𝐢'𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬
pairing: bakusquad x chubby reader (katsuki bakugo + hanta sero + mina ashido + eijiro kirishima + denki kaminari)
word count: 4.4k words
a/n: definitely haven't been working on this for months <33 this turned out more fluffy than intended for a free use fic asdfghj. basically they all need to be dating!!! none of the bakusquad have any contact with each other... yet... idk i might make a part two where they're not just taking turns but all together with the reader
content warnings: free use, unprotected vaginal sex, oral (f!recieving & m!recieving), vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, cockwarming, groping, biting, dumbification, slight breeding mention, somno, wlw, spanking, petnames - mdni (like my whole tumblr)
when becoming friends and roommates with the bakusquad you didn't realise what it would exactly entail. becoming friends with five successful pro heroes while you're a civilian is something you would never expect, not in your wildest dreams, so it's not a surprise to you that your feelings for them grew with each day and after a particular turn of events you let them use you however they wanted. if they want to take out their frustrations of a stressful day by roughly fucking you than you're more than willing to oblige to their request or if they want to tenderly make love to you after an emotional and exhausting day you're more than willing to oblige- you're their toy after all.
they'll use you anywhere and anywhen, it doesn't matter if you're in public or if you're sleeping, you've given them your full consent.
the first time it happened was with katsuki. he was angry and annoyed and you didn't know what to do, you've never truly seen him like this before and you haven't been friends with him as long as the others have been friends with him, you didn't want to make it worse. ideally you would ask the others what you should do but they were all busy working.
you later found out a journalist cornered him after a minor rescuing incident and asked him more intrusive questions than normal and that day it got to him more than normal too. for some reason the press always seems to ask him more personal questions than other heroes you know and you can't figure out why but you have a few ideas: to see his reaction, to get more information about his private life from him because he's one of the more secretive heroes, or to see his 'real' personality wondering if everything they see in public is all just an image.
"i'm sorry katsuki. is there anything i can do to make you feel a bit better?" you ask him and in less then ten seconds he's pinned you against the wall and is biting your bottom lip making you moan, giving him the opportunity to move his tongue into your mouth, intertwining your tongues and muffling any surprised noises that threaten to come out of you. you feel his large callus palms run all over your body as he pushes up your shirt and touches every single part of his skin he can get his hands on, leaving bruises and pretty marks to decorate your equally pretty body.
katsuki shoves his hand underneath your underwear, not bothering to take off your clothes and fingers you until you start screaming his name and your vision begins to go blurry.
"holy shit katsuki. feel's so good." he pumps two of his thick fingers inside of you and his ego soars as he not only feels how wet you are but hears it too as your cunt squelches and you clench around his fingers. he smirks as you come undone on his fingers chanting his name over and over again, your fists gripping onto his shirt tightly.
"this'll make me feel better," he grunts and tries to press his body closer to yours than it already was, your tits now completely pressed against him. "god shitty woman how oblivious can ya be? swear you're useless sometimes. a fucking dumbass." if you were someone else you might have taken offence to him calling you shitty woman or useless especially in the position you're currently in but you're use to him calling you names by now knowing he doesn't mean them negatively, if anything they're affectionate, most of the time he'll call people extras and you're glad he doesn't see you as an extra.
"oblivious?"
katsuki grits his teeth, "shut up," he grunts and you feel his hardened cock against your thigh, he slams his lips against yours again and starts kissing you even more furiously, if you didn't know better you'd say passionately but you don't think he'd ever kiss you passionately.
he sees your eyes glazed over with a daze on your face and smirks. his hand goes behind you to cups the curve of your ass then slaps with the sound echoing against the walls, making you whine. you feel the humidity that's resting on his palms and your whole body tingles imaging him using his quirk (controlled) on you.
"no one else has made ya feel this good have they sweetheart?" he asks gruffly already knowing the answer.
"no, no one else 'suki. no one has ever made me ever feel this good!" you reply honestly, tears starting to fill your waterline.
he knows you're being honest and if anything you're being more forgiving of your previous sexual encounters and talking more favourable about your past sexual partners than they deserve. "fuckin' criminal."
after what happened with katsuki you sat down with your friends and told them that you give them your consent to use you whenever. katsuki looked so much calmer after and his body looked more relaxed, less tension. you couldn't help but think that your other friends would be the same.
you were bashful the whole time while speaking, mumbling and looking away, your whole face felt like it were on fire but you were offering to help them all, you knew how stressful their work is and you wanted to help.
you want them, you wouldn't tell them that part though, neither did you ever have to think hard on your proposal.
all of them loved the idea, why wouldn't they? they're madly in love with you. over time all of them fell in love with you but none of them would ever make a move on you not willing to lose or jeopardise the friendship they have with you nor are they willing to make a move while knowing how the others feel about you either. you're sweet, and kind, and beautiful, and brilliant, and a hundred million more things that make you special in their eyes.
none of them thought they would ever get the chance to be with you in any such way, romantic or sexual, and they were more then content with being your friend, strictly platonic, but now they get to be your friend and they get to sleep with you, they're ecstatic.
hanta likes cockwarming with you, every single chance he gets he pulls you onto his lap and onto his cock without warning and puts on a movie to watch as he watches you squirm and try to keep still but it's so hard keeping still when the longest dick you've ever seen is inside of you and you feel it throbbing.
hanta sees you struggling and grins as you shift around and whimper quietly. you're biting your hand to try to keep silent but it's ineffective. "hush princesa, i'm trying to watch the film." he says teasingly, holding onto your plush waist to keep you from moving and lifts up your top, caressing your soft skin making you get goosebumps from the sensation of his cold rings touching you.
occasionally he'll lazily thrust up into you, making you squeak, he'll chuckle at the noises you make and get off on how needy you are for him. "you look so beautiful sitting on my lap mi amor," your heart flutters and your face heats up whenever he calls you affectionate names in his first language and especially when he calls you my love, "but aren't you suppose to be pleasing me? you seem very needy and demanding for someone who has offered their body to me." you shudder as he speaks, still with his hand caressing your body.
you look at him and pout, causing his grin to widen. "not my fault, you feel really good."
hanta's voice drops lower and becomes husky while he leans closer to you, "yeah?"
you nod your head and try to wrap your arms around him, admittedly unsuccessfully from the position you're currently in as you're facing away from him to 'watch' the movie with him, making hanta chuckle. "yeah," you reply.
hanta smirks as he looks down at you over your shoulder and tenderly strokes your arm, "beg me to move." with no hesitation you beg.
with everyone else they'll take what they want from you and get you to come as many times as they want (if they do want you to cum) without you having to beg but hanta is different, he'll make you cry and beg for him. no matter how horny he is he'll wait for you to become putty in his hands as you cry buried in the crook of his neck, trying to grind against him and wetting his shoulder with your tears, pleading for anything he gives you. he loves seeing you cry for him and plead for his cock.
you're always so pliant for him and he likes to make you even more pliant. as your reward for listening to him he grabs your wide hips and starts to move you up and down, harshly, making the ability to breathe leave your body momentarily at the sudden movement all while cooing at you, albeit condescendingly. "awe does that feel good princesa? you finding it hard to take it all?" he grins as you tip your head back and rests it on his shoulder, your moans getting louder, unable to respond and form a coherent sentence.
you feel like you feel him all the way in throat, a completely impossible thought of course but it's hard to think otherwise with each time he slams you back down and your pelvis meets his it's making you lose every braincell you have with how good you feel and how good he fills you up.
"open up," you compliantly open your mouth still in a daze and hanta spits in your mouth, grinning as he watches you swallow it without any prior audible command to do so already knowing from previous liaisons.
his pace changes, every so often becoming quicker with shallow thrusts than back to a regular pace with deeper thrusts just to tease you and make you light headed, not knowing what to expect next. his groans become more audible and he grips onto you tighter, his blunt nails making a crescent imprint on your hips. "s-shit hanta i can't, too much."
"i thought you were my good girl. you were begging for me only awhile ago." he smirks, starting to get close.
"i am! i am your good girl, promise! just 's a lot."
he chuckles at your obedience, you really are his good girl, made for him- and the others.
but he does wonder if you're that obedient with them as you are with him.
he purposefully slows down his pace and wraps one arm around your supple middle keeping you bouncing and tilts your chin up to look at him with his other hand before placing a gentle chaste kiss on your lips.
mina seizes every opportunity to lay lingering wet kisses down your neck all the way to your chest. you get goosebumps as you feel her breath against your skin and feel the sticky lipgloss left over from her lips.
mina never wears lipstick but she's nearly always seen wearing lipgloss and they're always flavoured ones, enjoying the look of how the sticky remnant remains on your skin after being transferred from her lips and how you seemingly unconsciously swipe your tongue out over your own lips afterwards to taste the flavour that remains.
whenever a man comes onto her apparently not understanding the word 'no' she comes straight to you afterwards so she can feel you up and touch your soft body and curves. you're so much better than anyone else and she's so glad that you let her touch you however and whenever she wants.
beforehand when someone was so persisted that it grossed her out she still would come to see you, you were roommates and very close friends after all. mina would complain about them and you would listen and bash them because how dare they keep being so disrespectful, unable to be take a hint or handle rejection.
the entire time when mina used to talk about them she'd think about how soft your lips looked, how good her hand would look wrapped around your throat and how she wants to go down on you so bad that you pull her hair and more importantly squeeze your thighs together in between her head.
"such a sweet little thing for me," she tells you and kisses your ankle. you whimper and she opens up your thighs wider for now, wanting to get a good look at your pretty pussy. mina flicks her tongue up against your pussy lips making a shiver run down your spine before her tongue enters into your soaking hole, moaning at your taste and your aroma, making her dizzy in the process. you can't help but squeal and shudder at the sensation as her eyes gleam with every new noise you make. she removes her tongue from inside of you, the sweet taste still lingering on her tongue. she flicks her tongue up again, curling two fingers back into you and starts sucking on your clit.
the pleasure builds up inside of you with every curl of her fingers, "that's a good girl, come for me," mina mumbles against your clit and you squeeze your thighs with mina's head between them, not being able to stop yourself as you're about to come again for the third time in an hour.
"oh fuck, min-" the last syllable of mina's name is silenced in an inaudible groan as the coil in your stomach snapped and you unravelled where she helped to ride out your orgasm still between your doughy thighs.
now she gets her wish whenever she wants as she's able to look up to see how your voluptuous body shakes. she gets to feel how soft and warm your thick thighs feel wrapped around her head.
as you calm down from another intense orgasm you move to look at mina, "what about you?" hinting that you desperately want to return the favour.
she can see the neediness in your eyes and giggles. "i can't right now sweet pea, i've got to go to work."
"already?"
mina giggles again, "i'll be back soon babes then we can carry on from where we left off, okay?" she smiles brightly and takes her leave feeling equalling as needy as you but who can blame her when she spent the last hour pleasuring you and feeling your plump body underneath hers and getting you see your gorgeous face scrunched up in pleasure. mina doesn't mind the needy feeling though as the look on your face is worth it as she leaves because she knows when she comes back home you'll make her feel just as good as she made you feel.
eijiro works nights a lot of the time which means typically you get woken up by him. this means most nights you sleep with only a nightie on or a baggy pyjama shirt foregoing underwear or pyjama bottoms so eijiro doesn't have to worry about fiddling with any layers and pulling them down. the only exemptions about the clothes are when it's particularly cold that night.
after work he'll want to feel your soft body squish in between his fingers as he presses down on your malleable skin, groping you wherever he can get his hands on and pumping his girthy cock in his other hand a couple times, wanting to be buried in that sweet cunt that he loves so much so it's no surprise to you to be woken up to his grunts and gentle thrusts.
whenever you do wake up he feels guilty. he knows you need, and like your sleep and he never intended to wake you up so he strokes the sides of your body and softly tells you to go back to bed while kissing your temple.
sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but no matter the outcome of trying to get you to go back to sleep your body always has the same reaction, mewls and moans leaving your body involuntarily and you becoming more and more wet with each thrust that it's dripping down to your thick thighs.
the times when you don't fall back to sleep you don't move much, very much a pillow princess in those moments but that's what eijiro prefers. he likes looking after you and treating you like the princess you are. he enjoys doing all the work so when you do wake up all you can do is rub your eyes sleepily and moan louder while he tries to shush you because no doubt someone has to be up in a few hours for patrol.
"p-please," you whine but you don't know what you're begging for. eijiro knows though as he pushes the remaining inches of his cock inside of you, you both hiss, and he slowly and deeply starts moving in you. you grab hold of his muscular forearms and whine about the pleasurable stretch.
you turn your head to the side so your neck is bare. he knows what you want more than your tired words can mumble out so he turns your neck further to the side than you did to keep you still and bites down, not hard enough to cause serious pain and break your skin but enough to hurt slightly and cause you to gasp, your mind momentarily going blank and your hips to jerk up.
before you started sleeping with eijiro you didn't know you liked the sensation of getting bitten so much until he bit you to keep himself quiet while at a very lively party. normally he wouldn't mind people hearing how good he makes you feel and vise versa but there was a minority of people at that party who were all trying to make a new hero commission and he didn't want to to draw attention to you or him with those people, knowing what the last commission did. even though you are just a civilian he wants to make sure they stay well away from you but still that wasn't enough to drag you into an empty room and fuck you until you couldn't stand after seeing how beautiful you looked that night.
ever since then biting became involved in your sex life. eijiro knew he liked biting people before you, he enjoys the surprised gasps and how bodies move but with you it's completely different, it's on a whole new level with how plump your body is, it's like heaven. no matter where he bites you there's always some part he can sink his teeth into making your body beautifully buck up uncontrollably. the whole experience and sensation making him groan and the noises you always make in bed are like no over- ethereal, just like the rest of you.
when he hears the slapping sound of your two bodies making contact get louder and louder and sees the creamy ring left over from each thrust he has to hold onto you tighter, gripping hold of your love handles, enough to leave bruises, and looking up at the ceiling not wanting to cum yet. he knows as soon as he looks down at your cute face or perfect body he'll immediately orgasm so to try and make himself last longer he'll look up.
that on top of the quicker pace and him touching your clit, just the way you like it, makes you come. you clench around him and moan words incomprehensibly causing him to come too as he feels you get tighter around him.
"gonna clean you up in a second baby just let me stay inside you for awhile." at this point you're both falling asleep, he wraps his muscular arms around you tighter and manhandles your chubby body so you're laying on top of him, your arm on his chest and your face in his neck, the whole time making sure his dick doesn't accidentally slip out of you. even though you're semi conscious you know that you're going to be sleeping like this all night, both of you are too tired to move, with your last moments of consciousness being your slow blinks that you use to gaze up at eijiro admiring how handsome he is, you like when his hair is down after showering because without it being styled to be spiky you can see his roots coming through, red mixing with his natural black, even now when he's half asleep and ready for bed he looks just as handsome as he does at any fancy hero event he attends. "you feel too good to get up and leave and anyway i've got to plug you full, breed you properly to make sure it sticks." he mumbles against your forehead half asleep, drifting off only a minute or so after.
out of everyone denki is the one to touch you the most, if no one else is kissing you he's taking the opportunity to kiss you and hold you all over. he's the most emotional and vulnerable when it comes to sex too. he feels safe around you, to let his carefree persona down and to be sensitive and vulnerable, just staying fully in the moment with you.
the first time you slept together, you kissed his chest all the way to his hips making his hips buck up. he had wanted you so bad for so long and now he finally had you.
originally, you had stroked his cock for the first time and you heard a string of moans and it immediately turned you on more than you already were. as he got closer to his release he said breathy, "please don't stop, this will probably be the only chance i ever get to touch you." it had shocked you not realising that he felt that way but you didn't stop, doing what you were told, and knowing you were going to talk to him after.
not long after, he came and you threw your arms around him, arms wrapped around his neck and clinging onto him. he was still catching his breath, "do you really think this was a one time thing denki? i told you all before that i want to do this." he blushed and squished your cheeks, a habit he had picked up on doing recently at the time, you swat his hands away and giggle, denki smiles.
denki is also the most possessive which surprised you, if you thought anyone would be possessive your guess would be katsuki but it's really denki. he gets jealous when you spend more time with the others than you do with him and will want your attention. it's even more noticeable when it comes to other people who aren't in the bakusquad.
if you ever smile too cheerfully at someone, laugh too loudly at someone's jokes or if someone flirts with you he gets extremely jealous, you never flirt back though, you have everything you need and sometimes you don't even realise they were flirting in the first place.
at times like that denki is the most vulnerable. as soon as you both get home he's kissing you tenderly and holding you like fragile treasured glass in his arms. most of the time he takes you to the bedroom and lays you on the bed but this time he pushes your head down gently and you fall to you knees carefully. "do you need a cushion babe?"
your heart warms at how considerate he is. you look up at him and shake your head, "i'm okay," you smile up at him and you don't miss the way his cheeks are dusted pink. unzipping his jeans and pulling them down, along with his boxers that already are wet with precum leaking from his cock, you kiss his thigh and stare at his .
denki holds onto your head as you part your lips and open your mouth, taking him in your mouth. you hollow your cheeks and grab a hold of his thighs. he keeps his hips still no matter how much he wants to rut inside your wonderful wet and warm mouth. when his hips do occasionally buck it makes you gag before he corrects himself and pushes back against the wall trying to control himself not to pound up into you, he wants you to control the pace. the moans that he makes as you take him further only spur you on as your pace gets quicker and your nose presses against his lean stomach momentarily before having to leave and gasp for air. denki may not be as thick as eijiro or as long as hanta but he's still big, more than people would assume, he's bigger than average (only if slightly.) denki's arm rests of his head while he takes deep breaths.
"fuck babe that was-" you cut him off as you take him in your mouth again and wrap your lips around him and you hollow your cheeks once again. his moans and groans become more frequent and you can tell that he's about to come.
his grip get's tighter while resting on your head and his groans get deeper. "gonna come, you swallow alright babe." you hum in confirmation, "shit, shit, shit," his eyebrows pinch together and his hot cum sprays in ropes at the back of your throat and you mourn not being able to properly fully taste him. denki lifts you up by your elbows and when you come face-to-face you kiss his cheek, he's not satisfied with that though and he passionately makes out with you not caring that he just came in your mouth and is holding onto your plush waist while grinning against your lips. "bedroom." he whispers in your ear making you shudder at the demanding tone he used, not often does he use it but whenever he does... well it makes your whole body tingle.
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The Last Time Pt2
Paring: Paige Bueckers x Reader
Warnings: Mentions of sex/hooking up, casual culture, unnecessary miscommunication 😇
Summary: Months later,you attempt to distance yourself from Paige in hopes of calming down the intense feelings you harbour. Paige is uneasy from the intimacy of your relationship.
A/n: sorry guys this one is all plot…and the next one too I think. But dw it’ll be worth it in the end. Feel free to point out any mistakes !
Minors DNI under the cut!!
It was a mutual understanding you two had. Paige didn’t mean for you two to keep meeting for this long, but the unintentional intimacy the two of you shared with every linkup was enough to keep her craving.
Paige Bueckers can’t be tied down, especially with an NCAA championship on the line. Ball first and girls second. For you, you prioritized school above all else. The one day you went out to have fun, Paige set her eyes on you and it’s been history since then. First casual hookups in party bedrooms, then in her car on the way back from practice. Aggressive after a bad game or slow and sensual after a good one. You even visited her dorm when nobody else was home, and she had slept over at yours. it’s all fun.
Until Paige noticed you stopped texting first.
Paige Bueckers, who receives constant comments from thousands of people on the daily begging her to look their way, was constantly asking you to fuck??
“Nah…I’m not chasing.” She says, trying to convince herself more than her teammates.
Azzi scoffs. “This is actually embarrassing.”
“Lemme see!” KK attempts to grab Paige’s phone from Azzi, who swats her hand away. Paige rubs her forehead, exasperated.
“Holy shit!” KK practically screams. “No way this girls puss is so good she got you texting like that.”
