#LARGE MUG MORNING ESPRESSO

[sleepanonymous]

ok so first of all THAN K YOU for the lost media. it is so nice to his his music long before sleep came to him, and seeing how his style evolved and changed. as someone who did stage arts, it is astounding how much he trained his voice throughout the years like, i am so proud of this man. i have one question though if it's not disrespectful, where did the mug of espresso thing start? :D i am asking this in the name of all the coffee people out there, nice to see vessel is one of us.

Hey, Anon 🖤 You're very welcome! And I agree, it's honestly super interesting to see how he's evolved and grown as a musician. As for your question, the phrase "LARGE MUG MORNING ESPRESSO" came from one of Vessel's old descriptions on YouTube, specifically the one for Delight (click on "read more" on that post to see the description).

[house-of-lovin]

legally binded - 9

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. | prev. part | next part

Chapter 9 : Grand Prix and Grand Gestures

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: famous!reader, actress!reader, mentions of substances, intoxication, mature language, real people. (do not read if any of these make you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: sorry for the long wait for this new chapter, just enjoying my summer yk! anyways, thanks for your guys' continued support and patience! much love!!

Word Count: 5.6k+

When Jenna stepped out of her room at precisely 4:45 AM, with the early morning sun yet to rise, the last thing she expected to find was the shared kitchen to be a mess. 

Courtesy of you, of course. ‘Cause who else?

“What the hell are you doing to our kitchen?” Jenna croaked out, running a hand against the plastered wall as a guide as she tiredly rubbed her sleep-filled eyes with the other. When the blurring in her vision goes away, they settle on you looking… wired, like you’d had three cups of espresso already. 

“Good morning!” You whispered, admiring her messy bedhead with a large toothy smile. “I’m making you breakfast.”

“Why?” She asked, voice hoarse. You rolled your eyes as you passed her a steaming mug of coffee without a word causing her to flick a brow up, opting to take a sip instead of questioning it. 

“I’m making you breakfast so you don’t go to work hungry, again.” You explained matter-of-factly, turning your back to check on the stove. The younger actress couldn’t stave off her surprise that you’ve noticed her skipping the most important meal of the day. “Now I’m not the best cook. But, I learned a thing or two about making a mean avocado toast, and since you’re vegetarian… it’s really the only thing I can make you.”

Jenna didn’t expect her heart to be racing so early in the morning. Since your talk, the two of you have been more at ease around the other; falling back into that natural banter, every once in a while. But she can’t lie… the friends' agreement has been difficult to follow through with, especially since you’ve started with gestures such as this. 

The younger actress finds she’s started to… allow herself to enjoy these domestic moments with you, knowing that now, feelings are very much reciprocated — just, without a label yet. 

Placing the steaming mug down on the kitchen island, she chose not to comment on how her coffee was made exactly how she liked it. “I appreciate the gesture, Y/N. I hope you didn’t wake up early just to make me breakfast.”

You turned off the stove, took the pan off the burner, and rolled your eyes. “Get off your high horse, I was already up.” Turning around with the pan still in your hand. 

“You were already up or you didn’t go to sleep?” She countered, expression flat.

You smiled sheepishly, “Jet lag is kicking my ass.”

Jenna snorted and watched as you plated the perfectly-browned toast on a dish and spread some avocados on top; garnishing it with the utmost (adorable) concentration on your face before sliding the plate across the island with a small but proud grin. 

“Consider it compliments of the chef,” you send her a playful wink, glancing down. Jenna follows your line of sight, reading the printed words on the apron. 

Kiss the Chef.

She tried to fight the smile creeping on her face but it proved futile when she felt the familiar warmth enveloping her pale morning cheeks. 

“You’re not as smooth as you think you are…” Was the best response the younger actress could trust herself to utter. “When did you even buy that?”

You laughed, picking up your own cup of coffee. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Jenna ignored you, electing to take a bite of the toast. She almost felt bad for eating something that you put so much effort towards. But when she takes a bite, she finds herself letting out a muffled moan, making you flush red at the sound. “Holy shit, what did you put in this?”

Plastering a smile, you teased, “it’s a secret.”

“You’re annoying…” Jenna covered her mouth, as she ate. 

“Finish eating or you’ll be late.” You reminded, taking off the apron. The time zone change still messed with your internal body clock, meaning at times, you’d still be up when Jenna awoke for a day of work.

You noted the times she got up and at which of those mornings she managed to eat. After the third day of her waking up late, you decided that the next day you’d be kind and make her a healthy breakfast, knowing it’s often difficult to find time to eat during a busy day of filming. 

“Wait…” Jenna called out before you could leave the kitchen. “What are you doing today?”

You racked your brain; thinking for a moment. “I gotta start packing for Monaco, I leave this Wednesday.”

Jenna remembered you telling her that you’ve been invited to the F1 Grand Prix. She doesn’t really understand the race, but she found your childlike glee over a bunch of cars… endearing. It’s slightly childish that she feels a bit upset by you leaving so suddenly, but these last few weeks have felt blissful ever since your confession. She finds herself wanting to stay in this bubble the two of you have created for as long as she can. “Oh, right…”

“Why, what’s up?”

“Nothing… just wondering ‘cause my family’s actually flying in this weekend,” Jenna admitted, gauging your reaction, noting the way you stood straighter on your feet.

“They are?” 

Jenna hummed. “Yeah, they’re here for a week. They were gonna stay at a hotel but if you’re going to Monaco then…”

You blinked, unsure if you should ask why she didn’t tell you her family was flying in sooner. “Oh yeah, no problem. Listen, it’s your apartment.” 

Jenna rolled her eyes, correcting you, “It’s our apartment. You’re living here too.”

Chuckling, you averted your eyes. “Well, in that case. Mi casa es su casa.”

“Your Spanish needs a bit of work...” But Jenna can’t fight her smile.

“Rude,” laughing, you added, “it’s probably best to skip town though— your family’s probably still mad at me.”

Jenna immediately rounds the counter to stand in front of you, shaking her head in denial. “They’re not mad, Y/N. I already told you.”

You shoot her a grimaced smile, “I know, I’m just joking, but I’m still scared of your sisters… Also, your mom may or may not have texted me about that paparazzi pic of you smoking cigarettes.”

Her brows raised, as her jaw dropped, “she did?”

You hummed in response.

“Fuck…” She grumbled, causing you to laugh. “What did she say?”

“Nothing you haven’t already heard from her Instagram stories…” You smirked, enjoying her annoyed scowl. 

“Shut up.”

“Hey, it’ll be alright.” You placed a hand on her shoulder, lightly rubbing it. Ignoring the way she straightened her posture at your touch. “A scolding is probably the most you’ll get out of her.”

“I’m 20 years old, I can do whatever I want.” Dropping your hand, you laughed again.

“You may think you’re grown but she’s always going to be your mom. She’s just looking out for you. Not to mention, she’s a nurse, what'd you expect?” You jest but she rolled her eyes, staring up at you with a slight pout in her frown causing your heart to stop dead in its tracks; desperately trying to stare at her lips for too long. 

Maybe it was the confession, or the ‘clearing the air’ that you two have done. But every touch and look from Jenna feels weighted — in a pleasant way, this time.

She sighed heavily, leaning her hip on the kitchen island. “I know… it’s just embarrassing.”

“At least you know she cares.” You chuckled, patting her shoulder reassuringly before walking off to the living room. 

She ignored the possible meaning behind your words. Although she’d love to dive into the story of your mom and hear it from your account, maybe having that conversation at five o’clock in the morning isn’t the best idea.

“Come on, finish up and go shower. You’re gonna be late.” You called out behind you before plopping on the couch.

“You better wash those dishes…”

“Ugh, later.” You groaned. “I need a nap.”

—

Jenna (2:35 PM): hope you’re having a great time in Monaco 🖤

“Get off your phone…” Tom said before snatching the device right from your hand. 

“Dude…”

“You’re in Monaco with the best cars and drivers in the entire world and you’re glued to your phone – what’re you looking at anyway.” the Brit commented, reading the text before you could stop him. “Aw… how cute, she sent a heart.”

“Shut up. You literally made us late ‘cause you spent all night talking to Z.” Attempting to grab your phone back was futile when he held it out of reach, tossing it to Link who was enjoying this interaction judging by the large grin smacked on his face. 

“She’s my girlfriend.” Tom defended but it fell on deaf ears as soon as you saw Link begin to scroll through your past messages with Jenna.

“Link… give it back, I need to respond!” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll text her back.” Link winked before typing a response. You immediately leapt out of your seat, plucking your phone out of his grasp but it was too late, he’d already sent the message.

“Thinking about you? Really?” You deadpanned despite the warmth coursing fervently through your cheeks. “You’re such an ass…”

“You’re just mad that I finally said what you were really thinking.” He called out as you walked away, fingers slightly trembling as you hit the call button. You wait a few (agonizingly long) seconds, listening to the line ring.

“Hey…” 

“Oh, hey,” there was some shuffling on the other line, “I was just about to text you back.” 

“About that… sorry about that text, Link was being an asshole and took my phone.” You muttered sheepishly; trembling fingers picking at your trousers to counter the nerves that suddenly overcame you.

“Oh? So you weren’t thinking about me?” Her tone is light and teasing. You paint a mental image of her bright, wide smile that usually accompanied her playful taunts; it sent a flurry of butterflies swarming around in your belly.

You pass it off as a stomach ache from your breakfast this morning.

“Come on…” You trail off, not wanting to admit it.

“Wow, I see how it is…”

“Jenna…” You sighed, dropping your fiddling fingers. “Of course, I was thinking about you.”

The line is silent as Jenna doesn’t respond and suddenly you feel embarrassed at your school-girl-like confession. Though it’s technically only been two days since you left London for Monaco, you’d be lying straight through your teeth if you were to deny the fact that you’ve been thinking about the younger actress since the moment you stepped out of the shared apartment.

“I’ve been thinking about you too.” Jenna replied in a small voice. Her admittance causes your heart to stop momentarily but what you couldn’t stop, however, was the satisfied smile creeping on your lips.

Was it pathetic that all Jenna had to do was say a simple, cliché sentence to you and you were practically a puddle on the floor? Maybe, but you couldn’t care less about that right now.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” 

“Glad we’re on the same page then…” You uttered, glancing around, hoping no one could see your Cheshire grin. Immediately catching Tom and Link at the other end of the balcony making kissing faces at you. You stick up the not-so-nice finger at them before turning your back on the two men, ignoring their blatant and obnoxious laughter, “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything when I called.”

Jenna was supposed to be on set working today, you’d hate to interrupt a busy day’s work…. That’s a lie, this phone call was totally worth it.

“Oh no, you didn’t. I’m actually at the apartment.”

“I thought you’d still be on set?”

“Um, about that…” She trails off in a sheepish tone.

“Jen? What’s wrong?” You asked, panic evident.

“I might’ve—uh—injured myself at work today.” She admitted.

“What?! Are you okay? How? Do you need me to come ba—“

“Y/N… breathe.” She interjects your nervous questioning but it merely goes over your head. Your nerves sky-rocketing the longer she doesn’t answer your questions.

“Are you okay?” You repeated what you really needed to know first.

“I’m fine, I promise,” she chuckled, “just a sprained ankle. I twisted it during rehearsal. It’s not a big deal but they sent me home early to rest.”

“Are you icing it? Keeping it elevated? You know what, send me a picture I wanna see if the swelling is bad.” 

Jenna’s laughter doubles. “I’m okay. I promise. Yes, I'm icing it and yes I’m keeping it elevated. You don't have to play doctor. I’ll even send you a picture, just relax.”

“I’m just worried.”

“I know you are.” She said, almost like she was endeared. “But like I said, it’s just a sprained ankle. They gave me crutches, so I’m good.”

“Crutches?! Do I need to come back home?”

Jenna ignored how her heart swooped at the word: home.

“No,” she laughed, “enjoy your time with the boys and your cars. You looked good on that racetrack, you sure being an actress is your calling?”

You rolled your eyes at her choice of timing for a joke, “You know I’ll leave them in a heartbeat. Just say the word and I’ll be on the first flight back.”

On the other end of the line, Jenna is torn between swooning and mentally cursing you for being so sweet. She bit her lip to subdue the smile creeping in, “that’s very sweet, Y/N, but I promise. I’ll be okay, my family’s flying in on Sunday anyway. I’ll be fine until then.”

You sighed unsurely, “Are you sure?” That’s still a few days where she’d have to be alone until someone could help her around the house.

“Yes! Now go, enjoy Monaco. Maybe I’ll even turn on the racing channel or whatever and get a glimpse of you.”

“You did not just say the racing channel…”

“Go!” She laughed and this time, you relent at her assured tone. 

“Fine… but if anything else happens, call me, please?”

“You’ll be the first one to know, I promise.”

“Okay…” You take a deep breath hoping to calm your nerves. If Jenna says she’s okay, then you have no reason to go against her wishes. “I’ll text you?”

“Mhmm. Bye, be safe.”

“Bye…” You hang up, dropping the phone from your ear, anxiously tapping it against your other hand as you contemplate your options.

“That was a long call,” Link swung his arm over your shoulder, leaning into your side. “You already miss your girl? It’s only been a day.”

“Quit it. She’s not my girl.” You back-hand him squarely on the stomach causing him to heave out a rough, pained puff. The satisfaction of seeing your best friend in pain was a dull noise in the background of your restless thoughts. “She injured herself on set, I was just making sure she’s okay.”

You chewed on your lip nervously, ignoring Link’s probing eyes as he scanned your faraway look.

“Is it serious?”

“No, just a sprained ankle.”

Link continued to observe you; seeing straight through you. An amused smile painted itself squarely on his lips. “... you’re gonna leave, aren’t you?” 

—

“What the— I told you to stay. What are you doing here?”

“And I told you to send me a picture of your sprain.”

Jenna frowned, closely watching as you slipped the duffle bag off your shoulders; landing on the hardwood with a loud thud. 

“Get back on the couch. You shouldn’t be walking.” You ordered, briefly scanning her head-to-toe and letting out a concealed sigh of relief that her ankle didn’t seem too bad. 

“I’m injured, not crippled.” She replied unamused. You meet her eyes, mimicking her expression until the brunette realized you’re not backing down. “Fine…”

“Let me help you.” You stepped forward, taking a closer look at her injury. Her left ankle was covered in a compression wrap as she hobbled around with a single crutch. 

“I’m fine.”

“Jenna, let me help.” You said in a serious tone, not backing down.

She rolled her eyes, slowly turning around with her crutch to walk back to the living room, hoping you missed her rosy cheeks. She ignored the intense thudding in her chest as you walked together. The thought of you leaving a trip that obviously meant a lot to you, sent the younger actress’ heart into a frenzy. 

“What are you doing here?” The younger actress asked again once she was comfortably seated on the sofa.

You took a seat beside her, “I was worried.”

“I told you I was fine, you’re acting like I’m on my deathbed.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the pillow behind you and placed it between you and Jenna. Scooting back to gesture for her to rest the injured ankle on the pillow. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed the race knowing that you’re back in London with an injury… so, I left.”

Jenna stayed silent, not trusting herself to say what she was really feeling. So she opted to stare as you examined her wrapped ankle, seemingly satisfied that her injury wasn’t as bad as you had thought.

“I’m just trying to be a good friend… and roommate.” You joked, grabbing the discarded remote off the coffee table. Ignoring the way your skin burned the longer she stared at you unspeaking.

Jenna snorted at your words, grabbing the pillow behind her and playfully lunging it at you. You caught the feeble attempt. “Right, roommate.”

You laughed at the tone that accompanied her words, “how did you hurt yourself anyway?”

If Jenna’s cheeks turned any rosier, she’d be the human embodiment of a tomato. It was embarrassing, really and she blames Aliyah for sending that video. 

She might’ve been too distracted watching a clip of you and Tom walking along the racetrack, waving to the crowd. As luck would have it, she was supposed to be rehearsing for a scene, walking over to her next marking. However, one misstep over a wire sent her ankle twisting in an abnormal way. “I wasn’t paying attention to the marking on the floor and I tripped over a loose wire.”

Jenna was definitely not going to tell you the truth. You’d never let her hear the end of it.

You sent her a questioning look, “I don’t know whether to laugh or feel bad.”

“Is it too late for you to go back to Monaco?” She joked, straight-faced.

“I’m kidding, of course, I feel bad.“ You settled back into a comfortable position.

“How did you get back so fast?” She inquired.

“It’s only a two-hour flight.”

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Jenna noted that you were on the phone merely two and a half hours ago. “You got through security that fast?”

You blush red.

As soon as the jet landed on the tarmac and the seatbelt lights turned off, you were posted by the doors; impatiently tapping your foot on the floor.

“Miss L/N, your driver is waiting just outside.” The flight attendant alerted you. You nodded, sending a tight-lipped smile.

“Thank you.”

When the doors opened and the stairs hit the pavement, you were already rushing down the steps, making eye contact with the driver.

“Miss, I can take your bags.”

“That’s alright.” You tossed them in the back seat before shutting the doors. “How fast can you get back to the apartment?”

“GPS says 45 minutes but there is heavy traffic on the highway.” 

“I’ll drive.” You held your hand out. He looked unsure before seeing that you were not playing around, swiftly handing the keys over.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You made sure to tip the man handsomely after noticing his white-knuckle grip on the grab handles as you maneuvered through said traffic.

“Uh yeah and I got lucky, no traffic. Anyways….wanna watch Breaking Bad? Unless you finished it already, in that case, we can watch something else.” You changed the subject, Jenna didn’t need to know how you drove that SUV like it was a race car and broke multiple speeding laws just to get here.

“No, Breaking Bad is good. I haven’t watched it since we were at my parents' house.”

You turn, evidently surprised that she kept your unspoken promise. Trying to hide your growing smile, you face the TV again before the staring becomes too obvious.

“Me too.”

—

“Are you sure you’re fine to go to work today? It’s only been like, a day.”

It’s Sunday morning, too early for anyone to be awake. With the sky still covered in a blanket of darkness, you tiredly lean against the wall, trying your best to string coherent words together as you reason with Jenna, who lightly limped around the large room as she gets ready for work.

“Technically, it’s been two.” She glanced at you momentarily. “I don’t want to delay production.” 

“Jenna, you're injured. They can get a stand-in or just not film your scenes today.” You argued. Having had your fair share of on-set injuries, you knew that a major film could afford to delay filming for the sake of an injury. This was merely Jenna’s workaholic tendencies making her feel that she couldn’t stop working. “They can and should accommodate for you, Jenna.”

At your gruffed tone, Jenna dropped what she was looking for, walking over to stand in front of you. “Hey…”

You glanced at your hands, ignoring her soft tone. “Look at me, please?”

Jenna grabbed your hand, drawing your attention to her. “I’ll be okay. If my ankle starts to bother me, I’ll let the director know.”

“You promise?” You asked, glancing down when she started rubbing soft lines against your skin.

“I promise.” She squeezed for good measure.

You studied her soft gaze, attentive to the assured glimmer behind them. Letting out a sigh, you pushed your worries aside. “Okay.”

She smiled at your obvious concern, dropping your hand to walk back to the living room. 

You try not to draw attention to the way your fingers twitched at the loss of contact. “By the way, my family will be here at noon. Are you good to be alone with them while I’m at work?”

“Yeah… I think I’ll be fine.” To distract yourself, you walked off to the kitchen, grabbing a mug for your morning coffee; allowing a gentle silence to envelop the room as Jenna hobbled around and gathered her things.

“Crap!” Jenna suddenly said, emerging out of her room.

“What?” You turned, slightly startled. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to set up the guest bedroom for them.”

“Oh.” Your shoulders dropped. “I already did it, don’t worry.”

Her brows raised, “you called the housekeeper already?”

