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doobea · 4 months

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YOU'RE A MEAN ONE, MISTER GOJO ─ SATORU G.

synopsis: satoru gojo is spoiled and arrogant. he's also the next in line to inherit his family's fortune. his father sends him far away in a small town for a week in hopes that he'll 'change' for the better. instead of the usual five-starred hilton hotels, he stays at a local inn and starts to befriend the owner's daughter.

tropes: small town romance, christmas au, golden retriever x black cat

MILESTONE EVENT || MILESTONE MASTERLIST

contents: fem!reader, spoiled rich boy!gojo, acts like an ass to everyone but hopelessly falls in love with you at first sight, feels like a really bad hallmark movie, mentions of wealth class differences, reader isn't a tsundere - she's just indifferent for the most part and introverted word count: 7.5K (idk i will uh make the fics shorter in the future) a/n: thank you anon for requesting this!! idk if this is what you wanted but hopefully you like it!! :3 everyone also give a round of applause to @popponn for beta reading this big mess LMAO

Satoru Gojo has a lot of expectations, but this certainly isn’t one of them.

He isn’t particularly excited about spending a week away from his big city penthouse to be rotting in a small town motel in the middle of nowhere but, his father, CEO of Gojo Corporations, heavily insisted that he ‘needs this’ and that ‘it’ll be good for the company’ — whatever that means. Satoru is confident that his father thinks he’s incapable of running the family business after last month’s run with the paparazzi and his third fling of the month. It wasn’t his fault that they got caught doing drugs at one of Zenin's parties, everyone else was doing the same thing, it just so happened that the cameras were only focusing on him.

Well, that’s what he gets for signing up to be the son of one of the richest men on Earth.

“You need to start taking this seriously,” he recalls his father slamming his fist down at the desk before throwing a bottle of Henessy at the wall. “I don’t want this company to go bankrupt just because I have a son who only thinks with his dick.”

Ouch… but he’s not wrong about that.

So now Satoru finds himself driving up a winding road somewhere very deep in the mountains. Exactly five hours away from the city. And, for the past three hours, all he’s been seeing are miles and miles of pine trees, sheets of snow, and — he had recently learned this from Suguru — sugar shacks. Apparently when you’re out over a hundred miles into wilderness territory these sap houses are littered everywhere. The fact that Satoru is beginning to count more shacks than designer cars on the road is really starting to get to him.

“This whole thing is so fucking stupid,” Satoru has also been talking to himself throughout the journey in order to not lose his mind. “He could’ve just sent me door to door caroling instead of whatever this is.” Satoru doesn’t know how to sing well, but he does know all the lyrics to ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ and that usually gets him all the tips. He wonders if he can manage to make a small side hustle when he starts wasting his week here.

He takes a sharp turn up around the hill before finally recognizing a big red sign with the name ‘Mistle Town’ as seen on the postcard his dad left him before leaving. It takes him another five minutes of driving through said small town, which is quite literally something out of one of those really bad holiday movies that his mom would force him to watch when he was little, before arriving at the inn. Upon arriving, Satoru is noticeably disappointed at the lack of valet assistance and, the size and design of the inn, is rather lackluster.

First, it just looks like a regular white farmhouse. Maybe having a max of ten rooms, none of them being penthouse sized, Satoru assumes. There are a couple of flowerbeds out front, all covered in a couple of inches of snow, and there’s subtle signs of holiday decor slowly bleeding its way outside. He sees someone dressed in an oversized puffer by the entrance, arms occupied with red tinsel and large white ornaments, and figures that the first nice thing he’ll do is to help out a random stranger — just to prove something to his dad.

Satoru parks his Rolls Royce in a spot furthest away from everyone else in the parking lot and sends a ‘im alive and well’ text to Suguru, because he’s very much so going to be in frequent contact with him for the remainder of the trip, before heading up.

“Need a hand?” He points out the obvious but still manages to throw a smile as if he’s already fixed the situation unfolding in front of him.

Satoru’s presence seems to pull you from your busy trance. You wiped your body around, nearly smacking the damn tinsel in his face, and made a small surprised noise.

“I’ve got it,” you muffle out and he looks entirely unconvinced but, whatever, he tried anyway.

Satoru gives you a few encouraging pats on the back before heading inside, failing to realize his strength and causing you to lose your balance, making a few ornaments tumble to the ground. Thank god they’re all plastic though.

He pretends to not hear you yelling after him as he enters the double doors, immediately greeted by the scent of roasted coffee beans and leather. It’s the precious hour in the morning where nobody comes by, right after the cleaning staff had just finished vacuuming, when he struts in. He immediately spots someone vaguely familiar by the front desk. Long black hair, a red poofy bow tie in the back, and a distinctive scar across her face. The woman isn’t working alone, a man with another facial marking is next to her, brewing two cups of coffee by the espresso machine.

Satoru looks at the woman again and outwardly smiles. “What are you doing here?”

“Ugh,” Utahime’s composure immediately falters at the sound of his voice, not that it’s a big shock. “Helping the family business, what else?” she throws back with a certain sharpness to her tone, and waves off the casual talk. “Have you even mentally prepared yourself for what you’re getting into?”

Satoru simply shrugs and saunters over to a nearby seat by the counter. “Nah, honestly just planning to fuck around till I get back.”

Utahime flushes a little, though it’s mainly from frustration. “Satoru Gojo, you really are—”

“Utahime,” the man next to her speaks, handing her a cup of coffee, and slides Satoru a freshly brewed one, too. “I can explain the details to him, if you would like?”

The older female rubs the bridge of her nose and exhales a long, overdue sigh. “Please do, Choso.”

“Yeah,” Satoru leans into the counter, lips pointed down at this new face. “Please, do tell.”

“You’re basically our little Santa helper.” A new voice rings out from behind him. It spooks Satoru from his seat and he whips his head around to be met with your narrow eyes.

“Huh?”

“Also think of this as an unpaid internship.” You start laughing when he gags on his own saliva at your statement. “Okay, you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.”

Satoru swallows. “U-Unpaid…?”

Now it’s Utahime’s turn to speak, she huffs and tosses a couple of stockings into his arms. “Your father sent us a lengthy email a few days prior regarding your bratty behavior. So, of course, we came prepared.”

“Prepared…?” He feels the fabric in his hands and whines at the grainy texture. This is so not 100% real wool.

If Satoru thought he had any chance of actually taking over his father’s company, because he knows the difference between supply and demand, he’s wrong.

Customer service is not his forte. He’s always thrown emails and sponsorship paperwork at his many assistants, and Satoru doesn’t even know his own email log-in password. So, when you walked up to him first thing the next morning with a brown apron, the inn’s logo large and embroidered in the center, telling him how to function all these coffee machines that he’s seen behind hundreds of counters, it invoked some fear into his already wrecked nerves. Plus, no one dared to warn him about the clientele during a holiday rush.

“I want a venti peppermint frappe with two pumps of chocolate, three pumps of hazelnut, replace it with almond milk, one shot of espresso, and top it off with a drizzle of caramel on top.”

He slumps against the counter. “You sure you want all of that?”

“Can I please get a half dozen sfogliatella and a cannoli?

He starts picking at his cuticles and sneers. “Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.”

“My change is supposed to be five dollars, you only gave me three back?”

Satoru groans. “You’re trying to scam me, aren’t you?”

By the end of his four hour shift, Satoru feels like he’s just done more charity work than he’s ever done in his life — actually, maybe this could also be comparable to the time where he did the ribbon cutting ceremony at Chanel; gotta support small businesses, right?

“Gojo.” You’re seated across from him behind the counter, arms crossed and pursed lips.

He barely spares you a glance as he idly plays whatever shitty mobile game that’s number one on the app store. “Mhm? What is it?” He clearly knows you’re upset, your voice practically screams ‘I will end you’ in the most monotonous way possible. But can you blame him? Of all places, Satoru does not want to spend his winter break here.

You jerk your head to the side, fingers rhythmically tapping away on the counter, clearly unimpressed. “It hasn’t even been a full day and you’ve managed to piss off every single customer.”

Satoru expression shifts, brow creasing, and sighs, grabbing a handful of mint chocolate from the freebie candy jar by the register. “Don’t be dramatic,” he rolls his eyes and shoves three pieces in his mouth before jabbing a finger at a young man. “I didn’t piss him off!”

You glower, cheeks slightly puffed out. “That’s Yuuji and he’s practically a family friend and Choso’s little brother, so he doesn’t count,” you explain before adding, “Plus, he’s literally nice to everyone. You’re not special.”

And for a second, Satoru considered arguing that fact. Having been born into wealth, granted whatever wish he wanted, his butlers and maids are always on speed dial, that’s the lifestyle he’s used to. Placed on this tiny rock called Earth just to take over it one day, is what his father used to always say to him. But how can he, Satoru Gojo, take over when he’s stuck working a minimum — scratch that, unpaid — wage job as punishment?

Instead of fighting, Satoru slumps against the counter and pouts, like a little kid who just got their toy taken away. You and your sister Utahime have a clear advantage over him, by somehow being close, yet distant, friends to his family. Maybe karma is real.

“I’m putting you on ski lessons later.”

Satoru’s ears perk at this. “Oh, so I get some employee benefits, right?”

You roll your eyes, digging deep in your pockets to pull out a sheet with his name next to a list of others. “Wrong. You’re in charge of teaching five year olds how to ski.”

“Huh?”

Somehow that sounds even worse than being a barista. Kinda.

By the end of his first day of unemployment, Satoru tries to convince himself that a full change of scenery is nice. Well, he has to convince himself, otherwise he’s stuck dreading each coming day for the rest of the week.

“Tired yet, Gojo?”

You flop down on a spare armchair in his room, squishing his Canada Goose jacket underneath. He’s too tired to yell at you to get off and tumbles onto his bed, feet dangling off the edge, letting out a loud groan when his face immediately makes contact with the rough wooly blanket. Surprisingly to him, everything just feels so comfortable that the quality of the products doesn’t even cross his mind.

Sure, the air in the room is a bit musty, and he can feel his cheeks flaring up from the sudden change in temperature and the dull aching nag in his legs from demonstrating ski tricks to toddlers, but there’s an odd sense of fulfillment swelling in his chest just about now. He almost suggests taking over Choso’s lesson but, according to the hotel pamphlet, there’s going to be an ice fishing tournament tomorrow and he kinda wants to check that out, too.

“Exhausted,” he mumbles into the sheets, eyes squeezed shut. Satoru wiggles his body around for a few moments before slipping out of his snow boots and stares out the window, noticing flickering green and purple lights in the night sky. “Woah, are those…?”

He hears you laugh beside him. “Yeah, northern lights. We see them all the time during the winter.”

“Only seen them bitches in ‘Polar Express’.” Satoru finds himself saying whatever’s on his mind right now, his brain too whipped out to control his mouth. “You guys are lucky to see this every night.”

“I know you’re all pooped out from today but,” he feels the mattress dip by the edge and your fingers poking at his thighs. “Did you wanna head up to the balcony and watch them for a bit?” you say this experimentally, waiting for his reaction.

Satoru might be a stranger to most natural phenomenons, having to zone out all the time whenever he did go on family vacations to a fancy national park when he was younger. Though, during the short time of spending his time here, it makes him think about packing up and leaving behind the fast paced city life for a bit of natural beauty and brightness.

“Carry me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re like a giant.”

He manages to gather some energy to sit up on his elbows. “You should at least have some form of hospitality to a family friend, you know?”

You eye him for a long moment, and then finally huff, breaking the contact to kick your feet into the festive carpeted floor. “Alright, just don’t lean your whole body weight on me.”

“Wouldn’t count on that.”

Both of you end up tumbling onto the balcony rails around one in the morning. As expected, Satoru couldn’t keep to his promise, throwing his ridiculously long arms around your shoulders, and whining the whole way up the stairs. It’s not his fault that the inn didn’t have an elevator installed. In all, it’s not a bad day — a bad night, even.

You straighten him against the railing before throwing a blanket over him. The fabric is thick and heavy, and Satoru forgets the ache in his limbs as he watches the way your eyes focus, eyebrows knitted, when you’re making sure he stays bundled up against the winter air. Once upon a time, Satoru never would’ve thought he would actually enjoy being in the company of someone who’s actively trying to teach him a lesson.

“Okay,” you say suddenly, almost like a reminder that you need to breathe, and pull away from him once he’s wrapped tightly like a swaddled baby.

You both sit in silence for a moment, and Satoru feels the urge to fill all that silence. He supposes maybe that’s why most people find him so annoying. He never really shuts up, always wants to add the last comment to everything. Though, with the help of Suguru by his side, it’s gotten slightly easier and bearable for others but, when his head is big and full of loud thoughts, it’s so hard trying to calm the buzzing noise in his head and —

“Gojo, look,” your pointer finger darts at the illuminated skyline in the distance and he snaps his head, following the trail, before gasping.

He feels your other hand tugging at the blanket when he finally makes out two faint bright lights in the distance. You squirm slightly next to him, to the point where your shoulders touch, and Satoru finally breathes, because suddenly, there’s heat rushing in. The loud, rough winds around him seem to die down and he’s aware of the slightly gazed expression on your face as you look into the far distance.

“Did you make a wish?” he finds himself whispering.

You grin. “Yeah, gonna make you work here for eternity,” you reply back in good natured spirit.

Something stirs inside Satoru. Something important. Well, Satoru-level important, so in the grand scheme of things, not very — but still. He unravels parts of his blanket and throws it over your head, making sure that it messes up your hair, and laughs when you throw him another pout.

“Did you make a wish?” you adjust the blanket so it covers your shoulders, moving a little closer to him, avoiding the cool breeze.

Satoru nods but presses a finger to his lips. “Not telling, though. Might not come true if I do.”

“Oh, shoot. Maybe I should’ve kept mine a secret then.”

He rolls his eyes and nudges your waist with an elbow. “You will definitely not see me here again.”

Satoru realizes, very fast, that his life has become very different, very quickly. And it might not be the bad kind of different.

Over the course of the next few days, he’s practically glued to your side as you’re showing him all things related to hospitality that his father tried to drill into him when he was a pre-teen. Obviously, it didn’t work at the time. Satoru’s known for being defiant just because he wanted to, and eventually his father stopped with the after school etiquette lessons. You, on the other hand, unfortunately have him tied around your fingers.

“You need to tidy up the edges more, Gojo.”

“There’s barely a wrinkle in these sheets!” He points at the bed sheet on the mattress, the one that he’d been working on for the last ten minutes in vain while you stood next to him with slightly concerned eyes. It’s a room service type of lesson today and, even though Satoru has never made his own bed before, he’s positive that he didn’t leave behind any smudges that might catch anyone’s eye.

