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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 5 months

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come rest your bones next to me ; satoru gojo, suguru geto

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most.

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes.

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks.

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth.

it’s beautiful.

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded.

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere.

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again.

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling.

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.”

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face.

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips.

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs.

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!”

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there.

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot.

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.”

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word.

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology.

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown.

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again.

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it.

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.”

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?”

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.”

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.”

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow.

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice.

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter.

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself.

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest.

he hopes it never goes away.

#genuinely fucked up that suguru geto isnt in my kitchen rn </3 #i just think sugu is such a caretaker. makes u breakfast and peels ur satsumas w/o u even asking. bc it makes him happy :’3 hes so Mother #i think he lowkey gets just a little bit uncomfortable when u or gojo try to do the same for him… he likes doting on u #but obv he deserves to be pampered too!! just gotta ease him into it #and i think gojo has a hole in his heart where love should be. bc he wasnt given enough as a child #im not sure what to think when it comes to his parents (since we know literally nothing abt them) but...#the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his mom…. maybe not realizing that he misses her…..… i think its very sad. and good.#listened to ricky montgomery while writing this i think it mightve healed me #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #……… thats… a lot of tags.

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lovebugism · 5 months

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HI BBY COULD U WRITE A grumpy!steddie x sunshine!reader , they are all moved in together & its nearing christmas SO reader is the one whos decorating , maybe the boys neglect to see how excited she is & they end up feeling really guilty cuz they just see her putting all of it away 🥹🥹

ty for requesting :D — the boys catch you taking down christmas decorations after not being supportive about your love for the holidays (ditzy!reader, hurt/comfort-ish, 1.3k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Eddie rouses in the early morning, weightless and unusually cold. The first thing he notices is that you’re not wrapped around him like a koala and snoring softly in his ear. How could he not? The lack of you has always been innately palpable.

With his eyes still closed, he reaches across the mattress in search of you. He figures Steve must’ve pulled you into him at some point during the night. The two of you are probably tangled together and hogging all the covers at this very moment.

“Ow,” Steve winces groggily when Eddie accidentally smacks him in the face.

The boy turns towards the voice and squints through the haze of leftover slumber. He squishes Steve’s scruffy cheeks together with a pale hand. “You’re not Sunshine,” Eddie observes gruffly, still playful despite being half-asleep.

Steve swats him away with his eyes still shut. “Obviously not.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” the honey-haired boy slurs, right before leaning forward to shove his face into your pillow. His next words are muffled and nearly inaudible. “Bathroom, maybe?”

Eddie goes to call for you. His chest inflates with a deep inhale, prepared to shout for you like a needy child. Something clatters distantly in the living room before he can. It’s so obviously you — clumsy, well-meaning you. The always doing things you shouldn’t be doing on your own because you’re too sweet to ask for help you.

Both of them know this, so they rise from their sleep without a word shared between them. They find you trying to steady yourself on a rickety step stool, halfway crouched on the highest level with sparkling tinsel in your hand.

The two boys catch your eye, one as equally sleepy as the other.

Eddie’s hair has been extra fluffed by the cotton of his pillow. The wild curls halfway conceal his swollen features. He’s in one of Steve’s sweatshirts and a pair of thin boxers. Steve, meanwhile, is in a shirt so tight you’re almost sure it’s yours. The fabric has risen with sleep and his plaid pants hang low accordingly. The bottom of his tummy and the tip of his happy trail are on display for you.

They’re effortlessly beautiful. Both of them. But their presence makes you grimace.

Your attempts to do all this quietly have obviously failed.

“Did I wake you?” you whisper, just in case.

“Yeah, you woke us— what the hell are you doing?” Steve wonders as he rushes to you, very suddenly alert. He helps you off the old, uneven ladder with hands that are impossibly warm, even over your shorts.

Eddie stands ahead of you and takes the tinsel from your hands.

“I was un-decorating,” you shrug.

“Un-decorating?” Eddie scoffs.

Steve squints at you, features swollen and lined with indentions of sleep, still not quite understanding. “Okay… Why?”

“’Cause you guys said you hated it.”

“Hated what?”

“All of it!” you retort, still a bit vaguely, and gesture all around you.

The living room looks a little like the North Pole puked all over it. There’s an intricately decorated Christmas tree in the corner, perfectly fluffed and packed to the brim with vividly-colored ornaments. String lights are draped over the ceiling, and you’ve hooked ornaments over them, too. Every doorway is lined with sparkling tinsel and lit-up stars and ribbons tied into bows.

It was beautiful. Well, you thought it was, anyway. No one else seemed to agree with you.

You try not to let it hurt you too much, but the subtle ache in the pit of your chest is almost impossible to ignore.

“We didn’t say we hated it!” Steve insists with a wavering voice. “…Did we?”

Eddie makes a vague I don’t know type of sound. He leans his wild head to the side and shrugs once. “I’m pretty sure you did call it tacky, actually.”

“Well, you said it looked like a Hallmark movie threw up in here!” Steve argues without thinking twice.

The older boy squints his puffy, chocolate eyes. “Shut up, dude.”

“You shut up!”

“See, this is why I’m taking it down,” you laugh over their bickering. You smile despite your distant hurt. “You obviously hate it. Both of you.”

Steve sighs. He stops being annoyed with Eddie for a second to give you his full attention. He goes distinctly soft when he looks at you, structured and sleepy features visibly melting. His long fingers give your sides a squeeze.

“We don’t hate it, babe. I promise. We’re just not, like, as into it as you are.”

“And that’s okay! Right?” Eddie blurts from beside him. He crosses two arms over his chest and shrugs. “I mean, we don’t have to like all the same things as each other, you know? What’s important is that we all support each other…”

Steve glances over his shoulder and sends the boy an incredulous gape, half confused and half impressed.

Eddie cowers beneath it. “…Or whatever. I don’t know. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Well, I feel super supported right now.” You laugh but it’s a little bit forced, weighed down by hidden emotion. You’re obviously still upset about the whole thing — even if you’re trying to pretend that you’re not.

“Shit, babe. I’m sorry,” Steve sighs and wraps you up in his arms. He presses you into his chest, palms spreading over your back and rubbing gently along the length of it. He buries his nose at the crown of your head — you smell like a mixture of your shampoo, his hairspray, and Eddie’s body wash.

You hold him back but shake your head at his affection.

“No. It’s okay. It’s just Christmas decorations— it’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not stupid,” Steve insists before the words can properly leave your mouth. He pulls back from you, just far enough to hold your face between his palms. He smiles softly down at you, so quiet it’s barely there. His thumb swipes over the sleep lines pressed into your cheek. “You were really excited about it, and we were assholes. And we’re sorry… Right, Eds?”

Eddie’s face scrunches from where he stands beside you. “Hey, I was preparing my own I’m sorry speech over here, Harrington.”

Steve’s hands drop from your face when you turn around to smile at the wild-haired boy. “Yeah? Let me hear it.”

Eddie brings you into his arms next. His hug is tighter than Steve’s, borderline smothering as his arms cross over your shoulders rather than your back. He hides his face in your hair when you tuck yourself into his chest.

“I love you,” he starts, muffled from where he’s pressed against you. The end of each sentence is followed by a soft kiss to your head. “And it’s not stupid. And we’re sorry for being assholes.”

Your laugh is stifled by his t-shirt. He smells like smoke and Steve’s body wash and your perfume.

“That’s exactly what I said,” Steve whines, his pout evident in his voice.

“Yeah, but I said ‘I love you,’” Eddie argues like a child. “So I win.”

“Well, guess what— I love you too, babe.”

You laugh again. It’s more audible this time when you pull away and turn to Steve, grinning all stupid as you grab his arm to drag him over. “I forgive both of you, so you both win,” you assure when the honey-haired boy towers over your back to join your embrace. With both of them holding you like this, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so safe.

“Ha!” you hear Steve scoff, followed by a smacking kiss to Eddie’s cheek.

The wild-haired boy rolls his eyes and pulls slightly back to look at you. “Want us to help you hang all this stuff back up?” he wonders, then cuts himself off. “Actually. Nope. We’re gonna help you hang all this stuff back up. Whether you like it or not, Sunshine.”

He’s always called you that. He said it was because of your smile, but when you beam up at him, he realizes he might’ve gotten it all wrong. You’re brighter than the sun — than a thousand suns — and if he had to choose between sunlight and the way you’re looking at him right now, he’d choose you in every lifetime.

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hwaightme · 5 months

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🩺 pairing: paediatrician!bf!seonghwa x neurosurgeon!gn!reader 🩺 genre: fluff, doctor au, established long-term relationship, festive fic 🩺 summary: in the early hours of a shared night shift right before christmas, the present turns into a gift, and seonghwa can't be happier and more in love 🩺 wordcount: 7.8k total 🩺 warnings/tags: slightly edited, the fluff is strong, simpery is real, two doctors with heart eyes, marriage, proposals, family, hwa is yearing, woo cameo, woo+hwa banter, yeo+yunho mention, mom+kid side ocs, needles/syringes, injections, hospitals, night shifts, unconventional marshmallow toasting, a lot of love and sharing life <3 🩺 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🩺 a/n: happy holidays and merry christmas~ the idea for this was in the drafts for ages, reignited hardcore by @starrysvn(...the cameos hehet), and it feels right for the festive season~ much love! comments, reblogs, notes all appreciated

Clean and comforting. The poster-room of an office, personalised, and yet retaining all the professional qualities necessary. The gentle swaying of the tulle that transformed the twinkling of a myriad of skyscrapers outside and a magnificent deep navy and inky black star-filled sky into a soothing haze, the ticking of a clock adorned with illustrations from the doctor’s favourite franchise. There was a unity even in the multicoloured shelves and cupboards. Stickers, kindly left behind by particularly pleased, proud and excited patients turned into permanent decorations on the sides of the otherwise strictly uniform desk, bringing relief and encouragement to its occupant. The newest additions - a small desk Christmas tree that was decorated on theme with the rest of the space, and a couple of garlands elegantly hung on the top cupboards and above the tulle served as reminders that it was, in fact, the festive season, and celebrations were only a day away. Even so, healthcare could not take a holiday, and the hospital was busier than ever.

“Hey… do you like… Lego?”

It had been long enough since the beginning of the appointment, as Doctor Park Seonghwa had noted, but the little patient sitting in front of him was still refusing to succumb to the wrath of a ‘spooky scary needle that makes him go ouchy’. Seonghwa could not blame the boy though - if there was something he never did, it was to project a child’s behaviour outwards into adult societal expectations. As a matter of fact, he rarely did that for adults too. He never saw the point, nor did he wish to impose some alternative spin on reality onto anyone who he had the pleasure of meeting, especially his patients or their relatives. As L/N Junseo crossed his arms in disapproval, Seonghwa could not help but spin a tiny fraction on his stool that he used during appointments such as this, and sneak another piece of sporadic scrutiny towards the mother. As he had assumed, there was little comfort to be offered from her side - she was sitting in a corner across the room, fanning herself and sending worried glances in the approximate direction of both the doctor and her son.

So, he had no choice left. He had to pull the most powerful weapons out of his arsenal - inspired by the many pieces that served as baubles on his desktop tree. Seonghwa was grateful that he had the foresight to not unpack the disposable syringe before checking the kid’s tolerance. Judging by the smile that spread across the boy’s face, and the confused expression gracing his mother’s, Seonghwa knew he hit the jackpot and there was potential for him to catch a break if the appointment did not run over, and if he was lucky enough, perhaps the main reason behind his rush would be free too. The simple thought inadvertently crawled into Seonghwa’s mind, and he lowered his gaze to suppress a shy smile and return to being the amiable paediatrician that he needed to be.

“Now, mister Junseo, will you wait a couple of seconds for me?” After receiving his patient’s enthusiastic nods of approval, he spun around on his stool, and rolled towards the cabinet that occupied the majority of the right wall of his office.

Stopping himself from crashing into his desk with a fast hand, he opened one of the lower doors to reveal a series of colour coded and labelled trays, each one filled to the brim with even more vibrant hues, but maintaining a strict order. Pulling the first and then the second tray from the top, the doctor inspected the contents, and decided to give the final decision to Junseo, turning to him with a grin on his face.

“Dinosaurs or spaceships?”

“Spaceships!” just as Seonghwa had thought, this question broke through the storm clouds of doubt and fear, cutting right down to Junseo’s primary interests, some of which the young doctor just so happened to share – the only difference was that the latter had to also remember that he had a job to do, and that job involved convincing, or cleverly deceiving with good intentions, a little kid into a routine shot. It was hard not to wonder what your, his life partner’s, reaction would be if you were in this room with him, considering that this environment was probably the furthest a space from your natural habitat - the operating room, could be.

“A man of good taste I see. I mean, dinosaurs are cool too, but I will let you in on a little secret… I have matching spaceship band aids,” As he pulled out the tray that contained some pre-built spaceships, with the bricks being from a younger-child-friendly set, along with stray pieces that turned the set into the perfect cognitive and sensory exercise, Seonghwa took time to explain his actions to the boy. In a way this was not too dissimilar from the preparation of instruments for surgery, so perhaps you would find joy in this interaction to the same extent as him. He shook his head lightly, reeling himself back to the matter at hand.

Sometimes, Seonghwa pondered whether too much of his budget, and, on occasion, personal finances, went towards making his office be more of a playground than what one would imagine ‘a doctor’s lair’ to be – in his mind, that was your office, one that he visited enough times to memorise. An ode to modernity, with books and documents, diagrams and an anatomically accurate model of a brain with various labels - just what one would expect of a real doctor. But both fortunately and unfortunately, this was a style that Seonghwa would not attempt to achieve in his own office. There was a mat on the floor made out of foam puzzle pieces, there was every form of toy transport he could find, animals, dolls… he swore he appeared in toy stores more regularly than in the pharmacy at this point. But the joy with which his patients’ faces lit up was more than encouraging, reminding him that he was on the right path, he was doing well, and that everything was worth it.

“NO WAY!” Junseo yelled out, excitedly kicking his feet. The paper towels that lined the bench rustled slightly, the link between the sheets being stress tested – much like the mother, who appeared to be speechless, but at least no longer faint.

Seonghwa imagined that his present conclusions and responsive actions were not too distant from how teachers felt when they saw a certain type of action be executed by a child, and then saw its origins during parent teacher conferences. The conclusion had come to his mind on its own accord but resounded loudly enough for him to send a reassuring gleam to Missus in the corner, and observe her delayed reactions as she, evidently, was battling the instinct to throttle him to the ground and save her child from danger. How wild and fascinating the generational sharing of fears and burdens was. Seonghwa turned his attention back to the star of the show, who was eagerly waiting for the eloquently advertised, and much anticipated, spaceships.

“Yes way! And I can show them to you later.” Seonghwa responded with a chuckle, setting the tray next to the boy, making him turn to the side and better expose the arm that was to receive the intramuscular injection. Even though Junseo was now fully immersed in the toy provided, he still expressed his gratitude, forcing the man to use every ounce of strength in him to not melt.

“Thank you so much Doctor Park!”

"No, thank you! Lego is my favourite, you know, but if you picked dinosaurs, you could have heard my tyrannosaurus rex impression." He could hear some shuffling outside of the room, turning into a thud as he introduced his ‘special ability’ when it came to distraction tactics. It was straining, conducting all his appointments without a nurse, since quite a number had arranged to go on holiday for Christmas, including his favourite in the form of a tall man with the brightest smile and enough energy to power the whole building - Jeong Yunho. Was it a challenge for Seonghwa? Perhaps, but he was coping. Besides, would he really want anyone here with him except a certain someone who was not even in this specialisation?

"Awh... no... but that sounds so fun I wanna hear, I wanna hear!!!" The cute boy was practically begging, giving Seonghwa his best puppy dog eyes with a turn of his head – that would not do for the doctor’s mission, however, Junseo needed to be practically in a different realm for it to work.

"Could you attach this jet engine please?" In the softest voice he could muster, Seonghwa guided attention back to the spaceships, commenting on how well Junseo was assembling them. He infinitely admired the ability that children had to disregard common practices, ignore rules and simply create. As Junseo would get older, he would undoubtedly have to succumb to standardisation, but in the meantime, he could enjoy picking a wild palette of coloured bricks, not think about astrophysics when constructing the ships, and be perfectly satisfied with what he was crafting.

"Mhm..."

Using the moment of distraction, Seonghwa turned and reached for the hand sanitiser pump on his desk, cleaning his hands. With practised motions, as he returned to his seat in front of the kid, the doctor took out the prefilled syringe out of the pocket of his white coat, peeling the decontamination seal to fish the item out. He had a small window of opportunity and needed to act fast to seize it. From the other pocket, he produced a packet with an alcohol swab, carefully tearing it, as far away from Junseo as possible so that he would not be shocked by the smell.

"Now, Junseo, could you sit a little closer to me, so... oh thank you!" The child obediently shuffled, not taking his eyes off the Lego pieces. "You might feel a little cold on your arm, but don't worry I will roar that away, okay, you with me? Ah wait, how do we make that ship the strongest in the galaxy?" breath in, breath out. Watching the child’s movements so that he would not accidentally hurt himself. Lifting the sleeve of the t-shirt the Junseo was wearing ever so slightly, Seonghwa crept towards the bench on his wheeled stool, praying to every higher power that he would be done with this appointment soon, but retaining his professionalism. It was now or never.

"Imma show you-"

"Nyaaaaaaah~"

As soon as Seonghwa started, he was done, and the syringe was long hidden behind his back as he pressed a cotton ball to the area, though Junseo could not care less, having broken into a fit of giggles over the interesting interpretation of a t-rex. No matter how exhausted he was, this was one of the things the doctor lived for – having the ability to make medicine, doctor’s visits, and hospitals just a little bit less miserable for the little ones, something of a game or an adventure, him being of the opinion that these pocket-sized humans did not deserve to be exposed to the struggles quite yet. If it was in his power, he would have changed the ‘quite yet’ to never, but that was far too utopian, and something wiped out of him in first year of medical school. So, Doctor Park simply tried his best.

"DOCTOR PARK THAT WAS NOT A ROAR!!!" Junseo proclaimed, still giggling as he clutched onto a bright green brick. Seonghwa chuckled, sliding to the left to dispose of the syringe in a biohazard bin, stretching himself out so that he could still keep holding the cotton ball. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the mother beginning to come to her senses, the ‘high alert’ mode dropping to a more manageable, generally healthy parental worry.

"Then come on, show me what you've got. I bet you have a-"

"ROOOOOOOOOAAAAAR!!!" With him being startled by what he should have expected, he could not help but throw a glance at the other adult in the room, finding her surprised. Hands clasped together, she whispered ‘goodness gracious’, and upon finding out that she had a one-man audience, gave a sheepish grin and looked down. Seonghwa was calming down from his ‘performance’, the doctor, actor, caregiver and child-friendly comedian in him began to leave his body, giving way to a straightforward happiness of a man who could see that he helped out people in need.

"Wow now that is IMPRESSIVE Mister Junseo! Ah wait, could you hold this for me?” he gestured towards the cotton ball, and once the boy complied, backed away to get some more hand sanitiser. “We are done!"

"Huh? Wait... no ouchy?" genuinely confused, the toddler asked, dropping the Lego pieces entirely and blinking in slow motion.

"We scared the ouchy away with spaceships and your awesome roar, didn't we?"

"WE DID!! WE DID!!" With the cotton forgotten, Junseo was about to hop off the bench, his hands pressed into the dark grey material he had been sitting on, but before he could Seonghwa caught him, easily picking the boy up in his arms despite the weight that it put on him. After all, patients came first, and this was always a clear sign that he was trusted – besides, the kid did not have any other ailments, so a little hug would not hurt anyone, especially not Seonghwa’s soul.

"We did! I promised you a cool band aid too so... ah hold on let me... watch your head please." With Junseo still in his arms, Doctor Park ambled towards the other side of the office, closer to where the mother was now standing, to reach into one of the shelves and retrieve the packet of what he considered to be something akin to achievement stamps. A final well done from him to the patient, for being so courageous and letting Seonghwa poke them with a needle.

The rest of the appointment went by in a blur. The boy was safely back in his mother’s arms, sporting a colourful bandaid, babbling away about spaceships, quietly repeating Seonghwa’s dinosaur impression, and emphasising for the umpteenth time that ‘the injection actually did not hurt at all’, much to the mother’s delight. She looked to be on cloud nine as she held her bundle of joy, and even though he was bouncing on her lap to the point where the doctor would assume that she was in discomfort, the woman showed no sign, and instead gleamed at him, expressing genuine gratitude.

"So sorry for all the trouble and that I could not help in any way, please accept my-"

"No need no need! Junseo is such a sweet boy, and it was all his bravery in the end. I am just doing my job." He tried to assure her, flipping through the vaccination booklet she had provided and filling out the details of the shot. While checking the date just in case, despite him having a mental countdown to Christmas with the precision down to an hour practically built into his brain, he still noted the clock on his computer, memorising the time in order to figure out when approximately you would be done with the surgery you had arranged for this evening. Maybe he would have enough time to stop by your department, and manage to catch you there to ask about what plans for celebration you two would dare have in between busy schedules. His attention was guided back to the jovial duo on the armchair, as the mother spoke once more.

"You perform miracles, Doctor Park. Really. You are truly one of a kind! Before today I was convinced that he was wired to cry at every appointment..." she lowered her voice a little, just as Junseo turned away to pick at one of his trouser pockets.

"If you are worried about him developing any phobias and the like, I can recommend some amazing medical experts who can work with you and him?" Whenever anyone voiced a concern, he took it as part of his responsibility to respond wholeheartedly, and as such, once he completed the record, offered assistance. Perhaps this was also a safe zone for him, a removal from what otherwise would inevitably make his heart melt or ache. But to no avail.

"Oh no, no, I think I found the cure right here. Really, my husband will be so impressed about this!”

Husband. Happy family. There it was. Seonghwa felt the corner of his mouth twitch as he lifted himself off his chair, shut the booklet and returned it to the mother, and wife. It was difficult to convince himself that this was not jealousy tugging at his nerves and heartstrings, as the more he pondered the image of what had to be a perfect union, the dinners, the days out in the park, the little meet ups for lunch if either partner was otherwise busy… the domesticity got to him and made him want to slam the table in frustration. So, he did the next best thing, and clasped his hands behind his back so that he would not dare act out of line.

“Is that so?” he forced out, remaining composed as he returned the mother’s bows while she ushered her son forward and stood up to head for the door. He could not help but imagine the duo walking under the lights that adorned every shop, every street and coming home to their own tree, coming together as a small family in a cosy atmosphere. Similar routines, similar time off, the space to love and to live and to enjoy being ‘one’ to the fullest.

“I think he will want to come with us next time, to meet you, really… of course if you don't mind us scheduling check-ups with you from now on?" meet him… so Seonghwa could see the whole assembly… Really, right in the moment when his head was filled with thoughts of you, he had to be reminded of just how adorable some aspects of paediatrics could be, to the degree of malicious irritation.

He bet that the reason why you were so relaxed about your relationship was because you were not in direct contact with families and cute kids, for the most part. The closest you came to communicating with patients was in briefing, de-briefing and maintenance of their condition pre- and post- operation. He had to see the bad and good, the downs and ups, the rollercoasters and the memorable highs over long periods of time. Some of his patients he had known for so long, they were basically his relatives, and the personifications of sunshine that would rush to greet him, nearly stumbling over tiny shoes and sometimes barely reaching his waist, or even mid-thigh, restored his faith in the universe. It was exactly because he was aware of the downsides, and still desired this closeness and this next step with you, that he was cursing time itself for not allowing him to express this hope properly. Sure, you had discussed marriage, and both of you were more than committed to one another, but no words had been said about the part where someone popped the question. Was there ever going to be ‘the right time’? Especially when both of you were at the early stages of your medical careers, and were caught adrift in the chaotic shifts, training, exams and had to sacrifice yourselves for thousands who came through the doors of the hospital.

"Ah, whatever you would prefer, Missus Hwang. It would be an honour.” He squashed his nerves for the remainder of the appointment, and peacefully parted with the two visitors to KQ Hospital, wishing them the happiest holidays and for a stable recovery from the vaccination.

Seonghwa remained standing in the corridor, his back propping the door to the office. Closing his eyes, he listened to the opening of the elevator, and let out a breath he did not know he had been holding once Junseo’s excited, shrill voice was muted by the doors. Gears moved into action as the machine carried the mother and son away from the paediatric ward. The doctor rolled his head in an attempt to relieve at least some of the tension that had built up from the back-to-back out-patient care, the abominable late nights, and the vexatious haze that plagued him in his own life.

It was going to be a long night. And he was barely a quarter of the way through his night shift; perhaps the winter cold and the shorter days were to blame for the melancholy mood. As he straightened himself up once more, Seonghwa instinctively reached for the phone that was hidden in the pocket of his black trousers, hoping for any kind of distraction. Checking the time, messages, whether you had even seen his text about the maintenance people coming to check the plumbing next week… any sign that there was a world beyond his job. But the communication flatlined, and he resorted to simply staring at his lockscreen: a picture of the two of you during that one vacation that you had managed to book together. The one where, three days in, both of you had severe work withdrawal, but thankfully laughed it off and soothed the pain by falling asleep in each other’s arms. That was what he missed. The simple things. If there was one thing he wished for this Christmas, it was for you and him to spend it together - no one else, no pagers going off incessantly, no family members intruding on your time, not even friends. He missed you, even though you were right there. Of course, he still felt blessed to be able to embrace you almost every time you two would be floating into dreamland - be it in the morning or in the evening, aside from when shifts did not align, but he craved more, always. Maybe he was being greedy, wanting for even more of your time. Nonetheless, he hoped that his readiness to sacrifice all of his for you would, at some point, result in his most romantic dreams, akin to castles in the sky, coming true. He wished to well and truly build a life with you. Seonghwa had never thought that he would pay so much attention to labels, but something about settling down officially, being together ‘in sickness and in health’, as he had heard in the vows at his friends’ weddings, was leaving him in a state of longing, constantly, until it was a permanent buzzing in his head.

"So... Doctor Seong-nyah-" rudely tearing through his daydreams, a familiar voice startled the doctor, causing him to gasp and shove his mobile phone into his pocket with panicked haste.

"Wooyoung, don't test me, you are not my patient." Seonghwa gasped, and retorted with sudden venom, spinning to face the man who, evidently, had been loitering around in the corridor behind him for a lot longer than he would ever accept.

"But I want a sticker or a bandaid please~"

But the action only resulted in a stupor, as right there, hands in pockets, the ghost of a mischievous smile on perfectly tinted lips, was his favourite person. Doctor L/N Y/N, neurosurgeon, and definitely the one who had changed his brain wiring to short circuit every time he saw you. Before Wooyoung got any cheekier due to the lack of a response and the less than discreet gawking from Seonghwa’s end, he forced out a random commentary; anything to keep himself from going into cardiac arrest.

"You keep stealing my Disney princess ones anyways!?"

"Can't help it. Besides I've seen you snatch the toy sword so consider us even."

A light blush was threatening to coat his cheeks as he gazed at you, mesmerised by your cheerful reaction. Without a doubt you were imagining the scene, and had you been alone, would coo at ‘just how endearing’ it was. This was not the kind of ‘break between appointments’ that he was imagining, and while you were here, before him, very obviously free, Seonghwa was questioning whether this was a manifestation of luck or a curse.

