#IT’S THE APRON FOR ME FAM

[birdstooth]

Me rn:

Ok wow, so many things

- Erik really commiting to the bit 👌 and wearing the bartender apron that no one even sees until he steps out from behind the bar

- The amount of time he spends folding/bundling that apron before giving up and plopping it in a useless pile on the table 😬

- The way he keeps pointing at Raoul with the hand that contains the apron so it looks like he’s saying “hold this for me” but Raoul leaves him hanging 😩

- Raoul dressed in his best cricket whites/like a Liverpool FC Spice Boy

- Them holding hands for at least 5 Mississippi’s

- me not being able to their voices apart lmao (I mean I can… But I also can’t lol)

- Raoul’s voice is a lil lower than Erik’s? I’ve probably permanently ruined my ears by blasting too much Avril Lavigne in my youth but it just sounds deeper/richer?

- Maybe bc I’ve only listened to Ben Lewis, I subconsciously expected something different so there was a bit of a David Beckham voice mismatch thing going on w RK

- Idk whenever ppl get into a sing off like this I always think back to the first song off I ever heard which was the original broadway cast of Les Mis w Colm Wilkinson I’m so sorry I forget the actor for Javert when they sing the musical chairs song (confrontation… but when I saw in the theatre they were doing like this shuffle around the chairs so that’s how I used to request the song to the DJ (my mom) when she drove me to school)

- Anyway, I feel like the voices need to be texturally different for maximum impact and that’s all I have to say as someone who had one or more of these songs on their Spotify wrapped last year

…

Everything is in my poto doodles tag :)

[ran-orimoto]

I’ve never understood why Junpei is so depressed about wearing that long-sleeved apron ahahahahha, but this scan from the 2019 booklet (and it also was on a magazine from when the series was running) is too cute to me. They always seem and look like a family at this point of the show wwww💕.

Izumi is probably telling son Tomoki looks adorable in that enormous apron, wheras Junpei just seems to be ready to embrace his Mum’s role and serve dinner .

When your kiddo gets more compliments and attention from your wife. Life.

Jokes aside, SOMEONE MAY LET HIM WEAR AN APRON NEXT TIME.

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Ok guys I knowwwww the 2016 PPG remake is bad. I'm seeing it firsthand with my own eyes as I watch it because I'm a bit sadistic. There's a lot of shit in here that makes me gag from its sheer stupidity.

But listen. Where the fuck else do I get fanservice gold like THIS 💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: dinner daze

authors note: had this idea and ran with it. and, yes, this is how it is most nights for the fam.

words: 2.7k 

warnings: none.

Roman’s phone vibrating on his desk beside him is both a necessary and annoying distraction. In the midst of reviewing quarterly figures, a task he also hates but a necessity, it's something he prefers to complete in one sitting. However, the name across his screen—along with the message—quickly wash away any pre-existing irritation. 

Solana: dinner is ready, mi amor. ❤️

Roman leans back into his chair and rolls his shoulders, tension immediately hitting him. A frown falls upon his face as he checks the watch on his wrist. Just how long has he been in here?

Regardless, it’s pushed to the side the same way he closes up the files on his laptop and shuts the computer, rising from his desk. 

Grabbing and pocketing his phone, he walks across the space of his office, stopping when he steps on something. A look down reveals a doll smiling up at him, one of several on the expensive Persian rug. 

Roman sighs, taking a minute to gather the dolls, tossing them in the basket in the corner. It doesn’t bother him. Not really, anyway. From as far back as he can remember, really, when Lina and Leya started crawling, his office slowly became a playroom. A doll, ball, toy, device, something, always being found in some nook or cranny. Aroha is no different, often venturing into his space with her toys, sometimes wanting him to play with her, sometimes just wanting to be in his presence. 

All the kids, really. His office doubles as a “hangout” spot for most of his children several days out of the week, and while it can be irritating stepping on shit half the time, it’s something he’s gradually welcomed and just come to accept over the years.

Though, he can already hear Solana’s voice in his ear, chastising him for not making Aroha pick up after herself. 

He doesn’t entirely disagree, but doing it for her every so often won’t hurt. Plus, she’s probably already somewhere doing something. Hopefully not terrorizing her brothers. Roman already dealt with a round of the Littles going at it earlier in the day. He’s really not in the mood for the sequel.

Floor clean, toys put away, Roman walks out of his office, leaving the door cracked as he makes his way down the hall and through the house. And the closer he gets to the kitchen, the stronger the delicious smell of whatever Solana has prepared for them this evening has him licking his lips. 

She never misses in the kitchen.

She never misses with most things. 

Turning the corner welcomes him into the large, open floor plan of their massive kitchen where, sure enough, Solana is in front of the stove, moving a pot from off the front burner to the back burner, hitting the knob. Music plays in the background, something Spanish, but not loud enough to prevent her from hearing him. “Hi, baby.” She turns around, brushing her hands on her apron, gesturing to the dining room. “Go sit down.” 

He opens his mouth to protest, to do as he always does. “Let me help you.”

And with the smallest smile, she responds as she always does. “I got it.”

Roman would push, but years of being together and knowing how this all plays out prevents him from starting a losing battle. In the kitchen is Solana’s element. While it feels and looks overwhelming and chaotic to him, she is masterful and graceful and in control. She knows what she’s doing.

It’s why he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to take her out of said element, just ventures into the dining room where he expects to see at least some of his kids, only to find one. 

Leya looks up from where she’s just placed the last plate on the table, in his spot, her smile widening. “Hi, daddy.”

Naturally, he matches her smile. This is partially why he doesn’t really stress or worry about Solana overexerting herself when it comes to cooking for their big ass family. From a young age, Leya expressed an interest in cooking, often hanging on Solana while she prepared meals, and over the years, that interest has just grown to the point where it’s really the two of them working together in tandem.

He likes it. Loves seeing how close they are. Loves seeing just how much like her mom his little girl is.

“Hey, baby.” Roman kisses her temple as she passes him, carrying the remaining plates into the kitchen, to continue helping Solana, as she always does. He goes to pull his chair out from the table when sudden, rushed, loud ass footsteps evoke an immediate, premature sigh.

“Dad.”

Roman turns around to see Lina and Tama standing there with expectant expressions. Expressions he knows all too well.

“What do ya’ll need?” 

Tama is immediately sucking his teeth. “Why you gotta be like that, pops?”

“Because I know you two,” is Roman’s deadpanned response as he proceeds to finish pulling out his chair and sitting down, both of his kids flanking either side of the table. “Now, what is it?”

Lina doesn’t waste any time. “The pre-order window for the latest Jordans just opened up—”

“And, we need em,” Tama finishes, stressing. “Need.”

“And, I need a fucking vacation,” Roman mutters, running his hand over his face. He truly does. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere. No cell reception. Just him, Solana, and a bed. 

Or, any flat surface, really. 

“Are we going to Disney?”

Aroha’s little voice chimes from the side as Roman turns to see her skipping into the dining room, the train of the dress dragging behind her the same way Nala walks quietly behind her.

It’s not the fact that his youngest is wearing a whole ass princess costume to the dinner table that causes Roman to pause. He’s used to that. If Aroha isn’t wearing some sort of costume, then there’s a problem. 

“No, baby, we’re not going to Disney.” Roman is still trying to recover from the last visit. “Aroha, what’s that on your face?”

It’s that that has his attention, especially as she climbs up on the chair in between where Aria and Leya typically sit, the….stuff on her face.

“Makeup,” she answers happily with the biggest grin, reaching over to pet Nala who stretches and stands up to be pet by her favorite person in the house. “Aria did it for me!”

Roman sighs. Of course. 

