#He enjoys your company and wants the best for you in a detatched way

[starryknight565]

OUGH THIS ONE HAS A LITTLE KICK TO IT

imagine being a shy little intern at jujutsu high and getting the fattest crush on gojo because he’s just. so strong and cool. you idolize him. you want to be his friend. and he seems to take a liking to you; he’s cheery and encouraging and sweet in a roundabout way. you feel like you’ve grown pretty close to him.

imagine him falling asleep right next to you on a sofa in the cafeteria. you can barely tell, with his blindfold still on. but you scurry away to find a blanket, happy that he trusts you enough to rest in your proximity, ready to wrap it around him —

only for it to slip right off. rejected by his infinity.

(he never turns it off, around you.)

[angelaiswriting]

The Truth | Vladimir Ranskahov x reader

[couldn’t find anything i liked, so here i am again with my banners, yay! haha]

✎ Pairing: Vladimir Ranskahov x reader

✎ Requested by @mmpmaple : Could you do a fluffy thing with Vladimir? Sort of an AU where he made it out with daredevil and recovers at the readers home. They sometimes butt heads because lets face it he is stubborn! It is not the Russian way to listen to some 'little girl' that is friends with the man in the black mask. 

✎ Requested by Anonymous: Could you please do something with vladimir, I was so upset that he sacrificed himself just when I started to love him even more. please, please,please, write an au where he lives and falls in love with the reader who looks after him since claire definitely won't stitch him back up and matt can't reveal where he lives. <3

✎ A/N: fluff can be found only if you squint real hard, I fear haha I’m really sorry, I did my best. I’ve also just re-read your requests and I feel like I unintentionally detatched myself a little from them, but also that there’s more that could be added to this story, so I could maybe try a part two? Who knows (you do! Let me know). I apologize for the stupid title, but my mind was completely blank haha

✎ A/N 2: also, my dudes. My dudes. I’ve never read the comics (my brain can’t read them), so all I know is what I see on the show. But. But. This is no AU until I see his damn dead body. I’ve seen too many shows and movies to believe a death just because we hear rifles shooting. <3

✎ Warnings: probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever read. Mentions of nudity and masturbation (it’s Vlad after all haha)

Word-count: 3,498

Vladimir Borisovich Ranskahov is anything but sweet. He is strong angles and large shoulders and calloused hands and scarred face. His fingers are made to hold a gun, his body has seen too much, his mind has endured too much. But as he kisses her, all Y/N can think about are his soft lips—chapped but still tender—against hers and his tongue brushing against hers as if she was the most fragile thing.

None of them know how they got to this point. They head-butt like the champions of the discipline, they argue and bicker like kids, and when they fight, they spit venom. But with his hand behind her neck, his arm around her waist, pulling her closer, time stops and all they can do is stare into each other’s eyes.

But then she moves, not so much accidentally elbowing his ribs, and he pulls away with a groan. And before they know it, they’re bickering again. She says he should be resting, he argues he’s not a pussy, she retorts he’d be dead without her so he’d better do as she says, and he ends up stomping away towards her bedroom and slams the door closed.

Sometimes she doesn’t know what to do to get out of that situation, other times she doesn’t want to get out of that situation. Sometimes she’d kill him herself, other times she’d beg him to smash her head into the wall so that she doesn’t have to stand him a minute longer. All in all, though, she enjoys his brooding company. It gives her something else to focus on to distract herself from the fact that she’s lying to her friend, hiding a supposedly dead criminal like that.

This time, though, is one of those times where she wonders why in the fucking hell she’s befriended a Ranskahov and how she’s managed to convince herself to stitch him up. She’s come home from work less than half an hour ago and she already feels like screaming and tearing the whole apartment down, smashing the TV screen with her fist just to see it bleed, just to focus on something else that’s not her guest. And suddenly, Vladimir’s sweetness has flown out of the window and it’s like it never existed.

It’s already as hard as it is, working with her stupid colleagues and trying to have a decent relationship with her friends. She really doesn’t need that stupid Russian dick throwing a tantrum because the vodka she brought home is not the one he wanted.

As if he gives a fuck about what she wants.

