Perhaps, in another lifetime

Here to scribbles a bit, hyperfixate on fiction universes, boldly going..

[emmmmmmmms-blog]

Hello:)

Welcome here to my blog, where I shall post rambles, drafts, scribblings and other related-to-writing things. Mostly based on my hyper fixations, so bear with me on this adventure. I am a huge anti-ai blog, so if you either use my work for it or recommend me anything related, close or not, of it, I will block you. Thank you. Be mindful of others, and have fun!

MASTERLIST LINK good reading!

xx

[deepgreensunlight]

god DAMMIT they keep making him hotter

[emmmmmmmms-blog]

the tattoos are clearly working wonders on him...

[writingwithfolklore]

Writing Resources to use instead of AI

For coming up with character names:

Behind the name (my absolute fav)

Allows you to choose the origin of where you want the name to be from, whether you want a more feminine vs masculine vs androgenous name (as voted by users), random surname generator, and clicking on the name gives you important info like if there are any famous people with the same name, where it’s from, how common it is, and how people tend to see it, etc.

You can also search their name database by letter or meaning or origin, so if you know you want a character who has a name/surname that starts with an A from Ireland, there’s a whole list for you to choose from.

Census sites

Especially useful if you’re looking for a name from a specific place and/or time period. Just search “(country) census (year)” and you’ll find a database of real people who lived in that place at that time. No one can ever call your names unrealistic again.

For coming up with place names:

Fantasy name generator

This site can basically come up with any name for any person, place, or thing you might ever need. There are also specific generators for different fandoms if you’re looking to make an OC in an established world.

For finding that one word on the tip of your tongue:

One Look Thesaurus

This is my go-to. Not only can you find synonyms like a regular thesaurus, but you can also describe words like “unhappy smile” or “quiet laugh” to find the more specific word you’re looking for.

For coming up with ideas:

Word cloud

When I need to inspire a new idea, I write down all the things I’m interested in (hauntings, academia, lesbians, etc.) and put them into a word cloud to shuffle them next to each other. Sometimes seeing a concept in a new context can spark new ideas!

WWF Discord

This is my discord channel (shameless plug) for when you need to brainstorm off other people but don’t have anyone irl to talk to. We’re also happy to read and give feedback on writing, answer writing questions, or just chat!

For visualizing places and characters:

Pinterest

Pinterest can at times be a bit too sterile for my tastes, but if you use the right words, you can find more realistic photos of places. For example, adding “aesthetic” after basically any word will bring up a more broad collection of photos to help you flesh out places.

This is also a great way to find photos of people and fashion to help visualize characters. I’m bad at describing clothes, so I usually collect photos of outfits to help me know what my characters are wearing. Searching up “character inspiration” will collect more interesting photos and drawings of people who might not exactly be of our world.

(However, to make Pinterest not show you AI results, you have to go into your settings and check the “reduce AI” box. Luckily, it does mostly work.)

Death to Stock

Like pinterest but completely AI free (hooray!) Only drawback is that you have to pay a monthly subscription (about $20 CAD).

Cosmos

Very similar to pinterest but slightly more "artsy". I'm not super familiar with this one but I believe all the photos are human and you can save them and create collections with a free account.

Dupe Photos

Royalty-free stock image site with very Pinterest-core photos!

Minecraft

If you haven’t built your entire fictional city in Minecraft instead of writing, why not? It’s fun.

The Sims

This one is dual purpose because you can not only create your characters in Create a Sim, but you can design their houses. If you really want to go for it, you can bulldoze all the lots in your town and build your world from scratch.

For checking grammar:

Grammar Girl

Easy to follow definitions and examples, and if you learn better by listening, every article comes with a podcast to follow along with instead.

Grammar Monster

This one is my favourite for checking grammar rules because there’s tons of examples in graphics that helps for any situation.

Reedsy

Among other things, reedsy can connect you to professional editors within your budget.

For writing advice:

One Stop for Writers

This one was recommended from my discord channel and has all sorts of tutorials and resources for the writing craft.

My Blog Directory

Another shameless plug, but if you need writing advice on something specific, you can search through my directory to see if it’s there. If it isn’t, you can always send me an ask about it!

For an alternative to Google Docs:

Ellipsus

Think google docs but without AI. Yay!

(will update this list with any more suggestions or resources I discover 😊)

[just-a-readthrough]

A great resource

[ideletedmyblogbye-deactivated20]

Lucky ☘︎ ݁˖

Evan McCone x Reader

Anonymous asked: Could I request one where Killian reprimands reader for a simple error and McCune comes to reader's defense without trying to get Killian suspicious?

THANK YOU for the request! ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ So basically, the reader works for the running man set as a technician. Dan Killian reprimands reader and Evan comes to reader's defense... ayyeeeee. Part of a series of short stories!

the running man, evan mccone x reader, masked man, masked men, slow burn, tension, workplace romance, guns, blood, gender neutral reader

I deleted and remade my blog, this is a repost of my own work.

The message comes through your headset just after wrap. Report to Mr. Killian’s office.

No explanation. No tone. Just the order. For half a second, your heart lifts. You replay the day in your head. Evan’s run was flawless, the camera angles sang, the audience response curve spiked exactly where projections wanted it. Being summoned upstairs could mean approval. Advancement. Recognition. You wipe your hands on your pants and head for the elevators before the feeling can fade.

Killian’s floor is colder than the rest of the building. Quieter, too. The doors open into a waiting room that feels less like an office and more like a shrine. Screens line the walls, from floor to ceiling. Live feeds. Replays. Heat maps. Slow-motion violence broken down into clean, profitable data. Every angle of the game, every contestant’s fear or blood splatter catalogued and replayed endlessly.

