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solitaryearthperson · 1 year ago

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Clueless

Summary: Daryl is clueless to the reader's crush on him.

(The reader is gender-neutral and uses they/them pronouns. The ethnicity/race is preferably black/person of color.)

(Y/EC) = Your Eye Color

While Carol continued to pull out more vegetables from her garden, she couldn't help the amused grin that grew on her face as she looked over towards (Y/N)'s house and watched Daryl and (Y/N) talk to each other. He was working hard, on his knees, fixing their motorcycle, while they were kneeling next to him, talking to him about their day. The sight of the two reminded her of two lovesick kids. Except one kid was helplessly in love while the other was absolutely clueless.

"Hey Carol," Rosita greeted Carol, interrupting her watching. Leaving her home, she came walking over to the garden, gently rocking Coco in her arms, and softly cooing to the baby. "What's up with you?"

"Daryl," Carol replied, nodding her towards (Y/N)'s house.

"He's over there again," Rosita asked, surprised to see the quiet archer meeting and talking to someone other than Carol so much. "He's been visiting them a lot."

"Yep. Apparently their bike's messing up again."

"Again," Rosita replied, her brows raised in doubt. "That's like the fifth time this month, right?"

Carol nodded her head in silence as she pulled a carrot out of the ground and placed it in the basket next to her, already knowing the question that Rosita was probably going to say next. She had thought of it as well when hearing about (Y/N)'s supposed bike troubles.

"Don't they have a garage full of tools and shit?"

"Yep."

"And didn't they come here on that bike?"

Not exactly brand new to Alexandria, (Y/N) had found the peaceful community only a few months back. Showing up in dirty, rugged clothing, Rick and the others quickly cleaned them up and helped find them a home to stay in and a way to contribute to the community.

"Yep," Carol replied again, looking back over to the two and watching as they both began laughing at something, their bodies so close, their shoulders were almost touching.

"He's completely clueless, isn't he?"

"Pretty much."

Completely clueless, Carol sighed, picking up her now full basket and nodding her head towards her door, inviting Rosita and Coco inside.

"What was wrong this time," Carol asked him, as soon as he walked through the door. Hearing her voice, but not seeing her, he followed where it came from and found her at the counter making sandwiches, Rosita already sitting in a chair close to it and Coco sitting on the countertop, held up by her mother.

"Uh, their engine was making a weird noise and the throttle was messed up." He sat down in a chair next to Rosita and quickly snatched up an already finished sandwich, biting into it hungrily.

"Mm-hmm," Carol hummed, her grin growing at the sight of the archer's cheeks beginning to turn red at the topic of you.

Rosita noticed as well, but chose to hide it, instead continuing to play with Coco.

"What was the problem last time with their bike," Carol asked, her voice giving away some of her amusement at him.

Daryl noticed the change in her voice and furrowed his brows, deciding to ignore it for now and answer her question.

"Their brakes were actin' up," he answered, finishing his sandwich and picking up another one.

"Mm-hmm," Rosita hummed next to him, nodding her head.

At her hum, Daryl looked toward her and found a small grin appearing on her face, similar to Carol's grin. Tha hell they're up to, He wondered, frowning at them. "What," he asked.

"What what," Rosita, asked, her voice full of amusement and her grin growing into a smile.

"Whatcha smiling for," he asked, moving his eyes to both of them.

Placing the knife in her hand on the counter, Carol let out a sigh and told him "You don't think it's weird that they keep having these bike problems?"

He knew it was weird every time he heard a new problem appear, but didn't really care that much, just as long as he could go to their house, speak to them, eat with them, and just be in their presence.

"Yeah, so," he replied, nodding his head, squinting his eyes at them both in suspicion.

"How come they only want you," Rosita asked, pointing at him, to get the point across to him, "to help fix their bike? No one else here."

Letting out a sigh, he finished his sandwich, picked up another then left to go to his room, not wanting to hear anymore of what Rosita and Carol were telling him. He knew what they were getting at, but he had a hard time believing it.

Why me, he wondered. There were plenty of other people who could be there for them. Why the redneck archer who barely talks to anyone? Laying his head down, and biting into his second sandwich, he let his thoughts of (Y/N) run through his head, trying to ignore the blush that came to his face at each memory of them standing close to each other, faces almost touching, sharing food together, laughing at each other's jokes.

Shit, he realized. What Carol and Rosita said were now stuck in his head, and he knew that he'd have to confront (Y/N) about it. He wouldn't be able to be around them without asking. Just to prove them wrong.

You had just gotten through picking out the outfit you were going to wear for Daryl, hoping to see his usual shy blush appear on his face, when you heard three loud knocks on your front door.

Huh, he's early, you thought. Usually you were the one who went to him with another request to fix your bike, and it was never this early. You knew sometimes he would leave early in the morning to see if he could catch something quick from outside the gates and didn't want to bother him before he left. Not that you watched him that much to pick up his daily schedule.

I didn't even get to make any food for him, you thought as you walked to the door, and opened it.

Like every other day, he stood on the other side of the door in his usual dark clothing, with his hair almost reaching past his big, broad shoulders in shaggy (probably unwashed) tresses. Even though he always looked like this, it still made you nervous and you had to take a breath before opening your mouth and hoped not to embarrass yourself.

"Hey Daryl," you greeted him, feeling your heart beat faster in his presence. "You're here early. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, lowering his head in his usual shy manner. Just fucking do it, he told himself, lifting his head back up and looked at your face, his heart beating faster as he met your (Y/EC) gaze. "Can I come inside?"

"Yeah, sure." You stepped to the side and let him walk in and pass you. He's been here enough times to know your home as if he lived here himself and went straight to your garage.

Curious you followed after him, wondering what it was that he wanted to talk to you about. Yesterday he had fixed the throttle and the engine, and you hadn't gotten the chance to make up another excuse to get him over.

Entering the garage, you found him walking around the motorcycle, his head tilting slightly and bending his knees a little to get a closer look at each part of it.

Maybe he's making sure everything's alright, you guessed. "Daryl," you called his name.

He didn't answer you, but he stopped walking and turned to you, his blue eyes intense.

"Is everything okay," you asked.

"Um,..." he started lowering his head again, trying to keep you from seeing the blush that he was sure was growing on his cheeks. "You been lying 'bout yer bike?"

Shit, you thought. He figured it out. Should I lie? Tell the truth? "Um, what're you talking about?"

He squinted his eyes at you in that familiar way that let you know that he knew you were pretending before answering. "You know what I'm talking 'bout."

"Daryl, I-"

"You been messing with yer bike, so I could come here. Right?"

You opened your mouth to say something but you couldn't find the right words to say that would make up for the time of his you've wasted, having him work on the bike that you messed up on purpose.

Looking at you trying to speak but can't, he couldn't believe it. He wasn't exactly mad about you for lying, but more surprised that you would go through that trouble to get him to your place.

"Why?"

"Um... I like you and I didn't know how to tell you or talk to you." You hoped he would understand and not find you crazy. "I wasn't sure how to approach you and I noticed you always working on your bike and I thought maybe a perfect way to get to talk to you was if mine was broken, but it wasn't, so I-" you stopped rambling, noticing his silence, and saw that he was looking at you with an unreadable expression. "Daryl?"

"You did it cuz you like me," he asked, making sure he was hearing you right.

"Yeah, basically," you said, hoping you didn't ruin your friendship and what could be a potential relationship with him. "Are you mad?"

He instantly shook his head and that made the weight that had begun to weigh upon your chest disappear.

"But don't mess up yer bike no more. Okay?" He told you with a smile that was rare to see from him unless you were close to him.

"Okay."

You didn't know what to say and was about to go back inside and offer him food as a form of apology, but he had a better idea instead.

"I'm 'bout to go hunting real quick. You wanna come?" He tried to ignore the racing of his heart and waited for your answer, hoping you would accept his invitation.

"Um, I don't know how to skin or gut."

"I'll teach you," he quickly said, hoping he didn't sound desperate.

You tried to hold back the wide smile that wanted to appear on your face and said, "Sure."

Carol had just taken down one of the sheets that was hanging on the line, folding it and putting it in her basket, when she heard the familiar loud rumble of Daryl's motorcycle, and she looked up to see him driving toward the gates. She was about to go back and pull another sheet down, when she noticed riding on the back of the bike was you, and you had your arms wrapped around his waist, and a proud grin grew on her face at the sight, happy that her friend was no longer clueless.

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ladylooch · 1 year ago

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(Ik your requests are closed so pls don’t feel super pressured to write but you write Nico perfect everytime so I choose you :3)

So we all know neeks isn’t into anything super hardcore or kinky when it comes to sex. But when he’s particularly frustrated with hockey or the media he can get a bit rough, needing to take his emotions out on something. (Here’s the angsty part? Idk if this even counts as angst but) maybe one night after a rough game you’re kind of just letting him use you as he needs, but he kinda ‘blacks out’ for a sec and gets a little too rough with you. Nothing super dramatic but you have to say something about it and he’s instantly reeling himself back in and profusely apologizing and completely shifting focus to make it up to you. Poor baby is in near tears over hurting his girl.

His Superstar- Nico Hischier

A/N: I just love the way I was selected for this blurb. Hahahah! I love you anon 🤭 fluff my feathers, bby. You know it works. Also, you know I have to be big sis here and address this theme: communicate with your partners. Keep it safe and respect boundaries.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Content, sexual boundaries talk

If one more reporter asks Nico if he’s frustrated with his lack of scoring so far this season, he might have to show that reporter just how frustrated he actually is by popping them in the face.

Day after day, he stands up there in front of their cameras and microphones, answering questions he really doesn’t want to.

It never gets easier. The vets told him it would in this first season as captain. It doesn’t. He still has to resist hulking out at some of the dumbass questions and comments he gets in his media scrums.

But when he gets home to you, none of that matters. He falls into your world where he isn’t an NHL captain. He isn’t a multimillionaire who is underperforming. He isn’t an international superstar.

He’s only yours. Y/N’s Nico.

You, his sweet girlfriend, were waiting for him in the kitchen with fudge brownies using the chocolate his mom sent from Switzerland. He knew exactly what he wanted from you when he saw you in those tiny, red shorts you know drive him nuts.

And it wasn’t food.

You were unsuspecting, chewing on your bottom lip at the outward frustration you saw gathering in Nico’s eyebrows on social media that morning. He was at the rink longer- getting treatment. But the wildness in his eyes when he walked in did not prepare you for the position you were currently in.

Nico slams into you deeply again. It feels incredible. You moan out your approval to him again. He has you on the kitchen table so he can use his thick thighs to pound at full throttle. Nico rarely gets like this and the excitement of it all has your nipples piercing the air, meeting his groans. His hands come up, groping your breasts as he leans over you more. He is so far gone, whispering in Swiss German, losing control of himself completely as he pushes harder into you. The table moves slightly. You reach out for his arm for safety, holding and rubbing at him while moaning his name.

Nico grabs both of your arms, pinning you down with his palms on both your forearms. You are so close to reaching your climax. You open your legs wider, taking him deeper. Your breathing stutters and you move to pull your arms from his grip to hold his shoulders for security. Nico forces his fingers deeper into you. You’re eyes snap open in unease. You try again. Now his grip is uncomfortable.

“Nico let go.” You stutter abruptly, feeling panic close your throat. It takes him a moment to hear your words. His head is knocked back as he begins to dribble into you. The reaction of his impending orgasm has him tightening further. “Nico! Stop!” You yell suddenly. Nico snaps to immediately, releasing your arms. You push at his abdomen until he falls out of you.

“What!? What happened!?” You are still splayed beneath him, completely exposed. You suck in a shaky breath, trying to ground yourself. You can tell he didn’t mean to, but you suddenly feel very naked and uncomfortable. Nico can see that. He grabs his jacket on the chair to his right, draping it over you. His expression is worried. He tentatively reaches out for your hand. You lace your fingers together. “Did you say something and I missed it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry. Oh my god. Baby, what did you say? I didn’t hear. I’m so sorry. I’m so…” He trails off, dashing a hand through his hair. He looks around the table frantically, trying to find the pants you both dropped on the floor in haste.

“Nico.” You call, reaching for him to come back to you. He is berating himself internally. You can see it with every twitch of his facial features. His shoulders are slumping inward as he leans over you, reaching out for your cheek then recoiling his fingers. You grab his hand, placing it there and leaning into his touch. “Can you please calm down so we can talk about it?”

