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ghost-proofbaby · 7 months

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my little scaredy cat

request: [anon] i would love to see watching horror movies with best friend!eddie and reader instinctively grabs his arm and hides herself against him and it leads to feelings and confessions haha

warnings: none! except it's unedited, which would be scary if that wasn't 90% of my writing on here lmao

pairing: eddie x fem!reader

wc: 3.1k+

i had a lot of fun busting this one out. it's just so cute and certainly how i wish i was spending my halloween! also, rest assured, i am also eyeing the other request you submitting anon. <3 happy haunting, my friends.

This was such a stupid idea. Such a stupid, stupid idea.

You’ve always been a scaredy cat. Everyone in your friend group was well aware of it – you loved the idea of Halloween, but your poor heart just couldn’t take most of the frights that came with the eccentric holiday.

It was fine, most of the time. If anyone had the urge to plan out a day at a pumpkin patch, you were eagerly accepting the invitation. If anyone wanted to bake any sort of sweet treats laced with pumpkin spice or caramel apple flavor profiles, you were already in your car and armed with the perfect recipe to help them. Someone wanted to peruse the decoration aisles of various stores? Wait no more, the perfect shopping buddy could be found in you. You, who could handle most of the trivial and sweet aspects of the holiday. You, who divulged in the more aesthetic side of it all rather than the scary side of it.

Your distaste of being jumpscared or unnerved by gore and ghouls alike only really caused issues when it came to your best friend, Eddie Munson.

His taste in experience of the frightful time of year was entirely the opposite of yours. It’s not that he didn’t like decorating caramel apples with you or that he didn’t find your choice in decorations cute, because he did. But he liked the terrifying aspect of it all – he liked the adrenaline rush of fictional danger.

And friendship, in all its glory, is about give and take, is it not?

Compromise. That’s what he called it when he’d begged and pleaded for you to join him in a movie night. Because the moment the suggestion fell from his lips, you both knew he had no intentions of watching one of your usual festive movies that only teased about the creatures that crept through the night. PG-13 films that didn’t really do it for him. No, Eddie Munson had insisted you join him for a movie night, and you both knew exactly what kind of movie he intended to play.

You just hadn’t anticipated the scariest fucking movie you’d ever endured for the boy beside you on the couch.

“Shit!”

Your squeak is muffled over by the crescendo of creepy instrumental echoing from the small TV across the room. A cycle had quickly been found during this movie night; the movie would fall eerily silent as a tense scene arrived, you’d tense every single muscle so hard that Eddie could feel you shaking from the other side of the couch, and then once the jumpscare occurred and your small squeals were let out involuntarily, his own laughter would follow.

“Oh, come on,” he coos a little, leaning closer to the middle of the couch, still a fair distance away from your figure bundled up in blankets that were being used more as shields than anything at this point, “That one wasn’t even that bad!”

“To you!” you snap, yanking the fabric back down from your eyes only to glare at Eddie rather than look at whatever grotesque was plaguing the screen, “I’m a scaredy cat, remember?”

And oh, remember he does. In all your years of friendship, Eddie had called you that nickname more times than either of you could count. He never meant it with ill will, but it was easier to tease you than to admit just how adorable he found your small reactions.

Easier to tease than to admit just how badly he wishes you would seek protection or refuge from him during the scares he put you through.

His face falls slightly, but he doesn’t let his small grin slip up, not wanting to give himself or his twinge of guilt away, “I’m sorry, kitty cat. C’mere – I can protect you from all the big bad monsters-”

Eddie’s opened arms are only met with one of the pillows you’d stolen off his bed to make the couch more comfortable. It smacks into the center of his chest with deadly aim and ferocious power, making him let out an exaggerated oomph.

“Fuck you,” you grumble, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders now that the scare had passed. You almost tack on a comment about how he’s lucky you like him, because you would never endure this for anyone else.

Robin had tried. Steve had tried. Nancy had tried. They’d all tried to entice you in the scarier, classic Halloween experiences to no avail. Every offer of going to a haunted house, or attending the premiere of the newest horror movies at the local theater, were shot down before they even finished their sentences.

Only one person could break your staunch demeanor on your limits. And right now, you sort of hated his guts.

Eddie softens a bit, watching the way you pout and curl into yourself just a little tighter.

“Sweetheart,” he finally drops the cool guy demeanor, his voice gentle as he leans over with genuine concern, “We can turn it off, if you really want. Hell, if you want me to, I’ll put on something in your taste. Little Shop of Horrors, or maybe Beetlejuice? Those don’t usually scare you.”

