#i’ll reply to it eventually. just had to get this out of my system | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stevesbestgirl · 1 year ago

Text

Phases of the Moon - Part 1

Steven Grant x f!Reader, eventual Marc Spector x f!Reader

2796 words

Warnings: poor imitations of British speaking habits, not much else in part one, maybe a few curses but I’m not sure

A/N: This was my attempt to write a slow-burn. It’s long, self-indulgent, and obscenely fluffy. Reader is specified as American, but mostly so I can avoid pretending I know anything about living in the UK. Steven and Marc are aware of each other and trying to find balance in their relationship in this fic, but keep in mind that I am not a system and am not an expert. All of my information about their relationship comes from the Moon Knight show and I use that as my reference point.

*Bold type is spoken by Marc when Steven is fronting.*

Masterlist

“Go talk to her.”

“Well I can’t, can I?” Steven sent a furtive glance at you, toying absently with your phone while you examined the glyphs inside a display.

“Why can’t you?”

“She’s got earphones in.”

Marc scoffed in the glass of one of the display cases, “Always an excuse.”

“I can’t just interrupt her, that’d be rude!”

“Not if she’s interested.”

Steven’s reply was cut short as a pair of boys came rushing around the corner, laughing and shoving each other- Steven wouldn’t have placed them at older than twelve. He watched helplessly as one firm push sent the smaller of the two reeling into your backside. Completely oblivious to their noise, you went sprawling, headphones disconnecting as your phone hit the ground and was sent skittering across the polished floor, coming to rest at Steven’s feet.

Inhibitions gone, Steven scooped your phone up and rushed over, offering a hand to help you up, “Are you okay?” You nodded, feeling a little embarrassed. “You lot,” he called out, locating the pair sidling off behind a diorama, “C’mere.”

They looked like they were considering bolting, but the smaller of them located Steven’s badge and took a reluctant step forward. By the time they stood in front of you, they were looking rather cowed, like puppies who’d been caught gnawing a slipper.

“Shape up, you hear? You could’ve really hurt someone.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Now listen, down that corridor there, there’s a bunch of old weapons; spears, cudgels, daggers, the like. How about you go give it a look?” You watched him speak to the two boys; his enthusiasm seemed very genuine, not the fake kind adults often used with children.

The taller boy hesitated before leaving, “What’s a cudgel?”

Steven smiled a little, “Why don’t you go on and find out?” Then the two rushed in the direction he’d indicated and he called after them, “Slowly, hm?”

Once they were out of sight, you finally spoke, “Are you sure that was a good idea? Sending them in there with a bunch of weapons?” You couldn’t help but smile as he unconsciously smoothed his dark, nearly sleep-tousled curls back from his face.

His intent had been to chuckle, but it came out as more of an empty puff of air, “They’re all under glass- should be alright.” He added, “Maybe I’ll pop in to check on them, just in case.” Nervous now, he looked down at his hands, still holding your phone, “Oh, there you are.” Your expression fell and only then did he notice the spiderweb of cracks in the bottom corner where it had hit the floor, “Oh no.”

You shook your head, accepting the phone and dropping it to your side, like putting it out of sight would make him forget, “It’s alright. Just a screen protector. I’ll get a new one eventually.”

“Sorry about that, love,” he insisted, his earnest gaze finally meeting yours just in time for your face to go warm. You’d thought you’d been ready to hear the term of endearment used so casually when you came to England, but apparently not.

“It’s alright,” you rushed to speak. “Definitely not your fault. Thanks for helping me-” you glanced at his name tag, “-Steven.”

“No problem- it is my job after all,” he cracked a halfhearted smile.

“You were great with those kids too.”

Rosy warmth tinged his cheeks and his gaze shifted away, “Thanks.” A small pause, “Your accent- you’re American?”

You nodded, “Needed a change of scenery, so I’m staying with some family for a while. Just got in yesterday, actually.”

His gaze eagerly lifted to yours again, but flicked away over your shoulder and he went slightly pale. Glancing back, you saw a stocky woman with dirty blonde hair gesturing impatiently at him.

Returning his gaze to you, he looked a bit panicked, “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go. I- ah-” He tripped over his words and almost tripped almost his feet as well, veering around you and backing away toward the woman beckoning him over.

You raised your hand in an uncertain farewell as he stammered his way backwards, gesturing faintly over his shoulder with his thumb in a faint attempt at an explanation. Once he was within range, the woman seemed to be lighting into him a bit, though his gaze hadn’t yet left you. It wasn’t until she snapped her fingers that he looked at her.

Not wanting to spy, you turned away, checking your phone for the time. When Steven glanced your way again, he only caught your retreating form disappearing out the entrance. For once, Donna’s criticisms didn’t affect him since he was already kicking himself for not asking you out. Or getting your phone number. Or even your name. He’d blown it.

The following day, you had a bit more time to explore the museum, so you returned. And you noted with dismay, when the cabbie called you “love”, you didn’t so much as blink, let alone blush. Maybe it had been a one-off thing. Now you would be immune.

Walking in and spotting the woman from before at the front desk, you plucked up a bit of courage and approached. Her name tag read “Donna” and she prompted with visible disinterest, as though she were reading off a script, “Welcome. Is there something I can direct you to?”

Deciding to push forward, you said, “Actually, I was just in here yesterday. I ran into a bit of trouble with a couple of young boys and one of your tour guides helped me. I wanted to let you know that Steven was very polite and just lovely with those kids-”

“Stevie? He isn’t a tour guide,” Donna interrupted, wrinkling her nose. “In his dreams, maybe.”

“But he does work here?”

“Yeah, he’s the gift shoppist.” She was still being very flippant; it was clear that she’d barely had interest in this conversation to begin with and now that it was about Steven, it had dwindled to none.

“Right. Thank you.” You forced a smile and nodded before heading off in the direction of the gift shop.

The counter was empty when you first walked into the room, sending a tiny shoot of disappointment into your chest. You wanted to thank him, since it didn’t appear that you could score him any points with his boss.

You wondered for a moment if you should come back later, but then a shaggy, brown mop of hair sprung up from behind the counter, triumphantly brandishing what appeared to be a large, amber-colored marble with a bone inside it, “Got ya, you little bugger.”

His gaze fell on you and he tucked the marble behind his back, like it was something to hide, “You- you came back.”

You reached into your bag, pulling out the brochure you’d picked up yesterday, “I was only passing through yesterday.” You unfolded the brochure and showed him the notes you’d taken on the map, detailing where you wanted to go first and which exhibits had caught your eye, “I like to plan a little bit.”

He followed the line you traced with your finger intently, raising his gaze to your face when you pulled away, “That’s a good way to go about it. The tour is pretty good too.” Steven’s heart skipped as your lips pulled into a slight frown; had he said something wrong?

“Speaking of the tour, I tried to put in a good word for you with your boss- as thanks, for yesterday- she doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“Oh, yes. Donna and I have got a bit of a rocky history.” He added quickly, “Not a history, mind you. More like a boss/employee history. I’ve got a bit of a bad track record with my punctuality, actually,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, I think you’d make a lovely tour guide, for what it’s worth.”

There was another one of those long pauses; you were about to offer a meek “Thanks again,” and cut your losses when he spoke up, “If you like, I’m on a break in ten minutes. I could show you around.”

You’d insisted to yourself that this wasn’t why you came back here, but you found yourself nodding, a faint smile on your lips, “I’d like that.”

Steven seemed even more surprised than you were, nodding quickly, “Great- that’s- great.” He nodded again, “I can meet you in the ‘King’s Tomb’ exhibit.” He pointed, “Right over there-” He checked his watch, “-in nine minutes.”

Your smile widened, “See you in nine minutes then.” You moved off in the direction he’d indicated, the temptation to look back gnawing at you.

“Wait!” he called after you. You turned back, “I haven’t got your name.”

“You haven’t needed it, have you?”

Now you were teasing and you knew it. But you could feel his eyes on you as you disappeared around the corner and you smiled to yourself. So much for doing your own thing. The whole reason for coming to London was to get away from men- although you supposed it was more one man than men in general. But something about Steven just caught your eye.

So you waited out the impossibly long eight minutes remaining until Steven walked in, looking in a bit of a rush. You watched him scan the exhibit, almost like he’d expected you to have left by now.

You raised a hand, “Steven.” He positively lit up at the sight of you, relief visible in the heavy exhale he released- like he'd been holding his breath.

You met him in the center of the room, clasping your hands behind your back in anticipation. Steven still had the remnants of a grin on his face, though he mirrored your posture, a bit of enthusiasm escaping as he bounced on the balls of his feet, just once, “What do you want to see?”

“You’re my tour guide, you tell me,” you teased.

Almost instantly, his face flushed, “Well, I wasn’t sure if there were specific displays you wanted to look at or certain subjects you were interested in, you know? Since I've only got fifteen minutes on my break.”

“Well, I’m interested in everything, but since we only have fifteen minutes; how about you show me the way you’d start your tour if you were a guide?” His cheeks darkened further and you had to bite the inside of your cheek not to smile again. But he surprised you, recovering quickly and placing his hand on your arm. He steered you over to one of the displays and you glanced at him, “The Ennead?”

The Ennead,” he corrected your pronunciation. “The Egyptian Gods.” He wheeled around so his back was to the exhibit, his gaze meeting yours with ease. “Everything about Egypt comes back to the gods one way or another, so to understand Egypt, you have to understand them.”

He walked you through the exhibit, one god or goddess at a time, his hands moving animatedly as he talked. And he was good at it, in a different way than you’d expect. He had such a wealth of knowledge- you felt comfortable asking questions because you expected him to have the answers. And he answered many of your questions before you could even ask them; his explanations were pretty comprehensive.

It was all strangely charming, actually. His enthusiasm was so genuine, it was as though he invited you inside it with him. It was a nice place to be- like sharing a secret. It was also putting you in dangerous territory; a magnetic field that would be hard to pull yourself from.

Once you were about halfway through the eleven, you tentatively raised your hand. Steven faltered slightly, giving you the chance to speak up, “Two things- I just want to check the time, I’d hate for you to be-”

“Late-” he checked his watch faster than you could pull out your phone.

You grabbed his hand, pulling him back toward the gift shop, “Well, come on then, I don’t want you getting into trouble!”

Steven’s long strides quickly outpaced you; you had to hurry to keep up, a laugh at the ridiculousness of it slipping out. Steven glanced back- nearly shouldering a display case. Right before impact, his back straightened a bit, like he sensed it coming, and he just twisted out of the way. It was so smooth you wouldn’t have noticed the deft movement if you hadn’t been anticipating the collision.

By the time you skidded to a halt in front of the gift shop counter, you were full-on giggling; you couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed so hard over almost nothing. “Sorry about that,” Steven offered meekly.

You took a breath and collected yourself a bit, though you still felt the warmth of the laughter in your cheeks, “Don’t be- it was fun.”

“What was the other thing?” he asked, shuffling back behind the counter.

“Hm?”

“You said there were two things, the time and what else?”

“Oh! Well that exhibit was called the ‘King’s Tomb,’ right? Why are the gods in that one?”

He leaned on the counter, some of his timid demeanor vanishing, “Well, the pharaohs were considered to be gods by their people. So they put them in a room together. And since the mummies are what brings in the crowds, they get the-” he clicked his tongue, framing a little marquee with his fingers, “-title spot.”

“I suppose you know quite a lot about those too?”

He gave a chagrined smile, “Did I go on a bit much then?”

You shook your head, “Not at all- I wasn’t teasing. I wish we’d had time to do the whole exhibit.”

“I’d wager with me giving it, that tour would take all week,” he joked, feeling like he’d done too much talking during your time together.

You shrugged, “I’m on vacation.” Smiling, you added, “Or holiday, you’d probably call it.”

He smiled weakly at the joke, seeming to be working out what you’d meant. He scanned your face, as though nervous he was misreading you, but you just smiled at him. “I’m scheduled again on Thursday, I could- if you like, I mean- I could show you some more. Of the exhibit. Obviously. If you want.”

You were here for freedom. You’d come all the way to another country so you could do what you wanted, when you wanted, no strings attached. But, you reasoned, this wasn’t dating. This was an exclusive tour, on Steven’s break. It wasn’t like he was taking you out to dinner.

You were bargaining; whittling away your rules to nothing because they no longer suited your purposes. You knew that. And you also knew that you only did so because Steven was, very clearly, a large string. A large string with lovely, brown, puppy eyes and enough passion for Egypt to make a pharaoh blush. But you nodded anyway, “I’d love to come back. Same time?”

He seemed stunned by your acceptance, but he nodded rapidly to overcompensate for the moment of hesitation, “Yeah. My break is at three.”

You smirked, “How many minutes from now?”

He stared at you for a moment- you almost wondered if he was trying to do the math, but then he flushed and gave a weak chuckle, “Right, I’ll work on that one.”

You pulled out the brochure you’d picked up yesterday and a pen from your bag, “Since I won’t be needing this anymore-” You scribbled down your name and number and slid the brochure across the table, “Text me when you figure it out.” No strings, you reminded yourself.

He gave another hurried nod, “Okay, I will, I-”

You got a sense of deja vu as Steven glanced over your shoulder and paled in nearly the exact same way he had yesterday. “Is it Donna?” You quickly scanned the counter, grabbing a stuffed hippopotamus, “Because I’d like to purchase this.” You deliberately moved it across the counter where Donna would be able to see and pulled out your wallet.

Now Steven looked back to you, “You don’t have to do that. Most of this stuff if junk-”

“I want to. This one is kind of cute.” You held out the money, “And you’ll tell me all about it next time?”

He nodded, a small smile returning to his face, “Yeah, I will.” He handed back your change and the plush, speaking up so Donna could hear, “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

You smiled, “Same to you.”

You left the other way so Donna wouldn’t see your face, hoping she wasn’t descending on Steven for being late from his break. You held the little hippo plushie to your chest and thought ahead to Thursday.

#moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knight fluff #steven grant fluff #phases of the moon series

529 notes · View notes

meetmypointlessaddiction · 1 year ago

Text

Joel Miller x f!reader: Drunk

Summary: Your boyfriend is being a work obsessed dick so you send him out to get drunk with his brother. Warnings: Alcohol consumption, allusion to smut (i think?), soft!joel, drunk!joel, kind of asshole!joel at the beginning, Please let me know if there is anything that I've forgot to put a warning for. This has not been proof read so any mistakes are completely my fault. Enjoy and don't forget to reblog and like so that the algorithm can do its thing. Words: 1,3k

Joel Miller was an asshole to most people. To his employees, to people he saw on the street, he came across as an asshole but that was simply the charm of him. In reality, he was a polite Texan gentleman who loved his girlfriend and family but just so happened to have a resting bitch face and a natural dickish tone.

