#gotta ease into it

[hotluncheddie]

Day 1: Accidental subspace

"Open Wide"

Ao3

wc: 1.5k | rated: M | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, pre relationship, oblivious Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington has a crush on Eddie Munson, non-sexual subspace, aftercare

written for @subeddieweek <3

🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷

‘So I guess I’ll say something like.. Hi! I’m Steve, I’m just assisting the dentist to check that you’re flossing correctly, nothing to worry about.’ Steve says from above Eddie, putting on a customer service smile. 

Steve’s facing down at him, floss in hand. ‘Totally routine procedure?’ He asks, pursing his lips. Then he looks directly at Eddie, face smoothing out into something fond. ‘But just relax for me okay?’ He says softly, moving some hair from Eddie’s cheek. 

‘Okay.’ Eddie rasps, clearing his throat. He's still not used to being this close to Steve, even after being roommates for months. Still not used to having Steve’s full attention on him, even after being proper friends for a whole year. 

And now Eddie’s here, and Steve has his gloved fingers in Eddie’s mouth. Eddie never realised how intimate the dentist could be. Not until he’s laying here on Steve’s bed, head on one of Steve’s pillows, bracketed by Steve’s thighs so he can lean over Eddie. Lean over and put his gloved fingers in Eddie’s mouth. 

(28 hours earlier.) 

‘Eddie please.’ Steve whines, sliding his torso across the table between them. Brandishing his clasped hands and burying his head in his elbows. 

It’s too early for this. Eddie hasn’t even gotten half way through his coffee and Steve is sitting here asking him things. 

Asking him things when it’s so early Steve hasn’t even changed out of his glasses yet. 

How is Eddie supposed to think in these conditions? 

‘Huh?’ Eddie asks, because, what? 

‘I have to practice and the only reason they agreed to interview me for this is job is because I have experience with kids. I’lI need to show them my bedside manner is good dude.’ Steve explains, rapid, like he’s said it before. 

Eddie’s eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowing, he.. huh? ‘What’s that got to do with me Stevie?’ He asks, still totally lost and he can see down the front of Steve’s old sleep shirt.The chest hair is not helping him process. 

Steve huffs, strands of hair on his forehead jumping. ‘I need to pretend you're a patent, floss your teeth and stuff. Just to get a feel for what they might get me to do when I go in.’ 

‘… Okay.’ Eddie says, still not fully sure what’s going on but, if it’ll help Steve, well, he honestly thinks he’d do pretty much anything. 

‘Thank you thank you thank you thank you!’ Steve cheers, clapping Eddie on both shoulders and squeezing. Still leaning across the table. Eddie can see the freckles on Steve’s nose. ‘I’m buying you dinner! First dental assistant check I get, I’m taking. You. Out. Munson!’ Steve says, smile sunny and blinding and Eddie has no idea what his face is doing right now. But, if Steve keeps looking at him like that Eddie thinks he could cry. It’s early, and Steve is too pretty for his fragile constitution. 

‘Good, that’s good. Now I’m going to get the teeth at the back okay?’ Steve asks, waiting for Eddie’s small nod. ‘Feel how I’m flossing both sides of the gum too? That’s how you need to do it at home, get rid of all the germs.’ And Eddie does, sort of, he feels something happening in the back of his mouth. Steve’s knuckle against his teeth, forcing them that little bit wider. Eddie’s not sure at what point his eyes slip closed but it’s not until Steve’s retracted his hand and is lightly dabbing Eddie’s chin with a tissue, that he opens them again.They feel so much heavier than before. 

‘Sleepy?’ Steve murmurs, smiling down at him. 

Eddie swallows and blinks slowly, brain not really processing what Steve just asked. He clears his throat. Is he tired? He slept pretty well last night so, not really. He does feel relaxed though. 

Eddie blinks again, looking up at Steve. His bed backs onto the rooms little window and Steve refuses to get proper curtains for them. Instead keeping the light white lacy ones that were left from the elderly couple who lived here before. They let so much light through it would send Eddie insane, but the soft sort of shimmer that glows across Steve’s cheek and shoulders now, it’s pretty. 

Steve really is so pretty. Eddie sighs, shifts deeper into the beds soft sheets. A really pretty guy, person. 

Eddie knows this already, obviously. But, it feels different. Eddie thinks he’d crawl on all fours for Steve right now without even batting an eye. 

Its kind of always been like that for him and pretty people though, ever willing to do anything for a bit of attention. But it’s never felt like this, never felt quite this intense. 