Paige says nothing, but grabs her phone back and scrolls through her texts with you. Was it really that bad?
Her eyes graze over texts from the past 5 months. Every time it’s Paige asking to meet up.
“Yo, wyd?”
“Practice sucked. U busy?”
“Did u see our game? I feel like celebrating.”
“I’m picking u up in 5”
“Come over tmr?”
And you respond every time with some variation of yes or maybe.
That seems pretty bad.
Paige thinks back to the last time you guys met up. Despite your lack of initiative and your dry responses, you always showed up for her wet and ready, usually showered and shaved if it wasn’t short notice. You genuinely seemed interested in her life and she had become slightly infatuated with yours, especially since she only ever talked to you face to face. Plus, Paige knew for a fact you enjoyed every night you spent with her, she made sure of it.
It was a vicious cycle that she was stuck in. She’d meet up with you to fuck, then you’d entrance her with a fun outing, or a deep question. She’d have the night of her life, then throughout the week Paige would convince herself it was all casual. That she could stop whenever she wanted.
Paige told her teammates you guys were hooking up. She did not mention the late night talks and restaurant runs. Mostly because she never did that with the other girls, so KK and Azzi would probably get the wrong impression. Plus, she’s supposed to be focusing on basketball, not you.
“She prob has a roster or something.” KK shrugs. “Doesn’t seem like you’re the first priority to her if she ain’t texting first. You got yourself a playaaaaa!”
“Hold on though.” Azzi interrupts. “She responds to every booty call?” Paige nods. “Okay, so that’s not much of a player move on her part.”
“Maybe it’s not that deep.” KK says. “She wants a fun night with you, but not enough to text you. That’s it.”
“That, or she thinks you suck but doesn’t know how to say no.”Azzi says, smirking.
“It’s all casual anyways. No biggie.” Paige grumbles.
The truth is she’s not content with the fact that she’s not satisfying you enough to make you text her, especially since her roster is basically bare with the exception of you. When did that even happen? She shakes off the realization that she hasn’t had sex with anyone but you since you two met.
She wondered if you’d even had a night where you laid in bed and thought, ‘damn I wish Paige were here to fuck me silly.’ Because she would’ve been lying if she were to say she never thought of you. The proof was on her phone. She wasn’t gonna stand for this.
-
The actual truth was that you had those nights too often. The first time you hooked up with Paige was magic to you, she was a stranger who you wanted to know back to front. Something about the way she smiled like she knew everything she needed to about you.
And that freaked you out. Like, a lot.
You wanted to be casual, you really did. You hoped being casual meant you could be pleasured while detached and focused on your own goals, but it was easier said than done. The next dozen times you met up with her you hoped your fantasies would be flattened, but with every night in bed, or party escaped, or car seat reclined you only wanted her more. You couldn’t help but ask questions about her life. A life that was so different from yours. She didn’t seem to mind either. She wanted to hear you talk about where you hope to be after all your work pays off. She wanted to hear your dreams. You wondered if she did this with every casual hookup?
You decided to stop texting her, in hopes that she’d forget about you and move on to someone else, but every week without fail she’d texted you herself and then the cycle continued. You’d waited out your late night urges, and she would continuously seek you out. When you told your friends about it they weren’t much help.
“I wouldn’t text her.” One said. “You’re just gonna get more attached. This is Paige Bueckers we’re talking about. From what I heard, she just wants a good fuck. If that’s not enough for you I think you should find some nice girl who maybe isn’t a D1 athlete or something.”
“Maybe you should tell her you don’t want to see her anymore. She’s focused on her future. What happened to you being focused on yours?” Another said.
Your best friend was the only one who was remotely helpful. “I wouldn’t listen to them, they’re so obsessed with academics they forget how it feels to like someone like you do.” She smiles. “But if you’re not planning on telling Paige about how you feel, then I don’t think it’s good for you to keep meeting with her every time she asks you to.”
You thought about it. At first, Paige had made it clear she wasn’t into a relationship, and you feverishly agreed in hopes of focusing on yourself. Despite that, you sometimes felt her stare was a little too longing. The way she would happily be vulnerable with you didn’t seem very casual.
It didn’t matter about that though, because you also knew Paige wanted to be sought after. It was a miracle that she was still texting you, even though you hadn’t texted first in months. Soon enough her ego would get a bit too bruised, and she would end it herself. Maybe that was what you needed.
Then one day she did what you predicted. Laying in your dorm spread eagle, totally fucked out. You had just finished and it was late, but unlike Paige’s usual routine of staying in bed with you for a while, body squeezed comfortably into yours, fingers brushing through your hair, she immediately started to put her clothes back on. You turn to look at her with a questioning look on your face, and her face turned into an uncomfortable expression.
“Yeah, um. I don’t think I’m gonna see you for a while.” She says sheepishly.
You sit up. “Oh.” Unsure of what to say, not wanting this to end but also not wanting to cling onto her.
“I mean you’re like, great. I just think, well.” She seems like she doesn’t exactly know what to say.
“I gotta focus on Basketball now, so this’ll be the last time.” Paige shifts on her feet.
You want to roll your eyes at the basketball excuse, but you know this is partially your fault. Paige is a confident person, and you challenged her by never showing too much interest. You just decide to give a tired smile and wish her luck in the upcoming tournaments.
“Thanks.” Her posture visibly shrinks, but she says nothing else and leaves.
As you hear your door close you feel a sinking feeling in your stomach. With the exception of your constant attempts to detach from her, confrontation free, you knew you couldn’t be happy.
You learned about her life as an athlete, the struggles of being a female basketball player, the ups and downs of media attention, all the fun she has on away tournaments with her teammates who are practically family.
At the same time she had intently listened to your ambitions, how hard you worked to get where you are and the next steps you have planned out to be as successful as possible in your field. That’s something you two had in common, ambition. You both mutually understood that being driven and working hard was an unbeatable formula to getting what you want, you both had cracked that code. The late night fast food runs were pretty good too.
Groaning into your pillow, you realized you made a mistake by trying to be detached. It shouldn’t have mattered what anyone said. You like Paige, a lot. Even if she doesn’t want commitment, you know for a fact she likes you too. Your life doesn’t have to be on pause just so you can focus on your career.
Letting out a big breath you didn’t know you were holding, you decided to do the one thing you tried so hard to avoid.
Chase after her.
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Speed Limit 2525
Requested Here!
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader
Summary: When Tim Bradford goes head-to-head with a bomber, he finds himself on a bus carrying a bomb and you.
Warnings: spoilers for Speed (1994) (I think this qualifies as an AU/rewrite), angst, bombings, nightmares, death and fear of dying, teasing, fluff, a little make out scene at the end? basically every warning that applies to the movie and The Rookie. I also made up a story about "Reaper"
Word Count: 11.7k+ words
A/N: This isn't completely proofread, but I'll be back soon to check it. I hope you enjoy!🤍
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Shoot him.
Tim doesn’t feel the trigger depress, only the hot desert air beating against his face. Though the trigger doesn’t move, a bullet rips through the barrel and into Tim’s only surviving squad member. He yells to warn his teammate, but no sound comes out. The wind is loud in the desert, yet the sound of Tim’s friend falling against the sand seems to echo for miles.
“Bradford,” the injured soldier coughs. “Wrong target, Reaper.”
Tim’s chest is tight with guilt and anxiety when he wakes. The sheets are wrapped tightly around his legs, and his shallow breaths distract him from freeing himself. Before he has time to orient himself, Tim’s phone rings and snaps him out of his post-nightmare, adrenaline-fueled state as he reaches across the empty pillow to answer it.
“Bradford,” he says.
“Get to the station as soon as you can,” Sergeant Grey demands. “Your Metro captain has me calling everybody in. We’re sending patrol units out, too. It’s gonna be a long day, Tim.”
Tim forgets about the nightmare and the memory within as he rushes to get ready. Tim’s tunnel vision focuses on work, and everything else fades away. Middle-of-the-night calls aren’t unusual, especially for a Metro Sergeant like himself, but this many officers getting a wake-up call is. Whatever is happening is big, and it doesn’t sound to Tim like it will be over any time soon. He makes it to the station in record time, and his commander is directing the other Metro officers when he enters.
“We don’t have time,” she says suddenly. “I’m running this force from here. Sergeant Grey will fill you in on the way. Get to the target location and stick together. Bradford, you’re with Temple!”
Tim nods as Harry Temple walks to his side. Harry was one of Angela Lopez’s first patrol partners, but he decided Metro was a better fit when the time to move forward in his career came along. Like Tim, he was in the Army before becoming a police officer, and he and Tim have some shared experiences. Neither of them is overly eager to bond over them, however.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Tim asks Harry as he turns on the lights and sirens in the shop.
“All I heard was ‘elevator,’” Harry answers. “I’m assuming they’re more to this than that.”
“Listen up,” Sergeant Grey says over the radio. “This is your official brief. When we roll up to the scene, we go straight in. No time for questions after we exit these cars. Fifteen people are trapped on an express elevator. The owner of the building is also inside. A bomb took out the cables, and our bomber is demanding three million dollars, or he blows the emergency brake, too. Cell phone service is spotty in the building, so we can’t rely on that to track anyone or anything.”
“Cell phone service is nonexistent in the elevator. A defensive move against trade secrets,” someone adds.
“What’s our clock, Sergeant?” Harry radios.
“He gave one hour when he called, which leaves us with twenty-eight minutes.”
“The only thing that’ll stop the elevator is the basement, right?” Tim adds.
“The city plans to avoid that. They’re working to release the money.”
Tim stops the shop beside the curb at the front of the building. He leaves the lights on as he and Harry remove their weapons from the back and meet the rest of their tactical team in the lobby.
“We can’t just unload them,” an officer says.
“The bomber wired the elevator doors and the hatch to trigger the bomb. So, he’s crazy, but he ain’t stupid,” Wade explains as he enters.
“Harry volunteers to examine the device,” Tim interjects. “He was on the bomb squad in the Army.”
Harry turns to glare at Tim as he says, “Right. And since Bradford also has Army experience, he’d like to provide a second opinion.”
“Fine,” Wade says. “You two check it out. Hey! Where’s the nearest access panel?”
“32nd floor,” a nearby employee answers on his way out. “It’s in the hall by the storage closet.”
“Report only. We’re in a holding pattern until we get word from your Commander back at the station. Confirm building evac and keep your radios active.”
“What about the other elevators?” Harry asks the employee.
“In an emergency, all passenger cars go to the nearest floor and shut down,” he says.
Tim frowns and moves his gun to his side. “Looks like we’re walking up the stairs.”
Harry nods before sprinting up the stairs behind Tim. Tim outpaces him but waits at the access panel for Harry to arrive with his small tool kit. He begins removing the nuts from the metal cover while Tim watches the hallway. Harry gives Tim a signal and Tim lifts the metal sheet. Light filters into the elevator shaft as Tim crawls through the opening and moves to the top of the elevator, where the bomb rests.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the L.A.P.D.,” Tim announces loudly. “There has been an elevator malfunction. Just relax and we’ll have you out of there as soon as possible.”
Harry looks up from the bomb and raises his hands in question.
“I didn’t lie,” Tim defends.
“I don’t recognize this work, Tim. Whoever our bomber is… he’s a pro and the work is solid,” Harry says.
“Bradford, Temple, hold position,” Wade radios. “We’re waiting to hear back from the bomber.”
Tim looks at his watch and muffles a curse. Their time is nearly out, and Tim continues to look at his watch rather than think about the lives in the metal death trap below his feet.
Harry sees the look in Tim’s eyes and decides to distract him. “Terrorist in a crowded room, five pounds of dynamite. He’s got a deadman’s stick. What do you do?”
“How close am I?” Tim asks, looking away from the elevator.
“Twenty feet.”
“Taser. He can’t let go with enough volts surging through him.”
“Alright, hot shot. Fifty feet?”
“Nice try.”
“Airport, then. Gunman with one hostage, using her for cover. He’s almost on a plane, you’re a hundred feet away.”
“Why is the hostage always a woman in these scenarios? Watch too many romcoms in the academy?”
“What do you do?” Harry repeats.
Tim kneels to examine the bomb once more and remembers his nightmare. Shoot him. He shakes his head before answering, “Shoot the hostage. Take her out of the equation, he can’t get to the plane, and I have a clear shot.”
“You are out of your mind, Bradford.”
“This is wrong,” Tim says suddenly. “He’s gonna blow it. How much do you think this elevator weighs?”
“Why? You wanna try to bench it?”
Tim doesn’t acknowledge the teasing as he adds, “We can do something about the hostages.”
“No shoot them, right?”
“Roof,” Tim reads as he points to a roof access sign. There’s a heavy-duty winch secured to the corner of the roof, and Tim runs to it as he says, “We don’t shoot them. Just take them out of the equation.”
Tim pulls the cable from the winch toward the elevator housing on the roof. He drops it in and watches it fall several feet before it catches.
“It’ll hold,” Tim tells Harry. “It’ll hold,” he repeats, quieter.
“Six minutes,” Harry alerts.
Tim throws his legs over the edge of the housing and lowers carefully onto the elevator cable. He hooks the winch hook to his tactical vest before moving down in the elevator shaft. Wade and the Metro team argue with the city council about releasing the money in the lobby, and no one has a clue that the shooter is listening to their radio frequencies. Without cell phones, they’re completely reliant on their radios to stay in touch with one another. Tim ignores his radio as he flips so he’s headfirst as he nears the trapped elevator.
“One more pop quiz,” Harry begins. “Psycho Sergeant Tim Bradford rigs an elevator to drop thirty stories. What do you do?”
Tim rolls his eyes before gesturing for Harry to hold the winch cable steady. A small pile of C4 waits beside his feet, but Tim ignores it as he secures the cable hook to the frame of the elevator.
“Why did I take this job?” Tim murmurs.
“Hey, a few more decades and you get a tiny pension and a free watch,” Harry answers.
“Hit the switch, Temple.”
Harry runs to the winch, hoping that the cables used to wash windows are strong enough to catch a free-falling elevator. He flips the switch, and the winch begins pulling in the cable. As the extra cable Tim pulled into the shaft begins unspooling, he moves up to the open access panel.
In the basement, a man missing a thumb presses a button on his handheld device. Instantaneously, a red light illuminates on the bomb. Tim sees it and throws himself through the access panel just before the bomb goes off. The passengers begin screaming, but the winch catches the falling elevator before it reaches the bottom of the shaft.
“What is happening, Bradford?” Wade asks, his concern evident over the radio.
“He’s early!” Harry yells as he returns from the roof.
“We have to get them out of the elevator. They can’t be lower than 28,” Tim exclaims.
When he and Harry meet the rest of their team on the 28th floor, they see that the elevator is stranded between floors. Only the floor is accessible from their current position, but there is no time to run up and down the stairs and look for the perfect access point. The elevator passengers lower to the floor and Tim and Harry pull people out one at a time. Tim pulls the last woman to safety seconds before the winch fails and the elevator plummets to the bottom of the shaft. After the sound of impact, Tim and Harry lean back against a wall and pant from the effort they exerted.
“Is your watch slow?” Tim asks.
“Nah. He jumped the gun,” Harry says with a shake of his head. “We had three minutes.”
“He blew more than the elevator. He blew his three million dollars. Why would he do that?”
“Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth it.”
Tim sits up as he declares, “He’s here.”
“He could have blown that thing from anywhere, Tim.”
“He knew we were doing something, that’s why he acted early. That means he’s close.”
“He’s not gonna corner himself in the building. The building we evacuated.” Harry leans his head back against the wall and thinks for a moment before he adds, “He’d want to be here, yes, but stay mobile… The elevators.”
“All of the passenger cars stopped, and we checked them.”
“Did we check the freight elevators?”
Tim’s eyes widen in realization as he and Harry push themselves to stand and run to the freight elevator doors. Once Tim pries the door open, he slides down the cable and lands on top of a car. Harry reluctantly follows and freezes when a noise echoes inside. Tim doesn’t notice Harry behind him as he prepares to enter the elevator. Before he can, a shotgun is fired between them, and Harry falls into the elevator. The man inside knocks him out with the butt of the shotgun, and Tim waits until the elevator moves up to drop in through the roof panel. As he lands, he looks up and sees a shotgun barrel in his face.
“I don’t suppose anybody would pay me three million dollars just for you,” the nine-fingered bomber muses.
He pulls the trigger, but the gun is empty. Tim removes his Glock from his side and demands the bomber lower the shotgun. He does so but opens his coat to reveal dynamite strapped to his chest and a deadman switch detonator in his hand.
“Hotshot,” the man begins. Tim’s jaw clenches as he realizes the man listened to their conversations over the radio, but he can’t say anything before the bomber says, “Terrorist holding a police hostage. He’s got enough dynamite to blow the building in half. What do you do?”
“Fifty cops are waiting for us in the basement,” Tim states.
“Standard flanking, I’m aware.” He presses a button on a device wired into the elevator controls. “So, maybe we’ll get off early.”
The elevator stops at a parking level, and Tim watches as the bomber pulls Harry toward the door. His eyes open slowly, and Tim keeps his eyes on Harry rather than the man pulling him.
“Well, end of the line, Bradford. This day has been a real disappointment, I don’t mind saying.”
“Why? Because you couldn’t kill everyone?” Tim asks.
“There will come a time, hotshot, when you will wish you’d never met me.”
“I’m already there.”
“Look! I have your partner, I’m in charge! I drop this stick and they clean us up with a sponge!”
“Go ahead!” Harry yells. “Drop the stick!”
“Shut up!” Tim demands.
Harry looks at Tim and mouths, “Shoot the hostage.”
Shoot him. Wrong target, Reaper. Tim takes a deep breath and shifts his arms to shoot Harry in the leg. He collapses onto the floor, and the bomber steps back in shock before running into the garage. Tim steps over Harry to shoot behind the feeling suspect. As the man reaches the door, he looks over his shoulder to smile at Tim before he disappears. Tim can’t check on Harry as the garage explodes and the force pushes him back against the wall. As Tim collides with the concrete behind him, everything goes dark. And everything changes.
After Harry’s unplanned and involuntary retirement party, Tim nearly oversleeps. His alarm pulls him from a dreamless sleep, and he winces at the sound before turning it off. Before he showers, he decides to go for a quick run to clear his head. Once he’s dressed and ready for the day, he drives to his favorite café. It’s one of the only places in Los Angeles where you can get a decent cup of coffee and breakfast without being surrounded by millennials working on their screenplays. Tim nods at another regular, Vince, as he enters.
“Hey, Tim. You look awful,” Bob, the owner of the café, says.
“Thanks, Bob,” Tim grumbles.
“Pretty boy party too hard?” Vince asks Tim.
“I- I don’t remember that well.”
“Wake up alone?”
“Always do.”
“Must be nice,” Bob interjects. “The last time I partied like that I worked up married.”
Tim shakes his head as he accepts his order and walks out behind Vince. He sets his coffee on top of his truck as he retrieves his keys from his pocket. Vince’s bus starts behind Tim and pulls away from the curb. Tim turns to wave at Vince before unlocking his door.
After it crosses the first intersection, the bus explodes. Tim stumbles as he looks toward the source of the noise. He runs to the bus as it rolls to a stop and fights against the flames to help Vince, but it’s too late. As Tim lays his hands on his knees in shock, he notices an abandoned cell phone lying on the sidewalk behind him. It rings continuously, and Tim doesn’t hesitate before he answers the phone.
“What do you think, Bradford?” the bomber from last month asks. “You think if you and Harry find all the driver’s teeth they’ll give you another medal?”
“Where are you?” Tim demands.
“Twenty-second delay. I’m in the air duct when the garage blows. Did you think I wouldn’t come prepared? I spent two years on the elevator job. Two years. I invested myself in it. You couldn’t understand the commitment I have. A child, Tim, you’re a child. You ruin a man’s life’s work and then think you can walk away. You’ve got blinders on, but I got your attention now. Didn’t I, Tim?”
“Why didn’t you just come after me?”
