#let her have her coffee dammit

[reignpage]

Lying To Himself

Content: in which toji is left alone and how he deals with your temporary absence

You have to leave for two weeks, something about a mission in another city. Your boyfriend, Toji, swears it'll be okay, even insists that time will pass by in a blink of an eye. 

“‘m not a fucking child, ma. I’ll be fine. Just take care, yeah?”

And so, you peck him on his lips and wave goodbye before you get in the car. Then you’re disappearing in the distance. Toji shrugs, going back in feeling pretty excited to have the house to himself for two weeks — this has never happened before. As he sits on the couch, bottle of beer in one hand and tv remote on the other, he thinks about all the things he can do now.

The toilet seat can stay up, the bins will be full for longer, same goes for the dirty dishes in the sink, and he can watch whatever he wants; no more of those sappy romcoms with predictable plots and cheesy lines. 

“’s gonna be fun,” he mutters, a growing grin on his face. 

A couple days pass in relative silence, he stays out late, sleeps till noon and eats all the junk you’ve banned from the house. Toji cooks all the steak he wants and leaves the beer bottles to collect dust on the coffee table. And he accepts every invitation from his buddies to go out for drinks, watch basketball at the bar, and plays a couple games too.

He stays up all night, on the evenings he's not getting stupid drunk, playing videogames -- the violent ones you cringe at. During the day, he walks around the place in just his boxers, sometimes not even that, and it's liberating. All a man needs is to be free to be balls naked in their own kitchen.

"You're not missing her at all?" Shiu asks, smoke blowing in his face as they stand in the back alley, leaning against the wall of the bar.

Toji snorts. "What am I? Five years old? I can last a couple weeks without being sappy."

His friend gives him a look, half amused, half disbelieving and a hundred percent smug. None of them miss the death grip he has on his phone, the way his knee is bouncing, and how he isn't even looking at the hot chicks that sway their asses as they walk by.

It’s been great. Really fucking great. 

You haven’t been texting much. Sure, you check in here and there, letting him know you’re alright, you’re safe, and making sure he’s watered your plants. However, there are rarely any opportunities for phone calls longer than five minutes, no FaceTime either, and sometimes he goes to sleep without a ‘goodnight’ from you. 

It’s fine. 

At least, he can sleep at whatever time he wants without you whining about needing cuddles.

More days pass just like that. 

And now he’s rarely leaving the house, finding his drunk friends boring, obnoxiously loud. It’s like he's suddenly realised they’re kinda fucking stupid. He starts to get sick of all the steak and fried chicken and takeaway, and instead he’ll text you for the recipe of your lasagne or that smoothie you make him in the mornings that’s always greener than the last. 

His feet tap on the floor when you don’t reply straight away. And when his phone lights up, he practically dives for it and grips it tight in his palm, screen threatening to crack when it’s not from you. 

“God fucking dammit, Shiu. Don’t fucking talk to me if it’s not important.”

The movies he’s been dying to watch are pretty shit. There’s no depth, no proper pacing, and the dialogue’s cheesy as fuck. Usually, you’d throw popcorn at the screen and complain about all those things, but he finds that he has to mutter them to himself for white noise. Even smirks when he thinks he got it exactly right, guessing what you’d say as if you’re yapping right in his ear. 

“She’d totally find that shit stupid. And that blood looks fake as fuck. What was the fucking budget for this shit?”

Most of the phone calls on his history log are from him, more reds than greens. What the fuck have they got you doing over there anyways? 

When you do reply to his ‘g’night’ and ‘hey, sleep well?’, he’ll have a go at you for taking so damn long. It’s just fucking ridiculous that you’re clearly sleeping well when he has to hit the gym and tire himself out to even get an hour of shut eye nowadays. Sometimes, he can’t even get any and he just paces the length of the living room waiting for a notification from you to pop up. 

“Fucking come on! Y'r phone better be dead or something.”

Toji hates having dinner on the table; the seat opposite him is empty, the placemat bare and he feels a freaky fucking soreness in his chest. When that happens, he never finishes his dinner. Must be a symptom of early heart disease. Gotta talk to the doctors about that. 

Instead, he eats on the sofa or in his car.

Eventually, you find time to speak to him for an hour, recounting all the crazy things you’ve seen and had to do. He doesn’t interrupt, he just grunts here and there, not even really listening but he urges you to keep talking when there’s a pause, like you’re unsure if you’re talking too much. And when you try to turn the conversation on him, asking about his day, he gives one word answers and then throws you another question. 

“Yeah?” He grunts. “What else? Speak up, ma. Wanna hear ya. D’ya go to that shop? Yeah? Y’ buy anything? Send me a picture.”

He gets two nights of decent sleep after that.

But then…

The guys at work know better than to open their fat mouths around him when he turns up with an extra wrinkle and a ticking in his jaw. Toji is somehow even more sadistic and violent and eager for blood. Even finally accepts their invitation to go out for drinks and drowns himself in the extra strong shit. Assuming he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, they don’t question his sour mood. 

But what they don’t know is that you texted, just a day before you’re set to come back, to let him know you’re staying another week. 

Fucking texted. 

Didn’t even get to hear it from your own voice. 

He buries himself in more work and stays at the gym for even longer, pushing his body so far, his mind quiets down and he don’t gotta think about the fact that he’s started sleeping on your side of the bed, that the house is losing your scent, and that divot on the couch where you always sat has flattened out. 

Everyone knows he’s losing his mind. They can tell by the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he’s started snapping at women who are either flirting or just doing their jobs. And sometimes they even have to block his view of couples practising PDA. That’s the closest to hell they ever want to get around Toji. Suddenly, everyone’s hoping you throw the guy a bone and send a nude or something. Literally anything to rein him back in.

The day comes, though, when you’re finally returning home. 

“Y’ sure? Not gonna flake again? Be fucking sure, ma. Alright, get back safe.”

Toji throws all the rubbish out, washes the dishes and dries them, double checks that the toilet seat is down, and he’s followed your recipe for beef stew to the letter — it’s cooking in the oven, and it looks fucking great. Even exfoliated in the shower like you’ve been asking him to, almost took off an entire layer of skin. He doesn’t want to admit he feels pretty fucking fresh. 

The door handle rattles. 

He sits up. And then stands. Walks over to the front door, arms crossing and then uncrossing. 

You’re here. 

“Hey, Toji—“

Your greeting is smothered in his chest as he threatens to suffocate you with the hardest bear hug in the whole world. And though he’d never hurt you, if you weren’t a sorcerer, you’d have been in big trouble. 

“Y’ hungry? Or y’ wanna shower first?”

His hands are all over you, lifting your chin to search your face for any scratches, even squishes your cheeks to be sure, and he’s patting you down for bruises or just to make sure all your limbs are intact. There’s a frown on his lips and it’s pretty darn cute. 

“Aw, Toji, baby. Did you miss me?”

“No.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re not a child, blah blah blah.”

Walking past him to take your shoes off, hang your coat and roll your suitcase to the side, you’re inhaling the air and moaning about the delicious food in the oven. Oh, God. You’ve been craving homemade food for so long now. You might actually die if you don’t eat. 

“Come here.” Your eyes dart to him, still standing by the doorway, fists clenching and unclenching. Toji looks furious. You look closer. No, he looks…embarrassed? “Said come here, ma.”

“Why?” You ask, head titling in curiosity and slight suspicion. 

He grunts. “What? I gotta spell it out for ya?”

Laughing, you tap your foot on the ground and retort back, “Yeah, you might because you need to have a good reason from keeping me from both a good shower and a warm meal.”

Toji rolls his eyes and stalks over to you, yanking you back to his chest so he can wrap his arms around you and keep you still. It’s much softer than before, but you feel the same sense of passion, something that verges on desperation.

It’s almost like…

No. 

It can’t be. 

Oh, but when you feel his face bury itself in your neck and you hear that long inhale, followed by a deep groan vibrating through his chest, you’re absolutely sure. 

Toji missed you. 

An overwhelming feeling of love fills you, so does a sense of victory, and you just hug him back, inhaling deeply too. He smells like home, like reluctant cuddles, pats on the ass, and early morning sex. You thought you’d have the most trouble in the two weeks, which turned into three, but as it turns out, he didn’t fare much better. 

Though he’d never admit it with his own mouth, his body betrays him.

Toji doesn’t let you get very far without a hand on you somehow, whether that’s a hand on your thigh as you eat dinner side by side, instead of across from each other, or you sitting on his lap as you watch the movie you want to watch. He even waits on the toilet lid as you shower, though that only lasts a couple minutes before he’s stripping and joining you. 

“Y’r not washing y’r hair right,” he tuts. 

Getting into bed is even worse because he’s practically lying on top of you the whole night, still sniffing your neck, and with his hands exploring your body. Not really in a sexual way, which is odd for him, but as if he just wants to feel you. He wants to feel your warmth, your softness, and reassure himself you’re home. 

Soon, he’s out cold and you mumble a goodnight against his forehead.

He wakes up feeling completely refreshed, like a newborn, stretching and grinning about getting ready with the day, and frowns when you’re still fast asleep. Part of him wants to make sure you’re getting your rest, but that part doesn’t win for very long and the much bigger part is shaking you awake.

“Come on, ma. Fucking bored here. Wake up, yeah? Let’s get some breakfast. Wanna talk to ya.” 

And when you do wake up, grumbling at how loud he’s being, he ignores the glares you’re giving and the swatting of his hands. Toji gives you a rare, wide, toothy smile and he says, 

“There’s my gorgeous girl. Good morning, baby.”

Yeah, this man totally missed you. 

[dearhargrove]

summary Seeing him that first time, you never could have imagined what life had in store for you.

(short fluffy one shot of their first meeting and then the night after he took her virginity while they're dating, based on a request)

word count 1309

You don't think you'll ever forget meeting him for the first time. How could you, with the impression he left?

—

You're at a fancy restaurant for a work celebration. The ambiance is dark and rich, the people sitting at the tables have that same vibe. Except one group of guys. The one you had noticed as soon as you stepped into this place.

They're sitting in the far back in one of the more private booths, however still in the middle and with a good overview of the whole area.

If you had to guess, the eldest of the three is the father and the twenty something year old guys are his sons. However your attention is drawn to the one sitting on the far right, looking almost on edge as he quietly listens to the other two talk. His muscles are visible through his suit, coffee brown curls tucked behind his ears and there's a necklace that shouldn't fit but just does.

There's something wilder, more strong to him than his two companions. His eyes are strikingly blue, eyebrows pulled into an annoyed frown as he sips his wine. Among that you also note that while the other two have ordered big steaks with barely any sides, he has a salad.

You distractedly continue picking at your dish, stabbing the fork into one of the ingredients for long enough that your colleague looks at you in concern, making you fluster and smile awkwardly.

She grins in amusement and turns to follow your line of sight, looking back to you with an expression that clearly translates into what you've been thinking too ever since first noticing the man; wow.

He's just so – manly. And yet there's still an elegance to him.

You let a strategic few minutes tick by before you look back at the mouthwatering man, only to look right into blue eyes.

You almost flinch, getting flustered immediately and smiling tightly – apologetically? – before hurriedly taking a bite of your dinner to pretend to be minding your own business.

Luckily, no one seems to have noticed your mishap and with a few well timed deep breaths your heartbeat returns to normal and your palms stop sweating.

Nevertheless, you excuse yourself to the ladies room and grab your clutch, not even pretending to know where the hell the toilet even is. You worm your way through the tables to where you guess the restrooms should be, only to almost run into a server coming out of that door who shoots you a confused but kind smile.

“Restrooms are on the other side, dove.”

You tense up, slowly turn around and — oh. It's him. And, dammit, he's even more beautiful up close. He carries a nice scent to him, but not a typical perfume, more of a natural breeze. It's nice, you note. “I noticed... I've never been here before, so–”

He smiles gently and you relax, reciprocating a light but bashful smile. “Don't worry about it. Come on, I'll show you?” he offers. "Oh, I wouldn't want to keep you from your dinner…”

He shakes his head, gives you a calculating look and then softens up a tiny bit, “Trust me, I'm grateful for any excuse to step back from there.” That surprises you a bit but it's none of your business, so you ignore it. You step closer to him and he starts leading the way, obviously walking slower so you could keep up in your heels.

And there's another thing you notice; instead of having to squeeze by the people and servers they part before him like the red sea. The people scoot closer to their tables, the servers bow their heads the tiniest bit and the other customers just smile tightly.

Just who is he? you wonder.

You're more intrigued than before now, momentarily pushing the thoughts aside when you stop in front of two doors; the men's and the ladies room.

“I suppose you'll find your way back to your table?” he kindly but slightly playfully comments. You grin in a mix of embarrassment and amusement, “Sure I will. Thank you, though.”

He shrugs in dismissal, then after a short awkward moment shoots you another smile and leaves.

You take a moment in the – luxurious – bathroom to freshen up, reapply perfume and deodorant, check your phone and do your business. You feel better when you walk back out, already expecting the onslaught of questions from your colleague who had noticed your staring and the man just to then see him lead you through the restaurant.

After paying for your meal (which legitimately made you wince when seeing the actual price because the menu did not have the prices listed) and dodging the questions of your curious coworker, you leave with a small group from your office, engaging in small talk.

You don't even see him when you walk out the door, focused on the story your coworker was telling, but you definitely hear him.

“That's a nice perfume.” His voice is soft but steady, slightly raspy too. You wouldn't mind hearing it more often, you decide.

You halt in your steps and turn around, surprised when you see his cheeky grin. He stops holding the door open, his own jacket slung over his arm and steps the last step down to stand right next to you.

“Thank you–?”

“Sergei.” He introduces himself, nodding his head. “–Sergei.” You repeat with a small smile. He stills for a moment and then blinks, swallowing and nodding. “May I ask the name of this lovely lady?”

You chuckle, slowly continuing your ascend of the stairway, “You may.” And while he asks and you answer with your name he holds out his arm, letting you loop your hand to hold onto his arm for balance.

—

And that's how you ended up here. In his bed, naked except some panties and his way too big t-shirt with his arm snug around your waist and his nose in your hair as he sleeps.

The sun is just rising, the orange and pink hues lighting up the place, forming beautiful shadows and tricks of light.

You turn your head to look at him and take in his beautiful face, bathed in the sunlight. His eyes are still closed, his breathing even and for once his face is relaxed instead of scrunched up from another fight with his father or an upcoming hunt.

However, he also seems to have gotten an extra sense tuned in to you ever since you started dating, so at your stare his eyes open and the blue irises focus on you. It makes you snort a bit and flick the tip of his nose, then turn back to keep watching the sunrise.

His hand moves under the shirt you're wearing to spread out along your skin, calloused hands gentle. “Been awake for long, baby?” The question is soft with a hint of concern and his voice is still husky from sleep.

“Just woke up,” you yawn and stretch a little, he uses the chance and puts his palm in the middle of your torso, tugging you back into his chest. He doesn't say anything further as he tucks into the crook of your neck and grumbles appreciatively when he smells nothing but your natural scent.

Since he told you about his powers you had started to wear less perfume around him (at least when it's just the two of you), as his sensitive sense of smell easily got irritated by the artificial cologne.

It's not long before his nosing turns into nibbling and you can already feel the next few bite marks form, probably meticulously placed to not cover the hickeys he'd left last night.

“Sergei—” he interrupts your upcoming complaint with a grunt and swiftly rolls on top of you, leaned on his forearms as he looks at you like you're his prey. You feel dwarfed under him, his huge biceps and broad shoulders covering you entirely.

At your perplexed expression he chuckles and softly kisses your forehead, “Can't hold back when I remember you're all mine.”

[teaspacebar]

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit. 

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?” 

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again. 

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head. 

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain. 

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago! 

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge  Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?” 

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth. 

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!” 

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register. 

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.” 

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!” 

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron. 

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal. 

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.” 

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” 

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!”

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!” 

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous. 

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips. 

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

 A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns. 

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, “You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick. 

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor. 

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?” 

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

[rosie-read-that]

a nonsense christmas / tyler owens x reader

summary: an unexpected snowstorm traps tyler owens with his workplace nemesis over the holidays. bonus points: there was only one bed.

content warnings: f!reader, allusions to smut

word count: 9k

author’s note: happy holidays! 🎄🎊🤶🏻🕎 i hope they were merry and bright and as stress-free as possible. thank you so much for supporting my three little fics. this is unedited, but i wanted to post it before i went out of town as a gift made specially for the glen girlies - i wrote it to bring you some december cheer. see you next year!

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Over the span of the last twelve hours you’d lost count of the number of times you’d muttered that sentence underneath your breath.

First, it was the office building in New York, where Tyler had the appointment right after yours at a ritzy funding agency. Then it was the airport, where you’d both flown standby and had a Wild West confrontation over the last seat on the plane, only for another passenger to volunteer their place in exchange for a travel voucher. (“It’s not like I’m in a rush to see my family, anyway.”) The woman manning the desk had given you both a look that said, “See, this is how an adult behaves,” which you thought was rich when the guy was clearly trying to cheat his way out of a Christmas dinner. Then, Tyler got assigned the seat behind you on the plane, and in keeping with his infuriating personality, spent the entire flight kicking your seat - or, I’m sorry, just trying to stretch his legs.

After landing, you’d raced to the same rental car company. The woman at this desk kept pointing out that the weather seemed dire and that a snowstorm might hit at any moment, to which you assured her that you weren't headed far—a lie—and glared at Tyler’s back before shuffling into the parking lot with your borrowed keys, hoping his heater would break or that an ex-girlfriend had broken into his house during his absence and left coal in his stocking.

It turned out that the woman at Enterprise was right. The weather was dire; your visibility was shot to hell after the first forty miles, leaving you to squint through the flurry-turned-blizzard, your knuckles white on the steering wheel as you inched forward in your seat, as though you could magically see through the storm if only you pressed your nose just so to the windshield.

After a while you gave up and started to admit that unless you wanted to turn into a human Popsicle, you might need a Plan B. You let out a weary sigh, listening to the weather report on the radio—“If you're safe and cozy at home, it's gonna be a white Christmas, folks, but if you're out on the road, I suggest taking cover and waiting it out for Santa Claus to slide down the chimney.”

You scanned the passing road signs for fast food restaurants, gas stations, and rest stops, even took a few exits just to be hit with NO VACANCY in bright neon reds, making mental calculations for the rest of your trip.

Home was still a long way off: three hours, after dark. Normally you’d power through with an extra-large coffee, but it was snowing, and your window to remain safely on the road was closing with every passing minute.

Dammit.

After the fourth failed attempt at finding lodgings, you sat in the driver’s seat with the heater on and called your sister.

She answered after a few rings. In the background you heard your nephew and nieces screaming their heads off in that kid way. God, you loved those little rugrats but they were undoubtedly a nightmare—you imagined Margo plugging up one of her ears and waving at them to be quiet. Of course, to no avail.

“Where are you?” she demanded, the accusation sharp in her voice. You knew to expect it, so instead of answering, “Well, hello to you too, I can’t control the weather, in case you haven’t noticed,” you went with a plain response, facts only.

“Somewhere in the middle of Benburg.”

“Where?”

“Exactly.”

You heard her sigh. “The snow’s getting pretty bad.”

“No shit.”

“Hey, don't ‘no shit’ me! I told you traveling right before Christmas Eve was going to be a nightmare.”

“And I told you I had no choice.”

She paused. There was whispering on the other end, an almost-silence that put your body on high alert until, finally, she said, “Mom wants to talk to you.”

“Margo, no!”

Your protests fell on deaf ears. The phone was jostled as your mother took it and began to speak.

“Honey, are you almost here?”

Covering your face with your hands, you kept your voice light, knowing she’d be able to detect even the smallest hint of frustration, and then you’d have to put up with another round of “why on earth did you take a meeting in New York right before the holidays?”

“No, mom, I’ve still got a-ways to go.”

You pictured her narrowing her eyes, maybe placing a hand on her cocked hip.

“How long a-ways?”

“Less than two hours,” you lied.

It was absolutely more than two hours.

A pause. “Well, I guess that's okay.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Through gritted teeth and the voice of a demented schoolteacher, you added, “Mom, can you put Margo back on the phone now, please?”

“She wants to talk to you,” you heard her saying from a distance.

After some more jostling, you felt the caller change as you merged back onto the highway and left the motel behind.

“Marg, can you tell her to cut me some slack, please? I’m doing my best.”

“Ha!”

You glared at the console, hoping she could feel it over the phone.

“Gee, thanks! So much for the Christmas spirit!”

“Listen, when you have three kids, two dogs, a husband, all of your in-laws, your parents, and your stepmom breathing down your neck, I’ll have a little more sympathy.”

“Fine… But I promise I’m not leaving you in the lurch on purpose. My flight from New York got delayed, I had some asshole kicking me in the kidneys the whole time, and I can barely see a yard in front of me because of this storm—it’s not exactly a walk in the park for me either.”

No cigar; it was you who felt her glare over the phone this time. Clearly, her issues outweighed all of yours on this occasion, and knowing her sister-in-law, you were inclined to agree.

You added: “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better.”

The wipers on your rented car worked overtime to clear your windshield. You were about to end the call to focus on driving when, up ahead, you saw the red and blue lights of a highway patrol vehicle stopping traffic.

“Oh shit,” you muttered under your breath.

“What?”

“The road is closed.”

“The whole road?”

“Yeah, Marg, the whole road.” She would've argued with you over your tone, except you cut her off with “Hold on—I’m being flagged down.”

A middle-aged man with a mustache came over to your car. He was wearing a fuzzy hat and holding a flashlight now that the purpling sky was fading to black. Without being asked, you lowered your window and shivered at the stream of icy wind that cut through the artificial heat.

“Evening, officer.”

“Good evening. Where’re you headed?”

“Sayre or roundabouts.”

“Rough night to be doing so. This road is no good, you're gonna have to turn around, find a place to wait it out for the night.”

Your heart sank. You knew Margo was listening to everything. By the time you made it home, your ledger would have a massive list in the red which she’d make you pay off somehow—by doing the dishes, playing horse with the kids, or worse, entertaining Kayleen, who would say as she always did that you really ought think about having children soon unless you wanted to get used to “a self-absorbed lifestyle.”

God forbid.

“Do you know anywhere that might have a last-minute vacancy?” you asked the officer, whose shiny name tag read HARRIS.

He scratched behind his ear, twisting his mouth in thought.

“Try the Sunnyside Inn. Back this way to Fairmont, right after the exit, left on Vail.”

“Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Right. Merry Christmas.”

You put your window back up.

“Did you catch that?”

“Sounds like you're grounded,” said Margo. Her eyebrow must be arched because the judgment could be heard loud and clear—if you hadn’t gone to New York…

Well, there was nothing you could do about it now.

“It’s meant to clear up by morning. I’ll still be there long before Christmas.”

“You’d better be.” She sighed.

Your niece Haley was screaming out the words to “The Twelve Days of Christmas” like a possessed banshee and giggling at what she knew must be an ear-splitting performance. You didn't know whether to be more horrified or amused; you remembered doing something similar when you were a child, back when you didn't have to worry about spreadsheets and grants and the trials and tribulations of flying Economy during the worst time of the year.

Margo must be thinking the same. Her tone sounded a little more sympathetic when she said, “Drive safe, and let me know when you find somewhere to spend the night.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Don’t get murdered.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try—do. Someone’s got to help me defuse the tension during Christmas dinner.”

“Me? Defuse tension?”

“Good point.”

After hanging up, you followed Officer Harris’s directions to the Sunnyside Inn. Wherever it was in relation to the highway, there weren’t any signs you could see from the road and it reminded you of a famous, albeit fictional, location where people did go to end up murdered.

You only hoped whoever was on duty at the check-in desk had zero resemblance to Norman Bates or you’d have no choice but to sleep in your car.

Ten minutes later, you arrived at a quaint little building like something out of a Hallmark movie with six parking spaces and no neon out front. The facade was fake stone, the ornamental bushes lining the circular drive covered in a postcard layer of fresh snow. The wooden sign read VACANCY and had an empty slot where the NO might go, which gave you the tiniest sliver of hope, tempered by the thought that a place like this might not pay the utmost attention to a detail like that, especially in the middle of a storm. All in all, it was the sort of place you stayed at when you had no choice, being off the beaten track, but it looked as well maintained as it could be given its age, which you dated back to the 70s because of its slanted roof.

You parked and got your suitcase out of the trunk, the wheels clattering and then coming to an abrupt stop when you saw a figure across the way doing the same with his black carry-on.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you called out.

Tyler Owens grinned. Even from here you could see the dimple on his cheek.

“Road closed?” he asked, still walking towards the entrance. You did the same, glaring as you tried to keep pace with him—no, tried to beat him to the front door.

“You know it is,” you answered, eyes narrowed, dashing the rest of the way just for his hand to reach the metal pull bar first. Damn his longer limbs.

With a smile, he opened the door and waved you through like a Manhattan doorman.

“Ladies first.”

“Wow, I didn't think you were remotely a gentleman.”

“What gave you that impression?”

You brushed past him into the heated lobby, pausing long enough for him to close the door so you could send him a pointed look.

“Oh, I don’t know… maybe your knee on my back?” you enunciated.

“I told you—that was an honest mistake.”

“Right.”

The Sunnyside had a single check-in desk that looked more like the host’s stand at your favorite restaurant than the counter at the cheapest Marriott, but it was decked in cute bells and garlands and baubles that glittered in the light. Behind it stood a woman around your age with straight, shoulder-length hair partially covered by a Santa hat.

As soon as she saw you walking in, she pushed the red strands out of her face and cleared her throat visibly before launching into a practiced spiel.

“Welcome to the Sunnyside Inn, where every day is sunny!”

She was smiling from ear to ear. The effect was a little like that of the creepy twins in The Shining and bah, humbug, were you not in the mood.

