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brawltogethernow · 3 years

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@mirrorfalls submitted: Came across this while searching for James Bond’s scrambled-eggs recipe (long story). Your thoughts?

But did you find James Bond’s scrambled eggs recipe?

In this article, Scocca laments his inability to find accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable to read with his young son, while also demonstrating a mysterious aversion to looking at DC and Marvel’s lines of comics for children, which is where the accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable for reading with young children are. He wants his elementary schooler to be able to safely have the run of all superhero media so he doesn’t have to touch the yucky baby books.

This is not an industry-wide crisis. This is just one dude who got paid to write an article where he accidentally exposed one of his personal hangups.

The child headed toward the trade paperbacks of Marvel and D.C. superhero titles on the side wall […] a few steps in front of me. […] Is he with you? a clerk asked me. I said he was. You know, the clerk said, we have a kids’ section. The clerk gestured backward, at a few shelves near the entrance. I said, Thanks, we know and tried throwing in a little shrug, as the kid kept going.

You can’t just turn a seven-year-old child loose in a comic-book store to look at the superhero comic books. […] My seven-year-old really wanted to see that last Avengers movie […] that is, he wished it were a movie he could see, but he understood that it was, instead, a movie designed to scare and sadden him—a movie actively hostile to people like him.

They have a children’s section. Because comics are a medium suitable for stories for everybody, and they are sold in comic book shops, which have sections, like bookstores. You can use this organization to find books that you know in advance are suitable for children. What goes in that category is determined by industry professionals. This area will be bigger the bigger the shop is. These comics are not lower quality that titles from the main lines. They are actually slightly better-written on average.

Your local comic book shop has considerately wrapped Empowered in a plastic bag, so your child will not be drawn in by a colorful superhero and accidentally read a graphic scene. If you think your kid might find a memoir about internment camps upsetting, it is your job to notice them picking up They Called Us Enemy and read the blurb on the back before you let them have it. This comic adults are meant to read is in a comic book shop because that is where comics are sold. Not every public place is supposed to be Disneyland.

Movies have ratings systems. If you do not want your child to watch a PG-13 movie, you will find that most superhero cartoons are for children. They are about the same characters. Some are quite good! I really enjoyed Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Your child may like Avengers Assemble. At least I think that’s right. I’m always mixing those titles around.

This is a deeply weird bias for Scocca to casually demonstrate, because he identifies in the article that real childishness is striving for empty maturity.

He compares an old comic,

[…]a 1966 Spider-Man comic in which Spider-Man meets, fights, and defeats the Rhino; participates in a running argument between John Jameson and J. Jonah Jameson about his heroism; buys a motorcycle; breaks up with his first girlfriend, Betty Brant; flirts with Gwen Stacy; and reluctantly agrees to let Aunt May take him to meet her friend Mrs. Watson’s niece, Mary Jane.

and a new comic,

[…]a 21st century comic book in which Thor, brooding in a Katrina-destroyed New Orleans, beats up Iron Man. He also yells at Iron Man a lot about some incomprehensibly convoluted set of grievances, including involuntary cloning, that he believes Iron Man perpetrated against him while he was dead(?), and then summons some other Norse god from the beyond somehow for reasons having something to do with real estate. I think. Where the 1966 comic is zippy and fun and complete, the whole contemporary one is muddled and lugubrious and seems to constitute a tiny piece of a seemingly endless plot arc—simultaneously apocalyptic and inert.

and concludes that the edgier comic is actually less mature. This is true. (This is not news about mediocre comics.)

It also has nothing to do with either comic being child-friendly, the article’s nominal thesis, except in the sense that ASM #41 (yes, I eyeballed that from that summary, yes I am just showing off now) is better written, making it more everyone-friendly. It also has practically more space dedicated to word balloons than art and is about a college student juggling girl problems and a part-time job with a tyrannical boss. But the immature one, as Scocca points out, is dour.

These are both teenagery issues, separated only by quality. It’s true that lots of new comics published by the big 2 are bad in the specific way Scocca describes here, taking themselves too seriously and hauled down by associated stories instead of buoyed by them. Some are not! Some titles from these companies’ main continuities are zippy, contained, and child friendly. Give your child The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl! Or if you like vintage comics so much better, why don’t you…buy some?

The books on the kid’s rack are good and fun and totally suitable for parents to read with their children without wanting to scoop their eyeballs out. Scocca cites the Batman ‘66 comics as the brightly colored, tightly written all ages solution to his problem about sharing superhero stories with his son. My local comic shop stores this title in the kid’s section. I am glad that Scocca’s does not, as he seems to have a peculiar aversion to looking for comics to read with his son there.

Scocca cites Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse as a superhero movie he could watch with his kids. (I was surprised when this line made it sound like he has several. I don’t want to assume the other one isn’t in this article because they’re a girl, but I very much am assuming that.) Great! Go to the kid’s section and look for Marvel Adventures: Spider-Man. It’s a fun, zippy title directly inspired by ITSV where Miles, Gwen, and Peter superhero together. It’s much more tightly written than most of the various Spider-Verse comics, which are ambitiously messy ubercrossovers. You may not want to give those to children because they include murder and so on, but also you just have the choice between the two as an adult reader deciding how much continuity you want to deal with. Adventures is one of the only titles I would buy on sight before corona. The kid comic rack is a reliable place to take a break from How Comics Get Sometimes regardless of how old you are.

This article makes me feel quarrelsome. Maybe it’s that it doesn’t seem like exploration of a single idea so much as a loosely grouped bundle of things to kvetch about. Maybe it’s that the experience of getting into superheroes that Scocca describes experiencing, projects his seven-year-old son will experience, and from which he extrapolates a metaphorical microcosm of the history of the genre is completely alien to me.

Comic books [and] comic-book movies—are […] trapped in their imagined audience’s own awful passage from childhood to adolescence. A seven-year-old has a clean […] appreciation of superheroes. They like hero comics because the comics have heroes: bold, strong, vividly colored good guys to fight off the bad guys and make the world safe.

But seven-year-olds stop being seven. […] They become 13-year-olds, defensively trying to learn how to develop tastes about tastes.

The 13-year-old wants many things from comics, but the overarching one is that they want to prove that they’re not some seven-year-old baby anymore. They want gloomy heroes, miserable heroes, heroes who would make a seven-year-old feel bad. (Also boobs. They want boobs.)

Not because of the boobs line, although that does illicit an eyeroll that this gloomy thinkpiece is fretting over preserving the superhero experience of little boys who resemble the little boy the writer was while casually dismissing everyone else. I was one of those unlikable little seven-year-olds with a college reading level and the impression that maintaining it was the crux of my worth. I only read Books - distinguished media you could club someone with. I have a formative memory of pausing, enraptured, in front of a poster for Spider-Man 3, preparing to say that it looked pretty cool, and being beaten to the punch by my mother making a disparaging comment about how the movie was trash. It wasn’t out yet, but it was a superhero movie. That meant it was for loud, brainless children.

That was the total of my childhood experience with superheroes, excluding being the unwilling audience to incessant renditions of “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells” that left me wondering why in god’s name Batman’s sidekick was named Robin. I certainly never visited a comic book shop. I got into TvTropes, which got me into webcomics, which got me following David Willis, who got me into Ask Chris at ComicsAlliance, which led to me rewarding myself for studying like a demon for the AP tests with three volumes of Waid’s Daredevil, pitched as a return to the character being colorful and swashbuckling. I was seven…teen.

This is of the same thread as Scocca’s point that immaturity is running from childish things. It leaves me baffled that he doesn’t follow that maturity is embracing them.

I will disclose here that while I think it was dumb I had to overcome my upbringing’s deeply embedded shame associated with enjoying arbitrarily defined lowbrow media and children being childish, I think it’s fine that I was allowed largely unchecked access to technically age-inappropriate content. In my limited experience, content small children are too young for is also content they’re too young to understand, so it kind of just bounces off of them, and what actually ends up terrorizing them is unpredictable collages of impressions that strike out at them from content deemed perfectly child-friendly. I would not forbid a seven-year-old I was in charge of from seeing an MCU movie unless I had a reason to believe that specific child would not take it well. These are emotionally low-stakes bubblegum films. It will probably be easier to socialize with other kids if they have seen them.

But then, when I picture being in charge of a hypothetical child, I usually imagine this being the case because they are related to me, and the pupal stage in my family strongly resembles Wednesday Addams. ALL children love death and violence, though, right?? This isn’t a joke point. I know it looks like a joke point.

The MCU thing seems especially weird in light of the article’s particular focus on Spider-Man, which is the kiddie line of the MCU, even if they refused to waver from their usual formula enough to get a lower rating. Though I am more inclined to describe it as “preying on the young” than “child-friendly”.

(MCU movies are increasingly dubious propaganda, but I would not judge them in front of a child who wanted to watch them for that reason, just in case this led to them partaking of them without me the second they were old enough to and then they grew up to run a blog about them while our relationship suffered because they didn’t feel like it was safe to talk to me about their interests…Mom.)

I tried to overcome the philosophy of letting anyone read anything while compiling this handful of mostly-newish superhero recs for the road that anyone can read. (Handily, I have been in spitting distance of being hired as a comic shop clerk enough to have thought about it before):

For actual children:

Marvel Adventures Spider-Man (the new one is reminiscent of ITSV, the old one is more like 616) any DC/Archie crossover, Archie’s Superteens The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl (for bookish children who think they’re too good for comics and adults afraid of the kid’s section) Teen Titans Go (even if you hate the show) Superman Smashes the Klan

For teens:

Ms. Marvel Young Avengers (volume 2) Unbelievable Gwenpool Batman: Gotham Adventures Teen Titans Go (the tie-in comic based off the old show was also called this)

Here are a bunch of relevant C. S. Lewis quotes.

#me every time i read a comic book article by a rag not exclusively about comic books: i know more than you.#marvel #spidey #DCU #MCU critical #mirrorfalls #asks answered #submission #unearthed this and bashed it out in one sitting ... i have not been working on it since you sent it last year XD

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carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory · 3 years

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Real Dinosaurs Versus Reel Dinosaurs: Film’s Fictionalization of the Prehistoric World

by Shelby Wyzykowski

What better way can you spend a quiet evening at home than by having a good old-fashioned movie night? You dim the lights, cozily snuggle up on your sofa with a bowl of hot, buttery popcorn, and pick out a movie that you’ve always wanted to see: the 1948 classic Unknown Island. Mindlessly munching away on your snacks, your eyes are glued to the screen as the story unfolds. You reach a key scene in the movie: a towering, T. rex-sized Ceratosaurus and an equally enormous Megatherium ground sloth are locked in mortal combat. And you think to yourself, “I’m pretty sure something like this never actually happened.” And you know what? Your prehistorically inclined instincts are correct.

From the time that the first dinosaur fossils were identified in the early 1800s, society has been fascinated by these “terrible lizards.” When, where, and how did they live? And why did they (except for their modern descendants, birds) die out so suddenly? We’ve always been hungry to find out more about the mysteries behind the dinosaurs’ existence. The public’s hunger for answers was first satisfied by newspapers, books, and scientific journals. But then a whole new, sensational medium was invented: motion pictures. And with its creation came a new, exciting way to explore the primeval world of these ancient creatures. But cinema is art, not science. And from the very beginning, scientific inaccuracies abounded. You might be surprised to learn that these filmic faux pas not only exist in movies from the early days of cinema. They pervade essentially every dinosaur movie that has ever been made.

One Million Years B.C.

Another film that can easily be identified as more fiction than fact is 1966’s One Million Years B.C. It tells the story of conflicts between members of two tribes of cave people as well as their dangerous dealings with a host of hostile dinosaurs (such as Allosaurus, Triceratops, and Ceratosaurus). However, neither modern-looking humans nor dinosaurs (again, except birds) existed one million years ago. In the case of dinosaurs, the movie was about 65 million years too late. Non-avian dinosaurs disappeared 66 million years ago during a mass extinction known as the K/Pg (which stands for “Cretaceous/Paleogene”) event. An asteroid measuring around six miles in diameter and traveling at an estimated speed of ten miles per second slammed into the Earth at what is now the Yucatán Peninsula in Mexico. The effects of this giant impact were so devastating that over 75% of the world’s species became extinct. But the dinosaurs’ misfortunes were a lucky break for Cretaceous Period mammals. They were able to gain a stronger foothold and flourish in the challenging and inhospitable post-impact environment.

Cut to approximately 65 million, 700 thousand years later, when modern-looking humans finally arrived on the chronological scene. Until recently, the oldest known fossils of our species, Homo sapiens, dated back to just 195,000 years ago (which is, in geological terms, akin to the blink of an eye). And for many years, these fossils have been widely accepted to be the oldest members of our species. But this theory was challenged in June of 2017 when paleoanthropologists from the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology reported that they had discovered what they thought may be the oldest known remains of Homo sapiens on a desert hillside at Jebel Irhoud in Morocco. The 315,000-year-old fossils included skull bones that, when pieced together, indicated that these humans had faces that looked very much like ours, but their brains did differ. Being long and low, their brains did not have the distinctively round shape of those of present-day humans. This noticeable difference in brain shape has led some scientists to wonder: perhaps these people were just close relatives of Homo sapiens. On the other hand, maybe they could be near the root of the Homo sapien lineage, a sort of protomodern Homo sapien as opposed to the modern Homo sapien. One thing is for certain, the discovery at Jebel Irhoud reminds us that the story of human evolution is long and complex with many questions that are yet to be answered.

The Land Before Time

Another movie that misplaces its characters in the prehistoric timeline is 1988’s The Land Before Time. The stars of this animated motion picture are Littlefoot the Apatosaurus, Cera the Triceratops, Ducky the Saurolophus, Petrie the Pteranodon, and Spike the Stegosaurus. As their world is ravaged by constant earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, the hungry and scared young dinosaurs make a perilous journey to the lush and green Great Valley where they’ll reunite with their families and never want for food again. In their on-screen imagined story, these five make a great team. But, assuming that the movie is set at the very end of the Cretaceous (intense volcanic activity was a characteristic of this time), the quintet’s trip would have actually been just a solo trek. Ducky and Petrie’s species had become extinct several million years earlier, and Littlefoot and Spike would have lived way back in the Jurassic Period (201– 145 million years ago). Cera alone would have had to experience several harrowing encounters with the movie’s other latest Cretaceous creature, the ferocious and relentless Sharptooth, a Tyrannosaurus rex.