“Dad, focus,” Lina snaps her fingers, bringing his attention back to the fact that two of his older kids are impatiently waiting for his sign off. “Can we—”

“Lina, ya’ll already know where I keep my wallet.” The same way these kids already know it’s rare he tells them no when it’s something they want to order. It’s just a habit, he guesses, probably at the recommendation of Solana, that they ask beforehand. 

Lina squeals and smiles, hopping off the table at the same Tama does, while fist bumping in the air. “Thank you, daddy.” A quick kiss to the cheek from her as Tama hits him on his arm, shouting out, “you the best, OTC!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Roman mutters, refocusing his attention on the real issue. His seven year-old wearing a full face of makeup. “Ro—”

“Daddy!”

Roman jumps and places his hand over his chest, eyes shutting. He doesn’t care what Solana says. 

These damn kids really are trying to kill him. 

Waiting for his heart rate to settle, Roman finally looks over at 1/8th cause of his consistent high blood pressure who currently has her arms wrapped around him from behind, looking at him from the side. “Yes, Aria?”

Her smile is wide as she breaks away and points over to her little sister who now has that damn cat sitting in the chair next to her. “What do you think of Roro’s makeup?”

“I think I told you about putting makeup on her, Samaria,” Roman reminds. “She’s too young for all that shit.”

Aria rolls her eyes as Aroha giggles, saying something along the lines of “daddy said a bad word.” He makes a mental note to buy her a doll or something for her silence. “Dad, I needed a muse, and she was there!”

“Aria, I’m not even gon’ pretend to know what that means.” He gave up a long time ago on trying to understand his most….dramatic of children. “Just don’t put any more makeup on your sister.”

Aria pouts, crossing her arms and scowling. “But, I need to practice! How else am I supposed to master my artistic craft?”

Roman rubs his temples. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Figure it out.” 

She gasps, smiling suddenly. “So, I can order the master course, then?”

At that, he frowns. “What?”

A loud squeal followed by another hug and kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, daddy!” Roman remains confused, calling after her right as she darts out the room, running down the hall shouting, “wait for me! He said yes! I need the card!”

Roman leans back against his chair. 

Fuck a vaction. He just needs to run at this point. 

The sound of low purring reminds him that the issues never seem to disappear. “Roro, Nala can’t sit at the table with us. I told you this already.”

Aroha pouts, and Roman can swear that damn cat hisses at him. “But, she’s my baby.”

“I understand that, honey, but she’s not an actual baby….she’s a cat.”

A damn cat he didn’t even want in the first place, but that’s neither here nor there. Speaking of animals, it dawns on Roman that Coco and Max are far too quiet. They’re either getting into some shit or perhaps in the kitchen being fed by the boys. He prays for the latter versus the former. 

And then, the most dangerous combination as Aroha gives him that face with that voice. “Please, daddy?”

Right away, he knows he's done for. Resistance is futile.

“Fine,” he mutters, Aroha clapping happily and adjusting her tiara. 

Roman won’t admit it, but perhaps there is some hint of truth to what Solana and his older kids say from time to time. Maybe he does have some difficulty saying no to Roro. 

Just a little. 

Solana and Leya walk into the dining room, both with plates full of food in both hands. Naturally, Solana places Roman’s in front of him, along with his drink, a damn diet soda. Fucking dietary restrictions. “Here you go, mi amor.” 

The salivation returns as he takes in the plate full of some of his favorites. Steak, potatoes, candied yams, mixed vegetables, a bowl of fresh baked rolls that Leya places in the middle of the table and three hot, baked apple pies, the cherry on top. 

However, it’s when Solana sighs, hand on her hip that his attention is shifted. “What’s wrong?”

She rolls her eyes. “Can you get the boys? Leya and I called them before I text you, and they’re still not here. Max and Coco need to be fed, too.” Roman is already out of his seat, gently tapping his wife on the hip before she can even finish her request.

The minute he’s at the bottom of the steps, his deep voice rings out and travels far. “Koa, Kai.” There’s no mistaking he means business. “I know you heard your mom and sister calling you.” Because those two hear and see everything. “Ya’ll got five minutes to get your asses down here, or I swear to God, I’m gon’ clear your rooms of every piece of equipment ya’ll got up in there.”

Immediately, he’s met with the sound of grumbles and footsteps, his twins scowling at and continuing to mutter as they trek down the steps. “Fix your faces,” he reminds as they walk past him. Roman is uncaring. They know better than to ignore their mom like that. The kids may do a lot, get away with some things, but disrespecting Solana will always be where he draws the line. 

Period.

Roman doesn’t stop there, calling out, “Catalina, Tamasa, Samaria. Dinner table. Now.”

The Head of the Table—and his family—doesn’t bother waiting to make sure they follow suit. He just walks back into the dining room, seeing Leya place down the last plate of food as Solana reaches for her husband.

Stroking his beard, she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Roman nods, lightly tapping her ass as she walks over to the other seat at the end of the table. 

Her seat. 

Solana says something in Spanish to Roro, gesturing to Nala, a brief conversation that Roman is loosely tuned into until he catches a glimpse of Leya sitting down, phone in hand, smiling. She’s smiling at her phone. 

Or, rather, something on her phone. 

It makes him take pause. Roman knows that smile. It’s the same one Solana used to have with him, still does sometimes, when she felt bashful around him. But also happy. 

“Baby, who are you talking to?” He has to ask, cause who in the hell has his little girl smiling like that?

Leya looks up, smile shifting into her usual one. She shakes her head and locks her phone, placing it in her pocket. “Nobody, daddy.”

Roman pauses. 

That definitely wasn’t nobody.

But again, he’s distracted by the remainder of his kids, piling in almost all at almost once, Koa and Kai gaining a warning from Solana as they make a snide comment about a pouting Aroha, the seat next to her empty, revealing Solana made Nala leave. Clearly, the source of their teasing comment to his littlest. 

“No, Aria.” Lina’s voice sounds as she shoots down what was probably Aria’s request to borrow something of her big sister’s. A common thing. While they don’t get into it nearly as much as the Littles, they have their moments.

“This looks delicious, mama.” Tama rubs his hands together at the plate of food in front of him, licking his lips, moving one hand to his stomach. “I been waiting all day for this.”

Solana giggles, teasing, “didn’t you come and sample some not even an hour ago?”

“That was an hour ago,” he counters, shrugging. “I’m a growing boy. I need my food.”

“You need to grow into some money, so you can make good on your debt.”

Koa’s comment brings Roman’s attention to his oldest boy. “You still taking money from your brothers?”

Tama grumbles, “it’s not like they ain’t got it.”

And, as she sticks her fork into the steak, already cut up for her—probably by Leya—Aroha asks, “can I get a pony?”

Thankfully, Solana is already on it. “No, mija. You know daddy and I already talked with you about that. No more pets.”

Aroha scowls, making a “humph” sound as she points across the table to Koa and Kai. “Then why are they here?”

Roman closes his eyes as Kai angrily retorts, “better than being a brat.”

Aroha stands up in her seat, projecting loudly and defensively. “I’m not a brat!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

Lina rolls her eyes, looking at Tama, mumbling, “there they go.”

“Enough.” Roman’s voice travels across the table, catching and maintaining the attention of all. “Aroha, don’t talk about your brothers like that, or you’re going to get your tablet taken away. Koa, Kai, ya’ll gon stop calling her names, or it’s gon be me and ya’ll.”

Lowered heads and muttered apologies from his youngest followed by Solana directing everyone to start eating, a bit of an unnecessary command given the way everyone quickly digs into their food and would have, regardless of her direction.

A rare, extremely rare, silence settling over the table and lasting a good, solid 45 seconds before Aria gasps. “Does anyone want to hear the pitch for my latest one woman play?”

