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dreaminghour · 5 months

Note

No specific ship (have fun choosing, I like all your ships!) but an overly specific whump scenario for you:

B staggers into A’s presence clutching a bleeding wound (in their side, their thigh, their upper arm?). B gasps an apology before collapsing and passing out. A then has to figure out what happened and how to take care of B before they lose too much blood.

Bonus points if they’re not in a war time scenario.

Double bonus points if B is delirious through any caretaking and A is losing their mind with worry while trying to hold it together.

Of course you should feel free to eschew any of these specifics and just go with a vibe. I’ll be happy either way. ❤️‍🩹🥰❤️‍🩹

oh... this one was so good 😭 thank you!

(from this ask game: whump me up - still open, cuz why not)

I decided on the crossover ship, put into my head by @sanerontheinside and @firondoiel, with Hannibal Smith from 2010's The A-Team and Catcher Block from Down With Love. Played by Liam Neeson and Ewan McGregor respectively... You see where this is going.

This is only PART ONE! I started part two but I'll post this plus the edited version of this on AO3 when it's complete.

Length: 1460~ words

Rating: Mature for gunshot wound care

🌙

Hannibal staggers through the door at quarter past eleven and Catcher thinks he's finally lost his mind. He's been working on a deadline and trying to sip the cognac rather than get buzzed too quickly. But seeing Hannibal — he wishes he were shit faced.

"You're showing your face again, hmm?" Catcher drawls.

"Sorry," the Colonel gasps and passes out before he's completely through the doorway.

Catcher is on his feet in an instant, rolling Hannibal onto his back and immediately sees the thick expanse of blood beneath Hannibal's shirt. His body seems cold, but it's winter and he's not really dressed for the weather. Hannibal still has a pulse but it's a fluttering thing. The longer Catcher looks at the blood, the queasier he feels. He glances up across his apartment to the phone.

He needs a doctor. He needs to call a doctor. He leaves Hannibal's side and picks up the phone and is told that he needs to get Hannibal to the hospital, but not only is the Colonel half a foot taller, he's much heavier too. As he is about to inquire about an ambulance coming to him, he hears a mumbling spluttering voice moan out, "No… no… no…"

So Catcher hangs up, locks the door, collects some tools and comes back to Hannibal's side. The big man has gotten paler and Catcher's field medic training in Panama seems a long time ago. Still, there must be a reason Hannibal came here instead of anywhere else. There must be a reason he doesn't want an ambulance. Maybe if he can get the man to talk to him, or at least examine the lug, he can figure out if Hannibal's wishes should be overruled.

Then again, maybe Hannibal just wanted to bleed out on his carpet. With the way they left things, he wouldn't put it past the other man.

Carefully, unheeding of the blood on his trousers, Catcher props Hannibal up somewhat and gently pats his cheeks, getting nothing in reply. He slaps Hannibal harder, and the man gasps.

"Ow!" Then he grunts, a weak hand rising to try and press against the wound still hidden by the blood-sodden shirt. He lets out a long groan.

"What happened? What do you need me to do?" Catcher asks, long used to asking the right questions and being conservative when what he really wants to know is 'Where have you been?' and 'Why me?'

"Shot," Hannibal gasps out, his eyes already getting more heavy lidded again. "Too slow, these damn guns are no good… Need you to… stitch…" His voice gets considerably more slurred, his breath more labored.

"Right," Catcher said, suspecting as much, trying to grasp onto this direction firmly with both hands. "Right."

He yanks off his sweater — cashmere, but what does that matter now — and places it under Hannibal's head. He then uses scissors to cut open the shirt as close to the center of the blood as possible. He's wrong. He has to peel away inches and inches of damp, dark fabric, until he finds the oozing red center, the blood coagulating already.

"Why do I need to get the bullet out?" he asks, he can feel the tears in the back of his throat but is doing his best not to retch and that's a significant distraction.

"'S lead," Hannibal slurs. "Plastic would have been better… might have gone through… or killed me outright…"

Insanely, Hannibal chuckles breathlessly. He groans. His hand flops uselessly as he tries to raise it to his stomach once more.

"Please," Catcher says emphatically. "Please," he repeats in a whisper. "Don't move."

Catcher switches on the lamp he dragged over to the elevated foyer where Hannibal has landed, he picks up the forceps from the shallow bath of alcohol they've been sitting in, he blinks hard, sure that he's only a shade or two less pale than Hannibal. With the tools he has on hand, he does his best to open the small wound up and gently hunt for the bullet he's been told is in there. He wishes there was gunfire to distract him, other medics to assist him, or even just some casual promise from Hannibal he could cling to. But no, he has none of those things.

