#then take my nephew the park

[upperranktwo]

Good morning besties! 💖 have a lovely day!

[a-ikuoliver]

ugh in a week im watching all the kids for 4 days RTNSJHKSJDHF

[rosecoloredknight]

these last three days have been extremely overwhelmingly suffocating and depressing. I haven't been able to go for a jog/walk and I started stress eating as well. Despite that, I'm trying my best, but I just want to cry or disappear in my bed for a while but I can't, I won't. I don't want to fail. sigh. I gotta find a way to end my week on a.. optimistic or happy note.

I might not do a "selfie of the week" since I feel super duper ugly and unmotivated, but who cares. Here's to next week.

I hope y'all are having a better week than me. Keep looking up 😊😊

[roaringroa]

everyday i feel the want to be an aunt grow stronger and stronger

[countless-potr]

Omg I reached the tag limit, I didn't know there was a tag limit

The Worst Attraction in Every State

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Simon hated the tapping out ceremony. Ever since he first had to partake in one, he despised it. With no family and very few friends, he was usually the last on the field, waiting until one of his superiors would tap him out. But he couldn’t skip them either.

So there he was. The sun was beating down on the hundreds of soldiers lined up in neat little rows, standing at attention while they waited for their loved ones. And they came quickly. One soldier after the other was tapped out by their parents, siblings, spouse, and sometimes even children. But he stayed still, watching the happy reunions out of the corner of his eyes. Watching the tears and hugs and kisses. He envied the others; he was jealous of what they had, and he didn’t. But Simon had always been good at following orders, so he didn’t move, barely even blinked as he was surrounded by happiness, while he drowned in his own sorrow.

After an hour, there was only one other soldier left. Simon had barely interacted with him, but he knew his face. And just when Simon thought he wouldn’t be the only one without someone to tap him out this time, a crowd of eight people moved toward the soldier. At the front was an older-looking woman, her brown hair streaked with grey and lines on her face, indicating her age. Around her were people of all ages and genders.

“My son!” The woman let out a sob as she finally threw her arms around the soldier’s neck, causing the man to chuckle, as he hugged her back. “I missed you too, mama.”

One by one, he talked to the people surrounding him, hugged them, and kissed them. Simon couldn’t help but watch, bile rising in his throat as jealousy threatened to overtake him. And as he watched, he couldn’t help but imagine himself in the soldier’s stead. Surrounded by a happy, loud, and loving family. People who were happy to see him. Nowadays, the only people he could call family were the guys from the 141, and they were away on a mission. Still, in his mind, the scene played out. His mother, smiling, rushing toward him. Followed by his brother and his wife, carrying his nephew.

The daydream was interrupted by someone walking toward him. He expected it to be his superior, there to finally release him from the nightmare. But it wasn’t.

A young woman took timid steps in his direction. Her eyes, bright but filled with sadness. Not her own sadness, though, it was sadness she felt for him. He didn’t react, didn’t move, didn’t blink. She came to a stop in front of him, gazing up with a frown.

“Is someone coming?” Simon hesitated before giving an almost invisible shake of his head. She gasped, it was quiet and he barely heard it, but he felt it. In every bone, he felt her sadness and the sorrow she carried for him. Slowly, as if not to startle him, she lifted her hand, until it was inches away from his chest. “Is…is this okay?” When he gave a slight nod, she gently pressed her hand against his chest, finally tapping him out.

A breath he didn’t realize he had been holding escaped him as he finally turned to properly look at the woman. She was still gazing up at him, a soft smile now replacing the frown on her face.

“Thank you.” She nodded in response before glancing back at her family. When she looked back at Simon, she looked determined. “We’re going out to eat dinner if you’d like to join us?” Simon was about to decline when someone called out to him.

“Oi! Ghost!” He looked up and saw the soldier, now facing him, an arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulder. “Let’s go; my mom says dinner’s on us!” Without waiting for a response, he turned around and started walking toward the car park, his entire family in tow. Simon kept looking after him until a soft, small hand slipped into his own. He glanced down and found the woman smiling up at him.

“Come, my mom doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” And with those words, the woman gently led him to follow her family.

Part 2

A/N: This will be a two-parter. I hope you liked it!

[dreamsteddie]

Steve and Eddie childhood friends is my kryptonite.

They meet in the woods outside Steve's house when they're eight and nine years old. Steve is out exploring because his parents are fighting again, something about a secretary and a jazzercize instructor that Steve really doesn't understand or want to listen to. He's done it before, venturing outside to explore the forest like it's his own private world. They never notice when they're fighting like that anyway and Steve always finds his way back.

Eddie, on the other hand, is new to Hawkins. He's nine years old and was just dumped on his uncle's front porch because his dad "doesn't need some brat who cries when the wires spark." Eddie was heartbroken and mad and scared and he loved his uncle Wayne but he didn't want to be comforted so he ran into the woods, Wayne too slow to catch him but calling his name.

After running a while Eddie trips on a root falling on his hands and knees, blood slowly blooming from his palms. He looks up and realizes he has no idea which way he came from or how to get back and releases all the tears he kept locked up tight since that night with the car.

That's how Steve finds him. He makes his way over, calling softly to the boy crouched by his favorite tree. The boy looks up, and the first thing Steve thinks is that he looks a little funny. His head is shaved down and his eyes are a little buggy and he's lanky in a way Steve's never really seen before. His second thought is that he always keeps bandaids in his shorts.

Together they sloppily patch up Eddie's knee and left palm, Steve pressing a smacking kiss to the other boy's knee like he's seen the other moms do for their kids at the park. They introduce themselves and Steve takes him to all his favorite places in the woods. They play knight and dragon and talk about how mean dads are until the sun starts to set.

Eddie gets nervous when the sun starts to set, not used to the unique darkness of the woods, but Steve is used to it. He takes Eddie by the hand and asks him where he entered and guides him home. Wayne finds them like that, he's clearly been doing his own forest wanderings in his search for Eddie and is quick to sweep his nephew into his arms and hold him close. Edde excitedly introduces his uncle to his "new best friend, Steve," his mood lifted significantly since that morning.

Steve waves goodbye and slips away before Wayne can insist on taking him home in the truck, but that's far from the last they see of Steve. After that night, every time Steve's parents get in a fight or his parents go to one of their long, important business dinners without him he makes his way through the woods and to the Munson trailer. The first time it happens Wayne doesn't even know what to say. Steve looks every bit the little Harrington that he is with his little Khakis and perfectly pressed polo knocking on the trailer door all proper-like.

"Hello, I'm here to see Eddie. He's my best friend."

Before Wayne can figure out what to say there's a blur of oversized black hand-me-down clothes barrelling through the door and tackling the younger boy to the ground.

"STEVE!" Eddie absolutely screeches. Wayne is half worried he might take out one of the kid's eardrums, but seeing the wide smile Eddie has plastered on his face, Wayne decides not to say anything.

From there on Steve and Eddie are thick as thieves. Steve spends all his free time at the Munson trailer playing with Eddie and the stray animals. Despite some of Wayne's concerns, their friendship remains strong through the years. With Eddie in the grade above and the grades almost completely separated, they hardly get to interact at school, which only serves to fuel Eddie's disdain and Steve's disinterest in school. Middle school is much the same. They spend almost every waking moment together in the woods or in the trailer but live almost separate lives at school. It's not even that they're trying to hide it, it just never comes up.

When Steve starts climbing up the social ladder it isn't intentional at all. He doesn't have a lot of friends in his grade, certainly not any that come close to Eddie's status in his life, so he kind of just talks to everybody. He plays on the middle school basketball and baseball teams and does well, and before he knows it people are suddenly flocking around him and vying for his attention. He doesn't pay it much mind honestly.

Eddie on the other hand never fits in anywhere. Steve and Wayne are just about the only people in his life he cares about, and despite their overwhelming love and acceptance he can't help but turn out cynical. He struggles with anger management those first few years with Wayne, frustrated with being abandoned by his dad and separated from Steve and it all culminates in him being ostracized from his peers.

It isn't until high school that the rest of Hawkins clues into what's been in front of their faces the entire time. The high school is much less separated so while they won't be sharing any classes, there are many more opportunities for them to hang out.

On day one of Steve's freshman year he's already on the roster for both the basketball team and the swim team and there's already a small group of boys hanging around his locker ready to ride his coattails. They notice Steve seems distracted, turning his head back and forth when he's not struggling to get the lock undone. When he finally manages to wrestle the thing open, Eddie makes his move.

In a move reminiscent of that first day on Wayne's front porch, a blur of black second-hand clothes and dark curls barrels into Steve from the side taking him down to the linoleum floors. The guys around Steve's locker are ready to step in and beat this guy to a pulp until they hear raucous laughter coming from the both of them. They are treated to the sight of rising King Steve and established Freak Munson rolling around on the floor like unruly puppies and don't know what to do with themselves.

When the boys calm down and stand up, arms slung comfortably around each other's shoulders, they're met with the very confused faces of Steve's kind-of-friends.

"You know this guy Steve?"

"You and Munson are friends?"

"What the fuck was that?"

Steve and Eddie share a very confused look, neither of them having realized that people have no idea they're friends. They look back at the guys with two devastating "are you dumb" faces and say:

"Uh, yeah, Duh."

--------

Years down the line, after queer awakenings, a healthy dose of heartache for them both, and a properly dramatic star-lit confession Eddie and Steve both absolutely love regaling anyone who will listen with their love story. Steve insists that he knew from the moment Eddie looked at him with those big bug eyes that he would love Eddie Munson for the rest of his life. Eddie, on the other hand, insists that's bullshit and instead insists that he was the one who fell first "it doesn't count if you were a child Sevie you didn't understand what love was!" that day in the hall when he realized how tall and handsome his best friends had become when they got up off the floor.

Either way, they both eat up the looks people give them as they share their tales of pining, self-discovery, and true love.

[mickandmusings]

sincerity & sonnets

-

pairing: anthony bridgerton x f!reader

word count: 2.1k

summary: anthony bridgerton is blessed with many things-a warm, loving family, a well-funded lifestyle as a viscount, a beautiful wife. more notably, he is cursed with a short fuse and a sharp tongue, which might lead to his demise.

(based off of this request! to the anon who requested, I sort of wrote the argument as more of a sharp remark, but i hope it is still angsty enough for your liking! <3)

warnings: angsty->fluffy, no other warnings

-

As Anthony sat at his desk, scribbling away at his numerous piles of papers stacked in front of him, he noted the unusual quietness that had fallen on his study. He first thought that he had shut the door, but one quick look at the doorway contradicted his beliefs. Anthony's eyebrows furrowed in confusion-his home was never quiet.

Between his own family, and the families of his four sisters and three brothers, his home was full of life: laughter bounding off the walls, his wife and sisters' voices chatting over tea, the stampeding footfalls of his hoard of nieces and nephews assured his ears would never grow accustomed to utter silence. Even in the rare occurrence that the house was empty save for Anthony and his beloved wife, he'd often hear her humming to herself as she attended to her own business in their home, or she would join him in his study, writing her own correspondences at the smaller desk next to his own. Which is why, now, as he sat at his desk this afternoon, the silence stunned him. Anthony frowned, lifting his pocket watch to assure himself he was not entirely losing his mind. As the gold clock stared back at him, the small hand signaled it was midday.

He chuckled to himself, his wife must have chosen to sleep in entirely too long. Y/N was a chronic night owl, often keeping Anthony awake with her bedside chatter and comments on the appearance of the night sky through the window that faced their bed. Anthony would indulge her, but would still wake before the sun. His wife, however, would not budge for several more hours. He grinned and pocketed his watch, pushing himself up from his chair to wake his sleeping beauty of a wife.

Anthony bounded up the stairs two at a time, nodding curtly at any house staff before reaching their shared bedchambers. His dark eyes peer into the empty bedroom-his wife certainly was not here. He noted the dutifully made bed, the open curtains allowing the sunlight in, and, most importantly, his wife's absence. Anthony shook his head briefly before dashing back down the stairs, nearly stumbling into one of his wife's handmaidens.

"Pardon me," he addresses the woman with a sigh, a bit breathless from the unexpected goose chase his wife has taken him on. "Do you know the whereabouts of my wife?"

The younger maid looks at Anthony almost confused, but quickly takes on a professional tone:

"The Viscountess is reading in the garden, she's only just gotten back from tea with the Dowager Viscountess and the Duchess."

Anthony nodded in thanks, hastily departing for their expansive garden, his mind racing. Seeing his wife was an afternoon ritual-she would come bounding into his study after tea with his mother and respective sisters, spouting off all of the new ladies' gossip as he listened intently, all while pretending he was entirely disinterested. He enjoyed seeing her eyes grow wide with the shock of scandal, or her smile at a sweet interaction she witnessed at the park. If you were to ask Anthony Bridgerton, there was no sight more splendid than his wife in all of her extraordinary, everyday beauty. Not that he would admit that aloud, at least not to anyone but her.

