you so much for coming along on this ride with me. this fic truly is dear to me and i can't believe it's finally done.

as always, massive thanks to my beta for both the edits and the endless support throughout the process, especially when i thought writing this fic would never end.

title and part title are from hozier’s “be”

tags for this part (contains spoilers for fic): soulmate au (first words), this is a very reader-centric story, slow burn, pining, hurt/comfort, reader and kita are implied to be around their 30s, food consumption, non-graphic partner death (not kita), grief/mourning, healing, love as a choice.

wc: 12k

You settle into the farmhouse.

It’s easier than you thought. Maybe it’s the way Yoshida is brusque but kind; she’s not careful with you. It’s a refreshing change of pace.

You find yourself at her side most nights, chopping vegetables or marinating tofu as she tells you about growing up in the country. She spins stories like thread, weaving them together like the expert seamstress she is. Her son joins in some nights too.

You still get lost sometimes, though.

The early mornings are the worst.

The birds sing you to wakefulness, their song high and trilling, and you press your face into the pillow with a groan. “Loud. Shut the window, Aoshi,” you mumble, shoving out at him. Your hand hits empty space and your brow scrunches. You push to your elbows and find a room that’s not your own, though you blearily recognize the suitcase tucked into the closet.

You shift on the bed and realize it’s too small. A twin.

It all comes pouring back in.

“Fuck,” you say, low and quiet. The tears pool in your eyes, burning hot, and you try to blink them back to no avail. You curl in on yourself like a fiddlehead as you lie back down.

You do not move for a very long time.

The world has gone blue when there’s a knock on your door, twilight settling in like the ocean tide, easing its way across the sky. You don’t answer. Another knock comes and then there’s Kita’s voice murmuring your name.

You almost ignore him. But there’s something in his voice you can’t resist, a melancholy thread woven in through the syllables of your name. You get to your feet and open the door.

Kita studies you for a moment. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You blink. “Go where?”

“My place. I’m cookin’.”

“Shinsuke—”

“I know.”

You bite at your lower lip. Kita meets your gaze steadily, his amber eyes darkened to a deep, sweet brown by the dim lighting. There’s a promise in them too.

“Okay,” you say at last. “Let me get dressed.”

He waits downstairs as you throw on some clothes. You can hear him talking quietly to Yoshida. He gives you a little smile when you join him at the genkan.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

It’s true autumn now and the slight chill in the air proves it. The rice stalks are spun gold, swaying in the wind as the truck trundles down the road to Kita’s farm. You watch a stork wade carefully through the fields. It dips down with its long, elegant neck and disappears from sight.

The radio is playing quietly. Kita hums along with it sometimes, mostly at the old, crooning ballads. You watch the countryside roll by, the farmhouses little ships in the night, their lit windows a beacon as dusk falls.

He bundles you into the farmhouse when you arrive, handing you a pair of house slippers that have little radishes on them. You can’t help your smile.

You follow him into the living room and settle at the kotatsu when he points you there. It’s close enough that you can see into the kitchen through the open archway; he rolls up his sleeves and starts gathering ingredients from the fridge and the pantry.

“Can I help?” you ask after a few minutes, getting to your feet and joining him.

“Sure,” he says, handing you a freshly-washed daikon. “Slice that real thin, please.”

You make a cut. “This thin enough?”

He peers over. “A little thinner,” he says. “Can I?”

You nod and he takes your hands briefly, guiding them to the thinness he wants and pressing down. His hands are warm, his fingers and palm rough with calluses that catch lightly against your skin. He curls his fingers around yours, his tendons going taut, and pushes down. The knife slides through the daikon and stops against the cutting board.

“There,” he says. “Like that.”

“Okay.”

He nods and heads back to his cutting board which is laden down with a bright medley of varying vegetables. “What’re you doin’ tomorrow?'' he asks.

“Nothing,” you say. “Why?”

You sound more defensive than you mean to. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, a sharp flicker of amber, but says nothing.

“Was thinking you could come out to the fields with me.”

“I don’t know,” you say.

“It’d be good for you to get outside,” he says mildly. “Rather than being up in yer room all day.”

Your knife thunks against the cutting board. Kita is unperturbed, only glancing your way briefly to make sure you’re not injured. He goes back to peeling carrots, his lean, strong hands moving quickly and with steady confidence.

You study him for a moment, taking in the set of his lips and the soft furrow of his brow. You sigh.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll come.”

He flashes you a tiny quirk of his lips, a smile that’s as fleeting as a summer storm and just as warm.

“Good.”

He keeps cooking as he talks, pulling you from your thoughts when you get lost in them, when the fog starts to roll back in like a marine layer. It’s uncanny, how well he can tell when you’ve been set adrift. He’s a mooring you didn’t know you needed.

Kita hums his thanks as you give him the daikon. He slips them into a pickling mix before handing you a cucumber.

“Peel and cut thin?” you ask.

“Yup.”

As you peel, you can’t help but watch as he moves about the kitchen. He moves as efficiently as ever, no wasted movement, but there’s something soft to it too. You can’t quite pin it down.

“Yer staring.”

“Am I?”

“You know you are.”

You shrug, starting to cut up the cucumber. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing important,” you say, waving him off. “Tell me how Aran is doing, he and I haven’t talked for a while.”

The rest of the cooking goes by quickly as you talk and soon you’re both settled at the kotatsu. It’s radiating warmth. You snuggle deeper into it; with the sun fully set, it’s grown even more chilly outside despite the heat of the day. Winter is still a ways off, but you can feel the first touch of it hidden in the autumn breeze that leaks in through the window Kita had left cracked to keep the kitchen from overheating.

You glance over the food. Kita’s kept it simple but hearty. There’s steam curling through the air in little smoky wisps. You watch as it dissipates and then take the plate that Kita hands you with a small thank you.

It’s a good meal. The two of you talk through it with ease, never missing a beat and rarely with an awkward pause. When you lapse into silence, it’s comfortable.

“I should go,” you say eventually, glancing at the clock. “I don’t want to wake Yoshida when I come in.”

“Alright.”

He drives you home, the headlights of his truck cutting through the night. The moon is out now; it bathes the fields with light until they practically shimmer. The crickets are calling, their song audible even over the low purr of the truck’s engine.

When you pull up to Yoshida’s, there’s a light still on at the engawa, a soft glow to lead you home. It warms something in you.

Kita walks you to the door.

“How early do I have to get up tomorrow?” you ask. “Do I even want to know?”

He laughs quietly. “Ya don’t need to keep my schedule,” he says. “I’ll come get you after lunch.”

“Okay.”

He looks at you. His usual stoicness has faded into something warm and open; you take a deep breath. You bid him a quiet goodnight that he returns just as quietly, his amber eyes knowing.

You go to sleep with your hand wrapped around your wedding rings.

***

“Sunscreen,” Kita says, holding out the tube to you.

“I know, I know,” you grouse, taking it from him. “You don’t have to remind me.”

“You forgot last time.”

“Point taken.”

