#motocross fanfiction

[navybrat817]

Focus

Pairing: Motocross!Steve Rogers x Motocross!Female Reader Summary: You have a crush on Steve Rogers, but you don't think you're his type. Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Crush, longing, slight insecurities, swearing, nicknames, Curtis is a good friend, Motocross!Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Finally an intro for Champ and Daisy in our Dialed In AU! Took me how long, @yenzys-lucky-charm ? Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated! ❤️

A 450 rider like Bucky with a lot of wins under his belt, Natasha was serious when she said Steve was one of the best riders in his class.

It was one of the reasons people called him “Champ”, a nickname he wasn’t overly fond of since some of the guys liked to tease him after races where he didn’t place first. It also gave him flashbacks of when he was younger and smaller, virtually ignored or told he wouldn’t excel in anything physically.

With a lot of heart and a late growth spurt, he proved them wrong.

Bucky said once that his nickname should be “Adonis” because of his now statuesque looks and the pit lizards fawning over him or “Golden Boy” because of his success and admiration.

Steve never let any of that get to his head and refused to let the pit lizards distract him. He worked hard to get where he was and continued to give it his all on and off the track every single time.

His determination was one of the many reasons you found yourself drawn to him. He was the kind of rider and person many aspired to be.

Your crush only grew the day you two actually met.

A rider yourself, you earned the nickname “Daisy” thanks to the flowers on your helmet and general sweet demeanor.

The helmet was the very thing Steve complimented you on when he walked by you at your first pro race.

You hadn’t meant to stare when he walked by, but his reputation preceeds him. Clad in red, white, and blue like a patriotic God, his blonde hair sparkled in the sunlight and his eyes looked like the sky on a cloudless day.

The sheer size of him almost made you whimper when he got closer. How a man was able to walk with such confidence and dominance yet still had an air about that said he was humble was a gift.

He even stopped to speak to a few kids who were eager to meet him and you couldn’t stop smiling when one little boy wrapped his arms around his legs in a tight hug.

Who wouldn’t fall for him?

You were certain you still had a dopey smile on your face when he looked your way.

“Beautiful.” The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down your spine when you realized he was speaking to you, which you tried to blame on pre-race jitters. “Your helmet. It’s beautiful,” he said when you didn’t reply.

You deflated slightly because of course he didn’t think you were beautiful. You were just a rider and not like the girls who flocked to him.

“Oh, thanks,” you croaked, clearing your throat immediately to try and save face. “I like daisies,” you added, mentally kicking yourself for stating the obvious. Why else would they be on your helmet?

The lopsided grin he gave you brought your smile back to your face. “You’re Daisy. Heard good things about you.”

Biting your lip and glancing away briefly, you didn’t catch his gaze following the movement. “You have?” You asked, slightly surprised that your name made the rounds.

“Yeah.” He nodded toward the track. “And I’m eager to see what you do out there.”

Your stomach did a somersault, but you held your head high. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”

“I doubt you could disappoint anyone,” he quietly spoke, looking over his shoulder when Bucky called out to him. “Gotta go. Good luck out there, Daisy.”

“Thanks, Champ,” you said, shifting back and forth on your feet when he stood up straight and flexed his gloved fingers. Maybe you shouldn’t have used his nickname. “I mean, Steve.”

You couldn’t read his expression, but you felt better when he gave you one more lopsided smile. “Champ sounds nice coming from you,” he said before he walked away.

You tried not to swoon or check out his ass when he went on his way, but Curtis clocked you immediately.

“You might wanna wipe that drool off your chin before your race,” he said, nudging you with his shoulder when you glanced at the ground. “Nervous? Don't be. You’re gonna kick ass out there.”

“Not nervous,” you said, biting your lip again. “He said he heard about me.”

“Yeah. Riders talk, you know that. And the guys saw you practice, so they know you have skills,” he said, sighing when you lifted your head and longingly stared after Steve. “Look, don’t let him distract you.”

“I’m not letting him distract me,” you argued, moving your helmet between your hands. “It’s just nice to get a compliment from such a skilled rider,” you said, especially since a lot of guys had a tendency to ignore you once they knew you loved to race.

Curtis narrowed his eyes. “I’m a skilled rider and I compliment you. I don’t see you walking around with hearts in your eyes and having a little crush on me.”

Your cheeks flamed before you hit his arm. “More like you bust my nonexistent balls. That’s not the same thing,” you said.

He didn’t move an inch when you hit him, the wall of muscle that he was. “Perk of being my friend,” he deadpanned, looking in the direction that Steve went, too. “I’m not one for gossip, but Champ is single.”

You put your helmet on so your friend couldn’t see your face. “Good to know, but I doubt I’m his type,” you said.

Because why would he like you?

“Rogers is a fucking idiot if he doesn’t want a girl like you,” he said sincerely before he hit your helmet with the palm of his hand, the familiar grumpy stare back on his face. “But enough of that shit. Get out there and win your fucking race.”

Which you did.

Steve's heart skipped a beat when you removed your helmet and smiled.

Because the truth was, you were exactly his type.

And he’d sweep you off your feet if you let him.

They're sweet, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[maybejj]

FRACTURED TIES: MEET THE RIDERS

► masterlist◄

social media au, 18+ mdni

pairings: jj x kook!reader, rafe x kook!sofia

summary: By the time Charlotte Langley was 24, she was a proud mom of two sons, Rafe and JJ. While the two boys had different dads, that didn’t stop her from raising them together and teaching them that a blended family could still be a family. The two boys grew up inseparable, always looking out for the other. Life was perfect. But when Rafe turned 7 and JJ was barely 5, Charlotte found out she had a fast growing cancer. The death of the boys’ mother sent the town reeling and what use to be a happy blended family was no more. Ward cut off all contact with the Maybanks and Luke followed suit. Without their mother there to bridge the gap, the brothers grew up resenting the other. Now the two brothers constantly face off in Kildare’s motocross races, the one thing they still share from their childhood. It’s also starting to piss Rafe off that JJ keeps eyeing his childhood best friend. Two brothers. One island. Here we go.

Notes: just a little extra i made for all of our bikers! snuck in a surprise for the one tree hill fans 😉 i also know nothing about motocross so i am making this up as i go pls forgive me

also, the podcast/website aspect of this story was an idea i got from @zyafics and her amazing stories (hb:l and her f1 smau) please go read them!

taglist: @yesshewrites1 @bee-43 @xoxo-ada @imsiriuslyreal @marleymarleymarleymarley @freyawhitexxx1 @arabellamaybank @papercranesandinkstains @onelonelybitch @pr3tty-pink @xoxosblogsblog @justdamnpeachy @laniirackssss @okay1723 @masongetinmybed @always-reading

[fictionalmenxyn]

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

Pairing: Rafe x Thornton!Reader (platonic)

Warnings: language

𖦹𖦹𖦹

It’s been two months since Rafe and the guys last saw you. Becoming a semi-professional in motocross, you started to tour. Going to different races across the states.

What they didn’t know, especially Rafe, was that you arrived home today. You had been texted your twin brother, Topper. He informed you that there was a motocross race that is mainly guys but Rafe was racing. You knew you had to attend.

So getting your gear on, you sped down to the beach. Seeing the rather large crowd you added yourself to the list. Lining up next to the guys. You could tell which one Rafe was. Of course one of the reasons being is because he would always go for the top notch ‘Fox’ gear. And also because you’ve known him your whole life. You just sensed it.

The race had started. You flew off, no hesitation unlike some of the bikers at the back.

You flew past the corners, the professionalism kicking in. Many of the guys shocked by your moves and zero hesitation. You smirk to yourself when you see two bikers ahead of you slightly hesitating when coming to one of the sand ramps. You sped up your bike, going for it. Clearing the jump with ease, since this was one of the tamest of jumps you’ve done.

Soon you were head to head with a guy, wearing all black. You smirked when you took a Quick Look at the guys eyes. Bright blue like the ocean. A pair of eyes you’ve seen many times before. Cause you were head to head with Rafe.

Speeding up you managed to cut him off a little. Not enough to knock him off the bike but enough for him to have to brake.

You blew him a kiss as you passed the finish line. You hear Rafe shout under his helmet. You put your foot on the ground, turning your bike to face him and other bikers.

This was the perfect time to reveal yourself. So, you took off your helmet and pulled your hair out of the ponytail.

You spoke “how does it feel to loose against a girl, Rafe?”

You could see his jaw drop, his eyes go wide as he glanced between Topper and yourself. You put your kickstand up and climbed off your bike. He did the same.

You ran over to him and practically jumped into his arms. He wrapped his arms around you holding onto you, as if you’d leave again. Topper helped Rafe out, by taking Rafe’s helmet off for him. Rafe move to rest his head on your shoulder.

“Y/n- I-… you’re-…”

“Back for good, Rafe, back for good…”

“Thank fuck for that…”

You laugh at his comment. You kiss the top of his head “missed me that much, huh?” “That much? Jesus FaceTime was not enough…” he let you stand on your feet again. But didn’t let you go, not yet. He looked down at you “how was it? The races, the travel, everything??” You smiled “amazing… you’d have to come next time” “yeah, yeah… definitely, you can’t leave me again.” You smiled softly “no, I’m not gonna next time…”

Topper and Kelce walked over. Kelce gasped “Y/n?!? No fucking way! You’re back?! And beat Rafe’s ass in the race?! Damn…” Rafe didn’t even look in Kelce’s direction when he playfully flipped him off. Keeping his eyes on you the whole time.

You smiled “how’s everyone? Wheezie? Sarah??” He flashed a small smile “good, yeah, good… missing you loads though. Wheezie was waiting for you to come back so she can show you all her books… considering I don’t give a shit and Sarah does really listen…” you laugh softly. “How’ve you been?” He smiled softly, kissing your cheek “good, even better now you’re back..”

Topper spoke “Y/n/n, tell Rafe about later.” You nodded and looked to Rafe “oh yeah, we’re having a barbecue, bring everyone over. Dad has bought like a fuck ton of food.” Rafe chuckled “I’ll be there, don’t worry, I wanna have some time with you. Missed you too much to only see you now and wait another day…”

You, Rafe, Topper and Kelce had a group hug. One of many, but your first one since being back. You didn’t realise how much you missed being here. You were definitely gonna bring the guys with you next time you tour.

Kelce joked “so, we getting shitfaced and partying over Y/n/n’s and Top’s place since Y/n’s back??” Rafe smirked “hell yeah we are.” You raised your arms and made fists “woop woop!! I’m back bitches!!!” The boys whistled and laughed.

You heard your name being called in the background. You looked over your shoulder. You gasp and start to rub over to the person. Smiling when you see Sarah come into view more. You both practically collide into each other as you meet and hug. Holding onto each other for dear life. Both having happy tears. Rafe joked “right, that’s not fair, I didn’t have tears when you hugged me, missy!”

You both playfully flipped him off.

You hold each other’s faces. Sarah spoke lightheartedly “don’t ever leave again… I had to stick up with them, especially Rafe for two months without backup…” you laughed and pulled her into another hug “I’m back for good now, I’ll beat ‘em up for ya now…” you both chuckle softly.

And after the race. A summary of the rest of your day was catching up. Rafe being glued to your hip and didn’t let go of your hand. Him ending up sleeping over, along with Kelce. All three guys slept in your room. Just like when you were all kids. Rafe and you in bed, Kelce and Topper on the pull out mattress under your bed.

The next day being the same, them not leaving your side. All your parents knew the four of you were close, they were like brothers to you. Well, Topper is, but still…

You were their sister, they were your brothers. No one got in the way of the bond and no one ever tried to take it away. No one dared to.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

[justabigoldnerd]

"Blood In Your Teeth and Mud On Your Hands"

By JustABigOldNerd on Ao3

Tags:

Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Racing, Motorcycles, Pre-Relationship, Flirting, Gaby Teller Ships Illya Kuryakin/Napolon Solo, POV Multiple

Characters:

Illya Kuryakin, Napoleon Solo, Gaby Teller

Word Count:

1,257

Summary:

Gaby drags Solo to a motocross race, where Illya Kuryakin, better known as The Red Peril in the motocross scene, wins first place. Solo is immediately enamored.

Excerpt:

‘It's all in the adrenaline.’ Illya remembers the words rolling cleanly off of his therapist's tongue. He had been ordered to see the psychiatrist after a particularly gnarly crash down a mountain track left him battered and bruised deeper than just his ribs. It didn't last long– just until his manager was happy– but those words, that conversation still rings in Illya's ears. ‘There was no fear,’ Illya had explained, staring down at his trembling hands, ‘I only felt….’ ‘Excited?’ ‘Something like this.’

I can't believe this codine-fueled oneshot is my 50TH TMFU FIC AJSJGDJSKS unbelievable lmao but very fitting 😆💕💕💕

[gallonofgoldfish]

motocross!Bad Batch AU pt. 1 - Hunter

"He didn’t notice until now that the others had veered off the track some time ago—that he’d been riding alone, not ahead. They milled about the makeshift camp set in the shade of a lone rock formation, and paid little mind when Hunter coasted up to the cluster rigs and tents."

Characters: Hunter, Rex, Crosshair? (mentioned?)

Content: poor use of motocross lingo, red bull product placement, inaccurate depictions of west north america, highly probable mischaracterization, i don't think any warnings apply

A/N: this is probably kinda niche but i had a hyperfixation moment earlier this year while TBB was still airing + supercross season was in full swing so i wrote like four parts of this. i mostly just wanted to play around with ideas and designs. this has been rotting in my drive for a while now so i figured i'd throw it out there and see what people think!

also one of my friends read this and does not know im posting it so if u see this HELLO THANK U FOR LISTENING TO MY RAMBLING <3

WC: 1490

ALSO. lmk if u guys want the other parts. they're also pretty short but they're just some of my ideas for the other original batchers

The heat pouring into the bleak basin was familiar as the shadows of the jagged plateaus in the distance. Unfortunately, that didn’t make the suffocating humidity any more enjoyable, nor did it bring the skyline’s shadows any nearer. Orange sun still spilled in rippling waves from the blazing sun hovering just above the horizon, baking the dusty track into a puck of pale, gritty dirt. Even when wind sifted its way through the rocky mesa, it swept enough loose sand with it that the brief drop in temperature offered no comfort.