“Did you check tuck in the sides? Or are you trying to get off easy for today?” You say, there’s a mild accusation in your tone when you speak, smiling as you step aside.

And, despite the warm smile, Satoru frowns a little, because guess who forgot to tuck in the sides?

When Satoru ducks his head around the mattress and sees a good loose chunk of the sheets hanging off and groans when you’re right. “It’s not my fault that they’ve made them so big for no reason,” he replies, somewhat embarrassed, rubbing the back of his head and messing up his already ruffled hair.

You roll your eyes and stick a tongue out. “You’re getting the hang of it though, maybe even faster than Yuuji when he first offered to help.”

He flushes at the unexpected praise and quickly fixes the sheets, turning his whole entire body away from your sight. “Better than Yuuji, right?”

“Oh? So, you only work better with compliments, Gojo?” You sound amused, as if a lightbulb just popped on top of your head.

Satoru flattens out the bed once more, strangely now feeling satisfied with the final outcome before turning around, sticking out a tongue of his own. “Only if it’s from you,” he answers, honestly.

You laugh, and hopefully it’s not at him. “I thought you would be more annoying to deal with.”

“So, I’m just regular amounts of annoying?” He points out, with a fake frown, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the sheet.

You turn your gaze, seemingly in deep thought, before responding with a small shrug and grin. “Possibly a perfect amount of annoying.”

Satoru feels the blood rushing to his cheeks, again. “Well, of course, it’s the perfect amount because I’m perfect,” he replies, instantly, but suddenly he’s shy and feels the need to go to the next room to fix their stupid sheets before he combusts in front of you.

“Gojo,” you say, almost hesitantly.

He swallows and rubs the back of his neck, wiping off evidence of his sweaty palms. “Yeah?”

“You missed a spot,” and your pointer fingers direct at the far right corner of the bed frame. He must’ve pulled the sides too hard and it caused the other side to flip over. Ugh, he’s not cut out for this at all.

“I’m… uh, still better than Yuuji, right?”

“Mhm, getting there, Gojo.”

By day four, Satoru has surprisingly adjusted to the rules and responsibilities. He’s not entirely sure what’s gotten him mildly well behaved, Suguru is a bit surprised by the daily updates being less… aggressive and whiny. What started as long vent paragraphs about the lack of heated flooring and needy customers, soon turned into photo albums of kids face planting into the snow and unconsented selfies with you in the background. Satoru absolutely makes sure you end up looking the worst out of the two because he’s gotta let his best friend know who’s the prettiest and he’s definitely racking up a blackmail album of all of your worst moments in case anything happens in the future.

It’s closing time and he just got back from the reindeer shed out in the back, covered head to toe in all things hay and snow. First things first, and no one bothered to tell him, but reindeers smell bad. Like, really bad. Especially at the end of the day, where their pens are covered in shit and countless carrots and apple bits from the little kids overfeeding them. Satoru is vaguely aware of the fact that he smells, just like he’s vaguely aware that the hotel lobby is oddly quiet from the usual banter between you and the usual workers.

Utahime and Choso are sitting by the cafe bar, seemingly deep in conversation about ordering more supplies for next week. Satoru thinks about interrupting their session with probably an unrelated dumb question, but the idea dies when Utahime notices his presence and motions him to come over.

“You stink,” Satoru casts a half-glare at Utahime and begins picking out some of the scattered hay pieces stuck to his sweater.

“For the record, I became good friends with Rudolph and Vixen today,” he grumbles back and Choso throws him a pat on the back.

“Hey, I don’t mind your stink, by the way. Smells kinda nice,” Choso offers up, but Satoru only shoots him a very unhappy look.

“If you think I smell nice then I’m really worried about what you think smells bad,” then he turns over to Utahime again, who’s engrossed in whatever is on her clipboard right now. “So, what did you need from me?”

“My sister,” she starts and taps away at the clipboard before handing it over to him. It’s pages upon pages of invoices from the past month. “Could you hand this to her? She should be in the back.”

“You treating me like an errand boy?”

Utahime scoffs. “What? Don’t wanna see her?”

“No, I do,” he responds, a bit too fast for his own liking, and straightens out. “Uh, is that all?” Satoru hopes his face doesn’t betray how much he’s a bit excited to interact with you, given that today was a full day out in the trenches, and he absolutely needs to hear you say his name at least twice a day in order to have a good night’s sleep.

Choso is trying really hard not to laugh, and Satoru takes it as a sign that he currently has a cheesy smile on his face — go figure. “One of the corner rooms upstairs requested a weighted blanket, mind also doing that too?”

There’s a certain relief that floods through Satoru and he thinks maybe he can take on a few more tasks for the night if that means spending a little more time with you, even if his body is screaming that he needs to take a two hour long shower.

“Hey,” he starts to say when he rounds the corner, “Where’d you put those weighted blankets again?”

Satoru expected to walk in on you neck-deep in paperwork. You’ve mentioned earlier in the week that this year would be the busiest and there’s a bunch of stuff due. Something about end of the year tax returns and inventory counts, it all goes out his ear but he remembers something similar that his father told him in a prior conversation. He thinks he could probably help you figure out some of it, but that might be a bit much.

What he walks in on, thought, is you sitting in your little makeshift office. You’re on your laptop, the screen’s tilted just right enough that he gets a glimpse of what you’re looking at. You’re looking at flights and hotels, even got a whole spreadsheet on the second monitor. From what he’s seen of you so far, you didn’t come off as the type to talk about your future that much.

His voice catches you by surprise and your expression flickers from something vaguely focused to embarrassment real quick. You hastily close out the tabs and go back to the hotel’s homepage.

“What is it, Gojo?” And there’s this awkward, oddly frantic moment of you fumbling around with the keyboard and mouse, like a teenage boy who’s just got caught looking at porn.

“Ah,” Satoru thinks seeing your flustered side is rather adorable, to say the least. “You tryin’ to plan a vacation or something?” He struts over to your desk, placing a firm hand onto the back of the chair, and there’s this smile on his face that just screams ‘gotcha’.

Your face scrunches up but it’s not out of annoyance. “Kinda?”

Even with a grumpy look, it’s a good look on you. Makes you kinda dark, brooding, and beautiful, and it turns your eyes into dark storm clouds, or some other weird, waxy poetic shit that Satoru can’t figure out the words to. Either way, Satoru thinks you look cute and can’t stop noticing your little facial movements. You’re more expressive than you would probably imagine.

“Ooh, where to?”

You sigh and start playing with your thumbs. “Malaysia. My friend told me great things about it and I’ve been meaning to go for a while now but time and money are always iffy.”

“Makes sense, I can imagine that being an inn assistant doesn’t pay all the bills.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say. You huff and glare, an icy-death glare, at him. If looks could kill, Satoru is sure that he’ll be six feet underground by now.

“Weighted blankets are on the second floor closet by the laundry room,” you answer his initial question curtly before shutting the laptop. “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“It was just a question,” he mumbles slowly, and maybe even a little dangerously. “If money’s an issue—”

“Gojo.” Your voice is fixed and rigid, one that leaves absolutely no room for debate. “Your dad was right about you; you always just fall back to your fame and wealth.”

As you’re busy staring, Satoru realizes that you’re kinda being a total ass to him right now.

“That’s not fair,” his voice is rising and can’t seem to put a stop to the words spilling out. “Don’t bring my dad into this conversation.”

“Or what? You can go back to your privileged life anytime you want. This is just a field trip for you while others actually have to try hard and make a living.” You spit out.

“No one forced you to become an inn worker, you know? If you’re so worried about money then you could’ve just found another high paying job.” Satoru wrinkles his nose and his volume continues to rise.

You immediately offer him a dark glare and it comes off in a cut-throat way that shuts Satoru up mid thought. The rest of his counters die in his throat when you start making hand gestures at the office exit and he gets the hint: ‘leave before I lose my shit’ is the calling he sees.

And it works, because he finds his tone shifting a little, awkwardly kicking the floor and backing off. “Whatever…”

That was last night and, by now, Satoru is realizing that he’s kind of a giant asshole and the guilt is slowly eating away at him. Was he always like this? It couldn’t have been — he’s only met you a few days ago, and this is only meant to be a quick, ‘vacational’, getaway. Sure he might be a bit selfish and a dick, but he had been able to function perfectly fine before all of this, hadn’t he?

Satoru’s not really sure.

It’s noon, and he’s lying in bed. Choso had asked him to cover his shift at the cafe, and he’d agreed, readily, even though it’s supposed to be his day off, because you’re working. Choso had texted him, though, saying that you had simply said you’d work the entire shift by yourself.

Of course. It’s absolutely not funny anymore.

Satoru sighs. He’s going to apologize, that’s for sure. It wounds some of his pride, yeah, but whatever, this tension between you guys, though, isn’t worth it. He finds himself wasting his entire morning away rotting in bed. There are things that he could be doing, that he looks forward to, like feeding the reindeers or demonstrating basic ski moves to little kids. Choso and Yuuji totally got him addicted to yelling out ‘pizza’ and ‘french fry’ at every chance he gets. They also got him addicted to a shitty relationship forum they both browse, but somehow the idea of reading other people’s relationship drama, when he’s facing drama of his own, is kinda mentally exhausting.

On second thought, maybe he should post on that forum, actually.

It might not be such a bad idea.

Or maybe he could reach out to Suguru and ask how to apologize?

His best friend is a bit more grounded and attuned with other people’s feelings compared to him, afterall. Satoru’s not good at this stuff and he’s always just cut others off whenever they do argue, but this feels different. And, well, for the first time in forever, Satoru is desperate.

“I fucked up big time and I need to apologize, help me out here?”

Suguru scoffs over the line. “Wow, what happened to saying ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’?”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Hi, hello. How are you? How do I make a sincere apology?”

“I’m good, thank you. Now, for your request, depends on how big the fuck up is.”

He bites his tongue, finding the right words to essentially not sound like a huge dick but, no matter how he wants to rephrase it, the outcome is the same. “I might’ve implied that she’s poor and needs someone to take care of her?” It sounds so stupid, so mean, and so degrading now that he’s saying it out loud.

He hears Suguru sucking in his teeth and sighs. After a couple of pauses, his best friend finally speaks. “That’s pretty fucked up.”

Satoru frowns. “Okay, yeah, it is,” and he sits up in his bed when a snowball makes an impact against the window. It’s Utahime. And, currently, she’s throwing him the nastiest glare that a woman has ever given him in his life. “Um, I’ll call you back, buddy…”

“What? I haven’t given you—”

“Don’t have time for unwarranted advice right now.”

“You called me!”

“Bye!” Satoru ends the call before shuffling towards the window, swallowing a hard lump, and inches the glass panel just small enough for him to hear coherently and not big enough for her to punt him across the face. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

But Utahime is in an obvious shitty mood and Satoru’s lack of charming antics aren’t going to work this time. “I’m going to apologize, I promise,” he tries to insist.

“This is all your fault,” she immediately gets to the point and it makes him shrink back just a tiny bit. He’s starting to see that the bluntness runs in the family. “Just get your ass to work.”

“But my shift doesn’t start till—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Utahime starts to form an even bigger snowball and raises it to the window panel. “Ass out of bed, now.”

Okay, so as much as Satoru had tried to tell himself that this week wouldn’t be bad, it’s really starting to get fucking awful.

Everyone’s in a shit mood. Yuuji tries to crack some jokes but the usual crowd isn’t having it. You’ve been throwing Satoru dirty looks while working behind the cafe counter together and he’s been put on drink duty — which is his worst nightmare — while you’re attending to the customers because you’re young and cute enough for them to be nice to you. Satoru has spilled hot coffee and chocolate on himself like four times so far, and the shift just started. He’s terrified that the rest of this week is going to be like this.

“Can we talk?” Satoru whisper shouts over the espresso machine.

He sees your shoulders tensing up but immediately relaxes them afterwards. “Did you hear something, Yuuji?”

The boy looks up from the bar counter, it’s his day off and he’s catching up on some homework, but the seemingly growing tension that’s unfolding in front of him is making it painfully hard for him to focus on anything engineering related. Yuuji scratches the back of his neck before darting his eyes back and forth between the two of you. Normally, he would be the voice of reason, but Satoru doesn’t blame him when he shakes his head.

“N-Nah, must’ve been the wind or something...”

Great, he’s been reduced to an air draft.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” you agree without missing a beat. As the next customer in line spends an eternity holding everyone up, debating whether to get the seasonal muffin or french toast to go with their drink, you continue, “Thought I heard a rotten brat for a second.”

He absolutely doesn’t expect the harsh insult. Satoru widens his eyes at the outburst and there’s a small pause, the silence ticking in between everyone, and he’s sure that you’re glaring him down somewhere in a small reflection on the counter.

Satoru debates whether to call out your name and shake some sense into you, but Yuuji quickly swallows and makes a motion with his hands to his throat, a universal signal saying — ‘I wouldn’t test the waters, if I were you’.

And, after the customer finally decides that they didn’t want any pastries with their coffee order, you finish the transaction before announcing that you’re going on a small fifteen minute break to “stretch”. Though, anyone could see that you’re planning to cool off before you manage to actually blow up in Satoru’s face.

“How the hell am I going to talk to her?” he groans to Yuuji once you’re finally away. He’s managing the cash register and, surprisingly, finishes taking the remaining orders quite smoothly compared to his first day. At least he can pat himself on the back for this.

“You’ve really pissed her off, dude,” Yuuji replies and Satoru just rolls his eyes because that’s all he’s been hearing from everyone else all day today. “You should talk to her when she’s not… charged up.”

“Way to point out the obvious.” Sometimes he forgets that Yuuji is a bit oblivious. How is he doing so well as a mechanical engineering major?

Yuuji makes an audible ‘pop’ and whistles. “What did you even say to her?”

Satoru groans into his hands. “Did she not tell you?”

“Well, she wasn’t exactly in a chippy mood to talk about anything this morning — outside of work, that is.”

“Here’s a little TLDR version: might’ve said something classist.”

“Might’ve?”

“Okay, definitely said something classist.”

“Then…” Yuuji drums his fingers against the counter, deep in thought. “Y’know, whenever me and Megumi fight, I always invite him out to the movies to try and cheer him up. Might not be applicable to you but…”

Satoru blinks. “Are you suggesting a date would help?”

“Maybe not a date—”

“No, I’m sorry for calling you dumb, you’re so right—a nice date might work!”

“You never called me dumb, though?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say, kiddo.”

Satoru unravels the ribbon on his apron and throws it in Yuuji’s general direction, not caring if he tossed the stained uniform directly in his face. He hops the counter and pats the younger male on the shoulder, flashing him a genuine smile because, hey, maybe Yuuji actually is smarter than he looks.

