#Burner For Kitchen Aid

[ellecdc]

'Doctor' Sirius?

chef!Sirius Black x mixologist!reader who injures herself at work

CW: fem!reader, description of injury (slice to hand) that needs stitches, blood, hospital, A&E, Jeffrey, bullying Jeffrey part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

The familiar ache in the middle of Sirius’ shoulder blades alerted him to the fact that he was officially half way through his shift.

He took a moment to straighten up, letting his arms fall lax beside his body as he pointed his face to the ceiling. 

He could already hear Regulus berating him for his abysmal posture and Lily lecturing him about how he clearly hasn’t been doing the yoga routine that she sent him whilst James and Remus snickered at his expense.

He hated (loved) them all.

Almost as much as he hated how Jeffery kept showing up in his sodding kitchen. 

“If you’re coming to try to pilfer one of my staff, you’re barking mad.” He spat angrily as he carried on in his sautéing.

“Uhm, I’m sorry chef, but I really need to borrow Caleb.” Sirius heard you reply as his cheeks immediately heated up in embarrassment.

“Dammit; sorry Y/N.” He apologized quickly, lowering the heat on his burner and turning to give you what he hoped was his most sincere (yet dashing) apologetic smirk.

The salacious comment he had prepared died on his lips when he noticed you looking a tad alarmed as you instructed Caleb to take over the bar for you.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius asked quickly, barely remembering to turn the burner off completely before he was making for you.

“I’m okay...” You offered, not sounding like you completely believed yourself.

“That’s not what I asked.” Sirius grumbled as he took in your form, noticing you holding a black bar towel in your fist; knuckles turning white from how hard you were holding it.

The black of the fabric may have hidden evidence of what had taken place prior to you entering his kitchen, but he could make a deduction from the blood collecting between your fingers as it began to drip down your knuckles.

“You’re hurt.” He surmised, pulling your hand toward him.

“I’m okay.” You offered again, this time in a whisper. 

“Let me see it.” He instructed just as softly, encouraging the towel from your hands to expose a deep slice across the palm of your hand. 

Sirius made an embarrassingly sympathetic cooing sound as he replaced the towel on your hand and applied pressure to the wound. “What happened?”

“Was slicing lemons.” You offered quietly, refusing to look at Sirius as you kept your gaze down towards where your hand was sitting in his. 

Sirius tsked as he pulled your hand further into his chest as if proximity alone could heal it. “You have a kitchen full of well-trained staff and you thought to slice lemons on your own?”

You chuckled self-deprecatingly at that, but Sirius could tell your usual enthusiasm was dimmed. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“If anyone in my kitchen ever accuses you of being a bother, you tell me; got it?”

“Yes chef.” You answered quickly, and though you still wouldn’t look at Sirius, he could see a small smile grace the corner of your lips. 

He would take it. 

He realized then that his kitchen was far too quiet and looked up to notice that everyone’s attention was directed at the two of you. 

“You lot can stare at people in your own time; get back to work.” He barked, causing everyone to quickly avert their gazes and carry on in their tasks. 

“Bunch of sods.” Sirius mumbled as he turned back to you, fighting the urge to push some of your hair that had fallen from its elastic behind your ear.

“Come, we’ll get you fixed up.” He said quietly instead, ushering you out of his kitchen towards the office and – more importantly – the first aid kit. 

Sirius shoved everything that looked like it might be of some importance to Jeffrey to the far edge of the desk and directed you to sit; fighting the urge to smile when he heard a few of Jeffrey’s things go tumbling to the floor. 

“I’m rather miffed with you, you know?” Sirius murmured as he stood between your legs and began to unwrap the towel-turned-tourniquet from your arm.

“With me?” You asked with a chuckle, though it was perhaps more strained than usual. 

“I have made quite the name for myself thanks to my fine slicing and chopping skills, and not only do you not give me the honour of showing those off to you, but you also go and hurt yourself whilst you’re at it.” He continued in his scolding as he poured some surgical spirit onto a square of gauze. 

“S’gonna sting, doll.” He murmured quietly, waiting for your nod of approval before wiping at the wound.

Sirius could feel every muscle in your body tense as you let out a pained breath, and Sirius doesn’t think he can be held responsible for the sympathetic whispers and apologies that fell out of his mouth as he finished up when he had you – his formidable mixologist – sat so vulnerable and injured below him.

“I know, I’m sorry; you’re all done.” He assured you as he binned the now bloody gauze and moved to grab the antiseptic cream.

“So? What’s the verdict doc?” You tried to joke. “Think I can go back to serving drinks?”

Sirius furrowed his brow as he delicately placed a new square of gauze onto the palm of your hand that was quickly saturated with red-tinged ointment. “You are absolutely not cleared for work.”

You chuckled self-deprecatingly as your shoulders slumped. “Keep it elevated and rest, then?” 

Sirius hummed noncommittally. “We’ll have to see what an actual doctor thinks.”

You whimpered at that, and Sirius paused in his wrapping of your hand to consider you.

Your brows were furrowed as you chewed aggressively on your lower lip and stared at Sirius’ work, mind seemingly miles away. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked as he taped off the gauze, though he never relinquished his hold of your hand. 

“I think you did a good enough job, yeah? If I leave it be, it’ll be better in no time?” You asked him.

Sirius could tell that his responding grimace was answer enough to your question when your eyes quickly filled with tears. “Fuck.” You whispered as you hastily used your good hand to wipe at your eyes. 

“I’m sorry doll.” Sirius murmured as he considered momentarily rushing to medical school so that he could fix this for you.

He wanted to fix this for you.

Alas, he was but a chef. 

And soon, he was going to be a convicted felon charged with aggravated assault.

“Sirius, why is Caleb– what happened to my stuff?” Jeffery sputtered as he nearly hit Sirius in the back with the door. 

“There’s been an incident, Jeffrey, your stuff is a little inconsequential at the moment.” Sirius sneered.

Jeffrey pursed his lips as he considered Sirius before his eyes moved to you. “What happened?”

“Cut myself whilst slicing lemons.”

“Have you filled out an incident report?” Jeffrey asked then.

“Christ, Jeffrey; the woman’s hand is still bleeding. Unless the form requires her signature in blood, maybe you can relax about your paperwork for a minute?”

“Are you going to need to leave?” Jeffrey asked you as he pretended Sirius wasn’t even there.

“I-”

“She needs stitches.” Sirius interjected plainly.

“Fuck.” Jeffrey muttered as he ran a hand through his hair. “So, Caleb’s going to need to man the bar for the rest of the evening?” 

“Yes, and Charlie will have to man the kitchen.” Sirius responded as he all but shouldered past Jeffrey in order to grab his jacket. 

“What?” You and Jeffrey chorused; Jeffrey in panic and you in bemusement. 

“Charlie...” Sirius drawled slowly as he stared down Jeffrey and offering you his arm as he encouraged you from the edge of the desk. “You know? Weasley? Ginger hair? Has been working for me since he left school?”

“I know who Charlie is, Sirius.” Jeffrey spat.

“Oh, good. I was getting worried about you, mate.” Sirius said as he pat Jeffrey aggressively on the shoulder. 

“Where are you going?” Jeffrey continued as he followed the two of you out of the office; Sirius’ hand at the small of your back as he ushered you through the halls. 

“Taking her to the hospital.”

“Sirius, the-”

“Chef.” Sirius corrected harshly from the doorway of the kitchen; the room falling quiet as everyone turned to watch Sirius and Jeffrey stare each other down.

“Chef,” Jeffrey corrected, “the kitchen needs you here.”

“My kitchen and its staff are more than capable of surviving without me for a few hours. I have highly skilled and well-trained individuals here, do not insult them by insinuating they ought to be babysat.” 

One could have heard a pin drop in the kitchen at the end of Sirius’ sentence.

When it became clear Jeffrey had no response, Sirius turned to the kitchen staff.

“Weasley.”

“Yes, chef?”

“Take over for me for the rest of the evening, yeah? Caleb will remain on bar so shuffle everyone around as you see fit; text me if you need anything. But don’t need anything.”

“Yes, chef.” Charlie answered quickly; a muted yet proud smile gracing his face as he nodded at his boss. 

“Have a goodnight, guys.”

“Night, chef!” The rest of the staff called as Sirius guided you towards the back door to the parking lot. 

The streetlights flickered as the two of you stepped out into the evening; Sirius relishing in the cool evening air against his kitchen-warmed skin. 

“You don’t have to come with me, you know?” You said quietly. 

Sirius turned to see you standing near the door of the restaurant; arms wrapped around yourself as you chewed your lip nervously. 

“Would you cut that out?” Sirius sniped at you with no heat. 

“What out?”

“Chewing on your lip; if you’re hungry I’ll make you food, if you want to bite lips, bite mine; but leave yours alone.” He scolded as he marched over and gently pried your lip from between your teeth. 

“Wha- your lips? Are you offering me your lips, chef?” You asked slowly; eyes flitting from between both his before travelling down to his lips and back up again.

“I hardly think that’s surprising; I’m a very selfless person.” Sirius explained, emboldened by your reciprocal flirting to leave his hand cradling your jaw. 

You hummed. “So that’s why you shoved all of Jeffrey’s stuff off the desk; you just didn’t want me bleeding all over it.”

“Quite right. God forbid we ruin Jeffrey’s things.”

You barked a surprised laugh at Sirius’ inability to utter Jeffrey’s name without sneering it like a curse word, causing him to laugh as well as he took a step backwards towards his car. 

“Sorry doll; I can’t fix this for you,” he said as he gestured towards your injury with one hand as he opened the passenger door with the other, “but I can find you someone who can.” 

You pretended to be tetchy with Sirius the entire way to the hospital, but he could see your ill-hidden smile through the reflection of the passenger window at his quips and shameless begging for your forgiveness. 

You apparently had a thing about needles, and generally needing to be sewn up like some “moth eaten patchwork quilt”, which Sirius guessed wasn’t completely unreasonable. But by the third hour of waiting in uncomfortable plastic chairs in A&E, you were actually starting to get antsy.

“It’s like they don’t even want to use me as a pin cushion.” You muttered as you watched a coughing child get escorted down the hall.

“Do you think we ought to be worried?” Sirius murmured as he craned his neck to watch the child disappear down the corridor. “Not one person they brought back there has returned.”

You snorted rather inelegantly and sank further back into your chair. “I hope it’s nice, wherever they’re ending up...nicer than this.” You said as the light above you started to flicker ominously. “I bet they even have food.”

“Are you hungry?” Sirius asked quickly. 

“Sort of; figure they’ve got a canteen here?”

This time, it was Sirius who snorted inelegantly. “We are not eating canteen food.”

“Sirius, you should go.” You tried again, ignoring Sirius’ warning glare seeing as the two of you had discussed (read: argued about) this four times already since arriving. “You’ve been working all evening, and you’re probably starved too.”

“I am starved too, and that’s something I can fix.” 

“How exactly can you fix that if you’re not willing to order canteen food?” You deadpanned.

“Doll, we work at a restaurant.” Sirius explained earnestly. 

You rolled your eyes as you let your head fall back against the wall with a thud. “Jeffrey might actually have an aneurism if you call in an order right now.”

Sirius was quiet for a few moments, and by the time you peeled your eyes open, he was standing on the opposite side of the hall with his phone pressed against his ear.

“Sirius!”

“Shush, Y/N; we’re in a hospital.” He scolded. “Jeffrey! Hi! It’s Sirius! Can you put Weasley on the line. Good chap, thanks.”

You watched as Sirius began pacing, counting a tile between each step as Charlie picked up the phone. 

“Hey, I need you to make some food for pick-up; actually...make it delivery, please?” He corrected with a devilish smirk, watching as you brought your hand to your lips in a silent gasp. 

And though this isn’t exactly how Sirius saw his first real meal with you (save the hastily shared plates during shifts), he couldn’t deny that this potluck style picnic in A&E felt like the beginning of something really special.

And If Jeffrey’s blood pressure skyrocketed from having to cover the bar so that Caleb could deliver it for him, well, that was just a bonus. 

[scudslut]

Sins and Honey Flavored Sweetness

daryl x fem!reader

wordcount: 4.7k

warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut under the cut, perv!daryl (not really, he just has a lil crush), male masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral f!receiving, mutual pining

a/n: i have never written something so descriptive ohmygod. do be warned lol, hugs and kisses byeee <33

Daryl knew there were unspoken boundaries when it came to you.

A thin line of loose salt, that whispered to him. Beckoned him huskily to dust his fingers through and have a taste, but daunting enough for him to keep his soles rooted in the dirt, salivating from a distance.

It wasn’t because you were already spoken for in any way; if anything, you kept your romantic interests simmering farther on the back burner than he did, which spoke volumes in itself. Or because you were younger than him, a couple of years wasn’t anything to turn a nose up over, especially nowadays.

It was, however, the place you held amongst your people. You were like bright, shiny gold within the group, dared not to be corrupted or led astray. The heart that kept everyone’s beating, even in the darkest of times, soothing hope into the atmosphere with your infectious smile.

Oh, and you were Rick's younger sister... which he hated to admit, only tempted him more. And he wasn’t quite sure as to why.

He’d mulled it over too many times to count, noting everything about you that allured him so intensely.

He liked the contrast between you two; like sun rays peeking through the clouds after a mid-summer storm. You were soft, fresh as clean linen and he was dark, brooding. He often fantasized about taking that sweet innocent nature of yours and painting it with his essence. He knew it was wrong and constantly shamed himself for having such perverted thoughts about his best friend's sister. But, god, how could he not?

Not when you pranced around him daily, teasing him with your velvety, feminine voice and kind touches. Touches that sent brisk shivers down his spine, sure to leave him breathless and bothered — another thing he secretly liked. You were addictive in that sense, he’d distance himself the minute he felt the familiar rush coursing through his veins and then crave it immediately once it was gone. A drug he couldn’t help but relapse from.

And it didn’t help that you were always so keen to assist him, doting on his every injury or problem with such gentle attentiveness and sincerity. That might be what he liked the most. It was fascinating how pure you remained in a world so plagued, always ready to nurture. It soothed a deep, restless, and scarred part of him, finding solace in it.

He'd come to learn you were like that with everyone though. So, he found himself grappling with things to deter your attention his way, playing dumb and clumsy just to have your sweet scent fill the nearby air. He felt like a horny teenager with a hopeless crush. It was absolutely ridiculous and yet, here he was once again, feet dangling off your kitchen counter as you searched the cabinets for some aspirin to aid in his 'headache'. 

It wasn't a complete lie per se - his sensitivity to light gave him troubles quite often but, whether it was enough to complain about or not, could be debated.

Nonetheless, he sat for you patiently, listening to your quiet humming as you searched about. He loved when you did that, singing your soft melodies under your breath mindlessly. It was such a girly thing to do, but it was comforting in a way, an airy blanket warming the silence.

"Ah, here it is!" drew him out of his thoughts, and he cast a glance at your bright smile of accomplishment. You popped the cap open swiftly, shaking out 2 little white pills, and handed them over with a glass of water.

“Let me know if you need any more. They should kick in soon, but I know how tough migraines can be,” you soothed, your sympathy never faltering. He bowed his head quickly, not wanting you to see the flash of guilt that surely crossed it. "Thanks," he mumbled as he tossed his head back, swallowing them both with a shivered grimace.

Wiping the water droplets from his chapped lips, his eyes found yours again and noticed a small smirk hidden in your features. “What?”  

You let out a chuckle, reaching for the glass he held to wash, “Oh nothin’... just don’t think I’ve seen you cringe like that before, is all.” 

His brows furrowed at your statement, “So?” he questioned further.

“Walkers, blood, rotting flesh… never. But an itty bitty pill?” Your laugh grew louder, finding the situation even more amusing as you explained it to him. “Whatever,” he scoffed, hopping off the counter with a smirk. He knew you would be expecting him to leave after that, you had helped him with his ‘issue of the day’ and there was no reason to linger any further. But he did.

Daryl scanned your frame as you washed the few dishes that were in the sink, chewing on his thumb habitually. You wore a white, long-sleeve shirt with a faded band logo printed on the front and some beaten-up blue jeans that seemed to cup your ass perfectly.

His mind wandered before he could stop it, imagining how soft and warm your skin must be underneath all those clothes. How soft and warm your hands would be wrapped around him, or better yet, your pretty lips taking him deep with a moan. He felt his own jeans tighten slightly and quickly diverted his gaze to the floor, clearing his throat as if it would erase those thoughts from his brain.

“Something else you need, Daryl?” You glanced over your shoulder, wrists deep in soapy water. 

“Nah, uh, thanks. I’ll see ya later,” he said and beelined for the door praying to god you didn’t see his flushed face and half-hard cock poking through his pants. He was so fucked. Couldn’t even look at you anymore without sprouting boners and picturing you on them, milking him greedily. 

He rushed down the porch and across the lawn, bursting into his shared house with Carol just next door. He didn’t even glance toward the kitchen to see if his friend was home, desperate for a cold shower to level him out. The house was dead quiet anyway, leading him to assume Carol was out for the day.

"Such a fuckin idiot," he cursed himself under his breath as he made his way down the stairs to his room. You probably knew honestly. Could tell how pathetically bothered you got him, and just put on a friendly face to keep from embarrassing him.

He left the bathroom door open in his distress and hastily shed his clothing, stepping into the tepid water. Immediate relief flooded his senses, feeling the cool stream wash away the sweat and grime the day had caked on. Pouring some homemade soap he was given into his hand, he scrubbed at his skin, determined to rid himself of your previous interaction along with the dirty thoughts that plagued his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking about you that way, it just wasn’t in the cards.

For starters, you would have to want him too, (which he knew would never happen), and even if you did, how the ever living fuck would he explain that to Rick?

‘Oh hey Rick, I have a massive hard-on for yer sister, you okay with that?’ Fuck no. Just thinking about that conversation had him cringing in awkwardness and he shut the idea down instantly. 

But there you were still, invading his thoughts with your dreamy laugh and perky attitude. Why did you have to be such a goddamn tease?

He leaned forward, resting his hands on the wall trying to regain some composure. He gulped down deep breaths of moist air, willing his body to calm itself down, but it was fruitless. The image of your body, pushed up against the wall under his hands, wet and flushed, bubbled to the surface. He groaned. Daryl knew what he had to do. It wasn’t the first time he had gotten off thinking about you, and he damn well knew it wasn’t gonna be the last, but it still felt wrong each time, pumping his cock when you were just next door. His body craved the relief though, relief only indulgence could satisfy. 

He hissed as he dragged his fingers along his shaft, gripping at the base and beginning to pump slowly. He was painfully hard at this point, each squeeze raking shivers over his damp skin while he choked out quiet moans. With his opposite hand, he flicked the water to a warmer setting, pitifully hoping the heat and steam would resemble something close to your body against his. God, if only you were here.

He sped up, swiping his thumb over his sensitive tip with each pass, sending jolts throughout his body. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned deep and husky, not a care for the noise filling the empty house.

You were there, clear as day in his mind, moaning along with him as he pounded into you, cunt gripping him like a vice. Your breath was hot and pitchy against his ear as you begged him to fuck you harder, to go faster, to cum deep inside you. His cock twitched at that, he was already so close.

“Fuck, y/n, baby,” he whined, humping erratically into his long-forgotten hand. The muscles in his stomach quivered in bliss as he stroked himself, lost in his detailed imagination. You were cumming, trembling around him in languid spasms with his seed spilling out of you, and Daryl was over the edge, tossing his head back moaning your name as he unloaded, letting the steamy water wash it away. 

It took him a few minutes to recover, catching his breath slowly and trying to avoid the guilt that would soon be settling in. What would you think of him if you knew what he did behind muffled walls? How he thought of you in such dirty ways, when you’d only ever see him as a dear friend. He wondered what you might be doing now. Traipsing around your cozy home, oblivious to his rapid, lustful heart meters away.

