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sunshineyuyu · 4 months ago

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friends with benefits a roommate (p. sh)

★ summary: after hooking up with mingi, you wake up the next morning and share a coffee with his attractive roommate seonghwa. a one night stand suddenly turns into a recurring thing—is the sex with mingi really that great? or are the mornings after with the roommate even better? ★ pairing: seonghwa x f!reader (ft. mingi) ★ genre: fluff ★ word count: 3.2k ★ tags/warnings: consultant!seonghwa, grad student!reader, fem!reader, grad student/best friend!mingi, references to sex but no descriptions, references to drinking, corporate grind woes, intentionally lowercase ★ notes: beta'd by the bestie @starhwas-bunny. also this is my first time posting :') ★ masterlist

like most grad students, you like to work hard, play hard.

which is why you’re at the dingiest bar on campus with your cohort, drunk out of your mind and grinding against your friend mingi to some doja cat song. and once it ends, you tug on mingi’s arm to presumably get more drinks, but instead drag him to the hallway near the bathrooms and stand on your tiptoes to slot your lips over his.

(thankfully, he reciprocates.)

and so, stumbling and giggling, the two of you call an uber back to mingi’s place.

⋆⋆⋆

the first thing seonghwa notices about you are your legs.

after all, how could he not? when all that’s there to cover them is the frayed hem of mingi’s ratty old high school football shirt. and you’re not shy about it—the fact that you’re walking around the apartment in nothing but a shirt that barely reaches the tops of your thighs.

the second thing seonghwa notices about you are your eyes.

surprisingly big and round for so early in the morning, and the fact that they’re trained straight on him.

“‘morning,” he says casually.

“good morning!” you reply, seemingly cheered by his acknowledgement. you scamper to the barstools on the other side of the large kitchen island and plop down on one. “i’m y/n.”

seonghwa is a little surprised at the introduction. he’s used to mingi bringing home girls often after living with him all through college until now, but he’s not used to interacting with them beyond catching a flash of their hair as they make a hasty exit.

the name is also unique, yet familiar.

“oh,” seonghwa says. “mingi’s mentioned you before. you’re in his cohort, right?”

“yup,” you say, popping the p at the end. “we’re besties.”

seonghwa hums, and then realizes he hasn’t introduced himself. “i’m seonghwa. you want some coffee?”

“yes, please,” you say.

“an iced latte okay?”

“um—yeah…?”

seonghwa can hear the apprehension on your tongue. the unsaid question—can he make a latte?

it’s silent for a little while as seonghwa flits around the kitchen, fetching the bag of fresh guatemalan coffee beans he’d picked up only yesterday and meticulously grinding them down into a powder. he presses it in the portafilter and then locks that into place in the group head of his shiny chrome silver espresso machine. it’s a relatively new purchase—or investment, as he likes to call it.

mingi had been wary about the whole thing—understandably so, since buying an espresso machine on a grad student budget is frivolous to say the least—so seonghwa had paid for it. they’d reached a mutual agreement that while the machine belongs entirely to seonghwa, mingi can pay for the beans to earn his share of the coffee it produced.

regardless, the espresso machine is an immediate hit with you, who oohs and aahs as the machine whirs and espresso drips out into two small porcelain cups.

“so fancy,” you say dreamily.

smiling, seonghwa opens the fridge. “milk?”

“do you have oat?” you ask.

“of course,” seonghwa says, pulling out the carton.

with practiced hands, he pours the oat milk into a metal cup and then takes it over to the milk frother attachment. afterwards, he portions the frothed milk into two glasses filled with ice, before topping them off with the espresso shots. from a drawer, he retrieves two glass straws and then slides the finished drink over the counter to an awed you.

“it’s like a personal coffeeshop!” you squeal. “hold on, i have to take a picture!”

you dash back into mingi’s room, and for a second the spell is broken. seonghwa remembers that you’d come home last night with mingi—that you’d presumably had mind-blowing sex with mingi, that you slept over in mingi’s bed.

when you return to the kitchen, seonghwa has already swirled his drink together and sips on it a little impatiently. you beam as you take a photo of yours, before following his lead. when you take a sip, your eyes brighten and widen and suddenly, seonghwa is back into it.

back into you.

“omygod!” you say.

“nice, right?” seonghwa says.

“delicious,” you moan. “what beans did you use?”

“oh,” seonghwa says, unable to hide the surprise in his voice at your curiosity. “it’s a new guatemalan blend. i know a guy.” he hands the bag over to you so that you can read the description on the sticker.

you laugh. “‘i know a guy,’” you mimic. “are we talking about drugs?”

“might as well be,” seonghwa says. “i definitely have a caffeine addiction.”

“that’s okay,” you say. “so do i.” you say it conspiratorially, and seonghwa likes the theatrics.

he likes you.

seonghwa’s current project at work has him traveling to utah during the week, and while he loves mingi, coming back on the weekends to a dude just doesn’t really do anything for him. and seonghwa’s been so busy for the past two years—working 70 hours a week and commuting across the whole continent—that he’s never taken the time to consider that maybe there’s something missing.

something like—

sharing a coffee with a pretty girl on an early saturday morning.

something nice. domestic.

something that makes flying back to new york feel like coming home.

but seonghwa is shaken from his out-of-character introspection by sloppy footsteps coming from mingi’s bedroom. the man himself slogs into the kitchen, wearing only low-slung sweatpants and yawning like a heathen.

“no coffee for me?” he pouts at seonghwa.

“didn’t expect you up so early, sleeping beauty,” seonghwa says.

“fucking rude,” mingi grumbles. he turns to you, “you staying for breakfast?”

you peer suspiciously at him. “can you cook?”

“he can’t,” seonghwa says before mingi can reply. “but i can.”

the grin that you flash him is so breathtaking that he has to set his glass down.

“okay, then,” you say, clapping your hands. “i’ll stay!”

seonghwa hides his own grin by ducking into the fridge for the eggs.

over breakfast, seonghwa tells you about his glamorous (derogatory) life as a consultant, and you respond by enthusiastically explaining the research you do at the university. mingi interjects occasionally, but mostly he just scrolls through twitter on his phone.

seonghwa easily deduces that you’re close friends, but the vibe feels mostly platonic.

he wonders if last night was a one-off, or the beginning of something. if there’s any hidden unrequited feelings.

he’ll have to sus it out of mingi later, but for now, he’s content with discussing the ethical sourcing of coffee with you.

⋆⋆⋆

two weeks later, after another two grueling visits to utah, seonghwa wakes up to the scent of coffee.

it’s pleasant, and then jarring, because seonghwa knows that mingi doesn’t have the patience to use the espresso machine on his own (he drinks the instant stuff when seonghwa isn’t around). seonghwa leaps out of bed, all thoughts on his precious, pristine espresso machine child.

but the scene he finds in the kitchen is very much the opposite of a catastrophe.

first he sees the afterthought of a bun. hair tossed carelessly into a topknot that bounces as you move.

and then he sees the underwear—baby pink and lacy—and the perfect, round ass sticking out of the fridge.

“oh shit,” he croaks, before clapping a hand over his eyes and spinning around.

he’s rewarded with tinkling laughter that makes his ears burn red. he could get used to that sound, but maybe under different circumstances.

“good morning!” you call.

“um, morning.” seonghwa removes the hand and opens his eyes, but doesn’t turn around quite yet.

“sorry, i would put on some pants, but i wasn’t wearing any last night,” you says. “i’m decent now, though!”

true to your word, your bottom is as covered as it can get with that godforsaken high school football shirt. seonghwa really wishes mingi would get rid of it, but he knows that making varsity is still one of mingi’s proudest accomplishments.

“sorry about that.” seonghwa has to cough to get all the words out properly. his throat hasn’t quite woken up yet (the rest of his body, though, is thrumming with adrenaline, and his brain is working overtime figuring out the morality of saving that image of your ass).

“no worries,” you say breezily. “coffee?”

having the script flipped on him—someone else offering him coffee in his own goddamn apartment—is unsettling. even more unsettling is how similar the scene unfolding is to his brief daydream of domesticity the last time he encountered you.

“you, uh, know how to use the espresso machine?” he asks stupidly. he registers belatedly how his question might sound condescending, but you seem to take it all in stride.

“i was a barista for a bit in college,” you say.

“nice,” seonghwa says, just for something to say.

“i hope it’s okay that i used it,” you say. “i just really needed some caffeine after last night.”

at seonghwa’s questioning gaze, you explain, “we went way too hard.”

“any occasion?” seonghwa says, sliding dutifully onto a barstool when he realizes that you really do know what you’re doing. you have the oat milk out on the counter, the same glasses he used last time—pre-prepped with ice—and the new bag of orange-infused coffee beans.

you hum as you froth the milk. “made it past our first thesis deadline.”

“that’s exciting,” seonghwa says.

“barely,” you sigh. “we’re just waiting around to get our asses handed to us during critiques.”

“oh, well,” says seonghwa sympathetically. “i can relate. i routinely get my ass handed to me. some internal organs too.”

it’s not his best work, but it makes you laugh, so seonghwa considers that a win. it’s been a long time since he tried charming someone, and he’s more than a little out of practice.

but he can barely mull over it as his brain finally moves past its previous mental exercise (that image of your ass is burned in his memory forever now, intentionally or not) and finds a new problem to turn over: if you’re here, in the morning, wearing mingi’s shirt, then you must have stayed the night. and if you stayed the night, then you must have—

“here! hope it’s as good as yours,” you say, passing the latte over the island to seonghwa.

the moan that he lets out is involuntary, and it makes you beam.

“what do you think of the new beans?” seonghwa asks.

“mm, it’s nice,” you say. “sweet.”

in spite of the alarms firing in his head, seonghwa ventures a: “is there full-service breakfast with the coffee?”

“ooo,” you say, “taking advantage of me while i’m the one in the kitchen, i see.”

seonghwa instantly regrets it, as he says, “oh, i was just joking. i can make—”

“oh no, mister,” you say. “you sit your ass down. i’m about to blow your mind. this girlie can do much better than eggs and toast. now, where’s the flour?”

over the next twenty minutes, seonghwa watches in awe as you prance around the kitchen, unearthing ingredients and kitchenware that seonghwa barely even knew existed in the apartment. you tsk at the state of the stovetop, manage to reorganize their poor smattering of spices, and utilize takeout chopsticks expertly as a whisk.

and at the end, you present seonghwa with a plate of fluffy pancakes and perfectly soft-scrambled eggs.

when he takes a bite, he’s transported instantly back to his childhood. to picturesque mornings, eating homemade sunday brunch with his family to the lazy twittering of birds and under the warmth of a midmorning sun.

it tugs at his chest as he drenches his pancakes in potentially expired syrup from the back of their fridge, pours hot sauce over his eggs—

a nostalgia and a fondness that he thought he lost to the corporate grind.

“how is it?” you ask.

“marry me,” seonghwa says.

and despite being more serious than he’s ever been, you laugh at him.

“the patriarchy really popped out there for a second!” you say, digging into your own pancakes.

seonghwa opens his mouth to explain that he really did mean it, but as per usual, mingi decides that now is the perfect time to ruin everything with his presence. he’s at least wearing a shirt this time when he emerges from his lair, and you pop up to throw together a plate for him.

“thanks, mommy,” mingi sighs as he slides into a barstool.

“ew,” you wrinkle your nose.

“not what you were saying last night,” says mingi, with a disgusting amount of scrambled egg shoved into his mouth.

“don’t listen to him,” you say to seonghwa, but seonghwa has already turned his attention to scrolling through the news on his phone.

“kinky,” he throws out casually, not even bothering to look up.

breakfast goes like that this time—seonghwa as the one glued to his phone, while mingi and you gripe about having to regrade midterms because of a cheating scandal.

⋆⋆⋆

by the fifth time seonghwa encounters you in his kitchen on a saturday morning, you’ve fallen into a routine. seonghwa makes coffee, and you make breakfast; seonghwa makes sure to keep the fridge well-stocked as you begin making increasingly elaborate dishes, and you gift seonghwa a package of your favorite coffee blend.

you enjoy these stolen moments alone, bustling around the kitchen to the soft crackling of whatever record seonghwa chooses to play that morning. the two of you have the first few sips of coffee, first few bites of eggs, first few spoons of porridge alone, until the smell finally draws mingi out of his bed.

and then there’s three of you sitting around the dining table. it’s always pleasant, always comfortable, but it always feels like just one person too many.

sometimes it’s mingi, who is hungover or tired or grumpy; sometimes it’s you, who doesn’t like star wars or follow sports; and most of the time, it’s seonghwa, who doesn’t go to grad school, who spends most of the week, month, year in a different city—

who falls asleep alone at night.

seonghwa knows he could ask just mingi about it. are you just hooking up? is it a situationship? does mingi have feelings for you?

but he won’t, because somehow ignorance is bliss, and he’d rather live in limbo than risk a dive into hell. anyway, he’s not around enough for anything to flourish; he can barely keep the small succulent on his windowsill alive, least of all a real, adult relationship.

and eventually, you always have to leave.

