#that bombers hot though

[penny00dreadful]

And They Were Roommates!

Part 2 AO3

Steve didn’t hate him exactly.

He was just… vastly irritated by his very presence.

When they’d fallen into being roommates with Eddie, Steve and Robin were just happy to have anywhere to live. 

They’d spent a few weeks living in the ageing BMW after they’d gotten booted by their previous landlord when the rent had spiked again and they couldn’t afford to pay it anymore.

Then Dustin had come to them saying he had a friend that had a spare bedroom that he needed to fill and they had jumped at the chance. 

It wasn’t a terrible apartment, all things considered. 

The bathroom needed a bimonthly mould clean out and the water pressure was nonexistent. It was almost always colder inside than it was outside, no matter how hot the weather got and the front door had clear signs of being broken down before, with a new lock haphazardly slapped over where the old one had been but it was shockingly quiet and secluded. 

A small and unassuming building that people tended to glance over sitting close enough to the city centre so that everything was within walking distance. It was twice the size of the place Steve and Robin had lived before, an open plan kitchen and sitting room with enough room for a dining table creating a barrier between the two. 

A nice dining table too. 

One that could fit more than two people.

Two bedrooms, one bathroom. 

Eddie had apparently wrinkled his nose at the idea of sharing with a couple but Steve and Robin weren’t about to correct him. He was a completely unknown person who seemed to make it his mission to look mean and scary, no matter what Dustin said about him. 

So Steve refused to feel bad about making assumptions.

But the guy was less mean and scary and mostly just annoying.

He left his shit everywhere, like he’d never heard of fucking organisation before. And he was so loud and exuberant all the time. Like yeah, they guy could enjoy his passions or whatever but that didn’t mean Steve had to like being an unwilling participant in it.

When Robin moved out, Steve stayed even though it was clear Eddie would have preferred if he'd gone too. 

He wasn’t going to give up a good place just because his roommate was a lot. 

And he certainly wasn’t going to give up a good place just because his roommate kept dropping hints he wanted his special someone to move in and Steve to move out.

Steve would show Eddie the meaning of stubborn.

They bickered like an old married couple constantly and Steve couldn’t exactly say that he hadn’t risen to the bait or caused his own fair share of problems between the two of them either.

Things had only marginally shifted once Eddie had proudly stuck up a flyer advertising the set list for the Pride Parade After Party that his band had somehow been signed to perform at.

When he caught Steve looking at it one morning he’d levelled him with his smuggest smile, like he’d just won some kind of argument. Like he was just waiting for Steve to go on a homophobic rant and run out of the apartment, never to return.

“Got a problem there, Stevie boy?”

Eddie crossed his arms loosely over his chest and leaned back against the kitchen counter with a feral look in his eyes, itching for a fight.

Steve had just turned to him with his sharpest, most cutting grin and lifted open the zippered side of his bomber jacket, revealing his bi pride flag patch sewn to the inner pocket.

“No.”

Eddie had glared at the patch like it had personally offended him before storming off to his room with a scowl.

After that, the barbs thrown at each other had gotten a little more… queer.

After one particularly frustrating argument, Steve had snapped at Eddie “I know how to keep a fucking shower drain clean, Mary.” before snatching his keys up and slamming the door behind him.

When Steve had finally seen fit to talk to Eddie again, nearly two full days later, huffing at him to hurry up in the kitchen, he wanted some coffee, Eddie had turned with the most exaggerated face of surprise and his hands thrown up in shock as he proclaimed, “She speaks!”

Steve had rolled his eyes and grumbled, “Jesus, you’re such a queen.”

Eddie had levelled him with his own cutting smile and responded, “That I am, darling.”

After that their arguments were full of a lot more condescending and patronising ‘Mary’s and ‘sweetie’s and ‘oh, honey’s.

It gave Steve the strangest feeling of companionship. Not only with Eddie, loathe as he was to admit it, but also with the culture and with the queers of old who were still around, who’d had to kick and spit and fight just to be seen.

Eddie had been buzzing around the apartment all day. 

It was A Big Date Night™ apparently. 

He was gonna ask the boyfriend to take a road trip with him back to Indiana to meet Wayne, a big step that he’d never made with a partner before.

Steve liked Wayne. But he liked even more how irritated Eddie was that they spoke. Wayne had called the apartment one day looking for his nephew and when Steve answered he heard the sounds of a game in the background and asked about it.

It was over forty five minutes later Steve turned to find Eddie staring at him with a horrified expression on his face and Steve couldn’t help the evil glint in his eye as he continued to debate Wayne on their favourite players.

But Eddie had left hours ago now and it was getting… late.

Really, really late.

Like four in the morning late and he hadn’t come home yet.

He was supposed to, he needed to be up the next morning for his shift at the nerd shop he worked at and he loved that job. He wouldn't miss it for anything.

Steve wasn’t like, worried or anything.

Not that Eddie needed to be babied, he wasn’t one of his kids. 

He was just… looking out for the safety of another human being.

The only light in the dark apartment was coming from the low glow of the tv and it was so quiet there was barely a sound coming from the speaker. Steve was curled up on the couch, swaddled in a throw and his mind kept drifting. 

He couldn’t pay attention to whatever was playing, his brain just kept catastrophising about what the fuck could have happened to make Eddie so late. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin and simultaneously felt his body unclench when he heard a key in the lock and recognised Eddie's wild head of hair coming into the apartment.

But that didn’t last long because Eddie caught the door before it could close with a loud snap like it usually did, shutting it slowly and softly behind him.

It was alarming because Eddie never remembered to close the door quietly, no matter how much Steve bitched at him. And it wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose, Steve knew that, it’s just that his mind was most often somewhere else, focused on some other thing so that he simply… forgot.

Eddie cursed low to himself as he slumped into the kitchen, pulling the freezer door open and rummaging around for a bit before pulling something out.

He kept his head low, hair spilling out around his face as he jumped up onto the counter and sat. 

He still hadn’t noticed Steve sitting there, watching the whole exchange under the dim flickering light of the television.

It looked like Eddie had snatched up a bag of Steve’s frozen peas. And they were Steve’s. Because Eddie didn’t eat anything green unless it was artificially coloured and covered in sugar.

Eddie squeezed the peas in hand hands, considering, before he muttered to himself, “so fucking stupid” and brought them up to rest on the side of his face.

That kicked Steve into action, unfurling himself from the couch, keeping his throw around his shoulders because it was fucking cold and he padded over to the kitchen in his fluffy socks.

“Eddie?”

Frozen peas scattered, skittling across the tiled floor, landing in the sink, ricocheting off the cupboard doors and clattering off the walls as Eddie jumped violently at the sound of his name, softly spoken as it was. 

He’d snapped his head up and Steve could see, in the dim light of the tv behind him, unusual darkness spreading over Eddie’s face, like a stain on his pale skin.

Eddie tightened his hands again around the now mostly empty bag, looking back down at it. 

“‘M sorry about your peas.” He mumbled.

Steve could only blink in response. 

Eddie wasn’t supposed to mumble. 

He wasn’t supposed to be quiet and subdued and wilted. 

He was supposed to be loud and brash and tawdry and bright.

“I’m gonna turn the light on, okay?” Steve tried to keep any rising panic and worry out of his voice, tried to keep himself calm and level. He could barely just make out the small nod Eddie gave after a beat of hesitation.

The light was harsh and painful after so long spent in mostly darkness and Steve had to squint through his glasses waiting for his eyes to adjust, but when they did he felt his stomach drop.

Eddie's face was scrunched up as he tried to blink through brightness but that wasn’t what caught Steve’s attention. 

Because there was blood crusting on the side of Eddie’s face, settled around his eye and in his hair from a gash over his eyebrow. His lip was split and puffy and swollen and his cheek was slowly blooming from red to purple.

“You should see the other guy.” Eddie grinned with a wince, when he noticed Steve cataloguing, but his eyes stayed distant and sad.

“What…” Steve stepped closer, hovering his hand over the injuries, over his hair. “What happened?”

Eddie shrugged, dipping his eyes back down to the melting bag of peas in his hands. “We had a disagreement.”

Steve looked down too and gently took the peas out of his grip, placing the bag in the sink next to them. 

It was only then that he noticed Eddie’s knuckles were bloodied as well, split and starting to swell.

He had to swallow against the sickening anger coiling in his throat as he closed a gentle hand around Eddie’s cold fingers and he tugged it over to the sink, turning the tap on. 

“Your peas-”

“Fuck the fucking peas, Eddie!” Steve snapped before trying to reel himself back in when Eddie flinched, nearly pulling his hand away but stopping himself at the last moment.

With the softest movements he could manage, Steve got Eddie’s fingers as soapy as he could before slowly working his rings left and right, pulling them off his fingers.

“What are you doing?” It wasn’t quite a whisper but the question was low, almost like a hum.

“Your fingers are going to start to swell soon. I can leave them on if you’d rather have them cut off later?” Steve looked up to see Eddie watching their hands working together under the dribble of the tap. 

He shook his head.

“Well okay then.” He tugged the last ring free and examined them, silver and wet and heavy in his palm. 

There was still some dried blood in the grooves. 

“Did you at least get him good with these?” He gestured to them before placing them carefully to the side and gently towling Eddie’s injured hand dry.

A smirk tugged at the uninjured side of Eddie’s mouth. “You’re damn right I did.”

Steve gave a short sharp nod, placing Eddie’s hand back in his lap. “Good.” 

He moved over to the freezer, pulling out his own cold compress which Eddie hadn’t chosen for some reason and tugging the first aid kit from on top of the fridge.

“So are you going to tell me what happened?” He said, trying to keep his voice even and his posture lighthearted as he laid the stuff out next to Eddie’s leg. He pulled their second drawer open and took a clean dish towel out, running it under the tap.

“Why, Stevie? You worried about me?” Eddie tried to grin but it quickly turned into a grimace as Steve pressed the damp cloth against the cut on his eyebrow, his lips turning down.

“Don’t be precious about it, honey. Just tell me. I’ll never stop pestering you until you do.” He pulled the cloth away and started gently brushing it across Eddie’s skin, trying to remove as much of the dried blood as he could.

“Alright, alright, keep your wig on.” Eddie huffed and pulled his mouth into a frown before shrugging again. ”Well I’m single now.”

Steve managed to keep his hands working, only halting for just a second as the words hit him. “Rick did this?”

“Yep.” Eddie said with a pop. “Everything was going good, you know. Standard date stuff, whatever. Then I asked him to come meet Wayne and he looked at me. Said, and I quote; ‘What exactly do you think this is?’”

Eddie snorted and shook his head. 

Steve was forced to pull the cloth away to stop tugging on the broken skin. “Wait so-”

“So apparently I’ve been seeing this whole thing as more serious than it was. Apparently I’ve been putting feelings where there were none. And get this,” he grabbed Steve’s hand, stalling his movements again and forcing him to look into those giant deep brown eyes, “he’s married.”

Steve felt his mouth drop open in an indignant stare. “No.”

“Yeah. I know, right? I’ve been the other woman this whole time.” He brought his hands up to make air quotes. “Just a bit of fun.” He tongued at his split lip. "And it's my problem, my fault that I didn't figure it out, according to him." He shook his head, forcing Steve to retract his hand from around his eye. "The fucker took his wedding band off every time we met, so…"

Rather than grabbing Eddie gently by the chin, which he was really, quite horrifyingly tempted to do, he instead said, "Be a dear and stop moving."

Eddie levelled him with a glare but there wasn't much behind it, it was all performative even as he tutted and started twisting the chain on his jeans around in his fingers. But he stopped moving his head.

"So how did that lead to this?"

Eddie scoffed. "How do you think, Mary? I got mad."

"Well good. You should've been mad. Did you throw the first punch?"

"Technically?" Eddie hummed in consideration. "Yes. But he had his hands on me before that soo…"

Steve froze, he couldn’t help it. 

What the fuck?

What the fuck?

"In what way?" He kept his voice light but the bright white concern underneath was like a foghorn. 

Eddie shrugged again and turned his head, giving Steve more access to the blood crusted above his ear and into his hairline. 

Then he leaned forward just a little bit more until his forehead was resting against Steve's shoulder.

Steve reached back to pull Eddie's hair out of the way, over the back of his neck so he could clean up his hairline.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, the silence wasn't tense but it wasn't calm either. It was anticipatory. Eddie was building himself up to answer.

"He didn't see a problem with the situation, I mean obviously he didn't see a problem with the situation so he just wanted to… continue, I suppose. We'd been… experimenting with switching before this and he tried to go full dom on me. Kept trying to get me to submit." Eddie's voice had started to shake even though he tried valiantly to keep it down and it made Steve wonder just how long he'd been keeping it down already. 

Steve dropped the cloth off in the sink and brought a hand up, resting it on the back of Eddie's still bent head, making sure not to cage him in, making sure to keep his touches light and gentle but still there if he wanted them.

"I didn't- I didn't want to anymore but he just kept going and I told him he wasn't asking my consent, he was demanding it. He said I had to do what he wanted because he was in charge and that’s how it works-” 

“Eddie, that is not how it works-”

“Yes, thank you, darling. I know that. I told him that wasn't what's done, no matter the dynamics and he was just getting more and more pissed off, like I was ruining his fun and he wouldn’t get off of me so I just… fucking decked him." Eddie laughed, a terrible broken thing. “I thought… I thought we had… it had been so good while… why can’t I have… why does it always have to end like this?”

His voice had become harsher, more defeated as he went on, cracking and pitching along the words until the end. Until a heart wrenching choked off sound was pulled from his throat.

Eddie was weeping softly into Steve’s shoulder and his hands were twitching in his lap, like he wanted to reach out, like he wanted some comfort but didn’t know if he was allowed. 

But he must have decided he didn’t care if he was allowed or not because the next second he’d thrown his arms around Steve’s shoulders and pulled him in tight, sniffling openly and freely into his neck.

Steve took the tiniest of steps closer and wound his arms around Eddie’s middle, bypassing his leather jacket and battle vest, snaking his arms underneath until there was just the threadbare band t-shirt between them.

He ran a hand up and down Eddie’s back as he shook, while Eddie just clutched on tighter.

“Why does it always have to be… why can’t I… why…” a terrible little sob broke out of Eddie’s throat. “Why does no one ever want me the way I want them?”

Steve had to pinch his eyes shut against the pure heartbreak in his voice, coming out halting and thick and so small. 

He just held him tighter, whispering little placating words and small shushes that he felt more in his chest than he did his throat. 

He hesitated for just a moment before placing a light little kiss to the side of Eddie’s head, into his hair. The same kind of kiss he’d give to Robin or one of the kids if they were in the same situation. 

That was all.

“God.” Eddie muttered, pulling back and scrubbing his hands roughly over his eyes and nose, apparently uncaring of his injuries. “Your shirt is fucking disgusting.” He eyed the stains and wet patches and no doubt little traces of blood he’d accidentally left there. “What makes you think that’s an appropriate state to appear in?”

Steve just rolled his eyes, taking the lighthearted jab for what it was, a want to move on, to start snarking again and cracked open the first aid kit. 

“Your face is disgusting.”

“Yeah, well. You’re the one who’s been cleaning me up, sweetheart. So, who’s fault is that?”

He glanced up at the cut over Eddie’s eyebrow. 

“That might need stitches.”

“No stitches, can’t be bothered with stitches.”

“Stitches not punk enough for you?”

Eddie did glare at him for that.

“Don’t even. You know I’m not a punk.”

Steve grinned at him. “No?”

“Steven.”

Even through the heavy talk, Steve relished the sight of the slight smile that had appeared on Eddie’s face and his return to bitchy banter.

“Edward, is there a difference?” Steve shrugged as he fished for supplies in the kit. “Doesn’t seem to be.”

“To you, maybe.” Eddie flicked at a piece of his hair. “God you’re such a… you’re such a jock.”

“Wow,” Steve raised his eyebrows, “let’s add observant to your list of positives.”

“Assho-ow!” Eddie shrieked as Steve pressed a butterfly bandage over the wound.

“You’re a giant pain in my ass.”

“Only if you ask nicely,” Eddie growled at him, irritated and snappy, “you perpetual bottom.”

“Excuse you,” Steve snapped back, “I switch it up. I have versatility."

“Uh-huh.”

“But you gotta admit,” Steve flashed his most charming grin, “it’s a lovely bottom.”

Eddie scoffed but there was a red flush starting to creep up his neck. “S’not like I pay much attention to your bottom.”

“Oh, Eddie,” Steve gave a disappointed sigh, “everyone pays attention to my bottom.”

He didn’t get a response, just a bitchy roll of the eyes.

“You gonna call out of work tomorrow?” He dropped the cloth into the sink and crossed his arms as Eddie leaned back on his hands.

“Why? So you can mother hen me all day? No, thank you.”

“Oh sweetie.” Steve regarded him with mock sympathy. “You think you’d be lucky enough to get my mothering?”

“What if I die in my sleep tonight? You’d be inconsolable.”

“Yeah. Simply devastated.” He said as he all but pushed Eddie off the counter and herded him back to his room.

Part 2 AO3

@augustjustice @geekymagicalpotato @wormdebut (I remember you showing interest for this one but I won't tag you again unless you ask! 😘)

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for her magnificent beta work and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation.

Divider by firefly-graphics

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #penny00dreadful #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #fanfic #pennys anniversary event #robin buckley #enemies to lovers #roommates au #roommates

[lunarw0rks]

By anychance can you write something along the lines of..

Simon x (fem) reader

Simon who goes out to the bar and leaves with the reader but he thinks she's a prostitute (b/c of the way the she was flirting with him)💀 and leave money on the table and she's sumwhats offended when she wakes up but takes the money anyways.. they hook up again.. he leaves money and y/n gets fed up and tells him she's not.. a relationship sumwhat building off of that

"Say cheese!" 🤵🏾‍♀️📸 👩

What You Paid For // Simon!FemReader

Summary: Simon had no shame indulging in escorts, especially ones who make an effort to flirt with him. Only problem? You're not an escort.

Warning(s): explicit content (18+), strong language, smut, oral sex (g.), p^rn w/ little plot, unsafe sex, fem!reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: this took forever omg ;') not proofread, so don't mind mistakes

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? // ao3 ver.

The bar itself is an establishment of contradictions.

The counter is rich mahogany that exudes an air of sophistication, yet its edges are rough and worn, and the crowd is anything but graceful. A collection of vintage chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, but their lighting casts a warm and attractive glow upon the room.

Behind the bar, a vast array of liquors is proudly displayed on ornate shelves, each bottle catching the glint of candlelight. You tap your fingers against the bar, pulling out your wallet. “Champagne?”

The bartender shakes his head, “we’re fresh out, Ma’am, apologies.”

Of course, they’d be out of it, given the sheer amount of people in here. You sigh, blurting out the first common drink you can think of, “I’ll do a Gin and Tonic, then.” You slide a bill across the bar, but there’s another hand—and he’s sliding a greater wad of cash, and quicker.

“Kentucky. Leave the bottle.” The gravel in his voice tells a thousand stories, as does the large shadow he’s casting on you.

You put your cashback in your pocketbook, examining the hand resting on the bar next to you. His forearm is heavily tattooed; skulls, flames, dog tags, the works. “Thanks for paying.” You fist the drink when it’s slid across the bar, finally laying your eyes on him.

His comes shortly after; a burly build, black bomber jacket, and a skull-printed balaclava. Definitely, an appearance you’ll remember with any amount of alcohol in your system.

“Mhm.” His thumb caresses the rim of his glass and his eyes travel you from top to bottom. The man clearly isn’t fond of words, or eye contact for more than ten seconds. It’s obvious he wants something to look at while he works on the bottle, that much is obvious. A man as anti-social as him wouldn’t be standing there if he didn’t want to be.

Your painted lips wrap around the skinny cocktail straw, your tastebuds hit with a mix of bubbles and burn. “You from around here?”

“Here and there.” He’s from Manchester, or somewhere near there, that’s all his vagueness tells you. Can you really be upset at him for eye-fucking you? He hasn’t gotten too close for comfort or gone anywhere near your drink, and those hands, they’re trouble. Though, with a frame like his, you would need to brace yourself before—

Now you’re just getting ahead of yourself. Focus.

You sip some more, a bigger one this time; the drink you ordered is now about half empty. “You don’t belong here, do you?” Perhaps it was the sting in your throat allowing the words to come out more freely.

With a grunt rather than a response, he chugs his shot. “What makes you say that, love?” You can see his cocked brow from under the fabric, and it makes your mind wander again. Going off his lashes, he’s probably got a head of blonde hair. The rest of the ogling? It’s interrupted by his impatient need for an answer.

“You just seem like a… rugged type.” Hot. He was hot.

Needing a distraction, you find the lime slice used as a garnish. If you were being honest, it was a cool-off. You needed to play it cool, try not to scare off the least skittish guy here; something only you could manage. The glug of him pouring another glass replaces his lack of engagement. He lifts the fabric of his mask again, tossing back another. Despite the lack of pacing himself, he’s remained untouched by the shots.

The man smacks his lips slightly, leaning just a bit closer. “Rugged, huh?” You could swear there was a smirk under that mask, and it was driving you insane. Instinctually, you need to find something to occupy your flushed silence with; the lime slice.

You raise it to your lips with a nod at his words, giving the fruit a bite. Your face scrunches from the acidity, though you’ve tried to play it off. Instead of deterring the tension between you two, it only drew attention towards your lips, how they’ve embraced the lime. Some of the citrus pools on your lip, a stray tear dripping down your chin, but you haven’t noticed.

If your goal was to be a tease, consider yourself victorious.

He could practically feel the heat gathering in his core. Though the teasing was unnecessary, it added to your services. They were services, right? The woman he paid for just happened to be an escort—a ravishing one at that.

There wasn’t any shame in indulging, he was never in town for more than a month at a time.

Your fingers find your chin, wiping the juice away with a swipe, not a clue in your mind how arousing that was. “What’s your name?” You have to yell a bit over the bass and lean in closer to his ear. The smell of him is more intoxicating than the array of bottles behind the bar combined.

“C’mon.” He jerks his head in the direction of the door, and he’s already disappeared into the crowd before you can reply. You uncross your legs and get to your feet, slamming the last of your drink before following his path to the door.

You’ve reached the entrance of the bar, still consumed by the volume of the music. Surely, his build would be easy to spot in a crowd. You’re on your toes, neck craned up to see through the crowd, but the other patron’s movements have you dazed and trapped.

Through the paned windows, you spot a shadow cast on the pavement, a still one. Either it’s the nameless man or your flirting sent him running for the hills.

You do your best to shove through the crowd, finally able to breathe when the icy air stings your cheeks. Your panting and searching were cut short by your back hitting a cement wall, an unusually gentle hand placed on your waist to keep you steady.

That scent is suffocating again; mint, tobacco, and whiskey. The nerves of being jerked into an alley settle when your senses answer all the questions.

His thumb rubs a circle against the fabric of your dress, giving some pressure when his voice is heard again. “Simon.” The question you asked in there, is now answered. “Now, answer my question. Either I’m being a knob, or you want something from me, hm?”

His eyes glow in the shadows of the alley and they don’t budge. Of course, you want this, you were only speechless.

You feel yourself nod, though the only sensations you can focus on are his scent and the tingles of attraction his fingertips are causing you.

“Right,” Simon scoffs, slightly pressing his chest closer to yours, “are you gonna take me where you’re stayin’, or are we doing this here?” His head looks left and right, a silent notice of the city oozing with chaotic nightlife.

Your breath is visible in front of you the longer you walk down the street. The hotel you’re staying in is within a minute's distance, and your neediness is thanking you for it. His shadow is close behind, but his head is looking straight ahead, both hands in his pockets.

Finally, the both of you reach the breezeway of the hotel. Simon’s breathing gets heavier, and so close you can feel the breeze against your ear. Large hands slither around your waist, fondling as the electronic beep of your suite door sounds.

The breeze of the heating system clashes with the goosebumps formed on your skin—and they aren’t because of the cold air. His legs nudge yours ahead, daring you to stumble if he didn’t have an arm wrapped around you. He’s so close; the way you had been fantasizing about in the bar from the moment his hand slid across the mahogany.

The bag you were holding finds the floor as quickly as the room door shuts.

Though his hands never leave your waist, he steps in front of you, stopping when the back of his legs hit the end of the bed. His weight settled against the mattress with a groan, then his hands found his belt, impatiently tugging at it.

“Don’t just stand there. Kneel.” His voice is a hungry muffle through the mask, but his amber eyes are all the convincing you needed. With both palms on his toned thighs, your shivering legs buckled until you were level with his bulge.

His fingers peeled back the waistband of his boxers after he shifted his jeans down. Simon wasn’t making an effort of getting entirely undressed, he rarely did. His erection sprung from his boxers, the tip of it dripping in arousal already. Seeing it was much more daunting than visualizing it; intimidating, even. But were you going to get up off the floor? Not a chance.

His fist clamped around his length, giving it a few strokes as he watched your lips intently as if picturing the inevitable lude act ahead of him. The image of the lime juice dribbling down your chin was egging his urges to a high.

You scooted up closer, his inner thighs pressing against your shoulders. Next, your fingers found the base of his length, replacing the strokes of his hands for him. Simon only stared hungrily, lifting the hem of his shirt so it was out of your way. Your lips parted slightly, mouth salivating, as aching and doused as your core. You flattened your tongue along the head, just enough for him to shift his hips ever so slightly. “Don’t be a tease.” His hands grasp around the edge of the mattress, leaning back to get a full view of your tongue teasing his cock.