“Can I have a room for the night, please?”

You were made to feel guilty by the sudden fall of her face. But clearly Carol—you had to do a double take. Was her name really Carol? At-Christmastime Carol?—had gone to one hell of a customer service training program. Instead of letting your frown turn her smile upside down, she tacked it on with impressively greater fervor. The bell at the end of her hat rattled as she cleared her throat again.

“You’re in luck! We have one vacant room left in the entire hotel—continental breakfast included!”

“I’m sorry,” Tyler butted in, “did you say only one room?”

“Yes, er…” She looked between you, biting her glossed lip. “Is that a problem?”

“We’re not together,” you said, refusing to look in Tyler’s direction. 

Carol blushed. She was so pale that you thought it might be her actual blood you were seeing rising to her face and turning a shade of Veruca Salt. Or was it Violet Beauregarde?

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I thought—well… you arrived together.”

“We arrived separately.”

“That’s not what it looked like.”

She blinked owlishly. Your own face was heating up as you felt Tyler putting his hand on his hip and sending you a shit-eating grin. You wouldn’t hear the end of this. You could practically hear him bringing it up at a later date, saying, “You’d be so lucky.”

You felt your jaw lock and your dentist cry. Lips together, teeth apart! She’d obviously never met anyone like Tyler Owens before.

“I can assure you, that's what it is,” you said in a steel-laced voice.

Carol might be an A+ at the customer service thing, but you were an A+ at staring people down until they begged for mercy. The only person you knew who was better at it was Margo, and the only person immune to it—though it drove you crazy to no end—was standing next to you, all six feet of him, in a jacket with snow at the shoulders that had quickly melted and rolled off the fabric. Shoulders… his annoyingly broad shoulders, which you’d had occasion to see with more frequency than you would’ve liked, dressed in what Samantha, one of your colleagues, described as his “slutty little white tees.”

It wasn’t enough for him to be a perpetual thorn in your side, he had to be attractive too, thereby proving that there was no God or that, Whoever they were, they must have an evil sense of humor.

“I’m so sorry.” Carol hung her head. Her hat drooped, the glitter-paper trimming on her suit drooped—there was a high chance that she was actually an elf and you’d just worked your way onto Santa’s Naughty list. Come midnight, you’d be visited by the ghosts of all your ex-lovers and Sarah DeAngelo, your high school nemesis.

Meanwhile, Tyler swooped in like the big hero.

“No worries, I’ll just stay at the next place,” he said. “What is the next place?”

“That would be the Cozy Roadside! But they're all booked up, I’m afraid… It's the storm, you see. Everyone’s trying to hunker down for the night.”

“Right…”

Well, he was taking it better than you’d have done—though it was clear he wasn’t jumping for joy at the thought of turning around and trying his luck in the growing whiteout.

And that was if there weren't more road closures along the way.

“Are you sure you're not together? I’m just saying… it is the holidays.” Carol’s little damn bell jingled again. Could you be charged with assault if you snatched it off her head? you wondered.

You pinned her with a stare and she had the temerity to flinch like a little cartoon dormouse.

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning, it's a time to let bygones be bygones! You make such a lovely couple…” Her laugh was high-pitched, nervous.

You might have ruffled like an angry bird of prey. “We are not—”

“Absolutely not,” said Tyler.

“‘Absolutely’?”

It was the closest you’d ever come to seeing Tyler crack under the force of your EF5 stare. He looked sheepish, his hands in his pockets, giving a little hunkered down shrug that might have been read as boyish and kind of adorable to someone else.

“Listen”—turning to Carol before you could rip him to shreds—“do you know of anywhere I could stay until the roads open up again?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

“What about the lobby?”

“I would if it were up to me, but it's against hotel policy. I could get a write-up.”

This hotel has a policy? You stopped yourself from blurting out the words. There was still a chance this Strawberry Shortcake of a person was one of Santa’s little helpers and, if you kept up being a meanie, you’d end up going to the Bad Place—the Bad Place being the seat next to Margo’s sister-in-law at dinner.

You sighed. “Does my room have a couch?”

“It has a chair,” Carol offered.

You exhaled through your nostrils like an angry bull—would the creature metaphors ever cease? Turning to Tyler, you held up a finger and said, “You’re gonna owe me big time,” and fished your wallet out of your bag.

You slammed your card onto the stand and waited for Carol to check you in. She took out a book from a little cubby and took down your name and ID number, then fiddled with one of those old-school credit card imprinters, the ones you had to use actual elbow grease to use.

“I can have extra linens sent up! And I’ll give you our Friends and Family rate—in honor of the season!”

You have got to be kidding me…

Tyler put his hand on your elbow, stopping your words.

“Thank you, Carol, you've been a real gem.”

Carol flushed again, preening under Tyler’s cowboy charm. I’m gonna be sick, you thought, grabbing your suitcase by the handle and wheeling towards the stairs before you could say anything else.

Your case banged against each carpet-covered step. Tyler was behind you, carrying his without sounds of trouble. You supposed that was a benefit to having arms the size of tree trunks, but you’d rather drop dead on this commercial grade floor than ask him for help.

To drown out the sound of the obvious weakness in your upper half, you adopted a high-pitched baby voice that was nothing like Tyler’s and said, “‘You’ve been a gem, Carol,’” just to mock him.

From Tyler came a huffed-out laugh. “Why, ’re you jealous?”

“As if. I hope your chair has bedbugs,” you called over your shoulder, arriving at the landing and looking for room 227. You unlocked the door without waiting, tossing your bag and coat onto the bed to stake your claim.

In the open doorway, Tyler paused to stare at the promised bit of furniture.

“Oh,” came out of his throat. “When she said chair, I thought she meant…”

You followed his gaze. Like Tyler, you’d pictured a dusty old recliner when Carol guilted you into sharing a room with him. The relic actually taking up space across from the queen-sized bed was a chair that might have come out of your high school principal’s office. The seat was covered in a similar material to the carpet, deep purple, not falling apart at the seams, but still just a chair.

Not in your wildest dreams would you think of making an enemy sleep on a thing like that. And here you were, poking fun at sweet, freckle-faced Carol… sweet, sweet Carol who had done you a bigger solid than you could’ve ever imagined.

Tomorrow at check-out, you were going to leave her a $50 tip. You might name your firstborn after her.

You looked at Tyler. He looked at you. The poor man was aghast, and the more he glanced despondently at his abode for the next eight hours, the funnier it got until you were cackling, actually cackling like a Disney witch.

You unzipped your suitcase and took out your toiletries bag, still laughing as you stepped into the room’s bathroom and sent him a little wave.

“Sweet dreams, Owens!”

Hell, it was Christmas—you’d be leaving Carol an even $100.

-

You made a point of taking your time in the shower, luxuriating both in the steam and the dejected look on Tyler’s face. A chair! An actual chair! After finishing, you took the robe hanging off the hook, figuring it was your prerogative as a lady, and opened the door just the tiniest crack to see what Tyler was up to. What you saw made you snatch your phone off the counter and leap from your hiding place like a fearless war photographer.

The shutter clicked, a series of lightning-quick flashes that caught Tyler’s attention. By the time he whipped his head to the side with a glare and a command to “delete that!” you’d snapped half-a-dozen photographs of his position on the makeshift “bed.”

Carol must have sent up linens while you were in the shower because he’d pushed the chair up against the coffee table in a futile attempt to be more comfortable; his legs stuck out to a truly comical degree and he was covered in a floral blanket that could only be described as grandmotherly. Your phone—bless it—had captured the exact moment of shock mixed with absolute indignity.

There was no way he’d be able to sleep without falling over. You only hoped that when he inevitably fell on his ass it happened with enough volume to wake you from the sound sleep you’d be having in bed by yourself.

You tucked your phone in your pocket, smiling like one of Hell’s angels.

“Absolutely not,” you said to his request. “Shower's yours.”

Tyler grabbed a bundle of things off the floor.

“Let me guess, you used up all the hot water.”

“You wound me,” you lied. “I’d never be so petty.”

He scoffed, gestured to his eyes in the universal symbol of I’m watching you and moved past, locking the bathroom door with a resolute click.

A few moments later, you heard the sound of the shower turning on and settled into bed—your lovely, only-yours bed—pleased that the sheets were clean, the mattress soft, the pillows comfortable, and debated whether or not to turn on the TV, but the shower taps squealed sooner than you expected.

Huh. Guess Tyler isn’t a fan of an ice-cold rinse.

You rushed to turn off the bedside lamp, adopting a deep-sleep pose. You barely managed in the time it took him to pad out into the main room, bringing with him a warm, clean, soapy smell.

You held your breath, imagined he could tell you were faking—especially when he paused his movements at the foot of your bed. But then his footsteps moved towards his sad little chair and he turned off his own light.

All you heard for a while was the rustling of sheets, the creaking of the chair beneath his weight. There was a moment of total silence when you almost fell asleep. Then he tossed and turned. The chair protested. You heard him groan.

“Y’alright over there?” you asked, hoping the answer was no.

Tyler’s words were laced with sarcasm.

“Who, me? Just peachy.”

“Nighty-night, then.”

You sighed contentedly and dozed, thinking about Tyler’s future back pain and the satisfaction of winning Carol over to your side with a generous tip. Take that, Tyler’s dimples! The problem was, you actually wanted to get a few hours’ sleep; there was still a fair bit of driving left for you to do, and Tyler just wouldn't shut up.

You heard every creak, shift, and sound of frustration.

Finally, you sat up and growled, “Could you try being more quietly uncomfortable?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to sleep.”

“I can hear your breathing all the way over here!”

“That's not my breathing,” he said, “that’s your guilty conscience.”

You glared into the dark. I will not let him get the better of me. You took a fortifying breath and kept your voice light—viciously light.

“You know, there’s still time for you to sleep in your car. You’ll be the first person ever to be cryogenically frozen.”

“That's not how cryogenics works, you muppet.”

You launched a pillow in his direction, pleased when it made contact. He sat up and protested, “Hey!”

“Did you just call me a muppet?! You know, if you disappeared I could always blame the storm.”

“Carol would remember me,” he rejoined.

“Maybe I’ll disappear Carol too.”

“Wow, two bodies? Sounds like you'll have your work cut out for you.”

“I’m very resourceful.”

“Oh, I bet you are…”

Argh! Slamming your fists down, you ground out the words you’d been holding back ever since you saw his grinning rodeo-ass face in New York:

“There is no way I’m letting you win that Heller Grant!”

Your nostrils flared, chest heaved, eyes all but emitted laser beams. Tyler, for his part, remained annoyingly composed.

“I don't think that's up to you. But,” he added, “I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.”

“Really? And why’s that?”

“No reason, just a friendly head’s up.”

“Something tells me there’s nothing friendly about it.”

He paused. “Hey, what’s a little harmless competition between meteorologists, right?”

“…Did you really just ask that question?”

You both knew scientists were messy as fuck. Denying that they could be egotistical, overly dramatic, delicate with their egos, and especially prone to schadenfreude was a cheap attempt on Tyler’s part.

He chuckled, as if admitting it was true.

“Fine, touché. But it’s really not personal. It's a grant—everyone wants to win it. It’s not like we’re trying to run you out of business or anything.”

“Oh, believe me, we aren’t worried about that,” you shot back. “Everyone knows Kate Carter is the ace up your sleeve. But that’s it—one ace.”

“One ace is all you need.”

“Not in this economy it’s not.”

“It’s about the storms!” Tyler said. “You do get that, don't you? Saving lives, limiting damage…”

“Right, I forgot—you're Saint Tyler, the Tornado Wrangler for profit!” you mocked.

There was a silence in the room, accusatory. Deafening. After this, you were definitely going on Santa’s Naughty list, you thought, not only this year but for at least fifteen to life.

“Sorry, that was shitty,” you admitted, swallowing your pride.

“Yeah, it was. You have no idea why I do what I do. And obviously I have no idea why you’re such a—”

“Bitch?” you supplied.

“I wouldn't use that word. I wouldn't,” he reiterated seriously. “I was going to say ‘why you’re such a bee in my bonnet.’”

You let out a snort. “Shut up.”

“Has anyone ever told you you're unreasonably distrustful?”

“Only about three-point-five therapists.”

“Why the point-five?” he asked.

“One was a grad student.”

He laughed. “Guess weather research doesn’t pay—even if you do wear fancy suits.”

That made you smile. You and Tyler were as diametrically opposed as two could people get, even down to your clothes.

“Let’s just agree,” you said, remembering the spirit of the season, “that we rub each other the wrong way and leave it at that.”

“Hey, I’ve never had a problem with you. I mean, yeah, we’re always up against each other for funding. It’s a race to the top—winner takes all, whoever publishes first gets the bragging rights. But that’s the game—I know that. Now, if you have a problem with me, this seems like as good a time as any to clear the air because I really have no idea what I could've done to make you hate my guts like this.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, sure, be the mature one, take the high road… Tell me, Owens, does it ever get exhausting being so fucking perfect all the time?”

Another pause.

“What the hell are you going on about?” The chair creaked. “‘Perfect’? I’ve never said I was—FUCK!”

You perked up, reached an arm to turn on the light. Tyler was sprawled on the floor. The coffee table and chair were no longer attached and he was nursing what looked to be his hip while kicking at the granny blanket tangled round legs.

“Did you just fall into the gap?” you said eagerly, trying to record the image in your brain.

He wrestled the blanket until he finally won, then stood resentfully, his hair mussed, a crazed look in his eyes.

“Yes, I fell into the gap! But there was no video evidence,” he said pointing. “You can’t prove it. At this rate, it might be smarter to sleep on the floor.”

“Looks like it.”

You watched him kick the chair away with his foot and lay the blanket on top of the coarse brown carpet. He tossed his pillow down and picked up the sheet, holding it in front of his body and looking like he might actually prefer to try his luck in the parking lot than on the inhospitable floor. You observed him with interest, biting your thumbnail and watching his throat move with a sigh, the dejected set of his shoulders, the strong jaw set until it looked like it would break glass.

“Oh, fine!” you said. “You look like my senior dog trying to decide where to lay down!”

“You have a dog?” he asked with enough skepticism to be insulting.

“She lives with my sister.”

“What’s her name?” His jaw relaxed, eyes softened.

“Doppler. Don’t laugh!” you exclaimed, though it fell on deaf ears.

“That’s kind of… really nerdy.”

“Do you want to sleep on the floor?”

“I’m sleeping on the floor anyway.”

You whipped the covers off the left side of the bed. Tyler’s eyes almost bugged out of his head.

“No.”

“Come on, Owens, I don't have cooties.”

“It’s not about the cooties, I’m trying not to get killed Basic Instinct-style!”

You knew the scene: Sharon Stone fucking her rock star boyfriend before stabbing him to death with an ice pick. Unbidden, your mind filled with images of Tyler underneath you, his throat bared to you as you rode him.

“You wish!”

Tyler looked at you sternly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“We’ll make a divider out of pillows!” you suggested, starting the master feat of engineering by plopping all your extra ones vertically down the center of the bed.

You didn’t know where this sudden stroke of generosity had come from. Only ten minutes before you would’ve been perfectly fine—nay, ecstatic—to know that Tyler was about to spend six hours in pain and discomfort.

Maybe it was your guilty conscience. Maybe he’d convinced you that this vendetta you had against him was one-sided and kind of silly. Maybe you just wanted to get some damn sleep without feeling like you were racking up bad karma by not offering to share the bed.

He eyed your attempts like a skeptic, his hands on his hips.

Damn, they were slutty little white tees… you thought.

“This is ridiculous,” he pointed out. And yet he’d dropped the sheet and stopped all attempts at sleeping on the floor like an imprisoned martyr.

“Ridiculous” was a good way to describe what the start of this holiday was turning out to be. If you’d told your past self that come December 23rd you’d be sharing a hotel room, even a bed, with Tyler Owens, you’d have laughed in your own face. But here it was—courtesy of the weather, a possible redheaded Christmas elf, and a series of minor coincidences that had all resulted in this: you shrugging and saying, “Tell me something I don’t know. Tick-tock,” you added with a clap for emphasis, “my goodwill has a time limit!”

“Very festive of you. Are you sure this is okay?”

He approached you with a cautious air, turning down the covers like you might yell “psych!” and attack him at any moment. Even when he laid himself down, it was at the very edge of the bed, and you thought he might end up on the floor anyway given a hasty mid-sleep roll, but then, that would be his own doing and he’d have nothing else to blame but his own clumsiness.

“Just keep your hands to yourself,” you decreed.

“Obviously.”

You turned the light off.

This isn’t so bad, you thought. If you closed your eyes, you could almost forget he was there. You hummed to yourself, snuggling down, finally making headway on the quest for rest and relaxation. Twenty minutes passed, maybe an hour. Hell, it might have been two—all you knew was that Tyler was not keeping up his end of the bargain.

“You’re encroaching on my space!” you hissed, pushing back against pillows that had moved to your side of the bed.

Tyler turned, not remorseful in the least. “I’ve got, like, half-a-foot on you! What do you want me to do?”

“That’s sizeist,” you sniffed.

There was a sound from his direction.

“Are you laughing?” you accused.

“Yeah, I’m laughing… You’re funny. And that’s how I know I don’t have a problem with you.”

You were unexpectedly pleased, despite his bed theft and the rehashing of your previous conversation. No one had ever called you funny before, though you’d always thought you were.

Tyler Owens thinks I’m funny?

So sue me—you were only human and not above hoarding little compliments.

“What did you mean,” he started to ask, shifting so that he could lay on his back, “about me being ‘perfect’? Not that I don’t find it flattering, it's just not true at all and it didn't sound like a good thing, by the way that you said it.”

You kept silent, staring at the A/C unit attached to the wall.

“I know you’re not asleep!” he declared, poking you in the back.

“And how would you know what I sound like asleep?”

“Well, it wouldn't sound like speaking, now would it?”

Shit. He had a point.

You let out a sigh, regretting your magnanimity now that you were in a dark room side-by-side with the man and couldn't avoid his charm or the ease he inspired like magic.

You’d always found that the most unsettling thing about him.

“You’re gonna get the grant,” you admitted with more sincerity than you meant. In your voice you could hear the layers of frustration and insecurity and anger and disappointment that you couldn’t face in the day, when you had people counting on you and a reputation to uphold.

Tyler was quiet a moment.

“You don't know that.”

“Yeah, I do. I’m not good with the whole… schmoozing thing. Not like you are.”

“Schmoozing?” he asked.

“That’s what it is! You’re good with people.”

“So are you.”

“No, I’m not,” you laughed bitterly, craning your neck to say it over your shoulder. “I’m prickly.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tyler said. “And, anyway, this is research, not a personality contest.”

“Ha!”

“You do know there are plenty of prickly scientists out there getting people to throw money at them all the time? Sometimes, it’s the pricklier the better—people think that if you're really a genius, you should treat everyone around you like the bottom of the garbage pail.”

“It’s different for you,” you pointed out.

“How so?”

You sat up, eyeing his shadowed form.

“Well, sweetie, there’s this thing called discrimination—it’s what happens when having certain anatomy makes people more inclined to think you know what you're doing.”

“Very profound… That’s not what you meant.”

He was right. While sexism did come into funding, as it came into a lot of things where it had no place, your main gripe about Tyler had nothing to do with him being a man and everything to do with him being, well, him.

You raked a hand through your hair.

“All you have to do is walk into a room and get pally with the panel,” you confessed. “I can’t compete with that.”

Somehow, through the dark, his eyes found yours. His expression was unreadable, but you could feel his attention on you, his scrutiny—thoughtful, patient, wanting to understand.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said at last.

“Seriously? You’re gonna make me be honest with you and then leave me holding the hot potato of awkwardness?”

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” he laughed. “I just… It’s not like I get up in the morning thinking, ‘Hm, what grant can I possibly steal from you today?’”

“Right,” you drawled, “you just can’t help being you.”

“I can’t!” he insisted, rising up on his elbows. “I like people. I like meeting them… talking to them—even the buttoned-up ones that look like they haven't been outside of an office building in months. I can't apologize for that. But it is a little unfair of you if your sole reason for being mean to me all the time amounts to two cents and a bit of pocket lint.”

“I am not mean!” you protested.

Tyler cocked his head.

“Okay, maybe I’m a bit brusque,” you allowed. “But I let you sleep in my bed!”

“For which I’ll be forever grateful…”

You opened your mouth.

“…but not enough to turn down the grant.”

You shrugged, not expecting him to hand you the award on a silver platter.

“It was worth a shot,” you said. Another joke.

Tyler gestured with his hands; you could see them fluttering around expressively in the near dark.

“You’ve just gotta stop approaching people and automatically assuming that they’re not on your side,” he said gently, and because you were a contrarian, you chose to take at least one-sixteenth of offense.

“Are you mansplaining relationships to me?”

“Not mansplaining, just a friendly bit of advice. Take it or leave it,” he tacked on, shrugging his shoulders—damn his shoulders…

“Thanks.”

You were trying to wrestle your brain away from the thought of his bare chest again.

His bare chest… the expanse of his chiseled abs, the dip of his hips…

You looked away, your face as hot as your shame. You would not have sex thoughts about a man you were sharing a bed platonically with. You would not admit to yourself that your traitorous gaze had wandered down to the outline of certain parts while he was standing there in gray sweats and a white T-shirt that left little or nothing to your debauched imagination.

You would not.

You would not.

Santa, come get me before I forfeit all brownie points for life.

“Now this is awkward.” The words slipped out of your mouth. You pulled the sheet up to your chin as if it were a straitjacket and Tyler chuckled to himself, probably thinking that you meant awkwardness at having a moment of vulnerability rather than red-hot lust.

“Go to sleep,” he said kindly, turning back on his left side.

“Alright. Night.”

“Night.”

-

Later, you would swear it didn't happen on purpose. At some point in the night, after Christmas Eve had settled well and truly over this random Oklahoma town, the pillow fort was forgotten as you and Tyler fell asleep, succumbing to the fatigue of the day’s travel and your late-night conversations.

The first inkling you had was that your pillow was far too warm against your cheek—and it moved, up and down, like the gentle swaying of a boat upon a calm sea. When you regained enough consciousness, you realized that the “pillow” kept a beat, and that's when you realized your pillow wasn't a pillow at all but the cradle of Tyler’s chest.

He’s quite comfortable, you thought, still half-asleep. He had his arm thrown around you and the tips of his fingers rested against a patch of naked back where your shirt had ridden up.

So far, so good; you couldn’t complain about the weighted blanket treatment—at least not in your hazy, sleep-softened state. You sighed happily, snuggling further into his shirt.

You felt his arms tighten.

His breathing shift.

You were straddling the line between dream and wakefulness when you noticed his legs tangled up in yours…

…and the hard protrusion pressing right against your stomach.

You opened your eyes. Tyler was awake and springing out of bed like he had a whole swarm of bees in his bonnet.

“Oh god,” he exclaimed, “I am so sorry! That is not… I did not—”

“It’s fine,” you tried to say.

“No! No, it’s not.”

“Tyler, would you stop acting like a virgin with the vapors? It’s cold, I’m not the stillest of sleepers, nothing was meant by it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, then put it on his hip, then pointed—you didn’t know at whom, he was simply unable to be still, and the more he panicked the more you thought it was silly how he was making such a big deal out of nothing.

(Okay, so maybe it wasn't nothing, but one of you had to be the adult about it.)

“I was not trying to put the moves on you,” he emphatically declared.

“That was made abundantly clear by what you said to Carol. Also by the drool on your pillow.”

“The—”

His gaze darted. His face took on an added hue of pallid as he bent over his pillow and straightened, eyebrows battened, finding nothing there.

“See, that was mean.”

“No, that was funny,” you laughed.

The whole time, you did your best to keep your eyes trained above his shoulders, though you had a bone-deep curiosity now that you’d felt the impression of his dick against your skin.

If your periphery was to be trusted—which, your doctor said you had excellent vision in that regard—he was as well-endowed as he was rumored to be, sometimes with envy, sometimes pejoratively and in relation to his ego. Now that you’d spent an entire day crossing paths, you weren't so sure about that last bit. But you were sure that in the privacy of your own thoughts, you’d have a bitch of a time unknowing that Tyler Owens was, in every regard, unfairly blessed.

“Back to neutral corners?” you asked, patting the bed.

Tyler stared at the mattress with something like horror.

“You are not being normal about this!” you exclaimed.

“Maybe I oughta sleep on the floor.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s just for a few hours more.”

You sighed.

“Tyler James Owens, now you are the one being a muppet.”

“Take that back! And how do you even know my middle name?”

“It’s called Google. Now stop acting like a muppet and I’ll stop calling you one!”

Drat… You were so close, but your eyes snagged on the bulge in his pants at the exact moment Tyler was looking at you. There was no way to deny it.

You wiped your face of all expression.

Tyler pleaded, “Do not make this worse for me than it already is.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You don’t have to, it's written all over your face.”

Me? My face? You pointed at yourself.

Tyler huffed, “You aren't letting me forget this for as long as I live, are you?”

“Not in your dreams…” you fessed up. “Need me to pace around the hall for ten minutes, let you take care of business? I have a spare sock you can hang on the door.”

“You’re evil.”

“Nooooo, where are you going?” you needled, watching him head to the bathroom with a scowl on his face. “I was having so much fun!”

“Mind your own business!” he yelled back.

“But Tyler, it’s perfectly natural!”

He locked the door.

Only then did you cover your mouth and really let yourself have a laugh.

-

He took exactly 23 minutes. You knew because you timed him, a childish impulse you indulged in trade for not probing the question of what he might be thinking about as he got off. Obviously, you knew enough biology to not flatter yourself into believing that his morning wood was down to you; still, you allowed yourself to believe it just the tiniest bit. It made you feel better—to think he was affected by you. To believe you weren’t alone in being provoked to unexpected places.