To you, Joel Miller was a teddy bear. You made each other breakfast and coffee on a morning, got ready for the day together and once you were both home from work, you relaxed together. But ever since Joel’s construction company had taken off, relaxing evenings turned into you begging Joel to stop looking a blueprints and just pay attention to the movie for once. Instead of both of you destressing, Joel never stopped and you got more worked up trying to get him to relax.

Eventually, you had to bring in reinforcements in the form of Tommy Miller. Tommy had planned a night out for the boys from work and Joel had been invited but had not so politely turned it down with the excuse of not wanting his boys to have to spend their night with him. Contrary to what Joel believed, many of his boys wanted him there. His quick wit and dry humour made him popular amongst his employees as well as the fact that he didn’t take anyone’s shit. If you aren’t doing your job, you faced the consequences but if you did your job well, you would roll in the rewards.

“I’m not going.” Joel grunted as he sat back down at the kitchen table, documents piling high and his reading glasses sat beside them.

“Joel Miller I will drag you into your brother’s truck kicking and screaming if I have to.” You threatened and Joel, like a goddamn child, fucking pouted.

“Why? I don’t want to spend my night with them and they don’t-.”

“You’re going. You’re going to get some alcohol into your system, socialise with somebody who isn’t me and I hope to god you come back drunk and without this new workaholic asshole that has sprouted.” You yelled and Joel fell silent, flicking through the pages of his paperwork. “And if you pick up that pen once more, I’ll fucking jam it up your asshole.”

Joel smirked and opened his mouth to come up with some snarky reply but you were quick to cut him off. “And it will be the only form of action you get for a helluva long time.” Your harsh words seemed to put his brain back into gear and he sighed.

“What time’s Tommy getting here?” He asked and you grinned, mood doing a complete 360.

“He’s on his way, you look great.” You smiled brightly, brushing a few of his stray locks back into place and pecking his lips. “Enjoy.” He walked to the door, scowl on his face and Tommy couldn’t hold back his laughter as he pulled up outside his brother’s home.

“I owe your girl $30. Get in, we’re headed straight to the bar.” Tommy cheered as Joel pulled himself into the passenger seat with a low growl, not ready for the night ahead.

Somehow, drunk Joel was so much worse than sober Joel. Instead of making quick remarks at everything anyone said to him, he stared wistfully at his phone screen, head resting on one hand as he stared at the photo of you from a few months ago, his favourite one of you to date. “C’mon big brother, lighten up a little. She’s set some kind of reverse curfew, doesn’t want you back any earlier than 11.” Joel hummed in agreement, now scrolling through his entire camera album dedicated to you.

Once Tommy had managed to get a few more beers in him, he offered him a game of pool and Joel seemed to brighten up a little bit, missing the days when he and Tommy would go to their local bar every night and shoot pool for hours at a time. “I’m pretty sure I beat your ass last time.” Joel teased and Tommy rolled his eyes.

“You got years on me old man.” Tommy snarked back and Joel barked a laugh, racking up the balls while Tommy chalked up the cues.

After a few games with varying opponents and a concoction of different drinks, Joel was ready to go home, Tommy more than happy being the designated driver. “She’ll be proud, it’s almost 12.” He chuckled and Joel shrugged, ready to go home and see his girl.

Climbing out of the truck, he stumbled to the front door, looking for his key before almost falling through the door when it opened. “Goddamn! There’s a fuckin’ angel in my house. Tommy there’s an angel in my house!” You nodded your thanks to Tommy before he drove off and then led your man into the kitchen. “Hi baby.” He drawled and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey handsome. You have fun?” She asked and he shook his head.

“Kicked all their asses.” He slurred, almost falling against the counter as you steadied him.

“Oh yeah?” Joel nodded and you handed him a glass of water watching his face sour.

“No more vodka. Have to go see my girlfriend.” You chuckled and pushed the pill into his hand and nodded.

“Well your girlfriend said this pill is gonna make you feel better and you need to drink water before we go to bed.” Joel thought about it and you knew just what to say to convince him.

“She even said you might get lucky tomorrow if you take the pill.” You hummed and he threw his head back, swallowing the pill and then downing the water, slamming the glass on the side for dramatic effect. “And now you need to brush your teeth because I’m not going to kiss you with the taste of whatever ‘Tommy special’ you’ve been drinking.

“Thought you like my kisses?” He frowned, eyes wide and you smiled.

“I do baby but I’ll probably get drunk from one kiss and we only need one drunk in this house.” You teased, taking his hand and dragging him towards the stairs, doing an awkward shuffle to drag and guide him up each step. Halfway to the bathroom Joel stopped moving and you looked at him with amusement sparkling in your eyes. “Everything ok?”

“No.” Joel grabbed your wrist and stomped over to the bed, flopping on it and pulling you on top of him, quickly flipping your position and resting his head on your chest, looking up at you. “Missed you.” He hummed, reaching up to press a kiss to your chin, leaning up on his elbows and pressing a multitude of extremely delicate kisses across your face. “I like you.”

You staved off a laugh and smiled. “I like you too. Can we go brush our teeth now?” He shook his head, his eyes holding some kind of childish innocence to them as he pecked each area of your face.

“I love you.” He muttered against your nose and you giggled.

“Joel, I can taste the vodka on your breath. Please can we go brush our teeth. We’ll come straight back to bed and we don’t have to leave until tomorrow afternoon.” You tried but he just shook his head.

“Sorry for being an asshole. Shouldn’t be working so much.” He murmured and you smiled.

“It’s been stressful for you but it’s ok. We’ll get through it. Thank you for apologising.” You whispered and he nodded, going back to pressing kissed along your hairline.

“You didn’t say you love me.” He mumbled shyly and you chuckled.

“I love you with every atom in my body, Joel Miller. I love your grumpy looking face and your scary voice and I can’t imagine my life with out you but for the love of us can we please go and brush your teeth. You smell like you brought the entire damn bar home.”

“Fine but only because you love me.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #tommy miller #f!reader #joel miller can be an asshole

207 notes · View notes

xxvalkyriesxx · 3 months ago

Text

Flying Changes - Chapter Three

A Nessian Equestrian Fic

Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Read on AO3 or below!

CW: withdrawal symptoms of alcohol, discussions of/with alcohol/recovering alcoholics.

This one is a long one, folks. Enjoy <3

A thump landed on the ground as Cassian walked away. He turned to see Nesta, face planted into the ground. He cursed as he ran to her. Quickly he texted the family’s medic before putting his phone away and gently picking Nesta up in his arms. Her lawyer, Eris, already had his phone out to dial.

“Don’t bother. Rhysand has a family doctor. We’ll get her to come see Nesta.”

Eris raised an eyebrow. “And shouldn’t my client go to a hospital?”

“Hospitals aren't going to do much for her right now. They would just ship her off to rehab eventually. And according to her sister, none of the rehabs have worked.” Cassian noted as he started to walk to the house, Eris and the officer were behind him. Out past the pastures, he saw a familiar looking old blue truck drive down the road.

“Plus the closest hospital isn’t for another 25 miles down south.” The officer stated. He spoke with a slight drawl that wasn’t uncommon in these parts.

“You’re from Windhaven?” Cassian asked.

The officer shook his head. “Ironcrest. Born and raised.”

Ironcrest was a small town north of Windhaven. Not a lot happened there, and not a lot of good came out of it either. The same truck he saw drove up the dirt driveway before stopping in the makeshift lot.

“Are we sure we can trust your nurse?” Eris called out as Cassian stepped onto the porch.

A woman cleared her voice behind all of them. Cassian smiled softly at the familiar face. Her brown skin glowed in the hue of the sun. She tipped her hat to Eris and the officer.

“I’m sure you can trust a doctor.” She smiled at Eris before moving past him.

“Cassian, take her up the stairs to her room. I’ll be right behind.”

“Yes, Madja.” He replied before entering the house.

Nesta was warm and clammy as he shifted her in his arms.

“You’ll be okay, Sweetheart. You’re in good hands.”

Cassian laid Nesta gently on the bed. Her pulse was slow and she hadn’t come too yet. Madja came inside the room next, her bag with her. Quickly she went to work checking her vitals. The man stood off to the side, knowing better than to get in her way.

“This girl has been through it. This is Feyre’s sister that Rhysand mentioned to me?” She asked Cassian.

“That she is. She just got here last night. Apparently had alcohol in her system.”

She hummed reading the vitals. “It may be a little early for symptoms but that doesn't mean it can’t happen. She’ll probably be lucid for the next couple days. I’ll stay and watch over her.”

The doctor turned to Cassian. “But why on earth did you make her do work right away? You knew she was going to go through withdrawal. Why not get her prepared for that?”

Cassian blinked, unsure what his answer would imply. “I thought getting her to work would help with the withdrawal. Feyre mentioned she had been to three different rehabs in the last two years. Everytime Nesta left she would drink again.” He sighed. “I didn’t know what I was going up against. I quit drinking mid deployment and the work kept me busy.”

“She’s no soldier, Cassian.”

Madja crossed her arms over her chest. “The labor probably caused the body to begin stressing earlier than expected. Eitherway, we’re here now. You’re lucky I have experience with this.”

She looked over to a photograph on the wall of Ramiel, the biggest mountain in the Night Court. Caleum Valyrian picked up photography after he stopped drinking when his wife Arwen, announced she was pregnant with a daughter; Rhys’ sister, Artemis. Caleum had taken the photo the night before her birth.

Arwen mentioned at one point not long after Artemis’ birth that her husband had a second chance of being a father. Madja helped him through his sobriety journey as she had been looking after Caleum since he was young. It was a long process from what Cassian remembered, but not long after her birth he joined the Air Force and then not even five years later, Caleum and Arwen had died in a fatal car crash.

“Anyway, I’ll stay through the week. This isn’t my first rodeo. And Cassian.”

He looked up at her. “Yes, mam?”

“Get rid of the alcohol. All of it. I know you’ve hidden it. It never ends up staying hidden in the long run. And it’s no good stinking up a home.”

It had been almost four days since Nesta collapsed due to her withdrawal symptoms. Madja had been taking care of her. She had gotten Nesta to settle once she woke up. Cassian had hovered by the door every once in a while. He heard Nesta speak every so often, but her voice was low and soft. She never once screamed or yelled. At least not to his knowledge.

He sighed gently as he pulled his thick hair into a bun before opening up discord on his laptop. He settled into his chair as he hopped onto the group chat call, waiting for others to join.

It was Wednesday, therefore it was family night.

He unmuted the second he saw a familiar face with blue eyes. He smiled brightly.

“Hi Fey-Fey.” The nickname he coined to Feyre after he met her for the first time. She hated the name. So it stuck.

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Hey Cashew.”

The two dissolved into little giggles like childhood best friends.

“Are you two already scheming?” Another video popped up of a blonde woman drinking red wine.

“Mor-Mor!” Feyre said excitedly.

Mor shook her head. “I would gag, but I don’t want to waste the wine.”

“Classic, Mor.” A voice shouted from Feyre’s video. Rhys pulled up on screen, wearing a Night Court sunball shirt.

A second passed by before another video joined. It was Azriel, his other brother. He seemed to be on his phone, most likely down at the barn with his horse, Singer.

“I swear Rhys you own everything Night Court coded in your home and that is the most offensive thing. You know we suck at sunball.” He exclaimed.

“Did you catch the game the other night? Spring's beaten us again for a third time.” Mor chimed in.

“Hey, don’t hate the team. We’re going to get better…Eventually.” Rhysand said. The whole call burst out laughing.

“I hope everyone is doing okay! But Cassian, I wanted to ask. How’s Nesta doing? Rhys mentioned Madja was there?” Feyre asked. Worry crossed her face.

Cassian shrugged. “She seems okay. Madja hasn’t left and it’s been several days. The withdrawal kicked in a bit sooner. But Madja says she's doing okay. She’ll start going to AA tomorrow so I think that will help even more.”

“Oh good.” Feyre smiled softly before one last video appeared in the call.

A girl with tan skin and coarse black hair that paired well with the dynasty of almost purple eyes appeared. The fifteen year old smiled as she quickly braided her hair sitting in her pajamas.

“Hi Everyone!” She said before narrowing her eyes. “What were you all just talking about?”

“Nothing that concerns fifteen year olds.” Rhys responded, a small smile on his face. “But tell us, Artemis, what’s it like being in the high school dorms now?”

Artemis rolled her eyes. “It’s good. I’m still rooming with the same girls as last year.”

Artemis attended Dawn Light down in the southern part of Dawn Court. It was an all girl’s boarding school that she had been attending since elementary school. As their parents were dead, Rhysand became Artemis’ legal guardian. Unfortunately his career as a politician didn’t give him a lot of time to take care of his younger sister, so he sent her off to a boarding school.

“Freshman year is such a big highlight. Just wait until the dances and the boys!” Mor cheered, taking another sip.

“Ew. I don’t want to be around boys.” Artemis turned green at the thought.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Rhysand responded before Feyre smacked him on the shoulder. He turned to her and gently kissed her hand. The two looked at each other, a secret conversation happening.

“You’re not alone and this isn’t an OnlyFans chat, so please stop making sex eyes with Feyre.” Artemis complained.

Cassian bulked out a giant laugh. The kid had always been sassy but she was at that age where the sass upped ten times more.

“First off, how do you know about OnlyFans? Secondly I am not making ‘sex eyes’ with Feyre.”

“I don’t know, Rhysie. That seemed very sex eyes heavy to me.” Cassian joked.

His brother glared at him and flipped him off. Everyone laughed.

“I’m fifteen and the internet exists. So I know things.”

Rhysand looked like he was halfway between jumping on his plane and bringing her home, or buying the school so he could manage the internet down there.

“Settle down, everyone.” Feyre calmly said. She had a genuine smile on her face.

“Rhysand and I have something to tell you all actually.” She looked up at him knowingly. He smiled and nodded, taking her hand in his.

“I’m pregnant.”

There was a brief moment of silence before the call erupted in cheers. Cassian smiled proudly at his best friends. It had come as a surprise to Cassian, given they weren’t engaged yet

Although that might change soon given that he does have the ring. Cassian thought to himself as he recalled Rhysand showed the ring to him and Azriel roughly a few weeks ago.