He says it with such conviction—as if he isn’t the most well-endowed man you’ve gone down on. If you weren’t so blinded by lust, you just might have rolled your eyes at the comment, even come up with some alluring remark about his size. But you’ve occupied your mouth, sliding from his tip to base slowly and mimicking drinking from a straw.

“Fuck…” His curse comes out like a hiss, caged by his gritted teeth. Though it’s only been seconds of your mouth on him, he can’t resist his hands finding the back of your head, nudging forward each pass your warm mouth makes.

Now, the tip of your nose collides with his pelvic bone, a methodical gag with each thrust. Your cheeks hollowed around his thick length, despite the stretch it was to fit him in your mouth. You tease the underside of his cock with your tongue, tracing each vein and small curve with vigor—undoubtedly only multiplying his sensitivity. “You look even prettier like this, swallowing my cock.” Tears have pricked at the corner of your eyes, showing through your hooded stare up at him.

His head pushes increase in speed, and you can feel his tip bruising the back of your throat, causing heavier breaths through your nose. The last thing you’re going to do is tap out for air, not with the attractive sight in front of you. Your scalp burns from the press of his fingertips, but it’s an arousing pain. He’s remained in charge this whole time, but even he can’t conceal his need for release.

Simon’s grunts and groans have grown louder, his head is thrown back, and he’s bucking his hips upward into your mouth to meet his pushes. By now, the muscles in your jaw have given way, enough for you to withstand all the force of his jerks.

“Almost done, sweetheart.” He’s no longer teetering on the cliff of release—he’s there. The hand on the back of your head gives your hair a yank, keeping you in place as he uses his thrusts to finish himself off.

Your eyes flutter shut, hearing the feral moans paired with his hot seed spurting down your throat. “Swallow for me, that’s it.” He watches the muscles of your sore throat muscles constrict and unwind, with no sign of the semen oozing from your lips. Only your own saliva is, a string of it visible when you pull yourself away from his length.

Simon fingers his pocket, finding and pulling out a condom. “Think you can manage this for me?” He presses the jagged corner of the pouch to your wet lips. You sink your teeth into the foil edge, pulling your head back until it rips open. He slides the latex down on his length, stomach still rising and falling from the intensity of his finish.

Before leaning back on the bed, he clamps a hand around your upper arm, pulling you up with him. He shifts himself back to not hang off the edge, re-positioning the both of you with little effort. Then, he lifts up your dress enough to be faced with your soaked undergarments, followed by a slight ‘tsk’ under his breath. You’re eager by this point, now that your tender throat is a constant reminder of what he had been blessed with, and how profoundly you’re yearning for this man.

With some shifting of your legs, you roll the panties off and toss them aside. Once you’ve returned to your original position, hovering over his length as it rests against his stomach, he cocks his head. “You can’t be tired yet, haven’t even touched you.” It’s a mocking, downright patronizing scoff, but it’s bleeding with allure.

You peer down at his twitching length, wrapping your fingertips around the shaft until you’ve guided him in front of your entrance. Simon’s merely enjoying the show, the gears whirling in your head as you work out the mathematics of the act. His tip is being eased by your hands until he feels a small bit of warmth swallowing it, the familiar squelch of your slick core being eased onto his swollen cock. Your eyes flutter shut as you sink lower, feeling both the burn of the stretch and the alleviation of all the aching you felt for him.

His large hands find each of your hips, feeling your shaky hips eventually collapse fully onto his length, gandering a drawn-out groan from his lips. The only part of his face you can see, his eyes; they’ve rolled slightly—now a hooded stare of hunger.

You start to roll your hips, his length is as deep as possible in this position. Each hand resting on your waist rolls up your dress more until everything below your belly button is in his sight. “Knew you would take it all, pretty minx like you.” He mutters, his accent stronger when wasted with ardor.

For now, you’re easing yourself in circles on his length, relishing in the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix. Gently enough to yield no discomfort, but with enough force to kick off the waves of pleasure coursing through you. The burn in your thighs is the only discouraging part about this, only seconds in and your lower half feels weaker.

“Need some help?” He says smugly, an unhurried thrust upwards into you to eliminate your body’s burden of control. The sensation makes you quake, a hushed moan escaping you. It seemed when you were so focused on doing all the work, you hadn’t made a sound. But now, your delight was on full display, deserving to be a stuttering mess by the end of tonight.

His fingers tightened around the fabric of your dress, rutting his hips upwards with more intensity. Your hands switch between grasping the white sheets to palms on his chest, unable to keep upright without the support of a surface. He gives little time for adjustment, only increasing the bucking of his hips with each second. Eventually, your gasps have turned into overwhelmed whines, a fucked-out expression forming on your face.

The sound of skin meeting skin fills the hotel room, overpowered by the sounds of pleasure largely coming from your lips. Simon’s sounds have remained primal grunts and groans, profanities coming through gritted teeth when he bottoms out entirely.

You feel the familiar bubble of release in your abdomen, the clenching of your gummy walls each time he slides in and out of you. His name slips out a few times, gaining an amused, egotistical chuckle. You felt better around him than he could’ve imagined like he was the moment he saw the flesh of your thighs when you crossed your legs at the barstool; the dress fabric constricted them, begging to be wrapped around his waist and bouncing on his cock. And now, he has been granted his short-lived fantasy.

“Keep doin’ that, sweetheart.” Simon tossed his head back again, the sensitivity increasing when you pulsed around him. The warmth around his length, the constriction of your core, the moans of approval—he was doomed to climax again. You’ve gathered enough endurance to move your hips with him. They clash with each meeting thrust, a jolt of electricity every time he pumps so deep. Even if this is cut short by his finish, the feeling of him inside you now is enough.

Your back arches, seemingly stuck with tense muscles as your core endures his drilling. A small portion of your climax has hit you when he changes the angle, making you cry out even louder. He’s gotten shaky and sloppy, and his physical strength is the only thing allowing this amount of speed.

“Gonna—” He begins, rutting with even more aggression, so much you’ve been left at a standstill. His words are cut short by the shake of his thighs, then a slow decrease in his intensity. “Bloody fuck...” Simon’s eyes shut briefly as he finishes, the grip on your waist unyielding until it passes. Your chest heaves above him, his length still embedded deep while you both recover.

The once-arched posture turns into a tired slump, eyes half-lidded as a satisfied sneer spreads on your face. It wasn’t a dissatisfying hook-up, it was one for the books. You can feel his muscles relax beneath you, a twitching cock sliding out of you until it lays flaccid against his inner thigh. His fingers find the hem of your dress and push the fabric back down, and even he’s surprised it didn’t fray from his iron grip.

You swing your legs off him, crawling to the side of the bed occupied with your things. Simon didn’t use many words, and you were too exhausted for them anyways; your legs had turned to putty minutes ago.

You hear the snap of his waistband, then the shuffling of denim being pulled up his firm thighs. With your back turned to him, you don’t see him dig into his wallet and place some bills on the neighboring nightstand, folded in half neatly. Once the suite door shuts behind him, your drowsy eyes have fluttered to a tight close.

————— ୨୧ —————

Things were… complicated when you woke up and saw the money left on the nightstand, next to a scribbled phone number. Were you offended? Yes. Were you flattered? Also yes

Simon wasn’t the type of hookup you just brushed off, enjoy for the night, then forget it ever happened. Vivid flashbacks plagued you the entire morning, as did how you were still wearing last night's clothes, and your makeup had been ruined.

Whoever—whatever he was; he knew how to carry himself.

If you never saw him again, the night would be nothing but an erotic memory. But, it was worth a shot to reach out.

Your finger hovered over the call button for about a minute, hesitancy gnawing at you. He wouldn’t give this to you if he didn’t want you to reach out. Why him, the most mysterious bloke in the bar? Was it too early in the afternoon to contact him? Did you look too available?

Imagining the sensations all over again, that’s what swayed you. Worst case, he refuses the company or doesn’t pick up. 

Each ring had you shaking your head, losing both your dignity and confidence in the bold move.

… “Hello?”

The gravel in his voice told you he had very recently been sleeping off last night’s activities. You practically pinched yourself, cringing at the sound of your own voice when you replied.

“It’s me. I wasn’t sure if I should call right away but… I can’t stop thinking about last night.” You rolled your eyes at yourself, ashamed of the reflection you saw through the hotel mirror. This was ridiculous, right? Downright needy?

A nerve-racking chuckle can be heard as if he was feeding on your humiliation. His voice had a little hint of unsteady as if he wasn’t expecting a call.

“Gave you some sweet dreams, then, huh?” His dry attempt at flirting made your face sizzle with warmth.

His faux self-assurance rang for miles, though it was abundantly clear he couldn’t care less about how he presented himself. What you see, that’s what you get from him.

You liked what you saw. Very much.

“I was thinking,” you began, squeezing the puffy duvet with all your might, “we could get together. Tonight?” You bit down on your lip with so much force, you pricked it with your teeth.

There were a few seconds of silence on the other line, then the faint shuffle within sheets. You impatiently licked away the drop of metallic crimson, expecting the beep of a terminated call.

“Like the sound of that.” His smugness almost had you doing a lap around the hotel room.

You hadn’t the slightest clue what you were in for, but there was not a chance in hell you were bailing on tonight.

————— ୨୧ —————

Why did you feel the need to clean an already spotless hotel room? You didn’t have a clue either. The thought of sending a maid in there had you brainstorming senseless scenarios; the underpaid housekeeper knowing precisely what you were up to.

But you had no reason to feel ridiculous. He agreed, you two were consenting adults, what’s the harm?

Everything looked untouched, almost passable for a vacant room except for your bags. You dug through said luggage and found a more relaxed evening outfit.

He seemed like the punctual type. Looking at the digits on the digital clock, you counted down the minutes. The clock hit six o'clock—then a few additional minutes had you convinced he skipped town.

You almost tumbled off the futon when three faint taps sounded on the door.

6:03 PM

You spread the blinds with two fingers, seeing the familiar broad shoulder resting against the wall, the faint fog of his breath in the bitter evening air. Taking a look in the mirror, you examined your appearance once more—then made your way to the door. With a heavy sigh, the door creaked open, revealing him.

“Hey,” you greeted, stepping aside to let him step in. Any other greeting seemed too formal, yet the one you uttered seemed too relaxed.

You pressed a palm on the flesh of your hips, both hands at your sides after shutting the door. Seeing him so soon, it seemed ludicrous, but his aura was addictive. His boots shuffled against the carpet, footing inside with hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

“Didn’t have to dress nice for me.” Simon sat on the futon, legs spread wide as he leaned against the backrest.

You settled on the bed adjacent to him, shaking your head to shake away the flushed feeling his rasp gave you. “I wanted to,” you replied, looking up from your lap, “do you want to watch something?” You wanted to smack a palm on your forehead. Watch something? Simon knows why you called him here, and you haven’t been exactly subtle.

“You can put something on. Can’t promise I’ll be watching the movie, though.” He said with the slightest glint of eroticism in his eyes. To cope with the urge to tear his clothes off right then and there, you slid the channel list off the end table, entering the most promising one. It was a dated slasher film, interesting enough to keep your attention. You fiddled with the pamphlet for a few seconds, before setting it back on the nightstand.

His stare hadn’t broken, earning a chuckle from you, “what is it?” You question, running a hand over the tucked bedding. Simon wanted you, right then. Why else had you called him? You wanted more business, it was so obvious to him.

“Never met anyone like you.” What he wanted to say was that he’s never met an escort like you. You were selling the whole quality time and date night act well. And he had fallen for it, spending the whole night yearning for another night with you, to be a few hundred dollars less by the end of the night.

You let out a small scoff, keeping your eyes glued to the TV. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment, Simon.” You were, purely because you pictured that cash he gave you. Had it truly been that good of an experience for him? Someone with more than enough practice in the bedroom?

“Take it however you want,” you heard him shuffle, and then his shadow cast on your frame.

You turned your head when you felt a finger tracing your chin, then running along your bottom lip. “As long as I can hear your voice.” His touch made you shiver slightly, sending a rush of head down your hammering chest. So much for warming up with a movie.

The urge to kiss him had never been stronger, but you didn’t dare reach for the fabric concealing his lips. You couldn’t blow this now, not after a day of picturing the second round with him. “You’re giving me those eyes again. You want something?” Your head nodded, though you were speechless from desire. Simon chuckled lowly, admiring your meek effort to answer him.

His hand tightened around your jaw, taking on the role of the commanding figure in the room. “What kind of prick would I be to keep you waiting, then?” His true nature was to give, it was only fair considering how good you were to him the previous night.

The unoccupied hand slid up your thigh until he reached the hem of your shirt, hiking up the fabric until he gave the back of your bra a tug, releasing the hooks until it slid off. His large hands fondled your breasts, running a gentle thumb over the nipple until you produced a soft gasp for him. When he grew impatient, which took little time, he pulled the shirt off your head until your top half was on full display to him.

Slowly but surely, the positions shifted until he was hovering over you on the bed, his knee between your legs. You rocked against it for friction, the pressure of his kneecap pressing on your clothed clit, now slightly swollen from arousal. “A little impatient aren’t we?” He cooed into your ear, the statement plain hypocritical. He couldn’t even sit through a minute of the film you put on before he was looking at you like a piece of meat on a platter.

He picked up the pace of his hands, indulging your impatience. Within seconds, you found yourself on your stomach, the bottoms you were wearing being pulled down with a harsh yank. He lifted each of your legs until you were rid of all your clothes entirely. Now, you were below him and at his mercy; the opposite of last night.

You raised your hips slightly upon feeling his bulge pressed against your ass, a painful tease considering how needy you were. He grasped one of your thighs, spreading them enough to trace his fingers along your core from behind. “Guess I was right.” He purrs into your ear, inserting a finger into your cunt. Simon slowly pumped his finger in and out, adding a second when enough slick pooled down to his knuckles.

His fingers were long enough to stimulate places only your hands could dream of; a foreign, but insatiable sensation to you. You arched your back and writhed feeling the preparation of his fingers, sliding down a hand of your own to circle your clit. But you needed more; he needed more, and he didn’t want you getting sloppy like last night.

Simon withdrew his fingers, snaking one arm around your midsection to keep you in place. “Keep still for me, love.” He murmured straight into your ear, the low octave giving you the chills. Behind you, he tugs at the waistband of his jeans and boxers simultaneously, exposing his stiff length. He could waste time teasing you, it would be so easy with you this desperate. But you didn’t finish last night, and he was aching to feel you come undone around his length.

With one arm still keeping your lower half in place, he guided his cock to your pulsing core, easing himself inside inch by inch. Your breathing hitched, despite this being the second time you felt him stretching you out. Simon eased deeper, until he bottomed out and could feel the bulge of himself through the hand on your stomach.

His thrusts were snappy and deep, his palm pressing on your stomach to enhance the pleasure you were feeling. A spark of pleasure ignited into a consuming wave, making you sputter and mewl at his expense. This was different than last night, not as focused on him, though he was enjoying this just as much. When he went home that night before bed, spending several minutes pumping his length, he was imagining pumping your tight, sticky walls; his fist didn’t compare, not in the slightest. This was too much. But he wouldn’t stop until you finished.

“You’re close aren’t you?” Simon rutted into you with force, moving the hand from your stomach to the base of your throat, pulling you up so your curved back was against his chest. His lips trailed along the back of your neck, peppering sloppy licks and kisses on your prickled flesh.

Your eyes widened slightly at the realization—he had lifted his mask, maybe even taken it off his head completely.

His saliva coated your neck in small spots, adding to the array of sensations, similar to a violent whiplash of pleasure. It was like the previous night, waves of pleasure with each of his slamming thrust into your needy core. Your gummy walls pulsed around him, drawing groans and rolls of his eyes, a slight nibble on your earlobe to keep his approaching climax contained.

Your words were an inconsolable quake by this point. “Fuck— Simon—” A hushed sniggle came through Simon’s agape lips, urging him to make one final move to push you over the edge. He slithered his hand from your throat until it found the nape of your neck, pushing your upper body forward so only your hips remained raised. The switch allowed him to hit an even deeper angle, his balls slapping against your rear with each deafening thrust.

Though his hands were firm when folding you, his words remained gentle and praising, as if he was enjoying them himself. “Gonna cum for me, hm?” He teased with a deep inhale, both hands now thrusting your hips backward onto his length—not easing up on his intensity.

Fire pooled in your lower abdomen, like a swirling inferno going to burst any second. Everything seemed to burn, with the exception of your core. Your muscles ache and contract, a thin layer of sweat formed on your skin, the indents of his fingertips seared doomed to be seared into your memory for days following.

All the building, tight churning; it shattered within seconds of his relentless pounding. You let out a choked sob of pleasure, squeezing your eyes shut as you writhed and twitched around his cock. The deepness of his thrusts, the speed of them, doomed you to the prolonged climax you were expecting.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” the firm hand on your nape releases once your high ceases, “so good for me.” It seemed the moment you hit your own breaking point, he lost all the stamina he had used to prevent his own. Only seconds later, his thrusts had turned sloppy and slow, easing in and out until he drained every last drop of his seed inside you.

What once was a heat from your high, it was now the warmth of his semen pooling inside of your core, seeping out the slower he went. Your hips remained raised, though your thighs burned and shook from the intensity of the activity. When Simon’s hands withdrew from your hips, you rolled onto your side as he removed his sensitive cock.

By the time you turned to face him, the balaclava had already been pulled down over his face again. If you weren’t so vividly focused on the sensations, you might’ve forgotten about how his lips felt. There was no way, not after he made you finish like that.

He tucked his length into his boxers, then pulled up his jeans again, but didn’t bother to button them up again. “How much do I owe you, love?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, peeling away apart his stacks of cash.

You were so caught up in the moment previously, you forgot to mention the elephant in the room. You weren’t an escort, just a woman who hit the hookup lottery. ��You know I’m not a hooker, right?” You sat up in the bed, finding the spare quilt and wrapping it around your naked frame.

“Should I be offended?” You questioned again, filling his stunned silence. He was trying to conceal his shock, but his freeze said it all.

He folded his wallet again, tucking it away with a silent glare. Now, you were just plain apprehensive about his answer. At first, the money was flattering, that you were that good for him. But now? What if all he thought of you was a hussy he found in a pub?

When he noticed your crumbling humor about the situation, he scrambled to place a hand on your waist, “this is my bad. You were just— you were plain amazing, sweetheart. I thought you were an over-qualified escort, not some…”

Wow. That could’ve come out better.

The faltered confidence now turned into a grimace, a playful one. His scramble to correct himself, to ensure he didn’t hurt your feelings—it was charming. You couldn’t conceal your snicker as he leaned close, eyes swallowed with guilt.

“I’m not upset, Simon. Not anymore, at least.” You retorted, holding the hand that was on your waist.

Simon let out a sigh of relief, eyes studying you for any sign of doubt. His fingers caressed the fabric of the quilt, brows knitted together with half-seriousness.

You chuckled at his brooding exterior, his whole-hearted attempt at swaying you into being irate. “Was I worth the money?”

He nodded his head sluggishly, the fabric over his mouth shifting as he gave a smirk. “I don’t think any bloke can put a worthy price on that.”

#mw2 #mw2 fanfic #call of duty #simon riley #task force 141 #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #task force 141 x reader #simon riley smut #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n

[hihhasotherfixations]

John Price headcanons sfw & nsfw

I don’t usually do headcannons so please bear with me 👉👈

I hope you enjoy them tho :3 Will I use many of these in my writing? Yes, yes I will. These are both in general as well as him with you ;3

Part 2

Sfw:

He has an entire routine for his beard. Keeps it trimmed regularly and takes very good care of it, which causes it to feel very nice and soft to the touch.

Absolutely LOVES when you’re the one doing it though. It’s a small act of love that he can never get enough of. Whether you’re the one trimming it or just putting some products in. It’s a moment where he can sit on the bath rim and have you stand between his legs - or the other way around where he props you up on the sink and stands in between your legs. He just places his hands on your hips and closes his eyes, trusting you with something so important to him. It’s a very intimate thing that he treasures.

He has reading glasses. I won’t budge on this. Square(rectangle) ones with a very thin frame. Tends to forget whenever he puts them on his head and proceeds to go searching for them for five minutes.

He is very warm blooded. Always runs hot like a furnace. A blessing in the winter, a curse in the summer. Especially because he loves to cuddle.

Has a little trinket on his desk representing each of the 141 (+ Nik, Laswell and Farah). Be it a gift they gave to him or something that reminds him of them. There’s something for everyone. It clutters the edge of his desk a bit but it’s worth it because whenever the paperwork gets too much, he can just look at the little shrine he built and smile.

His love language is physical touch and quality time. While he loves giving you gifts and being romantic too, nothing beats holding you in his arms while you cuddle on the couch or in bed.

Speaking of- this man absolutely adores you. He doesn’t think he deserves the love you give him because of the things he’s done in his life. But every day he sees you, you prove that you do love him and he wants to return that love twice over.

His biggest fear is coming home after deployment to an empty house. Finding a letter on the table stating you can’t wait for him any longer. He’d understand, of course. But it would crush him.

While we’re on the sad train already- he suffers frequent nightmares due to PTSD. Feels really guilty for waking you up but also can’t stop himself from seeking your comfort after one of them - craving it. If you allow him to (he wouldn’t bring it up unless you suggested it), he’ll call you if he’s out on deployment or at base. Give him that privilege to phone you awake just to comfort him? There is nothing that man won’t do for you anymore.

He is terrified of being the one to leave you too though. He knows that if he’s ever faced with the option to sacrifice himself for one of the 141, he would. But it also breaks his heart because it would mean he’d leave you for them. He tries not to think about it like that, but it’s a constant conflict in his mind.

While he’s probably more likely to be a dog person, I can also really see him with cats just curled up on his chest. Once again, this man is always warm. The little felines will search him out like a bloodhound, preferring him over laying by the radiator.

THIS 👏 MAN 👏 CAN 👏 COOK 👏

And he loves to do it too. His idea of a hobby is either reading, building models or cooking. You can often find him in the kitchen with a cook book, making a five star meal. Loves to see your reaction to the taste of it, makes him proud of himself.

Also, yeah, he likes building models :3. Miniatures. In his spare time you can find him on the couch, bent over the coffee table with his reading glasses perched on his nose while he’s building a ww2 bomber plane out of matchsticks from some random pattern he found online. He has very steady hands and it causes the models to always look fantastic. His best and biggest work is a ship in a bottle from a kit you gave him for an anniversary between you two. He only works on that in short increments to make sure he doesn’t screw it up - it’s about 2/3 done. You’ve repeatedly tried to get him to share his work online but he always gets bashful and refuses.

If he ever got the chance to do it together with the team though?? He’s gonna be beaming about that single evening for a week straight.

His favourite colour is dark green, like the forests :)

This is less of a headcannon and more just snippets of canon proof that I found. But he can speak English, Russian, Arabic and Spanish. Maybe even more.

He’s a tea person. Can’t stand coffee. It’s not about the taste, simply that every time he tried it, it gave him a headache.

When he first introduced you to the team, he was very nervous. Really wanted them to like you. So when Soap immediately took you into a hug and thanked you for ‘taking care of the old man’, followed by Gaz introducing himself with a warm smile and a praising regalia of the things he’d heard from Price, he couldn’t be happier. And when he at one point saw you at the kitchen table with Ghost, talking calmly and laughing with the hulking man who’s tension had dropped from his shoulders? He knew you were the one.

Loves going on double dates with Laswell and her wife too. You’re all good friends and it’s a chance to truly unwind and just catch up with Kate outside of work.

Please for the love of all that is holy, take a bath or shower with him. He ADORES them. Really wants so bad to take care of you. Will do your whole cleaning routine for you if you let him. If it’s something he’s not used to? Teach him, he’s very eager to learn.

All in all, this man just loves you so much. He finds himself so so lucky that you chose him of all people as your partner. Whether you’re civilian or military, he’ll protect you with life and limb. Literally.

So, those were the sfw thoughts bouncing in my head. I hope you liked them. Now we’re moving onto the spicy stuff. Please respect the banner, thank you and more stuff for this man is coming! ^^

Nsfw:

He is an ass man. All the way. Don’t get me wrong, he LOVES your thighs, seeing the way his fingers indent the flesh when he squeezes, being buried between them - it’s heavenly. But there is just something about your ass that he can’t get enough of. If his eyes aren’t on it, then his hands are.

He won’t randomly smack your ass - doesn’t really sit right with him, doesn’t find it proper (except for certain situations ;3). But dear god does he always have a hand on your ass to squeeze if he gets the chance. Walking somewhere together? If he can, he’ll slide his hand from your back/waist down to your ass and hold there. Sitting on his lap? You already know it, his hand is on your ass, keeping you in place. Brushing past you? One hand on your waist, one hand on your ass while he apologises and squeezes past.

A gentle over a rough lover. While he can go both ways, he prefers to go slow and deep. Watching your face contort in pleasure as he fucks you, hearing every noise you make.

This man is an absolute pleasure dom. He gets off on seeing you get off. There’s plenty of nights where he solely focuses on you and doesn’t cum himself.

Doesn’t like the word daddy but for the love of god PLEASE use honorifics. Call him captain and sir and you’ll have an entirely different man on your hands.

Prefers giving over receiving oral. There’s just something about working his tongue and mouth on you that never fails to make him groan against you - even if his mouth is otherwise occupied.