You apply the sunscreen as he gathers what he needs. He’s still rustling around when you finish. You turn your face up to the sun, letting the rays brush over your skin like a lover, a sweet kiss of heat.

When you open your eyes again, Kita is watching you with a tiny smile, a crescent moon of a thing. Something in you pangs.

You glance away from him and look to the rolling fields instead. In the bright sunlight, they’re Midas-touched, scorched gold with a hint of green at the bottom of each stem. It’s a sea of rice, rippling in the breeze like kelp caught in the ocean’s current, and it’s beautiful in a way that makes you feel small.

Kita comes up beside you and gazes at his farm.

“It’s pretty,” you tell him.

“It’s gotta get cut,” he says.

“I know.”

He glances at you. You blink as he reaches out and smudges his thumb against your cheek. It’s gentle, his touch careful despite the rough calluses on the pad of his thumb. “Ya missed some sunscreen,” he says, rubbing it in with a light sweep. He lingers for a moment before pulling away.

“Oh. Thanks,” you say, biting at your lower lip as he turns away.

“C’mon,” Kita says.

You follow him deep into the field, to a swath of already cleared land. The two of you settle at the edge of it. You watch as he lays out a woven bag with a label stamped on the front of it. He crouches down by the nearest stems of uncut rice and runs a hand over them, thumbing at the panicles with a deft movement.

You don’t think he knows he’s smiling.

“What do you want me to do?” you ask.

He glances back at you. “Can you lay out the bags? One at each pole should do.”

You nod and set to work. He starts cutting at the rice. He makes it look easy, slicing through the stems as if they’re butter. The rice stalks start to pile up beside him as you make your way down the field with the bags.

He’s made a significant dent by the time you’re back. He leans back on his heels as you approach again, wiping off his forehead with the back of his hand. His hair is clinging to him, dark with sweat, deepening the color to slate gray, like the winter sea. He smiles at you.

“Can I try again?”

He’d taught you how to cut last time after you asked, citing the fact that you’ve been coming to the field with him for almost two weeks without trying.

“Sure,” he says. He hands you a pair of gloves; you slip them on. “D’ya remember how to hold it?”

You kneel next to him, wrapping your fingers around a handful of stems. “Like this, yeah?”

“Thumb pointing up,” he says, reaching out and adjusting your grip. “And tighter.”

He tightens his grip around your hand to show you, his strong fingers flexing. You copy him and he lets go when he’s satisfied with your grip. He hands you the knife—curved with a wicked edge—and sits back on his heels again.

“15 centimeters, yeah?” you ask, setting the edge of the knife against the stalks there.

“That’ll work.”

You slice in a downward angle; the stalks part beneath the blade like silk. You hand off the rice to him to add to the pile. You keep working, feeling the sweat start to gather on your back, a few droplets rolling down before getting absorbed by your shirt.

“Good,” he says.

He lets you do a few more handfuls before he takes the knife back. You watch him work. He’s much quicker than you, moving with an easy grace.

“Why don’t ya head back to the truck,” he says, slicing through another handful of stalks. “I’m almost done.”

You listen to him, heading back to the truck and settling in the bed of it, swinging your feet off the edge. You lay back and turn your gaze up to the sky, watching as a flock of birds goes soaring past, their wings dark against the deep blue of the sky.

Kita joins you after a bit. You’ve been watching a hawk circle, riding the current high above you, and you don’t bother to sit up when you hear him approaching.

He climbs up into the truck bed. He settles next to you and then lays down beside you, staring up at the sky with you.

The two of you are quiet. You watch as the hawk wheels and wheels overhead before it dives down, dropping like a shooting star through the sky.

You turn towards him; he’s already looking at you. His amber eyes are soft and you suck in a breath, your stomach flipping.

“Shinsuke,” you say gently. “You know I can’t give you what you want, right?”

“I’m not askin’ you for anything,” he says, just as gently.

“I know. I just—I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, with Aoshi gone.”

He studies you for a moment. Then he smiles, warm and sweet and a little bit sad.

“It’s always what you’re willing to give,” he says. “Nothing more and nothing less. That’s the only idea I have.”

You suck in a breath, fidgeting with your sleeve.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

You both go quiet again.

Kita pushes up to his elbows; you peer up at him.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get going.”

“‘Kay.”

He hops down from the truck bed gracefully before holding out a hand to help you down. You hesitate. He waits patiently, looking up at you. You take his hand without a word, his calluses rough against your palm.

You’re both quiet on the drive back to Yoshida’s. You spend the time looking out the window, watching the fields roll by. There are other farmers still hard at work, their blades flashing in the last dregs of the sunlight, like a dance. It’s a sight you never tire of.

The sun has almost set by the time Kita drops you off. You toe off your shoes in the genkan and find Yoshida in the kitchen, scrubbing down the counter. There’s something savory in the air, rich and thick, and you spot a pot bubbling away on the stovetop, steam curling up from it like smoke.

She eyes you for a moment. You don’t know what she sees in your face, but she gestures you into a seat.

“The fields are doing ya some good,” she says, her eyes still on the soapy counter.

“Are they?”

She nods decisively. “Yer different. You’re coming back to the world.”

You bite at your lip, worrying the flesh between your teeth. It doesn’t feel like it to you; some days you think you’ll never be in step with the world again, destined to always be just a few paces behind.

“It’s hard to see it in yerself,” Yoshida says. “But it’s there.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

You can’t help the smile. A smile blooms on her lips too, small but sure.

“I need to weed tomorrow. Could use your help, unless Shin-chan is going to steal you away again.”

“I’ll help,” you say, ignoring the last bit.

She studies you with keen eyes, opening her mouth to say something, but the front door opens and her son calls out a greeting.

The rest of the night is quiet and morning comes before you know it.

You stare up at the ceiling as the sun rises, watery light leaking in through the sheer curtains. For a moment, you consider rolling over and going back to bed, but you can hear Yoshida shuffling around in her room. You resign yourself to getting up for the day.

A light breakfast later, you’re on your knees in the garden. The soil is still wet with morning dew and it sticks to your skin. The scent of wet loam rises around you, like the earth is welcoming you home. You let it fill your lungs.

The garden is a beautiful one, lush with autumn vegetables. You weed around the fat, sunshine yellow squashes, each one brighter than the last. The carrots are just peeking above the soil, little suns creeping up over the horizon. Their greens sway gently in the breeze.

You’ve forgone gardening gloves despite Yoshida’s offer. It feels good to sink your fingers into the dirt, to pinch the weeds’ roots and pull them up gently.

You’re still working when Kita’s truck trundles up the driveway. You sit back on your haunches and wipe the sweat from your brow as he gets out and comes your way.

“Hi,” he says with a little smile. “Hard at work, I see.”

“Gotta earn my keep,” you say, earning a snort from Yoshida who is working just a garden bed over.

“You have time for a break?”

“Depends,” you say, glancing at the bag he’s carrying. “Are those snacks?”

“Yup.”

“Then I do,” you say, pushing to your feet. “Let me go wash my hands.”