A receptionist sits at a glass desk typing. "Name.” he says without looking up. You give it.

“Sit,” he replies.

You do, feeling watched from every direction at once. Minutes pass. Or seconds. The screens keep playing. Evan appears more than once: cameras panning, turning, firing. Perfect. Controlled. A product sold.

“He is ready for you” the receptionist says suddenly.

The doors slide open. Killian’s office is bright. Clean. Sleek. White glass and money. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the skyline like a trophy, sunlight spilling across polished surfaces. The city laid out beneath him as if it belonged there. Killian stands near his desk, jacket perfectly tailored, teeth blindingly white when he smiles. A bottle of whisky sits uncapped beside a crystal tumbler. Waiting. Killian stands behind it, suit immaculate, teeth blindingly white when he smiles.

“There you are,” he says warmly. “Please. Sit.”

You obey.

“I wanted to speak with you personally,” Killian continues. “Today’s numbers were strong. Very strong.” He gestures vaguely to the city. “Ratings are oxygen. Without them, none of this exists.”

He taps a remote. A screen behind him lights up. Evan freezes mid-shot. The image zooms. Not his face. His gear. A shoulder harness. Wrongly placed.

“Do you see it?” Killian asks.

Your stomach drops. “Yes, sir.”

“That piece is obsolete,” Killian says calmly. “The audience doesn’t consciously register why something feels off. They just feel it. And when they feel it, they disengage.”

The door opens behind you. Evan enters like a soldier called before command.

“Sir,” Evan says.

Killian turns, pleased. “Explain.”

A beat followed as you tried to come up with something to say.

“I wore the wrong harness,” Evan suddenly stated.

You turn toward him. Killian lifts a finger. Silence. “You chose it?” Killian said with a firm questioning.

“I didn't have time to change between shots.” Evan replies. “Changing it would have delayed the run.”

Killian paced behind his desk, hand resting on the glass bottle. Predator-calm.

“You are not paid to make judgment calls,” he says softly. “You are paid to be exact.”

“Yes, sir.” Evan said.

Killian turns back to you. “And you,” he says, voice smooth again, “Are responsible for ensuring my assets remain flawless. Do you know how expensive he is?” Killian raised his voice slightly, gesturing toward Evan, who continued to look straight ahead with his black aviators to the wall behind Killian.

You nod, throat tight.

“Do you know how fragile public perception is?” Killian continues.“One wrong detail. One wrong strap. And suddenly the audience remembers these men can bleed.”

He smiles. White. Perfect. “That’s unacceptable.”

“But,” he says, delighted before you could respond, “this presents an opportunity.”

He turns to you. “Congratulations! You’re being reassigned.”

Your heart pounds. “Reassigned?”

“You’ll be attached to Hunter McCone as his holistic costume designer.” Killian says smoothly. “Pre-run. Post-run. Gear checks. Fit. Function. Every strap, every seam, every inch of him.” A pause. “Will report directly to me.”

Your face burned hot. Evan’s head turns a fraction, enough that you feel it.

“This ensures accountability,” Killian continues. “If something goes wrong again, I’ll know exactly who to blame.” He smiles at Evan. “And you’ll make sure nothing does.”

“Yes, sir,” Evan repeated smoothly.

Killian gestures to the door, looking back to the horizon past his window. “You’re dismissed."

Evan waits until you’re both in the corridor before speaking.

“That wasn’t your fault,” he says quietly.

You let out a shaky breath. “I know. But I didn’t want -”

“I know,” Evan said.

He finally looks at you then, masked, dark lenses unreadable, posture still rigid but something else threaded through it now.

─⋆⋅ ❤︎ ⋅⋆─

As you stop outside the costume bay, Evan paused, gloved fingers resting briefly against the edge of his harness.

Then, like it’s nothing at all, he asks,

“Do you want to start with the straps, or should I take the mask off first?”

[ideletedmyblogbye-deactivated20]

Camera Ready ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

Evan McCone x Reader

the reader works for the running man set as a technician. There is a demand for this man and I am here to supply. I'm also using second person now !! Part of a series of short stories!

the running man, evan mccone x reader, masked man, masked men, slow burn, tension, workplace romance, fluffy, gender neutral reader

I deleted and remade my blog, this is a repost of my own work. 

You’re crouched just off the edge of the old freeway overpass, the camera drones humming overhead like flies drawn to fresh blood. Their lenses blink red in the fading light, hovering in uneven circles above the broken asphalt. The sound is soft but constant, a mosquito whine punctuated by metallic clicks every time they refocus.

The overpass smells like scorched concrete and rust. Every shift of your knee grinds dust into your pants. The shoulder cam warms against your cheek, humming faintly as it stabilizes. The crew van that dropped you here has long since disappeared behind the wreck of a collapsed shipping ramp.

“Stay tight on Hunter One,” your supervisor said. “Get the shot. Don’t interfere.”

As if you ever could.

A ripple in the settling smoke tells you he’s close before you see him. McCone steps onto the overpass like the concrete was built for him alone. Full gear. Mask fitted smooth against his jaw. Aviators tinted dark enough to reflect every dying ember of dusk. His rifle rests in his hands with obscene ease. Not casual, never that, but natural. Like a limb he never has to think about controlling. He walks past a jagged chunk of railing, coat pulling around his frame in the wind. You catch the scent of gun oil and dust as he passes, clean, warm, sharp. He doesn’t acknowledge you. You rise slowly, following the weight of him with your camera. The lens catches the curve of his shoulder, the gleam of a metal buckle on his harness, the minute shift of his gloves as he adjusts his grip. Every movement is precise, mathematical, nearly silent. Movement erupts on the lower level.

