#gangs of London imagines
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Duchess - A Sean Wallace/Sex Worker!Reader One Shot Story.
This mans has me feeling a certain way. Feral. So yes, you get to enjoy it, too!
Words - 1,810
Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!
Sean Wallace is a man who thrives on the exertion of control, in every aspect of his life. Every facet is subject to meticulous planning and detail, his time valuable. If you are in his life, you serve to him a purpose, otherwise you are merely a waste of time he could spend being productive elsewhere. He enjoys the finely tuned machine that is building his life with those who serve him well in a professional capacity, and this is exactly why he sees you twice weekly.
“I do not entertain the notion of dating or relationships. They're much too complicated. Way too time consuming.”
He told you this upon your first meet, when you inquired why he sought the services of a high-class escort.
“Trust me, you are exactly what I am searching for.”
You aim to please, and god, what a pleasure it is to please him. He’s young, he’s powerful and he’s incredibly handsome. And rich, wealthy enough to afford the high price tag attached to the services you provide. And goodness, how the man can fuck. Sometimes, you often think it should be you paying him for the way he so expertly pounds you into your bed.
Rarely do you enjoy yourself so honestly with a client, have the pleasure you give to him matched in such delicious reciprocation. With Sean, he never deviates from being anything short of an incredible lover.
‘Wear black tonight. You know I like you best in black.’
You tingle with anticipation at reading his text, knowing you only have mere hours to wait until your favourite client will arrive at your Wharfside apartment.
Once your makeup and grooming routine has been executed pristinely, black Victoria’s Secret underwear donning your freshly bathed body, a black Gucci dress chosen, and perfume spritzed strategically, you are ready. He doesn’t keep you waiting.
“Good evening, duchess.” Those words, delivered upon a silky-smooth, cut-glass accent causes heat to rise over your skin, Sean entering your apartment, waiting for you to lead him through to the bedroom. He always lets you lead. Why? So that his hands can wander over your body as your walk, appreciating the swing of your hips, the way the black cloth hugs your curves, to lay kisses upon the back of your neck as he closes the space between you.
Feeling the heat of his body against your back has a flurry of heat gathering between your legs, your dress eased down, his strong hands smoothing over the fabric of your underwear. “You look sensational, as always.” With his mouth at your neck, you feel mindless already, but not so much that you don’t notice him discreetly place a smooth, white envelope upon the shelf beside the bedroom door, your fee within for the transaction you would happily give him for free, should this not be your chosen profession.
It never feels like work with him, though.
You turn to him, his eyes a chilling freeze of blue, the angles of his face shadowed in the low light of the room. Some sex workers insist on no kissing, feeling such an exchange too intimate. You’ve always thought that to be nonsense, taking into mind the intimacy of penetration. A man puts his cock in you, but his lips may not meet yours?
No. Not in your bedroom.
Your mouths join in sensual exploration, his tongue rolling against yours as your fingers begin to work deftly to undress him, revealing the utter grandeur of his body. Lithe muscles concealed within the expanse of pale, freckle flecked skin delight your eyes, your tongue circling his nipple before you sit at the foot of your bed.
His thumb trails your lip as you look up at him, hands unfastening his belt, stripping him nude, perhaps the most impressive part of him already hard and waiting for your attentions. undoubtedly, he has the most perfect cock you’ve ever seen, and in your profession, you’ve seen many.
“How much extra would I have to pay you, to not use a condom?”
“You couldn’t afford it.”
“I’ve never been fond of those who presume they can dictate my finances. Will another five hundred suffice?”
“No.”
“Seven fifty?”
“No.”
“A thousand, and a letter from my doctor confirming a clean bill of health, STI wise?”
Never let it be said that Sean Wallace is not a skilled negotiator, that conversation between you many months ago the only reason why when your tongue runs in a slow, firm lick from the base to tip of his cock, there’s no latex barrier between them. He shudders, a breathy exclamation fluttering over his full lips as he feels the warmth of your mouth encase him, sliding down over his thick shaft, his fingers trailing your scalp as they comb through your hair.
With your mouth working in slow, wet tease and your fingernails gently trailing up and down his back, you have him winding tight in no time, his groans deep and full bodied. “You always look so very pretty, when you have my cock in your mouth.”
Watching you sucking upon him with such expert aplomb, his eyes the fall closed, his chest beginning to heave as his breaths shallow, the thick bulk of him twitching against your tongue. “Not that I do not adore your mouth, duchess, but for now, there is a place upon you that I wish to put mine even more.”
Sparks of anticipation flicker through you as he pushes you back onto the bed, his body covering yours, hands roaming as he begins to scatter kisses across your neck. His exploration is slow, careful, his mouth laying kisses to every part of your body revealed from the removal of your underwear, the heat of his skin searing. His mouth takes time to lower, his tongue swirling your navel as his hands bracket your waist, lowering, lowering.
You gasp softly, his tongue meeting the velvet of your cunt, dragging your slit firmly. A few more long, slow licks skim your folds, the hot roll of his tongue settling upon your clit, a radiance of pleasure blooming deep within you. Some men have no clue what on earth to do with a woman where pleasing her with their mouth is concerned; Sean is not one of them.
Closing his mouth around you, he sucks at you, pupils inking into the blue as he feels the honey of your cunt bathing his tongue, a grunt welling his throat, hands grasped firmly upon your hips. You can see him smiling around you, watching as you throw your head back and cry out, knowing your performance isn’t amped up for effect. It’s all him.
Your cries continue to sound the air in blissful sonnet, his tongue fluttering over your clit, featherlight licks making it swell, beating harder and faster, then back to gentle as the pleasure sears right to your marrow. You feel it settling deep, your core throbbing, purring with delight as your fingers skim through his hair, your back arching off the bed as you writhe against the heaven that is his tongue.
Wet heat works your bud with the kind of skill that leaves you breathless, fire chasing frost through your veins, the feel of his neatly trimmed beard prickling at where you are soft and soaking for him offering delicious friction. He pauses, teasing at you with his fingers before they push inside, hooking, his lips planting hot kisses against your inner thigh, watching you begin to fall apart for him.
The pleasure sparks like a flint strike, those little illuminations skittering over your nerves as he returns his tongue to you, gentleness gone as he lays keen, unrelenting licks across your clit. Pure ebullience beams brightly, your panting ascension chased by the punch of his fingers within the wet clasp of your cunt and the rapid flickers offered by a tongue that does not cease until you’re cresting hard for him.
Your hands fist the sheets beneath you, thighs skimming his face as your flames catch against his edges, your release a glittered explosion that leaves you breathless and hungry to be parted around his cock. Of course, he reads your need, pushing your legs apart before sinking himself into you, your walls flexing as he splits you wide, mouth closing around your nipple to suck keenly, his cock bottoming out and dragging back so deliciously slowly, you feel on the verge of tears.
Kissing the whimpers from your lips, he holds you beneath him, moaning against your tongue as he pushes forth again, gliding through the soaking mess of your cunt. He fills you entirely, mouth at your neck as strong snaps from his hips shock you, pulling out entirely, teasing you with the promise of him, chuckling at your frustration as he nibbles the soft skin of your throat.
“Does the duchess crave it, hmm?���
“Mmm,” you purr, stroking his handsome face, watching him catch your fingers between his lips and suck. “She always does when it’s you giving it.”
He moans a laugh, kissing you. “Correct answer.” The silken glide of him has you lost in ecstasy, his mouth touring the other side of your neck, tongue flickering where your pulse flutters madly, filling and emptying you steadily.
The rhythmic, contained pace is not set to last, the need with him coiling like an angry serpent as he gives each thrust with voracity, his short nails digging into your thighs as he sits back on his heels, watching how good it looks as his cock fills and enters you rapidly.
He arrows you thoroughly, every last inch of him sinking into the wet clutch of your cunt as you open for him, panting hard, your moans filling the room as he has you spread and helpless before him, fucking you like a jackhammer. He slows then, thumb languidly swirling over your clit, each thrust more contained, dragging sparks as he scrapes your walls, bending to suck your nipples in turn with an aroused grumble.
That slowness is abandoned once more, Sean railing you into the bed, loving the way you wail for him, hand stroking your cheek before he grasps your jaw in a strong grip, feeding you his thumb as he looks at you with uncontained lust. It escalates sharply, consummation rushing through you as lightning flickers at the base of your spine, striking home as he closes his eyes tightly and moans gutturally, spilling into you, thick ropes of cum warming your fluttering walls further.
You lie breathless against one another, knowing that all he needs is a whiskey and half an hour, and he shall be all over you again.
And he’s the one paying you. What satisfying work it is to be on the sexual payroll of a man both criminal in the streets, and between the sheets.
#sean wallace#sean wallace fanfiction#sean wallace smut#gangs of london#gangs of london fanfiction#gangs of london fanfic#sean wallace fanfic#sean wallace imagine#joe cole
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𝐀𝐬 𝐈𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐬
“𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺
𝘓𝘦𝘵'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥“
Inspo: Hozier - As It Was
Gangs of London Series
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader
Summary: Getting a tip from an old friend, Natasha takes things into her own hands.
Warnings: Slight angst and tiny bit of brutal fighting (broken bones).
Words 3308
“Nat, I will be fine for the night.”
The woman shot up from the bed, chest heaving as she scanned her room frantically. Body covered in sweat from the nightmare that she couldn’t stop reliving for the past week. Hand-tight around the handle of the gun that she hadn’t let leave her side since that night. How could she after the shit Steve’s death has stirred up? She’d be the one idiot in London to not be protected.
Placing the gun down on her bedside table, Natasha swung her legs over the edge of the bed and placed her hands over her face. Ran them over her face and stopped right above her mouth as she stared at the floor. Trying to give herself a moment of calm after the night she so desperately dreaded having to go to sleep.
But when she did eventually relax, she got up from her bed and went to the kitchen. Now, without a job, she was practically poor. Sure, she had enough money to sustain a steady living for the next few months, but if she didn’t have something to do. Her own thoughts and nightmares would likely be the end of her. But that was if London didn’t dare itself apart.
She didn’t know what to do with herself now. Looking for another client would be hard considering the circumstances, but even then she didn’t know if that was what she wanted. So, currently, she was just going through the motions and hoping things might come her way naturally.
For years, she had been in the bodyguard business. She and her sister found the job of protecting someone far more intriguing than killing someone like their parents had done their age. Both had been assassins for mobs that paid them quite a hefty amount of cash. But Natasha didn’t enjoy the idea of just jumping target to target, killing and asking questions after. She truthfully wanted something sustainable that won’t come back to her because her job was to just protect her client. But she also wanted a group of people she could get close to and call her family.
Now, it seems like that fantasy was thrown out the window with Steve’s death.
Stripping the damp sheets from her bed, she tossed them in the laundry bin in the corner of her room. Strolling out of her bedroom and towards the kitchen where she grabbed some cereal and milk. Grabbing the remote on the island and turned on the TV.
The moment the screen turned on, she was greeted by the sight of a picture of Steve Rogers. After the devastating death of the man, everyone in London had been talking about it. How he was killed, who could’ve done it, all that shit. And honestly, Natasha was sick of hearing about it. She felt like she was in a cage and couldn’t escape the truth.
Thankfully, her mind drifted from the TV and her food when her phone began to ring. Placing the ceramic bowl down, she grabbed the phone, scanning the number for a moment before huffing in annoyance. Answering the phone and placing it to her ear, “Sam, whatever you’re going to say, I already told you they-”
“I think I’ve got a lead on who killed Steve.”
Natasha felt her chest tighten up with her hand becoming tight around the phone. Already? Had someone been this dumb to slip up after killing the most powerful guy in London, already?
“Give me the name and I’m heading there right now.” Natasha indeed was already jogging to her bedroom and grabbing her things. She’d been waiting for something to come up for a whole week, and all she’s gotten was radio silence. Now, she had a chance to get some answers.
“Some lowlife named, Joshua Brooks,” Sam stated. “Heard he was at the Tipped Barrel down on 41st. A random cunt gave Bucky a tip on Josua knowing something about the murder.”
“The extra details don’t matter to me, Sam,” Natasha stated, grabbing her pea coat and slipping it on. “And thank you for this.”
“Don’t come back telling me I owe you. We’re even now after the parkland bombing.” Sam pointed out. “Oh, and Natasha? No bringing this up to the Rogers. Steve’s daughter is planning something that Bucky doesn’t even know about.”
Ah, Y/n. Natasha remembers seeing you at the funeral before Bucky and Peggy stopped her. In fact, she’s seen you on many occasions, but she never talked to you. Deciding that your attractiveness might just get in the way of her job, as well as complicate the relationship with Steve. But she does remember the seemingly heated conversation between you and T’Chaka before you walked away.
Something about you was intriguing and Natasha didn’t know what it was. It might’ve just been that she never once saw you shed a tear throughout the funeral. So, naturally, Natasha was curious about what her friend was telling her. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard rumours that there is some stirring in the organization currently,” Sam stated. “In fighting, restructuring or some shite like that. It’s not my business so I don’t question any of it.”
Natasha hummed, grabbing her gun and walking to the kitchen. She could only go off what Steve had told her about you. One of those things was that you were unpredictable, so it did make her wonder what you were exactly planning. It was inevitable for you to take control of the business sooner or later, but Natasha could only guess these decisions were either from bursts of emotions or something you truly thought needed to be changed. And sorry to say it, Natasha knew the system your father built, the deals, the income, it was all working perfectly.
But she couldn’t let that distract her. So bidding Sam goodbye, she ended the phone call. She grabbed her keys, her extra phone, and left her apartment.
The streets of London were quiet with only a few people wandering around, going about their business. Natasha stood on the other side of the street from the Tipped Barrel. Even from where she stood, she could hear the sound of people laughing and drinking. Not surprising considering that even when someone as powerful as Steven Rogers dies, people will find time to try and wind down from the chaos. Escape it for a little until they would eventually rejoin a society that was brutal.
Some part of Natasha wishes she could’ve indulged in that when she had the chance.
Striding across the road, she looked both ways, finding no sign of police. But as she reached the doors of the pub, four men stepped out in a fit of laughter. It didn’t take much to recognize the familiar men, who consisted of Quill, Kate, Peter, and Marc. They belonged to Stark’s gang, who were extremely close with Steve’s. On many occasions, they’d visited Steve and were on good terms.
So, in the hopes of slipping past them, Natasha didn’t make any eye contact. But she was stopped by Marc, grasping her arm tightly. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going, Romanoff?”
“I don’t have time for this, Marc,” she hissed. “Let me inside.”
“That’s a no-go, Nat,” Quill then spoke up. “All of this is your fault. So fuck off and get on back to where you came from.”
Natasha clenched her jaw. The last thing she needed was to be seen as the bad guy in this situation. Bucky already saw her as a target and if she had Tony on her ass, she had nowhere to hide. The guy controlled all the CCTV in London, so it wouldn’t be the greatest situation for her to be in if that was the case.
Inhaling deeply, Natasha looked up at the man. “Quill, I’m right now trying to find answers and your fucking belligerence is not helping-”
Before she could continue, Kate punched her in the stomach. Causing the redhead to drop down to one knee and groan. Hearing the girl step towards her before spitting on the ground. “Fuck off, will ya?”