“Congratulations! Which one of us is gonna be the godparents?” Cassian asked.

“None of you if I can help it.” Rhysand replied, wearing his classic smirk.

“I’m going to be an aunt? Oh my god?!” Artemis squealed.

Mor set down her glass, clapping. “A baby always brings good luck!”

Azriel smiled softly. “Should Cass and I look into buying a pony for them yet?”

“If you two want to waste your money, be my guest. But perhaps our child will be sensible like their father and not be a big fan.”

“As if! If you’re a Valyrian you’re horse people. Unless of course your name is Rhysand.” Artemis joked.

Cassian laughed.“That’s a good one, Arty.”

Rhysand shook his head, rolling his eyes, but before he could counter anything, Feyre spoke up. “We’ll wait and see. They might be a horse person. Or maybe even a mule like their father.” Feyre smiled with a toothy grin at Rhysand.

Another roar of laughter escaped everyone, even Rhys. He kissed her head gently before she leaned against him.

“Well if we’re spreading good news, then I want to let everyone know that this is the first year I can try out for the eventing team at school.”

Feyre’s smile tightened just a little. “Oh that’s great, Artemis. How is your horse doing?”

The girl shook her head. “Kitty is doing great. I think she’s excited to start eventing too..”

The girl learned how to ride before she could even walk properly, courtesy of her mother. Since a young age she wanted to compete in three-day-eventing. Cassian remembered Rhysand being very hesitant, but one of the best coaches was currently at Dawn Light.

Three summers ago, Rhysand and Artemis went to the Velaris horse auction. It was one of their mother’s favorite events and always landed on her birthday. During the auction they sell all kinds of horses for different mediums, and when eventing came up, Artemis was on the edge of her seat. There was a palomino morgan horse that walked in, and that was that.

“Well good luck with try-outs!” Cassian smiled brightly.

“You’re gonna be amazing, kid!” Azriel smiled knowing that she would.

“Thank you everyone. Anyway, it’s late and I have classes in the morning. Talk to you guys later. Oh and I want baby names, Feyre! Send them all my way!” Artemis beamed before hopping off the call.

One by the one they all did the same before Cassian sighed, turning off his laptop. He wanted to go to sleep, but it never came. So Cassian dressed and went downstairs to the corral that was located near the house.

The moon was near the shape of a crescent as he walked underneath the stars as he approached the corral where a thoroughbred mare trotted around. He stood on the other side of the railing as he watched her tread in the circle. Taking his phone out he shot Feyre a text about what food Nesta liked. If she was going to be staying here for awhile, they probably should get her things that she likes.

“I don’t understand what you saw in her.” Azriel called out from behind him. Cassian tucked his phone back into his pocket feeling it vibrate with an answer.

“I thought you quit.” Cassian didn’t bother to turn around as the nostalgic smell of cigarettes contained the air. It slated him with the memories of nicotine usage from his old unit. It was as if that was from a different lifetime.

“I did, but here we are.” His brother said, taking a deep breath.

“Here we are..” Cassian mumbled back.

The brothers watched the mare begin to neigh and paw the ground.

“And you thought she could be a therapy horse?”

Cassian shrugged. “The owners said she could and they needed her off their hands. It was either that or the slaughter house.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Cassian, you cannot save every horse from a terrible fate. Sometimes it’s what needs to happen.”

“I know Az, but when I saw her, I just had that feeling you know?”

His brother gave him an ‘are you for real’ look in answer.

Taking another drag, Azriel blew the smoke then coughed.

“I know you see yourself in her. But maybe what’s broken is intended to be broken. That horse isn’t going to be a therapy horse. That horse needs therapy.”

The mare nodded her head as if agreeing with Azriel. She blew her nostrils before neighing again.

“Everyone has a story, even the broken ones.” Cassian said. “And sometimes they need their stories heard over the rest.” As the ranch manager walked off leaving behind the smoke and stress for another day, the chronic pains of his shoulder and knee began to flare up as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

Sunlight snuck through the crack from the curtain in Nesta’s room. She groaned at the warm intrusive light that shined in her eyes when she woke up. The last few days were intense. The worst of it was over as she mainly got sick and passed out constantly. Thankfully Madja made everything much more simple as she kept looking out for her the entire time.

“Good morning, Nesta.” The medic called out gently.

Nesta sighed before sitting up slowly. “Morning.”

Madja gave her a once over before she smiled. “You seem much better than how I met you a few days ago. Your withdrawal symptoms have decreased significantly. You’ll still have them for a remaining time, but I believe the worst is over. So now you’ll be able to go to AA tonight.”

The urge to drink still lingered deep down, but she couldn’t do that anymore. Not unless she wanted a worse punishment.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do all of that.” Nesta spoke softly.

“Well you might have died if I didn’t come here fast enough. Thankfully Cassian has me on speed dial. Especially after his last fall where he broke his wrist.”

Nesta cocked her head before pulling her knees to her chest. “How did he manage to do that?”

“By pulling some stupid trick with his horse. Bucked him right off and landed on a log.”

A small smile appeared from Nesta as she imagined it. “That does sound stupid.”

Madja rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me.” She placed a hand on the bed, careful to not touch the young woman.

“Would you like to talk about anything? I don’t share anything personal that my patients say.”

Nesta glanced at her chipped red toe polish before she rested her head on her knees. Gnawing emotions crawled deep within herself to break the surface, but she had been living with them for so long, it was natural to resent. Push it all down.

“No. I don’t.” Nesta waited for the backlash, but instead Madja simply nodded.

“That’s fine, my dear. I encourage you to speak when you’re ready. With someone you trust. But I’m not going to push it. You’ll know when you’re ready.”

The old woman smiled gently before she left Nesta’s room, leaving her alone. Madja was right, the cravings were still there, but it was less than before. Quietly, Nesta stood up from the bed and got changed into a t-shirt, jeans, and old barn boots before she went down the steps.

When she appeared in the kitchen, she found a plate of food and a note. There were no apples on the table, instead there was a bag of clementines from the brand cuties. A sweet sigh escaped her as she stared at her favorite fruit. But a note was left next to the plate. She picked it up.

Nes – She rolled her eyes before continuing.

Feyre mentioned you like cuties, so I grabbed some for you. Please be sure to eat some and the rest of your breakfast. Don’t need you to be passing out again.

Sincerely, Cassian

P.S: Today is the first day of AA. Az will be taking you to and from. He doesn’t bite, and if you think he isn’t paying attention he most definitely is.

Placing the note down, Nesta grabbed three cuties, stuffed two bacon strips into her mouth, and grabbed a biscuit to go before heading out the door.

The faint scent of ammonia and artificial lemon flowed through the hallways of the WCFW - Windhaven Center for Women. Azriel received notice that her AA meeting would be held in room 105B. Her boots echoed dully on the floor as she made her way to a room at the very end of the hall.

The door was opened but Nesta stopped in her tracks. She looked to her left and back down the hallway. If she wanted to, she could run. Make it on a bus hopefully and get out of this dreadful place before tomorrow. However Azriel’s glare burned in her memory.

“Your AA meetings will be here.” He pointed to the building. “I’ll be waiting for you in the truck. If you even think about trying to leave, just know that I was a bounty hunter for the Night Court for 10 years. Not once did I fail in catching someone. You will not be the first.”

So Feyre did mention to him about the time she dipped out of her first rehab and never showed up again. She sighed but before she could muster a step a voice cleared behind her.

“Last time I checked, AA was inside the room, not outside.”

Nesta turned to see a beautiful woman with brown skin with a messy side braid staring at her.

“You’d be right.” Nesta replied.

The woman gestured to Nesta to move forward. “Take the first step. You’re already here, you might as well stay and get to know everyone.”

The kindness wasn’t an order or a request, but almost a suggestion. If Nesta wanted to, she could leave. But she made it this far. She nodded before crossing the threshold.

The room was similar to any other room she had been in when it involved therapy sessions. The ones she attended while in rehab were all a joke. But this one for some reason, felt real. Maybe it was because of the sentencing and her crime, but Nesta couldn’t put a finger on the feeling. She swiftly sat down where no one else was sitting.

The woman from before entered and ended up sitting next to Nesta. She smiled at her.

“Long time no see.” She joked.

Nesta nodded.

The woman held out a hand. She had a tattoo on her inner wrist with a script that read the mountains, the moon, and Mars.

“I’m Emerie.”

“Nesta.” She shook her hand.

The room engulfed in silence as their counselor began to speak. She welcomed everyone new and old. She wore a kind smile before introducing herself as Alys.

“Let’s all go around the room. Introduce yourself, how long you've been at AA, and one fact and one lie.” She smiled brightly. “We can take turns guessing.”

Alys went first. “My name is Alys. I’ve been attending AA for almost twenty-five years. I’ve been counseling for about ten. I was born and raised in Windhaven and I have three cats, a bird, and two dogs. What’s my lie?”

The circle of women looked at one another trying to decipher what was her lie. Emerie turned to Nesta. “Any ideas.”

Nesta crossed her arms, shaking her head. “I don’t know. Probably the Windhaven.”

“I was thinking the same.”

She looked at her. “Are you just saying that because I’m saying that?”

Emerie rolled her eyes. “No wiseass. Her accent. It’s not Windhaven. I would know. I was born and raised here my entire life.” She tilted her head to Nesta, questioning her. “What made you choose that?”

Nesta shrugged. “Her accent.” She tried to hide her smile as Emerie rolled her eyes again.

The room calmed their voices as Alys asked. The majority of the room decided to go for Windhaven as the lie. Alys nodded. “Good ears everyone. I’m from Spring originally. My nephews and I moved all up here for a better life than the one that was dealt to me back down south.”

One by one, each woman stood up and presented themselves to the group. Nesta sighed inwardly as she listened. Each one came from a different background, a different story. They were all so interesting, more interesting than mine Nesta thought to herself.

Alys pointed to Nesta. “It’s your turn…” She waited for Nesta to answer.

Nesta stood up, her arms down by her sides, a fist clenching and unclenching, trying to rangle the nerves that flooded her mind.

Nesta cleared her throat. “I’m Nesta…” She went quiet. She wanted to sit down. She didn’t want to do this. It was stupid. This was so stupid…Then she felt something move next to her. Emerie stood up on Nesta’s left. She smiled softly at Nesta before turning her gaze to the rest.

“I’m Emerie.”

A wave of deja vu flowed through Nesta as she was completely caught off guard by Emerie’s action.

Emerie continued. “I’ve been coming to AA for roughly three months consecutively for the first time in a while.” She gestured to Nesta.

Nesta opened her mouth, a swirl of words appeared out of thin air. “Today’s my first day at AA.”

Emerie beamed. “Congratulations.”

“You too.” Nesta replied.

With a sudden wave of confidence, Nesta stepped forward. “I’ve never been to Windhaven before and I have four gold Olympic medals.”

Around the room people whistled and gasped. Nesta could see their gears turning.

“I call BS on the medals.” Emerie chimed.

“Emerie!” Alys hissed.

The woman smiled apologetically before returning her gaze onto Nesta.

In return Nesta pulled out her phone and quickly looked through old photos. Her screen was cracked and was meaning to get it replaced, however she hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Memories blurred together as she raced over her camera roll to find the photo she needed. After another second, she turned her phone around to show Emerie and the whole group.

The photo was of Nesta grinning big after coming home from the Antica Summer Olympic Games. She wore four gold medals, three from that summer and one from the previous summer Olympics at the Summer Court. Her arms were around Flame who seemed happy as he stood relaxed next to her. It was one of the few photos Feyre took of her when she came up to visit after she got back.

It shouldn’t have delighted Nesta as much as it did watching Emerie’s jaw drop looking at the photo.

“Holy fucking shit.”

The whole room gathered around the screen. Following with similar comments of Emerie’s.

“Well how the fuck am I going to top that now?” Emerie exclaimed.

Nesta nudged her. “I’m sure you can think of something.”

Emerie smudged her lips as she thought for a second before speaking. “I haven’t lived in Windhaven my whole life, and I’ve always wanted to learn how to ride horses.”

Emerie and Nesta smiled at one another, knowing which one was the truth.

“So you’re really an Olympian?” Emerie asked as she and Nesta walked out of the building.

Nesta shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I was twenty in that picture. I’ve aged nothing like fine wine in seven years since.”

She stopped as soon as the words slipped from her lips. Nesta winced as she mumbled what an idiot to herself.

“I’m not glass. I won’t break, trust me. Many have tried in the past, none have succeeded.” Emerie spoke up, looking back at Nesta.

“And you’re not either, you know.”

Nesta couldn’t stop the anger that drove out of her mouth. “How would you know? You don’t even know an eighth of my life; what my purpose here is.”

Emerie shrugged, resting her hands on her hips. “Because you’re here. No matter if it’s probation or not. You still could have ran, yet you came.. That counts.”

“How do you know I won’t run now?”

“I don’t, Nesta. All I can do is hope that I see you at the next meeting.”

“And that’s enough?”

When Emerie didn’t respond, Nesta’s guilt carved into her. She approached the woman as the sound of truck tires rolled to a stop nearby.

“Emerie, I’m…” Nesta sighed, the guilt anchoring her to the spot.

But Emerie waved her off. “Honestly I don’t have a good answer for you. At least not yet.” She pointed to Azriel’s truck. “Your ride is a Valyrian?”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “You know Azriel?”

Emerie shook her hand in a so-so gesture. “Kinda. Everyone here knows pretty much everyone with it being a small town and all. I went to school with them for a brief time.” Her tone dipped, suddenly with sadness.

Before Nesta could ponder, Emerie continued. “I also live down the road from the House of Wind. I run the general store down the way. If you make a right out of the ranch and keep going down, you’ll find my place eventually.”

“What do you sell?” Nesta asked.

“All kinds of stuff. And before you ask, it’s a dry store. I’m not going to screw over my process by selling what I’ve been addicted to.”

The horn of Azriel’s truck blared as Nesta went to speak. She rolled her eyes before glaring at Azriel. He sat there unbothered, his hand hovering over the horn. Emerie chuckled. “They’ve never been the best at patience from what I remember.”

“You can say that again.” Nesta mumbled.

The Windhaven native placed a hand on Nesta’s shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Archeron!”

She spun in the other direction heading to the parking lot. For some reason as Nesta walked over to the truck and got inside, she felt different.