A Runner, wild, desperate, bleeding from somewhere you can’t see, scrambles up a pile of concrete blocks. His breath rips ragged through the quiet. You jerk the camera to track him, but McCone already heard. Already moved. He lifts the rifle in a single, unbroken line. No theatrics, no warning.

The muzzle flash blooms bright in your peripheral, lighting the mask’s edge in a split-second flare. One shot. Clean.

The Runner’s body folds like a doll, dust puffing into the air like ash shaken loose. Black pooling out in a fast puddle around his head. The sound rolls through the overpass. Then fades.

One of the drones emits a final metallic chirp and lifts, blinking green as it peels away toward the van convoy a quarter mile back. McCone lowers the rifle just enough for you to step back into focus. You adjust the lens, tracking the angle, making sure the entire strike is clean. The camera hums, warm against your cheek. Your ears are still ringing. He doesn’t walk away.

He stands there, tall, immovable, scanning the quiet stretch ahead with that lazy, predatory patience he wears like a second layer of armor. The smoke clings to the tan mask, curling around the edge where fabric meets skin. He smells like gunpowder, dust, and something sharper under it.

You exhale, make a small adjustment to the zoom ring, and lower the camera an inch to review the shot.

“Good?” His voice cuts through the settling quiet, low, muffled through the mask, but unmistakably amused.

You nod, though he’s not looking at you. “Got it.”

He starts moving again, just a few slow steps, not to leave, but to angle himself into the better light slanting through a breach in the overpass wall. He knows exactly where the cameras would be if they were still rolling.

He knows you’re still rolling.

And he lets you capture him like this: mask on, gun warm, dusk outlining the shape of him in a way that’s almost cinematic. You lift the camera again. He notices. He shifts his weight, boots crunching through loose stone, and finally looks at you, or rather, angles the dark lenses directly toward you. The dusk catches the surface, and for a second you see your own reflection in them. Small. Off-centered by the bulk of him. You steady the camera with both hands. He watches you do it.

“Don’t drop that,” he says, quiet enough that it’s almost intimate “Looks expensive.”

You roll your shoulders back, irritation and adrenaline threading together. “I wasn’t going to.”

He hums again, a soft, amused rumble behind the mask.

Then he steps closer, not enough to crowd, but enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him in the cooling air. “Show me,” he says.

“What?”

“The shot.” He nods once toward the camera.

There’s no reason for him to check. There’s every reason for him to want an excuse to stand this close. You lift the screen. He leans in. His trench brushes your hip. The footage plays his shot, clean, perfect, brutal. He doesn’t watch the screen. He watches you watching it.

When the playback ends, he straightens, not fully pulling back, and says, with that same low-lidded mock-casual tone: “You done?”

“With what?” you ask, pulse tripping. “Filming me.”

You tighten your grip on the camera, hoping he doesn’t hear the tiny hitch in your breath. “No.”

“Figured.” he says, quiet. Nonchalant. Cocky in a way only a man fresh off a kill, can get away with.

He turns away first, boot crushing a bit of rebar, coat lifting in the wind, but stops after two steps, glancing over his shoulder just enough for the mask to angle toward you. A distant voice crackles from the van, but it might as well be miles away. He turns away first, but only by a step.

“Keep up,” he says. “We’re not done.”

[tuffgreg]

fucked up how hot lee pace is in the running man

[pixiebeepopples]

[deepgreensunlight]

having a Bad Day™️ but at least Lee Pace is my lock screen🫶

[emmmmmmmms-blog]

i really wanted to post a little writing with mc cone x reader that I started yesterday for the christmas time but I'm afraid i won't be able to, im away for a few days:(( so except some holidays and new year stuff related, in the week ahead xx

[emmmmmmmms-blog]

for those still in christmas/end of the year mood, here it is !! bit rusty but, alas I tried to give it a shot

[deletedblog000-deactivated20260]

Hai! Request for Evan McCone! A scenario where Dan Killian is being too comfortable with reader, and McCone is unable to do anything about it. ^^ TYSM and have a happy new year!

Boss ⋆˚. ♡ ´-

Evan McCone x Reader

Thank you for the request! The reader works for the running man set as a technician, and Dan Killian is too comfortable being boss tee hee sorry I giggling writing this fic lmao ok. Part of a series of short stories! SMUT WARNING

the running man, evan mccone x reader, masked man, masked men, slow burn, tension, workplace romance, guns, dan killian, choking, SMUT, fem reader

You kneeled by the cable racks, fiddling with the mic packs, letting your mind drift. The hum of lights, the faint whir of cameras, the clatter of crew boots, it was the usual rhythm, and you were almost bored with it.

Evan was nearby, methodically running his gloved hand along his favorite rifle. Just work. But you had gotten used to his quiet presence, the way his attention lingered on the small details, how he seemed aware of everything around him without saying a word.

You stretched slightly, trying to shake off the monotony. A ripple of movement caught your peripheral vision. You glanced up. Someone was approaching from the far side of the stage, moving with an ease that seemed to part the crowd. At first you thought it was just another crew member, but the posture, the silhouette of his jacket, the easy confidence. It was Killian. Sliding through the space like he owned it, which, of course, he did.

He stopped in front of you unexpectedly. You straightened slightly, your fingers pausing on the strap. You hadn’t expected him today.