The offer is enticing. But you have a point to prove.

“No,” you sit up a little straighter, square your shoulders with a little more defiance and faux bravery, “No, you wanted to watch…”

You pause, and Eddie smiles softly as he supplies the title of his film of choice, “Poltergeist.”

“Right, yes, Poltergeist. You wanted to watch it, so we’re gonna watch it.”

Your stubbornness is admirable.

Even when it falters. Even when another jumpscare has you ever so slightly scooching towards the center of the couch, no longer pressed to the opposite arm from Eddie in defiance. Even when Eddie spreads his legs casually, and you bump your knee into his thigh, the slightest touch bringing immense comfort.

Once you discover that, it all seems downhill from there.

A press of a knee against the side of his thigh turns into your side brushing his. Suddenly, the blanket you’d wielded like a weapon becomes shared. Moments where you try to hold up a barrier between your eyes and the screen cause slight disturbances in Eddie’s own vision. And then, it happens.

The thing he’d been diabolically planning for years. The one scenario he’d dreamt of every Halloween season, the one intention he’d held secretly every time he’d put your through endless scares.

The one touch that could send him into cardiac arrest.

He almost missed it, it happens so suddenly. One moment, you’re just curling up a little bit closer to him. The next, your arms fully wiggly their way around his bicep, capturing his arm in your grasp as your face buries into his shoulder. He can no longer smell the buttery popcorn or faint chocolate on his breath as you invade his space. It’s all sweet shampoo and subtle perfume that tickles his nose, skin against skin in a quick flush as he can hear the vibrations of your predictable scream against the fabric of his shirt.

You hardly seem to notice the sudden entanglement of your bodies in all your fear — your knees practically in his lap and your torso clinging onto his forearm for dear life. You’re acting on instinct, seeking out humane comfort without considering what you were doing.

When you do notice, you don’t let go, only slacken your grip.

“Oh, I-“ you stutter, pulling back slightly to look up at a stunned Eddie, “I’m sorry, that’s- I just- I was scared and-“

“It’s fine,” he cuts you off, eyes blown wide, “It’s… it’s fine.”

It’s more than fine.

His heart races in a way no horror movie or haunted house could incite. Every nerve ending tingles, everywhere his body connects to yours burning in delicious warmth. He wants to spend an eternity like this — you, curled up to him, clinging to him like your holy savior.

Years, and years, and years of wait pays off. Patience is surely virtue as those big eyes of yours look into his.

After a couple awkward beats of silence, you whisper, “I don’t think I like Poltergeist.”

Just like that, you have him laughing again. It’s slow and steady, a gentle chuckle that stirs from his chest in disbelief as he tries to thaw from his shock and yearning.

“You think?” he breathes out, tone not nearly teasing enough to cover up the shakiness.

He swears he can feel your heart pounding against his shoulder.

“Don’t be mean,” you start to scowl, slowly unfurling. But he stops you — angles his arm so you can’t slip your arms away as easily as before, tilting his head in closer.

“Mean? I could never be mean to you, my little scaredy cat.”

“You’re literally being mean as we speak-“

And so, he decides to stop speaking.

It’s impulsive and an even dumber idea than you enduring such a scary movie to be around him. But you look so fucking cute, his heart is tearing up his throat, and suddenly his lips are on yours in his largest spurt of bravery to date. Even more brave than the time he’d made himself a human shield between you and that dude with a chainsaw at the local haunted house, despite the way chainsaws actually kind of made him shit himself.

You don’t fully reciprocate at first. His lips are pressed hard against yours, tips of noses crushed and eyes fluttered shut, and he starts to believe he’s made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake that just washed years of friendship down the drain.

Until your hands tighten on his bicep. Until that soft squeeze comes, and it feels like he can breathe again despite sharing the air with you.

He breaks away for just a second, “I-“

“Don’t be mean,” you repeat your earlier words with entirely new meaning now. He opens his eyes and finds yours already pleading up at his face, glossy and desperate, movie forgotten.

Those hands once squeezing his bicep let go and move to the collar of his t-shirt. Normally, he’d make a comment about you stretching it out, deforming the perfect fit that took him ages to wear in, but he can’t be bothered to feel anything but delight when you’re tugging him back in for another kiss.

And the last thing he wants to be is mean. So he kisses you kindly, kisses you with all the care in the world that he had buried beneath his skin since the day he met you. Kisses you like it could scare away all the monsters that wait in the shadows. Like he’d lay down his life to protect you from the very frights he’d been subjecting you to for far too long now.