For starters, she wants to sleep in her bed—she’s tired of that old couch breaking her back in half. Then, she’d like to wake up to a smoking cup of coffee waiting for her on the kitchen island next to a plate of scrambled eggs and grilled tomatoes.

But then her altruistic side comes out like the ultimate bitch it is and she’s ready to kick her own ass. Vladimir has lost everything, she tells herself. He’s lost his brother, his business, his friends. He’s injured and still recovering and his body is littered in bruises. And he’s a good person when he wakes up on the right side of the bed—or literally when God, Jesus Christ and the whole lot of saints decide to give her a day off, just to recharge a little before another nightmarish day spent babysitting a moron starts.

And so she never says a word, not even now as she slams the oven shut as she takes out the pizzas she bought coming home. She tries not to think about what comes next because she knows he’s going to complain about her choice of dinner. She just knows it, it’s something she feels from deep inside, something she cannot shake off her shoulders.

When she yells Vladimir’s name, adding a curse as she does so, she’s as ready to start the night as she would be if she were in front of death. It takes him a while to get out of her room and reach her in the living room to sit in front of the TV, where she’s put the plates and glasses on the little coffee table. She always jokes about how he always jacks off and she mock-complains about how she doesn’t want to find his jizz on her bedsheets when she has to do the laundry (she’d never admit, though, that she’d like it somewhere else). And he always grunts in response, half in English and half in Russian and he grabs his dick from above his pants just to make fun of her. Just as he does now.

“Behave,” she simply says, side-eyeing him and scoffing when she sees he’s only wearing his lounge pants, his bandages on display, and she crosses her legs and takes a slice of her pizza.

It’s not the best. She prefers it when pizza isn’t out of a freezer in a convenience store, but she really doesn’t want to buy pizza for him. She hopes he figures out what she’s trying to tell him, but he never does and he probably never will. Probably—just probably, though—she doesn’t want him to catch up and she’s happy with how things are. After all, it’s nice to come back home to someone, to have someone to spend the evening before they both go to bed.

She’s not saying it out loud, though. Not now and not ever, let alone to him. And even if he clearly likes her and lets it on in every way he can, she’s not ready to admit that she likes him back. He’s a Ranskahov, after all, and that means he’s the bad guy and she promised her mom she wouldn’t end up with the bad guy as she did before being dumped with a kid in her womb. And so she keeps her mouth shut and her hands to herself and she stares at the TV like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

And the night is calm and they’re both quiet.

Inside her head, she still hears King and that ‘when the night has come, and the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we’ll see’ of his and she tries her best not to giggle—somehow, Vlad loves this song and he has it on loop when he’s in the shower. And when she walks past the door to do her things, she can even hear him hum it and she snickers because she’s never thought of him as the type that would like ‘Stand By Me’.

“What are you laughing at?” he growls, brooding as he bites his pizza.

She casually points at the screen and shrugs. “It’s fun,” she shrugs again, “this show.”

“He’s eating her out. That’s not fun,” he points out. He’s no fan of Sons of Anarchy, but she doesn’t care—she’s the one paying for Netflix, so he’ll have to behave if he doesn’t want to see some cheesy shit.

“Didn’t know sex was a chore,” she says and chugs a gulp of water. “But thanks for enlightening me, buddy. I’ll bring you in next time I fuck someone, you’ll be able to stop me from chuckling.”

She clearly sees him clench his jaw and they both resolve that silence is better than bickering again.

“How’s pizza?” she asks after a while. She doesn’t like his silences because she never knows what he’s thinking about and she doesn’t like that idea.

“It’s shit. You could’ve stopped by some pizza joint.”

She doesn’t answer: she just shrugs her shoulders and keeps silent. Vladimir is right, but the thing she bought is still acceptable and it’s cheaper than the one he wants. She doesn’t swim in money and his vodka and cigarettes are the most expensive things she’s bought after that sexy set of lingerie she bought online when she was drunk.

But then, after the third episode, someone knocks at the door and they both turn to stare at each other, frozen on the spot. Vlad grabs his gun and he’s ready to unlock whatever security thing he has to unlock to make fire—she really doesn’t know and she doesn’t even want to know—and she’s quick to grab his arm, shaking her head no.