"That was for safety… and… uh… hello my love.” he mumbled, while you smiled at him, and gave him a gentle wave, already anticipating that even if you were to speak, you would crack and reveal what you had been planning - a major step forward that had been plaguing your mind at almost all hours, even in rare snippets of quiet. Technically, what you had said to Seonghwa was true - it had been an operation, just of a different kind. Careful to not let the mandatory Santa hat you had tugged on your head as part of your department’s senior residents’ effort to ‘keep the spirits up’ slip, you adjusted it to be more snug, and rapidly returned your attention to your boyfriend, who was intently studying you, admiring every detail as though he had not seen each one a million times over.

"Y/N here found the dinosaur impression cute, just so you know." Stuck in a limbo between locking himself in his office and throttling Wooyoung to the ground, Seonghwa chose neither and was simply amazed at how you could remain so nonchalant.

"Were both of you… listening to the… but that is not-”

You and Wooyoung exchanged a knowing look, causing suspicion to rise in Seonghwa. He was not fond of it. Not in the slightest. There was something brewing, and that glint in your eyes was less than reassuring. What were you hiding from him? A million questions a second ran through his mind as he subjected you to scrutiny. First off, you had said that the surgery could be challenging. And yet he could not detect the slight furrowing in your brows, the slouch, the pursed lips that you normally had if you were monitoring a patient in critical condition.

"They were around the department, and I just so happen to know that you are a certified clown so..." Wooyoung began, purposefully winding the taller man up until he was ready to break the Hippocratic oath and cause harm.

"Says the person who can literally replace the fire alarm with his-"

“This is why you should follow my methods and do the whole ‘energy drink and coffee” cocktail before those ghostly long shifts, I tell you-” crossing his arms, Wooyoung appeared to be enjoying every moment he spent teasing his fellow colleague, ignoring how you were starting to get impatient, glancing down the corridor and back to the bickering friends.

“How even-”

"Well, I would more than like to consult the lovely, charming clown please, because I have a whole circus on my hands and need some help.”

That was all that was needed to regain all attention back. Seonghwa gave Wooyoung one last sidelong stare before focusing on you, attempting to figure out just what you were scheming. He knew better than to pry, however, if there was anyone in your relationship who was an expert in dissecting, be it literally or metaphorically, it would be you. That was exactly why he stood and waited with bated breath, fingertips dancing on his upper thigh. In trepidation, the young man’s mind replayed every shared moment with unfathomable clarity, leading him to wonder if this mischievous glint in your stunning orbs was further foreshadowing, much like your sudden announcement that you would be working the same hours as him today, and upon questioning passed it off as “a bit of Christmas luck”.

“Right…” Wooyoung’s voice appeared distant, barely audible against the thrum of nervousness and lighthearted suspicion. Running a hand through his wavy, neatly parted long hair Seonghwa gave you a lopsided grin before following you down the corridor and giving his colleague an amiable wave, along with a cheerful call of “see you later”. His friend had the whole night ahead of them - much like you and Seonghwa. Except, unfortunately, you and your partner were floors, departments away. Not that far in the grand scheme of things, but far enough for Seonghwa’s heart to start hurting when he least expected it.

Just like now, despite you being within arm’s reach, the proximity reminded him of just how much of a luxury such moments were, and how, should anything go wrong, you would metaphorically evaporate. The beeping of a pager would be enough to make you or him leave, that damned device having to be strapped on and prioritised above everything else. As less and less time remained until Christmas, the probability of it going off climbed higher and higher, so every step was a risk, and every scheduled consultation or out-patient care call when Seonghwa was mandated to hand off his monitoring duties to another resident - a temporary salvation.

You were in your scrubs, and were sporting a standard issue doctor’s coat, ever so professional. Though your back was facing him, Seonghwa could easily imagine the identity card clipped to the pocket above your heart, along with the embroidered hospital name and emblem, and your department. Neurosurgery. The top of the top, an art and a science so complex that Seonghwa was in awe of you eternally. How you dedicated your life to the mystery behind a person’s eyes, and how you could heal the terrifyingly enigmatic organ with astounding success. Determined, passionate in all ways, that was what had drawn the enamoured man to you, and what had made him fall deeper and deeper and vow to stay for as long as you would allow him. Would you be fine with him tagging along, just like this? Would you be willing to walk in the same stride?

“Hwa,” turning your head, you exclaimed your boyfriend’s nickname and then turned back to scan your pass to let you both through to another corridor, “how has your day been so far, lovely?”

“It’s been good, not too bothersome. Last appointment was a vaccination - not sure how or why the literal holidays were chosen for this, but who am I to judge,” looking around, Seonghwa responded. Quickly, he caught up to you, and in a matter of moments you felt how his fingers intertwined with yours, and his palm was pressed against you, as though a mirror image. Jigsaw pieces falling into a perfect union, your hands, stilled in harmony.

“Maybe not everyone wants to skip school,” you mused, poking fun at the times when your boyfriend did just that - at least before university and him choosing to major in medicine hit like a truck; in the blissful middle and high school days, so easy in retrospect - a fever dream.

“I’d love to hear what the little patient would think about that one… but really, Christmas? Why would you run the risk of having side effects over Christmas?”

“That’s true… but I bet you made the appointment a really good time. In fact, from what I have heard I am sure you did,” you teased, making Seonghwa squeeze your hand and click his tongue in pretend annoyance.

“Hey, I’m trying my best here-”

“-and you are making the world a better place,” you cut him off, squeezing back and urging him on, closer and closer to your final destination.

Seonghwa shook his head, bewildered at the sudden outburst of affection. You were normally not the kind to get too sappy at work - if anyone, it was him who would gush about the simplest things to you during a brief lunch break, while you would be nodding along with a grin on your face. You were excited about something, without a doubt. What it was, however, was beyond him, so he let you lead, while playfully questioning your behaviour.

“What’s gotten into you? Did you forget to put the plates back in the cupboard at home?” he squinted, slightly relieved when you chuckled but still left without a concrete answer:

“Can’t I praise the love of my life every once in a while?”

“You can, but-”

“-Besides, Yeosang, you know, my friend from paediatric neurosurgery, he said kids who you had treated talk about you non-stop. Maybe you should pay some of them a visit. If their treating doctors allow it, of course.”

Eyes widening, Seonghwa barely noticed you slipping away from him to grab a large bag you had stationed by a heavy exit door, and in bewilderment was concerned if he should believe your overwhelmingly kind message. All those little lives he had the honour of getting to know and trying his best to help… remembering him? It was at times like these, even the hardest days were worth it. For the present and for the future. He returned to reality only when he felt a gust of freezing cold air hit his form and goosebumps ran over his skin. Your proud, loving smile greeted him and encouraged him to walk on. When Seonghwa attempted to query your spontaneous adventurism, you waved it off - forward, only forward. Making a note of something fluffy in texture peeking out of the bag, he hoped for it to be at least a scarf; a doctor should know to not expose themselves to the risk of colds.

You led Seonghwa to one of the many secluded areas of the hospital - forgotten by most staff, this portion of the roof was the prettiest at night, when the lights of surrounding high rises and the rest of the metropolis stretching out as far as the eye could see all glimmered like a blanket of stars laid down on the precious planet. The city, forever awake, bustling with activity. A hand brushed against his upper arm, and he turned his head to see you holding his coat that he swore he had left in the call room. Gingerly, the article was in his grasp, and yet another question was travelling for you to tackle:

“Now when did you get this? I know I did not just leave it lying around.”

“Mhm, call room. Coat hanger. By the door. I am very aware. I picked it up on the way.”

“Sounds like someone had a lot of time…” trailing off, Seonghwa put on the coat, watching as you did the same. Apparently, that was not all that was in the bag, and with each item that was revealed, his surprise grew and grew.

“Just enough to prepare a little something,” in one swift movement, you caught your boyfriend off guard with sudden Santa hat attack - nearly covering his eyes with the white fluff, previously styled hair shooting out in different directions from under the accessory, you still deemed the mission successful, and giggled, elaborating: “now, we match.”

He could not not love you. Much like the nights in December were dark and his exhales turned to steam that was to be whisked away by the wind, he was confident in the fact that he was born to love you, and only you. It was funny to think that years ago he thought of other kinds of forever, only for them to fall apart in months. Seonghwa mused about different realities, but was never afraid of losing them until inevitably happened; not because he did not care at all, but because his heart was never in the right place. Now that his heart was home, it was clear. Most of all, the clearest sign of the truth that belonged to your relationship, was the subconscious fear, continuous and blended into every note of adoration. It was in his love for you that he found what it meant to be afraid to lose.

The young man did not want to lose these priceless moments - how you would make an elaborate plan and surprise him with it. How out of nowhere, before his very eyes was a blanket that you laid down on the roof, a portable heater that emitted a glow akin to that of a campfire, and a large wool throw that he assumed you wished to use to keep you both warm. That shine that he swore was coming from something heavenly within you as you dragged him to take a seat, your adorable cooing over him as you wrapped the two of you tight with the throw, and scooched until your body was pressed against his. On instinct, Seonghwa’s arm was around you, and he leaned in until he could smell the faint, comforting aroma of your strawberry shampoo. Staring into the heater, he imagined a gentle flame, falling into a beautiful daydream - a world where there was just you and him.

This was a long-standing fantasy of his, a picture of which he had painted for you many times while you counted stars on the ceiling of your bedroom, drifting off to sleep just before the chirping of the birds, the dawn bidding you farewell and wishing a good rest. Somewhere nowhere, in a place with no name, surrounded by no one and nothing, you two could stay for a little while and indulge in simplicity. An escape from the daily stresses, a dive into the daily bliss of being enamoured and having found one’s soulmate. In a little cottage that you two could rent out, with a little spot outside so you could pretend like you were properly camping, Seonghwa prayed for time in an earthly utopia.

“I couldn’t find sticks, So I hope you are fireproof,” a marshmallow was held between two delicate fingers right before his eyes. A large, white cloud and a hint that you might have been listening a lot more intently than you had let on.

“I- are we- are we about to be toasting marshmallows?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” the doctor followed your lead, stretching out his hand to the heater, imagining the marshmallow roast away; if Seonghwa were to squint hard enough, he could almost see the colour change.

A giggle escaped you, and you huddled into him, at peace due to the safety which you always said he naturally oozed. Without fail you told him how he was a walking spring day, a blessing, a shining star. The more you said it, the more confident he became in accepting the words as truth, and then, one day when he caught you admiring him from afar while waiting for him to finish rounds, acceptance turned into a fact. By loving you, and by letting you love him, Seonghwa learned to love himself. Thoughts of fond memories prompted him to give you a gentle poke, making you lift your head in perplexion. This, however, was quickly dispelled by a the sweetest kiss, deepened by a gentle hand that found purchase on the nape of your neck.

Lips so familiar, so addicting; each time they met was the kindling of a miniature paradise. A journey through time, to end only in the future, the present turned into a miracle in which he could immerse himself, all of his senses attuned to you. The touch of your lips was the rays of a sun in May, kind and soothing, blossoming into the finest beauty and the most satisfying serenity on verdant green leaves and gorgeous flowers. The only thing he could hear was the breeze creeping across the not quite as picturesque cement and metal, and the ghost of a mumble of “I love you” as you parted for air, still close enough to share it.

Lost in your eyes, Seonghwa wished he could never be found. He was willing to endlessly draw the maze that trapped him in them, adapting it to formulate a personal infinity. Eyelashes, eyebrows, nose, cheeks, lips, every blemish and freckle and scar were all priceless to him. You, in all your personal divinity, a universe that so intently studied him, loved every part unconditionally and invited him in to do the same. A symbiosis, a system of two stars orbiting one another - a gorgeous celestial waltz was how he saw you and him. Under the night sky full of constellations, you two were still the brightest. Seonghwa’s heart was full. He ever so softly let his hand slide to the side of your face, thumb gliding slowly over the skin of your cheek. Once, twice - perpetual motion, each one marking another second in which love grew stronger, and the yearning for his dream more intense. If only he could put it into words. And yet, courage only allowed him to muster a mere two which were far too general, ambiguous:

“Thank you.”

“I am glad we could do this,” you answered, sharing in his delight. You did not need anything else, seeing past the mellow, pleasant triviality.

“I think the only downside is that now I want to do this all the time,” his hand guided your head into the crook of his neck, so you could sit side by side, looking out into the urban expanse. Silence weighed on you, until a long-awaited suggestion reached Seonghwa’s ears.

“Well… we could. At least for Christmas.”

“As if we will be taking days off, yeah.”

“Who says we won’t?”

“I- huh?”

You took his hands in yours, and shuffled for you to be face to face. Much to your astonishment, when it came down to the critical moment when you would start being blatantly obvious in your intentions, you were not as anxious anymore. Everything felt more than right, and the comfortable quietude resembled the globe holding its breath for you.

“I have an idea,” your boyfriend was intrigued, but doubtful. He had hopes, sure, but he knew better than to keep them up, “so… ahem, well, for us it is standard practice to not schedule anything major on holidays, just in case, and thankfully I could… reschedule some things…”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded along, raising his eyebrow. Your hands held his more tightly on their own accord, shaking a little as you spoke.

“Well, so, yeah, you know how the head of… the head of paediatrics is a big family person right?”

“Yeah, comes with the job I suppose, and?” tongue darting over his lips, Seonghwa began to sense what you were getting at, and he swore there was not enough oxygen to sustain him, and a dizziness settled over his mind, clouding it, leaving behind only you, you, you-

“Hm… well… I think they would be more than happy to let a new family celebrate together… yeah?”

“...Yeah…yeah?”

“So what I’m saying is-”

“Will you marry me?”

“Beat me to it,” gleaming, you pulled him in, stopping a mere few millimetres away, seeking approval.

Hints of tears welling in his deep brown eyes induced your own. Pressed forehead to forehead, you memorised every tiny detail, how you felt, how Seonghwa felt, how you were both fondly mumbling ‘yes's and ‘always’s and ‘I love you’s over and over again; vows uttered at the beginning of a new chapter of a miraculous life, in perfect harmony.

“I’m sorry for the ‘no ring’ situation-”

“I’d marry you with paper rings,” Seonghwa responded at the speed of light, quoting one of the many songs that both of you loved to listen to, and would blast in the living room many times over, “how did you even plan this-”

“Don’t bash me, but Wooyoung was an accomplice-”

“Of course he was,” he flicked your nose with his and guided you into another kiss, your hat sliding away and almost falling to the ground, saved only by Seonghwa’s reflexes. Smiling against your lips, he only deepened the sensual expression of devotion, parting simply to confess,

“To think we were rehearsing the same thing but I was too scared to say it.”

“You are too precious. And I’m sorry if I’m too scary, angel,” you winked, earning an amused, airy laugh.

This could not be the furthest from how Seonghwa felt; the notion of you terrifying him was hilarious. Everything but you was the issue. You were his safe haven, his clarity. The one to whom he had already given away all his hours, be it in closeness or in his dreams both in the day and night. You were his and he was yours, and now that the one change he had been begging all the goodness in the galaxy for finally happened, he wanted to shout this from every rooftop, starting from this fated, isolated spot that must have been made for just you two.

“No, I am just more certain that you can read minds,” he gestured to the heater, the untouched marshmallows, the stars, and finally stopped at you, alluding to what was to be your proposal, turned mutual.

“Just because I poke around brains-” you began, only to be stopped by unparalleled cuteness in the form of a scrunched up face and a tiny smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, you aren’t even a cardiologist and you stole my heart-”

“Park Seonghwa, cease the flirting, we are getting married-” playfully, you slap his shoulder.

“Oh, you only saw the beginning,” a wiggle of the eyebrows. Your very soul fluttered at the sight of his megawatt grin, and the innocent peck left on your cheek.

“...I hope so,” your wish. To cherish the many sides, colours, shades, edges, angles of your spectacular Seonghwa.

“It’s decided. I’ll hit you with all the festive pick up lines starting tomorrow.”

As you settled back into an embrace, regarding the golden glow of your inner oasis that transposed onto all, previously dark, surroundings, you unwillingly played the role of the realist.

“Ask your department head first.”

“For a blessing?”

“No, silly, to confirm your freedom.”

“Yes, Doc’,” in jest, your fiance saluted you, and you wrapped your arms tighter around his waist, brushing your jaw against his shoulder.

“Page me after."

“I will page myself across the hospital to tell you.”

“Awh, my Seonghwa Claus and my present in one,” absent-mindedly, you reached for a stubborn strand of his hair to push away, and twirled it around your digits, careful to not ruin the perfect balance of the themed hat beneath which they tried to establish their own order, threatening to disturb your elated angel.

“My future spouse- oh I’ll be saying this so often.”

From one day to the next, under the sun and moon, with many seasons passing by, you became the time that you seeked and previously fought against. As you looked to one another for more and more in your lives, it was destined that eventually, the idea of any other path would be simply impossible. At the end of a year came a new beginning, witnessed by the observant stars and by the long winter night.

“Me too, my love, until I can call you my husband.”

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st4rfckerz · 5 months

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early present | anakin skywalker x reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: MDNI 18+, fluff, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, praise, anakin's a cutie pie

summary: anakin comes home after work with a little surprise.

a/n: MERRY CHRISTMAS AND OTHER HOLIDAYS!!!! i'd be lying if i said this didn't come to me while listening to stargirl interlude but anyways enjoy you filthy animals.

it’s sunday evening and you’ve just finished cooking a large dinner and the dishwasher is running as you’re waiting for your husband, anakin, to get home. the twins were staying at their grandparents' house since its the weekend, leaving you and anakin alone for a few days. you were looking forward to spending time together without any distractions.

the house is quiet and peaceful with the exception of the running dishwasher and the music playing through a little radio you have propped up on the window sill. you hummed softly to yourself as you stood at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes after cooking a delicious dinner. the scent of the freshly cooked meal cooling on the stovetop still lingered in the air, making your stomach growl with anticipation. as you rinsed the foam off the plates, you glanced at the clock on the wall and realized he should be arriving any minute now.

you had decided to wear a green floral dress, hoping to look nice for anakin. the dress was fitted to your body, and you could feel the silk caress your skin as you moved. it was simple but elegant, and you felt good in the dress.

this year, you and anakin had agreed on would spending your money on christmas gifts for the twins instead of each other. there was a mutual understanding that neither of you would be getting each other presents. you had planned to stay true to your word, but it was really difficult to shop without purchasing anything for anakin. so, you secretly bought him a new watch, wrapped it carefully and hid it in your nightstand. it was just a small surprise, but you hoped it would make him happy anyway.

lost in your own thoughts, you didn't hear the front door creak open or the familiar sound of anakin's footsteps approaching from behind. it wasn't until you felt warm hands wrapping around my waist that you jolted in surprise.

"what are you doing!" you hastily turned around at the sound of anakin's booming voice. a small yelp escaped your lips and your hand flew to you chest as you tried to steady your racing heart. you eyes widened in surprise as you met his gaze, only to see the mischievous smile on his face and hear his laughter fill the kitchen. he was thoroughly enjoying the reaction he had elicited from you.

"very funny anakin." you smile and roll your eyes. you turn back around to resume doing dishes, and anakin wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder.

"i'm sorry," anakin chuckles, you can feel his breath on your neck and his chest pressed against your back. his hands are holding you closely, their warmth spreading through your body. it's a cozy moment of closeness and affection. even though you're not doing dishes well with him wrapped around you, you're enjoying it anyway.

"you look really good today," he complimented, his voice filled with sincerity and genuine appreciation. "you smell good too, you're wearing my favorite." anakin takes a comically large whiff of your neck.

"ani stop, that tickles." you giggle. the warm vanilla scent is intoxicating, and he can't resist. anakin gives you a lingering kiss on your jaw, still keeping his arms around your waist to keep you close.

"ok ok, i'll behave," anakin pauses, his lips still pressed against your neck, to let out a breath. "i got you somethin'," he whispers quietly. anakin lifts a long rectangular box from his pocket and holds it up in front of you. the gift is wrapped in sparkly green and red wrapping paper, adorned with a simple white ribbon. you are filled with anticipation as you stare at the box.

you turn around to meet his playful gaze again. "ani, you didn't have to get me anything." you explain to him.

"you don't even know what it is," anakin replies with a small smirk. "look, i know you said we weren't getting each other gifts, but i just thought this would be nice." ye holds the gift out to you and you take it in your hands. the wrapping is thin, and you can already hear the rustling of paper inside the box. anakin can't keep the grin off his face, as if he's dying to see your reaction to the gift.

you gingerly take the wrapped gift from anakin, slowly peeling back the thin layer of wrapping paper. your eyes widen when you see the gold plated necklace, with a striking "A" initial. it's delicate but vibrant, and the gold plating gives it a subtle touch of elegance. anakin is watching you patiently, his eyes glimmering with pride. ye leans forward eagerly, wanting to see your reaction to the present he chose for you.

"do you like it?" he asks softly. anakin folds his hands behind his back, holding back a smile as he waits for your answer. he keeps a close eye for any hint of disappointment or hesitation in your face, feeling uneasy. he wants this to be a nice surprise.

you nod slowly as you trace the initials with your fingers. the gold is so bright and shiny that you can almost see your reflection in it. "i love it, thank you." you tell him with a smile. anakin's expression is one of pride, and the look on his face tells you that he is happy that you like his gift.

"here, turn around." anakin pulls the necklace from the delicate, little box and puts the necklace around your neck. his fingers linger on your skin as he pulls the chain just tight enough so that the pendant sits above your collarbone. as anakin finishes fixing your necklace, he lifts your chin up to meet his eyes. you can't help the swarm of butterflies in your stomach as his thumb softly grazes against your cheekbone. his deep blue eyes are intense and his face is inches away from yours. you can feel the heat from his body radiating on your skin and it sends a shiver down your spine. anakin's gaze is unwavering and his eyes are locked on yours. he can't help but admire how the necklace highlights your best features and brings out your true beauty.

"so beautiful." anakin whispers before planting a kiss to your lips. the sensation is soft and sweet, like honey. like always, you can feel the spark between the two of you when your lips meet. anakin's hands slide down to your neck, tracing the edge of your collar bone where the necklace sits. anakin pulls you closer, his lips never leaving yours, and his fingers start to roam down your back.

the kiss becomes more heated as anakin starts backing you up against the counter. his lips are greedy, demanding more and more from you. anakin pulls you closer to him, pressing your body tightly against his. the kiss becomes even more heated and anakin's grip on you tightens. the kiss becomes heavier, almost desperate. anakin's hands move to your waist and his grip on you squeezes tightly, like he never wants to let go. his breath is warm as his tongue glides across your lips. you part your lips to grant him access, inviting his tongue to dance with yours. your soft moans reverberate through the air as anakin’s hands tenderly caress your waist, his touch sending sparks of electricity down your spine.

"my girl. mine." anakin's voice is deep and husky, and his words fall like velvet on your ears. he moans softly as he presses his tongue deeper into your mouth, his lips and body pressed deeply against yours. you can almost taste the desperation behind his words, like he is trying to pull you closer and never let go. you feel arousal shoot down to your core as anakin's words hit you in the right place. the feeling is all-encompassing, like a tide rushing towards you, and it's overwhelming in a very good way. your breath is fast and shallow, and you can't help but let out a moan.

"ani, i need you." you speak in between sloppy kisses, the words coming out hot and desperate. the ache that settled in your center was becoming unbearable, you needed something, you needed him.

"i know angel." anakin sighs. the words sent a shiver down your spine and you can feel the heat rising within you. your heart was pounding in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. anakin's hands glide down your back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before firmly settling on your hips. with a sudden surge of strength, anakin spins you around, pushing your body against the cold surface of the kitchen counter. he cups your ass, squeezing it with a possessive grip. anakin's firm grasp then captures the edges of your dress, lifting it up and over the curve of your ass. a low growl escapes his throat once he notices the white lacy panties you decided to wear.

"oh sweetheart, s'this for me?" anakin coos sweetly. he revels in the sight of you, his eyes locked on the alluring contrast of the white lace against your warm flesh. anakin's gaze lingers on the wet spot that adorns the fabric of your panties. the moisture seeps through, leaving a damp and slick sensation against your skin. you nod shyly, a faint blush creeps across your cheeks.

anakin's fingers delicately curl around the waistband of your soaked panties. with a gentle tug, he starts to peel them down, revealing your glossy folds. the cool air caresses your aching cunt, sending an electrifying shiver up your spine.

feeling the heat and urgency of the moment, anakin unbuckles his pants, allowing them to pool at his feet. his engorged cock springs free, standing tall and proud in all its glory. your eyes are drawn to the sight before you, captivated by the throbbing length and girth that anakin possesses.

anakin's hand moves with practiced ease along his pulsating shaft, pumping it a few times, a low groan escapes his lips.

anakin's movements grow more deliberate as he uses his hand to guide the tip of his member along your slick folds, spreading your wetness and teasingly grazing against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"you're driving me crazy." anakin grits. he aligns his pulsating member with your slick entrance, and with a steady, controlled thrust, he sinks deep inside you. the instant connection of your bodies shatters any remaining restraint, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from both of you. the feeling of fullness envelops you, stretching you deliciously to accommodate his girth. it's a perfect union, as if your bodies were made to fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

your body quivers as the sensations intensify, your arms reaching out in front of you, instinctively grasping at the smooth surface of the countertop. your fingers dig into the material, desperate for something to ground you amidst the overwhelming ecstasy that fills every fiber of your being. you arch your back and let out strings of sweet moans that echo through the room.

"look at you, my pretty little wife dressing up for me," anakin adjusts his angle slightly, aiming to hit that special spot that drives you wild. "i've been thinkin' about you all day angel, jus' the thought of you makes me hard." his words, a sultry murmur in your ear, ignite a fire within you. your body instinctively responds, your walls contracting around him, gripping him in a vice-like embrace. anakin lets out a deep, hoarse moan, the sensation of your gummy walls pushing him to the brink of his own release.

"ani m'close, so close," words tumble from your lips in a breathless babble as you seek to convey the urgency that pulses through your veins.

anakin's voice is shaky and needy, a torrent of words pouring forth from his lips. "angel," he moans, his voice breathless, "i want - i want to put another baby in you. let me fill you up, can i please..." his breath comes in ragged gasps, matching the intensity of his thrusts, as he confesses his own impending climax. a quiet "yes" escapes your lips and your body quivers beneath his forceful thrusts. anakin's breath hitches, an audible groan escaping his lips as your fervent request reaches his ears.

a blinding wave of relief overtakes you as your climax hits, leaving you feeling all warm and fuzzy. you can feel the pulsating warmth as anakin spills himself within you, filling you up completely with his hot cum.

anakin takes a second before carefully withdrawing himself from your tired cunt, you can hear his belt buckle clinking around as he fixes his pants. he trails feather-light kisses along your shoulders, peppering your skin with affectionate adoration.

"stay still," anakin leans down slightly to inspect your pulsating pussy. his gaze roams over your sticky folds, admiring the flushed hue that tells of your arousal. anakin traces the length of your entrance, teasingly circling the rim before slowly slipping inside to push his cum further into you.

"such a pretty pussy." he whispers. anakin's fingers delicately slide your panties back up before tugging your dress back into place, a tender affection resonates in his touch. his hands settle on your waist, his gaze filled with adoration as he turns you around to face him. the intensity in his eyes is evident as he surveys your flushed and satiated form. a satisfied smile curves his lips as he takes in the sight of you, his fingers trailing gently along your jawline. anakin leans in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

in the midst of the tender kiss, you feel a surge of excitement bubbling within you. the realization that you have a surprise gift for anakin cannot be contained, and you gently pull away from the kiss, a spark of eagerness illuminating your eyes.