“I hurt you!”

“No you didn’t.”

“I crossed a line!”

“Yes, but unintentionally.” You sit up, very aware of your naked core settling against the kitchen table. You open your arms and Nico steps in. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, his jacket still covering most of your naked body. You turn so you can brush comforting kisses along his stubbled jaw. “I asked for you to let go of my arms.” Nico shakes his head.

“I didn’t hear.”

“I know.” You murmur, “That’s why I yelled.” He nods.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I am okay. And I want to finish, but can we not do it this way anymore?”

“Of course.” He nods. He pulls away to look at your face. “I’m so sorry. I did not hear you. I would never keep doing something you weren’t comfortable with.”

“I know, Neeks. Now let me finish you off on the couch.” You smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He lifts you up, walking to the leather couch. He chuckles as you shiver when your back hits it, like always. The air of safety returns as you straddle his lap, sliding down until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. He grips your hips tenderly, creating a line for you to buck yourself into.

When he came into the apartment, he wanted to take you his way. But now, watching you ride him so good, he thinks about how much better this is. You always have better ideas than him. The bed you picked. The apartment you moved into together. The bedding. This couch.

And this fucking tempo. His head falls back; his belly burns with fire. Your inner walls suck him deeper and he releases white ribbons into you.

“Baby.” He moans against your mouth as you wetly kiss him in praise. You’re not quite there yet. He sinks deeper into the couch cushions as you use him for your own pleasure. He watches with heavy and lustful eyes, biting his bottom lip when you shout his name to the ceiling. He curls forward, groaning, gripping himself into your chest as you pulse around his sensitive cock. He shivers when your nails drag along his shoulders, leaving red scratches as you bounce up and down once more.

“Oh god.” You croak out when you find your voice. “That was… Fuck.”

“You’re a superstar, baby.”

“Thought that was you?” You murmur, raking a hand through his mused, brown locks.

“No… Right now I’m only yours.”

#Nico Hischier X Reader #Nico Hischier Smut #hockey writing #NHL imagine #NHL fan fiction #my writing

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thedeviltohisangel · 8 months ago

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All The Things I Did (6): They Say All's Well That Ends Well

a/n: greetings! some sweet morning after pillow talk, meeting col. harding and hypocrites in love coming your way this lovely evening. next chapter is gearing up to be a big one so I hope you guys enjoy a bit of cass' fallible side (which I would love to discuss more) in this way before she badasses her way through Berlin. I might have a secret Easter suprise up my sleeve so stay tuned. as usual, inbox is open for all our little blurb screaming we've doing and I have a Spook x Bucky playlist I am thinking of sharing if you guys are interested. Let me know your thoughts on this chapter, xoxo

When Cass finally stirred against his chest, pressing kisses against his heart and blinking slowly, John saw a flash of his future. Waking up with her in his arms. Watching the sunrise and kiss across her face gently. Getting to admire her wild hair and sleep warmed cheeks and the lazy smile that settled across her face as she got her first sight of him.

“Good morning,” she whispered as she stroked her fingers through his hair and obliged his puckered lips request for a kiss. “Have you been up for awhile?” John reached for his pants on the floor, producing a cigarette.

“No. Was just admiring the view.” She plucked the lighter from his hand and brought it to his lips for him. “I’ve got to meet that goddamn CO first thing tomorrow.”

“Baby, it is tomorrow,” she giggled. His knuckles traced across her cheek lovingly.

“You’re so smart.” Cass rolled her eyes but kissed him again regardless. “You got any intel for me?” Her chin rested on his chest and his fingers tangled into her hair.

“I met him in London before I got here. I think you two will get along. He’s a good pilot. Likes to have a fun time.” She kept out the specifics of his flirting and propositioning. No need to ruin the moment or start them off on the wrong footing. “Has a certain Clark Gable nature to him.”

“Oh? Is that your type, Miss Cooper?”

“My town is full of Rhett Butler’s. Didn’t have the best of luck with any of them.” Sadness flickered behind her eyes, maybe even hurt, and John wanted to throttle whoever was responsible. Cass lifted his wrist to look at his watch and groaned when she saw they would have to return to the real world soon. “I want to stay just like this. Forever.”

“After all this is over,” he brushed his thumb over her lips, “we can. We will.”

“You’ll come to my room when your day is over?” There was no reason a little slice of forever couldn’t start now. Besides, neither of them thought they would be able to sleep alone again after they had learned the solace of sleeping in the arms of each other. He inhaled his cigarette deeply.

“Counting down the seconds.”

----

He couldn’t stop fidgeting with the buttons of his jacket as Colonel Harding was flipping through the file in front of him. John had driven Cass to her room, taking his time to bid her farewell, before heading straight to his meeting. Still drunk on whiskey or her, he wasn’t quite sure, but either way he was having trouble staying focused.

“You hungover, Major?”

“No, sir. That won’t come for a few more hours.” He wondered what Cass was doing right now. Certainly something more interesting. Certainly was looking beautiful while doing it.

“Colonel Huglin didn’t think too much of your skills as an Air Exec.”

“Well, I didn’t think too much of-” John paused as a black and white photo fell from between the papers and onto his desk. It looked like Cass. His Cass. Except she wasn’t in her uniform. It looked like she was in a satin dress with diamonds framing her face. Something settled in the pit of his stomach.

“Too much of his flying?” John met his gaze, entirely focused now. “Well, I’m not Colonel Huglin.”

“No. You’re not.” Harding followed his gaze down to the photograph and smiled.

“You’re familiar with Lieutenant Cooper?” He was looking at her wistfully and John’s fingers were twitching to snatch it from him. No other man should be looking at her like that besides him.

“She’s quite the officer, sir. We’ve all been nothing but impressed by her work.”

“She’s something, alright.” He tucked the photo away but John’s rage didn’t go away with it. His skin was hot and prickly. A base instinct to protect and preserve percolating at the surface. He was afraid if he opened his mouth, Gale’s upside down letter would be for nothing. There was a knock on the door which distracted him from his plotting thoughts for a moment. “In fact, that should be her.”

Cass’ head poked around the door and if she was surprised to see John, she didn’t show it. To be fair, more often than not, her face didn’t give away much.

“Colonel. Major.” The door clicked softly behind her and John felt the whiskey from a few hours ago stir in his stomach as Harding stood in deference to her, motioning towards the chair to the Major’s left. “Sir, I was just hoping to discuss Berlin with you. Very briefly.”

“Berlin?” John couldn’t keep it in. Why on earth would she…oh.

“Lieutenant Cooper has been selected for a prestigious opportunity,” he offered around the cigar that was now in his mouth.

“Prestigious may not be-”

“Cassandra-” And God, if she didn’t cringe herself as the familiar use of her full name whipped across John and onto her. “-I’ve heard about your work even before I got here. Seen it up close myself if you haven’t forgotten. You’re the right officer for the job.” Cass thinks she could feel John’s nostril flaring. Thinks the arm of the chair might break under his grip. Was surprised the tapping of his toes hadn’t worn a hole in the floor. She should have known he was the jealous type.

“Lieutenant,” John emphasized her rank as he stood, “Colonel. I should go check on a few things before the day really starts.” And because he can’t help himself around her, and because he needed to let Harding know she was off limits, he kissed her cheek. “Come find me when you’re done.” Cass was frozen with her beating cheeks on full display as John adjusted his hat and disappeared out the door.

“I thought you didn’t like pilots.”

“That’s a bit reductive, Colonel.” Her eyes drifted to the handwritten letter at the top of his pile. “Was I too late for the demotion ceremony?” He nodded.

“Major Egan is back to being a squadron commander, effectively immediately.” Colonel Harding had greeted him with the news. John had been elated. “But you wanted to talk about Berlin.” Cass nodded around the lump in her throat. She had come to tender her declination of the operation. It wasn’t worth the risk. Not when she was this close to having John in her life permanently. Not when she could have him on her arm when she went back to South Carolina. Not when he was so close to silencing those voices in her head.

“Actually, there’s nothing left to talk about. I’m grateful for the opportunity.” If he didn’t care, then why should she? What was the point of her safety if he had no regards for his own?

“Alright, then. I’ll leave you to your preparations.” She was resolved when she exited. Felt silly for even considering turning it down. Since when had she ever let a stupid boy navigate her life? Except John wasn’t just some stupid boy that had her dreaming of white picket fences and church on Sundays and sharing a lemonade on the back porch. John was a man and he was the man she was in love with. Why couldn’t it just be that simple?

----

“Well, there he is. I didn’t see you last night or this morning,” Gale said with a smile. “Thought maybe we’d lost you.” John hummed as he sat across from him and asked for a cup of coffee.

“I spent the night with Spook.”

“Did you now?” Gale thinks John looked like the cat that caught the canary. He could use his own deductive reasoning to figure out what the night entailed. “And?” He was asking if there had been any developments. If hearts had been laid bare and understandings had been reached.

“And I’m still certain I’m in love with her. Same as I was yesterday when you asked me.”

“She say the same when you told her?”

“Wouldn’t let me tell her,” he sighed, “told me if I said it and something happened to her on her next assignment, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself.”

“Must be hard to finally be rebuked by a beautiful woman.” John rolled his eyes, knowing Gale was loving every moment of his plight. Finally, finally, Gale was able to witness John Egan unsure of his footing. The man who had no trouble flying a plane and dropping bombs and could dance with anyone or sing in a crowded social club. His best friend had met his match and he couldn’t be more elated to have the chance to witness it.

“New CO thinks she’s beautiful, too.”

“And how did that come up?” he asked around a bite of his breakfast.

“A picture of her fell out of a folder he was reading. Wasn’t her official photo, she wasn’t in uniform. Looked like she was all dolled up for something…” His voice faded towards the end as he remembered the way she had looked. It was akin to the feeling he had when she showed up in her red dress. Absolute adoration and curiosity at the image of her southern society side when he knew the other side so intimately well. The side that had a ring dish of bullets on her dresser. “He looked at her the way I would. I didn’t like it.”

“Now, what was it Cass said about the word like…”

“I detested it. Better?” Gale nodded his approval then caught a glance of the woman in question over John’s shoulder.

“Was she this upset when you left her this morning?”

“Upset?” He furrowed his brow and looked behind him to see what he was talking about. Her face was blank as she walked purposefully towards their table. John assumed it was something he did, he had a habit of fucking up, but damn if she didn’t look elegantly gorgeous stalking towards him like that.

“You were up early this morning, Major Cleven.” John felt a shred of relief. “I can read upside down. Helping this one get himself demoted?” So maybe it was about John.

“You got demoted?” Kidd chimed in from his spot at the end of table. “To what?”

“Squadron Commander. 418th. Sorry, Kidd.”

“That’s fine. As long as I get my fort back.”

“About that…”

“You son of a bitch. I’m Air Exec?” Cass chuckled dryly.

“You’re brimming with good news today, John.” Ah. So he did do something.

“Me getting back to flying is good news, Cass. I don’t know why that would upset you.” Gale held his breath. He wished he could coach John through this. Don’t question, try to understand. But Spook was a force to be reckoned with. He was happy to just spectate.

“I’m not upset. I’m…” She was struggling to find the word. The right word. Worried. Scared. Anxious. Her feelings encompassed all of it. There was no right word for the dread that she was feeling. Forever. Pulled right out from under her.

“I’m not upset about Berlin.”

“Well, maybe you should be.” Gale was half tempted to put a hand on John’s shoulder when he cocked an eyebrow and leaned towards her. Cass had crossed her arms over her chest defensively and the temperature was rising. He wished these two would stop using their brains to talk around their thoughts and feelings and just simply say them.

“And why’s that? Your job makes you happy. Leaves you with fulfillment. And you're goddamn good at it so why would I be upset?” God, her own reasons sounded so hollow in her mind. Sounded selfish and childish. Why wasn’t he raging at her? Fighting her to stand down. She knew how to handle that. How to fight back. This she did not know how to handle.

“Because it’s dangerous.” There it was. She was mad he was back in danger. Why didn’t she just say that?

“Then I just gotta trust you’ll come back to me, don’t I?” Gale crooked a smile but hid it quickly. “Just like how you have to trust that I’ll come back to you.” Truthfully, it would take an act of God to keep him from her. But trust was something she had been programmed to avoid in her line of work.