“No. I did it myself. We don’t need him.”

Jenna seemed surprised if the raised brows were anything to go by. It was amusing truly, but you elected to stay silent, turning back to make your coffee.

“Thank you…” She finally said.

“Don’t mention it.” You shrugged, “If you want, I can pick up your family at the airport too. Heathrow is a bitch to navigate.”

Jenna didn’t respond, just staring at your back from her spot in the living room. You were unaware of her internal turmoil.

“Jen?” You turned around when you realized she didn’t reply; just staring at you with an unwavering intensity. “Jenna?”

“What?” She blinked a couple of times. “What did you say?”

“I said I can pick up your family from the airport.” You sipped on the steaming mug, a single brow flicking upright in question.

“Oh–uh, no. T-That’s alright, I’m sending a car over to pick them up.” She stuttered pathetically; grateful that the dim lights from the lamp in the corner of the room did well to hide the crimson rising over her neck. “You shouldn’t be seen at Heathrow. You might get spotted.”

“I can wear a disguise.” You thought out loud.

Jenna snorted, pushing away her inner strife. “Oh yeah? Like what, a baseball hat and sunglasses?”

“Hey, it works!” You defended. “Not everyone can just blend in with their height.”

“Was that a short joke?” Jenna arched a sharp brow.

“Nope.” You stood wide-eyed. “Oh hey, I just remembered I left something in my room. Okay. Bye. Have a good day at work.”

Jenna laughed as you scurried off to your bedroom, glad that she hasn’t lost her edge with you.

—

“I can’t believe you cancelled on the driver.” 

The younger actress said as soon as you swung the front door open. Faintly, she can hear the familiar sounds of laughter farther into the apartment. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You act like that’s a new fact.” You snicker, a pleased smile plastered on your lips. “I’d like an apology by the way. The disguise worked perfectly — just like I said it would.”

“You’re too much sometimes.” She shook her head, stepping into the hall. 

“In the best way, though. Right?” You asked, letting her in.

“If it helps you sleep better.” Jenna shrugged, chucking her work bag on the side table.

“Now look who’s being stubborn.” You replied with a knowing smile.  “Go say hi and then wash up. Natalie and I are making dinner.”

She raised her brows in surprise as you walked away. Her footsteps faltering when she walks into the living room. Gaze instantly landing on her sisters and Dad lounging on the couch, in the corner of her eyes she finds her mom who was chopping up vegetables on the kitchen island. 

“Hey, guys…” She said slowly, still taking the scene in front of her.

“Jen!” Mia sprung up from her seat and tugged her sister into a tight hug. 

One by one, Aliyah, her dad and her mom sauntered over to greet and fret over her. Sentiments of I miss you, echoing in the vast apartment.

“It’s good to see you, honey.” Her mom said with a smile. “I hope you’ve been taking care of that ankle.”

Jenna rolled her eyes at her Mom’s fretting but nodded reassuringly. “I’m okay, Mom. Y/N’s been helping me.”

“So I’ve heard.” She winked, walking away.

“Uh– you guys made yourselves comfortable…” Jenna cleared her throat as she watched how her mom swiftly walked back to the kitchen where you were leaning against the island, observing her family with a small smile.

“Y/N said to make yourselves at home. Blame her.” Aliyah said, tugging her onto the couch. “How’s filming been? How’s working with Winona Ryder, tell me everything!”

“Great uh–what’s for dinner?” Was the first question the actress asked, too distracted by watching your concentrated expression. The slight scrunch in your forehead as you closely listened to her mom’s instructions was more interesting than what her sister was asking her.

“Mom’s teaching her how to make frijoles.” Mia smirked at her sister’s doe-eyed look. 

“Oh…” Jenna replied with a vacant tone. “Sounds good.”

“Do you have any pictures in your wardrobe—“

“Why frijoles?” She added, interrupting Aliyah when she tried to spark another series of questions.

“Y/N heard it was one of your favourites, said she wanted to learn how to make it for you.” Mia replied, her tone smug.

“She did?” Jenna’s brow raised, still unable to look away from you. 

“I think we lost her,” Aliyah sighed to Mia, giving up on having her questions answered.

Jenna rolled her eyes when her sisters burst into laughter, blinking back to reality. “Shut up. What were you saying?” 

She forced herself to look away and give her undivided attention to her sisters. Pretending not to notice as you kept glancing at her from the kitchen.

—

“Wow this looks amazing, are you sure you helped, Y/N?” Aliyah teased from the dining table.

“Ha-ha, you’re hilarious.” You mocked, walking over with a bowl of guacamole, placing it at the centre of the table. “Wait ‘till you try my guac.”

“I always make the that.” Jenna trailed off, sneaking a peek at the bowl.

“I know.” You took your seat beside her. “Your mom showed me how you like to make it. I hope it’s close.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that…” She reached for a chip and dipped a large chunk into the green goodness. You watched intently for a reaction but she gave you none; continuing to chew on. 

“It’s good.” She finally says.

“That’s it?”

“What? I said it’s good.” Jenna laughed at your sullen expression; almost feeling bad. Once your bottom lip popped out in disappointment, she dropped her act, reaching for your arm and squeezing it. “I’m kidding. It’s great, it tastes exactly how I make it back home… but you know, you can’t beat the original.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.” You repeated her words.

Before Jenna can reply with a quip, her mom walked over with the last bowl of food, disrupting your conversation. But it was all forgotten when the younger actress’ nose welcomed the familiar scent of all of her favourite dishes. She enthusiastically eyed the various dishes scattered on the table, not having had her family’s cooking in what felt like forever. Living with you wasn’t bad – actually, it’s been more than great, but you were serious when you said you lacked skills in the kitchen. That resulted in dinners mostly being take-out these days.

“Have you tried frijoles before?” Jenna asked you. 

“Uh–no.” You blushed. “I actually didn’t even know they were beans until today.”

“You’ll love it.” She grinned, reaching over to plate you a generous helping. You refused to tell her that you didn’t necessarily love beans because her excited expression overpowered any dislike you had for the legume.

—

“You’re still up?” You called out after a brief glance, the pitter-patter of light footsteps coming down the hall, alerting you of her presence.

“Mhm, I heard the clanking of dishes from my room.” She replied, leaning against the counter, watching as you dried off the dishes one by one. “What’re you doing?”

“Sorry. I’ll keep it down.” You grimaced apologetically. “I couldn’t sleep so I figured I’d unload the dishes.”

“It’s okay, I’m actually not too tired too.” She stepped forward, only an arm’s length away from you. “Can I help?”

Wordlessly, you passed her a dry cloth and a bowl from the dishwasher. For a while, silence enveloped the room. You were grateful that you and the brunette can exist in silence, sometimes. Her mere presence provided a certain level of comfort that you’re still trying to get used to.

“So…” She spoke up after a few minutes, gaining your attention. “You’re really pulling out all the stops, huh.”

You raise an amused brow at the baiting look in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jenna would’ve believed that statement if it weren’t for the small smile at the corner of your lips telling her otherwise.

“Right… so, you just pick up all your friends’ parents from the airport and do chores, willingly.”

“I’m turning over a new leaf.” You shrugged, continuing to wipe away remnants of water from the plate. Hoping the mundane action hid your trembling fingers well.

“Oh, are you?”

“Yup.”

“So this isn’t you trying to win me over?”

“Me try to win you over? Whaaat?” You puffed out an airy scoff, “that’s ridiculous. I would never. I wholeheartedly respect your decision.” 

But the crinkle in your eyes told her that you were enjoying this way too much.

“Sure…” Jenna rolled her eyes, “even if you are just doing this out of the kindness of your own heart—“

“Which, I am.”

Jenna sends a playful glower at your interruption. 

“Just wanted to put that on record.” You added.

“Thank you.” Jenna declared, her tone soft yet serious. “You’ve been incredible these last few days.”

“Oh.” You blink, a pleased smile plastered on your face. “You’re welcome, Jen. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me.” The bowl and cloth in her hands were long forgotten on the counter as she closed the distance between you. “No one’s ever done any of… this, for me—thank you.”

The air feels charged as she suddenly looks at you with that doe-eyed stare. Feeling like your heart rate instantly doubles, the longer she stares at you like that.

“What? Be nice?” You said evenly, “You need to set your standards higher.”

She huffed at your antics. “I’m being serious.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” you laughed shakily, trying to gather some semblance of control over your racing pulse. “Like I said, it’s not a big deal, Jen… cause I’d do anything for you.”

She blinked, voice caught in her throat she took in the serious glint in your eyes; voice dripping with conviction 

“And this isn’t me trying to win you over. You’ll know when I do.”

The younger actress’ body feels like it’s on fire the longer she listens to your words. 

“Uh, sorry, too much?” You said apologetically when she remained unspeaking. 

But Jenna was already shaking her head, a faraway look in her eyes that you couldn’t quite decipher. 

“No…” She murmured, her sight drifting down to your lips before they flicker back up to your eyes. “Not at all.”

“Okay…” Your gaze bore intently into hers, waiting to see if she’ll make the first move. “Good.”

For a brief moment, her eyes flicker back down for a second time but then she’s blinking out of her self-induced stupor, “um–I should go to sleep. I need to be up early.” Jenna hoped her ogling on your soft lips wasn’t too obvious. 

She steps back and almost instantaneously, the tension in the room dissipates with each movement she takes. 

You nod, smiling softly despite the slight tinge of disappointment you felt; knowing that you shouldn’t rush into this with her. “Good idea, you should rest your ankle… good night, Jenna.”

Just before you turned back to grab the discarded dry cloth, Jenna takes a hesitant step—before she can lose her nerve and leaned up to plant her lips on the pad of your cheek.

Your brain felt like it short-circuited; not having felt her lips in forever as your skin burned against the delicate contact.

“Good night, Y/N.” She whispered, her soft lips grazing your cheek in a way that drove you crazy.

Before your brain could rewire itself well enough to form a response, Jenna was already turning around to retreat back to her room.

Biting your lip to contain the growing smile, you couldn’t look away from her figure until she disappeared behind the door.

Shit…

You’re in deeper than you thought.

——

if there was any mistakes… look away (i tried my best 🧍‍♀️)

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[bellaxgiornata]

All These Years [Part 19: "Coffee, Brunch, and Hotel Rooms"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of installments for All These Years here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains emotional hurt with no comfort until the final installments, angst, pining, friends to lovers, slowburn, and eventually smut [Comfort now exists in this series!!]

Word Count: 6.1k

a/n: Another not angsty installment for this series! And there's some sexual tension in this one! Feedback is always appreciated!

The warm vanilla latte at your usual coffee shop in Hell’s Kitchen tasted twice as delicious this morning as you remembered it being. Whether it was because you hadn’t had this roastery’s espresso in nearly a year, or because it was freezing outside in New York City and the hot liquid was quickly warming you up, or because it was just the way Matt was sitting beside you with a bright smile on his face, you weren’t entirely certain. But you were most definitely enjoying the cup of coffee that Matt had insisted he buy you. 

You couldn’t have pictured a better start to your first full day back in Hell’s Kitchen, either. You’d managed to sleep in this morning for once, cozily buried under all the hotel blankets. Shortly after waking up, you’d hurried to get ready only to be pleasantly surprised when Matt had called you. He’d told you that he was waiting for you down in the hotel lobby because he wanted to walk with you to the coffee shop. After hanging up the call, you almost screamed in sheer joy because this was really happening–Matt Murdock was actually taking you on a first date–but you had refrained. You were certain he’d have somehow overheard you in the lobby if you did and that would’ve been mildly embarrassing. 

Once you’d finally made it down to the lobby, your stomach had been full of excited and anticipatory nerves. The moment you exited the elevator, your eyes scanned the large, ornately decorated hotel lobby for Matt, trying to find him among the people milling about. When you spotted him relaxed on an armchair, his cane folded in his lap and his covered gaze already fixed on you, you came to a sudden stop. As if in slow motion you had watched a charming smile spread wide across his beautiful mouth, the sight nearly taking your breath away. Because this was your first date with him .

Those nerves were still fluttering in your stomach now, even after Matt and you had walked hand in hand to the coffee shop through the snowy sidewalks of Hell’s Kitchen. The ridiculous jokes you’d both exchanged back and forth while waiting to order your coffees had somewhat managed to ease those anxious butterflies in your stomach, but now that the pair of you were seated at a small table in the back of the coffee shop, they were hard to ignore. The entire situation felt so intimate and surreal with just the two of you sitting so close together and being so openly aware of your feelings for each other. And it definitely didn’t help that you couldn’t stop staring at his lips every time he spoke, remembering just how tenderly and passionately they had kissed you last night. You’d fallen asleep thinking about that kiss.

You were still thinking about that kiss. 

“You’re nervous,” Matt pointed out, breaking the brief silence that had fallen shortly after the pair of you had sat down.

“Yeah, well,” you began, lowering your coffee mug back to the table, “I never thought that you’d, you know, want to date me.”

Matt pulled a face, his head cocking to the side. “I still don’t understand how you ever thought that,” he mused.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Pretty sure we’ve beaten that topic like a dead horse over the past few months, Matt,” you pointed out. “You know how I thought that.”

“Okay,” Matt agreed with a chuckle, “you’re right. We certainly have discussed in depth how entirely oblivious we were all this time.”

“And it’s rather depressing,” you mumbled, eyes dropping down to your mug.

“Well,” he said, easily draping his arm across your shoulders, “we’re making up for it now.”

You flushed as you felt his fingers begin to absently dance across your shoulder, just over the fabric of your sweater. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a grin spread across Matt’s lips, the movement only giving you yet another reason to look over and stare at them again. Would you have another chance to kiss him this morning? Because you really hoped so.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Matt told you, his words catching you off guard. “I’ve always thought so, but I never thought you'd want to hear that from me.”

Gaze timidly dropping back down to the table, you ducked your head, overcome with a sudden shyness at his compliment. You could feel the way your pulse was unsteadily jumping in your throat, your cheeks flaming. This moment didn’t feel real to you. You’d seen Matt flirt and sleep with countless other women–many of which you’d classify as model-like–and here he was calling you beautiful with every ounce of sincerity in his tone. It almost felt like too much.

Matt’s hand slid its way across your back, the movement causing your eyelids to flutter closed briefly–you wished he would touch you some more. Preferably somewhere where you both weren't in public. But then you felt his fingers gently grasp your chin, gingerly turning your face back towards his. Gradually your eyes slid up to meet the red lenses of his glasses.

“I have always wanted you,” Matt stated, a serious expression on his face as he spoke. “We’ve known each other for years and I have–have wanted this day for so long. And with you going back to LA in a few days, I don’t want to waste a single moment of the time I’ve got with you here. So please don't be nervous with me, sweetheart," he almost pleaded. “You don’t need to be.”

"Sort of hard not to be," you whispered, your fingers toying with the handle of your mug.

“You’ve gotten drunk around me how many times?” Matt pointed out, his brows darting up onto his forehead as a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve had you spit out orange juice on me–”

“That was because Foggy did an incredible impression of you rolling out of bed grumpy that morning,” you defended quickly, cutting him off. “And I hadn’t been expecting it. And it was a spot on impression of you.”

“Debatable,” Matt said dismissively. “But the point stands. You’ve spent how many years around me being yourself now? Relax.” Matt’s hand released your chin only to slip under the table and reassuringly squeezing your upper thigh. “It’s just me.”

You quickly became very aware of each of his digits pressing into your skin through the denim of your jeans. It was hard to focus on anything else but the weight of his hand resting on your thigh and how badly you wished it would inch just a bit higher. Breath coming in sharper, you tried to control your thoughts. After all, the pair of you were still sitting in a coffee shop. And it was only the first date.

“That’s sort of uh,” you paused, clearing your throat when you felt Matt’s hand abruptly tighten around your thigh, “sort of the reason. Because it’s you, Matt.”

Matt shifted in his chair, turning towards you and leaning in closer. In that moment, you completely forgot about everyone else in the coffee shop. It was just you and Matt. He reached his other hand up, pulling the glasses from his face and setting them down onto the table beside your coffees. Without them obstructing the view of his face, you saw that his hazel eyes looked more vibrant with the morning sun reflecting off the snow outside and hitting him just right through the window. You would absolutely never get over how attractive he was; it had always been almost painful to you all those years you’d yearned for him.

“You were the one who was always out of reach,” you confessed, the words just slipping out of your mouth before you could stop them. “The one I always saw with everyone else. The one I…never felt good enough for.”

Matt leaned in further, his dark brows pinching together on his forehead as if your words had physically pained him to hear. He shook his head lightly, his face hovering half a foot away from yours.

“You’ve always been far too good for me,” he murmured. “Far too good.”

Pulling a face, you shook your head at his words. “Matt, don’t. That’s not true.”

He didn’t respond and another silence fell over the pair of you, Matt’s face still hovering half a foot away from yours. Inevitably your eyes dropped down towards his lips. They looked so full and soft. You bet anything that his mouth tasted exactly like the roast he was drinking. That thought had your jaw clenching as you refrained from closing the distance between the pair of you. Matt’s hand slid just a fraction higher up your thigh and your eyelids partially dropped closed. For a moment you forgot how to breathe. 

“What if I asked you to kiss me?” he whispered. 

Trying to control your racing heart, your eyes rose back up to meet his. He was staring at you with that same intensity he’d had last night when he’d walked you home and kissed you. Your tongue slipped out, nervously wetting your lips as your stomach anxiously twisted at the prospect of you kissing him . Matt’s eyes only dropped further down from your cheek, his eyes very focused on your mouth as his own twitched at the corners.

“Right now?” you breathed out. “Here?”

“Yes,” he replied.

He leaned in just a bit closer as you internally fought with yourself. You desperately wanted to kiss him, but even though he’d just asked you to, you somehow feared he’d reject you. But when he leant in just a bit more, the tip of his nose brushing against yours, your right hand automatically reached up and landed on his stubbled cheek. The moment you’d touched him, Matt’s eyes closed and he expelled the softest sigh that you’d almost missed. Encouraged by his reaction, you’d gathered whatever courage you had and closed your eyes before closing the remaining distance between the both of you.

He tasted exactly like the rich roast he was drinking. And as Matt’s mouth moved confidently back against yours, your fear of rejection quickly disappeared. Craving more of him, your fingers gripped his cheek as you drew his mouth in more firmly to yours. Matt obliged easily, his hand sliding to the outside of your thigh before it traveled its way up to your waist as he kissed you. 

You were so intent on kissing him that you’d nearly forgotten to breathe. Which was probably why you were taken by surprise when he broke away from you, sitting back in his seat as your eyes blinked back open. Trying to catch your breath, the sound of Matt’s breathy chuckle had you fast remembering that you were in a public place. Again .

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting you to do that,” he told you, a boyish grin on his face.

Still trying to recover from that kiss, resting a hand against your flushed cheek, you let out a nervous laugh. “Probably about as long as I have,” you replied.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Matt began, that grin only growing on his face. “I have wanted you to kiss me long before I even knew your name.”

Another nervous laugh slipped out of your mouth as you reached over, grabbing your coffee. “Well, maybe next time we can do that in a less public place for once,” you said.

“Oh? Is that right?” Matt nearly purred.

Realizing the implication of what you’d just said, your eyes grew wide and you stiffened in your seat. “That’s–that’s not what I meant,” you told him, hand tightening awkwardly around the handle of your coffee mug.

“So you don’t want that?” he asked coyly.

“I–well–I mean I’ve–” you stammered, struggling to find an answer as Matt’s lips curled up in amusement. “I mean I’ve obviously thought about that, but not in the middle of a coffee shop!” you blurted.

Matt barked out a warm laugh, a broad smile breaking across his face that drew the single dimple out in his cheek. His eyes were shining brightly back at you, the corners of them creased.

“Obviously,” Matt teased. “I think that’s a little too far even for me.”