He came up to the bed with a wary glance. On purpose, you pretended to be uncommonly interested in your nails.

“I thought you’d be asleep.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” you said, buffing a nonexistent spot on your shirt. “All good?”

“Don’t start.” He took his pillow and made for the chair.

You clicked your tongue. “You really don't have to sleep on the floor, you know…”

Which was kind.

“...I thought that was the whole point of Tyler’s Special Solo Time.”

Which wasn’t.

He rounded on you with his finger outstretched.

“Do not call it that!”

“Okay!”

“Never again!”

“Fine!”

“And for your information—that isn’t what I was doing in there.”

“Oh!” you said, genuinely surprised, “I just assumed…”

“Well, you know what they say about assuming.”

You make an ASS out of U and ME.

Color me surprised—you genuinely thought Tyler had been in the bathroom rubbing one out.

Could it be that he was too much of a gentleman to do it with you the next room over? That seemed like the likeliest explanation.

You were touched. Weirdly, inappropriately.

Also let down by the fact that you weren’t sexually irresistible enough to make him lose all sense of propriety—granted, you hadn’t been trying to be sexually irresistible at the time, more like drooling into his shirt.

“God, what?” he asked, eyes boring into yours like he was trying to crack open your mind and read it like a book, pushed to the brink when he couldn’t figure out what you were thinking or if you believed him about not masturbating in the bathroom.

“Nothing! Why are you chewing me out just because you got an erection?”

“Don’t say ‘erection’!”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not gonna call it a boner—I’m not in middle school anymore!”

“You have gotta be kidding me…”

He face-planted onto the bed, not consciously, you didn’t think, more like the natural result of a situation that’d understandably fried his brain.

You could relate… and it was supremely satisfying to hear him say the words you’d been thinking for over a day: you have got to be kidding me, indeed.

“This is the weirdest fucking Christmas I have ever had,” he mumbled into the mattress.

You laughed, feeling not an ounce of animosity as you watched his prone form. He was funny, and he’d been nicer than you deserved. You no longer believed that he had kicked you in the back during your flight on purpose.

“What are your plans for the holidays?” you asked him, letting him off the hook about his penis.

He turned his head and searched you for any trace of nefarious intent. He answered when he was sure you weren’t going to keep messing with him.

“The team and I are going to Kate’s. Then I’m spending the start of the New Year at home, hopefully, if there isn’t another fire to put out.”

“You’re from Arkansas,” you said.

“Mm.”

“‘Regnat populus.’”

He quirked his brow.

“‘The People Rule,’” you explained. “You don't know your own state’s motto?”

“Nobody knows their state’s motto.”

“I had to learn them all for school.”

“High school?”

“Elementary.”

“Oh,” he laughed, “so you grew up rich.”

“Shut up.”

He sat against the headboard next to you, crossing his ankles.

“What made you want to become a meteorologist?”

“Seriously?” you asked.

“What?”

“It’s a cliched question.”

“It’s a getting-to-know-you question!”

You frowned.

“Why would you ever want to get to know me? I’ve done nothing but fight you since the day we met.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

Plain, simple.

The lamplight made it impossible to hide a thing. There was a line between his brows, as if he couldn’t for the life of him understand why you couldn’t understand. “I like people.” You’d thought it trite at the time, you didn’t trust it, but you were thinking maybe it was true. Instead of judging you by the way you challenged, harangued, goaded, mocked, judging him, he’d kept trying to figure you out. It was one of the reasons he was good at his job—the merging of both science- and people-smarts.

If you had a brain in your head, you might learn from him. But to do that you’d have to get your head out of your ass and stop seeing him as the enemy.

Except you didn’t.

Sometime between the Heller offices and this moment in the Sunnyside Inn, your feelings towards him had changed. The animosity? Gone. All that was left in its place was a newfound respect, fresh like the layer of snow sitting over the world outside the walls of your hotel room, and, if you were being brutally honest, an attraction that was hard to ignore.

You held your breath.

His hair, glinting bronze, was sleep-mussed—the detail intimate, arousing, just like the stubble on his cheeks and the rugged line of his throat leading to the curves of those shoulders you couldn’t stop thinking about. What was that one corny-as-fuck phrase some fuckboy musician had once said?

Sexual napalm.

Tyler Owens was sexual napalm and you weren’t immune.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you said.

It was Projection 101, but in this case you weren’t entirely wrong.

Tyler’s eyes wandered down to your mouth, seductive without even trying. He was breathing as fast as you, his lips parted, tongue peeking out to wet them when he said, “Can’t.”

And that was all it took. One second you were staring at each other with twin fuck-me expressions and the next you were in his lap, your hands buried in his hair. The kiss was eager—messy—uncaring of finesse, indifferent to perfection. It was the exact opposite of the way you’d been living your life and it was mostly down to him. Even when he’d been driving you absolutely insane, there was no denying that Tyler brought out in you something hard to control. He made you ambitious, competitive, unfiltered—sometimes to an unflattering degree—but God, did it feel good.

He tilted his head and delved his tongue into your mouth. You groaned, pulled him back by the hair until you felt a rumbling sound in his throat which you decided to chase on instinct, latching your mouth onto that part of him you’d been obsessing over for the last few hours, sucking, biting, laving your way down to his clavicle.

“This is not how you get to know someone,” you joked, feeling him get hard again underneath you.

“Yeah, it is…”

“Don’t say 'biblically.’”

He laughed—it was a giggle that made you smile and peer into his face.

“You said it, not me. Are you gonna kick me out of bed later?” he asked, stroking a hand up your thigh.

“No. Are you gonna run for the hills like I soiled your virtue?”

He balked. “That is not what I did.”

“Yeah, it is!”

“Well”—he nipped your jaw, hand slyly making its own path up to your breast, which he stroked open-palmed so that you rocked your hips against his—”I promise not to be virtuous at all for the next…” He glanced at his watch. “Three hours.”

“Three hours?”

“What can I say,” he shrugged. “I’m a people pleaser. It’s my curse.”

-

Suffice to say, by the time 10:00 o’clock rolled around and you and Tyler made your way down so you could settle up the room with Carol, you were feeling like a million bucks. Not even a full spa day could have infused you with this much energy.

There was a pep in your step, a smile plastered to your face, and when Carol said, “Happy holidays! It was nice having you with us!” you were so smug that you slipped the tip in her hand and said, “Thank you, Carol, you sure made it sunny!”

Tyler cackled, but tried to do it subtly. (And failed.)

Right on the money, the snow had stopped falling during the night. It’d be a white Christmas, all right, but you should be able to drive home safely and arrive in time for lunch.

Tyler loaded your suitcase into your car, gallant as ever.

“So,” he said.

“So.”

You exchanged shy glances, which was new for you. You’d never had reason to feel shy around Tyler before, but then, you’d had him inside you not too long ago and the memory of the things you’d done, the things you’d said, which you wouldn’t admit even under threat of perjury, were enough to make you almost blush.

“We should hit the road,” you said dumbly, schooling your features into an unbothered mask.

“Yeah. I’m sure the others have already made it to Ms. Carter’s farm.”

“Well… merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, merry Christmas.”

You opened your door, settled into your seat. You were about to pull the door closed when Tyler stopped it, hand closed around the top.

“Can I call you, after the holidays?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

He laughed. “Who’s holding the hot potato now, you or me?”

“I think we’re sharing this one,” you replied.

“I don’t mind that.”

“Yeah,” you said, “neither do I.”

He smiled at you for a while, then closed your door and watched you drive off. You followed his movements in the rearview until your paths diverged, then turned up the radio.

“Merry Christmas Eve, one and all! It’s a gorgeous one out there—we couldn’t have asked for better weather. Here’s one just for you. I’m sure you know it, so sing along: it’s Dean Martin and it’s our ‘Winter Wonderland,’ right here, in the heart of good ol’ Oklahoma…”

[tsaritza-mika]

Sorry not Sorry guys...

I respect all your inter-companion romance ships, and I hope they bring you joy and endless inspiration, but I have a primal need for something different. I don't need my companions dating each other.

I need them to be the most dysfunctional yet supportive found family they can be

I need Karlach to be literal 'Mama K' and grab Shadowheart and Lae'zel by the scruff and put them on coat hangers, telling them that if they can't say anything nice, then shut the fuck up for five minutes and if they can do that, then she'll come and let them down

I need Astarion and Gale to get into such a spat that all dignity and posh goes out the fucking window, and they devolve into two grown-ass men having a 13-year-old style slap fight while calling each other the harshest of obscenities, but if anyone from the outside tries calling either of them less than fabulous, they join forces and fuck them up

I need Wyll, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel to do each other's hair while discussing all the ways they've taken down various opponents and monsters, and how they would have done things better

I need Jaheira just smacking everyone upside the head whenever they say or do something stupid. Because gods dammit why is she always the only one who can see trouble from a hundred miles away, only to have her perception check fail and stumble right into a trap Halsin had set up to catch food for dinner

I need Astarion to embroider offensive cross stitch into every other companion's tents when he's left behind at camp, for no other reason than he's feeling salty that day

I need Halsin to wildshape into a bear just so he can surprise Karlach with an actual bear and Clive having a tea party with flower crowns and drawings of the horrible ways Gortash will be killed

I need Shadowheart being a petty bitch and letting anyone who was being especially stupid in a fight get a little too close to death as punishment before finally healing them. Because that's just what healers do

I need Gale pranking people with his spells. Use mage hand to yank the rug out from under Lae'zel after she insisted that he was too squishy to fight properly. Casting 'create water' over Shadowheart to ruin her makeup in retaliation for saying last night's stew was a bit bland. Use Telekinesis to fling Astarion off in some random direction because dammit Gale just woke up, and the man needs his coffee before he can properly deal with all of that first thing in the damn morning

I need Lae'zel to take pillow fights just a little too seriously

I need Wyll begging Halsin and Jaheira if they can wildshape into a bear and a shark just so he can ride both of them through the Chionthar while recklessly casting Fireball and Lightning Bolt at the sky, because just think of how cool he would look doing it

[pandapetals]

Arm Wrestle

Remy challenges Logan to an arm wrestle but a unexpected person wins.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor

a/n: Another brilliant idea inspired by @she-loves-wolvie and the tikok she sent me.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

The living room buzzed with low chatter as everyone gathered around the coffee table, uno cards fanned out in their hands. Ororo was lounging gracefully on the couch, Hank sat cross-legged on the floor with an air of calm concentration, and Scott was already in team leader mode , explaining the rules like this was some kind of world-saving operation.

“Does everyone understand the rules?” Scott asked, scanning the group like he expected someone to whip out a notepad.

“It’s uno,” Hank replied, arching an eyebrow. “I think we’ve got it covered, fearless leader.”

“Honestly, we could’ve played something more exciting,” Remy chimed in with a dramatic sigh, leaning back on his palms. “Poker’s always a good choice.”

Scott groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We would be playing poker if someone didn’t turn every game into some raunchy ‘flirt with Rogue’ fest.”

You chuckled as Remy smirked unapologetically. “What can I say? I like raisin’ the stakes—especially when ma chérie is playin’.”

Your grin widened as you leaned forward. “Speaking of, where is Rogue tonight? You’re actually here without her?”

Remy shrugged, looking vaguely offended. “She’s out with Jean. I’m a gentleman, cher. I give her space.”

Scott muttered something under his breath about miracles, but you ignored him, turning your attention back to your cards. The first round went well enough, with everyone groaning over +4 cards and loudly accusing Remy of stacking the deck. But by the third game, the excitement had dwindled. Ororo sighed dramatically as Hank leaned back against the couch, looking mildly bored.

“Okay,” Remy said, slapping his cards down on the table. “Uno ain’t doin’ it for me. We need somethin’ else.”

“And by ‘something else,’ you mean something chaotic,” Ororo quipped, rolling her eyes.

Before anyone could respond, Logan walked into the room, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He was clearly looking for you, his eyes scanning the group until they landed on you.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted, his voice low and gravelly.

Remy perked up instantly, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Well, well. Look who’s here. Logan, you ever been good at arm wrestlin’?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to the table, then back to Remy. “What’re you talkin’ about, Cajun?”

Remy leaned forward, grinning. “How ‘bout a little challenge? One hundred bucks says I can take you.”

Ororo groaned, pushing herself to her feet. “That’s my cue to leave. I’ve seen this show before.” She gave you a knowing look before heading out of the room.

Logan smirked, walking closer. “You wanna arm wrestle me? For a hundred bucks?”

Remy shrugged. “What can I say? I’m feelin’ lucky tonight.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, pulling a chair over to the table. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

The room buzzed with excitement as everyone gathered around. Scott was already placing bets. “Hank’s the only one who might have a shot,” he whispered to Kurt. You leaned back on the couch, watching the scene unfold with an amused smile.

Logan planted his elbow on the table, his arm flexing as he waited for Remy to grasp his hand. “Don’t cry when you lose,” he said, his smirk widening.

Remy matched his smirk. “You talk big, mon ami . Let’s see if you can back it up.”

The match lasted less than ten seconds. Remy strained, his face turning red as Logan barely budged, his smirk never wavering. With a casual flick of his wrist, Logan slammed Remy’s hand down onto the table.

“Pay up,” Logan said, holding out his hand.

“Dammit,” Remy muttered, pulling out his wallet as the rest of the group burst into laughter.

One by one, Scott, Hank, and even Kurt tried their luck, each meeting the same fate. Hank came the closest, his muscles straining as he almost— almost —managed to push Logan’s arm down, but Logan held firm, finishing the match with a grunt of effort.

“Nice try, big guy,” Logan said, clapping Hank on the shoulder.

“That… was impressive,” Hank admitted, shaking out his arm.

As the guys continued to grumble and tease each other, you stood from the couch, a playful glint in your eye. “Alright, my turn.”

Logan’s head snapped toward you, his expression instantly shifting to something more serious. “No way, sweetheart.”

“Why not?” you challenged, crossing your arms.

“‘Cause I’m not gonna arm wrestle you,” he said firmly. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to the table. “Logan, I’m not made of glass. And besides, you’ve been beating everyone all night. Let me take you down a peg.”

The guys burst into laughter, clearly enjoying the idea.

“Come on, Logan,” Scott said, grinning. “You afraid of your wife?”

Logan shot him a glare. “Watch it, Summers.”

But you weren’t backing down. You moved to the table, sitting across from him and resting your elbow on the surface. “What’s the matter, tough guy? Afraid you might lose?”

Logan let out a low growl, his hazel eyes narrowing. “Fine,” he muttered, leaning forward and clasping your hand in his. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The moment your hands connected, you felt the rough warmth of his palm against yours, and you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Ready?”

“Ready,” he rumbled, his eyes locked on yours.

Scott counted down, and the match began. Logan was holding back—you could feel it—but you didn’t mind. You weren’t planning to win with strength.

As he focused on your hands, you tilted your head, giving him a soft, playful look that you knew always got to him. “You know,” you murmured, your voice teasing, “I think this might be the first time I’ve ever seen you look nervous.”

Logan’s grip faltered for a split second, his gaze flicking to your face—and that was all you needed. With a triumphant laugh, you pushed his hand down onto the table, slamming it against the surface.

The room erupted into cheers and laughter as you leaned back, grinning.

“I win,” you declared, holding out your hand to Remy. “Pay up.”

Remy laughed, handing you a crisp hundred-dollar bill. “Remind me never to bet against you, cher.”

Logan shook his head, a grudging smile tugging at his lips. “That was low, darlin’.”

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “All’s fair in love and arm wrestling.”

Scott clapped Logan on the back, laughing. “Looks like the Wolverine’s got a weakness after all.”

“Yeah,” Logan muttered, pulling you into his lap with a smirk. “And I wouldn’t trade her for anything.”

The group dissolved into more laughter and teasing, but all you could focus on was the warmth of Logan’s arms around you, his soft chuckle in your ear as he whispered, “You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

[temporarywelcome]

Babysitting - Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: JJ forgot about Girls' Night and needs a babysitter, Spencer offering up himself and his girlfriend for the task.

Warnings: swearing, girls's generation (oh no!). not even a warning but autistic!reid bc every reid is autistic!reid.

A/N: this can be 100% read stand alone but is technically part of my "Smooth Criminal" series.

____________

JJ was in a predicament. 

She was seated on the jet, on her way to an important case with the rest of the BAU, when Garcia reminded her of a salsa class the two of them and Prentiss signed up for, their activity for lady’s night.

“Dammit,” she sighed, head resting on her hand tiredly, “I forgot to get a sitter for Henry,”

“JJ, girl, I love you, but you better get that sitter, those classes are expensive,” Garcia said in disapproval. 

“Who? It’s tomorrow!” she exclaimed, feeling a lot of pressure on her, “How am I supposed to get a sitter in that amount of time?”

Spencer, who was speedily reading a book, looked up, “I can watch Henry,” 

“Uh, no,” JJ shook her head, “No offense, Spence, but have you ever taken care of a child before?”

He shrugged, “No, but I can read a few parenting books before we land? He is my godson, after all.”

“That sounds good enough to me,” Prentiss said eagerly.

“That’s because you’re not Henry’s mother,” JJ deadpanned.

“Would you have picked him as Henry’s godfather if you didn’t even trust him with the job?” asked Garcia. 

“Well, no,”

“Then let me do it!” Spencer said excitedly. What harm could it be?

“He could even ask Y/N to help him,” Morgan suggested from where he sat, eavesdropping on the conversation, “Double team,”

“Absolutely not,” JJ looked appalled at the idea, “Why the hell would I let a diagnosed kleptomaniac into my home?”

Now, Y/N had won over a few members of the BAU despite her past. From the beginning, Garcia was fine with Y/N (she was the one who blew up her backstory anyway), and soon Morgan and Prentiss came to accept her as Spencer’s girlfriend. Even Hotch didn’t mind her, due to her helping on a few cases, using her criminal record to their advantage.

JJ, on the other hand, was still quite iffy on her. Rossi was a whole other level, which seemed quite hypocritical, considering his own background.

So no, JJ did not want Y/N in her house.

“I can always pat her down before we go,” Spencer stated, like it were normal, “Make sure she doesn’t have anything in her pockets or bags,”

“How comforting,” JJ grumbled.

“JJ,” Garcia huffed, “Salsa class,”

A sigh left her, feeling a headache forming, “If she steals anything…”

“She won’t. Promise,” Spencer said, grinning.

________

“What the fuck, babe?” Y/N grumbled, placing down her Chinese takeout, “Babysitting?”

Spencer fiddled with the plastic fork that came with his food, cheeks going red, “It’ll be fun,” He already knew she was upset by how she called him babe and not baby. There’s a difference.

“I don’t even like kids,”

“Henry’s different! He’s a good kid!” he huffed, poking at his noodles. 

“He’s a kid, I don’t like them,” 

He pouted, placing down his food, “I like kids…” 

She groaned. This is going to be a difficult conversation in the future. “Can’t you ask someone else to help you?”

“I don’t want anyone else to help me,” he shot back. “Please?”

Y/N didn’t even know why she was trying to argue with him. She was already wrapped around his finger, he could ask anything of her and she would surely see it through. Just one look with those puppy dog eyes and she would fold. 

And there it was. He glanced at her bottom lip jutted out, brows furrowed adorably.

“Oh, fuck you,” she grumbled, planting a hand over her eyes, “No. I won’t do it.”

Spencer smiled, placing his food on the coffee table before scooting closer to her. He rested his chin on her shoulder, “Y/N,”

“Hell no,” 

“Y/N,” he kissed her neck lightly, nipping at the skin.

“I’m leaving the state,”

He rolled his eyes, planting a few more kisses along her neck, “Dramatic. No wonder you did theatre,” 

“I’ll leave right now,” she threatened.

Spencer’s smile grew, cute dimples showing, but Y/N couldn’t see with her eyes still covered. Spencer took her hand in his own and lowered it, other hand tapping the side of her chin expectantly. With a sigh, she turned to face him. All he did was give her that little smile.

She bit her lip, trying to contain herself, but the ghost of a smile graced her lips as she pecked his nose and sighed again dramatically, “Fine,”

_________

“Hey, Harry, I’m Y/N!”

JJ frowned, grabbing her purse, “Henry,” 

Y/N’s cheeks flushed and she awkwardly cleared her throat, scratching the back of her neck, “Ah. Henry.” she corrected, giving him a fake smile, “How ya doin’?”

Henry gave her a look for about half a second, before ignoring her and running to Spencer, “Uncle Spencer!” he giggled, stumbling over on his toddler legs. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Spencer kneeled down to Henry’s height to give him a hug, “What’s the plan for today, hm?”

“DORA!!!” 

Y/N jumped, a scowl immediately forming on her face. She noticed JJ giving her a look and she dropped the cranky face. 

“He’s quite… loud.” JJ said, looking at the imaginary watch on her wrist, “Well, gotta get going. Have fun. Don’t steal my valuables. Bye bye,” she ran off out the door. 

Once she was gone, Henry turned to Y/N and Spencer again. “DORAAAAA!”

“What the fuck,” Y/N grumbled, causing Spencer to elbow her in the ribs.

“No swearing in front of children,” he scolded. 

“FUCKKKK!” Henry shouted, scampering off to the living room. 

Y/N’s jaw dropped and she refused to meet Spencer’s glare. “Oops,” 

“We just got here,” Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Henry yelled some more and Y/N groaned, “Baby, how the hell are we going to do this? I give you like three hours before you get overstimulated and then I have two monsters to deal with,” Spencer wasn’t a monster at all when he was overstimulated, he typically just gets a bit freaked out and needs to be alone in silence for a few hours. No, he wasn’t a monster, Y/N was just dramatic. 

“You’re not helpful at all,” he took a seat on the couch, wincing at Henry yelled some more, tackling him. 

“Holy fuck,” Y/N muttered to herself, but Henry perked up. The little gremlin smiled, cupping Spencer’s cheeks and yelling out a beautiful “FUCK!”.

Within twenty minutes, Spencer looked ready to explode. Henry had been all over him, yelling and being an absolute terror. Y/N was quite glad the kid left her alone, keeping her own distance. However, she noticed Spencer’s trembling hands and shot up.

“Alright, come here, Gremlin,” she scooped up Henry, who shrieked, giggling innocently. “Your Uncle Spencer needs a break.” she placed him down outside of the living area, “How about you show me your room?” she suggested. 

Henry processed what she said for a moment before smiling brightly and nodding, “Room!” he grasped her hand, leading her off to his room. Y/N looked over her shoulder, giggling to herself watching Spencer fall into a laying position on the couch like a domino. Poor baby.

Walking with Henry down the hallway, Y/N noticed different pictures on the walls. Her impulses told her to grab them and stuff as many as she could in her bag, but she had left the bag in the living room. 

She joked about it a lot, but being a klepto really sucked. 

Once in Henry’s room, she gulped, seeing all the small things she could scoop up and shove in her pockets. “Wow! Look at this!” Y/N said, trying to be as enthusiastically as possible. The room was dinosaur themed, and Henry made sure she knew it.

“Dinosaur!” he shouted.

“Alright, buddy, look,” Y/N sat down on the bed, patting the spot next to him. He sat next to her. “Uncle Spencer isn’t very good with loud noises,” she explained, “Especially after a long period of time. Being touched too much makes him uncomfortable too. It’s important to respect other people’s boundaries, okay?”

Henry blinked, confused. “What…”

Y/N sighed, “Leave Uncle Spencer alone,”

Maybe she should have worded it nicer.

Henry immediately burst into tears, “WHY!?”

“Shit,” Y/N’s eyes widened, “Hey, shh, it’s okay-”

“SHIT,” Henry repeated.

“No, no, no, don’t say that!” she said in panic, “Please stop crying! It’s okay! Look!” she grabbed a dinosaur toy from the floor, “Look! Raaah! Raah!”

“SHIT,” Henry shouted again. 

Well shit. 

“Oh no! The dinosaur’s gonna get me! Oh nooooo!” she made a whole show of getting eaten by the dinosaur toy. Henry was not amused. “Please stop crying before Spencer comes in here and banishes us to the Phantom Zone or something,” 

Henry continued to cry, and in a panic, Y/N shot up, beginning to do what she did best. 

Well, stealing is what she did best. 

So she did the second thing she did best. She danced. 

Henry continued to cry as she did her rendition of “Into the New World” by Girls’ Generation. After the first few moves, he stopped crying, looking at her with complete confusion in his innocent eyes. 

She let out a breath of release. He finally shut up.

After calming down Henry, she made her way back to the living room with him. “We’re turning this off,” she said, disinterested in Dora. She went to a music channel before dropping the remote, “Ah, much better.” 

Henry went straight to doing funky little dances while Y/N sat with Spencer. She already knew something was off. 

“Alright, what’s going?” she sighed, holding out her arms. 

He didn’t move. 

“Spencer,”

He huffed in response. Ah, Cranky Spencer™. 

Y/N sighed, “Scootch” she laid next to him, arms going around his waist, his back to her chest as he refused to look at her. “Too much goin’ on?” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be a father,” 

Oh. Fuck. 

“Look, I know I’ve shown my disdain towards, uh, young humans, but you never know in the future. I might change my view on them. You might-” she babbled.

“I don’t think I’ll be good at it.”

Oh! Fuck. 

Y/N paused, processing his words, “Why? Henry loves ya,”

Spencer sighed softly, hand slowly setting atop hers, “I can’t even handle one for an hour,” 

“Ah,” she muttered, kissing the back of his neck lightly, “I mean, that’s what I’d be for, right? We would be a team. You need a break from the little Gremlin, I calm ‘em down,” 

“You’re not always going to be there though. We’ll both have to be alone with the child periodically.” he said quietly. He didn’t know where to look, so his eyes went to the TV, watching Britney Spears. Why did it feel like Britney was judging him? 