Steve ask Eddie to open wide again, getting the other side of his teeth with the floss. Then he gently probes at each tooth’s gum with his finger. Eddie watches the curve of Steve’s eyebrow as he focuses. Eyelids so slow to blink and brain a soupy sort of fog, no thoughts up there. Just the nice feeling of his mouth being played with, Steve doing as he pleases. 

The soupy floaty feeling travels down to his fingers a toes, stirs in his gut. Eddie feels like he’s getting his whole body massaged just through his teeth. Almost like he’s in a bath, or like there’s a mouth on his cock. 

He makes a noise in his throat, it could honestly be a moan, but Steve’s fingers are in the way. That makes Eddie squirm. Steve’s fingers are in his mouth. 

‘Almost done, you’re doing so well.’ Steve says gently. 

Eddie really likes being here with Steve, letting him touch. 

‘Close.’ Steve instructs finally, fingers pressed lightly into the hinge of Eddie’s jaw. ‘Good. You have nice teeth Ed.’ He murmurs. 

Eddie hums happily, a little giggle bubbling out of him. He grins, showing Steve his teeth again, watching his eyebrows lift slightly. But his fingertips keep tracing Eddies jaw, following the curve of it, making goosebumps appear on Eddie’s arms. 

‘M’gonna go get you some water okay? And a snack. You okay waiting here for me, for just a sec?’ Steve asks softly, now tracing the shape of Eddie’s lips. 

Eddie thinks it’s okay, Steve’s bed has always been the most comfortable. He has the nicest sheets. Eddie nods. 

Steve slides his legs out from under the pillow, padding out of the room, taking off his gloves and Eddie hears the fridge open. 

Its colder without Steve here. Weird. He misses Steve. Wants him to come back. Maybe Eddie does feel kinda of strange actually, he wants Steve back touching his jaw. He feels so cold, like his chest is caving in.

‘Steve?’ He calls trying to sit up but his body isn’t cooperating. His mind not able to think through the fuzz. His hands trembling a little. 

Steve comes back in, holding water and a granola bar. ‘Hey, hey Eddie I’m here. You’re okay.’ And sits down close, wrapping Eddie up in his arms. 

‘Feel weird.’ Eddie mumbles, gripped Steve’s shoulders tight and fisting his soft t-shirt. 

‘S’okay, let’s go sit on the couch yeah? Watch a movie.’ Steve says gently, rocking Eddie a little. He should maybe be embarrassed but it feels so much better to have Steve close that he doesn’t care. Doesn’t want Steve to go far again. 

Eddie nods and stands up, making sure to keep hold of Steve’s arm, hugging it close as he leads them into the living room and onto their worn sofa. 

Steve lays down first and pulls Eddie by their still linked fingers to settle between his thighs, Eddie’s face in Steve’s neck until he’s ready to come out. Making him take sips of water every few minutes, sharing bites of granola bar and stroking Eddie’s hair. 

Eddie drifts, almost to sleep, he’s so comfortable and calm, wrapped up in Steve. The sound of baseball coming softly from the tv. 

-

‘Hey! I’m home!’ Robin shouts from the front door, dropping her stuff and shuffling through. She stops dead once she sees them cuddles up on the couch. Eddie between Steve and the sofa, head now resting on his chest so he can see the tv too. Steve is channel hopping but stops to look at her. Eddie’s not really sure what to do, he definitely doesn’t want to move but, she’s looking at them really weird. 

But Robin is focused on Steve, eyebrows moving, not talking. Eddie edges around to see Steve doing the same thing. 

‘Happy for you.’ She finally huffs, stomping off to the kitchen. But Eddie hears her mumbling under her breath. 

‘Only Steve fucking Harrington could get a guy with a dentist shtick, Jesus christ.’ 

‘Huh?’ Eddie asks Steve, really not sure what’s going on. 

‘Nothin’ we’ll talk about it tomorrow, when you’re less foggy.’ Steve says softly, kissing Eddie on the forehead and pulling him back into his chest. 

Tomorrow. Yeah, that sounds good, Eddie really doesn’t want to move. 

🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷

Tag List: @pearynice @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @scoops-aboy86 @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor @marvel-ous-m

[pointyfruit]

*Me about to reblog something out of pocket*

WAIT- I can't embarrass myself in front of the

new moots

I gotta set a good first impression 🥂🤵🏿

*straightens bow tie*

*continues regular fandom posting*

[knoggart]

Cringetober Day 1: Heterochromia, featuring Faz!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO

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

word count; 4.6k

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

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

”holy shit!”

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

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

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

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

(snowing.)

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

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

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

it’s beautiful. 

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

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

the first snow of the year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

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

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

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

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

”hmph.”

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

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

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

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

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

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

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

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

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

he hopes it never goes away.