Running a hand across your forehead, you let out a frustrated sigh. “This has got to be your worst first date,” you muttered under your breath.

“Actually,” he immediately countered, “it’s been my favorite.”

Glancing up at him beneath your lashes, you saw the genuine smile on his face. That smile alone melted all your nerves. Because he was right, he was the same Matt you’d spent years being yourself with. The one you were hopelessly in love with. And he wanted this just as much as you did.

“How’s your second semester starting off?” you asked Karen.

You speared a piece of your french toast, bringing the fork to your mouth for a bite. Karen shrugged her shoulders from across the table as she worked on cutting up her stack of pancakes.

“About as crazy and stressful as the last one started out,” she told you. “Which is to be expected in law school, I suppose. But I’m grateful that Foggy and Matt were able to pull some strings and get me into Columbia, so I try not to complain.”

“Hopefully you can keep up with the coursework while still working at their office,” you replied. “That’s got to be a lot all at once.”

Karen brought a forkful of food to her lips as she shrugged again. “It is, but it’ll be worth it in the end,” she said. “But what about you?” she asked, gesturing her fork at you. “I notice you’ve been strategically avoiding the topic of your morning with Matt. How’d that coffee date go?”

You couldn’t fight the smile that instantly made its way onto your lips at the mention of this morning. The coffee date had gone well, especially once you’d stopped being so shy around Matt. You’d certainly enjoyed yourself, the pair of you chatting and joking. Considering you’d both been speaking daily for weeks now, there wasn’t much to catch back up on. But you’d most certainly enjoyed the goodbye kiss he’d given you outside your hotel lobby earlier. It was the most chaste kiss the two of you had shared so far, but it still left you giddy just thinking about it.

“Good,” you answered her, spearing another piece of french toast. “Really good, actually.”

“Oh?” Karen asked, curiosity alighting in her eyes as she set her own fork down. “Does really good mean you two have actually kissed?”

Bottom lip slipping between your teeth, you nodded slowly in response. Karen’s eyes grew wide as she gasped. Seconds later you were laughing as she began to bounce excitedly in her chair.

“Why did you wait until just now to tell me that?” she asked. “Tell me everything! I’m dying to know!”

“Well,” you began, lowering your own fork back to your plate, “he actually kissed me last night. When he walked me back to the hotel.”

Karen leaned forward in her chair, listening with rapt attention. You felt a heat creep up your neck as you recalled that moment, your eyes drifting down towards your partially eaten breakfast.

“It was…honestly better than I could have ever imagined it would be,” you admitted. “I had thought about it often over the years, you know? Wondering what it would be like to actually kiss him, and it was far better than I ever thought it could be.” Your eyes met Karen’s again, your stomach fluttering just at the memory. “It was a butterflies in your stomach, leaving you breathless and dizzy sort of a first kiss. I’ve…never felt that with anyone else before.”

Karen’s smile only widened further on her face. “So have you kissed since last night?” she pressed.

“Twice today,” you told her. “And I’ll be honest, the sexual tension is definitely there.”

Karen giggled, rolling her eyes as she sat back in her chair. “I can only imagine. You saw him everyday for years and couldn’t ever touch him like that,” she said. “I’m sure you’re both dying for more.”

“Yeah, I uh, I don’t think it’s just me,” you replied nervously.

“So, are you going to sleep with him while you’re here then?” she asked.

Your eyes went wide at her blunt question. It had taken you off guard. Because honestly, you hadn’t really thought about that when you’d left to come here. Things were still confusing with you living in LA and Matt living in Hell’s Kitchen. You figured if you slept with Matt, that would most likely only make it harder for you to leave on Monday morning. Not to mention, you didn’t exactly know what you two technically were just yet, either. It was something you planned to discuss with him Sunday night at dinner with him. 

“I don’t know,” you confessed. “I guess I never really thought that far ahead. I knew he wanted to take me on some dates while I was here but I–I guess I didn’t expect things to go so well. And I’m admittedly afraid of getting too serious too quickly when I have to leave in a couple of days. Sleeping with him might just…complicate things further?”

“True,” Karen mused, nodding slightly. “But not sleeping with him when you have the chance might be something you regret. It might be a while before you get the opportunity again.”

“He did say he was coming out to visit me in March,” you reminded her.

Karen tilted her head to the side, shooting you a pointed look as she raised one of her blonde brows. 

“You mean to tell me that you’re not going to be wishing you’d slept with him now while you’re waiting for the chance over the next couple of months?” she asked flatly. “Because I don’t buy that.”

“Okay, yeah, I probably will,” you relented. “But it might be worse if I sleep with him now and then don’t see him again for a couple of months. Especially since we’re still, you know, figuring this all out.”

Karen picked her fork back up, stabbing a piece of pancake and bringing it to her lips. The fork paused just before her mouth, her eyes narrowing curiously at you. You raised a questioning brow back at her.

“Have you thought about moving back?” she asked.

She popped the piece of pancake into her mouth, chewing it as she watched you release a deep sigh. Settling back into your chair, your gaze dropped over to the window on your right. Snow was coming down a little heavier now, the white flakes actually beginning to stick outside.

“I’ve considered it,” you admitted. “But there’s not exactly an opening for me back in Hell’s Kitchen at my company. Not at the moment at least.”

“But you’re open to moving back?” Karen questioned.

“If things with Matt continue to progress,” you answered her slowly, your gaze gradually rising up to meet hers, “yeah. I’ve been considering coming back.”

A massive smile drew itself across Karen’s face as she nearly threw her fork onto the table. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed. “That’s amazing news!”

You instantly held up a hand, waving it at her and cutting off her excitement. You watched as her smile quickly fell.

“But do not mention this to Matt or Foggy,” you warned her. “Me being open to moving back doesn’t mean things will work out to where I actually can sometime soon. And I don’t want to give either of them false hope, Kare. I don’t know what will happen.”

Karen’s smile quickly returned to her mouth as she straightened in her seat. Picking her fork back up, she said, “I have a feeling things will find a way to work themselves out. Just like they did with you and Matt.”

You laughed lightly, glancing down at your plate. “Yeah, and that only took seven years,” you muttered.

Washing your face with a washcloth, you lathered your skin and scrubbed the day from off of your face. It was getting late and you were exhausted, but the little nighttime ritual you had before bed felt relaxing after the eventful day you’d had.

Matt had once again asked to walk you back to your hotel after your evening at Josie’s a little over an hour ago. Earlier you’d met up with him, Karen, Foggy, and Marci and enjoyed your night out. Especially when Foggy had wrangled you into a game of pool with him and Karen versus you and Matt. Outside of the obvious competition during the game, there had definitely been a lot of little secret flirtatious touches between you and Matt as the night wore on, though you were very aware of the fact that only you had been getting a slight buzz from drinking. Matt had told you he planned to stay sober because of what he was doing afterwards–heading out as Daredevil.

Knowing that’s what he was going out to do after he’d walked you home had weighed heavy on your mind as you’d been up in your room. You’d certainly been worrying about him the moment he’d parted ways with you in front of the hotel and said goodnight. And even though you’d known about him being Daredevil for a while now and you knew that’s how he spent most of his evenings, you still couldn’t help but worry about him. Though some nights he had called you when he’d gotten back from his nights out as Daredevil because you were three hours behind in LA. He’d quickly learned those calls helped to ease your mind about him.

Turning on the bathroom sink’s faucet and running the water, you cupped some of it in your hands before splashing it onto your face and rinsing off the soap a few times. Afterwards, you dried your face on one of the soft hotel towels, feeling even more worn out and ready for bed. Setting the towel onto the bathroom counter, you turned and trudged your way out of the bathroom and over towards your unkempt bed. 

But you almost screamed when you saw someone standing on your balcony.

“It’s just me,” Daredevil’s muffled voice came through the glass of the sliding door not even a second later. He gestured a hand at the door. “Can you let me in?”

Heart still hammering away in your chest from the scare, suddenly feeling very awake now, you made your way over to the balcony door. Matt hadn’t told you he planned to stop by tonight–certainly not like this–and you briefly hoped no one outside had noticed him. That was the last thing you needed–someone spotting Daredevil on your hotel balcony.

Unlocking the door, you slid it open and stepped to the side to give Matt plenty of space. He easily slipped through the opening, closing the door after himself before he reached a hand out, drawing the curtains entirely closed over the glass. That somehow made you feel even more alone with Matt, your heart continuing to unsteadily pound at a rapid pace.

Taking a step back from him, you couldn’t resist taking in the sight of Matt in his tight red suit. You’d never actually seen him as Daredevil before; the time Elektra had dropped him off beaten and bloody at your previous apartment all that time ago he’d been wearing the black suit. If you were being honest, you’d quite enjoyed seeing him in that black suit, too. It had certainly not left much to the imagination. But this suit, while not as form-fitting, was certainly drawing your eye to the various muscled planes of his body. He was so incredibly solid .

Matt’s hands rose up, the gesture breaking your ogling of his muscles as he slipped the helmet off of his head with one hand, running his other through his messy hair. He was grinning back at you, though the look was more devilish than anything with his face now unobstructed by the helmet. There was an obvious glint of mischief in his eyes as they focused near your face.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” you told him.

Matt shrugged as he continued to run a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Figured I’d make the most of your time here in Hell’s Kitchen,” he said, taking a few steps into the room and setting his helmet on the end of your bed. “I can go if you’d prefer, though?”

He straightened up, shooting you an inquisitive look. One of his dark brows had risen up onto his forehead as his head tilted to the side. His eyes dropped down towards your chest and you awkwardly crossed your arms over it, aware he was listening to your heart.

“No,” you replied quickly, shaking your head. “I mean, it’s fine. I’m not complaining. You just startled me. Especially showing up like, well, that .”

You waved a hand at his Daredevil suit before crossing it back over your chest. Gradually Matt began pulling the gloves off each of his hands, the movement slow and purposeful. His head was still tilted to the side, a cocky grin on his lips now.

“Yeah, I noticed I startled you. I’m sorry about that,” he apologized, a smugness to his tone. “I wasn’t trying to. It just wasn’t a busy night for once so I thought I’d stop by. But,” he continued, that grin on his mouth only growing as his eyes lingered along your chest, “I noticed that wasn’t all you felt at the sight of me.”

Brows drawing together, you hugged your arms tighter across your chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

Matt dropped his gloves onto the bed beside his helmet, your eyes following their movements. God were his hands ever a distraction to you, especially all those times you had watched him work on homework in the past, his fingers so carefully running across the braille. You’d often thought about those hands touching you late at night while you were in your dorm room. 

Matt’s grin remained on his lips as he pointed a finger at your chest. “Your heart rate is still elevated and I’ve been here for a couple of minutes now, sweetheart. If that was due to the adrenaline from the shock of seeing me on your balcony then it would have slowed by now. But it hasn’t.” His hand raised a bit, pointing up at your face. “And you’re flushing yet again–I can feel the temperature increase from here. Which tells me I’m not wrong because you're nervous.”

“Okay, and?” you asked, stomach twisting into anxious knots.

Matt’s hand lowered back to his side as he studied you for a moment. His eyes were narrowed just a bit, his gaze back on your chest. Lips parting just slightly, his tongue slid out and wet them, your eyes drawn to the movement. For a brief moment he bit down on that bottom lip and you felt a sudden urge to bite it yourself, your hands curling into fists as you tried to push the thought away.

Matt began to cross the room towards you without a word, slowly stalking his way over towards you. His gait was almost predatory as he moved–the smirk now on his lips only adding to that. Whether it was the suit on him or the muscle behind it, there was a dangerous edge to him that wasn’t usually present when you were around Matt normally. It simultaneously excited you and made you nervous right now–and you knew he could tell. 

When he eventually came to a stop just before you, you could feel the cold emanating from his suit and it rose the hairs along your forearms. You figured he must have been outside for some time, scouring rooftops in the snow looking for criminals. 

 Why did the thought of that turn you on so much?

“And,” he said softly, his ungloved hand rising to cradle the side of your face, “I happen to remember someone mentioning wanting to resume things in a more private setting.” 

Your breath caught in your throat as Matt's hand tilted your face up more towards his, the implication in his words hanging heavy in the air. Unwrapping your arms from around yourself, both of your hands landed on Matt’s armored chest. The strange material felt hard and frigid beneath them, a chill running over you as you gazed up at Matt’s face. You absolutely wanted to take advantage of him being here alone in your hotel room. So far you’d only had opportunities to see him in public since you’d been back. Seeing him as Daredevil now certainly had you wanting to know what it would be like to kiss Matt without an audience for once. Without the need to hold back because you weren’t alone. Though, as you’d told Karen earlier, you weren’t ready to have sex with Matt. Not with the undefined situation between you both.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t want him kissing you until your mind went blank, feeling his hands finally roaming all over your body.

“Is that still something you want?” Matt murmured.

The pad of his thumb slid down towards your lips, brushing its way incredibly slowly across them. Your lips parted as a soft gasp fell out between them, your knees quivering as you felt faint just from the way he was touching you. Matt’s other hand was soon at your waist, gripping you firmly as he held you upright and kept you steady. 

“I don’t think we should–should take things too far just yet,” you breathed out, struggling to form the words with him touching you like he was. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t–”

Matt’s head cocked to the side, his eyes intensely focused on your mouth as you spoke. But you couldn’t quite find the courage to finish your train of thought. You wanted to tell him that it didn’t mean the pair of you couldn’t do almost anything else tonight. You wanted him to keep touching you. Wanted his mouth back on yours. You had wanted that for so damn long that you just wanted to kiss him and never stop kissing him now that you actually could .

“So I can kiss you?” Matt asked.

“Mhmm,” you hummed out, nodding eagerly back at him. 

“What about–” Matt began softly, his hand making its way from your hip and towards your lower back, slipping underneath your loose shirt and pressing itself flat against your bare skin, “–touching you?”

Teeth clamping down on your bottom lip, you nodded vigorously in response. Your knees were definitely shaking now, goosebumps rising across the length of your arms. The warmth of his palm on your lower back felt impossibly good, your fingers beginning to curl against his suit, your nails digging in.

“So no sex?” Matt clarified.

You shook your head, hating yourself even as you did. “Not this time,” you whispered. “It’s just, this is all so new with us,” you explained, your brain struggling to keep a coherent thought as Matt’s warm palm slid higher up your back. “And I leave in a couple of days, and–”

“You don’t have to justify your reasons, sweetheart,” Matt gently cut you off. “I can wait for that. But if I’m being honest, I can’t wait any longer to kiss you.”

“Then don’t,” you blurted.

As if that was all the confirmation Matt needed, he dove forward and pressed his mouth to yours. Taken by surprise, you’d almost lost your footing as your eyes fell closed, but Matt’s hand on your back pulled you forward, crushing you into the front of himself. You could feel his blunt nails digging into your skin as his mouth connected to yours over and over, leaving you gasping for breath each time he did. Your own hands slid their way up towards his face, grabbing it in both of your palms and desperately trying to deepen the kiss further. Forgetting all about your previous nerves with your mind focused only on the feel of Matt, your teeth bit onto his bottom lip and tugged . Something like a snarl rumbled in Matt’s chest in response and a shiver rippled down your spine at the sound. 

Without warning, Matt’s hand snaked its way from your cheek to the back of your neck, his tongue finding its way into your mouth. His hand slid even higher up your back, his nails lightly dragging along your skin as he began to walk you backwards. 

Barely coherent with Matt's tongue sensually exploring your mouth with such determined focus, a startled gasp flew out of you when your back hit a wall. Matt only grunted in response, his hand abruptly gliding its way down your back, a shiver running through you at the scratch of his nails. A second later that large palm of his grabbed your ass firmly and then squeezed . You moaned into his mouth instantly, the sound causing Matt to break away from you with a hiss of pleasure shooting out through his teeth. Resting his forehead against yours, Matt bucked his hips forward into you. The noticeable bulge in his suit had you arching your back along the wall.

"Matt," you whimpered. 

Matt whined at the sound of his name, his labored breathing filling your ears as the sound mixed with your own loud pants in the room. He gripped your ass again and you couldn't resist the urge to grind forward into him, the action involuntary as a wet heat began to form between your thighs. 

"You have no idea how many times," Matt breathed out, still trying to catch his breath, "that I've tried to imagine what it would be like to hear you like this. To hear you say my name like that." 

He audibly swallowed hard and somehow that sound was quickly sobering. If the pair of you continued like this, you weren’t sure you'd be able to stop. Given another minute, you’d surely let him tear your clothes off and fuck you right here against the wall.

"We should–should probably–"

"Slow down," Matt agreed, huffing out a laugh. "I don't think I could control myself, sweetheart. Not with you. Not with how long I've wanted this." 

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before he continued, his forehead still resting against yours. 

"And you've been drinking," he pointed out, "This isn't–isn’t how I wanted this to be with you. I want you to be sure of things."

Matt reluctantly took a step back from you, his hands returning to his sides as he placed an obvious distance between the pair of you. His chest was visibly heaving, his eyes fixed along your own chest again. You were still leaning against the wall, lightheaded and trying to catch your breath. You couldn’t help but notice just how good he looked with his face flushed and his lips swollen from kissing you.

"I want to do this right with you," Matt told you, a sheepish smile on his face. "Not just–just show up on the balcony outside your hotel room dressed like this,” he said waving a hand at his suit. “And if I'm being honest, I always had somewhere in mind to take you to dinner for a date, and I really want to do that first."

Your cheeks heated at his confession, your heart swelling in your chest. "You did?" you whispered. 

"Yeah," he said, his expression further softening. “I’d thought about it a lot over the years we were at Columbia. Pictured taking you there. Even after college,” he continued, “I’d thought about it then, too. Wondered if I would ever get the chance to take you on this date that I’d thought about for years. But yes,” Matt nodded, that sheepish smile on his face turning soft. “I think you’re right. We shouldn’t take this any farther just yet. I don’t want to rush anything with you.”

Running a hand through your hair, you blinked hard a few times as his words settled in your mind. “Do you uh,” you paused, clearing your throat. “Do you want to just stay here for a bit? Maybe tell me about your not so exciting night out instead?”

A warmth overtook Matt’s face, reaching his eyes as he nodded again. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

Tag list: @acharliecoxedfan @theetherealbloom @rotscinema @magnumstyles @roseallisonparker @ofmusesandsecrets @readerhead @paracosmic-murdock @v4leoftears @why-always-me-gosh-please @redbircl @keepingitlokiii @yarrystyleeza @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @margoo0 @1988-fiend @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @justalittlebitbored @am-3-thyst @buckybarnes-1917 @thora-jane @lionalsowrites @cloudroomblog @prince-tassel @danzer8705 @yourlocalbentspine @harperdoodle @hollandorks @mattmurdocksstarlight @yeonalie @will-delete-this-later-probably @darkened-writer @kmc1989 @yomamasitsaroundthehouse @sumo-b98 @mrs-bellingham

[leiawritesstories]

PROMPT:

leia my love i DARE you

I LEGIT LAUGHED SO HARD MARIA BAHAHA here you go love <3 ;)

word count: 611

warnings: swearing, innuendo, artistic depiction of ���

let's add this to the @throneofglassmicrofics March challenge! using the prompts "Accident" and "Chaos" hehe enjoyyyy

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

Snatching a few seconds to gasp in a breath as the madness of the morning rush died down, Aelin wiped her hands on her apron and brushed loose strands of hair away from her face. She washed her hands quickly and returned to the coffee bar just as Lysandra stuck her head into the back room and hollered for her.

"Calm down, Lyssie!" Aelin yelled back, laughing. "I'm right here."

"Someone asked for you," Lys singsonged, wiggling her brows aggressively.

Aelin rolled her eyes. "You'd think we were fifteen, not twenty-three."