“I work at night anyway,” she shrugged, “When I’d be gone, it would be asleep anyway. If you’re out on a case, a sitter would do just fine with a sleeping kid,” 

“You don’t even like kids… I can’t imagine putting the responsibility on you.” 

“Hm,” she mused, petting his hair, “You’re right. I really don’t like kids. But things change. Who knows?” she sighed, “I guess this is a conversation we’re going to have soon, huh?”

“We probably should have had that conversation before we made it official,”

“Yeah,” Y/N agreed. “Probably… Too late now,” she didn't want to think about that awful-sounding conversation so she sat up, “Now up and at ‘em before you fall asleep and your contacts get all dried out,” 

__________

When JJ finally stumbled in home, it was a good two a.m. 

She had expected to come in to Y/N and Spencer sharing a glass of wine quietly on the couch, Henry tucked away asleep in his room. 

Instead, she was greeted with emptiness.

“Huh?” she slurred out drunkenly, shutting the door behind her, “Spencer! Y/N! Henry…?”

The door to her and Will’s room swung open, Henry strutting out in a ridiculous outfit, Y/N in tow. 

“Mama!” he exclaimed, running towards her, “Guess what?!” he pointed at Y/N, “She’s Jessica.”

“Let me guess,” JJ deadpanned, “Jessica from Girls’ Generation?” Pretty much everyone knew Y/N’s adoration towards Jessica Jung at this point, much to Spencer's embarrassment. 

“Hell yeah,” Y/N confirmed, “Spencer! C’mere,”

The door opened again, and Spencer shuffled out of the room in an equally ridiculous outfit. “Hi,” he said dryly, eyes on the ground. 

“Say it, baby,” Y/N told him. 

He grumbled, looking back at JJ in annoyance, already cranky enough, “Gee gee gee gee baby baby,” 

“Mama, I’m a dancer now,” Henry said proudly. 

“A natural,” Y/N confirmed, “A dramatic one too. You might have a theatre kid in your hands. Best of luck,” 

JJ sighed, watching Henry trip over the makeshift robe (she thought it was a robe) and hit the ground. “Thank you for telling me, Y/N,”

__________

I don't even listen to GG but I WILL insert them into every fic now.

Also inbox is open :)

[ak319]

Haii!, I really like your Arthur Morgan series and I've also read it several times and it's not boring at all!🫶🏻

Can I make a request? If so, can you make the reader jealous because Arthur is close to Mary Beth?🫶🏻 (Arthur and the reader's relationship is not platonic!)

(AN: Tsym! Remind me why we making Y/n suffer again? PS: I'm terrible at writing jealousy shit ngl and I legit dunno why. AND THATS LIT WHAT YALL KEPT ASKING FOR-😭☠) Hope yall enjoy reading lol)

Warnings/MDNI: None, just angst and then fluff to soothe your asses-

You were by the lake, lazily washing clothes. The day had you feeling sluggish, and the pleasant weather didn’t exactly help motivate you. The water was just the right temperature, cool enough to refresh but warm enough to keep you rooted in place. You should really pick up the pace, finish up, and grab some tea--or coffee--or a well-deserved break.

The faint hum of camp activity behind you was oddly comforting, a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. That is until you heard footsteps crunching on the gravel, quick and impatient, followed by a sharp curse.

“Dammit! I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you, girl.”

You glanced over your shoulder, grinning as Molly stormed up to you, her face a mix of exasperation and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“For God’s sake, Molly, you know my Tuesday routine by now,” you teased, tossing a wet shirt into the basket beside you. “It’s not like this camp is big enough to lose someone. Honestly, I think you’re just bad at looking.”

She didn’t laugh. Not even a crack of a smile. Instead, she stood there, arms crossed, her expression tight with barely-contained frustration. You paused mid-scrub, a curious eyebrow raised.

“What’s gotten into you? You look ready to murder someone.”

“Oh, sure,” she snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Leave it to ever-so-clueless (Y/N) to not notice a damn thing going on around her.” She gestured wildly toward the camp as though you were missing some grand spectacle.

You blinked, thoroughly confused. “What the hell are you on about?”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she hesitated as if debating whether you were even worth the explanation. Then, with a dramatic huff, she took a step closer, glaring down at you like you’d personally wronged her.

“Let me spell it out for you. Do I even bother tellin’ you what’s happening? Or should I just assume it won’t make a difference because your ‘dearest cold heart’ won’t care? Or worse, you’ll just laugh it off like you always do!”

Your hands stilled in the water, the soap slipping through your fingers. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

"Y’know, what I just heard and saw?” Molly huffed, throwing her hands in the air for emphasis. “Mr. Arthur Morgan, having a chat with Mary-Beth. Mary-Beth! That same snake who’s all over Dutch, and now, apparently, your man, (Y/N)!”

Her voice rose with each word, and you blinked, caught completely off guard. She leaned in, her eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge your reaction. “I swear to God, she was asking him to buy her another one of those silly romance books for her lovesick brain. I mean, why Arthur, huh? Why doesn’t she go pester Kieran’s ass instead?”

Hearing her rant, you stood up, gripping the damp shirt in your hands as you processed her words. “Wh--sounds like a friendly chat to me, Molly,” you said, trying to brush it off with a shrug. “I mean, Arthur brings stuff for everyone. He goes out the most, doesn’t he? And, well, Kieran… he’s not exactly allowed far from camp neither he can afford anything right now. They still don’t trust him, y’know. And Arthur, he’s like a brother to Mary-Beth-"

“Don’t even start with that ‘brother’ shit, (Y/N),” Molly snapped, cutting you off. “It's just a facade.”

Your mouth fell open, heat rushing to your face at the implication. Uncertainty clawed at your chest as you tried to stammer a response, but she wasn’t done. Molly’s jealousy toward Mary Beth only seemed to fuel her fire, her words coming quicker now, sharp and biting.

“And don’t act like it couldn’t happen. You think she doesn’t see how kind he is to you? How he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching? Oh, she sees it. And she’d snatch him up the moment she gets the chance.”

You clenched your jaw, her words making you shift uncomfortably. Sure, you trusted Arthur, but the venom in Molly’s tone, the way her words seemed to twist around your insecurities, left you feeling just the slightest bit unsteady.

"Did he even say goodbye to you before he sprang into action?” Molly pressed, her voice softer now, almost pitying. “And the other day, weren’t you telling me you needed some cream for your hands? You even told him, and look, just look at your hands.”

Her gaze dropped to your chapped and reddened fingers, and you instinctively tried to wipe them dry on your skirt, as if that would somehow make them better. Her words were digging deeper now, clawing at something vulnerable in you. Did he forget to bring it? Or worse, did he not care enough to remember? Had your wishes, his woman’s wishes, stopped mattering to him altogether?

“This is bullshit, you should have run away with that pen pal of yours, to be honest when you had the chance,” Molly muttered, crossing her arms. “You didn’t listen to me when I told you she’s after Dutch. And now she’s after both! I swear, those books she reads must be teaching her these tactics. Manipulative little-"

“I--y’know what?” you cut her off, your voice suddenly firm as your gaze drifted to the camp, your eyes narrowing.

“What?” Molly asked, surprised by your sudden shift in tone.

“Let’s just go,” you said, your voice laced with resolve.

“Go where?”

“Town.”

Without waiting for her to argue, you kicked the bucket of soapy water, sending it tumbling into the river, the suds spilling out and disappearing downstream. The laundry lay abandoned on the grass as you turned and marched toward the stables, Molly following close behind.

Damn everyone, then.

❀˖°

Arthur returned to camp, expecting to find you in his tent as usual. But when he stepped inside, the familiar space felt oddly empty. A frown tugged at his lips.

"Hey... um, Sadie?" he called out, spotting her near the campfire. "You seen (Y/N)?"

Sadie glanced up from sharpening her knife. "Oh, yeah. She and Molly went to town."

"What?!" The word escaped him before he could stop it, his voice louder than he intended. Clearing his throat, he muttered a quick, “Thanks,” and walked back to his tent, feeling heat rise to his face. He slumped down onto his cot with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair.

You know how he felt about you going far from camp without him, even if you were with one of the girls. It wasn’t a matter of trust, it was fear.

And still you did.

There were too many dangers out there, too many things that could go wrong, and the thought of you out there without him stirred a storm in his chest.

It was 5 p.m., the time when you two usually sat together to talk about your day over supper. The time he looked forward to most whenever he was at camp. And now? He sat there, staring at the flap of his tent, the minutes ticking by painfully slow.

But what bothered him more was why you’d gone. And with Molly, of all people. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, he didn’t have a problem with her, not really. But something about the way you two were together always set him on edge.

He’d told you how he felt about it once. About how Molly seemed to lean on you a little too much, how her sadness and drama sometimes seemed to pull you down with her. But of course, you’d defended her, saying you couldn’t just turn your back on your best friend. That Molly found her only comfort in your company.

And you were right. He knew you were. But that didn’t make it any easier to sit here, waiting, imagining where you were and what could happen.

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh, his appetite gone. Instead of heading to the campfire for supper, he threw himself onto his cot, pulling his hat over his face in an attempt to block out the growing worry gnawing at his chest.

But even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t shake the unease. Images of you and Molly wandering through town, far from the safety of camp, flickered in his mind. He trusted you, of course, but the world out there? That was another story entirely.

“Damn woman never listens to me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with equal parts frustration and concern.

Sleep didn’t come easily, and even as he tried to rest, he knew one thing for certain, when you came back, this was a conversation he wasn’t going to let slide.

❀˖°

Arthur woke with a start, roused by Bill’s loud guffaw somewhere in the camp. With a groan, he rubbed his face, taking a moment to shake off the haze of sleep and piece together his scattered thoughts. Then it hit him, the memory of you leaving with Molly, and the worry twisted sharply in his chest again.

He pushed himself up with a sigh, his body stiff from the restless nap. Moving through camp, he glanced around, hoping, praying, to catch sight of you. But there was nothing. No sign of you or Molly.

He considered asking Dutch, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. Dutch would likely know even less than he did, and Arthur wasn’t in the mood for meaningless chatter.

Back at his tent, he sat on the edge of his cot, pulling out his journal in an attempt to distract himself. The flap of the tent was open, giving him a clear view of camp, but his eyes kept flickering toward it, waiting for you to appear.

His stomach growled, but he ignored it. He wasn’t going to eat, not until you came back, served the meal, and sat down beside him. That was how it went. That was how it had to go.

He was about to get up and go to find both of you himself when-

"Um, Arthur?" Abigail’s voice broke through his brooding. She appeared by the flap of his tent, holding a coffee pot. "There’s some coffee left, and I’ve got to wash the pot, would you like a cup?"

He shook his head, barely sparing her a glance. "Why’d they go to town?"

"Molly and (Y/N)?" Abigail tilted her head, her tone casual. "Oh, they’ve been back. Got back about half an hour ago. They’re in my tent, just hanging out."

Arthur blinked, first in shock, then confusion, which quickly morphed into anger. Half an hour? You’d been back for that long and hadn’t even bothered to come see him? Not even a word after being gone all day?

He shut his journal with a snap, the sound echoing his rising temper, and stood. The muffled chatter coming from Abigail’s tent grated on his nerves as he stalked toward it, each step heavier than the last.

What the hell was going on with you?

He cleared his throat outside the tent before pushing the flap open, only to find you and Molly sitting cross-legged, enjoying supper.

"Where were you? I was waiting for you."

You swallowed your bite, not bothering to look up at him. "Needed a few important things from town, actually, so I had to go."

Arthur’s jaw tightened. "Can you come with me? I want to talk."

"I’m already talking to Molly," you replied, your tone curt, still avoiding his gaze.

Damn it. Why the hell weren’t you even looking at him? That gnawing frustration in his chest boiled over. He had enough of this.

"I said, Come. With. Me." he demanded, his voice low but firm, the tone sharper than he intended.

Your head snapped up, eyes glaring at him with such intensity that, for a moment, he regretted using that tone. Hell, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him just a little.

"Oh, excuse me, Mister. Don’t you dare order me around like a maid, alright? I sit, talk, and walk when I want to. And right now? I don’t want to. Now go away, we’re busy."

Arthur ignored Molly’s taunting scoff, still fixated on you. Something about this--about you--just didn’t sit right.

"I’m sorry, okay? I’m just hungry. I was waiting for you... Can we eat now?" Arthur’s chest tightened, guilt creeping in. He rubbed the back of his neck, his anger softening. "...I was just worried as hell."

Hell, I still am.

But you didn’t let it go. "I’ve already eaten, and I didn’t ask you to wait for me. There are plenty of people around here you can share your meal with, Arthur. Plenty."

You turned your attention back to Molly, flashing her a rueful grin with your hair covering your face but he definitely caught it.

The Irishwoman gave you a knowing smile, her voice full of mischief. "Oh, girl, there’s always someone around."

This is how it's gonna be huh?

His first instinct was to walk away, but no. Arthur wasn’t the type to run from problems. With one swift movement, he grabbed your arm and dragged you out and behind the tent, just past the tree line. He stared down at you, his expression a mix of annoyance and desperation.

"What the hell is that all about?! And you know I hate it when you go out alone-"

"I don’t care! I don’t care anymore!" you snapped, your voice shaking with anger. "I hate going out for some petty stuff too, which, by the way, I clearly asked you to get, and you forgot! I guess books are more important than me, huh?."

Arthur’s chest tightened. He rarely saw this side of you ever since you both got together, the frustration, the hurt, the coldness. "See, this is the problem," you continued, your voice rising. "When men find someone vulnerable enough to control, to fix, they get bored. Then they move on, find someone else to repeat the same damn cycle. Am I right?"

His mouth went dry. The words cut deep. But what hurt him the most was the thought that maybe... maybe you believed that.

He wasn’t asking for much, was he? Three meals with you, a cup of coffee, that was it. Simple things that made him feel like you cared. That made him feel loved. But you didn’t... or did you?

The silence between you two was deafening as he tried to process what you said.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur started, his frustration mounting. "See, this is why I don’t like when you and Molly-"

"Oh, no, no, no. Shush. Don’t you dare," you interrupted, your voice sharp, but there was a deep hurt behind it. "She’s always been right, Arthur. I was the dumb one. I’ve been working my ass off for you, and you didn’t even bother to say goodbye this morning, huh?"

Arthur froze, guilt beginning to gnaw at him. He wasn’t ready for this. "You know, I had a chance to leave this life, you know exactly who I’m talking about. But I didn’t. I chose you. But if I’m just gonna be sidelined like this? Nuh-uh. My ego doesn’t allow it. Nobody gets to disrespect me like that."

You took a deep breath, eyes blazing. "If you don’t want me anymore, then say it. Don’t play these stupid-ass games with me. I’m not Molly, not when it comes to this."

Arthur’s stomach dropped as the weight of your words settled in. He could feel the hurt radiating off of you, the betrayal that had built up. And now it made sense. Molly had probably warned you, just like she always did. He could almost hear her saying it a dozen times in the morning,

'Don’t let him treat you like that, they are all shit.'

"There is NOTHING like that, woman!" Arthur snapped, his voice rising in frustration. "Is that what this is about? You’re ready to just forget, hell, even think like this over a misunderstanding?"

"Call it whatever you want," you replied coldly, not backing down. "But not gonna lie, the pattern makes sense now, Arthur."

He took a step back, trying to steady his breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Don’t say that... c’mon. You know it’s not true! She’s like a sister to me! For God’s sake, how can you even think--"

Without another word, you grabbed his satchel, the leather creaking in your grip, and flipped it upside down. A book slid out and thudded onto the ground.

Arthur froze, his eyes darting to the book, then to the scattered contents of his bag. He watched, his heart sinking, as you threw the satchel aside in disgust. "Bravo," you muttered, the bitterness in your voice sharper than a knife.

"Don't even bother explaining. I’m tired." You began to walk away, but before you could get far, Arthur grabbed your wrist.

"Don't you dare, no way you’re... sleeping away from me." His voice started strong, then faltered into a desperate plea, but you didn’t turn around. With a sharp jerk, you freed your hand from his grasp and continued walking.

Arthur stood there for a moment, his breath heavy as he watched you leave. With a defeated sigh, he bent down to gather the scattered contents of his satchel. Tilly approached, offering to help, but he shrugged her off with a tired wave and handed the book over to Mary-Beth, who was standing a few feet away, her face filled with guilt and sadness. His hand lingered in his pocket for a moment, pulling out the cream he had meant to bring you, adding it to the pile with a sharp scoff.

His posture was slumped, his movements slow and burdened. He didn’t need to say anything, his body language alone was enough to tell Tilly, Mary-Beth, and anyone else watching that this sulking would last for days, and you... you weren’t someone who accepted apologies easily.

❀˖°

And that’s exactly what happened. Arthur waited every day, hoping you would just come, sit with him, and listen. He longed for you to let him explain, to sort things out, so he could hold you in his arms again. Dammit. He missed you at night like a child misses their favorite doll.

But you weren’t just any doll.

You were his doll.

And when it came to you, he was nothing but a man-child.

Everybody knew his routine, the gang enforcer's routine. Simple, predictable. Come back, chat a little, handle his business, talk and eat with you, then the tent flaps closed, just the two of you, a world away from the chaos of the camp.

But now?

Come back, brood in one corner, pace to another, sleep with the flaps wide open.

Arthur’s mood soured every time he saw you doing something that wasn’t just being with him. Chores, errands, anything that took you away, even for a moment, made him restless, agitated. He needed you with him, in the tent, with the flaps closed, where he could hold you, even if it was just in the silence of the night.

Every night, he asked you to come with him. But you ignored him. Yet, he kept asking, unable to stop the desperate hope that you’d return, that you’d see it the way he did.

"Damnit. Damn stubborn ass woman." He grumbled for what? The millionth time? Sighing he petted his horse as it trotted at a leisurely pace, just a few meters from camp. How the hell had it all gone so bad? What was even the point anymore? Are you happy now?

His horse huffed as if sensing his despair, nudging him gently, but Arthur barely acknowledged it. The familiar sound of the camp in the distance only served to remind him that nothing was the same anymore, not the meals, not the quiet talks, and certainly not the comfort of his cot. That's it. This ends tonight.

He is going to carry you over his shoulder if that takes you to talk to him. To hell with your protests and stubbornness.

You were crouched down, sorting through vegetables with Abigail, your hands busy with the task at hand.

It wasn’t long before you saw Molly moving quietly, eyes darting back and forth, heading toward the girls' area.

You knew Molly. You had spent enough time with her to understand that when her instincts kicked in, she often acted before she thought. There was an impulsive streak in her, a tendency to let her emotions guide her steps, and that could be dangerous. Especially now, when tensions were already high.

Without much thought, you excused yourself from Abigail, your voice quick and unsteady. “I���ll be right back.”

You left her with the vegetables and slipped away from the campfire, your steps light as you tried to stay out of sight. Moving quietly, you found a small, hidden spot behind a tent, where you could just make out the faint sounds of voices, though you couldn’t yet hear clearly what was being said. Your heart pounded in your chest.

"(Y/N) and I were so close, in fact, like sisters, but you ruined that too! I don’t know what you told her-" Mary-Beth’s voice cracked, and for the first time, it wasn’t the usual calm, polite tone she carried. There was raw emotion, maybe even a hint of fear, but more than that, it sounded like heartbreak.

"You did it! Just like you're trying to ruin my relationship with Dutch."

"Are you in your senses, Ms. Molly?!" Mary-Beth gasped, trying to defend herself. "How can you even think that?!"

The past few days, you couldn’t help but notice her glances at you, brief but meaningful. It was as if she was caught between wanting to reach out and not knowing if you’d welcome her presence. Her eyes would meet yours across the camp, filled with a mixture of concern and hesitation, as if she longed to approach, to console you, but the fear of intruding, of making things worse, kept her frozen in place.

You understood her hesitation. She was a kind soul, someone who cared deeply for those she loved, and in these tense moments, you knew she wasn’t sure how to navigate the space between you both. And neither did you try to clear the air.

"You and your pretty face are going to be your downfa-"

"Molly, enough." You stepped in, your voice firm. Molly turned to you, arms crossed over her chest, her face filled with frustration.

"(Y/N), don’t tell me you’re under her spell too, for God’s sake. She needs to get a reality check-"

"Molly," you interjected, stepping forward and gently taking hold of her arms. You guided her a few steps away from Mary-Beth, the tension between them thick. "Let me handle it, alright?"

"Don’t pity her, let me make that clear. Otherwise, you’ll be the one regretting it." Molly threw one last angry glance at Mary-Beth, shaking her head before storming off, muttering under her breath.

You stood there, a heavy sigh escaping you as you rubbed your forehead, watching Molly retreat. Turning back to Mary-Beth, who sat on the ground, you softened your expression. "I apologize on her behalf..." You couldn’t help but feel the weight of the situation. You knew you’d have to work hard to get Molly to let go of her anger, but that's for later.

"It's... alright, (Y/N)." Her voice croaked, and you didn’t miss the tremble in it, nor the quiet tears she tried to hide. Your gaze shifted to the book resting on the makeshift table in the corner. The one she had requested. You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your throat.

"You’re not reading it?" you asked, your voice gentle.

She looked up at you, shaking her head slowly. You could see the weight of her emotions pressing down on her, and it hurt to see her like this.

You walked over, picked up the book, and sat beside her. "Why not?" you asked softly. It caught her off guard, and for a moment, her eyes softened. She hesitated before returning the smile, albeit faintly, her sadness still lingering behind it.

"I am sorry... (Y/N), if you... if you misunderstood my actions, but I swear it’s nothing. There’s nobody else, except Mr. Morgan that we feel comfortable enough to ask for things... but if you mind it, then we won’t--"

"No. No. You can ask without hesitation, and I am sorry. I was quick to jump to... conclusions," you interrupted, your voice soft with regret. You hugged her, and she gladly returned the embrace. The warmth of her arms around you soothed the tension in your chest.

You placed the book gently in her lap and shifted your body closer, not wanting to break the moment. "I just... y'know... when I love someone, I do it fully. And I don’t tolerate when that gets disrespected, y'know? That’s one thing I will never forgive." Your voice trembled slightly, the depth of your feelings evident. "But anyway, do read it, and then we’ll have a chat about it. You know I love hearing you yap about your books more than reading them myself."

She chuckled softly, her eyes lighting up with a glimmer of her old self, and you watched her face brighten as she held the book. You stood up, feeling a sense of relief, but also a lingering desire to stay.

"Definitely. But for now, I must go work too, don’t want Susan to bury me alive."

"You better." As you were making your way back to the kitchen wagon, a figure stepped in your way.

"Am I forgiven too?" His voice was teasing, but his expression was genuine. You deadpanned, folding your arms.

"Ummmm... let me think about it," you replied with a mock thoughtful expression, your gaze narrowing slightly.

He mirrored your posture, folding his arms with a smirk. "Not fair, woman. Not fair."

"I never said I was." You gave him a pointed look before turning to walk past him.

As you continued your walk back to the kitchen wagon, you felt a lightness in the air, a shift that felt... right. Arthur, still a few steps behind you, watched you quietly with an almost childish pout. There was something about the way his gaze lingered on you that told you he was waiting, waiting for you to acknowledge it all, to say what neither of you had dared to say yet.

You stopped for a moment, as you placed the cutting board, and turned to face him. The sunlight caught the edges of his hair, giving him a softer, not to mention the dark circles, giving him a more vulnerable look than you’d seen before. There was no teasing now, no masks, just Arthur, looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time again.

"I’m sorry, too," you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. "For the things I said."

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I don’t like it either. I swear, I’d rather fight a hundred men than have you angry at me. But..." His hand reached out hesitantly, as though unsure whether he had the right to touch you, to pull you close. "I don’t know what I’d do without you. And I apologize too...for making you feel that way. But I swear it wasn't in my intention."

A warmth spread through your chest at his words. It wasn’t the grand gestures or flowery promises that touched you. It was the simplicity of it, the honesty in his voice, the vulnerability he rarely let show. "Well then let me tell you that," you whispered back, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "I’m not going anywhere."

With a relieved exhale, Arthur stepped forward, his arms wrapping around you firmly, pulling you into his chest. It was as though all the tension from before melted away, and in its place, there was just the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. "I love you," he murmured into your hair, the words so familiar now, but somehow more precious each time.

You nestled into his embrace, letting your worries fade for the moment, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. "I love you, too," you replied, your voice barely above a breath, but you meant it with everything you had.

"Y'know darlin'...I was very close to shootin' myself if I had to sleep on the cold bed any longer. It took strength to control myself and not drag you out-" You rolled your eyes and pulled away.

"Right, now go away, I have work to do."

"Absolutely not. To hell with these damn chores. You are coming with me."

You shot him a skeptical glance, hands on your hips as you paused in your tracks. "Really?" you said, raising an eyebrow.

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he stepped closer, his broad frame encroaching on your space. "What do you think, darlin'?" he teased, his hands coming up to cradle your face, nearly squishing it with playful force. He gave your head a gentle shake, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "It’s been too damn long. You’ve had me sleeping like a corpse for days. You cruel woman."

You tried to hold back the laugh that bubbled up in your chest, but his determination was infectious "Fine," you muttered, giving in more to his presence than anything else. He grinned, his hands reaching for you, pulling you effortlessly toward the flap of his tent.

"Atta girl." His voice held a triumphant edge, but it was softened with affection.

And finally, after days, the enforcer's tent flaps were closed at night--and so was the distance between you two.

(AN: Req/asks closed for now, guys :/ do keep in mind ur ideas and send once I'll announce them open)

[mochinek0]

Looking Back (Part 1)

Adrien couldn't help but look at Marinette across the room. The only thing that bothered him so much was that she was there with her husband, Damian Wayne. He saw the smile he missed; saw her laughing with friends. He could see how close she was to him, every time she turned and looked at him to continue the story.