Will always properly prepare you. He doesn’t like hurting you. He’s big and he knows it so he doesn’t want to take any chances.

While he doesn’t mind quickies (in his office is a favourite), he prefers the actual thing. Like stated before, he wants to focus on you and give you all the pleasure he can and a quicky just doesn’t allow for that.

For those instances where you rile him up enough to forego his gentler side however? He knows how to work you. He can push every button you have and have you seeing stars while he fucks the life out of you. Don’t expect to be standing on strong legs the day after.

Man has stamina for DAYS. Prefers to make you cum multiple times before he cums himself. Need a moment in between orgasms to recover before you can go again? That’s okay, you can cockwarm him while he waits.

Speaking of cum. It’s thick, potent and by god he cums a lot. Properly stuffs you if you let him.

Big on marking you. Loves leaving bites, hickeys and handprints. Give him the same too. Scratch marks, bite marks, hickeys. He loves checking his body over in he morning to see what you left.

He has quite the libido on him. He can’t help it, you’re the most inviting and enticing thing in his eyes. Bend over to pick something up and his cock can already be hardening in his pants.

He’s very considerate of your wants and needs though. If you don’t want to have sex, he’ll cuddle you and hold you instead. If you’re not into a certain thing, he’ll refrain on doing it next time. Very much wants to make it a time of pure pleasure and love for you, because that’s what it is for him too.

Very into kisses. Sloppy, long kisses where you moan and whine into his mouth. Better yet if you muffle your moans in his mouth while he fucks you.

Favourite positions are missionary, mating press, doggy style, lotus and spooning sex. He loves them for different reasons.

Missionary because of how close he can be, feeling your legs wrap around his waist while all of him touches all of you.

Mating press because of how deep he can hit and keep such control. He can see your face contort in pleasure while folding your legs up and holding you down.

Doggy style is obvious as to why. But he also really loves watching the way your back arches with this one. He can hold onto your hips and just let his eyes rove your body.

Lotus he loves a lot when cuddles on the couch evolve into more, or when he’s in his office and the need arrises for you both. Just having you seated on his lap, your legs around him, body pressed so closely into his while he gently fucks up into you? Heaven.

Spooning sex? You mean cuddles + sex? Hit. Him. Up. He absolutely loves fucking you like this in the morning. Lazy, tired, properly waking each other up with pleasure.

If you’re into it and allow him to, he’d even actually wake you up like that. Big on somnophelia like that for the thought of pulling you out of your dreams and your sleep with pleasure. If he gets to the stage where he’s opened you up and his cock is filling you without you waking up until then, he’s oh so proud of himself. Would only do it if you’re comfortable though.

Very big on cockwarming. Watch a movie together on the couch and let him rest his cock in you from behind. Can evolve into spooning sex on the couch while making you try to keep your attention on the movie. His hand on your chin, keeping your face pointed to the screen while he whispers against your ear.

I said it before, he’s big. Long and thick and knows how to use it well. He’s a very hairy man all over but he keeps it neatly trimmed down there.

The h a p p y t r a i l of this man. Run your nails over it and it instantly sends blood rushing into his cock.

Overall, John will fuck you whenever he gets the chance. And by the gods he will show you what it’s like to be truly worshipped.

Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to interact or send me any asks, I’d love to chat ^^

Part 2

#john price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #cod x reader #price headcanons #call of duty mw2 #cod mw #price mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare x reader #nsft headcanon

[fluentmoviequoter]

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!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

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.”

#tim bradford x reader #hanna writes✯ #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford fic #tim bradford #tim bradford the rookie #the rookie abc #requests #fem!reader #speed 1994

[whatsnewalycat]

like a moth(man) to a flame(thrower)

pairing: frankie “catfish” morales x f!reader

summary: just a deeply self-indulgent meet cute with frankie at a halloween house party.

rating: t

words: 900+

warnings: drinking alcohol, party

notes: happy halloweeeeen!

—

In lieu of red solo cups, a long-standing tradition in house party lore, your cousin opted to get black solo cups. Which was a nice touch, you had to give it to her.

You picked one off the tall stack and wrote your name on it in metallic sharpie. As you ladled the crimson “fangria” into your cup, someone dressed as Richard Simmons bounced through the cramped kitchen behind you on their way to the basement.

Sound erupted from downstairs when they opened the door, a racket of inebriated conversation and Monster Mash by Bobby "Boris" Pickett & The Crypt Kickers, then dampened when they closed it.

A skunky odor hit you after a two-second delay. You turned to look at the door, taking a sip of the fruity wine concoction, and considered joining the livelier half of the party. The floorboards beneath your feet bumped from the bass, as if trying to convince you.

If you didn’t taken one more look around before submitting to its call, you might’ve missed him.

This guy, leaning against a dining room table with his arms of his bomber jacket crossed over his powder blue hoodie. Army green cargo pants, sunglasses, a flame thrower strapped to his back. Even the big, dumb cowboy hat thing. It caused you to burst out laughing, recognition tickling your fancy.

He did a double take, only a glance at first, probably just sourcing the noise. But his attention quickly returned, alongside a crooked smile, lingering on you for a few seconds before he turned back to his conversation with an eerily spot-on Jason Voorhees.

Your pulse skittered. There was something in the way he did this. Intent.

Only another moment went by before he parted ways with Jason and started towards you.

Acting casual, he grabbed a cup from the tower and wrote his name on it, asking you, “How’s it going?”

“MacReady.”

He raised his eyebrows in question, “What?”

You pointed to his getup, “The Thing, right?”

“Oh!” Understanding brightened his features. A big, charming smile spread across his face when he looked down at himself, nodding, “Yeah, MacReady from The Thing.”

“I love it,” you grinned.

“Thanks.”

Drifting a little closer, he studied your costume. Confusion creased his forehead. He tilted his head up slightly and tugged on your feather antennae, as if trying to pluck a clue from it.

“You are… a, uhhh—” he frowned and shook his head, “I don’t know, a scary moth?”

“Mothman.”

“Mothman?”

“Right, mothman.”

“Never heard of him,” he chuckled as he filled his cup. Taking a sip, he leaned back against the counter, even closer. His gaze felt hot on your cheeks. He said, “You look nice, though.”

“Thanks,” your eyes dropped to his cup and you read his name aloud, “Frankie.”

“You’re welcome.”

You licked your lips, then told him, “That’s one of my favorite movies. The Thing, I mean.”

“It’s a classic.”

“Ok, sorry—I need to talk about this costume more. You have a fucking flamethrower and everything. And the hat—” You giggled and gave the visor of the floppy hat a playful smack, “It is ridiculous.”

Drifting a little closer, he chuckled and held up the business end of the flamethrower, “You know how many people have asked me if this is real tonight?”

“How many?”

“None. And that’s a goddamn travesty.”

“Uh-huh,” you smirked, meeting his eyes through the sunglasses, “Well, is it real?”

He smiled and shrugged, “Maybe.”

“Maybe yes or maybe no?”

“Maybe yes.”

“Shut the fuck up, are you serious?”

He nodded.

“Can we light shit on fire? Oh my god, please? My cousin has a fire pit—”

“Whoa, slow down, Sparky. The tank is empty.”

You deflated, shaking your head as you murmured into your cup, “What a tease.”

Frankie laughed, “A tease, really?”

“You can’t tell a gal you’re sporting a real flamethrower then not set shit on fire with it.”

Shaking his head, he said, “Tell you what, give me your phone number, we can set up a time for me to show you how to use it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Heat rose to your cheeks and you smiled, “Really?”

He dug into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, then handed it to you.

As you saved your contact information to his phone, you said, “I know this might just be a cute thing you’re saying to get my phone number, but I fully expect you to follow through.”

“You have my word.”

When you gave back his phone, his hand brushed up against yours, and something sparked inside you. He tucked the phone into his pocket. You felt him staring at you, and glanced down at his mouth as his tongue peaked out to wet his lips. For a moment, the two of you stood there quietly, letting static build between your bodies, pulling you closer.

The door to the basement swung open, filling the room with Thriller by Michael Jackson. A worse-for-wear Hollywood Hulk Hogan stumbled up the stairs into the kitchen and closed the door behind him.

He squinted between you and your new friend, swaying a little, then recognition kicked in and Hogan yelled, “FISH!”

“Jesus Christ, Benny,” he muttered in response, setting down his cup to start towards him, “You can barely stand.”

“I’m fffffine,” Benny swatted at his friend.

“Let’s get you home.”

He let out a dramatic groan, but accepted Frankie‘s arm slung around his back.

Frankie looked at you, eyebrows knit together, apologies written all over his face, and asked, “Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.”

You both lingered there for a moment, despite the dead weight hanging off one side of him, then he said, “It was nice meeting you.”

His voice was low and sultry. It heated you from the inside.

“You too,” you grinned wide and nodded, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He returned the smile, then glanced over at his friend, “Alright, drunk ass, let’s go.”

#frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #meet cute #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic

[sbdskate]

Laws of Attraction (Part 3) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, sexual themes, NSFW for a hot sec

Word Count: 2,604

A/N: It’s been a while! I’m sorry I’ve been MIA, work/life took over. Thank you everyone who read Parts 1 and 2, and thank you for your patience. I realize there is likely going to be a part 4, and given the ~significant~ break I apologize for the cliff hanger. Friendly reminder that this is still new to me, so I appreciate any and all feedback both positive and constructive. Enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue 1

You were thankful for the two-week break, again hoping the distance would subdue your growing crush. Much to your dismay, you had inceptioned yourself. The seed of physical attraction developed into more despite every attempt to nip it in the bud. To make matters worse, he texted you twice a day every day while you were away: one work related and one miscellaneous – a cute dog he saw cross the street, a yummy meal he had, a song he thought you might like, other general statements of opinion. Eventually the latter turned into plans for the U.S. grand prix. You didn’t quite understand his fascination with the whole cowboy americana aesthetic, perhaps because you grew up in the states so you were disillusioned to it. But it made him happy which you found endearing. He had asked for your input when he was undecided on which boots to get, and excitedly texted you pictures of an American flag bomber jacket and ostentatious belt buckles. You shot him with a few pleasant but short responses, whatever sparks joy or love that journey for you. Two days before press day though, you received a message that made you question your entire career path.  

DR: Can I bring a horse to press day? You blinked a few times at your phone.

Y/N: To clarify, you want me to research FiA rules to see if you can bring a horse to the paddock and I will get paid for that time?

DR: Yes [insert horse emoji]

You swore this would be your last celebrity client. You couldn’t believe you went to law school for this.

Y/N: Yes, you can bring a horse. It just needs a badge pass like any other guest which you would need to submit 24 hrs in advance.

DR: What if you don’t know the horse’s name?

Y/N: Press day is in two days and you don’t actually have a horse?

This was by far the strangest client interaction you had ever had. First you were in disbelief from the initial question, and now here you were less than an hour later incredulous that your client didn’t actually have a horse lined up for his arrival to the circuit in forty-eight hours. Oh how the turn tables.  

DR: Well I just thought of the idea, so no.

Y/N: It’s a horse, Daniel. I’m pretty sure you can just make up a name, it’s not like it’s going to perjure itself.

So when you got there for press day in your pink suit, prepared for meetings with other teams to discuss reserve seats, it took everything in your power to keep a straight face as Daniel strode in on Horsey McHorseface, with handler and country singer in tow. As a human being with a soul, it was objectively hilarious and you loved that he gave zero fucks, understanding that this very well may be his farewell tour. As his attorney though, you wished he had gone something for a little more subtle. He tipped his cowboy hat and winked as he passed you. You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes, but your body was on fire. The whole stunt was absurdly corny, it shouldn’t have done anything for you and yet you were undeniably turned on.

You went about your respective days, yours’ filled with back-to-back team meetings. You should have been laser focused, but you struggled to maintain your composure as you fought off visions of Daniel’s mustache adorned face between your legs. You reconnected at the end of the day so the two of you could debrief to discuss your findings. You kept your eyes on your notes in the hopes that avoiding his gaze would keep fantasies of you riding him like a show pony at bay. Flashbacks of the gentle roll of his hips on the horse threatened your demeanor, but you pushed through. Thankful to have made it through the exchange with your dignity mostly intact, you made your way towards the door when you thought the meeting had ended. However, you realized Daniel wasn’t moving.

You waited in the doorway, turning to face him. “Are you coming?”

He paused. “I actually wanted to ask you something.”

You closed the door again, thinking he had more questions about Red Bull or Mercedes. “You can ask me anything. What’s up?”

He took a deep breath. “…Do you want to come to the race on Sunday?”

You chuckled, assuming he was simply nervous about the race. “You know I come to all your races, it’s good facetime with the other teams.” You gave him a reassuring smile. Could you sense nerves?

“I know! Which is great. But I meant… as a guest. I thought maybe you could leave the work at home for a day. Consider it a thank you for all your hard work.”

“Oh.” Your breath caught in your throat. Your mind went through every worst case scenario, trying to think of an out. You drew a blank.

“Oh what the heck. Twist my arm, I suppose I could swing it.” You did your best to suppress your eagerness, despite feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. He grinned, but not before your phone rang. “Ah shoot it’s Joe. I gotta go, but I’ll see you Sunday!”

You passed Lando on your way out who suggestively wriggled his eyebrows at you, seeing both you and Daniel with dumb smiles plastered on your faces. You jokingly flipped him off as you continued your conversation with your boss.

-

You decided to leave the suits at home since you technically weren’t in client meetings. The Texas heat was oppressive – you wanted to be comfortable but not scandalous. You didn’t think the denim short/cowboy boot combo would be appropriate, and it really wasn’t your thing anyways. Instead you settled on a flowy yellow midi sundress. You stared at your work tote longer than you should have. Rarely did you go anywhere without it, you were paid handsomely in part because you were available 24/7. Throwing caution to the wind, you grabbed a small crossbody bag instead.

You made your way over to Daniel when you arrived at the paddock. He looked concerned as his eyes traveled over the crowds.  

“Everything ok?”

“Oh, I was just looking for my lawyer, not sure if you’ve seen her. She’s about yay-tall, wearing a stuffy suit.”

You wrinkled your nose at his jab at your casual outfit, you lightly shoved him. “Very funny. I know it’s shocking but I do own and wear other clothes when I’m not working.”

“I wasn’t aware you didn’t work,” he jested.

“If we’re being technical about it…I can still get emails on my phone.”

In the midst of a comfortable chuckle, his hand found its way to the small of your back as he walked you to where you would be watching the race. You felt electricity course through you at the soft touch. You debated on whether to remove it, but decided it was an innocent enough gesture.

You both stopped when you got to Lando and his girlfriend. Realizing who you would be enjoying the day with, the optics of all of this began to dawn on you. It was too late to back out now.

“Well, this is where I leave you. You two behave yourselves.”

“No promises!” Luisinha called after the boys. You gave Daniel a small smile and wave as they walked away, your confidence shrinking. Luisinha, a literal model, was even more stunning in person. Internalized insecurities you thought you moved past long ago made themselves comfortable in your mind. You were proud of the person you had grown into, inside and out. You were all about women supporting women and you knew you shouldn’t compare yourself to her, nor did you have any reason to. All the same, you felt small and insignificant next to her. It also made you realize even if you were not his lawyer, there was no way in a million years you had a shot with The Daniel Riccardo, charming world renown Formula 1 driver who had his choice of any woman on the planet.  

It was a humbling realization, which ultimately boded well for you. In setting your delusions aside, you resolved to have a lovely day of racing with hopefully a new friend and nothing more. You felt a calm rush over you and relished in the freedom that came without the weight of expectations.

You turned to Luisinha with a warm grin. “Hi, I’m y/n.”

-

Unfortunately, the good company did not translate to a good race. You were happy for Lando who placed a strong 6th, but with all the hype leading up to it, Daniel had only finished 16th. You heart broke for him as you waited by while he gave his post race interviews, his signature smile notably absent. He excused himself after the last interview, and you silently followed him. When you caught up, you found him sitting on the floor in quiet corridor, his back against the wall and his head in his hands. Saying nothing, you sat down next to him. The two of you remained like that for a while, a quiet understanding silently exchanged.

Eventually you check the time. The beginning of the weekend had held the promise of potential, with big plans to hit the town to match. But in a death by a thousand cuts, today’s race delt a final blow to the driver’s confidence. You were sure at this point a party of any kind was the last thing Daniel wanted. You cautiously broke the silence.

“I’m sorry about the race. We don’t have to do anything you’re not up for.”

He briefly hesitated, but weakly smiled for the first time since that morning. “Are you joking? I’m not passing up a chance to go out in my favorite city. I can rally, promise.”

You gave him a knowing glance, understanding he was putting on a brave face. What for, you couldn’t tell.

“Well, you have six hours left of work-free y/n. I’m at your disposal.”

“What happens in six hours?”

“I turn into a pumpkin,” you quipped. You bumped shoulders and smiled. With that, he stood up first and offered his hand to pull you to your feet. Without letting go, he started walking.

“Excuse me, where are we going?”

He chimed back with a line you had heard before: “I know a place.”

-

You ended up in a dive bar with some of the other drivers and their significant others. It was the first time you had met a lot of the others aside from Lando. Perhaps it was because they weren’t your clients, but you found yourself somewhat starstruck. It’s not that you hadn’t seen them around the paddock, but it felt like the first time you were truly brushing elbows with them. You were sure Lewis couldn’t have such flawless skin up close, nor could Carlos’ hair be so voluptuous, yet there they were in the flesh right next to you. You needed a drink to loosen up, and the McLaren crew had had a rough day. Coming in hot, you ordered a round of pickle back shots.

Luisinha was equally fascinated and disgusted. “What is this again? And why are there two? And why is one… green?”

“First you do the shot of whiskey, and then you chase it with a shot of pickle juice. The pickle juice neutralizes the burn from the whiskey and it has electrolytes so it’s kind of healthy!” She hesitantly sniffed the pickle juice and grimaced. You laughed, “Don’t ask questions, just drink. You’ll love it!”

A few more shots and beers later, your inhibitions had dissipated and you were dancing sloppily with Luisinha, feeling the base from the live band through the soles of your shoes. Work, for the first time in months, was the furthest thing from your mind. As you twirled and jumped and sang off key to your heart’s content, you failed to notice the familiar presence of your client approaching.

“Is it ok if I join? I come bearing gifts,” Daniel asked as he shimmied his way into your circle, handing out another round of beers. You can’t help the ear-to-ear smile that makes its way to your face.

“Come dance with us!” you shout over the sound of the bar. Luisinha raises an eyebrow. You both got along swimmingly during the race, and in that time you had clearly conveyed to her that you were Daniel’s lawyer and nothing more. “I’d get on that if I were you,” she teased at the time. You had laughed it off and dismissed it immediately. But seeing the two of you now with your rosy cheeks and lazy smiles, she was fully invested in stirring the pot.

The night’s debauchery continued, Luisinha secretly observing your exchanges. So when Lando tried talking to Daniel about race things, she not-so-discreetly intercepted.

“Honey, why don’t we go grab some more drinks?” Lando, clearly confused, was not picking up what she was putting down.

“What? But I just got us another rou-“  

“Pleeeaaase, I’m so thirsty I need some water!” At this point she simply grabbed his wrist and dragged him away, but not before throwing a wink in your direction.

In your drunken stupor, you weren’t exactly picking up what she was putting down either. All you knew was that you were having a blast. So you decided to keep dancing with Daniel, ignorant to the fact that the crowd had begun to thin. It started with the two of you attempting and failing miserably at line dancing. Which led to you trying to teach him square dancing that you learned in the fifth grade. You lost track of how many times you stepped on each other’s feet and between fits of laughter, you didn’t realize how your hands were comfortably intertwined or the distance between your bodies decreasing.  

He spun you away and back in. As you twirled into him a final time, your chests crashed into each other and your hand landed on his shoulder while his found its way to your waist. It was only in that moment with your faces inches apart that you became suddenly aware of your proximity. Feeling his breath tickle your face, you felt like your heart was going to beat its way out of your chest. Your gaze lowers to his plump lips then back to his eyes, counting the freckles. Your laughter slowed, unsure of what was so funny a minute ago.

You broke eye contact to look at the hand resting on his shoulder. What happened next felt like an eternity, but likely only lasted a few seconds. In one moment, you were relishing the feeling of his strong muscles under your touch and the warmth emanating from him, taking note of the rise and fall of your chests in unison, your pulse extending to the furthest reaches of your fingertips. Then, in a quick turn for the worst, your eyes fell to your wrist. According to your watch, you should’ve turned into a pumpkin two hours ago. The haze of the day and the bar and the alcohol lifted, reality quickly setting back in. In a sobering moment, you met his eyes again desperately trying to telecommunicate what you couldn’t put into words. Was he aware of the delicate bubble you two had created for yourselves? Did he realize how fragile it was? Did he know it just burst?

You stepped away from him. “I’m sorry,” was all you could muster before you turned and left.   

#daniel ricciardo #dr3 #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #danny ric #f1 x reader #dr3 x reader #f1 x oc #f1 #reader x dr3 #reader x f1 #slow burn #lawyered #formula one fanfiction #laws of attraction

[octuscle]

Help!

I'm tired of being a skinny loser with no muscle. I wanna be a confident bro. I'll trade anything!

Really everything? Everything you own? Ever heard of DeepTraining? Actually, you must belong to the mega-rich of this planet to undergo a transformation there…. But IronData is sponsoring transformations for high school graduates, freshmen and sophomores. You just have to get through the selection process first. And you then commit to IronData for ten years after graduation though. And you really have to give away EVERYTHING you own to IronData. In return you can undergo the normal DeepTraining process. And IronData provides you with a starter package. Interesting? Then I send you the link for the application.

The selection process will take place in Lansing, Michigan. At the Red Roof Inn, a rather shabby motel. Not your world. Your R8 Spyder V10 quattro looks a bit lost in front of it. It was a last gift from your parents before they crashed their private jet. A beast. You love it. The motel doesn't have a real lobby. But there are a few fellows standing around. Every now and then, the cell phone of one of them signals and the owner walks wordlessly in the direction of the hotel rooms.

Your iPhone 15 Pro vibrates. "Please make your way to room 322." Okay, here we go. You knock. The door opens. No one there, a notebook on the desk. On the screen a form with the general terms and conditions. Seems to be what you have already received by e-mail. You click "I agree". And then you write on the screen. After that, there are a lot of tests. Intelligence tests. Personality tests. For a full three hours. Without a break. Then a window pops up. "Congratulations, you meet the requirements for our program. If you wish to participate in our program, click on 'Accept'. After that, go to room 118, and the transformation will start in half an hour." Fuck! Now? Right now? No one knows you're here. You didn't sign out anywhere. But this is your chance. You know that. You click on "Accept". And you go to room 118. A voice sounds "Please strip completely naked and proceed through the door." Okay, now there's no way back. The next room looks like a simple hotel gym. "Please put on the prepared clothes." Sure enough, there are jockstraps, sweatpants, a tank top, socks and sneakers. And a cap. And a pendant on a leather strap. You put it all on. There's a mirror. It looks ridiculous on your skinny body. "Please proceed to the cross trainer. The first workout will last 30 minutes. An aerosol comes out of nozzles on the ceiling. The light is dimmed. Loud hip-hop music blares from the speakers. Every now and then there is a command to change the machine. You work out to total exhaustion. Then the light goes on and the music goes off. The door to the first room opens again. You go in. And first you have to sit down. And you look in the mirror… Fuuuuuck!

There is a duffel bag and a sports bag on the floor. At the coat check hangs a bomber jacket. "Please take your personal belongings and proceed to your dorm." Inside your jacket is your wallet. With your driver's license, your ID, with your gym membership card. You remember the terms and conditions. You start your business degree at Michigan State today. You're a freshman on a football scholarship. You have nothing else. Outside the hotel, two more beefcakes are waiting for the bus to the dorm. You fistbump your bruhs. They still have their sweaty clothes on, too. The bus is coming. It's rush hour and you have to squeeze in. You have the sweaty armpit of one of your bruhs in your face. And the other one presses his hard-on against your thigh. Fuck, you can't wait to get to the dorm!

Like most of the hot pictures of bruhs with cap I also found this one @simonsx 

#male tf #muscle tf #deeptraining #male transformation #muscle transformation #tank top #sweat soaked

[yongbokology]

the one where satoru won’t leave jujutsu tech’s receptionist/bookkeeper alone

poc coded reader wc; 1.3k warnings; gojo fucking satoru, graphic language, innuendos, slight nsfw language an: this was supposed to be a drabble at first but um yeah, anyways happy/spooky 🎃 readings 

your morning consists of the same routine you’ve been doing for the past ten years.

being a receptionist and bookkeeper at jujutsu tech is not a simple job by any means..

answering calls, documenting, filing, sorting paperwork and books- just the whole shabang.

for ten years you’ve worn the same dress shirt and pencil skirt, often switching out the pencil skirt for slacks.. hair neatly kept and pulled up in any updo.

for ten years you’ve had the same cafe breakfast order to start your day.

… but for thirteen agonizing years, there’s been this pestering.. infuriating white-haired sorcerer whose favorite pastime was doing anything to get under your skin. 

satoru who first laid eyes on you as a fifteen-year-old when your uncle, the principal, took you in after your parent’s untimely demise.

satoru who knew you’d always be in the school library with your face buried nose deep in a book and found you every day after class or training.

you wouldn’t admit but you did appreciate the company. even though you did enjoy your own company it did get lonely at times.

so when you hear a familiar ‘{name} -channnn.’ off in the distance, you shake your head as you continue to click-clack away at your desktop. already knowing what’s to come.

you hear the door to the library slide open and pretty soon you have a tall, glossy lipped and infuriatingly handsome sorcerer planting both hands on your desk, leaning over your computer to see what you’re tasked with.