Frankly, he was missing her presence today more than he cared to admit. He spotted Y/N almost instantly, her periwinkle gown shining in the sun. She sat in a chair politely under a shady tree, the book on her lap seemingly forgotten. Her expressive eyes locked onto the treeline in the distance, her face solemn. Anthony's heart seemed to fall in his chest, the sinking realization of why his home had been so soundless for the entirety of the day. His chest felt tight as he thought of his actions last night...

-

It had been a very, very long day for Anthony. With Francesca's upcoming debut to society, his mother had been harping on Anthony for nearly a fortnight about every minute detail. His patience for his mother was infinite, but sometimes she did manage to test its limits. Atop this hurdle was the never ending stacks of paperwork littering his desk, waiting to be looked over and signed off by his barely legible scrawl. He had neglected to write Colin back for weeks-his younger brother writing about his travels in Greece. The house staff had been in and out of his study all day, the incessant knocking severing his nerves. The heavy weight of life as a viscount was falling on Anthony, making him irritable and exhausted. His dear wife had settled his discomfort around lunch, bringing his nearly-cold meal into his study to make sure he ate. She had left him with a chaste kiss and a better mood, but Anthony had returned to her worse for wear.

Dinner in their large dining room had felt unnaturally dreary, only the sound of utensils clanking against china plates filling the air, only to be stifled by his wife's chatter. Normally, Anthony would've listened attentively, enjoying hearing about trips to the modiste or how Portia Featherington had driven his wife to near madness. Today, however, her voice had him pressing his nails into his palms to aid his irritation. He sipped his wine and shuffled his food on his plate to avoid making eye contact, he would not want her to see the frustration lingering in his eyes.

"Eloise was completely beside herself, I had never seen her so embarrassed! Madame Delacroix-"

"Must you talk so incessantly?!" Anthony's voice spat out in a low growl, dripping with fierce vexation.

Y/N's eyes grew wide, looking at her husband as if he had sprouted an extra arm and slapped her with it. She said nothing, only cowering in on herself, staring down at her lap as she fidgets with her hands. After several moments of Anthony's intense silence, she lifts a shaky hand and wipes the tears forming in her eyes as she hastily made her way out of the room, attempting to put as much distance between her and Anthony as possible.

Anthony followed suit moments later, feeling angry at himself as he slammed the door of his study shut, falling asleep at his desk hours later. Y/N had slept on her side of a bed far too large for one, her eyes tender and cheeks splotchy, her mind racing. Did she truly talk too much? Had he been annoyed by her daily talks for all these months? Her mind weaved small details into a full blown breakdown, and she quickly settled on being Anthony's perfect, quiet wife as she caved to her drowsiness.

-

The wind blew his wife's curls against her shoulder as Anthony approached her in the backyard, her back still facing him. He wasn't sure she had even heard him approach, her eyes still focused on the landscape sprawled before them. Anthony shuffles nervously, his hands behind him as he stands at her side, only the wind and birds chirping aiding the suffocating silence.

"Splendid weather we're having," Anthony's voice finally spoke, awkward and fumbling into casual conversation as he sank into the chair across from him. Y/N said nothing, only blinking in the same direction she had been staring at the entire time. Anthony nodded, mostly to himself, resigning himself to her silence, it was what he deserved at the moment.

After several moments of dead silence, Y/N turned her attention back to the book perched in her lap, and Anthony sat silently, wanting to spout out his apology in a hurried, bumbling manner, but he knew his wife, she would simply nod and continue reading, allowing herself to stew in prolonged silence.

He rose quietly, leaving with a small kiss landing atop her head-a touch that burned Y/N's skin. She watched Anthony leave out of the corner of her eye, sighing heavily as his presence was back inside their home. She was a myriad of feelings: angry at Anthony for being so blatantly cruel, his words had stung and left her reeling for hours. She was sad, as much as the words had fired her up, they had torn her heart, leaving her chest heavy with dejection. Y/N was nearly bursting at the seams to just apologize-even if it wasn't her who needed to apologize-just so the awkward encounters would come to an end. She wondered if Anthony even felt remorse at all.

In his study, Anthony ran his hands through his hair for the hundredth time, attempting to focus on the business papers in front of him. His efforts were fruitless-all he could think of was the empty look on Y/N's face. He had never seen her this lifeless, like her glow had been snuffed out, and it was entirely his fault. Anthony's mind raced with a million different scenarios of how he would make this up to her, ranging from flowers to begging on hands and knees, but despite his blunders, he knew his lady well. His Viscountess had never been one for showy things or frivolous purchases, she would only want his sincerest apologies. He would do it tonight, over dinner, he decided. He only hoped when the time came, she would at least spare him a glance.

-

Hours later, at the dining room table, Anthony found himself sitting in his chair at the head of the table completely alone. The kitchen staff came and left with plates and glasses, but his wife had yet to make an appearance. Anthony's foot tapped against the floor in anxiety, his eyes shooting up to the closest staff member, nearly shouting:

"Where is the Viscountess taking her dinner?"

The head of the kitchen staff looked at Anthony wide-eyed at his outburst, replying politely:

"Viscountess Bridgerton took her dinner in the library tonight."

Anthony said nothing, rising from his seat and walking down the hallway, coming to the door of the library and knocking lightly.

"Come in."

Anthony nearly burst into a fit of tears, happy to hear her voice.

He pushed the door open, Y/N's eyes meeting his before they dropped back down to the open book in her hands. Anthony felt guilt press heavy on his chest. He settled into the plush chair opposite her, separated only by a small end table. Anthony looked over at her, his brown eyes all but practically begging her to say something to him.

"Y/N..." Anthony's voice is small and timid, trying to coax her into at least hearing him out. Y/N's voice came out a whisper, cutting him off.

"I am sorry."

Anthony furrowed his brow, that was certainly not what he was expecting to hear. He looked over at her, her gaze locked on the moonlight coming through the window, her eyes glassy with tears.

"I am sorry I have become a burden, Anthony. I did not realize I irritated you with my ramblings. I thought you wanted to hear of my daily activities. I know my day as a woman is not nearly as riveting as yours as a Viscount, but-"

"My dear, your apologies are not necessary," Anthony's voice dripped with sincerity, his eyes warm as he looked at her, ready to grovel for forgiveness. He stuck his hand out for her to take, which she did. He pulled her towards him softly, his gentle touches coaxing her into his lap. Y/N's eyes grow soft under his gaze, her limbs melting in his strong hold. "I am the one who has been a fool. I look forward to your ramblings, no matter if they hold what you consider to be valuable or not, they brighten my day. I wait most ardently for news of trips to the modiste, or my mother's ramblings over tea-" He pauses, tucking a stray curl back behind her ear, his thumb wiping away the stray tears on her cheeks.

"I don't want you to be silent. Your voice is more pleasant than any other sound," Anthony cuts himself off, sighing, before starting again. "I should not have spoken to you in such a manner. I should not have raised my voice at you. You have my word that it will never happen again, I cannot go another day surrounded by your silence, it is torture."

Y/N smiles slightly at her husband's words, his transgressions forgiven with his sincere words. His face is close enough to hers to brush her nose against his, their lips close enough to meet.

"Are you certain you were not a poet before we met, Lord Bridgerton?" Y/N's voice is a whisper, the moment feeling far too intimate for anything else.

Anthony chuckles as his hand grasps the side of her face lightly, bringing her closer, speaking before he kisses her deeply:

"Only for you, my beloved...you inspire sonnets."

-

[buckyalpine]

SOO much fluff with my random thoughts. We love a meet cute featuring a sweet uncle Bucky. Imagine working at a daycare, surrounded by the cutest little ones everyday. You know you shouldn't have favourites but you can't help but fall especially in love with three year old Jamie and his mop of brown hair, his sweet blue eyes absolutely stealing your heart. He'd recently been babbling and talking your ear off about getting to stay at his Uncle's house since his parents were going away on vacation.

"We have the same name" He stated proudly while mushing up some playdoh between his tiny fingers, "Mama said I gets to stay with him for two whole weeks"

"I hope you have the best time, bub" You smile at his excited ramblings, giving his hair a ruffle before making your way to cut up some fruit for snack time.

-

You arrived at the daycare center just in time for their lunch for the afternoon shift, setting your things down and getting to work grabbing napkins and laying them on the tables. The littles ones all lined up to wash their hands before getting their lunch boxes out, most quite self-sufficient with opening their containers without assistance.

You heard a frustrated grunt, looking over your shoulder to find a very determined Jamie with his brows knitted together attempting to open his lunch to no avail. He finally gave up, toddling over to you, the growl of his belly making a clear statement.

He was hungry.

"Can you open this please?" He holds his thermos with two hands, smiling when you take it from him, patiently waiting for you to open it. You try to unscrew the lid, frowning when it doesn't budge even when you try with all your might. You tie a rubber band around the top to give it some grip but it stays locked in place, unmoving after you ran it under hot water and ridiculing you when you tried to pry it open with a butter knife.

"What is your uncle, a super soldier?" You huffed, trying to open the little lunch thermos one more time but there was no point; it was sealed shut. "I don't think I can open this for you, bub, he closed it extra tight"

"Uncle Jamie made me mac and cheese" his little face melted into a sad pout, his belly rumbling again.

"I'm sorry baby, how about sharing half a grilled cheese with me, hm?" You cooed, toasting your own lunch in the panini press and putting it on a plate for him. "We need the avengers to open this, let's see if uncle Jamie can open this when he picks you up"

He happily nibbled on the sandwich, licking up the crumbs, putting away his thermos and making his way over to play with some blocks. When it was hometime, you got everyone ready, sending them on their way while Jamie remained, waiting patiently for his uncle to arrive while sitting on the playground, hugging onto his stuffy in the meantime.

"Ms. y/n, Uncle Jamie is here!" He jumped up in excitement hearing the rumble of a motorbike pull up outside, running to the fence, waving over to him.

"Let's see this Uncle Jamie of yours" You said with an amused expression, wondering who managed to close a lunch lid so tightly. His uncle certainly wasn't what you imagined, watching a tall, broad man parking his bike. He was dressed in all black, parking the bike and pulling his helmet off, letting it rest on one of the handle, running his hand through his short chestnut locks, a toothy grin spreading on his face.

There was no way.

"Oh my God-

"Uncle Jamie!!" The little one ran off to his uncle, jumping into his arms, hugging him with his entire body. The super soldier grinned, catching him with ease, blowing a raspberry against his cheeks making him squeal and sending him into a fit of giggles.

"Hey little man" He chuckled, cradling his nephew and giving him a few extra cuddles before setting him back down and taking his backpack from him. You'd wondered what the hell was in his little backpack which was strangely heavy, gasping when you saw him pull out a tiny leather jacket.

"Arms up, buddy" Jamie lifted his arms, letting his uncle secure the jacket on him.

"He didn't eat his lunch, we couldn't get the lid open" You handed him the thermos with an apologetic look, "He had a grilled cheese instead, I hope that's okay"

"Sorry, doll" Bucky smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "Guess I didn't realize how tightly I closed it" He took it from your hand, opening it up with ease, steam still billowing from the contained from when he'd heated it up that morning.

"He didn't tell me his Uncle was the very Sergeant James Barnes" You ignored the heat that crept up on your cheeks, an equal blush spreading across Bucky's. "He's been talking about you all week"

"He's been talking about you too" Bucky said with an edge of a flirty tone to his voice, his nephew had said just about everything there was to know about you but the little runt left out just how pretty you were. How sweet. Super cute.

Actually that was a lie, he definitely went on about how pretty you were.

It would appear he had more in common with the three year old than he thought; they both had an apparent crush on you.

Get it together Barnes, you just met her.

"He's a little rascal" Bucky chuckled, looking over his shoulder to find his nephew impatiently wiggling, waiting for a ride, "We're actually just around the block so not a long ride but he loves it" Bucky chuckled as he strapped Jamie into the sidecar, plopping a tiny helmet onto his head.

"Bye Ms. y/n!! See you tomoowo!!" Jamie waved making you smile at how adorable he was, his voice muffled in the helmet.

"Bye baby, see you tomorrow!" You waved back, your breath hitching in your throat when you met the other set of sparkling blue eyes peering at you.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Ms. y/n" Bucky said with a wink making your stomach flip, giving you a cheeky smirk before pulling the visor down.

You couldn't wait for tomorrow to come.

-

Okay imagine after two weeks of little parking lot interactions he obviously has to ask you out on a date. Then another. Another. Soon, little Jamie is excited to see you having sleepovers at Uncle Jamies!! He's bragging to all his friends about how he gets to see Ms. Y/n all the time.

Then you're over for Christmas! And New Years! Now you live with Uncle Jamie and it's the best thing ever! And obviously, little Jamie is the ring bearer at the wedding. A year or two later, he finds out he's going to have a baby cousin to play with.

Just an idea.