"How did you meet your husband, Marinette?"

"Yeah he doesn't look familiar."

"Did he go to school with us; I feel like I would have remembered him."

"Uncle Jagged took me on tour when I graduated, half way through the year, and I met Damian during one of the stops." Marinette answered.

Adrien looked away and noticed his friends were uncomfortable. Some people, those closest to Mari, stopped listening to Lila. Kitty Section had launched to stardom with their amazing clothes, lyrics and Jagged Stones backing. The others…..'Did I do the right thing?' was running across their minds.

"Hey, let's get out of here for a bit." Kim spoke, "I need a drink.

"Alya nodded, "It's….unnerving, right now."

"I don't know." Nino declared.

"It'll only be for an hour." Kim sighed, "There's a place to drink a block away. We can walk over and back."

"We can take my car." Adrien smiled, "I'll probably only have one drink."

Outnumbered, Nino groaned, "I'll drive us back."

After a quick round up, they left to a near by bar.

"This isn't how I expected this reunion to go!" Alya whined, "I thought Marinette would be miserable and we would be telling her, 'You should have be nicer to Lila'. Why is her life; her friends' life, better than ours?"

"Odine broke up with me two months after she found out that I had pulled a prank on Marinette when we were twelve." Kim sighed, "She never got over it. She said I was heartless and a monster to do that to a girl. She said she would be terrified of having daughters with me. I wasn't even thinking that far ahead."

"Looks like you are now." Nathaniel stated.

"I- She was the first girl to confess to me and our dates weren't horrible!" Kim retorted.

Alix chuckled, "Thought that was Marinette."

The former swimmer growled, "Shut up! It's not my fault that girls only want some slim-fit guy!"

"Mylene and Ivan are married." Nino pointed out, "Neither of them are 'slim-fit'."

"That's right!" Alya shouted, "You're blaming us, but guys only want model types. Where's the love for curvy girls, huh? Show me thicc love, dammit!"

"I don't know." Kim spoke, "Where did it go, Nino?"

The DJ rolled his eyes, "It was a mutual break up. We had conflicting schedules and barely had time to talk to each other. It was a ten minute talk at most and then class or sleep. Even now, most dates I've had have been coffee because I'm tired after a gig."

Nino realized his best friend had been quiet so far. He was sure he would have defended himself when his long-time ex brought up models. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted five shot glasses.

"Hey, Dude, are you okay?" Nino questioned, "You ususally don't drink this much."

Adrien turned to Nino and pouted, "I should have married Marinette."

The model didn't expect the table to erupt in laughter.

"Nice one, Dude." Nino smiled, "I understand you want to be included."

"I'm serious!" Adrien whined.

"Dude, if you really feel that way, you only have yourself to blame." his best friend stated.

"Huh?" Adrien replied, confused.

"You were the blindest idiot, as a teen." Alix cackled.

Alya rolled her eyes, "Mari was head over heels for you. It's why she bullied Lila, duh."

Adrien tried to shake off the alcohol, "Bullied Lila?"

Alya took another sip, "You know because you and Lila were dating."

"I would never date that Bitch!" the model shouted.

Everyone froze and looked at him.

"What?" Kim questioned.

"I never dated Lila." the Agreste heir snarled, "I would have never-She's not my type. Fuck, I would never date a model, period. I have always hated modeling; both Chloe and Mari knew that. I did it to get my father's attention."

Everyone looked at each other as the web of lies began to untangle in front of them. After all these years, the thread had begun to snap.

"You all thought Mari was bullying Lila because she liked me?" Adrien continued to rant, "You forget she helped me get with Kagami. Kagami even told me she tried to get us back together. Hell, 'Gami had a crush on her, but ended up with Felix instead. She still says that if Mari suddenly wanted to get together, she'd drop Felix."

No one knew what to say. Everything they thought they knew, that kept them as friends was slowly coming undone. They had been 'Team Lila' for the longest time and now….what were they? Adrien never dated Lila. Adrien said he would never date her. He believed Marinette wouldn’t bully Lila simply because Lila had feelings for him because Marinette helped him get a girlfriend. If that was all true, why did Lila say they dated? Why did she say Marinette bullied her? As if a distant echo, they recalled Marinette calling their friend a liar. Had Lila really lied to them all this time?

Kim let out a loud belch, "Like we believe that." his speech slurring.

"You're saying I'm lying?" Adrien questioned.

Mr. 'Just A Friend' had feelings for her?" Kim answered, "Yeah, right."

"Mr. what?" Adrien asked.

"It's your catchphrase." the former swimmer laughed, "I'm sure you all remember. 'Who, Marinette? No! She's just a friend. She's a good friend. She's a great friend. You'll like her once you get to know her and be friends with her. She's an amazing friend'."

Alix yawned, getting bored of the dying party, "You had 'FRIENDZONE' tattooed on your forehead."

Alya relaxed. She had been so close to believeing that she had betrayed the wrong person, but Adrien having feelings for Marinette was laughable at this point.

"Marinette obviously got tired of hearing how much of a 'friend' she was to you." Alya declared, "The shit I had to listen to when we were friends! How 'dreamy' you looked. The names of you imaginary kids! You two gettign a hamster."

"She found someone better." Alix shrugged, "He's taller and looks strong as hell. The only things you share in common are green eyes and wealthy families."

"Gold digging, Bitch." Alya snarled.

"I thought that, too." Alix admitted, "From what Juleka tells me, Marinette makes more than Adrien alone on her fashion commissions. That's without using her muscle hubby or his family name. Rose said that not even Luka compares. Kitty Section went with them to the Caribbean and …muscles and scars. Said Mari couldn't keep her eyes of him and they barely saw her after that."

"Demon God." muttered Nathaniel.

"Demon God?" questioned Nino.

"His brothers call him 'Demon Spawn', but he's chiseled like the sexy Lucifer marble statues that the church said no to." Nathaniel groaned, "I should have taken my chance, too."

Nino glanced at Adrien and saw him tearing up.

'Shit.'

"Okay, I think we get the idea." the DJ stated, trying to change the subject.

"Alya's right. We tried to get them together so many times, but he always thought they were 'friendly outings' even though eveyone had a date." Kim continued.

Nathaniel took another shot, "Imagine getting kissed by the most popular girl at school and thinking she was 'just being nice'."

"Lila?" Alya replied, "I thought-"

"Lila was popular in class, only." Nathaniel answered, "Marinette was popular all over school. The true 'Queen' of the school."

Adrien quickly stood up, scraping his chair against the floor, and rushed out. Nino quickly rushed out after him.

"What's his problem?" Kim asked.

Alya's eyes trailed after Nino's back before she took another drink and turned back to the group.

Nino quickly spotted Adrien's car. He slowly approached it and found him sobbing in the passenger's seat.

'At least he didn't think he could drive.'

Nino walked around and sat in the driver's side. He simply patted his friend's back.

"Did-Is what Kim said true?" Adrien asked.

Nino unintentionally paused his hand's movements, trying to decide what would be best.

"Nino!" Adrien shouted, "You're my best friend! Is what-"

"Yes." he answered.

He could feel the weight of Adrien's gaze on him.

"We did try setting you up with Marinette." Nino spoke, calmly, "Everyone in the school could see she liked you. I don’t know when she stopped; we truly believed that she was mean to Lila because Lila was with you."

"Not in a million years." Adrien replied.

"You sure?" Nino asked, looking at his friend.

"Not even if it brought my mother back." Adrien growled, "I can't stand her."

Nino started the car as Adrien sunk into his seat. They drove in silence, but he faintly heard the model's sniffles. He knew Adrien might not possibly remember the night and he didn't want to say anything that was too damaging. It was a conversation for another time…if there ever was.

Adrien thanked Nino as they got out of the car and he took the keys form him, "She looked happy tonight, didn't she? Her smiles were always the brightest."

Nino watched as tears fell down his friend's cheeks. Adrien quickly turned and went inside. Nino sighed and took out his phone.

"Yo, Max. I need a ride." he spoke, "Got a minute to spare?"

[turvi]

Rumours

WARNING: angst, cussing

Rumours have it that Severus Snape doesn't shower. There is nothing sexy about him. All the girls in Hogwarts want to avoid him like a plague, and the marauders painting him as an obsessive creep also does not help his case. Maybe that is why Y/n feels so wrong to feel attracted to the boy.

Every time she crosses paths with Severus she can't help but feel a sensation in her chest as he looks at her, she tries to tear her eyes away from the boy, but the intense look in Severus' eyes makes it difficult for her to look somewhere else or even think about something else.

But as fate would have it she was James Potter's cousin. Ironically, she is attracted to the boy her cousin picks on the most. She can't dare to look at him while her cousin is around. What if he finds out? If a random boy approaches her James comes between them and stares the boy until he leaves Merlin knows what he will do to Severus. Y/n hates how James treats her like a kid when she is only a year younger than him

Y/n is often lost in thought trying to figure out why she feels like this about Severus. What is it about his eyes that traps her?

One day as she walks to her class she was pulled into a broom closet. Her instant panic was replaced with relief when she found the same onyx eyes that has been haunting her thoughts all day. "What do you want?"

Her eyes flutter. Even though Severus was whispering it felt like his baritone voice shook every inch of her soul. Y/n somehow musters up the courage to speak up "what do you mean?"

Severus scoffed "don't act innocent. I see how you stare at me. What is it? You want to turn me into a clown as well, turn me into a toy like your cousin does that you can torment and torture whenever you feel like?"

Her heart broke. She knows his words were not targeted to her. Who would not snap like that after facing so much? "Say something dammit"

"I love you"

"Bullshit"

Y/n cannot blame him. For some reason she cannot find a reason to hate him. She is really trying to but there is a softness in his onyx eyes that makes her determined that there is more to Severus than just being a 'greasy haired creep'.

"You don't have to believe me, but I do love you. And I also know that you love someone else."

Severus groans "miss l/n you have no idea what you are talking about"

"I am not asking you to feel the same" Y/n says but her eyes tell a different story

After a few minutes silence Severus speaks again "you cannot feel for me like this. This is merely infatuation".

As he starts to walk away Y/n spoke up finally without any fear "You do not get to tell me how I feel Severus Tobias Snape"

Severus turns around. Feeling angry yet curious at the tone she picks on him "excuse me?"

A shiver ran down her spine yet she stood her ground "you heard me loud and clear I fucking love you Severus. Whether you like it or not and I am not letting someone take that from me. Not even you".

Severus was taken aback about the way this girl talked to him. He walks back towards her, his eyes looking at her intensely "and what if I never love you back" his voice lowers

Y/n scoffed "you don't get it do you"? Severus raised an eyebrow but she continues taking a step closer to him. Severus tries to look for disgust or anger in her eyes but all he finds is passion. She continues "Severus, my curse is not that you will never love me but my curse is living a life where I am not in love with you"

Severus feels his heart throb. No this is wrong. He clenched his fist hoping it is only because of the extra cup of coffee he had this evening but one look in her eyes....and there it was again.

A/N: Part 2? Maybe? REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKED THIS

Without a word he turns around and leaves. Y/n stood there and watched him dissapear in the darkness unaware of the tears that were right now falling down his cold cheeks

Part 2

[high-ashell-hargrove]

Djinn,Dean and some damn pie

Summary: he wakes up in a bed that’s not his, in a house that is most definitely not either, the one familiar thing is you, or so he thought. The reason he knew it wasn’t you? His y/n would never turn down a piece of pie.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

_____________

The sun shines through the sheer curtains, the smell of fresh linen fills Dean's senses. With a stretch he peaks open his eyes, adjusting to the room around him. Frantically he shoots up,

This wasn’t the motel bed he fell asleep in. Feeling underneath his pillow his gun had also been missing. Pulling back the covers Dean checks the room. No signs of any of his stuff other than a wardrobe that looked similar to his, followed by some women’s clothing. Striding out of the room dean is hit with the smell of freshly brewed Coffee, he follows it down the hall. 

Peering around the corner he's met with the sight of you, his best friend, a henley covering your frame. 

“Good morning” Dean said, breaking the silence in the air, cautiously approaching you. Looking up y/n smiles brightly, ambling over to Dean. wrapping her arms around his neck y/n gives him a slight peck. Pulling back Dean gives her a bewildered look. 

y/n head tilts to the side “you ok?” Dean nods. “Feels like I'm dreaming.”

Her hair smelt the same, so did her perfume, her eyes twinkled like they always have, how could he be?

________________

“Dammit Sam how could he be so stupid” y/n huffs, shoving her gun into her waistband. 

“Goes after a damn Djinn by himself” she mumbles under her breath. 

“We will find him y/n” Sam says, following behind her, slamming the motel door behind them. 

______________

Days passed, Dean couldn't shake the feeling of unease in his gut. Things werent adding up as he remembered but he continued to brush it off. Jess and Sam were married, y/n and him were engaged, and he worked at a garage fixing cars.

Unlocking the front door he's met with a dim house, y/n lay on the couch, curled up in a blanket. Crouching he sweeps the hair out of her face.

“Wake up sweetheart” Dean whispers, kissing her forehead. 

y/n stirs, groaning. “Welcome home” she sits up groggily. “Lets head to bed” standing up she wraps her hand around his, pulling him down the hall.

_________________________

“Sam its been days we are running out of time” y/n runs her hands across her face, days they spent searching and stressing. And still no trace of Dean. 

“What about this church, its the only abandoned place we havent searched yet '' Sam spins the laptop toward her. Squinting she nodded. 

“Worth a damn shot”

________________

Dean walked into the kitchen, sitting down at the marble island. A fresh pie sat in the middle

“Looks good,” Dean smiled, looking up at her. “Share a slice with me?”

y/n grimaced 

“Oh c'mon you love pie!” Dean scoffed. y/n shakes her head.

“Honey, it's too many calories.” y/n laughed, grabbing him a plate. 

His stomach dropped. He knew something wasn't right, and the piece of the puzzle was some damn pie?

He stood up, shoving her against the cabinets roughly, a loud screech echoing off of the walls 

“Dean baby-” he cut her off

“Dont, you're not y/n, not mine anyway.” his eyes scanned hers. Eyebrows pinched together. Memories of hunting the Djinn flooding back into his mind. 

“Dean stay here with me, please” a pleading wine left y/n’s throat “you are so happy here! Please! Stay happy with me”

Dean shakes his head angrily, sneering, his face getting closer to hers. 

“I want my real brother back, i want my real y/n back”

________________________

y/n gasps, seeing Dean's limp body. Rushing to him she cuts him free from his ties. Cupping his face she shakes him roughly. 

“Dean! Cmon wake up” he was pale. Panic flooded her, her throat tightening and tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Roughly she slaps him across the face, a weak groan leaves his throat.

  “Sammy! Come help me get him in the car!”

Hours pass, y/n sit in a chair next to the bed, hands folded together, waiting for him to wake. 

Dean's eyes slowly open, the blur adjusting to y/n's frame. His eyes continue to scan the motel room, dingy walls, broken ceiling fan. His eyes dart back over to y/n. A chuckle erupted from his chest. 

“What the hell is so funny Winchester?” y/n said angrily. 

“You didn't want any damn pie” 

“Excuse me?”

Dean sat up slowly, still feeling weak. 

“The other you, Dream you? Didn't wanna eat any Damn pie, that's how i knew.” he chuckled again. y/n shook her head and rolled her eyes

“Dean Winchester I could skin you” grabbing him by his green henley she pulls him in for a kiss. 

“Did other me do that?”

He smirked “not as good”

[jujutsukgojo]

The Baby Project chapter 2

izuku midoriya x reader

Chapter one, Chapter three

Summary: When Kaibara gets increasingly worse, a hero comes in the nick of time.

tw: dead beats, assault, mention of Mineta's crimes,

You wipe the booths for the next customers. Heading back behind the counter, you ask your tables if anyone needs anything. It’s the same old thing you’ve come to love. Children are coloring in their coloring pages and are waiting for their juice boxes while their parents order grilled cheese. The kids write ‘secret’ messages to you about them getting sweets. An indecisive couple who finally settle on the most basic things then call you back to change it.

  The restaurant has been up for ages and has regulars that have been the nicest people to you. So many debates on whose cooking is better. You, Yona, who’s your boss, or Ken’s, the cook. All for the sake of laughs and gentle teasing. They have the faces that tell a story you want to hear and senses of humor that vary more than snowflakes. 

   Plucking the fresh, hot pot of coffee from the machine, you head over to your playful regulars. A group of older men who have taken a liking to you and have acted like grandpas. They are a highly playful bunch who make you smile every day.  “Here we are boys.” 

  “Ah, (Y/n), looking rather dashing today.” Ren puts his head on his hands. He's a man with laugh lines and salt and pepper hair. Ren has been a regular at the restaurant for years who always orders apple pie with cheddar cheese on the side with whip cream, day or night, breakfast, lunch, or dinner whenever he’s around.

“In the same old uniform that you saw me in yesterday. Seriously?”

  “Can’t I compliment you?”

“Yeah, when it doesn’t come with asking if you can get the meal for free.” 

He sighs. “Dammit.”

  Yona calls you to her. Her dyed red hair is easy to spot. She sucks on her lips and eyes you nervously. You quickly rush to her, not liking the look on her aging face. “Yeah?” 

She extends her hands to you. “Someone left this for you. It was given to Ken when he went out to take out the trash.” 

  You gasp and drop the pot of coffee, its glass and hot liquid spreading on the floor. Some of the liquid touches your shoes and the heat makes contact with your feet. Even then you barely register it. The noise gathers the attention of the patrons and Ken, who comes out of the kitchen. Your eyes start to mist when you see Noa without a blanket or his diaper bag. His feet are cold and he’s shivering.

________________________

You sniffle as you pat him. It’s after hours and the only ones in here are those who work late and are finishing their meals. When you saw Noa, you immediately freaked out. The customers were quick to see if you were alright, but Yona made you go somewhere else to process everything. 

Throughout the entire restaurant, Noa’s cries were heard. You have been in the kitchen with Ken and even in Yona’s office to get the noise away from the customers. Nothing worked until he was warmed up.

“Just breathe, kid. Ken knows of your assignment. He was gentle like it was real.” You kiss Noa’s soft head, his chubby newborn face is now free of stress and his mouth no longer lets out a shrill wail.

With a gruff voice Ken calls out from the kitchen. “I thought it was real. Look at it.” 

  “I can’t believe this. I just wanted him to help. Classes are over. He isn’t doing anything. How could he be this way?” Noa coos and tries to breastfeed and starts to give out whimpers every time he fails. Yona gives you the bottle that was left with Ken. “The packaging threw me off but I figured it out.”

   You go to feed Noa. He’s been terrible at taking it since the project started. Finally after some coaxing, he latches on. “He’s doing it!” He’s only been fed like, 5 or 6 times by you. You just hope Kaibara managed to get something in. 

  “Thank you.” You sniffle. “Other than this, why are you crying? Noa’s fine.” She tickles his feet. He jolts his leg from the sensation, not once removing the nipple from his mouth as he hungrily sucks on the milk.

“U.A. doesn’t allow students to work unless they’re in the hero course. I get a stipend but that’s less than others since I’m on a scholarship. It’s weird but true. So, I took this job to help me out. I had to ask him to help me get things so I wouldn’t borrow from my friends.”

  Yona wipes your nose. She’s always been motherly to you; sometimes overwhelmingly so. “Now he knows. He’s the one who had to pay for some of his things and was mad about it,” You look up at the older woman who is listening intently. “Yona, what if he doesn’t understand my situation?”

  You didn’t come from diamonds and gold. You don’t have the funds to go to this fancy school or have parental help. Plus, U.A. just now started the stipend thing and you have a cut. This project is terribly expensive, and the stipend can’t cover it at all. It barely takes care of you.

You make sure to place him directly on your chest to be as comforting as possible. The position mimics breastfeeding which is a little awkward for you but worth it since he calms down after. 

  “The hero course gets paid from their internships and stuff. He has more than me, so I didn’t think he’d mind. Plus, we’re partners in this.” You remove the bottle from the little baby’s mouth.

 “It wasn’t crazy stuff either. Just diapers from Mei Hatsume-”

“The inventor, right?”

“Yeah, her. It was a pacifier and clothes, stuff like that. The only reason he went to the store with me is because Tetsutetsu embarrassed him or something.”

“Real Steel?” You nod. “Kaibara gave me like, twenty bucks maybe? I’m happy he did something but it didn’t really help. I took most of the bill and I still couldn’t get all the things Noa needs. Toss me a towel, please.”

You place it on your shoulder and hope for the best.  Noa burps and throws up a little. This is the first time Noa has burped perfectly with you. Usually, you have the hardest time doing it. As you try to hold him better, his weight gets heavier. 

Your eyebrows raise.  “Already?” 

“What’s happening, baby?” You quickly cradle him for them to see. “He’s growing! He was a newborn now look!”

  You unbutton his onesie so he can have room to grow. His belly tells his age. “Four months?”

What did you or Kaibara do to get to four months already? Noa’s face no longer looks like an old man but an actual baby where his features begin to be more identifiable.

“Good job, pepper!” Ken comes out of the kitchen and puts out his cigarette, not wanting it to be around Noa and hinder your progress. You breathily laugh, smiling down at Noa. He looks more aware now and he still favors you in the looks department.

   “He needs some more-”

“Say no more. I still have my girl’s baby clothes. A few onesies, shirts and pants, maybe? I’ll check but I know I have some. Maybe my boy’s, too.” Ken rubs your head with his meaty hand. As strange as he is, a grumpy middle aged guy who needs a haircut and to stop hitting the gym so much, he’s sweet. Rough around the edges but the sweetest man you’ve ever had the pleasure knowing. 

Yona kisses Noa’s chubby feet. He wiggles his toes. “And I still have my kid’s bassinet. It’s old school but sturdy.”

You thank them both then pause.

  “What happens at four months?” You look to the adults who have kids of their own. “Hell if I know. I was in jail.”

“Ken, not now.” 

“He should be-” Then Noa screams. You look him over, not finding anything. You then undo his diaper to see if he's wet and see a horrible rash. “What?!” 

On him was a regular pamper. Kaibara put a regular U.A. diaper on him and didn’t even do it right. “No, no! Crap! Did he give you the diaper bag?”

  “Just the baby and a bottle, pepper. And the bottle was empty. I don't know why he was carrying it like that. I was locked up and I know bett-”

"Ken, please. No prison stories."

You take it off of him before it gets worse. You don’t know why he decided to do this. You told him not to, right? It wasn’t like you chose it. Noa just happened to have needed them. Just like Ema’s baby can’t be around anything that’s not cotton or the baby will get a rash. Or Benio’s daughter throwing up the school’s formula and having to go to get a special formula from them that cost more. 

   The babies are extremely diverse, just like real ones.

“Alright, alright.” Yona takes Noa to the kitchen and bounces him as she goes. Ken rubs your back again. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

Maybe.

“No. I have to.” You rub your forehead. “I don’t know what to do though. He hates me for some reason. It all started when I said no to the name Sen.”

  You groan. “And he knows that I work. What if he uses it as black mail? I won’t be able to afford anything!”

“This is based on real life, right?” You nod. “If he does anything, get him for child support. He’s taking your income thus away from the child. Your stipend can’t cover you both and he’s an absent parent. Let the school handle him.”

You take in his words. The stipend can barely help you. No way would it be able to handle a growing baby. 

“That’s too serious. This isn’t that bad, right?” Ken sighs and sits next to you. “Yeah, it’s an assignment. Just a project that’ll end sometime soon. But he isn’t helping. Rather than watch him for a couple of hours, he hands him over in a back alley to a strange man,” He gestures to himself.

“Well not strange-” He corrects.

“Eh…”

“Little one, I swear to God,” You laugh and wipe your eyes. Talking to these two have helped dry up some of your tears. “Listen, if he doesn’t start properly helping you, if he snitches and it affects Noa, then yeah. It's not permanent or anything. Just until the project ends and who knows? Maybe U.A. will let you work because without it, it'll take away from Noa."

“I don’t think it’s a thing here, though.”

“Not in this country, really. That doesn’t mean it isn’t a thing at that fancy school of yours. Force them. It's either that, or they let you work since they're being cheap towards you.”

You catch a ride from Yona as Ken closes up. You have to hurry back before curfew. Before she speeds to your school, she takes a detour to her modest home. With so little time left, you can only grab a few things with Yona promising you more tomorrow. You want to kiss her when you see all of the items she’s giving you. They’re old but completely welcomed. 

Back in the car with Noa in your arms grabbing your finger, Yona breaks the silence.

 “Take Ken’s advice. If the butthead holds this against you when you talk to him, you have to do something. This isn’t just affecting you. His pettiness is going to hurt Noa, too.” 

“You talk like he’s real.” You whisper as you pass the streetlights that just came on. It means curfew is about to start. Luckily, you were quick to change into your U.A. uniform. Hopefully, you walking in like normal will work. 

  “Noa would fool even All Might. All that thing is missing is a legitimate soul, and that’s it. His heart beats, honeycomb.” She watches how you interact with him. Even if you don’t realize it, you are treating him as if he’s real. 

"Yona...that's too serious. Like, that's grown up stuff. I don't think this situation calls for it."

"It's something to consider."

You scratch your cheek. "I don't know that's awfully...dramatic? He's just a grade." Yona scoffs and rolls her eyes. "It's not just about financial provision. It's about co-parenting which he isn't doing and what U.A. is trying to teach him to do," She sighs and looks at you then back at the road. "Look, if you won't do that, then go to your teachers. It's not snitching when it affects your grade like this."

"He'll tell!"