"We're so mature." Lys smirked and bumped her hip into Aelin's. "Now go take your man's order."

Aelin strolled up to the counter, grinning as she met Rowan's bright, amused gaze. "Hey. What can I get you?"

"Well, since you aren't on the menu, I'll take a cappuccino." The slow wink he gave her did bad, bad things to her heartbeat.

She lowered her lashes and peeked up, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth the way she knew drove her boyfriend wild. "I'm all up for grabs at four, you know."

"Oh, I know." He smirked as he pulled his credit card from his wallet. She tapped in his order, and he paid and sauntered down to wait by the pick-up window.

"You should put special art on his cappuccino," Lys said as she finished up the iced lattes she was working on.

"Like a heart? Bitch, please."

"Oh no." Lys's smirk turned positively wicked. "A dick."

"Lysandra Ennar!" Aelin yelped, swatting the brunette with a towel. "What the hell?!"

"Bitch, you know you want to." Lys's eyebrow wiggle returned, even more aggressive than earlier. "You could even draw it to scale."

Aelin laughed so hard she had to brace her hands on the countertop to keep herself upright. "Holy shit, Lys!" She wheezed as she caught her breath. "Alright. Watch this." She sped through the motions of pulling the espresso shot and steaming up some milk, and then she carefully cradled the ceramic cup in her left hand and began pouring the steamed milk with her right.

When the foam rose to the top, she carefully turned the mug, made a sort of sideways heart shape, and dragged the point of the heart downwards. Then she rotated the mug, and, starting from the point of the upside-down heart, poured a careful pattern of foam in a precise, nearly straight line with a slight wobble. She finished off the crown with a little blob, artfully smearing it so it looked like, well...

"Someone's happy to see you," Lys snickered.

Aelin cackled as she set down the cappuccino. "Ro, love, here's your drink." She spun the cup so that the thick, long dick painted in white foam stood erect.

"Thanks, Ae--what the fuck?!" Rowan spluttered, gaping at the drink. His tan face flushed an endearingly bright shade of crimson, his eyes darting rapidly between the dick-uccino and Aelin's bright, wicked grin.

"Not quite large enough for you, love?"

"Aelin," he groaned, dropping his head into his hands and scrubbing at his blushing face. "No, it's the perfect size."

She snickered. "Good to know. I have quite the model." Her gaze flicked south.

He laughed as he grabbed a stir stick and stirred his cappuccino, dissolving her work of art. "Don't think you've heard the last of this, love." Heat simmered in his eyes.

"Is that a promise?"

Rowan's stare, blazingly hot, snapped to hers. "When you're begging me to let you come, love, just remember this--you got me hard in a very public place." He strolled off to a table, leaving her flushed and speechless behind the bar.

Well.

Damn.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

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@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@aelinschild

[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 7 - School

Chapter Summary: Natasha tricks Cat into going to school. Apparently she's some kind of genius.

Chapter Warnings: Talks about kidnapping.

Notes: Thanks for all the support on this story! Please continue to like/reblog/comment (I feel like a Youtuber). Also if there is anything you're interested in seeing in the story, let me know and I'll try to incorporate it!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Once they arrived at Natasha's apartment, Cat had to try hard to pretend not to be too impressed.

It had to be three times as large as Trevor's place. It was impeccably furnished and decorated, with lush sofas and pristine countertops. To Cat's delight, there were two fancy espresso machines— if you felt like making two cups at the same time, she guessed. The apartment was located in the richer part of the neighborhood. There was a sprawl of shops and diners across the street. It was clear that being an Avenger paid well.

The house had that fresh, new-house smell. She noticed there were no framed pictures in the apartment, or anything that could have revealed who the owner was. There were three bedrooms. In contrast to the rest of the apartment, the bedrooms were furnished very little. One of them was completely empty. The other two only had beds and drawers. One of them had a desk. There was barely anything in the fridge. Natasha only had plastic cups and utensils.

"I only stay here when I'm in the neighborhood," Natasha explained. "It's more of a safehouse. That's why it's so empty."

Cat was okay with the space. She liked having room to move. It was vastly different from Trevor's apartment, which had been cluttered with so many beer bottles that she could hardly walk from one side of a room to the other without stumbling over something.

Natasha gave her a key to the apartment, and told her, "If you lose it, you aren't getting another one."

Cat was allowed to choose a room; she chose the one with the desk. It took her roughly five minutes to unpack. The only things she still carried with her were basic living necessities and her stuffed rabbit, Rufus. She had a diverse collection of clothes, taken from homeless shelters and traded on the street. They fit her oddly, either oversized or undersized, and most of them were ripped or had holes in them.

The ill-fitting clothes didn't escape Natasha's notice. The second day, Cat woke up to find the closet bursting with a plethora of clothes. Leggings, T-shirts, tops, jeans, jackets, coats. She had no idea how Natasha had gotten her size, but all of them fit her perfectly. She was suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of gratitude. She didn't know if she could put it into words. But Natasha didn't bring it up, so neither did she.

As the days went by, Cat noticed new additions to the apartment. New pens and books appeared in her room. Chew toys and dog beds for Taco manifested in the living room. The fridge was always full. Sometimes Taco Bell would be waiting on the table when Cat got back. A couple of those cheesy mugs with funny one-liners sat next to the expensive wine bottles in the cupboards. And lastly, about five different brands of cereal in the pantry, including Fruit Loops. Yet, Natasha never said a word about it.

Despite what Natasha had said about only living there when she was in the neighborhood, she seemed to be at the apartment quite a lot. She was nearly always at the table in the morning, awake before the sun. She would be reading a book or scrolling through her phone, a pot of coffee steaming next to her. She always glared when Cat stole it to pour herself two mugfuls of coffee, muttering something about grubby coffee-addicted children.

Cat appreciated the tranquil peacefulness of the mornings. Back when she lived at Trevor's, mornings were the only time she had to herself. She'd never been great at the whole sleeping thing, either. It wasn't uncommon for her to be up at 3AM drinking coffee. When she'd been homeless, her sleep schedule had been all over the place.

However, Natasha's sleeping schedule seemed even more irregular. She often came back to the apartment at odd hours, or got up at midnight for a jog. Sometimes, they caught each other in the kitchen in the early hours and talked about nothing in particular. Natasha never asked her why she was up so late, or told her to go back to sleep. She did, however, make many comments that hinted at Cat's unhealthy sleeping habits, which Cat was content to ignore. Their conversations had a fair amount of rolling eyes and bickering.

Still, some days Cat walked into the kitchen in the morning and Natasha wasn't there. The woman never left a note or mentioned leaving. She'd come back after a few days. The most she'd been away was two weeks. Cat guessed that she was on some Avenger-related mission. She'd always come back looking a little tired, with bandages over fresh cuts and bruises.

Cat was good on her own. Cash was kept in a hidden drawer in the kitchen. Natasha had shown it to her the first week. She could get in and out of the apartment with her key. Over the next few weeks, she fell into a routine. She spent the days walking around the city, exploring new streets and shops. She took Taco to the park, went to the library to read, and was free to do whatever she pleased.

Overall, life was good. So good, that Cat had to routinely keep reminding herself to not get too comfortable. Still, it was hard when she had all the Fruit Loops and coffee she could ever want, a warm place to sleep, and the constant hunger in her stomach no longer intensified day by day.

But what if this whole plan didn't work out? Cat knew better than to think this was anything but a temporary arrangement. She had learned from making this mistake in various foster homes. One second, things were fine— then all of the sudden, BAM! She was back in the system because they decided she was too troublesome, too mouthy, too much to deal with. She got into too many fights, she was too hyper, she was mean to the other kids— Cat had heard it all. What if the same thing happened with Natasha? The questions lingered in her mind.

The first time Natasha had left for a mission, Cat had explored the entire apartment fully. She'd discovered not one but twenty-three different hiding places loaded with weapons, cash, fake passports, and random assortments. Cat didn't know why she was so surprised when she saw the guns. Of course the Black Widow would want to be protected in her own house. But the guns gave her an idea.

Just in case she had to live on the streets again, she needed something that would protect her. Cat took a gun from one of the hiding places and stashed it in her pillowcase. She'd read about that type of gun in the library and had studied the different diagrams. At night, she practiced taking it apart and putting it back together, then practiced turning the safety on and off. Sometimes she would aim it at nothing in particular, imagining those muggers who'd attacked her on the other end of it. She was reminded of how helpless she felt, how weak.

Briefly, that took her back to Trevor. She shut the memory down quick— she was getting better at that. Gripping the gun tightly, she decided that she never wanted to feel that helpless again.

But simply knowing how to hold the gun wasn't enough. One day, she confronted Natasha at breakfast.

"Teach me how to fight."

Natasha set down her fork. Her expression, as always, was unreadable. "Why?"

"Because I want to know how."

"Why do you want to know how?"

Cat didn't want to tell her the real reason why. She was quiet for a long time. "I just do."

Natasha was silent for a long moment. She seemed to see right through her. Cat shifted nervously.

"Okay."

Cat beamed, nearly springing out of her chair in glee. "Really?"

"However, I have two conditions."

Cat sat back down and crossed her arms, not liking the sound of that. "What are they?"

"One, stop stealing my guns."

Cat's heart stuttered in her chest. How the hell did she notice it was gone? There must've been at least thirty guns hidden around the apartment.

"I… don't know what you're talking about," she tried.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Please. You're not as sneaky as you think you are. The walls are paper-thin. And I'm familiar with what assembling and disassembling a semi-automatic pistol sounds like."

"Okay, fine. Stealing guns— not an option. What about the knives?"

Natasha glared.

"Okay, fine. No knives either." Cat leaned back in the chair. "So what's the second condition?"

A gleam in Natasha's eye made Cat feel wary. "The second condition: If I teach you how to fight, you have to go to school."

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

And that was how Cat found herself waiting in front of the principal's office at a brand-new school, smack in the middle of the school year, waiting to be admitted into her first class.

Fun.

Natasha only agreed to teaching Cat how to fight after she completed her first day of school. It would be worth it, Cat reminded herself, when she was being taught how to punch a mugger in the face by the Black Widow herself.

When Cat saw the new backpack Natasha had chosen for her, she'd gotten second thoughts. Currenting lying next to her feet, it was no less hideous than her old one. This one was My Little Pony merchandise, a mortifying pink covered in sparkly bright pony decorations. Cat had an inkling that Natasha had done it on purpose— oh, who was she kidding? She'd definitely done it on purpose.

The room was painted a mild and disgusting shade of yellow. The walls were covered in posters with words. Cat amused herself by reading through them. NO BULLYING. Think big! Your only limit is your mind. One was covered with words like responsibility and respectful and happiness. Barf.

The secretaries' desk sat in front of the principal's office. There were two of them. One looked like she should've retired two decades ago. She moved with an agitating slowness only rivaled by the laziest sloth in the rainforest. She was squinting at her computer, frowning and muttering to herself. Cat was almost certain she was playing solitaire. The other secretary was gossiping on the phone to someone about Terry's latest squash patch and how they all looked like a bunch of deformed potatoes.

Taco hadn't been allowed on campus. She was so used to having her beagle around that without her, Cat felt like some part of her was missing. That, coupled with having to sit still at the chair made her antsy. Cat had never been a patient person. She checked the time on the clock for the second time that same minute. How was it possible that she'd only been waiting seven and a half minutes?

Cat was saved from her boredom by the door beside her chair swinging open. A dark haired boy sauntered in. Cat caught a glimpse of a self-satisfied expression on his face as he made his way to the secretaries' desk and slammed a pink slip of paper down on it with an unnecessary amount of force.

"Jesus!" the gossiping secretary cried.

The secretary playing solitaire showed no sign of acknowledging that anything had happened. She frowned and muttered to herself some more, clicking her mouse.

"Hi, Julie," the boy said.

"Please stop calling me Julie, Lance. I'm Mrs. Schroder."

"But it's your name. Can't I call you by your name?"

"Well it's unprofessional—"

"But I'm not a professional. I'm only a kid."

"That's not the point, Lance. Let me see that." She took the pink paper slip from him. "What've you done this time?" She read it and shook her head. "Take a seat next to Catalina, Lance."

Lance turned around and plopped down next to Cat. He looked at her. His eyes were weirdly bright and blue, a steep contrast to his dark hair.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," Cat whispered back, unsure of why they were whispering.

"I haven't seen you before. You must be new."

Cat raised her eyebrows. "Just because you haven't seen me before doesn't mean I'm new. There are loads of people at this school."

"I know everyone here. I've been going here since kindergarten."

"Good for you."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "But you are new, right?"

"Yes," Cat admitted.

"I knew it!"

"There's no need to sound so pleased with yourself. It's not like you made a groundbreaking discovery."

"I'm Lance, by the way. I'm in fourth grade." He reached his right hand over. Cat shifted in her seat, awkwardly positioning herself so she could shake his hand. "You're Catalina, right?"

"Just Cat for short. I'm also in fourth grade. Your hand's really cold."

He released her hand, looking a little embarrassed. "They're always that way. I have bad cir-cu-la-tion" he said, sounding the word out slowly. "But my mom always says I should shake people's hands when I meet them. She's weird."

My mom's dead, Cat nearly said, but deemed it a little too heavy for fourth grader conversational topics.

"So why do you listen to her?" she asked instead.

"I don't know. 'Cause she's my mom, I guess." His eyes moved down to the My Little Pony monstrosity. "Nice backpack."

"Not really. I know it's ugly. I didn't choose it."

"Did your mom choose it for you?"

"No," she said shortly. Before he could ask about it, Cat switched tracks quickly. "How'd you get in trouble?"

He grinned mischievously. "I dumped a bucket of paint over Chelsea's head. It got all over her hair. You should've seen her face." He crowed delightfully. "Mrs. Reynolds totally freaked out. It was hilarious."

She huffed, turning away from him. "Jerk."

"Hey," he protested. "I'm not a jerk!"

"Says the guy who poured a bucket of paint over some girl's head for no reason."

"First of all, it was Chelsea Manchester. If you knew that witch, you'd want to pour a bucket of paint over her head too. And it wasn't for no reason!"

"I bet it was for a stupid reason, then."

"It wasn't!"

"Was!"

"Wasn't!"

"Was!"

"Wasn't!"

Their argument had risen in volume so that the secretary on the phone snapped, "HEY! You two! Quiet!"

Cat crossed her arms, throwing a skeptical look at him. "What was the reason, then?" she asked, quieter.

"She bet me I wouldn't," Lance said proudly.

Cat rolled her eyes. "See? Stupid reason."

Before Lance could retaliate, the principal's door swung open. He was an unsightly, pudgy man with no neck and squinty eyes, decked out in a full suit that probably didn't fit him as well as he hoped it would.

"Catalina?" he called.

"She likes being called Cat," Lance interjected. "I know that because I talked to her, Mr. Tater Tot."

"Wow," Cat said. "Is your name actually Mr. Tater Tot?"

"No," Mr. Tater Tot said crossly. "It's Mr. Tate. Lance, if you could refrain from passing your bad influence on our new students, I will be with you in a second. Catalina, come on in."

"It's Cat!" Lance called from his seat as Cat followed Mr. Tater Tot inside his office.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

This is a way better punishment than skipping recess," Lance said later, as he was pointing out the bathrooms to her.

Mr. Tater Tot had told Lance that being the welcome wagon for Cat was his punishment for pouring paint over Chelsea Manchester. He also had to write the girl a formal apology letter.

"But it doesn't actually have to be an apology letter," Lance told Cat. "Mr. Tater Tot never actually reads the thing, 'cause he's so busy and all. Supposedly. So basically you can write stuff like I hope you find a dead rat in your cubby the next time we have recess and you're good to go."

"Oh, here's Mrs. Reynold's class," he said, leading her through a door.

The classroom was colorful and full of the same gag-worthy posters she'd seen in the principal's office. Desks were pushed together to create table groups. Mrs. Reynolds was a young twenty-something woman who didn't seem awful at doing her job. Only, she made Cat introduce herself in front of the entire class like they were in kindergarten.

"Say your name and your favorite color," Mrs. Reynolds encouraged her.

Cat told everyone her favorite color was gray. It wasn't, but she thought it was funny because who the hell liked gray, of all colors?

Mrs. Reynolds placed her in the same group as Lance, a boy wearing rectangular glasses, and a seething girl who looked like she'd taken a shower with all her clothes on. Her hair was dripping over the carpet and her skin was tinged blue. She had a delicate face and would've been pretty if she hadn't looked like a Smurf. Cat presumed this was Chelsea Manchester.

The boy wearing glasses looked relieved when Lance and Cat came over. "Oh good, you're back. She's been going on and on."

"You! Look what you did to me!" Chelsea shrieked at Lance. "Mrs. Reynolds! I don't want to sit near him!"

"Get along, you two," Mrs. Reynolds said airily, passing worksheets to everyone.

"That's T.J.," Lance introduced, pointing at the boy with the glasses, "and that's the wicked witch herself."

T.J. waved. "Hi."

"Do not listen to anything he tells you. Lance is a huge loser." Chelsea turned to Lance, shoving the blue sleeve of her white fluffy coat. "This was a beautiful titanium white before! Look what color it is now!"

"Now it's a nice titanium blue," Cat offered.

Chelsea frowned at her. "That doesn't even make sense!"

Mrs. Reynolds hurried over. "Catalina—"

"It's Cat," Lance corrected.

"Right— Cat, would you come over here?" Mrs. Reynolds beckoned her towards a sole desk isolated from the rest of the class, in the farthest corner. There was a small packet sitting on it, as well as a pencil and eraser. "This is just a standard test. You'll be quizzed on math or English. Don't worry if you haven't prepared for it. It's not graded, it's just for me to see where you're at academically. Try to get through as many problems as you can. I'm not expecting you to complete the whole thing, just try your best…"

Cat didn't think she'd have any problem with the test. She had studied to a high school level in the library. Math came easy to her. All it was was memorizing a bunch of rules and applying it to numbers. English was a little harder, but it was similar to math in the sense that it also had a set of rules to memorize.

After Mrs. Reynolds left her to teach the class, Cat quickly scanned the problems on the first page. Sure enough, all the problems on the first page were easy enough that she could do in her head. She flew through them, circling the correct answers. The second page was much of the same.

Cat flipped through the third, the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth pages with little to no difficulty. Surely it couldn't be this easy! She had spent so much time at the library, away from school, she'd forgotten how easy all the elementary school material was. By the time she reached the last page, Mrs. Reynolds still hadn't come to get her.

Cat sneaked a look up. The class was bent over their desks, scribbling on paper. The only sound was the occasional mutter from a student, immediately silenced by Mrs. Reynolds. Was Cat supposed to just… sit there? She flipped through the pages of the test packet again, making sure that she hadn't missed anything important that should have been consuming her time.

But she'd finished every single problem. She didn't bother checking her work; she knew she'd done it all correctly. When it came to math, she was like a calculator.

Unsure of what else to do, Cat settled for doodling on the margins of the test. She drew a spider, a pumpkin, a pumpkin eating a spider… She was so focused, she jumped when she heard Mrs. Reynold's voice next to her ear.

"I'm sorry, Cat. I'm so silly— I just realized I gave you the wrong test. That's the middle school curriculum. You must've been so confused!" Mrs. Reynolds took the packet from Cat and frowned. Eyebrows climbing up on her forehead, she flipped through the pages and looked back up at Cat again. Then back down at the test. Then—

"Have you finished the packet already?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't show your work," she observed.

"I did it in my head," Cat explained.

Mrs. Reynolds looked at Cat thoughtfully. "Hmm."

She hurried away with Cat's test, telling the class she was leaving for a little bit and to behave. Cat sat there for a long time, not knowing what to do and feeling like she did something wrong. The class was beginning to finish whatever it was they were working on. Quiet chatter turned into a clamor of voices.

