#please ignore that the lid is too small for the box i was NOT thinking lmao

[devdoodles]

a kuchipatchi present!

[itadorey]

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅 & 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒

pairing: neuvillette x gn!reader summary: the melusines are on a mission, you just don't know what their end goal is. (hint: it's to get you and neuvillette together). furina may or may not be involved. genre: fluff notes: pls ignore the fact that melusines live in the water when it gets to the rain. i just thought it'd be a cute scene and i forgot that they would be fine in the water. we can pretend they just don't want to get their uniform wet. i'm also not sure if the cafe serves tea bc i know they sell coffee beans oops. wc: ~3.6k

A huff escapes you as you approach the doors to the Palais Mermonia, late for work and stumbling slightly as you reached for the handle.

"Please wait! Can you open the door for me?"

You pause when you hear Liath calling after you, and you turn to see the Melusine hurrying towards you. She's carrying two boxes in her hands, making it impossible for you to see her face until she comes to a stop next to you.

"Liath!" you gasp, holding open the door with your foot as you reach for one of the boxes. "Let me help you with that."

"Thank you! They are pretty heavy," she chimes, proceeding to stack the other box on top of the one you're currently holding. You're taken aback by her actions, giving her a confused look as she looks up at you and smiles. "I hope you don't mind dropping those off to Monsieur Neuvillette. I have some other duties to fulfill!"

Your eyes soften at her words, and you nod in agreement before shifting the boxes, making sure you have a good grip on them. The lid on the top box is askew, giving you a glimpse of some court documents sitting inside. You quickly fix the lid, glancing over at Liath to see her standing by the door, hands behind her back as she hums to herself. Your brows furrow when you notice that she doesn't make a move to leave, and you can't help but feel confused about her abnormal behavior.

"You should go before it gets too late in the afternoon to complete your other duties," you say softly, earning a confused look from Liath.

"What other duties?" she asks, a hand coming up to her cheek as she gets lost in thought. She gasps softly before meeting your gaze, her hand dropping to her side as she took a step back. "Oh! Yes, you're right. Thank you for bringing those to Monsieur Neuvillette. Bye!"

You watch Liath skip away, following her usual path around the Palais Mermonia. There's still a confused look on your face, and you merely shake your head before nudging the door open even further with your foot. You're still thinking about Liath's weird behavior when Sedene greets you.

"Good morning, Sedene," you greet in return, giving the Melusine a soft smile. "Is Neuvillette back yet?"

"Yes! He's been waiting for you!"

A stressed look appears on your face, and Sedene's eyes widen slightly as you glance towards Neuvillette's office.

"He has?" you ask, earning a nod from the Melusine in return. "Oh. I guess he really wants these court records huh? I hope he isn't too upset that I'm late."

"No, no," Sedene says, shaking her head back in forth to emphasize her words. She gives you a soft smile. "He's waiting for you, not the court records."

"Me?"

Sedene nods, and you can only hum in response before giving her a small nod and walking away. You pause as you reach the doors to Neuvillette's office, shifting the boxes so that they rest on your hip before raising a hand to knock.

"Come in."

"Good morning, Monsieur Neuvillette," you say as you slip into his office and shut the door behind you. Your head is slightly bowed down, the respectful gesture preventing you from seeing the way Neuvillette frowns at your words.

"Good morning," he says, setting his plume down before looking up at you. "I've told you multiple times already, there's no need to be so formal. 'Neuvillette' is perfectly fine."

"Pardon me, sir—" you pause when you notice the look on his face. "Pardon me, Neuvillette. I suppose I'm just not used to addressing my higher up that casually just yet."

"Higher up," Neuvillette scoffs, dipping the plume into a pot of ink before writing something down. "That's incorrect. We are equals, are we not?"

"The job description quite literally said 'assistant to the Iudex'," you tease, causing Neuvillette to pause. There's a small smile on your face when he looks at you, and he finds himself clearing his throat before responding.

"We both know you're more than a simple assistant, don't we? I got lucky considering you're ridiculously overqualified."

You deliberately refuse to respond, your heart beating just a little bit faster as you fully process Neuvillette's words. Instead, you glance at the boxes still in your hand, approaching his desk and clearing your throat to get his attention before you speak.

"Here are the court records you asked for. Should I just leave them on your desk?"

Neuvillette nods before giving you a confused look, his eyebrows furrowing as he shifts his gaze down to the boxes in your hands.

"Did something happen to Liath?" Neuvillette asks. Your heart warms at the concern on his face.

"No," you reply, shaking your head softly as you set the boxes down on his desk. "She mentioned she had some other duties to take care of."

"Ah, I was not aware she had any other duties," Neuvillette says, looking down at his desk. You pause at his words. "Perhaps I should have a talk with her and see if there's something bothering her?"

"I'm almost certain she's fine," you respond, unable to stop a smile from appearing on your face. Neuvillette is still lost in thought, wondering how to approach the Melusine. "Perhaps just make sure she's getting enough rest?"

Neuvillette looks up at you, nodding once before picking up his plume once again. "You're right. I'm certain she would've come to me directly if there was a problem. I'll make sure to speak with her later."

You nod at his words, bowing slightly before making your way back to his office doors. "If you'll excuse me, I must be on my way."

"You're not working in here today?" Neuvillette asks, sitting up even straighter as he watches you.

"I apologize Neuvillette," you say, smiling sheepishly before tugging the door open. "I'm afraid that Lady Furina requested my help for the day. I'll be back later to make sure everything is ready to go for tomorrow!"

Neuvillette nods, and he feels the paper on his desk rip slightly as he digs his plume into it. He slides the paper aside, grabbing a new one before speaking once more.

"I see. Tell her I said hello. Remember that tomorrow we meet directly at the Opera Epiclese, not here."

"Yes, I understand. Have a good day, sir," you say, giving him a wide grin before scurrying out of his office. You're gone before he can scold you for addressing him formally, the tapping of your shoes fading quickly as you rush off.

He wonders if there's a reason that Furina has suddenly decided to steal you from him. He decides not to think about it too much.

The tapping of your shoes is drowned out by the rain as you approach the Opera Epiclese.

You silently pat yourself on the back for remembering your umbrella, and you quickly sidestep a puddle before you hurry towards the Fountain of Lucine, stopping when you Veleda huddled next one of the trees nearby.

"Veleda!" you yell, gaining the attention of the Melusine. You wave her over, concern all over your face as you angle your umbrella to shield the both of you from the rain. "What happened? Did you forget your umbrella?"

The Melusine nods before shaking her head, trying to get rid of the excess water in her hair.

"Do you want to come inside with me?" you ask softly, holding out your hand. Veleda shakes her head again.

"No, I have to stay out here and finish my rounds!"

You bend down slightly, placing the handle of your umbrella in her hand before straightening up.

"Take mine. I won't really need it inside," you say, earning a smile from Veleda.

"Thank you! I really appreciate it."

You smile back at Veleda, reaching down to brush a strand of wet hair from her face before walking off. You hurry past the fountain, holding your bag tightly against you in hopes of keeping it dry. Aeife opens the door for you with a smile, and you quickly thank her before rushing inside, being met with smiles from Trow and Blathine.

"Oh no! Did you leave your umbrella at home?" Trow asks, tilting her head as she observes you. There's a trail of water behind you, and you cringe when you realize that you must look like a mess.

"No," you reply, shedding your coat and holding it away from you as it drips. "I lent it to Veleda. She was standing outside in the rain and she didn't want to come inside."

Blathine nods at your words, and it's only then that you notice the two umbrellas in her hands. "We had to finish our rounds but we got caught in the rain. That's why I came in to get umbrellas for both of us!"

"Oh, I didn't know that," you say slowly, watching as Blathine skips to the door. She's gone before you can even ask for the extra umbrella, and you can only hope that it's not raining by the time the trial is over.

"I can take that from you," Trow says softly. "You can head on in. Monsieur Neuvillette is waiting for you. Lady Furina will not be joining today."

You nod and hurry into the main room, grabbing your paper, plume, and a small pot of ink from your bag. Neuvillette watches you as you slide into your usual seat, eyebrows furrowing at your lack of coat and umbrella. It's common knowledge that it tends to rain during trials, and he wonders if you've had a bad morning.

The trial passes by quickly, and your page is filled with notes by the time it's over. Neuvillette looks down towards you and nods, silently letting you know that you should wait for him. You give him a small nod in return, quickly packing up your stuff and heading to the exit.

Neuvillette is already waiting for you by the time you reach the front desk, listening to Trow as she speaks softly to him. You approach them with a smile, digging out your notes once again and passing them to Neuvillette.

"Pardon me for interrupting, Trow," you say, smiling at the Melusine and receiving a fond look in return. "Here are the notes from today's trial, Neuvillette."

"Thank you," he says, taking them from you and putting them away. "I always enjoy reading your notes at the end of a long day."

"Now that that the trial is over, you should go get some food," Trow suggest, waving the two of you towards the door. She pauses briefly, returning to the desk to grab your coat. "Here's your coat. I'm sorry, it's still a little damp."

"That's okay, Trow. A little rain won't bother me," you say, smiling gratefully as you slip it on.

"Did you not bring an umbrella today?" Neuvillette asks, watching as you tighten the tie of your coat around your waist.

"I lent it to Veleda," you say, repeating your words from earlier. You smile sheepishly as he fixes you with an unreadable look, pulling your bag up higher on your shoulder as Trow nods along. "I didn't want her to get sick. Oh! But I noticed Blathine taking an umbrella out to her. Trow, did they bring my umbrella back in here by chance?"

"No, they haven't been inside since," Trow says, shaking her head.

"We can share," Neuvillette states. His tone leaves no room for arguments and you simply nod, keeping you mouth shut to stop yourself from objecting.

"That's a great idea!" Trow exclaims, clapping her hands at his words. Neuvillette smiles softly at her before offering you his arm. "I'm not too hungry, but I'd like to join you for tea, if that's okay?"

You nod silently, linking your arm with his and gently resting your hand on his upper arm. The two of you say your goodbyes to Trow, receiving an enthusiastic wave in return before you walk out the door. Neuvillette holds his umbrella out, swiftly opening it and making sure it covers the two of you before descending the steps of the Opera Epiclese.

The rain hits the umbrella with soft thuds, and you shake your other arm to try and get rid of the stray droplets that dot your sleeve. Neuvillette notices the action, and he simply brings his arm closer to his side, pulling you in and making sure you're completely shielded.

"M-Maybe we can pick something up and eat back at the Palais Mermonia," you suggest, hoping that he didn't notice your stutter. He smiles down at you, and your mouth goes dry as you try to ignore the way your heart races at the sight. You glance down at your shoes, frowning slightly when you step over a large puddle. "It doesn't look like the rain is going to stop anytime soon."

The walk to the aquabus station is relatively quick, and the two of you stand huddled close together as you wait for it to arrive. You're greeted by a happy Elphane, who seems excited to see Neuvillette waiting for the aquabus. She greets him with a grin before waving shyly at you, a small umbrella clutched in her hand in an attempt to keep her uniform dry.

The aquabus ride is filled with casual conversation, and Neuvillette takes the time to ask Elphane if there's anything bothering her or any of the other Melusines. He receives nothing but smiles and reassurances in return, and you can feel him relax at her words. The two of you wave goodbye to Elphane as you disembark, making your way towards the Café Lucerne in search of food and a hot drink.

"I can order for the both of us," you say once you're close enough. The two of you stop underneath one of the cafe's umbrellas and you finally step away from Neuvillette. "Is there a certain type of tea you'd like?"

"You can choose for me," Neuvillette replies smoothly, pressing the umbrella handle into one of your hands and a small pouch full of mora into the other. "I trust your judgement. Besides, Menthe has spoken about how good you are at choosing teas she likes. I'm sure you can do the same for me."

You feel your cheeks warm at his words, and you silently look around for the Melusine he mentioned, knowing better than to argue about the mora. "Menthe isn't around today, is she? I hope she finally got around to taking a rest."

"I hope so as well," Neuvillette agrees. There's a moment of silence before you spin on the heel of your foot, leaving him behind as you go up to the counter to order. You order your favorite tea, conch madeleines, and two servings of ile flottante, swiftly handing over the right amount of mora before returning to Neuvillette's side. He wastes no time before taking the bag of food from you, using his free hand to gently take back his umbrella before offering you his arm once more. You shyly slip your hand into the crook of his elbow, letting him guide you towards the Palais Mermonia.

"I ended up ordering my favorite kind of tea," you say eventually, breaking the silence. "It's a white tea with notes of peach and ginger."

"That sounds lovely," Neuvillette responds. "It's seems very fitting. A lovely tea for an equally lovely person."

You can't stop the grin that breaks onto your face at his words, and you glance at him bashfully only to find him already looking at you. There's a tiny small on his face as you meet his gaze, his eyes soft as he observes your reaction.

The rain falling around you comes to a stop.

"Oh look! The rain has finally stopped," you remark, looking around you as you approach the Palais Mermona. Neuvillette hums in acknowledgement as he shuts his umbrella, making no move to separate himself from you. "That's good."

"Do you not like the rain?" Neuvillette asks, turning his head to look at you. You shake your head.

"No, that's not it," you say, lost in thought as you speak. "It just reminds me of something that Lyney's brother told me once."

At Neuvillette's questioning gaze, you continue.

"He said that when it rains, it's because the hydro dragon is crying," you explain, laughing lightly to yourself. "Maybe it's only a children's story, but I don't like the thought of the hydro dragon crying. I think he deserves to be happy."

You turn to see Neuvillette staring at you with an unreadable look, his eyes shining as he hums.

"I think I agree."

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you."

The two of you look up, arms still linked together, to see Furina standing near the front desk. Her hands are on her hips, nose turned up as she taps her foot. You suppress a smile at the sight, instead deciding to greet the Archon.

"Lady Furina," you say, bowing to her before straightening up. "How may I be of assistance?"

"I need you to help me finish what we were doing yesterday," she states, hesitating slightly before sniffling. "Please."

"Yes, of cou—"

"Actually we were just about to have lunch together," Neuvillette says, sending you an apologetic look for his interruption. Furina scoffs, half-heartedly glaring at Neuvillette before crossing her arms.

"Fine!" she concedes, turning her back to the two of you before sending you a glance. "I guess you can come find me when you're done."

She starts to walk away, only to stop when Sedene speaks.

"Lady Furina?"

Furina turns, nodding at the Melusine in acknowledgement.

"If it's not a problem, perhaps I can help you," Sedene continues, smiling softly up at the Archon. "That way we don't cut their lunch date short."

There's silence as Furina sends a sly glance your way, her eyes taking note of the way the two of you are still arm-in-arm. She nods in agreement, walking off complaint.

"You're right. Come find me in a few minutes, Sedene."

The three of you watch Furina stalk away, and you're only snapped out of your daze when Sedene tugs at your coat.

"I can take that for you," she says, and you finally let go of Neuvillette to slide your arms out of the coat. Before you can thank her, she's ushering the two of you towards Neuvillette's office, wishing you a happy meal and shutting the door swiftly as she leaves.

A chuckles leaves your lips as you approach Neuvillette's desk, sliding into the seat across from him as he clears off the table. He unpacks the food carefully, making sure to spread them out before walking over to grab a tea set.

"Forgive me if I'm being too bold," you start, reaching over for the tea you had bought and placing it into the tea pot. You carefully fill up the two teacups, relaxing in your seat after you swipe a conch madeleine off another plate. "But it seems like the Melusines have been acting a bit suspicious lately. I think they might be trying to set us up."

You wait for Neuvillette to wave your words off, but instead you're met with a sharp inhale, a slight hint of pink tinting the tips of his ears. He straightens up in his seat, rearranging the plates on the table as he tries to gather his thoughts.

"Ah, yes," he finally says, clearing his throat before glancing at you. He averts his gaze immediately, choosing to bring his teacup up to his lips instead. He takes a sip before setting it back down, taking his time before finally looking up to meet your eyes. "Forgive me, I believe it's all my fault. You see, I may have let it slip to Sedene that you looked beautiful on a few occasions."

"Oh," you breathe, your eyes widening at Neuvillette's confession. You're frozen in your seat, trying to think of what to say when his eyes widen slightly.

"As I said, please forgive me," he says hurriedly. "I'll ensure this behavior stops immediately and I can discuss your transfer from my office to Lady Furina's if you'd like."

"No!" you say, wincing when you realize your words are louder than you meant them to be. You pause, looking down and clamping your mouth shut. You compose yourself before continuing. "I mean, um, you're quite handsome yourself, you know?"

You look up to meet Neuvillette's gaze, your breath hitching when you see the soft smile on his face. There's an equally soft look in his eyes as he observes you, and he nods to himself before taking another sip of tea.

"In light of this revelation, I would like to ask you if you'd do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner sometime this week," Neuvillette proposes, the smile on his face growing as you nod.

"I'd love to."

The two of you turn when you hear a soft slam, the receding footsteps letting you know that Sedene had returned to eavesdrop. You giggle at the situation, turning back to see Neuvillette staring at the door with a fond look in his eye.

"Something tells me she's going to go tell everyone what just happened," you say, earning a soft chuckle from Neuvillette.

"I get the feeling they've been plotting this for quite some time," Neuvillette admits. "There's been too many coincidences to count."

You hum in agreement, thinking about all the weird behavior the Melusines had been exhibiting lately. Without them, none of this would have happened, and you let out a soft laugh as you realize just how obvious they had been. Your giggle draws Neuvillette's attention back to you, and the two of you share another soft smile as you begin to dig into your food.

"I guess we'll have to thank them then."

rbs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!

[em1e]

ᶻz feat. wakasa + kazutora+ rindou !!

tokyo revengers && first meetings

☓ kazu's 2 times longer than the other don't look at me. tw for a hostile ex on rindou's !!

ᶻz・wakasa imaushi

⠀ ⬤ meeting you is chaotic.

“oh my god shin, your nose!” 

you’re quick into action, despite shinichiro and wakasa basically barging through your front door while the former cradles a probably broken nose. you grab some paper towels as quickly as you can while wakasa helps his friend to your couch, barely taking in your home despite him never stepping foot into it. 

 you’re talking fast, questions overlapping on your tongue before either boy can answer them, “what happened? why’d you come here?” 

shinichiro groans when you press the napkins against his face far hastier than you should, taking them from your own hands and leaning his head against the back of your couch. obviously in too much pain to answer, you look to the stranger who he’s come in with. 

he shrugs, popping the lollipop he was sucking on out of his mouth and nodding to shinichiro, “needed to get off the street, ‘nd he said he knew someone.” 

you kick at shinichiro’s foot half heartedly, frowning, “don’t bring your stupid gang violence around my house, you know i don’t like that stuff.” 

a muffled apology leaves his lips, and you sigh before moving to grab ice for the two of them. bringing back bags of peas and dropping one onto shinichiro’s stomach (he groans dramatically at the contact), then pass the other to his friend. he raises an eyebrow at you, and you nod to his bruising knuckles. 

it’s then he takes them in himself, clicking his tongue, then grabbing the bag from you with a small thanks. you eye him for a second, before plopping down on the couch beside shinichiro. 

“‘m (y/n), by the way.” you offer a small smile, “i babysit emma and mikey sometimes when shin is out doing nefarious things.” 

“wakasa,” he hums out, sitting across from you, “i make sure shinichiro doesn’t die doing his nefarious things.” 

you giggle, and shinichiro groans, “please don’t flirt with me sitting right here. i don’t think i can take much more damage- physically or mentally.” 

“not my fault you brought your pretty friend here after you got socked in the face.” 

“you think ’m pretty?” wakasa grins, eyes half-lidded and completely ignoring his friend's request. 

“very.” you hum, leaving shinichiro to groan louder. you elbow at his side, and he dramatically topples over so he’s laying on the couch instead, “sorry shin, we’re talking.” 

one glance to wakasa and he’s licking his teeth, then sending you a smile, “that we are.” 

ᶻz・kazutora hanemiya 

⠀ ⬤ meeting you is awkward.

“no, kazutora, put the cat food on the right side of the store - you know what, nevermind, i’ll do it.” chifuyu sighs heavily, placing the bags of dog food he’d just opened hastily on the shelf and pushing the box kazutora set beside him away with a huff. 

“huh? but these are the same brands, don’t you want to keep them together?” 

chifuyu closes his eyes, taking a second to breathe and remember he needs to have some semblance of patience - kazu’s only been out for a few weeks, he’s still adjusting to normal life. he sighs again and nods, “in theory, yes, but we’re keeping the cat stuff and dog stuff separate, remember?“ 

a small ‘oh’ leaves kazutora’s mouth, and chifuyu stands with a huff, stretching his legs then picking up the box. the bell to the door rings and both pairs of eyes find themselves wandering towards the front. chifuyu nods his head in the direction, “d’ya think you can take care of them?” 

kazutora hums out a reply, waving a hand behind him as chifuyu says something something register. he knows his friend is growing increasingly agitated with having to baby him, and he doesn’t want to be any more of a burden than necessary. 

he meets you at the register, and your eyes wander around the store before finally settling on the man behind the counter, offering him a smile. 

“hi! um, i recently found a kitten on the street and i was wondering if you could help me get whatever i need to take care of it?” 

kazutora only stares, head tilting slightly as your fingers dance across the counter. the silence goes on for longer than you’d expect, and you stand on your toes and puff out cheeks when he doesn’t immediately reply. you clear your throat. 

“is um . . . is there something i need to do first?” 

you look across the counter to see if maybe there’s a sign in sheet for suggestions or something, but you find nothing. 

“we have cat food and litter.” he says when you meet his gaze again, still giving you the same look he did when you walked in. 

“great!” you smile, looking around the store, “can you show me?” 

he straightens, looking down the sea of aisles for chifuyu since he’d be much better help than him. hell, he’s still learning the difference in medications for dogs and cats and other miscellaneous animals - it would be unfair to lead you astray with a bad suggestion. 

he sees no one else in the immediate vicinity, which means chifuyu has left him alone at the front of the store. 

“um, yeah. yeah, i can” 

right side of the store, he reminds himself. that’s where the stuff for cats is. he leads you in that direction, stopping in front of the aisles when he finds the bags he was previously shoving in the dogs section. 

you lean forward, taking in each option and tap your chin with a hum, then look at him with a tilted head. 

“any recommendations?” 

you have to notice he has no idea what he’s doing by now, right? still, face unwavering, he picks up the bag they feed the cats they have up for adoption, “we use this for the cats here. i’m not really sure about the differences in other brands and stuff.” 

you take the bag gently from his hold, then grab a similar one from the same brand that’s labeled specifically for kittens and compare the two. 