“No.”

“Maybe a little later, sweetie.”

[mamaguroheartstoji]

bunny kisses 🐇 & pancake mornings 🥞 with fushiguro fam 🤍✨

the soft glow of early morning light spilled into the bedroom. mamaguro was still half-asleep, curled under the blanket, when she felt a tiny hand patting her face.

“mama,” came the little voice, insistent but garbled with sleep.

she cracked open one eye to see baby megumi sitting up beside her, his black hair sticking up in every direction like a little bird's nest. he had one of his plushies clutched in his arms—a floppy-eared bunny she’d sewn for him—and his big blue-green eyes blinked at her expectantly.

“good morning, sweetheart,” mamaguro murmured, brushing her fingers through his messy hair.

toji, sprawled out on the other side of the bed, let out a loud snore, earning a giggle from megumi. the little boy turned toward his dad, crawling clumsily over to him.

“papa!” megumi declared, plopping down on toji’s chest.

toji groaned, one eye cracking open to see his son grinning down at him. “gumi, buddy, it’s too early for this,” he muttered, his voice rough with sleep.

but megumi wasn’t deterred. he leaned down, pressing his tiny hands to toji’s cheeks, smooshing them together as he giggled. “wake up, papa!”

mamaguro laughed softly from her side of the bed. “looks like someone’s decided it’s time to start the day.”

toji let out a dramatic sigh, pulling megumi into his arms and rolling onto his back, the little boy squealing in delight. “you’re lucky you’re cute, kid,” toji said, smirking as he tickled megumi’s sides, earning more giggles.

megumi squirmed, holding his bunny tight as he buried his face in toji’s chest. “papa, nooo!”

“papa, yes,” toji teased, tickling him one last time before letting him go.

mamaguro propped herself up on one elbow, watching the two of them with a soft smile. “you two are a handful, you know that?”

toji glanced over at her, grinning. “you love it.”

“maybe,” she admitted, reaching out to scoop megumi into her arms. she kissed his chubby cheek, making him giggle again.

“mama,” megumi said softly, leaning his head against her shoulder, his little hand clutching her shirt.

toji sat up, ruffling megumi’s hair. “all right, let’s get breakfast going. pancakes, little guy?”

megumi’s eyes lit up, and he clapped his hands. “’cakes!”

“you spoil him,” mamaguro said with a mock sigh, standing up with megumi in her arms.

toji smirked, throwing an arm around her shoulders as they headed to the kitchen. “yeah, but he’s worth it.”

the kitchen was a cozy mess of warm light and the faint smell of coffee. mamaguro settled into a chair with baby megumi on her lap, his bunny still firmly in his grasp. he babbled happily, occasionally pointing at random things on the table.

toji stood at the stove, wearing an apron mamaguro had insisted he buy months ago. it was black with the words "grill master" printed on it—a little over the top for pancakes, but he wore it anyway.

“watch and learn, gumi,” toji said, flipping a pancake with a little too much flair.

megumi clapped his tiny hands together, clearly impressed by his dad’s “technique.” mamaguro hid a smile behind her hand.

“you know,” she teased, “the goal is to keep the pancake in the pan, not send it flying across the room.”

toji glanced back, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips. “have some faith, woman. i’ve got this.”

just as he said it, the next pancake flipped… and landed half out of the pan. toji froze, his hand hovering in midair as mamaguro burst into laughter.

“got this, huh?” she said between giggles.

toji sighed dramatically, scraping the half-flipped pancake back into the pan. “you’re setting me up for failure here. the kid’s watching; he’s gonna think i’m an amateur.”

megumi, oblivious to his dad’s plight, was more interested in chewing on his bunny’s ear.

“i think he’s more concerned about breakfast arriving soon,” mamaguro said, gently bouncing megumi on her knee.

“all right, all right,” toji grumbled, focusing on the pan again. after a few more successful flips, he finally had a respectable stack of pancakes. he plated them with a flourish, adding a dollop of butter and a drizzle of syrup.

“voilà,” he said, setting the plate down in front of mamaguro and megumi. “breakfast, courtesy of chef toji.”

megumi reached for the plate immediately, babbling excitedly. mamaguro grabbed his little hands just in time. “hold on, sweetheart. it’s hot.”

toji sat down across from them, watching as mamaguro carefully cut up a pancake into tiny pieces for megumi.

“you spoil him,” toji said with a smirk, mimicking her earlier words.

“he’s worth it,” mamaguro replied, a playful glint in her eyes as she handed megumi a tiny fork.

megumi managed to stab a piece of pancake and shove it into his mouth, syrup smearing across his cheek. he looked up at toji with wide, delighted eyes.

“good?” toji asked, leaning forward.

“good!” megumi replied around a mouthful of pancake.

toji grinned, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “that’s my boy.”

mamaguro watched them with a warm smile, her heart full as her two favorite people shared a quiet, simple moment together.

after breakfast, the kitchen was a sticky war zone of syrup smears and a plate with half-eaten pancake bits strewn about. megumi, with syrup on his cheeks, hands, and somehow even his hair, sat in mamaguro’s lap, blissfully unaware of the chaos he’d caused.

“you know,” mamaguro started, dabbing at megumi’s face with a damp cloth, “if you’re going to call yourself a chef, maybe you could also learn to clean like one.”

toji leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. “hey, my job was pancakes. cleaning’s extra.”

she gave him a mock glare, her lips twitching upward in a smile. “extra, huh? should we count how many pancakes landed halfway out of the pan?”

toji grinned, standing and stretching. “fine, fine. i’ll handle it.” he grabbed a towel and started wiping down the counters, glancing over at them as he worked.

“you know,” he said, smirking, “gumi’s already showing promise. he liked my cooking more than yours.”

“oh, really?” mamaguro said, raising an eyebrow.

toji pointed toward megumi, who was chewing on his bunny’s ear. “look at that face. that’s the face of a satisfied customer.”

megumi chose that moment to let out a small hiccup, which was immediately followed by a bubbly giggle.

“case closed,” toji declared, tossing the towel onto the counter.

“you’re ridiculous,” mamaguro said with a laugh, standing up with megumi in her arms. she kissed the top of megumi’s head, sticky hair and all, then turned to toji. “your satisfied customer needs a bath.”

“hey, it’s only fair if i made breakfast, you take bath duty,” toji teased, leaning against the counter.

mamaguro rolled her eyes. “it’s bath duty, not a death sentence.”

but toji was already moving toward her, taking megumi from her arms. “nah, i’ll handle it. gumi and i have a system, right, kid?”

megumi stared up at him, blinking slowly before reaching for toji’s nose.

“see?” toji said with a grin. “teamwork.”

the bathroom was soon filled with the sound of splashing water and megumi’s giggles. mamaguro lingered in the doorway, leaning against the frame as she watched them.

toji knelt by the tub, rolling up his sleeves as he carefully poured water over megumi’s head. the little boy squealed, splashing water everywhere, including directly onto toji’s face.

“gumi,” toji said, wiping his face with a hand, “you trying to drown me here?”

megumi just laughed, kicking his legs in the water.

“he’s a menace,” mamaguro said, her voice filled with affection.

toji glanced back at her, water dripping from his chin. “he gets it from you.”

“sure he does,” she said, crossing her arms.

toji turned back to megumi, who was now busy chewing on the edge of a rubber duck. “all right, buddy, let’s finish this up before your mama decides to frame me for war crimes.”

megumi just babbled in response, completely at ease in his dad’s hands.

after the bath, megumi was wrapped in a fluffy towel, his hair sticking up in soft tufts. mamaguro took him from toji and began drying him off, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks as he squirmed in her arms.