They don’t say a word, they hardly even breathe because it could be anyone—from a drunkard to the old lady from down the corridor to the police. To even Fisk’s men, even if Y/N barely knows who Fisk is: she’s always watching Netflix and doesn’t read newspapers.

“Y/N, it’s me.”

It’s Matt’s voice and they both freeze: her, because she really doesn’t want her friend to find her with a not-so-dead criminal on her couch, and him, because that’s clearly the masked guy’s voice and he fears he’s come for him.

“Coming!” she calls, sprinting to her feet and dragging Vlad with her before pushing him towards the bedroom. “Let me get dressed, I’m not presentable!” She shoves her guest into the room and pushes him into the en-suite bathroom, the one she rarely uses these days. “Shit,” she mutters under her breath. “Don’t make a sound or I’m cutting your dick off and it’s not gonna be like in The Package, I’m not giving it to the docs!” she hisses, taking the gun and hiding it under the sink.

When she runs back and opens the door, though, she’s not thinking about Vladimir anymore. Matt is all beaten up and his lip is split. She knows about his ‘night shift’, of course, she’s a nosy bitch after all, just as she knows about what happened between him and the half-naked Russian in her bathroom.

“What happened?” she asks, closing her door. She’s not even concerned, not anymore at least. She’s seen him bruised and hurt so many times she’s lost count—and after seeing Vladimir half-dead, nothing surprises her anymore.

He shrugs, but she doesn’t see it: she’s already pouring water on a hand towel to clean up his dirty face. “Didn’t know you had guests,” he says—and he’s clearly lying, but she doesn’t know and she doesn’t need to know.

At first, she lies, but then she sees Vlad’s half-eaten pizza and his glass of coke and she’s still wearing just her panties and huge sweatshirt and she feels cornered.

“You seeing someone?” he asks as she dabs his split lip. He’s leaning against the back of the couch and he inhales sharply when she dabs a little too hard.

She feels like lying again, but then she looks at him, all beaten up and dressed like a Hell’s Kitchen’s version of Deadpool and she doesn’t find it in herself. “Kinda,” she says, avoiding his gaze. She knows he’s blind just as she knows she isn’t—it’s still weird for her and she still can’t comprehend it, but it still creeps her out.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted anything,” he goes on.

She shrugs. “Wait here, I’m getting the first aid kit.” And to do so, she has to get into the dreaded bathroom and she really doesn’t want to get caught.

“Why don’t you introduce us?” he presses. He sounds a little pissed, but at the moment she really doesn’t care, she has bigger problems to think about and she thought they had both overcome their childhood crushes on each other.

“He’s naked,” she blurts out as she lets the towel fall on the couch, not knowing what else to say. “This really is… it’s really not the right time,” she stutters, turning around and heading towards her room at a sloth’s pace.

“Why not? Shouldn’t your best friend meet this lucky guy?”

She has barely the time to notice he’s following her that Vladimir opens the door to her bedroom and she lets out a squeal. And when she turns around, she bumps into Matt and she really wants to be swallowed up into the floor.

“Here’s your kit,” he growls and it’s Matt who grabs the box and Y/N can see his mouth slightly open in surprise when he recognizes the voice.

There’s silence for a long while and all she can hear is her heart beating like crazy inside her chest. She’s pretty sure those two men can hear it, too. She feels like dying and for a moment she thinks that it wouldn’t be that bad. Because how the hell is she going to explain that she has a naked criminal in her house?

Matt calls her name and his voice is strangely calm, its tone is as hard as stone. He looks at her—or probably right through her, she is too scared to even try and rationalize it. “You are fucking Vladimir Ranskahov.” They all know it should be a question, but it comes out as an affirmation and it makes the whole situation even worse. Because as much as she’d like to jump his bones, she’d also love to kick Vladimir’s ass.

“It’s not as it seems,” and her words come out as a question and it all feels wrong.

Matt’s hands are gripping the plastic box of the first aid kit so hard she fears he’s going to turn into the Hulk and his jaw is set so tight that she fears his teeth might fall off at any given second. “Why is he standing there naked then?” he asks and, again, she really doesn’t want to know how he knows Vladimir’s as naked as his mom’s made him. “Most importantly, why is he alive?”