“Gonna totally invite you to the wedding.”

It’s no secret that Satoru Gojo hasn’t been on a proper date in a pathetically long time.

He has swiped right on a number of highly influential celebrities and figures on dating apps before. Matched with nearly all of them. Gone on…maybe a lot of first dates with not a lot of second dates coming right after. Who cares though, everyone’s just there for the photos and followers anyway. Satoru knows that he’s attractive and that he personally loves big, lavish dates but, at this point, he knows you enough to understand you absolutely hate big gestures.

After a short winded conversation with Suguru and Utahime, separately, Satoru has concluded on not buying you first class tickets to Malaysia.

“Are you trying to get her to hate your guts?” Was the general consensus of the conversation with said people.

So, what’s the next best option if he can’t fly you out to Malaysia? The answer is pretty simple — bring Malaysia to Mistle Town. And no, he’s not going to be relying on his black card for anything, even though the back of his mind is telling him otherwise.

Choso blinks several times at Satoru’s printed out proposal. The colorful letters and Google image photos of beaches and coconuts slapped poorly onto the document screams back at Choso and Yuuji, bright and early on Christmas Eve.

It’s unusual for Satoru to be bouncing excitedly in place for someone other than himself. So this catches everyone off guard.

Yuuji whispers something intangible to Choso, but Satoru is able to make it out as, “Do we even have coconuts here?”

To which Choso replies, “It’s winter, so I don’t think so.”

And Yuuji moves onto the next question in queue, “What should we do about the lack of palm trees?”

A patient sigh from Choso, “We could always trim the pine trees outside?” He lamely suggests.

“It’s a good idea, no?” Satoru jumps right back in, completely missing the flat vibe from the brothers. He frowns. “Why are you guys giving me that look?”

And, like his best friend and your sister, the brothers throw him a confused head tilt.

“Well,” Yuuji weakly starts, “Your plan ‘Project: Bring Malaysia here in hopes of Y/N falling in love with me’ doesn’t really sound that great… even on paper.”

Satoru grins, fully expecting that to be the response. “I’ll order the things, don’t worry about it. I just need to borrow your lungs for this project.”

Yuuji scratches his cheek in confusion, laughing nervously again. “Our lungs…?” he echos.

“How long do I have to keep this dumb blindfold on, Choso?”

“U-Um,” Choso shoots Satoru a brow as he carefully guides you through the hotel lobby.

It’s currently decked out from head to toe in all things yellow, green, and pink beach themed inflatables. Choso and Yuuji reminded Satoru last night that maybe two flamingos would’ve been enough to get the message across, but seeing that he ordered a whole colony? Yeah, he’s sending the rich boy prayers as he reels you in further, avoiding collision with the colorful balloons and seven-foot tall palm trees, too.

“Choso?”

He squeezes your shoulders when Satoru shoots him a thumbs up. “Ten seconds.”

Satoru quietly walks over to both of you, tip toeing so the sounds of his loafers are minimized against the flooring. Once he’s inches away, Choso retreats off into a different room, mouthing to him words of final encouragement, which Satoru gladly took.

You appear restless under the blindfold. “I swear to god, if I take it off and there’s a giant pile of reindeer shit in the middle of the lobby I will actually kill somebody—”

And Satoru quietly debates whether or not he wants to keep you like this for a little while before revealing the big surprise. Seeing you flustered and confused is a very cute look on you, after all. But, he’s gotten you this far and it would absolutely kill him to leave you on such a bad notice. It’s now early evening, and the sun’s just starting to set enough that the golden rays illuminate your features from this angle. It takes Satoru back to his first private meeting with you on the balcony and he remembers why he’s even doing this in the first place.

Carefully and slowly, he slips down the blindfold and softly calls out your name. “Hey, take a look around you.”

Your eyes are blown wide when you see his face. Anger and frustration dissipate from your face when you soon realize that Satoru carries a soft expression. He watches as the emotions wash off as quickly as they came. Then, you finally take a look around your surroundings and gasp. “You—You did all of this for me?”

Satoru tenses a little, a bit on the edge. “You want the short or long answer?”

You don’t notice because you’re too preoccupied with the numerous fake flamingos around you. “On second thought, maybe no answer would also work.”

He laughs at this, slightly, before turning shy again. He feels silly, ashamed, and it makes his cheeks flush. “I wanted to say sorry again for what I said earlier.”

“You finally want to talk about it?”

He looks at your idle hands and then back to your face. When he sees that you don't move them away as he inches closer, he takes both of them into his palms, giving them a tight squeeze. “Yeah, I was a big idiot and I thought I was trying to help in the beginning but I just sounded—no, I am—a giant ass.” Satoru concludes.

The atmosphere grows quiet and heavy again. The air humid and thick despite the opened windows and you’re looking at him. Then, there are tiny little smiles that break out on your face, like freckles and stars in the sky.

“You’re such a pillow princess,” and he outright blushes ten shades darker at the nickname, “you’re lucky you’re cute.” Coming from you, that’s as good as a love confession.

I like you, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. He really likes you and doesn’t want to fuck this up.

But, everyone knows that Satoru Gojo is a child at heart.

Satoru doesn’t know who gives in first; realistically, it might’ve been one of those stupid, rare, impossible moments where it’s completely shared. Suddenly the gaudy blow up palm trees and inflatable pool blur from his vision and he feels the world roaring around him when your palms rest on his cheeks. He ducks his head down but you’re the one who closes the distance between.

You taste like strawberries and lavender, smell like warm cocoa, and feel softer than any sherpa blanket he’s had. Satoru closes his eyes and his vision goes white, his hands shakily snake around your waist, pressing you hard against his chest as if you might disappear at any moment. Satoru sighs into the kiss, it feels pleasantly warm, that throb in his chest, it’s a slow, steady thrum of simmering desire and comfort. He’s pretty sure he’s adding way too much tongue, the drool and saliva that comes dripping between you two will be uncomfortable soon, but for now, it adds to the blissed out, satisfaction you’re both basking in.

Finally, you pull away, shortening yourself a good several inches from planting the rest of your feet on the ground. Your eyes are glossed over, watery and looking at him without vexation. “You’re something else.” You say, but there’s no bite.

Satoru doesn’t speak for a moment. He’s too focused on the feeling of your warm fingers sprawled all over his heating face. Too focused on the dull pulse of both nervousness and infatuation slowly spreading through his body because you’re giving him that look. This all feels romantic and stupid, he thinks.

“I’m sorry, again.” The words are quiet, hesitant, and Satoru almost regrets them the moment he speaks.

You shift around a little, now dancing on the balls of your feet, but the grasp you have on his cheeks is still relatively firm, even applying a bit of more pressure as if it’s your way of showing reassurance. You tip your head; your eyes are so vivid and bright, it sends a shiver down Satoru’s spine. In this moment, he remembers every single thing between them in shocking detail — the awkwardness, the tension, the frustration, the dumb banters, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed.

“I’ll forgive you if you give me a private city tour,” you laugh. “And come back to work with us again next year.”

Satoru offers a small smile. “Unpaid?”

“Will you say no if it is?”

He hugs you tighter, a chuckle bubbles in his throat. “I don’t think I can say no because it’s you.”

Though, while some might think that Satoru is the real loser here for being whipped so hard over a small town girl, you know that deep down the real loser is you. Because you managed to have the son of a CEO wrapped around your fingers and now you will never know peace again. But you’re not really complaining; instead, you’re working even harder to save just enough to eventually see your dream destination while Satoru whines and sends an ungodly amount of selfies everyday when he’s back home. And you won’t allow yourself to get snappy because, well, you’re very much head over heels for him, too.

#event: i got my eyes on youೄྀ࿐ˊˎ #doobea writing #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #satoru gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen x female reader

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sserpente · 4 months

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The Mistletoe Tradition

There was only one piece of decoration left in the box now—it was a dew-fresh mistletoe complete with a red ribbon. And you knew just where to put it.

With a smile, you danced over to Astarion and held the green plant above your head. The vampire spawn looked up, confused and flustered both at the same time.

“Wanna know what my favourite Yule tradition is?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” he purred.

“Whenever two souls are caught under the mistletoe, they have to kiss.”

A/N: I’m not sure if Christmas/Yule is a thing in Faerûn but if it wasn’t… I sure made it a thing now! Worked in some of his actual quotes for it to be even more relatable because we're all simps, lol. Also using Yule and Christmas interchangeably here because I can. Merry Christmas to you all! ♥

Words: 2197

Warnings: fluff

“Jingle Bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…” Humming to yourself, you rummaged through your bag to take a closer look at the items you had snatched on your journey today. A bag full of peanuts, perfect to still your hunger on the road, a new dagger you had taken from a corpse, for your old one was falling apart at the hilt, a letter from an Iron Fist written to Lord Enver Gortash himself, and—perhaps most importantly—a little snow globe you had found in an abandoned cottage. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing and had definitely been worth Lae’zel’s eye roll.

You were headed towards Baldur’s Gate and decided to rest in the Elfsong Tavern where Gale, Wyll, and Halsin were currently discussing the price of a room to stay in for the next couple of days. The air smelled like mulled wine and pine cones, and the tables in the tavern were decorated with tree branches, candles and sliced oranges and cinnamon sticks. The atmosphere was lovely—festive. You leaned against Astarion with your cheek against his chest, a sigh escaping your lips.

The pale elf was quite used to your—at least by his standards—unusual behaviour by now. Well… sort of. He’d expected more hostility toward him after the night he tried to bite you, that much you knew. Instead, you’d offered to help and… huh, secretly drooled all over him.

He certainly knew what he was doing and you hated that it worked. You didn’t want to turn into a giggling and blushing mess in his presence and yet… that was exactly what happened. Every. Single. Day. You tried to hide it as best as you could but at this point, you were pretty certain that he knew you were a hopeless case whenever he was near. And once you’d started sleeping with each other… you had become putty in his hands entirely, desperate for his touch even when it wasn’t sexual.

You offered him a cuddling dose daily now and you never let go until he did.

“All right, everyone. We’re settled. The owner has agreed to give us one of the suites upstairs. It has thirteen beds, its own washing area, and a fireplace. I don’t know about you but I am knackered,” Wyll announced as he cracked his bones.

“You go ahead without me. I’d like to take care of something real quick. I won’t be long,” you said, the idea thundering through your head with a start having you beam from the inside out.

Gale lifted a hand as if to raise everyone’s attention before speaking. “I hope so! I have a perfectly hearty rabbit stew planned for supper.”

It had taken the inn owner ten gold pieces and a lot of convincing to get you a Yule Tree. Was it important in midst of everything that was happening? Possibly not. Were you still humming Christmas songs yet again as you carried a small box full of ornaments and decorations up the wooden stairs to your room? Absolutely.

Gale was already cooking. They all knew the very moment you entered the room with it that the tree someone had brought up in the meantime was your doing. And now, while the others were getting ready to rest for the day, you began decorating the room as if you didn’t have a care in the world. And for just a moment, you pretended you didn’t.

You spotted Astarion glancing at you from the corners of your eye. He’d crossed his arms before his chest, looking as handsome as ever and even more so now with his hair still a little damp from getting the dust of the road off of him.

“Need something?” You smiled, noticing how he admired the pine cones dipped in molten silver and the delicious-smelling orange slices on the tree for just a second too long. The straw stars you were specifically proud of as you stood on your tiptoes and stretched to put the biggest one on the tip of the tree, completing your masterwork.

“Oh, don’t mind me… I’m just enjoying the show.”

You blinked at him, gnashing your teeth as you felt a treacherous heat creeping up your cheeks, for his gaze was by no means fixed on the tree anymore but your behind. At times it was still hard to believe this incredible elf was attracted to you of all people.

“Is this really necessary? I mean, really? You’re wasting our time and energy on decorating a tree?”

“Hey… we won’t know yet if that’s our last Christmas. I don’t mean to be pessimistic but you know just as well as I do that there is a good chance we won’t make it out of this alive. I might as well enjoy the little things until… I can’t. You never know. Besides, this is the first time in weeks we’re sleeping with a roof over our heads. We have beds and a fireplace. I would be silly not to decorate a little, especially with a recent murder right next door.”

“Well… I suppose… but don’t expect me to help you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, oh fangy one! I’m actually done and it looks absolutely amazing, if I may say so.”

Astarion scoffed—playfully so. It was then Halsin joined, admiring your tree up close with a second portion of stew in his hands.

“Well, I think it looks beautiful. There’s no better way to get into the festive spirit than with a little bit of nature in one’s home.”

You fought hard to hide the chuckle bubbling up your throat when Astarion rolled his eyes as soon as the druid turned away again.

“The man really can’t shut up about enjoying the freedom of nature’s gifts.”

You couldn’t help it. You burst out laughing. Needless to say, your companions’ shocked expressions made you cackle even more but perhaps the surprise on Astarion’s face was what brought you even more joy than the way he had mimicked Halsin.

“In the end, it won’t be the mind flayers who kill me. It’ll be you,” you choked out, wiping your eyes with the ball of your thumb. Gods, you were actually crying from laughter.

There was only one piece of decoration left in the box now—it was a dew-fresh mistletoe complete with a red ribbon. And you knew just where to put it.

With a smile, you danced over to Astarion and held the green plant above your head. The vampire spawn looked up, confused and flustered both at the same time.

“Wanna know what my favourite Yule tradition is?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” he purred.

“Whenever two souls are caught under the mistletoe, they have to kiss.”

“Do they now?”

You grinned.

“Well… in that case, we better not risk the wrath of whatever god came up with it.”

“That would be Frigg, wife of Odin and mother of Baldur who never wanted the mistletoe to be forgotten again after Loki—“ You didn’t manage to finish your sentence for in the next moment, Astarion pulled you close and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was a promise and a reward, a display of affection… and a small gesture of care warming your heart.

“How do you always do that?” you murmured against his mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to draw a deep breath. “Leave me wanting for more? Tempting me?”

“Tempting you, hmm? Well… You know what they say… the only way to cure a temptation… is to give in to it.”

A little squeak escaped your lips before you could stop yourself. You pressed your lips together to a thin line, eyes wide as your hand flew up to your mouth to cover it. But of course, Astarion had heard you. Amused, he quirked an eyebrow.

“What was that?”

“N-nothing.”

“Really? Because I think I heard quite the delectable little noise coming from your lips just now.”

“N-no. Oh gods, you have to stop this. I will melt, Astarion. I will literally melt and then you can go get a mop and wipe me up!”

Astarion laughed, surprise mixing with delight. “Oh, darling, I could go all night… as you well know,” he purred.