[poohbea]

guys… i have aunty fever.

okay but like imagine being married to or dating sukuna, right? and the first time he introduces you to baby/toddler yuuji he becomes your best friend. never wants to leave your arms, always loves cuddles, will be your shadow while you’re doing things round the house. you’re attached at the hip from that very first moment.

and kuna both loves and hates it 😭. loves it mostly because he doesn’t have to deal with yuuji’s shenanigans all day. hates it because whenever he tries to kiss you or offer any sort of affection, yuuji comes running to put himself between you both with the grumpiest frown ever 🤣. he’ll mumble out something like “no, my aunty.” and hug your leg while trying to push his uncle away.

it’s a constant battle, especially because yuuji takes up all of kuna’s you-time 😂. watching a movie? yuuji’s there using your lap as a headrest. taking a nap? yuuji’s nestled right up against your chest. cooking in the kitchen? you’ve got yuuji perched on your hip or up in the baby wrap/baby sling. and kuna would swear up and down that yuuji — the sweet darling angel that he is — knows exactly what he’s doing. swears that he’s got some sinister plan to steal you away — he’s joking, mostly.

he should honestly be blaming himself because he’s been terrorising his nephew since he was born. his latest stunt? he found an old halloween mask that’d been sitting in the back of y’all’s closet since last year, put it on and decided to chase yuuji around the house with it.

“i’m gonna eat you!” is what you hear before a very distressed little human comes sprinting around the corner screaming, his uncle in tow. and so yuuji races to hide behind you, arms hooking between your legs for safety even as he’s still crying. but still kuna tries to reach for him and so you have to step in and unmask your monster of a man to save your hearing.

i think the other thing is how much you spoil yuuji. like cute little aunty (uncle can come too) and nephew dates. you’d be twinning with your outfits sometimes. go out to the zoo. the park. ice cream. the beach. the aquarium. sometimes kuna questions who’s child that really is — yours or his brother’s? — with how much time the two of you spend together.

it probably secretly gives him baby fever. if you’re this good with his nephew then he can only imagine how it would all go with a baby of your own.

he wants to see it one day. when you’re both ready.

[writersdrug]

Training for Two

Chapter 2. Rules

Masterlist

Summary: Simon lays the ground rules and shows you around the house.

Warnings: Simon's email etiquette, very mild cursing, beginnings of obsessive behavior.

Sure enough, Simon had emailed you by Tuesday afternoon. You noticed how... unprofessional it was. Not that he had been rude or obscene, but it was obviously written by someone who never had to write many emails for his career.

here is riley's routine. she likes walks, usually 3 or 4 a day. she eats one scoop in the morning and one at night. she doesn't finish her food all at once, but she'll come back to it. if you're gonna give her more cookies, just two per day. fill water every morning. around the house, if you could just dust and clean up any dog hair, that would be great. let me know if meeting me tomorrow at 0900 for the key works. I ship out thursday. thanks.

Simon.

You chewed your thumb nail, reclining on your couch with a confused expression. Was he irritated with you for some reason? He didn't show it at the interview if he did have any hostile feelings... you reminded yourself that he was a rather gruff man, and maybe that just bled into his written words, too. You rolled your shoulders and started working out your reply.

Hello Simon! Tomorrow works perfect for me, I'll be there by 9 am!

Does Riley have any favorite places she likes to go? Any particular spots or trails she enjoys? Also, are there any rules you have for her, like being on the couch? Is she ok going to the dog park? Lastly, does she take any medications I should be aware of?

See you soon!

You sent the message, sighing and dropping your head back against the arm of the sofa. You were honestly thankful that you'd gotten the job, even if Simon was a rather stiff client. You finally quit your shitty job, and while you did still have babysitting your niece and nephew, you never charged for that - the only time you were "paid" for it was when you took them out somewhere fun, and your sister forced you to accept money for the admission fee.

So this gig fell into your lap at the perfect time. And the fact that you had beat every other person Simon had interviewed made your ego soar. It wouldn't be a bad idea to make a career out of this, you thought.

Your phone dinged - you held it above your face, and saw that Simon had already responded. You sat upright and opened the email.

she only takes aspirin when her leg flares up. no more than twice a day. no favorite trails, we just go around the block a few times. she can sit on the couch, my bed too, but she'll need help getting up. no human food is the only other rule. never took her to a dog park, but if you really want to, that's fine. she's good with other dogs.

Simon.

You frowned. Walking the same block every day, multiple times each day, sounded awful. It wasn't even close to animal neglect, but you couldn't imagine walking the same route every single time. If it didn't drive Riley insane, it certainly would for you.

You read back over the email, your eyes lingering on "if her legs flare up." Simon had never discussed Riley having arthritis with you - and you sincerely hoped that was the reason she had leg pain, and nothing else. You made a mental note to ask him about it tomorrow as you began to write your reply.

Understood. Thanks again!

"Here's the basement." Simon said, leading you down the stairs and into a dullish room. It had a cheaply-manufactured desk, what appeared to be a dining chair (not matching the dining set upstairs), a stuffed bookshelf, and some cardboard boxes filled with paper. A fan stood in the far corner, and next to it was the washing room. Much like what he had shown you of the rest of the house, it was bland and drab.

You looked around, letting out a polite noise of approval. Truth be told, Simon's life seemed awfully boring to you. Your mother had always told you that military men were always overly practical, in more than just home decor. They never cared much for the environment around them, as long as there was no mold, or anything similar. But you had never expected it to be so brutally true.

You knew he had a life outside of his home - from the way he described it, he was usually deployed more often than he was in his own home country. But you wondered - what did he do for fun, besides watch the telly? Did he have friends, and were they all like him? Any hobbies?

"If for whatever reason y' need to clean up a stain, you can find solution in there." He said, pointing to the washer room. "Other than that, nothin' much to see down 'ere."

You followed him as he trudged back up the stairs. Riley was sat upright on the floor, watching you and Simon move about the house with an observant expression.

"The only other things I'll ask you to do is hoover n' dust when it looks like it needs it." He said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "There really isn't much else t' do; of course, if you do see anything that needs fixin' you can always text me." He rolled his head from side to side, wincing as he worked out a crick in his neck. "Might not answer immediately, but I'll see it."

You nodded, standing in the walkway of the kitchen. Even with him leaning against the counter, muscles hidden under his sweatshirt, he was huge. For a brief moment, you imagined what he looked like on the field, dressed in his uniform and holding a gun - but you quickly shooed the thought from your mind before it had the chance to latch on and fester. "Gotcha. And just so I know, do you let Riley sleep with you?"

Simon paused in confusion before he responded. "Come again?"

"Like- you know, if I crash on the couch, is she allowed up with me?" You said, shifting your weight. You couldn't quite tell if Simon was irked by your question, or if he was genuinely confused.

He paused again. "Uh, yea, that's fine. If y' don't mind waking up covered in 'er slobber."

You laughed. "Nah, I'm used to it. A little drool never bothered me. Although, if I do need to wash up, am I alright to use the shower? Or would you rather I use my own back at my flat?"

Suddenly, it clicked in Simon's head. You were planning on sleeping at his house.

He had assumed you would just stop by for walks and meals - he didn't expect you to actually live here while he was gone, and he wasn't sure how it made him feel. He'd never had anyone else spend the night. Hell, no one ever visited, besides the rare occasions of the rest of the 141 stopping by. Even then, they never stayed for longer than a conversation or two.

But, once he took a second to think about it, he realized it might be better if you did stay - at least, while he was on missions. Riley would be bored out of her mind if she was alone that long, especially after spending the past several weeks with Simon constantly there. It would be good for someone to be there when he wasn't, and you seemed like you would be the best person for that, of course.

"Sure, 's fine." He said, rubbing the back of his head. "Just don't touch my shit in there."

"Don't worry about that..." You said quietly, "catch me dead and cold before I touch a 3-in-1 anything."

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. It was refreshing that you could handle his gruffness - most people treated him like a landmine, never wanting to say the wrong thing and set him off. You seemed to have taken life by the horns, like you weren't afraid to bite back at someone. He wondered if that was all for show, or if you really would snap back if he was to test you...

He pushed himself off the counter and reached into the drawer behind him, pulling out a spare key. He walked over to you and held it out. You were just about to take it, when he suddenly yanked it back.

You faltered. "Sorry...?"

"You lose this key..." Simon began lowly, "n' I'll frame you for murder. Understood?"

You gaped, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He didn't really mean that... did he? You waited for him to laugh and say he was just joking... but he never did. His eyes bored into yours so intensely, making you shiver, as he waited for you to answer.

"Y-yes, sir. Understood." You said, voice wavering a bit.

He grunted in satisfaction, then handed you the key. You let out the breath you had been holding, then cautiously took the key, before immediately attaching it to your lanyard. You didn't want to take any chances at losing it - not after Simon's threat. You took a deep breath and smiled at him, trying to dust the exchange off of your shoulders.

"You can come 'round tomorrow after o' nine hundred, I'll be out by then." He said, turning sideways to moce past you and heading towards the door. You followed behind and rubbed Riley's head when you passed her; she let out a contented sound.

"Feel free t' use the kitchen if you'll be stayin' overnight." He opened the door for you and leaned against it.

"Will do, thank you!" You chirped, hovering on the landing outside of his house, right were you were two days ago. "Thank you for showing me around - good luck on your- mission- deployment, thingamajig!"

He huffed. "Promise I will, luv."

Your spine tingled in response to his comment. Get it together, don't get your knickers in a twist over a client. You thought. You straightened your posture and cleared your throat.

"Well, see you around!" You said with a smile, then hopped down the steps to your car.

Simon waved, taking a moment to watch you pull out of his driveway. He shut the door and leaned back against it, exhaling slowly through his nostrils.

He was an observant man - he had to be, with his occupation. Your reaction to being called "luv" didn't fly over his head. And it's not like Simon didn't know the effect he had on women... he knew how he looked, how he presented himself, and he saw the reactions it got him.

But with you, something felt different. He saw your reaction, and a part of him wanted to chase after it. To see what you would do if he continued to apply pressure to your weak spots. Would you blush? Would you call him out? Would you drop the gig altogether?

He thought about how easily the word "sir" had rolled off of your tongue. He thought about how you would look, all tuckered out on his couch, donned in whatever pajamas you decided to wear, your face peaceful and expression soft as you slept - he imagined you in his shower, the room filled with warm steam and the scent of your shampoo, water hitting your skin as you-

Riley barked, making Simon jolt where he stood. She stared at him, ears turned to the side as she whined. She could always tell when he began to dissociate, and knew just as much as he did that it wasn't a good sign.

Simon sighed, running a hand down his face. "Get it together, fuckin' creep." He muttered to himself. "I need a bloody hobby, f' Christ's sake..."

He blamed it on the upcoming mission. He would typically stress about it beforehand, and if there was anything else that could occupy his mind, he would fixate on it. Right now, unfortunately, you were the victim. But he buried it deep down into his subconscious - it wasn't fair to you.

He pushed himself off of the door and headed towards the washroom, adjusting his crotch as he went. He figured he should at least tidy it up a bit, since you would be using it. The only other people who had been in there were Johnny and Captain Price, and of course, they never cared if there were trimmers on the counter, or if the mirror had splotches from toothpaste residue.

Hopefully, he'd forget all about you - at least, while he was on the mission.

Next ->

Taglist: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @jisungswiftie @sweet-tooth4you @kennyis-aloser @hyyyxr @lahniu @dory-98 @naradae

[lemonlover1110]

Sukuna

Warnings: Fluff

Summary: A short car ride feels like an eternity for Sukuna.

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Whoever convinced Sukuna to take his daughter and nephew to the park is going to pay for this. His ears are ringing and he feels a migraine coming up as the six-year-old loudly sings along to the song on the radio, and the one-year-old screams for dear life. He dreamt about this before– More like he’s had nightmares about this before.

You. You’re the one that brought up the idea. If he didn’t love you so much, he’d leave you for even suggesting this.

“Yuji, let’s play a game.” Sukuna says, and Yuji quickly shuts up. He sees through the rear view mirror as Yuji’s eyes light up, waiting to hear about this game. “Whoever can stay silent for the longest will win a dollar.”

“I don’t like that game…” Yuji responds, and Sukuna is praying to whichever deity that will answer, hoping that he can convince Yuji for at least five minutes. They’re almost at their destination, he just needs five minutes of silence before dealing with the kids at the park(though he has another screaming child in the backseat).

“I thought you liked money.” Sukuna points out, and Yuji crosses his arms, all pouty at the suggestion of playing the game. Sukuna shrugs before saying, “You’re just scared ‘cause you’re a loser, huh?”

“I’m not a loser!” Yuji yells, and Sukuna fights back a smirk, knowing that it’s working.

“It sounds like you’re too much a chicken to play.” Sukuna keeps taunting the child. He’ll keep doing it until Yuji agrees, or until they get to their destination. Whichever comes first.

“Okay. I wanna play.” Yuji says, and Sukuna is fighting back a smile. He’s able to turn off the radio, and the only noise that his ears hear is the sound of his child crying. Any other time, that noise alone would drive him insane but right now he finds peace in it.