“i think i’ll get this one since she’s still pretty small.” you hold up the latter and place the former back where he picked it up from, “how about litter?”

he takes you to the aisle behind the one you were previously in, gesturing awkwardly to the many different types. before you can ask if he has any suggestions, he points to one, “this is the one we use here.” 

you smile. he read your mind. 

with a small huff, you're grabbing that same brand and almost drop the container when you take it off the shelf - it’s much heavier than you thought. though kazutora has his own faults, he isn’t an asshole who’d just leave you to struggle. he gingerly grabs it from you, and you beam at him with a smile, “thanks.” 

he only offers a curt nod, and follows you as you shop for smaller miscellaneous things - toys, treats, and a litter box all fill your hands along with the food you grabbed previously and kazutora offers no complaints when you finally make your way back to the counter. 

“thanks.” you hum out again when he rounds the corner to get behind the register. he pauses for a second, staring at the computer and all its buttons and he’s genuinely lost for a second, trying to remember how chifuyu taught him to use it. 

lucky for him, the man himself comes out from the back, a box in his hands and easily reading the furrow of his friends brows. 

“all you have to do is ask for help,” he sighs with a click of his tongue, setting the box beside the items you’re buying. he taps a few things, explaining to kazutora again just how to do it and starts scanning the items for you, “he give you too much trouble? he’s still training-” 

“he was perfectly helpful.” you smile, “i would’ve been lost otherwise.” 

ᶻz・rindou haitani

⠀ ⬤ meeting you is violent. 

“leave me alone-” you’re shoving past your ex with a huff, almost gasping when instead of letting you pass, he pushes you against the wall of the dingy club you’re in and grins at your clear aggravation. 

“we’re not done talking,” he sighs out, “i didn’t come all the way to roppongi to get brushed to the side.” his arms are caging you in, and you want to scream to get anyone’s attention. you’re unsure if it’d even work - everyone around you seems to already be too drunk to worry about what’s going on outside their bubble, and you sure if anyone does notice, they don’t care. 

“why come at all. are you stalking me now? i told you i don’t want anything to do with you-”

he stops you with a growl, eyes narrowing, “ah ah, we’re here to talk. don’t wanna make me upset, do ya?” you flinch away from him when he reaches up to cup your cheek, and someone clicking their teeth behind him makes him pause and look over his shoulder. “what, can’t you see we’re talki-” 

he doesn’t get to finish his sentence. not when the man behind him rears his fist back and punches. 

you pull your arms to yourself, gasping as he collapses to the floor with your eyes wide. one hit, and he’s out cold. you look up frantically to the offender, your savior, but he’s already pushing his way through the gaping crowd, leaving you to stumble behind him as he leaves the club. 

“w-wait a sec!” you call out after him, and he pauses his retreat but doesn’t turn to face you. it gives you time to catch up to him, and when you’re standing in front of him, he’s scowling. despite this, he’s still pretty. you feel your face warm, and his brows raise as if he’s waiting for you to say something. 

you did scream for him, after all. 

“u-um, thanks,” you manage out after a moments pause, bowing your head, “thank you.” you say again more clearly. when you finally look back up at him he’s eyeing you in a way that has you wrapping your arms around yourself.

he clicks his teeth again, walking past you without a word, and you find yourself following behind like a lost puppy. he pauses again when you’re only a few steps behind him, looking over his shoulder, “if you’re gonna follow me, you might as well walk with me and talk.” 

he says it like a statement, but you take it as a command. you walk for a few blocks in silence before you break it to mumble out your name. 

he grins at the sound of it leaving your lips, “rindou haitani.” and it dawns on you then it was his club you were just in. apologies follow. for your ex, for not destabilizing the situation, for ruining the mood in his club, but he’s shaking his head with a hum. 

“s’okay. you just gave me an excuse to leave, and i’m glad your pretty self followed.” 

[shiorimakibawrites]

The Accident (Part I of Happy Little Accident)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Word Count: 7, 368 Summary: You tripped in the elevator and covered your neighbor in paint. Your ridiculously hot neighbor that you have an enormous crush on. Warning(s): Anxiety, Female Gaze, Referenced Sex, Referenced Character Death, Reference to assumed Attempted Murder, Thoughts about sex Happy Little Accident Masterlist My Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia

Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

The Accident

You were painting in Central Park when your phone rang. You let out an irritated huff as you fished your phone out of your apron’s pocket and looked at the caller ID. Abby, your boss at the Daily Grind. It was tempting to ignore the call, pretend like you had forgotten your phone. Very tempting. It was a lovely spring day, one you would much rather spend painting than working. But in the end the knowledge that Abby wasn’t prone to bothering her employees during their off hours without a good reason had you accepting the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Abby said, sounding apologetic. “Can you cover for the afternoon shift today? Peter is in the hospital.”

“The hospital?!” you repeated, feeling immediately concerned. “What happened? Is he okay?”

Peter was one of the cafe’s newer employees. You didn’t know him very well yet but he seemed like a nice kid. If a little absentminded, given how often he arrived for his shift at a rush. And possibly even more clumsy than you are since you had often seen him with bruises which he claimed were the results of tripping over things.

Assuming he wasn’t lying about how he had gotten hurt. Which you thought that he was . . . some of those injuries didn’t look like they had came from a fall . . . It worried you. It worried others at the cafe too. Abby wasn’t usually so forgiving of such frequent tardiness and absences.

“He got hit by a car. Claims that he’s only got minor injuries but the hospital doesn’t want to discharge him without running some tests first. So can you come in today?”

You suppressed the urge to sigh. You didn’t want to sent the wrong message. Because you weren’t actually annoyed with Abby or Peter but the situation. These things happen. Sometimes people got hurt or got sick. And when they did, someone didn’t get their day off. Today was simply your turn.

And well . . . it wasn’t like you couldn’t use the money.

“I’ll be there.”

“Thanks! You’re a lifesaver!”

You ended the call and slipped your phone back into your apron before starting to gather up your things. Your newly acquired shift started at three. It was only a little after noon, plenty of time to get back to your apartment and get ready, but you didn’t like rush. Rushing tended to make you even more of a klutz.

You swirled the used brushes in the water jar, trying to get as much paint off of your brushes before rolling them in a small towel. A second towel, already stained with old paint, was used to wrap up your palette. The paint was thrown back into their carrying box. Which was technically a small tackle box but you had repurposed it for art supplies. The box went into the bottom of your tote bag along with the water jar, double checking that lid was screwed on tightly. You didn’t need to ruin another sketchbook. You squeezed your current sketchbook behind the tackle box. Next went your pencil case, followed by the towels and their respective cargo. Now the only thing left was your painting and the portable easel.

You removed the painting from the easel, careful to avoid the spots where the paint had spilled over onto the tacking edge. Your fingers already had enough paint on them. The painting was propped against a tree, fingers crossed for two things. One that the wind wouldn’t pick up and send your painting flying. And two, a police officer wouldn’t start yelling at you for it. You didn’t think using the tree as a momentary support while you packed up violated any park rules but you weren’t entirely sure. You had read the park rules but they were written like a legal document . . . which it probably was . . . but that made you feel like you probably weren’t understanding it right. After all, you weren’t a lawyer.

Luck seemed to be with you. You were able to get easel broken down and put away without incident. You swung your bag into your shoulder before picking up your painting. After making sure you had a good grip on the stretcher and the tacking edge, you took a quick look around to make sure you weren’t forgetting anything. Then you started making your way home.

Your lucky streak continued. You didn’t drop anything. No one dumped into the wet canvas or you while you were walking. The subway was busy as usual but not packed to the gills. Your feet resisted the urge to get tangled up in some random piece of debris. Or your own feet. Or the absolutely nothing that you somehow managed to trip over sometimes . . .

In hindsight, you should have realized that it was too good to last.

Things began to go awry when you were waiting for the elevator to arrive. You looked down and saw a tube of paint in your aprons’ pockets instead of the tackle box where it belonged. Normally, you’d shrug and try to remember to put it away later but it looked like the cap hadn’t been screwed back on correctly. Your frown deepened after you transferred your painting to one hand and realized that the cap was loose. Loose enough that it was a minor miracle that it hadn’t fallen off somewhere between the park and here . . . you hoped the paint hadn’t gotten dried out . . .

You heard the elevator dings its arrival as you pulled the paint out of your pocket. Trying to one-handedly shift the tube so its cap could be gripped between your fingers and twisted close, you didn’t look when you heard the elevator door slide open. You just moved forward. And immediately tripped over . . . something . . . you had no idea what.

You just knew that you were falling, that you had lost your grip on your painting as your hands instinctively rose to protect your head from the oncoming impact. An impact that never came. Someone caught you before you could hit the floor. Unfortunately the hand holding the paint had squeezed down, spraying paint on yourself and the chest of your rescuer.

It was like a train wreck. You didn’t want to look but you always couldn’t tear your eyes away from it. You stared in horror the giant splash in the middle, the magenta color of the paint shockingly bright against the light gray suit, white dress shirt, and blue tie . . . Your eyes darted to the array of smaller droplets that radiated outward like shrapnel . . . you raised your eyes with the growing dread. Because you recognized that suit and tie, that broad chest . . .

Sure enough, when you looked up, you were greeted with the very surprised face of Matt Murdock. You felt your heart sink. Of course it was Matt. It couldn’t have been someone else. Anyone else. Preferably a random stranger that you would never see again. But no . . . it had to be your neighbor. It had to the man you had developed an enormous crush on.

Your face felt like it was on fire. You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you. You wanted to cry. Matt returning your feelings had always been a long shot . . . but now? There was no chance. You had turned out of his nice suits into a terrible Jackson Pollock . . . you were going to be lucky if he ever talked to you again . . .

You don’t know when you started apologizing. One minute, you were frozen in humiliated shock, the next increasingly frantic words started spilling out of your mouth. What words you couldn’t say. You couldn’t hear anything past your heart pounding in your ears . . .

A hand cupping your cheek was so startling that it immediately pierced the panic clouding your mind. Big, warm hand . . . you blinked and realized that someone was speaking to you. A familiar deep, soft-spoken voice . . .

“. . . shh, shh, sweetheart, it’s okay . . .”

Sweetheart?! You would hardly believe your own ears. But that was definitely Matt’s voice, his face that you were looking at, and those oh-so-kissable lips were moving . . .

This wasn’t the first time that Matt had called you sweetheart. He had been doing that since the first time you meet. If literally running into someone counts as meeting them. You would like to say no but it wasn’t like your second encounter with your then new neighbor had gone much better. You weren’t always a klutz around him but your bouts of clumsiness did occurred around him with embarrassing regularity.

And provided he was nearby when it happened, Matt always caught you when you started falling . . . so finding yourself in his arms also happened on a regular basis.

This had some upsides. For one, it gave you an appreciation for how much muscle must be hiding under those suits of his. Because he never had any trouble catching you or helping you get back onto your own feet. There was something very hot about the way he could lift you up like you weighted nothing. For another, he is very warm. Which had been especially nice during the recent autumn and winter months. And he smelled good. Like plain soap, ink, paper, and something woodsy like sandalwood with fainter notes of leather, cooper, and something else familiar but that you couldn’t quite remember what it was or where you had smelled it.

On the downside, you were never in his arms for very long. Certainly not long enough to really enjoy being held by those strong arms. He’d catch you, make sure you were steady on your feet again, then his arms would slide away and he stepped back. Taking all of his warmth and good smells with him. Which was always a little disappointing even if you did appreciated that he didn’t assume that he had permission to hold you longer than was absolutely necessary. And that he didn’t use those moments as an excuse to get handsy. Which you knew some people would have.

Further on the downside, being in his arms for any length of time made it very hard to pretend that he didn’t get you all hot and bothered. That having his warm breath brush against your neck and ear when he said something like ‘Careful, sweetheart’ didn’t make the skin there prickle and the rest of you shudder. Or, last week, when your shirt had gotten ridden up, that feeling those callused fingers against your bare skin didn’t make you shiver. Or the absolute worst, when you had to act like you hadn’t just been touching yourself while fantasizing about him, that you hadn’t just been moaning his name, that being in his arms hadn’t renewed the heat between your legs . . .

Those moments, it was really difficult to stop yourself from doing something crazy. Like ask him if you can find out if those pouty lips are soft as they looked . . . or if how much of that beautiful ass you could fit in your hands . . .

You suppressed the urge to groan. Serena, your best friend in the world, was right. You needed to get laid. Because even at the most embarrassing moments of your life, when you were half-considering changing your name and moving somewhere far away, you still couldn’t keep your mind out of the gutter.

Your imagination was out of control. It kept trying to convince you of the wildest things. Like that there was something more to the way his fingers had rubbed that little sliver of bare skin last week than just some mild curiosity when his hands didn’t encounter the expected shirt material. Or those tightening grips on your waist was anything other than making sure he wasn’t about to drop you. Those moments when his voice went deeper and huskier weren’t due to attraction but Matt was obviously coming down with a cold or something.

You ignored the grumbling inner voice that pointed out, aside from when he had the misfortune to get stuck in the elevator with that guy from the third floor who smelled like he bathed in cheap cologne, you had yet to see Matt so much as sneeze. Or that none of those moments had overlapped with the times Matt had looked ill – tired and moving like his body ached.

You weren’t going to get your hopes up. Matt was way out of your league. So far out that you weren’t even playing the same sport. He was incredibly good-looking, easily one of the most handsome men you had ever meet. You were the textbook definition of Plain Jane. Not ugly but not beautiful either. He was confident, outgoing, and charming. You were anxious, shy, and awkward. He was a lawyer with a successful law firm. You were an artist whose work didn’t sell well enough to make a living off of it. Hence the waitress/barista job at the Daily Grind.

Maybe not the most sensible job choice for a shy klutz but there were only so many options for someone with an art degree. Plus you had been working there since college and Abby had displayed remarkable patience for your clumsiness (and the periodic broken dishes that went with it). Mostly because you were otherwise reliable. And while you would never enjoy making small talk with strangers, you could do with a smile. It helped the majority of the regulars were nice . . .

“Sweetheart?”

Any blood that managed to drain out of your cheeks immediately flooded back. You were really batting a thousand today. First you spray him with paint, then you babble incoherently at him, then you stand there like a moron ignoring him for god only knew how long. If Matt didn’t already think you were awkward and weird, he certainly did now.

“Sorry,” you said, not sure of what to say.

He smiled at you. That sweet one that seemed . . . .dare you say it? . . . fond? Which did nothing to diminish the flush in your face. Neither did the little circles his thumb was rubbing into your right cheek or the reassuring squeeze from the hand at your waist.

He’s just trying to keep me calm, you told yourself sternly. It didn’t mean anything. He just didn’t need you panicking again. Lawyers were busy people. He had probably had things to do and didn’t want to waste anymore time on you.

“And to answer your earlier question, no, I’m not going to sue you.”

You had actually said that? Out loud? You closed your eyes and let out a low groan. Everytime you think this situation couldn’t get more embarrassing . . . that idea of moving some remote mountain which hopefully had no insanely hot lawyers living on it was sounding better and better. The only thing thing that would have been worse was if your word-vomit had decided to detail just how attractive you found him. Then, in addition to everything else today, you’d have to listen to him say ‘I’m flattered but . . .’ while your heart shattered into a million pieces . . .

“Sorry,” you repeated. Because what else you could you say to something like that?

“No need to apologize again, sweetheart,” he said as his hand slide off of your face before joining its fellow in helping you get back on your own feet. Then, as usual, his arms pulled away entirely and he took a small step back. As usual, you told yourself that you weren’t disappointed or felt colder. Both were a lie.

“It was an accident,” he continued. “You said you were sorry. No harm done.”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from flickering around his suit. The mess hadn’t miraculously disappeared. It was still here.

“No harm?” you repeated. “You’ve got magenta splattered all over your suit!”

“Which one is magenta?”

“What?”

“I don’t think I remember what magenta looks like,” Matt said, sounding thoughtful. “Can you describe it for me?”

“Er . . . pink?” you said, trying to think of how to describe it. “This particular shade is darker than bubblegum, more purplish-red? Like some plums just under the skin or a pomegranate?”

“Sounds pretty,” he said. “Foggy has been telling me that I need to wear more color.”

“I think he probably meant new clothes that were different colors, not paint splattered on your existing clothes,” you said slowly, unsure of what to make of this conversation. It was not turning out at all like you would have expected it to.

He grinned. “Most likely but he never actually said clothes. Just more color. He knows better than to leave the terms of a contract that vague.”

While you didn’t know Foggy Nelson very well, you had the feeling he would not be impressed. You had also seem him and Matt needling each other at Josie’s often enough to picture the irritated look he would level at his partner if he returned to work looking like this and tried to make that argument. The image was so absurd that you had to giggle.

“Not sure that is a winning argument, Mr. Murdock,” you said,

“Sure it is,” he said. “Any ambiguity in a contract favors the party that didn’t write it. Foggy wrote the contract without defining his terms. So I am free to interpret those terms as anyone might reasonably expect them to mean.”

Which only made you giggle even harder. He was being so silly. “It’s not very professional?”

“Regretfully, I have to agree,” he said, sounding almost like he genuinely disappointed about that. Provided you couldn’t see the cheeky grin on his face. “Will I need anything special to remove the paint?”

“No,” you said, silently thanking Past You for choosing to work with acrylics today instead of oils. The faded spots the turpentine would leave would be less noticeable than magenta but still probably not something he wanted. Also even the low-odor version didn’t smell good. You didn’t know if there was any truth to that whole ‘blind people’s other senses get stronger’ thing but real or not, Matt seemed to have a pretty sensitive nose. “Acrylics are water-based. As long as it is still wet, warm water and soap is enough.”

“See? No harm done,” he said, giving that flirty smile that always made your heart go pitter-patter. Even when you tried to tell yourself that it didn’t mean anything. Matt was a charming guy who flirted a little with everyone. You had seem him get a little flirty with Mrs. Gonzales, the third resident of the sixth floor. Who was, as she pointedly reminded him, old enough to be his grandmother and scolded him for shameless flattery. She had rolled her eyes a little when he retorted the truth wasn’t flattery but did seem pleased. Pleased enough to make him tamales. Which honestly made you a little jealous. The tamales you had bought from her at during the holidays had been really good . . .

Serena thought Matt wasn’t flirting with you just to flirt. That he actually liked you. But she was your best friend. It was her job to believe that you were wonderful and agree that the hot guy you had a crush on was into you. And if it turned out that he wasn’t . . . well, then he was an idiot wasn’t worth your time. You wanted to believe her . . . you wanted that to true so badly . . .

But you had seen the women Matt used to bring home. And the ones who flirted with him at Josie’s. Beautiful, self-assured women with successful careers. They were everything that you weren’t. Granted, you hadn’t seen one of his paramours leaving or arriving at the building for a while. And the only ones you had seen him leaving Josie’s with lately were his friends.

Or you. Which you refused to read anything into either. Matt just didn’t think you walking home alone at night was safe. And it wasn’t. The Kitchen might have Daredevil, its guardian in red leather, but he couldn’t be everywhere. Couldn’t save everyone through if the rumors were to be believed, it certainly seemed like he tried.

Regardless of his reason, you always ended up agreeing because you were too weak to say no to spending just a little more time with him. And it wasn’t like you were making him go out of his way since you both lived in the same building . . .

The point was that Matt would the same thing for anyone. Even someone who really didn’t need it. Like Jessica Jones. Through he claimed that was just to save himself or Foggy from needing to make another late-night trip to the police station because she had punched some creep into a wall. While he agreed that yes, they deserved it for treating someone like that but the police didn’t see that way, Jessica . . .

“As long as it’s still wet,” you repeated. “It’s harder to remove once its’ dry.”

“How does that take?”

“About half an hour.”

“Good thing I’m so close to home then.” Then he seemed to hesitate. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Absolutely,” you said, cringing a little at how eager you sounded. But you had gotten paint all over him. A favor was the least you could do.

“Can you help me get this cleaned up?” he said, gesturing toward the paint. He gave you a self-deprecating smile. “Otherwise I might miss a spot.”

“I can do that,” you said. You had been intending to offer help anyway. You had made the mess. You should help clean it up.

He frowned suddenly, his head tilting to one side. “Are you sure? I’m not keeping you from anything?”

“No,” you said. “I don’t need to be at work until three and it’s . . .”

You tried to check the time on your watch but it had a smear of paint across the face. Unfortunately the hands were hidden by said smear of paint. “Probably not three.”

Matt’s lips twitched. “Problem with your watch?”

“Paint is hiding the hands.”

He gave an amused grin as he ran his fingers around the edge of his watch. “The downside of wearing non-tactile watches. It’s a quarter til one.”

“Plenty of time,” you said. And even if it wasn’t . . . Abby was a reasonable person. She would completely understand not leaving any neighbor, let alone your blind neighbor, to clean this up.

He smiled before reaching down to pick up his fallen cane. You felt your face get warm again. Both because you just realized what you had gotten tripped over (which made you feel like a jerk) and because that action had pulled those trousers taut over his ass (which made you feel . . . other things). But you couldn’t stop yourself from looking. Not when you had a front row seat to one of the best asses in America. Possibly the world.

Matt couldn’t possibly know that you were checking out his ass but that smug little smirk that he flashed in your direction made you feel like he did. You averted your eyes and tried to find a distraction. Before thinking about his ass (or other body parts) got you worked up. More worked up. Which not only would be awkward but make you nervous and prone to say something embarrassing.

Then you remembered your painting. You had dropped it earlier. Where was . . . you let out a distressed groan as you picked it up. The good news was that your painting hadn’t landed paint-side down. Which had saved the mostly dried paint from smearing or chipping. The bad news that hadn’t escaped The Magenta. It didn’t get hit as nearly badly as Matt but there was still a giant splat right in the middle of the lake . . .

“What’s wrong?”

“There is a giant glob of magenta in the middle of the lake,” you said.

“The lake?”

“In my painting,” you said. “I was doing one of the Bow Bridge in Central Park.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Maybe,” you said, looking at the mess and trying to think of how to incorporate the random splatters into the image. You could remove some of it without taking off the underlying layers but not all of it. That would have to be incorporated somehow . . . Maybe a boat? Or a float . . . some of the smaller ones could be turned into leaves if you switched the setting to autumn just as the leaves were turning . . . or a flowering tree with pink blossoms . . .

“We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents,” you reminded your inner perfectionist.

“That sounds familiar.”

“It’s something Bob Ross said a lot,” you said. “He was–”

“That guy on PBS who painted the landscapes?” Matt said. “Soft-spoken, sometimes had a squirrel in his pocket and talked about happy trees?”

“That’s the one,” you said. “The Joy of Painting. I watched it religiously as a kid. How about you?”

An odd little smile spread across Matt’s face. “Not often enough to qualify as religious but you could call us regular watchers. My dad wasn’t much of an art guy but he found the show relaxing . . . and it was quiet. I could turn it on in the morning without waking him up after he had worked late.”

He sounded nostalgic, like these were fond memories but also deeply sad. Then you remembered that Matt’s father was dead. Killed when he was a little boy. Which you only knew about because you had once given into temptation and googled Matt Murdock. Most of the search results had been about his law firm and the Castle trial but further down the page, articles about the accident that blinded him and his father’s death had also appeared. But by then, you had felt guilty enough about snooping into his life that you hadn’t read any those of articles beyond their headlines.