“Trust,” she echoed with a defeated laugh.

“You know, Cass, if this whole thing ended and there were only two pilots left in the sky, it’d be me and it’d be Buck. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Don’t count on it,” Gale muttered as he slipped a toothpick between his lips. She was ready to make a comment about the level of trust Gale’s comment would instill in her when she caught a glimpse of Mary walking into the mess hall.

“Hi, Mary!” John greeted her happily. He had a soft spot in his chest for the secretary. She was the gatekeeper between him and Cass’ billet most mornings and, on occasion, his source of base gossip while he waited with his bouquet of flowers.

“Major Egan, I didn’t see you this morning.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” John answered with a grin, “Lieutenant Cooper kept me preoccupied.”

“Ignore this helion, Mary. Did word from Mr. Foster arrive yet?”

“Another secret admirer?” he asked with an annoyed tone. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Cass had admirers falling out of the woodwork. He couldn’t blame them. He just wanted to know how many he would be competing with.

“Partner,” she replied stoically.

“He just landed actually, ma’am. Was coming to get you before I went to welcome him.”

“Thank you, Mary. I’ll be right there.” John took her hand from where it was crossed over her chest and brought it to his lips.

“Am I still allowed to come find you when my day’s over?” He was really asking if she was angry enough over his decision to keep him at arm’s length. If he had undone all the goodwill they had built up. If last night now meant nothing at all to her.

“You can’t expect me to sleep by myself, Major.” Not when William’s arrival meant she would be leaving in the morning. Not when she knew the 100th was going to take another run at Norway soon. Not when Gale was looking at her with a message behind his eyes that the only way for Bucky to make it through this was for her to be at his side.

John stood and met her halfway in a kiss, savoring her proximity for just a moment longer until he pulled away. “Make sure Mary knows I’m sorry about this morning.”

“I will. Try to stay out of trouble the rest of the day. Keep an eye on him, Buck.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cass let her fingers linger on John’s cheek before forcing herself to walk in the direction Mary had gone.

“What do you think, Buck? I make a mistake asking for that demotion?” He turned back towards his friend. Maybe he should have stayed Air Exec, stayed safe, just like Cass had said. Maybe he should have said something about her going to Berlin.

“You’re a born leader, John. The men need you no matter if that’s here or up there.”

“But, what if I need her? What if flying gets in the way of that?”

“Nothing could get in the way of the love you have for that girl, John.” The way Gale saw it, John hadn’t just been sent here to lead their boys through this, but to find Cass. To find his sense of purpose. His north star through all the fog.

“Nothing except a fucking world war,” he muttered as he reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

Maybe if he was flying, he could end this thing sooner. Maybe he could save her from whatever fate had her so rattled. If he could get them that future they wanted even a moment sooner, it would all be worth it. To have her safely in his arms away from bombs and secrets and the destruction that they both brought with them.

But first she was going to Berlin and he was going to Norway and they were both fighting for that little future. A little future tucked away with green grass and sunshine and the laughter of the ones you love.

Neither of them knew how much more blood would need to be shed to get there. How much pain the universe had in store for them. That their paths would separate and bring them back together many times over before they earned their peace.

For now, John would settle for making it through tomorrow.

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfic #callum turner fanfic #mota fanfic #john egan x oc #john egan x reader #cass and bucky

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sadesluvr · 2 months ago

Text

CAT AND MOUSE. (V)

Miguel O'Hara x Black Cat! F! Reader Warnings: Physical violence (restraints, blood, gunshots) and hospitals A/N: Almost there! Shorter chapter, but I swear the finale will be worth it... Not completely proofread! PREVIOUS CHAPTER | READ ON AO3 | SERIES MASTERLIST

CURRENT DAY

Your body was limp. It ached.

At least that’s what you thought initially.

After the ache came a consuming numbness; like you could feel your bones and ligaments move about in your skin, but it wasn’t yours. You couldn’t talk, breathe even, only watch; watch as some familiar and some contorted faces surrounded you, staring at the spectacle you’d made of yourself.

The last thing you remembered was being held down, thick metal tentacles pressing you against the wall as the man in a lab coat and goggles demanded of his goons that they take aim at you. You were trapped; physically, mentally, quite literally fighting a losing battle as you squirmed and writhed under his grip, trying to muster the last of your energy to fight back. You were usually someone who was good at remaining calm under pressure, years of escaping situations within an inch hairs of your life

As cliche as it sounded, curiosity was going to kill the cat.

The first gunshot struck you, the metal bullet ploughing into your arm and tearing through ligaments, emitting a burning feeling from your neck right onto your fingertips. Truly, you didn’t know how someone had missed, but you wished he hadn’t, solely because you couldn’t endure the current throb that was pulsating on the left side of your body.

Was this the end? Was this how you were going to go, dying at the hands of one of the city’s worst criminals, all because you wanted a little bit of attention? Even if you’d done the right thing, it’d all been over a man – a Spider-Man of all people. How you longed to return to the days when you were bad, focused on doing everything for your personal gain and no-one else...it was all so much simpler.

A swift gust of air blew over you, and you’d thought you were in the midst of an Asencion. Peace washed over you, only to be met with the sensation of your soul, once again, leaving your body.

This time at 100MPH at 50 foot in the air.

Clung to a chest. A very strong chest.

The last thing you remembered was glancing up, your vision blurry, but just enough to make out the concerned brown eyes of Miguel O’Hara.

Miguel couldn’t remember the last time he’d punched someone so hard. Once he’d made the careful arrangement of placing your limp body between the handlebars and Jess’ chest, he’d watched as someone took control of his body. He never usually went too far when doing villains damage; they were going to be locked up for eternity and didn’t feel like dealing with a dead body – but something about the way Doc Ock had held you down had made him feral.

Punches had reigned down like a fury, blood spilling onto his suit as he did. It didn’t matter anyway, his suit wasn’t made of fabric after all, and so the crimson liquid shed meant virtually nothing. A suit could be replaced; coded and upgraded, but you couldn’t. And so, he’d gone crazy, pupils shrunk as he withdrew his teeth from the man's neck, still finding the energy within him to give him a final few throttles as Jess yelled at him to calm down.

Not that he could hear her that well, though.

All he could think about was you; just how pathetic and angered he was to watch yet another person he loved be stripped away from him so callously. Losing Gabi may have been entirely his own doing, but this was different. This was all you – or was it? – or the ‘canon’ - in truth he didn’t truly know anymore, but he knew he had a chance to save you, to keep you alive even though you mightn’t have been the same.

And yet, with all the worry in his heart, he still found himself completely frustrated with you. Why were you so stubborn? Why had you deliberately put yourself into harm's way? Was it just for attention? Just for him?

“It’s a detonator,” Jess hummed as she logged something in her watch. “That baby has enough horsepower to blow up the entire city.”

“What does the Black Cat need with a detonator? Was she working with Doc?” he replied, side eyeing Jess. He wasn’t naive, but the idea of you liaising with someone like Doc Ock made him sick.

Jess drew in a breath.

“Doubt it, but you can never really tell with her...” she began before cocking her head. “But I think you know her much better.”

He didn’t answer.

“She’s at the General Hospital on 7th Avenue,” Jess continued, placing a supportive hand on his back. “I can call on Ben to help us clean up. You go and look after her.”

“Váyase a casa, Jess. Necesita pasar tiempo con su familia.” [Go home, Jess. You need to spend time with your family.] He replied. “I’ll take it from here.”

She let out a heavy sigh, her bottom lip catching between the gap of her teeth. “Miguel, you don’t -- Nevermind.” she finished abruptly, standing down. Jess had given him that sympathetic look far too many times before, and at this point he was more than aware of what it meant. None of this was your fault. It wasn’t your responsibility to pick up the pieces.

But it was. You’d done this for him, all because in a fucked up way, he’d inspired you to be better.

He watched with bated breath as he stood over you, observing your drowsy form as he watched you stir; your forearm wrapped in a tourniquet. That side of your suit had been ripped to treat the wound, and Miguel couldn’t help but feel himself run hot (it really wasn’t the time for it) at the sight of the soft, exposed skin between your armpit and breast. It was as if you were revealing yourself to him completely.

Hurriedly, he tried to find the words before he anticipated you’d wake. A ‘hello’ would simply not cut it, and in truth he’d never been great at the witty punchline thing. Where was Peter when he needed him?

A soft groan came from below him, and he glanced down to look at you. Your lips were parted, albeit slightly dry, and your eyes took a while to adjust as they fluttered open, wide ring as they locked onto the towering form above.

“Oh shit…” you mumbled. “Am I dead?”

“No.”

“Why are you here?” You said, cocking your head. “ Where am I? My head hurts…”

“The hospital. You were in a fight.” Miguel replied bluntly, swiping his tongue over his lips before breaking his gaze once again.

“I was?”

“Ay, coño! The detonator. You stole it from Otto…” He sighed. “He tried to kill you.”

Miguel could see you visibly shrink, but you were so pumped full with anaesthetics that he couldn’t tell if you were fully comprehending all he was saying. He was half expecting a snarky comment, perhaps even something blatantly suggestive, but didn’t receive the latter nor the former.

“I’m sorry.” Was all you said in a raspy cadence.

“Don’t be,” Miguel began, shifting his gaze as he looked down at you; his brown eyes softening. “It was stupid to do it alone, but had you not intervened, a canon event could’ve been broken.”

“Look at that...” you chuckled with a sniff. “I’m a hero...B-But where is he now?”

“Don’t worry,” Miguel replied. “He’s taken care of. You need to focus on getting better, I’ll be back again tomorrow to check up on you.”

“What?”

“Our medics are more advanced,” he said flippantly. “It’s not safe here. You’re still wanted, Otto has more friends than you’d imagine.”

You hummed, your head feeling light and yet somehow bulging, as if you’d retained enough information for the day. You were sure it would make sense in due time. Briefly, Miguel opened his mouth to speak, shifted his feet but decided not to say anything, instead pursing his lips and giving you a small nod.

Even through your high, you could tell that you were in love with him. And he loved you.

“Thank you...” you said softly, body feeling weak as you began to drift off to sleep.

“No me agradezca, I’m not a hero,” [Don’t thank me] he sighed, taking one last glance at you. “Pero lo hice porque te amo.” [But I did it because I love you.]

Taglist: @fries11 @honeyluvsatj @saturnknows @vancehopper1987 @youngestxhearts

#florence writes!!#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #atsv x reader #atsv imagine #atsv fic #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara fic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 30 days ago

Note

Mission Report

Warnings: power imbalance, blood, and some untagged dark elements.

Summary: James is unhappy about the last mission.

Note: please leave some feedback and reblog. It's just a short drabble but I do enjoy chatting it up with y'all. Love yas.

James Conrad is a complicated man, but so easy to read. When he's unhappy, everyone knows it. His silence isn't unusual but it's different, and that tick in his cheek is assurance of pending consequence.

"Dismissed." He declares. The first word he's spoken in the last hour.

You don't blame him. There's holes in his shirt where bullets glanced by him. Friendly fire in the frantic scene of defense.

Gaston doesn't look at his boss, the man he almost ended with his own misfire, and the others are deathly quiet as they back away from the table and shuffle out. You follow but not quick enough. Conrad calls you back.

You stop in the doorway and glance over your shoulder. You just want to be alone in your cot. You're no less culpable than the rest for the chaos.

Conrad found you huddled behind a tree.

"Where's your sidearm?" He asked as he wrenched you up by your elbow.

Sure, you know how to aim and fire, but you're a medic, not a mercenary. Your pistol was lost in the mud along with your courage.

"Sir," you face him.

"Close the door," he orders you.

You obey. You push until the mechanism catches. He leans forward and winces, a small his escaping through his teeth. He reaches over his head and tugs at the back of his collar. He strips away his tattered shirt and throws it on the metal table.

He doesn't need to give his next command. You have a job so you do it. You rest your hand on the kit that rests against your hip. You lift the thick strap over your head as you approach the table.

You put the kit down and unzip it. He's silent. Still. He pushes back the chair, anglong towards you. Along with the small nicks of bullet grazes are black streaks of gun powder.

You take a sterilizing wipe and bend to clean away the dry blood and dirt. He doesn't even flinch. His inaction, his silence, is throttling.

You clear your throat as you unwrap an adhesive bandage. The large patch is big enough to cover the breadth of one side of his rib cage. He won't need stitches thankfully.