"i got you something too." you beam. anakin's lips curve into a playful smile, his eyes mirroring your enthusiasm.

"it can wait," he says, his tone filled with a commanding edge that sends shivers down your spine. "right now, i want to see you on the bed, wearing nothing but your necklace." his voice grows husky as he speaks. you press a final, lingering kiss to anakin's lips, a sneaky smile dances across your face. with a playful sway of your hips, you turn to leave the room, but just as you begin to walk away, a sharp and satisfying sting resonates across your ass, making you let out a small yelp. you can hear anakin's footsteps approach from behind, a flutter of nervousness tickles your senses.

anakin had you in the palm of his hands and he had no intention of letting you go soon.

#nai writes ୨୧ #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #st4rfckerz

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atimeofyourlife · 6 months

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A family Thanksgiving

This was supposed to be up yesterday, but it took on a mind of its own and instead of the few hundred words it was supposed to be, its nearly 3k. Happy belated Thanksgiving to anyone who celebrates! rated: t | wc: 2847 | cw: period typical homophobia, Steve's asshole parents

The offers from everyone to have him over for Thanksgiving had been great, any other year he would have loved such a choice, but for the first time in a long time, he was spending the day with family.

"But you hate your family." Dustin pointed out when Steve had told everyone about his holiday plans.

"No, I hate my parents. It's my grandma that asked me to go, and I want to see her and my cousins that I haven't seen in like five years. I'm driving myself to Chicago, so I won't be stuck in a car with my parents for hours on end." Steve explained.

"But you're working a late the day before, and I'm not going to cover you so you can drive up early" Robin replied.

"I'm planning on leaving by six on Thanksgiving morning. It's less than four hours to drive, so I'll be there before ten, well nine because of the timezone change. I took the late shift the day before so I had an excuse to drive myself, and my parents wouldn't have any reason to come by Hawkins before. And I drive home either the Friday or the Saturday, ready for our Sunday shift."

Come Thanksgiving day, Steve was somewhat regretting his decision. It had been nearly midnight before he'd gotten home, after a number of people came in just before closing insistent on needing a selection of movies ready for the next day. Then hadn't been happy when the movies they wanted weren't in stock, so they left the place a total mess, causing Steve to stay late to tidy up ready for the opener the next day. Then having to get up around five, so he could get ready and be on track to leave as planned. In an attempt to wake up, he was mostly surviving on a large cup of incredibly strong coffee. He was just counting down the minutes until he could get there.

When he walked in the door, he was immediately wrapped up in a hug from his grandma. "Stevie, it's so good to see you."

"It's great to see you too, Grandma." He returned the hug, melting into it a little. Exactly what he needed after the year it had been.

"Let me take a look at you." She stepped back slightly, giving him a once over. Her hand came up to trace the scar still on his neck from where he had been strangled by the bats and vines. "What happened here?"

"I. It's nothing. It looks a lot worse than it is." Steve replied, trying to get out of the awkwardness of the conversation.

"Oh, if you're sure. If you want to help with dinner, you can join us in the kitchen. But if you just want to rest, anyone who's watching football is in the living room, and the Macy's parade is on in the den."

"It's been a long drive, and I had a late finish last night, so I think I'm going to take a bit of a break. I might come out and help a bit later." He offered.

"Oh, honey. If you don't feel up to it, you don't need to help at all. Take it easy, and we'll call you once everything is ready." She kissed Steve on the cheek, before going back to the kitchen.

Steve made his way through the house, glancing into the living room as he passed. He could see his dad in one of the recliners, and decided against joining them. Wanting to delay the inevitable "you're a disappointment" lecture. He knew his mom would likely be in the kitchen, not actually helping, just drinking wine and gossiping. He moved on to the den, where most of his cousins were. He hovered in the doorway for a second, unsure what to say. So much had changed since the last time he had seen any of them.

"Wait, Stevie?" One of them, Lizzie, said as she looked up to see him.

"Uh, hey?" Steve replied, a little unsure, before he was being swamped in a group hug.

"Jesus Christ, when did this happen? Last time I saw you, you were like a little kid. Now you're a whole grown adult." Another, Mark, said.

After a long catch up, bringing Steve up to date on everyone else's lives, and him giving an abridged highlights of his last few years, they then got into more serious topics.

"Was everything okay after the earthquakes? I tried calling a few times, but I don't know if I had the wrong number because it never went through." Alice, the oldest of his cousins, asked.

"The phones were down across the whole town for a while after, then it was patchy for weeks after that. It was hard to get five or ten minutes without it dropping out. It took me like two weeks before I was able to get hold of mom and dad to let them know that the house was still standing, and that I was still alive." Steve explained.

"Wait, they weren't in Hawkins for the earthquakes?" Harry cut in.

"No, they've not been in Hawkins since February? Like over a month before it happened."

"Oh. They were telling us last night about how awful and hard it had been during the earthquakes, and how they were scared for their lives." Alice replied.

"That's such bullshit. They weren't in the country when it happened, they were in London. They didn't even know that it was Hawkins that was affected until I called them, because all they'd seen on the news was a freak earthquake hitting the Midwest. It hadn't even specified the state. And then they didn't care how I was, if I was hurt or anything, all they were interested in was if there was damage to the house, and how the earthquake could affect the resale value."

"Okay, I call dibs about bringing that up over dinner. I just want to see what shade of purple Uncle Dick can turn." Becca, the closest cousin to Steve in age, piped up. "But were you hurt?"

"Uh, minor injuries. Nothing serious." Steve lied, not wanting to worry anyone. "I was able to start volunteering within a couple of days. You know, helping out at the relief center, helping search for missing people. And when everything calmed down I was helping rebuild and stuff. Just trying to do my bit. But I'm fine now."

"That's good. But thinking of Uncle Dick turning purple, who gets to bring up Fuck Reagan?" Mark asked.

"Stevie's been through the most, I think he should get the chance." Alice replied.

"Uh, I think that would go down about as well as if I told him that my best friend is a dyke and I've spent most of my free time in the last six months sucking off the local drug dealer, who was accused of being a cult leader and murdering three people." Steve said quickly, unsure if he wanted anyone else to pick up what he'd said.

"Was that for drugs, or for fun, or what? Like a hook up?" Harry asked.

"He's my boyfriend. I mean, it helps that I get free weed out of him, but I'd do it anyway." Steve admitted.

"That is something you missed out of your round up. But I love that all of us are some variation of queer."

Dinner was...interesting, to say the least. After saying Grace, they went round the table to say what they were thankful for that year. Steve had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing as his parents waxed on and on about how they were thankful for their lives and being able to escape the earthquake unscathed. He couldn't keep from laughing when Becca spoke up against them.

"Really? Because Alice asked Steve how he found it after the earthquakes, and he said that he couldn't reach you for two weeks after it happened because the phones were down and you were in London. And you didn't even know that it had hit Hawkins until he called you."

"Steven, why are you telling lies about us?" His mother demanded.

"I wasn't? You weren't in Hawkins when the earthquake hit. You've not been there since February. When I was finally able to call you, you only cared about how the house was, not if I was hurt. And you were pissed that I hadn't called you sooner, despite the fact the phone lines were down for the whole town. I could have died or been injured in hospital, and you wouldn't have known."

"How dare-" His father started, only to be cut off by Steve's grandmother.

"Settle down. There's no need for arguing. I am inclined to believe Steve, because I do remember you telling me that you were going to be spending a few months in Europe at the start of this year."

Both of Steve's parents were visibly unhappy, but they didn't push it any further, allowing the rest of the family to talk about what they were thankful for.

Many small conversations broke out over the table, Steve loving the feeling of being surrounded by family for the first time in a long time. He got pulled into talking to different people, but he did his best to avoid his parents' eye. Not wanting to get trapped by them telling him all the ways he had bothered them since he'd last seen them. But he knew they were up to something, when his father got up before dessert was served.

"Before we have anything else, we do have a big announcement about the future of our family." He said, using the voice he always used when talking to the most important clients.

"You've sucked enough political dick to get what ever tax exemption you were after?" Lizzie asked, before anyone could take it too seriously.

Steve's dad just spluttered in anger as a call of "Elizabeth." Came from at least four different people around the table.

"Ignoring that horrible interruption. What I was going to tell everyone is about Steven's imminent engagement. He is going to be proposing to Melissa Downey, the daughter of my business partner, at Christmas, they've been seeing each other for nearly eighteen months now, and it is going to mean big things for our family."

Steve couldn't respond, processing what had just been said, as everyone started speaking, some offering congratulations, others in confusion.

"That's news to me." Steve said loudly, to get over everyone's voices, once he could form the words. "I'm not planning on proposing to anyone."

"Well, Arthur and I have been discussing it, and it is the only thing that makes sense now, the two of you have been together for long enough, the logical next step is engagement."

"I'm not dating Melissa. We went on one date over a year ago, just after I graduated. It was awful, all she was interested in was if I made enough money to bankroll her spending addiction. I made up a fake emergency to get out of it, and I would rather stick forks in my eyes than suffer through that again." Steve got to his feet, bracing his hands on the table. Knowing he'd been right not to be optimistic that the holiday could pass without incident.

"You will if you know what's good for you. If you don't, it could destroy our business. You wouldn't want to be the reason we go broke, would you? You could end up homeless. Where would you live?"

"First, I have plenty of friends who would be happy to take me in if I had nowhere else to go. It's something we talked about after the earthquake, because some people I know did have damage caused to their homes and I let them stay with me until they could move back in. Second, I don't really care about whether or not you go broke. You don't provide any money to me. You haven't since I started working at Scoops. I pay for all my food, gas, clothes. If you go broke, my financial position won't change at all. And third, I can't propose to her. I'm in a relationship, and we're both very happy."

"Is it that Buckley girl? Or did you somehow manage to convince that Wheeler girl that you're actually worth something? Because I can tell you now, you are going to break up with whatever little slut-"

"His name is Eddie." Steve shouted before he could think it through, and a silence fell across the room. "That's right. Your son is one of those awful queers that you keep campaigning against, to keep them illegal and get them locked up. And you know what? He's easily the best sex I've ever had. Especially when we get high first."

"Why you-" His father roared, his face turning a dark red in anger. "How dare you do this to us? After everything we have done for you. You'd better hope that those friends of yours would be willing to take you in, because you are not living under my roof any longer. You will have until the end of the weekend to collect your belongings, anything left will be burned."

"Except, it isn't your roof, is it Richard? If I remember correctly, I was the one who paid the mortgage. My name is the one on the deed to the property in Hawkins. I just allowed you to live there, rent-free might I add, because it made sense for you to live somewhere close to Indianapolis when your business was taking off. I had been planning to sell up. So I think maybe you should be the one to collect your belongings from that house, because I'm not sure if I want you living under my roof any longer. It sounds life you're almost never there, anyway." Steve's grandma replied.

"But, mother-" His father started.

"But nothing, Richard. I don't know where you learnt your hateful attitude, because I know I did not raise you to be the sort of man that would kick your own son out over something as minor as who he loves. I really thought you were a better man than that."

"It's disgusting." Steve's mother added. "So unnatural, and that disease."

"What is disgusting is your bigotry. I think I want you both out from under my roof, now. So, if you would both kindly leave. And I expect you to move your belongings from the house in Hawkins, as that is now Steve's house, not yours. And you better not touch anything that isn't yours, or cause any damage, because I will take legal advice." Steve's grandmother stood up, anger radiating from her tiny five foot frame. "And, unless you change and apologize for your outdated beliefs, you can forget any inheritance. I will not have any of my money going to support hatred."

"Mother,"

"Leave, Richard. Now. I'm not afraid to get the police involved here."

Steve's parents looked at him with their faces filled with utter disgust, before they turned and left. His grandmother escorting them off the property.

"Are you okay, Stevie?" His grandmother asked after the end of the meal.

"I. I think so. I think I need to make a couple of phone calls." He replied.

"Use any of the phones, dear. Maybe if you know someone who can keep an eye on the house."

"Yeah. I babysit for the chief of police sometimes, so I might call him. He'll make sure nothing happens."

"Good. And, if you're talking to that boy of yours, tell him that he's got to come up here for Christmas. I want to meet him, and make sure he's good enough for you."

"Grandma." Steve protested.

"I'm just saying." She replied before walking away.

Steve shut himself in one of the bedrooms, for a little privacy from the still crowded house while he made the calls. The call to Hopper was quick, just outlining what was going on, and Hopper agreed to keep a check on the house until Steve was back in Hawkins. Then it was the call to Eddie.

"Baby, I wasn't expecting you to call. How's your Thanksgiving?"

"Interesting. My parents decided to announce that I was going to propose to dad's business partner's daughter. They wouldn't accept that I wasn't interested in her so I accidentally came out."

"Shit, I hope that didn't go too bad?"

"Uh, it could have gone worse? Somehow me coming out got my parents removed from the will and kicked out of the house. Because my grandma wasn't happy with them being assholes about it."

"Oh, badass grandma. I kinda want to meet her now."

"I was hoping you would say something like that. Because she has told me that you have to come here for Christmas. She wants to make sure that you're good enough." Steve couldn't help smiling as he talked, somehow the day had gone so much better than he'd ever hoped.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington has bad parents #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things #atimeofyourwrites

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endlessthxxghts · 5 months

Text

Routine

Frankie Morales x coffee shop worker!afab!reader || W/C: ≈7.9k

Summary: Frankie makes a new routine for himself to help with his mental health. In that routine, Frankie stumbles upon you.

Content/Warnings: POV switching - stops towards the end, then POVs are combined. Friends to lovers. Slightly scared and reluctant friends to lovers. Slow burn. Canon divergent to Frankie's Triple Frontier storyline (No history of lady or child for Frankie). Brief mentions of South America and Frankie's mental health. Brief therapy talk. Overthinking!Frankie, but Reader comforts and reassures him. He’s not insecure the entire time, promise lolol. Hints of angst, but this is me we’re talking about — always will be a happy ending here🫶. No physical description of reader besides coffee shop uniform (no size descriptions used) - any descriptions are neutral, no adjectives to describe (purely things like "your thigh" etc.). No use of "y/n". SMUT 18+ MDNI (making out, cunnilingus + fingering, unprotected P in V sex + cumming inside, breast worship/titty sucking). If there's anything that should be up here, please do not hesitate to let me know!

A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and happy days, everyone! This Christmas season, I was apart of @pedrostories' 2023 Secret Santa event where we gift some type of creation to another fellow Pedro-related blog on here. I'm honored to have created this story for the lovely @alwaysbethewest ! I'm a huge sucker for a soft man, so in reading the prompt you gave, I just had to write for good ol' Francisco Morales—the sweetest of the bunch. This story was so cute and sexy to write, I'm so excited to see what you think. I truly hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Frankie

You need to create a routine.

One that takes you out of your house.

Out of your comfort zone.

These words rang in Frankie’s ear as he allowed his feet to make decisions for him today. Ever since South America, Frankie has been struggling to maintain a sense of normalcy again. He rarely leaves his house unless it’s for groceries or work — or as of the last few months, unless it’s for therapy.

Frankie’s therapist noticed he was falling back into his old habits, his old mannerisms; and in being prompted about what his day-to-day looked like outside of therapy, Frankie was met with those three phrases.

“You need to create a routine.”

“I have one,” Frankie says defensively.

“One that takes you out of your house.”

“I do,” he says. “Work. The store.”

“And out of your comfort zone.”

Frankie scoffs. As soon as he thinks of a quip, his therapist’s watch beeps. Saved by the bell.

Frankie rises, getting ready to leave the room. His therapist leaves him with a new assignment. “Clear your schedule. You’re doing nothing but spontaneous decisions tomorrow.”

He takes a breath to calm his frustration. “How will you even know if I’ve done it?” Frankie asks.

“I’ll know.”

“And if I lie?”

“I’ll know,” his therapist reassures.

Which is why he finds himself in the early afternoon at a coffee shop, during what looks like to be its busiest hours of the day. Shit.

He enters the line as he scans the menu on the wall, the line being long enough he’s sure he’ll make a decision by the time he gets to the register. He usually gets straight black coffee, but taking his therapist’s word a little too seriously, he opts for something else.

Hazelnut? No. Mocha? No. Vanilla? No. Fuck, okay, this is harder than it looks.

He scans the tinier board off to the side for today’s special: an horchata latte, either iced or hot. Horchata? He can absolutely get by that. The guy at the register takes the order of the customer in front of him, and the same guy switches off and begins to make the customer’s drink. Waiting to be helped, Frankie reaches into his pocket to get his wallet ready, but still angsty from the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop, his grip fumbles and he drops it.

He bends down to go pick it up, and as he stands back up, he’s immediately met by the most heartstopping view. You, with a brown apron, a hand-drawn name tag, and powdered sugar adorning your cheek. The smile on your face as you greet him causes his brain to short circuit.

“Hi! How can I help you today?” you beam at him, completely unaware of the cuteness radiating off of you, melting his anxieties made of wasps and transforming them into the shape of flapping butterflies all throughout his tummy.

“I- um, hi- yeah, I’d, um-” he stumbles on his words. You smile at him, nodding your head patiently and understanding. “Shit, sorry-” he laughs nervously.

“You’re okay,” you giggle, slightly intrigued at the flushed state of the man before you. “This your first time here? We’ve got a lot of options, it can be very nerve wracking picking from our menu,” you comfort, probably assuming it’s the first-time jitters taking away his ability to speak.

“Oh, uh- yeah, it’s my first time here,” Frankie confirms. “But actually, I had my mind set on today’s special? The horchata latte?”

Your face lights up like a million suns, and his heart feels like it’ll burst any second now. “Oh my gosh, really?!” you squeal. “That’s my creation we’ve highlighted today,” you say excitedly, “and you’re actually the first to order it!” You ring up his total, Frankie handing you his card to swipe in the machine. “Hot or iced?”

“What do you think?”

You study him for a moment. “Personally, I like iced because horchata in itself is already so refreshing, so it adds to that. But you seem like you’d prefer it hot, which is also objectively just as good.”

“Wow,” Frankie says with a smile.

“Was I accurate?”

“Right on the nail,” he confirms.

“Your name?” you ask, reaching for a cup.

“My name?” He asks, confused.

You gesture to the cup with a smirk. “For your order?”

“Oh,” he says. You catch the blush that falls on his cheeks. “Frankie,” he tells you, his hand shooting to the back of his neck to soothe his awkwardness.

“Well, Frankie,” you say after writing his name. “I’ll need an honest review after,” you smile at him as you turn away, signaling for someone else to take register so you can be the one to make his drink.

He can’t help the cheesy smile that forms across his face at the prospect of getting to speak with you again. He turns around and searches for an open table.

He sat on his phone for a few minutes, waiting for his name to be called when someone clears their throat in front of him. He looks up to see you, powdered sugar still kissing your cheek and two drinks — one iced and one hot — in your hands with that smile he’s slowly becoming addicted to.

“Didn’t know you guys do table service?” Frankie asks, in a joking manner but truly he’s curious.

“We don’t,” you smile smugly as you place his cup in front of him. “Told you I needed my review.”

He smiles at you, then reaches for a napkin and lifts his hand towards you as you sit in the seat across from him. He gestures to your cheek. “May I?” You go pale. “Oh, God, don’t tell me I’ve had shit on my face this entire time?”

“Okay, then I won’t,” he offers gently. You lean closer into his hand, giving him the green light. He wipes the powdered sugar from your cheek, his face in concentration mode as he makes sure to wipe it all off. He feels you staring, his face heating up the longer your eyes are on him, but he doesn’t break.

“There,” he whispers, “the shit is gone.” Your faces are still inches from each other.

“Thought you weren’t gonna say anything?” you whisper back.

He breaks the proximity first, clearing his throat to steady himself. He doesn’t reply to your remark. Instead, he grabs the coffee and brings it up to his lips. “Let’s see what this is all about, yeah?” The second the hot liquid touches his tongue, he knows his days of black coffee are over. It’s creamy, the perfect amount of cinnamon, a perfectly pulled espresso shot that highlights the natural nutty undertones — it’s fucking perfect, and he tells you exactly that.

“Guess now you’ve got an excuse to come back,” you tell him.

“I think I had an excuse before that,” Frankie quickly lets out before taking another heady sip, referring to the beautiful human sitting past him.

You lean back in your seat, arms crossed over your chest, something akin to trouble written across your face. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, I guess you did.”

He’s experienced enough to know when someone is flirting with him. He’s experienced enough to notice a mutual attraction. Yet, there’s something so bold, so intoxicating about you that you’ve thrown him off balance. Whether you’re just a naturally friendly, bold person, or you’ve actually taken an interest in him, there’s no way he’s going away now. You’ve got him hooked.

You need to create a routine, he was told, and creating a routine is exactly what he’s going to do.

It’s been six months since his first visit, and in those six months, he’s had the opportunity to really get to know you.

In the first month, he visited twice a week, once during the weekdays and once on the weekends. He made sure to time it on what he noticed to be your shift, and he also timed it for right when you were about to take your break. Catching on pretty quickly, you offer him a bit of reassurance.

“My schedule is the most consistent out of all of my coworkers, by the way,” you say, sipping on your iced mocha.

His ears perk up. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Been here the longest, so the owners let me play around with my schedule and pick up shifts that I want to,” you tell him. “But my therapist a few years ago told me to set a routine for myself, so-”

Frankie chokes on his coffee with a laugh.

“Oh my god,” you giggle, “you okay?” you ask him, leaning forward to pat on his back.

Frankie’s breath falters at the contact. “Y-yeah, I’m good,” he pulls away from your embrace out of nervousness. If you notice, you don’t mention it. “Just threw me off a little.”

“Why? What’d I say?” you reply.

“No, it’s nothing, it’s just,” he sets his coffee down. “A month ago, I had a therapy session, and my therapist told me the exact same thing. They literally told me I needed to create a routine for myself,” he says.

“Oh,” you say with a straight face. Your face goes unreadable for a second, and he feels like he fucked something up. “So is that why you’ve been harassing me for weeks on end?”

Frankie looks like he’s just seen a ghost, pale and flushed at the same time, his ability to form any kind of words rendered impossible. “I- no, I-”

In his state of panic, he’s looking everywhere except you. He feels your hands wrap around his, and you’re leaning closer to him, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Frankie, I’m joking,” you coo. You can see his jaw unclench as he searches your eyes for any signs of discomfort from him. Nothing. There’s something there as he holds your stare, but nothing tells him you don’t want him here. A shy smile forms on his face, and the bashful blush on his cheeks return. He knows you notice it, but still, you don’t mention it.

“For what it’s worth,” you speak again. “I enjoy having you in my routine, too,” his own giddy demeanor reflecting back at him through you. There goes the butterflies again.

Five months in, and he’s coming into the shop everyday. He doesn’t always get coffee, but mostly, he’s there to see you. Sometimes you’re way too busy to take a break any time soon, so he’ll slip in, give you a little wave hello, accept your sweet smile in return, and he’ll slip out.

“Gonna actually get something today, Morales?”

A few visits ago on your break, you ask him if his name is short for anything, and quickly add in that if Frankie is what he prefers, you don’t care to know anything else. His heart melts at the sentiment, at how understanding and gentle of a human you are. Not only to him, but to everyone who has the privilege to interact with you.

Francisco Morales, he tells you. Francisco, Frankie, Frank, you can call me whatever you want. This time, he thinks he catches the heat creeping on your face, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Morales, huh? And what do you mean actually?”

“I’m not dumb, Frankie,” you smirk. “I know you don’t get anything a few of the times you stop by.”

He swears his heart falls out of his ass. He thought you’d be too busy to even notice. As a former special op, he thought he would have been more slick about it.

He scans the menu above you, as if he hasn’t studied it a thousand times over, just to get out of your piercing gaze. “Just tryna keep the routine, is all,” he retorts.

“The routine, huh?” you smile at him, a hint of mischief in your eyes, along with that same something he can’t quite identify — it makes his chest swell. “Your favorite is back on the menu, by the way.”

Frankie turns to the special board: horchata latte. Smiling to himself before he responds, “I’ll have that, then,” he says, reaching for his card. “You going on your break now?” he asks.

“Yes,” you reply, “and coffee is on me today.”

His eyebrow quirks up at you. “Please?” you tell him with the world’s worst (more like cutest) puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen. How the hell can he say no to you now?

“Fine,” he deadpans.

You squeal in excitement. You shoo him away to go find a seat, and you’re at his side within moments, two hot cups in your hands.

He looks quizzically at the other cup. “I don’t know, I’m just feeling like a hot cup today,” you shrug. “What can I say, you’ve influenced me,” you giggle, not realizing just how much that statement affects Frankie’s crushing little heart. God, you’re beautiful, he can’t help but think as you curl up as best you can in your chair while you sip on your coffee. He knows he shouldn’t feel this way about you. One, you’re practically his best friend at this point, and two, you probably wouldn’t want anything to do with someone like him.

“So,” you say, pulling him from his thoughts.

“So,” he repeats.

“I was actually thinking of taking this weekend off,” you tell him.

His face falls a little, but he’s quick to fix it before you notice — hopefully. “Oh, is everything okay?” he asks.

“Nothing bad,” you reassure him. “I just think I need a little weekend to myself before the busy holiday season really starts.”

“That’s understandable,” Frankie replies.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “But…” you trail off.

“Buuuut?” He drags the word out for dramatic effect, sensing your nervousness and wanting to help calm you.

You giggle at his antics. “But I don’t wanna break our routine,” you say quietly. A little oh escapes his mouth. “I was wondering if you- if you wanted to hang out, maybe? On Saturday? Or even Sunday? Whatever works for you… and you can obviously say no, don’t feel obligated-”

It’s always been you cutting him off from his overthinking and comforting him, and now it’s his turn. He leans forward, wrapping his hands around yours as they hug your coffee cup. He gives you a little squeeze and calls your name gently. “I would love to.”

“Okay,” you say sweetly. “Wanna do a movie night?”

“Anything you want,” he tells you.

It’s surprising he didn’t have your phone number until five months in. Though, come to think of it, he’s seen you practically everyday since he met you. And there was no need to communicate beyond that. Right?

Shaking his head to clear him from his thoughts, he copies your address from your guys’ text thread and pastes it into his maps. It takes him five minutes to get to your place, and as soon as he gets to your front door, you’re already opening before he has a chance to knock.

“Oh! Frankie, hi,” you gasp delightedly. “Perfect timing,” you laugh. “I was just gonna grab the groceries out of my car. Go inside, make yourself at home.”

“Hi,” he smiles, “I can help with the groceries?”

“Oh, that’s okay, it’s just one bag. Give me one second,” you say walking to your car.

He waits for you as you grab the bag, both of you walking back inside together. “So I’m terrible at picking a movie, and if I didn’t narrow down our options, I feel like we’d be here all night deciding.”

“What do ya got for me?” he smiles as he makes his way to your couch, purely just enjoying being in your presence regardless of the movie you both decide to put on.

“Alright, since we’re nearing Christmas, I have a few holiday options, and then a few general of my favorites — Elf, The Grinch, or Home Alone; or we can do my personal favorite, but I promise I’m good with whatever you choose, Labyrinth, Paddington 1 or 2-”

Frankie’s eyes light up at the latter option, and you immediately catch on. “Okay, so I’m guessing one of the Paddington’s?” you say with a snort.