His forceps thud against something distinctly metal, a scraping sound juddering up his fingers — very different from bone, he remembers that much. He tries to grip the bullet right then, pulling the forceps open, and Hannibal hisses in pain.

"You sure you've done this before?" Hannibal asks, a smirk on his lips, apparently able to make salacious jokes at a time like this.

Catcher wants to scream.

"I need you to hold very still," he says instead.

"Just take it easy, baby," Hannibal slurs, his eyes dreamy, hands limp at his sides. "You shoulda told me it was your first time."

Catcher tries to ignore him, tries to ignore the anger and despair battling inside him. If Hannibal dies and this entire chapter of his life just ends, he doesn't know if he'll ever truly get over it. It's not really a choice, then.

He moves carefully and with precision, opening the forceps and angling them just so that he can grip the bullet. He moves slowly, aware that the Colonel is growing restless beneath his hands and growls, "Don't move." It doesn't seem to make a difference, all Hannibal is doing is breathing. Suddenly the bullet is out, the blood trapped behind it gushing out, but Catcher tosses the forceps aside, pressing gauze to the oozing wound and allowing himself only a second to breathe while he applies pressure to the wound.

This is the less pretty part, but he knows it has to be done. The wound isn't very deep thankfully. If Hannibal had gone to a hospital, they probably would have already been done with him in the time it's taken Catcher to get this far. His needle is from the sewing kit he rarely uses, the thread is cotton, but Hannibal didn't really give him a choice. He swipes at the wound with alcohol and then presses the skin closed, Hannibal groaning as Catcher tries to just get through this.

"You didn't really give me a choice," Catcher says angrily as Hannibal grumbles about glue and grafts. "You should have gone to a hospital."

"Couldn't," Hannibal says grimacing. "Couldn't trust them."

"Worried they'd report you?" Catcher asks, journalist curiosity joining forces with his need for a distraction as he worked. He'd always been slow with a needle and thread, this is why he paid Paula and others to fix his clothes for him.

"Not exactly," Hannibal says, laughing dryly, just a rasp. He's clearly dehydrated with all the blood he's lost. He'll need juice and iron supplements. A blood transfusion would be ideal. "I wasn't sure about… bullets."

"What?" Catcher asks, focused solely on the movement of his needle before he ties it off and looks up. "I'm pretty sure they could handle a bullet."

"Well," Hannibal continues, voice somewhat garbled with how delirious he is. "Depends on the bullet… plastic on the x-ray… didn't think it was the nanites… but if there was a tracker…" He tried waving his hand but ended up just flopping it back and forth. "Couldn't risk it."

"Who are the nanites— Nevermind," Catcher begins to ask, not making sense of any of it. "You sound like a science fiction program."

"Little robots," Hannibal says with a brief smile, his eyes dipping shut again.

"Little— hey! Stay with me!" Catcher reaches forward to pat a hand against Hannibal's cheek as his heartrate spiked. He needs Hannibal. "Tell me about the little robots or— or the tracker."

"Tracker's a device... that shows... where you are on a map, no matter where you go. Unless... you get deep enough... underground or if you're... in a dense... rain forest..."

Catcher resumes working, trying to make sense of what Hannibal was saying. The wound is no longer oozing blood as he finished, his fingers are stained pink, but he cuts the thread and sat back.

"So in a bunker," Catcher says.

Hannibal nods minutely.

"I need to wash you off and, preferably, get you to the bed."

Hannibal quirks a smile at that, but doesn't seem capable of his usual witty rejoinder.

"If I help you, think you can walk with me?"

While supporting his back, Catcher lifts Hannibal to sit upright, but the rush of blood from his head seems to be the final straw and the big man passes out.

Catcher scarcely gets a hand under his head before Hannibal is horizontal again.

"Fuck," Catcher says, slumping forward to hold his own head in his hands while the emotions he's been holding at bay finally sweep over him.

🌙

Thank you for reading!

So, this is just part one, I will be sharing part two as soon as it's done. If you want to check out the other stories with this pairing, they're on AO3 in the "Out of Time" series. Otherwise you can follow my fic log @dreaminghour-archive or subscribe on AO3 if you want to be notified.

If you liked this, leave a comment or reblog! That's the best way to let me know what you liked and that you want to see more. Emojis and likes are also great.