“Papa.” His daughter is calling out for him, and Sukuna knows that if he answers, he loses. He can ignore the little one, she’s not going to die. He hears the sniffling from his treasure, and she calls out for him again, “Papa!”

“What do you need?” Sukuna ends up answering, losing his own game. She might not die if he doesn’t answer, but he might with the way she cries out to him.

“I win!” Yuji yells, and Sukuna feels his sanity slowly drift away once again. He sees in his peripheral as the little hand stretches out to be on the console, and Sukuna rolls his eyes. “Give me my dollar.”

“Greedy brat. Give your cousin what she needs instead of asking for money.” Sukuna gives his nephew a high five, essentially slapping his hand away. “She’s asking for water, hand it to her.”

“You owe me, old man!” Yuji yells before muttering, “Lying bastard.”

“What the hell did you just call me, Yuji?” Sukuna says through gritted teeth. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be here! Be glad I didn’t eat your stupid old man when I had the chance!”

Yuji sticks his tongue out, blowing a raspberry at his uncle which earns a sigh from Sukuna. A short car ride shouldn’t drain him this much, but after this he needs a week’s worth of sleep. 

[daemour]

I Can See You

Pairing: single dad! Seonghwa x babysitter! f! yn

Word Count: 10,137

Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, a creepy old man in one scene, age gap (10 years but both are adults (and not just barely)), smut warnings under cut

Genre: Angst, fluff, smut, single parent au, M for mature audiences

Summary: When you took a job babysitting a young toddler, you didn't expect to be so drawn to the family. And more specifically, her frustratingly hot and single dad.

Smut Warnings: masturbation, sexual fantasies, riding, slight (if you squint) corruption kink, sliGHT breeding kink, unprotected sex (DONT DO THIS unless you discuss safely outside of sex!), breast play, overstimulation, undiscussed kinks (yn is fine with it. but discuss your fucking kinks guys *gun emoji*), slight cumplay

thank u to @pyeonghongrie and @mingsolo for beta'ing and for the title hehe <3 this is also a collab with @potatomountain who is also writing a dilf hwa (Bittersweet Neighbours), we're just on two sides of the spectrum lol...and this is so damn long

-

“Hello, I’m here for a babysitter interview with a Mr Park?”

“That would be me. Miss (Y/N)?”

When you answered the ad in the newspaper about babysitting, you were so ready to see an older man, around his fifties. But this man looked so young, around his late twenties although you’re sure he’s probably forty. And you’re not one to judge—nearing your mid-twenties one wouldn’t be expecting you to still babysit as a full-time job. But it pays the bills and helps you get some hands-on experience in your degree, child development.

“Ah, yes. That’s me,” your words spill out as you realise he is awaiting an answer. Mentally, you berate yourself for the immediate blunder while Mr Park’s eyes crinkle with amusement.

“Come on in and make yourself comfy on the couch. I’ll be right there. Would you like anything to drink?” Mr Park’s voice is smooth like butter and you have a hard time making sure you don’t get lost in it.

Again, you nod, actual wordy responses jumbled in your brain, walking to the couch and sitting down almost mechanically. If you were mentally present, you would have noticed the smile the older man sends your way.

He doesn’t take too long, returning with two glasses of water. “You didn’t say what you wanted to drink so I just got you water. Is that okay?”

Thankfully, you finally can respond coherently and smile, albeit a little shakily. “Yes, thank you so much.”

You take the glass with both hands, thanking him again quietly and taking a small sip before just holding it as you wait for him to be seated. You’ve felt awkward before, but this is a new extreme. Normally you pride yourself on keeping your cool in front of someone you think is hot, but Mr Park…he’s something else. You try your best to keep your eyes trained on the coffee table, only letting yourself glance at him occasionally so he doesn’t realise just how in awe you are.

“Jihee will be home from school soon, so you’ll see her soon. For now it’ll just be old me and my questions,” Mr Park starts his interview as soon as he sits on the couch across from you. “Now, I saw in your application that your major was in child development? Can I ask why that interested you?”

You blink at him for a moment, not expecting that question. Sure, bringing it up was expected, but the way he sounds like he’s interviewing you for a position in a company amuses you. “Uh…I just grew up with a lot of siblings and their kids. I’m the youngest of six, and the oldest is sixteen years older than me so I have a lot of nieces and nephews as well. Children have always been a part of my life, and my first job was babysitting so it’s something I’m very used to. Child development was just a way for me to learn even more and in a less… hands-on way. Poopy diapers are not my favourite.” You pause. “Not that I can’t change them! Or that Jihee uses them. Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

You’re so sure your face is bright red right now as you stumble over your words, and you’re ready to be kicked out, but all Mr Park does instead is laugh at your embarrassment. It’s a little mean but it’s better than your worst conclusion so you’ll take it. “It’s okay,” Mr Park smiles at you. “It’s okay to ramble, it was actually quite amusing. Now, I’d just like to warn you, Jihee has trouble with working on schoolwork. While that usually isn’t an issue, she may be asking you to help her with her homework and reading and I just thought I’d give you a heads up. Would that cause any trouble?”

“It wouldn’t bother me, and I’ll try my best. I took children’s education in college as well so it’d be a good time for me to exercise that,” you laugh quietly. Your first dream was to be a governess, no matter how few jobs there are for that type of work.

Mr Park nods thoughtfully. “Glad to give you some experience in that,” he hums after careful consideration, a smile on his face. “Her struggles lie in understanding the problems and in English. If she faces any difficulty then I can always help out.”

Before either of you continues speaking, his watch beeps and he glances down. Without another word, he stands and goes to open the front door. “Uh–” Your confusion escapes you before you can stop it.

“Oh, Jihee’s almost home and I always leave the door open for her,” he explains, eyes still trained on his watch. “You’ll get to meet her, and then we can discuss more details. And just to reiterate the ad, this is going to be a job that requires a lot of hours. I, of course, will be paying you for any sort of overtime if I need to stay at the office later. Does your schedule still allow for that?”

You hold back your smile. Your schedule mostly consists of scrolling the internet for job opportunities and eating lunch with your friends. “Yes, I can do that,” you affirm. “I’ll need holidays off, but I assume that’s a given as you’ll also be with Jihee?”

A smile pulls at the corner of Mr Park’s mouth. “Very astute,” he chuckles. “Now, here she comes.”

The door swings open without another word from either of you and a little girl dressed in pink and ribbons barrels into Mr Park’s knees. He lets out a quiet grunt, stabilising himself against the door as his hand strokes at her hair. “Hello, Jihee,” he hums fondly. "How was school today?"

The young girl beams up at her father. "So fun!" she grins, her words slightly slurred in her excitement. "Today, Mrs Lee had us do shapes and my favourite colour is blue now! I have so many blue crayons."

Mr Park's eyebrow raises at the mention of crayons. "Do you have them with you?" he asks, and Jihee nods vigorously. "Can I see them?"

Another nod comes from the child and she immediately plops on the floor, pulling out her pencil case and opening it to reveal at least ten crayons, all of varying sizes. What stands out to you the most is that half of them are green. "See! All blue. But this one's my favourite." She grabs at a particularly long and skinny one, a shade of emerald green.

"Ah. Lovey, remember, your colours are a little different, right?" Mr Park talks in a gentle voice, very different from the very adult voice he used with you. "That's a green crayon."

Jihee's face drops. "Oh." Her bottom lip juts out in a pout.

Mr Park holds out his hand and Jihee drops the crayon into his palm. "You can't take the crayons from school anyway, dear. Why don't we leave these in your bag and you can give them back and apologise to Mrs Lee tomorrow?"

Jihee's pout grows bigger but she nods. "Okay, daddy," she agrees and Mr Park nods proudly.

"Now, do you want to meet your new friend?" You flinch as Mr Park mentions you, sitting up straighter in your chair before ultimately deciding to stand instead.

"Hi, Jihee," you do your best to speak with the same quiet tone Mr Park used. "I'm (Y/N)! It's nice to meet you."

You offer your hand for her to shake and Jihee looks at you, her thinking face almost a spitting image of her father's before she walks over and takes your hand with gusto. "Hi, Mrs (Y/N).”

"Ah, I'm not a Mrs," you correct her. "You can call me (Y/N)."

"Miss (Y/N)," Mr Park quietly interrupts and you nod, not wanting to override his parenting although being called 'miss' will catch you off-guard for the time being. "Why don't you tell her one thing about yourself and then Miss (Y/N) has to go, okay?"

Jihee's mouth twists in sadness, her hand still gripping yours. "Okay," she sighs again. "I get to talk to her more later though, right?"

Mr Park nods. "Of course. Miss (Y/N) will be spending a lot of time with you, so I'm glad you like her."

Jihee nods solemnly. "I like pretty people and you're super pretty," she tells you earnestly and your heart swells at the compliment.

“Thank you, Jihee,” you thank her genuinely, although you’re amused at the fact that she considers her appreciation for physical looks a good introduction to herself. “It was nice to meet you.”

With another decisive nod, Jihee turns and marches right off down the hall, presumably to her room. Mr Park turns to you, finally shutting his front door with a sigh. “That was Jihee. Ball of energy extraordinaire. She comes home from school at one-thirty, and will put her own things away before coming to eat a snack. She has one worksheet to do a day but with your help she’ll get it fairy quickly. I’ll email you a list of house rules.”

You nod. “That sounds perfect. What would the schedule look like? What time would I be here, and when would I expect you to come home?”

Mr Park hums, running a hand through his perfect hair. “For her school days, I’d like to have you in here maybe ten minutes before she comes. I’ll always leave her snack in the fridge and you can just pop it in the microwave and make yourself comfortable before she comes barrelling in. Then I’ll be home at five-thirty sharp whenever possible. Every other Saturday I’m in the office for eight hours and you’ll be watching Jihee for those days. If you can’t do a Saturday, just let me know so I can get someone to watch her, but generally I’d like you here from eight to five.”

You nod. All your friends have atypical work schedules so your Saturdays are empty in general, and since the weekdays are shorter hours you don’t mind. “When it comes to after-school playdates, should I expect you to be home or would you like me to take care of them?”

Mr Park’s lips tighten almost imperceptibly. “That won’t be an issue. Jihee doesn’t do playdates.” Your curiosity spikes at his short answer but his tone leaves no room for discussion so you don’t press it. “I’ll give you a key now. Tomorrow is my off-Saturday but if you can come in just to adjust yourself that would be great. I have some work to get done anyway so I’ll be mostly out of your hair although you can still ask me questions.”

You nod again. “Yeah, that works,” you confirm after a quick check to your phone calendar. When you look up, Mr Park is already holding out a key and you take it after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Mr Park nods, moving to open the door when Jihee calls out with a whining tone to her voice. “Daddy, I need help!”

Mr Park sighs but it’s full of affection for his daughter. “I would walk you to your car but she calls for me,” his head dips into an apologetic bow but you shake your head.

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile at him. “There’s no need for that at all.” That is one of the main reasons, but another part of you doesn’t want him to know you have no car and you take the bus to his neighbourhood and then walk the rest of the way.

A twenty-four-year-old with no car? It’s a little embarrassing, especially in the area you both live in where it’s almost required to have a car to do anything. Generally, your babysitting jobs were close enough to your home, but the salary of this job enticed you to give up walking.

As you exit, you can hear Jihee starting off her complaints about her jacket and you smile to yourself subconsciously.

-

You’ve been working with the Parks for almost a month now and generally, it’s a good time. You only really see Mr Park when he comes home, but by then you have one foot out the door. There are days when he looks so beaten down that you want to offer him some encouragement, but you don’t want to step out of your boundaries. So, you just keep your head down and leave.

Jihee is sweet and easy-going, not hard for you to get along with. She always has some sort of fun idea for you to play along with and her schoolwork hasn’t been too terrible although you dread when she starts getting into more difficult maths.

But today, as soon as Jihee walks into the door, you suspect something is wrong. She doesn’t greet you as excitedly as she used to, just stalking straight into her bedroom and coming right now, settling herself down on the couch with a pout on her face.

“Jihee, don’t you want to eat?” you try to coax her to the dinner table, but she just shakes her head, immobile. You frown. It’s strange for the usually talkative child to be this closed off. “Did something happen at school?”

Jihee glares at the coffee table, shaking her head. “No,” she mutters but her cold-stone facade drops immediately as she suddenly bursts into tears. Your heart drops for the child crying on your couch and you immediately run to her and pull her into your arms. “Why don’t they like me?” she wails into your shirt and your heart drops.

You had suspected it when Mr Park shut down the playdate idea very quickly, but this just solidifies your thoughts. How could the kids at school not like such a sweet kid? As you’ve been working for the Parks for quite a bit now, you’ve grown to adore the young girl like she was one of your own nieces.

You don’t say anything just yet, just patting her hair and doing your best to calm her down. It takes almost an hour but now she just curls up in your arms, her hands gripping your shirt as she’s so close to falling asleep. You don’t have the heart to wake up so you resign yourself to letting her sleep on you for now.