“Hey,” he mumbles, pulling back briefly, “Hey.”

This time, his forehead doesn’t leave yours as he pauses the kisses.

“God, Munson, I’ve waited for this God knows how long, sat through so many fucking scary movies, and you’re really going to-“

“Hold on, what?”

He’s grinning so hard, it aches. In his cheeks, in his chest, in the back of his head. Your words sink in and he relishes each syllable, even in your frustration.

“I- Uh,” you pull back suddenly, fingers still loosely tangled in his t-shirt, “I-“

“Enlighten me, sweetheart,” he insists, eyes finally fluttering back open to catch the embarrassment painted plainly across your face. You wear a nearly painful expression that only tightens as you know he’s watching you, “Just how many scary movies have you sat through wanting me to kiss you?”

“Fuck off,” you sigh out, shaking your head a little, “I mean it. Fuck right off-“

“Cause I could probably give a ballpark number for how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you during them,” he continues on quickly, “Actually, I bet I could count how many times I suggested watching these fuckin’ films just for this moment only to chicken out.”

Your eyes are open again in an instant. Sparkling with hope and realization of what he was getting at. “Excuse me?”

“Do you really think I’m that mean?” he scoffs, finally reaching up for your hands, surprisingly calm despite the delightful storm wreaking havoc in his chest. He takes your knuckles in his and lets his thumb trail right over them, “No offense, but if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have-“

“You like me?”

Your voice is sweet as honey, bright and drowning out the horror movie still playing.

He smiles, boyish glint and all, as he confirms, “I like you.”

You put the first real amount of distance between the two of you since you’d started to cling to him out of fear, almost as if signaling that bravery beginning to bubble over in your chest, “You actually like me?”

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“No, I- Well, maybe,” you bite your lip, and he’s suddenly dizzy with the need to capture it between his own teeth, “I just… I always thought you might like someone a little braver.”

His nose wrinkles, hands still twisting yours in his, “Excuse me? I think you’re plenty brave.”

“Eddie, you’ve said it yourself, I’m a goddamn scaredy cat.”

“So?”

“So,” you persist, shuffling so that your legs fold beneath you and you gain some leverage over him, “You’re the exact opposite. You love scary things. Not even just during Halloween, but year round. And you’re telling me you like me even though I’m a scaredy cat.”

“I like you because you’re a scaredy cat, thank you very much,” he corrects you immediately, “I love the way you always need me to protect you. I know, I know — not very feminist of me. I’m sorry. It’s just- it’s really fuckin’ cute, y’know?” now that his floodgates have opened, he’s pouring out all the words he’s held back for so long, “And besides, you’re more than just a scaredy cat. You’re also so smart, so beautiful, so funny. Yeah, you scare easily, but you’re also the same person who is the first to put me in my place when I’m being an absolute little shit. And don’t even get me started on all the cute faces you make when you’re talking about things you actually like, or when you’ve been baking with Nance and have flour all over your cheeks-“

“Okay, okay,” you stop his rambling before he can embarrass you any further. Any more affection, and your face might end up buried in his shoulder again, “I get it. You like me.”

It’s quiet for a few moments. The two of you only stare, both smiling stupid, the screams of whatever climax occurring in the movie not even reaching your ears. All you can hear is the echo of his words, of his admission. And all he can hear is the pretty way your breath catches when he gives a small squeeze to your palm.

It’s nice. It should be more anxiety inducing, it should be more dramatic. Eddie Munson should be absolutely losing his mind right now because he just kissed his best friend he’s been in love with for ages, but he isn’t. Actually, for the first time in a while, it feels as though he’s finally found it — he’s found his mind, he’s found his peace as he’s staring at your shy expression. It just feels right. Like a sigh of relief from the Universe.

“I like you, too,” you break the silence, unable to meet his gaze, “I mean, you probably already got that, but-“

“Say it again.”

“Huh?”

“I did gather that, but my God, please say it again.”

Your eyes meet him, and another piece clicks into place.

Right. It’s so fucking right.

“I like you,” you repeat yourself, a smile beginning to dance on your lips. He can’t help himself — he leans forward and pecks the corner of your upturned mouth, “I like you,” the repetition is music to his ears as he plants a second kiss on your cheek, “I like you, Munson.”

His peppered kisses mark every inch of skin available to him, making giggles begin to escape you. You even try to hide from his onslaught, but it’s no use. He’s quick to drop your hands and wrap his arms around you, tugging you in close and trapping you against him as each kiss grows more obnoxious. Loud smacking sounds, deliberately leaving spit behind that has you squealing. It’s nothing like the squeaks from when you were watching the movie; these small noises are filled with a little more joy, a little more happiness that only fuels Eddie.