#dreamy does asks #raeality #hanniblock #hannibal smith #catcher block #dreamy does prompts #dreamy does fic #whump #whump me up

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honestlywtfisgoingon · 2 years

Text

Woman About Town — Catcher Block

CATCHER BLOCK x READER

description: catcher couldn’t be your lover so he settled for being your friend. now that you’re looking for someone to fill that spot, he can’t stand for it to be anyone but him.

warnings: language, spice idk if it’s considered smut but there’s use of the word “core” in that way lmao, alcohol, drinking and driving do NOT do that, written in about an hour and completely UNEDITED

a/n: sexy suit ewan is the best ewan (actually all ewans are the best) but srsly cmon im swooning

words: 3,252

catcher block: ladies man, mans man, man about town, your boss…and nothing more.

he had tried to change that multiple times int he beginning sure, but now he was your best friend. When you first started working for him you had a boyfriend. it didn’t make much of a difference to him as it wasn’t the first time someone had dropped everything, including a relationship, for a single night with him.

after a while, he realized that it just wasn’t going to happen with you, and usually he would have looked for a new secretary instead, except for the fact that you were a damn good one. you knew what he wanted before he did, ready with a cup of coffee and a fully prepped agenda for the week, even including flexibility for his…flings, not to mention you were an incredibly fast typer, and catch appreciated not having to wait.

you made his life a lot easier, so much so to where he found you indispensable and took you with him whenever he had to travel for one of his famous exposes. you made quite a pair, arriving at places like coco beach after a long flight of joking together and enjoying each other’s company, then splitting up as he searched for a new conquest and you went off on your own, content to simply enjoy the drinks and other perks that came with your job. your boyfriend and his insecurities had a problem with that.

he didn’t like how much time you were spending with catcher. even if he was a serial womanizer, he should’ve known you well enough to trust you, and that lack of trust was what damaged your relationship the most. he even went so far as to insinuate that you were actively having an affair with your boss. it was immediately after that you threw him out of your apartment and your life.

catcher wasn’t perturbed by it in the least, in fact, he was overjoyed. he had adjusted to just being friends with you a while ago, close friends, but you were back in the game now, and he would be fool not to try again with you, his idea of the perfect woman. funny, smart, absolutely gorgeous, and always kept him on his toes. once or twice he had pictured you underneath him instead of some woman he had met 20 minutes ago. it always freaked him out, the possibility that he actually liked you, but that thought wasn’t anything a glass of scotch couldn’t make disappear.

You had expected it of course, knowing your friend well enough by now, and you were very entertained watching your friend try moves on you that you’d seen him use a thousand times over, only to see him shocked when they didn’t work.

“arent you a pretty little thing today? must be the earrings i sent you,” catcher toyed with the dangly jewelry hanging on your ear. he was standing closely behind you, his breath fanning across your neck.

“you can borrow them if you like. maybe it’ll make you pretty too,”

“darling im not pretty enough for you?”

“of course you are catch, how could i forget.”

eventually he lost all hope in seducing you, and he was back to being your best friend once more. he was just as happy that way too. you were the only girl friend, friend who was a girl, that he had ever had, and he valued you for it very much. he found that he enjoyed the company of a woman, even if they happened to be fully clothed. he also appreciated that, out fo his two best friends, you and peter, that he wasn’t worried would die of a heart attack at 40.

so catcher went back to being your friend, and as your friend, he was always there to give you advice when you asked. this time you wanted guy advice.

“you want to get back out there?”

“that’s what i said.” you handed him his drink before plopping down on the couch next to him. you had invited him over to your apartment, something you’d done a million times before.

“why?”

“what do you mean why?”

“we’ll it’s just…why are you asking me?”

“you’re joking right? you’re king out there.” at first he liked that you were in the field, but then he realized there where other men in the field besides him, and he didn’t like it. they weren’t good enough for tou.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea,”

“why not?”

“we’ll look at your options, what’s the point anyway?”

“what just cause they’re not all you?” even if it was sarcastic, you had a backwards way of stroking his ego. you never outright complimented him, humbling him as the one woman in new york who wouldn’t, but he also knew that you partially believed your jokes. you did think he was the shit, and any approval from you was worth more than all his past flings put together. “cmon. you’re a man about town. teach me to be a woman about town.” he gave you a look of hesitation. “if you don’t teach me i’m still gonna go ahead without your wisdom.” you poked his forehead and he swatted your hand away.