The truck started to move, leaving the lot. She looked out the window in the sea of darkness as they made their way out to the road. The radio was playing so low that Nesta could barely make out what was being sung. Deep inside there was an urge to blast the music, to see what he listens to, see if she could change it at all. But Nesta looked away from the radio, not wanting to try it.

Her gaze traveled to Azriel as he drove.

“Are you not going to bomb me with questions?” Nesta asked, raising an eyebrow.

Azriel was silent for a moment, then he shrugged. “You stayed, you made a friend. Your business is your business.”

Nesta blinked, having to adjust that Azriel was choosing not to ask her everything and anything.

At her previous experiences, her sisters, other patients, random therapists would try to dig deep into her to ask anything like it was a Q&A session. How was it? When are you going next? How can I help? It’s a long road ahead, but you’ll get there. Nesta shook her head, reliving for a moment what Elain had mentioned to her when she was in her last rehab. She would not think about her right now. Nesta took a breath, her gaze going back to the window.

Eventually that same feeling she felt earlier, when she was with Emerie, returned. She glanced down at her hands, unknowing what to do next. Because the feeling of lightness was so rare in her life now, she grasped it, never wanting to let go.

Tag List (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @chairofchaos @blueunoias @velarisdusk @c-e-d-dreamer @jsmelodies @inkedinshadows @wolfnesta @lilah-asteria @highqueenmorrigan

#Let me know your thoughts #I think this is good #but I wanted to get it published so I can continue working #It's so long jfc lol #nessian #nessian fic #Nessian au #nessian equestrian fic #equestrian au #acotar #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #sjm #cassian acotar #a court thorns and roses #cassian #feysand #azriel acotar #emerie of illyria

33 notes · View notes

prettyyoungandbored · 1 year ago

Text

Babydoll - Johnny Knoxville

Pairing: Johnny Knoxville x Fem! Reader

Same characters from ‘Be Careful’ and ‘I Wanna Marry You’

Author’s Note: Eventually I will find the energy to write about their Vegas wedding. Eventually. If you guys have any ideas, let me know.

NOT MY GIF

“Are you having fun?”

Y/N looked up from her glass to see Johnny standing there, beer in hand. Her stomach twisted as excitement tingled throughout her body. She had been at this bar Bam had picked out for nearly two hours and had yet to have some one on one time with Johnny, which was the only reason she went.

Or at least that’s how Holly was able to persuade her to go.

“I can make that happen easily because he’s definitely into you,” Holly remarked. “He calls you Babydoll.”

Y/N shrugged. “It’s just a nickname. He has one for everyone.” She paused. “Although he does call me that quite a lot.”

Holly threw her hands up. “Ok, fine. But you do notice that he doesn’t subject you to the same bullshit he subjects everyone else to, right?”

“I’m not in the cast.”

“You’ve seen him involve production people!” She smirked. “I actually suggested you do a stunt and he shot me down immediately. Said there’s no way in hell he’d ever let you get yourself involved like that.”

“He’s just being nice. Plus, I’m not exactly a daredevil like you all.”

That’s when Holly got on her knees. “Y/N, I’m begging you. Please come to the bar.”

Y/N shook her head, a big smile on her face. “Alright, get your ass off the floor. I’ll meet you guys there.”

She saw Holly talk to Johnny when she walked in. She waved at them, Johnny giving her a small smile when she passed by.

And then she spent the next hour with Holly, Bam, and Ryan, occasionally turning her head to watch Johnny play pool.

“Sure am,” she responded, her lips slightly curving.

He scrunched his nose, head shaking. “I don’t believe you, Babydoll.”

She didn’t know if it was the alcohol in her system or the fact she, but she blurted out, “Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what? ‘Babydoll’?” He shrugged and put the beer bottle to his lips. “Just a nickname.”

He took a swig of his beer and then paused. “Wait, do you not like it? Am I offending you?” The sincerity and concern in his tone was sweet.

She laughed, waving her hand. “It’s fine.

“Good. Besides, I only reserve that nickname for you.”

He gave her wink, which nearly made her melt in the chair. Instead, her reaction was just to roll her eyes. “You mean to tell me I’m the only woman you call ‘Babydoll’?”

“Yup. Swear to God.”

“Then what do you call the woman you pursue at other bars?”

He didn’t flinch, his smirk still intact. If anything, he looked even more amused than before. “Either ‘honey’ or ‘baby.’ Depends on the woman. But don’t worry, I haven’t used those names in quite a long time.”

“Two months isn’t that long.”

He put a hand on his chest. “Ouch, Babydoll!”

“Oh, c’mon now Johnny! I’m not shaming you! I’m just saying.”

He leaned against the bar. “How do you know it’s been two months?”

“That’s how long we’ve been shooting,” she replied.

He shook his head. “Well, you’re wrong. It’s actually been six months.”

“Poor you.”

“Yeah it’s been difficult,” he laughed. “But what about you? You must be picking up guys left and right.”

Her eyes widened. “Me? Absolutely not! I mean, I used to but, uh….” Her voice trailed off. “It’s been a while for me.”

“Six months for you too?”

“Two years actually.”

His mouth dropped. “Really?”

“Really.” She tapped on the rim of her glass. “After awhile it stopped being fun so I decided to focus on me and my work.”

He nodded, impressed. “Good for you, Babydoll.”

She hummed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything. Shoot.”

“I need you to level with me here because it’s been bothering me for the last couple of weeks. When you call me ‘Babydoll,” are you flirting with me?”

Johnny’s grin widening, signaling to her that she might have made this worse somehow. She exhaled sharply, feeling the heat of embarrassment in her face.

“Yeah, ok, I’m leaving,” she said, standing up from the chair.

“No, hey, wait.”

She turned to see Johnny’s hand holding on to hers. Her eyes glanced up at him to find him staring at her once again with complete sincerity.

“You’re really askin’ me that? Has that really not been obvious the entire time?”

She stopped fighting to hide her smile as heart beat picked up it’s pace.

“Well are you gonna do something about it?” she asked.

Johnny pulled her face to his, his lips devouring hers. The second their lips touched, she felt the electricity, the high, and the energy all at once. And yet, she also felt a comfort she’d never experienced in her years of kissing. If a kiss were ever to make sense to a person, this one did to her. It was as if all her years of kissing had led up to this moment.

A moment in which it felt the world was theirs and theirs only.

They pulled away, his breath on hers. She opened her eyes to find his dark brown eyes looking into her, almost in disbelief in what just happened.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting you to do that,”’ she said, hoping maybe his disbelief would settle into relief.

And it did, before that damn smirk returned to his face.

“Oh, Babydoll, I’m gonna show you what else I’ve been wanting to do with you.”

======================================

She woke up tangled in heavy sheets. She looked over to see Johnny lying on his back, fast asleep.

To say the night before had been exhilarating was putting it rather lightly. At least to her.

Then, out of nowhere it hit her. That damn pang in her chest that reminded her of why she stopped sleeping around. She had grown attached.

But none of those nights felt like last night and you’re not the woman you used to be she tried to rationalize to herself.

And while her heart agreed, her head told her it was time for her to run as fast as could.

She pulled the covers off and knelt down on the floor, grabbing her underwear and shirt first. She slid on the underwear and threw her shirt over her head.

As she leaned down to pick her jeans, she heard a voice grumble, “What’re you doing?”

She looked over to see Johnny awake and rubbing his face.

“I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Impossible. Come back to bed.”

“But-.”

“I promise I’ll buy you breakfast from that diner you like.”

She stopped. “How do you know about that?”

“I’ll tell you if you come back to bed.”

She sighed and crawled back into bed. Johnny smiled as he threw an arm around her, nestling his nose against hers.

“Too early to be up,” he whispered. “Also, Holly told me you like it there.”

She exhaled as she prepared herself for the worst. “Look, I like you, but I’m not into the whole friends with benefits thing. I’m sorry if that ruins everything, but I can’t do it, especially not with you.”

Much to her surprise, he chuckled. “We’re not gonna be friends with benefits.”

“Then what-.”

“You and I are gonna go on a date. Tonight. I’m gonna take you to this place I think you’ll like and we’ll see what happens from there, but I have a good feeling we’re gonna go on another and then some more after that.”

Her heart burst at the thought. Still, she kept her excitement to herself and just smiled at him. “Is that so?”

“I know so.”

She licked her lips and nodded. “Then that works with me.”

He pecked her lips before pulling her closer to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything to me before?” she asked.

“Why didn’t you?” he countered playfully.

“Because, look at you. You’re smart, courageous, handsome, and the kind of guy every woman wants.”

The way his smile softened had her wondering if maybe she’d said something wrong.

“And here I was, afraid you’d see that you’re too good for me,” he said.

She laughed. “Trust me, I’m not.”

“Well, I happen to disagree so we’re just gonna leave it at that.”

He pecked her lips and closed his eyes. She pulled back her lips.

“Johnny?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want me to call you Johnny or by your real name?”

He opened his eyes. “How’d you know Johnny’s not my real name?”

“I was in charge of your paperwork and I saw your real name. Philip John, right?”

He nodded. “Or P.J. for short.”

“P.J.?”

He smiled, licking his lips, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anybody say that name as sweet as you.”

She beamed. “Then it’s settled. I’ll call you P.J. and you can call me Y/N or Babydoll.”

“You got it, Babydoll.”

#johnny knoxville #johnny knoxville x reader #jackass #jackass fanfic

139 notes · View notes

goldenempyrean · 7 months ago

Text

Stubborn As Ever

〚 Notes - First Marina fic :D Hopefully you enjoy <3 I loved writing these two so if you've got any ideas, send em over! 〛

〚 Pairing- Maya Bishop x Carina DeLuca 〛

〚 Summary - Maya is sick at work, Carina comes to take her home. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1900 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

╚════════ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ════════╝

“Bishop.” A loud voice echoed through the bunks as a very annoyed looking Herrera looked down from the balcony, her on her hips, “Don’t you dare start an epidemic in this station.”

Maya sniffled, titling her head to look up at her, “I’m fine Andy.” She grumbled, sniffling loudly before quickly wiping her nose on her sleeve.

“You’re fooling nobody.”

Herrera's expression softened as she descended the steps, concern etched across her features as she came face to face with the pale blonde, “You look sooo healthy Bishop, so very not sick.” The sarcasm was thick in her voice but her tone all sympathy.

This was bound to happen eventually. It was Winter - prime cold and flu season. In fact they’d already dropped off two patients at Grey Sloan earlier after they’d presented dehydration and flu symptoms.

Of course it was just an occupational hazard. Just another part of the job. And while most of the crew did have pretty good immune systems, eventually everyone gets sick somehow. This was Maya’s turn.

“You have a fever estúpida.” Andy sighed, the back of her palm pressed against her best friend’s forehead, whistling through her teeth at the heat radiating from her, “God you’re as stubborn as ever.” Maya only groaned in reply, waving her hand dismissively but she could protest further, a sudden sneeze had her jolting forwards, catching both of them off guard.

Herrera’s face twisted as she jumped back in surprise, “Oh Maya! Ew!” She shook her head, “I’m literally covered in your-  ugh, just, never mind. You’re going home, right now. You hear me?”

Her voice held the ‘don’t you dare argue with me right now or I will make your life hell’ tone, one Maya didn’t have the strength or will to argue with right now. Instead, the blonde simply nodded, allowing Andy to pull her up as she walked her to the front desks.

“Sit.” A tissue box was stolen from another desk and swiftly placed in front of Maya as she sat down in one of the swivelling chairs, “I’ll call Carina, alright? I doubt your wife will forgive me if I let you keel in the streets over while trying to stumble home.”

Maya sniffled again, reaching for the tissue box and blowing her nose loudly. She winced at the sound, feeling utterly drained as she leaned back in the chair. Andy hovered nearby, worry etched on her face as she dialled Carina's number.

It was picked up after only two rings, “Hello? Hi Carina, it’s Andy.” Herrera began explaining the situation and that Maya definitely needed to be taken home.

“Yeah, she’s here with me right now.” She looked down just in time to see Maya’s head bob down into a crumpled handful of tissues, sneezing twice in rapid succession, “Yup, thats her. Are you sure? Okay, thank you so much. That’s great. We’ll see you soon.”

“She’s coming to pick you up.” The brunette smiled as she set the phone down back on the retriever. Maya simply nodded before muffling a deep cough into her arm, “You really don’t do things by half do you? Come here, let me check your actual temp’ please.”

“I was fine earlier.” The firefighter groaned in response, slumping back in the chair. Andy rolled her eyes and reached down to grab the thermometer from the first aid kit they kept beneath the desk. “Vic’s already out, I need to be here.” Maya continued to mumble.

“The difference is Vic actually told us she wasn’t feeling well when she felt this coming on and you had to sense to send her home. So, when did you feel this coming on, hm? Because I’m betting it’s been a few hours. Now, come on, turn this way for me.” 

She did so - reluctantly.  As she turned to the side, Andy slotted the thermometer into her ear and pressed down the button. It beeped once and they waited a few moments for the second beep.

As the device beeped again, Andy glanced at the reading, her brows furrowing slightly. "Well, congratulations, Captain. You've officially joined the ranks of the feverish.” She let her hand move to gently rub her shoulder, “She’ll be here soon.”

As Maya sat there, feeling increasingly miserable, she couldn't help but sneeze again, the force of it causing her to double over slightly. Andy frowned sympathetically, handing her another tissue before reassuringly patting her on the back.

Just then, the sound of the door opening signalled Carina's arrival. She entered the room with concern etched on her face, quickly assessing Maya's condition.

“Oh Mai, you look so ill.” Her was soft as she quickly came to the firefighter’s side, “How are you feeling amore mio?”

Andy watched with a soft smile, watching as her best friend’s-tired eyes slowly grew more awake. She discreetly slipped away to go and gather Maya’s things, giving the two of them a moment of privacy.

Maya managed a weak smile up at Carina, her eyes watery as she struggled through a chesty cough. "Not great," She admitted, voice strained as she spoke, “Sorry for making you come all the way here just to collect me.”

“Shh, none of that.” Carina soothed her gently, reaching out to cup her cheeks, “Oh, bambina you are so hot.” 

She moved her hands to press her hand to her girlfriend’s forehead, sighing softly before pressing a gentle kiss to her fever flushed skin.

“Her temperature’s 101.7.” Herrera chimed in as she came back from collecting Maya’s bags.