Another squeak. He’d caught on to it now, of course—that the reason for those inhumane sounds escaping your body was all his doing. Oh, for fuck’s sake…

“Okay, that’s it.” Arms akimbo, you narrowed your eyes at him. You were all but flustered when you grabbed the collar of his shirt with such vigour, the tiniest hint of surprise and hesitation flittered across his face before his smug smirk returned and you kissed him yet again, longer and more passionately this time.

“You really will be the death of me” you breathed against his lips. “It’s a nice way to go though, I won’t complain.” The urge to rip off his clothes there and then grew stronger with every passing second. You knew he wasn’t ready yet, despite his relentless teasing and you’d be the last person to push him but… judging by how he wrapped his arms around your waist yet again and pressed you closer to his body yet again, a heartfelt kiss was never off limits.

You sighed against his lips, the mistletoe dropping to the ground. Only the gods knew what would have happened if you had not been interrupted despite your fellow companions still in the room but alas, the door burst open with a bang so loud you both flinched.

“This… is… AWESOME!” When Karlach entered the room, she was wearing the ugliest Yule sweater you had ever seen. Tinsel and two baubles were hanging from her horn and in her hands, she held a massive candy cane and a mug of what you assumed was eggnog. “I LOVE Christmas! Oh, you got us a tree! We should go and buy presents for each other to unwrap tomorrow!”

“Karlach, please, it’s late and I’m tired,” Astarion complained.

“Fiiiine, tomorrow morning then. A kid downstairs just told me about this fat guy called Santa who climbs through the chimney and puts gifts under the tree if you leave him cookies and milk. Do we have cookies and milk? We have to get cookies and milk!”

You laughed. In that case… you certainly had a long night ahead of you before you could get a good night’s sleep.

Everyone was fast asleep by the time you got up and tiptoed across the cool floorboards on naked feet in the dark, past the crackling fire in the centre of the warm and cosy room, and toward Astarion’s bed. You could hear the wind blowing outside the tavern in the dead of night as you climbed under the covers and cuddled up to your lover who had, without a doubt, been expecting you. Astarion wrapped you in his arms, his lips grazing your bare neck ever so slightly.

“Hello, darling.”

At peace and content, you both listened to the instruments Gale enchanted to play quiet music to lull you all to sleep.

“Well, aren’t you brave, revealing your lovely neck to a vampire like that?”

You chuckled into his pillow, stretching even more.

“You know… I think we’re past the point now where I have to tell you each night that you can… I mean… if you’re hungry just… feed on me, alright?”

“R-Right.” For a moment, a both vulnerable and surprised expression washed over his handsome face—but it was gone before your memory could properly capture it, not to mention the darkness around you made that very difficult. He was so incredibly good at masking his feelings, that you longed to cuddle the shit out of him and tell him that it was all going to be okay. “Well… I’ve only just learned how wonderful it feels to have a choice and have your boundaries respected, all thanks to you. I’d actually prefer if you asked.”

So instead, you settled for wriggling yourself under the covers until he stirred.

“That’s… that’s good. That’s very good,” you whispered as you cuddled up to him even more.

“So? Can’t you sleep or are you just too excited until morning to see me again, love?”

You chuckled. “Your bed is more comfortable than mine.”

In the dark, it was hard to tell whether Astarion’s confusion was real or feigned. It was amusing nonetheless. “You will find that all the beds in this room are the same, pet.”

“No. No they aren’t. Mine doesn’t have you in it.”

“Oh… my cheeky little pup.”

Your chuckle turned into a childish giggle as a jolt of electricity rippled through you as if Gale had hit you with a lightning blast.

“You know exactly what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” you whispered.

Astarion hummed in response. “Well… yes. Though I have to admit I have never met anyone displaying their excitement as openly as you, darling.”

“I’ll make sure to never stop. Merry Christmas, Astarion.”

The vampire spawn sighed when you shuffled even closer and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

A/N: And Merry Christmas to you all as well! ♥ I had to dedicate this year's Christmas Imagine to Astarion. I fell so hard for him thanks to Neil, it's insane. I hope you'll spend some lovely days with your loved ones! ♥

#astarion #astarion imagine #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fluff #astarion ancunin #astarion ancunin imagine #astarion ancunin x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin x tav #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 imagine #neil newbon

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dear-ao3 · 4 months

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#not a tag #from saph #tbis is by no means a complete list but i love it

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1000roughdrafts · 2 months

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Just Another Day

Summary: Fluffy Dean x female!reader Valentine's Day post

Warnings: some language (like 2-3 words), light mentions of angst, but mostly fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Not betad, all mistakes are my own 😊 and bear with me, I’m a little rusty 🥰 happy love day 🥰

Valentine's Day has never really been a favorite of mine, let alone anything I'd consider more than 'just a day'. Hell, Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, even birthdays are all just 'another day' for me. It's kind of difficult not to harbor ill feelings about them after constantly being let down by the people in my life, one broken promise after another.

Dean and Sam have kept every promise they've made, though. In fact, they're managing to break down my walls bit by bit from stolen candy on Halloween to a fried chicken meal with beer on Thanksgiving all while living in cheap motels chasing monsters. When I told them this morning that I just wanted to hunt as usual for the day, I couldn't help but to feel a tad disappointed that they agreed. Bit by bit, I'm breaking my own rules about not getting my hopes up on holidays.

This is our first Valentine's Day as a couple, and I've known Dean long enough to know that chocolate and flowers aren't exactly his style. But I can count on him to bring me a piece of pie "just because" or he'll clean my weapons for me after a particularly grueling hunt because he knows all I want to do is shower and get in bed.

After a long day of exorcising demons, we are on the road again. Burnin' For You by Blue Oyster Cult plays low on the radio, but the clattering of rain on the roof has my full attention. Sam loudly rifles through the papers in his lap with one hand, flashlight held in the other, hesitant to ever let himself relax. Dean's eyes flicker between the road and the rear-view mirror to periodically check on me.

"Hey, you seem off today, you okay?" Dean asks, picking up on my vacant eyes and slight frown.

I suck in a breath, inhaling the scent of the Black Ice air freshener and a hint of stale whiskey, "yeah," I say curtly, keeping my eyes on the trees swaying in the wind as we drive past, lit only by the moon above us. The wind howls against the windows of the Impala, sneaking in and covering my skin with goosebumps.

His face scrunches a bit and he nods before the tick of the blinker signals that he's turning off the highway. I feel a twinge of discomfort knowing we're only minutes away from the motel now. As much as I hate the numbness I feel in my butt and thighs, there is something meditative about being a passenger on a long drive.

We pass an abandoned gas station before I can see the dim lights of the Wandering Inn. Dean parks us by the front desk, leaving the Impala to run with a soft purr as he gets us a key to a room. Neither Sam nor I take our time getting the bags together, so by the time Dean is back out and we find a parking spot near the room, we're ready to head in.

The door whines as Dean pushes it open, immediately palming the peeling wall for a light switch. The overhead light flickers a few times before settling on a weak glow, and before I can even shut the door behind us, the smell of burnt dust and old pledge assaults my nose. I glance around the small room. The musky yellow walls seem to make it feel even smaller, somehow.

Dean turns to me with outstretched arms and a smile, asking for my bags. I dutifully and sleepily hand them over, not realizing the weight they bared until the relief of their absence waves over me. Dean nods his head towards the bathroom, "ladies first on a shower," he says softly. His boots click on the tile as he walks over to toss our bags onto the bed, plopping down next to them to remove his boots.

In a few short strides I head over to grab my bag for the bathroom, stopping in front of him to plant a kiss on his forehead. His eyes, droopy and half-closed, look up at me in a smile. He places his hands my back, thumbs rubbing circles on my skin as he pulls me in for a kiss.

"Thanks for first shower, Dean," I say, letting my hands rest on his shoulders.

His eyebrows rise and fall before he says, "yeah, well, by the looks of it, you need it more than we do tonight."

My ear to ear smile is real, but I fake a laugh before pulling away. "Whatever," I say, but I slowly lose my smile on the way to my shower. Dean's ability to pick up on even the most subtle of changes in me are a testament to how great of a hunter he is, and even greater boyfriend. How he can't pick up on how torn I'm feeling about this wretched day I've no idea. What conflicts me further is that I know it's my responsibility to share these feelings with him. Dean may have an attention to detail I haven't seen in a partner in, well, ever, but he's not a mind reader.

The tile of the bathroom is cold under my feet, so I remove my shirt to stand on it while I wait for the water to heat up. I hear the guys shuffling and moving things in the room, keeping their voices hush, but I'm too tired to give a shit. Waving a hand under the water I decide that it's the perfect temperature and remove the rest of my clothes to get in.

I don't even realize how tense I am until the water hits my shoulders, nearly forcing me to relax under it. My body's reflexes take over and I go into autopilot as I think about today and Valentine's Day is already almost over, but we did nothing… at my request. I roll my eyes at myself, brushing my teeth while the conditioner sits in my hair. The scent of fruit and mint fill the room among the steam. When I rinse my hair, I imagine I'm rinsing the day away.

The mirror is completely fogged up by the time I get out. With slightly damp skin, and a towel wrapped around my head, I struggle to get my clothes on, and it frustrates me.

I open the door and allow the steam to pour into our room, and I'm immediately hit with a surprising smell. It's almost as if someone is roasting marshmallows in our motel room. I take a small, careful step and peek just my head out, eyes zeroing in on the lit candles on the table.

My eyes skip over to Dean who sits on the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his knees, a single flower in one hand, and a mix-tape in the other. Beneath his feet is a trail of rose petals leading to the door of the bathroom. He keeps his eyes on me, a smile peaking through his lips as he awaits my next move.

Sam's eyes and mine meet before he offers an awkward smile and shuffles a few things around on his bed. He grabs his shower bag, and I take a few steps towards Dean to allow him to enter the bathroom. Dean and I are both silent until the door closes behind Sam.

"What is all this, Dean?" I asks, astonished. Moldy motel room, or 5 star suite, never in my life has anyone laid out rose petals for me. I feel my heart racing like it's ready to burst right out of my chest.

Dean smiles, standing to hand me the flower with a kiss on my cheek. My skin is warm where his lips just were, and he reaches to take my hand, guiding me to sit on our bed.

He notices my eyes glance down at the mix tape before jumping back up to his. "I've been working on this for a few weeks now," he says, shaking the tape in his hand before handing it to me.

My hand shakes when I grab it, and I flip it to see "To my Y/N/N, Love Dean," scribbled on the front. My cheeks grow hot again, but this time with embarrassment that I'd spent the whole day thinking about myself, when here's Dean blowing expectations right out of the water.

"It's, uh, all the songs that remind me of you," he says softly, and I notice the scent of my favorite candle as the flame burns. My head spins.

"I don't know what to say, Dean," I start, and he just smiles, caressing my hand with his calloused fingers, "I mean, thank you. This is the kindest, most loving thing anyone has ever done for me," I say, tears welling in my eyes.

It's overwhelming to think a personal could love someone so much that amidst hunting Heaven, Hell and everything in between he could find the time to make this moment so special.

"Aw, sweetheart, don't cry," he says, arms wrapping around me, pulling me in for a tight hug.

"I'm not crying, Dean," I contest, but I nuzzle my face into his soft, comforting shirt, allowing my arms to wrap around his torso, and under the warmth of his jacket.