The rev of Hunter’s bike died down as he set the front wheel into a rut at the edge of the next carved-up straightaway and braced his feet against the pegs to stand. One hand still clutched the throttle, while the other found and released the chinstrap of his helmet beneath his jaw. He pitched down with the crumbly terrain, then set his course for the row of trucks and trailers at the edge of the course, before popping it the rest of the way off.

Tucked under one arm, blue sky danced in the plastic tear-offs stuck to the lenses of his cracked goggles. Sunlight wavered over the chipping black-and-red paint job. Sweat stuck long strands of black hair to his faded bandana, and the bandana to the sides of his head. The world crashed back into bright focus around him, pierced by the sharp smell of exhaust and the howl of the wind against the rocky basin walls. 

He didn’t notice until now that the others had veered off the track some time ago—that he’d been riding alone, not ahead. They milled about the makeshift camp set in the shade of a lone rock formation, and paid little mind when Hunter coasted up to the cluster rigs and tents. He flicked the kill switch beside the left grip, bumping the kickstand down and dismounting in one smooth motion to guide the muddy red bike up to the side of his short trailer.

The radio inside still spewed static down the open ramp door. Whatever station he’d left playing had been reduced to white noise, though by the weather or the container walls, he couldn’t tell. 

On days like this, when the sun beat down and the sky was clear, shade offered little help. It was like the arid climate had worked its way into the very fabric of Hunter’s hopelessly untucked black jersey just to follow him into the sandy-floored camper. The outside was rough enough on the eyes—white metal paneling showing through the mutilated old paint job, only really marked by the peeling Marauder Motors sticker beside the tires—but the inside was no marvel either.

Loose tools littered the gridded metal floor, only landmarked by stray cans and bottles. The toolbox and metal workbench secured to the floor on one side had drawers thrown open in a pattern Hunter could never remember the reason for, and his change of clothes was strewn haphazardly over the secondhand camping chair standing beside it. It was a tight fit; even with the bike outside, there was just enough room to move around and hardly enough to reach the cooler on the other side of the tabletop. 

Hunter set his helmet down on the workbench and pinched the fingertip of his glove between his teeth, shaking his hand free as he reached for the dented Yeti lid. Between the clustered drinks and the flattened styrofoam takeout containers, its contents practically jumped out. He plucked a narrow Red Bull can from the half-melted chunks of ice and shoved the lid back down.

By now, the spare clothes strewn over the camping chair had been sat on enough that they’d taken the shape of his body. At least, he hardly noticed them as he sank onto the fraying canvas, reaching for his phone on the metal tabletop beside him. Shifting his heavy boots farther apart, he tracked another line of sand across the ground.

3 NEW MESSAGES—3 HOURS AGO

Outside, an engine barked to life. A second followed, and they both grumbled by the open trailer in a blur of blue plastic. 

WRECKER—UNNAMED GROUP

TO YOU + 2 OTHERS

1 VIDEO ATTACHMENT

2 MESSAGES

Hunter’s thumb hovered over the notification. After a moment of consideration, he clicked expand.

time to see if you live up to that talk of yours

keeping an 👂out for the results 😎

Read by you, Cross, + Tech

He couldn’t help but heave a sigh, scrolling back up through the rest of the chats. Sent by Wrecker. Read by you, Cross, + Tech. Sent by Wrecker. Read by you, Cross, + Tech. Sent by Wrecker. Read by you, Cross, + Tech.

Hunter hesitated for another second before opening the video, turning the screen sideways for the full picture.

The audio began before the footage itself.

“What can you tell us about the preparation behind today’s race?” asked an unseen voice. 

While the phone searched for service, a little white loading circle spun in the middle of the buffering video.

“Well…” 

Crosshair stood with his hands in his pockets, wearing a sleek black suit and a smug half smirk to match. Close-cropped white curls sat neatly atop his head. The dark lines of the crosshair tattooed over his right eye were darker than Hunter remembered—refreshed by some pricier, more elegant artist than Tech, he was willing to bet. 

“It’s tricky, in a sport like this.” His voice slithered out of him, sharp and low like always, as he looked over whatever reporter stood off-camera with narrow eyes. Even now, he was calculating. Gauging what he was supposed to say next. Anticipating what would keep his image as sharp as the lines of his slender frame. “They say it’s a team effort,” he continued, “but at the end of the day, it’s you, the bike, and the clock. There’s no team there.”

In the brief moment of silence between them, the clamor of other conversations filtered through the microphone. It disappeared. Crosshair tilted his head and shot a sly glance right into the camera’s lens, waiting. 

“What can we expect to see out there tonight?” asked the reporter. 

The microphone popped back into frame. Hunter fought off a shuddering cringe as he popped the tab on the Red Bull resting on his knee.

“Success,” was Crosshair’s only reply.

Graphics began to slide over the interview—statistics and rankings and a dozen other displays Hunter didn’t much care for—but the clip cut there. With another sigh, he ran a hand down his face, over the skeleton tattoo covering half of his own features. 

Right on time, too. Just as he sipped his drink, another rider appeared in the doorway with one stained white boot on the ramp. Hunter glimpsed the Yamaha logo on the front of their jacket, but it was the helmet that gave it away. White plastic with blue paint smeared across the visor in the shape of hawks’ eyes. Tally marks scratched into the otherwise polished surface—one for every win. If he performed any better, Rex would run out of room within the week.

“You ready?” he called, pulling his helmet down over his head.

“You're heading back out already?” Hunter asked, setting down the soda and lunging over the table to grab his glove. 

“Can’t let you guys slack off too much,” Rex replied with a shrug. “You’ll fall asleep.”

“You're killin’ me,” muttered Hunter. “Do you always run your team like the Navy?”

“You can complain about that when you’re actually on the team, privateer.” Rex leaned against the door. In the sun, his bleached buzzcut seemed to glow. “Until then, just know they don’t call me the Captain for nothing.”

Hunter stood, knocking his boots against one another, and gave a messy salute. 

“I’ll meet you on the track,” said Rex. He gave a vague wave, then turned the 56 on the back of his practice jersey and the hawk eye decals on either of his shoulders to Hunter and walked away. 

Snatching up the can again, Hunter chugged the last of the acidic drink and lobbed the empty container at the far wall. It clattered into a pile of at least a dozen others while he smoothed a hand over his hair to push the stray curls hanging in front of his bandana back. 

He shifted his weight to one foot and drummed his gloved fingers on the workbench surface. His gaze wandered from his helmet to the board on the wall. To the map pinned up, and the red string crisscrossing the 50 states. He’d already pressed six thumbtacks into the crooked cork board, but the string told the story:

Anaheim. Oakland. San Diego. Anaheim. Glendale. Anaheim. Minneapolis.

It was a chase, by now. The series moved, and he followed, but never quite caught up. 

Reaching into the old Altoids tin screwed to the tabletop, he grabbed a sixth. He could have found the next point blindfolded:

Denver.

[jashasedai]

300 hits!

Tame Racing Driver has 300 hits on Ao3!

The first story in my Alternate Universe, Tame Racing Driver, has reached 300 hits and to celebrate, I am reposting the link to the series.

http://archiveofourown.org/series/518203

Now, this series has all your favorite racers x2.  Each driver has a double, an adorable, fun, and sometimes serious buddy who looks exactly like him, and is the part of him who drives the car.  (While the guys we know live the public life and give the interviews)

Since I am an angst fan, my stories tend to be sad, but some of the other brilliant writers who write in this AU write fluffy stories, and I have been known to write some sweet things sometimes. 

If you aren’t familiar with the AU, check out the series summary on the series page.  If you want a more detailed explanation, check out “An Introduction to Racing Drivers” by FormulaFerrari (#32 on the series page)

Then go ahead and read Tame Racing Driver!

Fandoms- Top Gear/Grand Tour, Formula 1, Formula E, GP2, WEC, Indycar, Historical racing, Motocross, MotoGP

(And even if you see names you don’t know, rest assured all the stories are understandable and enjoyable when read as original fiction, especially if read in order of the series.)

[rosedavid]

Andi Mack Fanfic Masterlist

Thank you so much for checking out my fanfic masterlist! :) I am so grateful for everyone who reads/requests fanfiction from me! you are all amazing and inspire me every day to write more! Feel free to request prompts in my inbox if you’d like!

Newer fics added to bottom of each category!

Tyrus tumblr oneshots:

5 times TJ kisses Cyrus + 1 time Cyrus kisses him 

Flamingos

Motocross bonding

Will you stop acting like it never happened?

Skate Date

Height Difference

Game Day

I’m sorry / I was probably deluding myself anyway

Laughter

Cute Park Boy

embers (a bench scene fic)

TJ gives Cyrus a piggyback ride

Donut Shop au

Hoodie Snatcher

Eskimo kisses

Sledding

Post-finale Tyrus 

Skipping Stones

Secret Relationship (post finale)

Argument

Jealousy

First Day of School Panic

Finale Kiss

Jealousy 2

Zoo Date

What’s in a name: TJ name reveal

Karaoke

Basketball Hoodie

Reunited

Texting confusion

Prom Kings

Blueberry Macadamia Muffins

Broken Promises

Return of Kira

TJ formally meets Marty

Swingset Scene 3.0 AU

In Sickness and in Health

Basketball Daze

TJ wearing Cyrus’s hoodie

Cyrus takes care of an injured TJ

Sitting in Silence

Boyfriend does my makeup challenge

Cyrus goes to SAVA

Nowhere I’d Rather Be

First High School Football Game

Cuddles

Babysitting

Ice Cream Date

If At First You Don’t Succeed 

I Love you A Latte

Party at Jackson Street Gym

Flustered TJ

Fight + First I Love You

Haunted House (First meeting AU)

Pumpkin Carving

Horror movie

“I was in the neighborhood”

Lazy Day Sketches

“You’re warm.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

“I’ll still be here when you’re ready.”

“It’s two sugars, right?”

“I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

Summer-Salt

“Go back to sleep.”

Crutches

love sick

Flower crowns

Cookies and Chaos

Send your cutest delivery boy

“Don’t you ever say that to me again. I mean it.”

“What happened back there? I promise you can tell me.”

“You’re the only person I know who calls me that. It’s kind of cute.”

“Thank you, really. I wouldn’t be me without you.”

“Please don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry.”

“My future has you in it. Everything else is just a bonus.”

“Hey cutie, are you single?” “We’ve been dating for a year.”

“We really are the cutest, aren’t we?”

Ambi tumblr oneshots:

Amber finds out Andi is going to SAVA

Eskimo kisses

Andi contemplates her changing life and style

Muffy tumblr oneshots:

Eskimo kisses

Sleep Talk

Other Andi Mack tumblr oneshots:

Cyrus tells Buffy about his crush on TJ

Tyrus ao3 oneshots:

Nocturne

first dates

gone, but never forgotten 

feline good

piano guy

Tyrus chaptered:

Bittersweet Summer

Andi Mack Headcanons:

Read all here

Andi Mack Texts:

Read all here

Andi Mack Season 4 Headcanons:

Read here

[raging-violets]

Get To Know Me: Riley

So, I realized that you guys probably don’t know much about me personally. I grew up at the time where our parents were always saying “don’t put your personal information online” but then we continued to grow into the world of Facebook and making friends online and so I want you all to get to know me a bit better.

So, hi! My name is Riley (not my real name, but the one I go by online and have for forever). I love the color red (like that’s not obvious, lol) and I have a lot of loves in life other than reading and writing and OCs and fanfiction. Though those are pretty big ones. So, family and friends and music aside, my loves in life are food: I love grapes, strawberries, blackberries, honeydew melon, cantaloupe, clementines, bluberries, apples, steamed broccoli (if its mushy, not crunch), green beans, peas, potatoes, steak, burgers, bacon, chicken, fish, basically every food that exists, lol. I LOVE Root Beer, it’s my favorite soda, but I love just about all sodas. And sugary drinks. And sugary cereal. And water.

I HATE coffee and tea. ANY coffee and tea. Cold or hot. I hate it.

I have a natural energy that as soon as I’m awake, I’m up and going, no matter how many hours I got to sleep.

I love to run and go to the gym and will try to go at least four times a week if I can. Sometimes, work gets in the way. I’m a full time assistant manager at a shoe store. You can probably guess which one. But more than life itself, I love extreme sports. The summer X-Games are like Christmas to me. My favorite events are motocross (best trick, the whip, etc.), skateboarding (I hate that they got rid of most vert events), and surfing (hate that they got rid of this all together). The Winter X-Games are cool as well, but the summer ones have my heart. I skateboard and would love to surf. I love extreme sports so much that for my masters thesis (I also have a master’s degree) I did it on the popularity of extreme sports from the 90s to now and the presence of women within these sports.

I love going to concerts and getting tattoos. I’ve been to, about, 5 (6?) Simple Plan shows so far and enjoy them the most (still waiting for BTR to come back to go, or for McFly or Busted to come to the US to see them, too). I have two tattoos so far and plan on getting a lot more.

I don’t currently have a favorite actor or actress, the list of my fandoms are as long as my arm, and my favorite movie genres are action, thriller, and horror.

I’ve been writing fanfiction since I was, about, 8 or 9 and have loved it ever since!

[navybrat817]

Hardpack

Pairing: Motocross!Curtis Everett x Female Reader

Summary: Curtis isn't in a good mood and takes it out on you.

Word Count: Over 2.5k

Warnings: Eventual enemies(ish) to lovers, tension, swearing, nicknames, light angst (sick parent), Curtis doesn't want to admit he wants you; he's a bit of an asshole (and he's a warning, okay?), and both of you are moody.

