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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 months

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader

It started with a broken cookie.

Three valentines ago, when you were single and sad about it, angry that it got you upset, morose that you couldn’t help but feel that way.

Working in the bakery on Main meant that you spent the whole week leading up to the holiday handing out heart shaped cookies with the names of different girls and boys in the center, the sugar icing all shades of pink and red. Your fingertips were stained cotton candy by the time the day arrived, hands aching from piping cursive, loops and swirls and glitter and sprinkles stuck to your skin.

You complained about it when you visited the video store on your lunch breaks, bringing in half decorated cookies that hadn’t quite made the cut for sale, handing hearts to Steve and Robin with an almost petulant look on your face. You didn’t have a valentine and there you were, still delivering treats to the ones you loved most. Robin bit into hers with a sigh, red icing on her lips, a smack of a kiss pressed to your cheek in thanks and maybe that was as good as it was going to get.

And when Steve asked you what was wrong, you shrugged and scuffed the toe of your flour coated sneakers against the old carpet and tried not to sound too mournful when you simply said, “love sucks.”

The boy had snorted and nodded, agreeing whole heartedly before he snapped the sugar cookie in half, splitting the baby pink icing down the middle. Sprinkles scattered everywhere, dancing across the desk and messing up his delivery sheets but Steve didn’t seem to mind. He handed you half, a small smile on his face and when you took it with surprise clearly written across your face, Steve turned as pink as the cookie.

Valentine’s Day came and went with a fanfare of heart shaped balloons and a too big crowd outside of Enzo’s, a replaying of The Princess Bride at the cinema bringing in couples in love, young and old, first dates and forty years married.

You’d resigned yourself to an evening on the couch in front of your TV, maybe with a pizza delivery and some microwave popcorn to soften the blow. It was a complete surprise when you found Steve by your car, his own shop keys still hanging from his pocket, his Family Video vest still on over his t-shirt. He was holding a bunch of flowers, pretty as they were small, the pastel colours of the tulips making up for the quantity. They were wrapped in brown paper, tied with a bow that was a little lopsided and Steve Harrington was positively rose coloured.

“Hi,” he greeted, his voice almost a little too loud in the empty parking lot. He offered you the bouquet, the smell of spring clinging to them. “These are for you.”

You blinked, even though it had been obvious. He was waiting by your car after all. But still, the sight of him and the unprompted gift made your chest feel like goo, an affection as sticky as marshmallow clinging to your insides, coating all the bitter frost that had once wrapped around your heart.

“They are?” You took the flowers, cheeks burning, wondering why the prettiest guy in Hawkins was giving you a gift on Valentine’s Day. You didn’t mean to sound blunt, or ungrateful, but you could help but ask. “Why?”

Steve bit back a smile at your surprise, your wide eyes and plain words. He shrugged, leaning against the hood of your car, looking unfairly handsome even under the orange glow of the street lights. “Pretty girls deserve flowers, right?” He shoved his hands in his pockets, boyish and suddenly shy. “It’s Valentine’s. Maybe I’m hoping you’ll let me be yours.”

—————

The next year Steve bought you more flowers, a bigger bunch, hand picked and wrapped in some newspaper, tied with a red bow that he made Robin help him with. He dropped them into the bakery for you, still pink cheeked even after eleven months of officially being your boyfriend and he didn’t break character when he ordered a heart shaped cookie from you.

You’d rolled your eyes, all affection, his chin resting on the countertop display as he watched you work with big, brown eyes. He gave you your own name, blinking all innocent, grinning when you scoffed but wrote it all the same, swooping letters that made your cheeks burn. He thanked you politely when you handed over the box, your ruby stained fingers meeting his as you took his dollar bills and Steve held onto the cookie for all of six seconds before he gasped like he’d just noticed it was you for the first time.

“You look way too pretty to be workin’ on Valentine’s Day,” he told you smoothly, bringing the flowers to rest under his chin. More tulips, mixed with peonies and some wildflower sprigs. “You got a date for later?”

You laughed at his antics, face burning as Mrs Rochester cooed at the two of you from over her coffee cup. You tried to glare at the boy but it wasn’t much use, not when he was looking at you like that. Like he wanted to never, ever let you go.

“I might,” you told him suggestively. “I’ve had a few offers,” you joked.

“Yeah?” Steve grinned, brows raised. He pushed your cookie back to you, the flowers with it, the bakery suddenly smelling like a meadow. “Can I earn some points in my favour?”