Within ten minutes, you fall asleep as well. It’s not what you meant to do, but you couldn’t have stopped yourself. When your eyes open again, Jihee is no longer in your arms and there’s a large fluffy blanket laid on top of you. You blink yourself awake before panic sets in and you shoot up, looking around. “Jihee?” you call out and hear deep laughter behind you. When your head snaps back you see Mr Park chuckling at your face.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Miss (Y/N).”

It takes a minute for your words to register, blinking stupidly at your employer for a few moments before your face drops and you practically leap off the couch. “I’m so sorry!” you cry, bowing rapidly at a low angle. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep and it won’t happen again.”

You keep your eyes lowered and you look up at him through your lashes, scared of how he’ll react but to your surprise, Mr Park’s smile grows and he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, you looked comfortable and the doors were locked. Jihee didn’t get into any trouble, just was a little bored since you were asleep.”

You shake your head. “Regardless, I shouldn’t sleep on the job but thank you for the kindness. Jihee is very responsible for her age and it certainly reflects on your parenting.” You smile back at him.

“Well, thank you for your kind words. It means a lot to me as well,” Mr Park hums. “Would you like to join us for dinner? I know you usually leave around the time I get back but let me at least feed you before you go.”

You frown. “I’d like to, but I should get going,” you say absentmindedly. “I have to make it in time to catch the bus.”

You’re looking around, trying to gather your belongings, when you realise how silent Mr Park is. And in turn, you realise what you just said. “You take the bus?” His voice lowers and you stare at the look of concern he has on his face. “It’s practically dark by the time you leave and you’re walking to the bus stop by yourself?”

“Ah– it’s okay! It’s not a far walk, just up the street.” You hurry to defend your choices, waving your hands. “I’ve gotten home safe so far, no?”

Mr Park shakes his head. “No, you can’t take chances. I’ll drive you home tonight after dinner. You must stay.”

You stare up at him with wide eyes, but his stance is unwavering. And as much as you would usually protest—being taken home by a much older man would usually ring alarms in your head—the idea of not having to wait in the cold and the dark by yourself is very appealing. And from how you’ve interacted with him before, Mr Park seems very sweet, and you trust him just a little more than you probably should.

“Well, I do thank you for your kindness,” you sigh, nodding your head in concession. “But this will be the only time.”

Mr Park chuckles, not taking you seriously. “We’ll see. Now come on. Tonight is beef stew and my younger brother will come for dinner as well.”

“Uncle Uyu is coming?” You can hear Jihee’s excited voice coming from the kitchen as well as her feet pittering on the floor as she launches herself into your lap. “Hi again, Miss (Y/N).”

“Hello again, Miss Jihee,” you tease, pressing the tip of your finger to her forehead and Jihee giggles.

“Are you staying for dinner?” You nod again and she screeches in happiness, not giving a second glance at how you wince at the sound. “I can’t wait! I have to make you pretty! Come with me.”

With as much seriousness as she can muster in her body, she pulls you by the hand into her room as Mr Park watches the two of you with a soft smile and follows the two of you into Jihee’s room. He takes a seat on the bed as Jihee fusses over your hair, styling it with her toddler's hands and putting an obscene amount of hair clips into it. But you’re whipped for the little girl and you let her do whatever she wants, ending up in two uneven pigtails and a plethora of Hello Kitty clips.

“Daddy, isn’t it pretty?” Jihee giggles, moving your head to tilt so her father can take a look at her work. “It’s better than your hair to practice!”

Mr Park, mock-affronted, holds his hand to his chest. “Betrayed by my own daughter? Alas, but I can let it slide as this may very well be your best work.”

Jihee giggles, pressing her face against your cheek when the doorbell rings. “Uncle Uyu!” As always, her focus is diverted by any new thing and she runs for the door, both you and Mr Park following shortly after. As she yanks the door open, a man around Seonghwa’s age greets her just as excitedly, bending down to pick her up and spin her around.

“Jiji,” he cheers, “Already so big?” His eyes find you and you offer a small wave. “And who’s this? Seonghwa, you found a girl?”

Mr Park’s jaw drops and your eyes widen as you rush to contradict. “Oh, no, no, I’m just the babysitter. Mr Park has kindly invited me for dinner.”

Wooyoung chuckles at the look on both your faces. “Don’t worry, I just like to pull on Seonghwa’s leg. You’re a little young for him too.”

You offer a smile. “Yeah, and the forties are a little out of my age range as well,” you try to joke, but to your surprise, Wooyoung breaks out cackling, startling Jihee who starts laughing with him confusedly. Mr Park’s shocked face has somehow become even more intense.

“You think I’m how old?” Wooyoung has reigned in his laughter although a smile still pulls at his lips. “I’m only thirty-four!”

A gasp made its way out of your mouth as you start bowing rapidly again in apology. “I’m so sorry! You look your age, I just assumed you had to be older.”

Mr Park sighs, although an amused smile now graces his face. “It’s okay, I can understand it. I’ll just be giving you a hard time from now on.” He punctuates with a wink and your eyes snap down to Jihee in embarrassment.

“Let’s get on with dinner so I can go home and just melt in embarrassment, okay?” you groan and the two older men laugh. Jihee seems to agree with your sentiment, declaring her hunger grumpily and you laugh and pick her up. “See, even Jihee’s on my side. Let’s eat now.”

Mr Park hums, stepping aside. “All right, I see I’m outnumbered now. I hope you don’t mind how casual this dinner is, but I promise the food is worth it. Wooyoung’s the better cook, but he’s taught me a few tricks.”

You shrug. “Any food is good food to me. At home, I have instant ramen and fried rice so it’s a nice change.”

Out of disapproval, Mr Park shakes his head although the smile does not leave his face. “I do not miss my college diet. Please, take a seat.” He motions to the dinner table, pulling out a chair for you to seat yourself, sitting beside you as Wooyoung and Jihee join the other side of the table.

“So, tell me about yourself (Y/N),” Wooyoung hums, leaning on the table by his elbows. “You’re in college?”

You shake your head. “I graduated a year and a half ago, I’m twenty-four now, but it feels like just yesterday I was taking my finals,” you chuckle. “What was your major, Mr Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung smiled, “Please, call me Wooyoung. Mr Wooyoung just sounds weird. But to answer your question, my major was culinary, of course. Before I taught Hwa how to cook, he was hopeless. I think I was feeding him and Jihee primarily other than his sandwiches and canned soup.” He sighs, leaning back and smirking at Mr Park whose ears are red.

“Hey, Youngah, I paid you for your work. Don’t make me seem incompetent,” Mr Park snorts, leaning over to smack the back of his neck. “Wooyoung may be eight years younger than me but he certainly acts like he’s five.”

You laugh at the banter. “Me and my siblings were the same way. We’d always fight but in the end, we care for each other. It’s sweet to see you guys act the same.” You smile, taking a bite of your stew. “Thank you for letting me sit in on your family dinner.”

Mr Park shakes his head. “Of course. Can’t let you walk on your own at night, you know. I’d be happy to give you a ride home from now on.”

“Ah, no, I can’t make you do that,” you try and decline again but Seonghwa is having none of that.

“It’s not a matter of making me, I offered. I can’t let my babysitter just stand around in the dark. Let me do this for you. Jihee cares for you, she wouldn’t want to make you get hurt.”

You frown, pursing your lips. “I suppose I can’t argue with that,” you concede. “Thank you once again.”

Mr Park shakes his head, his hand moving up to ruffle your hair. “Don’t worry about it.” His hand rests atop your head a moment longer before he remembers who he is in relation to you. “Ah, sorry. Habit from Jihee.”

The heartfelt moment is cut loose by everyone amused at Mr Park’s habit. Jihee immediately takes the initiative to start rambling about stickers, engrossing everyone in the conversation, Wooyoung being particularly vocal. The dinner is finished with no other events, and you offer to help clean up, ignoring Mr Park when he tries to protest.

“Thank you for helping out,” he tries to thank you but you wave your hand dismissively.

“You fed me and are driving me home. It’s the least I could do. Shall we head out though? I don’t want you to have to leave Jihee for too long.”

Mr Park nods, grabbing his keys and jangling them as he opens the door to the garage. You do your best to not show your surprise at the sight of his fancy car. Of course, you knew he was well off, but you never imagined you’d actually be sitting in his car. He even opens the door for you, letting you slide into the passenger seat.

You hold yourself stiffly, but Mr Park looks over and just laughs at you. “Relax, I’m not going to bite you. Just let me know where to go and we’ll be set. Want a piece of gum?”

He holds out a pack of gum and you gladly take the piece, happy for the distraction. Most of the car ride is silent, except for you telling him occasionally where to go. But as he pulls up to your street, he slows to a crawl.

“You know, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around.me. Sure, I’m your employer, but I’m also a dad. I got the dad instinct, you know?” Your lips twitch at his attempt to be comforting. “Really, though. Don’t hold yourself so tight around me. I don’t mind doing this for you.”

You turn your eyes down. “Thank you. I’ll try, it’s just a little weird for me if you understand. But I do appreciate everything you’re doing for me.” As you unbuckle your seatbelt, you smile at Mr Park. “I hope you have a good night.”

As you go to your apartment building, Mr Park leans out of his car and calls after you. “You can call me Seonghwa, (Y/N). Mr Park makes me feel old.”

You laugh at his admission. “We’ll see, grandpa!” You can’t help but tease him before running into your home, leaving an amused Seonghwa outside.

-

These days you and Seonghwa have become a lot more friendly. He’s taken to driving you home despite your protests and during the car rides, some interesting conversations have happened. For example, you learnt that he built his company from the ground and yet is respected in many old money circles.

Okay, maybe you didn’t learn that from a conversation, and instead just searched on the internet. But what can you say? You’re curious about the man who happens to be your charge’s father and the man who happens to be very very handsome.

Maybe you have a bit of a crush on Seonghwa, but you couldn’t blame yourself. There was something about him. It is the aura he holds himself with, the kindness in his smile when he arrives home, and it helps that he is hot. Every so often, you can’t help but find yourself glancing at his pretty hands, or his well-toned arms, and you have to look away before heat spreads up to your ears.

You’re down bad, and it’s not getting any better. Every time you see Seonghwa, you want to jump him but it would be inappropriate. Not only is he your employer, but he’s also a decade older than you. There’s no way he would be interested in you, he probably sees you just as some kid.

With a sigh, you look down at your sketchbook. Today was supposed to be a fun day. Both Jihee and Seonghwa were off today, so you were spending the day with her as Seonghwa was still called into the office to put in some extra hours. But then the toddler fell sick and you were tasked with taking care of her.

At least it was a fairly easy job—Jihee slept most of the day and you were free to work on some of your more personal projects. Although your passion lies in children, you do enjoy drawing and even took a couple of classes in college. As you lay on the couch sketching, you get so lost in your mind you don’t even register the door opening and the footsteps coming towards you.

“Is that me?”

A shriek rips its way out of your throat as you do your best to whirl around and hold your drawings to your chest, but your legs get caught in the blanket and you instead fall half off the couch to the ground. Your chin props your head up on the ground but your legs are still tangled on the couch, your arms twisted into the blanket, the sketchbook an arm’s reach away.

“Hi, Mr– Seonghwa. How was work today?” you mumble half into the carpet, too embarrassed to look up. “Jihee’s taking a nap in her room.”

After a moment of silence, Seonghwa laughs, although it’s a little pained. “Uh. Do you need help up?”

You groan, pulling one of your arms out from your cocoon prison. “That would be great, thanks. Sorry.”

One of his cool hands gently takes your elbow as another comes to rest on your back. It’s at the moment you realise your shirt has ridden up. You can’t help but tense at the touch, hoping the embarrassment doesn’t show on your face. “Jihee’s taking a nap?”

You’re grateful he chose to brush over the incident. “Yeah– yeah. She’s not much better, but she’s not much worse. It’s just a simple cold, so she needs to sleep it off.” You chose to ignore the hand lingering on the small of your back, instead scooching back on your butt to distance yourself just a little bit. He’s your employer, there’s no way you can give in to your feelings.

But the couch seems to be against your plans, as when you try to pull the blankets off your feet you tumble into Seonghwa’s legs, knocking him down as you land on his firm chest. Your face is mere centimetres away from his and you freeze. “I–” you stammer out, Seonghwa equally as awkward.

“Sorry–” He tries to sit up, but it just results in the blankets twisting tighter and pulling you two even closer together. You swear if you could hold your breath, you could feel and hear his heart beating. “Ah, shit.”

You can’t help but laugh a little at his profanity, not something you’ve ever expected to hear from him. “Welcome back, Seonghwa.”

Seognhwa’s eyes widen, his blush deepens, and his head snaps away from you. Your brows furrow at the change in his features and you can’t help but wonder if it’s from the proximity, or if it’s the proximity to you specifically. “Ah. Let’s get out of this, shall we?” he coughs. He carefully detangles himself from the pile and holds out a hand to you.