Speaking of Sharptooth, The Land Before Time’s animators made a scientifically accurate choice when they decided to draw him with a two-fingered hand, as opposed to the three fingers traditionally embraced by other movie makers. For 1933’s King Kong, the creators mistakenly modeled their T. rex after a scientifically outdated 1906 museum painting. Many other directors knowingly dismissed the science-backed evidence and used three digits because they thought this type of hand was more aesthetically pleasing. By the 1920s, paleontologists had already hypothesized that these predators were two-fingered because an earlier relative of Tyrannosaurus, Gorgosaurus, was known to have had only two functional digits. Scientists had to make an educated guess because the first T. rex (and many subsequent specimens) to be found had no hands preserved. It wasn’t until 1988 that it was officially confirmed that T. rex was two-fingered when the first specimen with an intact hand was discovered. Then, in 1997, Peck’s Rex, the first T. rex specimen with hands preserving a third metacarpal (hand bone), was unearthed. Paleontologists agree that, in life, the third metacarpal of Peck’s Rex would not have been part of a distinct, externally visible third finger, but instead would have been embedded in the flesh of the rest of the hand. But still, was this third hand segment vestigial, no longer serving any apparent purpose? Or could it have possibly been used as a buttressing structure, helping the two fully formed fingers to withstand forces and stresses on the hand? Peck’s Rex’s bones do display evidence that strongly supports arm use. You can ponder this paleo-puzzle yourself when you visit Carnegie Museum of Natural History’s Dinosaurs in Their Time exhibition, where you can see a life-sized cast of Peck’s Rex facing off with the holotype (= name-bearing) T. rex, which was the first specimen of the species to be recognized (by definition, the world’s first fossil of the world’s most famous dinosaur!).

T. rex in Dinosaurs in Their Time. Image credit: Joshua Franzos, Treehouse Media

Jurassic Park

One motion picture that did take artistic liberties with T. rex for the sake of suspense was 1993’s Jurassic Park. In one memorable, hair-raising scene, several of the movie’s stars are saved from becoming this dinosaur’s savory snack by standing completely still. According to the film’s paleontological protagonist, Dr. Alan Grant, the theropod can’t see humans if they don’t move. Does this theory have any credence, or was it just a clever plot device that made for a great movie moment? In 2006, the results of ongoing research at the University of Oregon were published in the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology, providing a surprising answer. The study involved using perimetry (an ophthalmic technique used for measuring and assessing visual fields) and a scale model T. rex head to determine the creature’s binocular range (the area that could be viewed at the same time by both eyes). Generally speaking, the wider an animal’s binocular range, the better its depth perception and overall vision. It was determined that the binocular range of T. rex was 55 degrees, which is greater than that of a modern-day hawk! This theropod may have even had visual clarity up to 13 times greater than a person. That’s extremely impressive, considering an eagle only has up to 3.6 times the clarity of a human! Another study that examined the senses of T. rex determined that the dinosaur had unusually large olfactory bulbs (the areas of the brain dedicated to scent) that would have given it the ability to smell as well as a present-day vulture! So, in Jurassic Park, even if the eyes of T. rex had been blurred by the raindrops in this dark and stormy scene, its nose would have still homed-in on Dr. Grant and the others, providing the predator with some tasty midnight treats.

Now, it may seem that this blog post might be a bit critical of dinosaur movies. But, truly, I appreciate them just as much as the next filmophile. They do a magnificent job of providing all of us with some pretty thrilling, edge-of-your-seat entertainment. But, somewhere along the way, their purpose has serendipitously become twofold. They have also inspired some of us to pursue paleontology as a lifelong career. So, in a way, dinosaur movies have been of immense benefit to both the cinematic and scientific worlds. And for that great service, they all deserve a huge round of applause.

Shelby Wyzykowski is a Gallery Experience Presenter in CMNH’s Life Long Learning Department. Museum staff, volunteers, and interns are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

#Carnegie Museum of Natural History #Dinosaurs #Dinosaur Movies #Jurassic Park #Jurassic #Land Before Time #Paleontology

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insaneasgardian · 3 years

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Haircut Of Love - Sambucky

Summary: Confessions are made, and lives are changed the day Sam gives Bucky a haircut.

Genre: FLUFF

Warnings: Bucky being slightly sad while thinking of Steve, Bucky thinking that his feelings for Sam are unrequited (they're not), Idiots in love.

A/N: I have actually worked on this for longer than I should've XD A big thank you to @cassiecasyl and @aixabi for being such great friends and helping me out by proofreading, and making suggestions!

He knew he should've stopped Bucky tagging along, but the moment that infamous, "I'm coming with you!" so eagerly left the super soldier's lips, Sam knew it was pointless to persuade him to stay behind.

Not that he really minded, the mission he'd been assigned with was a tough one, and it would've been lonely if Bucky hadn't been so adamant about accompanying him.

Sam stared into the fireplace and focused on the embers as he let his thoughts wander. There were some terrible people to be stuck with in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere, but Bucky certainly wasn't one of them. He was an interesting character for sure, and Sam was sure he still didn't know a whole lot about him, but their relationship had developed all the way from 'a couple of guys' to 'almost best friends'.

"Hey", came the voice of the man Sam had so deeply been thinking of. He turned around with that signature smirk he reserved especially for Bucky, and watched with delight as the White Wolf turned a light pink color, and it wasn't because of the cold.

"I thought you might want to catch a shower, the water's nice and warm" the brunette said, and Sam nodded as he noticed his friend's damp hair from his own shower.

"Man, you need a haircut" Sam remarked, and much to his pleasure elicited a chuckle from Bucky.

"Do I?"

"It has gotten kind of longer..."

"Well, it's not easy to find a hairdresser in the forest"

"I could cut it for you"

The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop himself, and he didn't miss the way Bucky's widened ever so slightly. Sam internally scolded himself, feeling that he'd made things awkward somehow.

There was a slight pause in the atmosphere, but the ex Winter-Soldier eventually smiled. It was a weak smile, but genuine nonetheless.

"I'd like that," he told his friend, "would you mind?".

Sam shook his head, a bit too enthusiastically, and that made Bucky raise his eyebrows

“I can do it now if you want, so I don’t get your greasy ass hair all over me after I’ve gotten out of the shower”, Sam casually slipped in to look less ecstatic than he really was.

Bucky scoffed and crossed his arms at the statement, but his grin only grew wider.

“So… are you gonna give me something to cut your hair with?” his friend asked him, making a scissor snipping motion with his fingers.

The brunette’s lips tugged downwards into a frown and bit his lip as he often did when pondering. Sam couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to the bottom lip in between those pearly white teeth, but he forced himself to snap out of it.

After a brief moment, Bucky snapped the fingers on his vibranium arm and turned to walk towards the room he was staying in. “Wait there!”, he had instructed Sam, who had no intention of getting up from the comfortable position he was in anyway.

Promptly, Bucky had returned, clutching a pair of scissors that Sam immediately identified as a pair of Captain America themed kiddie scissors he had recently bought for his nephew, AJ. He burst out cackling.

“What’s so funny Samuel?” the White Wolf pouted, plopping next to his friend who was dying of laughter.

“You stole that from AJ didn’t you?” Sam pried, inwardly dancing at the thought that his secret crush would want something with his face on it.

“Psh, no… I permanently borrowed it, that’s all”, Bucky insisted, moving from the couch to sit on the floor in front of Sam’s legs so that the other man would be able to cut his hair with more ease.

“Mhm”, Sam hummed, already weaving a piece of Bucky’s hair between his fingers, and snipping it off, just like that. It seemed easy enough, so he kept on going, chopping bits of hair here and there, trimming the areas which really needed it, and taking care not to overdo the cut and end up making Bucky look bald in certain places. He was doing quite well considering that he was equipped with nothing but a pair of small, blunt kiddie scissors, which Sam was certain professional hairdressers did not use

A lovely period of pure silence fell in between the two men. The only sounds were the scissors delicately doing their job of cutting the brown locks, accompanied by the gentle crackle of the fireplace, creating a relaxing atmosphere.

“Steve used to cut my hair, you know… Used to do it all the time in the 40’s” Bucky said, breaking the silence. Sam froze in his movements, but only for a second. It was rare for this man, who had been through so much to talk about his past like this.

“We’d sit outside on the street in the summer, he’d be on a chair with his scissors and I’d sit down in front of him, punk gave a damn good haircut to be honest”, he continued, and Sam chuckled.

“People would give us dirty looks as they walked by, it wasn’t uncommon for people to think Steve and I were a couple, but it was frowned upon to be in a same-sex relationship back then… sometimes still is of course”, his tone was now sad, as if he wanted to admit something, but was refraining from doing so. Sam stopped what he was doing, and set down the scissors, obviously sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

“Still, Steve and I were just friends, that’s all he’d ever wanted to be anyway”, Bucky finally finished.

Sam got off the couch, and slipped down onto the floor next to the 107 year old. “And what about you? Did you ever want to be more than friends?”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, which donned a neutral expression, “It’s complicated Sam… I’d be into a girl one second and thinking about Steve the next”.

Sam gently nudged Bucky’s shoulder with his own, and gave him a small smile, “Bisexual then?”, he questioned.

The other man nodded, and looked at Sam with a grin now gracing his features, “Yea, but you know what? I forgot all about Steve…” he paused to dart his tongue out his mouth and wet his lips, “The day I met another guy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about”.

Sam’s world shattered the moment those words left Bucky’s lips. The thought that the man he had pined after for so long was yearning for another made him want to burst into tears right there. However, Sam Wilson was not the kind of man to be salty over the choices of others. So he kept on the smile he had been wearing the entire time his heart broke over and over again. Yet, he had been so absorbed in his own mind that he failed to notice the longing glances Bucky was shooting at him, the ones he had been giving Sam ever since he first met him.

“Happy you could get that sorted out for you man!” He said brightly, patting Bucky’s back and climbing back onto the couch to resume the haircut.

The ex winter soldier was dumbfounded. Had Sam not noticed how he felt? What if he had? What if he didn’t appreciate the advances?

There was stillness once more, but this time it was incredibly awkward. The two sat absorbed in the silence, no longer so focused on their own thoughts, but on every movement and action the other did.

“All done,” Sam finally said, and gestured towards the large wall mirror in the living room. Bucky looked into it, and nodded.

“You’ve done a nice job, thanks”, he mumbled.

“No problem” Sam told him, getting up from the couch. “I’m going to go take a shower now”, and with that, he rose and climbed the stairs to get to the bathroom. The footsteps faded away and when Bucky heard the bathroom lock click shut, he leaned his back against the couch with a sigh. He ran a tired hand over his face.

What had he done wrong? He’d watched all the movies, read all the books and listened to all the music Sam had suggested. He’d come to see Sam’s family as his own, he cherished Sarah, AJ and Cas with all his heart.

Hell, he’d even taken dating advice from Zemo…. Maybe that’s where he’d gone wrong.

Bucky wasn’t sure. He may have lost the charm he had back in the 40’s, but Sam had always accepted him for who he was. He never questioned Bucky’s past, or forced him to be more social and open. That’s the reason Bucky developed more than platonic feelings towards him. He was so easy to be around.

However, the white wolf figured that if Sam didn’t want anything to do with him romantically, the least he could do was to maintain the relationship status they had now. Not to mention, he had the perfect way to do that.

Mac and cheese. Sam’s favorite food.

A grin grew on his face as he scrambled to the kitchen. It was a tasty and easy thing to cook and would be done before Sam even got out of the shower. Bucky proceeded to locate all the necessary ingredients they had brought to the cabin, and got straight to work.

It wasn’t a difficult job at all. With his swift speed, and his mind set only on the task before him, he was done within minutes. He even managed to get two servings plated beautifully, and just in time too, because as he finished setting the table, Sam descended the stairs and made his way into the kitchen. A smile was drawn on his face at the smell of the meal, and all the previous tension seemed to have dissipated.

“Smells good in here!” he exclaimed, his eyes then landed on the beautifully presented plates of mac and cheese. He gasped and clapped his hands like an excited child, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. He thought it was adorable.

“Alright, alright, take a seat Sammy,” Bucky said, gesturing to the bar stools next to the kitchen island which the food rested on.

Both of them rushed to sit down and dig into their dinner. Bucky watched his friends expression as he took the first bite of his food.

Sam’s eyes closed in pure bliss, as his taste buds thanked him. “Buck, this is heaven in my mouth, tastes even better than what Sarah makes”.

Bucky blushed, but quickly tried to hide it with a chuckle, “Sarah’s my teacher, I owe it to her”.

Sam nodded at the statement, but commented no more on the topic. Instead, he took another bite and made eye contact with Bucky. “So… who’s this guy you’ve been crushing on?” he inquired.

Bucky was taken aback by the question, he blinked rapidly, “huh?” he mumbled, earning an eye roll from Sam.

“Listen man, I’ve never pressured you to tell me anything before, but we can’t pretend like that conversation didn’t happen” Sam said gently, setting his cutlery down, and reaching a hand over to place it on Bucky’s vibranium one.

The brunette gulped, closed his eyes, and took two deep breaths. He’d have to get it out. Or else it would slowly kill him to watch Sam find someone else. Even if his feelings were unrequited, the man had a right to know.

“It’s you” he said quietly before he could chicken out.

Sam slowly blinked, and shook his head, “Sorry, repeat that?”.

Bucky groaned and looked up from his plate which he’d been staring at the entire time. He gazed into Sam’s doe brown eyes with his own piercing blue ones, “It’s you! You’re the guy I’ve been crushing on!” he agitatedly replied.

Once more, there was that silence that seemed to be consuming the two of them so much lately. Bucky wanted to cry, to hide the humiliation. He was certain that Sam’s lack of words meant he didn’t feel the same, because Sam always had something to say.

“Forget it,” Bucky choked out, getting up from his seat, but Sam’s hand tightened its grip on his wrist, stopping him from getting away. The super soldier turned around slowly, trying not to make eye contact with Sam so that he wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

Then, all of a sudden, Sam rose from his seat and his lips met Bucky’s in what was a tender, loving kiss which shocked the latter, but he readily returned it. They stayed like that for a while, embracing each other as their arms snaked their way around each other's torsos. It was a moment neither of them wanted to break, but were forced to. Eventually, when they pulled apart gasping for air, they looked at each other in surprise, but merriment. Wide beams adorned both of their gorgeous faces, and their eyes glinted with excitement.