⋆⋆⋆

seonghwa is exhausted.

his flight had been delayed three times, and it’s already almost midnight by the time he toes off his shoes in the entryway of the apartment. his watch buzzes furiously, and seonghwa knows that it must be either mingi or you, drunkenly asking where he is. a few days ago, he’d promised that he would finally go out with you two, but he’s far too tired for those frivolities now.

instead, he shoots mingi a brief but apologetic text and hops into the shower.

what he intended to be a quick wash turns into a long one, as he lets the warm water pelt him—he’s never gotten around to fixing the abnormally aggressive water pressure of the shower head. but it feels nice now. jolts some feeling back into his system.

when he steps out of the shower, he feels clean but oddly raw. he treats himself to his favorite set of silk pajamas and decides that he has just enough energy to do some of his animal crossing daily tasks.

before he can slip into bed with his switch, he hears a series of frantic knocks on the front door.

operating under the assumption that mingi probably forgot his keys at the bar or something, seonghwa doesn’t check the peephole and just unlocks the door. he doesn’t even bother opening it before turning back towards his room.

but the thing swings open so abruptly that it bangs against the wall.

“jesus!” seonghwa says. “be careful with that—!”

except it’s not a drunk mingi standing in the threshold, it’s—

“you!” you say, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “you didn’t text me back. why didn’t you come out tonight?”

you look different tonight.

you’re wearing real clothes, for one. jeans and a top that makes your tits look great (not that seonghwa is focusing on that).

your facial features look sharper, outlined and defined by makeup that’s usually washed away by morning. and you’re angry—eyes narrowed to near slits and hands on your hips.

seonghwa sighs. “i just got back. i was too tired to go out. i told mingi that i’m sorry.”

“well you didn’t tell me sorry!” you huff, stepping into the apartment and letting the door shut harshly.

“sorry,” seonghwa says.

you square each other up just then. the smaller but furious you against the bigger but drained seonghwa.

“what are you doing here?” seonghwa finally tries. “where’s mingi?”

“last i saw, he was making out with sarah kim on the dance floor,” you say.

“oh,” seonghwa says. this must be why you are so mad. “i’m sorry.”

for the first time tonight, your anger drops just slightly. “for what?”

hesitantly, seonghwa says, “aren’t you mad?”

“well, yeah,” you say. “but not at mingi.”

and then before seonghwa can ask who exactly you’re mad at, you smack yourself in the forehead.

“oh my god, what was that for—?”

“seonghwa—do you think mingi and i are together or something?”

“well, you two have been hooking up for at least two months now,” seonghwa says.

“fuck,” you mutter, and then you round on seonghwa. “i’ve been trying to hang out with you, and we were supposed to tonight, until you bailed.”

seonghwa is so preoccupied with defending himself, that he barely picks up on the subtext of your words. “i told you—i was fucking tired! my flight was delayed, like, three—”

“the only i reason i was hooking up with mingi was to hang out with you!” you wail.

the statement is so ridiculous that all seonghwa can do is stare at you in stunned silence.

“you- what—?”

“and for the record! we never even really hooked up!” you continue.

faintly, seonghwa wonders if he’s having a heart attack. with every word that comes out your mouth, seonghwa can feel his heart rate spike dramatically. but none of this adrenaline is making its way to his brain, so his processing power is still slow.

“what are you saying?” seonghwa croaks.

your expression softens, and you take a step closer.

“i like you,” you say. “i really like spending the mornings with you, and i’d like to spend nights with you, too. but only if you—”

“yes,” seonghwa says immediately. “yes.”

the edges of your eyes crinkle as your face splits into a large grin. “so, you like me, too?”

seonghwa replies by surging forward and finally, finally kissing you.

⋆⋆⋆

the next morning, seonghwa and you wake up early, but you don’t get up to make coffee or breakfast. you stay in bed for as long as you can, until you hear timid knocks on seonghwa’s door.

“guys? how do you work the espresso machine?”

#seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa fic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #[sunsh writes]#sunshineyuyu fic

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lostintransist · 1 month ago

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Noona's Dukedom Gave Me Brain Worms

@beloveds-embrace legit gave me brain worms. We aren't going to talk about how long this damn thing got. Can be read without context of the Dukedom AU but it makes more sense if you've read all the possible endings. Shout out to @strangergraphics for the cute divider. ***It got a little bit away from me... Word count: Shy of 6K AO3

Sneaking into the stable of the noble house of Price was a bad idea. He knew it. The hunger gnawing at his spine pushed him forward despite his mind’s warnings. Due to the starvation, his body was smaller than it should have been. He used that advantage to sneak between the slats in the fencing and to hide below the edge of the empty stalls.

Voices and clopping of hooves lifted over the walls. The grooms were rotating the horses in the paddock, he would have a few moments to scrounge for something to eat. He would even take the horse’s oats at this point.

Darting from the stall he scanned the walls for a full door; the horse food would most likely be up to keep away the rodents. His hand nearly touched the handle when a swish of skirts had him unlatching a stall with a large black horse and hiding. The horse did not care for his presence and began to flick its ears and swish their tail.

The swishing of skirts continued, nearer and nearer to the stall with the upset horse. It stopped and he ducked further down, holding the door shut but not letting it latch for fear that the sound would travel. Three loud breaths in his ears and the horse pawing at the straw were all the sounds that he could hear.

“Child, I need you to come out of there. Now.”

The voice held the commands with familiarity. Shutting his eyes tight the boy wished that God listened to orphans. He did not complete another breath before he was hauled out by the collar of his shirt. The damn thing ripped as the woman slammed the door closed to the angry sounds of a horse.

“Ma’am!” A groom, dressed in nicer clothes than should ever be used to care for horses, came running in. He skidded to a halt at the sight of the boy. “Do you need me to take care of him, my Lady?”

Hells beyond, of course, he had been found by the lady of the house. The devil must want his soul something fierce.

“No. Thank you, Benjamin.” You must dismiss him with a nod for the groom eyes him warily before heading back outside.

Chancing a glance upward he saw a lovely dress, must be the height of fashion because none of it made sense to him, and a sad face.

“What is your name child?” You ask him kindly, despite the hand still gripping the ripped portion of his shirt.

He thought about running, leaving his shirt behind in your hand.

You let out a small hiss of reprimand and the thought is abandoned.

“David, ma’am.”

Even in those two words, he knew his low-brow accent could be heard.

“And what are you doing in the stables and with my husband’s horse, David?”

He thinks about lying. You must see it in his face for the small bit of tension in your shoulders falls away, as does your hand.

“Come with me, David. And before you tell me the lie on your tongue, make up a story. Tell me the most unrealistic reason of how you came here, and then we can discuss the truth.” You gesture to the bright light beyond the stable and begin to walk.

You make it several steps before you turn around and lift a brow at him. Trained by society to listen to his betters David scurries after you.

He tells you a tale, of how fae had stolen him away from his family and left him for dead in the woods because he never seemed to grow. He spun the story so neatly that he nearly missed that they entered the side door of the grand manor on the property. A maid passed in front of you, long strides taking her down the hall.

“Mary,” you state her name, waiting for her to pause with a quiet, ‘yes ma’am’ before you continue. “Please send a tray of bread and cheese to my room. Also, have someone open the old trunks in the nursery to see if there are any clothes that would fit this child.”

Mary’s eyes flick to him and back to the lady, the confusion only thinly masked.

“And if his Lordship asks?”

David knew this wasn’t usual; his last posting would have called that cheek and seen him dismissed. You handle it with almost an ease of familiarity.

“Then send his Lordship to my room.” You settle a hand on his shoulder, directing him to the stairs, “Come, David.”

He moves where you direct, curious and cautious in equal measure. He had no training for how to act when the lady of the house pulls him into her sitting room and directed him to sit on a wooden chair near a writing desk. You disappear into what David assumes to be your bedroom for a moment.

Taking a moment to observe the room he notices a stack of books next to a comfortable chair with a blanket draped over the back of it. There is dust in the corners of the room and along the windowsill. Your maids were terrible at their jobs.

His mother had been a maid before she had been forced to put him in the orphanage due to illness and probably dying from consumption. She would be ashamed to claim this room as clean. For a duchess no less? Disgraceful. David could feel his brows pull down in a glare as he looked more. No stack of wood near the hearth, and a large collection of ash in the grate spoke of negligence.

When you return you are carrying a pitcher of water, a bowl, and a rag. Setting all of them on the floor you settle yourself down next to them. David had never seen a lady deign to sit on the floor before.

Pouring some water into the bowl, you wet the rag and wring it out before gently lifting it to his face.

“Where are your parents, child?” You ask in kindness, he flinches anyway.

He was a bastard of an earl and a maid who could not refuse. A knowing enters your eyes at the set of his chin.

“They do not care for you here.” His tone is serious.

It is your turn to flinch. It does not stop you from wiping the dirt from his face.

“What makes you say that?” You ask in a quiet voice, eyes not straying from your task.

“The maid was cheeky, and the state of your sitting room. Any maid worth her salt would not let dust collect like this.” He is still scowling as you rinse your rag and begin on one eye.

“Mmm, the staff were chosen by my husband before marriage. He is…resistant to change,” you hedge.

David does not reply other than to watch you in silence. Something here did not feel right. He would know, he had served in a great house once before. The lady of that house had been a mean and hateful woman, nothing like what you had presented yourself as. No one in the gentry would have saved him from a horse or brought him into their space to dress and feed him. He decided he would stay, ask for a position, and see if you were as good as this first impression.

A light knock at the door did not prevent you from finishing your task.

“Enter,” you called as you started on his hands.

“Found these in the nursery ma’am, a few moth holes but they will serve for now.” Mary, the cheeky maid from earlier glared at you as she settled the clothes across the settee. The tray of bread and cheese rested on the cushion next to the clothes.

David glared at her over your head. Mary jerked back when she saw his black look. She returned a sneer and breezed from the room as easy as you please. Acted like she owned the damn place.

“You need new maids,” David near as growled as his child’s voice would allow. Confusion washed over him like sacrament water at your soft smile, both hands holding his.

“Let’s get you in some clean clothes and get some food in your belly. I can hear it from here,” rising from your position on the floor you settle the water on a side table and join him near the settee.

David fingers the fabric. It is finer than anything he has ever worn, even with the moth holes. Glancing up you are looking at him with expectation. He had not grown much since the orphanage at eight but he knew that changing in front of you would not be wise. In response to the single brow you lifted, he held up the clothes in answer.

“Use the antechamber,” you point to the same door you had used to bring back the water.

Soon enough David is changed into new clothes and is seated on the settee stuffing his face with bread and cheese in alternating bites. Sleep overtook him with the strength of an executioner. When he stirred next he could feel your fingers parting his hair. The deep voice came again, that is what had woken him.

“Are you sure this is what you are willing to bargain for, wife?”

“John, as I am your wife in name only, I am asking for a compromise. Let me take the child as a ward and I will delay choosing a lover until he is grown and managing his own affairs.”

You present the option as if it makes sense and is the only logical choice. David slits his eyes open, taking in the pattern of your dress up close.

“I am not allowed,” David heard the fury in your words, he wondered if the duke did. “To take a lover for fear that he will feed the roses. But none of you would stoop so low as to murder a child. Heaven forbid I get to feel a modicum of love in my own home.”

“You tread a dangerous line, wife.”

Shifting fabric from behind his head has David tensing to leap up and defend you from a blow. Your fingers dig into his hair enough to give a warning, ‘Stay still.’

“No more dangerous than your lovers do, husband.”

The silence is laced with danger, it wrings his neck as if he were the queen. Your fingers tighten almost painfully on his skull. David breathes, slow and steady, matching the lie of your calming breaths.

“Are you threate—”

“I am again repeating my offer. I care for the boy as my ward; in return, I delay taking a lover so you may continue to enjoy your three without worrying about my behavior.”

David thinks not even the queen could keep her composure in this situation. You maneuvered your husband magnificently.

“You would have been a good general wife,” the Duke replies coolly.

“How fortunate for me then women are property and not people,” you reply with equal chill.

He grew, and grew, and grew. Regular meals and exercise saw David immediately falling into several growth spurts. He only wore short pants for three months before you had a tailor taking in some of your husband’s older and discarded clothes. He still wonders how much you paid the valet to sneak them out of John’s room.

David had taken to calling everyone by their first names. John and Simon were not ‘my lord’ or any other superfluous title they did not deserve, for they did not treat you as a gentleman should. Dinners were stilted in silence. You sat at one end of the great table, David seated next to you; eight chairs separated the pair of men at the end from your bright smile. They never attempted to usurp convention and sit closer, or invite either of you to move up and forgo the distance.

Your days were split between bringing David’s reading and math skills up to speed as you secured a teacher for him. Or rather David flourished under your tutelage until several teachers arrived to teach him math, French, history, Latin, and even science.

The house never suffered under the reduction in your attention. That did not stop the head butler from calling attention to the delay in requests being fulfilled.

Mr. Kyle Garrick could be no older than you. While twenty-four appeared ancient to his twelve the head butler being no more than thirty. He had never heard of such a thing below stairs, and the servants would have gossiped about it.

Kyle stood now in your office, eyes trained above your head as he spoke to you. David watched from his place at a side table; chalk pinched between his fingers and letters abandoned.

“The staff have reported that the expected deliveries have been delayed,” he clasped his hands behind his back, still not looking at you.