Yona's silent. She hears how desperate and sad you sound. "Even if he does, it's not like you're doing the worst thing in the world. Talk to him. Tell him if he doesn't shape up, then you'll go to the teachers. If they give you flack, give it right back."

  Yona pulls up to the dorms. “Alrighty, we’re here.” Your hands start to tremble. You’re not scared of Kaibara. It is the possibilities that get you. “Breathe honey, he’s just being an ass. Besides, he may not do anything. He could be perfectly reasonable if he asks.”

  “My scholarship could end, Yona.” The school doesn’t allow anyone to work except for the hero courses. The scholarship would end. Would you lose them too?

“Argue it. It’s what you do best. You may not like heroes or can fight like them, but in a war of words and law you’d beat all of them with your mouth taped shut. Defend yourself in your territory.”

  You take a deep breath. “I will.”

She grabs your arm. "He gave a child to some random man in an alley. What if Noa was real?" 

______________________

Yona loads the bags into your arms and places Noa in the wheeled bassinet. It is old, white laced and not the cleanest. The wheels are large and the fabric that drapes the bottom half is surprisingly soft.  Although it is not disinfected right now it’ll have to do until you can get inside and clean everything. You give Yona a kiss on the cheek, thanking her for everything. 

“You act like helping you is a chore. It’s okay, the sweetest honeycomb.” For some reason, that hits you in the gut. 

When Yona leaves, you repeatedly kick the door so someone can open it. A kid from the other General Studies class opens the door. They must be visiting because the other class lives on the other side of the building. 

  You enter your room and head to the bathroom for a bath. After today, it is definitely needed. That and Yona’s gifts need to be scrubbed too. They’ve been boxed away and preserved in an attic.

  You give Noa his sponge bath first. It was easy enough. He only screamed bloody murder the entire time other than that it was cake. You dry him off and set him on pillows so he could be propped up while you bathe. The curtain is open so you can keep your eye on him. 

  “I’m coming, sweetheart! Just one minute, please- shit!” Shampoo got directly into your eye. Noa cries louder, showing all of his gums and his little fists are clenched to his chest. You hurriedly try to rinse your eyes and grab Noa. 

  You suck at this. So, so, much. 

   You begin to get cold but you push that all aside in order to get him to be quiet. His wailing is loud in your ears. Finally, you decide to wash with him even though he’s already bathed. His head lays on your chest, resulting in the tears to be sniffles. 

“You just wanted some lovin’, huh? That’s okay, bub.” It’s not at all. Who is to say he won’t understand you and start all over again?

After the much needed shower, Ema comes in to see you in your robe and drying Noa off. “Do you hav-what’s that?” She lifts his leg, the red and rough rash is visible even on his outer upper thigh.

“Before you blame me, it was Kaibara. He put one on him.” You gently massage his skin and make a mental note to go to Hatsume about it. You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know why he put the regular ones on him.”

 “Did you tell him?” 

“Yeah, I did. Or I think so? I don’t know. I’m exhausted.” 

She puts her hand on her hip. “If Eijirou was ever that lazy, I’d smack him.”

   “I think it weirds him out. All of it, you know?” She sits on your bed next to Noa. “That’s stupid. He deals with blood and gore everyday yet he can’t handle changing a baby in the right diapers? Ridiculous and lazy.”

Feeling the heat of anger rise up, you tell her, “Plus, he kept the diaper bag. So I’ll have to use a backpack.”

“He kept it? Did he at least give you some of the things in there?”

“Nope.” You’re not going to tell her the full thing lest your secret be found. She scoffs and throws her hands in the air. It’s nice to vent. “Stupid, lazy, and petty.”

  “Amen.” Speaking of prayers. “Did they handle that grape thing yet? How’s Riko anyway? I haven’t seen her.”

   Ema licks her lips. “Not good. The messages that Benio read were just the tip of the iceberg apparently. He sent dick pics, way more than innuendos, borderline if not outright, threats. It’s just a mess. I only saw a few of them but I totally see why she felt threatened.”

 You pause, taking in the information of what your friend went through. “You serious? A future hero?”

She hums and nods. “Yep. Word is that he’ll be expelled since everything has just accumulated to this. It’s like this is the final straw type of thing.”

“Should’ve gotten rid of him sooner.” You nibble on Noa's chubby feet, making him giggle. It's way better than him wailing.

“Definitely. Anyway, Snipe said there weren’t any more people so she could take a test or raise the baby herself. She chose to quit and take a test. Said the project was ruined for her.”

  “If that is the best decision for her health, I say let it be.” How bad was it? Benio was pissed when he read them and that didn’t cover much. So, what exactly did the grape thing do? How bad were these threats? Your heart aches for Riko and what she’s going through. It isn’t fair. 

“It’s a good thing you and Benio pushed it. This needed to be brought out. If he becomes a pro hero, the people he saves will be in jeopardy.” She messes with the edge of her nighttime shorts. 

  “Absolutely. He’s a bona fide predator. Yes, he fought in the wars. Yes, he helped save the world,” You count on your fingers. “That doesn’t give an excuse for assault or harassment.” 

  She fiddles with your quilt blanket. “I feel bad, peaches.”

“Why?” Noa flexes his fingers in awe. You wonder if his four month phase is already ending and he’s growing again. The growing process seems to be random. “Because I should’ve realized sooner. She was being paired with him. It was bound to happen. He’s the biggest pervert in the school. I should’ve gone with you guys and supported her.”

“You were raising your kid at a different table. No one blames you. We just happened to be there. This isn’t on us, it’s on that thing. ”

"I know. But her face when I saw her is gonna stick with me. I want to do something but what?" She licks her lips again and shakes her head. The subject changes as she focuses on his features. “He looks like you. Even his hair, see?” You chuckle and nod in agreement. 

“Yeah. I think that bothers him too.”

“So fucking lame.” Amen, again. “Wait, he’s bigger…he grew! Oh, I’m so proud of you!” She kisses your head. You raise your brow at her affection. “It says he’s four months but I think he’s growing again.” 

You massage his face. “Maybe Mei is speeding up the growth.”

  Her eyes roam around your room and stop at your little basket of his things. 

“Oh Lord. What��d you need?” She hums. “I wanted to see if you had any diapers to spare? Eijrou heard about it and wants to try.”

“Eijrou… he lets you call him by his first name?” She nods. “Yeah, we share a baby so there’s no reason to call each other formally. Besides, we get along really well.” It's not Ema's fault at all. Not the smallest bit. But it stings when it shouldn't. It is the partnership they have and you can't get it despite your efforts. You practically see the gold medal on her neck right now that shows she isn't failing. Could a start of a positive partnership be as simple as using his first name? The next time you see him, you'll give it a try.

  “Ooh, I’m telling Deku.” You finish all the steps of the diaper and put a simple shirt on him, opting out pants. You get up and go through your stash of them and hand some to her.

“I think I’ve moved on, actually.” You gasp loudly, holding your hand to your chest. “The biggest Deku groupie left the club?”

“Oh, shut up. I let go. There are things he’s happier with and I realized I’m happy too. There’s no reason to chase something when going in a different direction.” She has a slight blush on her face yet if you look closer, has a forlorn look. That blushy face is a dead giveaway for something else, though.“Wait…you and-”

“Don’t say it!” 

“Ema and Eijrou sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-” She flings a pillow in your face, making Noa giggle. His dimpled face makes you smile wider. He’s got to be more than four months old now. How? You don’t know what you’re doing right. So, you’re happy about it.

That and knowing she likes Kirishima, the ideal baby daddy. "I'm just fond of him, okay? It's early, so it might, I don't know, be the project?"

You nod, not bothering to hide your smile. Seeing them in the cafeteria was so sweet and domestic. It was something you could see for Ema. Something sweet, gentle, and kind. It's what you hope for her. Maybe Kirishima is the one who can provide that. They get along so well already and work together flawlessly. You become downcast as you think of all of the positives for her and Kirishima. Their teamwork.

You take a deep breath and stretch. After, you look around and slump your shoulders. “Shit, he has the bag. Can I borrow some formula? All I had was in that bag.” You look at Ema’s naturally glittery face. The glitter is used for freckles rather than the actual prints. You've asked her if it had to do with her quirk and surprisingly enough, it's just hereditary and not quirk related.

 “I’ll pay you back I swear.”  You put as much sincerity in your voice as you can. The dorms are locked so you can’t get to Kaibara and Noa’s going to have to feed soon. 

 Ema’s luminescent eyes look you over. She purses her lips then breaks into a playful smile. “I’ll accept it as a trade for the diaper.”

You don’t know how this is working, and you know in real life, there wouldn’t be this much support. Growing up you didn’t see half of this. Yet in such a short amount of time, the people around you made you feel safe and supported. You pray that one day you can pay them back. This whole thing is just an assignment. Nevertheless, this shows you the rare kindness of mankind. What a nice day this is.

_______________

 A few days later, you struggle to catch Kaibara. He’s actively avoiding you. Whenever you see him, he has the diaper bag and side eyes you. It’s nerve wracking and it’s pissing you off. There are things in there that you desperately need. 

You’ve managed to get some of the formula on your own. Noa is still at an awkward stage that his timer is set at four months but his development says different. You have to go to Hatsume to check on him.

In the morning, you put him in the wrap. You pack some of his things in an old, raggedy, backpack as a makeshift diaper bag. The actual baby bag is a lot better with more room, compartments and it’s absolutely sturdier. 

You take your notebook and write down the things he needs and on another page, a schedule that fits you. It’s a rough draft but with his schedule, the two of you should be able to compromise and come up with a plan. You’ve written down your number and where to find your room as well. The page even includes your friends’ numbers if he can’t get a hold of you. You pray that he can do the same and that there is an agreement on the plan.

   “Alright baby boy, let’s roll.” You see Ema and her baby girl, Hana. You poke her pink cheek. “Hey, little one.” 

“Ugh, don’t even.” Ema turns and walks. “What? What’d I do?”

“It’s not you, it’s her. She’s been so fucking ornery. All night she was screaming. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.”

   You really didn’t. You and Noa slept soundly. “I didn’t hear anything.”

   “Lucky. It’s my night to keep her and this happens.”

“She’s a newborn, right? It’s bound to happen.” Ema shakes her head. “Nope, she’s eight months old.”

  “Eight months…” You suddenly feel insecure of Noa or at least your parenting. He must be in the process of growing since he’s doing more than a four month old should yet he’s still behind. Ema’s a natural at this, though. She’s doing something better. That gold medal is shining in your eyes brighter than before. You shouldn't feel this way. Ema wouldn't rub anything in your face.

  “Yep! Eijrou and I make a great team. I can’t wait to tell him. And show the set of lungs his daughter has.” She looks at you evilly. 

    Exiting the general studies’ commons, Ema looks around for Benio but doesn’t see him. “He could already be inside fuming like usual. The ponytail girl has been ticking him off.”

  “I still don’t understand. She’s a sweet person. What’s going wrong?” Ema asks.

“If you haven’t noticed, it’s the general studies’ students that are getting stuck solely raising the babies.”

  “I’m not!”

You kick a pebble that was in the way on the sidewalk. “No, but you’ve got a good one. The rest of us are struggling.”

  She kisses Hana’s head. “Do you want me to tell Ei? I’m sure he can talk some sense into Kaibara.”

You’d love that. 

“No. If he’s anything like Tetsutetsu, it won’t get through to him. Tetsu’s already tried.”

   “Seriously?” You hold the door open for her. “Yep. I went to Kaibara’s dorm and when Tetsutetsu found out he isn’t helping, he yelled at him.”

   Ema puts her hand on her hips. “I can’t believe this. You should go to a teacher. This is a partnered assignment.”

“I’ll give him some more time but if this continues, I’ll go.” It has been a little over a week already. 

____________________________

  You’re insecure of your plan. Yona and Ken advised it. Even though it makes sense, it feels so drastic and serious to go that far. Plus, going to the teachers feels like snitching. You’re ticked that he’s not helping and scared that he’ll tell on you. It’s like he’s got all of the cards.

You wave Ema goodbye when you spot Kaibara. “Oh, Kaibara!” You wave your hand at him. He taps his foot and has a gleam in his eyes that doesn’t seem friendly. “How’s the formula? You have it in the bag.”

“It’s okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yep.” The two of you talk at the side of the hallway. “I mean, is it running low? Because I also need some for when I take care of him.”

  He chuckles. “How long have you been working?” Your heart stops. “Kaibara…”

“No, because I gave you enough-”

“It was 20.” He glares at you. “Still, I gave you money when you didn’t need it. You stole.”

You can feel people watching as they go by. The tension between the two of you is getting higher. “I didn’t steal. This project involves the both of us. You act like I make a ton when I don’t. I work only for a few hours a week.”

  He slowly gets closer to you. He roughly hands you the diaper bag. “You make enough. Don’t ask fo-what is he wearing?”

  Noa wears a pink shirt with purple designs on it paired with grey leggings. He has thick white socks on his feet. “Clothes?”

  The shirt is from Yona and the grey leggings from Ken. The outfit looks very cute on him. Simple and easy.

 “Get that off of him.” His tone is steel and sharp. It makes you tense up for a second.

   You raise a brow, genuinely confused. “What?”

 “This is embarrassing. With the money you make you can’t put him in some good clothes?” You look down at Noa whose clothes are fine. “What’re you talking about?”

   “You did this on purpose.” He curses at you under his breath. A General Studies student walks past then stops and stares. They make eye contact with you. Their purple eyes wondering, asking, if you need help. The student takes off down the hallway.

You then remember that Ema uses Kirishima's first name to build a better bond. “It’s only clothes, Sen.”

  He curses again and roughly handles Noa, trying to take his shirt off. Noa begins to cry. You tell him to stop and get Noa away from him. Kaibara grabs your wrist painfully, making you yelp. You try to tug it free and protect Noa from having his clothes removed at the same time.

Just then, a scarred hand intervenes and grabs Kaibara’s wrist. Your partner looks shocked and then up at the owner. He’s, uh, a lot bigger than you thought he’d be. And his voice definitely sounds different in person. 

The man himself, Izuku Midoriya, aka Deku. His hands are large and his fingers slightly crooked. The scars and calluses tell stories of war and determination. His eyes are bright, like they're happy but his actions say different.

  Izuku says hello to his old friend while holding Kaibara's wrist tightly. You take this pause to grab Noa properly and readjust his clothing. This is all so fucking stupid. It’s like getting your group to help you do an assignment but they’re all fucking around. Fuck this, you’re putting your name on the paper and explaining to the teachers what happened. 

   “I’m sick of being nice to your dumb ass.” You tell Kaibara, who for the first time doesn’t look smug or annoyed. He looks…scared? In a gentle yet firm voice, Izuku Midoriya says, “Come on, let’s go.” 

His hand is placed on your waist to guide you away from Kaibara. He takes you away from his year hallway and towards the stairs.

“U-uh, I hope that was alright!” He rubs his hands together. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

   You expect him to walk away from you now that you’ve reached the stairs to go down to yours. Instead, he stays with you. “Thanks, by the way. I didn’t think he’d act like that.”

  “It’s not a problem. He was out of line.” He smiles down at you and Noa. “Is that the first time he’s done that?”

  His hero voice is on. “You mean being rough? Yeah. Blowing me and this whole project off? No.” You shrug and try to act unbothered. But your wrist hurts and Noa is squirming. “I accept it now and what I have to do.”

  “What do you mean?” The two of you begin to walk down. “I’m going to the teachers about it. The assignment’s just started and this is happening.” You are down the stairs and into your hallway. Only a few students are left, scrambling to find their class and handle their babies at the same time.

  Izuku’s eyes take everything in. You hope that he’s piecing everything together. That your class are the ones doing anything.

   “I’ll go with you.” You stop. “You don’t have to, Izuku.” He was about to speak until you said his name. He gets all red and covers his face and sputters. “Was it okay to call you by your first name?”

  “Y-yes!” And just like that, this guy resorted to being a red sweaty thing that's lightly tugging on his thick curls. Well, it is a little warm in the building. The bell rings for everyone to be in class. You curse under your breath when Noa begins to fuss. “Hold this.” You shove the bag into Izuku's hands. “What do you need? I can help!” 

   “He feels dry and he ate, give me a bo-bo.” Izuku eagerly looks into the bag. He stops. “A what?” Ah, right. “A pacifier.”

 “Oh, okay. That's cute, by the way." 

"I'll tell Ema about the compliment," He stares into your eyes. You gesture to the bag. "Right! What compartment is it in?”

  “The front flap,” He digs into the yellow one. “No, the blue. That’s where I put it.” He searches for it and frowns. “Are you sure? There’s nothing here or the yellow one.”

  “Try the main one, the big zipper.” Dread is filling deep in your belly. In those flaps were his pacifier, rattle, things to that nature. Now that you look at it, it’s a little flat. 

   “I can’t find it.” Noa cries louder by the second. “Keep looking!” Izuku’s hand is inside the bag. You hear rustling of some things. “It’s not in here-”

“Are you kidding?! Keep looking!” You rock Noa, who is increasingly getting louder. You don’t mean to yell at Izuku. He didn’t do anything wrong. He has been more helpful and less violent than Kaibara has been. 

   He puts his hand on your shoulder. “Breathe, just breathe,” You follow his calm directions. “Here, give him to me.” You trade the baby for the bag. He coos at the assignment and rocks him. The little brat starts to calm down. Izuku talks softly to Noa, asking how his day has been, and that he has to be good for mommy, all of the sweet things you'd expect. 

  “Where is it? Where-” It really isn’t here. You suck in your lips. All that’s in there are some clothes, diapers, and formula in a Ziploc sandwich bag for some reason. And there isn’t even enough for one bottle.

   Snipe slides the door open. “I thought I heard you-Oh, Midoriya! Long time no see.” Izuku goes on about Snipe’s latest take down. According to him, it was excellent. “Well, I’m glad to see you back. I thought you had a while to go?”

  “I finished early. Go beyond, plus ultra?” He nervously chuckles. Snipe stares at him for a second. “Plus ultra, Midoriya.”

   He then turns to you. “What is Midoriya doing with Noa?” What a dramatic tone difference.

“Snipe, I’d like to talk to you and Dracula after class.” Snipe scoffs. “Do you mean Vlad King?”

  “King Vladimir? Isn't that Dracula?”

Snipe rubs his face under his mask. “Whatever.”

_____________________________

After class, you meet up with the two teachers, Snipe and Dracula who is now known as Vlad King. As if they aren’t the same name. You asked Midoriya if he could watch Noa for a minute which he gladly accepted, then reminded you to call if you needed him. Unlike Kaibara, he immediately gave you his number. Red faced and all. He looked like he was having a heart attack while doing it.

“Snipe, Dracula-”

“ Vlad King.” The man in red grumbles. “Whatever. I know this is based on real life but Kaibara did something that bothers me.”

  Snipe sighs and sits on the edge of his desk. “This is up for the two of you to figure out.”

  “He got physical with me and Noa. If you don’t believe me, Midoriya is right outside. He saw everything.” Both of the teachers freeze. Dracula clenches his fists. “What happened?”

  “Has he done this before?” Snipe sits up, no longer slouching. “This is the first time he’s done this. But not the first time he’s neglected the assignment. At every damn turn he’s blowing me off and complaining. He’s not helping me at all.”

  “Start from the top and down to when he was aggressive.” Dracula’s eyes become serious. Not angry at you, though. Thank God.

  You tell them everything, leaving out your job. Ken and Yona are brought up, only called friends, and how they’ve helped you. No one is excluded from their rightful praise. Your friends here, the sales lady, even Midoriya who helped you and is doing so right now by handling Noa. 

   Vlad cracks his knuckle. “I’ll deal with him.”

“Vlad-”

“No. This is unacceptable. I know it’s up to them to figure out but what happened can’t be ignored or tolerated.” His leg is bouncing and fists are clenched impossibly hard. His fangs seem sharper than normal and eyes are blazing. “As a hero, we cannot allow that behavior to continue. A hero from my class? No. Absolutely not!”

  “I know-”

“No! He fails-”

“Kan, please! I’m just as upset as you are but we are forgetting to check the facts.” Snipe gestures towards you to calm you down, already noticing how your nostrils flared. “What I’m saying is that we must investigate the situation. If we go in guns blazing, it can cause more harm than good.”

  You understand that, but it doesn’t seem like enough. 

“I want him to help me and to apologize. I’ve been doing everything while he just jacks around.”

“I understand, (Y/n). This will be handled.” Vlad stands up and Snipe grabs his wrist. “Let’s talk to Midoriya. He’s the only witness?”

“No, some other guy ran to get Midoriya. He’s got purple eyes and since he was taking care of a robo-baby, I can guess that he’s from general studies because I know heroes aren’t doing anything.”

Snipe scolds you. “I’m serious, Snipe. I’ve only seen two heroes with babies and they were Kirishima and Tetsutestu. That’s it.”

Vlad snatches his wrist back and opens the door, startling Izuku who was cooing at Noa and kissing his plump cheek. “After we talk to Kaibara, you will be called, understand?”

Unlike how he was just seconds before, Izuku gets serious and firmly nods. His round green eyes don’t have the cheeriness they had just moments before. 

“Do you want me to bring him here?”

“No, I’ll be the one to do it.” Vlad disappears as he goes down the hallway, no doubt looking for his student. Snipe calls your name, gaining your attention. "You need to be here for this. I want you to tell your side of the story for the record then we'll bring Midoriya in." "Mr. Snipe, what if Kaibara gets mad at me?" He jerks and straightens up. "We'll handle him. You are safe, don't worry."

You put your hands on your hips. "This happened right under your noses. Who knows how long he's been like thi-"

"(Y/n), it will be handled. We need to investigate and write a report but trust me," He leans in. "You are safe and it will be handled."

"What about Noa? Are you gonna make sure he helps with Noa?"

Snipe gives a breathy chuckle and starts to slouch a little. He takes his shawl off and places it on his desk. Finally, he is back to being your teacher and not his hero persona. It's amazing how fast these people can switch depending on the atmosphere. "We'll talk to him. Honestly, (Y/n), I wish you would've told me sooner that he wasn't helping."

You let out a loud, "Ha!"

  "I'm serious." Shaking your head you humorlessly chuckle. "No, no. You are the same guy who kicked me out of class because of a project that you are making us do started crying. No way you would have my back if it weren't for Dracula looking at you."

  He flinches like he's been struck. The door opens again and reveals Dracula, some teachers, and Nezu. Dracula speaks first. "Kaibara will be here shortly. He is cleaning up from his internship."

Nezu pops out of Aizawa's scarf and waves at you. "Please sit down and relax, (L/n). Just tell us what happened." 

  The two hero course homeroom teachers, Snipe, the principal and a few others, all sit down. You look around and then at your surroundings. "Um, shouldn't we be doing this in your office, Mr. Nezu? And not my homeroom?"

 "This is quicker!" 

You sigh and then begin. "Today, Kaibara roughly grabbed me and Noa." 

"The assignment, correct? Noa Kaibara?"

"Yes. Anyway, I went up to him and asked for the diaper bag-" The door opens again, allowing Kaibara to come in. He loses his smile when he sees you. Again, a hero changes his demeanor at a drop of a hat. As quickly as he looked at you in disdain, he erased that in less than a second with a nonchalant smile to his superiors. His beady eyes find yours and make you squirm. You aren't physically afraid of him. It's what he has on you that makes you flinch.

He stands side by side with you at a distance. Kaibara turns to you and asks, "Where's the baby?"

Pfft, like he cares. "Noa's with Izuku."  You side eye him. Nezu clears his throat and says, "Kaibara, (L/n) says you hurt her and almost jeopardized your project. Is this true?"

Kaibara sighs and rubs the back of his neck. He shrugs his shoulders. "Unfortunately, I do know what she's talking about but she is blowing it out of proportion." Aizawa's gruff voice interrupts him before he can continue. "But you did grab her?"

"Yes, yes I did."

You spot Dracula's vein swelling. "And why-"

You raise your hand. "Before you all continue to talk to him, I want to tell it," You shift your weight on your feet. "I put clothes on Noa that Kaibara didn't like so he roughly handled Noa. Noa's wellbeing is our," You shoot Kaibara a glare he couldn't miss. "Grade, so I tried to protect him, but Kaibara turned his aggression on me. He grabbed my wrist-which still hurts by the way-and-" You pause. Should you do this? Is it time?

You then remember how he hurt you and Noa. Noa's cries and him reaching out to you, your fear not just for Noa, but for yourself. Your head is held high now as you let everyone know what Kaibara has done or not done.

"Noa is wearing hand-me-downs that some friends of mine gave me because I can't afford newer clothes. There isn't anything wrong with what he's wearing. A pink shirt and grey leggings. That's it. That's what he had a problem with. That his son is wearing pink."

"Kaibara!" The student begins to get flushed and shrink back at the scolding of the pro heroes in front of him. "Not only that, but he has not helped at all. When this project first started, we went to a baby store next to that old vendor guy, and Kaibara gave me twenty bucks then split because he didn't want to help soothe Noa. He ran because his son started crying."

  Cementoss nods. "Well, nerves are normal for parents."

 You refrain from a snarky remark. "I know this. But that was the first and only time he's held Noa, and he still didn't help." You should tell them that he abandoned Noa with Ken. However, that'd give him the opening he needs. And by the look on his face that's slowly turning red not from embarrassment, but from anger, he'd snitch out of spite.

 You should tell them that he did care for him for a few hours. You can't, though. He's got one over you. 

"This morning, he scared and hurt me and Noa. Your star witness out there has held him longer than Kaibara has. My partner as well as the rest of the hero course’s behavior has sunk to this. And it’s happening right under your nose. Let that sink in."

The room is silent, giving you another chance to talk. “Your favorite students aren’t helping. Make them.”

Nezu twiddles his thumbs and looks at you from Aizawa's scarf or rope thing. "We'll handle this. You're dismissed."