“Can we please all calm down?” she squeals, putting her hands up in the air as if they’re arresting her.

In all honesty, they’re all calm—or at least they seem so—and she’s the only one on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Neither Matt nor Vladimir say a word, even if she clearly hears the latter cross his arms in front of his chest.

“Go put something on your junk,” she begs, but the stupid Russian doesn’t move.

“I’m still waiting for an explanation,” Matt urges her, grabbing her elbow and squeezing it tight.

*

It takes her a good two hours to calm Matt down from his blind rage. She barely manages to fix his face without hurting him more and more than once she wishes she didn’t work as a vet so that she could mess up with the stitches.

During that time, Vladimir sits brooding on the couch, still as naked as a worm, and glares at her while she mouths at him to leave the room.

But when Matt eventually leaves, after promising on Foggy’s life to not say a word and to not do anything, Y/N turns towards her guest and all she sees is red as he sits there, arms slouched behind the back of the couch, the guy’s prick on full display as if he had something to prove.

It takes her a while before she’s able to move again and when she does, a shiver creeps down Vladimir’s spine. He has never seen her this scary and for a split second, he regrets playing that trick on her and on her masked friend. But then again, he knows how to deal with women and how to put people in their place.

“You are a son of a bitch,” she seethes through her gritted teeth as she slams a pillow on his penis. She’s dying to peek, but she’s also dying to bite it off, so she resolves for neither of those options.

“You could have told me you are friends with stupid Daredevil,” he growls as he grabs her wrists.

*

That night she doesn’t sleep.

At first, she tosses and turns on the couch, groaning under her breath at her lack of sleep. Tomorrow is her day off, but she’d still like to sleep. And she doesn’t want to think about Matt and how furious he was when he found Vladimir in her apartment. And she doesn’t want to think about Vladimir, either, because that would mean accepting what she feels for him and she’s not ready to admit she likes him, not yet.

And then, when Vlad comes and drags her to bed, any chance at finding sleep flies out of the window, never to be seen again—or probably not, probably she’s just overreacting and being dramatic, but his arm against her burns like fire and her hair there are standing on their ends and she can’t focus on anything else.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he stares at the ceiling, where the lights from outside cast unreadable patterns.

She doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, and part of her doesn’t want to know. It could mean anything from ‘sorry I got out naked’ to ‘sorry I came to look for your help in the first place’. And while she’d gladly take the former, she doesn’t want to think about the latter because even if she complains a lot, she doesn’t really mean it.

“I am, too,” she whispers back, trying not to think about the bandage covering the wound on his right calf lightly rubbing the skin of her left leg.

This time, it’s Vladimir who doesn’t know what she’s apologizing for. Always throwing tantrums at his own tantrums? Being friends with the guy who almost killed him? Making him fall for her fast and hard, making him doubt about anything and everything at once?

And before they know, she’s lying down on her side and his arm is wrapped around her shoulders. And it’s cozy, to lie there like that, pretending there’s nothing between them and that they’re just barely tolerating each other’s presence.

“I should leave,” he says after a while and she knows he’s fighting off the urge to light up a cigarette. He knows she doesn’t like it when he smokes in her room, but  the truth is, she doesn’t really care. Deep down, so deep she’ll never admit it, she enjoys the disgusting smell of smoke because it reminds her of him and as long as her house stinks of tobacco and other cancerogenic substances, she knows he’s there with her.

“It’s well past two in the morning,” she yawns back and she’s so comfortable in his embrace that she feels herself drifting off to sleep.

“In the morning, I mean,” he continues, “or evening.”

She knows he means it. Somehow, she can feel it in his muscles, in the way they tense when she traces the edge of one of his bandages yet again.

The truth is, she likes his company. She likes to fight with him because he lets her get rid of the pent-up frustration she always carries inside her. And she likes it when he mutters unintelligible Russian words under his breath, or when he off-key sings under the shower—she had never thought of him as the type that sang in the bathroom, but here he was, in all his fucked-up glory. She definitely doesn’t like it when he jerks off in the toilet and he moans and grunts like there’s no tomorrow, though, but she could definitely get used to it.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she admits after minutes spent in silence and she rolls back on her back and she stares at the ceiling like him. “Matt won’t do a thing, I promise. And if he does,” she continues, “I’ll fix it.”