—————

It’s five years later and you’ve got an old shoe box under your bed, the one you share with Steve. It’s got the dried, pressed petals from each bouquet of flowers he gifted you, the ribbon from a cookie box, ticket stubs from your first date to the cinema, a napkin from Enzo’s with a smiley face drawn in eyeliner on the corner.

There’s jewel coloured candy wrappers from the time he brought you sweets when you were sick, a postcard from his first trip away from you, dozens of Polaroids, each one dated.

A keyring, from your first apartment. Plane tickets from your first vacation together, a photobooth roll of film from your third anniversary, a velvet ring box from your fourth. A box filled with memories and keepsakes and gifts, little things that Steve would bring you when you least expected it, all of them cherished, all of them loved.

And when time ticked by and ten years had passed, you found him in your kitchen on Valentine’s morning, your daughter clinging to his knee as he tried his very best to keep a steady hand. The heart shaped cookie he’d baked was a little lopsided, iced with baby pink frosting, the sprinkles he’d let your baby girl take control of were almost taking over the cookie.

But he’d written your name in the center and just like the first Valentine’s Day you’d spent with him - almost accidentally - you split the cookie down the middle and handed half the heart to him

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington blurb #Steve Harrington oneshot #UDWSLOVELANGUAGES

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flamingpudding · 6 months

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Fictober23 Prompt: 7 - "Do you recognise this?"

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: G

Warnings: -

"So, who did it?" Bruce asked, eyes narrowed at the children before him. Clark was next to him trying once more to persuade Bruce that it was unnecessary to go after the kids like this.

The 'kids' in question were the assembly of three of his children, Clark's child and clone and a couple of their respected friends.

"Father, I do not know what you are talking about." Damian piped up offended and crossed his arms. Next to him Jon scratched the back of his head in mild confusion and Dani despite not knowing what was going on but still glaring in defiance at Bruce.

"If this is about our prank war it was definitely not necessary to interrogate our friends too." Tim added looking every bit like he would be somewhere else than here. Kon and Bart were with him. Kon looked rather unsure while Bart had gone and gotten himself popcorn for whatever was going to happen.

"Look old man, how was I supposed to know Replacement would trigger the glitter bomb inside the Batmobile. I already cleaned that up!" Jason put in his two cents, Roy eyeing the other with a raised eyebrow.

Bruce stared at them quietly, not saying a word as Clark continued to fuss next to him to not make it a big deal and that a deep clean would surely fix everything.

"It's not your prank war I am talking about. Alfred will deal with you about the chaos you caused." The three respected batkids swallowed audibly while their friends chuckled. "No, what I am asking is which one of you decided it was a good idea to dye Clark's hero suit and my cape pink."

"Wait, someone actually did that to Dad?!" Jon piped up wide eyed as Dani broke out laughing causing Damian to eye the ghost girl with narrowed eyes and suspicion.

"Who would…" Tim started but didn't finish as his mind came up with possible suspects. Kon on Bart next to him went onto their phones, trying to search up pictures of Superman in a pink hero suit.

Jason and Roy broke out laughing too, voicing their respect to whoever managed to do that.

Bruce's eye twitch at the children's reaction. He then proceeded to pull out an opened can of pink dye and placed it on the table in perfect view of everyone. "Do you recognise this? Jason? Tim?"

"WHY ME?!" They both cried out in protest and Bruce narrowed his eyes on the two. "Jason, your last prank on Tim involved a glitter bomb with pink dye, the Batmobile's seats are still strained pink. Tim, you dyed Damian's shirts pink a couple days ago at the beginning of your prank war."

"So it was you Drake! You are going to pay for this!"

"And I will do it again if you ever touch my laptop again, Demon Brat!"

"How does that even prove that one of us did it!"

"It doesn't!"

"Do you think there might be someone else that fell victim to the pink dye in the JL?"

"Maybe?"

"Why would someone even go after Clark? He has nothing to do with our prank war."

"Jason, my friend. You are indirectly admitting that you would dye Batman's cape pink."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose as the children before him (he ignored that at least two of them were over 20, they were children period) started to argue among themselves while Damian's newest friend the Daughter of Phantom, who recently joined the Justice League Dark, was by now rolling on the ground laughing.

Not far from the interrogation Danny sat by a table next to Alfred snacking on some of the best cookies he had ever gotten to eat. He had originally come by to hang out with Tim, Kon and Bart but now he was threaded to some A+ entertainment, Dani was clearly enjoying.

"You recognize the can, don't you Mr. Daniel? I believe you accidentally left it behind in the cave." Danny side eyed the butler next to him and grinned into his next bite of a cookie. "Supes deserved it."