The water was beginning to run frigid and he let out a defeated sigh. Absentmindedly, he reached past the curtain for a towel and stepped out, drying his hair off roughly and then wrapping the towel around his waist, turning to the bedroom for fresh clothes and much-needed sleep. His mind ached to be thoughtless, consumed by the abyss of unconsciousness.

He should have known the world stopped playing fair long ago.

In a single moment, his heart stopped and his stomach dropped to the fucking depths of hell.

There you stood, feet frozen to the floor with his crossbow in hand, like he willed you into existence. He stuttered, his mouth opening and closing like a blubbering fish. He was sure his eyes were the size of saucers, he could feel them ready to pop out of his skull and run away. There was no fucking way this was happening.

Several beats passed. The silence deafening between you both and for a moment, he honestly debated stepping back into the shower. Pretend you were a figment of his tortured imagination and just hope you’d go away. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen ghosts.

“You uh- you forgot your crossbow when you rushed out today,” you finally broke the silence, solidifying your genuine presence. He glanced down to the bow and then back at you, lost for words. Did you hear him? He moaned your goddamn name, quite a few minutes ago though… had you been standing there long? Were you angry?

His racing thoughts were interrupted when you stepped towards him, leaning the bow against the doorframe and moving closer. Instinctively, he took a step back, “Thanks,” he replied shakily, but you kept moving closer. He noticed your gaze then. It wasn’t on his face, but on his abdomen, at the hem of the damp towel hanging off of him. Your eyes had a gleam to them. Something dark and lustful.

No. Surely, he was reading you wrong. 

“Daryl,” you spoke, and he audibly gulped, nervousness and absolute embarrassment flooding his system, “is there something you need to tell me?” 

He didn’t answer you, instead deciding to burn a hole into the floor with his shame. He couldn’t look at you. You knew. You had heard him and were teasing him about it and here he was, a coward who couldn’t even admit to it. And you had every single right. He crossed that salty line years ago, with his first sinful thought about you. Feasted on it, deluding himself into thinking all was okay as long as his actions didn’t physically involve you.

He barely registered your advances when he finally raised his head. You were so close he could feel the heat of your breath against his burning skin, the luscious scent of vanilla and pine filling the air.

“Can I see?” you asked quietly.

He nearly choked on his own spit. Your hand was skimming along his stomach lightly, suggestively toying with the towel that covered him up. “Huh?” His mind was blank. 

“Can I see you?” you repeated, and all he could do was give you a curt little nod, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to just yet, but rendered acquiesced. Your hand pulled at the fabric softly, letting it drop to the floor revealing his manhood to your hungry eyes. Nothing was making any sense. Surely, you did not feel this way too. Surely.

There were those whispers again. He shouldn't have let you do that. He should be recoiling, shielding himself from your gaze but he was statuesque, like you had drank the life out of him with one simple look.

"Were you thinking about me touching you?" Like you had to even ask. The answer was written in plain sight, right there on his forehead and in his bashful eyes.

"M'sorry, I-" he had no clue how to even begin this kind of apology, remorse coursing through his veins rapidly. The dots weren’t connecting, not yet. "I know it's wrong, I shouldn't have-,”

And then he felt you, pressing your lips against his softly — timidly as gentle hands feathered across his waist, coaxing him into you. Your kiss was buttery, lips so smooth and sweet he wanted to drown in them. You tasted like fresh honey and vanilla ice cream, hints of minty toothpaste caught on your tongue. It was intoxicating to say the least, swarming his brain with a muted buzz and he whimpered, much to his surprise, melting into your touch quicker than he would like to admit.

“Y/n, y/n, nah we can’t,” he heard himself say as he came to his senses slowly, but he wasn’t pushing you away. Why wasn’t he pushing you away? You couldn’t, right?

“Please,” you whispered against him, low and sultry. Who was he to deny you? God Daryl, get a grip.

“Y/n, no,” he repeated, allowing his tone to take some authority even if that was the last thing he truly wanted. You stepped back from him then, a hurt expression painting your features and he felt his heart squeeze. “Why?”

His brain was scattered. This felt like a nightmare; another cruel joke sent his way to haunt him for the rest of his life. There just always had to be a price, didn't there?

"He doesn't mind, you know?" you whispered and his eyes were on yours instantly. You traced soft shapes across his stomach, sending those shivers down his spine and effectively turning him into putty.

"What’re ya talkin' about?" He needed to regain his composure, he could barely breathe with you this close, eyes raking his naked frame with desire.

"Rick... you and me. He doesn't care," you stated, "thinks it's cute actually... my crush on you."

Your crush on him?

"He trusts you, Daryl, with everything. You're pretty much the only person he would want me to be with." He hadn't thought of it that way, only ever assumed voicing his attraction to you would result in his head on a platter, or his dick… or both.

You began peppering his neck with small kisses, trailing them down his chest and over his puffy nipples. He hissed when you nipped at one, licking over it after, soothing the burn. "Ya sure?"

You nodded.

"Ya sure ya want me?" he asked dubiously. His question was answered when you grabbed his hand gently, guiding it inside your cotton underwear, letting his calloused fingers trace your soaked folds. He could have cum then and there, spreading your slick up and down between his fingers like it was liquid gold. Fuck me.

"This all fer me?" he panted, succumbed to a state of disbelief at your evident arousal. You were so wet around his fingers, pulsing and bucking slightly with each feathered stroke. "Were ya listenin' ta me?"

Hair fell over your face as you nodded sheepishly, gazing down to watch his fingers massaging you. You bit your swollen, cherry-red lip, “Couldn’t help it, you sounded so- so good.”

Now that... that got him going. Imagining your pretty cunt dripping in your panties, listening to his gasps while he fucked himself to the thought of you. Who knew the golden girl would be so naughty?

Daryl felt his confidence build, watching you fall apart for him from such simple touches. The last wire holding him back snapped and he needed more. He had waited for this moment for so fucking long.

You whine as he retracts his hand, only to be completely shut up when he places the thick digit on his tongue, sucking greedily and sloppily. It was better than he ever could have imagined, similar to the honey of your lips but so much more sweet. He went back for seconds. And thirds. Until he was dropping to his knees, deciding to lick the goddamn plate clean.

You enveloped him in the best way possible, lifting one of your thighs over his shoulder as he tugged on your tight jeans, pulling them down enough to fit his head. His tongue pressed flat against your clothed pussy, and he sucked, tasting a mixture of your sweetness and residual laundry detergent on his tongue. His moans burned the back of his throat, desperately trying to hide them but you weren’t having it, tugging on his chocolate locks for more. “Don’t do that. I wanna hear you, honey.” Good lord. He silently thanked each lucky star of his that the house was empty before emitting a guttural groan between your thighs. If this was all he got from you, a little taste of the sugar you were made of, he would die a very happy man.

He took your clit between his lips, rolling it with his tongue. Your underwear was so wet with your arousal and his spit that it was practically see-through, just calling for him to pull aside. “Please,” you gasped.

“Hm? Wha’s that?”

He’d heard you just fine. He wanted to hear you again, and again. He was greedy and you were so damn sinful, “Please, need them off, need you.”

So, he complied, as any sane man would, shimmying them down your hips as he sucked and nibbled each inch of newly exposed skin. You watched him intently with half-lidded eyes, rocking slowly to let plush skin engulf his senses like a cloud. He felt you playing with his messy hair, taking small strands between your fingertips and moving them behind his ears to see him better. The gesture struck something deep within him. You were so kind, so focused on this moment and him, he’d be damned if he let it continue on the hard damp floor of his bathroom. No fucking way.

He stood abruptly, catching you off guard. “Bed,” he muttered, capturing your lips again in a haste. He couldn’t get enough. He didn’t want a minute to pass where he wasn’t tasting some part of you. Any part of you. Sweet, sweet honey.

You led your bodies backward till your knees hit the mattress, wasting no time as you crawled up to his pillows, taking him with you.

This moment right here, this feeling… he wanted to bottle it up. Freeze time and just stare, immerse himself into every tiny detail. It felt almost criminal to continue. You were a vision, panting and squirming beneath him; so much electricity and anticipation bouncing between your yearning bodies. Could you really want this just as much as he did? Was he truly that oblivious, all these years? Whatever that answer may be, he wasn’t gonna fuck this up. Not with you.

Your hands on his face coaxed him back to reality, molding into your touch like clay. Eager lips chased his as he pulled your shirt off and as much as he wanted to freeze time and memorize each freckle of you, the more skin each other touched the more obscene the kiss became. An unartistic jumble of spit and hands and moans and thrusts.

In all the time spent pining silently for the other, you both could care less about grace.

No, he needed to hear you. Listen to every octave of moan you had in you, all at once. He needed to know each and every spot that had you whimpering and begging, this second. If time did decide to stop at any given moment he needed to have you, be you, feel everything you had to offer, and soak in it till his skin pruned.

His lips sucked and bruised their way down to your navel, and then past, kissing up your folds with lustful intent. The sounds you made above him had him seeing stars and he wanted more. His tongue slipped past your lips, finally diving into the hive of your sweetness, rolling his tongue languidly over your clit. Your hands were everywhere around him, fisting at the sheets, the pillows, and then his hair as you desperately tried to push him closer. He didn’t mind. He’d gladly suffocate between your thighs, a death he’d welcome compared to the ones he fought from outside every day.

He dove lower, smoothing his tongue over your entrance but not delving past quite yet.

“Daryl,” you gasped above him.

Looking up between your legs, he caught a glimpse of your face tossed back in pleasure and he groaned, having to ground his hips into the mattress below to relieve some pressure. “What d’ya need, sweetheart?”

He’d give you anything. The moon if you asked for it — anything to keep those pretty sounds coming from your lips. “You, you, please you.”

“How so?”

He knew he was teasing you. He’d drawn back from your glistening slit, pressing little pecks everywhere that he could reach. Your hips, your pelvis, the little crease between your thighs and your cunt. That spot drew a deep moan from you, so he focused on it, sucking and licking till it was bright red and your hips were rolling so violently he wasn’t sure how he kept his lips on you.

“In, please,” you choked out, tugging him by his shoulders to move back up. He wasn’t done yet.

“What? Ma fingers?” he toyed further, continuing his kisses everywhere but where you wanted him. “Hm?”

He brought his thumb up to your clit, pressing lightly at first, rubbing lazy, torturous circles. His lips were on the inside of your thigh, so close to your entrance but seemingly so far. He knew you wouldn’t take much more of this, you were practically sobbing above him blubbering nonsensical curses about how much you ached.

“This pretty cunt wanna be filled, that it?”

His thumb pressed firmer.

“Uh huh,” you nodded, begging him. Oh, that sound would surely be the death of him.

He finally brought his lips to your supposedly aching entrance, delving deep with his tongue. The noises he made as he lapped on your honey were flat-out pornographic, and you writhed below him, drinking everything he was giving to you. Honestly, he didn’t know how much more he could take. He wanted to draw this out for hours, make up for every bit of lost time but seeing you like this, so needy for him had his resolve shattering by the second.

With a final peck to your weeping folds, he crawled his way up back to your face. You latched on to him instantly, sensing his give and taking absolute advantage of your moment. His hips rolled into yours slowly as your tongues danced and he hardly had to guide himself with how wet you were, his tip finding your entrance easily and slipping past. You moaned rolling your hips again and he nearly bottomed out, a long deep groan ripping out of him. If he thought your lips were buttery, lord save him.

Perching himself on his forearms, he held still, watching for any signs of discomfort. He assumed you hadn’t been with anyone in a while and he certainly knew he wasn’t small, if he’d grace himself with any sort of compliment.

Sensing nothing but pleasure as your walls pulsed around him, sucking him in further, he gave, snapping his hips harshly into you. Your moans were lewd on his lips, traveling down his throat and feeding the fire that burned in the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck, y/n, baby,” he groaned again, spiraling from the fact he was actually inside you this time. Not in his hand, pretending you were fucking shower water.

No, you were beneath him, latching onto his muscles like your life depended on it. He drove deeper, hitting a spot that had you gasping for air. He hit it again, and again, needing to feel you explode around him. He watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he pounded into you. God, you looked so pretty like this. All cock-drunk and needy.

He brought his thumb back to that spot on your clit. He needed you to cum soon, he wasn’t gonna last much longer seeing you like this and there was no way in hell he was going to finish before you. Your hips stuttered beneath him, walls squeezing around him and he knew you were close.

“Come on, pretty girl, you got it,” he whispered in your ear, sucking the lobe gently between his teeth. That must’ve broken you, because then you were cursing, spasming for him which triggered his own orgasm. Your cunt milked him, his seed spilling down your thighs exactly how he had pictured earlier and it was a fucking sight. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had imagined this whole thing.

He fucked out both through the waves of release, and a bit past, dropping his head into your neck to muffle the obscene groans coming from his lips. He didn’t want it to stop, but your overstimulated senses ached for reprieve.

“Dar?” you whispered once you'd both caught your breath, guiding his stubbled cheek from its hiding spot. When his eyes met yours, they were filled with so much adoration and happiness he had to hold himself back from whimpering. Never in a million years would he thought he’d get you, and here you were, looking at him like the sun shone out of his ass. The same way he looked at you for years, it was jarring to see it reciprocated. How had he missed it?

You leaned forward, tenderly capturing his lips with your own, soothing him as you always did. He knew there was so much you wanted to say, that he wanted to say, but you didn’t need to talk about it tonight. Tonight you would simply soak in each other, a gift you both thought you’d never get and one you would never let go.

He felt you giggle against his lips, and he pulled back with a lazy, fucked-out smile, "What?" he mumbled curiously.

"How's the headache now, big guy?" you teased playfully and he realized then, you'd known he was fibbing today. Saw right through his measly excuse to spend time with you.

He blushed to the tips of his ears, bowing his head to hide it, "Oh, shuddup," he mumbled, attacking your neck in kisses and nips.

Your cheeky ass was gonna pay for that tonight.

[meraki24601]

Indulge Me for a Moment

Caretaker knew who Hero was the first time they stepped into their apartment. The flimsy mask they wore as part of their costume barely covered any of their features, and the limp they’d sported that day matched what they had seen on TV. Though, considering they hadn’t wanted to scare a potential roommate away, they hadn’t mentioned it. Hero seemed happy and perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, so Caretaker let them keep the apartment as a sort of safe zone.

Later, Caretaker would swear it wasn’t them who changed things. Hero was the one who brought work home in such a way Caretaker would either be cruel or just a fool to ignore it.

Back from work later than usual, Caretaker had seen the fight between Hero and Villain. It happened outside their office; how could they not have seen it? They saw the hits Hero had taken to protect innocent civilians. Particular interest was taken in how Hero convinced the emergency responders they didn’t need medical aid. 

The smell of bleach, weakly covered by scented spray, met Caretaker at the front door instead of their cat, Pounce. Hero’s quiet voice in the kitchen only added to the disturbing greeting, “‘M making ramen. W'nt some?”

“I think I’m alright.” Caretaker sighed. They made their way to the kitchen, nearly tripping over Pounce, stationed just inside. 

Hero had never come home that beat up before. They always had some carefully crafted “regular citizen” excuse for any minor injuries and would claim a work trip or family visits for the worse ones that needed time to heal. This was bad enough that even the cat knew better than to take their eyes off Hero. 

Caretaker shook their head at the clumsy wrapping on Hero’s arm, the two large regular band-aids slapped on their forehead that had already bled through, and the steady growing stain on Hero’s side. They had no idea why Hero hadn’t gotten someone to care for them like normal. It seemed it would be up to them, “Hey. You okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine, citizen. You don’t need to worry about me.” Hero whispered. They leaned forward to rest against the counter and stared down into the too-large pot of water on the stove. The burner hadn’t even been turned on.

Yes, this time, it was really up to Caretaker to save their Hero.

The first-aid kit was in the bathroom. Caretaker trusted Pounce to watch Hero while they went to get it. As they had suspected, the small room was the source of the bleach smell. Presumably, Hero had made a decent effort to clean up their mess despite their condition, but there were still a few splatters of blood around. They had taken the trash out but left it outside the front door, so Caretaker had seen it anyway and hadn’t replaced the bag. Even the first-aid kit had been left a mess. 

It didn’t matter. Caretaker would set everything right once Hero had been put to bed. Though mixed up and a few items were scattered, the kit had everything they needed for the time being. 

Pounce’s meow echoed in the small space as Caretaker reentered the kitchen. Hero was now completely bent over the oven, arms bracing them on either side of the pot. They seemed fixed on how the small but steady drops of blood from their nose disappeared into the water.

“Hey,” Caretaker called. “Come sit.”

Hero didn’t seem to hear them. They looked moments from collapsing. Though Hero’s hair hid their eyes, Caretaker saw tears had begun to join the drops of blood in the pot.

At that moment, Pounce decided she’d had enough. The cat bounded over to Hero’s side and raised up on her hind legs to lovingly claw at the back of Hero’s leg. Her strangled meow was overwhelmed by the sound of Hero’s pot smashing against the opposite wall and crashing to the floor. It was too much for both cat and human, but Pounce was the only one composed enough to run out of the room. 

“You’re safe!” Caretaker cried as Hero collapsed on the floor in front of the oven. “Can you hear me? Breathe. You’re alright.”

Whining into the hand covering their mouth, Hero curled in on themselves. The low squelch the action caused made Caretaker sick. They had to move this along. Consequences be damned.

Caretaker whispered each move they made out loud. Scaring Hero again would be bad. Likely very violent, too. Unfortunately, the only way they could think of getting Hero’s attention might potentially turn out even worse. Even the sound of them setting the first-aid kit on the floor nearby made Hero flinch. 

Raising their voice only slightly, Caretaker decided to test their luck. “Hero.”

It seemed that Hero had never once suspected Caretaker knew who Hero was. The shock of hearing Caretaker use their hero name was enough to pull Hero out of the depths of whatever memory they had been drowning in. They didn’t react more than looking up dazedly with a soft frown. 

“Hero, It’s okay. You’re safe.” Caretaker didn’t dare move so much as an inch.

“No.” Hero’s voice was rough. Barely half of what it had been when they called out to Caretaker only moments ago. “I’m not…”

“May I touch you, Hero? You’re hurt.”

“I’m not—”

“Enough. It’s alright.”

A slow tear rolled down Hero’s cheek. Caretaker had expected to hate the look Hero would fix on them once the secret was revealed—anger, disgust, betrayal, etc. They didn’t plan on fear they saw there. 

“You don’t know. You’re lying. This is a dream, a nightmare.” Hero fell forward on their hands and knees. Blood sprayed the floor below them as Hero’s groans turned to deep chest-rattling coughs. 

Caretaker didn’t bother to respond. Instead, they picked up the damp rag they had brought, lifted Hero’s head, and gently wiped away the blood and tears. Hero didn’t fight the touch, so they kept working. Removing the sloppily placed bandaids and cleaning the cuts was simple and quick. 

When Caretaker tried to move on and unwrap Hero’s arm, Hero pulled back with a barely audible “Wait.” So Caretaker did. They sat back on their heels, supporting grip still on Hero’s arm but not moving until Hero nodded. Caretaker could do this at Hero’s pace. They didn’t let the way Hero kept flinching away from even the softest touch drive them away.

Once Hero’s arm was bandaged correctly, Caretaker pulled Hero into their arms. “It’s alright, Hero. You don’t have to deal with this alone.” 

“But why?”

Keeping their grip on Hero steady, Caretaker lowered Hero to lie on the floor. They were glad they’d mopped it earlier. “Don’t worry about that right now. We can worry about answering questions once you’re feeling better.”

Hero’s fist tightened in Caretaker’s shirt. They barely had the strength to keep their back from pressing against the floor. “Why?”

Caretaker shook their head, “Trust me, Hero. Indulge me for just a moment longer.” They lifted Hero’s shirt, barely catching them as pulling the fabric away from the untreated wound sapped away the last of Hero’s strength. “We both have questions that need answers before tomorrow comes. For now, let me save my hero.”

Version 2

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 25: Some for the Chef

(No visual aid; Z is very tired)

Bearblr Promptober Day 25: Size Kink (sub: Praise Kink(?))

