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landinoandco · 3 years ago

Note

Could I ask for a Max Verstappen request?

Where you get all excited to tell him you’re pregnant and it doesn’t go well. Could you make it super angsty

Of course you can :) here you go, I hope you enjoy!

Max Verstappen x reader

Warnings: angst but with fluff at the end

Word count: 2.2 k

Requests are open...

Baby, the future is ours

At last the summer break had rolled around again, to the relief of the Formula one drivers and crew, they had 3 long weeks ahead of them to fill with whatever they deemed stress-free or relaxing. The subject of activity depending on person to person - most sane folk tended to stick to a holiday to Greece or if you were an adrenaline junkie like Daniel Ricciardo jumping out of planes or BMX biking. You had lost count of the times Max - your boyfriend - had rushed in to tell you about all of the exciting things his best friend had gotten up to as of late.

You and Max had decided to take a break and travel to a cosy, quiet part of Italy - to escape the press, the stress and most importantly the eagle eye of social media. It would just be you and him for a few weeks before reality brought you back to Milton Keynes in the shape of Christian Horner and his motley crew.

You and Max had met in 2018 at a gala event Redbull had hosted, Pierre Gasly - being a close friend of yours - had introduced you two and to say the pair of you hit it off instantly was an understatement, whether it was a mixture of the Dutch meets British humour you had no clue but you weren’t one to complain. A few months later and Max had asked you to travel around the world with him - you did so willingly and life had been nearing perfect ever since. Of course you had your ups and downs, where the universe seemed to really test not only your love for one and other but your patience. A few arguments had shown you that both being hot-headed never ended well.

You were sat out on the balcony, a book in hand and looking out into the Italien countryside. Max had left for a run and to explore the local village, leaving you, your thoughts and your growing baby. You were pregnant - you had taken the test just before flying out, this meant that Max wasn’t aware. You hadn’t told him yet and you had no clue how you were going to. As it turns out telling your partner you were pregnant was easier said than done - ironically.

You and Max hadn’t had the baby talk yet - you had but only along the lines of: “one day, when we’re older and married and driving isn’t the main priority anymore.” Those were Max’s words. He wanted to be there for his child, to watch him or her grow, to see every milestone but most importantly to be a good and nurturing father.

There was part of you that was slightly worried because you just didn’t know how Max would take it - you couldn’t keep it in any longer though. You had to tell him. There was another part of you that was excited - from a very young age you knew you wanted to have a family of your own with the person you loved the most. Call it childish naivety. At this point in time, you were ready to become a mother - well as ready as anyone ever could be.

Placing your book onto the table, you made your way into the kitchen, grabbed a glass and filled it. Sighing loudly as you leant onto the countertop.

“That was a loud sigh.” A voice called out from behind you. You recognised it instantly. Whipping your head around, you saw Max standing there, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Chuckling, you hit back, “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Rolling his eyes, he made his way over to you and wrapped his arms around your middle, placing a sweet, chaste kiss onto the side of your head. Leaning into his warm embrace, you let out another long but content sigh.

“Seriously, what is it with you and sighing today.” Max uttered, his lips still against the side of your head.

You went to move forward, out of his welcoming embrace. You knew what you had to do.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Instantly the atmosphere changed, you could feel Max stiffen behind you. Maybe the tone you chose to make that comment in was too serious but it was now or never.

“Haha, which of your friends is pregnant this time.” He quipped jokingly, trying to break the tension.

Instantly you knew the way the conversation was going to end, a pang of hurt felt in your stomach. You squeezed your eyes shut, catching your lip with your teeth. He stood there with an air of innocence and unknown, concern dancing in his eyes - he went to reach his arm out to you, to offer that encouragement.

You braved the words that came out of your lips, “Me.” You almost whispered. Time seemed to slow. Max dropped his arm and instantly took a step back.

“Pardon.” Was the only thing he could force out of his mouth, his throat seemed to close up and his hands went clammy. He definitely heard you the first time but he wanted to make sure it wasn’t a night terror. A bad dream he had failed to wake from.

“I am, Max,” You said again, your voice wavering.

“Oh.” He stated, his face drained of colour, his mouth set in a straight line.

“Is that all you have to say.” You swallowed thickly, your eyes swam with tears. You had a hunch this was how it was going to end but it didn’t stop is from hurting the way it did. You had hoped he would have proved you wrong, to have wrapped his arms around you and to have spun you around. To have laughed. To have cried. To have shown a little more excitement to the fact you were now carrying his child. His first child.

You moved past him and sat down on one of the wooden chairs, rubbing your hands over your face. He was still stood there. His eyes fixated on the view out of the window. No emotion read in his eyes. It was almost like you had hit the ‘off’ button. He tapped his foot and made a clicking noise with his mouth before turning around to face you - meeting your gaze.

“How long have you known.” His voice was hoarse.

“A couple of days before we flew out.” You answered him, moving your face back to rest in your hands.

There was a pause. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner.”

You took a breath, looking him dead in the eye. “Because I knew this was how you were going to react.” You didn’t trust your voice at all, you also didn’t know whether you wanted to scream at him or cry in the corner.

“Right.” Was all he said. Still stood there like some awkward teenager after a rather large telling off from their mother.

“Is that all you have to say to me?” You asked him, nostrils flaring. You were allowed to be angry, right?

“What do you expect me to say.” He rounded on you, his voice raising more than was necessary. Tears had spilled down your cheeks, you didn’t have the energy to fight back. As soon as he realised the effect this was having on you, he went to move forward again, his eyes softening instantly. “I’m sorry - I - I shouldn’t have raised my-”

“Get out, Max.” You stated lowly. By this point, you had stood up, shuddering away from his desperate grasp. He knew he had made a mistake. You knew he regretted it, the moment the words had left his mouth.

“Get out?” He repeated quietly, his voice cracking, you could see tears glazing his vision.

“Just - please, go on a walk - come back once you have more to say to me.” You spat.

“But - But I already have more to say-” You cut his rambling off once again.

“Please. Max.” You insisted, your voice betraying you again. “Go.” You whispered.

Max stormed out of the door, ensuring to slam it so hard the chandelier on the ceiling swung precariously. You sank back into your chair and let out a loud sob, unable to hold it in any longer.

Max was mad. Not at you, that would be unfair. He was mad at himself. At the world. At everything actually because at this point why the hell not. You were pregnant - don’t get him wrong, he was over the moon. He was going to be a dad.

It was too soon.

He still had his full F1 career ahead of him. A promising and long F1 career as a matter of fact. He wanted a baby to be his main priority and he wanted to share those one in a lifetime moments with you. He knew there was no point in being mad, it wasn’t like they were in a position where they couldn’t have a child. They had plenty of things to offer, a nurturing home with parents who were head over heels in love with each other and a large family - blood and not - who would be willing to support and love the child as if it was their own. Max really was in love with you. He knew it would be you to mother his children in the end, he just didn’t think it would be now.

He reached for his phone, went into his contacts and pressed on the number that read the name: “D.R new phone.” Whilst it wasn’t adventurous like many thought it would be, it saved the confusion from calling a number that no longer existed.

Daniel picked up on the second ring. “Hey dude, how’s it going?”

“Not good at all, Dan, not good at all.” Max admitted, his voice wavering once again. He explained the events that had happened a mere 5 minutes ago, the way he reacted and the way he left you. Hurt and alone.

“I’m not going to lie to you, mate, you’ve fucked up big time.” Dan spoke after what felt like a loud silence. After all, Daniel knew you just as well as he knew Max.

“I know. I know I have, do you think I’ve been selfish?” He asked, his tone full of raw emotion.

“Yes.” Dan stated simply, “I think you have been, especially since she even told you this is how she thought you would react. How much stress do you think she had been putting on herself? Come one, I’ve taught you to be better than this.” Daniel paused, Max could almost hear him place his thumb and ring finger onto the bridge of his nose. “You know, just as well as I know, she knows it isn’t the best time. Her becoming pregnant is very much a two person job, I think it’s time that you go back to her and have a conversation like the adult I know you are.”

In that moment, Max was so grateful to have someone like Dan just a call away. “Thank you, Dan. Really. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Alright Mr Father-to-be, don’t be going all soppy on me now.” Daniel joked, returning back to his normal teasing. That was the best thing about Daniel, he was quite useful when you needed him to be.

“You can count yourself on being the godfather after that.” Max added, a large beaming smile plastered onto his face.

He heard Dan let out a loud laugh, “Go on, leave me be. Good luck, mate, let me know how it goes and when the time is right tell her I say congrats.”

“Of course, mate. Thank you, again.” Max muttered, looking back in the direction of the villa. After he hung up, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and ambled slowly - working out exactly what he was going to say to you.

Once he had opened the door, he called out to you. “Babe?” He heard a sniffle in response. You were still slumped on the chair in the kitchen, shooting daggers at the cupboard opposite.

Max sat opposite you, reaching out for your hand. Grudgingly you let him take it, you blinked and he took a deep breath before a large, beaming smile crept onto his face.

“We’re going to be parents.” He rubbed the back of your hand, speaking tentatively. You nodded, your lower lip trembled. Max stood up, still keeping a hold of your hand as he gave it a slight tug, indicating that you should stand up. You made your way into his embrace, his arms wrapping securely around you, tucking your face into the crook of your neck as he rocked gently side to side, burying his face into your hair. He then moved his hands to cradle your face, wiping the stray tears away before peppering your face with feather light kisses.

“We’re going to be parents.” He repeated, a little louder and to this you let out another sob, laughing as he picked you up and spun you around.

“I’m sorry. I was being selfish.” He said, as he wrapped you back up into his arms. You smiled into his chest. In that moment, you couldn’t be happier. It was like all of your childhood dreams had come true. In that kitchen stood your new family, mismatched and sometimes a little bit broken but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen fanfic #f1blr #f1 2021 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #formula one one shot #formula 1 x reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one x reader #fanfiction #f1 requests

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mrdanielbond · 3 years ago

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Wild Nights, Wild Hearts (One-Shot?)

“Mystery man”

[Main characters: Mikael Blomkvist X Reader]

Plot: It is time to head back to work as a lecturer at your university after a successful first semester. Unfortunately for you, one of your guest lecturers is a familiar face from a wild night out…

[A/N: Wrote this ages ago and thought, hey why not? Okay, so I don’t know if this is going to be an actual thing. Like I assume it’s going to be a one-shot. Plus, in all fairness, Mikael is my favourite non-Bond character of Daniel’s, so I thought it’s time to appreciate this man in all his glory. I hope you enjoy this! Let me know what you think?]

Music continued to boom through the speakers. The flashing lights and smoke was intense, but you didn’t care. As long as you were still with your friends, celebrating a birthday amongst the group, that's all that mattered. What also helped was the fact your sultry look managed to get you quite a few free drinks from the bartender. You weren’t used to this kind of attention, often keeping a natural look. However, this was your friend and co-worker’s birthday. You wanted to spice things up and look incredible for her. Of course, when Maisie saw you for the first time, she was surprised. In fact, her jaw dropped at how glamorous you looked. “Girl what the HELL! After Florence Pugh, you are a woman I’d proudly fuck.” You remember her particularly saying and that was the start of an incredibly wild night.

“Javier, can I get another tequila please!” You scream with excitement at the bar, Javier proudly pours you your sixth tequila shot.

“This one’s on the house my darling, Y/N.” He pushed the shot glass in front of you and your eyes widen with excitement. You had to admit, you do have a thing for tequila so this man feeding you free drinks made the night all the better.

“You spoil me.” You winked as you took the shot and walked off to join the rest of your friends.

The night followed with more dancing and more drinks between your friends. At some point on the floor, you started to get tired and your craving for more drinks kicked in because you found yourself at the bar once again. This time you were looking for something more than a shot. “Okay, so it’s like a sex on the beach but like so much fruiter, like with strawberries!” You tried to explain but in your drunken state, Javier couldn’t help but laugh as he struggled listening to you.

“You know what? You tell me what to do and I’ll make it for you.” He said and a devious grin appeared on your face. So you watched, instructing him on how to make your special cocktail and when he finished, he threw a small umbrella inside it to serve you. You sipped it and couldn’t help but moan. It was glorious...Well maybe it would’ve been if you could taste it at all.

“Can I have what she’s having?” A baritone voice said beside you. You turned with your eyebrow raised. “And I’ll pay for hers.”

He reached into his wallet, still looking into your eyes as he handed Javier his card. You weren’t sure whether it was the alcohol or the fact you were practically pushed against each other with how packed the bar was but this man was...incredibly handsome. Rugged dirt blonde hair, bright blue eyes that gave you butterflies and his dark blue shirt didn’t help as you couldn’t help but stare at his chest from time to time. Javier turned back to make your drink for the stranger and handed it over to him. “If you’re going to have a cocktail, you’ve got to get it right. Strawberries with the ice.” He said with a smirk but you couldn’t hear him. Not with the music blasting over you...and his dreamy eyes. “What?” You tried to shout out. “I said-” He could barely get a word out in all the noise and you could see it. Quickly, you grabbed his hand and pulled him to a quieter table in the corner. “That’s better - wow.” He suddenly stopped himself when he took another look at you. “You’re really beautiful.” “Smooth.” You chuckled. Alright, so at this point, usually you would say thanks and dip to find your friends. However, this man, bless him, appeared mesmerized by you. He was in awe of you and not just looking at your chest or your figure as though he were some creep. You both hadn’t realised you were still holding hands, leaning into each other.

“Hey, that’s unfair! I’m not usually bold with women.” Something about the mystery man was telling you he was honest. “The strong and silent type is full of surprises.” He said and you swear to god, you could see even he knew what he was doing with that statement. To be honest, he was right. With those eyes, he wouldn’t have to say a single word to get you to go home with him. Throughout the night, you both kept rambling to each other about everything and nothing but you were both having fun, laughing together and putting each other at ease. Your friends must’ve noticed you because they were all staring at the two of you in awe, sharing drinks together, leaning into each other. Then ‘Someone New’ by Hozier began to play. Oh no. Any slow song that played while you were next to a man was a recipe for disaster. The mystery man ,on his high, pulled you closer. “Oh no, I can’t go out there!” You said. “Come on, what happened to that confidence I saw earlier?!” He laughed. “Listen, I can pick and choose when I want to be brave!” You snapped back. “Why are you so bold all of a sudden?!” “What can I say? You bring out a new side to me.” He laughed and before you could fight back, he managed to bring you to the floor. You couldn’t tell him why this was a bad idea but...maybe it wasn’t now you were in his arms, moving around the floor. He held you close and you didn’t want to leave. Not with the high of the drinks and after such a good night filled with laughter. Who knows? Maybe when you wake up the next day, you’d regret it. But for now, you were going to appreciate being here with him...but now you were filled with anticipation, you were craving something. Uh oh. You were craving him. Suddenly, a surge of confidence filled you and you looked up at him. He had already been looking at you. Quickly, he leaned in and you found yourselves kissing with a raw, fiery passion that remained unmatched. You could tell how much he wanted you. In fact, you could feel it as he pressed you against him. But you didn’t care. You ran your fingers through his hair, now the heated kiss becoming lazy until you bit his lip, catching him by surprise. When you pulled back breathlessly, he smirked. “Oh shut up, I know what you’re going to say.” You playfully pushed his chest.

The hangover the next day was going to be ridiculous but you didn’t care. The mystery man had you all over him, and he? All over you.

Rain violently bounced against the wall of your office. Across you sat Maisie, who happened to be an English lecturer. You were one of the lecturers, who had just finished your PHD in Media and Cultural Studies and when offered a job at the university, you couldn’t help yourself but stay. It was decent pay after all and after three years with the university, you realised your students loved you. There were wild lecturers in the school of arts department, who overshared and gladly you weren’t one of them but your students knew you well enough to seem relatable. However, you were hoping that today they would not quiz you on your hangover. Especially your seminar classes, they really loved hearing whatever you went through. Right now, you sat at the table, head against the desk of your office while Maisie watched you groan. “Oh my god.” Was all you could mumble. This was not how you wanted to spend your first week back of the second semester. Your head was pounding violently, you were nauseous, stomach turning. The only thing saving you was the cup of coffee you had in hand, after being forced to take an espresso shot, you were still practically dead. Maisie simply sat there shaking her head. God, she had no right to judge you after goading you into going out. “You should have known not to go hard on the drinks!” “But...free…” The words fell from your lips. “Javier gives free drinks all the time, I’m surprised it doesn’t get him fired. You should’ve known, he did this last time. Actually, that reminds me, where did you go last night?” And then you remembered. You went off with a mystery man, an incredibly handsome mystery man. That, you were fortunate enough to remember. With your head against the table, you smirked, so your friend wouldn’t see. “Don’t pretend as if we didn’t see you walking off and kissing that man, who by the way is a huge score! We spent all night fangirling about him.” Maisie said with excitement but all you could do was groan again, “Come on! You have to tell me! What happened?” “Nothing happened.” You mumbled into your arms. Okay something happened but you still didn’t want to say anything. “Don’t lie to me! You have to tell me, it was my birthday, meaning you have to tell me what YOU did on my day!”

You still refused to move. As your knight in shining armour, the Head of Faculty, Andrew stormed into the room, coffee mug and binder in hand. “Right! Who’s ready for a day full of learning ladies!” Maisie laughed as all you could let out was a groan. “Oh, not you too!” He let out an irritated huff. “This is ridiculous. Seems like there’s a lot of hangovers going around this morning.” “Really?” Maisie said, leaning forward with excitement. “Yeah, I just got off the phone with the guest lecturer. He is bloody hungover too. Could hear it in his voice.” Shit. Guest lecturer. One of the senior lecturers decided to go on a research leave mid-year, which didn’t help your cause as you were left with over one hundred students needing attention. That is when the head of faculty, Andrew, who you adored, decided to call in a guest lecturer, an industry expert in the field to provide you with support. Only thing is, Andrew was unpredictable, so you didn’t know who he had in store. You only knew he was a pretty popular journalist in Europe. Weren’t you supposed to be meeting him before the class? “He said he’s going to be running late.” Thank god for that. You didn’t need Andrew screaming at you about representing the university under a negative light. Before Andrew could get to scolding you, however, your alarm went off. Swiftly, you jumped up and swiped all your folders. “Class! Got to get to class!” Was all you could muster before leaving the room, and your colleagues, incredibly shocked.

Students filled the lecture hall for the first lesson of the semester, which didn’t surprise you. There were a lot of familiar faces as usual. A couple of new ones but most of the students knew when you were out of it and these were the ones present. Andrew followed you in, watching intently, hoping you wouldn’t screw this up. But everyone knew the rules. The moment your mug was placed against the desk, everyone was silent, eagerly listening to hear from you. “Morning everyone! Welcome back, I hope you have all had a wonderful Christmas break! Just know that for many of you who took my module last year, yes, I am currently in the process of grading your assignments and the results will be distributed next week. However, I am not here to talk about that. Right now, it is time to turn over a new page! So, for those of you that don’t know me, I am Dr. Y/N Y/LN. I am totally cool without the whole formal title and I am a lecturer in Media and Cultural studies and welcome to my module Introduction to Investigative Journalism. This is where we’ll be in touch with some of the world’s most notorious cases from the role investigative journalism played in the portrayal of criminals from the likes of Charles Ponzi, Pablo Escobar, Charles Bronson to female serial killers such as Velma Barfield and Judy Buenoano. We will be looking at cold cases such as the murder of Olof Palme to the story of D.B. Cooper and corruption amongst transnational and multinational companies such as the fall of Wennerstrom. I know this feels like a criminology course and having the stomach would be ideal, however this is incredibly interesting if you want to look into serious crimes and learn about political corruption. I mean I didn’t have the stomach at first but you learn to live with it.” The students laughed. Andrew was in awe of how professional you managed to be but then again that is why the university needed you. They knew you were the young voice they needed to liven things up and get students intrigued, no matter how hungover or ill you were. “ Now, as you know, Dr. Woodbridge has taken a research leave so today, I believe that Andrew has called in a guest lecturer who will be here throughout the second half of the module to provide support and as an industry expert will hopefully be able to answer the questions you all will have.”