The man hummed and Danny smiled as he was offered another cookie. "I believe I know why but would you please elaborate on why Master Bruce also got targeted? I will most likely be the one who will have to wash out the cape."

The half ghost didn't say anything at first before shrugging. "Kon wasn't the only one who deserved some Justice for how he had been treated in the past. I know they get along now but still… a little pay back for past mistreatment wouldn't hurt anyone right?"

"Ah, so it was for Mr. Conner and Master Jason." The butler smiled in understanding, pushing over a box of take away cookies to Danny. "May I suggest that next time you seek out justice for the boy, that there are other -embarrassing- ways to achieve it."

Danny only gave the man a feral grin as he hopped off the chair with the box in hand. It was time to release the children of Bruce's interrogation. He would just put the blame on Constantine somehow, like a spell gone wrong instead of actual dye being the cause. The man owned him anyway since he had gotten most of his soul back aside from a couple of pieces he was still negotiating over in the Ghost Zone.

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shoccolatine · 2 months

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hi i really like your writing! could you do the "things you associate them with" for the lads boys too?

aa thank you! and yes of course 💜

things i associate them with

╰┈➤ ❝ XAVIER. ❞

catnaps in the afternoon sun, warming your hands with a steaming mug of coffee/tea, reddened fingertips, stargazing, lying in the grass and counting the stars, the burning smell of fireworks, alien conspiracies, galaxies, existential hope, shy smiles, gentle laughter, hiding behind your pillow during a scary movie, buttered popcorn, cat whiskers, tickle fights, the sound of pulling a sword out of its sheath.

╰┈➤ ❝ ZAYNE. ❞

picnic dates on checkered blankets, apple orchards, springtime, melted ice cream, cool rainy evenings, petrichor, condensation dripping down a window, rivers trickling down into waterfalls, icicles, cold hands in woolen mittens, the intricate designs of a snowflake, knowing smiles, intense gazes, having a conversation without saying a word, the nostalgia for a life long past (or perhaps a life that hasn't happened yet).

╰┈➤ ❝ RAFAYEL. ❞

the glitter of sunlight on the sea, walking along the beach, digging your toes in the cool sand, playful splashes, aquarium dates, glowing jellyfish, deep sea creatures, 3am conversations about everything and nothing, whispered secrets, pinky swears, double dares, telling scary stories with a flashlight lit under your chin, paint stains, the tickle of a paintbrush on your skin, messy sketchbooks.

╰┈➤ ❝ BONUS! CALEB. ❞

peeling an orange for someone else, apple slices, noogies, tousled hair, late nights spent giggling, convenience store runs, sunsets, walking home from school, bike rides on beaten paths, bandaids on skinned knees, ripped jeans, worn sneakers, friendly competition, playfighting, chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven.

#it's funny bc zayne is 'cold and icy' but in our pov he feels like the exact opposite #like the warmth and comfort of coming back home after a long day #love and deepspace #xavier #xavier x reader #zayne #zayne x reader #rafayel #rafayel x reader #caleb #caleb x reader #hcs #shoccoanswers

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steveharringtonat3am · 2 months

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader

word count: 1.1k

You had always been a sucker for Valentine’s day. Maybe it was the love in the air, the beautiful pinks and reds that seemed to adorn every surface. You just couldn’t get enough of it. But with all the joy of love everywhere, you couldn’t help but feel a slight ache. You wanted that love with someone. In fact, you already had someone in mind.

“Oh good, you’re here!” Steve welcomes you into his apartment with a grin, taking the bags full of craft supplies from you as you hang your coat up. You were quite familiar with Steve’s apartment as he insisted on hosting weekly movie nights for your friend group.

“So, I went a little crazy in the craft store but you can’t blame me cause well…it was so pink!” You sheepishly smile, but feel no shame.

When Steve had asked you if you wanted to help him make some decor for tomorrow’s movie night, a romcom themed frenzy, you had jumped on the idea. A Valentine’s themed movie night with Steve? You were hooked instantly. Of course being the show-off he is, he needed to go all out. That’s where your crafting skills came in.

“This all looks great! But I have to ask, what exactly are we making?” He unpacks everything methodically, careful to not mess anything up.

“Well, I figured we could make some cute popcorn buckets, some fake movie tickets, and a whole bunch of decorations to make your place a little less…guy.” The comment makes him laugh, shaking his head at you.

“You’re in charge, I’m not very good at the whole Valentine’s thing.” He admits as he sets next to you, watching you set everything up.

“Really? I thought you had a Valentine last year?” You start making a trial movie ticket, sneaking a bite of the crackers and cheese Steve had set out for the two of you.