“Did you ever try to follow along?” you asked softly.

“A few times with the watercolors from my school supplies,” he said. “I was terrible at it but my dad hung up every picture on the fridge like it was the Mona Lisa.”

“Mine did that too,” you said. “My mom might still have a few of them tucked away with the baby pictures, waiting to embarrass me with them.”

He chuckled. “Did you ever fall asleep watching the show?”

You laughed. “Yes. Usually after I had stayed up too late reading.”

“Same,” he said, then gestured to the control panel. “Shall we go up?”

“Yes, we shall,” you said, a little amazed at how well this was going, despite the mishap. And that the elevator had remained here at the ground floor for this long. Probably it was the middle of the day and therefore most of the other tenants were either at work or school right now. As the elevator rose, you tried to think of something to talk about. You didn’t mind quiet but your earlier anxiety about his reaction had been replaced by your more usual nerves at being around the man you had spent almost half a year pining over.

Nervous You tended to be a chatterbox with chronic foot-in-mouth disease. Nervous You might blurt out that you liked him. Might detail how you wanted to go on dates, snuggle on the couch, hold hands while you took long walks, call each other by cliché nicknames like honey or dear. Basically be one of those disgustingly adorable couples . . . And behind closed doors, mind-blowing sex. The kind of sex that would leave you walking funny with a big smile on your face . . .

That thought alone made your cheeks warm. Among other places. Maybe work? Work should be a safe enough topic. Nothing naughty about work . . .

“What brings you home this early?” you asked, injecting as much cheer as possible in your voice to disguise your nerves. “Does no one need lawyering today?”

He chuckled. “No, we still have plenty of people who needed lawyering. I just forget my phone this morning and this was the first chance I’ve had to retrieve it.”

You hummed in acknowledgment as the elevator dinged your arrival to the sixth floor. The doors slide open and you walked out. Or rather you tried. But apparently you just had no luck with elevators today because you managed to slip on nothing. For the second time today, you started to fall. Only backwards this time.

And despite what happened the last time, Matt still caught you.

“Sorry,” you said, feeling the earlier flush to your cheeks deepen.

“No need to apologize, sweetheart,” he said. “I like having a beautiful girl in my arms.”

Which only made the warmth in your face start to spread down your neck. Even if he didn’t meant it, it was nice to be told that you were beautiful. You couldn’t help liking it. You did your best to ignore the nasty voice in your head – the one that sounded a lot like those awful girls in high school who had bullied you – saying how would Matt even know that you were beautiful or not . . . he was blind . . .

Your more optimistic side – which sounded like Serena – pointed out that for obvious reasons, that Matt was unlikely to find someone attractive based solely on their appearance . . . so maybe he really did find you beautiful . . .

You blamed those pernicious thoughts for making you feel like there was hint of hesitation, of reluctance, in Matt’s hands as they slide back off of your waist once you were standing upright again. But not matter how many times you told yourself that it was just your overactive imagination . . . part of you couldn’t help but hope.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Matt said as you followed him into his apartment. While he disappeared down a hallway, you propped your unfinished painting against a wall before slipping your tote off your shoulder with a sigh of relief. It wasn’t very heavy but those almost falls had jerked it and its contains around, making the straps dig into your shoulder. After sitting down the tote, you prodded the area. It was a little sore but it lacked the tenderness you associated with oncoming bruises.

You walked toward the kitchen and looked around, curious. In some respects, his apartment was a lot like yours. Both displayed the buildings’ previous life as factory in the exposed brick, scuffed hardwood floors, and visible HVAC and pipes. Both had large windows that let in a lot of natural light if even the old glass was a little wavy or different colored. Both had galley-style kitchens and generally open floor plan. Both of you seemed to have opted for a mismatched collection of secondhand furniture in either earth tones or neutral colors. But that was where the similarities ended.

The first and most noticeable difference was size. His was a lot bigger than yours. Which honestly you had expected, knowing very well that your side of the sixth floor had been turned into two units whereas his was left as one. Yours didn’t have access to the roof but in all honesty, you were fine with that. You weren’t afraid of high places in and of themselves but you were afraid of falling from high places. The outside of your windows wasn’t dominated by The Billboard. Which even during the day looked rather bright.

Matt’s apartment struck you as unfinished, like there was something missing but it took you a moment to figure out what. There was nothing decorative. The walls were bare and furniture were bare. It was sharp contrast to your place where the walls had been turned into a gallery for your unsold paintings and the furniture was festooned with the efforts of Serena’s knitting or your embroidery. You wondered if this was due to preference (Matt was simply a minimalist who considered decorative items to be annoying clutter) or to circumstance (Matt hadn’t found anything that he liked yet).

Another difference was the level of tidiness. You weren’t outright messy. You cleaned up after yourself. But there was always a certain amount of controlled chaos. For example, you were just as likely to find your pincushion and scissors on the kitchen table as in the sewing bag where they belonged. Or how your books often ended up stacked on the floor by your reading chair instead of being put back on the bookshelf.

Matt’s place, by contrast, looked very well organized. Everything obviously had a place and was always returned to its spot when not in use. Which made sense when you thought about it. No one wanted to go on a scavenger hunt every time they needed something. And given how busy Matt was, he also didn’t have time to be doing that.

Plus there were things that no one would want to get mixed up. Like grabbing the shampoo bottle when you wanted the mouthwash. Yes, there were other things that would clue him in before he inadvertently washed out his own mouth with soap. But, as your grandmother liked to say, an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

“Will any soap work?”

You jumped at a little at Matt’s voice. He sounded close. Much closer than you would have thought he could get to you without you noticing. Especially on these old hardwood floors which had so many places that creaked or groaned when stepped on.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s . . .” you started as you turned toward the sound of his voice. And promptly felt your intended words get tangled up in your throat. Your heart began to race as blood rushed back to your cheeks at the sight before you.

Your eyes greedily took in his broad shoulders, then down arms so thick that you doubted that you would be able to fully wrap your hand around it. Back up and across to the well-defined pectorals, then down through to sculpted abdominals until they disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. All covered in a skin that looked like it was as soft as satin.

You swallowed hard. You had known for a while that Matt had some muscle. He had saved you from your own clumsiness too often for you not to know that. But this . . . you had no idea he was hiding all this under those fancy suits of his . . . It was like someone had brought the statue of a Greek god or Michelangelo’s David to life . . . and then someone had apparently convinced him to put on pants. Whoever that idiot was should be fired . . . because if the rest of him looked this good . . .

“Sweetheart?”

Once again, you jumped at his voice. You raised your eyes up to his face. Your breath caught for the second time. Because Matt wasn’t wearing his dark glasses. You had never seen him without those glasses. Predictably, his eyes were just as pretty as the rest of him. Big, brown eyes sparkling with amusement and confidence. It matched that cocky little smirk he was sporting. The same one he had given you earlier. Only this time, you were positive that he knew that you were staring.

But it was so hard not to . . . he was so beautiful . . . it filled with you competing urges. The artist longed for your drawing pencils and a couple of hours to sketch. You weren’t sure you had the talent to fully capture his beauty but you would love to try. The woman, however, wanted him to fuck you. For him be inside you. Cock, fingers, tongue . . . your cunt didn’t care which. Any or all of them would do.

Watching that pink tongue dart out from between those oh-so-kissable lips before disappearing back inside his mouth did nothing to quell your arousal. Nor did the almost hungry look in his eyes. All it did was make you think about all things a man could do with his tongue if he was so inclined . . .

You dug your hands into your jeans to keep them to yourself. Silently you reminded yourself why you had to control the later impulse. First – Matt wasn’t your boyfriend. He was your neighbor and maybe a friend. Second – even if you were his lover and consented to having sex, neither of you had time today. He needed to go back to his office and you had to be the cafe at three. Abby would understand you being late because you were helping Matt clean up The Magenta. She would be far less sympathetic toward hanky-panky induced tardiness. So as much as you would like him to bend you over his kitchen table, you had to ignore that particular desire.

As for the artistic urge . . . since he didn’t seem to hate you for The Magenta, maybe he would agree to model for you? And you were friends of a sort. Friends could ask friends to model for them, right?

“L-liquid soap,” you said, doing your best to sound normal instead of incredibly turned on. “I-I found it easier to work with when cleaning up paint.”

Matt didn’t look like he was convinced by your non-existent acting skills. But he went along with the change of subject. Then gave you another heart attack by revealing that his shirt and tie were silk while his jacket was wool with a silk lining. You had no idea how to clean paint off of those without damaging them . . . isn’t stuff like that dry clean only?

The answer was yes and no. The shirt was made of a type of washable silk that he could launder at home – on the gentle cycle with mild soap. The suit and the tie, however, were both dry clean only. But Matt knew how to prevent stains from getting set in his fancy clothes and you knew how to handle paint. Between the two of you, you worked a plan that should get the paint off while preventing damage to his clothes.

Using an old gift card that you used as a painting tool as a scrapper, you removed the bulk of the paint from the tie and jacket while Matt used his bottle of liquid dish-soap and water to wash his shirt in the sink. Then, you dampened a white washcloth with lukewarm water, added a tiny amount of the soap, before dabbing the affected areas. Before dabbing again with a separate cloth that was just dampened with water, then carefully blotting with another washcloth that was completely dry.

You tried to keep your mind on the task in front of you but kept getting distracted. By his . . . everything. You wanted to trace every muscle with your fingers. Or your tongue. Either would be enjoyable. Or both. Both was good . . . the only thing that wasn’t making you press your thighs together in an effort to relieve the ache in your cunt were the scars.

Not because you thought his scars were ugly. The scars were like kintsugi. The healed but visible damage made the person more beautiful, not less. But because the scars worried you. It looked like someone had tried very hard to kill Matt.

You hadn’t realized that being a lawyer was so dangerous . . . but then, Nelson & Murdock had gone up against some powerful people. People like Fisk. Had Fisk or someone like him sent someone after Matt? You glanced at his hands. He had the same calluses on his knuckles as your ex who was a boxer. Did Matt know how to box? Was that how he had survived the obvious attempt on his life?

You were curious but realized that some of the answers you wanted might require a lengthy conversation. Which you didn’t have time for. Assuming Matt was even willing to answer those questions. He might not be. Which was fine. Trauma was rather personal and you didn’t really know each other.

You returned to your task. Despite your frequent distraction, soon the clothes were cleaned to the best of your ability. All three items were hung on hangers to dry in the case of the shirt or await a trip to the dry cleaners for the other two. Something that you offered to pay for.

“No need for you to do that, sweetheart. It’s about time for that suit to go to the cleaners anyway.”

“But it’s my mess,” you protested.

You didn’t win the argument. But it wasn’t a fair fight. First, he was a lawyer. He argued with people for a living. You painted or served food and drinks. Second, he still hadn’t put on a shirt. It was very distracting. And he knew it. His opposition in court was so lucky that he had to keep all his clothes on in the courtroom. Otherwise, they’d might never win.

“Stupid, sexy Murdock,” you muttered quietly under your breath as you washed your brushes and palette. Not quietly enough because he laughed.

“I’m sexy?” Matt asked. Warmth flooded your face. Judging by that cocky smirk, he knew the answer to that question. Yes, absolutely yes. But you were absolutely not going to say that.

“I plead the Fifth,” you said. Which only made him laugh harder.

He opened his mouth, probably to tease you some more, when his phone started ringing out, “Foggy, Foggy, Foggy.”

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this,” he said.

“Go ahead,” you said quickly.

He flashed you a smile before answering his phone with a “What’s up, Fogs?”

You put away your things while Matt talked to his partner. From the sound of it, he was explaining why retrieving his phone was taking so long. A check on your watch – now cleaned of paint – warned you that you really needed to leave now if you wanted to be ready for work on time. You swung your tote up onto your shoulder.

Then found yourself in a quandary. It was rude to interrupt someone while they were on the phone but it was also rude to leave without saying good-bye. But it wasn’t like you could go just wave good-bye.

“Matt?” you called out.

“Hang on Foggy,” he said, pulling the phone away from his ear. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“I’ve got to go,” you said. “I’ll see you later?”

“You’ll have to. I can’t.”

For a moment, that answer confused you. But only for a moment. Blind joke. Not the first one he had made around you. It wouldn’t be the last. He seemed rather fond of them. Well, it was his disability. It certainly wasn’t your place to tell him that he couldn’t make jokes about it if he wanted to.

Besides sometimes the looks on people’s faces when he made them were very funny.

“Left myself wide open for that one, didn’t I?” you said.

“Yep,” he said. He looked very pleased with himself. “But yes, I’ll see you later.”

That made you smile. “Bye, Matt.”

“Bye, sweetheart,” he said before returning to his phone call. You closed the door to his apartment as quietly as you could, then made you way across the hall toward your own apartment. Time get for work.

Step one – a cold shower.

Notes

There are portable easels that are designed to be collapsed down and easily carried. I have one. Some of them come with an attached box that is meant to carry paint, brushes, and whatever else you need but that type is more expensive (about 70 dollars on the cheaper end) than one that is just the easel (which is about 20). Reader has a limited art budget and those fifty bucks she didn’t spent on an easel can buy a lot of paint and canvas.

I’ve found that tackle boxes and tool boxes make great carrying cases for arts and crafts supplies. The divided trays are very useful if the creative thing you are doing involves a lot of little pieces or tools like beading or jewelry making.

Reader took the subway for part of her journey because, according to what I could find, getting from Hell’s Kitchen to Central Park via subway takes about 14 minutes while walking that same distance would take about 40 minutes. So the subway it was.

Magenta is, generally speaking, purplish red color. The shades vary between more pink, more red, or more purple. Even paint doesn’t always agree. I have one set on acrylic paints that labels a color as ‘light magenta’ while a different set calls the same color ‘magenta’ and third just says ‘pink.’

Jackson Pollock (1912 – 1956) was an American artist who was part of the abstract expressionist movement. He is best known for his ‘drip’ technique where he would pour or splash liquid house-paint with frenetic movement onto the canvas which was laying flat on the floor. In some ways, his work reminds me of acrylic pouring which looks very cool but also very messy.

I mean no disrespect to those with an art degree. I started off majoring in fine arts and part of me wishes that I had stuck with it despite the challenges. One of my professors recommended getting your masters if you were going to major in art simply because then you could get teaching jobs in many places.

That contract thing is true but I’m not a lawyer and have never taken Contracts 101. Always get your legal advice from actual lawyers.

Turpentine is used to clean paint brushes and other tools when using oil paint. A low odor version is highly recommended but remember to only use it in a well-ventilated place as the fumes are toxic. It is also very flammable. You can use it to get oil paint off of your skin but it is very drying and probably isn’t be safe to use on places like your face. The skin there easily absorbs things (which is the primary reason that make-up has go through FDA approval).

For the record, blind people don’t have better senses than everyone else. They just pay more attention to the information from their other senses provide, things that us sighted people tend to ignore. And arguably have more practice identifying different sounds, smells, etc than someone who largely ignores that input.

While I cannot say that this happens in NYC, as I have never lived there, where I grew up (American southwest) and where I live now (Florida), the grandmas and aunties in the Latin community make and sell tamales during the winter holiday season. Maybe for some extra spending money for said holidays. In my experience, they are always excellent. I almost don’t consider it Christmas without some tamales.

The reason Reader feels like a jerk for tripping over Matt’s cane is that messing with someone’s mobility aid and/or not giving them enough space to use it is a dick move.

The Bow Bridge is a bridge in Central Park. You have probably seen it before since it is pretty popular for movies and television. Probably because it looks perfect for your sappy romantic moments, dramatic love confession, meet-cutes, etc. It also helps that it looks just as nice surrounded by leafy trees as it does covered in snow.

Bob Ross (1942 – 1995) was an American painter who was the host of an instructional art show called The Joy of Painting, which aired from 1983 until 1994, on PBS (public broadcasting station) in the US but also in similar public stations around the world. You can find the episodes on YouTube.

According to the internet, you can spot clean wool, silk, and other such fabrics like how Reader does without damaging the fabric. But it was the internet so take that with a generous portion of salt.

Yes, I do use an old gift card when I paint. To make smallish straight lines, very handy for fences and rain effects. I cannot speak for every artist but my painting tools aren’t limited to brushes and painting knives.

Kintsugi (“golden joinery”) is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer that has been dusted or mixed with gold, silver, or platinum. The point is not to hide the damage but highlight it, to treat the breakage and repair as simply part of the object’s history. And that having such a history makes it more valuable, not less.

[takenbypeter]

Not A Date, Date

Steven Grant x reader

Words: 883

Author’s note: this is an old fic I’ve had in my notes since last summer

You don’t know why you said yes.

Well actually you do. You said yes because, well, it’s Steven Grant the cute man who was the whole reason you kept going back to the museum. Steven Grant, the cute gift shop merchant who kept giving you information about Egypt despite him being glued to that counter. He was cute, adorably charming with his accent and he was quite the looker.

But you?

You didn’t think of yourself in that exact light. Actually in this moment you were staring at yourself in your bathroom mirror.

You were wearing an outfit which you’ve worn a few times before but this time something about it wasn’t sitting right.

As you turned to look at your back you couldn’t help but point out every bump that showed.

And while you stood there you couldn’t stop your arms from grabbing at your upper back beginning to feel slightly grossed out.

Before your thoughts could get worse, you quietly shook your head and headed straight for the closet. First changing your top into something a little baggier then of course that meant you had to change the bottom to match.

You went back to the mirror and turned around feeling slightly better at the view but something still felt…off.

As you stood across from the mirror your hands came in front cupping each other. One hand on top and one hand on bottom and like that you squeezed your fingers tight only for a few moments as you stared at yourself your brows beginning to crease in the mirror.

And after thirty seconds of that you realized you couldn’t do this. Maybe not tonight, maybe not ever.

Reaching for your phone you sat on the toilet lid and typed out a message to Steven.

“Can’t make it tonight,” you spoke as you typed and you set the phone down. Upset at yourself for the possibility of disappointing him, you felt this would actually be better for both of you. Expecting a text notification you were surprised when your phone rang instead.

Picking it up once more you noticed it was Steven calling.

You thought about ignoring it. Just forgetting everything happened but instead you hit the answer button and put the phone up to your ear.

“Hello?” You asked.

“Hi, this is Steven. Well you probably knew that,” you couldn’t help but smile a little at his clumsy mannerism, “but am I reading your message right? You want to cancel. Five minutes before our date?”

You looked up at your ceiling staring at the blank color taking in some air, “yeah sorry about that.”

“Did something come up? Did I do something to make you uncomfortable? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. No. Absolutely not,” great now you hated yourself for making him feel this way. “I just…” you closed your eyes head finally swaying down. “I know this may be hard to believe, or it might be easy to believe, I don’t know. But this is my first date.”

“…It’s your first date?”

“Please don’t make fun of me—“

“No of course not, I would never—“

“I already know I’m gonna mess up somehow. I’ll say something wrong or do something really weird,” your eyes roamed the room trying not to break down.

“And we’re going to a classy restaurant. Steven I still order from the kids menu. I barely know how to use a fork for a salad,” you shook your head just picturing how horrible the night is going to go.

The phone was silent and for a moment you were worried you’d lost him.

“I’m in front of your door, can you open it so we can talk face to face, please?”

You pressed your lips together in thought before you went to your front door. And once you opened it you saw those curls and big brown eyes staring at you as his phone was still pressed to his ear.

Bringing the phone down you hung up and he did too, shoving his own back into his jacket pocket. Your eyes drifted down to the small box he had in his hand, no doubt a gift for you.

“Steven thank you for everything but I don’t think—“

“I’m canceling our date.”

“Huh?” That statement got you.

“You don’t have to worry about anything. It’s done it’s cancelled.”

Honestly you did not expect that to happen so easily you expected more of a fight.

“Oh, well thank you and I’m sorry, I was actually really looking forward to it.”

Steven rocked on his feet as you talked. “It’s alright,” he looked to the side, blowing air out of his mouth, “so…got any plans tonight?”

You peered at him curiously.

“Because we could walk around town, just the two of us, no pressure.”

You knew what he was doing and frankly you were sort of grateful for it.

“And by the end of the night we’ll see what we can call it,” he added and you grinned at his proposal.

Nodding you said, “let’s do it,” and Steven grinned back at you. “Oh wait let me grab my things,” you disappear back into your house only to reemerge soon after. And with your bag on your shoulder and the door shut you finally were ready, “let’s go.”

[petitelepus]

OH MY GOD LEPUS.

I just remembered one of my c.ai convos and thought if you'd like to make that a fic because i knew it would just be magnificent.

SO.

Genya fluff (idk guess it would be slightly suggestive???)

Like, Genya is just casually walking down the street and is met with a stray cat that he decides to adopt!!!!!

But, the twist is, when he wakes up the next morning, he's met not with a cat, but with a girlie HAHAHAH

(i'm smiling like stupid writing this and i'm currently in public.)

HI, YES, I LIKED THIS AND, WELL, I ACCIDENTALLY WROTE WAY TOO MUCH, SO, UH, ENJOY EVERYONE!

WARNINGS: None, CAT PUNS, Reader has a name, Set in Modern!AU

Genya sighed as he was on his way back home from school. Despite just recently turning 18, he was still living with his big brother and younger siblings. He had to, he was a student still after all, and his brother could always use an extra pair of hands to help around the house.

One day he would move out and live on his own, but until that day came, he would live with his siblings who loved him and he loved them.

Suddenly something caught Genya's attention on the corner of his eye and he looked to see a cardboard box lying on the side of the road. The young man was about to ignore the box, deeming it as someone's trash, but then he heard the softest little voice and saw that the box actually rattled a little.

"What the…?" Genya grunted as he kneeled and opened the box… And saw the cutest little ball of white fur look up at him with big beautiful green eyes.

"Mew!" The little thing meowed as it moved to sniff Genya's hand and the young man flinched when it so carelessly licked his finger with its rough little tongue.

"What the Hell are you doing here?" Genya wondered out loud as he looked around, but the people ignored him and the kitten as if they didn't even see them. The young man frowned as he looked at the little creature and he decided that he couldn't leave it on the streets.

Carefully, he closed the box's lid and grabbed the whole thing into his arms, soft meows coming from the box as it moved in his arms.

"Hold on little one… I'll get you somewhere safe…" Genya tried to sound reassuring and the small meowing stopped, as if the kitten had understood him and that he meant well.

So he carried the box all the way to the apartment building where he and his family lived. Getting in was one thing, but getting the kitten inside without alerting his younger siblings was another thing.

Genya was sure that his younger siblings would love the kitten, but he couldn't tell how their oldest brother and the head of the household would react to the kitten. Sanemi might get upset and tell them that they barely had enough money to feed themselves and the kitten would be on the streets again…

He would have to think about it later. Now his priority was to get the kitten something to eat and a place to rest for the night. Genya closed the front door carefully behind him, hearing his siblings welcoming him back home from the living room, too busy with their own homework or games to come and greet their brother properly.