The group walked back inside with Natasha trying to regain her breath. Groaning as she shook her head in annoyance. Back when Steve had them and Tony over, things had been civil. But now, everything involving the gangs had gone to shit with her standing in the center of all the crossfire. It wasn’t like she didn’t deserve it because some part of her thought she did. But this shit was going to get annoying pretty quickly.
Her thoughts were brushed away when she heard the sound of yells coming from inside the pub. Soon following was glass shattering and the things being destroyed. With a grumble falling from her lips, Natasha marched to the doors and shoved them open.
She was welcomed by the harsh heat first, then the strong scent of alcohol, and then the brawl ensuing inside. It was consisting of random people and then Tony’s crew. So, acting quickly, Natasha went to the guy beating on Peter. Grabbing the man by the scruff of his jacket and punching him in the kidney, causing the man to fall to the ground.
Natasha moved through the pub, taking out each person that was attacking the group of four. She grabbed a man’s leg, dragging him across the floor and pressing the side of his knee against the edge of the bar. With one hard swing, she broke the man’s leg before moving to another and smashing their head off a table.
Glancing at the back of the pub, she spotted a guy sprinting out. So, quickly, she grabbed a broken piece of glass and sprinted after him. Ducking and dodging the fighting happening around her until she ran through the short corridor that led into the back. Stepping outside, she found Quill being held from behind by a man. With a well-placed throw, Natasha threw the shard of glass that stabbed into the man’s eyes, causing him to release Quill with a scream.
But she didn’t stay around as she quickly sprinted after who she was guessing was Joshua. Rounding the corner and seeing the man hop over the cobblestone wall. She followed closely behind, hoping the wall and pulling out her gun as she sprinted after him.
When she came around the corner of another building, she stopped and aimed her pistol. With a deep breath, she lowered her aim just enough before her finger tensed around the trigger. Firing the gun and hitting Joshua in the back of the leg, causing him to tumble to the ground with a yell.
Lowering her gun, she tucked it into the back of her pants as she marched over. Joshua tried to crawl away, groaning when the small pebbles dug into his wound. But he couldn’t make it far before he heard the crunching of rocks under a pair of boots. And before he could get a word out, he felt the sudden and piercing pain of a foot-stomping on his leg.
A scream ripped through the air as Natasha stared down at Joshua. “We’ve got some things to discuss, Joshua,” she seethed, reaching down and flipping the man onto his back. “What do you know about Steve Roger’s death?”
“Fuck you!”
Natasha tilted her head, pressing the tip of her boot into his wound. Causing a yell to be ripped free from him as the woman showed no amount of emotion. “This’ll be over if you answer my question, Joshua.”
“Okay! Okay, okay, okay!” He yelled, face scrunched up as his head slammed down onto the gravel. “I don’t know shit, but I got a name or some shite like that. Thunderbolt!”
Her lips parted, about to speak until she heard footsteps come from the end of the alley. Turning to find it to be Quill, Peter, Marc, and Kate. All having their own wounds, but their bloody knuckles told her enough that they held their own without her. “If you tell me to fuck off Quill, I’m going to fucking shoot you.” She warned as the man panted, hands resting on his hips.
His eyes flickered down to Joshua for a moment before meeting her eyes with a slight nod. “What do you need him for?”
Even when your dad was alive, you hated these fucking events. They all just felt a copy and paste of every other one in the past. The gangs that work together come together under a safe roof, drink and eat until the late hours of the night. Very rarely is there any business that is conducted at these “get-togethers” and you didn’t see your father’s death changing that.
Your mother had insisted on you attending considering you were taking over the empire. But you had your right hand, Frank Castle keeping tabs on your recent announcement of finding the person responsible for the death of your father. It hadn’t been very well received by the others, but they hadn’t said a word to you, so you didn’t very much care. If they did say something to you, that wouldn’t change your decision.
So, you were just trying to be presentable to a room full of people you didn’t give to shits about and hoping to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible. “Y/n, are you even listening?”
T’Challa’s voice shook you from your thoughts. Turning your head towards the man as a new addition, a woman more specifically, smiled at you. “This is, Wanda Maximoff.”
Forcing a smile, you offered a hand, to which she took it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You too,” Wanda said. “I wanted to offer my condolences personally. Steve was a good man and didn’t deserve what he got. But it is good that he taught you everything he knew.”
Your brows knitted together for a moment, a twitch of your lips flashing a smile as you looked at the woman curiously. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I just mean that I can see the same look in your eyes as he did,” she pointed out. “I can already tell you will be a great leader, that’s all.”
In the past few days, everyone you had met had said the same fucking thing. Comparing you to your father and how glad they were that you took over the role. When in comparison, your mother was just as good or even better for the position. Because it all just felt fake to you, and you couldn’t decide if they were all just lying to you or if they genuinely were grateful. Trust with everyone had wavered the moment your dad was killed and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
And it felt like you had met your wit's end with all these comments of approval like you had been groomed for this spot for years. So much so that you had slapped the drink out of the Russian’s hand, causing the glass to shatter on the floor and grab everyone's attention as you jutted your finger in her face. “Fuck you.”
T’Challa was quick to move you away as Wanda stared at you in shock, unsure of how to take the sudden outburst. But she was right in her observation, you did hold that same fire as your father.
Once you were moved out of the room and into the hallway, T’Challa shoved you. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What the fuck do you mean?” You spat. “I am sick of hearing that shit over and over again. They act all nice and shit, but don’t agree or help to find my Dad’s killer? Fuck them!”
“You are making enemies out of business partners!” T’Challa exclaimed. “They want what you want, but they want a peaceful solution to the problem.”
You stared at the, stepping towards him until you were merely a foot away. Pressing your finger into his chest harshly, you shook your head. “I’m not interested in peace. I don’t care if I have to rip up half of London or kill half of these people, I’m going to find the killer,” you promised. “And when I do, the world can live another day.”
The two of you glared at one another. As bad as it was, you didn’t care for friendships or relationships your dad had established before his death. Nothing mattered besides the mission you had set for yourself. And you didn’t care who you had to run over to achieve that.
The silent warfare between you and T’Challa seized the moment the door to the party room opened with Frank stepping out. His eyes find yours and then T’Challa’s, a clear look appearing on his face. “A problem here, ma’am?” He inquired, voice gravely as he stepped towards you.
You glanced up at T’Challa, finding the man not meeting your gaze. “I don’t know,” you said, still staring at the man. “Is there a problem, T’Challa?”
The prince sniffled, meeting your gaze before shaking his head. “No. No, problem.”
Another brief silence filled the hallway as T’Challa walked away bitterly. Entering the party once more until you turned to Frank with a raised brow. “I got a call from one of Tony’s guys, Peter. Told me to bring you downstairs and meet them outside. Something about a chick saving their asses from like 8 dudes.”
With a huff, you walked side by side with the ex-marine and made your way downstairs. “Any particular reason?” You inquired, coming to the front door where you could see the bright headlights hitting the glass windows.
“It involves your father.”
That caused you to inhale deeply and step outside in quick steps. Seeing the black BMW SUV doors swing open with five people stepping out. All of them were recognizable besides the last one, the redhead you saw at the funeral. Her addition came as a surprise. You had asked your mother about it, but of course, your mom told you not to think about it too much.
“This is the chick from the pub.” Frank nodded towards the redhead.
The said woman turned her attention to you, eyes slightly widening for a blink before her relaxed features returned. “Natasha Romanoff.”
Passing up introductions, as you were sure she knew who you were, you motioned to the group of four and stood off to the side. “You saved their asses?” You inquired. “And what? You took out, what was it, 8 twats?”
“Well, it was seven and one shot in the leg, but yeah.” Her response made you grin for a moment. But it was short-lived when the woman stepped closer. “Y/n, I found a lead on your father’s killer.”
“I heard,” you acknowledged. “What was it?”
“Joshua, who’s in the back of the car said someone by the name of “Thunderbolt.”,” she stated. “I was planning on taking the man and torturing him myself, but Quill thought it to be a good idea to bring this to you.”
You hummed, walking past the group and towards the back of the SUV. Frank followed close in tow as you nodded to the trunk, to which he opened it and revealed a bleeding Joshua with tape around her mouth and rope around his wrists. He looked fearfully up at you, unable to hide the look of realization that appeared on his face as you tilted your head.
“It was good Quill did so,” you spoke up before turning your gaze to Natasha. “You’ll be coming with me. Frank, prepare for a long night of fun, my friend.” You told the man, walking around to the driver seat of the SUV with your right hand smiling down at Joshua, hand resting on the trunk.
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
#gangs of london series#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff angst#natasha romanoff x fem!reader#natasha romanoff x fem reader#x fem!reader#t'challa#scarlett johansson#natasha romanoff fanfiction#natasha romanoff imagine#marvel imagine#marvel fanfiction#marvel x fem!reader#marvel
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alright gang, let's do a fun little thought experiment.
which city would biden have to completely annihilate before you decide not to vote for him?
for the sake of this thought experiment, let's ignore actual real-world alliances between countries. it can be london, or paris, or athens, or barcelona, or rome, or berlin, or even an american city like new york or new orleans or los angeles or honolulu. this is all a hypothetical after all.
really consider it. if you're gonna bother to yap in my notes, at least try to engage with this question in good faith. imagine opening up the news, and you see that a bomb was dropped on this city, and then the bombs never stop. imagine you had a friend there. imagine you'd had a trip planned to meet them and see the sights. imagine every museum, every historical monument, every theatre, every university destroyed. imagine that one day, you lived in a world where this city existed, and the next, it has completely ceased to be. it's effectively been pompeii-ed out of our world entirely. there is no longer a big ben, or a parthenon, or a colosseum, or what have you. there is no longer that foreign musician you loved from this city. there are no longer sweet old grannies to share old family recipes from this part of the world. there is no longer the online friend you wanted to visit. there is no longer your vacation plans.
don't hit me with, "but it's netanyahu doing this," because israel would literally run out of ammunition in weeks without the US. don't hit me with, "but trump!" because that quite literally is not the fucking question.
which city has to completely cease to exist before you even consider that this system isn't ever going to work?
if you are still planning to vote for biden, then either a) biden could drop a nuke on any city on earth and it wouldn't be a dealbreaker for you, or b) in your mind, people and places are divided into ones that are acceptable to destroy and ones that are not. or at least, there are ones that are more acceptable to destroy than others.
come up with your answer and either realize you sound like a fascist and work to change it, or embrace that you are a fascist and stop lying to us about caring about people of color.
#palestine#israel#globalize the intifada#politics#gaza#rambles#my notes are gonna fucking SUCKKKKK for the next 8000 years after this post lmao#i might log out for..... till college#had to get this out of my head though cause liberals piss me off
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Good Omens lines that I can't believe are canon
🔫 Aim for my mouth but shoot past my ear
💖 While we dance~~
🥂 To the world
🥺 And I would like to spend-
🕊 It's late. Comes with putting it up your sleeve
🤍 He's far too pure of heart to be anyone's bit on the side! He's just an angel I know
🔥 I am having a moment here!
🚗 You can't do ninety miles per hour in Central London! Why not?
💕 I just found something that mattered more to me than choosing sides
⚔️ Nobody’s at war. You idiots sent an idiot to lead a gang of idiots to attack a bookshop
😉 I’m going to get into so much trouble! You think so? Well, then, let’s make it worthwhile
🥰 Crowley will be back in a moment. He will have a plan. Why don’t you stand up for yourself? Make your own plan. Oh, I am. But rescuing me makes him so happy
👍 Staying behind to die bravely? Good on you
💙 I knew you’d come through for me. You always do. Well, you said, ‘trust me.’ And you did.
😈 You’re in trouble. Obviously. Former demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?
💞 This was your ‘something’s wrong’ voice
🍷 Just imagine how awful it might've been if we'd been at all competent. Point taken
🚲 Oh Lord, heal this bike
😭 Stuff happened. I lost my best friend
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The Radio Times magazine from the 22-28 July 2023 :)
Good Omens
The first series of Good Omens gamely, if sometimes patchily,
adapted Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman’s 1990 novel of the same
name, featuring a gang of wacky characters trying to stop the
apocalypse. It was a decent success — but the real triumph of the
series was the casting of Michael Sheen and David Tennant as
Aziraphale and Crowley, an odd couple angel and demon secretly
working together over centuries.
The onscreen partnership was such a success that Sheen and Tennant have become a veritable double act, mining their friendship
for three series of lockdown sitcom Staged. And this second run of
Good Omens wisely drops most of the side characters to focus on
their dynamic, as the unlikely pair face another Armageddon, this
time involving an amnesiac angel Gabriel (Jon Hamm). With Tennant
and Sheen centre stage it’s sharper, tighter and funnier than series
one, and just as imaginative. HUW FULLERTON
MEET THE ANGELS AND DEMONS
Gabriel - JON HAMM - The leader of the angels has lost his memory, and is wandering around — naked — on Earth. Only Aziraphale and Crowley can help.
Shax - MIRANDA RICHARDSON - After playing a human psychic in series one, the Blackadder legend returns as a new character — Hell’s new London agent.
Michael - DOON MACKICHAN - The Two Doors Down star returns as an ambitious archangel looking to take Gabriel’s place — and punish anyone hiding him.
Beelzebub - SHELLEY CONN - The Bridgerton actor plays the leader of Hell’s forces (replacing Anna Maxwell Martin, who had scheduling conflicts).
#good omens#gos2#season 2#radio times#radio times 2023#interview#magazines#angels#gabriel#shax#michael#beelzebzb#s2 interview#transcripts
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CHANGE
PAIRING: HOBIE BROWN X FEM!VILLAIN!READER
GENRE: ENEMIES TO LOVERS, ANGST, MUTUAL PINING, COMFORT
WORD COUNT: 8K
WARNINGS: THEMES OF ABUSE! READER HAS AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP WITH THEIR PARENT THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING! GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF INJURIES. DOES NOT FOLLOW ATSV PLOT.
AUTHORS NOTE: PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO TOPICS LIKE ABUSE, FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED. I DID MY BEST TO LEAVE THE DESCRIPTION OF READERS GEAR VAUGE SO THAT YOU CAN IMAGINE WHATEVER YOU'D LIKE BUT READER AT BASELINE HAS FIRE ABILITIES + WINGS, AND A MASK THAT CAN SHOW EXPRESSIONS LIKE A SPIDER-PERSON CAN. HOBIES PERSONALITY IS HEAVILY INSPIRED OFF OF HIS COMICS!
SYNOPSIS: YOURE SUPPOSED TO HATE SPIDERPUNK, BUT…WHEN HES THE ONLY ONE WHO TREATS YOU KINDLY…AND THE ONLY ONE WHO HELPS YOU WHEN THE PERSON YOU SHOULD TRUST BETRAYS YOU, HOW COULD YOU?
-
There was the sound of the city below, and the rushing of wind above, but there was nothing in between. You felt nothing; just coming to and completely delirious. Your head spun as you looked down on London, watching droplets of blood fall from…your body? Were you bleeding? You suddenly became aware of the familiar deep mumbling above your head and the secure arms that held you tightly. You looked down at the red suit and black leather worn by who held you and pieced it all together, albeit slowly; you were in your rival’s arms, bleeding out as he was web slinging through the sky. You groaned, growing privy of injures that you didn't know you had, immediately feeling Hobie’s arms tighten,
“It's okay, you're gonna be okay.” You heard his deep voice faintly, sounding panicked and far away. You squirmed, wincing and crying out,
You couldn't feel your wings.