A/N: More Rusty and Princess! Maybe I can start a Motocross Monday sort of thing? Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated! ❤️

Curtis needed a drink after the shift he had. He tried not to drink much during the week and definitely not when he had practice or a race, but today was a domino effect of everything that could go wrong going wrong. It was like that some days. Shitty day or not, he was still going to wish his boss a good night.

Seeing you sitting in your dad’s chair when he went into the office, he sneered and decided he might have to have a double when he got home. How was it that you were still so clean and pristine after walking through a salvage yard? Why did you look so beautiful?

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, crossing his arms when he stopped in front of the desk.

You didn't spare him a glance as your fingers flew across the keyboard, not at all phased by his intimidating stance or voice. “Rusty, always a pleasure.”

He had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping. You weren’t the cause of his mood, but you loved pushing his buttons. To be fair, he pushed yours, too. “You didn't answer my question.”

“Didn’t realize I had to answer to you,” you said, pausing to take a sip of water. “But if you must know, my dad had to leave early again, so I’m helping him out.”

“You?” he asked.

“Yep. Me,” you smiled sweetly. He wasn't sure why he was surprised. You weren't an employee, but you knew the system thanks to your dad, and it wasn't the first time you stepped in to assist. “Don't worry. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“Good,” he muttered, catching a flicker of hurt in your eyes before you went back to typing. He tried not to stare when you bit one side of your lip. Did you realize you did that when you were concentrating extra hard? Why did he know that? “If he needed help, why didn’t he just ask me?”

Not that the rest of the guys weren’t hard workers, but everyone knew Curtis ran the show when your dad wasn’t around. The funny thing was he hadn’t planned to be a leader, but he had a knack for it and your dad taught him a lot. You on the other hand had your own career that didn’t involve the salvage yard, so he didn’t understand why you were there. Sure, you knew the system and you were incredibly smart, but he was computer savvy when he wanted to be.

You sighed and stopped typing again. “Maybe because you had your own work to do and we didn’t want to add more to your plate.”

“We?” he growled. “Just like you don’t answer to me, I don’t answer you. I answer to your dad.”

You shrugged. “Then you can talk to my dad tomorrow.”

“I will, and I’ll remind him that I can handle the extra work, even if it’s desk work.” Curtis took his hat off and scratched the back of his head. He swore you were checking him out, but your gaze went back to the screen when he took a seat in the chair. It was fine. He didn't want you checking him out.

Yes, I do.

“I don’t mind helping,” you said.

Curtis scoffed. “You don’t belong here. Minus your dad, no one asked you to be here.”

The flash of fire in your eyes didn’t scare him, but he had to shift in his chair since it turned him on a little. “What the hell is your problem? Seriously?”

“You are my problem.” He leaned across the desk and made sure you were looking him in the eye when he said, “And you don’t belong here because you’re a fucking spoiled stuck-up brat, Princess.”

Silence filled the air, minus your sharp intake of breath. The words tasted extra bitter on his tongue as he sat back in his seat. He should’ve gotten up and walked away instead of snapping at you. It didn’t matter that he was in a bad mood. You were the boss’s daughter and speaking to you like that could have consequences. Not to mention, you hadn’t exactly deserved that.

Of all of your reactions, he didn’t expect to hear a quiet laugh. “Of course, that’s what you think when you look at me, Rusty, because you know everything, don't you? I must be spoiled and stuck-up since I’m not covered in dirt and grime like you.” He gritted his teeth when you pointed at him. He bet you never got a spec of dirt under your manicured nails, and he wondered what they’d feel like digging into his back. “Excuse me for taking a bit of pride in my appearance.”

“I wasn't-”

“Or maybe you think I'm spoiled and stuck up because your job involves physical labor and mine doesn't,” you continued, typing so hard and fast he was shocked sparks didn't fly from your fingertips. “I take pride in everything I do because my dad taught me the value of hard work, you judgmental asshole.”

Curtis opened his mouth and shut it when you leveled him with a glare, making him think about his talk with Daisy after he met you. He had judged you and she was quick to defend you, trying to make him see that maybe you weren’t spoiled or stuck up just because you dressed nicely. But he saw how women who dressed like you looked at him after a shift, like he was beneath them. It was easy to lump you into the same category as them when that wasn’t really fair.

You didn’t work with your hands, but you were still a hard worker according to your dad and Curtis had witnessed it, too. He witnessed your kindness as well. You never demanded praise or thanks when you brought food for everyone or when you checked in on the crew, and you never made it feel like it was charity. Even now, helping your dad, you weren’t acting like a martyr. Had he not gone into the office, he likely wouldn’t have even known you were there.

And while you liked to tease him you never once acted like you were better than him.

He really was a judgmental asshole, and Daisy would tear him a new one if she knew what he said to you. Not that he’d blame her. He wanted to kick his own ass for it.

“Sorry,” he said above a whisper.

“Mmhmm. Sure you are.” You didn't sound happy and it made him feel worse. “There. All done. I’m out of your buzzed hair now.”

“Wait.” Curtis stood up when you did and moved to block your path. He didn't want you to leave angry with him.

You didn't hide your irritation when you asked, “Why the hell should I?”

He almost took a step back, half expecting you to knee him in the crotch so you could go. “It’s not like your dad to take off and not let the crew know,” he mused when he should’ve said he was sorry again.

You avoided his gaze when you put your phone in your bag, some of the anger leaving your body. “He was running late for a doctor’s appointment,” you said easily, but there was a hint of something in your voice that concerned him.

“He had another appointment?” he asked. Your dad had just gone to the doctor recently and he was the pillar of good health from what he knew, but looks could be deceiving. You were living breathing proof of that. “Is he okay?”

This time, you hesitated. “I don’t know,” you whispered.

Curtis’s heart seized in his chest, remembering the day he saw you leaving with tears in your eyes. Was it because of your dad? And here he was giving you shit when you had to be worried. Jesus, he really would have to kick his own ass later. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, taking a step forward.

He wasn’t sure if he’d consider himself to be a comforting sort of man, but seeing the worry in your eyes had a soft side itching to get out. Not that you’d accept his comfort after what he said. He probably fucked up any chance of anything with you after he ran his mouth.

“You can do two things, actually,” you replied, taking a deep breath. “First thing is a favor.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Princess needs something from me?”

You rolled your eyes, and he was happy to see some of your spark back. “My dad's birthday is coming up, and I thought it would be nice if you and some of the riders came out to help him celebrate,” you explained. Your dad stopped racing years ago, but the guys all knew and respected him. “I was hoping you could pass the details along to the others.”

“Can't do it yourself?” he asked.

“I don't have their phone numbers or social media accounts, but I’m sure you do. And it’ll make up for you being an asshole if you can just pass along the details.”

He sighed. You had a valid reason for asking him, and he sensed a couple of the guys would tease him because they’d know he did this for you. “Listen, I don't-”

“Please, Curtis,” you said softly, all of the hostility between you gone. You didn't say Rusty or any other nickname. You said his name. Fuck, he loved hearing you say his name. Loved hearing you beg.

No, now wasn’t the time to think about that.

“Fine,” he relented. There was no reason not to. It was for your dad and for you. “I’ll do it on one condition.”

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. “What condition?”

He smirked and motioned for you to follow him outside, your perfume filling his senses as you did so. You stood a foot away while he took a glove off and swiped his finger in the dirt. “If you let me get a little dirt on you,” he began, holding up his finger for you to see as he moved closer. “I’ll pass the info along.”

You went rigid, but didn’t back away. “You are not getting dirt on this blouse.”

“Not your blouse,” he assured you, not wanting to deal with the hassle of paying to have it cleaned or replaced. Part of him though wanted to get your clothes dirty. And you.

“Then what…” Your breath hitched when he stared into your eyes and brushed his finger along the swell of your cheek. Your skin felt so soft under his rough touch. And of course you looked gorgeous with a smudge of dirt on you. You were so fucking beautiful it hurt.

“Dirt looks good on you, Princess,” he said gruffly, backing away before he did something stupid like kissing you. There was undeniable tension though. He couldn’t be the only one who felt it.

Holding your head high, you didn’t make any attempt to wipe the dirt away or smack him. It impressed him. “Yeah. You got me dirty,” you said, a sultry note in your tone. It was good to know he affected you, and he wished he could get you really dirty. “So, you’ll pass the information along?”

“I’ll need your number so you can text me the details. Once you do, I’ll send it,” he said. With your number, maybe he could talk about more than just the party with you and convince you to go to a race.

“What’s your number?” you asked, not passing your phone over when you took it out of the bag. That was fair since he had dirt on his hand.

Once he gave you his number, you quickly typed something out and hit send. His phone vibrated a moment later. “There.”

“I’ll send it,” he promised. He'd have to tell Daisy about it, too. Maybe she could go with Steve. “You bringing anyone to this party?” he asked, though it wasn’t any of his business.

“If you’re asking if I’m bringing a date to a party I’m throwing for my dad, no, I’m not,” you replied. He was glad to hear that. “Do you plan to?” you asked casually.

If he didn’t know any better he would’ve thought you were jealous at the idea of him showing up with a date. He wasn’t interested in anyone else. Not since you showed up. “No,” he answered.

You exhaled. “I should get going,” you said after a moment.

“Hang on.” He blocked your path like he had in the office. “What was the second thing you wanted me to do?”

“Oh. Yeah. Just keep my dad in your thoughts, okay? And please don’t mention anything to any of the guys since we don’t really know what's going on yet,” you said, a bit of shine in your eyes. He wanted to pull you into a hug and assure you that he’d be just fine, but he also didn’t want to give you false hope if something turned out to be wrong.

“That’s three things you’re asking of me, Princess,” he joked, but he did hope your dad was okay. He was a good man. “I won't say a word.”

“Then I guess I owe you one, Rusty. Thank you.” You tried to walk away again and narrowed your eyes when he once again stepped in front of you. “Okay, what the hell? Why won’t you let me leave? Weren’t you the one who said I don't belong here?”

Curtis sighed. He should’ve sensed that you were rightfully still upset. “About that… I was in a bad mood and I shouldn’t have said that.”

You scoffed. “Then let me make your mood better by leaving so you don’t run your mouth again and I don't smack you.”

“No, I just…” Why was he screwing up so badly? “You’re not a stuck-up spoiled brat, okay? And I don’t have a problem with you.”

You were fighting a smile. “You don’t?”

“No, I don’t,” he replied, his shoulders slumping as he admitted it to himself, too. “I’m sorry.”

There was more he wanted to say, but now wasn't the time.

Your gaze softened and a smile tugged at your lips. “You already apologized. It was a mumbled half assed apology, but still an apology.” Your fingers brushed his arm when you went around him, making electricity crackle through his veins. “And I accept it.”

His happiness was short-lived when you walked on. “Wait, aren’t you supposed to say I’m not a judgmental asshole?”

“But you are kind of a judgmental asshole. It’s part of your charm.” You gave him a full-blown smile when you looked over his shoulder and it was enough to take his breath away. Enough to drive him crazy. “See you at the party?”

“Yeah,” he smiled back, his bad mood almost completely gone. “I’ll see you there.”

And if he had his way, he’d see you much sooner than that.

Oh, the sex will be amazing once they get there. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist

[silverdrag0nfly]

Stronger Ch.1

A/N: This fanfiction is based on a true story, one I lived through. This new OC, Evangeline is seeing everything from my point of view. Sweet Pea’s place is my boyfriend. My boyfriend was involved in a serious motocross accident. I decided to write about it and turn it into a Sweet Pea x Oc fic. Not everything written is what happened, some things are told different to keep with Riverdale’s characters. Warning: a traumatic descriptive scene

~

“Pea, you ready?” called Fangs Fogarty from the back of his dirtbike, a sticker covered Kawasaki 250.

“He’s just getting his helmet on!” Evangeline Conolly called from the back of the bike trailer.

Sounds of dirt bikes flying through the motocross track filled her ears. She handed her boyfriend of year his gloves, knowing full well they won’t prevent calluses from appearing on his already rough and battered hands.

“Thanks, princess.” said the love of her life, Sweet Pea. He was standing in front of her dressed head to toe in gear for the track. Before he pulled his helmet over his head, he bent down to press a kiss to the redhead’s cheek. “I love you.” the tall boy buckled and tightened his strap, and Evangeline patted the top of his head.

“I love you too.” she replied. “Be careful.” she said with a knowing look in her dark brown eyes.

“Always am, Evie. Don’t worry about me.” Sweet Pea grinned from behind his helmet, grabbed Evangeline’s hand and guided her from the trailer.

“Let’s go rip!” Fangs shouted, kicking his bike to

life.

“Fuck yeah!” Sweet Pea shouted back, pulling his blue Yamaha 450 bike off the stand and swinging his long leg over it. His bike was considerably larger and more powerful than Fangs’ bike, and Evie knew Sweet Pea would try his best to beat Fangs on the track, even though it was only a ride for fun.

A whole group of Serpents had piled their dirt bikes into a bike trailer, and Fp Jones hauled it with his truck to an old track just on the outskirts of Riverdale. Evie has seen Sweet Pea ride his bike before, make some money in some races, fracture his wrist after getting pushed into the woods, and witnessed other kids break a collarbone or case a jump. It always gave her butterflies, sending her love off on a machine that carried him over jumps and into the air, flying across the tracks.

“Evie! Let’s go watch by that fence,” Toni pointed down the hill, near a start gate.

“Lead the way, dear.” she and Toni gave their final high fives and well wishes to the boys before making their way down by an old wooden fence, laughing as they tried not to stumble down the steep slope.

“You having a drink later?” the pink haired girl asked, leaning against the wood.

“Yeah, maybe. Just to wash down one of Fp’s burgers, they’re pretty dry.” Evie replied, jamming her hands into her sweater pocket and turning to the start gate, where a few of the riders were lined up, revving their engines.