Summary: Carmy finally figures out the duck with apple pairing for the next month's menu, and his girlfriend (who he calls Darling) has some complements to offer him. Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of trauma, comfort, finger-sucking, Fem reader who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, does this count as a praise kink? Oh well (1162 words)

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list. Sideblog for commentary and yapping: @m-z-shoroi

Also, if random letters or words are black/white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for days.

25 Oct 2024

I don’t know how to take complements.

I get weird about it, okay? World spends enough time beating you up for shit, then—what?—someone just says something nice about you? The fuck am I supposed to do with that? Where’s the insult? Where’s the backhand?

It’s worse when it’s something I have no say over. Like since getting the fuck out of that house, I’ve gotten maybe 40 or 50 complements on my eyes. I get it, they’re huge (kind of creepy, honestly, why do people like them?), electric blue—almost an unnatural blue, but my eyelashes fall off into my eyes constantly because they can’t do their fucking job, I’ve had dark circles since I was ten, my eyebrows give up at the halfway point, I have that annoying little mole right under my eye, and if they don’t look cadaverous, they look irritated from all the shit in the kitchen or straight up fucking psycho.

I didn’t make them. I didn’t have any input into my stupid fucking owl eyes. Stop fucking complementing me on them.

“Oh my God, this is amazing,” Darling mumbled, grabbing the knife to get another slice of duck breast.

My back killed something fierce, but the pain momentarily vanished. My face hurt, I was smiling so broadly. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm! Fuck me.” She hadn’t even finished chewing her bite and was already cutting another. “Carmy, baby, this is so good. I’m so proud of you.”

Food? Food I could take a complement on. That felt like a complement, like a recognition of the effort I put into learning this craft. I’d been working on this duck with apple pairing for well over 2 weeks. I needed it by the next morning. It was my last real shot to get it right, and in a spurt of anxious energy, I got home from service with a haul of groceries and got right to trying the next iteration. It kept getting too sweet, like candied ham—only candied duck breast, which wasn’t the worst, but it wasn’t right. I wanted more of the gamey notes from the duck breast, that slight metallic aftertaste. Didn’t want it getting drowned by apple.

“Woah, woah there; leave some for the chef to try,” I said, rifling through the drawer for another fork.

“No, no, come here, sweetheart.”

She hooked my chin, brought the morsel of duck to my mouth. I did expect it to taste good—fuck me, it was perfect, moist, tender, savory, gamey, sweet, tart, rich but still fresh—but the abrupt sinking heat in the pit of my stomach, that burner-like flame that sparked to life when I met her adoring expression as she fed me the bite of food? That. That caught me by surprise.

She looked proud of me. Sure, I was still getting used to her saying it to me (it still felt weird as hell but also fulfilling whenever she said it. Or when Sugar said it. Wait, has she been talking to Sugar? Have they been coordinating?), but seeing it on her face, those little crinkles in the corners of her eyes when she smiled, that cute little head tilt—it fucking sent me. My face went hot like it did when I first talked to her, I got dizzy for a moment. My heart slammed into my ribs. I wanted to see that face again, her being proud of me. Maybe it says a lot about the shitty fucking life I’ve had, but I would chase that feeling, the flighty, floaty feeling I got when Darling looked proud of me to the ends of the Earth if I had to. I need it. I need it like I need water to live.

Joy? Is this what joy feels like?

“It could be the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” she murmured. She put the fork down, then picked it up, then put it back down.

It might be the second-best thing I’ve ever eaten. “Yeah. Yeah, the splash of apple cider in the duck stock when making the demi-glace was the last thing.”

Oh, and then the tension left. I didn’t realize how much being stuck on the last item for the menu change was weighing on me until the stress winding me tight as a pulled bowstring snapped, and I plopped into the nearest dinner chair. In an instant, my entire body felt heavy. It could’ve been made of lead. My eyes refused to stay open, stung like I got pepper in them, my temples throbbed, my hands ached from holding the knives and from washing them so many times. My back hurt so bad that I’m pretty sure I groaned in pain. My shoulders ached, the space between my shoulder blades and my spine prickled with pain, my ankles hurt. Why did my ankles hurt? And why was my face even hotter? Was I about to have a panic attack?

Darling nudged my knees apart and nestled herself between them, wove her hands in my hair, brought my cheek to her chest.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she whispered.

I tried coiling my arms around her, but my hands barely made it to her thighs. “Hi.”

“Aw, did you run out of power?” she cooed.

“Mmm. I’ve been up since 4.”

“I know.” She worked her fingers in circles over my scalp, setting off goosebumps. Cool. Mercifully cool. “I woke up because I got cold.”

I found the strength to pull her in, nuzzle into her sweater, and inhale her scent. “’m sorry, baby girl. Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Can you look at me?” she whispered.

Yes. Yes, anything, of course.

I peered up at her.

She traced her thumb along my cheekbone. “I’m never going to get over how blue your eyes are, pretty boy.”

I take back what I said about complements. Please, say it again. Please. Please, tell me what else you like. Call me pretty boy again. She brushed some of my hair off my forehead, cupped my face, and—I don’t know what came over me, okay, fuck off—I slid her hand down and sucked her thumb into my mouth. I just needed something, some kind of sensation, something to focus on as the noise of the day disengaged. Quieting down was still hard for me—maybe it’d be hard for my entire life—but fucking hell, I just needed something to trace with my tongue. It set off this hot, fuzzy feeling in my core, the inverse of a panic attack, that tightness I got when she moaned my name. No, no, it was that feeling I got when she made that high-pitched whine right before she tumbled into an orgasm. That deeply sated, yet still-somehow-starved brimstone that landed in the pit of my stomach as if dropped from the sky.

She cooed, kissed the top of my head. “What are you thinking, sweetheart?”

I’m thinking about making you whine for me, pretty girl. How’s that sound?

[440mxs-wife]

The Country Doctor, Chapter 6: Confessions

Pairing: Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy x F!Reader (finally!). Other Characters are the usual suspects: Jim Kirk, Nyota Uhura, Spock, Christine Chapel, Scotty, Guinan. Eleanora McCoy, Miles Cooper, and Jocelyn (Leonard's ex-wife), Charlie (OMC, mentioned)

Word Count: 5618

Warnings: This is a long one, folks, but it's finally happening!! Minor mishap in the kitchen leading to Leonard slipping into "doctor mode", Leonard and the Reader FINALLY confess their feelings for each other, some K-I-S-S-I-N-G, greedy CEO scheming with Leonard's ex-wife, Reader meets Leonard's mother (by phone).

Summary: Fresh off of his divorce, Dr. McCoy receives word that he has inherited a 5,000-acre farm and home in Logan, Montana. Finally, he has an opportunity for a clean slate and to start his own clinic out west and leave his ex-wife behind. Along the way, he'll meet a cast of unique characters, each with a place in his new small-town life. But there could be trouble ahead in the form of a powerful CEO hell-bent on acquiring Leonard's property by any means necessary.

A/N: If you’ve been tagged here, it’s because you’ve interacted one or more times on a McCoy story of mine, or we’re moots. Whether you like or reblog, I am eternally grateful for your support. If anyone else would like to be tagged on any future Karl Urban character postings, or would rather leave the Crazy Train, please let me know. Thank you, and enjoy the show!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

One night you and Leonard were working together in the kitchen to prepare the evening meal. You were chopping vegetables for a tossed salad, while he was stirring the sauce and boiling noodles for spaghetti. This routine had become an almost daily occurrence with the two of you, which allowed you to introduce each other to treasured family recipes. His favorites were your pasta dishes, while yours was his chicken and dumplings. It was a way for you both to showcase your talents, as well as spend some time learning more about each other.

He was in the middle of relating a hilarious story from his med school days when the knife in your hand suddenly slipped. Instead of slicing a cucumber, the blade shifted and sliced into your thumb. You yelped in pain then dropped the offending piece of cutlery onto the counter with a clatter. Quickly you wrapped your hand around a towel and cradled it to your chest.

Leonard swiftly turned the knobs for the burners to the "off" setting and removed the pots from the heat. "Whoa, darlin', what happened?" he exclaimed as he cupped your elbow and guided you to the sink. "Here, let me see it." He carefully peeled back the towel to see a decent-sized yet precision gash across the side and into the pad of your left thumb. He reached over and turned on the cold water to wash away the blood.

"Sorry, if I'd been paying better attention, I would've sliced the vegetable instead of my stupid thumb," you muttered. Leonard pulled it out of the stream of water and blotted it dry with the towel. He studied it for a few moments to see if it would start bleeding again. "So, Doc, will I get to keep my thumb? Am I gonna live?" you asked him with a shaky grin.

He continued to examine the wound, which thankfully had gone from dripping blood to more of a slow seep. "Well, fortunately, your knives are well-sharpened, because that's a damn near surgical cut; therefore, it won't take long to heal. It's not deep enough for stitches, so I'd say you get to keep it. For right now, anyway," he smirked. "Wait here, and I'll be right back with the first aid kit. We'll get you fixed up in no time, sweetheart," he winked.

As he walked away, you shook your head and chuckled to yourself at his attempts at humor to comfort you and lighten up the situation. The pain had mostly subsided, leaving a throbbing sensation while you waited for him to return. What a klutz, slicing my own damn thumb open like that, you mentally face-palmed.

When he reappeared in the kitchen with the first aid supplies, he saw that you were perched on one of the barstools while you waited for him. The late evening sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting a warm, almost angelic glow around you. He watched as you examined your wound and frowned at what you likely perceived as your own clumsiness. In that moment, he realized how special you are to him, just by being yourself.

"Here we are, just what the doctor ordered," he called as he held up the bandages and disinfectant. He pulled over one of the other barstools to sit on and tend to what was more or less a minor injury. He held the alcohol wipe above the wound and cleared his throat to get your attention. "Now, this, uh....this may sting a little," he warned.

Though you expected it, when he swiped the antiseptic pad over the gash, it took 110% of your willpower not to scream and yank your hand away. You sucked in a sharp breath at the initial bite of the alcohol on the open cut and tried to breathe through the pain as you averted your eyes.

All of a sudden you felt relief in the form of a cooling sensation across the surface. When you looked down, Leonard was gently blowing on the affected area. This caused a shudder to run through your body, which did not go unnoticed. "You all right there, darlin'?" he asked.

You cleared your throat in an attempt to get your racing heart under some sort of control. "Yeah, I'm fine," you whispered. He bent his head downward again, to focus on the task at hand, but not before you caught the renewed tinge of pink that dusted his cheeks. He secured the bandage to your thumb and brought it to his lips, then gave you a sly grin.

He started gathering the remnants of the medical supplies used in the patch-up, but you tried to stop him. "Here, let me help with that," you requested as you got down from your barstool. However, your foot got hooked on one of the rungs, definitely making it less than an Olympic-worthy dismount. Without Leonard's quick reflexes, you would've ended up on the floor, but instead, he caught you in his arms.

A wave of warmth washed over him as he cradled you in his embrace. Holding you was a different experience than he'd had before with other women, even his ex-wife. With you, it was the most natural feeling, and he never wanted to let it, or you, go. He heard the hitch in your breathing and saw your pupils grow large at the proximity of his face to yours. The universe was giving him an opportunity, and he was for damned sure not going to waste it.

"Easy there, sweetheart," he murmured. "Don't need you back in the hospital with another serious injury," he teased.

Your heart was beating wildly within your chest and you prayed Leonard couldn't hear it. His face was so close to yours that you could see tiny flecks of gold in his eyes. Though the color was nearly invisible from the dilation of his pupils. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower he took after work and you were itching to drag your fingers through it. Your eyes darted to his lips, away then back again. So close, you thought. If I lean forward just a bit m--

There was no time to finish the thought because Leonard threw caution to the wind and closed the gap between you. The kiss was soft at first, his plump lips moving slowly with yours, searching, nearly begging for reciprocation. He was about to pull away when he felt you kissing him back, almost chasing his lips with a desperation to prove that you were on the same page.

"So beautiful," he whispered, momentarily breaking the kiss. He tilted your head back to dive in, with his head at the right angle to deepen it. Your hands slid up his toned, muscular chest to circle around his neck. When your fingernails gently scratched at the skin, you could feel his lips smiling against yours, producing a grin of your own. "You little minx," he mumbled.

The sound of a throat clearing brought you both out of your blissful trance and you broke apart to see who had entered the room. "I was going to ask what was for dinner, but looks like you two already had your appetizer," Jim smirked. "Please, feel free to continue," he razzed.

Leonard rolled his eyes. "Jim, don't you have something better to do? Dinner will be a bit delayed, we just got a little....sidetracked," he replied.

Jim snorted in amusement. "Sure, yeah, I can see that," he grinned. When you and Leonard refused to elaborate, he gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine, I'll come back later," he groaned.

As soon as he left the room, you and Leonard turned to each other and burst into laughter. "Feels like I just got caught by my ma while making out with the prettiest girl in school," he remarked.

"Oh yeah? Did you have a habit of 'making out' with pretty girls in the kitchen, where your ma could catch you?" you joked.

"Nope, you're the first and only one, darlin'," he admitted, not yet releasing you from his hold. "She would love you, you know. You're kind, smart, and you have a great sense of humor. All that in such a gorgeous package." He reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, then brushed the back of his knuckles along your jawline.

"Len," you playfully rolled your eyes, as you felt your cheeks grow warm under his touch and words of praise.

"What? Sweetheart, I'm just callin' it like I see it," he countered. "You've bewitched me, woman, but I'm sure as hell not complaining," he declared before swooping in to capture your lips again in a heated kiss.

"You're quite the charmer, Leonard McCoy," you replied softly, trying to catch your breath. "You and my dad probably would've gotten along well, and your charm would definitely have worked on my mom. Just like it did for me," you added with a smile.

"Is that so?" he asked, returning your smile. "Well, I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to meet them, 'cause I know how important they were to you. Speaking of parents, I did tell my ma I'd send her a plane ticket sometime to come out for a visit once I got settled," he recalled. "What do you say, darlin'? Are you up for meeting my ma?"

You thought for a moment, then sent him a beaming smile. "I think that's a great idea, I'd love to meet the woman who's such an important part of your life," you gushed.

"Hey, your ma's coming to visit? That's awesome! When will she be here?" Jim inquired. He poked his head into the kitchen and looked around, only to see that you and Leonard had left the room. "Wait a minute. Where's dinner?" He asked the ceiling as he raised his arms, only to drop them to his sides in exasperation.

***

After what happened in the kitchen, going forward, there was a noticeable shift between you and Leonard. It started with the lingering touches, fond smiles across the dinner table, and arms around shoulders and waists. Then it was followed by hugs that lasted a few seconds longer than they had before and random hand-holding.

Every so often, your lips would meet to express your innermost thoughts. Sometimes it would be for a peck on the lips or cheek in passing. More frequently, though, it hovered between soft, deeply passionate kisses with all the time in the world, and hungry, desperate, can't-live-without-you ones.

The more time you spent with each other, the more you wanted to be in each other's presence. You and Leonard had a standing "date" for the Farmer's Market on Saturdays. Hand in hand, you leisurely strolled from stall to stall and chatted with the vendors, who were always glad to see you. Movie nights were at least once a week, with Mimzy in regular attendance, curled up with one of you on the couch.

Nighttime was lonely, though, because as you lay in bed, your thoughts were nearly always about Leonard. You wondered what it would be like to wake up each day with him beside you, bed head and all, his raspy voice bidding you good morning.

His thoughts were along the same lines, constantly occupied with you. He longed to know the feeling of wrapping his arms around your warm body as you slept, or to hear your soft breathing, and seeing your eyelashes fluttering against your cheek.

For his part, Jim refrained from giving the two of you too much grief about your budding romance. He knew you were meant for each other from that very first day you and Uhura showed up to help them move in. He stopped short of shouting "I-told-you-so" from the highest mountain, smiling while he silently observed you growing closer together. As your mutual friend, he couldn't be happier for you, which he frequently expressed in his regular updates to Uhura.

***

A few weeks later, a large, thick brown envelope was delivered to the clinic. The return address showed Blue Mountain Survey and Mining Corp, which meant it should be the final report. You placed it in your desk drawer until you could inform Leonard that it had arrived.

It was important to him that you review it together, so it would have to wait until after the clinic closed for the day. The pages contained within that envelope represented a potentially significant change in his life. And he wanted to share everything about his life with you, past, present, and hopefully the future.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Leonard returned to the waiting room, with a patient and her daughter following behind him. "You and Bridget are all set, Mrs. Keller," he affirmed. "Drink plenty of fluids and get some rest. If your fever returns, or any new symptoms develop, please give my office a call." He then nodded in your direction. "My lovely assistant will take over from here with the rest of your paperwork," he winked at you.

Your cheeks grew warm from the affectionate smile he sent your way, then you returned your focus on the women before you. "Here you are, Mrs. Keller, your after-care summary, and your prescription has already been called into the pharmacy. Do either of you have any questions?"

"Not at the moment, dearie, thank you," Mrs. Keller answered. "That nice young doctor sure is sweet on you. You're a lucky lady," she remarked.

"Mama, don't tease her like that," Bridget gently admonished. "I'm so sorry," she whispered to you.

"It's okay, she's not telling me something I don't already know," you beamed. "He's a wonderful man, and quite handsome, too. Take care and have a nice evening!"

You smiled as you watched the ladies get into Bridget's car and drive away from the clinic. Before you could return to your chair and finish the daily filing, you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist from behind. "Hey there, sweetheart," Leonard murmured huskily near your ear. "Everything all right?"

"Hello yourself, Len," you giggled as a shiver went down your spine. "And yes, everything's fine. Before I forget, the packet from Blue Mountain came in today. Do you want to take a look at it?"

"Sure, we're done with all the appointments today, and no one's left in the waiting room. We can close up shop and head home," he suggested. "But first, how 'bout some 'sugar', Sugar?" he grinned.

You turned around, still in his arms, with your hands reaching up to cradle his neck. Then you pulled him down so your lips could meet in a slow, lingering kiss. "How's that for a little sweetness?" you asked.

"Like I want some more," he responded, then hungrily captured your lips with his. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, requesting entrance that you so eagerly granted. A small moan escaped from you, further igniting his desire as his hands roamed up and down your back. Your fingertips played with the short hairs at the base of his neck, lightly scratching at his skin. You smiled against his lips as you felt a shudder roll through his body.

"Wow," he whispered when you broke apart. Before he could kiss you yet again, his phone rang in his pocket. He checked the screen, then a wide grin stretched across his face when he noticed who was calling. He put the call on speakerphone, and enthusiastically belted out, "Hello!"

"Leonard, it's your mother. I just got your message, and I would love to fly out to see you, your house, and meet your delightful girlfriend," Eleanora gushed.

Her exuberant but sweet voice was exactly as you imagined it would be, which made you giggle. "Hello, Mrs. McCoy. It's great to finally meet you," you commented, and gave her your name.

She tsked good-naturedly, followed by, "Oh, now, none of that 'Mrs. McCoy' nonsense, my dear, that was my mother-in-law. You can call me 'Eleanora', 'Momma', or just 'Ma' if you want."

"Ma, let me get my office calendar, and then we can talk about dates for your visit, okay?" he told her, then handed you the phone. "Talk to Ma, sweetheart," he winked.

Flabbergasted at first, you nearly dropped his phone. "H-He'll be right back," you explained nervously.

"That's all right, now I have a chance to hear a little more about you," Eleanora replied. "How did you and Leonard meet?" While you waited for him, you explained that you met her son the day he moved in, and that you were currently working with him in the clinic. You told her about where you grew up, a little background on what brought you to the town of Logan.

By the time you'd finished, Leonard had returned, office calendar in hand. You passed his phone back to him so he could chat with his mother and coordinate her visit. He caught your gaze and gave you a heart-stopping smile, then returned to the phone conversation. He nodded when you motioned that you would meet him in the kitchen.