[stubz]

"Human Max and Kim?"

"Yeah?"

"There is something that has been on my mind for quite some time now, a question about your work."

"Okay shoot."

"..."

"She means ask away."

"Ah. Yes, well. I was wondering how you two knew to train before coming to work here? As I was under the impression you both joined shortly after the coalition made contact with Earth."

"Train?"

"You mean for taking care of younglings?"

"Yes human Max."

"We didn't. We just used the training we already had and then learned on the job about the finer details."

"What she said. Although we did need to take some first aide courses before opening."

"...come again?"

"We barely had information of other species so we mostly relied on the training and teachings we received at home, Earth."

"Don't worry we took some night classes later on to be more prepared later on."

"How later is 'later on'?"

"About a month."

"...you seem really confused about this."

"That is because I am. . .how were you able to tolerate the biting then? Or the vast difference in height and weight from some of the larger ones? Or keep up with the fast ones?"

"Oh I was bit all the time at home. Both at work and at home."

"I just like running so it's not that hard for me. Kim still struggles though."

"I have tiny legs you jerk."

"But the strength and weight of some of them..."

"Oh right, on Earth you have to be able to lift at least 50 pounds to go into childcare."

"I thought it was 50 kilos..."

"...but that's like a hundred pounds...wait.."

"You have to be able to lift 50-100 pounds with ease!"

"...How heavy are your children?"

"Between 50-100 pounds."

[washingtonwhitemarkiplier]

afraid to admit how badly he wants to [SUPREMELY LARGE TRAIN PASSES BY] and [CHAINSAW REVS] then also [EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER]

(reference post under cut)

[kudravi-nesit]

More very messy sketches. Mmmm gotta figure out how to draw 'im...

[maareyas]

i started to hate how this one was turning out so im posting it now hhhhh. the colors here were supposed to be inspired by The Fool's incantation cards but going 1-to-1 with the colors wasn't working for the composition

[spacedlexi]

maybe if i just put these screenshots together youll understand why i think their relationship just Works so well as it pertains to the characters and themes of S4 in general

neither of them know what theyre doing, but theyre figuring it out Together. the old ways are dead. and together theyll build a new future thats worth fighting for

[dexter-erotoph]

nobody knows how much it tears me apart that outside of sm3 we will most likely NEVER see how dexter normally is we wont see how he used to normally speak or look or what he liked to do for fun or his talents or his friends any of the stuff he surrounded himself with to make him as content and happy as he looked on his last day living normally before he got forced to regress after likely having to work so so hard to earn a life he was comfortable with. like i need you to understand HOW much you have to go through and how deeply frustrating and tormenting it must be to have this happen LOOK

[jamiethebeeart]

I had to take a break in coloring due to other project deadlines, but this lineart by @englandamericaitaly was a fun one to start again with!! @green-with-envy-phandom-event

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

Strange little doodle cause I don't get to draw them together very often any more :')

[bonebuckets]

shakes you violently GIVE RAT LONG HAIR. bro is like a mad scientist do you think he has time to cut his hair. nuh uh.

[tulipsnflowers]

I sort of kinda blame @nayvwriter for getting me into Amelie even slightly, so I uh, did the only thing I can do as the resident ghost type and tyrant person:

IN MY DEFENSE - She's the only one /w purple eyes, and she fits the colors scheme(some veriation of white + gold + main element color + another color(usually just darker el. color, but depends) + ribbon(or another color, looking at you n2 nara. why did you mess it up-). So uh, yeah. Design.

[frostios]

something a little freeing about making a little comic that only 20 people will like actually

[baronessblixen]

Can't help myself also #18 😍😍😍

This prompt is almost a year old now. The prompt is from a list with different kinds of kisses. 18 is "secret kiss".

This is cotton candy-flavored fluff set after "Millennium": Mulder and Scully go to Mrs. Scully's house and find themselves all alone for a moment... (wc: 1,089)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 1: Secret Spots

Her mother doesn’t bat an eye when she arrives with Mulder in tow. She starts fussing as soon as she sees his arm in a sling and tired puppy eyes. Mulder throws Scully her a guilty look, but she sneaks in a hand squeeze to let him know it’s okay. How often does he get someone to fuss over him? Except for her and she’s his doctor. That doesn’t count.

As her mother leads him inside, asking him how he’s feeling, if he’s hungry, or thirsty, and whether she should make him some tea, Scully ruminates about his own mother. From the one phone call they shared over Christmas, she gathered that he was staying home, spending the holiday by himself. Several times she swallowed the need to invite him. Get on a plane, and get to San Diego. But she didn’t ask. The question hung between them and she knows - just like she knew then - that even if she had asked, he would have politely said no.

