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asahicore · 1 year

Text

cherry pits - psh (m)

this work contains smut - minors please do not interact

pairing. dad!sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis. Your alarmingly empty bank account forces you to find a last-minute summer job so that you can afford a trip with your friends. The extremely handsome customer that comes into the store just happens to be a young single dad who's renovating the old house next to yours. The tension that settles between the two of you as you start helping him fix up his house soon becomes unbearable, but it's all one-sided anyway, right?

(Spoiler: wrong.)

genre. DILF AUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!, neighbors au, s2l, summer au, slight age gap (reader is 21 and hoon 26), reader is so down bad over sunghoon its actually crazy but also extremely relatable cause this is sunghoon we're talking about, fluff and smut, sex gets freakyyy ngl

word count. 12.9k

a/n. hey sisters had no time to write anything this week so i am coming back (everybody boos) with a repost yayyy!!! i actually love this story idkw i just find it fun so i hope you guys will enjoy rereading / reading it !!!! as always let me know ur thoughts.. even if they're just incomprehensible screaming (bad or good).. im happy w anything ok bye!!!

You’ve always wondered about the ratio of cherry to pit. Such a big pit for so little flesh, isn’t it? Yet that’s never stopped you from biting into the small fruit, eating what you could and spitting out the unwanted part. You actually rather enjoy this whole process. Bite, eat, spit. You could repeat this with huge bowls of cherries at a time until they upset your stomach and you had to stop for your own good.

Bite, eat, spit is exactly what you’re doing when, with a trembling finger, you finally brave to open your banking app and check your balance. It’s the beginning of summer, and after two semesters of intense studying and too-much-coffee drinking, you think you deserve three long months of doing nothing but hanging out in your childhood bedroom and eating the food your parents buy and make. You’re especially looking forward to the vacation in Mexico you have planned with your friends at the end of August.

One look at your bank account and your dreams of white beaches and seas so blue you couldn’t tell them apart from the sky shatter around you, the sad, low numbers on the screen sneering at you mockingly. You were sure you had saved enough money from part-time jobs and generous relatives, but now you regret all of those night-outs and lazy takeaways. If you had cut down on those, maybe you wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of finding a summer job at the last minute, which you would definitely have to do if you wanted to eat something on that dear beach of yours and not just starve to death under the glaring sun.

That was it - tomorrow, you’d go and get a job. Today, however, you’d enjoy your last day of respite and eat some more cherries, or maybe make some jam and a pie so your parents wouldn’t chide you for eating them all, and then go pick some more from the three trees in your backyard. You’d sit outside, enjoying the warmth of the sun while you read or, if you couldn’t be asked, while you listened to the bustle of the old and worn-down house next door being renovated. You’re surprised someone had the courage to buy it and give it a new life, but you assume that’s the kind of courage that comes with having time and money.

Yesterday night, you’d heard a little girl playing outside until her mom called her in saying it was time to go, so you made up a story of your neighbors being newlyweds that had decided they’d had enough of the city and wanted to raise their daughter in a calmer town far from busy streets and loud honks. You could bring them some cherries, maybe in jam or pie form, as a housewarming gift.

Unfortunately, the day passed and you were too busy doing nothing to actually get around to baking, so you decided to do nothing some more and then go to bed, needing rest before your big job hunt.

You’d gravely overestimated the amount of job opportunities in your small hometown, only receiving apologetic looks from the store owners as they tell you they don’t need any help, or worse, already have someone. Damn those 16-year-olds who only get summer jobs so they can blow their whole pay in a couple weeks before school starts again. You, on the other hand, need that money for important things, like sipping on a cocktail at a bar with a seaview.

The local hardware store next to the train station is your saving grace. It looks quite small from the outside, but once you step inside, rows of lamps and mirrors in all shapes and sizes along with all kinds of household needs welcome you, followed by a section for gardening and pet caretaking. The basement is where all the paints and brushes were, as well as the more technical (technical to you, at least) products, like bolts and tools or kitchen and bathroom appliances.

A lot of people undertake renovations in their homes during their free time in the summer, so it’s important for the store to have their experts helping out customers in their dedicated aisles rather than working behind the till and restocking the shelves, which is what you will be doing for the next two months. The pay is slightly above minimum wage and with twenty-one hours of work a week, you’ll earn more than enough to enjoy your vacation. You start tomorrow.

Your co-workers are happy to welcome a new face into their team. They’re nice even if they have the tendency to drone on about different types of tools and the importance of choosing the right brush for the surface you’re painting, which you don’t particularly care about, but you think you might as well learn as much as you can during your time here; it might always come in handy later.

As you expected, it isn’t the most stimulating job ever, but you aren’t bored out of your mind either. You make small talk with customers as they explain their purchases, some more defensively than others, even if you didn’t ask. You make sure to restock the shelves correctly and sometimes ask for help when you feel your arms giving out after hours of carrying heavy stuff. When no one’s in, you like to rearrange the cute bathroom decorations so that they make a little rainbow of toothbrush and soap holders.

You were daydreaming about what you would do with your friends in Mexico and all the cherries you could eat there when a man so handsome you thought he was a part of your dream walks in. He doesn’t notice (or maybe he just ignores it, you’re not sure) your gawking and smiles at you, saying “hello” before turning his attention to the map which details where everything is stored at the entrance of the shop. You manage a small “h-hello” back that probably doesn’t even reach his ears, and you curse yourself for doing a poor job of greeting a customer just because said customer looks like he’s been pushed from the heavens above onto this unworthy earth by the other angels who were jealous of his beauty.

You stay put behind the counter the whole time he’s there to avoid the potential embarrassment of running into him in a random aisle and making a fool of yourself. There isn’t much to do anyway, so you rearrange the organic protein bars and chewing-gum at the counter and count all the money in the cash register to distract yourself. He doesn’t spend a very long time browsing and after twenty minutes, you see him approach with a cart full of the biggest cans of paint the store offers. It’s mostly white paint, but there are some browns and grays, and one of pink as well.

You thank God for those twenty minutes because they allowed you to get a hold of yourself so that you didn’t gape at him like a dead fish instead of scanning his articles, which is what you are very professionally and expertly doing. “That’s a lot of paint,” you comment lightheartedly, partly just to prove to yourself that you can also speak in front of this man.

“I know,” he chuckles, and it seems unfair that his voice should be just as attractive as his face. “The previous owners of the house I just bought had terrible taste in wallpaper and wall colors, so I have to repaint basically the whole house. Everything has to go, really. The floors, the furniture, the lights.”

“Sounds like you’re going to have a busy summer. That’ll be $132.76, please.”

“I’ll pay by card,” he says as he brings his wallet out from his back pocket and inserts his card into the reader, which allows you to look freely at his tanned arms and the veins that protrude here and there. He can’t be older than thirty, so there’s probably not that much of an age difference between the two of you, but damn does he look more mature in the sexiest way possible than all of the male college students you’re used to seeing on a daily basis. If anything, he reminds you of the hot young Linguistics professor your whole department likes to drool over.

The beep of the payment being accepted snaps you out of your daze. “And yeah, it’ll sure be a busy summer. I’ll need a lot of stuff from here, so you might have to get used to seeing me around,” he says with a smile that makes your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this walking Greek god of a man is actually flirting with you, but the glint in his eyes tells you it wasn’t just an off-hand comment.

“I could get used to that,” you surprise yourself by replying confidently, your smile mirroring his as pretty dimples appear on each side of his face.

You hand him the receipt and notice his eyes flickering down to your name tag before trapping yours in his gaze once again. You don’t think you ever want to look away. “I’ll see you around, Y/N,” he says and walks out with his cart and his tons of paint before you can say anything, lest ask his name, except for “see you.”

You take a deep breath in and another out when he’s out of sight, trying to calm your racing heart. You can’t wait to rave to the girls’ group chat about this, but one of your coworkers calls you for help and you have to put the handsome stranger to the back of your mind for a while.

—

That weekend, your parents ask you to do something about the cherries slowly starting to spoil in the fridge, so you put on your headphones and listen to an audiobook for entertainment, then get to pitting. It feels wrong to listen to The Kiss Quotient and its many smut scenes when your parents are coming and going out of the room, but what they don’t know won’t kill them; you just try to keep your reactions to a minimum during the extra spicy scenes.

Pitting cherries is an arduous task that always takes longer than you think it will, but you never complain about it. You’ve found the perfect technique of cutting them in half around the pit, turning the small fruit without squeezing it, extracting the stone and making sure it doesn’t get confused and end up in the bowl with the pitted cherries, all without tiring your wrists after ten minutes. A surprise pit in a cherry pie can add to the charm of a homemade dessert, but you’d rather not have to spit out five of them while trying to eat one slice.

You prepare a crumbly dough to make two classic American-style pies and fill four jars with cherry jam that you cook while the doughs rest. It’s almost offensive how small the cherries become as they cook, the amount that fills those four jars having filled eight before, but you decide there’s no reason to take it personally since the cherries don’t do it on purpose, and put the jars away to cool down. You roll out the first rested dough and despair for a bit when it keeps on falling apart, but it just makes it more satisfying once you have it perfectly thinly rolled out and covering the tin. The second one is a bit nicer to you and you only have to try rolling it out twice.

Two hours later, as the sun finally starts to relent and a cooler breeze flows through the air, the pies are all baked, cooled and ready to be eaten. You leave one for you and your parents to enjoy later, then head over to the next house to greet your new neighbors with the other pie. You knock and wait for a good thirty seconds before getting any sort of response, making you think no one’s in.

“Y/N?” a semi-familiar voice calls out, and your head whips in its direction. If this were a cartoon or a 2012 teen show, you’d probably drop the pie tin, but thankfully, your hands aren’t that sweaty, and the shock of the man from the other day at the store being your neighbor isn’t that great, because of course, of course he’s your neighbor. You’re Y/N, after all; the almighty gods above would never let you have a boring, uneventful summer. Of course the hot new man in town is your neighbor.

“Oh! Hi! Guess we’re neighbors. Ha,” you say with a clumsy smile, holding the tin over your forearm as your other hand shields your eyes from the sunlight so you can look at him without squinting your eyes.

“Neighbors?” he repeats as he joins you on the front porch, taking off his gloves dirtied by the mud and using the back of his hand to wipe off some sweat from his forehead. The sweat makes his hair stick to his face and there are small beads of it falling from his hairline down onto his white t-shirt. You detect the slightest of stubbles on his chin and upper lip, probably from not having shaved for just a day or two. He’s even tanner than when you saw him a few days ago, and his thick eyebrows form a straight line as he frowns in what you guess is tiredness and perhaps confusion from seeing you in regular clothes and holding a pie tin on his porch. For a second, you’re scared he might think you’re some kind of stalker, but you nod and tilt your head towards your house.

“Yep. That one just over there behind you.”

He turns his upper body to take a look at your house and nods slowly as he turns back around, gaze finding yours again like the other day at the store. You have no idea who this man is - hell, you don’t even know his name - but good lord are you attracted to him, especially when he gives you that unreadable smile that shows off his dimples.

“Huh. What a coincidence,” he says, and that could mean anything in the world, but you hope he means it in a good way. “I’m Sunghoon, by the way.” he adds, extending his hand for you to take, which you do, and the simple action of shaking his hand without eye contact ever breaking is enough to send shivers down your spine. Hopefully, this goes unnoticed by this Sunghoon.

A walking wet dream. That’s what this man is. He’s walked right out of your deepest Wattpad-induced fantasies and into the house next door. Probably doesn’t help that you’d been listening to literary porn just fifteen minutes prior.

“Is that pie?” he asks as he releases your hand.

“It is, cherry pie I made myself with cherries from our backyard. A housewarming gift, if you will. Here,” you reply, offering him the tin.

He takes it from your hands, the tips of his fingers slightly grazing yours, on purpose or not, you’re not sure. He lifts some of the aluminum covering the pie and peeks underneath, then hums appreciatively. “Thanks, it looks really good. I’ve been living off of ready-meals and casseroles from the neighbors, so this’ll be really nice.”

“Well we’ve got tons of cherries, so feel free to ask whenever you want some,” you offer, and he nods. A small silence settles between the two of you and you’re about to excuse yourself so it doesn’t get awkward when he invites you in, asking if you’d like to have a piece with him.

“If you want to, I mean. I was gonna take a break anyway,” he says somewhat coyly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. You’re surprised to see him being anything else other than confident and self-assured, but it only makes him look cuter in your eyes.

“Sure,” you accept with a smile, letting him lead you inside the house.

“Sorry, it smells like paint all over the house. That’s why I was outside, doing some gardening while I aired the house out,” he explains. “Let me just get some plates and a knife out. And something for us to drink. Do you want to drink something? I’ve got water, or some iced tea or lemonade. The grandma across the street made some for me,” he says all at once, and you suppress a giggle at his sudden nervous behavior.

“Sunghoon?”

“Yeah?” he responds almost immediately, turning to you just as you both reach the kitchen.

“Just water is fine.”

A shy smile makes his dimples appear once again as he nods. “Okay, sounds good.” You help him carry everything to the back porch and set down the glasses and a jug of water on a table with two chairs around it.

“The porches are the only parts I won’t have to fix up too much, for some reason.”

“You’re going to redo the whole house yourself?” you ask, surprised, as you pour two glasses of water and he serves you a slice of cherry pie (“there might be some stray cherry pits, so be careful,” you warn as he sets a slice on his plate).

“A lot of it, yeah, but I’ve also got some people to help out. My dad’s a carpenter so I know my way around these things, but I also know it’s better and faster to have more than one man on the job, so some guys he works with come a couple times a week.”

“Yeah, with the state this house is in, you’d need more than a summer if you did everything yourself,” you comment, and he chuckles, agreeing. “My friends and I used to make stories about how this place is haunted, you know,” you say jokingly.

“Please don’t jinx my house from the get-go,” he says, making you laugh.

“Sorry, sorry. It’ll be nice seeing it all fixed-up, actually.”

“Have you lived here long?” he asks, looking at you thoughtfully as he takes another bite of the pie. “This is really good, by the way.”

“Thanks. And yeah, my whole life. I go away when semester starts but come back for the holidays and the summer.”

“So you're a student?”

“Yeah, just at the state university a few hours away. Not too far away that it’s a hassle traveling back, but not too close that I go home every weekend. What about you, what do you do?”

You wait for his answer while he swallows his mouthful and take another bite yourself. “I teach,” he starts as he dabs the corners of his lips with a napkin. “Fifth graders, on the other side of town. I used to live in a small apartment near the school I work at but it’s nicer, having more space. I saved enough money to buy this house and fix it up, so here I am now,” he says, gesturing to the house and the garden with his arms.

You notice his use of the first person pronoun when he talks about where he used to live and his house now, which makes you wonder if it’s just him, even though you were sure you heard a woman and a young girl’s voices the other day. Surely, if he wasn’t single, he wouldn’t have invited you in or given you flirtatious looks, right? Or were you reading totally wrong into this and he was just an exceptionally friendly person?

You put these questions to the side and continue chatting with Sunghoon, letting the subject of his marital status come up on its own during your conversation. And indeed, you get your answer when he tells you about the different parts of the house he plans on having, one of them being a bedroom for his daughter.

“Oh, so you have a daughter? How old is she?” you ask as you take a sip of water, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Considering his age, you expect that his child will be one, two years old max, so his answer makes you almost choke on your drink.

“She’s turning eight this summer.”

“Eight?” you repeat as you set your glass down, looking at him wide-eyed. So much for nonchalance. “But you’re so-”

“Young? Yeah, I know,” he interrupts with a knowing smile, probably used to this kind of reaction. “I’m 26,” he adds, then watches as you do the simple math in your head. When you turn to him with a surprised look, he answers your question before you’ve even asked it. “Yep, I had her when I was 18.”

“Wow,” is all you can say. “Can I ask what happened?”

“Sure. I mean, it’s nothing extraordinary or anything. I was in my last year of high school, and I got my girlfriend at the time pregnant. We’d only been dating four months but her parents wouldn’t let her get an abortion. They’re really religious. They took care of our baby, with the help of my parents, while I went to community college and she retook senior year since she had to drop out halfway through the year. No, we’re not together anymore, if you’re wondering,” he says, catching you off guard, as if he’d read your thoughts.

He chuckles before sighing and continues. “If none of this had happened, we’d probably have broken up before going off to college and proceeded to forget about each other. We started out living with her parents, then got that small apartment I told you about when she found a job. We’re not on bad terms by any means, but we’ve just not been in love since Chaeryeong turned 2, probably. We’ve been more roommates than a couple for the past six years. And you know, we kept on living together for Chaer mainly, but she’s found a new boyfriend and I wanted to have my own place. Which has led me here.”

You nod slowly, letting the whole story sink in. “You’re both handling this situation really maturely, it sounds like. I’ve heard of so many teenage parents fighting all the time and not taking care of their kids properly.”

“She’s already got a weird parental situation, it’s the least we can do for her to behave like adults, you know.”

“Right, of course,” you say, nodding again. Your hot new neighbor was actually a DILF, you realized a bit inappropriately, perhaps. Cherry on top.

He tells you a bit more about his daughter and you keep talking until your dad calls you, asking you why you’re not home at dinner time, and you only notice then how long you’ve been sitting there with Sunghoon, just talking. You tell him you feel bad for taking up so much of his time but he shakes your apologies off.

“It was my pleasure, really. And thanks again for the pie, I think Chaer will love it.”

He walks you to the front door and calls out your name after you’ve waved goodbye and started walking. You didn’t know you had been expecting him to do anything until you heard the hopeful tone in your own voice. “Yeah?”

“You any good with kids?” he asks, leaning against the doorway with crossed arms and a smirk that makes your heart flutter.

Although you’ve only got one older brother, you have younger cousins as well as older ones that have babies of their own, so you’re not a complete stranger to kids, but more importantly, you like them. They have the world to learn, but they say surprisingly smart things and have really cute faces.

“I’d say that I am, yeah,” you reply, a smile growing on your face, mirroring his expression.

“Good,” he says, and pauses a second for good measure. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later, Sunghoon,” you say as you turn back and head to your house, letting him enjoy the view of you walking away.

On the short way home, you realize that you completely have the hots for your neighbor, although you probably knew that before. Is it twisted that you like him more now that you know he’s got a kid? Probably a little bit, but you’re not going to fight it. He’s single, after all. And not even thirty. A five-year gap isn’t unheard of.

Your parents ask you where you’ve been as you set the table and get ready for dinner. “Just over at our new neighbor’s house to give him some pie and say hi,” you say as you toss the salad in its bowl, spreading the dressing evenly.

“Ooh, the neighbor,” your mother echoes knowingly, wiggling her eyebrows, and steals a leaf of lettuce when it falls from the bowl because of your vigorous tossing. “We should have him over at some point, welcome him into the neighborhood. I’ve seen him a bit, you know. Out painting on his front porch or when he was in his garden the same time as me. He’s a very attractive young man,” she says, lowering her voice so your dad doesn’t hear even though he’s outside grilling the meat. “Do you know how old he is? Looks a bit young for a homeowner to me, but who knows what young people are up to these days.

“He’s twenty-six, and he’s saved a lot of money. Plus, I don’t think that house was very expensive. From what he’s told me, the renovations will basically cost as much as the house itself. He’s also got a kid.”

“Aw, must be a cute baby,” she says as your father walks in, carrying a tray of steaming barbecued steaks and potatoes.

“She’s eight,” you say bluntly, causing them both to look at you with wide eyes.

“Oh, right, then. Happens,” your mother says, bringing her glass of water to her lips and taking a sip from it. “Is he still with the mother?”