“Eddie!” you try to scold, placing two hands on his solid chest, “Oh my God, stop it. You’re gross.”

“You love it,” he mutters with his mouth fully pressed to your temple, nose buried in your hair. That sweet, sweet shampoo intoxicating him.

You like him. He didn’t fuck it up.

You finally go slack in his touch, succumbing and letting him place you in his lap, curled up comfortably as you sigh, “Yeah. Okay, maybe I do. Whatever.”

“Oh, don’t act all tough now, kitty cat.”

Your hands are curled back in the fabric against his chest and you share the wonderful ache he had been feeling in his own cheeks and bones as you look down at him with playfully squinted eyes.

When he ducks down for another kiss, you stop him easily, “Nope. First, I have a request.”

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. Name it, and it’s yours.”

“Please turn off that goddamn movie.”

He throws his head back in laughter that shoots straight for your heart. The kind of laughter that haunts a chilled autumn night as children prance the streets for candy, as teenagers get into mischief in distant bonfire parties, as elderly couples enjoy morning coffees over eerie fog.

It kind of feels like home. It kind of feels like everything is as it should be, finally.

“I suppose I can do that for you, my little scaredy cat,” he muses as his head tilts back forward, chest swelling with affection, “Besides, I think I know something we can do that’s a little more fun than watching the Poltergeist.”

“Oh, yeah? And what would that be?”

His arms tighten around you as he suddenly throws the two of you to lay down on the couch, his body hovering over yours and pick necklace nipping at your chin while he reaches out to click off the TV. The weight of him between your hips feels even better than either of your wildest dreams.

Years. You couldn’t believe it had taken years for this, and neither could he. But patience is virtue, and he probably would have waited another thousand years for this feeling, truth be told.

“This,” he says boldly once the TV buzzes in sudden silence, dipping down and continuing where the two of you left off. Two sets of lips fit together like the world’s easiest jigsaw puzzle.

It’s safe to say the rest of the night, any further squeaks and squeals you let out aren’t due to ghosts.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @gagasbee @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #ghost's writing #ghostly halloween #seriously not edited #i have to be up in mere hours to get dressed up for work haha #but i HAD to write this goddamn #i had another idea where the roles are reversed in a different scenario i might try to write and post tomorrow #most unrealistic thing is that reader didn't immediately cling to him for comfort like i would lmao #i love scary movies even when they terrify me #i bid you all a very spooky night as i go pass out now #sorry if it's bad and sorry for the unoriginal title but my brain is just mush right now waaaaah

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silkspunweb · 5 months

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A Gift from Santa

w.c.: 4.2k

it's just delusional fluff. husband!nanami x reader, papamin in his glory. a very late christmas fic.

a/n: As President of the Haitchverse Fanclub, thank you for all you do for us fellow kento/hiromi lovers @pseudowho ❤️

School days were coming to a stop as the days ended sooner, the air was frostier, and the holidays got closer. You mentally scolded yourself for not ending class earlier this week so the kids could finally get some time off when you hear Itadori think aloud, "Ah, we only have a few days of school left before the holiday break, huh."

"Hmm? Oh yeah," Kugisaki responded, "I was going to do some Christmas shopping."

"You're going to do it at peak Christmas shopping time??"

"Why not? Might as well get some shopping done for a new year wardrobe!" She snickered.

Noticing your curiosity, Fushiguro turned to you and asked, "What about you, Mrs. Nanami?"

"Me?"

"Yeah! What do you and Nanamin plan on doing for Christmas?" Itadori perked at the idea of his favorite teacher and favorite mentor doing mundane holiday things.

You responded without thinking much about the question, "I think we're going to work on dinner together and have some family over." Though, as soon as those words came out, there was a sense of deflation in the air.

"Ah, I see." They all shared a look, then Itadori spoke up, "I think this is my first time spending it without Grandpa."

"Now that you mention it, this is my first time spending it in Tokyo," Kugisaki shrugged.

"Usually, my sister plans dinner for us," Fushiguro said.

You could almost hear the lonely sigh they gave out as they tightly tugged their lips into a curt smile. Your heart went out to these kids. 'They're still so young. They shouldn't be spending Christmas by themselves in their dorms.' You frowned, trying to think of ways to spend time with them without making them think it was out of pity. There must be something their teacher can do. After all, what's closest to a parent figure than a teacher? Perhaps this was something your husband could solve.