“Are the staff in need of an item urgently?” You look up from your correspondence. While John might manage the land, you managed the people and the tenants and the local clergy and did so without ruffling any feathers. David had to say you worked harder than your husband.

Kyle’s nose scrunched as if the question were one he would rather not answer.

“No. Not as of yet ma’am”

“And have you confirmed that the deliveries will arrive before the matter becomes urgent?” You arch a brow at your head butler.

The angry shift of his jaw tells David you are a master at stepping through this house without any of the blood you let fall onto your skirts.

“Yes,” comes the terse reply.

“Then is there anything else you need from me, Mr. Garrick?” Your face is innocent and open as Kyle’s eyes flick to you.

“No, ma’am. Thank you,” Kyle turns sharply on a heel, every line of his suit pressed to perfection.

Both you and David watch Kyle as he pauses at the door. Without turning he broaches the subject.

“Ma’am the staff have all been wondering…about the boy.”

David glances to Kyle’s hand on the doorknob. His arm shakes with the force with which he is holding it.

“David is my ward. He is confirmed as such in my will and by John’s own solicitor. If any of the staff take issue with the decision they can be dismissed immediately with a letter of recommendation and their wages due,” you reply, the chill in your tone removing all heat from your office.

The words land like arrows in Kyle’s back from the way his spine straightens.

“Yes ma’am, thank you,” he flings open the door and is gone with only a soft click of the shutting door to mark his departure.

Kyle was added to his list of people in this place who were not safe, right next to John and Simon. The head chef joined that list on the selfsame day.

Nipping down into the kitchens for a bite to eat, for feeding his hungry body only seemed to fuel more hunger, David listened to Johnny rant and rave about the lady of the house and her ‘particular tastes’ and her unwillingness to eat any meat presented to her. Something in his tone hinted that his anger grew from something deeper than a delicate palette. David did not raid the kitchen when any staff might be present from now on.

Observation was a tool that kept David safe on the streets after he had escaped the orphanage. Between his teachers and his daily meals with you, David witnessed a deepening sadness he could only attribute to your husband and his lovers.

Each night you tucked him into bed in the room next to yours. Reciting the Lord’s Prayer, reading a chapter of whatever book he had been reading, and laying a kiss on his brow were the standard. One night you laid an especially long kiss on his brow.

“I think I would have taken to my bed and never left if you had not arrived when you did David. Thank you for allowing me to save myself for you,” were the whispered words against his forehead.

Having no words for the overwhelming feelings in his chest David sat upright and hugged you tight.

“You’re the best mother I could have asked for,” came his own whispered reply.

Neither of you commented on the tears in the others eyes.

Nearly a year passed in that building others called home and he thought of it as a shared prison. At thirteen he had put on nearly a stone in weight and could hold his own academically with any boy his age who had been nurtured from the womb to stand among the peerage.

A letter from your desk, and a preemptive payment, secured him a spot at Eton in London. The household held its breath as you directed both your items and David’s to be packed for the move. John preferred the country estate but kept a home in the city for when Parliament was in session. David had missed the frigid argument that must have ensued before you were allowed to leave.

The years at Eton were grueling. Being a no-name ward to the Lady Price did not buy him the safety he would have received at being an acknowledged earl’s son. He often returned to the home he shared with you each weekend littered with bruises and with a sour mood.

It only took three weekends for you to call on your friends with children at Eton to run interference and to hire a pugilist to teach David how to handle the rest. Things didn’t get easier for nearly a year.

Returning as a fourteen-year-old with a bit more weight on his bones David channeled the attitudes he had seen both John and Simon wield to great effect and used his fists to even greater effect. His attitude and willingness to scrabble with even the boys who could be called men made the rounds. He walked away from every fight. Limping and spitting blood still counted as walking away.

Only once did David pull the attitude of the duke out with you.

“I will not be attending the picnic this weekend.”

David looked down his nose at you where you sat reading a Jane Austin novel. He stood, to give himself the illusion of height. He didn’t really mind either way about the picnic but he wanted to test his powers against you. When he looked back on the moment as a fully grown man he could see that he wanted to be sure that you could, would, still love him and keep him in hand as he grew. He wanted to know if you would protect him, even from himself.

A single finger slipped between the pages, turning it.

“David, if I do not let my husband speak to me so, why would I let you?”

The lack of emotion in your question sent sparks of fear up his spine, akin to the fireworks he had seen last year.

He remained silent and unsure how to reign in the wild horse of his mistake.

Closing your book softly you lift your eyes up to him. A wall of neutrality sat in your eyes that he hadn’t seen since leaving the country estate. Patting the seat next to you twice you waited until David sat to prune his behavior.

“Command is something given, not taken. If you wish to be a leader among men they first will need to want to follow you.” Only the sounds of carriages on the cobblestone outside the window break the silence. “My husband commands because of his birthright. I command because I have been trusted to do so. All of the charitable works I accomplish while you are in school, the lives I change, the directives I lead? These have all been trusted to me because I have proven I will not abuse them.”

David swallowed hard, lip starting to quiver.

“I’m sorry, mum,” his voice is small, a dandelion of admitting he had been wrong.

You reach up behind him, and despite the years between then and now being filled with nothing but love and gentle guidance, he still flinched. The hand on his head pulled him to your breast, soothing him as he cried.

“Trust I will care for you. Trust that I love you, David. If you have concerns we can discuss them, but no one deserves high-handedness unless they have proved themselves worthy of its censure.”

College had been his goal, the plan he would dare say. That plan flew out the window when John called David to his London office and handed him a letter.

“I have need of my wife, and our bargain has come to a conclusion. This is your commission. You will be serving under Admiral Wishart. He is expecting you on the third. The Royal William sets sail on the fifth,” John said all this with a wild gleam in his eye.

David snatched the letter from John’s hand, scanning over every word. His stomach sank further with each line he reread.

John Price had purchased a commission for him. As no law stood in the way of paying for a commission for any man, David had been promised to the crown as a soldier against his will.

Straightening to his full height David took three deep breaths to prepare his thoughts.

“She will not forgive you for this.”

“Maybe,” John shrugged, “But a woman of her age yearns for a child and with you gone, I can provide her with one.”

Civility fled with the thought of this man, so long abandoning his wife, touching her in any way filled David with nothing but rage.

“You would have better luck stealing the king’s trousers from his still awake body than bedding your wife. Good day, sir,” he infused the word sir with every ounce of hate he held for the man.

David had searched you out after leaving John’s office. Eighteen had once felt so grown, but now he knew he could be nothing more than a child masquerading as an adult. He had found you having tea with the neighbor. Pacing the front hall his hands worrying at his cuffs David swallowed hard to force the acid back into his stomach. The butler, this one old like every other butler was, announced him.

Rodgers opened the door wide for David to pass through. Instead, he caught your eye, the tears in his own clear even from the distance. Rising without removing your eyes from him you took your leave. Sliding your hand into the crook of his arm you nod for Rodgers to open the front door.

The door is not fully shut when David whips out the commission letter for you and tears streak down his face. Reading the letter three times all color leeches from your face.

“He didn’t,” you whisper, aghast.

“Mum, I’m scared,” David hugs himself, trying to keep the pieces of himself from flying in every direction. “He said you yearned for a child, and he could give you one with me gone.”

The pallor of your panic disappears until all that is left is a Duchess. You take his hand, squeezing it tight.

“You have all the skills to get through this. Wishart is a solid man to serve under and despite all his faults, John did purchase you a commission which will keep you safer than if you had volunteered. Now come and lay down in my bed and let me read to you.”

David laughed out a sob. You had not read to him like this since he went to Eton. The offer is all the sweeter because soon he won’t have a chance. Holding your hand up all the stairs he settles into your bed, arms wrapped around your middle. The soothing effect of your voice lulls him into sleep.

When he wakes he is alone in your bed and a soft sobbing drifts from the closet. He never doubted your love for him, but to hear you weep for him nailed it to the center of his soul.

He would survive the war.

Better yet he would come back decorated and rich beyond measure.

Six years passed before David could settle his feet on soil and not track his eyes around the port waiting for the bell to drag him back. He had clawed his way through the ranks; he saved so many men that when he had received his own ship as a captain he had nearly a full crew from volunteers alone. He had been made one of the youngest captains in the Navy.

Your last letter had reached him four years ago. He doubted any of his had reached you, spread out along the coasts as they were.

He and his men had eight weeks of leave while their ship was dry-docked and fixed. The first thought that crossed his might was to find you, Duchess Price, his mum.

The lamp lighters were working their way down the street as he approached the last non-floating home he had. Music drifted to the street from the open windows. Laughter and a cacophony of voices told him that a party was in full swing. Bounding up the stairs David knocked twice, loudly.

Hawthorne, the man who had served as butler when he left for the sea opened the door with an imperious look.

“Yes?” He lifted a brow.

“Hawthorne is that any way to greet the prodigal son?” David grinned and lifted both brows.

All servant’s decorum fled when Hawthorne realized who stood on the stoop.

“Master David? We all thought you dead.”

Stepping into the door David pushes it open forcing Hawthorne to let him in.

“Is the duchess in my good man?” He pats the butler on the shoulder.

“She is entertaining, bu—”

David does not wait to hear what other words might have followed. His long strides ate up the distance to the sitting room. And there you were, dressed in starlight. A healthy look on your face and a gentle smile at your current conversation companion ease the tightness in his chest that had lingered since you waved him off at the docks all those years ago.

The woman you are speaking with glances at him as he moves closer. Turning you follow her gaze. Your brows pull together as you look him over.

He had been so familiar with your thoughts when he left he can see them now. ‘This is not a guest I invited. Could he be my husband’s invite? Why does he look familiar?’ And there it is, the recognition.

“David?!”

No sign of a woman trained in moderation here, only a mum welcoming her son back from the dead. He catches you as you fling yourself into his arms. David spins you twice before settling you back on your feet.

“‘‘ello mum,” he whispered down to you.

Blinking away the tears you remember all of your guests. Turning you address the room.

“My friends, let me reintroduce you to my ward, David. He has been serving in the Royal Navy and has just returned to us,” your hand settles on his arm, fingers digging into the muscle below his sleeve.

Nodding to the room David settled his other hand on yours. That is when he shifts his head enough to find Simon and John standing together, staring daggers at him. He gifts them with a saccharine grin. They scowl all the harder.

The instant you let go of his arm they bully David into the hall and further into the study.

“When I sent you to war I did not expect you to return a captain,” John flicked at the brass on David’s chest.

“I didn’t expect you to still be holding tighter to your lover than your wife,” David eyed Simon before dropping his eyes back to John. “She never did forgive you, did she?”

David had gotten taller than he realized. Simon had towered over him as a child, now he looked down to make eye contact with the man.

“We’ll make this fast. Are you the duchess’ paramore?”

Recoiling as if he had been shot, David stared at the two men agog.

“This is the longest I have been on land since I left to fulfill my commission and you are asking if I am bedding the woman who I view as a mother?” Disgust dripped off every word. “What in the nine hells led you to that conclusion?”

John and Simon share a look.

“There is a report that the duchess took a lover. A man of large stature who has not been seen in polite society before,” John explains, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Smirking, David can’t help the rush of pride that fills his chest. You were still holding your own.

“Must burn you up inside, both of you, that she continues to hold you at bay,” David gloated.

“And how would you know that so recently returned to land?” Simon snapped at him.

“It’s clear from this conversation.” David gestures between them, “You waited too long to offer her love and she found the idea of your bitter fruit repugnant, didn’t she?”

The sour look on their faces had David folding in half laughing.

“And now she has taken a lover and you mistook me for her paramore,” David clutched at his stomach as the laughter continued. “Ah, this is such a better reunion than I had hoped for.”

“This is not a laughing matter, boy,” John chastised him.

Standing tall David wiped the tears that had leaked from his eyes.

“On the contrary I find this to be the funniest thing I have heard in nearly a year. When the duchess brought me into your home as a child she did so to fill the void you left her with. Had you loved her, any of you or your lovers, she would not have taken me in to fill that hole. But more’s the loss for you. Now when you can finally see the gem you threw away, I hope it burns.”

David threw open the door of the study. He left behind him two men who would forever regret not seeing the gem in their midst. Rejoining you in the party he answered your questioning look with a smile and a shake of his head.

When at last all the guests are tucked into their carriages and heading for home you pull David into your sitting room and lock the door. It is here you are able to take his face between your hands and study him like a vicar does the bible. Seated on the settee, he lets you examine him and ensure for yourself that he is well.

“You scared me, David. I thought you were dead. No one could confirm if you were alive or dead for so long I went into mourning for you.”

The thought of you wearing black for him tugged at his heart.

“We were pulled into a series of secret missions, our still being alive was not reported anywhere. I doubt even your husband would have been able to find the information on us if he had asked,” David bumped your forehead with his own.

Letting his face go with a laugh he can finally appreciate the fact you are more beautiful than when he took to the sea. It’s no wonder there are rumors of you taking a lover.

“Is it true you have taken a paramore?” David leans back into the seat.

His eyes go wide as you squirm slightly. He sits straight again and stares at you as you grab a shawl left within reach.

“Mum?”

“It is not that simple, David,” you hedge.