She’s debated a lot on whether to tell him the truth or not, but she doesn’t even know what the truth is, herself, so she says what she thinks is best.

And as they somehow end up cuddling, something either of them hasn’t done in ages, she’s scared because she knows he might be leaving for real. And even though she cannot tell whether the crush she has for him is really there, she knows he’s become like a friend and she wouldn’t stand the idea of coming back home to an empty and cold apartment just to cook something quick and spend the rest of the evening watching Netflix.

And as he stares at her while she sleeps, her eyelashes brushing lightly against his shoulder, he knows he has to leave. He has spent so much time imagining her in his life that now that he has her, he’s scared. He knows he’ll hurt her, or that someone else might do that just to get to him, and he really doesn’t want it: he cares about her too much to even risk it, even if he does his best to not let it on.

But right now, it’s good to have her there where he’s always wanted her—and where he knows she’s always wanted him. And she feels soft and warm and defenseless against him and her breath tickles his skin and he swears that’s the best feeling in the world.

>> Part Two: Jealousy (NSFW) >>

I’m not in pain anymore, but I still find this fun haha am I weird? Don’t answer, I already know I am. On another note, this was really fun to write!

Feedback is always welcome ❤️

TAGS (to be added/removed, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892 @toomanyfandoms96 @mblaqgi

Bratva: @sweetvengeancee @theranskahovs ( @brobachev ?)

[tryingtofindclarity-blog]

Intentions

My 2019 resolution is to try and be more intentional. I really want to mean what i say and say what i mean. I want to take my life more seriously in a carefree way (lol that makes no sense i know, but in my head i level with that idea). I want to continue to be respected, not liked, but also allow my past be the past and have faith in the fact that i have learned from my past mistakes and its okay to get out there and do things that are scary. I dont want to allow myself to waste my own time and energy. Long story made short, if i make time for something/someone, i want to give it my 100%. 

its so exhausting to give things/people only half of you or some of you. I think that people like to argue that fact. It seems to make sense that if i only give this person a little bit of me, i wont be so upset if they screw me over... Well look at all this time youve spent trying to figure out what you're going to give of yourself and what youre not going to give. How i see it is someone either gets 0% of me or 100% of me, because those 50% people aint shit and i aint got time (insert snap and hair flip). i think that i often times put myself in positions to have few to no friends because i never give other people even an ounce of me out of fear. I dont want to get close to people because then when they dissapoint me, it wont hurt as much. I think thats sad and pathetic. I truly want to have a lot of people in my life, but because of a series of past events, i turned to a total home body/recluse. I found so much security in not getting close to people that i became this detatched/heartless bitch. I would purposefully not text people back, not pick up the phone, not go out; out of fear that i would get to close to someone and depend on them to be there for me knowing damn well they wouldn't be. 

My sophomore year of college i became very close to someone that was probably the best girl friend that i had ever had in my life (at that point). we spent 24/7 together and it was out of choice, i truly enjoyed and valued her company. I could talk to her about literally anything, and it was just truly a special friendship for me, nothing like i had had before. Well... i was dating a guy at the time who was a total P.O.S. (i have a pretty good track record with dating assholes i know) and basically a long story made short, he had cheated on me with that “bestfriend”. And not just once yall, multiple times over the course of a few months. That was the ultimate slap in the face and the ultimate betrayal. 

Throughout my entire relationship with that guy, it was always us 3 hanging out and i thought wow, how special to have my best friend and boyfriend be friends to the point that i can have my cake and eat it too and be able to hang out with both of them at the same time. WELL i failed to realize that they were close for another reason, and it wasnt because of me. 

This truly impacted me and made me start looking at each and every one of my friendships differently. I still to this day find myself not being able to get close to other females. I dont want to be betrayed like that again, so why put myself in that position. Well, in case this wasnt obvious.... the world is lonely as FUCK as a female when you dont have other female friends. Because depending on your mom gets old after a while and sometimes you just need someone that you can call and depend on that isnt your mother...