I soak in the smell of his sandalwood cologne and tighten my arms around him. Kissing his chest, I mutter another "thank you" before lifting my head to look him in the eyes. He brings his hand to either side of my face, eyes looking back and forth between mine, "you're very welcome," he says, kissing me with a tenderness that takes my breath away, and I realize that it's moments like these that I want to fill my heaven with.

~~~~

If you liked my story, I ask that you heart, comment or reblog. And/or you can add yourself to a tag list here if you wish :) Thank you for reading!! :)

PermaTags <3 @waywardblueshun @81mysteriouslyme @drakelover788 @soab1967 @shutupandfeedmethings @pollywantacracker666 @sonnierae26 @obsessed5sosfreak @tlovescoffee @noodledoodlebug @hobby27 @cluz1babe @emptycanvasposts @suckmyapplejacks @sigrunsavestheday @flamencodiva

Dean @akshi8278 @squirrelnotsam @laxe-from-outer-space @ellewritesfix05 @cluz1babe @lyarr24 @mrspeacem1nusone @idksupernaturl @fandom-princess-forevermore @stoneyggirl

#dean x reader fluff #supernatural fan fiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader valentine's day #dean winchester x y/n #fluff #spn #supernatural dean #queued #supernatural fandom #dean winchester fluff #supernatural fic #supernatural fan fic #dean winchester #supernatural #fanfic

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aemondsbabe · 4 months

Text

A Promise is a Promise

summary: promises & phone sex || tom's trying his best to make it home to you by christmas, but a snowstorm derails his plans

pairing: tom bennett x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, phone sex, dirty talk, fingering, masturbation, breast/nipple play, very slight angst but happy ending, probably not historically accurate bite me, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

a/n: happy day eleven of 12 days of smuff and happy christmas eve to everyone who celebrates!! hope y'all enjoy this one! Can be read as a part 2 to Homecoming or as a stand alone!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @rxyl

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

Your breath fogs up the window as you look outside one last time, sighing heavily as you watch puffy snowflakes rain down from the sky, scattering through the pale yellow shafts of light from the street lamps. You peer up and down the quiet street, frowning at the sight of all the twinkling lights and festive candles that decorated so many of the townhouses, feeling decidedly un-cheery this year.

Deciding that it wasn’t worth it to torture yourself further, you pad up the stairs to your bedroom, trying to ignore the soft glow from the Christmas tree in the front room. Your footsteps sound much louder than normal in the quiet house since your parents were out for the evening, attending some holiday party at a friend's house, one that you were in much too foul of a mood to even consider attending.

You’ve hardly had the chance to change your clothes before the phone in your room starts ringing loudly, making you jump. Sitting on your bed, you roll your eyes as you reach for it, expecting it to be your parents or some friend, calling half drunk from a party no doubt.

“Hello?” You sigh, pressing the phone to your ear as you stare disdainfully out the window, watching more and more of the traitorous snow fall from the dark sky.

“Well, try not to sound too excited.” A familiar voice chuckles, instantly making you perk up.

“Tom?!” Your eyes widen as you press the phone harder against your ear, “Where are you? Are you okay? I thought you said you’d be home this afternoon!”

You can hear him laugh on the other end of the line at your rushed questions. “Relax, love, I’m fine,” he sighs, you can hear springs squeak softly in the background, like he’d sat down on a bed, “The train’s just got delayed, ice on the rails or some fucking nonsense, and with the damn snowstorm, well…” He sighs heavily.

“Delayed for how long?” You ask, crestfallen.

“Dunno, the man at the station said maybe a day, maybe two,” you can practically hear his frustrated sneer, “What with it being Christmas eve, everything’s just a damn wreck, apparently.”

“Oh…” You try not to sound too heartbroken, not wanting him to feel worse, “Well, did you find somewhere to stay in the meantime? I hate the idea of you sitting at the station.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “Some shoddy little inn. The train had to stop at some farming town in the middle of God knows where, but a bed’s a bed, I suppose.” You can hear two thuds in the background, no doubt him tossing his boots off somewhere carelessly.

“I’m glad you’re somewhere safe, Tommy,” you smile sadly, idly fidgeting with the bottom of your night shirt, well, really his nightshirt, “I wish you were with me, though.” You whisper, trying to ignore the sad little squeeze your heart gave.

“Wish I was too, love.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, happy to simply listen to each other breathe after so many months apart. You really are trying not to let it get to you too much, but he only got so many days of leave from the RN and once he got shipped back out… you dare not think about it too deeply.

There’s some rustling on the other end of the line and you furrow your brows as you listen, hoping the storm isn’t interfering with the phone lines too.

“Tom?”

“‘M here,” he reassures you, springs creaking again as he settles back on the hotel bed, “Was just taking off my shirt.” He cooed, making you roll your eyes as you picture his playful smirk, your cheeks flushing as you imagined that cheeky little head bop that followed most of his lewd comments.

“Now there’s a sight I’d like to see.” You hum, reclining back against the many pillows on your bed with a small smirk.

“Bet you’d be falling all over yourself for it,” he laughs, propping up a knee, “It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long without it.”

“Without what?”

“My cock.” He answers, voice confident and cocky.

“Tommy!” You squeak, giggling despite yourself, which makes him chuckle on the other end, “And here I was hoping months away would turn you into a romantic!”

“Fat chance, love.” He laughs heartily, smiling genuinely for the first time in months.

Again, a comfortable silence washes over the two of you, each of you clinging to the phone like it was truly a lifeline, feeling closer than you have in months although you’re God knows how many kilometers apart.

He sighs again, though this one makes you smile. It’s a familiar sigh, one he only does before he says something he knows will get a rise out of you.

“What’re you wearing?” You can hear his smirk, you can practically feel it on you as he speaks, his voice already low and raspy.

You can’t help the tittering little giggle you let out, biting your lip as your cheeks flush further. “Erm, just your button down, actually,” you say, shy all of a sudden as you squirm atop your covers, “The one you wore in secondary some days… oh, and knickers.”

“And knickers,” he murmurs, quiet for a moment before continuing, “My girl in my shirt n’ I’m not there to see it. A real shame.”

“Yeah…” you whisper, fidgeting with the small buttons lining the front.

“D’you have my shirt buttoned, love?”

“Yes?”

“You think you could unbutton it for me?”

The way he asks for it has your heart racing, excitement building steadily within you as you rub your thighs together, already seeking something to lessen the tension within you. Almost automatically, your hands reach for the buttons as you cradle the phone on your shoulder, holding it in place with your cheek.

“Yes, Tommy.”

“That’s a good girl, love.” He praises, chuckling lowly as a small, delicate whimper just barely makes it through the phone lines.

You scramble, all but ripping the shirt in two until finally the fabric falls away. You’re already breathing heavier, chest heaving enough to have the shirt slip off your chest instantly; your nipples harden quickly in the cool air of your bedroom, the small radiator only doing so much to heat the space.

“It’s unbuttoned.” You breathe, squeezing your eyes shut as you desperately try to envision him doing the same.

“God, I wish I was there,” he sighs and your ears perk up when you hear a soft tinkling in the background, cheeks heating up at the thought of him slowly taking off his belt, “I miss those perfect fucking tits, lovely girl. Got off thinking about them every night.”

“Yeah?” You ask breathily, your fingers skimming softly over your stomach, coming to rest in the valley between your breasts.

“Mhm,” he murmurs, already breathing hotly into the phone, “Pinch them for me, pretty girl, yeah? Like I would.”

You gasp and quickly do as he requests, not being able to hold off any longer yourself. You whimper into the receiver as you tweak your nipples, your eyes roll back in your head at the thrill that shoots down your spine and settles right between your legs.

“Fuck, good girl.” He praises again, sounding like he’s speaking through clenched teeth.

“What’re you wearing?” You ask breathily, lightly tugging at your stiff nipples still as you rub your thighs together, your center already aching, “What’re you doing?”

“‘M rubbing my cock through my boxers,” he sighs heavily, “S’all I’ve got on.”

The thought makes you whimper again, imagining him cupping his already twitching length through the thin fabric of his underwear. Your mouth waters as you picture a wet patch near the tip, his cock leaking at the thought of you.

“Tommy,” you sigh as your back arches into your own touch, “Can I?”

Your meek question makes him chuckle. “Can you do what, love? You’ll need to be specific.”

You whine this time, biting your lip as your cheeks flush. “C-Can I…” you start, still feeling so impossibly shy around him sometimes, “Can I touch myself?”

“Thought you were already touching your tits?”

“Tommy!”

“C’mon, pretty,” he laughs, licking his lips as he imagines how cute you must look, cheeks all blushed with embarrassment, “Y’know what I wanna hear.”

“Can I touch my cunt?” You murmur, voice high-pitched and breathy.

“Fuck,” he breathes, head lolling back against his pillow, “Yeah, y’can, love, lemme hear you.”

Mindlessly, your hand drifts down. You don’t even bother to take off your panties, too impatient to go to the trouble as you shove your hand inside. A moan is punched out of you at the first touch, your core already throbbing as you glide your fingers through your slick folds. Tom groans along with you as your fingers finally begin swirling around your clit, your thighs spreading further.

“What, shit,” you sigh, a shudder rippling up your spine, “What’re you doing now?”

“Got my cock out,” he rasps, his voice catching, “Thinking about you while I fuck my hand, God, I wish it was your tight cunt, pretty girl.”

You whine again, back arching once more as your fingers skim over your clit before dipping down to gather more slick from your dripping entrance. You all but see stars when you rub yourself again, core clenching around nothing.

“Wish you were here…” You murmur, breath catching as you move your hand a little quicker.

“Yeah?” He asks in a low voice, “What would you want me to do?”

“Fuck me,” you whine, wiggling your hips impatiently, like he was just at the end of the bed teasing you instead of lost somewhere in the countryside, “Want you to fuck me, Tommy.”

He groans, louder than he probably should in a small inn. Your face flushes when you hear him spit, imaging his cock glistening as he uses it to stroke himself.

“Christ, I miss that pretty cunt,” he mutters, breath catching, probably speeding up in time with you, “Get a finger in there, love, fuck yourself like I would.”

Obediently, you do as he says, rutting against your own hand as you unceremoniously push two fingers into yourself, marveling at how tightly your walls already clench around them.

“Fuck, Tommy!” You squeak, clit tingling every time your palm smacks against it as you fuck youself.

“God, that’s it,” he groans, “Keep going, fuck, ‘m not gonna last.” He warns, knowing it’s been too long since he’d last had any privacy.

“‘M not going to either,” you assure him, shaking your head to your empty room as if he could see you, “Feels too good, oh!” You gasp, your whole body tensing up as you crook your fingers up, expertly locating that sensitive spot within you.

The two of you pleasure yourselves together for another few moments, heavy breaths and moans passing between the phones. Finally, Tom groans lowly again and swears through gritted teeth.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he pants, the slick sound of his hand streaking over his cock in the background nearly makes you unravel, “Cum with me, pretty girl, please.”

The whiny way he says please is your undoing and you finally break, calling out his name breathily as you arch against your sheets. Slick sounds fill your bedroom as you peak, breathless at the way your core clenches rhythmically over your fingers.

Tom isn’t far behind you, his rough groans only adding to your pleasure. You whimper when he hisses out your name as he finishes, envisioning the way he paints his lower stomach with spend, cock twitching against his palm.

You breathe heavily for a moment as you both come down before you dissolve into giggles, your sour mood from earlier almost completely gone.

“Fucked you dumb n’ I’m not even there,” Tom gloats, sighing as he wipes away his cum with his boxers, too tired to get up and clean himself off properly, “You’re gonna make me blush, love.”

“Tommy!” You groan playfully, admonishing him through a giggle, “You’re horrible.”

“You love it.” He laughs tiredly, yawning quietly.

“Tired?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, the bed squeaking again as he makes himself comfortable, “Sorry love, s’been a long day.”

“I would imagine so,” you smile sadly still, twirling the phone cord around a finger, “I’ll let you sleep.”

“I’ll get to you tomorrow,” he promises, his voice heavy with sleep, “I swear, told you I’d be back for Christmas.”

“Tommy…” You sigh, glancing out the window to see snow still pouring from the sky.

“I mean it,” he murmurs tiredly, “A promise is a promise.”

You wake with a start, jerking up in bed as you look around blearily, unsure of what woke you. Your eyes narrow as you glance at the clock on your bedside table, too early still for even your alarm to be going off.

You jump as you hear a knock from downstairs, someone pounding at the door. Rolling your eyes, you slip on a robe before making your way downstairs.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” You sigh, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you reach for the doorknob, tugging it open with a frown.

“Wha–” You stop in your tracks, gasping loudly.

“Y’gonna let me in or are you gonna leave me out here to freeze my bollocks off?” Tom asks with a grin, laughing when you practically leap into his arms and pull him into a suffocating hug.

“Tommy!” You gasp, clinging to him, “How did you, when did you?” You stutter, a million questions running through your mind. Finally, you pull back just enough to look at him, nearly crying as you at last look into his familiar blue eyes, “How?” You breathe.

“A very nice famer with a truck,” he laughs, holding you tightly to him, “Told ya I’d get home to you by Christmas.”

Not being able to hold off anymore, you press your lips against his, feeling warm despite the cold.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses @schniiipsel @avidreader73 @marvelescvpe @imawhorecrux @grsveeth0m

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x you #tom bennett smut #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #world on fire fanfiction #world on fire fanfic #world on fire smut #wof #wof fanfiction #wof fanfic #wof smut #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #my writing #12 days of smuff

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ineffabildaddy · 5 months

Text

ineffabildaddy fic masterlist

all my fics are aziraphale/crowley💙

you can read @bowtiepastabitch's analysis on some of the ways i explore queerness in my fics, with an excellent addition by @lalalunamoth, here!

i'm humbled to say that a few of my works have been recced by @fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic - you can read those posts here!

COMPLETED FICS

you're a mirror i cannot avoid (E, 1k) - south downs domestic, erotic softness as aziraphale reassesses what it means to be himself🪞 Tumblr | AO3

take me as your wife (E, 1.9k) - a chance romantic meeting between crowley and aziraphale in a country inn in the 1750s🍷

in your own time (E, 33k) - human priest au set in tadfield, in which crowley and aziraphale are childhood best friends finally reunited. catholic school, apple trees, hogback wood, holy sex, and more⛪️

Just Up The Stairs (E, 39k) - cowrite with @foolishlovers, art my @omens-for-ophelia! quiet, gentle and romantic neighbours human au featuring lots of music and harry the rabbit🐇

close (well, you couldn't get much closer) (E, 1.4k) - post-ineffable divorce shenanigans featuring crowley using a replica model of aziraphale's penis, through which aziraphale can feel... well, everything❗️

I'm Beginning to See the Light (E, 22k) - gentle enemies to ardently lovers office christmas party human au which quickly devolves into body worship and gender-affirming sex - transmasc az, service top crowley🎄⚧

Despite Knowing Better... (E, 10.9k) - aziraphale and fem!crowley deal with the ineffable divorce by meeting in the bookshop once a week to fuck, while attempting to hold each other at arm's length. things get messy in the process...💔

Strawberry Scripture (E, 6.5k) - pwp oneshot. aziraphale and fem!crowley celebrate averting the apocalypse by playing with food, and with crowley's scales...🍰🐍

ONGOING FICS