__________________________________

You exit the room, not even looking at Kaibara. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets and he was steaming. When you close the door, the air finally returns to you. 

  Izuku still holds Noa in the hallway. He rocks him and adorably so. He notices you standing there with a smile on your face.

“Are you okay?” His voice is gentle and warm. Filled with worry and compassion. It reminds you of the sweetness of Yona and Ken. 

  “I’m fine. Alright, it’s your turn.” You point your thumb towards the door. Right before you can get Noa from his arms, he still holds him as he rubs your shoulder and enters the room. “You…you took my baby.”

  To yourself, you whisper, “He took my baby.”

You look around the hallway to see if it's clear. When you see that it is, you finally cover your eyes and let a small tear fall. Is it because of Noa and the weight? What Kaibara did and the power he has? Maybe it's because you had to be saved by Deku, a hero. Or is it because you failed at doing something so basic: getting along with someone. Noa's not real, he isn't. But it hurts that he is rejected. Why?! He's a doll. One that breathes, has a heartbeat, and your face. Are these tears from exhaustion?

  Why are you crying silently in the hallway? This is just a grade. That has to be it. You're afraid you'll fail and lose your scholarship, and all of your hard work will go down the drain. You're afraid of being found out, that's all. Not because you can't get help from the person who is supposed to help you. Not because you feel like you are behind and everyone else is passing you. Not that your wrist still hurts. That reminds you, you have to go to Recovery Girl for it. And since she's not too far from Hatsume, you'll swing by and pick up some things.

Kaibara is in there. Would he get it or has this damaged everything? You take a deep breath. When Izuku comes out, you'll grab Noa and go to where you need to be. You hear the door open and a curious voice calls to you. You can hear Noa's senseless babbling behind you, too. What to say? What do you say about why you look like you’ve been crying?

  You will do what you know. You turn around and see Izuku hold a happy Noa. "U-uh, are you crying? What's wrong? Is it your wrist?" Izuku comes towards you. You roll your eyes and say, "No, I have allergies."

  Izuku looks behind you and doesn't see a window open. 

[aurorawhisperz]

that’s what you get (e.l.)

contains: swearing, suggestive content, fluff, richie exists..

neighbor!ethan landry x fem!reader

a/n: THANK YOU GUYS FOR THE TROPES NOW IM GONNA BE POSTING MORE BY JULY 🦅🦅🦅 ethan is a bit of a meanie in this but he’s still little old him (maybe just gf ethan persona)

some tropes i used are: enemies to lovers, girl next door, forced proximity and best friend’s brother 🙏 (yk allat shit LOL) THERE WILL BE A PART 2!!

•

You knew for a fact that Quinn Bailey was your best friend—what made it even better is that you two could communicate through your windows, but one thing you also knew is that you didn’t like her brother, Ethan, he was your age, Quinn was older than you both. He would sometimes cut into your ‘girl talk’ since his room was right beside hers.

“Dammit!” You said as you banged on the door roughly. Your parents weren’t going to be home until tomorrow morning for something important, and you had left your keys inside the house. To make it even worse, it was raining.

A familiar voice startles you and has you snap out of all that stress. “(Name)?” says Quinn, covering herself with a blanket. I think it’s pretty obvious what she was doing just now.

“Quinn!” You called from below, your eyes widen at the sight of her covered body by the window. “I’ll..get back to you! Damn..” You hear her say something to an impatient guy, something about helping a friend—obviously that friend was you.

A few minutes later, she runs out in pink slip-ons and a purple nightgown with an umbrella. “Need help? Holy shit, you are soaking.” Quinn’s eyes widen at the sight of your outfit ruined. “And cold.” You add, then slamming your fist on the wall, “I left my keys inside.”

“Boo, it’s not that hard to knock on our door.” She chuckles, then you roll your eyes, “And deal with your brothers while you get to bang someone tonight? Yeah, right.” Her eyes then dart and she forces a smile out. “Ethan’s not that bad.”

You frown, “Yes, he is.”

“Baby, you’ll have to deal with it. I can’t stand Richie anymore.” Quinn complains, then she tugs on the sleeve of your wet cardigan to let you inside her ‘humble home.’

Grateful to be out of the pouring rain, the familiar smell of your best friend’s home fills your nostrils.

You both plop down on the plush couch, and she hands you a towel for your wet hair. Quinn then shoots you a playful smile, “Aside from our ‘interventions’, what did baby bro do this time to get on your nerves?” She asks.

“That’s about it, he wants to be the center of attention even when he’s not wanted.” You let out a sigh.

Quinn’s lips curl into a smirk, and she gently places a hand on your shoulder. “He's just trying to be a part of our bond, in his own misguided way. Ethan’s.. different, he’s fucking awkward and stuff but not around us because he’s more comfortable.”

You sigh, feeling a mix of frustration and understanding. “I guess I can try to tolerate him a bit more. For you. But he better stay out of our serious conversations.”

Quinn laughs and pulls you into a hug, the warmth of her embrace enveloping you. “That's the spirit! And don't worry, I'll make sure that jackass knows when to give us our space. Besties have their ways, you know.”

“What ways?” says Richie, holding an ‘I LOVE STAB’ coffee mug. You also know for a fact that you hated him more than Ethan—being the movie geek he is, not that it’s bad, it’s how he takes it too far and even gets touchy with others. “Ways to die.” You mutter, staring deep into his damned soul.

He nods nervously and heads back into his room. “Stay in there!” yells Quinn.

Once the silence has dissolved into thin air, she blurts out, “How about that tension?” Your eyes widen, eyebrows pinched together and lips parted in protest. “Sexual tension?” You repeat, your face going pale.

She nods cheekily, “SEXUAL?” You shriek. Quinn laughs at your reaction.

You then hear Quinn’s name from upstairs, “Ooh, priorities.” She avoids your gaze and then drags you back upstairs, “Q, don’t make me a third wheel tonight.” You roll your eyes as her grip on your arm tightens.

•

“What the hell?” is the first thing that comes out of Ethan’s mouth when Quinn pushes you into her room. “Quinn, and you. Get out!” He narrows his eyes. “E, I’ve got a guy waiting for me to go back.”

“Then tell him to fucking leave?” He shakes his head. “You’re a degenerate, you know that?” Ethan shoots back.

“Well, I’m not a virgin, so you don’t get a say in that.” Quinn lets out a corny smile and shakes her head, you can see Ethan gritting his teeth. “Do you want her to deal with Richie then?” She tilts her head slyly.

He sighs, “No.” she raises her hands and continues “That’s what I thought, love you both!” Quinn exits just as Ethan is about to flip her off.

You sit down on Ethan’s beanbag and all he does is stare.

He scoffs, “What brings you into my lair?” He crunches on a cheeto. You obviously refused to let his taunts get under your skin, “Spare me.” You retorted.

Ethan smirks, enjoying your discomfort, “Mighty (name) finds herself in a bit of a predicament, huh?”

“Unlike you, Eth, I don't have the luxury of living in a perfect little bubble where everything goes my way. So excuse me if I need a moment to think.” You tightly clench your fists.

“Can’t we just tolerate each other’s existence only for a little bit?” You complain, Ethan’s mouth turns into an “O” shape and he sarcastically remarks “Who can go the longest without being an asshole? You or me?”

“Me.” You pridefully chuckle. “This starts now.” He declares.

You have never heard silence quite this loud. The only thing you and Ethan have been doing for the past few minutes is stare at each other. Eye language perhaps?

His lips part at the sight of you.

While you did hate Ethan, there was always something telling you otherwise—you’d find yourself looking through his window, and if you timed it right, even got to see his muscles whenever he changes. (And it was hard to keep a straight face when you’d see it during your conversations with Quinn.)

What snaps you out of that thought is Ethan’s scoff, he then turns his head—then his gaze back to you. “It’s so dumb.”

“What do you mean?” Your eyebrows pinch together in the middle, and your lips purse. “You know how Quinn gets to show off her man all she wants and how she’s so freaked out over everything they do—even when she’s..done those things so many times.” says Ethan.

Ethan then shrugs, “It’s just stupid.”, your eyebrows raise in agreement as you bit the inside of your cheek.

While you did hate Ethan, part of you..or most of you was telling you that he wanted you to give in—but give in to what? Being the muscular little thing he is, it’s hard to maintain your sanity when you see him without a shirt through his window. Practically drooling, but of course, you couldn’t let Quinn know.

Mainly because she’s so ‘Quinn’, she would probably tell him.

Behind the thin walls of her bedroom were sounds quite pathetic, you two burst into laughter up to the point where you both were crying.

You put a hand over your heart and leaned back on the beanbag.

“Are they THAT loud?” You ask, “Very.” He chuckles in response, this might be the only conversation you two could call a genuine conversation.

“This is really pervy of us to do, but we don’t have a choice, not like we can tune them out.” says Ethan as he grabs a Marvel plush and sits next to the beanbag you were on.

“It’s not like me and Quinn could tune you out.” You joke. A genuine smile tugs on the corners of Ethan’s plush lips. “Gee, you’re really being nice right now.” Your words laced with sarcasm tumbled out.

You had spent your entire life making sure Ethan would never fall for you, nor would you fall for him—and you failed.

It was like there’s nobody in the world right now but you two.

“Well, it’s part of the game right?” Ethan said, his eyes, half-lidded, looking up at you. “It doesn’t seem that much of a game anymore.” You kept your eyes on him, and he kept his on you as well.

Silence. Just silence. That was how much reality hurt.

This is also the closest you have ever been. There is only inches between you both, and you are close to giving in. Breaking the silence, “Maybe I should leave now, I’m not cold-” Ethan then stops your lips with a kiss. He pulls away and you are left with the sight of him hovering over you on the beanbag.

You kissed him back even longer, yes, you were kissing your enemy. It felt so wrong—but at the same time, it felt so right.

The smell of lemon zest surrounded you, along with his intoxicating aura. The thought then entered your head.

Hey, what if I just pulled away and ran like crazy?

Just as you’re about to pull away, he insists against your mouth, “Stay.” Ethan said, you could tell from how hot his lips were—he felt the same way. Out of control.

Ethan then turns you both over so that he was on the beanbag and you were straddling him.

His hands were sneaky enough to slide under the back of your shirt. “Just calming your nerves.” says Ethan as he rubs soothing circles on your lower back.

It was his shuddering breath that made you think this was a dream. Being woken up was the last thing you needed. Ethan whines into the kiss, and you smiled against him.

You then pull away with a small gasp escaping your lips when his hips jolt up into yours, your fist slammed against the wall as he did it twice.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry. It’s a reflex.” Ethan stammers as he sits up, moving you as well. “No, no! I just got startled. It’s fine, really.”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth then his hands grip the sides of your face. Ethan is kissing you once again.

Just kissing, this is the closest you’ll ever get. Maybe you’ll forget about it the next day, or maybe one day—you’ll look back and regret it. The kiss being hot and slow, and his arms wrapping around you.

Ethan slides his arms around you and pulls you closer.

The moment of bliss is then interrupted when Quinn knocks on the door. “Hello? Just making sure nobody’s dead yet.”

“Shit.” You whisper, and you get off Ethan and push him back to his bed.

She enters the room and looks around. “I’m surprised this hasn’t turned into a warzone yet.”

“Uh-huh.” Ethan nods, but he’s all shades of pink. “Why are you so red right now?” Quinn tilts her head and squints. His hands move to his face and he tries to think of an excuse.

“It’s hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Have some decency, we heard you in there.” You grumbled, she then chuckles and leans against the doorframe. “Sorry, if I..” Quinn twirls her red hair with her finger. “Cockblocked you.” She lets out an awful grin then locks the door—closing it.

Now you were definitely in some situation, I guess she’s getting suspicious now. There was nothing in the room aside from the kissing sounds..what else? Ethan’s whining, and your fist hitting the wall..

Wait a minute.

You were completely fucked. Do you and Ethan just forget about it now? Or do you have to keep up the strategy? You weren’t the type to forget such a heated kiss, but what about him?

[loveshotzz]

My name’s Elvira, but you can call me tonight

steve harrington x eddie’sbestfriend!reader

Hell N Back

summary: A flash flood warning, a week of cancelled plans, and the night Steve Harrington shows up at your front door.

wc: 5.2k

warnings: 18+ mentions of weed smoking (r), thigh riding, fingering, oral (fem receiving) and you know I can’t get enough of making Steve cum in his pants.

A/N: thank you all for your patience with this one, and thank you for reading 🥹♥️

🎃<- chapter two | mini series masterlist

It felt like it had been raining for days, the downpour never ceasing until there were flash flood warnings lighting up the bottom of your TV screen by the end of the week. You hadn’t seen Steve since Tina’s party, every plan that your group had getting canceled by the clouds that never seemed to want to leave Hawkins. 

Heavy droplets hit your window in the living room in sporadic patterns, the wind outside making the howling noise you’ve only ever heard on your favorite horror movies. The flicker of your candles dance along your walls, mixing with the warm glow of your string lights just like that night, and for once you don’t try and stop the thoughts of him that threaten to consume the rest of your evening.

Laying bundled up on the couch in a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized sweater, the black and white sci fi movie The Empire of The Ants plays on your TV while Elvira’s bubble gum sweet voice cracks lewd jokes over the B rated film. The Halloween Macabre special was your only saving grace this week, that and the thick fuzzy Jack O Lantern socks on your feet gifted from Robin.

You giggle to yourself at a joke about her boobs in particular, the half smoked joint on your coffee table makes it easy to wonder if Steve would have thought it was funny too.

Jesus Christ.

You huff a little, pulling the throw blanket closer to your chin, eyebrows furrowing in a pout. 

How did this happen? When did this happen? 

Before you have time to think too hard about it, lights flash behind your blinds dancing across the exposed glass in the opening from outside. You keep your eyes trained on it until they cut and the darkness from before takes over, shrugging it off to it being your neighbor coming home from work. Shuffling your feet under your blanket, you burrow yourself further into the cushions finally getting the level of comfort you’d been searching for since the movie started, but it only lasts a couple of minutes. Three melodic knocks rattle your front door, scaring you out of your fleece cocoon and onto your carpeted floor.

“God dammit!” You grunt, pushing yourself up and tossing the blanket on the couch, “Fucking Munson.”

It’s only when you get halfway to your door that you realize it’s definitely not Eddie or he would have let himself in with the spare. Your footsteps stop as you remember that this is actually how every single horror movie starts out. It’s almost as if whoever it is can read your mind, and a familiar voice calls out from the other side.

“It’s Steve!”

Relief floods your system, and your shoulders slump as your heart rate starts to calm, but then the realization that Steve Harrington was on the other side of your door unannounced just kicks it back up again. Especially when you look down at what you’re wearing.

“If this is weird or you have someone over, I can leave!“ He talks loud enough to be heard over the rain, but it still threatens to drown him out.

“No!” You don’t mean to yell when you answer, clearing your throat, you try to play it off when you continue, “I’m coming, sorry I’m coming!”

Taking a deep breath you pad the few extra steps to your door, straightening your shoulders before your fingers wrap around the handle. There’s a silent count to three before you actually open it. 

The sound of the rain you’d only heard muffled from behind your window grows tenfold, making you wince at the difference at just how hard it’s still coming down. A chilled mist hits your exposed skin from the wind, sending a shiver down your spine and you’re met face to face with a very wet version of the boy you were just thinking about.

“Jesus, Steve! Why didn’t you call?!” You scold, stepping aside to let him into the warmth of your apartment. Shutting the door quickly behind him, a flash of lighting illuminates half the night sky followed by a low roll of thunder.

“I know, I know.” He gives, running a hand through his soaked hair pushing it out of his face. His smile almost looks victorious when he shows you the whites of his teeth. “My power went out.”

His Hawkins Community College sweater clings to parts of his stomach and chest, the worn heather gray cotton turning dark. The water makes the blue denim on his legs even tighter than normal, sticking to him like a second skin and you have to actively stop your eyes from lingering as he drips a mess onto your floor. His white sneakers squish, completely drenched down to his socks and he still somehow looks handsome as ever.

“Robin lives like two blocks away from you.” You arch your brow, flipping your lock to stop anymore horror movie cliches from happening, only for the string lights in your living room to flicker as you do. The energy in the air is laughing at you. 

Steve’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of the rosy pink they were from the cold of the storm, and that’s when you notice the shopping bag.

“Did your power actually go out?” The corners of your mouth twitch, crossing your arms across your chest. The bottom hem of your sweater lifts higher up your thighs and Steve licks his lips, following it.

“I don’t know why I said that,” he huffs out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “What a weird lie, right?”

“Kinda,” you giggle, eyes catching the colorful packaging of the popcorn and Red Vines inside the plastic in his hand, the knot in your stomach tightens knowing that he’s been thinking about you too.

“I just felt like if I had called I wouldn’t-“ he coughs looking anywhere but you, “I heard from Eddie that Elvira’s Halloween special was on tonight and I just thought, you know we had kinda talked about it before-“

“Do you want to get out of those clothes?” You cut him off, making his eyes snap up wide. “I mean, wow, that came out a little forward.” 

It’s your turn to laugh awkwardly.

“Eddie just leaves stuff here all the time, I clean it obviously or it’d make my place reek.” You try to explain in an attempt to break the tension and it works when you get that lopsided grin that makes you go shy. “I’m sure I’ve got some sweats and a shirt that would fit, I can throw your wet clothes in the dryer if you want?”

Steve’s shoulders relax, nodding, pushing back that loose strand that drips falling over his forehead.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

——

When Steve hands you his wet clothes through the crack of your bathroom door, it makes your brain stop working for a second. You catch a glimpse of his bare back in the mirror, littered with more moles and freckles that would make the sky hidden behind the clouds jealous. With thicker thighs than your best friend, it makes the cotton of the sweatpants that hang low on his hips stretch tight over his butt. The dark patch of chest hair that’s always just been teased comes into full view right in front of you and your throat goes dry. Why did it look so soft? 

Steve catches you staring, the tips of his ears dusting red before mumbling a mess of sorry’s shutting the door again. You shout an awkward apology of your own, soft thumps on your carpet as you hurry the wet clothes to your dryer. Silently scolding yourself to get it together, feeling the heat rise from your neck to your face, even warming your ears. God, he looked even better without a shirt on.

“You’re good, everything’s chill, you’re totally fine it’s just Steve.” You whisper under your breath, tossing the clothes into the machine with a wet plop. The last part has you rolling your own eyes at yourself, throwing in a couple of dryer sheets for good measure. 

Your nerves make you want to keep busy, so you start rummaging through the bag he brought in the kitchen. Butterflies taking flight in your rib cage when it’s everything the two of you had picked out that first night. You bite your lip to hide your smile, opening the popcorn to put in the microwave when you hear the soft click of the bathroom door opening. His feet sound heavier than yours on the carpet,and you make sure to have your back towards him when he finally enters the kitchen. Plugging in the minutes, the loud beeps of your microwave only add to the tension that hangs thick, almost suffocating you in the air.

“I mean, everything fits… I guess.” 

He breaks the silence right as the low hum kicks on and you watch the small bag start to spin on the glass plate. You collect yourself quietly before turning around, not expecting the sight you’re met with to send you into a fit of giggles. Slapping a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop it, you take in the faded black Iron Maiden shirt you gave him. 

You realize now with him standing in front of you that it's a size too small for the King of Hawkins, probably one of Eddie’s old one’s from high school. The worn fabric fits tight over his chest, making ‘Eddie’s’ face stretch distorted over his pecs. The sleeves look ready to burst at the seams, and the bottom hem refuses to meet the top of his sweats. Revealing a little sliver of his tan skin and the beginnings of the thick happy trail you’ve shamelessly thought so much about. 

It’s the cutest you think he’s ever looked, besides that one summer he worked at Scoops Ahoy. 

“Hey! That doesn’t make me feel very good.” Steve chuckles, his cheeks becoming a permanent shade of red for the night.

“No, no, you look cute!” You try to get out, but the snort he gives you in response makes you giggle harder. “I promise, I wouldn’t lie to you!”

The way your lips twitch when you say it makes his eyes roll, but even with a shake of his head, the smile on his face gives him away. He can’t be mad, not when you just called him cute.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” He runs a hand through his hair that’s already started to dry, curling in wisps behind his ears. The gold that kisses the tips shimmers in the low light of the kitchen. 

The unexpected first loud pops of the kernels stop any other words that sit on the tips of your tongues, making you both jump at the sudden outburst.

“Why don’t you go warm up on the couch, since you decided to come over for a date during the storm of the century and I’ll bring the snacks out.” You try to keep your tone as even as possible, refusing to meet his eyes after saying the ‘D’ word, busying yourself again with grabbing cups for some hot tea.

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat from across the room in the moment of silence that follows. Not even realizing you're holding your breath until you feel the heat of his palm against the small of your back and it exhales through nervous lips. 

He smells like the rain that won’t stop pouring outside with notes of cedar from his cologne. There’s an undertone of the lilac from your dryer sheets. He’s spring in the middle of autumn, leaning in close to your ear.

“Only if I get to be the big spoon again.”

The way your cheeks push up, and your lashes flutter against the tops of them when he makes his intentions clear, he thinks he’d drive through a hurricane to get to you.

——-

When you get to the living room he’s lying where you were earlier, doing his best to get comfortable, but the size of the shirt has him pulling at the sleeves to get them to loosen up. Muttering under his breath, your giggle is what catches his attention. Big chestnut eyes look up at you, and all the annoyance on his face drains with a smile he can’t contain. 

“What? It’s literally cutting off my circulation.” He laughs sitting up, his hair now completely out of control. “You sure this is Munson’s?”

“Yes, but I’m starting to think from, like, junior year.” You try to hide your grin when his jaw drops in disbelief. 

“That explains a lot,” he scoffs 

You watch him lean forward to grab a handful of the popcorn, the fabric restricting him again, and both of you hear the faint sounds of a tear. His eyes lock with your in a dead stare making you throw your head back in a full bellied laugh. Rib cage tightening just like your chest with the realization of how much you actually like him. 

“I’m glad you’re having a good laugh, you’re lucky you’re so pretty, I’ll tell you that much.” He grumbles reaching forward for the popcorn again only this time is successful, probably due to the rip, and something shifts in the air when his words sink in. 

“Sometimes it gets me out of things.” You grin, a little shy just for him.

“I’m not surprised in the slightest.” He licks the butter off of his fingers, pink lips wrapping around the tips as he leans back into the cushions. He watches how it makes your thighs press, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

“Are you gonna keep hogging the couch or are you makin’ room for me?” You fake annoyance gesturing toward the way he's manspread on the cushions, doing your best to try and cover up how flustered you feel, but the way his eyes seem to light up tells you it isn’t working. 

Shifting himself back to lay on his side, he lifts the covers with raised eyebrows and the kind of shit eating grin you want to kiss off of him.

“I was just waiting to see if you were gonna stand the whole movie or not.” 

You make him snort when you roll your eyes, and he tries to play it cool when the smell of your apple blossom body wash fills his senses as you take the small space he’s made for you next to him. Swallowing hard, you leave a little bit of room between you, the nerves in your stomach starting to feel like an Olympic gymnast is competing for the gold. The heat of his breath fans against the back of your neck, his own insecurity making it come out a little shaky having you this close again. The tension breaks when he goes to wrap his arm around you and another sound of a rip hits both your ears.

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles over your fit of giggles, his face turning a deeper shade of red that you can’t see. “I swear I’m not trying to take my clothes off but this is not working honey.”

His laugh puffs across your skin, making goosebumps rise when he shifts to sit up a little bit. Turning your head, you meet his anxious eyes over your shoulder.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen you shirtless Harrington,” you tease, your own face heating up in memory of the view you got minutes ago in your bathroom.

“It’s not, like, going to make you uncomfortable or anything right? I swear this isn’t like a move - not that I don’t want to make a move -“ The boy looks panicked, his signature tell of running his hand through his hair coming into play.

“Steve, it’s fine, take it off” you giggle, “It’s clearly a size too small.”

He huffs out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, rosy cheeks deflating before a toothy grin spreads across his face.

“Okay, yeah, al-alright.”

You turn your attention back to the TV to give him some ‘privacy’, your heart going into overdrive when you see the fabric drop to the floor in front of you. The couch shifts under his weight as he lays back down, and for a second you think you can hear his heart over your own. Tentative hands find their way to your hips, fingers digging into your softness when he pulls you in, the warmth of his bare chest seeps through the thick fabric of your sweater and your body melts against it. You feel the way it makes him relax behind you, a stubble covered chin hooking over your shoulder while your feet tangle with his. A content hum, leaves from between his lips next to your ear, the tip of his nose nudging behind it as he snuggles closer and it feels like he’s breathing you in.

“Mmm, so what’d I miss?” His voice comes out a little sleepy, and you hate the way it makes your thighs press. You wonder if he could feel it.

“So basically this woman cons people to buy houses on this island,” you start, stuttering when you feel the tips of his fingers under your sweater that sits rucked up to your waist, “And when they get there someone had dumped human waste creating these giant ants that hate humans.”

“Oh that’s…interesting,” he tries, making you laugh and it has him smiling into the crook of your neck.

“It’s ridiculous, it’s okay, that’s why she’s making fun of it.” You grin, running your fingers down his forearm, finding his hand that's made a home on the curve of your tummy to give it a reassuring squeeze.

He takes the opportunity to keep you there, intertwining your fingers and pulling you even closer. The sound of the rain against your window gets heavier, and the roll of thunder gets louder. The flicker of your candles makes the storm raging outside seem relaxing from the inside, and you can’t believe he drove all the way over here in this, just to cuddle with you on the couch. Somehow trying to burrow yourself into him even deeper, the wiggle of your hips when you readjust makes the air shift. 