You eat together on the engawa, gazing out into the farmland. The wind chimes rustle above you, clinking lightly, a crystalline symphony just for the two of you. You sit back on your hands as Kita unpacks what he’s brought.

It’s onigiri. They’re still warm, steam curling up from them when you break one open. A little bit of the filling spills out but you’re quick to catch it on your thumb, popping it into your mouth.

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a nudge with your elbow. “They’re good.”

“Yer welcome.”

“You take care of me so well,” you say with a little laugh.

“I try,” he says, utterly serious.

You flinch. It’s tiny, but from the way his gaze finds you, a firefly flicker, he notices. But he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to take another bite of his onigiri.

“Shin-chan,” Yoshida calls. “Come help an old woman with the watering.”

You glance up to see that she’s heaving a full bucket of water towards the garden. Kita pushes to his feet immediately, crossing to her in a few easy strides. He takes the bucket without even pausing, lifting it with a single hand.

“Granny,” he chides. “Ya could’ve gotten hurt.”

She shrugs. He follows her to the garden beds, glancing back to send you a little smile. You watch him as he carefully waters the garden under Yoshida’s rigid instructions. The sun catches in his hair, bronzes his tanned skin. That same smile he’d flashed you lives on his lips, a quiet contentment tucked up secret into the corner of his mouth.

Kita comes back to you when he’s finished watering, settling at your side on the engawa once more. He eats the rest of his onigiri quickly.

“I’ve gotta get back to the fields,” he tells you. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “Go do your job.”

He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling with it.

He leaves soon after. You watch him go, until all you can see of his truck is the cloud of dust being kicked up behind it, until the horizon swallows him.

Yoshida stands next to you on the engawa, shading her eyes as she watches him go too.

“He’s a good man,” she says casually.

You glance at her.

“He is.”

“You could do much worse in a man.”

“It’s not like that.”

She raises a brow.

“It’s not. It’s just…complicated,” you say, winding your fingers through your necklace’s chain. Your rings clink against each other softly, the sound lost in the myriad of wind chimes surrounding you. For a moment you drift, tears pricking at your eyes before you blink them away.

“‘Course it is,” she says. “Most things are. But ah, pay no mind to an old lady. Let’s go harvest some of the squash.”

You spend the rest of the day in the garden, harvesting away. The first frost isn’t too far off and you need to make sure you don’t lose any of the vegetables to it. Yoshida tells you exactly what to pick and what to leave.

Night falls and you cook the first of the squash, painting it with a sweetened miso glaze that gleams stickily as you serve it. Yoshida makes a few side dishes too, putting them in pretty kobachi dishes. They��re delicate things, the soft silver of the moon, and you find yourself thinking of Kita.

You shake yourself free of the thought before it fully forms. Yoshida’s son pulls you into a conversation and you chatter the night away, until you’re yawning between sentences. You finally trudge up to your room.

The window lets in the faintest hint of gossamer moonlight. You gaze out into the night, into the endless countryside. You can just barely make out the next farmhouse, a lighthouse in the sea of darkness, its lights glittering on the very edge of the horizon.

It looks lonely. You think of Kita again, of the little island of his farmhouse, how it’s tucked between the paddies with no other home in sight. You think of him alone at the kotatsu, reading glasses perched on his nose, and feel something in your chest clench.

You pull the curtains shut and go to bed.

***

The rest of the week rolls by and so does the next. It grows colder each day, winter’s first kiss. The leaves are going orange, as if little fires are catching the edges. It sets the trees ablaze with color. You hop from leaf to leaf as you and Kita walk along the road, delighting in each little crunch.

“Having fun?” he calls out.

You turn around to face him, shading your eyes with one hand. His more sedate pace has left him lagging, but he’s quickly catching up now that you’ve stopped. “Can’t you tell?”

His breath mists in the air, a marine layer, and his lips quirk up into a little smile. “I can,” he says. “Just be careful, yeah? There’s still some frost lingering.”

You hum an acknowledgement and stomp on your next leaf. He chuckles quietly and you fall back to walk with him, shoving your hands into your pockets to ward off the cold.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You know my sabbatical is almost over, right?”

He nods. “I know.”

“I think I’m gonna go home midweek next week,” you say. “Just to give myself some time to settle before I have to go back to work.”

“Makes sense,” he says. “Let me know the details and I’ll get you to the station.”

The two of you keep walking, huddling into each other slightly when the wind picks up. Some of his hair wisps across your face, the touch like silk against your skin. You shiver with it and return your gaze to the countryside, to the rolling hills and the shorn paddies.

One or two of the trees are already fully bare; they reach towards the sky with long-fingered branches. There’s a murmur of swallows nestled in the nearest one, so numerous it’s as if the tree has leaves again. As you watch, they take to the skies, undulating through the soft gray-blue of it.

“I’ll miss it,” you say softly.

“Bein’ here?”

“Yeah.”

“Ya can come back anytime, y’know. There’s always a place for you.”

You glance at him. His stoic face has softened and you think of the thaw of a spring day. How the quiet warmth of it melts the chill away.

“Thanks, Shinsuke.”

“Mhm.”

The two of you walk together quietly before turning around to head back to Kita’s farm when the chilly breeze becomes a whistling wind. It whips through the fields to cut through your clothing and you press into Kita without thinking, seeking the warmth of his solid form. He unwinds his scarf and drapes it around your neck; you don’t bother to protest. He’s immovable about things like this. Instead, you burrow into the warmth of it.

You all but tumble into the genkan of the farmhouse. Kita follows you at a more sedate pace. You toe off your shoes and slip on your usual pair of house slippers. He does the same and you watch as he puts his shoes away carefully, arranging them perfectly within the cubby.

You both settle at the kotatsu, huddling under the thick down of the blanket. You trace a finger over one of the origami cranes patterned into it. They’re perfect, so different from the clumsy paper cranes you’d both made with some of the local children the other day.

Kita turns on the kotatsu. It starts to warm almost immediately and you sink into the heat of it with a quiet sigh.

“What’re you smiling about?” you ask him.

“You,” he says simply.

You roll your eyes. “Okay,” you say.

“D’ya want tea?”

“Sure.”

He slips out from under the kotatsu and heads into the kitchen. You turn enough that you can still see him; you like watching him make tea. He’s careful and respectful of the process from beginning to end, but you like how it loosens his shoulders, how he unfurls, a night-blooming flower.

He rejoins you at the kotatsu once the tea is made, handing you a steaming cup. The scent of it billows through the air. When you sip at the tea, it settles warm in your chest, pushing out the autumn chill.

“You’ll have to teach me how to make tea like this,” you tell Kita.

He smiles into his cup. “It’s not hard.”

“Says you.”

“Might not have time to teach you before you go,” he says with a frown. “The farm—”

“You can teach me when you visit.” You pause. “You will visit, right?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” you say, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You can teach me then.”

He agrees and the conversation flows until it’s late. You peer out into the darkness and see the moon—full-bellied with light—is beginning to set, sinking through the dark ocean of the sky like an anchor.