“how many times do i have to tell you to drop the honorific, satoru.” you don’t take your eyes off the screen in front of you. 

“i only use it because i know it bothers you, pretty girl.”

oh yeah, there was also that to mention; his nickname for you. 

a nickname his seventeen-year-old self gave to you after having a cherry blossom stuck in your dark locs and asking him to get it out for you- only for him to tell you that you look pretty with it and to keep it in. you did.

you’d never admit to him that that memory makes your cheeks warm when you think about it.

“it’s halloween, almost everyone’s off. i know you’re off because i made the schedule. so why are you here?”

satoru scoffs, “yeah, everyone’s off but you. why’d you choose to work on halloween? don’t have any plans?”

you can taste the teasing on his tongue at the end.

“haven’t celebrated halloween since i was twelve, satoru.” you push your chair back from the desk a little and finally take a look.

he’s dressed in a bomber jacket with racing pins and slacks. satoru always had an eye for fashion and the school’s uniform really did him no justice.

“we can change that today.”

“no thanks.”

he shoves his hands in his pockets, resting his butt against your desk. you fight the urge to push him off the desk, knowing he never had his infinity on around you.

he’s frowning, pulling a hand out from his jacket pocket to move an unruly strand out of your face. the pad of his fingers lightly brushing against your hot skin. your heart thrums from both the action and the brief feel of his slender fingers.

you feel so trapped under his gaze that you don't move an inch when he brings his face close to yours. “and why not?”

you swallow thickly, satoru’s notices this and his lips twist into a playful smile.

you close your eyes and clear your throat, readjusting yourself.

“i have work to do, satoru.”

“come on, pretty. you never want to hang out. you have no plans, no responsibilities at home, you’re hot, i’m hot, the possibilities are endless. we need to get you out of those work clothes and have some fun. whaddaya say?”

you don’t miss the innuendo that makes your leg twitch and below your skirt go warm. you sigh, rolling your head back.

“pretty please?”

a night out couldn’t hurt, right?

“i can’t believe you said yes to that dumb ass, {name}.” utahime sighs over the phone.

you’re dolling yourself up at your vanity with utahime on speaker. “i did say no at first but.. satoru can be convincing at times. plus, i can’t remember a day or night where i wasn’t working,” you reason.

you’re doing the finishing touches of your makeup, making sure your lip combo is to your liking. after being happy with the way you look you get up from your vanity in your white silk robe and over to your bed.

“i’m gonna leave soon but i’ll send pics, thanks again for helping me pick out my costume.”

“of course and you better. i wanna see how it all came together. anyways, go enjoy your date with satoru.”

you stiffen. “IT’S NOT A DATE, WE’RE GOING TO A PARTY!”

she hangs up mid-yell.

unbelievable. after all, he didn’t explicitly say it was a date. even then, who’d take someone to a party as a first date.

you lift up your black skims dress that you had bought months ago but never worn. utahime encouraged you to get it after seeing it go viral on social media. she knew you’d look drop-dead fucking gorgeous in it.

you loved utahime. she was such a girl’s girl.

you carefully slipped the dress on, it was a tight but comfortable fit. you turned to look at yourself in the mirror and immediately planned on calling utahime to thank her when you got back home.

your figure was accentuated to a t. you were so used to seeing yourself in work attire, any other clothing was house/sleepwear so this was new to you.

though you never got out much didn’t mean you didn’t know how to do your makeup. you for sure knew how to do your makeup and made a point to make it flawless for work and definitely not for a certain set of blue eyes.

you checked the two holes on your neck to make sure it wasn’t smudged when you changed into the dress.

it was definitely a last-minute costume but you could never go wrong with the classic vampire. the smokey eyes, red + black lip combo, thick and dark bouncy curls. it was definitely giving vampiress. 

you pick up your phone and walk to the mirror, snapping a few pictures for utahime and maybe one to post later to update your instagram. as you pose and try to get good angles you freeze when you get a message notification. 

satoru

u ready?

gosh he still typed like a damn teenager

you

just finished actually 

satoru

lemme see :3

you

just hurry up and get here before i change my mind

satoru

keeping me on my toes?

i’m already here pretty

turn around.

you nearly jump out of your skin when you turn around to see satoru leaning up against your bedroom wall. you want to cuss him out and shout various expletives at him but it’s hard to muster up the will to do so when he’s standing there looking fine as ever in his fireman costume.

the phony uniform sleeves are wrapped around his slender waist, a white wife beater to go with the fireman get-up.

there was a fire going on with all the alarm bells going on inside your brain and he fucking smirks when he catches you ogling. 

“how the fuck did you know where i live?? and how long were you standing there?”

satoru pushes himself off the wall closing the proximity between the two of you. he’s towering over you and suddenly you want to become one with the floor.

“nevermind that, the way you look right is enough to make any man go weak at the knees.”

you quirk a brow. “are you one of those men?”

he crosses his arm over his chest, wife beater having his muscles on full display. those muscles were new information to you but you weren’t complaining.

“definitely,” he pauses before bending forward slightly, his slender fingers suddenly having your jaw in a soft hold.

“change of plans, how about we ditch this party, yeah?”

.

.

.

.

© yongbokology y2k23

thx 4 reading <3 border creds @leopardprnt

#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji x reader #geto suguru #jjk #black reader #poc reader #kinktober

[weirdmarioenemies]

You know, all this time I never realized that Bomberman had Enemies! I thought it was just all those Bombers Men blowing each other up for sport. And I love those Bombers Men, they are very cute, but wow! Enemies! I love those! Enemies are my friends. There have been sooo many enemies over the course of the franchise, but here I will be talking about the originals from the very beginning! For the sake of consistency, I will be using the artwork from Bomberman Party Edition, since that was sadly the most recent time they all got official art for the same game. Here they come! Some creatures!

BALLOM

Ballom is The Enemy. The first one! It is very simple. It is really just a balloon, sometimes with a string, sometimes not. Watch out for this one! Ever try to kill a balloon before? Don’t let the media fool you, you need a bomb to do it. Ballom actually appeared before all the others in the very first game, called Bomber Man, where it was the only enemy! This game was localized in Europe as... Eric and the Floaters. It sounds like a band name! A real Yoshi’s Island style localization choice. This is not a Bomberman game anymore. It’s an Eric game.

I do not think this is what balloons look like

ONIL

Already we have reached my favorite one! Onil is a blue onion sort of thing, and I am really just a sucker for creatures that are vegetables. It is so cute! It’s almost not recognizable as an onion most of the time, with its tip looking like a dollop of frosting rater than actual onion skin, but the original sprite does a pretty good job of communicating Onion. As you can see at the beginning of the post, its name was originally localized as O’Neal, which I think is very funny. That’s a Last Name right there! This onion was named like a Fortnite character!

DAHL

Dahl is a sort of barrel of a thing! Finally we reach a thing that would more reasonably require a bomb to destroy. Look at its little face though! I feel bad talking about destroying these things with bombs. I don’t have much to say about Dahl, it’s a barrel, though it is a very cute barrel. I can’t think of THAT many other cute barrels.

MINVO

Minvo is a little boring. I’m sorry. But it’s just a Face! Sometimes it is a very inoffensive-looking face, while sometimes it is showing a few teeth, but still just a Face. They don’t do anything all that interesting either. However!

In some 3D appearances, they are not a sphere, but instead shaped like a sandwich cookie! Maybe they have been cookies all along! They even have Filling!

OVAPE

Ovape is a funny one! Originally, it was basically a smiley Pac-Man ghost, which is cute and funny, but not very unique. When allowed more detail, though, it often looks more like an octopus, and not just any octopus, but a hot dog cut into an octopus shape!

You know? Yeah! I don’t know how intentional the resemblance is, but it is very cute and fun.

DORIA

I love Doria! It is some kind of Substance, or perhaps an amoeba, and I love a simple cute blob. It is often seen in this weirdly flat-looking shape, like it was spread on an invisible piece of bread! I would not eat it! Doria moves slowly, but it is slippery and smart, chasing Bomberman while avoiding bombs. Very impressive for a brainless (I assume) blob!

PASS

Here we have our Token Mammal! Pass is a tiger who forgot the rest of itself at home and hops around as a head lump. It almost feels like Minvo, but with an actual design! You’re lucky you became a cookie, Minvo. Pass is fast, like a real tiger, and is able to Pass right through certain solid blocks, which real tigers cannot do. Only snow leopards can.

PONTAN

Another face? Kind of! But not completely! Pontan is a COIN, so more interesting than just a face, and spins around flatly in its animations. They are the most dangerous of the original enemies, and their design does nothing to reflect this! That is funny. Like Pass, it passes through some blocks, but it also hunts you down! If Pontan finds you, you will learn that it can indeed be used as currency. One Pontan is enough to buy you one Death!

Some, but not all, of these enemies would have the privilege of appearing in a Mobile Match 3 Game with the release of Bomberman Chains, and boy! They look weird! All of them! Ballom looks like Chris Griffin. Onil looks like it just woke up at 3:26 AM to go to the bathroom. I cannot say I Like any of these designs here, which is a shame because I think they could have all looked especially cute in Doodle Aesthetic, like Bomberman himself does! But I am glad this happened, it’s funny.

These have been just a few of the many funny little creatures specifically designed to be obliterated by explosions. Thank you.

#bomberman #ballom #onil #dahl #minvo #ovape #doria #pass #pontan #not mario #funky friday #mod chikako

[dawnthequeen]

PROMISE

title: promise

character: steven hyde x reader

warnings: alcohol use, marijuana use, mentions of virginity, mentions of assault, cursing, semi frequent use of l/n (last name), zen masters (jackie x hyde) if u squint

summary: when you met the boys, you made a promise to never date any of them. though this gets harder and harder to follow as you all get older and more attractive.

disclaimer: i do not support danny masterson in any way, shape, or form. i just have an attachment to hyde </3

word count: 2972

part two

You were a maneater. At least, that’s what your friends said and you didn’t necessarily disagree. In your mere 17 years of life, you had accumulated nearly 30 boyfriends. In a town like Pointplace, there weren’t very many eligible bachelors, and it didn’t help that you swore off dating the hottest one.

Years prior, at the very beginning of middle school, when you had met Kelso, Foreman, and Hyde, you made a promise. You promised to yourself, and to them, that you would never date them. You enjoyed their company a lot, which is exactly why you didn’t want to risk dating any of them.

Naturally, as time progressed and Fez joined the group, he was included in the group of boys you wouldn’t date, though in all honesty, you probably never would have dated him regardless.

As you got older, you had started to ever so slightly regret your promise because as you got older, so did the boys, and oh boy, was one of them hot.

Hyde was gorgeous and exactly your type. But did you think Hyde was hot because he was your type, or did you think he was hot because he set the standard for your type? The world may never know.

To put those feelings aside, you upped the ante on your dating game. You were the most “desirable” out of your friend group except for maybe Donna or Jackie. You dated jocks, nerds, stoners, and basically any other clique in your high school.

That led you to now, walking into Eric Foreman’s basement, which is where you usually were, waiting for a guy to show up for a date.

You wore a pretty black dress and your signature green bomber jacket.

Donna was the first to look over, whistling with a grin. “Damn! You look great.”

Jackie looked over, gasping a little and pushing up off of Kelso to rush over to you. “That dress is gorgeous!! Much better than what you usually wear.” She looked over the dress.

You giggled at the backhanded compliment. It was something you were used to with Jackie, and you found it endearing. “Thanks! Got it just for the date. Definitely keeping it, though.”

Hyde raised a brow. “You don’t usually dress up for dates. Must really like the guy, huh?” You didn’t notice it then, but he shifted uncomfortably, his posture tensing.

“Damn it!! Stupid lucky guy, getting (L/N) to dress up all nice for him..” Kelso crossed his arms over his chest, pouting.

“At least we get to be blessed with the sight.” Fez sighed happily.

“I don’t know, I don’t really like him.” You shrugged. “He’s just takin’ me somewhere fancy, figured it was the least I could do.”

“Well, you look great. Hope you have fun.” Donna got up, patting you on the back.

“Thanks!! I’ll swing by after, yeah?”

“We’ll leave the door unlocked.” Eric commented, smiling.

“Great!” You heard a honk outside. “That’s my queue. Cya!” You grinned, heading out the door.

Hyde rolled his eyes, or, that’s what everyone assumed. It was a little hard to tell with the glasses. “Doesn’t even have the decency to knock, and she’s giving this guy a shot?” He scoffed.

“Someone sounds jeaaalouusss!!” Kelso snickered.

“I’m not jealous. I just think (L/N) could do better than some dude who can’t even knock on the door.”

“It’s okay if you’re jealous, Hyde! I mean, she’s going out with a popular jock. It makes sense you’d feel insecure.” Jackie returned to her spot next to Kelso.

“Why would I care?”

“It’s obvious you guys have a little back and forth thing.” Jackie giggled.

Donna hummed, leaning against the couch. “I figured you guys would’ve at least made out by now.”

Hyde scoffed. “Never gonna happen. She literally swore off ever dating me, Foreman, and Kelso.”

“Is that all that’s stopping you?” Eric raised a brow.

“No.” Hyde was almost too quick to answer. What he didn’t say was that he thought you were out of his league. He was a teenage dirtbag, and while you were their friend, you also were more of a social floater than anything. You dated jocks and the most popular guys in school. He’d be stupid to think you could ever be interested in dating him..

Right?

..

It had been a couple of hours since you left, and everyone had sort of faded out. Eric retreated upstairs to his room, heading to bed, and everyone else had returned to their respective houses.. Everyone except for Hyde, that is, as he had found himself recently staying in the Foreman’s basement after an incident with his Mom.

He lounged on the couch, taking a puff from a blunt that he had rolled when he heard the door open.

You stumbled in, reeking of cheap booze. More importantly, though, you had visibly been crying. Your mascara left streaks down your face, and your nose was red and puffy.

“What happened?” Hyde sat up straight, stiffening. Did that guy hurt you? He would kick his ass if he hurt you–

“That guy was a douche.” You huffed. “Got me drunk, then tried to get laid.” You wobbled over to the couch, sitting next to him. You held out your hand, and Hyde got the message, passing you the blunt.

“Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head. “Pushed him off.” You deeply inhaled the smoke before blowing it out, sighing. “Sucks. Used to it, but it sucks.”

“You’re used to it?” He stared at you, a little bewildered.

“Most guys get pissy when I won’t sleep with them.” You kicked off your heels, leaning back. “Don’t wanna lose my virginity to some guy I don’t even like.. Is that bad?” You looked at him, frowning.

“That’s not a bad thing.” He pushed a piece of your hair out of your face. “Plenty of people wanna save it for someone special. Like the whole til marriage shit.” He shrugged.

“Guess so..” You looked down before smiling, nudging him. “Why can’t every guy be as nice as you?”

He raised a brow. “You think I’m nice?”

“Yeahh!” You grinned, your slurring words the evidence of the alcohol still in your system. “In your own way. Liike, you may not act like it, but I think you care about everyone. At least a little. Like when you took Jackie to prom! Or now, you’re comforting me after a shitty date.”

“If you keep goin’ you’re gonna make my ego big.” He snickered.

You smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Shut upp.. Point iss, you’re super sweet in your own way, and that’s what mattersss..”

He wrapped his arm around you. “You flatter me too much.”

After you didn’t respond, he looked over and realized you had fallen asleep on his shoulder. He sighed a little, propping you up and then picking you up. He took you to his room, laying you down on his bed and tucking you in.

He sat down next to you, watching you for a second. You looked so completely and utterly peaceful. He let out a breath before standing up.

Was your promise all that was stopping him from pursuing you?

He stood still for a second before heading to the door and flipping off the light. “Night, doll.”

..

You were very confused when you woke up the next morning, and you were in Hyde’s bed. You were still in the same clothes from the night before, and there was no evidence that anyone else had been in bed with you, so you felt pretty confident that you didn’t sleep together.

You scooted off of the mattress, getting up and peeking your head out the door. You didn’t see anyone in the basement, so you figured it must’ve been earlier in the day. You walked around, spotting a blanket on the couch, and you figured Hyde must’ve slept on it. But, he was nowhere to be found.

You decided to head upstairs and hopefully wash your face, maybe even get a change of clothes that Laurie left behind.

When you opened the door to the basement, you hissed a little upon seeing that the Foreman family were all sitting around the table, eating breakfast like the classic sitcom family.

You turned around, trying to tiptoe down the hallway when the floor board underneath you squeaked. You hissed, turning around when you heard Kitty’s voice behind you. “Y/N? Is that you? This early in the morning?”

You turned around, smiling awkwardly. “Ah.. Yeah, sorry. I um– I let myself in.”

Kitty gasped a little, getting up from her chair. “Goodness! You look awful!”

You assumed she was referencing your tear smudged makeup. “Yyyeah.. Rough night.”

“Let me get you cleaned up.” She put a hand on your shoulder, ushering you through the hall.

That left the boys in the kitchen. Red looked at Hyde, raising a brow. “You slept on the couch last night.

Hyde paused. “Yup.” He shoved a bite of his food in his mouth.

“Did she stay over?” Red leaned back in his chair, eyeing the curly haired boy.

Eric whistled lowly. “Dang, Hyde. Maybe Jackie was right about you being jealous.”

Hyde rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t like that. She had a crappy date and passed out. I didn’t wanna wake her up just to make her leave.”

Red looked at him for a second before raising his brows. “Well, that was nice. But you two really need to stop letting random kids crash here.” He cringed.

..

Meanwhile, you were in the bathroom with Kitty. You washed your face, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were a little swollen, but it was nothing major. You sighed a little before Kitty spoke. “I’ll get some clothes from Laurie’s room for you to change into. I can wash your clothes for you.”

You smiled at her, nodding. “That’d be appreciated, thank you.” You took off your jacket, handing it to her.

She smiled at you, taking your jacket before freezing when she saw your wrists.

You hadn’t realized it, but the jackass that you went on a date with had left bruises on you when he was trying to get handsy.

“Did.. Someone..” Kitty trailed off.

“No! No, no. Nothing like that. I, uh, I pushed him off of me.” You reassured her.

She frowned. “Oh, dear.. That had to have been hard.”

You looked to the side, frowning a little. “...Yeah.”

She put a hand on your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Well, you’re safe now. And you’ll have clean clothes soon enough.” She smiled, heading out the door and getting you some clothes.

Laurie’s clothes were comfortable. Kitty got you a pretty simple tank top and some pajama pants, which you didn’t mind. She told you she’d let you know when your clothes were clean, so you made your way down to the basement. It had been about an hour since you had seen Hyde and Eric since you took a shower during that time.

The usual group had gathered in the basement during that time, watching something stupid on TV. You made your way down the stairs, running a hand through your hair.

You casually walked over, sitting on the arm of the couch, putting you next to Kelso and Jackie. Only then did everyone realize you were there.

“Hey (L/N)!” Donna grinned, raising a teasing eyebrow. “How was your hot date–” She paused when she saw your appearance. Slightly swollen eyes and bruised wrists were the first thing to stand out.

“Jeez! You look awful!” Jackie looked over at you, and you couldn’t help the giggle that came out. She sounded just like Kitty.

You hummed. “The date was shit, but it’s cool. Didn’t really like the guy anyway, and I got free food.” You shrugged it off.

Hyde watched you, his eyes drifting down your body before they landed on your wrists. He didn’t see that the night before. You really did have to fight off that douche-bag.

Donna got up from where she was next to Eric, going to the back of the couch and hugging you. “Aw.. I’m sorry, babe. You can do better anyway.”

“Like Hyde said yesterday, you could do way better than a guy who honks!” Fez hummed, nodding to himself.

You blinked, looking in Hyde’s direction, seeing him shrug. “It’s true.”

You could feel your cheeks heat up, and your eyes soften, but before you could dwell on the butterflies in your stomach, you heard a honk from outside. You all paused, and Eric looked in your direction. “Do you have another date?”

You shook your head, getting up off the couch. “Who could that be?” You went to the door, opening it and going up the outside stairs, spotting a familiar car. “..Oh god.”

The guy you had gone out with the day before got out of his car, spotting you. “(Y/N)-- Can we talk?”

You grimaced, crossing your arms. “Why?”

You could hear your friends gathering up behind you as you walked up the driveway.

“Listen, I get kind of weird when I’m drunk, I didn’t mean to be so pushy.” The boy frowned, looking down at you.

You grumbled, rolling your eyes. “And I suppose you didn’t mean to ditch me and make me walk home too then?”

“You had to walk here?” Before you knew it, Hyde was by your side, looking at you.

You looked at him, frowning a little before shrugging. “Yeah. It’s–”

“Please, just– just give me another chance.” The boy stepped closer to you, trying to grab your shoulders.

Hyde stepped between you, pushing the guy away by his chest. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“And who do you think you are?” The guy stood up straight, getting in Hyde’s face.

“I’m her friend. And I don’t appreciate how you treated her.”

“Well, frankly, I think it’s none of your business how I treat her.”

“It kind of is when she busts into my basement crying.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I was just trying to have some fun.” The guy rolled his eyes. “And the bitch was basically asking for it with that dress–”

Hyde punched him, and he held his bleeding nose. The guy growled, throwing a punch at Hyde, and before you knew it, they were fighting. You squeaked, reaching your hand out. “H– hey there’s no need to fight it’s fine–”

The guy elbowed you. Right in the eye.

You hissed, holding your face. “Fuck–”

Hyde looked between you and the guy for a split second before he nailed his knee into his stomach. “You’d seriously fucking hit a chick?! What is wrong with you?!”

The guy coughed, holding his stomach and backing up toward his car, hurrying in.

“Yeah, screw off!” Hyde called after him, looking over to you.

Donna and Jackie rushed over to you, Donna, holding your shoulders. “O– ow shit– How bad is it?” You moved your hand off of your eye.

Jackie hissed. “Yikes. That’s gonna bruise. But it’s okay!! I have some absolutely great makeup that’ll cover it up, no problem!”

You giggled a little through the pain. “Ah, I don’t think that’s my biggest concern–” You looked in Hyde’s direction. “Are you okay?”

..

You and Hyde were left alone in the basement as the others were grabbing some stuff to help with your current conditions. Donna and Eric were getting an ice pack, Jackie was getting her makeup, and Kelso and Fez… Well, they were doing something.

You held a warm washcloth, dabbing at the little cuts and bruises on Hyde’s face. It was one of the few times you had seen him without his glasses for such a long period of time.

Once you were done, you sighed, smiling at him. “Y’know, you don’t need to get into fights for me.”

Hyde leaned back. “What? For you? Nah, the guy just had a very punchable face.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Right, right, my bad.”

He straightened up a little, clearing his throat. “Well, uh, are you good? I mean, that guy said some pretty nasty things..”

You shrugged a little, looking down. “I’m all good. He’s not the first guy to react like that to me rejecting them. He is the first guy to give me a black eye though.”

At the mention of your black eye, Hyde leaned forward, pushing your hair out of your face and oh so carefully touching your cheek. “Does it hurt?”

You stared at him, your breath hitching. “A little.”

He seemed to take in the fact that the two of you were mere inches away. He swallowed, looking down at you. “(L/N).. I uh.. I didn’t like that you went out with that guy.”

“What?” You furrowed your brows. “Why? Because he was like– a douche?”

“I mean, yeah, but I think it was ‘cause I uh…” He licked his lips. “I might, uh..”

Before he could say what he had on his mind, Donna and Eric made their way down the stairs, and you and Hyde quickly scooted away from each other.

Donna handed you the ice pack, and you pressed it to your eye, hissing a little.

“Jackie will be back with her makeup pretty soon, but I’d suggest not putting it on at least until the swelling goes a little down.” Donna hummed.

“Yeah, she–” Eric had started to go on a ramble about something, but you weren’t paying attention. Your eyes were on Hyde, who had casually gone back to his chair, acting as if your moment didn’t happen.

Was he going to say he liked you? What would that mean for your relationship? You were attracted to him, you had to admit, but did you like him?

Should you break your promise? 

#x reader #fem reader #friends to lovers #hyde x reader #steven hyde x reader #that 70s show #that 70s show x reader #maneater!reader #playgirl!reader

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ HALFWAY TO THE END

tw. (consensual) noncon, breeding, restraints, predator/prey-ish, dacryphilia, degradation, praise, fear play, spanking, spit, poly iwaoi, crybaby reader wordcount. 6.8k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by the amazing @bisexualturtledove ♡ thank you a million for commissioning me and for being so so lovely!! i really hope you enjoy your fic because i had a lot of fun writing it and just aHHGDUS I really hope it's what you had in mind my love <33

iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader x oikawa tooru

White, hot steam of the hot spring fills the night air with a thick layer of fog that hangs low enough to cover everything. The bamboo around your little alcove, the door back inside; the clearness of the night sky. You can barely see past the furthest edges of the pool. The lamp flickers with a mechanical buzz, soft taps of nighttime insects flying against the glass. It’s not too cold — but it is awfully dark. A tense kind of silence hangs over the outdoors part of the center, and you tuck your knees to your chest as you cup some water to pour it over your back.