You grasp it, noting his firm grip and letting him pull you up. “Thanks.”

“I’ll drive you back to your apartment first since Jihee’s asleep right now. It won’t take long.” While Seonghwa’s voice remains warm, his eyes move away from you.

Suddenly a guilty feeling pools in your stomach and you turn away as well, bending to pick up your sketchbook silently. “Of course.” The disappointment fills your head as you internally admonish yourself for even trying to entertain your fantasies of the older man.

But, to your surprise, a warm hand pats you on your shoulder. “You are good at art, (Y/N). You should continue to pursue and practice it, even as just a hobby.” His words make you look up into his eyes and you see a sparkle behind them. “You’re a talented person, and you should take advantage of it.”

“Thank you, Seonghwa,” you smile at him again. “Once again, I appreciate the kindness you offer me.”

Seonghwa chuckles, spinning the car keys as you’ve quickly found out is his habit. “(Y/N), thank you for putting up with such an old man who can offer you nothing but kindness.”

You snort. “You’re not even that old, you geezer.” In retaliation, Seonghwa leans over and pokes you in the forehead.

“Oh, hush and let me take you home.”

-

It’s been almost six months since that day and your feelings have only intensified. But this time, you swear perhaps he may be returning your feelings too. Sometimes you catch him looking at you with a gentle smile, and his hand on your shoulder lingers a little longer than you think. But then he talks to an employee on the phone and you remember how accomplished he is. Even if he wasn’t much older than you, there’s no way you would fit into his lifestyle.

And, like any self-respecting person would do, you start to avoid him. What else are you going to do? Tell him? You’d be crazy to even entertain the thought. There’s no way he would even take you seriously.

These days you’ve just been going to work, and heading straight home. Seonghwa barely has time to catch you, and you’ve been plotting with Jihee to keep him away. She doesn’t quite understand why, but it’s fun to her so she’s happy to. You’re pretty sure half your wallet has gone to sticker sheets. But no matter how many stickers you’ve bought, it doesn’t help Seonghwa from figuring out something is amiss.

It’s your one day off and you’re spending it at home, lounging around and just watching movies while you sulk about your tangled feelings. Watching all these romantic movies doesn’t help at all and you groan. There’s no way you’re going to act like a lonely teenager, you declare to yourself. You’ll go to a club! Maybe meet someone closer to your age and you won’t feel like a wet sock anymore.

That’s it, you’ve convinced yourself. You’ll give yourself a night out. Suddenly inspired, you throw off the blankets covering you and start donning your nicest clothes. There’s a club you used to frequent in your college days, and you haven’t been back since you got the new job. It’d be nice to let loose again.

As the nighttime approaches, you’re almost all ready to go. You have your outfit and your makeup, and all you need is your shoes. Once you pick out your favourite pair of heels (comfy and not too high), you make your way down. You can feel the excitement pounding out of your chest and you can’t wait to get the night started.

As you enter the club, your body immediately relaxes as you take in the atmosphere. It’s been so long, you’re just excited to have fun. Get drunk, find a nice guy, and forget your problems. You down drink after drink, hyping yourself up, but as late night comes, nothing happens. With a sigh, you plunk down your last drink, feeling the buzz of the alcohol burn in your veins.

Nothing will happen tonight, and you just have to come to terms with it. You place down a couple of bills to pay off your tab, tip, and stumble out of the bar. You’re plastered. You can hardly walk in a straight line and you lean against the cool brick for a minute, letting the sensation sober you up a bit as you do your best to call up a taxi.

But before you can do so, a hand creeps onto your bare waist and your head snaps up to see a man, no younger than fifty, leering at you. “Uh, hi?” you slur out, your hands fiddling with your phone as you try and discreetly move to the phone app. You may be plastered, but you’re not a fool and you know what could happen in this situation.

Unfortunately, the old man seems to know what you’re trying and he grabs one of your wrists. “Now, pretty lady, take a break there. Why don’t you come hang out with me for a bit?” His words are greasy and slimy, and you almost gag at the idea of what he’s insinuating. At least Seonghwa isn’t triple your age…and he’s hot.

“Ah, no thanks,” you manage to push past him, pressing your most recent contact and holding the phone to your ear. “I’m a little uh…” You’re cut off when whoever you call starts speaking.

“(Y/N)? Why are you calling me? It’s nine.” Seonghwa’s voice crackles through the receiver. “Are you okay?”

“Ah, shit,” you groan, stumbling to your side and colliding with the wall. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you. I’m just out and–”

Once again, the old man approaches you and pulls you back by the waist. “Come on, pretty. Get off the phone and pay attention to me.”

You shake your head and pull away again, moving even more down the street. “No, no, I’m not– just leave me alone. I want to go home,” you say, shaking your head, still holding the phone to your face. “Just…I wanna go home.”

“(Y/N), are you okay? Where are you?” You can hear the worry in Seonghwa’s voice rise and a faint jingling of keys. “I’m going to get you. Wooyoung’s here so he can watch Jihee. Talk to me, (Y/N).”

“I’m at the club Desire. Or near it. I don’t know.” Your head is muddled and no matter where you look, the street signs are blurring and the old man is still trying to get your attention. “I just want to go home,” you repeat, tears springing to your eyes. “I thought I told you to leave me alone!”

The old man growls at your tone, grabbing at you again. “Don’t be stupid, child. You can come home with me and I’ll teach you how to be proper for a man like you.” His breath reeks of alcohol and bad breath and you instinctively slap him across the face. Surprised, he jerks back, and you take a couple of shaky steps back again.

“Leave me be! I don’t want you near me.”

The old man’s eyes narrow at you and he takes one menacing step forward, his hand raising to strike you but you bring up your arms to block the slap, whimpering in pain when the hit lands and your phone clatters out of your hand. “You insolent child!” Your eyes squeeze shut and you hope Seonghwa gets there soon.

-

Seonghwa has never driven so fast in his life. He’s racing through the lights and he counts his lucky stars that they’re all green and that the police aren’t around right now. He can hear arguing coming from his phone and he’s calm enough knowing you’re at least still on the phone. But then he hears a noise and what he assumes to be your phone falling on the ground. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself. “Please, please be okay, (Y/N).”

Stepping on the gas, he roars around the corner to the club you mentioned, praying you’re still there. As he gets out, he’s looking around but can’t seem to find you. “(Y/N)?” he calls out. “Where are you?”

He races down the street to find you pinned against the wall, your hands attempting to push an old geezer away and he sees red. He marches right up, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from your shaking figure. “Fuck off,” he growls in his face, delighting in the fear that moves across his face. “Don’t let me catch you near this place again. Now fuck off!”

He practically throws the old man to his knees before turning and cupping your face. “Seonghwa,” you practically sob. He can still see the drunken haze in your eyes but it’s almost completely cleared up now and his brow furrows even more.

“Come on, I’m taking you home.” He pulls you along and you do your best to keep up with him in your inebriated state. “I can’t believe you would do this! Have you no sense of security? Why didn’t you get anyone to come with you? Why would you call a taxi outside of the establishment?”

He still opens the car door for you and you slide immediately in, eyes staring wide at the pristine dashboard. He slides in and puts the car in the ignition before sitting back and groaning in frustration. “I hope you’re ready to talk as soon as we get inside,” he gripes. “I still am so shocked, (Y/N). You act so mature about Jihee, but what happened then? You could’ve been hurt…no, you were hurt!”

He continues his rant driving up to your street, ushering you into the elevator and into your place. “Do you know how my heart dropped when I saw you struggling? I don’t want to see you hurt. You need to take care of yourself.”

As he yells at you, his eyes rake over you to see if you’re injured any further, but something else stops him and the words die in his throat. You’re wearing a sheer shirt, your lacy bra underneath just showing off your chest. Your leather skirt has ridden up your thighs and your eyes fill with unshed tears. And something burns in his brain.

It’s been months since he hired you, and with each passing day, he finds himself more and more attracted to you. He berated himself every time these unwanted thoughts popped into his head. Sure, you’re sweet, good with kids, and are passionate about what you care about. But you’re also so young. You can do so much better than him, a single father with no prospects.

But seeing you like this, heat sparks in his gut and he leans in, his face mere inches away from yours. “When you wear things like that, it makes me want to rip them off you and do things even that creep couldn’t even imagine,” his low voice pierces through your thoughts and your mouth gapes open.

“I’m okay with that,” you whisper, hand reaching out to brush against his chest, but Seonghwa blinks as he realises what he just tried to do, and he jerks back. Your eyes flash with hurt and Seonghwa would like to hit himself for doing that to you but he can’t let you come onto him when you’re still drunk.

“I– I’m sorry,” you whisper, your hands reaching behind you to steady yourself on the wall. “I just felt so lonely. I wanted to be wanted.” 

Seonghwa’s breath stutters as he stares down into your wavering eyes. “I–” He wants you so bad. But he can’t bring himself to say it. Not when you’re drunk. “Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He turns away and hears your disappointed sigh alongside your footsteps trudging to your bedroom. With a groan, he sits on the couch with his head in his hands. He wants to reassure you, but he can’t help but feel guilty about it. But he’s still straining in his pants and after locating your bathroom, he sits on the shower bench, leaning against the cool tile and breathing in and out. With a groan, he unzips his pants and pulls out his half-hard cock. The feeling of regret rises but he pushes it down to his gut as he spits in his hand and presses his thumb against the head of his dick.

As he wraps his hand around his cock and pumps it, he can’t help but close his eyes and imagine you. You with your mouth wrapped around his cock, with your hands gripping his thighs. You seated on his throbbing member, grinding your hips against him as you lean down to kiss him. He can feel his dick jump and he wonders what it’ll feel like to fill you with his cum.

He lets out a broken moan as his grip turns tighter. His image of you would scratch your nails down his back. He can almost hear your little whines and breathy moans as your hips work over him. You’d lean in and whisper into his mouth, “Seonghwa, fuck me hard,” and—

Seonghwa sighs as he looks down at his cum-coated hand and the mix of shame and relief swirling around his brain. Maybe he should just go to sleep on the couch and hope he doesn’t dream of you. As he washes his hand and goes to lie down, he can already feel a stress headache coming on. He hopes you’ll at least fare better in the morning.

-

When you awaken, you have a throbbing pain in your head and you groan and roll out of bed. You’ve taken your club shirt off as well as your skirt, but your bra and underpants are still on. You’re sure your makeup is smudged too and you have no clue how you got home but all you want is some coffee and oatmeal.

You trudge to the kitchen, rubbing your eyes from sleep. There’s a blanket fallen on the floor so you toss it onto the couch and head straight into the kitchen to start your coffee maker. As you lean against the counter and yawn.

“(Y/N), are you feeling better?”

A voice calls out from behind you and you shriek, whirling around to see a sleepy Seonghwa, blanket wrapped around him and his hair a mess. You shriek again, realising how little you’re clothed and duck behind the counter, your cheeks flaming and your heart beating faster than you ever thought it could.

“What are you doing here?” you force out, your voice tight.

“Do…do you not remember last night at all?” You do remember most of what happened. He took you home, but that’s about as far as you remember. And you’re not sure you want to know the rest of it. But you’re far too embarrassed to admit, so you put your acting skills to use. You’re not sure you can handle the shame of a real conversation.

“What?” you ask, forcing your voice to pitch higher as you slowly stand back up, hands covering your chest. “I didn’t– Oh my God, I’m so sorry if I came onto you. I was drunk, I must’ve been out of my mind. Please accept my deepest apologies.”

You notice Seonghwa’s eyes trail down to your chest and then snap back up to your face as if he’s forcing himself to and he chokes out a breath. Despite the headache, your mouth twitches. Maybe you’re still a little out of it. “No, nothing like that. I fetched you from the club because you called me to save you from a creep. Then I took you home and we slept.”

You sigh. “I’m glad. I do apologise for whatever my behaviour was. It was out of line and it won’t happen again. I understand if you want to let me go–”

“No!” Seonghwa’s outburst surprises you and your eyes widen. The lack of clothes you’re wearing has been long forgotten and you move around the counter to stand in front of him. Seonghwa has the decency to look a little embarrassed at the volume of his voice. “Sorry. I just…it’s like you’re a part of our family already. I care for you just as much as I care for Jihee.”

Ah. He thinks of you like a child. Your suspicions were right. You turn slightly to face away from him, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice. “I see. Well, I appreciate that. It’s nice to have a second family,” you chuckle, internally beating yourself up. How could you even entertain the thought of the two of you being together? “Let me change, and I’ll walk you out.”

As you return to your room, you finally let your heart sink as tears brim in your eyes. You hastily wipe them away as you rummage in the pile of clothes on your bed for something fairly appropriate to wear. First, you make a fool of yourself in front of Seonghwa, and then your crush is unfounded. You can’t seem to catch a break.