“Shit,” you say. “I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“S’fine,” Kita says. “I don’t mind.”

“I know, I know. Ugh, I’m gonna wake up Yoshida when I get in.”

“You can stay, y’know.”

You glance at him. He meets your gaze steadily.

“I have a guest room,” he reminds you.

“Okay,” you say after a moment. “Okay.”

“You’ll have to get up early, though.”

“That’s fine.”

He smiles softly. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s finish cleaning up.”

You clean up the kotatsu quickly; despite the late hour, Kita still takes the time to wash the dishes. He washes them with careful concentration and something in your chest pangs.

“Go ahead to the guest room,” he says. “‘M almost done here. I’ll see if I can find you somethin’ to sleep in.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright.”

The guest room is homey, with a handmade quilt patterned with rice plants that almost look like they’re rippling in the wind. You trace a finger over one of them as you glance around the rest of the room, taking in the way the stark cleanliness is offset by the items scattered about: the fan patterned with cherry blossoms hanging on the wall; the plant at the window, lush despite the season; a paperweight on the desk, glass swirled through with blue and white, the ocean roiling within it. It’s not quite Kita, but you can sense him in it all the same.

Kita knocks on the door frame. You turn to look at him. “Here,” he says, holding out a toothbrush and toothpaste. “Thought you might need these.”

“Thanks,” you say, sending him a little smile. “Appreciate it.”

“‘Course.”

“Night, Shinsuke.”

“G’night,” he says. “I’ll wake you in the morning.”

“Sounds good.”

He disappears into his room.

You get ready for bed and slide under the covers. The quilt is heavy and warmth builds quickly under it, like a banked fire. You turn your face into the pillow to hide from the moonlight slanting in through the window. The pillowcase smells vaguely like Kita and the simple detergent he uses.

Sleep comes easily.

So easily that it feels like you’ve only been asleep for a second when Kita’s knocking on the guest room door to rouse you for the day. Blearily, you slip on your clothing before trudging into the kitchen.

Kita glances up as you enter. His hair is still damp from the shower; it glistens like the gray winter sea beneath a bleak sun.

“Mornin’,” he says.

“Hi,” you grumble.

He breathes out a quiet laugh. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”

You drowse on the ride back to Yoshida’s, just aware enough to hear the quiet hum of the radio as it fills the truck’s cab. The sun is starting to rise, the first fingers of light painting the horizon orange, like embers just beginning to catch. You turn away from it, curling into yourself in the front seat.

The truck rumbling to a halt wakes you. You grouse and Kita laughs again. He doesn’t bother to dodge when you swat at him.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you say with a yawn, one hand on the car door’s handle, already looking forward to crawling back into bed.

“‘Course,” he says. “You always have a place with me.”

You pause.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I know.”

His eyes crinkle with his smile.

“Go to work,” you tell him.

“Yes ma’am.”

You hop out and head to the genkan. You hear the truck rumble to life behind you, the engine practically purring. By the time you make it to the genkan and look back, Kita is already down the road.

You watch until he’s gone from view.

***

This early, the train station is quiet.

The sun is still rising, casting pale golden rays across the parking lot. It haloes Kita in light as he pulls your suitcase from the truck bed, his muscles flexing with the movement. You take it from him and the two of you head towards the platform together.

“Travel safe, alright?” he says when you come to a halt just before the doors.

“Shinsuke,” you say, “thank you for everything.”

“Anytime.”

“You’ll visit?”

“I’ll visit,” he confirms. “You?”

“I’ll come back,” you say.

“Good.”

He smiles at you, a slow, sweet thing that makes you think of the sun’s rise. It’s steady and sure, unshakeable.

You throw your arms around him in a hug. He stumbles for a second, caught off guard, but he catches himself quickly and wraps his arms around you. He holds you tightly. You bury your face in his shoulder. He smells like plain soap, fresh and clean, with the faintest kiss of lemon, a touch of sour citronella that you know he uses for the fields.

When you pull away, the tips of his ears are pink.

“Bye, Shinsuke,” you say.

“Bye,” he says softly.

You head inside the station. When you glance back, you can just make out the silhouette of him, lean and strong. He must be able to see you, because he gives a little wave before he turns away.

The train is almost empty when you board it and you settle in a window seat. You close your eyes and turn your face towards the sun, the gentle rays just barely starting to warm as they brush against your skin.

You open your eyes when the train starts to move, peering out of the window as the countryside speeds by. The rice fields are shorn short now but the gold of them hasn’t faded. The remains of the stalks reach towards the great blue sky, two expanses meeting. Beyond the fields, even the hills are going golden, though they’re slower, with green patches scattered across them like lily pads in a pond.

You think you might be leaving a part of yourself in the expanse of the country. That the fields have swallowed up some part of you, like the earth swallows a seed. It makes something in you pang.

Soon enough, the countryside melts away into the suburbs. Then come the neon lights of the city, streaking by like fireflies, little blips of color that blink to life here and there.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed it.

The house is quiet when you step into the genkan; only the musical clink of your keys fills the space. The greeting is on the tip of your tongue, but you catch it behind your teeth and swallow it back down. You take in a deep breath and set your suitcase down before brushing by the photos in the entryway, most of them facedown.

It takes time to unpack. Most of your clothes are clean, but you run a load of laundry anyway, listening to the way the water swishes and spins, the low rumble of it filling the house. You text Kita to let him know you’ve arrived safely and then collapse onto your couch, staring up at the ceiling.

You don’t know how long you lie there before you hear the door to the house open. Muffled bickering floats to you from the genkan and you push yourself up just as Abe comes barreling around the corner.

She skids to a stop just before the couch and grins down at you.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” you reply. “Did you break in?”

“No,” Yoshikawa says, appearing from around the corner. She twirls something around her finger; it glints in the light. “Used the spare.”

“It’s funny,” you say. “I don’t remember inviting either of you over.”

She shrugs elegantly, her long hair swaying like kelp in a current. “Did you really think we were going to miss you coming home?”

“No,” you say with a little laugh. “I didn’t.”

“Good.”

You exchange hugs with both of them, holding them tightly and yelping when Abe spins you in a circle. Yoshikawa is more sedate but her hug is strong and warm. You blink away the tears before they can fall.

The three of you settle into the living room. You catch up with each other easily, swapping stories and laughing together, the sound billowing through the room to fill even the darkest corners with joy. Your heart aches as Abe throws back her head and laughs, her dark hair shimmering in the light, her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

“You’re too easily entertained,” Yoshikawa informs her, but there’s a smile playing at her lips too, downy-soft and deeply pleased.

“Shut up,” Abe says, still giggling.

For a moment, you just watch them, taking in their features, their smiles, the sound of them. You want to commit them to memory, parts of them that you’ve taken into yourself to treasure, to keep. Pieces never to be lost.

“Hey,” Yoshikawa says. “What’s wrong?”

You realize that your cheeks are hot and wet. You scrub a hand over your face as more tears fall.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just really missed you.”