“I am a smart man, you made sure of that. Now tell me, please,” he took one of your hands between his.

Heaving a great sigh you look at the man your son had become.

“After John signed you away to death I nearly perished. My heart had been broken and I knew deep in my soul you would not return to me.” Curling your fingers around his you look at them as you continue, “The crown asked that I help host a collection of the Austrian aristocracy. The task gave me something to focus on. It was no more than something to fill my time until the fourth set of visitors. I meet one Lukas König, a lord.”

Your words peter out as your shifting and squirming increase.

“Go on,” David encourages.

“It did not begin as it has progressed. He makes me laugh and listens and values my opinion,” you speak as if pleading your case before a judge.

You look up at him, searching for something. He must not provide the answer you are looking for because you tuck your chin to your chest again.

“Mum,” David frees one hand to lift your chin to see your tear-stained eyes, “What do you need from me to be free of this prison? A divorce? I know men close to the Archbishop and am willing to call in all my favors to see you happy.”

Tears begin to stream down your cheeks, so different from the ones earlier squeezed from his eyes by laughter.

“You would do that for me?” The breaks in your voice hurt him deeply.

“For the woman that saved me time and again? For you who became my mother when you did not need to? I would do anything for you, including delivering you to Austria myself.”

“David, my son, I think I will take you up on that offer.”

Before he heads back to the sea, David will see you to the arms of a man who loves you. He will know you are safe and when he returns to you he expects to have at least one sibling. He keeps that thought tucked behind his smile.

Masterlist

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #dukedom au #noona inspired this #konig x you #konig x reader #lostintransist writing #x reader #poly 141 #angsty au #but it ends happy

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revasserium · 1 year ago

Text

death before decaf

opla!zoro; 10,414 words; coffee shop/college!au, vague enemies to lovers, fencer!zoro, sports medicine!major reader, slightly ooc zoro (he's a bit more talkative), fluff and flirting, bff!robin, zoro makes the first move, zoro calling reader "princess", mutual pining, both reader and zoro are dumbasses, making out in locker rooms

summary: sanji and nami bet on how long it'll take you and zoro to finally crack over your caffeine-related discourse; or -- that one coffee!shop zoro au that literally no one asked for.

a/n: i keep on saying "this is the longest fic i've written to date" but this really is the longest fic i've written to date. and no, this will not be the only time zoro calls reader "princess" in one of my fics. trust.

one.

“How long did you say?”

“Two weeks, max.”

“Nah… you think?”

“Probably closer to a week. Week and a half.”

Sanji stubs out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe before tossing the smoking nub into the bin, casting Nami a disbelieving look.

“They’ve been going on like this for like three months… and you think they’re gonna crack in the next week and a half? Nah, fam — I call bullshit.”

Nami shrugs, smirking, “Your funeral.”

Sanji scoffs as Nami pushes through the swinging double doors into the main body of the cafe, hitching a smile onto her face as she greets the customers already lined up in front of the counter.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters to himself, dusting his hands off on his apron before pushing in after her, putting on his best customer-service smile.

“Mornin’ folks! Welcome to the Straw Hats Cafe, where the coffee’s hot but the people are hotter — what can I get started for you, sweetheart?” he grins as he shoots you a wink and you flash him your best Colgate smile.

“Can I get a decaf latte with —”

“Oat milk, two pumps of caramel, and whipped cream on top? Oh — and a sprinkle of cinnamon cause you can’t have a fall latte without cinnamon, right?” Sanji finishes for you.

You nod, your cheeks flushed a bright, wind-kissed pink from the cold outside.

Behind you, a green-haired boy in a tight-fitting tee and no jacket scoffs under his breath, shaking his head.

“Yep! You know me so well,” you say, giggling and making a point to speak just a bit louder.

“Course I do, darlin’. It’s what I get paid for,” Sanji jots down your order and pushes it to the side where Nami’s already halfway done with making your drink.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite mosshead jock — lemme guess, double espresso, no sugar, no nothin’, right?” Sanji punches in the order just as Zoro makes his way up to the counter, his eyes narrowed.

“Yeah.”

Sanji grins, hiking an eyebrow, “Talkative as always, I see. Alright — that’d be —”

Zoro wordlessly slides a full punch card onto the counter and Sanji pauses.

“Ah — pardon me, I do believe that’s your free drink! You sure you wanna use it on an espresso? Maybe… you wanna try one of our seasonal specials? The maple spice latte’s one of our best —”

Zoro scoffs again, “I’m good. I like my coffee real, thanks.”

Down passed the pastries, you roll your eyes, making an exaggerated face as Nami hands you your drink with a grin.

“Y’know, if you guys just made out I feel like it would fix a lot of this unresolved tension,” she says, even as you nearly choke on your drink.

You’re still coughing when Zoro joins you by the finished drinks counter.

“I’d rather lose an eye than make out with someone who drinks decaf.”

Nami sighs, shooting you a meaningful look as she slides the double espresso toward Zoro.

You wipe your lips with a napkin before leveling him with a glare.

“Well I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than make out with someone who never grew out of his middle school emo-phase.”

“At least I don’t try to use sugar to fill the gaping hole in your life where a real personality should be.”

“At least I don’t make that gaping hole my entire personality.”

“Princess.”

“Edgelord.”

You turn resolutely away from Zoro and smile back at Nami and Sanji, both stealing glances at the pair of you even as they continue to handle the Monday morning rush.

“Thank you guys — I’m gonna be late for class.

Zoro tsks, taking a sip of his espresso.

“I’m gonna be late for practice.”

You huff, pivoting away from him towards the door, purposefully letting it swing shut behind you; Zoro swears as it almost makes him spill his coffee.

Back in the coffee shop, Sanji finishes another order just as Nami washes off her hands to take over at the cashier.

“One and a half weeks?” Sanji asks as he rolls up his sleeves and grabs a few metal cups for steamed milk.

“Yep,” Nami replies, shooting another look out the glass door where they can both still see your’s and Zoro’s silhouettes as you head towards the university campus, “Just about.”

“Alright then, you’re on.”

Nami’s smirk only grows, “Like I said — your funeral.”

two.

You’re fuming all the way to your first morning class — Bio-Organic Chemistry — that you don’t notice your friend Robin until she’s standing right next to you.

“Are you mad at your fencer-boy again?”

You roll your eyes, huffing out a breath, “He’s not my fencer-boy, and no. I’m not mad.”

Robin grins, “Your tone says different.”

You cast her a reproachful look, “I just… bumped into him at the coffee shop again.”

“Ah,” Robin says, her voice saturated with understanding.

You groan, “He just… pisses me off so much! Like, why’s he care how much sugar I put in my drinks or if I drink decaf? He’s just a muscle-head loser who thinks drinking espresso shots makes him somehow more manly or something. Ugh.”

Robin’s grin is amused when you turn to chance her a glance.

“Then… why do you care how he takes his coffee?” Her question is light, but you’ve known her for long enough to know when she’s teasing.

“I didn’t! At least… not until he made fun of my drink first. I mean, who does that anymore? We’re in college! Like, grow up!”

“Mm,” Robin hums, schooling her expression into one of careful consideration and marked compassion, “and of course, you’re just engaging in his… childish antics because he started it first, right?”

You sigh, cupping your very sugary latte between your palms as you both duck into the main lecture building, teaming with students shedding scarves and jackets, shaking off the late autumn chill.

“I know, I know it’s stupid but… he just… pisses me off so much!”

Robin chuckles, her smile distinctly sphinx-like as you press your lips into a pout.

“Well, we can talk about it after morning lecture, hm?”

You sigh and nod, waving her off as she heads down the hallway towards her Ancient Worlds class and you head upstairs for the sciences.

You spend the whole lecture in a mood and by the time you’re excused, your temples have started to throb.

But true to her word, you find Robin waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, a thick leather-bound book clutched to her chest. You give her a questioning look.

“Just some light reading,” she says. You roll your eyes.

“Just say you’re a gigantic nerd and go.”

At this Robin laughs, falling into step next to you as you both start to make your way towards the dining commons.

“Have I ever denied that I was?”

You let out a noncommittal grunt.

Luckily, the commons isn‘t as crowded as it usually is and you both quickly find a seat.

“So,” Robin says as she slides into the seat next to you, propping up her chin on the heel of her hand. There’s a low, lilting tone to her voice that tells you there’s no getting out of it this time.

You sigh again, pursing your lips, staring down at your açaí bowl.

“So what?”

“Tell me about him.”

You scoff, “Not really much to tell — he’s… one of the fencers on the national team. So obviously, he’s got his own head shoved so far up his ass he can probably watch his own lunch dige—“

“So he’s quite good at fencing then.” Robin keeps her voice neutral, taking a contemplative bite of a banana.

“I guess — I mean we’re the top feeder school for the Olympic team, aren’t we?” You jab your spoon into the yogurt, nearly splattering Robin’s new book. She gently tucks it into her bag and motions for you to continue.

“I dunno, there’s not much to tell after that… he’s an arrogant jock who judges people by how they take their coffee,” and at this, you shove a large spoonful of yogurt and açaí into your mouth, glaring at nothing in particular.

“Doesn’t your practical applications class look after the fencing team?”

Again, you grunt, sinking a bit further into your seat at the thought.

“Yeah, I’ve been dreading that all morning, and the class isn’t till Wednesday.”

Robin’s smile is almost too academic as she carefully finishes her banana and gets started on an egg salad sandwich.

“It can’t be that bad, can it?”

You sniff, swallowing another huge mouthful of yogurt.

“It can,” you say, grimacing, “You should see the number of times I’ve had to hold back from dislocating his shoulder on purpose.”

Robin laughs her tinkling, all-knowing laugh, “Every day, I wake up glad to be on your whitelist.”

Your lips twitch into a reluctant grin.

“I’d be nicer too if I were as tall and pretty as you are. But since I’m not one of god’s strongest soldiers, I’ve gotta find other ways of defending myself, y’know?”

“I’m not sure what you do can be called ‘self-defense’ in a court of law but…” she smiles, “You shouldn’t sell yourself short either.”

You cast her a deadpan look, “But I am short. It’s like where 90% of my rage and spite come from.”

Robin grins, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You make a rather childish face, but a comfortable warmth spreads from the center of your chest out towards all your extremities at Robin’s words. She cocks her head and continues.

“Plus… I’ve a creeping suspicion that your fencer-boy would agree that you’re prettier than you think.”

You freeze mid-swallow on your last spoonful of yogurt, eyes wide.

“Wait — what?”

Robin sighs, looking at you as if studying a particularly interesting monolith carved with all her favorite dead languages. You sit back, crossing your arms, feeling raw beneath her inquisitive gaze.

“You can’t still think that this little… feud you two have is purely based on a difference in coffee preference, can you?”

You realize you’re chewing on your bottom lip and force yourself to stop.

“I — I don’t know how it can be anything else though…” but even to your own ears, you sound distinctly unconvinced. Robin cocks her head.

“Think about it — when we were all little kids and running around on playground, which girls would get their pigtails pulled the most?”

Your frown deepens, “But we’re not kids anymore and this isn’t a play —“

“Yes, I know. Just humor me for a moment.”

You squirm in your seat, your heart thudding erratically in your rib cage, making you feel strangely breathless.

“It was… always the girls that the boys had a crush on,” you answer, your voice growing smaller with each word as the realization seeps into your skin like sunlight. And suddenly, it's too hot. The thought that Zoro might be doing this because he likes you isn’t something that’s crossed your mind. Or rather, it isn’t a thought you’d allowed to cross your mind.

“You know, boys aren’t technically considered ‘men’ until they’re in their mid-thirties,” Robin says, conversational and satisfied to have driven the point home to you. She leans back even as you reach up to press your face into the palms of your hands.

“But…” you try to grasp for some thread of logic that might be able to refute Robin’s claim but come up empty. She’s always been too smart for her own good. And yours.

When you finally lift your head again, it’s to find Robin still watching you, an oddly indulgent smile on her lips.

“C’mon,” she says, gathering her things, “don’t want you to be late for your next lecture.”

She has the audacity to wink as you hurriedly grab your stuff as well.

“Shut up,” you say, bumping her lightly with your elbow as you walk passed her, cheeks darkening with every step. Your next lecture, you both know, is the Nutrition of Sports — which is one of the few actual classes that you and Zoro actually share.

“Have fun in class!” Robin calls as you split ways outside the dining commons. You consider flipping her off but decide against it and opt to stick out your tongue at her instead.

Robin shakes her head, laughing quietly to herself. Really, she thinks, this is just starting to get interesting.

three.

You walk into Nutrition of Sports fully prepared to see Zoro slouched in his usual seat at the back of the class — except, he’s not there. You blink; he’s always been there, always early despite what others might assume of his punctuality. And yet.

“Lookin’ for me, Princess?”

You jump as you hear Zoro’s voice behind you, dangerously close to your ear. Jerking around, you find him smirking, arms crossed as he stares at you.

“N-no.”

“Tch.” He saunters into the room, his arm barely grazing yours as he drops into his seat, leaning back with a sort of damnable, feline grace, doing nothing to hide a huge, lethargic yawn. When he makes a show of stretching his arms over his head, you pause as you notice the way he winces, favoring his left side over his right.