“So…” Bucky began, “you were desperate to get a piece of me, why, is it the new hair?” he said teasingly.

“The next time I give you a haircut, it’s gonna be turned into a mullet”, Sam threatened, making the other man raise his hands in surrender.

The mac and cheese was long forgotten as they clutched each other once again. Their hearts were bubbling and overflowing with love for one another, and it was not a love that was going to fizzle and die out. They fit perfectly in each other’s arms, like it’s where they belonged.

Two men, who had their own individual problems denying them a place to be truly content in the world, had finally found their refuge in each other.

Finit

#sambucky #sambucky fluff #tfatws #tfatws fanfiction #tfatws fluff #bucky x sam #sam x bucky #marvel #mcu #tfatws sambucky #sam x bucky fluff #bucky x sam fluff #insaneasgardian #haircut of love #haircut of love insaneasgardian #sambucky fics #sambucky fanfiction #sambucky fluffy fanfiction

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pixieungerstories · 3 years

Text

Quarantine - 2

There was no sign the house had any other occupants for days. I hadn’t been able to drag the mattress out of the room where he had put it. It was heavy and I couldn’t compress it enough to get it through the door.

I went back to working from home. The conference calls helped me feel sane. After a while it was easy to pretend the whole thing was some fever dream. I was pretending, though. I still hadn’t tried to open the closet. Grocery delivery was set on a rotation so that once a week they arrived at the gate. My neighbours had theirs brought right up to the house. Mine were always left at the gate of the picket fence that surrounded the front yard.

I used the hedge trimmers to shape the lilac bushes that the neighbours on each side had planted to obscure their view of my house. I weeded and mowed the lawn wishing for grass seed before just giving up and calling it a meadow. Some of the flowers were even pretty. I chuckled with my friends about how much drywall I was going to need when this was over. We laughed about how it was lucky I was alone instead of having a roommate watching me through the holes in the walls.

Well, they laughed. I sort of more chuckled nervously.

I kept an eye on my laptop battery and there weren’t any unexplained power outages. Everything seemed normal.

Until I was cleaning out the basement and found the wine room. I don’t know wine, but there was a lot of it and the newest bottle that I could find was pre world war two.

I wasn’t expecting it to still be good. It was. It felt ridiculous drinking a hundred year old bottle of red wine with a frozen dinner. I did it anyway.

“Are you still here?” I demanded as I was getting ready for bed.

There was no answer.

I found the box that had my vibrator in it and fell asleep in a sweaty puddle.

I woke up a little hung over and found my vibe squeaky clean on the bathroom sink when I went to brush my teeth. My stomach dropped.

“Were you watching me?” I hissed. I don’t know what sort of reply I was expecting, but I didn’t get one.

Once again, I tried to move the mattress to another room. Once again, I failed. I spent the night wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the floor in the other bedroom, with my laptop plugged in and netflix running to keep me company.

I screamed and stood up when he said from the doorway, “I get lonely too.”

“Jesus Christ!”

He chuckled, “Not even close.” There was a moment of silence as I strained my eyes to see something, anything, in the dark. “I can’t leave either,” he whispered. I stood there shaking in the light from my laptop screen. “Sleep in the bed. I will not bother you.”

I didn’t move. He had just sounded sad when he said it.

“Why can’t I ever see you?” I asked.

“I live in the shadows, you can only see me in darkness.”

I blinked at that. “But you are always here.”

“Yes.”

“And I can’t see in the dark,” I pointed out.

“I know.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I changed the subject. “What do you want from me?”

“When you first arrived, you slept in the garden. If you had started by sleeping in the house, I would have run you off. But you were fixing things, so I let you stay. I got used to you being around. Then you got sick and it would have been so easy to just let you die. I would have gone back to being on my own. I no longer want to be on my own but I hadn’t considered the weight of you being unable to leave. I do not like the idea of you being scared of me and trapped here.”

“But I am,” I mumbled.

“Yes. So take care of yourself. Sleep in the bed. Care for the house. I will stay out of your way.”

I licked my lips. I didn’t want to ask but I had to know. “What were you doing with my vibrator?”

There was no answer. I waited for what felt like an eternity before I continued. “Look, it isn’t a good idea to share sex toys, so depending on where it’s been, I might need to throw it out. I can’t exactly get a new one just now. Please just tell me.”

It was the barest whisper, “I wanted to taste you.”

I froze feeling like a deer in the headlights, completely unsure how to respond to that.

“I have not touched you since you asked me not to,” he argued.

Except for when I almost fell, I thought. You caught me then. And my laptop. I wouldn’t have been able to get a new one of those either. I wondered if soap and water would do it or if I was going to end up with some shadow monster disease. How do you even ask that?

“Ok,” I mumbled. I stood there in the dark and silence. The house was silent. I realized I hadn’t heard rattles or banging or hissing since I learned he was here. “Nyctophobia,” I blurted out.

“I don’t understand,” he replied.

I shifted awkwardly. “Can I call you Nick?”

The silence continued. Then, “Why?”

“Nameless things are more scary. It isn’t as bad having a roommate named Nick.”

He never did answer. Eventually, I sat back down on the floor and wrapped the blanket more tightly around myself. I wasn’t brave enough to walk through a pitch dark house, past a staircase, to get to the room where there was a monster in the closet.

----

There was coffee waiting for me when I got up, and the smell of cinnamon buns baking in the oven. The oven timer said there was 10 minutes left. I peeked inside to find the tiniest pan of monkey bread baking. I recognized the recipe and pulled out the cookbook it came from. Sure enough, in Nick’s careful handwriting was notations about scaling the recipe down to one sixth of how it had been published.

He had used pencil.

“Is this a peace offering?” I asked.

I didn’t get a response, but he did the dishes while I had my bath that morning.

When my groceries were delivered, popcorn had been added to my order.

I didn’t see him. Well, I mean, I never see him, but the only signs of him were things being done and left obviously done while I was bathing or getting dressed. Aside from how nice it was to not do the dishes I appreciated the signs that he was not watching me.

It came as a surprise when I went to put the popcorn in the microwave and the power went out.

“Nick? What are you doing?”

“This isn’t me,” he hissed.

I was lifted and carried squirming through the dark before being pushed into a space and having the door locked behind me. I panicked as I thought I might be in his closet before I realized I was in the wine cellar. Flashes of Edgar Allen Poe stories ran through my mind.

I have no idea how long I was in there, in the dark with my heart pounding as I tried to get the door to open. Eventually, it did.

“All better now,” he assured me, breathing down the back of my neck.

There were a lot of cop cars outside on the street.

“What happened?” I asked. There wasn’t any answer.

A uniformed officer rang my bell, then politely stepped back from my door the requisite six feet.

“Did you hear or see anything unusual last night, Ma’am?” he asked after identifying himself.

Yeah, all the time, I thought. There was still no way to say that and sound sane. I went with a modified version of the truth. “The power went out around 10pm and I ended up stuck in the basement since I couldn’t see the stairs.”

He frowned at me. “Have you noticed anything missing? Any signs of a break in?”

“No? Should I have?”

He appeared to consider this, then stepped further back to look at the state of my house. “There were break-ins all down this street last night. This place might not have been a target.”

“Is everyone OK?” I asked.

“It’s an ongoing investigation,” replied walking towards me again. “I can not disclose anything further, ma’am.”

I swallowed, “That sounds like a no.”

“Do you mind if I come in and have a look around?”

I considered this, “Do you generally advise that women living alone let strange men into their houses? If you are coming to search, I want my lawyer here as a witness.”

He was already peering in around me. The house isn’t that big and the walls were all gone. He could see the whole main floor whether he came in or not.

“Doing some renovations I see.”

No shit Sherlock. “My building permit is posted in my window. I haven’t been able to get trades people out in months but-”

“I'm sure everything is in order with that. Good day.” Then he left. Standing on the porch I could hear him telling the other officers what a shit hole my house was. He thought it should be condemned.

I mean, he was right, still you never like to hear that. And it didn’t need to be condemned. I had the structural engineer’s report to prove it.

I went to work while keeping an eye on the news sites.

It wasn’t break ins. It was looters. The house next to me and the four next to it, all the way to the corner, had been hit. The owners had been found tied up at best and dead at worst with a variety of options in between.

It has escalated all the way down the street.

Then stopped before my house.

“Nick? What did you do?”

He wasn’t talking to me yet.

----

I sat on my bed and waited for the sun to go down. My laptop was in the kitchen. My phone was next to me but set to do not disturb. I waited, straining my ears for any noise.

“Are you there?”

Nothing was said but I was sure I could feel him watching me.

“Please tell me what happened.”

“No one comes into my house,” he snarled.

I swallowed and fought down my fear. “I did.”

“You are different. You are helping.”

I considered that. He had walls before I got here, now he didn’t.

“Am I safe from you?”

“Yes.” It would have been more comforting if he hadn’t growled it.

That was the point where I started to cry. I had made it through everything life had thrown at me without turning into a weepy woman, but that did it. I’m going to blame it on a night of panicking in the wine cellar combined with news reports detailing what had happened to my neighbours.

“Please don’t,” he whispered.

I sniffled. “Fuck. Why don’t I have kleenex?”

A roll of toilet paper was pressed into my hands. I ripped off a length and blew my nose in a way that women in the movies never do, then I jumped as he stroked my cheek with a cool finger, catching my tears. His hand was gone an instant later.

“What if they come back tonight?”

“They won’t,” he said firmly. I don’t think he was talking about the ongoing police presence on the street.

“What did you do?” I sniffled.

“I defended my home. That includes you now.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. I wasn’t sure that I couldn’t catch glimpses of him as the lights on the street kept flashing. Red, blue, huge black shadow.

“I don’t want to be alone right now,” I whispered.

The bed dipped but when I reached my arm out in that direction all I could find was a long fingered hand to hold mine. “You won’t be.”

I felt him tug at the blankets underneath me and I slid over so he could turn them back. Even in the dark I could find my sleep shirt under my pillow. I stood up next to the bed, stripped and pulled it over my head. Under the covers looking at the ceiling. Red, blue, shadow, red, blue shadow.

“Are you .. human shaped?”

“I can be.”

I snorted, “What kind of answer is that?”

“An honest one.”

I rolled on to my side so that my back was to him, or at least to where I thought he was.

“I can go.”

“Can you stay?”

The weight on the bed changed. “Don’t try to look at me, you will only give yourself nightmares.”

“You said you’ve read Blue Beard?”

“Yes.”

“Have you read Cupid and Psyche?”

He just snickered.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Does any of that apply here?”

“Are you going to try to burn me with an oil lamp?” he teased.

“Are you going to get me pregnant then cast me out into the wilds?” I countered.

He hissed at that, “Never.”

“Never get me pregnant or -”

“I’m not human. We can’t procreate. I can’t make you sick. You can’t make me sick. We can drive each other insane and you will be able to escape someday. I can not leave.”

“Why not?”

“You need to rest. Don’t ask questions with scary answers.”

“How am I supposed to know they are scary?”

“Because you are asking a monster. Now, go to sleep.”

That was the most ridiculous thing but I wasn’t up to arguing about it. Not while there was still an active crime scene next door.

I fell asleep to the feeling of him stroking my back.

----

The only furniture in the bed room was the bed and a few boxes of random stuff I had moved in. I woke to find one of them had been used as a table and was holding breakfast for me. Or at least a travel mug of coffee and a plate of toast. I sat in bed, drank my coffee, ate my toast and read the thirty seven emails from everyone I knew asking what the fuck happened next door.

I ended up posting a blanket statement on facebook that I was fine. I was still in my house. I had no idea what had happened other than what I had seen on the news. Then I posted a picture of the three squad cars I could still see out my bedroom window.

My boss emailed me to ask when he could expect the report I had been assigned, so that took up the rest of my day. It was getting dark when I realized I hadn’t eaten all day. Another freezer meal, some salad and I was raiding the wine cellar again, god damn it!

As I was pouring wine into a coffee mug, he asked me, “Are you drinking alone?”

I got up, took another mug out of the cupboard, poured a second drink and turned off the kitchen light. “Nope. I’m not alone. You’re here.”

He didn’t answer, as I ate my dinner by the light of the street lights outside. The porch light was outside the kitchen window, so I turned it on to wash the dishes then turned it off to go upstairs. It would have been better if I hadn’t stubbed my toe on the bottom step. I swore. Nick picked me up and carried me up the stairs.

“I didn’t have that much to drink!” I protested.

“No, but you can’t see in the dark.” He tucked me safely into bed.

“Did you change the sheets?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “You did, didn’t you?”

My laptop opened and his body blocked the screen for a few moments. Then Brooklyn 99 came on and it was set next to me.

“Why are you doing this?”

“We need a distraction. Call Penny.”

“We need a distraction? We?”

“Yes.”

I hesitated. “Do you need me to move out and camp in the backyard for a few days?”

His reply was a nonverbal roar that rattled the windows and set off a car alarm outside.

There was a commotion then the cops were knocking on my door. I sighed and turned on the lights. I decided to be proactive this time. I flung open the door and demanded “What the hell are you doing out here?”

The cops on my porch blinked.

“I’m trying to sleep! Can you keep the noise down? Please? I know whatever you are doing is important but can you just do it a little quieter?”

“That wasn’t us!” the youngest protested.

“Then can you find out who it was and make them stop?”

To my delight, they left.

I closed the door, smiled to myself and bounced off a wall of darkness that caught me before I rebounded against the door.

“I do not want you sleeping outside!” he growled in my ear.

There were one set of arms around my shoulders and another holding my hips and back. I tried to think of a ‘what big arms you have Mr Wolf’ quip but it died on my lips and the touch was gone in an instant.

“Nick? Can you help me not trip on things on my way to the stairs?”

Hands on my hips, pushing me gently forward and steering me around boxes. Another hand guiding mine to the banister. Then nothing. I carefully inched my way upstairs. I did that awkward thing at the top where you think there is still one more step but there isn’t so your leg falls through nothing and you stumble. To my right was the bedroom, still lit by the flickering screen of my computer.

I climbed into bed and closed it.

Then I opened it, stared at the browser for a moment, then closed it again.

“What’s wrong?”

I considered this. I really had no secrets from him anymore. “I’m anxious and keyed up. I need … some ‘alone time’ but it’s weird if you are watching.”

“Would it be better if I was helping?” he teased.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t know what you are working with. But I feel lonely.”