“well we need to see what you already know, but for that you’d have to come here and show me.” he patted his lap, “for academic purposes of course,”

“ha ha catch.” you fake laughed, “besides, even if it really was for academic purposes, i’d still say no. i care about you way too much to have sex with you,”

catcher was at a loss. what does that mean? you wouldn’t sleep with him because you cared about him? how does that even make sense? then he realized that also meant you weren’t rejecting him because you weren’t attracted to him, it was for whatever weird reason you just offered.

“fine,” he rolled his eyes and began to explain to you the inner workings of the human male while you listened intently.

armed with your new knowledge, you successfully landed a date only days after. you would say you had catch to thank, but he insisted that he had nothing to do with it.

“you’ve always been an absolute knockout, even without my help,” he said as he watched you fix your hair in the mirror. you blushed at the compliment. he had told you things like that before, but it was rare for him to say that outside of flirting. he was being genuine this time, and your heart fluttered. you blamed it on being nervous about your date, but you repeated his words in your mind once more.

you ran around feverishly, primping yourself until catcher had to get up and put his hand on your shoulders to stop you before you wore out the carpet. it was ridiculous that you should go through all this and get worked up over someone who wasn’t even worth it. he placed his hands on your cheeks and held you to look on him.

“y/n. you look fine, and he’s the lucky one,” you and him stared into each other’s eyes. you couldn’t help but realize jsut how beautiful his were. suddenly the telephone rang and your trance was broken.

“hello? alright i’ll be down,” you set the phone down on the receiver and turned to catcher, jumping up and down a little to get your nervous excitement out. he smiled at how adorable you were, but there was an ache in his heart when he remembered your reaction was for someone else. he was lost in his thoughts until you ran up to him for a quick goodbye. “bye catch! your the best!” you gave him a quick kiss ont he cheek without even thinking and then ran out the door with your coat.

his hand reached up to where you kissed him, and suddenly he felt hot. he was frozen for a moment, processing your actions, then ran over to your balcony to try and catch you walking out the front. you hadn’t made it out yet, but he spotted who he presumed to be your date. he was checking himself out in the car mirror, running his hand through his hair and throwing finger guns to himself once he was satisfied with his appearance. he sneered even though it was an action he had done many times.

what a prick.

then, he saw you walking out in your mini dress and kitten heels, hair all done up, and looking far to good for wherever this idiot was going to take you. he saw your discarded glass in the corner of his eye and picked it up, downing what alcohol was left in it. he looked down at the bottom of the glass and contemplated what to do now. your home was as good as his, so he figured he would just stay up and wait till you got home.

muscle memory led him yo where you kept the drinks and he poured himself another one before taking a seat on the couch. it was after his third glass that he got up to get the whole bottle. there was just something off that he could place his finger on. he was worried about you, something he didn’t usually need to be.

in all his time knowing you, he had never even had to think about what you were doing with another man, and now that he did, he absolutely did not like it. it was what was causing his knee to bounc up and down rapidly, his brows furrowing at the same time. he had to do something. at least that’s what the alcohol began to tell him.

he hated it. he hated seeing you with another man. even at the beginning he didn’t lowly hat you had a boyfriend, but he got over it. it also helped that you and your boyfriend had made it past the hoensympon stage and you rarely even talked about him. what was different now that he was seeing you all smitten and in the brand new stages of romance. you should be getting giddy about him. he should be taking you to dinner. that’s when it clicked.

catched wasted no time in rushing down the elevator and getting in his car. he started it, and then realized he didn’t even know where you were.

“dammit,” he whispered angrily. you had mentioned it before, but he was paying more attention to your lips than to what was actually coming out to them.

andy, and…something…andre’s!

the second the restaurant came to his mind, he was speeding there. it was a miracle he made it there in one piece, especially considering his buzz, but he was on a mission and nothing was going to stop him.

he tossed the keys to the valet and fixed his jacket before walking in. if he was going to tell you that you should be with him, he was going to look good for you.

“did you happen to see the most beautiful girl walk in here? black dress, ugly blonde date?” the hostess looked extremely confused, but hesitantly pointed to the table that fit his description the most, a girl in a black dress with a blonde man. the second he caught sight of you, he was over there.

“hello y/n,”

“catcher block what are you doing here.” you said, using his full name as though he was in trouble, but truly you were relieved. your date was absolutely boring, and you found yourself counting the minutes until you could go home, partially hoping he stayed over.

“catcher block? the catcher block? ladies man? man’s man? man about—“ apparently your date was not in the least bit bothered. in fact, he seemed rather starstruck.

“yes, town. we get it,” you rolled your eyes at his fanboying. “what are you doing here?” you looked up at him.

“could i steal y/n away for a moment?”