“Well I did but…she didn’t seem to like what I had planned.” You glance over as he messes around with the bottle of glitter, refusing to look at you.

“I’m sure your plans were wonderful. Maybe you just need someone who…gets you.” You feel heat in your ears as the words slip out your mouth. Your crush on Steve was a closely guarded secret and you weren’t quite ready to let it out just yet.

“Right…so how exactly are we doing this?” He holds the plain popcorn bucket in his hands, turning it over and inspecting it.

“Just do whatever feels right!”

“Alright but if it turns out ugly it’s Dustins’.” He grins at you as you laugh.

You play some music as you work but it’s a comfortable silence between the two of you. Steve had this quality about him that just made you feel so at ease. It was one of the reasons you liked him so much. You could just be yourself with him.

“Steve? Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” He briefly meets your eyes, gauging how serious of a question this was about to be.

“Do you have any…dreams to get out of Hawkins? Sometimes it’s all I think about.” You had been worried briefly Steve would move away after you both graduated. So when he hadn’t, you had been so relieved you nearly confessed then and there.

“I think about it sometimes. Now that all the craziness has died down…I wouldn’t mind moving to the city someday. But I wouldn’t wanna go by myself.” He smiles softly at you and you return it.

“Yeah, me too.” You keep your eyes laser focused on the glue you’re meticulously applying to the pink cardstock, just a little afraid to look at him.

“What would you do when you got there?” He asks.

“I’m honestly not sure. I’ve always kinda dreamed about opening a cafe.” You share the thought quietly. You hadn’t told many people about the cozy cafe you had always dreamed of running, full of simple pastries and comfortable seating.

“That would really suit you.” He smiles.

You both reach for the pink glitter at the same time, fingertips brushing quickly. The sparks shoot up your arm as you recoil. You were no stranger to touching Steve. He was very affectionate, always bumping your shoulder when he made a dumb joke, brushing your waist whenever he needed to get by you, hand slipping into yours in a crowd. But it still took you by surprise. You offer the glitter to him wordlessly, picking up the red glitter instead.

The urge to confess climbs up your throat and you have to push it down with a sip of your water. You work in silence for the rest of the night, aided by your constant moving around to decorate every corner of his living room.

You both collapse on the couch late into the evening, covered in glue and glitter and exhaustion. His knee brushes yours and you’re suddenly wide awake.

“I think you’re ready for tomorrow.” You note, the room around you covered in pinks and reds and whites.

“Yeah…you think I’ll ever get this glitter out of my hair?” He shakes his head in an attempt to get some of the pink sparkles out, but it’s mostly futile.

“You want the truth?”

“Not at all.” He grins, making you both laugh. It’s not very funny, but you blame the fatigue that has settled in your bones for your current state.

When you finally recover, you both rest your heads on the couch, eyes locking.

“I’m really glad to be spending Valentine’s with you.” He mumbles, hand coming up to gently brush some hair off your face. His thumb lingers, stroking your cheek.

“So am I…” You trail off. Have his lips always looked this appealing? You can’t seem to think straight and the next thing you know, his lips are pressing against yours. You kiss back instinctively, like you’ve been doing it all your life. You sink into him, hands combing into his hair as he cups your face. It’s a thrilling moment, and you almost want to pinch yourself.

When your bodies finally come up for air, you can hardly stop the ear-to-ear grin.

“So…wanna watch a movie?”

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luveline · 1 year

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a june baby drabble (for which I have no explanation) <3

Eddie sits down with an over dramatic sigh, throwing his thigh over yours so your legs are interlocked. You lean in to him on impulse because that’s something you can do now, whenever you want to, and he cups the back of your neck in his hand, elbow behind your shoulders.

“Okay, junebug, we’re ready!”

Junie bursts from where she’d been waiting in the doorway, looking as wild as she’s ever looked. Dark liner and glitter (hypoallergenic, according to your boyfriend) decorates her small eyes. She has a plastic guitar swung over her neck, her hands poised clumsily over the strings and struts.

“Let’s rock!” she shouts excitedly. Rock sounds like ‘wock’ and Eddie’s timed it all so well that you burst into laughter as the music starts.

She strums frantically at her guitar, nonsense sounds hidden by the overloud music blaring from Eddie’s borrowed stereo.

You tip your head back with the force of your giggles and it slots right into the curve of his neck. He laughs in time, hand swung lazily over your legs to the popcorn bowl between them. He feeds you a half handful and polishes off the rest as Junie dances around the room, a ball of energy, a ray of total sunshine, a burning stage light.

You applaud as she takes a breather, hair wild and eyes glazed with delight.