“101.7? That’s…uh, around 38 and a half? Si?” Carina mumbled to herself, still trying to get used to converting to the imperial system. It was one of the many American things she still hadn’t quite gotten used to yet.

“Poor girl, let’s get you home then bambina, hm?” The Italian purred, offering out her hand to help her girlfriend up from the chair she’d been slumped in, “There’s a nice bed waiting for you when we’re back.”

“Mmh’bed does sound good right now.” Maya sniffled loudly as she gave into the temptation of climbing into bed and getting cuddles from her beyond amazing girlfriend. 

“You know protocol Bishop, you’re not back in here until at least 24 hours after that fever breaks.” Andy smiled as she held the door open for the two of them. Nodding in mutual understanding as Carina thanked her quietly.

Luckily Carina hadn’t parked far away, only round the corner. The two of them walked together, Maya taking slow unsteady steps as she swayed before the doctor noticed and put her around her waist. As she did so, she didn’t miss the way Maya shivered as the cold, winter air nipped against her bare skin. “Come here sweetheart, that’s better.” She murmured, taking off her thick cardigan to pull it around her girlfriend’s shoulders instead.

“It’s- I don’t need this Carina- It’s cold, you need to be warm too.” Maya began to protest but her pleads fell on dead ears. There wasn’t much point to them now anyway, they’d reached Carina’s car already.

As she helped get Maya settled in the passenger seat, Maya couldn't suppress the itching in her sinuses and suddenly ducked down into her elbow with a series of harsh sneezes, each one followed by an apologetic sniffle. "Sorry, Car’. I promise I'm not doing this on purpose," She looked away, not wanting to make eye contact. Being sick was still something she’d yet to adapt to. Her father’s lessons were still as clear as they’d ever been about that. Eyes forward. Embrace the pain.

The doctor looked over with sad eyes, pouting as the firefighter sniffled miserably into the sleeve of her borrowed clothes, “Salute bambina. I promise you don’t have to apologise for anything. You’re human, it’s only natural and you can’t control it.” Her voice was soft, but the teasing tone was unmissable as she nudged her lightly, “There’s tissues in the compartment, don’t get your germs on my favourite cardi’ please.”

Maya raised an eyebrow fondly as she chuckled, well, to be honest it was more of the beginning of a laugh being immediately proceeded by a round of deep coughing.

Carina murmured something worriedly in Italian as she glanced over at her wife, it was hard not to notice how tired and pale she still looked, despite the warmth of the cardigan wrapped around her shoulders.

“We’ll get you home, okay?” She reached over to squeeze the blonde’s thigh, “Just sit tight bella.”

It didn’t take long to reach home. Mainly because Carina had driven at slightly irresponsible speeds. Despite the short journey, it had been long enough for the firefighter’s eyes start to close on their own, her head bobbing forward as Carina pulled into their driveway.

“Sleepy girl.” Carina murmured, her voice laced with tenderness, trying to rouse her from her drowsiness, “We’re home sweetheart.”

Maya stirred slightly, blinking groggily as she looked around, momentarily disoriented before remembering where they were. "Home?” She mumbled; her voice thick with exhaustion.

Carina smiled softly, unbuckling her seatbelt before leaning over to help Maya with hers. "That's right, let's get you inside where you can rest properly," she said, her tone soothing as she opened the car door.

Maya nodded weakly, allowing Carina to assist her as she stepped out of the car, her legs feeling like jelly beneath her. She sniffled weakly against the brunette’s shoulder as she guided her inside. She murmured something intelligible before legs buckled under her that. Luckily, Carina had been ready, and she carefully scooped Maya into her arms, cradling her gently as she carried her bridal style towards their room.

Reaching their bedroom, Carina gently laid Maya down on their bed, tucking her in with extra blankets to keep her warm. Maya curled up instinctively, seeking comfort in the softness of their shared sheets.

"I'll make you some tea, amore," Carina said softly, pressing a tender kiss to Maya's forehead before heading to the kitchen.

Minutes later, Carina returned with a tray holding a steaming mug of herbal tea and a bowl of soup. She placed it on the bedside table and sat beside Maya, gently stroking her hair.

"Here, drink this. It'll help you feel better," Carina said, offering her the mug, rubbing her back soothingly as she drank the hot liquid, “That’s better, si?”

She nodded, letting herself relax into the pillows, “Much.” Maya sniffled, rubbing her hand beneath her nose as it twitched. She just managed to set her cup aside before a sudden bout of sneezing overtook her, each one accompanied by a soft, sleepy sound. Carina chuckled softly, reaching for a tissue to gently dab at Maya's nose.

“Bless you, amore," she murmured, reaching for a tissue to dab at Maya's nose tenderly, "Looks like someone's still feeling a bit under the weather."

Maya sniffled, her eyes fluttering open briefly before she buried herself deeper into the warmth of the blankets. "Sorry," she whispered, her voice hoarse with fatigue, "I can't pull myself together.”

Carina's expression softened further as she continued to stroke Maya's hair soothingly, “You don’t need to pull anything, you just lay there and rest. Just rest now, bella, that’s all. I'll be right here if you need anything," Carina murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her warm forehead, before snuggling in beside her, wrapping a comforting arm around Maya’s front, “Thank you for letting me take you home bambina.”

〖 Join My Taglist! 〗@scrambled-brain-eggs natashamyl0ve @observeowl @bloomingflowersthings @lots-of-pockets @somber-sapphic @kathleenmikaelson @shamelessbearunknown @inluvwithfictionalwomen @kljhsong @santana1437 @lovelyy-moonlight @natashamaximoff69 @natashamyl0ve @wandanats-goodgirl @nuianced-tck-enby @maomaoincomming @anne-lister @inluvwithfandom

[I tagged for every person that asked to be for "everyone" let me know if you'd like it removing!]

#carina deluca #maya bishop #station 19 #marina #maya x carina #maya bishop sickfic #carina deluca sickfic #marina sickfic #station 19 fluff #maya bishop fluff #wlw #lesbian #sickfic #whump #fluff

39 notes · View notes

jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka · 3 months ago

Text

Prologue

Pairings: Danny Wagner X Sam Kiszka (eventually) ***slash

Warnings and tags: For this part none, but this story as per my usual content is 18+ only, no minors need been reading. Overall themes will be heavy rivalry, bit of enemies to lovers, probably some smut at the end, college AU, tennis team AU, I’ll update warnings with each part

Word count: ~700

“Here are the locker rooms. I think there’s still one open locker on the top row, you can have it since you’re tall. We can make a label with your name for it, but I’d invest in a lock too. Even though most of the guys here are cool I wouldn’t risk it you know”.

Danny nodded his head in understanding as he continued to follow the club president around. Although this was already his second week at the new university, he had missed the last practice for some other enrollment activities, so he’d made it a point to arrive early today and was greeted warmly with a quick tour before the others started to arrive.

“I noticed there’s only a few courts out there. How many players do we have on the team?” Danny questioned, making sure to stay involved in the tour so that he came off as genuinely interested.

The club president, Adam as he had introduced himself to Danny earlier, ushered him along to the opposite wall of the locker room which contained a large cork board full of fliers and notices. “The team has three groups. Junior varsity, they practice on Tuesdays” he pointed at one of the papers with a list of names on it.

“Varsity is larger, so it’s split into two. We practice on Wednesday and Thursday, team A and team B respectively, and on Fridays coach trains one on one”. His finger shifted to the next paper which contained two columns. All of the names were written in pencil, and Danny could tell a few of them towards the bottom had been erased and rewritten a few times.

“Is there a system to who ends up with which group, or is it just random?” Danny looked over the list, finding his name freshly written in on the paper under the column which read Team B.

Adam chuckled, like he was in on some joke Danny was currently unaware of. “Yeah, there is. We call these the ladder. You’re at the bottom now because you’re new. To climb the ladder you have to challenge the other players to matches. So if you want to move up a rank,” he glanced at the page quickly, noticing the name written just above Danny’s, “you have to play a challenge match against Zach. If you win, you take Zach’s place and if you lose then you both stay where you’re at. Once you’ve climbed the ladder on Team B then you can start practicing with Team A”.

Danny examined the page once more, counting all the names that were listed before his. Eleven. “Do you have to go in order? Or can I just challenge whoever I want and take their spot?”

“You climb a ladder one step at a time buddy” Adam laughed harder, clapping Danny on the shoulder like he was wishing him all the best of luck. “Oh, and to make it official there has to be a witness to your challenge match. If you don’t get one then it doesn’t count. I can help you out with the first few matches since I’m not busy right now, but soon you’ll need to start making some acquaintances on the team”.

“How early are you available?” Danny continued to ask questions, already clearing his own schedule in his mind. “Can we set something up for this weekend? Say Saturday afternoon?”

“Sure, I’ll let Zach know, make sure he’s game” Adam replied, crossing his arms over his chest with a smile. He was impressed by Danny’s up and get ‘em attitude, already able to tell it was going to be a real pleasure to have him on the team.

“Zach and Dylan” Danny added the guy on the ladder above Zach as well. “I’ll play them both”.

“Two challenge matches in one day? You sure you’re up for that?”

“Have to be” Danny assured him, “if I’m going to be at that number 1 spot by the end of the month”.

He looked at the ladder for Team A one last time before getting ready for practice, familiarizing himself with his goal, the name at the very top of the list clear as day like it had been written there once and never moved.

Sam Kiszka.

A/N: as always if you would like to be tagged let me know! ☺️

#Greta van fic #Greta van fleet #sam kiszka #Danny Wagner #Sanny gvf #this isn’t technically a request but you guys did want some Sanny!

17 notes · View notes

thewritetofreespeech · 2 months ago

Note

Could I request Heracles, Tesla, and Hermes with a reader who's a grim reaper?

Heracles head turned when he heard the door open and [Y/N] walk in. The quiet sound of their shoes shuffling letting him know that it had been a rough day.

Usually, [Y/N] was very chipper and bubbly, despite their job as a grim reaper. They took no pleasure in it, but realized that it was a job like anything. Their sworn duty to collect the souls and bring them to the other side. But some days were harder than others.

He got up and went to them in the bathroom, where they were running a bath for the evening. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He knew that the answer was no. They never wanted to talk about those they brought on. Felt it was disrespectful to the person to share how they died or what their memory was, but would sometimes make note of how sweet or kind they were in life. On days like this the answer was emphatically no. Yet he always offered.

[Y/N] of course shook their head. Just continuing to stare at the water as it filled the tub. Heracles came up behind them and wrapped his arms around them in a hug. Just holding them there until the water was full enough and then leaving them alone. They would be back to their old self eventually. They just needed time. And he would be there when he needed them.

“Where do the people go?”

“What do you mean?” [Y/N] asked as they turned to look at Tesla at his sudden question.

“Where do the people go?” He repeated. “After you ferry them, or whatever.”

“Um…here I guess?” They replied. “You’re dead, my love, I think you would know that.”

“Yes I am aware of my condition, but they can’t all come here.” Tesla told them. “Where do the billions, and trillions of souls go?”

“I don’t know. Their own, respective, religious version of heaven?”

“How do you get assigned to them?” He then asked. “Is it a lottery system of who shall die that day, or is it spiritual situation based.”

“I don’t know!” [Y/N] told him. “I guess it’s a lottery? I’ve collected people of all faiths and backgrounds over the years.”

“Hmm…fascinating.” Tesla seemed to ponder this for a moment longer before he asked, “what about reincartation?”

“What now?”

“Reincartation.” He repeated. As if they were having trouble keeping up. “How does it work? Is it also faith based? Merit based? Lottery?”

“I don’t know!” [Y/N] snapped at him. “I just do collections, not returns!” They then sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose. “Can we talk about something else please?”

“Very well.” There was a long pause before Tesla suddenly asked. “Are their reapers for plants, since they too are living things, or are they just left to the winds for their spirits?”

“I’m going home now.”

“I don’t have a lot of time.” [Y/N] stated while Hermes poured the tea. “I have to head to the human world soon.”

“That’s perfectly fine.” He replied before he sat down across from them. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Being with a grim reaper was challenging to say the least. A lot of souls needed collecting. Even with how many of them there were in the cosmos of the afterlife, more and more people were being born and dying every day. Not to mention his own duties making it extremely difficult for quality time.

[Y/N] smiled and sipped their tea. “Perhaps when all this is over, you will have more free time.”

“You just want me out of a job.” [Y/N] remarked at Hermes comment.

They were of course aware of the Ragnarok and what was happening in the tournament. “I wouldn’t under estimate the humans though. You don’t deal with them every day like I do. They’re very tenacious.”

“Do you honestly think that humans can defeat Gods?” Hermes asked. As if the whole thing was absurd.

“Do not the Gods exist because humans gave them power? It’s the chicken & the egg theory again. What came first: the Gods or human belief in a problem seeking answers that made the Gods?” Hermes frowned.

[Y/N] just smirked, took another sip of their tea, and grabbed a biscuit. “I have to go though.” They announced. “Time waits for no man, not even reapers.” They gave Hermes a brief kiss on the cheek before they go. “Maybe next time we’ll have more time together.”

“Indeed.” Hermes agreed. He suddenly wished for the Gods victory all the more.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok scenarios #record of ragnarok imagine #ror scenarios #ror imagine #heracles #ror heracles #record of ragnarok heracles #hercules #ror hercules #record of ragnarok hercules #nikola tesla #ror tesla #record of ragnarok tesla #ror hermes #record of ragnarok hermes #hermes

14 notes · View notes

musicfeedsmysoul12 · 7 months ago

Text

Okay so Dragon Age/MHA crossover 1.

Izuku is the son of Solas and Mythal who was kidnapped by the other evil mages pretending to be gods (by stealing the names of their actual gods because I fucking HATE that plot twist in canon) and sent to the MHA world because Solas was leading a rebellion and Mythal was dead and they wanted to hurt Solas. So Izuku is raised in Japan by his adopted parents who sadly never tell Izuku he’s adopted and would aggressively pretend he isn't.

Izuku though begins developing magic in his teen years much like how in Thedas they develop them as teens. Izuku is convinced he's just a late bloomer. At least until then dreams start and he begins to see things. He is kind and curious, looking up what he sees and deciding it's like the Fae. He promises nothing and gives nothing. No deals either.

Then one day he stumbles upon what's left of Mythal (actual Mythal and not the fake who played with Solas like an instrument) and learns the truth. Solas is actually a God, the belief in him ascending him. Meanwhile the actual Gods got all the power while the fakes didn't get anything. This Mythal tells Izuku everything. She begs him to find his father to speak with him. She knows if he ever awakens he may see Thedas as nothing but a world of fakes.