The dewy drops of sweat that roll down your neck are already cold by the time they’re washed off, a mindless action you do your best to focus on. Because it’s easy. Peaceful. You’ve been here before, and though it’s usually much busier even late at night; there’s nothing inherently scary about having some time alone. Hell, you should probably be grateful for it. But you can’t help but feel a tightness in your throat each time you swallow, and the urge to look over your shoulder every so often.

Only to find a motionless pool, and the foggy view of swaying bamboo and a frigid night.

You get out of the heat when your time’s just about run out, thoughts a bit loose — lightheaded from the heat no doubt. Despite knowing better you skip the ice bath to wrap your towel around yourself and pat back into the slippery hall of the women’s dressing rooms, quick to tie your damp hair out of your way, rub yourself dry, and put on some fresh clothes. They’re big enough to swallow you up in them, form almost entirely hidden. You pull up your long socks a bit higher, throw on a bomber jacket, and collect the rest of your stuff all in silence.

The dressing room is only half lit up, two lights left on at each far end of the room. You check your phone, pulling your bag’s strap a bit tighter around you. It’s nearing eleven. As you tuck everything back away and walk out of the dressing rooms, face still awfully hot from the bath, a cold shiver makes its way down your spine. You are a scaredy cat— truth be told. Still get scared of the dark, and of loud bangs. Of groups of people you don’t know late at night, and of the idea of someone looking at you. But stood in the shadow of the hall now, that feeling spikes so high you almost choke on it.

When you turn to the men’s room, there’s nothing there. Not even a single noise. The hairs on your neck stay upright though, walking out of the hall into the main room. And your anticipation is proven correct when a figure catches your view from the corner. There’s a man behind the counter. Dark hair and darker eyes, he stands propped with his hip against the bar, and though you don’t take enough time to study his face with care; his side profile clings to you. He doesn’t fully turn when noticing you, only gives you an up and down with narrowed brows, then goes back to his business with the papers. He’s tall. Even leaning over a tad, you can tell he’s much taller than you, and built like a brick house.

His biceps bulge with his motions, showing off the spreads of ink covering every inch of his arm. Arms. Upon further ‘inspection’, though you do your best not to stare, the tattoos crawl from just above the collar of his shirt along both arms— probably continue down the sides of his body too. He doesn’t look up when clearing his voice, tongue swiping out to lick his lower lip. “No one’s ever taught ya’ staring is rude, little girl?”

“I’m not— a little girl,” your first instinct is to say, instantly regretting it when his sharp, green eyes find your face to assess you. Your lip is tucked between your teeth, sucking on it as if that might keep the words in. The man sucks some air through his teeth in disagreement, before straightening out. He’s … big. All of him is, the hand he runs along his jaw, as well as the wide shoulders and chest; all of him is made almost explicitly to tower over you. He doesn’t seem impressed, only tilting his head to stare at you. When the doors of the wellness center open —set off by something outside, a chilly gust of air makes every inch of you feel cold, and your skin go taught.

“Oh, s’that so…” The man rolls his rings on his fingers a few times, before shaking his head. “You sure look like a tiny, frightened bunny to me. Shivering on those little legs.” His deep voice is raspy, bottom lip split down the middle, and his knuckles an awful shade of purplish red. “It’s a little cold out. You going to be alright on your own?” The slightly patronizing tone makes some heat flare up under your skin, sucking your tongue harder to keep from talking back. You shouldn’t.

Instead you adjust the strap of your bag from digging into your shoulder, and give a swift nod. Something that makes his mouth corner pull up in what you know to be poorly hidden amusement. “I’m going home,” you mumble more to yourself than to him, not exactly trying to have any more of his attention on you. The darkness past the reflection of the welcome hall is a solid void. “Goodnight.”

The guy is intimidating as all hell, and gives you the heebie jeebies. So as you make your way past the lockers for your shoes, exchanging the flimsy slippers for your own, you’re much too aware of him in the corner of your eyes. He places the papers down entirely and puts a hand on the bar to hop over it with too much ease, landing with a huf to walk up to you. “Why are you running off so quick?” Up close he’s even more intimidating.

There’s healed scars on his cheeks and ears, and along his arms enough to leave crude marks in the skin, and you press your back against the lockers to stare up at his handsome face. “You don’t want me to help you out? Don’t tell me you’re spooked.” His eyes shine with the same lilt of fun you can hear in his tone, and narrow when you freeze. “You said you could handle it, right? If you want me to treat you like a big girl…”

He reaches out a hand to swipe a few hairs away from your cheeks, the touch tingling through your entire face— and you take a step back with a nervous giggle, still staring at his stupid, attractive face. “I’ll be really nice.”

“N-no thank you. I- I have- have a boyfriend, so…” The slight pull upwards of his mouth corners doesn’t miss you, and only makes you feel more tense. “W-well, it’s really getting,” you pretend to fish your phone out of your pocket, quickly checking the time again, “quite late. So I have to get going.”

You barely set a foot to get from between the two obstacles, before you’re pulled back by your wrist. “Wait, wait, wait… stop running off. You’re making this so much harder than it has to be.” His large palm wrapped tightly around your skin, there’s a sudden cry that threatens to pass your lips. You don’t want to be here all alone at night. You don’t want to be here at all. “It’s warmer here, y’know. Don’t run just yet, just… hang around. I want to keep looking at you. Do you have any idea how fucking cute you look right now?”

“N-no, I— I’m leaving, and… you should let go.” A hitched breath makes your voice a little squeaky, panic welling up. Your heart rushing a hundred miles a second at the closeness of his face to yours, and his sandalwood smell washing over your already hazy senses. “Please?” you breathe out tightly, trying to slip your hand back out of his as softly as you can manage.

“Aw, pet.” His expression falters a little for a split second when a tear rolls down your cheek. But when he brushes it away and you don’t flinch at his touch, the worry is gone again. “Don’t get so upset, baby.” He stares at you with thinly veiled amusement this time, giving you a quick once-over before leaning in a little more. “We barely even got to play.”

“I already told you I have a boyfriend,” you mumble back just as quick, eyebrows slanting in a sad upwards motion. You can’t help it. You manage to worm your hand out of his grip for just long enough to duck under his arm and stumble away a few steps, pulling your own limbs close to your body. There’s a few seconds of silence where the dark haired man watches you, before he crosses his arms over his chest. You can see him in the reflection of the glass door, smiling as you walk. A fact that doesn’t leave you with a whole lot of confidence to slip into the cold night air.

But before you’re fully out the door, his raspy voice sounds out again behind you. “You should know I always finish games when people start them, little one. You wanted to play so bad, so…” The sentence is enough to slow your feet to a halt, looking over at your shoulder with a questioning brow, lips dropping open to watch him. The quietness of the building doesn’t just feel tense anymore. It’s a crushing, stinging kind of fear that makes your every fiber feel statically charged.

Whatever thoughts you had before this are deafened under the weight of the room, his small smirk widening when you fist your hands into your shirt for some support. Warning signs ringing so loud you can barely hear yourself. “You run, I’ll give you ten seconds,” he nods at your shape, pink tongue coming to peek out of the corner of his mouth. “I really, really like chasing.”

His teeth are sharp and gleaming when he smiles wide and wolf-ish, and you set off out the door before you can even think it through. Even if he isn’t serious, you want as much space between you and him as you can possibly get. You take off running down the street despite your better judgment, kicking up gravel and grass, cold air instantly filling your lungs too quickly. The pavement is unsteady as you dart down the street as fast as you can, letting your legs carry you around the corner. Your eyes unfocussed under orange street lights. There’s cars everywhere, but none of them are yours, and you can only swear at yourself for choosing this day to go by foot.

Feet that hurt down to the soles from each impact on your flimsy, thin-soled shoes. You’re running, running, running until your stomach flips and your muscles burn with uncomfortable effort. The cold air bites at your cheeks and nose as you do, unwilling to let any of the space you’ve taken go to waste by slowing down. But your steps feel so loud, like they’re echoing down the entire street. Your blood rushes between your ears loud and hard too, and this much noise is making it hard to focus on any other sound.

Even as you try to listen, your breathing is going in a heaved puff-puff-puff sound that overshadows anything else. You look up ahead as you finally get closer to the end of the street, ignoring the burning in your muscles and lungs to just make it there. You want to. You want to make it there before you slow down. There’s no one in the streets this late, and even if there was— you'd have to find someone to help you. You’re just far enough from the next corner to dare a glance over your shoulder. Your heart shoots right into your throat when you do. The street is empty.

But you can’t help this awful feeling that—

You smack into something hard and fast, knocking you back and onto your butt. A something that tries to grab for you before you make it all the way down, but ultimately fails, leaving you aching and gripping your own butt on the floor. Your breath is heaving as your heart pitters for some relief, the sprint having taken a lot out of you already. And now with the painful ache going through your bottom half from the fall, you can’t help but feel it well up too fast to swallow down. Wobbly tears fall down your lashes as you look up into a handsome face, who looks —to his credit— apologetic at having sent you flying.

Your hands are shaking when taking his reached out one, the pretty brunet giving you a slight smile as he helps you up from the floor. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t notice you in time.”

“N-no,” you shake your head, every part of you still trembling and off-feeling as you try to put on a smile, “it was all my fault. I didn’t see…” You trail your eyes up his hand to see a familiar looking pattern up his hand and the sliver of forearm exposed to you. He brushes a thumb over your knuckles while still holding your hand, and leans in a little.

“You’re looking a bit … off. Are you okay?”

Despite yourself, you’re nodding without thinking it through, letting your free hand wipe off the tears to get yourself presentable again. “‘M fine.”

“Well,” the man glances behind you for a second, before his warm eyes return to you, “how about I walk with you for a while?” His smile is gentle as you stare up at him, sucking your lip into your mouth. He waits until you nod to swing an arm around your shoulders and tuck you close to him, rubbing a hand up your shoulder blade over and over until you can’t help but let yourself lean into his side. “You were heading this way?” Another nod, and another smile from him. “Being chased, are you?”

“Y— I…” Whatever kind of trust you were starting to have in the situation is immediately stripped away from you when he turns to look down at your eyes with barely veiled interest, glittering under the streetlights as you walk. Your steps in time feel creepily rehearsed, and your chest goes tight again as soon as the relief came just a minute ago. “Where are we— going?” you just end up mumbling under your breath, wet lashes sticking to your lower lid.

A comment which seems to amuse him, wrapping your arm a little tighter around you. “Oh, come now, pet. Don’t be so hostile. We’re having fun, aren’t we?” It’s only then that you notice the glint of something in his other hand, metal and catching the light just barely every time it is given a sliver of space between his fingers. Not enough to know what it is, but plenty to assume. Your spine goes rigid, and he tugs around your shoulders to keep you moving along with him. “Keep walking, pretty girl. You know how this goes.” There’s a muffled cry that makes it past your lips, but his glare is enough to have you swallowing it down.

Right when you pass by an alley to your right, a figure catches your eye. Not winded like you are, and with a smile to catch you entirely off guard. The guy from earlier joins on your other side to walk along with you and slaps your ass for good measure, before slipping his hand into your back pocket. It’s subtle, but the extra bit of resistance to keep you from running. To keep him from giving chase. “Cheater,” the darker haired one rumbles into the night air as you three walk, glancing at the other over your head.

“You play fair too much for our good, Iwa-chan. I almost missed her.” He doesn’t remove his arm from around you, but twirls a little strand of your hair around his finger until it is a painful tug, and leans down to place a kiss on your crown. “It’s not fun when she gets away.”

“I would’ve gotten her if you hadn’t stopped me.” Iwa grunts, squeezing the curve of your ass a little more. You’re frozen in total blood-curdling terror between the two of them, unwilling to move a muscle more than they allow you to. So when they lead you into a driveway between houses and open a door into a nondescript room without windows, all you can do is let them. The heavy hand on your shoulder leads you to stumble when one of them pushes down, making your knees buckle and slump onto them with a painful hiss. Then he grabs the top of your hair and pulls your head back to look at him, hanging over you with a smile.

Oikawa runs his knuckles along your cheekbone, making your lashes flutter. “Now’s the time to start crying. Don’t you know what’s going to happen to you?”

“‘Course she does, look at that little face. Bet her heart’s banging like a damn hummingbird.” The other man is somewhere on the other end of the room, though you can’t look away from the man above you as he studies you. He leans down a little to watch as — sure enough, tears are still spilling down your cheeks in thin, wobbly lines— before pressing a kiss to your forehead and then the top of your nose.

“Please, please stop. J-just let me go, I want—”

“Her boyfriend,” Iwa says in mock pity, pitching his voice up a little to give you an awful, girlish tone.

It makes Oikawa bite back a laugh, and your mouth snap closed like you’ve been burned, unable to help it. The lighter brunet squats before you, cheeks flushed with a pretty, pink color that also tints his ears.

“You’re pretty fucking filthy, baby. You know that?” he whispers, hovering his warm lips over your ears and squeezing your cheeks between his free hand. “A pretty, little thing with a fucked up mind. You like this?” Cold shivers run down your skin as you sniffle and whimper, but letting him get so close to put both his upper thighs over yours to lean over you. His hands moving to your shirt to slide his hands under it along your lower back and hiking it up as he goes. Then he gives a quick kiss along your jaw and on your ear. “You like being treated like you’re nothing more than property? A hole for us to fuck?”

You don’t verbally react, but a shuddered breath comes out of you despite yourself when his hands leave your back exposed, then making you lift your arms to slip the shirt off of you. He stares for a second, before biting his lip hard. A soft noise coming from him. You cover your naked upper torso with your arms, but they’re yanked away just as fast when Iwa returns to join you two in a squat and grabs both wrists in one of his hands behind you. He leans down to start laying a path of kisses along your sensitive neck while Oikawa brushes his thumbs over your peaked nipples.

“Isn’t she pretty?” he then whispers much softer, glancing at the man making blotted marks on your neck with his tongue, and lets out a rumbled agreement.

“Prettiest little slut I’ve ever seen.” He pulls the skin between his teeth to bite and make you struggle against them again, which makes him grab your head and push you onto the floor with your face, feeling the cold wood. “Struggle all you want…” He cuts himself off to take in a sharp breath, rubbing his tongue on his gums to hold your arms in place as you wiggle and back against them. The sting in your wrists is easier to ignore than the ache in your ass or your knees. But you can’t go anywhere, and his strong hand is quickly exchanged for a coarser rope that burns on your soft skin. He ties it tight, then grabs you by the thighs to haul you over his shoulder.

“No, no— pl-please, please. I’m begging you,” you squeak out more desperately than before, arms useless behind your back and your entire face wet from the tears, “please! Please don’t! I d- Let me go! Let me gooo~.” He has no problem keeping you squirming on his shoulder as he walks you into another room, a flat palm landing on the swell of your ass so hard it knocks the air out of you.

“Shut up, brat. Take it how we give it to you.”

“No. Please let—” Another hit to the already sore cleft of your ass cheek really has you biting through the sting that heats every part of you, one he only barely soothes by rubbing a few circles over the irritated skin.

“Give her here, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa coos from somewhere in the room. You’re unable to keep up as you’re lifted off the noiret and into the other man’s arms, put onto the bed. With your arms tied behind you all you can really do is lay as the brunet grabs your face to force it into a squished pout and kisses you. Tongue pushed into your mouth and his hum to creep into your head, his hand moves to toy with your nipples, flicking the sensitive bud and the metal rod through them. It has your body curling despite yourself, mewling into the kiss.

The warmth of his mouth leaves yours only to attach himself to your tits instead, and though you try to wiggle away from his touch, the effort’s leaving you terribly exhausted. His tongue flicks over the peaked buds a few times to set your skin on end, before sucking it inside his hot mouth and rolling it between his teeth just hard enough for the pain to make your cunt go wetter. It’s so unfair. “No- n-no, you can’t— stop,” you try to tell him, voice growing softer each word, before you curl your body into his touch. Into his hands where he’s squeezing and groping at you.

Your cheeks are hot to the touch, and your head a little too cloudy to think straight. It leaves you awfully plyable, a weakness that doesn’t go unnoticed. “Turn her this way, I wanna see her pretty cunt,” Iwaizumi cuts the noises of Oikawa marking up your entire chest and neck, only giving a short hum as he disconnects and manhandles you around. Iwa grabs your both thighs to make quick work of pulling your shorts up your legs, then spreading them apart to make room for himself between them. Your hot pussy covered only by drenched, flimsy cotton is stared at for enough time to have you going even hotter in the face.

“Stop— looking at me like that.” Your mouth goes dry under their mean gazes, under all the petting of your skin. It leaves you breathless, going a bit light in the head. You can’t even help it. The sheer anxiety playing under your skin is enough to have you slipping slowly but surely into that familiarly blurry headspace.

“You really like this sort of thing this much? You’re drenching through your fucking panties.” He lets out a little groan, then cups your mound in his palm to make you feel his long fingers through the fabric, rubbing at your lips. “We caught ourselves a little, fucking whore.”

“I want to have a taste, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hums against your tits, pushing them together to take as much into his mouth as possible, as you dig your nails into his back. And though it’s enough to make him hiss, you don’t have it in you to push him away. Really, you don’t have much energy left to do anything but lay there and take it as Iwa plays with your pussy through the wet fabric, flicking your sensitive clit. It makes your legs spasm in his tight grip, unable to break free.

“Wait your turn,” the other responds though, before pulling the fabric aside to reveal your slick pussy. It’s embarrassing how much wetness you can feel between your legs, a glistening cunny for two men to use and abuse. Your walls twitch though, clenching around nothing when he circles your entrance with his fingers, leaning down to lift your thighs onto his shoulders and place his mouth onto your clit. The heat of his mouth and the slight stubble against your lips already have you bucking against him before you can think it through, but it’s his tongue rubbing on your oversensitive clit that has more slick gushing from your hole.

Oikawa’s ruthless abuse of your tits finally takes a pause for him to go to kiss you again, mouth clashing to yours to taste more of you, swallow up more of your innocence. He greedily licks into your mouth when you open up a little, moaning at it like you’re granting him something holy. “You’re not being loud enough, pet.” He meanly squeezes your nipple between his fingers to make you squeak out, trying to squirm away from the touch to no avail. He doesn’t falter, and mumbles on against your lips. “If I need to make you scream, I will.”

“No,” you stutter back, wildly shaking your head, “no, I— ah, fuck, f-fuck, I’ll be loud- if that’s what you want.”

Your little whine when he doesn't let up makes him smile, and slot a hand between his own legs to toy at his hard cock. “Good. That’s our pretty, little slut. You’re going to do so well.” He undoes his zipper and pushes his pants down thick thighs enough to free himself from the confinement, hissing a few swears under his breath as he wraps his hand around himself. You’re rubbing your cunt all over Iwa’s tongue, letting him swipe up all the wetness with enough noise to make you die of embarrassment. As if it wasn’t enough to be humiliated, tied up over someone’s shoulder.

After a few strokes of his thick, flushed cock, Oikawa goes back to playing with your tits, slapping at the soft skin until it feels tender and sore. He grins until it shows on his cheeks, and coos at your tear-ridden face. “Hope you like a bit of pain, though. Iwa-chan likes to play rough.” His cock twitches and bobs up against his stomach when he lets go to run fingers along the back of your head, positioning you so you’re forced to look at the ceiling. Then he tutts his lips. “And so do I, for that matter.”

The other man groans loud as he fucks his tongue into your hole, before locking his lips around your needy clit and sucking so hard your toes curl, locking yourself around his head as he grunts. He grips your thigh so tight you’re sure it’ll bruise by tomorrow, and makes your hips roll onto his greedy mouth until he’s satisfied. Until your clit is throbbing from the attention— every touch feels too much. You unclamp your legs from around his shoulders to get some relief, or any space at all, but you’re barely given a second of rest when Oikawa forces his fingers between your lips. “Open up, pretty thing. Wanna have something in your mouth too, hm?”

Though you open your mouth to disagree, your words are garbled around his digits that push far back into your mouth. Enough to shut you up, holding your breath against your gag reflex. Iwaizumi licks at your pussy until your body relaxes just a little, but your shoulders still ache from the uncomfortably tied position. “I can fuck her cunt first?”

“Go ahead,” the brunet nods in response, prying your mouth open with a perverse sense of intrigue as he keeps your tongue squirming around his fingers. Your sounds are muffled, but the cries and pathetic whimpering is still loud enough to fill the room. “Now say ‘ahhh’.” You don’t, can’t while his two fingers are pushing back so far into the entrance of your throat; but his eyes still narrow. “Iwa, can you…” You blink back tears that run down your temples, try to swallow the spit down around his fingers— and then your legs are folded up onto your chest to receive a few consecutive hits on your bare pussy and ass.

The numbing pain has you opening your mouth automatically, though no words can come out. The heat of the spanking spreads through every trembling limb, feels painfully good. It’s sickening, honestly. You’re not sure if you’re crying from pain or pleasure anymore at this point, sniffling and moaning all blurring together. Your mind feels painfully blank, every bit focused on the two men claiming your body— taking it from you even though you shouldn’t allow it.

There’s nothing else you do when Oikawa positions himself over you, tilting your head back more for access— rubbing his thumb over your wet, little tongue. Or while Iwa takes off his clothes with a lazy hum, pawing at your sloppy pussy every so often to swipe your slick back up to the hood of your pussy.  As Oikawa pats his cock on your tongue, it squirms around the head to lick his heady taste, letting him push in a few inches at a time. He’s big, and you open up further not to bite him. The brunet looks down at you a little wide eyes while you do, letting out a sharp breath through his nose.

“That’s a good girl, there you go. Use that little throat to swallow around me. So- good.” You take a breath as he pushes past your tongue into your throat, spit dropping past your lips until he’s mostly in and rests his hand on your head. “Fuck, baby. Our little cockslut. You take it so well— al-always so tight.” He only pulls back a tiny bit before thrusting back into the hot, wet clutch of your throat. Meanwhile your legs are dangling, still halfway to your chest, and Iwa makes quick work of angling your lower body so that he can spit onto your pussy. There’s no need, only running down an already slicked up mess to your ass.

“Gon’ ruin this little pussy.” He grunts softly as he slides in, thick head kissing your entrance with lewd smacks before spreading open to let his cock in. It’s an awfully tight fit, making your chest feel even tighter— and you squeeze your eyes shut against the sting of the stretch. His cock feels so hot and heavy inside, even as he gives you only a few inches at a time. But you can’t really think of that, because Oikawa picks up the pace to fuck his cock into your mouth, making your throat give way to an uncomfortable stretch, and his round, heavy balls in your face. You can only cry as your tongue wraps around the underside of his cock, feeling the veins on it.

And you do, swallowing around him, and doing your very best not to gag. Iwa, meanwhile, has one hand on your belly, the other a steel grip on your hip to force his cock deep inside you. He grunts when your walls clench around him hard, clinging to the cock invading like a tight grip. Tight enough to make him let out a string of swears, pulling out just far enough to get to thrust back into you and make your body shake. Your legs hang either side of his big body, hips meeting his thighs with a loud, rhythmic pap each time he forces himself to bottom out inside you. Taking too much from both openings, it’s no wonder that only a little bit in you start mewling around the brunet’s cock.

It’s too much. The rude intrusion of your throat feels mind-numbing but so good, sending every bit of pleasure of being mistreated this way to your pussy. And Iwa fucks you like he’s trying to fuck through you, flushed head of his cock bumping against your cervix over and over again. “She’s gonna—” Iwa chokes out through gritted teeth, moving his hand to rub sloppy circles over the top of your cunny. “That’s it, doll. Cum on my cock, cum, cum.” And even the messy pressure is enough to make your clit tingle from how close you are. He rubs your clit as your face is fucked like a personal toy, and everyone groans and whines at how your body clenches up.

Your toes curl and legs spasm before you can prepare yourself, as you sadly try to choke out the second Oikawa gives you a tiny second to breathe. “Cumming, cumm—hngg~ mh—ah, fuck!” You ignore the black dots crossing your vision to take a few sharp breaths in between your moans, letting your thighs clamp around Iwa’s waist like you’re trying to keep him inside. “Agh-holy—pfh-ack.” Your cunt clenches so hard your entire lower half shakes, gushing cum and slick from around the thick cock plugging you up. He doesn’t stop fucking into you either, until you’re a shaky, flimsy shell of a human and stick your tongue back out with a whimper.

Oikawa gladly takes the opportunity to lean down and give you a sloppy kiss, then sits back up to lay his cock back onto your tongue. “Even now you still taste good, baby. That feels good, hm? Cumming around two cocks feels good?”

“Mhm-uhmp,” you’re nodding, letting him push back it to suction your mouth around the head of him as Iwa fucks your clenching pussy again and again. His balls slap against your ass as he picks up the pace even more, rutting himself into your soft, slick walls for his own pleasure now. He still hits your spot just right though, building you up faster than you can handle. And though your legs are locked around his glutes, he’s strong enough to still fuck you anyway, impossible to stop him. Oikawa smiles when leaning down to pet the bulge of your throat, throws his head back with a long groan.

“Oh, fuck. I can feel my cock slide into your little throat, pet.” Something he does greedily, grabbing hold on your face to really give him the leverage to slide in and out of your throat with long, deep thrusts. It leaves you a dumb, useless mess just trying your best to breathe and swallow down every whine that falls from you anyway. “You gonna take our cum? Let me breed that little mouth like you deserve, hm? Gonna take this hot cum all down your throat?”