Andrew stepped forward, grinning from ear to ear as he headed to the centre. He gave you a wink to praise the way you pulled yourself together and turned to the rest of the class. “Thank you very much, Y/N. Couldn’t have introduced the module better myself, you have me excited and I’m not even taking it! Anyway, without further ado, I am honoured to introduce to you all your guest lecturer today, he is an investigative journalist and co-owner of Swedish magazine, Millennium, Mikael Blomkvist!” The class gave an applause and so did you as the man walked through the door. Then your applause slowed...hang on a minute. Why did the name Mikael sound familiar? Mikael walked in with a smile, waving at the glass, sporting glasses and a warm cardigan, smiling but then he turned to you and then it hit you. This was YOUR mystery man!

#mikael blomkvist #daniel craig #mikael blomkvist x reader #the girl with the dragon tattoo #crime #fan fiction #romance #daniel craig x reader #james bond #James Bond 007

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kirishimaswife2819 · 4 years ago

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A Night To Remember || Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Summary: You’ve always had a rough relationship with your mother, and you get emotional after meeting Midoriya’s mom

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Brief mentions of verbal abuse and emotional neglect

Notes: y/f/h=your favorite hobby, and I don’t mention it in the story, but in this oneshot, your father isn’t present

A/n: I feel like Izuku’s mom would be so motherly and sweet with Izuku’s s/o, so I thought this would be a cute idea. Thanks to everybody who has requested, I’m working on getting those done. I hope you all have a good day/night! - Danielle <3

Your relationship with your mother has never been a very good one. Sure, she didn’t beat you, and she didn’t ignore your physical needs, but she did ignore your emotional needs, and your mental health. Once you turned ten, you got scolded for crying or being upset about something, she would yell and tell you to suck it up and stop being a baby.

She also found any and every reason to put you down. Whether it was about your grades, your friends, your hobbies, or even your physical appearance, she always found something that she didn’t like about you and she would put you down for it. It wasn’t uncommon for her to call you ‘useless’, or say that you weren’t good enough to become a hero.

That was one of the reasons that you were so scared to meet Izuku’s mother. You were worried that she would think the same about you as your mother did, and that she would hate you. After learning this, Izuku immediately reassured you that his mother was really nice and that she would love you just as much as he did.

It wasn’t that you thought Izuku would lie to you, or that you thought his mother wasn’t as nice as he was claiming. It was more that you were worried that you would be the one exception, and she wouldn’t like you or be nice to you.

You knew you were going to have to meet her eventually, and that you couldn’t push it off forever, but that didn’t make it any easier. But it had been four months since you and Izuku had been together, and although he understood your situation, and how nervous you were, he also knew that there was no way that Inko wouldn’t love you. And his mother had been asking him if she could meet you, and she wasn’t letting it go. Almost every night, Izuku called his mother and talked to her for a bit, and every one of those nights, any time Izuku would mention you, she would ask if she could meet you sometime soon.

And that’s how you ended up in your current situation. You and Izuku were hand in hand as you stood outside of the apartment. Izuku gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, before speaking.

“Can I knock now?” He asked, referring to the fact that you two had been standing there for a few minutes already.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you said, taking a deep breath, and looking up from the ground and to the door. Izuku raised the hand that wasn’t holding yours and knocked on the door. You heard some noise inside, before the door swung open to reveal Izuku’s mother. She looked a little different than she did in some of the photos Izuku had shown you, but that was only because most of those photos were taken when Izuku was a child.

“Hey mom,” Izuku said, giving his mom a smile. She returned it, and immediately pulled her son into a hug. Izuku slipped his hand out of yours, so he could give her a proper hug in return.

“Hi, Izuku, how have you been?” She asked, giving her son one last squeeze, before pulling away.

“Good,” Izuku replied, and he was about to introduce you, but his mother had already greeted you.

“Oh, you must be Y/n. Izuku has told me so much about you,” she said, smiling at you.

“Yeah, it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Midoriya,” you said, trying to hide how nervous you were.

“You can call me Inko if you’d like,” she said, before stepping back inside and opening the door the whole way, “Please come in.” You followed her inside, and slipped off your shoes, before she led you to the living room.

“Here you both can sit down, would you like anything to drink?” She questioned, as you and Izuku sat down beside each other.

“No, I’m alright, thank you though,” you replied, giving her a small smile. She returned it, before looking to Izuku.

“No, I’m good,” Izuku replied.

“Okay, well, dinner’s almost done, so you two can wait here while I finish it up,” she said, going to leave, before Izuku spoke up.

“Wait, do you need help?”

“No, I’m good, I’ll let you know when it’s done,” Inko said, before going to the kitchen to finish cooking. Since the kitchen was fairly close to the living room, Izuku whispered to you, so his mother wouldn’t hear and start to worry.

“Are you okay?” Izuku asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, “I’m still a little nervous, but your mom’s really nice.”

“See, I told you,” Izuku said, glancing to make sure that his mother wasn’t looking, before giving you a quick forehead kiss. You two started talking about your classes at U.A. for a while, before Inko called for you two to come sit down. She made your favorite food for you all to have for dinner.

“Thank you, this is so nice of you, you really didn’t have to make this,” you said, smiling as you sat down. You and Izuku sat down across from Inko.

“Oh, that’s alright. I just wanted to leave a good first impression,” Inko said, “I also made cookies for dessert.”

“Thanks, mom, this looks good,” Izuku said, putting some food onto his plate. You did the same, before you all began digging in.

“So, Y/n, Izuku told me that you liked y/f/h, how’d you get into that?” Inko asked, trying to start up a conversation.

“Oh, I’m not really sure, I guess when..,” you started and then went on to explain how you got into the hobby and why you liked it. You were kind of nervous to tell her about it, since your mother had told you that it was stupid and useless, but you didn’t want to just brush off or ignore her question.

“Really?” She questioned, whenever you were done, “That’s nice, it seems like you have a lot of fun doing it.”

“I do, it’s pretty fun,” you replied, before taking a sip of your drink.

“I might have to try it sometime,” Inko said, “What else do you like to do?” The rest of the dinner was filled with Inko asking about your hobbies, or other things that Izuku had told her about you. It was a bit embarrassing to have all the attention on you for the whole dinner, but you got used to it after a while. During the time you were eating dinner and speaking with Inko, you started to find it easier to express yourself around her and talk to her about yourself. How could you not? She was being so supportive about everything.

After dinner, she sent you back to the couch, while Izuku helped her put the dishes in the sink, and put the leftovers away. After that, Izuku came to the couch, and she sat the plate of cookies on the table, along with a few glasses of milk, before leaving you two alone, claiming she had to go look for something.

“I wonder what she’s looking for,” Izuku said, grabbing a cookie and dipping it into the milk, before taking a bite.

“Me too,” you replied, taking a cookie and taking a bite, before speaking again, “Mmm, these are good.”

“I know, my mom makes the best cookies,” Izuku said, smiling at your reaction to his mothers cooking. He was happy how well you and his mom were getting along. Soon, Inko came back, carrying a cardboard box.

“I was grabbing some of Izuku’s stuff from when he was little,” Inko explained, setting the box down on the other side of the coffee table. The first thing she pulled out was a small stack of kids books, the next was a bag filled with a few items of clothing, and the last were two binders. One of the binders was green, with Izuku’s name on the front, and the next was black, with nothing on the front.

“Do we have to show them all this?” Izuku asked, blushing at the idea of you seeing all of his photos from when he was little. Sure, he’d shown you some photos before, but his mother had way more, and it was kind of embarrassing.

“Don’t be like that, Izuku, I’m sure they’d love to see all your photos from when you were a kid. Right, Y/n?” Inko asked, glancing at you. You nodded in reply, and Inko smiled, before sitting down beside you on the couch. She made sure you had plenty of space, before picking up the bag. Inko pulled out various articles of clothing from when Izuku was a baby, and explained the history behind them, but the one that really caught your eye was the last one. It was a clearly worn All Might onesie. Inko smiled as she pulled this one out.

“And this was his favorite All Might onesie,” she explained, “He didn’t even like taking it off so I could wash it.” You reached forward and took the cloth from her hands, feeling how soft it was. Inko smiled at your reaction before going on, “I’m actually pretty sure he started crying when he couldn’t fit into it anymore.”

“Mom!” Izuku yelled, clearly embarrassed by his mother. Inko ignored his scolding, and she watched how happy you were to be holding something that your boyfriend used to love.

“You can keep it if you’d like,” Inko said, causing your head to snap up, and your eyes to meet hers, “You can give it to your own kids if you have any.”

“A-Are you sure?” You asked, “I mean, he’s your son, and I wouldn’t want to take something so important to you.”

“That’s alright, I probably have piles of his old All Might onesies,” Inko said, brushing it off.

“Thank you,” you said, holding the clothing in your lap.

“Now, how about we look at photos,” Inko said, putting the clothes back into the bag, before grabbing the photo albums. For the next hour or so, you all looked at photos of Izuku’s childhood. It was full of a lot of Inko telling you stories, and Izuku yelling at her for embarrassing him. At some point, you all got off topic, and started talking about U.A. and becoming heroes.

“Izuku’s told me a lot about how far you’ve come along with your quirk,” Inko started, before continuing, “He’s also told me that you sometimes doubt your ability to become a hero. But from what I hear, I think you’ll make a great hero.”

“You do?” You asked, unable to stop the tears from forming in your eyes. Your friends had told you multiple times that you were going to be an amazing hero, but it felt different coming from somebody who has been acting like a better mom than your own, even though you had just met her.

“Of course I do,” Inko replied, “You’re a great person, and you’ll make an even better hero.” At this point, you couldn’t stop the first tear that fell and hit your lap. Izuku immediately began freaking out at this, as well as his mother.

“Don’t cry, Y/n, it’s alright,” Izuku said, panicking, and immediately pulling you into a side hug. You were now letting your tears fall. Inko came by your other side and also hugged you, hating seeing her son’s significant other crying because of something she had said.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Inko said, addressing it for the first time since the night began. Izuku had told her briefly about what your mother was like, and she felt terrible for you, “If you ever need anything, you have me.” You took a few minutes to cry, before you calmed down. Inko pulled away from the hug, giving you and Izuku space before he wiped your tears, and kissed your forehead.

“Thank you, Inko,” you said through sniffles, wiping at your wet cheeks after you pulled away from Izuku.

“You’re welcome,” Inko said, giving you a comforting smile, “We still have a whole binder to go through of photos from Izuku’s childhood, do you wanna keep going?”

“I think we’ll pass,” Izuku spoke up, “It’s getting late and we should probably get back to the dorms.”

“Oh, alright,” Inko said, “You two can wait by the door, I just need to grab something.” Izuku led you to the door, and watched as you slipped your shoes on. You were still holding his old All Might onesie, as his mother approached you again. She was holding a plastic container, filled with the cookies she had made, “Here have some for back at U.A.”

“Thank you,” you said, taking the container, “Thank you for tonight.”

“You’re welcome, Y/n. You’re welcome back any time,” Inko said, before turning to her son, “You take care of them, all right?”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Izuku said, slipping his hand into yours.

“You better,” she said, before giving him a quick hug, “Have fun at U.A., text me when you get there so I know that you’re safe, alright?”

“I will, mom,” Izuku said, before opening the door and guiding you outside, “Bye mom, love you.”

“I love you too, Izuku,” Inko said, before turning to you, “Goodbye, Y/n, I’ll see you sometime soon, hopefully.”

“Don’t worry, you will,” you said, smiling, “Bye, see you soon.” She gave you both one last smile, before closing the door. You and Izuku began your walk back to U.A., both happy about how the night went.

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya #midoriya x reader #midoriya #midoriya izuku #izuku #inko midoriya #inko #x reader #mha #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #oneshot #bnha oneshot #bnha oneshots #mha oneshot #mha oneshots

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lightsovermonaco · 4 years ago

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface.

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion.

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan.

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way.

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness.

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound.

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up."

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though."

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong.

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up."

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives.

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over."

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly.

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners.

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort.

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day.

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot.

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated.

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself.

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could.

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind.

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn.

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre.

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor.

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened.

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you.

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress.

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't.

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands.

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment.

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night.

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed.

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band.

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor.

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused.

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval

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prettyboybarzal · 4 years ago

Text

Get You

Pairing: Sammy Blais x Reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Smut… Smutty smut smut. Just the works, you know?

A/N: In July, me and @bandgirlsclub were talking about my Sammy feels… and we talked about how he seems innocent and inexperienced, but he probably is a lil devil in the sheets. So, I needed to write it (for my own research and now for yours too.) This has like zero plot. It’s just sex. Enjoy and let me know what you think!! Title is based on the song “Get You” by Daniel Caesar and Kali Unchis. I couldn’t come up with another title name and I just love this song so, if you don’t like it... TOUGH.

Translations:

J'ai vraiment envie de toi: I really want you.

Vous êtes si belle: You’re so beautiful

Tu as tellement bo goût: You taste so good.

mon ange: My angel

Masterlist.

Then.

When you told your friends about your crush on Sammy Blais back in 2014, they all laughed in your face. Sammy Blais? They repeated after you admitted to it. How can you even see him as a sexual being? Like, what the fuck kind of question was that? You were insulted by their response, annoyed they so easily pushed him to the side for his other, more promiscuous teammates.

Sammy, as you knew him, was a bit quiet and reserved, but he was also always one of the funniest people in the room. If everyone just listened to him, like you did, they would understand why you found him so endearing. It was a combination of whispered jeers at his teammates and pointed looks shared from across a crowded room when someone did or said something stupid.

But how could they know any of that when he didn’t share it with anyone except you? He wasn’t making those same comments in your friends’ ears or sharing winks and eye rolls across the room with them either. It was only ever to you.

He thought your friends were nice enough, but they were a little too in-your-face for his liking. You, however, caught his attention because much like himself, you faded into the background as well. For the same reasons, you were drawn to each other. It was hard to find one of you without the other at parties like the one where the incident occurred.

As the 2014 NHL Draft approached, you realized it was now or never. Something needed to be done before he slipped away. And he was thinking the same thing.

That night, while the party raged on around you, you sat on the couch with your legs pulled up over his lap. His hand rested between your thighs, right at the top of your knee. His thumb traced circles along your skin as you talked about anything that could possibly get a response out of him, whether it be a giggle or one word or even an unexpected tangent.

You were unsure how long you spent on that couch with him, but your friends took notice and cleared the room to get you some privacy. They may not have understood the appeal of your crush on Sammy, but they sure as hell were going to get you what you wanted.

“Where’d the party go?” you asked, hoping that your nerves hadn’t crept into the sound of your voice. Sammy glanced around at the empty room and then sighed softly.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” he answered quite honestly. You laughed softly as you lifted your gaze to his. “Let’s be honest, we’re always looking for each other at these things.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Silence settled between the two of you for the first time as the reality of the relationship between you was clear. It had always been something a little bit more than friendship.

You were still smiling at each other, conversations shared through fleeting looks. He was unsure of himself, unsure of how you felt about him still after all this time. So, his next move was tentative. He couldn’t just come out and do it. He needed permission first.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nodded, unable to find the words that were stuck in the back of your throat.

Sammy leaned in, hand gripping your knee as he tugged you just a bit closer to him. And then his lips met yours in a slow and purposeful kiss. It was cautious and careful, like he was scared to break you, and you were practically dripping with anticipation for what else could come of it. His hands remained where they’d been, one in between your knees and then other against your cheek.

The kiss slowed and he pulled away looking bashful, but you were itching for more. You scooched in closer and leaned in again. He took the hint and did the same. He tried to add a little more spice to it and leaned in quickly to capture your lips. Instead, you ended up bumping heads and you bit his lip by accident.

“Ow.”

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted. He brought his fingers to his lip and there was a little blood on the pad of his thumb when he removed it. Suddenly, the front door opened and if the bleeding lip and minor concussion wasn’t even to ruin the moment, his teammates would.

“Party’s here!”

You were standing before you could even think and Sammy was left looking defeated as his teammates swept you up in hugs and greeted him. They plopped down right in the spot you’d once been and started opening beers to catch up with the rest of the party. Someone shoved a cold beer in Sammy’s hand, swallowing up the warmth that he’d once felt against your cheek.

He didn’t know if he should’ve gone after you, but he stayed put on the couch anyway. He figured he could at least give you a little space after knocking his forehead against yours. But, ultimately that ended up being a huge mistake.

For the rest of the night, he left a wide berth between the two of you. He could’ve blamed it on his nerves or embarrassment over that shitty first kiss. Ultimately, it was his immaturity that ruined it all. Looking back on it now, he could confidently say so.

It was nearing the end of the night when he heard you gossiping with the girls. He probably shouldn’t have stayed to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t help it. He felt like he was cemented in place.

“I don’t know what happened,” he heard you whisper. “We kissed, and then when we went to kiss again it was all so awkward. We bumped heads and I bit his lip. He started bleeding, and then the rest of the boys showed up, so I just got up and walked away.”

“See, I told you Sammy doesn’t really know what he’s doing when it comes to girls.”

You murmured, “Everything was going so well!”

“It’s just how he is.”

Sammy rolled his eyes, mentally beating himself up for fucking up what he’d been planning for months. He heard the fridge door open and then the hiss of a beer can opening, and then a long and loud sigh.

“I should’ve just listened to you guys.”

He straightened up, brows drawn together in frustration. Of all the responses he thought you’d give, that wasn’t one of them. Had all those months sitting on the couches at house parties not shown you who he really was? He wasn’t just some bumbling idiot with a little schoolboy crush.

“So, are you over it? The crush?”

Before you could answer, he slipped back down the hallway. He tossed his half-full beer can in a garbage bag and walked right out the front door and all the way home.

Now.

After that night, Sammy’s bruised ego took a long time to heal. He moved to St. Louis and put all his effort towards his hockey career, pushing the soul crushing moments shared with you to the back of his mind. His teammates took him under their wing quickly and he was taught how to scope out the bars for someone to take home. Through trial and error, Sammy learned how to flirt and, most importantly, how to make a woman cum.

There were moments that he thought back to that night and wished he could change it. Of all the crushes he’d had in his life, the one on you never went away. Though he avoided home like the plague, his friends were still friends of yours, so he heard about you from time-to-time. They practically begged him to visit, at least just once a year, to catch up with everyone. He was hesitant. Too bruised and stubborn to see you once again.

Sure enough, they broke him down and when he returned home after the end of the 2019-2020 season, he found himself at the very same party as you.

You were the first person he saw when he walked into his former teammate’s house because of course you would be. You were perched atop the kitchen counter in a dress and heels, champagne glass in hand. Even though the music in the apartment was loud, he heard your laughter loud and clear as he entered.