Mrs. Reynolds burst into the classroom again, the chatter immediately calmed. She told T.J. to pass out another round of worksheets, causing the class to collectively groan. She returned to Cat's isolated corner desk and slid another packet to her and asked her to complete it.

This time, Mrs. Reynolds dragged a chair over and watched as Cat completed the test. Cat found it a little creepy. The test was a little harder than the previous one, but she was still able to finish it without any trouble. After she finished, Mrs. Reynolds left the classroom again and came back. Cat had no idea why Mrs. Reynolds looked so amazed and confused. Teachers were weird.

"Cat, this is incredible," Mrs. Reynolds whispered to her. "You completed a seventh grade level and an eighth grade level standardized test, and you passed both with flying colors."

Oh. No wonder it was so easy. Cat stared blankly at Mrs. Reynolds, who seemed to be waiting for a reaction. What was the big deal? "Um… cool," she said.

"Okay," Mrs. Reynolds said, still looking like she couldn't believe what she was saying. "You can go back to your table group now."

"Don't worry about the test," T.J. told her when she came back. "Everyone did horrible on it."

"Not me," Chelsea sniffed. "I did spectacularly. Mrs. Reynolds told my parents herself."

Lance snorted. "I suppose your parents were the ones who told you that?"

"Why does it matter?" Chelsea asked indignantly.

Lance rolled his eyes.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"How was school?" Natasha called as Cat unlocked the apartment and stormed in. Taco sprung up from the couch and charged into her.

"Horrible. Not you, Taco," Cat mumbled into Taco's fur. "You're wonderful."

Natasha came into the living room, holding the landline. "That's not what your teacher said. She called— apparently you're some kind of genius."

Cat had reached into a box of Fruit Loops and stuffed a handful in her mouth. It took her a long time to chew and swallow. "Well, obviously. I didn't need her to tell me that."

"She says you could take some classes at the high school if you're interested." Natasha waited for an answer. When none came, she pressed, "Well? Are you interested?"

Cat set the box of Fruit Loops down, not liking the steely glint in Natasha's eyes. "If I say I'm not, are you going to refuse to teach me how to fight?"

"The chances of me using that as leverage against you… are very high."

Cat clenched her jaw. "You're evil. And manipulative."

Natasha smirked. "So you're on board?"

"I'm going to be bullied. Relentlessly."

"You are not. High schoolers love ten year old know-it-all geniuses."

"They do not."

"Then it's a good thing you're going to know how to beat some high schoolers up after you learn from the best. Isn't that what you want?"

Cat sighed theatrically, long and drawn-out. "Fiiiiine.”

"Great!" Natasha chirped with uncharacteristic cheer. "I was going to sign you up regardless of your answer."

"Thanks so much for bothering to ask me at all," Cat said sarcastically. She grabbed Taco's leash. "Taco and I are going on a walk. See you never."

"Midtown High!" Natasha called after her retreating form. "You're going to be learning amongst the best and brightest!"

Cat shouted back a not very nice thing. She could hear Natasha's low laugh echo before the door swung shut.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Notes: Hmm, who goes to midtown high that we know? Let me know what you think and if you like Cat's friends! See you on thursday!

[leonsleftbicep]

Morning Espresso

[HAPPY HALLOWS EVE!! this was inspired by something i saw on the sleep token archive account and then 3 am me said to write about it so i did]

mind you this is not about the actual people behind the mask this is about their stage characters

poly vessels, they are all gay and in love, tatted ii, iii doesnt like black coffee, iv knows all of them way to well, sleeps kinda mean(hinted), ever so slightly fast paced (beep is not a good writer)

ENJOY

a groggy Vessel walks into the kitchen immediately grabbing himself his large mug and pouring coffee into it, 2 scoops of sugar and no creamer. The first sip is always the best for warming up his body, a stark contrast to the cold morning.

II walks out of his room equally sleepy, in only his sweat pants and a pair of socks. “Do you want coffee?” Vessel asks as the drummer walks into the kitchen tattoos and all on display, “no i’ll just get my tea” he says with a rasp to his voice, turning the kettle on, grabbing a mug and tea bag.

‘He hasn't given me my morning kiss yet’ vessel thinks to himself as he places down his mug on the counter, he walks behind II holding his waist “are you ok sweetheart” Vessel asks II.

II just leans into his hold “sleep kept speaking to me all night. i woke up with aches, i must have been tossing and turning” he mumbles out not telling Vessel the full truth, but Vessel doesn’t pry for anymore information.

II turns in his arms so he can face Vessel finally giving him a sweet kiss, though he starts to deepen it, finding the bitter taste of the dark roast coffee on Vessel’s tongue quite enjoyable.

“Good Morning love birds” a gruff sarcastic voice was heard from the entrance to the kitchen, the two quickly separating. III stood there leaning on the door frame already dressed in his lounge wear for the day with slightly damp hair, smirking at the two before walking closer and kissing both of their lips.

“jesus Vessel, you need to start putting creamer in your coffee. i feel like i just kissed a mound of coffee grounds” III says after pulling away from Vessel’s lips quickly, grabbing the kettle and putting water in II’s mug for his tea as he grabs himself a mug for some coffee.

They all separate a bit from each other while they get their breakfast and morning drinks, chatting with one another about their nights.

IV finally comes along he's wrapped up in a blanket and immediately heads for II, leaning into him kissing at his neck, tracing the tattoo on II’s neck with kisses. III and vessel watch this unfold, a tinge of jealousy in the bottom of their stomachs but they are use to it.

After IV has gotten done treating II to his soft kisses he makes his way to III, letting their kiss have a bit of teeth clashing as III liked it.

After IV was done with III he walked in front of  Vessel, taking Vessel’s clothed waist in his hands and pulling him close to him, looking up into the singer's eyes before letting their lips caress the others. The taste of vessels coffee breath addicting to IV he always looked forward to their kiss in the mornings.

IV always tried and failed to keep it not as steamy as it would have been in the comfort of closed doors, but they were both fine with wanting more and more.

III cut them off with a loud clear of the throat, “your coffees getting cold Ves” he muttered quickly as he picked up his own mug of coffee and sauntered off for the living room.

the three that were left in the kitchen exchanged knowing glances, III was going to have a full morning 

[imfinereallyy]

But You'll Have This Place to Call Home, Always

available on ao3

June 2008

Peering through the window of Starlight café, Steve Harrington watched the lively streets of Hawkins' City unfold before him. Early morning commuters had begun to pitter out onto the pavement, their eyes tired, heavy even, but each of them walked with purpose. None of them noticed as Steve’s eyes followed them, familiar faces he couldn’t name, but he knew their routine. It was an easy rhythm to fall in a city like theirs.

Smaller than Chicago but bigger than the small suburban streets scattered across the Midwest, Hawkins City was its own little world tucked between the pages of the known and unknown. A name, though recognizable, was not something a person would put much thought to. Steve Harrington thought of himself like his city some days, a friendly face amongst the cranky customers—someone you say hello to but not someone you’d ask how they are doing. 

Steve flipped the closed sign to open; he could hear Robin puttering around in the back. She was probably looking around for her brand of Earl Grey—it wasn’t the tea they used for customers; it was from a gas station off the highway. The brand was cheap and downright awful, but he knew it reminded her of the time Steve drove them across the country to escape their parents. 

It was a small comfort on stressful mornings. Robin had been having a lot of those lately, Steve had noticed. 

“In the cabinet below the register,” Steve spoke over his shoulder, careful not to shout this early. 

“ Huh , I had more than I thought,” Robin mumbled as she thumbed through the box. 

She didn’t. Steve had gotten up early this morning to go to the gas station an hour out. He bought all six boxes they had left, the rest under his bed at home. 

When Steve walked over to the counter, a hot cup of green tea sat there for him. He looked to see Robin heating water for herself and took a sip out of his mug.

Tangy and lightly sweet.  

“Perfect,” Steve mumbled to Robin; she gave him a soft smile in return. 

This had never been the dream for them, stuffed into a small corner on a busy street, but it felt good. They had fallen into a routine, something Steve thought the two of them would never have. Years of trying to appease everyone, stretching himself thin, only to fall short, had taken their toll during his teen years. Trouble used to follow Steve wherever he went, and he had begun to think he was the trouble himself. 

Now, though, in a city very far away from a life they once knew, Steve was content in the safety of knowing what came next. 

The chime above the door rang as a grumpy Hopper entered the café. Steve’s hands were already working to make his order: a large coffee with four creams, two sugars, and whipped cream on top. Of course, it was in a to-go cup, despite Hopper always staying at least an hour in the shop after ordering. Steve knew it was because Hop didn’t like anyone to know about his secret sweet tooth. 

Steve had found it funny in the past few years how often someone’s order never really matched them at first glance. He had gotten pretty good at guessing the more he worked, and it was rare for anyone to surprise him. 

Hop’s order never changed; Joyce always ordered whatever new double-shot espresso drink we had. Max had a cold brew on her days off and a banana smoothie during her shifts. Dustin always demanded a frappuccino even though they didn’t make them. Robin drank tea first in the morning and an espresso shot at noon. And Steve himself was simple.

Always tea, never coffee.

A fact, to those who knew, that was constantly baffling. 

“Here you go, Jim.” Steve smiled as the older man grimaced.

“I know that most people usually insist on using their first name, kid. But how many times do I have to tell you it’s Hop?” 

Steve’s smile widened as Hop put a five-dollar bill in the tip jar like he did every morning. “You drink your coffee without a lid, and I’ll start calling you Hop.” 

Hopper didn’t argue but frowned into this cup as he walked over to the red couch against the wall. 

Steve chuckled and turned to watch the sunrise over the city skyline. The café was on the city's outer edge, and although it didn’t get as much traffic as it would if they were at its epicenter, Steve wouldn’t trade it. 

The sunrise made it worth getting up this early every morning. It made the inevitable ordinary day ahead special, even if it looked the same as the day before.

Steve pulled down the sleeves of his yellow sweater and adjusted the little “ Steeb :) ” nametag Robin made for him as he returned to the register.

Another chime sounded throughout the café; it was time to get to work. 

‧𓍢ִ໋☕ ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪

At noon, Steve handed Robin her espresso shot, expecting nothing more than the usual grunt of appreciation to sound throughout the busy café. 

Instead, Robin let the cup slip through her fingers as the sound of a motorcycle rumbled outside the café's doors. 

“Shit.” Robin screeched as the hot coffee spilled over Steve’s fingers. 

He hissed in pain; he knew his skin would pay the consequences of the simple distraction. 

“I’m so sorry, Steve; I wasn’t expecting that.” 

Steve couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at her; despite the many cars that passed through the streets, no one drove a motorcycle around here, and those who had only ever passed through. The deep sounds of the engine parked in front of their shop were all kinds of new, and they probably brought a bad memory or two for Robin. 

“It’s okay, Bobbi, you couldn’t have known.” Steve looked up at the ceiling as he tried not to let his eyes fill with tears; it was just another scar to add to the list. No one would probably even notice it amongst the others. 

Distantly, he heard the sound of the door chime go off, but he paid no mind as he watched Robin run off to grab a clean towel from the kitchen to wrap ice in. 

A throat cleared from behind Steve, and a small rush of panic surged through him. They were in the café, with customers around ; now wasn’t the time to panic. 

Preparing a bright smile, Steve turned to the awaiting customer. “Hi, how can I help you?” 

Steve clutched his burning hand as he took in the man before him. Dark chestnut curls framed an unhappy face. The man was undeniably gorgeous, the kind of guy Steve once upon a time would go for, a guy that Steve now stayed far away from. The man’s eyes were set in a glare that felt wrong to Steve. Someone with big eyes like his should have delight in them, should be lively and maybe even kind. Instead, all Steve got was a burning heat behind his stare, one that Steve felt that if the man could use to set Steve on fire, he would. 

Steve’s smile slipped a bit as he took in the man’s slight frown; the stranger’s five o’clock shadow moved with the contortion of his lips. He caught himself and returned his customer service smile on his face.

 “Sir?” Steve clenched his hand before him; the man’s eyes followed the movement, and his frown deepened. 

“You hurt often, sweetheart?” The man finally spoke, his voice rough and low against Steve’s ears. 

Steve wondered what it would be like to hear it close to his ears. The words would have stirred something in his gut if it were for the man's tone. Condescending. Bored. Done with Steve's shit before even knowing him. 

Steve’s smile slipped completely; he didn’t bother to try to fake it. He felt a spark of anger he hadn’t felt in a long time, since the last time he spoke to his own parents, to be precise. 

With his eyebrows tugging and nose scrunched, Steve prepared to give the stranger a piece of his mind until Robin came running back over. 

“Oh my god, sorry that took so long. Jon was using most of the towels to clean down the kitchen, despite me having told him too many times we have set towels for that! And so I had to run into the bathroom under the sink—the employee bathroom, don’t worry, Steve–and then I had to make sure I didn’t trip and fall on my way back because we can’t have two injured employees on our hands! And then–”

“ Robin , rant.” 

Robin cut herself off and thrust the towel, now filled with ice, into his hands. “Sorry, I just was so startled because of the— oh, hello. Do you need some help?” Robin said, only noticing now that Steve had been helping the sorry excuse of a customer. 

The man’s lips curved into a slight smirk, and Steve cursed his only little heart for skipping a beat. Way to be a cliche, he whispered to it. 

“I was just waiting for,” the man said, glancing down at Steve’s nametag and raising an eyebrow. Steeb , to take my order, but it appears you’re both busy, so I can wait.”

Steve felt all his blood rush to his cheeks; he was sure his cheeks were the color of Max’s hair. Usually, Steve didn’t mind the nametag, but now he was silently cursing Robin six ways to Sunday. Steve glanced down at the menace herself, and she at least had the audacity to flinch slightly at the situation. Steve hadn’t even told her this guy was rubbing him the wrong way, but she already knew. 

It was sometimes creepy how well she could read him. 

“It’s Steve. And don’t worry about it.” Steve forced a smile on his face as he repeated a mantra in his head. Keep people happy. Smile. Don’t worry about what others think. In that order.  “What can I get you, sir?” 

Steve rolled his shoulders back; he could hear the cracking echo throughout his body. He had such stiff bones for someone who was only brushing twenty-seven. When she caught him sitting on the stool behind the counter instead of his usual standing, Joyce had told him once that it was because his aches told a story. Steve liked to think of his body that way. It was easier to believe all the pain was a part of a story rather than a meaningless torment. 

The man watched Steve’s face closely, most likely taking pleasure in the discomfort on Steve’s face, before speaking. “ Eddie . You can call me Eddie, sweetheart.”

“What can I get you, sir?” Steve repeated, ignoring him. 

Eddie’s smile bloomed in full across his face. Dimples appeared on his cheeks, and the lines beside his lips proved that he probably smiled often. 

He should , Steve thought; he had a pretty smile.  

Steve made a note to remind himself to think fewer thoughts like that in the future. There was no use in making the note anyway, considering he was more than sure a man like Eddie didn’t stick around places like Hawkins. He should save himself the trouble of wasting his time on thoughts about men like Eddie. 

Still, Steve couldn’t help but wonder what the man would order. He surely wouldn’t surprise Steve. He was sure most people had Eddie pinned as a black coffee type of guy; it was easy to assume so at first glance. But Steve knew better to judge by the surface of it all. Sure, the guy wore a leather jacket and had a nose ring, but it didn’t mean anything. No, Steve was almost positive the man was about to order something ridiculously sweet, with something insane in it, like whole milk.  

“Medium black coffee with two sugars.” Eddie voiced.

Steve froze for a moment. He hadn’t gotten an order wrong in over a year. But here he was, making an ass out of himself with his jaw slightly open as he stared at the man before him. Eddie ordered a black coffee . He was so thoroughly surprised by how unsurprising it all was. 

Eddie’s head tilted at Steve, which made him realize how silent he had been. Even Robin had begun to nudge his side. “ Seriously , just a black coffee?”

Eddie’s smile once again slipped into a devious smirk. “Don’t forget the two sugars. I like it just a little sweet. Sometimes you need something to soothe the bite….of the coffee, of course.” 

Robin moved her head back and forth between them, biting her lip from saying something Steve was sure would only make the situation worse. 

Steve put on his best customer service smile. “I’ll get right on that, sir; Robin here will ring you up. Thank you for stopping by Stardust café on your way through our city.”

“Oh, it’s been a pleasure. And I’m not passing through; I’m gonna be here awhile.” 

Steve dropped his smile and didn’t even bother responding as he walked away to make Eddie’s boring coffee. He could hear Robing ringing him up in the background, the chatter resuming within the café. 

Steve felt sick in his stomach. He hadn’t even realized everyone had stopped talking, which meant everyone had seen the interaction. 

Great. Fucking fantastic. Steve Harrington was once again nothing but a car wreck everyone couldn't help but stop and stare at. 

Steve heard the slight pitter-patter of feet behind him. “Not now, Robin.” He clipped as he began to pour the sugar into the cup. He scrambled to find the lid.

“You know that was pretty weird, dingus. And I have a high threshold for weird. Considering we’ve been friends for almost a decade now.”

Steve searched for a Sharpie to write the name on the cup, although he mostly did it to be petty since no one else had ordered in the past ten minutes. “ Don’t , Robin. I don’t need to hear it right now, and jesus christ, where is the damn marker!” Steve ran his hands through his hair in frustration. 

Robin leaned forward and plucked something from Steve’s apron pocket. She held it out in front of him; it was the damn marker.

Steve sighed and snatched it from her hands. Ripping the cap off with his teeth, Steve grumbled. “I don’t have time to deal with men like him, Bobbi. He screams trouble. He had already stirred up enough with his damn bike. Plus, just look at him. He just screams trouble, Robs.” 

“Steve–”

“No, I know what you’re going to say. ‘��We don’t judge people like that, Stevie ,’ but you know what, Robin? Yes, we do. We gossip more than the church ladies back in Rose Hills. Especially when trouble like that comes our way–”

“But Steve–”

Steve placed the coffee on the counter, and as he saw Eddie approach, he whipped his head back toward Robin. “Don’t Steve me, Robin. You’re telling me that a guy like him doesn’t scream–”

“For the love of god, Steve!” Robin grabbed Steve’s shoulders just as Eddie scooped up the coffee. 

“What, Robin?” Steve blew out, exasperated. 

“Did you even see the name you wrote on the cup?” Her eyes widened in terror and, strangely, amusement. 

Steve glanced at Eddie, who was now reading his cup in amusement. As he saw Steve’s curious glance, he turned the coffee around, putting Steve’s handwriting into view. 

Steve almost died on the spot. Right there, in Steve’s loopy handwriting, was the word ‘ trouble .’ 

Eddie laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Guess I’ll make sure to bring trouble back around.” 

Steve knew at that moment he had stirred up more than sugar in Eddie’s cup.

‧𓍢ִ໋☕ ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪

Read the rest of Steve and Eddie's story on ao3

A peek at my first contribution to @strangerthingsreversebigbang and contains lovely art made by my friend @sunflowerharrington

[moonchild-in-blue]

✨🌈SEND THIS TO OTHER BLOGGERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL. KEEP THE GAME GOING🌈✨ (or don't - no pressure 🧡)

@hookedhobbies @loveinthemindpalace @takemetoasgard @vesselsscarlet @whataboutyouisamascot @murkyquirky @stellasplendens @leonsleftbicep AAAAAA WONDERFUL FRIENDS ARE MAKING ME BLUSH!!! HEL PPP!!!,,!,!!!,!!

@ Duckie - bro don't munch on my mugs 🥺 i need them to drincc my Large Morning Espressos

I cast Uno Reverse Card 🫵 Get Loved!!! 💙

You're all so wonderful and cool and sexy and deserve all good things in this world actually 🥹💖

[sailtomarina]

Seven days a week

What Hermione craved more than anything else in the world at the moment was the hot silkiness of espresso, chocolate, and milk coating her tongue and sliding down her throat. She knew just the place.