“Well, well,” he said, voice smooth, teasing. “Keeping my favorite asset busy, are we?”

You glanced at Evan. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as lifted a hand in response, mask and dark glasses unreadable. But the sharp tilt of his head, the way his gloved fingers tightened just slightly, only you could tell he sensed something was off.

Killian adjusted his posture to face you, letting one shoulder press lightly against the console. He didn’t step closer just yet, just watched you for a moment, like he was assessing, amused.

The faint scent of whisky drifted distinctly now, mingling with the industrial tang of the set.

A long pause followed.

“Good morning sir —”

“I’ve been meaning to find you,” he said, voice low, smile glinting in the faint stage light. “I was impressed by how you had handled Chief McCone for our last episode.”

You blinked. “I...It was just my job... sir.”

“Of course, of course,” he said, grinning. “But most people don’t do it… with finesse or… flair.” His eyes drifted to yours, lingered. “And some finesse deserves recognition, don’t you think?”

You shifted, awkward. “Well… I appreciated that.”

“Flattery won’t get you the promotion,” he said, voice teasing. “But neither will ignoring it.” He stepped a fraction closer, just enough that the light caught his cuff link. “Maybe... a title upgrade. I think you’d like it.”

You flushed, not knowing quite how to respond to his forwardness.

“Don’t be modest,” he interrupted softly, leaning closer, letting his hand brush the edge of the monitor near you. “You make him look flawless. You keep everything in line. Someone should thank you.”

You glanced at Evan. He was now frozen in place like a statue. His hand held the gun magazine, looking down, yet you could tell he had paused his check mid-air to listen.

Your eyes traced his frame for a split second, feeling the weight of silence, then back at Killian. “I'm not sure—,” you stuttered quietly.

“Flattered looked good on you,” Killian murmured. “Better than you realized.” He gestured at the emptying set around you, his back to Evan, tone teasing, almost intimate. “Everyone else has wandered off. It's just us now. Don’t make me wait.”

Your stomach twisted. Out of sight, Evan didn’t move. Didn’t even look towards you. Yet the air around him hummed with quiet menace. Each deliberate motion, adjusting a strap, sliding a buckle, was sharpened, more forceful now, almost pointed. You could hear it. And when your eyes met his dark lenses past Killian's shoulder, for the briefest second, he didn’t need words. You felt it. The unspoken warning: the moment the space cleared, he was coming for you.

Killian's hand suddenly brushed your arm so noticeably that it almost stung.

Evan’s posture tightened imperceptibly, gloved hands pressing a little harder. Inside, something sick and uncomfortable was slow-building, simmering. Flattered by him? Really? That drunk fucking bastard—

Evan couldn't help but silently remember the way you laughed at a joke he’d made last week while tightening his harness. The brush of your fingers over his shoulder, how you stood closer...and now you were closer to him, to this piece of shit he had to kiss up to every day. To Killian. It burned something hot and uncomfortable in his chest.

Killian leaned back slightly, smirk sharp. “I hope I’m not being too forward,” he said, eyes glinting. He spun toward Evan, finally acknowledging his presence.

“Chief McCone,” he said casually, voice raised. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked your opinion.”

Evan didn’t look up. His hands resumed with mechanical precision, slotting the magazine home, checking the chamber. Click. Smooth. Controlled. Killian chuckled.

“Still the strong, silent type. That’s why they love you.” He turned slightly, positioning himself so you were caught between them without actually moving you.

“But you work closely with my technician here, don’t you?”

Evan’s jaw tightened.

“Yes, sir.” Evan's voice was low and sultry as always.

“Look at me.” Killian's voice was more firm this time.

Evan hesitated, only a fraction of a second, then obeyed.

Killian began snaking his arm around your waist as if dangling you in front of Evan's face like a treat. It was obvious how he was teasing. Killian searched his masked expression, slow and deliberate, savoring the restraint, the fury he kept on a leash.

“You’d never cross that line,” Killian said softly, his voice almost too low. “Not without permission, without being told.” He spoke intimately, as if only Evan should hear. “Isn’t that right, Chief?”

Evan’s answer came out strained.

“My focus,” he said nonchalantly, “is maintaining operational readiness.”

Killian tilted his head. “And if my attention interferes with that?”

The lenses hid his eyes, but not the tension in his neck, the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his chest rose too fast before he reined it in.

“It wouldn’t,” Evan said almost too quickly.

Killian’s smile sharpened. “You’re sure?”

Evan’s mouth opened. Then closed beneath the mask. Killian watched him like a man watching a wire fray.

“How very disciplined,” he murmured. “You always this careful with things you want?”

Evan’s fingers twitched.

“My wants are irrelevant.” Evan's head tilts back, as if playing a chess piece.

Killian stepped closer still, invading space deliberately now. Evan’s head turned just enough, not toward Killian. His dark lenses angled toward you. Just for a second. It was a mistake.

Killian’s eyes lit up.

“There it is,” he said softly. “That look. That hesitation.” He straightened, satisfied. “Relax, Chief. I’m not asking you to say anything.”

Evan swallowed hard. His throat bobbed visibly beneath the mask. His gaze did not leave you.

“I’ll need my technician to meet me in my office after filming,” Killian said, turning toward you, voice smoothing back into charm.

Evan didn’t answer.

He started to leave, then paused, glancing back at Evan with a knowing smirk.

“Try not to glare holes in my back, Chief,” he said. “It’s unprofessional.”

Killian disappeared behind the curtain. The fog machine puffed lightly against the stage, the final checks being made before the next scene.