He grimaces. “Was it that obvious?”

“Frankie, you literally looked at me like I am your entire world,” you laugh. “Yes, it was that obvious.”

“I mean, it’s not any different than how I usually look at you,” Frankie says without thinking. Immediately his hand is on his mouth.

He sees the shock on your face for a millisecond before you’re back to your usual cool and collected self. How the fuck do you do that? “Okay but which Paddington? There’s only one right answer, here.”

Although his heart is still beating through his damn chest, the question puts him back on track. “Paddington 2, duh,” he says without missing a beat, he rolls his eyes as he playfully scoffs at you.

“Good answer,” you say sternly but with a smile. You set up your TV onto Paddington 2 and then quickly run to the kitchen to grab the popcorn you made. You set the bowl on your coffee table, turning back to grab something to drink. “What’s your drink of choice? I’ve got water, tea, soda — I can whip up a coffee for you, too, if you’d like,” you yell to him.

“Hmm, enticing, but I’m okay with water for now, though, thank you.”

You return back to your living room, scanning the table making sure you don’t need anything else. You ask Frankie if he does.

“Just you,” Frankie says, again, not thinking before he speaks. God damn it, Francisco, get it together.

You smirk at him, he sees your eyes tracing the red across his cheeks. Christ. “You’ve had me for a while, Morales,” you say under your breath, softly but still loud enough for him to hear. Your words genuinely cause his heart to skip a beat. You settle onto the couch beside him, ignoring his shocked face. “Ready to watch?” hints of your smugness still there.

“Y-yeah, ready,” he stutters.

Six months. It’s been six months since he met you and his old self would never have expected his day to day to look like this. He’s got a usual stop at your work—always on his lunch since you start later—sometimes getting coffee and other times your smile is all that he needs to feel energized for the day.

You

And on the weekends, you two share a movie night—your version of recharging for your next work week.

Ever since the first weekend you took off, you loved the mental break it gave you, so Frankie encouraged you to take the leap and start taking off every weekend. The owners agreed, of course. He assured you it wouldn’t break into your routine together. If anything, your time together has increased significantly. You genuinely have no idea what you’d do without Frankie at your side nearly every single day, but there’s something in your heart telling you he’s feeling the same way.

For six months, since the very first moment he fell bashful in his presence, you’ve been completely and utterly captivated by him. You knew you shouldn’t be feeling this way about him—especially not so early and not for this long—but there’s always been a magnetic pull between you. Both of you know it and neither of you can deny it, especially in the occasional flirty comment made by either of you, but there’s something holding you back from pushing for something more. You’ve grown accustomed to seeing him practically every single day, and one wrong move or one wrong boundary crossed, and suddenly everything is gone. You can’t risk it. You’d rather keep him at arm's length at all times rather than not have him at all. He’s your best friend for crying out loud. You cannot lose him to something so juvenile.

However, with tonight being your weekend ritual paired with a particularly draining week of work, all you wanted was to curl up in a ball and sleep your entire weekend away. Though, what you wanted more was to see Frankie. He told you it was truly okay if he didn’t come tonight, knowing about how hectic your week was, but you weren’t having any of that.

“I swear to God, Frankie, I will fight you,” you told him on the phone earlier.

“Oh, really?” You could hear his smug face in his reply. “I’d like to see you try.”

The butterflies erupt in your belly and begin to fly lower towards your core, igniting a spark in the lower part of you that you’ve been trying to keep at bay for months. You take a deep breath before steering the conversation elsewhere. You know he both hates and loves when you do that—smoothly pulling away from the bait he gives you while saving his ego in the process. You’ve gotten so good at this after years of unwanted flirting from customers. You didn’t realize how perfect this skill would be in keeping your distance from the man you want most.

“Shut up and get your ass over here, Morales,” you tell him. “I know where you live, you should be here by the time I change into my damn pajamas.”

“Should I change into mine, too?” He teases.

You both know Frankie loses every flirty little challenge that occurs between you. Which is why he isn’t surprised at your response, but it still stirs him up nonetheless. “That depends,” you say, your voice dropping in tone. “Are you a gray sweatpants or plaid pajama pants kind of guy?”

“Both,” he says. To the average ear, it’d sound like the most casual response. To your ear, though, you can hear the pain laced in his voice.

You stifle a giggle. “In that case, yes, please, by all means. Change into your pajamas, baby.”

You don’t leave room for him to reply, ending the call before you can overthink how that was the most suggestive flirty comment you’ve made yet.

Pulling your head back into focus mode, you go to your kitchen to start preparing the usual snacks you two indulge in during these nights. You also got a new ice cream flavor on your last grocery run that you thought was interesting and wanted to try, but you’ll pull that out when he gets here. Or maybe not. You don’t need to watch him clean off his spoon like the attentive man you’ve come to learn that he is. Your body shudders at the image.

Goodness, what is up with you today? You are always so good at keeping your feelings down, especially the physical ones. There must be something in the air today, because all you can think about are things you shouldn’t be doing with or to your best friend.

Before you know it, a knock is at your door, and you cannot help the way your eyes immediately sweep his body from top to bottom with a lingering stare at his center. You’re absolutely shameless with it, too, your tongue darting out to lick your lips as you drink in the sight of him. Gray sweatpants. A dark green, fitted tee. You are drooling.

Your eyes finally meet his own, and you’re met with a smug Frankie, knowing that this time, he won this round. “You alright there?” He asks you.

Confusion takes over your face. “Huh?”

He brings his fingers up to swipe across his lip. Oh, dear God. “Got a little bit of...” he trails off with a smile.

Your ears finally register his remark, and your hand is immediately swatting at his chest. “Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “Get inside.”

He follows you into the kitchen, a new thing he started doing a few weekends ago to help bring all the snacks to your living room in one go rather than multiple trips. It also takes away from the amount of time he’s not with you, so you never questioned it. Walking back to the living room, you speak once more. “I cannot guarantee staying up the entire time, and I apologize now if I fall asleep on you.”

He says your name in an I told you so manner, “I already told you I didn’t have to come.”

You’re sitting side by side on the couch now. “And I already told you I don’t care,” you respond back. He shakes his head disapprovingly at your persistence. You know he’s biting back a smile. A goofy smile you’ve caught a handful of times, and you eat up every single one. “You can choose the movie, though, seriously.” Adjusting yourself to a more comfortable position on the couch, a position where the sides of your bodies are closer together, your head finding solace on his shoulder, you add, “I swear, I think I wanted you here to be my pillow.”

“I’ll be anything you want me to be,” he whispers, taking control of the remote to throw on Elf. Your eyes are already beginning to close, and you mutter a small yeah at Frankie’s statement, then you are out like a light.

Frankie

Frankie spends most of the night watching and listening to you rather than the movie. Watching how your nose twitches ever so often or listening to the occasional snore that escapes you. He doesn’t even realize the movie is over until a trailer for another movie is halfway through. His wingspan allows him to reach the remote nearby, and he quickly shuts the television off.

He debates if he should wake you and make sure you get to your bed safely, or if he should just slip out from underneath you and continue letting you sleep. You look so peaceful, he thinks. Yet exhausted. He decides on letting you sleep. Or at least, he tries to.

He gently attempts separating himself from you, his hand cradling your head to rest it on the couch cushion rather than his shoulder. Even in your sleepy state, you’re just as stubborn. You smack his hand away and wrap your arms tighter around his arm, nuzzling your head further into his shoulder to gain your comfort back again. You let out a final huff before settling on your position.

“Sweet girl,” he whispers. He can’t stop the endearment leaving his lips. His heart is too full at the way you’re physically attaching yourself to him. “I need to go,” he says softly. “Gotta let you sleep.”

Your grip tightens more so, a little whimper leaving your lips as your eyebrows furrow. “Stay,” you mumble.

And although you’re fully overtaken by sleep, he’ll be damned if he ever argues with you, no matter the state you’re in. He takes a deep, settling breath. “Only for a little while longer,” he mumbles unconvincingly as he minutely adjusts his body to a more comfortable position, his head leaning partly atop yours.

You

It’s not lost on you—the two words that fell from Frankie’s lips when he thought you were deep in your slumber. It took every ounce of your willpower not to shudder at the way it echoed throughout your fatigue-hollowed brain.

You thought that maybe, with Frankie’s perception of your sleepy state, you could let part of your inhibitions go with him—reveal to him how you really feel, and pretend the next morning that you don’t remember what you said if something you don’t want to hear is revealed. Though, that’s easier said than done, only able to build the courage to mutter one little word to him as you continue laying in his warm embrace, the soothing sounds of his steady breathing blessing your ears.

The longer you lay here, the more antsy you become. What could possibly go wrong if you two revealed how you feel to each other? You know one hundred percent that the feelings are mutual; it’s a matter of who breaks first, and quite honestly? You’re fed up.

You lift your head up, turning to look at him. He’s out. “Frankie,” you whisper-yell. Nothing.

“Frankie,” you say a little louder. Still nothing. How the hell did he doze so fast?

Finally, with a small slap to his cheek and one final call of his name, he’s up—and confused as fuck.

“Huh-” he blinks heavily. His groggy eyes are searching for you. “Cariño, are you okay? What’s going on?” he rushes out, the sleep disorienting his ability to respond appropriately, forcing worry to the forefront of his mind. Too worked up to let his brain chemistry regulate, you rip the bandaid right off. “Francisco, do you have feelings for me?”

Well, fuck. If he wasn’t awake then, he sure as hell is now.

“I-” he takes a deep breath, still trying to get his brain to catch up with the whiplash of events. “Where’s this coming from?” he asks, slightly defensive from the natural accusatory inflection with a question like this.

Your face falls. So does his heart. “Frankie, don’t be coy,” you say—you beg. “Please, just answer the question.”

He breaks your closeness, turning his body on the couch to completely face him. You mirror his movement. His eyes are searching yours. That something he couldn’t quite identify; that something that swims your gaze every time his eyes meet yours? It’s there, and he knows damn well what it is. He was just too afraid to admit it, to mortalize it into something real, something tangible. Because deep down? He knows he doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve the love you give. The loyalty. The care. He’s done too much bad in this world to even fathom a mere chance at a life with you.

But the way you sit there, staring back at him like he’s your entire world, he can’t stop the selfish desire to spill his truth to you.

“Yes,” he lets out. The pure admittance is like a ton of weights have been completely lifted off of his chest after carrying it for so long. He can see the relief on your face, too, all your anxieties washing away with a single-syllable, three letter word.

“Oh, thank God,” you softly giggle as you choke back a sob. Frankie can feel his eyes tear up.

“Frankie?” you call.

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Please kiss me.”

His hands are on your cheeks in seconds, pulling you in to slot his lips with yours, a sweetness laced with a fire that’s been begging to be ignited since he met you—powdered sugared cheeks and a smile that could take a person out faster than any punch in the gut could.

It’s quick to grow more passionate, his tongue dancing across your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You let him in, of course—your tongue falls into a perfect tango, as if it were meant to be doing this dance with him all along. A soft, breathy moan escapes your lips, and you eventually build enough strength to pull away.

Frankie’s quick to apologize, his overthinking getting the best of him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so carried away-”

You pull him in for a quick kiss to shut him up, a little laugh swirling in the air. “At what point did I make it feel or sound like I wasn’t enjoying that?”

In the dim light of your living room, you see a familiar tint glow across his nose and cheeks. He doesn’t—and can’t—respond to your very sound logic. “No, I-” you start, suddenly feeling yourself get all shy. “I pulled away because I- um…I was wondering if y-you-” you cut yourself off in frustration, grumbling out at the way you suddenly can’t face the man whose tongue was in your throat moments ago.

You pick yourself up off the couch, grab his wrist, and swiftly lead you two to your bedroom. Crossing the threshold of your room, you stop at the edge of your bed. “I-is this okay?”

Frankie stares at you in a trance, a lust-filled yet pure adoring trance. Before your eyesight can register, Frankie’s dropping to his knees, hands on your hips to urge you to settle on your bed. “This is okay,” he promises.

He kisses your belly through your pajamas. “More than okay,” he mumbles to no one in particular.

“Frankie,” you whimper.

“Can I taste you, baby?” He asks, his gaze finally breaking from your eyes to glance down to your core.

“Y-you don’t have to,” your voice quivers.

His fingers find the hem of your pants, waiting for your signal. “Oh, I don’t have to,” he tells you. “But I want to,” he inhales. “To be honest, I need to, so fucking bad, baby.”

“Fuck,” you say as you rapidly nod your head for him, his hands wasting no time in pulling your bottoms of you. The desperation laced in his voice alone has your eyes wanting to roll back. You’re settling yourself to the edge of your bed, leaning back as you spread your legs for him. “Take what you want, Morales,” you declare.

He smirks before he dives in. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Oh!” you gasp out at the sensation, pure warmth and passion behind his movements, your head struggles to maintain upright at the sight. Your bottom lip instinctively hides between your teeth in an attempt to stifle the moans threatening to escape you, your tiny little whimpers the only sounds escaping you.

He starts with a flat stripe up your cunt, his tongue gliding through your folds and lapping up your wetness to bring it up to circle your clit a few times before dragging back down to your entrance. His fingers are curling into your bed sheet tightly, scared to cross any boundaries by moving too fast to your liking. His cock instantly jumps at his senses being consumed; your sweet, tangy taste mixed with the distinct, saccharine scent that’s uniquely you—he can’t control the groan that escapes his throat and floods through you. God, he could spend forever worshiping at your altar, completely and utterly content.

He pulls away momentarily, the slick bottom half of his face shining back at you. “I just know you can make a lot more of those sweet sounds for me, cariño,” he says as his tongue licks his bottom lip. “It’s just you and me, baby, let me hear you,” he says with a sharp flick of his tongue to your clit. “F-fuck,” you yelp out, your body jolting at the sudden piercing pleasure of his tongue’s movement, your fingers scrambling to the curls on his head. He looks up to you with a smirk, reveling in your reaction.

And with that, his hands are gripping your thighs, his face jumping right back in, completely flush against your center, his nose squished against your mound. His eyes are rolling back at the feel of you, the way your slick just pours for him as he continues licking and sucking everywhere he can reach. “F-feel so good,” you moan, your strength finally breaking as your upper body crashes down onto the bed, your back arching in pleasure.

His dominant hand releases your thigh, and you can feel his finger teasing your entrance as his mouth treks back up to your needy bundle of nerves. “Frankie,” you gasp, “please.”

He moans a raspy mhm into you, his finger not wasting another second before he dips inside, utterly turned on at the warmth wrapped around his finger. He can only imagine how you’d feel wrapped around his aching length.

Frankie lifts off your clit with a pop, his finger still pumping in and out, in and out. Your hips are meeting each movement, desperate moans and incoherent pleas leaving your mouth as he watches your pleasure in a pure bliss.

His eyes fall back down to your cunt and the way it’s greedily swallowing his middle finger. “God damn, baby,” he mutters. “I think you can take another, sweet girl,” he breathes, leaning down again to place an open-mouthed kiss on your sensitive center. “What do ya think?” he asks breathily.

He’s watching every inch of you—the way your thighs are twitching, the way your fingers are stark white in its grip, the way your mouth is falling open into a weak o-shape as you try and force words to leave your mouth. “P-please,” you attempt, “a-another-”

Immediately, he’s straightening out his ring finger to join his middle, his smug smirk falling into a desperate one, needing to pull every ounce of pleasure he can from you really his only goal for tonight. “I’ve got you, cariño,” he tells you, his mouth returning back to lavish you as his fingers curl and hit the spongy trigger button from deep inside.

You practically yell out for him—neighbors be damned—as your orgasm overtakes every inch of your being, catapulting you into another pleasure-filled dimension. “I’ve got you,” he comforts with his lips still attached to your skin, “let go for me, mi amor.”

His fingers are still pumping inside of you, fucking you through the intense wave of your orgasm. His head rests on your thigh, pressing soft kisses and sweet praises as you slowly gain consciousness.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“Too good to me.”

“Estoy tan enamorado de ti.”

Frankie takes your hazy disposition for granted, using this small window to whisper everything he’s been wanting to say to you forever.

You begin to whimper at his movements, and he takes that as his queue to relieve you. His fingers finally leave, his mouth taking the responsibility of lapping up your slick—thoroughly, you note, as you watch him rise to his full height.

“You okay, cariño?” He asks as he swiftly takes his shirt off. Your eyes grow impossibly darker at his bare torso, your spit falling thicker, and you’re quick to scramble yourself up higher onto your bed.

“More than okay,” you mirror his words from earlier. He lets out a little laugh, the butterflies in his tummy ever-present as his eyes scan you up and down. He pulls down his sweats, too, before he’s kneeling on the bed, crawling up towards where you’re situated. You can’t help the way your smirk falls when your eyes do—pure hunger consumes your features, and Frankie’s cock jumps at the sight.

He gulps at the way you’re eating him alive, too eager to be inside you yet too nervous in the case of accidentally messing anything up. The last thing he wants to do is cross the line with you.

As if reading his mind, you take the initiative to pull your top off, your boobs an immediate distraction from his anxieties. “Don’t get shy on me now, Morales,” you say as you let your hands caress your body and make its way down to your still-soaked pussy. “She’s feeling so empty,” you pout, your hips bucking up as your fingers rub your clit.

You swear Frankie’s eyes flash red, and he’s caging you against your bed within seconds. One arm hooked around your waist, the other holding himself up near your head. You bracket his hips with your own as his lips hungrily crash into yours.

You can feel the way his cock rubs against your center, his hips grinding into yours, letting his tip catch onto your clit as your tongues fight for dominance. Your hand snakes down without him realizing, a hearty gasp leaving his throat as your fingers pump him a few times before you guide him towards your entrance, easily pulling him in with your post-orgasm slick.

He’s slow with the way he’s thrusting into you; pulling out until only the tip is inside only to push all the way in at an agonizing pace as he lets you get used to his size.“S-shit,” he whimpers, followed by your name. “So d-damn g-good,” he takes a shaky breath. “‘S like you were m-made f’me,” he forces out, pained.

Even though it was an easy glide in, Frankie is fucking huge, his girth still providing a slight sting of a stretch, but you love it. You’re gonna feel him inside you for days at a time, and the thought makes your pussy flutter around him. His hold on your waist tightens in an attempt to steady any squirming that might come from you. “Gonna fucking cum already if you keep on like that, honey,” he groans. His eyes are shut in pained pleasure.

Fighting against his hold, you start meeting his thrusts, the angle of your hips providing the perfect friction against your clit, you just might cum again in seconds if you both keep this up.

“I don’t care,” you tell him, your ankles locking around his waist. “Fuck me, Frankie,” you say, grabbing onto his face to making him look at you. “Make up for loss time, and fuck me,” you snarl.

His lips are sloppily on you, hips speeding up, pounding into you deliciously hard. Both of you are too lost in the pleasure to even properly kiss right now—a mess of spit, tongue, and teeth clashing as you swallow each other’s moans.

Frankie breaks his lips from yours and he trails his touch lower, biting onto your chin and nipping lower and lower all over your neck. The sensation causes a fresh wave of flutters at your core, evident in the even louder wet squelch each thrust produces from between you.

You’re feeling so good, too good, that your chest arches into him, and Frankie takes the opportunity to wrap his lips around your erect nipples. Licking and sucking on each, slathering them in his spit before ultimately latching onto your left breast and practically making out with it as he continues fucking you into your matress.

“Oh my God, Frankie,” you whine, eyes clamping shut at just how good he’s making you feel. “Just like that, baby, please don’t stop,” you say, your fingers finding purchase in his curls for a second time tonight, keeping him on your chest. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum again.”

He lifts off your left breast, and moves on to the right, trailing wet kisses on his path over. “Let me feel you, princesa,” he mutters as he gives your other breast the same treatment. His hand leaves your waist to make its way to your clit, giving you the extra push you needed to fall off the edge once more. Your pussy clenches at the feeling—a stream of yes and please and fuck leaves your mouth—causing his stomach to tighten, dragging him to the edge along with you. “Cum with me,” you say. “Cum in me,” you quickly revise, “need to feel you,” you whimper.

His fingers speed up on you as his hips falter in its rhythm, and then it’s pure white, hot bliss consuming both of you in a way neither of you have ever felt. “Oh, fuck,” he lets out as he lifts off of your breast, pretty red flowers blooming under his mouth’s touch. Fireworks erupt behind your eyelids, vibrating you from the inside out, as a fire roars through every nerve of his body, leaving him a heaving, trembling, jello piece of mass above you as he struggles not to crush you.

You can feel the way his muscles are shaking, the bed vibrating with him. A giggle filled with ecstasy escapes you, relishing in the contrast of the airiness of your body compared to the solid mass he turns into post-orgasm.

You grab onto his shoulders, and softly nudge him to slide to lay beside you before you slip off on jello legs to the bathroom and kitchen. With as much strength he can muster, he turns to you with a frown. “Where you going?”

“Just gonna get a cloth and water for us both, baby,” you chuckle. You head to the kitchen first and bring the waters to your night stand, taking a large gulp from your glass and forcing him to do the same. You bring yourself back to the bathroom and wipe yourself with a warm cloth, throw it in the hamper, and get a new one to clean Frankie.

You make your way to his bedside, and you bring the cloth to his face first. He’s quick to stop you. “Frank,” you scold. “What are you doing?”

“I…” his face goes red. “I can still smell you on me.”

You swear your knees buckle, heat overtaking your entire body. “Let me clean it,” you whisper, not really knowing how to reply to that. He just gives you puppy dog eyes. You quirk your eyebrow at him. “You can taste me again later,” you offer with a smirk.

He thinks it over for a second, a sigh escaping his lips like he just made the hardest decision ever. “Fiiiine,” he drags out, exaggerated.

After you wipe the rest of him down and bring his cloth to your hamper, he’s quick to reach for you with grabby hands, always needing to be in your embrace—especially more so now.

You cuddle facing each other, your head tucked into his neck as your legs tangle with one another. He’s drawing shapes and lines all around your back.

“Hey, Frankie?” you call out.

“Yeah, cariño?”

“You said something earlier,” you say. “Estoy enamorado something. What does that mean?”

Frankie’s ears go hot. Surely after everything you two just did together, that’s a declaration of love in itself. What more if it’s actually verbalized? “Oh. Um- yeah,” he replies a little rigidly. “Estoy tan enamorado de ti,” he repeats the phrase.

You’re looking up at him now, eyes bright and curious. “Yeah, that!”

“It- um- it means…” he trails off. He meets your gaze, and his heart stops. He’s so in love with you.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “It means I’m so in love with you.”

Your gaze shifts from one of curiosity to one of pure, unfiltered love. Your eyes are tearing up at his admission. He brings his finger up to catch a tear escaping your eye.

You sniffle and take a shaky breath in. “Well, in that case. I’m so in love with you,” you state matter-of-factly, pushing your body up to catch his lips in a soft but lengthy kiss, one that hopefully translates to him just how much you love him, need him, and want him—ever since you took his order.

He releases your lips to place a soft kiss to your nose then to your forehead before pulling you in closer to relax in each other’s hold. A few more moments pass before he calls your name.

“Hm?”

“Can you remind me tomorrow to reach out to my therapist?”

“Of course, baby,” you say with a kiss to his chest. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, baby, everything’s good,” he confirms. “Just need to send them a gift basket or something.”

You look up at him with a confused look on your face. “You and your therapist give each other gifts during Christmas?”

“No,” he tells you. “Well, I thought we didn’t. But in telling me to fix my routine, they led me to you, so.”

“Baby,” you frown, feeling yourself tear up again.

“I know I pay ‘em to do this,” he says, “but a gift like this? A miracle like this? I feel like I’ve gotta give something a little more.”

Unable to hold in your emotions, you crash your lips against his for the millionth time tonight. Pulling away a little breathless, you say, “Sign my name on there, too.”

End note: Again, I truly hope you, @alwaysbethewest (and everyone else) were able to enjoy the way this sweet sweet story unfolded. I didn't realize just how much their dynamic would mean to me, but here we are, an entire piece of my heart later💚. Thank you for prompting me exactly what you did. I'm endlessly grateful. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year! Lastly, I just want to give a little special shoutout to my rock @javierpena-inatacvest for proofreading this story for me and making sure it did our Frankie boy justice. I love you.💚

Tags: @katiexpunk @janaispunk @farmerlarrry @mellymbee @jobee403 @soavenuepenguin @rainbowcosmicchaos @untamedheart81 @lilynotdilly @babygal-babygal @pedritoferg @pedrostories @akah565 @getitoutofmymind @axshadows @survivingandenduring @joels-shitty-puns @its-nebuleuse @yorksgirl

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future stories or would like to stop being tagged altogether. Much love! Xx

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

HAL, HEAR ME OUT !!! ghost coming home to wis wife on Easter, he thought he wouldnt manage to come back home in time, but Price dismisses him earlier, so he decides to surprise her by making a egg hunt for her, something she always said she liked to do when she was little, I KNOW THIS IS A SPECIFIC REQUEST, FEEL FREE TO DENY DEARIE, i just really love easter loool (and simon too)

love ur works, hal ❤

A Good Man

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Self-deprecating thoughts, allusions to Simon's past & trauma, delving into his psyche, angst, but a lot of fluff, Simon's POV

A/N: I knew I had to get this out before Easter actually came around so here it is early, Anon! This was an adorable request. Enjoy and have a happy holiday! <3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.

Skin shredded; showing every tear and rip with a thinly veiled sense of pride along with a detailed description of every bullet wound and burn. Rope tears along the forearms and red stab marks over the visible spine of his back. Tattoos that depict skeletons and war. He couldn’t tell you every life he had ended, but he could name names until his tongue went black and fell off; though he spared you the details.

Simon Riley was a devil incarnate. Dead-eyed and robust of body. Muscles wound with promised death and the trigger finger to prove it. His life was measured in an hourglass, the sand cascading down like the blood from his knife after a kill; it would stop flowing, one day – abrupt and final. Simon Riley was a demon, a monster. Simon Riley was a Ghost.

A ghost with an impeccable memory and a deep love for the woman currently on the living room couch.

The man blinks, slate eyes taking in the steady rise and fall of your chest with a slow melting of his shoulders. He had a doubt that you had planned to fall asleep with the Tv on – or the floor lamp, for that matter.

Its golden light slipped over your form, and he traced the flow of it as the voice of the news anchor went in one ear and out the other. Gradually, a hand slipped to the balaclava over his head as your lips let loose a grumble, nose nuzzling the feather pillow.

Simon often found himself watching you sleep when he was home; how your face would lose all tension in those brief intermissions between oblivion and awakeness. When his own nights were restless, it helped to know that at least someone was at ease, especially if it was you. The fabric slips from his tired visage, the mess of blonde locks atop his head sticking this way and that; layered with the gleam of grease. As the black face-paint stains his sockets and spreads with a swipe of a stiff palm, the ever-constant cloud over his head peels back but for a brief moment of peace.

His bag was still in the foyer, holding three months of dirty clothes and gear hostage in its zipped space; stained, and bloodied. The man himself wasn’t much better.

It had been a long few months.