“you’re all clean now, aren’t you, sweetheart?” she cooed.

toji watched them, leaning against the doorway with a towel slung over his shoulder. “you know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “we’ve got a pretty good thing here.”

mamaguro looked up, meeting his eyes. there was a softness there, a rare vulnerability that made her chest ache.

“yeah,” she said, smiling at him. “we do.”

toji stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “thanks for putting up with me,” he murmured.

“always,” she said softly, resting her head against his shoulder as megumi yawned in her arms.

it was these small, quiet moments that she held onto—messy, chaotic, and utterly perfect in their own way.

[revasserium]

death before decaf

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

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

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

one.

“How long did you say?”

“Two weeks, max.”

“Nah… you think?”

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

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

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

Nami shrugs, smirking, “Your funeral.”

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

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

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

“Can I get a decaf latte with —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess.”

“Edgelord.”

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

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

Zoro tsks, taking a sip of his espresso.

“I’m gonna be late for practice.”

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

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

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

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

“Alright then, you’re on.”

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

two.

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

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

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

Robin grins, “Your tone says different.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have I ever denied that I was?”

You let out a noncommittal grunt.

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

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

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

“So what?”

“Tell me about him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It can’t be that bad, can it?”

You sniff, swallowing another huge mouthful of yogurt.

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

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

Your lips twitch into a reluctant grin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait — what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

three.

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

“Lookin’ for me, Princess?”

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

“N-no.”

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

You narrow your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

Sugar crash? Ha. Serves you right.

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

What happened to your arm?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

four.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zoro grimaces, “None of your business.”

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

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

“Fuck — okay.”

You pause, looking up from collecting your flash cards.

Zoro digs his fingers into his right shoulder.

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

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

Zoro shifts uncomfortably, “And?”

“And it’s now Tuesday.”

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

“It’s been five days!”

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

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

“Tell me where it hurts.”

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

“Ow.”

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

“You strained your Rhomboid.”

“Gesundheit.”

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

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

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

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

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

He stares at the cup before glancing up at you.

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

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

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

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

five.

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

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

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

On the coffee slip is a single word — Princess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still counts.”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“I always like my —”

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

“I — it — wh —”

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

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

six.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To the bout,” she says, unruffled.

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

“Maybe. I mean… why not, right?”

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

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

seven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips, your stomach tightening.

“I —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long do you think it’ll take?”

You gulp, “To fix your shoulder?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What —”

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

“Yeah, well —”

“Wait — no —”

Zoro cocks his head, “No?”

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

“We — your shoulder —”

“Fuck my shoulder —”

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

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

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

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

You drag a hand across your lips, watching him.

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

“Mine. It’s closer.”

eight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I still won.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, a long moment later —

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

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

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

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

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

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

You make no move to leave.

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

You frown, “Wait, what? How’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about breakfast?”

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

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

“I…. guess.”

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

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

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

“God, you’re gorgeous…”

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

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

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

“Let’s sleep in tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

nine.

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

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

“Oh… hey.”

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

He clears his throat.

“Morning. Uh… sleep well?”

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

“Mhm… pretty well… and you?”

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

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

“So… breakfast and coffee?”

Zoro grunts, “Hn. I did promise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whoa… so much better.”

You smile, satisfied.

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

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

“You’ll freeze.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, yeah — fine. Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

ten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zoro narrows his eyes but Sanji cuts him off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zoro grunts, “We are. Coffee first.”

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

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

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

You scoff, “Says who?”

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

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

“We can have a croissant after real breakfast.”

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

“Kay, whatever you say.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

feedback always welcome :) reqs are closed.

[lambse7en]

Coffee Chance

(established Benjamin Pointdexter x Reader relationship)

summary: Dex is kinda desperate to make you the perfect coffee.

warnings: no big warnings? jealousy? this is just kinda goofy fluff, dex is social awkward (he’s trying his best) and he doesn’t drink coffee in this (not even decaf i guess) and he is also obsessive about the damn coffee. yall work together. >short< one shot.

language: english

!link to ao3!

notes: I refer to him as Dex this time fam✊ (still think he would allow reader to call him Ben if he trusted them enough). i’m almost sure i wrote reader as gender neutral. anadaonetanku :)

─━━━━━━⊱ 𖦹 ⊰━━━━━━─

You sip the coffee he made and grimace.

Dex tilts his head at you from across the room, clearly waiting for a reaction. You give it to him, maybe too straight forward. - “This tastes like burnt soil and wet cardboard.”

He frowns at you. - “I watched you make it…last week.”

You lean back in your chair, smug. - “Yeah, and apparently you watched it all wrong.”

He looks at the cup like it insulted him personally. Which, knowing him, it kind of did. Because he measured everything. He remembered the brand of the beans. The mug you most likely use. He rewound the memory of you making it like a tape in his head, slowed it down, frame by frame. You stirred twice, maybe three times. The spoon clinked. You smiled when you tasted it.

So how the fuck did he get it wrong?

“You want me to throw it at someone?” - He says flatly, upset about his own failure.

You laugh at that. - “Tempting, but no. Thanks for trying, though. You get an A for effort.”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares a second longer, then walks off, too calm and too quiet for your liking. A fucking A for effort? No. He has to do it right, it just can’t be right now because you probably won’t want another coffee.

Ten minutes later, a coworker you spoke with about coffee on one of your jobs this month drops a fresh cup on your desk with a grin.

“Tried that thing you said, two sugars, tiny bit of cinnamon, just a splash of milk?”

Well, you just had a coffee. But you can’t really refuse it, not when he took the time to do something that isn’t his duty. You take a sip.

Your eyes light up. - “What the hell? Wow. This is exactly right. That’s crazy.”

You pause and look at his coffee, then think of something more to say.

“How did you get it right so quickly?”

He smiles like he just won something. - “I love coffee, just that.”

Dex is at the door before either of you notices.

“Didn’t realize this was a barista contest.” - He says rather coldly. - “Want me to fetch an apron, too?”

You look at him kinda questioning what he was trying to do here. The joke didn’t land as naturally as he expected it would.

Your coworker laughs nervously. - “Hey, man, just trynna help, K?”

Dex doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are locked on you.

You shoot your colleague a look, and he wisely backs off your room.

When it’s just you and Dex again, you raise an eyebrow.

“Jealous of the coffee now?”

He steps in closer. Close enough that you have to tilt your head further to hold his stare.

“Kinda jealous of anyone who gets to hear you say ‘wow’ like that.”

After a while, he murmurs. - “Next time, I’ll get it right.”

You blink slowly at him. - “Dex, it was just coffee.”

You say it like it should settle something.

Like it should make his shoulders drop, his jaw unclench, his eyes stop burning holes into the side of your desk.

But it doesn’t.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move.

Then, softly, too softly, he says. - “It wasn’t.”

There’s a pause. Long enough that you shift in your chair, just to do something with your hands.

He steps closer. Not looming, not threatening.

“I watched you make it several times. I wrote it down after the second. I replayed the sound of your teaspoon tapping the rim. I even bought the cinnamon you use. You think it was just coffee??” - His voice is low, but his words are tight. Controlled. - “I don’t get things wrong.”

You swallow, throat suddenly dry.

“Okay, I’m aware of that.” - You say, quietly. - “But it’s not a big deal. I didn’t mean anything by it–“

“But I did.”

That freezes you.

He exhales slowly, hand flexing at his side.

“I wanted to get it right for you… I don’t care how people take their coffee. I don’t even drink the shit.”

There’s a long silence between you. You glance down at the cups on your desk. The truth is that you knew he was going to overthink it. He’s not mad that you liked the dude’s coffee. He’s mad because in his mind, he already decided that you deserve perfection and that he was going to be the one to give it to you. And somehow, today, a cup of bad coffee felt like a betrayal.