“of—of course mr. block,” your date stuttered out, but you were already out of your seat and following catcher to the coat check area.

“as grateful as i am, you still need to explain our self.”

“grateful? did i really rescue you?”

“yes, completely” he couldn’t help but puff his chest up a bit, “explain,” you poked him in the chest, then smelled the alcohol on his breath, “are you drunk?”

“not the point—“

“you could’ve gotten into an accident! don’t ever—“

“not. the point.” he lowered his voice and pulled you close. your breath hitched in your throat. it was different this time. he wasn’t being smooth, you could hear the quiet pleading in his voice for you to listen. you nodded.

“i couldn’t do it. i couldn’t let you go out with some guy,” you opened your mouth to speak, but he continued, “not when it should be me taking you out,”

you sighed. “we’ve been through this. i’m not going to sleep with you,”

“no! that’s not what i’m talking about. i mean i should be taking you out on dates, walking you home, kissing you goodnight,”

“the deluxe package huh? i just, i don’t want to be another one of your conquests. goodnight catch.” you turned to leave.

“your not a conquest. you’re it.” he spun you back around and you ended up almost chest to chest.

“what are you saying?” it came out as a whisper.

“i’m saying i care about you too much to have sex with you too. i care about you to where i want to call you mine,”

“i won’t be one of your one night stands,”

“how bout an every night stand?”he made you laugh.

“you really mean it?”

“let me put it this way, i—i love you,” it just tumbled out, but he knew it to be true. you had loved him too. for a very long time, but you didn’t realize it until he said it. when you actually saw it was a possibility, you let all of your walls and denial break down, and you kissed him.

“i love you too,” you mumbled against his lips, and you could feel him smile. he pressed his lips against yours harder, and you found yourself tugging at his hair. what was meant to be a single kiss turned into many heated ones, and he had slowly backed you into the door of the coat closet while you were distracted by all the attention he was giving your neck, placing needy kisses all over.

“i have a date,” you suddenly remembered, but made no move to stop the man you had wanted for so long, too afraid to admit it.

“no you don’t,”

“no i don’t,” you laughed as he turned the knob behind you and you tumbled into the closet.

“do you know how long i’ve wanted this? to be able to love you? now that i can i don’t need anything else,”

“no you don’t,” you joked, but your laugh was cut off when he sucked on a sensitive spot on your neck. your knees felt weak, and somehow he knew. maybe it was from experience, but it also might have had something to do with the way you were a perfect match. absolutely connected, and knew each other like no one else. he grabbed the back of your thighs and gave you a little boost to wrap your legs around his waist. he pressed you against the wall and you reflexively reached up to grab a hanger rod when he grinded against you, needed something to steady yourself. he grinned and only did it again. you began to breath heave as he hiked up your dress and you loosened his bow tie.

“catch. oh catch!” you mumbled as he lifted one of your legs higher in order to press directly against your core. he nipped at your neck, causing you to shut your eyes, forgetting where you were.

the sudden bright light that invaded the small space immediately reminded you.

“oh!” it was your date, looking for his coat. apparently you had taken too long and he had decided to leave. catcher was not embarassed to be in this position with you, and was happy to hold you in place, no doubt enjoying how obvious it was that you had chosen him. you were not so used to being found in situations like this, and had to swat him until he let go of your legs and let your dress fall from your waist.

“we were just, uh,” you looked at catch in panic.

“we were in the middle of something so if you’d like to take your coat and go.” your date was completely in shock, nodding and reaching for his coat presumably in autopilot. it was a bit awkward as you had to squish to the side, pressed into against catch even further. once again, he seemed to be enjoying this far too much.

once your date left you began to swat catcher again.

“ow ow! you were rather fond of me a few minutes ago,” you stopped and pulled his face it for a hard kiss, effectively shutting him up.

“i still am,” you whispered in his ear. he grinned and opened the door, offering you his arm once you both stepped out. you both got into his car, giggling like kids. you were on such a high that you didn’t even realize where he was taking you until about 10 minutes into the drive.