She’d discovered the cafe a little under a month ago before her work trip to the Americas—a nondescript exterior, humble interior, extremely limited seating, and the smoothest roasts she had ever experienced. Their coffee redefined her very notion of the word, rewriting the atrocious imitations at Hogwarts, Three Broomsticks, and even the Leaky Cauldron, who all seemed to put more priority into butterbeer and other popular wizard beverages. She considered her discovery love at first sip, and her later time spent in the U.S. cemented her passion for the caffeinated drink which started her morning seven days a week. Coming back to Britain, she paid for addiction dearly in the form of incessant cravings that the mediocre offerings of other establishments failed to fulfill.

So, she returned to M. Coffee. 

It was while she waited in line to make her order that she noticed him. The shock of white blonde hair, trimmed perfectly and falling just right over his forehead, shone like a beacon in the tiny building. Draco Malfoy sat in elegant repose, one hand resting on his lap, occasionally bringing his mug up to his lips, and the other turning the pages of The Daily Prophet. If she angled herself just so, she could pull off pretending to miss him sitting at the far edge of the counter the way he was.

“Miss? Do you know what you would like?” The young woman standing behind the till blinked innocently at her, waiting for Hermione’s order. She wore a cheery red apron and a pin in the shape of a cup with ‘Daisy’ printed on it.

“I’ll take a large dark chocolate mocha, no whip, with a bit of cinnamon.”

“Certainly. Can I interest you in any of our boosters?”

Hermione followed the girl’s nod towards a board she hadn’t noticed before, one listing out a variety of different drink enhancements. The options included focus, energy, and stamina. A note at the bottom promised four hours of efficacy, which seemed like quite a long duration to Hermione. She would’ve expected maybe an hour at most. There were dedicated potions that didn’t last even half as long as one of these drinks.

“I’m good, thanks.” Glancing behind her and seeing no one, she let her curiosity get the best of her. “Have you tried these boosters?”

Daisy grinned knowingly as she prepared her drink. “I have. They’re Ministery-approved, if that’s what concerns you.”

“They are?” Hermione couldn’t help the disbelief that bled into her voice.

“Yup,” Daisy confirmed, “Boss wouldn’t have it any other way. Does everything by the books and triple checks it all himself.”

It wasn’t until the girl handed Hermione a bright red mug with cinnamon dusted across the foam that she realized she had forgotten to specify takeout. There was nothing for it, she supposed, then to sit as far away from Malfoy as possible and hope he didn’t notice her.

She had nearly drained the delicious concoction when a voice, low and confident, slid into her reverie.

“How’s the drink?”

Of course Malfoy would notice her. She should have shaved off her head, or dyed it Weasley red. She took one last swallow of her mocha before turning to face him. Sliding her eyes up his disgustingly fit form encased in a suit that would do the front cover of Vogue justice, she fixed on his eyes, just as strikingly grey as she remembered. What surprised her, however, was the way they crinkled at the edges with his smile. It wasn’t the cruel smirk of their childhood, or even the suggestive leer he used more as they got older. His expression appeared genuinely curious, and the openness of it disarmed her as readily as a well-placed expelliarmus.

“I must be dreaming.”

His brow crinkled in confusion, but he followed with a laugh and another question. “Why do you say that?”

“Draco Malfoy is asking Hermione Granger about her drink and looks like he actually wants to hear the answer.”

“Does Hermione Granger now speak exclusively in the third person?”

“She may be using it as some kind of twisted defense mechanism.”

They stared at one another for a silent beat before they both burst into laughter. She wasn’t sure what was going on and why he was talking to her, but she was in too good of a mood to let Malfoy ruin it. Oddly enough, she felt in a better mood now than earlier.

“The drink is lovely and I could drink it every day,” she conceded.

He looked inordinately pleased by her answer, and she couldn’t help but want to know more.

“Why do you ask?”

He cocked his head with a strange expression now on his face, and Hermione felt a bit of her old reservations spring up. Had she missed something obvious? He gestured toward her cup with an elegant wave of his wrist. The scarlet mug was just as empty as before, the ‘M’ on the side clearly displayed.

M, as in M. Coffee.

She returned her gaze sharply towards him, mouth agape.

“I’m surprised you didn’t realize from the start, Granger. This is my coffee shop.”

“But it’s so small,” she said accusingly, as if the very word offended her.

There was that smirk. Only this time, it wasn’t at her but somehow included her. “I happen to like small. I don’t plan on ever expanding, no matter how successful this place becomes. I just want to keep making limited batch roasts to my exact specifications and starting every morning with a cup and a newspaper.”

Hermione studied him as he spoke, noticing for the first time the relaxed slant of his shoulders that once seemed permanently tense. She hadn’t seen him much in the past handful of years after school. She knew they had each pursued masteries, and that they were both single—Witch Weekly couldn’t get enough coverage of the eligible bachelor.

She wanted to know more.

Gathering her courage felt as natural as breathing, no matter how much her nerves spiked and her brain screamed at her that this might not be the greatest idea she’d ever had. M. Coffee served the best coffee in Britain and Draco Malfoy was a puzzle she wanted to solve.

“Well, consider me a regular customer. I don’t think I can start my days without one of your drinks.” Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall and back to him. He maintained eye contact the entire time, lips curled into yet another strange smile she had never seen on him before. “I’ll be here every morning at 8 A.M.”

“I’m honored by your patronage.”

She nodded and stood to leave. When she made to bus her own mug, he stepped forward to meet her, large hands barely brushing hers in the exchange. The brief touch was cool, and she wondered how his hand would feel cupped against her flushed face.

“Thank you.” She tried to keep her voice firm, but a tiny tremble might have slipped through with the way he looked at her.

“Thank you, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“8 A.M.”

“Indeed.”

She spun around and fled as her courage flagged and she nearly continued the ridiculous verbal exchange. She didn’t see the way he watched her leave, the smile he maintained long after she was no longer in sight, nor the contemplative look he held before nodding decisively. He planned to see her everyday, just as she had stated, seven days a week.

Beyond that? Well, Hermione wasn’t the only one who liked a challenge.

WC 1298 Twitter prompt from @DramionePrompts

[sleepanonymous]

OH NO THIS IS THE COFFEE!ANON i thought it would be funny 🥺 i was so severely wrong 🥺 oh vessel... (it DEFINITELY is something he just said and forgot one time, however i feel like maybe not done only once... ah, we can relate. raising my morning mug to you darling man)

Coffee!Anon 🖤☕ Even when he's upset/depressed, Ves still cracks jokes. But in all honesty, I hope he's happy now. He definitely seems more happy/enthusiastic on stage than he did several years ago, and I hope that has carried over into his everyday life as well.

[leofaulknerarchive]

Delight Project Name: Dusk Upload Date: Jul 03, 2014

Description: “I am aware that most of you guys subscribed to me because of my piano covers and stuff, therefore an upload like this might well come as a disappointment but I wrote this song this morning after getting quite emotional after my signature LARGE MUG MORNING ESPRESSO and figured I should upload it as a testament to the fact that sometimes we just want to sit at our computer screens and sob pathetically.

I hope you can forgive me.”

Lyrics: Oh, the blossoming rose on the side of the road Your form becomes fixed and your eyes cold This hallow delight is a sight to behold

I know I know

Oh, the hidden designs are lost on us The highest desires and the lowest lust Just contours and falls in an endless curse

It’s worse It’s worse

You are the head the halo orbits You are the feet, the pastures grow I am the novelty, you’re wearing off

Wearing off Wearing off Wearing off

Download (Audio)

[puddingcatbeans]

timkon; a slow, sweet, spring morning, some day in the future.

When Tim stumbles out of the bedroom, the sun is already up, the sound of bustling and hustling Gotham filtering through the half-open windows. He makes his way into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and yawning.

Off-tune humming reaches his ears as he rounds the corner. Tim's feet carry him across the tiles until he can plaster himself across a broad back. It's naked, because Conner is too used to Kansas heat to put on a shirt unless they have guests or he has to leave a house, even though it's Gotham. Tim sticks his face in between the strong shoulder blades and inhales.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Conner says. There's a snap as he turns off the stove, and then he's carefully maneuvering his way to the counter to plate up breakfast. "What were you dreaming about? Woke up to you trying to chew a hole in my shoulder."

Tim bites him at the back of his neck. It does nothing, of course, but Conner indulges him by pretending it tickles. "Hungry," Tim manages, brain still trying to turn on.

"Good thing I made breakfast, then." Conner nudges him back so he can set the plates on the table.

Tim huffs about the loss of contact and body heat, but he immediately zeroes in on the mug left on the counter. He grabs it and takes a large sip before pulling back to stick out his tongue. "Blergh." He stares down at the light brown liquid in betrayal.

Familiar laughter comes from behind him. "If you'd just waited a few more minutes, you could have gotten your own cup."

"Coffee?" Tim says hopefully, following Conner to the expensive espresso machine that appeared one day in his kitchen after a particularly rough stakeout-gone-wrong. The only family member that has a copy of his key is Alfred, but it's not like Tim could have stopped his siblings from crawling in through the windows if he tried. He'd be a hypocrite.

"Here," says Conner, placing a steaming mug in his hands. "Straight black, you caffeine monster."

Ignoring the scalding heat, Tim has already gulped down three mouthfuls. He blinks, slightly more awake. "The amount of sugar and milk you add to your coffee is atrocious," he declares. "Coffee is wasted on you."

"If I'm the one making it, I'm getting it." Conner tugs him towards the table. "Come on, let's eat before the bacon gets cold."

Tim melts into the chair, still holding his mug. He tips over so he can lean against Conner's arm. "Hey," he says, watching Conner dig into his eggs with his left hand so as not to dislodge Tim. "We're still okay to go to the farm this weekend?"

"Yeah, why? Do you need to postpone again?"

Tim wrinkles his nose at Conner talking with his mouth full, but he doesn't say anything. "No. I've already done that too many times. I already told Tam to reschedule anything short of a national disaster, and even then, to make a Zoom call."

Conner grins. "Ma misses you. She says now that all us Supes have moved out, she misses having someone to spoil."

"She can still spoil you."

"Nah, you're more fun. Your reactions are gold."

Tim pinches Conner's elbow. The only response he gets is a snicker. "Whatever. I'll tell her not to leave you any of her pancakes."

"No, wait, I take it back! Tim? Tim, no, put down your phone---"

Hiding a smile into his coffee, Tim lets himself slowly wake up and feel the sunshine.

[no6secretsanta]

A Soulmates Christmas

From: @fairysdarkestnight

To: @thane-emblem

“What?!”

The coffee shop around them buzzed with pre-Christmas energy. There was no reason to think that anyone was listening in - not even the barista was paying attention to anything besides the book his nose was in - but there was a part of Shion that just felt like everyone was now focused on this decidedly not safe for public conversation.

Safu took a sip of her herbal tea as she simply looked at Shion, even though the other couldn’t seem to meet her eyes. His own coffee sat untouched in front of him, though he kept his gloved hands wrapped around the mug. “I know your hearing is functional so I doubt that I need to repeat myself. And although your background is in ecology, I doubt you lack the most basic understanding of anatomy. So therefore I must conclude that you did in fact hear me, and are asking me to elaborate rather than repeat myself.” 

Somehow he still couldn’t quite meet her eyes even as he could hear the lightest undercurrent of humor in her words. But the roaring in his ears blocked out her actual words and she slowly trailed off into an uncomfortable silence. 

They finished their drinks without saying much, occasionally making light conversation about Safu’s upcoming study abroad program. Their time didn’t feel like it usually did, and Shion didn’t want things to feel this awkward right before she left, but he just couldn’t find it in himself to say the words she so desperately wanted to hear.

And so when they said goodbye, he gave her a tight hug and promised he would see her off at the station in a couple days. I love you Safu. Just not in the way you need me to.

Eventually they parted ways and Shion went home to help at the bakery. His mom mentioned that they’d received a large rush order for the theater by someone named Nezumi and that they’d need to get started on it before it was picked up the following morning.

And so the two of them stayed up well into the night, until they were both so exhausted that they fell asleep after putting in one of the final batches of cookies and didn’t notice when they started to burn.

Shion didn’t know what he'd done wrong to deserve the actual hell that he was experiencing. When he was woken up by Safu’s text asking to meet up at their usual cafe, he’d been nervous, but happy that maybe they’d be able to move past the awkwardness from the day before. And yet, for some reason completely beyond his understanding, Safu refused to let up on her request.

Instead of responding or letting the conversation die, Shion merely sighed and pushed back his chair. It seemed like Safu was going to continue to push, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it without hurting her. So if they were going to have that conversation, he was at least going to do it with something a little stronger than a cappuccino. 

It also didn’t help that he couldn’t remember actually making it back to his bed last night, or that he’d developed a cough. Hopefully his mom had been able to finish up the catering order and that it was picked up with no issues that morning. 

“Please tell me you sell Irish Coffee. Or espresso martinis. I’d even take a spiked hot chocolate at this point.”

The barista raised an eyebrow and let out a low chuckle that sent a shiver down his spine. “What, is that friend of yours still after you? I thought your brilliant response yesterday of ‘Oh no, not my sperm. Anything but that!’ would’ve been enough to send any woman running. And yet here you are again.”

Shion groaned and ran a tired hand through his brown hair at the other man’s teasing. “I was hoping that we’d be able to just… ignore it? I don’t know I’m not good at this kind of thing. Once she knows what she wants, there’s no one who can stand against her. She won’t let them.”

The other man simply shook his head, a derisive smirk on his lips. “She sounds like a real winner. A match made in heaven Your Majesty. With your airheadedness and her stubbornness, you’ll take the world by storm.” The barista, whose name tag only had a picture of a rat on it, shook his head and moved to start preparing a drink. “It’s not on the menu, and it’s not like we have alcohol just lying around. But I sometimes need a little extra ‘holiday cheer.’” And with that he pulled out a flask from his apron and poured some dark liquid (whiskey, maybe?) into the mug. And kept pouring.

Shion apparently looked as frazzled as he felt.

A smirk tugged at the barista’s lips as he handed the steaming mug of salvation to Shion. “Now go and confess how uninterested you are in having sex with her.”

15 minutes later and Shion was swearing that there was no way that the whiskey should’ve been strong enough to make him hallucinate. But there really wasn’t any other explanation for the fact that Safu was repeating the same conversation as the day before. Not a continuation like he’d thought when they met at the coffee shop. No, a full repetition of a topic he really didn’t want to discuss.

“I know we didn’t really talk about this yesterday, but I’m sorry. I haven’t seen you as more than a friend and I’m not ready to have sex with you.”

Safu’s eyes widened and hurt flashed across her face. But confusion settled and she took a sip of her tea - herbal, same as always - before trying to meet his eyes. “Shion. We… we didn’t talk about this yesterday. We didn’t even see each other yesterday. We were going to meet for dinner but you worked late since Yamase called in.”

The hot chocolate burned as it slid down his throat but he couldn’t tell if it was from the temperature or the whiskey. “Safu, that was Friday. We met here for coffee yesterday and we were having this exact conversation.”

A calculating look entered her eyes as she leaned forward, almost as if she was examining him. Actually scratch that, that is exactly what she was doing. “Shion, what day do you think it is?”

“What day do I think it is? I know it’s Sunday.”

Safu shook her head slowly. “No Shion, it’s Saturday. Check your phone if you don’t believe me. Have you been having other symptoms like this? Memory falsification is rare but not impossible. But it's still odd that you would have known what I wanted to talk about.”

He lifted the hot chocolate (should he even really call it that? It was more alcohol than chocolate) to his lips as he took out his phone, only slightly surprised that it read Saturday December 24th. “I don’t know Safu. But I know - or at least I think I know - that we were here together yesterday talking about this exact same thing. And then I went home and helped my mom with the bakery. Some of her regulars came in, and a catering order was called in for the theater. Apparently the guy who put in the order had a weird name - Nezumi. I can’t make something like that up. And so we stayed up late to prepare the order - he must have been really desperate for my mom to agree on such short notice.” 

There was a choked coughing sound from the coffee bar but Shion didn’t turn to look as he was too focused on trying to figure out what was going on. Maybe he just had a really vivid dream? An extreme case of deja vu? 

Shion looked down at his gloved hands and sighed. Maybe it was nothing, but there was a part of him that felt like it was something more. Something that almost felt like a pull. But to where he couldn’t figure out.

The two friends sat there for a while, and Safu kept talking, mostly about her studies and how she was hoping that she’d find something that could help Shion, but he was mostly tuning her out at that point, choosing to stare out the window and the flurries of snow. 

As they said their goodbyes and Shion watched Safu get into the taxi meant to take her home, he heard a crack from above. And then felt a searing pain that wrapped itself around his body before losing consciousness.

When Shion woke up the next morning, he was expecting to be in a hospital room. Or at the very least in severe pain. But no, he was back at home, feeling completely fine. Well-rested even. But when he picked up his phone, he barely had time to see that he’d gotten a text from Safu to meet at the cafe. When he grabbed it, his phone sparked and its screen went black, with a small wisp of smoke winding its way through the air. 

But it wasn’t until he passed a mirror that he realized the true extent of what happened. Instead of the perfectly average brown hair and eyes he was born with, he now sported snow white hair and eyes red as blood. Not to mention the pink scar across his cheek that wound its way under his clothes. He was too afraid to see exactly how far that scar went though.

He took a few minutes to hunt for a beanie he knew he had somewhere, and he raided his mother’s makeup. It took a while for him to figure out exactly the best method to hide what looked like a scar, but it was passable enough by the time he left. But as he didn’t exactly have any colored contacts just lying around, he’d had to keep his head down as he called out to his mom that he was leaving.

He didn’t want to stand Safu up, even if he didn’t exactly feel like going to the cafe again. But that barista had also remembered the first day. So if he was lucky, maybe that man would have some answers.

If Nezumi had to go through this god-forsaken Saturday again was going to hurt someone. Probably that airheaded customer if he had anything to say about it. Sundays were his day off and that brat was (probably) the only one standing between him and a day of sleeping in.

The only bright side to having to repeat the day again was that write-up he’d gotten for not coming into work on what he thought was a Sunday just magically disappeared. Almost like it never happened. But he’d (almost) take a write up over having to work at that stupid shop for the 8th time in a row. Especially when he wasn’t even technically getting paid for it.

But when he checked his phone and saw that it was in fact Saturday December 24th for the third time, Nezumi begrudgingly pulled on a pair of black jeans and a matching long sleeve shirt. It was one of the only shops he could still work at - he’d been fired for fighting with customers at all the others, and he was still getting his foot in the door at the theater here. So he really needed this job and couldn’t afford another write up. 

Not that he thought he deserved to be fired over customers’ crossing the boundaries of what’s considered “acceptable” behavior, but he was a replaceable minimum wage employee and a brush of the hand to see if he was their soulmate really shouldn't evoke such a strong reaction from him. And it really didn’t - it was the pushy ones who would grab at him because there was clearly a mistake and there’s no way this random albeit attractive barista isn’t their soulmate.

Maybe he shouldn’t be working a customer facing job. But his face makes up for his patchwork experience so he’d deal with it until he could pay rent from the theater’s paycheck.

By the time he made it to No.6 (seriously, what kind of name was that? Where were the other five locations?) Nezumi was hungry and irritated and kind of hungover despite the fact that he hadn’t had anything to drink since the launch party on Friday. Which was really unfair and just something else to blame that particular customer for.