He’s still watching you like you just broke something in him. The coffee thing really got to him.

You sigh. Shake your head. Then say honestly.

“I lied.”

His jaw tightens. - “What?”

“To him.” - You clarify, moving your gaze towards the full cup on your desk. - “I just told him the coffee was good so he’d never try to bring me more again.”

Dex blinks once. Processing.

You lean back in your chair and look up at him, a little smug.

“At least I give you chances.”

Then you laugh. Quiet, a little sharp. Like it’s a joke, but not completely.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares. Hard. He’s trying to understand the second meaning of your words. Yeah, it was a joke…So he laughs, imitating you. But what you really meant was…that you won’t push him away, that’s he’s different and that he can try again?

His mouth twitches like he’s about to speak then he doesn’t, just smiles and nods once, sharp. Almost to himself.

“Okay.”

He suddenly walks off, probably already in his own world, you guess.

You hear him muttering something under his breath as he disappears down the hall.

“Okay. Okay. Fine. Watch me.”

[spiderb00]

WHITE XMAS, FAM OUT W FRUITCAKE

Jeong Yoonchae X Reader (platonic)  Sophia Laforteza x reader 

“Snow covered all the parts of the place, prebenting Yoonchae from returning home for Christmas. With that in mind, you decided to make sure the youngest girl had an unforgettable Christmas.” 

Genre – fluff    Warnings – none  fruitcake masterlist

fam out masterlist

Now playing – White xmas, by Sabrina Carpenter 

Yoonchae was crying, sobbing in the back seat of the car, the younger girl's head on top of Sophia's legs, as your girlfriend tried to calm her down. You were heartbroken, driving back to the Kats' house, listening to the murmurs of Sophia who tried to calm Yoonchae down.   

The sky darkened and the Christmas lights seemed to get stronger at night, you and Sophia had driven a few minutes to drop off the younger girl at the airport, Yoonchae was excited to visit her parents, taking advantage of the Christmas and New Year holidays to spend some nice time with her family. However, when you arrived at the airport, you were told that the flight from Yoonchae had been canceled ‘cause of the weather, destroying the plans and the heart of little maknae.   

You can see Yoonchae's lip quiver as soon as she heard the news from the airport employee, and it wasn't long before the Korean buried her head in Sophia's shoulder and started crying.   

"Yn, can we please not go to the Kats' house?" Yoonchae asked, lifting her head slightly from Sophia's lap to look at you in the car's rearview mirror.  

"Of course Yoonchip, whatever you want." You said, giving an understanding smile to the younger girl, who just laid her head on your girlfriend's thighs, sniffling and muttering a "Thank you".  

Looking in the rearview mirror again, you have Sophia's vision, the Filipina offers a sad smile to you, who just winks and waves, giving her the confidence that everything will be fine. 

Upon arriving home, Yoonchae goes upstairs to the bedroom, which was designed especially for her, leaving you and Sophia standing in the living room, not knowing what to do to improve the situation. You and the Filipina knew that Yoonchae wanted to see her family more than anything, and now that she couldn't spend the holidays with them, she probably wouldn't have the mood for anything else.   

"Poor girl, she was so anxious to go visit her family." Sophia said, going towards the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of wine, handing it to you then.  

"I know, I feel bad for her. She'll probably be upset until Christmas is over." You say as you open the wine bottle and pour the liquid into the glasses that Sophia took. 

"She really wanted to see her family, baby. It's normal for her to be frustrated." Sophia said, taking a sip of the wine and rubbing her temples.   

"It's not fair that she doesn't have a good Christmas, I want to make it special to her. I mean, I don't want to let her be sad on a date like Christmas." You say, standing behind Sophia, and massaging the woman's shoulders.   

"That's really nice of you, baby. But how would we do that?" Sophia asks, grabbing your hands and turning to face you.   

"I don't know yet, but we'll find our way." You say, making the Filipina smile and kiss your lips calmly.  

"Then let's start planning!" 

You were home alone, it was only two days before Christmas, and you were freaking out. As a chef, you've had many challenges in the kitchen, but none of them compare to learning each of the Kats' favorite dish in less than a week. You obviously already knew how to make Sophia and Yoonchae's favorite dish, but learning how to make typical foods from other countries is always a huge challenge, each dish has a unique peculiarity, and as much as all that enchanted you, it also scared you.  

"I just dropped Yoonchae off at the Kats' house, we have the whole house to ourselves..." Sophia's speech died as soon as she saw you in the kitchen, apron over your blue sweatshirt and hands dirty with food.   

"Wow, you really know how to cheer me up." Sophia continued. 

"Ha ha ha, very funny, Laforteza, but I'm working on something serious here." You say, before turning your gaze to the timer that marked the time of the food in the oven.  

"Wow! Refusing me? This must be serious." Sophia said, while laughing lightly and wrapped her arms around your waist, giving a kiss on your shoulder blade.   

"I'm testing the dishes for Christmas, I decided to make a dish based on the culture of each of the Kats." You say, stirring into another pan.

Hearing this, Sophia let go of her arms from your waist. Missing your girlfriend's warmth, you turned to face the Filipina, seeing the woman's face with a look you couldn't decipher. 

"My love, that's such a beautiful attitude." Sophia said, grabbing the sides of your face and pulling you into a quick kiss.   

"I thought and thought it was cool that all of you felt at home, even if for a simple dish." You say with a shrug.  

 "That's pretty cool, Yn. Come on, I'll help you, you can boss me around, chef!" The Filipina says, saluting while making a funny face.  

"All right, you can put on your apron and wash your hands first." You said, making Sophia do exactly what you said without hesitation.  

"It's hot here, you can cook only in an apron if you want, that would help my field of vision 100%." You said, with a provocative tone.  

"Don't abuse it." Sophia says, turning her head towards you and narrowing her eyes at you.  

"Sorry." Turning around immediately, you think it's best to keep quiet before you have to go back to doing everything yourself.   

Christmas was only one day away, the Kats would soon arrive for dinner, and stay for the sleepover, and on Christmas morning they would open the presents. You had planned everything with Sophia's help, everything was perfect, the decoration of the house was very beautiful, the table was full of food and the house seemed so cozy that you could remember the Christmases you spent with your mother and father when you were a child.  

"Alright, how am I?" Sophia asked.  

The Filipina wore black pants and a Christmas sweater matching yours. Sophia had the brilliant idea of buying matching sweaters for the couples, since the Kats were going to bring their girlfriends for dinner. 

"You look great, baby." You said, running your arms around the waist of the lower woman and pulling her in for a kiss.  

Hearing the doorbell ring, you and Sophia walked away with smiles on their faces, taking quick steps toward the door. When you opened it, you saw Yoonchae in front, a small smile on the Korean's face. Taking a step forward, she hugged you, tightly.  

"Will I get a sweater like yours?" The younger girl asked, raising her head to see you nodding positively, before passing you and going to talk to Sophia, who was behind you. Your gaze followed the younger girl, turning to the door again only when you heard a laugh. 

"What are you wearing, bro?" Manon's girlfriend asked, laughing at you, making Manon roll her eyes.  

"Don't mind her Yn, you and Sophia are super cute." Manon said, hugging you.  

"I'm glad you think that. It was Sophia's idea to buy sweaters for all the couples, so that we could match." You said, raising your eyebrows and looking in the direction of Manon's girlfriend, who had now stopped laughing. "You can take yours with Sophia." You said, giving a sarcastic smile.  

Manon entered the house to greet Sophia and talk about the sweaters, while her girlfriend walked past you, staring at you and raising her middle finger, making you laugh at the girl's childish behavior.  