“They broke up a while ago, but they’re on good terms,” you say, and your mom nods slowly at the information.

“So, he’s single, huh?” she says, trying to hide her smile, earning herself a groan from your dad and a chuckle from you.

“C’mon, mom!”

“What? You can’t deny that he’s attractive, and he’s single. Plus, you two must get along well if you spent a couple hours talking. Sure, he’s got a kid, but you love those, don’t you?”

“Mom, you of all people would know kids aren’t pets. Dating someone with an eight-year-old isn’t the same as dating someone with a cat.

“No one’s asking you to be that girl’s mom,” she says, dishing out some meat for the three of you. “I’d go get that man, if I were you.”

Your dad shakes his head and you eat your food as you listen to them bickering with a smile. You think about what your mother said - should you go and get Sunghoon? Your heart says yes, but your brain is a bit more reluctant. Another part of your body, lower down there, is screaming ‘yes’ at you.

He does live right by, after all.

That night, you FaceTime your roommate and best friend from college and bring her up to date about ‘the hot man from the store the other day.’ She paints her toenails but listens intently as she always does when you talk about boys, humming and chuckling here and there.

“God, Y/N, I didn’t know you had daddy issues, of all things.”

You gasp fake-dramatically. “Excuse me, I do not! I was attracted to him before I knew he was a dad, I’ll let you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let me know when you guys actually hook up, I’m curious whether older men are actually better,” she says, making you scoff.

“I hope he is. I’m very much tired of those boys that don’t know where the clit is and use too much tongue.”

“You know, when I complain to my mom about guys, she always tells me to wait it out a few years. She says they get more mature and, well, she didn’t say that outright, but she very heavily implied that the sex is much, much better. Kinda gross hearing it from her, but it’s good information.”

You hum. “Well, he’s not that much older… But let’s hope that it still makes a difference,” you say, and then move on to another topic.

—

One thing that eating cherries has taught you is that if you want to enjoy eating the sweet flesh, you’ll need to deal with the pit as well. Ever the grand philosopher, you realized soon enough that this was applicable to real life and not just your favorite fruit. Wanna get a good grade on your test? Gotta study for it. Wanna go on holiday to Mexico? Gotta find a summer job and earn money.

Wanna make your way to Sunghoon’s bed? Gotta seduce him.

Over the following days, you stand behind the counter at the hardware store, elbow perched on the hard surface, head resting on your palm and vision fuzzy as you daydream about your next encounter with Sunghoon. More often than not, a customer will clear their throat to awkwardly let you know of their presence and you’ll have to exchange your imagined dialogue with Sunghoon for a quick apology and some pleasantries; more often than not, a coworker will call out your name for some help just as you get to the juicy part of your reverie. In those moments, you always feel like you’ve been caught red-handed watching softcore porn, even if no one knows the last thing about what goes on in your head, nor do they care.

Much like the first time he walked into the store, when he does again on a Thursday morning, you think your daydreams have just gone too far and you’re now hallucinating. But, lo and behold, this is the true Park Sunghoon in the flesh, and he smiles and waves at you as he strides in before disappearing behind one of the many aisles.

You spend the next fifteen minutes going over witty conversation starters that will surely make him fall for you, only for you to stutter out a “h-hi, Sunghoon,” when he finally reaches the counter.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he jokes, and you laugh a bit too hard for a comment that isn’t that funny.

“How are the renovations going?” you ask as you scan his articles - some more paint and brushes, lots of tile glue, a bunch of nails and two different sizes of turnscrews. He frowns in concentration at the snacks next to the counter until he caves in and gets a chocolate protein bar that’s more sugar than protein.

“Pretty okay,” he starts. “I’m in a bit of a rush, cause Chaer is already coming in two weeks and I need to have finished at least the interior by that time. My dad’s friends helped me get the roof done, so that’s good, but now they’re all busy with other sites so it's just me. Right now I’m redoing the tiles in the bathrooms. You need so much damn glue,” he says with a chuckle.

You think for a second, then timidly offer, “I could help out, you know. If you needed me to.”

He looks at you with raised eyebrows, halfway through getting his card out of his wallet. “Really?”

“I mean, I don’t have much experience with this kinda stuff, but I’ve picked up a few things here and there from working here. If it saves you time, I could do the easy things. This job isn’t particularly physically demanding so I’ve still got energy at the end of the day. That’s $78.96, please.”

A small smile appears on his face as he inserts his card into the reader. He punches in his code and then returns your gaze. “That could be nice, actually.”

And that’s how you find yourself over at Sunghoon’s house in denim shorts and your dad’s old t-shirts almost everyday for the next two weeks, helping him fix up the old two-storey home. He measures out the perfect length for wood planks or marble tiles that you assist him in fastening to the floors of different rooms and he fixes holes in walls that you paint over afterwards. Sometimes on your breaks, you share a bowl of cherries that you brought from your garden. (One morning, you tried to make cherry juice out of them, but when after almost two hours of pitting the liquid barely filled a glass, you decided that it was too much effort and that you’d keep on just eating them and baking the occasional pie.) You asked him to tell you what each of the rooms upstairs would be and you realized that the window of his room faced yours directly. The blinds were down as they had always been, so you hadn’t known what the room would be.

“I’ve been sleeping on the couch since I haven’t gotten around to fixing up this room yet. Guess I should get to it, though,” he says, giving you a look that blurs the meaning of his words so that you’re not sure what he’s implying, which happens a bit too often with Sunghoon.

And you’d think that spending the better part of two weeks with the current man of your dreams would be amazing, right?

Wrong. It’s unbearable.

Maybe that’s exaggerating it - it’s mostly fun, and sometimes unbearable. Usually, you’re an avid fan of sexual tension, especially with attractive men like Sunghoon. Lingering gazes, eye contacts when there shouldn’t be any, remarks with a deeper meaning that they let on, barely-there touches on the back of your hand or on your waist that manage to take your breath away. These are all very fine things that keep your heart bouncing and a blush on your cheeks, but they are supposed to amount to something more in the end. Maybe you’re impatient, but after two weeks of sending sex through your eyes to Sunghoon, you get the feeling that he doesn’t reciprocate your desire. One afternoon, you’d made sure to go and sunbathe in your bikini at the exact moment he was doing some work outside, and even then, he merely gave your body a one-over and disappeared a few minutes later inside his house. When he came back about ten minutes later, he could still barely look at you.

At the same time, there’s no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing when he stands close behind you, letting you feel the warmth of his chest against your back, big, rough hands enveloping yours as he demonstrates how to cut a plank of wood with the machine. There’s no way the way he smirks when the action turns you into a stammering mess is innocent, either.

Yet nothing happens. The tension is thick enough to be cut with a knife, but maybe Sunghoon hasn’t bought cutlery yet. The air is already heavy from the heat and the relentlessness of the sun, but this thing between you and him makes it almost suffocating, in somehow the best yet worst way possible. You’re this close to simply throwing your naked body at him, and it doesn’t help that you see his flexing, working muscles and beads of sweat on his hairline everyday. On the days he wears shorts, which is most days, all you can think of is getting off on his thick thighs, of his hands holding you tightly by the waist, of the way he’d look at you, eyes clouded over, of the words he’d whisper in your-

Your phone buzzes, interrupting you in your horny downward spiral. It’s your dear mother telling you to come home for dinner. As you pick up your phone, a second buzz. Ask Sunghoon if he wants to eat with us.

You find him in his bedroom, adding the last touches to the walls. “I think I’ll be able to sleep here starting tomorrow night. I just need to go buy a bed,” he says when he sees your figure standing in the doorway.

“We can go together if you want,” you blurt before you can stop yourself. Hoping it’ll make you seem less weird, you add, “I’ve got really good taste in furniture.”

“Is that so?” he questions, turning to you with a smile. “I’d appreciate the second pair of eyes, actually. There’s a lot of things I need to get.”

“Yeah, I didn’t wanna comment on it, but I think you’ll end up needing more than a couch, a plastic dining table and two chairs,” you tease, making him roll his eyes lightheartedly. “We can go to that huge second-hand store they have just outside of town. You’ll be surprised how good - and cheap - the furniture is there.”

“Sounds good,” he nods, and checks his watch. “Are you going home?”

“I am. My mom’s invited you over for dinner, if you’d like,” you say, tilting your head at him.

He raises his eyebrows in delighted surprise. “I’d love to. Just need to shower first.”

“That’s fine. I’ll go home, just come over whenever you’re ready.” You exchange quick see you laters and you head home, taking a shower yourself and making sure to use your best-smelling body lotion.

Sunghoon arrives half an hour later with a bouquet of roses in his hands and an award-winning smile on his face. You let him in and he greets your parents, offering your mother the bouquet. “Sorry I took so much time getting here, I wanted to pick these out as a thank you.”

You can tell your mother is pleased to the heavens as she waves him off, leading him inside your house. “That’s awfully nice of you, Mr Park-”

“Call me Sunghoon, please,” he says with a warm smile.

“Right, Sunghoon. And no worries, you’re just on time. Please, sit.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Oh, no, you’re working all day fixing up that house, just sit and relax. We’re very happy to have you over, aren’t we?” your mother says, sending a very obvious smile your way, which makes you furrow your eyebrows and shake your head lightly at her, silently telling her to shut up. Sunghoon chuckles at the exchange but says nothing and you want to bury yourself and your mother ten feet underground.

Sunghoon sits across from you at the dinner table, which allows you to stare unabashedly at him as he works his charm on your parents. He’s the neighbor, so technically, he’s not a boyfriend you brought home to meet them, but still, you can’t help but compare him to those few boys that you did bring home. None of them were a disaster, but none of them went as smoothly as this, either. There were always some awkward silences and dry chuckles with your past boyfriends, but Sunghoon clearly knows how to make parents happy. Maybe because he lived with his ex’s parents for so long, or maybe because he’s a parent himself. Either way, it only adds to your desire to take all of his clothes and let him rail you into next week. Too bad he clearly doesn’t feel the same way, you remind yourself with an audible sigh, which makes him look curiously at you, but you brush it off with a smile.

You watch as he accepts a beer, compliments the food and the house, talks football with your dad, accepts another beer, and shares teaching anecdotes with your mom, who herself is an elementary school teacher. You jump in every now and then when you have something witty to add or someone asks your opinion on something, but most of the time, you sit back and enjoy, happy that everything is going well.

You bring out your infamous cherry pie that you’d baked the previous day along with some vanilla ice cream for dessert, and smile when Sunghoon tells you how much he’d been waiting to have some of it again, trying not to blush as his gaze stays focused on yours for a second too long. Thankfully, your parents don’t notice, too busy cutting themselves a slice.

He stays for another hour or so, until the sun has set and the streetlamps and the moonlight are the only things keeping the world visible. Your mom forces him to accept tupperwares full of leftovers from the night and makes him promise to come back with his daughter. Sneakily, she tells you to help him carry the tupperwares home even though he’s more than able to do it himself, then hugs him goodbye, hurrying you out of the door.

Sunghoon hasn’t yet changed the lightbulbs to more efficient ones, so his kitchen bathes in the faint glow of the overhead lighting as you put away the leftovers in his fridge. He stands a bit to your right close behind you, closer than needed to simply hand you the tupperwares he was holding. When everything is stored, you turn around, but you’re trapped between his body and his arm that holds the fridge door open. With his free hand, he takes you by the waist and pulls you gently towards him. “Careful,” he says so quietly, it’s almost a whisper, and closes the fridge door behind you.

He’s never been this forward with you, and even though you’ve fantasized many times about this exact moment, now that it’s really happening, you don’t know what to do except to search for an explanation in his eyes. His eyes that are looking right into yours and are a bit clouded over, from the alcohol or the proximity between the two of you or both, you don’t know, but that also have the twinkle of a smile in them.

His lips are close enough to kiss, you think, and as if on cue, his gaze drifts down to your slightly parted lips. “You’re very pretty, Y/N,” he says, before sealing your lips with his own. You respond immediately to his kiss - you’ve thought too much about it to stand there and do nothing - but it’s all so slow and so soft that you’re not sure if it’s actually happening, so dreamlike it all feels.

You’re called back to reality when his other hand finds your waist, your own hands coming up to his shoulders before one of them snakes its way to the nape of his neck, tugging lightly at his hair. This seems to change something in Sunghoon, who all of a sudden tightens his hold on your waist, his arms wrapping around it to bring you closer to him. His kiss gets faster and deeper too, and, to your surprise but not your distaste, a bit desperate. You’re happy if you have on him half of the power he has on you. You taste sweet vanilla ice cream and tangy beer on his tongue, and it’s not at all unpleasant. It makes you want to eat cherries together so you can then taste them in his kiss.

A lustful sigh escapes your lips and then the warmth disappears all at once. Sunghoon looks at you like you just woke him up from a deep slumber and takes a step back away from you. You call out for him worriedly and the sound of his name seems to make him think he did something terribly wrong.

“I-I’m sorry, Y/N, I don’t know what came over me. We shouldn’t do this, it’s not- I shouldn’t have done that,” he sighs, looking defeatedly at the ground.

“Why?” you ask quietly, almost inaudible.

“You should go home,” he snaps, then closes his eyes as if in pain, cringing at his harsh tone. “I’m sorry. I think you should go home, it’s getting late,” he repeats, softer this time, but the words still sting.

“O-okay,” you say to the floor, already feeling tears well up in your eyes. You feel like you just got rejected by your high school crush, and the humiliation makes you want to crawl into a hole and die.

Sunghoon sighs again. “I’ll let you know tomorrow about the furniture shopping, yeah? Chaeryeong is coming in the morning so we can go with her.”

“O-okay,” you repeat, surprised he still wants to do that with you. “Good night, Sunghoon,” you say without looking at him and scurry out of his house.

“Good night, Y/N,” Sunghoon answers to the emptiness after you’ve left, touching his lips with the tips of his fingers and feeling the ghost of your kiss there.

—

Truth be told, you haven’t always loved cherries. Because of a heinous lie your older brother had made you believe when you were just six years old, you hadn’t eaten cherries for two summers in a row. It was the summer your parents had finally allowed you to eat cherries as they came from the trees in your backyard - beforehand, they’d been too scared that you’d choke on the pit or swallow it unknowingly, and had always prepared purées or other forms that cherries can take for you to eat, so to be finally handed the small fruit and told “go ahead, try it,” felt like an honor.

A simple “don’t forget to spit out the pit” from your mother had sufficed for you to be careful, and yet, your brother had thought a fear tactic would be more effective. “If you swallow it, a tree will grow inside your belly and make you puke out cherries,” he’d lied when it was just the two of you at the outdoor table.

“Really?” you asked him in disbelief, horror written all over your face as you looked at the seemingly harmless yet deadly fruit in your hand. You’d already eaten two and were in the middle of eating a third; your brother nodding ‘yes’ in response was all it took for you to spit out the cherry furiously and immediately start sobbing, afraid you’d swallowed one even though all three pits were right there on the table, a guarantee that no unwanted flora would grow inside of you.

Your mother rushed outside at the sound of your wailing and quickly put two and two together when she saw your brother laughing uncontrollably while you hid your face in your hands, desolately imagining your future as a walking cherry tree. She held you tight in her arms as she told your brother off and reassured you that he was just playing a stupid prank on you. Still, the simple thought of swallowing a pit had terrified you and you were unable to eat cherries for the remainder of the summer and the one after that.

This is the story you tell Chaeryeong and her dad as the three of you sit outside together, making them laugh - although, a few minutes later, when Sunghoon is gone to the bathroom away, Chaer leans over the table and whispers, “It’s not true, is it?” so you reassure her that you’ve eaten cherries your whole life and have never had one single root take life in your tummy.

It’s been a bit over a week after you shared that kiss in his kitchen, and the awkward atmosphere is just starting to fade. You’re glad he didn’t ignore you after that night, even if pretending nothing happened when both of you are very aware that something did happen is only the slightly better alternative. It’s a refreshing change from boys that sleep with you and then act like you don’t exist, for sure.

The kiss hasn’t done anything to burst the tension; if anything, it’s made it even more electric. You catch him looking at your lips more than once and you wonder why he still acts the same way as before when he’s made it very clear he didn’t think kissing you was a good idea. Catching him shirtless one night in his bedroom doesn’t help, and neither does him catching you staring at him - you’d quickly shut the curtains, but it was too late, and he’d seen you ogling his toned chest and abs.

At least, the fact that Chaeryeong is here forces a bubbly atmosphere upon you, and you hope you’re not crazy when you notice him fondly looking at the both of you interacting. Chaer is an outgoing little girl and seems to have liked you as soon as you complimented the toy puppy in her hand, saying you used to have the same and it was your favorite.

The day you went food shopping was practically hell to get through. One evening, you were holding onto Sunghoon for dear life, finally kissing him, and the next afternoon, you were browsing through the endless aisles of your local IKEA, holding his daughter’s hand and pretending like you hadn’t kissed her daddy.

When it got to the bedroom part of the store, you and Chaer decided to try all the mattresses and find the most comfortable one. You usually were never one for seating and laying on random beds in stores, but there was a kid with you, so you were sure it’d be fine. When you found the one you liked most, you looked up at Sunghoon from your position and said, “This one’s pretty good, Sunghoon.” His immediately reddening cheeks told you everything you needed to know and you quickly sat up, clearing your throat. He tested the mattress by pushing his palm against it and muttered a “yeah, it’s pretty good” before scribbling down the number of the mattress onto the small sheet of paper customers use to remember which products they wanted.

Of course, now that Chaer is with him and most of the work in the house is done, save for some minor things that Sunghoon can finish up on his own, you spend a lot less time together. You hate that you miss him so much. You miss the way he makes you feel, like your whole body is on fire with just one look or one touch, the way his stupid jokes make you laugh or how endeared he looks when he talks about his daughter. Seeing him with her only adds to your stupid crush - he’s doting, protective and caring, makes sure she has everything to be happy and manages to treat her at once like the kid that she is but also like a human that has opinions and feelings. He’s a really good dad, and that does nothing whatsoever to stop your DILF fantasies, although now, it’s really Sunghoon that you want, and the fact that he’s a dad isn’t a dealbreaker, it just makes him that much better.

You hate that you miss him, and yet being with him is somehow worse, because you can’t do any of the things you want to do. You fall asleep one two many nights dreaming about his lips and how nice it’d be to feel them again - on your lips, on your neck, everywhere. You want to feel him everywhere, and this longing lust is starting to drive you crazy. You’d never wanted anyone this much.

He invites you over for dinner one night, and the look he gives you when he opens the door sends a shiver right down your spine. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi, Sunghoon.”

He leads you into the kitchen with a hand on your waist, even though you’ve been in his house many times before and need no assistance getting there. A small, horny voice at the back of your head tells you that tonight may be the night, but you quickly shut it down, not wanting to get your hopes up all on your own.

Sunghoon serves you a glass of red wine, and you ask him what the occasion is. “Just to celebrate the house being almost done,” he answers with a smile.

Dinner would have gone as usual if Sunghoon wasn’t practically staring you down the whole time, eyes full of something you can’t quite put your finger on and that drives you crazy. His gaze lingers on you every time you speak, and he punctuates the syllables of your name like he’s trying to get a feel for them on his tongue.

Your heart is pounding in your chest when the clock strikes nine p.m. and it’s time for Chaeryeong to go to bed - you don’t know if you’ll be able to handle being alone with Sunghoon, and you might have to make a run for it, Cinderella-style.

Chaer goes to the bathroom to wash up and change into her pajamas, and when she comes back, she asks - no, demands - that you’re the one who tucks her in, and who are you to say no to the cutest little girl on Earth? She holds you by the pinky as she drags you up the stairs to her room then buries herself in her covers, tapping on the bed next to her body for you to sit there. “Okay, now we can talk without Dad around,” she says all business-like.