Before a beat could pass, you felt Evan's hand lock around your arm and shove you into the nearest costume room. The force was so sudden that by the time you finished stumbling in, you heard the door slam hard behind you.

"Hey-" You tried to stammer, but Evan spun you around with one smooth motion, pinning your arms back, face first against the wall. Necessary or not, he often exercised the ability to subdue you in highly tactical ways.

Hands still firm against your back, you felt him peel off his mask behind you. You could imagine his long greyed hair fairing out from his temples. You felt his grip tighten on your forearms as he leaned in. All you could see was the wall against your cheek.

"You're not going. Say you're sick, you're busy, I don't care." His voice was low and sultry against your ear. "You're not going." he instructed with a sickening finality.

"Evan...he's-" you tried to wiggle free from his grip.

Just the sound of you simply referring to Killian made him burn with rage. With no hesitation he yanked your jeans to your knees, causing you to gasp. The air was cold against the backs of your thighs. But he was unbelievably warm.

He rubbed his fingers too firmly against your pussy through your underwear. Your face burned hot against the cool surface. The pressure on your pinned arms began to ache. He was holding you too tightly.

"Evan we have to go back to work-" You struggled against his grip, knowing he was just pissed, you hoped he would relent and get over this before next rolling.

You felt your underwear pulled roughly past your knees, pooling over your jeans. All you could feel for a moment was his fingers running over your entrance. It made you feel stupid.

You heard his zipper come undone, the squeak of leather and something metallic. Then the white hot crack of him pushing inside of you with no warning. He came around to grip your neck with his half gloved hand before you could let out a moan.

Three thrusts and you felt your wetness coating his length entirely. You didn't have time to let out anything more than a whimper. He was going so fast you couldn't tell if you were dripping on your thighs yet. You hoped not. He let out a labored breath.

"What you're going to do," he started pounding harder. "Is stay here and take it, you understand?" His fingers hooked into your cheeks, pulling your head back against his chest. The position had you completely immobile against his height.

You felt yourself drooling on his gloves.

The pounding was so fast and loud that the table beside him began rattling with each thrust. The chair next to his leg scraped the floor so loud when he kicked it aside for a better angle, you were sure anyone walking on set outside could hear through the feeble walls. By the time you knew for sure you were dripping all over the floor, you didn't even have to let out a moan. He was already fucking so rough it sounded like the wall was shaking each time he slammed into you.

His goal was for Killian to hear, wherever he was. Evan hoped he was right outside the costume room.

────୨ৎ────

When he finally pulled out, he came on your ass. Hot and sticky covered your bare skin in the cool air. When you grabbed the chair to steady yourself, he had already zipped up his costume. He only glanced at you for a spilt second before sliding his mask back on. He left you to clean things up.

The rest of the shift went as expected. Evan acted as if nothing happened at all. But when he was on for a commercial scene, he was unusually hasty with the rifle that run. They had to redo the scene 3 times.

You didn't visit Killian's office that afternoon.

[emmmmmmmms-blog]

(𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓪 𝓬𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓸𝓷 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓶𝓮)

Short One-Shot

Pair: GN Reader working for the Network x Evan McCone Summary: It's Christmas time, you're celebrating with friends but wishing someone else was here, unknowingly to you that perhaps you aren't.. Warnings: not much, bit of angst, and fluff, mc cone is kinda stalking the reader also at the beginning... Word count: 2.3k ~~

The air is crisp outside tonight. It’s Christmas Eve, in Co-op City, so why wouldn’t it be ? 

You exhale loudly, a little cloud of white smoke escaping your lips. Winter started only a few days ago, and yet you couldn’t wrap your head around stepping foot outside with a coat on. At least you thought of your scarf, and silently thanks yourself for it as you wrap it fiercely on your shoulders. Doing so, your eyes flicker and you notice all the lights out on the countless buildings of the city.

It’s Christmas Eve, and you’re clearly not feeling it this year.

Dots of green, red, yellow lights are shimmering in the heavy mist of the cold downtown air, while few laughters and Christmas chorals are barely distinguishable with the loud car noises, all of it covered with a thick layer of dirty snow all around the city. 

Your hands grip the balcony railing, fingers numbing in contact of the cold metal of the railing’s upper part. Your mind freezes a bit, strangely appreciating the new sensation at your fingertips. Even with the windows closed behind you, the faint giggles and echoes of your friends’ voices are feebly perceptible. A light melody, coming from the upstairs neighbor’s vent, is softly reverberating on the emergencies’ stairs' cage. Funny, how such a distant sound, mingling in with all the noises around, felt comforting. 

You’d went out to breath out a bit, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the circumstances of your situation. The bizarre sentiment of being out of place for a brief instant, bumping into you at unexpected times.

And as you breath in, the thick air of this wretched city you loved to hate coats your lungs, while you let your thoughts drift. Oddly enough, not being with your family this year for the holidays made you feel lightheaded. You’d fake having too much work and pressure on your shoulders, half lying to yourself to not have to face their concerned and disappointed looks, but deep down it was the hard truth. Your boss was making you follow a strict agenda, and it was more tiresome and wearing than you’d ever admit it.

Few knew about this, and even if sharing such a usual warm event with your friends in the city helped with the stress messing with your head, you were always keeping much of it to yourself. You felt more than lucky when Hilary and her boyfriend suggested you to join their party, to be fair it was way more cheerful and entertaining than staring at the outside world from your bay window all night long, all alone in your apartment ; yet, something ached in your heart.

The contemplation of it pained a bit too much in your chest.