"Couple sweaters? That's so cool!" Megan said, hugging you quickly before pulling her girlfriend by the wrist into the house.  

"Thank you for inviting us Yn!" It was the only thing the girl had time to say before being dragged by the redhead. 

Laughing lightly at the couple's dynamic, you turned forward again, coming face to face with Daniela and her girlfriend.   

"Cool sweater, Rudolph!" Daniela's girlfriend says, pointing to the reindeer's nose embroidered on the warm fabric. "How much do you get paid to use this?"  

"What, just ‘cause you work saving lives, do you think you don't need to use that?" You answer, messed up with the girl.

"No, I don't need to."   

"But you will!" Daniela says, approaching you and her girlfriend at the right time. "You're cute, Yn." The Latina says, before clinging to her girlfriend's arm.   

"Come on puppy, let's put you in a Christmas sweater." Daniela says, making fun of her girlfriend's face.   

You tried your best to contain your laughter, making Daniela's girlfriend look at you ugly, before giving you the middle finger behind Daniela's back, with this one is two.  

Laughing lightly, you welcomed the last couple.  

"Matching sweaters, huh?!" Lara's girlfriend said, the Indian girl's grip her girlfriend's arm.   

"Sophia's idea, you know I do everything to see you happy." You said, rolling up the sleeves of your sweater and leaving your tattoos on display.  

"You know it's not a bad idea! Matching clothes would definitely let people know we're together." Lara spoke for the first time, you nodding and agreeing with the "genius idea" of the red-haired girl. 

"That would certainly get the message across." You say, pouring more gasoline on the fire.  

"Please don't encourage her." Lara's girlfriend says, making you laugh as she watches them pass you, definitely hearing Lara say something about shopping.   

Denying it with your head, you finally closed the door. This would be a long Christmas. 

It was time to show your work of art to everyone, the food was all on the table and you finally invited everyone to the dining room.   

"Okay, I may have exaggerated, but I thought it would be cool." You say, watching the Kats' reaction to the food on the dinner table.   

The girls quickly recognized the dishes that were on the table, the smell took over the place and the girls began to be very moved by the tribute. All of them were away from home this Christmas, and seeing all that made them feel warm.  

"All right, so here we have a RÖSTI, named after Manon. Sinigang in honor of my future wife. Arroz con pollo in honor of Dani. We also have Butter Chicken for Lara, Poke for Megan and finally Kimchi and Kimbap for Yoonchae." 

When you finally finished explaining, the girls' jaws dropped, you had done all that for them, and that was extremely cute.   

"Yn, that's the cutest thing in the world!" Daniela is the first to speak.  

Without having a chance to answer, you felt a body bumping into yours, looking at a Yoonchae glued to you, you hugged the younger girl tight, smiling at her.   

"Thank you, Yn. I love you!" Yoonchae said, hugging you tighter and making you melt into the hug. The girls looked at you two fondly, happy to have a second family.  

"I love you too, child." You said, hugging Yoonchae tighter.  

"Don't cry, Yn. Nobody wants to see that." Manon's girlfriend said, moaning as she was slapped by her girlfriend.   

SURPRISE!!! Yes, I joined fruitcake with fam out, now I really don't know when I'll have another chapter of Fam out for you guys.

But Fruitcake is officially closed, I had a lot of fun writing this.

oh, before I forget, my special thanks to 6'3 anon, who gave me the idea of reader cooking the foods to honor each of the Kats

xoxo, spider.

[cowgurrrl]

Okayyy bear with me, this for our OFTM! What about a celeb who meets actress!reader at some awards or something or they’ve worked together and the pictures turn out so gorgeous and he uploads it with some cheesy lovey dovey caption and it kinda sets Joel off with jealousy and a bigggg green eyed monster. It doesn’t help that Tommy, Ellie, and Sarah start pulling his leg in their fam group chat saying oh wow look at mom with him or something and y’know tommy would pull his leg more to get a reaction out of Joel. And Joel is just alternating between fighting for his life in the chat and fighting for his wife with actress!reader and just comedy and fluffiness????

(also I have one more inspo that I dreamt of sending you in the next one)

OOOOOHHHH LOVE THIS I haven’t played around with jealous joel in SUCH A LONG TIME also I know you weren’t necessary referring them but I immediately thought of Jessica Chastain and Oscar Isaac because I MEAN

ANYWAYS HERE WE GO

Wildflower & Barley

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Summary: this ask

Warnings: ✨multi-media✨, jealousy, life stuff, literally just them being the sweetest couple

You sigh as you read the text. Joel is normally very comfortable in your relationship, unshaken by the various actors and actresses who’ve played your love interests and partners on screen. He shrugs off silly press comments, sits through love scenes remarkably well, and even goes as far as congratulating your costar on a job well done. “Not that it’s hard to pretend to be in love with her,” he said when asked about it in a red carpet interview a few years ago. But, once in a blue moon, he gets jealous and a little insecure. You figure Spencer’s post didn’t help with the little green monster sitting on his shoulder the past few months. 

With all your littles in school now, you’re extremely busy. You’re constantly running around from baseball practices, PTA meetings, recitals, doctor’s appointments, birthday parties, and more. Not to mention making time for all the Miller-Hernandez-Caradonna-Pierce grandkids, Isaac, Cecilia, and JJ. Joel’s working on a new album and getting his record label up and running while you’re not only directing and co-producing a smaller film while acting in a different one and getting ready to go on a (limited) press tour. You and Joel haven’t had the most time to catch up, and it feels like you’re passing ships. It’s temporary. You know it is, but it doesn’t feel good to see your costars more than you get to see your husband. You’re almost positive Joel’s jealousy stems from that. 

“Hey, you ready to get back to it?” Your co-producer, Ava, asks, jolting you out of your thoughts, and you nod. 

“Let’s do it.” You say as you tuck your phone into your back pocket. The day goes relatively smoothly with only one broken prop and an impromptu refresher session with one of your actors and the armorer. You make it a point to end the day early so you can get home and talk to Joel before one of you can fall asleep on the couch (a bad habit you’ve both developed recently), and thank god you did. 

The second you open the door, you can smell the delicious dinner Joel is making in the kitchen and hear the music he’s blasting through the Alexa. “Mom!” Sammy yells as he and the girls run over in a flurry of overlapping stories and demands for hugs and kisses. Even though Sam is nine now and on the cusp of thinking he’s too cool for his parents, he’s still your little love bug. 

“Mommy, will you come draw with me?” Violet asks and you smile as you tuck a curl behind her ear.

“Of course, baby. Can I go say hi to Daddy first?” 

“Fine but hurry!” Violet whines, making you laugh. You hang up your purse by the front door and toe off your shoes, already feeling better with your heels off, and pad into the kitchen. Joel is wearing the apron you got him for Christmas last year that says “Caution: Hot Dad” and made the older girls groan in embarrassment. You laugh when you see it on him, and he quickly turns down the Bee Gees to hear you. 

“You’re home early.” He says as he leans down to peck your lips and wrap an arm around your waist. You chase his lips and kiss him again before pulling away to look at him.

“Wanted to catch you before bedtime,” you say, and he hums. “Plus, we’re making good time on production. We can afford to cut a little early.”

“Well, I‘m glad you did.” He says. You can hear the kids in the other room playing loudly and you know Violet is gonna burst in any moment and order you to draw with her so you savor the semi-private moment with him.

“Are we okay?” You ask quietly and he takes a deep breath. 

“We’re okay.” 

“It’s okay if we’re not.” 

“Baby,” he soothes, slipping a hand in your back pocket. “We’re okay, I promise. I just… had a moment.” 