“My rock star!” Eddie praises, holding his arms out expectantly. He doesn’t flinch when she runs at him full pelt, her guitar a half inch from hitting him in the jaw.

“Rock and roll,” she says severely.

You cram your mouth with popcorn and laugh as you chew. “Super rock and roll,” you say, hand over your mouth.

Junie closes her eyes as Eddie’s arms pull her in that little bit tighter. You’d miss his touch if you weren’t always so enamoured by their relationship, the uninhibited way that she drapes herself over him, the more than natural way he receives her.

“You,” — he kisses her cheek — “are,” — another kiss, this one lower — “amazing.” He presses a final kiss right on top of the first. “Now quick! Angel is next!”

Angel is the ‘88 song by Aerosmith, and it’s Junie’s favourite. She must’ve heard Eddie serenade both you and her with it a hundred times by now. She knows maybe ten percent of the words, primarily, “You’re my angel, come and save me tonight,” and she sings it so sweetly and with so much passion it always makes you smile.

She bursts back into the middle of the room and takes up the starting position for a ‘soundcheck’. While she’s preoccupied, you place your hand as gently as you’re able to against Eddie’s cheek and tilt his face toward yours.

“One day that tape is gonna break,” you murmur, “and we’re gonna have a big problem on our hands.”

He meets your soft gaze, his own full of a carefree happiness that cuts to the bone, leaving your chest a mess of warmth. “Oh no,” he drawls.

“I’m serious.”

He leans in until your noses touch and presses a quick, firm kiss to your subtle pout. “I know you are.”

The pout turns to a smile soon enough. Junie screams for eyes on her and you spring apart, though Eddie takes the time to twine your fingers.

“Go on, baby,” you encourage. “We’re watching.” Mostly. If you sneak looks at each other, nobody can blame you.

#june baby universe #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x reader blurb #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x mom!reader #dad!eddie munson x reader

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unpossession · 5 months

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Freddy's still somehow still smells of pizza. As though the place has been frozen in time and untouched by the years, the only real indicator of how long it's been closed is the fact that whatever is there, still living, is smothered under a layer of decay and dust. At a moment's notice, if somebody came and dusted it all off and turned on the lights it would be ready to wake from it's slumber and begin anew. This is not like any other abandoned home she's broken into, not like any other empty mall she's stumbled into. It's alive, still, aching quietly for company.

--- And there's something about the animatronics. She has always felt for abandoned things, but this feels different. When she's visited before, in the daytime, she's been compelled to talk to them. She's been compelled to believe that they listen.

Her mascara's smudged. Something bad happened at a party she'd been at nearby. Glitter on her cheeks glisten in the glow of the neon along with still-wet tears. She's come to the closest place she can think of for sanctuary. Somewhere as abandoned as she feels.

But she had no idea it looked like this at night. The neon sign is all lit up, there are lights glowing out from the inside. She's been inside Freddy's a few times. It's never seemed more haunted than now, lighting the dark. A carcass on the side of the road, boarded up, calling to her: Come inside, we're open! Willow laughs to herself in disbelief and takes a step forward.

The doors are locked up but there's a large vent she can comfortably squeeze through to get inside, so she does. She swears she hears music as she stands in the main body of the pizzeria, lights flashing all around her. It smells like popcorn and decaying plaster, it smells like pizza dough and dust. She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and laughs softly at the marvel of it all, pushing back her tears.

It's alive again. It's welcoming her into the fold.

@wickdcreatures

#>:)#wickdcreatures #alt: fnaf.

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sixtyroses · 1 year

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A soft ask-game ♡

(Send one or more words into the inbox to ask the question!)

Fuzzy socks - What is something that made you smile today?

Soft blanket - Did you drink and eat enough today?

Strawberry milk - What is your favorite (hot) beverage?

Cupcake - Do you have a comfort food? If so, what is it?

Teddy bear - Do you own any plushies? Please tell me about them!

Tulip - What is your favorite flower?

Bunny - When was the last time you saw a wild animal and what was it?

Fluffy cloud - Do you think clouds are made of cotton candy?

Warm milk - What is something that makes you feel comfortable?

Angel - What was your last dream about?

Vanilla - What is your favorite scent?

Biscuit - Do you like to cook / to bake?

Kitty paw - Do you have any pets?

Sprinkle - How old are you? (if you are comfortable sharing)

Pillow - What are five (or more) things that make you happy?

Puppy - What is something that you like about yourself?

Pastel - What is your favorite color?

Slipper - What is your favorite clothes?

Cat nose - What color does your phone-case have?

Soft fur - How are you feeling right now?