“This is about money – 3.7 million. Not you and your ego. None of it had to happen, Tim, and I hope you realize that. How long do you think the driver’s wife and kids will wait before they get worried tonight?”
“When I find you, I will kill you,” Tim threatens.
“There’s a bomb on a bus, hotshot. Once the bus hits fifty miles an hour, the bomb is armed. If the bus drops below fifty, it blows up. What do you do?”
Tim doesn’t answer but looks around for any sign of the suspect.
“What do you do?” he repeats.
“I’d want to know what bus it was,” Tim answers. He’s accepted the challenge and knows that it has to end with a death: either his or the bomber’s.
“You think I’m going to tell you that, Tim?”
“Yes.”
“Very good.” The man sounds happy, and Tim presses a hand against a nearby wall to control his anger. “Now there are rules, Tim; we have to do this right. No one gets off the bus. One passenger leaves, I will detonate it. Now, if I don’t get my money by 11 a.m., there’s also a timer.”
Tim looks at his watch: 8:05 a.m. “I can’t pull that money in time-“
“Focus, Tim! Your concern is the bus. Don’t call, the radios are jammed. Number 2525, running downtown from Venice. At the corner of Lincoln and Pico…”
Tim drops the cell phone and runs to his car to follow the bus. The lives on that bus are in his hands, and he doesn’t plan to shoot any hostages today.
“Please stop! Sam!” you yell as you chase your bus.
You don’t want to ride the bus, but since your most recent speeding ticket, it is your only mode of transportation. In the few weeks since your license was suspended, you’ve gotten to know the driver, Sam, and some of the regular passengers. You hope that camaraderie is enough to convince Sam to stop for you. The brakes on the bus squeal as it stops, and the door opens.
“This look like a stop to you?” Sam asks.
“You are an amazing man, Sam,” you say as you walk onto the bus. “The men in books and songs have nothing on you.”
You swipe your bus card and take a seat before saying hello to Ortiz, a regular passenger. Comfortable in your seat, and glad that none of the passengers are in a talkative mood this early on a weekday, you relax and hope to get your car back soon.
Tim drives his truck in and out of traffic, onto the shoulder, and into the emergency lane as he tries to catch up with bus 2525. Other drivers honk their horns, flip him off, and yell insults through open windows, but Tim doesn’t notice or care. If he can stop the driver before it reaches 50, then the bomb will never activate. The only danger would be the man with the detonator.
You look up as Sam slows for a traffic jam.
“Can’t you just drive over them?” you ask with a smile.
“Is it always like this?” a man asks from the back of the bus. “It’s my first time here, and it took me three hours just to get out of the airport.”
“Yep,” you answer. “It’s usually worse.”
“That’s why I never drive,” the woman behind you interjects. “I’d never have a car in this city.”
“I have a car. I miss my car,” you lament.
“In the shop?” the tourist asks.
“Something like that. Sam, seriously, the bus is huge, just run them over,” you say again.
When Tim sees the bus has stopped because of a stalled car ahead, he sighs before he pulls onto the shoulder. He exits his truck and runs toward the bus, but the accident clears faster than he expected, and begins moving before he reaches the door. Hitting his fist against the side, Tim yells for the driver to stop.
“Can’t blame him for wanting to get on the bus,” you mutter as you watch him slap an open palm against the door.
“Get off the doors, man! Wait for the next one,” Sam yells before he speeds up.
Tim removes his badge from his pocket a moment too late. He continues chasing the bus, and you look down at your phone as the other passengers watch the unknown man run down the freeway.
Nearly half a mile from his truck and with no other option, Tim stops and waits at the edge of the road. He sees a speeding sports car approaching, and he moves into the middle of its lane and raises his badge.
“Stop!” Tim yells over the traffic.
The young man driving the car slams on his brakes to avoid hitting Tim. Several cars behind him blow their horns, and he raises to yell over the convertible’s windshield.
“What the-“
“L.A.P.D.,” Tim interrupts. “Get out of the car.”
“This is my car! It ain’t stolen and you have no right!” the driver argues.
Tim pulls his gun from its holster and says, “It’s stolen now. Move over.”
The man nods quickly before he jumps over the console and settles into the passenger seat. Tim sits behind the wheel and swerves into another lane as he ignores the owner’s pleas not to scratch the car. Tim drives the expensive, sporty convertible exactly as he had driven his truck, and the man in the passenger seat covers his eyes in fear for his car more than his life. As Tim steers the car beside the bus, he lays on the horn. Sam looks over and immediately recognizes him, and his eyes widen to prove it.
“I’m a cop!” Tim yells.
Sam lowers the window and raises his voice to ask, “What?”
“L-A-P-D!” Tim spells slowly. “There’s a bomb on your bus.”
“There’s a what?” Tim’s passenger exclaims.
“I can’t hear you,” Sam says.
“There’s a bomb on the bus!” Tim repeats.
Sam shakes his head, and Tim looks at the convertible’s speedometer. He’s over 50, so the bus must be, too.
“Drive!” Tim yells as he gestures for the bus to keep moving. “FIFTY! STAY ABOVE FIFTY!”
Sam nods rapidly and trembles a bit as he holds the speed steady. The commotion draws your attention, and you turn in your seat to watch the man who desperately needs a ride or is crazy.
“Call the Mid-Wilshire division station,” Tim says as he hands his phone to the man beside him. “Ask for Detective Angela Lopez.”
“Okay, okay.” The man speaks into the phone briefly before passing it back to Tim.
“Angela,” Tim says.
“Why are you calling me on your day off?” she asks. “Harry’s here, if you’re looking for him.”
“He’s alive.”
“Who?”
“The bomber! He’s back.”
“Harry!” Angela calls.
“Tim, did he hit the bus in Venice?” Harry asks as he approaches Angela’s desk.
“Temple,” Wade interrupts. “We just got a ransom demand from your dead terrorist. Says he rigged a city bus. Where’s Tim?”
“Where do you think?” Harry replies.
Tim ends the call and navigates around the back of the bus to drive alongside the door. Traffic is increasing with the morning rush, and he doesn’t want to risk getting stuck in another slowdown. He honks to get Sam’s attention, and gestures for him to open the door.
“Drive straight,” Tim directs him. “Stay in this lane.”
Sam agrees before Tim speeds up to get ahead of the bus. He opens the driver-side door and hits the brakes, so the bus rips the door off the car. Tim presses the accelerator again to catch up with the bus as he is yelled at by the owner of the car.
“Take the wheel!” Tim says.
Tim waits until the car’s owner moves back into the driver’s seat to jump into the open bus door and pull himself up the stairs.
When the bus rips the door off a convertible, you finally look up. The man driving the car beside the bus is attractive, but you’re a little concerned for his mental well-being. Sam seems willing to help him, and you don’t understand why. When he jumps from the car and onto the bus, you stand and grip the bar above your head. He locks eyes with you before holding up a police badge.
“Everyone, I’m Sergeant Tim Bradford, L.A.P.D. We’ve got a slight… situation on the bus,” he explains.
“Are you crazy?” you ask.
“Ma'am, if you’ll please sit down, we can deal with this in an orderly-“
“But what are you-“
“Ma’am.”
His tone and the look in his eyes convinces you, so you sit down as Tim walks toward the back of the bus and looks at the other passengers. You watch him move and wonder if he’s truly a cop or just insane.
“Just stay in your seats and remain quiet,” Tim says. “Then we’ll be able to defuse the, uh, the problem.”
A passenger you’ve spoken to before, Jay, leaps from his seat and points a gun at Tim.
“Jay!” you yell worriedly.
“Get away from me!” Jay demands.
Tim pulls his gun and matches Jay’s stance. Two women at the back of the bus scream, and you look between Tim and Jay from your seat.
“I don’t know you, I’m not here for you. Let’s not do this,” Tim says calmly.
“Stop the bus, Sam,” Jay calls.
“He can’t. Look, I’m going to put my gun away.” Tim holsters it slowly and raises his hands to show they’re empty. “I don’t care about what you did. It’s over. I’m not a cop right now. See? We’re just two guys on the bus.”
Tim tosses his badge to the floor beside your feet, and you look at it before raising your eyes to Jay again. You understand why he calmed down so quickly; Tim Bradford has a soothing voice, and his presence is assertive but caring. More importantly, you can relax now, because his badge looks real. Jay’s hands begin to lower, but your fellow passenger Ortiz jumps onto his back before Jay puts it away.
Tim rushes forward as Ortiz tries to pull the gun from Jay. A shot goes off, and everyone ducks before a second shot fires.
“Sam!” someone screams.
You turn toward the front of the bus before moving to help Sam. Tim disarms Jay with minimal effort while another woman joins your side.
“Move him,” you say.
“He’s bleeding,” the woman argues.
“We have to stop the bus!”
At your words, Tim spins quickly to face you.
“No!” he yells. “Stay above fifty.”
“Sam is wounded,” you begin.
“You slow down, and this bus will explode!”
Tim holds your eyes and nods slowly. He’s not kidding, you realize. Turning quickly, you look at the speedometer, which falls to 51. While Sam is still in the seat, you push your foot onto the gas pedal and watch the line rise above fifty.
Tim handcuffs Jay to one of the poles before he explains, “There is a bomb on this bus. If we slow down, it will blow. If anyone tries to get off, it will blow.”
The women on the bus surround Sam and help him get comfortable as they try to slow the bleeding. As they pull Sam from the driver’s seat, you slide into position and steer into another lane to keep the speed over 50.
“We’re only gonna make it through this if everyone stays calm, sits down, and listens to me,” Tim adds.
You don’t hear everything he says, with your complete focus on the road ahead and the speedometer on the dash. Your knuckles are white because of your grip on the wheel, and you don’t hear Tim approach behind you. He lays a hand on the headrest behind you and leans down.
“This is great. A bomb on wheels,” you muse sarcastically.
“Can you handle this bus, ma’am?” Tim asks.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s just like driving a big Toyota, right?”
“Can you handle it?”
“I’m fine. What’s the plan? Is there a plan?”
Tim nods and stands to his full height. He watches you take a deep breath before turning to the rest of the passengers.
“Everyone, I need your cell phones,” Tim announces.
“No way, man!” the tourist yells.
“There is a terrorist out there with a bomb, and I don’t need any of you live streaming or interfering with the radio signal he could be using to detonate a bomb. So, I will only say this one more time. Phones - and anything else with a cellular connection – now.”
The passengers nod and offer all of their cellular devices. Tim accepts an empty bag from a woman beside Sam and places everyone’s belongings inside. He returns to your side and removes his phone from his pocket.
“Do you have anyone you need to call?” Tim asks softly.
“No. I- I don’t want to think like that,” you answer.
“We don’t have to. Everything’s going to be okay. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
You nod and Tim lays a kind hand on your shoulder to add, “But I need your phone.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s- uh- it’s in my back pocket. Right side.”
Tim’s hand brushes your lower back as he pulls the phone from your pocket. He apologizes, though you can’t imagine why. You’ve only known Tim Bradford for a few minutes, but his words mean something, and you can only hope he keeps the promises he’s making.
“You’re a cop, right?” you ask.
“That’s right. Metro Sergeant,” Tim says. “But you can call me Tim if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Uh, no. Thanks, and you can stop calling me ‘ma’am’ while we’re at it. I just- I should probably tell you that I’m taking the bus because my driver’s license was suspended.”
“What for?”
“Speeding.”
Tim shakes his head and hides his smile before calling the station again. He leans forward, but keeps his hand beside you, to look at the news chopper circling above the bus.
“Lopez, it’s me. I took phones from all the passengers. Where do we start?” Tim asks.
“Alright. Harry and Wade are with me,” Angela replies.
“Check the speedometer, Bradford,” Harry says. “Has it been messed with? Any wires or anything that don’t belong?”
“Sorry,” Tim whispers as he leans in front of you to check the dash area. “No, it’s clean.”
“Then it’s gotta be under the bus. Probably rigged to one of the axles.”
“I can’t get under the bus to check right now. The whole you stop, you die thing. Remember?”
Tim doesn’t sound like he’s kidding; in fact, he sounds grumpier than when he first boarded, but his comment makes you laugh. He pats the back of your seat before turning.
“Sergeant Bradford,” Sam calls weakly. Tim kneels beside him to listen, and Sam stutters, “There’s a- an access panel… in the fl-floor.”
“Hold on, Angela,” Tim says into the phone.
He unscrews the panel and pulls it aside. The asphalt moves quickly under the bus, and Tim looks around before handing his phone to a passenger. You look up in the mirror above you to watch Tim briefly before returning your attention to the road.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Stephen. I’m a tourist,” Stephen introduces.
“Welcome to the City of Angels. Hold my phone, please. Tell my partner what I see.”
Stephen nods and raises the phone to his ear as Tim moves so he can see under the bus. He takes a deep breath; Tim knows a bit about bombs from his time in the Army, but it’s Harry’s expertise.
“Okay, there’s a bundle here,” Tim yells over the wind. “Pretty big.”
“There’s a pretty big bundle,” Stephen relays.
“Brass fittings. I think I can reach the circuit wire.”
“He can reach the circuit wire- No, don’t do that, Sergeant Bradford. It can be a decoy, he says. What else?”
“Hold on,” Tim murmurs before moving further underneath the bus. He sees the extent of the bomb and pulls himself back up to take the phone. “Angela, Harry, there’s enough C4 on this bus to take out everyone on the highway. There’s a wristwatch: gold band, cheap.”
You look back at Tim quickly before inhaling sharply. “Sergeant,” you call.
“What do you think, Harry?” Tim asks.
“Bradford!” you yell into the bus speaker.
Tim moves to your side and places a hand on the dash to lean forward. His face is right beside yours, and you wish you were nervous because of him and not the bomb underneath you.
“Everybody’s stopping,” you point out. “What do I do?”
“Get on the shoulder.”
“This is an exit!”
Tim flinches as you sideswipe several cars.
“Tim!”
“Off. Get off!” Tim yells.
You nearly miss the ramp and pull the wheel to the right to merge onto another road. Honking the horn and yelling for people to get out of the way, you take a deep breath. At least you’re off the freeway. Tim tells you to keep driving as he answers his phone again.
“Where?” he asks. “Got it.”
“Do I stay here?” you inquire.
“Yes. Just straight on this, they’re trying to clear the roads for us.”
“I’m never getting my license back, am I?” you grumble.
“The police commissioner will buy you a car if you ask,” Tim says quietly. “You’re doing well, okay? Don’t worry about anything else.”
You nod and return both hands to the wheel. Tim removes the flannel shirt he’s been wearing, leaving him in a white t-shirt, and drapes it over the back of your seat. Your eyes catch on his biceps before you chide yourself for getting distracted.
One of the phones in the bag rings, and Tim yells, “Who didn’t turn their phone off?”
No one is willing to admit their fault or doesn’t want to risk dealing with Tim’s wrath and ending up like Jay where he sits on the floor. Tim digs through the bag and pulls the ringing phone out. The number is one he recognizes, but he hesitates before answering.
“Taking their phones was smart,” the bomber says as the line connects. “2525… nice passengers, aren’t they? See, that’s the beauty of being in this day and age. I know everything about everyone on that bus. So, if you or your little girlfriend, or even the tourist from Kalamazoo try to double-cross me…”
“The bus explodes,” Tim interjects. “I’m aware.”
“What’s with the attitude, Tim? You’re seeing one of the prettiest places in the world, riding a bus for free… Oh, no, I know. Can’t shoot a hostage that makes that cold heart beat again, huh?”
“What do you want?”
“You know what I want! 3.7 million dollars. I get the money, and then we can both get what we want.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
“I know what you don’t want. Tell your girlfriend to keep her eyes on the road.”
The call ends and Tim raises the cell phone in his hands. “He knows who is on this bus.”
“How?” Ortiz asks.
“Your bus passes, your phones, both, maybe. Look, one of the conditions of our survival is that no one gets off the bus. If he knows who you are, then we are even more obligated to keep that promise.”
“You didn’t even try to get us off the bus!” Jay accuses.
“Because he would have blown it. I understand what you are feeling, but I need you to trust me, trust the L.A.P.D., and work with me on this.”
“Tim is this your team?” you ask over your shoulder.
A police car pulls into the lane in front of you as several more flank the sides of the bus. The road clears around them, but more news choppers are joining the airspace above you.
Tim nods and looks at you. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. What happens now, though?”
“My teammates are working on it. We’ve got gas and open road, so keep driving.”
“Is it- can I be okay and really nervous at the same time?”
“I’d be more concerned if you weren’t nervous.”
“You don’t look nervous.”
“My friend Angela says I never look anything; thinks I can’t show emotion because I can’t feel them.”
“Is it true?”
Tim looks at you and lowers to squat beside you. “No, it’s not.”
“How’s Sam?”
“The driver? He’s gonna be alright. Thanks to you.”
Someone calls for Tim, and he squeezes your shoulder reassuringly as he stands. You glance at him in the mirror as he returns to the access panel. A police helicopter drops to fly above you, and you wonder what the news stations and police officers know or think about the situation. The bus begins losing speed as you steer around a curve, and when you try to speed up again, you realize something is wrong.
Back at the station, Harry and Angela work with Wade and a bomb expert to search for a way to disarm the bomb and for their suspect. Harry has a description of the bomber, but there’s only so much they can learn about the bomb without seeing it.
“Sergeant Bradford!” you cry as you press the gas again.
“What?” Tim asks with wide eyes. You were calling him Tim, and your sudden change of formality and tone concern him.
“The gas pedal’s stuck.”
“What else can go wrong?” Tim asks under his breath. “Move your foot.”
You pull your foot from the pedal and steer as Tim presses his leg against yours to slam his foot down against the pedal. It doesn’t move, and the speedometer dips closer to fifty. Tim moves his hands to cover yours on the steering wheel and moves his leg between yours to try a new angle. You’re close to him, but the fear of dying keeps you from enjoying it in any way. He pushes the pedal again and his shoulders drop.
“There,” he announces as he steps back.
You take the wheel back and press the accelerator down again. The bus gains speed and you catch up to the police car before you.
“Lopez, talk to me,” Tim greets as he answers his phone again.
“You’ve got a hard left coming up,” Angela says. “Really hard.”
“Hard left up ahead,” Tim tells you.
“We’ll tip!” you argue.
“Who is that? Your driver?” Angela inquires.
“We’re not going to tip,” Tim says.
“Yes, we are!”
The curve in the road comes into view, and Tim suddenly agrees, “We’re going to tip.”
He leaves your side to move everyone onto the right side of the bus. The weight distribution keeps the bus from tipping, but as Tim helps you pull the wheel as hard as possible to make the turn, you forget why you were concerned. His presence is the only thing keeping you calm, and you wish he could just sit beside you the whole time.
“Angela, get those news crews off our tail!” he yells over the cheers of the passengers.
You look in the mirror beside you. The news crews must have arrived recently because you didn’t notice them before.
“On it. Harry’s working with the bomb squad. Keep it fifty,” Angela responds.
“Don’t try to make that a thing, Lopez,” Tim says before he ends the call.
“Hey, who’s doing this?” you ask Tim.
“The bomber? He’s just a guy who’s angry with me for foiling his last bombing attempt,” Tim explains.
“So, he’s trying again? Using you to get whatever it is he wants?”
“More or less.”
“What if you stop him again?”
“We do this again tomorrow. Until one of us dies trying.”
“That won’t work.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m not available to drive tomorrow.”
Tim nods but doesn’t reply before a flatbed truck merges into the lane beside the door. His Metro captain and two officers are on the back, and the driver blows the horn to get his attention. Tim opens the door and moves out of the door to talk to them. You can’t hear much but suspect that they want to get the hostages off the bus, which Tim already said was impossible. Your sudden and unbending trust in him should probably concern you, but you will do anything and everything he tells you, even if that means staying on a bus with a bomb on it.
“He called the station looking for you,” an officer announces.
“Why? He has my cell,” Tim says.
“Maybe it died.”
“Just give him my number again! And keep looking; find this guy so we can move these people.”
Tim steps onto the main platform again and closes the door.