–
Spiderman, Spiderpunk, asshole–whatever you wanted to call him—he was a royal pain in your ass. He’d cocoon you inside indestructible webs when he caught your gang in a crime, beeline to you when he was fighting off the group, and web you down whenever he’d catch you lurking on the rooftops at night, leaving the scene slinging away with a sly or flirty remark. At first, you just assumed that he must have sensed weakness in you–not taking you seriously and toying with you for kicks…it could have been true and honestly probably was, but you were ready for a change. You had changed significantly since you and Spiderman first met. He didn’t see you for a very long time while you worked out and trained, touching up your fighting skills, reaction time, and stamina–never slacking off. It didn't take long for you to surpass your once superiors, becoming your Master’s most prized possession.
Your Master was all you knew for a guardian figure. They called you their ‘Firefly,’ as you had phoenix-like wings and fire based abilities that they were oh so proud of. What you didn’t know, was that they formed your supernatural self, nurturing you in their lab after destroying your genetic makeup until you were ready to be their perfect prodigy, yet they didn't want you taking on their largest mission–killing Spiderman. They told you that they knew about the way he targeted you and took you down with minimal effort and they hated it–not wanting to see you caught in a life-or-death fight with him.
“He may have never hurt you, but if he wants to, he will.” They would say. You never knew that it was all lies, only hating the idea of your Master looking down on you.
So you would become Spiderman’s biggest threat–telling yourself it was not to prove a point to them, but to you.
–
You were ready for this city to finally start taking you seriously; buildings emptying at the glow of your fiery wings, blinds closing and light flicking off at the sound of your crackling fire, streets clearing with screams of “Spiderpunk!” and “Help!” You believed today was the day.
The people of London already knew the sight of you meant trouble—often the most eye-catching of your master’s entourage even though you weren’t the most dangerous, but you were rarely seen alone. It was alarming to the citizens who quickly emptied the dark streets. You felt a sense of confidence surge in your chest at the fear in their eyes just from you simply walking, lighting up the streets with a red-orange glow and wildfire-like crackling sounds. You didn’t get very far though, a faint booming guitar chord piercing the air nearby like a firework. You grit the soles of your gear into the ground, securing your mask and looking up to catch Spiderpunk swinging off a tall building, legs spread and hand outstretched in your direction,
“Ay, what do you know?! If it isn't the Firefly all by herself! What do you think you're doing out here, lil phoenix?” His voice quickly gained volume as he swung full speed ahead in your direction, aiming to effortlessly web you up and leave the scene when he neared and took a powerful blow directly to the chin, flying into the wall like a magnet to metal.
He groaned, fallen on the floor and back slammed into the brick wall, “Damn! Where did you learn how to throw a punch like that? Did’ja friends finally decide to teach you the basics?” With squinty spider-suit eyes, he rubbed his jaw, comically ‘fixing’ it back into place before lunging like a jumping spider and tackling you with his arms around your waist. Your back hit the ground with a thud and you quickly kicked your feet up on his stomach and flipped the two of you backwards with your hands on his leather vest. You throw punches and hits with calculated precision and instead of being scared…Spiderpunk is pleasantly surprised at your newfound strength. He finds himself totally up for the challenge of fighting someone ‘worth his time.’ He web slings out from under you, jumping behind a nearby bench to put some distance between the two of you and attempt to apprehend you,
“Come on Spiderpunk, throw a punch! What are you, scared? Didn’t think you’d have to even try to beat me huh? Is that it, asshole?” You yell in frustration, hand clutching the back of the bench and clearing it like a track meet. He backpedals, never once getting violent with you–no hitting, punching or kicking, just strategically tiring you out until he can find an opening and restrain you.
“Come on now, you know this is just anotha cakewalk for your friendly neighborhood Spiderman.” He laughs in a sarcastic teasing way to rile you up, ducking to avoid your advances when you unexpectedly lunge at him, your masked heads knocking against each other and sending him falling over into a messy alley. Spiderpunk struggles against you before you slam your fist across his cheek, sending his head left before he cranes it back, grabs your ready fist, and then the other one when you raise it. You're both grunting and panting, his eyes squinty and your arms shaking like an arm wrestle when, eventually, he overpowers you and pushes you off him, wrapping you up like a spider to its prey and having the temerity to dust his hands off after,
“Well, I oughta say, tonight was full of more surprises than I would've ever guessed! Didn’t know you had all that fight in you, Firefly.” He said, casually leaning against the wall across from you with his foot up, wiping his wrist over his masked forehead and feigning exhaustion. Your face scrunched up in anger at the name, reserved for only your Master.
“Don't call me that! I don't need you underestimating me, Spiderpunk, and I don't need your pity–actually fight me next time!” You spit, “I’ll be back for you.” Your ablaze wings tear through the web restrains and you fly away, knowing he’ll let you go. He watched you leave into the night sky, cursing to himself at the throbbing pain in his jaw. He slumped off the wall, web slinging home with a sense of sympathy weighing heavy in his heart,
“Poor thing–all fucked in the head.”
–
Your Master has a long standing history with Spiderpunk. They were once a cop—devoted to their work and truly confident that they were doing the right thing. Then one day, this ‘Spiderman’ came along. He ruined everything; encouraging anarchy, winning the people's hearts and turning the citizens against the officers–but worst of all, he killed their brother who was also in the police force. Nothing was the same since, and they turned to a life of crime, building a force of people who wanted to do anything in their power to stop Spiderman.
Spiderpunk had directly attacked their old headquarters before, growing more and more familiar with their motives, their methods, and more importantly, their members. There was a new lair now, sneakily hidden from Spiderpunk to keep him from learning more than he already knew.
What he did know was your Master was like a parent in your eyes. He knew you were unable to label anyone else as a guardian in your broken life, but damn it was sick to him. Your Master literally made you address them as such to enforce harsh power dynamics and keep you in your place. They mutilated your genetic code like a lab rat, but you can't remember a thing because you were completely comatose. They wanted to train you until you were strong enough to fight for them, and then do nothing to prevent your death when the foreign chemicals in your body would eventually catch up to you. Worst of all, they don't want you around Spiderpunk because he knows the truth. They do everything in their power to keep you faithful to them because they know you'll be too strong on Spiderman’s side–you'll turn to him without sparing them a second glance if you knew the truth.
They couldn't let that happen. They wouldn't let that happen. They swore it to themselves everyday.
–
You came quietly through the doors of the lair (which was disguised as just another house in a crowded street) keeping all noise to an absolute minimum to avoid the ‘where were you’ questions from your comrades. You were new to sneaking out, never seeing a point in it before this self-improvement journey of yours. You were lost in thought, walking to your room when a loud slam jumped you. You cursed and looked up to see none other than your Master standing in front of you, staring at you with an intensity that never meant any good, rendering the hallway placate. You looked up at them, fear taking over your bones.
“…Where have you been for the past hour?” Their dour tone sliced through the thick silence. You held eye contact like you've been told,
“I went out to train.” You answered, not the full truth but not a lie either. You looked up at them with a cold-sweat inducing anticipation rattling your knees. The silence was so loud, and your heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
You didn't even register that you had been slapped until you noticed you were no longer looking your Master in the eyes. Your face felt warm, stinging with pain as your eyes welled with tears that you fought back. They said nothing more, leaving you to stand stunned in the hallway for a long moment and then trudge into your room to fall asleep feeling numb.
–
You knew you must have done something to deserve the punishment of getting slapped and grounded, but you also felt that your Master just didn't understand what you were doing— that you were doing it for them. You were going to help them take down Spiderpunk! You were going to do what they had always wanted! After thinking for a long hour in your room, you decided you just needed to be more sneaky. That way, they couldn't be mad at you in the end when you finally got their worst enemy in the lair, bound up and defenseless.
Nothing could stop you from training mercilessly for days, readying yourself to fight Spiderpunk again. You lived for the shocked expression on his spider-suit mask when you threw punch after punch at him, taunting him with an attitude that he had never seen from eager but stupid you–you who had failed to even get close enough to attack him in the past. He had wondered why he wasn't seeing you with the usual group for a couple months, almost worried that your Master had done something.
Time passed and the few times you saw Spidepunk, you were with a bigger group. You were no longer the first person he took down, rather the last—he struggled more and more fighting you these days. It had been days since your last 1V1 encounter and night fell—this time, you waited until you were absolutely positive that your Master was asleep before you left out your window, flying into the night with your blazing wings. You knew how Spiderpunk was going to fight you this time, playing a completely defensive game until he saw an opening to take you down, and you were prepared for it–ready to counteract it. You didn't want to leave this battle completely unscathed like last time, you wanted a fair fight.
–
Hobie sat on a distant rooftop, overlooking London in the darkness of the night. He had had a very ‘normal’ day in Spiderpunk terms—help a little old lady across the road, stop a handful of thief’s dumb enough to steal in broad daylight with his spidergang, and graffiti a couple political statements in places that no one else could reach. He chose a rooftop garden area to relax, chewing his bright pink bubblegum and strumming on his guitar with his heavy boots hanging over the ledge.
Hobie thought about you, he thought about Y/N L/N. It was difficult to fight someone who was so misguided, so fixated on a dream that would only hurt them more. He didn’t know what he could do to get to you—to get you comfortable enough with him to even believe a word of what he’s been dying to tell you. Hobie needed to save you from your Master and the twisted ideology they had drilled into every fiber of your being.
He knew no one else would understand why he cared the way he did. Hobie had a soft spot for you and your gang because he knew of the lives that you were all robbed of.
He strummed his sticker-covered guitar to the bridge of ‘Change (In the House of Flies),’ looking down at the bursts of color that his guitar cycled through in time with each chord he played.
There was a fleeting moment of tranquility, then his spidey-senses went wild, a fiery glow seen from behind him.
Hobie didn’t move—he didn’t even flinch—he just softly finished the song,
“I was beginning to think I wouldn’t be seein’ you again.” Hobie quipped, getting on his feet and slinging his guitar behind him, turning to face you.
You looked him over—his spiky accessories, his expressive messy spider-suit eyes, his guitar and all its color. You wondered what he could have done to become the center of all your Masters hate. You knew it had to have been pretty significant, even if you didn’t understand it.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Spiderman.” You said, voice muffled through your mask. Now it was Hobie’s turn to take you all in. You had definitely made some augmentations to your gear since he last saw you, he could see how touched up it looked and he started to worry you might catch him off guard this time, so he tested the waters. He circled you slowly and instantly you tensed and out came exactly what he feared—new weaponry.
Fiery blades ignited out of your wrist gear as you put your hands up in a block. Hobie was actually impressed,
“Well would ya look at that! A shiny new weapon, eh? did ya make that all by yourself, lil phoenix?” He inquired, leaning in with typical comical Spiderman enthusiasm. He got too close for comfort, resulting in you swinging your burning blades at him with a grunt. Hobie lurched backwards, making a shocked noise,
“Alright alright, trying to show me what those new blades can do huh? Come on, come get me.” He teased, web-slinging away and starting a chase. Hobie was often chasing, not entirely used to the reverse, but he felt adrenaline pump through his veins at the sound of your yells, chasing him like a rabid animal through the rooftops of London.
This time, you knew well what he was doing—attempting to tire you out and get you at your weakest without even having to lay a finger on you, then restrain you like last time—so you came to the fight with a couple tricks up your sleeve.
You ducked down into an alleyway, seemingly headfirst, running down the wall and up the next.
Spiderpunk looked behind him, expecting to see your struggling form desperately trying to keep up with him, only for his heart to stop at the sight of you—or the lack thereof.
His reflexes came in handy when he saw a faint glow out of his peripherals. He swung from a high-hanging sign when you lunged at him from his side, giving him minimal time to react. He tried to web to another building, but he was too slow. Your fingers closed around his neck, slamming him into the wall, his long fingers instinctively came up to your wrists, only to falter away when he nearly slices his hands clean off on your blades. He instead opts to use his boots to try and kick you away, but blades instantly ignite out of the gear surrounding your ankles,
“You really came prepared huh? Whipped up all this new gear in a matter of days just to see me? You’re so thoughtful.” He grit out, still trying to not harm you if he doesn’t have to. He was in the middle of calculating your next move when you brought your head back like you were going to knock him out with it. Instantly, Hobie ducks down, thrusting his spiky spider-suit mask at your chest and pushing away from you when you flinch and let go of him.
“Spiderpunk!” You screamed, jumping up and lunging at him, sending artificial webs his way. He rolled and dodged them, yelping in surprise,
“Look at you! I mean, you’re basically a spider woman now!” He shoots his own webs, snagging your ankle and effectively stumping you, if only for a moment when your heated blades sear them off. You angrily throw yourself at him again, falling to the ground when he dodges. Suddenly, a loud crack is heard as your left ankle gear slams against the solid rooftop, buzzing and crackling as it breaks. You hiss and grunt angrily, and Hobie’s brain lights up. He has to break all your new toys to take you down, that’s all.
Spiderpunk suddenly jumps at you, tackling you onto your back to keep your wings useless and webbing your biceps down, then your thighs—they’re the spots where you have no defense mechanisms, although you’re a lot stronger than he’s used to seeing you so he remains cautious. He grabs hold of your ankle, pressing his palms into the gear and sending electric volts through it—he risks the chance of hurting you, but when he begins to fry the electrical cords and sees only confusion in your eyes, he continues. The gear fizzes and smokes as it breaks, but Hobie feels the shock of it all, wincing and grunting as he get electrocuted.
Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s doing, and you scream,
“No! No!” You strain against his webs, freeing one arm and swinging your fist at the man, slicing the cheek of his mask only for him to grab your bicep and pin you back down with a struggle, electrocuting himself once more as he kills your right wrists gear with a zap!
You look up at him, paralyzed with confusion as he still refuses to hurt you, only breaking your gear so you’ll run back home again. You won’t take it, breaking free your left fist the very next second and screaming in anger when he pins it down with all the strength he can muster.
"Why are you doing this? Why won't you ever fight me?" You scream emotionally, struggling against him as he uses all the strength he has left to fry your last piece of protective gear while you struggle against him, kicking and pushing to no use. He doesn't speak at first, breathing heavily, and sighing,
“You really wanna know?” He mumbles, looking at you through his mask with squinty eyes, “Or do you just want an answer that will make you happy?” He asks, leaning back and getting off of you completely, but keeping you restrained on the ground.
“What is that supposed to mean?” You ask, genuinely caught off guard, letting out a scoff, “Dont pull some weird mysterious bullshit with me-”
“I’m serious.” He cuts you off. It doesn't sound harsh or angry, it’s strangely genuine. “The truth hurts–worse than anything I could do to you if I fought back the way you so badly want.” He says through his thick accent, sitting beside you and looking out at the city.
You looked up, knocking your masked head on the hard surface while you thought in angry silence. What could Spiderpunk have to tell you? Why did he think it would matter to you? You hadn't really guessed there was a good reason for why he didn't fight you, just assuming he pitied you. You let your head loll to the side and looked at the spikey masked man with dark skin peeking through the cut you left in his mask, your curiosity winning,
“I…I’m all ears.” You mumble, your voice hoarse.