As you press it into place, he sighs.

"You panicked," he says.

You're too ashamed to look him in the face.

"Panic gets people killed."

You weren't the only one, yet you're the only one he kept behind.

"Yes, sir." You utter.

"A squeamish medic, what use is that to me?" He says.

"Not much," you resign and you stand straight, keeping your chin down. "Sorry, sir."

"Sorry won't unfuck what just happened," he growls.

You're quiet as you think. You nod. "Should I pack up?"

"I didn't say so," he tuts and crosses his arms, leaning back on the metal chair as his chest bulges.

You’re confused, scared even. The anger roils off of him.

“What use are you to me dead?” He asks pointedly.

You shrug. He huffs again.

“Look at me,” he insists.

Your eyes flick up and meet his, steely and blue. He slowly unfolds his arms and sits up. You watch him, uncertain, and he reaches to flutter his fingers against yours.

“You are much to pretty to be bleeding in the muck,” he drawls. “From here are on out, you are suspended from field duties.”

His long fingers trace yours more firmly and he encases your hand in his. You twitch, paralysed by his unexpected gesture. He raises your hand as he leans forward. He nuzzles between your knuckles as your eyes round. What is he doing?

“I’ve use of you elsewhere.” He presses his lips against the back of your hand, heat spattering across your flesh.

“Sir.”

“Say ‘yes, Captain’ and go warm my cot,” he grits as he lets you go. “I will find you once I’ve finished my cognac.”

“Yes...Captain,” your voice piques sharply as you drag your soles back stiffly. You blink and turn away from him, staggering in the haze of disbelief. James Conrad is truly a complicated man. Much more than you could ever predict.

#james conrad #dark james conrad #dark!james conrad #james conrad x reader #kong: skull island #drabble

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special-agent-sass · 1 year ago

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Midnight Ride

Y/N revved the engine of her Kawasaki Vulcan 900 as she sped down the empty stretch of highway, the cold night air whipping against her face. With each twist of the throttle, she pushed the bike faster, adrenaline and rage coursing through her veins.

The needle on the speedometer edged past 100 mph. She knew she was being reckless, but she didn't care. The danger made her feel alive, made her forget everything else. Forget the past, forget the pain. Out here it was just her and the road.

The headlight cut a narrow beam through the darkness as she leaned into the curves, expertly controlling the rumbling machine beneath her. She had no destination, only the need for speed to quiet her restless mind. The events of the day replayed in a relentless loop - the latest heated argument with Gibbs over her recklessness, the biting comments meant to cut deep, the frustration boiling over yet again.

She knew he only lectured her because he cared, but his stubbornness and overprotectiveness felt suffocating. Needing an escape, she had stormed out, hopped on her bike, and pointed it toward the open road.

Miles flew past in a blur, but still her thoughts churned. She resented Gibbs for trying to tame her wild spirit, even as she felt the undeniable pull between them - a volatile chemistry neither would acknowledge, dancing around the sparks that flew whenever they were near. His rare smiles made her pulse race, while his criticisms stung more than from anyone else.

Caught up in her thoughts, Y/N failed to notice the familiar pair of headlights gaining on her until they flashed urgently. Cursing under her breath, she reluctantly slowed and pulled over onto the gravel shoulder. She didn't need to look back to know whose black sedan now idled behind her.

Gibbs approached, his face etched with concern and frustration. "Just what the hell did you think you were doing?" he demanded.

"I was fine," Y/N fired back defensively. "I've been riding since I was twelve and I know how to handle a bike."

"Like hell you do! I clocked you going over 100mph. You trying to get yourself killed?"

Y/N clenched her fists, getting off the bike to face him, refusing to back down. "Why do you even care? I'm just some reckless adrenaline junkie to you, right?"

Gibbs stepped closer, his stern expression softening. “You know that’s not true,” he muttered. "That stunt was dangerous and stupid, but only because I can't lose you." His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "I was scared, Y/N. Scared I wouldn't reach you in time."

Y/N froze, stunned. She searched Gibbs' face and saw the sincerity in his eyes. Her anger melted away. "I didn't mean to worry you. I just...I needed to clear my head."

Gibbs lifted his hand to her cheek. "I know. But you have to stop running from things."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. Before she could respond, his lips were on hers, firm and insistent. After a moment of shock, she returned the kiss hungrily, releasing all the desire and frustration that had been simmering below the surface.

They broke apart, breathless. Gibbs rested his forehead against hers.

"Rule twelve be damned," he murmured. "I don't want to waste any more time pretending I'm not in love with you."

Y/N blinked back the sting of tears, overwhelmed by the admission. No longer uncertain, she pulled Gibbs close again, surrendering to the passionate embrace under the moonlight. The empty highway faded away until all that existed was the two of them and the truth laid bare.

Whatever the next day held, they would face it together, side by side. Y/N knew that his love was worth risking it all - even her stubborn heart.

#gibbs x reader #gibbs x y/n #jethro gibbs #jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs #ncis gibbs

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mauvecherie-writes · 2 years ago

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Full Throttle Extended …

lewis hamilton x black f!reader

summary: you didn’t know what it was but lewis just couldn’t get enough of you.

warning: 18+ nsfw mdni, extreme explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex, cum eating, dirty talk, slight spanking. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

note: as per @lewisthot’s comment on my fic, it sparked this so thank her for this. for avid readers of Lewis fics this particular one will not be to everyone’s taste so please read the warnings again, this will be a lot more on the high spice side so please read at your own risk.

wc: 1.14K

[full throttle main.] {tip jar}

On the way back to the apartment, you squirmed so much in your seat. You could feel the mixture of your cum dripping out of you and drenching the fabric of your underwear. The inner part of your thighs were slick and just the feel alone was making you flustered.

“What’s wrong baby?” Lewis asked you as he pulled into the garage of the penthouse.

“I can feel your cum dripping out of me.” You confessed as he safely parked the car.

“Fuck.” Lewis breathed out as he sagged into the seat and turned his head to look at you. “Is that why you’ve been squirming so much baby? You’re so full my cum that it’s leaking out of you?”

You nodded your head, biting onto your bottom lip.

“I’ll clean you up Princess, I promise.”

When he said that, you thought that he meant - he’d indulge in some aftercare but no, as soon as you entered into the penthouse - without turning on the lights, he dragged you to the bedroom and threw you onto the soft bed beneath.

“Strip for me.” He whispered into your skin as his hands pushed your skirt up to your waist. You tried to take off your corset top as he discarded his sweatshirt to the side. Kneeling onto the bed, he grabbed your ankle, leaning down to place a soft kiss on it before grabbing the flimsy material of your underwear.

You let out a harsh gasp as he roughly ripped the thongs away from your flesh. The bite of the fabric nipping at your supple skin left a soft burn in its wake.

“Daddy!” You squirmed as he parted your legs, baring your slick folds to him. He dropped your ruined underwear onto the floor and widened the gap in between your legs before slotting him in. Laid on his stomach, his hands palmed the inner part of your thighs, without a care that they were getting wet. Your scent was all he could smell and the look of your swollen cunt painted with his seed was enticing.

You had brought yourself to lean up on your elbows so that you could look down at him as he took the first lick but when his tongue darted out and drew the first lick before laying heavy muscle on your clit, you quickly collapsed back onto the bed.

Lewis had never minded kissing you after he had come in your mouth or shoving his tongue down your throat after it had been inside of you. However, this was different. His spent had been dripping out of you and he was cleaning it up and pleasuring you as he did so. There was something so deeply intimate about doing such a thing and his boldness to do so was intoxicating.

His fingers dug into your thighs as he held them down as he swirled his tongue around your pussy. The chill of the cold air touching your folds covered in cum and his spit sent a shiver down your spine.

Your small gasps of pleasure did not miss his ears as he sucked your clit into his mouth. “Oh fuck, fuck fuck!” A low moan vibrated from his chest and shook your core as he responded to the noises you were making. He could feel you trying to lift your hips into his face but he kept you in place.

“I gotta make sure you’re all cleaned up baby, don’t move.” He mumbled into your skin with his dark eyes peering up at you. You groaned in pure ecstasy of him going back to eating you with great enthusiasm.

Lewis loved eating your pussy. It was one thing that he could spend long periods of time doing whether the intended goal was to make you come or not. The sounds you made and the vulnerability it exposed to him is what he derived the most pleasure from. The taste of your essence on his lips putting in a trance that he did not want to escape from but when he could taste the reminiscence of himself within your nectar, it unleashed a primality long waiting to be revealed.

“Baby!” You gasped as your eyes rolled to the back of your head and tugged on your nipples. Your orgasm has snuck up on you and was quickly approaching. He could hear it from the pitch change of your moans and heavy breathing. He swiftly withdrew his mouth away from your cunt and before you could protest, he slid inside of you until he had filled you to the brim.

Your eyes widened at the unexpected intrusion as you looked up at him. The bottom half of his face was glistening and the musk of your cum tickled your nostrils as he placed his elbows on either side of your head.

As he began to move, he could see the pleasure completely take over you as your eyes fluttered close but struggled to open them as you wanted to maintain eye contact.

“It’s okay baby.” He whispered as he moved his hips, thrusting in and out of you at a soft pace. “I got you.”

“L-“ before his name could leave you, he crashed his lips into yours, tasting yourself on your tongue. There was no shyness in the boldness of the kiss and you whimpered into his mouth as he sucked on your tongue.

The slightest movements sent your over sensitive body into overdrive. He was fucking you so hard and deep that the echo of your skin clapping against each other rang out across the room. Your cries of pleasure could not be contained as he moved his hips back and forth.

With no words leaving you, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he rocked his hips faster and faster until you were holding onto his shoulders for dear life as your orgasm was fast approaching. Lewis buried his head in your neck and hooked your legs into his arms and pistoned hips, aiming just against your spot.

Your climax hit you in waves that were crashing into you. Your cunt clenched tightly around his dick which caused him to grunt loudly into your ear.

“Fuck, just like that baby.” He hissed into your ear. “Squeezing me so fucking good, I’m gonna cum!” Your arms wrapped around him and held on for dear life and you will yourself to move your hips to meet him thrust for thrust.

Lewis grabbed your neck and when he tried to kiss you; he ended up moaning loudly into your mouth as he flooded your walls with his seed. It was far more intense than his last orgasm and his body could not stop shaking as he filled you.

“Your pussy is such a drug bloody hell.” He mumbled into your ear.

“It’s your pussy Daddy.” You giggled. “Always.” ….

@queenshikongo3 @melodicheauxxo @felicity-x0 @dhlfastestlap @zeebee300 @stronglikemusic @olyvoyl @est1887 @lewisdiary @royallyprincesslilly @sadthotsonlylove @brownsugarcoffy @kellhems @zaeydi @kindan3rdy951 @kijahslove @melthereader @percysbiatch @windrush-child @sj206260358 @lewisinlace @lewisthot @isseymiyakee @dhlfastestlap @piscesgyalinit @lh44adore @blowmymbackout @uzumaki-rebellion @scorpiobleue @riarecs @paradisehamilton @virgomess @peyispromotinghershit @yeea-nah @lewiscrown @lewisthoughts @lewisroscoelove @mimihopie @icysdiary @sweethoneycream @hellomadamebutterfly @nie-die-richtigen-wortex @mercedesjpg

#mauvecherie writes #full throttle fic #extended version #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x reader #formula one smut #formula one fanfiction #formula one fanfic #sir lewis hamilton #black reader insert

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fastlikealambo · 1 year ago

Text

national anthem:older!steve x black fem!reader

summary: steve harrington is running for president of the united states as the democratic nominee. he's polling well, people like him because he actually intends to keep his campaign promises, he's got great hair and a cute dog.

there's one problem: he doesn't do relationships, he's been seen doing the walk of shame too many times and his campaign manager has had enough. he needs a wife, or a least someone to smile and wave his messy ass through election season before disappearing into obscurity.

that's where you come in.

you're a sweet virgin kindergarten teacher who looks like disney animated birds help you get dressed in the morning. on paper you're perfect for the job and you have student loan and medical debt so you will silk press and laugh your way to the democratic national convention.

here's the thing:

you can't stand his pompous ass and he gets all tongue tied and sweaty when he gets within 2 feet of you.

it's gonna be a long fucking campaign.

bonus: here's two songs that are the background music in this chapter. can you figure out which song goes with what scene? I'd love to know your guesses.

angel - halle bailey

death of me - pvris

chapter one: washington, d.c.