“if i’m going to take to bed the woman i love, it’s going to be special.” he pulled up to a decadent hotel, tall marble columns and walls of ivy, rare in new york. there were so many ornate details to stare at while he checked you in, hand not leaving your waist for a moment. it was like another world. it all went so quickly, as the concierge already kne catcher and gave him his “usual” you looked at him with a little frown. “darling i know my history, but i’ve only been here once and it wasn’t with anyone. your the first and the last,”

you smiled and kissed him. you opened the hotel door and were greeted by high ceilings and a large canopy bed. champagne was on a rolling tray put away in the corner, no doubt by the staff who knew catcher, and a large gilded fireplace was in the wall. you gasped and catcher watched as you ran out on the balcony, admiring you. you and catcher had been to many nice hotels, and his apartment was nice in and of itself, but nothing like this. it wasn’t very new york either, it was like a castle, and you were reacting just as he hoped you would. as much as he loved seeing you, he couldn’t bear to be anywhere but on top of you anymore, and he came up behind you, scooping you up bridal style as you let out a little squeak. he laid you gently on the bed, taking his time like never before.

“god it’s like a honeymoon catch.”

“would you like it to be?” he was serious. you thought about it, but didn’t know what to say.

“someday.” catcher didn’t mind, he knew you loved him, and that was enough. he would marry you someday, and he was content to wait.

“come here.”

“anything you say mrs. catcher block,”

#catcher block #catcher block x reader #catcher block x y/n #catcher block fanfiction #catcher block smut #catcher block fluff #down with love #ewanverse #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor x reader

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mralexrenton · 1 year

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a wee down with love edit for my derelict account

#catcher block #down with love #ewan mcgregor #renee zellweger #hot as fuck #1960s aesthetic #ewan mcgregor edit

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ewanispunk · 1 year

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I love him your honour

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crucifiix · 7 months

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#ewan mcgregor #catcher block #down with love #( my gifs. )

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emeraldbeetles · 2 years

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EWAN MCGREGOR as Catcher Block/Zip Martin

– Down With Love (2003)

#quality murdered #ewan mcgregor #mine #ewan mcgregor gif #down with love #catcher block

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daisiesfeelinghazy · 2 years

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down with love (2003) dir. peyton reed

#down with love #ewan mcgregor #down with love 2003 #catcher block #david hyde pierce #renee zellweger #renée zellweger #barbara novak #wallpaper #films #movies #collage #aesthetic #60s #peyton reed #mine

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kenobisgalaxy · 2 years

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Catching You (Catcher Block x fem!Reader) | Part 1

fandom: Down With Love

pairing: Catcher Block x fem!Reader

type: series

word count: 2,200ish

warnings: none really, just Catch kissing another girl and flirting with you AND some casual 60s sexism + misogyny (that we obviously don't support on this blog)

plot info: You’re trying to make a living in as a journalist in New York City when you meet the Know Magazine journalist Catcher Block. This fanfiction tells the story of Catcher Block falling wanting to win you for a quick sex a la cárd, but in the end hopelessly falling in love with you.

summary: You encounter Catcher Block in the coffee shop you work at and immediately dislike his attitude. Later, he coincidentally shows up at your workplace and decides to win you. Disaster ensue.

a/n: I recently rewatched down with love and can't think about anything else but Ewan as Catcher Block. That's why I've written this first chapter of a little 'falling in love with Catcher Block' series. I don't know wether anyone is even up for that at the moment, but I couldn't stop myself. I have to say that there is are little historical inaccuracies in it because Turner Catledge wasn't the head of the New York Times until 1964 and coffee houses that work like this one here probably weren't a thing in the 60s, but let us pretend that it works like this at least in this AU. I was honestly too lazy to change it or write anything else.

masterlist

You had been working in this little coffee house up the street in New York City for a while now. Your boss was okay, your salary not so much, but it was enough to pay the unbearably high rent of your cramped apartment. If your parents could see you now, they probably would be anything but impressed by the degraded standards you were living in, they way you overworked yourself and the way you still didn’t land business in the city where dreams were supposed to become reality. Your brand new start of it in old New York was flopping so far on all levels.

For longer than you could think, you had wanted to become a writer. Journalism had been your dream ever since your 13 year old self had read a biography about Nellie Bly, the immaculate journalist that had traveled around the world as a woman all alone in this men-dominated world in only 72 days. If she managed to do that in 1888 when woman didn’t even posses the right to vote, you surly wouldn’t have problems to land in this business in the year of 1962, wouldn’t you? But apparently, this attitude alone didn’t immediately lead to ground braking success as a journalist. In fact, apart from a simple job as a secretary you couldn’t record any progress in your career whatsoever. As a consequence of this, you were forced to work two jobs at a time, since the miserable salary of your job as a secretary for the New York Times didn’t fund you enough to make a simple living as a single and unattached 22 year old girl in the grand business of New ‘emancipation apparently is a lie’ York City.