“Are they going to help us?” the woman holding Sam’s head up asks.
“Sure, they will. They’re the police,” someone jokes.
Another phone rings in the bag, and Tim pulls your phone out this time. He hadn’t thought to turn yours off because he was concerned about you and wanted to make sure you could drive like the bus needed to be driven.
“Hello?” he answers.
“Tim, you know I trust you. But it looks to me like you’re trying to move passengers off the bus,” the bomber says.
“I need one as an act of faith,” Tim argues. “The driver has been shot.”
“You shot another hostage?”
“He’s dying! If you want your money, show a little charity.”
The line is quiet for a moment before the bomber says, “Fine. You can try to get the driver off. I have more people to kill. Tell your girlfriend behind the wheel not to slow down or he won’t get a chance to bleed out.”
“We’re getting the driver off,” Tim announces after returning your phone to the bag. “Just him for now.”
Ortiz moves out of the seat to help Tim move Sam to the door and onto the truck.
“Get as close as you can,” Tim says. “A little closer.”
The side of the bus hits the truck and swerves, and you rush to apologize.
“It’s okay.” Tim says your name, and you know that he means what he says. “Perfect! Hold it steady!”
You sigh as Tim walks past you again after getting Sam to safety, but then you see a woman walking toward the door. The officers on the truck reach out to help her, unaware of what will happen if she steps off the bus.
“No!” you yell.
“I have to,” she responds.
“No! Don’t get off! Stop!”
An explosion echoes through the bus as the steps fall out and go underneath the bus. The female passenger disappears after she falls with the debris, and you look away quickly as Tim falls forward trying to catch her.
“You’ve got to get those choppers out of here!” Tim yells to his captain. “He’s watching!”
The bus is silent as Tim stands up and waits beside you. With your eyes on the road, he doesn’t see the tear that leaks out. When the passengers start arguing behind you, your grip on the wheel tightens.
“Hey!” Tim calls as he turns to face them. They silence, and he moves his attention to you. “How are you doing?”
Tim steps forward, sees the tears covering your face, and squats with an arm behind you. “What can I do?”
His voice is softer than when he yelled at the men behind you, and you can’t lie to him.
“I thought that was the bomb. When I heard it… I thought everything was over. But then I saw her fall under the bus, and-“
“You’re glad you’re still alive,” Tim finishes.
“I’m so sorry. Does that make me a terrible person?”
“No. It doesn’t mean you don’t care. We’re still alive, and we’re all allowed to be thankful for that. The guy who put us here? He’s a terrible person. Don’t think that you’re a bad person. You’re not.”
“Tim,” you say before pointing to his Captain, who is waving for his attention.
“There’s a gap in the freeway. It’s big. We have to get these people off, Tim,” he says.
“You know I can’t, Captain.”
“Tim?” you ask as he walks past you. “What’d he say?”
“There’s a gap in the road,” Tim tells everyone.
“How big is a gap?�� Ortiz asks.
“50 feet, a couple of miles ahead,” Tim says.
“Tim?” you repeat. “What if I shift down and just keep the engine revving?”
“He thought of that… Floor it.”
“What?”
“There’s an interchange, maybe there’s an incline. Just floor it.”
“Okay.”
“Everyone keep your heads down.”
The police car leading you falls off the side, but you continue driving toward the unfinished overpass. The needle on the speedometer nears 70, and Tim waits beside you. As you approach the end, Tim yells for everyone to hold on. He puts his arms around you and pulls your head down with his. You feel weightless for a moment, grounded only by his arms around you before the bus collides with the other side of the interchange. Looking up over Tim’s arm, you see more road ahead and press the gas again, so you don’t slow down.
Your forehead begins to burn and hurt, and you press your palm against your temple as the people behind you cheer. Tim checks on everyone before returning to your side, and he immediately realizes that you’re in pain. He moves your hand and presses the bottom of his shirt to your head. It’s stained with blood when he pulls his hand away, and you grimace at the idea of a wound on your head.
“Get off here!” Tim calls suddenly.
“Yes! Get off!”
You obey and soon enter the Los Angeles International Airport. Tim gives you directions to an emergency runway and explains that you can simply drive here. Without traffic or road closures, the only concern is staying above fifty.
Being in restricted air space is also a bonus, and you notice that the news helicopters are hovering at a distance. Tim seemed concerned about the presence of news cameras, so maybe the location will also keep the bomber from knowing exactly what is happening.
“Yeah?” Tim asks as he answers his phone.
“The airport. Well done. You had some close calls, but you did well, Tim,” the bomber says.
“What do you want?”
“My money. Help me get it before it’s too late, will you? The negotiators think I’m doing this for fun?”
“Are you not?”
“Oh, now you think you know me too?”
“I know you want money you didn’t earn. More than you deserve.”
“I did earn it! I got a medal, too, you know.”
“Let me off. If you want my help, I need to explain that you’re not bluffing. Just me.”
“Alright. But you have to come back. I can see everything; remember that.”
Tim ends the call and slides his phone back in his pocket.
“There’s a plan now?” you ask.
“Maybe. He’s letting me off,” Tim says.
“Hey, don’t forget about us,” you call as he steps off the bus and onto an SUV. “He’ll be back,” you promise the others.
While you circle the airport runways, Tim works with the other officers he told you about to find a way to disarm the bomb. Ortiz walks to your side and looks out at the airport.
“Ortiz?” you ask.
“He’s not coming back, I’m telling you,” he says.
“He didn’t have to get on in the first place. Hey, get behind the yellow line.”
Ortiz looks down and takes on short step back. “You let the cop up here.”
“What is that?” Stephen asks as he joins Ortiz.
“I have no idea,” you answer as you look at Tim standing on the back of a truck covered in machinery. It pulls over in front of you, and Tim lowers onto a cart attached to a winch, and you mutter, “I was right. He is insane.”
“How’d they get that so fast?” Stephen asks under his breath.
You focus more on driving in a straight line as Tim disappears under the front of the bus. He looks up at you just before he disappears, and you nod once. Knowing that he’s under the bus makes you more nervous to drive than you have been at any other point today. Driving in a straight line at the airport is more stressful because Tim is underneath a moving vehicle and touching a bomb. You know he has friends and colleagues who are helping him, but you feel more than a need to survive when you look at Sergeant Tim Bradford.
The winch on the truck releases suddenly, and the cable unfurls.
“Check and see if he came out the back!” you demand. “Can you see him?”
“He’s not back here!” Ortiz calls.
“Look under the bus! Back by the tires!”
“I don’t see him.”
The winch cable snaps and the back tire bounces over something. You press a hand over your mouth in shock, and Ortiz runs to the back access panel.
“Please tell me he’s alright!” you yell. “Do you see him?”
“I see him!” Ortiz responds. “He’s alright!”
You look back and forth between the empty runway and the back of the bus. Ortiz and Stephen pull Tim up onto the bus, and you can’t decide whether to be angry or relieved with him. Tim thanks Ortiz before walking to your side.
“How are you?” he asks.
“You scared me!” you accuse. You slap his vest to express your displeasure before hissing in pain. “What’s that smell?”
“Gas. We have a new leak.”
“You caused a leak?”
“It was that or get run over. You can see the difficulty I had choosing.”
“Don’t try to be funny right now. I thought I killed you.”
“I’ll ask my captain to get a fuel truck.”
“Will it work?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re not exactly comforting, you know that?”
“You just hit me and now you want comfort?”
You sigh and look at him again before saying, “Thank you, Tim.”
“Just doing my job… ma’am.”
Tim stays beside you while Harry and a S.W.A.T. team infiltrate the house listed on the bomber’s records. He was surprised by how quickly they found his identification, but now that they have the element of surprise, he hopes that this game is almost over.
When he gets another call, you can only see the anger in his eyes as he listens to the person on the other end. The bomber tells Tim that Harry and the S.W.A.T. team walked right into his trap. You watch him and can only wonder what is making him so mad. His life is in danger, but something is capable of pushing him even further, it seems.
“I’m going to rip your spine out. If you know as much as you think you do, you know I can,” Tim threatens lowly.
“Oh, I do, Reaper. That’s why you should do what you’re told. You and I both know you can’t do it without Harry and his ability to follow a cheap watch, anyway. Get me my money and it’s over. Otherwise, you, lumberjack-ie, and the others are dead. Got that?”
“Yeah,” Tim says after a moment. “Howie.”
The bomber hesitates at the mention of his real name but doesn’t let it stop him. Tim listens to Howard Payne’s demands before ending the call. Tim turns around and kicks where the stairs used to be before pulling against the handrail in his anger. You try to get his attention over his yelling, but it falls on deaf ears.
“Tim! Please!” you try again. “I can’t do this without you. Please.”
Tim slows his movements before gripping the rail beside you. His jaw is clenched as he looks at you, but your pleas soften his eyes.
“Please stay with me,” you whisper.
“We’re going to die,” he says.
“No. You got us this far, right?”
Tim leans against the dash beside you and looks at you. His shirt is still behind you. Lumberjack-ie. Your little girlfriend.
“Lumberjacks wear flannel, right?” Tim asks.
“Uh, yeah. As far as I know,” you answer. “Why?”
“He can see you.”
“What?”
“Keep looking straight ahead.”
You turn your face to the windshield and watch the runway as Tim examines the top of the bus. He sees the camera at the top of the windshield and shakes his head.
“He said, ‘your girlfriend behind the wheel’ and ‘lumberjack-ie’. I didn’t even realize. There’s a camera in your face. He can see the whole bus.”
“He can see me, but can he hear me?” you ask.
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
“Bus cameras can’t be very high-tech, Tim. Can’t your people get it on a loop or something?”
“You’re brilliant,” Tim murmurs before pushing himself off the dash and to his feet. “Guys, there’s a camera over my left shoulder. I need everyone to sit still. No big movements, no talking, just look concerned and sit still.”
He calls his captain and asks for someone to approach the news trucks at the fence to end the live broadcasts and use their equipment to make a video loop. His captain agrees and texts Tim with an update that the reporters are cooperating.
“Remember, stay relatively still. Just look scared,” Tim reminds everyone.
“That won’t be hard,” Ortiz grumbles.
Tim leans beside you while the video is being recorded. You drive in silence for a minute before noticing the blinking red light on the dash.
“Tim,” you whisper. “Look.”
“Cap, roll the tape. We need fuel,” Tim says into his phone.
“We only have a minute recorded. That won’t convince him, we need more footage” Wade argues.
“No time. Get these people off before this bus runs out of gas.”
“Fuel tanker is running behind. Driver said big rigs need radio signals, and they’re still jammed. Crazy not stupid, right?”
“Right.”
“Now what?” you ask Tim. “Are you tired of that question yet?”
“I’d like an answer to it,” he replies. “Get alongside this bus, okay?”
You nod and drive steadily alongside an LAX passenger bus. Tim’s team lays a wooden board between the bus doors and helps people cross to safety. You listen to Tim encourage the passengers across and are glad he was the cop who got on the bus today. The rear tire blows out suddenly, and you pull the steering wheel back to the middle and yell for Tim to come help.
Tim falls on his way back to the front of the bus, but when he reaches you, he moves his arms across you to pull the wheel.
“Use this to hold down the gas pedal,” he says.
You take the device from his hand and lower it into place. Tim steps back to tie the steering wheel to the floor of the bus, and you steer to keep the bus straight while he works. The moment it’s secure, he pulls you to your feet and tells you to get on the metal access panel.
“I can’t do this,” you argue.
Tim raises his hands to either side of your neck and brushes his thumbs along your skin as he promises, “Yes, you can. I’m right here with you.”
You swallow nervously and nod before sitting on your escape route, a thin piece of metal that Tim moved with no problem. Tim moves to lay over you, and he wraps an arm around your waist as you hide your face against his shoulder.
“I got you,” he promises once more.
The bus turns and the access panel cover falls out of the bottom. You clutch Tim tightly as the metal door slides across the runway and into a nearby patch of dirt. He sits up and watches the bus slow as it nears a plane but doesn’t let go of you. Just before the bomb detonates, Tim pulls you down again and lays over you to protect you from any debris. Sirens echo in the distance, and you wrap your arms around Tim’s back.
“Are you alright?” he asks again.
“No,” you answer, your first honest answer of the day. “Oh, I hate the airport.”
Tim moves to your side but keeps an arm around your shoulder as he looks into your eyes.
“You can’t get mushy on me. You can’t show emotion, remember?” you tease.
“I think I might be able to after all.”
“Relationships that start like this never last. It’s just the high-stress, adrenaline pumping, all that.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe we can change that.”
“Uh, I think your friends are here.”
Tim looks up but doesn’t move as Angela and Wade exit a police car and run toward him.
“I was worried about you,” Angela says. “And here you are.”
“I’m sorry about Harry,” Tim offers. “I wish we could have changed it.”
“You good?” Wade asks. “’Cause I might be a nice guy and let you take the rest of the day off.”
“And stop worrying about what we could have done differently. You saved a lot of lives today, Timothy,” Angela adds.
“A day off sounds like a good deal,” you murmur.
Tim shakes his head before introducing you to Detective Angela Lopez and Sergeant Wade Grey. When he finally stands and sees the scrapes and gashes littering your skin, he forces you to let a paramedic treat you. Tim follows you to the ambulance but hangs back to talk to Angela. He’s lost a partner before, too, and knows what it’s like.
“I’m sorry for bringing everyone into this. Howard could have just come for me,” Tim concludes.
“I appreciate everything,” Angela responds. “But, you’re going to the hospital, too. Is that Chen?”
Tim turns quickly and sees Lucy running toward the police cruiser parked behind the ambulance.
“Sergeant Grey!” she yells. “We’ve got Payne on the line, and he wants to know when he’s getting his money. Whoa, Tim, are you alright?”
“He doesn’t know,” Tim says. “He doesn’t know the bus exploded.”
“Tell him thirty minutes,” Wade alerts all the nearby officers.
“Stay in the ambulance,” Tim tells you.
“But I-“
“Ma’am, stay in the ambulance.”
You nod and climb into the ambulance after refusing help from the paramedics. They continue bandaging a cut on your leg as Tim climbs in.
“I need to make a quick stop on the way to the hospital,” he tells the driver.
“Where?” she asks.
“The drop spot. Pershing Square.”
The driver reluctantly agrees, and you watch Tim as she drives. He demands you stay in the ambulance until he returns, and you agree but don’t mean it. You’ve been beside Tim for most of the morning, and you neither remember how to be away from him nor do you want to. You stand on the sidewalk beside the ambulance and watch people move around you. It’s another normal day for them, but your life will never be the same after today.
“Miss, you can’t stand here, you need to move back,” an older officer says as he grabs your shoulders.
“Oh, I’m waiting for Tim-“
“Tim Bradford, yes. He asked that I move you out of harm’s way.”
“But he told me to stay here.”
His hold on your shoulders tightens as he says, “And I’m telling you to move.”
“Payne is late,” Angela complains.
“He’s not late,” Tim says. “He’s never late.”
“Two hundred cops are watching that sculpture, plus a tracker in the bag. He hasn’t been here,” Wade explains.
“Turn on the tracker,” Tim requests.
“What for?”
“Just do it!”
Wade presses a button on the laptop before him, and the blinking light of the tracker travels across the screen.
“He’s got the money,” Angela says.
Tim runs out of their hiding spot and to the drop spot. He pushes the art installation over and kicks it when he sees the opening in the sidewalk beneath it. As he drops into the defunct subway system, he sees someone walking farther into the tunnel and pulls his gun.
“L.A.P.D. Freeze!” he yells.
The person stops, and he aims at their head before saying, “Pop quiz. Someone has a clear shot at your head. What do you do?... Turn around.”
“If you don’t do it, I’ll kill Tim Bradford,” Howard Payne threatens as he secures a vest covered in dynamite around your chest. “What are you going to do?”
“Wait- wait for him to come in and walk away. Then I listen to you,” you answer shakily.
“Perfect. Maybe you two can have your happily ever after all. You say one word that I don’t like and you’re both dead.”
Howard disappears down the subway, and you bite your bottom lip to refrain from crying or screaming for help. Tim may shoot you, no questions asked, but at least he will be safe. When you hear something crash above you and sunlight infiltrates the dark staircase before you, you take a deep breath and begin walking away.
Tim’s voice doesn’t carry the same comforting words or soothing lilt as in the bus, but you still recognize it and want to hear it as he yells at you.
“Turn around!” he demands.
You turn slowly and can see the moment Tim realizes he’s pointing his gun at you.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
The apology echoes off the concrete walls as Tim lowers his weapon. You don’t see or hear him, but you can feel the change when Howard appears behind you.
“Be prepared!” Howard says as he walks up the stairs behind you and raises the detonator, a deadman’s switch. “What are you gonna do, Tim? I don’t think you can shoot this hostage.”
“Let her go,” Tim demands as he points his gun at Howard.
“I don’t think I’m going to do that. Move the money,” he tells you.
You transfer the money from the L.A.P.D. bags and into Howard’s duffel bag as Tim yells at him to let you go.
“You don’t need her!” Tim adds.
“I will let go,” Howard threatens as he moves the detonator switch. “You don’t get it, Tim. Do you know what a bomb that doesn’t explode is? It’s the cheap, gold watch they gave me after I lost a finger and a life to my country.”
“You’re crazy.”
You push yourself against the wall as you listen to their exchange, but you keep your eyes on Tim rather than the bomb just below your chin. Howard demands you take his money and enter another part of the tunnel system and you know that you’re going to obey because he’ll kill Tim if you don’t. You tear your eyes from Tim and walk exactly where Howard leads you.
As you enter a crowded stop, Howard fires several shots into the concrete ceiling as you drop your head and cover your ears. The subway passengers waiting for the next train flee in terror as you try to get away from Howard. Tim can’t be far behind, but when you’re pushed into a subway car, you’re tempted to think that no help is coming. Howard handcuffs your hands around a pole before the subway lurches into motion.
At the back of the subway, Tim struggles to pry a set of doors open before he falls into the car. He moves strategically through the empty rows of seats with his mind on you and ending this game with Howard Payne once and for all.
The subway conductor reaches for his radio, and Howard forces the deadman switch into your hands and tells you to hold it. He turns his back on you and kills the conductor as you struggle to move away.
“Look, you won. You beat Tim, you beat everybody, you can just throw me off the train. I don’t care,” you plead.
“You see this stick? When you explode, the police will come there. But that’s not where I’ll be, so I get more time. I promise it won’t hurt,” Howard replies as he pulls the detonator away from you.
A series of dull thuds echoes, and Howard looks up quickly. He smiles, and it makes your stomach flip.
“Hey, Tim. Is that you?” he asks. “He’s so persistent. Wouldn’t be able to interest you in a bribe, would I, hotshot?”
Howard kneels and opens the duffel bag full of cash. You watch as a dye pack explodes in his face and paints his money purple. In his anger, he fires bullets into the roof, and you drop to the floor as Tim rolls out of the line of fire. Howard runs through a door, and you can only listen as he climbs onto the roof and begins struggling against Tim.
Howard has the deadman stick in his hand and can kill you by moving a centimeter to the left or right, but you’re more worried about Tim with every noise against the roof. You stay low on the pole you’re cuffed to, twisting your wrists and manipulating your fingers as you try to slip free. The struggle above you silences suddenly, and you watch the door nervously.
“Tim!” you call when he rushes in. “Tim. Where’s Payne?”
“Uh, he lost his head. Turn around,” Tim says.
You circle the pole, and Tim rips a wire free before loosening the straps of the vest.
“Let’s take this off,” he says before pulling the vest away from your chest.
“Tim, can you hear me?” someone asks through the driver’s radio. “This is Wade. Listen, the track isn’t finished.”
“What else can go wrong?” you murmur.
“Wade, I copy,” Tim radios.
“Do you copy? Try the emergency brake.”
“I copy!” Tim tries again before throwing the radio down.
He steps to the right and hits the emergency brake. After the train doesn’t even slow, he begins hitting other buttons, but nothing happens.