You narrow your eyes.

“You’d be a shit poker player,” he says, grinning as he turns his eyes back towards you, catching you staring before you flush a deep purple and stomp towards your own seat, just one row ahead of him.

You noisily start setting up your supplies — an endless parade of jelly pens and perfectly coordinated sticky notes in aesthetically pleasing colors — pretending like you hadn’t heard him.

Thankfully, the professor hurries in soon after as the rest of the students file in.

Halfway through the lecture, you’re stifling the third yawn of the hour as you feel a small, crumpled something hit the back of your neck. You jerk around to find Zoro ducking behind his arms even as you spot the small wad of paper that he’d obviously just tossed at you.

You bend down to pick it up, only to find a note scribbled in slanted, uneven handwriting —

Sugar crash? Ha. Serves you right.

You nearly whip around but the professor clicks another slide and drones on. You huff, flipping the paper over to scribble on the back —

What happened to your arm?

You surreptitiously toss the note back to him and grin to yourself as you hear him sputtering behind you. The professor glances towards you. You flash him a winning smile as you continue to jot down notes; behind you, you hear the distinct sounds of Zoro scrambling to appear as if he’s paying attention.

The rest of the lecture goes by uninterrupted, though by the end, you swear that your hackles are raised from the way Zoro’s been staring at the back of your neck the entire time.

“What?” you ask, whipping around to face him.

Zoro, for his part, has the decency to look sheepish as he clears his throat and sighs, leaning back.

“There’s nothing wrong with my arm,” he says as he looks away, a slight darkness dusting the high of his cheeks. It’s not the first time you notice the bone-chiseled features of his face — like some gorgeous, careless god, rendered by the loving hands of a besotted Renaissance artist and preserved for the world to see — the way a constellation of freckles scatter across the bridge of his nose, the way his jaw is sharp enough to sting the imagination.

“Right. Fine. Sorry I asked.” You shove your notes and pens back into your bag, rolling your eyes as you shoulder your tote, “And… you’d be a shit poker player too.”

And with that, you turn and leave the room without a single backward glance.

You’re gone so quick that you don’t see the way Zoro stares after you, his own eyes narrowed into slits. You don’t see the way he frowns as one of his teammates nudges him with an elbow, reminding him that afternoon practice starts in 15 minutes.

four.

Tuesday night finds you slumped over a stack of books on the 3rd floor of the library, your entire body feeling odd and boneless. Hundreds of tiny flashcards are scattered across the top of the desk, each filled with a system you have to memorize before your test on Friday for your O-Chem course, when suddenly, a white paper cup appears in your field of vision, plopping onto the tiny slip of table still available between all your study materials.

“Hm?” you jerk up, blinking blearily up at a vaguely familiar green-haired figure even as he crosses his arms and sighs.

“There. Some real coffee. Looked like you need it,” Zoro says, glancing away the moment your eyes come into focus.

You stare at him for a solid ten seconds before looking back down at the cheap, watered-down cup of unsweetened coffee on the table before you.

Ew, you want to say, but somehow, “Thanks,” is what comes out of your mouth.

You reach for the cup, wincing slightly as you jerk your fingers back from the scalding exterior of the thin paper cup.

Zoro immediately leans down, snatching the cup from the table to blow on the surface. You watch him with wide, wondering eyes. It takes him a second to catch himself before he blushes a deep shade of maroon and clears his throat, quickly setting the cup back down on your desk, tucking both his hands into his pockets, looking anywhere but directly at you.

“It’s — careful — I mean — it’s from the vending machine downstairs so it’s not as fancy as the stuff we get from the coffee shop —”

Maybe it’s because you’re truly too tired, or maybe because Robin’s been right since day one but — you reach for the cup, carefully cradling it between your palms as you take a tentative sip and grimace at the watery, bitter aftertaste.

“Gross,” you say, though without any malice, glancing up at him. Zoro scoffs, dragging out an empty seat across from you, turning it around to straddle the chair, propping both his arms on the back as he looks at you. Your eyes once more catch on the way he’s gentler with his right side.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” you ask again, taking another tentative sip of the truly awful coffee.

Zoro grimaces, “None of your business.”

You sigh, the will to snark back rather feeble as you consider the mountain of vocab you have to memorize before your Friday test.

“Right, sure — keep your secrets,” you drone as you set the paper cup down and nudge it further away from you, “be mysterious for the next —” you check your watch, “eighteen hours before Practical Applications when you’ll have to explain to Coach Mihawk why you've been lying about an obvious injury three weeks before your next —”

“Fuck — okay.”

You pause, looking up from collecting your flash cards.

Zoro digs his fingers into his right shoulder.

“I — I think I pulled it at the tournament last week.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Your tournament was on Thursday.”

Zoro shifts uncomfortably, “And?”

“And it’s now Tuesday.”

Zoro doesn’t answer this time, but you have to actively fight down the urge to throw the no-longer-scalding-but-still-very-hot-coffee at his face. You tell yourself that the only thing stopping you is professionalism and sportsmanship instead of an unwillingness to damage his Michaelangelo-sculpted features.

“It’s been five days!”

Zoro’s expression flatlines, “Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to count.”

You bite back a frustrated scream as you push away from your chair and round the table to stand behind him, not giving him enough time to be bewildered before you press a palm to his right shoulder, already focused on finding the tender spots.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

You run an expert palm over the width of his shoulders, focusing on his right, fingers digging into various muscle groups until he winces.

“Ow.”

You grin as you find a tender patch to the right of his spine, almost beneath his shoulder blade.

“You strained your Rhomboid.”

“Gesundheit.”

You roll your eyes and reach over his back for the cup of coffee. You feel his breath hitch as your front presses full against his back.

“Hold still,” you say, pressing the side of the warm cup to the sore muscle.

Zoro makes a choked moaning noise that he tries to bite off, but not soon enough. It sizzles down your spine to curl at the base of your belly, spreading heat through your body in a way you have no urge to examine at this current point in time.

You hold it there for a minute, and then two, till the coffee’s gone lukewarm.

“Here,” you say, tugging the cup away to offer it to him.

He stares at the cup before glancing up at you.

“Caffeine helps with muscle soreness and pain — it’s probably why you’re so addicted to espresso all the time,” you offer by way of an explanation, even as he opens his mouth to ask. He closes his mouth and takes the coffee, downing half of it in a single gulp.

Then, he sets it down on the table before digging a crumpled packet of sugar out of his pants pocket.

“It’s… probably not as sweet as you usually like it but…” he presses it into the palm of your hand, looking anywhere but at your face, “should help the bitterness.”

And then he’s gone, slouching off towards the elevator bank, leaving you gaping after him with the packet of sugar in your hand, your rapidly cooling coffee, and a mountain of revisions you’ve got no hope of finishing tonight.

five.

Wednesday finds you practically sprinting as you reach your Practical Applications course, clutching at your chest as you burst through the gym doors, gasping for breath. Professor Kureha quirks an inquiring eyebrow at you while Mihawk, the fencing instructor, slates you a sharp, rueful glare.

“— as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” his bright hawk-yellow eyes flash back over the fencing team, “regionals are quickly approaching and we need you in top form. So — warm-ups stretches, everyone. Pair up and get to it. Zoro, up here with me.”

You duck your head and hurry towards your normal spot along the bleachers, slowing as you notice what looks like a cup of coffee from the Straw Hats Cafe occupying the place where you normally sit. You pick up the cup — it’s still hot to the touch.

On the coffee slip is a single word — Princess.

And though it’s in Sanji’s familiar coffee shop scrawl, only one person has ever called you that.

Heat crests up your chest, prickling at your cheeks. You don’t have to taste it to know that it’s your order — your favorite order. Briefly, you wonder if Sanji made Zoro recite the entire thing before agreeing to put it down, or if he’d spared Zoro the pain of having to say the word ‘decaf’ unironically.

And then you wonder if Nami teased him at all, waiting for his own drink on top of yours.

“Chop chop,” Professor Kureha says, grinning too wide as she wanders over, peering at you over her John Lennon shades, “you heard old Hawk-eyes — time to pair up.”

You hurriedly drop your bag and take a quick sip of our drink, letting out a soft groan of appreciation as the caramel-cinnamon goodness seeps into your blood vessels. Some nameless freshman hopeful from the fencing team is your partner for stretches and you patiently walk him through all the major motions, pushing on his back and laughing kindly when he can’t quite reach his toes.

You feel the faint tingle on the back of your neck that tells you someone’s staring, and you privately think that you don’t need three guesses to figure out who it is. But you don’t give Zoro the satisfaction of looking over till you help the blushing freshman finish all his stretches, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, reaching up on tip-toe to ruffle his hair even though he’s got a solid four inches over you.

When finally, you glance over towards where Mihawk is putting Zoro through his paces, it’s to find him flickering through the motions — flashes of silver, lithe, fluid — and you find your breath held captive in your chest by the sight.

You’ve always known Zoro to be a graceful fencer, but grace has nothing on the way he flows from one move to the next, each muscle drawn like a bow-string, each intake of breath timed and perfect. His arms and legs move in tandem and there’s a bewitching rhythm to the way his body breaks and bends. It is beauty and strength, dance and magic — power and promise and the sword-tip’s whish of premonition.

When he finishes, you suck in a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding.

You watch as Mihawk murmurs something to Zoro, who winces, looking chastened before Mihawk waves him away and Zoro sets down his epee, making his way over to you.

You open your mouth, about to make some snarky remark but Zoro reaches over his back with one hand and tugs his shirt off in a single, unbroken motion. You gulp, your voice failing you as your eyes settle on the strong ripple of his muscles as he tosses his shirt aside.

Zoro smirks, “Keep starin’ and I’m gonna have to start charging.”

You rip your eyes away, fire licking up the length of your torso as you reach into your bag for a roll of sports tape.

Zoro slumps down in the seat in front of you as you take stock of his sweat-slicked torso, your eyes still catching on the patch of swollen muscle beneath his shoulder blade. You reach forward and run a thumb along it, careful of the way he hisses.

“A hot-patch is only going to do so much,” you say, frowning as you drop the sports tape to focus on massaging the tender bit of skin.

Zoro groans, his eyes falling half shut as you slowly work at the various knots in his shoulders. Your fingers are slow and deliberate, applying just the right amount of pressure. And more than once, Zoro has to bite back what he’s sure would’ve been an indecent moan before it rolls out of his mouth at the way your soft palms press into the planes of his back, the tenseness of his shoulders.

“Keep moaning like that, I’m gonna have to start charging,” you say, much too close to his ear.

Zoro jerks, even as you pull back, laughing. The sound makes his skin prickle up with goosebumps and he doesn’t want to think about the myriad reasons why.

“I bought you coffee, twice,” he grumbles, cheeks pink, his mind still buzzing from the warmth of your palms.

You hum, your fingers flickering over his skin, pulling away for a second before he feels something wonderful and cool pressing against his sore, aching muscles.

“You’re right… you did buy me coffee twice. Even though the first time was horrible vending machine coffee and I used most of it as a heating pad for your injury.”

Zoro grunts, letting you manhandle him as you gently twist his right arm into an array of different stretches to test his range of mobility.

“Still counts.”

You put down his right arm to test his left. Zoro chooses not to think about the way his body tingles where your hands touch him, and especially not where you’re standing too close, your chest occasionally brushing against his shoulder. He chooses actively not to think about the way he can smell the soft, coconut milk fragrance of your lotion as you lean over him, rambling about doing the proper warm-up and cool-down exercises.

He grins as you reach over mid-sentence to finish your drink and you pause, watching him with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

He shrugs, “Nothin’… just that… seems like you liked your drink.”

Your eyes slingshot from his face to the nearly empty cup in your hands.

“I always like my —”

They widen when you realize that Zoro had in fact ordered a double shot of espresso in your usual drink instead of your normal decaf. And, that you’d been too distracted by him to notice.

“I — it — wh —”

Zoro languidly rises from his seat, grinning, “Thanks for the treatment, Princess. I owe you one — lemme buy you a coffee sometime, yeah?”

You stare after him as he makes his way across the room, back to the rest of the team for proper bouts. You force down another blush as you shove the now-empty coffee cup into the nearest trash can, your heart skidding to the rhythmic squeak of feet shuffling against the floors, the bell-like ting of epee blades, the murmur of the watching crowd.

six.

Thursday morning finds you ill-rested and grumpy as you join Robin in the quad, heading for the Straw Hats Cafe during free period.

“Trouble sleeping?” Robin asks, looking you over with mild concern.

You grunt, adjusting your bag, “Had coffee too late in the day.”

At this, Robin frowns, “But you only drink decaf.”

You grunt again, not looking at her, “Yeah, well.”

Robin blinks for a second before a knowing smile splits her lips, “Ah… so. Fencer-boy’s made his move.”

You round on her, fists clenched, “He has not! He just — he just bought me coffee!”

Robin remains infuriatingly unfazed as she stares at you, “Yes. And to most, that would constitute as ‘making a move’. And here I thought you were a fan of romance novels.”

You turn away from her, huffing even as your cheeks fill with color, “I — I am.”

“So?” she asks.

“So?” you echo, cursing yourself for sounding like a petulant child.