It was Saturday morning and as usual you were working your shift in the coffee house when he stepped in. You did not know him at the time, but it was the thing he did that made you remember him. Of course, he wasn’t alone. Linked in his arm was a stunning looking blond wearing some sort of blue uniform that looked like that typical outfit a stewardess would wear to work. And he? He wore a white tuxedo which you honestly didn’t understand because it was not nearly the right time of the day to wear such an outfit, but you couldn’t care less. In reality it wasn’t even his or her outfit that was the reason for the incident being stuck in your mind afterwards. Nope. It was the complete arrogance and ignorance of this entirely ungentlemanly man that was now standing in front you ordering.

“I get a black coffee without sugar. And what do you want, baby?” He asked the girl on his right whilst nuzzling the little crevice on her neck.

“A cappuccino, please, with lots of sugar.”

“Only the sweetest for you, baby! You got that?” He asked you bluntly still concentrated on whatever it was that kept him occupied with the girl’s neck.

As you were preparing the order you could observe the pair half making out right there in front of the counter which was enough to completely creep you out. These two should get themselves a room, you thought heading back to the front and placing the tablet with the two steaming beverages on the counter.

“Here you go, Sir. That will be 5,25$ whenever you’re ready.” You said barely looking at the couple.

“Would you mind bringing it to the table in the front at the window there.” The man asked you, still concentrating on his female company.

“Of course.” Not wanting to annoy the customers - although they were certainly annoying you, you did what he asked circling the counter and following the two of them with the order to the called out table. “You’re welcome.” you uttered placing the tablet in front of the man. “Can I do anything else for you?”

“Oh no, that’s just enough.” he responded between a kiss on the girl’s cheek that was now sitting in his lap. Can't he get enough of her? Some men are just never satisfied, are they?

You were already about to get back to the counter to take the next customer’s order, when it happened. You couldn’t really recall how he did and and why he did it, but somehow in a fit of a heated kiss he wiped his arm over the table knocking the tablet off the tiny table and spilling all the coffee over the tiles. But the worst thing about it wasn’t that he had made a complete mess, but rather that he didn’t seem to notice nor care.

“Sir!” you squeaked reaching for the cloth that was attached to your belt quickly trying to mop the floor and collect the broken pieces of porcelain that were scattered on the ground.

“Oh darling, I am so sorry.” he mused finally realizing what he had done. “What do I owe you?” He inquired as you were still kneeling on the floor, the coffee had completely stained your white tights.

“5,25$ and new tights.” You snapped sarcastically. “You still haven’t paid yet.”

“Oh of course sweetheart, take 10$, that’ll do. I might as well help you out of these tights later, if you’re free.” He smirked at you.

“Oh would you really? Who do you think you are? Well now that I know that you’re such a guy, I would politely ask you to leave this coffee shop. And if you’re already listening anyways. Would you be so kind and tend to your girlfriend, that is really not a gentlemanly request to utter in front of her. I’m fine on my own, thank you and goodbye.” You picked up the broken pieces having them collected in your towel and stormed off back to the counter. As you were taking in the orders of the other customers who visibly still were a little puzzled due to what they had just witnessed, you could see the man leaving the shop with is girlfriend in the corner of your eye. That’s really not a great start to the day. But you quickly focused on your work again and didn’t stress about the unpleasant incident anymore. At least not until next week.

You were working for the New York Times as the personal secretary of the new executive editor Turner Catledge. Well, that wasn’t really the position that you wanted. You obviously would have much preferred to work on the other side as a writer, but at least you were getting an insight into the business and that was something to be proud of, wasn’t it. You were overall doing a decent job, Mr. Catledge was happy with your work and you were able to get your tasks done efficiently and quickly. However, this morning things didn’t want to go as planned. Mr. Catledges first appointment was supposed to be at 8 o’ clock in his office with a man called Mr. Block from the Know Magazine, but it was already half past 8 and this guy didn’t seem to show up.

But suddenly, the door of the anteroom that was your little office opened and in came a tall and handsome guy with short, sleek, raven hair that probably had gotten hold of too much hair setting spray, piercing blue eyes, a charming smile and dressed in a checkered, well-fitting suit. A man as perfect as ever and as perfectly late as never. And worst of it all, it was the same man that had flirted with you so shamelessly and inappropriately on last Saturday morning in the coffee shop. Oh what a total jerk, this was gonna be fun.

“Good morning, darling.” He greeted you whilst you were quickly pretending to type something on your type-writer.

“Good morning, Sir. How can I help you?”

“I have an appointment with Mr. Catledge. Can you get me through?”