He just looked at you for a moment, then he cursed and ran his large palm down his covered face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't know what to say or how to say it. How do you tell someone their whole life is a lie? Furthermore, they're fighting for a cause that will end in their demise? He gazed off into the sparkling lights below,
“It’s not easy to say so i’m just gonna tell you as bluntly as possible. I’ve known that lousy sod you call ‘Master’ for years now…they’re not at all who you think they are.” He starts, missing the way your body stiffens, “And…neither are you. They actually…made you what you are. You weren't supposed to have the abilities you have but they-”
“No, no I'm not listening to this, this is useless! You're full of shit!” You spat, arching your back enough to set your wings free, cutting through the webs, triggering him to jump up and put his palms out defensively,
“Hey, hey! You said you were all ears right? Don't go throwin’ a wobbly on me now! Just listen okay? I’m trying to save your life!” He frantically begged, walking towards you slowly with bent knees and a tilt of his head, trying his absolute hardest to not come across as a threat. You weren’t having it.
You got close, “You can go to hell with your weird conspiracies about my Master and I! I-I’ll never believe you—you don’t even know me!” You yelled your fists up defensively. You felt weak and angry with your gear useless, and you didn’t exactly expect a deep discussion about your life and what it might or might not be,
“I do though, Y/N. That’s…that’s what I’m trying to get at here.” He states, not once taking his eyes off you. He watches as your eyes flicker wide open, your guard faltering for only a moment. You stand there stunned, the silence of midnight surrounding both of you, until you finally have the courage to speak up,
“Is…that how you know my name?” You state the obvious. You know the answer, but you want him to be the one to say it.
“Yes, because what i’m telling you is the truth. Your Master, they used to be an officer until I came around and fought against the police force…one day, there was an attack from a villain force and I couldn’t save their closest friend…but from what they saw, it looked as though their blood was on my hands. They changed overnight—quitting the force and becoming the worst villain overlord of this city. They built their own empire, and they bought you. You and the rest of their army, you’re all captives who were brainwashed and robbed of your lives.” He finishes, full of anticipation as he looks at you.
There’s a long silence, as you take it all in. You don’t know what to say to do for a while, internally struggling on if you even believe his words or not…but the longer you think about it…you’re sad to admit the more sense it starts to make.
You don’t remember having any sort of childhood, no matter how hard you thought, and you’ve only ever known your Master and their orders on how you should live your life. You were lost in thought, puzzle pieces slowly fitting together, and Spiderpunk just watched you patiently. You thought about how he looked at you, how he refused to hurt you, and how he seemed to genuinely mean every word he said…It was too much to take in all at once.
“I’m sorry, I-I can’t.” You stammer out, your voice cracking as you back up. Your wings crackle with burning fire. He doesn’t follow you, just stands still as you walk backwards, then turn and fly off. The wind whistles as you fly home faster than you ever have in your life, your thoughts racing a mile a minute with every flap of your wings. Hobie watches you fly off into the sparkly night sky like a burning shooting star, sighing in relief.
—
That night opened your eyes, and nothing was the same between you and your Master since. You pulled back and unintentionally started acting cold, now you were afraid they were noticing. They had been randomly gifting you things or spending time with you, a lot more than they ever do. You were starting to feel incredibly uncomfortable and anxious as the days went on, and strangely, you decided you wanted to clear some things up with Spiderpunk—you just needed to find a way to sneak out without your Master noticing with all their excessive hovering over you these days.
It was dawn, and you had just finished the dinner that they insisted you have with them. Your Master had finished eating and was now cleaning both your dishes when you quietly headed to the door and slipped on your jacket,
“Going somewhere?” They asked questioningly, not turning from their spot at the sink but still instilling nausea in you from their tone alone. You hesitated for a second, then slipped on your shoes,
“Just going on a walk.”
“Right after eating? Shouldn’t you give it an hour or two?” They pressured.
“I’d rather walk while it’s still relatively light out, I won’t be gone long.” You countered carefully, trying to keep the peace the best you could. You reached for the door handle, your back turned to them when you heard the water shut off, footsteps, and then felt their arms around you, turning you into their embrace. It was uncomfortably silent, and their hands suddenly tightening on your jacket felt horrible,
“I know you’ve been lying to me.” They murmured, their grip strong as they feel your body go rigid for a moment. You stall. They release you and stare coldy,
“I-I don’t know what you’re-“ The hardest slap you’ve ever felt lands across your face and cuts you off. It burns like hell and leaves your head blank for a moment. You look down only to get your eyes forced upwards from a pressuring grip on your jaw,
“You know you can’t keep secrets from me…I will figure out what you’ve been doing, my Firefly, and you won’t like it.” They grumbled, pushing you outside and slamming the door.
—
There had to be at least five cops chasing after as you careened around the block, all having yelled at you when you raced out of a small jewelry store with hands full of anything shiny and expensive looking that you could loop around your fingers. You zoomed down the dark street and caught a myriad of unfortunate obstacles ablaze in your wake. You were trying to cause as much of a scene as humanly possible—It was working.
You turned to look behind your shoulder right as Spiderpunk swung down towards you, one hand high above his head and the other swinging a web straight for your abdomen. When you were about to redirect your focus ahead of you, you’re left with no time to process your masked ‘rival’ headed straight for you before pulling you up into the sky with him. A scream tears out of your throat from shock and you can’t move as your body is pulled through the sky, golden rings and necklaces spilling from your fingers. The loud hollering of Spiderpunk is echoing around you before he pulls you onto a rooftop, both of you rolling onto the building. He grunts and pants, looking at you as he lays on his side, propped up on his elbow,
“How’s my favorite little villain doin huh? Long time no see…I was starting to miss your pretty mask.” He pulled you towards him by his webs like Scorpion, before tearing it when you were close enough, “Was there a reason you caused such a dilemma down there or did ya just miss me?” He smirks, pretending to run a hand through his hair. He was clearly in a good mood today.
You sigh, full of emotions and slightly bothered by his over-the-top entrance and flirty behavior, “There’s a reason, asshole…I need to talk to you.” You confess, sitting up in a comfortable position while he mirrors you, leaning his head in his hands. He stays silent and only nods, allowing you to continue,
“I thought about what you said—all of it. Things weren’t the same when I woke up that next morning. I still don’t trust you but I don’t really hate you the way I used to…because of what you said I sorta started to think for myself. I came to see you today to ask you a couple of questions and maybe get some answers?” You whispered, voice soft as you looked into his masked face. The moonlit night was cold and dark. It left you shivering with a sense of anxiety squeezing at your lungs. He nodded once more, leaning in,
“What can your friendly neighborhood spiderman do for you?” He asked with an audible smiled, trying to ease your obvious distress.
“Who was I?” You blurted out.
He shuddered, expecting the question but still feeling underprepared for it. He exhaled through a buzz of his lips and clicked his tongue a couple of times,
“That’s a difficult question, doll. To put it simply, you’re a normal girl who was supposed to live a normal life with her normal parents—they were some of the many that were killed by the multiple heinous villains that terrorized London a few years ago. You weren’t too much younger than me when you were forced into a hostage situation by the killers, soon after you were sold. I couldn’t save you all before the brainwashing, and I couldn’t get to you like this until…now.” He admitted. He felt sympathy knowing that you were sitting in front of him, probably feeling as though you were suffering the consequences of his incompetence—but the thought never crossed your mind. You just wished you knew that girl, the one who was robbed of her normal life, but you felt that moping was useless,
“Well, what can I do? I mean i’ve basically learned that my whole life isn’t at all what I think it has been and i’ve been chasing after the one person who was kind enough to tell me the truth-“
“You didn’t know any better.” He corrected, “I tried to go easy on you…couldn’t bring myself to fight such a sweet, misguided, girl.” He admitted genuinely.
“I am so stunned…I mean I never thought you’d be able to be this close or say these things to me without attacking you.” You teased, looking at the way his eyes scrunch up and his knees come close in a laugh, “I…I don’t know how to thank you. All I’ve done has been attacking you every chance I got because my Master painted you out to be some threat. I never thought for myself until you told me the truth, and now you’re being so nice to me, Spiderpunk.” You sighed.
Suddenly, he shifted before reaching his hands up to his neck and pulling his mask off, revealing his identity to you. The newly unmasked Spiderpunk shook his hair slightly, and looked at your still masked face as you took in every detail of him. He had deep brown skin, messy wicks, plump lips, a big nose with a ring on the side, deep set eyes complimented with pierced eyebrows and high cheekbones. He had the face of a model and it was no surprise that that effected your ability to breathe for a moment,
“You can call me Hobie.” He said with a cheeky tone at your silence, leaning back, “And you don’t have to thank me, just glad I could help.” He answered. He looked at you solemnly, his heart warming at the idea of helping you. “But you can at least make us equal and share a taste of your secret identity.” He winks, leaning in eagerly.
You roll your eyes and trail your hands up to your own mask, removing it and watching as his eyes scan you in the low lighting, taking in your appearance. You expected something different than what you got, your stomach dropping at the sudden look of shock on his face. You felt anxiety well up in a matter of seconds before he speaks,
“Who did this?” His deep voice lingers in the air and you’re left with no time to process his words, his hands that were reaching for you stuttering when you flinch, “Y/N, who hurt you?” He asks you, stern but gentle, looking into your eyes with his large hands gently on either side of your head to examine the red blistering slap mark. You can’t even respond, your mouth open but no words coming out. You both know the answer.
Hobie knew there was a possibility your Master was hurting you, but this just confirmed it and left him feeling inexplicably enraged.
“I’m sorry, I-“
“Why are you apologizing? You have no reason to be sorry, If I had known I…I would have stopped this a lot sooner.” He whispered, gaze soft as he instinctively holds your head to his chest, almost motherly.
You just try to focus on stabilizing your breathing, the comforting hold new and strange to you. You never would have expected this, that’s for sure.
Time goes by, Hobie allowing you to sit in front of him again while you eventually talk about your relationship with your Master. It’s difficult, and Hobie has to thank his lucky stars for his ability to remain expressionless, because if not, he probably would have cried or thrown up several times. It becomes emotional for you as you wrap up, Hobie feeling his gut twist at the sight,
“It’s alright. I-I’m not going to let you be in that place much longer. I’m going to stop them okay? I’ll be helping you out of there soon.” He spoke clearly, his hands on your shoulders to keep steady eye contact. You felt uneasy at the idea of your Master and your unsteady relationship. You didn’t want to see them hurt but you knew that how they had treated you all these years was wrong, especially if what Hobie said was true. It was conflicting, and you were scared. You tried your hardest to trust Hobie, but you had only just opened up to him…so could you really? Was it safe?
“Okay…bye, Hobie’.” Was all you said before you parted, disappearing into the dark of the night. Hobie plotted, swinging far behind after a lot of careful thought and a ton of unusual hyperactivity from his spidey-senses.
—
The door creaked louder than it usually does—just your luck. You cursed as you held the handle all the way twisted until it was in the frame, manually twisting it back into place to keep the house silent. You were on a mission, and it couldn’t wait. You walked your way into the basement and into your Master’s secret laboratory. This was where they kept all of their ‘work stuff.’ You had never cared about anything in the dingy and dark room until now…you never knew any of it would pertain to you. You sifted though their stuff, everything seemingly kosher until a file, stuffed in the back of the lowest cabinet of their desk with the bold printed letters ‘Y/N L/N’ splattered over it in red ink called to you among all the other tan files. You wasted zero time in pulling it out and investigating. The file was full of information about you—things that you didn’t even know about yourself; the day you were bought, the chemical makeup of your fucked-up genes, and the day that you were…no…that couldn’t be right…the day that you were supposed to die? Your heart stopped. You read the date over and over again, adrenaline rushing through your body and pumping blood straight to your head. You couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see, couldn’t think. Your Master horrifyingly lingered in the doorway, watching as you trembled in unbridled terror. Why the fuck did you have a pre-determined death date? You tore your gaze off the paper, looking up and jumping when you saw, to you absolute dismay, your ‘Master.’
“Y/N. I’ve heard that you made a new friend! Is that right, my little Firefly?” Your master seethed through their sickening smile. You had never seen them this angry…it terrified you, but your adrenaline was stronger than your fear.
“I know who you are…and…I know who I am. You’re a sick person, and you’ve been lying to me my whole life!” You yelled, defensively staring them down with as fierce of a face as you could muster, “You destroyed the person that I’m supposed to be! You bought me out of a hostage situation to build your own suck army! Worst of all, you have a predetermined death date for me? What the fuck do I look like, perishable goods?” You scream.
“Quit acting dumb, child. If you were smart enough to understand maybe you wouldn’t be so angry at your loving Master. I did what I did to give you a life worth living. I made you who I made you at the cost of your life span shortening. Would you rather live a long, boring, and sad life with no parents and no purpose? Or would you rather life a fulfilling life with me?” They spat, anger present in their red eyes.
“I would rather die than live with you any longer. Spiderpunk told me the truth and I believed him because it makes sense! He was the first person to ever let me think for myself! He has never hurt me the way that you have!” Screaming, you threw the file onto the ground, the contents spilling out at your Master’s feet and your wings burning hot. Embers flicked across the room, catching small things on fire. Your Master had had enough.
“Is that so? And what exactly do you intend on doing with that information, hm? Run away from the loving,“ they flip the desk as it begins to burn, sending wood and fire all over as they come closer, “supportive,” they slam their fist into your side and kick your feet out from under you, “family that I’ve pioneered for you? You’d leave that all behind to follow a brain-dead, arachnid, anarchist who killed my loved ones?!” They scream, pulling you by your wrist out of the office and into the basement, shoving you down onto your stomach and crawling onto of you harshly. Your wings were as intense as your emotions—your horror, sadness, and anger all causing the flames to burn unusually hot and wildly—but your Master didn’t care. All they saw was red.
“You know what happens when you go against my rules, Y/N. How dare you do the one thing I specifically instructed you against.” They snapped, tears pooling out of your eyes as you struggled to breathe. Your eyes shot open as you heard their hisses in pain and felt their hands tighten around the base of your blazing wings. Your heart raced as fire embers flung around the room and you felt a sharp tugging, triggering you into screaming uncontrollably,
“No! No! Please, stop it! Master, I’m sorry! please d-don’t! What are you doing?! I’m-I’m sorry, please!” You screamed, feeling the extension of your body being torn out of your spine, uselessly screaming in agony. You were kicking and crying as you felt the most uncomfortable pain you had ever felt in your life. You were helpless, the room around you catching on fire as your powers go haywire. You didn’t know who to call, but the one name you knew started spilling from your lips,
“Hobie! Hobie please help me!” You cried, voice cracking and hoarse as the building rapidly started to burn. Your master brought their heel up digging it into your lower back as leverage as they grunted and pulled, fueled on your screams alone. You let out one last scream of Hobie’s name before it all faded to black.