Your husband. That's it. You quickly packed your bag, waving the kids off as they said their goodbyes and left the room. 'Would Kento oppose this?' You wondered, 'Nah, surely even he can't be that callous.' You headed straight for the door before pausing, "Ah, but he's definitely going to mock me for this."

You got home before Kento and sent him a quick message that you'd be preparing dinner. It was a little crazy, that idea of yours, but the craziest part would be if Ken would actually play along in your schemes (as he would call it).

"You know, you shouldn't poke your nose where it doesn't belong." You remembered him telling you that right before you took up the position to fill in as Gojo's substitute. "You're only going to get attached to them, Darling." Psh, what did he know? Only just about everything about you.

"I'm not going to get attached, Ken, I'm just doing a favor for an old friend. Besides, those kids are going to join us on the battlefield someday, maybe even tomorrow. They need someone to guide them properly, especially when Gojo's not around." You grumbled on the drive home, peering at him from the corner of your eyes as he chuckled.

"Sure love, whatever you say." He remained focused on the street before him, "Ten dollars says you do, though."

"Nanami Kento," you faked a gasp," are you making a bet with me right now?"

"Nothing wrong with a little indulgence, is there?" You turned to him with a raised brow. There was a playful glint to his eye; he knew what he was doing here, baiting you into these childish games. There was no real prize here; the money would stay where it belonged, but he got the right to say he won.

You scoffed to yourself, 'No one would believe me if I said that my husband would partake in stupid bets like this.' You rolled your eyes at him, "Alright, ten if you win. But if I win, I want to change the color of our bedroom."

He raised a brow at you, "What's wrong with our bedroom color?"

"Nothing's wrong with it, our new room color is just going to be a reminder of my new victory."

"You're a little too confident here, don't you think," he chuckled.

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. How dare he be right about everything. You felt the embarrassment on your face as you mixed the curry roux in the pot. Ugh, he was going to be so smug when he heard your stupid plans.

You could back down now, there was no reason you couldn't. Hell, maybe if it was a month ago, you wouldn't even think a second thought about these kids. But Kento, he just had to be good with children. You didn't think much of it when he came to pick you up from your mission with the kids last month. You didn't think much of it when he asked you and the kids if you guys ate yet. You didn't think much of it when he invited them to join you guys for dinner at home, seeing that it was late at night. You didn't think much of it when he offered them the couch and the spare bedrooms. You didn't think much of it when he told Itadori to eat his vegetables, handed Kugisaki a spare hair tie, and gave his seat to Fushiguro at the dinner table. You didn't think much of it when he told them to go relax, cool off, and that he would handle the dishes. But man, you saw the fond look in his eyes when he dropped them off at their dorm the next morning. You saw how happy he was to have them around, to occupy the spaces of your shared home, to relax and share a meal with these kids at the dinner table. Call it camaraderie, mentor-mentee relationship, or authoritative affections. Call it whatever you want, but Kento was meant to be a dad.

You smiled at the pot of curry in front of you. You knew he was going to mock you, but you couldn't help but wish that you were making this dinner for five right now instead of two. You knew that even though he was going to tease the hell out of you for feeling this way, the feelings were mutual and he wanted them around too. So, you sucked in a deep breath when you heard his car pull up in the driveway, turned off the stove, and made towards the door to welcome him in.

You opened the door before he could even pull out his keys, throwing yourself into his arms as he walked in.

He leaned in, putting his face into the crook of your neck, “Well hello to you, too.” He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, taking in the little things that made his home whole.

“Welcome home,” you pressed your face into his chest, unwilling to let him see the look of defeat evident in your eyes.

He pulled away to look at you, your eyes downcasted and a slight puff in your cheeks. “What sort of trouble did you get into this time?” He mused.

“I need your help, Kento.” He quirked a brow at you as you suddenly helped him take off his winter coat and scarf. “There's something bothering me at school.” A light tug to loosen his tie, “It's been killing me all day,” another tug, “and I just don't know what to do.” You glared at the offending piece of fabric as if it was the cause of your demise. “Will you help me?”

“That depends,” he hummed, “what's got you so worked up that you need my help at school?” You gave out an exaggerated sigh, walking back into the kitchen to plate him his dinner. He followed, washing his hands and setting up the table. “Is this about the kids?” He doesn't even look at you, knowing you'd do anything to deny it. It was childish, you both knew it, but you couldn't help the heat creeping up your back. How does he always know? There was a pause, then another. You placed two plates onto the dinner table, sitting down without another word, red staining your cheeks as you flushed in embarrassment. He sat down and chuckled, “I'm right, aren't I?” You scrunched your nose at him, debating to deny it or admit your grievances. “Darling,” he reached his hand across the table for you to meet his in the middle, “is this about the kids?”