Lately you’d been closer with one of your coworkers, and you hadn’t felt this proximity with someone in a long time. Coworker was a strange way to call him, as he was a massive super-star hitman. But the both of you were working to the accounts of the same man, infamous Dan Killian.

As you think of him, this unusual coworker, who was always wearing sunglasses even indoors, you’d wondered how this moment could have been different, if he had been here.

You frown at the idea.

Were you supposed to ask yourself this ?

Who were you to ask yourself such questions, were you really that close to him ? He, who was so closeted to everything, and everyone, keeping all at one arm’s length even when responding gently to any member of the film crew ? He, who could penetrate anyone with his strong blue eyes, ferociously looking as if he was marking you as his next hunt ?

You take a moment to ponder on your assumptions. Yet, wasn’t he always there when troubles found you, when Killian wanted to lash out his frustration on someone, or when you tripped and almost lied your whole on the hard glassy floor of the main TV set ?

The feelings in your chest wanted to burst in the open, and at this time you questioned yourself if you were shaking due to the realization happening inside of you, or the bloody cold christmas night.

Your shoulders tensed by themselves. 

And near you, someone noticed.

Hiding, perhaps more lurking, in the gloaming area of the place where you stood, in the darkness of the illusion of escape where the emergency stairs were, someone was watching you.

You were too deep in thoughts to hear the indistinct sound of metal clinging, the heavy boots climbing old structures who nevertheless whistled in the evening. To notice the way the air shifted, and smell the new alluring scent of gunpowder appearing in the twilight.

Too absorbed in your head, to feel the intense look of a masked face, tall and imposing figure, observing you in the impromptu moment of the night.

A pair of iced eyes, grey orbs reflecting hushed storms lingering in them, eyeing your form. The way the cold piercing your body obligated you to stand and shake in certain ways, your hands trying to shield you from the chilly wind, your hair ruffled by the hard breeze from being high on a building.

His eyes lingered maybe a bit too much, to be indifferent of you. He often stayed perhaps a bit too close whenever you were near. Leaned possibly much more into your space, than he’d be supposed to.

Tumultuous emotions were battling, dueling with one another, in his body. Sentiments he never thought could one day resurface at the sight of someone else, making themselves be felt a little too much. 

For him too, this season was a heavy battlefield on his heart. One he often pushed down, deep and down in what felt like a pitt in his chest, in the stead of his heart. It has been many years. He didn’t allowed himself to feel such particular emotions, not even this intense toward someone. But it was like all this hard years of training, restraining of himself, crushed into a dead end and failed miserably when he met you. That when you arrived on set for the first time, feeling quite out of place but putting yourself together unexpectedly, it stirred something in him. Oh it was hard to impress him, and at first you were kinda annoying, but you learned quickly to do your job, and be efficient at it. When Killian started to get too carried away, making you uncomfortable, he didn’t wanted to let it slip. Not that you couldn’t help yourself, but sometimes it also meant to risk your career in this field. He saw your potential, and as time flown, you’d become a habit to one another. You both mingled together often due to Killian, and a quiet bond formed, 

The wind hushes his thoughts, and rustles between the long parts of his reinforced leather coat, buttons tingling against his belt. 

Your ears catches the strange sound, and you feel something stirring close. Worried, kinda startled as well, you turn your head and let your gaze enter the shadows of the balcony. Hesitant, you step out of your stance, but your body is stiff due to the cold and the absence of movement you’ve had the last few minutes. You waddle towards the conspicuous sound, entering the darkness, stepping on fresh snow. 

Yet nothing could have you prepared for the sight you’d be presented with. As shock creeps into you, your whole body tingles, surprise injecting itself your veins. You’re about to make a sound, and the man lurking in the shadows closes the distance between you and put a large, gloved hand on your mouth, as his other hand reach for your side. He shushes you.

Blinking, you discern slowly his form, and a weight takes off your chest. You take in the imposing form, challenging stance. A part of you urges you to run out of danger. But because it’s him, you don’t listen to it. Plus, he's much warmer than you right now.

Faster than you could have imagined, you recognize the severe look behind the tinted glasses of your obscure source of surprise.

McCone.

Chief, Evan McCone, and favorite super-star employee of your boss. 

And lately, the bane of your emotions.

The man lets go of you when he’s sure your panic falters, and your breathing quickens as if to regain consciousness after an event-that-shouldn’t-be-that-much-traumatizing-but-was-nevertheless. 

« What the fuck are you doing out there ? » you almost scream, as you try to whisper. You’re too shocked to pretend any politeness, and if you weren’t this bewildered by this weird situation, you maybe would have acted way differently. 

Yet in this turmoils of surprise, you perceive in yourself, that his presence, and oddly closeness, sends a flush warmth in your whole body, and by the outside temperature it feels kinda nice. 

You wait a bit, excepting an all made up answer from him, but you’re almost sure you’ve seen a rapid flash of hesitation in his eyes as he glances down at you.

« I was just passing by », is the excuse you hear from his lips. The tone of his voice, or maybe the brusk blow of wind which passed thought the air, makes you shiver. He steps closer, shielding you from it.

You scoff at his answer, making a sound.

« Why is it that you’re, somehow, always following me ? »

Evan lifts up his chin, his demeanor becoming more dominant towards you « Well as far as I can recall, you always end up in situations where you could need saving. » The answer is cold, maybe colder than what he expected to be.

You glare at him, unsure. « What makes you think I needed saving this time ? »

A moment passes, and you quiver due to the icy air creeping in your clothes. His eyes never leave yours, and you're trying your best to hold up his intense gaze.