—
Hobie had no idea where he should be looking for you, never having located your Master’s new hideout. He relied completely on his senses, a game of ‘hotter’ and ‘colder.’ He raced around like a madman, ignoring the excited screams of “It’s spiderpunk!” However, soon the screams became about a fire, and his senses were overwhelmed with a buzzing feeling. He snapped out of it and looked down to see a house on fire, mentally battling on if he should continue searching for you or deal with the house fire, opting for the latter. When he Hobie leapt down, he got a sinking feeling that he had found you.
He tore through the burning building, groups of familiar villains racing out of the doors and windows. He kept low and crawled like a spider when he heard a broken scream of his name, so pained and so desperate. He nearly tripped down the burning basement stairs and took in the horrific scenery.
Your blood was all over the floor, surrounding (what Hobie prayed was) your unconscious body. Your Master was panting, and holding your bloody, fleshy, wings. They had never looked this truly evil, staring down at you with no remorse until they noticed Hobie’s presence,
“Spiderpunk.” They stated, tossing your wings into the calmed with burning with rage,
“I think it’s time for our long overdue last dance, ‘Master.’” Hobie grumbled, circling them.
“I thought you’d never ask.” They smiled, chucking a knife from their belt at his head, watching as he expertly dodges it and maneuvers around the collapsing room combating with bloodshed heavy on his mind. There’s a symphony of punches and stabs, Hobie was growing bloody and angry. He was kicked into the fire his face whacking across a burning plank and causing him to cry out. Hobie shook his head and screamed, lunging at them,
“I’m gonna make you wish you never payed your hands on her.” Hobie grunted, his grip tightening around their throat as they desperately tried to pull him off. All Hobie could think about was what he could have done to save you all these years; if he had known the torture you were enduring at their hands he would have helped you sooner. He knew the whole time that it was doomed, but he didn’t know how to save you.
Hobie felt a crunch, and he snapped out of it, finding himself on top of your Masters now dead body. he pulled his hands back, wiping them off on his jeans and spitting down on the corpse of your abuser. Turning rapidly to scoop you into his arms and burst out of the burning building. The fire department was there, and ready to take care of it, but Hobie needed to get you as far away as possible.
—
There was the sound of the city below, and the rushing of wind above, but there was nothing in between. You felt nothing; just coming to and completely delirious. Your head spun as you looked down on London, watching droplets of blood fall from…your body? Were you bleeding? You suddenly became aware of the familiar deep mumbling above your head and the secure arms that held you tightly. You looked down at the red suit and black leather worn by who held you and pieced it all together, albeit slowly; you were in your rival’s arms, bleeding out as he was web slinging through the sky. You groaned, growing privy of the injures that you didn't know you had, immediately feeling Hobie’s arms tighten,
“It's okay, you're gonna be okay.” You heard his deep voice faintly, sounding panicked and far away. You squirmed, wincing and crying out,
You couldn't feel your wings—and it all came back to you. Your ‘Master’ had pulled them completely out of your body, and now you had never felt so light in your entire life. There were gaping holes in your back, and cuts that littered your skin from your struggle. You felt robbed, but oddly, you felt free. However, nothing could compare to, above all, how much pain you were in. You clung to Hobie, becoming aware that you’d have no way to support yourself if you were to fall, but Hobie held you tightly, telling you he would never drop you without saying a single word.
He landed somewhere unfamiliar, carrying you through a window with an odd amount of calculated grace. He set you down on what you assumed was his carpet, and you didn’t realize he was currently in front of you, helping you onto your stomach. You took his hand and allowed him to help you, gasping and whimpering when your entire body hurt.
“Easy, love, m’gonna take care of ya.” He whispers. He tears your shirt clean off, beginning to clean your wounds,
“Ah! Hobie!” You mumble, wincing.
“I know, I know, it’s gonna hurt love m’sorry.” He says in the most soothing voice he can.
He bandaged your cuts, and he feels his heart sink with every pained noise you make, watching you fiddle with his carpet to take your mind off of how it all feels. When he’s finished, he slips a clean shirt over you and he scoops you up—laying you down on his soft couch.
“Your wounds are deep love, but they’re not unsalvageable. Give it time and you’ll be feeling as good as new.” Hobie smiled softly. He was covered in blood, ash, and grime, but no one had ever looked as beautiful as he did in that moment. He pulled the blanket off the back of his couch, draping in over you and tucking it in gently,
“I am truly sorry for everything, doll.” He said suddenly with raw emotion taking over. You looked up at him confused,
“Don’t…don’t be sorry, Hobie. You…you saved my life.” You murmured, exhausted and pained.
He softly smiled at you, his eyes full of sadness as he forced himself to get up off his knees by your side,
“Well, i’ll be in the other room love, just holler if you-“
“Wait!” You interrupt. He stops abruptly, turning to look at you with confusion present on his face, scanning over you and taking note of the space you made in front of you on the couch,
“I don’t want to be alone.”
And with that, Hobie feels his heart break. Your voice sounded so fragile and meek, and he never wanted to hear it sound that way ever again. He would feel horrible holding you in his state, but he would feel worse if he said no to you. Reluctantly, he walks over to you, unties his shoes, and lays down with you, holding you close and gently running his hands up and down the bandages.
You didn’t understand how your whole life could change in a matter of days—going from hating Spiderpunk with every fiber of your being, to being genuinely afraid of him not being in the same room as you. But…he’s the one who saved you. This whole time, he was the only one who truly cared, and you felt so blind to have not seen it. He held you closer, lost deeply in his own thoughts. Hobie’s mind raced with thoughts of your safety, and specifically the death date in your files.
He decided he would worry about that another day, and for now, he would hold you closer.
#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown#hobie brown angst#hobie spiderverse#across the spiderverse#spiderman#spider punk#hobie brown smut#hobie brown fluff#Spotify#silly’s fics
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I've been coughing and feeling sick, I don't feel like getting up. This one is a request where female reader gets sick, has a flu, and its set in modern au. How would Law react when he hears that female reader has a flu for about two weeks, while being taken care of by Luffy, Ace, and Sabo? See female reader didn't want to disturb Law from work, so the ASL trio took care of her. Sabo is more responsible than his brothers. Plus Luffy would bring Marco to check on reader.😊🤧😷🤒
Tell me next time, dumbass.
Trafalgar Law x reader (fluff)
A/N: hi! Sorry I took a bit long because I was kinda down myself (can't get out of bed for reasons unknown) and can barely open my phone. So I hope this is alright! (Also unedited)
My masterlist
Coming up with a fever wasn't really (y/n)'s perfect idea of winter. What she imagined was snowball fights, snowman making, snow angels. Maybe that's the reason she's sick.
She could've told her boyfriend, Trafalgar Law, that is also a doctor, about it so he could take care of her, but she didn't.
She would always listen to him rant about how hectic it is to work in hospital owned by "grandline" whatever whatever it's name was. And she didn't want to bother him by a simple fever.
But that's alright, she has his best friends to help.
The "strawhats" (what Luffy likes to call his gang of friends) would visit from time to time. Especially chopper. Robin's support dog, specialising in anxiety and depression.
Even though the golden retriever is working, he couldn't help but stay beside (y/n) whenever Robin is around to visit.
Nami would usually just lay beside her staring at the ceiling. Mostly because she herself was bored.
While the others would drop by but not as often because they're quite busy.
Luffy on the other hand, would visit with his brother's almost every day.
Ace and Sabo apparently has doctor friends as well. One is named Marco and the other is named... Hongo? Was it?
"In theory, Marco said some warm soup or porridge would help you." Ace said
"In YOUR theory or in this... Marco person's theory?" (Y/n) asked. She knew it would help but hearing Ace say such a thing concerns her
"Wat?"
"What...?"
The two just stared at each other with confusion before sighing.
"You're making me hurt my brain, Ace. Get out of here" she groaned with a frown making him laugh.
"When are you planning to tell your boyfriend that you're sick? I'm sure he's worried because you're not calling him all the time like you used to." Sabi hums softly as he hands (y/n) a bowl of warm porridge as she starts to eat
"You know I don't want to worry him..." She muttered as she ate
"Eh? What do you mean?" Luffy tilts his head, "he asks about you all the time whenever he sees me."
"Wait, really?"
"Yeah! When I said Marco was also helping, he kinda got up and left. I don't know why though..." Luffy muttered to himself with a pout.
"Luffy..." The three sighed with a bit of disappointment in their face
"What? What?"
"Let me take that..." Sabo said as he took the empty bowl from (y/n), "how do you feel...?"
"I'm feeling fine... I suppose..." She muttered slightly.
"Alright..." Ace sighed, "look. You should tell him, even if you're bothering him... I'm sure if I was your boyfr- I mean him, I'd also want to know my girlfriend's state."
She laughed a bit, "I know... I'll tell him eventually..."
"We need to go... I have night shift at work today and some agendas for the next... 2 weeks..." Sabo frowned slightly
"And Garp's coming over... As well as the family reunion in London..." Ace huffed, "will you be alright alone?"
"I'll be fine, don't you worry"
Oh the last words of someone burning up, phasing in and out of consciousness.
(Y/n) reached out to grab her phone, trembling hands scroll through her contacts list, her eyes blurry but eventually clicking one profile and calling it.
Putting it on speaker, and placing it beside her head.
Once she heard the familiar sound of someone on the other end picking up, she coughed slightly.
"Can you... Come over...? I don't feel so good..." She managed to mutter before passing out entirely. All she heard last was a panicked voice of her name being called and soon hanging up.
...
Law's pov
I was sitting at the on-call room, basically glaring at my phone screen, waiting for (y/n) to message me.
"If you stared any harder, that phone would crack" Marco chuckled beside me.
I just groaned a little, "tsk. You wouldn't know the worry I have for my girlfriend because you never had one." I snapped at him with a glare
"Ouch" he rolled his eyes.
My eyes snapped back at my phone once I heard it ring and seeing who was calling, my whole body seemed to relax to realize it was (y/n). After almost three days of silence from her, she finally called.
"Hello?" I answered.
I heard her cough, which wasn't a good sign already, her heavy breathing as well. "Can you... Come over...? I don't feel so good..." she muttered so weakly, I don't think I've ever heard her so weak before hearing her just huff out a heavy breath, I don't know why, but I had a feeling she had passed out.
"(Y/n)...? (Y/n)!" I called but had no more answer than her breathing heavily.
I stood up immediately and grabbed my stuff, changing out of my scrubs as well as I panicked.
"Woah there loverboy, you can't just leave in the middle of your shift" Hongo sighed, "but you know what? I'll take your shift, don't worry. Take care of your girlfriend"
I just gave him a swift nod before leaving and hopping into my car, wasting no time to power it up and drive off to her apartment.
I left my things inside the car, but took my wallet, phone, and the spare keys I had of her apartment with me as I rushed to go and unlock her apartment door.
At first glance, it was relatively quiet. Which wasn't entirely unusual considering at this time of day, she's either drawing or just laying in bed.
After locking the door, I threw my things on the kitchen counter and rushed to her bedroom to see her curled on her bed, her phone beside her head, and her face flush with what seemed to be a high rising fever.
I didn't waste any time and rushed to check her temperature. She was already so hot to the touch, but she started shivering a little.
"Don't worry, I'm here. I'll take care of you" I whispered to her before getting up and doing what is necessary to make her fever go down.
Eventually, her fever had subsided just enough so that her temperature was 39°.
Which was still a bit too high as a human's normal body temperature was 37° but at least a bit lower and manageable than before
"Silly girl..." I frowned as I kissed her forehead.
I continued to take care of her for the next 2 days. Hongo-ya and Marco-ya volunteering to cover my shift.
I'll need to find a way to repay them somehow, but for now, my focus is on (y/n) and her slow recovery.
(Y/n)'s pov
(Y/n) slowly woke up to the smell of what seems to be an aromatic scent of... Soup? Porridge? Whatever it is, it smells delicious.
But oddly enough, she doesn't have an appetite.
The door to her bedroom eventually opened and closed quietly as she then saw, through her thick eyelashes that were blurred with some tears, that Law was now in her apartment.
She could see relief in his actions when he placed down whatever he was doing and sat beside her on the bed, placing a hand on her cheek and wiping away the tears that managed to escape while she slept.
"You're finally awake..." His warm voice calls softly and kissed her forehead, "why didn't you tell me you were sick? I could've been here for you..."
"I... It's just that... You're really busy and... I don't want to..." She muttered before being silenced with a soft hush.
"Enough of that, didn't I tell you already that if you need me, just call...?" He frowned a bit before shaking his head, "we can talk about it once you're better. For now, sit up. I'm helping you eat."
With his help, she was able to sit up with her back against the headboard.
"Ahh" Law said after blowing the steam off a spoonful of soup, "I need you to eat even just a few bites so that you can drink some medicine. Okay...?"
She sighed as she forced herself to eat, she can't taste anything but her gut told her it was delicious.
"Blackleg-ya insisted for me to make you this soup... I hope it's alright" he says as he fed her a couple more times before she refused any more.
"Alright... Wait here and I'll grab some medicine."
She nods weakly as he left, but came back almost immediately with a glass of water and medicine in hand.
"Here..." He says as she drank the medicine and water, "that's my girl..." He smiled softly before kissing her cheek.
"Law..."
"Yes, love?"
"Thank you... For taking care of me all this time..." She smiled softly at him as well.
"Nonsense... This is the bare minimum. I promise, I'll take good care of you in the future. Just call me up and I'll be here. No matter how busy I am." He placed a hand over hers, "I want to kiss you on the lips but I'm afraid I might get infected. But I will kiss you once you're all better."
"I'm looking forward to that..." She said weakly with a tender smile.
"Now, get well soon alright? I'll be here." He smiled, "oh, and one thing... You should've told me, dumbass... I don't care how busy I am or whatever time is. I'll defy all odds just to be here for you."
"That's my boy..." She smiled as he chuckled.