“Sammy!”

He was surprised by your exclamation and, although his other friends shouted his name as well, he only focused on you as you hopped off the counter and ran over to him. Your arms looped around his waist.

“I didn’t believe the boys when they said you were coming.”

You smelled the same, like lavender and vanilla and something fruity. Your hair felt soft under his touch as he pulled you tighter to his chest.

“I’m happy you’re here.”

He smiled at you and responded, “Me too.”

As soon as your hug was over, he was gone. His friends swept him up beneath their arms and ushered him off to grab drinks.

When you returned to the girls, they watched you with knowing looks.

“Still?” one of them asked. You were avoiding their eyes, that much was certain.

“What do you mean still?”

“You still have a crush on him?”

You took the last swig of your drink and waved them off dismissively, saying, “No, of course not. It’s been six years.”

Apparently, six years was just enough time for that crush to grow.

Everyone at the bar was equally as excited to see Sammy return home, so you felt a bit deflated when he spent the better part of the night catching up with people you knew he couldn’t stand. The Sammy you once knew wasn’t the Sammy before you. This Sammy possessed an air of confidence you’d never seen and carried himself around the bar like he had a million better things to do, even though you knew he’d just be at home on the couch if he didn’t accept the invite.

He’d grown out of the stage in his life where he needed to sneak off to the couch in the corner with you, and that realization stung more than you wanted to admit. So, as you watched him talk to another random girl about two hours into the night, you stepped outside into the cool Summer air. He caught sight of you as you went and, though he wanted to push the thought of joining you out of his mind, he ended up excusing himself from the conversation he was having just to follow you.

He exited the bar and stepped onto the pavement of the sidewalk outside, eyes grazing each smoker’s face to see if you’d blended in with any of them. And then, there you were, at the corner of the bar and an alleyway beside it.

“Hiding?” he asked as soon as he was within earshot. You looked up from your phone and smiled at him, pushing yourself just slightly off the wall to give him your full attention.

“Maybe.”

“Can I hide with you?”

“Of course.”

He leaned his shoulder up against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. You tried not let your eyes wander, but it was hard to ignore how defined his muscles had gotten since the last time you’d seen him.

“Nothing’s really changed, huh? They’re all just as crazy as they’ve always been.”

You hummed and then spoke what had been on your mind all night, “We’ve changed. Neither one of us have ended up sneaking off to hide from the party.”

“Until now,” he added, motioning between the two of you and the outside air.

“Do you remember when we used to just sit in the corner at parties and talk all night?”

He nodded, responding, “That was the only reason I ever went to those parties.”

“That’s not true.”

“Did you ever see me anywhere other than by your side?”

You laughed at his question and that was answer enough.

“Do you remember when we kissed?” he asked. The question tumbled from his lips shamelessly. Not even a blush came over his cheeks as he asked. Yours, on the other hand, was clear. “I’ve thought about that kiss way more than I’d like to admit.”

When his eyes lifted to yours, you felt a chill run down your spine. His eyes were dark and yearning and they kept flickering to your lips and back to your eyes again. So, you said, “Me too.”

Everything that happened next was a blur. He grabbed your hand and tugged you out of sight into the alley. His hands gripped your hips and pressed you against the brick as his lips captured yours in a feverish and needy fashion.

You felt the kiss from your head to your toes. It was unlike the one you shared years ago. Sammy was more sure in himself, more confident, just like suspected. He had a lot to make up for. He nudged your legs apart with his knee as his tongue slipped past your lips and into your mouth. You moaned as you rubbed your core against his thigh.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to do this,” he spoke against your lips. You nodded, letting him know that you felt just the same. His lips hovered over your jaw for a moment before he pressed a kiss to it, then to the skin of your neck. Your head lulled to the side, giving him access to more skin. “I was just a kid back then. I had no idea how to handle a woman like you. But everything’s different now.”

“Different how?” you inquired, eager to know just what he meant by those words. He lifted his head from your neck and took your jaw between his fingers. He could tell you, or he could show you.

“Come home with me.”

You couldn’t leave fast enough. You went inside and complained to your girlfriends about stomach pains while he said goodbyes to the boys, letting them know he’d be taking an Uber with you to make sure you got home safely. No one batted an eye. Who would? It was just Sammy Blais.

Your car pulled up not even ten minutes later. He pulled the door open for you, stared at your ass as you entered, and then slid in right next to you, hand falling to your thigh once more. He shed himself of the light jacket he’d been wearing and threw it over your laps for a little privacy because keeping his hands to himself was not in the cards. With a dress that short, you couldn’t expect him to not touch you.

As the driver spoke nonsense into the otherwise quiet car, Sammy fingers trailed closer to your core until they were brushing along the fabric of your thong. A gasp escaped your lips at his touch.

“You alright, baby?” he asked, turning to look at you. The pet name caught you by surprise, but you simply bit your lip and nodded before dropping your head against his shoulder. He smiled contently and returned his attention to the man behind the wheel while his fingers continued their path.

He pushed the fabric aside and slipped a finger past the lips of your pussy. His movements were painfully slow and your heart hammered in your chest as you yearned for more. As if he could read your mind, he added a second finger to massage your folds and then he sunk them into your heat.

It was excruciating, the way he moved his fingers slowly in and out of you. You were desperate for more but each time you tried to get a little added friction, he pulled his fingers away with a warning glare. It was a sick game of cat and mouse that you were playing all the way to his apartment building.

He held your hand as you stepped out of the car on shaky legs and led you into the building. In the elevator, he lifted your chin and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before turning your back to his chest and enveloping you in his arms. You could feel his erection pressed against your ass and your pussy throbbed in anticipation of what was to come.

The moment his apartment door was closed, he was pressing you against it.

“J'ai vraiment envie de toi,” he whispered against your throat. You whimpered as he pushed your thong to the side again and pushed his fingers back into your cunt, curling them against your g-spot. “You’re so wet.”

The way he’d already worked your pussy in the car made his touch even more intense. He circled your clit with his thumb. His fingers worked your pussy as he sucked a mark into your neck. It wasn’t long before you began to grind against his hand, already so close to your first orgasm of the night. It was right there, so close, and then he pulled his fingers out and stepped back.

“Bedroom.”

While you flitted off to the bedroom, Sammy took his time kicking his shoes off at the door and dropping his jacket over a kitchen chair. So, you took the opportunity to peel the dress from your body, leaving you only in your panties as you crawled up to his headboard. The sound of his belt hitting the floor in the hallway had you spreading your legs and sliding your fingers beneath the waistband.

When Sammy stepped into the room, you could see him swallow as his eyes caught on your fingers in your pussy. His eyes were dark as he walked towards the end of the bed. In one swift movement, he wrapped a hand around your ankle and yanked you down the bed before grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“You’re impatient,” he grunted. “This pussy’s mine tonight.” He pressed a rough kiss to your lips. His free hand danced up your thigh and returned to your core. He slid two fingers between your folds. “Do you understand?” You nodded. He curled his fingers inside of you. “I want to hear you. Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours,” you breathed out, chest heaving beneath him.

“Vous êtes si belle.”

He leaned down and attached his lips to your nipple, sucking and biting and drawing all the beautiful sounds from you. His free hand was back to work, tugging your panties down to your knees.

“Do you want my fingers or my mouth?” he asked. He sucked on the sweet spot below your ear, making it nearly impossible to speak. “Choose.”

“Your mouth,” you choked out. “I want your mouth.”

He left a trail of kisses from your neck all the way to your chest, tongue licking and sucking at your nipples before continuing down your stomach to your hips. As he began to your thighs, his fingers played with your nipples, setting off every nerve in your body. You opened your eyes to look down at him between your thighs and as soon as your gaze met his, he licked a stripe up your core.

You half-whispered, half-moaned, “Fuck.”

“Louder.”

Shy and reserved were two words that you’d never use to describe Sammy again, not after the way his tongue caressed you. The sounds that fell from your mouth only egged him on. He loved your moans, but he knew he could draw something more out of you. So, when his fingers began to work in tandem with his tongue and you released a scream, he was determined to get you to scream again.

You dropped your hands into his hair as his tongue stroked your core. You tugged and he groaned into your cunt, the vibration causing you to shudder beneath him. You began to grind against him as he tongue fucked you. The sound of your whimpers and heavy breathing only made him work harder and faster, eager to have you cum on his face.

“Tu as tellement bo goût.”

You quivered beneath him, moaning out his name as your first orgasm washed over you. He couldn’t take his eyes off your face as it twisted in pleasure while he continued to lap up the wetness of your pussy. You placed your hands at the top of his head as the stimulation became too much and pushed him away lightly.

He stood, admiring every inch of your naked body as you caught you breath beneath him. You looked fucking perfect and so fucked out already that he was too eager to see what you’d look like after taking his dick.

“Come on, baby,” he spoke softly. “You’re not tapping out are you?”

“Fuck you,” you grunted, blissed out smile betraying your own words.

“Please do,” he said, eyes dark.

After a deep breath, you got onto all fours before crawling to the end of bed to undo his jeans. He watched you hungrily as your fingers moved along the zipper and pushed the pants down. After he kicked them to the side, you trailed your fingers along the waistband of his underwear and watched him shiver. You never wanted to watch someone unravel more than you wanted him to.

You pulled them off and freed his cock, eyes lighting up at the size of it. He smiled down at you, admiring the way you looked on your knees for him.

Your hands curled around his member, gathering the precum from the tip to coat over it. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he studied your every movement. One hand cupped your cheek and slid into the hair at the back of your head as you brought your lips closer. You wrapped your lips around his length, tongue flattening against it as you took him deeper.

He wanted to keep watching, but he could hardly keep his eyes open or his head from lulling to the side. Your mouth felt so good around him. With one hand on his shaft and the other on his balls, he could hardly think straight. Your tongue teased his tip before taking him in again, gasps escaping his mouth. Each time, you took him deeper and faster and he could feel his orgasm building.

“Stop,” he grunted, hand wrapping in your hair to keep you from continuing. You were knelt in front of him with your mouth open, tongue out, so ready to take him back into your mouth. It was hard to resist. “Fuck, I want you to keep going, but I need to cum while I’m inside that pretty little pussy of yours.”

You whimpered at his words.

“Lay down.”

You did as you were told once again and watched as he grabbed a condom from inside his bedside table and rolled it over his cock. You spread your legs as he crawled up the bed. His hands traveled up your thighs again and he ran his fingers along your folds as he captured your lips in his again. Then, he pulled away to wrap his hand around his shaft.

“You gonna take my cock, mon ange?” he asked, his voice soft and sweet contrasting the vulgarity of his question. You nodded, desperate to feel him inside of you after all this time. Your hands fluttered down to grab his length and pull it into you, but he pulled back. The smirk on his lips was teasing, mischievous. “Beg for it.”

“Sammy,” you whined. He shook his head, hand pumping himself as he waited impatiently to get what he wanted. “Please.”

“You can do better than that, pretty girl. Tell me how badly you want it.”

Never would you have thought those words could come from timid Sammy Blais, but he hovered over you, staring darkly at your naked form with demands falling effortlessly from his lips. This was what he’d been hiding this entire time? You wanted more of it.

“C’mon, baby,” you moaned. He watched your lips as you begged and brushed the head of his member along your entrance. “I need your cock. I want you to fill me up and fuck me until I’m screaming. Don’t make me wait any longer, please.”

Finally, he pushed into you. He sucked in a deep breath as you threw your head back, eyes clamping shut. He gave you a moment to adjust, using it for himself to breathe as well. He wanted this to last more than a few minutes. You nodded at him to move once you were ready and he fucked into you slowly, murmuring, “You’re so fucking tight.”

“You feel so good,” you told him, fingers curling through the hair at the nape of his neck. You wrapped your hands around his biceps as his thrusts got faster. When he bottomed out, he stilled to get a good look at the euphoria on your face. You met his eyes and wrapped your legs around his hips. “Harder, Sammy. Please.”

You were still begging and he fucking loved it. He snapped his hips to yours again, then again, and again. He swallowed your moans with his lips. You wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him in farther. You were so full of him, but you just couldn’t get enough.

He buried his face into your neck as his thrusts became sloppier. He sucked along your neck, no doubt leaving marks that could be discovered tomorrow. Your nails dug into his shoulders leaving marks of your own. The sound of his heavy breathing and the whimpers falling from your lips indicated that you were both rapidly approaching your highs.

Sammy wrapped an arm around your waist and flipped your bodies to have you on top. In this new position, he heled you to his chest and fucked up into you. He was hitting every spot and you were a moaning mess with each thrust.

“Cum, YN,” he spoke through jagged breaths. “Cum all over my cock.”

His hand snaked back to your core as you rode him, massaging the sensitive bud to help get you to your orgasm. You chanted his name as your walls fluttered around him. He fucked you through your climax, French curses falling from his lips and into the skin of your neck.

He continued through your aftershocks, chasing his orgasm desperately as your obscene moans filled the room. He came with a final thrust that you felt in your stomach and he collapsed on top of you breathing heavily. Your fingernails scratched his back soothingly as he softened inside of you.

He rolled over and stared at the ceiling as his breathing evened out. You did the same, though one of your hands reached out to curl your fingers between his. He glanced over at you with pink cheeks and sighed, “Holy shit.”

After a moment, you asked, “Sammy, why haven’t you been fucking me like that since high school?”

He rolled over to hover over you once more and kissed you hard, all with a smile on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I told you that I didn’t know what I was doing back then.”

“Well, you definitely do now.”

“And that means I have six years to make up for,” he said, biting lightly on your bottom lip. “I hope you aren’t planning on sleeping for a while.”

Sammy picked you up and carried you out of the bedroom, smiling while listening to your giggles the entire way. When he dropped you, it was in the bathroom and he turned the shower on before turning to trail his eyes along your body to your eyes.

“How about a shower?”

Bonus

“Where’s YN?” one of your roommates called down the hall to the others in the kitchen. She was standing in your doorway, staring at the empty bed in front of her in confusion. The other girls approached from the kitchen and stopped once they saw what she was looking at.

“I thought Sammy brought her here last night.”

“Me too.”

“I thought one of you checked last night.”

The sound of a key in the lock of the front door had them running to the living room to greet you. You pushed the door open totally not expecting to be bombarded by the girls.

“Where have you been?” “Is that a St. Louis Blues sweatshirt?” “Is that Sammy’s number on the sleeve?” “Is that a hickey?!”

As they asked their questions and made assumptions, albeit correct ones, you walked into the kitchen to grab a water bottle. They followed, still echoing the same questions over and over. Finally, as you sat at the kitchen table, they simmered.

“I was at Sammy’s,” you said. You pinched the shoulder of the hoodie and waved the material. “and this is his sweatshirt,” you continued. You yanked the collar away from your neck. “and these are hickeys.”

“There’s more than one,” someone muttered.

The look on their faces were ones of pure shock. Their brains were struggling to understand what exactly happened last night, though the proof of it was right in front of them.

“You fucked Sammy?!”

You told them how his fingers worked you and the way he made you scream while you came like no other man had before. You told them about the shower you took after, how it was both and sexy and sweet the way that he washed your hair and then fucked you against the shower wall. And they sat there in shock, realizing that clearly they’d not known Sammy all that much after all.

Some things, though, you chose to keep to yourself. Like the sweet nothings he whispered in your ear this morning while he fucked you slowly and passionately in his bed just twenty minutes before dropping you off. And the promise he made to fuck you again, and again, and again.

#sammy blais fic #sammy blais imagine #hockey imagine #mk writes #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey smut #sammy blais story #st. louis blues fic #idk what else to tag

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dameronology · 4 years ago

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tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 1

part one: an insight into how microwaving tea should be a capital crime (fem! reader)

song for this chapter - ldn by lily allen

summary: you’re Percival; reigning queen of the Kingsman, certified bad-ass and one of the most self-sufficient women to have ever graced the City of London. A mission with the Statesmen is a chance to further your career and tighten your grip on international success - it’s a shame that Jack Daniels already has his eyes on the throne. He also has his eyes on you, and it proves to be a problem for you both. {series masterlist}

this has all the kingsman characters but doesn’t follow the canon of golden circle. eggsy, tequila, champ, merlin etc all crop up throughout the series as well! if u want to be tagged, gimme a shout

- jazz

You didn’t usually answer the door when someone knocked after 11PM.

It was just common sense, really. Only serial killers, creeps and people who had the wrong address would knock that late. You could have taken on any of those three regardless - you were a bad-ass after all - but you were also busy. You’d been tirelessly working all day at the office, and the grind didn’t stop just because you’d got home. The stack of paperwork beside your computer felt like it was never ending and you simply didn’t have the time to answer the door. Working as Kingsman was more of a lifestyle than it was a job.

‘Oi!’

You almost jumped out your seat when the banging moved to the window beside your desk. It overlooked your front lawn and the quiet street you lived on - well, as quiet as a street in central London could be. Classic to the city, rain was lashing down on the glass, obscuring your view of whoever your visitor was.

Right, you could add Eggsy Unwin to the list of people who knocked this late.

‘What the hell, Eggsy?!’ You sighed, opening the front door. Your colleague quickly rushed from where he was standing by the window, elbowing past you and into the dry warmth of your house. ‘It’s almost midnight-’

‘- I’ve been calling you for hours!’ The agent exclaimed.

‘I’ve been working all day.’ You replied.

It wasn’t the first time he’d turned up at your doorstep at a stupid hour. Eggsy was your colleague, but first and foremost, he was your best friend. He had a tendency to drive you up the fucking wall and right back down again, and had done since you were in your school years, but he’d always been a little dependent on you. Whether it had been letting him crash on your sofa when his stepfather became too much, or giving him a lift home from the police station at 2AM after he’d been arrested, you always had his back. He had yours too, but you rarely needed it. Even after becoming a member of the Kingsman and essentially saving the world, you were still the first person he came too.

After wrapping Eggsy up in a towel and escorting him to the kitchen, you placed a mug of warm tea on the table and sat beside him. Work could wait - for an hour or so at least. Chasing an internationally-reclaimed terrorist certainly took precedence over whatever your friend’s problems were, but if he needed you, he needed you. Bros before hoes might not have been the perfect saying for the situation, but the sentiment was definitely there.

‘What’s happened now?’ You quirked an eyebrow. ‘I know it ain’t an arrest because you would have called from the station otherwise.’

Eggsy thinned his eyes at you. ‘I haven’t been arrested in two years.’

‘So what was it?’

‘I had a fight with Tilde.’ He admitted. ‘I don’t know what happened, but she’s mad at me.’

‘Were you talking before she got mad?’

‘Yeah.��

You raised your mug in the air. ‘That’s probably it then.’

‘Y/N!’ He swatted your hand away, causing tea to spill out onto the table.

You sighed. ‘D’you wanna talk about it?’

‘No, I just need a place to crash.’

You stood up, leaning over the table to give his shoulder a squeeze. ‘You know where the spare room is, right?’

‘That’s it?’ He pouted. ‘Tea and a squeeze on the shoulder? My life is falling apart!’

‘Don’t be a drama queen.’ You replied. ‘I have to work - and you should be too. We’re close to getting Calahan.’

Calahan was the codename for the terrorist you’d been tracking - at least his current one. The man had worked under several aliases, jumping from country to country before finally falling under the jurisdiction of the British secret services. The MI5 and Scotland Yard were too well known to work such a sensitive case; the location of their offices were publicly known, making it easier for Calahan to slip in double agents. The civilians, however, had no knowledge on the Kingsmen. A tailor’s shop was a perfectly good front for a place to set up base and track the man down.