A plane flies above you, and his attention shifts to it, as if escaping your mixed look of disdain towards his actions.

« My intuition. » he starts, a bit too proudly for you liking. « Or maybe, you wouldn’t be staying outside freezing your balls off (at this point why bother being so polite to one another) during Christmas eve, at a party with some friends when all the TV crew’s been hearing from you this past week was your usuals Christmas family traditions, which you’re not attending as far as I can tell. » As he says it, Evan turns his head to you, an accusation look in his eyes. A fraction of worry flashes too, but he isn’t ready to share the vulnerability. 

« Touché », you mumble, as his answer, a jab for your feelings, goes straight in your heart.

Something lingers in the air, and the tension shifts. You feel the tip of your ears reddening, and look away. It probably was shame, to be exposed so bluntly, but a part of you noticed that he remembered.

You sniff, your nose chilled by the breeze. His words were harsh, the hurtful truth in fact, but, strangely, deep down you were happy to have him by your side now, unexpectedly. « But I suppose I can accept your company, anyway it’s not even my home so I can’t even force you to go, thought you’re clearly trespassing. »

« Oh am I ? »

You hum in answer, amused by his nonchalant attitude in the randomness of the meeting he provoked up high on a big apartment building, lost in the middle of the city.

He breathes out loudly at your remark, and you’re sure you can almost see his mask fold at the corner of his mouth. You both turn yourselves to the railing again, and observe the night defiling beneath you, in the tumultuous city, between the skyline of Co-op city.

Your arms are touching, but not a word is shared. The silence is sometimes disturbed by lourd alarms blaring from beneath, rushes of wind, and still the faint melody of the neighbors’ music. But it isn’t heavy, or awkward. It’s comfortable now, as if it’s been waiting to happen one moment or another, always waiting patiently. You indulge in each other’s presence, and the scent of gunpowder, mixed with what you’re sure is his musk sticking to his leather coat and cologne, smells soothing. Weirdly out of place for such strong smells, but your upbringing was already quite odd anyway.

« It still doesn’t explain why you’re up here, you know », you call back.

« I do urban climbing for work »

And even if it’s true, and quite disturbing to ponder on how and why he decided to join you unannounced tonight at your friends’ house, you snort. 

Some minutes passes, and you tighten your scarf. And then, you lean more into his shoulder. Evan lets you. His guards fall down, just a little this time. Doing so, he absentmindedly plays with the hem of your knitted sleeve. Inside him, a storm rages in his ribcage, as he wanted so bad to want to touch you, to hold your hand, his heart pounding in his chest, screaming to himself to cup your face, while telling you that you weren’t alone in any of this. But he wasn’t ready to say it yet. To act on it, but most importantly, to accept it to himself.

Behind you, back of the hard glass of the window, you both hear the people activate in the apartment. Maybe your absence is getting noticed, and what would have been wanted to last an eternity has to come to a quicker end.

Blood flushes to your cheeks, and in a bold move, you dare to take his bigger hand in yours. The world seems to slow down around you, in the dark corner of the balcony where you stand close to one another, and you see a flash of hesitation in his blue iced eyes. 

Was it fear, or something else as well that made both his mind and body stop functioning at the same time ? 

It lasted for a few seconds, but it should never have happened. Quite instantly, he looks away. But he doesn’t push back your hand in his.

You squeeze it, feeling the hard, cold and moist leather in your hand. His heart slows down. His body is now shouting at him to move, to forbid the action, to make it stops. But something, something stronger is retaining him to do so as well. He doesn’t listen. Instead, he squeezes back. Maybe a bit too strong, but his action is noted. 

Warmth blooms again in you.

Maybe one day, this could be more.

One day, the Christmas lights will be lighter in both your chest.

But for tonight, it’s enough. You let go of his hand, its touch still heavy on your skin, as you make it back inside, knowing he’ll disappear in the shadows of the city once more, until you’ll miss his presence again.

thank you for reading!! hope you had a nice holidays :) this was inspired by a prompt from @/luna-azzurra again, but I did adapt it again and got lost in the plot xx

[pixiebeepopples]

[emmmmmmmms-blog]

not dead, just took much more time to come back! got some stuff on the way, and if you're lucky I got smth tonight:)

also im sorry I know I have few asks in my inbox, I am not ignoring you I just want to do them well, sadly it's taking some time mentally for me to do so..

but I just saw the new photographs of lee pace from his latest runway attending today.. damn it did inspires me a bit what a man.....

[mossytypewriter]

DOMESTICATED |

A/N: This idea has been stuck in my head ever since I first thought about it. I hope I did this gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous man justice. Enjoy, especially you, @howlinoutside !

Summary: A quiet evening at home suddenly becomes more.

Warnings: Fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional vulnerability, implied past trauma, established relationship.

You're on the couch, reading your book. A couple of scented candles were lit, pine, your favourite. It was almost time for Evan to get home. The two of you have settled into a little routine. When he gets home, there'll always be a drink and some food ready for him, and you'll talk about each other's days. You're pouring him a glass of whiskey when the door creaks open.

Evan slips off his boots before moving toward the couch, sitting in the exact same spot as always. The one with a clear view of the front door. As if even at home, he can’t quite turn his instincts off. It makes you worry for him and feel safe at once.

'Here you go, love' you say as you hand him his drink and a plate of leftovers from last night. You know he barely eats during the day. 'Thank you' he nods his head in response.