“None of this works!” he exclaims as he hits the control board.
He turns away from the useless machinery and returns to you. When he notices the handcuffs holding you in place, he slows.
“You can uncuff me and we can get off,” you say with an exaggerated nod.
“I don’t have a key,” Tim replies.
“You don’t have…”
You trail off and look at the handcuffs. If only you could slip your hands through them, you think. Tim begins pulling and kicking the pole as you try again to pull your hands through the metal cuffs. He pauses and lays a hand against your arm to look at how tight the cuffs are.
“Help me pull,” you grunt as you lean your weight back against the restraints.
“No, no,” Tim says quickly as he pulls you forward. “You’re just hurting yourself.”
You stand still and see a bead of blood running down your fingers. As you stare at it, Tim walks to a map on the wall. He remembers the nightmare again; a series of bad memories that end with him, “the Reaper,” standing alone in the desert before being rescued and awarded a medal. As he searches for a way to save you, Tim decides that he will never shoot the hostage again, and he won’t leave you behind, even if that means dying with you.
“Tim, please just go,” you beg.
“There’s a curve ahead. I can make it jump the track.”
“Tim! Sergeant Bradford!” Tim turns to you, and you repeat, “Get off this train. You can still jump. Tim, please. Please.”
Tim ignores you as he returns to the controls and increases the train’s speed. You slide your hands down the pole as you sit on the floor, and Tim walks silently to your side. He leans in beside you, and you raise your arms to wrap around his neck as you lean your head against his. He moves his arms around the pole to circle you and holds you tight as the train picks up speed.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper just before the lights go out.
The train car hits something and spins, but Tim tightens his arms around you. With every bump and move of the subway, you become more convinced that you’ll never get out of this position. Light enters the windows as you crash through something, and the car flips onto its side as it lands on asphalt. The impact loosens the pole, and you fall onto Tim, whose grip on you doesn’t waver for a second. As the car slides to a stop, you squeeze Tim and take a deep breath.
“You didn’t leave me,” you say before forcing yourself to open your eyes.
Tim cradles the back of your head before moving his hands to your back. You lean up gently and look into his eyes again.
“I told you to leave me!”
“I didn’t have anywhere to be just then. Rest of the day off and all,” Tim responds before pulling you down against him.
He kisses you, and you’re surprised that it is more than adrenaline. The kiss is more than a relief to be alive, and you want to feel Tim Bradford at your side every day for the rest of your life (which would have ended today if not for him). You move your hands to Tim’s short hair as you return his kiss. It’s relief, joy, love, and passion in a single touch. When Tim begins breathing heavily against you, you move up.
“I’ve heard relationships that start during intense situations like this never work,” Tim says.
“Oh,” you sigh. “Then I guess we’ll be the first.”
“Whatever you say, ma’am.”
Glass rains down on you as you kiss Tim again, and though your day went nothing like you thought it would, it’s now the best day of your life. Tim helps you stand as his team approaches the scene, and you stop him before you exit the car.
“You know if this was a movie, they’d make another one where the same thing happens again, right?” you say softly.
“We’re never taking public transportation again,” Tim states.
“Yeah. Hey, where is the truck you were driving this morning?”
Tim hesitates and tightens his arm around your waist before turning away to yell, “Chen! I need you to do something for me.”
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Love Bites pt. 2
When two worlds collide…
Baker Fem Reader x Toji Fushiguro
word ct: 15.1k, 11 Chapters
Preview: “I wasn’t joking about Megumi. He doesn’t smile often but he is one of the kindest kids in the class. He’s like a tiny adult. I think you’d like him.”
“Stop that! I barely know the man. I just—“
“You just add new items on the menu in the middle of the season for him to be the first one to try it. No big deal...”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Two: Chimayo Chai
Much to your dismay Toji visited the shop at least once a week with the same order. He always wanted to eat two of everything and a new drink to try, a drink that you had to choose for him. Your routine was set to where you had his boxes already waiting for him by the time he came in.
“Can I ask you a question?” Toji stops and stares down at you. You roll the ties of your apron around your fingers to try to calm yourself.
“Why do you order so much? I mean, you come in every week, but you don’t strike me as someone who has a sweet tooth.”
Once again Toji didn’t respond right away but you were used to it by now. Toji seemed to talk more when he was annoyed, so him being quiet was actually a good sign.
“I give them to my son and… coworkers.”
“You have a son?” you perk up. “I didn’t know you were married.”
“I’m not.”
You cringe at his response. You didn’t mean to bring up an unpleasant memory for him but you could never seem to talk to him normally.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I- Here’s your drink,” you sigh and hand him the latest fall drink on their menu, which is a Chimayo Chai. You hold the drink out and he takes it, lingering for a moment before speaking again. “He doesn’t like sweets either. My son.”
Your eyebrows knit together at his confession. “So it’s mainly just your coworkers who like sweets?”
Toji nods and finally takes the tea from over the counter. “They won’t shut up about them.”
“I love to hear that. I’ve been meaning to try more sugar and gluten free recipes. Maybe then you can enjoy them too.” You gave him a soft smile and the word “cute” flashed in Toji’s mind. He couldn’t even remember the last time he used that word willingly. “Oh, one more thing,” you say. “Next week on this day I won’t be here. The shop will be closed actually,” you mutter quietly. The words make Toji’s grip tighten around his cup and he waits for her to continue.
“It’s just for one day! I’m telling you because you always come in on Thursdays so I wanted to give you a heads up. I’ll close earlier on Wednesday but Friday will be open during normal store hours,” you smile and push your glasses up.
“Why?”
You were hoping he wouldn’t ask that question. You really didn’t want to lie to him, but at the same time you didn’t have any idea who this man was, even if your interest in him piqued every time he walked in with his tieless suit and emotionless face.
“I’m… visiting family,” you acquiesce.
“For only a day?”
“Yes, that’s all I need.”
Thankfully another customer broke their conversation with an announcement of their own. “Hey you, feeling old yet?” You smile at your tall friend who reaches over the counter to give you a tight hug.
“My birthday’s next week, jackass. How have you been, Rina?”
“Now I have to be more creative with my learning plans to keep the kids focused on their school work,” Rina dramatically sighs and her eyes trails over to the man she brushed past to say hello to you and her eyes widens.
“Oh Mr. Fushiguro! Funny seeing you here!”
“You know him, Rina?” This was getting ridiculous. How could an elementary teacher know a man like Toji?
“I teach his son, Megumi. He’s an absolute sweetheart. Quiet, but smart. He also loves all things related to frogs. Did I interrupt your conversation?”
“No, not at all. I’m sure Mr. Toji has other things to attend to. I’ll see you next week? Or maybe not, but soon?”
“What drink is this again?” Toji looks down into the cup.
“Chimayo Chai. You’re the first person I’ve made it for so far since it’s new on the menu,” you beam. “Let me know what you think when I see you again, okay?”
Toji nods and leaves without another word and Rina slowly turns to you with a smile pulling at her lips.
“He’s single you know.”
“Rina.”
“And quite a catch. He shows up to all of Megumi’s events and the other PTA moms drool over him from a distance.”
“Rina…”
“I wasn’t joking about Megumi. He doesn’t smile often but he is one of the kindest kids in the class. He’s like a tiny adult. I think you’d like him.”
“Stop that! I barely know the man. I just—“
“You just add new items on the menu in the middle of the season for him to be the first one to try it. No big deal,” Rina smirks and pops a piece of a muffin that she grabbed off of a rack into her mouth.
“Shut up. And I'm charging you for that.”
“Yeah yeah. Anyway, be sure to get ready for the school’s fall festival. Who knows, maybe Mr. Fushiguro will be there too.”
<<<Chapter One
Chapter Three>>>
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Brainrot Housekeeping: Updated Schedule!
Hi friends! I've got a whole message under the cut, but here's the important part regarding this blog's new content schedule:
Saturdays: mini-hcs
Sundays: answering asks (& maybe some rambles?)
Mondays: full-hc
Tuesdays: answering asks (& maybe some shitposts?)
Wednesdays: Vesuvia Weekly
Thursdays & Fridays: rest
You might see some polls showing up in the next week or so about new content types - if you're interested, feel free to vote! ^.^ More under the cut:
While I haven't hit rock bottom, I've been getting some symptoms of burnout recently and I'd like to avoid completely running myself into the ground XD
This blog has really pushed me to see what kind of creativity I have, especially just how much work I'm able to produce and sustain. I thought I'd get tired and burn out at two months tops, and it's been over and year and I have no immediate plans to stop! However, taking a look at my own system right now, I do think I need to slow down.
To be honest, fanwork isn't something I've been doing a long time - this tumblr blog is the only fandom creative stuff I've ever done! Before that, most of the things I created were originals - music, art, and of course, writing (though I haven't touched my sketchbook/paints in forever and I haven't done any sightreading in years - whoops).
It gets hard to keep your muscles moving when you only move them in one direction. As much as I love writing headcanons for the M6 in response to people's prompts, there is so much else my mind can do that it misses having the space for. Which brings me to the reason for this schedule adjustment - I miss having that creative freedom.
I still greatly enjoy writing headcanons for you guys and participating in the fandom, and I don't plan to stop anytime soon. However, I want to take some time back to get back into frolicking in the stuff my own brain comes up with, and making space for that to grow into something real.
The questions I need to figure out now are 1) how much time is it going to take me to get my full capacity back? and 2) should I keep this as a purely Arcana blog, or expand it for all my creative work?
If you've read this far, you have my sincerest gratitude. I'll see you guys tomorrow :)
Cheers!
brainrot
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The person at the opposite end of the table (James Potter)
Pairing: James Potter + reader
word count: 2237
warnings: none but lmk if you find any
warning: Your first date with James after being close friends for years
If you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist.
a/n: I'm back baby!!!
I have nothing to wear, and I'm not exaggerating. Coming to Hogwarts, you only bring your uniform and a few spares, many many pyjamas, and a few outfits for hogsmeade weekends, nothing more. Today is crucial. It is the day where I'm going out on a date with James, my James, except that today 'my' has a completely different meaning.
When you go out on dates, you're supposed to wear something elegant and stylish, but still simple and with enough glamour to make the person that will be sitting on the opposite end of the table like you even more. One, I don't have any attire that suits these descriptions, and two, How is it possible to make the person on the opposite end of the table (james) like you even more when they've already seen you at a ball when you look your greatest and during periods, in a foetal position while your cramps are eating you alive?
The simple and only reasonable answer is that you can't.
I can spend the whole hour before I have to meet James stressing over my outfit, which albeit is very important, instead of stressing over the actual problem that I have, but that would be very counter intuitive.
Everyone of the girls is already gone to hogsmeade, so I've got the whole room to myself to panic, cry, scream, jump, pretty much whatever I want, but I don't know what I want. The reason why the date is later than usual is a part of the problem. James set the date at a later time because he knew that I would need some time to myself before going out, some time to process my feelings, try on some outfits, and of course, panic.
He knows this because he's helped me get ready for many dates before, I wish I could say the same, but James hasn't ever gone out on a date which means that he's the one that should be nervous, but instead I am.
He knocks on my dorm room door at the worst possible moment, which is every moment when you're nervous. He looks stunning, like he always is, but he's got a red tint on his cheeks and the same cheeky smile he always gives me, but this time, it's hesitant. I shot him a smile and hoped that it wasn't as awkward as I felt it was.
"Ready to go?" James says, and I nod. I close the dorm door behind me after grabbing my bag. I walk down the stairs with him. If this was any other day, I'd have already wrapped my arms around him, but this isn't any other day. This is a date.
We walk out of the common room, and I feel everyone's eyes on us, I wonder if they can see that my shoulders are tense or that I'm already sweating -
"How are you?" James asks me, and I find him looking at me intently. Has he always looked at me that way? I let out a noise that sounds more like a squeak, and instead of dying of mortification, I face the other way and shoot him a thumbs up.
Why do I have to be so damn awkward? This is James for merlin's sake.
We reach the last carriage waiting for us that's heading to Hogsmeade, and James hops on. He reaches out an arm for me to grab, but I choose the railing instead, leaving his hand alone in the air. I want to slap myself because I always take his hand, but it means something different. It's not my friend helping me. It's my date being a romantic gentleman.
He puts his hand down nervously, and he sits down which brings upon a new problem. Remus and Sirius and Peter always sit next to each other and I would sit next to James due to lack of other options, it had become habitual. My question is: the carriage is empty, there are other options, where do I sit? If I sit opposite to him, it might seem like I'm trying to put distance between us, however, if I sit next to him, I might seem pushy, and-
I don't get another second to panic when the carriage starts moving, and I stumble next to him. I purse my lips, knowing that fate has decided where I'm going to be sitting for this short ride.
Normally, I would lean into James, allowing him to wrap an arm around my shoulder, earning us many teasing comments from the rest of the boys that we've grown accustomed to over the years.
Normally, we wouldn't go out on a date at all, so I stayed to my side, shoulders tense and tension in the air. I wonder if James feels it, too. The ride is silent, and when we arrive at hogsmeade, James doesn't offer me his hand to get down, just another reminder that today is different.
"Where do you wanna go?" James asks, and I shrug my shoulders when I infant have very strong opinions about every single place here. James already knows this and takes us to the three broomsticks. My heart stumbles, smiling at the reminder that James knows me so well.
Our fingers crush together, and my heart jumps to my throat, and I stumble over air. For what seemed like the millionth time that day, I wanted to slit my own throat out of embarrassment. He grasps my waist, making sure I don't fall, creating a warmth over my waist that makes me want to glue his hands there so he can stay this way forever. Unfortunately, my stupid body blushed, and I took a step back.
We walk inside the three broomsticks and James leads me to a table with two seats, instead of five. I sit down opposite to him, and gaze out the window. Couples are walking down the street, holding hands and kissing. I really really want to do both those things with James, I've been waiting to do them forever, but here I am being stupid, on a stupid date, nearly falling when his hands come even close to mine. He sits down next to me, and he looks at me for a few seconds, I flush and look away.
That apparently was the final straw for James because he goes, "What's up with you today?"
"What do you mean?" I say after clearing my throat, he laces his fingers together on the table and says, "You realise that that is the first thing you've said the entire time that I've seen you."
It takes me by surprise because I register that he's right, we've been together for at least twenty minutes and in those twenty minutes not a single word has left my mouth. I fidget with the napkin in front of me and say, "I'm just not a big talker..."
"Y/n...I'm James. We've been friends for years, why are you acting like you don't know me? Like I don't know that you can't keep your mouth shut for two minutes?"
I blush, and he continues, "You tripped when I tried to be even near you...I- if you don't want this, you've got to tell me-"
"I do want this, I want this so much...".
"But?"
"I'm just really, really, really nervous."
He looks at me and replies, "But you've been on dates before."
"Dates with people who aren't you, James." I admit, and I must've grown another head because that's the way that James is looking at me. He says, "What's so scary about me?"
"That you know me." I say, and he tilts his head, I elaborate, "Any other date, I talk about many things, ask them about themselves, if they've got siblings and all that, but I already know you, I don't have any of those questions to fall back on. Any other date, I have to wear something to knock them off their feet, but I can't do that with you because you know me. Any other date, I'm not terrified that this will mess up my entire friend group dynamic and on any other date, I wouldn't be this nervous because I've never liked anyone the way I like you and I need you to like me the same way."
I sigh when I'm done and James's eyes are twinkling, he pushes her glasses back and he says, "You don't need all these things."
"We don't need to talk about those stupid things, and you don't need to wear something amazing to knock me off my feet because you've already done that, a while ago actually. You most certainly don't have to worry about messing up our friend group because you cannot even if you tried, Sirius will not allow it." He laughs, and I chuckle along with him. "And you definitely do not need to be nervous because I already like you more than you'd believe because i know you"
I don't need to give it another thought, for once in his life, James is right. I sigh, "You're really good at calming me down."
He smiles, "You act as though that's a new thing. Remember during your OWLs when you tried going under your bed because you thought that the exams couldn't get you from down there." He laughs at the fond memory while I flush at my stupid idea.
"What do you actually want to do today?" James asks after a beat. I think for a second, we always go to buy some prank supplies or candies, and while I still want to do that right now, I want to do something else.
I abandon my chair and sit next to him on the sofa. I sit an appropriate distance away from him, but he grabs me and pulls me flush against him.
"That's all?" James asks, and I shake my head, "well, that and this..." I trial off as I reach to intertwine our fingers, in some weird way it makes me nervous, but it also feels so right. James squeezes my hand, and I smile. I add,"And maybe some drinks."
One of the men that Madame Rosmerta hired comes and takes our order, the same thing we always get, butterbeers.
James' thumb rubs over my own hand, and while this isn't the first time he's done this, today, it has a different meaning. James asks, "Anything else your beautiful heart desires?"
It might be too early, but I tentatively lean it to capture his lips with mine. It's not our first kiss, and it's definitely much less messy, filled with fewer confessions, and more comfortable. James reciprocates in a millisecond, and his other hand reaches to cup my face.
We part for a gasp of air before James leans back in for another peck. It's only then that I realise that we're in public, I blush. What makes me blush even more is the way James is looking at me. I ask, "Have you always looked at me that way?"
"Definitely." He replies. I want to kiss him again when the man that works here slides over our drinks and says, "Two butterbeers for the lovely couple."
I don't want to correct him, and he leaves, but I wonder if James wanted to because for the first time today, he is incredibly nervous. I reach for his hand and say, "You okay?"
He nods quickly, and I chuckle nervously. Maybe he doesn't want to be my boyfriend. I ignore the sunken feeling in my chest and sip on my butterbeer.
"Do you not?" I ask, after a long sip.
"Do I not what?" James replies, confused, but looking even more nervous if possible. I take a deep breath and look him in the eye, I say, "Do you not want to be a couple?"
"I-"
"Because James, I don't know what we're doing then." I reply, I've never wanted anything casual, and certainly never with James, I want to be able to call him my boyfriend, decline another guy's invitation because I've got a boyfriend, not ponder over whether or not I mean to him as much as he means to me.
"I do." James says, and I look at him unsure. James adds, "I really really want you to be my girlfriend."
"James, are you sure because -" I start, and he silences me with a kiss. I can imagine him kissing me once at least every hour in the future. He says, "The only reason why I hesitated because I want this to last, I don't want you to reject me cause I don't think I can take a rejection from you"
I can see his worries. He's never been out on a date, and a date with a close friend is much more nerve wrecking, that's all aside from the fact that James has spent his entire life being turned down by lily and no matter how tough he tries to act, I know that he was genuinely hurt by the years of rejection.
I try to soothe his worries, "I'm already out on a date with you, James. I'm not going to turn you down...plus, I'm already your girlfriend, I'm not going anywhere."
He smiles, but he says, "You could get sick of me."
"If I could've gotten sick of you, I would've during first year, but I'm still here."
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How would the Prime Tails polycule first date go?
You know, I'm not quite sure what their first date as a whole group would be
Like in all honesty, their real first date is probably something like hanging out at one of Tails' labs or the Grim and just playing games before making dinner together
But if they decide to properly reveal their relationship in a bit more public manner to friends or community members, I think some people would consider their first date the date where they all go out to like a cafe or an amusement park or something.
Well, here's what I'm thinking, just for context. I don't think all of the members of the polycule are hesitant about revealing the relationship, and I can see Sails or Nine assuming that one's first date has to be something more traditionally well known as a romantic first date. Nine is a member of the polycule I can see as having to have a buffer period of getting used to all this before he can feel comfortable being clearly on a date in public, but I can see Tails as someone who doesn't subscribe to the idea of the traditional first date.
So I think because of this their real first date would be more casual. Planned, yes, but ultimately not meant to be public or exciting. And frankly, even if it is just hanging out at the lab, fixing up some stuff, making food together, playing board games or video games, while there will undoubtedly be some hiccups along the way and plans thrown out the window, I think they'll enjoy it in the end.