“So…” she continues, patient as always, “he bought you coffee.”

You crinkle your nose, your stomach a roiling mess as the pair of you make your way across the quad and duck into the cafe to Sanji’s bright, welcoming voice, your eyes scanning the queue even though you know that Zoro’s got morning practice. This does not go unnoticed by Robin, though she mercifully elects to not question you about it.

“Yes, he bought me coffee. But instead of decaf, he made it a double-shot.” You try very hard to make this sound like a personal affront, but Robin only dips her head.

“Ah,” she says again, and you feel the urge to run out of the building even as the pair of you shuffle towards the front of the line.

“Hi there, oh! I’ve got a special message for you,” Nami says as you get to the registers, her voice silken with glee as she reaches behind the counter to tug out what looks like a receipt. You glance down at the paper, confused, but she only winks as she moves to ask what Robin would like.

You inch to the side, distracted by this strange turn, your eyes dropping to the slip of paper, upon which is scribbled — Good luck on test tomorrow. Evening bout. Gym.

You stare at the cryptic message for a full minute before Robin ushers you toward the counter where Sanji is pumping out drinks, making girls blush as he winks at them each in turn.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite Decaf Princess — though… seems like your tastes are a-changin’ these days,” Sanji says, grinning wide as you get to the counter, pushing a steaming cup towards you. You frown at the drink — cinnamon sprinkled atop a perfectly placed dollop of whipped cream, underneath which you’re sure is your favorite drink order. You look back up at Sanji.

“A certain mosshead jock put in an advanced order for you — said to give you an extra shot of espresso for the test you’ve got tomorrow.”

You sputter as Robin laughs beside you, thanking Sanji for her own Long Black.

“You know, you could just be normal and call it an Americano,” you say as the pair of you make your way out of the cafe. Robin grins, sipping at her drink.

“I could… but where’s the fun in that?” she slates you a glance, “More importantly, are you going?”

“To what?” you ask, not meaning to sound so defensive, but you can’t help it, and even as Robin sighs, you know that it’s useless.

“To the bout,” she says, unruffled.

You hunch into your upturned collar and your thick, layered scarf, cradling your drink, the sweet scent of syrup and cinnamon wafting up to tickle your nose. You blush at the thought of Zoro’s voice, full of morning gravel, shy as he lists out all the extremities you like in your coffee order.

“Maybe. I mean… why not, right?”

Robin nods, humming as she takes another long drink, “Mhm — why not indeed.”

You nudge her; she nudges you back. You both laugh as a church bell rings out from across the quad, sending a flock of birds scattering through the misty, morning air.

seven.

Friday evening finds you pushing through the wide gym doors, pressing your hands over the skirt you’d painstakingly picked out, chewing on your bottom lip.

You silently curse at Robin for pulling out last minute, begging off to some Ancient Languages focus group.

“I bet it’s not even real…” you mutter to yourself as you slip into the front row of the bleachers, looking for an empty seat. You somehow manage to look up just as Zoro is about to go on, his mask under one arm, his blade in the other.

You raise your hand in a half wave before catching yourself and shoving it back down, scowling as Zoro’s lips pull into a lopsided grin. You drop into a seat just as Zoro tugs his helmet on and stretches his arms. You tense as you see the slight wince he twitches away as he tests the weight of his blade.

But you needn’t have worried — the bout is quick and decisive, Zoro scoring one point after another, his blade flashing through the air, bright as fish scales. And before you know it, the buzzer sounds, marking his victory. You leap to your feet, cheering with the rest of the crowd as Zoro tugs off his mask and pumps his fists.

You catch his eye and for a moment, the wild rumble of the screaming crowd fades to a dull, thumping baseline. He jerks his head towards the lockers and you nod, swallowing hard as you duck through the still-cheering crowd towards the back of the gym.

When you get there, it’s to find him methodically polishing his blade, his mask set to the side, his thick jacket pulled down to pool around his waist, the rest of his protective wear scattered in heaps on the ground around him. You have half a mind to scold him for being so careless with what you know is expensive gear but you can’t keep yourself from staring at the wide planes of back, curving up to his shoulders, the thick cords of muscle that flex up either side of his neck.

He looks up as you shuffle in, your skirt suddenly feeling a bit too short, too risque for the near-winter weather outside.

You clear your throat and cast your eyes about the empty lockers. You don’t miss the way his gaze skates up your bare legs, pausing at the place where your skirt brushes the top of your thighs.

“Uhm — how’s your shoulder?” your voice sounds too high, echoing strangely along the white-tiled walls.

Zoro licks his lips and puts down his blade, rolling his right shoulder.

“Better but… still not great. Mihawk’s making me to do PT.”

You nod, letting out a soft laugh, “I’m glad. You’d never do it otherwise.”

He scoffs, “You know what that means though, right?” There’s a raw, rolling tension beneath his words, a sort of thickened expectation as he stares at you with dark, meaningful eyes.

You purse your lips, your stomach tightening.

“I —”

Zoro gets to his feet, and you barely register the soft clatter of his blade as it rolls to the side on the bench. He closes the space between you in three quick steps and you find yourself marveling at his speed — wondering vaguely if this is how all his opponents feel when he slips forward, the tip of his blade digging into their shoulder or stomach or the bend of their hip.

“Means we’re stuck with each other. At least till you fix me for regionals in two weeks.”

Your back meets the icy chill of the locker doors and the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them —

“Bold of you to assume that you’re fixable in two weeks.”

Zoro quirks an eyebrow, even as you resist the urge to clap your hands to your mouth, cursing inwardly at whatever the hell made you say that out loud. Your heart thuds an insistent drumbeat inside your chest as Zoro leans casually against the lockers next to you. Like this, you can feel the heat of his skin, the rhythm of his long breaths as he looks you over with sharp, curious eyes.

You think you can taste the sweet, tepid weight of his breath. It smells faintly of coffee and mint and synthetically flavored protein bars.

“Then…” he drawls, propping an arm against the locker door right next to your face, his eyes flickering from your lips up to your eyes and back down again. Your gaze is unabashedly caught on the shape of his mouth, but when you finally force yourself to look up at his eyes, it’s to find them warm and amused.

“How long do you think it’ll take?”

You gulp, “To fix your shoulder?”

Zoro shrugs, “That and… whatever else you think needs to be fixed.”

You purse your lips, an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies erupting in your stomach at his words.

“Who knows? Might take three weeks… might take — forever —” your words cut off as he leans in to graze his lips against yours. And you’re momentarily caught between delight and bewilderment that you’re right — they do taste of coffee and mint and salt — but that they also taste of a dull, throbbing hunger as he leans in to kiss you proper. And then, the blooming realization that you’re just as desperate as he is, pushing in, fingers scrabbling against the skin of his chest as his skim along the sides of your ribs, the dip of your waist.

He kisses you so deep and so long that you’re actually gasping when he finally pulls away to suck a stinging hickey into the smooth of your collarbone, his fingers digging grooves into your thighs as he hoists you up to press you against the cold, hard metal of the lockers.

You let out a clipped moan at the same time he does, and his right arm twitches, though he makes no move to let you go.

Distantly, your mind registers the fact that he’s still technically injured, but the part of you that’s hungry and clawing at the base of your stomach with a fierce, immutable need refuses to listen to reason. It takes more effort than it logically should’ve done to extricate yourself from his grasp, to push him away despite his disgruntled sigh as he stumbles back and stares at you with dark, dangerous eyes.

“What —”

“Fuck —” you hiss, even as you let your head fall back against the lockers, the dull thunk pulling a wolfish grin to his lips.

“Yeah, well —”

“Wait — no —”

Zoro cocks his head, “No?”

You reach forward to tug him back, to kiss him as deeply and desperately as you dare, but you pull away before he can properly sink into the kiss and you pin him with a look.

“We — your shoulder —”

“Fuck my shoulder —”

You shake your head, almost delusional with the heat and want and the insanity of it all, “No! We can’t! We — we’ve gotta take care of it first!”

Zoro rolls his eyes, “It’ll get better if we just leave it alone —”

You shake your head again, laughing as he presses back in, slower this time, grazing his knuckles along the skin of your jaw, tilting you back towards him.

“It won’t,” you say, softly, letting him run a thumb along your lips, “but… if you let me take care of it. It will heal faster…” you trail off, letting the implications simmer beneath the surface of all your unsaid words, and it only takes a second for Zoro to consider before he lowers you to the floor and starts haphazardly gathering up his things.

You drag a hand across your lips, watching him.

“So…” you feel yourself blush as you muster up the words but Zoro scoffs, already impatient as he shoves his stuff into one of the larger lockers and slams the door.

“Mine. It’s closer.”

eight.

His, is — in fact — much closer than you’d thought. Only two blocks from the campus, and in one of the most expensive dorm buildings. You wonder how much he must be paying for it before you realize that he's on a sports scholarship, but you can’t even bring yourself to be bitter as he lets you into his spacious dorm, the giant living room scattered with game consoles and opened cereal boxes, leading to a short hallway that opens into his bedroom.

It’s cleaner than you’d imagined, with a set of light green linens drawn neatly over a full-sized bed, and two sets of pillows.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says, sweeping some energy bar wrappers into the trash from his desk as he tosses down his duffle bag.

You shake your head, looking around, your eyes catching on the thick volumes of fencing books, the endless stacks of sports magazines, the huge set of free weights on a rack in the corner by the closet.

“Uh… do you want a drink?” he asks, suddenly awkward as he scratches at the back of his head.

You turn towards him with a grin, “No. But I do want you to take off your shirt.”

Zoro blinks before he smiles and moves towards the bed, tugging off his shirt and tossing it to the side. You fight the urge to roll your eyes as he leans back on the bed, his perfectly tanned stomach flexing beneath the slanted desk-light as he watches you through lazily hooded eyes.

“On your stomach,” you say, your voice light and surgical as you open your own bag and tug out a tub of medicated massage cream.

Zoro stares for a second before the smile slips off his face to be replaced by a dull, knowing scowl. Still, he doesn’t argue as he flips onto his stomach and sighs, pillowing his cheek on his arms as he pouts at the wall.

“Like I told you — we need to take care of your shoulder first. Regionals are in two weeks. We can’t have you performing like you did tonight.”

Zoro attempts a glare over his shoulder as you carefully maneuver over his back and straddle his hips, warming your palms with the massage cream before setting to work.

“I still won.”

His voice is tight and petulant. You nod, sighing as you work your thumbs into the dip beneath his shoulder blade where you know he’s still sore. He hisses, jerking away from you. You pin him in place with your free arm and continue to roll your thumb across the bundle of muscle.

Two minutes in, you press a bit harder and he lets out a pitched whine that makes you pause in your ministrations.

“F-fuck —” he buries his face in his pillow, thumping a fist against his bed as you laugh and continue the massage, though taking care to be a bit more careful around his injury.

Nearly twenty minutes later, you climb off the bed and wipe your hands. Zoro groans, shifting to watch you with half-lidded eyes and color-stained cheeks.

“I know,” you say, holding up your hands, “that really hurt but you feel much better now, right?”

Zoro grins, sleepy as he blinks slowly up at you, “Yeah. Whatever.”

And then, a long moment later —

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, flipping onto his side and shifting on the bed as if to make room for you, “stay.”

You freeze, almost unwilling to believe your own ears as you finish putting away your supplies. You glance at him with tight lips and hopeful eyes.

There’s a tiny grin threatening the corners of his lips as he sighs, making a show of yawning and stretching.

“It’s late… and I don’t really feel like walking you back.”

You fold your arms, “I could just call campus security to escort me.”

Zoro stills for a second but a moment later, he casts his eyes up at the ceiling, “Yeah… you could…”

You make no move to leave.

“But you still owe me coffee in the morning,” he says.

You frown, “Wait, what? How’s that?”

He glances at you, “I’ve bought you coffee twice.”

“Yeah, but I just gave you a free 30-minute medical massage treatment for your shoulder.”

“You would’ve had to do it anyway on Wednesday in Practical Applications.”

You narrow your eyes, “Professor Kureha might not have assigned me to you.”

At this, Zoro scoffs, “Yeah right. You’re the best, and so am I.”

“S-she might not have!” you say, though there’s no real conviction in your voice. You both know that he’s right.

“Yeah. Whatever.” He turns away from you, making as if to go to sleep.

You glare at his back, dropping your bag with a loud thump.

“If anything, you owe me coffee now. That massage was worth at least two coffees, if not more.” You plop down on the edge of his bed, scowling at the opposite wall.

Zoro is quiet for a beat too long and you chance a glance at him, only to find him peering you with a strangely indulgent look in his eyes. You blush, tearing your eyes away.

“How’s breakfast?” he asks, his voice once again going soft. Your skin prickles with heat.

“What about breakfast?”

“Coffee and breakfast. That enough to pay for the massage?”

You can’t help the smile that threatens to break across your lips as you glance back at him and catch his eyes.

“I…. guess.”

Zoro chuckles, the sound so low in his throat that it makes you shiver. Quick as anything, he reaches over to pull you down towards him, easily looping an arm around your middle and flipping you both so that you’re pinned beneath him. You barely have time to gasp before you find his lips on yours once more, slow and sweet and shockingly steady.