As you left the office, Leonard's eyes lingered on your retreating form long enough that he missed the question his mother asked. "Sorry, sorry, Ma," he mumbled. "What did you ask me?"

Once she realized the reason, Eleanora chuckled at how absent-minded he was. "A bit distracted, are we, Son? By the way, she's lovely, Leonard. A vast improvement over your first go-round, I'll tell you," she muttered.

He sighed deeply in contentment. "I'll say. She's great, Ma. Kind, compassionate, so smart, and she brings such a light to those around her."

She hummed in response to her son. "Is she pretty? Not that it's a deal-breaker, you see, only curious," she hastily added.

"Ma, she's beautiful, and not just on the outside. She has a beautiful soul as well that it....you just can't help but....love her," he replied softly.

"Do you? Do you love her?" she asked. "I know after Jocelyn, you might not know quite yet, or be afraid to--"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Then you should tell her. Soon. And don't give me any of that bull about 'what if she doesn't', because I can hear it in the way she talks about you. She does," Eleanora affirmed.

Leonard gave a faint huff of laughter. "Yes, ma'am. Now when should we have you come out here to meet her?"

***

On the other side of the country, a meeting was taking place the following morning in the CEO's office at NorthStar Corp. A fashionably dressed woman, with elegantly styled dark brown hair, and piercing blue eyes approached the receptionist and gave her name.

A call was placed to Mr. Cooper's office, and she was escorted through the double doors then to a chair in front of the large wooden desk. After an offer of beverages was made and accepted, followed by an order from the CEO that they were not to be disturbed. His receptionist acknowledged his command with a quick nod and indicated she would be back when the refreshments were ready. She closed the doors behind her and returned to her desk to place the beverage order with the cafeteria.

"Well, Miles, you called me here, what's going on?" the woman drawled.

"I'm glad you asked, Jocelyn. There have been some new developments regarding your ex-husband that you should be made aware of," Cooper started.

Jocelyn snorted. "You summoned me to your offices to discuss my ex-husband?? I have nothing more to do with Leonard, not since the divorce was finalized. What makes you think I care anything about what he's doing with his life? I have my own life to live, thank you very much," she retorted.

Cooper leaned back in his chair, his steepled fingers resting on his chin. "You should care, Jocelyn. Leonard is living in Montana now, which means he may not be aware that you are married and therefore no longer entitled to spousal support. All it would take is one phone call, and you would be hauled into court and, at the very least, ordered to pay him back. Do I have your attention now?" he snarled.

Jocelyn was taken by surprise at Cooper's knowledge of her second marriage, but she quickly schooled her features to a neutral expression. "You do," she responded coolly.

"Now, he's living in a farmhouse situated on a piece of land that he inherited from a distant uncle. This land happens to contain some of the largest deposits of raw copper and other minerals in this country. He has so far stubbornly refused to sell this property to us or anyone else. He's more interested in being a 'country doctor' than the accumulation of such wealth," he sneered.

"Well, that's Leonard for you. He has no ambition, no vision of the future, or drive to succeed. He was never interested in advancing his career in medicine to hospital administrator or beyond.  Kept plugging away in that clinic of his. So, where exactly do I fit into all of this?" she asked.

"All of that wealth is just sitting below the earth's surface, waiting to be claimed. If we don't intervene and quickly, NorthStar Corp will lose any chance of getting its hands on any of it. There's too much at stake to let just anyone benefit from this situation. I have worked too long on this deal to see it closed with some other entity," he growled. "I will not be bested by some simple doctor, practicing medicine in the middle of nowhere."

Jocelyn considered Cooper's words for a few minutes. Charles will know how to administer the proceeds from the land's resources better than Leonard can, she surmised. He'll probably do something noble with it, like start a backwoods hospital with it or whatever, she internally grimaced. He has no idea how to manage money because he's never had much of it to speak of. I, on the other hand, will have no problem with it, especially with Charles by my side to help me.

"Well?" Cooper asked with a knowing smirk.

"Looks like I'm going to Montana," Jocelyn answered with a matching smirk.

***

The next few weeks leading up to the visit from Leonard's mother were a bit hectic at work. Cold and flu season had yet to make an appearance, but you and the good doctor knew it was just around the corner. Late nights in the clinic were spent restocking supplies and keeping up with the sudden influx of patients.

Fortunately, Leonard trusted you enough to handle the "vaccination only" patients, while he handled the other cases. Occasionally, Uhura stepped in to help with checking people in, printing reports, and filing the paperwork. Jim kept himself busy around the house, with anything from light housekeeping to small repairs and updates.

Somewhere in the chaos of preparing for Eleanora's visit, you and Leonard reviewed the surveyor's final report. It confirmed the existence of the copper and platinum, not silver, veins running beneath the land. In addition to sapphires, the report also mentioned pockets of garnets and agate throughout the property, providing material for the jewelry industry.

After he reviewed the report, Leonard's head began to swim with all of the information contained within it, especially the numbers. He'd never seen so many zeroes before, and had no concept of that much wealth, all at his disposal. What am I going to do with all of this? he wondered silently.

You grew concerned at seeing the furrow of his brow and the way his eyes darted back and forth across the pages. His thoughts were beginning to spiral, and you had to introduce some calm to the situation by shifting his focus. "Len? Honey? You want to let me in on what's going on? You seem a bit preoccupied."

Leonard took a deep breath before answering. "This is....a bit overwhelming, to say the least," he started. He talked for a while about what he thought he should do with the amount of wealth brought in from a mining operation such as this. You listened patiently, interjecting your thoughts and asking questions where appropriate, even coaxing a few laughs out of him.

"Listen, you don't have to decide anything right now. Those minerals have been there for probably thousands of years, and they ain't goin' anywhere," you pointed out. Then you suggested that it may be time to engage the services of an attorney. "We need one who specializes in this area of the law, so your interests are protected." You remembered that one of your friends' fathers was an attorney, so you offered to check with her.

"Thank you, darlin'." A puzzled look crossed your face as you asked why he was thanking you. "For being patient, listening to me, and knowing exactly what I needed without me having to say it."

A fond smile was sent his way in response. "Len, you don't ever have to thank me for that. Of course I'm going to be patient with you, listen to you, help you with whatever you need. I love....that I can be there for you," you remarked. That was close, you thought. Too close.

"And I promise to do the same in return, and to give you a shoulder you can lean on, to hold you when life gets too rough for you. I love....taking care of you, darlin'," he affirmed. Damn, that was close, he silently noted. Almost let the cat out of the bag.

>>>

That evening, the two of you curled up on the couch to watch a movie, after a quick dinner of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Mimzy, ever the attention-seeker, settled in next to you for once, instead of Leonard. Her little paws kneaded your thigh muscle before she leaned against you and closed her eyes. You were seated next to Leonard, his arm resting on the back of the couch, behind you.

Around halfway through the movie, your eyes started to droop and your head began to feel very heavy, until finally it fell onto Leonard's shoulder. His eyes flicked over in your direction, and he let out a soft chuckle when he noticed you were asleep. Carefully and without waking you, he draped his arm around your shoulder, which caused you to shift closer to him. Your arm stretched across his midsection and you gave him a gentle squeeze before sighing deeply in contentment.

Leonard delicately turned his head and pressed his lips to the crown of your head. "Darlin', I know you probably can't hear me, but....I love you," he murmured against your hair. "You've stolen my heart, but that's okay, because it belongs to you. Always." He nuzzled your cheek with his scruffy one, then closed his eyes as well.

Jim walked through the living room later that night. When he saw the two of you cozied up together, he snapped a picture with his phone, then chuckled to himself as he walked to his room. Lovebirds, he thought, with a satisfied grin on his face.

***

"So, how many days until you meet your future mother-in-law," Uhura joked as she sipped on her soda. When you told her you had some errands to run in town over your lunch break, she suggested meeting you for lunch. It had been a while since you had spent time together, so you agreed.

"Ha ha, very funny," you muttered. "Just because we've kissed, doesn't mean--"

"Wait, what?!? You never told me that!!" she exclaimed, then demanded for you to give her details. You explained how your first kiss came about, and how you've steadily been growing closer as the days go by. "I'm so happy for you, honey," she gushed. "You deserve a good man, and Dr. McCoy is one of the best."

"Yeah, he sure is," you agreed with a bashful smile, which set off a fit of giggles between you.

>>>

"I see things are progressing nicely with you and our lovely houseguest," Jim smirked. Leonard was making a sandwich for lunch before returning to laundry duties.

"Yeah, well, I don't kiss and tell," Leonard shot back, a smug grin on his face.

Jim's eyes widened at his friend's revelation. He had photographic evidence of them cuddling on the couch, but they've kissed?? "I'm impressed, Bones," he replied. "Definitely moving in the right direction."

"She's....amazing. My ma will be here in a couple of days, and I just know she's gonna love her," he affirmed.

"Of course she will. You deserve a good woman, and she's miles and miles ahead of your ex. One of the best I've ever met," Jim remarked.

"Absolutely."

***

The last patient of the day on Friday dropped off a flyer for the Holiday Festival, which was set to occur between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Among the events was a craft fair, a cookie exchange, and an old-fashioned Barn Dance, to be held at the Community Center. 

You closed the file cabinet after placing the final patient's paperwork within its drawers. As you turned around, you found Leonard perched lazily on the corner of your desk, his hands resting on his knees. "All done, sweetheart?" he asked.

"All finished, Boss," you drawled as you sauntered over to where he was sitting. You stepped between his legs and ran your hands along his arms and up to his shoulders. "Shall we head home? Traffic's always terrible this time of night, you know," you grinned.

"Oh, yeah, we really should get going, then," he chuckled. You stepped back to grab your belongings, by which time he stood waiting for you, his hand outstretched with his palm facing up. You easily slipped your hand into his, intertwining your fingers and giving them a gentle squeeze. "Ready?" to which you nodded.

Dinner passed as usual, filled with lively conversation, including what to do during Eleanora's visit. Cleanup was fairly uneventful, but completed quickly, with you washing and Leonard drying the dishes.

Tonight, though, a slightly awkward silence filled the room after the cleaning was finished. You stood with your back leaning against the counter, eyes trained on the floor and your bottom lip caught between your teeth. This did not escape Leonard's notice, and a concerned look crossed his face.

"Darlin'? Is everything all right? You seem a little worried about something," he gently prodded.

His question broke through your reverie and brought you back to the present. "Hmm? Oh, sorry, Len. I just have something on my mind," you responded.

Leonard stood in front of you and clasped your hands in his then gave you a tender smile. "I'm here for you, if you want to talk about it, sweetheart. Look," he gestured to one ear, then the other. "Two ears, no waiting, ready to listen," he joked.

You giggled a little at his silliness, which was a welcome relief from the thoughts currently swirling in your head. "Okay," you took a deep breath. "In less than two weeks, the Holiday Festival will be going on, and there's a dance. Will you--will you be my date? For the dance?" you asked timidly.

He let the words sink in, then a beaming smile spread across his face. "Of course I will. I would be honored to accompany you to the dance, sugar. Though I'm a little rusty with my two-step, but I'll give it my best shot," he replied.

"Well, whether or not you have two left feet, I love you just the same, Leonard," you responded, then immediately clapped a hand over your mouth.

"What?" he whispered. "What did you just say?"

Your mind raced as it tried to come up with some way, any way to fix this. There were two options: pretend you said something else, or come clean and confess how you felt about him. After a quick, internal debate, you decided he deserved the truth, so you would admit your feelings and let the Fates decide.

"You know, I've said, 'I love you' so many times to you in my head and in my heart," you started. "But, I suppose it doesn't really count unless I say it out loud. So I'm saying it now. I love you, Leonard McCoy."

The silence between you seemed to last an eternity and had you second-guessing your decision, then he finally spoke. "Darlin', you've opened places in my heart that I thought were closed after my divorce. I can't imagine my life without you, because it certainly wouldn't be as happy as it is with you in it. Now it's my turn to say it out loud. I love you," he declared.

Leonard's hands braced themselves on the edge of the counter behind you, caging you in. He slowly leaned forward to close the distance between you. As the gap grew smaller, your heart began to race with the anticipation of feeling his soft lips against yours. The two of you had kissed before, but now with the weight of your shared confessions, this kiss would be different.

When his lips touched yours, it sent a spark of electricity zipping through your body. Leonard moved forward another half-step until your bodies were nearly flush with each other. His hand lifted and hooked around your neck to maintain the connection as your mouths moved together. He smiled when he felt your breath across his skin as you sighed in contentment.

The need for oxygen finally won out, briefly breaking the kiss and also eliciting a quiet giggle out of you. As your emotions calmed a bit, you both became aware of Jim calling your names from the direction of the front door. "Wonder what he wants," Leonard mused.

"Ooh, could it be your mom? Did she maybe get an earlier flight?" you suggested. An excitement rose within you as you walked with Leonard to the door. Your head was practically buzzing at the possibility of meeting his mother sooner than you expected.

Jim stepped back from the entrance to meet you, clearly displeased at this turn of events. Leonard was puzzled, but brought his arm around your waist, then gazed into your questioning eyes. "Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll get this sorted out," he promised before moving to greet the visitor.

It didn't take long for any of your earlier enthusiasm to evaporate, as the person at the door was not Eleanora McCoy. "Jocelyn?" he whispered.

"Hello, Leonard."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags:

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[callahanisms]

your desire

got inspired, so here's something for steven grant. because i love awkward autistic oscar isaac.

pairing: steven grant x gender neutral! reader

for vibes: "venus" by bananarama

you were in london for a phd program. you wanted to pursue a doctorate in art history and work with repatriation. after all, every place deserved their stuff back.

especially from the british museum.

you lived in a simple flat across from the sweetest man you've ever met: steven grant.

now, aside from how tired he was and the sometimes weird things you'd wake up to coming from his apartment, he was a good neighbor.

at one point, he even helped you unlocked your door after you had left your keys in the apartment. you rushed to get out of the apartment as fast as possible and came back near 1am without your keys.

"i didn't even know i could do that." is what he said when he successfully gets your door open. you were sure he was joking. he was being genuine.

the dating scene in london wasn't...well, the state of dating was bad in general. especially considering that half of the world literally disappeared and then came back, including your own brother. your father died thinking he was dead permanently, leaving you with a soft spot and a desire to pursue a fulfilling relationship.

why wait if you might die tomorrow? there was always another world ending event around the corner.

perhaps developing a crush on your attractive neighbor was not the way to go.

none of the people you went out with had steven's smile. had his curls. had his smile. had his nose. had his little information dumps that you adored.

but from the interactions you guys had, it seemed the destiny might be platonic. which hurt your soft, romantic heart.

you were about to retire for the night since you had class the next day. that's when you heard mumbling outside your door. peeking through the peephole, you can see the man looked downtrodden. he was holding some flowers and a box of chocolates.

you opening the door surprises him. he nearly jumps out of his skin. "(y/n)!"

"hey." you lean against the doorway and cross your arms over your chest. you were wearing some comfortable lounging clothes: a tank top and some fuzzy pants with hello kitty designs. "everything okay?"

"huh? yeah. i mean..." he purses his lips and sighs. "got stood up on a date." again.

you understood all too well. you lost count of how many dates you went on and they just didn't show up. not even a text to tell you they weren't coming, or to ask for a rain check. wasting your time. and being general dicks.

the state of dating was not it.

"i'm sorry. i'm sure there was a reason." perhaps there was. perhaps there wasn't. there was no point in thinking about it.

"yeah. well, good night!" even when upset, there was still a pep in his voice.

watching him pull out his keys made you feel...sad. you didn't want him to spend time alone.

"how about you come in for a cup of tea? that way you don't have to eat the chocolates alone."

steven turns around. there's a sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you, making you melt.

"i'd like that. a lot."

you move aside to let him in and close the door behind you. he removes his shoes, setting them on the side and you take his jacket to hang it up.

steven sits at one of the seats at the kitchen island, watching you pull out your kettle and fill it with water, before placing it on a burner. you adjusted the flame to a medium.

"you want some cake? i have some left. it's lavender lemon." you ask, pulling out two mugs. you love the way his face perks up. one of them was a mug from the gift shop with an egyptology theme.

"i think i'll be fine. but it's kind of you to offer."

"okay. what about tea?"

"do you have chamomile? kind of...basic but..." he would like a sleep aid.

you don't say anything. you just smile at him and grab the box from your cabinet. you place a bag in each much, discarding the proper trash. "so...you wanna talk about it?"

steven spends the next few minutes talking about his feelings. it felt good for him to unload and vent just a little bit. he held no ill will towards his date. just some frustration about how his romantic life has hit a brick wall. something was always getting in the way of him pursuing a relationship. something was always happening. he was always screwing up. perhaps he was the problem.

in the middle, your kettle was screeching. so you turned off the burner and poured it into the mugs, letting the tea steep.

you can't help but relate. with all the people who stood you up, you wonder if you are the problem. were you that unlovable, that undatable, that people can't even tell you they weren't coming?

steven stops talking when he notices the way you're looking at him: with intensity. you look like you want to tell him something. "what is it?"

"what? you can keep going."

"you want to say something. your lip is twitching." he gestures. he takes a sip of his tea.

"well...i don't know if..."

"go on. you can say it."

you take a sip of tea before looking at him. "it's not your fault. none of it is."

steven's smile is sad. "you don't have to say that."

"i mean it. steven...i know it feels like it is. hell, i relate a lot. sometimes it feels like you're the problem because no one else wants you. but it's not your fault. i think you're...pretty cool. and amazing."

he blinks slowly, almost like a cat. he's busy just looking at you, admiring your features. your beauty. and your warmth. not many people would invite people over just to vent.

"it's all good to vent. but i also think it's important to...think of it as redirection. like my dating life sucks but my studies are going well. and i'm going to be published."

"r-really?" he watches you walk over to the record and set your mug down. you look through the vinyls and pick one.

"yeah. academically too. so i get academic validation. which isn't everything, but it's certainly nice." it was important to get your work out there. you turn the player on, place the disk, and then drop the needle.

your body movies instinctively. you recognize the synth beat, picking up your mug and moving your hips. "this was my dad's. he really like british 80s synthpop." you turn to steven and take a sip of your tea.

he was trying his best not to stare, not to watch the way your hips moved. it was mesmerizing. he wasn't one for dancing. he was not the best at following a rhythm.

you dance over to him and gently take his hand. "come on steven."

"i don't think so." he sees your pout. "okay, okay."

he gets off the stool and lets you guide him to the middle of the room.

your hips move. your body is unchoreographed. you weren't really a dancer. but you can't help yourself. you spins a few times, bathing in the casualty of it all. and unknowingly bathing in steven's love filled gaze.

you look deep into his eyes. his soft brown eyes. and your eyes glance down to look at his lips. his soft looking kissable lips.

could you be bold? could you make a move? was it appropriate to make a move? you take a sip of her tea and sets the mug down. "steven..." you bites her lip as the music keeps playing.

"y-yes (y/n)?" he could feel his cheeks warm up. especially as you step closer. your bodies are nearly touching.

you gently cup his face with one hand and pull him by his waist so his body is against yours. you could feel your own body against his. it was quite arousing.

you leans forward and kiss him softly, pulling away for a second only to kiss him again.

"i like you." you mutter against his lips.

steven doesn't know what to do. he's hesitant. because you want him. and maybe he wants you. but do you really want him? was it just the heat of the tea? or the music?

"you...you like...me?" surely there were better men. better people.

your eyes soften. "yes. i do. i like you. i like you a lot steven." the music appears to fade to a soft lull. your heart beats in your ears. perhaps you made a mistake.

"i know this is sudden. and maybe it's inappropriate considering that...you just got stood up and i invited you in my home and it seems weird and terrible honestly. and if you don't like me back that's fine. you can just tell me and i'll stop and you can go..." you begin rambling nervously. your mouth runs faster than you could comprehend.

he has to set his mug of tea down.

you stop talking when he presses a finger against your lips. he feels how soft they are. and is tempted to trace your lips with his finger. "don't...don't you dare stop."

your lips curled into a smile and he removes his finger to kiss you. his hands rest on your hips, trying to bring your bodies closer.

a small moan escapes you, feeling him grind up against you. his kisses are fervent, as if he's trying to taste you.

your back hits the edge of the tv stand, causing you to giggle. you let him kiss you, parting your lips so his tongue slides in. they dance for what feels like an eternity.

you manage to pull away and turn around so he's against the tv stand. then you tug him along, heading straight for your bedroom.