However, if they decide to make their public first date (when more people know about the relationship) something like going out to a restaurant? Yeah that has the potential to be a disaster. For some reason that sonic boom episode "My Fair Sticksy" comes to mind. So all I can say is that Amy probably gets them a reservation at a nice restaurant, Mangey's not dealing with the change of clothes very well (he's trying), Sails is trying his best to "act proper" and remember the "manner lessons" Amy probably gave them all, Nine is performing to the T, except he's not controlling his expressions as well as he thinks he is (so he's largely got resting bitch face. Partly because he doesn't want to be here), and Tails is trying to play damage control.
I think that kind of "first date" would end up in the group leaving early, Tails leaving a fat tip, and the polycule eating street food together under the stars instead
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It seems like you have a vendetta against Shulk/Fiora. Like, not just disliking it and preferring Shulkelia but straight up hate the canon ship of the game. Why?
Thank you for asking this! It's an interesting question and I have a quite a bit to say about it (as usual with me aha). So I'll put the details under the cut, but yes, I personally do not like any aspect of the canon relationship/writing of it at all (although I don't go into that here since I talked about much more than I expected lol, if you're curious specifically about what my opinions are on the dialogue/choices in the game regarding Shiora feel free to send me another ask!). Also if you've read my fanfics (genuinely not trying to plug my work haha I swear) and see how I write Fiora and her friendship with Shulk, and especially the fic where I write from her pov for the whole thing, you can see I don't hate her and try to be respectful to her creators and fans! Anyway, for a TL;DR:
Aside from my personal history (which also is part of why I like Shulkelia as much as I do) causing the way Fiora's attraction to Shulk is written to not come off very well to me, and even ignoring what I've seen on the Internet about how people react to these ships and those who like or dislike them, it's just A Thing About Life that there will be parts of media you really like and parts of the same media you really don't, and that's what makes art engaging and impactful and personal and fun to talk about! I'm just someone who always has a lot to say about anything, so don't take my diatribes as anything more than me being passionate about analyzing stuff haha. I still love Xenoblade 1 with all my heart, and me not liking parts of the series such as Xenoblade 2 (very much) or Shiora (at all) doesn't affect how much I enjoy what I do like! It's just another fun facet to delve into for me, whether it's a thing I like or a thing I dislike.
And when all you see and know of me is from a blog that's specifically just for talking about a small facet of one piece of media, I can come off as more melodramatic about my liking of Shulkelia and disliking of Shiora since I don't talk too much about the rest of Xenoblade as a whole, nor anything else for that matter, on here. I promise I don't truly care that much about this fictional love triangle in my day-to-day life, and I'm sorry if I came off as rude about it! If you like their relationship then... I do want to say more power to you, and count this as me having said so, but also I don't feel like I need to because, as you said, it is canon so the Xenoblade devs have been (and probably will be!) providing plenty of enjoyment for you, and so no one should care what a silly singular stranger like me thinks at the end of the day haha.
But if you do, then here's what I have to say:
First off, I just enjoy really thoroughly dissecting everything I like, as well as dislike (as you will soon see!). I like delving into details and analyzing stuff, and sometimes that passion can be a little too obsessive, which can come off as me being passionate in my hatred of The Thing rather than passionate about analyzing why I hate The Thing (which is what's really going on). So it's important to me to say that when I talk about anything I dislike in depth like this, it's not ever meant to be hating on or attacking people who do like it! I just really find it fun to put things under a microscope, both when I really like them and really dislike them, because I enjoy discovering what, specifically, about them makes me feel that way.
I also think it's important to repeat that point about how this blog is both 1) meant to be near-exclusively about Shulkelia and 2) the posts I make here are pretty much my entire online footprint (outside of my fanfic account which is p much about the same topic aha), and as such these are the only things that strangers have to form an opinion about me (much like the common criticism brought up about parasocial relationships). When I log on to this blog I'm here to talk about my Xenoblade OTP or things related to it, and so that's all you see of/know about me. And even though the reason I made this blog is because of how much I like it (I'm kind of obsessive about the things I'm really passionate about, I've been that way my whole life, so that certainly doesn't help either haha), there are things I may like equally or even more, but because they aren't what this blog is for I don't mention them, and so anyone who doesn't know me won't know about them unless I talk about them. When you only see the fraction of me that I'm willing to share, then of course it'll seem like that fraction is the whole me if you never get to see the other 99%.
So much in the same way that I can seem super obsessed about Shulkelia (which, to be fair, I do get that way some days haha) it can seem like I really really hate Shiora too, since the only time I'm going to talk about it is on a blog that's dedicated to a different ship, and since I'm not really a multishipper nor do I enjoy the writing of it in canon, I won't ever have much nice to say about it. And because it's a canon ship that most people seem to enjoy, it's going to come up from time to time on art that either has Fiora/the love triangle involved or in the comments I see on it, and since I have something to say about it I do. Although I do genuinely not like it at all, I try to do it in a way where it's clear I'm not hating on people who enjoy it, either by trying to hammer home that it's just my personal opinion about it, or being super hyperbolic about disliking it in an attempt at humor. But tone and meaning can get lost from brain to text and I'm surely not the best at wording things sometimes, so I don't blame anyone for getting the wrong impression, and if that's happened I do apologize!
For example, if this blog was instead about my love of Mexican food (which is true!) and was meant for being a catalogue of recipes I come across, I'd probably talk in the tags pretty often about how I lament that so many recipes have cilantro in them because I have the weird cilantro-tastes-like-soap gene and so it tastes awful to me (which is also true!). When this happens over and over again on so many recipes that have cilantro, and when this repetition is all you ever get to see about me, it would probably seem like I have a burning hatred for cilantro, when in reality I barely think about it at all, and if something I want to eat has it I'll just politely ask for no cilantro or silently pick it off. I do think the weird gene is interesting, and I have a fun story about how I found out I have it which I enjoy telling, but I'm also just fine eating my food if no one wants to talk about it.
But that comparison isn't perfect, because there's a lot more going on in interpersonal relationships (fictional or not) and why people enjoy them or not. So let's get into that!
I did mention there were personal reasons why I feel the way I do, and to the extent I do, about these pairings, so it's only fair to explain what that's about. All throughout my life up until college I never had anyone show any romantic interest in me, even in high school, while in contrast all my friends as well as my sister had been in multiple relationships, so I felt rather lonely and figured there was something wrong with me if no one would want to date me haha. But I did of course have crushes of my own (that because of the aforementioned thought I had that I was unlikable I never acted on) and one of them was on a mutual friend that my best friend at the time also knew, as well as knew that I liked him. And all of a sudden one day they were going out and being affectionate all the time, including right in front of me even though my friend knew I liked him. That plus my loneliness from before obviously hurt really bad and made me pretty upset for a while haha.
Then on top of that later that year I would connect with someone like I never had before in my life and he "felt the same way", the very first person to ever tell me they liked me and I believed it. I honestly do still think he did like me... yet he would go on to get into a relationship with someone else and all the while repeatedly promise me that I was special to him and that she didn't get him like I did and he'd leave her for me but of course we can still have our deep talks about his personal problems and blah blah blah. There's a lot more to it than that but I'll cut it short and just say this happened for literally every single day for an entire year of my life, and it really deeply affected me for a long time, though I'm fine now of course. Well, it did change me as a human being, but you know what I mean haha. I don't say this to elicit pity (really, don't, I promise I'm fine) but to give you some puzzle pieces to help figure out the mystery of why I dislike Shiora.
So I'm sure you can see the parallels from my life to what Melia goes through, and that's precisely the mechanism that everyone uses to relate to and love fictional characters: they deal with horrible stuff that we can connect back to horrible stuff we've been through, and we empathize with them. That's one reason why so many people love Shulk (including me!), and Melia, and countless other characters. That's kind of what they're here for: to relate to. He just like me for real and all that. So, in the same way my life experiences make me relate so much to Melia, I can also relate those who I liked but never could be with to Shulk and relate their girlfriends to Fiora. And knowing how those real-life relationships ended up and why they didn't work out, I can really see parallels to how Fiora and Shulk's relationship is written, at least with the vibe I got from it on first and second impression. Therefore I both dislike it for personal reasons and the information those reasons gave me about good and bad relationships.
On a lighter note though, there's another aspect to the whole we-like-characters-we-identify-with thing with regards to shipping: I really do think the ships we like (if any) are based on and a reflection of ourselves and what we want in a partner (should we want to have one). Or in simpler terms, our OTPs are often made up of a character we can self-insert as and a character we would marry if they were real haha. And I don't mean that in a bad way at all! It's fun to make up fake scenarios with fake characters that you want to kiss, even when you're not writing direct-self-insert or xReader stuff (which I also don't bash)! I'm certainly guilty of this myself, even as much as I try to write them true to their character, relating so much to Melia and finding a lot about Shulk attractive for reasons that Melia also does means I'm just like everyone else haha. But on the other side of the coin, the fact that I cannot relate to Fiora in so many ways as well as do not vibe with how she treats her attraction to Shulk means I can't really enjoy the thought of them as a couple.
But outside of talking about the canon for just a second more, I think there's an interesting phenomenon(? idk what to call it lol) here that is in this ask as well as many other people's vocalized opinions regarding this game's love triangle: said canon. As in, the concept that someone could like Xenoblade 1 overall but dislike the canon relationship either confuses and/or upsets some people. Which is strange to me on its own, like do these people also get confused and/or mad when someone says they love hamburgers but hate when they have pickles on them? Everyone has their own tastes, and what you like or how much of it you do is just part of being an individual. (Plus I must say it's extra odd with regards to Shulkelia, as I've never seen the same comments/reactions to ships like Meliora, Shulk/Reyn, Shalvis, Dunban/Melia, etc, despite the fact that they're all equally as non-canon as Shulkelia. Maybe it's because the game firmly shoots down Shulk liking Melia so hard? But it also shows how much Fiora likes Shulk, so wouldn't Meliora [which is pretty darn popular as far as Xenoblade 1 ships go, at least from my browsing] be just as "anti-canon"?).
For extra context too, there are. SO. many friendzoned/"haha Shulk doesn't like Melia" memes and jokes out there (and if these people are so concerned with canon, it's weird how often they make Shulk and/or Melia act out of character super hard to push the joke!) which don't really exist to be pro-Shiora and more just anti-Shulkelia. I even came across a guy on reddit who would post Melia fanart every day, and so many of his posts were stalked by this one dude who would write a little rant about how Melia sucks and Fiora is the best, and would really go off if the fanart showed Melia's crush on Shulk in any way. Now he was super downvoted every time but... I've never seen anyone do that for Shulkelia. And yet I have seen quite a few posts of people complaining about Shulk/Melia fans shoving their ship in their faces and how much it sucks as a ship and I'm like i have been trying for MONTHS to find a single scrap of shulkelia content yet find barely anything and what i do find has SO many comments saying they still like shiora or that they hate the art since it's not shiora literally WHO are you talking about??? Like maybe I just am unlucky and have seen literally all 20 or whatever number of instances of Shiora fans being rude that ever existed but... they still do exist. I'm not making this up, in fact I encourage you to go out and search for Xenoblade fan content regarding this love triangle and see how people react to it! That's what I did and that's how I came across all of this!
Anyway, like was there a huge ship war in the early fandom days or something??? If so why can I find no mention of it anywhere except from salty Shiora shippers/Fiora fanboys, like barely any Shulkelia art even exists and I see zero talk from the supposed pushy Shulkelia fans? They have like 30 freaking fics in existence and half of them are Melia sulking about how Fiora is being lovey dovey with Shulk and showing they actually got together after all so don't even really count as Shulkelia fics!! In my searching for Shulkelia content I come across so many comments from people who like the ship trying to downplay their enjoyment of it and placate any potential Shiora fans reading their comments with "oh but Shulk/Fiora is cute too! i still like them together! i only like Shulk/Melia in a close friends kind of way, or just to make Melia happy idc about the ship i just like seeing her smile!" so like... What reality do these other guys live in where they got bombarded with Shulkelia over and over because I wish I lived in it!!! Something's up with some Fiora fans idk. Maybe I just had back luck in my searching, but try it yourself and see. I'm not crazy or making this up, I could just have been seeing all 20 or whatever number of Shiora's rude fans but... they do exist, and I have yet to see similar behavior from Shulkelia fans.
And this isn't all just me being a lurker looking at rando's comments as well. I even have a bit of a secondhand-experience story to tell about it! (The specific timeline of the initial details might be jumbled a bit, but I do remember the gist of it and still have the DMs to confirm some of the facts!)
I used to be active on Twitter, and I followed a lot of different Xenoblade fan artists on there. One day a certain artist posted a WIP of Melia and Shulk laying next to each other on a hill where Shulk was smiling at her, and although the artist deleted it (for reasons you will soon learn about) I think they wrote the Japanese ship name of the two on the tweet for it. Either way, I do recall before the WIP was posted they tweeted about liking Shulkelia, or rather ShuMeri as the Japanese ship name is called, (although in much the same "i like Melia so i like the thought of her being happy. Shulk belongs with Fiora though! i still ship them!" please-don't-be-mad-at-me way that I have never seen a Fiora/Shiora fan do) and wanting to draw something for it. Even though this particular artist posted in Japanese, a language I don't know 99% of, I was able to get the gist of their tweets through the translation feature and my knowledge of what the characters' names are in Japanese. And despite how hard this artist tried to be nice, tried to show how much they weren't trying to be mean to Shiora fans (they even had drawn Shiora art months earlier!), they got a wave of hate directed at them from Japanese fans which I saw in real time.
And if you doubt this because the tweets are now deleted, and because even when they were up I only read them through an A.I. translation, I felt so bad for this poor artist that I DM-ed them (regrettably in English, since I didn't trust my knowledge of Japanese to not end up making me say something I didn't intend or in a rude/informal tone) to show there was at least one other person out there that enjoyed ShuMeri and was excited to see their art. And they fortunately understood my message and knew English to message me back and told me direct quotes of what was thrown at them, which I still have in my DMs and will quote:
"'You are denying the original story. It's too unsatisfying and ugly' 'It's not right to make Shulk and Melia lovers.' someone said. At other times, people have replied to my art, complaining about Melia's behavior in the story, as I tweeted the other day. I've had a lot of negative comments about ShuMeri and Melia." (With regards to the whole "complaining about Melia's behavior in the story" thing, if I recall that was from people saying she had no right to have a crush on Shulk in the first place, which... I thought you guys said canon is sacrosanct? It is canon that Melia had a crush on Shulk, and if you don't like that then you don't respect the canon/story and aren't a real fan. Do you see how silly this sounds???)
So. Tell me if you have ever seen any Melia fans or Shulkelia fans ever behave like this. Because I sure haven't. (Like even this ask [which I am not upset about nor trying to be rude to the anon at all, on the contrary I'm super enjoying talking about this topic! it's just the dichotomy here is interesting to me!) is proof to me: how many times can you say you've seen comments on Shiora art or asks sent to Xenoblade fanblogs asking why someone doesn't like Shulkelia, do you hate Shulkelia, what's wrong with Shulkelia? Like I get one is canon and the other isn't, but like... have you seen shipping culture? Literally all of the most popular ships for any given media are non-canon, that's half the fun of shipping!!!
"Don't let mean fans sour the original work" (and again, just to make sure I'm clear, I do not consider the anon who sent this ask to be mean or rude in any way! I'm referring to other randos here!) and all that, but it's kind of hard for me to like a ship when it has fans that act like this... going around projecting by accusing fans of a different ship of their own behavior, or saying things that contradict their own points about how important canon is to them. Thinking back on how we like characters we can relate to, isn't it interesting how fans of a brash, headstrong, do-what-I-want-and-fuck-the-consequences character who gets everything she wants in canon act in a pushy or even rude way to fans of a reserved, self-reproaching, I-will-do-what-is-best-for-others-first character who has so much taken away from her, and the latter fans always defer to the former and feel guilty when they talk about liking their character even as they do so much to be nice to them? It's pretty interesting I think, it's like when dogs look like their owners or something haha.
To end this off, since even though I have more to say (which if you would like to hear please let me know!) I've talked for far too long now haha, I really want to post the rest of the DM that the artist I talked to (who to this day hasn't made another Shulkelia/Shulkelia-esque fanart again, and interestingly never gets hate on their Shalvis art which is again a non-canon "story-denying" ship, too. Maybe they just blocked the rude people and if so good for them, but it's interesting still that they haven't draw Shulkelia since):
"I think it's useless to argue about who is better, Fiora or Melia, and I don't want them to get me involved in that fight. However, I received words of encouragement from many kind followers like you. I now understand important things; 'Don't worry about mean people' and 'Draw what I like.' Fan art should be free, shouldn't it? If I draw ShuMeri, some mean people might appear again. But there are many more kind people like you. When I think of that, I'm not afraid anymore. I will try to draw ShuMeri one day. Maybe I'll get depressed again because of mean people, but then you can tell me, 'You draw fanart freely, right!'... Please tell me that. You made me feel better and made me cry with happiness. Thank you so much. :)"
-Mirim, who can be found here currently, and their old account where the drama happened is here. This is the piece of artwork they got so much hate for. Shulk and Melia aren't even touching in it and Mirim didn't even mention their ship name.
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Any tips on starting OP? It's one of those shows that's like SO LONG idk where to even begin
I first watched One Piece when I was 11 and somehow had the mental fortitude to watch one piece in its entirety about 3 times, so I don't know what I'd do if I started it now for the first time. However! I do want to try and help, and I hope the few tips I have will help you.
Decide what you want to do: Do you want to read it? Or do you want to watch it? Which is your favorite way to consume media, and/or which do you think you could put a better long-time investment into? Start with the one you think will fit best. If that isn't working for you, you can always try the other instead.
One Piece is long, yes, but that doesn't mean you have to watch/read it in one sitting. You can watch just one episode a week or every two weeks if that's what works for you. There's absolutely no rush to finish it, you just have to enjoy the ride at your own pace. I personally prefer manga for this, since you go chapter per chapter and it's easier to let it lie for a little bit, while an anime episode does have a certain time investment you are required to put into it, since most are about 20 or so minutes. You could, of course, watch only half an episode instead of a full one.
One Piece is a fairly straight-forward series to start! Not like the Fate series, which when I heard about it for the first time I instantly gave up on watching. You start from the beginning and work your way to the end, at any speed you want. There are spin-off stories, but those are mostly gags or things that happened before the series, so you don't have to worry about reading those at all, since it won't impact your experience reading/watching the series.
The anime does, in my opinion, suffer from some pacing issues. If you'd prefer to watch instead of reading, but the pacing bothers you, you could always watch One Pace. It's made by fans who try to fix the pacing a bit by making it as close to the manga as possible. They don't have all the arcs done and some aren't finished yet, though, so if you want to go that route, feel free to ask me where you should jump into the official anime and where to jump back into One Pace
Here's a small tip: if you think the Syrup Village arc (where they meet the character Usopp) is too long, you should skip it. It does drag on for a while too long, and that's where my family lost interest in watching one piece, though they did enjoy what came before
To finish, Yes, One Piece is long, and yes, this might seem daunting, but trust me when I say that once you get into it, you completely forget about its length. It's absolutely worth putting time into, since it's an incredible series, and it's brought me a great amount of joy over the past 8 to 9 months that I've been back into it
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I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again
I mean, I am. But still.
So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.
So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.
At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.
Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell
So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.
I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.
This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.
Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.
I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.
Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.
We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.
"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."
"A what," he asks.
"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"
"Oh! A turtle!" he says.
"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.
The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.
"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.
"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.
"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.
"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??
The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?
I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.
"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."
"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.
"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!
So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.
(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)
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。.*。☆゚ 🕰️ 08.25 p.m
tw: pregnancy. overall, just some domestic dad-to-be gojo trying to show how much he loves you even with how your body changes and all <3 based on a request!
a part of gojo's love entries
don’t think that satoru hasn’t noticed how you linger in front of the mirror these days, touching your body all over—particularly your baby bump. seeing your face twist into a sad frown dampens his spirits too.
on the other hand, you understand that it’s a natural process, but you have never gained this much weight before, and despite already having your husband reassure you before, you still feel somewhat meh about yourself.