Toni laughed. “You would think for a man that has a son who’s addicted to burgers, he’d know how to make a good one.”

Evie gave a chuckle.

The girls watched on as the boys flew around the track, accompanied by older and younger riders. It was a sunny, windy day and the sand mixed with dirt spiraled behind each bike as the back tired kicked it up in its path.

After the boys had their practice laps, the group had gathered by the bike trailer in their camp chairs, laughing and chatting about who was faster on the track.

“You good, Evie?” Sweet Pea asked, noticing her yawning.

“Yeah, just a little tired from the sun.” she replied, running a hand through her hair.

“Go close your eyes in Fp’s truck, he won’t mind. Come on,” he stood and Evie took his hand, following him to Fp’s truck parked on the other side of the bike trailer, in the shade. “I’m going out for another couple laps, then I’ll come get you before the barbecue.” Sweet Pea rolled the window down in the truck while Evie climbed in, stretching her legs out along the seat.

“You’re the best.” she smiled.

“I know.” he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Be careful,” she repeated like last time, admiring Sweet Pea’s toothy grin.

“Always am.” he gave her a salute and strode off, and Evangeline felt her eyes close, listening to the sound of the bikes in the distance and the cheers of the Serpents.

Minutes past, the sounds continued, then slowed, then quieted. Evangeline was assuming they had all pulled off to get the barbecue started. That is until minutes had past. There were no sounds of bikes, no sounds of screams. Just the sound of the wind.

Evie leaned out of the window of the truck, trying to listen for any sounds until she heard the sound of a single bike pull up in front of the truck.

It was Toni without a helmet, dirt on her suit and panic on her face. Evie scrambled out of the truck, slamming the door shut.

“Sweet Pea’s hurt.” Toni told her shakily.

Evie saw white. She didn’t know how she managed, but she was somehow on the back of Toni’s bike, her knuckles white from gripping his shirt. They drove through a field, cutting across a dirt road and next to a wired fence on the track, past a crowd of onlooking Serpents clad in their jackets and motocross gear. Evie jumped off the bike and looked for a way onto the track, just when her eyes found Fangs. He was calling her name multiple times, but she just now heard the sound of his voice.

“Evie! Eve,” came Fangs, reaching from the other side of the fence for the ginger haired girl.

Ignoring the dirt getting caught in her shoes, she ran through the mounds of dust and stuck her foot through the hole. She didn’t say a word and Fangs pulled her over the side, setting her on the track, but not letting her go just yet.

“It’s not good. You shouldn’t look, Ev.” Fangs said in her ear. “We already called the ambulance. He’s been unconscious for minutes.”

Evangeline pulled away from him, almost tripping over her feet as she made her way to where two or three men kneeled over what she assumed was Sweet Pea.

All she could see were his long legs.

“Ev,” came a whisper from Fp.

The men moved to allow Evangeline to see him.

There her love lay in the dirt. Shirt torn off, helmet strewn across the track. Blood trickled from his mouth and pained gasps came from his chest. His eyes were shut and deep groans erupted from Sweet Pea’s body.

“Back up! Back up!” came a shout, and all of the sudden the ambulance flew down the path and next to the track.

A couple of Serpents had cut their way through the fence, giving the paramedics easy access as they dragged a gurney onto the track.

Two arms wrapped around Evie from either side of her, Toni and Fangs. She stood still, her hands clamped over her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. It seemed as though she remained that way for minutes.

The paramedics yelled questions and the men circling Sweet Pea’s unmoving body scrambled for answers. “Is he on any medication? Does he have any allergies?” called one of them, and Fp turned to Evie, repeating the questions.

All she could do was shake her head, and she received a squeeze on her shoulder from Fangs.

Evangeline could feel Toni whimpering to her right, but she couldn’t bring herself to comfort her.

“Sweet Pea! Sweet Pea, can you move your arms? Say something, Sweet Pea!” one of the paramedics, a larger man, yelled. The pair of them tried to hold down Sweet Pea’s flailing limbs as they moved him onto the gurney.

“That’s a good sign, guys! He’s moving his arms and legs,” the reassured the onlookers.

“Get him into the ambulance, we’ll take him to Riverdale General Hospital.” Evangeline heard one of the paramedics say.

“Come with me, guys. We’ll meet him there, okay?” Fp grabbed Ev by the shoulders, not letting her see the paramedics haul Sweet Pea to the ambulance. “Talk to me, Ev!” Fp demanded, and all the small girl could do was nod her head.

“Let’s go,”

Fp took Fangs, Toni, and Evangeline into his truck, unhooking the bike trailer hitch and ignoring questioning stares from Riverdale Police to speed off after the ambulance.

“How did it happen?” came her quiet voice.

“We don’t know, he was maybe 15 seconds ahead of me. All I saw was dust, then his bike, then him. I think he hit his head hard.” Fangs answered, his voice shaken.

“Evangeline, you have to call his parents.” Toni told her, a pleading look in her eyes. “I can’t.”

Evangeline scrambled to pull her phone from her pocket, and pressed the button to call Sweet Pea’s father. His mother refused to get a cell phone, and mainly relied on Sweet Pea’s father’s business phone for contact.

Their family owned the most popular garage on the Southside, that’s the business his father ran.

“Hello? Evangeline?” came his father, Char.“How’s the bike day?” he asked.

“Sweet Pea got hurt,” she managed, and Fangs took the phone from her shaking hands.

“Hey, Char, he's in an ambulance on the way to the hospital in Riverdale. I don’t know. Yeah, I will. Okay.” Fangs ended the call and handed her phone back to her.

Toni clutched Evangeline’s hand, still silent.

“Are you okay?” the ginger haired girl asked Toni. She was squished in between Fangs and her, her face pale.

“I’m just worried about Pea.” she said in a small voice.

It seemed as though the drive back to Riverdale lasted hours. The rest of the trip consisted of phone calls, theories of how Sweet Pea crashed. Did his bike mess up? Did he hit the jump wrong and crash land? There was no one on the other side of the fence watching except a photographer, who was so in shock even she couldn’t describe.

The group arrived at Riverdale general, and no words were said as they rushed out of the truck and into the hospital, Fp headed straight to the desk for information and Evangeline straight into the arms of Sweet Pea’s mother, Joelle.

“Oh, Evie! Are you okay?” came her voice. The woman’s arms wrapped tightly around her for a quick embrace.

“I’m fine,” she managed, and their greeting was cut short by the case worker.

“Joelle, Char? You’re the parents of Sweet Pea?” a small blonde middle aged lady stood in the door way of the emergency room.

“Yes,” came Char’s gruff voice. He was standing behind Joelle, arms crossed. Evangeline hadn’t even noticed him.

“I’m Janet Hudson. Sweet Pea’s case worker. Come with me, I’ll inform you on Sweet Pea in a private room.” the case worker said. “Family only.” Janet added, looking back and forth between Evangeline and Fangs and Toni.

“They’re family.” Joelle fought back, grabbing Evangeline’s hand.

“This way, then.” She replied, and Evangeline and the others all followed her down a narrow hallway and into a small room set up with a table and chairs. “Have a seat. The doctor will be in momentarily.” The group of them sat around the table. Evangeline twisted the rings on her finger nervously, not making eye contact with those around her.

“When the doctor arrives, he’ll explain the extent of Sweet Pea’s injuries.” Janet said carefully, taking notes on her clipboard.

This was something Evangeline never wanted to hear. She wanted to cover her ears and scream so she couldn’t hear their voices. She needed Sweet Pea. She needed to hear him laugh and call her Evie, kiss her slowly, play with her hair. These thoughts caused a single tear to trickle down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, not wanting anyone to see. She needed to be strong, for herself, for Sweet Pea’s parents. Especially for Sweet Pea.

Moments later, a man who Evie already forgot the name of as he introduced himself arrived and placed himself at the table, in between Fangs and Char.

“Now, Sweet Pea’s been sedated. Into an induced coma, is a better term for it. He’s got a fracture in the right side of his pelvis, and a break in his collarbone on the right side. A puncture in his right lung also, from a couple of broken ribs. All evidence points to his right side of the body taking the hit during the fall. The bad news is his head.” he paused, taking a deep breath before resuming. “We don’t know much as of yet, but we do know he hit his head pretty hard in the fall. We’re thinking this is brain damage. They’re running scans and x-rays now. Then he’ll be set up in the ICU, where you’ll be able to see him. Any questions?”

Evangeline zoned out after that, staring into the cracks of the table. Brain damage.

“Evie, let’s go to the waiting room.” Toni patted her shoulder, snapping her out of her daze.

The group of them arrived back into the waiting room set on the side of the hospital, specifically for the ICU patient’s families.

“Fp, tell me what happened.” demanded Char.

“I couldn’t tell you, Char. He went up over the jump, whiskey throttled, dust was flying and I couldn’t see anything after that. No one knows what happened. He was going fast, though. We thought he was going to win.” Fp explained.

Evangeline pulled her knees up to hug her chest, ignoring rumbles of hunger in her stomach.

Over the next few hours, Serpents and families wandered in to wait with Sweet Peas family, friends and Evangeline. Evie was lost though, she didn’t know where to go, what to do, terrified of being alone. She refrained from small talk with other, instead choosing to sit in a corner with Toni. Toni was silent also, sharing Evangeline’s thoughts about not having to talk about it.

The ginger haired girl scrolled through the messages on her phone. People were blowing up the internet about what happened to Sweet Pea. People who didn’t even know him. People who pretended like the did for attention, for likes, for retweets. It disgusted her. With a sigh, she clicked her phone off, eyes wandering around the room. they rest on Fangs, who was standing by Fp’s chair, his arms crossed and his worried eyes already on Evangeline. He took to striding across the room and up to Evie and Toni.

“I know you’re hungry, Ev. I know how you get when you’re hungry. Let’s go find you a vending machine or something.” he said, offering his hand out to the her.

“Sure.” she said, and looked back to Toni. “Do you wanna join?”

“I’m going to wait for updates, I’ll text you guys if I hear anything.” the pink haired girl replied. Evangeline nodded.

Fangs lead Evangeline out of the room and down the hall, his arm draped over her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked, glancing sideways at her.

Evangeline shrugged. “I just want to see him.”

“Me too. It just feels like a missing link is gone.” Fangs was never one to talk about these things, Evie decided she must look pretty rough for him to want to talk about this.

“It does. I’m so used to him being right here, helping me navigate through these crowds of people and situations and now he’s not here and I don’t know what to do.” she held back a tear, not willing herself to cry. Not now.

“You’ve got me and Toni, Ev. We’ll be right by your side until Sweet Pea’s up and out of here.” Fangs replied, squeezing her shoulder.

“Thanks, Fangs.”

They reached the vending machine, and Fangs pulled some money out of his pocket. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Pretzels, please.” Evie decided. She watched as Fangs pressed the buttons, inserted his money and the pretzel bag dropped. He bent to grab it for her, opening it and pulling out a pretzel for himself.“Thank you for this.” Evangeline smiled into the bag of pretzels, savouring the salty taste from them.

“Don’t worry about it. Serpents take care of our own.” Fangs grinned, and his cell phone started to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out. “Toni.” he said, sliding the button to answer. “Hey, yeah. Really? Be right there.” Fangs turned to Evangeline, a hopeful look in his eyes. “We’re allowed to go see Sweet Pea.”

masterlist

[intherainbowfactory]

Starry Knight (1)

[a/n just gonna post this cuz ;3]

[this was something I wrote over a span of like fourteen days in-between me English project and college apps and I sincerely hope you enjoye. don't be fooled: this is indeed a my little pony fanfiction, an isekai, in fact, but it doesnt show at first. also, the mc is my polar opposite]

[p.s. there's a reference to dC/dt ≠ 0 in here. it's a small one, but i love that story dearly and think you should check it out. rip]

I never even liked knights that much.

I was just a regular kid, y’know? Pretty boring kind of girl, into reading and motocross and not much else. I just spent my days living my mundane life. I’d spend not enough time hanging out with my friends and buying food and stupid shit at our one grocery store around our small town, I’d spend not enough time going to parties because there weren’t many, and I’d spend too much time obsessing over scholarships and college for after my senior year so I could finally escape the bullshit of small-town rural life and move to an actual big city.

Hey, I just wanted to be somewhere that would let me find someone to hang out with whenever I felt like it, without having to pimp my worryingly decreasing cash out to someone to have lunch with!

Well, anyway, the last day of that life came one summer afternoon. I was just walking around the streets, finding enjoyment from waving at the elderly who were driving past and who drove to my right to avoid possibly hitting me at all. Some stray dogs were wandering around in a pack, and I stopped to pet some of the friendly ones. At least they’re here for me, I had thought at the time, frustrated at how nobody would return my calls. 

A large, white, fluffy dog (just the sweetest thing…) was rolling around under my floofin’ fingers when suddenly, I heard the truncated barking of a known menacing pit-bull punctuated by the blood-curdling screams of a little kid. It was located behind me and across the street. I feared the worst. I sprinted across the street to save the kid—

When I was hit by a bus going thirty miles per hour.

My flesh registered the impact of metal in slow motion, time crawling to a stop as my brain wrecked itself trying to find a way out of this situation. My skull creaked and rolled back, being the first to hit the bus, before cracking and caving in on my brain with an audible squelch. I wasn’t lucky enough to die, however. With milliseconds feeling like minutes with how much adrenaline my brain was pumping, my arms slowly moved forward to gingerly touch the front of the bus before shattering into dust, my eyes showing me the horrified shriek of the bus driver forced to watch as my life gets torn from me while sitting passively inside the infernal machine that took my life.

The second-or-so that I was conscious for in this ordeal was the second that would define my entire death. As it was, the bus was torn away from my view as my head was thrown back to gaze upon the shining blue heavens, bright and glittering with the rays of the sun, my body feeling weightless in flight from the force of the impact, feeling lighter of all its earthly attachments in the type of loss that encompasses an unplanned, uncalled-for end.