Gentle fingers took my hand and raised it. The lips that kissed and the tongue that laved were not human. I turned my hand to stroke his face but he leaned away.

That stung. I let my hand fall to the bed. “It isn’t fair that you get to touch me but I can’t touch you.”

He didn’t say anything to that. A car drove past and the headlights lit the room for an instant. Long enough for me to see four glittering eyes watching me, two forward facing and two further to the sides. Not human, I reminded myself. In the darkness, a hand cupped my face, thick lips caught mine and as I kissed him a tentacle like tongue licked at my lips before darting briefly down my throat.

“I can do better than that toy,” he promised, “but you can not see me.”

I nodded. Four hands stroking me over my clothes. A mouth kissing and licking at my neck. I was expecting him to peel me out of my clothes, instead his touch was so feathery gentle. Hands cupped my face as he nuzzled my hair. I strained my eyes trying to see him, but I could catch only the faintest outline. Any time I reached out for him he pulled away. Finally, he got frustrated with that and pinned my hands over my head.

I panicked and pulled my hands away and just like that he was gone.

“Nick?”

I don’t know why I was expecting an answer. I groaned and pressed both palms to my face covering my eyes. I jumped when he caressed my calf, but I didn’t move my hands.

“What are you doing, little girl?”

“Damned if I know,” I admitted. “It’s been … I don’t even know anymore… how long have I been stuck in this house? Weeks? Months? None of this seems real anymore. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m real anymore either. I just need … something.”

“Someone,” he whispered.

“Yeah. Someone to make me feel like I’m real. Just to make me feel.”

“Humans need other humans to be human,” he muttered. “You should have just called your friend.”

My eyes prickled again and tears splashed against my hands. “How long have you been here?”

“There was an accident shortly after the house was built. I came because of that.”

That raised a lot of questions, but my immediate one was, “How long have you been here alone?”

“On and off since then. Most people don’t last much more than a month or two. Normally, construction crews are the advance party before they move in. It’s easy enough to get rid of the new owners. You were just too stupid to leave.”

I snorted, “Were you really trying to make me go? Because living here was creepy but not anywhere close to the scariest place I’ve ever lived.”

“My heart wasn’t in it. I need you to finish fixing the place first. Sooner or later someone would have built one of those ridiculous houses on the lot.” He started to massage my calf as he spoke.

“The house is more than a hundred years old. That’s a long time to be alone,” I pointed out.

“Enough time to get good at it,” he countered.

I moved my hands then and sat up to look at him. I thought I could see a pool of shifting darkness. “What are you? Are you a ghost? Did someone die here and -”

“Many people have died here. I am not one of them.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Am I?”

“What?”

“Am I some dead woman who is all alone here making excuses for why I can’t leave?”

He laughed at me then, not a jolly laugh, an odd howling laugh. “How did you come up with that ridiculous idea?”

It stung a little, “It’s a popular plot point in a number of movies. And I can’t help but notice you didn’t answer the question.”

He stopped laughing when he realized I was serious and said flatly, “You aren’t dead.”

#quarantine #oh my god they were quarantined #monster boyfriend #shadow monster

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lanland04moure · 3 years

Text

미안해 •| ᶜʰᵒᶤ ʸᵉᵒⁿʲᵘⁿ |• [ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ¹ ]

It's been hours since you left home. It's been hours since that stupid argument. But not being here is part of your job, I know.

You were right, it's your room and only you know how you keep it tidy. Even though I was right too, it's a mess. You should take the time to tidy up a little better.

It's been a while since I last called you. I asked you to have dinner together, a truce to fix this stupid situation. You refused my request.

You're still upset, I could feel it in your voice.

The door to the apartment burst open, giving way to the thunderous voices of the boys coming in, playing and shouting. But you weren't there.

Why did you have to, why if everyone else was leaving did you have to stay? Why did you?

Heuning and Beomgyu went straight into the kitchen, looking for something to eat while it was time for dinner. Soobin took a seat next to me on the spacious sofa. Taehyun walked slowly in our direction after locking the door informing me that Soobin and Heuning had planned to go to the movies before dinner, mentioning that they had only stopped by the apartment to change. But he didn't mention you.

I struck up a conversation with the guys, trying to forget the fact that I felt rejected by you.

Beomgyu zapped at the TV, while Taehyun fought with him for not allowing him to see what was on some channel. Soobin and Heuning had long since left, excited because the movie they would be attending looked very promising.

The next moment Beomgyu and Taehyun's voices stopped as did the constant switching on the TV. They had finally left a channel. But it felt strange the abrupt change of mood.

I turned in their direction and they looked like they had seen a ghost, frozen with their eyes glued to the TV. As I prepared to take a look at what had caused their reaction, Taehyun obstructed my point of view and started talking very fast while trying to pull me along with him.

What was wrong with him? I was about to protest when the words of the person behind the TV set froze me in my tracks.

"A second explosion is reported at HYBE entertainment agency. The trapped people could not be rescued yet. Rescue bodies report that they expect 3 to 6 more explosions to happen due to the rupture of several gas lines. So far at least 10 people are reported trapped."

The three of us kept silent.

Beomgyu changed the channel again, his hands were shaking, we all knew you were there.

"It is reported that 2 or 4 people could be found lifeless. This is due to the difficult situation and that the location does not lend itself to a safe rescue. Viewers are asked not to be present at the site, as this could cause even more chaos than what is already there. This is primarily directed at all the young women who are crowding around the company in search of information about members of various groups in the company."

Why if I asked you to have dinner together did you have to turn me down? Why do you have to allow your pride to go so far?

One more change.

"The area affected by the explosions is reported to be on the central floors of the building, the area where the agency's practice rooms and locker rooms are stipulated to be located. So far, no injuries or people trapped in the few debris generated on the lower floors have been reported. It is reported that at least 7 people were on that floor at the time of the incident. All the victims have been identified, 4 or more of them could be company personnel and we have the report that 2 of them could be idols. We are not allowed to inform who they are or what group they belong to, to avoid increasing hysteria among fans."

I know it's you, I know because you haven't called yet. If we hadn't argued you'd be with me now. But you're not.

Another change.

"A successful rescue of 3 people has just been carried out, they were found trapped inside one of the elevators of the place, none of them has any serious injuries or damage."

The transmission was cut for several seconds after a loud noise was recorded by the microphones that were in place. When the signal came back on, the reporter was a little further away from the scene and had a frightened look on his face.

"We have just witnessed a new explosion, the rescue corps reports that this explosion can generate a collapse in the construction. Because of the previous explosions the foundations of the site were damaged. So far a large amount of debris has fallen, which will further delay the rescue of the victims of this disastrous accident."

Another one.

Everyone's nerves are on edge, Taehyun still hasn't let go of me, and I really appreciate it because his touch is the only thing that keeps me still standing and not on the verge of collapse.

The door to the apartment opens again, our eyes traveled to that point and for a moment no one came in and it kindles in me the hope that it is you, that you had reached to leave the Company before all this happened. Then Heuning enters, letting out little sighs, a sign that he was crying, followed by Soobin. Again, not you.

—Take your things, we'll go to the company.—

Soobin's request was in a calm voice, but no one moved, we just exchanged glances.

—¡MOVE!—

Beomgyu's shout brought us out of our state. Tae let go of me, from then on it was all a race, the boys looking to change clothes and everyone fighting for the toilet.

I went to your room, I felt calm, I wasn't scared, I wasn't afraid, and the thought of panicking had left me.

I guess I hadn't quite assimilated the fact that you are trapped in a building at risk of collapse. Because there can be no other explanation for the fact that I was so calm.

I went to the closet and grabbed two sweatshirts. One was obviously for me, it was cool at this time of night. The other is for you, because when you left the house this morning you didn't have one with you and you're probably a little chilly.

When I returned to the living room, the TV was already off and the boys were standing near the door.

They were waiting for me.

•

On the walk to the company many doubts assaulted me. Will you be okay? Did you suffer any damage? Did something even worse happen in there? Will you still be alive?

With all these thoughts in mind, I began to experience a strong pressure in my chest, everything around me spun and the boys' conversation began to be heard in the distance. I had to call you, I had to know you were okay.

You couldn't leave me now, you couldn't go away upset because of that stupid argument, I started a desperate search for my cell phone, but that was the moment when I started to feel short of breath.

Was this a panic attack?

I could see the worried faces of the guys who were almost on top of me. They all spoke at once and it was impossible for me to understand what they were trying to say.

Taehyun pushed them all away and helped me into a better position so that it was possible for me to breathe.

—You need to calm down, breathe...—

There were no words of encouragement, it wasn't an "Everything will be okay" and it certainly wasn't a "He's safe". Why we didn't know, we didn't know how you were doing and we had no idea what we would find when we got there.

When we finally arrived the boys came down immediately, but I didn't know what to do, would I be able to keep calm now that I had the real version of the event in front of my eyes?

I need you by my side, now I realize how much I really love you.

This morning that you left we didn't say goodbye... we didn't say goodbye, we didn't give each other a kiss. We didn't say "I love you".

While I was in that internal debate of how to take the situation a loud noise like a big thunder flooded the atmosphere. The hustle and bustle of the moment stopped, everyone was looking at that big damaged structure. And without being able to avoid it, I turned my gaze behind the glass to the same place.

A large part of the building had collapsed. The area around the site had been reduced to rubble.

Not far from us stood one of the reporters we had seen on television. He immediately settled down in front of the frame to report on the latest development.

A little further back was a group of firemen, one of whom was carrying a megaphone through which he began to instruct people to move away from the structure for safety.

I turned my attention to the reporter to hear his last words.

"After minutes of waiting, the collapse the authorities were talking about has happened. The rescue forces communicate that they expect to find the 7 people who were trapped lifeless. The weight of the debris is too much for anyone to have survived."

The Lieutenant in charge took the megaphone and made the announcement that woke me up from my state of shock.

—The explosions were on the central floors of the building, the columns of the site are already too badly damaged and the upper floors are beginning to collapse. There is no hope for a successful rescue.—

I immediately got out of the car, it couldn't be true, what we had just witnessed had to have been an illusion, this couldn't end like this.

I need to see you, I need to hold you. I need to tell you how much I love you, one more time.

I ran towards the building dodging all the agents that tried to stop me, if they didn't come in to get you I would, because I need to have you by my side.

Strong arms wrapped around me preventing me from continuing to run into the building. They held me close to his chest, which was rising and falling in agitation, he had run after me. And there, in the warmth of that embrace a new hope grew within me. But I didn't want to turn around and find out again that it wasn't you.

— You need to stop, you can't do something like this, what do you think you can do for him once you're in there? You couldn't do anything.—

Soobin's voice came directly from the one who was holding me, so.... Again it wasn't you.

I felt my heart sink in a sea of anguish. Why aren't you here with me yet? What are you waiting for? Come on, get out of there.

•

"All night has passed and rescue teams have still not found any people trapped under the wreckage."

"After what seems to be 12 hours of the tragedy, the rescue teams have managed to stop the explosions and have also controlled the fires caused by these."

•

It's been more than 24 hours since I last saw you.

The guys dragged me back home, that I needed to sleep was their argument. But still, in the silence of the night, without you by my side, it was impossible for me to fall asleep.

I miss you.

Look at your room again. It is still the same as you left it yesterday morning. Your desk is full of notebooks and notes. On a chair and isolated in a corner is a pile of clothes, clean or dirty, I'm sure you don't even know. Sweatshirts and pants everywhere. And even as I'm admiring this mess again I think; are we really fighting over something so futile?

I need to hear from you.

I stood up slowly, I had to go there again. I needed news, and I didn't want to watch it through the TV, I had to be present on the spot.

I left your room ready to go back to the company. I left without making any noise, but when I got to the living room my plan went down the drain. Everyone was there, and judging by their expressions there was still no good news. I turned around and resignedly went back to the room.

I threw myself on your bed and without being able to help it I burst into tears. Why did this have to happen to us?

The sound of the door was like a whisper next to my uncontrollable sobs, this time that illusion that it was you didn't appear. I knew who it was.

Feeling the warmth of his embrace only made my crying increase. He didn't try to make me stop, he didn't comfort me, he didn't do anything like that. He did nothing but join me in my crying.

I knew that for the boys this was also a difficult situation. But of all of them, he was surely the one who was coping the worst, he also needed a support, but at this moment I couldn't be one, we were both equally broken.

I'm sorry Soobin, I'm sorry for not being able to comfort you.

part 2. part 3

#txt #txt taehyun #txt beomgyu #txt hyuka #txt huening kai #txt soobin #txt yeonjun #tomorrowxtogether #txt choi yeonjun #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #txt oneshots #tomorrow x together #txt drabbles #txt imagines #txt the chaos chapter: freeze #txt chaos chapter #yeonjun oneshot

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

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Preference: What Does Amortentia Smell Like to Them?

Amortentia, for those unaware or having forgotten, is the name given to what we would call a love potion, as depicted in the Harry Potter universe. While the nature of love potions is dubious at best, the one thing I think amortentia’s got going for it is that its aroma differs depending on the person, so no two people will always smell the exact same thing. Generally speaking, a proper amortentia will smell like whatever the individual is drawn to or likes. As a result, this can mean that it smells like anything, from reminders of home to the smells of their favorite foods, to the smells that bring them comfort, to reminders of the people they love and were loved by. Things that would soothe somebody enough to be tempted enough to sip it. I thought it would be interesting to explore what smells make them happiest/feel the most love and loved. So without further ado . . .

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dinah Lance, Benoit Blanc, Geralt, M’Baku

Bruce Wayne

Prime rib. Aged scotch. Expensive perfumes spritzed on the necks of statuesque stunners . . . These are the smells Bruce came into contact with the most, and they were symbolic of the luxury that his lifestyle was open to.

And they were also far from what Bruce would likely smell if he were to ever come across amortentia.

Surprisingly, Bruce enjoys much simpler smells. Smells with specific memories and feelings attached to them. For example, his mother’s perfume: Bruce doesn’t remember the brand, and it honestly probably wasn’t anything too expensive (his mother, for the most part, preferred to air on the side of modesty, all things considered), but the scent nevertheless is one that comforts him even to this very day, many years later. It reminds him of his youth, of his mother pressing her hand to his forehead whenever he ran a fever, of the hugs she would give him before and after school. It is a comforting smell, and one that reminds him of the safety there can be in being loved.