“It’s fine to have a moment. I don’t want you to keep that from me just because we’re busy,” you say. “You don’t actually think I’d trade you in for someone else or whatever the fuck Tommy said, right?” He sighs and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“Just… please tell me this isn’t like a Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing.” He says. You would laugh if he didn’t seem as upset as he does just because of how bizarre the idea is. How could anyone ever compare to him? How could he even think that you’d leave him like that?

“This isn’t a Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing. Not even close to it. Spencer has been married to his wife longer than we’ve been married and they’re solid. I promise, he just posted that to get people excited about the movie.”

“You’re not wearing your ring in the picture.” He says. You pull the chain hiding under your collar out and show him.

“I was. You just couldn’t see it.” 

“How long have you had that?” 

“Since we got engaged. You’ve definitely seen it before.” You say, laughing a little at the surprised look on his face. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that’s why you wore it. I thought you got it as a wrap gift or somethin’.” He defends. It makes sense why he wouldn’t know. You only take the necklace off when it can’t be hidden under the costume, and even then, it’s normally tucked into your pocket or, at the very least, hidden safely in your trailer. It’s a part of your routine to put your ring back on at the end of a shooting day or between breaks to help you transition back into your real life, which means Joel only sees it after it’s returned to its rightful spot. Even the few times he’s been on set filming something with you, you’ve been so busy that he didn’t have time to notice it. 

“Good to know I can still surprise you all these years later,” you say. He only looks a little embarrassed when he reaches around you to turn off the stove. The kids are, thankfully, still occupied, and you take the opportunity before it can slip away. “Joel, I adore you. I am still as helplessly in love with you as I was when we were in New York for the first time. There isn’t anybody else for me, okay? It’s you. It’s always gonna be you. So you don’t need to worry about costars or living Brangelina or whatever because you are it for me.” He works at his jaw as he processes your words, and you wait. Joel’s mind has always been an elusive one, so you like watching his gears turn. 

“Okay,” he mumbles finally. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You just have to tell me when you’re feeling this way,” you say, kissing his jaw. “Besides, if you’d said something earlier, I would’ve been able to tell you that you’re a much better kisser than Spencer.”

“I was just gettin’ over the post, and now I have to watch y’all kiss?!” He groans dramatically, and you laugh. 

“You’re the one who married an actor.” 

“And I’d do it again.” He says as he kisses you, crowding your space so you’re stuck between him and the counter. It’s broken between giggles and kitchen timers beeping but it isn’t until Violet tugs at your shirt do you fully break away from Joel.

“Mommy, you said you would come draw with me.” She pouts, and you immediately drop down to her level.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I did say that. Daddy just had a hard day so I was trying to cheer him up. I can come draw with you now.” You explain, and she gasps, looking between you and Joel.

“Daddy!” She exclaims, putting her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having a bad day?” 

“Because it’s not your job to fix Daddy’s day.” 

“But I want to! Can I give you a kiss?”

“I wanna give Daddy a kiss!” Sophia runs in, launching herself into Joel’s arms. He scoops both girls up and kiss his cheeks simultaneously, making you both laugh. 

“Thank you, girls. You always make me feel better.” He says, and they giggle.

“What about Mom?” Sam asks. He’s too big and too tall for you to pick him up anymore, but he snuggles perfectly under your arm and squeezes you tight. 

“You’re so sweet, honey. Thank you.” You say, kissing his head. 

“Are you better now?”

“So much better.” 

“Daddy, are you better?” Violet asks. Joel meets your eyes over the heads of the kids and smiles. It’s sweet and just for you, and you can’t help but smile back. 

“I’m perfect.”

[dextermormon]

hey, tumblrstake! I've seen several posts on here about how we wished mormons had more cultural traditions/holidays, so I want to share with y'all my family's memorial day tradition.

every year, about 300+ of my extended family gather in the podunk town of oak city, utah to take over the town hall for the weekend and then serve free breakfast to the town on monday morning. it's called the "edward partridge memorial day breakfast" or 'MDB" for short.

edward partridge immigrated to the U.S. from great britain and was the first ordained bishop of the church. he is my great-great-great-great-great grandfather. edward partridge's grandson, aesel lyman, started the breakfast, declaring that the tradition would continue until edward partridge came and got breakfast himself. today marked the 52nd annual MDB, and this year, we fed 1069 people.

the customary breakfast is: sourdough pancakes (they're really freaking good and the batter is hand-stirred by an army of little kids), fried eggs, fried ham, oak city milk, and an orange juice called Tang. that same army of little kids get the honor of "running" food from the griddles in the town hall's back courtyard to the gym where we serve the breakfast, and of course most of the adults are given a job to do as well (cooking, serving, hospitality, utensil rolling, the most recent newlyweds get to rinse the empty batter buckets with a hose... you get the gist). members of the fam bring their plates straight to the griddles when we want to eat. we all wear special aprons. the atmosphere is always kind of electric :)

the night before, we have a thing called "the program" where we watch the same grandparent-originated skits and sing the same favorites-of-our-grandparents songs that we've been performing for decades.

some other traditions that have endured at the mdb: games of P-I-G (kind of like H-O-R-S-E), a couple hundred people playing bunco at the same time, blasting louis armstrong during the breakfast, a baseball game for the kids, red velvet cake, older kids teaching younger kids to throw mountains of playground-gravel down the slides (I was little when that started and it's been going on for over a decade now lol), and, of course, visiting the oak city cemetery and telling stories about our grandparents.

I'm really blessed that on memorial day I get to spiritually honor my five generations of grandparents buried in oak city instead of just making vague allusions of thanks to the military industrial complex. most white americans have been completely isolated from any kind of ancestral culture/specific traditions (because that's what racist assimilationism demands), so I find our weird and sometimes difficult annual reunion to be really special. whatever this is is mormon culture to me.

so, idk, hopefully this was inspiring and gave you a new way to think about memorial day. I hope that wherever I am in the world, I can continue this tradition with the friends and family I have around, serve a community with free food, and do it in honor of some modern pioneers and martyrs.

here's some photos of my dinosaur, jared, wearing my keffiyeh and hanging out in oak city over the weekend:

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Ehh... Hello again! Last time my request was kinda incomplete, I think... I re-read what I needed to write... so, can I please get a warm Vergil x fem! Reader about baking sweets? I suck at writing when it's not a fic, I'm so sorry 😭

I gotchu fam👍

"Dearest, are you sure the recipe said egg whites only?"

Vergil was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a lost expression, dressed in an apron that said 'do NOT kiss the cook' and a wooden spoon in hand. Not soon after he got back into the human world, Vergil realized that he no longer had to sustain himself on demon guts and instead he had a wide variety of human foods to choose from. Thanks to you, he learned that he can just make any food he wants to with the right ingredients. So, with every holiday his valiant efforts at cooking came with vengeance. You had to admit that Vergil made a lot of progress from putting a can of butane right on the stove (good god) to making simple palatable dishes. You still haven't left him in the kitchen alone though.

"Yup." You put a piece of caramel crisp in your mouth and walked around him to point at the paragraph in the book.

"You make a snow out of egg whites and then slowly *carefully*" you give him a poignant look he chooses to ignore, "you mix it in the batch."

"Very well then," Vergil grabbed eggs from the refrigerator, "and how do we make this snow exactly"

You whipped out a hand mixer from one of the cabinets and Vergil scrunched his nose at it.

"It looks like a torture device."

He made quick work of the eggs and there were almost no eggshells in the bowl (this pie will be really crunchy). Soon, there was a fluffy cloud resting in the mixing bowl.

"Remember to mix it in slowly."

"I have trekked the ground of hell with nothing but my sword, I think I know how to follow a simple instruction." Vergil sniffed haughtily.