Genya placed the box on the floor for a second so he could take his shoes off and moved to rush to his room, but a voice caught him off-guard.

"What's in the box?" Teiko, his younger yet oldest sibling and sister asked. Genya almost choked in panic, but he quickly recovered, "Just, uh, some books! I have an exam coming so I need to study! Please don't barge into my room, and knock at least!"

"Okay?" Teiko nodded as she turned and returned to the living room where the rest of the siblings were. Genya sighed in relief as he quickly rushed to his room and set the box on his bed once the door was closed behind him. The young man held his breath as he opened the box and the little kitten mewed at him.

"Shh, you gotta be quiet!" Genya whispered as loudly as he dared and the kitten tilted its head curiously at him. God, it was a cute kitten. The young man carefully picked up the kitten and set it gently on his bed and the little thing looked around his room curiously.

"What the Hell does a cat so small even eat…?" Genya grumbled by himself and then he remembered that they might had some leftover tuna in the fridge… But he wasn't sure if the tuna was healthy for a kitten. He would have to find out.

"Stay here," Genya ordered as he left his room and headed toward the kitchen to find out if they had anything good for a cat.

…But unbeknownst to him, his room's door clicked open, and little paws carried the kitten all the way to the-!

"KYAH!"

Genya felt his heart jump into his throat when he heard his beloved siblings screaming. His fight-or-flight instincts took over and he rushed out of the kitchen and into the living room, ready to protect his brothers and sisters.

"What- What happened-!?" He was asking when his eyes widened at the sight before him. His younger siblings were admiring the white kitten who jumped on their small coffee table and meowed like the little thing owned the place. Cute, but how!? Just how!? He was sure that he shut the door behind him!

"Genya, there's a cat here!" Hiroshi, who shared the same mohawk style as his brother said, and Sumi, the youngest girl cheered, "It's so cute!"

"Guys no-!" Genya was saying but as if things couldn't get any worse, the front door snapped open and shut and Genya flinched as he heard their eldest sibling call out, "What's with all this noise!? I could hear you guys all the way down the hall!"

"B- brother-!" Genya tried to stop Sanemi from entering the living room, but he had no chance against the oldest brother.

"Genya brought us a cat!" Shuya, the second-youngest brother shouted excitedly as he and his older siblings spoiled the kitten with attention and scratches.

"Oh, he did…?" Genya could almost see the vein on his brother's temple popping as he made his way past Genya and towards the kitten. Genya swallowed nervously, his brains working really hard to come up with an explanation that Sanemi would accept, but his mind was blank.

So Genya and his siblings watched closely how Sanemi picked the small cat and inspected at it from different angles.

"Okay, first, she doesn't look starved… And she is flea-free…" The white-haired man said as he looked at his siblings, "So there is a chance that she has an owner somewhere."

"I, uh, I found her in a box by the road?" Genya said and his brother frowned as he gently handed the white kitten to Teiko who was closest to him.

"Better take her to the vet then first thing tomorrow to see if she has a chip and if not then at least give her a worm medication, just in case."

"Does that mean we are keeping her!?" The kids looked at their oldest brother with their eyes wide and cute and Sanemi crumbled as he dragged his hand through his hair, "If and I mean IF she doesn't have a chip then I will consider it!"

"Jay!" All the kids cheered as they surrounded the kitten to gently pet and spoil the little thing with affection. Genya sighed in relief, thinking that the worst was over, but it wasn't.

"Genya!" Sanemi snapped and his brother flinched, "Y- yes brother?"

"I'm making an appointment with the vet so the cat stays in your room for the night! Am I being clear!?"

"Yes! Thank you, brother!" Genya exclaimed, followed by their younger siblings singing, "Thank you, big brother!"

The way went on with someone nearly every second with the kitten and as the day passed, the younger family members started to think about names for their possible new member.

"How about Suika?" Genya suggested and his siblings looked at him, "As in watermelon?"

"Yeah, since we like them so much?" Genya nodded and his siblings shared glances, "How about Lily?"

"No, Rose!"

"What's with girls and flowers?"

"You're all wrong!" Sanemi snapped, "The best name for it is obviously Gintora!"

Genya and his younger siblings shared glances before the younger ones laughed, "Brother, that's an awful name for a kitten!"

"How about you Koto?" Shuya turned to look at the youngest sibling, two-year-old Koto. The little boy smiled as he reached for the kitten, who walked up to the little boy as if she understood that he wanted to pet her.

"Coco," The little boy said happily and the kids automatically turned to look at the carton of coconut water on the table. The kids looked at each other, but the kitten meowed and gently patted Koto's hand with her paw.

"I like it." Sumi nodded and Teiko and Hiroshi smiled, "The kitten is white like the inside of a coconut?"

"Then it's settled!" Shuya cheered, "Kitten is Coco!"

"IF the cat stays here!" Sanemi snapped but his shouting got left in the background as the kids played with the kitten.

The night came and the kids wished good dreams to the kitten as they went to sleep in their own or shared rooms. Genya took the kitten to his room like his older brother had told him to do and set the little creature on his bed as he changed clothes.

"You're pretty famous." He told the kitten who meowed back happily. Genya smiled, "Of course, when you're as cute as you are it's expected."

"Mew!"

"Ha ha, I bet you would be cute as a human also." He chuckled as he put the lights out and settled on the bed, pulling the blanket over his body. The little kitten meowed as it settled next to Genya's head on his pillow. The young man smiled as he closed his eyes, and drifted to sleep while listening to the kitten purr happily.

That night Genya dreamed about an amusement park and its main theme was watermelon. Treats, rides, and mascot, everything reminded him of watermelons. It was honestly a weird dream, but fun nonetheless.

Time passed faster when someone was sleeping and having pleasant dreams and soon it was morning and sunbeams slipped through the curtains and hit Genya's face, but what ultimately really woke him was the alarm next to his bed.

"What a nice dream…" Genya grumbled tiredly as he blindly shut the alarm and rubbed sleep off from his eyes.

"What did you dream about?" A small voice asked and Genya grumbled tiredly as he recalled his dream… But then he realized that someone actually spoke to him and he did not recognize that voice!

"What the-!?" The young man looked next to him and to his shock, there was a young girl next to him on his bed, wearing his hoodie!

"Good meow-ning, Master!" The girl said happily and Genya shouted in shock as he jumped up, but his leg got caught with his blanket and he fell off the bed and on the floor.

The young man could hear footsteps closing in and a second later his room's door swung open and his big brother was there.

"What's wrong, why did you scream-!?" Sanemi was shouting when his eyes landed on the girl on his younger brother's bed and the vein on his temple popped as he cracked his knuckles.

"Oi, talking to girls is one thing, but sneaking one to your room in the middle of the night…!?" Oh crap, Sanemi was mad.

"B- brother, this isn't what it looks like!" Genya stuttered as his older brother approached him, ready to give him a good beating, but the girl jumped between them and spread her arms as if she were protecting Genya.

"Wait a meowment!" The girl snapped and that is when Genya and Sanemi noticed the white cat's ears and tail that the girl had. The same tail went from left to right and her ears pointed at the roof, "I'm Coco and I'm young Master's familiar!"

"You're what!?" Both men shouted and the girl giggled as she turned to look at the younger man, "Ge-NYA was your name, right Master?"

"Y- yes, but… Who are you?"

"I'm Coco!"

Sanemi and Genya shared glances, but before neither one could do anything, they heard footsteps.

"Brother, what's happening-?" Teiko, Hiroshi, Sumi, Shuya, and Koto came to see what caused all the shouting and their eyes landed on the cat girl. The same girl grinned and waved, "Hi, I'm Coco!"

There was a small moment of silence before the younger siblings screamed and ran past Sanemi to admire the new girl and her ears and tail. Somehow the younger kids were able to accept what was happening much faster than their older brothers.

"So are you Coco?"

"That's me!"

"Are you the cat from yesterday?"

"I am!"

"How did you become a human?"

"Master GeNYA's wish made me turn into a human!" She said happily and everyone turned to look at baffled Genya who was still lying on the floor, "W- wait, what!?"

"I’m just kitten around!" The cat giggled mischievously, "I was tasked to find myself a new Master and GeNYA was the first to show me kindness and generosity!"

"So you are some sort of Familiar?" Hiroshi asked and Sumi smiled, "Like what witches have?"

"Something like that, yes!" She nodded happily and then looked at Sanemi with those green eyes of hers, "Oh, and I don't have worms."

"Well nice to know!" Sanemi snapped, "So what, you are going to stay here or something?"

"That was my plan!" Coco nodded and the kids turned to look a their eldest, "Please big brother, can she stay?"

"Tch…!" Sanemi hissed, knowing he was disadvantaged there, and if he said no then he would be the bad guy… But before he could say anything, Coco meowed to get their attention, "Pawdon me, but I swear, having me around will benefit you all!"

"How?"

"You do know the tail about Maneki Neko?" The white cat girl asked and the siblings all nodded, familiar with the story about a cat who brought luck. Coco grinned as she pointed at herself with her thumb, "Let's just say, I am a descendant of the first Maneki Neko there ever was!"

"This is madness…!" Sanemi grumbled and Genya was so confused while his siblings were even more excited than they were a minute ago, "Can you bring us good luck?"

"Fur sure!" Coco nodded and then looked at Genya who was still lying on the floor, "I purr-mice that I can be helpful!"

Genya didn't know what to say as he was still trying to wrap his head around all this. Good thing he didn't have to think long because Sanemi made up his mind, "We will figure this out later, but now you all need to get ready for school and daycare!"

The younger kids groaned but did as they were told to and rushed to get ready, leaving Genya and Coco in the second-oldest's room. Sanemi looked at his younger brother and growled, "We will talk about this and that cat when we get back home, am I clear!?"

"Y- yes brother…!" Genya nodded and Sanemi closed the door behind him as he left to get everything done before his work at school started. Genya was still baffled and turned to look at Coco who smiled cutely, "So? School, huh?"

It took a moment and by the time Genya was done and ready he was the last one to leave the apartment. There was just one problem.

"Why are you following me? I thought I told you to stay at home?" Genya asked as he looked down at the white kitten who followed close behind him as he made his way down the streets. He didn't expect Coco to reply or how her voice seemed to echo inside Genya's mind, "I'm proving to you that I can be useful!"

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"Just wait, Master GeNYA."

Genya sighed as he tried to hurry but then he felt his foot kick something and he looked down to see a wallet lying on the ground.

"Huh?"

"Oh? Lucky?" Coco giggled as Genya leaned down and picked up the wallet. Out of curiosity, he opened the thing and his eyes widened in shock. There were at least 100, 000 Yen in the wallet! Genya swallowed heavy feeling down from his throat and Coco grinned, "I told you I would bring you good fortune!"

"I can't keep this money," Genya said as he closed the wallet and started to walk in the opposite direction from school. Coco blinked as she followed her Master.

"Why not?" The little cat asked.

"That would be stealing!" Genya snapped, "I better take it to the police booth where the wallet's owner can come and pick it up."

"Do as you want," Coco nodded as she followed Genya to a police booth. The officer at the booth looked busy with this man in a suit talking to them, sounding panicked and restless, "I can't find it, what am I going to do…?"

"Calm down, sir," The officer tried to calm down the man, "We will find it and return the wallet to you at once when we find it."

"A wallet?" Genya thought out loud and the two adults turned to look at him Genya, who recognized the suit man's picture from the ID in the wallet.

"This must belong to you?" The young man said as he handed the wallet to the man in the suit.

"Oh, thank God!" The man immediately opened his wallet and started to go through its contents while the officer turned to look at Genya, "How did you get a hold of this wallet?"

"I found it on the street," Genya replied honestly but it looked like the officer suspected him of something he didn't do, such as stealing the wallet… But before he could ask any more questions, the man in the suit turned to look at Genya, "Oh thank you, young man, you saved me!"

"It's no trouble. I'm happy if I could help." Genya nodded as he turned to leave, but the man quickly called after him, "Hold on!"

"Hm?" Genya stopped and the man dug through his wallet and handed Genya 10,000 Yen bills, "Here is something as a reward."

"I- I can't accept this!" The young man stuttered but the man insisted, "Please, you saved me. The least I can do is reward you. Buy yourself something nice with that money."

"I…"

"I have to go, but I won't forget this kindness young man!" The man said as he rushed to leave. Genya was speechless and the officer nodded at him, "Well done boy."

"Th- Thank you, sir." Genya nodded and the officer looked at the watch on his wrist, "Shouldn't you be at school by now?"

"Y- yes, sorry-!"

"Don't worry, I will write you a note explaining why you are late." The man nodded as he took out paper and pen and while he was writing Genya wondered how he could be so lucky.

Wait, lucky? He turned to look at Coco who was sitting next to him and looking up at him with her green eyes. Genya couldn't really tell, but he had a feeling that she was smiling at him.

"Here you go." The officer handed the young man the note and Genya thanked him as he left to rush to school. While he walked, he heard Cocos who was right by his side talk in his mind.

"I knew I chose well when I accepted you as my Master." The cat said and Genya looked at the cat, stunned, "Wait, you did all that?"

"Of course! I had to make sure that you were as kind and honest as I initially thought." Coco nodded and Geny blinked, "So it was all just a test?"

"Yes, and you passed with purr-fect scores!" Coco sounded extremely happy as she meowed, "And now you can buy something nice for your siblings."

"Just what exactly are you?" Genya wandered out loud and Coco giggled, "I told you. I'm your beloved little familiar and you are my Master GeNYA!"

That didn't offer many answers, but maybe time would.

[kirythestitchwitch]

Klaroline WIP Wed: currently unnamed mafia/social media au -> In a flashback Caroline has just broken up with Tyler and moved out of their apartment. The mafia provided movers have just left.

A soft knock on the front door made her look up from debating between a local Italian place and the chain burger place that would probably be faster. “Did I forget a box?” she called, mentally scrolling through a list of her belongings while walking to the front door and then peeking out the peephole. The sight of the man standing out in the hallway made her blink, her mind speed running the five stages of grief while her hand hovered above the doorknob.

“I have brought dinner,” Klaus’ voice came through the door after the moment stretched on, his tone tempting. “Italian, and wine.” 

Caroline pressed her lips together and silently pleaded with the heavens. One day, he couldn’t give her one more day to find her equilibrium?

His voice dropped into a deeper register that made her bare toes curl on the wood floors. “There are breadsticks.” 

Acceptance settled into her empty stomach and burst into butterflies that she firmly tried to squash.

“Fine!” She jerked the door open, eyebrows raised. “Fine, but only because I’m starving. And don’t even think of so much as breathing on my couch; I just got it all set up.” If she had to lay down on her temporary bed tonight, and it smelled like Klaus’ cologne–that damn cologne–she was going to do something indecent that she had thus far managed to restrain from because giving in to the temptation of fantasy had been a step too far.

Klaus stood there, annoyingly casual in his lightweight henley, necklaces peaking above the collar, a large paper bag held by the handles in one hand, and a bottle of wine dangling by the neck from two fingers in the other hand. His face reflected some internal delight, or maybe he actually was that pleased to see her. Ugh. 

“Good evening, Caroline. Your couch is safe from me,” he said, faux seriously.

“Good.” Sticking out her hand for the bag, she gestured with her fingertips. Klaus pulled it closer to his chest and raised his eyebrows in expectation. His message was clear: dinner came with him.

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes and spun around, leaving the door open. “Come in then.”  The entry hallway emptied into the kitchen and dining area, and Caroline stood in the bare space for a moment in an odd little panic while his footsteps followed her, the door closing softly. 

Right, no table, no chairs. No couch.

“So. I have the floor… or the floor.” Turning around, she caught sight of him examining the main room. His gaze settled on the pull-out sofa already made up as a bed and the bright, almost floral abstract painting that it rested under, and his face did something subtle that nevertheless made heat creep up her cheeks. Lifting her chin, she ignored the slight lift at the corner of his lips when he met her eyes.

“The floor sounds lovely,” he reassured her, setting the bag on the small bar counter space that separated the kitchen from the rest of the room. She supposed they could have eaten standing at the bar, but Caroline was tired and being that close to him tonight would give her hives.

While he set about unpacking the food from the bag, Caroline opened the cabinet in the built-ins she’d stored the blankets in and pulled out the one she used for picnics. This was picnic adjacent.

“I ordered from this little place two blocks away, been in the neighborhood for years,” Klaus said conversationally. “There’s something of everything, since I didn’t know what you’d feel like tonight.”

“I mean, you could have called and asked.” Unfolding the blanket, she snapped it out and let it float down to the floor. “But then you wouldn’t have been able to ambush me.”

Pausing in lifting the lids off the containers, he turned and shot her a surprisingly boyish grin. Lifting his shoulder in a little ‘what can you do?’ shrug, he went back to the takeout.

“Oh my god” Caroline huffed. “Where are my wine glasses? That bottle better be impressive if I’m going to have to tolerate you.” Going around him into the kitchen, she opened the cabinet she’d told Nate to put glasses in and found her instructions followed very carefully. The wine glasses without stems were in the front and she pulled down two.

“Anything less than impressive for you, sweetheart, would pain me.”

“You’re a pain,” Caroline muttered childishly, searching in the box on the counter for the corkscrew.

Klaus’ face was amused as she turned back around to the island and started prying the cork out of the bottle. “Yes, but I did bring breadsticks.”

Coming in the next couple weeks!

[whumpflash]

Ashes, Ashes 4: Countermeasures

previous ///// masterlist//// word count: 1,571

ingredients: lab whump, nonhuman whumpee, electrocution

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Rhys had been trying to dreamseek—a task that had been difficult enough without his talisman, much less with the addition of pain—when he'd heard the sound of the basement door closing, the soft padding of feet down the stairs, the breath of someone in the room.

His body had tensed instinctively, anticipating some kind of new pain, but it hadn't been Blue Eyes. It was the younger one. And it wasn't as if she was unwilling to hurt him, but there was something softer there. Something compassionate, something he might be able to exploit.

She'd tuned him out–apparently she knew enough to avoid being that gullible–but he knew she'd be back. He wondered what he'd have to say to get her to set him free. If he–

Voices.

The little one had just reached the top, and now she was talking to someone else. Getting scolded, it sounded like. The voices faded, and Rhys found himself holding his breath. Listening.

Please don't come down here. Let me sleep.

The door slid closed, and he could hear the creak of the stairs as footsteps grew closer.

"I wanted to surprise you, but guess I'll have to improvise."

Blue Eyes. Yeah, that checked out. He craned his neck back to look at her, grimacing at the ache brought on by stillness. She was putting on a pair of plastic gloves, a small box tucked under her arm. She looked up, catching his eye.

"Haven't escaped yet, hm? Thought so."

"Maybe I just–"

"All these maybes. You talk a big game for someone who's strapped to my table." She set the box down, opening the lid. "Tell me, is it that you won't turn into a dragon? Or that you can't?"

He didn't reply, just grit his teeth and lowered his head. Neck was getting sore anyway.

"Mm. That's what I thought. We'll look into that later. For now, let's work on getting you off the table."

That caught him off guard. "Off… what?"

She held up a pair of handcuffs. "I want to move you to the corner. Be a little easier."

"Why?" Stupid, don't look a gift horse in the mouth…

"Did you think I wanted to keep you strapped down like that forever?" She shook her head. "That's animal cruelty."

He decided to ignore that. "What's in the box?"

That got another grin from her. "Countermeasures. Can't trust you to just sit quietly without a failsafe." She drew something out of the box, angling herself so he couldn't get a proper look at it, and moved up to him.

He felt, rather than saw, her slip something under his neck, buckle it around his throat, felt the cool of metal prongs—

"Is this a shock collar?" he blurted out, more annoyed at the notion than anything. He'd seen them before, advertised for misbehaving dogs.

Blue Eyes smiled, holding up a small remote. "Maybe." Her finger hovered over a particularly large button, and he tensed in anticipation.

She laughed, lowering her hand. "Come on, dragon boy. I'm not going to hurt you for no reason. Do you really think so low of me?"

"Hard to say given that you've already gone at me with a knife." Rhys muttered. "And a blowtorch," he added.

"That was for research. I'm a scientist at heart, not a barbarian." She moved to the foot of the table, put a hand on the one of the straps holding him down. "That being said, if you try to run, the basement door is locked. By the time you find a way to break it down, you'll either be shocked to hell—and falling down the stairs will be far worse than simply falling to the ground—or," she shifted her jacket, revealing a pistol in its holster. "I'll find another way to knock you out."

Rhys swallowed, nodding once. He didn't doubt she'd make good on the threat, but still he wondered if he could take her out first. Rush her, maybe grab the gun? Humans didn't normally chase you if you took their weapon away. But no, he'd likely be too stiff to move that quickly.

Maybe he could get lucky. Push through the shock and zig zag up the stairs so he'd be harder to shoot— And even if he did fail, she said so herself that she wasn't going to hurt him more than necessary, but maybe she'd be mad enough to go back on that…

Blue Eyes was already undoing the buckles that held his legs down, then moving up to his wrists, chest, shoulders, and then he was free. The instinct driven side of his brain was firing up, telling him to jump up and run for it, but he pushed it down. He couldn't act impulsively. Not here. Not with her. Something in the way she watched him told him she wanted him to run, to fail, to fall down the stairs and break a few bones so she could study how they healed.

He took a deep breath, then pushed himself to a sitting position with a groan. His back did not want to bend, but he made an effort to test out his range of motion.

To her credit, Blue Eyes let him stretch for a moment. Get out some of the ache.

"Alright, stand up. Let's test this thing out."

Hells, he could not believe he was complying with this. He knew he had to play it safe, pretend to be subdued while he looked for an opening, but it felt so wrong.

He looked her in the eye as he stood, using the table for support. If I had my talisman, you wouldn't look so smug. I'd shift right here and tear your little house apart on my way out.

But that was only wishful thinking.

"Good," Blue Eyes said, jotting something down on a clipboard that was resting on the countertop behind her. "I'm going to shock you on the count of three."

Rhys almost would've preferred not having a warning. He'd never been shocked before; not with lightning, or an outlet, or even a stray current back when humans were still figuring out the finer parts of electricity.

"One."

Maybe it would be nothing to him. Fire didn't hurt him on the outside, and electricity was just another version of fire, right?

"Two."

And this was human technology. As innovative as they were, what could their mock lightning do against a dragon?

"Three."

His body lit up.

It felt like the blowtorch from earlier, but deeper, and everywhere, and for a moment he couldn't grasp anything but the concept of pain and then–

And then the moment was over. Just like that, ten to zero. He gripped the edge of the table tightly, feeling a shaky weakness settle in his legs.

He hadn't even had enough time to scream.

Blue Eyes was nodding to herself, writing on the clipboard some more.

"Good to know that you at least feel something," she muttered. "Took it like a champ though."

Rhys was hit for a second by a ridiculous sense of pride. Took it like a champ, better than a human could probably do–

"Let's up the voltage."