With a sigh, you pull on some shorts and a large shirt before heading back out. “Hey, (Y/N), could we talk first?” Seonghwa asks, still standing in between the kitchen and the living room as his eyes flit around nervously.

After some hesitation, you finally find your voice. “Sure? What’s up? You can sit on the couch if you want.”

Seonghwa takes a seat, hiking up his sweatpants and you move to the floor across the little coffee table. “Last night…you told me something.” Oh no. This is it. You bite your lower lip and look down, awaiting his next words. “Uh. So. You think you came onto me, right? Well. It was. Uh. It may have been me.”

You blink at him foolishly as your brain tries to wrap itself around your head. “You what?”

Seonghwa raises his hands and lowers his head ashamedly. “Let me explain, please. I saw you outside with that horrid excuse of a human and something in me snapped. I just wanted to protect you and I brought you home. But seeing you in that outfit? It just made me want you. And I told you. And you reciprocated. At least, you tried to.” He chuckles a little to himself, bringing up his hand to grip at his hair. “I told you we would talk in the morning. But one thing you said stuck with me. You wanted to be wanted. And all night I’ve been thinking about it. (Y/N), you were drunk. But you weren’t that drunk. Something you said had truth to it. Please. For my own sanity, tell me how you feel about me. Please.”

His voice cracks at the last syllable and something in your heart hurts at the sound. “Seonghwa I…I do care for you. More than I should. You’ve shown me unbendable compassion and you’ve never taken my words or myself for granted…or treated me like a child. Against my better judgment, I’ve fallen for you.” You sigh, tightening your fists. “I’ve been hating myself for the better part of six months because of it. You were so much better than me. In job, in maturity. What was I supposed to do? I went to the club to forget you, but it appears that didn’t work.”

Seonghwa stands quickly, shuffling over to kneel in front of you. “How could you think such a thing? Me better than you? Don’t make me laugh. I may be older than you, and yes, I have a better-paying job. But in the end, how could you compare? You’re amazing with Jihee. You’ve managed to teach her in ways I could hardly hope to imagine. And just because I have a higher wage doesn’t mean your job is less important. I wasn’t lying when I said it felt like you were already part of the family.”

“You told me you thought of me like Jihee,” you argue, and Seonghwa laughs, leaning forward to take your hands.

“I said I care for you as much as I care for Jihee. Not in the same way, (Y/N).” Seonghwa smiles kindly. “I know if this does happen we’ll need to put a lot of care into this, but if you’ll have me, I’d like to be with you.”

You’re not sure whether this is a dream or not, staring up at Seonghwa with wide eyes. You’d be a fool if you said no, but the worries in your head won’t seem to cease. Taking a deep breath, you push them aside and smile up at him. “I’ll have you, Seonghwa.”

As soon as the words fall out of your mouth you can see Seonghwa’s eyes crinkle as he smiles and leans in, his nose almost touching yours. “May I kiss you?” he murmurs in his deep voice, and instead of gracing him with a reply, you meet him in a soft kiss.

His large hands cup your face as he deepens the kiss, and his thumbs brush against your cheekbones. “You’re so pretty,” he hums, pressing a multitude of pecks to your lips. “Last night I was so conflicted. Seeing you like that made me almost go insane.”

An idea sparks in your brain, and a smile widens on your face. Your fingers crawl up his shoulders to rest your arms on them. “How insane?” you ask, and Seonghwa’s eyes darken.

“I’ll show you,” he grows before capturing your lips with his once again. This time his arms shift to wrap around your waist and he pulls you closer until you’re practically pressed against his body. You squeak at the sudden movement but it’s swallowed by the kiss.

He pulls you onto his lap and you can feel the growing hardness in his slacks. You wriggle your hips a little, grinding down, and the moan that Seonghwa lets out is heaven to your ears. “Fuck, (Y/N). You’re so pretty,” he repeats, burying his face in your neck and nipping at the sensitive skin.

You whine at the pain blooming into pleasure and your hands fist into his hair. Your precious sounds get to Seonghwa and he groans, moving your legs to wrap around his waist and he hoists you up and brings you over to the couch. “Your noises are so pretty, baby,” Seonghwa groans into your mouth. “Can’t wait to hear them when you’re wrapped around my cock.”

“Please–” is all you can muster out and your whines only serve to make Seonghwa’s cock harder in his pants.

With a groan, he pats your ass, motioning for you to move up. As soon as your hips lift, he grabs the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down to your knees, leaving your underwear and shirt on. In the same motion, he shoves his slacks and boxers down just far enough to let his cock spring free.

“Seonghwa–”  you whine and something in Seonghwa’s stomach burns at the idea of you crying on his throbbing dick. He sits back, guiding you to sit right above his cock as he moves it to rub against your soaked underwear. Every time the angry-red tip of it brushes against your clit you let out breathy moans and it only serves to make Seonghwa impossibly harder.

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” Seonghwa breathes, his free hand coming up to brush against your face. A smile blooms on your face as you bend to kiss him again.

“Then don’t.”

Something flips in Seonghwa’s brain and he lifts you, pushes your underwear to the side, and lets his cock press into you slowly. The both of you throw your head back and groan loudly at the feeling of him slowly filling you up. He’s not the biggest you’ve had but that doesn’t matter as the sting of the stretch is enough to make you drool. You can hardly speak as you whine nonsense into his ear and let your head drop to the crook of his neck.

“You fit around me so well,” Seonghwa praises, his head spinning at the feeling of finally fucking you the way he dreamed of. It was only yesterday he was fucking into his hand at the thought of you and here he is, only a few hours later, his painfully hard member inside of you. “Look at you, a mess for me. Bet you’ve never been with an older man before. Do I make you feel good, baby?”

You clench at his words. “Fuck, yes, the best I’ve had,” you babble, squirming at the already overwhelming feeling. “You’re so good to me.”

Seonghwa laughs delightedly at how gone you seem to be not five minutes in. “So precious, especially for me, (Y/N). Sitting on my dick so prettily.” He gives a little experimental thrust upwards and you gasp. The noises you make are so addictive, he can’t help but do it again. And again.

You’re panting, moaning as he fills you up so deliciously and your hands grip at his now-wrinkled dress shirt. His cool hands slide up your baggy shirt to shove up your bra and cup your boobs. The weight of them sitting in his hands makes him groan as he leans in to mouth at them through your shirt.

“Been dreaming about these tits since last night. Jerked off in the bathroom after seeing you, you know?” Your eyes widen at the admission and Seonghwa smirks at how embarrassed you look. “Wanted you so bad and you thought I wouldn’t like you in that way? You’re so cute, (Y/N).” He punctuates each word with one thrust after another.

The feeling of his dick pumping into you as well as Seonghwa’s teeth scraping against the soft flesh of your tits makes you so overwhelmed. It’s almost embarrassing how close you are already, and Seonghwa knows it, chucking up at you from between your chest. “Aw, baby, you’re so far gone. Am I that good?”

You cry out and sink your teeth into the junction of his shoulder and neck. You’re trying so hard to keep your noises down but Seonghwa isn’t having any of that. His hand finds its way to your hair, gently tugging on it until your head falls back, exposing the column of your neck.

As his warm breath ghosts over it, you stiffen, and when he moves up from your chest to lick a stripe up it and nip at your earlobe, you come with a groan. Your hips are shaking from the intensity of it but his thrusts don’t stop and soon you’re whining from the overstimulation.

And he still hasn’t come.

“Fuck, Seonghwa, it’s so much,” you groan, mouth hanging open. Seonghwa greedily swoops in to capture your lips once more, licking into your mouth as his thrusts become more and more erratic.

His dick twitches and he groans. “Where do you want me? I’m clean,” Seonghwa mumbles into your mouth.

You shift your hips a little. “I’m clean too and on the pill, so it’s on you. I don’t care, I just want you, Hwa.”

Your words spark something in Seonghwa and he thrusts upwards, once, and his cum starts filling you. It’s searingly hot, settling deep in your gut and you throw your head back and moan so goddamn loud. His throbbing cock is twitching like crazy and it’s still pumping cum into you. Seonghwa’s hand slides down your body to tweak at your nipples, thumb over your flesh, and finally come to rub little circles into your clit.

You gasp and it feels like you’re touching heaven from the extra stimulation. “Gonna fill you up so well,” Seonghwa groans. “Do you think Jihee would like a sibling?” 

Your thoughts all blur together at his sentence and you come again with a groan. Your cunt squeezes around him so deliciously and a sob breaks its way out of your throat, one that Seonghwa eagerly swallows as he kisses you again.

His thrusts start to slow down and you slowly pull off his now-softening dick and settle back down on his lap. His hands push his leaking cum back into your pulsating pussy and you sigh at the feeling.

“Well, that was quite the escalation,” Seonghwa laughs quietly as he pulls both your and his pants back up and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. His hand pats your butt and you squirm and slap his chest softly.

“You’re lucky I’m on the pill.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly and Seonghwa hums, capturing your lips in his yet again. He can’t get enough of your plush lips and you’re not complaining at all.

“I’m lucky to have you, period,” he sighs happily. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

You smile and sit up, ignoring the whines that come out of Seonghwa’s mouth at the lack of contact. “Well, I couldn’t let you be a lonely old man,” you tease and Seonghwa smacks your ass again.

“Can old man do what I just did?” You’re suddenly lying on your back with Seonghwa hovering over you, a crooked smile growing on his face. “Or do you need another demonstration?”

You smile and throw your arms around his shoulders and pull him closer. “I don’t know, sir, maybe you should show me once more.”

With a nip to your lips, Seonghwa leans in and your eyes crinkle at the promise of what’s to come.

[cheriladycl01]

Hi!

Could you please write something for whichever f1 driver you want with a reader who's a children's books illustrator and author? Maybe they get to know each other because his niece is obsessed with her books and he took her to one of her events.

I'd like to see how the grid and the media would react to someone so bubbly, kind, and creative!

Thnx!! <3

My sunshine - Lewis Hamilton x ChildrensAuthor! Reader

Plot: Lewis comes home to find his niece and nephew obsessed with one lady’s books! Little did he know you’d end up being his whole future!

“What you reading there?” Lewis asked as he grabbed some fruit from the fridge and started to cut it up. Babysitting was one of his favourite free time activities.

“MAE THE MAGICIAN” they both yell at him, making him pause cutting the fruit. He knew his niece really enjoyed reading but to see his nephew so excited about this book was odd.

“Mmmm what’s it about?” Lewis asks as he starts to make little snack boxes for the two, ready to take them out to the park.

“This girl called Mae, and she helps Gaia and George using her Magic tricks, she’s funny” the girl describes to her favourite Uncle.

“Woah, what kind of magic tricks does she do?” He asks.

“She makes sure their homework is complete and their beds are made for when their mum gets home!” His nephew explains.

“Oh and then this book is good to. Can we show you our library uncle Lewis” his nephew begs looking up at him with those puppy dog eyes that he couldn’t say no too!

He follows them up, being taken to one of the smaller bedrooms that was being used as as playroom/ library. There was an expanse of books, but what caught his eye was how many of the same author there were.

It was the same one as the book they were reading from earlier. It seemed she had lots of kids books varying in ages from very young, basically just pictures books, to a series of books which reminded him of the Rainbow Magic Series that his brothers girlfriend had read when she was younger.

They all had titles of careers with a matching name. Both boys and girls.

Alex the Astrologist

Bianca the Brain Surgeon

Colin the Conductor

Daisy the Dragon Tamer

Ethan the Ecologist

Freya the F1 Driver

Who?

That intrigued him.

“Have you guys read all of these?” He asks with wide eyes.

“Of course! She’s the best! Our favourite” one of them exclaims as they re-order books that had been misplaced.

“Which ones your favourite?” He asks his nephew.

“She wrote one about me! Called Kaiden the Karate Master” he exclaims making chopping actions with his hands.

“And you?” He asks Willow.

“She wrote one about me to called Willow the Writer” she says shoving the book at him happily to which he looks through looking at all the cute little illustrations to which he later researched that they were actually drawn by the author as well.

Upon doing further research and trying to get some of her latest books on pre-order he went down a rabbit hole, finding her instagram which was incredibly cozy and just what he expected from an author.

There was a few posts of her charity work and what she did around her community. The links led him to her official website where she had her various charities, an about her page that he couldn’t help but browse but he also saw a part where it showed up and coming events.

“Willow? Kaiden? How would you feel about going to meet Y/N Y/L/N, maybe get a few books signed?” He asks the next morning, wondering whether that would be something they were into.

“YES!” They’d both screamed.

He sent you a DM on Instagram explaining that he was planning on bringing his niece and nephew to your book signing in London. You replied immediately which shocked him, explaining you’d be more than happy to do a private signing afterwards for him and his family and how you were a huge fan of his.

At the book signing.

You were pretty exhausted after the public signing and needed to have a break and just grab a drink where your throat was on fire for talking as much as you had.

But within the hour you were ready to see Lewis and his niece and nephew. They were so polite to you when you stood up to greet them and what shocked Lewis even more is how easily you communicated to the younger kids.. It was like second nature to you how you used your hands to basically animate everything you say to make you seem so youthful and energetic.