The smell of buttery popcorn is a another favorite, albeit bittersweet. Of course, it has connections to that tragic night when everything changed. But there’s just something about it . . . Just being with his parents. Seeing a movie together, that one last moment . . . It took Bruce years before he could properly cherish the stimuli found on that night without a feeling sinking into the pit of his stomach, or without a hint of static screeching in his mind for a second. But the day did come. And perhaps in a route of recovery, he finds himself enjoying the popcorn smell and the lighter memories he’s become determined to assign to it.

The most recent smell to join his favorites, however, is that of fresh laundry. Not linen washed and dried in premier detergents or fabric softeners, mind you: Just whatever brand you’d been using that one day he came home. Whatever they were, they were what the house smelled like. It was what he smelled when you walked up to him, balancing a basket of freshly-dried linen on your lip. It was what filled his nostrils when you exchanged a “welcome home” kiss.

It was the smell his body tucked away to mark the moment: It was the point he truly realized that you were It for him.

Dinah Lance

The problem with Dinah is that she’s a bit of a tough cookie to crack: She doesn’t easily let people in, much less show any signs of vulnerability, and she constantly exudes the idea that she’s indifferent to the people around. Well, she tries to, at least. But in spite of it being a non-sentient potion, the amortentia knows better: The moment Dinah smells the stuff, she’s hit with a whirlwind of soft spots. All of which concern you, from one very specific moment.

Dinah’s dating life has never exactly been on point, but she was willing to see what happened with you when you came around. She really wasn’t rushing to put a title on whatever it was the two of you had, be it drinking buddies, party buddies, or, God forbid, Girlfriends with a capital “g”. That is, until one particular night out: You suspected that maybe a run with the Birds hadn’t gone as planned, because you were currently watching your . . . drinking-party-boo-thang-buddy . . . pounding shots like they had money at the bottom of each glass. But you weren’t about to push for details. She vaguely remembered appreciating that at the time, but didn’t remember much else when she woke up with a pounding headache the next day.

Beneath all the grossness of her current existence, she appreciated how everything otherwise seemed to be blessedly merciful: The curtains were closed, muting any damnable light; the sheets weren’t stifling enough to cause the vodka sweats; the t-shirt she now wore smelled like your soap --

She didn’t remember you taking her back to your place, or you taking the time to not only changer her out of her tightly-fitted clothing and into the much more breathable sleeping shirt. And when she stumbled into the kitchen to find you quietly setting up the table with some takeout you’d just picked up, she realized she didn’t remember you joining her in bed or even the feeling of you waking up, either.

But when she tried to bring it up, you insisted it wasn’t a big deal. Instead, you shooed her away to the bathroom to take a much-appreciated shower. And the moment she stepped into the bathroom, she smelled it: Your hair products. They weren’t even anything special, just the usual kind you could grab at one of the many rinky-dink, common beauty shops that lined this area of Gotham. Hell, Dinah had some of them herself. But the smells were just so strong that her memory couldn’t help but file them away. They weren’t even nauseating to her vulnerable state, just . . . strong. Enough to latch on in his mind, right alongside the pho that greeted her when she had finally finished cleaning up.

Soupy dishes were the best for combating hangovers, you reasoned. So while it might’ve been an unconventional brunch dish, it was one you made sure accounted for your drinking buddy/party buddy/maybe-girlfriend’s current state. And while it wasn’t in Dinah’s more immediate nature to feel all “mushy” and “gushy” about it, it wasn’t something that slipped her attention, no matter how garbled it might have been in the moment.

Fast-forwarding to now, there’s no question about it: You are one another’s Girlfriends with a capital “g”. And if Dinah were to catch a whiff of amortentia, all she would be able to think about would be those smells that remind her of you.

Benoit Blanc

It’s no secret that Benoit loves himself a good cigar. Specifically, one of the lancero variety if it happens to be on hand. Smoking is a bit of a guilty pleasure of his but clearly not too guilty, considering he’s still prone to doing so while on the job. He just flat out enjoys the rich, almost spicy flavor, almost masochistically tickling his lungs with every puff. But he supposes that that’s just how addiction works, so it would make sense that that’s one of the things he would gather from an amortentia brew.

Less than expected (at least, to those that aren’t him), however, is the scent of mothballs. Or perhaps it’s best referred to as an odor, because while it isn’t the worst smell, it’s not exactly one that many would call pleasant, either. But to Benoit, it reminds him of playing in his Nana’s attic, making blanket forts from her quilts and the trunks and her old hope chest. Admittedly, it isn’t a romantic or even particularly enticing smell but for Benoit, it’s just right: It fills him with the melancholic sweetness of nostalgia, reminding him of a time where he felt so safe and blissfully ignorant to what a strange world he lived in.

An ignorance that was sullied as he grew older and began to follow somewhat in his father’s footsteps, becoming ruthlessly torn apart once he officially entered the world of investigating. However, this wasn’t to say that he had been left bitter and vulnerable. In fact, in his older years, Benoit can’t help but know that there’s plenty of things left in life to see the beauty in, and to find pure happiness and optimism with.

Take, for example, Chinese food.

Plenty people might find themselves identifying the bouquet of food in amoirtentia: The MSG-rich noodles and dumplings, the mouth-watering scent of rice fried just long enough to obtain a hint of crunch to it . . . It would make perfect sense for someone -- anyone, really -- to list them as one of the things in the amortentia. And these reasons are all well and good, but they aren’t the reasons Benoit would identify it.

As it so happens, Chinese food was what he smelled one day as he entered the precinct, looking for files related to a specific case. It was because you were the one eating it. And whether he committed the details of that meeting to memory because it was in his nature as a detective, or because his soul somehow knew it was important that he remember, every image and reminder that his senses could gather were grabbed with desperation and held close.

And ever since then, every time the man has smelled Chinese food, it’s been accompanied by a sense of warmth; a feeling of relief and happiness that washed over him like a hug sourcing from his heart and soul.

But also hunger because come on, it’s impossible to not feel your stomach growl and mouth water when you smell that stuff.

Geralt

To be perfectly frank, Geralt and pleasant smells do not commonly go hand in hand. It’s honestly hard to when you spend so much of your time on the road, away from a bath, and fighting monsters with none-too-pleasant-smelling innards. On top of this, that his sense of smell is only enhanced by his mutation can make enjoying certain aromas difficult at best and borderline incapacitating at worst. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate good smells when he encounters them. He just may not actively voice his approval of them.

Hell, he might not even admit to himself what he enjoys.

He’s most ready to allow himself to enjoy petrichor, as most anyone would be able to find that enjoyable. There’s very little intimate reason behind liking it; but his constant ventures in the wild have allowed him a stronger familiarity than most with it. It’s particularly gratifying when he and Roach have some semblance of a shelter to lay beneath, able to watch the fat drops replenish the dry earth . . . It’s a calming scent for him, one that he won’t necessarily fight himself for liking.

The complete opposite of the second smell that shocks his senses: That of a home-cooked meal. Now, this may cause some confusion to many, given that home-cooked meals are generally considered downright pleasant things. And considering that the Witcher doesn’t come across many during his travels, one would assume he’d relish in such a scent bearing meaning for him. But for Geralt, they’re reminders. Ones he doesn’t want to have, but has nonetheless. Which is a pity, given that what he assumes is the source isn’t entirely the truth.

For Geralt, smelling a home-cooked meal surely is linked with his memories of his mother. But for his subconscious, it’s got more to do with what such banquets mean: Stability. Safety. Structure. Things Geralt’s nomadic lifestyle is lacking. You can’t quite have a feast of roasted pheasant and quail eggs and roasted vegetables from the garden or fruit tarts when you travel so constantly: You need a foundation. Someone to help prepare such a meal with. Someone to share with.

And the thought frustrated Geralt. That is, until he smelled the third and final scent.

Having an awareness of botany and plantlife as a whole comes with the education of being a Witcher. So of course, Geralt knew what the properties of certain flowers were, what they were used for, and so on. He never thought of them beyond practical means such as for healing for for herbs or teas. And he never thought much of lavender until he smelled it on you. You giggled sheepishly as you explained that you couldn’t help yourself: This was the first inn you had stopped at in ages, you had wanted to treat yourself to some scented oils.

“Lavender for relaxation,” you explained. “I want to take full advantage of sleeping in a bed for once and just fall straight to sleep the moment my head hits that pillow.”

Geralt nodded, not knowing what more to offer. But he also sniffed. Not with bemusement, but with . . . need. He liked the smell. He liked the smell on you. It was calming. You were calming. It wasn’t an epiphany or anything; it was just a moment his brain decided to capture by way of scent. And now it was in there, inside him, reminding him of a moment of relaxation.

It is the most calming scent that the amortentia can offer for him personally, and he would never out loud admit to it being his absolute favorite.

M’Baku

The thing was, given his intentionally secluded lifestyle, M’Baku’s aroma library was rather limited when compared to his peers in the Golden City, especially with regards to those who traveled out of the country. But that suited the Jabari leader just fine: He had his sovereign, his people, and a recognized alliance with the other Wakandan tribes after centuries upon centuries of isolation – what more could he possibly want? Truthfully, very little, which was why what he might smell from an amortentia would probably be rather limited.

Really, the top three smells he could make out could be divided into sections of his life: A smell for his origins and youth; a smell representative of his progress as a leader, opening up to new experiences; and a smell that signifies how far he’s come as a whole, both as a person and as a Jabari.

Living in the snowcapped mountains of Jabariland meant that the man had always been around fire: It lit pathways on torches; it lit up and warmed rooms of dwelling spaces; it cooked food. While it had become common in the more modernist world to associate fire with destruction, the Jabari never forgot the truth: Fire was also life. It was also the source of that peculiarly sweet smokey smell that M’Baku would be able to single out in a batch of amortentia. It is a reminder of his traditionalist roots, harkening him back to the life-giving light that guided his people through all their lives, even as the rest of the country marched onward without them. And even when he gains a position in the Tribal Council, thus demanding him to familiarize himself with some aspects of the country’s use of vibranium in day-to-day life, it’s remembering scents like that familiar smell of fire that brings the Jabari leader a sense of calm even in times where he finds himself frustrated.

However, it’s also through gaining this position that his worldview and experiences grow. And for better or for worse, he has you to blame.

Even as the both of you became more and more involved, convincing somebody as stubborn as M’Baku to accompany you anywhere in the Golden City was a bit like pulling teeth: Usually, the warrior would try to spend as little time as necessary in the capital, much preferring to immediately begin taking the journey back to the mountains as soon as whatever affairs he’d left them for had ended. But time’s way of weathering things down worked on plenty things, including M’Baku’s obstinance: Eventually, he did take up your pleas offer to accompany you to an actual restaurant, rather than a food stall in the market place. You chatted up the vegan and vegetarian selection, hoping that taking note of his diet might soften the blow to his pride he was already taking. It didn’t. In fact, to your surprise, it wasn’t until the food came that there was any positive shift in your beloved’s mood.

Being the sort of man that he was, M’Baku was generally rather staunchly against eating anything that wasn’t sourced from Wakanda. And given that Brussels was not, in fact, a city in Wakanda, you were fully prepared to either consume or put aside the small side of roasted Brussels sprouts that accompanied your entree. What you weren’t prepared for, however, was the curious look on M’Baku’s face as he eyed the small bowl full of vegetables. He seemed to be perfectly content eating his roasted fish dish just moments before, but apparently something about the smell of your side dish was . . . curious to him.

You thought it was startling, to say the least. You thought perhaps Bast or even Hanuman were at play when the man actually asked to perhaps try the tiniest smidge of sprout. And you just about nearly died when your boyfriend wound up inhaling the bowl in the end. Meanwhile, M’Baku was just as shocked: the M’Baku from four years ago would never have dared to try anything grown outside of Wakanda’s borders. But perhaps that was just a testament to the sort of person he was now.

For one thing, he didn’t know you four years ago, let alone have you as a partner. But now he did. And that honestly changed everything, all things considered. Because if he never met you, then he wouldn’t have known what the third smell in the amortentia was. Really, even while knowing you, he still wouldn’t be able to identify the exact nature of it: Your body oils were a concoction in and of themselves.

They didn’t smell exactly like anything specific, yet they constantly smelled too close and familiar to scents M’Baku thought he knew from his exposure to perfume stalls in the market place: There were hints of tea tree oils; eucalyptus; lavender; some almond? A hint of sage, perhaps? A spice he couldn’t name . . . Though not quite any of those. Yet, whenever he inquired you on what you used, what gave your rich skin its melanin glow, all you would respond with would be a teasing smile. As though you were pleased the scent caught his attention and interest (which, to be honest, was indeed something you enjoyed).

If M’Baku was “lucky”, you would respond with, “It’s made with a special Jabari bait; looks like it’s working”, and he would scoff, dissatisfied from your lack of answer, but not so much that he would become disenchanted with whatever scent you chose to go by that day. Because whatever it was, whether you’d ever tell him its ingredients or not, M’Baku had already made up his mind about what the scent was: It was just (Y/N) to him. And even though he’d gone so much of his life pretty certain that he already had everything he needed, having (Y/N) made him stand corrected.

So it made sense that a potion meant to entice and draw a person in would smell like his favorite person.

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the-cult-of-russo · 3 years

Text

Push and Pull (Part 15)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OC

Warnings: cursing, smut

---------

It was bright and early when Daphne woke up the next morning. She had things to do and no time to waste. The sun was shining through her window, the weather finally starting to get warmer. She put on some leggings with a tank top and then her zip up hoodie over it. She groaned at her hair in the mirror as she dragged her brush through the unruly locks. So many times she considered cutting it so it wasn't so much work, but she knew she'd regret it. Instead, she settled on tossing it up into a high pony and ignoring it. Her trusty backpack was slung around her shoulder and she hopped around as she put her vans on before leaving the apartment.

She squinted slightly at the light once she got out of the building but it didn't deter her. First stop. Coffee. One large latte to go later, she was on her way to see Brett to find out what news he might have. She tossed her now empty cup in the trash can beside the station before she jogged up the steps and inside. She never checked in with the desk, she was a ghost when she was here. That's how it worked. It wasn't such a secret anymore than she was on Brett's payroll which left her to come and go as she pleased, but officially, she was never there. When she walked into the office area, Brett was sitting at his desk just like the day before. He looked like he hadn't even gone home.

"You look like shit," she mused teasingly, putting down the other coffee she'd gotten for him. His eyes lit up at the sight of it and he gave her a tired smile.