Hells.

"Again, on the count of three."

He inhaled deeply, slowly. It only hurt for a second. It was bad, but it only hurt for a second.

"One. Two. Three."

The white hot feeling zipped through him once more, every muscle in his body seizing, he tried to breathe, but his lungs wouldn't work, he knew his eyes were open but he couldn't see anything, and it felt like it would last forever.

But then it was over. It took him a second, to realize he was on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, sucking in air. Had he screamed that time? He didn't know. It had felt like forever, yet it was over so fast.

Blue Eyes seemed satisfied, putting pen to paper once more as she watched him struggle to his feet.

"Now you know what awaits you if you try to run."

Rhys managed a nod, telling himself it would be worth the risk to try it anyway, he'd just have to wait for the right moment. Wait it out and she'd get complacent. Wait it out, and he could get a hold on her little sister.

Blue Eyes gestured for him to move to the corner, and he obeyed. He could be compliant. For now.

He held still as she cuffed his hands behind his back, attaching them to a longer chain that stretched out from the wall, then repeated the process with his ankles.

Uncomfortable, but it was better than the table. This way at least, his movement wouldn't degrade so rapidly. The chain's length gave him some freedom of movement, too. Three feet, maybe four. If he could come up with a good plan, something so clever that even Blue Eyes wouldn't anticipate it, that would be enough.

As she left, she grabbed a crowbar that had been leaning up against the wall, right by the stairs.

"And dragon boy, I want you to remember this. If you try to escape—and believe me, it will never be more than try—- I will break your ribs. All of them." She flashed a smile, holding up the crowbar. "With this."

Without another word, she walked up the stairs and turned off the light, leaving him alone again.

next part

taglist:

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

[anjelicawrites]

Hey would you do a thing for when the boys find out your pregnant? How reader finds out and how she tells the boys and how they react?

You find out you're expecting thanks to a colleague. You have been off the pill for six months, trying to fall pregnant; you three are not obsessively counting days or have sex with that goal in mind, you are letting Mother Nature work and, if you three are lucky enough, you'll get pregnant, sooner or later.

Used as you were with the regularity of the pill, going back to your uterus working on its own is a shock, your symptoms being starker, you feeling more tired than what you used to be.

You don't feel great today, the only reason you are not grading papers at home, is that you have to speak with the parents of your pupils today.

"May I ask you something?" it's the new science teacher, whom did her training in your school and landed a job here; you like her a lot, young and full of energy

"Depends"

"It might be a bit personal but... - you can see her weight her options, how to remove this bandaid - the sparkling in your eyes. Are you pregnant?".

Your hand goes to your belly on instinct, bile acid in your mouth

"We are trying. You think? But it's too early! I've been off the pill for just six months! What do I do?".

You can hear the rising panic in your voice, your colleague gently takes your flailing hands and forces you to focus on your entwined fingers.

"First: breathe. Second: I've heard of some people falling pregnant even faster than you did. Third: after you are done here, you go to a pharmacy and buy a home test. Tomorrow morning, first thing you do is use it. At the moment panic is your enemy".

The calmness in her voice helps you center yourself. You have to talk to people who can smell fear and panic, you need to get ahold of yourself.

"If it's positive, should I do the one at the hospital as well, before telling the boys?"

"That's truly up to you. Nowadays these are pretty reliable".

"All right. Christ I need a cigarette"

"Not the best option in your situation"

"Licorice straw?"

"Awful for your blood pressure"

"I need to munch on something before I explode".

You end up with the plastic spoon of your colleague's coffee in your mouth for the rest of the afternoon and two different pregnancy tests in your bag, later that night.

You've never thought five minutes could be that long, you think sitting on the rim of the tub, the two plastic contraptions on the washing basin. You know you should go downstairs, have a cup of tea, instead you are pacing like a maniac, biting your cuticles until the lines appear on the sticks.

The moment Osferth returns home he knows something is up, he can feel it in the air, in the way you nervously run around the kitchen, from the fact that he is not allowed to steal a look at the cake in the oven. Aemond as well can feel the weird electricity: you are planning something and he can't put his finger on what it is. He tries to ask Osferth, who can just shrugs his shoulders in ignorance.

"Boys? Please come here?" the trembling in your voice it's what makes them run into the kitchen.

They scramble in, asking you what's just happened, worry etched into their faces. With shaking hands you hand them over two rectangular boxes with neat bows on them

"What are these my love?" Osferth delicately takes the small box

"Just open it? Please?"

You feel like you're going to jump out of your skin during the moments they need to open the lids and register what's inside.

They both run around the table to hug you, and you just start crying, ugly, fat tears in their combined embrace.

"Is it true gevie?"

"Yes. I am with child. We are going to be parents!".

You can see a miriad of emotions play on Aemond's face: happiness for the pregnancy and fear because now his family will know you all exist, even the unborn baby.

"Are you still happy, right?"

His answer is hugging your belly and start talking High Valyrian against the cotton of your shirt.

"Osferth?".

He hides his face in the curve of your neck, happy tears flowing freely, his hands on your belly, shaky.

You completely forget the cake you've baked for them, too swept in the sea of emotions. You are going to be parents and you still can't believe this is happening.

[thesoulesscollection]

"i think we both need a therapist to figure out whatever the hell this is." A mumbles against B's lips. "It's getting to my head." - my horrible HORRIBLE crack ship.

Or

"Stop smiling. It does things to me I'd rather not talk about." - Roseright :)

OR

"you really can't tell, can you?" A says. "I'm embarrassed by my feelings for you. I'm so dumb for keeping them alive. i love you. there. you heard it. happy now?" - grumpy old men.

Heya, thank you so much for this and I apologize for the long wait. I decided to do all three to make up for it and personally, I enjoy the three ships. As always my ask box is open for anyone to flood it. 

Suction Cup Man x Reginald Copperbottom 

I struggled a little with this one since Scp is a new character for me to write. So he may be a little Ooc and this one-shot may be on the short side;

On the glass wall of the airship, Reginald felt his back being roughly pressed up against it as the other man locked lips with his. 

"I think we both need a therapist to figure out whatever the hell this is." Reginald mumbles against Scm's lips. "It's getting to my head."

"Fuck. Really? Suction Cup Man doesn't need therapy" 

Actually snorting quite loudly in his face the other man deepened it, Reginald mildly annoyed had somehow remained compliant in the sloppy kiss. 

"'Ay… I don't see you complaining too much 'til now?" Pulling back from the kiss, Scm smugly grins, loud voice breathlessly echoing in the room. "... And fuck therarpy to you too… I don't think you need it, Regs" 

Reginald's initial irritation softened, a weak smile playing itself onto his lips, only ever reserved for the people he truly cared for and in his amazement Scm managed to weasel a way into his heart. 

"Okay. Maybe I don't necessarily need it. But you still drive me mad sometimes. You know that, correct?" Whispering softly in the man's ear, Reginald brushes long brown locks out the way. 

"Hm" 

***

RoseRight 

Ellie huffs, flustered when sinking into her chair, "Stop smiling. It does things to me I'd rather not talk about"

"What?" Right is confused, staring down at the woman who is trying to hide, "I don't understand?"

Scooting up in her seat, so she can sit normally, the woman waves her hands up in the air and makes indistinguishable signals. 

"You're smiling. It's too much for me. Your smile is adorable! You're adorable! I don't know how you can be so oblivious and so cute!?" 

How when the man smiled, it was small, shy, and hesitant like he wasn't used to doing it. Freckled cheeks pushing up into his eyes, one closing while the other half lidded and glossy always stared at her. It was like she's the source to his soft grins, muffled laughter, and his softening up from the tough, unfeeling man he had been before. 

"So you think my smile is too much for you? That's new" Confusion turned to another emotion, playfulness, Right can't help it to smile. 

"... Yes… Soak that all in, why don't you… I know you are…" Ellie groans, seeing with an outright grimace at the giddiness in the man. "... Your smile is amazing. I love you too much sometimes…" 

At her side, Right then bent down to her eye level and planted a kiss, reassuring her in his own way. 

"I am. Though for your sake, I do enjoy… Your smile too. It makes my day much better" 

Savoring the woman's glorious breathlessness, Right continues in his attack, smooching copious amounts of kisses on her face and lips. 

***

Grumpy Old Men 

Pre-Canon; Grumpy Old Men where they're in their middle-latish twenties here and still attempting to develop their feelings for one another; 

When Quentin came strutting into his room where Hershell was currently lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling, mind on so many things, and doing his best to ignore the younger man. 

"You miss me, Hersh? I know you do. Who wouldn't" Sarcastically spoken by Quentin who had plopped down at the bed's edge. 

"Quentin. Please. Go away. I don't feel too well and I have a headache coming on"

Biting his bottom lip, Hershell wanted to be alone yet here he is getting anxious when Quentin makes his black and white world turn colorful.  

"You just say that 'cause you want to be 'left alone' and be an asshole" Quentin shifts his position on the flimsy mattress, now above the other soldier, hands glued firmly on each side. "Now tell me. What's exactly wrong, big guy? You've been on edge around me for days. I want to know why"  

The cot couldn't fit them both comfortably, so Hershell can feel the man deliberately feeling him up for security. Not as if he was complaining, rather it was the opposite and he secretly enjoyed the warmth pressed up on his broad chest. A growing problem, a ridiculously childish crush for another, he wanted it to go away, to be what once was, two close friends yet it was stubborn, like Quentin that didn't get the hint. Somehow Quentin can be both incredibly flirtatious but so oblivious at the same time. 

"You really can't tell, can you?" Hershell says. "I'm embarrassed by my feelings for you. I'm so dumb for keeping them alive. I love you. There. You heard it. Happy now?"

Silence overcame the pair, Quentin finally managed to shut up, his cheeks puffing up whereas Hershell folded his hands over his chest and wished to disappear. 

"I. You do?"

"Yes. I love you, Quentin. I'm surprised as much as you are" Hershell bluntly said.  

Then the comforting heat he experienced cuts away as Quentin suddenly appears reluctant, expression scrunched up. "So you like me, huh?" He returned to his seat at the cot's edge. 

"Yup" 

"This. This is new" 

[asamandra]

Whumptober 2022 - Day 2

Nowhere to run - Cornerd, caged

Nicky squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and leaned against the wall behind  him. His heart beat so fast and he could barely breathe anymore. Every single muscle in his body screamed in pain. But the moment was too long already. He could hear them, could hear the dogs. 

“Cazzo!” he cursed and looked around, wild eyed. Steps from the right and dogs barking from the left? 

There was only one chance left. The wall in front of him. It was tall and he wasn’t sure if he would make it, but it was the only option left to get out of that dirty back alley, to get away from them before…

He looked left and right and ran over to the wall, climbed on a wooden box, then onto the first of the dumpsters. The lid of the dumpster creaked ominously when he made a step but it didn’t give in. Nicky looked over his shoulder. No one to see. He made another step, trying to reach for the top of the wall when he heard the dogs running into the back alley.

They barked and growled and a moment later they were there, trying to jump up onto the dumpster, too. Nicky reached for the wall again. He had to get away. He had to!

“He’s here!” Someone yelled and Nicky cursed again. One of the dogs bit into the leg of his pants and he fell, dropped onto the ground. The dogs were all over him, barking, growling. He shoved them off of him but they bit into his clothes, tore at them. 

“Booker, hold your dogs back!” a woman snarled and Nicky’s blood ran cold. She was here. Once again he tried to get onto his feet, tried to run but something hard hit him in the back and then there was pain. White and hot and searing pain. 

He screamed. 

“It’s enough,” another voice said. “Don’t damage him or we get paid less!” It was the man with the dogs, the man called Booker.

Nicky felt hands turning him around, tying him up and pulling him onto his feet. It was a man with curly hair and beard and the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. 

“Get up, omega,” the black haired woman - clearly a beta - snapped and came over to him. 

“You didn’t really think you could escape, did you?” she asked him when the two men who were with her started to drag him out of the back alley they had chased him into. 

A younger black woman stood beside the waiting van and opened the backdoor and Nicky’s blood ran cold. 

“No!” he gasped and shook his hand. Inside was a cage, an omega-cage, designed to hold them if their Alpha didn’t want them to wander around. “No, please! Don’!” he pleaded but the hunters ignored him. The young woman had opened the cage and the two men dragged him to it. It was so small, the only way he would fit was on his knees. 

Nicky started to struggle even more. The man with the beautiful eyes threatened to tase him again but Nicky couldn’t care less. Once he was in that cage his Alpha would never let him out of it again. He squirmed in their grip, struggled, tried to kick at them but the two men and the woman were stronger than him and Nicky screamed when they forced him into the cage. 

“Shut up, omega,” the woman snapped at him. “Or I let Nile gag you!” 

The black woman grinned at him. 

“Why… what did I do to you?” Nicky asked when she locked the door to the cage. 

“It’s nothing personal,” the man called Booker said. 

“But your Alpha, Mr. Merrick, will be happy to have you back,” the black woman smirked. 

“Good job, guys,” the black haired woman said. “Let’s get back.” And she closed the door of the van.

[sergeant-spoons]

44. Kaleidoscopic

Leslie Sheppard

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow​​ @chaosklutz​​ @wexhappyxfew​​ @50svibes​​ @tvserie-s-world​​ @adamantiumdragonfly​​ @ask-you-what-sir​​ @whovian45810​​ @brokennerdalert​​ @holdingforgeneralhugs​​ @claire-bear-1218​​ @heirsoflilith​​ @itswormtrain​​ @actualtrashpanda​​ @wtrpxrks​​​

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All day on the 26th of December, Leslie could not stop thinking about how Don had kissed her—and, though she wouldn't easily admit it, how much she wanted him to do it again.

From the 27th through the 30th of December, Leslie had a whole lot more on her mind due to a particularly momentous event that occurred on Christmas Day but was not made known to her until roughly thirty-seven (and a half) hours later.

Rewind to December 25th, at just past six in the afternoon by the American 12-hour standard, 18:00 hours by military time. Penk had taken Kiko out for a special dinner in Swindon to celebrate the holiday. The restaurant was rather empty due to the earlier dinner hour, just like Penk had hoped, but despite the absence of onlookers, he could not keep from tapping his foot throughout the entire meal. Kiko picked up on his anxiety and tried to soothe him but he would not tell her why he was nervous, which in turn made her nervous, and he was only a few minutes away from getting up and going to the bathroom to try and calm himself when their server came back, a bright smile on her face despite working through Christmas Day. She urged the couple to order dessert with a zeal that put even Penk off, despite him being the one to request the insistence. The server returned less than a minute later, three trays in hand, two of which were for Kiko. The third tray was covered and small, roughly the size of Kiko's palm. She was puzzled until her boyfriend rose, came around to her, and lifted the lid to reveal a little box with an even littler velvet bow.

Not even the gleaming of the ring could match the shine of joyful tears in Alex Penkala's eyes when Kelani Palekiko said yes, she would marry him.

Their dessert—a gingerbread pudding with a candy cane crumble on top—was promptly forgotten in the ensuing tears and revelry. They stayed in town overnight, wanting to keep their happiness to themselves for at least a night, and although Leslie thought it a little strange to not see Kiko at the breakfast table the next morning, she made no mention of it once her friend did return around midday. They spent a lazy afternoon with the cats while Tink was sledding (or, more accurately, attempting to sled) out in the country with Danny Huff, Archie Potts, and some of the other men from their unit. Socket, at first, had not been pleased with the arrival of Meatball. She hissed at him and ignored him, apparently perceiving him as a challenger to her place as queen of the household, but he was persistent, and now, over a month later, they were thick as thieves. Leslie caught herself comparing them to her and Don sometimes, watching them switch between mischief and affection in the blink of an eye—sometimes both at once.

Socket pounced on Meatball and they tussled for a moment before cuddling up together on the carpet. Even Leslie shaking a feather on a string in front of them could not get them to get up again. This was one of those times when she thought of her and Don, but today felt too close to the day before, and she tried to push away that comparison as swiftly as possible. She sat there, her lips tingling with the ghost of his kiss, but did not say a word of it to Kiko, nor Tink when she came flouncing in, caked in snow, her chest sore from laughter.

"You'll never believe who we saw out there!"

"Who?"

"Captain Winters and Captain Nixon!" Tink exclaimed, raising her voice from the foyer, where she was stamping snow off her boots on the mat and shaking her gloves out the open door onto the front stoop. "I threw a snowball at Cowboy, but I missed, and it hit Nixon, and you won't believe this, but I swear to God it's the truth—he just laughed! He didn't get angry or nothin', just laughed and laughed until Winters walked him off. And when I saw 'em down the road, Nixon was makin' a snowball himself, and I think he was gonna throw it at Winters, or drop it down his shirt, but he gave 'im such a look he threw it at a tree instead. But all lackluster-like, you know, like this-"

Tink demonstrated, tossing an imagined snowball as one might toss a baseball to a child who hadn't yet solidified their hand-eye coordination. Her friends grabbed her things and hung them up, and Tink, dripping wet and red-cheeked, looked between them, cheery as ever.

"Hey, c'mon, at least gimme a chuckle-"

"Sorry, Tink, but I didn't catch much of what you said," Kiko hesitantly admitted, and she was so gentle-eyed that not even Captain Sobel could have frowned at her.

"Tell it to us later," Leslie chimed in. "I got most of it, and hell, it sounds like a gem of a story, but I think you oughta head upstairs and take a hot bath."

"Promptly," Kiko agreed.

Tink's heaving breaths were still coming out in puffs despite being inside for over a minute. She looked down at her legs as she shook them out and harumphed, eyeing her trousers and how they stuck to her ankles and calves as if realizing she was cold, and wet to boot.

"Promptly it is."

The next morning, Kiko was already awake when Leslie got up. She was sitting in the window nook of the upstairs parlor, a place she often went to draw or read, but when Leslie came closer, she saw no letter nor book, no notepad nor newspaper in her friend's lap. Instead, Kiko was fiddling with something around her neck, lost in thought to the extent that she did not see Leslie approach. Leslie assumed it was her friend's dog tags at first, but then the pale sunlight of early morning caught on something that shimmered. Kaleidoscopic rainbow starbursts flashed across Kiko's face and Leslie's heart leapt.

"Kiko?"

The blushing bride in question gave a start, then turned to Leslie with a sheepish smile, and as soon as Leslie saw the ring in full, she screamed. She couldn't help it! This revelation was simply too spectacular. Her outcry startled Tink (who had still been sleeping) so badly that she rolled right out of bed. Leslie and Kiko both heard the thump. Groggy-eyed but alarmed, Tink stumbled down the hall, only half-joking when she asked where the fire was, and Kiko had to go wake her up fully while Leslie pranced around the parlor, too full of joy to contain herself.

That whole day, and the next two, Leslie felt like she was walking on air. She was not, of course, the engaged party, though one might have assumed her to be such based on the magnitude of her excitement. There was only one thing keeping her from total bliss—well, two, if she included the war—and that was the infuriating presence (or, more accurately, absence) of Charlie Hammond. Tink had not heard from her fiancé since his last call almost a month ago. She made excuses for him on the regular, sometimes before Leslie or Kiko had even asked. At first, she said he was busy with work, but after the fifth offering of this excuse, she thought about it and posited that his mother had likely come down with the flu, citing this to be an annual occurrence right around the holidays. But even the flu did not last for several weeks; Tink, seeking answers, read in a London paper that there had been an air raid one night in the sector of London where Charlie worked and supposed his office—nay, the whole block—was still on lockdown. Leslie and Kiko told themselves to just smile and nod, but at this point, they were starting to wonder if they should advise Tink to break off the engagement—perhaps even the whole relationship.

After all, Leslie couldn't remember a time when Tink's excuses were for Charlie's sake and not her own.

The thing that had recently come to interrupt the delight of Kiko's new engagement was, as usual, Charlie's failure to follow through on his promises. Christmas had come and gone and yet the gift he had promised to send was nowhere to be found. Tink checked the mailbox and the doorstep every day and even got Kiko to drive her to the post office in town but nothing was ever there. Her spirits were buoyed slightly by a box of gingersnaps from her brothers back home, and she pretended she wasn't bothered, but Leslie knew better. That damned gift was hanging over all their heads. Leslie bitterly doubted it had even existed in the first place. She and Kiko considered wrapping something for their friend and labeling it as Charlie's just so Tink wouldn't get so quiet every time she came back from the post office empty-handed, but they decided against it, fearing it would make things much worse when Tink inevitably thanked her fiancé for the gift and he denied it to her face.

In other relationship news (of the kind Leslie did not know about), Don had fallen into a funk after George Luz commended his supposed relationship status. It was two days after Kiko and Penk began spreading the word of their engagement among their friends when George sauntered up to Don and cheerfully congratulated him for finally getting the girl. Don, hoping his bewilderment looked credible, asked what he meant, but this proved to be a mistake, as George went on for several minutes about Leslie making an excellent Mrs. Malarkey before Don was able to interrupt him and shut him down. Already strained by the lack of enthusiasm Leslie had shown after he'd kissed her, Don became noticeably morose. George felt bad for assuming wrong, and so he'd begun leaving things on Don's pillow as a way of apology. He had no problem issuing his remorse aloud, but he thought a small gesture or two might help. Most of his gifts were chocolate (as that was the treat he had the most access to), and when he learned Don had already given every single bar to Leslie, he had to physically bite his tongue to keep from exclaiming his perpetual astonishment that the pair still weren't romantically involved.

Back at Mrs. Witchetty's, it was getting late. Leslie was munching on a Hershey bar and reading a letter from her brother Franklin when a speck of dust danced through the lamplight across the room and caught her eye. She looked up and saw, to her wonder, that it had begun to snow outside. She jumped up, took her two small joys with her, and padded across the carpet to the window, taking a small detour to slip her bare feet into her slippers, knowing from experience just how cold the hardwood could get in the winter. She stood by the window, alternating between nibbling, reading, and watching the snow, and was content. It was a quiet fall, the kind that would pile up in fluffy heaps overnight but would not prove much of a hassle to march through in the morning. 

I like the snow here, she mused, and it was the kind of sleepy thought that sounded like she was reading dialogue in a novel and listening to it become speech in her head. It falls so neatly. Back home, it melts in the streets before morning, but not here. Here, it sticks.

Leslie finished the chocolate and started to crumple up the wrapper, but the crinkling gave her pause. She put Franklin's letter aside on the dresser and started folding the wrapper into a crane, then flew it across the window like she was a child again, flapping its brown paper wings with two fingers on either side of its fragile frame.

Jumping Jack Christ!

She gave such a start that she dropped her bird.

Tomorrow's New Year's Eve.

Blinking, half from sleepiness and half from the need to quell her own amazement, Leslie stooped to retrieve the crane from the floor. It had fallen beside the air vent, and as she came nearer, she felt warm air seeping upward. She ended up sitting there to warm her hands for a minute, craning her neck up to look at the snow with the brown paper bird nestled in her lap.