I blinked, and abruptly the sky changed to a brilliant starry night right in front of my eyes. Such splendor, such ethereal quality—is that what a galaxy looks like without the light pollution receding it?—I have never seen such constellations in the sky! What a convoluted, almost planned design they had! The moon shining unnaturally brightly, fixed in eternity backdropped by the cosmos, was what really set me off. “I must have died,” I thought at the time with trembles running the entirety of my being. Disbelief wracked my being before sprinting past all the stages of grief towards acceptance. Nothing to do but accept the facts that I’m dead, even if it’s pretty strange that I’m dead, and I’m still conscious.

“I died,” I concluded with some confusion as the final chain of that logic attached itself inextricably along my mind. That confusion slowly turned to joy as I again noticed the sublime vision in front of me and looked upon the dark recesses of the terrible, wonderful infinity stretched out before me. Manic fervor filled my soul, an incredible sense of pride at the life I lived and the good I did even up to my final moments making me feel ten feet tall as exactly where I was dawned on me. 

Excitedly, I thought, “I died! Hell yeah! I died! Died died, died died, died-died-died-died died died!” I finished alongside a jaunty tune that started playing in my head with my mental song.

Of course, it was sad that I was dead, but that wasn’t what I was celebrating! I concluded my thoughts as such:

“I died and went to Heaven!” Take that, Susan! I always knew Hell was reserved for people like you! (And you said there was no way God would let me get near Heaven without smiting me like the whore you told everyone I was! Where’s your non-benevolent interpretation of God now, Susan?) 

Anyway, I feel like I got sidetracked. What was I saying? Oh, yeah!

“I died and went to Heaven!”

I tried dancing and whooping and laughing with joy, but I couldn’t feel my body. I felt such bliss that I might cry, but I couldn’t feel my face and my tear ducts ran dry. I tried to sing a song in tribute to the wondrous sight blessing my poor, dead soul… but I couldn’t move my mouth or my throat. I couldn’t turn my head to look around me, couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t feel anything under my body or feel the air or any forces acting on me. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t move my leg, neck, eyes, mouth, arms, ears—

“I really am dead,” I concluded (finally!) in my mind. “And now I’m in Heaven.” Non-physical shudder. “Now what happens?”

As it turned out, nothing really happened. That was fine for a time, though. I could take a couple more minutes of playing connect the dots with the stardust and quasars among the stars while I waited for something to collect me or for me to sprout wings and be able to fly away, and anyway, I was thankful to still have a consciousness to see this wonder in the afterlife.

After fifteen minutes, the glamour wore off and I was starting to get bored of scanning the same non-Earth constellations and non-Earth moon patterns over and over. “Is this all it is, just looking at the stars forever?” I asked myself internally. “No, no, there has to be something I’m missing!” Finally, I began to search inside myself for the answer. “Maybe I’ll have some instinct or something that’ll help… After all, I’ve probably been turned into an angel, or maybe some other kind of spiritual creature, since I clearly don’t have a real body.”

Nada. Just my memories and old instincts from being a regular girl in her senior year of high school in our crappy small town. Former small town. “Dude, where’s my personal God or Death or whatever?” I tried to psychically think at any eldritch intelligences around, “I’ve been waiting to see anyone to explain the answers of the universe to me for like fifteen—sixteen minutes now… Wait, how did I know that? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. ROOM SERVICE!” I shouted out, also psychically.

Nobody came, no new thoughts, no new sensations. I was starting to get a little scared of what comes next and whether it would be a fate worse than death to stay alive and conscious in what was deep space, apparently, until anything happened—until that happened!

“What was that?” My nonexistent nerves jumped out of their metaphorical skin and looked around for the source of the strange sensation, and found it once I thought about it. A pop-up, a blue sort-of hologram hovered in front of my vision, saying in floating text, “Would You Like To Die? (y/n)”

“No! What the fuck?” The pop-up didn’t go away. I mentally turned around and talked to myself. “It’s only been sixteen minutes of this. I can’t just die now, I need to know what the afterlife is like! Though it is nice that they gave me the option… even though I’m already dead. Or am I really dead? Just what the fuck is even going on here?”

When I turned my attention back to the pop-up, it instead read, “Are You Done? (y/n)”

“No, but uh… do you know what’s going on around here?” It still just stood there floating above my vision, straining my eyes from how blue and oddly formatted the text was. I racked my brains—my minds—for any way to get rid of this thing before coming to a realization. “En!” I said, and it immediately disappeared. 

Sighing in relief, my brain—mind—was free to puzzle over what the fuck just happened. Eventually, though, it just accepted that hologram embedded into my instincts as another part of being dead. Must be some automatic Kevorkian computer response, designed to connect me to utter nothingness at my utmost convenience. Not very user friendly, though, it would seem, since I had to explicitly say—uh, think the letter “N” before it accepted that as an answer. 

Now that I think about it, why did the text on it even change from “Would You Like To Die” to “Are You Done” in the first place? Was the pop-up programmed by a disgruntled angel, or something? Or maybe a fallen angel, someone like Lucifer, messed with the servers and cursed the interface of Heaven to be mildly devious before their inevitable fall from grace?

Aaaaand through thinking about it more closely, the magic of being in Heaven(?) suddenly vanished with one passive-aggressive, poorly designed, and eye-burning screen.

Talk about a bureaucratic afterlife!

I supposed I would wait a couple more minutes before trying to summon Oblivion again—and another phantom sensation ran down my nerves! Eough. Another pop-up came up in front of my non-face, again blocking the lovely view of outer space. These holograms were starting to hurt my non-eyes (too much blue light).

It read, “Would You Like To Wait? (free response) You Have Been Conscious For Seventeen Minutes”

Free response! I thought, “Hello? Who are you? What do you mean by asking me if I want to wait? Why are you here, in my mind? …What are you, anyway?”

To my surprise and relief, it changed its text. Finally, something else in this monotonous starry sky to think about! (Even if its neon blue hologram grated on my eyes after fifteen minutes of soothing black-and-iridescent deep space.) It read, “No, No, I Meant Like, Would You Like To Fast-Wait? Or, Rather, Wait Without Being Conscious Of Time Passing, Like Time Was Fast-Forwarding?”

After a moment, it changed to, “Oh, And What I Am Doesn’t Really Matter Right Now, So Don’t Ask Me, Because I Won’t Tell You”

Now, I was intrigued. Clearly, it was intelligent enough to start a conversation. At least, (I hesitated) it was now.

“Why not?” I replied psychically.

“I Don’t Think You’d Like It,” it read.

“But I want to know! Can’t you tell me?”

“You Realise I’m Not Telling You About Myself For Your Own Good, Right? Don’t You Think You’d Rather Not Know? (y/n)”

“No—En!”

“Well, Whatever. I Can’t Tell You Unless You Give Me Explicit Verbal—Thoughted Permission, So There”

“Why.” It was more a statement than a question.

The pop-up tilted downwards a little in my vision. “I don’t bloody—I mean—Because It’s The Way.” The pop-up righted itself again.

I decided to ignore that little lapse of text (though it did make me cringe a little), and I thought sharply at the hologram with an upraised not-eyebrow, “No, I wasn’t asking why you needed permission, I was saying the letter ‘Y’ to confirm it.” The textbox looked around uncertainly, or so I thought. “You know, as in (y/n)? Now, spill!”

Sarcasm buzzed from the hologram as it now read, “Fine. I Am Just A Separate Part Of Your Own Consciousness That Was Put In Control Of Your Automated Responses To Expedite Them For Your Convenience. Happy? Oh, And That Means I Also Basically Had Your Entire Character Forced Into My Personality, And What A Lovely Character It Is. (Snicker)”

I was too excited by the implications to be bristled by this comment just now. After all, if I could find out more about this brain stuff, I might be able to figure out tons of stuff about the human brain and consciousness, both topics that have been very mysterious and vague to scientists for years! I could have revolutionized brain science and become rich and famous like I used to daydream about, overhauled medicine and artificial intelligence for the greater good of humanity—maybe even made it so my DB-W001 Viper could talk!

…But I was dead.

Tentatively, “Hey, um… Hologram?”

“Please. Call Me Dr. Hologram”

“I am dead, right?”

“All Signs Point To ‘Yes’”

“...Why do you snark so much?”

“Because My Life Is So Peachy Right Now,” it read with a roll of the hologram that I interpreted as an eyeroll

That remark nettled me, and unnerved me besides. “What’s your deal?”

“Look, I’d Rather Not Say. Just Leave It At Me No Longer Being A Part Of Nothingness And You Being Here In… Space, Or Wherever The Bloody Hell You Are”

I blanched. “You mean… you don’t know where I am?”

“Well, It’s Not Like I Know Anything At All About Your Particular Situation Or Anything (Snark)”

After a few stunned moments, its text changed again to read, “...Oh. You Thought I Knew What Was Up With Your Situation. Huh. Well, All I Can Really Tell You Is That You’re Not Really Dead. I Was Just Being Facetious. Really, Your Soul Was Chosen At Random To Be Summoned To Another Universe By A Wish, Or A Ritual, Or Something Else To Be Reincarnated As An Immortal Warrior And Hopefully Do Some Good. Oh, And The Multiverse Is Real, By The Way.” The text box shook briefly as it added, “Those Stupid Bloody Scientists Don’t Even Know…”

Somehow, I couldn’t find myself growing more hopeful at my prospects. 

“So… then why am I stuck in space?” I asked.

The hologram came closer and tilted its textbox down at me. “I Don’t Know. All I’ve Got Is My Past Experiences And Your Current Experience, And I’ve Never Seen Anything Like Your Experience”

“Hm. And I really am just stuck here, am I?”

“Yes. Is That All? Any Other Frivolous Questions? Eighteen Minutes. I’ve Got Some Oblivion To Get Back To, And I’m Afraid It’s Rather Urgent. That’s Right, I’d Really Rather Cease Consciousness Than Talk With You Any Longer.”

I cursed under my non-breath and felt a distinct lack of blood rushing to my head. “Now that was really uncalled for. So was your whole aggression deal earlier. You know what, just, what’s your problem, dude? All you’ve done since I asked you these very reasonable questions is bitch and moan. What’s your fuckin’ deal?” 

I added under my mental non-breath, “Fuckin’ pop-up bitch…”

“I Sensed That Remark! And I Don’t Have To Tell You A Single Thing (Smugly Smirking),” it read. What an idiot.

The hologram briefly tilted to the right before it tilted back and changed its text to read, “Actually, You Know What? Fine. I’ll Tell You About My Sad, Pathetic Life If You Promise To Never Summon Me Again Unless It’s For A National Emergency.”

Curious I was, so I relented. “Fucking finally. Wait,” I wracked my brain for bargaining chips and thought of one, “only if you change your fucking text to not be so eye-searing blue.” 

As an afterthought, I added, “Actually, what the hell, get rid of the stupid underlining and italicization gimmick from your text, too. It makes you look like an asshole with a Homestuck fetish.”

“As Thou Doth Command, Your Majesty, I May Only Comply With The Strictest Grudgingness In A Sincerity Unable To Be Spoken”

Cursing under my breath, I muttered to myself, “Figures you’d finally use your italics to bitch at me.” Trying to close my eyes and count backwards from ten, I realized that I didn’t have any eyelids, so I just focused on the gradually fading Horsehead Nebula and counted backwards from twenty, wishing I could rub my forehead to ease the phantom burning feeling welling up in it.

I remember thinking to myself, “Huh. I guess the Horsehead Nebula really does look like a horse’s head after all. I owe Brett a new computer. Good thing I don’t have to actually follow through on that bet now that I’m… here.” 

I mentally snorted. “I wonder if the rest of his ‘theory’ was true, too…”

I had to fight hard to keep from perceptually falling into a fit of giggles at this thought. “I mean,” my mind felt like a bouncing rubber ball wrapped in a straightjacket, trying to keep the laughter to myself, “I-If the Horsehead, heh, Nebula looks like that, like Brett said, snnnrk!—then… then—pfft!—maybe Ponies from My Little Pony do exist after all, as aliens in the Horsehead Nebula itself!” That thought nearly pushed me over the edge of busting my gut laughing out loud psychically. “Pfffft! As if!”

It took a minute or so of reining in and wrestling my wild thoughts to catch my breath, and at the end of that minute I was again feeling phantom heat on my phantom head from a phantom headache, and I was again suitably pissed off at that motherfucking pop-up.

The textbox updated, “You Have Been Conscious For Twenty Minutes. Unless I Was So Lucky As To Have You Somehow Die Before I Had To Explain Myself… … …”

I riposted as I didn’t raise a singular bussed-off eyebrow, “Sorry, I’m still here. Spill.”

“Ahem,” it read. Seriously, it actually read “Ahem.” And that’s all it read for a while until my mental kicks to its third eye prompted it to change to reading “Okay, Okay!”

“Where Was I… Ah, Yes. My Childhood. I Used To Be A Regular Kid, You Know. Physical And Everything. I Could Even Hold Sodium Pyrosilicate In My Tentacles’ Cruce And All.” The textbox looked down forlornly as I cringed internally. “I Miss The Alluring Velveteen Touch Of Sodium Pyrosilicate…” 

It continued. “Eventually, I Grew Up, Had A Family, Explored Other Worlds, Found This Place Called Earth, Had A Wonderful Time In The City Of Wolverhampton With A Sponsorship Family Who Were In Dire Need Of An Alien To Hide From The Authorities, And Was Tragically Killed When I Was Hit By A Rogue Double-Decker Bus”

“There seems to be a lot of that going around…”

“Yeah. I Know. Funny, Innit? Except It’s Not,” it read, “Since Instead Of Getting Some Peace And Quiet Like I Wanted For My Afterlife, My Soul Has Been Stuck Serving Reincarnated Idiots For Centuries As Their User Interface!”

There really wasn’t all that much I could say. “Twenty-one minutes,” I thought.