Hooking the balaclava onto the belt of his cargo pants, Simon bends down on an achy knee, a grunt in his throat sounding off like a boar. Scarred fingers go to brush your cheek, though no words exit his mouth, no whispers of adoration. Just a glimmer in his eyes, a release of that furrowed line in the center of his forehead that seemed permanent these days.

Staring, the faint twitch of his lips is the only tell at all that he was content at all, feeling your skin as a feather would slide over water. He takes down a breath.

There were few instances that Simon fully remembers from his childhood – most displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole – though there is one he refuses to lock away. His mother. He can’t help it, and before he can stop himself the words are spilling directly from his heart to his mouth.

Hell, he really must be tired.

“She’d of loved you, Sweetheart.” It’s like he’s startled by his own voice, head pulling back and walls going back up, but that delicate glimpse was enough.

A gravel voice and manchester accent bleed together to form some piece of the puzzle that was his pure adoration for you; small cardboard cuts and divots that had been given over to create a picture. Simon Riley was a ghost, yes, the Ghost, but he was never that when he was home.

He was just Simon to you.

Blue eyes study the small smile that blesses your face when the man runs his fingers into your hair and attentively separates knots; your body unconsciously molding to his touch. With a kiss on your forehead, Simon chooses to not wake you. It’s late, the man reasons, and he knows how hard it is for you to sleep when he’s gone. Almost as hard as it is for him when he can’t feel your weight on the opposite side of the thin mattress he’s cursed with in the barracks.

Against his better judgment, he’d learned to love your contact; your presence next to him and the way you fit into his arms.

As gently as he’s able, the black ink of his tattooed arm slips under your shoulders, pushing between the cushion and your limp body to lie still. The other hooks around your knees, and with a pause to make sure you weren't going to wake up, Simon lifts you as easily as a piece of paper. Your weight lays comfortingly against his chest, shallow breath hitting his neck and he thinks for a moment just how it was possible to love something more than you can love anyone else that came before.

“Simon…” Your voice brings goosebumps to his forearms, his fingers tightening over the shirt he now recognizes as his own clothing you. A smirk runs over his face.

Lips caress his pulse, a nose taking in his scent of canvas and sweat; a tinge of barely restrained corruption, a soul more damaged than a window shattered into a million pieces.

How can you stand it? How could your body instinctively lay into him and give redemption willingly?

Simon grips you ever closer, using his own body heat to lull you back to oblivion. He didn’t have an answer – probably never would – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t forever grateful.

But he was a stiff man; a stoic one.

He slips through the bedroom door, navigating in the dark as if his eyes had built-in night vision, and hums out, “it’s me. Go on – back to sleep now, Love.”

Air communes with a soft grunt, and Simon watches from the side of his vision as your lids flicker open and closed. As desperate as the fight is, it’s over fairly quickly when he lowers you to the sheets, cupping your head and setting in on the pillow.

Soft fingers wrap his lower arm, and with trapped breath, Simon watches your lips connect to the pale skin of his wrist before your form once more goes slack; ever the stubborn one to greet him even half-gone. Weak mumbles stuck forming ‘welcome home’ and ‘love you’ on a lead tongue garble to nothingness like a gargoyle’s stone speech.

“Hmm.” The Lieutenant smirks as the area tingles, preening like a bird. There are many things to say to you, but he settles with a mumbled, “Don’t hog the sheets. Gotta go take care of the mess first, copy?”

You don’t answer, of course. With a delicate pet on your head, Simon exits the room silently to take a shower and organize his gear; closing the door behind him only halfway so he can still keep an eye on you as he passes. Ever the neat partner, he wouldn’t go to sleep until all were in their proper places – clothes in the washer, knives and various licensed weapons in the nightstand, and paperwork in the office.

There was a sanctity in this. A way to get rid of the lingering adrenaline of being on Base or in the field – deterioration of the mind but in such a way it would be described as a boil to a simmer.

All of it is uneventful.

He enters the kitchen with only a white towel around his waist sometime later, flicking on the lights and running his fingers through his damp hair before bee-lining to the fridge. If there needed to be a list made of the things he loved the most, it would be fairly short – only three.

One, you, two, the adrenaline rush of a good deployment, and, finally, your food.

Simon would listen to Johnny’s rambling for days if it ended with an excellent heaping plate of whatever you cooked for supper.

Opening the fridge, the man’s eyes widen, shimmering with azure glass.

“Fuckin’ hell, Sunshine,” he breathes to himself, hand reaching inside the box with fervor, “you’ve been busy, then, eh…? Bloody feast in ‘ere.”

The Lieutenant drags out a heaping plate of steak and potatoes – a side of greens covered in plastic and a sticky note on top.

‘Save for Simon.’

The food didn’t look older than a day or two…did you save him some of your meals every once and a while just in case he would show up?

He grunts, re-reading your chicken scratch with a swelling of his chest and a foreign heat on his cheeks. Simon moves to the oven, preheating it and placing a cooling rack on a metal pan over parchment paper. Damned if the man would mess up your masterpiece; he’d reheat it properly.

With minimal noise, he waits for the meat to be done and settles on placing the potatoes in the microwave with the greens for time's sake. Standing in the kitchen, his eyes gradually fall closed, their weight heavy. But his ears perk at the faint pitter-patter of bare feet.

The sneaking arms around his waist don’t startle him, and with a sigh on his lips, Simon feels you melt into the curve of his open skin. A head connecting with his spine.

“Thought I brought you back to bed?” He whispers, flesh melding to you like hot iron, a scarred hand resting over the one that’s on his abdomen.

Your nose nestles into the burns over his back, and even if you couldn’t see it – the sudden sweep of vulnerability is nearly heard. You lay a kiss and think no more of it, but Simon shivers with beautiful agony; eyes gazing off.

“...Erm,” you groan, fingers tracing the build of his ribs, “needed to hold you.” Your breath stills – half-asleep. “You’re…here?”

Simon chuckles, hearing it echo off the walls.

“I’m ‘ere, Love. Few more bloody cuts,” he breathes, “but I’m here.”

“Good. Missed you.” A second of kisses and distant blue eyes. Muffled yawns into his flesh. “Didn’t think you’d be back in time for Easter.”

Simon twists, aware of the delicate fold of his towel, and lifts your fatigued form onto the counter, settling you down so you don’t fall sideways. He blinks down at you, cupping your cheek when your neck gets too heavy to hold up. Your lids rapidly move, your nose scrunched at the overhead light and the man knows you’re only awake because he’s home.

He utters out to you, faces close, “The Old Man let me off early,” and lays a peck to your forehead, holding his lips there for a long second. Mutters into your skin, “prickly bastard’s been antsy – hasn’t had a good drink in weeks. Was about ready to strangle someone.”

She’s warm.

His body slots itself between your legs, one arm around your back and the other placed on the counter. Simon’s forehead falls to your shoulder, and with a groan of satisfaction, he feels your fingers go through his locks; itching at his scalp dreamily.

“...Dunno whether to thank him or send ‘em to a therapist.” You whisper, kissing his neck, unable to keep your hands off each other for a mere second.

“Better to place money on the both.” His grumbled words are barely heard. “I’ve got two weeks ‘fore they need me back.”

A soft hum is all he gets before the timer goes off and he takes down a breath, forcing himself to peel back from you and grab his supper.

By the time the both of you are in bed, he’d nearly forgotten about your comment, and as he stroked your hair and felt you bring him closer under the covers, he remembers. He’d asked Price to give him two weeks on account of the holiday you’d loved so much – Easter – and had used the Captain's deteriorating attitude as a pry. It had been easy enough, the two had known each other for a long time. They knew their breaking points.

Sometimes living around a handful of other men formed unbreakable bonds of brotherhood, and while that was true for 141, it was also a pain in the ass. People long for home at the end of it – a soft touch and sweet kisses. There’s only so long you can go with yelling orders into the same faces and playing Poker in a shitty safehouse.

Simon never thought he’d be worthy of it, a home, but here he is regardless and here he would stay. And he knew Easter was your favorite time of the year, and he also knew that Easter was…tomorrow. His dead eyes widened.

The plan formed quickly, his strategic mind helping as it always does, and as he snuck out of bed and laid his lips to yours in a tiny kiss, a shirt was tossed on along with boxers. You never heard the door to the garage door opening, just snuggled back up to the pillow and an old t-shirt he’d placed in his spot instead; inhaling his calming scent.

—

When the sun had risen an hour ago and Simon had finished with heavy fingers. Groaning, the back of a hand meets a forehead, trying to swipe away sleepiness as one would a fly. But he says nothing, feet hitting the floor as he enters the kitchen, an object held in his palm that was quickly stashed in the breadbox.

This was childish, he knew, not at all like the deadly Lieutenant of TF-141. Like Ghost. The boys would tease him relentlessly if they found out.

“Simon…?” Your voice draws him back, and with a look over his shoulders, he finds you wrapped in the comforter like a mouse. “What are you doing out here?”

The lie comes easily.

“Fixin’ breakfast.” Your eyes flicker to the open breadbox, eyebrows furrowing. A smirk grows and you walk over with a laugh living in your expression.

“I don’t even trust you to toast bread, Love, go sit down. You’ve been stuck on rations for too long.” Simon only steps back, gazing over your head and seeing your hand pause. “I’ll make us some…”

He watches as he loves to do, memorizing the parting of your lips and the recognition lighting like a shy fire. The man smiles then, and it is a delicate thing; an expression not tainted with sarcasm or deception.

Your hand delves into the box and pulls out a plastic egg softly as if it would snap in two.

It’s cheap, made of thin plastic and fading in colors of the shade of pastel pink. Chipping. There’s nothing inside of it, just a bare piece of holiday joy that never meant too much to anyone beyond children. But with how you’re staring up at him, Simon thinks all the searching in the bins from the garage was worth it.

“What’s this?” Your voice wraps him close, and your hand holds the object close. Simon shrugs, digging deep into your vision.

“I’ve the faintest idea, Sunshine.” The giggle flies to his cold heart and he pulls you to his chest to still the raging of it. “My guess,” he raises a stiff brow, “intruder broke in, yeah?”

“Did this intruder have ears and a pink nose?” You ask, noses brushing. “A hop in his step, maybe?”

“Hell if I know,” Simon grunts, eyes flickering away before he can break before you. “Best get my gun just in case – you’ll ‘ave to find the rest ‘o the bastard things, though.”

You kiss him then, and he captures the back of your head, holding you to him as if you’d disappear if he let go. He doesn't know what you did to possess him so, to make his thoughts be only of you even when he’s halfway around the world. Were you an angel? A shred of light made physical? Perhaps an embodiment of all the good in the universe?

Simon had no answer, as he usually did when it came to you, and you sighed into him, whispering redemption to his soul.

You said you loved him, and he said it back with every ounce of him that was untouched by death. And then you pulled from him with a laugh that could throw away darkness and disappeared with promises of finding the remaining eggs. Like a loyal hound of hell, Simon followed, pulling on the comforter to slow you down so you don’t trip. He would always follow.

The vision of a good life starts with a view of the present. Who you choose to care about; how you make meaning of nothing but a shared morning and a memory of youth. Simon does not remember much of his childhood. Most of the memories are displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole. Cast away.

Coated in fear and lies.

Some days he asks how he can still call himself Simon Riley – it’s the name of a dead man, after all…and then he looks at your beaming face, and his question is answered as fast as it was thought up.

You deserve Simon Riley, not Ghost. Not a devil incarnate or Dead-eyed. A demon, or a monster. If there was even a shred of purity left in him, that was what he knew beyond doubt.

Simon Riley was selfish, he admitted, and he was loathed to leave you…so here he would stay. Hiding easter eggs and giving veiled hints when you were close to one near the planted flowers in the backyard. There was a simplicity that the man bathed in – the blatant enjoyment of a plain life.

With a chuckle in the back of his throat, Simon pushes off the back porch and makes a comment about how you were closer to the dead bird you had buried in the garden bed than an egg. A flick of your middle finger leaves him smirking, and he splays a hand over your back, angling your body farther north. The kiss left on his stubbled cheek makes him warmer than he wants to admit; cold eyes soften.

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it…but he was trying to be damn near close. Until then, the ring he had bought would stay in his office.

TAGS:

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comicaurora · 4 months

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Hi! I finally got the chance to read Aurora a bit ago. It's a wonderful story--all I was expecting and better! I was particularly amazed and delighted by the artwork and visual mechanics used to tell the story, so I wrote a post to yell about how cool it is and break some of it down. (No criticism, just praise.) I'm mostly a hobbyist, so I'm hoping I've done it justice.

That said: zero pressure to read it or respond to this ask. Normally I wouldn't send it since I tagged, but I know Tumblr's notifs are a mess and things get lost very easily. I've been in both the "one (1) word of praise will feed me for a year" and the "oh gods don't talk about my writing/art because anything that seems Off will break my brain" modes before, and I absolutely don't want to push or make you uncomfortable!

If you are comfortable, however, I wanted to ask about your use of what I'm assuming are Screen and blending modes in sound effect words. (I'm only guessing that's the technique, though, so I could be totally wrong about how it's done! I'm mostly experienced in image manipulation in Photoshop.) Making them semi-transparent over the actions is genius :) What inspired you to do that, and are there specific techniques you use to make it work?

Same questions go for using specific colors to distinguish different characters' words and actions. I really noticed it in the cave sequence with Falst and Dainix, since their colors are so vivid in the dark (ex. Falst's little swats and Dainix's swooping kick at 1.20.9). It lends excellent clarity to busy scenes.

Thanks! Have a lovely day, enjoy your break, and happy holidays <3

You're correct about the technique! "Screen" is the blend mode I use most often for sound effects. I stumbled on it mostly through trial and error - I love how sound effects add depth to a comic panel, but it's very easy for them to obscure the art in a way I find counterproductive, so "Screen" lets me put the sound effect directly over the origin of the sound while still letting it be visible through the word. Early chapters didn't have it as much-

Most of the sound effects in early chapters are just solid colors with reduced opacity if I'm feeling fancy. But I started figuring it out around chapter 8 and 9, because Falst is kind of a sound-effect-heavy guy, especially in his fight scenes.

In order to make sure they don't impede the visibility of the action, I'll often soft-erase the top or bottom half of the SFX to reduce its opacity while still leaving it readable.

I'll usually double that up with an outline on the SFX so it's still readable. This is an especially important consideration if the SFX goes over an area of the background that's very bright or glowing.

Color-coding the speed lines and SFX to the character or force causing them isn't a hard and fast rule, but I like using it (in part because it's a habit from the OSP illustrations, where every character has a single pop of color in their lineart) mostly because it sort of codes every sound to make it clear where it's emanating from, or the general feeling of the sound. Since I normally do character-colors for SFX, something like this stands out more jarringly-

Which it's supposed to, but a big lightning strike doesn't register as anything too worrying because it's just Tess up to her usual shenanigans.

It's also very useful for magic effects, because each form of magic has its own associated palette.

And when I had a very complicated fight scene in a dark environment, I used the texture pattern I'd already made for the monster to color its SFX, so when I Screened them onto the panels they didn't obscure too much while still communicating "this is something else."

Changing the weight, lined-vs-not-lined, and opacity of the SFX words also helps to communicate that not every sound has the same feeling. A strong motion is solid and aggressive, but a crackling, unstable sound is more ephemeral and staticky.

It's definitely been a process of learning as I go - looking back at the earlier chapters I can actually see when I first tried various tricks I now use regularly, like doubling and distorting an SFX to produce the effect of a camera-shaking impact. I haven't really seen any other comics that do it like I do, probably because most other comics follow a more traditional production pipeline where text bubbles and sound effects get locked into the composition early, before the inking stage, because traditional physical comics don't have digital-art layers to play with. Adding sound effects to a page is almost the last thing I do before exporting them, and that only works because digital art and layers allow for a ton of flexibility.

#asks #aurora #art stuff

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slasher-male-wife · 7 months

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How horror characters spend their Halloween with you

I wrote about this last Halloween and I wanted to make a better version of it with more characters this time. I am such a slut for Halloween and just autumn in general.

Includes: Asa Emory, Michael Myers, Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, The Sinclair brothers and Severen

Warnings: Murder and violence mentions, Hannibal being a little mean, blood talk in Severen's part (he's a little weirdo)

Asa Emory

He honestly thinks Halloween is a children's holiday. He never even bothered to get Halloween candy before he met you. If you're really Halloween obsessed he'll consider letting you put up decorations that he approves of. It's not cheap Halloween, Christian girl autumn or classic Halloween, its a secret fourth thing.

I can see him favoring vintage Halloween decorations over the newer ones. But he does like the insect and bug themed things you bring home. He wants the Halloween bug decorations to be casual enough to keep out year round.

He doesn't go to Halloween parties and if you bring him to one he's not dressing up. He'd say he's dressed up as an 'entomologist' or if you know his identity as the collector 'a homicidal maniac'.

He probably doesn't like horror movies because he's one of those people who think all horror movies are bad. But if he happens to see a new way he can torture someone he'll happily sit through a saw movie to see how else he can torment people.

He honestly won't eat any candy but as an 'experiment' he'll see how much you can eat before you get sick. Speaking of candy if you want to get up and answer the door to hand out candy you can do that but he's not joining you. If you're going to be out or you don't want to be disturbed he'll be happy to leave out a bowl.

Michael Myers

He's obviously going to be busy with killing people so for a majority of Halloween you'll be on your own. But he will be watching you the rest of the month as you put up decorations and buy candy.

He'll also be sneaking candy from the bags you buy. It might be smart to buy two bags just for Michael to eat on his own. If he's feeling generous he'll share some with you.

He gets some kind of weird enjoyment in seeing if you dress up and what you dress up as. Enjoyment in a Michael Myers kind of way. He likes more classic costumes and ones that have a good amount of effort put into them. He also thinks that he sexy Halloween costumes are just silly.

I feel like if you let him Michael would enjoy picking out your Halloween costume. Like you give him a pen and paper and he picks out what costume you wear, he would love that. I feel like he'd choose something funny to him, like the sheet ghost.

He'll get home in the early morning of November first and if you're still awake he'll spend time with you after washing up. If you're watching horror movies that's even better for him. He'll sit on the couch and watch them with you. Or if he's feeling affectionate he'll even lay down and have you lay on top of him while you watch.

Hannibal Lecter

He's European and to my knowledge Halloween isn't that big of a thing in Europe. He's familiar with Halloween and stuff but he doesn't really celebrate it. If you're really into Halloween he's happy to listen to you tell him all about it.

He's not really in a neighborhood to give out candy in and he also doesn't eat anything that isn't a 14 course meal so if you want Halloween candy you'll have to get it on your own. Even then he'll probably just silently judge you for it.

He's not much of a decorator for holidays, especially Halloween because of how 'cheap' and 'ugly' the decor is. If you try to put up stuff he doesn't like he'll throw it away or if it gets bad enough, tell you to stop putting things up. It all depends on the decorations though.

I can see him making an excuse to throw a dinner party for Halloween. But without costumes or any Halloween themeing and it's just a dinner party on Halloween. If you're someone who likes to spend Halloween watching Horror movies or going to parties Hannibal is fine with that. He won't join you at the parties and he might try to get you to not go but he's happy to watch Horror movies with you.

I can see him trying to cook stuff with pumpkin in it. But I strongly believe that he wouldn't let anyone carve pumpkins in his house. You've seen his clear suit while he kills people and how clean his house and office always is so I doubt he'd enjoy carving a pumpkin and how messy it can get.

Will Graham

Because of his upbringing he never really got to enjoy a traditional Halloween as a child and I feel like he rarely went to Halloween parties, so he's not a big Halloween kind of guy.

If you're putting up decorations you'll have to keep the dogs in mind. I think Will trains then well and that they're well behaved in general but you can never be too careful. I also think he'd find decorating a little pointless since he lives far away from everyone else.

He doesn't buy candy because there's no trick or treaters to give candy to, also again, his dogs. So you can buy candy for the two of you to share but I feel like you'd end up eating more than him.

Because Will is kind of prone to nightmares he wouldn't be super interested in watching horror movies, or spooky kid movies. But I do think he'd be open to the idea of reading scary stories together.

If Halloween is important to you he'll treat it as kind of important too, because he loves you. I don't see him doing costumes, but I do think he'd be willing to put the dogs in costumes for pictures and stuff like that.

Bo Sinclair

He never really got to enjoy Halloween as a child because he had to take care of Vincent and Lester. I also feel like his parents just didn't really like Halloween in general so they didn't celebrate it. This has led into his adult life where he doesn't celebrate Halloween.

He works like a majority of the time. I feel like he'll wake up at any hour of the night to go deal with victims. So trying to convince him to take off Halloween will take a lot of convincing. But he'll eventually understand and take the night off to spend with you.

I feel like he'd rather give up on the town than wear a costume. He'd be like Asa and just wear his normal clothes and say he's something. Like he'd wear his coveralls and say he's 'a mechanic' for Halloween.

He never bought candy before for Halloween but if you buy candy, he's probably stealing a lot of it, if not the whole bag. There's no trick or treaters so he'll happily watch horror movies with you and eat an entire bag of Halloween candy.

Speaking of horror movies he'll complain about watching horror movies until you throw in something like there's nudity in the movies, then he's more willing to watch the movies with you.

Vincent Sinclair

He thinks Halloween is a good time to incorporate more horror elements into his art as if he doesn't already do that. I can see him enjoying the idea of sketching or painting you in different Halloween costumes. They'll probably come from victims but he doesn't think it's a big deal.

He'd love to carve pumpkins with you but he'd be one of those people who takes it really seriously and probably makes some kind of masterpiece on the pumpkin. He'll probably just bribe Lester to get them for you because Bo would say no.

I don't think he has the biggest sweet tooth so he'll probably not be eating much candy, but that won't stop him from bribing Lester to get you some if you want candy. I can see him decorating the House of Wax for Halloween, complete with wax candy.

He'd be open to watching horror movies with you, but I seem him only really enjoying like art house or psychological horror movies, like ones with commentary or just ones that are really odd in a good way. He'll watch more cheesy and silly horror movies but he won't really like them.

I can see Vincent taking Halloween as an opportunity to kill people in more creative ways. Like the classic poisoning candy. I think he'd get more creative with it too, like using fake cobwebs to strangle someone to death.

Lester Sinclair

I feel like Bo and Vincent let Lester have some kind of Halloween. Their parents tried to keep them from celebrating Halloween but the twins scraped up some kind of pocket money to buy candy they could share with him.

Despite him not celebrating Halloween as a child I feel like Lester likes Halloween in a normal way. He likes Halloween and the aesthetics of Halloween. He has decorations but he doesn't usually put them up, but if you want them up he'll put them up for you.

He'll probably have to work on Halloween because he works almost every day. But he'll make sure to get Halloween night off so he can spend it with you watching Halloween movies and doing fun Halloween activities.

Like Will he'd love to dress Jonesy up in a dog costume and take pictures of her. He wouldn't dress up but if you wear a costume he'd be all over it no matter what you're wearing.

Depending on how long you've been with him he might take you to a haunted house outside of town if you're interested in haunted houses. He'd only do this if you've been with him for a very long time. He'd keep a close eye on you while you're out of the house, but he still wants to make sure you're having a good time.

Severen

He's very into Halloween. Even though he lives in cars and motels he still finds fun ways to celebrate Halloween. I feel like he'd binge blood from people dressed as vampires for Halloween.

He's weirdly into blood. Like he'll get his hands purposely covered in blood just so he can rub the blood all over you because he thinks you look hot when you're covered in blood. So on Halloween he'll get really messy with it. I feel like his costume would just be his normal outfit covered in blood. Also he might make out with you while his mouth is filled with blood.

He totally crashes Halloween parties and drinks himself super sick. I feel like vampires have a high alcohol tolerance but they have worse hang overs. But he thinks it's worth it to drink himself sick at a Halloween party with you.

If Halloween parties aren't your thing he's happy to just sneak into a movie theater and watch some horror movies. He'd especially enjoy if you get scared or squirmy and hold onto him while you watch the movies.

He knows you can't have Halloween without candy so he'll either steal candy from kids (unless you tell him not to) or he'll steal some from a store. He can eat a ton of candy before he gets sick and if you can't eat as much as him he'll tease you about it (but he really does care).

#asa emory #asa emory x reader #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #michael myers x y/n #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham #will graham x reader #will graham x you #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #severen near dark #severen x reader #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher fanfiction

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oddballwriter · 3 months

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Valentine's Day with the Moon Boys

Warnings: None that I really know of. To be fully honest I can't think of anything at all but if there is any then just let me know.

Author’s Snip: Happy early Valentine's to you all! 💘

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Steven Grant

The literal archetype of a Valentine

Steven gets you a mixed bouquet of your favorite flowers and some other flowers that mean something in flower language in regards to love, a gift basket of your favorite candy and snacks, and a handwritten card that is basically a love letter

And he gets you two a spot at that fancy restaurant you like

It's literally how you see a couple celebrating Valentine's Day in the movies

He's happy about any gift you got him too but honestly he, and the rest of them, love spending the day with you the most

Cliché? Yeah. But it's true. Steven loves quality time and being with you. And Valentine's Day makes it a bit more special even though they all love you year round

He also gets a bit giddy when you call him your Valentine even though he's your boyfriend/husband, it just makes him blush a little

Marc Spector

Marc is the type of person to complain about Valentine's Day and goes on the whole "It's just a way to sell overpriced chocolate and stuff." but he'll be damned if he doesn't do something with you either

He hates the commercialization of the holiday but he's your Valentine regardless, them's the rules

Marc also doesn't really like the whole fact that everyone is in all the restaurants to have dinner because then there's no parking and it takes a long time to get seated

If you want to actually go then he sucks it up because it's still nice to go out with you, but he actually prefers ordering from the restaurants and eating at home

You guys honestly have more power and say over things if you order delivery from there. If you want to feel fancy then you guys can get the fancy plates and put the food on them, buy some wine or whatever dress the dinner table with a cloth and candles, dress all fancy, and just eat there.

No loud chatter of other people or a waiter to come in at the wrong time and ruin the moment between the two of you.

Maybe you want to slow dance after eating. And you can just do that. You can just walk into the living room put on some music and gently slow dance and sway for as long as you want.

It's honestly so romantic with it genuinely just being the two of you together with no interruptions

Jake Lockley

Jake might be the one who takes you on a "normal" date, as in it's like all your other dates or it's not your typical "Valentine's Day" type of date. But he makes sure that it still feels special in its own way.

Like you do to the same diner and spot that you usually do but there's just this air to it that makes it so deeply intimate and romantic in its own way that only you two feel

I do like the idea of Jake basically "running away from a day" with you where you two just hop into his car and drive somewhere, sort of go on an adventure

I honestly don't know how to describe it other than you guys just go somewhere and there's just this type air to it that makes it something that isn't just the fact that it's Valentine's day

Like idk maybe you find this clearing that has a nice view or you just drive someplace specific

Something that later on down the line becomes "your spot"

You guys are basically having your own Rapunzel and Eugene on the boat moment or any type of moment where its just very much a loving/falling in love scene except you guys are probably falling even deeper in love

Taglist: Applications open

#moon knight #moonknight #moon knight x reader #moonknight x reader #jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader

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nebulousbrainsoup · 4 months

Text

Day One

🏔️ SUMMARY: Something has been missing for the past few years Wooyoung has been to the mountain with your family and his. Maybe this year, he'll figure out what it is. 🏔️ PAIRING: brother's best friend!Jung Wooyoung x Kang!reader 🏔️ GENRE: smut, fluff 🏔️ AU/TROPE INFO: brother's best friend, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers 🏔️ WORD COUNT: 6.2k whoops 🏔️ WARNINGS: language, smut, woosansang banter, sansang undertones 🏔️ RATING: mature 🏔️ A/N: Happy holidays from your CoDNet secret santa, @wooyoungqueen! This was so much fun to write, and I really hope you enjoy it!! it got a little away from me lol smut tags under the cut ; divs from @cafekitsune masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee?