“They’re calling you The Future Slut in Chief, Steve.”

Erica threw a paper in Steve’s lap, pinching the bridge of her nose before sinking into a chair to drink her iced coffee, the only thing to keep her from reaching across the table and throttling the future President of The United States.

Steve looked down at The New York Post, a picture of him in his boxers leaving someone’s apartment dead center. He shrugged, putting his feet on the table and leaning back in his chair.

“I look great and besides it’s the New York Post, nobody reads The New York Post, Sinclair. After the speech today no one will give two shits about that, nothing to worry about.” He said, shoving his sunglasses back on his face to block out the fluorescent lighting.

Four more newspapers with nearly identical pictures knocked the sunglasses right off his face and the forty year old nearly fell out of his chair.

“You can’t throw things at me, that’s treason.”

“Not yet.” Erica said sweetly.

“They’re making fancams of you and I quote, ‘ your slutty little waist.” Holly Wheeler said, Erica’s assistant said with a giggle, showing her boss her phone, the same bridge of some Cardi B. song filling the conference room over and over again.

“Send me that to me, won’t you Holly?” Steve said, reaching for his coffee.

“Do not send that to him Holly.” Erica sighed, pushing Steve’s legs off the table before standing up.

“Look Harrington, I joined this campaign because I believed in you. You had feasible ideas, a moral compass, the hair of a Kennedy and so much money I sometimes want to call the IRS for fun.”

��What was that last one-

“Never mind that. Everything about you screams all american but because you don’t have a partner or spouse, to the general public it also screams ‘I may or may not have people in my basement.’ Nobody likes a single male president.”

“James Buchanan never married.” Steve grumbled.

Steve Harrington didn’t do relationships, he had his fun every night, came home to his dog and empty apartment and focused on doing some good in his community with the outrageous inheritance his father left him.

There was no time for wives or husbands and that’s exactly how he liked it.

“James Buchanan thought a dime was enough money to live on so maybe not the best example. Steve, you have a chance to be the next leader of this country but doing the walk of shame at your prehistoric age is not going to get the votes you need.”

Erica was absolutely right but Steve would be damned if he said so.

“You need someone at your side for the last leg of the campaign and I’ve taken care of it. She’s been checked out and briefed, you’ll meet her on stage tonight when you introduce her, I’ve had Nancy edit your speech.”

“What the fuck Erica!” Steve yelled but Erica ignored him.

“She’s smarter than you, beautiful, and most importantly, she’s likable. So if you want to sit in the Oval Office for the next four years, you’ll wear the Tom Ford suit and act like this is the greatest love story ever told. You don’t have to talk to her outside of events if you don’t want to but you will do this. I have yet to fail you so trust that I can do the job you pay me handsomely for. Got it?”

No.

Absolutely not.

There was no way he was going through with this.

“To wrap up my speech so we can all get home safely, I want to introduce you to someone. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, to this campaign, to this country! I’m so proud to finally introduce my fiancée, let’s give her a big hand!” Steve said with a big smile at the cheering crowd, proud of the fact that he didn’t immediately vomit when the word fiancée came out of his mouth.

The click-clack of your heels coming up a staircase had Steve’s heart in his throat. At some point his clapping was no longer forced as he waited for the worst blind date of his life to appear on stage.

“Get it together Harrington, turn on the charm for two minutes and get the fuck out of here.” He thought to himself.

He could handle this.

Two seconds later, he was wrong.

So, very, wrong.

If there were words to truly describe how beautiful you were, Steve did not know them.

How could he?

How would ecstasy describe ecstasy?

Fuck.

Like Erica drilled into him a thousand times before the DC rally began, he reached out his hand to you, now enveloped in the scent of orchids and shea butter, and brought you into his arms for the world’s gentlest and fastest embrace. Your lips met with Steve’s cheek with a sweet laugh that made the crowd go wild as you pushed him forward towards the mic.

But no words came out.

That man was so busy looking at you he didn’t know the closing to his speech, the stump speech he had been giving for months now, the one he could recite in his sleep and accidentally yelled out during sex that one time.

A full ten seconds of uncomfortable silence with a sweaty man had you suddenly in front of the mic.

“I’m so happy to be a part of this once in a lifetime event supporting Steve! We’ve got a lot of work to do to get to the ballot box but we are ready to elevate and encourage our beautiful country towards a brighter future! Good night everyone, drive safe!” You nearly yelled into the mic, applause bursting through the audience.

You were quickly ushered backstage away from journalists, happy to get out as just as quickly as possible but Steve followed right with you.

“I-I had that back there!” Your fiance and future president choked out.

“Oh, so you can talk, wonderful! A thank you for saving your ass or a nice to meet you would suffice. I didn’t know a presidential nominee much less an adult man could drool like an infant but you’re full of surprises Mr. Harrington.” You said, rolling your eyes.

“I was not drooling!”

“My shoulder’s all wet Mr. President. Are we done here, can I go now?” You asked, turning your attention to Erica.

“I’m so glad you two are getting along! One more picture for all the socials and then you are free to go, Hopper and your security detail will make sure you get to your hotel safely.” Erica said, grabbing her phone for the picture.

“Big smiles, you two!”

You still couldn’t get over the fact that 24 hours ago, you were crying yourself to sleep wondering how you were going to pay your bills and get back on your insurance and now you’re prom posing with America’s Next Top Leader.

“I couldn’t have possibly drooled on you, you wanna know why?” Steve said through a frozen smile.

“Not really.”

“If I got the next First Lady of The United States all wet, you’d know, honey.” He whispered in your ear.

Motherfucker.

Next stop: Maryland! I hope you enjoyed this, I’m not too sure if it's any good :)

#older!steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x black!reader #steve harrington fanfic

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beanghostprincess · 7 months ago

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Ya know there is so much in the Fandom and yet I have noticed a distinct lack of Buggy and Sanji content.

Not in a shipping way either but like. Buggy, the Flashiest Pirate In The East, would ABSOLUTELY go to the Baratie if only for the renown it has for its food. Also I bet he knew - or knew OF Zeff at the very least - when he was still a pirate. Buggy visiting the Baratie occasionally, sometimes in Normal Flashy Fashion, sometimes more toned down because he just needs a bit of a break. Zeff would absolutely take one look at this traumatized little hobgoblin of a pirate and go "oh wow. Someone get this bitch a meal. Bitches love meals"

Sanji, a wee tyke learning the ways of the kitchen, sees this absolute bozo who he, at first, assumes to be a second rate pirate. Zeff is better. Zeff tells all these stories about the Old Ways, the Pirate's Code, and Sanji thinks "this clown doesn't know the meaning of a code"

Then smth happens to completely change his tune. Maybe Buggy says or does something. Maybe Sanji overhears or sees smth. Maybe someone else kicks a fuss, and Buggy responds in the Right Ways. Who knows?

But Sanji is now intrigued. And Sanji is a kid, with lots of trauma sure, but a kid nonetheless. And Buggy Notices.

He gets forcibly assimilated into Sanji's found family. He never agreed to this. He never had a choice.

Sanji grows up with Zeff and uncle Buggy. He happens to leave with the Strawhats at the perfect time to do so - and he keeps avoiding Buggy via near misses, to the point Bugs is SEETHING playfully. How dare. Truly. All of his nephews are EVIL.

It comes to a head when, years later, with Emperors crowned, there is a series of wacky shenanigans which lead to Cross Guild and the Strawhats meeting face to face.

Sanji is flabbergasted by the realization that he now has step-uncles, one of which is the mosshead's mentor/father-figure. The other is the brutal ex dictator of Alabasta who later passed the captain's vibe check and might just be said captain's other father, there is no confirmation.

Buggy meanwhile is having twelve different attacks of a variety of nature bc he's due for his yearly fight to the death with his one nephew, and the other is here and within throttling range and - IS THAT A HICKEY!?!?!

Cue veeeerry awkward Meet The Family where Buggy and Usopp actually get along well while Sanji is debating his chances of kicking these men's asses and if it would dishonor Zoro's dreams if he threatened mihawk....

Both conversations boil down to "he's been through a lot, so be good to him or you'll be hearing from me, okay? Okay. Good."

Usopp actually is chill with this both bc "I would never" and also "even if he came for me, I could kick a clown's ass probably. If nit me, then Luffy. And if Luffy doesn't, then I will deserve it."

Crocodile and Mihawk are mildly amused but also curious - the clown? Having trauma? As if. They think of it initially as smth of a comparison. Severity of trauma is the highest rank. They think of Buggy's past as "his captain died, he broke up with his best friend, the end". They do not know of the interim details. The reasons that Shank and he both refuse to allow anyone below 14 at the bare minimum onto their crews. The reason Buggy was frothing when Shanks told him about Uta - after the fact. The reason Buggy only drinks certain brands of rum because some make him physically sick. The reason he can't sleep in pitch black darkness. The reason he sometimes simply Can't Sleep At All.

There's more to it, to everything, to all of it, than any one person knows.

Just. Back on topic but Buggy and Sanji. I just think they'd have the neatest dynamic.

You just chose two of my favorite characters and did THIS and I love it 😭 The funny thing is that it does make sense that Buggy had gone to the Baratie and met Sanji at some point... I've always thought mostly on Usopp/Buggy parallelisms but Sanji kind of relating to Buggy too because of feeling inferior to his family,,,, Besides I think the dynamic would be hilarious because okay, they get along, but I can imagine them growing closer and caring about each other but arguing all the time Sanji/Zeff style? So at first, everybody thinks he has something against Buggy because when they meet they won't stop yelling at each other but when they ask them about it, Sanji is like "??? Nah, he's something like my uncle don't- Don't think too hard about it". And I am also SO sure Sanji would know stuff about Shanks that Luffy doesn't because Buggy explained Sanji their childhoods,,, Going insane about this one, actually.

#unexpected duo that i support wholeheartedly #one piece #black leg sanji #buggy the clown #ask-bean!

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keanuquotes · 2 years ago

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The Enduring Appeal of Keanu Reeves He battles evildoers in 'John Wick 4,' manufactures two-wheel pieces of art, and is worshiped by the internet, but Keanu Reeves swears he's just a normal guy. And he’s got the scars to prove it. Ky HendersonMar 15, 2023 9:00 AM EDT It’s easy to look cool when you’re riding a motorcycle, but it’s hard to look cooler than Keanu Reeves on a brisk, sunny afternoon in Los Angeles. He rests his left hand on his thigh and steers with his right, which gooses the throttle as he weaves around slow drivers. He wears a form-fitting black canvas motorcycle jacket that accentuates how trim he is—even more fit than he appears on-screen—and a beat-up Shoei helmet. He leaves the visor up, choosing instead to shield his eyes with sunglasses the Terminator might wear to a Hamptons garden party. Reeves looks at home and at ease on a motorcycle. He looks cool.

At a gas station stop, he suggests switching bikes. We’re each riding cruisers made by Arch, the motorcycle company Reeves co-founded with designer Gard Hollinger in 2011. The company produces high-end, highly personalized production bikes; I’m on a 1s, the company’s new $100,000+ sport cruiser. Reeves is on an older model, KRGT-1, but it’s his personal Arch, a true one-of-a-kind. It's the only Arch ever painted YK Blue, a color Reeves and Hollinger commissioned based on the ultramarine pigment famously mixed by mid-century French artist Yves Klein. Reeves says all that’s left of the paint is in a tiny can stored somewhere at Arch in case the bike’s paint ever needs touch-ups.

Which it most certainly would if, let’s say, some idiot were to put the bike down in front of a horrified Reeves while riding down the Pacific Coast Highway. Thankfully, there’ll be no lowsides today. Although the bike is beefy, with a 2,032cc V-twin powerplant, it’s easy to maneuver and comfy as a BarcaLounger.

Keanu Reeves stands in motorcycle factory holding blue mug Brian Bowen Smith

Reeves eventually leads us back to Arch’s factory building, which is nondescript from the outside but artfully decorated inside using shipping containers to separate working areas. Metal fabrication is done behind one; customer bikes are lined up in another with technicians hard at work. After Reeves dips outside for a cigarette—the 58-year-old both looks like a much younger man and smokes with the frequent abandon of one—he leads us to a small conference room.