"You're an angel," he muttered with a long pull from his drink as she sat down. The coffee at the precinct was the worst and never really did its job.

"Any news yet?" She tried to hide the impatience in her voice but she wasn't sure she succeeded.

"Actually, we do have something. Not quite sure the full details yet though," he murmured. She looked at him expectantly.

"The people we rescued, their fingertips were burnt right off just like the last time. We can't identify most of 'em until they're fully coherent. But they're doing alright. I just can't believe the Chinese were at it again right under our goddamn noses," he fumed, taking another slurp of his coffee.

"I'm not surprised. They probably picked it back up when the heat turned off them again," she sighed. She hoped that once the victims were in a better state they'd be able to get names from them. Some of them might have family that were looking for them.

"Anything from the device?" She asked hopefully

"Yeah, actually. The Chinese requested the meet. They were pretty vague about a lot of shit but they kept saying something about the Italians having a weapon and they wanted to use it. Seemed to be brokering a deal about it. I got no idea what the hell this weapon is, but the Chinese really fucking want it and the Italians already have it. And that makes me nervous as shit," he frowned.

It made her nervous too. What did the Italians have that the Chinese couldn't get for themselves? And why did they want it?

"Well that's unsettling," she huffed with a shake of her head.

"Tell me about it. Good news though, that device you planted must be well hidden. It’s still live and active," he flashed her a grin and she smiled herself as she gave herself a mental pat on the back.

"Do you think it'll be useful?" She inquired.

"No telling yet. I mean mostly it'll be the kitchen staff but it might pick up something. Any other meets we might not be aware of or anyone saying something. Even something small can lead to something big, right?" He smirked, practically quoting her. It made her chuckle.

"At least that's something. If we can figure out what weapon the Italians have we can figure out how bad this all is," she said softly. It made her nervous and she had a feeling things would get messy soon in Hell's Kitchen.

"Here's hoping. There ain't much for you to do with the case right now but I'll let you know when we get any more information. It's just a waiting game now," he replied.

"Ah, my favourite," she smirked sarcastically, causing him to snort. She wasn't known for having patience. She liked answers and she liked them immediately. But in this case, playing the long game would be the only option to getting to the bottom of it all.

She bid her goodbyes to him not long after that before making her way back out into the sunshine. Now it was her next pit stop. A short cab ride later and she was at a very fancy luxurious home. It was more like a mansion and was three stories high. It looked like it was right out of a movie with one of those grand entrances and a water feature out front. She was well out of place as dressed down as she was but she knocked on the door anyway. She wasn't even surprised when a butler answered the door.

"Can I help you, miss?" The older man asked softly. His black and white uniform was crisp and clean and it put her own rumpled clothes to shame.

"I'm here to see Mrs Grimes. I'm Daphne Weaver," she replied awkwardly.

"One moment please," he shut the door and she quirked her brow at how formal all this was. This better pay well. Suddenly the door opened again and he smiled at her.

"This way please. She's been hoping you'd come," he seemed a little friendlier now. Maybe it was because his boss wanted her here so he wasn't all suspicious of what she wanted. Either way, she followed him inside. He led her up the huge ass staircase, the kind that split off at the middle. Everything looked like it cost a million dollars, from the art to all the rare looking things in cabinets. She didn't even feel worthy enough to touch the banister so she kept her hands in her hoodie pocket.

The carpet was lush and a deep purple colour and she found her eyes wandering the hallway they walked down. How many rooms does someone need? No wonder she had staff, upkeep on this place would be a ball ache. They reached a room far down the left and he knocked on the heavy looking mahogany door.

"Enter," a female voice rang out. It was slightly accented but she couldn't place it. Jeeves opened the door and gestured for her to go inside. She glanced around the room curiously as she walked in. It was a living area with a grand fire. Heavy bookcases lined the walls of the room and were filled with what looked to be antique books that Daphne found herself wanting to look at. There was a giant fur rug in front of the fireplace with velvet looking sofas set in front of it.

That's where Mrs Grimes was sitting, looking perfectly in place for where she was. She was wearing a long black dress, heels bigger than anything Daphne could ever walk in. Her greying blonde hair was neatly coiffed and pinned up and she was dripping in diamonds. Jesus.

"Pleasure to meet you Ms Weaver, please sit," she smiled warmly at her, gesturing to the other sofa. Daphne was half worried her vans would dirty the goddamn carpet as she padded over and plonked down. Despite it being completely over the top and not really her taste, she did appreciate however how clean and neat everything was kept. A place like this could easily fall into being cluttered and dusty but it was pristine. She supposed the staff were to thank for that. Mrs Grimes' nails were so long she doubted she could do much cleaning herself. Daphne wasn't sure how she didn't accidentally gauge her own eyes out.

"Would you like something to drink?" She asked politely. Jeeves was still hovering near the door no doubt waiting for his command. She was tempted to say yes to see what kind of beverages the other side drank, but she didn't want to stay long.

"Uh… no thank you. I'm fine," she replied with an awkward smile.

"Very well. Hammond, leave us," she dismissed the man at the door. He gave a dramatic nod before he left and shut the door behind him. She idly wondered if he ever wanted to punch his bosses when they commanded him to do things like that. She'd never be able to hold a job like that down.

"I'm glad you came, I was worried you wouldn't," the older woman started, elegantly crossing one leg over the other.

"A job's a job," Daphne snorted lightly, her hands still stuffed in her pockets lest she touch something and ruin it. Mrs Grimes gave her a tense smile, looking like it was difficult to be polite. Maybe she wasn't used to the lower class being in her home.

"Indeed it is. Will you take the case?" She asked hopefully.

"Yeah, I'll be able to do it. As I tell all my clients, I don't give out time frames. I never know how long it'll take me to find what I need or what roadblocks might come up. I don't appreciate impatience and it doesn't make me work any faster," she said firmly. Establishing boundaries was the first thing she liked to do. It was important. Especially with the wealthy ones as in her experience they tended to be the impatient ones with their self importance.

"Very well. I accept your terms. And please, whatever you find, do tell me," she implored. Daphne nodded, she always did no matter how shitty the information she'd gained was. Mrs Grimes stood, walking somehow with grace and ease in those monster heels as she walked over to a cupboard near the wall. She opened a drawer and came back with some paper.

"Me and my husband used to be very much in love. And I'm afraid now that I'm older he's decided to find other companions. Call me paranoid but I'm sure you understand when to look into a gut feeling," she mused as she walked back over and sat down. Daphne nodded again. Her gut was rarely wrong and it was telling her that Mrs Grimes was right.

"I want confirmation. I want to know who with and how deep it runs. If it's just physical or something more. I want to prepare myself should he try to divorce me and take what I have. I need proof," she stated seriously. Daphne's eyes subconsciously swept across the room and all the fancy things in it.

"I know what you're thinking. And I was the one with money, not him. He makes a decent amount with his job but I was born with money. This house was passed through my family for generations. Everything in it I bought. But over the years I've had my eyes opened to how greedy my husband can be. I cannot trust if we separate that he won't try to take everything from me," she sounded bitter and Daphne wasn't surprised. They definitely sounded like they had issues and once trust was gone in a relationship, everything else had no foundation to stand on. It wouldn't last. She commended the woman for thinking ahead to make sure she was protected if it came down to it. This kind of bullshit was why relationships were too much work.

"I'll find out what I can. I'll be honest, some of my methods aren't quite… legal. But it gets the job done," Daphne muttered. Things like breaking and entering were definitely illegal and then there was hacking if she ever needed to do it, which in this case might prove useful.

"Good," Mrs Grimes smirked at her. She found herself smirking back at her. The rich typically didn't care too much about how she got the information, just that she got it. Mrs Grimes reached down to her Gucci purse, setting it on her lap and she grabbed something out of it. It was her wallet and Daphne was curious what her offer would be. She hadn't spoken to her about price points yet and when it came to her wealthier clients she made a point of waiting to see what their offer would be first. Usually she’d haggle a little just because she could. They'd have the money and they wanted the information.

She watched with a keen eye as Mrs Grimes took a chunk of money out and handed it to her. A quick count told her it was $1000 and it took effort for her eyes to not bulge out as she kept a cool calm facade.

"That's the deposit. You'll get the rest when the work is complete. Another $1000. I may give you more depending on just how much you find out," she drawled. So she wouldn't need to haggle then, this price was insane and way more than what the job would entail, but like fuck she would tell her that. She also appreciated the incentive. She liked a challenge, something to work towards. The more she found out then the more she'd get paid.

"Sounds good to me. I'll get started in the next few days," she replied, keeping her calm demeanour and not acting like she was thinking of what she would spend her money on once she got it all. She carefully stuffed it in her backpack before zipping it back up. She almost jumped when the older woman dinged a bell beside the table and it took all of her willpower not to roll her eyes as the butler walked in.

"Yes, Mrs Grimes?" He enquired politely.

"Please see Ms Weaver out. Have one of our drivers drop her off to wherever she needs to go," she commanded softly. Part of her wanted to protest but the other wanted to pretend she lived the fancy life, even if just for a moment.

They both stood and Mrs Grimes took her hand in one of those fancy people hand shakes that were flimsy and light.

"It was a pleasure, Ms Weaver. I hope to hear from you soon," she smiled.

"Likewise," she replied, not really knowing what to say. No matter how many well off clients she saw she always felt weird and out of place interacting with them. She followed Jeeves out the hall and down the large stairs case. He stopped when he got by the front door and picked up a phone that was attached to the wall. She stood there looking around as the man spoke in hushed tones down the receiver before hanging up and then opening the grand front door.

"Have a lovely day, Ms Weaver," he bowed politely.

"Uh… you too," she murmured as she stepped outside.

The door shut with a clang behind her and she was suddenly on her own outside. It didn't last long though as a large black car pulled up right at the entryway.

"Ms Weaver?" A man called out after rolling the window down. She nodded and walked over. She was getting sick of being called that name. The man hopped out, jogging over to the back of the car and opening the door for her. This really was fancy service. She gave him an uncomfortable smile, not used to this level of service from anyone. It felt wrong almost. But she slipped inside and settled in the ridiculously comfy car seats.

"Where to, Miss?" The man asked once he was situated behind the wheel again.

"Um… Fogwell's gym please," she murmured in response. He punched in something on the phone he was using with the GPS and then he took off. There was a reason she was dressed the way she was after all. She didn't want to think of Matt being a weird asshole the day before. As much as part of her considered not going, she really needed to train and she knew he would be there. She was too stubborn to let Matt's weird PMSing get in the way of her learning to defend herself properly.

The drive was uncomfortably silent and she clutched her backpack on her knees. She wondered what it was like to live this life full time. She was a bitch but she didn't feel right with commanding people to do shit, even if she was paying them. It just felt off to her. Before long, the car pulled up in front of the gym. She almost felt like she should pay him or something, totally not used to this kind of exchange. As she unbuckled her seat belt, the man got out and ran around to her door. He opened it and she slipped out, swinging her bag over her shoulder. She noticed the apprehensive look on his face as he looked at the rundown gym.

"Are you sure, Miss?" He asked quietly, like he was asking her to blink twice if she needed help. She almost snorted but gave him a polite smile. She guessed his boss wasn't used to being around places like this. She appreciated his sentiments all the same though.

"I'm sure," she said softly. He nodded, still looking unhappy about it but there was nothing he could do. With a nod, he was back in the car and taking off by the time she walked through the door.

She was quiet and heard loud grunting and the hits of a punching bag. As she came into view, she saw Matt beating the holy hell out of the bag. His fists were flying, grunts and pants leaving his lips with the flurry of punches. The graceful savagery was what always intrigued her about him. But then typically he'd open his mouth and ruin it. He hadn't seemed to notice her yet once again which honestly was perturbing since anyone could come in here and sneak up on him like that. She walked over to the bench, setting her backpack down with a thud. The grunts and punches stopped instantly and the only sound that echoed in the gym was Matts heavy breathing.

"Didn't think you'd show," he said carelessly.

"I wasn't sure either honestly. But I need to train, even if I do have to put up with your bitch ass," she muttered as she started wrapping her hands. He scoffed as he came over, grabbing his water bottle and drinking a large pull from it. He tossed the bottle down again as he made his way to the ring.

"Alright, come on then," he demanded.

"What? I don't get to warm up first?" She asked skeptically with a raised brow. He snorted coldly and shook his head.

"You wanna know how to defend yourself for real, there is no warming up. When you're out there in a situation like this, you don't get that luxury," he retorted. She rolled her eyes but honestly couldn't argue with sound logic.

Instead, she bit her tongue as she put on the gloves and climbed inside of the ring. Matt cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders as they squared off with one another.

"Let's go," he smirked devilishly. He lunged at her but she moved just in time, twirling around as they practically traded places. They started trading blows, although his were very clearly intended not to hurt her, and she was pleased she got some good jabs in. She didn't slow down or stop this time when he deflected or managed a light shot to her side. She just came back twice as hard. She was proud of herself. Her heart was thumping away from the adrenaline and the exertion of the sparring after a while and she leaned against the ropes as they both caught their breath.

"You did good. You're getting better," he sounded reluctant to give her the praise and she rolled her eyes a little at him.

"I want you to teach me how to get out of the hold from last time," she said firmly. His head turned to her then, his hazel eyes not quite landing directly at her as he narrowed them.

"Daphne, I don't think-" he started, only to be promptly cut off.

"It's fine. I need to learn and I'll get over it. I think I'll be fine this time," she urged. She meant it too. She still had lingering effects of her attack but she was feeling a little better recently. And after her and Matt's partially regrettable night together, she hadn't had a nightmare for the first night since it happened. She knew the sex had helped. Whenever she needed to feel better and clear her head, she would have sex. It's why her sister was so worried it would become a crux for her. Her sex with Matt had done wonders for her stress and anxiety over the whole thing so she felt like now was the perfect time to try to learn it.

He was quiet for a moment before heaving a heavy sigh. He yanked his gloves off and tossed them out of the ring and she followed suit before he changed his mind. Climbing to the floor, she lay on her back and bent her knees just like the last time. As he knelt down between her legs, it was hard not to think of the night they shared together and how similar it was.

"Ready?" He asked reluctantly. She gave him a firm nod he couldn't see but could sense and he brought his hands to her throat. Once again, he applied very little pressure but she lay perfectly still. Her heart wasn't hammering like crazy, she wasn't seeing Keiran hovering over her. She was fine. Matt stayed still as he did his head tilt thing and it took her a moment to realise he was listening to her heartbeat to check if she was okay or not. It was kind of creepy but she let it go.