Anyways, i had done a lot of thinking towards the end of 2018 and start of 2019 and i decided that i am not going to allow myself to be my own road block anymore. Shitty people are shitty people. They exist, but not everyone is shitty. At some point i have to let my past be my past and not constantly refer back to/rehash what has already happend. Like i need to learn from that mistake, let it make me stronger and wiser and then get tf over it and move on. I have to learn to grow my friendships gradually and allow people to earn my trust. I trusted in people easily without making them earn it. I have every intention of growing with others, but i have to allow myself to do so. 

[uriduriragwaenchana]

All of your attention pt1 || Wong Yukhei (f)

a/n: a very cute anon requested this a while ago. I'm sorry it took so long I was trying to make sure I had enough information on the subject to write about it😅thank you for bearing with me

genre: fluff! cafe!au Its a little dramatic but so am I so..

words: approx. 2.6k

summary: Why would he think ignoring him was something anyone could do on purpose?

☕

"I brought you help," He smiled with all of his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut as he tossed a look back to where he'd left the stranger, the new boy, petting the animals. That was exactly how it started.

Johnny had worked at the puppy cafe for quite a while before you'd been hired and he'd done a number when it came to marketing and advertising the small place, tucked away on the far end of a busy shopping district.

His face helped, he wasn't bad looking; he was actually quite stunning and he was even more charming and friendly once you got over thinking how people really weren't allowed to look like that-- coupled with the visual of his tall frame feeding and caring for small animals and making frappecionos with a towel over his shoulder-- well, you can imagine why there were always people in the store and a small line down the street.

Aside from that he made a mean cup of coffee and kept little cute flyers with him so that even when he was approached randomly or met someone at a supermarket or elsewhere, he'd hand it to them and smile and then they'd come running through the door the first chance they got.

He was sociable and easy to talk to and sometimes he invited his friends to watch him work, which usually consisted of them ignoring him and spending the afternoon playing with cute pups. They were wellmannered and just as goodlooking and made easy conversation with you when they weren't giving their undivided attention to the animals or when you tended to their glasses for refills.

The days when Johnny was off were noticably more quiet and easy going, which you preferred. Sure, you enjoyed his company but when it was busy, it was hard for you to concentrate and stay focused, and most of all it was hard to make out what any one of the customers were saying when there was soft music from the speakers, puppies barking and growling and chatter, with 'ooohs' and 'aaahs' directed almost always toward Johnny.

Oh and the puppies.

Today was no different, save for a few middle schoolers sipping distractedly on iced coffee with two, mild mannered labs sat on the seat next to them, eager for any sort of attention.

You didn't expect Johnny to come in today because he'd called in earlier about his practice running a little late and you most certainly did not expect for him to bring friends. Luckily you were facing the door, cleaning up after Yuki; the toffee coloured shitzu, otherwise you'd have missed the little bell on the door ding and Johnny coming in, followed into the store by another giant boy with the biggest, most endearing eyes and an oversized blue sweater and messy, soft brown hair.

The puppies went straight for the stranger like they'd been waiting for his return (even if you were sure you'd never seen him before) and started licking and wagging excitedly as he ran his hands over them, eyes alight in jovial delight.

☕

Ever since then, the tiny, fairly profitable puppy cafe had had a new addition to its staff. Lucas-- who reminded you so much of Sushi, the doe-eyed beagle mix that always found the strangest assortment of accessories from god knows where around the store and dropped them at your feet-- wasn't much older than you were and probably half as capable. He was a clutz and a little bit of a ditz and you suspected that it was that naïve charm about him that was so endearing to the customers. They never seemed to get mad or impatient with him when he mixed up an order or put a little too much sugar in the drinks and he drew the younger kids in by the boatload. The coffeemaker was his nemesis and the trio of pugs that were brought in by one of the usual customers-- a high school boy with soft smiling eyes and beautiful lashes--named Blondie, Raven And Carmine respectively, always made his life miserable.