#random#night thoughts#trafalgar law#law x reader#trafalgar law x reader#law x y/n#one piece#trafalgar d law x reader#trafalgar d water law#trafalgar law x y/n#trafalgar d law#trafalgar one piece#trafalgardwaterlaw#law x you#one piece x reader#one piece trafalgar law#one piece law#op.law#op law#fluff
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list of acd canon sherlock holmes things i absolutely love
(and am going to mostly put under a readmore because i made most of this list while rereading the entire canon so it is very long! listen i just think sherlock holmes is the best character ever and i need to share my love for him--)
immediately upon being introduced to watson he grabs him by the sleeve, starts excitedly showing off his bloodstain testing experiment, and claps his hands “looking as delighted as a child with a new toy”. once he finishes, his eyes glitter and he puts his hand on his heart and bows “as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his imagination”.
watson: “i object to rows because my nerves are shaken”
holmes: “do you include violin playing in your category of rows?” he asked, anxiously
he’s noted to be extraordinarily knowledgeable and zealous in his studies, and yet on the same page it’s stated that he doesn’t know the earth travels around the sun and once watson tells him about it he immediately decides to forget about it because it’s not relevant to his work. this is where the famous “brain attic” monologue comes in.
watson writes this list about him and then throws it into the fire in despair:
has a habit of laughing in a way that’s described as bursting into an “explosion” or “roar” of laughter
frequently does this at crime scenes:
enlists a gang of street orphans to help him on his cases, pays them for their work, and generally treats them as equals but also playfully talks to them like a general to his soldiers
plays the violin for watson to help him get to sleep
is incredibly knowledgable on anything from different types of tobacco, to the ways one's trade can influence the form of their hands, to medieval pottery and stradivarus violins. and yet, i reiterate, does not know the earth revolves around the sun.
has a tendency of waxing poetic about the meaningless of existence, particularly when he’s bored from not having any cases to work on
once said about a dog “i would rather have toby’s help than that of the whole detective force of london”
used the word “doggy” when speaking to toby
once told watson “i don’t wish to be theatrical” despite all evidence to the contrary
disguises himself as an old man just to play a prank on watson
watson: “i think i had better go”
holmes: “not at all, doctor. stay where you are. i am lost without my boswell.”
is known to wiggle in his chair when he gets excited about a case
discovers that a man has tricked his own stepdaughter into a fake marriage so he can keep her at home and control her life and inheritance. acknowledges that said man hasn’t done anything illegal but still tells him “there never was a man who deserved punishment more” and that he ought to get whipped for what he did, and then goes to actually get his hunting crop, causing the man to run out the door at top speed
let a criminal go free because it turned out the man he murdered was trying to force said criminal’s daughter into an unwanted marriage
was suddenly made to participate in the wedding of someone he was tracking for a case, came home and laughed about it for several minutes, exclaimed “well, really!”, laughed for several more minutes, and only then did he actually tell watson what happened
responds to the king of bohemia insulting irene adler and saying she’s not on his level by saying coldly: “from what i have seen of the lady, she seems indeed to be on a very different level to your majesty”, which is basically him saying “actually she’s way better than you, so fuck off”
refused to shake said king’s hand
built a pillow fort in a client’s house so he could think better
let a poor jewel thief go because he cried, because it was christmas and therefore it was the season of forgiveness, and because the case was really easy anyway so it’s not his fault if the police are too stupid to solve it themselves
always reassures clients that they can trust him and watson and speak freely around them
is willing to waive his fee for clients who can’t afford to pay him, because according to him his profession is its own reward
this entire scene from speckled band when he gets confronted by his client’s abusive stepfather:
this nice little example of the gentleness he often displays with his clients:
the adventure of the copper beeches. just, all of it. a woman he doesn’t know comes to holmes for advice about a potential job she’s interviewed for and they both agree it sounds incredibly sketchy, she says she’s gonna take it anyway because she needs the money, and he’s like “well i wouldn’t want any sister of mine doing something like this but FINE i guess, just please write to us and let us know if you’re okay and if anything bad happens we’ll drop everything and come help you immediately”, and then the job does in fact turn out to be super sketchy and they drop everything and get on a train as soon as she writes to them
sometimes spends several hours out on walks through the park or the town with watson just relaxing and talking with him for the sake of it, despite watson frequently noting that holmes doesn’t have much appreciation for nature
“we have had the good fortune to bring peace to many troubled souls. i trust that we may do the same for you,” he says “in his easy, genial way” to a potential client who’s clearly very upset and sleep-deprived
is completely wrong about a particular case and asks watson to remind him of that case next time he gets overconfident
is noted by watson to be very neat and methodical in his methods and way of dress, while simultaneously being one of the messiest people ever who keeps his tobacco inside a persian slipper and his unopened letters held up by a knife in the center of his mantelpiece, keeps tons of criminal relics which apparently somehow end up in the butter dish sometimes, and keeps countless stacks of papers and documents all over the place
tells watson anecdotes about his past just to avoid cleaning up said documents
deliberately knocks over a table, shattering a glass fruit bowl which then sends oranges rolling all over the room, and then blames it on watson and runs away
says snarky things like “when gregson or lestrade are out of their depth–which, by the way, is their normal state” and “you’ve done very well, watson! it’s too bad you’ve missed everything of importance”
laughs when watson suggests he’s being modest about his abilities
picked up a rose and got all sappy and poetic about it
more specifically, picked up a rose and said that religion can be a science which involves a lot of careful deduction, and that flowers are a source of hope and proof of the goodness of god due to the fact that they aren’t a necessary part of life but are still so beautiful anyway
recovered an incredibly valuable government treaty for a client and had it served to him on a platter at breakfast because, in his own words, he “never can resist a touch of the dramatic”
faked his death and then revealed to watson that he was still alive in a manner that even he admitted was unnecessarily dramatic
had a full-scale wax model of himself created and used it to fool his enemies
made a diagram out of breadcrumbs to explain something to watson
broke into a blackmailer’s house for a case because he believed it to be morally justifiable, and admitted that he always thought he might make a good criminal
held watson’s hand while they were burgling said house together
twice
allowed said blackmailer to be murdered in front of him by one of his victims and then refused to take the case when asked because he just hated the guy that much
“flushed up with pleasure” when watson complimented him
asked watson to sell his medical practice and move back into 221b with him after the death of his wife. and then secretly gave a relative of his a ton of money to buy watson’s medical practice at the highest price watson would ask for, just so they could live together again
was nearly brought to tears by lestrade saying he was proud of him
let a dog lead him around on a case, multiple times in different stories
was very gentle with a client who he knew to be the victim of an abusive marriage and allowed the man who killed her husband to go free out of sympathy for their situation
noticed watson looking sad and touching his war wound and tried to cheer him up by echoing his thoughts and providing a deduction of how he knew what he was thinking
mentioned watson’s sparkling eyes in said deduction
talked about nothing but violins and his favorite violinist for an hour while he and watson had lunch together
likes going to classical music concerts and getting lost in the music
does scrapbooking
chuckles and rubs his hands together when he’s happy
this:
takes getting called "the devil himself" as a compliment
let a killer go because he had only killed in retaliation for the unjust murder of his lover, and holmes felt that he might’ve done the same if someone were to kill the woman he loved
on a completely unrelated note tells a guy who shoots watson “if you had killed watson you would not have got out of this room alive”
also reacted like this when watson got shot:
went undercover to supposedly give a guy secret government intelligence documents, and then gave him a book about bees instead
frequently disguised himself either for cases or just to fool watson and was noted to be a great actor
once disguised himself as an old woman with a parasol
tried the best he could to talk a young woman out of marrying a man who had a history of “collecting” women for sport and destroying their lives, and admitted to watson that he thought of her as he would think of his own daughter
was prone to “imp-like moods”
sent watson a message to come over at once ("if convenient--if inconvenient come all the same") just so he could infodump to him about dogs
wasn’t surprised that a dog died of grief shortly after its owner’s death, because of “the beautiful, faithful nature of dogs”
listened with great sympathy to a depressed woman who wanted to tell him her tragic story, picked up on hints that she was planning to commit suicide, talked her out of it by convincing her that her life does have value and then called her brave for choosing to live
got lost in thought looking out the window at the publicly funded elementary schools and randomly went on about how he believes they and the children who attend them are beacons of a brighter future
made hot cocoa for watson
shook hands with a baby
retired to the countryside to live on a farm and become a beekeeper.
#this post is SO ridiculously long i'm sorry. if the readmore doesn't work i will scream#it's also been in my drafts for ages and i wanna post it now that i'm deep in sherlock holmes obsession again#it is mostly for me so i can remind myself how much i love him <3#sherlock holmes#acd canon#edit: okay not only did the readmore work but there are TWO readmores and i have no damn clue why#i can't seem to get rid of the second one?? idk if it's because the post is so long or what lol but oh well
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time for the obligatory post about what episodes I want to see in the upcoming leverage season(s)
(for reference, I made this similar post in 2020 after the reboot was announced. I'm pasting some from that post bc I still want them to happen lol)
new ideas:
I mentioned a date night episode in the last post (apollo really did bless me with foresight for the date night job on that one) but for considerment: ot3 date night. possibly their first date night after they all get together. breanna and sophie know it's happening (harry is, like, peripherally aware) and some crime hijinks are going down and the three of them are frantically trying to stop bad things from happening that are going to interfere with the date. I want to see them going through it behind the metaphorical curtain. I want to see breanna fighting for her life trying to out-hack the hacker that is going to ruin their ten-part itineraried date. harry has to get in a fistfight and eliot is so proud about it when he finds out after everything is over
tree law episode. harry has been frothing at the mouth about it since it was made. his life has been moving him towards this penultimate moment. breanna thinks it's HILARIOUS and cheers him on 100% of the way. she is VERY enthusiastic about this con
I'm not going to mention certain things because I've seen jrogers posting on bluesky social and I know he might be already writing some of those plots
con that the food trucks have plot-relevance. like, one of his food truck stations is being harassed /victimized by, like, a local gang or something that takes advantage of food truck/cart workers and the team steps in. the actual (veteran) food truck workers get involved in the con. leverage international might just have gained a few retainer members
quinn should come back for an episode. I know the actor is friends with ckane. they should make it happen because it would be iconic and I said so
on a similar note, ckane is friends with jensen ackles and. guys. wouldn't it- wouldn't it be extremely funny if a flame from eliot's past named sean sylvester who is a rugged drifter with a questionable past
episode where tara or maggie (or BOTH, can you imagine how powerful that would be???) come back and there is slight flirting with sophie possibly??? that or very obvious chemistry from a past tryst. sophie has slept with both of them, I know it in my heart of hearts. bonus points if tara and maggie fall in love (I think it would be funny. maggie's taste in men is canonically atrocious, I think she deserves someone like tara at this point)
I just want a lot of side characters to come back, okay? sue me I miss them
gonna put the rest under the cut since this post has become obscenely long
not episode-specific, but I want more mentions of the korean leverage team. and all the other teams too! we know that in canon there is the south korean one, the nigerian one, and one in london (I think that's it for mentions so far, but correct me if I'm wrong!)
episodes addressing issues with american imperialism and its effects on minorities and marginalized communities, specifically within this country (there aren't a lot of episodes where they are actively out of country)
dear fucking god take a more abolitionist stance on policing I'm begging. would it KILL you to not be weird about cops? pls just punch some more cops. take down white supremacist cops, I'm sure you can scrounge something up bffrrn
women's rights episodes. I know it's kind of recent, but episodes about accessibility of stuff like birth control, abortion access, etc. y'all are capable of making excellent episodes on that I know it
more climate crisis-related episodes. god knows you're feeling it in the deep south
taking down a corrupt megachurch pastor (although lbr, there is no ethical megachurch anything and you can fight me on this)
something to do with ace rights bc I think it would be really cool to see the team advocate for that stuff, especially since breanna is canon ace
helping a polycule that is being victimized by X organization/entity (maybe a housing association or medical or something???). breanna is bombastic side-eyeing the ot3 the entire time. it is making hardison sweat. sophie thinks it's hilarious
taking down 'writers' that use ai and self-publish AND/OR people that take original/fan works off of like ao3 and wattpad and publish them for personal profits without the author's consent. breanna would have a field day with this (god herself could try to convince me that girl does not read/write fanfic and I wouldn't believe it)
episode about underfunded public schools. we saw corrupt private schools in the fairy godparents job but I want an episode that would make abbot elementary writers proud
episode addressing native/indigenous. eliot is from oklahoma, I'm sure he is well aware of the health/job/economic/etc disparities on reservations. I will email jrogers about it myself if I have to- it anyone can get people going about native rights through a tv show it would be leverage.
I sent an ask to wil wheaton once asking if he was open to returning to leverage and I think he said he would be down for it. but chaos either has to be a reluctant ally to leverage international and is being handled by quinn as a hitter OR he is just. in jail. bc he sucks.
bpas and/or pfas episode. breanna has mentioned microplastics before but I want more
the team tears the shit out of conversion therapy camp owners and plants the seeds for legislation that will punish parents that try to send their kids to those hellscapes
while we're at it, I'd love to see an ep where they tackle the trans bathroom issue. god knows the news doesn't talk about it nearly enough
something to do with foster care. they end up starting some sort of foster care network that past clients/allies can take part in. maybe a mentorship program for kids that want to do what they do one day (they are very reluctant to encourage kids to participate in crime BUT if that is the avenue that they are going to inevitably go towards, they guide them in the right direction). nana makes an appearance (*insert 'everybody liked that' meme*)
prison industrial complex episode. I KNOW we had the jailhouse job BUT we really need this in our year of 2024
another episode on corrupt influencers. maybe influencer parents? dear god pls take them down a notch
ep where there is an underlying message that tells you how to avoid becoming victim to scams or something, or like is a tutorial for how to identify scams you might fall victim to (sorry, I just have to say this after two separate people tried to pig butcher me in less than two (2) weeks))
not to say I want them to do an ep calling out cop city, but it would feel really good to watch the leverage team rip that concept to SHREDS
the minimum wage job. need I say more? we deserve the catharsis
pls go after goodwill execs, esp the ones in the pnw that have their sector as for-profit and have become millionaires+ because of it while paying their staff (especially disabled staff) fucking pennies
while we're on the topic, pls call out salvation army (the corporation)
I can probably go on for like five hours so I'll stop here
ep that we get to see harry and his daughter bond :)
job where they get to lower the price of insulin (and other drugs)
actually, you know what? an episode where the crew annihilates big pharma and terrible insurance companies
I think that breanna should be able to go off about mass/over consumption as a treat. I 100% believe she has Thoughts about it. like, she will absolutely call out the corporations that are responsible for these trends, but also she should be allowed to mention our tendency for overconsumption as a society. obviously there are a few corporations that are doing most of the world's pollution/ecological damage, but we should be doing our part too and I KNOW it would be in-character for her to go off on it
I bet she has a LOT to say about influencers, tbh. obviously not all influencers are bad, but there are sooooo many problematic ones and problems within the influencer industry
sizing discrimination in the modeling/clothing industry. let eliot talk about how there are no perfect bodies. also while I'm on the subject, can we PLS have more body-diverse background actors on the show? I know this is nitpicky but I'd really love to see some more people that look like me, even if they are just in the background
a thinly veiled writers' rights episode (I'm looking at you media execs and the stupid amount of time it took for you to comply to the WGA demands)
something to do with media companies making entire movies/tv shows and then fucking cancelling them/not releasing them and using them as tax write-offs. every time it happens it baffles me. that is cartoonishly stupid villain shit. I can't imagine lovingly working on a project for a year plus and then the company just going, nah, we aren't going to release it because you suck and it's a good business move
ai art and ai in general. please. let it BURN
okay now I'm done
ideas from the previous post that I still want:
comicon job. I said it before and I will say it again- we deserve it!!! come on, it's the age of the geek after all!!! (in the last post I also said a ren faire ep, but I will let the card game job count for that)
summer camp ep? I saw a tumblr fic about it and I think it could be cute. it could kinda be like the fairy godparents job- eliot in charge of some type of sports (archery, fencing, etc), hardison would be in charge of arts and crafts (this boy might be a genius with tech and in general tbh, but the show did such a good job of showing that he’s also very talented with the arts- sculpting the statue for the miracle job, forging the old diary in the king george job, etc), parker would LOVE to be in charge of a high ropes course. breanna would totally be down for some sort of nerdy kid robotics or simple, traditional camp games (can't go wrong with the classics. everyone loves making bracelets!) I feel like it's too stereotypical to have sophie have kids put on a play but we all know that's exactly what she would do. idk for harry? I think he has the same traditional camp activities vibe as breanna. he's in it for the nostalgia. OR something to do with videogames
please, please, please, please, please make an episode where they take down a cult, im begging. that would be such a good episode. definitely a mindfuck episode like the experimental job (4x11). I’ve seen a few posts about a job dealing with a cult (here’s one) and I think it would be really interesting
MORE STERLING being DONE with leverage shenanigans!!! give me feral!sterling like in the frame-up job (5x10)!!! give me sterling that protests every step of the way but conveniently looks away and “whoops, the team just disappeared, I have no idea how that happened!!! diddly dang darn it, they got away again!!! sorry guys!!!” bonus points if mcsweeten is there too and also participates in intervening hijinks
the team takes down a circus that is still using and abusing wild animals!!! because first I’d LOVE to see acrobat!parker swinging up in the air like a pro and being in her element, but also because those places are the fucking worst and need to Go Down. give me eliot having to pose as an animal trainer with deep sympathy for the animals being abused, quietly talking soothing words to them when he thinks no one is around (correction: hardison is, in fact, around, and filming his boyfriend’s softness to save for later). give me charismatic hardison playing the role of ringmaster, running and flaunting about and being passive-aggressive to the circus master. give me eliot freeing the animals from their chains when they are finally able to shut the place down and relocate the animals to sanctuaries (his hands shaking just a little as twists the key in the lock, because he too was once an abused, caged animal in his own right and he knows how liberating it is to finally be free).