He talked her through the steps of how to get out of that kind of hold. One at a time he'd tell her what to do and correct her if she got it wrong as they did a slow mo version one part at a time to ensure she knew each step. It was more complicated than the last one but after a few step by step tries she thought she had a good idea on what to do. Now it was time to get out of it for real.

"3, 2 ,1," he counted, preparing her somewhat so she didn't lose her shit like last time. This time he applied some pressure around her throat but it was still practically nothing. She felt his weight bearing down on her and she grabbed his right forearm with her left and then used her right hand to grip his left shoulder in a cross grip. Using her left foot, she pushed off his hip, pivoting her pelvis to the right so he was no longer directly above her. She hooked her right leg high up on his back, right under his armpit and she kept a firm grip on him as her left leg moved to wrap around his shoulder too, locking it onto her other. She grabbed his wrist, the one that was in her grip that was now at her mercy on her chest. She knew if she thrust her pelvis upwards sharply she would break his arm at his elbow.

It had happened so fast but she caught herself before completing the maneuver and felt pleased with herself. She let go of his arm and rolled them over so he was now under her. They were both panting and she laughed lightly, feeling good she actually did it. She was a little sweaty and she looked down at where he lay under her. His brow had a slight sheen to his and his hair was doing that thing where it went every which way. His eyes were wandering as he caught his breath with a grin. She wasn't the only one enjoying their session it seemed.

She felt his hands glide up her thighs that were around him and she'd be a liar if she said it didn't make her tingle. His unseeing eyes were burning into her, pupils blown wide. She went to move off him but he held her in place, only now she was hovering right in front of his face. One of his hands rested on the base of her neck and he pulled her down a little. She stayed still though and resisted as her lips were a breath away from his.

"We're not on the same page, remember?" She teased him, enjoying seeing him this worked up. She squeaked when her back hit the mat when he rolled them over quickly. She hadn't expected it.

"I'm over it," he smirked devilishly at her before his lips collided with hers.

She should have really stopped to think about it. To assess the validity of his words. But sex with Matt was something else and it made her feel amazing. All her stress and worries melted away last time. And although she knew going down that rabbit hole wasn't good with her past of sometimes becoming dependant on sex for her own mental well being, she couldn't really help herself. She blamed Matt for being insufferable and ridiculously attractive. The kiss was rough and demanding and she gave into him, moaning as he pushed himself against her through the thin fabric of their pants. He knelt up, tugging at his vest and lifting it over his head. Something dawned on her then.

"We're gonna do this here? What if someone walks in?" She snorted amused. She wasn’t one to shy away from sex in weird places but she didn't want some old dude walking in and getting a free show. He tossed his vest on the floor as he chuckled, jumping to his feet and climbing out the ring. She sat up, watching him curiously as he went and locked the door from the inside. She couldn't take her eyes off him as he prowled back to her though. The predatory grace he held, the way his sculpted body moved. In her needy and horny haze she found herself impatient for him to return and she felt like he was taking his time to tease her if his smirk was anything to go by. She pulled her shirt off and then her bra, tossing them in a heap beside them as Matt toed off his shoes.

He knelt back down then, his hands curling her ankles and yanking them lightly. Her back hit the mat with a light thud and she looked up at him shocked before laughing. With a wicked grin, he pulled her leggings and panties off together but painfully slow and her desire was increasing with every second he made her wait for it. She wouldn't beg though. She sat back up, tugging at his shorts and he bent down, kissing her roughly as she yanked them down with his boxers. She fisted him tightly and he moaned into her mouth, causing her to smirk into the kiss. Letting go, she pulled the shorts and boxers all the way off him before pushing him onto his back.

It was his turn to look mildly shocked and she climbed on top of him, her slick heat trapping his cock against his belly. His eyes were darting around her face and she leant forward, catching his lower lip with her teeth. He let out a long groan, arching up at her as she tugged it before letting it go with a pop. She sat up, pushing up on her knees before she gripped him and lined herself up. Without a word she sank down onto him and the pair moaned in relief. It was instant for her, that feeling of him filling her up like that. Knowing her release would come soon. She rested her hands on his firm chest for leverage as she started moving her hips. His hands felt like they were all over her body at once. Not soft or sweet, but firm and demanding and he took in every detail of her body.

The gym was filled with moans and gasps as she rode him hard, her anger at his behaviour and the thrill of fighting with him fuelling her pleasure. She almost found it ironic that they were fucking in a boxing ring with how often they fought. He pulled her down roughly, lips smashing against hers as he ravaged her mouth. She felt that euphoric feeling getting closer, her whole body tingling in anticipation. She got faster and harder, chasing the release she was after like her life depended on it.

"Don't stop," Matt groaned against her lips, one hand gripping the back of her neck while the other was on her ass, fingers digging into her flesh. She had no plan on stopping though. Not when she was this close. She kept up the pace and then she moaned loudly, her body tensing lightly as she clamped down around him.

He let out the hottest fucking noise she’d ever heard a human make and it only heightened her own pleasure as she rode the waves of her orgasm. He was clinging onto her tightly, rutting up into her as he panted and then groaned, spilling himself inside of her. He relaxed instantly. Hands falling to his sides. She sat there on top of him as she tried to catch her breath. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair had started falling out of her ponytail. She was thoroughly fucked and in the best way. That beautiful feeling was coursing through her veins as she let the hormones and endorphins flow though her.

She climbed off him carefully before standing up and stretching.

"I'm gonna hit the shower," she hummed sounding blissful as she scooped up her clothes. She walked completely naked to the showers and got herself cleaned up and presentable. She didn't regret it, it was amazing and she felt good now. And from the sounds he made, he enjoyed himself too. She just hoped he meant it when he said they were on the same page.

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Matt stood in his own shower in the men’s changing rooms as he let the cold water pelt him. His brain was a fried mess and he leaned against the cool tiles as he tried to just think clearly. He wasn't sure why he'd done it again, not after last time. He couldn’t really say what had bothered him about the fact she left last time. He'd gotten out of the shower and went to his room and she was just gone. No words, no note, nothing. He knew it had been purely physical, they could barely tolerate each other. He wasn't stupid enough to think too deeply into it. Yet it left him feeling strangely hollow when she’d just left him like that.

And then when he had turned up to work, Foggy had been acting weird. After some pressure he'd told Matt about his conversation with Daphne. Matt was pretty sure he hadn't gotten the whole story from him but the gist of her saying it was just sex was clear. And he'd told Foggy she was right. It was a one time thing because of all their pent up anger and the adrenaline from the night they'd had. He told his best friend to stop thinking about it. Yet he hadn't been able to do the same. He'd ended up texting her using Foggy's phone to see if she would be home and then he went to see her. No rhyme or reason or idea why he was going there. All he knew was that it bothered him.

It wasn't like he’d never had casual sex before, although he couldn't say it happened much the last few years. And his inability to understand why he was feeling the way he was led to them fighting again. Because she was right. But he hadn't been able to let it go. So when he left, he told himself it wouldn't happen again. She was trouble and being around her wore him out. It wasn't worth it. So how did he end up here again? Oh that's right, apparently he'd turned into a horny teenager again. A bit of sparring, feeling her body against his and sensing how happy she was in the ring really fucked his hormones over. And now here he was again. Only this time it was his own fault. She’d actually turned him down and he'd been the one to push. He couldn't say he regretted it either. It was the best damn sex he’d ever had and it left him feeling more chilled out than he felt in a long time. He'd keep his mouth shut this time and not act like a teenage girl about it. He dug himself into this hole and now he had to climb his own way out.

-----------------------

Daphne towel dried her hair as much as she could and it left it wavy. She scooped it up in a messy bun on top of her head, a few stands framing her face. The euphoric feeling she got after sex was easing but she still felt calm and settled. It was nice, she didn't get to experience it that much anymore. She really didn't want to have to face Matt, not knowing if he'd throw a tantrum like last time. She didn't want him to read into it again or act all weird about it. It really killed the vibe and ruined her good mood. She'd tried to stop it from happening, not wanting to deal with that again, but she hadn't been able to help herself when he'd wanted her so clearly. There was something addictive about it. But now she felt dread settle into her bones as she thought about how he would react.

She took her sweet time getting dried and dressed simply to buy herself some time. But eventually she was done and she had to leave the changing room. As she walked out into the main part of the gym, Matt was sitting on the bench tying his laces.

"Ready?" He asked softly. No awkward questions, no anger in his voice. Maybe he was on the same page now after all. She felt relief sweep through her, allowing her to enjoy the calmness that she'd been left with after their time together.

"Yeah," she replied, grabbing her backpack and putting it over her shoulder.

Matt grabbed his cane where it was leaning against the wall. He was now wearing a hoodie too and he grabbed his glasses out of the pocket as he slid them onto his face. She wondered if he ever got sick of having to act blind. He was blind but not like the average blind person. He didn't really need the stick and she'd seen him 'bumping' into things like he hadn't known they were there before. When they stepped out into the sunshine, she winced and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Jesus christ! I think I've joined the blind club," she grumbled, rubbing her poor eyes. The sun just burnt the shit out of her retinas. He let out a surprised laugh, the door shutting behind them.

"Here," he grinned. She cracked a wary eye open, seeing him holding out his glasses to her, but she didn't take them.

"It's not like I need them,” he teased. It helped. She felt a little better. She slid them onto her face and her eyeballs thanked her immediately. They started walking down the street together and she glanced into a window as they walked by, looking at her reflection. She snorted at herself. Her hair, despite being recently washed and put up, was a wavy mess. Her cheeks were still rosy pink and the glasses looked weird on her face.

"They suit you," he mused playfully. She shoved him lightly, causing him to laugh when an older woman gasped at her actions.

"Assaulting a blind man in public? It's like you want to get arrested," he smirked.

"Yeah well, Foggy will be my lawyer so I'll be good," she quipped back with a grin. Now they were on the same page they seemed to be amicable after venting their frustration on each other.

"You really think my best friend would take your side over mine?" He asked, faking being hurt as he held his hand over his heart. She stopped walking and he did the same as she looked at him.

"I hate to say it but I think he prefers me now. Not that I can blame him. You are a bit of an asshole," she grinned mischievously. He gaped at her before his hand darted out and went to grab the glasses. She squeaked, holding them in place as he tried to steal them from her face.

"You don't deserve my glasses," he snorted.

"Come on! I need my eyes, I'm not like you!" She whined pitifully.

"And what's this?! My two favourite people, getting along nicely? Is the world ending?" A dramatic voice sounded from next to them. Both she and Matt stilled completely in a comical way before they took a step away from each other. Both of them looked caught out as they looked at a very smug Foggy.

"This is great! Better than great! I love this," he beamed like a kid on Christmas. Daphne groaned and glared at him from the glasses still perched on her face.

"Foggy, I swear! You want us to not kill each other when we're in the same room? Don't make a big deal about it when it happens," she huffed.

"It is a big deal. You're both laughing and smiling together. This is huge. It's like a rare solar event or something," he defended.

She resisted the urge to throttle him as Matt rubbed his temples.

"Foggy," Matt warned lightly.

"Okay! I get it, I'm making it weird. This whole thing is new to you both and I'm just making it awkward," he soothed, holding his hands up in surrender.

"There is no 'thing'. We can't just actually have a moment where we get on with each other before you start trying to marry us off again?" She whined.

"Marry us off? What?" Matt asked quickly, his head whipping to his friend. She snorted as Foggy's cheeks went a little pink and he shot her a glare

"Oh, he didn't tell you he's the captain of ship Maphne?" She laughed loudly. She didn't care if Matt knew. It was ridiculous to her and she was getting payback on Foggy for being a little shit.

"Maphne? Do I even wanna know?" Matt asked exasperated. Foggy shot her another look before standing up straighter.

"You know what, Daph, mock me all you want but this is the hill I'm choosing to die on," he pointed at her. Matt still stood there unsure of what they were even talking about. She opened her mouth for another retort that would no doubt embarrass Foggy further and also maybe make Matt uncomfortable which was a bonus, but Foggy beat her to it.

"Anyway! I'm glad I caught you two, I have great news!" He beamed excitedly. She quirked her brows perplexed as he led them to a table outside of the cafe nearby. The three of them sat around it, Matt and Daphne watching their friend expectantly.

"I finally asked Karen on a date!" He practically squealed. A splitting grin graced Daphne's face, unable not to be happy for him. During their many talks, he'd spoken about his feelings for the blonde and Daphne had always told him to go for it.

"Aw, Foggy! You're growing up, I'm so proud!" She cooed, reaching over and pinching his cheek. He was so happy he just let her.

"That's awesome, man. I'm happy for you," Matt smiled sincerely.

"I know, it's great right? I just finally bit the bullet. I just decided I need to stop being such a baby about it," he explained. He had a weird look on his face though, the same one that usually told her something going on.

"What is it?" Both she and Matt asked at the same time, him clearly picking up on Foggy's weirdness in his own way.

Foggy raised a brow at them both being in sync and she made a point to not even look at Matt so Foggy wouldn't go off on his Maphne tirade again.

"Well… I just… I panicked, okay? I set it all up and she knew I wanted to ask her something. But then I'm like, what if she says no? I mean it's just gonna be me and Karen. Alone. On a date," he uttered looking like a deer in the headlights.

"That's kinda the point, Foggy," Matt teased.

"I know it is. And I couldn't back out because she was just watching me, waiting for what I wanted to ask. I honestly felt like I was about to have a heart attack and I may have asked her on a date but told her it was a double date with you guys," he blurted, barely taking a breath as he did.

Daphne blinked at him for a moment as her brain tried to digest his words.

"You did what?" Matt asked incredulously. Foggy made a pitiful noise and she took Matt’s glasses off and set them in the middle of the table, giving Foggy a look.

"A double date? Implying that me and Matt are actually also going to be on a date. Do you see the flaw in that plan?" She asked slowly, like she was talking to a child about why playing with matches was bad.

"I know! Like I said, I panicked and that's just the first thing that came out of my mouth!" Foggy defended with a sigh.

"And Karen actually bought that?" Matt scoffed, gesturing with his hand to him and then Daphne.

"You're kidding right? She's all aboard this ship, she was actually excited about it," Foggy smirked. She kicked him under the table and he groaned. Matt's jaw ticked as he glared in his best friend's direction.