You would admit, however that Lucas was kind of cute. His hair was always a fluffy storm, like he'd ran his hands through it too many times in one second. His hands dwarfed the puppies and most of the kitchen appliances and utensils. His mannerisms were also kind of adorable; he mumbled a lot to himself--which you found out when he was training, and only because you'd been looking at him directly. He was asked to make a basic iced coffee and when he moved behind the counter to begin, immediately started the inner and sometimes outer conversation with the appliances. You could read his lips but at some point you'd decided there were multiple languages involved and you wouldn't try to decipher that.

Overall, very cute.

He wasn't however, as articulate or friendly as Johnny; who now spent more time out of the store now that Lucas had begun his shifts more regularly. He'd been a recurring staff member for a little over two months now and during that time, Lucas hadn't tried speaking to you unless he had to and tended to side step you altogether. You hadn't minded at first, you were a little shy about certain things about yourself and it was fine, if only a little hurtful but you weren't going to make trouble unless he was being rude.

You were perfectly content to remain cordial colleges; you each had your routine duties-- he took out the trash and cleaned the dog's sleeping area, you cleaned and stacked chairs on close up and took care of the counter and kitchen area. You both fed and cared for the animals and washed the dishes in peaceful silence-- and you were comfortable enough in his presence to get through the day without major upset. Until one day he broke part of the coffee machine and you'd decided to make the executive decision, after calling Johnny and talking about it for five minutes; to close up shop about an hour early, put the pups away to their little room in the back wih sufficient food and toys to entertain them, and try to fix the machine since it only seemed like the lever had detatched itself in Lucas' all-encompassing grip.

"What do we do?" his hands found their way into his hair as he turned to you when you'd came back, shoving the phone into your apron.

"We can try to fix it, no biggie," You assured the little big baby standing and staring, absolutely distraught. He was truly adorable.

It in fact, was a biggie and before the minute of faux repairing was up, there were more loose parts than you knew what to do with and very little idea of what to do next. You did not want to call Johnny with this information. You wanted to believe you were more than capable of doing this on your own. You were not inept; the coffee machine was Lucas' enemy, not yours.

☕

Some time during the next half hour, Lucas had managed to find a toolbox in the storage room, the cafe had been closed for much longer than you'd have liked and both of you were still no closer to fixing the machine than you'd been when you started. Your patience with the contraption was starting to wear a bit thin and Lucas was visibly agitated-- kind of the first truly negative emotion you'd seen him express.

"This isn't working," you didn't hear the metal wrench clank against the tile countertops, but you did see Lucas plop down into the plushy seat Johnny had purchased at a flea market and stuck behind the counter for 'atmosphere', his full lips pulling together in an exaggerated pout. "Oh geez, its all my fault too."

"Not really." Yes really... "You've actually been doing really great so far," You were not entirely sure what prompted you to respond, honestly. He wasn't speaking to you, but you'd managed to make out what he said and he looked like very much like a wounded puppy. You wanted to at least lessen whatever he was feeling and your heart may have lurched a little when he looked up at you from his seat, eyes wide and a little bit of a smile dancing at the corner of his mouth.

"I mean you put a little too much effort in sometimes but... " you rushed, letting the sentence hang and turning away as your face began to sear, back to your task at hand. If you looked him in the eye again you were sure you would crumble and right now, you wanted nothing more than to fix the stupid machine and get back to work.

There was a beat before you felt movement at your back and spun, immediately met face to chest with Lucas' mass of body.

"You're doing it again," he said crowding your space like it wasn't even yours to begin with. Everything was a blur and before you realised what had happened, your lower back was met with a lever on the machine and you were sandwhiched between the two, confused and flustered. Your most innate reaction was to try to put some space between the two of you. He was much too close; you could practically feel his body through his clothes and your brain was starting to dissasociate with this personal space nonsense. You forced your hands up though, and angled your body away as best you could without impaling yourself further on the now, broken coffee maker.

"Doing what?" you sputtered, trying to keep eye contact with him somehow so you could try to pick up what he was saying but also trying to regain some of your composure. Lucas wasn't having any of it though, completely oblivious to your struggle as he tilted his head to look down at you.