[lushlovers]

hi my love! would you possibly be interested in writing a joe blurb/one shot (whichever fits best) where the reader is alone/at home or something and gets injured and we see some fluffy, lovable panicked joe when he finds out? thank you!!

Who's Cutting Onions, J Burrow

summary; you really wanted to make him something nice but you aren't the most steady-handed...

warnings; mentions of injury with a knife, knives in general, blood, anxious and protective joe, domestic fluff!

word count; 330

note; if anything mentioned in the warnings sounds remotely triggering for you please sit this fic out, i have plenty of others coming out and already available for you to read. that aside, thank you nonnie for the request, i had loads of fun writing it for you:)

Cooking never has been your specialty, but when it comes to impression Joe in any way possible, you're quick to jump to do so, even if it meant preparing something in the kitchen. The counters were covered with the various ingredients needed to make your mom's spaghetti recipe.

Whilst your olive oil was heating in the pan, you chose to start slicing your vegetables for the sauce. Everything was going relatively smoothly until somehow your index finger got in the way. The cut was small but big enough to bleed a significant amount.

"Fuckin' shit," you instinctively shake your hand around manically, trying to soothe the stinging feeling shooting through your finger as you run in the direction of the guest bathroom. The spaghetti is long forgotten now, as your next mission is to search the cabinets for Neosporin and a band-aid.

Once located you turn the sink on and let the warm water wash away any remnants of blood on the wound and quickly follow up with some soap. As you're doing so, Joe's making his way into the house, when he passes the kitchen he sees the oil boiling on the stove and rushes to turn the burner off.

When he notices the knife and blood on the cutting board next to it, his heart skips a beat, "Baby?" he shouts, frantically looking around for you. He hears the water in the guest room running and how you yell back that you're in there, he lets out an exhale that he hadn't realized was trapped in his lungs.

"Are you okay?" He questions, obviously worried, and you want to just kiss him all over his flustered face simply for being him. He's always so protective, especially when it concerns you. "I'm alright, Joey, it was tiny," you smile, stepping up on your toes to kiss his cheek, and using your bandaged finger to pull his lower lip from between his teeth to prevent his nervous gnawing at it.

[nomelwelloy]

Neuvilette & Wriothesley | fluff ideadump

a/n: wishing all a late happy valentine’s day!!

Neuvilette in his dragon form, getting much needed rest in his abode when Wriothesley’s sudden appearance at his door him catches him off guard. To say Neuvilette is a bit embarrassed is an understatement- no one has seen him like this since the early centuries, let alone the Melusines.

He scoots closer to the wall of the cavern and away from his comfortable spot under the sun, attempting to put some distance between them.

Wriothesley splays his hands in the air, explaining he’s there at Sigewinne’s and Clorinde’s request to deliver a care package, and a welfare check, given his rare leave of absence after a particular stressful period of work.

“I’ll just leave it here and go,” he says, picking up on Neuvilette’s discomfort. The usually confident Index averts his gaze, head turned away and his tail coiled around himself.

Wriothesley tries to leave, but he can’t really; the sound of Neuvilette’s laboured breathing and the sight of his discoloured scales make him hesitate. He doesn’t know what dragon scales should look like, but surely it can’t be the dull grey sheen dusting over Neuvilette’s body.

Wriothesley ends up staying, much to the dragon’s dismay. He hasn’t moved from his spot near the wall, but his eyes betray his desire to move back to the sunny spot in the middle of the cavern.

“It’s just me, Neuvilette.” Wriothesley reassures with a hearty laugh. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.” He tosses his coat to a corner and folds his sleeves, getting to work at tidying the place, sweeping the stairs that lead out of the cavern and whistling absentmindedly as he does. It takes a while, but Neuvilette eventually grows comfortable enough and moves back to his original position, laying his head over his body like a dog blissfully soaking up the sun.

Wriothesley begins brewing medicinal teas and offers Neuvilette the nutritional snacks the head nurse has packed, as well as supplements Clorinde contributed. Neuvilette obediently takes them, bowing his head in gratitude. When Wriothesley runs a hand over his snout, the judge huffs, a puff of warm air rushing around him.

Wriothesley brushes his fur, smoothing through the tangles and later sets up a burner with essential oils to aid him in decompressing. He also, for reasons unknown even to himself, decides to toss a blanket over him. It’s comedically small compared to his giant body, but Wriothesley dusts his hands with a proud beam. Neuvilette has dozed off, his breathing more steadied and relaxed.

The exhaustion is catching up to him too, and Wriothesley lays next to him, eventually falling asleep.

When he wakes, Neuvilette has returned to his human form, naked and curled under the blanket, huddled near him for warmth. Wriothesley pulls the blanket over Neuvilette’s bare shoulder and secures an arm around his waist to hold him closer. His body is warm from the sun, but the air is cool. He can’t have the Index falling sick, not after he’s spent a whole day nursing him back to health, can he?

He lazes a bit more on the mossy ground before helping Neuvilette to his chambers, laying him onto the soft mattress. Wriothesley contemplates staying a little longer, smoothing the creases of Neuvilette’s frown.

It won’t be long before he’s back at the Palais, back to his demanding schedule, to his little residence in the city. Wriothesley wonders if the apartment is too cramped for a dragon, if its kitchen is equipped with whatever health supplements he’s fed him today. He ought to make a trip there one day.

Wriothesley decides he’s in no hurry to leave.

[ashleys-echo]

Chapter Two: Cracks in the Foundation

The first sound Meadow heard that morning wasn’t her alarm clock but the faint, scuttling noise of tiny feet in the corner of her room. She groaned, pulling the blanket over her head, hoping that ignoring it might somehow make it disappear. But the roaches never disappeared. They always came back, as persistent as the draft that snuck through the gaps in her front door.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she reached for it reluctantly. Another day, another set of reminders—work, rent, bills. Her landlord’s voicemail from yesterday still sat unplayed, but she already knew what it was about. It had been weeks since she’d sent her last payment, and she could feel the pressure mounting.

Meadow sighed, sitting up and swinging her feet over the side of the bed. The worn hardwood floor creaked under her weight. She stared at the chipped paint on the walls, where years of neglect had left them peeling like old wallpaper. The apartment wasn’t much, but it was all she had.

---

The kitchen was worse. Meadow wrinkled her nose at the sight of a stray roach darting across the counter as she poured herself a bowl of cereal. She’d stopped using her stove months ago after finding a nest of the little creatures near the burners. The property manager had promised pest control would come out weeks ago, but she hadn’t seen anyone yet.

Grabbing a spoon, she sat at the small table near the window. The view outside wasn’t much better—just a parking lot with a handful of cars, including hers, sitting lopsided in a pothole. She tried to focus on the sunlight streaming through the window, how it painted the worn table with a faint golden glow.

Her gaze fell to the chair she always kept propped against the front door. It was the only way she could sleep at night, knowing the lock barely worked. The landlord had promised to fix it three years ago, but, like everything else, that promise had gone unfulfilled.

Her phone buzzed again, pulling her from her thoughts. A text from her coworker:

Hey, running late. Cover me till I get there?

Meadow sighed, finishing the last of her cereal before setting the bowl in the sink. Her mornings always felt too short, even when they started early. She grabbed her bag and coat, glancing around the apartment one last time.

The emptiness felt heavier lately. Most of her furniture was gone—things she’d had to throw out because of the infestation. What little she had left, she couldn’t bring herself to part with yet. She locked the door behind her, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing in the hallway.

---

The cold November air bit at her cheeks as she hurried to her car. The engine sputtered before roaring to life, and she gave the dashboard a gentle pat. “Hang in there, old girl,” she muttered, pulling out of the lot.

The drive to the nursing home was short, but it gave her just enough time to gather her thoughts. She let the radio fill the silence, the upbeat pop song doing little to drown out the nagging worries in her head. The voicemail. The rent. The impending question of where she’d go if she lost the apartment.

She tried to shake the thoughts away as she pulled into the parking lot, but they clung to her like a second skin. Grabbing her bag, she stepped out into the brisk air and made her way toward the building.

---

The warmth of the nursing home was a welcome change, even if it carried the faint smell of antiseptic and mashed potatoes. Meadow clocked in, her fingers stiff from the cold. She glanced at the time clock, half-expecting Lennox to jump out from behind it like he so often did.

But he wasn’t there.

She frowned, looking around. It wasn’t like him to miss a chance to scare her. Shrugging it off, she made her way to the dining room, where the morning staff was already bustling to set up for breakfast.

“Morning, Meadow!” one of the aides called, her voice cheerful despite the early hour.

“Morning,” Meadow replied, forcing a smile. She dropped her bag in the staff room and grabbed her clipboard, ready to dive into the day.

As she walked back toward the dining room, a familiar voice called out from behind her.

“Miss me?”

She turned to see Lennox leaning casually against the wall, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. The mischievous grin on his face was unmistakable.

“Barely noticed you were gone,” she shot back, smirking.

“Ouch,” he said, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “You wound me, Sayers.”

“Good,” she said, brushing past him. But the smile lingered on her face as she made her way to the dining room.

---

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of routine—helping residents, managing staff, and juggling the never-ending to-do list that came with her job. But every now and then, she’d catch Lennox out of the corner of her eye, his easygoing presence a small but steady comfort amidst the chaos.

And for a little while, the worries she’d left behind at her apartment didn’t feel so heavy.

After breakfast service had wrapped up, Meadow found herself back in the staff room, jotting down notes on her clipboard. The quiet hum of the vending machine and the distant clatter of dishes in the kitchen filled the space. She chewed on the end of her pen, thinking through the schedule for the week.

The door swung open, and Lennox sauntered in, a paper cup of coffee in hand. He leaned against the wall, watching her with an amused expression.

“You look like you’re solving world hunger over there,” he quipped.

“Just trying to make sure we don’t all fall apart this week,” Meadow replied without looking up.

“Ah, the glamorous life of a supervisor,” Lennox said, taking a sip of his coffee. “And here I thought I was the one holding this place together.”

Meadow finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, absolutely. You’re the glue that keeps us from descending into chaos. Thank you for your service.”

He grinned, setting his coffee on the counter. “You’re welcome. Glad someone finally recognizes my contributions.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “What are you even doing back here? Don’t you have a dining room to run?”

“Taking a well-earned break,” he said, stretching his arms overhead. “Plus, it’s more fun bothering you.”

“Of course it is,” she muttered, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her sarcasm.

---

The afternoon passed in a steady rhythm, the kind of predictable busyness that Meadow had grown accustomed to. Lunch service came and went, followed by a round of paperwork and phone calls. By mid-afternoon, the nursing home had settled into its usual quiet lull, the residents resting or watching TV in their rooms.

Meadow found herself in the hallway near the supply closet, sorting through a delivery of paper goods. She heard Lennox’s voice before she saw him, his familiar laugh echoing from around the corner. A moment later, he appeared, pushing a cart of clean trays.

“Don’t tell me you’re reorganizing the entire supply closet again,” he said, eyeing the stack of boxes at her feet.

“Someone has to,” Meadow replied, sliding a box onto the shelf. “And I don’t see you volunteering.”

“Hey, I’m great at organizing,” he said, feigning offense. “I just like to delegate.”

She snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

Lennox leaned against the doorframe, watching her work. “You ever take a break, Sayers?”

“This is my break,” she replied without missing a beat.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You need a real one. Come on, let’s go raid the vending machine.”

Meadow hesitated, glancing at the boxes still waiting to be shelved. But the idea of a quick escape sounded more tempting than she wanted to admit.

“Fine,” she said, brushing off her hands. “But you’re paying.”

“Deal,” Lennox said with a grin, already leading the way.

---

They sat on the bench near the back entrance of the building, their spoils from the vending machine spread out between them—a bag of pretzels for Meadow and a candy bar for Lennox. The crisp November air was biting, but the sun had come out, casting a golden glow over the quiet parking lot.

“You know,” Lennox said, breaking a piece of his candy bar, “you could let someone else handle the supply closet for once. Delegation, remember?”

“Not everyone is as good at it as you are,” Meadow replied, smirking.

He laughed, the sound warm and easy. “True. But seriously, you’re always taking on everything yourself. Doesn’t it get exhausting?”

Meadow shrugged, nibbling on a pretzel. “It’s just how I am. I like knowing things are done right.”

Lennox studied her for a moment, his expression softer than usual. “You don’t have to do it all alone, you know.”

The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard, and she looked away, focusing on the pretzels in her lap. “I’m used to it,” she said quietly.

They sat in silence for a while after that, the only sound the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze. Meadow found herself stealing a glance at Lennox, wondering what it was about him that made her feel so…seen.

---

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, they headed back inside, the warmth of the building a welcome relief from the cold. The rest of the day passed quickly, and by the time Meadow clocked out, she was ready to collapse.

Lennox was waiting by the time clock, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Scared you wouldn’t make it,” he said as she approached.

“You’re very dramatic,” Meadow replied, punching out her timecard.

“Comes with the territory,” he said with a grin. “Need me to walk you out?”

Meadow hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Sure. Safety in numbers, right?”

“Exactly,” Lennox said, falling into step beside her.

---

They walked to their cars in comfortable silence, the quiet night settling over them like a blanket. As they reached her car, Lennox paused, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Hey, Meadow,” he said, his tone softer than usual.

“Yeah?” she asked, turning to face him.

“Don’t let this place wear you down,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “You’re too good for that.”

Meadow blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “Thanks,” she said after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, giving her a small wave as he turned toward his own car. “See you tomorrow, Sayers.”

“See you tomorrow,” she replied, watching him go.

As she drove home that night, the worries that usually consumed her felt a little lighter. And for the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to hope that things might get better.

[ronearoundblindly]

Eighty-Three Kisses

CEO!Steve Rogers x CEO!Reader

an It Had To Be You tale of tender first aid requested by @anika-ann who thought: I'm not sure why but my heart would MELT upon seeing Steve giving Precious some ⛑ (as such, warning for mentions of blood) WC 1.3k

Not your favorite way to wake up…

Roused in the morning dark of New York winter, Steve’s mom calls him bright and early. She is one of only four people who can evade his Do Not Disturb setting, and as much as you enjoy Sarah, you groan in irritation when Steve has to untuck himself from beneath you in the sheets.

But that’s not where it ends.

He takes the call and walks out to his kitchen. His voice only just becomes inaudible when your mother calls.

Chatty. Mom is chatty way too early this morning, and she wants participation in her gossip.

You get it; your parents are pure balls of excitement about their upcoming trip to NYC to see you and officially meet your boyfriend for the first time, but 6:50 in the morning on a day off is not a great moment to get reciprocation of any amount of energy.

It’s not even five in the morning where your mom is. Come on now.

You hold the phone arm’s length away to scream into your pillow before heaving yourself out of bed. Maybe if she hears Steve’s voice in the background, your mom will think you’re busy and need to get off the call? Maybe standing up will help keep your eyelids raised? You’re so tired, you’ll try anything.

As soon as your butt hits the couch cushion though, your eyes shut again, too comfortable, too quickly. You jump up and meander over to the exercise bike, muttering something about the neighbor Mom’s had this same beef with for a decade, but she’s on a roll now. You barely need to interject an “uh-huh” or “yeah.” Your mother just keeps going.

So you sit on the bike, lazily putting one foot on the higher pedal, and you nudge it. Nothing happens.

Steve rustles the coffee beans into the maker and pulls down plates because if he’s awake, he wants breakfast. He’ll go back to sleep if he can, but if he’s conscious, food should happen. That’s the Steve Standard of a morning ritual. He also has very little input for his conversation, mostly humming every so often.

You hear the crack of eggs against the bowl’s rim and yawn, hiding that sound as best you can from your mother.

Your dad is equally grumbly in the background. He chides his wife with you in solidarity.

The pan sizzling acts as white noise countered by the first whiffs of brewing coffee.

“Of course, I’m listening,” you rush out, leaning forward on the handlebars and mock-bashing your head.

Steve must have turned to watch you because you hear his deep chuckle from across the room.

Absently, you step onto the pedal, thinking it will start rotating as you press down. You don’t realize how high Steve has turned up the resistance until it’s too late. You stand with your full weight on the tiny, shifting pad, and your foot slips right off when the mechanism caves.

Off-balance and crash-landing on your foot, your ankle tweaks out harshly, and the hard plastic grooves for friction scrape all along your bare calf. It hurts like hell but happens so fast that you hardly make a sound aside from hissing.

The phone drops out of your hand as you untangle yourself from the bike and trip down to the floor.

“Honey?” Steve clearly hasn’t seen until “shit” and you hear the pan torn off the burner and his own phone tossed to the counter. “Precious, you okay? What—“

Thin gashes are already red and bleeding all up your leg. The pain is such a tense sting that you can’t manage much else other than biting your tongue and clutching at the wound, but Steve peels your fingers away, ripping the kitchen towel from over his shoulder to apply pressure.

“It’s fine,” you still hiss. “I’m fine, Steve.”

His huge palm and fingers splay across the fabric, his other hand guiding your over to replace them after he coos, “I know. I’m just gonna clean it up. I’ll be right back. Can you hold this? Just there. Good girl. Ok.”

He jumps up and thunders to the bathroom.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on? Hello?”

You look up to where your phone dangles in the water bottle holder by the bike’s handles, but you can’t reach it without harsh sensations shooting around your foot and leg.

“I’m fine, Mom,” you yell toward the phone. “I just fell. I’ll call you back later.”

There’s an incoherent fuss, your dad’s voice joins what sounds like muttering but is more likely a heated argument on the other end, and then the screen lights when the call disconnects.

Steve returns with a little box and a white bottle.

“Ok, precious--" he leans to kiss your knee "--you ready? This part is gonna hurt.”

You pull back the stained towel, lip lodged between your teeth, and Steve soaks a cotton ball. He bares his teeth when you react to the bite of alcohol.

The excess drips down to the mat.

“I know, honey. You’re doing so good though. Just a little more." He tries to move the foot. "Can you—“

“OW!” Like a shot, your ankle cries all the way up to your hip. “Sorry,” you say through threatening tears, “I landed on it wrong.”

Steve’s hand cradles the joint, keeping it still even as he lowers to kiss there, too, his blue eyes worried. “Okay, I’ll get ice for that, but first, we cover this.” He wipes gently at the deepest gash by your Achilles tendon before ripping open a packet of antibacterial ointment. “Just another minute, alright? You’re doing great.”

His rough morning voice and soothing tenor nudge your heart rate back in the right direction.

At least the medication doesn’t hurt. Between treatment and bandaging, he lifts your wrist to his lips and plants a double tap of encouragement.

"So good," he rumbles.

Steve carefully unfolds and layers some gauze across the whole area and carefully tapes the edges. On instinct, you bend your knee to get yourself up, but the tape pops right off when you flex.

“Uh-uh, precious. You’re not doing anything until we get some ice on that.”

You think he means to leave you sitting on the ground, but Steve pivots to a squatting position, tucks his arms beneath your knees and around your waist, and lifts you straight into the air, kissing your cheek for good measure.

Well…all that gym equipment’s been good for something…

He carries you all the way back to the bed, kissing your forehead to force you to relax backward and excusing himself to the kitchen again. A few drawers open and shut. There’s a racket of ice clattering into a bag.

Another light scuttering noise.

“Ma, I gotta go. Yeah, I love ya. Okay, bye.” He rounds the doorway again, compress and coffee at the ready.

Steve wraps a fresh towel over your skin before arranging the ice to lay just right, covering as much curve as possible without too much pressure. By the time he’s satisfied, he’s created a majestic-looking nest of sheets and blanket around your foot.