“I like meeting people, but I’m a little reserved,” he warns as he settles into an office chair, looking far less comfortable than he did on a motorcycle. “How much of my private life do I want to talk about? I don’t know. Otherwise, let’s hang out.”

When Reeves was growing up in the Yorkville neighborhood of Toronto, he was consumed with existential thoughts. He discussed death a lot more than the average 11-year-old, for instance—but not because he wanted to die. He just wanted answers to big questions. Perhaps not entirely unrelated to his interest in mortality, he was also obsessed with the biker gangs that periodically motored into the neighborhood. It wasn't pods of dentists letting loose on weekends. It was leathers, patches, menace—the whole deal. And Reeves loved it.

“They looked exotic,” Reeves says. "They looked to me like they were free. Plus the bikes were cool and sounded great.”

Despite his childhood fascination, Reeves was in his early 20s before he first rode a motorcycle. It happened at a movie studio in Berlin—where else?—when he saw a woman on an off-road enduro bike in a parking lot. He approached her and asked if she’d teach him to ride, which she agreed to on the spot. (If you’re wondering why a woman would do that for a total stranger, search “Keanu Reeves in the 80s” in Google Images.)

Not long after he got back to Los Angeles, he bought a 1973 Mk2a Norton Commando, having long admired the classic brand. That bike currently sits in the Arch shop, which is notable for two reasons: One, few longtime riders are lucky enough to be able to hold onto their first bike. Two, over the years Reeves has…suffered some mishaps.

“Yeah, I’ve fallen off a few times,” he admits of the accidents he’s had on a variety of bikes. He takes a swig of water, then corrects himself. “Not ‘fallen off.’ Crashed. I’ve got a couple of hit-by-cars. A couple of going-too-fast. I’ve laid a couple of bikes down but I was riding in the winter, so that’s not really ‘crashing.’ That’s about it. The usual stuff.”

He’s broken ribs, knocked out teeth, sliced his leg open so deep that bone was visible. His most spectacular accident occurred in 1988, only a couple years after that day in Berlin. Reeves was riding alone at night in Malibu’s Topanga Canyon when he took one of the twisties too fast. By the time he came to a stop, he was lying on the pavement wondering if he was about to die. As you know, he didn’t—but he did fuck himself up pretty bad.

“I ruptured my spleen,” he says matter-of-factly. The widely reported version of the story goes that he needed the organ removed, but Reeves says it’s still intact. “They sutured it up and put a Band-Aid on.” He has a gnarly scar running vertically from his sternum down to his belly button, but in the right light it just ends up accentuating his abs because, well, he’s Keanu.

Reeves first met Hollinger through a mutual acquaintance about two decades after that crash, when Reeves wanted a custom sissy bar—basically, a backrest for a passenger—added to his 2005 Harley Davidson Dyna. Hollinger, who at that point was a relatively well-known, well-respected customizer with his own small LA shop, wasn’t interested.

“I knew I could build him the world’s most expensive sissy bar,” Hollinger says, “but I also knew it wouldn’t be satisfying for either of us.”

Instead, Hollinger spent the next five years completely reimagining the bike. He’d work in spurts, changing or adding something, then handing the bike back over to Reeves for months. By the time the bike was finished, Hollinger says, about the only parts of the original Dyna still remaining were the engine and the serial number on the chassis. Today that bike—a chromed-out ride fit for Mad Max—is displayed in the shop, the inspiration for what eventually became Arch.

Keanu Reeves on motorcycle wearing black canvas jacket and sunglasses Brian Bowen Smith

Eventually being the key word. When, during the long process of modding the bike, Reeves first suggested to Hollinger that the two team up to start a motorcycle company, Hollinger didn’t have to think about his answer.

“I knew what a tough business it is, what a challenge it would be—and that it would not be a great investment,” Hollinger, now 63, says with a laugh. “It was a wonderful motorcycle I built and it was wonderful getting to know Keanu, but starting a motorcycle company sounded like a horrible idea.”

Reeves didn’t relent. As the pair became better friends—and as the motorcycle continued to take shape—they’d have long conversations about the realities of starting the company. Hollinger would show up to their discussions with pages of questions written on a legal pad, but what gradually eroded his hesitation was the thoughtfulness with which Reeves described the experience of riding a motorcycle.

Finally, nearly convinced, Hollinger asked Reeves to boil everything down to one reason why they should do something as seemingly crazy as starting a motorcycle company. The actor came up with it on the spot—a reason Hollinger immediately understood, which allowed him to envision the company and its worth as an opportunity to do something meaningful and long-lasting.

“Because,” Reeves told him, channeling the mortality-obsessed 11-year-old kid gawking at dudes on motorcycles, “we’re going to die.”

Related: 2023 Arch 1s Sport Cruiser Is the American (V-twin) Dream

There have been many jokes made over the years about Reeves being a dummy, but after spending about 8 seconds with the guy it’s obvious he’s keenly intelligent. I mention that I read lots of sci-fi and fantasy books as a kid, which prompts him to ask whether I have opinions on several titles, followed by recommendations to read several others.

Thing is, his idiosyncratic public persona—which is sort of like Ted (not Bill) if Ted were a little more shy and a much better dresser—isn’t an act. Reeves isn’t trying to fool his critics or fans. And he isn’t really putting on an act in an attempt to prevent people from knowing who he is. He’s just this very singular, introspective, likable person who happened to become a pop culture icon.

All of that said? He can be pretty goofy. His physical mannerisms are sometimes at odds with what he’s saying, like he’s being controlled by feuding puppeteers. He speaks haltingly, stopping and starting and stopping again, often all in the same sentence, as he considers what exactly he wants to say or, just as likely, what he doesn’t want to say. More than once over the course of an afternoon he giggles—yes, giggles—at something he says or thinks, placing his cupped hand over his mouth like a theatrical school child hiding laughter; the gesture is as strange as it is endearing. He's somehow both laconic and verbose, calm and keyed up.

Although Reeves has long been known as “The internet’s boyfriend,” he’s currently dating—sorry, internet—acclaimed visual artist Alexandra Grant. The pair first collaborated on the 2011 book Ode to Happiness after having known each other previously; in the following years they collaborated on other projects and co-founded the small book imprint X Artists’ Books. Their romantic relationship began about five years ago but only became public knowledge two years in, when they arrived at a red carpet event together.

When asked about Grant, Reeves leans back in his chair as though trying to put both metaphorical and literal distance between himself and the idea of discussing his personal life.

So, uh, maybe it’s best to make it about bikes: What’s Grant’s opinion of Reeves’ (occasionally injurious) motorcycle fixation?

“She used to have a motorcycle, so she’s fine with it,” Reeves says. Then he pauses, as he so often does, seemingly considering whether to say anything more. “She hasn’t ridden in a while.”

Despite his lifelong love of bikes, Reeves hasn’t ridden them much in his movies. There’s a brief scene in the landmark 1991 indie film My Own Private Idaho. There’s some riding in 1996’s Chain Reaction, including one scene in which he manages to outrun an exploding hydrogen reactor. He’s technically on a bike in John Wick 3 while battling bad guys, but that was all done while stationary in front of a green screen. He has no interest in shoehorning Arches into his movies, though a couple of Arches are featured in the futuristic 2020 video game Cyberpunk 2077, in which he also played a major role.

Reeves says there’s a brief motorcycle scene in the upcoming John Wick 4, a movie whose eventual existence might have been laughed at when the original film debuted. Despite the series’ current status as an unstoppable franchise juggernaut, it originally wasn’t even planned as a franchise—and it certainly didn’t appear destined to be one after John Wick received a somewhat tepid theatrical reception in 2014.

“It had some success in the theater, but it really became more popular in second viewings,” Reeves says. “So the studio asked if we wanted to do another one.”

Reeves does more than just kick unbelievable amounts of ass in the movies; he’s also had a hand in plotting out the sequels. The genesis of the third and fourth installments, he says, took place while he and director Chad Stahelski were on the road promoting the second and third movies, respectively.

“Generally, Chad and I cook ’em up while we’re doing press tours,” Reeves says. “We talk about what we’d do next if the current film does well. I’m like, ‘I want to ride a horse and do a horse chase!’ And Chad says, ‘Yeah, we can do it in Central Park!’”

Reeves says he doesn’t know what comes next for him, but John Wick 5 will almost certainly be an option—if he wants to do it. He’s currently developing a TV series, and maybe he’ll make the motorcycle road movie he’s long thought about making. He’ll also no doubt continue riding bikes and growing Arch because he loves doing both.

He says he may continue BRZRKR, the comic series he co-writes. He won’t stop helping others via his philanthropy (he declines to discuss other than to say it’s “in health and the arts”). And he’ll burnish his already-glowing reputation as, in his words, “a pretty respectful and considerate person,” because that’s how he likes to treat people.

“I’m just,” Reeves says as his mouth curls into a smirk and his arms shoot out in front of him as though he’s pleading to be believed, “a normal guy.”

via keanuworld

#keanu reeves #arch motorcycle #motorcycles

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love-anddeepression · 2 years ago

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Haven't I? -2

Thank you so much for the love on part-1<33 i hope you enjoy part 2! please comment and reblog if you like it<3 part 3

a/n- panic attacks, some crying, joel feeling like a failure, canon divergence.

You love Maria, you really do. But at this moment in time all you want to do is throttle her.

The hinges are abnormally loud and the floor creaks as you walk in to leave the supplies for the women in the house.

There’s two main bedrooms, one is the children’s and the other the master. You peep into the girl’s and find it empty, so you leave the red shirt and diva cup on her bed before making your way to the master bedroom.

The moment you step inside there’s a flash of black moving towards you and you shift to your side out of pure instinct and throw the pile of clothes at her face.

She’s bent over and glaring at you. The woman.

“Who are you?” she all but growls.

You put your arms up in front of you as if you’re calming a rabid animal, “ Maria asked me to drop this off. I’m a neighbour.”

“Why didn’t you knock?” She picks the clothes up from the floor

“I wanted it to be over quick.”

She curls her lip at you and you want to do nothing more than to get it off her face but you can’t help but feel bad for her, so you stay quiet behind your mask.

“Well you’ve done your job. You can leave.”

You brush past her silently. It’s something you do that creeps even Tommy out. If you want to, you can make someone feel your silence.

“Wait!”Her shrill voice makes you stop in your tracks and look over your shoulder.

“Thank you.”

All you do is nod and walk away.

————-

“So it went well?” Maria asks as she places the hideous coat on the counter.

“She thought I was an intruder and tried to attack me.” You deadpan as you cut cucumbers..

You can hear her trying not to laugh, “ Go to hell.”

“Thank you for doing that.” she replies, suddenly serious.

You whirl, waving the knife. “Oh, now you’re suddenly nice? Who are you and what have you done with my Maria?”

“I’m your sister, even if Tommy isn’t your brother in law anymore.”

Your mouth falls slightly apart at her harsh truth, “That’s mean.”

She slowly walks up to you, “I know.”

“You’re mean.”

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes begin to water, how much more pathetic can you be? “Why?”

She’s face to face now, “Why what?”

A sob leaves your lips, “Why, Maria?”

She pulls you to her and hugs you as tight as she can, shushing your whimpers as you shake. It’s hitting you again, the knowledge that it’s truly over, “I’m so sorry.”

The sound of the door opening makes you pull away and turn around, bracing yourself on the kitchen counter.

“Hello?” a little girl’s voice calls out. It’s the girl who came with Joel and the woman, Tina.

From where you are in the kitchen, the both of you can see her walk into the main hall and she stops to look at the memorial of Sarah and Kevin and an immature bolt of anger flows through you. She’s standing there, the same age as Sarah, and it’s wrong of you to feel this way towards a child, but it hurts to see that she’s there and your daughter isn’t. And some horrible part of you is furious because you’re terrified that Joel has forgotten. Which is stupid, because of course he hasn’t.

She squeezes your shoulder and takes the hideous purple jacket she left on the kitchen island earlier. You can hear the both of them begin to talk and slip out. In your haste, your mask is left behind.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

Why is it so hard to breathe?

He’s braced himself against the lamp post , and it’s as if all the air in his lungs has been sucked out. All he can think of is Sarah. And of you. Of his wife who disappeared from his life, like a cruel magic trick, all that he’s loved seems to disappear. And now with Ellie, and Amy. All he’s going to do is fail them, just like he failed Sarah, like he failed you-

Who is that?