#i have SO much to say about native rights and I'd give a kidney to be able to have it shown for all on a wide reaching show#for the love of god it's the least we can do#sorry yall im just. really passionate about native rights. I made myself a nuisance to all of my hs history professors talking about it#every chance i got. if the textbooks won't talk about it i will make my presentation about it and educate my peers my goddam self if i have#to#anyway. i will get off the soap box now. but yeah educate yourself on native/indigenous rights (based off where you live too)#episode ideas#leverage redemption#leverage redemption s3#speculation#mine#parker#alec hardison#eliot spencer#leverage ot3#parker x hardison x eliot#sophie devereaux#harry wilson#breanna casey#mr quinn#quinn#side characters#leverage international#tara cole#maggie collins#jim sterling#recurring characters#sophie x maggie#sophie x tara#maggie x tara
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For Mod Hajime, i hope this doesnt sound weird but could you do a platonic fatherly yandere imagine post with Elias Bouchard? I like to imagine he fixates on a new Institute hire who doesnt know the fears are real and just decides "Its Child time. There is nothing I wont do to make my new child happy." But he also has to work around Jon and them getting in his way because they just dont GET that he's a Father now.
A FATHER'S LOVE!
"surely you'd choose your father over your friends, wouldn't you?"
summary. getting a job at a spooky academic institute offers toms of spooky outcomes. you just didn't expect to get a father figure and a overlyprotective friend group.
contents. platonic yandere! elias; elias is a wet cat grandpa; the archivist gang are slightly yandere; happens right after season 1
✦ It was difficult. Getting by in the big London city and rent to your flat was quite ridiculously high, even for usual london rent standard. But thankfully, a position in The Magnus Institute had opened and you managed to get the spot after wrangling out your best qualities to the HR like you're trading them.
✦ Now, you were aware of what you were getting into. I mean, an institute that's notorious for having many people going MIA or dying, but this was the only job that accepted you out of the millions you applied for and frankly, it pays better than most of them.
✦ So, you worked as the institute's librarian. It shocked you to know that they have their own personal library but at the same time, you kind of expected it. After all, it is an academic institute and there's bounds to be numerous books and soucres to cite for every statement given, regardless of how strange there are.
✦ You've met a couple on the job. Some were nice and often has small talks with you while some simply comes and goes, not even bothering to talk to you unless they're checking a book out. It was fine, of course, you can't help but feel disheartened. After all, all you do is stand by, organize the library and do nothing. It gets a bit lonely sometimes.
✦ And then, one day, a certain someone came to the library and it was no one other than big boss himself— Elias Bouchard. You never met the man before, only hearing him from Rosie and the others, but he is generally well-disliked by his own staff. You had nothing to complain about him and honestly, you find his company nice.
✦ He comes to the library whenever he has free time and then would talk to you. It wasn't just small talk, not just noise coming out of his mouth to fill in the silence, but he talked to you. He told you so many things— his opinions, his likes and dislikes —and even asked you about yours.
✦ Elias would listen intently, taking in every information about yourself in a manner so ... different from how he usually carried himself. Elias Bouchard was a prideful asshole and you knew that obviously well from just his body language, and yet when it comes to you, he is oddly soft. He reminds you almost like a dad for some reasons.
✦ And your relationship with your boss became like that. You didn't mind, you understand to some degree but even still you couldn't wrap your mind around why he chose specifically you. Maybe he didn't choose or maybe he did, but either way, this outcome was better than him hating you.
✦ But then, only a few months into your job, you suddenly got promoted to assistant archivist, joining the very few others in the archives in their day-to-day life.
✦ It was ... suffocating at first. The institute did suffer damage from the Prentiss Attack as you heard from the other employees and with the archives being the main target for the worms, it was not surprise that the Archivist and his team suffered greatly. Though injured, all of them still came back in one piece so that was a good thing.
✦ It took a while getting to know the others: Martin was the quickest to befriend and he'd bring you your favourite cup of tea whenever he can. Tim was the second, jokingly flirting with you at first but he was comfortable to be around and somehow both of your intensive knowledge on memes made the two of you friends. Sasha, on the other hand, took a bit more effort but in the end, she was just as fun and cheery as the other two outside work.
✦ Jon, on the other hand... He was wary, of course, a bit of an asshole too but you were determined to let his walls down, and so was the team. He gradually came to accept (aka get comfortable with) your existence and doesn't glare you like a cat you just rudely woke up.
✦ Elias... Elias isn't too pleased with this development though as you come find. He finds every excuse in the book to have you in office, stalling you just so he could spend more time with you. He had moved to the archives for one very specific reason and that was so he can watch you carefully.
✦ I mean, how couldn't he? You were so nice to him, oblivious to the concept of the entities and you didn't even care if he gets a bit 'spooky' (as Tim puts it) at times. In fact, he claimed you as his kid the moment you seem to play along with his 'little cryptid act'.
✦ But The Archival team... Oh, did they get on his nerves. But he couldn't do anything, no, he was sure you'll know and they'll tell you about what he truly is and he couldn't risk that. He couldn't lose you to them, so he'll have to just slightly abuse his power a bit. Just to have you be by his side a bit longer.
✦ Of course, Archivist and Co. can't stand by idly and watch him take their friend! And so, everytime Elias and one of them come to your desk at the same time, it's practically a tug of war for your affection and attention.
✦ It makes you laugh honestly, seeing them fight like this. Reminds you so much like a father trying to shoo away any his kid's admirers.... Only if you knew though, then you wouldn't be laughing.
notes. hi hii!!! tysm for requesting this!! i always wanted to write for tma but couldn't. ik this is a pretty old req (i think like .... from june i think?) and i wrote this months ago but forgot to finish
reqs are alwyas open!! and dont forget to reblog any of our works here on this blog, it help us a lot!!! ty again for requesting!
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accidentally outing themselves on live tv? dunno how or if anyone else at sky knows but it’s something they’d do providing some images from the carraville discord that we were talking about yesterday
god they WOULD end up accidentally outing themselves bc they already can't keep their hands to themselves imagine how much worse they would be.......... I shudder to think............
---
“I’m here pitchside with Gary Neville –“
“—Carragher were meant to be joinin’ us, but he’s late getting up from London.”
“Yes, quite. I’m sure he’ll be arriving soon. In the meantime – Gary, what are your thoughts on United’s starting line-up tonight?”
*
Gary is nodding along to something Kelly is saying when his attention suddenly shifts to something off camera. He rolls his eyes as Jamie comes crashing in, bag slid halfway down his shoulders, seemingly unaware of the producer holding his earpiece who’s trying to get his attention.
“Sorry, love,” he says as he hurries up to Gary, immediately stepping into his personal space. He ducks his head down to press their lips together in a quick greeting before he continues, “there was a crash on the M6 or summat, a whole section of the road was closed off. Bloody nightmare, I’m tellin’ ya.”
As he talks, he doesn’t seem to notice Gary’s wide eyed stare, the blush rising in his cheeks, or Kelly clamping a hand to her mouth while her shoulders shake in laughter.
Gary tries his best to compose himself and turns to the camera with an expression caught between terror and amusement, and he says “well, now that Jamie’s very kindly provided us all with a traffic update I think it’s time for us to hear from our colleagues in the studio.” When the light of the camera turns off, he reaches out to give Jamie a slap round the back of the head and hisses “live television, James, how many years’ve you been doin’ this again?”
“Wha?” Jamie looks over, already surrounded by a small hoard of tech people and a make-up artists trying to get him camera ready as quickly as they can.
“Oh my God,” Gary mutters, pinching his brow. “Jamie, you dolt, you just kissed me in front of our live audience of what – a million people?”
“I never,” Jamie says with an offended glare, far too confident for someone who definitely fucking did.
“Oh my God,” Gary repeats. “You don’t believe me? Check your fucking phone.”
*
“You don’t even get Sky Sports in America, Philip, how have you already seen it?”
“Tray sent it to me, it’s all over Twitter.”
“Oh, well that’s just great then in’t it?” Gary huffs. At Jamie’s questioning look, he repeats “it’s all over Twitter, apparently.”
For a moment Jamie looks almost proud that he’s a trending topic, but he shuts his expression down when he sees Gary’s glare and turns back to his own phone call (“no, Ma, I –”)
“I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me, Gaz,” Philip whines down the phone. “I tell you everythin’”
“An’ I keep askin’ you not to tell me everythin’! Isn’t a man entitled to a little privacy?”
*
Group: STF Gang NO PARENTS
> Jill: who had money on it being Jamie cos I’m pretty sure I’d said Gary
> Roy: I think we all said Gary
> Ian: statistically it was most likely to be Gary.
> Ian: but Roy said it’d be while they’re covering a match so I think he wins it
> Jill: :(((
*
(24 new messages)
Stevie G:
> you’re trending on twitter what have you done now
> NEVIlLE??? Carra have some self respect
J Redknapp:
> you melt 😂
> everyone in the studio is running around panicking rn
MO:
> did everyone know except me??
> you’re shite at texting I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend
> I didn’t even know you liked men?
> Gaz is nice though we should all go for drinks sometime
*
(57 new messages)
Scholesy:
> twat why didnt u tell me
> u was moaning about him just last week
Philip MU mob:
> you hung up before I could say but proud of you Gaz!
Roy Keane MU mob:
> does this mean we’re allowed to tease you two about it on camera now
> here if you need anything
> [image: a blurry, blank-faced selfie with a thumbs up]
BIG MEEKS:
> you could do better 🙄😉
#made myself laugh writing roys texts tbh. im so obsessed with the fact that he just sends people selfies as a way to end the conversation#carraville#drabbles#also yes micah saved his own number into garys phone in this scenario. clearly.
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Public service announcement!
I am writing some seriously dirty smut about this man.
Are you ready, besties? Because I don't think you're ready for Sean to be THIS much of a beast.
#sean wallace#sean wallace fanfiction#sean wallace smut#gangs of london#gangs of london fanfiction#joe cole#gangs of london fanfic#sean wallace fanfic#gangs of london fic#sean wallace fic#sean wallace x ofc#sean wallace imagine
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫
Inspo: Max Richter - The Young Mariner
Gangs of London Series
Pairing: None yet...
Summary: The time the world went quiet only started a new chaos.
Warnings: Angst
Words 2160
With the world we are born into, it is chosen how we might see it. Things that happen in our lives, the things that are told to us give us a piece that we can use to make sense of what is going on around us. Make our own assumptions about the tragedies that go on in the world that we may or may not have control over. It is unpredictable.
It was exactly that that your father loved about it.
He was a strange man your father, Steve Rogers. He wasn’t closed off per se, but he didn’t let on what he did in his spare time when he was away from you and your mother. But whenever he was around, sharing a drink with you, he would speak wisely. Teach you without directly teaching you. It was strange the relationship you had with him. How he would hint at something deeper- an underlying reasoning for the conversations he might start up. At the time, you were merely a child and didn’t understand. As time went on though, you pieced it all together.
The only confirmation of your father’s true job was when you woke up in the middle of the night in March. Wind howling and pellets of rain beating against your window, obscuring the scene you watched from your window. You had seen the lights of two vehicles pull up outside of the barn not too far from the mansion your father had owned before you were even born. But you saw your father pull a man out from the back of a car, bag over his head before being kicked and shoved towards the barn doors.
It felt like ages before you had seen the muzzle flash of a gun go off from the cracks of the wooden structure. That had been the night where you realized your father wasn’t the man you thought him to be. But you didn’t hold it against him or see him any differently. He was family and you could only make assumptions and give false reasonings for what you had seen that night. Deep down, you did know what happened but were too afraid to admit to yourself that your dad was a cold-blooded murderer.
And for a time, you tried to ignore it, continue to make up false justifications for a man you were slowly finding unrecognizable. When the time came that you did confront him, he didn’t move or say a word. He just stared at you, calculating every movement you made, and every emotion that swam in your eyes. Then, and only then, he divulged the secrets he’d kept from you. Telling you of how he came into money, how he and your mother hadn’t been the angelic humans you thought them to be, and that no matter what you did, you would be just like them. Whether you liked it or not.
You don’t know what it was. Perhaps it was him finally telling you, seizing the growing insanity you felt from witnessing what you did that night. Or it might’ve been that it had finally come to be the time you were welcomed into the family business. Whatever it was, you had accepted it with grace. A rather unpredictable feeling you never expected to feel after discovering your parents were murderers- mobsters for an underground empire that had been controlling judges, businesses, and even governmental officials.
But the one thing he did tell you was, “If I was ever killed, it wasn’t under natural circumstances. Nobody dies normally in this business.”
And here he was, lying in his casket with a bundle of roses in his clasped hands. Truthfully, you never thought the day would come when you would have to witness a sight. Being in the business, you thought that you would be the one to go. Be used as some sort of leverage against your father and killed the moment the person got what they wanted. You didn’t think you would have to listen to your mother sob in your arms, begging aloud for someone to bring him back.
Yet, here you were.
No tears were shed from you though. There was no use in crying when it wouldn’t bring the person you had begun to admire, back. How could you when you know your dad would berate you for doing so? Because, in some weird way, you could see your day possibly enjoying the way he went. It was unpredictable. But now thinking about it, the one thing he loved about this world was exactly what killed him. God, how the world loved to twist and just fuck with your head, huh?
Nonetheless, you did place a hand on his cheek, jaw clenched as you stared at the wound in the center of his forehead. The coroner had stitched it up to the best of their ability so it wouldn’t be a closed casket. Giving you one final chance to get a good look at his face before he would be gone, officially, forever.
Swallow the cement in your throat, you exhaled deeply. “Goodbye, Dad.” Your nails brushed through his grizzly beard, brushing over his suit before you turned and walked back to your seat.
The church had rows of people- some you recognized from your childhood and your dad’s business, and others you had yet to know. But at the moment, none of them exactly mattered as you sat down with your mother. Glancing to your right, finding your Uncle Bucky with pursed lips, eyes brimming with tears. Placing a hand on his forearm, you looked away before he could catch your eyes. Deciding this be your one final act of kindness in these tragic times.