She tells you about the boys at her school and the birthday party she went to last week and the latest drama with her friends. The both of you are too busy chatting and giggling to hear footsteps coming up the stairs and stopping at her door, hiding behind the wall. After ten minutes, she yawns loudly and says, “Can you call Dad? I think he’ll be sad if he doesn’t wish me good night.”

“Of course,” you reply and kiss her on the forehead, wishing her a good night yourself. You’re only half-surprised to find Sunghoon at the doorway, waiting for his cue.

“Wait up for me, yeah? I’ll just be a minute,” he says, that smile still on his lips, that smile that keeps you hoping.

“Okay,” you whisper, and head downstairs, nervously taking a sip from your wine glass as you wait for him on the living room couch.

He is indeed back in a very short time, too short a time for your nerves to settle, so when he sits down close to you on the couch, body turned towards yours, you can feel your heart in your throat. He traces the rim of his glass with the tip of his pointer finger and you both watch the slow movement for a bit, a heavy silence hanging over both of your heads. You wait for him to talk because you’re too scared of what you might say if you start the conversation.

“Y/N, I’ve been thinking,” he starts shakily, “about um, our kiss, the other day-”

“Oh, we don’t need to talk about that,” you quickly interrupt, waving your hand in dismissal at him. “You made it clear you didn’t like it-”

“No, that’s the thing-”

“And that you thought it was a bad idea-”

“No, just listen-”

“So let’s just forget about it, and-”

“Y/N,” Sunghoon says in a stern voice, raising his tone just enough to make you stop in your rambling.

“Yeah?” you look up at him, eyes wide open. Expecting, as always.

“I haven’t once stopped thinking about that kiss,” he says, sounding out-of-breath. “I handled it awfully, and I’m so sorry that I made you feel like I didn’t like it, because, God, I liked it. A lot,” he chuckles. “Maybe even too much.”

There they are, the words you’ve been dying to hear. Yet all you can say is a stupid “Oh.”

“I just… I was tipsy, and Chaeryeong was coming the next morning, and I panicked. I didn’t know what to do for the rest of the week, and you didn’t say anything, so I didn’t, either. But I can’t pretend like it isn’t there.”

“Like what isn’t there?” you echo, voice almost low as a whisper.

“You know… this,” he replies, voice as low as yours. Slowly, one of his hands comes up to trace your jawline. You release a shaky breath as you set your wine glass on the coffee table and rest your hand on his knee.

“Are you sure about this? ‘Cause if you tell me that you want me… then I’ll be all yours, Sunghoon,” you murmur, hands slowly sliding up his thigh. He takes you by the wrist and puts your hand right on top of his already growing erection, letting you know exactly how he feels about you.

“God, can’t you see what you do to me? I want you so bad, Y/N,” he almost growls, and with that, his lips are on yours, trapping you into a kiss far hungrier and more ferocious than the previous kiss, your mutual intentions finally laid out in front of you for you both to see.

Sunghoon wastes no time as he grabs you by the waist and brings you to his lap, sitting you on top of his crotch so that you can feel his hardening cock against your core. The kiss turns desperate in mere seconds, and you’re relieved to see that Sunghoon seems to have been waiting for this as long and with as much ardor as you have. Your hands are fisting his hair, tugging almost harshly, while his hands roam the expanse of your back until they settle on your ass, grabbing at it to press you closer to him. You can’t stop yourself from moaning into his mouth when his erection rubs over your core in just the right way, and he takes that opportunity to add tongue to the kiss, deepening it.

You start to grind yourself against him, which he helps you do by slightly rutting his hips into yours and bringing your ass closer at every movement. Quickly, you fall into a rhythm so perfect and that feels so good, you think you might explode right then and there. Forget riding his thigh, this is infinitely better.

Needing to catch your breath, you pull away from the kiss, but your lips find his jaw immediately and you start pressing wet, needy kisses there and down his neck, sucking in some spots so that light bruises appear. “Fuck, Y/N, that feels so nice,” he breathes, eyes shut closed. His scent drives you crazy, and his small praise makes you double down on your actions, almost biting the soft skin of his neck.

As you continue kissing him there, occasionally returning to his lips for more, his hands roam your thighs and then up your back, snaking themselves under your t-shirt and finding the clasp of your bra, quickly doing away with it. He pulls away just so he can help you out of your top and takes your bra off of you, hands caressing your sides as he admires your half-naked body in all its glory. You take his hands and bring them to your chest, resting your hands on top of his as you continue grinding onto him and let him play with your boobs. “You’re so fucking hot,” he practically moans, making you chuckle. You reach for the hem of his t-shirt, because it’s only fair that you get to see him too, and you bite back a moan when he uses the absence of your hands on his to pinch your nipples lightly, then takes one in his mouth, catching you off-guard. You forget all about your plan of undressing him as his tongue flicks at the perked bud, your hands finding his hair again as you moan unabashedly.

“S-Sunghoon,” you breathe, the combined feelings of his now fully hard cock pressing against your clothed but soaking cunt and of his warm mouth around your nipples really getting to your head and making you see stars, so that all you can say is his name. “Please,” you beg, you’re not sure what for. Mercy, perhaps. Or release.

“Please what, baby?” he asks, and the nickname goes straight to your core.

“I don’t- just, please, Sunghoon, please,” you say incoherently, making him chuckle.

“Okay,” he says as if he can read your mind, and you think he actually does when he lays you down on the couch, fingers finding the zipper of your shorts. He unbuttons them and slides them down your legs along with your soaked panties. He makes sure they’re fully off of your body before running his palms up both of your legs, from your ankles to your hips.

“Don’t tease, please,” you plead, too desperate for him to take his time.

“As you wish, princess,” he smirks, and brings a finger to your folds, sliding it down to gather some slick before pushing it inside your hole. Your back arches as an instant response to his touch and you let out a small whine, already craving for more. “Fuck, so wet, and all for me, yeah?” he questions, his eyes not once leaving your glistening pussy.

“Yes,” you breathe out, mind too fuzzy to produce a longer sentence.

“That’s a good girl,” he coos, and adds another finger, pushing all three of his knuckles in and massaging your sweet spot as soon as he finds it. When he’s found a rhythm for his motions, he finally looks up at you and curses himself for not having watched your face earlier. Head tilted back in pleasure, mouth agape as your breathing gets more and more irregular and eyebrows scrunched together, you look like the definition of sex, and it takes everything in Sunghoon to not start touching himself.

He forces himself to look away from you only to focus back on your pussy and notices your swollen clit that is begging for attention. He licks it tentatively, and when your back arches at the feeling of his tongue on you, he dives in completely, licking a stripe up your folds before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking at it like he did with your nipples earlier. The pace at which his fingers are pumping out of you quickens and you’re pulling so hard at his hair, you think you might rip some strands off. You feel yourself getting close, and you’re reminded of all those frustrating encounters with college boys where they stopped right before you came, so you can’t stop yourself as you desperately chant “oh my God please don’t stop please don’t stop,” not even noticing the way you’re holding his head down against your clit and bucking your hips into his face.

Your orgasm hits you like a truck - this is probably the first one you’ve received from someone other than your own hand or your vibrator in the past year and a half. It takes your breath away, and you’re left gasping for air for a good thirty seconds, your mind reeling from the intensity of such pleasure. When you calm down, you lift your head to look at Sunghoon who’s already watching you with a grin on his face, your slick coating his chin and mouth.

You plop your head back down with a groan when realization hits you. “I’m sor-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Sunghoon commands, hands rubbing your still-trembling thighs. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he marvels, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Really?”

“Really.”

After another couple of seconds, you sit up on the couch and send Sunghoon a mischievous look. My turn, you think, and if his smile is any indicator then he seems to have understood. “Let me thank you,” you say, gesturing at him to sit up himself as you lower yourself to your knees on the couch in front of him.

You look up at him from between his thighs then unclasp his belt and undo his jeans. He lets out a shaky breath and says, “You don’t need to do this, you know-”

“Don’t be a gentleman, Sunghoon. I want to do this and I know you want it too. It’s pretty obvious,” you tease as you run your hand over his erection, watching in delight as his eyebrows furrow and his eyes close. “Now help me get these off of you.” He nods and raises his hips so you can take his jeans and underwear off, imitating his actions from before as you take your time to get them over his ankles and caressing his legs until they reach his crotch, watching as he takes his t-shirt off as well so that you can finally see him entirely. You’d caught glimpse of him shirtless before as he worked in his garden, but the sight still manages to take your breath away. Taut muscles and sun-tanned skin, laid bare right before you. This is what they mean by sculpted like a Greek god, you think.

You haven’t done anything, yet his head is already laid back against the top of the couch, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he gulps in expectation and chest rising visibly at every intake of breath. You must’ve saved a thousand souls in your previous life to be deserving of such an image.

You spit in your palm before taking him, starting out by slowly moving your hand up and down his shaft, then rubbing small circles against his tip, the small moan-like sighs that leave his lips letting you know you’re doing a good job. You gather some saliva in your mouth and spit on his length to add some lubricant and smirk when he lets out a low fuck. You bring your head closer and lick his balls, taking one at a time in your mouth and sucking very gently, making the volume of his moans increase. “Just like- fuck, just like that, Y/N.”

You then lick a long stripe up his cock and swirl your tongue around his tip when you reach it, humming at the taste of precum there. Sunghoon gathers your hair in a makeshift ponytail so it doesn’t get in your way, and finally looks down at you, blown away by the beautiful sight of your flushed cheeks and your mouth around his cock. He groans when you take him deeper and unconsciously bucks his hips into your throat, making you gag around him. He loves that feeling but doesn’t want to hurt you so he grabs your face and makes you look up at him, lust and worry written all over his face as he apologizes, but you quickly stop him. “It’s okay, I like it. You can do it again,” you say, and smile before wrapping your lips around him once more.

“Fuck, are you sure?” he asks and you hum, sending vibrations all over his body.

“God, o-okay,” he says, in disbelief that you’re okay with him practically fucking your throat and even liking it. And you do like it - you love letting him use your mouth to get off, just like you had earlier with him. He must have amazing core strength because he’s able to buck his hips into your mouth rapidly as he holds your head tight in his hands. The way you keep coming back for more every time he lets you breathe is enough to drive him crazy, but after a couple minutes, he stops you from taking him in your mouth again.

“I can’t- I don’t wanna cum like this,” he breathes, looking just as fucked-out as you do.

“Where, then?” you ask, kissing him all over his thighs as he trails his fingers through your hair. “Inside?”

He groans at the offer but shakes his head, eyes shut as if trying to calm himself down. “I haven’t got any condoms.”

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him, still pressing kisses on his warm skin. You’re far too desperate to feel him inside you to let a lack of condom stop you, especially when you don’t even need one.

He lets out an umpteenth shaky breath and makes you look up at him. “Are you sure?”

“Sunghoon,” you say, looking him dead in the eyes, “I’ve never been more sure of anything.” You’re relieved when he smiles and nods, bending down to trap your lips in a heated kiss for good measure. Something about being in this position, kneeling in front of his spread thighs and having to look up at him, turns you on even more.

“Okay, then,” he says, still smiling as he pulls away, holding you gently by the chin. “I don’t think I’ll be able to last long, and I want to feel you cum around me. So, tell me, what’s your favorite position, princess?”

The question takes you aback but you answer it anyway, looking at the ground. “Reverse cowgirl…” you admit shyly, a small smile spreading on your lips.

“Reverse cowgirl, huh?” Sunghoon repeats, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smirking. “Come here, then,” he says, and helps you up, making you turn around so your back faces him and seats you down on top of him, keeping your hips raised. He takes his cock inside his hands, pumps it a few more times before guiding it to your entrance, pressing kisses to your shoulders and nape to make you relax.

You moan at the simple feeling of his tip teasing your entrance and Sunghoon whispers “I know, baby” against your skin. “Sit down for me,” he commands gently, and you oblige, lowering your hips slowly to feel all of him stretching you out, the both of you moaning in synchronization when he bottoms out.

Sunghoon wraps an arm around your middle and pulls you onto him so that your back rests against his chest and you can let your head hang back next to his. “Let me do all the work, yeah?” he murmurs into your ear, and you hum in response. He doesn’t move for a bit, roaming his large hands all over your body until he feels your walls relax around him. One of his hands finds your breasts, playing with each nipple in turn, while the other finds your clit. It’s all so much but so good that you’re already a moaning mess before he’s even started moving. “Ready?” he asks, but you’re too far gone to answer.

His pace starts out slow, but you’re impatient and whine as you try to move your hips against his to go faster, which makes him tut. “I told you I’d do the work, didn’t I?” he asks, pinching one of your nipples in reprimand. “So be good for me and stay still, Y/N. I promise I’ll make you feel good.” You whine again but stop moving, heeding his words.

“Perfect,” he whispers and kisses your neck before picking up the pace, shushing you when your moans get too loud.

“I’m sorry, just feels too good,” you manage to let out.

“I know, but you need to stay quiet, baby,” he says, yet gets rougher with his thrusts, which does not help in the slightest. His hand that was on your breasts comes up to cover your mouth, but he quickly decides to make you suck on two of his fingers instead, muffling your moans a bit.

His fingers on your clit haven’t relented this whole time and after just a few minutes, you feel that familiar knot tying itself again in your stomach and you know you’re mere moments away from it coming undone. Judging by his rapid but clumsy thrusts, Sunghoon must be close too. He pounds into you like you’ve been wanting him to ever since you first set eyes on him as he entered the hardware store, hitting your g-spot over and over again. Tears roll down your cheeks and you whimper around his fingers, biting down on them as your second orgasm hits you.

You’re practically sobbing as he helps you ride out your high, his movements sending your body into pleasant overstimulation until he reaches his high too, the feeling of your pussy clenching tightly around him pushing him over the edge. Ropes of his semen paint your walls white, and there’s enough of it for him to become a father of two. You whine as he pulls away, and feel his cum slipping out of you and onto the couch underneath you. Before you can catch your breath, he asks, “Baby, can I do something very dirty?” and you nod without thinking much. This man could do anything he wanted to you, and you’d thank him for it.

He settles you back down onto the couch, kneels on the floor, head level with your core, and sticks his tongue inside your hole, making you yelp in surprise and overstimulation. You don’t understand what he’s doing until he comes back up and makes you open your mouth with his thumb, then spits inside it, telling you to swallow. You do as he says and taste his cum, laughing in disbelief at what he just did - and at how much you liked it. “Fuck,” you giggle.

“Was that too much?”

“God, no,” you say, and he smiles. You open your arms, gesturing for him to get back on the couch. He rests his head between your breasts, the both of you sighing in contentment as he rubs small circles on your belly and you graze your fingers through his hair. He’s so silent that you think he’s fallen asleep, but he speaks up after a while, voice soft and calm like you’ve never heard before.

“We should go get cleaned up…” he says, and you hum in agreement, “...but it’s so nice here,” he finishes, making you giggle.

“If we get cleaned up quickly now, we can cuddle in bed right afterwards,” you argue.

“You’re right. Infallible logic. You’re so smart, you know that, Y/N?” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Of course I know that,” you joke. “Let’s go,” you say, kissing the top of his head.

You take a shower together, cleaning each other and leaving kisses here and there, or touching in places you shouldn’t touch and that maybe lead to more, right there in the shower. Now that you’ve had a taste, you’re insatiable, and you warn Sunghoon that the both of you are in for a very long night, to which he answers that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once you do fall asleep, (which isn’t until two rounds later, and you’re surprised either of you have this much energy), however, you’re holding each other tightly, the fan on high so that you don’t feel all sticky, being so close to each other. Even if you wake up here and there because he shuffled or he snored too loudly, it’s one of the best sleeps you’ve ever had.

—

You wake up the next morning by small giggles and snorts that come from none other than Park Chaeryeong herself, who’s buried herself between you and her dad, shaking her body to wake the two of you. You’re glad that you listened to Sunghoon when he told you to put on a t-shirt of his as well as some underwear so neither you or Chaer would have a fright when she came and woke you up as she liked to do every morning. “You had a sleepover!” she exclaims excitedly when she sees you’ve finally opened your eyes, looking at her with a sleepy expression and a smile.

“We did!” you reply, trying to keep the same level of excitement.

“We did,” Sunghoon repeats, taking his daughter in her arms to hug her tightly and blows a raspberry in her neck to make her laugh.

“You didn’t invite me!” she shrieks when her dad’s left her alone.

“Sorry, sweetheart. It was just me and Y/N.”

“No fun,” she pouts, laying on her back and crossing over arms before turning back to her dad. “So, is Y/N my new mom?” she whispers even though you’re right there. You gasp at her question, making wide eyes at Sunghoon who just snorts, and you can’t tell if she’s genuinely asking or if she’s an eight-year-old with an advanced sense of irony.

“Of course not. Is Heeseung your new dad?” he asks, mentioning his ex’s new boyfriend. Chaer shakes her head.

“No. He’s Mommy’s boyfriend.”

“Exactly, and Y/N is Daddy’s girlfriend. Isn’t she?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you, smirking.

“She is,” you reply, and Chaer turns back to you, giggling. She snuggles close to you, wrapping an arm around your middle, and you’re taken aback by the sheer cuteness of it all. You look at Sunghoon with a fake pained expression, and he smiles endearingly at the two of you before sighing and joining you in your hug. He rests his arms around you and his daughter, kissing the top of your heads in turn.

“My girls,” he mutters in your hair, and you smile peacefully.

There’s a lot of things you have to talk about with Sunghoon. You know your parents - especially your mom - will be okay with the two of you together, but will his parents be? And once semester starts again, what will happen? You’ll have to go back to campus and he’ll have to stay here - will a three-hour drive be a dealbreaker, or will you make it work?

The thing is, there’s no point in thinking about all of this at this moment. You’ve got the whole summer to figure things out. For now, you’ll eat cherries and spit out the pits, and everything will be perfect.

this is a one shot, there will not be a part two!

permanent taglist: @k-ingzo @bbujiikseu @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl @raikea10 @wntrnghts (ask to be removed/added!)

#enhypen x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #enhypen hard hours #sunghoon hard hours #sunghoon fluff #enhypen fluff #enhypen fanfiction #sunghoon fanfiction #enhypen imagines #sunghoon imagines

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munsonthings86 · 2 months

Text

sunshine

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: a love-struck steve cooks you dinner for the first time

warnings: cursing, alcohol, bit of backstory, oversimplified summary, steve's parents kinda suck (when do they not), best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, soft!steve

an: i think this is my favorite thing i’ve ever written. i'm so in love with these two. i hope you all enjoy this one as much as i do. * don’t copy my work * (also pretend there's a big city near hawkins for the sake of this pls)

wc: 6.0k

“Ow!” Steve hissed, nicking his finger yet again as he made his best effort to dice pesky onions. The knife was razor-sharp as it was fresh out of its packaging, having never been used yet. Frustrated, he squeezed the band-aid he'd spent a solid ten minutes looking for, tighter on his finger, earning a harsh sting.

"Goddamned knife," he whispered, tightlipped, but as soon as the complaint left his lips he wished to yank it back in. It was the chef's knife you'd bought him along with many other thoughtful housewarming gifts to celebrate Steve moving into his first apartment. Steve had insisted that you return some of the gifts, noting that "one gift was more than he could ever ask for".

In spite of his pleas, you didn't return a single gift. Of course, you didn't. You had bought items you knew Steve would need but would ultimately forget to buy for himself. Just to name a few, you'd gotten him a trash bin for his bathroom, a record player, and the best utensil set that the rest of your Family Video paycheck could buy.