You chuckle as you blow across the hot liquid in your toasty mug.

This is his near-military precision and focus again, except this time, you are the mission.

Finally, his equally warm gaze meets yours, dawn breaking outside the wall of windows surrounding the corner room.

“Want your phone back?” he asks softly.

You shake your head. “They can wait.”

Everything still aches, the dull throb seeming miles away when Steve grips your thigh before straightening.

“You know, precious, if you wanted breakfast in bed, you could have just asked.”

You shrug, a little embarrassed but very appreciative. This certainly hasn’t been your favorite way to wake up, but it’s not the worst either. Plus, the morning has just begun.

“Sometimes the only thing that gets your attention is a crisis, Captain.”

from this game of "Comfort My Characters"

Thank you for asking!

@bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @rach2602 @patzammit @royalwritersoftheuniverses @supraveng @1950schick @yiiiikesmish

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[hurlumerlu]

The waiting game.

A short THK fanfic (AO3)

Kant had winked before his jump.

He had looked pitiful, barefoot in his hospital gown, so out of place on the deck of the boat, and about ready to piss himself – but he had winked. As if he couldn’t leave Bison without giving him one last crumb of connivance, one last we’re gonna be fine. All this had told Bison was that Kant wasn’t so sure of it himself.

Bison hadn’t rushed to the side of the boat, nor watched the waters for a sign, and he certainly hadn’t dived in. He had stuck to the plan – Kant’s plan – and fled the fast-arriving cops.

"Relax", Kant had said on the drive from the hospital. "Kidnapping me was the hardest part."

Alone now, in another car, Bison begs to differ.

But no need for dramatics. Kant’s a great swimmer, and greater yet at getting out of a bind. He had spent an evening demonstrating this skill very literally, back when Bison still thought it was all just games, and it had taken some real creativity to keep him tied-up. It had been worth it, then, to see the confidence give way to frustration, to helplessness, to pleasure.

It’s worth far more now.

Sure, there’s a difference between freeing yourself to show off in bed, and doing the same thing underwater. Panic makes you clumsy and dumb. But Kant’s steady under pressure, right? Even starring down the barrel of a gun, at the wrong end of Bison’s wrath, he had kept his head. One life-threatening situation’s the same as another, Kant would say if he was here.

Then he would add something like "the sea’s got nothing on you, my love", with sly bedroom-eyes, and Bison would bury his fingers in his man’s hair and pull, hard, until – hmm. Maybe not that. Kant would be at the wheel.

Bison would say "you’re going to stop the car" and Kant would only hum, but he’d already be looking for a place to pull over, and when Bison would specify "if you know what’s good for you" he would get that slow widening smile, anticipatory and provocative, and – fuck, Bison hates driving.

Hates it now more than ever, in this busted car on these busted roads with a busted radio, and nothing but the cloying, cloying silence.

The safe house is empty when he arrives, like he knew it would be. Bison had to evade patrols, he took a number of detours and bumpy, winding paths, but Kant will likely have to come on foot, and before that he’ll need to reach one of their supply caches – he also warned that the captain was a canny old bastard and might not be convinced by Kant’s showy execution.

For all Bison knows, Kant is still waiting for the coast to clear.

He could also have gotten lost. He had assured he wouldn’t, that he knew the area well , but every word out of his mouth is a trust exercise, so...

The safe house is empty. Bison was not hoping he’d find Kant there.

He inspects the premises on autopilot. Anyone good enough to locate the place would have shot or arrested him the second he appeared, but Fadel would bitch about complacency, and he’d be right. Bison will have all the time in the world to become slow and unguarded once they’ve all regrouped outside the country.

He can’t grow careless so close to the finish line.

There’s nothing for him to do, here. Fadel would be working on straightening the bathroom cabinet’s door, or fixing the kitchen’s window screen, but Bison doesn’t even know how to try. There’s not much he’s good at besides murder, and nothing that would help now. He’s a decent bowler, a terrific dart thrower, pretty alright with young children. He’s learned basic first aid. He’s a competent waiter and his English’s serviceable. His flirting gets results, though in many cases just looking willing is enough. Mostly, he’s good at killing time.

Usually.

He could clean his gun. He’s already done it twice, and by now all it would do is open the possibility for mistakes in the reassembling, but he could clean his gun.

He doesn’t. Puts it on the coffee table, next to the burner phone that isn’t getting any signal. Bison knew what to expect. They talked about this, he and Fadel, agreed not to contact each other before the end of the week. Everything is going as it’s supposed to.

Any minute now, Kant will walk through the door, grumbling about the heat, or bug bites, or both. Bison will get up slowly from the couch, not daring to let himself believe, but there will be no denying it once they come face to face. He won’t even try to hide his relief.

Kant will get that look, the smug knowing one, with the raised eyebrows and downturned mouth that together form a smile, and Bison will cross the room, press himself against Kant’s salt-smelling clothes and burrow, burrow, burrow, until he’s home.

Any minute now.

[justawriterofthings]

Home Safe

Requested: Can I request a Frank Castle Fanfic? Maybe something where they're together (they also live together) and one night Frank comes home brutally beaten up and the reader treats his wounds as usual but then starts crying because she's worried?

Warnings:  swearing, descriptions of injuries

Word Count: 800~

Author’s Note: Ya’ll I’m the worst and I know it.  But here’s a requested fic.  Don’t hate me too much

Frank had been gone for hours without checking in.  You watched him leave the bed with groggy eyes before the sun was even up.  Now the sun had set and there was still no word from him.  The pit in your stomach had grown exponentially bigger as the day went on, but now that the day was over and Frank still wasn’t home you were beyond worried.  “He normally says something by now.”  You whispered to yourself, pacing in the living room. The cellphone in your hand was getting warm and sweaty from the iron grip you had on it. you hadn't noticed your fingers turning white from the straining.

There was nothing you could find to relax.  Every possible scenario you came up in your head of why he hadn’t contacted you was worse than the last.  Most of them ended with him being dead, and with the way Frank operated it was entirely possible.  He never told you about his work, but you knew it wasn’t good or safe.  All you knew for sure was that he would come home beat to shit sometimes and you would have to patch, disinfect, or stich him up.  Most of the time his injuries weren’t too bad, but sometimes you thought it would be better if the hospital saw him.  Frank was vehemently against hospitals, which made you worry more. 

You decided to make a cup of tea to calm your nerves a little, since it was now four in the morning and there was still no word from Frank.  When the kettle started to whistle was when you heard the front door open.  Abandoning it completely, the pot still screaming, you rushed to the door.  There was Frank, looking like hell, using the doorway to prop himself up. 

“Jesus, Frank.”  Your voice barely came through the rush of air escaping your lungs at the sight of him. Doing a quick once over, you saw he was dripping blood from somewhere and it was starting to slowly pool at his feet.

“Shut that fucking thing off, Y/N.”  Frank’s voice was weak, but you could hear the agitation in his tone.  So, you quickly shuffled back into the kitchen and shut the burner off and removed the kettle from the heat.  Then just as quickly retreated back to Frank.  You grabbed the first aid kit you kept by the front door for situations like this one as he slowly made his way to the couch.  You could see he was in pain, and for Frank it must have been bad.  You tried to hold back the emotions that came flooding forward at the sight of him this way.  You had to be calm to stitch him up. 

“You know the drill.”  You couldn’t help but choke the words out and this got his attention.  Frank stared up at you, aggravated and tired, but you could see some concern behind his hard eyes.  He didn’t address it though.  Instead, he lifted his shirt off, struggling with his left shoulder.  You looked over at it and gasped.  “You got stabbed.”  It wasn’t a question.

“The other guy got it worse.”  His words seemed cold and that’s what sent you over the edge.  Tears flowing freely now, you tried to wipe them away but there was no use.  “Y/N…” He stated but you just placed a finger on his lips.  Nothing he said could make you feel better, not when he was sitting in front of you with god knows how many stab wounds.. or worse. What if something was punctured? How far did he have to walk? Why didn't he call?

You tried to push all the questions down and sit in silence while you patched him up. The tears slowed but your eyes stung and your vision was too blurry to be of any real help.  Sighing out a huff in frustration, you got up from your seat and headed to the bathroom, wiping the sorrow from your eyes as you padded down the hall. Once there you turned the shower and called to Frank. Silence.

“You need to clean them.”   You called, your voice annoyed he hadn’t answered you.  Frank didn’t say a word, you only heard his shuffles to the bathroom to tell you he heard you.  it was a little more silence until you finally couldn’t take it. “I want you to stop this.” Silent tears rolled down your hot cheeks.  Frank looked up at you with only sadness.  “i know.”  Was all he had said the rest of the night.  You threw different alternatives for work at him and he just shot them down with a disapproving nod. 

But you knew, knew deep down this was his life and now it was yours.  You had to play nurse on the bad nights. But after the very short conversation and all your tears, he made it up to you in the following days.  He promised he would be more careful, he started checking in with you while he was on jobs, even brought you gifts all the nights he was away for longer than a few hours.  Anything to ease your worried mind a little he tried to do; because to see you cry over him like that broke his heart and he would do anything in his power to never see you cry like that over him again. He vowed he would make it home safe to you after that night.     

[riddle-me-ri]

a/n: sooo this is 100% pure self indulgence lmao. As much as I love the main five wholly…I can't help but feel a wee bit more favoritism to Goemon lol. I'm a sucker for the protective and stoic type that can also be silly but tries to be serious most of the time lol. Bonus if he gets shy or flustered around women lol. I understand that canonically speaking Goemon will likely turn away in such a scenario, so there's probably some OOC-ness in that, but I did try to keep him as close to character as possible! Goemon's injuries (and how he obtained them) are based on the ones he gets in Blood Spray because that film broke me and I just really, really, really want to just take care of him and love him and yeah…so hope you enjoy!

Context: You’re the latest member of Lupin's gang. Whenever the gang needed a place to lie low, extra intel, or someone to help patch them up, you were the one they called upon. You always tried to stay ready for whatever they may throw at you…but what happens when the stoic samurai (whom you may have feelings for) of the group comes to your aid after winning a death match and what's to come of your relationship as just more than wounds are exposed.

Content Warning: sensual content (heavy touching, kissing, really soft romantic stuffs), brief mentions of blood and bodily wounds.

Word Count: 3.5 k (oops)

Goemon Ishikawa XIII x F!Reader - Like Real People Do

It was another uneventful evening in your tiny, cozy, humble cabin in the forest not far from the bottom of a gorgeous mountain.

You were going through the motions of making dinner. You always somehow make more portions than necessary, but it left you with enough to keep you fed for the week.

You just never know when the gang may need 6 if they need somewhere to lay low, and they always seem to be hungry.

You have known Lupin and the others for a few years now. You crossed the gang during a heist of your own where both your goals were the same.

And you know what they say about if you can't beat them, join them.

Lupin was thrilled to have another lady ally while Jigen and Goemon weren't too fond of the idea. Fujiko had a mixed reaction between being elated and having a female companion to be envious of having Lupin's attentions possibly deviated from her.

However, after years of consistent aid and comradery to the gang, they slowly came around.

Over the years, it was easy to see how you had a soft spot for the motley crew of thieves. They each had their own personality that either complimented each other or made for amusing banters and creating an abundance of cherished memories.

You could say you've never laughed so hard or genuinely enjoyed yourself as much as when you were with them.

There was always something new but the people stayed the same. You somehow knew what to expect from them while embracing the unexpected from what they got themselves into.

What you didn't expect was a knock on your cabin door. Lupin usually sent a note or called on your burner cell if he or the others were coming.

Your body went rigid. You scanned your surroundings for the nearest pliable weapon. You settled for the cleaver you were using to cut tonight's dinner.

You slowly approached your door when another racket of knocks hit your door.

A deep, strained, but familiar voice called your name through the door. “It's me…”

You furrowed your brows as you slowly lowered your weapon and simultaneously reached for the door handle.

“Goemon?” You turned the door, still tense and ready in case it was some kind of trick, but you knew the samurai's voice anywhere.

Once you opened the door, your kitchen utensil turned weapon fell to the floor with a crashing clatter.

“G-Goemon?”

He was pale. His once warm obsidian irises were bloodshot. The man that would stand tall or sit straight in his neutral meditative pose was limping to the side, slouched over in pain.

There was blood, so much that stained what remained of his trademark traditional clothes. You feared to find out how much of it was his or his enemy's.

He didn't say anything as you flung his arm around your shoulders and got him inside to immediately begin treating him.

You couldn't deny the hurtful pang in your heart at the state Goemon was in.

You're used to the usual stab or gunshot wound, but this was far worse…

Minutes turned into hours as you finally got control of Goemon's bleeding, your heart twisting at just how much blood he possibly lost just getting to you.

You did your best to stitch the deep scar that cut from his right shoulder diagonally to the lower left side of his back.

The slash along his arm was disinfected and tightly bandaged.

The lacerations took priority over the various bruises and minor scabs you also detected…not that there was much you could do for them anyway.

Neither of you spoke a word. The only sound resonating through the living room was the pops and cracks of the ongoing fire.

You didn't want to pry.

Whether it was out of respect for the man that he would tell you in his own time or you were too nervous to find out and feel guilty that you weren't there to help…you weren't sure, possibly both.

“Okay…I've stitched up those wounds as best as I could. Everything's been disinfected and covered up…” You gently patted the covering you put on his back, in some attempt of comfort.

“Thank you…” Goemon grumbled the first sentence he spoke since you allowed him in.

“Don't mention it…that's what I'm here for.”

Goemon hummed in acknowledgment, although it looked like he wanted to say something else.

You bit your lip as a thick silence took over the room.

Whenever heists got hectic or when the gang had to recoup from a setback, you always gravitated towards Goemon.

In all the chaos and mishaps, you could always rely on him to mostly remain calm, and it would rub off on you and allow you to regain control of your nerves.

Goemon, being the bashful man he is when it comes to women, was very cautious and confused as to why you came to him.

When his curiosity got the better of him and he asked you why this is, you said:

“I just…you help me feel safe and calm, I suppose, especially when things sorta get crazy…I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable at all.” You chuckled nervously.

You remember the way your heart fluttered at his sweet smile and the soft reddening of his cheeks before he turned his head away to shield himself from further embarrassment.

“I…I'm glad I can do that for you…” He responded shyly, still not fully facing you.

His smile widened when he heard your giggle.

From then on, Goemon slowly got more accustomed to your close proximity.

Secretly relishing in the fact you trusted your wellbeing with him despite who he is and what he's done.

You hoped that in some way with Goemon being here and now on the road to healing from his wounds, you're returning the favor by offering a safe space for him.

You got up from resting on your knees behind his back and walked around him to face him.

Goemon was in his usual position, legs criss-crossed, arms crossed, and his eyes closed.

That is until his eyes creaked open to look at you as he felt your presence move around him.

“I-is there anything else you need?” You asked as you tried to focus your eyes on his and not his fully exposed, now bandaged torso.

Goemon closed his eyes as if in thought. He opened his eyes once more and looked at you.

“May I stay? Just for a few days…”

His eyes somehow looked more tired than before, and the slight bags under them seemed heavier…