She hums, but doesn’t push you on it, sending Abe a look when she opens her mouth. “We missed you too,” she says. “Do you want us to spend the night?”

“Yeah,” you say softly, thinking of how empty the house was before they filled it. “That would be great.”

“Okay.”

The conversation picks up again, only pausing when you order takeout as night falls. Though you’ve spoken consistently with them while you were in the country, there are still stories to tell. The three of you talk and talk, full of laughter and love, and it only feels a little bittersweet.

As the night deepens, Yoshikawa and Abe go to the genkan and grab the bags they’ve brought, much to your embarrassment. Abe pats you on the shoulder as you bury your face in your hands. Neither of them comment.

You tumble into bed with them in a mess of limbs. When the dust settles, you’re curled up on your side of the bed, almost pushed off the edge by Abe’s starfished limbs. You poke her in the stomach and she curls up with a groan. You reclaim the space quickly.

“Rude,” she tells you.

“You were taking up the whole bed!”

She grumbles but doesn’t bother to argue.

Quiet falls, only the gentle sound of breathing filling the room. You snuggle down into your comforter, pushing closer to Abe and relishing her warmth.

“I invited Shinsuke to visit,” you breathe.

Yoshikawa pushes up to her elbows behind Abe, peering down at you with her dark, knowing eyes.

“Here?” she asks.

You nod, the pillowcase crinkling against your cheek.

She hums, low and sweet, a honeyed thunder. “You’ll let him stay at the house?”

“I don’t know,” you say, thinking of Takao, the way he’d been flayed open when he asked you to not bring Kita to the house. “Aoshi—”

“Isn’t here,” Yoshikawa says gently. “You don’t have to hold on to that promise if you don’t want to.”

You blink against the tears as they swell up, beading on your eyelashes like little diamonds. Abe reaches out and cups your cheek.

“You’ll figure it out,” she says softly. “You don’t need to know now.”

You close your eyes, a few more tears trickling down. The pillowcase is damp beneath your cheek. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “You’re right.”

“I always am,” she says, and then yelps when Yoshikawa pinches her. “Ow, Yocchan!”

Yoshikawa ignores her, settling back down onto the bed with a yawn.

It’s contagious; you find yourself yawning as well and snuggle down deeper into the comforter once more. Abe shifts closer, seeking heat.

You fall asleep with her pressed tight against your side.

It feels like coming home.

***

Fall fades away.

The trees lose their leaves entirely, leaving branches that reach into the sky with scraggly fingers. Frost creeps over the windows in icy whorls, a cobweb of winter, fanning out in intricate patterns that melt when you breathe on them. The winter sun glows in the softened blue of the sky, only to be replaced with gray clouds.

The first snow is falling when you go to pick up Kita.

The flakes are fat and fluffy, perfectly crystalline. They flutter through the air like butterflies, spinning in great, lazy arcs as they drift to the ground. They melt as soon as they hit the pavement.

They catch in Kita’s hair as the two of you head into the house, little dew drops that make his gray hair shine. He’s cherry-cheeked with the cold, his face half-buried in his scarf. It’s cute. Something in you pangs when he sends you a little smile, only discernible by the way his eyes crinkle at the edges.

The two of you peel off your outer layers in the genkan. Kita puts his away carefully, at odds with your slightly haphazard method of kicking your boots away to find later.

“It’s future me’s problem,” you tell him and he just shakes his head, a small smile caught in the corner of his lips.

You show him to the guest room, freshly made up for his visit, and linger in the hallway as he stores his suitcase.

“Dinner?” you ask as he steps out into the hall again.

“That’d be great.”

“C’mon, I’ve got some things ready in the kitchen.”

“Sounds good.”

He follows you into the kitchen and insists on helping. You direct him to the plates as you check on what you’ve made. There’s colorful tsukemono, each pickled vegetable bright in its own way, stained to watercolors by the pickling liquid. The curry is thick and bubbling, with chunks of heavily marbled meat and vegetables coated in the sauce. The rice is steaming lightly and so are the nikuman, each bun pinched shut perfectly.

“Ya didn’t need to go to all this trouble,” Kita says, eyeing the food as he sets the table.

“Too late,” you say cheerfully. “Eat.”

He smiles softly, shaking his head, but sits down when you gesture. You join him and the two of you start to fill your plates.

You talk quietly as you eat, all easy chatter. Part of you can’t help but think of the beginning, when everything with him was stilted and careful. That’s changed through the years but it’s even easier now, the conversation flowing like a river, calm and unchanging.

When you’re done eating, Kita collects the plates and brings them to the sink. He rolls up his sleeves and turns the water on. You sigh but don’t bother to say anything. Instead, you settle in next to him with a dish towel in your hand.

He’s radiating a soft, gentle heat. It takes conscious effort to not lean into him.

He washes and you dry, falling into an effortless rhythm.

“Are you seeing Aran while you’re here?” you ask.

“He’s away trainin’,” Kita says, handing you another dish. “So’s Atsumu. I’ll see Osamu, but you know I’m here to see you, right?”

Your cheeks heat. “I know,” you say. “But two birds, one stone, y’know?”

He hums, rinsing off the final dish and drying his hands. He leaves his sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. For a moment, you watch the play of his muscles, the way they coil beneath his tanned skin as he picks up the dry dishes and brings them back to the cabinet. You look away when you realize what you’re doing.

You both go to bed early that night; Kita’s tired from his usual early wake-up and the travel. You try not to laugh as he bids you goodnight. It’s cute, the way he blinks sleepily, his amber eyes softened to a honeyed brown.

You can hear him as you get ready for bed, the quiet little noises of another person’s presence. It soothes something in you.

You glance at your wedding rings, ensconced in a little jewelry dish on your nightstand. They gleam in the light. You run your fingers over them, tracing the cool metal gently.

You put them away in a drawer before you go to sleep.

***

The snowstorm hits on the last day of Kita’s visit.

The wind whips between buildings, catching the snowflakes and tossing them about like ships on a stormy sea. The snow piles up into thick drifts, the silken white of it gone yellow beneath the glow of the street lights, like a melting pat of butter.

You and Kita watch the storm from where you’re tucked under the kotatsu. You’d pulled it out when you’d heard the forecast, the two of you working together to get it set up. It still works, luckily, and the two of you sit next to each other and bask in the soothing warmth.

The wind slows; you gaze at the snowflakes as they slow, drifting like dancers across the stage, each puffy flake a part of its own ballet. Everything has gone quiet, muffled at the edges. It’s like the world is waiting to take its next breath.

“What are you thinking?” Kita asks softly.

When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice just as soft as his. “All sorts of things.”

He hums quietly.

The wind picks up again; the windows rattle with it. You shiver, snuggling further under the kotatsu. Kita shifts. His leg presses against yours, a line of warmth even under the heat of the kotatsu.

You glance at him. He’s watching the storm. It reflects in his eyes, lightening them, taking them from amber to gold. You think of the rice fields at their peak, when they’re treasured gold, and can’t help the small smile that curls around your lips.