Peering at the odd assortment of household objects you'd lugged into his barren apartment with a bright smile pulling at the corners of your lips, an expression of gratitude and bewilderment claimed his face. Steve's round, chestnut-brown eyes ogled yours as you ranted and raved, explaining your thought process behind each purchase.

The record player was for nights like these. Peaceful nights indoors, simply enjoying each other's company without the tense presence of his parents who would shout for him to turn that damn music down if he even thought about letting the needle hit the groove of the record.

"Now we can play music as loud and as much as we want to," he remembered you saying, blushing at your use of the word "we". Though you two were only best friends and have been since grade school, Steve couldn't help but fantasize about a life with you. You, drowning in one of his bigger-than-you t-shirts, prancing around the apartment as you listened to some your favorite records.

He'd begun pondering on how he would rearrange the bit of furniture he had, that'd allow for space for your belongings as well, before you lured him out of his thoughts, defending the bin.

From what he gathered, you bought the garbage bin due to his burning inability to keep his bathroom clean. Steve was someone who took great care of his appearance, always well-kempt and attentive to even the smallest of details.

His bathroom did not reflect this, whatsoever. He had a bad habit of harboring empty cans and bottles of Farrah Fawcett spray that littered the already limited counter space he had in his en suite bathroom.

Steve was such a boy when it came to tidiness.

Everyone knew that about Steve, though. What they didn’t know, however, was how skilled he was in a kitchen. After being left to his lonesome whenever his parents would venture off to one of their many business trips, Steve spent his nights learning to cook after his allowance dwindled and he couldn't afford pizza delivery anymore. The second he'd clock in for his shift at Family Video, he'd make a beeline to where you stood, stocking VHS tapes, and instantly began buzzing and bustling about the new recipe he tried the night before.

You had begged him to let you come over one night to taste one of his home-cooked meals, but his response was always the same. "You can't rush perfection, sweets. But I promise, when I'm ready to grace the world with my master chef skills, you'll be the first to know."

You would roll your eyes dramatically at him but admittedly, you felt a sense of pride wash over you whenever Steve would tell you about his cooking endeavors. It may not seem like a big deal to others, but you knew how much his parents being so negligent, so often, bothered him.

Though they were never the most warm and affectionate, there seemed to be a colder chill and heavier sense of loneliness in the house when they were gone. That's why you never denied Steve whenever he'd call late at night asking if it was okay to spend the night at your house.

He always felt at home there.

Steve learning to cook for himself meant that his parents' absence was finally beginning to help him grow; no longer craving validation and tenderness from his family. He got that when he was with you. That's what the utensil set was for. A silent sign saying that though his parents weren't there, you were.

"Don't get me wrong, sunshine, I love the gift, but why's this knife so funny looking?" Steve asked, squinting his eyes at the sharp object that looked like it was from some alien universe. It had three square-like holes infiltrating the blade, and the tip came to an up-turned point that split in two. The handle was the only average looking part about it.

"That, my friend, is a cheese knife," you answered matter-of-factly, gazing at the box that had all of the included utensils neatly labeled.

"They make knives specifically for cheese?"

"Apparently, yeah," you snorted, tossing the empty box off to the side of the room with the other discarded cardboard that you made a mental note to move to the recycling bin on your way out. Steve never recycled. Bad habit he picked up from his parents, you figured.

"Well, I can't wait to use my weird new knife. Thank you. Seriously," Steve smiled softly as he watched you with those big brown eyes that voiced his gratitude and sentiment louder than his words ever could.

"The best weird chef has to have the best weird equipment. You're welcome," you grinned, toying with the loose thread dangling from your distressed band tee, as your eyes collided with Steve’s.

Looking at Steve was hard.

In the midst of quiet and almost intimate moments like these, the nerves bolting through your body screamed at you to look anywhere else, but the greed of your heart yearned for you to keep drinking in the deep chocolate pools that were Steve Harrington's eyes.

The two of you gazed at each other for another second, though it felt identical to a blissful eternity, until Steve furrowed his eyebrows after registering what you'd just uttered. "Did you just call me weird?" He asked, hand on his hip as if he's offended, though he truthfully isn't because he's positive you're infinitely weirder than he is, and he's more than willing to debate with you for hours on that topic.

"Nooo," you sang, quickly turning away to distract yourself with some unpacking that Steve had called you over to help him with, which you happily agreed to. A little extra time with him was time well spent.

"Yeah, okay," he rolled his eyes. He happily tucked away the flashy silverware he'd poached from his parent's kitchen into the darkest corner of the drawer, leaving the less flashy but much more appreciated utensils you bought him, front and center, ready to be shown off.

"Oh those? My best friend got them for me. Aren't they nice? Did you know they make knives for cheese?" He imagined himself saying, hoping he'd get the opportunity to boast about them to his guests some time soon.

Steve smiled to himself at the memory, angling the cutting board that harbored a pile of diced onions that he'd at last conquered, into a bowl, sliding them off with the blade of a knife that was a lot less odd shaped compared to his trusty cheese knife. It didn't even have to be that specific memory. It could've been any imagery of you being the effortlessly sarcastic, intelligent, breath-taking person that you were, and it would be the warm light to inevitably guide him out of whatever dark mood that dared to plague him.

Steve was so helplessly in love with you.

April 14, 1978, he could never forget the day, was particularly dreary. So dreary it made Steve begin to question why the spring time was thought to be such a radiant, pleasant season when all it ever did was bring rain and provoke people with allergies. Steve slammed his blaring alarm off with a groan, never bothering to pry open his tired eyes.

The sky was dark and dreadful, concealing the golden rays of the sun he yearned to see. As he trudged through the house, reluctantly gearing himself up for yet another torturous day of middle school, Steve silently prayed for some unorthodox happenstance that would call for the canceling of school.

But much to his dismay, that wasn't the case.

When the bell pierced through the classroom speakers, alerting the beginning of Steve's favorite class, P.E., he rushed to the locker room, jumping into his gym uniform, as he was determined to continue his unfaltering streak of dodgeball victories.

Steve was in the zone, taking out his opponents left and right as if it was nothing. If dodgeball was an Olympic sport, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he could've won multiple gold medals.

Then you came.

Sauntering into sixth grade gym class, adorning a lengthy, bright yellow dress with your hair done up, looking as anxious as can be. It was your first day at Hawkins Middle and you'd just transferred halfway into the semester, all thanks to your parents decision to move to the small town, leaving New York City and all your friends behind.

Everyone turned their curious heads to peer at you, whispering amongst each other, prompting you to clutch your books tighter to your chest as if to shield yourself. Your soft smile as you looked around at your new classmates instantly made Steve's chest and stomach warm and gooey inside, making him want nothing more than to walk up to you and convince you to be his friend. Steve hated how gossipy his classmates were, as it clearly made you uncomfortable, but he couldn't bring himself to look away either.

The way the illuminous medallion hue complimented your skin tone was nothing short of art. To him, you were the sun personified. The sun he was so eager to see.

Due to your lack of sports attire, Coach Daniels had you sit on the bleachers, watching as the other kids resumed their game of dodgeball after mumbling a "warm" welcome to you, per Coach's request.

Steve lost his first game of dodgeball that day. He just couldn't seem to focus when you were perched just a few feet away, thumbing through your withered book, looking like one of the prettiest girls he'd ever laid his adolescent eyes on. Steve, or the boy with the hella good hair as you dubbed him in your diary later on that night, was too enamored with you to be bothered by the taunts coming from his friends. He jogged over to you, offering to keep you company until fourth period began, which you happily accepted.

And ever since then, the two of you have been as thick as thieves.

"Hawkins PD, open up!" Steve recognized your muffled voice, though you deepened it, to imitate a police officer. Your signature three knocks followed, urging butterflies to erupt throughout his stomach, as he longed to see you. It couldn't have been more than twenty-four hours since the two of you had last seen each other, but even one hour without you was an hour way too long for poor Steve.

"It's open", Steve called, tossing a hand towel over his shoulder, setting the stove ablaze, planting a pot over the flame. Right on time, he thought.

"Hey, Harrington," you smiled as you struggled to enter, cradling two bottles of rosé wine and your purse in your arms, pushing the door open with the help of your hip.

"Hey, sunshine. Lemme get those for ya," Steve offered, stowing your bearings on the counter gently, while you kicked your shoes off, mumbling a "thanks".

A warm amber light casted from the ceiling of the kitchen spilled into the shadowy living room a few feet away, like a neglected can of paint. The only thing that remained un-melted by the darkness was the quiet record player, as if the generous light knew you'd be looking for it the minute you walked in.

"How was your day?" Steve smirked as he watched you rush over to the object he swore was the only reason you liked to come over, sifting through the vinyl's searching for your favorite one. What’s Love Got To Do With It by Tina Turner. Steve spotted it before you did. Absentmindedly, you responded, “Not too shabby, ya know? How was yours?”

“Yeah, it was alright.”

You crouched down to the two tier storage table, running a finger across the spines of the records, searching for your beloved song. It quickly became the song you most adored when you'd bought the tape for your Walkman a few years prior. Your days weren't complete unless you played the song at least twice, so much so that Steve found himself quietly humming the song to himself whenever he'd miss you. He even caught himself doing that dumb little finger dance you normally did whenever you listened to a song you really liked. He'd never tell you that, though.

Much to your dismay, you couldn't seem to spy that sneaky record. You dropped your hand disappointedly, faintly fearsome that it'd been misplaced. Steve's apartment wasn't huge, but it wasn't exactly tidy either. “It’s right there, sweets. To your left.” So you diverted your attention to the left. No Tina Turner. “No, your other left.”

“Here?” you pointed. Steve hummed in confirmation.

“Well, that’s not the left, Steve. That’s the right,” was your response that you punctuated with a roll of your tired eyes. Apart from knowing how to get to Skull Rock with his eyes closed, the boy had zero sense of direction. It was something you found both endearing and infuriating. It depended on the day, really.

“Potato, potahto.” Oh, Steve. Melting butter into the burning pan in front of him that he almost completely forgot about, all thanks to your beautiful presence, he began sautéing his diced onions along with some fresh garlic. "Well, speaking of 'potahtoes' you need to be cooking some, 'cause you promised me dinner tonight," you smiled tight-lipped, cocking your head at an angle.

You felt the unpleasant sensation of your stomach growling, cursing you, at the heavenly thought of food as your shift at Family Video earlier today was unforgiving to your non-existent breakfast. You fumbled with the vinyl a bit as the mouthwatering aroma of home cooking stormed your senses and Steve spoke once more. "Feisty today, aren't we?"

"Just a tad," you laughed quietly.

"Well, I hate to disappoint you but tonight we're not having potatoes. I'm making your favorite," he pointed, shuffling the pan to give it a gentle stir. He made sure to turn to face you in time to see your hopefully delighted reaction. "Alfredo?!" you spun around with a glittering grin, almost knocking over Steve's plant. A fake one, of course. A real plant was a bit too much responsibility for him.

At the nod of his head, your cheesy smile soften to a smaller, less toothy one as you watched Steve while he resumed cooking. What you failed to share with your best friend was that the last phrase you'd actually use to describe your day was "not too shabby". Besides waking up almost an entire hour past the start of your shift (Keith made sure to give you an earful about that) and everyone and their mother in town deciding to be at Family Video today, it seemed like your day was never-ending. The only thing keeping your mood from turning stink to sour was the idea of going to see Steve.

Steve was kind of magical in that way. Anger, sadness, anxiety, you name it, it was no match for Steve. Though he was no poet, he had this way with words that would never fail to make you feel so comforted. So safe. Any instance where Steve had to talk you out of whatever mental turmoil you were enduring, it felt you were being endlessly wrapped in a cozy, tight blanket, sheltering you from all the darkness.

How Steve knew you were having a shit day and needed your favorite meal along with your favorite boy? Lord knows. His ability to read you without even needing to be near you was nothing short of wizardry. But like you said. Steve was magical.

"You're the best," you proclaimed, prompting a mumbled sly remark from your chef for the evening, before the music began. Being here, along with the divine sound of Tina's ethereal voice and pasta boiling in water, was more than enough to make you feel like you were right at home, though your true address was miles away. When the time to depart would make its cursed arrival, it was never easy to leave, especially with the way Steve begged for you to stay, using those unfairly adorable puppy dog eyes that paired beautifully with his lengthy lashes, against you.

And it always worked. Well, not always. You had some degree of self-control. But more times than not, you couldn't help but to cave in to his protests. How could you resist? It was Steve.

With a satisfied grin that carved deep smile lines into his blushing cheeks, he'd tuck his sheets snug around your body, repeatedly asking you if you were comfortable enough. His bed was cloud-like, plush and doughy and his pillows smelled like his shampoo and conditioner, a hint of cologne on his comforter. It was like you were trapped in a cocoon of Steve. You wanted to tell him you were beyond comfortable, that there, in his bed, you were in just about your favorite place on Earth but, habitually, you concluded that a simple nod would suffice.

Crawling onto the empty space beside you, he made sure to face you, leaving a soft squeeze on your shoulder before humming "G'night, sunshine," closing his eyes and tucking his hands under his head. And like always, Steve was a perfect gentleman, dead set on never getting under the covers himself when you'd sleep over.

Guilt would disrupt your relaxation at the sight of the brisk night chill building little hills on his freckled arms, though you selfishly loved the way he'd cuddle up to steal some of your body heat. His plump lips would part as he drifted into a peaceful slumber, light snores and chirping crickets being your lullaby.

You hoped to have another night like that soon.

In the midst of times like those, storms of wonder and doubt raged on. Was Steve like this with everyone else? Were you being silly thinking that you and Steve could be more than friends? Being Steve's best friend for nearly a decade, you knew he wasn't exactly a prude. His King Steve era was honestly one of your least favorites. Though he reserved his usual tenderness and affection all for you, you've witnessed a whole slew of girls enter and leave Steve's life, and none of them looked like you.

You wanted nothing more than to be one of the girls he'd have leaned up against his locker, arm resting next to their head, cheeks fanned by his minty breath as he whispered honeyed words. You craved dates at the drive-in theater in Steve's burgundy 1983 BMW only to neglect the movie and end up making out, like he did with other girls.

When Steve would bring his latest lover around, desperately, you did your damnedest to bury your jealousy and and fill its grave with merriment for him, because if anyone deserved to be happy, it was Steve. But the girls at school only wanted to be with Steve because of his status and all the flashy things he could buy them.

The flashy things were dull to you, though.

You wanted to be with Steve because you wanted to hold his hand and press soft kisses to his cheek. To hug him a little tighter and little longer than a best friend normally would. To run your fingers through his fluffy hair whenever he would grow stressed because you knew it calmed him down. To make him breakfast in bed when he was sick and even when he wasn't. To love him your fullest potential.

But you had to settle for this. Calves tucked under your thighs with a blanket draped over your legs as you stared off into space, longing for someone you thought you couldn't have, not knowing he was stealing glances of you wondering what was running through your pretty little head.

Resting your arm against the back of the sofa, holding your head up, your lips were downturned in a pout, eyebrows pulled together as you studied the throw pillow a few inches away from you. A little pillow can't be that interesting, something has to be bothering you, he thought. He was unapologetically curious to know if pressing his lips against your own would make that frown melt into that sweet smirk you usually had.

Steve hated when you were unhappy. It made his mind race. Did someone say something to you? Did someone do something to you? Did you eat today? How was your shift? Why did you lie when you said your day "wasn't too shabby"? Obviously it was shabby. Look at your face. That tired and troubled, cute little face. What can he do to fix it? You were his sunshine, you deserved to be happy, always.

Giving the pot a final stir and turning the flame off, Steve carelessly tossed the grease-stained hand towel flopped over his shoulder, down by the sink, strolling over to where he'd earlier set down the two bottles of wine. White Zinfandel. Neither you or Steve were wine connoisseurs, but when you called Nancy panicking about how extensive the selection at the liquor store was, she swore by it.

Balancing two glasses and a single bottle of the rose-tinted alcohol, Steve took an extra glance at your face, deciding to scoop up the second bottle into his arms. By the looks of it, it was gonna be one of those nights.

You tried to hide your smile as you noticed he was coming over, a slight grin on his face as he set the glasses down. You and him both knew he was only coming to cause trouble. He set the delicate haul down on to the thrifted wooden coffee table in front of you, slipping you one of those comforting 'Steve smiles' he usually did.

Like the forgotten towel, he threw himself down on the couch next to you, warm hand having a much softer landing on the plush of your thigh; a familiar and welcomed touch. Habitually, you curled up closer to him, no longer able to hide your smile.

"Why so glum, chum?" He tilted his chin down, slightly poking his bottom lip out, as he looked at you through batting eyelashes.

Laughing through your nose and subsequently parading a grin that displayed nothing but teeth and hollow happiness, you remarked, "What do you mean? Don't you see me smiling?"

You were fooling absolutely no one. Steve knew you were sad. And, goddamn it, he was gonna get it out of you.

"You know exactly what I mean, you weren't smiling just a few seconds ago until I came over. You're welcome, by the way, I'm flattered that I have such an effect on you," he smirked, placing a hand on his chest in gratitude.

"Okay, now I'm glum again," you roll your eyes at his not-so discreet cockiness. You hid your face in your hands, resting your forehead on Steve's shoulder. It was hard with muscle, but soft with tenderness and safety. "I was smiling at the wine, for your information."

The palm of your hand that pressed against your face muffled your words, but Steve could still understand what you said, it was evident in the way your tone was laced with satire.

"Ah, yes, that makes way more sense" Steve replied, monotone. His thumb began coasting along your skin as he urged you, "Alright, jokes aside. How are you really feeling?"

Hoisting your head up, you almost answered before he continued, "And don't give me that 'not too shabby' crap 'cause that frown you had going on earlier already snitched on ya."

When the hell did he get so observant? Steve was no idiot, but sometimes things needed to be spelled out for him. But come to think of it, you never had to spell things out for Steve whenever it came to you. He just always had a way of knowing.

"I don't know, Steve. Honestly. Some days are just a bit tougher than others. Today was one of those days," you murmured, avoiding the attentive gaze he was burning into your shifty eyes.

He slowly nodded as he processed your words, head falling on top of yours as you again found comfort on his shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut as you began mimicking the affection he was giving you on your thigh, rubbing his arm through the creamy cotton material of his crewneck. You hadn't seen it before. This one was new. So were the jeans he'd paired with it.

"Why're you dressed so nice, Harrington?"

He laughed more to himself than to you. "Well, the food can't be the only thing that looks good, you know? Wanted to look nice too. It's our first dinner together, after all," he mumbled the last bit.

Steve felt the skin around your eyes tighten against his shoulder as your eyebrows scrunched together. "We've had dinner together before, though."

"This one's different," he replied, almost instantly. You'd hoped Steve's eyes were still closed so that he wouldn't see the bashfulness you were weathering, plucking the corners of your lips into a soft smile.

A silence fell between the two of you. Not unusual. Not awkward. Never unusual or awkward. There was a mutual cherishment of moments like these. Shamelessly invading each other's personal space on the couch as if it was made to only fit one person, music playing lowly the distance, but preferring to listen to the sound of the other's breathing.

"How can I make you feel better, sunshine?" Steve questioned, voice still hushed. The volume of your voice wasn't much louder as you responded, thoughtlessly, "You don't have to ask me that. You make me feel better without even trying."

"Oh yeah?" He craned his neck so that his head was impossibly closer to yours, awaiting your confirmation. Steve knew that you enjoyed his company, as he did yours, but he was only joking earlier when he gushed about having such an effect on you. It was now his turn to hide his blush, when you hum, nodding your head fervently.