Chocolate milk - If you are comfortable with it, share your phone's wallpaper

Animal Crossing - What is the last video game you played?

Sugar - How many siblings do you have?

Popcorn - Do you prefer movies or shows?

Blush - What is your favorite season and why?

Sparkle - What are some of your wishes?

Love - Are you in a relationship?

Pajamas - Are you an early bird or do you rather sleep in?

Cream puff - What was the last thing you ate and did you like it?

Meow - Share a random fact about yourself, please

Warmth - Do you like to cuddle?

Cozy - How many pillows do you have in your bed?

Glitter - What color are your eyes?

Cinnamon - What are some about your hobbies?

Unicorn - Do you believe in magic?

Butterfly - If you could live anywhere you like, what would you choose?

Princess - Do you prefer to wear skirts, dresses or pants?

Bonbon - Do you rather like sweet or salty snacks?

(Lovedy's inbox)

#always be kind. 💕🥺#i am wishing you a lovely day or night! 🧸#ask game #asking game #mine #🎀#sfw #sfw asking game #soft ask game #asks #ask me #pink #soft pink #text post #questions

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undercoverpena · 6 months

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The day Frankie both loves and loathes the kitchen counter

frankie morales x f!reader | resurrected chances

summary: fall is a season that looks good on you.

warnings: none. autumn vibes. fluff, established relationship. dad!frankie (so mentions of a child - luca). an: i wrote this to make myself smile. wordcount: 2.5k

It changes in the blink of an eye.

One moment, the nights seem long and then they’re swallowed. The sunlight barely able to kiss the world for long, before it sinks back down to the horizon.

Then, there’s the changing leaves. How they fall from the branches without regret—all in a flurry of shades he finds you admiring each morning when you’re holding your morning coffee.

It does something to you, fall. It casts a spell—transforms—sprinkles shaved pumpkin and glitters over you as the wind whispers the incantation. It swoops through and blows away the other cobwebs left by the other seasons, until you’re embodied by autumn.

The change doesn’t just happen to you, but the rest of the home too.

He witnesses how, one day the counters and table are clear, and the next, they are decorated in fall ornaments, and ghouls and pumpkins replace the usual mugs you both drink from. How the fireplace in the living room has decorative ghosts all over it, purple and orange fairy lights, with homemade bunting hanging that features little orange and yellow Luca-sized hands from a craft morning he’d “rudely interrupted”.

Frankie had known what he was getting in for when you’d told him autumn was your favourite time of year—but, he still couldn’t quite believe what the season looked like on you.

How good you looked. How happy. How joy radiated from you and bled out into every corner.

You transition with a click of your fingers from a summer wardrobe to oversized fluffy jumpers (his, always his—specifically ones bought for him, but only ever worn by him once before they are ‘mysteriously’ stolen), black leggings and the fluffiest socks (that when unrolled, come up close to your knee).

And, if you’re able to—which is most of the time—Frankie finds you’ve perfectly matched the shade of jumper to the scrunchie in your hair. Sometimes, with embellishments, such as changing leaves on them or ghosts, but his favourite happens to be the pumpkins.

Before you, he’d never thought that would be a thought he’d even have. Frankie hadn’t ever even thought of himself as someone who loved a season, but just like his son, he’d been bewitched.

Your affection for flickering candles, big blankets and wrapped-up walks rubbed off on him and Luca—secretly both becoming as obsessed with mornings spent doing autumnal crafts as you. Frankie even stupidly got excited about the prospect of another pumpkin patch visit.

But, with that all said, if someone asked him what his favourite part of the season was, it was how your two’s home changed. The way warmth rolled from you—cementing the knowledge that he’d made the right choice. Because with you, there have only been moments when he feels peace, happiness and joy. Each emotion all underpinned by moments involving shadow-touched skin and sun-kissed bodies.

You patting the seat next to you, loading up another movie—your favourite, you’d said—with popcorn in an orange bowl, and a blanket (all earth green and lined with thick fluff) just for him.

He loves curling up, but there’s something about thickened blankets and soft layers that has him excited by the season.

He just feels disappointed that with another autumn arriving, he realises he hasn’t managed to sort the things he wanted to do for you.

The shelving he said last year he’d put up in the kitchen, so you can put more of your ornaments on display. Fix the door to the end cupboard, so you can put your baking and cookie trays away, rather than hiding them in the oven. But mostly, he had hoped to—

“You alright under there, Morales?”

Blinking, he finds you smirking, watching him. “Stop staring at me.”

“Well, it’s hard not to,” you murmur, swinging your legs on the counter.