Izuku travels in his dreams, hunting for his father. He goes to UA and still tries to find his father. He hunts and hunts for him. Eventually he does find Solas- who woke up a year before and is actively working to take down the Veil.

It takes a while for Solas to believe Izuku, until everyone is agreeing and pointing out the truth. But he refuses to listen to Izuku talk about how his plan is stupid.

Izuku by this time is twenty having lived through a war. He's lost friends, his adoptive parents are dead and he looks around at a world that hasn't changed. Despite everything they still have the same systems in place. They still are on the same damn wheel. Bakugou (who never changed. Izuku doesn't have OFA, no he has a Quirk that lets him do so much more and Bakugou can't stop seeing it as looking down. Can't be given trust that makes him look back on his life) is rising the ranks fast and his actions are pushed aside.

Izuku, age twenty, turns to his surviving friends and their teachers. Uraraka (down an arm but still fighting), Iida (still strong even after everything), Todoroki (alive and just as furious), Yaoyorozu (Burned and broken but standing) and Shinsou (mute now but applying the parkour he was given years ago to heroics) are all he has left as friends. Aizawa (lost a leg and an eye, lost his best friend, learned another was a puppet and lost his husband), Nezu (who tried his hardest to change society after what he went through but nothing has changed even now) and Midnight (who clawed her way back after being injured. Who has scars and stopped being ‘useful’ as a hero without being sexy) are the teachers left with Eri (shaking and scared as the hero commission pushes for training for her).

He asks if they would leave with him. They say they will.

So, a week after the Chantry explosion, a group of strange people show up in Haven. Two women, a child, and five men, along with a small person who is covered in a coat. One of them calls out for his father, Solas, who is shocked but delighted.

“I will not change my mind,” the elf warns his son. “You do not know how it was once.”

“I’ll keep trying,” is what Izuku replies with.

(he doesn't tell his father the one to strike down All for One after Mirio died, taking One for All with him, was Izuku. Doesn't talk about how he’d sobbed learning who the man was.

Doesn’t talk about how Midoriya Hizashi was a facade and that Izuku had loved him still.

He's killed one father for the world. He can do it a second time if needed.)

#bnha #bnha au #dragon age #izuku has pointy ears #things never changed #so they just left #a bunch of videos got sent to the media #and shit went down #nezu hides himself away #or well fakes being human #he hates it #but he hated their old world more #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

18 notes · View notes

tessatales · 2 years ago

Text

Touch Starved ✨Yelena✨

Yelena x F!reader

Warnings: none really, touch starved Yelena (duh) mention of missing family (no death though!)

Theme: touch starved Yelena, grumpy lady, comfort found

A/N: wow, this series is over! Actually finished! And on my birthday to boot. I’ve honestly loved writing all of these fic, and I’m sure I’ll come back to a variation of it somewhere down the line but until then- thank you to everyone whose read these fics and I hope they bring you as much joy and they’ve brought me ❤️❤️

*Your POV*

‘Yelena’s acting strange’ Bruce murmured as you passed, pointing the tip of his pen behind him as he walked back to his office.

“Roger that.” You reply, straightening your spine as you walked into the towers main living area. Yelena was only a visitor to Avengers tower, although her access was nearly as unlimited as the residents that called this place home. (with only a few exceptions)

“Yelena! Long time no see!” You said with a grin, leaving your fist out for the ex assassin to bump.

“Tony banned me for the car incident” Yelena shrugged, taking a sip of her beer. You nodded with understanding.

“We’ll getting a limited addition vintage car towed for a joke probably wasn’t your best idea” You replied, snatching the drink from her to take a swig. Yelena shrugged, saying nothing.

When the silence stretched on longer than usual for the talkative Widow, you decided to speak up.

“Your particularly quiet today, what’s up” You prompted, knowing instantly that you’d hit a nerve when Yelena practically slams her beer onto the counter.

“See I don’t get you people!” Yelena growled, throwing her hands into the air before standing from her seat.

“Just because I’m not taking up every silence does not mean there’s something wrong” Yelena continued, shoving her stool angrily back into place before snatching her beer and stalking off.

You tried your best to not take the outbursts personally, though you could still feel the sting. You knew that Natasha was usually best at keeping Yelena’s moods in check, but with her off in deep cover gods knows where, you knew you’d just have to navigate these moments alone.

Yelena would calm down eventually, You thought with a sigh before trudging back to your own rooms.

*Yelena’s POV*

Yelena knew she’d fucked up. She’d felt the guilt the second she’d slammed Natasha’s bedroom door behind her. The second she’s been out of Y/N’s presence, her mood dipped and the anger she’d felt died in an instant.

Yelena wished she knew what was causing her mood, the outbursts becoming more and more frequent the longer Natasha was away. But she just couldn’t figure out why.

Of course she missed Natasha, she was her sister after all, but this growing anger since Nat’s departure just wasn’t adding up.

Armed with limited information, Yelena took to the towers best search engine, J.A.R.V.I.S.

“Why am I feeling this way?” Yelena said to the air, not bothering to say the AI’s name.

“I assume you are talking to me Miss Belova” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied, his voice forever patient. Yelena grunted.

“May I give you a solution based on an observation?” J.A.R.V.I.S. asked as he turned Natasha’s rooms computer system on.

“Go ahead” Yelena replied, wandering over to the screens. As she did, several articles on touch starvation and it’s effects began to pop up, each one explaining in depth the different side effected the issue could have.

“Huh” Yelena said, mumbling her thanks as she began to read.

*A Few Hours Later*

Yelena paced silently outside of Y/N’s door for what felt like a lifetime- after many hours of reading and arguing with J.A.R.V.I.S, Yelena had relented in her argument and accepted she had to do something.

Taking a final few steps, Yelena stepped up to Y/N’s door, tapping on it lightly as she contemplated what she was going to say.

*Your POV*

Groggy from your nap, You padded slowly to the door, your eyes barely focused as you opened it.

“I miss Natasha and it’s making me be a bitch” Yelena blurts. You blinked.

“Come in?” You replied, confusion colouring your sleepy voice. Yelena accepted, sliding past you to flop into your unmade bed.

“I was a bitch earlier and the Computer Voice says it’s touch starvation” Yelena continued, clearly unaware that you were basically still asleep.

“Okay…?”

Yelena sat up, finally taking in your sleepy appearance.

“Were you sleeping?” Yelena said with a little guilt, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

“I was, but don’t worry about it. So what does Natasha and touch starvation have in common?” You asked, coming to sit beside the assassin.

“Natasha is my sister. So obviously she tends to touch me more than anyone else” Yelena said, staring at her hands as she spoke.

“Go on?” You prompt, trying your best to sounds as reassuring as possible.

Well… when I’d have a bad night- or if we were just hanging out, Nat would usually stroke my hair or lay her legs on me while watching tv…” Yelena whispered, picking at her nails as she explained.

“And she’s been gone so long it’s affecting you emotionally- that lack of touch?” You finished, taking in the information slowly. Yelena nodded.

“Why didn’t you say something?” You asked exasperated, punching the assassin lightly on the arm before clambering up the bed and getting comfy.

“Ow! because I didn’t- what are you doing?” Yelena said, watching you with confusion as you lay the blankets beside you.

“I’m getting comfortable so we can nap together. Me and Nat do it all the time on the sofa” You replied, snuggling down with your arms outstretched, beckoning the ex assassin to cuddle with you.

After biting her lip for a while, Yelena seemed to give in, quickly sliding off her shoes before clambering up to lay in your arms, the blanket following soon after.

You were sure not to react to the audible sigh the assassin gave as she relaxed, her face seemed to involuntarily snuggled into your side as you adjusted to her weight.

Once comfortable, you placed one hand on Yelena’s head, moving your fingers in slow, circular movements as her blonde hair began to tangle between your fingers. The other rested lightly over her blanket clad waist.

The silence in the room was comfortable, with nether you or Yelena wanting to break the spell it had caused. Because of this, it took you a while to notice Yelena’s steady breathing and relaxed limbs. Only when her fingers began lightly twitching against your stomach did you realise she was asleep.

You weren’t going to wake her.

She’d finally opened up about something. And you weren’t going to break that intimacy. So you laid there in silence, still stroking the sleeping assassins hair.

Touch starved or not I’ll be here for you no matter what.

You thought as your eyes began to close, your hands slowing in Yelena hair until you eventually fell asleep yourself.

#avengers #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #bucky x reader #tony x reader #dr strange #dr strange x reader #bruce banner imagine #clint barton x reader #loki x y/n #yelena belova x reader #yelena boleva #natasha and yelena #touchstarved Yelena #touchstarvedmcu #touchstarved peter #touch starved pietro #touch starved natasha

269 notes · View notes

sxcret-garden · 14 days ago

Note

4 & 23 for the meta writer asks please! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) (@igbylicious)

aaa thank you you two for sending something in!! i hope it's okay i put together your asks into one post for... obvious reasons :')

i'm doing okay, i hope you guys are doing well too!!! <3

23. What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

Not sure how far back into childhood I should go here, because i've literally been making up my own stories for as long as I can remember... so I think I'll go with the one that's stuck with me all the way until now! It's basically an original idea set in a dystopian future and follows a bunch of adolescents as they rise up against "the system" (yes I know that sounds awfully familiar to the ateez stans here but I had this idea back in like 2015 so if anything they stole from me-) and I did write the full story once but I'm really not happy with how it turned out, plus I want to make a bunch of changes to the story and the characters, so at one point I really hope I manage to write that whole thing again^^

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

(technically three people asked me about this now, so i'm very tempted to put three scenes here but.... i think the post will get way too long then ajskdfjödlask unless of course... someone asks nicely...? 👉👈 anyway, the scene is under the cut~)

“It can happen,” Yeosang assures you, while the alarm goes off, shaking the whole table as it vibrates, and Wooyoung immediately grabs it and gets up. You’re glad he’s at least being useful in that regard - otherwise you’re not sure why Yeosang brought his friend from an entirely different major along to your café date of hell.

“He insisted,” your teammate tells you upon posing your question. “Actually I don’t know why I brought him either.”

“Excuse me?!” Wooyoung exclaims in offense as he returns with your order, having heard his friend’s reply. But Yeosang is quick to wave it off.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” To your surprise his loud friend merely sits down while eyeing him with a doubtful expression, but he doesn’t say anything more to that. Finding yourself more fascinated than anything else by their dynamic, you shake your head eventually and redirect your attention to the screen in front of you.

“I’ll send you the parts so we can go over them together,” you announce as you’re already dropping the files into your kakao chat with Yeosang, the familiar tone coming from the speakers of his laptop signaling an incoming message that tells you he received them quickly. Wooyoung leans in, nosily looking at the files his friend is opening.

“Looks good… if you ignore the formatting,” Yeosang shades, making you chuckle, and Wooyoung lets you hear a loud “Hey!”

“You didn’t do yours any better!” he teases Yeosang, attempting to pinch his side but his friend evades the attack.

“Personal space,” he just remarks, pushing Wooyoung away with his flat palm against his cheek. Once again you find yourself fascinated by their cartoonish behaviour most of all, but you don’t comment on what just unfolded in front of your eyes. “And also, mine doesn’t look very interesting, but at least it has the correct formatting.”

“Yeah, this professor doesn’t really have an eye for aesthetics,” you add, grinning yet unhappy about the way the paper you were supposed to put together looks overly sterile. “But I guess that’s what science wants.”

“Well, the contents are what matters,” Yeosang adds, this time not defending himself when Wooyoung throws an arm around his shoulders, but you can tell he’s not happy about the pda. With curious eyes he leans in, skimming through the text on Yeosang’s screen, and you give him an annoyed sigh. You really just want to finish this damn project already, before it consumes any more of your nerves.

“Oh. Sorry,” Wooyoung grins as he notices your distress, moving away from the computer as he straightens his back, and you’re not sure what to make of his reaction. Telling yourself to focus on the problem at hand instead of him, you begin pasting the text into one collective document, while Yeosang starts reading through everything in search of any possible errors.

“Looks good,” he eventually announces, and you agree, having joined him in proofreading everything.

“You two sure are fast,” Wooyoung comments, and he shoots you a gaze filled with mischief.

“This is the tenth time we read through these, so…” you explain.

“I see… Yeosang here told me about how horrible the others were to work with,” the guy sitting next to your classmate continues.

“You’re also horrible to work with, and you’re not even a part of this,” Yeosang mutters under his breath, causing you to chuckle, and Wooyoung immediately complains.

not @ me putting a wall of text in here, but I'm just really proud of how the bickering between Yeosang and Wooyoung turned out here hehe plus it was a lot of fun to write too^^ this is probably still one of my fav scenes from this fic, and it doesn't even have the guy it's about in it :')

(this is from chapter 3 of my jongho fic btw^^)

#thank you for asking again hehe~#ask game #answered

4 notes · View notes

sesamestreep · 10 months ago

Text

30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 7

Use the words: small town, bar, jukebox (from this list) ➸ slight future fic in the west wing AU, set probably six months after part 4 which does not exist yet (🫠) so maybe consider it a preview of what’s to come eventually in the series?? corresponds to the beginning of season 3 of the west wing when everybody’s in Manchester for the campaign and based (loosely) on that scene where Toby sucks at pool. ♡ dedicated to my pal @aivley-reblogs who had the chance to influence me to make this fic less weird and horny and chose violence instead ♡

It's only after Foggy has managed to send Karen and most of the remaining staffers that were still holed up in the bar either working or blowing off steam back to their hotel rooms for the night that Matt finally reappears.

“Did I miss the end of the party?” Matt asks.

“We’re calling it a night,” Foggy replies, as he’s futzing with his wallet. He's waiting on the drink he just ordered with plans to close his tab after that. “The team’s picking back up with the speech in the morning. Hopefully, some rest will help.”

“I don’t know if one good night of sleep is enough to make everyone see eye to eye there.”

“Yeah, but it’s almost midnight and I think we’re all entitled to some delusion.”

Matt smiles at that, and says, “You’re heading out, then?”

Foggy leans back against the bar. “After this drink, yes.”

“I’d have another too, if you’re offering.”

“Yeah, alright,” Foggy says, at the exact same moment the bartender reappears with his drink. “Can I be a bother and add one more thing to my tab?”