These were the warm moments that confused you so much more than any subject in school ever did. And unbeknownst to you, it messed with Steve's head too. He'd never been this close with anyone before. Especially not with any of his "girlfriends" in the past. Sure, they'd cuddle and talk about their feelings. But it never felt the way it does with you. Steve was in love with you. It was hopeless.

And he had to make it known. Soon. If not, he swore he'd explode.

"Ready to eat?"

"Mhm," you buzzed, untangling yourself from the envelop of Steve. As he pressed his knuckles into the sofa, willing himself up, you reached for the bottle of wine and a glass, but your hand only made it so far until it felt the sting of a petty swipe from the boy next to you. "Ah ah, missy, dinner first. Lord knows how many hours its been since you last ate."

You snorted, "Relax, it hasn't been that long."

"Oh yeah? When was the last time?" He looked at you with raised eyebrows and an expression that said he already knew your answer was going to be ridiculous. And if there was anything you learned tonight, it was that Steve was highly skilled at knowing when you were lying, so instead, you left him with a goofy smile and giggle that told him he was absolutely right in his assumption.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," the spot where he sat went cold as he left to the kitchen, fixing two plates for the both of you. You moved the drinks and glasses over to the dining table, using a nearby lighter to ignite the accompanying lavender and vanilla scented candles. Tina Turner's vinyl was replaced with Tears for Fears' album Songs from The Big Chair instead, as Steve used his elbow to dim the kitchen lights, hands full with heavy plates of pasta.

"Oh my gosh, this looks so good! Good job, Stevie," you cheered, as he set your plate down in front of you, pouring you a much needed glass of wine. Your hands shook with hunger or excitement, or both, as you picked up your fork, ready to dig in. "Yeah, don't get too psyched yet. Let's hope it tastes as good as it looks."

"I'm sure it does."

His knee rests against yours as he sits adjacent to you, gathering food on his fork, though his eyes are peering at you, awaiting your verdict. The mouthwatering smell of garlic, butter, cheese and other heaven-sent elements overwhelm your nose and you feel like you can't eat it soon enough. You pause for a beat and so does his heart, hand over your messy mouth as you chew. Steve's hand twitches as he contemplates wiping the sauce from the corners of your lips and licking his finger clean.

"Steve," you begin, eyes flickering shut. "I'm gonna need you to cook for me every night. This is so fucking good." The tension in his face eases at your palpable delight, mission well accomplished. He was proud of himself. Very proud. Almost as much as you were of him.

You throw your head back, the purest form of satisfaction consuming you. "I'm glad you like it, I've been trying to nail it for weeks," Steve laughs, finally taking a bite for himself.

"Well, you've succeeded," you beam, washing it down with a sip of wine. Everybody Wants to Rule the World begins playing and you smile at Steve, knowing it was his favorite song at the moment. You nod your head along as Steve hums. A truly peaceful pocket in time.

Through the large windows opening the living room to the rest of Hawkins, you had the perfect view of the bright lights and mountainous buildings from the neighboring city. It was like the sky had flipped on its axis and the stars weren't in the sky anymore, they were among the trees and high rise properties.

"Steve, look how pretty," you point towards the window as his gaze shifts from you to raindrop-riddled glass. "I love being able to see the city so close. Sucks that we can't see the stars, though. I've always wanted to go stargazing."

"Yeah, I remember you mentioning that a while ago. We gotta go one of these days," he replied, shoving a forkful of alfredo into his mouth.

"Oh, did you wanna go too?"

He shrugs his shoulders, chewing before speaking, "Eh, I'm not really a big stars guy. Besides, if I wanna see a pretty little light, all I gotta do is look at you," he says inattentively, going right back to eating as if he hadn't just said the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you.

"Shut up, Harrington," you roll your eyes, letting out a half-hearted laugh as you take your last bite. How could he flirt with you so easily? So carelessly? Couldn't he see that you loved him and that whenever he says things like that it does something to you? Clueless boy.

"I'm serious. Why do you think I always call you sunshine?" He replies, not a hint of irony in his face.

"Steve," you warn, sitting back in your chair. You didn't know where this conversation was going, and you'd be damned if you got your hopes up for what you always got whenever you did: absolutely nothing.

"It's why I love when you wear yellow. Reminds me of the first time I ever saw you," he pressed. He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Clueless girl.

"Steve," your voice wavered. "What? Why do you keep saying my name like that?" He laughed, dryly.

He grew worried that he was saying too much. Saying things that a person shouldn't say to their best friend. He took a sip of his wine. Then another. Then another. He was considering just downing the whole glass. Maybe he was saying too much.

Screw that, he was in love with you.

"What're you saying to me right now?" You charged, voice a little harsher than what you'd intended, but you demanded an answer. A straightforward one. "I'm saying that I'm done hiding it."

"Hiding what?"

"That I love you."

The revelation yanks your parted lips shut, unsure of what to say next. You had dreamed for what felt like a lifetime for Steve to say those words to you and at last, it was no longer a dream, but instead reality. The rapid pace of your heartbeat could be felt in your chest and ears, and the butterflies in your stomach were more wild and untamed than ever before.

Steve's eyes didn't leave yours, though the stillness from you was killing him. The silence between you two that was once never awkward or unusual, was now painful and nearly unbearable.

Your dilated pupils scanned over his face, relentlessly. The jokey, teasing grin that he often sported when he was messing with you was unaccounted for. Holy shit. The gate to your thoughts opened once more. "You're serious," you whispered.

"How could I not be?" Steve watched you with adoring eyes, the warm light of the candle giving the melted chocolatey pond the sweetest infusion of honey.

"Kiss me."

Forks and butter knives fall to the ground with several, loud unpleasant clanks as Steve leans over the square dining table, hungrily pressing his lips against yours. His lips are garlicky and a little chapped, as yours probably are as well, yet the kiss is nothing short of perfect.

His mouth does a passionate dance against yours as you follow his lead, embracing the plush little pillows with your own. It was both everything you've imagined it'd be and nothing like you'd thought at the same time. You already knew Steve was an amazing kisser. Anyone who went to Hawkins High knew it. But experiencing it for yourself was completely different and new. It was euphoric.

The two of you have to reluctantly pull yourselves off of each other to catch your breaths. This moment was a long time coming.

Steve's hands are still holding onto to either side of your face, unwilling to let you go just yet. Truly savoring every second of the present. His breath fans across your cupid's bow, as he smiles against your lips. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

Giggling, you wrap your palms and fingers around his wrists, rubbing your nose on his. "Sorry," you shrug, feeling his thumbs caress your warm cheeks.

"Don't be," he shakes his head, engulfing your soft lips into another kiss.

message from jojo: pls comment and reblog if you enjoyed! it means a lot <3

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve and sunshine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x black!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x you #steve harrington headcanon #soft!steve harrington #stranger things 4 #joe keery #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x poc!reader

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Wayne Munson has always doubted that he’s done right by his nephew. Sure, the situation is better than Eddie living with his deadbeat dad, but the kid sells drugs and spent an extra two years in high school.

It’s not until you come into the picture that Wayne sees the values he instilled in Eddie.

Like when Eddie brings you to meet Wayne for the first time, holding the door open for you and taking your jacket. You hand a package of Oreos to Wayne, telling him, “Eddie said these are your favorite, so I had to get them.” The three of you sit in the living room, sharing the cookies and swapping stories.

On his birthday, when he comes home to you and Eddie in the little kitchen, putting candles in a homemade cake. “Happy birthday!” you call out in unison, and Wayne can’t help but smile. Eddie lights the candles and you tell Wayne to make a wish. “Besides me moving out,” Eddie teases as Wayne blows out the candles. “You made this?” he asks the two of you. “I baked it, and Eddie put the frosting on,” you say. Wayne hasn’t had a homemade cake in years.

Or when Eddie walks through the door, eyes red and puffy, explaining to his uncle, “We had a fight, but I did that breathing thing you told me about and calmed down. I think we’ll work it out.” He’s referring to the time he was 14, frustrated with a riff he just couldn’t get, and punched a wall so hard he broke his hand. On the way back from the hospital, Wayne told him, “When you feel that angry, you gotta breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Slow and steady. Can’t afford another hospital bill, kid.” He didn’t realize Eddie remembered it after all this time.

The time he gets home from work a little earlier than usual, only to overhear you telling Eddie softly, “'M sorry, Eds. I’m not really in the mood.” Without any hesitation, Eddie says, “Don’t apologize. We can cuddle though, right?” There’s no pressure, no whining or begging. Only Eddie respecting the girl he loves.

The day you and Eddie finally get your own place, boxes loaded into a moving van. Before you leave, you give a neatly wrapped gift to Wayne. “Shouldn’t I be getting you a housewarming present?” he jokes, opening it carefully. It’s a photo of the three of you at last year’s Fourth of July carnival, fireworks in the background. The wooden frame reads Family is Forever. “So you don’t miss us too much,” Eddie teases him. He pulls you both in for a quick hug. The photo sits on his bedside table, where he sees it first thing every morning.

On Eddie’s birthday, Wayne gives him a card with a check inside; not a lot, but a little something. “What’re you gonna spend it on?” he asks, thinking his nephew will cash it and buy something for his van or his precious guitar. But Eddie gives him a shy grin and tells him, “Actually, I’m saving up for an engagement ring. Just wanna get her the best, y’know?”

When you pull Wayne onto the dance floor, feeling beautiful in your white dress, the new Mrs. Munson. Wayne isn’t much of a dancer, but he’s two drinks in and just so damn happy, and he can’t help but shuffle about when the band sings “Twist and Shout.” He also dances with you to a slow song, which is where you whisper to him, “thank you for raising such an incredible man.”

Or during a Sunday dinner, when you and Eddie invite Wayne over and ask him if he prefers to be called “Grandpa” or “Pop-Pop.” Later, he privately asks Eddie if he’s nervous about being a dad, to which he truthfully replies, “A little. But I learned from the best.”

And when Wayne sees Eddie hold his newborn son, he swells with pride. My boy has a boy of his own, he muses incredulously, and then it’s his turn to hold the baby. “So, what do you think?” Eddie asks him, beaming. Wayne pauses for a moment before he answers.

“I think we did all right.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #fanfic #eddie munson x you #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #dad!eddie munson x mom!reader #dad!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #fluff

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corrodedseraphine · 1 year

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wherever I am | one shot

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

based on my second (!!!) request from @phantypurple, thank you dear, I hope you won't be dissappointed! this time insead a long story I present you some short scenes, hope that's okay

request: Eddie x reader. They haven't met yet, but they keep bumping into eachother constantly by luck. (Going to grocery shopping and she is there, going to the music store and he is there, etc) and they both feel really attracted to the other but they don't interact until CC just forces them cause they can't stand the pinning anymore and then it's cute and fluff.

3 002 words

The one shot is also avaliable on ao3

eddie munson masterlist | general masterlist

1990

The first thing Eddie did as soon as he fully recovered was to become employed in the mechanic's shop of one of Hopper's friends. After a few years of hard work, Eddie was appreciated, because when Mr. Smith retired it was Young Munson who became the new owner of the place. Thanks to this, you were able to afford to buy an apartment together. When everything was ready you organized a housewarming party, thus together with those closest to you you were now sitting in the large living room celebrating the new beginning of your future together.

"I'd like to ask for everyone's attention!" Eddie exclaimed, standing in the middle of the room. At the sound of these words, Dustin quickly ran to another room and returned from it with a huge cardboard box wrapped in gift paper, which he handed to Eddie. "This is a small gift, for our beautiful new start, dear." he said, placing the box in your lap. It was suspiciously light.

"What is it?" you asked curiously.

"Unpack it and you'll find out." he showed his boyish smile.

So you started unpacking. In the large cardboard box was...a smaller one. In the smaller one was an even smaller carton, and so on endlessly. With amusement you unpacked step by step, until finally you reached the smallest item. The item at the sight of which took your breath away and the laughter and conversation throughout the living room quieted. Almost no one expected something like this. Your hands were shaking as you opened the small velvet box that contained the ring. You didn't even notice when Eddie got down on one knee in front of you, watching your reaction carefully. He slowly took it from you and began to speak.

"As I said...this is our new beginning together. I have always known that you are special. Something has always been drawing us to each other, I don't know what it was but I'm damn grateful for every moment that fate put you in my path. Without hesitation you followed me to hell. You never left my side, and I hope you know that I would have done the same for you." His voice was slowly breaking, and tears were flowing from his eyes however, he was still smiling. "I love you. I love you more than anything in my life, and I want you to always remember that. I don't know what the future holds for us, but I know that together we can handle anything. The last few years have shown me that a trip to Mordor will be like a damn trip to Disneyland for us." he laughed. "Together we are unbreakable. So now, in the presence of our family I want to ask, will you make me the happiest man in the world and become my wife?"

"Yes!" the world around you was spinning. Your heart was beating so loudly that it drowned out the applause of the rest. Seconds later you were kneeling on the floor next to him as he gently slid the ring onto your finger.

"I love you Eddie. I love you so damn much," you hugged him and cried into the bend of his neck repeating those words again and again.

"I love you too, sweetheart. I always will." he muttered into your hair embracing you and stroking your back. When you separated from each other it was time for congratulations. Everyone hugged you in turn telling you how happy they were with your happiness. Wayne also couldn't hold back tears when he said he welcomed you to the family.

"Does that mean I'm going to be your best man?" asked an excited Dustin.

"And why should it be you?" asked Mike.

"Yeah! I was the one who helped packing the ring!" interjected Lucas.

"But I was the one who came up with the idea to pack it like that!" exclaimed Dustin.

"You seem to forget that it was me and Steve who helped him pick the ring." added Will high-fiving Steve.

"That's enough of this pointless argument, gentlemen!" suddenly Gareth got up from his seat and walked over to Eddie putting his arm around him. "Everyone knows that if anyone is to be best man it will be me," he said.

"And why is that?" Dustin was shocked.

"Because if it weren't for me, the thing between them would never have happened." he smirked

"What is he talking about?" you asked curiously.

"Dude, for real? Now?" Eddie groaned.

"Time to face the truth my friend." Jeff added with a laugh.

"Honey, before I say anything I would like to remind you that the offer was accepted by you, you were aware of your actions and returns are not accepted." He said looking and kissed you wanting to soften your heart. "Sit down. It's story time." He sighed.

January 1986

Mondays were never one of Eddie's favorite days, but the delivery of supplies at the music store always made them bearable.

"Hi Dave!" he shouted toward the owner as he walked inside, letting in the cold air behind him.

"Shut the damn door boy!" the man replied. Dave was a good friend of Wayne's. One of very few. This friendship did not bother Eddie one bit, on the contrary. A friendly discount on all new tapes was something awesome for him.

"Oh, yes, shit, sorry."

"You're earlier today." he said pulling out a big box from under the counter, at the sight of which Eddie's eyes lit up.

"I couldn't miss it!" The boy immediately dived into it, looking intently at the small plastic packages.

"You know the deal. You're the first person to look through them, but you put them all nicely in their place."

"Sure thing." Eddie smiled broadly and at a slow speed began unpacking the contents of the carton and laying everything out in its proper places. Fully absorbed in his task, he paid no attention to what was going on around him, so he flinched slightly when he felt someone tapping him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, sir." He turned quickly toward your voice. When he saw you he stopped moving. You looked really beautiful, your nose and cheeks red from the cold added to your charm. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm looking for the store manager." You said trying to mask your stress and sound in control and professional. His attention, however, did not escape the slight tremor of your words and your slightly too fast breathing. He noticed something about you that didn't allow him to simply look away. You must have been new in town, because he was sure you would have definitely attracted his attention before. Besides, he didn't think anyone had ever addressed to him as Sir. Hardly anyone called him by his first name let alone this.

"Are you looking for him because...?" he asked grinning as a plan popped into his head.

"I saw a sign in the window saying you were looking for employees. I just moved to Hawkins and I am interested in a job offer. Here's my resume." You said holding out a piece of paper in front of you.

"This is your lucky day! You're talking to a manager himself!" he said enthusiastically, smiling wider.

"Not true!" Dave's voice came to you as Eddie reached out to take the resume from your hands. Seeing the other man's reaction, you stepped back confused. "This punk doesn't even work here." he continued. Eddie just rolled his eyes and went back to his previous activity, trying to hear what you were talking about. For some reason, he wasn't able to focus on the music anymore, and his gaze wandered to the small wooden table where you and Dave were sitting. He suspected that he would be here much more often from now on.

A few days later, Eddie and Wayne went out shopping. In the parking lot in front of the store, he noticed a rather familiar figure. Maybe not exactly familiar, but certainly the one he had thought about very often since meeting her at the music store. With a bag slung over your shoulder, you quickly entered the store, and they followed your footsteps. Still looking around between the shelves, Eddie couldn't focus on what his uncle was saying. Finally somewhere in the chemistry aisle he spotted you and stopped to observe what you were doing.

"Are you even listening to me son?" asked an irritated Wayne when Eddie, stopping, bumped into him. "What the hell are you looking at?" followed his nephew's gaze. You stubbornly tried to reach the laundry detergent from the top shelf by jumping up.

Unfortunately, it had no effect. Resigned, you put one foot on the lowest shelf. "Go help the girl before she knocks over the whole thing on herself, not stare!" With a quick step, he moved towards you, seeing the rack slowly starting to wobble. "Hey, let me help you." He said quickly standing next to you and reaching for the detergent. He was close enough that he could easily smell your perfume, not at all surprised that he liked it.

"Thank you, Eddie." you said, smiling shyly.

"Wait-do you know my name?" he asked shocked.

"I've heard a little about you," you said.

"I'm betting that the things you heard were not among the best..." he rolled his eyes.

"Just because I heard them doesn't mean I believe them." You shrugged your shoulders. "Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome, help you with anything else?" he didn't know what but something inside didn't want to let you go at any cost.

"I think I can handle it. Have a good day, Eddie!" you said goodbye and, together with your purchases, you moved ahead.

To young Munson slowly began to get the meaning of your words. You had heard about him. People probably started warning you about the local freak the very first day your foot stepped on Hawkins land. But you didn't care. He still had a chance. But a chance for what actually? He didn't know himself.

"She looks nice." Wayne's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, she does." he whispered still not taking his eyes off you.

"What's her name?"

"Oh, shit..."

You were everywhere. He had to let someone go across the crosswalk? It was you. The girl who accidentally bumped into him while walking in the woods when he was going to his regular selling spot? Of course it was you. He no longer counted the number of times you stood behind each other in line at the store or passed each other on the street. Wherever he was, you were there, too. For the moment, he was able to recognize you in the biggest crowd. Even without seeing you yet, he felt your presence, felt this strange attraction and a moment later he always found a face he couldn't stop thinking about. Still, he did not know your name. Of course, he thought about it many times. He applied all sorts of names to you, wondering which one fit best, hoping that one day he would finally not have to make them up.

"Hey, loverboy!" Gareth threw a drumstick at him.

"What?" he asked, shaking it off.

"Thinking about the mysterious stranger again?" laughed Jeff. "Shut up," he muttered.

"For five minutes we've been talking to you about a new song and you're somewhere else! We'll never get beyond the Hideout with this attitude."

"Stop being dramatic and play!" Eddie growled while grabbing his guitar. The rest immediately returned to their instruments harmonizing with the guitar. Before the song was over something else caught his attention. Suddenly, a jacket in a color he knew well appeared on the porch of the house across the street. He squinted his eyes wanting to take a closer look when you turned. Your gaze immediately met his. You smiled broadly while waving in his direction, and he immediately stopped playing to wave you back.

"Who the hell are you waving at?" asked Gareth, annoyed by the sudden pause.