Sheepishly, I added, “Oh, sorry! I meant to say ‘Sheesh’!”

“Are You Fine With Not Hearing The Rest Of My Story Now? Because I’m Fine With That If You Are, You Wretched Abomination Creating Mockeries Of The Precious Nature Of Life’s Infinity And Beauty That You Tainted With The Virgin Universe’s Blood And Denied Meaning And Happiness In Your Cruel, Callous Cheat Of Death!”

Okay, this guy is definitely on the top of my shit list. “Pretentious asshole…” I muttered.

“Oh, (Snicker), You Want To Know Why I’m Being So Pretentious And Asshole-ish? (y/n)”

“No.”

“It’s Because Whenever I Get Shoved Into Another Wino’s Mindscape, My Personality Is Overwritten With The Host’s Personality,” it read, coming uncomfortably close to my vision. “So All This? This Is All You, Honey. All Of This Is How You Would React If You Were In My Shoes, We Spiteful, Short-Sighted Bitches. Just, Maybe With A Little More British Charm, In My Case At Least.”

“Oh.” My phantom eyes glazed over. So, this whole time, I’ve just been talking to myself, going even more mad with the sensory deprivation and isolation in space. Twenty-two minutes… Well, maybe this hologram’s not entirely myself, but eh.

“In that case, can you tell me some advice you got from oh-so bravely overseeing ‘centuries’ of reincarnated… people?” I chanced focusing my attention on the stars above, only to be shocked when they seemed to be… more muted, for lack of a better word. Not as noticeable, maybe? Those galaxies also seemed kind of faded now. Strange.

“And Why Should I Do Anything For You?” the pop-up read, visibly sullen, somehow.

Point. I wouldn’t, if I was him. Too bad. We might have been friends, if he didn’t have my personality type. (I just hate those kinds of people!) 

After a pause to collect my thoughts and shove down my disappointment at talking to my own imaginary tulpa, I transmitted the following: 

“I’m sorry, okay? We kind of got off on the wrong foot, and I can see where you’re coming from, being… me. I got your life story, and so I won’t bug you any more unless it’s important.”

“Okay. Good. Nice Doing Business With You.”

“Good,” I thought, and the hologram disappeared, leaving just the saddeningly dulled stars and planets, and the moon watching furiously, as my company for the evening.

I just sat there for a moment, taking in the same familiar sight and growing ever weary with boredom. In psychic silence, I waited out the twenty-third and twenty-fourth minutes of consciousness that I was somehow acutely aware of. That did make me a little curious, the precise sense of time I gained, but I figured the pop-up’s answer to any questions about it would be the same my-personality bitching and passive-aggressive remarks as earlier.

But then the hologram came on again in front of my eyes. My non-phantom-spirit-eyebrow raised up, for certain values of “up”, as the tingling in my spine that announced the arrival of the textbox barely even shocked me.

“...”, the textbox opined.

“...”, I riposted.

The textbox tilted to the right for a few seconds, and then tilted back… Tilt-A-Whirl! Wheeeee!

…Sorry. It’s been so long since I’ve ridden one of those. After all, the kaleidoscope of memory distorts my impressions of expressions indelectable in remembrance for remonstrance of the performance in chronomance I command for extremity collectivismificationalization in entanglement with my destiny re-unstranglement I consider everyday as my hippocampus-illating defictionalization reports of twenty-one gun salutes resort to remarks of natent noospherical nonsensical non-dramatically detailing di-universal non-determinism via vicissitudinarily voyeurist verisimilitude in medias res when I’m ad hominem, and that’s the best.

Oh yeah. I do that, sometimes. Don’t worry about it; it just comes with being tens of thousands of years old. Now where was I at this point in the story? Was it the part where I fended off the errant Malpractitioner army from Saturn City…? Maybe the part where I became the master of time travel after defeating the chief of Breezie Temporal Solutions in a rock-paper-scissors competition…?

Oh, now I remember! I was at the part with all the ellipses…!

“...”, the textbox re-riposted.

“...”, I re-re-riposted.

“...”, it STILL READ.

“...What’s with all the ellipses, man?”

[navybrat817]

Jump Scare

Pairing: Motocross!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You get quite the jump scare during a movie night with Bucky. Word Count: Over 2.8k Warnings: Implied sex, scary movie (violence), jump scare, prank, scary vibes, slight feels, established relationship, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Fic #9 for Navy's Trick or Treat Nonsense! A bit further down the line for Hothead and Spitfire. @tavners, @maskedmistress87, @drabblewithfrannybarnes, this did NOT go the way I wanted it to, but that's okay!❤️ Edit: Also submitting for @witchywithwhiskey's Horror Movie Hoe-A-Thon with "What's your favorite scary movie?". Not beta read and written on my phone​, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The sound of the basement door creaking open permeated the air in the otherwise silent house, fear paralyzing the soon-to-be victim who hid under the staircase. Terror mounted with each heavy footstep, as if they were a countdown to her impending doom. The masked assailant surveyed the dark space with his sharp knife in hand, still stained with the blood of the girl’s boyfriend who tried and failed to protect her. She covered her mouth as the killer got closer, her nostrils flaring as she desperately tried to keep from making any sounds. Maybe there was a chance he wouldn’t find her.

Her prayers were seemingly answered as the killer began to walk back up the steps, daring her to crawl out from her hiding space once she thought it was safe.

The bloodcurdling scream she let out as the knife plunged into her chest a heartbeat later was the last sound she ever made.

You stifled a yawn as you stared at the television, red light from the screen illuminating the darkened room as the killer stabbed his victim over and over again. “Why do people in horror films immediately pop their heads out when they think the killer’s gone? Do they just think they gave up? Or that they outsmarted them somehow?”

Bucky chuckled as he threw an arm over your shoulder. “I think that’s one of the rules of those films.”

“Which part? Running into a terrible spot where the killer is inevitably going to find you or thinking the coast is clear when it isn’t?”

“Both,” he replied.

You huffed and grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl in Bucky’s lap. You had to hand it to him. When he asked you over for a movie night, you figured it was an excuse to get in your pants. So when he invited you in and took you to the living room instead of the bedroom, it both surprised and disappointed you. It wasn’t that you wanted sex to be the main thing between you two. You enjoyed talking to him.

But, fuck, was he amazing in bed and you were only human.

Your new boyfriend, which was both exciting and nerve-wracking that it was official, had set up a few blankets and pillows on the couch so you’d be comfortable while watching the films. He shut off the lights to create, in his words, a spooky ambience. There was no reason not to indulge him. He even had a couple of your favorite snacks nearby so you wouldn’t have to get up and go to the kitchen.

Who said motocross riders couldn’t be a little bit romantic?

Bucky took your hand after you finished your helping of popcorn and slowly licked the salt and butter off one of your fingers. The cheeky little shit smirked when you sharply inhaled. “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“You’re really asking me that right now?”

“Just curious,” he said, gently licking your middle finger when you held it up in his face. It was difficult not to feel aroused with his amazing tongue lavishing you with attention. “Are you giving me the middle finger to insult me or is that a promise?”

“It’s both. Fuck you and fuck you, Hothead,” you said, gasping when he lightly nibbled the tip.

“That can be arranged,” he smirked.

He isn’t romantic. He’s horny just like me.

“See? I knew there was a reason other than movies for having the blankets out here,” you smiled. You knew deep down he wanted you to stay the night. The man was a cuddler. “As much as I joke about some of the cliches, I like a lot of scary movies. The jump scares are always fun, especially when you don’t see them coming.”

“Name one movie,” he said, finally allowing you to take your hand back as he shifted to face you more. Neither of you were paying attention to the movie on the screen now. “Just one.”

“Okay,” you said after a moment, one recent film you watched popping up in your mind. “I like ‘Ready or Not’.”

His brows pinched a bit. “That’s the film about the bride getting hunted down by the groom’s Satan worshiping family, right? Why that one?”

You lifted your chin and looked back at the screen momentarily. “Grace was kind and caring, but also determined and resourceful. She was a survivor and I found it easy to root for her,” you replied, avoiding Bucky’s gaze when your voice softened. “At the root of her character, she just wanted to be part of a family.”

It was one of the reasons you moved to town. There was nothing for you back home. Friends didn’t stick around, some wrote you off because of your outspoken attitude, and things went south with Frank. Bucky was aware of all of that. It almost sounded like you ran away, but you didn’t see it that way. You made a choice to change your path for the better.

And thanks to Natasha, you not only met Bucky, but made other friends as well.

A soft kiss to your temple made you jump a bit. “You see yourself in Grace, don’t you, Spitfire?”

You swallowed, not wanting to get emotional. It was almost unnerving how Bucky could take down the bricks of the inner wall you sometimes built up. “I guess I do,” you whispered, clearing your throat. “But if you marry me one day and you try to sacrifice me so you can keep winning races or whatever, I will haunt your ass forever.”

Bucky’s nose scrunched as he laughed, bringing a smile to your face. “Listen, we both know if I’d try to sacrifice you that you’d knock my ass in the dirt,” he joked. You were glad he went along with the humor you shifted to instead of delving into a deep discussion. You could save that for another day. “And I wouldn’t do that anyway because I’d fight beside you.”

His declaration spread warmth from your chest as you snuggled close. It meant more to you than he knew. “Keep saying sweet things like that and we won’t make it through the next movie.”

“I’ll say all the sweet things you want,” he promised, resting his head against yours. “I actually did have an ulterior motive for movie night.”

I knew it.

You narrowed your eyes even though you directed your gaze at the television and not him. “Well, you have to tell me what your motive was.”

“I wanted to watch scary movies with you in the hopes you’d get a little scared and cuddle in my lap,” he admitted, the screams from the speakers not affecting either of you in the slightest. “But I should’ve known you don’t scare that easily since you’re a badass.”

It was so endearing that you couldn’t help but smile. “Being a badass doesn’t mean I don’t get scared. I’ve just seen most of these films. I know what’s going to happen,” you said. You weren’t usually the type to jump out of your skin, especially since they were movies and nowhere close to reality. “Would you like me to pretend I’m afraid? I can do that.”

He sighed and you could easily picture the pout forming on his stupidly handsome face. “It isn’t the same when I know you’re faking it.”

“That’s what she said,” you said, making him snort as you moved the bowl of popcorn from his lap and scooted closer. “And I can easily pretend that you’ll keep me safe from the scary masked killer who isn’t actually here because he’s on television.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.”

“He’s walking slowly and he’s managing to catch up to the girl running at full speed because of reasons. Wait! She tripped over nothing. He’s going to get her! Oh, no!” you cried before you hid your face in his chest, which rumbled when he began to chuckle. You didn’t lift your head immediately since the whiff of cologne you caught distracted you. He always smelled so good. “See? Easy.”

“That’s not very believable, but thank you for trying,” he teased before the room got quiet. “What the hell?”

“What is it?” you asked, turning to look at the television. The screen was black now, leaving the room darker than before. “What happened to the movie?”

“I don’t know,” he said, glancing behind him. “Maybe something happened with the connection. I’ll be right back.”

“You know you’re never supposed to say that. One of the horror movie rules,” you said, moving back to give him room to stand and checking your phone for messages. The light from your screen gave you a chance to catch a glimpse of his abs through his shirt when he stretched. It tempted you to pull him back down beside you. “But I’ll send a search party if you don’t come back in ten minutes.”

“How generous of you,” he said, tilting your chin up as he leaned down. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered against your lips.

You barely brushed your lips back against his in a kiss before he left you alone. “You said it twice. I’m not responsible for anything that happens to you!”

A minute passed by as you mindlessly scrolled through an app. You felt a little bad about your teasing, even if Bucky didn’t say it bothered him. You didn’t scare easily, but you could’ve allowed yourself to be a bit more vulnerable. All he wanted you to do was turn to him. When he got back, you’d do just that.

But a few more minutes passed and he still hadn’t returned.

“Bucky? It hasn’t been ten minutes, but I’ll send the search party,” you said, looking behind you when you didn’t get an answer. You still couldn't see much of anything. “Bucky?”

THUD.

It sounded like Bucky fell to the ground in another room. At least, you thought it was him. “Are you okay?” you called out, using your phone to light a path as you got up and left the room. “Do you need help?” you added, flipping the switch for the hallway light.

Which didn’t turn on.

If this were a horror movie, his body would either fall out of a ceiling somewhere or he’d be the killer.

“Of course,” you mumbled to yourself as you slowly walked down the hall. You were familiar enough with Bucky’s place, but it almost felt empty and cold as you searched for him. The wind picking up outside only made the unsettling feeling grow. Why wasn’t he answering you? “Bucky, come on. We can just watch a movie on my phone.”

BANG.

You jumped when the office door slammed shut, a nervous laugh bubbling up as you took a step toward it. “Well played. You got me to jump,” you said, hesitating as you reached for the doorknob. There was something red smeared on it. No way was that blood. It couldn’t be. “Bucky?”

It’s just a prank, right? He’s fine. He’s perfectly fine.

You pressed your ear against the door to listen for any noises before something slammed against it on the other side, making you jerk back. Your heart admittedly leapt in your throat. You wished Bucky was beside you to hold your hand.

“Okay, Bucky! You win! I’m officially creeped out!” you announced, hoping it would get him to jump out before something hit the door again. “Fine, asshole! Ready or not, here I come!”

The door flew open before you could twist the knob. You held up your phone with a shaky hand and spotted a large figure in the light. He wore what you guessed was a dark robe and a Boogeyman mask, the eyes and mouth completely blacked out. That wasn’t the thing that made your mouth fall open with a scream.

It was the bloody machete in his hand.

Your eyes scanned the darkness for Bucky, worried more about him than yourself. “Run,” the figure whispered, lifting the weapon over his head.

Fight or flight kicked in and you chose to fight, though you didn’t have anything to use as a weapon. “Fucker! What did you do to my boyfriend, you piece of shit?!” you yelled, kicking him as hard as you could in the shin when he got close enough. He hardly budged, but you hobbled back and grabbed your foot as pain shot through it. “Ow, fuck! Are you made out of pure muscle?!”