“Hi I’m Lewis and this is Willow and Kaiden” he introduced and from after that he was insanely smitten with you, everything you did he would watch with wide eyes.

You spent the time interacting with the kids and signing the copious amounts of books that they had bought for you to sign. You also talked to them about upcoming stuff that they would enjoy where they had really liked your career series for young children.

“Hey I know you might think this is a little soon but I’d really like to take you out some time, for dinner” he asked one his sibling had taken the kids outside to the car say that he could ask you some more personal questions. They ranged from what you enjoyed to how you got into writing children’s books specifically.”

“Well, I think I would really like that, I don’t think I’ve ever been out on a proper date” she smiles looking down and blushing lightly at the comment.

”Never been on a proper date, I’ll have to treat you right then?” he smirks looking over you.

“Where would we go?” You ask politely starting to collect the books left over from the signing.

“Out to a restaurant or a movie, maybe a picnic at some point when it’s warmer the weather isn’t great right now” he says stepping closer to her.

After the book signing you and Lewis went on dates, lots of them and to say his niece and nephew were excited was an understatement you would randomly turn up to family events and they’d start to get your books early and not published Waterstones versions that normally were gifted to them.

“Baby I really want you to come to a race with me, I want to show you off to everyone there and how cute you are. I bet the grid will love you just as much as I do. Actually scrap that, that’s impossible” he smiles and you can’t help but giggle.

“Of course I’ll come with you Lew” you smile leaning across him and kissing his check, before gripping his hands and holding them.

“You ready to meet everyone?” He asks with that soft chocolaty voice that could make you melt.

“I think so, I’m just kind of nervous what they’ll think” you say a light blush forming into your face wondering if you’d embarrass yourself on camera, or if they’d ask you questions … it was hard.

“Well, for the record I know they’ll love you. You want a run down?” And you of course nod wanting to know as much as possible.

“Well, there’s my teammate Charles who you’ll probably meet first in the garage. You’ll love his girlfriend Alex she’s a diamond and you’ll talk about fashion no doubt!” He grins and you not trying to take in the names knowing more are to come.

He talks about his ex team-mates George and Valtteri and how you’d get on with both of them pretty well. He also knew Lando and Daniel would love you, as you all had very similar bubbly people personality’s.

He was excited to show you off to not just them but everyone, you weren’t like the other Hollywood Stars and actresses you were just so … normal? NOT that he would ever describe you as that, because that almost felt like an insult to you.

“Are you nervous baby?” He asks looking over to you as he pulls into the paddock.

“A little, I’ve never been around this many people here before” you say looking over to him, grabbing onto his hand on the gear stick.

“You’ll be fine, and you’ll finally get to watch me in my job. I love watching you write and draw but I want you to see what I do” he nods and you smile, loving this side of Lewis.

He had this intimacy that you’d never experienced with anyone else. Little things he appreciated knowing that you’d never had with anyone else.

You walked through the paddock together scanning your little pass on the thing seeing an awful picture of you come up that Lewis must have submitted.

“Lewis what the hell!” You asked gazing at the picture he’d chosen.

“What! I love that photo of you!” He smiles happily gazing at you looking at the picture that slowly disappears.

“Come on, let’s get you to the garage so you can get familiar with everything” he smiles a hand sneaking round your waist as he guides you through the bustling paddock.

When you enter Ferrari Garage your greeted by all the mechanics, a lot of them with young children knowing exactly who you are and wanting pictures to show their kids when they got home.

Charles and Alexandra greeted you only 30 minutes later and you and Alex got along great, taking Roscoe and Leo for walks around the paddock while she tried to help you adjust to all the hustle and bustle of life in motorsport.

“So how long have you and Lewis been together now?” Alex asked with a small polite smile.

“Oh! It feels like forever! He’s only been so sweet and like to me” you grin, your voice getting louder and louder as you talk about Lewis. Alex notices and can’t help but smile at how you’re talking about Lewis.

After meeting Alex and Charles the next people you ended up meeting was Lando and Oscar. Lewis had asked you to grab his water bottle from the car which he’d left behind and you got lost on your way back the two McLaren drivers immediately noticing and recognising you.

They helped you back to the garage just as they were being called for the race and that they needed to get into the car.

Then next thing you knew as you were watching Lewis come round a corner, a little drift as skidded in the gravel but caught himself well enough that it didn’t lessen his time too much.

Then you were casted on the TV screens and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.

You gave a polite little wave and grin to the camera before it panned off of you and back onto the race.

“And that’s Y/N Y/L/N she’s the current partner of Lewis Hamilton and she’s a very well known author of children’s books, ones that actually my own children read and I just know they are going to be kicking their feet that I got to meet her today” the commentator offers with a little chuckle.

“Yeah what did you think of her?” The other commentator for Sky Sports asks.

“Ah she’s just so sweet, she wouldn’t stop talking about her writing and I was more than happy to listen and she was so polite and happy and god’s I want her in the paddock more often, she’s such a little ray of sunshine”

After all the excitement, you had this energy around you that you couldn’t describe and it gave you loads of writing juices. You got home to the hotel that night and you wrote down all your ideas, sat in Lewis lap.

You knew for sure you’d be coming back to way more races and you’d been missing out!

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[rosie-read-that]

a nonsense christmas / tyler owens x reader

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

content warnings: f!reader, allusions to smut

word count: 9k

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

“You have got to be kidding me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dammit.

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

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

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

“Somewhere in the middle of Benburg.”

“Where?”

“Exactly.”

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

“No shit.”

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

“And I told you I had no choice.”

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

“Margo, no!”

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

“Honey, are you almost here?”

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

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

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

“How long a-ways?”

“Less than two hours,” you lied.

It was absolutely more than two hours.

A pause. “Well, I guess that's okay.”

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

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

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

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

“Ha!”

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

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

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

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

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

You added: “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better.”

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

“Oh shit,” you muttered under your breath.

“What?”

“The road is closed.”

“The whole road?”

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

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

“Evening, officer.”

“Good evening. Where’re you headed?”

“Sayre or roundabouts.”

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

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

God forbid.

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Right. Merry Christmas.”

You put your window back up.

“Did you catch that?”

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

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

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

“You’d better be.” She sighed.

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

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

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Don’t get murdered.”

“I’ll try.”

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

“Me? Defuse tension?”

“Good point.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ladies first.”

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

“What gave you that impression?”

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

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

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

“Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We arrived separately.”

“That’s not what it looked like.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meanwhile, Tyler swooped in like the big hero.

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

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

“Right…”

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

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

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

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

“Meaning…?”

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

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

“Absolutely not,” said Tyler.

“‘Absolutely’?”

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

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

“I’m sorry, no.”

“What about the lobby?”

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

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

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

“It has a chair,” Carol offered.

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

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

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

You have got to be kidding me…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweet dreams, Owens!”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tyler grabbed a bundle of things off the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tyler’s words were laced with sarcasm.

“Who, me? Just peachy.”

“Nighty-night, then.”

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

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

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

“Hey, I’m just trying to sleep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Carol would remember me,” he rejoined.

“Maybe I’ll disappear Carol too.”

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

“I’m very resourceful.”

“Oh, I bet you are…”

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

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

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

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

“Really? And why’s that?”

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

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

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

“…Did you really just ask that question?”

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

He chuckled, as if admitting it was true.

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

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

“One ace is all you need.”

“Not in this economy it’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Bitch?” you supplied.

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

You let out a snort. “Shut up.”

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

“Only about three-point-five therapists.”

“Why the point-five?” he asked.

“One was a grad student.”

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

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes.

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

Another pause.

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

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

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

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

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

“Looks like it.”

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

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

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

“She lives with my sister.”

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

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

“That’s kind of… really nerdy.”

“Do you want to sleep on the floor?”

“I’m sleeping on the floor anyway.”

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

“No.”

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

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

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

“You wish!”

Tyler looked at you sternly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Obviously.”

You turned the light off.

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

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

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

“That’s sizeist,” you sniffed.

There was a sound from his direction.

“Are you laughing?” you accused.

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

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

Tyler Owens thinks I’m funny?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. He had a point.

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

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

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

Tyler was quiet a moment.

“You don't know that.”

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

“Schmoozing?” he asked.

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

“So are you.”

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

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

“Ha!”

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

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

“How so?”

You sat up, eyeing his shadowed form.

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

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

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

You raked a hand through your hair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not mean!” you protested.

Tyler cocked his head.

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

“For which I’ll be forever grateful…”

You opened your mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you mansplaining relationships to me?”

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

You would not.

You would not.

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

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

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

“Alright. Night.”

“Night.”

-

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

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

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

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

You felt his arms tighten.

His breathing shift.

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

…and the hard protrusion pressing right against your stomach.

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

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

“It’s fine,” you tried to say.

“No! No, it’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

“The—”

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

“See, that was mean.”

“No, that was funny,” you laughed.

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

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

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

Tyler stared at the mattress with something like horror.

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

“Maybe I oughta sleep on the floor.”

“Seriously?”

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

You sighed.

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

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

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

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

You wiped your face of all expression.

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

“I didn’t say anything!”

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

Me? My face? You pointed at yourself.

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

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

“You’re evil.”

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

“Mind your own business!” he yelled back.

“But Tyler, it’s perfectly natural!”

He locked the door.

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

-

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

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

“I thought you’d be asleep.”

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

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

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

Which was kind.

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

Which wasn’t.

He rounded on you with his finger outstretched.

“Do not call it that!”

“Okay!”

“Never again!”

“Fine!”

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

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

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

You make an ASS out of U and ME.

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

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

You were touched. Weirdly, inappropriately.

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

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

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

“Don’t say ‘erection’!”

You rolled your eyes.

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

“You have gotta be kidding me…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re from Arkansas,” you said.

“Mm.”

“‘Regnat populus.’”

He quirked his brow.

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

“Nobody knows their state’s motto.”

“I had to learn them all for school.”

“High school?”

“Elementary.”

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

“Shut up.”

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

“What made you want to become a meteorologist?”

“Seriously?” you asked.

“What?”

“It’s a cliched question.”

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

You frowned.

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

“Why wouldn't I?”

Plain, simple.

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

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

Except you didn’t.

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

You held your breath.

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

Sexual napalm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, it is…”

“Don’t say 'biblically.’”

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

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

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

He balked. “That is not what I did.”

“Yeah, it is!”

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

“Three hours?”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

“So,” he said.

“So.”

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

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

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

“Well… merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, merry Christmas.”

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

“Can I call you, after the holidays?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

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

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

“I don’t mind that.”

“Yeah,” you said, “neither do I.”

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

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

[cowboythighs]

steddie semi-meet cute where adult star steve (whos attempting a record-breaking gangbang) falls for a mystery man (eddie) who takes him from behind and babbles (endearingly) in his ear nonstop until he finishes and is shuffled out. the only problem: steve never saw him—never got his name!

so steve does the only logical thing and gets a list of the participants from the producers and tracks them down, hoping to find the man he’s fallen for. when he gets to the last name on the list—wayne munson in forest hills trailer park.

steve’s disappointed when an older man—with a voice that’s clearly not his guys—answers the door and says he’s the only wayne munson living there. seeing steve’s despair, wayne invites him in for a drink and sets steve down at the kitchen table with a hot cup of coffee (with a healthy splash of bourbon) and a slice of chocolate cake and asks what brought steve to his door.

steve isn’t ashamed of his job, but he also is very aware of being alone in an unfamiliar home with a man he doesn’t know, so he glosses over the fine details and tells wayne that he’s an actor and he fell in love with an extra on scene and was trying to find him.

steve finds that talking to wayne is easy, and between the chocolate and the hot drink and a sympathetic ear, he starts to feel a bit better. he doesn’t know why someone used wayne’s name and address, but he’s glad his path crossed with waynes none the less.

wayne might not have answers to who his mystery guy is, but he’s a great listener and offers great advice.

when steve hears a car pull up outside, he regrets that their conversation must be coming to an end.

“don’t you worry about that,” wayne says, waving him off when steve tries to make his excuses. “that’s just my boy; he’s supposed to cook for me tonight. you should stay for dinner. he makes a mean lasagna.”

before steve can protest further, the front door opens and all ideas of leaving are gone. because the guy walking in looks like steves wet dreams—like the kind of guy he used to dream about skipping class with so he could rail steve over the picnic table in the woods behind the school.

wayne’s nephew has his hands full—bags of groceries hanging from both arms, a dish in hand that steve assumes is the lasagna, and an orange cat yowling at his heels while he apologizes to his uncle for being late.

steve’s so caught up in looking at eddie that he barely registers wayne explaining steve’s presence there.

when eddie turns to look at him, steve can tell eddie feels the same way about steve—that instant connection.

feeling confident, steve steps forward and offers his hand.

“i’m steve,” he says with his prettiest smile.

“i’m eddie. i think we’ve met before.”