The bartender gives Foggy the impression of someone who’s probably a school teacher by day and does this for extra cash because the educational system in this country is fundamentally broken. That’s a long way of saying she’s a different breed from the sleek, lithe employees of the downtown DC bars he usually frequents, most of whom could and likely do double as escorts to senators and ambassadors now and again. She’s also probably old enough to be his mother, which makes it charming and not weird when she nods curtly and turns to Matt with a, “Jameson, right, honey?”

“Yes, thank you,” Matt replies, with the sort of humble acquiescence of someone used to terms of endearment from the older ladies at church. Once she’s gone, Matt pokes Foggy’s wrist and says, “You play pool?”

“Not as well as Karen, but…”

Matt smiles, too brightly for the hour and for their current circumstances. “I see news of my humbling defeat has already reached you."

"As if there's a force on this earth that could actually humble you in any real way."

"True enough," Matt replies, his smile only growing. "It's clear to me now that I should have done my homework before challenging her, at least.”

"I hope you didn't put any money on it," Foggy says, casually.

"Nothing I couldn't afford to lose," Matt says, with a shrug. It's hard to tell in the subdued lighting of the bar, but he might also be blushing faintly. "If you're worried, I'll be generous with you. You can lose for free."

"Golly, thanks," Foggy says, drily, making Matt laugh.

"Sounds like a yes to me," he says, before nodding to the raised area in the back of the room where the pool table resides. “I’ll get it set up. Meet me there when you’re all set.”

“Sorry, am I buying and delivering your drinks now, Murdock?”

“Seems like it, yeah,” Matt replies, with a grin that threatens to overtake his face as he effortlessly walks back from the bar without turning away.

“And what do I get out of this arrangement?” Foggy shouts after him.

“The pleasure of my company,” Matt fires back, and then disappears again.

Foggy can’t deny that that’s enough of a draw for him, but he doesn’t have to be stupid and admit it out loud. Instead, he gets Matt’s drink without further complaint, as well as his own, closes his tab, and heads over to the slightly enclosed area at the back of the bar where there’s a pool table with Matt Murdock leaning against it. He hands the drink off to him, and clinks their glasses together before Matt can pull his away.

“Cheers,” he says, for no real reason, and watches Matt’s throat move on a swallow just a little too closely. He feels fine and normal otherwise.

“You know how to play?” Matt asks, inclining his head towards the table as he stands and makes his way to the rack of pool cues.

There’s something loose and warm in the way he moves around the rounded corners of the table, like this is his neighborhood bar and he knows it by heart. Foggy attributes it to the few drinks he’s had over the course of the night and a certain natural grace that Matt seems to possess, but having an explanation for it doesn’t dampen the effect of it at all. Just like he was fascinated by Matt’s throat a moment ago, Foggy now feels like he can’t take his eyes off Matt’s hips, which is a real problem.

“I’m a man of a certain age, Matthew,” Foggy gripes, in the hopes of distracting from his obvious enamored state with sheer bad manners. “Of course I know how to play pool!”

"Good, then I won't go easy on you," Matt says.

"I have a feeling that was never an option," Foggy retorts. "What's a guy like you get out of pool, anyway?

"A guy like me? What's that supposed to mean?

Foggy rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that. It's a pretty visual game!"

"True enough. I was going to ask you to point me in the right direction, depending on whether I end up with stripes or solids."

"I could lie."

"Yeah, but you won't."

"I'm a politician, kiddo. Don't be so sure."

"'Kiddo'," Matt repeats, evidently delighted by it. "You're in a real mood, huh?"

"I'm fine," Foggy says, too sharply. "You want to break or shall I?"

"You go ahead," Matt offers, generously. "I want you to feel like you stood an actual chance, at least to start."

"You're kind of an asshole, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm aware. You can save the energy you're about to put into pretending you don't like it, by the way."

"I don't like it!"

"Sure."

"I really don't," Foggy says, even as he's trying to fight a smile. And winning, but still. "Not right now I don't, at least."

"Yes, you do," Matt replies, knowingly. "Right now, me being an asshole is the only thing stopping you from taking your frustrations out on someone who doesn't deserve it."

Foggy sighs, defeated. "You don't deserve it either."

"Give it fifteen, twenty minutes and see if you still feel that way," Matt says, lightly, and nudges him with his elbow.

Foggy steps up to take the first shot, breaking the neat little triangle of billiard balls that Matt has assembled in the center of the table with the white cue ball easily. Nothing goes into a pocket, of course, not that he really expected it. He's fine at pool, generally speaking, but not great. It's a feeling he's beginning to get used to (and increasingly tired of) in the rest of his life as well.

"Let's keep it simple," he says, as he stands up. "Whoever sinks the most shots wins."

"Easy enough," Matt says, coming to stand next to him. "Where's the cue ball?"

Foggy steps in close to Matt's side, until their arms brush. "Eleven o'clock."

Matt nods and sinks down into his stance. Foggy steps back, both to get out of his way and to admire his form. Matt’s got a nice ass, which is something Foggy noticed about him basically immediately, being gifted by God with both the power of sight and the blessing of bisexuality. He can normally control himself enough to conveniently avoid noticing it, except for right now when it’s late, he’s a little tipsy, and Matt’s suit is perfectly tailored to show it off. It is, quite frankly, a ridiculous situation he’s gotten himself into. Even the dim amber lighting of the bar is blending with the glow of several nearby neon signs—they serve Heineken and Pabst Blue Ribbon here, apparently—to cast Matt’s skin in the dreamiest light possible.

Matt sinks three balls without trouble before Foggy can manage to tear his gaze away from his ass, and even then, it’s only to get distracted by the lovely shape his fingers make around the cue. He misses his next shot by about three millimeters, a miracle that Foggy attributes either to the power of his overwhelming horniness creating some sort of palpable disturbance in the atmosphere or God punishing him for his lustful thoughts by contriving a scenario where Matt’s no longer bending over a pool table in his line of sight. Either way, it’s a reprieve.

“That’s you,” Matt says, still stalking around the table like a jungle cat. Foggy might need to get out more, is the thing.

“How are you this good at pool, anyway?” Foggy asks, as he lines up his shot and delicately avoids letting his hips come into contact with the table. He thinks unsensuous thoughts and doesn’t look over at Matt at all, because, with his luck, if he does, Matt will be innocently fellating the pool cue or some similar such nonsense. Better to avoid it altogether, he thinks.

“Practice,” Matt says, smugly. “And very, very dim vision, technically.”

“I didn’t know that,” Foggy says as he sinks a shot, finally. Even that, the sound of the ball finding the pocket, is kind of erotic to him now because his life is a farce.

“Yeah. Most blind people have some vision. Total blindness is fairly rare.”

“So, what I’m hearing is you totally just let me lead you around most of the time because you really just like walking arm in arm with me. Is that accurate?”

“You caught me,” Matt says, with a soft smile, and Foggy misses his next shot completely. “Not bad.”

“3 to 1,” Foggy replies, pushing himself up.

“You’re on the board,” Matt says, passing behind him closely enough that Foggy catches the scent of his cologne mixed with the Jameson left in his glass. He takes another drink and Foggy wonders what his mouth would taste like right now and also if there’s a historically significant, beautiful river nearby that he could potentially drown himself in. They’re in small town New Hampshire, after all. The chances that Benedict Arnold did something stupid near here back in 1776 and there's a scenic spot with a plaque commemorating it are pretty high. There are worse places to drown yourself, he figures.

“Don’t patronize me,” he grumbles, instead of saying any of that out loud.

“I wasn’t,” Matt says, grinning as he settles into his spot for his next shot.

“How much did Karen beat you by, again? I feel like it might be helpful, for me, to know.”

“It’s not fair,” Matt says in an exaggerated whine that’s in no way convincing. His smile doesn’t help either. “I’m blind and she tricked me!”

“I don’t think her being better at pool than you expected constitutes a trick on her part, Matt.”

“She let me explain the rules to her for like ten minutes!”

“And I bet she let you do that thing where you got real close and showed her how to handle the stick from behind too,” Foggy says, infusing his tone with mock pity.

“Oh, she dropped the ruse well before that point, though I’ll be the first to admit I’m not above that move,” Matt says, unrepentant, and sinks another shot. “But I can always do that for you if you need some pointers!”

“Sure,” Foggy says, sweetly. “Come on over, big boy.”

Matt misses his next shot because he’s too busy doubling over with laughter. “Jesus, Foggy!”

“Don’t put anything on the table you don’t want people to accept, Murdock.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Matt says. “Your turn.”

Foggy sighs as he gets into position. Matt comes to stand at his side and, after a quiet moment in which Foggy attempts to line up his shot, puts his hand on the small of Foggy’s back. It takes all of Foggy’s concentration not to jump away from the touch, but he manages to keep his cool, just barely.

“Your stance does need work,” Matt says, mildly, and kicks him in the ankle before Foggy can make a smart comment about what his lower back has to do with his stance. “Bring this foot out a little.”

Foggy complies, because his brain can’t think of anything else to do in this moment. “Better?” he asks.

“Good,” Matt replies, and Foggy likes the tone in his voice a little too much for his own well being. “Take your shot.”

Foggy does, and scratches. The humiliation, at least, cuts through the arousal rather effectively. That’s something.

“Saboteur,” he mutters as he goes off in search of the lost cue ball.

“I can improve your stance, but your aim is your own problem.”

“A likely story,” Foggy says, as he returns. “I’m hip to your little mind games now, Murdock.”

He puts the cue ball into Matt’s outstretched hand. Matt is entitled, per the rules, to place it wherever he likes on the table to set up his next shot, but he stands there cradling it thoughtfully in his palm, testing its weight, instead, for a long moment, like a total sociopath, adding more force to the argument that Foggy is currently being punished by a mean-spirited and vengeful god.

“You know massaging that thing won’t help you score, right?”

Matt gives him a smile that indicates he either appreciates some good trash talk between men or that he’s seen through to the very heart of Foggy’s desires and found them trivial and amusing in the grand scheme of things. Either way, it’s a good look on him.

“Can’t hurt, can it?” Matt asks, smugly, and places the cue ball before lining up his shot and sinking it in one practiced, elegant motion. “5 to 1, correct?”

“Yep,” Foggy says, leaning back to watch the show without guilt now, since he’s paying for it so dearly at the cost of his self-respect. Matt sinks another shot and Foggy doesn’t even care because he’s too transfixed by the way the fabric of Matt’s dress shirt bunches up around his bicep and spreads taught between his shoulder blades. Foggy takes a healthy sip of his drink because his mouth is suddenly so dry.

"You know," Matt says, casually, with his ass unceremoniously in the air because pool is the greatest game ever invented, in Foggy's not-entirely-sober opinion (even if he is losing spectacularly), "we are rapidly approaching the point in the game where you can't actually win."

"Yes, I'm aware. Believe it or not, I can do basic math. It's one of my very few skills."

"I don't agree with that assessment."

"You don't think I can do math?"

"I think you have lots of skills," Matt says, as he brings his score up to seven. "The gift of foresight, for one."

"What?"

Matt smiles. "You were smart to accept the offer not to play for money."

"Oh, right. Sorry, I thought—you're right. That was smart.

"What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing, I—it's not important. I was just confused for a second there."

"Foggy..."

"Just take your next shot, Matt," Foggy interjects, harshly. "You're one point away from ensuring complete domination over me."

Without turning away from him, Matt reaches out to poke the cue ball with his cue, leaving it to roll hesitantly and without urgency into the bumpers around the edge of the table. "You're up," he says, with a helpless shrug, and comes to stand next to Foggy.

He sighs. "Matt, listen—”

"I didn't mean the tobacco thing," Matt says, ignoring him. All of the levity of a moment ago is gone. They're not cheerfully messing around anymore, it looks like. "That's not how I'd bring it up. You know that, right?"

"I do know that. You wouldn't—it's just that it's been on my mind. That's why I went there. It has nothing to do with you."

Matt nods, absently. "I hope so."

"It's the truth," Foggy says, grabbing him by the arm to emphasize his sincerity. "And you've been a real class act for not rubbing my nose in it. I deserved an 'I told you so' at the very least and you haven't given me one, so I should be more appreciative."

"You don't have to thank me for not kicking you when you're down."

"I went to you for advice on how to handle things with the Appropriations subcommittee and then blatantly ignored all of the very good advice you gave me. 'I told you so' would be getting off easy."

Matt smiles, reluctantly. "To be fair, I don't think you really went to me for advice. You knew what you wanted to do before you came to me."

"What was I looking for then?"

"Permission," Matt suggests. "Forgiveness. Maybe some mild fawning over your political acumen."

"All of the above, maybe," Foggy admits, warily, and rubs his face. "I'm sorry."

"For which part?"

"Ignoring your good advice, for one thing. And, well, if I made you feel like I was pulling rank on you, that's not good either."

Matt laughs. "You do outrank me, Foggy."

“Still,” Foggy says. “I like to think I’m not that guy, usually.”

“What guy?”

“The one who’s so far up his own ass that he can’t see anyone else’s point of view.”

“Oh, yeah,” Matt says, thoughtfully. “You’re definitely not that guy.”

“I was to you.”

“Not really. It was one situation where you didn’t take my advice. That’s going to happen if we work together for any stretch of time. It’s going to happen again, I’d guess. I hate to think you’re going to beat yourself up this much every time.”

Foggy nudges Matt with his elbow ineffectively. “You’re being too nice to me.”

“And you’re being too hard on yourself,” Matt replies. “Someone’s got to be nice to you. Might as well be me.”

“I notice this vow of kindness doesn’t extend to letting me win at pool.”

“Even I have my limits of good grace, Foggy,” Matt says, with a smile. “Besides, I already lost once tonight. My ego barely survived it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Foggy says, earning a confused look from Matt. “Karen asked me to check on you before she left. She was worried about your fragile mental state, that maybe you were weeping over your humiliation alone in the bathroom.”

“No such luck,” Matt laughs.

“My theory was that we had you to thank for the back-to-back Shania Twain songs on the jukebox at the time.”

“Also not true, but only because Shania Twain isn’t exactly sulking music.”

“Speak for yourself,” Foggy says. “I could sulk to Shania.”

“Well, that’s why they pay you the big bucks, I guess,” Matt replies, absently leaning his weight onto the pool cue. “I didn’t know you were paying such close attention.”

Foggy pauses with his glass midway to his lips. “What?”