crosseyed and painless (E, 2.9k) - dom!az and fem!crowley pwp in which crowley has asked aziraphale to help her relax after a long day, and the results are not at all what she expects💦

Many Different Ways to Eat an Oyster (E, 6.5k) - aziraphale and crowley meet in ancient rome, where crowley admits that he's a virgin. aziraphale sets about putting this to rights immediately🦪

FICLETS, POEMS ETC.

core of a clementine (E, 0,5k) - touch-starved crowley explores the sweet torture of aziraphale's seemingly innocent, mundane actions🍊 Tumblr | AO3

you're so golden (E, 0.9k) - while coupling under cover of night in the garden of eden, crowley discovers that aziraphale has golden-stretch marks. and they aren't the only part of him that's golden...✨ Tumblr | AO3

Only in Dreams (E, 0.5k) - post-season 2 aziraphale pov musings, as he hopes to visit his lover in dreams, if not in the waking world🌫 Tumblr | AO3

Blasphemy (E, 0,4k) - crowley muses about holiness, blasphemy, and how they interact with sex with aziraphale✝️ Tumblr | AO3

Do You Remember? (E, 0.8k) - aziraphale reflects on his first time with crowley - a time in which "they aren't talking" post-season 2💘

Flecks of Stardust (G, 0,2k) - a love poem from aziraphale to crowley🖋 Tumblr | AO3

I Know (E, 0.7k) - crowley reckons he knows exactly how aziraphale wants him... 🌅 Tumblr | AO3

Solitude (G, 0,4k) - supreme archangel aziraphale reminisces on his encounters with crowley through the ages ⌛️ Tumblr | AO3

Please Touch Me (E, 0,5k) - touch-starved crowley reflects on the kind of connection he wants with aziraphale 💭 Tumblr | AO3

#good omens #fanfic #ineffabildaddy #pinned

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todayontumblr · 1 year

Text

Tuesday, May 16.

it's nearly 3am, for pete's sake. let that cat in!

what's the matter with you, man. let that cat in this instant!

listen, and listen well, dammit, because I won't ask twice. that itty-bitty puss has been purring, meowing, and hissing for hours now, and, though it may be the winter outside, and it is christmas, this isn't your classic december 24th scenario. there is room at this inn, and we're going to let him inside, out of the cold, as if it it were the baby jesus himself. because, in many ways, he is—and apparently there's a northern star above our house.

you've got work tomorrow, I've got work tomorrow. and you can bet your ass that all the while that little critter is out there hollering all alone, meowin into the festive abyss, with nothing for company but a christmas tree, decorative lights, and wide-angle lens, we are not going to get a moment's shut-eye. and that's not good news for you, because I know for a fact you've got your end-of-fourth quarterly all-synergy christmas review at the office tomorrow, and I know your job's on the line. you think the board are gonna be happy when you drag yourself into the office with bags around your eyes, your tie on backwards, and cups of starbucks holiday blend in each hand? it may be the season of goodwill, but that don't count for much in your line of Business—even lonesome mr. whiskers could tell you that.

speaking of, you hear that? give it some time and that one little whine is gonna attract all the other december strays. before you know it, we'll have a gregorian chant of kitty kats decorating our front lawn, and freestyling their own carols with not a care for tune or harmony. who knows—one of them may have a little catnip on their person. and then we are really in trouble.

if reason does not persuade you, then surely you are moved by the plight of this destitute animal? listen to his lonesome cries ringing out into the depths of the night, and pinky swear me that your eyes are dry at the intensity of his despair? because I do not consider it possible for anyone of reasonable mind to withstand, in spirit, that animal's pain as expressed through this his wretched song. this may be the season of merriment and jollity, but these are distant lands to the furry friend who currently finds himself lost, adrift, and alone at our most decorative doorstep.

if you are still cold-hearted to his plight, then consider this: he was brought to our door by its luminous, festive character. this cat has seen the tree, and fairy lights wrapped in an embrace around the columns, and understood its greater significance. this cat has come to understand this as a home of compassion, charity, light, and warmth during these darkest days of the year. if we ignore the sound of his cries, we are not merely heartless, but hypocrites to the decoration that adorns our front porch.

the choice is yours. it is almost 2:30 AM. the cat remains alone, waiting, wailing into night.

what are you going to do?

#today on tumblr #cat #2:30am #christmas spirit #cold #dark #alone #cat in the night #the choice #is yours

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rainbow-nerdss · 4 months

Text

🎅❄️give it to someone special❄️🎅

Buck/Eddie 9-1-1

12k, rated M

No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Christmas Fluff, Based on Hallmark Christmas Movies, Canon Divergence/Alternate first meeting.

Based on this post

Summary:

“Let me guess, I should see the other guy?” This earned him a long, extended sigh in response. Buck didn’t say anything, giving the guy a chance to say more if he wanted to. The silence stretched, interrupted only by a muffled announcement for another flight. “The other guy… He’s spending Christmas with my girlfriend. Big, lumberjack type—I barely got a swing in before he decked me, and she ran to patch him up.” Buck winced. “Guess there’s something in the air, then. I went to visit my girlfriend at a market she was working at, and found her with the guy who runs the inn and the gingerbread stand.” “Jesus. Mine was a Christmas tree farmer in her hometown, but… Yeah. I’m Eddie, by the way.” Or: Buck and Eddie meet at the airport after their respective girlfriends live their Hallmark movie dreams and dump them right before Christmas.

Read it on AO3

#my fic #buddie #buddie fic #Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #buck/eddie #buddie fanfic

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kydrogendragon · 4 months

Text

Dec 13 - Evergreen Trees

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

"How's this one?" Hob asks, pointing to the Douglas Fir that rests on the wood fence to their left. Morpheus looks it over, threading his fingers through the fine, stiff needles. It was just taller than himself, but much thicker than his own figure. The tree looked almost round it its bushiness. He is almost certain it would not fit in the living room.

"Much too wide," he says, walking a few steps down, inspecting each tree as he went.

Hob had insisted that for Morpheus's first Christmas as a human, they had to get a real live tree for their flat. Apparently the notion of setting up a fake one on such a special occasion was absolutely appalling. So here they were, in a section of a parking lot that has been converted into a pop-up shop for Christmas trees.

It smelled fantastic. The fresh pine and sap filled the air, twisting and tangling with the crisp winter air and the wafts of coffee and hot chocolate from the small drive-up coffee shop across the lot. He was bundled up in Hob's too large jacket (he has his own, but Hob's is comfier). A soft beanie was pulled down over his ears, and the fluffy scarf was tucked all around his face, the ends secured inside his jacket. His gloved hands held onto the paper cup of peppermint hot coca they had got before driving over here.

"This one, perhaps." Morpheus said, pondering the tree in front of him. It was of good height, and the branches looked strong and healthy. He had been uncertain of what made for a proper tree but recalled the many dreams of what people believed they looked like. Hob told him to look for sturdy branches to hold the various decorations and baubles he had. Stretching his hand out, he pressed down on a few of the branches and nodded. They seemed sturdy.

"That one looks good!" Hob says, reaching over and grabbing the trunk of the tree. Morpheus watches as Hob's shoulders and biceps tighten under the thinner jacket he wore. The tree rises to a straight up position. Hob made it look as light as a feather. He suddenly felt hotter than he had just moments ago.

Curious.

Hob twists his wrist, pivoting the tree for Morpheus's inspection. There was a large gap on the side that had been lying down. It was much too open.

"No, not this one." He says, turning around to look at the trees on the other side of the aisle. Most of these were too tall to fit inside the flat, but some at the end looked promising.

Hob, without prompting, proceeds to lift one of them up as he had the other tree. He sets it down with a grunt that goes straight to Morpheus's core. He takes a sip of his cocoa. It does nothing to settle the slow rolls of desire that are finding root in his body.

"Perhaps," he says, looking over the tree. No bare patches on this one, however, has he presses down on the branches, there is hardly any resistance. They are much too weak. "Mm. No, they will not be strong enough.“ Hob shrugs and sets the tree back against the fence. He shakes his hands out and sets them on his hips. Morpheus struggles to not watch each movement.

“Yeah, picking out live trees are hard. I remember I made the mistake of going with Allison to try and find a tree for the Inn.” Hob laughs. “Think we tried at least three tree lots before one met her standards. So don’t feel like you have to pick one here. There’s many other trees we can take a look at.”

Morpheus is tempted to travel to every tree lot Hob knows if it means he gets to watch his six centuries of strength at work. He will not, though, for he knows Hob’s joints would begin to ache. Hob would continue on, for him. This, Morpheus knows for a fact. Hob would gladly push his body if it meant he was happy. This thought does nothing to quell the flames.

Morpheus takes a breath. He will find a tree here. He will, however, “consider” more trees than he normally might, first.

Hob reaches over and turns around the next tree. It is taller than either of them. It would most likely graze the ceiling, if not try to push through it. It is also, clearly, heavier, as Morpheus tracks the slight strain of tendon and muscle in Hob’s shoulders and neck as he heaves it upright.

“How about this one? Branches look decently spaced.” Morpheus steps closer, perhaps a bit closer to Hob’s side than strictly needed, and trails a hand down the length of the evergreen tree.

“Do you think it would fit?”

Hob hums, looking it up and down. “Yeah, probably not, huh? Would be close. But once you put it in the tree stand, it’d be easily half a meter too tall.” With a sigh, he leans the tree back and dusts his hands off. Morpheus watches as he rubs against the sap that coats his fingers. Hob’s tan hands are red with cold. Before he thinks, Morpheus is reaching out and cradling his hands between his free hand and his chest.

Hob blinks, looking up at Morpheus with a shocked expression that soon melts into a smile. “Thanks, duck.” He says with a chuckle in his voice. “Should have grabbed a pair of gloves.”

“You ensured that I had them, yet did not think to do so for yourself.” Morpheus arched a brow.

Hob’s already rosy cheeks turned redder as he stepped closer into Morpheus’s space. “Yeah, well, I never claimed to be a smart man. Just means I’ll have to steal your warmth here and there.” Morpheus looks down at their hands and tries not too think too hard about the heat and weight of Hob’s hand against his chest, just above his heart.

They stay there for a few moments, luxuriating in each other’s presence and warmth before Hob pulls away and jerks his thumb to the next row over. “Well, shall we see if our tree is over on that side?”

They look at nearly every tree in the lot. Morpheus doesn’t stop Hob from maneuvering each tree for his inspection. At one point, Hob jokes that they should take the three meter tall tree home and Morpheus does his best not to do something foolish when he watches his friend pull it forward with ease. Morpheus is actually salivating at the sight. Wants and desires, he decides, are much stronger as a human than he anticipated. He has the brief thought that his sibling is “turning it up” as they say, just to mess with him. He’d have to ask Death about it next he saw her. Surely, this isn’t how humans always feel? How could they function with such distractions?

Finally, after going back down some of the earlier rows, they decided on a tree. It was just a tad taller than they were. Hob reasoned that it should have enough room on top for a star, even with the base attached, so they were all set there. Morpheus approved of the spacing on the branches and the strength of them. It was as close to perfect as they had found.

“Alright! First Christmas tree picked out! Good choice,” Hob says, shooting Morpheus a warm smile. He nods in response, not trusting his words as he watches Hob bend down to grab the tree closer to the base. With a grunt, he heaves the heavy thing up and leans it over his shoulder. His face is nearly buried in branches and needles and laughs as his hat is pushed off of his head in the process. “Mind grabbing that for me, duck?”

Morpheus reaches down and holds the hat in his hands as Hob begins the walk over to the salesman. When he bends, he stares directly as the curse of his arse and finds himself not even feeling guilty for it. Not when he is certain he has dived head-first into his siblings realm.

He should not feel this way. He should not be staring at his friend in such manners. And yet.

And yet...

Hob passes over a small stack of bills to the salesman after the base of the tree is trimmed and the branches near the base are removed, leaving a healthy looking trunk. With a shake of the hand, Hob bids the man good night and squats, once again, to lift the tree. It takes far longer than Morpheus wishes to admit to raise his gaze.

“All bought and paid for. You, my dear friend, are now the proud owner of a live Christmas Tree.” Hob says, giving the branches a pat. “There should be straps in the back seat. Can you grab them for me while I get this on the roof?”

Morpheus nods and follows Hob back to their car. He sets his hot chocolate, nearly empty now, in the cup holder before snatching the handful of straps from the back. He closes the door and looks up just as Hob thrusts the heavy tree up and over, resting on the edge of the car roof. His sleeves are pulled back, showing the strain and strength of the muscles underneath. Hob huffs with exertion.

This is how he dies. Morpheus has lived barely three months as a human and he will die, here, in the Tesco parking lot, consumed with lust for his dearest friend. The universe is cold and cruel.

“Alright, hand me a strap, love?” Hob asks, reaching out one hand to Morpheus, the other pushing against the tree, holding it steady.

He’s proud that his hand does not shake (not noticeably) when he passes the thick fabric strap over to Hob. He watches as Hob’s cold, but still dexterous hands maneuver the straps between the rails on the roof of their car. He hauls himself up higher, feet on the tire to get extra height, as he tossed the straps over the tree to the other side. Morpheus watches, almost entranced, as he repeats this motion at the center of the tree and once again at the top.

Hob’s jean clad arse is right in his face as he’s balanced on the front passenger side tire. The strap is caught in the branches, from what he vaguely hears from Hob’s muttering.

His arse. Right there. Morpheus is close enough he could reach his hand out and touch it and his elbow would still be bent. He takes a sharp breath of the cold winter air in as he attempts to have some semblance of self-control. He will not grope his friend’s arse. He is better than that.

Hob must stretch his arms up higher because his jacket and shirt ride up along his back. A strip of soft, tan skin appears in Morpheus’s vision and a noise he didn’t know he was capable of making escapes him. He must have been loud enough because the strip of skin vanishes, as does the view of Hob’s behind. Morpheus looks up to see Hob turned and looking down at him, questioningly.

“You okay? I didn’t wack you with the end of the strap, did I?” Hob asks, oblivious to the internal conflict occurring inside of Morpheus. He clears his throat and steps back, putting space between he and Hob.

“I am fine,” he says, patting himself on the back for not squeaking as he spoke. “Just… cold.”

Hob hums and reaches into his jacket pocket. He holds out the car keys. “Here, you can start the car if you want. Get warm. Don’t need to wait for me out here. Should be done soon.”

That is the last thing Morpheus wants to do.

He takes the keys and gets into the driver’s seat. He turns the car on, as Hob has shown him how to, and kicks the heater up to high, sighing as the air turns warm and washes over his skin. Of the struggles of becoming human, whatever this was, was not one he had anticipated. Perhaps he’s skip over talking with Death and go straight to demanding answers from Desire. This had to be their doing.

Morpheus sits in the car, listening to the bumps and shuffling of Hob securing the tree down. He finishes the last of this hot cocoa in the meantime, hoping it would distract him enough to face his friend once he returned.

It did not.

Hob was done shortly after. The cocoa was finished, which left him nothing to do during the drive home. He sat, hands on his knees, gripping the fabric of his pants tight. Hob had shucked his jacket off before they left. His hair was damp with sweat and it clung to the sides of his reddened face. The short shirt sleeves did nothing to help Morpheus’s situation as he found his eyes flitting back to the fine lines of muscle that flexed and tightened with each turn of the steering wheel. He had worked up a sweat during their outing as well and his natural scent was beginning to flood Morpheus’s nose.