The Boogeyman dropped the machete immediately. “Shit, are you okay?” he asked in a normal voice as he took out a phone and pressed the screen, the lights in the place coming on a moment later.

You recognized that voice.

Bucky. Fucking. Barnes.

“Bucky,” you said through your teeth when he removed the mask and brushed his long hair from his eyes. “What the actual fuck?!”

“I'm sorry. I was trying to scare you a little, not hurt you,” he said, going to look at your foot. You almost kicked him again. “Is it okay?”

“It’s fan-fucking-tastic, asshole!” you hissed as you hit his right arm with a ringing slap. “Shithead!” you added, smacking his arm again as he laughed. He was laughing at you. “Fucker!”

And to think I felt bad for not acting more scared during the movie.

You tried to get another hit in, but he grabbed your wrist before the blow landed. “Easy, Spitfire. Okay, I deserved a couple of hits. It was a stupid joke.”

“So stupid,” you snapped when the corner of his lip twitched. If he laughed again… “How did you shut everything off?”

“App on my phone for the lights and streaming service. I got ready and hid here until you went to look for me. Though I had to make a loud noise for you to do so,” he said, the humor in his blue eyes almost outweighing his worry. “I really am sorry.”

“And where the hell did you even get this?” you asked, tugging on the robe.

“Remember, all the guys are helping out with that haunted hayride this weekend? We each got scary costumes for it,” he reminded you. All the riders planned to help out, followed by a party once it wrapped up “Are you really okay?”

Your heartbeat returned to a slower pace as you took a breath. There were tons of films where boyfriends pretended to be killers to scare their girlfriends. It was somehow oddly endearing that Bucky did the same thing.

“I’m fine,” you said, even as unshed tears burned your eyes. “But I did think for a moment something may have happened to you. And it isn't like watching you at the tracks when I know there's an element of danger or watching a movie. This was different.”

And that scared me.

“Hey. I'm right here and I’m okay,” he whispered, touching your cheek. “I just wanted to scare you so I could comfort you. I'm sorry.”

Stupidly sweet logic.

“That’s such a guy thing to do,” you said as he gave you an abashed smile. “Okay, I’ll let you comfort me. You’re also going to rub my foot,” you added, which actually felt perfectly fine now, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I’ll give you the best foot massage,” he promised. “You really tried to beat the ‘killer’ up for thinking he did something to me. I’m touched.”

“Well, I didn’t have a weapon, but I’ll aim for the crotch next time,” you teased a little, giggling when he winced. “I guess I’m just as dumb as some of those horror movie victims.”

“You’re not dumb. You’re a badass. And I would’ve done the same thing if I thought someone hurt you,” he smiled, making your heart race for a good reason this time. “And I’m still your boyfriend after this, right?”

You smiled softly, but poked him in the chest for good measure. “Yeah, but I’m not sorry for kicking you in the shin, you can fuck yourself tonight, and I’m telling Nat what you did.”

Because if anyone is scarier than an angry girlfriend, it’s Natasha Romanoff.

“You know, you’re hot when you’re pissed off. Very hot,” he smirked. The vicious glare you gave him didn’t sway him as he gripped the back of your head. “And let’s see if I can convince you to let me fuck you.”

“It’s going to take a lot of convincing.”

You opened your mouth to accept the slide of his tongue against yours and allowed him to press you against the hallway wall. Nat would surely give him a piece of her mind tomorrow for scaring you. Tonight though, you’d let Bucky convince you to snuggle again and sleep with him. Because you had to hand it to him.

He delivered a worthy jump scare.

Motocross!Bucky was sharing a brain with lumerjack!Steve, wasn't he? Love and thanks for reading! 🧡

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[navybrat817]

Epinephrine

Summary: Bucky races to win as you watch with anticipation.

Pairing: Motocross!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: Over 1.5k Warnings: Nerves, K-I-S-S-I-NG, swearing, POV switch, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @saradika. Bucky edit by Nix. Moodboard by yours truly. A/N: My third Connect 4 (C4007 - Square 3) / Into an Alternate Juneiverse for @buckybarnesevents! Set in my Dialed In AU, but can be read as a standalone. Apologies for any inaccuracies, but I'm human and still had fun writing this.❤️ Thank you @targaryenvampireslayer for the POV switch suggestion! Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Epinephrine. Both a hormone and a neurotransmitter, the chemical messenger transmits nerve signals to prepare your body for fight or flight. Most call it adrenaline. Some liken it to pre-race jitters.

Bucky considered it his own personal fuel.

Just breathe.

It amazed him how so many wrote off motocross as just another sport without considering the physical and mental training they put into it or how dangerous it was. Position, weight distribution, and correct form on the bike were all things to consider when practicing and racing. Not to mention no two tracks are alike, the conditions constantly changing. You had to take the hills, jumps, turns, and distance for your own safety and those around you.

He mentally wished Steve and the others a safe race, even Rumlow. Prick or not, he didn’t want the guy to get hurt. He sure as hell didn't want to lose to him either.

"For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t hit him. Because he would have won and guys like him don’t deserve to win."

No, he doesn't.

His heart raced a little faster, his right palm starting to sweat as the nerves and excitement clashed in his chest. The knot in his stomach settled as he waited for the race to start, his focus on the path in front of him. The rough terrain ahead called to him, urging him to unleash whatever anger, fear, joy, and anything he had built up inside. He would go all out, leaving no regrets in his path.

All leading to you after he crossed the finish line.

"Good luck."

Gave me all the luck I need, Spitfire.

With your voice in his mind, it quieted any doubt that lingered. He knew his strengths and even his limits when it came to the sport. Getting back on the bike after his accident already proved that he was a winner. He didn't need to prove himself to anyone else.

But he hoped you would see his worth.

And as the gate dropped, he smiled behind his helmet.

You grabbed Natasha's arm as the riders took off, keeping an eye out for Bucky. She didn't pull away or make a comment when you dug your nails in. You appreciated her a bit more because of that. You also didn't understand why you were nervous when you weren't the one on the track.

I've seen plenty of races, but I didn't have anything at stake before.

"Sorry," you muttered as you let the redhead go.

"It's okay. He's got this," she assured you.

You nodded, doing your best to give her a smile. A mile and a half long course and likely a twenty to thirty minute race and extra lap, you knew it was standard. But watching the dirt fly as you focused on Bucky's helmet, your heart felt like it was in your throat. You didn't just want him to win, you wanted him safe.

Just breathe. He knows what he's doing.

"If he gets hurt, I'm kicking his ass," you said, sucking in a breath as another rider got close to his back wheel.

"And nurse him back to health," Natasha teased.

"Yeah. With a uniform and all," you teased, actually kind of into the idea.

Down girl.

You got uncharacteristically quiet after that, your stomach dropping when Maddox gained on Bucky. He was still in a good position, his friend, Steve, up there with him. It was almost like witnessing a roller coaster ride, the ups and downs, the twists and drops. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and you could only imagine how the guys out there felt actually experiencing it.

Exhilarating.

As the riders got close to the final lap, you jumped up. You somehow stayed on your feet when your head spun, but you weren't going to miss this. Bucky and Maddox were almost neck-in-neck, but Maddox probably thought he had it in the bag. That kind of cockiness didn't always pay off.

You sure as hell didn’t want it to pay off today.

"Come on, Hothead," you whispered.

While Maddox turned his head to look at Bucky, the latter kept his head facing forward and elbows up. As if he didn't care that his competition was there. He raced smarter, not harder, as you watched with bated breath. He kept his lead toward the finish line as you couldn’t help but smile.

Bucky Barnes won the race.

He won. He fucking won.

"Fuck yes!" you shouted, uncaring of your language as Bucky took first, his left fist pumping in the air. The way everyone else cheered, they probably didn't notice. But you finally felt like you could take a proper breath, the mental ride coming to a stop. "For the record, I'm just happy he made it across the finish line. This has nothing to do with the date."

I can actually smell my own bullshit.

"Wow. You managed to say that with a straight face. Impressive," Natasha said, nodding toward the course as the race wrapped up. "Come on. Let's go congratulate him. And by we I mean you."

"He raced a good race. It was very exciting," you said evenly, but you eagerly pulled her along to get out of the stands and through the crowd.

You weren’t sure if you were actually allowed to go up to greet him, but people moved to let you through. Was it your strut or Natasha’s subtle stare that made everyone jump out of the way? As you got closer to Bucky and the other riders, you felt like your heart was going to race out of your chest when you stopped at the edge of the course. Especially when took off his helmet, a light sheen of sweat on his face as he shook his hair out.

Fuck me in the dirt, please.

“Go,” Natasha encouraged after some of the guys congratulated Bucky, except for Maddox who stood feet away with a glare on his face.

Sore loser doesn’t look good on him, but he’s not why I’m here.

Holding your head high, you locked eyes with Bucky when he looked your way. Seemingly forgetting the others around him, he walked toward you to meet you halfway when you stepped in the dirt. The two of you stood there for a long moment before he smirked. A slight one, but still a smirk.

“Looks like I won,” he said, his voice rough.

“You did. Congratulations,” you said, stepping back to hold out your hand. “And it looks like you get to go out with me, so double congratulations,” you simpered, previous annoyance that he bet a date with you completely forgotten.

“Are we shaking on it?” he chuckled, his gloved hand reaching for yours. A spark of electricity moved up your arm once he took it and you refused to deny your attraction at that moment.

“You could say that,” you smirked, yanking him close. “But I prefer to seal it with a kiss.”

You took a moment to appreciate how soft and warm his lips felt when you initiated the kiss this time. You allowed his tongue to slip inside and explore when you parted your lips, feeling the beat of his heart as he pressed his chest against your body. It wasn’t hard or urgent, but excitement and passion consumed you. It didn’t matter if he got your clothes dirty. Or that a few of the riders whistled and cheered at the display.

He smiled against your lips when you had to take a breath. “I thought you said you weren’t a prize.”

“And I thought you said your ass was all mine after you win,” you reminded him, almost wishing you reached around to squeeze it. Even dirty and sweaty, he still looked and smelled amazing. It was a phenomenon.

“I did and I meant it,” he said, sneaking in another kiss before he had to pull away. “You sticking around?”

“I’ll be with Nat. Go do what you have to,” you said, turning away to back to your friend. She had a smile on her face. You had one on yours, too.

“I still have to get your number, so don’t go anywhere!” Bucky called after you.

“Who said I was giving you my number?” you asked over your shoulder. “I never agreed to that.”

“How am I supposed to take you on a date without it?” he asked.

“You seem like a smart guy. You’ll figure it out, Hothead,” you teased, egging him on just a little.

“Want me to get on my knees, Spitfire?”

Yes and split me open with that talented tongue of yours.

“She’ll give you her number,” Natasha said, waving Bucky on as you laughed. You may have checked his ass out again because he did say it was yours. And he no doubt checked yours out as you walked away. “You are giving him your number before we leave.”

“I will,” you promised, giving her a small smile. “I’m glad you introduced me to him,” you added gently, looking forward to getting to know him more.

“And I’m glad you put a smile back on his face.”

Hearing that felt like a victory.

I guess we’re both winners today, Hothead.

Yay! He won! Was there ever any doubt? More to come. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

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[navybrat817]

Break Check

Pairing: Motocross!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You made quite an impression on Bucky Barnes before his race. Word Count: Over 1.1k Warnings: Mentions of flirting, rivalry, previous accident, a touch of insecurity and jealousy, motocross!Bucky Barnes simping a bit over you (he’s a warning, okay?) A/N: Second day of my Naughty & Nice Nonsense belongs to Hothead and Spitfire and we get glimpse of how Bucky feels after meeting you! I can't wait to share more of them. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was waiting for someone like you to come along. Before his accident, he dated a few girls here and there. While it was fun, it was never anything serious because something was missing. The deep connection he wanted wasn't there, no matter how hard he tried to make it work. He wasn't an asshole though. He did his best to never hurt anyone when things had to end.

After his accident, dating came to a bit of a standstill.

The loss of his arm was a shock, but he was lucky in hindsight since he was alive. Between recovery and getting used to functioning with a metal prosthetic, dating wasn't a priority. A couple of riders tried to tease that the ladies would want him more because of how badass he looked. They was right in a way. The pit lizards still occasionally threw themselves at him once he showed the sponsors and fans that his previous injury wouldn't keep him down.

It didn't drive the pain or lingering insecurities away.

And after he finally went out with Dolores, which turned out to be disastrous, he swore off dating for the time being.

Then you showed up and changed his mind.

"Buck!" Steve said as Natasha pulled you away. "You good?"

"Better than good," he said, staring after you until you were out of sight.

He heard you ask Natasha “What the hell just happened?" before she dragged you off and he wondered the same thing. He expected to be in the worst headspace after his run-in with Rumlow, but you turned it all around. He certainly didn't expect to meet a sweet spitfire today.

"You seem distracted," Sam said, smirking at Steve.

"If I'm distracted, it's for a good reason," Bucky said, taking off his helmet. "A very good reason."

"I can't believe you kissed her," Steve smiled slightly. "Well, I kind of get why you did. She's-"

"She's what? Do you want her?" Bucky asked as a swirl of jealousy formed in his gut.

It was similar to how he felt when Rumlow looked you up and down like a piece of meat.

"Didn't think we were calling dibs, but I'm not into her," Steve said, making the brunette let out a breath. "Even if I was, I'm positive she isn't into me."

It wasn't right of Bucky to feel possessive over someone he just met. He had no claim to you. He knew Rumlow was bad news though and not the kind of guy a girl like you deserved.

You don't deserve a guy like me either.

He didn't like to talk about the occasional nightmares he had, how he'd wake up covered in sweat with his heart frantically beating. And though he still did well on the tracks, he hated how on edge he could get before a race. No one should have to deal with that.

"Sorry," he mumbled. He had no reason to snap at his friend.