Another deep sigh, “Yes Kento, it's about the kids.” You rolled your eyes, slipping him a ten dollar bill across the table.

He chuckled, “You know that's not what I wanted in the first place.”

“Ken, really?” You frowned at him, placing one hand on top of his. His brows quirked up, making you run your other hand through your hair. “Alright, alright. You were right. I grew attached to the kids. I said I wouldn't, but I did. You warned me and you told me so. Now stop being a butt head, and help me with this.”

“I was going to tell you to say, ‘please,’ but this'll do too,” he gave a gentle squeeze. “Now, what did you have in mind?”

“I need you to dress as Santa.”

“No.”

“But—

“Absolutely not.”

“Ken—”

“Nope.” He met your offending glare with indifference on his own face. “Why on Earth would I dress as Santa.”

“It's for the experience.”

“You think I should experience wearing red velvet and a—”

“No, not for you! The experience is for them.” His face deadpanned. “I'm serious, I think you should dress as Santa, like when dads pretend to be Santa for their—”

“They're not our kids.”

“You don't mean that.”

“Of all things you want me to do—”

“It'd make a fond memory for them!”

“To put me in a big red coat and that ugly—”

“You wouldn't even have to wear the beard!” He gave you a pointed look. “Okay, the beard would help a lot, but Ken—”

“No.” You opened your mouth in protest, “Absolutely not.” A pout formed on your face, cheeks starting to puff in frustration. He gave out a big sigh, “I'll get them gifts to open for Christmas. Won't that suffice?” He poked one of your inflated cheeks. “We can even head over to celebrate with them if it'll make you happy.” You refused to look at him at this point, disappointed in his lack of enthusiasm for your plans.

Getting up to clear your dinner, you grumbled as you walked past him to the sink, “They don't have anyone to go home to like we do. I just want to give them something happy to remember.” Your words hung uncomfortably in the air as he stared down at what was left of his dinner. He heard the tap turn on, then off. You left him to simmer in his thoughts. Another big sigh as he ran a hand through his hair, he quietly pulled out his phone and made some orders online.

“They're not our kids.” Why did he say that? He knew you saw how happy he was whenever the kids were over for dinner.

“You don't mean that.” You were right. He didn't mean it. He loved every minute of it when the kids stayed over, even if dinner time was rowdier and messier than usual. Even if he had to give up some of his comfort and private space to have these kids around. Even when he had to scold them for something as miniscule as eating their vegetables out of his work hours, for goodness sake. “I just want to give them something happy to remember.” He frowned. This could've been a happy memory for you, too. After all, it was just one day, probably not even the entire day in a stupid red suit. So what if he thought it was ugly, that dumb suit could've really made his wife happy. He groaned, opening his phone once again to make another impulsive purchase. He may have won your little bet, but it seems like you won something else after all. Even if you didn't know it yet.

After he cleared his own plates, he made his way to get ready for bed so he could return to you. He walked through the bedroom door, disappointed to find you facing the other way. You weren't even sparing a glance at your husband nor making any cheeky comments about how wet he looked and how low that towel hung around his waist. Nothing, zilch. He sighed again, throwing on a pair of checkered pajama bottoms before making his way next to you. He had his arm over your waist, testing the waters, and a little glad that you hadn't shaken him off.

“Good night,” you grumbled.

He pressed his own “good night” into the crown of your head.

You woke up a little earlier than usual with your husband's arms around you tighter than it was last night. With one arm across your chest and the other around your waist, he had your hips flush against his. It was so pleasant, you almost forgot why you had your back facing him to begin with. You blinked the sleep away, mentally at war with yourself to either stay or to forcefully peel away from his embrace. You shouldn't, ‘He doesn't deserve it,’ you pouted. ‘Even if I reaaaallly want to, I should be firm about this.’ You tried to reason yourself as you felt him shift from behind, only pulling you in closer, tighter. His face was in your hair, his puffs of breath tempting you to go back to sleep. You mentally screamed, ‘Damn him! I need to— ugh. It's so comfortable.’ You wanted to cry. This was the ideal morning, but you had to get up now if you wanted to work on setting up the classroom for the kids. Time was of the essence, and since somebody denied you of some good, fun Christmas spirits, you just had to make up for the non-participating party's lack of enthusiasm.