It's almost 1944. Isn't that something?

She blew on her hands and sighed; the little crane wobbled at the breeze but did not tip over. Leslie picked it up and cupped it in her hands. Looking at it made her smile.

1944.

Sheesh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[chubbology]

Getting Big

prompt: someone discovering they're a feeder as their feedee partner gets bigger

Sometimes you’re both in bed, distracted and ignoring each other on your phones or laptops, when you notice. Your eyes lift from your phone and notice your partner’s relaxed belly, rising and lowering with calm breath, stretching the fabric of their shirt. Really stretching it now, not just with every inhale, but by default. Not just pushing the seams a little with chubbier hips, but forcing the cotton to bow out close to its limit, forcing the stitching to cave into a belly button deeper and softer-looking than you remember. And your eyes inevitably take in the rest: thicker thighs, more shapely chest, less defined arms, softer jawline.  

You’re aware that your partner’s gained a little weight. More than a little, but it’s fine. Probably thirty or so pounds, not a big deal, and you absolutely don’t judge them for it. Have they mentioned it at all? No, they just keep tugging at their shirts and pants. And underwear. Their underwear is getting too small for them, with weight gain making them a bit of a pear and all, but you don’t say anything. You don’t say they need bigger underwear. You don’t tell them how much you appreciate the fact that they need it. As long as they stay mum on the subject of their weight and the fit of their clothes, so will you; that’s your rule.

Sometimes you’re both in bed, watching TV, and they’re eating their way to the bottom of a quart of appallingly flavored ice cream (super-caramel-quadruple chocolate-chunk type stuff), and you keep sneaking glances. Because you’re amazed they’re comfortable enough around you to eat freely like this—or so you tell yourself. Their eyes are so glazed with distracted pleasure that maybe it didn’t even occur to them not to gorge themselves tonight, right in front of you.

Not gorging themselves like some kind of pig—no, it’s just, you both ordered a lot of takeout just a couple hours ago, and then they snacked on chips for a while, and then there was that candy bar they ate on a whim while you took out the trash, and now it’s a whole quart of ice cream. A whole quart. The more glances you sneak at them, the more you notice how their budding second chin peeks out when they chew. The more you notice that their bites seem hasty, as if tinged by some kind of distant, unconscious desperation.

You lean against them as if too tired to stay upright, reaching over them casually, letting one arm rest against their belly. It’s soft. It’s bigger. Not a big deal at all, you tell yourself for the millionth time.

And yet, you ponder their weight more. You’ve been pondering it incessantly. You can’t stop thinking about how they went to the mall two weeks ago without telling you, bought clothes a size up, and already were uncomfortably tugging and pulling on on every tight band and seam again. You can’t stop your thoughts from wandering to the idea of them sizing up again any more than your partner can stop their hands from opening another package of cookies.

“Ugh, this stuff is so good,” they mutter, swallowing the last bite, then closing the lid on the carton and setting it aside.

“Mm. I’ll buy more then,” you say without thinking. It’s fine if they size up again, after all. You’ll love them no matter their body type. Their happiness comes first. “I’m going to the grocery store anyway.”

A couple months later, going to the grocery store is not a chore to you, but a fun outing. You never used to even go down the junk food isles if you were by yourself, but now you scour them carefully. You place things in the cart you know your partner will like, and consider new brands and products they might like to try. It’s all so colorful and thrilling to actually buy. You tell yourself you might even try some of it and ignore the intrusive thought of your partner sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night again to binge on half the goodies themselves.

What niggles at you isn’t that you’re buying way too much junk food for your partner, who’s a little overweight now. It’s not as if they’ve told you to stop, or have implied they want to lose weight, or have said anything about any of it at all. That’s the thing: you’re in uncharted waters, and they haven’t told you a word about whether they fine with the way the tide was turning or whether they were actually really concerned that they were getting heavy and a little jiggly and they didn’t know what to do about it, let alone have the wherewithal to say, Honey, stop buying junk food. I’m getting fat.

Just the thought of the word makes you blush at the box of Fudge Covered Twinkies you’re holding. You quickly set them back on the shelf. Twinkies were practically the poster food for getting fat, right? Surely, your partner would suspect something, even though there wasn’t anything to suspect. You just know that they like food, particularly food that’s soft and sugary and addictive, and what better, cheaper food to comfort them with than Twinkies? No, it wouldn’t be good for their waistline, but you can already see their eyes fluttering closed at the taste—which was probably not even good, but that was hardly the point, was it?

Compromising, you buy a limited edition blue-stuffed brand of Twinkies instead, preparing an excuse that you thought the novelty of it was amusing and wondered if it was good.

But later that night, your partner eats six of them while you play video games and doesn’t mention the novelty of it at all. Your character dies stupidly and your partner laughs at you, belly jiggling as they do. You swallow, eyes fixating on their fat thighs. There’s no other word for them—they’re fat. Their thighs have gotten fat, just like their belly got fat, just like their hips and chest and arms and even their neck and face has been rounding out with so much chub. They were fat and they did eat like a pig, and all signs pointed to more weight gain. They were going to keep gaining weight, and when was it going to stop? When you finally decided enough was enough? When their doctor told them to take control? Yeah, so, you could imagine them awkwardly saying, coming home from the doctor, I guess I gotta lose weight. Maybe they would be holding a pamphlet on obesity or something, looking ashamed.

And maybe they would try at first. You would help. They’d exercise a little here and there, maybe only eat one Twinkie instead of six, maybe not ask for takeout so often. But it wouldn’t last. The second their will broke, yours would too. And you’d both be in bed, distracted by nothing but endless waves of pleasure that your sex life hadn’t known in a while, them leaning back against the headboard, eating every fattening thing you had to offer, which would be many, many, as many fattening things as they’d agree to swallow down like they glutton they were becoming.

“Babe?”

You blink.

“You okay?” they say with that chubby face of theirs, a face that said, I’ve been gaining so much weight, and you’re really aroused.

“I’m glad you like those,” you stutter. You look at the Twinkies box, and so do they. Your mouth keeps moving without forethought. “I’ll buy you more next time. Any other flavors you like?” You set down your controller and push your hand into their hair affectionately. Since they’re slouched, they look up at you, and you lower your hand to the back of their neck, touching the bulge of the fat there. “Want me to get you your favorite ice cream? I know you had a long day at work.” You stand and head for the kitchen, ignoring your partner’s confused ums and wells.

You open the freezer and get one of many ice cream quarts. Thanks to you, the fridge and freezer have been stuffed to the gills with crap, but you can’t regret it, not when it makes your partner look perpetually stuffed to the gills too. You get a spoon and sit down next to them again, brain fuzzy with want. “You’ll feel better when you finish this. By the time you do, I’ll finally finish this damn level.”

“I’m—I’m not…” But the look in their eyes is conflicted. “I’m not that hungry, really.”

You laugh. Your body is buzzing. “Please. With you, when you eat and when you’re hungry are completely unrelated. Let’s make it a competition! Finish before I do. Go!”

“What?”

You’re already starting the level over, thinking to yourself What the hell? Don’t make them eat if they don’t want to. Even if they do want to, even when they’re full, because they’re greedy and addicted, gonna get obese soon—

A minute passes, and they’re sitting up, belly folded in rolls on their lap, looking poised to either stand up and put the ice cream away or rip the lid off and devour it all.

“Eat it,” you say innocently, or try to. It mostly comes out like a pathetic attempt at sounding not-horny.

You glance over, and they still look conflicted, so you lean over and kiss them on their tubby cheek. “Go ahead,” you say, quieter. You meet their eyes. “Don’t you want to?”

They look taken aback now, flushed. All at once, they seem aware of their blubbery, overweight body, and they shift on the couch. You forget the game and lean in again, kissing them on the lips, then deeper as they lean into you. “I know you want to,” you whisper. You cup their fattened hip, squeeze it gently. “I bet you really want to.”

They’re blushing really hard now, gone shy and speechless. So you move closer to them, and since their head is lowered to avoid your eyes, you land a sweet peck on their bulging second chin. Then you peel off the lid of the carton, tear the plastic off, and push the spoon satisfyingly into the over-processed sugar that has been fattening your partner out of their clothes so well.

Despite their air of reluctance, they eat the spoonful you offer as if on instinct. They squirm with pleasure, and your breath hitches when their plump hand twitches out to take the spoon away from you when you don’t use it quick enough. You scoop them another bite. Then another. The room is quiet except for the game in the background and your rapidly beating heart. Their eyelids lower, and you murmur encouraging words to them. That’s it. It’s good, huh? Big bite... The experience seems no less momentous to them than to you, and so you keep going. Their eyes drift shut and so you guide their mouth to open at the right times. Eventually, your cooing gets bolder.

“I know how much you like this. Like eating. Eating a little too much.”

Their mouth pauses around the spoon, but their eyes don’t open. They swallow and wait for the next bite.

“And I know you get up in the middle of the night sometimes, just to eat,” you say. “Eat and eat until your clothes feel tight and your stomach’s queasy, right? You always come back to bed so uncomfortable, tossing and turning, panting a little. Holding back little burps. I wake up and all the junk food I bought is gone.”

Your partner leans into to your next spoonful, then takes it from you. Without meeting your eyes, they start eating from the tub themselves, at twice your pace. You smooth your fingers through their hair. Then rub a hand down their arm, which was now sausage-like with so much fat clinging to it. But it’s squishy, when you pinch it. No firmness anywhere you can see.

“I’m sure you know you’re getting big, baby. You’re getting big. But that’s okay.” You rub your hands over their belly, their hips, their rolls of back fat. “You just keep eating as much as you like.”

And after another pause, they nod.

[mavrintarou]

I Miss You [2]

Characters: Osamu x Y/n; mentions of Atsumu; mentions of Rintarou Warning: angst; mentions of suicide;

First part

.

Osamu watches Y/n draw on his arm with permanent marker. He told her she could surprise him, so they have been sitting in her empty classroom for the past thirty-minutes as she marks the outline.

“What are you going to do after we graduate?” When he doesn’t answer, she looks up and he’s looking at her, lost in a daze. “Osamu-kun?”

His cheeks immediately flushed, and he looks away, out the window. He mutters Osamu-kun under his breath with a chuckle. “I don’t have plans to go to college.”

Her hand stops moving, “what? How come?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I think, I want to open a business.”

Her eyes widen, “you do?

He nods his head, “a little shop and make onigiri. All kinds of onigiri.”

Y/n’s lips curve into a smile, “I think that’s a cool plan.” She focus back on his arm, “what will you name your shop?”

“I don’t know, haven’t thought that far.”

“Onigiri… Miya,” she peeks at him a smile, “just kidding. That sounds tacky.”

. .

Winter break was coming around the corner fast and for the first time, Osamu dreaded it.

It meant he wouldn’t be able to see Y/n for ten days straight.

He’s been contemplating on what to get her for Christmas…

He shot up in bed, “I don’t even know her birthday!”

“Who yer talking about?”

Osamu ignored his brother and grabbed his wallet, counting all his cash. He then walked over to his piggy bank and popped the bottom to shake out all his money.

“What are you doing?”

“Counting money,” he answered obviously.

Osamu counted a few hundred dollars, and he smiles triumphally. He knew what he was going to get her.

He began stripping his clothes to put on other clothes to go outdoors. He was about to leave his room when his brother’s next words stopped him.

“You shouldn’t get involved with her. Mom and dad won’t approve.”

Osamu lets out a deep exhale. “Don’t worry about it.”

. .

“Here.”

He holds out a small box with a red bow on top. “Here,” he says again when she doesn’t make a move to accept it.

Y/n exchanges glances between Osamu and the gift. She chews her lower lip and frown, “what is it?”

“Open it, you’ll find out.”

“What is it for?”

“Christmas, duh?” He immediately apologizes when she looks down embarrassed. He needed to remind himself that she probably wasn’t used to receiving any gifts. “We’ll be on break, and I wanted to get you a gift for Christmas.”

She peered up at him, “but I don’t have anything for you though?”

He exhales slowly, “Y/n,” he calls her name dearly, “I didn’t get you a gift for you to get me one. I did it because I wanted to. I don’t expect you to give one, okay?” He holds the gift out to her again, “here.”

She reaches with both hands and before she could lift the lid off he stops her.

“Wait, when is your birthday?”

“The 25th of December.”

“What!” he half shouted, “your birthday is on Christmas day?”

She nods her head, “I know, I have to share it with Jesus.”

Osamu’s head is thrown back in a heartly laugh. “At least you share it with Jesus, I have to share it with my twin.”

She goes on to open the lid.

He watch her expression, unsure of her expression. “Do you… like it?”

She quickly puts the lid back on and shoves it back into his hands. “I can’t have this.”

“Why?”

“That’s too expensive.”

Osamu had the feeling she would reject the gift.

He opens the lid again and take out the flip phone and flips it open, “see, I put my phone number in it, you can call me or text me anytime.”

Her eyes watch carefully how he navigates through the phone.

“It’s a prepaid phone, but I got you a few cards here so when you run out, you have these ones to use.” He nudges her, “I got you a phone so that way I can contact you and you can contact me too.”

He hands the phone over, waiting for her to take it, “consider this a birthday gift and Christmas gift.” She makes a face, one trying to refuse it. “It’ll make me feel better if you accept this, please?”

Her hand tremble but she takes it. She looks at him with piercing brown eyes. “Can I give you something too?”

Osamu smiles in success. “Sure. I’ll take anything as long as it doesn’t cost money, okay?”

“It might be fragile though?”

He gives her an assuring smile, “whatever it is, I’ll take good care of it.”

She carefully puts the phone in her pocket and holds her palm out, “give me your hand.”

He places his large palm on top of her small one and his heart jumped when she grasped it.

Osamu watches as she pulls out a black permanent marker and began doodling on his palm.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a red marker and began coloring in.

She exhales slowly and release his palm. She takes a step back and peek up at him.

Osamu’s lips part in a sharp inhale.

On his palm, he sees it now…

She doodled a heart on his palm.

“I am not rich, so I cannot give you a real… gift.” She fiddles with her fingers, “this is all a person like me can offer you.” She pauses, watching his eyes finally meet hers. “I am an artist, and this is my heart. It is fragile and has been through a lot. It barely beats, but still trying every day. It’s not a lot but you have it in your hand now.”

His head nods and he close his palm. “The best gift ever.”

Y/n looks away with an uncontainable smile. “If you say so.”

“Can I ask you for one more thing?”

She looks up with questioning eyes.

“Can – can I kiss you?”

. .

[Present day]

Osamu starts his day irritated.

Irritated that he woke up from a dream he wished so much he could relive again.

He starts off his morning at 4AM by preparing all the ingredients for the day. By 5AM he waits for Kita senpai’s arrival with the fresh rice of the day.

He checks his phone in the meantime and notices the unread messages.

Two messages from Suna Rintarou from the night before.

[Suna] Look who I ran into [Suna] {image}

Osamu’s eyes narrow at the image, zooming in.

It was a selfie image of Rin getting his arm tattooed… by Y/n who is smiling sweetly at the camera.

As if Suna wanted to irk him, his message below the image made his jaw tighten.

[Suna] still cute, mind if I take my shot? [Suna] Just kidding, don’t kill me

Osamu left him on read and turned off his phone, shoving it into his pocket.

He spends the rest of his day bitter and annoyed.

. .

He swallow the lump in his throat, as he searched up her name, expecting to find nothing on her.

Then he can move on with his life and leave her alone.

But to his surprise, her social media was the first to pop up on the search engine.

His thumb hovered over the link before he clicked.

Y/N

Tattoo artist at SKIN DEEP | Future Paralympics

His heart tighten.

Most of her photos are of her completed works. Some selfies of herself and there was one photo he recognize; it was the exact same one he found in Jin’s wallet.

The caption of the photo: My babies &lt;3

. .

Every night if there were extra ingredients, he would make onigiris and bring it over to the children’s home down the street.

He greets Mrs. Yokoshima, who is in charge of finding homes for children who are left behind. He hands over the box of food. “Here you go.”

She gives him a heart warming smile. “You’re so wonderful, Osamu-san.”

He returns a smile and opens his mouth to speak when nothing comes out.

The person behind Mrs. Yokoshima emerged through the doors with a trail of kids after her.

She smiles at them and saying something that got the young kids excited as they jumped up and down with glee.

Y/n.

Was that really Y/n?

But… she was walking?

“That’s Y/n, she helps out here often. Have you’ve met her yet?”

Osamu tears his eyes away from the woman who has been haunting his heart. “Y/n?”

The elder lady nods her head and turns around, “Y/n!”

The one person who haunts his heart and dreams turns her head in Mrs. Yokoshima’s direction…

Their eyes locked.

Shock.

Hurt.

Sadness.

But after two seconds, she smiles through.

The same smile that makes his heart flutter at the same time wrenches his heart. Even after all the words he said to her the last time they met, she still smiles at him.

It was really her.

He wanted to run, hide, and live the rest of his life as a coward as he has been the last seven years.

But his feet wouldn’t move.

“Hey, Osamu-san.” The O in his name barely pronounced and he is reminded how much he missed the way she said his name.

He couldn’t find his voice to call her name.

“How are you?”

He chokes on his words, unable to still answer her.

Mrs. Yokoshima glances between them, “do you two know each other?”

Y/n gives her a small smile, “a little bit.” She glances timidly at Osamu, “it’s nice seeing you, take care.”

. .

[Seven years ago]

Winter break ended and class resumed again.

Y/n was eager to return to school to see Osamu again.

She look forward to any breaks in between and lunch time since they kept their relationship a secret.

Y/n is startled at the sudden loud bang. She is greeted by Miya Atsumu who seats himself on the desk in front of her.

He just silently stares… glares at her.

It’s obvious he is Osamu’s twin, everyone knew that.

“Can I help you?”

“Whatever is going on between you and ‘Samu, it needs to stop.”

Y/n gently lays her pen down. “Can I ask why?”

“You’re not fit for him.”

“How so?”

He blinks back at her, “do I need to spell it out for you? You’re an orphan.”

“And that makes me unfit for your brother?”

Atsumu scoffs, “if your own birth giver did not want you, what makes you think others want you?”

. .

Y/n waited in her usual spot for Osamu after school. She watched the busy street in front of Inarizaki High zoomed with cars and buses.

Her entire mood was killed after Atsumu’s visit.

“You okay?” The hand waving in front of her face breaks her out of her conscience.

“Hey,” she greets, remaining cool.

Osamu immediately sensed the difference in her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She smiles at him assuring, but her smile doesn’t meet her eyes.

Osamu takes a step closer, concern written all over. “Something is wrong, your face says it all. Did something…” his voice trails off as her eyes are no longer on him, but something behind him. He sees the change in her eyes, fear?

He turns around, seeing his twin standing behind him, glaring at them with hard eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave him alone?”

Osamu glances between Y/n and his twin and he knew. He pushes Y/n behind him, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

Atsumu raised a brow at him, “I told her she needs to stop seeing you and that’s what mom and dad said too. I knew you weren’t going to tell her so… I did you the favor.”

Osamu felt the grip on his sleeve, and he places a hand on hers, assuring her it’ll be okay. “I don’t care what mom and dad says, Y/n is my girlfriend and I’m going to be with her.”

Everything happened in a flash second. Atsumu and Osamu wrestling outside school ground, throwing punches and yelling at one another. Cars passing by honked as they shifted closer to the street.

“You don’t know shit!” Atsumu yells, “mom and dad just wants the best for you, fucker!”

“You don’t know shit! All you know is volleyball!” Osamu shouts back, throwing a punch to his twin’s cheek. “What do you know about love? Nothing!”

Atsumu laughs regardless of the busted lip, “I know enough that a bitch like her ain’t worth it.”

Y/n grabs Osamu’s arm, shouting his name. “Stop. Stop it!” She tries to maneuver in the middle, pushing both of them apart from each other.

Osamu is deaf to her pleas and flings his arm out of Y/n’s grasp causing her to stumble back.

“Stay out of this!” Atsumu grabs her by her collar pulling her before forcefully shoving her.

Y/n stagger backwards barely losing her composure when she stepped off the curb.

Her eyes widen at the two headlights heading towards her and ears rang with the sound of a car honking.

. .

Y/n sits up in the hospital bed for the eighth day.

Her eyes have been swollen since she woke up seven days ago from crying.

Tears slid down her cheeks every time she looks down at her right leg, she was still in denial that the doctors had to amputate it from the knee below.

Her future of running was over, the scholarship, the hopes for a better life…

All over in a blink of an eye…

She glances at the phone on the side table.

For however many days it’s been… she has never received a text message in return from Osamu.

. .

Some days were easier than others.

Some days feels just like a dream she wishes so much to wake up from.

She was moved to a shared room and started physical therapy and looked into options.

“Y/n.” Her doctor pleads, standing a few feet away. “Please,” he looks at her desperately, “come down.”

Y/n sits on the ledge of the hospital building structure.

It was no doubt he found her abandoned wheelchair near the restricted staircase that led to the rooftop of the building.

She turns to look over her shoulders at him and smiles tiredly. “Don’t worry, I won’t jump. I’m too scared.” When he made a move towards her, but she stopped him. “But don’t come any closer… just…” her voice chokes, “just give me a few minutes alone.”

He sighs and moves to take a seat on the ledge too.

She stares at him, realizing she may have just put a few years on him.

Dr. Tsuyo has been diligently trying to help her adjust to her new life changes. He was her hope, strength and motivation.

“I’m like you too, I was raised in a children’s home.” He exhales, “there were many days I wanted to die too, but here I am,” he looks at her with a gentle smile, “don’t give up, okay? It’ll get better, I promise.”

Y/n looks away and straight at the setting sun. Tears drops from her eyes as her hand tightens around the cellphone on her lap.

How does it get better?

And when does it get better?

A few minutes ago, Osamu called her.

His last words are now tattooed on her heart.

I cannot talk to you and see you from here on. I’m sorry truly sorry for everything.

. .

[Present day]

Osamu chokes on his feelings. Unable to move or speak as Y/n turns her back on him and walks away.

“Y/n is a sweet girl; she comes most evenings to read to the children.”

Osamu walks past the elder lady and heads towards the group of children and Y/n.

He crouches down beside Y/n, looking at the kids. “I brought some onigiri, who is hungry?”

Y/n watch as all the children excitedly scream at his question and she smiles, “I should have known it was you who brought all those onigiri all this time.”

. .

After helping Osamu hand out an onigiri to each child, the two adults stood a few feet apart in silence.

Y/n lifts her right leg and wiggle her foot and answer the dying question in his head. “I have a prosthetic leg.”

Instead of looking at her foot, he looks at her, but unable to say a word. She still looks like the same, maybe a bit of maturity to her. Her hair is shorter than he recalls.

“Have you been well?”

“Yes,” he utters, looking away. “I didn’t go to school after high school and opened up a shop shortly with my parents help.” He turns back to look at her, “did you… finish school?”

After the incident, Y/n never returned back to school. Osamu ended up barely graduating high school without her.