He eats his fill as you start talking about your day, the only responses you get are a little nod or hum here and there. 'So how was your day?' It's silent for a beat before he starts talking, the pause is long enoug for you to recognize it. He's quietly calculating how much to tell you. You know what his job entails, yet he still feels that if you see for yourself how far he has to go, you'll walk. Evan isn't controlling, not really. He has just one rule: you don't watch the show. None of the live interruptions either. He says it's to protect you. You know what it's really about. Still you oblige.

He sighs and settles on his answer. 'Long,' you nod and settle back into the couch. You place your book on the table beside you. The movement is small, but it's enough for Evan's back to straighten and his shoulders to tighten.

'We don't have to talk if you don't want to, you know.' It's a statement. Not a question. Nor a test. 'I know,' he replies, his eyes fixed on the wall behind you.

You take his plate to the kitchen. The quiet stretches. Alone on the couch, he swallows hard. Evan curses himself. He hates this, the way he shuts down, the way his mouth won't form any words. He wants to try harder for you. For both of you.

You hear him sigh as you walk back in the main living area. You don't ask him what's wrong, you know he just needs a minute.

'I used to not be like this,' he says finally, eyes dropping to the floor, 'I used to be..., normal.' His jaw tightens. 'I'm sorry if I can't be what you want.'

You take a seat a bit closer to him than you usually do. He notices. 'I don't need you to be different,' you say. 'I love you, exactly like you are.' He cautiously meets your eyes. He starts searching your face for any signs you're lying. You just nod and smile softly at him.

Slowly, you place your hand over his. His breath gets caught in his throat. He goes still for a second, then, inch by inch, his shoulders loose their tension. The sharp edge in his gaze dulls, just a little. Right here, with you, he's safe.

And then his fingers curl around yours. Certain. He's chosen you. And Evan doesn't let go once he does.

Feel free to let me know your thoughts or any feedback you may have!

[pixiebeepopples]

Sass face

[mossytypewriter]

JEALOUSY | P.2

A/N: I'm so sorry for making you wait this long for part two. I've been so busy with the holidays, but alas. I would like to give a special thanks to @emmmmmmmms-blog for helping me out on this one as a beta-reader. Hope you enjoy! I don't currently have a setup for part three, but if you would like to see the aftermath, let me know, and I'll get to cooking.

Summary: Evan confronts you about your lack of professionalism, but is that really what's all this about?

Warnings: Jealousy, hurtful language, angst

You and Evan had agreed to spend the weekend at your place. Yet, you didn't expect him to walk through the door.

The air changes when he steps inside. It's heavier. Suddenly, you are too aware of the four walls of your apartment, the way they seem to be closing in on you.

He doesn't take his boots off right away. Doesn't walk over to give you a kiss. Doesn't even look at you.

You know why he's acting like this. You've been preparing for this moment since Evan walked out of the med bay that afternoon. Yet, now that he's here, standing only a few feet away, you can't seem to find the words you need to say.

He finally looks at you. 'How was team building?'

You're fucked.

'Evan, you're reading into things. Carl was just trying to show me a funny cat video. That's all.'

His face is unreadable. 'Could've done that from a distance.'

You sigh. This is not the first time you've had this conversation.

'It's not a big deal.'

Evan looks into your eyes for the first time tonight. 'It can be. For some people.'

"Are you 'some people'?"

Evan doesn't answer. He sighs deeply, running a hand through his already messy hair. His gaze drops to the floor.

'You don't see the problem. It's unprofessional.'

'Evan I-'

You don't get a chance to finish.

He raises his voice slightly. 'Can't you see how it looks? He was breathing down your neck.' He exhales loudly. 'You didn't push him away. He thinks you're available.'

This is where you draw the line. You know Evan is right here. But it's not fair of him to blame you for someone else's actions.

'Everyone thinks I'm available,' you say, heat creeping into your voice. 'Because no one can know about us. You said that.' You start using your hands to try to emphasize your point. 'This seems like a conversation you should have with Carl,' you add. 'Since you're so concerned about his behaviour.'

'But I'm talking to you,' Evan snaps. 'About your actions.' His words come out harsher than he intends. 'It makes you look easy. Standing that close and laughing while you're working.'

You don't respond. And Evan knows, without a doubt, that he fucked up.

You laugh. You actually start laughing. 'Oh, I'm sorry,' you say, breathless. 'It's just-' You shake your head, the sound of your laugh fading. 'You're just one to talk, that's all.'

Evan frowns. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

You step closer. 'You're jealous,' you say. 'You're not worried about professionalism. You're not worries about boundaries.'

You straighten your back as you look him directly in the eye.

'You're just jealous.'

The weight of your words hangs thick in the air.

Evan looks away first and exhales sharply. 'Don't put words in my mouth.'

You laugh again, but the sound feels empty. 'Then what is wrong with you?' you ask. 'Because we both know this isn't about Carl.'

Evan looks tired. Not angry. Not cold. Just tired.

His head snaps back up. He snaps, 'I can't lose you!'

The room goes quiet.

You don't respond.

Evan's jaw tightens. He swallows hard.

'I won't let that happen.' He adds, his voice back to normal again. Controlled. Final.

The words settle heavy between you.

He doesn't leave. And neither do you.

Feel free to let me know your thoughts or any feedback you may have!

[emmmmmmmms-blog]

happy to help!! <3

[goddesspharo]

Always in motion. [x]

[emmmmmmmms-blog]

i really wanted to post a little writing with mc cone x reader that I started yesterday for the christmas time but I'm afraid i won't be able to, im away for a few days:(( so except some holidays and new year stuff related, in the week ahead xx