“When Karen and I finished our game,” Matt says, still brightly but with a strange edge, like he’s not sure mentioning this is the right thing to do. “I thought you were still outside with Jeri.”

“I was,” Foggy says, and then reconsiders. “I mean, I was for most of your game, I think. When I came back in, you two seemed to be finishing up.”

They also seemed to be laughing and touching a whole lot, which is why Foggy hadn’t come over. He’d slunk off to drink at a table with Marci and Ben and a few of the new people Jeri had hired to run the campaign while they went nine rounds over the wording of a single sentence in the speech for the President’s official announcement for the bid for re-election. The senior staff and the campaign staff were finding it difficult to mesh together so far and it meant that this important speech was stuck in limbo between them like a child of divorce in a nasty custody battle. Everyone, it seemed, was having a miserable time of it lately, which was especially inconvenient because there’d never been more scrutiny on the administration before this particular moment.

Matt was, technically, campaign staff but he’d been on the payroll longer than anyone else, because he’d been doing polling for them for a while now and they’d just decided to extend his contract and fold it into their re-election efforts. So far, he was keeping his head above water and wasn’t getting embroiled in the stupid little pissing matches happening elsewhere, which was impressive. He’d also been pitching in and helping with the announcement speech where he could, but there were a lot of egos to soothe or flatter in that area and it wasn’t what they were specifically paying him to do. Still, Foggy’s been pleased so far watching him navigate these tense situations and remain professional and undeterred in spite of them. It’s partly because Foggy had been the one to recommend Matt in the first place that he feels such obvious pride, but it’s hard to ignore that there’s another reason for it. He’s trying to make peace with the fact that he’s more than incidentally in love with Matt and constant proximity is not tempering it at all. In fact, seeing Matt every day now and watching him succeed at the thing he loves doing makes Foggy so absurdly happy, it’s almost like these professional victories are happening to him by proxy. Which means, in terms of ever getting past this unfortunate crush, Foggy is monumentally fucked.

“You should have come over,” Matt says, still talking about his game of pool with Karen, oblivious to Foggy’s inner torment. “She said you would, when you got back.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“I’m bad company tonight,” Foggy says, spreading his arms out defensively.

“You’re never bad company, as far as I can tell.”

“What did I ever do to earn such loyalty from you? Just let me call myself an asshole, man.”

Matt sighs, disappointed. “You made one mistake, Foggy. You’ve got to—”

“I made a mistake that could cost us the election!”

“It could, but that doesn’t mean it will! It’s still early and we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. And, more importantly, you got the Justice Department 30 million dollars to go after the tobacco industry! That’s what they asked you to do! That’s a victory! Why don’t you see that?”

“Because there was a larger victory that I left on the table in my need to get anything done in this fucking town,” Foggy says. “I mean, not this town. We’re in Bumblefuck, New Hampshire. But you know…”

“Yeah, believe it or not, I followed that,” Matt says, unimpressed. “And smaller victories are nothing to scoff at. I think you’ve been in this business so long you’ve lost sight of that. Small victories are how you build your way up to bigger ones. In fact, most big victories are comprised of smaller ones. You’re good at what you do, Foggy. You know all this!”

“I don’t feel good at this anymore.”

“Yeah, well, speaking as someone who grew up around professional boxers, I’ll tell you that the right time to ask a man about his next fight is not when he’s just been K.O.’d. You’ve still got the flashlight in your eyes checking for a concussion. I wouldn’t make any career judgments right now.”

“You think we’ve been K.O.’d?” Foggy asks.

“I think the administration’s on its ass right now, for sure,” Matt replies, with the steely calm of a real political operative and Foggy’s pride in him is not misplaced even a little, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t get back up. The numbers I’m seeing are better than expected and they’re built on all the good you’ve done for the last three years. People will remember why they voted for you guys in the first place soon enough.”

“God, I hope you’re right.”

“I am and I think that earns me the right to say something that might hurt your feelings a bit.”

Foggy takes a fortifying sip of his drink, bracing himself. “Go for it, then.”

“As great as you are, this election won’t be won or lost on your actions alone,” Matt says, gently. “I know it’s tempting to decide that what you personally do or don’t do is the most important thing in the universe, to take every setback as a condemnation of your efforts and proof that you need to double down and do more, but you’re a part of a team. It’s not up to you to win this election by yourself. And it won’t be your fault and only yours if we don’t.”

“Why would that hurt my feelings?” Foggy asks, far too casually. He doesn’t know who he thinks he’s trying to fool here.

“Because it would hurt mine,” Matt says, “if our situations were reversed.”

Foggy understands that for what it is: an offer of a hand up off the ground, an acknowledgement that he and Matt are the same in this regard. It’s not nothing and he’d be wise to take what’s being given to him here, but he’s not quite there yet.

“I could have done more, Matt.”

“And you’ll have plenty of chances to do so. Tomorrow’s another day.”

“I think it’s always going to haunt me, the things we didn’t get through, the things we compromised on to appeal to our opposition. I think it’ll kill me, eventually.”

“You’ve done a lot of good too.”

“Yeah,” Foggy agrees, solemnly. “But enough? I’m not sure.”

Matt lets that sit, rather than trying to placate him with some sort of truism, which is nice. It’s meaningful to him that Matt knows this isn’t some empty question coming from him, that Foggy really means it when he asks it. He feels certain that this is something Matt worries about too, that this is a question Matt’s asked himself at the end of many days before. It’s dangerous, honestly, feeling this close to someone. This kind of intimacy isn’t something he feels capable of shaking off and pretending isn’t there, most of the time.

“You didn’t answer my question before, you know,” he says, eventually, even though it feels sacrilegious to break this particular silence.

“Which one?” Matt asks, shifting the cue back and forth between his hands in what could be a nervous tic or maybe he’s just bored with this conversation. It’s hard to tell.

“The one about what I did to earn such loyalty.”

Matt shrugs, staring into the middle distance. “You got me this job, didn’t you?”

“Not really,” Foggy says. “I remembered your name. That’s about it. Everything else was a result of your hard work.”

“Then, I guess it’s all for remembering my name.”

“That’s the real answer?”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Matt replies, leaning into his side. “If you win this game, I’ll give you the real answer.”

“I’d need a miracle for that to happen,” Foggy grumbles. “Are you sure I can’t just bribe you?”

“Okay, final offer,” Matt answers, with a cryptic smile, “you get the eight ball into any pocket on this turn and you win.”

“That’s a stupid bet, Murdock. Where did you learn to gamble?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“You’re winning seven to one. Are you out of your mind?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just that confident that you won’t be able to make the shot.”

“Or maybe you just really want to tell me your deepest, darkest secret.”

“My deepest, darkest secret has nothing to do with you, Foggy. You’re getting a shallow, well lit secret out of me in this bargain, if anything.”

“We’ll see,” Foggy replies, breezily, as he approaches the table to line up his shot. He doesn’t have Matt’s lithe sort of confidence or any kind of delusion that he’d paint a tempting picture right now even for someone who could see him, but he is stupidly determined, so he likes his odds in this situation just fine.

“Oh,” Matt interrupts, innocently, at the precise moment Foggy was going to pull his cue back and take the shot. “Since we’re now wagering on the outcome of this game, I should ask: what do I get?”

“What do you get?” Foggy repeats, irritated. He feels certain Matt timed that question to throw him off and he’s not pleased about it. “You’re going to beat me in the most humiliating way possible! What more do you need?”

“I’d like a secret too.”

“Fine, but you had better be satisfied with an equally shallow, well lit one from me too.”

“That kind of depends on what kind of secret you consider the answer to my question to be.”

“What question?”

“What made you remember my name?”

Foggy actually stands up to consider this fully. It’s hard to tell with Matt, if he’s aware of the way Foggy can’t help but flirt with him sometimes and how seriously he takes it. Matt gives as good as he gets, Foggy thinks, but whether he knows that Foggy would gladly make real on all the innuendo he throws at him is another matter. All of which just makes it that much more confusing why he’d make this request in the first place. Does he want flattery? Does he want some confirmation that the new opportunities in his career were gotten honestly? Or does he want Foggy to admit to something here? And why would he want that? To laugh at him? To clear the air? To prove his suspicions about why he got this job are true?

Foggy’s not prepared for any of those scenarios. Matt is maybe just joking around (though he certainly doesn’t look like it) but he’s asking for a bigger secret than he realizes. And Foggy will not be explaining that to him, because even that would be admitting too much. They’re going to be working together closely for a while yet and Foggy’s not going to ruin it now, not right out of the gate. He’s got more instinct for self-preservation than that.

“Fine,” he says, setting his sights on the eight ball again. “You have yourself a deal. Now, shut up and stop distracting me.”

Matt crosses his arms over his chest, looking self-satisfied and unconcerned. This expression changes into one of shock and disbelief at the sound of the eight ball landing in the middle pocket on the left side of the table.

“Like I said,” Foggy states, rounding the corner of the table, “that was a bad bet.”

“You cheated,” Matt exclaims.

“How?”

“I didn’t hear the cue touch the ball. Did you—did you just move the eight ball with your hand?!”

“Of course,” Foggy says, with a shrug. “You never said how I had to get the eight ball into the pocket, only that it had to happen on my next turn.”

Matt laughs in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous! And very clearly against the rules!”

“Not against the ones you set, though. Technically.”

“Yeah, technically, I guess,” Matt says. “But don’t you feel bad winning this way?”

“Of course not,” Foggy answers, gesturing widely with the cue still in his hands. “I’m a pathetic little man, Matthew.”

“Five minutes ago, I would have argued with that kind of negative self-talk, but I’m no longer feeling generous towards you at all.”

Foggy shrugs as he reaches past Matt for his drink. “I would totally understand if you didn’t want to uphold your end of the bargain, by the way. I mean, if our situations were reversed, I would still do it, but I’m a class act, through and through.”

“You’re a cheat is what you are,” Matt says, and it might be the inadequate lighting in here playing tricks on him, but Foggy thinks there might be color rising in Matt’s cheeks. “This is why no one trusts anyone in Washington, you know.”

“I know,” Foggy says, indulgently. “Like I said, it’s up to you. But you’ll also recall I warned you never to put something on the table that you don’t want your opponent to accept.”

“I didn’t mind the idea of you winning, I just didn’t think you’d cheat to get it!”

“Then you underestimated how baffled I am by your loyalty to me.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Matt says, leaning back to rest more fully against the table behind him. “I think it’s obvious why I’d…what makes me feel that way towards you.”

“That’s still not an answer,” Foggy replies, at the same moment he realizes Matt leaning back didn’t put that much space between them after all. He’d gotten pretty close to reach for his drink and, maybe, just to push this conversation from trash talk more firmly into flirting territory. For someone who doesn’t want to fuck things up, he’s really pushing his luck.

Matt exhales noisily, and Foggy can feel it on his neck, that’s how close they’re standing. They’re in a bar, of course, so they have their excuses. It’s noisy, with the patrons and the jukebox and the TVs. They could need privacy, given the jobs they have and the sensitive nature of the information they have access to as part of them. But that’s not why Foggy’s doing this and he suspects that, even if he’s just following Foggy’s lead, Matt doesn’t ultimately have a better reason.

“Why did you remember me?” Matt asks, quietly. “I mean, me, of all people? What made me stand out? What did I do right?”

Everything, Foggy wants to say. You do everything right. You’re smart and conscientious and charming and everyone likes you and everyone remembers you and you’ve got a mind and mouth that won’t quit and an ass to match. Remembering you wasn’t the hard part. Forgetting you someday will be. “Matthew Murdock,” Foggy says, carefully, appreciatively, like he’s really savoring every vowel and consonant. “Very alliterative. Extremely easy to remember.”

Matt’s answering smile is slow-dawning to the point of decadence and he tucks his chin to hide it. “My middle name is Michael, you know.”

“Goddammit,” Foggy groans, because he can’t say what he’s really thinking, which is, come back to my room and I’ll make sure you never want to leave. He’s so fucking in love, it’s honestly stupid.

“As for me,” Matt says, a moment later, after careful consideration, “and what you did—why I feel so—what you asked, I mean…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s just that—”

A loud, chirping ringtone severs the tenuous connection of the moment. Foggy stares openly at Matt’s face as he doesn’t react to the interruption at all beyond stopping talking mid-sentence. After a few tense seconds, Foggy clears his throat and steps back.

“I think that’s you, Matt.”

Matt blinks, like he’s waking for a dream and he doesn’t know where he is. “Right,” he says, without confidence and fishes his phone out of his pocket. He holds it like he doesn’t remember owning such a thing in the first place for a long moment before he flips it open to answer it.

“Hello?” he asks, frowning in concentration. “Oh, Nadia, hi. Yeah, no, not too late, don’t worry. Can you give me one second?”

He pulls the phone away from his ear and puts his hand over the receiver before addressing Foggy. “We’re doing some polling of potential voters on the West Coast tonight, and they need to give me the early data.”

“Right.”

“The speech writing team is going to want this information tomorrow. It will impact the messaging.”

“Understood,” Foggy nods. “You, uh, need to take this, then.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Matt admits, looking apologetic.

“Don’t worry. Cell service is a little better outside, if that helps.”

Matt frowns briefly before his expression clears and he nods briskly. “Thanks. That might be a good idea.”

“I’ll, um, clean this up,” Foggy says, gesturing to the pool table. “You go ahead.”

“Alright,” Matt says, chewing his lip. “Will you head out after that?”

“I might. I could, I guess. Why?”

“No reason.”

“You want me to wait? Walk back to the hotel with you when you’re done?”

“You don’t have to,” Matt responds, looking awkward. It’s a nice out, and it would probably be better to put a little space between them—it’s just too tempting for Foggy to be around Matt like this, late at night, in casual environments, with alcohol and dumb wagers blurring the lines between them that should be crystal clear.

“I’ll wait,” he says, instead, hating the sincerity in his voice. “I don’t mind waiting.”

The worst part is that it’s the most honest thing he’s said all night.

#HWS30days #homelywenchsociety #im not sure this will make any sense to anyone except me or who hasn’t seen tww but…here we are #tww au #series: a more perfect union #daredevil #mattfoggy #matt murdock #foggy nelson #matt x foggy #i don’t know the actual rules of pool everyone forgive me i just let them make shit up #also I’m not sure it makes sense for Matt to still be good at pool in a no powers AU #but him being a slutty pool shark is really important to me #so it stays #30 day challenge #writing challenge #this is so long RIP

13 notes · View notes