“Yeah,” Iwa groans tightly, “gonna cum too.” He grabs onto your tits to squeeze the skin and flick at the oversensitive nubs until you physically can’t take anymore, but have no way to stop them. You can only whine out a mangled string of their names around the cock in your mouth, clenching as Iwa bumps against your cervix. “Gonna let me pump you full? Let daddy fuck you full? Know you will, baby. So good for us.”

+

You can't recall the rest of the night, but judging by your soreness and the amount of cum slipping out of your cunt every time you move, you don’t really need to. Your wrists are sore and tender, but at least you can now wrap them around your Hajime as he asks Oikawa to go get something to clean you up— letting you get pulled up against his warm body with a slight whimper. You can just barely keep your eyes open to listen to his heartbeat.

“There you go, that’s a good girl.” His face shifts into an unfairly soft expression for a split second, all worry slipping off his features in a way you’re not used to— before he bites his bottom lip. “You’re still a little out of it, huh?” A large but soft palm caresses the back of your head gently, threading though the hair at the base of your skull.

“Mhm- ‘t went good, right, daddy?” Your mouth hurts. Your throat hurts even more, already getting raspy. Iwa sighs, then lets a little frown come back to his features. Unable to help it, you presume. He nods though, and allows you to nuzzle against his glowing skin.

“Yeah, it went really well. You’re okay. You did so well, doll.”

You’re pulled up against his chest a little more and rest your lips against his midriff, letting the rhythm of his breathing wash over you. A welcome feeling of safety that hits you like a truck— and you curl your hands over your face for a second before the bathroom door squeaks and Tooru returns to the bed with the promised wash rag. Beady, hot tears come down your face a little longer, streaking on Hajime’s stomach as he continues to pet your head. And then the bed dips, wobbling you to your other boyfriend’s side.

“Here, pet. Let me clean you up a little.” His voice still has the confident, self-assured lilt it had earlier, but his eyes are softer. Blurry edges and long lashes feeling much more familiar now he’s not scowling at you anymore. Your chest caves in a little more when his finger nudges your chin up, letting him run the washcloth along your cheeks and hairline. “That was a lot, huh. We make some fine actors, Iwa-chan.” His little smile is still aimed at you though. “But you took it all so well.”

“You got carried away, Shittykawa,” Hajime’s voice rumbles his chest as he says it, running his hand now down your spine to rest at the small of your back and brush encouraging circles there. Soft, good, kind. The hazy feeling between your ears is not yet fading, but you take comfort in the fact that everything feels less loud now. Even with the static seeming to still blur out every thought, you make a disagreeing noise when Tooru pinches your nose with the wet cloth to clean up your snotty face. Then he puts it away, and leans down to press a few kisses between your brows.

“Can’t help it when she gets so cute like she does. All fucking soft, mewling like that.” He sits down on your other side, tucks his legs into the crook of your knees and rests his head on the other man’s shoulder. “Such a little sub, look at ‘er.”

Hajime hums, wrapping his arm around the both of you to pull you a little closer, then takes a long, deep breath. “She’ll probably be out of things for another half an hour.”

“You’re on night routine duty,” Tooru instantly whispers, slotting one of his arms along your body again to run his fingers down the valley of your breasts. After a few breaths he goes to cupping one instead, lazily brushing the still-sensitive skin. Something that Hajime has to suck his teeth at, telling him to knock it off.

“Don’t wind her up again.”

“I’m just—” he nuzzles into your crown to avoid your shared boyfriend’s eyes, and obnoxiously makes a few kissing noises, “appreciating this pretty body.” You can’t help fight back the urge to mimic the kissing noises back, instead kissing at Hajime’s skin with your eyes drooping closed more by the second. Everything feels less important as they continue to mute out the bad thoughts, and Tooru chuckles when you yawn long and wide. “So fucking cute.”

“Don’t let her fall asleep yet, she’s gotta brush her teeth.”

“You have to brush her teeth, you mean.” The brunet doesn’t flinch when Hajime glares at his smug grin, only rolls his eyes, before laying a soft kiss on his lips too. Then he softly shakes you a little to put his free hand under your butt and lifts you up higher on his body so you’re face to face.

“Shut the hell up. You don’t tell me what to do.” He doesn’t bother looking at Tooru when he laughs at the statement, before kissing your pouty lips too. A few times, until you start returning them, brushing your thigh with his fingers. “Hey, c’mon, doll. Sit up for me.”

“Daddy,” you whisper against his mouth, and pout when he pulls away a bit to look at you.

“I know you’re tired. But I’m on little baby duty so let’s go take off your make-up. I know you can. S’important.” He also doesn’t react when Tooru cackles louder at the awfully mushy way he always saves for moments like these, just motions you to wrap your arms around his neck as he lifts you from the bed. “There’s my princess.” You might be out of it, but the emphasis on the ‘my’ is clear enough to make you smile, watching Tooru’s face go from a cheerful glee to distressed just as quickly.

“Hey!”

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#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq smut #oikawa smut #iwaizumi smut #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #tw.noncon #🍯honey.pot #💫ch.oikawa #💫ch.iwaizumi

[fantasylandbitch]

Summary: After You abruptly get off the phone with Sam, the Core 4 makes it their mission to find you knowing you only have a certain amount of time left to live before you freeze to death in the Hudson River. Will they find you in time? What will become of you when they do?

Warning: Long Chapter, Angst, Family, Big Feelings, Sad Sam, Ethan being a Grade A Creep

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 2.5  Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 4.5  Chapter 5 Chapter 5.5 Chapter 6 Chapter 6.5 Chapter 7 Chapter 7.5 Chapter 8 Chapter 8.5 (Chapter 9 Coming Soon)

After Sam heard the splash of water in the background of your call with her, Sam couldn’t believe her ears. She felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach and suddenly it felt like everything was going in slow motion around her. When a car would pass by it looked as if it wasn’t moving an inch even though she could see the wheels on the car move or the wind that would dance in her hair it was like she couldn’t even feel it.

“S-Sam?” Tara calls her older sister, noticing the glassy look in her sister's eyes. 

“Y-Y/n” Sam whispers your name like if she said your name any louder her wish for you to be alive wouldn’t come true. Sam was so caught up in her feelings for you that she couldn’t hear her sister calling her name. Because to Sam, you were a part of her world and now the other half of the earth is no longer there, while her little sister is keeping her tethered to the other part of the rock she lives on. She knows that her heart shouldn’t be so attached to you but it is and her heart is calling out for you, which is why she started to run like her body had a mind of its own, no longer allowing Sam to idle on the sidewalk.

“Sam!” Tara yells out to her sister as she sees her running down the street before following after her. As soon as Tara ran after her sister, Mindy and Chad gave each other a look before following, leaving Ethan behind as he contemplated running after his friends considering what he had gone through earlier. Before he turned to look at the photography building across the street so he could examine his face from afar using the studio's tall glass windows, he noticed the blood on the side of his forehead feeling pain there before following everyone else across the crosswalk as he fished out a tissue from his pocket.

“Wait up guys!” Ethan yells out to his friends as he stops at another crosswalk and when he is able to, he walks over as Sam continues to run through the park with Tara hot on her heels “How do we even know she’s here?!” he questions.

While running, Sam eventually comes to a stop not wanting to run any farther as she can feel herself starting to feel the guilt eat at her as she tries to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. With Tara running up beside her, Tara steals a glance at her older sister before noticing your phone on the ground “Sam?” Tara says as she slowly starts to understand why her older sister is acting that way around her. Before she looked at the railing behind her and as soon as she put the pieces together Tara’s eyes started to water “Sam? Wh-Where is-?” Tara tried to make a sentence but couldn’t as Mindy and Chad began to catch up to them. They both stopped mid-way causing Sam to look over at the twins as some of her tears started to spill while she went to pick up your phone to put in her bomber jacket.

Then Mindy decided to take the initiative "Guys we can't stand around, we need to look for Y/n and quick!" She yells aloud at her friends because she doesn't want you to freeze to death in the water when she knows you might still have a chance.

"How do we know she hasn't been taken, swept away by the Hudson River?" Ethan yells over Mindy as he gets closer to the group. He sort of wants to see you alive sure but after what you did to him earlier he just wants to see Sam suffer, maybe even see her snap.

"We don't Ethan, that's why we need to check! Maybe she had enough strength to hide herself somewhere that we can't see her" Chad says to Ethan, thinking that while yes you could've been swept away by the Hudson River he had dubbed you as the final girl other than the women present in front of him, himself included even though he knows there's a 50/50 chance for him. 

Sam nods trying to collect herself for you and Tara “The twins are right” she says wiping the tears off of her cheeks before continuing “Mindy and Chad you guys walk around to the left of the park, Try not to go too far where we can’t see you. And Tara-” Sam says looking over at her little sister “You’re with me,” she says as everyone starts to split into their groups.

“W-What about me?” Ethan says, stopping the Carpenter sisters in their tracks “What do you guys want me to do?” he says feeling left out when he notices Sam’s face change from sad and concerned to angry and murderous while looking at him.

“What about you, Ethan?” she says seriously, feeling disappointed in him for not protecting you better because to Sam she equates going to the gym as not just a healthy activity to practice but to also use what you’ve gained at the gym to protect those close to you and therefore protecting you with his life. “I think you’ve done enough,” Sam says next, knowing that the little information that Mindy told her about at the gas station was only going to make her even angrier as she replays Mindy’s words over and over again in her head and she kind of wants to hit Ethan now until Tara held her hand to snap her older sister out of her angered state before speaking up.

“Ethan I think you should wait on the bench and if we need anything we’ll call you,” Tara says taking a deep breath before pulling her sister forward walking up the pathway and towards the edge of the park to begin looking for you. “You didn’t have to say that to him, Sam. I’m sure Ethan feels bad for not looking out for Y/n more while they were at the apartment together” she says looking around before turning her back to the river to look at her sister as Sam approached her.

Sam with a heavy heart, cups the sides of her little sister's face and says “Tara I don’t think you know how much he could have done and unlike us, I don’t think he cares as much as we, our family does about Y/n and her well being” before wiping the tears that started to spill from Tara’s eyes as Sam brought Tara into a hug. 

Then with the little space between Sam’s arms, Tara noticed something past the entrance of New York’s water taxi sign, a dock, and something obscuring a ladder that was attached to the side of it. “Hey Sam, if you turn around and look at the dock that's blocked off can you see the rest of the ladder?” Tara asks her older sister as she pulls away to see if her eyes are playing games with her, making Sam turn around to see what she’s talking about. 

Sam sees the gated path leading up to the floating dock and part of the ladder beside it and soon she and her sister are walking in the direction of the dock to get a better look, while Sam tries to recall what you were wearing earlier that night. While Sam walks with her sister to the location, Chad stops Mindy as he gently puts his hand around her bicep looking at where Sam and Tara are looking “Mindy do you think that could be Y/n?” he questions.

Chad’s question makes Mindy turn her head before her eyes land on the dock’s ladder and suddenly she walks closer to the railing separating her and the Hudson River before she starts walking back to where they had their little meeting pulling Chad’s arm along with her.

As Sam and Tara walk closer to the docks Sam starts to remember what you were wearing and the memory with it. She knows you wore a soft (color of your shirt) t-shirt because Sam remembers rubbing the sides of your waist feeling the soft fabric that hid your torso from her and the cute (favorite color) jeans that adorn your legs as you both held each other's hands underneath the table. Sam started to hear her heartbeat in her ears while her breathing became a little heavy with anticipation of what she was about to find before she looked over to see Mindy and Chad starting to run over to the entrance of the water taxi and this caused Sam and Tara to do the same.

As they got closer Tara yells for you “Y/N!!” as she sees you hanging on to the ladder but you're not responding to her call and Tara’s yell makes Ethan get up from sitting on the bench, running over to the gate to stand side by side with Tara, looking down at you from the railing. The sudden urgency causes Sam, Mindy, and Chad to jump over the gate to get onto the floating platform, and as they do Sam almost runs off of the dock if Mindy and Chad hadn’t stopped her by grabbing her arms.

“Slow down,” Mindy says to Sam as she tries to figure out how they should pull you up without getting into the water and hurting you further. 

“H-” Chad started but was abruptly cut off by Sam pulling items from her jean pockets to stuff in her bomber jacket.“Sam, what are you doing?” Chad asks, something Mindy is about to question herself as they both watch Sam take off her shoes “Sam, don’t I’m pretty sure the water is cold” he warns, and before anyone can do anything Sam jumps into the water.

“HOLY SHIT” Sam whispers yells to herself while breathing heavily trying to adjust her breathing to the sudden change in temperature of her body before swimming around to face you and the ladder. “How the fuck did Liv in Keep Breathing do this..Y/n,” Sam says to herself even though she was whispering to you not wanting her friends to think she was crazy before pushing up against your back “M-Mindy! C-Chad! I’m going to try and hoist Y/n up. I’m going to need you guys to lift her up by her armpits. Can you guys do that?!” Sam asks as she's starting to shake from being in the cold water.

Mindy responds to Sam’s question taking a moment to assess you and mentally prepare herself for your body temperature “You didn’t need to ask” she says, bending down on the dock so she can get ready to retrieve you from Sam.

After Mindy's response, Chad speaks up “Say less Sam, we’re here for you and Y/n” he says genuinely as he kneels getting ready to take hold of you while Tara is crying by the entrance with Ethan beside her getting anxious wanting you to get out of the water already.

“O-Okay ready?!” Sam says as she sees Mindy and Chad nod getting their hands ready for you without taking a dip. “One! Two! Three!” Sam yells into the air before pushing her feet against the ladder and hoisting you up while the twins carefully pull you up by your armpits as they eventually lay you on the dock. Then Sam takes hold of the ladder shaking as she gets out of the water with Chad helping her up as Mindy drags your body out of Sam’s way before trying to resuscitate you. As Sam stands tall on the dock she jumps up and down to gain some heat so that her body isn’t cold even though the wind is hitting her before she runs over to Mindy’s side to try and bring you back “Come on Y/n!” She says as she rubs your chest with the palm of her hand before she performs CPR “Come on Y/n! Don’t die on me please!” Sam yells your name as her eyes become glassy while putting her hands over each other and pressing down on your chest. Then she goes to cover your nose to breathe air back into your lungs trying to force whatever is in your system out before going back to pressing down on your chest again as she can feel your chest cavity break beneath her “Y/N!” Sam yells your name again and this time she’s balling.

With Sam yelling your name it makes Mindy look over at Tara and she can see her crying before looking over at her brother in front of her. She can see how Chad’s face is slowly betraying him under the fluorescent light, his eyes are red as he gets up to face the Hudson River and Mindy starts to feel some of her own tears start to stain her cheeks.

Then Tara hears the ambulance arrive at the park, and she turns her head in the direction of the sound as Ethan runs over to the paramedics to not only yell at them but to tell them what happened so they can bring the proper equipment. Then as Ethan runs over with the paramedics behind him, Tara can see her older sister still trying to bring you back before the paramedics arrive and open the gate to take over but they struggle against Sam. "NO I can save her!" Sam yells as she continues to give you compressions before pushing the paramedics away from your body. "NO, DON'T TOUCH HER" Sam yells again but this time she's protective of your body she doesn't want anyone to touch you.

Tara knows that her older sister doesn’t want anyone else touching you and it causes Tara to cry harder as she pushes past her friends to get a hold of Sam “Sam let her go, please” she says hugging her older sister with tears streaming down her face. "They can save her, let her go" and as she lets you go with the paramedics Sam holds on to your hand as she gets up and walks over to the entrance of the dock before your fingers slip through hers as they take you away, Sam becomes quiet as she slips into her shoes and picks up her jacket.

“Ethan..go with Y/n to the hospital please,” Sam asks Ethan quietly and he nods walking with the paramedics to their truck as Sam herself, Tara, Mindy, and Chad follow after them. Sam watched as the paramedics were still giving you CPR while the other paramedics started working on your wounds by making sure that they were sterilized before applying cloth and light bandages to them, before placing a blanket over your body as they drove away. Then Sam takes Tara, Mindy, and Chad back to your car so they can meet you at the hospital but before Sam goes into your car, she quickly changes into another pair of clothes. While walking to the back of your car Sam assumes she's stashed extra clothes away in the trunk but little did she know there was none, Sam gives a frustrated sigh trying to find some clothes until she lifts the floor of your trunk to find yours, She sees your blue sweatpants, and one of your cream-colored mockup sweaters from the store you occasionally help out. “A Mothers Love A Women’s Bakery” Sam whispers before changing near the car and after stuffing her wet clothes into one of your spare grocery bags. After the clothes are in the trunk Sam walks over to the front passenger door to take a seat next to her sister as Tara GPSs a way to the hospital before pulling out of the parking spot she’s in. 

While on the drive over Sam can’t help but lift the neckline of your sweater up to her nose taking a deep breath in as she can smell your scent through the fabric. The smell of you through every thread that makes the sweater almost makes Sam want to cry all over again as she begins recalling your last words that were addressed her. ‘Sammy’ she hears your voice in her head ‘spending time with you these past few months’ her heart slowly starts to ache. ‘You have made me the happiest woman I’ve ever been and I am happy I was able to be a part of your life’ Sam continues to hear you as she sinks further into your sweater pulling the hood slowly over her head as she attempts to hide from her thoughts, your voice, and her guilt. Until she takes another deep breath in, it’s like your scent was made to soothe her woes and clear her mind as she slowly relaxes against the soft fabric as it slowly lulls her to sleep in the car.

In the ambulance where you are accompanied by Ethan, the paramedics were able to get the water out of your system before putting an oxygen mask over your mouth so you can breathe while they’re driving to the hospital. “Your friend is going to be fine,” a paramedic says to Ethan, as he looks over at them and they continue “Her girlfriend did a great job at keeping her alive,” the paramedic says smiling at Ethan before walking to the front of the truck to sit next to the driver “she's stable” was the last thing he heard before Ethan turns his head to look at you. As Ethan watches your chest rise and fall, he slowly tilts his head before quickly looking over at the paramedics and then back at you with a clenched jaw before leaning forward to glide his fingers through your damp hair wondering if he should just kill you in your sleep, even though he knows it would just take the fun out of it. But instead, he just shakes his head smiling at your sleeping figure as he leans back in his seat because he’s amazed at how you’re still alive even though he had graced your body with a large wound, of course, not large enough to to see your guts spill out of you. He likes a good chase and would never want to out right kill you unless he felt like it. But Ethan’s smile slowly drops as he leans forward wondering as to HOW in your fucked up state managed to outrun two of the best Ghost Faces he’s ever teamed up with and what he thinks might be the anwser makes him cover his mouth as he laughed. He doesn’t want to get ahead of himself though, thinking that you could possibly be just like him, but he is excited by the turn of events because he figures with you in the hospital, he can play with Sam and Tara all by himself after he finds a way to kill his roommate Chad and his sister Mindy.

"Fuck the script," He says to himself before his phone buzzed so he pulls his phone out of his pocket to see who it is only to be disappointed. "Of course, you fucking do" Ethan whispers before texting back his accomplices, shoving his phone back into his jeans before sitting back again as he watches over you, and before he knows it, you both arrive at the Rosemary Hospital a place not too far from home. “Time to act like I care,” he says looking back at your sleeping figure on the stretcher as he made his eyes start to water before turning his head to the back doors as someone opens the trunk so they can bring you into the hospital. Then on Ethan's way into the hospital with you, he thought he was allowed access to you and the assigned room that you would stay in but was soon stopped by a security officer. “I’m with her, that's my friend!” Ethan yells aloud as he pushes against the security officer before backing away and begins walking back and forth in the lobby waiting for Sam, Tara, Chad, and Mindy to arrive.

Eventually, Tara does arrive at the Rosemary Hospital driving around the parking lot until she can find a parking spot closest to the hospital entrance and when she does the sudden stop wakes her sister up. As soon as Sam opens her eyes she looks around the car when her eye catches the hospital's logo and the instant feeling of needing to see you causes Sam to immediately take off her seatbelt and step out of the car. When Sam got out of the car, she looks around the parking lot on the lookout for any threats before noticing Kirby’s car in the next lot.'What is Kirby doing here?' Sam ponders before turning her head to look at the hospital as she waits for her sister and the twins to get out of your car. After they get out, they all fall in line walking to the hospital allowing Sam to trail behind them, upon stepping foot in the brightly lit building, Sam passes the twins and tails Tara reaching for her little sister’s shoulder to comfort her just in case because Sam knows that Tara doesn’t like hospitals.

“Any updates on Y/n?” Chad asks looking away from Sam and Tara to look at his roommate and all Ethan can do is shrug making Chad nod, not realizing how incompetent his roommate seems to be before sitting down and thinking about your well-being as Mindy joins him in the waiting area thinking about you as well.

The shrug causes Sam to look away from Ethan before shaking her head trying to swallow her anger as her grip on her little sister’s shoulder tightens a little. Her grip although firm wasn’t a cause for concern for Tara but she did want her older sister to be grounded and not allow her anger to get the best of her so Tara reached her hand up to her shoulder to rub Sam’s hand in an attempt to calm her down. It works making Tara smile to herself as Sam loosens her grip on her before moving her hands up to Tara’s face to rub her cheeks as she takes a deep breath. “I’m going to see what room she’s in okay, Tara?” She spoke before looking down at her sister and Tara nodded before walking over to Mindy to sit next to her while Sam went to the counter to talk to someone.

“Hello Miss how can I help you?” a women at the customer service desk says to Sam as she slowly looks the older Carpenter woman up and down with a smile.

“I have a friend who was just admitted to the hospital here and I wanted to know what room she was staying in?,” Sam asks, trying to look calm but her hands betray her as she taps her fingertips on the counter, just not hard enough for there to be sound.

“What's their name?” the woman asks going into her computer database before looking up at Sam.

“Y/n, Y/n L/n,” Sam says to the women before she turns to look behind her to see Tara walking over to the counter, Tara reached for Sam’s hand to comfort her because Tara could see from where she was sitting that Sam was unable to stand still.

“We have her in room 110 but you would need access to go up there,” the woman says looking at Sam and then at her sister before looking at another monitor.“Unfortunately, only family can go up there,” she says and Sam sighs looking down at her hands.

“What are you serious?” Tara says before pushing her older sister out of the way so she can get to the counter to give the customer service agent a piece of her mind. But before she could, Sam lifts her sister up by her waist before walking over to the waiting area as her arms and legs flail like a lion trying to get out of her grasp. "Sam put me down, now!" Tara yells at her sister but Sam doesn’t budge, she waits until Tara calms down a bit before slowly allowing her little sister’s feet to touch the ground. “How dare-” Tara started as she was going to give Sam an ear full before her older sister was called by someone.

“Sam” Kirby calls which causes Sam to look beyond the reception’s desk noticing the blond “This group can come with me” Kirby says taking her badge out to show the security officer that she was in fact a federal agent.

“Kirby!” Tara yells with surprise walking up to Kirby to give her a hug and Kirby hugs her back with a tired smile.

“Hey Tara” Kirby says releasing the little Carpenter from her clutches before turning her head to Sam and looking her over “I feel like the sweater suits you but not the sweatpants, Sam. Wait are those my si-” she started before she was cut off.

“Yeah I’m barrowing her cloth-” Sam says before stopping mid way because she just noticed what Kirby was going to say next but she wasn’t alone in what she heard because Mindy and Chad’s ears perked up at the same time as Tara and Ethan’s. 

“Y/n..is your sister Kirby?” Tara says looking at Kirby briefly before looking over at her older sister making eye contact with one another. 

Kirby takes a deep breath, nodding as she looked down at Tara before waving everyone over to walk with her to the elevator “I’ll catch you guys up on the way to her room” she says before taking a walk.

“She must be adopted because there is no way you two are related to each other. Unless either your mom or your dad had an affair” Mindy starts as she walks into the elevator with the rest of her friends, making Kirby laugh.

“You're funny but no. I got married to Y/n’s older sibling Cam two years ago and I’ve only known Y/n for about the same number of years and if I didn’t know something was fishy in their family it would have been a year.” Kirby says in the quiet elevator and for a few minutes it was silent between everyone as they took in this new information about you, realizing that they never once asked you about your home life.

Until Tara asked Kirby a question about what she said “What do you mean by that Kirby? By if you didn’t know something was fishy, it would have been a year?” The little Carpenter asked which was something Sam was wondering herself, keeping quiet, Sam can feel something in the pit of her stomach developing.

“Well, Y/n has another older sibling named Tomás and well……as a pompous little prick he is, he made Y/n miss our wedding. I thought that was fishy because Cam knew she wouldn’t miss her estranged older sibling’s wedding like that so we visited their family and let's just say it wasn’t good.” 

Kirby ended the conversation as the elevator doors opened to your floor and as everyone walked out into the hallway Sam watched your sister in law stop to collect herself trying to remember which hallway to go down before she walked right. While everyone continued to follow Kirby down the long hallway Sam kept seeing rooms with people hooked up to monitors and other machines before looking over at her little sister who slowly inched closer to her. The Carpenter sisters soon reached out for each other's hands to comfort each other as they got closer to your assigned room. Soon enough Sam spotted the numbers 110 like the women at the counter had told her earlier and as Sam walked closer to your room her legs started to come to a stop while Tara felt her older sister’s grip on her hand tighten.