NSFW TAGS/WARNINGS: first time together, light praise kink, fingering, oral (fem receiving), wooyoung’s nose, they’re both switches, unprotected sex (reader is on birth control but boo), riding

The weeks following Wooyoung’s birthday had been a flurry of activity for nearly as long as he could remember. Whatever energy had been put into planning his celebration was rapidly redirected to coordinating the family’s annual trip to the mountains—an event that seemed to grow with him. It had been going on for as long as he could remember, beginning as a much-needed post-holiday getaway for his household. The first expansion came in middle school, when he met and attached himself to Kang Yeosang—the two families melded together naturally when the Kangs moved in next door, and one cabin rental became two, right next to each other and nestled among the pines at the Jungs’ favorite resort. It had been on one of these early trips that you and Wooyoung had become nearly as attached to each other as he and your older brother had been and, much to Yeosang’s chagrin at the time, their duo became a trio.

Despite Wooyoung and Yeosang having graduated and moved out, they both still found themselves drawn back to that same resort year after year. You, on the other hand, had not been so lucky. Your degree had proven a bit more demanding than either your brother’s or Wooyoung’s and, after your first year, they found themselves sharing deflated smiles as they watched you breeze through your parents’ front door after Christmas dinner. Something within Wooyoung ached each time, and the cabin he now shared with his brothers and yours—the cabins had long since been shuffled from ‘Jung’ and ‘Kang’ to ‘Parents’ and ‘Kids’—never quite felt the same.

He’d never quite figured out why his favorite tradition had begun to taste so bittersweet. Maybe, he decided, it was the monotony finally getting to him. Yeosang liked to call him a child of chaos, reminding him often that his creative slumps usually just meant he needed a change of scenery. He’d discovered every nook and cranny in both of the cabins they rented each year by the time he was 14. He’d been through every freestyle zone and explored every tree trail his board could fit through over the years, and even taught Kyungmin a few tricks. Now that he was of age, he’d been to every bar within walking distance of the slopes, too. The novelty had to have worn off; he’d seen and done it all. He’d give anything to see his safe haven for the first time again.

Maybe, just maybe, seeing it through someone else’s eyes would have the desired effect.

“Sannie, you said you snowboard, right?” He called from the couch, barely glancing up from his phone.

Wooyoung’s roommate blinked at him from the kitchen, leaned against the breakfast bar with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “I have before. I don’t… do it regularly.”

“And you had fun, right?”

San blinked, confused, and let his cereal settle back into its bowl. “Yeah? What is this about, Wooyoung?”

“Great! You’re coming on the ski trip this year.”

“Are you paying?” San scoffed half in jest, rolling his eyes heartily before turning his attention back to the book he had pinned to the counter.

“Yes.”

The flat tone of Wooyoung’s voice had him stunned, eyes wide as he slowly looked back up. “Are you serious right now?” When the younger nodded resolutely, no twinkle of mischief in his eyes, San gaped. “You’re not going to come up short on rent for this, are you?”

Wooyoung snorted. “No. It’s a family thing. My older brother can’t go anymore, so we’ve got an empty spot. Wanna come?”

“Absolutely.”

Pulling up to the cabin two months later with San in the passenger seat of his rented

SUV, he was certain he’d found the piece he’d been missing over the past few years. His friend’s excitement was palpable and contagious, the elder’s leg bouncing furiously and his cheeks split into a wide grin as he drank in the scenery. Wooyoung couldn’t help but laugh a little as he launched himself from the car the moment it was in park, spinning in the snow-covered driveway to take in the full view.

“Do you really come here every year?” He asked, his voice a little breathless with awe.

Wooyoung grinned, nodding. “Since I was a kid. We stayed in the cabin next door until I was in high school, but that’s for the real adults now,” he snorted a laugh. “Once Sangie and I hit high school, we were trustworthy enough to watch my little brother, I guess, and it’s been kids and parents since. My older brother usually stays with us too, but he has some work thing, I guess.” San nodded, silent and still staring, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but watch him for a moment with a stupid grin. “C’mon, help me unload before everyone else gets here. Yeosangie’s ruthless about first-come, first-serve room picking.”

That seemed to snap his roommate from his awe-struck stupor, and within moments, they found themselves wrapped in the familiar warmth of the cabin. Crossing the threshold into resounding silence had a pang of something wrong echoing in Wooyoung’s chest, and he frowned for a moment as he tugged his boots off.

“This is nice.”

San’s voice tugged him out of his thoughts, and Wooyoung forced a smile. “Right? Follow me, the good bed’s upstairs.”

They were each draped over separate arms of the couch, half-focused on the drama Wooyoung had put on, when the rumble of tires on the driveway pulled him from his half-asleep daze. San perked up with him, eyebrows raising as he blinked at his friend in question. “Your parents?”

Wooyoung gave a noncommittal shrug. “Or the Kangs.”

“Should we see if they need help?” He offered, standing and heading for the door.

“Fuck that, it’s cold as shit out there,” the younger complained, nestling further into his blanket cocoon. “Have fun freezing your ass off.”

“So thoughtful of you, Wooyoung-ah,” San teased, disregarding the grumble that left his friend.

He listened as the front door shut and his friend called a greeting toward the car, a familiar female voice responding. Huffing a sigh, he turned his attention back to the TV. He could deal with his mother’s chastising of his terrible hosting later.

What he hadn’t been expecting, however, was the door of his own cabin to swing back open wide minutes later, a blast of cold air cutting through the air along with an all-too-familiar laugh. His chest tightened inexplicably as it rang like a bell, San’s low chuckle echoing after it, and he turned toward the sounds.

“Two years, and you can’t even come help me with my suitcase, Youngie?”

At the sound of your voice, Wooyoung felt the air around him shift. The cold light filtering in through the windows seemed to warm with your entry, and all at once, the vast, empty cabin once again felt full. He stood, eyes wide and shining with glee as his jaw dropped open for a moment, his chest tightening with something he refused to acknowledge. Schooling his expression into his usual mischievous smirk, he crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re a big girl, Y/N, you could handle it yourself.”

You sighed heartily, rolling your eyes playfully before turning your gaze to San, who was busy shutting the door behind you. “At least chivalry isn’t completely dead.”

He perked up with wide, round eyes, flashing a megawatt smile at you, and Wooyoung felt the cabin dim a little again. “It’s no problem at all. Where do you, uh… Wooyoung hasn’t given me the full tour, so I’m not sure where to take your stuff.”

Once again, your mirthful gaze turned toward your childhood friend, and his smirk ticked back up. “I assume this one took the good bed all for himself already.”

“The early bird catches the worm, and all that,” he taunted back, San nodding affirmation beside you.

You clicked your tongue in disapproval, sighing and shaking your head. “Can’t even let me enjoy it. I have to get my gear from the car, but I can show you when I get back in, if this one’s still intent on becoming one with the couch.” You nodded back toward Wooyoung, pulling a bark of laughter from San, and something within the younger twisted.

“I can show him, go get your stuff,” he sighed, waving you away as he started for the hall. San glanced between the two of you for a moment before catching your amused, warm smile and, confusion alleviated, followed his friend.

“You didn’t tell me your friend had a sister.”

Wooyoung hummed quietly in acknowledgement, pushing open the downstairs bedroom door. He hadn’t stayed in this room in years, preferring to curl up in the upstairs bedroom with Yeosang and leave this space for his brothers, and for a moment, he was surprised at how small it felt. The twin beds in their corners and the heavy wooden dresser had seemed impossibly big, once upon a time, and lonely as the moonlight filtered through the blinds. Now, the space felt close and cozy, the patterned quilts and stripes of sunlight bathing the room making it look like something out of a catalog. Wooyoung’s chest tightened again and he smiled, nostalgia settling like a blanket around his shoulders.

“Honestly, I didn’t think it would be relevant,” he admitted, pulling open the closet door to check for extra blankets. “You can put her stuff on the bed by the window; she prefers that one.” Behind him, San’s eyes narrowed. “Like she said, it’s been a couple of years since she’s been here, and nobody told me she was coming.”

“Are there going to be enough beds?”

Wooyoung paused, lips pursed in thought and hands on his hips as he turned to face San. “That… Is a very good question. I think we have air mattresses? Worst case, we can stick the kid on the couch or something. We’ll worry about it when—” The sound of a car horn cut him off, and Wooyoung peered through the blinds to peek at the driveway, a grin splitting his face. “After everyone else is through unloading. C’mon, we can still hide in the bedroom if we hurry.”

San fixed him with a flat look, shaking his head gently. “I am going to be nice and help your family unload their car. You can come with me, or you can leave me unattended to gossip with your mom for however long this takes.”

Wooyoung blinked owlishly until San turned to leave, following along behind his roommate on autopilot. “I hate you,” he muttered as they paused to tug on their boots, and San grinned.

Preparations for the traditional, joint-family, first night dinner were underway as you bustled around the kitchen with Wooyoung and both of your mothers. Yeosang and San had both offered their assistance; your brother had been met with a resounding, unanimous ‘No’ from the four of you, which he responded to with a cheeky grin and a small giggle, and San had immediately rescinded his offer. It felt natural for the four of you to be here together again, dancing around each other with a practiced ease as your mothers set themselves up at the island, massive metal bowls and all of the ingredients for kimchi spread out between them. You and Wooyoung quickly sidled up together at the stove, whisking the tteokbokki and potstickers that had been waiting into the living room to keep your fathers, siblings and Wooyoung’s friend occupied while you made the main course. You weren’t surprised to find your brother sat on the floor, his arms open as Kyungmin rushed him for a hug, but you caught the small, choked noise Wooyoung made at the sight of San alongside the pair. You flashed him a private little smile, and a swarm of butterflies kicked up in his stomach.

When you settled at the stove together, you nudged him with your hip, prompting a huff of laughter and a return of the gesture.

“I like your friend.”

Wooyoung nearly dropped the skillet in his hand, the heavy dish clattering against the stovetop loud enough to put a stop to your mothers’ conversation. They peeked back at you, but Wooyoung waved them off as he swallowed bile.

“San?” There was an edge to his voice, he could tell, and he could only hope you hadn’t noticed it, too.

“Yeah,” you nodded, seemingly oblivious as you stirred black bean paste and brown sugar together. “He fits in well and he’s really sweet. You should bring him every year.”

Something vile twisted in Wooyoung’s gut. “Maybe. I’ll see if he wants to come back. Who knows, maybe you’ll scare him off?” He snarked, flashing you a wicked grin. You barked a laugh, elbowing him and earning a squawk of indignation as his pork-filled skillet shifted over the fire. “Careful, you’ll burn dinner! Or worse, me!”

“What’s this about you being the worst?” Yeosang chimed as he slipped over to the fridge, his sudden appearance pulling a shout from the man next to you.

“Oh my god, you need a fucking bell!”

“Watch your mouth, there are children present,” you chastised, clicking your tongue. “We were talking about San,” you supplied as you turned back to your work, and Wooyoung frowned. Yeosang caught the look before he could wipe it away, cocking an eyebrow and smirking knowingly over the neck of his bottle.

Whatever that meant.

Wooyoung glared at him.

“I like him,” Yeosang offered, “he’s sweet. And handsome.” Wooyoung flashed him another glare, this time unintentionally, and your brother shrugged innocently.

You, completely unaware, hummed in agreement. “I was telling Youngie he should bring him back next year. Maybe we could talk to Mom about swapping cabins so I could bring Somin with me and introduce them; they’d be a cute couple.”

The nastiness in Wooyoung’s gut untwisted, and he sighed silently. “I like that idea!”

“I don’t,” Yeosang grumbled, frowning. “Then I’ll be stuck as the fifth wheel.”

You both whipped your heads up to him, brows furrowed in confusion. You thanked whoever was listening that your brother was on the other side of Wooyoung, because you flushed bright pink at his teasing. He was well aware of the little crush you had on your mutual best friend, and he took every opportunity to tease you for it.

“Last I checked, everyone else here was single, and that’s probably not going to change any time soon,” you huffed, stirring the mixture in the wok with a bit more vitriol. Yeosang hid his smile behind his bottle as Wooyoung, too, glared at him.

“You never know,” he hummed, sauntering off back into the living room.

The silence that fell between you and Wooyoung held more tension, this time, as you both processed. Wooyoung stared at the kitchen backsplash, unblinking, until your voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“You’re burning the pork.” He startled, promptly pulling the skillet off the stove. You laughed, and just like that, things returned to normal. Shaking your head, you spooned the black bean paste into a bowl and offered him the wok. “I thought you said you knew how to cook now.”

Wooyoung huffed indignantly, hip bumping you to the side. “I can make jjajangmyeon.”

“That was mean, Yeosang, rubbing it in like that.”

Your brother hummed from his place on his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. Lazily, he turned over and blinked at you. “I’m not rubbing anything in. I’m trying to open your eyes here. He’s been in love with you since we were kids, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, flopping onto your own mattress. “If he had been, he would have done something about it.” Yeosang snorted. “I’m serious! If there’s one thing I know about Wooyoung, it’s that he takes what he wants.”

“You think that rule applies to his best friend and other best friend’s sister? He’s probably worried I’ll be pissed if he tells me or something.”

Again, you rolled your eyes.

“I wouldn’t, honestly,” San replied, eyes wide as he tracked Wooyoung, pacing the floor in front of him. “I know how mad I’d be if it turned out you were in love with Haneul.”

“That’s what I’m saying, Sannie,” Wooyoung huffed, collapsing on his back and spreading out across the mattress. He squirmed, situating himself with his head in San’s lap, and the elder obliged, petting at his hair. “But she’s so pretty.”

“She is,” he agreed, holding his hands up in surrender as Wooyoung glared daggers at him. “I’m just saying! Your friend’s sister is pretty! Would you rather I disagree?”

Wooyoung huffed a sigh, frowning and settling back into his roommate’s lap. “God, this week is gonna suck. Having her here is like… It feels better, but it also feels worse, y’know? She’s so close but so far away.”

“You could always, like… Ask Yeosang for permission, first.”

“Didn’t you just advise me against that? Whose side are you on here?”

San shrugged. “I’m just trying to help so I don’t have to listen to you complain all week on the slopes.”

Wooyoung reached up, the back of his hand coming into contact with San’s shoulder and pulling a pained noise from him.

In the morning, you were all up early. Breakfast was a quick, chaotic affair of the four of you cycling in and out of the kitchen, breezing past each other and shouting across the cabin as you made plans. Within an hour of pulling Yeosang from the comfort of his bed, you were all crammed into Wooyoung’s SUV, flasks on your hip to warm you in the snow and your gear strapped to the ski rack. Yeosang, much to your surprise, had slipped into the back seat before you'd even left the house, and was chatting away happily with San as you slid in the passenger seat.

“Who are you and what have you done with Kang Yeosang?” you teased, flashing your brother a skeptical half-glare. He huffed a breath through his nose and rolled his eyes, flopping sideways to lay his head on San’s shoulder, The man flushed bright red but he didn’t flinch or pull away, and you filed that information away for later.

“I made a friend. Let me enjoy him.” You thought San flushed brighter at that.

“Good luck, Sannie, you’re never getting rid of him,” you warned good-naturedly, flashing him a smile in the rearview mirror.

He gave a nervous half-smile, nodding. “Can’t imagine wanting to.”

Your brother’s lips pursed into a small ‘o’, and you watched with a grin as pink dusted his cheeks, too.

Wooyoung seemed surprised by your presence in the front seat, too, as he poked his head in and met you with a “deer-in-the-headlights” look. “That’s not the Yeosang I know.”

You gestured at him, smacking his arm lightly as he climbed into the car. “That’s what I said!”

He grinned, laughing his signature, unfiltered cackle, and your heart clenched. “God, I’m glad you’re back.”

Whether or not Wooyoung noticed the way you sheepishly smiled at your lap, your brother did. He grinned, nudging San, who blinked at him in confusion. This would be a fun week.

The four of you began the day together, meeting at the base lodge with the rest of your family to distribute lift tickets and set an emergency and end-of-day meeting point. You started as you always did, cruising down some of the shorter greens at the base of the mountain as a whole unit as you got your legs under you. You, Wooyoung and Yeosang were ready to crank it up in minutes and, for the most part, your parents were ready to follow. Kyungmin and San were falling more than the rest of you, the former sticking close to his brother and the latter frowning and sighing as he fell into the snow. Yeosang chuckled and laughed at the pout visible under his helmet, skiing over to offer the snowboarder a hand up, and you were left alone to drink in the scene.

You sighed happily, staring up at the peak and drinking in the scenery as you leaned on your poles. People darted and dashed around you, cutting through the snow with ease and creating the perfect soundscape of white noise. You didn’t notice when Wooyoung slid up nex to you until he spoke, startling you out of your reverie.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You jumped, leaning hard on your poles and reaching out to steady yourself. Wooyoung dropped his board into the snow and planted his boots, arms wrapping around your middle as you stumbled on your skis. Sighing as you found your balance again, you rested your hands on his arms, eyes slipping shut.

“Thank you,” you hummed, turning over your shoulder with a smile to—oh.

He was so close to you. You felt your cheeks heat again, this time not from the sting of the cold. “You’re… welcome,” he muttered, and you felt your heart leap into your chest.

“Hyung!” You nearly fell back over as you and Wooyoung jumped apart at his little brother’s excited cry. “Did you finally tell Y/N-ie that you love her?!”

When you looked back at Wooyoung, stunned, he stood stock-still, his expression unreadable under his helmet. The tension could be cut with a knife as silence settled between you.

It was your brother that saved you, head snapping toward you like a meerkat at Kyungmin’s shout. With a quick word to San, he zipped over, calling out to the youngest. “Kyungmin-ah! Why don’t you come help Sannie? He’s having a little trouble.”

“But Yeosang-hyung—”

Before the boy could protest further, your brother grabbed his hand, tugging him across and along toward the rack San was sat beside, leaving you and Wooyoung alone.

“Y/N, I—”

“You love me?”

You both began at once, but your words cut through the air like a war cry.

Wooyoung was quiet for a beat and you squirmed, glancing away to your brother for an escape. He afforded no assistance, his back turned to you and shielding the younger Jung’s gaze in a way you knew must have been intentional.

Finally, he spoke, he voice barely audible over the roar of the lodge activity. “I always have.”

You huffed a sigh, rolling your eyes and shuffling on your skis, starting away. “Of course you have, Wooyoung. Like a brother does, always. Never anything more.”

“No, Y/N, you’re wrong.”

You froze as he called after you, turning over your shoulder to stare at him. He had taken his helmet off, it and his goggles hanging limply at his side, giving you a window into his heart through his warm brown eyes. He swallowed thickly and stepped forward, offering out a hand. His was shaking just as much as yours was as you took it, using him to balance as you popped your skis off. He gave you no time to pick them up before he was in front of you and dropping his helmet to the ground, taking your other hand in his and breathing a quick sigh.

“I wanted this to be romantic and blow you away and this may not be the best time, but god dammit if I don’t tell you now, I might never.” He paused, taking another breath. “It’s been more since I knew what ‘more’ meant. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember—not as your brother or his best friend. I love you for you; for the woman you are, the girl you always have been, and whoever you may become. You are… so gorgeous and so sweet, and I’d do anything to call you mine.”

You were beaming at him, clenching his fingers tight like a vice as he paused. The silence had him squirming, you could see, and you scrambled for something, anything to match his heartfelt confession. In the end, what came out of your mouth was, “All you have to do is ask.”

“Kang Y/N, will you do me the incomparable honor of being my girlfriend?” His grin matched yours.

“Yes, absolutely,” you sighed, breathless between the mountain air and the affectionate tightness in your chest.

The next instant, his lips were on yours, and you grasped desperately at his shoulders as you scrabbled for your footing in the snow. Behind you, you thought you heard San cheer, and you laughed quietly against Wooyoung’s lips. When you parted, breathless for an entirely new reason, you were happy to find your boyfriend just as disheveled, beaming at you like you hung the stars.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Wooyoung.”

Out of sight—not that you would have noticed—your brother held out a fist for Kyungmin to bump.

“What was that you said about ‘never having a chance?’” Yeosang teased over dinner that night, the four of you sprawled out between the two couches in your cabin. You pulled your sweater over your face to hide your embarrassment, snuggling deeper into Wooyoung’s arms.

“Oh, shut up! He’s been your best friend and one of mine since we were kids. How was I supposed to know—”

“You were supposed to trust his best friend and your brother, is what should have happened,” he huffed.

“How did you even know?!” Wooyoung protested. You could hear his glare.

“You’re not subtle, she’s just oblivious.”

“Hey!”

“That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about!”

Yeosang sighed, rolling his eyes heartily and pushing himself up off the couch. “I’m already sick of third wheeling. San, come help me move your stuff so they can have their own room.”

Wooyoung grinned against your neck, squeezing you tight. “Oh, they might regret that,” he hummed in your ear, tapping your thigh to guide you off of his lap. “I’ll help! Sannie can stay.”

Your brother raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a smirk. “Oh, now he’s helpful. A changed man.”

“Only the best for my princess,” he teased, shooting you a wink over his shoulder. You pulled your sweater up over your nose again, grinning and hiding your flush.

An hour later, your stuff had been moved into the upstairs bedroom with Wooyoung’s, and Yeosang and San were gathering their gear. You turned to peer at them over the back of the sofa, eyes wide and innocent. “Where are you off to?”

“We saw signs for night skiing, and he was interested,” your brother explained, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “I didn’t want to leave him with mom and dad, so I’m going too. I think Wooyoung was thinking about coming, but…” he gave you a knowing look. “I thought if we gave you a couple hours of alone time, we could sleep tonight.”

Your cheeks heated. “Yeosang!”

“Thank you, bye, have fun!” Wooyoung called as he slid up behind you and looped his arms around your waist. “That’s enough talk about our future sex life. Be safe.”

“Two and a half hours,” your brother warned, giving you both a pointed glance. Behind him, San’s cheeks were tinged pink. “Remember what I said.”

This was directed over your shoulder to Wooyoung who, when you turned, had gone a little pale. The door shut with a purposeful slam and you turned in his arms, cupping his face.

“What did he say?”

“That, uh… If he hears anything, he’ll give our moms the details. And tell your dad.”

“We’d better get it out of our systems while he’s out then, huh?”

You’d watched Wooyoung short-circuit before over Yeosang babbling on about his engineering studies, mostly. Being the reason he did so now, especially when it was enhanced by the pretty pink tinge that rose in his cheeks and ears, was an entirely new and delightful experience.

“Unless you don’t—” you began when the silence stretched, only to be cut off by his lips on your own.

“Absolutely the hell not,” he practically growled, and you felt your knees go a little weak. “I’ve waited way too long to have you—I’m not waiting any longer.”

“Then don’t,” you breathed, stepping back from him and catching his hand in yours as it fell between you.

The two of you practically dashed up the stairs, barely pausing to kick the door shut and lock it before your lips were pressed together again, both hungry for each other. His hands ran up your sides and under your sweater, rucking it up and grabbing at the soft skin he found underneath. Your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged, pulling a pretty moan from him that you wanted to hear more of right then and there. He gave you no time, however, spinning you and walking you back toward the bed.

When your knees hit the mattress, you both fell in a giggling heap onto it, Wooyoung caging you in below him with his hands on either side of your head. His lips found your jaw the moment you both settled and he let his eyes flutter shut as he trailed kisses down your throat. There would be time to watch you come apart for him later; now, he wanted to bask in all the pretty little sounds you let out as he worked you up. It didn’t take long before you were squirming under him, hands grasping at his hair while his lips and hands sought each other through the barrier of your sweater. When his lips reached your neckline, he guided you up and pulled your sweater over your head, tossing it to the side, your bra quickly following.

He sat back on his heels, hands on your waist to keep you upright as he drank you in, eyes wide and earnest. You felt your cheeks heat, tugging at the hem of his own shirt to resist the urge to cover yourself. He obliged immediately, the garment discarded like yours, and your hands immediately found his skin. Wooyoung shivered as you ran your fingers up his chest, tracing over the lines of his abs and ghosting over his nipples, delighting at the shiver that lit down his spine and the whine that spilled from his lips.

In the next moment, his lips were on yours and he was guiding you onto your back once more. His hands stopped only to squeeze your breasts and tweak at your nipples in return, pulling a gasp from you and a grin from him, before they came to rest at your waistband, fingers dipping under it. You lifted your hips obediently, your lounge pants and underwear being pulled off and shucked away at once and earning a purr of “Good girl,” from Wooyoung.

You whimpered at that and he grinned, raising an eyebrow at you as he lowered himself between your legs. “Noted,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Sit there and look pretty for me while I open you up, okay.”

At a loss for words, you nodded dumbly, gasping as his lips met your skin again. You melted back into the pillows with a moan as his breath ghosted over your core, hips twitching in anticipation. “W-Wooyoung,” you tried. He grinned wickedly up at you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

Without another word, he was pressing his tongue to you and lapping a fat stripe up your core, flicking his tongue over your clit with a little flourish. You squirmed and he grinned against you, moaning into your heat as you tugged at his hair, silently begging him to come closer. He obliged and buried his tongue between your folds, the curve of his nose bumping against your sensitive bundle of nerves as he lost himself in your taste.

His hands came up under you to cup at your ass, kneading at the soft flesh as your thighs landed over his shoulders. You whimpered and squirmed, thighs twitching by his ears, and Wooyoung couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be. His fingers prodded against your entrance and he glanced up questioningly as your hips jerked, as if both you and your body were unsure if you wanted more or less. The sight that met him was one of beauty; your hair was spread across the pillows around you and the hand that wasn’t tangled in Wooyoung’s hair had begun kneading at your breast—and Wooyoung rutted down into the mattress with a low groan.

You nodded frantically as he pressed more insistently against your core, and he quickly slipped a finger into you, preening at the sigh you let out. He worked it slowly in contrast to his quick tongue, and the difference quickly had you seeing stars. Eyes still locked on your writhing form, he pressed a second finger in with the first and crooked them up, seeking out your sweet spot. The moment he found it, he grinned, committing the little squeak of pleasure that left you to memory for later.

It took seconds, then, for the coil in your gut to snap, and your back arched off the bed as you rode out your high against Wooyoung’s sinful mouth. His eyes were wide and innocent as he worked you over your peak with no sign of halting, only freeing you from your torment when you tugged him back by his hair. He surfaced with a gasp and a grin you quickly wiped off his face as you crashed your lips against his own.

There was no time for him to react as you shoved him down next to you and climbed into his lap, settling your weight over his clothed cock. He groaned and winced, neglected length throbbing painfully at the sudden stimulation. You giggled and he glared, hands settling on your hips to encourage you to start grinding against him. With a coy smile, you moved his hands back to the sheets and shifted back to his thighs, fingers tucking under his waistband. What you found made you freeze, and you were gifted with another beautiful Wooyoung giggle as he grinned up at you.

“You were expecting this, weren’t you?” You muttered as you tugged his pants down and, just as you had guessed, found no underwear beneath.