Today, he didn’t. She doesn’t know if it’s the painkillers. Though if she’s honest, it can’t be. They only gave him ibuprofen this time. Same as her. It didn’t seem necessary to get two prescriptions so they’re sharing a bottle. She doesn’t let herself wonder why it feels so eerily intimate. It could be that he’s in more pain than he lets on. Another theory that doesn’t pan out. He’s been smiling too much for that. He’s been too chatty, too. She knows her Mulder in every which way. Almost every which way, she reminds herself as she follows him and her mother into the kitchen, blushing like a schoolgirl. There’s one way she doesn’t know him yet. And that brings her to the only possible conclusion why today of all days he didn’t decline when she asked him to come with her to her mother’s New Year’s Day shindig.

Their kiss.

“Dana, do you want a tea too?” Both her mother and Mulder are giving her matching expectant looks.

“Tea? Um, sure.”

“You sound tired, dear,” he mother says, starting the kettle. “Why don’t you both go sit down in the living room? Say hello to the neighbors.”

Mulder’s reassuring smile fades away as soon as they enter the living room. “I thought your mom said this was a small affair.” Scully nods, scanning the room. Her mother clearly has a different definition of small than she does. There are people everywhere. On the couch, on the chairs, and standing in the corners. The indistinct chatter is a constant noise that’s giving her a headache.

“If this is a small party,” Mulder says, sounding in awe. “Then I really must see what’s a big party in the Scully house.”

“We had one at Christmas,” she says, trying to find familiar faces. They all blur together. Scully finds herself swaying, her head spinning.

“Hey there.” Mulder’s voice is a mere whisper in her ear, giving her goosebumps. His hand cups her elbow, holding her upright. “I think you should sit down.”

“Where?” she whispers back.

“This is your mother’s house,” he says. “I’m sure you know a few secret spots.” He waggles his eyebrows at her and she gets dizzy for entirely different reasons. Worried that a few of the guests might have slipped outside to smoke, she takes Mulder upstairs. The noise quiets down with every step they take.

“Am I going to see your room?” There’s excitement in his voice.

“Hmm,” she replies. She didn’t think this through. And any second now, her mother is going to look for them and not find them in the living room. She spins around, having changed her mind, and crashes into Mulder’s solid form.

“I see why you brought me upstairs.” The chuckle vibrates through him and she feels it against her cheek. “You just wanted me all to yourself.”

“Did I hurt your arm?” She ignores his innuendo, carefully touching his bandaged arm. She keeps her head low, not wanting him to see that she’s blushing furiously. Who knew that a kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve could still reduce her to an emotional mess in her 30s?

“No pain at all.” Mulder’s voice is a low rumble that makes her stomach somersault. “But hey, Scully?” He tips her chin up. “Are you okay? You look flushed. You’ve been all over me because of my arm, but the zombies got you too.”

“I’m fine.” He shakes his head slowly, looking at her intently. She gets it; any word but that.

“No pain at all,” she parrots. “Mulder, why did you say yes when I asked you to come with me to my mother’s?”

“You don’t want me here?” She touches his cheek, hoping to wipe away the hurt she sees flicker over his face.

“I do want you here,” she says with emphasis. “But usually you say no. I know Mom has invited you over before, and you’ve always declined.”

“Maybe I wanted to try something new this year.”

“My mom loves you,” Scully says, not taking her eyes off his face. He nods.

“I know.” His gaze is just as intense. He knows what she’s trying to tell him, but can’t. They’ve waited seven years to kiss. They don’t need to check all the boxes in one day. They have a whole year to, as Mulder says, try something new.

“We should go back downstairs.”

“I haven’t seen your room yet.”

“Later,” she promises and his eyebrows shoot up. “I didn’t mean-” but maybe she did. Maybe that’s exactly what she meant. “Later,” she repeats and he nods, his face eager. “Now come on.” She takes his hand but before they descend the stairs, she presses him against the wall – into that one spot Missy showed her one time. The one where her parents couldn’t see what was going on. And that’s where she kisses Mulder. She kisses him long and hard, deep and promising. He gasps into her mouth and uses his good arm to hold her as close as he can.

“There you two – oh!” They jump apart guiltily. Mulder smooths his hair, even though the lipstick on his mouth is the far greater tell. Scully colors crimson, staring at her mother wide-eyed and speechless. “The tea is ready.” She’s smiling at them both as if she didn’t just catch them making out like teenagers.

“Thank you, Mrs. Scully.” Mulder finds his voice first.

“I think it's time you call me Maggie, Fox." And she winks at them.