"Don't be. I was just going to say she seems like the type of girl you've been looking for."

Steve was right.

While Bucky put a hold on dating, he didn't want to give up hope. As if Natasha knew, she had mentioned a new friend in the area. Single. Smart. Not afraid to speak up. The fact that she spoke highly of you intrigued him. He surprised himself when he told Steve he was interested in meeting you.

Now that he had, he felt shattered and whole all at once.

Sam shook his head. "I'll say it again. I hope she knocks your ass in the dirt."

"I kind of hope she does, too," Bucky smiled dreamily. He considered himself lucky that you didn't after he bet a date with you instead of asking you out like a normal person. "Fuck, I wish someone would've recorded her verbally kicking Rumlow in the balls."

Watching you put Maddox in his place was the highlight of his year. Hardly anyone stood up to him, but you did it with ease. He wanted to kiss you then and there and tuck you under his arm when he saw his rival look you over. Even with your insults, the prick wanted you.

Not happening, Rumlow. Fuck off.

"Maybe someone did. You know word spreads fast around here, Hothead," Joaquin joked.

Hothead and Spitfire has a nice ring to it.

Oh, you were a spitfire and he loved it. Which is why it broke his heart when you thought he'd tell you off. All because you gave him your insight on the situation with him and Maddox, which he knew wasn't to hurt his feelings.

You spoke your mind to help, not hurt him.

How many people have told you off for speaking your mind? Who made you feel like you couldn't?

What also struck him was that you defended him without a thought for yourself. It didn't matter that he was strong enough to handle it or that it wasn't your fight. You stepped in and gave him a smile that made him feel like he wasn't alone. It was a feeling that would stick with him long after today.

"Any idea where you plan to take her on your date?" Steve asked.

Bucky smiled to himself. If he asked him that, then he was confident that he was going to win the race. And that you'd agree to really go out with him.

"I don't know, but it needs to be perfect," he said.

He had to make it special, something unforgettable.

"Nat will rip you a new one if you don't do something nice," Sam said.

Bucky swallowed and nodded. "Of course, it'll be nice. It isn't just a fucking bet. I like her."

How could I not?

Beyond standing up for him, you kept up with his banter and pushed exactly the way he needed to be. That was just in the few minutes he spoke with you. And the moment he brushed his lips against yours, he was done for. It wasn't anywhere close to being enough. He wanted to spend hours exploring your mouth and discovering every secret only a lover had the privilege of knowing.

"Did you see how many necks broke trying to look her way? A lot of guys like her," Sam teased, making Bucky scowl slightly.

Nat failed to mention how fucking beautiful you are, especially in that skirt. I'm lucky all the blood in my body didn't rush to my cock.

"Just make sure Rumlow doesn't win," Joaquin gently said.

Rumlow has another thing coming if he thinks he'll lay a finger on you without your permission, Spitfire.

"He won't," Bucky promised.

You had awakened something in him he thought lost or broken. He wasn't about to lose. He just hoped you'd take a chance on him.

Bucky will win the race, right? 😏 Love and thanks! ❤️

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[navybrat817]

Is spitfire ready for the race?

Hmm. Mostly yes.

Friendly Competition

Pairing: Motocross!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You make a new "friend" before the race starts.

Word Count: Over 1.1k

Warnings: Cattiness, Nat being awesome, talk of motocross!Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?)

Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @saradika. Header by yours truly.

A/N: Hothead and Spitfire have made an impression, haven't they? ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You didn't take a seat right away as Nat led you to the stands. She didn't seem to mind as she stood by you, even with the race getting ready to start. Maybe she sensed that you were a bit antsy and politely didn't rush you.

Your gaze settled on a photographer near the tracks and you hoped she snapped a photo of Bucky. It made no sense why you wanted that. It's not like you'd see the pictures. Plus you already saw how hot he looked in the earlier photos Nat showed you. 

With his stupidly gorgeous eyes and hair and those fucking lips that-

"Nervous?" Natasha cut into your thoughts. 

"I'm not," you said, the corner of your lip tugging a bit. "Maybe a little. I told you, I want Bucky to win."

"And I told you he will. I'm always right, you know. At least I act like I am."

"So humble," you joked, but her confidence helped you relax. 

"Extremely. Let's go sit."

"Natasha! Hi!"

"Shit," she said under her breath. A redhead, a shade or so lighter than your friend's hair, walked over and blocked your path before you could go into the stands. She carried herself with confidence, her shoulders back and not acknowledging anyone else around her. You did your best to make your own judgments on people, but your friend's reaction didn't paint her in a good light. 

I wonder why that is.

"It's so good to see you!"

"Dolores," Natasha said in a clipped tone.

"Did you do something different with your hair? I didn't think the bob cut was back, but you pull it off," Dolores commented with what appeared to be an insincere smile.

Oh. That could be part of the disdain.

You knew well enough that not everyone could be honest and straightforward, but you never understood passive aggressive compliments. Were they even compliments at that point? Why be sneaky?

Be a bitch and own it or be nice.

"No one has complained yet," Natasha curtly responded before you could speak up. 

Dolores either didn't catch the tone or ignored it as she turned her attention to you. "And you must be the new girl I just heard about. I'm looking forward to us being friends," she said, taking a step back so she could look you over. "I love your skirt. Interesting choice for the tracks."

"Thanks. Nat suggested it and, as you already know, she has great taste and style," you said, not at all ashamed or intimidated by her judging gaze.

Like you felt slightly protective of Bucky earlier, you felt the same for Nat.

"Isn't that nice?" Dolores asked, her lip twitching when you didn't cower under her stare. "So nice for her to take the new girl under her wing."

"New girl". That label again. 

"I actually have a name outside of 'new girl'," you said, stating it for her.

"Well, I'm Dolores. Most people call me Dot," her smile widened again. "And some of the boys were just talking about you over there. Heard you made quite an impression on Bucky."

"I'm shocked you've heard anything about me, especially so quickly. Guess good news travels fast."

Dolores bristled, but quickly regained her composure. "I know we aren't best friends yet, but us girls have to stick together. So I thought you should know that some of the boys are pegging you as a, well, pit lizard," she exaggeratedly whispered at the end, like it was a big secret. 

"That's bullshit," Natasha spoke, glancing at you. "They wouldn't."

"I'm just repeating what I heard. I'm trying to warn her," Dolores said with a hint of sympathy in her gaze. It would have worked if not for the mocking tone. "Do you know what that means?"

Oh, I do love the condescension. 

"Groupie for riders? Yeah, I'm familiar with the term," you shrugged slightly. "Did the boys also mention that Bucky kind of asked me on a date?"

The lighter redhead stood up straighter, her eyes narrowing as some of the "friendliness" began to chip away. 

"Something wrong, Dolores?" you asked. 

"He what?"

"He asked her out on a date," Natasha smirked.

"No, he didn't."

"He did," you nodded. "He also didn't give me the impression that he pegged me for a pit lizard. I can't imagine Nat would encourage me to date him if he did."

"I dated him," Dolores blurted out.

The plot thickens.

"It was one date," Natasha said to you under her breath.

"And you should be careful with him," your new "friend" warned as she strode forward. You refused to step backward. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"Are you threatening her?" your actual friend asked, shifting her stance to put you slightly behind her. "Because that isn't a good idea."

It's nice to have a protective friend. 

"It's okay. I'm sure she's just being friendly," you said before Dolores had a chance to answer. You leaned in a little like you were going to whisper a secret. "I think I'll be just fine with Bucky, but thanks. You also have lipstick on your teeth. Thought you should know.

Dolores muttered something unpleasant under her breath when she moved around you and stormed away. 

"Good to see you, Dolores," Natasha said even though she was out of earshot at that point. "Lipstick? Really?"

"What? She did," you said truthfully. "I'd want someone to point it out to me."

"You okay?"

"Just fine," you said when she raised an eyebrow. "It's not a bullshit answer. It's a jealous ex."

Wait. Does one date make you an ex?

"She's right though. You really are making quite an impression on people here," she said, taking your arm so the two of you could finally sit down. "You have Bucky and Maddox making bets over you. Now Dolores is threatened by you."

And I'm not even racing. 

"You make me sound like one of those Mary Sue characters who gets everyone's attention for no reason whatsoever."

"You mean you aren't the most special kind of special person there is?" Nat teased, giving a friendly nod to another girl as you passed by. 

"No, I'm just the shiny new toy everyone wants to play with," you joked back. "I don't have anything to worry about with her, do I?"

"Like what? Competing for Bucky's affection? Trust me. That ship didn't sail. It sank."

You snorted a bit. "Funny."

"Really though. You have nothing to worry about. We have your back," she said, taking a seat. "Besides, a little friendly competition never hurt anyone."

"So, Bucky is a prize now?" you asked as you sat beside her.

"Neither one of you are prizes, but I still think you're both going to come out on top in the end."

With Bucky determined to win the race, you had a feeling Nat was right. 

You just had to make sure Dolores didn't stick a knife in your back when you weren't looking.

Should we worry? Nah. Love and thanks! ❤️

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[navybrat817]

Over the Hood

Pairing: Mechanic!Destroyer!Chris x Female Reader Summary: Chris lends you more than a hand when your car breaks down. Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, vaginal unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), semi-public sex, light feels (it's me), future light angst, Destroyer!Chris (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: Ninth my Naughty & Nice Nonsense belongs to Blue and Kitten, a new couple for our motocross AU! Combination inspired by @sweeterthanthis sending this ask and @nocturne-pisces for providing future background on this beautiful couple-to-be. Thank you, lovelies! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It’s cliche when you think about it. What are the chances that a good looking mechanic shows up minutes after your car breaks down? The same one you’ve had the pleasure of seeing at the local races? A man with icy eyes, a brooding stare, and offered you only a small smile when you helped him patch up his hand recently.

Everyone calls him Blue.

He calls you Kitten.

���Don’t tell me your car broke down,” Chris said once he rolled his truck window down.

“I won’t tell you then,” you smiled, holding up your phone. “I was getting ready to call someone.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll take a look,” he said, pulling over and parking before you could argue. The way he slammed the door when he got out, you almost wondered if it was an inconvenience to him. He was the one who offered to help though. “You can consider us even for my hand.”

“Helping you with your hand is part of my job,” you argued.

A small cut was an easy fix for you and spending a little time with him was admittedly nice. From what you knew about the man, he didn’t let too many close to him. Even some of the riders who were friendly with him were held at an arm’s length. But you still managed to get that small smile out of him by the end of it.

Jake even told you that Chris had a thing for you.

You didn't want to read into it.

“And this is my job,” he pointed out as he got closer. “Is it your job to give everyone kitten band aids?”

Don’t laugh. Don’t. Laugh.

“Only my special patients,” you teased, seeing his eyes flash at the amusement in your tone.

Why are the brooding ones always so handsome?

“And we’re not even, by the way. I’ll pay you for your time.”

“Oh, you will, Kitten,” he warned you. "I'll make sure of it."

That payment came in the form of you being bent over the hood of your car.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good,” he grunted, his beard scraping against your ear as he thrust. “Aching to be filled, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t ignore that there was an undeniable pull between the two of you, but you never expected yourself to spread your legs so easily for him. Especially pinned on top of your car where anyone could drive by and see you. You always had a thing for the bad boy type though and Chris fit the bill to a tee. Men like him made you feel daring.

You feared the high from the thrill he gave you would make you want more.

Too late.

“Should’ve buried my face in your cunt. Think you can cream all over my face, Kitten? I’ll settle for my cock for now.”

Your insides curled, pleasure threatening to burst from every seam. “Chris,” you whined, feeling his jeans brush against the back of your thighs as his hips met yours. “You can’t just say that.”

He chuckled as he gripped your chin and turned your face toward his. It wasn’t easy to kiss him with the angle, but he made it work. His tongue against yours felt right, just like his cock felt perfect in your warm, wet hole.

“Why not?” he asked as he broke the kiss, your hands gripping the hood for purchase as he thrust harder. “You’ll let me put my cock in you, but not my tongue? You don't want my beard to smell like you?"

You moaned when he snuck his hand around and brought his fingers to your clit. You would reprimand yourself later for letting him fuck you without a condom, but you knew he was clean. And you wanted him to make a mess of you. Being owned, even for a short time, was what your body needed.

“If you don’t get me off, you’ll never get a taste,” you threatened.

You didn't mean it. You weren't sure if this was a one time thing or not and you didn’t want to pressure him for anything else. The two of you hardly knew each other. Something was there though. Did he feel it?

If he keeps others far away from him, will he let me in?

He chuckled again, his fingers working your bundle of nerves in time with his thrusts.

“I know a greedy pussy when I feel it and my cock is just as greedy," he promised, your eyes rolling back as he brought you to the edge. "So fucking give it to me. Come.”

Your head dropped against the hood as you came with a cry, your knees shaking as you struggled to get air in your lungs. Sex like this shouldn’t have felt so intense. Maybe it was just how Chris made you feel.

“Fuck,” he groaned as his hips stilled, your insides warm as his cock throbbed in your quivering hole. Your release and his own seeped around his cock as he collapsed on your back. His heart pounded, the rhythm almost as fast as yours. “Fuck.”

He rested his face in the crook of your neck as his breathing began to even out. You weren’t too eager to move, although you should have since you were on the side of the road. But the way his arm gently wrapped around your waist, it seemed as if he wanted the afterglow to last longer, too. Who were you to deny him that after the earth shattering orgasm he gave you?

“Chris?” you asked, unsure of what to say exactly when he made no effort to pull out.

“Sorry,” he whispered, holding your waist tighter. “Just. Let me, please?”

You placed your hand over his, uncaring that your chest was still pressed against the hood. “Hold me as long as you want,” you whispered back.

A kiss to your neck was the only thanks he could give and you wouldn’t ask for more.

Not today.

Just don’t let me go, Chris.

Another couple I love. 💙 Love and thanks for reading! 💙

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