He shook his head, expression suddenly softer. “Expecting, never. Hoping?” He grinned like a Cheshire and leaned forward, cupping your ass and dragging you up to press your core against him. “Always,” he purred, darting up to catch your lips once more.

You hummed happily as you ground down against him, the friction welcome but far too little after experiencing his tongue and fingers. “Wooyoung,” you managed between kisses, shifting further up so his head caught on your entrance. “Wanna ride you baby, please?”

He let out a wrecked groan and nodded, wrapping an arm around you to lift you as the other positioned his cock at your entrance. “Wait, shit,” he murmured, shifting under you. You whined, thighs clenching to keep him in place. “Condom.”

“I’m on birth control,” you muttered, grinding against him, “wanna feel you, please.”

Wooyoung cursed, hips rolling up against your own. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

You beamed, pressing another quick kiss to his lips as he lined himself back up. His hands held you steady, setting the pace for you as he filled you inch-by-inch and you whined in protest, brow furrowing. Pressing his wrists down into the sheets, you sat yourself on his cock in one fluid motion, pulling cries from both of you. Ravenous, you slotted your lips against his and immediately began riding him in earnest, grinning against his lips at the squeak he let out.

“F-Fuck, babydoll,” he gasped out, hands returning to your hips when yours grasped the headboard for balance. “Not gonna last if you keep at this—shit.”

“Play with my clit,” you breathed, walls clenching around him at the hungry look he gave in return, “and I won’t either.”

Wordlessly, he nodded, tongue flicking out to wet his thumb before settling over your clit, pushing back the hood before rubbing tight circles over it. You let out a broken shout and he moaned quietly, cock twitching pleasantly inside you.

“G-G’nna…” he gasped, swallowing thickly as he staved off his climax.

You nodded, pace picking up just barely as you chased your releases. A moment later, your walls began fluttering around him and your back arched, mouth open in a silent scream as you plummeted over your peak. The sight of you was all it took for Wooyoung to follow, reaching up and pulling you down into his chest as he emptied into you.

The silence was jarring when you both came back to your senses, only the sound of your heavy breaths filling the space now. You sighed with a smile and let your eyes flutter shut, allowing yourself to bask in the afterglow before the sweat would force you to the bathroom. Your boyfriend held you tight, pressing kisses into your hair as his hands roamed over your back.

“I love you, Wooyoungie,” you murmured sleepily, smiling as you felt him chuckle.

“I love you too, Y/N-ie,” he replied readily.

“This is the best year yet.”

He beamed. “And it’s only day one.”

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#cromernet #cultofdionysusnet #k-vanity #wonderlandnet #codn: santa23 #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung imagines #woooyoung scenarios #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fluff #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #neb.atz #neb.dayOne #nebulous writes

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kookygranger · 5 months

Text

Fairytale of Hawkins: Part One

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

A cheesy hallmark Christmas fic inspired by @bettyfrommars's tow truck!Eddie and prompts #1 & #6 from Betty and @allthingsjoeq's Holiday Prompt Party

Summary: You're spending Christmas in your best friend Robin's hometown this year, after spending far too many alone in the city. She can't wait to introduce you to the gang and all the wholesome festive activities they get up to, but you may have already made a not-so-good first (and second) impression on a certain metalhead in the first few days of your visit.

Warnings: mention of car crashing into snowbank (no damage), reader gets drunk (happy holidays!), reader doesn't have family, reader and Eddie are in their late 20s/early 30s, swearing

Word count: 4.4k

Author's note: I've spent far too long agonising over this when it's supposed to be silly and fun and not perfect, so please just have this first part and ignore me screaming into a pillow in the corner.

Part Two

6 Days 'Til Christmas

You really weren’t feeling the holiday spirit this year.

Not that you normally did.

Christmas for you, meant taking advantage of a quiet city, spending the hours alone walking the empty streets and having nothing but smoked salmon and champagne for dinner without feeling guilty. Sometimes (every Christmas), you’d let a corny Hallmark movie play on your TV and cringe and laugh at the predictableness of it all. Maybe, you’d be a bit quieter when the lovesick couple inevitably kissed at the end, maybe you’d pour yourself a little more champagne.

The aesthetic of the holiday season itself, you didn’t mind so much. The pretty twinkling lights, spiced hot drinks, and cookies you could take. But the frenzied crowds, all the talk of “goodwill” and “Christmas cheer”, when all you had to do was spend an hour in a department store to witness the real ugliness of humanity – hard pass. And let’s not forget Christmas day itself, either people would be spending it stuck with family, passive-aggressive comments and secrets coming out after the first few rounds of spiked punch, or they’d be forcefully and painfully reminded of just how lonely they were in this world.

The snow was nice. You secretly enjoyed the quiet and stillness a fresh blanket of snow could bring to the city. But out here in the sticks? Snow was your worst enemy.

Once your heart had settled back to a normal pace, you got out of the car to assess the damage. There was no smoke coming from places it shouldn’t, no visible scratches or dents that you could see – but there was also no way in hell that you were getting this car out of the snowbank you’d crashed into. At least the deer you swerved to avoid was probably off in the trees to your left with its family, living to frolic another day.

“Shit.”

You had no idea where you were. Already lost on the horrible directions your best friend Robin had given you before that damn deer came out of nowhere. The snow was coming down faster than the street plows could keep up with, your hair drenched in a few minutes as another shiver ran through your whole body.

Hawkins was cold. Like, freezing. You always thought winter was winter, but they really took it to another level here in the Midwest.

The day still had a little light left in it, but darkness was fast approaching. You decided the smart thing to do was wait in the car and hope that somebody driving by would be able to help. Or pretend to help before murdering you. Well, you didn’t think walking on a fairly deserted road in the middle of a snowstorm when you had no idea which direction to go would produce better results. So, you waited.

And waited.

Oh god, you were gonna die here all alone. You never should’ve let Robin talk you into coming home with her for Christmas. You could be happily wrapped up in blankets in your climate-controlled apartment with a warm mug of eggnog right now.

Wait! The rum you bought for making eggnog with Robin.

You scramble to reach over the car’s middle console, hands rummaging through the paper bags on the floor in the back until you find the smooth glass neck of a bottle.

The rum burns your throat on the way down with the first swig, but the edge is taken off soon after with a couple more swallows – the familiar warmth settling into your skin once you’ve polished off about a quarter of the bottle. You curl up into your seat, tucking your legs into your coat and holding the bottle of rum close to your chest.

Distracted by the fuzzy feeling seeping into your head and thoughts of which picture of you they’d use to announce your death on the local news, you don’t notice the sound of a truck approaching or its headlights shining across the back of your car.

Maybe Robin will give them a good one of you on vacation together in The Bahamas last year. God, you wish you’d gone somewhere warm instead.

You almost jump out of your skin, letting out an involuntary squeak when someone knocks on your window. Barely making out the shape of a man with wild hair through the condensation that had fogged up the glass.

“You alright in there?”

Please don’t be a murderer, please don’t be a murderer, please don’t be a murderer.

You open the car door and step out on shaky legs, almost stacking it when your feet are swallowed by a much thicker blanket of snow than you were expecting. The man reaches out to steady you, his hands engulfing your forearms as you look up at your rescuer. Or potential downfall. A black beanie covers the top of his head but does little to protect the rest of his wild curls that fall across his shoulders from the still falling snow. You briefly take note of the blue coveralls with a name sewn in red thread across his heart, before you’re sucked in by the worried look in his brown doe eyes.

“Are you alright?”

You nod, stuttering when you try and speak, gesturing to the car behind you and then to the road. “I–the car, there was a–and then, the ice just sort of…”

The stranger straightens up, the warmth from his hands leaving you as he eyes you wearily, “You been drink driving?”

“What? No! God, no…I–I,” you take a deep breath, trying to compose the thoughts that were tumbling too fast out of your mouth. God, he was pretty. “After I realised I wasn’t going anywhere,” you point to the front of the car, barely visible from the snow piled around it, “I may have opened a bottle of rum to keep warm.”

He scoffs a little meanly, “You realise that’s not how it works right? You actually lose heat faster when you’re drunk.”

A tingling warmth crawls up your neck at his scolding and you shrug, “Well, I thought if I was gonna die I might as well do it with a good buzz.”

He squints at you, his stare stony and you can’t tell what you’ve done to warrant this level of offence from a total stranger. Was he helping you or not? “You’re not from around here are you?”

You straighten up reflexively, shoulders going back in defence, “What makes you say that?”

He gestures vaguely to all of you, “Well, apart from the fact that you ooze city girl,” you frown, “it’s a small town. I woulda remembered you if you grew up here.”

He didn’t say it with a smirk or a sly look at your body. You knew it wasn’t meant as a compliment. Not a ‘you’re so pretty I would’ve remembered you’ but a ‘you stand out in all the wrong ways’.

“Okay, um,” you look around and notice his truck parked behind him, disbelief painting your face when you turn back to him and take in the ‘Munson Motors’ patch on the other side of his name. “Would you be able to help me?”

He answers with a frown as if the question itself is offensive. He has a tow truck and you're stranded on the side of the road in below-zero conditions. Of course, he’s going to help you.

Eddie, goes straight to work hooking up your car to the back of his truck, pulling it out of the snowbank and parking off to the side of the road again as you stand out of the way and watch, shivering now that the freezing outside air has begun to sober you up.

When he jumps back out of the truck to check your car is secure, he clears his throat, speaking to you like he's continuing a conversation, “How long you been out here?”

Your breath catches in a cloud of condensation as you exhale. “What’s the time?”

He pulls back the blue fabric of his left sleeve to check his watch, “Quarter past six.”

“Oh, um…a couple of hours I think.” It had been 45 minutes.

He nods as he gives a chain one final tug. “Guess no one’s come past ‘cause it’d be dumb to drive around in these conditions.”

You had to hold back from reflexively rolling your eyes. Here comes the mansplain.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be driving without chains on your tires.”

You huff, “Well, it’s not my car and I was only popping out to the store to get some groceries…an–and I got lost and then a deer just–” You wave your hand across the road stumbling over your words as the stupidly pretty tow truck driver turns to you and raises his eyebrows. “Forget it.” You sighed, “Is the car gonna be alright?”

Eddie licks his bottom lip, his intense gaze starting to heat you up again as he slowly nods. “The car will be fine. I can drop you and it off if you’ve got an address for me in town.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

***

A sigh leaves you as the warmth of the truck cab engulfs you, the smell of tobacco and the black ice magic tree hanging from the rearview mirror, along with something woodsy surrounding you on the inhale.

“Where to?” Eddie plops himself into the driver’s seat, pulling out onto the road as you give him Robin’s parent's address.

The ride there is mostly quiet, aside from the low hum of a Black Sabbath song coming out of the speakers, and you get the feeling Eddie the tow truck guy doesn’t take well to city girls getting themselves into sticky situations on his roads. You’re starting to feel a little silly yourself as the rum buzz well and truly wears off. This was a little too damsel in distress-y for your liking. You were an independent woman for god sake, the best solution you could come up with was getting drunk before an incredibly well-timed, handsome local had to come to your rescue?

As soon as Eddie pulls up to the curb he’s jumping out of the truck, clearly not wanting to spend another minute in awkward silence. You were never really good at small talk.

It isn’t until the passenger side door slams behind you that you notice the yelling.

“Oh my god! I thought you were for sure dead!”

Robin almost knocks you onto the sidewalk when she slams into you.

“Oh, I was so worried! I kept telling my dad, I think I told her the wrong directions. I told you to turn right on Maple when you should have turned left–“Her arms flail about in the air as she rambles in a panic and you just smile at her.

“Rob, I’m fine. I got to the shops okay in the end, it was getting back that was the problem. Then this deer ran out in front of me and I lost control when I swerved.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I almost killed you. You haven’t even been in town a full day!” She squishes your cheeks in between her hands, and you laugh.

Once she’s satisfied that you’re okay, she turns to Eddie as he walks up to the both of you. “Thanks for bringing my girl back alive Munson.” Robin beams and you notice Eddie’s eyes darting between the both of you, things clicking into place before she tackles him with a hug.

“Nice to see ya Buckley.” You hear Eddie mumble something into Robin’s hair and she laughs.

Figures. He was that Eddie. The metalhead with a heart of gold. Fantasy nerd that you were “going to love.” Obviously, your mind hadn’t immediately associated the grumpy tow truck driver Eddie with the one you’d heard hundreds of stories about, the one that was supposed to be warm and quick to welcome outsiders. Maybe it was just you?

“The car’ll be fine. Might just take a little while to warm up next time you go to start it, but if you have any issues just drop it by the shop.” He speaks directly to Robin as if it were her that he’d just rescued from the side of the road.

She thanked him with an affectionate punch to the shoulder and you tried to catch his eye before he turned away.

“Thanks again, for uh–for your help.”

He just nods, eyes briefly making contact with yours before they flit away again and he walks back to his truck.

“Don’t let her get lost again. It’s only gonna get colder over the next week.” He shouts before he slams his door shut behind him.

You turn to Robin who’s cheerily waving him off.

“Cold-er? It gets cold-er?!”

***

5 Days 'Til Christmas

“This is ridiculous.” Condensation forms around your huffs of breath, Jack Frost nipping at the tip of your nose and cheeks as you pull your coat tighter around you, stumbling slightly on the icy ground.

“The only thing ridiculous is your dress sense.” Robin giggles, pausing to let you catch up with her, arm linking with your own as you cross the car park together.

“This is my favourite coat.” You pout.

She shakes her head, “I know it is. And I know how much it cost, but we need to get you something sturdier and some thermals or something.” Her free hand rubs the thin, expensive material on your shoulder.

“Maybe, we should just stop leaving the house.” You grumble, causing Robin to knock her shoulder against yours.

“C’mon! I know we’re meeting everyone in a couple of days, but when Steve told me Jonathan and Nance we’re going to be at the bar tonight as well I thought it’d be the perfect opportunity for you to meet the grown-ups first.”

“Aren’t the kids at college now?”

You’d learnt a lot about Robin’s chosen family over the years. Having met Steve multiple times when he came to visit her in the city and been regaled by countless stories of the trouble they’d all gotten up to in high school.

“Yeah, but they’re not legal drinking age yet and it’ll be much easier meeting everyone else without them around trust me.”

The Hideout definitely wasn’t anything like the bars you frequented in the city, and you couldn’t help thinking about where you were a week ago – an office Christmas party that involved two-hundred-dollar bottles of champagne and coke in the marbled bathrooms – as your weather inappropriate shoes found the sticky floor and your nose wrinkled involuntarily at the smell, eyes wandering over the small crowd of mostly old men hunched over their half-empty drinks.

“Charming,” you murmur, Robin’s arm tightening its hold on you upon seeing her best friend waving at the both of you across the room.

“Hey dingus,” She ruffles Steve’s hair as you approach the group sitting around a small wooden table.

“Hey numbnut.” He was quick to push his hair back, everything but a lonely strand falling back into perfect place. Robin took an empty chair, while Steve captured you in a much-needed embrace, greeting you warmly and without a childish nickname.

He kept an arm around your shoulder as he introduced you to the three other occupants of the table. You shake Nancy and Jonathan’s hand, smiling at the way they held each other, but when you hold out your hand to their friend Argyle he just laughs and gets up to hug you with a “Come here my lil’ city slicker.” The scent of pineapple and pot clinging to you as you take a seat while Steve heads to the bar to get you and Robin a drink.

“Where’s Eddie?”

The pang that jolts you at Robin’s casual mention of her friend’s name is slightly concerning.

“He’s over there with the guys.” You follow Jonathan’s gesture to a group of boys standing next to a makeshift stage at the far end of the bar. A tousle of brown waves in a leather jacket stands with his back to you with three others dressed much the same, all drinking beer and laughing. You couldn’t see his face, but even from here you notice his shoulders look more relaxed than he was during your encounter yesterday.

Maybe you’d get to see the “warm” Eddie now that he wasn’t having to haul your car out of the snow.

Steve returns to your table with drinks and takes the seat next to you, reaching over your shoulders to pinch Robin when she complains about hers not having enough ice before letting his arm relax around you. Steve had seamlessly fit himself into your life when you first met just as he always did in any situation, and you knew that he could sense your nerves about meeting the rest of the group. You just hoped he didn’t pick up on any nerves about the presence of one in particular.

“Nice of you to join us Buckley.”

You tense as Eddie appears at the table and Steve squeezes your shoulder, smirking into his drink.

Never fucking mind.

“Oh my god, you guys I have to tell you all about Eddie’s hero moment yesterday!”

As Robin captures the attention of the group with a dramatic retelling of yesterday’s events, your eyes wander to your reluctant rescuer. He was yet to acknowledge your existence, only rubbing his neck and blushing when praise was thrown his way. His attention is mostly on Robin’s theatrics before it shifts, and you notice his gaze land on something by your shoulder. You look down at Steve’s hand still resting there and when you look back up your eyes catch shining, dark chocolate ones.

You’re the first to break the spell, eyes quickly landing on the table, unable to hold his intense stare.

When Robin finishes her story you excuse yourself to get another drink, having nervously gulped yours down already and you pass Steve on your way back to the table.

“Hey, can you give these to Eddie? He’s just outside. I need to take a leak, thanks.” He walks away quickly, leaving you with a packet of cigarettes in your hand.

***

Eddie stands with his back to you, leaning against the brick of the bar as you exit the swinging door, a blast of arctic air hitting you as you immediately wrap your arms around yourself.

“Hey.”

He spins around at the sound of your voice.

“Uh, Steve said you needed to borrow a smoke?” You hold up the pack.

He stares at you for a second before he lifts an unlit cigarette in between his fingers.

“I’m all good. Bummed one off Gareth.”

You nod and shove the carton in your coat pocket.

“You smoke?”

“God no, I value my lungs. These are Steve’s.” You shake your head and Eddie raises his eyebrows, pausing in his motion to light the cigarette now pursed between his lips, the yellow flame from his scuffed bic lighter flickering in the chilled breeze.

He releases his thumb from the lighter, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and frowning at it.

“So uh, I didn’t expect you and Buckley to show up tonight.”

You grip your coat tighter around you, it’s far too cold to be out here but you’re pleasantly surprised that he’s initiating conversation with you. “Oh yeah, Robin dragged me out of the house to come see some lame band. Personally, I think it’s too cold to do anything other than drink tea under a pile of blankets but–“

“Robin said they were lame?”

“What?”

“The band playing here tonight, she said they were lame?”

“No, she just mentioned that they’re here every Tuesday,” you look up at the neon signage hanging above the door, missing a ‘d’ with a barely flickering ‘o’ and shrug, “I figured–“

“Hey, Ed!” One of the boys Eddie had been standing with earlier pops his head out of the bar door, giving you a curt nod when you turn around. “You ready? We’re on in two.”

“Yeah, just give us a sec.”

The boy disappears back behind the door and you screw your eyes shut. Of course it was his band.

“Shit, Eddie I’m sor–“

“You always just say things without thinking?” His arms are crossed, eyes squinting at you in that offended disbelief that seemed to be reserved just for you and your big mouth.

You sigh, “Only around you apparently.”

You swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch. “Why’s that city girl?”

The nickname could almost pass as a term of endearment, the way it comes out of him in a drawl if it wasn’t for your terrible first and second impressions preceding you.

You shake your head, “Never mind. I’m gonna–“ You point your thumb behind your shoulder, “Yeah,” and walk back inside before you manage to say anything else idiotic, Eddie grinning after your retreating form.

***

You watch Eddie thrash about on stage under the haze of a couple of shots, needing a little liquid courage before you could throw yourself back into socialising – at least you seemed to be getting along with the rest of the group.

His skin was glowing with sweat under the cheap yellow stage lights, leather jacket abandoned so you could now see the tattoos peaking out from under his tattered old band shirt. One that hugged his biceps as they flexed with the ferocity of his guitar playing. Holy shit.

When he jumps off stage and approaches his friends, you can’t take your eyes off the damp hair that sticks to his neck and forehead.

“You guys were amazing.”

He bows his head at your compliment. The two of you now slightly off to the side of the rest of the group as they figure out whose round it is. “Not lame then?”

“No,” you shake your head, “no, I shouldn’t have–that was shitty of me to judge without hearing you. To judge, full stop. I’m not like that normally. I know you think I’m just some city girl who’s completely out of touch but I’m just–I got a bit nervous about meeting you all and making a good impression for Robin. I’m sorry.”

He rubs the back of his neck, “S’nothin’ to apologise for. Not like we’re playing The Garden or anything.”

“That doesn’t matter.” You frown, “You’re great–I mean the band are great–I can tell that you all love playing up there no matter the audience. That’s what’s important.”

“Thanks.” His soft tone and doe eyes threaten to swallow you whole. You look away, burning up under his attention again.

“You’re welcome.”

“We’re playing pool now, I need you on my team c’mon.” Robin wraps her arms around you and drags you away before Eddie gets the chance to keep you talking.

***

“Wait, Steve! You’re not driving?” You cringe at Robin’s slurred volume as she shouts across the small car park, thankful this isn’t a residential area.

“Pfft no! I’ve had way too many. I’m going in Nance’s car.” She glares at her best friend as he follows Jonathan and Argyle, waving her off.

“How are we getting home?!” She raises her arms in exasperation and turns to you as if you’d be able to offer a solution, the creaking of the bar door opening behind you grabbing both of your attention as Eddie steps out. He stops short, car keys coming to a halt mid-swing when he notices eyes on him.

“Eddieeee.” Robin sing-songs, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. His eyebrow quirks up. “Fancy dropping off two gorgeous young girls and making sure they get home safe?” She leans her head into yours and you giggle.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Yeah whatever, get in.”

Robin turns away abruptly to head towards his van, leaving you to stumble without the support, Eddie’s warm hands brace your arms before you even have time to think.

“You good?”

You nod, “Had a lot to drink.”

He huffs a laugh as you sway, breath stuttering when you look up at him, “Yeah, you did.”

The snow that falls around you two lands softly on your face, melting in your hair and on your eyelashes as you crinkle your nose.

“It’s so cold.”

He licks his bottom lip, “Right, right let’s get you home yeah?”

***

Despite Robin’s clumsy nature she always manages to stay light on her feet when she’s drunk. So, by the time Eddie pulls up to the Buckley residence she’s shooting out of the van, cackling at her own joke while you’re still trying to undo your seatbelt. Eddie tells you to stay still before he jogs to the passenger side and unhooks you, holding onto your arm as you step down onto the ground on wobbly legs.

“Where’s Robin?” You look around, the front yard frosted in snow that’s warmed by yellow fairy lights hanging around the edges of the house, but noticeably void of your charmingly sassy friend.

“She’s already inside. Here, let me get you to the door.”

His hands help steady you, guiding you to safety up the icy path, one stretching over your lower back the other holding your elbow. You hadn’t noticed his rings before now, silver glinting under the lights now directly above you as you walk up to the front porch. These hands adorned in skulls seemed to keep coming to your rescue. But you don’t need some hot tow truck, sexy guitarist guy coming to your rescue. You’re a capable, independent woman.

You feel Eddie’s breath on the back of your neck when he laughs softly.

“You think I’m sexy huh?”

You frown as you stop at the front door, shaking your head “What, why would you think that?”

“’Cause you just said it.”

“Out loud?!”

He snickers as you bury your face in your hands, “I have to stop drinking around you.”

Eddie bites his lip as you slip through the front door mumbling a good night and close it behind you without another glance at his smug face. He’s still smiling as he turns the ignition, the radio on low as Fairytale of New York fills his van with warmth. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head before pulling away from the curb, this fuzzy feeling in his chest not something that’s familiar to him.

“Fuck.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #stranger things au #stranger things fanfiction #towtruck!eddie #steve harrington #robin buckley #promptparty #she writes

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carolmunson · 1 year

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alive with the glory of love

(older!rockstar!eddie x older!actress!wife!)

a valentine's slice of life with our favorite rockstar almost thirty years into our marriage. the year is 2023 and we're still stella rink and we're still famous as hell. aged like fine wine. a decades long career and a decades long marriage with two twins in their late twenties. this is semi from the twins perspective. we know what our life was looking like before, let's see what it looks like now. :) eddie manip by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple cw: 18+ minors dni, allusions to smut/wearing lingerie, but overall this is a short little something. reader and eddie are both 57, so, sorry if you don't want to be fifty seven. but if i have to be in my 'early twenties' every time i read a fic, you can be older for like, seven and a half minutes.

The phone eases into focus, Violet’s giggle sounds as she presses record, leaning on her elbows at the kitchen island. The room is a sun drenched, black and white tiled vision — still partially stuck in the 90s, remnants of your old life, despite the ongoing renovations. Despite the teasing from your adult children. Some stuff just never lost its charm – plus, the kids were calling it ‘a 90s vibe’ and you were both pretty sure that was cool.

“Morning, happy Valentine’s Day,” Violet says sleepily, Van trudging in behind her. They both take lazy seats on the bar stools across from the chef stove that their father is delicately working over.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey,” Eddie calls over his shoulder, daintily pouring pink batter into a cookie cutter mold on a hot pan. The kitchen and dining room are filled to the brim with flowers and balloons. Eddie’s been up for hours getting everything set up for you, some things never change. Some things never get old.

“What’re you doing?” Van asks.

“What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m making mommy—” He turns around with a furrowed brow, deepening his forehead creases before he realizes they’re recording him. He sighs before turning back to his task, “Guys, again with the phone?”

“C’mon dad, they love you!” Violet begs, putting her phone down and shoving it in her sweatshirt pocket, “Van show him the comments on the last one.”

“They think you’re hilarious, they want you to have your own account,” Van encourages, he opens his own phone to bring over to his dad. He grew up to be a spitting image of the two of you, as if they pasted Eddie’s face on his and gave him all your other features. The color of your eyes, the texture of your hair. Your bright, enrapturing smile. A perfect fifty-fifty.

Van scrolls slowly through the endless comments, Eddie squinting down at them, “Van, I don’t have my glasses.”

Eddie peers down lower, “What does that mean? ‘I know it’s big’? What’s big?” “New…choker…just…dropped? I didn’t make chokers for merch,” he shrugs, waving him away to pay attention to the stove. “Ew,” Violet laughs, “Stop making him read these out loud, that’s so gross.”

“You should still make your own,” Van says, sitting back down, “It’d do way better than the one for Corroded.”

“Have your mom do it,” Ed shrugs off, “She knows how to do all that internet shit.”

“That Howard Stern clip is going viral again,” Violet says devilishly, “The girlies are obsessed with you.”

“I don’t care about the girlies, Vi,” Eddie blushes, flipping one of the pancakes on the pan, “I care about your mom.”

“I just wanna show them what you guys do for your favorite holiday,” Violet whines, “They’ll love it.”

“They’re gonna call him a simp,” Van teases, a look of realization washing over his face, “Wait, you’re such a simp for mom, actually.”

They both laugh, Eddie doesn’t know what ‘a simp’ is so he laughs too.

“That’s a good word for like, a DND character type — you should see about that in your campaigns,” Ed continues while he plates a pancake on an ever growing stack of pink and red.

“Ohmygod Dad, no, that’s not—“ Van laughs silently into his hands.

“Stop making fun of him, he’s old,” Violet pleads between giggles, taking her phone out again, “Dad, seriously can you just tell us what you’re doing? Why do you love Valentine’s Day?”