Y/n shook her head, embarrassment written on her face. “No, I dropped out.”

“I’m so –“

“Osamu,” Y/n calls his name softly, he looks up at her with sorrowful eyes. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” His jaw tightened. “What happened to me is not your fault.”

“But I left you.” He whispered; eyes blurred with tears. “I was scared and dumb. I’m sorry. I need to say that Y/n. I’m sorry. So sorry for what happened.”

“Osamu –“

He didn’t hide his face when his tears slipped down his cheeks. “I was a coward and I left you.”

Y/n’s eyes filled with tears as she lets out a loud exhale. She smiles softly at the man who has been hurting and carrying the burden for years. “Miya Osamu, I forgive you. I forgive you for holding on to this guilt all these years.” She steps forward and raised a hand to touch his cheek, “I forgive you.”

“Mama?”

Both adults look down at the little girl, she holds the wrapper up to Y/n, “I’m done.”

“Good job, baby.” Y/n coos, crouching down at her height and taking the garbage out of her hands.

The four-year old looks up at Osamu before looking at Y/n, “who is he?”

Y/n and Osamu looks at each other before she answers, “this is mama’s friend from years ago.”

She carefully looks up at Osamu before bowing. “Nice to meet you, mama’s friend.”

“His name is Osamu-san and he is the one who made these yummy onigiris.”

Her eyes sparkle and she blushed.

Osamu wipes his face and crouches down, “I like your pigtails. What is your name?”

“Eva.” She answers softly, “why are you crying?”

“Eva –“

“Because I’m so happy to see your mama again.” Osamu smiles, “Eva, I’m Osamu.” He looks at Y/n, “she looks like you.”

The corner of Y/n’s mouth curve, “oh yeah?”

Eva runs off and Y/n stands up slowly, rubbing her right leg. “Eva is adopted.” Osamu’s face drained and she contained her laugh. “I have three adopted children,” she points at an older boy that’s beside Eva, “that’s Masuro, he’s six and Eva is four. The third child is a high schooler –“

“Jin?”

She nods, “yes, that’s right. You two met.”

“He told you?”

“Yeah, he did.” She exhales softly, “that’s how I discovered you have a shop and it’s called Onigiri Miya.”

.

.

.

> > > @queenelleee @angelicalcutefairy @chaotic-fangirl-blog

[creativeashproductions]

Proceed With Caution // Evan Buckley

IN WHICH: The reader doesn’t expect to become involved in a hostage situation with her fiance’s older sister, the older sister’s best friend and the best friend’s date from hell. With the addition of a SWAT member, how will the taking of dispatch change?

Warnings: Swearing, blood, threats, angst, guns, hostage/kidnapping

Words: 5.9k

A/N: Recently got into the tv show 9-1-1 and completely fell in love with Buck so here I am writing for him as well. This takes place during the season three episode ‘The Taking of Dispatch 9-1-1’. Reader and Buck are already in an established relationship.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

The apartment was quiet as the sound of your keys clattered in the bowl on the countertop. It was pretty early in the morning, so you had no doubts that Buck would be just waking up. On his days off, he would use the first day to catch up on sleep; based on prior times, he would be up in half an hour.

“Buck?” You called out from the kitchen. You heard a groan from the loft where Buck was in the process of waking up, “I forgot to drop off that book Maddie wants to borrow. When I get back, do you want to get breakfast?”

A grumble you somehow translated to approval was what you received in response. You jogged up the stairs to the loft to grab the book from your bookshelf. Buck’s bare leg stretched out from underneath the comforter on your side. The soft sighs Buck made in his sleepy state tugged at your heart; the sighs grew louder when you bent to kiss his head.

“See you in a bit.” You whispered to the sleepy soft male. He sleepily grinned in response before curling into your pillow.

The sound of your footsteps softened on the steps back to the main level of the apartment. Your keys snagged from the bowl before you gently closed the door behind you. The sun was gorgeous to be awake to see and had Buck not worked a long shift, you’d have adored watching it with him.

Your car pulled out of the parking spot in the Los Angeles Service Center’s direction that Maddie worked at. Your lips quirked as the radio spewed out the station that Christopher listened to in the car. You could even pick up the book in the backseat where he called his spot. The book could be found in Buck’s Jeep as well.

It had maybe three days since you’d seen the young Diaz, and damn did you miss the kid. Christopher has his enigmatic quality that demanded you love him for all that made him simply Christopher. The second you’d met him, you knew he would mean a lot to you.

You hummed in time with the song that was currently Christopher’s absolute favourite. Slowly you went from humming to singing along when the light turned green. A handful of songs came and went on the admittedly long drive due to traffic.

It was about forty minutes after leaving your apartment that you parked next to Maddie’s car in the parking lot. Lucy was sitting at the front office with a grin you matched. The woman buzzed you before she clocked out with her reprieve Jake.

“Hey, Sue!” You grinned at the older redhead. Sue had absolutely no problem seeing you, given that you were welcome in the building.

Sue’s first interaction was when you came to the centre to pick up Maddie when she came to work sick. Maddie had managed to keep it under wraps for an hour before Sue caught on. Ever since, Sue was fond of asking Maddie about her brother and you.

“Maddie’s not in just yet.” Sue spoke with a kind smile, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to meet with one of our sit alongs.”

You nodded towards her while beelining for the woman’s bathroom, hoping to catch Maddie after using it. You’d drank too much water on your run earlier this morning. Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate in the time you’d entered the bathroom, several things happened. Lucy ended her shift, Jake started his shift, and a group of strangers entered the building.

Your hand went to push open the door when through the crack, you saw two men you’d never seen before. Years of your job gave you enough feeling to know that something wasn’t right. That being said, you eased the door closed and attempted to find a hiding spot.

The garbage was too narrow and had no lid. The few seconds you had left, you glanced up. The ceiling hadn’t been renovated in many years. Rectangular sheets could be raised. Thankful of the rock climbing lessons you’d done with Maddie, you managed to crawl into the ceiling just as the two men entered.

“Nobody’s here.” The one-man with his head as pale and shiny as a cue ball. He gave off the most creepy vibe; the shorter Hispanic man wasn’t as violent looking, “Kinda hoping someone tries something. I’ve wanted to try out this.”

The man waved the large gun in his hand with a sick smile that twisted your stomach. That was the moment you’d realized something was very wrong. The second they left, you gently dropped back on the ground. Your first instinct was to send a message to Athena, but there was a fatal flaw. You’d expected to be in and out of the building quickly, so you’d left your phone in the car.

“Fuck.” You swore. One hand roughly running over your forehead as you contemplated figuring out a plan.

The building had many cameras throughout that you knew the blindspots for. The year after high school and during the summers, you’d worked in the building. Despite having worked here when you were younger, it was never during Sue’s shift. Over the years, you’d come to know the blind spots and a few cameras that were decoys. You even remembered Maddie and her friend Josh complaining about three cameras not fixed yet.

“Think.” You breathed, making a pattern of pacing, “They’ll need a lookout. They’ll take out the security guard first. The front doors are out. It’s a team, so they’ll also need eyes on the building. Terry is definitely a hostage.”

Of course, you’d end up in a volatile situation during the first half of your day before your shift started. The only comforting thing about the situation was the holstered gun on your hip and the badge on your belt. Maybe you should backtrack to why you had a gun and badge; you were an LAPD member, specifically SWAT.

“The changeroom.” You breathed, recalling it was down the hall with no camera. All you needed to do was pretend to be a dispatcher. The changeroom, now mostly a file room, had a few extra maroon and blue uniform shirts.

You timed it. The man holding Sue’s tablet was in the process of talking with his cohort, so you dashed to the room. You took no time in changing into a loose maroon shirt with your thick sweater overtop to hide the gun in the small of your back.

Your holster, badge and personal shirt tucked in the bottom of a box for safekeeping. As soon as you saw your entry, you sat with the group of hostages a hall over. A few looked surprised but let it go when you raised one finger to your lips.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Maddie hissed from the other side of a startled Josh. Both of them were surprised at seeing you here, “Oh my god. Buck is going to kill me.”

“I was dropping off your book before I get breakfast with Buck, but it appears my small bladder saved my life.” You snarked with your eyes scanning the room, “What’s going on?”

“That is my date from hell, Greg.” Josh inconspicuously pointed towards the man, clearly giving orders. The anger flared inside you, “You need to get out.”

“Josh, no offence, but I’m an officer with the LAPD. I work with SWAT. I’m your best bet of making it out alive.” You informed the dispatch duo, who went still as Cue Ball patrolled the hallway with a sadistic glint in his eyes.

“They took control of the building for a reason we don’t know about. We’re still working but under strict monitoring. They said it will be an hour, but we’ve seen their faces.”

“No witnesses.” You finished for Maddie with a deep sigh, “Unfortunately I left my phone in the car. Did they take yours-”

“They took Linda’s EpiPen. Of course, we don’t have phones.” Maddie sighed, leaning back to rest her head against the wall. Not even having a SWAT member by her side was comforting; your badge put a more significant target on you.

“We have to warn someone.” Josh mumbled to both Maddie and you, “You’re on shift Y/N?”

“Not for a few hours. I was supposed to drop off the book and get breakfast with Buck before my shift. This was supposed to be five minutes tops, so I left my phone in my car.”

“I already did.” Maddie spoke with a sad look on her face that overtook the fear, “I just hope he gets the message.”

Your hand reached out to squeeze the woman you’d had a hand in raising Buck more than their parents. Maddie had become family when you first started dating Buck. The in-law part of her familial relationship to you never crossed your minds; you were simply sisters to each other.

“Who?”

“Chim. I told him I loved him.” Maddie finished with a teary gaze. It made you sick seeing that look again after Doug.

You remembered seeing that haunted look when she stumbled out of the thicker woods covered in blood. You’d stayed by Athena’s side when Buck clutched her so tight and sobbed with her. It had been before you’d become serious with the man, but it was that frightening day that Buck fell for you. You’d just finished a taxing shift with your team when you heard about Maddie was missing, and Chim was in the hospital. You’d ignored the exhaustion to search high and low through your work contacts before narrowing the search area.

“Good thing Chimney obsesses over the little things.” You spoke, slouching down against the wall, “We’ll get throu-”

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Maddie warned you with her brows furrowed together, and you saw what she was doing. Despite your years of experience and the gun you had, she pushed her fear down behind the concern that a big sister shows her young siblings.

“I won’t.”

At 8am, Buck was just entering the apartment building from grabbing the mail addressed to both you and him when Chim had called.

“Yup, go for Buck.” Buck spoke, opening the door to the apartment he’d only temporarily left. His morning had been late after his long shift the night before. The most productive thing was dressing for his breakfast date with you and grabbing the mail.

“How come 9-1-1 doesn’t respond when I call?” Chimney questioned the younger, now confused male.

“Uh, is that some kind of riddle? Like who watches the watchmen?” Buck asked, closing the door behind him. His eyes scanned around for any indication you’d returned home, but the bowl was vacant of your keys.

“Neither of those things are riddles. Okay, I just tried calling 9-1-1, and I got the high call volume message. Did I miss an earthquake or something?”

“Nope, pretty chill morning.” Buck responded as he closed the fridge door with a bottle of water in hand. The entire conversation wasn’t concerning to him, given that Chimney was often like this.

“Where’s Y/N? She’s the police she’ll know-”

“She’s not home right now. Wait, why are you calling 9-1-1? Is everything okay?” Buck slowly asked with his brows coming together. The sigh of frustration from Chimney was answer enough.

“Your sister said that she loved me.”

“Yeah. Wasn’t that uh, the whole point in that big date you had last night?” Buck inquired on his way to the table. He had a feeling this was going to be a long conversation that would hopefully pass the time until you got home.

“You declare your love, and she declares hers? That’s how it went with Y/N and me.”

“Yeah, I know, okay, but she didn’t, all right? At least not last night. Look, she made this big deal saying that she couldn’t say those words, and then this morning, she blurts them out and hangs up on me.” Chimney speaks, pacing in his own apartment. The side by the side of Chimney and Buck’s separate apartments told different tales of their states.

“It’s still not quite sounding like an emergency.”

“’Cause I sound insane.” Chimney spoke, staring up at the ceiling with a battle in his mind. He wants Buck to talk him out of this, but he also wants Buck to agree with him, “She’s at the call centre. What could happen there? You know what, forget it, I’ll try Y/N again.”

“Again?” Buck questioned just as his co-worker ended the call. Buck tugged his phone away from his ear to stare at it confused.

You always answered the phone if you weren’t working at the moment, but given you still had hours, he found it unsettling. After seeing the news report with the ladder truck on top of him, calls weren’t ignored between you two. That feeling of concern grew when you didn’t answer his call either. Nor the second one.

“Nah, she’s probably talking with Maddie.” Buck spoke, but that second-guessing feeling didn’t dissipate. 

In the call centre, you’d been marched to one of the stations with a deep hope that you’d remember everything. It had been years by then since you’d worked as a dispatcher. It didn’t help with the gunmen patrolling the room.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” You calmly questioned the caller.

“Hi, my cat is up the tree by my house. Could you send someone?”

“Can I get your name?” You went through the motions of getting her name and address before you informed the woman, “Okay, the LAFD and LAPD no longer respond to calls of cats in trees. The cat will make its way down on its own. If the tree is in your backyard, I’d use the time to garden or read a book on this beautiful day.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

“It’s no problem. Having a wonderful day Susan.”

In no time at all, you’d been rotated into the board room away from Josh and Maddie. It gave you time to inspect everyone you hadn’t made contact with yet. No one appeared harmed other than in distress with the situation.

“Downtown. They don’t want anyone downtown.” Linda whispered as Maddie was guided onto the floor by the elbow. You’d only gathered her name from her near-silent introduction to you when the hired guns had been far from your area.

“Let’s go.” Greg snapped, roughly pushing you towards the conference room. Something deep in your gut already predicted that someone was going to be stupid.

It was your sharp eyesight catching the minuscule agitation in Greg’s interactions with the Cue Ball guy. The slight tightening of his grip on the gun, the tension in the room growing stifling. And everyone knows that when emotions run high stupid things happen.

“Why do they keep moving us around like this?” The man beside Maddie questioned. He was definitely the most shaken of the group. He was basically shaking like a chihuahua.

“To disorient us.” Maddie spoke, staring at the group monitoring the dispatchers currently in play. Her eyes refused to leave them.

“So, we can’t make a plan.” You finished for your sister-in-law. Objectively out of everyone, Maddie, Sue and you were the most collected individuals for various reasons.

Maddie had lived in a volatile house with a man that could be unpredictable if a situation called for it in his mind. Sue had been working in the centre for years to navigate the emergency while you walked into dangerous situations.

“Jamal.” The shaking man spoke, holding his hand out towards you, “Are you new?”

“No.” You spoke as you shook his hand, “I’m Y/N. Maddie’s sister-in-law. I’m filling in as a favour for Sue.”

The lie slipped off your lips a little too quickly. You decided to come to this hostage situation as if you were undercover. It meant having to ignore that Maddie was in the situation with you.  

“Worst day for a favour.” Jamal snorted with his eyes pinned on one of the armed men holding all your lives in their hands. You’d have spoken, but Jamal checked out mentally from the conversation waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The shoe dropped when the IT Specialist announced numbly, “Jake’s dead. They shot him.”

It didn’t matter how long you’d been working for the LAPD, any death, whether it was a civilian or a criminal, it was still was startling. Jake, the security guard that alternated shifts with Lucy, wasn’t someone you spoke with. He was on shift when you weren’t here or just missed the shift change.

“We need to get a message out.” Jamal spoke, glancing at the only people in the right state of mind, and those were Maddie, Josh and you. Terry had seen the violence these men had no issues with.

“I did.” Josh breathed, thinking of the arguably cute security guard he sometimes liked to stare at, “A woman called about onions in an omelette. I dispatched an officer.”

“To the restaurant?” Maddie inquired with her pinkie connected with yours for comfort. Both of you would prefer your SO’s hand instead.

“Not exactly.” Josh replied, staring at his best friend with a glimpse of hope in his brown eyes.

Hope may be the only way you could get out of this without hurting anyone in your admittedly surface level plan.

“Buck will think something is up.” You added 

Buck had begun pacing the kitchen of the apartment with Chim adamantly telling his friend his plan to go to the centre. Buck had joined Chimney in the concerned department when you had failed to return to the apartment, return calls and to make matters worse, so was Maddie. His texts had gone unanswered as well, not even having the read receipt on.

“She’s not picking up either. I tried Y/N and Josh, but neither replied. When I tried Maddie and Josh, it went straight to voicemail.”

“Now, I’m definitely going.” Chimney announced, shoving his wallet into his pocket just as someone began knocking on his door.

“What if something is wrong? I know Y/N is a member of SWAT but radio silence? No text to let me know she was called in early?” Buck thought aloud with his finger dragging along his thigh, “Maybe we should call the police.”

“I...think someone already did.” Chimney informed Buck as he stared at the sudden appearance of Sergeant Athena Grant at his door.

“What? What do you mean?” Buck hastily questioned, leaning against the kitchen island. He could just faintly hear Athena speaking on Chimney’s end of the phone, “Chimney? What’s going on?”

“Athena was sent to my apartment. Hang on, Buck, I’m just gonna tell Athena what’s going on.”

Buck stepped away from the island to settle on the stairs to the loft, impatiently waiting for Chimney to finish speaking. That fear of losing pieces of his life expanded deep in his gut, just like the times Maddie left in his childhood. That fear of being left behind.

“What’s she’s saying now?”

“She’s making her case.” Chim whispered as he continued to eavesdrop on Athena’s call with her higher-ups, “Now she’s folding like a cheap suit.”

“All right, let me talk to Athena.” Buck demanded antsy to figure out the situation that clearly had something wrong. That fear he’d thought of early flared catching the tail end of Athena’s conversation, “No! No, no. We can’t just send in SWAT. If there is someone inside the call centre doing something, they’ll know we’re onto them.”

Unfortunately, Buck was correct in this thought process, all thanks to living with a SWAT member. He knew these things after the years he’d been with you.

“Maddie? I think I can sneak up to Terry’s computer. Maybe get eyes on the place-”

“No!” Terry nearly shouted, stiffening when Cue Ball hesitated in the doorway at his sudden shouts. You all held your breath for his reaction, but thankfully he was called away by one of the men, “They have-”

“Terry, I need you to calm down. I’m familiar with these types of situations. I’m SWAT. I need to get on top of this. Don’t be a hero.”

Maddie’s head began to shake when your arm was roughly grabbed by Greg, “Your turn.”

You were separated from Josh and Maddie, but instead of being pushed into one of the dispatcher seats, you were pulled to the original hallway.

“I don’t like how friendly you are with them.” Greg spat, shoving you to rest against the wall, “Don’t move.” 

You catch the eyes of Maddie with an apologetic expression before you used the pacing routine to sneak away. You didn’t release your breath until you were attaching your holder to your hip in the change room. By now, your team would be aware that something was wrong, Hondo would be hell-bent on finding you.

Until you had help, you were on your own.

You used each blindspot of the cameras in the halls to the stairwell, and you used a broom to adjust the cameras. The cameras not kept you from view but not appearing suspicious. Once at the floor where Terry was practically always at you softly closed the door. 

You’d only started to sit down when you heard the ding of the elevator, “Shit.”

You slipped into the closest containing extra parts if anything broke. Through the crack, you saw Terry being held at gunpoint. The gunman that had been holding the tablet on the floor, Ellis as you’d heard.

“You’re telling me every cop in the city has just disappeared?” Ellis demanded as Terry, and he disappeared around one of the corners. The tapping of a screen indicating Ellis was searching for something with Terry’s involuntary help.

“I’m telling you, I don’t know!” Terry snapped back, creating even more tension in the room, but Ellis didn’t move to grab his gun.

Ellis appeared to the only one reluctant to discharge your weapon, unlike Cue Ball, who just happened to join the party.

“Figure it out!” Ellis spat, turning on his heel at the sound of approaching footsteps. You could see him roll his eyes at his team member walking into the room.

“What’s going on here?” Cue ball questioned the duo in different kinds of distress, and you swore Cue Ball enjoyed the intimidation from his teammate and the IT specialist.

“That police car’s not the only one that’s gone dark.” Ellis nervously spoke, stiffening for the volatile reaction that one could expect from Foster.

“You think they know we’re here?” 

“Foster, it could be a system glitch.” Ellis offered keeping one eye on Cue Ball while monitoring Terry’s work as well.

Cue Ball spoke a sentence that sent chills up your spine, “Time to cut our losses.”

As Foster and Ellis began going over their personal plans made out of Greg’s knowledge, you noticed Terry glance over. His eyes widened slightly before quickly looking away when you raised a finger across your lips.

“We can go down the back stairs. I have a car waiting around the corner, we split the art up between the five of us, and we go our separate ways.” Foster spoke, revealing his plan to double-cross Greg, which in all honesty made sense. Greg was ill-fitting to be in charge of their operation, unable to control his lackeys.

“I like that part of the deal.” Ellis breathed, skirting around the trigger happy criminal only to halt in his steps, “Wait, you’ve got a car parked down the street? You were always gonna double-cross Greg.”

“You weren’t?”

“If we’re gonna do this, you can’t just sell famous works of art on eBay.”

“You can’t sell them from prison either.”

At that moment, something almost shifted in the area, something that made you pull your gun from your holster. Your body telling you something was about to happen. It happened in a split second. Foster fled the room leaving only Ellis just outside. With Terry frantically shaking his head, you tiptoed to the unsuspecting criminal.

“LAPD!” You shouted, pointing your gun towards the shocked man, “Put the gun down and put your hands up.”

“Aren’t you a dispatcher?” Ellis questioned, blinking in surprise.

“Aren’t you supposed to be intelligent? Next time check the schedule I haven’t worked here in years.” You spat, keeping your gun pointed on him, “Do I say-”

The sound of two guns going off made Terry flinch and scream as he instinctively dropped to the ground. IT was supposed to be safe, but Terry had now heard three gunshots in under two hours. He really didn’t want to see the outcome of the shots.

A moan coaxed Terry to peek out through the privacy glass. Ellis was on the ground while you kept your gun on him. He didn’t see anything else when the power went out. He didn’t see you drop to your knees, but he heard you.

“Terry...get down. Lay on your stomach with your hands insight, and don’t move.” You informed the terrified IT just as the floor was swarmed.

“Put the gun down!” The sound of Tan’s voice was welcoming as you slowly placed the gun on the ground. “25-David I have Y/L/N. The suspect is down, need medical.”

You got back to your feet when Tan nodded his head, “Thank god. There’s a possible body in the IT room along with the It Specialist Terry.”

“You got your badge on you?” Tan questioned as he cuffed the moaning Ellis up, “Street can you escort her down?”

Street nodded from his position, watching Tan’s back before guiding you to the stairs with hawk eyes. Even off duty, you kept your head on a swivel.