It was heaven.

It was agony.

“You alright, Morpheus? You look a bit warm. Not catching a chill, are you?” Hob asked, his eyes glancing over to Morpheus as he drove. He took a breath before answering.

“I am fine, Hob. Just cold.”

Hob makes an understanding noise as he turns them down the street towards The New Inn.

“Take a nice hot shower when we get home, yeah? Might help chase away the cold.”

Daydreams of Hob, basking in the warm rain of the shower, droplets falling over his skin, tracing over the lines of his muscles fills his mind’s eye.

“Yes,” he muses, turning his head to the cool glass of the passenger side window. “A shower sounds perfect.”

Hob finishes hauling the tree up the stairs when Morpheus excuses himself to the bathroom. He must really have been cold out there. Hob makes a mental note to go to the store for better winter gear for him. He is still rail thin. There’s just not enough fat on his bones to keep him well insulated yet.

He works on getting the tree set into the base, trimming a few extra branches, fluffing the upper branches out, while Morpheus gets warm. It takes a while, but soon, the tree is all set. It’s in position, trimmed, and watered. Just needs to be decorated.

He lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead when he hears that same noise Morpheus made earlier. Not quite a squeak, but like his throat spasmed when he was trying to clear it, or something. Hob looks up at his friend who is now dressed in his usual black lounge wear set. His face is concernedly red, though. He’d need to check the water heater. It must be running hotter than he though.

Hob was trying to kill him. Of this, Morpheus was certain.

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman #ky writes #december writing list #kydrogen's december drabbles 2023

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gabessquishytum · 4 months

Note

I think not enough people have come to talk to you about chubby Hob. So I am here to push the chubby!Hob agenda!!

Human au maybe, where Hob has a long and storied past. He was homeless for a bit, he was food insecure for longer. And now that he's settled and secure in a decent flat with a good job (maybe this is an au where he's the chef at the New Inn?) He has to keep his pantry full. And he always cleans his plate. No leftovers in this house. He was intense about it for a while and it was maybe hoarding and binging, but he's got it mostly under control now. He just likes to know he won't go hungry. The side effect of this is he's put on some weight. He's got a belly, his thighs and arms are thick. He's honestly pretty happy with it, since it's more proof he isn't starving anymore.

Enter Dream. Dream is depressed and introverted at the best of times. But he's just gotten out of an abusive workplace that had him so anxious he wasn't eating and hes... kind of forgotten food can be enjoyable. Death takes him to the New Inn to get him out more, to coax him into trying something new. Dream orders the safest sounding thing on the menu. Something simple. And when it comes out it smells amazing, and when Dream picks off the tiniest bite to try it, it's incredible. He's ruined for this dish from anywhere else. Death watches him eat an entire plate of food for the first time in months and insists the chef come out so they can thank him personally.

And Hob and Dream lock eyes and sparks fly. Dream comes back and orders the same dish every day for lunch for 2 weeks until one day Hob sends out the usual and an extra side. The waiter hands him a napkin from Hob to go with the side that has "trust me" written on it in sharpie. And that's how Dream starts trying more things on the menu. Until one day Dream asks the waiter what dish he's been given to try today and the waiter says it isn't on the menu. They'll go ask Hob about it. Hob comes out and says it's an exclusive that Dream will only see again if he let's Hob take him on a date and cook him dinner personally.

🍰🐲

I see the words Chubby Hob, I light up like a christmas tree.

I love the idea of Hob being the new inn's chef, that feels so perfect! I bet he would find a lot of comfort in having this kitchen which is just as well stocked as his own kitchen upstairs, full of ingredients, and he can cook all day and make himself snacks and little meals during the quiet spots in the day, and also snacks for all the staff members. It soothes the part of his brain that is still cold and scared. And he doesn't mind that he'll always have a bit of a thing about food, because he's safe now. He can eat nice things and buy new jeans when he needs a size up. It's all good.

And when he sees Dream, he implicitly wants to make everything ok for him. And make food for him. Hot pies, lasagna, fish and chips. He just wants Dream to feel warm and safe, like Hob does now! It's not like he can fix everything, but maybe he can give Dream a little bit of hope?

Ultimately it doesn't take much to convince Dream to shyly head up the stairs to Hob’s flat, and sit at the kitchen table in the warm lamplight while Hob cooks dinner for them both. Hob even baked biscuits for Dream to nibble while he waits. Maybe while he's exploring the flat Dream finds a few pictures of a hollow cheeked, painfully thin looking Hob, and everything starts to make sense.

They have a little cuddle on the sofa after dinner, and Dream gets to curl up against Hob’s warm soft belly. He feels very safe there, with Hob’s arms wrapped around him. He likes the way Hob is padded and squishy with no hard edges, and Dream can just sink into him. Neither of them are really thinking about sex but much later, Dream will definitely fantasise about grabbing that soft belly, maybe rutting against it, maybe biting it.....

And maybe he'll get a little healthy meat on his bones too. Dream definitely wouldn't be mad about it if the results of all Hob’s good food start to show on his body. In fact, he might be a bit proud.

#🍰🐲 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw food #cw food issues #cw weight

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luminousbeings-crudematter · 3 months

Text

land softly

Summary: Ghost & Soap are snowed in at a bed & breakfast. Fleabag voice: This is a love story. Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Part 2 - Johnny performs a chore

When Johnny opens his eyes in the morning, he checks the time (0600), whips his head towards the bay window for a quick inspection (pure, blinding, snow white), and then groans. The weather app on his phone confirms what he’d suspected: there’s no way he’s making it to Glasgow—he’s not even making it out of Yorkshire.

But he does need to figure out his situation at the inn, and groans aloud at the idea of convincing the grumpy innkeeper to let him stay another night. Two, if the horrid weather persists.

His unasked question is answered when he ambles his way down to the kitchen at 0700, freshly showered, and the masked fella’s already there cooking streaky bacon. The table’s been set for two and the smell of fresh coffee entices Johnny to take (what he thinks) are sneaky steps, but he gets caught out anyway.

“Morning,” the grump mutters, and Johnny carefully returns the greeting. “Can’t leave in this weather, can ya, mate?”

“Uh…”

“It’s fine,” the man mutters. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere either, looks like.” He turns around and motions to the empty chair. “Sit. Eat,” he orders, brusquely, and sets a full English in front of Johnny.

Johnny can’t help but wonder about the abrupt 180 in the giant’s mood from the previous evening, but he lets it go, considering he’s being fed a mighty big breakfast. He’s shovelling eggs into his mouth with all the gentle decorum of a mountain bear pre-hibernation, when the giant takes the seat opposite him and stares. No food in front of him, no coffee.

Johnny squirms from the unblinking attention, on edge from the dark mask that hid his lower face—a mask adorned with the bottom half of a skull. Eerie and fucking weird, but who was Johnny to judge.

In his line of work—ex line of work, he corrects himself bitterly—he’d seen much worse.

“You dinnae have to do all this, ah appreciate it! Ye must have family tae go visit for Christmas and I’m holdin’ you up here, ah’m so sorry—”

“No family, s’ fine.”

Johnny’s eyes slide carefully to the ring on his left hand and back to his face, only to flush when he’s clearly been caught looking. “Ah, ah’m sorry, I just saw the ring and thought ye were married, sorry, that’s—”

“I was.”

“But the ring—” Johnny blurts, before he can help himself.

“Ring stays. Name’s Ghost,” the man says without missing a beat.

“Yer name is Ghost? Did your mam hate ye?”

“Dunno. She’s dead. Eat.”

Johnny nods absent-mindedly, and picks up his forgotten cutlery, sneaking glances at the—at Ghost.

His attention remains unwaveringly on Johnny, though, and he stares intensely at Johnny through the whole thing.

“I work ‘ere,” Ghost continues, as if the conversation had never stalled. “Maintenance ‘n that.”

“Okay…”

“The kitchen’s stocked, if y’need to eat. Help yourself anytime. There’s coffee, tea, all sorts in there. Stay as long as you need, there’s no drivin’ in this weather. Give me a shout if you need me, I’ll be around.”

Ghost flings facts at Johnny at hyper-speed and Johnny’s unsure about what to do with this information.

“Do—do ye need help? Ah’m no’ doin’ anything anyway. Be happy to help for yer lettin’ me stay—”

“Place needs a Christmas tree.”

Johnny chokes on his coffee. Ghost merely leans back on the chair and waits him out, while painful, hacking coughs leave his body.

“Ye want me to put up yer tree?”

“Christmas in a couple days, innit? Boiler needs lookin’ at too,” Ghost states and then narrows his eyes. “I’ll sort that,” he says quickly, when Johnny looks like he was going to offer to do that instead. “Pulled the tree ‘nd that outta the attic, it’s in the main room. If you want to help.”

“Alrate, I can decorate a tree.”

***

Johnny finds that he cannot, after all, decorate a tree. He really struggles with it, really struggles with a fuckin’ Christmas tree—he can’t remember the last time he’d done this, which comes as a nasty shock—and decides that a change of strategy might be in order.

He’s determined to do this right, though, and so he acknowledges (with a cringe) exactly what he needs to do.

He bounds up to his room and grabs his phone. It only rings twice before his sister answers. “Too early, Johnny! Wake my child and I’ll kill ye.”

“Sorry,” he laughs. “Alright love?”

“S’ all good, pup. But ye’re not gonna make it fer tonight either, the weather’s stirred up somethin’ awful.”

“I know! Never seen snow so bad this time o’ year.” Johnny has to pause at the irony. “Mother Nature herself isnae wantin’ me to meet my mother.”

“Yer not funny.” He hears his sister sigh. “Gonna be strange without ye here, y’know?”

“Ah know.” But Johnny knew what his sister was too polite to say—that it might be weird without him there, but not necessarily bad. He didn’t blame her.

“Anyway. Why’re ye calling so early?”

“Ah need your help…with a Christmas tree.”

“What?” His sister’s voice had taken on an incredulous tone, two octaves higher than usual but when he explained to her what he wanted to do, and about the mysterious weirdo Ghost that ran the bed & breakfast, she was beyond intrigued. “...kind of a name is Ghost? His mam hate him?”

“‘S what I said! But he’s lettin’ me stay here, even though the place is closed. Fuck, ah’ll decorate his tree for ‘im. Whatever. Doesnae matter, can ye help me?”

“Such a brat, Johnny. Fine. Here’s what ye need to do.”

As she speaks about tinsel placement and an even bauble to tree ratio, Johnny realises with a start that he hasn’t looked forward to a project like this for a long, long time. Johnny’s only looked out for Johnny for so long that something as trivial as putting up a Christmas tree for someone else’s benefit felt like an undeniably selfless act of charity. The thought disgusts him, he has to shake his head to distract himself from the dark line of thought.

The occasional glance out of the window reveals the constant, seemingly endless snow falling from the skies, but he’s grateful to at least be warm. And while he separates the baubles from the tinsel from the tree lights, exactly as instructed, Johnny finds his thoughts straying from him.

Nothing’s caught his attention, nothing’s made him want to do something for someone else for a while. Or maybe it’s just the gruff, stoic, kind of charming innkeeper. And that thought comes as a surprise, seemingly out of nowhere. Huh.

The only other constant apart from the snow seems to be the 80s music playing softly from upstairs. Johnny knows it’s where Ghost is fixing the boiler, and occasionally, he’ll recognise the cheesy song playing from the vintage radio that Ghost seems to carry around with him along with his tool box. It’s…beyond strange.

Come afternoon and Johnny finds that he’s still not made as much progress as he’d have liked to. The front room of the inn is so messy, he’s thankful for the lack of any other guests at the place—there was hardly any place to walk around in the room.

He doesn’t find that he has too much of an appetite—too engrossed in planning where he’d like the wreath to go in the room—but he hears Ghost rummaging around for something in the kitchen anyway. And of course, it seems like where Ghost goes, so does the radio.

And that’s it, isn’t it? Johnny finds himself completely intrigued by Ghost. He’s gorgeous under that mask, Johnny’s confident of it, but if he’s being completely honest, there’s only a few facts that he knows for certain about Ghost. Special Forces. Inn-keeper? Listens to The Police a lot. Cooks a decent breakfast. Ah, he’s worked with less in the past.

“Yer going to clean up after y’self, yeah?”

He’s a bad soldier for how the voice startles him and Johnny’s resentful to admit that he almost jumps a foot in the air from it.

“...yeh yeh, ah’ll clean up. Almost done here, how’s it looking?”

Ghost stands up straighter, almost like he didn’t expect to be asked, but he crosses his arms over his chest and uses his chin to motion at the tree. “Lights.”

“Aye, sir,” Johnny mumbles, rolling his eyes at the barely concealed command, and turns the lights on. When he does, Ghost’s eyes widen slightly, and Johnny has to turn away to hide his smile. “And?”

Ghost doesn’t say a word, but it’s like Johnny can see his entire frame melt. It starts up at his shoulders, makes him uncross his arms which fall down to hang limply at his sides. It’s like the entire tough demeanour falls away to the side, while he watches the lights of the tree and the decorations in the front room, and when he inhales, it’s shuddery. He appears shaken up by what he sees, and Johnny can’t even begin to guess why.

“Would ye like to put the star up on—”

“L-lunch is in the kitchen, help yourself,” Ghost mutters, then strides out, aiming for the front door. Just before he leaves though, with a hand on the door handle, he pauses, and turns halfway to address Johnny. “Thank you. I, uh. I appreciate it. You didn’t hafta.”

“It’s no’ a prob—” But Johnny doesn’t get to finish the rest of his sentence because the front door slams shut, and Ghost is gone. “Steamin’ Christ,” he mutters.

It’s only two hours later, when Johnny’s picking at his food in his own room, when movement outside the window catches his attention. He sets his plate down and walks over, only to choke on his own breath like someone had punched his throat, hard. He stands there, frozen, staring, wondering what on Earth was in his food that’s made him lose his mind.

But, no. Ghost stands there below his wind, his all-black attire contrasting starkly against the blanket of snow. In the middle of a snow storm, Ghost stands outside Johnny’s window, axe in hand, chopping wood.

It’s hypnotising, mesmerising, Johnny finds, watching Ghost and his movements. It’s surprising how none of it is surprising to Johnny—not the action, not the fact that Ghost is outside in a snowstorm to do it—but Johnny finds himself unconsciously holding his breath and clenching his fists while he observes the movement of Ghost’s body as he does it.

There’s nothing lean about his body.

He’s all powerful, rippling muscle under a healthy layer of fat, his chest gorgeously broad, expanding under a black hoodie that strains and relaxes under the movement. Even from two storeys up where Johnny looks down at him, nothing about Ghost fits in. Nothing about him looks like it belongs in this picturesque scene, and nothing about him can be glanced over. He demands Johnny’s absolute attention, even when he doesn’t know it. Especially because he doesn’t know it.

Johnny takes a deep breath, and runs shaky fingers through his hair with his exhale. The movement catches Ghost’s eyes because sharp eyes turn up to look at Johnny instantly. Johnny’s caught unawares and regrets his finger-wave and chin-nod combo as he does it, embarrassed at having been caught ogling at the man while he’s on the job.

And while Johnny can’t confirm it, not being able to see Ghost expression from the distance, when he gathers the logs of wood and walks them to the back entrance of the inn, Johnny’s sure Ghost stands taller and walks cockier.

It feels like the atmosphere in the inn becomes a bit more hospitable, and the ice between them melts a little. At least…that’s what the knock on his door on Johnny’s door in the evening indicates. It’s tentative, like even Ghost can’t believe he’s doing it. Except, unlike Ghost, Johnny has had an entire afternoon to accept that he’s got a stupid crush on the hot innkeeper, and he’s flinging the door open.