You willed yourself to pull away from your husband as you slipped out of the comforter, not making it far before he had his arm around you again. “Stay.” You didn't realize he had sat up when you tried to sneak off. If not for the arm that wound around your belly, you would've mistaken his low morning voice for something else. It was something akin to dark chocolate and warmed honey, running deep and slow; it woke you up in the morning. You wanted to whine at how unfair he was being. How affectionate and cuddly for someone so stern and callous last night. You shook your head and quickly pulled yourself out of his arms and into the shower.

‘I have to stay strong,’ you repeated to yourself under the freezing water. After getting dressed, you went to the kitchen where you found your distracting husband in just his checkered pajama bottoms. ‘Oh, dear lord, I am not your strongest soldier.’ He gave a soft smile, his hair sticking to one way and the other. You wanted to run your hand through it so bad, but if you got any closer, you might not leave as early as you had hoped.

“G’morning.” There he goes again. Him and his stupid, perfect face, and his stupid, perfect— “I made you tea and breakfast.” Oh no.

You forced yourself to grab the coffee pot instead, “No thanks, I plan on leaving to work earlier today.” You didn't even bother with the cream and sugar, needing the bitter taste to jolt you out of this domestically inviting scene. Nope, nope, nope. You grabbed a piece of toast, gave him a quick peck on the cheek for good morning, and rushed to the door before he could stop you from leaving again. He blinked at the whirlwind that was his wife, frowning when you slammed the door. The door opened again, “I'll be a little late today! Don't wait up!” His frown deepened at the second door slam. Knowing you, you were probably going to set up some lights and a small tree in the classroom or at the dorms just to make it a little more festive for the kids at school.

“I must've really messed up,” he scratched the back of his neck, “No use in moping about it now.” He sighed and eyed the unwanted cup, then went to check his phone.

You were quieter than usual for the next couple of days, not so much as being upset with him, but more distracted with your thoughts. You already had the lights up to the kids’ surprise that one morning and promised them that the tree will have more ornaments the next day. They tried to wave you off, saying, “No need ma'am, you already do enough for us,” and “Really, we're fine, it's just Christmas.” You hushed them, something about ‘the presents are already wrapped’ and you ‘already mailed Santa for them’. You knew they were old enough not to believe in some merry folklore, but you wanted them to look forward to something this week. You checked your phone to see if the surprise was going to arrive on time.

‘Today's Wednesday, and the package is going to come tonight. Then break starts…Friday?’ Your brows furrowed, ‘Would I have time to get dinner for them too? Ugh, I should've told Kento to prepare food instead of wearing a Santa suit or something. That would've been smarter. Ah! What about the second years? Did I buy their gifts yet?’ The day ended, leaving only two days left for you to prepare, so you hurried home to think of gift ideas for the others. ‘Socks are only cool when you're in college and realize you need to appreciate useful things, like parents who provide socks,’ you scoffed to yourself. ‘What would high schoolers even like? Are CD albums still cool? But what do they listen to? Do they even listen to TommyHeavenly6 or L’Arc-en-Ciel? Oh god, am I outdated now? Are Scandal still cool??? Ah, focus! Now’s not the time. What would these kids like for Christmas?”

You pulled up into your driveway, making your way to your front door, brows still furrowed as you nearly walked into your husband, “Oomph.”

“Welcome home,” he said warmly, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he helped you out of your work shoes. “How was work?”

You eyed him momentarily before speaking, “It's going well, I think. The kids are…Well, they're losing focus now that break is just two days away, so it's hard to get them focused on the lesson. Itadori nearly ran into the door this morning because he forgot about doors.” You chuckled fondly, “Though I suppose that's my fault for putting up all those Christmas decorations. I probably got them excited and whatnot.” You tiptoed ever so slightly to kiss him on the cheek, “What did you do today?”

“Had a mission that ended early, so I made dinner,” he said. It wasn't a total lie, he did make dinner, but instead of a mission, he actually drove around town, picking up what you missed on your not-so-secret Christmas plans list. He knew it wasn't going to fully make up for his harsh words, but you were going to appreciate it either way.

Dinner went smoothly. Better actually, now that you were both hip to hip at the sink, washing dishes together. You two were back to your usual routine; he connected Bluetooth to your phone, and you got to play music that made you nostalgic for your teen years again. He rolled his eyes when you blew sudsy bubbles at him, “Real mature,” he hip bumped you before flicking water onto your glasses. His heart swelled seeing you look at him, like it was his first time again, seeing how your smile widened the slightest of increments or how your eyes darkened a little more with mirth. With another nudge, he insisted you showered and got ready for bed, “I can handle the rest,” he waved you away.