Thanks to your success on your previous missions, Arthur had put you in charge of finding him, with Eggsy assigned as your partner. He was just as good an agent as you, but you had little sympathy for his domestic issues.

‘I was working on it all day.’ Eggsy held his hands up in surrender. ‘But with all due respect, Percival, I don’t work into the late hours of the night. I know how to switch off.’

‘That’s because you’re a man, Eggsy.’ You reminded him. ‘I am one of three women at Kingsman.’

‘That’s still three more than there used to be.’

‘You’ve already pissed off one extremely patient woman tonight.’ You warned him, referring to Tilde. ‘Do you want to go two for two?’

‘No.’ He huffed. ‘Women are just complicated.’

‘Or maybe men are just dumb.’ You smiled sweetly, before brushing a hand through his hair. ‘You should get some rest.’

‘So should you.’

‘I’m fine.’ You shook your head. ‘I’ve got a meeting with Merlin in the morning. We’ll have to leave at eight.’

‘Do I have to go? Merlin hasn’t said anything to me-’

‘- yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I said so.’

He couldn’t argue with that.

The following morning, you were headed for the Kingsman headquarters by 9AM. Having filled Eggsy with some coffee and half a bacon-sandwich, he had cheered up considerably. You did feel for him - he had been right when he said that women were confusing - but your attention was still very much on work. That was the norm, really. You lived and breathed for your job. It wasn’t your whole identity but it was certainly your whole life. You were recruited at eighteen and now, it was all you knew. The other agents were your family.

‘C’mon, Eggsy!’ You demanded, practically leaping out your car. Your arms were piled high with files, keys dangling from your fingers as you kicked the door to the Mustang shut. It had been a present from Kingsmen for a particularly successful mission.

‘There’s no rush.’ Eggsy chided from behind you. ‘You should enjoy a little leisurely stroll once in a while. It might do that vein on your forehead some good.’

Whilst you were decked out in a blazer and black jeans, Eggsy was in his usual snapback and sports jacket. He trailed beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets as you both slipped inside the shop. It was quiet inside, the only sounds coming from the bell on the door and the sound of your heels on the polished wooden floors. You didn’t just wear them because they made your legs look endless - they doubled up as weapons too. Merlin hadn’t done anything special to them, it was just that anything was a blade if you tried hard enough. Your five inch Christian Louboutins were no different. The fact the bottoms were already red was purely a convenient coincidence.

‘She still hasn’t called me.’ Eggsy murmured.

‘I’m sure she will.’ You gave his arm a light squeeze. ‘Tilde loves you, Egghead.’

‘Fucking ‘ell.’ He let out a snort. ‘You haven’t called me that in years.’

The two of you made your way down the hall and towards the meeting room. Merlin was already sitting at the table, pens and notepads laid out in front of him. Considering that you’d worked together for years, you hardly knew the man. He was always working, always building new gadgets or arranging missions. Did he ever sleep? You wouldn’t have been surprised if it turned out that he’d been a droid this whole time. Someone had mentioned his name being Hamish once, but he didn’t seem like a Hamish. You always pegged him as more of a...Simon. Or a Mark.

‘You two are late.’ He greeted you.

‘It’s nine o’clock.’ You shot back, dropping into the seat opposite him.

‘Early is on time.’ Merlin folded his arms across his chest. ‘On time is late.’

You rolled your eyes at the agent. ‘You know how London traffic can be.’

Choosing to ignore your comment, the Scotsman hit a few buttons on the table in front of him. The whiteboard in front of you jumped to life, lighting up with a picture of New York City - specifically, Midtown. You’d been to the city several times for work, usually to do recon or on protection details for British politicians before diplomatic visits. Outside of that, any missions in North America were outside of the Kingmen’s authority. That was when it fell to the USA’s secret services - a bunch of people you weren’t particularly fond of working with.

‘Calahan slipped out of the country.’ Merlin stated. ‘He’s been spotted in Manhattan by several of our contacts at the Bureau.’

‘What?!’ You guffawed. ‘I thought we had tabs on him. You told me we had tabs on him-’

‘- let me finish, Percival.’ He cut you off. ‘We let him.’

‘You…’ you scoffed in disbelief. ‘You let a known terrorist escape the borders?! You know that I’ve had tabs on him for months! Are you trying to waste my time?’

‘Calm down, agent!’ Merlin repeated, this time in a more firm tone. It was easy to let your temper get the best of you - but at the same time, it was the very thing that had allowed you to force your colleagues into submission. ‘He has more charges on his back in American jurisdiction. We have a better chance of convicting him over there.’

‘You could have told me that before I spent six months tailing him.’ You dropped back in your chair, folding your arms tightly across your chest.

‘Your mission isn’t over.’ Merlin replied. ‘You know more about Calahan than any men here or across the pond. I want you posted in New York for a few months.’

‘Oh?’ You sat up, interest peaked.

Working internationally was usually the first step to becoming a senior agent. It was one thing to commandeer the respect of your colleagues but to throw your name into the ring on a global scale? That was how you made it big time - and big time meant big time. Your work would go from being based in London, to taking you all over the world. Kingsman who worked on an international level could be in Moscow one day and Bogota the next. Once they retired, they were legends. It was the kind of success you’d dreamed of your whole life.

And New York was the first stepping stone.

‘It’s only if you want it, of course.’ Merlin pulled you from your thoughts. ‘The Statesman have agreed to accommodate you, should you choose to accept.’

‘Statesmen?’ You tried to hide the displeasement in your face. ‘Like...the cowboys?’

‘Is there a problem, Percival?’

‘No!’ You quickly replied. ‘It’s just...I worked with one of them once. It wasn’t great.’

‘Here we go.’ Eggsy murmured from beside you. ‘She witnessed Agent Tequila make tea in the microwave.’

‘And I swore never to work with them again.’ You hissed under your breath, fists clenching.

‘I can see how that would be disturbing.’ Merlin agreed. ‘Though I’m not entirely sure it’s enough reason to turn down a potentially career changing mission.’

‘No, you’re right.’ You nodded. ‘But I can bring my own kettle, right?’

‘I can’t believe you brought your own fucking kettle.’

‘And I can’t believe that Merlin is making me drag you along-’

‘- it’s only for a week.’ Eggsy held his hands up in defense.

Eggsy, who had momentarily forgotten his relationship woes, had been posted out in the city with you for the first five or six days. Merlin and Arthur had been pretty insistent on him joining you - something about making sure you didn’t blow your lid at a cowboy. It was funny, because you were usually the one babysitting him. That being said, deep down you were glad to have him there with you. It would have made settling in a little easier.

You were moving faster than him, the sound of your heels clicking on the marble floors of the Statesman headquarters as you floated towards the front desk. The building was right in central Manhattan, bang in the middle of all the beautiful things New York had to offer. Not that you were going to experience many of them - you were here to work, after all.

‘Percival!’ Agent Tequila was posted by the front desk, a grin spread across his face as your eyes met. ‘And...I know they told me your name, but I’ve forgotten.’

‘He’s Galahad 2.0.’ You stuck your hand out to Tequila, offering him the kettle. ‘This is for you.’

‘A...a kettle?’ The agent gave you an odd look.

‘If I’m going to be working with you for the next few months, I cannot witness you making tea in a microwave.’ You explained. ‘I may murder you in your sleep otherwise.’

‘Jeez, lady.’ He muttered. He would have argued, but if there was one thing he’d learnt from your last collaboration, it was that nobody entered into a fight with you and won. ‘But it’s okay, you’re not with me this time.’

‘Oh?’ You quirked an eyebrow. Tequila began to make his way to the lift, signalling for you and Eggsy to follow.

‘No, you’re with Whiskey this time.’ He explained, pressing the button for the top floor. ‘He’s a little more senior than me.’

‘Whiskey and Tequila?’ Eggsy muttered in your ear. ‘What’s their boss called? Pale ale?’

‘Champagne.’ You replied.

‘Good one.’ He snorted.

‘No, Eggsy.’ You whispered back. ‘He’s actually called Champagne.’

‘Fucking hell.’

Yeah, you thought, that kinda sums it up.

The three of you stepped out the lift and onto the top floor. The views from the windows were almost breath-taking; it wasn’t often that you got to see 360 degree views of one of the most beautiful cities in the world. The skyscrapers stretched out further than the eye could see, eventually melting together in the distance where the sky met the land. It was almost breath-taking just to think about - the people, the opportunities, the magic that New York had to offer. London was your home, and you couldn’t even begin to dream of leaving, but your mind did wander off a little.

‘Whiskey! I got your girl!’ Tequila yelled, pressing a button on an intercom outside one of the offices. He gave Eggsy a quick glance. . ‘And...the other one.’

‘Sweet Jesus, Tequila!’ A strong Southern accent came back. ‘You don’t gotta yell every time you use the fucking thing! I’m gonna be deaf as a goddamn doornail before I’m fifty.’

A moment later, the door to the office opened and Agent Whiskey stepped out. He was about the same height as Tequila, but a little older. He was wearing a cow-boy hat and there was a...was it a swagger? A spring in his step? Either way, the temptation to stick your foot out and stop him in his tracks was overwhelming.

‘Well hello, pretty lady.’ Whiskey greeted you with a shit-eating grin. ‘I hear that you’re the little birdy who’s gonna give me Calahan?’

‘I prefer Percival.’ You monotonously replied. ‘And if I’m the little birdy that’s gonna give you Calahan, then you must be the yankee who stole him from me.’

‘Girl’s gotta bite.’ He gave your hand a shake. ‘I like that.’

‘This is Galahad.’ You pointed to Eggsy, who was inwardly holding his breath at the whole exchange. He was mentally counting down the minutes before you smacked off Whiskey’s cowboy hat. ‘Let’s see if you can acknowledge his gender three times in one breath-’

‘- okay, that’ll do!’ Your best friend pulled you back, taking Whiskey’s hand in place of yours. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Whiskey.’

‘Please, call me Jack.’ The cowboy replied.

‘Whiskey. Jack.’ Eggsy murmured under his breath. ‘Oh my days! Imagine if your surname was Daniels.’

After a brief conversation with Jack about his surname - during which you had seen Eggsy Unwin more entertained than ever before - you were taken down the hall to the agent’s office. Meanwhile, Eggsy and Tequila were escorted off to exchange some files that you’d both gathered.

Whiskey’s office was exactly as you could have predicted; a mixture of dark wood furniture and red tones. The air smelt of his aftershave, with a hint of brandy and earth.

‘Your desk is that one there.’ Whiskey gestured to a slightly smaller set-up in the corner.

‘I don’t get my own office?’

‘Since we’re gonna be working in close proximity, Champ figured it was best we double up.’ He explained. ‘Saves us doing a whole revolving door movement when we gotta talk to one another.’

‘Makes sense.’ You placed your bag on the desk, admiring the view for a moment. All of your files on Calahan had been uploaded to the Statesmen’s online cloud, whilst your other belongings had been delivered to the apartment you were staying in. ‘Nice view.’

‘It ain’t bad.’ Whiskey nodded. ‘You been to this neck of the woods before?’

‘Only when British diplomats need a babysitter.’ You replied.

‘Babysitting?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s what you Kingsmen do? You babysit?’

‘Why d’you think Eggsy is here?’ You shot back. ‘To babysit me.’

‘Now why would a well-mannered redcoat such as yourself need a babysitter?’ He could barely hide the grin in his voice, leaning back against the window as he peered at you over his glasses.

‘How would I put it in your terms?’ You pondered for a moment, offering Whiskey a sweet smile. ‘Is there a Southern term for I eat cowboys alive?’

He gulped. ‘I...I don’t think we got one for that yet.’

You nodded, turning your attention back to staring at the view in front of you. ‘You should come up with one. It might be useful.’

#jack daniels x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #agent whiskey fluff #jack daniels fluff #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey x you #kingsman imagine #kingsman x reader #eggsy unwin x reader #eggsy unwin imagine

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lostinthosebrowneyes · 3 years ago

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Pedro Character HCs | The Boys as D&D (5e) Classes

Dave York

Rogue. Dave is a soldier who specializes in the silent kill. He knows all about a life of murky morality and thrives in the darkness with his expertise in stealth. But get him up close and away from his teammates and their flanking advantage and it’s game over for him. He’s the classic high risk, high reward class with melee and range versatility, specifically the Assassin archetype who makes the most of drawing his weapon first.

Din Djarin

Fighter. Nobody beats the humble Fighter in terms of battle versatility. Din is more than a mercenary, he’s a true warrior. An expert in all manner of weapons, just put something that kills in his hands and he’ll make it sing. The Fighter is the workhorse of any D&D campaign, a classic and always welcome addition, he does his job with maximum efficiency be it solo or as part of a team. He has no need for fancy spells or gimmicks, his job is to take the pain and dish it out in equal measure. He will outlast all of the showy casters and niche glass cannons on the battlefield, taking his Second Wind while they’re making death saving throws. Din would probably also have the Sentinel feat because he particularly shines as a protector and is a selfless member of any party, ready to take up the slack and have your back when you need him. This is the way.

Ezra

Bard. Ezra is a talker. In a sticky situation? Try to talk your way out of it. Looking for information? Say just the right words to try and get what you need. Whether he’s good at it is debatable and he’s rolled a lot of Nat 1s in his life, but Ezra has the spirit of a Bard inside him. He’s a lateral thinker, lives by the philosophy of taking the unspoken third option and he seems like the type of person who invests in obscure lore. In the Green there is no magic to save you, only hard work. But could you imagine Ezra’s sheer power if he could speak cutting words that actually physically killed people? He would be unstoppable.

Frankie Morales

Ranger. Whether it’s up in the sky, armed with a rifle or just socializing with friends, Frankie seems to like to navigate his way around danger and keep it at arms’ length rather than face it head on. He’s found his way through quite a few wild and dangerous terrains through his career in the military, from jungles to deserts, and surely knows a thing or two about roughing it. He’s quiet, thoughtful and down-to-earth, and he seems to make his biggest mistakes when he’s around other people. Peer pressure can’t hurt you when you’re in the wilds on your own, I’m just saying.

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels

Blood Hunter. I’m going to be blunt, Blood Hunters are zealots who pick a particular type of target and hunt them to the ends of the earth. Jack clearly has an issue with black-and-white thinking and can’t let go of a good (or even a really stupid) vendetta. Particularly, Jack would be Order of the Profane Soul, because he would clearly sell his soul to the devil to wipe his enemy from the face of the earth. Blood Hunter also fits Agent Whiskey’s fighting style as they are generally Dex-based (aka, agile) fighters who sacrifice their own health to do intense amounts of damage; the riskiest daredevils of all D&D classes. Jack Daniels is a bloodhound, when he’s got his target’s scent he will finish the job or die trying.

Javier Peña

Paladin. Here we have the somewhat nobler take on the black-and-white morality man on a mission. Javier is a Paladin all the way. On a good day, Javi would be Oath of Devotion, the most romanticized version of his ideals and goals. But most of his days are bad days, so Javi chooses the Oath of Vengeance; committed to seeing evil pay no matter the cost, making restitution for the things he must do in their pursuit only after he’s taken his foes down by any means necessary. Javier has a bit of a white knight complex at times, an overdeveloped sense of justice that just doesn’t jive with how the real world works. Sometimes he realizes that, but other times it eats him up inside. As a Paladin he would have a host of spells and tricks under his belt specifically to help him root out his elusive targets, echoing the arsenal of espionage tactics he has access to in the show.

Marcus Moreno

Paladin/Sorcerer Multiclass. I couldn’t pick between the two for Marcus M, luckily these two produce a very strong multiclass! Marcus is the product of strong bloodlines like a Sorcerer and his magnetic talent is an innate part of him just as a Sorcerer’s magic is. However, this power is not his strongest asset. His leadership abilities and protective instincts are what make him who he is more than superpowers and that’s his Paladin side coming through. Marcus Moreno is the quintessential hero and a high Charisma type, but in the unassuming way that he’s just a nice dude who people naturally like... unless you’re Miracle Guy, I guess.

Marcus Pike

Rogue. Oh man, Marcus Pike was the hardest to pick of all. He’s in a law-oriented job but is impulsive and intuitive. He has combat training but he is not aggressive. He’s passionate but not over-emotional. He has a love for the arts but no desperation for the limelight. Eventually I settled on a specific Archetype: The Rogue Inquisitive. A detective flavor of the Rogue, the Inquisitive is more reliant on Wisdom than his sneakier brethren. His skills are in honing in on the truth, both of his situation and the hearts of those around him. He’s insightful, steady and trusts his gut for good or ill. The Rogue is more than a criminal or a killer, the Rogue is also the classic jack of all trades. Marcus as a Rogue is someone who loves sampling many different interests and avenues, surprising people with his versatility of talents. He’s always up for a new challenge and adventure, he’s always got an arrow in his quiver you didn’t know about. And yes, sometimes he’s a bit low-key, but you really want that in a Rogue.

Maxwell Lord

Warlock. Maxwell is the perfect Warlock cocktail of willing to make a deal and too arrogant to realize it’s a bad one. Warlocks are greedy for power, too ready to take shortcuts and often needy for attention, even if it’s the wrong kind of attention. His short rest spell slots make his magic a quick fix for sticky situations but just as quickly depleted. Maxwell is willing to get his head in way too deep in order to get what he wants and what he wants is always just out of reach, but that taste of power from his patron is enough to keep him going.

Oberyn Martell

Monk. I know what you’re thinking: “What?? The hottest man in Westeros, known hedonist Oberyn Martell as anything but a Charisma-based class???” Well here’s the thing, Oberyn is a lover and a fighter, and nobody does what he does better than a Monk. Peak physical condition, baby. Those acrobatic moves? Dexterity-leaning Monk class has it covered. Oberyn is a clever man and he uses the science of poisons to get to his enemy’s weak points. Similarly, the Wisdom-based Monk uses a blend of magic and science to exploit pressure points and Stunning Strike their enemies into submission. They are experts of the human body, what more need I say? At higher levels they literally have a class feature to stay fit and sexy for the rest of their lives. Add onto that, the Monastic Tradition Way of the Sun Soul uses explosive bursts of fire and light against their enemies in a way that’s pretty thematic for the Prince of Dorne and his fiery personality.

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avengerscompound · 5 years ago

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Running to a Standstill - 5

Running to a Standstill: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 1939

Rating: E

Square filled: none for this chapter

Warnings: none

Synopsis: While on the run from an unknown organization trying to take your son, you meet two super-soldiers. While they try to help you get to the bottom of who is hunting you and your son, feelings come out and admissions are made that make your personal life even more tricky.

Chapter 5

It had been a long time since Steve had had to share his space. Even in the army, he’d ended up with his own quarters after he’d agreed to go on the USO tour. Now there were bras hanging on a rack in the bathroom to dry. Toys all over his floor and his fridge was full of things like go-gurt and applesauce that came in satchels. It was a lot to get used to, but he was enjoying it. He liked the noise and the chaos at Geo’s bedtime. He liked coming home and you being there whether it be just be watching some tv, or cooking dinner, or giving Geo a bath. He even liked it when you weren’t there and there were just signs you would be back again. The dishes in the sink or Geo’s Lego spread out on the coffee table.