There’s a woman with hair just like yours, turned away from him in the crowd. The little voice in his head tells him that he’s being an idiot but his body seems to move of its own accord and with every step towards her he finds his heart beating faster.

He sees her freeze when he says her name and she slowly turns around.

It isn’t her.

This woman isn’t his wife. Her face looks like it's been mauled by an animal and her skin is puckered with pock marks. Her eyes stare into his and he’s stammering out an apology, “Shit, I’m sorry, ma’am. Thought you were someone else.”

She only looks at him and smiles a little, but it looks like she’s grimacing and her eyes are scrunched up. She nods, “No problem.”

He turns around and leaves to god knows where, he needs to get away after making a spectacular ass of himself. He finds himself in a workshop of sorts and decides to finally fix his damn boots. It’s about damn time.

Back at the bar, the woman with the scarred face informs his brother that he needs a new pair of boots.

—---------

“Boots?”

“Yes, Tommy. The one’s he’s wearing are busted. He’ll trip and fall and probably die if he keeps using them.” you say, exasperated.

“How’d you know that? You talked to him?”

You look away, wishing you hadn’t stupidly forgotten your mask, “He came up to me, said my name, and when I turned around, looked at me and apologised because he thought I was someone else.”

He raises his eyebrows and slides his glass over to you.

You take a sip and sigh, “I’m uh, I’m still your sister right? Even if I’m not um..your sister in law?”

He looks at you as if you have two heads, “Of course you are, the fuck’s wrong with you?”

You smile and look down at your shoes, “Okay.”

“So, boots?” he raises his eyebrows and gestures to the seat.

—---------------

The town’s a surprise, she admits. To see so many new people, people who don’t have to keep their walls up and can let people in.

She scoffs at the quaintness of the movie theatre, as if everything is ever going to be the same. It’s pointless to imagine the world will go back to the way it was. Ellie seems to be as uncomfortable as she is, and she can’t help but feel like an antsy guard dog when any kid comes close to the teenager.

The woman that came to the house isn’t here, or maybe she is, maybe now she’s not wearing that mask and is acting like another normal person with no problems.

As if any of these people know what loss is.

“Amy, you okay?” Maria asks her and she subtly clenches her jaw. Leave me alone.

“I’m fine.” keep it short, curt. You don’t owe her your niceness, you already owe her your life.

“You look uncomfortable.” the woman replies.

“Not used to so many people.” and she doesn’t like it.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Amy doesn’t reply, only grunts. Much like Joel, she reason. She owes him everything, whatever this thing is between them, the unspoken glances and the smiles that Ellie pretends she doesn’t see. She can’t deny that she’s falling in love with him.

There’s a chorus of laughter and she looks at the crowd of children.

Ellie’s gone. Shit. She’s not in here.

She leaves Maria and races out, the town’s new and the kid had a penchant for getting into shit situations.

She can see her, in the distance. Walking away with all the furiousness of a little raccoon.

“Ellie!” she calls out and jogs to her as the girl turns around, “You can’t just slip away like that, what’s wrong with you?”

She grabs her shoulder and pulls the girl to her, making her look up.

“He’s leaving us.” the girl murmurs.

“What?”

There’s unshed tears in her eyes as she looks to the side, “He’s leaving us. He wants Tommy and some other woman to take us.”

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

"She's someone very close to us." Tommy says.

"I don't trust no one but you Tommy. You and Amy are enough." Joel replies harshly.

"I go with her, or I don't go at all, Joel."

"What even is her name?" he scoffs.

He wants to say your name, he really does. It's on the tip of his tongue and he says the first syllable and Joel eyes widen.

"It's Mitch. Her name is Mitch."

Joel clenches his jaw, "Alright. But I swear, she does anything, I'm not the one to be afraid of. Amy's not going to like this anyway, she'll want to probably put a bullet in between both of your knees."

Tommy huffs out some semblance of a laugh, after this, you're gonna want to take a hammer to his knees. But he doesn't trust himself to act civil with any of them, if Maria wasn't pregnant, he'd ask her to come along. But by some dumb luck, she is, so he's going to have to go with you.

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

The walk back to the house fills him with dread. It's the right thing to do, he knows that. But he's not looking forward to breaking the news to them.

The door squeaks open and he cringes and steps inside. It's dark.

There's no one in the hall, nor in the kitchen.

The stairs creep with every guilt-ridden step he takes, as if he's going to his own execution.

Ellie's room is empty, her bag is missing. He's breathing heavily. His wife would call it a panic attack, with her extensive knowledge of how people's brains worked.

In blind panic he stumbles to the main room, and it's dark and empty.

On the bed there's a note,

"Like you said, we're only cargo."

He falls to his knees, and brings his hand to his mouth to try and contain his breaths. Every memory he's been trying to repress since his wife went missing, since his baby girl's death comes back. He'd failed them, they're dead and gone because of him.

And now, he's failed the people he loves most, all over again.

All that leaves his mouth is a gut wrenching scream. All he's given in return is the echo of his own failure.

They're gone.

taglist-@daddy-din @ephemerensis@charlyrmv@bellaramseysbitch@trippoverrtt @im-constantly-fangirling@pussy-f41ry@corvusmorte@mrknifes@corpsebridenightamare@chesirecat000@glshmbl@jbcalway@o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi@glshmbl

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x ofc #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #tommy miller

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stabbyfoxandrew · 7 months ago

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I hope I made it in time for wip Wednesday!!!! I'd love some of my darling angel neil please!!!

WIP Wednesday (4/24) | Guardian Angel Neil AU (Part 176)

When they get to the seasonal costume shop inside the mall, Andrew is a bit dismayed at the oodles of costumes still clinging to the racks. Because, knowing Nicky, it means they’ll be here all night. He sighs and follows the others inside, picking through the disaster area and finding nothing at all.

Until his hand grazes a horribly-textured piece of white fabric. He pulls it out by its hanger, wondering what on earth it could possibly be. The photo on the tag shows what it’s supposed to look like and Andrew laughs so hard fears he might piss his pants.

Because... It’s an angel costume.

A short, toga-esque thing made of shitty polyester, meant to be coupled with a pair of mangy wings and a plastic halo stuck on a headband. Each sold separately, of course. Oh, it is horrendous, funny as it is.

Andrew can’t imagine Neil…

Oh, wait. He can. Andrew freezes solid at the thought of Neil wearing nothing but this glorified hand towel. Oh shit. It would be short enough to show off his legs and— Andrew glances back down at the photo— it would also expose half of his chest. Fucking hell.

Andrew shakes his head. He’s not sure if he’d be able to function if his angel dressed like this. Maybe it’s a good thing that Neil is a hoodie-and-jeans sort of guy.

“Oh my god! Is that a sexy angel costume?” Nicky squawks beside him, breaking the daydream and surely doing permanent damage to his hearing.

“I suppose it is,” Andrew shrugs. It would be, but only if Neil was the angel in it. He goes to put it back where he found it but Nicky snatches it up before Andrew can blink.

“Oh, shit. It’s too small for me,” Nicky pouts, dropping it onto the rack. The relief that flood Andrew’s entire being is short-lived when Aaron pops up behind them.

“They probably have other sizes. Just go ask.” Aaron suggests. Oh, the betrayal. Andrew wants to throttle him for the way Nicky’s face lights up.

“You’re right! I will,” Nicky beams and floats over to the checkout where a girl has been flipping through a magazine since they came in. Nicky returns a moment later, disappointed. “She said all they have is on the floor. No sexy angel for me.”

“Oh pity,” Andrew lies, thanking whatever higher power just saved him from being forced to see Nicky parade around in that getup at Eden’s. He shuffles away from his relatives to see Kevin looking at something that must be a vampire cape. It’s black and lined with red satin, fitting for a Raven.

However, Kevin will never be a Raven again despite his tendency to gravitate towards their colors. As if reading Andrew’s mind, Kevin drops it like he’s been burned and even wipes his hands on his pants. Andrew gives his quiet approval and goes to find something cheap and simple for himself. He finally finds it in a bin marked $5. And he checks out quickly before leaning against the wall and watching the others scavenge.

#they're getting ready for halloween!!! :D yay! any guesses what andrew is gonna wear?#also i made a really stupid doodle of andrew thinking about Sexy Angel Neil on a sticky note. but i don't know where it is now :')#andreil #aftg #WIP Wednesday #Guardian Angel Neil AU #🕊️#answered #ittybittyybaker #:D <3 #long post

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ofallplaceswhythis · 8 months ago

Text

tcoptp thoughts pt.16

the black brothers angst better be healing

remus and tomny will be the death of me

every wolfstar fanfic needs to have sirius sleeping in remus' bed while james loos for him blissfully unaware

Yayy regulus and remus <33 [nevermind he got angry pretty fast]

Lol wtf is with remus and his fangirls random girls saying hi get that nick nelson thing out of my face this isnt heartstopper

REGULUS?! fucking prank wars gonna start between them now

Marlene its ok im on your side

remus getting chased by girls is his villain origin story

OMG REGULUS IS TRANS IN THIS?!?!

trish is like that random person in class who you think is just off-putting but they're actually really cool and just give you bits of information like a treat of friendship

i love their trio can they please hang out more?? please please ple-

remus and regulus are back <3

impossible improbable, sirius and nikolai would have loved each other istg there has to be one fanfic where they met

'i look for you in other people' remus ik you write poems but this is top tier poetry i cant believe someone actually wrote this

think this deserves a special point but mots putting disaster girl author notes seems fitting and creepy and now im scared

me making myself forget every wolfstar angst that ever happens is a form of self care otherwise i'll cry

............ just kill me at this point why dont you <33

brb guys smt got in my eye

.........holy fuck,,, never going to recover

is this some sort of "the prank" equivalent cause idk how i feel about that (can anything be worse than this?)

EFFIE YOU ARE THE GREATEST MOM IN EXISTENCE

'bite me, suspender stanley' im crying 💀💀

kinda dont like sirius rn and my mind is viciously attacking me for it

ok so remus ran away and is now with tomny, amazing fantastic gl-

never have i felt more pain than i did rn

this is the weirdest take on the miscommunication trope ive seen

hi guys can you please sort the fuck out of your shit? thanks <3

...do the girls know somehow or they just guessed? wont be suprised either way tbh they can actually talk about their feelings

how the fuck is remus suprised that people can actually guess what he and sirius were doing its so obvious like asdfghjklzxcvbnm

please please please please please please please please stop

'im so fucking mental about you' asdfghjklzxcvbnmqwertyuiop

'im not a poet' 'part-time then' THE TITLE'S HERE HGHGDHDSUI

SUNFLOWER FUCKING IN THE BATHROOM GSDGSDGSGFGRS

'youre like a dad to me' asdfghjklqwertyuiopzxcvbnmabcdefghijk

TOMNY MEETING THE GUYS YES ASDFGHJKLQWERTYUIOP

K what happened with tomny and sirius cause im concerned that sirius will actually throttle/kill him.

#the cadence of part time poets #my thoughts #sirius black #remus lupin #regulus black #james potter #wolfstar #the marauders

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moodymisty · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I really love you work! I just finished Tree in Bloom on AO3, it’s so cute, I can’t wait to see where the relationship between strife and the human takes them! I was reading though your fics about taking the horsemen’s horses for a joy ride and was wondering if you could do something similar for Strife and Mayhem where we/the human takes mayhem on a little joy ride? Thank you!! 💖

Author’s note: Are we connected? lol but no joke, I’ve had this idea for a bit since someone on Ao3 was also interested in this idea, but I never went full ham on it since I had some other projects take precedence. But hey, here it is! Time to steal Strife’s ride too.

Also I'm glad you like tree in bloom so far! Your comment will fuel me for the next week while i finish blocking out the next chapter. I have a pretty decent idea on where to take it, but I won't say I'm not flying by the seat of my pants lol

Relationships: Strife/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None, unless you consider horseback riding and brief mentions of weaponry worth warning about

“Don’t wander off too far~”

You can’t help but sarcastically mimic the Horsemen, as you kick around small rocks and pebbles that are unfortunate enough to come into the path of your worn old boots.

You wouldn't have had to wander off, if this whole day hadn't been so tediously fucking boring.

The Makers are some of the only beings alive who can even attempt to fiddle with Nephilim weaponry, and even then, they still have trouble. Lots of it, apparently; As what sounds on paper like a quick fix, had turned into an all day affair.