Part of him was hoping that he was wrong, that the man who’d come in with a friend who propositioned him in public wasn’t his soulmate. But that man clearly remembered the previous day, even if he didn’t bear the marks Nezumi had come to associate with those Fate was especially cruel to. And there had been that incident the prior night…

He’d only met a handful of people whose time had noticeably stopped when meeting their soulmate, and only a handful of those bore the white hair and scars. And that man hadn’t had either of those when he saw him. So maybe it was a coincidence. 

But regardless of whether that man was his soulmate or not, he still had to go into work.

Someone was gonna die. Maybe even him. He really didn’t want to go into work.  

“What do you know about soulmates?”

Shion was surprised that the words coming out of the barista’s mouth - whose name he still didn’t know, because a rat drawing didn’t actually constitute a name - weren’t something like ‘What can I get you’ or ‘If you talk to me while I’m reading I’ll stab you.’ And given how angry he looked when asking the question… well Shion felt like he might get stabbed.

“Not much. Only that there’s no scientific basis for it, as we only have anecdotal evidence that supports the theory that time seems to stop when you touch them the first time. And since there’s no way of knowing when you touch someone the first time that they’ll be your soulmate, it’s nearly impossible to set up a controlled experiment.” 

The barista nodded, but the frown deepened and his brow furrowed. “I have people come in every day demanding to touch me to see if their time stops for a moment. And I have regulars who swear they felt it when they touched their partner’s skin the first time. And then people like you who don’t believe in soulmates at all.”

Shion cocked his head, a thoughtful look on his face. “I don’t actually not believe in soulmates. And even if I did, after the last couple of days I’ve been having, I think I’d be more inclined to believe in them. I think I’ll believe in a lot more after today.”

“Oh?”

“I… think I’ve been repeating this day. And to be honest, I think you have too. And if I’m wrong, I hope I get to repeat it again so you don’t remember this conversation.”

The barista’s lips drew up and he turned to start on a hot chocolate. Unspiked this time. “No, you’re right. I’ve seen that friend proposition you twice now. I was wondering if there would be a third time and part of me was hoping there would be. It’s the highlight of my day.”

Shion chuckled and handed over his card to pay for the drink. “I’m so glad that my misery brings you joy. I would hate for you to be bored while working. But I don’t think Safu will be here today. I fried my phone when I picked it up this morning, so I never confirmed that we could meet. I came here just in case, but mostly I wanted to talk to you.” He took a sip of his drink and sighed. There’s just something about hot chocolate during Christmastime that just soothes the soul. “So. soulmates. Are they connected to this?”

The barista hesitated for a moment but then nodded his head once. “I think it could be. But first answer one of my questions - what are you hiding under that beanie?”

Shion’s face flushed as he fidgeted with the edge of the hat. “Nothing? I was cold?”

He clearly didn’t buy it.

“Alright fine. So there may have been an…accident last night? I don’t remember for sure but I think I got electrocuted. And when I woke up I…didn’t look the same.”

The barista nodded. “There’s a group of people living on the outskirts of town. They’re an odd group, but one of the men there had gone through something similar. He’d died shortly after meeting his soulmate but hadn’t yet touched her. And he kept repeating the day until he did. Death has a funny way of messing with the soulmate bond. And if I’m right, I’d bet those changes have to do with those red eyes, and your hair is most assuredly white under that beanie of yours. And you have to have some kind of scar somewhere I’m sure”

If Shion had any surprise left in him, the fact that this man could so accurately guess the changes that he’d freaked out about that morning would’ve taken the last of it. He was talking as if it was the most normal thing. And so Shion didn’t say anything, but nodded his head all the same.

The barista came around the counter to stand in front of Shion, who put his hot chocolate on the counter. “If I’m right, then our time will correct itself and we’ll wake up on Christmas Day like nothing ever happened. But I could be wrong, and then you’d have to see who else you met today has memories of you.” He held out his hand with the palm facing up. This man whose name he didn’t even know was putting the choice in his hands. Both figuratively and literally. And that terrified him. But it was also a little exciting. 

Shion started pulling off his gloves. After all, that was part of the reason they were in that mess. If Shion hadn’t worn gloves, then even the slightest brush of their hands would’ve snapped the soulmate bond into space. But no. He just had to be cold enough to take off his gloves.

As their hands met, Shion’s eyes slid closed without his approval. And together they experienced what felt like everything all at once. Happiness, sadness, anxiety, calmness. A fraction of a moment later and the feelings passed. 

The barista’s lips pulled into a smile. He dropped Shion’s hand to reach out, pulling Shion into a heated kiss. Once they broke apart when the sound of clapping echoed through the small cafe. They’d apparently forgotten that they had an audience. “I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

“Shion.”

“Nezumi.”

“Oh my god you’re the reason I stayed up far too late that first time!”

“I was sure that my soulmate wouldn’t exist, that they’d be on the total opposite ends of the world and we’d never have the chance to meet them. Which, by the way, you and I will need to talk about the details - the world might have set us up, but I want to make sure we keep a level head. I’d like to try to make this work.”

Nezumi dropped Shion’s hands and shoved them into his pockets. “Yeah, talking would be good. But first we need to figure out how to stop you from dying. As powerful as this phenomenon is, I don’t really feel the need to watch your head be completely separated from its body again.”

“AGAIN?!”

[katfishwrites]

Inside Eddie Munson & Steve Harrington's Quirky Indiana Home!

Leaning on the open dark red door is the lead singer of Corroded Coffin - Eddie Munson. Eddie’s hair is tied back in a half up half down messy bun. He’s dressed casually in a band t-shirt that is so faded it’s practically black and ripped black jeans. 

Eddie greets the camera crew with a gigantic smile. 

“AD! Come on In!” Eddie gestures excitedly while stepping backwards into the house. 

Some overall key features of the house include: A large bookcase filled to the brim with books and trinkets, framed photos and art cover the walls, and a fish tank with a couple of different colored fish swim calmly. 

“Let’s start in the kitchen. Do you guys want coffee? Stevie’s making a pot.” 

The camera pans from left to right as if to signal that they don’t want any - as they follow Eddie into the kitchen. The main colors of the kitchen are powder blue and slate grey. There’s a large island with a marble countertop. Four light grey bar stools surround the far end of the island. The seats are permanently set - the four plates accompanying the stools do not match, but yet somehow they do - the plates are white, blue, orange, and purple. 

“Look who came to visit.” Eddie gives Steve a kiss on the cheek as he sets his coffee mug on the nearest counter. Steve wraps one of his arms around Eddie, leaning on him. 

“Welcome to our kitchen.” Steve gives the camera a soft but somewhat shy smile, he’s not uncomfortable by the presence of the cameras but he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little awkward. 

“Since all these videos start in the kitchen for some reason.” Eddie continues.

“I can’t take any credit for anything in here other than the magnets on the fridge, that was all Steve.” Eddie mirrors Steve’s gesture and gives him a squeeze, comforting him. 

Closeup on fridge doors: an old Corroded Coffin magnet, Steve’s old Scoops Ahoy and Family Video nametags, location magnets from different stops Eddie has stopped on tour, a photobooth photo strip is held up with a heart magnet, and scraps of paper with various doodles from each other as well as other guests are hung up with a rainbow assortment of smiley face magnets. 

“That’s because I am the one who cooks.” Steve steps away from Eddie and pokes him in the side. 

Eddie gasps and puts a hand over his heart “What do you mean? I cook” 

“Reheating things in the microwave and making toast does not count as cooking.” 

Eddie laughs and Steve tries to explain his favorite things about the kitchen, but he can’t help but laugh alongside his husband. It takes Steve a moment to collect himself from chuckling before he starts to explain about the kitchen. 

“When we designed our house, we worked with the incredibly talented Robin Buckley, who just happens to be one of my best friends.” Steve can’t help the big smile on his face - he loves talking about his friends, especially when it comes to their successes. 

“We really just both had a field day when it came to doing the kitchen. One of my favorite parts is the coffee station.” 

Closeup on the espresso machine sitting on a slate grey countertop, under the countertop is a minifridge with different milks and creamers. Beside the countertop is a silver bar cart. The cart is filled with different flavored syrups and sauces, straws, and hot chocolate mix. 

“Even though I spend my whole day at work making coffee for other people, I still love making coffee for me and Eds in the morning and sitting outside.” 

“We’re a big coffee family, if you couldn’t tell by all the mugs.” Eddie joins in as he takes a mug off the wall. 

Medium wide shot of the wall covered in coffee mugs. A collection that at the minimum has at least twenty mugs, the mugs range from holiday themed to old mugs from cafes that Steve used to work at. 

“We might have a bit of a mug buying problem.” Steve looks like he is about to say something, but Eddie continues before he has the chance to interrupt.

“But look at this one! I use this one pretty much everyday.” Eddie places the mug on the kitchen island, near the sink. 

Close up of Eddie’s favorite mug: it’s a black mug, nothing special about it. 

“Hold on, don't move that camera away yet. You haven’t even seen how cool this one is!” Eddie says quickly as he moves the faucet arm towards the mug. 

Continued close up: as the water goes into the mug, different sized bats in a rainbow of colors start to appear on the sides of the mug. 

“Isn’t this amazing!” Eddie’s practically squealing with excitement. 

The camera tilts up and down to mirror a nod. 

Eddie and Steve both take a seat in the barstools at the end of the island. 

“And this is where we eat all of our meals.” Steve gestures to the surrounding plates.

“We used to have a dining room table but we never used it at all.” 

“We also have real plates, but these are so much more fun!” Eddie says, picking up the purple plate in front of him to show the camera. 

“We painted these ourselves at one of those clay painting places. All the bad ones were made by Steve.” 

“Hey!” Steve jabs Eddie’s side. 

“I decided to go for a more minimalistic look for mine.” Steve rebuttals.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Harrington.” Eddie winks. 

Closeup on the colorful plates. The purple plate is bare except for a frog in a wizard hat who is holding a small wand. The pastel green of the frog contrasts the purple and his hat is the same color as the plate with yellow stars - made by Eddie of course. The next two plates are made by Steve. The blue plate is made up of different shades of blue resembling the sea, in the top corner of the plate there’s a sun wearing sunglasses The green plate is simpler, it resembles a field and is covered in flowers of different sizes and colors. The white plate is last, the majority of the plate is covered in a rainbow tie-dye, which is done quite precisely. No doubt made by Eddie’s steady hand. 

The next stop is the living room, which is pretty big. The main color of the living room is emerald green. 

Some key pieces of decor in the living room are: the giant velvet emerald green couch, the cream area rug that’s covered in illustrated tigers, the same shot of the bookcase from the start of the video, an assortment of different plants are scattered throughout the living room, and finally on the wall above a large TV are three large portraits from their wedding day. The two photos on the left and right are slightly smaller and in black and white while the largest one in the middle is in color. All three photos appear to have been shot on film.

The photo on the left is a close up of Steve and Eddie’s hands wearing their rings. You can easily tell whose hands are whose by the amount of rings on Eddie’s hands compared to Steve’s. 

The photo on the right is a more intimate moment between Eddie and Steve, they’re on a dock with Lover’s Lake behind them. It’s a candid photo of them laughing. 

The last photo is a group photo of the wedding party. Steve and Eddie are in the middle, Steve’s in a classic tux but with a black velvet jacket. Eddie on the other hand, is wearing a black shimmery open vest, his necklaces and tattoos clearly visible, and he’s wearing wide legged pants made out of the same shimmery material. Their wedding party is pretty large on the side next to Steve is Robin, Nancy, Lucas, Max, and El. One Eddie’s side is Will, Dustin, Mike, Jonathan, and Argyle. 

Under the three photos is a small framed note that reads:  

“The most beautiful and happiest wedding photos I’ve ever taken!

Who would’ve thought that that camera you got me in ‘83 would still take great photos!

Enjoy the honeymoon!

Jonathan Byers” 

“Here is one of my favorite rooms in the house, the living room.” Eddie smiles brightly before continuing

“My favorite thing is how cozy it is here. Especially the couch!” Eddie throws himself over the back of the couch, earning a chuckle from Steve. 

“I literally dream about this couch when I’m touring.” 

Eddie springs back up from off the couch and keeps showing various elements of the room. He leads the cameraman to the large dark brown bookshelf that takes up the majority of the rightmost wall. 

“Ever since I was in school, I have always loved to read. Some of my favorites are Tolkien, King, and of course Byers.” 

While Eddie is showing off his well loved books to the cameras, Steve is standing almost out of frame; the second Eddie mentioned the name Byers he had the biggest smile on his face. Steve was never able to pick favorites out of all the Hawkins gang, but after knowing everything the Byers family went through growing up, Steve gets a little extra excited when Will or Jonathan’s achievements are mentioned - not that he’d ever let the kids know that. 

Inside the bookshelf there is an entire row dedicated to a complete collection of Will Byers’ graphic novel series “Adventures inside the Upside Down”. Eddie makes sure to show the page long handwritten note Will wrote to Eddie and Steve in the first book of the series. 

“So funny story, both Steve and I grew up in this small town in Indiana. We actually went to high school together but didn’t actually hang out until after graduation. Since Stevie was the dreamboat of Hawkins High” Eddie bats his eyelashes before continuing, 

“and I was but a freak.” He says clutching his shirt over where his heart is. 

“But Steve somehow managed to befriend and essentially babysit everyone in Hawkins who would go on to become something.” 

The camera turns to Steve and he is blushing and running his hand through the back of his hair. 

Medium wide shot of the bookshelf nearly overflowing with books. The middle of the shelf is dedicated to “The Adventures inside the Upside Down” while the other shelves are filled with Eddie’s other favorite authors. Mixed in throughout the shelves is a collection of trinkets including: hand painted D&D figures, decorative shot glasses, and small knick-knacks that Eddie and Steve have picked up on their travels. 

“Oh and one more thing about the bookshelf is this!” Steve takes over as he points to a framed newspaper article above the bookshelf. The newspaper inside the frame is slightly yellowed due to its age. The headline of the paper reads “Inside Hawkins’ Mysterious Pumpkin Problem” written by Nancy Wheeler.

“This is the first front page story that one of my best friends, Nancy Wheeler ever had published in our town’s local newspaper.” Steve says excitedly. 

“See that’s what I’m saying, everyone who turned out to be someone is somehow entwined with Steve.” Eddie says sort of as a joke but there is a hint of seriousness in his voice.  

The last aspect of the living room that Steve and Eddie show off is the large fish tank opposite the bookcase. 

Closeup on the fishtank with a few multicolored fish swimming around the tank happily. The tank is also filled with lots of plants and a couple small pieces of decor. 

“We both wanted a pet but with my touring schedule and Steve’s long hours at work we wanted something that was a little easier to take care of. So we got a fishtank, and I’ll be honest I love these lil guys more than I thought I would.” Eddie says pointing at the fish in the tank.

The large grey bottom feeder slowly swimming by himself is named Wayne after Eddie’s uncle. The bright purple fish is named Dart and there is a yellow fish named Nougat.

“Before we head upstairs I wanna show you guys the mini bathroom.” Eddie says as he leads the camera crew to a small door just across from the staircase. 

Eddie opens the door revealing an almost entirely black bathroom. 

“Our compromise was I could make the bathroom black, if Steve got full reign of the master bathroom.” Eddie says, rubbing his hands together manically. 

“The tub is one of my favorite things about this room.” Eddie smiles. 

“I’ve found Eddie hiding away in there, nose deep in a book more times than I can count.” Steve chuckles, giving Eddie a small nudge. 

“I also love how much people get freaked out when they use it for the first time.” Eddie quickly closes the door behind the cameraman encasing them in a brief darkness before Eddie flicks the light switch on.

When the lights come on, Eddie is making one of his signature devil faces right into the camera. The cameraman jumps slightly, showing that Eddie succeeded in his mission. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help it. I just wanted to show you these little guys.” Eddie’s laugh can be heard while the cameraman is focusing on the light fixtures in the bathroom. 

Closeup on the artificial candles in the bathroom. At first glance they appear to be floating. But looking closer, the candles are being held up by little black gargoyles. 

With the lights turned on, there is a painting on the door behind Eddie, which matches the vibe of the room perfectly. 

The painting on the back of the door is “Saturn Devouring His Son” by Francisco José de Goya. 

Eddie opens the door, freeing them both from the small bathroom, which really isn’t meant for two. 

“I think that’s all downstairs, how about we head upstairs?” Steve claps his hands together, already on the second step. 

Lining the wall beside the staircase is a mixture of framed photos of Steve and Eddie with their friends and framed movie and musician posters. A few of Steve and Eddie’s favorites include all of the original Star Wars trilogy, the most recent tour poster for Wallows, the lineup for Lollapalooza 2019 - the first festival that Corroded Coffin was a headliner for. 

“Instead of doing two bathrooms in a row, let’s head into the master bedroom.” Steve opens the door to reveal the room. 

“And this is where the magic happens!” Eddie says winking directly into the camera, already in the room.

“So unfortunately, Eddie Munson can no longer join the remainder of the tour.” Steve shuts the door to the bedroom, pretending to lock Eddie in. 

“I cannot believe I have been betrayed by my own husband like this!” Eddie can be heard shouting from the other side of the door.

“Alright, Alright we’re coming in.” On camera Steve can be seen rolling his eyes, but he’s laughing as he opens the door. 

Some key features of the room include the large bay window, the small coffee table with one of Eddie’s notebooks on it, an acoustic guitar leaning on the window next to the table, and the queen sized bed with a polka dotted bedspread.” 

The walls are a light yellow and Eddie is sitting on the bay window seat, holding a stuffed animal. 

Medium wide shot of Eddie on the bay window seat: the sun is shining through the window as Eddie cradling a funny looking yellow fish. The sunlight highlights the stray curls that have fallen out of his messy bun and gives him an angelic look. Beside Eddie are a few more plushies, including a cute venus flytrap - reminiscent of Audrey II, a red octopus, and a purple bat. 

“Ya know when I said this is where the magic happens, I meant writing songs…” Eddie shoots Steve a look. 

“Once we got the master bedroom all set up, I wrote the entirety of my newest album “Echoes of a Heartbeat” right here, and spoiler alert it’s pretty much all love songs.” Eddie blows a kiss to Steve, who might have been caught blushing by the camera. 

“Since it’s our bedroom, we pretty much had an even say in what we wanted the room to look like. Except Eddie was very specific on the walls being this exact shade of yellow, and I’m still really not sure why.” Steve looks to Eddie hoping he’d answer his question.

“Oh Stevie, come on, you have got to be kidding me!” Eddie gets up to wrap an arm around Steve. 

“You really don’t know?” 

Steve shrugs his shoulders. 

“Let me set the scene: Hawkins, Indiana circa 1985 a young Eddie Munson somehow manages to get a date with the cute guy working at Family Video. Eddie Munson pulls up to a secluded side of Lover’s Lake where the one and only Steve Harrington, sets up a picnic where he is wearing a light yellow sweater.” 

When Eddie finishes his story they are both blushing and Steve pulls him into a big kiss, not caring that they are currently on camera. 

The two pull away from the kiss and Steve whispers to Eddie “Hey Eds, I think we have something to finish first.” 

Eddie shoots the camera another wink before continuing to talk about the room, with his cheeks flushed pink. 

“Besides writing songs here, Stevie and I get into some pretty competitive video game tournaments.” Eddie looks at Steve and looks back into the camera, he cups his hands around his mouth as if he’s telling the camera a secret. 

“And I usually win.” 

“Hey! I heard that.” Steve comes into frame to push Eddie.

“Anything else you wanna show off in the room? Before we head outta here.” 

“Oh actually! There is.” Steve grabs a small frame off his nightstand to show to the camera.

Inside the frame is a signed drawing of Eddie and Steve dressed in some sort of battle gear. Steve is wearing a denim vest and holding a wooden baseball bat with nails stuck through it. Eddie is dressed in a green shawl, which makes him look like he’s covered in grass. Eddie is also holding the lid of a trash can as a shield, it also has some nails stuck into it. Under the drawing it reads “Hellfire Club: Steve’s first and only campaign.” 