The sudden resistance from Sam causes Tara to turn around and look at her while Sam stands there in the hallway feeling sick to her stomach because she’s afraid to see what state you're in, afraid to see you hooked up to a bunch of machines like her sister once was, and ultimately afraid to see what Ghost Face had turned you into in her absence away. “I’m here with you Sam,” Tara says to her older sister as she gives Sam’s hand a squeeze making Sam look down at her. “Let’s see how Y/n is doing. I’m sure she is waiting for us to see her” Tara says to encourage Sam while Kirby takes a seat outside of your assigned room before looking over at the Carpenter sisters and getting back up as she watches Tara guide Sam into your room.

“Let’s clear the room guys” Chad says wiping a tear from his eye before walking out of the room to take a seat in the hallway. 

“Stay strong Y/n” Mindy says quietly to you before silently walking out of the room to join her brother while Ethan stands in the far corner of the room ringings his hands, not sure of what to say to you while he watches Sam and Tara walk up to your bed.

To Sam’s surprise you were not hooked up to too many machines making her release a heavy sigh of relief that she didn’t even know she was holding as she watched her little sister approach you. “H-Hey Y/n” she heard her sister say to you as Tara started to tear up “I-I’m so sorry Y/n for being so mean and for accusing you” she apologizes as she takes her hand from her sister to put it in yours. “You are not like Amber or Richie. I was just afraid of people getting close to my sister…I didn’t want either of us to get hurt again” Tara continues as she said the rest of her thoughts in a whisper to you while wiping her tears but the beginning of her sentence didn’t go unheard.

In the corner where Ethan stood, his ears perk up at the sound of Richies name as his eyes scanned the room before settling on Tara. He watches closely at her form, looking her up and down with such intensity that he can almost witness her brutal end imagining her squirming beneth him while he looks down at her, while Tara looks around for help only to see her friends dead on the floor while he let Sam watch as he puts his knife to Tara’s throat. But the murderous act he imagined in his head stops when Sam’s knuckles hit the rim of your bed bringing him back to reality and from the corner of his eye he can see Sam slowly reaching for your blanket. He could tell she was curious about your wound and he slowly smirked because he really wants Sam to see what horrors he can do, like an art director admiring his work but his smirk drops because Sam can’t bring herself to see it or touch you almost as if you would break under her finger tips.

“You want to say anything to her, Sam?” Tara asks her older sister while watching Sam fix your blanket making it neat like she never touched it at all before shaking her head quietly and walking out of the room to join the twins. But Tara stayed with you for a minute before she kissed your forehead for Sam and giving your hand a gentle squeeze for herself before leaving your room to join her sister.

When Tara joined her family in the hallway Kirby started asking questions. “Okay can any one of you recall what happened to my little sister while I was at work?” Kirby asks calmly, looking at everyone in front of her and not just at Sam who feels solely responsible for your current state. “You guys have to give me something before my partner calls asking for answers and a superior ready to rip me” and while they converse with each other to get to the bottom of what actually happened to you, Ethan approaches your bed.

As Ethan walks around your bed to be on the side where he wounded you, your heart rate picks up as the heart monitor made a light beeping sound as if you can sense a bad aura in your presence before your heart rate went on like normal and he noticed this. Ethan gives your state a light smile because he feels content with where you are but he couldn’t deny that he had it bad for you as he tried in the beginning to get you to laugh at his antics or show off his muscles to you with Chad in the gym but he hated that you always searched for Sam and Tara whenever you two were hanging out. “Oh Y/n, I am so happy I didn’t kill you right away even though I really really want to” he says to you causing your heart rate to pick up again, making him smile a little more as he leans toward your head. “But you see your role is, in my script at least, is a little important for several reasons. You want to know why? Because with you out of the picture..”he whispers as your heart rate picked up more as he got closer to your ear “Your friends are lost without you especially Sam which means I can easily kill them with their guard down even with her fuck buddy Danny in the apartment.”

“I left Ethan with Y/n last so maybe he might know” Sam says to Kirby, and as Ethan got done with what he wanted to say to you Sam notices your heart monitor going off which causes her to get up to attend to you while Mindy follows.

“Hey shy and dorky!” Mindy yells at Ethan making him jump without a warning before turning around. 

“Yeah? What’s up?” Ethan says innocently to her as he put his hand over his chest briefly before watching Sam walk past Mindy so she can see why your heart monitor is acting up.

“Get your ass out here so we can discuss what happened with Y/n” Mindy says, trying to get Ethan away from you so Sam can have a bit of your time and it works.

While Ethan is engaged in a conversation with Kirby and the rest of the gang Sam approaches your side before looking over her shoulder at her family. Then her eyes followed the beeping sound to the heart monitor in the room before looking at you so Sam brought down the bed rail so she could sit next to you on the bed making sure she sat away from your torso. As she slowly sits down Sam looks over at the heart monitor again noticing how it's not going off like it did before, it's steady like it should be, she looks over at you and for a moment Sam smiles at you as she tries to hold back her own tears. Sam is comforted by the fact that her presence makes you feel safe but it doesn’t take away from the fact that she feels this deep sense of guilt for what happened to you because Sam feels like she should have known that Ghost Face would go after you eventually since you’ve been there for her and her family. In fact Sam can remember the many times you’ve saved her and her family’s asses like in the bodega where you pushed the shelves into Ghost Face so her and Tara can run, when you had let Mindy and Anika go over the ladder first, where you caught her from falling to her death in front of Danny’s apartment window, and when you went to save Gale from Ghost Face and somehow remembered some medical technique from a show you both watched months ago to cover her wounds. Sam sees you as her hero and her equal someone Sidney Prescott could never be despite their circumstances and that very realization makes Sam’s heart swell that the very feeling makes her cry a little.

“Hey Sam?” Chad calls, making Sam quickly wipe her eyes to look at him.

“What’s up Chad?” Sam responds looking at him as her brows furrow wondering why Chad seems uneasy so she scans the hallway through the windows of your room to see that the rest of her family looks the same way before getting up. However, before Sam leaves your side she pulls up the bed rails so you won’t fall off the bed knowing she would have to leave your side for the night considering what time it is. After pulling up the rails for you Sam walks over by the door to your room and leans against the door frame crossing her arms as she gives everyone a tired look “What?” Sam questions.

“Bro tell Sam what you told us,” Chad says trying to encourage Ethan to speak up as Sam scans the faces of her immediate family noticing how her little sister looks mad at Ethan while Mindy looks like she’s going over information as her eyes darted across the floor before looking up at Kirby who had her back towards the group and then at Ethan.

“First hear me out, Sam. I think Y/n is Ghost Face” He says ripping a groan out of Mindy, Tara, and your sister in law Kirby while Chad looks stressed about the information and when Tara looks over at Sam she thought she would see daggers being thrown at Ethan but to her surprise Sam seemed unbothered. “While I was with Y/n at her apartment the lights in the building went out and she made this grand plan to go to the basement to get the power on so she handed me a flashlight and a taser while she had a bat and a knife on her. Then we leave her apartment to go down to the basement and she jokingly threatens me with her knife saying she would tell Chad that I had abandoned her down in the basement” Ethan says in disbelief that you would even do that making Sam look over her shoulder at you eventually looking over at Ethan while Chad is eating this information up.

“Listen I know that I can be dramatic but get to the point already Ethan” Mindy says aloud looking at Ethan briefly before Chad tapped her shoulder giving her a look that says ‘He’s getting there, calm down’. 

“SO I got to the breaker to turn it on thinking that Y/n is with me and when I turned around she wasn’t there so I assumed she went back to the entrance of the basement before I blacked out. When I woke up next Chad was checking if I had a pulse before looking around the basement” Ethan finished his thought. Ethan’s story causes Kirby to turn around and look at Sam while Sam looks over her shoulder again to look at you for a little longer before looking back at Ethan again because to her something about his story doesn’t add up.

Before she could ask any questions, however, a nurse walks by the hallway to tell everyone that the visiting hours are done for the night and to go home with the exception of Kirby staying back to watch over you while Ethan and the Core 4 went back to Danny’s apartment. The whole night was quiet, no one spoke a word, not even Danny himself as he read the room which he found unsettling. When it was time for bed everyone took residence in the living room. Ethan settles by sleeping near the window, Chad settles near his roommate, Mindy settles by one end of the couch, and the Carpenter sisters settle in the middle of the living room right before the TV. But they never went to sleep because everyone had something keeping them up. For instance, Chad was wondering how you could be Ghost Face when you were a sweet golden retriever like him and Anika, Mindy was thinking about the live video feed of you that Ghost Face sent Sam on the way over to your apartment, Tara who has snuggled up to her sister was thinking about how your last moments might have played out, and Sam well she couldn’t sleep knowing you weren’t near her in someway.

While the Core 4 knows you're not dead, they are still restless because you aren't physically in the apartment with them. In fact little did you know that you play an important role in their family dynamic because they placed you in a place that isn't necessarily a parent figure like Sam who just wanted to be there for her sister or a friend how you initially planned to be but perhaps a combination of the two.

A family dynamic that Ethan plans to prey on in the best possible ways, knowing that your lack of presence in the apartment might possibly be the Core 4's downfall. Ethan is hoping that your wounds are severe enough that you don't wake up anytime soon in the hospital to save your friends.

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 2.5  Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 4.5  Chapter 5 Chapter 5.5 Chapter 6 Chapter 6.5 Chapter 7 Chapter 7.5 Chapter 8 Chapter 8.5 (Chapter 9 Coming Soon)

Stay in my mentions crew: @daddy-carpenter @lummaland @screechcat @grandpatrolnut @octaviasnextmeatcube @fanboy7794 @werewolfbansheelove

Scream 6 : A Love so Understanding Playlist

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter imagine #a fantasylandbitch presents a story #cour four #a fantasylandbitch presents a story: scream6 #autistic!reader #Spotify

[amethystfallenangel]

soda (pilot kelson x reader)

You groan, swatting the fly away from the counter. It's too hot behind this counter, you've been working long hours at this gas station. Customers are rude, impatient and in a rush. And you're stuck here, forced to be professional and patient. You've even gotten bored of your phone, so you dash it onto the counter, huffing and leaning against the boxes behind you, opening one button of your t-shirt because of the unbearable midday heat.

Suddenly, you hear the rev of an engine outside and the squeak of tires. Here we go again, another frustrating customer to make this infernal wait even worse than it already is. You pay no attention to the two customers who saunter into the shop, laughing obnoxiously, but as they stumble to the counter, you grin slightly. They're quite young, around your age, if not one or two years younger. One of them has a shaved mullet and wild eyes, with a loose tank top and a stupidly wide grin. He's busy checking out the bubble-gum selection, commenting aimlessly on each flavour. His friend, however, seems unbothered, his downturned blue eyes staring at you softly. He has messy hair, the brown strands sticking out weirdly. He fiddles with the zipper of his bomber jacket, offering you a crooked smile. He speaks to you in a slurred, clumsy voice, as if completely faded.

"What soda do you recommend?"

You sigh, smiling sheepishly.

"Uh, I don't know. Fanta, maybe."

He leans over the counter, clasping his hands, lifting his bushy eyebrows and gazing at you with his puppy-like eyes.

"You like citrus drinks?"

"Yeah, sure." His attempt at making conversation is terrible, but it's cute. You glance quickly at his friend, who is still rambling on to himself about the flavours of bubble gum.

"Citrus drinks suck. I prefer Coke, or Dr Pepper."

You nod blindly.

"Uh, yeah, we have Coca Cola too." You point to the fridges where the cold drinks are.

He narrows his eyes playfully, and then ambles off curiously, promptly returning with three cans of soda.

One Coke, one Dr Pepper and... a Fanta?

You tilt your head at him, a question in your eye.

His friend, who you later learn is called Jack, interrupts, still grinning.

"That's his way of asking you to hang out with us. Oh, I'll have the strawberry bubble gum too. Thanks, sweetheart." He places a 15 dollar bill on the counter, but before you can hand him his change, he skips away, whistling, back to the car, with his Dr Pepper and his bubble gum.

You're left with the droopy eyed young man, still leaning across the counter with a playful smirk. And of the soda, obviously.

You chuckle, twirling a piece of your hair from under your cap, as you lean across the counter yourself, your shirt a little too revealing for the young man not to smirk a little wider.

"So, soda boy, what's your name?"

"Why, you wanna buy me a drink?" he teases.

You chuckle lowly, glancing at your Fanta and his Coca Cola. Good come back. He's quite witty, clearly. And playful.

"Thanks for the soda, by the way," you hum. "I'm still on duty, though. I'm not sure I can hang out with you guys. I appreciate the offer, of course."

"We're in the nearby town till tomorrow, though," he croons, edging closer to your face. You shake your head, amused.

"That so? Fine, then. I could use a night out. You guys aren't serial killers or thieves or anything, right?"

He giggles, popping open his can and taking a sip.

"Would that make us more interesting?"

"Not exactly the word I would use. You still haven't told me your name by the way."

"Pilot. I'm Pilot Kelson" He holds out his hand comically.

"Pilot? That's an interesting name." You go to shake his hand, but instead he takes your hand and places a gentle kiss on the back, looking back at you with a loud laugh.

"You're very bold, Pilot. Or maybe just completely high."

"Does it matter?"

"I don't mind. Pick me up at 6 tonight, soda boy." You grin and then place a quick kiss on his cheek. His jaw drops in a cheeky grin, and he winks as he walks away.

Your shift was boring. Two more smug faced truckers came in for a few beers, nothing special. When your shift ends, a car is already waiting outside, and as you leave the shop, jamming the door for the next person to start their shift, the car headlights are flashing wildly, Pilot and Jack waving their arms frantically out of the windows. You giggle at them being unnecessarily noisy, wondering what on earth you've gotten yourself into. Your Fanta is still in your bag.

"Hey soda boy," you joke, as you get in the back of their messy car. His friend turns his attention to you, eyeing you up and down greedily, but somewhat respectfully.

"I'm Jack, by the way," he says, his eyes sultry.

"Nice to meet you, Jack."

You drive to a lively, crowded bar. Inside, there are road stop signs and buffalo skulls as decorations. It smells strongly of whiskey, tobacco and steak pies. There are multiple coloured jukeboxes, pool tables, booths and flickering warm overhead lamps. You know this bar well, you used to come here with your old man way before he became a trucker. You smile to yourself as you lean over the sticky, heavy oak counter and greet the bartender. Jack already seems to be in conversation with a cute blonde in a leather skirt. The pair choose a bluesy rock song on one of the jukeboxes. You order drinks and Pilot follows you eagerly to a table, leaving his friend with the girl.

"So," you say, biting your lip in amusement, "why'd you ask me to accompany you guys anyways? And why are you leaving so soon?"

He chuckles lowly.

"Actually, Jack was caught screwing some guy's wife in Las Vegas. We're basically just on the run, cus' the husband was a raging psycho who sent some guys after Jack. Oh and I asked you cus' I find you hot. And funny."

You snicker, almost spitting out your drink.

"Talk about be bold."

"Yeah, Jack works as a pool cleaner, so he didn't really care about leaving his job."

"And you tagged along? That's wholesome. What do you do?"

He scoffs, seemingly lost for words, before chuckling again.

"I'm technically a drug dealer."

Your eyes go wide. Well, this sure is an eventful day.

"Oh."

He leans back into his chair, flinging an arm around the back of your chair. You can feel one of his fingers brush your back and it sends a chill down your spine. He's starts to draw lines and circles on your back with his finger.

"You don't think less of me, though, right?" he coughs, gazing at your soft features with his lazy eyes.

You turn your head to face him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your demeanour is calm, but you're a little flushed.

"No. I mean, you guys are a bit too wild for me, but I don't think less of you, no.

He smirks, the hand on your back sliding up to the back of your neck, to gently guide your head closer to him.

You playfully poke his stomach and he pulls back, groaning in annoyance, as he rolls his head back. Then, without a thought, you climb up onto his lap, so that you are straddling him. His head shoots up eagerly, his hands almost just as quickly moving to your hips.

You cup his cheeks as your noses almost touch.

"You're an interesting guy, Pilot."

"You mean 'soda boy'?" he laughs, his hips involuntarily bucking up into yours.

You gasp slightly, widening your eyes at him.

"Okay, soda boy," you tease, "show some restraint. We're in public, remember."

He leans in close.

"Then let's go back to the motel," he grins.

Leaving the car with Jack, both of you rush out of the bar, walking with incredible speed to the grimy motel where the two troublemakers have been staying for the past two days.

You both stumble into the motel room, as you slam him into the door. His hands finds the hem of your skirt as he tugs as it. You giggle, throwing you bag onto the carpeted floor. You both almost tackle one another onto the floor, rolling around, unable to keep your hands to yourselves. He manages to pry open the rest of the buttons of your t-shirt, as his body presses flush against yours. As he is peppering your neck with hot kisses, he kicks your bag, and your unopened can of Fanta rolls out. Pilot turns around to look at it, with an amused smile, and with his head buried in your chest, he mumbles "I might have to help you finish that drink."

"I thought you didn't like citrus drinks," you manage to say, between passionate kisses.

"I wouldn't mind trying."

You tug at his messy hair and he groans, although not in annoyance this time.

This is by far the most interesting one-night stand you will ever have.

#pilotkelson #highway 2002 #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal x reader #dilf x reader #pilotkelson x reader #jake gylenhall #x y/n #grunge #y2k icons #grunge icons #fanfic

[ginnuy]

YOU - There is an otherworldly, sexy mystery carved somewhere deep in your head.

INLAND EMPIRE - Be honest with yourself, Harry. These feelings have been here for a long, long time.

YOU - You feel... something. Something deep, dark and primal is calling to you, though it's hard to find the right words to describe it.

LOGIC - Perhaps the word "animalistic" would be most accurate.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - That sounds right. Something about the intensity of Kim's presence is making you want to pound your chest and make a noise…

YOU - The logical part of your brain, the small and weak part, the part that's always been easily overpowered by the more animalistic parts, finally understands what you want. The man in the bomber jacket stirs something inside you. Something hot, something primal.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT- You are a *Homo sapien* with animal instincts. You are such a goddamn Homo sapien, you should growl and grunt and rip your shirt open!

VOLITION - I was more thinking about something raw, carnal, and utterly untamed. The sort of thing has gotten you in trouble before.

Grab Kim by the shoulders and howl.

Rip your shirt open and pound your chest in a primal manner.

Sit back and think about it.

"No, I’d rather not think about this."

YOU - You feel your chest swell and your body start pumping with testosterone. "Grr... Grr..."

YOU - You let loose with a low, raw murmur that catches both of you off guard.

KIM KITSURAGI - His gaze freezes over, his eyes narrow and widen as he considers your display of physical domination.

PERCEPTION - Kim has clearly never heard a more masculine growl in all of his life.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - He likes it.

#this started out as an emotional thing that i cried over for for about 4 times #but then i wrote this silly alternative instead #so enjoy #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #disco elysium #fun #txt #kimharry #harrykim #I'LL MAYBE post the original if i finish it i've just been giggling at the thought of this instead of writing

[dameleia]

1. just hold me closer, baby, and make me crazy for you.

summary: after a few attempts, you finally convinced the hot guy to go on a date with you.

wc: 1k

a/n: watch me come back from years of hiatus to post this.

Leon Kennedy is an enigma. He’s a fire that lights up something inside of you. 

He’s a puzzle, something that you have never seen or known before. He brings with him a warm aura despite his steely gaze and tight lips, yet you see through him. You see the shadows that surrounds him. You feel in you a strong pull. Maybe it’s you and the never-ending faith you have but your entire being begs to be with him—chase the shadows away and be the light he needs. Some say it’s the savior complex you have and maybe it is. 

You’ve only known each other for weeks, observed him for months, yet you know that you’ll be anything he will tell you to be. 

And it should be wrong. 

The excitement you feel at seeing him by the counter, nursing a glass that you know never stayed for long should be wrong. You have seen signs of trauma and how he depends on alcohol to cope and you wish that Leon Kennedy will one day find his peace, but you cannot help but be thankful for everything that let you met the man. 

You are moving before you know it. 

You will fight back against the invisible force pushing you to the blond man. You feel giddiness builds up inside of your as you near him. Your heartbeat is getting quicker, and you feel your knees buckling—whether in nervousness or excitement, you are not sure. You know he knows you’re approaching him. 

No matter how much you tried to creep up on him and take him by surprise, it never worked. It took you the fourth try until you just learned to accept it. You have a hunch his job has something to do with that. How else would he be observant in an extent that is borderline creepy or drinking the whole bar away every two business days? His build is enough clue, but it’s the leather jacket that backed your assumption. Or the bomber jacket you saw him wear that one time. 

“Leon,” you call, settling on the seat beside him. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

The man doesn’t even turn to look at you. He swirls the alcohol around his glass and drinks it in one go. “Likewise,” he downs the glass before glancing your way.  The way he says your name is enough to wake the butterflies inside your stomach. “School ended early?”

You pout. You cannot believe he still thinks of you like you’re a high school kid! “Yes, yes because a high school girl like me should be in the bar.” 

Leon shrugs. “Don’t know what youngins do these days.” 

“Such a grandpa,” you roll your eyes, grinning at the glint of amusement on his face and the ghost of a smile you’ve become accustomed to. “But in case you don’t know, kids still aren’t allowed in bars and clubs.” 

“Is that so?” 

“You know, for a grandpa you don’t your morning paper.” 

That earns a chuckle from the man beside you. You let out a giggle of your own.  The sound is contagious and almost therapeutic. 

“Don’t have time to,” Leon turns his body to face you. “So what’s a pretty lady like you doing in a shady bar like this?” 

You roll your eyes for the second time that night but the quirk of your lips show anything but annoyance. “Maybe this pretty lady wants to drink her sorrows away.” 

“Then may I buy you a drink?” Before you can even answer, Leon is calling the bartender over. You hesitantly recite your order, feeling bashful all of a sudden. 

This may be the longest conversation you ever had with the man and though him buying you a drink or two is not unusual, it still has you turning into a mush of feelings and hormones. You already made your intention with him clear. You already invited him for a date for five times already—each rejected. Of course, you took it like a champ. You know better than to dwell on something for long and most importantly, you will try and try until you get the man of your dreams to agree on going out with you. 

Even once is enough. You want to share a meal with him and become someone in his life. Even a friend will do. All you know is that you never want to let this man go. 

“So,” you take a deep breath, body almost going taut with how nervous you are. “Won’t you share a dinner with me?”

You are almost afraid to look at him and hear him say those words again, but you pushed through. You have a feeling Mr. Leon Kennedy here likes his women with guts anyway. Seconds feel like forever with his eyes on you. You watch his lips, already thinking of a way to reply to his rejection. You hold your breath as you see him open his mouth. 

“When?” 

You must look comical right now, with your eyes going owlishly wide, brows shooting up to your hairline, and with your mouth wide open in shock. Did you do it? Did you annoy him enough for him to agree to have dinner with you? Okay, enough! You need to look presentable or you’ll scare the man away. You won’t take any chances. 

“Uh,” you clear your throat, schooling your expression. You think you see him grinning at you but it was gone before you can even process it. “You free this weekend?” 

“Unfortunately, no.” 

You deflate. 

You would like to plan and prepare your first date with the man to perfection, but the fate seems to find your suffering entertaining. However, you will not be stopped! You vowed to yourself to pave your own way and influence a situation into going your way. You will not let this chance go just because Mr. Kennedy is not available in the weekends. 

“What about tonight?” You ask. “I can cook us a little something.” 

You may be tripping, or it might be the dim lights in the bar but you see Leon’s eyes and face soften. His smile is more visible now. You watch as he calls the bartender to pay the bill until he turns to you. 

“Tonight it is.” 

You smile. “It’s a date, then!” You stress on 'date'.

“It’s a date.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil #post re4 leon #re4 remake #resident evil imagines #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x you

[gageblackwood]

A Rough Transcript of James Somerton's new video

For those who don't want to watch it, I grabbed the auto-transcript of the video, and then honestly spent way to long cleaning it up. There are a few editor notes that are just attempts at clarity, and punctuation and line breaks added as best I could guess them. Here it is:

"uh just a disclosure this video is monetized but revenue from it will be sent along to H bomber guy's team to be dispersed to the people whose work I plagarized.

uh if his team won't accept it I'll be making monthly donations to Wikipedia and trans Lifeline going forward.

uh you may have also noticed that a few of my past videos have gone up on the channel again and revenue from those as well will also be sent, along with the revenue from this video.

over the last couple of months I've been getting in touch with the people who I plagiarized to apologize one-on-one instead of a mass apology.

it's a bit difficult because many of them don't have public email addresses so I'm still working on it but it is a top priority of mine.

I've heard back from a few of them and they were actually incredibly nice, um accepting my apology and just imploring me to do better in the future, so I want to thank them publicly for that.

there's plenty that I haven't heard back from and I completely understand that in many cases.

uh I wouldn't want to talk to me either.

I also want to apologize to my audience.

though you trusted me to be a good representative of the queer community and I was not that, I tried to be, I tried to be a voice for every member of the queer Community but that was a failed Endeavor before it even started.

I'm a CIS white gay man no matter how much I try to be a good spokesperson I can never really truly understand the life experiences of other far more put upon members of the queer Community.

this is one of the reasons that I would use the their own words but I should have made it very clear that that's what I was doing.