“how’s my favorite girl and little rascal doing today?” he flopped down on the bed beside you as soon as he returned from school, caressing your belly. “ready to come out yet?”
you throw him an unamused look. “no, satoru. and don’t make it sound so effortless. i’m the one pushing him out.”
“ahh, but i can’t wait though~”
his palpable excitement actually made you smile as you placed your hand over his. but then your smile fell a bit and he was quick to notice it.
“what’s on your mind?” he asked then. “talk to me, hmm?”
“no… it’s nothing.” you looked away, a bit ashamed. if satoru says he’s not bothered by your figure, you really shouldn’t be thinking about this any longer. you didn't want to make him worry… but it really wasn't easy to let it go.
“hmm, my baby mama can’t be sad,” your husband pouted, and suddenly he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “she’s the cutest when she smiles.”
you looked up to him, feeling the security in his arms and yet still a hint of uncertainty in your voice. “am i just cute… to you?”
you wanted to be beautiful too. like how he used to sing you praises during your school days.
satoru grinned. and it’s the kind of toothy grin that makes your heart soar.
“no. you’re also pretty.” he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “and you’re smart, kind, nags a lot, gets pouty easily… and you're sweet like a dango, makes me want to gobble you up.”
“so now i’m a dango?” you nestled your head against his broad chest, feeling your face start to heat up, and a smile beginning to curve your lips. stupid satoru. he said all of them so easily it was making you giddy and felt silly for doubting him at all.
“just because our baby is going to be a mochi. and look, you’re so close to carrying him to full-term,” he rubbed your swollen tummy again, this time with a more sincere smile. “i love you the most for it.”
your eyes took a shine, processing his words, and you could’ve sworn that right now, nothing could’ve shaken your feelings for your silly husband.
suddenly your baby kicked you hard as if to reprimand you too for your insecurities, and you winced.
“hurts?” satoru questioned, slightly concerned when you nodded. “wait i’ll tell him off.”
he cleared his throat and began making circular motions on your abdomen, as if to summon him.
“yo, brat. you can’t kick your mama like that too often these days. you’re accumulating karma and she counts it. when you come out, she’ll forbid you from eating our favorite mochis and—”
“satoru!!”
and then the two of you just burst into giggles, and once again, you utterly and thoroughly fell in love with him. for always making you feel safe... and loved.
“you know, satoru...” this time it was you who hugged him, breathing in his scent for comfort. now you were totally worry-free, the softest of smile on your face. “i’m really grateful that... we found each other.”
at your heartfelt confession, satoru felt his chest tighten with warmth and his cheeks flush. he is so blushing and he tries covering it with a chuckle. and the words lingering at the tip of his tongue were—
“heh, aren’t you glad you married me?”
yeah... i’m so glad that it’s you too.
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You think the Zone has its version of Comic Con?
Like? Think about it. You have literally all of time to work on it, your Magnum Opus, your life's work. That DREAM comic. All the supplies you could ever wish for. Endless paper. Endless ink. You can practice and practice for CENTURIES until it's JUST right.
Wouldn't you want to share it?
There are definitely Ghosts who have Obsessions that make them collect.
And two people meeting would lead to a group. Lead to a bigger group. Lead to a large group. A gathering. A crowd even. Eventually you need a Lair to meet IN. It becomes An Event.
People hear about it.
Want to bring other art mediums. Food stalls. Report on it. It grows. Shoot offs start happening. Niche meet ups.
But like?
Unlike comic con? It's all FREE. Sure, you might have fork over the ecto to make your copy. And yeah, weaker ghosts can only do that so many times. Will have to prioritize. But? They can come back after leaving for a nap. Ask a buddy to come with. There ARE work arounds.
Just? Imagine the unbelievable HIPE? Danny would feel? But be unable to TELL anyone about? Zone Con happens several times a year! Cause so many people wanna come. The Zone being infinite, after all.
Problem 1? They're using THEIR standard of a "year". Which is actual 5 earth years. So it's only happens every year and a half for him. And Problem 2? He can't even TALK about how excited he is about Z Con with anyone (outside his friends and family) because they haven't heard of it and might Ask Questions.
It's ALSO held in a part of the Zone that's like? Three days of flying away from the portal. And no amount of begging is gonna get any of his loved ones to camp in the Speeder for around six-ish days just to go to a Con.
So you can imagine his DELIGHT. His utter JOY and *Target Spotted* "!!!" Noise, when? In the crowd? He spots A HUMAN! Hi fellow human!!! Omg, wanna be Con Besties? *doesn't even wait for an answer*
So now? This sad, blonde, deeply lost and kinda alarmed, trench coat dude? Is Danny's new Z Con Going Bestie! You got a map yet, bestie? No? That's cool, he has one. By the way, he has human food in the Speeder if you nee-
YES!
Cause, see, here's the THING. John? Lost to the Realms Infinte. Or Infinte Realms. Translation was iffy... and on fire... like the rest of the building. It was him or the kids those psychos had kidnapped, for what fucked "ritual" the voices in their heads, that THEY thought were demons but frankly he's pretty sure was just feedback from-
Look, doesn't matter, he had to choose. He always knew someday he'd have too. That even twisting Luck and talking fast wouldn't quite be enough. And he had to decide, in that moment, which outcome mattered more to him. They get out safe, or he does.
Wasn't much of a question, was it?
So, there he is. Staring down oblivion and all those debts unpaid. 'Bout to see who's gonna come for him this time, and take what left of wretched soul. When? He bleeds on the FUCKIN two-bit crap circle they squiggled in God only knows what. Remembers that "oh YEAH, set dressings!" Sometimes when you focus too hard on insuring a Good Outcome?
You weird weird as shit byproducts happening on the side to balance it all out.
Or BAD ones.
He wakes up someone fucking green and crowded. For the life of him can't tell you which one it is. And THAT was of course, bout two days ago.
Biggest and most immediate problem? He... does NOT recognize what flavor of magical fuckery this is. Doesn't seem Fae. And doesn't smell like Hell. There are... there are honest to God BOOTH BABES hanging around. Hunks too. The view is LOVELY.
And nerdy.
Very, very nerdy.
But he isn't THAT out of touch. So he should recognize SOMETHING. Or at least the languages. But nope! It's like aliens and magic had a nerd baby and dipped it in GREEN. And the worst thing? Is there is food everywhere, but it all glows and John's not stupid enough to eat it.
Then? Sweet merciful fuck. Salvation! Some teeny bopper Barely No Longer Teen fresh faced INFANT of a Hero kid. With a SHIP. Who has FOOD and a clear idea of where they are. Hello~ John's new BEST FRIEND. Yes. Absolutely. Con Buddies, whatever.
Just feed me, kid.
Only? Once he inhales like 5 "Fenton rations"? He only gets half way through introducing himself before getting interrupted. Kid hears "magic" and "occult Detective" and just? Goes "oh! So you wanna check out the magic Ally with me? Sam wanted me to pick up some witchy stuff!"
..............how magic?
(In Which? Constantine becomes Danny's interdimensional Con buddy)
@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @nerdpoe
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0:56 a.m. | nanami kento
0.6k words
“kento,” you whispered into the silence of the night and the dimmed lights on your room. It’s been way past midnight and you hadn’t been able to sleep, contrary to your boyfriend who’s lying beside you—his breath steady and calm.
when your voice didn’t budge him out of his slumber you tried once more.
“kento.” this time a little louder.
he then muttered an inaudible word, still closing his eyes. his hand wandered though, tightening his hold around the back of your shoulder; bringing you close to his chest. better, but the gesture was not enough for you who’s not feeling even a little sleepy, as mischief ideas filled your head.
third time’s a charm, they said. so you called him once more.
this time it finally did something as he hummed a reply, his free hand rubbed your side in a calming pattern, his hand went underneath your shirt that’s all rode up. he settled his grip just an inch under your chest, his thumb slowly moved up and down. “that tickles,” you said as you put a hand over his, refraining his little movement. Although, you’re sure he could hear the smile on your voice.
he finally opened his eyes as he gave you a lazy little smile and you swore you didn’t remember seeing anything more gorgeous than that. “why aren’t you asleep, hm?” his voice a tone heavier than usual, a tad husky as it laced deep with sleep. “i can’t sleep,” you whispered, like telling a secret to your best friends in a slumber party. “right. so i don’t get to either, yeah?” he replied, a smile on his face; and it’s only fondness shine across his feature.
“i mean, i understand if the old man needs his sleep even though tomorrow’s weekend. so by all means,” you said playfully, and that earned a deep chuckle from him. “don’t tease, who said we should have an early night today?” he raised an eyebrow, and for such a calm sleeper he now couldn’t stop his wandering hand as he’s diligent on giving you back-scratches—not that you’re complaining. “yes, but that was before my confidence in being able to fall asleep crumbled right before my eyes,” you claimed, feigning a serious tone. “i see, my mistake.” his eyes narrowed affectionately and you had a feeling you could say the dumbest excuse and he’d let you get away with anything.
you felt the need to sit up and do something but before you could even do that he held you down gently. “none of that, you’ll feel even more restless, love.” you couldn’t even protest at that since you knew he’s always right. “then what do you suggest we do now?”
“it’s a we problem now, hm?” he stared at you in amusement, knowing who dragged him into the sleepless night as well was none other than you. “is that a complaint i hear?” you threw him a questioning look. “it’s excitement, of course.” he laughed softly as he stroke your hair ever-so-gently.
“i should just start rambling maybe it’ll get me tired,” you said randomly and he just nodded without offering any question. “sure, i’m listening.” his hand didn’t stop moving. “where should i start?” you asked, relying on his answer. And of course it came easy for the man who seemed like he knew all the right words. “start anywhere, love. you could repeat anything, skipped over some words, or even tell it backwards and i’ll be here to point it out,” he said lovingly.
and you don’t know if it’s just his power you didn’t know about but it’s not even ten minutes after you started talking and as he kept doing the little gesture you could feel the sleepiness coming, welcoming you to one of your best slumber in a while.
--
idk how it took me this long to write this man. i love him so much.
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welcome back to alex's unhinged meta corner, today's topic: the chest touch at the pub. that scene has me in a chokehold for some reason and i still cannot stop thinking about it.
the first thing i wanna talk about is crowley's reaction, since this is the shorter part. he did not expect aziraphale to reach out to him like this and freezes for a second while aziraphale happily chatters away.
they were both walking and the hand on his chest stops him, so he comes to a stop right next to him while he was slightly behind him before that. his gaze also snaps to aziraphale's face, who is very much not looking at him.
they were having a conversation, but the touch essentially shuts crowley up and zira leaves him to get their drinks.
now, my question is why aziraphale does it. sure, it could just be an absent gesture since they're in a crowded place, just that he has never really done so before. i think it was very much planned, like asking crowley to dance and grabbing his hand later on.
a second before he actually reaches out, he also looks back to check whether crowley is where he thinks he is. that is the only time he does that, he was busy looking for a free table and miracles them one when he cannot find one - the look back is deliberate. especially since crowley is practically glued to his side, he has no need for confirmation, he can feel him brushing against him while walking.
the hand motion he does gets me, too. he is busy fidgeting with his hands like normal and has them clasped in front of him. aziraphale lifts them once he gets to "that is precisely the point", yet also already moves it slightly towards crowley, realizes he miscalculated where exactly he/his chest is, looks to check, then looks away again before actually touching him. am i reading too much into it? maybe.
i think it is his version of a little temptation. not only does it make crowley's brain short-circuit for a second, he also gets them their drinks and is now (or so aziraphale hopes) a bit calmer and will take the news aziraphale is about to give him better. the conversation at the cafe did not go entirely as planned, after all.
additionally, something i am not sure if other people have noticed or not is that aziraphale does not just touch crowley, it is a caress. he moves his hand down his chest.
the movement in order:
bar girl unfortunately moves in front of them, but you can clearly see the way his hand takes. to give you a direct comparison of the starting and end point:
a good point of reference is crowley's bolo tie but also the angle of aziraphale's arm while it is still visible.
the best part, in my opinion, is that aziraphale puts his hand right on top of crowley's heart. i think the symbolic importance of that is pretty clear and does not require any more explanation, although it makes me want to throw myself into a river. but that's by the by.
to summarize, aziraphale caresses crowley's heart chest to get him to calm down and not go insane over the news he is about to give him. he is also simply a bastard and knows exactly what he is doing to crowley.
as always, this is me going nuts with analysis, but i'm also curious to hear other people's thoughts on this.
don't tell my therapist about my unhinged meta posts or she will probably be very concerned for my mental wellbeing
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Okay….Adam sfw and nsfw headcanons? I cannot believe I have begun to simp after this trashbag DAMN YOU ALEX BRIGHTMAN-
I have an admission... I fucking love Adam pls keep sending Adam requests in I can't get enough of this man
Also, sorry I've been MIA, I've got a lot of deadlines coming up so updates will be more spaced out over the next few weeks :)
I love Adam but he's quite difficult to write, so pls lmk what you guys think! I tried to keep him in character! (This was far longer than planned lol I just love this man)
NSFW - Minors DNI
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Adam x f!reader - General Headcannons
SFW
You'd been in heaven for many decades, possibly even centuries, before you had ever even entered Adam's radar
He was the 'original dick', as he liked to constantly remind everyone within shouting distance, and spent all of his time surrounded by the higher-ups of Heaven, attending meetings, court-hearings, and dealing with training his danger-tits army for the next extermination
It would take a lot to enter his radar, having to work your way into the correct circles, gain the right connections and attend the right events
But once you're in the circumference of society he haunts, you're on his radar immediately
He's a man with fine tastes, look at his previous wives, he has a type ("fucking bombshells" as he would describe them) and as soon as he sees you in his peripheral one afternoon he's zoned in and absolutely entranced
No one has ever said no to him before, so when you do, he's taken aback. Hiding his confusion and deep-rooted offence with a flippant comment "Oh, playing the hard to get game, babe? Lucky for you I fucking love the chase."
Inwardly, he's fucking fuming, why on earth would you reject him? Alas, he's sure he'll win you over eventually... right?
He's arrogant, he's cocky, he's a self-entitled piece of shit, but he's also determined, passionate, and is anything but a quitter
You will not know peace for months after your reject him
He'll storm into your office whenever he feels like it - which is whenever he has enough free time to do so - bugging you relentlessly as you try and finish your work. He never stops asking questions about you: your day, your hobbies, your love life, what're you doing after work tonight? He's free, he could take you somewhere nice, show you a real fun time
When you stop answering he starts bitching about his day to you, about the local gossip, about some Seraphim that pissed him off, about some bitch at the bar, which he could totally take you to, did he mention he was free tonight?
He doesn't just hound you at work, and you often find yourself coming to a screeching halt in the street and abruptly turning the other way when you spot his iconic mask - he's a tall man, his horns poking noticeably above the crowd as he tries to find any excuse to find and talk to you
When he gets really desperate, after months and months of unsuccessful attempts of gaining your attention, he finally turns to Lute with the all too familiar question "You're a woman, right? What do you-"
The advice she gives is not one he is happy to receive, 'stay away and tone it the fuck down', but he listens, ego taking a massive hit as he watches you carry on as normal
Funnily enough, you start to miss the annoying dick, and you begin to look forward to his far less frequent visits, which mainly consist of you both bumping into each other at work and making polite conversation
When he really can't take it anymore, and he happens to hear rumour about another man planning on asking you on a date, he practically breaks down your office door with a bouquet of flowers, thrusting them unhappily into your hands and asking incredibly politely for you to please go on a date with him
You're both surprised when you agree, and he can feel his face heating up beneath his mask as he whoops, calling a "I knew you'd come around babe, I'll pick you up at 8 tonight. Can't wait to see what you wear." over his shoulder as he bustles back out of your office, practically vibrating until he can tell Lute the news
He's 'The Original Man', and once you become his girl there is nothing he wouldn't do for you - he's constantly swinging by your office and pulling away the less important paperwork, commenting that he can get one of his workers to do it and freeing up time for you both to hang out; he's constantly flying through your balcony with bags of some new takeaway and chatting about this amazing new food place he found as he drops the heavy bags on your counter; someone causing you trouble? If he can't personally deal with it due to some 'relationship' he has to upkeep, he's sure to inform Lute who will have the situation handled before sunset that same day
Basically, he has authority in Heaven, and he's going to use that to make your life as easy as possible
Having a bad day? He can fix that. Oh, not in the mood for sex? Well, he's an amazing cuddle buddy, and he has the softest wings, let him just grab some snacks from the kitchen and then get ready for a night on the sofa wrapped in his strong arms and soft wings
His wings are insanely soft, and big, and despite his best efforts, no matter how long you've both been dating, they will flutter if he hasn't seen you in an extended amount of time, or if you're wearing something particular nice - he can't control it and it thoroughly ruins his bad-boy persona
You're the only other person beside Lute who he feels comfortable with letting preen his wings, and after you start officially dating he only comes to you with the issue, batting his eyelashes and pleading with you to 'take care of him'. You do, and he always breaks his promise not to 'make it weird' until you give him a firm smack on the back of his head - he's fallen asleep more times than you can count with your hands in his wings
He returns the favour, of course, and he sticks to his word like a gentleman, hands remaining firmly against your wings and not daring to wander. He's not a saint, however, and he will whisper less-than-holy things in your ear as he works - he'll stop if you don't play along, and finds himself enjoying the innocent intimacy of it. If you do play along? Oh, boy, his hands don't stay on your wings for long
He uses his wings a lot in his body language, and in your initial stages of courting he'll constantly puff them out to make him seem bigger, trying to impress you with his sheer size - embarrassingly for you, it works
PDA is not approved of in heaven, so he has to maintain his distance from you in public but that is a completely different matter in private
He will take every opportunity to touch you, innocently, whether that be a had on your jaw to bring your attention back to him or to guide your gaze wherever he wants you to look, a hand on your bicep to pull you this way and that, a large hand between your shoulder blades if you're being too slow
In public, completely subconsciously, whichever wing is closest to you will outstretch, barely noticeable to the majority of people, corralling you in closer to his side, and protecting you from whatever might happen - there's no danger in heaven, but still, he likes to know you're safe, and his wings reflect that desire
In private, he's constantly got a hand on you, oftentimes both, on your arms, your shoulders, your waist, the small of your back, your thighs, fucking anywhere - he likes having you on his chest on the sofa, and he finds it funny when he tries to do the same and crushes the air from your lungs
He loves when you cook and he can just stand behind you with his chin propped on your head or shoulder and his arms around your waist. You constantly have to tell him off for whispering foul things in your ear, but he quickly shuts up when you threaten to send him away, his grip tightening against you as he pouts playfully and watches silently
He will actively stretch out his wing when it's cold or windy or rainy, shielding you from the elements with his large wings and loving the excuse to pull you close. "What're they gonna say babe? I'm just keeping you dry."
The biggest difficulty in your domestic lives is the housework, he's an old fashioned man and he's never really had to do housework before. He's gotten better throughout your relationship, but he still absolutely hates washing dishes, but he'll happily sit in the kitchen and keep you company and talk mindlessly as he watches you work. He always thanks you with a kiss
If you ever make him do it, expect to be sat on the counter right next to him and no you cannot leave until he's done and yes you will listen to him complain the entire time and yes he will always slap your ass with a wet hand as payback, cackling as you yell half-heartedly
Deep down, incredibly deep, oceanic levels of deep, past the many many levels of crude jokes and brash humour, of over-compensating confidence and attempted witty one-liners, past the smirk and the puffed chest and the domineering presence, is a man who is cripplingly doubtful and insecure - two of his wives have left him for the same man, and he's absolutely terrified (but would rather burn in the fiery pits of hell than ever admit it) that it's going to happen again
He can seem rude and brash and uncaring, but he really is trying his best, and he's desperate to prove to you, in his own way, how much he really cares (He's scared to admit even to himself how much losing you would crush him)
Because of this, no event is ever half-assed - it's your birthday? He's got the biggest cake he can find and he's made some of his exterminators set up a surprise birthday party for you. It's your anniversary? He's pretending he's forgotten until the morning of and suddenly you've got a reservation at one of the nicest and most in-demand places in all of Heaven
"Come on, sugar," He'd reprimand you mockingly, shit-eating grin on his face at your excitement "you really thought I'd forget my special girl?"