You raised your hands amused and decided to plop on the kitchen sink to watch him fuss with the mixing bowl. At that moment, you were struck by the domesticity of the moment. You would never imagine that you would ever feel relaxed in the presence of Vergil Sparda. Then again, it was thanks to the genuine effort he put into building connections with everyone around him. Whatever happened with Dante in the Underworld, he changed. And now he was making pumpkin pie in your kitchen with a concentrated pout on his face.

"This is nice." You heard yourself say.

"Hm?" Vergil hummed in question as he put the baking tray in the oven.

You vaguely gestured over the room. "This, y'know? Baking, talking, spending time with you..." Then, to busy your hands, you grabbed a can of whipped cream a sprayed some in your mouth.

Vergil finally turned his eyes from the oven to you and with a small smile at your stuffed face, sat on the kitchen sink next to you.

"Half the reason why I decided to learn how to cook is because you are the one showing me how. And I suspect the reason you're helping me is so you can eat everything in sight."

Instead of an answer, Vergil got a splurt of whipped cream on his face. With deep laughter, he fought with you over the can until he finally managed to get it from your hands.

"No more cream for you."

Taking it as a challenge, you took his face in your hands and licked the cream from his cheek.

"You're impossible," Vergil grumbled as he felt his face reddening.

"I know." You whispered back and kissed the tip of his nose.

[running-swimming-living]

It was my moms birthday. My bro, my mom and I went for hot pot. They take their hot pot very seriously. We were all given an apron and they gave me a hair tie. We didn’t get anything too spicy but the restaurant came prepared for it.

The food was delicious. We got a tomato soup base and a mushroom soup base. We got the veggie combo to go in as well plenty of beef. They had a sauce bar for dipping our meats and such in.

On the way out they had complimentary sorbet. My mom ate hers right away while waiting for us to finish dinner and we found out it does better to let it thaw on the way home.

It was just a really good day with the fam.

[tossball-stick]

"whats pearsons role in the found fam-" well his role is simple. my beautiful wife that cooks me breakfast naked in nothing but an apron that says kiss the cook that i lovingly wander down to in the morning and wrap my arms around from behind and tell him somethings smelling good but theres something else that looks even better and then i take a bite out of him

[raayllum]

Love your fandom ask game: 11, 13, and 21!

11. if you're a writer or artist, what fic or piece of art are you most proud of?

This is actually why I have my "personal fave" tag for the stuff I'm proudest of, and also because I think it's important to celebrate when we think we've done something cool and/or good! That said, the best highlights:

for fic:

8k+ of Sir Sparklepuff's existence as an existential crisis (oneshot)

callum trying and failing to get purified (rayllum) (oneshot)

s2 AU where soren & claudia don't betray the trio right away (multichap, completed)

moon fam de-coinment fic (multi chap, completed)

janaya pining + getting together (two-shot, complete)

fanon s6 (multichap, ongoing, bleeds over into s7 speculation and is generally the best fandom thing i think i've Ever written)

edits (long bc there's been a Lot of edits over the years):

when you picture your mother, she is wearing an apron (claudia & lissa)

i look in people's windows (ezran & harrow)

the prettiest colouring i've ever done i think (s4 rayllum)

and now you are alone creon (viren)

god builds no bridges (callum & viren)

out of the woods (rayllum)

achilles come down (rayla + rayllum)

more very pretty colouring (ruthari)

this is me trying (rayla)

soren moodboard

icarus & get in the water (callum)

for meta:

Rayla & Leola meta

Knowledge as a Burden / Subjective & Objective Truth in TDP (pre-s6)

To Make It Right :: How Rayllum Intersects (s1-s2)

Ezran as a Witness / Personification of Justice (s1-s3)

Mirrored Paths Trilogy #2: Viren & Callum (s1-s5)

Aaravos and King Harrow: How Can I Serve You? (S1-S4)

There are also some metas from my time in the ATLA fandom that I'm very proud of, especially my Aang meta, which was kicking around in my head for 7+ years before I finally wrote it & many people have been very kind about it, and my 11k long Mai/Zuko meta that made me appreciate them tenfold.

13. your favourite type of fandom event (gift exchange, ship week, secret santa, prompt meme)

I've been fortunate enough to participate in all of these in my time in fandom! I think I probably like ship/fandom weeks the most because of the flexibility (deadlines are very loose) and influx of exciting amazing works from a variety of talented people!

21. a fandom you're not active in anymore but still really like

Probably ATLA and HTTYD! They'll always be dormant hyperfixations / long lasting loves and have been for most of my life. There's 2 more ATLA oneshots I'd like to write someday (one about Aang going back to the Library post-s3, another focused on Sokka&Aang's bond) but I'm very pleased with the one I have up for now

[floofiestboy]

📌

External Links

Post Tags

my translations

my commentary

my colourings

my creative pursuits

Character Tags

Detective Conan

akam

Rei: #c: if only I could forget you...

Akai: #c: men will wear aprons

WPS

Hiro: #c: normal only by comparison

Matsuda: #c: like a cold wintry wind

Hagiwara: #c: like a firework

Date: #c: I'll make a man out of you

Akai Family

Masumi: #c: she's just my type

Shuukichi: #c: shogi is surprisingly versatile

Mary: #c: look it's normal to ingest random pills

FBI

James: #c: there's an operative named bourbon?

Jodie: #c: turned out my dead wife faked his death

Camel: #c: akai-shaaaan!!!

Detective Boys

Conan: #c: six going on sixteen

Haibara: #c: living in spite of you

Ayumi: #c: I want to call you ai-chan!

Teitan High Schoolers

Shinichi: #c: sixteen going on six

Ran: #c: please karate chop your bf

Eisuke: #c: if you're not my sister then die

Magic Kaito

Kaito: #c: get that fish away from me

Hakuba: #c: a holmes outfit counts as casual wear

Nagano Trio

Yui: #c: give up is not in my dictionary

Kansuke: #c: I got an X too geez!

Koumei: #c: as swift as the wind

Japanese Police

Megure: #c: too many detectives in this town

Takagi: #c: number one malewife

Sato: #c: will personally kill every explosion

Yumi: #c: is not ready for the akai fam

Kazami: #c: deserves a pay raise

Black Organization

Gin: #c: the reason the org needs hr

Vodka: #c: henchman of the year

Vermouth: #c: a secret makes a woman woman

Kir: #c: an ally did appear

Chianti: #c: anti-vermouth fan club president

Rum: #c: the worst rum suspect

Kansai

Hattori: #c: kudo kudo kudo

Okita: #c: it's no fun without hattori-kun around

Momiji: #c: shinoburedo

Kazuha: #c: who's this kudo girl?!

Other

Yukiko: #c: nephew of the grandfather of the c-

Akemi: #c: nothing's stopping me from robbing a bank

Mouri: #c: smartest guy ever when asleep

Naomi: #c: stalking my childhood crush is normal

Haro: #c: *barks*

Disco Elysium

Harry: #c: what exactly is a *billion*?

Kim: #c: won't find another like him

The Greatest Estate Developer

Lloyd: #c: gonna take care of you until the day we end

Javier: #c: I want to see you laze around and grow old

[torchedx]

Do you have anything planned for Christmas with Peter?

"Christmas is huge, okay. We got the biggest tree that would fit in our living room, and I'm running out of places to hide presents. I always go overboard on the shopping, but c'mon, the holidays are a ready-made excuse to spoil my favorite people. We still need to visit the Rockefeller tree and go ice skating. I even did some baking! (If I was only wearing the apron Peter got me for my birthday, it was just to add a little spice.) We'll probably spend Christmas day at the Baxter with the fam, but Christmas Eve is just for us, drinking cocoa under the tree and maybe watching a couple Christmas movies. I love the holidays."