The one he should have remodelled by now. It makes his jaw tighten, and his teeth slide together.

His head turning, dark pools of brown drinking you in as you swirl the spoon around your mug—not because you need to mix the sugar or milk, but for something to do other than drool over the appearance of him under the dining table he’s fixing.

Because Frankie knows your mug is practically empty. And he also knows that when he begins these home projects, he doesn’t tend to finish them in one day if you’re around.

“Could say the same to you.”

You roll your eyes, because, to you, it’s a jumper and leggings. But to him, today’s attire is a deep forest green jumper, the one with flecks of white and orange woven in periodically—a favourite of his, and apparently yours too.

The socks today, however, are different. Thick, woollen ones he recognised all too well, smirking to himself as he brushes the hair from his forehead, slotting the screwdriver back in place before tightening.

Because the socks are his.

Feeling your eyes on him, until he hears you jump down from the counter.

“Fine, I’ll begin baking before the little man gets dropped off.”

A smile being shot over your shoulder, pulling at the cookbook that’s more flour than paper from the shelf, before splaying it across the counter.

He knows you know what you’re doing when you hinge at the hips, and lean over the counter in front of him. His mouth going dry, just like it always does when you’re teasing him.

Frankie’s about to comment on what a distraction you are, that if you want to eat at the table tonight he needs to concentrate. But then you hiss, pulling your hand back from the edge of the counter—the one chipped and forever catching on clothes, once again catching against your hand.

Then he’s just full of annoyance.

Both at the fucking counter and at himself for not prioritising the kitchen. For not giving you the dream kitchen you deserve.

The emotions shoved into his repair of the table, completing it in record time, that by the time he’s stood, you’ve chosen whatever it is you’re aiming to make. Your fingers twitching—all lost in your mind, likely calculating, mentally checking timings.

It’s what makes it easier to slide up behind you, lose his hand up the jumper of his you’re buried in. Sliding it up until he can feel your skin, all toasty, warm. Your smile slowly grows as he rests his chin on your shoulder, watching you.

Frankie has the pleasure of seeing you smile in Spring, Summer or Winter—three-hundred and sixty-five—but your skin isn’t always tinged with the scent of spiced apple, to the point he’s not sure if the season is pouring from you or if you’re just around the candles and soaps too much. He doesn’t get to see you glow in the same way as you do in Fall, like you do in the other seasons.

“Is it sturdy? The table.”

Lifting his brow, he turns you in his arms. Fingers sliding up your neck, jaw until they’re resting on your cheek.

As much as he tells you that you’re easy to read, Frankie knows he’s not all that difficult himself. Least of all with you. He’s been told he gets a twinkle, a shimmer—a soft tug of his lips that he tries to bury in nonchalance.

Shrugging, he drops his hand as he sighs. “Maybe we should check.”

“How do w—Frankie!”

With ease, he spins your body, moving it backwards, twisting, until the top of your thighs nudge against the lip of the table, fingers fanning out, palm cupping your waist as he sniggers. His palm rests under the fabric, worn and toughened, flush against skin, tasting the warmth that burns from your lips—swallowing the joy which emits from every part of you.

“We can’t.”

“We can’t?”

Shooting him a look, you purse your lips. “If we break another piece of furniture…”

You’re not cross, he can tell. If anything, your eyes are gleaming, swarmed in happiness, so close to cracking and asking him to help you on the surface.

But then, you twist your fingers in the hairs at the base of his neck. Whispering that you love him, that it looks more than sturdy, it looks solid, perfect, amazing—more words punctuated by kisses, before his hands keep you nose to nose.

Because if he does, he won’t stare at the kitchen counter.

The one he despises, hates. The one that’s chipped and was up there at the top of his list to replace when the two of you bought the house you’re both standing in. But then it fell, plummeting, landing somewhere around ‘someday’ rather than ‘today’.

You don’t hate it.

Rarely ever see an issue with it. Barely recognise how ill-fitting it is to the rest of your hand-painted cupboards and thrifted accessories. That at least once a week, if not a day, you catch your hand in the same place—scuffing jumpers, blouses and more on the cracked edge.

You deserve better. A thought which pulsates inside him—constantly doing so, too. It vibrates in his ribs and echoes in the dark when he should be sleeping. He thinks about it like he does much of the house, the one he told you he’d fix, repair, re-build—even if you weren’t fazed then, and aren’t now either.

Your excitement swallows up any of his concerns, his internal beatings. Because I love it Frankie, I love you and I love this for us. He’d have thought you were lying, except your eyes still gush with joy when you look over it, as though you cannot see any of the imperfections he can.