You kiss him back, letting him push you gently into the crumpled linens of his bed. His fingers are light as he slowly works your skirt down your legs, reaching behind your torso to loosen your bra and tug your shirt from you in a single, smooth motion.

You shiver beneath him and he pulls back to stare. You search his eyes, feeling suddenly uncertain.

“God, you’re gorgeous…”

Heat crests into your cheeks as you try to look away. But he tugs you back with his thumb and steals another kiss.

“It’s late…” he says, pulling away to press your foreheads.

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah, I know…”

“Let’s sleep in tomorrow.”

You laugh, shifting as he curls his body around you, tugging you easily against his chest and pulling the covers over you both. A moment later, the lights click off and you’re both thrown into darkness. You let yourself relax into his arms, wondering just how you’re going to explain this to Robin tomorrow.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Zoro’s voice murmurs into the nape of your neck.

You grin, nodding as you press further back into him and he grazes a soft kiss along your skin.

“That kinda thinking needs breakfast and coffee first,” you say, to which Zoro chuckles, nodding as he lets you hook your ankles between his, your bodies settling against each other, warm and perfect, the curves and bends meeting like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally, finally finding each other at last.

You don’t have long enough to ponder on the light, musk-salt-sweet of his skin or the way you can feel his heartbeat as it threads along your spine or the way that somehow, the shape of him doesn’t feel foreign against the shape of you, before you’re already falling asleep. And to him, he doesn’t have time to ponder the lovely silk of your hair, just as soft as he’d always imagined, or the way your waist feels perfect beneath his hands, or how he’s somehow he’s always known the rhythm of your breaths before he too is falling into the warm embrace of a dark, sweet, restful sleep as well.

nine.

Saturday morning finds you both tangled in each other, the winter sun bright and cold as it slates through the slits of Zoro’s bedroom window. He wakes up first, shifting to stretch until he feels the weight of you beside him. And then suddenly, he's somehow achingly awake and aware of his body against yours, of your paced breaths and his own rapidly increasing heartbeat. For one bewildering moment, he can’t quite remember what brought him here, and then the scenes from the night before — the bout, the lockers, the kiss — the way you’d tasted, how utterly irresistible you’d been, blushing in the dim light of his room, your skillful fingers digging into his tender, swollen flesh — his own rash promise of breakfast and coffee — it all comes rushing back. Zoro lets out a long breath and leans in to brush his lips along your forehead.

You let out a light groan as you shift in his arms, and when you turn, it’s to find him watching you.

“Oh… hey.”

Your voice is quiet, almost shy as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, and he finds himself more endeared than he has words to say.

He clears his throat.

“Morning. Uh… sleep well?”

You laugh, the warmth of your expelled breath ghosting across his clavicle in a way that makes him shiver.

“Mhm… pretty well… and you?”

Zoro clears his throat, “Yeah. Guess it wasn’t… bad.”

He resists the urge to roll away, if only because your cheek is still pillowed on his arm, and he can’t bring himself to pull away from you just yet. So instead, he drops his nose into your hair and takes in the milky scent of your coconut lotion. Tiny, pin-pricks of desire shoot through him, teasing goosebumps into the skin of his back and arms, but he forces himself to lie still as you snuggle against his chest with a contented sigh.

“So… breakfast and coffee?”

Zoro grunts, “Hn. I did promise.”

You smile, letting yourself sink into the thick and syrup of his sleep-deepened voice, his moss-green hair even more tousled than it normally is as he adjusts his head on his pillow.

“Hey,” you say, breathless as you look up at him beneath the sweep of your lashes, your eyes so big and dark and wide Zoro wonders if they might swallow him whole.

“Hey,” he answers, just as breathless, uncertainty creeping up the center of his chest as he stares down at you, lying in the glistening, mercurial light, the bend of your shoulder kissed by the morning sun, the shape of you limned in silver and gold.

You lean up to kiss him before he has the chance to second-guess himself, and though he was the more bold, self-assured one last night, you press in against him this morning, the languid sweep of your tongue along his lips making him groan, helpless, against you. He tastes the satisfied grin at the corner of your mouth as he opens his own, his mind frizzing into gorgeous, white static as you spend what feels like hours exploring the sweet depths of each other's mouths — all tongue and teeth and kiss-swollen lips.

When finally you pull apart, he is more breathless than he’d planned for, his body too warm for his liking, an urgent, pulsing something burning at the base of his stomach as he fights the urge to shove you back and sink his teeth into your skin, to hear you hiss, to make you gasp, to leave the indent of his fingers along the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, to mark you as his in every way he knows how.

But instead, he places a lingering kiss on your cheek and sits up, slowly stretching his arms.

“Careful…” you warn, pushing yourself up as well, watching him, “how’s it feel?”

Zoro tests his right side, drawing his arm up and then to the side, and then pulling it across his torso.

“Whoa… so much better.”

You smile, satisfied.

Zoro chuckles, “Guess I really do owe you breakfast. C’mon.”

He slips out of bed, tugging open a drawer to toss you a thick sweater and a pair of sweatpants. For himself, he only tugs on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, even as you frown, squinting at him from where you’re nearly swimming in his clothes.

“You’ll freeze.”

Zoro smirks as he looks you over, reaching over to pull the hood over your mussed tangle of hair, “Nah, I’m fine.”

You pout, jerking open the drawer to pull out a sweater and tossing it at him.

“You have to keep your right side warm so your muscles don’t just seize up again.”

Zoro stares at the sweater in his hand, looking reluctant before you press your lips into an exaggerated pout.

“C’mon… I worked so hard on getting it better last night… please?”

Zoro groans, rolling his eyes as he tugs on the sweater.

“Yeah, yeah — fine. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t wait for you, nor does he extend his hand. But the pair of you walk elbow to elbow, hip against hip down the bright dorm room hallway, into the chilly Saturday morning air.

“Geez, if you’re gonna yell at me to keep warm —” Zoro reaches over to tug on the drawstrings of your sweater, frowning as he notices how much skin he can still see beneath the opening of the hoodie.

You blush, tugging at it as the pair of you make your way across the empty campus quad.

Halfway across the frost-kissed lawn, he wordlessly reaches out to catch your hand in his, tucking your entwined fingers into the depths of his pocket. You bite back a stupid, dopey grin as you duck your head, quickening your pace to keep up, your footsteps crunching in the dew-bitten grass, the freshly raked gravel.

ten.

There’s already a decent line at the Straw Hats Cafe, but when the pair of you walk in hand in hand, both Sanji and Nami pause for a second longer than usual. Sanji’s eyebrows jerk up his forehead while Nami’s lips curl into a much too satisfied grin as she turns back to the humming espresso machines.

You savor in the smell of freshly ground coffee, absently tracing your thumb over the back of Zoro’s hand.

When you both reach the front, Sanji looks between you expectantly.

“Well, well, well — I’d like to say I’m surprised but —” he shrugs, grinning cheekily, “Well then I’d be lying, wouldn’t I?”

Zoro clicks his tongue but you shoot him a sheepish smile, pursing your lips.

“So… the usual then?” Sanji asks, his fingers poised over the register.

“Yep,” Zoro says, curt as ever, though there’s a distinct blush on his cheeks that not even he can write off as anything else.

You nod as well, “Oh, but… I think I’ll try a non-decaf latte this time. Just one shot of espresso though, please and thank you.”

Sanji blinks at you for a second before letting out a startled laugh and nodding, punching in your order.

“Coming right up, sweet cheeks. Right then, that’d be 8.75 for the latte and 5.50 for the double espresso.”

Zoro reaches into his wallet and pulls out a 20, slipping it across the counter. Down the bar, Nami is humming, looking cheerier than you’ve ever seen her this early in the morning as she goes about making your drinks.

Sanji sighs as he shakes his head, handing Zoro his change.

Zoro narrows his eyes but Sanji cuts him off.

“Take it from me, fam. You don’t wanna know.”

You and Zoro share a puzzled look as you both shuffle down to the pick-up counter, where Nami is sliding your finished drinks toward you with a bright, knowing glint to her eyes. Zoro clears his throat and reaches over for a packet of sugar, nonchalantly tipping it into his drink before picking it up to take a sip.

You try not to gape as you grab your own drink, flashing Nami a quick smile before turning to follow Zoro.

He picks a table as far away from the counter as possible, tucked into a corner, nearly invisible to the rest of the shop. When you sit down, he frowns at your chair for a second before reaching out to tug you across the floor till your chair is next to his. He goes back to his drink without a single word.

It’s all you can do to blush and stare at your steaming cup.

“I thought we were getting coffee and breakfast,” you say after a brief moment of silence.

Zoro grunts, “We are. Coffee first.”

You nod, somewhat mollified as you take another sip of your drink. The warmth trickles down your chest to rest somewhere in the center of your stomach, spreading heat throughout your body in waves.

“We could just get a chocolate croissant,” you say, giving Zoro a sidelong look.

Zoro frowns, tapping his finger against the side of his cup, “Dessert isn’t breakfast.”

You scoff, “Says who?”

Zoro’s expression flatlines, “Says me. And I’m payin’ for it.”

You purse your lips, wondering if you should argue more before deciding against it. A few seconds later, Zoro sighs, casting his eyes about the cafe interior.

“We can have a croissant after real breakfast.”

You giggle into your drink, swallowing down the glee fluttering in your stomach, threatening to spill out of your still kiss-chapped lips.

“Kay, whatever you say.”

Zoro rolls his eyes and folds his arms, but his elbow presses against yours and he doesn’t make to move away.

Across the cafe, Nami leans to watch the pair of you, Sanji at her side, looking both stunned and somewhat pained.

“C’mon man, it’s not even been a week!”

Nami grins, rinsing out a few cups and placing them mouth down to dry before pivoting on her heels and holding out an expectant palm. Sanji sighs as Nami’s eyes glitter with mirth and a hard-won glee.

“Right. I think you owe me fifty bucks.”

Sanji narrows his eyes, glancing back at where you and Zoro are tucked into the corner of the cafe.

“Double or nothing on when they’ll have their first fight. I say… not till next week.”

Nami’s eyebrows twitch up. She looks back at where the pair of you are now bickering over where to have breakfast. A smirk teases at her lips.

She puts down her hand, “Alright then… but like I said — it’s your funeral, Sanji.”

Over in the corner, there’s the dull scrape of chair legs as you push yourself away from the table to fold your arms.

“— Belgian waffles are absolutely an acceptable meal for breakfast!”

Zoro rolls his eyes, though there’s still an amused spark behind his eyes.

“Breakfast without eggs ain’t real breakfast. And doesn’t count if it’s smothered in syrup either.”

You make an indignant noise, frowning even as Zoro tugs you back to press a napkin to your upper lip, where there’s a faint line of whipped cream residue.

Sanji backpedals immediately, “Uh — right so, I feel like we need to define what really constitutes a ‘fight’, yeah?”

Nami tuts, shaking her head, “Nope! A bet’s a bet. Now pay up.”

feedback always welcome :) reqs are closed.

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wheeloffortune-design · 7 months ago

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wow i was just served by the worst batista i've ever seen. 1-made the drink with regular milk when i asked for oat milk since i have lactose intolerance, 2- lied about it not being my drink but when i talked to the other guy he made the first literally throw it away; 3- used the straw to shake it so he just put his hand all over the top and made an annoyed face when i asked for another straw; 4-forgot my croissant.

i've worked a lot in food and customer service so i'm super patient usually, but come on, this was dangerous and unhygienic and he didn't have to be a bitch on top of that.

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leniisreallycool · 2 months ago

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Since you're taking fic request can I get some platonic emotional hurt/comfort of Dazai x reader? Bulletpoint/headcanon list format is good. The context would be that you've been in the agency for a few weeks now, and Dazai see you crying for some reason one day

YAYAYAYAYAY ABSOLUTELY

You were having a MONUMENTALLY bad day

To be fair, it didn't start that way. You woke up actually feeling refreshed for once

That is, until you grabbed your phone to see why your alarm hadn't woken you up

Only to realize you hadn't set one last night

*cue panic*

This was still a new job! You hadn't been a clerk for the Armed Detective Agency long enough to feel comfortable being late even by a few minutes!

Still, you had time to grab your morning coffee from your favorite cafe

Only to receive the wrong order and ended up with a drink you hated

It wasn't the barista's fault the cafe was so crowded but damn you did NOT need another reason to wish you hadn't woken up this morning

And to make matters worse, someone on the sidewalk accidentally stepped on your shoe, breaking the sole away from the heel

Now the sole clicked irritatingly every time you took a step

So you're annoyed and anxious

And you manage to slip in just seconds before you would have been late, yet for some reason Kunikida decides it's a good idea to lecture you on punctuality

"A proper member of the Agency is always five minutes early. Anything else is late! Do you want to end up like that deadbeat Dazai?!"

As if you need anything else to make your day worse

Luckily for you, Ranpo drags him away to coerce him into helping him take the train for a case

That's the first good thing that's happened to you today

You think you see Ranpo wink at you but it could have been a trick of the light

He also mentions that it's Atsushi and Kyouka's day off

And then. The final straw

You sit down to work, drag a massive pile of paperwork over to the middle of your desk and begin to work

And immediately get a papercut

That's it. That's all you can take.