He can doubt himself sometimes, worrying about your feelings for him, but he hides his insecurities whenever you catch him in deep-thought with some lame sex-joke
He doesn't ever want to talk about his insecurities, and he'll never outright tell you what he fears more than anything, but you pick up on it after enough time together
You don't pry, but you do card your hands through his hair when you see his eyes go particularly glossy one afternoon, pressing a kiss to his temple and scratching at his scalp, making your way slowly to his wings and back and taking your sweet time. He closes his eyes and listens to you ramble about your day, which eventually turns into you rambling about him, how handsome he is, how hard he works, and how much you love him and how you don't know what you'd do without him
He doesn't realise it, but you say just the rights things he needs for him to regain that pep in his step and for his cocky words to have more meaning behind them
NSFW
He's the Original Dick, and you'd hope he had the goods to back up the talk with the amount of bragging he does
He does; he does have the goods, and some would say he's being humble because what the fuck
He's the oldest human in history - he's seen it all, done it all twice, and he's more than willing to share some of his tricks with you
He's too proud and self-centred to ever let you have complete control, but when he's particularly lazy he'll let you go on top (as rare as this occasion is) but he'll still guide you as best as he can, lifting you easily with his strong arms and sweet-talking you with his sharp tongue
The first time you ever see him without his god-awful mask is during an intimate moment - you're first intimate moment, where you downright refused to continue if he didn't take the cursed thing off his face
Again, he's insecure, and it takes a lot of reassurance and just the right amount of kisses on his jaw and neck for him to be convinced that taking his mask off was worth it
He lets you look at him for several moments, and then he's had enough and he took his mask off for a fucking reason and he's pulling you into his lap and kissing you properly for the fist time
You can compliment him later, he has other things on his mind right now, the main one being fucking you until you can't even conjure a coherent thought
After that encounter he slowly takes his mask off in private with you more and more, learning to appreciate how nice it was to be able to kiss your temple and actually feel you against his lips, as well as how nice it was to feel your lips against his cheek
Still keeps the mask on sometimes, especially when you ask so nicely
He absolutely loves receiving head, resting back in his office chair or against the back of the sofa and letting you get to work, grunts and groans falling from his lips as his hands grip your hair tightly and guide you exactly how he wants you
He will give head as well, he's not selfish by any means, but he much prefers kissing you as you fall apart beneath him - for him, he'd much rather swallow your screams and mutter dirty things in your ear as he brings you to release
Be careful with his wings, especially when he lets you preen them - gentle touches can easily be misinterpreted as passionate caresses and before you know it you're pinned on your back with a red-faced and disheveled looking Adam hovering above you, muttering about how you're a "fucking tease" and if "you wanted it so bad all you had to do was ask, sugar. I'll never leave you wanting."
He knows the power of wings, and his heavy touches against your own when he needs to "Just sliding past babe, what's that fucking look for? Can't a man work?" are no accident. He loves getting you all wound up. He takes it as a personal challenge to do it in public, and his shit-eating grin remains the entire day before he's pressing you against the door of his office or your plush bed and muttering about how fucking needy you are.
He doesn't take being teased well, and he'll glare at you the entire time until he can do something about it - he'll have even less patience than usual, especially for people who aren't you, and often has to do damage-control after he's regained his bearings a few hours later
He's a big man, and he uses that to his full advantage, man-handling you with ease, positioning you exactly where he wants you, pinning both of your wrists easily with only one of his large hands, pushing your legs apart like butter
He can lift you easily, and he'll hold you against the wall, or countertop, or wherever the fuck you guys are, and he'll keep you there until he's done
Lute has walked in on you both far too many times, and she always hurtles back out of the door cursing at you both angrily
He likes pinning you beneath him, spreading his wings over your forms and completely shrouding you with his form - you're fucking his, and no one else will take that from him
He fucking loves dirty talk, and it's a challenge to get him to shut up - he'll carry on talking at you long after you're able to respond, and he'll just start talking about that instead: "Aw, look at you, can't even fucking say my name you're so fucking dumb for this c-"
As said before, he's insecure based on the way he lost his two previous wives and the reflects into the bedroom
If you do degrade him, he'll just challenge you, telling you you've obviously not learnt your fucking lesson and picking up the pace, desperate to prove he's the exact opposite of whatever had just spilled from your mouth - you'll pay for trying to goad him on, he won't relent until you're a babbling shaking mess, stuttering out apologies and taking back everything you had just dared to say to him
Any praise you offer him he absolutely laps up. Call him handsome, tell him your his, tell him there's no one else in the world who would ever compared to him, how good he's fucking you - he'll get so wrapped up in the praise he'll even stop talking, completely focussed on his task of making you feel good, making sure you know there's no one else who could give you what he does
Dig your hands into his wings and he becomes a groaning mess, and it'll only be a few seconds of you muttering those sweet praises in his ears and your nails digging into his wings before he's collapsing on top of you and panting raggedly, still trying to mutter out curses and praises through his gruff gasping
When he really loses control his wings will flap of their own accord, and you've had to completely clear your side tables because he kept accidentally smashing everything that was on them
He likes to rest afterwards, and he usually tries to encourage you into going another round.
He'll tug you into his sweaty side, pulling you half onto his chest as he breathes deeply, immediately asking if you enjoyed it, and when you agree, he'll always mutter something along the lines of "Of course you fucking did, it's me."
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Pity Party.
Synopsis - Carmy just wants to see you treated the way he thinks you deserve. He decides to take matters into his own hands.
Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Roommate Reader
Word Count - 3k
Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol mention. carmys filthy mouth.
Age Rating - 18+
Author's Note - hello hello hello!! i am back!! i had a wonderful vacation soaking up the sun, and i am feeling refreshed and ready to go. i have had so many ideas over the past few weeks, so i'm excited to get some of them written asap!! this was a fic that came to me randomly, as i was thinking about roommate!carmen and how much of a menace he'd be if you ever talked about other guys. this was written as a part of my carmen roommates collection. it doesn't follow on from Finders, Keepers or Sweet Dreams, but it does exist in the same universe - so you can decide if this takes place before or after!! as always, feel free to send me any ideas or thoughts or burning desires you have. so much love <3
as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3
Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.
"You're back early."
Carmy had swung the door open, expecting to come home to an empty apartment. Instead, he's met with the sight of you, sitting on the couch, undoing the straps of your shoes.
"Fuckin' disaster," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.
He breathes out a chuckle at the stormy look on your face. Carmy thinks you're cutest when you're angry. He aches to smooth the crease between your brows with his thumb.
"That bad?" he asks, taking a seat next you and kicking off his sneakers.
"You wouldn't even believe."
He rises and makes his way to the kitchen, filling the tea kettle and placing it on the stove top. Grabbing two mugs, he casts a glance over his shoulder at you, frowning at your body language. You look defeated.
Carmy steeps two cups of tea, placing one of them carefully into your waiting hands. He resumes his seat on the sofa, pressing his thigh against yours and turning to face you.
"You wanna talk about it?"
You think for a moment before replying.
"You're gonna laugh at me."
His face instantly crumples, confusion written all over it.
"I'll never laugh at you. I'll laugh with you, sure. But never at you."
He nudges your shoulder with his, urging you to go on.
"Okay, fine. The actual date was pretty good. He took me to that Italian place downtown-"
"Dolce Vita? Did you get the truffle pasta I told you about?" Carmy interrupts you before you can continue.
"Yes, oh my God. It was incredible. Do you think you can recreate it sometime?"
"Fuck yeah. They're pretty secretive with their recipes, but I think I can figure it out. You can help me if you want - I'm gonna need a sous chef."
He pulls a reluctant laugh from you, the sound echoing off the ceramic of your mugs. You both know that being the sous chef involves you sitting on the counter drinking wine while Carmy does all the work.
"Of course. I'll always be your sous chef."
"I'll hold you to that."
You smile at him gently, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.
"Anyway. The dinner went great. He seemed super interested in me, asked me questions, told me about his job, his hobbies, his dog. He was hot, and good to talk to. I thought I'd hit the jackpot."
"And then?"
"And then we went back to his apartment. And it all went to shit."
He chuckles, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.
"Tell me more."
"You really want to hear about all of this?"
It's not like you and Carmy aren't close. You absolutely are. It's just that there's always been this unspoken connection between the two of you. A bubbling, fiery attraction that you both shut down repeatedly, screwing the lid on tight whenever it rears its head. So, you tend to avoid talking to Carmy about dating. You're scared you'll accidentally blurt out the truth - you compare every single date to him.
"Of course I do."
His answer is so genuine it makes you ache. You continue, hesitantly.
"Well... things got a little... heavy. He wasn't a bad kisser, I guess... he just wasn't... a good one? He kept biting my lip super hard and it kinda hurt. Then he pulled my clothes off like a high schooler, and he's on top of me, and I'm waiting for him to sort of... do... anything? And then he's finished. Like, completely done. And then he has the nerve to ask me if I finished."
Carmy's mouth has fallen open, shock etched across his face. After a long, heavy pause, he speaks.
"What the fuck?"
You look at him for moment, before bursting into contagious laughter. He joins you, both of you with your heads thrown back, giggles reverberating around the lowlit room.
"I mean, seriously," he pants, still laughing. "What the fuck?"
"I didn't even answer him. I just put my clothes on, grabbed my bag and left without saying a word."
Every time you try to stifle your laughter, a giggle escapes. The situation wasn't funny at the time, but looking back, it's hilarious.
All of a sudden, you both go silent. You're deep in thought, reflecting on the seemingly never ending stream of bad dates that you've endured. Carmy is watching you intently, ocean blue eyes glued to your face.
"Fuck," you breathe. "This is kinda pathetic."
Carmy inhales deeply, and turns his body so it's facing yours on the couch.
"The way I see it," he begins, "you have two options."
You quirk a brow in confusion and stay quiet, waiting for him to explain.
"You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or, you can let me fuck you the way you deserve."
Your mouth falls open in shock at the exact same moment your brain seems to shut down. You can't think. You can't process his words. All you can focus on is the way he's staring at you. You suddenly feel hot under his gaze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. A shiver runs down your spine, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.
"Wh-... what?" you choke out.
"You heard me, honey. You can wallow in your little pity party, or you can let me show you what it's like to be with someone who can actually make you come. Your choice."
His voice has dropped an octave lower than usual, the tone warm and honeyed. He's still staring at you, blue gaze unrelenting.
"Is this gonna fuck everything up between us?" you whisper hesitantly.
Carmy reaches out and places a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking careful circles into your skin.
"I don't think anything can fuck up what we have," he murmurs. "You're the only thing in my life that makes sense."
His confession seems to sober you up, the honesty in his words snapping you back to your senses.
"Okay."
He almost does a double take at the sureness in your voice.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Put your money where your mouth is, Carmen."
"There she is," he chuckles. "You scared me when you went quiet for a second there."
"Well, if what you say is true, you're not gonna be able to shut me up for the night."
He laughs darkly, and slides closer to you slightly.
"Oh, honey. You're gonna wish you hadn't said that."
He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the journey of your neck with his fingertips. He rests his hand lightly at the base of your throat, the heavy weight of it making you pant.
"If there's any point where you don't like something, or you want me to slow down, just say so. Okay?"
You nod your head, entranced by the sudden dominance he's displaying. You've never seen this side of him before. You can't believe he's been hiding it this whole time.
"Words, pretty. Need to hear you say it."
"Yes. I understand. I'll tell you, I promise."
He doesn't say anything in reply, just smirks. He lets you sit in the silence for a moment too long, the anticipation slowly killing you.
"Please, Carmen," you breathe. "Please."
"Fuck," he groans, shuffling closer to you. "You sound so pretty when you beg."
Carmy leans in and kisses your cheek gently, testing the waters. He presses a kiss to your other cheek, and pulls back to watch for your reaction. When he's happy, he tilts forward and leaves a careful kiss on your chin, then your forehead, then both of your closed eyes, before kissing you on the side of your mouth. His closeness makes you whine, desperate for him to give you what you want.
Finally, he connects his lips to yours, starting off slow and tender. When you tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and try to pull him even closer, his resolve snaps. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You clamber over him and climb into his lap, straddling his hips and pressing yourself into his body.
Carmy can't decide where to put his hands. He's grabbing at your waist, running his fingers up your back, pulling you into him by your ass. You're both groaning into each others mouths, enraptured by the other person and the all consuming way they kiss.
"Can I take this off?" he asks lowly, pulling at the hem of your dress.
Instead of answering, you pull it over your head, throwing it onto the floor in front of you.
"Fuck," he murmurs. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen."
His hands are roaming all of your exposed skin, as if he can't get enough. He's terrified he won't ever get to see you like this again, so he's not going to waste a second.
You grind your hips down into his, eliciting a groan from the both of you. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, as he leans up to press open mouthed kisses to your jaw. Your fingers fly to the hem of his t shirt, pulling it off swiftly. You manage to shove his jeans down and off, before attempting to pull off his underwear. Carmy stops you in your tracks.
"Nuh uh," he tuts. "This is about you. Not me."
He pulls you off his lap gently and shuffles so his back is resting against the couch cushions. He spreads his legs wide, and gestures for you to sit between them. When you don't move, he looks at you carefully.
"Give me a color, pretty girl."
You take a deep breath, and smile at him softly.
"Green, Carmen. Promise."
You manoeuvre sideways, so you can place yourself with your back to his chest. He wraps his arms around you for a moment and holds you tightly, as if he's scared you'll disappear any second. You relax into his embrace, all the tension leaving your body. You have nothing to worry about. It's just you and Carmen, in the place you call home.
You drop your head back into Carmy's shoulder, and allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of his hands on your skin. He's begun tracing patterns down your arms, your sides, your stomach, until he reaches your underwear. He plays with the band, dipping his finger underneath in a feather light touch. Goose bumps rise across your body and you shiver, practically vibrating with need.
"Carmen," you whisper. "Don't tease."
"But that's half the fun," he murmurs into your ear, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
You can picture it perfectly, too. The way his eyes crinkle, the way his mouth curves, the way he bites his lip to stifle it. The image in your mind makes you melt into him further. You want to be as close to him as you physically can be. You'd completely disappear into him if you could.
He brings you back to reality by cupping you over your underwear, groaning when he feels the saturated material.
"Oh, pretty girl. Is this all for me? Fuck."
Suddenly, his game of teasing has lost all its fun. Carmy twists his fingers into your underwear and pulls them off in one swift movement, throwing them in the general direction of your dress on the floor. He places a hand on each of your thighs and spreads them apart, hooking them over his legs.
Carmy starts off slow, careful. He caresses over your skin, gentle and almost apprehensive. When he gets to your core, he swipes a finger through, testing the waters. When you buck your hips into his hand, he knows you're both on the same page.
"Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good."
His deep, smooth, whiskey like voice is doing nothing to help the heat bubbling in your stomach. You only whine in response, wiggling your hips to urge him to keep going.
Carmy throws one arm around your stomach, keeping you plastered to his body. You can feel him hot and hard against your back, and you so desperately want to feel him that your mouth is watering. You grind back into him, and he reads your mind.
"Not yet," he whispers. "This is about you, remember? Need to show you what you've been missing."
With that, he circles your clit with two fingers, slowly but surely. He revels in the noises you elicit. They're making him dizzy, disorientated. He never thought he'd be the one to pull a sound like that from you. He's quite convinced he's dreaming.
"Let me hear you. Don't hold back on me, okay?"
You nod your head frantically, willing to give him whatever he asks if you get what you want.
Carmy slips a finger into you slowly, moaning under his breath at your warmth. When he thinks you're ready, he adds a second finger, and sets a steady rhythm, trying to figure out what you like.
After he's set his pace, he starts to curl his fingers on the up stroke, grinning to himself when he finds the spot.
"Yeah? Right there? That's it, isn't it?"
You're nodding and shaking and pawing at his forearms, trying to tether yourself to reality in any way you can. You think you might be floating, on cloud 9, in some sort of euphoric trance. You can't believe no one's ever made you feel like this before. You're convinced no one ever will again.
Carmy quickens his pace and basks in the glory of your moans. He thinks this might be the most beautiful you've ever looked, spread out completely for him. Every inch of your skin is touching his, and it makes his heart skip a beat for a second.
He presses a kiss into your hair and keeps his mouth there, murmuring honeyed praises into your ear.
"Doin' so good for me."
"You got it, honey, that's it."
"Atta girl. Keep going. Almost there."
"You look so fuckin' pretty like this. Fuck. Gonna be thinking about this forever."
"I'll ruin you, baby. Nothing's ever gonna compare to this, to what we have."
All you can do is moan in response, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You're almost there, but something is stopping you. You whine in frustration, tears welling in your eyes. Carmy feels the tension suddenly grasp your muscles, and leans down to mutter to you softly.
"What is it, sweet girl? What do you need? Just tell me. Anything, and I'll give it to you."
You're not sure how much you trust your voice right now, so you decide to show him instead. You take the hand that he's using to hold you to him and move it up your body until it's resting against your throat. You tighten your fingers around his, and moan in response to the pressure.
"Oh, baby," he coos. "Filthy fuckin' girl. Here I thought you were so innocent, and this whole time you wanted to be choked like a whore?"
The way he degrades you so lovingly makes you mewl. You'd never ever trust anyone else to speak to you this way in such an intimate moment - but with Carmen, there's no hesitation. You know he's just telling you what you need to hear in the heat of the moment. And you love him for it.
"Fuck, Carmen," you manage to choke out. "Keep going. Don't stop, please."
"I'll do anything you want if you keep saying my name like that," he whispers.
"Carmen," you moan in response. "Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy."
You're chanting his name like a prayer. He's rutting into your back, hips grinding and circling in time with his fingers that are maintaining their steady rhythm. His fingers tighten around your throat as he crooks his digits just right, and the result is a devastating moan from you that Carmy wishes to have on repeat for the rest of his life.
"So close," you whisper hoarsely. "Harder."
Carmy uses his thumb to circle your clit with one hand, other hand pulling you by your neck back into him tightly. He grinds his hips dirtily into you, and the feeling of him so silky and warm against you is what sends you over the edge. The corners of your vision go white as you arch into him, head thrown backwards into his chest. The sounds you're making are so melodic, so borderline angelic that Carmy almost cries. Heaven, he thinks. This is salvation.
Carmy finishes with you, climaxing onto the soft skin of your back. You both relax simultaneously, chests heaving and panting. He removes his fingers gently and wraps both arms around you, pulling you into him tightly despite the mess. He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and the gesture is so tender it makes your lip quiver.
"Thank you," you whisper after what feels like hours of comfortable silence.
"Sorry I called you a whore," he murmurs back.
You let out a surprised laugh, vibrating with amusement in his arms.
"I know you didn't mean it."
"I mean I did give you the best orgasm of your life, so... call it even?"
"You're forgiven," you chuckle. "Completely forgiven."
You trace gentle patterns over his forearms with your fingertips, following the black ink of his tattoos. He sighs in contentment and places a kiss into your hair, relaxing further into the couch.
You sit together like that for a while, neither of you too concerned with the time. It's not often you see Carmy so relaxed, so serene. You're enjoying it for as long as you can.
"We should clean up," he says quietly, eventually. "Sorry about the mess."
"It's okay. Worth it," you tease, pinching his thigh. He pinches your side in retaliation, which makes you jump.
"Come on, trouble."
He stands from the couch, never letting go of the grip he has on you. You have no choice but to stand with him, yelping as he half carries you through the apartment towards the shower.
The sounds of both of your laughter bounce off of the abandoned mugs of tea still sat on the coffee table, melodic and joyous. The moonlight seeps through the windows, illuminating the beginning of something special in the living room of your shared apartment.
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