It’s a lost art, sadly. But Alya and Valus are willing to try, which is more than enough considering the circumstances. Even if Strife tries to maintain an attitude of eternal nonchalance about Nephilim relics, even he can't deny the importance of safe guarding them from being used; At minimum, if his sentiment on the matter is long gone.

Not for their lack of trying, fixing the weapon seems to be taking quite along while however, as you’ve long since wandered out of the Tri-Forge. You've since taken to wandering the wooded paths surrounding, while you wait for Strife to have the knife finally returned to him. He refuses to let it out of his sight, so he stays. He says Death would throttle him all the way to Hell if he lost it.

At least the Maker’s realm is so pretty.

If you look high and far off in the distance, you think you can see the Tri-Forge, but it’s hard to tell. Maybe if you started walking, you could make it there before it got too dark. Probably what you should do in all honesty, but the temptation of spending some more quiet time out here is to strong for you to actually make any effort to move.

This patch of soft grass has become your pleasant little spot, brushing it with your palms as you breath in the woodsy scents of the forest.

Suddenly, a rustle in the woods makes you perk up from where you’re sitting on the ground. You're hand instantly reaches for your hip, while your eyes scan the surrounding area for the source of the movement. It couldn't have been too far away.

You have your knife, but not much else. Most of the aggressive wildlife in the forests around the Tri-Forge only come out at night, or they’ve been pushed far back now that the Makers have a better hold on the realm. Either way, you aren't exactly interesting in having a tussle with anything that might try to start one with you.

Thankfully however, it isn’t an angry creature looking for a meal.

“Mayhem?”

The ghostly looking horse is standing about two meters away as he breaches a set of closely knit together trees, curiously looking at you. His hooves are muffled by the dirt as he walks closer, staring dead at you during the entire approach.

“Something didn’t happen, did it?” The horse looks at you, black eyes staring; Before then giving one indignant snort that is powerful enough to shake his head.

“Guess not.”

Looking away from the horse your watch your feet, tapping the ground with a toe as the grass bends beneath it. As you do you suddenly see a front hoof enter your vision, having to move said foot to avoid it being accidentally stepped on. Shortly there after you can feel the harsh snort of hair blow your hair around, as his head comes even closer to you.

He’s curious, looking around and watching the way you seem bored. For a moment his upper lip just barely brushes the top of your head, before he moves his head lower to your front.

“Hey, gentle.”

His snout presses into your stomach, making it easy for your arms to wrap around his large head. You do so loosely, before putting your cheek to the top of his head in a gentle hug. You're surprised he let you, honestly. His fur is warm in the few areas where you can feel it, while the rest is covered by armor. When he pulls back, you shake your head of at him.

“You are a strange horse.”

Strange but, nice. Over time you’ve found yourself becoming less scared of him like you had been on first sight. Mayhem is intimidating on first glance, but soft on the inside. Much like his rider.

After giving you a curious sniff Mayhem takes a few steps sideways, getting enough space between the two of you that he can safely pivot, pawing at the ground a few times while you watch.

Gently he gets down on one front hock, and then the other, before he then flops onto his side with an ungraceful ‘thud’. He’s now laying down and looking right at you, nostrils flaring as he lets out a harsh breath while his legs are curled inward. He looks remarkably comfortable like that, laying in the grass and crushing a few flowers underneath his weight. A few manage to avoid that unfortunate fate, and stay upwards brushing against his legs or belly.

Mayhem at first was incredibly finicky and distrusting of you- much like his rider in some ways, but it seems over time he’s gradually opened up. As such he doesn’t much mind when you get up to move and sit down beside him, right in front of his chest, putting your back against it. His neck brushes against your right arm while looking at you.

“He’ll be done eventually, I hope. I can feel myself aging.”

Mayhem gives an uncaring blow of his lips, much like a raspberry, in response. Your fingers absentmindedly play with the fabric of your pants, trying to find something to occupy your mind as you relax. The ghostly horse meanwhile just watches, his armor pieces clinking against each other whenever he does any significant adjustment of his body.

You reach up and feel at the soft fur behind his ear, eyes hooded, feeling it flick in your hand. He doesn't move away from it, and if anything, drops his head a bit lower so you can get a better reach until the hand pull away. You scoot your body downward ever so slightly, now leaning onto the horse a little bit more than before.

“Shouldn’t be much longer,” You hope.

Suddenly jerking upright, your muscles are tight at being moved so quick, eyes still blurry as you yawn and look around.

Shit, you’d fallen asleep.

The sky is now turning a pretty orange, but it still isn’t quite dark yet.

Meanwhile Mayhem whinnies at your sudden movement, having been startled but not enough so to move. Guess he didn’t mind being a pillow for awhile, if at no point did he decide to get up. If anything, he seemed to have gotten a bit of a nap in himself. Or whatever the ghostly, distinctly un-horse-like creature equivalent is.

That also meant at no point had Strife called for his steed, which does manage to worry you slightly. Then again, it probably just means that damn weapon is taking even more time that had been originally thought.

Maybe you should head back to the Tri-Forge, especially now that it’s getting dark. Even if the woods are wonderful, it still might not be the brightest idea to stick around them when you have no source of light.

Still a little stiff from sleep you groan as you pull away from Mayhem, slowly getting to your feet. Given his stature it takes Mayhem a moment longer to do the same, but it’s not long after you that he’s all the way upright. He gives himself one good shake, rattling all his armor and letting out a loud snort.

Mayhem is perhaps the most lithe of the Horsemen’s steeds, though it’s not to say the horse is of smaller size by any means. He still towers over you more than almost any normal horse could dream of.

He's also your best chance at getting back to Strife before it's pitch dark, and you'll only have the moon to light your way. Not nearly enough light, by your human standards.

“The forge is a decent walk away,” You’ve ridden Mayhem before, but never without Strife, so you know this might be a bit of a tough sell.

“Mind giving me a ride?”

Cold eyes stare you down- but he didn’t recoil in disgust, or anything similar. Then again, can he even really understand what you're asking of him?

Stepping closer you grab the side of the saddle and attempt to hop on, but end up coming quite a bit short. Getting quite quickly keen on what you’re trying to do Mayhem bends his front legs before laying back down, putting his back low enough for you to throw a leg over and hop on.

Good to know you don't need Strife for a boost, if he insists on being an ass about it again.

“Thanks for the assist.” The horse whinnies.

He also begins moving much to your surprise, though he already has the right direction in mind.

Your feet sort of dangle uselessly close to the stirrups, unable to actually put any weight on them. They were adjusted for someone with quite a bit of height on you, after all. Though at least the saddle itself is comfortable, with a comfortable curve meant for long hours of sitting and stability. The reins in your hand stay loose and floppy, unused, as Mayhem just seems to be going where ever you’re looking anyways.

It’s getting pretty dark now; The sky is now a deep orange fading into purple, with rays of light drastically retracting themselves from the scenery. With it getting so dim you decide to pick up the pace a little bit, sending Mayhem into a light run.

It’s wild; Having to hold on so tight without Strife here to be a brace against your back, but it’s invigorating, for sure. And Mayhem is being quite the good soul, not throwing you off to leave you in the dust. He could've quite easily done so at any point, especially since when you two first met, the horse was distinctly not fond of you.

“We’re here!”

Slowing back down to a walk you reach the front of the Tri-Forge in nowhere near record time, but you at least beat the sunset; Which was the main goal. Doing it fast was just a bonus.

As cobblestones slowly peek up more and more frequently between tufts of grass you move closer, listening out for anything familiar. The sound of hooves on the paving stones is such a nice sound, gentle and even paced as you enter. You could maybe get used to riding a horse everywhere, if it was always this peaceful.

Knocking you out of your thoughts however Valus suddenly stops you, and with quite the look, too. Not that you can blame exactly blame him. He's always been the Maker that seems to have it out for you- but in a overprotectively caring sort of way.

“And uh, what are you doin’ there lass?”

You glance from side to side for a moment before responding.

“Looking for Strife? He’s been gone awhile and it was getting dark, so I decided to head back.”

You speak about the Horseman with such familiarity, more so than any of the other three. He sighs, watching you intently.

“He's by the inner forge with Alya. Givin' her quite the stare down as she fixes that nasty ol' dagger for him.”

Nasty more so in the sense that it's apparently an old weapon of mass destruction, than dirty.

At least you assume mass; You don't know any of the details, as Strife unsurprisingly beat around them when you inquired. He still has some problems telling you about the Nephilim.

You smile at Valus, wide enough to nearly show teeth. Feeling Mayhem shift underneath you, you decide to sit up straight and keep moving.

He says one more thing, however.

“Be careful, lass.”

You don’t know what Valus sees in Strife that you don’t; But then again, he could say the same sort of thing right back at you. You know that the Makers don’t have a fond view of the remaining Nephilim, and while you might be understanding, you’ve been too close to Strife to even think ill of him. Or any of his siblings, for that matter.

Riding forwards you pass Valus and don’t look back out of just a little bit of nervousness, and seeing Alya indeed working at the forge. You see Strife once you get close enough that one of the pillars no longer obscures him, and you call out his name and hope to catch his attention.

“Strife?”

You can see his back is turned, but he noticeably perks up the moment he hears his name. Quickly taking the knife from the Maker he moves away, down the half flight of steps right towards you and his horse.

He tries to hold back the look of surprise when he sees you sitting astride Mayhem, but you still manage to notice the way his eyes widen behind his mask.

“Hey gorgeous,”

He comes closer, slotting the dagger safely back into the the sheathe he has on his hip for it. Heavy boots hit on the cobblestone paths as he crosses his arms, hip cocked slightly out to one side.

“So uh,” Strife takes a look at Mayhem, who has his head held low and relaxed. His ear twitches as he hears his rider speak, eyes moving to look towards the Horsemen. “He just let you get on, huh?”

You nod. “Yeah." Your face suddenly becomes a bit more unsure. "Why, was he not supposed to let me?”

Strife shakes his head and laughs you off.

“Nah, you’re fine. I was just surprised you managed to even get in the saddle, that’s all.”

Insulting your shorter stature than his own manages to sway your attention for just a moment, and he can look over the scene.

The amount of times you've ridden on Mayhem with him has made you significantly more comfortable around him that you had when you'd first met, as your legs dangle comfortably, arms at your sides. Mayhem rests as well, body loose as he waits for something interesting to happen.

Creators, she’s even got my horse wrapped around her finger. I’m fucked.

Stepping closer he grabs along the front of the saddle, before using his other hand to hit your hip softly.

“Let me on, will ya?”

It’s not like you have any issue with him taking his horse back, grasping the saddlehorn and sticking boot in the stirrup, the weight of him putting pressure on it leaning the saddle towards him. Once he finally seats himself behind you however he puts his hands on your legs, rather than taking the reins from you.

“Well now that you got here, how about you let me have a break for a second? Not like Death'll notice me being a few minutes late.”

Of course he’ll take the opportunity to be lazy; Not that you blame him, his lot in life doesn’t exactly leave many opportunities.

You gently move Mayhem forward, walking out the same way you entered as Strife lazily lays against you. He’s massively overdoing it and with how ungodly heavy he is, especially in his full armor, and it’s hard to not just crumble forward. The chin of his armor rests on the top of your head, and he feels content as can be.

Once you’re out of the Tri-Forge and back out into open land you still keep moving with no clear destination in mind; Strife hasn’t given you one, so you largely just steer towards whatever catches your interest.

Before you have a chance to reach any of those interesting points however, Strife gently grasps the reins with one hand for caution, while then talking close to your ear.

“Now, wanna try going for a real ride?”

You barely have a chance to answer Strife gives Mayhem a good kick to send him barreling forward, forcing you to hold onto the reins for dear life. Strife's right here however, and even going so fast nothing would even happen with him and Mayhem both looking out for you.

So he watches you in front of him as you learn on the fly, even if he’s helping to tell Mayhem when to turn with pressure from his legs.

You’re laughing like mad and the wind’s blowing in your hair, even on a horse meant to bring suffering and unrest to anyone who catches even a glimpse.

Strife had thought he was fucked before, but now he realizes he really is; Holding onto you tight so you’ll never leave his vision.

#strife x reader #darksiders x reader #Strife/Reader #strife x you #darksiders x you #mywriting

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