"And you're smiling so stupidly." Simon added.

"That's her..." Eddie said quietly still smiling. He watched as you got into the car and slowly drove off from under the house.

"You have a crush on Mrs. Hunson's granddaughter?" Mrs. Hunson was the owner of the house across the street and the only person in the neighborhood who tolerated the band's rehearsals in Gareth's garage. Maybe it was because her husband was a big metal fan, or maybe because she was deaf in one ear and the noise didn't bother her that much.

"Do you... uh- Do you know what her name is?" he asked scratching the back of his neck.

"Dude! You've been drooling over her for over a month now and you don't even know her name?" the situation was hilarious to the rest of the band.

"Why don't you be a good friend and finally tell me?" Munson bit back.

"And just so you know, I'll help you! But not like this." A sinister smile crept onto Emerson's face.

"And what way?"

"You'll find out in your own time. Now play!"

The crowd at the Hideout was not the largest, as always. That's why when he noticed you sitting alone at one of the tables surprise and excitement mixed into one. This had to be a sign. Since you even found yourself here and sat there watching him with a smile on your lips it had to mean something. Fate had put you on your path too many times to just leave it at that. For the first time in his life, he couldn't wait to get off the stage. Unfortunately, there were still a few songs ahead of them. Feeling a surge of positive energy, he began to pull out all his aces from his sleeve. The sight of you giggling fueled him even more, he showed off as much as he could when the performance finally came to an end. Applauding loudly you got up from the table walking towards him. He didn't know if his heart was beating so hard from fatigue or because of you.

"Hi," you greeted.

"Hi!" he replied enthusiastically.

"You were great!"

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." there was a moment of awkward silence between the two of you as you stood like that and looked at each other.

"And uh... I got your note," you said reaching into your pocket.

"My note?" he asked puzzled.

"Yes, the one you left in the letterbox?" seeing his surprise you looked even more confused than he was. Eddie quickly took the paper from your hand and opened it.

I have a strange feeling that wherever I am you are there too, just as if fate wanted to tell us something. How about the first non-accidental meeting? The Hideout. 8pm on Tuesday. - Eddie

Oh shit. Shitshitshitshit. So that was Gareth's great plan to help him. To trick him and bring you here. But you didn't know that. And since you came here it meant that you wanted to meet him. That you wanted to get to know him better. Missing such an opportunity would be a sin, wouldn't it? He took a deep breath.

"I'm glad you came." he said handing you back the card. "Would you like a drink?"

"With pleasure."

"So... first question. What's your name?" he asked smiling shyly as you sat down.

"Oh, right." You laughed and introduced yourself.

Very quickly you found a common language. Eddie told you a little more about the band, you told what brought you to Hawkins. The fact that you had to stay here for the next few years made him very happy. It meant a great amount of time to get to know each other better. And that's exactly what happened. From that day on, with each date you discovered something new about each other, more reasons that made you both begin to understand why fate pushed you in each other's direction. Every moment you spent together seemed appropriate. It is known that there were ups and downs, but you always coped with it. Your friendship quickly turned into a relationship that exploded into the truest love. You were made for each other, written in the stars. You were inseparable, and your love became unbreakable.

"Wait, what?!" you exclaimed. "You want to tell me that the note I've always carried with me in my wallet from is from Gareth? Are you kidding me?"

"Hey, you're being mean!" Emerson indignantly replied. "After all, it worked! You couldn't stop admiring that gesture for years!"

"Because I thought Eddie did it!" you were shocked. How did he manage to keep it a secret all these years?

"It's a good thing Gareth didn't have to propose for him too." Robin said amused by the situation, causing the rest to laugh.

"No one else has the right to propose to her!" exclaimed Eddie coming up to you. "'Baby are you mad at me? I beg you not to be." he put his hands on your shoulders watching your reaction. "I had to lie then, because I was afraid it would be a one-in-a-million chance to keep you with me."

"Why didn't you tell for all these years?" you asked.

"I have no idea. I'm really sorry. But I want to remind you that for real I don't take returns." He kissed you on the forehead. "You are grounded with me. Forever now." he added trying to fake a tone of voice like a villain.

"You are impossible." You sighed hugging him. If you had found out in a different situation maybe you would have actually been a little angry. However, today you were able to forgive him a lot. Thinking about how interesting the rest of your life would be by his side, you couldn't stop smiling. Your silly boy. Your hero. Your Eddie. And soon - your husband.

taglist: @i-me-mine

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politemagic · 1 month

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Sleep Token Living in a Haunted House

These headcanons are based on this meme I made the other night. I had a lot of thoughts on the eepies living in a haunted house, a lot of them are inspired by the show Ghosts if you've seen it. I had a lot of fun writing these so I hope you like em♡

1.45k words (she got lengthy so i added a keep reading)

➺ Thanks to a few years of communing with an ancient deity, Vessel has become quite attuned to the spirit realm. Everywhere he goes, he can sense the presence of the souls unable to move on from the mortal plane.

➺ When they first step foot in their new home, Vessel immediately feels like he’s being suffocated by the amount of activity in the house. He tries to identify the spirit, but there’s too many to even keep count, the grand foyer a whirlwind of translucent figures in various period attire.

➺ When they sit down for dinner at the end of the day, Vessel decides to tell the others about their spectral roommates. After observing them for the better part of the day, he hasn’t picked up on any signs that they’d be malicious, they honestly just seemed to carry on with their lives despite being dead.

➺ II just shrugs. From what Vessel's told him in the past, there are ghosts just about everywhere you go, and they haven't bothered him yet. He imagines it won't be much different living in a haunted house, if the spirits are as tame as Vessel seems to believe they are.

➺ Really, II just feels bad for Vessel. He knows that he'll be able to live in peace, unable to see, hear, or even sense the ghosts, but he knows Vessel isn't afforded that same luxury. He just hopes he will be able to find some form of solace from the constant commotion Vessel was describing.

➺ III is way too excited. As a kid, he always dreamed of living in a haunted house filled with a bunch of ghost friends. He’s always secretly been a little jealous of Vessel’s gift, but if he lived in a haunted house… Maybe he could find a way to communicate with them himself.

➺ Two days later, Vessel knocks on his door only to find III seated in the middle of a ring of candles, mumbling some words he knew were just gibberish. His interruption earns him a pointed glare as III explained to Vessel that he wanted to make sure that the ghosts knew it was okay to talk to him, so he wanted to reach out first.

➺ In the long run, it might have been better for the ghosts if they had left III alone.

➺ One night, he was trying yet another method of communication with the ghosts after exhausting most of the suggestions he found online. The Ouija Board started out as a joke, a housewarming present from Espera given after they had been filled in on the house’s haunted status. But III decided it was worth a shot.

➺ He had been at it for about a week at that point, and he was starting to think that Vessel was full of shit when he said the house was haunted. That was, until he sat with his fingers resting on the planchette and asked if he should give up.

➺ The planchette drifts slowly over to the “No” and III was over the moon. Using the Ouija Board suddenly became his favorite activity.

➺ He asks them any questions he thinks of. He’ll ask for opinions on things like his outfit or if a classic novel was worth the read. “They were there when it came out, I figured they’d know!”

➺ The ghosts plead with Vessel to get him to stop (in my own personal hc the ouija board emits a sound or something that beckons the spirits and they actually find it really annoying).

➺ When Vessel tried gently suggesting III use Google instead, he insisted that he preferred “Ghoul-gle”. (i'm so sorry). Vessel knew better than to try and dissuade him any further.

➺ IV is equally as excited as III, but it’s more from a root of curiosity than a root of fantastical dreams. He’s always been fascinated by ghosts, sometimes even wondering if he might be a little “sensitive” himself, though he never experienced anything like what Vessel described.

➺ He spends a lot of his time as they’re settling into the house researching the different people who have died in the house. He’ll print out news articles and stuff to show Vessel, asking if that person still haunted the house.

➺ He has a note on his phone where he keeps track of the different ghosts and what he knows about them. He tries to keep track of where the different ghosts tend to hang out, so he can be aware of who might be around any time he’s wandering the house. (in the US version of Ghosts Jay has a note on his phone that’s all the different specifics of how ghosts work. I think he would have that too for sure)

➺ IV would never openly admit it, but sometimes, when he’s alone, he’ll talk aloud to the empty rooms. He doesn’t try as hard as III because he’s overhead Vessel tell him to ease up a few times. But he secretly wants to talk to the ghosts so badly, and thinks it just isn't fair that Ves is the only one with the ability (he doesn’t think it’s fair to him or to Vessel).

➺ The ghosts were constantly talking Vessel's ear off, excited to finally have someone who can hear them! They'll ask him to do different things for them, like open a window, turn on some music, or leave the television on while they're out of the house.

➺ Vessel is still navigating the best ways to set boundaries with the ghosts so he can, you know, live his life. He already lives in the service of Sleep, he really doesn’t need to be serving the will of these ghosts on top of that.

➺ Sometimes he’s very receptive to their requests, and other times he can be quite crass in his denial. Slowly, they begin to work out some systems as to what they can ask for and when they can ask him about it, and for the most part they’re very respectful of his space and offer their own help when they can.

➺ Outside of Vessel, the ghosts have also taken a shine to II (probably because he’s the most chill™), taking it upon themselves to help him in any ways they saw fit. It could be anything as menial as closing the door when someone forgets to shut it all the way so that he doesn't have to get up from his seat, or once he swore he felt a sudden, cold presence engulf him when he complained about the heat while practicing his drumming.

➺ As you can imagine, III was very jealous when he walked into the kitchen one evening to see a coffee mug carefully floating down from the top shelf as II fixed himself a cup of tea.

➺ He was pouty the rest of the day, not understanding why they would prefer II. When II tried to suggest that maybe it was because he left them be, III insisted that II just didn’t understand them the way he did. “Maybe if you bothered to talk to them, you’d learn they were real chatterboxes!”

➺ IV expresses his silent jealousy of II's status as the ghosts' favorite non-medium in the house differently than III. Instead of moping, he pays attention to the little things Vessel did for them, and he makes a point to do them himself as well.

➺ He winds up becoming quite a talented baker after learning that the ghosts loved the smell of cookies. The aroma of his chocolate chip cookies quickly won over a few of the ghosts. (I’m just gonna say it. I think there’s a female ghost from like the 1800s in that house with a little bit of a crush on him. He’s attractive, thoughtful, and knows his way around a kitchen. That’s what dreams are made of right there)

➺ Though IV really won them over when he snuck into III’s room and threw the Ouija Board away.

➺ III decided that he didn’t like ghosts anymore when IV showed him the picture of the “Thank you ♡” left in the steam on the mirror after his shower.

Bonus bc I like the idea:

➺ One night at dinner, IV makes a playful jab at III but instead of hearing the expected laughter of his friends and bandmates, he swears he hears the laughter of a woman.

➺ Later, IV asks Vessel about it in private. He laughs and confirms that yes, he did indeed hear ghost laughter. Evidently the former lady of the house found his comment to be very amusing.

#these were just some silly ideas rattling around in my brain but i hope you enjoy them!!!#if you have thoughts please please please share them i want to read them <3 #also consider this my formal invitation to anyone to come scream with me about sleep token #this is my first time posting anything like this for sleep token im surprised it took so long?#sleep token #sleep token headcanons #worshitposting #sleep token vessel #sleep token ii #sleep token iii #sleep token iv #em's stcu #(gang pls don't let this flop)

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stvharrngton · 1 year

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ahoy kyrie sounds like you’re in need of some soft Steve tonight yes? well good I have just the thing ☺️🫶 (I got carried away sorry in advance!!!)

Moving into a home with Steve. A real home. It’s small and the shutters need replacing and the roof probably could use a few extra shingles and there’s a creak every other step because it’s the most you both could afford on low incomes but my GOD is it a HOME. Steve just being so overjoyed to fill the space with everything precious to him- framed photos of you and him, that Polaroid of you laughing that he adores, knick knacks from your travels together, a painting gifted to him from Will.

You’d spend a weekend painting the spare bedroom, squealing when Steve flicks paint at your overalls, lugging thrifted furniture into the space to set up a comfortable little hideaway. Steve and you have an open-door policy with the kids- Max needs a night away from her mom? Key’s under the mat. Dustin having bad dreams again? You got a nightlight just for him. Pizza parties with Robin, smoke seshes with Eddie- Steve basking in the glow of a real home, one that he never got to have, a space so unlike the cold and quiet interior of the Harrington estate.

And best of all, you. Your perfume bottles and shampoo nestled against his in the bathroom, your Chucks toed off by the front door, your chipped flowered plates stacked in the cupboard. Steve, coming home after a long shift, leaning wearily on the doorframe, and there you are- reading a book on the couch you bought together, in the soft light of a lamp Robin and Vickie gave you both as a housewarming present. He sinks to the floor beside your spot on the couch, lays his head in your lap, and you smooth your fingers through his hair. He’s home.

i’m always in need of soft steve ☹️😔

i genuinely can’t add anything on to this it’s literally already so perfect. like. it’s so soft i’m crying at the train station rn 😭 hed just love having your own space together. something to call your own. no matter how small it was or how much work it needed. he’d be moving out of his parents house as soon as he could cause that’s exactly what it was. his parents house. it was never a home so when you both got the chance to get your own place you were outta there as soon as possible :(

i need him so bad fr

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington headcanon #lulu<3 #asks #k.hc

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adrianasunderworld · 2 years

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WAI Arc, there are 3 shared braincells amongst the NRC boys that realize either sneaking in disguised as a girl... or plain trying to sneak in through a window like a stalker is stupid at best that they'd put together a care-package for Miss Yuu that's both a housewarming present for staying at the new school and a blant 'please come back we miss you' that the her friends will absolutely want her too open IN the common lounge.

The amount of teasing she will be subjected to from opening it in front of everyone.

"A package from Yuus boyfriends~!" One of the girls sang out as she pranced in carrying one of the two boxes she was helping her bring in.

"Marina, they're not my boyfriends." Yuu said, but the damage had already been done. All the girls in the lounges interest had been peaked.

"Come on, let's open them!" Marina cheered,with everyone agreeing. Yuu sighed. Peer pressure wins it seems. She put the packages on the coffee table and cut open the tape with her dorm key.

On the top of the package was postcard stating it was a care package from everyone at NRC.

Yuu pulled out a wooden box. She opened and inside was ..."Mushrooms?" One of the girls said in confusion.

"And a recipe for them." Yuu looked at the note card with it. "This can only be from Jade."

"Maybe you can hand that one off to Tina."

Yuu rifled through the box again and pulled a stuffed red hedgehog with a heart belly. Her friends audibly "Awwed"

"From Riddle." Yuu read the tag. "He does love hedgehogs"

Yuu and friends continued to rifle through the box. They found a box of Treys cookies (Which they all immediately started to eat). Bottles of skincare products tailored for her by Vil. Jewelry from Kalim.

One of her friends pulled out a small gargoyle bust from the other box and looked at the tag. “’From Malleus...which one is that...?Wait that’s your horny boy!”

Everyone laughed and Yuu rolled her eyes. “Hornton. I call him Hornton.”

“You’re a better person than me because I would have called him Horny.”

Another girl joined in and pretending to swoon into the other ones arms.and saying in a high pitched voice. “Oh Prince Horny, seduce me with your knowledge of gothic architecture.”

Yuu couldn’t help but laugh at that one.

As they continued to go through the gifts, even resident mean girl Nyla got curious and joined in. She picked up a card from the top of the pile and looked. “A voucher for a free drink at the Mostro Lounge from some guy named Azul. Wow what a big spender.” She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be so judgmental, maybe he couldn’t afford anything.”

“...Azul owns the lounge.” Yuu said quietly.

Nyla grimaced. “Cheapskate.”

#twisted wonderland #the white ash intitute #miss yuu #twst yuu #twst oc #night raven college #malleus draconia #azul ashengrotto #riddle rosehearts #jade leech

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birgittesilverbae · 11 months

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in babea au what are kid!bea’s favourite franchises & books when she’s growing up? i bet mary (unlike her parents) lets bea be interested in whatever she wants, even if it’s stuff like superheroes or cartoons or video games. would really love to hear your thoughts on what she’d gravitate towards, given the freedom to be herself.

the urge to answer this with "jesus fandom" for the bit even though it's absolutely not something babea au!Bea gets into, given as a kid/teen she sits in that same sort of position as Mary does, adjacent to the Church but not Of the Church, a queer kid who is comfortable with who she's growing into and has accepted it but has still found a family and a home through the Church

Mary didn't have the biggest media consumption as a kid, so she uses the excuse of Bea to expose both of them to a whole slew of it.

when they watch Star Wars, Bea latches onto Luke really quickly, dreaming of more, of being allowed to live, and then being forced towards it by the deaths of her parents. she inhales as much of the canon as she can get her hands on after that, dives into the novels and the comics, cobbles together her own padawan robes. she gets the lego millenium falcon one year, mary having worked and wheedled the money for it by picking up odd jobs in addition to her ocs work and leaning heavily on vincent until he capitulated and found the remainder she needed to afford it "in the budget"

she's well into lego in general and so stoked about the architecture builds when she learns about them like a week into her time with the ocs but worried that might seem weird, but mary gets her the little London set as a kinda housewarming gift when they establish where she's gonna end up

she gets really into building intricate stuff in minecraft too, spends months working on an atlantis analogue. she's drawn to the games that involve that more rigorous planning, and gets a bit too into satisfactory in her mid teens and mary has to have a talk with her about scaling back on it a bit because her grades are suffering, which of course leads to bea dropping video games completely bc god forbid she halfass something (it's also around the time lilith joins the ocs; mary: I'm not sure that this is a better replacement)

she enjoys the Charlie Bone series and identifies with Emma Tolly, gets into PJO for a bit but it doesn't really make an impression. gets really invested in HDM and has to be talked out of trying to engage Vincent and Suzanne in conversations about it. she's a voracious reader who moves out of YA pretty quickly and plows through a lot of sci-fi and philosophy

the queer found family of it all of star trek draws her in as well, but she's less engaged by it, and has a habit of rewatching fight scenes in stuff over and over again that mary finds troubling until she's reminded that bea's probably trying to give herself an idea of the danger mary and shannon and the rest are putting themselves in every time they're in the field (then mary finds it even more troubling and reschedules bea's next therapist appointment to an earlier date)

#ask #'anon'#babea au #myfic #mywn

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julescarstairs · 4 months

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That Which Is Precious and Lost: Chapter One

Chapter One: Pure Distilled Horror

Eleanor Blackthorn-Carstairs seldom ever found her home empty— at least, not without a note on the kitchen bench, or a text from her Mom or Dad letting her know they were going out. But when she returned to Blackthorn Hall from patrol, she found the vast home dark and so silent you could hear a pin drop, and there was not a single text on her phone. Maybe some teenagers her age wouldn't mind their parents stepping out without saying anything. Maybe some would savour the quiet ambiance: the faint chirping of crickets out the window, or the hum of wind as it blew past the curtains... but this was not a comfortable sort of quiet. And Eleanor's parents never stepped out without letting her know.

"Mom?" Ellie called, wiping her feet on the doormat (an old housewarming gift from Aunt Dru, marked with the letters “ENTER, IF YOU DARE") just inside the Hall's large doors. Her voice reverberated off the walls, leaving only her own echo to offer a reply. After that, there was only silence again. "Mom, Dad. I'm home!"

Eleanor strained her ears, listening for a hint of her parents presence anywhere. Still nothing. Only silence and darkness welcomed her home. Not a single candle nor light was lit in the house, it seemed — not even the kitchen was lit, and there was no light upstairs, or under the doors. Strange.