Your sleep shorts and the cotton of his sweatpants don’t hide what his jeans did. His grip on your hand tightens, and he bites his tongue to stop the moan that's begging to slip out when you do it again. His nose nudges harder behind your ear, exhaling a huff through it that makes you shiver. 

“Honey,” it comes out as more of a plea than a warning, his lips that you’ve yet to feel against your own ghosting against the sensitive spot on your neck.

The feeling of how much he wants you pressing into the small of your back is what gives you the courage to turn around in his arms, ready to finally do what you’ve wanted since the last time you found yourself here. He lets your fingers slip through his, always keeping his palm against your skin until it sits on the small of your back. Both of yours land on the dark patch of hair on his chest that's even softer than it looks, slowly sliding them up till the pads of your thumbs trace his collar bone. With your head resting on one of his arms, his other pulls your bodies flush together before his thigh finds space between your own sliding you close enough for your noses to brush.

His half lidded eyes meet yours, and your breath catches in your throat when you see how they darken. He takes his time, letting his hand roam on its way from your back, fingers tracing up your ribs before the warmth of his big palm envelopes the already heated skin on your cheek. His gaze flicks down to your parted lips, licking his own while his thumb traces the pout begging him for a kiss.

“Please,” he whispers ,not knowing he beat you to it.

The connection is soft at first, just your top lip brushing against his bottom but it’s enough to make every inch of your skin come alive. A low groan rumbling deep from his chest, vibrating against your hands. He meets your eyes one more time down the slope of his nose before he closes the distance with nothing held back anymore, kissing you in a way that makes you feel like you’ve never been kissed the right way before. It’s like he knows just how to make your toes curl when they slot together, the tip of his tongue wasting no time when you sigh giving him the opening he needs. The blunt ends of your nails dig into the warmth of his skin, leaving half crescent moons over his pecs that’ll be hidden by the thick chestnut hair that covers them.

Your tongue meets his eagerly, cedar and rain making you dizzy when the top of his thigh adds pressure to the heat between your legs. Your noses bump, teeth scraping together while his hand leaves your cheek to squeeze at your hips encouraging the small roll they start to do on their own. The mess in your underwear only gets worse letting you move against the hard muscle with ease, your fingers weaving in the soft hair at the nape of his neck when he flexes it for you. He growls low when you give the roots a gentle pull at the same time your teeth tug at his bottom lip, his self control to try and be a gentleman slipping away.

“Jesus Christ baby,” Steve gasps, the new nickname making you smile when you give him a softer kiss loving the way it makes his skin flush.

“You started it,” you whisper, watching the way his cheeks push up before he chases you for another one, which you gladly give, letting your lips linger when he hooks your leg over his hip. 

Close as close can get.

“Me?” He tuts, letting his hand slide up your thigh before squeezing at the curve of your ass, glancing down to see how you still roll against him “I don’t think so, you’ve been trying to take my clothes off since I walked through the door.”

He throws his head back with a laugh when you scoff, and you pretend to push him away only for his hold on you to tighten. His lips connect anywhere but yours as you play hard to get, trailing a wet path to your neck, teeth nipping at the spot that gets a sound from you that has him kicking up in his sweats. So he does it again, and this time he can’t stop the grind of his hips that meet yours when he gets you saying his name the same way. 

“And what do you think you’re doing now?” You try to tease but it comes out too breathy to be taken seriously, especially when he starts to suck where his teeth just grazed. 

He grins against your skin, nosing his way up your jaw before meeting your eyes again, something softening in the gold inside them that shines through the abyss. 

“You want the truth?” He asks, bringing his hand up to cup your face, the pad of his thumb tracing the small bags under your eyes with a gentle touch and all you can do is nod.

“I just want to make you feel good, god - it’s all I’ve thought about for so long. Just wanna treat you right, take things slow,” his thumb drags across your bottom lip watching the way your eyes glaze over at his words. “Take you out to nice dinners, watch all your favorite movies, hear about your day, but really what I want to do right now is make you cum on my tongue.”

“Steve,” his name comes out broken, the roll of your hips becoming more pointed, and the swelling in your chest makes you feel like you’re ready to explode.

“You want that pretty girl?” He whispers, leaning close so his lips brush against yours, his eyebrows furrowing when you grind a certain way, your clit catching his tip.

“Y-yeah,” you whimper, eyes big and pleading, turning into putty from his sweet words.

He gives you a kiss that’s more gentle than the rest, before sitting up on his haunches letting you fall into the empty space on your back. A big hand wrapping around your ankle, moving your leg out of his way so you’re spread with him in the middle. Leaning forward, his fingers curl around the elastic band of your sleep shorts, giving you one last look from under his lashes before tugging them down your thighs, throwing them on the floor with his shirt.

“Shit - baby.” He groans, running a hand through his hair when he sees the effect he really has on you. “Better than my dreams.”

All the blood rushes to your cheeks from his affection, as gentle hands run up your calves when he starts to lean forward, fingers curling under your knees to lift them over his freckled shoulders. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you start to feel shy exposed to him like this for the first time. A kaleidoscope of new feelings settles deep in your gut when his hot breath hits your core, thighs tensing that the pads of his thumbs try to soothe. 

He looks up at you, from between your legs pressing a soft kiss to the place where your hip meets your thigh, making your back arch.

“You okay?” He whispers after another kiss, only this one on the inside of your thigh.

“Yeah, just nervous,” you giggle, feeling the warmth on your cheeks with your hand. If anyone would have told you that you’d have Steve Harrington between your legs begging to taste you a year ago, you’d have laughed in their face.

“Want me to stop?” He rests his cheek right where he kissed, looking content just to be doing this.

“No.” You smirk, reaching down to run a hand through his hair that was just begging for it, pushing back the stray that falls over his forehead.

He smiles, closing his eyes leaning into your touch for a minute before he turns his head, lips meeting your soft skin where he starts a path to where you want him most. You feel his breath and it sends a shiver down your spine, the tip of his nose spreading you apart first. He applies the kind of pressure against your bundle of nerves that makes you gasp, letting his tongue follow, collecting what you’ve already given him. 

“Oh my god, Steve,” you whine, when he flattens the pink muscle doing it again, groaning loudly at the taste of you. 

“So fuckin’ sweet, god, honey,” he mumbles against your cunt, replacing his nose with his lips, sucking your clit in a greedy way that makes your eyes hit the back of your head. 

His fingers dig hard enough into the meat of your thighs, that you’re sure they’ll be bruises in the morning. The tip of his tongue tracing your entrance that flutters around him, threatening to suck him in and he can’t help himself, giving your body what it wants. Both your hands find their way to his hair, tangling your fingers in his honey colored locks searching for purchase when he starts to taste your walls, creating a steady rhythm that has you rocking against his face for more.

“Yeah, you like that?” He grunts, extending his tongue as far as it can go, drool and slick starting to drip down your thighs as he starts to lose himself in you.

“Uh-huh,” is all you manage to get out, jaw going slack at the way he feels like he’s eating you from the inside out, like he’s thought about this longer than a few weeks.

One of his hands lets go of your thigh while he starts to focus his attention back on your clit making you gasp when you feel the thickness of his finger press itself against where his tongue just was. The stretch makes you keen when he pushes one knuckle deep with ease, distracting you when he pushes the second one in as he starts to suck on your bundle of nerves.

“God - baby,” he gasps, when your walls take the third knuckle in by themselves, and it’s only then you notice the way he’s rutting against the couch in search of his own friction. 

Your head pushes back into the cushions when he curves it, hitting the spot that only you’ve ever found on your own, and it has you babbling, your hips rolling up greedily for more which he gives you when he adds a second finger.  He sets a pace that has your lashes fluttering against your cheeks after he lets you adjust to feeling so full.  

“Come on, I can feel it, you’re close huh?” He asks against your clit, making you shudder, nodding your head when he starts flicking it with a wild tongue.

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” you whine, eyes closing tight, the band inside of you going taut, your hips grinding against his face without abandon as you try to take his fingers even deeper.

The sound of his name leaving your kiss bitten lips like a prayer makes a moan rumble deep from his chest, and it vibrates against your cunt, giving you just enough extra stimulation to make it snap. Vision going white behind your eyes, your body tenses while your mouth opens in a scream that falls on deaf ears when nothing actually comes out.

“Honey, honey, honey,” he babbles, his hips stuttering while his tongue refuses to stop despite the way your body shakes. 

You murmur his name in a daze, trying to push his head away as you reach the verge of overstimulation and it takes him the third shove for him to finally listen, addicted to the way you taste. Feeling empty when he pulls his fingers out, your body betrays you trying to get them to stay.  He kisses the inside of both of your thighs, smirking against your skin when your legs twitch because of it, slowly sliding his body up the length of yours. Skin flushed, and lips shining, you’d be embarrassed if he didn’t look like he just won the lottery.

His nose nudges yours before his lips steal a kiss that you eagerly give despite feeling so spent. Your fingers finding their way back into the hair at the nape of his neck, a smile tugging up the corners of your mouth when you feel the warmth of his own release in the cotton of the sweats.

“I hope you have another pair of pants for me.” He laughs, embarrassment making the tips of his ears turn red, the warm color only deepening when you grin and you realize you have more than just a crush on Steve Harrington.

[lunaatthezoo]

A really long WIP whatever

Elain and Azriel play a cheeky little card/truth-telling game together in the current chapter I'm writing (post-strawberry shortcake, pre-Sidra walk)-

“It’s your turn,” Nuala said, shaking Elain from her thoughts. She cleared her throat. 

“Right,” she said with feigned brightness. She drew a card and sighed. Two questions.

Cerridwen let a serpentine smile spread on her face. “First question,” she stated aggressively. “What were you thinking about just now?” 

Elain blew out an exasperated breath. “Really?” She asked incredulously. 

Cerridwen only raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, waiting. 

They always knew when she was lying. Elain did not want to lose this game. She lowered her brows and rose to the challenge. 

“I was thinking about my friendship with Azriel.” 

Nuala and Cerridwen exchanged an annoyingly meaningful look. Elain rolled her eyes but could feel her face burning in embarrassment. 

Nuala opened her mouth to say something that would undoubtedly make Elain cringe, when she was stopped by a familiar clearing of the throat. 

Elain’s heart nearly fell out of her ass. She squealed- squealed- and jumped to her feet, a hand flying to her chest as she swung her head to the sound.

Fucking Azriel was sitting, looking comfortable as ever, on a chaise in the corner of the sitting room, leafing through a stack of letters. 

He looked perfectly at ease, his wings in a relaxed position, his ankles crossed, shadows resting along his neck. 

Elain was still gasping for breath. “How long have you been sitting there?!” She whisper-screamed at him. 

The corners of Azriel’s mouth twitched but he didn’t look up from his stack of letters. “Long enough to know exactly how your first kiss went,” he answered coolly. 

Elain’s face went up in flames anew. That had been at least forty-five minutes ago. 

Nuala and Cerridwen seemed completely unsurprised and unconcerned that he had been sitting there for so long listening to them.

“What-” Elain began sputtering. “How did- why-” Her blush deepened to the color of rubies as a stupid, smug smile slid across Azriel’s face.

He finally looked up at her and her heart stuttered at his beautiful eyes meeting hers. Like a sunlit dappled forest in autumn. 

“You three were having so much fun. I didn’t want to interrupt.” 

Elain sighed in exasperation again and whipped her head to the twins. “Did you know he was sitting there?!”

Cerridwen raised an eyebrow. “Of course,” she answered nonchalantly. “He walked right in and sat down.” 

Nuala only shrugged in agreement. Elain gaped and turned back to Azriel. She could have died of embarrassment. 

“Why-” she said, crossing the room towards him. “Are you-” she snatched the pile of letters from Azriel’s hands- “so quiet,” she seethed, and smacked him on the arm with the stack of letters. 

Azriel chuckled and just tucked his hands behind his head in an infuriatingly arrogant male gesture. 

“I believe you had another question to answer,” was his only response, nodding towards Elain’s forgotten cards on the coffee table. 

Elain frowned at him and crossed her arms. “I’m not just going to keep playing in front of you!” She exclaimed. “This was a private game. Others were not meant to hear our answers.”

Nuala and Cerridwen were being completely unhelpful, just sitting and casually watching the conversation unfold. 

Azriel raised an eyebrow. “You’re playing in the middle of the sitting room.”

Elain narrowed her eyes at him. Dammit. He had a point.

Nuala and Cerridwen were whispering behind her now. Elain whipped her head to them. Nuala was shaking her head about something but Cerridwen punched her arm lightly and then stood.

“We need to go to town to get supplies for the kitchen,” she announced, as if they hadn’t just been whispering the plan to each other two seconds ago. 

Nuala sighed and stood as well, giving Elain an apologetic shrug. “Perhaps the Spymaster can finish off the game with you,” she muttered, and then the sisters linked arms and scurried from the room. The wretches.

Azriel chuckled once more and slid off the chaise as Elain huffed in exasperation. He plucked his stack of letters from Elain’s hand and playfully swatted her on the nose with them before dropping them onto the low table beside the chaise.

He said nothing as he strode to the liquor cabinet and poured a dram of whiskey into two short tumblers. Elain just watched him, still flustered and reeling about the fact that he had been sitting there listening to them play for so long without her noticing. 

Azriel carried both tumblers to where the three females had been sitting and gracefully lowered himself to the floor beside the coffee table. He raised his eyebrows at Elain and held out a glass for her expectantly. 

[honeyhoneypp]

Can We Be Together..?

One Piece men figuring out their feelings for you

What is that strange feeling they've been getting in their stomach lately when they're around you? Why does their heart race so much when you do such simple things like walking past them? Perhaps, this is the feeling us humans call “love.”

Hello, this is my first fanfic! And I’m sorry if I have some errors, english is not my first language! Also right now im in the Fishman Island arc, so if I get their personalities wrong please let me know! I’ll really appreciate it!

Female pronouns! Fluff + Angst on Sanji’s part

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L U F F Y

Now, some people might think that Luffy doesn't understand the concept of love, but he's actually not that dumb, he understands what love is, he just never had the ideas of loving someone romantically or being in a relationship since his thoughts are only filled with "meat, king of the pirates and his crewmates".

But lately, his thoughts were also filled with you. He thought that he would never experience these kinds of feelings, but then he started to feel strange when he was around you… Of course, he didn't know what these feelings meant since he had never had these kinds of feelings before, so he decided to ask Robin what these feelings meant since he figured that she would know.

==================================

It was nighttime, everyone was on bed sleeping calmly, except for 3 people, Robin, Luffy, and you. Robin was watching at the front of the ship and you were at the back of the ship but Luffy couldn’t sleep since he kept thinking about you, he couldn’t get you out of his mind for some strange reason.

Luffy— “Dammit… why can’t I get you out of my mind?”

He kept murmuring to himself the same thing over and over again, until he gave up and decided to go ask Robin. He went to the front of the ship to ask Robin about all of these feelings, when he got to the front of the ship he saw Robin calmly watching her surroundings while drinking coffee.

Luffy— “Hey, Robin.”

Robin— “Oh, Luffy! What are you doing this late at night? Can’t sleep?”

Luffy— “Yup.”

Robin— “And why is that?”

Luffy— He sits next to Robin — “I just can’t stop thinking…”

Robin— “Thinking about..?”

Luffy— “____.”

Robin— “Oh? Can’t stop thinking about ____, huh?” — She smirks —

Luffy— “Yeah, I don’t know why but I have this funny feeling on my tummy when she’s around me, and I know it’s not from hunger…”

She nods, her suspicions about Luffy liking you becoming true, ever since she saw the way Luffy stares at you and how he shares his food with you, she started to get suspicious, but she never thought her captain would actually be in love with one of her crewmates.

Robin— “I see, do you feel something else when you’re around her?”

Luffy— “Yeah, my heart starts beating fast… fast like a drum!”

Robin— “Have you considered maybe you might like her?”

Luffy— “What does that have to do with anything? I like all of you guys!”

Robin— She laughs — “I’m not talking about that kind of liking, Luffy. I’m talking about liking her romantically.”

Luffy— “Romantically..? Oh, you mean like love?”

Robin— Nod —

Luffy— He turns his head to stare at the sky — “Love, huh..? But I never had those feelings for someone, why would I have those kinds of feelings now?”

Robin— “Well, those feelings are love symptoms, Luffy. Now, tell me, what do you like about her?”

Luffy— “What do I like about her? Hm… Let’s see…” — He thinks for a moment — “I like her smile, her eyes, her appearance, the way she looks at me, her personality, her hugs, how she has fun with me, the way she supports me, her smell, how kind she is, how she cares about us, her—“

Robin— “I get it, Luffy.” — She laughs — “Luffy, you clearly have feelings for her.”

Luffy— “…So I do have feelings for her, huh..?” — He laughs — “So what should I do now, Robin? Should I ask her to marry her like Boa does with me? Or…”

Robin— “Not at all, maybe you could ask her for marriage in the future but I don’t think that’ll be necessary right now. You should go and tell her how you feel, Luffy. Tell her all the things you like about her, but remember to always make her happy.”

Luffy— He turns around to see the back of the ship, where you were —

Robin— “So what are you waiting for? Go on, tell her.”

Luffy— He giggles — “You’re right, Robin. I should go tell her.” — He stands up and quickly goes into your direction —

Robin— She chuckles — “Never thought I’ll see my captain in love.”

Z O R O

He's a complicated guy, he knows he has feelings for you but he doesn't want to accept it, he just can't focus on that right now, his priorities are becoming the greatest swordsman, helping Luffy become king of the pirates and protecting his crew, he doesn't have time for some silly crushes!

He tries his best to push these feelings away, but he can't. Every time he sees you, his heart and breathing speed up, and the fact that you always pop into his mind at random doesn't help. This man ends up avoiding you at every opportunity because he can't hold a conversation with you without acting cold or stuttering a word or two. So, he finally gives up on ignoring these feelings and decides to ask Nami for help.

==================================

Zoro was training on the Crow’s nest, he had been working out more frequently lately, and the reason is you. You’re the reason of why he’s been working out more frequently, it’s the best way to avoid you and to stop thinking about you.

He can't help but hate how you pop into his mind at random times, he hates how he can't stop staring at you, he hates how he can't hold a conversation with you, he hates how some of his crewmates who are aware of his feelings for you can't help but tease him.

But what he hates the most is how the “shitty cook” flirts with you, he hates that he makes you laugh and that he can actually hold a conversation with you, he hates how he compliments you every chance he gets, he hates it.

But now none of that matters, he was focused on his training until you decided to pop in his mind, he got annoyed, really annoyed. He puts more plates on the bar to try to forget about you and focus on the heavy weights, but that doesn’t help at all.

He can't stop thinking about your lips, he can't stop thinking about your beautiful eyes and how they shine under the sun, he can't stop thinking about your beautiful skin shining under the sun, he loves everything about you when it comes to looks, he really loves your beauty.

He also loves your personality, he loves how strong you are, he loves how determined you are to achieve your goals, he can't stop thinking about the way you stand up for yourself when someone tries to belittle you, he loves your strong character.

But he also loves the other side of the coin, your kind and caring nature, he loves how you care about your crewmates and their well-being, he can't ignore how kind you are to everyone and how you try to make things right.

He finally decides to give up and sits on the floor to relax and think about everything that’s happening with his feelings. He doesn’t know what to do.

Zoro— “Dammit, woman… why can’t you just get out of my head?”

He stands up and quickly goes to the Sunny’s deck where he finds Nami sunbathing. He decides to ask her for some help with you.

Zoro— “Hey, Nami.” — He sits next to her —

Nami— “Oh, hey, Zoro! Do you need something?”

Zoro— He nods —

Nami— “Well… what is it?”

Zoro— “It’s about… ____…”

Nami— She smirks — “Oh, I get it now, you want me to help you get with her?”

Zoro— He nods embarrassed —

Nami— “Okay! That’ll be a million berries!”

Zoro— “WHAT?!”

Nami— She laughs — “Calm down I’m just teasing, Zoro.”

Zoro— He grits his teeth — “Whatever.”

Nami— “Okay! First of all, don’t act so cold with her! She hates it when you act that way, she even has mentioned that to me, and she’s sad because she thinks you hate her!”

Zoro— “…She… thinks I hate her?”

Nami— Nod — “So stop acting so cold with her, got it?!”

Zoro— He simply nods, he can’t believe he’s been making you feel this way —

Nami— “Second, be honest with her about your feelings, you can’t just be lying to yourself about not having a crush on her, tell her how you appreciate her looks and how you’ll buy her everything she wants.”

Zoro— “Okay…”

Nami— “And third of all, don’t hurt her feelings anymore, make her happy, make her smile, you always see how Sanji flirts with her and makes her laugh, so why don’t you do the same?”

Zoro— He sighs — “You’re right.”

Nami— “You know, you should go talk to her and tell her how you feel.”

Zoro— Nod — “Thanks for the advice, Nami.” — He stands up to go look for you —

Nami— “Oh! One last thing. Zoro!”

Zoro— He turns his head around — “Hm?”

Nami— “Go take a shower, she doesn’t like stinky men.”

Zoro— He gasps — “SHUT UP!”

S A N J I

Sanji is another complicated man, as he flirts with any slightly attractive woman he sees, and you were no exception… well, that was at the beginning, until of course, he started having other feelings for you, it wasn't just lust anymore, but they were also romantic feelings.

He knows how much he loves you, he knows how much he needs you, but he can't talk to you without stuttering, he feels like his heart is going to jump out of his chest every time he sees you, and when you talk to him his breathing fades quickly.

He wants to talk to you, he wants to let you know how much he loves you, but he can't help but get nervous when he gets any closer to you, making every interaction the two of you have dry. Usopp notices his feelings for you and decides to help him.

==================================

Sanji was quietly cooking dinner, but then you walked through the kitchen door with a big smile ready to ask Sanji if he needed help with his cooking. Sanji senses your presence but instead of turning around he freezes and starts thinking about you.

Your soft, beautiful, glowing skin, oh how he wishes he could gently caress your delicate skin, your pretty lips, and how he wishes he could touch them with his own lips. Your beautiful, beautiful eyes, he just wants to look at them for the rest of his life.

Sure, you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, but it's not all about looks with you. He also loves your gentle personality, he loves how you always treat him right and how you're always there for him, he loves how you always stand up for yourself, he loves your kind and fierce nature.

But one thing he can't think about or he'll get an instant nosebleed is touching your beautiful, naked curves-

— “Hi, Sanji! I just wanted to come and help you finish dinner, only if you need any help of course!”

Sanji— He quickly snaps out of his imagination —“I- No, thank you… I’m okay.”

— You freeze in your place, why was he acting so dry with you lately? did you do something wrong that made him upset? — “Um… are you sure? I can help you wash the dishes!”

Sanji— “No, thank you.”

— You bite your lip — “Okay.”

You quickly walk away from the kitchen with teary eyes but Usopp was about to enter the kitchen, he was surprised to see your teary eyes.

Usopp— “____? Hey, are you crying? Are you ok-“

You quickly ran off to the girls' dorm, not wanting your crewmates to see your pathetic crying, how can you cry over a man? That would be stupid. Usopp quickly entered the kitchen only to see Sanji leaning his elbows on the counter and scratching his head in frustration.

Sanji— “Stupid, stupid, stupid… why can’t I just talk to her like a normal person” — He says to himself —

Usopp— “Sanji? Did you said something to ____?”

Sanji— “What? Why are you asking..?”

Usopp— “Well I just saw her running away to the girl’s dorm, and I’m pretty sure I saw her crying.”

Sanji— He opens his eyes like plates — “Crying?! ____ was crying!?”

Usopp— Nod —

Sanji— “I need to go see-“

Usopp— “Wait, Sanji! Give her some time!”

Sanji— “But… she’s crying…”

Usopp— “I know, but let her have some time.”

Sanji— He sighs but he only nods —

Usopp— “What did you said to her to make her cry?”

Sanji— “I didn’t said anything! I swear! I just… I guess I was talking dry to her…”

Usopp— “You were talking dry to her, huh? Why is that? Do you not like her? Because you always flirt with every woman, but I noticed that you haven’t been flirting with ____…”

Sanji— “Well, yeah. But that’s because I can’t help but be nervous around her, it’s not only lust, it’s also romantic feelings, I love her Usopp. But I feel like my heart is going to pop out of my chest when I feel her presence…”

Usopp— “Oh, so you like her, wow. I never knew Mr. Pervert could be nervous around a woman.”

Sanji— He sighs — “I know, I know.”

Usopp— “Look Sanji, ____ likes you b-“

Sanji— A little bit of blood comes out of his nose — “SHE LIKES ME?!”

Usopp— “Shut up! Calm yourself down! Yes she likes you, and I’ll give you some advice, Sanji. So listen carefully.”

Sanji— nod —

Usopp— “You have to stop flirting with every woman you see, dude! Because every time you flirt with a woman I see how sad she gets, so that’s a habit you have to stop, you have to be loyal to ____!”

Sanji— “Humm…”

Usopp— “Also you have to stop getting so nervous with her, look what your nervousness caused! I get why you’re feeling this way but that’s something you really have to work on if you don’t want to hurt her feelings anymore.”

Sanji— “I know, Usopp. I hate that about me…”

Usopp— He puts a hand on his shoulder — “Hey, now! Don’t get gloomy, our next destination will be really soon, how about you buy her some flowers and tell her how you feel about her?”

Sanji— He smiles — “That’s a great idea! Thank you Usopp!”

Usopp— “Anytime! Just don’t try to get nervous around her and talk to her normally, remember the things I told you okay?” — He walks out of the kitchen —

Sanji— He nods happily and goes back to cooking, perhaps he’ll prepare a delicious drink for Usopp to show his appreciation —

==================================

Maybe I’ll make a part 2 with them confessing their feelings for you! Let me know if you want me to do this with other characters! :)