“Eddie commissioned Will Byers to draw this for me after we finished this campaign. I think he did it so I had a constant reminder of how much fun I had as Harrington the Brave.”  Steve shoots a look at Eddie, but Eddie keeps his mouth shut.

“I did have fun, it was just so long.” Steve chuckles as he puts the frame back in its place on the nightstand. 

The camera catches Eddie rolling his eyes with a smile on his face.

“Shall we head into the master bathroom?” Eddie says one foot already out the door.

“I’ll let Steve take the wheel on this part of the tour, since this room was Steve’s magnum opus besides the kitchen.” Eddie bows as Steve walks into the room.

Some key features of the bathroom include the black and white tile floor with pink grout running through it, the sunlight coming through the sheer curtains, and the ceiling is painted with a gorgeous sunset - the oranges, yellows, and pinks compliment the room perfectly. 

“I just really wanted the bathroom to feel as luxurious as possible.” Steve says while waving his hands in a small circle trying to showcase the room. 

“Like the White Lotus, but no one dies!” Eddie can’t help but chime in.

“So Robin and I started designing the bathroom while Eddie was on tour in Venice; every photo he sent had these beautiful painted ceilings and I kept showing Robin and she surprised me with the sunset.” 

Throughout the bathroom there are little flourishes of gold - all the hardware from the drawer pulls to the shower head are made out of white gold. 

“I got a little carried away with all the gold, but what can I say - I like shiny things.” Steve says as his hand starts to creep up the back of his neck. 

“But I couldn’t let Stevie have all the fun, so I had to add some things to make it a little more my speed.” 

Eddie proceeds to grab something from a shelf next to the sink. When he comes back in Eddie’s hands are three different figures of Gonzo from The Muppets. 

“So fun fact, I love The Muppets - especially Gonzo. Also when Steve worked at Family Video and was trying to flirt through movies, he tried to slip a more romantic movie in the bag of movies I was renting but instead he accidently put Muppets Take Manhattan in the bag. 

As the camera slowly zooms out from Eddie, Steve can be seen visibly turning red as Eddie continues to tell the story.

“Little did he know, The Muppets are the way to my heart.” Eddie gives Steve a quick kiss on the cheek before going to put the figures back. 

“And the blues do match the rest of the color story of the room if I do say so myself.” Eddie says in a fake snobby somewhat british accent with his hands on his hips. 

Steve waves him off with a laugh as they head out into the hallway.

“I feel like we really don’t have a lot of rooms left but the master closet should definitely be next.” Steve says before they head into the next room. 

The master closet is directly across from their bedroom. Following Steve into the walk-in closet, the walls are painted the same pale yellow color as their bedroom. 

Some key features of the master closet include some of Eddie’s tour outfits on full display, two matching full length squiggle mirrors, a pink velvet circular ottoman, and framed concert posters of some of Steve and Eddie’s favorite artists: Wallows, the 1975, and ABBA. 

“Eds, I feel you should take charge on this one just because you have so many more clothes than I do.” Steve says as he sprawls out on the ottoman. 

“What can I say, I love a costume change.” Eddie spins around making sure to flick up some of the fabric of the long sleeves. 

“I love having the outfits from my tours on the faceouts. It brings back all the memories of the city that I wore that outfit in.” Eddie says with a big smile on his face as the camera picks up a slight twinge of blush on Eddie’s cheeks. 

“The majority of this half of the closet is used for my more extravagant outfits. But this is my favorite section, the costumes of Halloweens’ past!” Eddie excitedly ruffles through the racks to find a specific costume. 

Steve turns around on the ottoman, genuinely curious to see which costume Eddie’s looking for. Steve would never toot their own horn, but they do kill their Halloween costumes year after year. 

“Found it!” Eddie pulls out a floor length long sleeved black gown and a black pinstripe suit. 

“This was our first Halloween as a married couple and our first of many Halloween bashes. Remember that Stevie?” He of course knew the answer, but they were on camera after all. 

Steve got up off the ottoman and walked towards Eddie, grabbing the suit out of his hands. He gave Eddie a quick peck on the lips before speaking.

“How could I forget my first time seeing you in full drag as Morticia?!” Steve burst out into laughter. “I will also never forget how long it took to get all the gel out of my hair.” 

Eddie’s laughing too, but for a moment Steve looks pale at the memory. 

“Even though I could spend all day talking about my Halloween costumes, there are some other things I think the people at home will want to see.” 

Eddie goes to a clear display case full of jewelry. He pulls out a drawer full of different rings. 

“Some may say I have a hoarding problem, but what can I say I love shiny things.” Eddie flashes his own rings to the camera before showing off the drawer.

Closeup on Eddie's hands: He flexes his fingers causing the silver and different gemstones to shine. Despite the simplicity of the ring’s designs they’re still stunning. The most notable of the rings is Eddie’s wedding band. The matte black is such a contrast from the sterling silver that accompanies his rest of his hand. In the center of the ring is a strip of diamonds. 

Some standout rings in the drawer include: One shaped like a boars head, a sterling silver chain, and a mood ring. 

“I have my everyday rings, but I like to spice it up from time to time.” Eddie closes the current drawer and pulls out the drawer underneath it. 

“These are my tour rings - aka rings that I’m okay with losing.” Eddie laughs for a moment before finishing.

“I promise they do all fit me, but between the guitar, dancing, and just working up a sweat sometimes they just fly off.” 

The last half of the closet is relatively uneventful, with just Steve and Eddie’s regular clothes - which includes a surprising amount of denim. 

On the wall next to Steve and Eddie’s everyday clothes is a vanity with one of those giant old Hollywood inspired mirrors with a lightbulb surrounding the mirror. Strewn across the vanity are makeup brushes, eyeshadow palettes, and a photo from Steve and Eddie’s Addams Family themed Halloween party. 

Closeup on the photo: Alongside Steve and Eddie as Gomez and Morticia is Jonathan as Lurch, Max and El as Wednesday, Mike as Fester, Nancy as Grandmama, Will and Lucas as Pugsley, Robin as Debbie, and Dustin as Cousin It. 

“Well I think that sums up the last room.” Steve says with an arm slung over Eddie’s shoulder. “It was a lot of fun having you guys here!” He smiles as they start to walk out of the room. 

“You guys are welcome back anytime! Especially at Halloween!” Eddie says as they are standing in the front doorway and the cameraman is outside. 

Steve and Eddie give the camera one final kiss before the video cuts to black.

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Hi Rose! Can I ask you 12, 36, 46, 50, and 62 for the ask meme? Have a lovely day -☆

You can certainly ask. And I shall answer.

12.How many cups can you see from where you're sitting?

3 cups. 2 mugs, one is the one I'm drinking from atm and an espresso cup. I also have a big water bottle. It's still morning so this is actually a good number.

36.Do you keep a daily journal or agenda?

Kinda. I have an agenda that I mostly use as a notebook. It's usually full of episode notes for gifs, or therapy notes and other stuff that I want to remember. I keep main events on a digital calendar.

46. What kind of stuff do you keep on the door of your refrigerator?

Wine, Milk, large water bottle, condiments, eggs and if I have other big bottled drinks they go there as well.

50. Pro or anti throw pillows?

Pro on the sofa, anti on the bed.

62.Where are you on the minimalism-maximalism kinsey scale?

More one the maximalist side I guess. All my walls have stuff hanging on them everywhere, tchotchkes galore, and just a bunch of stuff everywhere. I like it this way, except when I have to clean. The book shelves are a nightmare specially.

Thank for asking. This is fun. 💜

Ask meme for people in their 30s

[shes-an-oddbird]

Coffeemakers

Judd can't win when it comes to that damn espresso machine and is considering purchasing his own coffeemaker when thermoses start appearing in the firehouse kitchen. Each one addressed to him, each one a different pattern or color and each one filled with a unique brew. He doesn't know why but after each taste test, he finds it easy enough to guess who. Who knew a thermos of coffee could have so much personality? Or the 126 family brews up their own special coffee blends for Judd to give him a break from his on going battle with Owen's espresso machine. Read on A03

Grace has only suggested he bring his own coffee maker to station about once a week, every week, since the 126 reopened. The first time. He can’t explain why he doesn’t with any sort of logical reasoning. Maybe he wanted to prove he couldn’t be bested by a fancy espresso machine. Maybe he actually kind of liked how the damn stuff tasted when he did manage to dispense it into his mug. Maybe he just wanted to out stubborn Owen on this one matter and was waiting for him to break first.

Of course, that was never going to happen so he really should just go pick one up on his break.

He just never gets around to it. Whenever calm did fall over the station, he took advantage of the time by catching up on the paper, working out in the gym or scarfing down a meal or two. Pretty much anything that couldn’t easily be accomplished when you have a toddler around the house.

So instead, he continues to complain. Every morning to the amusement of his co-workers who have mastered the espresso machine and every night to his wife who has not and will not give in and go out and purchase a machine herself to end his suffering.

“I’m sure you’ll get around to it sweetheart, all on your own.” Grace tells him and she’s right. Because, one morning, he forgets his own travel mug of coffee that he prepares at home every day and by the time he realizes it, it’s too late to turn around. He’ll be damned if he stops to spend four dollars on a cup of coffee at one of the overpriced cafes between his house and the station and in that moment decides that today is the day. As soon as he can he’ll step out of work and go purchase the cheapest one he can find at the box store around the corner.

In the end, Owen will probably hate it so much he’ll replace it with a nicer model that matched the kitchen backsplash and he’ll only be out a few bucks.  

When his break rolls around, he takes a moment to glance at the stretch of counter next to the monstrosity that had become the bane of his existence. There is more than enough room to tuck a twelve-cup coffee pot there without taking up much space. All he’d have to do is move that thermos out of the way.

The orange one with the large flowers on it. He knows he’s seen it before.

He picks it up and inspects it for a name, not noticing the napkin beneath it until it falls to the ground. With a groan, God he was getting old, he crouches to pick it up. To his surprise, scrawled across the napkin is his name.

For Judd.

He uncaps the bottle and the beautiful smell of coffee drifts out of it. He should be suspicious. This had ‘prank’ written all over it, but his caffeine deprived body doesn’t care and he tentatively takes a sip.

As it turns out, he knows the coffee well. It’s faint hint of chicory the dead giveaway to its source.

Thanks to Tommy, and probably a heads-up call from Grace when she found his coffee mug on the counter after he left, his trip to the store could wait until tomorrow.

The next morning, he intends to give the thermos back to Tommy, fully washed and with as many thank yous as she’ll accept. He doesn’t expect to walk through the kitchen and catch sight of another thermos in the same spot the last one had appeared.

It couldn’t also be for him, could it? But there’s another napkin beneath it so he curiously peers at it as he passes. Sure, enough there is his name again.

He picks up the bottle. This one is green and thanks to an obnoxiously large ‘I Heart NY’ printed on it he knows immediately it’s from TK.

He’s slightly more suspicious this time and takes an extra-long whiff, trying to catch anything out of the ordinary. He doesn’t. And the coffee is good. Distinctly different though. It must be a New York thing. Or maybe he was fond of one of his dad’s fancy coffee brands.

He doesn’t realize he’s left Tommy’s thermos in the new one’s place until he goes back to grab it and finds its gone.

The third day he looks intentionally to see if the spot is occupied.

It is.

The thermos is pink with gold leopard print and its almost certainly Marjan’s. He can’t imagine anyone else embracing bold colors and animal prints quite the same way. The coffee is nothing fancy and he’s grateful it hasn’t been loaded down with too much sugar and creamer and flavors better suited to baked goods.

This must be planned. Something they had arranged because it continues to happen, with a different thermos each day.

The next one is plain blue but heavy duty. It makes all the other bottles look like cheap freebees, given away at trade shows and sports events or overpriced at gift shops. He twists off the cap and the coffee contained inside is still steaming.

Paul, it had to be Paul.

No one else would have an industrial strength thermos.

Well TK, and Owen to an extent, are both northerners but he was certain neither of them ever bothered with a thermos like this one. If they needed hot coffee they’d go to a shop. Besides he was pretty sure Chicago was just a different type of cold.

He tries to take a sip of the coffee, curious as to what would make this one different but the second it nears his lips he knows he’ll be scalded and unable to taste anything for the foreseeable future. He sets it down, thinking about grabbing a mug when he notices it’s one of those thermoses with a built-in cup around the lid.

It’s probably his favorite cup so far. Paul tends to be a no fuss guy like himself, and the coffee is not unlike how he would prepare it, except much fresher, like maybe he grinds his own beans. He wouldn’t be surprised. Paul was kind of a showoff in the kitchen.

There is no need to guess who leaves the next thermos. It sits on the counter waiting for him, branded with Captain America’s shield.

He feels bad for not expecting much. Mateo is usually the one to help him when the espresso maker turns against him so of course he knows how to make a decent cup of coffee. Its good, if not super strong. He envied that the kid had endless energy without a caffeine fix and Judd knew the reason he did drink it was because it could help with focus, something he did, on occasion, need help with.

He expects their little game to end there. Everyone who he could imagine would be in on it had left their thermos for him and received it back washed and ready to return to the cupboard, not to be used again until winter rolled back around.

But the next day, Tommy’s thermos is back and the day after, TK’s. The rotation stays the same with only the tiniest of changes here or there. Tommy’s coffee never changes, it’s a tried-and-true brew that she clung to, and Judd appreciated the gentle reminder of his old friend ever time her brightly colored thermos greeted him.

He could tell, without question, when Carlos makes the coffee at the loft because while it’s the same ‘I Heart NY’ thermos the New York style coffee is replaced with something distinctly more Texas.

Marjan’s coffee is relatively consistent but once or twice he notices a change. Actually, he notices that its suspiciously familiar. In fact, it tastes just like the coffee they made at the café around the corner. He did know her to indulge in expensive coffee drinks for herself. It was possible all along she was getting a cup of plain black coffee alongside her sugary frappés or whatever it was they served.

Paul’s is still his favorite and several times he’s been tempted to ask what brand he uses because it is that good but he doesn’t. No one talks about what they’re doing. Even if he’s standing there in front of the person who made the coffee, thermos clearly in hand.

He’d eventually find out. This certainly couldn’t go on forever.

While it couldn’t go on forever, it could easily go on for several more weeks. Mateo, it turns out, has a whole collection of thermoses with different superhero emblems on each of them. Judd had intentionally started keeping track. Adding to his collection might be an easy gift idea come the inevitable Secret Santa time of year. He’s even started to guess who it would be next; Ironman, Spiderman, and Thor had all made appearances. He takes a guess at Black Panther one week only to find a pretty ombre, he’s pretty sure that’s the right word, thermos sitting on the edge of the counter. It fades from pink to purple to blue and he double checks to make sure it wasn’t actually meant for someone else.

Sure enough there is a napkin with his name on it folded beneath the bottle. And a note.

Wasn’t home - next week Black Panther.

It’s the closest anyone’s come to acknowledging this weird system they’d put in place.

He takes a sip of the coffee and its definitely still Mateo’s brew. The thermos, he presumes, belongs to Nancy.

When Judd finally remembers to purchase a coffee pot its entirely on accident. He’s already in the appliance isle, looking for a rice cooker slash vegetable steamer that Wyatt recommended and that made prepping some basic vegan meals super easy when he sees it. And it’s perfect. He’s no expert but it’s simple and clean and will even match Owen’s precious back splash. It makes a standard 12 cup pot and keeps it warm and tasting fresh all day. At least according to the box.

He holds it up to Charlie for a second opinion and she hurls aside the doll she’s been holding in favor of trying to accept the box from him.

“Agreed.” He says, placing it in the cart next to the rice cooker and collecting the cast aside doll before heading to the check out.

The thing is, in line at the store, he wasn’t thinking about the rotation of thermoses, filled with their own special coffee brew. He’s just checking a to do item off his list. And when Grace mentions it later, that she’ll miss the different thermoses, sitting on the counter each night or morning, in line to be washed, it does cause him a moment of pause, but he brushes it off. He greatly appreciated what his friends were doing for him, but it had to be an inconvenience making a whole thing off coffee for him. It had been fun but he’s sure they’ll be glad to have a few spare minutes back in their busy schedules.

He should have known he was wrong from the long ‘mmhmm’ Grace hums as she inspects the box. 

And oh boy was he wrong. He gets to work a few minutes early to set the coffee maker up and run a fresh pot while he changes into his uniform. When he returns to the kitchen its to a small crowd around the machine.

“Maybe he just doesn’t like our coffee?” TK asks as he runs his finger over the handle of the coffee pot, possibly inspecting its quality. “People can be very particular about it.”

“He’s never said anything, Judd’s not one to hold back on his opinions.” Marjan says her arms crossed. She’s choosing to judge it from farther back and with a look of clear disapproval on her face.

“Yeah, but he’s also not one to be unnecessarily mean, we were just doing a nice thing for him, maybe he didn’t know how to ask us to stop.” Paul reasons.

There’s a low mumble of begrudging agreement. As they start to disperse, he hears Mateo’s voice cut in. “So what do I do with this?” He holds up a thermos with a large Avengers A on it. The others shake their heads at him and he looks down at the thermos with disappointment. Nancy nudges him and nods at the counter.

“Leave it, I bet its better than the new stuff anyways.”

He sets the bottle down and they follow the others out of the kitchen.

“Don’t worry.” Judd jumps at the sound of Tommy’s voice beside him. “They’ll get over it, its was just a fun idea we had.”

Judd lets out a heavy sigh. “I didn’t mean to disappoint them T, I just didn’t want to be an inconvenience because I’m the only one who can’t use the damn espresso machine.”

“It’s really okay.” He doesn’t feel like it is. He feels an unfair amount of guilt sitting in the pit of his stomach that only doubles when Tommy takes one of the plain matching mugs from the cabinet and untwists the cap off the thermos Mateo had left behind. “Can’t let it go to waste, I promise I’ll try yours tomorrow Juddy.”

He has to hit up several stores after work. Everything from bookstores to pet shops and an out of the way hobby shop. It takes far too long, and it gets way too late. Grace sends a concerned, you okay sweetheart text when he doesn’t arrive home at his usual time and is met with a long phone call explaining the situation in return. She thinks it’s a good idea and agrees to review the pictures he sends to make sure he’s picking the right things.

The next morning as the team slumps into the kitchen, the promise of Paul’s diner style breakfast having their stomach’s growling, they are met with a line of colorful coffee mugs. They sit in a perfect line in front of the enemy coffeemaker.

The first is a heavy handmade looking mug with a sun painted on it in a warm orange glaze.

A green mug with the words ‘lizard dad’ written on it above a small picture of a bearded dragon sits next to a simple white mug one with ‘I HEART AUSTIN’ printed on it in large letters and an etching of the Austin skyline.

There’s a fuchsia mug with gold zebra stripes and a gold handle and a sticker on the bottom that reminds the user not to put it in the microwave. It was loud compared to the plain and slightly inappropriate blue mug that reads ‘Relax, I will feed all you bitches.’ The words are topped with a chef’s hat and underlined with a whisk.

It’s a stark contrast to the next mug, covered in brightly colored vintage comic panels that on closer inspection are all of superheroes drinking a morning cup of coffee and another mug that looks handmade like the first only is finished with a dark purple glaze that has bright bursts of color running through it.

Finally, there is one last mug. Its white and in simple font it says, ‘be as strong as your espresso.’

Judd watches as each member of the team picks up the mug meant for them, with very little question as to which belonged to who. He even gets a smile out of Owen. They pass the pot of freshly brewed coffee around, filling the mugs to their brims and taking a seat around the kitchen island. When he enters no one says anything. The agreement to not talk about the coffee pact still in place.