Unable to see how he’s let you down. That he should be providing more for you—even if you never, ever think it or even say it.

“What you thinkin’ about, baby?”

Your knuckles trace his cheek. An answer there, burning on the tip of his tongue. That, thanks to you, it was hard to hate anything, never mind the counter.

The one you did a good job covering in assorted-sized decorative pumpkins and coloured pencils you’d pushed to the side. That in truth, he liked the things which sat on it, like his mail being alongside yours—and the set of mugs that had once housed both your coffees that he’d brought to you in bed this morning and the ones you’d made when he’d begun his table-fixing.

Morning. It seemed so long ago—more than hours, more like days. It forces him to tighten his arm around you and bury his face into your neck.

“Frankie,” you whine, soft, all innocent. “Talk to me.”

“Just thinking about how pretty you look.”

“Oh, shut up.”

His nose brushes against your cheek, eyes finding yours as you try to avert them. “So much so, I really, really wanna put your elbows on the table and take you from—“

“Francisco.”

Laughter flows from the last syllable to paint the room in even more contentment. Coating him in genuine bliss that smooths over the cracks, the rougher parts of him.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “Later?”

Later, you echo. Even if he knows the day has already been swallowed by him visiting the store to fetch nails and a tool, he’s sure he already owns—but can’t for the life of him find. The rest will be filled with hyperactivity and pumpkin carving with his son.

“You do look good in my socks, baby.”

He watches your chin dip, before your hand presses against his chest—fingers and thumb digging into his t-shirt. You try to bite back your shy smile, because even if the two of you have been together a while, you still seem to go shy when he compliments you.

“Really like the sight of you in my clothes,” he continues, hands on you as you head back to your place in the kitchen.

Turning, you swat at him, laughing—the sound you make is like music to his ears. Forever makes his days better. The noise which plays in the back of his head when he’s driving down a long, winding road—desperate to get back to you.

It’s why he tugs on your wrist, pulling your hand from your face, letting him hear it fully, watching it fade as your eyes blink, pupils fixing, lids widening as you take him in. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to how you look at him—full of appreciation and love, like it’s easy to do. Like you’re not forced or feel obligated.

“They’re comfy,” you say, all tinged with embarrassment—as though he would ever mind.

As though the sight of you slowly wearing his wardrobe doesn’t make his chest swell—doesn’t fill the space with warmth where his heart doubles.

Smiling—almost mirroring yours—he brushes your cheek. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

Looping an arm around his neck, you press a kiss to his lips—his hips pressing into yours, unable to move from him, arms looping around his neck. They won’t bake themselves, Frankie. And, doesn’t he know it, but neither of you move.

The kitchen counter—the one he hates, and wants to rip out—keeps you in place. Not that he gets the impression you want to be anywhere but here, laughing with him, baking, likely recanting a story about spiders and the reason you had needed to buy new wooden spoons and a spatula.

Your cheek warms under his palm, his thumb stroking a path that curls up with your cheek as you begin to grin. “Shh, Morales.”

And he does.

But only so he can kiss you.

You in his fluffy woollen socks, his jumper and your leggings.

Starting it slow before he deepens it. Before his whole body wants to feel you pressed against his, fingers sliding around your cheek and jaw, feeling the way you move to kiss him back.

It’s intense, fire being breathed into his throat and down into his chest. He laps up every flame—allows it to coat his tongue, and spreads its heat through every nerve as he licks into your mouth.

He’s happy, oh so happy.

Losing himself in you, mouth sliding from your lips to the curve of your jaw and down the pulse of your neck. Your fingers knotting in his curls and his top, leg trying to hook around him—leaning, cautiously and foolishly, against the counter until he stabilises you with his hands.

Because you’re brilliant. Perfect. Beautiful. But, oh so fucking clumsy.

His teeth roll over the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and he groans. Hands dropping from their place, finding a new home on the back of your thighs, lifting, leveraging until you’re safe. Sat all pretty and set to be devoured, upon the counter he can’t wait to replace—

“Stop thinking about the counter, Frankie.”

He smirks, biting back a laugh. “How’d you know?”

Hooking your legs around him, his fingers run up the bare skin—thumb dragging a line more intentionally than the rest—coming to a stop between your thighs.

“Because I know you. Because you look at me like I saved you from a burning building, and you look at the counter like it was the reason the building was on fire.”

Kissing you, he grins—right against your mouth. “I really hate it.”

“I know,” you coo, biting his lower lip. “So, how about we move to the bedroom.”

Pulling his head back, his eyes narrow—your fingers brushing his curls behind his ears.

an: autumn is my fave, can you tell?

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