“Is this for your TikTok thing?” he asks, pulling his dark curls up in a ponytail with a black silk scrunchie, bangs he can’t quite part with falling in waves over his brow. ‘My Pilates teacher was telling me they’ll be safer on your hair,’ you’d said — and he’s never been one to say no to you. Every time the kids came home they’d take their phones out and make Tiktok’s of the two of you, sometimes you’d make a solo one for Violet or Van’s page if you felt like it. But with Twitter and Instagram, you didn’t want to overload your assistant with some other form of social media – but it looked like the two of you were really popular. Especially Eddie.

Violet educated you about ‘fancams’ which were just clips to music. There were a lot of the two of you together, or you solo from your movies and shows in the 90s. Progressions of you then and now and how you’re still ‘so hot’ and ‘unproblematic’. Eddie’s almost always started with the clip of him at Howard Stern, jaw ticking while he tried to keep his composure: ‘Excuse the fuck out of me, what did you just say about my wife? Do you wanna lose your fuckin’ teeth?’ The comments were always flooded with a mess of young people losing their shit: ‘god i’ve seen what you’ve done for others’ ‘stopppp he’s obsessed with her’ ‘@vidawn i hope your mom can fight’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn i’m five years younger than u but i would be a great step dad’ ‘when is someone gonna fight howard stern FOR ME?’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn they’re thirsting over your dad again’ ‘i’m banging on the walls of my enclosure’ 'ewwww we hate cheaters' ‘i NEED to fuck him’ ‘@vannywayne you look EXACTLY the same’ ‘are they looking for a third?’ 'idgi he looks dirty' ‘they are notttttt making them like him anymore’ ‘not him being old enough to be my father i’m sick’

“Obviously,” she snaps back, rolling his eyes when he starts touching himself up for the camera.

“Should I do a couple of push ups so I look buff or…?” he teases. Violet and Van make a face that puts any face you’ve given him to shame. It’s the only regret he has about having kids with you – all that attitude had to go somewhere.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs, “I’m ready for my close up, Vi.”

“You’re so cheesy, dad. Just be normal for like, five seconds,” Violet huffs, taking out her phone again, “You’re ready?”

“M’ready,” he smiles. “Okay, so, what’re you doing?” Violet asks again.

“I am making pancakes,” he starts, pouring red better into the cookie cutter mold on the pan this time, “In a heart shape, for your mom.”

“How long have you been doing this?” she asks, a smile spreading across her face. It matches her dads. There was no mistaking that Violet was Eddie Munson’s daughter.

“Since we got together, so – the first one was in 1990,” he muttered, flipping the pancake, “I do it every year ‘cause she loves it. They’re strawberry, but they’re pink and red ‘cause I put food coloring in them.”

“Is Valentine’s Day her favorite holiday?”

Eddie grins, “No, her favorite holiday is the fourth of July. Not ‘cause she’s got a boner for America or anything. She just likes fireworks and when I use the grill.” “Is it your favorite holiday?” Van asks this time. Eddie nods, a bright blush pushing up on his face.

“How come?” Violet and Van ask at the same time. Eddie turns the burner off, placing the heaping plate of heart shaped pancakes on the center of the island. He opens the wine cooler on the opposite wall, pulling out a bottle of champagne and two flutes from the top cabinet.

“‘Cause I get to spoil your mom all day,” he smiles, “She deserves it.”

“You spoil her every day,” Van teases, “I can’t think of a more doted on woman on earth than mom.”

“She’s very special,” he shrugs.

“And you do this every year?” Violet asks, zooming in on the pancakes.

“Every year for the past thirty four years, well, minus ninety-two,” he frowns a little, “We had some time apart that year.”

“Still had my chef make them for me though.”

Your voice cuts in from the large arch way connecting to the dining room and Violet pans quickly over to get you in frame.

“Hi mom,” Vi says, “Is this your favorite holiday?”

“No,” you shake your head and laugh, the same laugh he fell in love with, “It’s the fourth of July. C’mon Vi, how long have I been your mom? Do you even know me?” “You’re supposed to be in bed, honey,” Eddie frowns, “You’re ruining the surprise.”

“The surprise that’s older than my kids? How could I forget,” you grin, rounding the island and greeting your husband with a gentle kiss, “Happy Valentine’s day.”

“Happy Valentine’s day, baby,” he murmurs into a second chaste peck, “You’re supposed to let me bring them up to you.”

“My kids are home, I don’t wanna spend all day in bed,” you pout. He pouts back dramatically, tugging on your arm to pull you flush against his chest.

“I thought you loved spending all day in bed with me,” he pushes some of your hair back before resting a palm on your cheek, moving in to kiss you deeply. The scruff on his chin scratches around your mouth but you never care because he still kisses you, he kisses you every day. He’d kiss you all day if you let him. You had too many girlfriends whose ex-husbands were on their third wife and every year they’re more surprised that Eddie is still on his first.

“Okay, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Van says, Violet stops recording. Their faces sour.

“Yeah we don’t want a January ‘94 repeat or anything,” Vi jokes. The twins high five at their own mean reference to your horrific sex tape debacle, but you and Eddie toss them a playful glare.

“Hey, she might be your mother, but she’s my wife,” Eddie warns, hand sneaking down to rest on the small of your back to pull you close to him, “Don’t mess with her.”

“Yeah,” you tease, crossing your arms, “You saw what he did to Howie’s studio. I just gotta say the word.”

“So scary,” Violet rolls her eyes, leaving the kitchen with her twin in tow, “We’re taking the Jeep to get Jamba Juice, do you want anything?”

“My usual,” you answer while Eddie goes to the fridge to get grapefruit juice out of the fridge, “And get daddy’s usual too. Do you want his card? Where’s your card, hun?”

“Wherever you last left it,” he responds, gracefully pouring grapefruit mimosas for the both of you.

“It’s in my purse,” you call out.

“Which one?!” Violet calls back, both of them waiting by the door.

“The pink Kelly!”

“Got it! Do you want anything else?” Van calls out.

“Just uh,” Eddie giggles to himself, tossing you a once over, “Take your time!”

“Gross!” they yell back in unison. Eddie waits for the door to close to pull you back into him, he watches you at first. Brown eyes cascading over the slope of your nose, your cheeks, the crinkles at the edge of your eyes, your smile lines. He looks at you like he’s looking at you for the first time, every time. He looks different, but the same. Dark curls smattered and entwined in silver, a nose ring, a never ending scratch of overgrown stubble. Deep lines on his forehead that exaggerate his already animated features. Lips still full and warm, hands still big and covered in rings. He’s kept his body real tight for fifty-seven, still throwing himself in the gym daily. ‘If I’m gonna be addicted to something now it might as well be like, my cardiovascular health, babe.’ His crows feet make him somehow more attractive, his smile got better with age. He still makes your heart race when he catches your eye from across the room. “You wearing that little red thing I like?” he purrs in your ear. The tie to your robe sliding between his inked fingers.

“Maybe,” your finger trails over a tattoo on his bicep, “Maybe, I got something new for you to see. Maybe it’s black, maybe it’s strappy. Maybe it’s that thing you saw when we went shopping last week.”

“Christ,” he huffs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before stepping back over to the counter, “Do you ever stop getting hotter? Eat your breakfast before I bend you over this bar stool.”

“Let’s bring it upstairs like you wanted,” you smile, following him closely to press your hips up against him, “We can get a little messy.”

“Yeah?” he growls, pushing part of your robe away to see a peek of black lace and strappy leather, “Fucking god, Stell.”

“C’mon,” you whisper breathily, pushing up on your tiptoes to kiss him again, “They’ll be home soon.”

Some things have changed, some things remain the same. He still fucks you like a rockstar.

#eddie munson rockstar au #rockstar!eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie smut #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie #eddie munson fluff #rockstar!eddie fluff #older!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n

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tteokdoroki · 1 year

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*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— through the storm, there’s always you + katsuki bakugou.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — the one in which katsuki bakugou hates the winter, until you bring him a gift that changes his mind for the better.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up, fluff, strangers to lovers, mentions of injury, mentions of hospitals, pregnancy & birth ( non - descriptive ), winter babies, wholesome family content, not beta read ! - fem!reader, pro-hero!bakugou.

⭑ words — 1.8K.

⭑ notes — hi !!! merry christmas if you celebrate and happy holidays to those who don’t !! i hope you’re all keeping well and safe. here’s a little drabble for your troubles since i’m working on something longer that’ll hopefully be out in the new year !! so this isn’t beta read and i hope you enjoy !! mwah - m.list ✩

katsuki had always hated the weather around christmas time.

as a kid it meant being stuffed into itchy, scratchy sweaters that matched with stupid deku’s and being forced into what seemed like hours of pointless christmas card photo shoots tucked in next to the green haired, green eyed wimp. it meant mitsuki dragging him out of the comfort of his all night sheets early on December 25th to swap presents— her loud, irritating voice booming out Christmas carols with the words sung wrong as his pops set up a hearty breakfast and plucked wrapping paper from between the spikes of a young bakugou’s blonde hair.

back then, mitsuki would pull the cruel joke of putting coal in the younger’s stocking for a laugh and in response katsuki would hide all of her hurts to make it look like she had none.

in middle school, katsuki spent most of his winter break running over school choices— learning the curriculum inside and out so that he could get into U.A. friends, family gatherings, festive…none of them mattered to him as much as his aspirations did, but he still helped masaru decorate the house and put up the tree— lit the fire because he didn’t run as hot as other people during the colder season. he hardly saw his friends, his posse, his entourage, whatever they were. they didn’t understand what it was like to work for something, to want to succeed…to make sacrifices. these were people katsuki didn’t need.

when christmas roll around at UA, katsuki felt like he was really part of something for the first time. his friends, kirishima and kaminari especially, begged him to cook the dinner— getting permission from aizawa after school to buy the ingredients, clinging onto his arms to keep him warm while asking him what went in what, affectionately pissing him off.

there’d been a gift exchange too, and he’d tried to brush it off when his group of little misfits had presented him with a few exclusive allmight merchandise that hadn’t been collectible since he was a kid. ‘thanks,’ he’d mumbled, brushing an arm over his eyes in away that covered up the tears brewing in them. ‘idiots.’ aside from the celebrations and the small twinkle of happiness being surrounded by his classmates brought him— winter still sucked for bakugou. he’d discovered his quirk didn’t quite work the same, that he’d need to train a hundred times harder to be just as efficient as his peers during the flu season if he were to succeed and become a top hero like he’d promised himself as a kid. his hero costume required form fitting sleeves and a collar up to his neck that made him think back to that time where that villain had almost ended his life and he wasn’t quite strong enough to escape its reach.

bakugou fucking hated the winter because of it.

the Christmas season starts to become even more intolerable once katsuki breaks onto the scene as rookie pro hero dynamight. he gets stuck with all the bullshit patrols like the Black Friday sales and Christmas eve last minute rushes for gifts because he’s not quite high enough on the ranks for the ‘real’ work yet. it’s fine, the blonde tells himself, anythin’ to get higher up in the ranks. spreading the holiday spirit isn’t exactly his forte but the singles without families to go home to for the festives seemingly love spotting the desirable and explosive hero stalking the city streets, and it does wonders for his reputation too.

after bakugou’s first year as a rookie, do things pick up. he gets his first villain attack on december 24th, a simple robbery that he gets to handle all on his own— the prick’s quirk is fast moving, strong and nearly wipes the blonde out in one clear shot, sending him flying into the nearest building while other rookies evacuate the scene.

“m-mister…uh, dynamight? a-are you okay?”

your voice had been soft, your face the first thing he had scene when his vision realigned. blood trickled down the roundness if your cheeks, features aglow from the fires his quirk had set to your building— your humble little tailoring shop that he’d noticed was usually buzzing with customers on patrol. “i uh— you hit your head pretty hard sir a-and there’s a villain outside— i don’t think you can fight it like this—“ you’d tried to explain in a hurry, the situation now obvious as bakugou’s head lay in your lap.

groaning, he’d wanted to pull away from you get back up and take the damn villain down but before he could even move it’s quirk had sent another blast in the direction of your precious shop. one minute, bakugou’s life is flashing before his eyes and the next an invisible shield flies up in front of you both, protecting you from whatever impact had been coming. “‘m goin’ back out there,” bakugou told you sternly, gathering himself back up. there was no way a civilian should be doing his job, he should be protecting you, not the other way around. “stay fuckin’ put, till i get back. then we’re goin’ to a hospital.”

turns out, you were great at following orders, by the time bakugou had taken out the perpetrator— you were more than willing to go with him to the hospital to get your injuries checked out. he stayed with you the entire time, he owed it to you at least. you’d saved his life, and sacrificed your shop but uttered not a word of complaint in response. and in the winter days that followed the incident, he visited and brought flowers and sat with you— learning about you, learning to love you right into the new year.

bakugou’s spirits towards winter and Christmas had certainly changed since then. well into his thirties with achy joints, silvering hair and a stomach that’s a little less toned than it used to be— dynamight sits perched on the highest of buildings, a com mic pressed into his slightly muted ear. “ai’ght fuckers, let’s get this over with. the wife’s given me only a couple hours b’fore she can’t hold on any longer.” he grunts to his fellow heroes, ready to take down their annual Christmas robbery.

it couldn’t have come at a worse time, katsuki promising you that he wouldn’t be working on the holiday for the sake of your kids— who needed their father just one day out of the year. you’d wrapped him up extra tight, a homemade scarf you’d worked on in the last few months slipped softly around his neck as you scolded him for taking up over time when he should have been with you, with his family.

“you got it kacchan,” izuku chuckles from his end of the line— positioned some ways away, his eyes also on the target. “operation kacchan’s home for Christmas is a go.”

“agreed. i do not like it when mrs.bakugou is angry.” todoroki chimes in plainly, also accompanying the childhood duo on their mission.

“then keep yer eyes on the fuckin’ target— the sooner we can get my ass home t’what really matters this Christmas!” the blonde scolds his long time friends, rolling eyes eyes fondly as he sets his eyes on the target who‘d ripped him away from his family.

“daddy! you’re late!”

katsuki’s oldest just barely looks up from her phone— a gift from last year— as he rushes into the hospital waiting room still decked out in his ashy hero gear. kayako bakugou still accepts the kiss to her forehead from her father and the ruffle to her blonde curls once he’s close enough. she has his hair, the colour of his eyes but the shape of her features are undoubtedly yours— the perfect blend of two people completely and utterly in love.

his vermilion gaze shoots to his son, kuzki— a quiet little boy who’s not quite like the rest of the bakugou bunch but equally as loving and as precious to dynamight himself. “sorry ya guys have to be here on Christmas Day, s’late too,” the man pinches his kid’s cheek, kazuki squirming happily, albeit a bit sleepy. “we can open presents later, after i see momma.”

“s’okay papa! nana mitsuki got us candy!” he squeals, the eldest bakugou hiding her nose in her magazine at her mention.

“ma!”

“what?” she huffs back, nodding her head towards the door. “you don’t have time to have a go at me, katsuki. your wife is waiting for you.”

both of the bakugou kids get a smooch on their foreheads, and mitsuki the middle finger ( discreetly and in his head because he won’t risk getting his ass kicked by his own mother in front of his offspring ). he stalks his way into your private hospital room, keeping his clunky steps unusually quiet as he spots you resting in your bed.

“you’re lucky, she just fed and was about to go down for a nap, but it seems like she was waiting for a certain someone.” you coo but you’re not looking at your husband, instead at the tiny bundle of joy wriggling about in her swaddle, laying in your arms.

the elder blonde approaches the two of you, curling an arm immediately— soothed by your warmth which sends the chill of winter straight out of him. “she?” bakugou questions, too tentatively for a man with such a misshapen and rough exterior. you pass the little baby girl off to him, letting him take in the scent of baby powder and fresh linen. “god, she’s pretty. just like her momma, huh?”

“think that’s all you, kats, you know these bakugou genes wait for no one,” you breathe your words out in exhaustion, but a smile stays strong in your face like the blistering winds outside. “thirteen hours of labour and she still couldn’t wait for daddy.”

“‘m sorry i couldn’t be there, stupid fuckin’—“ the baby stirs in his hold, growing fussy as if she already knows the signature forbidden word of the bakugou household. “stupid freakin’ deku held us up at the mission ‘n i tried my best t’get here..” bakugou loses his words, staring at his his newborn princess with so much love in the world— she’s tiny in his arms, gargling sleepily as he bounces her, standing to walk the room with his new little girl and showing her the snowfall.

the three of you are entranced by the first glimmer of the crystalline weather— the room swimming with a contrasting warmth that katsuki can bear to stand because it’s not a frosted winter. it’s a perfect love. his own oasis away from the cold. “s’okay kats, she just wanted to be the best christmas gift you could have asked for,” you murmur. “our perfect little christmas gift.”

katsuki bakugou hums in agreement, watching eyes the colour of your own but the shape of his flutter with tiredness for the first time being out in the new world. and now with his little treasure, his darling daughter and absolute labour of love— katsuki bakugou is able to state his reason for finally finding appreciation for winter after all this time.

“merry christmas, princess.” he says to her wistfully. “and to you too, m’love.”

“merry christmas, kats.” you whisper back, your voice to him like a call through the storm.

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amywritesthings · 5 months

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the morning of. / an armin holiday fic

pairing: armin arlert x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) word count: 2k summary: It's not only your first holiday after the Battle of Heaven and Earth, but your first time living with Armin. Waking up next to overachiever has its perks.

tags: 18+ MINORS DNI! post-aot finale, smut, dirty talk, foreplay (f!receiving, armin's a giver), light dom undertones, orgasm, angst with a happy ending, armin is a sweety but also a lil freaky credit: dividers by @saradika

welcome to the ninth day of the twelve days of amymas and also merry christmas eve !!

Christmas Day.

This year marked the very first holiday season after the Battle of Heaven and Earth.

And you?

You're surviving, but you're not alone:

After the papers were signed and the truces were finalized, all Armin Arlert wanted to do was go back to Paradis and exist.

To live in peace if only for a little while, perhaps somewhere not too far from the sea, before he went back for more ambassadorship opportunities.

For his friends.

For himself.

(But with you.)

So you went back on the first boat to Paradis with Jean and Connie.

While Armin worked hard to square away everything on Marley, you worked towards the future of rebuilding of this little island, aiming your sights beyond the Walls.

To create the perfect home for the two of you.

Although gathering building supplies and hands steady enough to build a cabin required effort, you managed to pull enough favors from the people of Paradis: a quaint cabin on the outskirts awaited the 15th Commander of the Scouts on the far side of the island, right by the mouth of the ocean.

And when Armin came home, that’s where you stayed.

Although it was no secret that you and Armin had a thing in the Scout Corps, it's odd to acknowledge it was real in front of all of your friends.

Yet, given the weariness in everyone's bones, no one bats an eye at the fact that you live together.

(It’s better that everyone is happy in their own way.)

And it's quiet, for the most part.

The tide comes and goes. Birds chirp and squawk over the waves.

Armin had been busy visiting Mikasa Ackerman on Christmas Eve, imploring her to stop by for dinner at your place.

You were already prepared for Christmas Day. After all, it was easy to make him gifts while he was away so much.

Crocheting a sweater, for instance, to combat the chill of the sea. Buying a few practical items, for the next time he departs for Marley.

When Armin returned, he seemed happy.

(Mikasa said yes, he exhales with relief.)

And when you went to bed, Armin seemed in his own head, like he was waiting to be alone.

You assume it's for reflection.

It isn't a bother to sleep early.

When you awake Christmas morning, the sun has yet to rise. Only a faint hue from the open bedroom window illuminates the room.

Armin is still fast asleep.

His blonde hair has gotten a little longer around the frame of his face, cascaded in a halo around his face.

He looks exhausted.

Spent.

Carefully you nudge his outstretched arms, attempting to wake him just enough to cuddle against him.

Armin gives easily to your request, making a small noise in his sleep as he subconsciously invites you in.

By the time you nestle under his arm, he lets out a soft sigh.

“...time is it?”

“Early,” you whisper back, nuzzling your nose to him. A gentle ghost of a smile passes against his lips. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmmph — no, gotta… get up,” he mumbles, eyes still closed. “It’s Christmas.”

You shake your head with a small laugh, studying his face.

“We don’t have any plans. We can sleep until dinner if we want.”

“Mm, but what about…”

"Rest, Armin," you interrupt, kissing the tip of his nose. "I'm going to make some tea."

Armin takes a slow inhale through his nose, only to curl his arm around your body to pull you closer.

Firmer.

Keeping you from making a move from his side.

It's amusing. Cute.

To accommodate, you drag your thigh higher along the outer curve of his to slot better beside him.

“...can’t go downstairs," the command is his exhale, "not yet.”

“Why not?” you question playfully.

Using your shoulder, you crane your neck to view the mouth of the stairwell connected to the bedroom — as if you'll manage to see why for yourself.

Armin catches the movement, causing him to finally open those brilliant blue eyes of his.

He’s a light sleeper, freakishly alert, but through the last few months he's found himself more lax when it comes to laying in bed with you.

(At ease. Gentle.)

“Because I have to be there when you do,” he replies with a little more awareness in his voice. “I… might have done something.”

You whip your attention back down to the blonde beside you and note the growing blush on his pale cheeks.

“Done… something?”

“Like maybe gone a little overboard.”

You blink. “In what way?”

“In a… well, it was supposed to be a surprise— Wait!”

When he notices you shift to sit up, Armin quickly pushes your back against the mattress and pins you to it with his own warm body.

He curls around you with a light chuckle, eyes still a bit bleary.

You drop back with a gentle oof, and stare up that boyish, charming face of his.

You can’t help it.

You lean up to capture his lips in a brief kiss, and he makes a short noise of surprise.

Your head drops back to the pillow, lips curling to a smirk.

“Is that why you’re so tired? You were up all night doing something downstairs?”

"You make it sound like I was doing something bad."

"I mean, if the shoe fits."

"For your information, I brought a few decorations back."

"Back?" you repeat. "Like from Marley."

He nods. "Not that you didn't do a great job with the tree. I didn't touch that. I just... sort of covered our entire house with stuff. Garland. Candles. Beads—"

"Armin?"

"—so you'd wake up to a sight to behold. You know, for our first winter season." He pauses before sheepishly including: "Together."

Chuckling to himself, Armin cups his palm to your cheek and leans in, refusing to allow that one kiss to be the only one.

“You always ruin surprises.”

“I know,” you manage to joke right back. "But I bet it really is."

"Really is what?" he murmurs, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your lips.

You accept it with a hum of approval.

"A sight to behold."

(Just like him, you want to tell him, but he'll never recover.)

Armin doesn’t just give kisses — every peck has a meaning, every slow drag has a purpose, and the air in the room shifts in an instant.

The kisses deepen, and soon enough Armin is caging you underneath of him.

His palm cradles your head like you’re a precious gem, mindful of his weight hovering over you.

When his hips instinctually grind into yours, the thin layer of your pajamas make direct contact between your legs.

Armin chokes out a shaken gasp, shuddering from pleasure.

He’s already hard from morning wood, and you can’t help but grin against his mouth.

“Sorry,” he hiccups, pressing his forehead into yours as he stops himself. “Sorry, you — it’s, ah, it’s always you.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, willing his arousal to disappear, before fluttering his eyes open down to you.

“We can be lazy about it,” you sing-song, reaching down to snap the waistband of his pajamas. He jolts. “If you want.”

Armin's eyes widen a fraction at what you’re implying, before his face turns scarlet.

“I mean, yeah, I… you don’t have to convince me. But — downstairs—”

“Can wait,” you interrupt, flicking his lower lip with the tip of your tongue.

Armin shudders, reaching down to glide his hand over the swell of your breast, circling his thumb over the peak.

"You sure about this?" he whispers as he continues to rub affectionately, mindful of the noises bubbling in your throat.

You've never nodded so fast in your life.

Eventually the blonde turns his wrist, pointing his fingers down to your hips, before slipping his fingers under the waistband.

He whines when he realizes you’re already plenty wet.

“You, too, huh?” he weakly jokes about your states of arousal, but he bites his lip and slowly — slowly — circles your clit with his middle finger.

You gasp, dropping your head back.

He seizes the moment and dives in, peppering loving kisses to your neck.

The circles grow more certain.

Stronger.

“Just… wanted this first Christmas to mean something,” he murmurs against your neck, sucking at the skin and nipping gently.

You writhe against the sheets, moaning to the morning air.

“You deserve something good. I want to give you something… so good…”

“Armin,” you breathe, and you feel his lips curve to a smile against your lips.

“Come for me first,” he whispers, tightening the circles around your clit the way he’s grown to master. “Just once and I’ll take you downstairs, I promise.”

“What about — mmph — you?” you whine, bucking your hips into his hand.

You want to feel him, in every way imaginable.

You want him to feel good, too, but you can barely think straight.

His knee nudges under yours and pushes upward, forcing your right leg wider. Opening your folds to him, giving him direct access to what he wants.

"You said we had no plans, right?" Armin replies with gentle amusement.

His fingers speed up to make a point.

"By that definition, I can have you here for as long as I want."

"Armin."

Your back arches, desperate to rock against him with little shame.

"Maybe this is my gift. Hearing you say my name like that. I'll make up for all the times you had to take care of yourself while I was away. Then, and only when I think I've made you come enough, you can return the favor."

He lifts his head, keen on watching you come apart by his hand.

“I’m in no rush.”

“Armin—”

“I got you,” he interrupts, pressing a kiss to your lips to drown out your cries. “You’re doing so good for me.”

He doesn’t give up.

He’s so timid in so many aspects of his life, but after some trial and error in bed, this is the one place he’s certain.

Sure of himself.

He knows you, just like you know him.

And Armin won’t give up until he has you whimpering under him.

Your toes curl when that familiar pressure begins to build, and he doesn’t let up.

Doesn’t stop.

All he does is leave your lips to nip at your earlobe.

“You’re close already, aren’t you?”

He whispers in your ear, and you bite your lip to keep the noises down.

“Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

Stars burst.

Sometimes all it takes is Armin’s gift of words that sends you reeling, and soon you fall over the edge with a strangled moan of need.

He continues massaging your clit, slowing the speed but not quite letting up.

Not until you make that squeak of overstimulation.

Then he hums with happiness, and pulls his hand out of your pajama bottoms.

“Better?” he asks gently, using his other hand to gently run along your cheek. He licks his fingers clean, savoring the taste of you.

Spent, you nod with a lopsided smile.

“...I feel like you’re already spoiling me.”

“Oh, that’s hardly what I call spoiling,” he breathily admits, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “You okay?"

"More than," you promise.

"Good. C’mon, let’s go downstairs."

"I don't think I can feel my legs."

He chuckles, sitting up with a grin. "Then I'll carry you on my back. We'll make some fresh tea and enjoy the day before the rest show up.”

You leisurely follow, sitting up on your elbows.

When you hold out a hand for him to take, he pulls you up.

Forehead to forehead, he takes a pause to nuzzle them together, eyes slipping closed.

"Happy Christmas," he says.

"Happy Christmas to you, too, Commander." He snorts at the title. "If we’re going to start off every Christmas this way, I’m not gonna say no."

Armin’s grin only widens.

He turns his back to you at the edge of the bed, beckoning you to climb on.

Sleepily you oblige, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He turns his chin to kiss the tip of your nose, murmuring a promise in return:

“I’m open to starting new traditions, but only if they're with you.”

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