“An appointment? I’m afraid, Mr. Catledge doesn’t have an appointment at 8.30.” You chirped sweet as sugar whilst rustling through your boss's schedule.

“Well, the appointment was at 8.”

“Then you’re late.”

“Yes, but that shouldn’t be a problem, if you just let me get into his office.”

“Sir, before I can do that, you might first inform me about your Name”

“My name? Well, Catcher Block of course, who else should I be?”

“Catcher who?” you asked him pretending to be stupid.

“Catcher Block, from the Know Magazine for men who are in the know.” -

“Oh right, that Catcher Block. Okay then, Mr. Block you might enter Mr. Catledges office now.”

“Thank you. Uhm, Miss? Have we met before?” he spluttered.

"No, I don't think and if we had, I would probably not remember." You answered bluntly, silently celebrating in triumph. It was obvious that he was completely and utterly dazzled. This man really did think that the world revolved around him, didn’t he. And you just didn't want to play his game.

The appointment took its time, but you were well occupied with you work and didn't think about the man for to long. He was certainly that type of men, who thought that every single woman on this planet was ready for him at his feet which made him exactly the type of men you weren't interested in. What good was a man that only used you for sex à la card anyways? And besides Catcher Block couldn't be seriously interested in any girl if he was ready to woo every other women in a radios of ten miles including you. Not wanting to waste your precious time getting angry, you continued in your usual work flow.

You didn't notice him exiting Mr. Catledge's office after some time. You were absorbed by the article you where writing secretly after you had finished your main tasks. Thus, you didn't notice Catcher Block standing in front of you watching you intently and trying to figure out how he was going to win you. He didn't remember you at first, but he did now. You were the girl from the coffee shop that rejected his attempts of flirting with you. You were the girl that resisted him and didn't gift him single stare. You couldn't be that disinterested. Somewhere, you had to have a weakness, every woman had. But you were not like every other woman. Somehow, you were fierce, bold and sarcastic, not giving in. And he liked that. He liked that you resisted him and he liked that you were a challenge. Catcher could get every girl in the world with only a wink or a smile. Every woman was head over heels mesmerized by his charm, but not you. You didn't stare at him, you didn't flirt with him, you didn't swoon over him. But he would crack you, he would get you, sooner or later you wouldn't be able to say no to him.

"You haven't told me your name, have you?" Startled you were looking up into a pool of deep blue eyes. For how long was he standing there? You hadn't noticed, had he been watching you?

"My name, Mr. Block? Well, I can't seem to find a reason for you to need my name." You answered collecting your inner thoughts as quick as possible.

"I can't call you Miss all the time, can I."

"But you have to, I'm not gonna see you any time soon anyway, so you don't have to call me anything." You blurted.

"But what if I wanted to see you?" He asked slowly and step by step getting closer.

"I don't see why you should, Mr. Block. And frankly, I have much better things to do. If you would like to leave now, Mr. Catledge still has other appointments, thank you very much."

"You're not already taken are you?" He inquired boldly.

"I don't know why that should concern you?"

"Because I would like to ask you to have lunch with me."

"I happily decline." You snapped at him. Why wouldn't he just leave. Couldn’t he see that you were not interested

"Oh darling, but why? I don't bite - at least not yet." He mused circling you desk and bending over your should.

"Mr. Block, I must ask you to respect my private space."

"Are you afraid of what I could do to you?"

"Shall I call security, Mr. Block?"

"Fine, keep calm. I'm not doing anything. "

"Thank you, Mr. Block." You flattened your skirt and turned back to your work.

"But I do wonder- What did I just see there. Are you writing an article?" He asked looking at your type-writer.

"I'm not, this is personal." You urged trying to hide what you were writing

"Oh no, I should know, this is an article. But you're not a journalist, you're just the secretary, am I right?"

"Mr. Block" You gritted your teeth. "I ask you one last time, please leave my office!" You stood up glaring at him.

Suddenly, your boss's voice turned up on your telephone. "Miss y/l/n, could you get me some coffee please."

"Of course, Mr. Catledge, immediately." you answered. "Now Mr. Block, as you can see, I'm occupied with work, good bye." You said. But Catcher Block had already backed up to the door, having gotten what he wanted - your name.

"Good bye then, Miss y/l/n." You groaned at your name in his mouth and simply let yourself fall back into your chair in complete exhaustion. Catcher Block on the other hand, light-footed approached the elevator. At least that much he knew now. You were definitely single, he could sense that. Now he would just need to drink some more coffee on Saturday mornings.

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