In the shadows surrounding Eleanor now, she could see the eerie old manor home her parents had been greeted with when they first arrived to fix it up years ago, long before she was born: the one that had been haunted by a restless ghost. She could only navigate the halls by the infrequent moonlight coming in through the windows. Eleanor stopped dead at the foot of the stairs, tipping her head back to look up at the landing above.

She forced herself to laugh, but it sounded more nervous than she'd intended it to. "Listen, if you're trying to freak me out, it's... well, it's working," she admitted meekly, but her voice didn't lower. "You can come out now!"

Maybe Eleanor Blackthorn-Carstairs had been overthinking that night. Perhaps it had only been an oversight on her parents' behalf. Perhaps it had been something urgent that they needed to leave quickly for. But even then, they would have told her. They would have brought her along if it was urgent. They wouldn't leave her alone in the house in pitch darkness with not so much as a text telling her where they had gone.

Would they?

Indeed, perhaps Eleanor Blackthorn-Carstairs could have been overthinking that night, if not for the fact that her father's gorgeous paintings that adorned the walls of the main foyer had been absolutely mutilated. Eleanor sucked in a gasp, and staggered back against the wall behind her. Paintings of her mother had their eyes gouged out — one even had a clean slice right down the centre of her body - and family portraits had been slashed with ‘X’ shapes across each face. Even the smaller portraits of Eleanor herself, as a baby, had been sliced at the neck, leaving her looking like her little head had been severed from her shoulders. The implications behind each tarnished painting were enough to make the back of Ellie's throat taste sour.

Something was very wrong.

"Dad!" Eleanor tried to shout, but it came out as more of a cry, and hurried down the hall to where her Father's studio was located. If he wasn't upstairs— if he was anywhere — he would be in his art studio. Her mother might even be there, too, watching him paint. As Eleanor drew closer to the room, as her trembling hand gripped the doorknob, she found herself hesitating. Her heart was pounding so heavily in her chest that it hurt. Her head felt insanely light as her mind raced. What if she saw something beyond the door she didn't like? What if they were in there, but they were...

No. She couldn't afford to think like that. Couldn't afford to hesitate. She threw open the door to her Father's studio, and nearly doubled over as her chest lurched with pure distilled horror.

Before her was the image of her nightmares.

To say the studio was a mess would be an understatement: an unfinished painting was wedged partway through a window, the canvas torn where shards of glass cut into it. An easel lay snapped on the ground, a small craft table in the corner broken clean in half. The small paintings that hung on the walls here had been mutilated violently, too, and Eleanor's childhood drawings were torn to shreds under her feet. She couldn't even imagine how livid her Dad would be if he found the studio in the state that she did.

Paint had been upturned; there were smears of a dark colour, like blue, on the floor. There were stains splattered up the wall. But those looked humble in comparison to the handprints on the walls, on the floors. Ellie's blood ran cold — so cold that she shivered.

She dropped to her knees beside two of the prints on the ground, and tentatively put her left hand over one of them. Eleanor had always marvelled at how hers and her mother's hands had been the same size and shape— but now the thought only made her feel sicker as her hand fit perfectly over the handprint on the ground. Looking over at the other print in her dizzy haze of panic, Ellie noticed it was slightly larger, longer fingered: one of her father's hands. Whatever had happened in here, they had been together. Of course. She withdrew her hand, and it came away wet. Not a thin kind of wet, like watercolour, but not a thick kind of wet, like oil paint. It was an in between, sticky sensation.

Like blood. Another wave of nausea roiled over Eleanor, sending her head spinning further, as she raised her hand to the moonlight. Bright red. Eleanor almost choked as a guttural sound tore from her throat, partway between a cry and a scream. She got to her feet and ran back up the hall so quickly she almost staggered. She clambered up the stairs to where her parents' room was.

She threw that door open — so harshly it almost fell off the hinges — and found that the bedroom, too, was in shambles. The bedsheets were ripped from the bed, the bedside drawers pulled out of their cabinet. Her parents' personal belongings were strewn across the room. The wallpaper was torn to shreds, and barely clung to the plaster. To her dismay, her mother's family ring laid on the ground under the windowsill.

Ellie sobbed into her fist as she sank against the door frame. Her mind was still racing, with all the worst-case scenarios. There was a pillow, still intact, at her feet. Eleanor sank down on her knees without thinking and swept it up, hugging it close to her chest. She gripped it so tightly in her trembling hands that her fingertips hurt. She inhaled its scent, an odd mixture of cloves, soap and rosewater. It was the smell of home: of her parents, of her rocks. Of her sanity. And she clung to that scent, let it clear her head, as she wiped the tears from her eyes. Now was not the time for weeping. She had to try and make sense of the situation. She kept the pillow hugged close to her, occasionally burying her nose in it, as she pondered what to do next.

Focus, she told herself. She carried the pillow from the bedroom, and drew the door shut behind her. She paced the halls, up and down, back and forth, until an idea finally came to her. She hadn't tried calling them. She hadn't gotten calls from them, but that didn't mean she couldn't try ringing out. It was worth a shot, anyway.

Eleanor drew her phone from her pocket, and dialled her mother's number, lifting the phone to her ear. "Please, Mom," she whispered int the silence. "Please, pick up.."

But it was no use: Eleanor was only greeted by a loud, screeching static noise that pierced her eardrum and made her teeth grind painfully against each other. She cursed, and used all her energy to not fling her phone out the window beside her. It was a weird noise, one that she didn't think phones were capable of making, but she didn't have time to dwell on that. Maybe her Dad would answer, Ellie thought, and dialled her father's number. That, too, was futile: she was only greeted with ear-piercing static once again. Hugging the pillow close, Ellie sobbed.

Where are you? She asked inside her mind, staring out the nearest window. What happened? Are you even alive?

Her frantic thoughts were quickly interrupted at a loud thump downstairs. Tears forgotten, Eleanor scrambled for the landing, stopping herself short. She watched, silently, as a silhouetted figure crept about the halls below. They seemed to be staring up at the tarnished portraits, with their back to where Ellie stood. Admiring their handiwork, she thought bitterly. Cold, sharp rage built up inside her as she slid down the handrail of the stairs. She threw herself at the figure in the hall, drawing Cortana from its sheath on her back as she did. The figure turned, and —

"Ellie!" A feminine voice shrieked as the figure scrambled back into the moonlight, revealing her face. "Ellie! It's me! I'm safe!"

Eleanor's shoulders slumped with relief as she staggered to a standstill. “By the Angel, LJ,” she wrapped her 15-year-old cousin in a tight hug, her breath coming out in a woosh. “You shouldn't creep in like this.”

Livia (commonly referred to as her cousins as LJ, or Livvy Junior) wrapped her wiry arms around Eleanor, clinging to her for a moment. She could feel Livia trembling under her arms, and the sensation only made dread unfurl in Ellie’s stomach. “I didn't know what else to do,” LJ admitted, before pushing herself away. “Or where else to go. I was looking for Uncle Jules, but all the lights were out. I didn't know if him and Aunt Emma had been attacked too, so…”

"Too?" There it was. Exactly what Eleanor had been fearing. She rocked back on her heels as a wave of nausea sent her into a head-spin. “Uncle Kit? Uncle Ty? They're—"

"Missing," LJ's hands shook as she gripped Eleanor's. Ellie listened intently as LJ recounted the events of her evening, her panic levels only rising with each new, frightening detail. Her family's apartment on Baker Street had been trashed, too, and Uncle Ty and Uncle Kit were nowhere to be found. No sooner had LJ finished, Elli's phone rang out into the silence. Eleanor scrambled for her phone, and her heart only grew heavier as she saw the name on the phone: her older cousin, Arrius.

She answered. "Ari. Thank the Angel—"

"Eleanor, something's terribly wrong," Ari said before Ellie could finish.

"You're telling me."

"Are they gone too? Your parents?"

"Yes," Eleanor briefly recounted hers and LJ’s experiences. "What about Uncle Mark? Aunt Cristina?"

It was the same story again. Arrius and Celeste's parents were missing, including Uncle K. But not only that — their youngest cousins, twins Oberon and Lucas, had arrived at Ari and Celeste's family's apartment in New York as they spoke on the phone: Aunt Dru and Uncle Ash were missing, too.