When you’d gotten the news, it felt like the world went quiet. London had gone silent from the loss of a man they could only see as a good man from his charities and other good deeds. Steve had been a good man, despite his wrongdoings, he did try and do some good for the unfortunate. So, as much as you and many others were feeling his loss, London felt it just as much. Bucky, being his right-hand man, must’ve been feeling this worse than them all. Even your mother, Peggy.
Throughout the service, the priest blabbered on and on whilst you sat, staring intently at your father’s corpse. And even when you stood in that rain, watching his body be lowered into his grave, you held no direct emotion for others to see. But you did feel rage. One that could only compare to the outbursts your father had when something didn’t go his way. You could feel it in the way your hands trembled, fingers twitching as you felt the need to do something- Anything to release that rage on someone or something.
But with a deep inhale, you turned away from the grave and started making your way up to the car. Eyes spotting your mother and Bucky talking to a woman as others made their leave. The conversation with the trio seemed heated judging by the way your Uncle’s shoulder rose and fell with each breath he took. As well as the way the woman spat back comments to the man as Peggy tried to cool the argument building in tension.
Despite all of that, you stared intently at the mysterious woman. Her long red hair was damp from the rain and lack of an umbrella. She hadn’t been there throughout the service and even the burial. You would have noticed someone as beautiful as her. Her green eyes seemed darker than you would’ve expected. Either from anger or some form of sorrow, she must’ve felt. Why show up at a funeral if you didn’t know the person being buried six feet in the ground?
Removing your gaze, you continued a slow pace to the car. Hands in your black trench coat as an attempt to hide the emotions you were holding on a leash. But before you could even get inside the black Sedan, someone called out for you. “Y/n!” Turning, you found T’Challa jogging over, and for the first time today, you smiled.
Since you came into the business, T’Challa and you hit off instantly. Perhaps it was the fact that you two were around the same age or that you two related in the fact that both your parents were the head of powerful families in London. But you two seemed to clique and could go out on a night, shoot the shits, and not regret a thing the next day. Every day you spent with the man seemed like a brand new adventure.
“T’Challa.” You smiled, opening your arms as the man engulfed you in a hug.
“I’m sorry about your loss,” he whispered. “I can’t imagine how you are feeling.”
You sighed, softly pulling away and scratching your right brow with a soft chuckle. “Yeah, um, I don’t know what to feel, honestly.” Rage. “It's taking me a bit to get a grasp on it, but I think I should manage.”
“If there’s anything you need, you let me know, alright?” T’Challa, being the comforting man you knew him to be, showed a face of worry. One that he always seemed to display anytime you didn’t seem to have that bright smile on your face. But more than ever, he felt the need to be there for you. Something you appreciated when you didn’t have many friends nowadays.
Before assurance can be given to the man, his father, T’Chaka comes over. “Y/n, I am sorry for your lost, my dear.”
You smile and nod in thanks. “Thank you, King T’Chaka. I-”
“Your father was a good man, Y/n.” Your brows knitted together, upper lip twitching as you stared at the man. “Always the mastermind behind our schemes he and I did. Who will be taking his position now?”
The question came out of left field, one that T’Challa didn’t even seem prepared for. And if you weren’t wrong or misreading your friend, he seemed just as frustrated and furious as you. Shifting the weight of your feet, you squinted your eyes at the older man. “Why would that matter?”
T’Chaka sighed, glancing at his son before motioning for you to follow. Glancing at T’Challa, he seemed just as confused as you. Nonetheless, you followed the older man towards the grave of your father. Stopping just at the edge as T’Chaka stared down into the grave.
“Someone chose to kill, Steven Rogers,” T’Chaka began. “And today, we mourn the loss of a good man.” Turning to you, T’Chaka sighed. “But tomorrow will be business as usual. Someone will have to take his place, Y/n. Either you or Peggy.”
His words strung a deep chord within you. He was saying all of this in front of your father's grave? Speaking of loss, yet, still having time to discuss business in front of a dead man? Something about it didn’t sit right with you. Albeit, your emotions and anxiety had been at an all-time high since you had gotten the news. But this, this fucked with you a little too much. It dug too deep into your current unfulfilled rage that left you on the verge of bursting from your seams.
“Hmm.” You hummed, nodding to yourself as you glanced down at the casket. A rosewood stain covers the exterior with gold handles along the sides. A luxurious coffin made for only a true king. Looking up at T’Chaka, you shook your head. “No. It all stops. Every shipment, every pound of coke, heroin- all of it stops. Until I find the person responsible for killing my father.”
Stepping towards the man, you glared at him. “And if that is a problem, then move the fuck over! If you have a question about leadership, I suggest keeping your mouth fucking shut!” Smiling faintly, you leaned in towards the man’s ear. “If you think me taking my father’s place would keep things the same, you are sadly mistaken, King.”
Pulling away, you stared at the older man’s hardened features. Patting him lightly on the shoulder before moving back to your vehicle. Nodding to T’Challa, who returned it as you passed him and got into the Sedan where your mother was sat quietly. And the moment you were seated, the vehicle started moving.
But you could sense the tension, an undeniable set of emotions that swirled through the interior of the vehicle. The source came from your mother who wiped her cheeks, hoping to hide the newly developed tears that had appeared.
So, you grabbed her hand and squeezed it softly. Peggy let out a shaky breath, eyes staring blankly ahead of her as she shook her head. “There was a time no one dared to touch this family.”
Gripping her hand tightly, you clenched your jaw. “I’ll make things right, Mum.”
And that was a promise.
#steve rogers#natasha romanoff#bucky barnes#gangs of london series#natasha romanoff angst#peggy carter#t'challa#t'chaka#natasha romanoff fanfiction#x fem!reader#marvel x fem!reader#steve rogers angst#peggy carter angst#marvel imagine#marvel fanfiction#natasha romanoff imagine
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Re: your recent frivolities, I’m chewing on non-driver galex on a little drunk friend party weekend in the mountains warm from drinking almost too much, fumbling around in the starry dark trying not to get caught for some inscrutable reason idk i just think it’s COMPELLING and would like your scholarly opinion!!!
The longhouse in Devon has been George’s idea; something he could plan sprawled on the couch after a long day, something to hold onto when he got yet another pls fix email for the contract he drafted, now annotated with question marks and no-s. It was a small miracle that they even found a time that worked for all of them, even if it was a bit awkward timing, the first weekend of December that Lando and Alex both marked with if need be in the Doodle, something about marketing being overwhelmed with the Christmas fuckery, or whatever Lando was trying to say in the dozen texts he sent into the groupchat.
‘You can really tell he’s doing the socials, always on his phone’, Alex texted him in private, followed by a screenshot of trading his Sunday shift with one of his buddies.
It’s been a few years since they last managed to get the whole gang together for a getaway. The last time, George was doing his CPQ, begging off in the early afternoons to cram for his exams, locking the door to their room with Alex and ignoring the ruckus outside. He picked Alex up at the vet clinic, let him sleep off the overnight shift on the drive there, the roads first slow in the London traffic, then clearing up as they finally left the city.
It’s easy to tell the lads that he’s missed them after everyone is loose-limbed with mulled wine, especially with Alex’s hand big and familiar on his waist, warmth seeping through his t-shirt. When Alex’s thumb begins to stroke the line of his ribcage, slow and soft, George takes a look at him; but Alex is listening to Charles intently, nodding along the story that George has lost track of five minutes and two sub-stories ago.
So George can be normal. He knocks back a shot with Daniel and then carefully puts the glass down on the counter; just behind Alex so he can press his arm along the strong line of his back. Alex leans back, his other hand coming to rest on George’s waist as well, and he can feel himself flush as he tries to imagine how it must look, Alex’s clever hands framing his torso like that, the hands that can soothe a wounded animal or hold down a desperate creature all the same.
“Cold?” Alex asks, as quiet as he can manage over the music, when a shiver rakes through George’s body at the thought. George risks another glance; this time, Alex is looking at him, lashes fanning his dark eyes, like he’s considering his hands on George, too, and some long-buried hope flickers alive again in him.
“Not at all, mate,” George tells him. He drags the vape out of his pocket and shows it to Alex – the bar is a pretty, deep purple, one of the less ridiculous ones Pierre has brought. “Wanna go out for a smoke?”
“God, I wish it was a smoke instead of that kid flavoured abomination,” Alex sighs, but his hands tighten on George’s waist quite agreeable. They fetch their coat in silence, stepping outside without much fanfare. When George inclines his head, Alex raises a half-mocking eyebrow, but follows him behind the corner all the same, crowding into his space when George leans against the wall.
“If you knew just half the shit these can cause, you’d be a lot less eager,” Alex says, nodding at the vape. George doesn’t give a shit about the vape; has taken it in hopes for exactly this, Alex lecturing him a little, his attention finally on George and only George.
“You know I can be plenty eager,” he tells Alex, and the second Alex’s eyes go dark and wanton, he feels drunker than the whole night.
“I do know that,” Alex says, now pressing impossibly closer, strong and warm and perfect all over. “You wanna remind me?”
“Always,” George says, and then he barely notices when he drops the stupid vape, too busy rediscovering how Alex tastes and how his now thicker thigh still fits so nicely between his legs, firm and tantalizing.
#devon isn't the mountains but we move!#'my recent frivolities' wow can't believe i'm being called out on main like this.#george/alex#little fic#thank you for this gabby mwah ily#rosy.ask#sorry i didn't even read this back it is what it is
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Do u have headcanons about or what do you think about a 90s or 00s AU (maybe) where Curly Shepard is a punk and Ponyboy a goth or a babybat? ^_^ Like imagine purly but ponyboy tries to show his obsession for edgar allan poe and curly or the gang JUST DON'T GET IT 😭
wym anon that literally already IS purly🙄🙄
BUT YEA I DO HAVE HCS!!!! o(^-^)o
(for context who dont know, baby at is the name for like ppl who r newly goth basically, theyre just starting out listening to music n stuff like that)
•since curly is punk here and the whole idea of punks is essentially anti establishment and love individuality i will NOT make him make fun of pony for being goth, especially when hes a babybat hes just embracing himself
•also curly is curly i feel like hes a bit morbid himself and would be at the very least interested in edgar allen poe, so even if he wasnt punk he wouldnt make fun of pony for liking him, even if he does thats just bc hes being friendly and just does NOT like poetry
•ill place this in like, late 90s and early 2000s, so there is that huge thing against goths and punks for being ‘weird’ and against god or something along those lines
•curlys pretty used to being targeted for being different for his punk style and such while pony isnt exactly used to that so i imagine that hes more protective while ponys trying to figure himself out in that regard
•some bands pony would b interested in is evanescence, the cure, and siouxsie and the banshees, london after midnight, of course there IS more but these r like more so his favs
•how pony found out about gothic bands was like, a song was playing in darrys car radio and darry didnt rlly like it so he changed it but the song was already stuck in ponys head
•he brought it up to curly but pony was just like ‘idk maybe itll pass’, it in fact DID not pass and later they was just chillin in curlys car and the song came back on the radio and pony was like ‘neuron activated’
•curly was personally not rlly into the song, but hey, ponys happy so its whatever
•personally i imagine that pony doesnt have a gothic STYLE more so he has a love for gothic songs and literature, yknow what i mean??? but maybe he does borrow some clothes from curly thats more on the gothic side or thrifts some clothes
•other than edgar allen poe, he does like phantom of the opera, frankenstein, dracula, carmilla, dr jekyll and mr hyde, also he would like ruby gloom (thank my gf for this hc)
•his art style is kinda influenced by those media actually
•as for what type of goth he is i could mostly see him being like a geek goth, but he is interested in the looks of victorian goths and gothabilly goths
IVE BEEN TALKING ABOUT PONY FOR TOO LONG NOW ON ABOUT CURLY
•tbh, not much to add for this guy, punk curly is literally just regular curly but more understanding of who he is and what he wants in the world yknow??
•think of curly but actually a lil more, idk thought provoking in his own curly way with a better understanding of the world
•MAY I INSERT MY HC OF CURLY HAVIN AN AFRO MOHAWK HERE🗣️🗣️
•he is from a haitian household tho and haitian moms especially tend to be more, religious and all that jazz, so while tim and angela get their ears yelled off for well being them, its especially happening to curly bc in his moms eyes hes “turning away from god” n what not being a “vagabon” as many haitian moms would put it
•he likes customizing his own clothes, he thrifts and gets a bunch of hand me downs so might as well make them look cooler
•hes a graffiti artist and hes acc pretty well known, everyone knows its him but they dont rlly say anything cause 1) hes curly shepard but 2) his work rlly isnt that bad actually
•i could totally see him liking green day and he does NOT like fall out boy but he does like a coulle of songs from them (much to his dismay
•hes picking up guitar (how he afforded it??? i payed for it lets just say that)
WHEN IT COMES TO THE GANG, they dont rlly get pony being goth, they support him of course, but they do tend to make fun of him a bit</33 but darry, soda, and johnny do try to understand him more, its rlly just two
ps anon my gf said she loves u for ur idea (shes goth, u got the goth stamp of approval)
#curly shepard#ponyboy curtis#purly#tim shepard#angela shepard#darry curtis#darrel curtis#dallas winston#sodapop curtis#johnny cade#two bit mathews#steve randle
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What do you think about twst boys visiting your hometown? I like to think about this when my days are particularly shitty
Okay, first of all - I'm so sorry for taking so long to reply to this. Life was life-ing and second, this actually was a fun thought exercise to have on an airplane (and a pretty cool way to cure boredom) so thank you 😊
So, first thing's first: 'home town' can mean a lot of things in relation to me. You see, my parents are Sri Lankan, I spent the majority of my childhood in the UK (Wales and England) before moving to Qatar like eight years ago - and I can see shenanigans in all three of those places. So let me split this up by country and the dorm I'd have the most fun with
Sri Lanka: So after some thinking, I'd say Octavinelle - mainly because of the food. Lanka is a small island in the middle of the ocean and we do love our cuisine. Honestly, I only go there on holiday to meet relatives and there's not really much to do there in terms of entertainment that you can't do anywhere else so I think introducing the food to the fish mafia is the most I can think of (that and trying to stop Floyd from making off with a three-wheeler)
UK: I mean, you can't not have the Heartslabyul gang in London. Like, taking them to zoos/petting zoos, strawberry farms, tea rooms/high tea, the bakeries, Buckingham Palace, the London Dungeons the sweet magicamable places for Cater's camera.
Also, I would like to invite the Diasomnia gang as well 1) because of all of the historical landmarks and 2) because I think UK is the most superstitious with regards to fairies and I think they'd have a kick out of that
Qatar: obviously the Scarabia duo. Like, I have so much fun going to the souqs and dunes because I get all delulu and imagine going on a date with them in the Scalding Sands. I imagine they'd feel right at home here and it would be fun to compare and contrast the differences between their home country and Doha - like the food, the clothing, the architecture. Also, I'm a firm believer in arabic speaking!Kalim and Jamil so it would be so cool to have them translate things I can't understand. We'd have so much fun drinking karak tea, going dune bashing and quad biking.
Thanks for the ask 😊
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