"This isn't a joke, Fogg. All the shit you give me for keeping my secret from her and you're just lying right to her face about this?" Matt frowned.

"That's completely different. Your secret is dangerous. This one isn't. For all she knows it's your first date too and after that it just didn't work out. Besides, it's not like you're not getting it on with each other, would it really be that hard to just pretend to be on one date?" He pleaded, looking from her to Matt.

"Yes," they both answered again.

"Please? I really need this. If I tell her you're not going she might cancel too. You two are like a buffer, help set the scene and put her at ease. I really like her, guys. I don't want to mess things up," he begged.

"Foggy-" Matt started sternly, only to be cut off by Daphne.

"Fine. But you're paying for dinner," she relented.

Foggy smiled the widest grin she'd ever seen on a human and Matt turned to glare at her.

"You've got to be kidding me," he scoffed incredulously.

"What? Didn't you hear him? He's our friend, Matt. Let's just do this for him. Besides, free dinner," she shrugged. Matt looked pissed and honestly it was a reward she hadn't expected. She'd almost forgotten how nice it felt to push his buttons.

"This is ridiculous. You really think she's not gonna notice we can't stand each other once she's sat at a table with us for a while?" Matt glowered. He had a point but they could just try to be civil for Foggy's sake.

"You know what, Matt, I really hate to play this card but you left me no choice. You lied to me for the longest time and now I have to keep your secret. I already have to start a potential relationship with lies for you. Can't you just do this one thing for me? I never ask you for anything," Foggy muttered with a frown.

A sly grin spread on her face at how underhand it was of Foggy. She almost felt like a proud parent as she watched a million emotions pass over Matt's face before defeat was all that was left.

"Fine. But don't say I didn't want you when this all blows up in your face. And you're paying for my dinner too," he huffed. Foggy looked more than pleased with himself.

"Thank you! You guys are awesome. I'll even pay for your drinks if you actually try and act like you like each other and not make it awkward," he shot them both a toothy grin.

"Hey, let me drink as much as I want and I'll make it really look like we're on a date," she smirked devilishly, a wiggle of her eyebrows and Foggy burst out laughing.

"Jesus christ," Matt muttered quietly with a shake of his head.

"Deal," Foggy nodded firmly, "tonight at 8. It's the Mexican place near the firm," he instructed before he stood.

"Alright. I'm heading out, you coming with, Matt?" He asked, shooting his annoyed friend a look.

"Yeah. You go on, I'll catch up in a sec," he bit out. Foggy gave her a look and a smirk before he started walking away.

"Really?" Matt glared at her, swiping his glasses from the table and shoving them onto his face.

"What? Free food and as much booze as we want? Plus doing your best friend a solid? I know you're an asshole, Matt, but I thought you weren't that much of an asshole," she quipped dryly. He clamped his mouth shut, jaw tense as he pursed his lips.

"Fine," he stood up abruptly, gripping his cane before holding it in front of him.

"You're doing this for Foggy. Don't fuck it up for him just because you've got a stick up your ass," she huffed as she stood up too.

He shot her what she presumed was a dirty look behind his glasses before he started walking away, his cane swinging in front of him. His irritation about the situation only made her want to do it more. It was his own fault really for acting like such a bitch about the whole thing. He was asking for her to make it worse for him. She started walking home as a plan formed in her mind. She'd get nice food and decent booze and she'd get to piss Matt off in a setting he had to behave in. She was actually looking forward to it.

As soon as she got home, she called their firm, knowing Karen would be the one to answer.

"Nelson and Murdock, Karen speaking," came the voice down the phone. Daphne trapped the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she tugged off her hoodie and tossed it in the laundry basket.

"Hey Karen, it's Daphne," she said casually.

"Oh! Hi!" She sounded genuinely happy to speak to her and she wondered why she'd never bothered to speak to Karen more since she was so close to Foggy and Matt.

"I know this is weird, we haven't really spoken much. But I wanted to ask a favour since we're going on a double date," she said carefully, flopping onto her sofa.

"Sure, what is it?"

"Don't tell the guys, it's kind of weird for me. It's just… this is mine and Matt's first date too and it's been so long. I was wondering if you'd help me get ready for the date? I wanna look really good. I mean I know he can't really see, but he just somehow knows these things, right?" She grinned, cringing at how hard she was going at this. She felt a tiny bit bad at lying to her but she ignored it.

"Of course! I'd… I'd really love that. I'm nervous too and it'd be good to just have some girl time," Karen said softly.

"Thank you, I really appreciate this. We could go to the restaurant together when we're done," Daphne smiled pleased with herself. After exchanging cell numbers and goodbyes, Daphne sat back on the couch with a smirk. She wanted to turn heads. Not only just to irritate Matt, using her knowledge of him finding her physically attractive against him, but it had been a while since she went out. Usually she did so with a goal in mind, to have sex. And she would turn heads, a lot of them. Tonight was different but it didn't mean her ego wouldn't enjoy being looked at. It certainly would be interesting.

#matt murdock x oc #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock #daredevil x oc #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil

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lemonsandstrawberries · 3 years

Text

A Day for Romance

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

summary: Tony and Steve didn’t have a romantic Valentine’s day in years and when Tony decides to fix it, something unexpected stops him.

length: 1 831

a/n: Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! I know some people dislike this day, but for me, it was always more about celebrating all kinds of love, not only the romantic one, but love to your friends, to your pets, to everyone who you hold dear to your heart, and to yourself! So, treat yourself today, because you deserve it! if you like this fic, don’t forget to show me some love, feedback, reblogs and likes are appreciated and needed!

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A Day for Romance

"Tony... What's that?"

Steve found himself not able to stop smiling. There was some feeling coming back, one he didn't feel quite in a while, or at least not as prominently as now. Giddiness? Yes, that was the word.

By Tony's smile, twitching and spreading and the happy sparkle in his eyes, Steve could say that Tony felt the same, pleased that his Valentine's surprise worked out so well. Every day, their bedroom presented quite simple, with crumpled sheets, lone clothes here and there, organized in a modern, minimalistic style and with few heartwarming accents like their wedding photo on the nightstand, or more humoristic ones, meaning the tie with a ducky pattern, looped over the wardrobe handle. This was like cupid decided to drop by, got drunk on Tony's scotch, and vomited everywhere.

"Oh my gosh, how did you even - " Steve laughed, still not believing what he was seeing. He was an artist and had a good eye for color, but it was like Tony used the whole palette of red and pink shades and sprinkled random Valentine's day accents all over their bedroom, from the cheesiest giant pastel pink teddy bear, ending on the enormous deep red bouquet of royal roses.

"I decided that we didn't have enough of romance in the past Valentine's days and decided to make up for it," Tony said, sashaying over to Steve, his hips doing some magic movements. To cut the sugar down, Tony chose to wear a simple, black suit, that made him stand out nicely.

"Make up for it?" Steve asked in humor. "More like cramming last five years into it," he answered himself. It wasn't like he and Tony lacked romance in their relationship, it just simmered down into something more steady and comfortable in the last years. Being together for almost a decade developed their relationship from the wild and not having enough of each other into a sturdy and comfortable feeling of knowing that the other person would be always there. The love was still present and growing, not needing outbursts of feelings, but small everyday gestures of devotion. That's what their last Valentine's days embodied which took a form of a shared dinner over a movie and cuddling on the couch while in sweatpants. And it was as good as during the early years of their relationship when they had decided to meet in a hotel under fake names, romance each other all over again, and spent a wild night together.

"Are you complaining?" Tony asked, pressing himself to his husband and grabbing by the collar, pulling him down. "Because if you are, I am not above spanking you to put you back in order, soldier," Tony purred out, their lips brushing together.

"No, sir," Steve denied with a smile, moving his face to match Tony's, lips getting closer and closer. "And I gotta say, you clean up rather nicely," Steve said, meaning that it has been a while since Tony wore a suit, not for a formal event, not for a public speaking, but just for his husband.

"Wish I could say the same about you, but there is an awfully lot of clothes on you for me to be sure," Tony breathed out. Steve wouldn't call a t-shirt and jeans a lot of clothes, but the message was well received. Their lips finally met, slow and passionate, and they stumbled together, falling on the, of course, rose petals covered bed, making them fly everywhere. Greedy fingers went into motion, peeling clothes of each other, lips wanting more and more -

"ACHEW!" Steve turned his head away, blocking his mouth with his hand.

"Uh," Tony blinked, his tie and dress shirt halfway off, "bless you."

"Thanks, babe," Steve rubbed his nose, trying to cease the tingly feeling. "Where did we stop?"

"Hmm, somewhere here," Tony smiled charmingly, pointing with a finger to his neck. Steve leaned down eagerly, ready to suckle and kiss the offered skin, when the irritating feeling came back and he straightened up abruptly, sneezing again.

"Steve? What's wrong?" Tony asked, lifting on his elbows and sounding alarmed. It wasn't like Steve to get sick all out of sudden.

"Nothing, it's nothing - " Steve tried to brush it off, but another sneeze happened. And then another one. And then he felt his throat becoming tight and eyes water and all of this was oddly familiar and disturbing.

"Oh my God, get out!" Tony panicked, not liking what he was seeing, and easily identified as an allergy attack. Roses? The scented candles? The new silk sheets in red color sprayed with essentials oils? There were too many variables and there was no time to analyze them all before Steve's head would swell like a tomato.

"Dohny, I'm fined -"

"You are not fine!" Tony decided, batting Steve off of him and pushing out of the bedroom, "Claritin is the kitchen cupboard, take it!" he ordered in a firm voice which was a total contrast to the half-naked torso and loose tie. Before Steve could react, Tony slammed the door shut, needing to air the room out first.

Well, that killed the mood quickly.

One cleaning and few pills of Claritin later, they ended on the couch, Steve's head settled on Tony's lap, as he still felt a bit fuzzy. Tony put some movie on, but Steve didn't pay attention, going over what just happened.

"Ugh, this sucks," Steve said in dismay, sniffling, the stuffiness in his nose not going away yet.

"The movie? I can change it," Tony said, gently playing with Steve's hair.

"No, not that -" Steve lifted himself to look better at his husband. Tony's gaze followed him and there was some surprise in his eyes, as Steve looked irritated. Irritated with himself. "You wanted to do something nice and I feel like I ruined it."

"Define 'nice'," Tony grinned, using air quotes at the second word, showing that while it was supposed to be nice, at first, he got carried away and crammed as much Valentine's day gadgets as he could fit in their bedroom just because he could, which pretty much caused his husband to suffocate, literally. Steve didn't reply, just jutted his bottom lip forward, feeling that he ruined the day. "Hey, don't make that face," Tony said softly, framing his husband's face with both hands, thumbs brushing below the jawline tenderly. "I can always reuse that stuff next year," he grinned, trying to fix the mood.

"Sure, just this year, we ended in the same spot, as last year," Steve sighed.

"It is a good spot. Comfy," Tony replied, rubbing Steve's cheeks playfully before letting go. He patted his lap back, urging Steve to lay down again. Steve's eyes followed the movement, and then he slid his gaze up, all over the expensive suit and white shirt with undone top buttons, no sight of the tie, his gaze heating up. Such a waste. It all could very well lead in one direction if it wasn't for a question burning in the back of his head.

"Do you think the serum is wearing off?" Steve asked, words running together.

"Pshhh. What?" Tony snorted in humor, but his face changed when he saw how alarmed Steve looked. "I don't know. I don't think so? But we don't exactly have anyone else to compare, you're one of a kind," Tony smiled kinder.

"I shouldn't have any allergies. I remember having allergies, but it all stopped since I took the serum and - " Steve rambled, spiraling into something bad. If his allergies came back, who knew what would come next. And when. And that really scared him.

"Hey, shhh," Tony took Steve's hand and squeezed it, trying to get him back. When their eyes met, Steve's blue ones showed a lot of uncertainty, while Tony's brown ones were calm. "I understand you are worried, but it was one thing, Steve. One thing that was easily fixed with some pills for allergies."

"What if it is not one thing?" Steve asked in a sad whisper.

"Then it will be more things and I will love you just as much I love you now," Tony assured, bringing Steve's hand closer and kissing his knuckles. That made Steve smile. "You still love me too, even if I changed, right?" Tony asked, meaning the flow of time and what it was doing to him. His hair became a bit more grey, eyes were set deeper and more often there was some sort of pain in his bones, one he didn't remember having. It was all part of life and couldn't exactly be stopped.

"You're always beautiful to me," Steve said honestly, meaning every word. He was seeing the same Tony was, but in contrary to Tony, Steve appreciated every change. It made Tony real and tangible and warm, and Steve didn't want a frozen perfection, almost unnatural. The day Steve had found his first grey hair among blonde ones, they both had celebrated, Steve maybe a bit more than Tony, relieved that even if it happened slower, he was aging. He didn't want to live forever and he certainly didn't want to live without Tony and it gave him hope that he won't have to. Just losing the serum was a different story. A one that had danger written all over it.

"That's sweet," Tony smiled, "and you will be always handsome to me, even when you sneeze your lungs out and get teary-eyed," Tony joked, meaning the allergies attack.

"Ha-ha," Steve fake laughed, causing Tony to laugh back, just real and honest. Beautiful. "No need to rub in my face that I ruined our Valentine's day."

"And night. I don't think it is safe to go to the bedroom yet," Tony pointed out, not wanting to risk another attack.

"Right," Steve sighed. Sleeping on the couch was not an option, but maybe they could use one of the guest floors in the Tower. Still, the mood was gone. Seemed that it wasn't a day for romance after all. Tony didn't like Steve blaming himself over something so silly and decided to fix the mood.

"Friday, dim the lights, cue some music," he said, and when the first notes of a soothing melody started to seep in, the lights got softer, Tony stood up and spoke again, offering Steve a hand. "May I have this dance?"

Steve chuckled softly, looking at his husband's calm and smiling face. Tony had this almost magical ability to fix things for Steve. After all, his husband was a mechanic, building and fixing was his thing and it went further than machines.

"You know I will step on your feet, right?" Steve asked teasingly, accepting the hand, and stood up.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Tony kept smiling, putting his arm around Steve's shoulders, Steve drawing his husband close and holding him by the hip. Pressed together, gently swaying to the music, they celebrated Valentine's day just as they liked - intimately and close.

#stony #steve rogers #tony stark #SUPERHUSBANDS #valentine's day #fluff #romance #slice of life #comfort #no tickling #fanfiction #fanfic

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