“Of course…stay as long as you need.”

~~~~~

Goemon seemed to silently accept your offer of staying as long as he needed. Seeing as how way more than “a few days” have passed and he was still here with you.

Not that you were complaining, you enjoyed his presence, and you were able to keep tabs on his recovery.

Plus, maybe just maybe this could be your chance to get closer to the samurai and not worry about being interrupted by the others.

It had been almost a week when Goemon finally opened up to you about how he ended up in the condition he did.

You tried your best to hide the guilt that slowly crept up inside.

The last you heard from anyone in the gang was Lupin and Jigen targeting a cruise with a full casino and only knew that it would likely port where you reside now.

There was no way for you to know how everyone's paths would cross, how the objectives changed, and how the events would play out.

Goemon didn't ignore the crestfallen look on your face as your head fell at the end of his tale with him arriving at your temporary home.

Your eyes widened at the soft, feathery touch that landed on the bottom of your chin.

Goemon gently lifted your head up to face him, his hand quickly falling away from your skin as his eyes met yours.

“There's nothing you could have done before any of those events…you couldn't stop or help me…but in the end…the very end you were here when I needed you the most…and for that, I'm grateful.”

“I-I know it's just…” You sniffled, trying and failing to keep your tears at bay.

It's hard to hear how someone you cared about felt so defeated that he trained himself nearly to death just to almost die by his enemy he swore to defeat and come out victorious but deeply wounded.

Goemon shuffled in his trademark sitting position. He can't recall a time when he's seen you get upset. He instantly determined he didn't like seeing you cry.

You began hastily wiping the tiny tears at the corners of your eyes on your sleeve. “T-thank you for telling me…I'm so glad you came and that you're here now, Goemon.”

He nodded firmly with a warm hum.

As night fell and you wrapped up cleaning the dishes from that night's meal, you settled behind the samurai to do a nightly check-in on his wounds.

You pray he doesn't notice your fingers resting longer than necessary along the scar currently rising against his skin across his back. The lingering caresses, a faux test for any pain or tenderness to the healing wound.

Each opportunity to touch his bare skin for originally medicinal purposes has now turned into tiny indulgences…

It’s not often Goemon is openly vulnerable or trusting to many others, but you swelled up with the fact that he seemed to trust you.

You wish you could just wrap your arms around him, hold his hand, run your fingers through his hair, kiss him…love him fully and openly…

Goemon glanced at you over his shoulder. He softly whispered your name, noticing your far away eyes.

“Hm?” You looked up and were surprised to see Goemon looking at you. “Oh, uh…sorry, I got lost in thought…”

You quickly stood up and took a gander around the room. You tried and failed to find anything to occupy your mind away from the colleague, currently half naked, sitting on your living room floor.

“Is there something wrong?” Goemon asked, looking up at you.

You broke from your reverie when you realized what your actions may have unintentionally told him.

“No, not at all. Everything's fine,” You found some composure to sit across from him again on the floor.

“Your wounds are healing nicely, and there's no signs of an infect-”

“That is not what I meant..” Goemon, cut off your sentence.

“O-oh…still there's nothing wrong…nothing for you to worry about..”

“If it troubles you, I worry.” Goemon said, as he pulled up the top of his kimono over his shoulders.

Such a profound statement, yet he said it so casually as if he was discussing the weather.

You could feel your heart beat rapidly against your ribcage. Your eyes shifted around as if you could find the answer in the various cuts and dents in the wooden floorboards.

Goemon called your name once more.

You looked to him immediately, obediently.

“If you wish not to discuss it…I understand, but I would appreciate it if you did. Perhaps I could be of help.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly. How could he possibly help when he’s the reason for this dilemma in the first place.

You closed your eyes as you sighed, as if in defeat.

You lowered yourself onto your knees as you rested on your haunches in front of him.

His eyes seemed to soften as he gave you a small contented smile, hoping this was you finally opening up to him as he has to you.

“I’m…not sure where to start…” you whispered dumbfounded to where to begin.

From the very start or when he first walked through your door? When you first felt butterflies around him or how you weren’t ready to let him leave you, which you knew was inevitable?

You stared down at your hands, and one hand cupped the other as your fingers linked and unlinked from each other. You never felt so helpless and over something so…juvenile as having feelings over someone you have now known for years.

Were you ready to risk that partnership? You may not be able to work with Lupin and the others if this confession goes downhill. The last thing you want is to put anyone in any awkward positions.

Another pair of hands reach out and cradle your own. Somehow, it felt like you finally ascended from the vastest depths of the ocean.

You followed the hands, up to the arms, up to the handsome face of Goemon. He seemed somewhat unsure, with a slightly crooked smile and side shrug. Yet his eyes seemed certain and adamant as his pupils never darted away from yours.

“I…I don’t want you to go…” You admitted with the relieving breath you released. “I enjoyed having you here with me…just the two of us…and I can’t say I won’t worry about you when you’re gone, not that I never did before but…I just want to be with you. I’ve wanted to be with you for a long time now…” You glanced down at your hands as they switched out from under his grasp to replace with your own before squeezing his hands in earnest.

You kept your head down, somewhat worried you would lose your nerve otherwise. “I've tried to ignore it…tried to suppress it. Knowing the life we live, there's really no room for…romance at least not the fleeting, giving and taking kind…and you deserve better than that.”

Goemon softly shook his head in disagreement, but he let you continue.

“And I don't ever want to be in the way of your training, your journey. I don’t want to hold you back…but since you came to me…I've just tried to enjoy the time I had with you alone while I could…”

You looked back up with a sad side grin. “Pretty selfish of me…huh?”

This time, you noticed Goemon shake his head. “If anyone is selfish, it's me. I could have left at any time, but I chose not to. I, too, wanted to stay with you longer.”

“Why?”

Goemon's eyes shifted from side to side as his cheeks flushed. “I was hoping it would be obvious…”

He slid his hands out from yours but quickly interlocked his fingers with yours, finally properly holding each other's hands.

“I also long to be with you. Dare I say, for the amusement being with Lupin and the others has given me, in addition to the occasional disdain-”

This comment made you giggle.

“-You somehow always brought peace. I could rely on you for moments of solace even in the more tense of situations…”

“You're thoughtful and compassionate especially towards me and to…not expect something from me in return…”

“I never wanted anything from you, I just…”

Goemon's thumb softly caressed your own. “I know…”

Your heart swelled, but instead of anxiety inflating it, it was the pure adoration you had for the samurai. The adoration you have tried to keep on a leash and hoped for the longest time it would fade, but now it’s present and prospering with each second you were with him.

There was a beat of comfortable silence as you both enjoyed the feeling of your hands joined in the other, like they were always meant to be held.

But you wanted more. To be vastly closer to him than you were now.

You knew how bashful he was, so you had to tread carefully to not make him uncomfortable.

You tested how far you could go by slowly scooching over to where you sat beside him.

While Goemon’s cheeks began flushing to a stronger red, he didn’t scamper away but sat still, anticipating your next move or possibly planning his own.

“Is this okay?” You asked in a tone barely above a whisper before softly resting your chin on his shoulder, looking up at him for any signs of discomfort.

You could not help the small giggle you let out at seeing how coy Goemon had become.

“Yes.” He replied timidly.

His confirmation gave you the courage to continue. You linked your left arm with his arm while your other reached out to touch his pecs that were exposed from under his kimono.

Your heart fluttered as it felt his own kick into a higher rhythm.

Goemon's eyes never left your face as he watched you follow the slow trail up his skin your hand was making.

You felt the bit of air he inhaled softly as your hand finally made it to the side of his face.

His side smile and hooded eyes encouraged you further as your thumb gently rubbed tiny circles along his heated cheeks.

Your eyes darted at his lips before glancing up to his heated, loving gaze.

You managed to get this far. It would be pointless to go back now.

As you leaned your face closer to Goemon's, you didn't fail to notice you didn't have to nudge his face with your hand as he seemed to follow your lead.

When your sweet lips met his earnest ones, a warmth flooded over your body. A kiss so sweet and gentle, much like the man you kissed.

You slowly albeit reluctantly pulled retracted your lips from his. You snickered at the bewildered look on his face.

“Goemon?” You asked, concerned you may have broken the samurai.

He blinked a few times before he turned his eyes back to you.

“You all right?” You lifted an eyebrow incredulously.

Goemon brought up his other hand and grabbed your hand that resided on his face as he gave it a squeeze.

Although all he could do was nod, it was enough reassurance to drive you to kiss his cheeks.

“You will be the death of me…” He muttered as he closed his eyes to try and fight another onslaught of blushes.

You giggled. “But what a way to go, hm?”

He tsked as he shook his head in disbelief but still smiled endearingly at you as he rested his forehead against yours with his eyes still closed.

You two stayed this way for some time. Just soaking in the warmth and close presence of the other.

Eventually, Goemon wrapped his arm around your waist in an attempt to pull you closer, and you felt like you could melt into him.

You occasionally kissed a part of Goemon's face, and he'd temporarily try and defy how flustered he got with you giggling at his attempts.

You two also shared many more kisses, each one slowly getting longer as Goemon started feeling more confident in the gesture.

Soon, you two fell asleep on the futon Goemon had been sleeping in since his stay in your cabin. His head nestled gently above your own as you lulled yourself asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

You heard a buzzing noise coming from a side table in the living room. You groaned, not wanting to move from your newly claimed spot in Goemon's arms.

Goemon must have also heard it as he slowly removed his arms to allow you to retrieve it.

“I'm gonna kill whoever that was…”

Goemon chuckled. He didn't doubt it.

You got your phone and were even more upset. It was just a stupid text message and not even a call.

When you opened the message, your face turned from annoyed to amused.

“Who is it, love?” Goemon inquired, voice still busy with sleep.

Your heart skipped a beat at the pet name that was going to take some getting used to.

“Who else…Lupin and his exquisite timing..”

“What does he want?”

“To meet him at a hide out in New York ASAP…” You pinched the bridge of your nose.

You typed a short response and then turned your phone on silent and placed it back down on the table.

“We'll worry about it tomorrow.” You declared. “But for now, I wanna keep you for myself some more.” You wrapped your arms around Goemon as you pulled him close and nestled your head back under his.

Goemon hummed softly in agreement as his arms copied yours and wrapped around you as well.

“Fine by me…” He quickly kissed the top of your head.

You smiled contentedly as you slowly fell back to sleep, silently hoping that you wouldn't cruelly wake up to this all being a dream.

Yet with strong arms holding you and a steady heartbeat in your ears, you knew that this was love and it was all real and all yours.

—--

LIII: Oi! Don't hold out on me! How'd it go? I tried to give you time to finally admit your feelings to Goemon-chan, did you do it? Huh? Oh well, don't say I never did anything for ya! Anyway I need my cool samurai back~ so if you could send him my way in proper condition, I'd appreciate it 👍 See ya soon~

[meraki24601]

Helloo! I wanted to say that I loved your writing of the "Indulge Me for a Moment" story so much!! It's likely one of my favorite things I've ever read on Tumblr and I have no idea if your requests are open, but I'd be really really happy to see it if you ever decide to make another part to that! ^u^

I'm not even sure how I could even describe all the things about your writing that I thought was incredible, but the hero felt so tragic in a way that just hit right, and caretaker was so good too!

Okay, so I almost cried at work when I read this. Thank you so much!!! I don't really have any ideas for continuing the first story, but I did want to explore how the scene might have changed if Caretaker didn't know who Hero was. I definitely feel like Caretaker was a bit of a Hero fan the first time around to recognize them immediately, so... here we are! Thanks again for your kind message, friend. I hope you enjoy!

Indulge Me for a Moment: Version 2

-----------*-***-*-----------

Caretaker knew what their new roommate was the first time they stepped into their apartment. They were a complete idiot. Although Caretaker had taken extra care to clean the entryway, they tripped and fell over the threshold. Caretaker managed to catch them before they hit the ground, but they still finished the tour with a limp. An idiot through and through.

Later, once Caretaker had lived with their new roommate long enough to be good friends, they would remind Friend of that first meeting just to watch them blush. Each time, they would deliberately ignore the flush on their cheeks as they remembered how Friend had looked up at them. The way they’d sighed in Caretaker’s arms, “My hero. Seems this is destiny, my dear.”

They would soon wish they could go back to thinking an idiot was all their friend was. One day, “Friend” brought work home in such a way Caretaker would either be cruel or just a fool to ignore it.

Caretaker was home later than usual. Villain had attacked the building next to their office, and a fight broke out between Villain and Hero. Even if the battle hadn’t blocked the roads, Caretaker wouldn’t have been able to pull themselves away from the window long enough to leave. The way Hero fought, unafraid to take a hit if it meant protecting innocent civilians, nearly brought a tear to Caretaker’s eye. They admired how Hero prioritized others even after the fight ended, directing emergency responders to others over receiving care themselves.

Footage of the fight wouldn’t be released until the next day, but Caretaker was nearly bouncing with excitement as they burst into the apartment, ready to recount the experience to Friend.

The mood dropped as the smell of bleach assaulted their nose instead of their cat, Pounce, attacking their feet. The faint remnants of the last of their scented spray only worsened the effect. Friend’s quiet voice in the kitchen was the cherry on top of the disturbing greeting, “‘M making ramen. W’nt some?”

“I think I’m alright.” Caretaker made their way to the kitchen, nearly tripping over Pounce, stationed just inside. Even the cat had wide eyes as they looked at what had happened to Friend.

Though Caretaker knew Friend’s job was occasionally dangerous, they had never come home that beat up before. Friend was prone to accidents and occasionally came back with new scars after one of their sudden work trips or family visits. This was far beyond normal clumsiness.

Caretaker cringed at the clumsy wrapping on Hero’s arm, the two large regular band-aids slapped on their forehead that had already bled through, and the steady growing stain on Friend’s side. They had no idea why Friend hadn’t gone to the hospital, but something about the order of the marks kept them from suggesting one. “Hey. You okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine, citizen. You don’t need to worry about me.” Friend whispered. They leaned forward to rest against the counter and stared down into the too-large pot of water on the stove. The burner hadn’t even been turned on.

Caretaker reached over to turn the burner on. They decided to ignore the way Friend pulled away from them. “Citizen, huh? Did you get mugged? You look like you’re going to pass out. Why don’t you have a seat and tell me what happened? You tell your story, and while I rewrap your injuries, I’ll tell you about the fight Villain started just outside my work.”

“Villain. Villain can’t hurt Caretaker.” One of Friend’s hands ripped at their hair while the other clutched the handle of the pot with a death grip.

Whatever this was, talking it out wasn’t going to help anything. Caretaker trusted Pounce to watch Friend as they ran to the bathroom to get the first-aid kit. The room reeked of bleach. Presumably, Friend had treated their own wounds in the small space and made a decent effort to clean up their mess despite their condition. There were still a few splatters of blood around and a full bloody handprint on the empty, bagless trashcan. Caretaker had noticed the bag sitting just outside the front door but hadn’t paid much attention to it. 

The bag consumed their thoughts now. Even the first-aid kit was left a mess, but Friend had taken out the trash. They needed to see what was in that bag. 

First aid tucked under their arm, Caretaker slipped silently past the kitchen and cracked open the front door. Blood was smeared across the inside of the clear garbage bag, and something sharp had poked a hole in the side. Caretaker only just managed to bring the bag back inside before the object broke through. 

Caretaker had to swallow back the vomit. The bloody knife on the floor was all too familiar. They had watched Villain jam it into Hero’s side less than an hour ago.

Suddenly, several things began to make sense.

“Hero!” Caretaker burst into the kitchen. Their Friend, no, their Hero was completely bent over the oven, arms bracing them on either side of the pot, too close to the now hot burner for Caretaker’s comfort. They seemed fixed on the small but steady drops of blood that leaked from their nose and disappeared into the water below. 

“It’s you. You’re Hero.” Caretaker swallowed their tears. They didn’t know if it was joy or worry that brought them to their eye, but they were certain that now was not the time. Not when Hero slowly turned to look up at them, and Caretaker saw Hero’s tears mixing with the thin lines of blood. 

“No. I’m not. You don’t…” Hero whined. Their voice seemed to be all Pounce needed to strike. The cat bounded over to Hero’s side and raised up on her hind legs to lovingly claw at the back of Hero’s leg. Her strangled meow was overwhelmed by the sound of Hero’s pot smashing against the opposite wall and crashing to the floor. It was too much for both cat and human, but Pounce was the only one composed enough to run out of the room. 

“You’re safe!” Caretaker cried as Hero collapsed on the floor in front of the oven. “Can you hear me? Breathe. You’re alright.”

Whining into the hand covering their mouth, Hero curled in on themselves. The low squelch the action caused made Caretaker sick. They had to move this along. Consequences be damned.

Caretaker whispered each move they made out loud. Scaring Hero again would be bad. Likely very violent, too. Unfortunately, the only way they could think of getting Hero’s attention might potentially turn out even worse. Even the sound of them setting the first-aid kit on the floor nearby made Hero flinch. 

Raising their voice only slightly, Caretaker decided to test their luck. “Hero.”

Hero’s reaction was more than enough proof that Caretaker had discovered the truth. The shock of hearing Caretaker use their hero name was enough to pull Hero out of the depths of whatever memory they had been drowning in. They didn’t react more than looking up dazedly with a soft frown. 

“Hero, It’s okay. You’re safe.” Caretaker didn’t dare move so much as an inch.

“No.” Hero’s voice was rough. Barely half of what it had been when they called out to Caretaker only moments ago. “I’m not…”

“May I touch you, Hero? You’re hurt.”

“I’m not—”

“I saw the knife. I was still at the office when you were fighting with Villain. I saw them stab you with it. It’s alright.”

Hero met Caretaker’s eyes. Caretaker wasn’t sure what their friend saw in them, but they were relatively sure it mirrored the fear Caretaker saw in Hero’s. Whatever they found seemed to be enough to convince them. For a moment, Hero shifted, their back straightened and Caretaker could see the hero in them. They saw the person Caretaker had spent hours talking about. Their idiot Friend became their true Hero. 

Their Hero fell forward on their hands and knees. Blood sprayed the floor below them as Hero’s groans turned to deep chest-rattling coughs. 

“Okay. It’s okay! Breathe, Hero.” Caretaker picked up the damp rag they had brought, lifted Hero’s head, and gently wiped away the blood and tears. Hero didn’t fight the touch, so they kept working. Removing the sloppily placed bandaids and cleaning the cuts was simple and quick. 

“I, indulge me… for a mom’nt.” Hero stuttered. “Tell me— what you, you thought. Like n- normal.”

Caretaker tried to move on and unwrap Hero’s arm, but Hero pulled back with a barely audible “Wait.” So Caretaker did. They sat back on their heels, supporting grip still on Hero’s arm, and rambled about Hero’s fight. They pretended they hadn’t learned about Hero’s identity and went off like a teenage fangirl talking about their favorite celebrity. They kept going, even when Hero nodded permission for them to care for their arm. Caretaker could give them this moment were everything was almost like it was before. They didn’t let the way Hero kept flinching away from even the softest touch drive them away.

Once Hero’s arm was bandaged correctly, Caretaker pulled Hero into their arms. “I know now, Hero. You don’t have to deal with this alone.” 

“It won’t be the same.”

Keeping their grip on Hero steady, Caretaker lowered Hero to lie on the floor. They were glad they’d mopped it earlier. They kept their face carefully neutral as they pulled Hero's shirt out of the untreated wound in their side. Hero's eyes drooped as the pain sapped the last of their strength, but their hand clung tight to Caretaker's shirt. “Don’t worry about that right now. For now, let me save my hero.”

Version 1

[alienguts]

Burn (Ash Williams x f!Reader)

Summary: Ash tries to make dinner for Y/N. Extra emphasis on tries.

Warnings: none

Request?: No

A/N: This one's a little short but that's okay.

Leaving Ash alone in the kitchen was a disaster waiting to happen, and Y/N found that out the hard way. Having her entire apartment building evacuated because he’d managed to set the fire alarm off with a couple of slices of bacon was enough to ban him from using anything other than the microwave for life. He was just trying to help and take some of her workload off her, but she would rather have edible food that didn’t make the fire alarm blare.

After that incident, it was decided that Y/N would take care of the cooking and Ash would do the dishes afterwards. Ash didn’t always follow that and it just so happened that on a rare occasion that he was off work while Y/N was out, he would try to surprise her with a meal he cooked himself. Or at least tried to cook.

Luckily, Y/N had gotten home before the smoke detector woke up, but to an apartment full of steam and the distinctive smell of burnt beef. She sighed as she took her coat off and hung it up before making her way to the kitchen. Ash was standing at the stove, trying to fry two steaks in a pan that was too small, completely oblivious to the disaster waiting to happen.

“Hey, baby,” he said to Y/N as she grabbed a towel and stretched up to waft it against the smoke detector. “I made dinner.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Y/N said and reached around Ash to turn the burner off. Steam billowed off the pan and she was glad to see that Ash was holding it with his right hand, saving her from doing any first aid. “I don’t think we can eat it, though.”

“Why not?” Ash asked, moving away from the stove and letting her take the pan from him. “You like your steak well done, right?”

“Well done and charred are not the same thing, honey.” Y/N set the pan aside and turned around to face Ash. “Ash, what did I tell you about cooking?”

“Hey, I’m not as bad a cook as you think I am,” Ash said, his voice taking on a slightly defensive tone. “I want to get better at it, and I can’t do that if you won’t let me.”

Y/N sighed and reached up to take Ash’s face in her hands, her skin still warm from moving the pan. 

“I know you want to help and learn but you could at least let me teach you,” she said gently. “And not almost start a fire in the kitchen while I’m out.”

Ash let his face lean into her touch before stepping forward to wrap his arms around her. “I just wanted to do something nice for you,” he said. “You always work so hard.”

“You don’t need to do anything nice for me, just not destroying my kitchen or getting me evicted is enough,” Y/N said as Ash rested his head on her shoulder. “What’s the occasion, anyway? There’s been nothing going on recently.”

“Well, I did forget Valentine’s Day.”

“Ash, that was a month ago, I don’t care about that anymore.”

“I still wanted to do something special,” Ash said, his voice muffled by Y/N’s shoulder. “They told me those were the best steaks in the store, I got a huge discount on them.”

“We could always order in,” Y/N suggested as she nudged his head off of her. “I got paid so we can afford it.”

“No, I’ll pay,” he said firmly. “If we’re gonna make this to be like a date, I should pay. I’m the man, after all.”