Ghost looks uncomfortable. There’s no other way to put it—Ghost’s open hands twitch at his sides, his foot taps a quick staccato on the floor and he looks at anywhere but Johnny.

So Johnny waits.

“I, uh, wanted to know. You want some dinner? We got some.”

“Bit early fo’ dinner, Ghost.” Johnny’s smile is wide, only widens when his hip leaning against the door frame catches Ghost’s attention.

“Got a bar we can raid.”

Johnny’s eyes sparkle with interest, before he pushes off the door, agrees easily. “Must warn ye though, Ghost,” he says, as they make their way down the stairs, Johnny trailing the bigger man, enjoying the view. “Best have a stocked bar. I’m a Scotch man, meself.”

“Shocking.”

“What? Not a fan?”

“I drink bourbon.”

“Like a good ol’ boy…”

Ghost’s sharp inhale makes Johnny hold his own breath for a moment, before they both relax. “I like Kentucky,” comes the small whisper, almost a defensive after-thought. Ghost rounds the corner into the kitchen with a quick stride and Johnny, rather unconvincingly, hides his sudden laugh as a cough.

Ghost’s scoff from the kitchen tells him how unconvincing that really was.

***

“Ye got me right pished,” Johnny accuses, finger pointing to where Ghost’s form doubles and triples in front of him.

“Only so I could ‘ave my way with you.” The completely deadpan response he receives sets Johnny off, and only the crinkles around Ghost’s eyes make the ugly snort that leave his mouth worth it.

They quiet after a while and then Ghost’s eyes lift and fixate on the hundreds of tiny lights around the room. They looked gorgeous, and Johnny was proud of himself. “You did well. With the tree and that. Thank you.”

“Ye…looked like ye didnae like it. Earlier.”

Ghost scoffs, but the sound is sad. “Sorry ‘bout that…didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. About yesterday too. It’s, er…’twas a strange day. Wasn’t you. Sorry.”

Johnny melts at the awkward sincerity in Ghost’s voice but freezes when Ghost turns his face to look at him. Oh. Oh holy fuck. His eyes aren’t brown, Johnny realises, horrified. He’d looked at them earlier, dismissed them as a generic “dark,” but fuck.

Holy fuckin’ shit, they’re not fucking “dark,” they’re actually—

“Green!” Johnny blurts. He’s sure getting shot at has been less painful than the hot, searing feeling of embarrassment that crawls up his chest and manifests as bright, embarrassing, pink across his face. Ghost stares at him blankly, and fuck, if Johnny isn’t in the most awkward three seconds of his life. “Alright, that’s enough of that,” Ghost mumbles finally and stands up, wincing at his cracking knees as he does. “Dinner?”

#ghostsoap #simon riley x john mactavish #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #codmw2 #lumi writes #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mctavish #land softly

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guess-my-next-obsession · 1 year

Text

I’ll Be Home For Christmas

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

rating: E (MINORS DNI, oral (fem recieving), unprotected piv, breeding kink)

word count: 2.5k

8 Days of Christmas Masterlist

Frankie always loved Christmas as a kid, and truthfully hadn’t stopped loving it even into his adulthood, but in his line of work, it was easy to forget all the magic in the chaos.

This holiday season had been one of the busiest ever at the airport, everyone excited to be able to travel again after the pandemic. From October to Christmas Eve, Frankie had been home for a total of only 18 days, missing Halloween and Thanksgiving due to short staffing at the airline.

Instead of watching his three year old trick-or-treat for the first time, or helping his wife carve the turkey on Thanksgiving day, he was stuck on a layover in the middle of the country watching via FaceTime as his family gathered to celebrate.

Having quickly learned his lesson, Frankie made sure to request a month of time off starting December 25th, desperately needing as much time as he could afford alone with his family—with you.

There was no way he was going to watch his daughter tear into gifts via video chat in another Hampton Inn. There was no way he was going to watch you give him another fake smile, reassuring him that it you were okay when he knew how much you wanted him there. No, he was going to be home for Christmas. Even if it meant he had to brave the airport on Christmas Eve.

The drive home seemed to never end, some overly cheery radio host blabbing on about their holiday plans almost enough to make Frankie nod off on the freeway, but he persevered, switching stations to one less focused on talking.

Frankie couldn’t help but to chuckle at the song playing on the first station he landed on, a song he recognized as I’ll Be Home For Christmas.

How fitting.

As he sat there listening to the words, a tired smile appeared on his face. Though there’d be no snow, Florida hardly getting cold enough to feel like Christmas, there’d surely be a mistletoe for him to kiss you under, and presents under the tree for your daughter to tear into tomorrow morning.

Just the thought of seeing you two again after two weeks of being away made him feel more warm and cozy than any fireplace, any cup of hot chocolate, any knit sweater ever could. With a new spring in his step, he straightened his posture and rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes, determined to give you and your daughter all of the energy he had left.

•••

Two headlights peering in through the window of your living room made your heart pick up in pace, your three year old tucked into your side on the sofa dressed in her Grinch pajamas and two fluffy slippers designed to look like reindeer on her feet.

“I think dada’s home,” you announced in a singsong tone, smiling through your words as your toddler jumped up and down on the cushion, eager to see her father.

The holidays were always hard with Frankie gone, but you knew he wasn’t doing it for the hell of it. He was providing for the two of you, picking up extra shifts so that you didn’t have to go back to waitressing and could stay home to raise your daughter. He was working hard to make sure your family had everything they needed, and boy, did that turn you on.

You couldn’t help but giggle along with your daughter as Frankie knocked on the window and grinned at the two of you. Your daughter climbed off the couch and waddled over to her father’s face, putting her hands on the window as he fogged up the glass only to draw a heart.

“Dada! Come in!” Your little girl begged, Frankie cupping his ear as though he couldn’t hear her pleas. “Dada! Can you hear me?”

“Huh? You want candy?” Frankie asked through the window, your daughter letting out an amused cackle and nodding.

Not a second later he was sliding his key into the door and swinging it wide open. Your daughter ran up to his legs, hugging them tight as Frankie set down his luggage, his eyes locked on you cuddled up on the sofa. He shot you a wink as he lifted your daughter up, perching her on his hip before walking over to you.

“Hello, mamas,” he pressed a kiss into his daughter hair before leaning down to kiss you sweetly, your hands resisting the urge to tug him close when he leaned upright again. “Hi, baby.”

“Welcome home,” you purred back, Frankie starting off towards the kitchen, turning to your daughter.

“How about I take you with me and we make mama some hot cocoa?”

“And me!” He chuckled and looked over at you, silently asking you for your approval.

“She’ll be bouncing off the walls all night,” you warned, Frankie and your little girl giving you the same brown puppy eyes and pout. “But I suppose, since it’s a holiday.”

“Say, ‘thank you, mama’,” Frankie instructed, your daughter grinning and sticking her fingers in her mouth as she mumbled a shy thank you.

You had already landed on a movie, your daughter’s latest obsession, “Elf”, when Frankie returned with two mugs of hot chocolate and your daughter trailing behind him eating a lone marshmallow.

“What about you?” You asked as he handed you yours before setting the smaller mug down on the coffee table.

“I gotta go shower real quick,” he couldn’t help but steal another kiss, this time letting his lips linger a little longer than the first one, his fingertips underneath your chin keeping you close to him. His voice was a husky whisper when he pulled away, sending a jolt of arousal to your core. “Start the movie and get comfy, I’ll be right back.”

“Dont take too long. I miss you,” you gave him a half-smile, half-pout, earning another kiss to your lips before he was shuffling off down the hallway with his duffel bags. “Alright, kiddo, come up here.”

“I wan’ my hot cocoa,” your daughter demanded and you chuckled at how similar she sounded to your husband.

“Okay, but its gotta cool down a little bit.”

“No, dada put ice in it for me,” she corrected you sassily, your hands lifting up in a sarcastic apology.

“My bad, didn’t know you and daddy had this all figured out,” you scooped the three year old onto your lap, setting your cup down to help her lift hers to her lips without getting it everywhere.

Frankie returned twenty minutes later with wet hair and his flannel PJ’s on, matching yours. You beamed at him as he walked over with a smile, content with the sight of his daughter curled up into your side under a fuzzy throw blanket, both of your bellies full of hot chocolate.

“She’s crashing,” you whispered, the baby girl half-asleep in a post-sugar coma.

“Dada, can you read me a book?” She lifted her head up to ask Frankie, her voice hoarse with exhaustion. Frankie’s smile turned into an adoring frown as he nodded, walking over to the bookshelf.

“Which one, bebè?”

“Christmas one,” she demanded vaguely, Frankie putting his hands on his hips as he searched the shelves for a book that fit the requirement.

Noticing your yawn, he quickly picked up the first book he found with a Christmas tree on it and walked over to the couch, scooping up his baby girl with one arm.

“Why don’t you go get ready for bed, baby? I can take it from here,” Frankie offered with a softness you missed so dearly. Nodding sleepily, you stood up, pecking him on the lips before kissing your daughters cheek, her head resting on her dad’s shoulder. As you turned to walk to your bedroom, Frankie grabbed your hand, stopping you. “Don’t get too comfy without me, cariño.”

“Oh, I won’t,” you promised with a wink, continuing forward to your master bedroom while Frankie walked your daughter to her room.

•••

“One more story, dada,” his daughter persisted, though her eyes could hardly stay open long enough to blink. Frankie chuckled and shook his head, petting her hair back as he stood up off her bed.

“No, bebè. Santa’s coming and you need to be asleep when he gets here otherwise he won’t bring you any gifts,” he bargained, the little girl nodding quickly as she lifted the covers over her chin.

“Okay, I’m sleeping.” He chuckled and kissed her forehead.

“Santa will know if you’re pretending, mija. You need to actually go to bed—“

“Okay, okay. Lemme sleep, dada!”

Frankie backed out of her room with hid hands held up in defense, smiling to himself as he closed her door behind him.

•••

He wasn’t paying much attention when he opened the door to your bedroom, his eyes squeezed closed as he yawned into his palm. You remained posed on the bed like Burt Reynold’s in his centerfold, wearing the sluttiest Santa-inspired lingerie you could find online. When he finally focused his eyes on you, he froze in place, his eyes wide with both shock and delight.

“What in the world—“

“I wanna be your hoe, hoe, hoe tonight,” you stifled your chuckles as he stood there, his grin growing larger with each passing second. “You’ve been an awfully good boy—“

“Alright, I think I get the idea, baby.” He stopped your bad jokes with a chuckle, crawling onto the mattress and caging you beneath him, his eyes raking over your scantily clad body, one hand traveling from your hip up to the red velvet covering your breasts. Your breath hitched when he pinched your nipple just how you liked it, rolling it between his pointer finger and thumb. “God, I missed you.”

You placed your hand over his and dragged it down your stomach to your core, his eyes locked with yours as he felt the wet patch on your panties.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, Frankie,” you husked, his brows creasing as you guided his fingers to circle your swelling clit over the fabric. “I love how hard you work for our family. You’re such a good husband and father, baby.”

“Fuck,” he dipped his head down, kissing you filthier than he could with your three year old watching. You eagerly accepted his tongue into your mouth, tasting the peppermint candy he must have indulged in at some point tonight. “Wanna take my time with you tomorrow, but I need to be inside of you right now baby.”

You nodded eagerly, watching as Frankie peeled your thong off your hips and legs, tossing it behind hin without care before he was splitting your legs apart, licking his lips as he caught a glimpse at your dripping sex.

“Fuck, I need a taste.” Frankie never could stop himself from tasting you, even when he was in a rush. You hummed and combed your hands through his hair as he lowered his mouth to your pussy, lazily lapping at your arousal like he had all the patience in the world.

“Oh, Frankie, baby…I missed your tongue,” you mewled as his tongue tensed, circling your clit over and over until he felt your walls fluttering around nothing.

“Mm, fuck. You taste so good…I never wanna stop once I’ve started.” He sucked hard on your clit, pulsing against it with a moan until your back was arching off the mattress. Your hands tugged at his hair harsh enough to hurt as you came against his mouth, a hum of victory vibrating against you as he drank down your release happily.

“Frankie, need you inside,” you demanded, still lost in your euphoria. He nodded, though you couldn’t see it with your eyes closed, quickly shedding his pajamas before kissing up your body.

His lips started at your knee, placing open mouthed kissed up your thighs and stomach, sliding his tongue up the valley of your breasts as he slid the straps of your bralette off your shoulders, finally exposing your nipples. Your eyes opened to watch as he sucked one bud into his mouth his fist stroking his weeping cock against your still-throbbing cunt.

“Please,” you begged again, Frankie nodding against you and releasing your nipple with a wet pop. Sitting back on his ankles, he dribbled spit down onto his cock, keeping his eyes on yours as he coated himself in the slick.

“Keep your eyes on me, baby. Wanna see you when I put it in,” he ordered and you nodding eagerly, ready to comply with any demand he could possibly make. He smiled down at your obedience, the fat head of his cock stroking up and down your slit. “You ready for me?”

“Always,” you whispered, Frankie wasting no time on sliding into your cunt inch by inch, both of you gasping at the sensation of being flush together after so long. Your praise came out in a string of nearly incomprehensible mumbles, your eyes struggling to remain open as his the curved head of his cock brushed against your g-spot. “Ohmygodit’ssogooddon’tstop.”

“Fucking…christ.” His chest was heaving as he willed himself to be patient, allowing your walls to accommodate his size before he started to snap his hips into you like he wanted.

“I’m ready,” you assured, sensing his hesitance. “Don’t hold back. I need to feel you.”

“Baby,” he whimpered, leaning over your body to kiss you as his hips started to thrust shallowly in and out of you, properly lubricating his cock so that he didn’t hurt you.

You held onto his face with both hands, gasping and moaning into the clumsy and heated kiss, his thrusts getting rougher and needier with each withdrawal.

“You feel so fucking good, bebita…always fucking dripping for me, aren’t you?” He husked against your mouth before tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Didn’t touch myself at all while you were gone,” you confessed. Frankie let out a strangled whine into your ear as he buried his face in your neck, his hands pinning your hips to the mattress as he fucked into you brutally. “Wanted to save it all for you.”

“Jesus—fuck.” His thrusts were getting sloppier, a grin growing on your face at the feeling of your own orgasm building in time with his. “Baby, I’m so close—“

“Me too…please don’t stop…wanna cum with you.” Frankie’s moans became wanton, your lips shushing him as you kissed his temple. “You’re gonna wake our little monster up.”

“S-sorry, baby. Feels so fucking good.” His body lifted into a plank, his eyes dropping to watch as his cock disappeared into your heat over and over, each time coated with more of your slick. “Rub your clit. I’m about to cum.”

“Please fill me up…gimme another little Frankie,” you begged as you obeyed his command, rubbing your clit frantically as you watched him lose control, your words turning him feral. “God, I’m—“

“Shit!” He moaned much too loud as he came in time with you, but neither of you could care as you floated together in bliss, his cock stuffing you full of his cum. “I love you. So fucking much.”

“I love you, Frankie,” you breathed out, already nearing sleep as your high dwindled into a soft buzz. Frankie hummed and laid down beside you, pulling you into his side.

Turning your head over to glance at the clock on your bedside table, you smiled as you saw it was well past midnight. You looked back at him and reached a finger up to trace his jaw, stealing one last peck.

“Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal,” you purred, Frankie’s mouth curling up in a sleepy grin.

“Merry Christmas, mi amor.”

•••

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