After the incident at your apartment, you had agreed to stay with Steve at the tower. The fact the people after you were willing to commit suicide over anyone finding out where they were from meant this was bigger than just you or Geo. You had agreed - rather reluctantly at first - to stay with him until they could get to the bottom of it.

His apartment was only two bedrooms and given that you had only been dating for a little while, you’d been sharing a bedroom with Geo. He hadn’t wanted to pressure you into becoming more intimate than you were ready for and if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he was ready for it either. Partly because of the high stress of the situation, he worried that any feelings the two of you shared might be too heightened, and partially because he always needed to be sure. He’d taken two years to get to a first kiss with Peggy. He was slow to act.

He did like you though and he liked having you around. He was aware that he overthought everything, but he was also becoming very aware of something else. He liked being needed. Right now you needed him and he didn’t want that to go away.

Unfortunately, trying to find the people who had done this to you was proving harder than it seemed. IGH was a shell company covering the tracks of a medical research group looking into replicating the super serum. They seemed to have gone defunct years ago after some success though the levels of cover-ups of whoever was the result of that success were the kind only an incredible amount of money could buy. Steve had put Tony on trying to unravel the threads and he’d eventually come back with the name of a private investigator and an address of her office.

As he rode the elevator up in the Hell’s Kitchen apartment building a thick dread filled him over the fact that the serum had worked so well on him and people were going to keep trying to replicate that again and again until someone worked it out or he died.

The elevator stopped and he and Bucky stepped out. “You think she might run?”

Steve shook his head. “From what I gather she’s one of the good ones. Abrasive, but she’s been linked to the taking out of several criminals.”

Bucky nodded and the two walked to the end of the hall. The door for Alias Investigations had seen better days. It had several chunks out of it and in the space glass would normally be sitting, a large piece of cardboard was taped into place. Steve rapped his knuckles on one of the undamaged parts of the door and it rattled in place.

There was a shuffling on the other side of the door and it creaked open just a little. The pale face of Jessica Jones poked around the corner, her jet black hair framing her face.

“Oh hell no,” she said and tried to shove the door closed.

Steve caught it and for a moment he thought she was still going to manage to shut the door on him. They were definitely on the right track. “Ms. Jones, we just have some questions.”

“No. Fuck, no. I’m not getting involved in any of your goody-two-shoes, Avengers bullshit,” she said, giving up on holding him back and striding back into her office. “I have enough of my own shit to deal with than to worry about fucking Aliens and out of control robots.”

“Ms. Jones,” Steve said, as she went and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from her desk, unscrewed the cap, and started drinking straight from it. “We just want to ask some questions. It’s about an organization known as Industrial Garments and Handling. We believe you might know about them.”

She lowered the bottle and narrowed her eyes and collapsed down into the chair behind the desk. “You’re too late. There is no IGH. I shut them down. Everyone involved with it is dead.”

“You know them then?” Steve asked, taking a seat. Bucky stayed standing by the door like he was expecting Jones to try to run.

“I know them. They did this to me,” she said and clenched her fist on the bottle. It shattered, spraying glass and alcohol everywhere. “And I made them pay for it.”

“Did you sign up for experimentation?” Steve asked, and quickly held up his hands. “No judgment. I signed up to be a lab rat too.”

Jones shook her head. “No. I was in a car accident and they took me. What’s this about?”

“They were involved in human experimentation several years back. We believe they were trying to make some kind of combat enhancers,” Steve said.

Jones scoffed and spun around on her chair, and began rifling through a filing cabinet. “You have so many resources at your hands and that’s where you are? You’re a little behind. They were, the army had them and were using them on soldiers. There’s one still alive. His name is in here -” she spun back around and tossed a stack of files on the desk. “As for IGH there’s a nurse and a janitor still alive and they’re in prison. The rest is gone. You’re chasing a dead lead. You can relax and take a break.”

“I’m afraid we can’t. We have one of their test subjects in custody. They’ve been trying to take her in,” Steve said. “I’ve found with places like this, you think you get the root of the evil and you’ve just been pruning back some leaves.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed derisively. “Nice analogy, Cap,” she said. “I’m sorry about your friend, but they tried to destroy their own work, including me. I know they’re gone because no one has tried to kill me in months now. Whoever is trying to get to them, it’s not IGH.”

Steve sighed. She seemed so certain, but someone had been trying to take you and Geo, and this company was involved somehow. “Everything you have is in here?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, take it,” Jones said. “Now get out. I have work to do.”

Steve stood and nodded. “Thank you for your help. I’ll call you if I have any questions.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Jones said. “I have friends who’ll get a kick out of the voice message I have from Captain America.”

As they went back into the hall, Bucky laughed softly. “She was charming.”

Steve bit back his own laughter. “Well, I guess you don’t have to be pleasant to do good.”

“You can say that again,” Bucky said, jabbing the button to call the elevator. “You think this is a dead-end?”

Steve flicked through the folders as he got onto the elevator. “They obviously didn’t go away completely. Whatever remnants existed might have been absorbed by something else, and going off how hard it was for me to keep that door open, I’d say they might have gotten closer than most at replicating what was done to us. I’m guessing that something has taken what they can and is after Geo to fill in the blanks. This is a start.”

The elevator stopped and Steve and Bucky began to make the walk back to the tower. It was only seven blocks and even with the fact they were going to get stopped several times on the way, it was still easier to walk it than try and find a parking spot in Hell’s Kitchen.

“I should grab something for dinner on the way home,” Steve mused as he shoved the folders into his jacket and zipped it up. But he and Bucky pulled on their ball caps and put on sunglasses. Bucky shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket to hide the telltale glint of metal.

“What? You sick of home-cooked meals already?” Bucky teased.

Steve chuckled and nudged Bucky in the familiar way that always came so naturally to him, his shoulder bumping into his friend’s and pushing him slightly off course. “Hardly,” he replied. “I just worry about her thinking she owes me. I’m really up in my head about it. It’s hard dating someone who’s living with you and who is that reliant on you. The line between normal boyfriend and girlfriend things and a person in a vulnerable position thinking that they need to comply with a request so they feel safe is blurred.”

Bucky’s lips twitched and he shook his head. “Steve, I love you, pal,” he said. “But do you overthink or what?”

Steve shrugged and let out a breath. “I’ve never been good with this kind of thing, Buck. You know that.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Bucky agreed. “And it’s sweet how you worry about things like that. It’s the reason why it took us so long to hug when you finally tracked me down though, you know?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I know. What do you think I should do? I want to move forward with her. I’d even be happy if she started sleeping in my bed, but all we’ve done is some quick pecks on the lips when I’ve gotten home and cuddling on the couch. And I don’t even know if I can count the cuddling on the couch because she cuddles with you too. You’ve always been better with women than I have. What would you do?”

There was a heavy silence in the air while Bucky seemed to think it over. When he finally spoke his voice sounded slightly tight and Steve wondered if he’d pushed him too far into thinking about how he used to be. “Take her out again. On an actual date. I’ll watch Geo if she’s okay with it, or I’m sure Clint and Nat will come around if she still doesn’t trust me. Talk about it with her. Then kiss her for fuck’s suck. Properly.”

Steve nodded, still not quite sure how to actually talk about it. A date would be good though, the domestic thing made it hard to do anything romantic anyway. “You wanna have dinner with us?”

Bucky nodded. “Sure. What are we having?”

“Burgers seem safe don’t you think?” Steve said. “Geo would probably eat a cheeseburger.”

There was another small nod from Bucky and Steve pulled out his phone, texting you for any special requests and to make sure you didn’t start cooking. He hoped he could move things forward with you a little, but it wouldn’t be the first time he ended up having unrequited feelings for someone. Either way, it was nice he could have you both in his life sharing dinner.

// NEXT

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #running to a standstill

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codename-adler · 4 years ago

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Kevin and his Oblivious Literature Lover, pt.II

So hum, here is the second part of my Kevin x OC bullet fic (part I here) whether you asked for it or not... because I love Kevin and I want him to be loved because I love him and- you get it, right?

>> Table of Contents, TW and other parts here!

a week later, on his Monday afternoon Early American Literature class, Kevin hesitates to switch places so he can be closer to the girl he definitely forgot, but goes against it as change comes hardly to him

he’s not eager to listen to her presentation, he’s not, but he is kind of curious to see which topic she chose

also to know her name

oh, absolute disappointment! she won’t present today!

he strains his ears for any word from her, but nothing, not a laugh, not a whisper, not a sigh

as class ends, Kevin turns around to steal a glance at her

she is bent over, putting away her notebooks in her small backpack and he can only see her lush hair hanging everywhere upon her face and back

the thing is, exy. more specifically, exy practice. rignt now. he had to go. exy was the priority. the goal. the everything. exy came first. always.

so he goes and as he reaches the door, he turns and catches a glimpse of her cheek covered by a loose curl. it’s enough to get him going until next week. enough to make his feet walk towards the foxhole court.

this week, though, Kevin finds himself more silent, more removed from the team when they’re not playing. he watches. he observes. he takes mental notes. how does one normally acquire a friend?

just thinking it, Kevin wants to slap himself so hard and get drunk.

so he does. get drunk, I mean. he doesn’t even wait to go to Eden’s, he just grabs leftover Jack Daniel’s and Grey Goose, with 4 bottles of Bud Light that Matt forgot after New Year’s Eve

he goes to his room while the dorm is empty, puts on a Trojan match and chugs everything by the time Andrew, Neil, Nicky and Aaron are back from wherever they were

nobody checks on him

until it’s 2 AM

Aaron takes a break from studying and realizes he hasn’t seen Kevin since the night before

so he goes to check into his room and Kevin is just... black-out drunk. comatose. in limbo.

once again, Aaron shoves his panic down and goes to check Kevin’s pulse

it’s there

as he sighs in exasperation, Aaron pushes away all the empty bottles in a corner, tucks Kevin in and brings back a big glass of water (no aspirin, the shithead’s gonna have to work for that sweet release of his 100% deserved hangover)

Aaron won’t speak of it, but once again the weight in his stomach grows heavier as Kevin sinks further into alcoholism

by the time next Monday rolls around, Kevin almost forgot the girl, or at least psyched himself into believing she’s just a kind face his lack-of-motherly-affection chose to attatch itself too (Betsy would be proud of his own psychoanalysis, really)

(wrong)

it’s her turn to present. she’s supposed to go first.

his mind can only go whatsyournamewhatsyournamewhatsyourname

he doesn’t register yet that the class keeps on chattering while she waits to start her presentation; the teacher is lost in their papers and nobody cares if the class actually begins or not; it’s the end of midterms and everybody kind of lets loose

Kevin, not one to raise his hand e v e r, does not even think twice before shouting

“SOMEBODY’S TRYING TO PRESENT, SO IF YOU COULD ALL SHUT UP, THAT’D BE GREAT.”

even the teacher stops shuffling at his desk, their cheels flushed red in shame, and turns his attention to the poor girl at the front of their classroom

she flushes, too, and mumbles a “thanks” that would’ve been lost to Kevin had he not been seated in his usual spot, at the very front of the class

Kevin simply nods to her, as if his heart wasn’t trying to jump out of his chest and out of the window

and so the girl begins her presentation.

on Elizabeth Schuyler.

no, it wasn’t planned. they’d both been ready a week before the presentations were to begin. it just... happened?

while Kevin drinks in her every words, a little question starts to form in the back of his mind: why would she still choose to talk about Schuyler and Hamilton’s relationship when he absolutely owned everybody with Laurens and Hamilton? did she not know who he was? did she not know he was always top of his classes and his game? how ruthless he was? how did she not know?

the class is already bored out of their mind, so when question time comes up, of course nobody cares to raise their hand

one one hand, Kevin wants to return the favor she did him when he was presenting; on the other, though, he just really wants to correct her about Schuyler and Hamilton...

so Kevin practices his question in his head thrice, to make sure it’s as inoffensive as it can be, before RAISING HIS HAND as the girl was ready to hide back in her corner

“Do you not think Hamilton’s love for Schuyler was a means to an end, seeing as he wrote much more passionate letters to Laurens? And what about his affairs? Do you not think it was fake?”, he politely asks (he still feels like an asshole, and probably sounds like one, but he’s trying his best ok?)

he awaits her response like he awaits a Trojans victory

“Well... I guess I’d have two answers to that. One would be that Alexander did, in fact, use love as a manipulative device, and therefore never knew what love was and never truly loved anyone, whether it be Eliza, John or even Angelica or Maria Reynolds. My second answer, the one I lean towards the most, is that Alexander loved John first, and then came Eliza, and he loved her too. And so Alexander was as infatuated with him as he was with her. He loved them both, equally, at the same time. That’s what I choose to believe in.”

Kevin is absolutely dumbfounded.

he just got owned in the most graceful way and he’s not even mad about it

and the girl looks so, so proud of herself, not just because she got through her presentation and she was able to answer, but that her answer satisfied him, too. she looks like an angel.

while the students dully clapped and she got off the small stage, kevin heard what he didn’t know he’d been waiting for these past weeks;

“Thank you very much, Miss Juliet”, the teacher congratulated the girl

oh, Juliet

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darks-ink · 4 years ago

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Reanimation - Ectoberweek 2020

A family can be a bunch of ghost hunters and 1 (half) ghost child.

[first part]

Rating: Teen Warnings: Implied character death, implied child abuse Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort Words: 2,439 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - canon divergence, Sequel, Families of choice/Found family

[AO3] [FFN]

---

Agent O looked up from the report he was working on, trying to surreptitiously glance at the ghost in the van. One of the other agents had put a blanket on her—why did they have blankets in their ghost hunting van?—and she looked… cozy, for lack of a better word. Curled up even smaller than she already was, with the cape wrapped tight around her body, holding it tightly with her small fists, like she was afraid they might take it away from her otherwise.

Knowing what they had seen, where she had come from… O wouldn’t be surprised if it was a fear formed from experience.

She seemed stable enough for now, as long as she wasn’t using any of her powers. Which was good, because O wasn’t sure how they were supposed to stabilize her. When he’d promised to help her, he’d assumed that the scientists back at the base would know.

Hell, he hoped they knew. He’d promised, and knowing what she’d gone through, he would feel terrible going back on that promise now.

Looking down at the report again, he frowned. Turned back to the ghost. Cleared his throat to draw her attention. “Do you… have a name?” Was there any way to find out who these ghosts had been in life? To find out whether Masters had taken children and killed them, turned them into ghosts?

Were there parents, somewhere out there, whose child was gone and left behind the shade sitting opposite of O?

“Danielle,” she muttered, so quiet that O almost missed it. She repeated, a little more determinedly, “Danielle Phantom.”

And there it was again. Not only did she looked like Phantom, she used his name as a last name as well. How odd.

“Any relation to Phantom from Amity Park?” he asked. Had Masters somehow modeled her after Phantom? And if he had, would he have told her?

“Yeah, um.” She glanced away, eyes on her fidgeting hands. “He’s my… cousin.”

“Did Masters tell you that?” Agent L asked before O could work out an answer. “Or did you know that yourself?”

“I…” Danielle paused, clearly working through her answer. “I knew we were related,” she finally settled on. “But Daddy told me to call him my cousin.”

“And your brother?” O prodded, glaring at L over his glasses to get him to back off. “Did you know he was your brother for sure, or did Masters tell you that, too?”

Because it was undeniable that Danielle resembled Phantom more than just a little. Far more than what O would consider normal for humans. For ghosts, who could look like just about anything? It seemed suspect.

Was Phantom the first attempt? An escapee who wouldn’t listen to Masters? If he wanted another ghost just like Phantom, of course he would’ve prioritized her brother over her.

God, if only they had seen the other ghost before he’d destabilized. If he really had looked just like Phantom…

Well, it certainly had implications, didn’t it?

“No, I…” She frowned, then shook her head. “It’s different. We were all siblings, me and my brothers. Bones, Mo, Pixie… So of course he was, too, even if he never got to leave the incubator.”

“I see…” Bones, Mo, Pixie… those must’ve been the other ghosts near the mansion. Bones likely the skeletal ghost and Mo the muscular ghost, which meant that Pixie might’ve been the small one. “Your name seems a little strange, compared to theirs. How come?”

She shrugged, tugging the blankets further up, trying to curl away into it. “I… I was the only one who Daddy named. Bones, Mo, Pixie, we all picked their names. But Daddy called me Danielle…”

Her face crumpled, suddenly, somewhere between sad and outraged. “He didn’t even care about any of them! He only pretended to care about me! I— I—” The glow around her body brightened, the light visible through the blanket. Green coalesced around her clenched fists.

“Shh, shh, calm down,” O hushed, hands out and paused before putting them on her. “Danielle, you’re going to destabilize if you keep this up. Just calm down.”

“No!” she shouted back, her bright eyes snapping up to meet O’s eyes. “They’re all gone already! Nobody is going to care if I go to! Maybe—” The fire in her cut out as sudden as it had come. She sniffled, tears in her eyes. “Maybe we’ll get to reunite someplace else, someplace better.”

“Hey, shh, don’t talk like that.” O finally finished the motion he’d started, placing one hand on her shoulder. Damn this entire squad for being emotionally constipated. “Don’t look at it like that. Just think of it this way. You still remember your brothers, right, even though they’re gone? So as long as you still live, still remember them, they won’t be entirely gone.”

“Besides,” K cut in, finally. “This way, you can help us ensure that Masters gets punished properly, so he won’t ever be able to do what he did to you and your brothers. Don’t you want to help us with that?”

Her glow settled down, finally, as her expression grew determined. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I would like to do that.”

O drew back, then threw a glance at the report he’d abandoned to the floor. Shook his head as he picked it up, then put it away properly, instead taking out a voice recorder. “Alright, how about we start with this then. You tell us everything you know. We can record it, and you won’t have to talk about any of it again if it hurts too much, okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” She nodded, shifting her shoulders underneath the blanket like she was bracing herself. “Tell me where to start, please?”

---

“Danielle,” O said, disapprovingly, frowning at her. “You know the rules.”

“K said it was fine!” she immediately retorted, gesturing at her plate. Which was, of course, loaded with all kinds of sweets. Sometimes she maybe it rather easy to remember that her apparent age and her mental age didn’t quite line up right.

“Did he now?” O asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “So if I go over there right now and ask him…”

“No, don’t!” She grabbed onto the plate, holding it away from him. “L said I should, not K! But—”

Why was it always L? O made a mental note to speak to the man later, and then to talk to L’s partner M as well, just to be safe.

“Danielle,” he said, more patiently now. “I know you like the sweet things, but you need to eat properly, okay? You need to stay healthy.”

“But the ectoplasmic stuff is yucky.” She made a face, then jerked away when he stepped closer. “You can’t stop me from eating this!”

“Danielle,” O said, again, feeling his patience rapidly deplete. “You can have it after you’ve eaten all your regular food, okay?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly considering it. Finally she heaved a deep sigh and put the plate back down onto the table. “Fine.”

“I’ll go and grab some from the kitchen, then.” He stepped past her, ruffling her hair on the way. “Behave yourself, or I’ll have P and Q watch over you next time.”

“Noooo,” she whined, sprawling over the table. “I’ll behave, I promise!”

O hummed thoughtfully. “You’d better, little lady.” And with a last wink to her, he left the room.

Time would tell whether she would actually listen or not. O wasn’t sure if it was proper parenting behavior but, to be fair, none of them were proper parents anyway.