I never, ever thought that I was the only voice out there as some have said but being a CIS white man I thought I might be able to win over some people who wouldn't otherwise listen unless it was someone who looks and sounds just like them, and so I tried speaking for everyone and this was a horrible mistake.

what I thought was being inclusive ended up leading to a lot of people feeling left out and even offended.

this fell upon Nick as well as a non-binary person on the ace spectrum.

they wanted to include asexuality and non-binary representation in our videos but because Nick's experience is not Universal, there is no Universal experience, people felt that we were dealing legitimizing (editor: likely de-legitimizing) their own experiences because we focused on Nicks.

and I apologize for that and I'm sure that Nick does as well.

um I'd also like to extend a personal apology to Jesse Earl, better known as Jesse gender.

out of everyone that I spoke to who was also a YouTuber Jesse was by far the kindest person.

I think Jesse might be one of the kindest people I've ever met or ever encountered.

we never actually met in person because of my hot headedness.

I drew her into just this anger spiral of mine that was unwarranted and absolutely ruined a possible friendship.

Jesse was actually doing her best to kind of mitigate my frustration and and everything and and

uh at that moment and I just wasn't allowing her to do that and I really truly honestly want to apologize to her for that again.

if if you ever get the chance to speak with Jesse one-on-one or if you have gotten the chance you'll know just how nice she is and how kind and I was a a real, for uh dragging her into my reactionary unwarranted frustration.

we, obviously, we haven't spoke since all of that happened um but Jesse if you are watching this video um I do want you to know that I am honestly sorry for that.

I hope truly, honestly I hope everything goes as well as possible for you because you deserve all of it.

there was a misunderstanding between Jesse and I.

um after that happened, that I do want to clear up where someone who at least claimed to be a fan of Jesse's, you know did an internet and threatened to kill me.

which is, you know, being a person on the internet death threats are unfortunately not uncommon.

at the time though, uh I was in a very panicked State, and so I did report it to the police.

I did not report Jesse to the police which is the misunderstanding that people um came away with.

I did not report Jesse to the police.

I would have no reason to do that, and it did end up that this person had a prior record with the police um of violent acts and they actually lived quite near me, um so the police took it very seriously.

they took it so seriously that they implored me not to speak to, to Jesse.

which I took their advice on which I shouldn't have honestly I should have at least clarified to Jesse what was going on and not just left her hanging.

and so I want to again apologize to Jesse for that but in that state I listen to the police.

which is, you know, maybe not the best decision all the time because the cops don't usually have the best interests of people at heart.

so Jesse I want to apologize for that and everything else that happened.

completely understand why you would not want to speak to me ever again but I just want you to know that I am sorry.

but now back on the original topic.

the work Nick and I were doing on the channel.

we wanted it to be you know for everyone.

we wanted it to be a channel where every queer person could feel welcomed and we failed at that.

that is something that in hindsight I think is impossible to create and that's why it's important for there to be many different queer voices in spaces like YouTube.

and there are, what's more important is that those voices are discoverable which is something that I should have been helping with.

I often shared other queer creators on Twitter but this was when I only had you know 800 a th000 (editor: a thousand?) Twitter followers and these creators usually had a whole lot more than that.

it was a weird thing because usually they would have infinitely more Twitter followers but a whole lot less YouTube subscribers.

I'm not sure what created that dichotomy but something was definitely off with the algorithm there.

there is a part of my brain that says YouTube kind of went oh you know white male queer let's push him and you know ignore everyone else in the community.

whereas people were able to actually discover uh other queer creators on Twitter and then make their way to YouTube, but the YouTube algorithm, kind of, that's the most negative interpretation I have of it.

which unfortunately may be true.

uh in any case I should have done more to share the voices of other queer people, certainly the people whose works I used both credited and plagiarized in my videos, but also just other creators on YouTube.

it's important for us as a community as vaguely defined as we are to support each other and I didn't do that nearly enough from day one.

I was very taken in by the idea of being a YouTuber.

as soon as my videos started to get recommended by the algorithm, after not releasing a new video for like two years I felt like I had a short period of time to get the next videos out as soon as possible.

which is why so little work was put into the writing of them and so much was taken from other places, plagiarized early on.

I thought crediting authors in the opening credits alone was enough, especially since the videos weren't monetized early on, but I understand now especially after speaking with some of the people who were, who I did plagiarize that that was just, I was wrong.

that was not the way to go about it, they should have been cited properly within the text of the video video, they should have been called out in the video at least once verbally as well as you know having citations on screen.

if there were a whole lot of them, like with you know one of the examples that H bomber guy used in his video was the Deep Cuts video there were a whole lot of people who I, you know, credited in the opening credits but really it's plagiarism, they should have been cited on screen with actual citations of, you know, links where you can find this stuff.

maybe there should have even been a bibliography that you could have gone to like on a Google drive or something like that.

because you know although I might have stated that the scripts were based upon the work of these authors it in many cases wasn't just based on their work it was their work word for word.

in some cases I did get permission like with the Evil Queen's Disney video.

I'll put the email up on the screen that I got from Sean Griffin, um where he did give me permission to publish the video.

I sent the finished video to him and he watched it and he gave me permission, but in most cases I didn't get permission and thought that just putting the author's name in the opening credits was enough.

I was much more interested in the production of the videos than the writing of them at this point so after three or four videos I brought Nick on as a main writer for the channel.

the idea is that they would write the vast majority of the scripts.

I would film, voice and edit the videos and we'd split the money that came in.

we were roommates at the time and Nick didn't have a job, so I figured it would help both of us.

this is actually when we had some of our biggest videos, uh like the ones talking about Wiccan and hulkling, where we lucked out because it came out right in time for Wan division (Editor: Wandavision?) to hit and then the killing stalking video which became our biggest video by far.

uh the sadism of class was another one.

these videos weren't plagiarized and we loved making them.

uh it didn't take long for the channel income to start growing.

lucky timing really because this was around the same time that I was laid off since the company that I was working for, downsized once Co hit its second year.

Nick and I had both grown up poor, so we started doing what we could to try and stabilize our income as much as possible.

this meant putting out more videos which meant I had to take over more of the writing duties, but since filming, editing, usually doing multiple edits because of YouTube copyright issues, as well as managing the channel and dealing with my mom's recent cancer diagnosis, all of that was already taking up so much of my time and attention.

this led to a lot of copy and pasting blocks of text into scripts.

my intention at the time was to use these as a jumping off point once Nick and I sat down to edit the script, because that's what we would do.

I would sort of put in my parts, Nick would put in his parts and then we would sit down at a table read through the whole script and kind of try and make it seem cohesive.

but, and here's something I'm sure a lot of people will call a excuse, I have memory issues because of a head injury from when I was a child.

uh they're actually getting worse.

I've talked about it on streams and in videos, so yes it is real, but some people will call it a excuse.

Anyway the head injury is actually what led to me having epilepsy, which is why I can't work in any job that involves physical labor.

employers can't get insurance for me to, like lift things or operate vehicles and stuff like that.

I actually did marketing for a restaurant group for a little while but got let go when they found out that I was epileptic because, at least according to them, I couldn't be insured to be in the kitchens where I needed to be to film videos and take photos and stuff like that.

but anyway, when it came to editing the scripts I couldn't remember what I'd written and what had been copy pasted.

we should have just chucked out everything that I had put into the script and filled them in with wholly original thoughts or I should have been taking notes on where things came from so that we could at least site them in the video if nothing else, but I never did that.

according to my therapist, my not thinking to do that probably stems from my recently diagnosed ADHD, but I don't know if I'm willing to say that really.

maybe it was or maybe it was just plain laziness.

maybe I thought that this was somewhere that I could cut a corner because I was torn in so many other directions.

honestly I can't remember, like I said memory issues.

but yes we should have just thrown out my contributions to the scripts and filled them in with original writing but we felt like we had too much of a time crunch.

we felt like we had to get videos out more often to feed the algorithm, and then my mom died and I became completely useless.

I couldn't think straight at all so Nick had to completely take over writing duties while I dealt with things you deal with after a person dies.

my dad you see he can't read or write uh he was very po poor when he was a kid so he had to leave school really young to work in order to feed his many brothers and sisters.

so I had to deal with all the legal stuff after my mom died as well as making sure that all my dad's bills were paid and whatnot, especially after his income was basically cut in half.

there was supposed to be a buffer here Money Wise as my mom had a life insurance policy that was going to be split between my dad and myself, but the insurance company, RBC Insurance so if you have insurance with them maybe rethink that, uh refuse to pay out the policy because my mother never mentioned that she had family with diabetes.

she didn't have diabetes but because she didn't think to mention that she had family with diabetes it apparently voided the policy.

all they did was refund a Year's worth of premiums that she'd paid even though she'd been paying them for about 15 years.

one of the things, the main thing really that I was supposed to do with my portion of the insurance money was, I was supposed to make a movie.

these were direct instructions from my mom herself.

she'd been very much behind me when I decided, when I was about 10, that I wanted to be a filmmaker and she wanted me to finally have the opportunity to do that even if she never got to see it.

so when the life insurance went bust I decided to try and crowdfund it.

at least enough to make a short film or two this is what teos (Editor: Telos) grew out of.

so what happened with Telos, let me break down the timeline.

when we launched the campaign in February of 2022 we hoped to raise $3,000 to produce a short film that we hoped that we would then use as a sort of proof of concept to attract investors, either private public or through Canada's telefilm program, to produce a feature.

some people online have stated that $3,000 never would have covered the cost of a short film but these were not going to be unionized movies and we were very clear about that upfront.

we wanted to be able to pay actors as best that we could but we never expected to be able to reach typical union wages.

the crew was going to be made up of people that I had gone to film school with.

everyone, including Nick and myself we were roommates at the time, living on the East Coast were more than happy to work behind the scenes for free.

we planned on writing a movie with a small cast and only one or two locations, ideally ones that we could get access to for free.

again we assumed all the money would go to the actors.

uh we kind of looked at this is a sort of Community Theater troop but for film making.

after the campaign launched it did infinitely better than we could have expected and our Ambitions grew.

we started planning to make a feature instead of a short film and the plan was to take this around to, uh film festivals.

the feature we settled on, entitled final girl, was about the Lone Survivor of a slasher movie type Massacre 10 years after the fact, as she was publishing a book about her ordeal, drawing attention from people online convinced that she had actually been the killer all along.

in the end we would find out that the killer was the boyfriend of the girl who the main character had secretly been dating at the time of the killings and most of the people he killed were, in his eyes, collateral damage as he made his way to our main character, because he was not happy that his girlfriend was cheating on him with a girl.

and to those who say that I plagiarized the plot from the novel Final Girl Support Group by Grady hris (Editor: Hendrix), read the book.

it's nothing like the plot of the movie and the final girl is a Trope in horror movies, so if using the Final Girl trope is plagiarism then basically everyone who's made a slasher movie since Texas Chainsaw Massacre owes the Toby Hooper Estates some money.

but anyway Nick and I planned out the movie, but I didn't want to start writing it until the campaign ended and the money was actually deposited.

uh after the insurance debacle I didn't want to count our chickens before they hatched.

when the money was officially deposited I immediately began work on the screenplay.

I finished it that summer.

soon after Nick had left to spend two months at home in Ottawa, Ontario with family.

I sent the script to him to read right away because I was proud very proud of it but Nick didn't want to share his opinion on it until he got back to the east coast so in the meantime I put out a preliminary casting call on local job boards.

when Nick got back, uh he believed that the script needed a page one rework.

this is also when he told me that he'd be moving back to Ontario permanently soon, as he wanted to live closer to family and live in a bigger city with more opportunities.

this was a punch to the gut for me.

we' been living together since 2015 and had become quite dependent on each other.

I felt like there was no way that I could make this movie without him and since I had received not that many replies to the initial casting call I took this as a sign that Ontario would be a better place to launch Telos, even though all my professional professional film connections were on the East Coast.

that was a mistake.

there I had free access to the campground that would serve as the setting for a good portion of the movie, as well as easy access to any number of houses, apartments and even offices that friends of friends would let me use to shoot.

in Ontario I had none of that, which immediately put the breaks on Final Girl since there was no conceivable way of filming in it, at least not within the budget that we had.

after Nick and I moved to the Toronto area he decided that he actually wanted to move home to Ottawa, uh to the Ottawa area about 5 hours away, at least for a little while.

in the meantime he would take a train to the GTA the crater (Editor: greater) Toronto area once a month, uh to work on YouTube videos for a few days and then head back.

this went on for a little less than a year so I began brainstorming new movies that we could film in Ontario.

this is where the multiple posters and teaser trailers came from.

I was trying to create something tangible to show that work was still being done with Telos.

I wrote multiple treatments for movies over the next few months and Nick and I eventually landed on one, called antisocial: a murder mystery, about a former social media click (Editor: clique) who had gone their separate ways on very bad terms and they were coming together for a reunion at a sort of VidCon event.

um they were all sharing a house and then some of them were going to start showing up dead.

around the same time, summer of 2023, uh Nick had moved to the GTA full-time.

uh he and I spent weeks working out exactly how the murder mystery would parse out in the movie.

we had a bunch of whiteboards up on my wall and we were just breaking it down piece by piece.

uh I'd put out a new casting call in the GTA and received hundreds of responses so I was planning on casting as soon as the script was finished but after trying to work out the numbers as far as paying actors went, Plus locations, food, costumes, as well as the equipment that we'd already purchased and the legal costs of setting up Telos as a business, we realized that we'd gone way too big with this movie.

uh the movie had too many characters and too many locations and it was just way too complex to be able to pull off with the budget.

so I started working on a script for a movie called The Listener, about a true crime podcaster focused on the mysterious deaths of homeless gay men in his City.

I was a fair way into the script when we realized it' be about a year before we could even film anything since winter was on its way and the story relied heavily on a summer setting.

so we went back to the drawing board yet again, finally settling on a modern-day adaptation of The Vampire based on the book by John Palador (Editor: capitals added, also it's Polidori).

uh it's one of the original works of published vampire fiction.

it's never received a proper film adaptation and was in public domain so we thought it would be a great choice and the cast could be kept down to basically five characters, with only two of them being on screen most of the time.

Nick and I both wrote treatments for it which we plan on, planned on melding together into a final treatment M that we would write the script based off of.

we'd had a meeting about it and we were talking about how best to move forward, how fast we could get the script written, how long it would take to cast, how soon we could start shooting.

we knew that it had been a while since the initial funding of Telos came in and we wanted to get something concrete out as soon as possible.

after the meeting we went to dinner and while at dinner I started getting messages about the H bomber Guy video.

we were in over our heads once we left the East Coast but the intention was never ever to Take the Money and Run.

I was so insanely excited about getting to make Telos a reality.

I was excited about getting to make a short film, let alone a feature.

it's always been my dream to make movies so Telos meant and means the world to me.

for Nick it was a very exciting project but not his passion.

Nick wanted to write novels, he still does.

Nick looked at this as a good creative outlet that was way more fulfilling than writing video essays.

I should have stayed where I was and not gone to Ontario.

the move uprooted everything that was solid about Telos and it took a whole year to get it back onto even anything close to stable footing, but I am working with the producer now so you can expect an actual product from Telos this year.

it will likely be a short film to start off but there is going to be something coming out of Telos this year.

I know I've lost your trust but I will make nothing financially from this project.

the money that is there will go wholly to paying queer artists to work on a queer film.

I am not nor have I ever intended to be one of the people paid by Telos, neither was Nick.

we made this very clear to everyone who asked.

during our work on tellos (Editor: Telos) is also when the YouTube channel started getting sponsors which as I said as someone who grew up poor I basically accepted all of them except for a few that I didn't think lined up with the message of the channel or had some bad news surrounding them.

there were a couple that had some anti-tr (Editor: anti-trans?) stuff going on in the news and I just didn't want to associate with that.

but by accepting as many sponsors as we did, which became very important when Nick and I started living apart, and suddenly had two rents to pay we ended up needing to produce even more videos, which along with the work on toos (Editor: Telos?) and making sure everything was okay with my dad while living thousands of kilometers away, meant I had even less time for writing, putting more stress on Nick and leading to even more copy pasting from me.

that's what led to us putting out, I think, six videos in one month at one point.

it might have been five, but in any case it was way too damn many videos to go out in one month.

we tried to take the summer off from YouTube in 2023 to work on Telos exclusively but even that went up in smoke because my housing situation.

just, I won't go into it here, I've talked about it at nauseum (Editor: ad nauseam) on streams and stuff.

if you followed me on social media you know the cluster I ended up in that led to me moving twice in two months.

in the last couple of months I've received a lot of emails, as you can imagine, uh many from people who were rightfully let down.

some from people threatening everything from doxing to violence Because the Internet, some with the kindest words of support I've ever heard and others simply asking why I made it so difficult to contact me and if I was okay.

they wanted to know why, as they put it, I nuked my social media presence.

(Editor: Warning for talk of suicide)

to be frank it's because I didn't want to exist anymore.

if you watched my honestly horrendous apology video Back In December you know I tried to make that happen, the not existing thing, but it was more intense than taking too many pills.

it's not that I didn't want to be alive anymore it's that I wished I'd never existed at all, that everyone I'd ever known would be better off had I just never been there, very George Bailey which is fitting given that it was Christmas time.

it's only thanks to some very very dedicated doctors and nurses and one very good friend that I'm even here able to film this right now.

I'm not going to name her because I don't want to expose anyone else to the small but seriously unstable group of people who watched the plagiarism and YouTube video and thought, well he should be dead.

like I said it's a it was a very small group but when they find out your address and some of them are actually in your city they can be terrifying, and they did find my address and at least a couple of them showed up while I was at the hospital.

um my neighbors did report them to the police, uh and I I won't go into any more details than that.

I'm not sure if I legally even can but there's a reason I left Ontario within a week of getting the okay to do so from the doctors.

so what's next then?

like I said you'll notice that a few of my videos are live again on the channel, these ones don't come from plagiarize content and for the most part are written entirely by Nick.

Nick lost three years worth of work when everything on the channel was taken down and that's simply not fair to Nick.

he worked hard writing those videos and deserves to have something to point to when he's looking for new writing work.

I've also done some heavy editing on other videos that did contain other people's writing, um breaking it down to only original content, again so that Nick has an actual portfolio of work.

as mentioned at the beginning of the video revenue from these will be going to the H bomber guy team, to be sent out to the writers I play R (Editor: plagiarized) from or donated to charity, however it works out in the end.

these edited videos will be going back up on the channel in the next few days I think, um along with two completed video essays that we didn't actually get to release before everything happened.

there's also some recent videos that didn't have any plagiarism that the sponsor asked to be taken down and their ads removed, um so they'll also be going back up without the sponsors obviously and soon I will be releasing a new video written entirely by me properly cited with all sources credited.

maybe no one will watch it but I hope you do.

I want to prove that I have the ability to do this without abusing other people's work.

it's a very different kind of video than I used to make though, I'd say it's more of a documentary than a video essay.

you won't find my opinions anywhere in there just cited facts.

I'd like to keep making videos like these new ones about people and events in gay history and definitive gay movies that you maybe never heard of, stuff like that.

it's actually something that I planned on doing this year anyway.

there would be two videos a month, Nick would write a video essay and I would write one of these documentary style videos that would fulfill the two videos per month sponsorship deal that we had at the time.

I have no sponsors now so probably not going to be two videos a month, it'll probably just be the one which will give more time for research and citation and crediting and making sure that there is no misinformation in the videos, uh which I know, I know that misinformation made its way into, uh our past videos that was not something that we intended.

in some cases it was information that I was told by people that I considered experts, um in other cases it was information that we had researched, uh in other cases it was things that Nick had learned in University, the point being it was never malicious.

we didn't, we weren't trying to lie about things despite what a lot of people think.

we were not trying to spread misinformation that was not ever Our intention and that's something else that I want to apologize for.

as for my patreon everyone can stop worrying about me relaunching it right in time for a billing cycle, that will not be happening.

I don't want anyone who either doesn't know about the plagiarism or simply forgot to unsub subscribe to get build (Editor: billed) so I'm going to start from zero.

I have put together a new patreon account so if you want to support my documentaries about gay history, fantastic, honestly your faith in me after everything means the world to me.

if not I completely understand.

like I said I've lost your trust.

I'm going to work my ass off to earn it back though and I know for some of you I'll never be able to do that but I'm going to try anyway.

you know there's a link in the description to the patreon if you want to join it, where you'll be able to see the to yet to be released videos right now, as well as, you know, take part in other stuff that will be on there like a book club podcasts, uh voting on upcoming videos, all the usual patreon stuff.

but this video is not about promoting myself this video is about me apologizing and I am incredibly sorry.

it was never my intention for anyone to feel hurt or left out or excluded, it was never my intention to spread misinformation and I'm really really sorry that that happened and you know as as much as I've tried to explain myself in this video, you know the memory issues, ADHD, um the personal things that were going on in my life with my mom getting sick and then dying and trying to make sure that my dad was okay following that and everything, those aren't excuses.

there is no excuse for what I did.

there are lots of people who make videos on YouTube, there are lots of people who make podcasts, TV shows, movies, documentaries who have going on in their lives that's very stressful and they don't plagiarize people's work.

there is no excuse for what I did.

for everything that happened, whether it be with my mom or the memory issues, there was something I could have done to mitigate that.

there's nothing I could have done about my mom getting cancer but knowing my patrons as I did, in hindsight I'm pretty damn sure that if I had said, guys I need to step away for a couple of months to deal with this, I don't think a whole lot of people would have fled the patreon.

a part of me thought they would at the time because I catastrophy (Editor: catastrophize?), I, but I really don't think that would have happened.

even in the very beginning when I was like, oh I got to get as many videos out as possible, if I had said to those people who subscribe to the channel early on, you know for the next video I want to make sure that it's fully correct and I want to make sure that you know it's as high quality as it can possibly be, I, I don't think anyone would have, you know unsubscribed or not watched the next video because it didn't come out a couple of weeks after the algorithm decided that I was important.

for some reason I convinced myself of these things but I don't think, in hindsight, looking at it I don't think any of that would have happened and so there is no excuse for the misinformation and there is certainly no excuse for the plagiarism.

I up bad I stole people's words and thoughts and opinions, that they worked incredibly hard writing and Publishing and finding someone to publish their thoughts and opinions and research, hard research that they had done and, you know, in some cases, I put them their names in the opening credits which I thought was fine, but like I said I've spoken with some of these people now and I understand why that was not okay.

because putting someone's name in the opening credits, you know, okay here's a list of people, here's, you know, seven or eight people who are, even if it was you know everyone, even if it wasn't, you know, taking giant chunks of their work, paragraphs at a time, even if it was just a sentence here or there, putting their name in the opening credits doesn't tell anyone where their work is in the video.

nobody can say, oh I really like that opinion, or wow that's a really, you know, smart observation, I want to read more from this person, and then, you know, to find something you found interesting you have to go play detective and so yes, just putting their name in the opening credits was wrong.

I thought it was cool and you know cinematic, but it was wrong.

citations should have been done properly, there should never have been just chunks of text being put into videos.

there were times like with, uh the queer history of Hollywood videos, that I released this past spring they were based directly on the Celluloid closet by veto (Editor: Vito) Russo, the book not the documentary.

I expanded on it quite a bit but it was based directly on veto's (Editor: Vito's) work and I credited him in the opening credits and I thought it was okay to just do that, because the book was out of print and veto had passed away unfortunately from HIV complications, due to HIV and AIDS and I looked at it more as extend in his legacy, making sure that people knew about the work that he did but I don't think I ever mentioned his name in those videos.

he was crit (Editor: credited?), like I said his name's in the opening credits but I don't think I ever verbally mentioned his name, someone who I have so much respect for who, kind of an idol of mine and I never mentioned his name.

it wasn't because I didn't respect him or anything like that and it also wasn't because I wanted people to think that this was all me again, if, if that was the case I wouldn't have put his name in the in the credits.

I never wanted people to think that this was all me, so that's actually one of the videos I want to make.

I want to make a documentary style video talking about vetto (Editor: Vito) Russo and his life and everything that he accomplished, because he didn't just write the Celluloid closet, he did a lot more than that.

he's someone that people should know about.

obviously people can research him, uh there's books about him but I know, you know, it's easier to sit down and watch a 20 or 30 minute YouTube video than it is to read a book.

I'd like to make a video about VTO (Editor: Vito) Russo, properly cited and not just, you know, copy pasted from a book.

I want to do the work, I want to prove, not just to you, but to myself that I can do the work and that's why I've started making these documentaries.

working on these I can't, I can't really put into words how sorry I am.

I've tried, I've tried writing like a blog entry to say that I was sorry for about two months now and I just can't.

I can't get across how sorry I am and I know actions speak way louder than words and I hope with my actions that I can show you that I am sorry.

I'm sorry to everyone I play Dr (Editor: plagiarized?).

I'm sorry to everyone I've hurt.

I'm sorry to people who feel lied to.

I'm sorry to people who feel like I abused the queer Community, was never my intention.

again I'm sorry to Jesse.

There were actually several other YouTubers who, uh were very nice to me but I feel like with everything that went down Jess, Jesse is the one that I should apologize to the most.

I'm sorry for the people who felt scammed, who thought that Telos was a grift.

it was not it is not I am very sorry and I hope given time and my actions proving it that you can believe me."

--------

I hope my restraint in not adding personal commentary is appreciated, as there were times it took heroic effort. There are several places I deleted comments I typed at first, mainly along the lines of "You sure as fuck shouldn't have, buddy!" virtually whenever he said he shouldn't have done something.

To end on a lighter note, I did almost lose it at the end with the typo VTO Russo. I had just been wading through so much, and suddenly, there was Vertical Takeoff Russo.

#James Somerton #H bomberguy #long post #Also youtube auto transcript is poop #spend some of your ill gotten $ on a transcriber would ya?!