“But you spent the last of your paycheck on those steaks, Mr Man,” Y/N teased. She giggled when Ash visibly deflated, remembering that he was, in fact now, broke.

“Damn, guess you will have to pay then,” he said as he let Y/N guide him over to the sofa so they could sit down together.

“Don’t worry, honey, your manly ego will recover,” Y/N said and cuddled up to him. “And I’ll help you the next time you want to cook something, you don’t need to do it yourself.”

“I just don’t want you to feel like you’re waiting on me, that’s all.”

“I understand completely, but I would need a functioning kitchen in order to do that.”

“So you’re not mad that I burned dinner?” Ash asked sheepishly.

Y/N tipped her head up and leaned in to softly kiss him. He returned her kiss, feeling her warm face against his, their noses brushing against one another as he pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. She broke away for air briefly before letting him kiss her again and again as he stroked her back and she ran her fingers through his hair.

“I’ll take that as you not being mad,” he mumbled against her mouth before she fully pulled away from him, still seated on his lap.

“Of course not,” Y/N said and stroked his cheek with her fingers. “I could never be mad at you for wanting to help, you know that.”

Ash smiled warmly at her before leaving one last kiss on her lips.

“So, what’re we gonna eat tonight? Lady’s choice.”

[baka-bakeneko]

Mercenary's Lullaby - River Ward x Female!V Reader

tags:feelings of grief, bargaining, mention of surgery, childbirth, labor and related labor pains

word count: 4.3k

synopsis: V wants more time, no needs more time.

a/n: sequel to Babe of Night City. cue the water works, chooms. bbs train arriving at the station, youre either with it or outta the way.

'You are three months pregnant: your embryo is the size of a plum. Be careful, most ripperdocs will not operate on you in this condition.'

You stared at the notification in bed, waiting for Johnny to make a boyish quip about your little 'parasite'. But Johnny hadn't been around for two months.

It was a mutual decision and it was a short-lived goodbye when you both realized it would take twice the dose of beta blockers than before to push Johnny back.

So you had to beg Misty for the aid, let her hold your stomach with a few tears welling in her eyes. You wished it was Misty better off, you wanted to see how she would've been as a mother.

Now, though, the sun was beaming through your bedroom windows while you smelled the bacon sizzling in the kitchen.

"Let's get up then," you said, folding your hand to your slightly pudgy stomach. "Your daddy is an early bird unfortunately."

You stretched your toes and walked down the hallway then behind River, crossing your arms up to his shoulders. He folded his hand to yours, allowing you to rest your palm against his chest where his heart laid.

You kissed at the middle of his back, rested your forehead between his shoulders.

"Good morning, V," River said, a smile in his tone.

"Morning," you responded, bringing your chin up to rest in the divet of his spine. "Surprised you're up so early. You wore me out last night."

River chuckled, almost nervously, then cleared his throat. "V, uh, we have company."

You furrowed your brows together, then pulled a hand back to rest to your stomach. "They can't hear you, plus I'm sure you bothered them more last ni--"

"Hello, V," a voice called out from the dining table. The person cleared his throat while another person shifted.

You pulled away from River and turned around to see Takemura and Hanako sat at the dining table. You narrowed your eyes at the back of River's head, then crossed your arms at the two.

"Hello, V. You look better than we last met. You glow," Hanako offered, holding her hand out for you to sit across from them.

You grit your teeth, wanting to stay close to River. You moved around him, leaning against the counter to catch the corner of his eye.

He hid a low shrug, pushing the bacon about in his skillet.

"You do, I am proud to see that you've been taking care of yourself," Takemura offered, reaching for the coffee cup set before him.

"No thanks to either of you," you grit as River set a cup of orange juice next to your hand.

He pulled away from the stove, moved the crispy bacon from the hot burner before giving you a single sliver. You took a bite of it then took a drink of your orange juice.

River slid a plate of made eggs and bacon towards you, then opened the cabinet to produce your daily concoction of vitamins.

"Here," River said, holding his hand out for you to take your pills.

You grimaced inwardly but took them anyways. In an instant, you tilted the palmful of vitamins in your mouth then reached for the glass of orange juice.

"Good girl," River whispered, pecking your temple before folding his hand to your stomach. "Mommy takes care of you."

You kept your eyes focused on River, but couldn't help the glance over to Takemura and Hanako. Your hand slipped up River's to grab his wrist.

"Why would you let them in here?" You whispered harshly.

"Baby," River began, using his other hand to caress your cheek. "Let's hear them out, they want to give you more time."

Your eyes watered staring into your boyfriend's dark eyes, then pulled away in an instant.

"Pregnancy becomes you, V," Takemura tried again, crossing his arms tight before his chest.

Hanako only nodded and you tilted your head to look out of the window.

"Where is your security detail?" You asked, ignoring their comments on your state.

"They are far, far behind us. In Night City bounds. You are safe," Takemura said.

You glanced to River, who nodded for you to go sit. He shoved your plate of breakfast into your hands then began cleaning the kitchen.

With a low grimace, you approached the pair and sat down before them. You immediately grabbed your fork and stabbed at the overcooked yolk of your eggs.

"You came here for something," you stated, cutting into the egg before shoveling it towards your mouth.

"Yes," Hanako began with a deep exhale. "We are concerned for the state of you and your child."

"Cool," you muttered between chews of your food, "Two months later. Are you concerned I'm ruining your relic?"

Takemura shifted, folding his leg over the other. "Moreso that the relic is ruining your chances."

"I'm afraid Takemura is correct," Hanako added. "Two months ago was enough risk. With each gaining week, you are decreasing your chances of survival."

You stopped chewing then, feeling the egg lodge in the back of your jaw. "That's not helpful."

"We are hoping that we could help you today," Takemura added in.

"That's not any better." You finished chewing your food. You glanced over your shoulder to River as he finished cleaning the kitchen then sat down next to you with his own plate of breakfast.

"V," he started, resting his hand to your knee and rubbing delicately. "Give it a chance, please."

Hanako reached and grazed your knuckles with her golden fingertips. "We're only trying to look out for you and your baby."

You hid a roll of your eyes and sat back in your chair, no longer hunched over your food like a junkyard dog. "What do you have to offer?"

"The same surgery as before," Hanako explained. "With less risk, for your tender state."

You were unamused by the gentility the two before you displayed. Months before they were gunning for you to go in guns blazing to get this surgery and take down Arasaka.

Now they were padding every step of the way.

"What's the catch?" you asked in a snap, stabbing at your eggs to punctuate.

"No catch," Takemura added, looking from you to River then back. "They take their relic, you keep your life."

Your mouth refused to move an extra inch while the begging question lingered. You couldn't bare to look at River while you worked up the strength to ask it.

"You can't tell me how much time it'll give me, right?" You asked, feeling River's hand on your knee stop.

The soft weight of his fingers soon crept to gravity of Jupiter, slicing through your body though he hadn't moved.

Takemura and Hanako shared a soft glance to each other then shared a shake of their head. You inhaled sharply, turning away from the table to fight back whatever stinging feeling was worming through your throat and nose to effect your eyes.

"Even if...it's not a lot, we have enough to keep you comfortable," Hanako offered, her voice a tad lower than before.

You turned back to the table with a sudden burn in your chest. "And what, make me a human incubator? Discard me when I've served my purpose?"

River's hand was now around your shoulders, pulling you in to squeeze you. "Easy, V. They never said that. That's not what they meant. Right?"

Against River's shoulder, you heard his tone strain, an intimidation tactic that left a vacuum of silence in its wake. He rested his cheek to the top of your head as Hanako reassured that her meaning was different that what she conveyed.

"It is the best idea we have right now, V," Takemura said, uncrossing his legs and sitting still as stone.

You straightened up in River's hold and narrowed your eyes at Hanako, then Takemura.

"I want you to promise me that it'll give me..." Now that you were searching for a timespan you'd be happy with, you knew that no time would be enough.

A year would give you the kid's first steps, two years could give you another baby. Every instance of time just made it seem further and further away from River. Every year, you felt wouldn't be enough for him either.

It felt like it was stringing him along, giving him false hope of something more with you though your death clock had been scheduled for a while.

"More time. I want my life back," you whispered, losing your confidence in your threat.

Hanako nodded, though she said nothing. Takemura only looked away.

River's hand carefully ran his fingers up and down your shoulder, hoping to soothe the warring feeling inside.

-

You sat back in the chair, your nerves shot through hell. The night before, you couldn't sleep no matter how hard River held onto you.

No matter how long you stood in the shower to soothe your tense muscles, no matter how hard River tried to take your mind off of it.

You were a live wire all night. You were surprised you hadn't paced a hole into the floor, chewing on your nails though you'd kicked the habit since you were sixteen.

Now, you were staring at the blinding white above your head as your wrists were strapped down, then your ankles and finally your waist.

Hanako promised the safety of the kid, that the procedure wouldn't do anything harmful for their sake.

Still, you were a little uneased by the amount of doctors in the room now. Or the fact that River couldn't be with you.

You twitched your foot impatiently, hoping for this to be a quick in-and-out like at the ripperdoc.

However, when you were told that this wasn't at Arasaka's main office, it proved all your raw nerves right.

"Hello V," Hanako spoke clearly over the intercom in the room. "I am sorry I'm not there for you at this time, but I put my faith into the doctors at your bedside today. Please know that Takemura will arrive and return you home when the specialists have approved your stability."

"Fine, whatever," you offered in response, tilting your chin to will the tears back. "Just, remember what you promised."

"I will remember, V," Hanako said, waiting a beat for you to be eased by her words. "Mr. Ward has something to say to yo--"

"Hey V baby," River's voice cut in instantly, making you smile wearily at the ceiling. "I just wanted to say when you get back, I've got all your favorites lined up. Don't even sweat it, okay? Just take it easy. I love you."

You beamed at the ceiling, imagining River's warm lips pressed to your forehead. "I love you, too, Riv."

-

'You are seven months pregnant: your fetus can now open their eyes and sense light. They can recognize voices as well.'

You stared at the notification for a long moment, wondering how long you'd been harboring the little bastard (said with love) without talking so much to it.

The time seemed to breeze by after the surgery. It felt...freer in your head. Not that Johnny took up much space in the meantime. But now that he was actually gone, you felt a little less without him.

You were ready for him to just show up the moment you stopped taking blockers and tell you that you'd lost your grit or something.

But it never came.

So now you were staring at a notification, thinking of the last time you spoke to your own physical child. It was the day before, telling them goodnight before River bent down and kissed the top of your belly.

He'd rested his cheek to the top of it, let his child's fluttering kicks graze him. You felt his shaky breath waft over your stomach, reaching to pet at the nape of his neck.

You swung your legs over the side of your bed as River bounded down the hallway; he held his hands out for you to take then slowly helped you ease off the bed.

When you found your footing, you stepped into him, pressing your baby bump right against his stomach. "Good morning."

River swooned at the sight of you, his eyes lighting up at your voice as he smiled. He leaned in and pecked your lips, his hands bracing your waist before sliding to caress both sides of your belly.

"Good morning," he offered, kissing your nose, then your forehead and back down to your lips. Then he knelt and kissed at the top of your stomach. "Good morning."

That earned a kick from his own personal fan. You hid a roll of your eyes as River marveled at your bump, feeling the kid react to his voice.

"They said 'good morning, daddy'," you smiled down at River, hiding your own personal swoon at this man.

This was another reason, on that ever-growing list, why you wanted this man to make his own basketball team. Obviously, you were going to "draft" every player, but that was four more. And an additional eight if he was really spry to the idea.

"Ooh, say that again," River smirked, standing upright and sliding his hands up to cradle your jaw.

"Good morning, daddy," you repeated, your eyes dreamily fluttering.

River sucked in a sharp breath between his pursed lips, leaning in to kiss you. It was long and slow, his mouth making moves you hadn't even thought of before.

You melded into his hold, following his lead up until you felt something trickle down your thigh. You peeled yourself from River to acknowledge it, a pale pink streak of tears down your inner thigh.

You wondered for a moment what that could mean, if it was something to be ignored. River's eyes slowly drifted to the same spot on your leg, his adam's apple yoyo-ing at the possibility of what this meant.

The more you two stared, the more that followed down your leg before forming a puddle on the floor.

"Is that..." River asked.

"Noo," you drew out, turning to catch River's lips again. "We got plenty of time, this is nothing."

River was close to swayed, but you inhaled sharply at a pain in your back and he backed away.

"River..." you tried, holding onto his forearm while you tried to sit back down on the bed.

"Nonononono, you can't sit down, baby. Come on, let's go to Joss."

You seethed at the sudden shoot of pain through your back, shaking your head. "I can't make it that far."

River's face suddenly drained pale and bent to pick you up. "Okay, okay, then I got you. We'll go on over to Joss. We'll go to Joss."

You curled your arms around River's neck, hold your knees together to try and dissuade whatever pain was stemming to your toes now.

River moved quickly out of Randy's former trailer and into Joss's, bypassing his niece and nephew to prop you up on the couch.

"Joss?" River raised his voice as he smoothed down your hair.

"Hold on one second, baby, okay?" River leaned in and kissed your forehead as it broke out into a sweat.

"Joss!" He called out, leaving the room to find his sister.

"River, what the...V, oh my god, V are you okay?" Joss ran over to you, knelt on the floor and pressed her cold hand to your forehead.

River stood closely behind her, staring at you while trying to expel the worry from his brows. "I think her water broke. She can't go into labor now, right?"

Joss calmly looked over her shoulder to River. "Call Takemura."

"She can't go into la--" River tried asking again but Joss cut into his question with a screech of his name.

He moved swiftly out of the trailer to call Takemura while Joss rubbed carefully at your inside thigh now streaked in pink.

"V," Joss said lowly, which you acknowledged with giving her your full attention. "I'm gonna check you, okay? I wanna make sure that we're not having a baby today."

You tried at a fair grin, but just nodded at her request. You shifted your underwear to the side and allowed Joss to slide her fingers into you.

You hissed at the intrusion, holding at the sharp pain in your side. Joss stopped short, keeping her head low before pulling her fingers back out.

"We good?" you asked, biting through another pained hiss.

Joss scoffed in disbelief, sitting back on her haunches while she fought back the teary-eyed look at you. "N-no. You're having this baby, V."

"Fuckfuckfuck no," you whined, squirming on the couch to alleviate the pressure in your hips. "This is not happening. It's too soon, it's too soon, right?"

"Yeah, honey, it is," Joss soothed, rubbing at your knee. "It's gonna be okay though, we're gonna get Takemura and get you to a hospital."

You furrowed your brows, holding back the impossibly short breaths that were turning into pants.

"I-I'm not going to a hospital," you said firmly, working through the pain that was sustaining in the small of your back.

River rushed back in, still disheveled. "Takemura is on his way, he's bringing Vik. How's she doing? How're you doing, babe?"

He came to your side, taking your hand in his as he leaned in. Joss tilted her head slightly, almost in a shake. "She's in labor, River."

"Fuck," he muttered, looking over to his niece and nephew. "Joss, what about them?"

Joss glanced over her shoulder to her children. "Shit, uh, take them to Randy's room, shut the door. V, I need you to get comfortable on the floor."

"What? Why?" River asked, puzzled as you followed Joss's orders and shifted your hips slowly off the couch.

"River, she's not gonna make it to the hospital, okay? Now go put the kids in Randy's room, grab me some towels and a sheet."

River was set on his mission with a nuzzle to your temple. He corralled Dorian and Monique to his former bedroom then shut the door behind them.

You hissed at the feeling of the hard floor under your ass but followed Joss's directions of bracing your feet and tearing down your underwear.

In an instant, it was finally locking into place. You were having a baby.

River was back in a moment, arms filled with an overabundance of towels and sheets. He knelt next to his sister and spread them out around you, sliding a few under you.

He then draped the sheet over your knees, allowing you to tent your legs.

"Now what?" River asked as you hissed at another sharp pain warping through your body.

"Make her comfortable, dad, she's pushing your kid's head through her body," Joss quipped, her tone deadened by the stress.

River's eyes widened at that, turning to lean his forehead against yours. "I'm so sorry, baby. But I love you for this and so much more, you know that right?"

You smiled through the pain, reaching to hold onto River's wrist. "I love you, Riv, but right now, I can't stand your sweet words."

He chuckled against your lips, leaning further to kiss your cupid's bow.

"I'm sorry, just a few more. Mi mujer hermosa te amo siempre," River soothed, leaning up to kiss at your lashes. "God, V."

You forced out a laugh as Joss smacked at her brother's side.

"Alright, Romeo. I said make her comfortable."

River ignored his sister, pouring more affirmations of love into you as he made his way behind you, holding his hands out for you to take.

He nudged his temple to yours and muttered, "I give you permission to fuck up my hands. Just don't break 'em, I wanna change diapers."

You scrunched your nose at him; how could he be so nervous yet supportive at the same time?

"Stop being cute, that's what got us here in the first place," you forced out with a deep breath.

"No, what got us here is mommy has a thing for men in authority."

You hissed at a new sharp pain, then shied away from River's mouth with a roll of your eyes. "Shut up, I do not."

But that word seemed to fit in that sentence. Not that you'd ever tell your kid that. It'd only be an inside joke between the three of you now.

"Alright V," Joss cut in, reaching under the sheet to check you again. "It looks like it's about time to push. You ready?"

You shook your head, suddenly rushed back into the stress at hand. You were going to have River's baby.

"It's okay, Val," River whispered against your neck. "I got you, babe. Hold onto me. Tear into my hands, but don't give up for a second."

Your eyelids twitched half-mast at River's words, fighting back tears before sniffing them back and nodding at Joss. "Alright, let's meet this little bastard."

River opened his mouth to retort but you leaned back and kissed at his neck.

"Said with love."

Joss nodded and took hold of your ankles, ordering your to tilt your hips up and push. You did as ordered, forcing a long bodily push through yourself while River instructed you to breathe in long 'ooo's.

You could imagine River staring into your face as it turned beet red, an unfamiliar vein popping across your forehead while your collarbones flexed hard under your skin. Joss ordered you to stop, you did so catching your breath.

"Good girl," River praised, kissing your temple.

Joss touched at your thigh, gasping at what she felt with another check. "We already got a head, V. You're doing good, deep push."

You forced another push, gripping onto River's hands to gain whatever leverage you had. You silently apologized at the tender pops that came from his 'ganic knuckles and tried to not dismember his metal hand.

This one was longer, wracking through you and causing a sting in your unoccupied temple. You veered away from it, turning further into River's presence until you were told to pause.

You unraveled on River, catching your breath in deep gulps as you looked up to the ceiling. The sweat began slipping down your forehead, dotting in the corners of your eyes.

River whispered another praise at you, parting from your hands to rub at your arms. "That's my girl, there's momma."

Joss hummed with a nervous smile at the two of you. "You guys seem ready to meet your baby. Are you ready to meet 'em?"

"Yes," you and River drew out, equally wading in suspense.

"Alright, V, we got a big push. Let's make this one count," Joss ordered and waited for you to execute.

"Come on, V," River whispered against you. "Deep breath in."

You readied your grip on River's hands and straightened your hips up to force a final push out. It was a drawn-out effort, losing your breath a few times and sucking in air between your grit teeth.

Your eyes squeezed shut, earning a final shock of adrenaline rush through your body to gain a bit of strength off of River and curled forward with all you had.

You stopped at the sound of a faint cry, something that wracked through your being in a new sense and brought tears to your eyes.

"Good job, V," Joss encouraged, reaching to rub your leg. "Keep going, honey, they're almost out."

You wasted no extra time to revel, forcing that sliver of strength through until Joss said to stop. You fell into River's chest, heaving softly at the pain that suddenly overwhelmed your body.

Your hips were now filled with an indescribable pain, your body alight with a new raw that seemed to be soothed by River's firm warmth.

"He's beautiful, V," Joss cooed, raising the now toweled infant into your and River's eyeline.

You smiled, which quickly turned to tears as you turned into River's chest. The feeling of emptiness rushed through you instantly, something you weren't expecting.

River unclasped your hands from his, reaching out to take hold of his newborn son. You curled against River, watching as he brought the infant down for you to both hold.

"Look at 'im, V. He's perfect," River's voice barely escaped his lips, marveling at the doughy face of your son. "He's so big already."

Your smile strained, your laugh a peep from your lips as you stared down at the thing you'd waited for for so long. You remembered crying over him at the beginning, ready to fight for him.

And now he was here.

River pressed his lips to your temple, inhaling deeply at your hair. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispered to you, shutting his eyes.

You felt a warm tear streak down your forehead and you tried to hold back your own, pulling your son closer. River whispered a prayer into your ear, which you did your best to ignore before kissing your shoulder.

"Hello, little one," you worked up with your now tired voice. "You're who I've waited for."

"We've waited for," River added, putting his cheek to yours marveling your son at the same time. "What do you wanna name him?"

"Our new start, Riv," you offered, blinking slowly at the yawning baby before you. "A little Phoenix."

River's lips quivered at that, turning to kiss your cheek. "I like that. Phoenix. Phoenix Ward."

Joss sat back with a deep sigh, pushing to her feet. "Take your time, mom and dad. I gotta find my heater for the little one."

You pulled your son close, held him up to your chest and allowing River to peer down at him. Each glance over to River pieced together a beautiful, one-of-a-kind mosaic of this man you were hopelessly in love with making it possible to love him further.

The tears that shed down his cheek, staring down at his son, was nothing short of moving. You couldn't help but shed a few in solidarity.

The moment was pointed with Takemura and Vik rushing in, Vik holding his ancient medicine bag while Takemura stood by the door.

"None that I have access to on such short notice," Takemura offered with a soft catching of his breath.

"Bullshit," Vik offered again, taking the silence in with his breaths before looking between you and River.

"Kid," Vik began, slowly approaching the three of you cuddled on the floor, "you had your kid. God, I wish Misty was here."

Your face contorted at that, knowing you were missing someone from the mix. If anyone deserved to meet Phoenix, it was Misty.

"V," Takemura said professionally, not moving an inch except for a curt nod. "Congratulations."

You flashed a weary smile at Takemura then turned to River and kissed his cheek. Resting your head to River's shoulder, you exhaled all the weight that built from the stress and shut your eyes for a moment.

Until it wasn't.

-----------------------------------------------

tags: (first tag ever omg)@almightywdm