Besides, what kind of parenting advice would apply to a young ghost, anyway? Danielle appeared to be about twelve, but her behavior often seemed to fit a child much younger, and she couldn’t remember a life before being a ghost, either.

At least they had managed to stabilize her. It took quite a bit of work to convince the scientists to help stabilize her, rather than experiment on her, but they had managed it. After all, Danielle had been one of their few captures, and her behavior was so complicated that it clearly required further research. Not to mention her similarities to Phantom. Subjecting her to regular research would’ve a waste, no?

O scoffed to himself. A waste, definitely, but not for any of those reasons.

Now all they needed to keep her stable was a steady diet of ectoplasmic contaminated food. And also some regular food, because Danielle burned through quite a bit of energy just by existing.

And boy, was she intent on doing more than just existing. They needed all Agents on base just to keep her safe and occupied sometimes. Over time it had just… somehow become standard fare for all of them. They were all living on base anyway, so why not help take care of the little ghost?

O shook his head to try and dislodge the thoughts and focus on what he was doing. With a resigned sigh he opened the designated Danielle fridge, peering over its contents to find something lunch-worthy. Ah! Sliced ham. Perfect.

Quickly, he set about making some sandwiches, letting his thoughts stray once more. Yes, somehow Danielle had become the base’s shared child. No one present among the Guys in White would dare to harm her anymore. The few scientists that had let their curiosity stray a little too far had been corrected and, when they refused to learn, got fired entirely.

Or, well. They weren’t around anymore, at least. O might be in charge of his team, but he wasn’t that high up. He assumed they must’ve gotten fired, but who knew with government organizations like theirs.

Either way, Danielle was safe among them. She was cared for, protected, and okay. They hadn’t gotten Masters locked away yet, building a perfect foolproof plan first, but he was under constant supervision. No other children would suffer, no other ghosts would be made by his hand.

And, soon enough, he would pay for what he had done.

O finished the sandwiches, cleaning up the supplies and carefully picking up the plate. Now, time to see if Danielle had behaved herself.

He stepped through the doorway, back into the room where he’d left Danielle. Quietly, he inched closer to the table, then put down the plate with sandwiches right between her hand and the plate with sweets.

“Busted,” she murmured, withdrawing her hand.

“Busted,” O echoed with a grin, drawing away the other plate. “Lunch first, Danielle.”

“I know, I know.” She sighed wearily, like it was a huge task, and pulled the sandwiches closer to herself. “But sweets after?”

“Eat all your lunch first, then we’ll see if you have space left.” He sat down opposite of her, the plate with sweets in front of him. “Who’s watching you after?”

“Agent K is,” she said around a bite of food. “Why?”

“Well, we wouldn’t want you to get sick while she’s watching you, would we?” O smiled down at her. If it had been L, he might’ve considered it. It would’ve been a good lesson for both Danielle and L, who had encouraged her. But K? She was a good Agent, and she took good care of Danielle.

O watched Danielle tuck a strand of black hair behind her ear, feeling… satisfied. Yes, they were taking pretty good care of her, all things considered. She’d stabilized, and her core had grown mature enough for her to develop her own unique powers. She was a fully grown ghost now, even if her mind remained young.

Still, he was curious to see if she would grow in body, too. One of the first unique powers she had developed was a minor shapeshifting ability, after all, allowing her to look perfectly human. Which made sense, according to the Agents on base, since Danielle was so human, and spent so much time around humans as well. Of course she would develop powers related to that.

It was perfectly possible that she would continue to develop her shapeshifting ability to allow her to look older as time passed. O would be curious to see it. To see what she would look like, fully grown.

And, yes. Sometimes he wondered if this was what Danielle had looked like before she’d died. If somewhere out there, there were parents who could look at her and know this was their child. But they didn’t know how long Masters had her, or any of the other ghosts. Didn’t know what happened to their parents.

For all they knew, Masters had taken only orphans, or had killed the parents and made them orphans. It was better not to worry about it, when there was nothing to be done about it anymore.

Danielle finished her sandwiches, then turned big, watery, blue eyes onto O. “Please?”

He sighed, then slid the plate with sweets back over to her. “If you get sick, it’ll be your own fault. And L’s.”

“Yes!” she cheered, taking the plate from him. “I’ll be careful, promise!”

“Uh huh,” he said, dry and unconvinced.

She started munching away on the sweets, scattering crumbs all over the table as well as her clothes. Mentally, O made a note to have someone clean the room later.

“Hey,” Danielle said, suddenly, lowering the piece of chocolate she’d been about to bite into. “O? Is there… any chance you guys might take me to Amity Park someday?”

Amity Park? Why?

Apparently he’d taken a moment too long to respond, because she quickly added, “Y’know, to meet my cousin?”

“I… I’ll talk to the others about it, see if we can manage something.” Right. Her cousin. Who they were hunting down for haunting Amity Park. Who might be another one of Masters’ victims, and who might be just as human as Danielle.

That Phantom.

Danielle grinned at him, bright and cheerful. “Thank you!”

O sighed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Don’t thank me just yet. I can’t promise anything, just that I’ll try.”

“So? I can thank you for trying, can’t I?” She patted his hand, then suddenly jumped out of her chair. “Oh! I’d better get going before K gets worried.”

“Go, then,” O said, waving her away. “And Danielle? Stay out of trouble.”

“Like K will let me get in trouble,” she answered, blowing a raspberry at him. “Bye, O!” she called back before rushing out of the room, running down one of the hallways.

He listened to her rapidly decreasing footsteps, then heaved a sigh.

Right. Time to look into Phantom and Amity Park once more.

#danny phantom #ectoberweek2020 #ectoberweek 2020 #dp fanfic #phanfic #danielle phantom #guys in white #dark writes #i can't believe i'm going to need to write a third part to this series just to fit in the meeting with Danny

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theshipsfirstmate · 4 years ago

Text

Agents of SHIELD Fic: All My Best Kept Secrets Are the Ones I Didn’t Know I Had

post-SHIELD 7x06 and also post-Agent Carter season 2. peggysous -> daisysous.

doing my best to tie up the loose ends that get Daniel from Peggy to Daisy, because I, like many others, could not have imagined shipping him with anyone else and then the last few eps of SHIELD have taken a sledgehammer to my feelings. so, just like this ship, idk where this came from, but here it is.

Title from “Something in Common” by Dawes.

All My Best Kept Secrets Are the Ones I Didn’t Know I Had (AO3 - wc: 3218)

After Peggy went back to New York, Daniel told himself to take it easy.

And he tried, he really did. He even said it in his head, sometimes, the way Jack had: “Take it easy, Danny boy.” The wise-cracking agent had never stopped teasing him, even after they had become something resembling friends. But he was gone now too, left behind in a past that didn’t feel as distant as it should.

They’d had all of one day together, he and Peg, before everything went to hell. She had kissed him -- in his office, of all places -- and he had reveled in it for a few blissful moments before sending her away with a matching grin on her face, so he could pick her up later that evening for a proper date.

He’d planned on Musso and Frank -- had been carrying around the image in his mind for longer than he’d admit to anyone -- but after he picked her up and saw that mischievous flash in her eyes, he’d called an audible, turning the car south on Western, guessing she’d be up for something a little more adventurous. He was right, she was taken with El Coyote from the moment they walked in, wide-eyed and grinning at everything from the margarita glasses to the friendly waitress who’d winked and called him “Blanquito.”

Looking back at it now, he’s almost glad he doesn’t remember too many more of the details. He doesn’t remember what they ordered or exactly how long they’d sat and talked in that booth. He just remembers the warmth of her eyes, her hand in his across the table, the way she seemed more relaxed than he’d ever known her to be. Those were the things to hold onto.

He’d dropped her off with a gentlemanly kiss at her front door -- and a less-than-gentlemanly follow-up when she’d tried to convince him to come in for coffee. His only regret now was not taking her up on the offer. Not so much for the obvious reason, just to give them a few more easy hours before it all came crashing down.

Because when Daniel returned to his own front door that night, there was a patrolman — one of the new guys, whose name he had to read off his badge in the dim porch light — sitting on the stoop, waiting for him.

“Thompson’s gone,” the kid said. “Never made it on the plane. Signs of a struggle in his room. And a lot of blood.”

The next week was non-stop, chaos and panic and a wild goose chase that had led them everywhere but to Jack. A sinister cloud hung over the entire office, and the spectral whispers of the one name no one wanted to speak aloud echoed in the desperate silences. He and Peggy barely had a chance to look at each other, let alone talk about anything but the latest scraps of evidence, and when it was all over, well, there was no relief there, either.

He’s never gotten used to funerals, and having a hand to hold this time didn’t make it that much easier, not with the weight of failure pressing down on them both.

Thompson had fought hard, that much was clear when they’d finally found him. But it wasn’t enough. That was Daniel’s biggest fear every time he thought about the facts they had been able to gather, every time the unspeakable name echoed in the confines of his restless brain. Cut off one head, and two more take its place -- would they ever be enough to fight it? Would it ever be easier?

__________________

“You know it truly is nothing to do with you, don’t you?” Peggy had asked him, eyes turned down to the table between them, to the cups of coffee untouched and growing cold. This time, Daniel didn’t reach out for her hand. He listened to the buzz of the planes taking off at the Lockheed Air Terminal down the road, and wished it were enough to drown out the whole day entirely.

“Peg, you don’t have to do that,” he’d muttered, feeling childish. “Spare me the pity, I-”

“Daniel,” she’d interrupted, in that tone that left no room for questions. “I’ve never pitied you, and I certainly don’t intend to start now.”

He stared back, silent. That was the problem, you see, with the goodness of a heart like hers. There was no artifice, no way to crack back in a moment like this one. As miserable as it was, he was going to have to sit here and take it.

“Please,” she’d continued, softer, still barely looking at him. “I want to say it. I need you to know.”

He’d huffed out a breath through his nose and aimlessly fiddled with the tiny pitcher of milk. “OK.”

“I want to say…” she had started, stopped and gathered herself, then started again. “I want to tell you that you deserve so much more than what I can give you.”

He’d hated hearing the cliche, even as he weighed its truth. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was that he deserved, but hadn’t he known it would be this way from the start? Hadn’t a part of him always worried that there wouldn’t be room in her heart for the kind of life he wanted to share?

“It’s not for the reason you think,” she’d insisted, before he could come up with something to say in response. “I promised myself….When Steve died, I promised myself I would keep up the fight.”

She hardly ever said his name aloud. It didn’t ruffle Daniel as much as he expected, but it did make him speak up.

“I’m in it with you, Peg. I hope at least you know that.”

She’d nodded, and then she’d finally looked up -- and he immediately wished to God she hadn’t. Because there, behind the sheen of barely-restrained tears, was their ending.

“All we can do is our best,” she told him, not for the first time. “And I think we both know this fight is going to take the best we have.”

He nodded and swallowed against the lump in his throat he was starting to worry might be permanent.

“But this... It’s too much for me, Daniel. I can’t lose you too.”

A bitter part of his brain pointed out that it was ironic, to say that as she walked away. But he tamped that down, and told her the only truth he could find that felt like it wouldn’t make things worse.

“I’ll miss you, Peg.”

She had reached out then, squeezed his hand fast and tight, telling him the same before swiping beneath her eyes. And then, she was gone.

Easy.

__________________

Daniel had tried, he really had. In his brief moments of free time as they watched the Hydra trail dry up hopelessly once again, he went on a handful of absolutely mediocre dates with the sunny blonde who worked the front desk at the local library and the brunette waitress who left her number on his receipt at the diner. He even let the guys at the office set him up once with a busty redhead who was so forward he spent the next week trying to suss out whether or not they’d paid her.

But there wasn’t anything there. There wasn’t anything anywhere, it seemed. With every interested woman he met -- and there were a few, he didn’t mind saying -- it was the same as it had been with Violet. Perfectly fine, perfectly nice, perfectly room temperature. In another lifetime, maybe he could have convinced himself that’s what it was supposed to feel like. But not now.

And then one day, he walked into his office on a top-secret S.H.I.E.L.D. base, and met a girl from the future.

There was something about her, right from the beginning. She was beautiful, there was no denying that, and he saw something familiar in the mischievous glint in her eye — he’d been able to clock her CIA lie on its face, though it was just one part of a larger, much more confusing puzzle.

At first, he thought his reaction to her was just part of the chaos -- excess adrenaline at the prospect of seeing Peggy unexpectedly and the frantic and unexplainable events that followed. But then it didn’t go away.

She kept surprising him, that was familiar too. Comforting, almost, in a bizarre, backwards kind of way. She saved his life on the train — he’s always had extra respect for a woman who could throw a good punch. And he hadn’t missed the shadow that crossed her face when he mentioned all the things that Hydra had taken from him. There was even more to uncover, he was sure of it. Even finally learning her first name, Daisy, had him furrowing his brow at the dichotomy.

But there was hardly time to dwell on it. He’d expected to drive out of that futuristic aircraft and never see her, or any of her compatriots, ever again. He’d deliver his package to Stark, go home to an empty house, and wake up tomorrow to throw himself back into the work.

The next thing he knew, he was staring at the familiar eagle on the wall, and Agent Coulson was telling him he was dead. Like it was that easy.

__________________

He tried to throw himself into the fight immediately — he’s always been aware of the liability of dead weight and there wasn’t any time to stumble around and gather his bearings if he was going to be useful in the team’s mission to stop the Chronicoms.

Still, he would catch Daisy watching him, warily, like a timer on a bomb. She teased him in the clothing store, elbowing him playfully when he stopped dead at the “modern” 1970s fashions, but when he met her eyes, there was something more insistent looking back at him. It was like she was asking him a question neither of them could put into words, sizing up whether or not he was going to run, or stay, or fit, or break, or...something.

He tried his best to not to give her more to worry about. So he wouldn’t be the one to extract Hydra from S.H.I.E.L.D. in the ‘50s -- as it turned out, there were plenty of other ways to save the world. That was the core of the mission he’d signed up for from the start, and he felt more at ease the more he realized this was a team devoted to the same cause.

But he wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, that made him step up behind her in that underground bar and call her “sweetheart” -- maybe the same misguided sense of chivalry that got him a dressing down after he made Krzeminski apologize to Peggy in the briefing room back in New York. Mercifully, Daisy had gone along with his ruse, surprising him again with a palm pressed to his chest and a conspiratorial grin in his direction.

And he hoped it was duty again, not the memory of that smile, that made him insist on accompanying her to hack into the base. After a confrontation with the scruffy kid with the dark circles under his eyes, he was more aware than ever that this team was just barely more adjusted to their circumstances than he was. But that still didn’t quite explain his growing desire to stay at Daisy’s side.

What he was really looking for, if he’s honest, was a bit of solid ground. What he was wondering was if the feeling in his chest would turn out to be fleeting, if the quaking he’d felt when she touched him was because of her powers — or if it was something else entirely.

Because it seemed like something he never felt with Violet or the librarian or any of the rest. It seemed like it might be something he’s only felt once before. And it’s just his luck that it comes wrapped up in even more danger.

He tagged along just the same, watching her back and trying to learn on his feet about all the things she could do in addition to making the earth shake. She could break into a computer network he can’t even begin to comprehend, she could snap a crystal clear picture of him on that thin screen she said was a telephone, she could quirk an eyebrow at him and make him forget, just for a moment, that his life had descended once again into supernatural chaos.

“You look OK for a guy who just aged 20 years.�� She teased him a second time as he marveled at the photo, and his stomach flipped all the way over to melancholy. But he wasn’t totally honest about why.

His heart ached at the thought of Peggy getting the news of his “death,” but the biggest goodbye of all, Daniel had realized, was to the man he used to be. However lonely and lukewarm he thought his life had been, he hadn’t been prepared to lose it so suddenly. There was possibility there, and promise to mourn, and the uncertainty about what lay ahead now had given him a rose-colored rearview mirror to look back at all he had left behind.

But when he told Daisy that this might be his last stop, she had simply turned back to her computer, assuring him their current dilemma was just a minor setback -- “Without us, it’s way worse,” she said.

She said it like she’d already accepted him as part of the team, like another thing she knew that he didn’t was that he hadn’t lost himself to the ether of time travel. She said it like he belonged.

It made the decision seem easy enough.

__________________

When the Malick kid’s goons bring her back, when he sees her limp and bloodied, slumped on the floor beside him, he has another flash to his past -- Peggy lying prone, impaled on a mean-looking length of rebar. He had learned that night how strong she really was. Not just because she had survived, but because she had let him see her at her weakest and most terrified, had let him haul her into his arms and onto his couch and into focus for his fiancee, who he knew would be able to see right through it all.

He had blown up his entire life just for the weak, grateful smile they shared when they realized she was going to be OK. And it had been worth it.

Daisy doesn’t seem the type to let someone stroke her hair either, but Daniel tries to stop himself from drawing any more parallels right then and there. He keeps checking her pulse point like an excuse, and hopes it’s a fair trade-off that he agrees to tell her the story of his rescue.

He doesn’t like to think about Stevens much, about the way he’s carried the potential of that pesky man's life with him every day since he woke up on that stretcher. That’s what you do when someone dies for you. You have to live for them.

That makes him think of Peggy again -- and then, unbidden, of Steve Rogers. He remembers the stories they used to tell about what Captain America was like before the serum: skinny, frail, half a dozen 4F rejections under various pseudonyms. He thinks of that kid, plucked from the life he was supposed to live and thrust onto a pedestal that must have felt completely untenable at times -- given muscle and then immediately handed the weight of the world.

And now there’s Daisy, with these powers. The kind of strength good men would covet and evil men would kill for. And like him, she’s left behind whatever life she had in order to fight her way through space and time and try to save humanity.

Peggy was a woman who ran headfirst into a storm without giving so much as a thought to an umbrella. Daisy, he’s learning, is the storm itself.

So he talks to her, and he keeps talking. He tells her things he’s never told another living person. In fairness, he thinks, he’s technically known her almost 20 years.

He tells her about survival, certain she already knows. He tells her about warfare, a different type than she’s seen, but with a common enemy. He tells her to fight -- and when she shows him the shard of glass she’s snuck back to him in a bloody palm, he knows the way his heart thuds could be just as dangerous as the psychopath in the other room.

Daniel’s always been good at waiting for his moment, and mercifully, it comes not long after Daisy slips completely into unconsciousness. He shifts away from her on the dirty floor to avoid risking further injury, and he readies himself like he had in the trenches.

When the time comes, he fights, just like he knows Stevens must have fought to get him to safety. They catch a lucky break when the earth-rattling powers prove to be too much for Malick to handle, and he carries her back to the ship, leg aching all the way, remembering the stern nurse in the field hospital who had looked down her glasses at him every time he’d complained about the throbbing.

“It’s the beat of your heart, soldier, remember that,” she had snipped as she doled out his meds. “If nothing else, it means you’re still alive.”

The team meets him at the door to help Daisy into their med bay, and when Agent Simmons mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “Not again,” something else twists inside Daniel’s chest. Shrugging off his own first aid until she’s been attended to, he takes a seat by the door to stay present but out of the way. Maybe some small part of him hopes that when she wakes, he’ll be a familiar face.

If he’s honest, he’s never thought about living to see the end of the 20th century, never even considered it. He was a S.H.I.E.L.D. director with war injuries and more than his fair share of close calls, it would have taken nothing short of a miracle. But he doesn’t think twice when the scruffy kid -- Deke, he remembers this time -- tells them they’re about to jump again. He's not sure when he changed his mind, but it’s been changed, nonetheless.