You push your chair back from your desk and fetch a bandaid from Yosano's office

You plot back in your seat, cross your arms over your desk, and bury your face in your arms

You've never been so glad to be alone in the Agency but in the back of your mind you're grateful for it

For once, you just let yourself cry

Tears soak your sleeves and your shoulders shake a little

It feels stupid to be so emotional when nothing dramatically bad happened

Just a series of little annoyances that built up

You haven't even been awake for two hours yet, but you're already ready for the day to be over

So of course that's when the Agency's door slams open

It's Dazai, twenty minutes late, as usual

Dazai yoinks a chair from a nearby desk and props his bandaged elbows on your desk, knocking a few of the papers off

He doesn't seem to care care but it offends your soul

"So, my dear accomplice, what are we going to annoy Kunikida with today? Steal his paperclips? Ooh, maybe this time we could replace his notebook with an empty replica!"

You don't answer. He'll see the tear tracks if you lift your head

"It's so easy to pickpocket him and he'll never guess it was us!"

You know for a fact Kunikida would figure it out immediately but you still keep silent

"What's wrong? Do you want to decide today's prank?"

When you still don't answer, he pokes your cheek playfully

"Hon?"

You never responded to cutesy pet names

"Honey?"

And definitely never one that could be construed as romantic

"Honey bunches of oats?"

That one pulls an ugly snort from you

You don't have to look up to see his triumphant smile

"Go away"

He doesn't

You lift your head enough to glare at him

"Go. Away."

He still doesn't

He has a strangely blank expression

The out of nowhere, he kicks your chair backwards and knocks you off balance

You shriek and throw your arms out to grab the desk before you fall

He catches you by the wrists and twirls you like a ballerina

"Dazai, what the hell!?"

He ignores your protests and leads you in a ridiculous dance around the room

Spinning, twirling, even hopping onto Kunikida's desk to kick his paperwork everywhere until you're breathless with laughter

With one last bow, Dazai returns you to your desk

"Much better," he says and pokes your cheek again

You give him a warm smile

"Thanks, Dazai, I didn't know I needed that. You're the best"

You thought he was just going to blow it off like Ranpo always does

Nope

He just kinda malfunctions

He wears a look of shock and takes several rapid steps backwards

Then dives out the door like death itself was chasing him

He'd be slower if it was death actually-

Crazy man

Somehow without asking you what was wrong or what he could do to help, he managed to turn your whole day around

this kinda got away from me lmao

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matthewswifeyx · 5 months ago

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Fall in love <3

Requested?- Yes!! By the queen👑@bernardsbendystraws 🩷

Warnings?- Fluff

A/N- Guys with that last post called 'one month' it took me ages to write in third person so I will go back to first person for now :)

I was so excited for me and Matt's first fall together and so was Matt, it was his favourite season. Me and Matt had been together for around 10 months, they have been the best ten months of my life. Matt was so charming and loving towards me and everything in this relationship was going perfect.

It was officially the first day of fall, the 22nd of September. Matt is his happiest in the fall according to his triplet brothers.

I got woken up to Matt shaking my shoulder gently. My eyelids flutter open and look at Matt. His hair was a little messy, but he looked cute. He had no shirt on, as usual, and was wearing sweatpants hanging dangerously low.

"Good morning baby."

"G'morning." I mumble. I stretch my arms out and groan.

"D'you know what today is?"

"Saturday?" I guess.

"Actually it's Sunday, but it's the first day of fall!"

"Actually!" I point my finger upwards to make fun of Matt. I chuckle.

"Come on! We have a busy day today. I can't wait!" Matt jumps out of bed and heads for the shower. The door shuts temporarily and then opens again and Matt comes to my side of the bed and gives me a quick peck on my forehead. Before Matt re-enters the bathroom he does a small excitable jump. I chuckle to myself and then get out of bed.

I was all ready for the day and I was about to make some coffee for myself. There were quiet patters gradually getting louder coming down the stairs. I turn around and see Matt wearing an unbuttoned flannel with a white long sleeve underneath. He looked really good, and hot.

"You look handsome." Matt didn't answer and kissed me quickly and smiled.

I was wearing a grey sweater with some baggy jeans and Uggs to keep my feet warm.

"Don't make a coffee, we are going to try the new Starbucks drink."

"Really?" I said excitedly. The Starbucks was a short walk down the street next to some town houses.

"Really." Matt answered.

I ran to go grab my bag and purse, and then meet Matt at the door. He laughed at my eagerness. Matt grabbed both of our coats and handed mine to me to put on and Matt put his coat on. I opened the front door and waited for Matt to lock up. Then he took my hand and held it softly and started walking.

We arrived at the local Starbucks and headed indoors. It was lovely and warm, it was all decorated for fall. I could tell that matt was all for it. I ordered a 'Pumpkin Cream Iced Chai Latte', and Matt got a 'Pumpkin Cream Iced Oat Shaken Espresso'. I got my card out to pay but Matt swiped it straight off me.

"Matt." I whined.

"It's fine sweetheart, I got it. It's my treat." He said quickly before paying. He carried my drink over the the table and we sat opposite each other. I took my drink and had a quick sip of it. Matt chuckled at me.

"What?" I asked nervously.

"You're just eager-" Matt looked up at me. "And you have foam around your mouth." He laughed and leaned over the table to wipe it away from my face.

"I didn't realise." I laugh with him. Matt opened a straw, placed it in his drink and took a quick sip.

"That's good." Matt confesses.

"Do you want to try mine and i will try yours?" I said and Matt nodded in agreement. We switched our drinks and had a small taste. I was the first to react. "Ewww, that's so bitter." Matt laughed at my disgusted interraction.

"Yours is nice, but I like mine better."

"I disagree with that, yours is awful and mine is fantastic." i said and quickly switched the drinks back. I took a big gulp of my beverage to get rid of the strong taste in my mouth. "How can you enjoy that?"

"I don't know." matt answered nervously. I shrugged it off and continued drinking.

We both had finished our drinks but we were just talking for ages. Just talking about life, we do this before we go to bed. But we weren't in any rush today. Me and Matt were having conversations about maybe taking our first trip together soon, and we were talking about events coming up for matt and if I wanted to join. I would be joining him everyone of those events. I felt so open and comfortable talking with Matt, we were joking around, and Matt was saying something funny that nick did the other day. I couldn't contain my laughter through the whole story. We were both in fits of giggles.

"Do you wanna head back?"

"No, the day isn't over yet!" Matt confessed.

"What else are we doing then?"

"We are going to have a nice little stroll through the park. If that's okay with you?" Matt asked hesitantly.

"Of course that's okay." I replied.

We headed out of the small Starbucks and walked slowly arm-in-arm down the streets of our quiet town. Me and Matt haven't officially moved in with each other yet, it would be me sleeping over at Matt's and Matt sleeping over at mine. We never really had a conversation about 'living together' even though we kind of already did. But I knew that Matt probably never imagined moving away from his brothers, I just didn't want to upset him. And this would be the perfect time to just ask, it's not like we needed to be anywhere today.

"Matt." I began.

"Yes sweetie."

"I wanna ask you something."

"What is it love?" Matt faces me and gives me a warm smile.

"Do you..-like, wanna get a place together?" Matt thinks. "It's just...-like, we practically already do live together,..but just at each others houses. D'you get what i mean?"

"I do get what you mean,..and, I would love to be in our own home together. It's just..-I d'know about Chris and Nick."

"I totally get that Matt, it was just a question. It doesn't have to be now." I back up my question.

I can see matt's brain thinking, he is hesitant to speak again.

"Sorry, I shouldn't of had Nick and Chris as my first thought of moving out. I actually think it is a perfect idea,..to be honest."

I start blushing, at his thought out words.

"Okay, we can talk about it soon then?"

"Yeah" Matt smiles. "Anything for you." I start to blush even more.

We reach a park and it is around mid-day now. The park is surrounded with beautiful trees full with amber, brown and red leaves. There are some dimly lit rustic street lights down each path. There were small piles of leaves scattered around and we saw small children jump in them. It gave me a warm sense of well-being. I turn towards Matt and he is smiling softly at what is before our eyes. We saw small clusters of friend groups up and down the park enjoying the nice seasonal change.

Me and Matt walked for a few more minutes, still at a slow pace. Until we found a bench to sit on facing away from the local lake. I saw a small plaque in the middle of the back rest. Matt spotted it as well.

"I think when I die I would like a memorial bench, or maybe a tree." Matt says.

"That does represent you Matt, that is a lovely idea." I reply.

We sat in a comfortable silence for a few more minutes. I rubbed my hands together as they were feeling a bit chilly. Matt noticed this. He reached into his pockets and pulled out my gloves. I was a bit shocked and confused on why Matt had them in his coat pocket.

"I knew your hands would get cold eventually." He said.

"You know me so well." I smirked. I placed the gloves onto my cold hands and rubbed them together again. "Much better." I looked over at Matt. I rested my head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around my waist. I felt so safe and secure. We stayed like this for a while, just stuck together.

An elderly couple walked passed, and the old woman looked us. She smiled softly.

"Oh Tim, look." She pointed in our direction. "Isn't that lovely. Just like us when we were young." Matt wasn't seeing any of this, his eyes were closed. He was relaxing. I smiled back at the woman and her husband and they walked on, arm-in-arm.

After a while Matt opened his eyes again. "Do you wanna head back now?"

"Yes please." I answered.

We stood up from the wooden bench and took each others hand and walked to the exit of the park. Me and Matt chattered a little bit on the way home. We were both a bit tired from the walking. I'm surprised Matt is though, he downed a cup of espresso in less than ten minutes. I still can't believe he enjoyed it.

We reached back to Matt's house, and we both already knew that I would be staying the night. Matt lead me to his bedroom and closed the door behind him. We both sat at the edge of the bed.

"Do you want to watch a movie later? Like-... after we eat?"

"i would love that." i lean in and give him a passionate kiss. "thank you for today, it might not have been the most eventful day, but I really enjoyed it." I went in to kiss him again. Matt pulled away.

"I'm glad,-...I also have a small surprise." He smirked. he got up from the bed and went out of the room downstairs. i just waited in anticipation. Matt came back into the bedroom with a box behind his back. "i got this for us, since you were begging for so long." He brought the box in front of him and then placed it onto my lap. I opened the box quickly and tore away the tissue paper carefully. Matt had bought us matching Hello Kitty pajamas.

"Oh Matt! thank you so much!" I put the box to the side, stood up and gave Matt another kiss.

"We can wear those tonight when we watch the movie."

"Yes!!" I agree. "Can we put them on now?" I ask.

"Of course, I didn't buy them to just stay in the box and look pretty." he joked.

I smiled and took my pyjamas and gave Matt his. They were Halloween themed and were bright orange. I loved them. I went to the corner of the bedroom and started changing. I felt eyes on me. I turned around and saw Matt smirking at me.

"See something you like?" I joke.

"Very much." he answers.

"Creep." I say and turn back around. When I finished changing I picked up my day clothes, folded them and placed them on the floor next to Matt's bed. I saw Matt had finished changing as well.

"Oh Matt! You look so cuddly!" I practically ran over to him and gave him a warm hug.

"Do you just want to cuddle until we feel hungry?" Matt suggests.

"Yes." We both climb into bed and hold each other in an embrace. We are facing one another and just smiling. I lean in and kiss Matt sweetly. Matt deepens the kiss, holds my waist and brings me closer to him under the covers.

After a while of kissing and cuddling, we were interrupted by a pair.

"Get a room." Chris surprises us.

"Technically we are in a room, and you're intruding." Matt spits back.

"Whatever, we want food. Can you drive us?" Chris asks.

"Are you hungry Y/N?" Matt says to me.

"Pretty hungry." I answer.

"Okay, lets go to Mcdonalds then." Matt says and gets out of bed.

The drive was nice, other than Nick and Chris fighting on what song to play. It was pretty funny anyway. That's what i get for sitting in the passenger seat instead of Chris.

We got our Mcdonalds and ate it in the car before Matt drove us back home.

We all got inside, Nick and Chris went straight to their rooms. matt faced me.

"Do you wanna watch a movie now?" he suggests.

"Of course." I accept.

I go and get a big blanket to share from Matt's room, and Matt gets some sweet treats from the pantry and fridge. I go to sit on the couch and Matt brings all of the snacks over.

"What a feast." I joke.

"What movie do you wanna watch?"

"Can we finish watching Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 1, and 2?" I suggest.

"Sure."

Me and Matt had been watching the Harry potter franchise together for the first time, and we both were really getting into it and enjoying it. I have always enjoyed fantasy, I was the one who got Matt into it.

We snuggled together and Matt put on part 1, I opened a bag of popcorn and rested my head on Matt's shoulder once more.

This was truly the best way to start autumn, and I am so happy that I got to have the best first fall with Matt.

All banner credits to @bernardsbendystraws <3

hey guys! I hope you really enjoyed this fanfic! If you have any requests/suggestions please do not hesitate to send me a message and I will try and get back to you asap! <3

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo imagine #matt x reader #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew imagines #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #fall #fall aesthetic #fall vibes #.｡*ﾟ+.*Remi's corner *.+*ﾟ.｡

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