“You caused quite the commotion.” Street spoke halfway down the stairs when you barely mumbled. He caught you as you went down like a sack of potatoes, “Y/N!”

“Adrenaline is crashing.” You moaned, looking at your shoulder where the maroon had grown darker, “I think he shot me.”

“26-David I’m in the stairway. Prepare a medic.” Street spoke into his radio before he strapped the gun away and swept you into his arms, “Think you can have my back?”

“When don’t I?” You wheezed, with the sweat starting to bead on your forehead. As you crashed from adrenaline, you barely noticed being placed on the ground at the main entrance.

A paramedic cutting your borrowed shirt to reveal the bullet hole in your shoulder courtesy of Ellis, the only member who’d thought wouldn’t shoot his gun. You could vaguely hear Maddie calling out your name as you were loaded onto a gurney.

“M-Maddie?” You spoke, tilting your head to see Chris holding Maddie back from, “Chris! That’s my sister in law.”

Chris only let Maddie go when Hondo gave the all-clear, and you were so thankful when Maddie’s hand encased yours.

“Don’t close your eyes.” Maddie pleaded sick with the amount of blood on your skin and soaking through the gauze, “Who’s gonna help me put up with my little brother?”

“Buck.” You breathed sluggishly, blinking as the artificial lights changed to natural with the gun shining through the glass front doors.

“You didn’t let me close mine in that ambulance, so I need you to do the same. Don’t close them. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” Maddie cried as an officer pulled her aside as you were stopped. You wouldn’t remember it, but Maddie had to watch as you coded right in front of her.

Maddie had to watch them perform CPR on you and fight for a pulse. She had to think of how’d she’d tell her little brother she’d killed his fiance. The counting of the paramedics sounded as if underwater, and as they did, the world went quiet. Her mind checked out as the trauma settled in.

Maddie stumbled out of the building into a zoo of officers, medics, and news reporters almost robotically. She barely felt Chimney hug her, but she wrapped her arms around him and sobbed.

“It’s all my fault.” Maddie gasped, collapsing against him, “If I had-”

“Maddie?”

Chimney felt Maddie stiffen at the sound of Buck’s voice amidst the multiple voices milling around. Maddie raised her gaze to meet Buck’s blue eyes dripping in relief and question.

“Buck.”

“Maddie, where’s Y/N? Her car…” Buck trailed off, catching the utter heartbreak in his big sister’s eyes. A look he’d come to know in his line of work as a firefighter. The utter devastation that came with watching someone you love die, “No. No.”

“I got a pulse!” Came from the nearest ambulance, and Buck skirted around his sister and Chimney, “Ready to transport!” 

Your eyes slowly blinked at the white ceiling of the ambulance with pain in your midsection courtesy of chest compressions. Breathing came painful, and the bullet wound throbbed, but it all faded when you saw blue eyes above you.

“Buck.” You sobbed, more like groaned, as he was urged to sit on the bench holding your hand, “Maddie?”

“She’s okay. Chim’s got her. Can you keep your eyes on me? I need to see those big beautiful e/c eyes.” Buck soothed, bringing your hand to his lips, “Did I ever tell you my favourite colour?”

Despite Buck’s best attempts, you continued fading in and out of consciousness but continued to be stable. He spoke about the funny video Eddie had shown him of Christopher at the end of their shift last night. He talked about everything and anything under the sun during the short ride to the hospital.

The last thing you saw was Buck being held back as the paramedics pushed the gurney into the ER. Everything turned black.

The beeping was the first thing you heard before your eyes fluttered open to a stark white room and that unmistakable hospital scent. You noticed the second thing as Buck holding your hand in both of his with his forehead pressed against them.

“Buck?” You moaned to the one person you had wished to see. The man whose eyes were bloodshot from crying, “What’s wrong?”

“Your heart stopped beating twice. I thought I was gonna lose you.” Buck cried with his lips pressed against your hand, “I was so worried.”

“Hey. I’m fine. I’m here.” You cooed, tugging one hand away to run through his messy hair with a soft smile. His blue eyes brighten at the familiar feeling of your digits in his hair, “I’m not going anywhere. This isn’t here for decoration.”

His eyes found the ring he’d gently placed back on your finger from when the nurses had removed it. It only left your finger when you were on duty, in which it was slung on a necklace hidden under your uniform.

“Better not be.”

“Does the hospital have a chapel?” You questioned out of the blue leading to Buck snorting as you giggled, “I’m serious. When I was bleeding in that building, all I could think about was you. If Maddie is anything like you, she’s waiting in the waiting room with Chimney.”

“You aren’t wrong. All the chairs are taken. Our family was waiting for you to wake up.” Buck breathed, leaning closer to press a sweet kiss to your lips, “Are you sure?”

“About marrying you?” You softly questioned the man who couldn’t help but believe this was a dream. How he’d somehow got the girl of his dreams to agree to marry his ass, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. All I want to share is your last name for the rest of my life. You are it for me, Evan Buckley. All the flaws you see are beautiful to me.”

“Only you would want to get married after being shot mere hours ago.” Buck chuckled with a sigh pulled from his pink lips, “I’ll get the doctor for you and find out if we can be married here.”

While you were checked out, Buck left the room to go back to the waiting room where the 118 and your co-workers waited. Everyone perked up at his appearance, Christopher asleep on Eddie’s lap.

“Is she okay?” Bobby questioned as the tension in the room grew more and more. It shattered into relief when Buck grinned.

“She’s sore as expected. She’s gonna catch some sleep, but she’d like to see Maddie.” Buck replied, pinning his gaze on his big sister with her curled into Chimney’s body. Her cheeks flooded with tears of absolute relief, “C’mon.”

The waiting room started emptying with Buck’s promise to keep everyone updated, but before Bobby could step away, Buck asked for him.

“Do you need a few days off?” Bobby questioned just as Buck came closer to the seasoned firefighter.

“No. But could you spare an hour?” The expression on Buck’s face was enough for Bobby not to ask any further questions. He simply followed Buck back towards your hospital room, where Maddie and Chim waited.

“What’s going on?” Bobby inquired, with the addition of the hospital assigned Priest holding the standard bible. Chimney could only shrug in response to whatever was going on.

“I know there have been times we haven’t seen eye to eye, but Bobby, you’re like a father to me. You gave me chance after chance when anyone else would have given up. You guided me on how to be a man. Y/N and I would like it if you’d be here for this.”

“Wait, are you getting married? What about the wedding?” Maddie spluttered, flicking her gaze between her brother and you. Her question surprised her boyfriend and Bobby.

“We’ll still have it. But I want to marry her without the pressure of our parents. Just a private ceremony with some of the people that mean the most to us.” Buck answered for the two of you, “Would you stay?”

“Of course.” Maddie softly spoke with a slideshow of memories playing in her mind of watching Buck grow up.

Watching Evan go through all kinds of injuries, all in the name of attention but never getting it the way he deserved it. She remembered giving him advice for asking out Donna and holding him when he was rejected. The little toddler with the impish grin somehow turned into an idiot in the hospital.

Maddie saw the man her little brother had turned into with the help of the 118 and you.

Buck’s fingers made quick work of buttoning his short-sleeve uniform with the sudden appearance of his friend.

“That’s new.” Eddie spoke from his opened locker holding his uniform and a picture of his family on the door. It was a picture of Christopher, Buck, you and Eddie from the zoo a couple months back.

Buck looked over at his best friend, “Hm?”

“The ring.” Eddie snorted dramatically, looking at the ring that had been living on his finger since he married you five days ago, “Did my invite get lost in the mail?”

“Nah, we just got married in the hospital. We’re still planning the wedding to appease both sides of our family. And I promised Christopher he could be in the wedding. With Y/N on medical leave, the planning will be faster. She’s going stir crazy after five days.” Buck finished tucking in the shirt into his work-issued pants. Lastly, he slid his ring onto the metal chain he had bought recently.

Like you did, he would wear it around his neck when working for safety reasons.

“I’m happy for you, man.” Eddie told his friend just as the bell rang, “You’ll have to tell me how you’re liking the married life.”

“But first, we have a job to do.” Buck supplied all the while jogging to suit up in his turnout gear with Hen and Chimney.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Crash Course - Bucky Barnes

a/n: this one? im in LOVE with this fic and im not even ashamed of it. there is just something about the MC helping him get used to living in the new century and im a sucker for it. so please enjoy this fluffy piece!

pairing: Bucky X Reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: Bucky is a regular at the café where you work at and seeing him struggling with technology, you offer to help him, teaching him the basics while you are both thinking about taking it a little further than just a crash course.

masterlist

The time between the morning rush and lunch time is always quiet, the café is almost completely empty, that’s why Bucky prefers to go out during that time, tuck himself away in the corner of the small but cozy place, a black coffee steaming on the wooden table in front of him, his laptop or a book or his phone reserving his attention, whatever he decides to put his energy into that day.

Today has been a rainy day, therefore the morning was a lot quieter than usually, not many likes to make an extra trip for a coffee in the pouring rain, so you’ve been enjoying the calmness, the soft jazz music playing through the speakers as you are putting away the freshly washed cups behind the counter. As if he has an appointment, Bucky walks into the café with a laptop under his arm, his cap hiding part of his face, but you can still see the shy smile on his lips as he closes the door behind him, the little bell chiming for a second time at his arrival.

“Welcome back, the usual?” you ask as he heads to his spot.

“Yes please,” he nods, shooting you a thankful smile.

You try to ignore the little butterflies in your stomach at the sight of the man, it’s almost ridiculous how you still get nervous when you see him, even though he has been showing up every day at the same time for the past about two months. You just can’t help it, there’s just something in those ocean eyes and perfect manner he always treats you with, something you don’t often get these days. Not many take the time to ask about your day or wish you a good one after you hand them their coffee, but Bucky is different. The same question falls from his lips every time you appear at his table with his order.

“How has your day been going?” he asks when you place the cup next to his laptop that’s loading.

“Pretty quiet, the rain keeps people away,” you chuckle, hoping your blush is not as apparent as it feels. “What about yours?”

“Just the same as usual,” he smiles softly and you nod, though you have no idea what’s usual for him. He might be friendly and quite welcoming when he is sitting at the café, he often chats with you about anything and everything, yet still, you know near nothing about him and his life outside of this place. It’s clear he is the kind of person that prefers to keep things to himself, but sometimes you are so desperate for just the smallest crumb of information about him. With the lack of details, you often find yourself making up things about him, like what his favorite dish is, where he likes to shop, what shows he watches on the TV. You might be entirely wrong about all of these, but it’s all you have.

Moving back behind the counter you busy yourself with cleaning it off as Bucky’s attention shifts to the screen in front of him. There are only two more customers in there and they are quite locked away in their own world as well, a college student working on some kind of assignment on her second espresso and an old lady solving Sudoku at the table near the window, sipping on a nice latte.

You can’t help but glance in his direction every now and then as you move the muffins around on the counter. He seems deeply focused, eyebrows knitted together as he is clicking away on the computer. From the looks of it, he is solving some kind of enigma, but when you walk past his table you see that he has an email open on the screen, his cursor moving around kind of aimlessly.

“Not finding the right words?” you ask, stopping to clean the table next to his that was previously occupied by a young couple. His eyes snap up to you before he huffs shaking his head.

“No, I’m just… terribly bad at IT stuff and I’m supposed to “CC” someone on this email,” he explains, using his fingers to air-quote as he glances back at the screen. “But if I’m being honest I don’t even know what it means,” he admits with a nervous chuckle.

You find it amusing, even cute that he is like an old man with these stuff. You’ve seen him struggling to type in a text message before on his flip phone that’s from the last century for sure and now this.

Placing the tray of cups down on the table you move over to him, taking the free chair next to him as you reach for the laptop, but you stop before touching it.

“May I…?”

“Go ahead,” he gestures with a nod.

You turn the device towards yourself as you click a few times, bringing up the option to send a copy of the email to another receiver.

“CC means that more people get the same email. You can put their addresses here. But you can also BCC people, in that case, the original receiver won’t see if the email was sent to others as well,” you explain patiently. Bucky tries his best to focus on the screen and what you’re saying, rather than the way your lips are moving and how badly he wants to taste them.

You haven’t been the only one feeling flustered and like a giddy teenager and Bucky didn’t choose this café as his usual spot for nothing. He spotted you the first time he stumbled in and the way you smiled brightly at everyone and the sweet chiming of your laughter made him want to come back the moment he stepped out that day. So he returned the next day and then the next day again… and now he couldn’t even imagine a day without seeing your eyes light up when he walks in while he can only hope you are just as happy to see him as he is to see you.

You help him send his email and you cheer in victory once it’s done and sent.

“See? It’s not as hard as it seems,” you smile at him gently, patting his arm that’s covered by a hoodie and your eyes fall onto his gloved hands on the tabletop.

“Yeah, I just have a lot of catching up to do from the past seven decades,” he mumbles under his breath, though he immediately regrets not keeping his mouth shut.

Your eyes flicker to his hand once again, then up to meet his gaze and he knows he just outed himself. He is expecting the usual: disgust, disappointment, even fear. That’s how most people react when they find out who he really is. But as he stares back at you, scared like a little kitten, you just smile back at him softly.

It’s not that you haven’t heard of the Avengers, because it’s impossible not to know who they are. You were just not expecting one of them to become a regular at your working place. The few times you saw him on TV he had long hair and his face was covered with a mask, so you’re not surprised you didn’t put the picture together. But knowing now who he is, you don’t see him in a worse lighting. If anything, you feel a little sad that he had to go through so much in his extremely long life.

“Well, feel free to ask any more questions. I’m not an IT guy, but I can help you with everyday stuff,” you tell him and he is in awe at your very normal, very sweet reaction. All he can do is nod as you stand from the table and grab the tray you abandoned not long ago, moving back behind the counter.

When you glance up your gaze meets his as he is still staring at you, nervous, a little anxious, but definitely relieved by your smooth reaction to finding out his identity. You shoot him a bright smile before moving to the table of the old lady who asks for another latte and as Bucky follows your frame move across the room he can’t help the small smile that tugs on his lips.

Your offer doesn’t stay unused. In fact, Bucky shows up at the café the next few days with a handful of questions for you, genuine ones, and a few he already knows the answer to, but wants to hear you explain them anyway. And you help him with anything, sitting at his table whenever you have a few free minutes between customers. He asks you about the internet, social media, online data bases and sources, going through a list from the little notebook he always keeps with himself.

The times spent with him are your favorite part of the day. You always look forward to whatever issue Bucky is going to bring up, fearing that one day he might run out of questions, but that just never comes. And you don’t know it, but your little sessions are the highlights of his days as well, listening to your smooth voice as you explain even the smallest things to him with so much patience, he is convinced you should become a teacher.

He thinks about asking you out every day, the question is always on the tip of his tongue.

What are you doing tonight? Would you want to go out with me? Do you want to grab a bite with me after your shift?

However he just never gets to actually say the words out loud. He is growing impatient with himself, he used to have no problem with asking girls out, but seven decades and another life as a brain-washed assassin later, this task feels way too impossible.

You’ve been telling him to get a smartphone for the past couple of days and though he seemed adamant, one day he shows up with a brand new one, still in the box.

“Oh my God, is that what I think it is?” you tease him with a dramatic gasp. Chuckling to himself he nods as he places the box to the counter while you are making the order of one of the customers. Today has been a little busier than usually, probably because of the special offer of 10% off from the new Cuban coffee beans your boss ordered in.

“I need a teacher to show me the ropes though.”

“Oh, Bucky, I would love to, but today is a bit crowded,” you pout as you put the lid onto the paper cup and hand it over to the customer, another one already walking in, eyeing the offer written on the black board behind you.

He didn’t even think you wouldn’t say yes, it never occurred to him that the timing might not be the best. You see as his smile slowly disappears from his scruffy face and your heart breaks seeing him like this.

“Yeah, sorry. Don’t want to keep you up,” he mumbles feeling defeated, but before he could grab the box from the counter, you put your hand on it, your fingers brushing against his gloved one, the tiny touch making both of you flustered.

“But how about after work?” you suggest and his eyes immediately light up. Spending time with you without any customers interrupting? That sounds like heaven to him.

“Y-you sure? If you have something to do, I—“

“Nothing to do,” you smile at him. You grab a napkin from the counter and a pan from near the cash register, quickly scribbling down your address before handing it over to him. “I’ll be home by seven,” you inform him as he glances down at your handwriting, noting how well it fits your personality. He then looks back at you nodding, as if he was just handed the best Christmas present ever.

“I’ll be there,” he smiles gratefully before stepping away from the counter and letting you work.

 Five minutes after seven, Bucky is standing at your front door with a bag of Chinese food in his hands as he is trying to build up the courage to ring your doorbell. He found out that you live just a few corners away from the café, so he found your address easily.

“Come on, dude. Don’t be such a loser,” he mumbles to himself as he circles his shoulders before finally pushing the button. A short, buzzing sound is heard from the other side of the door and he stares at the 6B sign in front of you as he hears footsteps from inside. A few moments later the door swings open and there you are, still wearing the same clothes from earlier, a bright smile adorning your face as you beam at your guest.

“Come on in!” you gesture for him as he steps into the small apartment. “Tried to clean up a bit, but if I’m being honest I’m starting to grow out this place,” you chuckle as you push a box out of the way. It’s a small studio apartment with everything cramped into one space except the bathroom. You have a double bed pushed up against the wall in the corner, a small sofa with your wardrobe next to it, a TV, a tiny coffee table, a bookshelf and a dresser, a little dining table near the kitchen with three chairs and a pantry right next to the fridge that stands where the hardwood floor changes into checkered tiles. It really is a tiny space that holds a lot of stuff, but all the gadgets and clutter makes it cozy, lived-in, a place that’s so much like you that he feels like he is peeking inside your head as he walks farther inside.

“I brought dinner,” he shyly holds the bag up as you lock the door.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” you smile at him gratefully, because you didn’t really have time to buy anything on your way home since you had to make a quick trip to the post office after your shift, leaving you no spare time before his arrival.

“It’s the least I can do for all the help,” he smiles as you take the bag from him and bring it to the designated living room area of the place. Bucky joins you on the sofa and he thanks all higher powers your place is so small that you only have a loveseat, giving him the chance to sit close to you. Your thigh brushes against his as you hand him a box and make yourself comfortable as well, starting your feast while he asks you about your day, listening to your every word intently.

When the food is gone and you’ve grabbed two beers for the two of you, he pulls out the phone that’s the reason behind his visit. He bought a simple one, not at all one of the latest versions and it’s going to be the perfect model for him to learn the ropes on.

You help him put his SIM card into the new phone and then you set his account up before finally gaining access to the phone. You start with the basic features, showing him how to make a call or send a text before moving onto the different apps and possibilities while he listens to you as if you were talking about rocket science, but in a way, it feels like that for him.

“And here you can switch to the front camera,” you explain as you push the button and suddenly, the two of you come into picture on the screen. “Perfect for taking selfies,” you add with a chuckle.

“Oh, selfies. I’m not too good with those,” he huffs shaking his head.

“Because you probably haven’t found your angle!” you smirk. “Everyone has a good angle.”

“You think so?” you knits his eyebrows together.

“Mhm, look!”

Opening the contacts you go to yours, choosing the option to add a picture that will show up on the screen when you call him, and open the camera to take one instead of choosing from the empty gallery. Holding up the phone you position it so your good angle is in the picture before snapping the photo and saving it as your caller ID.

“See?” you smile at him before handing the device back to him. He just nods, even though he can only think about how all your angles are perfect to him and that now he has a picture of you in his phone. “Let’s take one together!” you beam and moving closer to him you take the phone once again, holding it up in front of you, trying to fit both of you into the frame.

Bucky tries his best to focus on the picture, but he can’t ignore how close you are to him, he can smell your shampoo and your cheek is almost pressed against his as you smile into the camera. The corners of his mouth curl up as his eyes fix at your reflection on the screen before you snap the photo. Opening up the camera roll you take a better look at it and it’s probably your favorite photo that has ever been taken of you. Mostly because he is in it as well, smiling so sweetly.

“It’s a good one,” you say and as you turn your head to the side you realize how close you really are to him.

“Yeah?” he breathes out, definitely aware of just the few inches separating the two of you.

“I-if you had an Instagram I would tell you to post it…” you stutter as your eyes flicker down to his lips, the urge to lean in and kiss him growing with each passing second.

Feeling a little dizzy, one of your hands fall to his lower arm, the one that’s made out of metal and your gaze drops to where you are touching him, a panic filled look flashing through his eyes.

He thinks that this is where the moment is ruined, where you realize the monster he really is and decide you don’t want anything to do with him. He almost starts to apologize for God knows what reason when you reach out and your fingers start to work on the straps of his gloves. It takes a few moments for him to realize what you are doing, and he tries to pull his hand back, but you grab it stopping him from doing it.

“It’s alright,” you smile at him softly, your eyes meeting his as you finish what you started and pull the glove off his hand revealing the metal underneath the leather. Then you move onto his other hand and do the same, dropping the pair of gloves to the floor as you take both his hands in yours, thumbs running across his knuckles, feeling the difference between his own hand and the artificial one.

You see his jaw flexing at the touch and reaching up you cup his cheek in your palm, making him to look you in the eyes. The strong and confident man you see sometimes is gone now, fear and hesitation taking over his expression as your other hand keeps holding his vibranium one.

“I’m sorry,” it falls from his lips as he closes his eyes for a second.

“For what exactly?” you ask with a soft chuckle. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t have to hide yourself around me.”

“You don’t find it… scary?”

“Not at all,” you assure him. “You can’t be held accountable for what happened to you. Anyone who thinks differently is just an ignorant asshole,” you add grinning and it finally breaks his fearful expression, planting a smile on his handsome face.

Keeping your hand on his cheek you lean closer, your nose touching his but you stop before your lips could meet, giving him the chance to pull back. But he never does. Instead, he closes the gap between the two of you, pressing his lips against yours, finally making the fantasy you both have been daydreaming about reality. He starts off slowly, savoring each other gently, getting accustomed to the feeling, but it doesn’t take long before the kiss grows hungrier and your tongues meet in the middle.

Your hands rest at the base of his neck while his find your waist, pulling you closer until you swing a leg over him, sitting on his lap as you smile against his lips. His kisses feel delicate and soft yet very passionate at the same time, you love the dynamic you create, tugging and biting each other playfully, it feels like kissing him is the sole purpose of your life.

When it gets hard for you to breathe you pull back, eyes opening and finding his flushed face as he stares back at you with bright, joyous eyes, his lips slightly swollen, already making you want to go back to where you were just a moment ago.

“Who knew selfies could be so much fun,” he jokes making you laugh, his heart fluttering in his chest at the sound that’s so dear to him.

“I’m glad you liked my crash course on smart phones,” you grin down at him, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “Do you have any more questions?”

Smirking his hand, his flesh one, moves up your back as he presses you closer, your lips almost touching his.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” he chuckles before kissing you again eagerly.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!