“I’m where I need to be,” he says, as the soft beeps of Daisy’s monitor assure him that if nothing else, she’s still alive.

Easy never felt quite right, anyway.

#first mate fic #daisysous #sousy #daisy x daniel #agents of shield #agent carter #daniel sousa #daisy johnson #peggy carter

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vanessakirbyfans · 4 years ago

Link

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The six actresses also candidly discuss what outsiders get wrong about acting, juggling work and family and how #MeToo has changed the culture for the next generation: "We're getting all the bad stuff out of the way."

A fiesta grandmother. A persecuted jazz icon. A grieving mother. A sexual assault avenger. A pioneering scientist. A girlfriend scorned.

On a mid-December morning, six actresses behind some of the year's most dynamic performances came together for The Hollywood Reporter's Actress Roundtable: Hillbilly Elegy's Glenn Close, The United States vs. Billie Holiday's Andra Day, Pieces of a Woman's Vanessa Kirby, Promising Young Woman's Carey Mulligan, Ammonite's Kate Winslet and Malcolm & Marie's Zendaya. The group, who gathered via video conference from homes and sets in L.A., Montana, Atlanta and the U.K., discussed the business side of acting, their weirdest pandemic habits, the dangerous Hollywood misconception about creative genius — and the fact that "how women's voices are being received [is] the biggest thing that has shifted."

Let's dive in. What's the most surprising thing you learned about yourself during the pandemic?

VANESSA KIRBY I learned a lot about silence. I hadn't realized quite how much "doing" I was doing. Somehow I hadn't quite realized that, when you're still, it's just as present, you know what I mean? And I think it's taught me to do less. I don't think anything else would have taught me that in the way this year has done.

KATE WINSLET I became, and still am, actually, utterly obsessed with sweeping my kitchen floor. But down to the point where if there's just even dog hair, and our dog is a golden retriever, so it's blond hair, but I've got this microscopic vision where I can see the dog hair gathering in tiny little cracks, between the dishwasher and the sink, and I'll be like, "There's dog hair, somebody, quick, get me the broom." I've just become obsessed. And I didn't really care about things like that particularly before. Don't get me wrong, I like to run a nice home, but sweeping the kitchen floor? I mean, who cares about that? So I've become a bit strange about the kitchen floor.

ZENDAYA For me, it's that I never really got to know who I was without work. I've always been working. I started working when I was so young, and I've always just had a consistent thing happening in my life. I just had never spent that much time with myself. I was like, "What makes me happy? What do I like to do other than work? Do I have any hobbies?" I basically get to do my hobby for a living. So it's like, "What else do I even like?" Facing that was interesting for sure.

What is something people often get wrong about acting?

WINSLET I've been doing this job now for, I realize, 27 years or something. I can't quite believe that, but I do find myself getting almost agitated when I feel I have to explain just how hard the job truly is … I don't think people understand that preparation can take up to four, five, sometimes even six months depending on the kind of role you're playing. And also how absent, I think, you are from your family. Even if they might physically be with you — which, in my case is nine times out of 10, I'm fortunate that they are — but emotionally I know that I'm gone. I'm just not there, I'm not just Mummy, I'm not just Ned [Smith]'s wife — suddenly, I'm this other being. And I do find that part quite upsetting sometimes, and I wish I had more of a balance with that.

CAREY MULLIGAN There's a bit of an idea, and maybe more even within the industry, that to make something great, people have permission to behave badly, the idea of someone being a creative genius … that they are so inspired, there's a required level of darkness or unpleasantness that goes along with that, that you need to put up with. And I think people get away with bad behavior because of those reasons. In my experience, some of the most incredible people I've worked with have just been also the most delightful. So that's kind of a common misconception, that there are people who have to behave badly to psych themselves up at work, or that the process is just sort of utterly miserable. I think you can work really hard, but ultimately … the attitude on set should be one of warmth.

ZENDAYA It also is a business, which is something I've had to learn as a young person. Because often you get into it just because you love it, and you just want to be creative, and you just want to do the fun stuff, but it is also a business. There are contracts involved and a lot of things that don't necessarily contribute to the creativity or contribute to this idea of the freedom you think you'll have. I have been learning that as I grow up that there are bigger entities involved … money people … I often encourage young people who do want to do this to read your contracts, be aware, have those conversations, ask as many questions as you can, try to get advice from people, because it's easy to get stuck in a bad situation. And having that knowledge is really, really important.

GLENN CLOSE A lot of people think that anyone can do it. And of course, there have been documentaries and even some movies of people who are not trained as actors — I think that can happen in movies. I really take my craft seriously, and I think people don't know what they're talking about when they think that anyone could do it. I once had a brain surgeon who was the father of one of my daughter's middle school friends … He asked if he could come over and pick my brain about something. And so I said, "Sure," and he came over and he said, "I find being a brain surgeon depressing, I really want to be an actor."

WINSLET Oh my God.

CLOSE And it was all I could do to not throw him out of my house. He said, "But I have to make a living, so how do I do it?" It was astounding to me that he would have such an ignorant idea of what acting was. So I think, for longevity, it is a craft, and I take great pride. There's always something new to learn every day, but it is something that really does count. When you task yourself with becoming, looking through the eyes of another person and telling a story that will have emotional impact, that is craft.

Andra, how did you go about finding the voice of Billie Holiday?

ANDRA DAY Well, first she is very familiar to me just because she is my foremost musical inspiration. I worked with this amazing dialect coach, Thom Jones … Through the breath, that was a huge thing. I remember him always talking about, "Where it is coming from? How is she breathing?" And the emotional part of it as well, too. I look at Billie Holiday's voice as a scroll. And on her voice is written her entire history, every time she had been raped, every time she had been hit, every time she had victoriously sang "Strange Fruit," every time she smoked a cigarette and every time she slammed heroin or did a speedball. Everything is written onto her voice. It was also important for me not to do an impersonation. And that's something [director] Lee [Daniels] spoke to me about, too, we don't want to impersonate her, but sort of bring me through her. … I feel the same way about acting, that not everyone can do it. To be honest with you, I did not think that I could do it, and I'm still a little on the fence about it.

I don't think after seeing this film anyone will have any question about whether you can do it. Let's talk a bit about physical transformation for a character. Glenn, in Hillbilly Elegy, you're physically transformed. How did finding the look of that character help you?

CLOSE I began personally not wanting to be distracted by my own face. I wanted to have very subtle differences so that it was an experience, that you get into the full hair and makeup and costume, and there she is, because she's very different from who I was. But we started with a portrait of Mamaw and just the glasses, the hair, the ears, I changed my nose a little bit. And it was very, very finessed work to make it subtle enough that it wasn't me, but not so … I didn't want people to say, "Oh, there's Glenn Close with a really bad nose." That took a lot of wonderful collaboration coming up with that. We had video, we talked to members of her family who were incredibly generous in talking about her. And I asked just very specific questions: "How did she walk, how did she hold her cigarette? How did she sit? What did she wear?" which is basically what you see in the movie. She was very much a larger-than-life character. "What was her atmosphere when she came into a room?" I mean, all those kinds of things that just was a slow buildup [from] the moment you walk on for hair and makeup, and you feel that there she is.

MULLIGAN With Promising Young Woman, [director] Emerald [Fennell] is very intentional about building a world that felt very enticing. You wanted to build a film that you wanted to see, not something you needed to or should see. Part of the way that Emerald first presented the film to me was this Candyland environment that you're in and that Cassie lived in that in the way that she clothes herself. She's somebody who is very practiced at living with her rage and her sadness and her grief. She's figured out that hiding in plain sight and looking like someone who's functioning, people tend to leave her alone. It's very deliberate that she has candy-colored nails and blond hair. First of all, she looks very unthreatening, so no one would ever suspect that she's about to destroy a life, but also she's someone that you don't need to check on. You can leave her alone … Her main everyday look was just a way of saying, "I'm absolutely fine. You don't need to look at me because I'm just generic, and a girl, and you don't need to take me seriously." Because we so often trivialize the way girls and women clothe themselves. It was just a very easy way of putting up a boundary between her and the rest of the world.

WINSLET Everything about [Ammonite subject, paleontologist] Mary Anning is so, so held and so internalized. I had to learn how to do quite a lot of acting with my posture, or the back of head, or the backs of my hands, or just sometimes my eyeballs. I had to really find a different rhythm for myself, because I'm a very animated person … The longer that you do this, the more familiar audiences become with your mannerisms and how you are or how you sound. I just try to remove everything of myself, and there were days when I would think, "Well, did I do anything or did I just do nothing today?" And it would be really disconcerting, but just finding a completely quiet, physical stillness and heaviness to Mary came hand in hand with the costuming of her and the look of her and making her hair a little bit gray and having no makeup.

Vanessa, you have a harrowing, more than 20-minute childbirth sequence in your film. Can you talk about what that was like to shoot and how you prepared for that?

KIRBY It was kind of terrifying, because I haven't given birth or been pregnant before. We have seen so many deaths onscreen, we've rarely seen birth … I ended up writing to a lot of obstetricians asking if they'd let me come in and shadow them. One said yes, so I went to a hospital in North London and was on the labor ward for many days, which was quite unbelievable for me. I learned a lot from the midwives about what the whole birthing experience is like. One afternoon, my very last afternoon at hospital, one of the midwives came round and said, "Oh, a woman's just come in and she's 9 centimeters dilated. And I'm going to ask if she'd mind you watching." I just thought, "There's no way in hell she's ever going to agree to have some random person sit in and watch this really sacred moment of her life." But she did, she said yes, and so I got to sit with her and watch her go through six hours of … I mean, it was just probably the most profound afternoon of my life. I never, ever could have acted it without watching her, because I saw her go on this unbelievable journey, and I saw the animal in her take over. And it was only because of that, really, that I then felt like maybe I had a chance at attempting it. When we came to it … it was so physical and it was such a primal body thing. We did four takes the first day, two the second, and I think the fourth one is the one in the movie. It was a bit like doing a play, really, where once you're on, you're on, and you can't stop. And there was something magic about that, because you couldn't spend any time doubting yourself, you just have to do it.

Zendaya, when you were making Malcolm & Marie, it was really in the height of the pandemic. Can you talk about how working in that environment shaped how you worked and how the set functioned?

ZENDAYA Obviously, we wanted to do everything as safely as possible, so we created a bubble. I was putting my own money into it, as was everyone else. We were living in a hotel that was empty. It was just us, because everything was shut down. We were in the middle of Carmel, and we shot in this home that was in the middle of nowhere. We weren't allowed to leave for obvious reasons, and in that time of quarantining together, we were allowed the time to work on the material. When we got there, the script was only about 70 pages, and there wasn't a third act. Through that process of every day just being together, sometimes in a parking lot, just working through every moment and having these really long discussions about ourselves, our characters, relationships … Being able to have that time, that space with each other to figure it out, was really, really helpful. And really not having any other distraction, just being in it every single day.

We only had two actors, a very small, small crew. So we're all doing like four different jobs. I'm doing my hair and makeup and using some of my clothes, trying to remember my continuity because we don't have any ADs or scripties [script supervisors] or anything.

Vanessa, you've been shooting the Mission: Impossible sequel. Is there a lot of pressure to maintain safety on these big sets? How does it feel different?

KIRBY My sister's an AD. She started on a movie in the summer, so I kind of learned from her what the new parameters would be and how to navigate. And I was so hopeful when she went back, actually, because it was a funny feeling, I think, for everybody suddenly seeing cinemas closed. All the people that you love and you work with are unable to work in so many different capacities, including my sister. It gave me a lot of faith. But, I mean, you get used to it. There are obviously many guidelines, there are masks and lots of testing and things like that. But it gives me faith in the resilience, actually. And I feel like we will get through it — I can't wait for the day when cinemas are going to open again.

I was skeptical when the #MeToo movement began that there would be any kind of lasting change for women in Hollywood. But now we have more female directors, we have intimacy coordinators, Harvey Weinstein is in prison. Some things that I thought I would not see have come to pass. I'm curious, what has been the biggest change for you, personally, since the #MeToo movement started?

WINSLET The thing that is shifting in ways that will absolutely be long lasting is how women's voices are being received. There is a space that has been created for a younger generation that is going to be safe. My daughter is 20, and she just came into the industry about a year and a half ago. And what's wonderful for me, as her mum, is just watching her have a courage of conviction and self-belief that is just unwavering, because she's entering a time when we're clearing the shit away from them, these girls. These girls are going to change the world, and they're going to be strong, and they're going to be powerful, and they're going to be fucking amazing. And that is because we're getting all the bad stuff out of the way for them and all they will know is to use their voice in positive, powerful ways, to lead with compassion, to be strong role models and friends. And that, to me, is the biggest thing that has shifted.

This is the decade of women championing and supporting other women without judgment. This is happening right now, and that has come as a result of the mass united swell that has emerged from #MeToo. We've all come together, everyone is holding hands and walking in the same direction. And, for me, that is the single most exciting thing that is coming out of the awfulness of the past five years and those extraordinary women coming forward and sharing their painful, awful stories, and the horrendous Harvey Weinstein. The time now is about leading in a different way. Young women being able to lead with courage — in a way that I feel I certainly didn't have, that sense of courage and companionship with my peers, in a way that I think #MeToo has done for this generation of women.

This year, we saw the explosion of the Black Lives Matter movement globally. And at the time it happened, a lot of media companies were issuing statements, making large donations. Do you think there will be lasting changes from that movement as well? Three years from now, will we be talking the way we're talking now about #MeToo in terms of concrete things changing?

DAY My hope is yes. And I hope that it spawns lasting change that moves faster than it has moved in the past. I'm hoping that this is an uprooting of this idea of, "OK, pace yourself, we need to make sure we make people comfortable." That's really not how you achieve lasting change. We can't survive like this, we will not survive. It ends in what? Our destruction, it ends in war, it ends in just unrest.

That was one of the things even on set, there were a few moments that were really quite disturbing, for the cast and me. We were shooting a movie that takes place in the '40s and in the '50s. And there were moments on set that we realized, "Oh, wow, that has not changed." It may have transformed, it may look a little different, lynching looks different, but it's not changed. Truth is going to be a huge, huge, huge factor in seeing lasting change, and sustaining, and transforming, and changing a generation.

As Kate talked about, with the younger generation, I think they have such a need for transparency that will actually be very helpful. Part of doing the movie, the Billie Holiday story, was that the truth of her story had never been told, because the truth of her story was intentionally kept from the public. The respinning of narratives for people of color, or for marginalized people, or for women, has been a constant technique of oppression. And I think that's going to be hugely important moving forward: We have to pop the top off of these things. And we have to tell the truth about them, and understand the scope of certain groups of people, people of color, why the scope of their pain has been minimized or retold.

The retelling of these stories also has to do with telling the truth, some of the gritty, ugly truth about maybe some of our heroes. We have to say, "OK, this isn't for the purpose of destroying people, but we need to know these truths so we can actually move forward and not repeat them."

CLOSE I just have to say I'm sitting here and I'm so inspired by what everyone has been saying. It's quite overwhelming, it's so articulate and so beautiful what everyone has said.

WINSLET Well, we've got you to look up to, Glenn.

CLOSE I can't tell you, it's very moving to me to hear all this. I've been an actress for 46 years, and when I think of the change, the monumental changes that in my short time that I have witnessed, the expectation is going to be phenomenal when we finally can get back to doing what we are here to do. I think there's going to be an overwhelming amount of stories and new ways of telling stories.

What will you do differently in 2021?

MULLIGAN The first thing that came into my mind was that I'm going to go to the theater as much as I can, and the cinema. As soon as we can, I'm going to sit around people and watch something together with them. It just shocked me how much I missed that. I watched a medley of musical theater on television a couple of weeks ago, and it just made me cry. I just want to be a part of that. So it sounds quite trivial, but I think that is something I'm looking most forward to.

WINSLET You know, I never give time to myself at all, really, I don't. People will so often say to me, "Oh, you need to get a massage." And I think, "What? Don't got time for that." So actually, I just have enjoyed, quite honestly, just going really easy on myself. If I had a week where I think, "Oh, I've probably had too much toast. Oh, well." Or, "Oh, well, maybe I should do some more exercise. Oh, maybe I'll do that next week." I'm just kind of learning to go, "Oh, it doesn't matter." It doesn't matter. Life's too short, just enjoy this time, and it doesn't matter about all that crap. I think I'd like to hang on to a bit of that, actually. Because it's easy in this job to have to live by certain disciplines, whether it's just sleep patterns or times that you eat, for example. And actually just letting go of all of that has been really such a joy. Not enforcing any degree of sort of stress or structure on stuff. I've loved all that. So I hopefully I'll carry that on.

CLOSE I came here where I live now [Montana] because my three siblings are here, and I had spent my whole adult life away from them. And we're now in the same town. So, for me, work is so I can come back home. It's kind of changed things, it's not like I'm waiting at home until I go to work. It's really, really valuing the work, because it means that I'll be able to come home.

Interview edited for length and clarity.

#Vanessa Kirby #Pieces of a Woman #Glenn Close #Kate Winslet #Carey Mulligan #Interviews #Roundtable #Videos

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rogershoe · 4 years ago

Text

Lights, Camera, Action

Part Two

(part one)

Masterlist

Summary: You’re a production assistant on the set of Cursed. The night before your first day at work, you opened your laptop to shockingly realise you’d be working with Daniel Sharman (and a plethora of other amazing actors), someone you’d been watching on screen since you were a teenager. You kept your expectations low, the PAs rarely got to interact with the talent…what was your chance?

Word count: 2.4k

Tag list: @sxperncturalimpala67 @mrsaaronkeener @tinygardensoul @disasterday @5am-cigarette @lancelotapricot @demoiselle-en-detresse00 @slytherlight @18somethingpsyche @ceruleanmusings @glxctt @cavillxhenry @lovelyapplessss @hereagainsstuff @linkpk88 @aliceperdida @weeping-redemption @magicalsaladnacho @lancelotapricot @ineedyourskulls @fandomarstrash

Warnings: age gap between reader and Daniel, swearing, slow burn

Notes: I hope you guys like this chapter! I know the story is moving slowly (both the chapters are of the same day ahaha) but this is the reader’s first day on set so I wanted to make it really detailed! Thank you so much for reading and please leave feedback and suggestion..it makes my day!!

——–

You stood up, dusting your knees to get rid of any residue from the hot tarmac. You couldn’t get the picture of him looking at you out of your mind. You wondered if he would recognize you on set…or whether he thought you were creepy. You started walking towards the door, thoughts still rushing through your mind. Maybe he didn’t think anything of it…or maybe he was still thinking about you, the stalkerish girl that was staring at him…

“Ow!”

Your hand clasped over your mouth as you realized you had opened the grey door too quickly, accidentally hitting one of the crew members.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry” you pleaded, lowering your hand…your first day and you had already injured someone.

The thirty something year old woman looked at you annoyingly, taking off her headset and rubbing her forehead, “Shouldn’t you be inside?”

“Yeah..I’m sorry” your brain went blank as you tried to recall what you were doing outside….

“I was just getting a battery” you said suddenly and gestured to your back pocket.