"You're ignoring me. You've been doing it since I got here; I try to talk to you or ask you questions like when we do dishes and stuff because I'm really trying and this is really hard, but you keep ignoring me and I'm kind of hurt and annoyed." His eyebrows furrowed and he was pouting again. You were very hyper aware of all his facial details and not the not so subtle changes in his expression; the unreal process of a frown glossing over his features was kind of mesmerising.

Why was he so... pretty?

He was too close.

Your breath got stuck in your throat and you froze as the implications of what he had said dawned on you. Of course Johnny hadn't told him; he was too kind, too Johnny. He would want your business to be your business. He would let you confide in Lucas on your own like you'd done with him. A very small part of you kind of wished he had told him so you wouldn't have to go through this again now, but you realized that potentially would have been worse than his entrappment. Apart from this being the most he's ever said to you-- well now you knew that probably wasn't true-- you had a good few of reasons to be taken aback.

Why would he think ignoring him was something anyone could do on purpose? Surely he was aware of how large he was; physically and personality-wise as well? This did seem to explain his occasional mild standoffishness and you thought back to all the times your back must have been turned to him and he'd probably tried to say something to you.

Poor kid; he was trying his best and struggling and he was just trying to talk to you or make a friend. You wanted to facepalm but your hands were keeping you alive so you settled for groaning softly. Would apologising even help?

Not if you weren't going to tell him.

You swallowed another groan and attempted again to put some space between you. This time Lucas got the message and took one tentative step back. That did nothing, but it was enough for you to bring a hand up to brush some of your short hair behind your ear, revealing the tan aid you had in today. You didn't usually wear them, but you were kind of glad you did because now you didn't have to focus on explaining, just keeping the anxiety and embarrassment from showing on your face. People very rarely cared, most did however and decided against any type of relationship with you because of it.

"I don't ignore you on purpose," was all you could get past your lips at this point.

Lucas retook the space he'd just barely given you, reaching a hand up and out to you. You held your breath; your first instinct again, to move. Move and then panic although the latter seemed to sprint ahead first. What if he was trying to touch it? You were not an animal. And you were going to  muster some annoyance to tell him off or at the very least move away, but his hand stopped short, grazing your skin, stroking your cheek ever so lightly before he pulled back half second later. He was staring and all that served to do was make your skin hot and your knees waver in and out of stability. This was a very bad idea and he needed to stop looking at you like you were... normal. He wasn't staring at it, although he had briefly glanced, but rather he was staring at you, his eyes settling on yours.

"What?" you tried to keep the anticipation out of your voice. This was killing you. His eyes ran over your face endlessly, what he was looking for you weren't exactly sure. What you were sure of however, was how ridiculously easy it would be to stare at his eyes forever without wanting for anything else. They were so pretty and bare and screamed of his harmlessness. He could probably kill you if he hugged you too tightly and the damage he had made to coffee maker was minimal, but even if he looked like a threat to most inanimate objects and short people, you knew he was harmless. He probably just didn't know his own strength.

"So... you just weren't hearing me?"

You winced and dropped your gaze. This was so embarrassing and talking about it so casually was just making you want to crawl inside yourself. You weren't embarrassed to be hard of hearing, nor were you embarrassed of the aids; you'd needed them since you were very young, and you knew you weren't an anomoly-- there were tons of people like you and you liked yourself because of it, not in spite of it. These conversations were always uncomfortable though because you never knew what type of reaction you would get. You finally grew some balls and slid out from practically under Lucas, sliding across the edge of the counter. Now you could almost breathe again, although now there a was a familiar, Lucas-sized indent in your memory and on your body.

"Yea," you didnt elaborate or offer any types of explanation. Anything that would prolong this conversation was not something you wanted to do right now.

"Oh my god?" you and Lucas jolted, spinning around to where the voice of pure distress had come from. Johnny's large frame shimmied between the beaded curtain seperating the puppy room from the main cafe, his hair hanging low in his eyes and coated in sweat like he'd ran all the way from practice. He wasnt panting, but he was breathing raggedy as he stared between you both, who looked like you'd kick the shit out of the coffee maker and won. Secretly, you were ecstatic that'd he'd come despite you begging him to just let you deal with it. Even without knowing, he was saving your behind. "I thought you said it was just a lever?!"