It seemed that all their parents were.

~~~~

@tsc-reader

#tsc fanfic #the shadowhunter chronicles #the dark artifices #the wicked powers #julian blackthorn #emma carstairs #ty blackthorn #cristina rosales #kit herondale #mark blackthorn #ash morgenstern #that which is precious and lost #twipal #eleanor blackthorn-carstairs #ari blackthorn-kingson-rosales #celeste blackthorn-kingson-rosales #lj blackthorn-herondale #luc morgenstern #oberon morgenstern

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astronomytowerghost · 8 months

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I'm not necessarily the biggest fan of Neville/Luna - nothing against it, just not my favorite ship. But Neville and Luna as queer platonic partners? PLEASE!!

Like, just imagine them moving in together after the war. Eventually they both go to work at Hogwarts, Neville in Herbology and Luna as the Divination professor, but first they need time to heal. They buy a small house near the beach together, (shhhh, it's not unrealistic for them to be able to afford a house, Neville is a pureblood from an ancient house, he probably has money). It's small, but it has big windows to let the light in, and Neville builds a greenhouse out back. There's a big, plush couch in the living room, with hand-knit blankets from both Molly and Hermione. There's a wall display of whimsical tea cups in the kitchen, including a handful painted by Luna, a pygmy puff shaped mug that Ginny gifted them, and Neville's mother's favorite mug, given to him by his Gran as a housewarming gift. They adopt a baby thestral, because they have a decent bit of land around their house, and because its easier to hide a magical animal when most muggles can't see it. They name her Lavender, after their lost friend.

They spend a couple years living together there after the war, going to therapy and learning to just...be young without the threat of impending doom. In the spring, Neville tends to his plants outside while Luna and Lavender play together in the grass a few feet away. In the summer, they spend days at the beach enjoying the sun, and searching for rocks that remind them of each other. (Luna makes the rocks into charms which she hangs around the house, with bells to keep the nargles away). In the fall, the cuddle on the couch under the blankets from their friends, reading and drinking tea out of their many novelty mugs. And in the winter, the introduce Lavender to snow, and have friends round for giant snowball battles.

Some people look at them, and see how they've woven their lives together and made space for each other, and assume they're in love. But they're both perfectly content with the different, platonic kind of love they've discovered together, healing and living and loving and learning, and making their house into a home.

#luna lovegood #neville longbottom #luneville #luna/neville #but platonic #qpp #queerplatonic relationship #ace neville #aro luna #queer headcannon #fuck jkr

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mortifiedatbeingknown · 8 months

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"A Rather Polite, Bigger Thing" (Pt. 3)

Masterpost:

The robot’s eye-lights blinked off obediently. As quiet as she could be, she knelt down and opened her box. Its contents were rather laughable: the daintily embroidered towel, a small handful of decorative soaps carved to look like flowers that had been a housewarming gift, and her coffee thermos, now filled with warm water. Hardly the sort of thing to combat oil stains, but she hadn't had the opportunity to shop for stronger cleaning agents yet. It would have to do.

"Hold still, please…"

The robot made no reaction as the towel first touched his limbs. Neither did he ask as to why his eyes had to be closed. In truth, she just didn't want to upset him.

If he couldn’t even bear to step inside her own home… then watching her soil such a fresh, white towel on him would not help in the slightest.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" She wanted to make sure, especially with how much harder she was going to have to have to scrub.

“I am unable to feel pain, my lady. ” Was the measured response. "Not from the outside world. You do not have to worry yourself on that front."

“You can’t?” The EDWs were old models, but were they truly that old? “I mean… of course. That’s…probably for the best, right?"

“That would depend on your opinion of what I should be used for.”

Huh?”

The robot’s head sagged back as she moved to cleaning his chest area. “Do you wish for me to feel pain, my lady?”

Her blood ran cold. “What?

The robot repeated his question. "Do you wish for me to feel pain, my lady? Because if you do, I am sorry to say that I will not be the correct model for you." "

Her voice rose. "No, no! Of course not! Why would I ever want that?”

The robot twitched. "I…I only wish to make you aware of my limitations, my lady. I do not mean to imply…"

Another spasm. She quickly got to work on patting him dry, scared that perhaps the water in his system had started to create internal damage.

"Are you able to feel anything at all?" She said, realizing just too late how wrong that sounded. Her cheeks heated up. "Sorry. What I meant was…"

“I am capable of feeling tactile stimuli," the robot responded smoothly. "But i am, however incapable of assigning it a positive or a negative connotation.”

“Wait… ‘negative or positive?’ Does that mean you can’t feel comfort either?”

“It was unnecessary to my function. To ensure my cost would be affordable to the masses, the feature was cut.”

“Oh.” Now that was hard to imagine. Pain sensors were mainly to aid mechanics in finding and fixing mechanical malfunctions whenever they arose. True, comfort was technically a more useless function, but ever since the release of the OLI models, it had become such a staple feature that no one questioned it. "I'm sorry."

"It is all right, my lady. I cannot mourn a feature that I was never intended to have." The robot replied.

She worked on in silence, head heavy with thoughts. The towel was black with filth now; the soaps nothing but scraps. Still, the robot was clean now, and a roll of bandages she had salvaged from a first aid kit served to stifle the leaks, at least for the moment.

"I think you are ready to enter the house now." She said, rather proud of her efforts. "What do you say?"

"As my my lady wishes." The robot replied, although when she tried to pick him up, he requested instead to spareher back and allow him to crawl along next to her. When they reached the door, he opened it for her, using its longer arm stump to push down on the handle.

So, that's how he did it…

"Thank you." She said as she walked inside. The robot followed, and she gently pulled the door shut behind them both.

*****************

It had still not been ordered to reactivate its eyes. It hadn't needed them to navigate its way back to the door, but now…

Was it polite to ask? Would it be better so as to not risk bumping into anything and damaging her belongings?

It's decision was interrupted as the lady grabbed it and heaved upwards, leaving it sitting on a higher, elevated surface that sank down under its weight.

"You can just rest there for the moment." The lady said. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

My eyes open. A refuel. A purpose. But those were not existence-threatening requests. They were not polite enough to ask.

"I will be fine for the moment, my lady." It said truthfully. "Please attend to your needs."

"Alright…." The tone in her voice was still unhappy. Oh no… had it misread her intentions? Perhaps it should have asked, so that she would feel useful…

…but it was too late. She had walked away, and a far away door had slammed shut. It had failed once again. It had failed…it had failed…

It's limbs twitched at the fresh dose of disciplinary measures.

#robot whump #whump #whump prompt #whumpee #a rather polite bigger thing

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inahallucination · 2 years

Text

this fic has been living in my head for a day or two so here

kid.

Neil snuggled into his blanket further as Meeks placed a platter of cookies on the table. It was nearing December and the poets had all gathered in the Anderson-Perry residence for a movie night and to make plans for Christmas.

Since they graduated Welton and could no longer be forced to go home, the poets always tried to celebrate Christmas together. Although quite a few of them had pretty bad relationships with their parents, not all did. So, they’d always meet prior to working out when they could schedule together.

Todd had cleared out the table in the living room, in between the couch and the TV so they could all fill it with snacks instead. Like always, all the poets brought something to eat and countless stories with them. The TV was still off, despite it being movie night, but the snacks were already starting to disappear. That happened every time, so Neil and Todd made sure to stock up with everyone’s favorite food prior to any meeting.

Neil was sitting on the couch in front of the tv, Charlie next to him, and Cameron next to Charlie. Meeks sat on the carpeted floor in front of them, holding a cushion. Next to him was Pitts, who was simultaneously trying to wrap himself in a blanket and inhale all the brownies in front of him. Knox had taken the only armchair. Todd and Neil had been meaning to buy bigger couches, but they were also debating moving into a bigger place and buying furniture when they moved instead. So, for now they were stuck with the couch and armchair that had been given to them by Chris and Knox as a housewarming gift.

"Bad news,” Charlie said, pushing Cameron to the side to make room for Todd, who didn’t notice and sat on the floor instead. Neil pouted; he’d been hoping Todd would sit on his lap instead.

“What’s the bad news?” Cameron asked when Charlie didn’t continue.

“The restaurant we go to is already booked up till New Year, so we won’t be able to go.” His statement was met with groans throughout the room. Back when the poets had still been broke college students, freshly independent and away from their parents, they’d started spending Christmas together. It wasn’t anything special since they couldn’t afford anything special, but it was them and that was what mattered. But then in their third year, Knox had said he wanted to do something special. So, the poets had all started putting their spare change into jars and saving up for the holidays and when Christmas came around they’d managed to save up enough money to go to a decently fancy restaurant. It became a tradition after that.

They always made reservations around this time, but Neil supposed the restaurant had been becoming more and more popular.

“Aww,” Pitts complained, “no Christmas then?” Meeks rubbed his arm sympathetically.

“We can extend our vacation a little and spend more time just the two of us before we have to go meet the family,” Meeks reassured. Cameron nodded from where he was sitting.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll call my siblings and let them know I can be there longer.”

“We can stay at Jeff’s longer,” Todd said, looking back at Neil. Neil nodded in agreement.

“Woah, woah woah!” Charlie exclaimed. “Just because we can’t go to the restaurant doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate together!”

“Yeah!” Knox agreed standing up, and pointing to Todd of all people, “And Christmas is about family!”

“Who do you think Jeff is?” Todd deadpanned. Neil snickered.

“Whatever,” Charlie said, rolling his eyes. “I thought you didn’t like him.” Knox let out a shout in agreement.

“I like him just fine,” Todd replied, leaning back against the couch, “But either way, visiting him is just really important to Neil.” And just like that, Todd successfully got rid of the attention and redirected it towards Neil.

What Todd said wasn’t untrue, however. Neil prided himself in having a good relationship with any in-laws Todd vaguely cared about. Like Todd’s distant aunt named Tess, who Todd wasn’t a hundred percent sure was related to him, but he loved just the same. And Todd’s uncle, Michael, who he didn’t love but tolerated just fine - which was loads better than Todd’s relationship with his parents, both of whom Neil didn’t keep a relationship with since Todd didn’t care about them.

“Why?” Knox asked, just as Charlie asked, “One Anderson not good enough for you?”

“He’s my brother-in-law,” Neil stressed, ignoring Charlie, who was wiping the popcorn Todd had thrown at him while rubbing his arm where Cameron had hit him.

But apparently, Todd had decided today was a throw-Neil-under-the-bus day.

“I’m being considered as godfather to Jeff’s future child. And Neil’s really excited about it.”

“Jeff’s a dad?” Meeks asked.

“You’re not automatically being given the title? Being his only brother and all?” Cameron asked, looking insulted on Todd’s behalf.

“Not yet. They found out about it pretty recently, and Jeff’s been a bit of a nervous wreck. He’s bought every parenting book he could find; he’s even sent me a bunch. And he’s signed up for a parenting class. And he’s been buying baby safe food for his wife and babyproofing the house. HE’s been a lot.” Todd reached over and grabbed a can of cola. “Luckily, Luce just finds him cute. Anyway, he’s being really specific about everything including godparents. I think he wants us over so that he can test our baby skills and stuff.”

“I don’t blame him,” Knox said, shuddering, “a baby’s a lot, I think I’d die from nervousness.”

“It’s good to be prepared,” Cameron said, nodding as if he already had experience being a father.

“What’s any of that got to do with Neil?” Charlie asked, glancing in between Todd and Neil.

“Neil wants me to be the godfather because that means he’d also take care of the baby if anything happened,” Todd said, rolling his eyes fondly. Neil flushed a little at his own excitement.

“Look, if Todd’s the godfather, you know what that means, right? When something bad happens to Jeff, we get to raise the baby by ourselves! Wouldn’t that be just so much fun?” Neil was practically bouncing in his seat. The poets all nodded or shrugged in response.

“You mean if right?” Todd asked, staring at Neil with wide concerned eyes. “If something bad happens to my brother.”

Neil waved his hands dismissively, “Yeah, yeah.”

The poets’ conversation eventually drifted away from Jeff and into making plans for Christmas that didn’t revolve around the restaurant.

Like Neil and Todd had guessed, the piles of snacks and drinks that had been there for movie night were already diminishing. So, Neil and Todd had to leave to get their backup snacks.

In their kitchen, Todd was taking the things out of the pantry and Neil was taking things out from the fridge. IT was quiet between the two of them, though they could still hear the poets talking over each other in the other room.

“Hey, Neil?” Todd’s voice was quiet as he finished getting everything out and placed it on the counter. Neil looked over at him questioningly. “About being Jeff’s kid’s godfather?”

Neil flushed, remembering his earlier comment. He looked away from Todd, closed the fridge, and said, “I was just kidding.”

“No, not that.” Todd paused as if thinking about how to say whatever it was he was going to say. Then Neil felt arms wrap around his midsection from behind and Todd’s chin on his shoulder.

“If you want a kid to take care of,” Todd pressed a kiss onto Neil’s neck, “Why don’t we just have one of our own?” Todd spoke so nonchalantly. Like that was a completely natural conclusion to come up with. As if having a child wasn’t terrifying and new. As if Todd had thought about it before.

“A kid?” Neil finally breathed out after seconds or minutes of silence. “You want to have a kid with me?”

“Yeah.” Todd kissed him again.

“That- That’s a big thing though, Todd.” Neil turned around sot that he and Todd were chest to chest instead, “Having a kid would mean that you’re stuck with me no matter what.”

“As opposed to my love for you or our marriage license?” Todd asked, smiling at him in that soft way that made Neil’s knees weak even after all these years. Todd brushed a strand of Neil’s hair out of his face and kissed him on the lips. “Kid or no kid, I’m with you forever, okay? No matter what happens, I want to be with you even we’re both old and wrinkly.”

Neil smiled at that. He wanted that too.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Todd kissed him again.

“I just,” Neil broke off with a sigh, only continuing when Todd nudged him, still smiling his breathtaking smile. “What if I’m no good at it? Raising a kid, I mean. What if I end up like- What if I’m awful at being a father but you and the kid end up stuck with me and-”

“Neil I can’t imagine you being anything but a loving and caring father.” Todd interrupted, thankfully letting go of Neil’s slip up.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Wanna know how?” Todd didn’t give him a chance to reply. “Because you’re kind and sweet. And you care about other people. And when you love, you love with everything you have. I want our child to feel that kind of endless love.” Todd kissed him again, this time slower and longer, reassuring him that if they had a kid, it’d be fine. That they’d be fine. Neil believed him.

“So... a kid?” Neil asked when they pulled away for air. Todd nodded.

“I have that book that’s going to be published in a month and going by the number of pre-orders, it’ll be a success. And you’ve been getting even more offers than usual. Maybe not now, but our incomes are becoming steadier.” Todd hugged Neil tighter. “Then when that happens, we can look for a house that’s good for kids and we can start looking. For a kid I mean. And how we’ll get one. Adoption, surrogacy, that kind of stuff.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Neil breathed, eyes a little wet. He wondered if Todd knew how perfect he was and how much Neil loved him. By the way, Todd’s hold on him got stronger, Neil thought he might have an idea.

got the idea watching that one christmas episode from modern family where claires like christmas is about family after mitch and cam are like oh lets go visit cam’s family and yeah

theres no real similarity other than the poets trying to spend christmas together like the family but i figured id let you know anyway

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Text

I posted 833 times in 2022

That's 833 more posts than 2021!

248 posts created (30%)

585 posts reblogged (70%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@munsonquinns

@manicpixiedreamcurl

@trashmouth-richie

@corroded-hellfire

@munsonology

I tagged 393 of my posts in 2022

#eddie munson - 151 posts

#fic recs - 142 posts

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Longest Tag: 33 characters

#i love each and every one of them

My Top Posts in 2022:

It’s not until you come into the picture that Wayne sees the values he instilled in Eddie.

“I think we did all right.”

829 notes - Posted November 5, 2022

We’ve Got a Secret (Dad!Eddie x Mom!Reader)

Read Part I here!

Warnings: lil bit of language, pregnancy, anxiety, weight gain, literally so much fluff your teeth will hurt

WC: 1.6k

Taglist: @dylanmunson @tayhar811

April 1992

“Babe, you ready?” Eddie calls from the living room where he’s slipping on his Dio vest.

“No, I’m not going!” you respond back, nearly in tears.

“So I’m just supposed to tell everyone about you being pregnant...without you?” he teases gently. A frown forms on his face when he doesn’t hear you say anything; just the sound of light sniffling coming from your bedroom.

“What’s going on?” He peers in to find you laying back on the bed, struggling to close the button on your favorite jeans. “Oh, sweetheart...”

“They...don’t...fit!” you cry out, giving up and letting the tears fall. You’re only three months along, but you’ve gained a little weight, and it must be enough that your pants don’t fit anymore. “I don’t get it! They just fit last week.”

Eddie chuckles and presses a kiss to your temple, then to your pregnant belly. “You’re growing a whole human. You have to be kind to yourself.” He pauses for a moment. “Wait here.”

He rummages through the bathroom and you hear a small “a-ha!” as he closes a drawer. He holds up a hair tie in his hand triumphantly. “You can use this to keep your pants up while they’re technically unbuttoned.” You give him a confused look. “Steve told me about it,” he explains sheepishly.

“What is he, the pregnancy guru?” you ask, but you take the hair tie and it works. Your shirt is a little big, so it covers your handiwork. “Huh. Would ya look at that.”

“Now, c’mon, let’s go,” Eddie whines. “We gotta stop off at Wayne’s before dinner and tell him!” You’d already told your parents, who were ecstatic at the idea of a grandchild. Your mom called you this morning to let you know she picked up some baby clothes because she just got so excited.

Eddie holds your hand as he drives to his uncle’s house. His left leg is bouncing and he keeps looking over at you with a grin.

“He’s gonna freak out in the best way,” Eddie can’t contain his excitement. He stops at a red light and grabs your face, punctuating the kiss with an exaggerated mwah!

You giggle. “Eds, I’ve never seen Wayne do more than crack a smile. He didn’t even cry at our wedding.”

“Just you wait and see, Mama Munson,” he says. His new nickname for you fills you with giddiness and warmth.

Eddie raps at the trailer door frantically.

“Stop it! You’re gonna scare him!” you hiss. In your right hand is a small gift bag. You clutch it tightly, like it’ll float away if you don’t. “Sorry, Wayne!” you call out. “It’s just us.”

Wayne opens the door with a roll of his eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you, boy?” He pokes Eddie in the chest, but your husband just laughs.

“Sorry. Just have something for ya.” He takes the gift bag from your hand and gives it to his uncle.

“’s not my birthday...” Wayne steps back so you and Eddie can come in. Eddie takes your hand and squeezes it inconspicuously.

“Just open it!” he practically shouts. He’s just a ball of nervous energy; he’d probably be bouncing around the trailer if you weren’t holding onto him.

Wayne shoves the tissue paper aside and pulls out a mug. “Oh, good. Don’t got enough of these,” he says sarcastically.

“You have to read what it says,” you offer, watching as his eyes scan the text plastered on the front of the mug.

“World’s Best Grandpa...” he reads. It takes half a second for him to process it, and then a huge grin spreads across his face. Eddie looks at you, his facial expression screaming I told you so.

“I’m gonna...you’re--” Wayne turns to you, and you can only nod to confirm. Tears spring to your eyes and you’re 100% sure it isn’t just the hormones. “This is the happiest day of my life, and I bet it will be until that baby of yours arrives.”

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860 notes - Posted October 15, 2022

Hi! Just found your blog and saw you were looking for ideas.

A best friends to lovers trope that gets super smutty 🥵? I'm a sucker for it

- @eddiesprincess86

Eeep I love this trope, too!

Warnings: so much smut (18+ only minors DNI!!!!), oral (f receiving), fingering, handjob, piv, protected sex, language, pet names, angst

WC: 3.5k

A/N: getting requests seriously makes my whole day. Please keep them coming (no pun intended) <3

It was the silliest action that had you falling for your best friend. Almost ridiculous, really. He was driving you home from work a few months ago, like he did every Thursday when you worked the closing shift. He’d browse the library for the new fantasy releases until you clocked out.

“I’m ready to go!” you announced, exhaustion evident in your voice.

“Your chariot awaits,” Eddie says as he walks you to his van. There’s a group of teenage boys smoking outside, leering at you, but they leave you alone when they spot Eddie by your side.

“Can I hire you to be my bodyguard?” you tease, opening the van door. The smell of stale cigarettes, weed, and Eddie’s cologne hits you as you climb in. He closes the door behind you.

“Depends. What’s my salary?” he jokes right back, turning the key in the ignition.

You pretend to consider this seriously. “Hmm,” you ponder, tapping your finger to your chin. “If you’ll be my bodyguard, I won’t tell anyone that you secretly love Grease and have a massive crush on Olivia Newton-John.”

“First of all,” he starts, keeping his eyes trained on the road as he lectures you, “everyone loves Olivia Newton-John. And second, you’re supposed to be keeping that to yourself, anyway. My salary needs to be something in addition to keeping your big mouth shut.”

You’re about to threaten to spill the beans all over the morning announcements when a sports car zooms around the van, cutting Eddie off and then slamming on the breaks as a sudden curve materializes.

“Holy shit!” Eddie curses loudly and swerves onto the shoulder.

And that’s when he does it.

He puts his arm out in front of you, even though you’re wearing a seatbelt. His calloused hand grips your bicep as he multitasks keeping you and the vehicle safe.

“I am so sorry,” he apologizes, even though what happened clearly wasn’t his fault. “Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine, Eds,” you croak, heart beating out of your chest for multiple reasons. “Just shaken up.”

“You sure? No bumps or bruises?” Concern seeps into his face as the adrenaline dies down. He uses his thumb to move your chin to him so he can get a better look.

“Positive. W-what about you?” you ask, realizing that he wasn’t buckled in.

He rubs his side and winces. “Got thrown into the gear shift. Gonna leave a nasty bruise, I bet.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell everyone you got it fighting a bear,” you attempt to crack a joke, hoping to get him to smile. He’s too deep in thought to process it.

“I thought--I was scared you got hurt,” he blurts out. “Never would’ve forgiven myself if something happened to you.” He massages the back of his neck, hair sticking to his skin where he’s started to sweat.

“Eddie, I’m okay. And if something did happen, it would’ve been that idiot’s fault,” you gesture to the empty road where the other driver cut you off, “not yours.” And maybe it’s because you’re too rattled to think straight, or maybe because it just seems right, but you grab his hand and squeeze it tight. “Take a breath. Wanna stay over at my place so you don’t have to drive all the way home? You can crash on the couch.” Or in my bed, you think, but you don’t dare say.

He nods and slowly pulls back onto the main road.

Eddie’s feelings towards you were much more of a slow burn, but they most certainly were strong.

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996 notes - Posted October 20, 2022

Oh, Baby (Dad!Eddie x Mom!Reader)

First installment in my Dad!Eddie series. Feedback and suggestions are super appreciated :)

Warnings: language, pregnancy, allusions to sex, allusions to abortion, mentions of Eddie’s deadbeat dad

WC: 1.5k

February 1992

It’s Saturday, a day where you normally slept in, but you’re abuzz with nerves that wake you at 7:00 AM. Your husband, Eddie, sleeps soundly next to you, arms splayed across the pillow and sheets bunched around his waist. His long curly hair is pulled back in a ponytail, though strands have fallen out of the holder in his sleep. He’s oblivious, blissfully unaware of the emotions that pang through your body. For a man who prides himself on being so in tune with you, whose tagline is “I know your body better than you do, babe,” he hasn’t picked up on the fact that you’ve been eating your pasta with butter because you suddenly can’t stand the smell of marinara sauce, or that you come home from work and immediately fall asleep on the couch, or that you didn’t ask him to pick up tampons from the pharmacy next to his record store this month.

You creep out of bed and tiptoe into the bathroom, digging quietly in the back of a drawer where you’ve hidden the EPT box. A few weeks ago, you would’ve been excited at the prospect of being pregnant with Eddie’s baby. Then he’d made an off-handed comment about not wanting to be a dad because he didn’t know how to be one, and that he was happy for it to be just you and him forever.

It’s the longest five minutes of your life, but when your watch finally signals that it’s time to look, you take a deep breath and peer at the counter.

Two pink lines.

A sob escapes your lips and you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from waking Eddie. You have no idea what you’re going to do. It feels wrong ending the pregnancy without telling him, but you also don’t want him to feel any pressure to be a dad. His own father had repeatedly told him that he was a mistake, that he was a burden, and you didn’t want to risk repeating the cycle.

You’re still mulling over your options when you hear the sound of footsteps shuffling towards the bathroom door. You cap the test and shove it in the waistband of your underwear, hoping it’s covered by your oversized T-shirt.

Knock knock knock.

“Sweetheart, I gotta come in,” Eddie mumbles sleepily. You can picture him rubbing his eyes and stretching, thinking about injecting caffeine directly into his bloodstream to wake him up. He’d been promoted to manager at the record store, and while the extra income was certainly helpful, it also means he’s a lot busier.

You open the door and smile weakly. He blinks a few times and asks, “Are you crying?”

“Just allergies, I think,” you offer, lying through your teeth.

“In February?”

“Yeah...winter allergies.” It’s pathetic, but luckily he’s still tired enough to leave the matter alone.

“Okay. Go back to sleep and get some rest. You need any medicine or tissues?”

You shake your head and pad on back to bed. The pregnancy test is still pressed up against you, and you shove it under your pillow as soon as you climb under the covers.

“Hey, Munson! Got anything new for us to listen to?” Steve Harrington walks into the record store around 11:00 AM, hoisting his son on his hip. “Maybe something with Elmo for Andy to rock out to?” He tickles the toddler, who lets out an excited giggle.

Before Eddie can respond, Andy wriggles out of his father’s grasp and makes a beeline for Eddie, crashing into his legs with a laugh.

“Hey there, bulldozer!” Eddie scoops Andy up as the boy tugs on a lock of his hair. “‘Course I got something for ya! Saved it in the back because I had a feeling Dad would be bringing you by today.” Steve always stopped by on Saturdays. It gave Nancy some time to herself, and Andy loved seeing his Uncle Eddie.

Steve, Eddie, and Andy walk to the back where Eddie’s stashed away a Sesame Street cassette. Andy’s face lights up when he spots the familiar Muppets on the cover.

“Ed, do you and Y/N wanna swing by later for pizza?” Steve asks. Andy nods his head vigorously, which makes Eddie’s heart melt.

“I’d love to, but Y/N has been real weird about food lately,” he states.

“Weird how?”

“Like she doesn’t really have much of an appetite, and normal foods gross her out. Y’know, all of a sudden I can’t put cream cheese on a bagel because the smell makes her throw up.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Sounds like she’s pregnant, dude. Nancy had the same thing...I think they’re called aversions?”

Eddie practically falls over. “No, she can’t be...” But then it all clicks into place: the exhaustion, the short tempers, the nausea. “Oh, fu-fudge,” he amends, acutely aware of Andy’s presence.

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1,044 notes - Posted October 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Fight for You (Dad!Eddie x Mom!Reader)

Your friends throw you an incredible baby shower, but an unexpected guest threatens to spoil your fun.

Warnings: all the fluff + angst, pregnancy language, emotional abuse (not from Eddie), a bit of violence (nothing gory, but mention of blood)

WC: 2k

Part One | Part Two

Taglist: @dylanmunson @tayhar811 @princess-eddie

August 1992

“Wow,” Eddie breathes as he walks into your bedroom. You’re wearing a flowing sage green dress that shows off your seven-month baby bump. “You look stunning.”

You press a kiss to his lips, smiling against him as your belly brushes against his stomach. It hasn’t always been easy to feel beautiful as your body changes, but your husband hasn’t stopped reminding you that he thinks you’re perfect; that he’s so happy you’re having his baby; that every time he thinks he can’t love you more, he looks at you and falls even harder.

He takes your hand and walks you to the van. You’d moved apartments last month; same building, but now you have a two-bedroom so the baby will have their own room.

“You ready for your party, little baby?” you talk to your belly, rubbing a hand over it. It was Will’s idea to make it co-ed, and Eddie wasn’t going to turn down an invitation to something DnD themed. He’s wearing his nicest pair of jeans and a blue button-down shirt. His hair is pulled back into a low bun, and you lean over and kiss his cheek. As you do, you feel a fluttering in your stomach.

“Oh my God!” you yelp, and Eddie slams on the brakes.

“What?” he asks nervously. “Is the baby okay?”

“Yeah, s-sorry,” you flush, slightly embarrassed. “They just kicked me.” You take one of his hands, feeling him visibly relax, and place it where you just felt the kick. “Right here.” Sure enough, the baby kicks again, and Eddie grins.

“Holy shit,” he says, “we got a little soccer player in there!”

You pull up to the Byers house and waddle you way up the steps. “Careful,” you hear Eddie murmur, placing a hand on the small of your back. You open the door to a room filled with your favorite people. Your parents are on the couch next to Wayne and Jim Hopper. Eleven and Max are drinking some punch, laughing at something Mike said. Or maybe just laughing at Mike; you never know with those two. Will and Lucas are fixing a streamer as Joyce oversees their work. Dustin, Robin, Steve, and Nancy are gathered around a bowl of chips.

Everything looks amazing. The family room looks like a Dungeons & Dragons game come to life. Even the food is labelled on-theme, with figurines placed strategically along the table. Next to a pile of brightly-wrapped gifts is a Dungeon Master throne, which would usually be reserved for Eddie, but there’s a sign on it that reads “Reserved for Mama Munson.”

The guests rush to hug you, ask how you’re doing, feel your bump. You hate when strangers do that, think they have the right to touch you just because you’re pregnant, but you truly don’t mind when your family and friends--your chosen family, really--do it.

Wayne shoves a paper plate into Eddie’s hands. “Go get your lady something to eat, hm?” he hints. No matter how old Eddie gets, Wayne will always treat him like a son.

Eddie obliges, leaving you with Joyce as she dotes on you. “You are absolutely glowing,” she says. “You were meant to be a mom.”

“Thank you.” Tears spring to your eyes. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“No, no crying!” she laughs gently. “C’mon, we’ll get started with the games.” She leads you to your seat. “Those pregnancy hormones are a bitch, huh?”

You laugh and nod in agreement.

Eddie, meanwhile, is loading the plate with cupcakes and cookies, knowing you’ve had a mean sweet tooth lately. He brings it to you and you bite into a chocolate chip, savoring the taste.

“This is exactly what Baby Munson wanted,” you state, taking another bite.

The next few hours pass in a flurry of games and gifts. You’re excited to go home with a collection of new bottles, burp cloths, teeny tiny clothes, and enough diapers that look like they’ll last a lifetime, but Joyce claims will only get you through the first week.

Eddie, Steve, and Hopper have loaded everything into the van, and everyone is helping clean up the Byers’ living room, when there’s a knock on the door.

“Who could that be?” Joyce wonders aloud, and Hopper steps in front of her to answer the door. You know it’s never good when his instincts kick in.

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1,196 notes - Posted October 17, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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