“A battery? You’re a PA?” she lowered her hand, her expression softening

“Yeah” you said, letting out a breath of relief..maybe she’d know where to find the other PAs, “It’s my first day”

“Oh great!” she suddenly exclaimed, her mood changing..she held out her hand, “I’m the key production assistant, Naomi” she smiled, her bright red lips pulling back to reveal pearly white teeth

You took it, glad but a bit taken aback by her sudden change in mood. Then you realized…you had essentially just injured one of your bosses..shit. How many more things could go wrong today?

“Hey, nice to meet you” you blurted out..the adrenaline from seeing Daniel and hitting the key PA with a metal door was thankfully dying down.

“Has Huey shown you around yet?” she asked, pulling her headset back on

You nodded, “Yeah, he mainly gave me a tour of the basecamp”

“Awesome” she smiled again, “you can follow me” she said, starting to walk towards the basecamp, “I just need to do a couple more jobs in the trailers and then you can get started”

The butterflies in your stomach came alive again… what if she had a job near Daniel’s trailer? Worse yet, what if she had to do something in Daniel’s trailer?

“You coming?” she said squinting and looking back at you..you realized you’d frozen in your spot.

“Yeah..sorry” you stumbled over your words again and jogged up to her. The walk was short, less than a minute…it gave you plenty of time to get a good look at the trailer Daniel had previously gone into. The curtains were drawn over the windows so you couldn’t see anything inside. Maybe there had been a makeup artist already waiting in there for him and he was getting ready.

You forced yourself to stop thinking about him and looked forward at the tens of other trailers. You wondered if any other actors had arrived while you were inside or busy apologizing to Naomi.

As if she read your mind, (these crew members had a gift), she spoke, “the actors should be getting here any second now” she looked at the white watch on her wrist.

You decided to speak up, “I saw Daniel go into a trailer a few minutes ago”

She looked at you, an odd look across her face that you couldn’t read….you quickly looked for any mistakes in your sentence and realized you had called him Daniel

“I mean Mr. Sharman” you stuttered, hoping she wouldn’t get angry

Her expression quickly returned to normal and she suddenly broke out in laughter, clutching her stomach with her hands

“OH, darling, it’s fine!” she straightened up, still smiling brightly

“You don’t have to call him that in front of me..I was just a bit concerned because calling him by his first name implies you know of him” she cleared her throat and you realized you were at the basecamp..”and knowing of these actors can lead to you becoming starstruck or…. or distracted….it’s essentially a recipe for a disaster”

That was unfortunate. You had been trying to tell yourself over and over again that you wouldn’t.. no, couldn’t get starstruck. As she said, it did seem like a “recipe for disaster”.

You looked around at the multiple trailers, and saw that there were actually a few people hovering around six or seven of them…Huey had told you those were the costume department trailers.

Naomi started walking towards them. You forced yourself to keep your eyes facing forward, away from Daniel’s trailer on the right.

There was a cool breeze in the air and you revelled in the feeling, the refreshing coldness washing over your face.

“Naomi can you take these to trailer thirteen?” A woman called out. She had curly long blonde hair and wore bright red glasses.

Naomi smiled and nodded. You both walked towards the trailers and the woman who was standing on the steps into one of the vehicles. The woman headed inside and you both followed her. The inside of the trailer was much larger than you thought and was bursting with racks full of various different costumes. You could’ve spent hours just looking through all the clothes but unfortunately this was work..and you had no such privilege.

The eccentric looking woman looked through one of the racks before pulling out a long black costume. It was covered by clear plastic so you couldn’t really tell what it was but it seemed to be similar to a coat or robe. When she handed it to Naomi you saw that it also had a hood stitched onto the back.

Naomi gestured for you to head out of the trailer and you did so, carefully walking down the metal steps. You stopped beside the trailer, waiting for her next instruction.

She came up to you and handed you the hanger that the costume was hanging on.

“Each trailer is numbered, I’m sure Huey told you that”, you nodded, he had, “the number is on the main trailer door” you nodded again

“I want you to take this” she pointed at the clothing, “to trailer number thirteen”, you thought you saw a slight grin dance across her face for a split second.

“Alright…sure” you said, that sounded simple enough.

“Once you’re done, just come back here” she smiled before walking to one of the many people there

You nodded, smiling profusely and then walking away from the crowded trailers.

You wondered where trailer thirteen was…the costume trailer was twenty five so you started heading back the way you came. You looked at the doors and saw the numbers getting smaller. When you reached trailer fifteen you almost dropped the costume on the ground. It was two doors away from Daniel’s trailer. What was your luck? As much as you wanted to meet Daniel, you weren’t ready. Especially after what had happened earlier.

But this was work and you had to do your job and remain professional no matter the circumstances. You stalked up to the trailer mentally preparing yourself, you swore they could hear your heart beating all the way inside the trailer…… but before you could even put your foot on the first step, a woman walked out. She held a brush in her hand…a make-up brush.

“Oh hey” you said slightly taken aback,

“Hey! This is for Daniel right?” she said, a grin plastered across her face. She seemed sweet, really sweet.

“I think so” you said looking at the costume closely…you saw a small label which D.S was written on, “they told me to bring it to trailer thirteen”

“Well you’re at the right place” you stepped aside to let her move off the stairs. Suddenly another woman emerged from the trailer, her jet black hair was pulled back into a bun and she looked younger, maybe in her early twenties..close to your age actually.

“Oh hey, I’ll take that for you” she beamed and reached her hand out for the costume

You breathed a sigh of deep relief and suddenly all the nerves centered around meeting Daniel left your body. You were about to hand it to her, before the first woman..the supposed makeup artist spoke.

“Jasmine, no, you come with me. I have to show you around the costume department”, Jasmine walked down the steps, an apologetic look on her face. The makeup artist then turned to you, “you can just take that inside and put it on the couch to your left”

“Oh okay sure” you said trying to seem confident. The nerves had returned in full force now but you tried your best to hide them. You hoped your face hadn’t gone completely red. The door had been left slightly open and you slowly walked up the steps, thankful that the two women were now walking away.

You took a deep breath and opened the door. The inside was very different from the costume departments. There was only one rack in the corner and it was empty, there was a small purple couch on your left and a small door right in front of you which you guessed was to the bathroom. But the most interesting part was the long mirror that stretched across almost the whole wall opposite the door. It was similar to the set up at a salon, with a lower long table parallel to the mirror (supported by the wall) adorned with various different sorts of brushes, hairdryers, tweezers and three black leather spinning chairs also placed there.

In the middle chair, sat Daniel Sharman.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stepped into the trailer. You were afraid your legs might give way any second. He was on his phone, his hair tied back in a bun…a bored look on his face. You couldn’t help but think about how attractive he looked. His keys lay on the table in front of him, next to a magazine. You carefully walked towards the couch and remembered the rule about how you never talked to the talent. You were thankful for it at this point….at least you didn’t have to try and make conversation. He was still looking at his phone… had he even noticed you had come in? The clear plastic covering of the robe crinkled loudly as you placed it down on the couch, breathing heavily.

He looked up suddenly, his blue eyes catching yours in the mirror as your head jerked up to see if he had heard. He seemed alarmed at first but his expression softened when he realised that you had only just brought his costume.

He laughed softly, “You scared me for a second there” he said, you could clearly hear his British accent.

“Oh…sorry..” you said smiling anxiously. You knew you were very clearly blushing, you just hoped he hadn’t taken any notice. He hadn’t, he was looking right down at his phone again. You straightened your back, realizing he really didn’t care about whether you were blushing or not…he didn’t actually care about you or what you were doing at all.

You walked back to the door. As you pulled it open, you heard his voice again,

“Thank you..”

You couldn’t help but smile as you muttered “your welcome” and stepped out of the trailer. You took a small glance at him before closing the door and saw that he had a slight grin on his face as he put down his phone and picked up the magazine.

8:20 am

It was almost time for filming and you couldn’t be more excited. Naomi had given you a walkie talkie and also a headset so you could communicate with the assistant directors and also the rest of the production assistants. You had been introduced to one other PA, his name was Louis. He had tan skin and shoulder length curly black hair. Cursed was his third and largest project yet.

He tapped you on the shoulder suddenly. You were standing in the studio waiting for the actors to arrive on set so they could start filming. You turned around, your arms crossed over your chest,

“yeah?”

He pointed to where the hallway entered the studio. Through it came Katherine Langford dressed in what looked like a nun’s clothes. You smiled widely…..first Daniel now Katherine? This day had been stressful and demanding and anxiety-ridden..but hopefully, finally getting to see all these actors play their characters would make it worth it.

Your heart beat faster in excitement as she walked over to the director for her instructions.

Louis spoke into your ear, “When they’re about to start filming, Huey will say rolling into the earpieces… then every PA will repeat that after him so we can make sure everyone on the set knows”

He saw you had a confused look on your face and explained, “only a few people on set have a headset, and the AD cant scream loud enough for everyone on set to hear”

You nodded then, understanding “So I just have to say rolling?”

He nodded turning back to the set.

Katherine was standing in the marble looking room that connected to what looked like a dining area with long wooden tables.

You suddenly saw Louis swivel his head towards the hallway and you did the same, your eyes widening at what you saw. Daniel was dressed in what you guessed was the long black costume you had brought into his trailer. His hood was raised over his head and as he walked into the studio you noticed that he had tear like markings drawn onto his face. Your mind wandered off to where you didn’t want it to…you couldn’t deny that he looked hot.

“He looks sick, doesn’t he?” you heard Louis whisper into your ear

“He really does,” you said, nodding eagerly. You were tired but seeing the actors in their costumes was like a splash of cold water to your face. Maybe you wouldn’t fall asleep on set after all.

Please lmk what age you’d like the reader to be in the comments! I was thinking of keeping her in her early to mid 20s since that would fit with the fact that she had been watching Daniel since she was a teenager :))

Part three

#Daniel sharman #daniel sharman x reader #daniel sharman fanfic #daniel sharman fluff #daniel sharman x oc #daniel sharman fic #daniel sharman fanfiction #cursed fanfiction #cursed #cursed netflix #cursed x reader #cursed fanfic #netflix #weeping monk #lancelot #Daniel sharman one shot #Daniel sharman imagine #Weeping monk x reader #Lancelot x reader

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dorevenge · 3 years ago

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where ignorance is bliss - chapter 2: where grass was green

SUMMARY: Obadiah is off to Washington to assist with the war in Vietnam, and Peggy and Maria grow closer, as Maria learns something she wishes she didn't. [AO3 LINK]

CHAPTERS: 1 [2] 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ☆

November 15, 1959 – Bronx, New York, Obadiah’s Apartment

Struggling to find ways to pass the time after the war, Peggy frequented my apartment. The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division (or, S.H.I.E.L.D., as everyone says to save precious time) has been involved in the fight with Vietnam for a few years now. Obadiah left for Washington right after the Stark Expo to give weapons consult in the war, and I haven’t seen him in almost three months. We would write letters sometimes, and phone even less. I moved into Obie’s apartment to take care of the place while he was away for an indeterminate amount of time, and Peggy crashed in the living more times than she would care to admit.

“Did you love him?” I ask, fixing the two of us another round of Old Fashions. The empty Chinese carryout containers are scattered across the coffee table before us. There’s a good restaurant between the S.H.I.E.LD. Headquarters and the apartment, and Peggy will frequently grab something on the way here.

“I only knew him for a couple months,” Peggy replies, taking the glass. I curl up next to her on the couch, our heads leaning in towards each other. “So it’s hard to say. It could have been. We were both young, thrown together during some of humanity’s darkest days. We were all looking for something to believe in.”

She swirls the glass in her hand, lazily watching the whiskey fall back down the side before continuing.

“What about you and Obadiah? Is this love?”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” The corners of my mouth curl downwards on their own. Peggy notices. Peggy always notices.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s more like paradise when he’s gone rather than when he’s here.”

“Why is he your boyfriend if you don’t even like him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I take a large gulp of my Old Fashion, the whiskey burning the back of my throat. “He’s my fiancé.”

Peggy sits up, and my head slides off her shoulder to the cushion of the couch.

“Your what?” She takes my left hand into hers and finds my ring finger bare.

“I keep it in my sock drawer. Whether out of safekeeping or embarrassment, I’m not sure.” I sit up.

“When did this happen? And why did you say yes?” She looks at me with a tight expression, concern and worry on her face. Her red lipstick is all but gone, a faint imprint of it left on the rim of her class, and her usually tight curls hang loose around her neck and chin. If she weren’t so upset, I’d reach out to tuck one of them behind her ear.

“The last day of the Expo. He… He’s comfortable. We have our routine. We play chess together, I straighten his ties, I smile at the men he wants to invest in his company. I get some of the profits for my charities, and we make each other look good.” I frown at the empty glass in my hand and contemplate fixing another.

Peggy sets down her unfinished drink and looks at me. She has a way of effortlessly shifting her gaze from disapproving to comforting in a second. I never know if I’m going to be talking to the “unrelenting founder of S.H.I.E.LD.” Peggy or the “let’s go shopping and day-drinking” Peggy.

“I’m sure there’s a man out there that complements you and makes you feel good. You just-”

“-haven’t found him yet,” I finish her sentence. I’ve heard it from everyone – my parents, coworkers, strangers who learn I’m 23 and still unwed. 24, I remind myself; my birthday was on the fifth, less than two weeks ago. I feel the effects of the whiskey settling in, my eyes growing heavy and my weight shifting to my stomach. “You’re lucky to have experienced two great loves.”

“Daniel is far from a true love, hence why I stay with you the majority of the week. I’m also fourteen years older than you and have had more time to find them. I was 24 when I met Steve; there’s still plenty of time.”

“There doesn’t seem to be many men like Steve left.”

Peggy was gone without a word the next morning, and I am left alone with a pounding headache. By the time I wake, its well past noon on Saturday, and the mail’s already been delivered under the door.

I rifle through the envelopes once my toast is done, the coffee pot almost full, and the majority of the mail is addressed to Obadiah. Bills and letters of interest from inventors that I’m supposed to forward to him in DC. There’s a letter addressed to me in his precise, meticulous handwriting, but the one that interests me most is from Roxxon Oil Company, a large, thick packet with “CONFIDENTIAL” stamped across it. Naturally, I open it.

Maybe it’s the lingering hangover or the knowledge that Obie would forgive me for anything under the sun, but I rip open the envelope as I sip on my morning coffee, pouring all its contents out on to the table.

Most of the information doesn’t interest me, talking about drill efficiency and rigs and pipelines, until I find the balance sheet and investing information. I did get my master’s in accounting, as Obie tends to forget as he relegates me to a trophy wife. As I drift back into sobriety, the pieces start falling into place. Roxxon isn’t investing in Stane International; Stane is investing in Roxxon, and they were already profiting, working together, inventing together. The copies of the blueprints are of Obie’s design, seeking to create clean energy to replace gasoline down the road. In the last two years, Obadiah has made hundreds of thousands of dollars, with deposits and withdrawals from countless accounts, and reinvesting it, the paper trail deliberately as confusing as possible. I’d call it embezzlement if it weren’t his own company.

I get a scratch piece of paper and start doing the math. It isn’t adding up. Nothing is adding up, the dates and locations, let alone the cash, with several documents addressed from Russia. I sit up, my heart in my throat, pulsing so hard it feels like the world around me was shaking.

Obadiah is not a sneaky man by nature. I knew that he was interested in me before he realized it; I knew when he was going to ask me to go steady with him; I know when he is on the brink of a great new idea. He tries his best to hide things, but every move of his body betrays him. I’ve caught him sticking things in the back of his closet and under his bed more times than I could count, and I’ve never had the opportunity to check with him there. But seeing as he’s away…

Kneeling, I fumble underneath the bed frame until my fingers find purchase on a briefcase, and I slide it out. I wrestle with the knobs until I realize there’s a four-digit code keeping it locked. Before I mess with the dials, I notice the number. 0213.

“Oh, Obie. Do you have to be so predictable?” February 13th was our first date; he chose the day before Valentine’s Day because he believed the holiday of romance should be reserved for people already together, and he made a spectacle on 14th because we were together at that point, by his logic.

The top of the briefcase pops open at my touch, and inside I find numerous telegram slips, copies of both those sent and received. I sift through them quickly, none of them really catching my eye, filled with code words that I didn’t have the motivation to try to decipher. One of them caught my eye, and this is one of the only times Obie’s over-organization paid off because the telegrams were in chronological order.

RECEIVED

September 21, 1957

To: Stane, O.

O., I am glad to hear you secured the trust-fund. Let me know what day you’ll tie the knot, and I’ll tell you where to wire the funds. I might just send you a gift to celebrate.

NEFARIA, G.

SENT

September 28, 1957

To: Nefaria, G.

I’ll be traveling for work extensively the next four months. Please send files to Location 2. She can’t know anything.

STANE, O.

RECEIVED

September 30, 1957

To: Stane, O.

O., safe travels. Remember the end goal – the reactor that threatens our future. It cannot be manufactured by anyone but us, for our sake.

NEFARIA, G.

Prior, my heart had felt like it was running a mile a minute; now, it feels still in my chest. Dead in the water, like a stunned minnow tossed in to attract larger fish. “The trust fund.”

I had been courted before for my parents’ wealth. In college, a boy had pursued me relentlessly. He made me feel beautiful, special, and like the only star in his sky. He had convinced me that love was this roller-coaster rush of emotions, one collision after the other, until his dormmate clued me in on his intentions. That’s why I try to keep Obie in the dark about what I’ll inherit, how big my trust-fund really is. Growing up, I was unaware of how good we had it; all my friends in boarding school were from the same social and financial class, we all vacationed at the same spots and shopped at the same boutiques. It took a lot of eye-opening experiences at university for me to realize life was different for others, and it honed my ability to detect insincere motives. Too little, too late, but I won’t let it happen again.

With shaking hands, I put the papers back in their order, and I snap the briefcase closed, pushing it back under the bed with a force. I return to the kitchen table where I had spread the other documents out, collect them, and place them back as they were. I’m not sure if I need to try to seal it to make it look unopened, or if I should destroy the whole thing. He hadn’t asked me about forwarding this one specifically, so he might not be expecting it. Under the documents, I find the letter addressed to me again. Obie’s handwriting hits me differently now. How well do I actually know the sender?

Mar- (God, I hate it when he calls me Mar.)

I am writing to you with success here in Washington DC. We have made valiant efforts with the war. We expect Vietnam to concede soon. Our troops are vigilant and the best America has to offer, and their farmers pose no threat to us or the hope of victory. I expect to return home to you Friday the 15th of November. I’m sorry, darling, that I missed your birthday, but perhaps I can make it up to you.

See you soon at home,

Your Obie

Friday. Today was Friday.

The living room was a mess. Peggy’s and my drinks and dinner dishes scatter the room, the mail on the table, and I look equally disheveled. I know Obie would be disappointed, as the apartment is always speckless when he’s here.

I am a flurry around the house, collecting garbage in the bin and dishes in the sink. I tie the heaping garbage bag and leave it by the door, and rush to check my appearance in the bathroom. A scarf around my hairline will make the windswept, frenzied style look intention, and I change into a simple blue sundress. Obie didn’t have a dishwasher, so I put an apron on to protect my dress from the dishwater.

As I was setting the last glass out to dry, a knock resounded from the front door. I could feel it reverberate in my chest, and my heartbeat pulsed in every finger in my hand. Shaking, I set the glass down, wiped the water off my hands, preparing myself to smile and wine-and-dine the man I’ve already committed myself to.

#where ignorance is bliss #wiib reading #what if #marvel #iron man #fanfiction #canary writes a text post

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