Perhaps he feels your gaze, because Kita turns to face you. In the low light, he’s softened at the edges, a watercolor being. His eyes are aglow, like sunlight pooling. He gives you a small smile.

“What is it?”

“I’m so lucky to have you,” you say quietly, the words pouring from you like a waterfall, something unstoppable.

He goes still for a breath, a statue of old. Then he softens again.

“You’ll always have me,” he says, and you used to hate how true it is. Now, though—now it feels different. Just a bit.

“Thank you, Shinsuke,” you say.

Something flickers over his face like heat lightning, too quick for you to comprehend. You think you might have disappointed him.

You turn your gaze away. It lands on a picture frame placed face-down. You suck in a deep breath. Before you can stop them, the tears are burning behind your eyes, starting to trickle down your cheeks. You scrub at them with one hand.

“Sorry,” you say to Kita.

“S’alright,” he says. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, even as another tear trickles down to pool salty on your tongue.

He reaches out, his hand hovering in the space between the two of you. He waits.

You nod.

He cups your cheek and sweeps his thumb under your eye. His touch has the same aching tenderness of a fresh, swollen bruise. You lean into his palm, keeping your eyes on his, your cheeks hot as he smiles at you sadly.

He wipes away the tears before pulling back. You can see the gleam of them on his thumb.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“Course.”

You scrub away the remains of the tears and then blow out a big breath. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

Kita studies you for a moment. You don’t know what he sees in your face, but he nods, giving you a soft smile. “Sure.”

“Great,” you say, pushing to your feet. “You choose.”

“If you want,” he says, standing as well and heading towards the living room. “No complaining, though.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll be there in a minute,” you call after him, leaning down to turn off the kotatsu. You tuck the comforter in, tidying it up lightly. You nod to yourself. When you turn around, you pause for a moment, your gaze settling on the face-down picture frame.

It’s a photo you know well, one of you and Takao on the beach, the ocean a vast expanse behind you, glittering with the searing blue of the tropics. You’re caught mid-laugh as Takao plants a kiss on your cheek. It’s always been a favorite.

Before you leave the room, you stand the picture frame back up.

***

You drop Kita off at the train station early the next day. You breathe him in as you hug him goodbye, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He tightens his grip around you with a little laugh.

“I’ll come to the farm in spring,” you tell him. “I promise.”

“Good.”

You wave goodbye as he enters the train station; he glances back right before he disappears through the doors. Something warm blooms in you. It settles in your stomach and flutters there.

When you’ve made it home, you pull out your phone. You settle onto the edge of the couch as it rings, your shoulders stiff.

It rings until the voicemail clicks on and Takao’s voice floods your ears. You close your eyes as his voicemail message plays, letting his voice wash over you like a summer storm, a warm, sweet rain. You listen to Takao talk, relearning the cadence of his voice, the way it rises and falls, the way his tongue curls around words. You hadn’t realized how much of it you’d forgotten.

“Hi,” you say when the tone beeps. “I miss you.”

You’re quiet for a moment; the line carries on, reflecting you breathing back to yourself.

“Shinsuke just left,” you say. “Aoshi—I think I like him. More than I ever thought I could. Is that alright?”

The line is silent.

“I didn’t mean to like him,” you say. “I really didn’t. But he’s good, Aoshi. He’s so good.”

You sniffle.

“I don’t know what to do,” you murmur. “I don’t know how to leave you behind. But I think—I think he’s okay with that. I just—it feels like giving in. Like our choice, the one we made over and over again, was for nothing.”

You take in a deep, steadying breath.

“I know that’s not true. I know that our choice was for everything. That it never really was a choice in the first place, not for me.”

“I just—I really think I like him, Aoshi. Is that alright? Please tell me it’s alright.”

The voicemail beeps; you’ve hit the end of the time you can record. You hang up and bury your face in your hands.

“Fuck. Fuck!”

You lay back on the couch, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hands. You curl in on yourself.

You grab your phone and dial again.

“Hi.”

“Natsumi.”

“Oh, shit, no nickname, that’s not a good sign.”

“I think I like Shinsuke.”

She pauses. “Is that a bad thing?” she asks gently.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

“It just—”

“Feels like giving in?”

“...Yeah. Was this always going to happen?”

“Maybe,” she says. “But maybe not. You don’t have to be with him, you know. If you don’t want to, that is.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“I think you do,” she says gently.

“I don’t, Nat-chan.”

“Okay. Okay. Let me put it this way: is your only issue with Kita the fact that he’s your soulmate?”

“He’s not Aoshi.”

“No one is going to be Aoshi. You know that.”

“I do.”

“Liking Kita isn’t giving up on Aoshi. It’s not leaving him behind. It’s just moving forward. You’ll bring him with you no matter what, no matter how far forward you move,” she says, and you bite at your bottom lip until you can taste blood.

“I don’t want to be with my soulmate just because they’re my soulmate.”

“Do you really think you might like Kita just because he’s your soulmate?”

“...No.”

“It’s not bad to like him,” she says, not unkindly. “You’re not bad for liking him because of who he is.”

“I don’t even know if I really like him.”

“Sweetheart,” Abe says, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you didn’t.”

You go quiet. As her words settle in, you glance out the window. The snow on the ground is still pristine; it glimmers under the bleak winter sunlight. The neighborhood children are starting to stomp through it. They’re bundled up tight, practically waddling as they play. You take a deep breath.

“Maybe you’re right,” you say.

“I don’t know how many times I have to say that I always am before you believe me.”

“You’re wrong way too much for me to believe that.”

“Don’t be mean!”

You smile. “Thanks, Nat-chan,” you say softly.

“Any time,” she says. “You’ll figure it out.”

As you hang up, you know that you will.

***

Winter melts into spring.

The snow gives way to crocuses, which bloom like bruises, deep purple with stamen peeking shyly out of the center. The trees come to life, budding quickly, little specks of green dotted along the branches like stars.

And on the farm, there are ducklings, tiny and fluffy, their down pollen-yellow.

“Oh, Shin,” you say as he hands you one, dropping it carefully into your hands. It peeps its protest before snuggling up in your palm like a tiny sun. “I love them.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and rich. “I thought you might. Do you wanna name ‘em?”

“Really? You’ll let me?”

“Course.”

“I’ll have to think of good ones,” you say. “Can I have a few days?”

“Take as much time as you need,” he says. “They’re not going anywhere.”

You nuzzle up against the one in your hand; it peeps again, as if grumbling at you. When you glance at Kita, he has a fond smile playing on his lips.

He takes you around on some of his other chores. There are seedlings in the garden, tiny little things just barely poking out of the ground, a promise of green growth. You water them carefully, wary of their thin, delicate stems.

Finally, you find yourself back in Kita’s genkan. Your boots—a pair of his, really, laced tightly to keep them on—are muddy, so you stop just inside the door. You’re leaning down to untie the boots when Kita kneels before you.