After you showered, you went to bed, tucking yourself underneath his chin, and pressed a kiss to his sternum for “good night.” He could've melted right there and then under your touch, but instead held you close, hoping the next few days were going to be to be easier for the both of you.

Thursday went by fast, and all of a sudden it was Friday. ‘D-Day’ as you'd called it in your head. ‘Kento’s gonna be at work, so he probably won't make it to see the kids open their gifts.’ You frowned as you remembered the shaky handwritten cards you wrote for the second years, embarrassed that you had to stick to gift cards in the end. Nothing wrong with gift cards, but you would've liked to be as personal with their gifts as you were with the first years.

It was a bit before lunch that you decided to give them a short break, and quickly made your way to the bathroom to change into your outfit. It was a silly oversized red coat, and you realized why Kento had been so stubborn about wearing such a thing. You laughed at yourself in the mirror, ‘Okay, I get it, it is ugly.’ You made a beeline for the staff room, imagining Kento’s reaction to you and the hideous outfit, but nothing could've prepared you for what you saw next. Your husband, the love of your life, the most stubborn man on Earth, stood before you in the same exact outfit. You could've sworn you were in the soda can commercial with how cold and stiff his face was.

“Kento.”

“Yes?”

“What on Earth are you wearing?”

“I could say the same to you,” he raised an eyebrow, eyeing you up and down.

“I thought you didn't want to,” you trailed off, not sure if you should be pointing and laughing or crying over your husband in those ridiculous clothes.

“I didn't.”

“Then why are you—”

“You were right.” You stared at him with your mouth wide open, “The beard does help a lot.” He offered a taut smile and you jumped into his arms, happy enough that you could have married this man a second time.

“I can't believe you,” you buried your face into his neck, “you silly, silly man.”

He let out what sounded like a small laugh, “Let's go before I change my mind about this outfit.” He gave you a peck on the forehead and went to pick up the bags off the table.

“You got them gifts???” He raised his eyebrow once more, opening the bag to show you the contents. Your face fell at the trays of food, “Really??”

“Hey, these kids are big eaters, and besides, you left food off your list.”

“Ah! You saw that?” You flushed, unable to contain the smile growing wider on your face.

“Of course I saw it, it was the only thing you looked at all week,” he rolled his eyes, taking your hand in his free one as you both walked back to the classroom.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Dunno, but next time, how about you don't reject my—”

A water bottle fell to the floor when the door opened.

“Na-nanamin?”

“Why are there two Santas?”

There was a camera shutter click. “I'll send this to you guys later,” Kugisaki smiled.

“But seriously, what are you two wearing?”

Kento sighed, “There was a little mix up. Mrs. Claus here almost left some of the gifts back at home, so I'm here to deliver the rest of the presents.”

You smiled at him before turning to them, “You should go call for the second years, tell them to come inside for lunch.”

The kids immediately rushed outside to bring the upperclassmen in. Something about, “Hurry up,” “Food’s here,” and “Forget the food, hurry before he changes out of those clothes!”

No one understood why Kento was dressed as Santa. After all, he wasn't technically their teacher. Sure, they’d had dinner with him a few times, but did that really warrant buying them presents and helping them celebrate with a Christmas meal? Or maybe he lost a bet? No, Nanamin would never take part in bets. Then what was it? They weren't exactly sure. All they knew was that the way he smiled at his wife was the same as when he sat at the dinner table with them at home. The Nanamis sure love Christmas, they joked. You watched all five kids lean in towards your husband as Kugisaki whipped her phone out for a selfie with Santa. It reminded you that you ought to capture the moment while Kento was still willing to participate. With another click of a shutter, you took the picture of your smiling husband and your kids.

“Darling,” he gave you a warning glare.

“Oh, c’mon Santa, lighten up,” Maki joked and the others giggled.

You poked his side, “Yeah, Santa, who knows when I'll get to see you like this again.”

Nothing could have prepared you for his response; he gave you another flat look, then replied, “Probably when we have our own kids.”

credits to @cafekitsune for the beautiful Christmas banner

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #papamin ♡#everyone needs to read pseudowho's work #gotta post this before someone takes my crown title #thanks to my best friend too cuz she's been pushing me to write and post for years now but she's not on here so it's hard to tag her #thank you to the two who supported me ❤️#and thank you for those of you who are reading ❤️#stay warm and safe :)#silk spun tales

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