“Shin…” you say and he glances back up at you with mischief in his smile. You decide it’s not worth it to try and stop him.

He makes quick work of the laces with his deft fingers. You watch his bent head quietly, taking in the thunderstorm gray of it, edged with blackened clouds. You catch yourself before you run your fingers through it.

“Up,” he says. You steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder as you step out of first boot; he wraps his hand around your wrist.

It’s not long before both boots are off. Before you can even start to move, Kita has your house slippers in hand. He takes your ankle in his big hand, waiting for you to lift your foot so he can slip on the first slipper.

You almost balk. But he looks up at you with his keen amber eyes and you can’t help yourself. You lift your foot and he slides the slipper into place. He does the same thing with the second slipper.

“Thanks,” you say, cheeks hot.

He nods. He pushes to his feet, a graceful ripple of motion, and tilts his head at you. “Lunch?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “That sounds good.”

You cook together with ease. You know his kitchen by heart now, able to pull pans from their place without looking, knowing which of his fresh herbs to clip without double-checking with him.

It makes something in you ache.

Kita returns to the fields after lunch. You choose to not go with him, deciding instead to curl up on the engawa with a book. You settle into place with your book on your lap and stare out into the countryside.

It’s just beginning to go green with the flooded paddies glinting in the sun, a false ocean. The water glimmers with movement as the breeze rolls over you. A stork prowls through the paddies, long and elegant, moving with slow precision. Its beak flashes as it darts down to snap up some little creature. It takes off after that, spreading its wings wide and soaring into the blue expanse of the sky. You watch until it’s no more than a dot in the vastness.

You curl up and start reading and don’t notice when evening starts to fall. That’s where Kita finds you when he comes home from the fields. You hadn’t even noticed his truck trundling up the driveway.

“Hi,” you say as he comes up on the engawa, marking your place and getting to your feet.

“Hi,” he replies. “Have you been here all afternoon?”

“How’d you know?”

“Just a guess.”

You eye him, trying to figure out what’s given you away. Kita stays stoic, as if carved from stone, and you huff.

You follow him inside, kicking off your outside shoes before he can even try to kneel, and hop up from the genkan. As usual he goes to shower, ready to rinse off the fields. You keep reading.

He comes padding back into the kitchen a while later with a towel wound around his neck. His hair is still damp and you can see a cowlick curling at the back of his head. His tan skin glistens.

“Dinner?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “What do you want to make?”

You discuss your options in front of the fridge, crowded in next to each other to see what he has. He’s still warm from the shower. You press closer to him and see him glance at you from the corner of his eye. He smiles, soft and sweet, and turns his attention back to the fridge.

Eventually, you finally decide. Kita hands you a handful of carrots and you start to julienne them thinly, your knife—perfectly sharp, the most well-maintained kitchen knife you’ve ever seen—flashing in the light.

He starts halving baby bok choy, little gems of green and white. The pan hisses when he drops them in, giving it a good toss before he moves on to his next task.

“Is it really okay for me to be here during such a busy season?” you ask.

He glances at you. “I wouldn’t invite ya if it wasn’t a good time.”

“True.”

“Besides, I told you there was always a place here for you, and I meant it.”

Your cheeks heat. “I know.”

“Good.”

Quiet falls, broken only by the sound of your knife against the board and the hiss of the pan as Kita stirs it again. It’s comfortable, though, and you feel no need to fill the air. The two of you cook away, moving around each other easily in his small kitchen, as if it’s a dance you’ve always known.

It’s comforting in a way you’d almost forgotten.

You take a deep breath, your stomach churning a bit, and Kita glances over at you.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Just tired.”

He smiles softly. “If you wanna go to bed early, I don’t mind.”

“We’ll see,” you tell him. “Now finish up, I’m hungry.”

He laughs, but the two of you are done cooking not long after. You settle down to eat. You tell him some ideas you’ve had to name the ducks (“Duck is a perfectly good name, Shin!” “If ya say so.”) and he tells you about his day. It’s peaceful. Easy.

You’ve just finished eating when you reach out and cover Kita’s hand with your own. “Shin,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Fer what?”

You shrug, unable to put the jumble inside you into words.

He turns his hand over under yours and laces your fingers together. You don’t pull away.

“Yer always thankin’ me,” he says softly. “You don’t need to.”

“I do, though.”

“You don’t.”

You look at him. He meets your gaze easily, amber eyes gone whiskey-dark. He gives your hand a little squeeze.

“You don’t need to thank me for anything,” he says.

You squeeze back. “I will, though.”

He sighs but doesn’t argue.

For another moment, you both sit there, hands intertwined. You watch each other. You can feel the strength in his fingers and the hint of sweat on his palm. It’s warm and solid and real. Something in your chest stirs.

You’re the one that pulls back first, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Kita lets you go without a word.

The rest of dinner is quiet; you both go to your rooms early, influenced by Kita’s schedule. You murmur a soft goodnight in the hallway. You can still hear him when you’re in the guest room, listening to him rustling around before it all goes silent.

You gaze out the guest room window, taking in the rising moon. It’s waxing, almost full-bellied with light, pouring over the fields. It reflects off the water of the flooded paddies, a distorted mirror of itself. Under the moonlight, the fields go silvery, delicate and gossamer as they start to come to life. It’s beautiful in a foreign way.

You curl up on the bed with your book, texting Yoshikawa and Abe here and there as your phone lights up. When the moon is high in the sky, you finally get ready for bed.

You fall asleep thinking about the weight of Kita’s hand in your own.

***

Something shifts between you.

It’s slow like a dune in the wind, the sand taking on a new shape, but neither of you have mentioned it. Maybe you don’t need to. Maybe it’s all said in each fleeting glance, a language written in the amber of Kita’s gaze.

The days pass in a flicker of quiet moments. You spend a morning naming the ducklings, tucked in close to Kita’s side so he can see which one you’re pointing to. You repeat yourself as he takes them in, his brow furrowed as he notes the name for each nearly-identical duckling.

Some days you join him in the fields, kneeling down into the muck to sow a shoot into place. He guides you with careful hands, his warm fingers wrapped firmly around yours. You eat lunch in the bed of his truck, mud flaking off of your boots, and bask in the spring sun.

It’s easy. It’s terrifying.

You think of the taste of ozone, how it crackles on your tongue. The slow, sharp bite of it.

You know something will give. That the storm will break over you and change everything in its path.

You think you might finally be ready for it.

***

You come awake with a jolt.

The sheets stick to you, caught in the layer of sweat accumulating on you. You sit up and press a hand to your heart, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings.

Once you’ve regained your breath, you stumble over to the window and pull it open. The countryside breeze billows inside. It still carries the sharp bite of winter, but it’s mellowed under spring’s tender bloom. You close your eyes and let it flow over you.

The breeze cools you, your sweat going tacky before it dries down completely. The dream rolls over you again and you shudder.

You find yourself padding down the hallway without realizing it. You stop just in front of the door. You tug at your lower lip with your teeth before taking a deep breath.

You knock gently on the door and then open it.

“Shin?” you whisper.

The lump on the bed stirs. Kita pushes up onto his elbows. He’s bathed in moonlight, his hair haloed silver, the dark tips a moon’s eclipse. He’s bleary-eyed but he focuses on you instantly.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Bad dream.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

You hesitate.

“That bad?”

You shake your head. “I just…can I lay with you for a bit? Is that okay?” you ask, heart in your throat. You need to know he’s still here. That he’s real.

His eyes widen before they go soft. He pulls back the covers and scoots over to give you more room. You’re across the room in an instant, slipping onto the futon. It’s still warm with his body heat and you shiver, goosebumps dancing across your skin.

You keep a small distance between you when you lay down, but you let your head turn towards him. He’s still up on one elbow, the muscles in his bicep bunched with it, and he’s studying you carefully.

He’s handsome, you realize, not for the first time. He’s sleep-rumpled, his hair messy and ruffled and his shirt wrinkled and bunched up just enough to show off a silver of his paler belly. The moonlight plays over him like a lover, lingering on the arch of his cheekbones and the dusting of freckles sprayed over his nose. His thick lashes flutter as he blinks, showcasing eyes gone golden, and you almost sigh.

He lies back down when you don’t move. The space between the two of you is small but it feels massive, a gulf between your two bodies, separating the shores of you.

“You okay?” he asks again.

You shake your head.

He reaches out and hesitates halfway, his big hand hovering in the air. In the moonlight, the constellation of his scars is more visible, little nicks and cuts that gleam bone-white in the light.

“Can I?” he asks.

Your nod is tiny; the sheets crinkle with it.

He cups your cheek. His palm is rough against your skin but he’s careful with it, touches you as if you’re made of glass. It’s almost reverent. He sweeps his thumb across the apple of your cheek.

“What did you dream of?” he breathes.

“You.”

“Me?”

“I couldn’t find you,” you murmur, leaning into his touch. “I looked and looked, but you weren’t there.”

“I’m here now.”

You hum.

“I’m here now,” he says again and it sounds like a promise.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “You are.”

You shift on the futon. The sheets smell of him, of the faintest hint of the salt of his skin and his soap, and you close your eyes to let it envelop you. You nestle down into the pillow with a little yawn.

“Go back to bed,” Kita murmurs, caressing your cheek with careful fingers. “You’ll be tired in the morning.”

You stir under his touch, opening one eye. He’s watching you, his amber eyes unbearably fond, and something in you pangs. You press closer to him; he radiates a gentle warmth and you relax into it.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” you ask quietly. “Please?”

You pretend to not hear the way his breath catches.

“You sure?” he asks.

You press closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna regret it when my alarm goes off at dawn,” Kita says, a smile written in his sleep-rough voice.

“I won’t,” you say. “Promise.”

He hums skeptically.

“Maybe you’ll regret it,” you whisper into the salt of his skin. “You might.”

He stills, and then he’s coaxing you up to look at him. His eyes gleam in the dim, a flash of amber, of the richness of the earth. He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours.

“No,” he says. “I could never regret you.”

He always hears what you can’t quite bring yourself to say.

“Never?”

He nudges his nose against yours.

“Never.”

His breath stirs against your lips, and you take it in, make it your own. You sway closer, undulating like kelp, half-dizzy with it, and then you sway closer still.

He waits for you.

(He always has.)

When you kiss him, it’s simple. It feels right.

Kita sighs into it, one big hand coming up to cup your face, his rough palm reverent against your skin. There’s no urgency to him; he’s honey-slow with it, melting into you under the cover of night.

You kiss him again, and again, like the tide against the shore, lapping at the edges of him until you’re etched into his skin. He meets you each time, sweet and steady.

You kiss him until he is all you know, and then you kiss him once more.

You don’t even realize that you’re crying until he sweeps his thumb over your cheekbone.

You part your lips, and he presses a little kiss against them before he pulls back. In the dim, his amber eyes have gone whiskey-dark, deep and heady.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to explain.”

You press your face into the warm crook of his neck again. He smells of plain soap and a lingering hint of citronella from the fields, sweet and stinging. You breathe him in, let the scent of him settle into you, a part of him to carry always.

Kita curls a gentle arm around you.

“Go to sleep,” he breathes, and you pull back to look at him. He watches you, his vulpine eyes unbearably fond, and he smiles against your lips when you kiss him again.

He cups your cheek and pulls you into a deeper kiss before he backs away. He sweeps his lips against yours in a chaste peck and says again, “Go to sleep.”

“Fine,” you murmur. You curl up into him as his breath starts to even out. You listen to the tide of it, the ebb and flow, a balm against a bruise you’ll always have, and close your eyes knowing that he’s right there.

You wake to the quiet beep of his alarm clock. He rises from bed with quicksilver ease, the thick muscles of his back rippling under his sleep shirt. It’s barely dawn; wan light filters in through the curtains like an azure sea, outlining him faintly as he moves around the room. He looks like something out of a painting, sketched out in broad strokes of soft shadows.

He looks too good to be true.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs as you shift on the futon. His sheets are well-worn, the type of broken in that comes with years of use and careful care. “It’s early.”

Instead, you get up with him, slipping out from beneath the warmth of the comforter with a soft sigh. Kita gives you a little smile, a crescent moon tilt of his lips, and your cheeks heat. You glance away and hear him huff out a laugh.

He disappears into the bathroom, and you make up the futon, smoothing your hands over the wrinkles until they disappear.

By the time he pads into the kitchen, the old coffeemaker is hissing and gurgling, spitting out a steady drip of liquid. He brushes by you to get a mug, his hand warm on your lower back as he sidles past. The heat of him lingers.

The two of you eat breakfast in a comfortable silence. He slides his portion of your favorite onto your plate without a word; you push your share of pickled daikon into one of his small kobachi dishes. He says nothing,, but his lips quirk at the edges, the faintest hint of a sweet smile.

He gets up when you’re both finished, pushing to his feet in one fluid movement. His muscles coil with it, going taut beneath his tanned skin. It’s more distracting than you thought it would be.

You peer at him from the corner of your eyes as he starts to clear the table. He moves with careful intent, his big hands steady against the delicate porcelain.

You want to kiss him again.

Instead, you get to your feet and finish clearing the table, handing him dishes when he gestures for them. You wash the dishes together. Over the whisper of the running water, you talk about your upcoming day, trying to decide if you’ll be able to eat lunch together as well. You can’t quite keep the smile from your lips.

When the dishes are put away, you walk with him onto the engawa. He cups your cheek, sweeping his thumb over the arch of your cheekbone, and smiles.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says.

“I’ll be here,” you say, soft and full of promise, and his eyes crinkle with his smile.

You watch from the engawa as he disappears into the distance, into the paddies, swallowed up by the verdant world he’s created with his own hands. He glances back at you once, just before he disappears from sight.

You raise your face to the gentle warmth of the rising sun.

It’s a new day.

#kita x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #bee writes hq!!#.lbgtm

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